And the Winner Is--

Rough coupla days around these parts. When it comes to the most disturbing thing I've heard in the last four days, it's a toss-up. The candidates:

My mechanic saying, "It is the fuel pump. Once you figure in all the parts and labor it's going to be just a hair over $400."

The girl at the car rental agency saying, "We're going to go ahead and upgrade you to the Malibu because the Cobalt has a funky smell in it and we can't figure out where it's coming from."

Refrigerator Art

Last night, Son-Three yells from the kitchen: "Just what I want to see when I'm trying to decide what to have for a snack: a fetus!"

Technically it's not a fetus, but an ultrasound picture held on the refrigerator by a magnet. And it's not a picture of just any fetus, but a fetus with my youngest sister's nose or a fetus who looks just like my brother-in-law, depending on which side of the family you ask. It is, in short, a baby whose expected arrival in late summer is eagerly awaited not only by Youngest Sister and her husband but by the many people who love them.

Even Son-Three, who is sometimes relentlessly, dangerously adolescent, is excited. Son-Three happens, by sheer coincidence, to share a real-life name with Youngest Sister's Husband*. This afternoon, he says to me, "Mom, if it's a boy do you think they'll name it after me?"

*Lou B. of the Masked Mom Comment Hall of Fame**

**There is no Masked Mom Comment Hall of Fame, but if there were you can bet your butt he'd be in it.

Where's Homeland Security When You Need Them?

Taylor Swift's song "Love Story" is insidious. And not in a good way.

It not only gets in your head, it stays there. It is bouncy, repetitive and sickly sweet. I spent a recent night waking up repeatedly to the sound of those lyrics and that boppy tune chasing themselves around in my brain. It made falling back asleep difficult. I would finally drift off only to be woken up again a short time later. And again and again.

All this despite the fact that I haven't actually heard more than the opening few seconds of the song in days. When I hear it begin on the radio (I can name that tune in two synthesized notes), I change the channel not only quickly but vehemently. A song that relentless has got to have some connection to al Qaeda, right?

Decisions, Decisions...

Years ago, I read a riddle on the last page of Reader's Digest. It went something like, "There were seven frogs on a log. Five of them decided to jump off. How many frogs were left on the log?"

Two, right?

Son-Three, who was seven or eight at the time, piped up, "Seven!" without even a second's hesitation, which was of course the right answer because, as the punchline helpfully pointed out, "Deciding and doing are two different things."

I've been thinking a lot about those frogs lately. The fact that Son-Three got it--at seven or eight and so quickly!--while I failed to get it at all at thirty-something was probably an indication of more than just my slow-wittedness. The fact is deciding and I have a decidedly dysfunctional relationship.

On the one hand, I will spend absurd amounts of time agonizing over seemingly trivial decisions--seriously, I've spent more than an hour picking out a birthday card on more than one occasion. Hubby has practically had to physically drag me out of the pen aisle at Wal-Mart when the choices--blue, black, ballpoint, gel, clicker or cap--have overwhelmed me. On the other hand, I will often make much more serious decisions--say getting married or naming one of my children after a high-end sports car--with much less agony and forethought.

Further complicating matters, the degree of agony involved in making a decision is no indicator whatsoever of the likelihood that I will actually follow-through with said decision. In other words, as fraught as my relationship with deciding may be, my relationship with doing is much more so. Deciding and I should maybe someday be in couples counseling. Doing and me? Well, it's straight to the Jerry Springer Show for us.

For instance, I have decided a number of times (a very high number) to go back to school. I have decided to look up information. I have decided on courses of study. I have decided to fill out the applications and financial aid forms. Of all the times I have made these decisions--sometimes it seems I've made them on a daily basis--I have made it three-quarters of the way through the applicaton process exactly one time before being distracted by the facts of my life and by the very convincing whining of my little chickenshit brain.

This is one frog who's very tired of sitting on the log. Tired of deciding over and over again to jump off. This frog has gotten tough with herself, putting her foot down--this time I'm serious!--and she's tired of that too.

This time, she's not deciding a single damn thing. She's doing.

The Wednesday UnWhine: "Guess What!? Tomorrow Is The Day Before Friday!"...

...that's how I was greeted this morning by Baby Brother's Girlfriend's Four-Year-Old Daughter, her voice full of excitement--the kind of excitement you might expect if she'd won the lottery and the oversized check was being delivered by Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny.

Hard to maintain a whiny attitude in the face of all that enthusiasm.

The Wednesday Whine (Introducing An (Alliterative) Weekly* Collection Of Things That Have Annoyed Me Most In The Past Week)

For this, the premiere episode of The Wednesday Whine, I'll begin with the thing that annoyed me the absolute most this past week and then continue in no particular order:

A. Due to prior commitments to beings I brought into the world who think this fact somehow entitles them to huge chunks of my time and energy and commitments to other people I did not bring into the world but who nonetheless seemingly ceaselessly clamor for my (limited) time and energy, I was unable to begin The Wednesday Whine on an actual Wednesday but had to wait instead for Friday night after a stressful volleyball game and, therefore, am too exhausted to self-edit thereby producing this amazingly long, essentially senseless, if not actually run-on, sentence.

B. Church sign I saw last Saturday night: "NEVER BE AFRAID TO TRUST AN UNKNOWN FUTURE TO A KNOWN COD." Yes, it said "COD," just like that. I drove by, did a double-take and actually backed up to double check. Heck of a "typo," but that wasn't really what annoyed me. What annoyed me was they left it up like that all week. Who knows? Maybe it was a recruitment strategy: lure people into calling to report the "mistake" and then invite them to Sunday service.

C. When I mentioned the church sign to Cranky Boss Lady she said, "A known cod? Would that be Van De Kamp's or Gorton's?" That annoyed me, because it was fast and funny and Cranky Boss Lady's not supposed to be either of those things.

D. In other more typical Cranky Boss Lady news: After making the harrowing drive in to work during a winter storm, she said, "I couldn't help noticing that everyone off the side of the road was driving an SUV" in a tone suggesting there was some kind of karmic justice being wreaked out there on the road--arrogant, overconfident, four-wheel drive driving drivers, blah, blah blah getting what they deserve by winding up stuck in a snow drift. Great theory. Would've meant a heck of a lot more were Cranky Boss Lady not the proud owner & driver of a four-wheel drive vehicle who only last month found herself off the side of a snow-covered road, stuck in a ditch, needing towed out by a tractor. As she rambled on about irresponsible SUV drivers, not for one second did her own overconfident navigation of her own SUV cross her judgmental little mind. Errrrrgggg.

*No promises.

Happy, Happy Inauguration Day To You

On every birthday up to a certain age, someone invariably would ask me, "You're 4 (or 7 or 10) do you feel any different?"

And, of course, I didn't feel any different than I'd felt the night before when I was still 3 or 6 or 9 because the essence of being 4 or 7 or 10 can't be compressed into a single day or a single moment.

I was thinking about that today, as our 44th president was inaugurated: We have a new president, do I feel any different?

Well...the truth is that a new president will affect the day-to-day facts of our lives very little in the immediate future.

But...the other truth is that I do feel different and I think that feeling is called hope and I think and believe that the man who was sworn in today along with the team he has assembled around himself, can live up to that hope.

PS--Obama's speech was moving and perfectly delivered and I think that's great because I think a good 65% or so of the presidency is about public relations (at home and abroad), but still the best words I heard all day were on the AP radio feed: "A helicopter carried former President Bush away from Washington toward Andrews Air Force base..."

Two Observations For The New Year

--Flannel sheets are the double-edged sword of linens. Good: they are amazingly warm and fuzzy and comfortable. Bad: they are amazingly warm and fuzzy and comfortable so you never want to get out of bed, which severely compromises your ability to function in your normal life. But it's okay because flannel sheets are way better than functioning normally.


--I have grown increasingly perturbed in recent weeks by the fact that windshield wash comes in gallon jugs while the reservoir in my car apparently holds three quarts. I started thinking about it and I've never driven (or filled) a vehicle that did hold the whole gallon. At this point I have six quarts of windshield wash in my garage in six separate containers because I always forget about the leftovers. Shouldn't someone in the wash industry get with someone in the auto industry and hammer out a plan to address this disparity? Maybe we could use a couple million out of the bail-out money to finance that little project, it would make about as much sense as some of the other stuff that's come out of it.

That Holiday Spirit

I was in Kmart early in December and saw what appeared to be a grandmother with her granddaughter. The granddaughter's (apparent)dad had gone in the opposite direction and the granddaughter, who looked to be about three, was squirming in the cart, and saying, to the grandmother, "I don't want you. I don't love you." in a whiny three-year-old voice.

The grandmother said, "Well, good, because the less people who like me this time of year means the less presents I have to buy."

Warms the heart, doesn't it?

NaBloPoMo Recovery

One of the things that happens when you post every day for a month is that when it's over, you feel kind of funny not posting for the first few days.

Then you get over it.

Best Laid Plans and All That Crap

So I made it.

Just barely and with more than a few questionable posts, but still, I made it.

I had a post planned about what I've learned from yet another month of daily posting but a heaping helping of driving two boys back to college with side orders of freezing rain and holiday traffic have dashed those fantastic plans.

Maybe next time.

Saving The Best For Last...

...and tonight's only next-to-last.

Our Whole Friendship In a Nutshell

It's been a busy couple of days. Today, especially, morphed from a much-needed vacation day at work to seven-and-a-half hours of funeral work and deliveries followed by a frantic two hours of errands for the various people in my life. In the midst of all this fun, a friend--Ms. Unattainable--texted me--she was having a minor moment and needed an ear, could I squeeze in dinner with her? When I said yes, she asked if I was sure because she knew how busy I was (she, unlike me, was actually off on her day off, and we had been in touch off and on throughout the day).

My answer: "It's fine--a break from my own insanity for a little of yours will be refreshing."

Giving Thanks...

Too stuffed to post...much.

Just Askin'

You know how you always hear women of a certain age--say 40 and up--talking about finally being "comfortable my own skin?" Now, I'm no expert, having only recently entered the four-ohs, but doesn't it seem possible that we're more comfortable in our skin because that skin is all stretched out and baggy like a worn-out sweatshirt and a broken-in pair of jeans?

...And Humble Too

In the car with Daughter-Only on the way to retrieve Son-One for Thanksgiving Break when she says, in what can only be described as an awe-filled voice:

"I was just sitting here thinking how awesome I am."

Oooohkay.

Masked Mom's Media Monday: The Wordy Shipmates

[In honor of NaBloPoMo (read: because I was such an idiot as to commit to posting daily), Masked Mom's Media Monday makes its triumphant (albeit likely very temporary) return.]

I was reading Sarah Vowell's The Wordy Shipmates at work last week when Cranky Boss Lady glanced over and said, "What's that about?"

I answered, "The Puritans."

She cringed. "Isn't it boring?" I thought at first it was kind of a silly question because, well Cranky Boss Lady was asking it, and since if I found it boring I likely wouldn't have been halfway through the book and so absorbed in it that I was having a hard time putting it down to actually do my job. But the truth is I'd never found the Puritans all that fascinating and the main reason I'd picked up the book was Sarah Vowell's name on the cover. Frankly, I'd follow Vowell to just about any topic she'd want to cover.

And even in this subject, the (allegedly) boring Puritans, Vowell did not disappoint:

"By March, good old Miantonomi sends Boston a tribute of 'forty fathom of wampum and a Pequot's hand,' severed body parts being the seventeenth-century equivalent of a gift basket of mini-muffins."

"Mason is triumphant. After all, this is the will of a righteous God. He praises the Lord for 'burning them up in the fire of his wrath, and dunging the ground with their flesh: It is the Lord's doings, and it is marvelous in our eyes!' That might be the creepiest exclamation point in American literature. No, wait--it's this one: 'Thus did the Lord judge among the heathen, filling the place with their dead bodies!'"

In between smart-ass commentary about the Puritans, Vowell fits in lots of information and even some smart-ass commentary about herself:

"I wish I didn't undertand why Hutchinson risks damning herself to exile and excommunication just for the thrill of shooting off her mouth and making other people listen up. But this here book is evidence that I have this confrontational, chatty bent myself."

And in her usual way, she painlessly sneaks in lessons about how we came to think America is the greatest nation on earth and how, while it might be true, it can be a horribly dangerous notion when taken to extremes.

Masked Mom's One-Word Review: Enlightening.


*Or at least pretend a little harder to be doing my job--though, frankly, a lot of my job lately actually seems to consist entirely of pretending--pretending to be fascinated by the tales of CBL's newest relationship; pretending not to be panicked by the latest round of economic news and what it means for a luxury industry like ours; pretending to have any respect for CBL's opinions on business, politics, religion or any other topic at all; pretending not to want to duct tape CBL's ever-yammering mouth shut...

Hmmmm...

Got this in a fortune cookie the other day and it's been bugging me ever since:

"Ignorance on fire is better than knowledge on ice."

My first thought was "huh?"

My second: "Not only is that not true, it could be dangerous."

My third: "Someone from the Bush administration has been writing fortune cookies."

A Tale Of Two Colleges

Son-One started it by choosing a college in Buffalo, a place known for its nasty winter weather and the dreaded lake effect snow*. Son-Two upped the ante by choosing a college with dorms about one mile from Lake Erie, an area even more prone to lake effect snow.

Last semester as I set out to pick up Son-One for what was laughingly referred to as Spring Break (in March, in Buffalo), there were lake effect snow advisories and white knuckle driving most of the way up and back. The end result being a trip that normally takes four hours taking six instead.

Last night as I set out to pick up Son-Two for Thanksgiving break, there were lake effect snow warnings and white knuckle driving most of the way up and back. The end result being a trip that normally takes four-and-a-half hours taking six instead.

You can only imagine how much I'm looking forward to picking up Son-One Tuesday night.

*For those uninitiated in lake effect greatness, lake effect snow is not caused by a storm but by cold air moving over the warm lakes where it picks up moisture, magically changes it to snow and dumps it by the footful on the regions near the Great Lakes. It is much less predictable than normal weather patterns and ever-so-much more fun.

Fake Post

Maybe the title should be "Another Fake Post." Anyway, my excuse this time is I am on my way to pick up Son-Two at college for Thanksgiving Break and I am not entirely certain I will make it back before midnight. Therefore, rather than the wise, witty and wonderful post you would've gotten if I WERE able to make it back by midnight, you're getting this--a(nother) fake post.