Saturday Things You Might Not Know

Tonight, because I was so tired of Lo's questions about a particular subject, I googled the topic and shared volumes of information with her. You can look forward to her post about it tomorrow.

But from my search, I discovered these. I plan to order two pairs, for Lola and her father. They're technically called Under-Ease but are commonly referred to as Fartypants.

Georgia Tree, Week 2

I decided to start hanging the smaller things that Georgia can use when she moves into her apartment before school starts back. I found these cute little monkey and turtle dish scrubbers in honor of Costa Rica--and got her some measuring cups, measuring spoons, and the pink veggie brush. You'll notice a small notepad for list-keeping and American flags, because she'd rather be here in the States. Oh, and in keeping with the very eclectic theme she's explained her new home will have, I purchased the sweet beaded picture holders you can see if you look closely.


One More Way I've Failed My Children

Both Sadie and Georgia have lovely penmanship. You'll have to take my word for it, since, no doubt, you've never received a thank you note from them. My own handwriting can be nice but depends on how inspired I am by the writing instrument. I love gel pens and fine, fluid ballpoints. The style of it changes so often, I don't recognize my own signature from one week to the next. Yet I pride myself on its looking cool.

Jack and Lola have the penmanship of a donkey. Christy Brown had better handwriting. But I've never worried about this or nagged them about it, because I figure cursive is going the way of the filmstrip. I'm all for evolution, not one to lament the lost art of cave drawings. As the person who spent an hour a day in fifth grade coaching Pam Crawford to shape her script from monkey scratch into strokes worthy of an Illuminated Manuscript, I've come to the conclusion that there are better things to do with your time. Pulling out your eyelashes, for instance.

Jack types faster than I can. Lola can translate both English and Pig Latin through facial expressions alone. Who cares if their signatures look like hoof prints? Greg gets on to them occasionally, telling them to slow down on their homework, to write neatly. I make faces behind his back and remind Lo that if she hurries with her spelling worksheet, she can go practice Chess. After all, they don't give trophies for handwriting.

But I have to admit, the conversation I had on the phone with Jack this morning makes clear my message has been sent, giving me pause for concern:

TR: Hey, Go into the kitchen... Do you see that peach-colored slip of paper on the counter?

Jack: The litte square one?

TR: Yeah. Now, look on the back, where it says re-deliver, and check that, and then sign my name on the line and put it in the mailbox.

Jack: How do I sign it?

TR: Just put T---

Jack: I don't know how to write a cursive T.

Friday Nostalgia--and the remake


How Did We Miss This Casting Call?!


I was really happy to see the New Pages write-up about the Chattahoochee Review. Congratulations to John Guzlowski; Referring to his Holocaust poems, Mary Baken says, "I was completely astonished, broken, and stalled..." That pretty much says it all.

Baken also calls out (in a good way) Josie Sigler. When I accepted Josie's submission, I wrote her myself to tell her how moved I was by her poems. They are fresh and unique without the grandstanding cleverness I see so often.

I'd love to share the poems here, but I'd get busted this soon. Both poets are googleable, or get yourselves a copy of CR's winter issue.


I'm Tired

So here's a video. I've been listening to Rosie Thomas lately:


Shout Out to Banfield Vet

Last night, when we got back from our usual Suburban Tap outing, Jack mentioned that Fay's eye was swollen almost shut. This morning, it hadn't improved, so I took her over to Banfield, the vet at PetSmart here in Marietta. This is where I've been taking Fay since the day after I adopted her. They helped us through the open sores on her back, the worms, the fact that she was only four weeks old...They put up with my acting like a first-time mom, bringing her in every other day. Like today, they always fit her into the schedule and called the next day to see how she was doing. This afternoon, the vet herself called me twice to discuss Fay's condition, which, it turns out, is a big dangerous scratch on her cornea that has to be treated with antibiotics, serum made from her own blood (to help the tissue reconnect), and drops for pain. Poor little baby!

Before I got Fay, I'd been taking Daisy and Stella to another vet, less than a mile from the house. I'd endured long waits, a surly staff, and hand-made rudely worded signs warning about bad checks and paying at the time of service--an overall feeling of "Our clientele is a bunch of degenerates." When I first got Fay, she was in bad shape. I called Other Vet and tried to explain the situation and ask if they could fit her in for an exam. The gal at the desk cut me off and quickly informed me that they were booked for the day. No offer to try to squeeze us in, or to call if there was a cancellation. No apologies or well wishes. To be fair, I'm allowing that

a) It's possible most folks find those "Pay Up" signs motivational and inspiring


b) Perhaps those ladies up front suffered from Permanent Menstrual Syndrome.

I ended up calling Banfield, and the woman who answered the phone listened patiently as I explained about how tiny Fay was and about the infected-looking sores on her back. Then she kindly assured me that they'd take care of the puppy. That day, Other Vet lost three patients.

I don't know anything about the other Banfield offices, but I recommend the one on Johnson Ferry Road to anyone in this area. Get your pets on the wellness plans, too. I've saved $1100 this past year alone.

Please forgive the boring post, but I just wanted to give credit where it's due.

Another Video for Georgia


Musings from Lo

I took Lola to get smoothies at Robeks this afternoon. I got Jack and me Fit shakes, which are made from the miraculous acai berry, which is believed to make you smarter, wealthier, and prettier. Lo got her usual Hummingbird, which makes you talk a lot. Back in the car, we had this conversation:

Lo: Can I taste Jack's?

TR: You don't like Fit shakes.

Lo: I know. But I hate it so much, I just want to taste it again.

TR: Fine.

Lo: Blech! How do you drink those things?!

TR: I looooove it. It's like chocolateberry.

Lo: It's diss-GUSTING. Hey, I'm going to read what's on the cup to you. "Check out our selection of wholesome sandwiches and other healthy eats. It's great tasting food that's good for you too!" Why do they say that? It does NOT taste good.

TR: They're talking about the sandwiches and stuff. You haven't even tried them.

Lo: I know, but they say they're good for you, so they must taste bad.

TR: That Hummingbird is good for you, and you like it.

Lo: Not since I opened the lid and saw the color. You know how you like something, and then you find out what's in it and you don't like it any more?

TR: No, I don't know.

Lo: Like if you were eating a piece of meat you thought was really good, and then you found out it was human butt.


Today in Pictures

Our plan was to get up early to go mountain biking, but we woke up to this:

Luckily, one of our neighbor's has a tree removal biz and was able to clear it away by noon. No major damage. This is the second Bradford Pear to split on us in two weeks. It's bad enough they make your yard smell like morning at the Chicken Ranch.

In the meantime, we couldn't reach JackMan on his cell phone, even though I'd given him the new driver's "Answer-your-phone-so-I'll-know-you're-not-dead-in-a-ditch" speech earlier this week, so we went to his buddy Dennis's to make sure he was alive and to see his head in person. I had only seen the photo I posted yesterday, myself. I told them they look like Chia Heads.
Finally, we were able to drive to Ellijay to ride Bear Creek trail. Seven miles up a mountain with wet socks and shoes from falling into Bear Creek is a lot easier when there's scenery like this at the top:

While resting, we had our usual conversation:

Biggy: How long do you think it would take them to find your body?

TR: Way longer than it would take me to find your ass from the spirit world.

Saturday Things You Might Not Know

I came across this as I was searching for an image for a future post. This is not photoshopped, as verified here.

Cry About It


On the Phone With Jack

TR: You called?

Jack: Yeah. What are you doing?

TR: Working.

Jack: I just wanted to know if I should put Fay in her cage.

TR: Where are you going?

Jack: To get my head shaved.

TR: Oh. Then you should put her in the cage.

Jack: I did.

TR: Where are you going to get it done?

Jack: Dennis's. I'm here already.

TR: Nobody's using a razor on your head, are they?

Jack: We're just buzzing.

TR: OK. You got a camera?

Jack: Yep.

A Little Slice of Home for George

Friday Nostalgia

The Jayhawks, 1995. I miss this band.


Ask, And Ye Shall Receive

Here is the Georgia Tree I've started. I'd like to make it a community affair, with her family and friends contributing. Send or tell me things that remind you of her, and I'll hang them. Or send things that you think will remind her of you--Blaise, Kevin, Sadie? Every week, I'll post a photo of its evolution. Six weeks to go.

Georgia is not enjoying her gig in Costa Rica. She's eating fish sticks and sleeping with mosquitoes. There are lizards in her dresser drawers.

I'm hoping this will cheer her up.

Hey Mamoo, Thanks for This

I just found him in the bag Lo brought home from my mom's last weekend.

Tonight: Melissa Delbridge at A Cappella Books

Meet the lovely Ms. Delbridge live and in person. For more information/directions, go to the A Cappella website.


In The Car With Lola

Because Lola was deemed contagious and not allowed to go to school until tomorrow, Biggy and I tag-teamed taking care of her today. The plan: morning shift for me, and Biggy would meet us at Portfolio Center at noon, so I could get ready for my one o'clock class. On the way into town, Lo asked me to quiz her, a frequent request, and we started with spelling. As I often do, I looked around on the roadside for word ideas:

TR: Left.

Lo: Mom! That's too easy!

TR: Median

Lo: Huh? What's that?

TR: OK! Oil.

Lo: Boil?

TR: Fine. Boil.

Lo: But what did you say?

TR: I said OIL, but BOIL is fine.

Lo: Boil like that lady who always picks her son up from ASP has on her face? Do you know who I'm talking about?

TR: No, I don't think I've seen her.

Lo: Yes you have. She looks like she's got a big wad of gum in her mouth.

TR: Sick!

Lo: What exactly IS a boil anyway?

TR: I don't really know--some kind of infected bump. But I was thinking boil like 'boil water.'

Lo: On Fairly God Parents, Elmer has a big red boil named Bob on his face. Bob has a mouth and talks and controls Elmer.

TR: Seriously?! Who makes this sh-crap up?! Can you just spell it already? Or choose a different word?

Lo: That woman at ASP, with the boil on her face--do you think when she's asleep at night, if she rolls over on it, it will pop? I've been wondering about that.

TR: Oh my god, Lo! Can we change the subject?

Lo: What's inside a boil?

Separated at Birth


Dear Georgia, Here's What You Missed Sunday:

This was slap in the middle of the day, when you were feeling homesick and worried about how the world back here might be changing without you...

Lola napping. She has a little case of Strep.

Jack waking from a nap. He has a little case of Teen.

Pepa hunting crickets.

Roxy admiring himself in the mirror.

Rusty snacking. Blocking Tebow from snacking.

Laverne checking to see if I gave the guinea pigs snacks.

Fay and Daisy guarding the stairs until Biggy gets back from riding his bike.

Stella guarding the couch.

Timmy guarding his rock.

Me, just back from the Y, guarding my bra fat.

Separated at Birth


Biggy is the best!!!

Just a quick post to say I love my husband dearly and am so fortunate to have him in my life. He's the most fit and handsome almost 40yr old male i know. He is also terrific father and is very patient with my failure to pick up the most basic of guitar chords after almost 3 years of trying to learn.


Dear Georgia,

Here's what you're missing while you're in Costa Rica.


Nature or Nurture?

After Georgia left for Costa Rica on Monday, I found this lying on her bed:

Lola's planning to race BMX this weekend. I just discovered this in her book bag:

The Bert Show Blows on TV Too

So George and I were at the Y last week. I was minding my own beeswax on the elliptical machine, watching Best Week Ever, when this commercial came on and almost made me puke up my Kashi. What--did they have a $50 gift card to Ads R US? And their stylists must have been volunteers from the Marching Band's Booster Club. Jeff's wearing the tuba player's necklace and Bert's got on a pair of momjeans.


Study In Contrasts

This pic was taken Sunday night at Ted's Montana Grill, where we went to celebrate Mother's Day, Granny's 82nd b-day, and Georgia's going-away.

I don't think the point-and-shoot knew how to handle the 74 year age difference. Two funny gals, though.


If You Love Something, Set It Free

Well, that's some serious bullshit. George left yesterday morning to go back to Costa Rica, this time with a group of Berry students who won scholarships to teach English to kids in kindergarten for 7 weeks. Did I just say SEVEN WEEKS?!

Almost 50 days of fresh air, volcanoes, rain forests, bright birds, sweet papaya, butterflies, nice people, and monkeys...my daughter will never want to come home.

Thank god she shares my dislike of children. I'm banking on that.


Advice for the Grown-Ups on the Bert Show

I just read this little piece in one of Biggy's old Esquire magazines:

We're not going to do anything extreme, like, say, call for a ban on the word dude. It is important for us all to note, however, that the word is tired. It was funny when the Coen brothers reintroduced it to the culture in 1998, and it’s interesting to recall that because it was preceded by the article “the,” it was imbued with a mystical power. But now, ten years and Knocked Up later, it has become the untucked dress shirt of conversation between men, the verbal crutch for men who fear that youth may be slipping from their grasp...


The Fourth Time is the Charm

Yesterday, the plan was for Biggy to take Lo to her softball party at the park, from where Mamoo was to pick her up to spend the night. Mamoo, ever vigilant over her youngest granddaughter's stubborn tresses, had made Lola an appointment with a "master stylist" later in the afternoon, an engagement Lola had readily agreed to but was having second thoughts about. Even after we convinced her that "haircut" wasn't secret code for "getting shots" (she has little trust in Mamoo since Jack's last visit to the doctor) and that she could tell the stylist how short she wanted it, she was still working up a low-grade tantrum when I left with my drill sergeant, George, to WALK to the Y to work out (thus burning 200 extra calories). When I returned from watching Best Week Ever on the elliptical machine, I found this on my keyboard.


Georgia In Charge

Because George has had finals and spent much of the past two weeks at home, I have exercised for eight days straight. I don't think I've done that in thirty years. Or ever.


Stella Keeps Fay Company

as she awaits "the miracle harvest of God."

I'm Unusual

Take this test before you scroll down to read about *my own results.

Are you usual or unusual?

*I couldn't think of a country that begins with D.


Well Played, Georgia.

To thank me for all the special newsletters I've signed her up for, my middle daughter sent a special prayer request to the Prophet Peter Popoff on my behalf.

Get a Room

We had great tickets for Sheryl Crow at Chastain Saturday night, because the owner of the company Biggy works for has season tix and doesn’t always use them. We were, in fact, second row, left of center. I could see the freckles on Sheryl’s sternum.

Unfortunately, though, I was right behind the poster couple for eHarmony. Both in their fifties and with the air of relationship rejects (something I know a little about myself), that sort of stumbly, can’t-get-my-bearings affect, with a dash of I’ve-had-way-too-much-to-drink-already-and-the-opening-band-is-still-playing.

They were giddy over each other--he in his dadjeans, and she in her tent-top. He managed to be overly solicitous, making sure to ogle her almost as often as he ogled Sheryl. She seemed to appreciate that and would start looking a little worried if the attention lagged.

Every five minutes or so, they would kiss, and he’d mouth ‘I love you’ and then they’d go back to dancing—she waving both hands in the air, and he alternating between the Lawn Mower and Milking the Cow.

It was quite annoying.


A Prayer For Sunday

We saw her last night at Chastain. Great show.

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Writer, teacher, student, mom.

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