Nothing much to say...

Other than I miss blogging, and I seriously miss catching up with y'all!!

I really don't know why it is, but even though I'm not working near as hard as I was a year ago, I seem to have less and less time to myself anymore... and even less time for blogging or reading blogs.
I guess a lot of it has to do with trying to get one household up and running from a long, long distance... and trying to shut one down, right here at home.

The renovations here are taking a lot longer than I had initially planned, but to tell you the truth, back when I started this journey of " heading home", I had a lot more $$'s coming in, and they were sure as hell coming in on a much more regular basis.
Nowadays, it's a matter of trying to decide if I want to buy paint or materials... or if I want to buy food.
Or maybe even some sanity. Which would be utterly lovely, I think.

And if it were just me, I know which option I would go for.
And which option my well padded butt would probably highly recommend.
But unfortunately for me at the present time, I have a teenager who seems to be pretty partial to eating at least 2 square meals a day.
And if you've ever had teenagers (or if you've ever been one yourself, I guess) I bet you know that they're pretty much bottom-less pits at times, and they sure as tooting aren't cheap to keep!
And those inevitable "growth spurts" when they try and cram a weeks worth of food into just a couple of short hours? Well.... all I can say is: Oi vey! That's enough growing, already!

I honestly feel like I've been to hell and back the last few months, with one thing or another... and I can't wait until everything settles down once again, and I can at least feel like I at least have some semblance of control in my life again.
Even if I don't really.

There's just been so much happening in my life lately - good, bad and indifferent - but most of it on the "middlin' to bad" side - that even though I know that I need to talk about it and get the weight of some of it off my chest, so to speak.... I also know that I just can't do it right now. I just don't have the energy.

Like these old shoes, I feel just plumb worn out at the present moment...

But I'm not ready for the scrap heap quite yet...

Anyone got Q-Tips?

I seriously need to get my hearing checked I think... or else call the Roto-Rooter man to come clean the ear wax out!

See, it was The Lad's 17th birthday yesterday, and although I'm still mad at him and I don't know if things will ever truly get back to normal between us, I'm not a nasty enough biotch to let his birthday go by without celebrating it in some fashion. And last year (his 16th birthday) he was still living in a group home - and not one of the finest in the state, either... so little or nothing was done to "celebrate" the milestone. His records show that they took him to McDonald's... and that was it.
Whoop-ti-do, eh?

And add the fact that his mother basically couldn't be stuffed with planning anything to celebrate his birthday, (she had him for 2 hours access earlier in the week - and then handed him $20 bucks) and I felt kind of "emotionally and morally obligated" to do something at least marginally memorable... ya know?

So I asked him what he would like to do for his birthday, giving him a couple of options... and he opted for a lunch time barbecue with a couple of his mates around. Easy peasy.

I asked him clearly how many people he wanted to invite, and he told me 19... so I went to Costco on Friday to buy the place out. Sausages, party pies, sausage rolls, chips, drinks, chips and even a couple of killer size bags of lollies (candy) because no matter how old he may think he is, he's still a kid - and so are his friends.
And a cake. Can't forget the cake.
A humongous cake because I knew that 19 kids would polish it off, lick the plates and then ask for more.
Because I'm smart that way.

At the end of the shopping trip, I had stuff in the fridge, The Old Guy's fridge, and I even hit up the next door neighbor, asking her if she could store some of it for me.
I was organized, let me tell you what!

So yesterday rolls around, and I was up bright and early, getting pans ready, tomatoes and onions sliced, bowls ready for the chips and candy, ice for the soft drinks, and I even used my favorite bedspread as an emergency tablecloth on the big table.
Everything was perfect.

11:30 comes... and so far we have a couple of kids here (okay, maybe 5 or 6) and they're outside stuffing their faces with junk food, listening to and semi-dancing to some kinda crap on CD's... So I asked The Lad again how many kids were due - and again he told me 19.

So I waited to put stuff in the already ready-and-waiting oven, keeping myself busy slicing even more tomatoes and onions... and in the meantime a few more kids arrive and they go right into stuffing their faces and gyrating to the semi-music. If you can call that stuff "music". (Lordy, I've turned into my parents, I think!!)
But since we were still low on numbers, I continued to wait for more kids to arrive... and I kept busy preparing replacement platters and bowls of food to feed the hungry hoard and running non-stop in and out the back door.

1 o'clock comes, and The Lad comes in and asks if we can start the barbecue now, because everyone is starting to get hungry.

"Okay, well we'll start now, and maybe by the time the meat's done everyone else will have arrived."

"Everyone else, who? Everybody is here already! Who did you invite?"

"I didn't invite anyone - it's your party and you were told that you could choose who to invite. I only meant the other kids that haven't arrived yet. Since there are only 9 of you so far, we still have another 10 coming."

"TEN more? But this is everyone that I invited - and we're hungry now!"

"Noooo.... you told me 19, and we only have 9 kids here right now."

What??? I never said 19! "

"Yes you did.... you said 19 kids were invited!"

No I didn't!

Yes you did.

No I didn't!!!

Yes you DID, you said that 19 were coming!

No I didn't say that 19 kids were coming...I said NINE TEENAGERS are coming!

Oh bloody hell... I thought you said nineteen - and why in the name of all that's holy, would you even say nine "teenagers"? Nobody in their right mind says "nine teenagers are coming to my party"!

Well, because now that I'm 17 and more mature, (yes folks, he assumes that it happens that easily and quickly) I wanted you to know that all the kids I invited are all grown up teenagers... and that there were no little kids invited to my party, so you wouldn't buy balloons or want us to do pin-the-tail-on-the donkey games and stuff!!

Now this is what I was envisioning:

But what isn't what I got.
Which serves me right for "envisioning" anything when teenagers are concerned.

The end result is that I have enough food left over to feed an army.
I have enough sausages and party pies and pasta salad and potato salad left over to choke a horse - Hell... there's enough left to choke a whole herd of wild mustangs. Maybe 2 or 3 herds.


And then what does The Lad decide to ask at the end of the day, when I've got counter tops and tables and fridges full of leftover food?

Can I spend the night at Tom's house tonight?

Omigosh....YESSSS! Help me clean up, and I'll tell you what. If you'll stay for 2 or 3 nights, as a "special one time only deal", you can even supply the food to cover their meals for the next 2 or 3 days! And since there are 6 of 'em, don't forget to take half that monstrous cake with you!!!

But I've still got enough sausages and hot dogs left, that I almost want to break down in tears... I'm thinking Sausages in wraps with leftover lettuce and tomatoes, Toad in the Hole, Italian Rice and Sausages with Pasta... and a gazillion other things that can be done using cooked leftover sausages.

And even then, I think I'll still have cooked and frozen sausages and frankfurters coming out of my ears for another week or so... at least!

Now, the cats are fussy, and I know that they won't touch most of it, but after the next few nights, I think the dogs are gonna think they died and have gone to sausage and party pie heaven!

I just wonder if they'll clean the wax out of my ears, while they're at it?

Pussycat, Pussycat, where have you been?

And I'm not talkin' about that fairytale pussycat either, because as far as I'm concerned, that's just hearsay...
I'm talkin' about me - and since I haven't exactly been a pussycat lately, ( if ever) it kind of gives me pause for thought, and worries about my sanity.

So, thanks to all of you (well, the one of you anyway) who have emailed or even called me, asking about my trip home, here goes....

I have been *HOME* to see my family and cute little house... and we just got back last week. I loved seeing everyone, and I enjoyed being on home turf again, but in all fairness, I have to tell you a few other places I've been.

I've been around the twist.
I've been going crazy.
I've been at my wits end, and at the end of my rope.
And I've been in the doldrums as well, because as good as the trip was, the worse part was even "worser" than I imagined it could be.

And unfortunately, the 'bad' overshadowed the *good* parts... which means that besides being around the twist and half crazy and hangin' by various things such as wits and ropes, I've been as mad as a wet hen besides.
I've been so frustrated and dad-gummed MAD, that I haven't had much in me for sharin' or even talking about it all.

And why, do you ask?
Well... in a nutshell, because of "The Lad".

Yes... he went with us. Why? Well hell, I'm asking myself that question right now - just like I have been doing for the last 5 weeks.
And I still don't have a plausible answer.

To be fair, The Lad did do a hell of a lot of work to be allowed to go in the first place, ( or so I thought, anyway) but it wasn't until we actually stepped foot in California that I realized just how conned I had been.
In order to even go, The Lad had to prove to me that he could save the entire amount that he had budgeted for... Plane fare, food, souvenirs, gifts, and money to treat Josh Becky and the boys to a meal out once a week, etc.

He was made to understand that since we were imposing on Josh and Bec, that for the duration of our trip they were NOT to lift a finger, or spend one thin dime - it was all up to the 3 of us. Groceries for the entire family were to be split 3 ways, gas for outting's was to be paid for by the 3 of us, and when dishes or housework needed doing, we were to do it.

Unfortunately, sometime around April when The Lad was having an access visit with his mum, she told him that he was entitled to a $1,000 dole loan. A loan that didn't need to be repaid. (which was totally untrue, because for one thing, he's underage... and for another, the govt takes the repayments straight out of the account before you get paid.)
Well, woo hoo! That was it... He figured that he would be getting that 'free' money, so all his savings went right out the window... and I've never seen so much money disappear out of a bank account so fast in all my life.
Literally... $900+ dollars disappeared in a little over 3 weeks - and when I asked for it to be accounted for, I found that the Lad had been eating damn good at McDonald's, 3 and 4 times a day.

Anyway, to make a long story short, the trip home was delayed, to give him a chance to re-save what he had spent. And it was impressed upon him that no more mess-ups or screw-ups would be tolerated. None...whatsoever.
And that included getting his bowels under control. (can't remember if I mentioned before, but he has a stretched bowel and he soils himself, because he's too lazy to sit on the pot - and he thinks that's okay.)

And he was good prior to the trip... He never had an "accident" in the 4 months leading up to the trip, his behavior and attitude were up to scratch, and even though taking him on the trip wasn't on my list of *druthers*, I had hopes that things would go well.

Unfortunately, DHS (department of human services) told him that they would 'fund' him $100. a day for food, lodging and gas - which was to be paid directly to my son... but he assured me that he understood that the money was to be given directly to Josh and it wasn't "his".

Only, I was conned.

He never deemed it necessary, or even morally 'right' to pay for groceries, accommodation or anything else... other than spending it all on himself. If we grocery shopped, he would throw in 20 bucks towards HIS chips or drinks or whatever - but nothing towards the actual food that we bought for ALL of us.
And no gifts for his teacher, girlfriend, mother or anyone else either. It all went on trendy clothes and hats for himself, to impress his mates back home.

And attitude?
I gotta be honest here and admit that if he had been my own child, I would have been tempted to knock his block off, and he certainly wouldn't have been gutsing himself on McDonald's and Burger King, until his teeth grew back.
And so, because I was unable to do any screaming or yelling or even any grounding or discipline of any kind, he thought that he had me wrapped around his finger, and that HE was in charge.

I would ask him to do something repeatedly... and get no reaction.

Josh would ask something once, and The Lad would practically trip over himself to do what was asked. Impressing his new "mate", doncha know.

Josh thought he was a great kid... and he bent over backwards to show him a good time - never seeing the non-compliance and attitude that we had to deal with when Josh wasn't actually around. Which because we were staying in MY little house just down the driveway from the kids, was un-seen , and quite often.
We had:
Soiled underpants hidden in the suitcase.
Soiled underpants in the garbage.
Soiled underpants flushed down the toilet or tossed in the bushes.

Complete attitude and disregard, when it came to the Old Guy or I saying anything...
And the comments he made about Becky - as in "well she's the woman, and she should have been doing the grocery shopping anyway. After all, it's MY holiday, and I shouldn't have to do any of that "woman" stuff."
ARGGGGHHH!

He thought he had a new "mate" in Josh, and the reality of the 2 older grandsons avoiding him like the plague, while only the youngest would hang around with him, was totally lost on him.
HE was having a good time, so damn everyone else.

So... I hear ya asking "so what did you do about it?"

Okay... He started back to school right after we got home, and he was totally and completely out of control after weeks of freedom. Physical and verbal abuse of the teachers, staff and other students, and I was copping the same thing here at home.
So... DHS and his service agency decided that he needed to learn one damn hard lesson.
He was put in respite on Wednesday, and he's not liking it one little bit. While he's there, they're gonna have a heap of psychological tests run to confirm what I've been telling them all along....
This kid is narcissistic, as well as antisocial... he's a danger to himself and others ... and he's warped in too many ways to count.
And maybe too many ways for me to continue to cope with.
The best option he's facing, is that he comes back here, (better for him, but maybe not for me) and ongoing and regular respite will be part of his/our future.
The worst option?
I throw my hands up, and simply say "I can't - and won't - do this any longer... which leaves him only eligible for a group home for wayward boys. "They" will never again place him in a private home, so his goose is well and truly cooked.

You know...I always thought that I would cut my right arm off, for the benefit of a child in need.
But when that sacrifice is sneered at, laughed at, dismissed and manipulated to his own self-serving advantage?

Maybe not...

I promise that I'll update you on the trip home asap, okay?
I just needed to get this crap off my chest first... you know what I mean?
It's made me feel dirty and disappointed, and I had to work up the courage to even talk about it.
So fingers crossed, that I can get back on track, and that I'm emotionally able share the "good" stuff with y'all...

We'll never get over it... Nor should we.

This is one of the best articles I've ever read.
May God Bless the fallen... the survivors... and those left behind...

GOD BLESS AMERICA.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Wall Street Journal By PEGGY NOONAN

We'll Never Get Over It, Nor Should We
Ten years later, remembering a day of horror and heroism.

People are discussing the geopolitical implications of 9/11 and how the tragedy changed our country, and most of what's been said has been worthy and serious. But my thoughts, as we hit the 10th anniversary, are more local and particular. I'm in a New York state of mind.

There were two targets, Washington and New York. Washington saw a great military institution attacked, and quickly rebuilt. In Washington people ran barefoot from the White House and the Capitol.

But New York saw a world end. New York saw the buildings come down.

That was the thing. It's not that the towers were hit—we could have taken that. It's not the fire, we could have taken that too. They bombed the World Trade Center in 1993 and took out five floors, and the next day we were back in business.

It's that the buildings came down, in front of our eyes. They were there and proud and strong, they were massive, two pillars at the end of the island. And then they groaned to the ground and there was a cloud and when people could finally see they looked back and the buildings weren't there breaking through the clouds anymore. The buildings were a cloud. The buildings were gone and that was too much to bear because they couldn't be gone, they couldn't have fallen. Because no one could knock down those buildings.

And it changed everything. It marked a psychic shift in our town between "safe" and "not safe." It marked the end of impregnable America and began an age of vulnerability. It marked the end of "we are protected" and the beginning of something else.

When you ask New Yorkers now what they remember, they start with something big—the first news report, the phone call in which someone said, "Turn on the TV." But then they go to the kind of small thing that when you first saw it you had no idea it would stay in your mind forever. The look on the face of a young Asian woman on Sixth Avenue in the 20s, as she looked upward. The votive candles on the street and the spontaneous shrines that popped up, the pictures of saints. The Xeroxed signs that covered every street pole downtown. A man or a woman in a family picture from a wedding or a birthday or bar mitzvah. "Have you seen Carla? Last seen Tuesday morning in Windows on the World."

The bus driver as I fumbled in my wallet to find my transit card. "Free rides today," he mumbled, in a voice on autopilot. The Pompeii-like ash that left a film on everything in town, all the way to the Bronx. The smell of burning plastic that lingered for weeks. A man who worked at Ground Zero told me: "It's the computers." They didn't melt or decompose, and they wouldn't stop burning. The doctors and nurses who lined up outside St. Vincent's Hospital with gurneys, thinking thousands would come, and the shock when they didn't. The spontaneous Dunkirk-like fleet of ferries that took survivors to New Jersey.

The old woman with her grandchild in a stroller. On the stroller she had written a sign in magic marker: "America You Are Not Alone, Mexico Is With You." She was all by herself in the darkness, on the side of the West Side Highway, as we stood to cheer the workers who were barreling downtown in trucks to begin the dig-out, and to see if they could find someone still alive.

The notes neighbors left under each other's doors. "Are you OK? Haven't seen you and just thought I'd make sure all is all right." The flags in every bodega, on every storefront, in the windows of apartments, up and down the proud facades of Park Avenue. My beautiful cynical town covered in flags, swept by love and protectiveness toward our country.

At first we didn't know what to call it, so we called it what happened. "Do you believe what happened?" "They think he died in what happened." It was weeks before we called it 9/11. Sometimes tragedy takes time to find a name.

We were half crazy those days. We were half nuts and didn't know it. The trauma on Tuesday was followed in the middle of Thursday night by a storm, a howling banshee that shook buildings—thunder like a cannonade, lightning tearing through the sky. And then there were the stories. We kept hearing about guys who dug themselves out of the rubble. We'd hear a guy came out of the rubble and said, "There's 20 firemen down there in an air pocket," and we'd all put on the news and it was never true. I will never forget this one: As the first tower went down some guy on the 50th floor grabbed a steel girder that was flying by, and he held on for dear life and it landed on a pile of rubble 30 floors below and he got up, brushed himself off, and walked away. That wasn't true either. The stories whipped through the town like the wind, and people grabbed onto them.

And there were the firemen. They were the heart of it all, the guys who went up the stairs with 50 to 75 pounds of gear and tools on their back. The other people who were there in the towers, they were innocent victims, they went to work that morning and wound up in the middle of a disaster. But the firemen saw the disaster before they went into it, they knew what they were getting into, they made a decision. And a lot of them were scared, you can see it on their faces on the pictures people took in the stairwells. The firemen would be going up one side of the stairs, and the fleeing workers would be going down on the other, right next to them, and they'd call out, "Good luck, son," and, "Thank you, boys."

They were tough men from Queens and Brooklyn and Staten Island, and they had families, wives and kids, and they went up those stairs. Captain Terry Hatton of Rescue 1 got as high as the 83rd floor. That's the last time he was seen.

Three hundred forty-three firemen gave their lives that day. Three hundred forty-three! It was impossible, like everything else.

Many heartbreaking things happened after 9/11 and maybe the worst is that there's no heroic statue to them, no big marking of what they were and what they gave, at the new World Trade Center memorial.

But New York will never get over what they did. They live in a lot of hearts.

They tell us to get over it, they say to move on, and they mean it well: We can't bring an air of tragedy into the future. But I will never get over it. To get over it is to get over the guy who stayed behind on a high floor with his friend who was in a wheelchair. To get over it is to get over the woman by herself with the sign in the darkness: "America You Are Not Alone." To get over it is to get over the guys who ran into the fire and not away from the fire.

You've got to be loyal to pain sometimes to be loyal to the glory that came out of it.

What's up with blogger, dagnabbit??

Okay... so I've been having issues off and on with the blog for the last few weeks, and to tell you the truth I don't know what to do about it.
Hell, I don't even know if I want to do anything about it at this point in time... and maybe I should just grow up and focus on the good stuff coming up, without incurring further headaches for myself.

My blog page won't load, and when I attempt to sign in, I just get a "this page can't be displayed" message. Well... not all the time - obviously - or you wouldn't be reading this mini-tantrum right now. But it happens often enough, that I just want to smack the dang thing.
Repeatedly, about the head and shoulders.
Which leads me to believe that I might have some anger management issues going on here.

But I really, really, really want this thing working right now... because I'm full of words and emotions and stuff regarding the upcoming trip home, plus I've got a new handy-dandy point-and-shoot camera, for sharing all the (probably incredibly boring to you) California/new house/family/ touristy-type pictures that I intend on taking, and I just want to share it all with you.

And if you think you just detected a smidge of whining and carrying on like a 2 year old who can't have a lolly pop for breakfast... Well, you're probably right.

Just be grateful that you can't actually see me stomping my feet.
Because stomping my feet causes my thighs to jiggle... and if there's anything worse than a 50-something year old woman whining and sooking like she missed out on an ice cream, simply because blogger isn't cooperating with her, it's that same woman allowing y'all to see her horrid wobbly thighs jiggling wobbling.
Wobbling like Weebles .

Not that my thighs are really in-the-the-least-bit jiggly or wobbly.
No... really.
Because they're actually incredibly toned and taut. And tanned.
I swear.
I just used the "wobbly thigh" comment, because I like to use a bit of "artistic license" every now and again.

Now please excuse me while I go slam some doors, or kick the tires or something.
See? That's my anger management issues sorted...

Beef Bulgogi... nom nom nom!

I have a new love... and for once in my life, everyone in the household is in agreement with me!
Last week at Costco, we managed to hit a day when they had all their little sample wagons out, (for some reason, I usually miss out) and this Beef Bulgogi was one of the featured sample items.
After going back... and back... and back... to ummm... "taste-test" it until I thought I would burst, I kind of felt morally obligated to buy some. And man-'o-man, am I glad I did.
It was soooo delicious, and so simple to prepare, that we ate it several days running.
It was cheap, it was convenient, and it was a hit all the way around - even with the basically "non-meat eating" Lad.

But, since the trip to Costco usually takes us most of a day, (it's about an hours driving time, one way, and then I have to see everything before heading back home) I decided to go looking for a recipe on-line, rather than wait weeks and weeks for my next "fix" of smooth, velvety, and slightly spicy goodness.
I managed to find several wonderful recipes, but this is the one we ALL agreed was our favorite... but I do have to admit that they were all good!

(photo and slightly adjusted recipe from 365 Days of Happiness)

BEEF BULGOGI

1 pound flank steak, thinly sliced
5 tablespoons soy sauce
2 1/2 tablespoons white sugar
1/4 cup chopped green onion
a small amount of grated or finely matchsticked carrots (I used about 2T's grated)
2 tablespoons minced garlic
2+ tablespoons sesame seeds
2 tablespoons sesame oil
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
small splash of chili sauce, or 1/2+ teaspoon of red pepper flakes

Place the beef in a large Zip Lock bag.
Combine soy sauce, sugar, green onion, garlic, sesame seeds, sesame oil, and ground black pepper in a measuring cup or small bowl, adjusting the 'heat" to your personal preference.
Pour over the beef and smoosh it around in the bag to make sure that all the beef is moistened.
Refrigerate for at least 1 hour or overnight.
Preheat a BBQ using high heat, or use a large skillet - and lightly oil the grate or pan.
Quickly grill/stir-fry the beef until it's slightly charred and cooked through, about 1 to 2 minutes per side.
Voila... you're done!

Simply serve with large lettuce leaves, so you can wrap your own... or wrap with mixed salad greens in mountain bread or tortillas.

California, here I come!

Well... I'm not going home permanently at this point, but I'm "going home" for a couple of weeks next month anyway! Yay me!

It's taken an awful lot of work and planning, and on-going headaches to even get to this stage, but at least I've now got all my little ducks in a row, and I can actually start packing my bags!
We would have been there months ago, (I initially planned for May-June) if not for The Lad... but all those hiccups (okay, more like intense labor pains, rather than hiccups) are now out of the way, and it's all systems go, from now on out.

See... The Lad wanted to go with the Old Guy and myself, and after a lot of wrangling and to-and-froing, I got Child Protection and the Dept of Human Services to agree to allow him to go. You know... kind of like a "once in a lifetime opportunity/ educational" thing... and as a reward to him for all his hard work on getting his life back on track. (and truth be told, he's done an amazing job and I'm extremely proud of him. Most of the time.)
BUT... I insisted that he prove to me - and to the departments as well - that he could budget and save the money for the trip himself.
Every last penny.
He needed to save for not only a plane ticket, but for souvenirs, food, lodging, gas and all that kind of thing. He needed to be 100% self-supporting, while on holiday.

And as of April, he was doing so good.
That is, until his mother stepped in and told him that he could get a "free" dole loan of $1,000 off of Centrelink!! (welfare)
I tried and tried to disabuse him of the notion, and I told him he needed to get in to Centrelink and ask them himself what he was entitled to... (which at his age is nothing - and I knew that) but I also stressed that this was to be money that he earned or saved himself... not money that was simply handed to him by Centrelink or Santa Clause or even by winning the lottery.
But did he listen?
Noooo!!!

In April, when I asked him to give me a bank statement showing how much he had saved (and at that point, he should have been well over the amt needed for the plane ticket, since he had been saving since January) I was knocked for a loop when I saw that he had managed to spend ("blow" might be the better term) over NINE HUNDRED DOLLARS in less than 6 weeks!!!

And every last cent of it went on complete and utter crap!

Stuff like McDonald's for breakfast, lunch and dinner (and I was worried that his appetite seemed to be off!?)... treating who knows how many friends to Pizza Hut and the movies once or twice a week...
On that bank statement, there was not one single thing that he would end up having any evidence of.
He simply figured that I would never find out!
And his excuse?
But mum says that the dole will give me $1,000... and I figured that with what's left in the bank, I would still be almost $100 ahead!

Okay, kid... all bets are off. I'll just call the Department and ask them to arrange alternate accommodation for you while we're gone, because you will NOT be going with us. Since you figure that you're smarter than I am, and that you know more than I do... And because you don't even have enough spending money to go on a trip overseas, let alone the price of a plane ticket, you can just go into the EAU unit at school! (educational accommodation unit, where kids with disabilities learn 'life skills' that prepare them for independent living)
You could have stuck a fork in me, because I was well and truly DONE like a roast dinner!

But, sucker that I am, I gave him another chance... with the proviso that his bank card was now to be left in my capable little hands at all times, and he could only access it when he took money out for his room and board, as well as his fortnightly spending money - which I highly recommended that he save, from now on out.

And it's worked. He's saved enough that we went down and paid for our tickets to California the other day! (okay, so he was $187. short and I paid the difference, but I already told you that I was a sucker, didn't I?)
So at this point, we're just killin' time (and continuing to save his pay) until the middle of August... when we can get on that plane and fly away from here - if only for a few weeks!
(And contrary to The Lad's wishes, we will not be dropping by Chicago to see where Eminem lives, and to get his autograph! Sorry 'bout that, Mr. Eminem...)

California, here I come... Right back where I started from !!

Yard reno's.... a little closer to home...

Well, we had another "work-bee/garden party/sausage sizzle" here at the house yesterday, and it was pretty much an unqualified qualified success. Mainly because although we got heaps and heaps of work accomplished, The Old Guy wasn't exactly in "work-mode" yesterday.
Not that he should be - because it is my yard, after all.
And with all the friends that showed up, there wasn't much room to move without bumping into someone else.
And in a yard the size of mine... that's really saying something!

So anyway, today all of the branches, trimmings, and piles of whacked off greenery are still laying scattered from one end of the yard to the other... because they never got hauled off to the tip.
And I see little hope of it being dealt with in a timely manner, anywhere in the foreseeable future anyway.

And what little work The Old Guy did do, he did on his terms, and no one else's. I mean, c'mon... if we're planning on putting weed mat down over all the gardens, and then dumping the grass clippings and old straw and garden mulch etc on top of the weed mats... wouldn't it make far more sense to do that first, and then cut the grass?

But nooo... he felt that it was more important to cut the grass first, dump the 16 loads of grass from the catcher right IN the garden beds, and then inform me that we could easily shovel it all up later, put it in the wheelbarrow and then replace it once the weed mat was down.
But he did do the more "manly" stuff (okay - in his eyes anyway)... like pushing a mower around and around in circles, and then sitting down to a cold drink and supervising.

Then when we girls put our heads together, and decided to pull out an old star-post in the front yard that was braced to a now non-existent rose bush, so that it could be used as a brace for the water faucet, (it was just copper tubing coming up out of the ground with a faucet on top) he just took off in the truck without saying a word. And I thought : "bye-bye birdie"!

Once we finally got the star post in place (it took us almost an hour, numerous broken fingernails and quite a few less-than-lady-like swear words) and were just in the process of tying it to the copper piping... he came back.

With a fancy scmanchy, perfectly sized post that he had put together at home.
And a post hole digger.
Which meant that the post we had battled with for almost an hour, had to be pulled out again. And dirt was dug up and dumped unceremoniously onto the beds that we had in perfect condition - and ready for the weed mats!
But I have to admit that he was right, and his post is far superior to the patch-job we girls rigged up.

So all in all, we managed to get quite a lot of serious work done yesterday, and this morning I'm not only counting the huge piles of refuse, but I'm counting my blessings.

I have some of the most fantastic, wonderful, helpful friends in the world!
Friends who are willing to slave their bums off for me, break their nails and backs for me... and for nothing more than my undying gratitude - and maybe a few sausages in bread.

And the Old Guy?
I think I'll keep him.
After all he does barbecue a pretty delicious sausage!