Happy New Year!! zzzzzz...

I have come to the realization that I am becoming too old to enjoy New Year's Eve. Why? You ask? Is it because I am in my early 40's and I really just want to go to bed and enjoy a good night's sleep? Well, yes, that is part of it, but the main reason is, I find that I do not suffer fools gladly any more. I cannot tolerate people who become so inebriated that they either wet themselves or vomit all over themselves or poor innocent victims in the general vicinity at the time of stomach explosion. These people need to be slapped in a cab and driven to the nearest hospital for detox. I am too old to go hang out in bars full of college age kids or wannabe college kids who are acting ridiculous and spilling drinks and close talking all night even tho they are yelling in my ear above the outrageously loud and horrible music that is blaring. I don't like crowds. And that is fine. Everyone has their "thing." I would much rather spend New Year's Eve with a few close friends in my home having a nice dinner and some drinks and perhaps a board game or two and perchance a movie. Call me boring. I don't care. When I was in college I had a couple of New Year's Eves like the afore mentioned partying. Did I regret it the next day? Generally not because I do not enjoy the feeling of "being drunk" or out of control. I really don't. Most of the time I was the one driving people home or holding their hair while they worshipped at the "porcelain god" in the ladies room. I was a good friend. Now that I am older, I am thankful that I remember more New Year's Eve antics than most people have forgotten or can remember themselves. Most of the time I have pictures to prove that people actually really did dance on the bar or table, or they actually did wet themselves or perhaps do drunken cartwheels. I am a good friend.

That's Amore'!!

PIZZA!! What kid doesn't love pizza? That tasty lip-smacking round (and sometimes square in certain areas and countries)tomato-y, cheesey slice of heaven? I always loved pizza night at our house growing up. Mom would make some dough from scratch and other times from Peter Pan Instant Pizza Dough (just add water and oill)and whip out the pizza fixin's. Mozzarella cheese, hamburger, green olives...mmm-mmm! That's good eatin'! Nothing was better than Mom's homemade pizza. Pizza night rocked because we would get to drink Pepsi with our pizza. When we were much younger we would drink Kool-aid there was only 1 sccop of sugar in that. But, Pizza and Pepsi night was something we really looked forward to. It was usually before 4-H meetings or Trick-or-Treating because it was fast and easy and the caffeine/sugar rush helped to keep us awake for a few hours. When I was a teenager I would to stay at my friend, Lisa's, house and we would add our own toppings to a pizza. Extra cheese (nearly an inch and a half thick), a can of mushrooms (just the small can), green olives ( a lot of those...) and pepperoni. Had to make sure we had the meat on there for protein, you know. We had all four food groups on that bad boy...and it only took nearly 25 minutes to bake because it was so huge. It would take two of us to lift it to get it in the oven then, we would sit back and wait. in the meantime, we would play a game of Trivial Pursuit to keep us occupied. *DING* Pizza's done!! Do you smell something? Something...burning? NOT THE PIZZA!! Quick, throw open the oven, reach in grab the pizza, burn your hand before you remember to get an oven mitt, turn off oven because...DUH!, grab oven mitt while Lisa fans the smoke out of your face, grab the pizza pan quickly and throw it on the counter, throw baking soda on the burning cheese at the bottom of the oven to squelch the flames, run to the smoke alarm and rip the batteries out of it to shut it up, throw open the front door to get the smoke out of the house, remember that you burned the hell out of your hand, run to the faucet and put it under cold water to prevent blistering, ask Lisa about the welfare of the pizza. "Pizza's fine, oven is not.." Wait 10 minutes for the pizza to cool enough so you can cut it with a pizza cutter, pick up a slice and watch all the good stuff slide off and land with a plop on your lap, run screaming to the bathroom to jump into a cold shower fully clothed because you are burning a hole into your upper thigh, peel your wet cheesy jeans off and wrap a towel around your waist while asking where the burn ointment is, locate said burn ointment and slather it on thickly to injured area, find your pair of sweatpants that you were going to wear to bed and put those on so they don't rub against your injured thigh, go back to kitchen that is nearly smoke-free, cautiously have a seat at the table while smiling weakly to your best friend. "How's that pizza?" "Pretty good. How's yours?" Smartass...

Conniption Fit

"Your father is going to have a conniption when he sees this!" I heard this a LOT growing up and just recently found out just exactly what a "conniption fit" actually was. Mainly because, I was the one having the conniption fit. This was pointed out to me by my 8-year-old son after I told him repeatedly to pick up the pieces of cardboard box that he had strewn about the living room. He was cutting apart a box to make a pair of "wings" for God knows what, and had failed to clean up after himself. So, after telling him more firmly each time to "Clean up this MESS!", I finally lost it. I stormed into the living room and started picking up everything and throwing it into the garbage can. Cardboard, pieces of duct tape, entire rolls of duct tape, scissors, movies, pillows, cats, small children, couches...it all went into the garbage. The entire time I am yelling nonsensical phrases like, "I have had enough...crap.." and "how many times..." and my personal favourite, "shmiggermiggermahger." Now, I really have no idea what that last word/phrase was supposed to be, I was just so incensed about my request being ignored that I apparently started speaking in tongues. My 14 year-old daughter burst out laughing, "What the heck does that mean?!" she said laughing at me until tears rolled down her cheeks. I don't think she understood the threat of death at this point I was so furious, but seeing her laughing at my angry outburst made me stop and take a look from their point of view. A middle-aged woman stomping around the living room, hair flying, eyes shooting fire, arms flailing and throwing stuff in a garbage bag al the while muttering and yelling to no one in particular. At first I was astounded that they weren't terrified of the Wrath of Mom, but stepping back, I realized how ridiculous I must have looked. Less threatening than the Hulk and more bordering on angry/insane clown. "Don't laugh at me! I am really ticked off!" I tried the threatening voice but it came out more like a hysterical scream. That, of course, sent my daughter into more gales of laughter. At this point, I turn to glare angrily at my son, who turned twinkling big brown eyes to me and said, "Geez Mom, don't have a conniption." Deflated...rant over...

Better...Faster...Stronger...

I used to think that Lee Majors was pretty awesome mainly because the faster he ran, the slower he would go. I mean, seriously! Even tho the bad guy would see him running at a snails pace at him and try to run for some reason he was held back by some invisible force field that only allowed him to run in extreme slow motion therefore leaving him wide open for capture by The Six Million Dollar Man. For YEARS (ok, that is an exageration...it was only for about the first 30 minutes of the episode) I thought that the faster "Steve Austin" ran time would stand still for the villian no matter what his infraction was. It could have been jaywalking and Steve Austin would have tackled him to the ground. Then I figured out they just slowed down the film. That was a disappointment... My cousin, Tanya, and I used to play The Six Million Dollar Man and The Bionic Woman a lot as youngsters. And of course, whenever we were getting ready to pounce and capture the bad guy, as per the television show, we would start running real slow with exagerated movements. Even our speech was slow. Hey, sometimes art imitates life! I usually was Steve Austin (I was older and bigger) and Tanya was Jamie Summers (because she had blonde hair- duh). Unfortunately, we didn't have the cool track suits that they wore so we put masking tape down our sleeves and pant legs. That helped us to be "better...faster...stronger" obviously. And our "recharging tent" was a blanket hanging over the swingset. Hey! You had to make do with what you had available and we definately weren't running short on imagination! After an exhausting afternoon of saving the world from imminent peril and destruction, we liked to cool off with a nice Diet Rite. Because that is what the Six Million Dollar Man Lee Majors would drink after a long workout or a day of saving the world. Or maybe I should have had a Rondo... (google it)

Back To School

Ah! Back to school time... the time for notebooks, pencils, crayons and new tennis shoes! The time when parents go broke buying the required gear for the start of a new school year. As a kid I looked forward to getting my school supplies, a new backpack, new tennies and that treasured of all school supplies...a new lunchbox. Back in the day we had our choice of lunchbox themes and not only that, they were metal lunchboxes with a matching thermos! I recall my first lunchbox was when I was in First grade. It was a Peanuts lunchbox. Charlie Brown, Snoopy, Lucy, Linus, Sally and Schroeder graced my lunchbox in colourful cartoon panels and came with a matching thermos that had Snoopy doing his dance of joy that said "LUNCHTIME!" above his dancing head. For first grade, it was a pretty cool lunchbox. I used that lunchbox for two whole years until the hinges finally wore out and broke and frankly, I had outgrown it by Third grade. I was growing up and Charlie Brown and Snoopy were so First Grade. Mom took me shopping for Third Grade school supplies and it came time to pick out a new lunchbox. I scanned the shelves for one that fit my fancy...Dukes of Hazzard (nah, that's a boy's lunchbox), The Beverly Hillbillies (weren't they from the 60's?), the Brady Bunch (another oldie but goody), Scooby Doo,The Bionic Woman, The Six Million Dollar Man...and then suddenly...(insert Halleluia music here)there it was...a Wonder Woman lunchbox. Lights shown down on the beautiful sparkling red and gold double "W" and white stars on a field of royal blue. The front panel had Wonder Woman in action with her lasso of truth and the back panel had her in her invisible jet. I had to have it. The thermos inside had Wonder Woman on one side and Diana Prince (her alter-ego) on the other. It was mine. I used that lunchbox everyday for 3 years until I hit 6th grade. Wonder Woman was still cool but I didn't want it to break as the hinges were getting rusty. So, I moved on to a Miss Piggy plastic lunchbox. Miss Piggy was cool since 'The Muppet Movie' had just come out and hey! I wanted to trend! However, I still held on to that Wonder Woman lunchbox because, after all...I AM Wonder Woman. Recently watching an episode of "Toy Hunter" on the History Channel, the host of the show Jordan found that exact lunchbox, the one I treasured quite highly from my youth. He bought it from the owner for $35 without the thermos. He then proceeded to take it to Comic Con in San Diego and sold it to a collector who HAD the thermos but needed the lunchbox for (are you ready for this?) $300!!! All of a sudden, I am not feeling too attached to this lunchbox anymore...

Completely Unhinged

As a kid I had a temper. Yes. I had a temper. But, it wasn't people who used to make me angry. No. It was inanimate objects. If something did not fit in a spot it was supposed to, or if it wouldn't do exactly what I wanted it to do, I would eventually go all "HULK SMASH" on something and beat the crap out of it. I did this with a little red wagon once. I believe I yelled at it- which in hindsight was the stupidest thing to do because, HEY!, it isn't like it is going to yell back at you or have any reaction to your angry outburst because...well...it's inanimate. It doesn't have feelings. But when you are angry you just have to vent...or smash something. I remember yelling stupidly at my roller skates once because my shoe didn't fit into it. You remember those kind, rigth? The ones that you strapped on to your tennis shoes? Yes well, obviously my feet got too big for them and instead of unscrewed them and extending the length, I decided to start yelling and slamming them on the ground. Big Sister Amy smacked me in the back of the head in disgust and grabbed the offended toy, extended them to fit my shoe, handed it back to me and said (rather sarcastically and deservedly so) "There..isn't that better?!?!" and skated off in a huff. It was at that point that my nine-year-old self stepped back and took a good long look at myself. What the heck is the matter with you!?!? I asked myself. I'm not sure. I replied. Well, here is an idea...calm down and think! Ok. I decided that my inner voice was right and also kind of mean, but I did deserve it. As I grew older I would still have moments when I would go completely unhinged- like when the lawn mower wouldn't start and just shoved it back into the garage and it hit the workbench and bent the wheel (I had to explain that to Dad- that was not fun), or when I couldn't get my locker door open and I punched it and damn near broke a knuckle, or when I locked my keys in my car in the biggest damn storm of the year and ended up denting the side of my car because I was stupidly angry. Now that I am older, I have realized how fruitless and useles it is to lose your temper over objects. Although, every once in a great while the She-Hulk rears her ugly head and makes an appearance. My husband stands back and lets me go and when I am deflated from the energy that it takes out of me, he says in a very snarky tone, "All done? Do you feel better now?" Funny...but that is the same thing I got from my Mom and Big Sister growing up...sometimes you just never learn...

One Speed Bikes

Recently, Dad had decided to do a little "housecleaning." This translates into "take the toys from your childhood home to your house and get them out of mine." Ok. Easy enough, much to the chagrin of my husband. After nearly 40 years, my banana seat bike came back into my possession. It is aptly named "The Dove", a lovely white bike with a blue banana seat and a cloud with a flying orange dove. This was the most beautiful bike I had ever owned. I remember when Mom and Dad purchased this bike for me for my 8th birthday, Big Sister Amy got the same exact bike for her birthday. (Our birthdays were only 2 weeks apart and we often had a combined birthday party.) Mine, however, had an awesome white wicker basket on the front with bright flowers embellishing it. That way we could tell them apart. Cool thing about this bike? I had awesome ape hanger handlebars, a banana seat and a sissy bar. And it only had one speed. The speed at which my legs could pump the pedals to make the bike move. I rode that bike all over our tiny town/village. At first, Mom didn't trust me to ride on the road winding thru our tiny town for fear of me getting hit by some random driver. I think it was perhaps more that I had a tendency to day dream as I was bike riding and she was afraid I would veer into oncoming traffic in one of my inattentive moments- this is most likely true. When I was 9, however, I was able to ride across town and visit my friend, Kelly. Sometimes I would stop at Connie and Rhonda's for a chat and then meander off to wherever my bike took me. As I got older and my legs got longer, we couldn't move the seat up anymore to accomodate the growth spurts that I seemed to have every 3 months. So, I would ride Mom and Dad's bike. Now I say "Mom AND Dad's" because there was only one adult bike and they would share it. When baby sister was still small, there was a child's bike seat attached to the back so that she could enjoy our family bike rides, too. By the time I was able to ride the bike, Baby Sister was too old to sit in the seat so Mom took it off. I mean, what 12 year old wants to be seen riding around on a bike with a baby seat on it? It was enough to get you beat up on the playground. Lately I have been looking for a bike for myself, since my children are old enough to ride their own bikes. I would look at the bike displays and think...what the?!?! I don't need a 21 speed bike that has a built in pedometer, heart rate detector, blue light for night riding, gel padded seat, arm rests for leaning forward when going uphill, automatic braking, AED machine, and a Life Alert button. No. I want a basic bike. One that I pedal with my legs at a sedate pace so that I don't have a heart attack. I am not going to ride the Tour de France...I am going to ride the streets of in my town with my children. I informed Mom that I was looking for a bike and she offered up a suggestion. "Would you like that old bike of mine that is hanging in the shed?" WHAT?!?! Did she honestly still have that terrific bike of my youth? OF COURSE!! Dad pulled it out, pumped up the tires (that were still in excellent shape after all these years) and I gave it a test drive. I whizzed down my parents driveway, down the quarter mile lane I used to walk down every day during school to catch the bus,felt the breeze on my face as my hair whipped in the wind, turned around in the road and rode back toward the house. I noticed that I had to work a little harder than I did at 12 to get back up the small slope to Mom and Dad's house, but it took me to use my legs a little harder and not wimp out by changing gears! I pulled into the driveway, heart pounding, wheezing, sweating, dizzy and feeling every bit of my age, but I was exuberant! I could still do it and the bike tires didn't deflate, the metal rims didn't bend or crumple under the weight of a 43 year old woman who had birthed two children, had a desk job and a penchant for chocolate. So, this year for Mother's Day, I was the grateful and giddy recipient of a 38 year old bike that reminded me that I may be old but I am nowhere near ready for the trash heap! Best Mother's Day. Ever.