Everyone who reads my not-very-often blogs knows that they start with something I saw (or something insane my daughter did). Today’s begins with a sighting. Most of you know what Highway 90 between Hondo and Sabinal looks like: desolate to say the least. It’s mostly farmland (trying to be anyway), very few houses, and with the exception of the thriving metropolis of D’Hanis, there lies a twenty mile stretch of NOTHING.
Around 4:00 P.M. today I was cruising my way back to Hondo jamming some Avett Brothers (imagine that- oh and that was a plug too- and they don’t pay me- but it’d be nice if they did), and I saw an interesting sight. Up ahead there was what appeared to be a man dragging something; as I approached I saw that it was exactly that: a full grown man dragging a rolling backpack down the high way. I can’t help but add he was wearing a black t-shirt and dark jeans, nothing on his almost-bald head, and sweat was running down his neck. What’s wrong with this picture? So much, but that’s not the point…
Okay so that wasn’t very eventful, but my thoughts following spying this oddity were. I thought- man I wish he had a thought bubble. You know, like the kind in comic books that show what a character is thinking. Would he say, “Damn. Just sixty more miles til San Antonio.” Or maybe “Where the hell am I?” But it could also be, “Wow. Life is so great. What could be better than walking down a desolate highway at 95 degrees? I mean two weeks ago it was 105. I’m so lucky I decided to drag this backpack down the highway today instead.”
That led me to thinking about the “inner monologue” scenes from soap operas (I put that in quotes because I’m not sure if that’s a technical term or not???). I always loved it when Marlena (Old Days of our Lives fan from way back- not so much now- but just sayin) and John Black would be fighting and then they’d pan to one of them seething mad with that deep in thought look on their face (John Black with a raised eyebrow, of course). Suddenly you’d hear them talking to themselves reasoning whatever ridiculous situation they were in, but their mouth wasn’t moving. It’s pretty convenient when the masses who watch aren’t smart enough to read between the lines but mostly because the plot is SO ridiculous that the characters have to explain how/why their mate is in a coma for the twentieth time.
I think I digressed, but maybe not. So think about it. How much easier would life be if we all had thought bubbles. Mom walks into the room where baby is crying. She no longer has to go through a million item list trying to ascertain what the baby needs/wants/etc; baby now has a little floating bubble that says, “I’m spoiled. Pick me up.” Or maybe single guy is in a bar trolling for tail. As he scans the room he hears the inner monologues of all the chicks, “Stay away loser.”, “Oh, he’s not that great, but I’m intoxicated enough to lower my standards.” Or he might even hear nothing, in which case he is sure that the girl has an IQ low enough that she’ll fall for his pathetic pick up lines. Talk about convenient.
Another great area that would benefit from this is marriage. No longer will the wives of the world be constantly furious that their husbands can’t figure out what they want for their birthday because they’ll have little bubbles with “Coach purse”, “diamonds”, or if it were my bubble “Tickets to the Avett Brothers show in Dallas”… well, we all like different things. I actually think thought bubbles would be better in this situation because we all know that the majority of husbands would walk into the Coach store and purchase the exact opposite purse than the fifty we’d actually carry (again- not me- my bubble would say- DON’T BUY ME A COACH PURSE).
Of course there is a downside to all of this business. Inner monologues could be pretty brutal. Especially mine. I mean, most people wouldn’t want to hear the thoughts my devious mind is thinking 24/7. And my thought bubbles would certainly meet all sorts of censorship. But it was just a though, right?
I mean, how much time do we spend every day trying to figure out what others are thinking? Our spouses, our children, our parents, our co-workers, our bosses, and even sometimes ourselves… okay so maybe this wasn’t as funny as usual. Maybe I should’ve taken a picture of that guy dragging the backpack? I actually had the urge to stop and talk to him. Yeah, I know what all of you thought bubbles are saying, “WHAT?? KERI YOU ARE AN IDIOT! WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU THINK OF STOPPING TO TALK TO A RANDOM PERSON ON THE HIGHWAY?”. But hey, that’s why you are reading this, isn’t it?
Have a nice weekend my friends. I hope everyone has a nice giggle while you think about the thought bubbles of those around you… hee hee hee… I already have.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
I finally felt funny again...
It's been a while faithful followers (I think I have five--you've got to start somewhere right?), but today was the day I felt funny again. I'm finally done with my first year as a librarian, and it was amazingly fantastic (and all those other clichés people use). Seriously my job is near-perfect, and I can't wait to do it again next year. And this one might last me another eight years, just like my last gig. Let's hope anyway because that master's degree was expensive, and if I have to get another degree for my next job change I at least need to pay this loan off first.
So my story... because Lord knows the five of you aren't here to read about the un-funny parts of my life. You are here to laugh AT me and the hilarious things that happen TO me. So here goes.
Dinner Party Preparations
This evening some dear friends are coming over for a small gathering to finalize our plans for the "BIG MEXICO TRIP". Our menu is simply divine. Chilidogs (is that one word Kami?), ranch dip with chips and veggies (so I'm trying to be healthy), spiked punch(for the adults), and brownies (can't be healthy all the time). Our group consists of six adults and eight kids. We are outnumbered, but that would be thanks to my prolific broader friends/family. Love you gals. And apparently you REALLY love your husbands.
Geez. I digress.
Emmie and I make our trek to the lovely Hondo HEB around noon and are met at the door by five to ten million people, some of which are some sort of temporary workers and others are from Houston or other places that people don’t have manners and mostly like to get in the way of the locals (locals only line anyone?). Em and I start off fine. I'm shopping, slower than usual because of the bumpity-bump backroad feel of the tile-less floors due to the lovely "remodeling" of our dinky store. Also because they can't seem to figure out where the hell to put things these days. I mean, two days ago they had the bread isle up front where the seasonal stuff usually is, but today it was the canned meat. Canned meat? Yes, I was looking for chili at one point in my adventure.
So we are nearly finished. Emmie has eaten some Curious George fruit snacks, maimed a bag of Goldfish while I wasn't watching, and squeezed a tomato until it squirted her. Oh well, I'm not-so-good at this mom gig, but I do my best. After I finally found the flippin' Wolf Brand (no beans, of course), we made our way to the checkout line.
At this point I realized I'd forgotten the disposable plates (sorry Earth, but I did bring my own reusable bags AND recycle some plastic bags on the way in). Emmie had decided some time during this excursion that any time I was out of her site (like for a millisecond) that she'd proceed to wail, "Moooooooooommmmyyyyyy!!" at the top of her lungs. It's cool though. I'm not easily embarrassed, so I darted down the aisle, got my plates, and skidded to a stop only after one and a half screeches from Em.
As I'm putting my items on the conveyer, Em begins to morph from her normally fairly easy going self into fit-throwing, gotta-have-it, stinker-pot deluxe. An apt place for such metamorphosis if I do say so myself.
She sees a Strawberry Shortcake DVD and grabs a hold. I ignore, mostly because I can usually talk her out of such nonsense but also because I was still distracted with the groceries. When we finally get to the point where the basket needs to be re-loaded is when the show begins. I calmly take the DVD from her hands and replace it on the shelf. I tell her no I will not buy her a dvd for $9.99 of a 30 minute cartoon (um hello she watches "the red" at leisure-- her name for Netflix streaming on the iPod and Bluray player). I even try to distract her with the Tinker Bell coloring book, but she begins her moaning and fit-pitching before I can begin my case. At this point she’s come out of the basket (can’t remember how that happened exactly), and I calmly walk up to swipe my card. Watching through the corner of my eye, I see her again pull the DVD off of the shelf and proceed to walk to the basket with it.
My inner monologue is something like this, “Hurry the hell up bagger-boy. I need to get out of this place before this kid goes off like fire cracker on the fourth of July!” But precious as he is, he continues dopily filling my reusable bags as if he hasn’t a care in the world. Oh wait. He probably doesn’t.
I then take the DVD from her again, and she proceeds to collapse on the floor. The dirty. The repulsive. The remember-I-said-there’s-no-tile floor. Ewwwww. Yuuuuck.
Oddly enough no one around me reacts. I’m actually impressed at this point. Em is laying on the floor. I’m standing there like I’m cool, and bagger-boy is STILL loading my measly $60 worth of stuff. I decide to try and pull her of the floor when I’m met with more squealing. She makes her way back to the candy rack, where the guy behind me in line nearly tramples her little chubby fingers. I actually turn to him and say, “Oh please. Step on her so maybe she’ll forget about the movie, and I can get out of here!”
Thankfully he has a sense of humor because CPS didn’t come screeching in on me (I wondered if they had hidden cameras when I was whispering spanking threats while she was rolling on the floor). Did I mention she has the DVD—AGAIN!
I apologized to the checker and told her I’d fix this situation as soon as my groceries were loaded, but getting into a royal rumble in public with a 3 ½ year old when you don’t have a quick exit planned is not a safe situation. By this point the grandmotherly checker became involved. She gives me a quick wink and sweetly addresses Emmie, “If you give Mommy the movie, I’ll give you a Buddy Buck.” Her eyes change from rolling tears to pure ecstasy. “Money Bucks”, as she calls them, are her only reason for behaving in the checkout line. She will forgo her desire for Skittles, BubbleYum, and even M&Ms for a chance to stick that piece of paper into the machine that gives you nothing. And I mean nothing. If you don’t have kids yet, you’ll understand someday.
In the brief moment before I allowed said checker to hand Emmie the “reward”, I had a thought. Do I really want to give her a prize for throwing an enormous fit, embarrassing me (not really-it takes more than that), and disturbing everyone around us?
Oh screw it- I thought. Let’s get out of here.
And this is where you think the story ends. Nope. Here comes the big punch.
We make it to the “Money Buck Machine” where Em promptly inserts her fake dollars for her not-really-prize-prizes. As she is finishing, I get her flip flops out of the basket so that she won’t have to walk barefoot in the parking lot. While she slips the first one on I see her begin to dance. Mommies, you know this dance, I like to call it “The Pee-Pee Dance” or even “The Pee Pee Shuffle”. Most of the time kids are doing it, but I have been known to dance a little in line for that sacred port-a-potty filled with ickyness more than once in my concert going life.
The second flip flop doesn’t even stand a chance. Soberly, Em looks into my eyes and says, “I need to go potty.”
At that point, on the disgusting floor, in the entryway to HEB, my daughter- fit thrower deluxe- tinkles on the floor. Seriously. I am mortified for a second, but then I just think. Ehh. At this point, in this town, how can I really be judged for my child-rearing abilities?
Leaving behind the small puddle, I quietly scoop her up. Take her to the truck. Shuck her drawers. Bust out the trusty wipies and begin to clean her up. Nope. I didn’t even say a word to anyone. I admit it. My daughter is the “Pee Pee Bandit”.
I hope you are laughing at this point. Because I sure am. Welcome to Motherhood.
Oh, by the way, my groceries are still sitting on the counter top. I guess I need to put them away and get ready for the pachanga tonight.
So my story... because Lord knows the five of you aren't here to read about the un-funny parts of my life. You are here to laugh AT me and the hilarious things that happen TO me. So here goes.
Dinner Party Preparations
This evening some dear friends are coming over for a small gathering to finalize our plans for the "BIG MEXICO TRIP". Our menu is simply divine. Chilidogs (is that one word Kami?), ranch dip with chips and veggies (so I'm trying to be healthy), spiked punch(for the adults), and brownies (can't be healthy all the time). Our group consists of six adults and eight kids. We are outnumbered, but that would be thanks to my prolific broader friends/family. Love you gals. And apparently you REALLY love your husbands.
Geez. I digress.
Emmie and I make our trek to the lovely Hondo HEB around noon and are met at the door by five to ten million people, some of which are some sort of temporary workers and others are from Houston or other places that people don’t have manners and mostly like to get in the way of the locals (locals only line anyone?). Em and I start off fine. I'm shopping, slower than usual because of the bumpity-bump backroad feel of the tile-less floors due to the lovely "remodeling" of our dinky store. Also because they can't seem to figure out where the hell to put things these days. I mean, two days ago they had the bread isle up front where the seasonal stuff usually is, but today it was the canned meat. Canned meat? Yes, I was looking for chili at one point in my adventure.
So we are nearly finished. Emmie has eaten some Curious George fruit snacks, maimed a bag of Goldfish while I wasn't watching, and squeezed a tomato until it squirted her. Oh well, I'm not-so-good at this mom gig, but I do my best. After I finally found the flippin' Wolf Brand (no beans, of course), we made our way to the checkout line.
At this point I realized I'd forgotten the disposable plates (sorry Earth, but I did bring my own reusable bags AND recycle some plastic bags on the way in). Emmie had decided some time during this excursion that any time I was out of her site (like for a millisecond) that she'd proceed to wail, "Moooooooooommmmyyyyyy!!" at the top of her lungs. It's cool though. I'm not easily embarrassed, so I darted down the aisle, got my plates, and skidded to a stop only after one and a half screeches from Em.
As I'm putting my items on the conveyer, Em begins to morph from her normally fairly easy going self into fit-throwing, gotta-have-it, stinker-pot deluxe. An apt place for such metamorphosis if I do say so myself.
She sees a Strawberry Shortcake DVD and grabs a hold. I ignore, mostly because I can usually talk her out of such nonsense but also because I was still distracted with the groceries. When we finally get to the point where the basket needs to be re-loaded is when the show begins. I calmly take the DVD from her hands and replace it on the shelf. I tell her no I will not buy her a dvd for $9.99 of a 30 minute cartoon (um hello she watches "the red" at leisure-- her name for Netflix streaming on the iPod and Bluray player). I even try to distract her with the Tinker Bell coloring book, but she begins her moaning and fit-pitching before I can begin my case. At this point she’s come out of the basket (can’t remember how that happened exactly), and I calmly walk up to swipe my card. Watching through the corner of my eye, I see her again pull the DVD off of the shelf and proceed to walk to the basket with it.
My inner monologue is something like this, “Hurry the hell up bagger-boy. I need to get out of this place before this kid goes off like fire cracker on the fourth of July!” But precious as he is, he continues dopily filling my reusable bags as if he hasn’t a care in the world. Oh wait. He probably doesn’t.
I then take the DVD from her again, and she proceeds to collapse on the floor. The dirty. The repulsive. The remember-I-said-there’s-no-tile floor. Ewwwww. Yuuuuck.
Oddly enough no one around me reacts. I’m actually impressed at this point. Em is laying on the floor. I’m standing there like I’m cool, and bagger-boy is STILL loading my measly $60 worth of stuff. I decide to try and pull her of the floor when I’m met with more squealing. She makes her way back to the candy rack, where the guy behind me in line nearly tramples her little chubby fingers. I actually turn to him and say, “Oh please. Step on her so maybe she’ll forget about the movie, and I can get out of here!”
Thankfully he has a sense of humor because CPS didn’t come screeching in on me (I wondered if they had hidden cameras when I was whispering spanking threats while she was rolling on the floor). Did I mention she has the DVD—AGAIN!
I apologized to the checker and told her I’d fix this situation as soon as my groceries were loaded, but getting into a royal rumble in public with a 3 ½ year old when you don’t have a quick exit planned is not a safe situation. By this point the grandmotherly checker became involved. She gives me a quick wink and sweetly addresses Emmie, “If you give Mommy the movie, I’ll give you a Buddy Buck.” Her eyes change from rolling tears to pure ecstasy. “Money Bucks”, as she calls them, are her only reason for behaving in the checkout line. She will forgo her desire for Skittles, BubbleYum, and even M&Ms for a chance to stick that piece of paper into the machine that gives you nothing. And I mean nothing. If you don’t have kids yet, you’ll understand someday.
In the brief moment before I allowed said checker to hand Emmie the “reward”, I had a thought. Do I really want to give her a prize for throwing an enormous fit, embarrassing me (not really-it takes more than that), and disturbing everyone around us?
Oh screw it- I thought. Let’s get out of here.
And this is where you think the story ends. Nope. Here comes the big punch.
We make it to the “Money Buck Machine” where Em promptly inserts her fake dollars for her not-really-prize-prizes. As she is finishing, I get her flip flops out of the basket so that she won’t have to walk barefoot in the parking lot. While she slips the first one on I see her begin to dance. Mommies, you know this dance, I like to call it “The Pee-Pee Dance” or even “The Pee Pee Shuffle”. Most of the time kids are doing it, but I have been known to dance a little in line for that sacred port-a-potty filled with ickyness more than once in my concert going life.
The second flip flop doesn’t even stand a chance. Soberly, Em looks into my eyes and says, “I need to go potty.”
At that point, on the disgusting floor, in the entryway to HEB, my daughter- fit thrower deluxe- tinkles on the floor. Seriously. I am mortified for a second, but then I just think. Ehh. At this point, in this town, how can I really be judged for my child-rearing abilities?
Leaving behind the small puddle, I quietly scoop her up. Take her to the truck. Shuck her drawers. Bust out the trusty wipies and begin to clean her up. Nope. I didn’t even say a word to anyone. I admit it. My daughter is the “Pee Pee Bandit”.
I hope you are laughing at this point. Because I sure am. Welcome to Motherhood.
Oh, by the way, my groceries are still sitting on the counter top. I guess I need to put them away and get ready for the pachanga tonight.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
It's been a while.
Let's just say that the first few weeks of school have been a bit overwhelming for this new librarian. I decided I better sit down and update my four dedicated followers so they'd know about the end of the raccoon adventures.
SOOO, I thought our raccoon issues were over with when we caught the lovely little devil who you can see in the attached picture, but that was not the case. The next day we were still hearing scratching in the walls, so the guys came over and cut another hole in the wall hoping to bait it. About a week later, no luck. We thought it might have escaped, until the smell started wafting through the hallways. Turns out the lovely little stinker- literally- died in the building and was nowhere to be found. He was not up in the ceiling tiles, so the custodians were not able to locate him. After a week long evacuation, an unbelievable amount of air fresheners, and a ton of disgusted folks, the library was again allowed to be used. The smell is still there albeit faint, but it definitely has made a fairly permanent mark on the building.
Please forgive the lack of humor here. I think that's why I have not posted lately; I just haven't felt very funny. I hope you enjoy the following quotes- they are amazing:
"Miss where are theTwilight books." 1st grade girl
"My friend Walker and I were ridin' our horses, man I don't know why they named him Walker. He mostly likes to ride horses." 2nd grade boy
SOOO, I thought our raccoon issues were over with when we caught the lovely little devil who you can see in the attached picture, but that was not the case. The next day we were still hearing scratching in the walls, so the guys came over and cut another hole in the wall hoping to bait it. About a week later, no luck. We thought it might have escaped, until the smell started wafting through the hallways. Turns out the lovely little stinker- literally- died in the building and was nowhere to be found. He was not up in the ceiling tiles, so the custodians were not able to locate him. After a week long evacuation, an unbelievable amount of air fresheners, and a ton of disgusted folks, the library was again allowed to be used. The smell is still there albeit faint, but it definitely has made a fairly permanent mark on the building.
Please forgive the lack of humor here. I think that's why I have not posted lately; I just haven't felt very funny. I hope you enjoy the following quotes- they are amazing:
"Miss where are theTwilight books." 1st grade girl
"My friend Walker and I were ridin' our horses, man I don't know why they named him Walker. He mostly likes to ride horses." 2nd grade boy
Monday, August 16, 2010
Update: Wild America... I mean Sabinal
So here's how the "baby catchin'" went down:
Friday, 8 a.m.
The plan was to cut a hole in the false beam (a little over 1ft x 1ft) at the base and pull out the possessed raccoon spawn. This was obviously a great idea, but when a raccoon doesn't want out of a tight space, he just ain't comin' out. They ended up cutting three smalle holes and poking sticks at it; I guess this was their attempt to "scare" it out the third hole. Thankfully the two custodians/maintenance guys came in armed with some sort of engine starter that they said contained ether. Nice touch. After they started fogging the little guy with the spray (please don't tell PETA), he became much more cooperative. It was kinda like when you get laughing gassed at the dentists office. They pulled him right out. They loaded him into a catch'em alive trap (is there a real name? That's what my dad calls them), and took him outside for some fresh air.
This is where it gets funny. I, of course, go tell Tammy and Meggie who are working in Meggie's classroom. They rush out, Neuman blondes in toe, and gush over how cute it is. I. Do. Not. Agree. The dang thing is hissing and clawing the cage. It's evil fangs are gnawing at the wires. Don't worry it lived. Not Cute. Sorry Zinsmeyer crew.
I walk away, happy that the little beast is done with my library. Satisfied with the outcome of the day. This part of the story is hilarious. Come to find out, before Tammy leaves she's cuddling the little bugger. He ends up going home with them, and the family drives all of the way to Sisterdale to turn him loose at the wildlife refuge. Really? A wildlife refuge? We live in the country girls!! *insert laughter here*
Jump ahead to today.
It's Monday, and my "crew" and I have big plans to move/weed about 12,000 books. Around 9 a.m. I hear something. Scratching. "No." I think. "It can't be." So I shush the ladies, and we hear it. You guessed it, scratching and trilling (Will and I just spent the last five or so minutes making raccoon noises while we attempted to think of a good name for the particular noise I heard). Isn't it lovely? We've got another intruder.
So the guys come in and cut some more holes, but this little sucker is smart and made it's way back up into the ceiling. They left the catch'em alive trap up against the holes, and I added a few DQ french fries to entice it. Let's hope it works, but those rodents are smart so I'm not keeping my fingers crossed.
All afternoon one of the custodians continued his lovely job of hauling out raccon poo that is covering the ceiling tiles over the connecting computer lab. He'd walk by and call out, "PIZZA anyone??" Love it!
Needless to say eight hours of hauling around books and attempting to keep my assistants' spirits up was exhausting. We did not finish. Big surprise. My life got a little better on my ride home as I was "filled in" on my former co-workers' first day back. Ever heard the phrase: God works in mysteriuos ways? ;)
So evening rolled around, and Will was late from work so I warmed up some leftovers for Em and commenced to finish up the book I've been reading for way too long. I was nearing the end when Will walked in the house. He walked straight over to Emmie, leaned over to give her a kiss on the top of the head, and fell down laughing. Now, I HAD heard her mention potatoes, but she WAS eating mashed potatoes so I didn't pay much attention. When Will started cracking up I ripped myself from the pages only to see her coated in mashed potatoes from about elbow to fingertip.
Couldn't scold. Couldn't get upset. Just laughed. That's what happens when you try to enjoy twenty minutes of reading while you let your 2 1/2 year old eat dinner while watching Tarzan.
Back to the rodents: I do have a pic. Will post later. Tomorrow is a new day.
Love my new job, do you?
Friday, 8 a.m.
The plan was to cut a hole in the false beam (a little over 1ft x 1ft) at the base and pull out the possessed raccoon spawn. This was obviously a great idea, but when a raccoon doesn't want out of a tight space, he just ain't comin' out. They ended up cutting three smalle holes and poking sticks at it; I guess this was their attempt to "scare" it out the third hole. Thankfully the two custodians/maintenance guys came in armed with some sort of engine starter that they said contained ether. Nice touch. After they started fogging the little guy with the spray (please don't tell PETA), he became much more cooperative. It was kinda like when you get laughing gassed at the dentists office. They pulled him right out. They loaded him into a catch'em alive trap (is there a real name? That's what my dad calls them), and took him outside for some fresh air.
This is where it gets funny. I, of course, go tell Tammy and Meggie who are working in Meggie's classroom. They rush out, Neuman blondes in toe, and gush over how cute it is. I. Do. Not. Agree. The dang thing is hissing and clawing the cage. It's evil fangs are gnawing at the wires. Don't worry it lived. Not Cute. Sorry Zinsmeyer crew.
I walk away, happy that the little beast is done with my library. Satisfied with the outcome of the day. This part of the story is hilarious. Come to find out, before Tammy leaves she's cuddling the little bugger. He ends up going home with them, and the family drives all of the way to Sisterdale to turn him loose at the wildlife refuge. Really? A wildlife refuge? We live in the country girls!! *insert laughter here*
Jump ahead to today.
It's Monday, and my "crew" and I have big plans to move/weed about 12,000 books. Around 9 a.m. I hear something. Scratching. "No." I think. "It can't be." So I shush the ladies, and we hear it. You guessed it, scratching and trilling (Will and I just spent the last five or so minutes making raccoon noises while we attempted to think of a good name for the particular noise I heard). Isn't it lovely? We've got another intruder.
So the guys come in and cut some more holes, but this little sucker is smart and made it's way back up into the ceiling. They left the catch'em alive trap up against the holes, and I added a few DQ french fries to entice it. Let's hope it works, but those rodents are smart so I'm not keeping my fingers crossed.
All afternoon one of the custodians continued his lovely job of hauling out raccon poo that is covering the ceiling tiles over the connecting computer lab. He'd walk by and call out, "PIZZA anyone??" Love it!
Needless to say eight hours of hauling around books and attempting to keep my assistants' spirits up was exhausting. We did not finish. Big surprise. My life got a little better on my ride home as I was "filled in" on my former co-workers' first day back. Ever heard the phrase: God works in mysteriuos ways? ;)
So evening rolled around, and Will was late from work so I warmed up some leftovers for Em and commenced to finish up the book I've been reading for way too long. I was nearing the end when Will walked in the house. He walked straight over to Emmie, leaned over to give her a kiss on the top of the head, and fell down laughing. Now, I HAD heard her mention potatoes, but she WAS eating mashed potatoes so I didn't pay much attention. When Will started cracking up I ripped myself from the pages only to see her coated in mashed potatoes from about elbow to fingertip.
Couldn't scold. Couldn't get upset. Just laughed. That's what happens when you try to enjoy twenty minutes of reading while you let your 2 1/2 year old eat dinner while watching Tarzan.
Back to the rodents: I do have a pic. Will post later. Tomorrow is a new day.
Love my new job, do you?
Thursday, August 12, 2010
and the drama continues...
Here's a quicky:
Ricky needs a name change. Maybe it'll be Ricky Ann or Ricky Sue. After he was trapped the custodians informed me that HER spawn are in the walls. Oh shut it. Don't give me any AWWWWS. These little demons have destroyed the library and caused the custodians and I several days of work.
Tomorrow they will be cutting a hole in the wall to see if they can coax them out. Taking my camera. I wish I'd taken pictures of the mess. Why didn't I think of that before???
More to come...
Ricky needs a name change. Maybe it'll be Ricky Ann or Ricky Sue. After he was trapped the custodians informed me that HER spawn are in the walls. Oh shut it. Don't give me any AWWWWS. These little demons have destroyed the library and caused the custodians and I several days of work.
Tomorrow they will be cutting a hole in the wall to see if they can coax them out. Taking my camera. I wish I'd taken pictures of the mess. Why didn't I think of that before???
More to come...
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Popsicle anyone?
This morning was much like yesterday, me up and Em not. We did make it out the door a few minutes earlier than yesterday, and I made a record arrival at the SHS library: 8:09 a.m.
I do have some news from yesterday's adventure with Ricky Raccoon *see yesterday's blog.
1. Ricky has left the building.
2. Ricky has left a lot of #2 in the building.
3. Mothballs were only used to cover the smell of Ricky's urine- I know, yet again, REALLY?
4. Mothballs do smell better than Ricky's urine. YES! REALLY!
5. Ricky poos a lot.
6. Ricky poos a lot more.
Okay, so I get to the elementary library at about 8:30 a.m. to find my custodian buddy replacing water stained ceiling tiles that I had been told were damaged from a leak. Um no. That would be Ricky's tinkle spot. This means that every time my buddy pulls out a tile a pile of stanky (purposefully misspelled) insulation and a pile of poo falls onto the carpet (and a little onto my book shelves too).
As the Internet dudes (I don't know what they really are, but they are the lucky guys who hang out in ceilings and under desks stringing cables to make our computers work, ya know?) are working in a new spot they inform me that they have found "Ricky's restroom". Huh? I thought my entire ceiling was his restroom. I am told that he actually prefers the drop ceiling area above the circulation desk where there are can lights. Apparently that area which is about two feet deep is full of dooty. Nice. They also inform the custodians and me that the Ricky & Co have chewed/clawed the duct work which means they've got some major A.C. pumping into the attic space- um, excuse me, their condo. Now the custodians are helping me clean up the poo, trimming the limbs that we suspect are Ricky's entrance, AND they'll have to replace the duct work. Love those guys and gals. Already purchased candy to give them tomorrow. Oh and by the way, lady custodians rock. LOVE MY JANIE!
The afternoon flies by, and it's 4:10 p.m. before I know it. Emmie and I venture to HEB when I get back to Hondo where the princess is in full form:
1. Refuses to sit in the kiddy seat in the basket.
2. Demands to put on lipstick. Alone.
3. I get out the door for a mere $93, and I still have no clue what's for dinner.
4. Will makes pork chops, mashed potatoes from a bag, and green beans. Anything's better than me cooking.
Will and I are semi-relaxing as Em shuffles to the bathroom. She tears back into the kitchen screaming and crying, and Will and I storm back into the bathroom wondering if there might be a viper or a cricket in there (Em thinks crickets are as scary as vipers- go figure). What we find is the bathroom toot sucker running, and Emmie is shaking like a leaf. Gotta love it when her royal highness scares the bageezers out of herself. :)
$60 maid cleaning was nice for about 2.5 hours until Emmie was bribed with a popsicle. Now the back door is streaked, but Emmie ate five pieces of meat. Score Mom.
My last thought for the evening: what is it about Dazed and Confused that can make Will and I revert to the year 2000? "All right, all right, all right, party at the mooon tower." or maybe "That's what I like about high school girls, I get older, they stay the saaaame age." Thank you TV Guide channel.
I do have some news from yesterday's adventure with Ricky Raccoon *see yesterday's blog.
1. Ricky has left the building.
2. Ricky has left a lot of #2 in the building.
3. Mothballs were only used to cover the smell of Ricky's urine- I know, yet again, REALLY?
4. Mothballs do smell better than Ricky's urine. YES! REALLY!
5. Ricky poos a lot.
6. Ricky poos a lot more.
Okay, so I get to the elementary library at about 8:30 a.m. to find my custodian buddy replacing water stained ceiling tiles that I had been told were damaged from a leak. Um no. That would be Ricky's tinkle spot. This means that every time my buddy pulls out a tile a pile of stanky (purposefully misspelled) insulation and a pile of poo falls onto the carpet (and a little onto my book shelves too).
As the Internet dudes (I don't know what they really are, but they are the lucky guys who hang out in ceilings and under desks stringing cables to make our computers work, ya know?) are working in a new spot they inform me that they have found "Ricky's restroom". Huh? I thought my entire ceiling was his restroom. I am told that he actually prefers the drop ceiling area above the circulation desk where there are can lights. Apparently that area which is about two feet deep is full of dooty. Nice. They also inform the custodians and me that the Ricky & Co have chewed/clawed the duct work which means they've got some major A.C. pumping into the attic space- um, excuse me, their condo. Now the custodians are helping me clean up the poo, trimming the limbs that we suspect are Ricky's entrance, AND they'll have to replace the duct work. Love those guys and gals. Already purchased candy to give them tomorrow. Oh and by the way, lady custodians rock. LOVE MY JANIE!
The afternoon flies by, and it's 4:10 p.m. before I know it. Emmie and I venture to HEB when I get back to Hondo where the princess is in full form:
1. Refuses to sit in the kiddy seat in the basket.
2. Demands to put on lipstick. Alone.
3. I get out the door for a mere $93, and I still have no clue what's for dinner.
4. Will makes pork chops, mashed potatoes from a bag, and green beans. Anything's better than me cooking.
Will and I are semi-relaxing as Em shuffles to the bathroom. She tears back into the kitchen screaming and crying, and Will and I storm back into the bathroom wondering if there might be a viper or a cricket in there (Em thinks crickets are as scary as vipers- go figure). What we find is the bathroom toot sucker running, and Emmie is shaking like a leaf. Gotta love it when her royal highness scares the bageezers out of herself. :)
$60 maid cleaning was nice for about 2.5 hours until Emmie was bribed with a popsicle. Now the back door is streaked, but Emmie ate five pieces of meat. Score Mom.
My last thought for the evening: what is it about Dazed and Confused that can make Will and I revert to the year 2000? "All right, all right, all right, party at the mooon tower." or maybe "That's what I like about high school girls, I get older, they stay the saaaame age." Thank you TV Guide channel.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Mishaps with a smile...
Starting my first librarian job has been fairly eventful. The eventful parts, however, have less to do with being a librarian and more to do with mi vida loca.
Today is a fantastic example:
1. Wake 6:15 a.m., far earlier than man should be rising, but knowing in my bones I've got to get used to this because I'll be commuting twenty minutes this year as compared to my half mile I've been used to for the past eight years. Not to mention, the administration in their infinite wisdom have decided to have an earlier start time next year where the first bell will ring at 7:45 a.m. requiring me to be on campus at 7:30 a.m. Not only this, but these kids will also remain in school until 3:35 p.m. I know. WHAT? That's what I said.
2. 7:10 a.m. rolls around and I'm ready to roll, but I decide not to wake "Princess Emmie" (other new names for her will follow) in favor of a little yard work for a few minutes. I get the sprinkler running at mom's rent house across the street so that it does not burn to a crisp, and I get a hose on my neighbor's crepe myrtles because her husband is in the hospital and for some reason I think I need to save the world- and my neighbors' plants.
3. 7:20 a.m. hits and I'm realizing I'm getting WAY off schedule. Enter Princes Emmie. I stroll into her room, click the off button for her white noise machine that she started using as an infant (and I'm not willing to break her of *you'll hear more about my misgivings as a mother later). I decide to fill her juice cup right away in hopes I can "trick" her into being happy when she gets up, but when I get in the kitchen I hear something odd. Emmie's white noise machine is back on. As I walk into her room I see that she's covered up her head, and when I tell her it's time to get up she replies in her two years and ten months voice, "No I not."
4. 7:45 a.m. sees me scrambling to get hair pony-tailed, shoes on, Nutragrain bar unwrapped, and Emmie out the door. There is only a slight uproar when she catches a glance of her princess dress (that she actually stole from her cousins Jessa and Jolie), but I quickly coerce her by saying she can wear it as soon as I pick her up this afternoon.
5. 7:55 a.m. The next ten minutes I will save you from; they consist of me attempt to convince Em that SAT is fun and it is urgent she visit with her friends. I fail. She is pried off of me by Miss Marissa, God bless her, and I finally head to work--- only about 30 minutes later than I'd planned, but who's counting.
6. On to more fun things. Mid morning I decide to trek over to the elementary library where I have not been able to work due to its current use as a storage facility. Side note: my junior/senior high school library has doubled as the elementary principle, secretary, counselor, and nurse's offices all summer; oh joy. I take the short walk over to the elementary campus only to enter to a putrid smell. Think ammonia, but not the clean way. Rotten stink. I look left and find the reason. Apparently "Ricky Raccoon", that's what we'll call him/her for now, has decided to claw through the ceiling tiles at the far corner of the room and use a corner of the book shelves for a public restroom. I'd be more specific about which books, but it's hard to tell at this point. I'm thinking it was where the Easy section meets the Deweys, but who knows at this point? There is insulation, bits of ceiling tile, and raccoon "logs" littering the floor. The worst part is you can't see the pee, but you can smell it. I immediately stop and form a plan. Don't be winy. Don't throw up. Hmmmm... I head back to visit with the nurse. She arms me with purple plastic gloves and a few medical masks. I march right back into battle. The custodial crew, Internet dudes, and administration who see my get up are pretty entertained. I end up picking up the majority of the ickies and depositing them into a trash can and resuming my chore of weeding the over 12,000 books that have probably not been weeded since Elvis died. Like for real. The best part is that during this time Ricky is above me hissing and scratching to get out because a custodian is replacing soiled ceiling tiles across the room. I definitely got my workout running away and laughing every time I thought he'd come down on top of me!
7. Short lunch break. Book ordering that is done in the high school library where the AC is malfunctioning, and I finally retreat to "Ricky's Place" for a little more work. This time I enter to a new smell. No it's not suddenly smelling of lilacs and waterfalls; someone has decided that moth balls would be a great addition to the room. Apparently ole' Ricky & Co. have chewed and clawed through the AC ducting in the elementary library too, and so now I've left decent smelling heat for the mothball heat of the elementary library! (Still unsure what the mothballs are fixing??- might have to Google that one)
8. 8:45 p.m. brings the the topper for the evening. Princess Emmie's bath time conversation with me:
"Did you know your name is Emmie Lucille Dodson?" I say.
"Emmie Luc Dasen," Em replies.
"Emmie Lucille Dodson," I repeat.
"NO. Stinker Pot!" Emmie retorts.
"What??" I question.
"My name is Stinker Pot!" she demands.
Okay, time for bed. I'm exhausted.
Today is a fantastic example:
1. Wake 6:15 a.m., far earlier than man should be rising, but knowing in my bones I've got to get used to this because I'll be commuting twenty minutes this year as compared to my half mile I've been used to for the past eight years. Not to mention, the administration in their infinite wisdom have decided to have an earlier start time next year where the first bell will ring at 7:45 a.m. requiring me to be on campus at 7:30 a.m. Not only this, but these kids will also remain in school until 3:35 p.m. I know. WHAT? That's what I said.
2. 7:10 a.m. rolls around and I'm ready to roll, but I decide not to wake "Princess Emmie" (other new names for her will follow) in favor of a little yard work for a few minutes. I get the sprinkler running at mom's rent house across the street so that it does not burn to a crisp, and I get a hose on my neighbor's crepe myrtles because her husband is in the hospital and for some reason I think I need to save the world- and my neighbors' plants.
3. 7:20 a.m. hits and I'm realizing I'm getting WAY off schedule. Enter Princes Emmie. I stroll into her room, click the off button for her white noise machine that she started using as an infant (and I'm not willing to break her of *you'll hear more about my misgivings as a mother later). I decide to fill her juice cup right away in hopes I can "trick" her into being happy when she gets up, but when I get in the kitchen I hear something odd. Emmie's white noise machine is back on. As I walk into her room I see that she's covered up her head, and when I tell her it's time to get up she replies in her two years and ten months voice, "No I not."
4. 7:45 a.m. sees me scrambling to get hair pony-tailed, shoes on, Nutragrain bar unwrapped, and Emmie out the door. There is only a slight uproar when she catches a glance of her princess dress (that she actually stole from her cousins Jessa and Jolie), but I quickly coerce her by saying she can wear it as soon as I pick her up this afternoon.
5. 7:55 a.m. The next ten minutes I will save you from; they consist of me attempt to convince Em that SAT is fun and it is urgent she visit with her friends. I fail. She is pried off of me by Miss Marissa, God bless her, and I finally head to work--- only about 30 minutes later than I'd planned, but who's counting.
6. On to more fun things. Mid morning I decide to trek over to the elementary library where I have not been able to work due to its current use as a storage facility. Side note: my junior/senior high school library has doubled as the elementary principle, secretary, counselor, and nurse's offices all summer; oh joy. I take the short walk over to the elementary campus only to enter to a putrid smell. Think ammonia, but not the clean way. Rotten stink. I look left and find the reason. Apparently "Ricky Raccoon", that's what we'll call him/her for now, has decided to claw through the ceiling tiles at the far corner of the room and use a corner of the book shelves for a public restroom. I'd be more specific about which books, but it's hard to tell at this point. I'm thinking it was where the Easy section meets the Deweys, but who knows at this point? There is insulation, bits of ceiling tile, and raccoon "logs" littering the floor. The worst part is you can't see the pee, but you can smell it. I immediately stop and form a plan. Don't be winy. Don't throw up. Hmmmm... I head back to visit with the nurse. She arms me with purple plastic gloves and a few medical masks. I march right back into battle. The custodial crew, Internet dudes, and administration who see my get up are pretty entertained. I end up picking up the majority of the ickies and depositing them into a trash can and resuming my chore of weeding the over 12,000 books that have probably not been weeded since Elvis died. Like for real. The best part is that during this time Ricky is above me hissing and scratching to get out because a custodian is replacing soiled ceiling tiles across the room. I definitely got my workout running away and laughing every time I thought he'd come down on top of me!
7. Short lunch break. Book ordering that is done in the high school library where the AC is malfunctioning, and I finally retreat to "Ricky's Place" for a little more work. This time I enter to a new smell. No it's not suddenly smelling of lilacs and waterfalls; someone has decided that moth balls would be a great addition to the room. Apparently ole' Ricky & Co. have chewed and clawed through the AC ducting in the elementary library too, and so now I've left decent smelling heat for the mothball heat of the elementary library! (Still unsure what the mothballs are fixing??- might have to Google that one)
8. 8:45 p.m. brings the the topper for the evening. Princess Emmie's bath time conversation with me:
"Did you know your name is Emmie Lucille Dodson?" I say.
"Emmie Luc Dasen," Em replies.
"Emmie Lucille Dodson," I repeat.
"NO. Stinker Pot!" Emmie retorts.
"What??" I question.
"My name is Stinker Pot!" she demands.
Okay, time for bed. I'm exhausted.
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