I like to fix things. How do you fix *ssholes?

Last night, Mrs G was back in France, 1944.


She was hiding with her 3 month old son in the woods, not because the soldiers were after HER specifically, but because that was what you did when the soldiers came to town, you made sure you stayed out of sight.

She woke up in the hospital, having been knocked unconscious when the bombs hit. No one could tell her where her son was.

The man to her left was dead, and they were trying to amputate the leg of the man to her right. Then the next bomb hit the hospital. She dropped her burning robe and leaped from the second floor.

She wandered the eight miles to her home in a daze, naked except for one slipper.

She was 21.

When she got home, her neighbors had found her infant son in the woods but had not been able to find her. He was fine.

*********************

Saturday afternoon Mrs G called the Honey and told him maybe a stroke?

By the time I made it next door, her speech was gone, except for one word, the name of that son safe at the neighbor's home so long ago. I called 911 and the last few days we've been visiting her in the hospital.

Her daughter, who lives a few hours away drives in every other day, making preparations to move into her mom's home for a while, until her mom is feeling better.

Mrs G had lost her speech but was still able to write, so she has not been completely locked into her own mind. She is still sharp as a tack. But last night her speech came flooding back to her and she told me the tale she says she has never shared with her children.

The son from that story, the story that drew huge wracking sobs from her, lives in town and still has not been to see his mother, has not called to inquire.

I would like to hunt him down, but Karma or the deity of his choosing will see that he gets his. My role in this is just to make sure that her cats get fed and that she knows that we love her. But it's hard. I'd like to do more.

In which we traumatize the girl child.

We went sailing with my parents a few weeks ago. It was the first time ever for the Honey and the Kids--I was raised on the sailboat, it's just 6 months younger than me. I suspect it was the consolation prize for my father for trading in the Porsche when I was born.

The Honey and the kids loved it, but Little O wanted to go swimming. With me. RIGHT.NOW.

It WAS hot, so we found a quiet cove and Big O and I jumped into the water. Then it was Little O's turn. Do you see that photo? The one where she's wearing the bulky blue life jacket?

We explained that she HAD to have a life jacket on and KEEP it on in order to be on the boat. It would keep her from sinking and keep her safe, which is always our biggest priority. She accepted it without a peep.

So I jumped into the lake, and in spite of the 100 plus degree temperature, that water was a bit chilly. I thought to myself,
"oh, this isn't going to last long at this temperature..."

So the Honey passed Miss Priss into the water, onto the floaty cushion thrown out for general principle.

My poor baby.

As soon as she slid off that cushion, she completely flipped out. Shrieking and climbing on top of my head.

Apparently we had sold the life jacket so completely that she had absolute faith in it, and we never bothered to explain that she WOULD sink into the water, but that it would stop her from sinking sinking. She thought in her six year old brain, that she would float on the water where the life jacket touched the water. It makes sense. It also nearly drowned me before her father could pluck her back out of the water and calm her down. Thank God for the stupid floaty cushion.

She's fine and now that she understands that her life jacket was not failing, she's totally game to go sailing again.

What a trooper!

Cookies make the world go 'round.

Miss Priss made cookies in the shape of princess crowns, until I got tired of watching them break as they were transferred. Then we switched to hearts. She ran some over to Mrs G and the Grand Dame promptly popped the crown onto her head.

There are few things better than a six year old and an eighty-six year old both giggling like girls. :)

Exxxxcellent margarita party has me drunk blogging this fine and wondrous evening.

Sweet Jeebus am I going to e sorry tomorrow. possibly tonight.

Major points to the honey for being my designated driver.

Salud to Miss Blunt for throwing a fan-tabulous partay, even if she did call me on the abundance of cleavage I was sporting. It's not my fault they could have their own zip code.

And for getting Miss Sunshine and my new partner in crime to show--both of whom swore they were in for my B-day and bailed. 8 months later and still bringing it up...not bitter, are we?

Need to send my best Jen a box of books now that she is trapped in the deep south. Actually needed to send them to her sooner that this, but everything works out for a reason. She would not have wanted to schlepp them all the way to 'bama, but now that she's THERE...

Must.make.sandwiches.for.Honey. No chance in hell I'm waking back up at 4:30 to make them like usual.

The Heartbreak of The Flops

So, part of me wants to laugh and mock the commercials for "Restless Leg Syndrome" like I do pretty much any commercial with disclaimers like "Be sure to advise your doctor if you've ever had a Liver transplant."

WTF? My doctor's visits require medical history in triplicate, even if It's just for the yearly. Wouldn't your doctor KNOW if you have a giant fucking scar?

But let's get back to my point. Because RLS sounds like the winner in a pharmaceutical sales rep's "Make up a Syndrome" contest. Like Nanwrimo for leeches.

Except...

My hubby has them beat. He's got the Flops. It's not just his legs, people. His arms go flying, he kicks off the covers and then pulls them back up. He flaps the covers. That's my favorite. But he snores through it all.

He says I don't love him enough because we have not actually said vows in a legal type way.

Tonight he asked me to come to bed early and then (in his sleep) held his hand up over and over again to block my view of the show I was watching on the idiot box.

He doesn't understand that the fact that he wakes up each and every morning, not a bruise or a pinch mark on him, is the proof that I love him.

Why I need night vision goggles...

My brother and his wife are insane. Which is what makes them so Awesome.

Last night we all trooped over to the park across the street from their house.

In the dark.

To play Hide and Go Seek.


Five Adults, five teenagers, and a hopped up six year old.

Eldest nephew showed up in a ghillie suit...



I wish Big O had been with us. He's off wrestling at the State tournament...

I swear I have not run that fast before.
EVER.
Little O, who minces down the baselines and swears it's her top speed, discovered how to use her full stride as she "helped" whomever was It. We made her carry a light stick to keep from being mowed down on the stampede to base. It was still a narrow thing. She wasn't understanding that an adult running at full speed can't come to a complete stop just because they crossed the line, so please sit down on the wall. I almost pulled a Matrix/Jedi mid-air flip trying not to knock my own kid down.

I'm not down for football where my lack of co-ordination will let down my team, but hide and go seek? I'm totally in.

Sigh.

So I put my foot in it at work.

We have one very blunt, outspoken girl at work, and one very fiery person. The ladies of the fishbowl prefer to stay neutral.

So Miss Blunt observes that Miss Fiery tends to get sick when our boss takes personal days on Fridays. It should be noted that Miss F's best friend is the receptionist, so from time to time on a Friday, the Receptionist (and she's sooo much more than that, but we'll call her Miss Sunshine) says--"Will you guys be okay without her? Because Miss F is sick." Which is awkward for all of us, because then we're resenting Miss Sunshine for just doing her job and being the bearer of bad tidings because it's her best friend she's asking about, and we feel like jerks for wanting her to come in because we're slammed. We've all been sick, we all take sick days. Not many of us call in consistently when the boss is known to be gone.

Huh. Miss Blunt calls 'em like she sees 'em, and I rather enjoy her straightforward attitude, although I tend to be a little more discreet myself--usually.

But this week is graduations of all sorts, as well as our office's busiest time of the year. So while it was a scheduled MORNING off for Miss F, she was supposed to call in to see if we needed her, because the Boss just went on vacation.

She called at noon, and Miss Sunshine told her she didn't know, because the reps were on the phone and I was at lunch, so Miss F said she was going to grab some lunch and call back after.

So she DID call back. At 2:30. I told her um, yeah, come in, and she tells me then she'll have to drop her daughter off so it won't be until at least 3. Then she paused, waiting for me to say, oh, never mind then. I told her to come on in.

Miss Blunt takes a lot of heat from Miss F for talking shit, but this was enough, and I DO NOT LIKE talking ABOUT people. I think the honest way to do it is to talk TO them. So I warned Miss Sunshine that I was going to say something to Miss Fiery about the schmucky call in. She suggested, given Miss Fiery's nature, that maybe I send it in an Email.

So Now Miss Fiery is completely pissed at me, and doesn't see how it's any of my business that she took two and a half hours to take her kid to lunch, because the boss told her she could (take him to lunch, that is). I think she really believes that if the boss had been in the office she really would have taken two and a half hours and then called in STILL not ready to come back.

Wouldn't it be chickenshit for me to let Miss Blunt take the heat for saying what we were all thinking, but never saying it TO Miss Fiery? I'd rather have it out in the open, so we can all move on.

Sweet Jeebus I hate drama. I hate it even more knowing I threw gas on the smoldering embers of this particular drama, but I also have to live inside my own head, you know?

BE a good citizen.
Treat others like you want to be treated.
Take other people into consideration.
sheesh!

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update!

So my boss asked me to apologize, not for the message, just maybe for the delivery of said message, and Miss F and I are okay again.