Haunting pasts

It's amazing what "hijinks" people have hiding in their pasts. I say hijinks, but what I really mean is that recently, someone told me about things they think of as pranks from their youth, and I was completely shocked to hear them.

I was asking this person's opinion about appropriate discipline for a guy in one of our plants who was hot and thirsty. He put money in the soda machine three times and it kept his money each time without dispensing product. He got so angry that he shook the machine and actually hit a timeclock that was on the wall adjacent to the soda machine. The timeclock fell off the wall and broke.

This person I work with, that I very much respect, initally made a joke about how angry the guy had been. We talked about how his actions were at least somewhat understandable, and both of us admitted that we've at least pounded on a vending machine when we could see, for example, that our bag of chips was just barely hanging there when it should have fallen.

I made the point that physically moving a soda machine was a higher level of property abuse. He then admitted that not only had he physically moved a soda machine lots of times in the past when trying to get product, but that he had once stolen a soda machine.

This is the same guy who told me recently that he and a buddy went down to the school bus parking lot one night when he was a kid. They used tape to attach sticks to all of the tire valve stems, so every bus had four or more flat tires by morning.

I already knew that this same guy got angry about 18 years ago with a co-worker at our company. He went over the co-worker and decked him--laid him out on the concrete floor at work.

Nowadays, that type of conduct would get you immediately fired. In fact, I've fired four people for fighting in the last month, including one who did a lesser degree of violence than that. What can I say--it's been hot and maybe everyone's been testy.

Nonetheless, I guess you just never know about people. I've known this person for 9 years and never would have guessed he'd have done any of those things. Well, maybe the bus tire thing, but not the others!

What did you do as a kid?

Old, old, old--really

I just typed a blog on July 13 about how I was feeling old, but now I really am another year older.

That's such a crock. Day before yesterday, I was 40 years and 364 days old and yesterday I became 41 years old. One whole day older, yet for that, I get another year tacked on. It sucks.

I'm not crazy about being 41. 40 was OK because it was still so close to 39. 41 is inescapably sliding down into the mid-40s.

I don't want to be mid-40s. I feel like about 31 most of the time. Can't I just be 31?

If anyone has an objection to me being 31, speak now or forever hold your peace. I can't imagine that anyone would care if I was 31 instead of 41, so I'm going to find my birthday cake candle, light it again, and make magic happen.

Wish me luck.

I've got the munchies now too

What food did we enjoy this past weekend at the Wisconsin State Fair? Well, as bizarre as this may seem, we didn't eat any cheese. How can this be, you may ask. In America's Dairyland? At the state fair? Well, it wasn't for lack of vendor opportunity.

There were numerous varieties of cheese around, including deep fried cheese, cheese on pizza, cheese curds, cheese on burgers, cheese blintzes, cheesecake, etc. And we didn't have any of it.

Instead, we ate corn on the cob, hot dogs, cream puffs, mini milk shakes (for the Got Milk? photo's mustaches), french fries, beignets, and popcorn. Oh my god, what an awful list!

We rushed home and gave our girls multivitamins immediately, I promise you. Oh, not really. But we have vitamins, I promise we do. We'll be stuffing them with at least seven a day for the next week to make up for the fair food.

Umm, what're we gonna do about next weekend? We're going to need more vitamins.

Rules for toast

1. If you are having more than one piece of toast to eat, each piece must be toasted separately, so as to be as hot as possible.

2. You will wait at the toaster for the toast to pop up. In no circumstances should you be further than 6 feet away from the toaster when it's toasting.

3. You will place the first piece toast on a new piece of paper towel for buttering, not on the counter. (This is how I knew Greg was the man for me--he did this even before I told him the rule.)

4. You will not use rock hard butter on the toast. You may use soft (tub) margarine, but the best topping for toast is butter that has been previously softened on the counter.

5. You will use a clean knife for buttering the first piece of toast. If someone has toasted before you and put jelly on their toast with a knife, get a new knife. This is technically in case they come back for another piece, but really, it's because you want a clean knife for your toast.

6. When you have finished evenly buttering your toast, there will not be big clumps of butter or margarine trying vainly to melt. All of the butter will be absorbed into the surface of the toast.

7. You will eat your toast starting with the bottom-most right corner (if you are right handed). I suppose if you are left handed, you may start with the bottom-most left corner, but that is an unusual option and the writer of the rules cannot guarantee satisfactory results.

8. Enjoy!

Musing on Q

Over the last couple of weeks, I rewatched the "Kill Bill" movies. We own the DVDs. They're strange and funny and gory beyond belief and amazing and weird and awesome.

They remind me of when I first saw "Pulp Fiction," which we also own but which I saw again on cable the other night. Greg and his friend, Dwayne, had gone to see the movie when it first came out and they told me I had to see it too.

We sat in the theater (me in the middle, of course) and I was doing fine with the story until the scene when Bruce Willis and Ving Rhames end up in the basement of the pawn shop.

If you haven't seen it, the store owner and his friend, the cop, are rapists and into S&M. They do einey-meeny-miney-moe to pick one of the guys, who are tied and gagged, then head into the back room and start to rape Ving Rhames.

I remember turning to Greg and whispering, "what the hell is this?"

I didn't do that with the "Kill Bill" movies. I had an idea what to expect and they didn't disappoint. Anyone for a sliced off arm spraying gallons of blood?

I didn't think so. Gotta be in the mood for it.

Update

Today marks the start of getting my life back.

I was promoted at the end of December, starting looking for someone to take over my old job at the end of February, interviewed five or six people, two of them twice, and finally made an offer at the end of June.

My new person started today and I am so looking forward to not doing these tasks again, maybe forever--- Seven months was way, way too long to be doing two jobs, especially considering I was doing a third job for a good part of that time.

The training is going to be a bear, but I don't care, I don't care (said in a singsong happy voice). I am a happy camper tonight.

If he quits, I'm going to go to his house and kill him.

Seminar sitting

I attended a benefits seminar today that was basically 7 hours of technical jargon, including immense numbers of acronyms.

I sat on my butt (or bum, if you're from England) and listened to the speakers more or less intently for seven long hours, interrupted only by lunch. I am so glad I don't have to do this every day.

When I got home, I commented to Greg that I absolutely don't understand how some people can attend an all-day seminar and never ask a single question or make a single comment. I am so not like that.

If I'm learning anything at all, I'm going to have a question or two. Was I (nearly) the only one who didn't already know everything they were talking about? Was I (nearly) the only one who didn't completely understand everything the speakers mentioned just by their PowerPoint slides and lecture?

A few years ago, I attended Berlitz language classes to try to learn Spanish in two and a half weeks. Now that was a lot of sitting! Eight hours a day of struggling to remember things from my one year of high school Spanish and build on them.

The only thing that saved me then was that there were only three of us students, so needless to say, it was pretty obvious when you were daydreaming.

I didn't daydream today, but I'm glad it's back to my normal work tomorrow.

Time's a-passing

It may not seem like many, but I've written exactly 150 posts in almost exactly three years, since I began writing in this blog that Greg made me start.

On my blog entry written on July 26, 2003, I wrote about counting down the last few days before our baby's birth. I also commented that Greg had picked up Allie and they were galloping all over the basement to bluegrass music as I typed. I said, "oh, the energy of a three-year-old."

And now Julia's turning three on Sunday. She's very excited. She's been talking about when her birthday was going to come since Allie had her birthday. I guess she thinks birthdays are a pretty good deal, what with the cake, ice cream, presents, and massive attention.

Our girls were born exactly three-and-a-half years apart, so it's been a long six months for the poor child.

Her party is on Saturday. It'll be the third annual Julia's Birthday Party Water Fight, an Elmo cake, great food cooked by Chef Greg, and a houseful of family who don't visit often enough.

She can't wait. I can't wait. Here's to happy birthdays!

Physicians are our friends

As you've probably heard from Greg, we went a little Ikea crazy this weekend. This was after we spent all day inside in air conditioning in Chicago (it was 95 outside) and after we had a lovely night's stay at a very nice suite hotel.

We got home Sunday evening and spent literally 4 hours assembling various pieces of new furniture (in Greg's case, assembling, then disassembling, then assembling again correctly--like the one I put together!). Sorry honey, but you don't make that many mistakes and I have to rub it in when it happens.

I don't even think I walked through tall grass all weekend, let alone brushed against any other plants. It was strictly concrete and carpeting. And we were inside approximately 99 percent of the time. So how did I get some kind of bite or plant reaction on each of my legs?

Nasty bites too--ones that were really itchy at first, then growing, then still growing until the one on my left leg was about six inches across. I talked to the nurse at work and then decided it might be prudent to see a doctor.

Dr. Bluemel was very nice but clueless as to what I actually had on my legs. He said, however, that there was obviously a secondary infection going on now and therefore an antibiotic would be a good idea.

Now it's about 29 hours later and the bites are much better. They both actually got even bigger after I saw the doctor before the pills kicked in and kicked butt. I'm planning on scrubbing off the lines drawn on my legs (used to measure where the swelling was progressing) in the morning.

In the meantime, it looks a little like I have some kind of Target tattoo. I love to shop there, but not that much. I guess I'll just have to continue getting better.

Creaky and old

I can't believe how much I enjoy watching "I Love the (70s, 80s, 90s)" on VH1. It's all so familiar and some of it seems so recent, not twenty years ago or longer.

I turned 40 last year and Greg turns 40 this year. I'm starting to have trouble reading really tiny type on things and I usually turn on a light when I need to do something detailed. I have some gray hair (though not as much as my sisters!). I sometimes feel creaky in the morning when I first get up, for a minute or two--usually my feet or my left knee (if I sat with my leg under me the night before).

I was thinking the other day that when my mom was the age I am now, I was already 15 years old and her oldest was 19 and on her own.

On the other hand, I have a six and a half year old and an almost three year old. I didn't plan it that way, but I think they'll keep me young for a good while yet.

Green trees and hugs

The other night, we drove up to Madison for dinner and it was just too nice of an evening to go straight back home (though that same situation landed us in trouble not too long ago--remember the horror of the Asian market!).

With these long summer evenings, we thought we'd have time to go to the nearby zoo, so we headed over there. Unfortunately, the zoo personnel must not share our belief that long summer evenings are a good time to look at animals, so they were closed.

Instead, we headed into the nearby arboretum, which is one of those places that we've read about and always thought would be fun to explore but we'd never actually been in yet despite the fact that we once drove around a good part of it trying to find Monroe Street or somewhere and we've lived here for nearly 9 years now (phew!).

So we drove in and it was kind of magical. Cool green tunnel of trees, water on one side, lots of bikers and joggers, and many, many squirrels. You would certainly never have thought that you were in a place surrounded on all sides by a city of 250,000. We saw more bunnies than you could shake a stick at, lots of birds, and even two sandhill cranes.

We parked and walked around exploring for almost an hour. My favorite memory of the evening--Greg and the girls had wandered away a little bit to explore a willow arbor/hut type of structure. Julia decided that instead of exploring further with them, she was going to head back to me.

And with a wide grin, arms outflung, giggling, she raced back towards me. I squatted down and caught her in a great, big hug. What a treat. Especially since that became a game for the rest of the evening.

She'd walk away, turn around, yell, "Sit down on your legs," wait for me to squat and open my arms, and come running like a madwoman.

I'm saving this stuff up, you know. She already tells me sometimes that she doesn't like me and I'm not looking forward to the first time she says she hates me.

I'll read this blog entry someday when she's 9 or 13 or 16 (or maybe all three) and I'll remember that enormous, joyous hug.

I love you, Julia.

Naked sliding

I don't know what type of paragraph you were expecting when you read that title, but the naked refers to an almost 3-year-old who refused to wear clothes while on the slip and slide the other day.

The slip and slide is new, you see. I got it out of the box on July 4th and put both girls in t-shirts and shorts to try it out (their swimsuits having been forgotten at daycare that day).

As you can see from the pictures on Greg's blog, Allie was perfectly happy keeping on her outfit while she got wet. Julia, however, is apparently a budding nudist.

Initially, she was OK getting wet wearing her t-shirt-and-shorts "swimsuit." Then she said she was cold, so I bundled her next to me on the blanket while we watched her sister slide, Julia wrapped tightly in a towel.

I thought she'd be more comfortable sitting there without her clingy wet t-shirt, so I helped her out of it, keeping the towel wrapped around her shoulders so she wouldn't get colder.

Almost immediately, she got over her goosebumps and decided she was ready to slide again. Except she decided she didn't need to wear her wet shorts or panties either. She pushed them off and took off towards the slide. I was laughing too hard to insist immediately, and by the time I started to press the issue, she was busy sliding and repeatedly told me, "I OK, I OK."

My daughter, the naturist. I got some cute pictures of her bare backside. I've got big plans for blackmail in about 14 years!

Showers ending early

It was pretty warm here today but the evening was nice, so the girls and I went out on the deck to read books.

We've had some nearby severe weather lately, but the worst has gone to the north and south of us. As a result, it hasn't rained much for awhile. I decided we should water my mini-garden.

My garden has three daylilies, two chewed down the nubs by rabbits and one glorious (183 blossoms this year despite no real care), some habernero peppers that don't seem to be growing (planted for my husband who loves hot food), a bunch of orange pansies (not that you would know they were orange because the aforementioned bunnies have eaten every last flower), a few marigolds (thank god bunnies don't like marigolds), and some tomato plants, which actually seem to be doing well and some of which have little green Roma tomatoes on them.

Naturally, both Allie and Julia wanted to hold the nozzle of the hose, which naturally drips. I cautioned them once to be careful of their clothes and then gave up, since it was within a half hour of bedtime (and pajamas) anyway.

Five minutes later, Allie asked if she could run through the shower of spray, and five minutes after that, they were both completely drenched, shrieking in joy, and giggling helplessly. And that water was cold!

Daddy was nice enough to get towels and both girls went to bed with damp, towel-dried hair. Actually, Allie just went to bed five minutes ago because she begged Daddy to catch fireflies tonight.

And who knows when she'll be able to get to sleep. It's the night before Independence Day (yes, from those long-ago nasty British, but we like them now!) and everyone is showing off their fireworks. Snap, crackle, pop, and boom!

Happy Fourth of July, a little early.

Feline friends

I've always loved cats. When I was a kid, my sisters and I brought home two cats (sequentially), but they were mostly my mom's pets. One died in the street in front of our house while I was in first grade. The other died at home while I was away at college. My parents haven't had another cat since.

After I had moved out on my own for a few years, I moved to a new apartment just so I could get a cat. I had Butterscotch for twelve years, until he became very ill with liver cancer and we had him put to sleep. His ashes are in a small urn on our fireplace mantel. They've been there for four years now.

We were going to bury the ashes in the yard, but somehow we've never done it. I don't hold the urn and remember him or anything, but I kind of like having them near.

Now today my sister called to say that her ten-year-old cat, Reebok, has been diagnosed with kidney failure. I've been searching websites for information, trying to find out what therapies are available and if kitty dialysis is even a possibility.

Our current cat, Pig, has diabetes. I wrote about her awhile back. Other than giving her prescription cat food and the fact that she pees a LOT, she's been stable for more than a year without further treatment.

When she was diagnosed, I also did research on the web. There is alot of information available. There are also lots of stories of the ups and downs some people have gone through as they fight to keep their cats alive through various illnesses.

And there are memorial pages with stories of how cats have changed the lives of people forever.

Reebok is a wonderful cat. I wish strength for my sister and her husband as they make the difficult choices that lie ahead.

Stupid people everywhere

I'm still around.

The guy I fired the other day called my voice mail this morning and said he got his termination letter. He said he was going to mail in his I.D. badge and that he'd be expecting a check for the vacation he has coming. He sounded perfectly rational. Let's hope he stays that way!

In the meantime, I'm going to be disciplining three people tomorrow who thought it would be funny to pour rubbing alcohol on part of their workstation and light it on fire--twice.

I don't even know what to comment on that.

One last message

It's come to this. Greg and I are in our bedroom, it's almost 10 p.m., and he's on our bedroom computer looking at the internet while I'm on another computer blogging. We're not talking, we're not even looking at each other or saying spousely things like, "honey, look at this wild website."

We're clicking and mousing and almost completely ignoring each other. Such progress these modern times have brought.

And whose fault is it, you may say? Yup. I know.

On another note, I decided I'd better blog tonight because I wrote a termination letter today to a guy who's kind of unstable. He's going to get it tomorrow and since he lives in town, he might just decide to come down to the plant and kill that not-so-nice human resources lady who fired him.

I knew that I should make an effort to blog one last time, so see! I'm ignoring my husband for a good reason.

In all seriousness, I'm a little concerned about what this guy might do tomorrow and in the future. I told him flat out in the letter that if he shows up on our premises, we're calling the police.

I'm sincerely hoping that won't be necessary. And if I die (dramatic pause, with hand held to forehead in oh-so-classic overacting style), it was nice knowing you all!

Still alive

Well, my mom didn't call today to check on us, but we're all still alive.

Greg is coming home shortly. He may have to travel again at the end of this month, though, and that would suck.

Allie's still breaking out in near tears every now and then. The two of us were talking about this weekend, however, when her aunties and grandparents are coming to visit and I didn't realize it, but Julia was listening and storing things away.

She's woken up the past two mornings and her first words, after, "Morning, Mommy," have been, "Is Gamma here?" I keep telling her, soon, honey, soon!

Gotta take my vitamins

Yes, we're all still alive. It doesn't escape my notice that my mom always calls at least once per day when I'm home alone with the girls and Greg's traveling. It's always nice to talk to her, but I don't worry (and neither should she) anymore about me keeling over from a stroke or something and Allie and Julia having to survive on ketchup and mustard for three or four days.

There was a blurb in the newspaper not that long ago about a three-year-old with that exact situation. Her mom died of some kind of chronic condition and they found the little girl sitting by her mom's body. She was covered with ketchup and mustard, which was all she'd found to eat. They also found a wet washcloth, so she'd tried to wash her mom's face to wake her up.

She was only a little dehydrated, so she must have been able to reach the sink pretty well. See, this is why we have stepstools at every sink in our house! Someday, we'll put them away, and I'll still lean in from far away like they're still there because they've been in place for so long.

Nonetheless, Allie is almost 6 1/2 now. She knows perfectly well how to unlock the door and head to the neighbors if something's wrong. However, I can pretty much guarantee she'd leave the door wide open and the cat would get out. I guess I'd better stay healthy.

Random updates

Allie's last day of kindergarten is tomorrow. She hasn't cried yet at home, but I'm sure we're going to see tears tomorrow night. Fortunately, her kindergarten teacher lives less than a block from our daycare, where Allie will be spending the summer days, so she should see her at least occasionally.

I just re-read my post from last September 17, when she had just started school. If I knew how to add a link to it, I would.

Last year in August, I posted the story of Betsy and Chris, who lost their beautiful brick house in our local tornado. She didn't know it, but Betsy was about two weeks pregnant when the tornado came. To give the update on them, they had their third child and first boy on May 9, about two weeks after they moved into their rebuilt house.

I went for a short drive last night and passed by their house. They were outside, working on teaching Maddie, the oldest, how to ride her bike without training wheels. Betsy said they've gotten their pool filled and gotten the mechanicals to work, just in time for hot weather.

They're looking forward to doing something about landscaping soon, pretty much the last step in the rebuild, so they can be done with builder decisions and get back to the rest of their lives.

I understand it took very little time for them to move back in, since they only have new furniture and clothing. The ironic part is that ten minutes after I left them, the tornado sirens went off.

It was a tornado warning for a storm cell that was in the northern part of our county (we live in the far southeast corner of the county). A weak tornado touched down several times, tipped over some semis on the freeway, took a roof off one house, shredded some trees. There but for the grace of God . . .

The tornado last August went through one mile north of our house.

On another subject, I'm doing OK with my new job. I like what I do, but I'm still doing most of my old job because I haven't found the right person with the right mix of skills to take that stuff over. I'm not looking to directly replace myself, by the way. I want someone who's stronger in several areas than I was, but at this point, I'm going to settle for the kind-of-right person so I can get my life back.

We took our tan Mazda sedan in to a new mechanic yesterday--second time it's been in for an issue with engine hesitation that mechanics can't seem to find, let alone fix. Greg wants to get the car repaired so he can sell it and buy another one. He's not going to be able to sell it at this rate! Very frustrating.

I've written several times in the past about Julia's verbal skills. She's doing really well now. She named her first stuffed animal, her bear from Build-A-Bear Workshop, without calling it what it is (i.e. Dolly for a dolly, Kitty for a kitty). Julia's bear that Allie named Carol (that's a story in itself, ask my husband) is now named Jane.

Julia uses long phrases now and she's beginning to tell herself elaborate stories when she's bored, just like Allie has been doing for years. It can get a little loud in the car on long trips. Fortunately for my aching heart that isn't ready to have her be done being a little girl, she still says things like "no no" for window and "poo der" for computer.

Allie used to have a bunch of those, including "pas getti" for spaghetti. The only one I still hear her say regularly is "cah ler pitter" for caterpillar.

And now tomorrow she'll be done with kindergarten. I know that before long, she's going to be driving.

The horror, the horror!

Friday night, I was hungry for barbecue, so we headed out to the local franchise of Famous Dave's. We had a mixed results dinner, mixed because my food was really good and the girls were happy, but Greg had a sausage as part of his platter that was actually cold, not just not hot.

We never feel like just heading home to the suburbs after eating, so Greg suggested going to the Asian market down the street to pick up some more of a sauce that he likes. I thought it would be an interesting excursion--you always hear about the exotic (to American eyes) vegetables and fruits these markets carry, plus the interesting variety of canned goods, and I lead a very sheltered life, so I was happy to concur.

The market, which a sign said was affiliated with IGA, was bustling. We found a parking space and walked in. I have the normal expectations for a grocery store--clean, well-lighted, wide selection, good service, good prices. Well----

The store was well-lighted. It had a wide selection of interesting food items. There was good service (we initially had a problem finding the sauce Greg wanted and we were asked at least twice if we needed any help). The prices seemed in line.

It was not clean. Oh my god. Oh my god. The first thing we encountered was a god-awful smell of garbage from somewhere right by the entrance. Julia was walking and immediately said, "I smell something." Yup, we sure did.

Right inside the entrance were stacks and stacks of rice in 50 lb. bags, which Allie was curious about, since they don't have those at our local grocery. They appeared to be sitting right on the not-too-clean floor. Did I mention that there were bugs flying around us initially?

We proceeded to the sauce aisle. The whole store was very busy, so I picked up Julia to keep her out of people's way (and, I confess, so she wouldn't touch anything). Now I'm not one of those moms who carries sanitizing handi-wipes everywhere in case my kids get their hands dirty. After all, just three weeks ago, we spilled popcorn on the sidewalk and Julia got down there and ate some before we could stop her. But this was different.

Greg found his sauce and we explored a little bit. After all, as far as I was concerned, I wasn't ever coming back to the place. There were interesting fruits and vegetables, but then we hit the oh-my-god jackpot.

On the floor next to the fish counter (which had prominent but stained and tattered signs saying that only store personnel were allowed to put their hands into the seriously-needing-a-cleaning-or-maybe-they-should-just-throw-them-out-and-start-over fish case), was a cardboard box.

The box contained blue crab. Greg says they were alive, I don't know because I didn't want to look that closely I was busy holding my nose (not literally, but not because I didn't want to). Two people were using a pair of tongs to sort through them, and the smell was enormous.

I did notice that the box said it was leakproof, but someone's going to need to speak to the manufacturers about a warranty issue, because a stream of green god-knows-what liquid streamed across the aisle from the bottom of the box.

It smelled so bad. Greg (and unfortunately Allie) have very well developed senses of smell. I think Allie was literally holding her nose and Greg was retching in the frozen food aisle.

We quickly exited the premises with Greg's sauce and some glass noodles. Greg is going to have to find a new supplier for his sauce. This place needs to be burned down. You know, purifying flame?

I'll be at home 20 miles or so away, holding my nose.