Tag: funny

“There will be a rain dance Friday night, weather permitting.” –George Carlin

~ Judy ~ Leave a comment

So the weather. There’s just no predicting it. It’s only December 7. and we’ve already had two snowstorms, both with horrible timing. Minnesota winters aren’t nearly as cold as some people think, but they make up for it in perversity.

I lost two trees in that first heavy snowstorm on November 12. I didn’t know it till the thirteenth, when I came home from the hospital, all medicated up and miserable, and found them blocking the driveway. It was a shock. My daughter Jessica, who was driving me home after spending the night in one of those plastic-covered bed-chairs the hospital provides as a deterrent, was driving a little fast, because the street hadn’t been plowed yet (big surprise) and when that happens you have to take a good run at the driveway lest you miss it and end up stuck down in the cul-de-sac. So when she came around the curve and saw the downed trees, she decided to take a quick left past the mailbox and into the front yard instead, where she did indeed get stuck. (To be fair, I may have been screaming instructions at her.)

So there we were. Jessica was wondering, “How am I going to get my bootless, drugged-up mother into the house?” and I was thinking, “For the love of God, will I always be at the mercy of the fates and Minnesota weather?” Then I just opened the car door and, weaving a little, stomped into the house.

Last Friday’s snowstorm wasn’t as wet or heavy, but it lasted all day, and by the time I set out for Maria and Grace’s dance recital that night, every car on the freeway had given up trying to find a lane and simply stopped, as cars on the freeway will do for no apparent reason. I mushed on for 45 minutes before I turned around and mushed back home.

We live in Minnesota. We endure. The trees were cleared out of the driveway, the car was dug out, and there was a matinee performance of the dance recital on Saturday. Big cold snap coming next week.

More Tryptophan, Anyone?

~ Judy ~ 4 Comments

Recap: Thanksgiving Day 2010

Gathered with the family again to give thanks and eat turkey (except for my son-in-law Lynn, who is a vegetarian), because we are, if nothing else, proud Americans.

No Butterball turkey this year, because Gina started a dairy-free diet last week in hopes of curing Baby Bret’s acid reflux, and Christian is allergic to butter along with everything else, and other people aren’t too sure but that they may be allergic to something too, so as I said, no butter in the turkey or the stuffing or on the green beans either. There was butter in the mashed potatoes, but Jessica stepped right up with her recipe for pureed cauliflower, which she swore tasted just like mashed potatoes, although let’s face it, they weren’t exactly flying out of the bowl.

Ten-year-old Maria was especially thankful that she has surpassed me in height. This is not a huge accomplishment for most ten-year-olds, but we made a big deal about it anyway.

Six-year-old Christian, once he was sure everyone was going to stay put and pay attention, moved us all with a stirring tale about the Indian Squanto, the Pilgrims and the first Thanksgiving.

Three-year-old Cosette wasn’t frightened by her older cousins this year. She has gone over and is one of Them now.

Four-month-old Baby Bret is a big, happy baby, fatter than the last time I saw him and he was plenty fat then. His cheeks are fat, his tummy is fat, and his little legs are fatter than you can imagine. It’s like lugging around a 16-pound, smiling turkey.

But the highlight of the day came when everyone settled in the living room to watch old home movies. Jessica, who was sitting next to five-year-old Grace, turned to her during the showing of one ancient tape and asked, “Does Auntie look different now?” “Yeah,” said Grace, “You didn’t have a moustache then.”

And that’s the kind of thing that makes the holidays special.

We Don’t Need No Stinking Soda Crackers

~ Judy ~ 1 Comment

That’s it. I’ve had it with surgery. If anything else goes whacko with this body, the doctors will have to make an extraordinary case for operating, and I’m not sure “or you will die” would do it. Had the tumor on my parotid gland removed last Friday and it was horrible. I wanted to die then for sure.

The thing is, I am not the best patient – ask my children, they’ll tell you. I complain, I argue, I don’t do as I’m told. I self-medicate – in the hospital, at home, I don’t care. It makes everyone crazy. And then in the hospital one is at the mercy of strangers, which keeps you from cursing as much as you might like. Some things I wanted to say in the 24 hours after surgery but didn’t:

1)  There is no anesthesia in the world that doesn’t make me nauseous, so there’s no point in telling me it shouldn’t. As my personal definition of hell is 23 hours a day of nausea and one hour of anticipation, it’s fortunate for you that there was nothing close enough to throw when I found out you were giving me only a half-dose of nausea medication. Finally, I do not want a soda cracker. If you keep pushing it, I will have to kill you.

2)  It seems no matter what time I ask, it isn’t time for more morphine. Really, is there a morphine shortage I haven’t heard about? Why are you hoarding it? Give me some!

3)  I have an IV taped to my left hand to put liquids in, another taped to my neck to take liquids out, and every other hour I have to wear inflatable leg wraps. If there is an optimal position for comfort in these circumstances, I have not discovered it. The bed is a rock, and none of its 56 amazing positions will change that. The pillow is a rock on top of a rock.

4)  Not only is my right ear and everything in the vicinity completely numb, it has the appearance of a breast implant gone terribly wrong. The scar below said ear looks like an amateur map of the Lewis & Clark Expedition. And I have bacitracin ointment in my hair. I do not feel pretty.

I can imagine the thousands of cell phone minutes burned when my daughters learned I was having surgery. “Who’s staying with Mom? What’s the plan? We need a plan!” They are patient and tolerant and sympathetic in the extreme, and after a day or so, I have to kick them out lest they lose their patience, tolerance and sympathy.

Those nodules on my thyroid gland? They will be the size of hard-boiled eggs before we part company.

Remedial Blogging

~ Judy ~ 2 Comments
REMORSE

I know. Long time no blog. I was sick. I was tired. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I got a prescription. I feel better.

Looking back:

10/27 – e-mail to lottery-playing coworkers

The Powerball pool has gotten completely off track. No point in denying it. I know it and you know it. We actually ran out of money last Wednesday, but that’s okay because I didn’t buy a ticket for Saturday anyway. I have a lot of excuses you don’t want to hear. “Where’s the money?” That’s all you people care about. So let us move along briskly.

To be in the next round, drop off your dollar by noon Friday. You’ll want to get it in quickly. By this time next week, I expect to be intolerable. I started taking Chantix on Monday (you take it for a week before you quit smoking). I expect no pats on the back, because I DON’T WANT TO QUIT. I won’t be wanting encouragement next week, I’ll be wanting a damn cigarette.

See, I’m getting grumpy already. Out of sheer rebellion, I’ve decided to get a tattoo.

10/29 – e-mail to lottery-playing coworkers

I don’t want to name names, but some of you still owe me money. Stop procrastinating.

I’m down to half a pack of cigarettes and no plan. You’re supposed to have a plan. I don’t have a plan, and that’s the story of my life. It’s crunch time, action is required, but the only plan I have is something vague in the back of my brain… quit smoking, don’t overeat, exercise more, meditate…make a plan!

By Sunday night, I’ll probably be scaring the trick-or-treaters.

10/30 – notes on babysitting for Cosette and Baby Bret while their parents go to a Halloween party

Obviously these two (Gina and Bret) need to get away. They were standing in the doorway ready to leave just about the time I picked up Baby Bret, who was screaming loud enough to curdle breast milk. They looked at me, smiled, said “Bye” and never looked back. This would have been unheard of when Cosette was three months old. The times they are a-changin’.

10/31 – notes on quitting smoking

Quit smoking. Big whoop. It’s going okay. I guess.

You always have to choose, don’t you.

“When grandparents enter the door, discipline flies out the window.” –Ogden Nash

~ Judy ~ 2 Comments

It was Grandparents Day at Maria and Christian’s school on Wednesday. I like Grandparents Day. Everyone is just so doggone happy to be there. Every grandparent is beaming. Every kid is proud as punch. “This is my grandpa!” they’ll say, like maybe you couldn’t figure that out. The hugs, the kisses, the handholding. For boomers, it’s a little like Woodstock but without the sex and drugs.

You’d be hard-pressed to find a bigger gathering of adults who couldn’t care less about discipline than on Grandparents Day. Not our job. During a musical assembly that lasted about 45 minutes, I never saw one person frown, shush or tell a kid to stop doing anything. This is unheard of when parents are around. Yet in the face of obvious misbehavior, grandparents will stare straight ahead, oblivious and happy.

Christian got hold of two magnetic chip clips and spent the entire assembly sticking them to the seats in front of us and clipping them to various spots on our clothes. I saw no reason why he shouldn’t. Maria and her friend Maddy, who were sitting between Maddy’s grandma and me, played a hand-clapping game in time to the music. It was obvious that Maddy’s grandma had no intention of telling them to stop. I know I didn’t.

We visited their classrooms and saw their desks (cleaned for the occasion), looked at textbooks, oohed over artwork, drank juice and ate sandwiches and cookies. But mostly we just marveled at the talent, imagination and resourcefulness of grandchildren. Really, it’s hard to know what there is for their parents to find fault with.

 

“The idea that no one is perfect is a view commonly held by people with no grandchildren.”  –Doug Larson

Inflation and the Price of Popcorn

~ Judy ~ 1 Comment

My grandson Christian, who is six, came over to spend the night last Saturday. I like to have the grandkids over individually now and then in order to study them more closely. So far I’ve learned that I have next to no control over my own actions let alone theirs. There appears to be some force within them that saps my will. I think it’s situated behind their eyes somewhere, as that is usually what does me in.

It is not my intention to spoil the grandkids. It just works out that way. Thinking frugally, I took Christian to the cheap-seat theater, where two tickets to Despicable Me cost just $5. Then I paid $18.50 for two small popcorn, two small drinks and a box of Dots. He didn’t touch the popcorn and ate about three Dots, although when we were standing at the concession stand, Dots had been indispensable to his happiness. We now know he doesn’t like Dots. Then you can’t escape the theater without passing the videogames in the lobby, where weak people will pay $3 in quarters for two rubber bands shaped like familiar household objects.

Nevertheless, I was grateful Christian didn’t suggest going to Chuck E Cheese, because I would have had to take him. Chuck E Cheese should be avoided at all times but especially on Saturday afternoons, when the children run free like animals on the Serengeti. You lose track of what you’re spending at Chuck E’s, because you have to change your cash dollars into Chucky coinage, which is all the arcade games will eat and faster than you can say Vegas slot machine.

The next morning I had to drop Christian off at church, so on the way we stopped at Target to buy a toy. Because that is what we do. I was thinking something from the $1 Spot. Christian was thinking giant LEGO Star Wars set for $99.99. Negotiations ensued, as they always do, and we settled on one “big” toy for $19.99 and one “small” toy for $9.99. Also four toys from the $1 Spot, two for each sister. Can’t forget them.

Got lost on the way to church, which happens sometimes when you drive to St. Paul. People from Minneapolis can wander for days over there searching for a freeway entrance. So we were at least a half-hour late for church, where my son-in-law Lynn was waiting unruffled on the steps. He’s pretty easy-going about things like that. Also, he likes me.

Christian and I had a good time. He was happy, I was happy, money is replaceable. Next up, Maria. She doesn’t come cheap.

The Grapefruit Story

~ Judy ~ 4 Comments

Grandchild behavior can be interesting to say the least and sometimes makes me wonder what awaits them if they continue down this path. A few years ago, for example, when the family was over one day, I didn’t think much of it when I saw 8-year-old Maria cutting up a grapefruit in the kitchen. After everyone left, I sat down to read, and a few hours later headed for bed. I went upstairs, turned on the bedroom light and found hanging there a chunk of pink grapefruit stuck on the wall with a hat pin. Which probably wouldn’t have been a big deal except that I had just been reading The Killing Floor by Lee Child, which is exactly what it sounds like, and at first glance the piece of grapefruit looked remarkably like a piece of human flesh to me and it took about ten minutes for the hysteria to subside. I ask you, what would possess a child to pin grapefruit to her grandmother’s bedroom wall? Truly, it is troubling to me.