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First day of school
Tomorrow is my daughter, Zoe’s, first day of school. She’s entering 4 year old kindergarten, and will be going all day. I’m excited for her, and concerned too.
Zoe is very bossy, and very set in her ways. It takes a while to understand where the kid is coming from, and I’m hoping that her teacher will be able to see this in Zoe, and work with her. My sister-in-law is a teacher at the school, and recommended to the principal which teacher she felt Zoe would fit in best with. So, basically Zoe’s teacher was hand picked for her, and I appreciate that.
Let’s hope the teacher will appreciate it too.
And the principal.
Something tells me I’ll be spending a lot of time talking to both of them.
You see, Zoe has tunnel vision on a lot of things. It’s her way, or the highway.
For instance, you know those little dolls called Polly Pockets? Well, she calls them Polly Rockets. And I’ve tried to correct her, yet she insists that I’m wrong, and she’s right. And there comes a time when it’s easier to drop the debate with her — she doesn’t give up!
I’ve even debated the time of day with her!
Oh, and she also still thinks her name is Zoe Pumpkin Pie. Something tells me the teacher won’t find that nearly as cute as I do.
Bottle of wine
For Hubby and I, there is this one bottle of Chianti that brings back wonderful memories. We rarely get a bottle of wine at a restaurant, usually we’ll each have a glass instead. However, this one night about six years ago, we had an entire bottle. You’ve all seen this bottle of wine, it’s got a large round belly, with a basket weaved around it. Do you see it in your mind? Yes, it’s that one.
That bottle of Chianti was one of the best bottles we’ve ever had, not because the wine was good, but because we had such a great time at dinner that night. We had great conversation, and we each got to ask the other a question as the spokesperson for our sex, the other would answer as the spokesperson for their sex. I can’t remember my question to all men, but his question to all women was something like Why do we have so much crap in our purses?
Don’t worry ladies, I gave him plenty of good reasons why we tote around so much stuff.
About two weeks ago, Hubby brought home that same bottle of Chianti. As we were leaving for vacation on Wednesday, I came across it. Should I bring it? Or leave it?
Hubby said I should bring it, and I made a mental note to bring the corkscrew too.
Well, guess who forgot the corkscrew?
Hello, I’m Indigo, have we met?
Five hours later, we are up-north, and I’ve got a pizza in the oven. The bottle of wine is out, and that’s when I realize that I didn’t bring the corkscrew.
Let me tell you, this is the vacation home of a family of Pabst Blue Ribbon drinkers. There were about two cases of Pabst in the garage, and there was a small refrigerator on the porch that was dedicated to Pabst. I searched through all the drawers, and found many bottle top openers, but not one single corkscrew.
I really wanted that bottle of wine, and all the great memories that went with it, so the search continued.
Hubby pulled out the silverware drawer, lifted up the tray, and there it was … a small wooden corkscrew.
I did my own little happy dance around the kitchen, as Hubby put the corkscrew into the cork.
And then he pulled.
And pulled.
And pulled the handle right off the screw.
Hells Bells!! Now what are we going to do? We have a bottle of wine, with a cork in the top, and a corkscrew in the cork, without a handle.
Thankfully, my family is big on tools, and we found a pliers to pull the cork out.
Was the glass of wine worth the trouble? Well, not really, but it’s made for a good story, and provided a nice chuckle.
When we packed up to leave, Hubby took the cork to bring home as a memory. We bought a new corkscrew, a decent corkscrew, and left it in the silverware drawer (next to the boat key). I doubt it’ll ever get used, especially with all that Pabst sitting around.
Freakin’
I blabbered on for quite some time yesterday, so tonight I’ll keep it short.
Hubby, Zoe and I were eating dinner when out of no where Zoe blurts out, “My feet are freakin’ cold.”
Oh jeez. Where did she pick that up from? (Oh yeah, me)Hubby cracked a smile, but kept himself composed. I, on the other hand, am unable to keep myself composed during a time of such pure hilariousness (I may have made that word up). I was laughing so hard that tears were rolling down my cheeks. I have to at least give her credit for using it in perfect context. 
Just so we are perfectly clear, I’d never say the real F word at the dinner table to describe the temperature of my feet. Never. Ever. Ever.
What has your kid done that’s had you laughing so hard you were crying? No kid? No problem! Surely you can borrow one for comments-sake.
The boat
I’m back! Did you miss me?
Thank you to Cathy and Beanhead for filling in for me while I was gone! Y’all did a great job!
So, didn’t my uncle tell me where the keys to the boat was? Yes, he did. He said, “The keys to the boat are in the silverware drawer.” And sure enough, they were in the silverware drawer.
If the owner of the boat told you that you the keys to the boat were in the silverware drawer, wouldn’t you take that to mean it was okay for you to take the boat out? Yes? That’s what I thought too.
Thursday morning came. We woke up and headed down to the boathouse. The last time I was at the lake, there wasn’t a boathouse. This was new. My grandpa (that’d be Leonard), bought the land about 30+ years ago, and he only put in a pier. Everyone docked their boat at the pier. There was grandpa’s pontoon boat, and usually my dad’s fishing boat, and then the odd small boat that one of the grandkids used. There wasn’t a need for a boathouse.
Well, my Uncle Mack bought the property from my grandpa about 4 years ago. Since then he’s put in a huge garage (currently housing five lawn mowers, who in the hell needs five lawn mowers???) and a boathouse.
So back to Thursday morning. We get down to the boathouse, and find the pontoon boat inside, and it’s hooked up to an electric winch system (that’s technical for a cable system to raise and lower the boat into the lake). Of course, I didn’t have a clue about it, but Hubby knew exactly what it was, and he knew how to work it. We got the boat down into the water, but we lowered it really slowly because we wanted to be careful. All of a sudden Hubby noticed that it smelled like something was on fire, and the winch motor was hot to the touch.
We shut it off, unplugged it and let it be. Of course, I was freaking out thinking that we broke it, and one of us would have to drive to the nearest Sears (about 45 miles away) to get a replacement.
After allowing it to cool down, we were able to pull the boat trailer back up into the house. We noticed that the cable was unraveled in one spot, and that was most likely what was stressing the motor out. We agreed that we were going to leave the boat docked to the pier until the very last day, so we’d only have to use the winch one more time.
That night, we were relaxing by the campfire, getting ready to roast marshmallows, when Uncle Mack called to see how things were going.
Me: Fine.
Mack: Did you find everything okay?
Me: Yep. We want to know what kind of gas the pontoon boat takes.
Mack: The. Pontoon. Boat. (long pause) Ummmm, well. Not a good idea. It’s tricky to get in and out.
Me: (no kidding)
Mack: So I’d appreciate it if you don’t take out the pontoon boat.
Me: Oh sure, not a problem, we won’t use it then.
Crap.
As soon as I hung up the phone I told Hubby that we needed to get that pontoon boat back into the boathouse. PRONTO! Especially before any neighbors arrive for the weekend, and tattle on me to my Uncle Mack.
There I was, 36 years old, and freaking out that I had taken the pontoon boat out when I wasn’t supposed to. All we needed to do was pull it back up into the boathouse. That’s it. That’s all we needed to do. I can’t remember a time I’d been more stressed out though.
Hubby changed into his swimming suit, and then we headed down to the boathouse.
He got into the water, as I untied all the ropes from the pier and led the boat over to him. Then I very carefully lowered the boat trailer into the lake, being very careful not to let the motor get hot again. Hubby got the boat onto the trailer, stuck the pin in place, and then we started pulling her up.
I swear to God, I was so nervous that something was going to break! That something was going to go wrong, but nothing did.
When I noted that it was actually going pretty easy, he turned to me and said, “I’ve raised a pontoon boat out of the lake every day of my summer life from the age of 12 to 18. I did it in the rain, in the dark, and even drunk.”
How could I forget that all his summers spent on the pontoon boat? He’s told me time and time again that he’d take the boat out in the morning with his friends, and they’d spend all day in the middle of the lake with it, and they’d come home after dark. How could I forget?
Well, once again, my hero saved the day! He put the boat away, we put the key back in the top secret hiding place, and then we roasted marshmallows over the campfire.
P.S. I never did see or meet the neighbor, so I have no idea what my uncle meant about him.
Skeletons in the Closet
~~Guest blogger, cathy-with-a-c, here again…. ~~
Every family’s got a few skeletons in the closet, right?! I guess eventually they’re likely to come out…
A few years ago, I found out I had an uncle who were never knew existed. Well, actually my dad had always just thought he was his cousin. He’d met him a few times but they really didn’t know much about each other.
Until the day my dad’s Aunt Sarah Jane spilled the beans. In a casual conversation, she said something to my dad about Dick being his brother. My dad looked at her like she had a screw loose. Then she proceeded to tell him about his brother. My Grandma (my dad’s mom) passed away in 1990. And she took a secret to the grave with her. Before she was married to my grandpa, she became pregnant, had a son, and gave him up for adoption to an aunt. From what my aunt said, my grandpa knew about the pregnancy but it was not his child. He insisted that she give the baby up. A few months later, they were married and a year later, my dad was born. My grandma went on to have two more children. Her aunt raised my uncle as her own. He now lives in Massachusetts.
When my dad first found out, he had a bit of a difficult time accepting what his mother had done years ago. But he got over it when he and my Uncle Dick met. It just so happened they were able to schedule it so he and his wife could come to our family reunion that year. They came a few days early, met my parents, and then met the rest of us at the reunion. We all got along like we’d always known him and Shirley, his wife. It was so cool to give a hug to an uncle I’d never met before. The funny thing is… he looks nothing like my dad! He’s about 10 inches taller! Sorta reminds me of a big teddy bear!
Since that summer, my aunt and uncle have come to the reunion every year. They’ve gone on vacation 3-4 times with my mom and dad. My parents went on their first cruise with them and have since been on another. They’ve developed a friendship/brotherhood that they’d missed for so many years.
It’s weird to think that if my Aunt Sarah Jane had never said anything, we would never have been blessed with knowing this member of our family. I, for one, am glad that this skeleton came out of the closet. And I know my dad and his brother are too.
Starstruck
I’m the second of Indigo’s guest posters….. guess she decided to save the best for last!
(Just kidding Beanhead…. You know I love ya!)
Anyways, my name’s Cathy and I’ve known Indigo for just about five years. We met on a yahoo email list! She’s actually the friend that got me started on this blogging thing a couple months ago! She posted her link a few times and several of us on the list were intrigued and well, here I am!
When Indigo asked me to do this guest posting thing, I knew I wouldn’t/couldn’t say no but I had absolutely no idea what to write about! It’s hard enough coming up with material for my own blog! Let alone someone else’s! So after I calmed myself down, I started thinking about how Indigo writes all kinds of quirky, did-this-really-happen-? types of stories. I don’t have a whole lot of quirky stories but one did come to mind.
The time I met Garth Brooks. You know, that country singer who got a bit too big for his britches the richer he became? Well, back before he was all that and a bag of chips, I met him at our local county fair. It was the summer he’d released “If Tomorrow Never Comes,” AND “The Dance.” So right before he really hit it big. My sister and I had watched his concert under the big top tent at our fairgrounds. Then we decided to stick around after and get an autograph.
After waiting in line for what seemed like forever, we finally got to him! I was so giddy, I should have known there was no way I was walking away without embarrassing myself.
Him- Hi, how are ya?
ME: Cathy with a c… and I’m fine!! (Remember I was getting an autograph… he *had* to know how to spell my name!)
Him- Umm…. Ok…. Did you enjoy the show?
ME_ OHMYGOSH YES!! I loved it….**gush gush**
(few more pleasantries while he signed my autographed picture)
Then he moved on to my sister and I bounced over to my mom who was waiting for us. Then I bounced right back over to Garth.
ME- (overly excited) Hi again.
Him- Uhhhh….. hi.
ME- Ummm… Hey… will you remember me tomorrow?
Him- (innocently, not realizing he was about to be bamboozled) Why? Are you coming to my next show?
ME- NO! (pause) I mean, when you wake up in the morning, are you going to remember that you met me?!?!
Yes…. I actually said that to him!!!! I sware!
Him- (recovering a bit)…. Yeah, uhhh, sure, I’ll remember you. Will you remember me?
ME- OMG! I will *never* forget this.
Him- Ummmmm… Me either.
ME- COOL!… Remember, my name’s Cathy.
Him- Yeah… With a C.
And I bounced merrily away, chattering non-stop about my star gazing experience. I know, I know, I was a bit over the top but hey, what can I do about it now?! Thankfully, I have matured some since then! LOL
So, anyways, do you *think* he’s ever heard that line again?! Do you think if I saw him again, he’d remember me?!?!
~~
Stop by and visit my blog , Cathy-with-a-C, if you get a chance! (gee…. do you wonder where I came up with that name?!!?)
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