What a week THAT was..

Why is it, that things can be rolling along nicely, and you think that life is just great... Then suddenly there's nothing but bumps in the road, everywhere you turn?

Oh, nothing major, and nothing worth getting into a tizzy about, but it just seems that there has been one mini-drama after another, all week long... and even the good stuff has been somewhat dramatical.
(is "dramatical" even a word? Well, if it isn't, it should be.
Because I said so.


Last Friday saw me tearing out my hair over my young lad with autism, because he's been in a teenager-ish kind of mood lately... and here I thought it couldn't get much worse.

But it did.

See, 'young lad' is becoming a man, and because of that, he's discovered the joys of, ahem...
Well, I think you can figure out what I'm saying here.
Or rather what I'm not saying.
Because I'm not saying it.

Luckily, I managed to get an emergency cleaner in... and those guys were fantastic! They dealt with it all, in hardly any time at all... they didn't bat an eyelash when I explained what was on the walls and curtains...
Plus, they even went so far as to come back at the end of the day and steam clean the rest of the carpets throughout the whole house.
Not that the carpets were affected, but hey, when someone else is paying... why not?


I would recommend those cleaners to anyone.
If I could just remember who they were.

Then Monday found us heading to the travel agents, to book our trip to the US... so I've been doing the proverbial "happy dance" all week.
The flights are all paid for, and I'm rarin' to go... but there's one little niggley bit that we haven't worked out yet.

Well maybe two... if you count not yet having informed my son that we're coming.

See, we're bringing a friend with us, because her husband has finally decided that after all these years of her being a rabid Elvis fan, (if there's a word that means more rabid-er than just plain rabid, feel free to insert it here) as well as cooking his meals and scrubbing his unmentionables, that she's entitled to finally see Graceland.
(Well not Elvis' meals and jocks. Although I doubt if you would hear her complain about doing anything for him.
I meant her husbands dinners and undies.)

Now, we're having a hard time figuring out flight prices from San Francisco to Memphis, but I guess we have a little bit of time to get the details worked out, since we aren't even heading over until April 10th.
Except for the fact that we've already reserved a room at to Elvis' Heartbreak Hotel on a certain date.
Like you do.
Especially when you put the cart before the horse and you're about to culminate a lifelong dream.
Well, to be honest, it's her dream... not necessarily mine, but hey, why not see Graceland while we can, eh?

Anyway, it's been a hell of a week around here, and I'm glad to finally have the weekend off.

All the more time to bore you with the minutia of my life, eh?

Zombie Chickens... oh my goodness!

Now admit it.. You were expecting some sort of scary, sordid, spine-tingling tale about walking, "undead" chickens weren't you?

Or a review of the cult classic,"Poultrygeist", perhaps?
Or even my pitifully sung rendition of "Poultry in Motion"?


Alas... no.


It's an award!

An award that was, ahem... awarded to me, by none other than Ladybird World Mother.

And just like Ladybird World Mother, I have a habit of saving the awards awarded to me by my lovely fellow bloggers, and sticking them in a folder on my desktop, for when I get around to doing them justice.


Which just goes to show that I am incredibly slack.
Not ungrateful, just... slack.


I have yet to do justice to the last 4 awards that I've recieved... So if you've been kind to me and awarded me with something , and it seems that I haven't paid much attention... well please know that I'm just hopeless.
Not uncaring.

My accountant, and the girls in the office would agree with me.
And that may very well be the reason that I am seldom paid on time.

Now that I've shared my shameful little secret with ya'll...

On to the award!!!

"The blogger who receives this award believes in the Tao of the zombie chicken – excellence, grace and persistence in all situations, even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse.
These amazing bloggers regularly produce content so remarkable that their readers would brave a raving pack of zombie chickens just to be able to read their inspiring words. As a recipient of this world-renowned award, you now have the task of passing it on to at least 5 other worthy bloggers. Do not risk the wrath of the zombie chickens by choosing unwisely or not choosing at all."



Now, I was going to just post this award and leave it as a sort of free-for-all for anyone to grab... but after reading it through, it seems that I'll incur the wrath of the dreaded zombie chickens if I don't personally select 5 recipients.


So rather than risk the wrath of undead, zombified poultry, I'm selecting 5 fellow bloggers to award this lovely little gem to.

And I'm doing it semi-scientifically.

By closing my eyes and stabbing at the blogger list on my compter screen.


So, without further ado, here goes:


1. Reddirt Woman. You'll smile, you'll cry, you'll laugh your patootie off!
But this girl just doesn't talk dirt... She gets absolutely covered in mud... and she posts the photos to prove it! And her tootsies? Gorgeous!
And anyone who takes photos of men in chaps... *sigh* Well, that makes her aces in my book!


2. Modern Day Ozzie and Harriet. Marjie can single-handedly take the blame for the size of my arse... because if she posts a recipe, I just have to try it! Thanks to her recipe, I now make my own mayo, and it beats Best Foods hands down! The woman can cook !! And the best part is, she's down-to-earth and talented.. and just a lovely person to spend some time with.
And her Thor? Omigosh, I want one of him!



3. Coffee with the Hermit is a newfound treasure... And if you stop on by, HermitJim will make you feel right at home - and he's already got the coffee pot ready and waiting for y'all...


4. sidewalk shoes ... Pam is just a sweetheart. and I always love sitting down and having a good gander at what she's written. But be prepared to drool... the photos alone, are to die for!
Not that the weekend cat blogging photos make me want to drool... but they do make me smile!


5. The Mosquitoes Buzz ... Bz is... well, what can I say? She's funny, delightful, open and honest... and the girls in her family are all a treat!
( and make sure you check out her mama's blog while you're there!)
Plus, she's got great pins!



Okay... that concludes my "semi-scientifically chosen " five recipients.

But I have more.


No, I'm not going to list them here, but if you ever get a chance, check out all the folks on my blog list.
They're all worth a read. Each and every one of 'em.
And who knows?
You might just find another blog to add to your list!

I'm not alone anymore...

I just made up a new word.
Someone call Funk and Wagnells for me, please...

Feedjitiot


"Feedjitiot"
definition: A crazy person who's absolutely addicted to checking out her feedjit.

And that makes her a bit of an idiot.
An idiot who has no life.

Because this particular little feedjitiot is doing her damn best not to do any housework today.
Or do anything constructive, for that matter.
Like doing last nights dinner dishes, (I didn't really say that out loud, did I?) or removing the towels from the dryer.
So, I just love checking out the feedjit thingie when I'm killin' time... mainly because I love seeing who may have popped in, where they popped in from, whether or not they left a comment, and I love seeing what (or who) may have led them here...

And sometimes the results worry me.
Now I can understand that there are other Crisco devotees out there... but are they devotees for the same reasons that I am?
I sort of suspect not, if some of the entries are anything to go by.

And I can also understand someone googling stuff like "chocolate ripple cake" or "scary Aussie animals", because I've done it myself...
But who in the world would ever think of googling "Crisco for dry eyes" or sexschop crisco"?
Or even "you know I love my Old Guy, right?"

Now here, for your viewing pleasure (or not, depending on how much of a life you may have) is a list of what's come in the the last 24 hours.
And it makes me scratch my head.

(I did edit it down a bit though... since I'm kind of focusing on the weird and wacky here.
Not that Ladybird World Mother is the least bit wacky, but please click on her anyway, because if you haven't read her blog before... I can almost guarantee she'll make your day.
And besides... it will give you a wonderful excuse for not doing your particular household chores.
You'll thank me.
I know you will :)

~~~~~

London arrived from ladybirdworld.blogspot.com on "Tatersmama's take on things".
06:58:28 -- 8 minutes ago

Amsterdam, Noord-Holland arrived from images.google.nl on "Tatersmama's take on things: You know I love my Old Guy... right?".
05:32:54 -- 1 hour 34 mins ago

Sosnowiec, Katowice arrived from google.pl on "Tatersmama's take on things: My (not so ) Secret Crisco Obsession" by searching for sexschop crisco.
05:17:13 -- 1 hour 49 mins ago

Milan, Lombardia arrived from r1rk9np7bpcsfoeekl0khkd2juj27q3o.friendconnect.gmodules.com on "Tatersmama's take on things".
22:16:53 -- 8 hours 50 mins ago

Melbourne, Victoria arrived from google.com.au on "Tatersmama's take on things: Quick and Easy Aussie recipe... Chocolate Ripple Cake".
22:00:28 -- 9 hours 6 mins ago

Montgomery, Alabama arrived from google.com on "Tatersmama's take on things: My (not so ) Secret Crisco Obsession" by searching for crisco for dry eyes.
15:07:05 -- 16 hours ago

Sydney, New South Wales arrived from google.com.au on "Tatersmama's take on things: Quick and Easy Aussie recipe... Chocolate Ripple Cake".
14:06:04 -- 17 hours 1 min ago

Soddy Daisy, Tennessee arrived from google.com on "Tatersmama's take on things: Who ever said I was PC?".
12:28:15 -- 1 hour 20 mins ago
(This one has absolutely nothin' to do with anything.... other than I love the name "Soddy Daisy"... ain't it great?)

Gosford, New South Wales arrived from images.google.com on "Tatersmama's take on things: Quick and Easy Aussie recipe... Chocolate Ripple Cake".
10:12:33 -- 3 hours 36 mins ago

Melbourne, Victoria arrived from google.com.au on "Tatersmama's take on things: Quick and Easy Aussie recipe... Chocolate Ripple Cake".
10:01:13 -- 3 hours 47 mins ago

Wageningen, Gelderland arrived from google.nl on "Tatersmama's take on things: My (not so ) Secret Crisco Obsession" by searching for another use for crisco.
02:58:04 -- 10 hours 50 mins ago

South Melbourne, Victoria arrived from google.com.au on "Tatersmama's take on things: Quick and Easy Aussie recipe... Chocolate Ripple Cake".
15:37:56 -- 22 hours 11 mins ago

Baldwin Park, California arrived from images.google.com on "Tatersmama's take on things: My (not so ) Secret Crisco Obsession".
13:39:15 -- 1 day ago

Birmingham, Alabama arrived from images.google.com on "Tatersmama's take on things: Watch out! It'll get ya! (for my Grandsons!)".
10:49:35 -- 1 day 2 hours ago


Okay. Now go do your chores.

And while you're doing them, ponder my sad, obsessed and empty life.
Feedjitiot that I am....

Who ever said I was PC?

My friend Helen sent this to me... and it just hit a nerve.

See, I had another carer around for coffee the other day, and she spied my box of Christmas decorations sitting by the table.
She then asked me if I planned on using the big window banner that says "Merry Christmas",
and I told her I was.

She then went into this whole big spiel about how - here in daycare at least - that we're supposed to say "Happy Holidays", instead of "Merry Christmas'.
Rather than offend anyone, don't ya know...

And I told her that while we were so busy 'not offending' other people, that I was being offended myself... by having to deny my beliefs.
Because see, I believe in Christ. (and he believes in me)
I celebrate his coming into the world... because I'm a believer.

It doesn't matter to me what you believe, but please... don't tell me to deny Christ.
Because I won't.
I don't cram my beliefs down anyones throat... and I sure as hell don't tell them that they're wrong for believing in whatever it is that they believe in.

But around here? In my own home?
Jesus is the 'reason for the season'... at least in this household.






We've been told not to say "Ho Ho Ho", because some people might find it offensive.
Too bad...

We've been told to say "Father Christmas" instead of Santa Claus...
Too bad.

Hey, you can say what you want to say, and you can believe what you want to believe...
because I'm easy that way.
I certainly don't ask anyone to deny their beliefs, just because I may not necessarily believe the same thing they do.
I "judge not".

But around here, Christ is King.

Daunted. That's me

Y'all know what undaunted is... right?

The dictionary defines it as: : courageously resolute especially in the face of danger or difficulty : not discouraged.

Well, I'm here to tell you that that isn't me at all.

I am totally and completely daunted, when it comes to this backyard of mine... and I'm seriously thinking of having the entire area covered in cement and painted green.

Because cement doesn't breed.

Cement doesn't spread seeds which keep popping up no matter what you do to them, birds can't eat it and then poop it out somewhere else so that the whole cycle starts all over again, and cement would more than likely save the Old Guys life.

Because when it comes to weeding, we're not on the same page at all.

I'm a puller-outer and want that old dirt to be as bare and weedless as an egg, ready for planting the new stuff.

I even like pulling out the cooch grass (couch? I dunno, it's the stuff with runners and roots that go halfway across the garden and Lord help you if you break one of those suckers off, because 47 more sprout in it's place.)

So I want it gone and will go to any lengths to get it out.

But the Old Guy? Well, he's a ripper-outer... and he leaves little sprigs of weed/nasty grass crap sticking out everywhere, so all it takes is a little morning dew to get the suckers up and sprouting again.

To me, it isn't weeded, when it's all just been ripped off an inch above ground level.

But he sure as heck can carry on like he's done something wonderful for me, while he wipes his sweaty brow and demands a cool drink for his intensive, back-breaking labors.

And dirt?

If anything he pulls out of the ground has the slightest dusting of dirt on it, he has to whack it on the ground, to save the precious soil from getting dumped in the compost bin.

The problem with that is, that while he's busy whacking the dirt off, all the 11 hundred zillion seeds come off with the dirt... and land right back where the mama weed came from in the first place.

And the cycle continues...

Hire a gardener? Did I hear you say hire a gardener?

Well honey, I've done that.

Three different times.

First, there was Alex.

Alex was a honey, and he was good at what he did.

Unfortunately, he looked like this :

(Just imagine this guy in tight little short-shorts... and all sweaty. Oh, and minus the cuffs.)

He was an ex "Thunder From Down Under" dancer. No word of a lie.
The problem was, that all my clients and friends would just "happen to drop by" on Wednesday afternoons, and it got to the point where I could have quit doing childcare and simply made a fortune charging an admission price.
I would have 15-20 women in my backyard when I was trying to run a business here... and well, it just didn't work out.
Besides, my heart couldn't take it anyway.

Then there was Elvis.
I kid you not. His name was Elvis Presley.
I'm pretty sure that his mother didn't name him Elvis, and his daddy wasn't a Presley, but he was a bit of a fan I guess ... and he had his name changed legally.

Elvis was good... and we were definitely in agreement when it came to weeding.
The only problem was, Elvis was "special needs", and had urinary incontinence problems to boot, so he was in and out of the house constantly to use the loo.
Then he would forget to close the back door when he went back out, and the children kept escaping.
Plus, childcare regulations state that any male over the age of 17 who comes into my household, has to have a current police clearance... and Elvis didn't understand that.

Then there was Clarry.
Bless his heart.
Clarry was so old that he couldn't bend down to do the weeding anymore, but he could still push the mower around.
The problem was, Clarry couldn't start the mower, so I would have to go out and do it for him, and then he would lean on it like a walker, and keep walking around in circles until the grass was all cut. Then I would have to go out and empty the catcher for him.
The problem with Clarry was, he charged by the hour... whereas Alex and Elvis charged a set amount.

One week, it would cost me $30, and the next, it could cost me $50... depending on how speedy he was.
But Clarry had a heart attack while mowing the neighbors grass and even though he wanted to come back once he was on his feet again, I didn't want him dropping dead in my yard.
Or anybodies yard for that matter.

So I'm gardener-less now.
Except for the Old Guy.

Lord have mercy on me...
Because I am daunted.

It was the best of times... it really was.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us...

(Charles Dickens, A Tale Of Two Cities)

Ahhh... the summer of 1969.

Was there ever any summer sweeter than that one?

His name was Jack... and he was my first love.

Not that I ever told him that... but to tell you the truth, I've spent the last 40 years regretting that I never said those words out loud.

Oh, I think he knew it, just like I knew how he felt.

But back in those days, it was all emotion between us... and maybe the actual words weren't even necessary, after all.

It was a summer love, and I guess in some ways, it was the truest, most innocent and the most touchingly beautiful relationship of my life.

Jack was the standard by which all future boys and men were judged... and to tell you the truth, most of them were found wanting.

I spent years looking for the same honesty, integrity and decency - not to mention heart-stopping good looks - in other boys, and later on in my life, men.

But I never found it again.

Oh, eventually, I found a couple of 'good guys' and my life moved on, and it was good...

But as the years went by, I still checked phonebooks, or when I heard anyone who claimed to be from his town, I just had to ask, "Do you know Jack?"

I was never able to join any computer site like classmates.com or Reunion or even face book, without typing in his name.

And I always came up empty handed.

And empty hearted.

But then on Monday night, I received a message through one of those school sites, from a guy who claimed to be from my graduating class.

Only he wasn't.

It was him.

It was the him that I've been looking for and thinking of for these last 40 years.

And I discovered that he had been searching for me as well.

Wow... the memories have always been there, ya know?

But they came flooding back with an intensity that was almost painful.

Love found.

Love lost...

Dreams and hopes, and nights where we would sit and watch the lake and talk until the sun came up.

Days upon days spent together, holding hands everywhere we went... and just 'being' together.

Oh, nothings changed or is going to change...

The past is the past.

He's happily married now, I'm in a permanent relationship with the Old Guy... and neither one of us have any desire for anything to rekindle or change.

But the memories... you know what I mean?

How sweet it was...

Quality control...

*sigh*

It's a dirty job, but somebody has to do it... right?

Not that I'm expecting hoards of little Bat Man's (bat men?) or Fairy Princesses - because here in Oz, Halloween is still a pretty novel concept to most.

But still... I like to be prepared, you know what I mean?

I had slightly more little Trick or Treaters last year, (maybe 6 or 7?) but for several years before that, I only had 3 teenage boys.
Boys who would come around several times in the one night, all dressed up as ... Well, who knows what.
But they were tryin'.
They really were.
And I think their efforts needed to be rewarded.

Last year though, it was just the one teen aged boy on his own, and his voice had deepened to the point where he sounded like a man... But his eyes still lit up like a little boys, when he saw the candy.
And it did my heart good.

But, have you noticed that some things never change?

45+ years may have gone by since I dressed up as Casper the Friendly Ghost or a Leprechaun... and the colors and flavors may have changed slightly over time, but for every 10 red or blue or green or pink Tootsie Pop, there's only one chocolate one!

So I saved the "brown ones" for myself.

I can't have the little monsters arguing over the chocolate ones, now can I?
Somebody might get their feelings hurt.

And Spider here?

This year, Spider's going out dressed as *The Blob*

Happy Halloween, ghouls and boys!

Eureka... part deux

I promise that this is the last time you'll have to read about my intimate apparel.
Or my bosoms.
For now anyway.

Remember my bra?
My favorite pink bra?
The one I couldn't find...so in order to go to Costco on Monday, I had to settle for an older, less favorite one?
Which is now too big.
I can now use the extra room in the too-big bra cups, to carry small cats around in now.
Thanks to Robynn and her bloody "30 Day Throw Down".

Well.
For the last few days, I have been smelling a nasty smell.
Not the cat pi** smell, but something far riper, and heavy... and grey smelling.

Like dead mouse or possum in the walls or roof.
A very vomit inducing smell.

A combination of rotted, dirty, fungus-riddled feet and 10 year old unwashed boy bum.
Mixed with a whiff of spoiled head cheese.
Very nasty.

So today, I decided to tear the laundry room apart and scrub everything within reach.
Just in case I needed to call one of those men who come and remove dead animals from the attic.

It's bad enough to have rotted animal smells wafting around, but I wanted the poor man to be dazzled with the cleanliness of my laundry room and think that I was an immaculate housekeeper.
Who just happened to have a dead animal in my roof.

Through no fault of my own, of course.

So I scrubbed.
I polished.
I washed shelves and lined them with new paper.
Arranged everything back on said shelves in a very eye-appealing manner.
Suzy Homemaker, am I.

Only the smell still lingered... and by now, it had me dry-retching.
But I was determined to finish the job, so I could go outside and draw in great draughts of fresh air.
So I finished with the walls and shelves, and got down on my hands and knees to scrub the laundry room floor.

Because the opinion of dead-rat removing men is very important to me.

After everything was finished, I opened the washer to throw the used rags inside, for a good soak.

And discovered dead rat in my washing machine.
Big gray lumpy bugger it was, with clouds of greeny-yellow gases of decomposition wafting from it.

Only it wasn't a rat.

Hello, soggy, smelly, definitely moldy bra... and assorted other unmentionables.

I wondered where you had gotten to.

Rather than throw them in the garbage bin, for the neighborhood dogs to find and share around the district, I'm giving them a good soak... in that laundry brightening stuff.

Fingers crossed.


Disclaimer:
Rather than waste my precious holidays washing untold am'ts of laundry, I did one big trip to the laundromat on Tuesday, doing all my towels, bedding, and clothes.
I'm really not all that slovenly.
Honest.