Jack & the beanstalk

Today at work I placed my hand on my chin and discovered that I am growing a beard. I have 3, count 'em with me, t-h-r-e-e hairs on my chin! Not just 3 little fuzzy hair's either. There are 3 giant, black, quarter inch long, spiky hairs poking out of my face.
I did not even know they existed until a year ago when I found what I thought was a dog hair stuck on my face was actually growing out of my chin. This sucker was at least 2 inches long and about as black as night with grey highlights. (Like black hair growing out of your face isn't bad enough, it truly had highlights) I had missed a giant black curly hair that size?
Oh the shame, to be female and have a hair growing on your chin you did not notice. I plucked it out without a second thought. The next day I found the second hair. Close to the hole where the first one had been, but it seemed to have been partially shaved off because it was only about one half inch long. So I went home and repeated the process again. Third day, third hair.
Thus began the quest for the fuzz-free face.
It isn't like I eat prenatal vitamins or use hair fertilizing tonics for balding men or anything.
I sit each night and pluck. Then at least once a week I shave with various shaving tools for an extended period of time. I have a thousand watt, magnification 200x lighted mirror by my desk which I fire up each night and search for the hairs. I re shave and re pluck and move the bat light around to see my face from every angle until I have flash photo eyes and my skin is too hot to touch, and still
I have 3 hairs erupting like grapevines out of my chin.
Jack's beanstalk did not grow this fast.
I think they must be ninja master hairs and can blend in with my chin until about 3 when their powers are weakest and they become visible again.
 

You are the wind beneath my skirt

I always admired my Grandmother. I would sometimes watch her watching me and think "Wow she looks so happy and she doesn't even have one of these cookies to eat.". Now I know the truth, she was smiling because later she was going to be rolling on the floor laughing over the stuff the Grand kids did and said that day.
Today one of the kids in this house "crop-dusted" his brother and I discovered a whole world of language I did not know exists within the vocabulary of your average 10 year old. Do you know what "crop-dusting" has become? To me it conjures a picture of a bi-plane with chemicals in it's hold spreading DDT on our corn back in the day. Nowadays it means to run past someone and fart. There are several degrees of farting now also, everything from a "puff bomb" to a "shart". I do love to keep abreast of the latest trends in bodily function naming.
This generation seems to have a lot more to say than we did in my day. Farts were disgusting and you never owned up to one. These boys seem to delight in farting. They tell each other all about them and whenever one of them actually produces sound with the air it is like the most hilarious thing they have ever heard. I would think it is a lack of training or manners but their friends and cousins are the same. Maybe it is the fault of too much information, everybody knows everybody farts so what's the big deal? They showed me an iguana fart in the bathtub video on youtube tonight.
It is true, you learn more when you listen than when you talk.
Today I learned little boy's are gross.

Sunday is here.

Today is the day of rest.  I got up at 7:45am and looked at the clock and just about died of shock. 7:45am? I have 15 minutes to bathe, concoct a hairdo, drive 25 minutes to work, and .. Then I remembered it is Sunday. All I do on Sunday is go to church and babysit for my darling daughter while she goes to work. Since church starts at 9am and work starts just after noon I laid back down and surrendered to the pillow. At 8am I took an invigorating frozen shower (see previous blog on broken water heater in my curse section) thus proving the early to rise and it's rewards saying. I was only 4 minutes late to church due to slow-moving frozen limbs.
I have the cutest group of 6 year olds in my Primary class this year. They all had me as a teacher 2 years ago when I was teaching the 4 year olds so they know my name and how much they can get away with. At 6 the kids sing in singing time, know some of the words to some of the songs they sing, ask reasonable questions, answer questions, and best of all do not cry when dropped off at my class. Today I asked if anyone knew why we were here and one of them told me that we all have bodies, that's why we are here. I didn't say they have the right answers, just answers.
If anyone at all in the world knew how precious and darling these kids are at this age I would have a big fight on my hands for my teaching position. Yes I said the same thing about the 4 year olds and yes I am a little biased. I have been seeing them every Sunday since they were born and had most of their older brothers and sisters in my class before them. But still it is very fun on Sunday to see each of them and teach them. I feel like a great gift was given to me to be able to teach them.

Technically speaking

Now that I have been proven right... the happy taxes did not get deposited I want to move on to other things.
I started this blog back up to keep track of the curse.. and that sucker is still doing just fine.
I have lost my keys. I would tell you that the keys are easy to lose but that is not true about my keys. I have no less than 6 key charms on my 4 ring cluster of keys. Not little dinky things either and not grey or black. We are talking a flaming pink conglomeration of fun springy coils, ribbons, rude key chain sayings, and noise making clacks! It is huge. The last time I saw it I was giving my fake son in law grin the key chain of pink death to program my car to accept my new cell phone. The son in law is all tecky - all the time".
This leads me to part of the curse we have not explored in this blog yet. The sad truth is that if I can't make it work and it is electrical, mechanical, technical, or cellular  I call my daughter and have her husband mosey on over and fix it or pronounce it dead.
Whatever was broken suddenly works. The moment he touches it. Every time. In fact it will keep working until he leaves. Once he is out of the door it goes back to the near death experience I have been having with it.
I would say it is a big coincidence, but it keeps happening. When my near new refrigerator started blowing hot air and refused to make ice he came over and the only problem seemed to be dirty coils. So he vacuumed them out for me. The fridge was fine when he left. 2 hours later it turned into a furnace. While he was here we had cold air in that fridge.
I could not get Black Bart to work at all beyond a game of solitaire. He turned it on and played a DVD. He stayed here a long time and made sure everything worked, downloaded some stuff and about a hundred books, ran every program on the darn beastie.When he left I hurried and stuck New Moon in and got bupkiss. Can't even figure out how to start the darn thing.
But I have wandered off topic.. the keys are gone and whoever has them is not giving them up. I expect one of the kids has locked them up in their lockers.
The curse continues

Happy Taxes

The IRS website says that tomorrow my refund will be direct deposited into my account. I'll believe it when I see the zero's.
Every year I wait the whole 5 or 6 weeks it takes the government to decide if I can have a small percentage of my money back believing they will not let me have it. Don't ask why, I just do NOT trust the gub'ment. Maybe it's a throwback to the days when my Grandparents talked about the "revenue-ers", or just a general lack of faith in my own luck.
Not that I don't have luck mind you. It is just the worst kind of luck available.
My luck experiences have led me to my credo;
"If something can go wrong.. it already did and I just don't know about it yet."
But regardless of luck or the lack thereof, every year I look at that little happy taxes reminder and think "Yea, right." I guess if they don't come this year it would be in keeping with the rest of the curse.
Speaking of curses the TV in the living room caught fire last week. That is TV #2 to die that way in this house.
I am generally not opposed to attrition, everything here on earth is temporary but were the sizzling noises and fire really necessary? Most people find out their TV is dead when they turn it on and it doesn't work. Then they hit the sides in a kind of desperate TV CPR to make it work long enough to watch one last show. It is not normal to be hitting it to beat out the flames.

The only plus to flaming death is I know it is dead,
finito,
so over,
totally gone,
the 52" has left the building,  
outta here.

IF my happy taxes come tomorrow I am going to find a new TV to buy.
I'm looking for anything that doesn't say "Fire extinguisher not included."

Fat Sunday

Today is the Sunday when everyone in America sits around watching 2 teams fight it out with a pointy brown ball on fake grass for 3 or 4 hours with slow-motion commentary and commercial breaks.  I will not embarrass myself with attempts to acknowledge the respective prowess of whoever is playing this year. I know less than bupkiss about football and less than that about what is going on with the 2 teams and yet I have watched this spectacle every year since 1990. I have recorded it for 5 years now since the commercials are so good. This is a strictly matriarchal household.
During the actual game we in my house turn the television all the way down and snack. During the commercials we turn on the volume and laugh, a lot. Having attended more than a few Superbowl parties I know some households watch the game and cheer for whomever they want to win. Considering past years when the whole thing was "time-lagged", this seems ridiculous to me. Your screaming and jumping up and down can NOT effect the outcome of this competition. Now that it is "live" maybe the enthusiasm is valid. The thing is with the sound down, I hear my neighbors cheering and screaming at their TV's. So I gave up and joined them.
Even though I have caved to the peer pressure of a nation in love with it's padded athletes I still don't cheer anyone on or even care who wins. To me it is an excuse to eat a 3" football shaped iced brownie, chips, dip, various salads, hot grilled meats, and drink obscene amounts of soda. The only other times anyone would pig out like this is Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. That makes the Superbowl one of the fattest holidays of the year.
How did food and athleticism ever get mixed up like this? People all over this country are smashing avocados, pouring giant bags of chips into football shaped bowls for everyone to share, swilling beer, grilling anything that doesn't move, and calling it a good time.

I'm just the slightest bit guilty of climbing on the band wagon.
Maybe just one more brownie.

I'm a victim not a psycho

I have decided to blog for 3 days in a row! Yea! Now that the media has been alerted maybe we can get on with it.
Today I discovered that I am politically incorrect. I know,  you're shocked. As a mother of 4 grown children and a Grandmother of 11 you would think I would be a model of old womanish correctness. Really, somewhere along the line while raising 4 kids or helping nurture 11 grand kids you would think I learned some restraint and propriety.
  You would be wrong.
Improprieties sort of fall out of my mouth. It's not that I am striving to be incorrect I was just raised by a family where I thought my middle name was a swear word until I was 10. My family never had the neighbors over and the neighborhood kids all ran far and fast from my parents. Even in the 50's my parents were offensive. I thought "little bastards" was a sweet endearment my Dad had for all children in general, and his own especially.  I thought swearing was an art              and damn my family was good.
"The water faucet won't shut off." was just not a complete sentence to my family. It was " f-)(_&^ water faucet @%$! broken again." The dog was not going out for a call of nature, he was "taking a  $#@!(&  ^^##@". Even when my dad was being really serious and trying to make a point, he would swear and make remarks that would peel the paint off the walls. He threatened me with cursing, he ordered me around with cursing, he talked about work with cursing.
I'm going to apologize up front for this little bit of truth buy I don't think without crude language, it's not natural for me. It's sort of like an accent. It was how I learned syntax.  This is what I was exposed to in my formative years. It's what I am the most comfortable with, it's my  &%#*ing roots.
So the fact that I told one of my coworkers today he would look better in a stripper cop outfit with those RayBan's, that is a handicap of my upbringing. Not inappropriate office language and I am not stalking the paperboy.