He Needs a Back-Up Plan

This particular post falls into the UNAUTHORIZED part of my confessional blogging.  That is, confessing OTHER family members sins and shortcomings without their knowledge and or approval.  It's one of the perils of living in the same house with a serial blogger.  Around here we provide food, clothing, shelter and a mild amount of embarrassment.  We believe the latter is good for the immune system.

Unfortunately for Mark, this time he's the target.

For years I've taken a certain amount of condemnation from my husband in the area of my driving skills.  Unwarranted condemnation I might add, since I have a pretty clean driving record; no speeding tickets and only a few crashes and roll overs fender benders which happened mostly during my wayward youth when everyone at that age is expected to bend a little metal from time to time.  But because Mark had really never been the cause of a car accident he's always felt pretty self-assured in this area--no make that hubristic (it sounds a little more obnoxious).  I also think it's due to some damaged male gene that causes the whole of the gender to wildly overestimate their skill set in both operating and navigating anything with a motor in it.

So whenever I would politely recommend that he slow down or watch out for a pedestrian or some other small comment I make from time to time from the passenger's seat (as the female genes are programmed to make us do), he'd furrow his brows and say, "Listen sister, who's the one with the better driving record here??" 

 [Mark has a bad habit of taking the title "sister" in vain when he jokingly banters with any female...especially with his daughters.  Thankfully his sister recently heard him do this and put a stop to it!  Thank you Kathy!]

Now, a couple years ago his pristine driving record all changed.  Somehow he managed to back into someone's car in a parking lot.  If that wasn't embarrassing enough, while having his dent fixed, he backed the rental car into a building and dented that too.  Now whenever I give him driving advise and he goes to stop me, he begins with, "Listen..." then there's a long pause and he never really finishes his lecture on who's the better driver because his own record has now been called into question.

Yesterday was the icing on the cake humble pie.  He came home and was abnormally quiet.  Hmmmmmm.  That's very out of character for a man whose annoyingly and serendipitously happy all the time.  He came in the house, went directly over to our cutlery set, and started fillet-ing the mail. double hmmmmm.

"How was your day?"  I investigated.

"Fine."

"Everything fine?"  probing further.

"Yep."

"...And what are you not telling me?" 

He shakes his head in defeat.

I stare and attempt to raise an eye brow.

He begins to grin.

"Well...let's have it." I said a sinister smirk.  For years now my kids call me "the human lie detector" because I can smell perjury and spot camouflage before people even open their mouths.  Connor in particular hates this talent of mine as it's foiled his many schemes.  I knew Mark was withholding something quite entertaining.  And he knew this meant I was about to bask in the glee of watching this poor man declare an inevitable and humiliating surrender of some sort.

He shakes his head again and says, "If you really want to know, I bashed up my truck..." Then he lightly mutters,  "...and yes, I'm just gonna just get it out of the way...I was backing up at the time!"

I smile.  Then rush outside to look at the damage in all it's blunderous glory.

 

 

This is strike three.  And I am delighted at the prospect of higher insurance premiums because what it REALLY means I'm now getting double coverage!  One for auto and one for defamation against my driving character.

The funny thing is, that Mark defines a bad driver as one who crashes into another moving object, and  I contemptuously disagree.  Hitting a moving target requires skill.  Seriously, what kind of blockhead crashes into a stationary object??  That's far more embarrassing don't you think?  (And admittedly all the more humiliating when you wife posts the whole ordeal on the family blog.)  Perhaps this late night as seen on TV wireless back-up warning is in order to alert OTHERS outside his vehicle he's on the road.

Until this sweet contraption shows up in the mail, I may just relegate him back to driving "The Beast".  It's already got back-up sensors, and it sounds to me like someone needs a back up plan.

[Devilish laughter fades out.]

The Perils of Going Green

In the past couple of weeks we've taken two trips up to Seattle Washington to visit Mark's sister Kathy and her family. While our two visits were heart warming, in stark contrast, the driving up there part was more of an eye opening experience.

The 1st  trip was taken using our family's favorite vehicle, our Ford Excursion that we refer to as "The Beast".

The Beast has taken us all over the place.  It's comforted us with its spaciousness, warmed us with its seat heaters, and pulled us through coastal sand, deep mountain snow, and the notoriously rain soaked Pacific Northwest roads.  It holds eight passengers in blissful comfort.  And, despite its loud diesel engine that provokes scoffs and scorns from the particular breed of  ultra environmentally conscious folks our town is so famous for, we can't resist our love affair with the darn thing.

Notwithstanding its thundering noise, The Beast is also notorious for it's size.  A year ago, before taking a long trip across the western states, I ordered an exterior luggage carrier that fits on the back.  I was getting ready to haul 7 teenagers with all their camping gear and I knew I'd need MORE SPACE than the Excursion already so generously offered.  While placing the order for the luggage carrier, the guy on the other end of the phone horrified me by asking for the make and model of my car.

"Its a Ford...uhhh...Excursion," I answered sheepishly.


There was a really long pause.  When he finally came to from his silent stupor he said, "Ma'am, are you aware you are driving the biggest SUV on the road?  

"Yes." I answer weakly.

"And you're saying you need more storage space?"  Apparently, he'd never seen our family go on a road trip.

So when we headed up to Seattle a few weeks ago to visit family, we, of course, took The Beast.  The kids had ample leg room, multiple power outlets for their movies and games, their own arm rests, and 2-3 cup holders each.  One kid even had a whole row to himself!  Little did we know how blissful this drive was.  Had we known, we'd of slowed down to the speed limit and enjoyed the journey a lot more.

On the 2nd trip up to Seattle, we took a decidedly different approach.  A greener more economical approach.  We decided that it was silly to drive such a huge SUV all the way up there when our family could easily fit into the Camry I drive when I'm running errands in town.  So we packed up the car thinking it would be nice to simplify things by zipping up north in something a little smaller.  After all, it's a mid-size car and we're a mid-size family right??

WRONG.

These three children were NOT happy with our new plan.  They actually had to sit next to each other!  All these years I mistakenly THOUGHT my kids were great car travelers.  Oh, I was woefully wrong!  Apparently children are only good travelers when you provide them with a 5ft. parameter within the vehicle so that they can stake claim to their own territory.  Among the complaints logged during this trip, we heard them belch out the following tortured grudges toward their siblings:

• Stop touching me!
• Do you have to read with your elbows out?
• Your stuff keeps taking up all my leg room!
• I don't have a door to sleep against!
• I can hear the music in your headphones!
• I can hear him breathing!
  
• How come I always have to sit in the middle?
• Somebody smells and it isn't me!
  

Worse yet, even Mark and I began to feel the pangs of  regret at our own misguided plan!  As we all too soon discovered, to our extreme discontent, that when driving a Camry:

• You can't use your size to intimidate other drivers.
• You can't use your loud diesel engine to intimidate other drivers.
  
• A blinker means nothing coming from a mid-size car. (When you're in a giant black SUV, just one click of your blinker and you become like Moses parting the Red Sea.  Miracles happen. Everybody moves.)
  
• There are no duel controls for heat and cool (this can be a marriage breaker.)
• You're close enough to your kids that you can hear them complain.
• Don't even try leaning your seat back unless you like knees forced into your back.
  
• There aren't enough cup holders to hold the amount of liquid required for taking all the doses of aspirin you're gonna need if you've decided to drive a small car on a road trip with three children.

Oh boy have we learned a valuable lesson.  That is, when trying to save the environment, think of your own personal environment first.  Namely the environment inside the small car you'll be riding in and the emotional state of its passengers who, if unhappy, will bother you for eight or more hours.  Save that environment first by driving an Excursion on all family outings.  I think that's why they call the mid-size a town car.  It's definitely not a road trip car!!

We decided that SUV stands for:  Saving   oUr   enViroment!  We'll save yours later.

I'm getting a bumper sticker for my Excursion so it will explain why we're driving it so much again.   

"Think Globally. Act Locally."

A Morbid Post

Okay, I knew that if I posted the REAL title for this blog post it would alarm everyone.  So search inside yourself and see if you really want to read on.  Are you ready for it?  Seriously, take a few quick breaths...
[oh, and if you happen to be my mother, you may want to sit down.]

The real title of this post is:

"How I Plan to Bury My Mother!"

Yep, you read that right.  And no, my mother is not dying.  And double no, I'm not planning on harming her in any way.  She's as healthy and as gluten-free as ever.  I'm just doing a little pre-planning.  Admittedly, I know that's a little weird and morbid (especially the excited exclamation at the end of the title).  But you can't say I didn't warn you, it's your own fault really.  This blog is my confessional after all.  An eruption of thoughts that just ooze out unexpectedly.  And you, whomever you are, you just keep reading it.

So just what got me thinking about burying my dear mother??  Christmas.  I've been putting away all the ornaments, unstringing lights, and packing it all up for next year and the thoughts of celebrations present and  past have reached an all-time Christmas crescendo in regards to certain gifting habits of my dear mother. Let me explain...

Each celebration, be it Christmas or birthday (and most of our birthdays fall around Christmastime), my amazing mom never forgets to bestow us with gifts.  And, as always, these gifts are of the most thoughtful sort.  She really focuses on the receiver and spends time thinking about what would make the perfect gift.  She is amazing at this.  An undisputed gift giving champion.

But with every Ying, you realize, there is a Yang.  And her Yang happens to be the wrapping and bestowing part.  This part often leaves us suspiciously guessing and in urgent need of a band-aid.  It is the silliest thing I've ever seen.  And, as luck would have it, throughout December, I was able to capture some of the details on my camera...

• Detail #1 The Wrapping:  Below is an example of my mother's wrapping.  It is perfection.  The paper is thematic according to the receiver's celebration, gender, and interests.  Corners and creases are flawless.  Tape is minimal and inconspicuous.  The bow is always perfect and TIGHTLY wrapped and tied so that the human finger, no matter how adept, cannot loosen it without the aide of something sharp and hazardous. This deceptively elegant bow that my mother uses in the photo below, is something she recently switched to, as she suddenly favors the minimal look of a wide single band, expertly taut and tied in a simple impenetrable bow.  In the past, she was an avid curling ribbon connoisseur who tied multiple layers of ribbon so thickly that you could hardly see the wrapping beneath the tangle of finished curls. This latter method, in order to breach,  also required expert skills with cutlery.  We are very lucky no one in the history of unwrapping Grandma Bear's gifts has had to be scurried off by ambulance for stitches and blood transfusions. However, it has resulted in many a paper cut, which is no less painful and traumatizing.
  

• The Box:  Once you bypass the harrowing gift wrap stage, you are now in the second phase of gift opening.  The box.  Here is the hard and fast rule if you are going to survive this step.  Never, and I mean NEVER trust the box. 
  

 Here is Connor opening his birthday present...

Notice the delight shinning in a young boys eyes...

and those crazed eyebrows.

The box is for a portable DVD player!

...but the gift, well, it was a magazine subscription.

Now the subscription was a really cool and thoughtful gift.

Connor had been begging for just that.

However, when the gift you want is put in a box with something

you might want EVEN MORE, well, that changes things.

Now here is Mark's box:

 A digital camera!

But wait...what's actually inside?

Notice my mother in the background and the smirk on her face.

Here's my niece Cailey, with her box:

A cell phone box!  What teenager wouldn't love that?

But why the scowl Cailey??

Well, she's not new at this Gramma Bear gift game and

knows this is probably NOT what's inside...and it isn't.

And whatever it was, it wasn't a cell phone.

...and now when the Gramma Bear gift coaster has clamored
down the tracks with all its twists and turns you've
arrived at the most thrilling part...

clack, clack, clack...

• The Stuff:  This is the point where things quickly go downhill.  The otherwise delightful gift is about to pale in comparison to the cover photo on the box in which it was wrapped.  As you open the box, with bandaged and bloody fingers, begging for the ride to stop, hang on, it's about to start snowing!
  

A flurry of white Packing Peanuts!  My static cling nemesis!

And no sooner do you turn your attention to the

Styrofoam blizzard swirling about your REAL gift somewhere

inside the box and divert your attention away from my mother,

she lurches out and grabs at the stuff...

...and boxes it all up to use for another gift.

So this got me thinking...and that's what led me to  

How I Plan to Bury My Mother!

Of course, cross my paper-cut fingers, and hope she'll never die, but just in case the time comes far off in the distant future... I've got it all worked out.

Because you never know if someone may have to exhume her body for some scientific experiment on the inner workings of the brain of a gratuitous gift-giver.  So I've developed a plan my mother would be proud of!

First, I plan to fill the coffin with Styrofoam peanuts to its absolute bursting point.  I wouldn't want my mother to be damaged in route to her own burial.   

Then I shall take a hoard of curling ribbon, likely to be found in my very own mother's closet at this very minute, and wind it tightly in all directions to sufficiently criss-cross and seal her coffin shut.  Then I will spend a few days with a sharp pair of scissors arranging a giant decorative mound of curls on the top.

Then the final step.  I shall find a giant life-size barbie doll and buy it just for the box.  Finally, I'll stuff the coffin inside the giant barbie box, add more Styrofoam peanuts, wrap it in teddyBEAR paper and voila!  A total tribute to my mother.  Thoughtfully Morbid don't you think??   Oh won't they be surprised when an unsuspecting exhumer discovers that there's really a brunette inside!  My mother will be so proud!

 

Free Kids

Mark found this handy sign outside a Blockbuster.  We had Chloe and Connor stand in front of it but there were no takers.  Hmmmm.  Perhaps if they were willing to throw in a free movie rental along with each kid, it just  might make the deal more attractive.  Until then, it looks like were stuck with them.  It couldn't hurt to try.