Things I Learn From My Kids
Indoor/outdoor thermometer, picture of Emma and Jamie taken about five years ago, Gameboy game, CAC reader, a broken Gerber, nailclippers, video camera, yellow piece of plastic (probably from one of those damn Kindereggs) outlet converter, two pens, eraser, two cameras, a pile of blank CDs, keychain with keys, whistle, Emma's electronic Connect Four game, my plaque for helping to coach PeeWee soccer, index card with about 12 telepone numbers on it, two burned CDs, PS2 Final Four basketball, a remote control, and four letters. That is all the crap sitting on the window in front of me. Wow.
"Hilrude"
Today we went to the Post Exchange to get Emma a new pair of shoes and some school clothes. So we went to the shoe section. Emma picked out a pair she liked, so I took it over to the door were the shoe lady went to get shoes out of the back. There was a young man in the shoe department also getting shoes. So when the shoe lady was done with him, I asked if they had this pair of shoes in size 2. She went to the back and a few minutes later, returned and said “We don’t have them in a size 2, only 13 and 3. Would you like to try one of them?” I was already tired and mad because this Post Exchange has nothing to cloth a nine-year-old girl. In my frustration I said, “ I suppose I am going to have to go to Ramstein to get a pair of damn shoes.” The shoe lady heard me and apparently it made her mad, since she wouldn’t help us again. Emma picked out another pair of shoes, and we stood there waiting for the shoe lady for about five minutes. Mind you there is ONE other customer in the department. I finally walked back into the shoe storage area to get the shoes myself. Jamie came in and said, “Mom, I found her.” So I came out, the shoe lady walked past me and the two pairs of shoes I was holding, went in the storage area, came back out, practically tripped over me and never even acknowledges we were there. It made me really mad, so I set the shoes down and walked off. I fully intended to just leave the store and not buy a thing. Rick remained the reasonable one. (For anyone who knows us, they are going to find that hard to believe.) He went back an asked the woman if she was done wandering around the store and had time to sell us a pair of shoes. What makes this par for the course is that the shoe lady (Hilrude) was German, and this kind of rudeness and poor job performance is nothing new or uncommon. I truly have to agree with the Grouchy Old Cripple on socialism. The government protects socialists and it is almost impossible to lose your job in a socialist society. This leads to absolutely no customer service and provides no incentive to work hard or improve.
"Young men go to war. Sometimes because they have to, sometimes because they want to. Always, they feel they are supposed to." Mitch Albom,
The Five People You Meet in Heaven
Today Jamie told me that she learned where poop came from. She said, "It's food. You poop food."
This morning I gave Lane the leftovers from lunch yesterday. We had bisquits, gravy and sausage. There was one piece of sausage and half a dozen bisquits left. Lane sat next to the table whining for them all day, so this morning I put him in the yard and gave him the plate. Of course he sucked down the sausage first thing. Then, Emma and I watched him bury the bisquits all over the yard. He gets mad if he knows you are watching him bury things so we had to peek through the window. He is such a crazy dog. We might go out and dig them up later.
Rick gave the dog a haircut last night. The poor thing looks like he has a serious case of mange, but at least he isn't leaving piles of hair on the rug and he doesn't take his time when we let him outside. Every once in awhile, Lane will just start doing bad things like peeing on the floor, or running away every chance he gets. When he does things like this, Rick will cut his hair and the crazy dog will behave himself for a few months. I think when his hair gets long, it holds his stink in and he forgets that he is a house dog and not some wild beast. When the hair (and stink) are gone, he loses his desire to go prowling around the neighborhood. Either that or he is too embarrassed by the horrible hair cut that he doesn't want to be seen in public.
Last night when Jamie went to bed she said, “Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.” It reminded me of a story my Grandma told me when I was a little girl. I stayed in town with her when I was about 9 years old so I could take swimming lessons. One night I said, “Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.” She told me a story about when she was a little girl, and her dad had just cut new pine boards for the bed she and her sister shared. Bedbugs love fresh-cut pine boards, and finally drove the girls out of their bed. They went into the kitchen to sleep on the floor in front of the stove to get away from them. But the bedbugs moved with them out to the kitchen.
My grandpa always called the granddaughters “Sally” and all the grandsons “John.” I don’t know why. Maybe it was just because there were a lot of us and it was too hard to remember all of our names. I stayed with Grandma and Grandpa sometimes when Mom and Dad were haying. I used to ask Grandpa to read to me, and it would make me so mad that he would just talk about the pictures and not read the words. It’s funny, the things you remember.
I hate being short. My husband is tall and he always puts things out of my reach. He puts the measuring cups on the top shelf of the corner cupboard and my wallet on top of the refrigerator. I have gotten into the habit of setting one of the kids on the counter to get things down for me. It is easier than getting on the counters myself or dragging a chair in from the dining room. Besides, I try not to stand on chairs, because then RJ knows that chairs can be moved to give him access to things he shouldn't be getting into. Last night, Emma and I were looking for a light bulb for her lamp. She stepped from one counter to the next, and some how didn't quite have her footing right. She fell and caught her behind on the corner of the counter. The poor kid has a deep-muscle bruise about the size of a golf ball on her butt. I don't know how she walks, but it doesn't seem to bother her that much. If it would have happened to me, I would be bed-ridden. We never found the light bulb for her lamp either.
We are trying to wean RJ. The poor little guy is just so pathetic. He gets up from nap, "Goo goo goo?" It is so sad. He loves his bottles more than he loves me or his dad, and now they are being ripped away. Giving up any habit is hard, but he doesn't understand why he can't have them any more. At least when we have to give up something we love (like Pepsi) we know it is for our health or some other reason. All RJ knows is that he loves goo goo goos, but now they are "Gaw?!"
