pididdle!

It's my job as a mom to teach my kids the basics.  Stuff like how to pick up after themselves, how to pour milk over cereal prepare a meal so they don't starve to death, how to tie their shoes, how to pray.  I'm also their source of cultural knowledge, bringing them places, reading them stories, singing them songs.  Sometimes, for a special treat, I teach them the stuff I learned when I was little.  One night in the car I taught them this song:

My baby fell out the window
We thought her head would be split.
But that day good fortune was with her
And she fell in a pile of 
Shhhhhhhhhhaving cream.
Feel nice and clean
Shave every day and you'll always feel clean.

You people out there in the audience
You've very nice places to sit
But all they gave me here to sit on
Is a great big 'ol pile of 
Shhhhhhhhhhaving cream.
Feel nice and clean
Shave every day and you'll always feel clean.

 I've taught them a variety of jokes and sayings, including my impressive repertoire of  "What do you call a man with no arms and no legs in a _______?" jokes.  (I know over 20 of them--in a pot, on the floor, in a hole, in a lake, on the wall...)

I've taught the boys jump rope rhymes, how to play all sorts of games from cat's cradle to cribbage, and even this cheer that I learned when I was in 3rd grade:

Strawberry shortcake, banana split
We think your team's a pile of 
Shhhhhift to the left!
Shift to the right!
Stand up, sit down FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!
(Totally awesome cheerleader motions optional.)

Last week we were driving home from the dojo in the dark.  A car came towards us and I noticed it had one headlight.  Flashback to my teen years:

We used to drive around at night looking for beer parties something fun to do and we were fond of punching each other in the arm every time we saw a VW Beetle (Slugbug red!) or a car with one headlight burned out (Pididdle!).  Back in the 80's there must have been a lot of burned out headlights because I almost always had a sore arm.  Then, for the longest time, I never noticed any "pididdles."  That may have something to do with how often I drove around at nighttime or improved LED technology or even a better economy.  Anyway, of late, I've seen more cars with one headlight and Mr. B happened to be sitting next to me so I lightly socked him in the arm and said "Pididdle!"

Mr. B turned to me.  "What was that for?"

"I saw a car with one headlight.  If you see a car with one headlight you're supposed to yell 'Pididdle' and punch them in the arm.  Kind of like 'Slugbug.'  It's a car game."

"What's 'pididdle' mean?"

"I don't know.  'Car with one headlight' I guess."

"Oh."

A couple minutes later, he reaches over and punches me.  "Pididdle."  There are no other cars on the road.

"Where do you see it?" I ask him.

"Well, the one from before."

"It doesn't work that way.  You can only say one 'pididdle' per vehicle.  First one claims it.  Otherwise you'd just be punching each other all night."

"Oh."

A little later we're coming into town and he hits me again. "Pididdle!"

I crane my neck and look around.  "Where do you see it?"

"Behind us!  See?  You can only see one headlight!"

I look in my rear view mirror.  "That car has two headlights."

"But you can only see one because it's behind another car."

"That doesn't count.  It has to be an actual car with an actual burned out head--you know what?  Forget it.  It shouldn't be this complicated.  No more pididdle."

"Pididdle!"  Punch.  "Pididdle!"  Punch.  "Pididdle!"  Punch.  "I like this game, mom!"

Spill it, reader.  What necessary cultural knowledge and wisdom do you try to impart?  And are your kids as thick as mine?

Read More

the jerk

I've mentioned before how I don't believe dreams are particularly meaningful.  Mine never make sense and frankly, the ideas wake up to at 3:00 a.m. don't make much sense by 8:00 a.m. either.  (Although it did seem revolutionary and visionary to think of publishing my last novel as a blog post in order to skip all the hard work of finding a publisher and then I'd make it big as a writer when people began buzzing about my book after reading it for free online.  I was all ready to do it, too, at 2:24 the other morning.  By 9:00 that day I came to my senses.  My book's not pornographic, so of course it wouldn't attract the same traffic as other "books" published as a blog post.  See what I mean?  Middle of the night epiphanies are really junk.)

Moments ago killed the 7th box elder bug of the day.  Its squashed body is resting in peace beside my laptop as I type this, neatly wrapped in a scrap of paper.  I'll unceremoniously deposit it in the trash later when I get up to refill my coffee cup.  That I dreamed last night about my kitchen walls being covered in box elder bugs strikes me as purely coincidental.

I also dreamed last night that I was having a baby.  While waiting for the doctor, Mr. D ferried my two oldest boys off to a friend's to wait.  The doctor arrived and began slicing open my belly.  That's funny, I never had a c-section before.  While paying close attention to this strange detail, I expectantly watched the doctor lift the blood-and-mucus covered body and announce "It's a girl!  You have a daughter!"   Now that's just plain wrong.  My third baby was a boy.  Where the f*ck's Mr. G?  "You need to check that out again, doc," I told him while marveling at the sudden lightness in my body where the weight of a baby had been.  How weird was that--to dream about having a baby girl when my third baby was definitely, most clearly and obviously a boy baby?  Mr. D suggested it's a latent desire to have a daughter.  As if a dream means anything.

What does disturb me is this:  on about five different occasions in the past two months I've woken up in the middle of the night and not known where I was.  It has literally taken me minutes to calm down and realize I am right where I belong.  I cannot convey the sheer terror of these experiences.  Rolling over, opening my eyes and seeing nothing that looks remotely familiar.  Not even recognizing the layout of the room, which direction to head for a door in order to escape.  I've lain perfectly still each time, barely breathing while my eyes adjust to the room and I strain to figure out where I am. 

My fright compounds as I realize I am not alone and my heart races faster.  Who is lying next to me?  I clench up and think as hard as I can--how did I get here?

It's the most awful feeling to wake up and recognize nothing.  I'd expect this strangeness if I'd been traveling much, but I really haven't.  I woke up once in Disney World, which kind of freaked me out, but in retrospect made sense since I wasn't in my own bed.  But to wake up utterly lost in a room that I've slept in for nearly 10 years is really weird.  

Naturally I'm wondering why this is happening to me.  Early-onset dementia?  Sleeping really hard and jerking awake for no reason--maybe my REM cycles are out of whack.  Change in diet?  The last time it happened, I eventually got up and walked around the house.  I returned to bed knowing where I was, but not believing I belonged there. 

It's got to be something jerking me out of a deep sleep to make me so discombobulated.  A sudden movement or sound perhaps. 

Spill it, reader.  Tell me I'm not alone--this has happened to other people, right?

Read More

up my sleeves

I'm sitting on so many secrets, making so many plans.  The behind the scenes plotting, meeting with people, lists and conversations is taking up more and more of my life lately.  It's much worse than being in 5th grade and finding out Debra Petras has a major crush on Gary Thompson and pinky-swearing-on-my-father's-grave from my sleeping bag next to her on the bedroom floor that I wouldn't tell a soul.

Actually, as secret-keepers go, I'm pretty good at it.  Just compartmentalize the information, right?  If you tell something in confidence, it will go with me to the grave. 

They're not all long-term secrets, fortunately.  Several are the birthday-related type.  The end date to those secrets are in sight.  I feel a bit like a squirrel, stuffing packages into hiding places, then scurrying to the door to discover the UPS guy on my front porch again.

So much is hushed up right now that I'm struggling a little bit to keep it straight.  I keep flipping open my little notebook to double-check names and dates.  Does she know about this?  Have I mentioned this to him?  I probably should hold off on telling them until January...

This isn't intended to be a coy post.  I am NOT pregnant.  No one is sick.  None of the things up my sleeve right now are bad for anyone.  

For the fun of it, though, I'll share a few secrets here that I've never told anyone.

Once I stole a book from the public library because I liked it so much.

Sometimes I crave beer the way people crave chocolate.  I just want to taste the dark, malty, bitter richness of a stout across my tongue.  I worry that makes me an alcoholic.  But I don't want to get drunk, I just want to drink.

The very first time I felt sexually attracted to a man was when I saw David Lee Roth in Van Halen's "Jump" video.  He isn't even my type, but something about his long hair and the way he writhed his skinny body around awoke something in me that winter when I was twelve.  It was the very first time I thought something about the opposite sex other than "He's cute."  I saw that video on MTV and realized "OH!  THAT'S what they mean by 'sexy.'  I get it."  Yep, I felt that "tingle" described so aptly in the V.C. Andrews books.  And then?  I LIED everytime I agreed with my friends that yes, Eddie Van Halen is so cute with his smile while privately thinking David Lee Roth was so hot.  I was so embarrassed to be attracted to the wrong guy in that video.

I'm kind of blushing about that last one especially, so reader?  PLEASE don't mock me in the comment box.  Keep that last secret especially on the down low.

Read More

white meat

Last night I spent 4 hours at the park between Mr. T's soccer game (tied) and Mr. G's coach pitch game (tied).  (Poor Mr. B had to hitch a ride to his scrimmage in another town since Mr. D was coaching.  He's still making me feel guilty about that.)  The winds were gusting at a balmy 37 MPH and I tethered myself to the turf to watch the excitement.  Fortunately I wasn't blinking the sand from the baseball infield out of my eyes the entire night, just for half of it.

At the soccer game the one lady brought her extremely hostile dog like she always does.  What's with the little dogs being so obnoxiously loud and aggressive?  It's like the canine version of Short Man's Disease--they're always jonesing for a fight, talking big and getting in your face.  Our 60-pound mutt, on the other hand, barks once approximately every 85 days.  He's passive and only lunges towards food or cars.  Anyway, I clung to my lawn chair while Yippy growled and complained a few feet to my right, lunging towards the field, tenuously held back by a leash.  Why do people insist on bringing animals like that out in public?  This dog's been on the sidelines for years, so it's obvious that this method of socialization isn't getting anywhere.  (Yes, I confess to indulging in a few fantasies, like Jax eating Yippy in one bite, or a bald eagle swooping down to eat Yippy in one bite.  Or me stepping on Yippy, silencing him forever.  Shut up.  Even the most devout dog lover would agree that this beast has no redeeming quality.  I speculate this dog's half AM talk radio host and half demon.)

I digress.  Yippy annoyed me but the barn swallows were pure entertainment.  Like Blue Angels, they swooped and divebombed the turf, eating bugs and demonstrating how aerodynamic they could be in 37 MPH winds.  I envied them while I spat strands of hair out of my mouth.

Then I noticed a couple of girls approaching the game to my left.  One cradled something in her arms--a baby? I wondered...  But it looked pretty small to be a baby.  And no one in their right mind would bring a 5 pound preemie out in this wind without a blanket. 

Two of the skinniest legs and feet stuck straight up and then I wondered if the girl wasn't carrying one of those practice babies they give you in school to scare kids straight about using birth control and abstinence.  But no, the legs seemed to move.  Or get tossed around by the wind.  A couple of other people approached to look at what the girl cradled in her arms--their response assured me that whatever it was, it was alive.  No one would spend that much time admiring a baby doll. 

Wait a minute!  It occurred to me that this girl might have a pet monkey.  That would explain the size and the freakishly thin legs and long toes.  A pet monkey--that would be something to see! 

I was too far away to get a clear view from my spot where I'd staked myself in the grass, so I leaned back and pretended to stretch.  Still couldn't see it very well so I uprooted myself and took a few casual paces around my lawn chair (which blew over the second I stood up). 

I shit you not, I nearly fell over when I realized what the girl had brought to the soccer game (and not because a gust of 47 MPH directed it's full impact at me).  She set it down on the ground and sat next to it, petting it's back.

Just when I thought I'd seen it all.  That girl had brought a pet chicken to the soccer game.

Thank goodness she was sitting upwind of Yippy.  I know how Jax would've behaved, catching a whiff of a chicken dinner.  I think he'd even bark to say, "Pass the mashed potatoes."

You bet I gave Jax an extra scoop of kibble when I came home after last night's games--just to our good dog some extra appreciation.

Read More

thank goodness for bumbles

Because this woman needs a little shot of estrogen right now.  And a shot few glasses of wine and good book talk wouldn't hurt, either.  We read The Night Circus and it was really wonderful.  So I'm totally dressing up in all black and white with a red scarf (tres theatrical, like a true rêveur) and ordering something dainty.  Don't wait up, boys.

why so eager for book club tonight, green girl?

Well, I passed my karate module test last night, nailing the kama form (perfection, truly) and adequately passing the fan form.  Because my son is easily embarrassed, I backed down from the Kimono Challenge.  The boy and I share dojo space, I need to respect his need for me to blend into the woodwork and not make a spectacle of myself.  However, the boy and I do NOT share blog space, so I'm totally making a video of the fan form in a kimono for all to witness and enjoy.  Plus I'll demonstrate the level of dexterity required to manage a darn fan.

Mr. G woke me up for the 2nd time this week out of a dead sleep--nightmare.  Again.  And I can never fall back asleep once he does that, so I'm feeling a bit cranky.

Evidently Mr. G felt cranky this morning, too, because when I asked him to read today's lunch menu for us (normally a cool thing since he's learned to read so well), he read "We're having fat f*cking chicken patties."  OH MY!  Like any good mother would do, I promptly jammed a bar of Ivory soap between his lips and turned my back so he couldn't see me stifling hysterical laughter.  Grouchy, foul-mouthed kid.  Where the f*ck does he get off, talking like that?

After shooing the gang down the driveway to catch their bus, I strolled to the back yard to discover this grisly find (please don't look if you've got a weak constitution--this is really, really gross.  I swear.):

That, friends, is some unidentified animal skull. 

Bigger than my foot.

Either the work of that varmint-eating dog of ours or the Yeti, I imagine.

Bumble Book Club, take me away!

Read More

the weirdest thing I saw yesterday

Yesterday's bizarre discovery began with a request from Mr. T for a coffee cake. This led to digging through the tried-and-tested cookbooks, Betty Crocker, The Walker Methodist Church Ladies, The Heritage Cookbook, and finally The Cake Doctor. I've yet to find a Cake Doctor recipe that didn't taste great. Seriously, if you're going to buy one more cookbook in this lifetime, The Cake Doctor Cookbook is the one you want. Every recipe begins with a cake mix and builds from there. Foolproof and delicious every single time. I've probably made half of the cakes in the cookbook, but yesterday was my first attempt at Sock-It-To-Me Cake.

It was the closest to a coffee cake recipe I could find in all those dang cookbooks, which sort of surprised me. (For the record, I was in the mood for Rice Krispie Treats, but some scavenging children had eaten all the marshmallows in the pantry.) But I had all of the required ingredients to make it, so Sock-It-To-Me, baby.


After putting the cake in the oven (in a bundt pan), I read the fine print at the end of the recipe.
Do you see that, reader?


In what world does one FREEZE a CAKE for SIX MONTHS?
I mean, I get making a double-batch of chili and freezing it. Freezer jam. The random frozen casserole. But a CAKE? Who on earth would go to the trouble to bake a cake and then freeze it for six months and then take it out to defrost overnight before eating it?


Furthermore, who bakes a cake like this and then tests the freezing method for six months before eating it? In my world you bake a cake to eat cake. Immediately. Like, while it's still a bit warm and melting on your tongue with all kinds of golden buttery goodness. With a cup of coffee and a little chit-chat before the homework shift begins. Can you imagine baking a cake, filling your house with the smell of baked cake and then wrapping it tightly in foil to FREEZE? To this I can only say: WTF, Cake Doctor?

The cake you see in the photo above is the actual Sock-It-To-Me Cake I baked yesterday. As of this morning it is 2/3 GONE. Cakes have an average lifespan of 48 hours at Chez Green Girl. Team Testosterone's Verdict: Sock-It-To-Me Cake is a winner.

Read More

head to toe and in between

A full-blown head cold has taken over just in time for the weekend. Since I've decided to divulge fun facts about my health in today's post, I've included a list of true facts about my body:

1. I do not require eyeglasses or contacts. Aren't I lucky?

2. My left thumb is double-jointed.

3. I am a devoted knuckle-cracker.

4. When I was pregnant with Mr. T, a lump started to grow on the right side of my neck. After determining that it was benign, it sort of shrunk after he was born. Then we had a tough time getting pregnant again (see: miscarriage, pre-cancer cells in a pap smear) and it grew again. (I wore a lot of turtlenecks, scarves and long hair during these years.) Finally, I'd given up hope of being pregnant and scheduled surgery to remove it. I went in for my presurgical exam and the nurse asked if there was any chance I was pregnant. I told him no. He had me take a blood test anyway. A few hours later this ENT nurse called to tell me I was pregnant (with Mr. B!--I asked the nurse if he was absolutely certain I was pregnant and he assured me that yes, I was--no shit!). As it happened, I didn't have the tumor removed until Mr. G was about 3 months old. When they finally took it out, it was the size of a grapefruit. All that remains is a scar on my neck that sort of blends in with the lines on my neck and it's a lot less embarrassing than a huge goiter.

5. I have chronic tailor's bunions on both feet because of the way my bones push my little toes inward, pushing the edge of my feet outward. Once I saw a podiatrist who recommended breaking my feet and resetting the bones to make the bunions go away. I got a second opinion from a doctor who recommended wearing wide shoes. Guess which opinion I ran with.

6. My fingernails grow freakishly long and strong, which I hate, so I'm always having to cut them.

7. My calves are bigger than Mr. D's. I know this because we measured them once. I come from hearty German ancestry.

8. My right kneecap kept popping off when I was young, so I had it reattached to pull the opposite way when I was 14 years old. I have a screw holding my right knee together and a big smiley-face scar running beneath it. It never bothers me except when I have to kneel on it, then it hurts.

9. I have mild scoliosis, one of my hips is a half inch higher than the other. I used to think hemlines were crooked, it wasn't until I saw a chiropractor in my 20's for back pain that I learned it was me who was off-kilter.

10. I have had asthma forever, compounded by allergies to animals, mold, dust and tobacco smoke.

Spill it, reader. Fun facts about your body!

Read More

an accidental answer

First, thank God everyone has weathered Irene okay. Most of my east coast pals are waterlogged, but everyone came out in one piece. I was so glad to get an email from Marni especially because North Carolina took the hit first and fiercest.



So, for years I've driven past this very curious building. It's obviously well-kept, has a sign on the front of the building and flags that flutter above the roofline. The flags are always new, never look tattered, but the building has no "open" sign, nor have I ever seen anyone enter or exit the building. I've never seen cars parked near it. I've looked in the phone book and never found a listing. It looks like maybe a bar or restaurant, but the lack of any advertising or phone listing had me guessing it was a private club. Or used to be open but is now vacant? I've never ever heard anyone speak of this place, either.



My curiosity has run deep for years, even to the point of writing the local business columnist to try to learn what this place might be. I have never tried to enter the building, it's not a welcoming facade--the picture really does it justice. There is nothing on the exterior to indicate if this place is even open for business.





Fast forward to this weekend: I'm a busy worker bee trying to bring my manuscript up to snuff. In addition to making characters send text messages instead of emails, I have to check the locations I reference--the bulk of the story takes place in Madison and I want everything up to the minute. The lesbian-owned club I mention in one chapter has gone out of business, so I Google "lesbian clubs madison" to find a new spot to mention. The first link listed is a directory of LGBT clubs in Wisconsin--and there--right there at the beginning of the list of Wisconsin cities in alphabetical order--I spy a listing for "Rascals." In fact, I could even link directly to a website to learn about their weekly specials and even see a picture from the inside of the bar. What a satisfying discovery!



Still ... with my 20/20 hindsight, you'd think the rainbow flags would've clued me in, right?

Read More

well, I never

* went on a cruise
* painted my toenails or got a pedicure
* got a tattoo
* rode a snowmobile
* voted a straight ticket
* cooked lamb
* turned down a slice of pie
* went to an NBA game
* shopped for a car alone
* grew eggplant
* parasailed/skydived/went up in a balloon/bungee jumped
* bought myself an expensive piece of jewelry
* caught the bouquet at a wedding
* was a bridesmaid
* read Jane Eyre
* required eyeglasses or contacts
* golfed well
* tried one of those ice cream coffee things they serve at Starbucks
* bought store brand peanut butter
* listened to At The Edge, the commercials really creep me out
* sat through a horror movie without covering my eyes or screaming
* figured out how to see the image in those 3D pictures
* "layered" my scents--heck, I don't even own perfume
* recycled a newspaper without at least skimming it--no matter how many pile up
* got call waiting or caller ID
* understood NASCAR
* played poker

Spill it, reader. What have you never?

Read More