FredPie's Xanga

Randomish Rambliness

Thu, 21 Feb 2008 16:54:52 GMT

Many many moons ago (September?) I subscribed to a couple IndieFeed podcasts but never found the time to listen to very many of them. Suddenly, with the addition of a lovely lavender Shuffle to my Apple arsenal, I am So Totally Digging Performance Poetry. Big warning: many occurrences of the F-bomb, among other potential problematic words and themes.

Suddenly and strangely, I am a big contributor to the household sound. Finally enjoying my own music tastes is satisfying.

Kansas weather is a pain in my patoot. The kids have had at least 4 weather days this school year. and I were trying to figure out if it will be 5 or 6 if they cancel tomorrow. I know I've missed 3 days of work for weather.

Meh.

At what age do you think a kid should be able to start dating?

Thu, 07 Feb 2008 22:16:39 GMT

Actual one-on-one dates? I think 14 at the earliest. Many things must be taken into account, though. How mature both kids are. How much the parents trust both of them. The accountability aspect: are you dropping them off at a mall for 3 hours or do they have specific plans that you -could- check on although you hope not to -have- to?

I got a newsletter from my son's youth pastor and it said many parents and children think age 12 is good. TWELVE?? I didn't even want to date yet at 12. I found out this past year that I was odd, though. I didn't have my first french kiss until age 15 (and a half!). Most people have told me anywhere from 3rd grade (age 8??) to 7th grade. The oldest besides me was in 9th grade. Age 14.

Back to the newsletter: we found their statistics faulty. My 11-year-old actually asked me to explain how one table showed
Parents were asked, "At what age should teens be allowed to start dating?"
9% - 12 years old
9% - 13 years old
12% - 14 years old
17% - 15 years old
40% - 16 years old
10% - no set rule.
(about.com)

But the next page had a bullet point:
Today, the average age for a person to begin dating is 13. in 1924 the average age was 16. (more4kids.info)

He wanted to know how with 18% of parents allowing their children to date at ages 12 and 13, the "average age" to begin dating was 13. Even if you add in the 10% with no set rule, you still only get up to 28%. Is this just another example of hype-mongering?

It also showed:
One-third (33%) of 16-18 year-olds said sex is "expected" of people their age who are in a relationship. 31% of teens who have been in a "serious" relationship agreed with this statement. (loveisnotabuse.com)

OK, so with a domain name like that, I really don't expect an unbiased statistic but sheesh. Did YOU think it was expected at that age?

I just answered this Featured Question, you can answer it too!

Sick day

Thu, 07 Feb 2008 20:34:06 GMT

I called in sick today. Yesterday, I had trouble concentrating and keeping moving by the end of the day. This morning I was trying very hard to convince myself to get up and get to work. I got up to help Andrew with his lunch, and I couldn't walk quite straight. That convinced me. I called in. The boss said "You don't sound so hot." One of my co-workers called me a loser, though. :D

This weekend, my old friend J will be here with her son P and husband B. I haven't seen any of them since ... sheesh, Years. I'm looking forward to it, but I hope I'm better!

Hmph. I thought I had a blog in me.
I guess not.

Inconsequential Pet Peeve

Sun, 11 Nov 2007 23:26:49 GMT

It greatly annoys me when they put fake squeaks in the audio when showing rodents (usually rats) on the screen. They're always the type of squeak a rat would make if in pain or frightened, but usually they show the rat in control and not in pain. They are trying to freak out or gross out the audience, but it actually blows my suspension of disbelief.
TV and movie makers: stop it.

It's a thin line

Fri, 05 Oct 2007 10:24:38 GMT

I HATE Captcha's. I HATE being forced to change my password. I HATE when the page forcing me to change my password tells me the "new" "restrictive" parameters and my original password (more than) fits within those parameters. That said, it's probably about time, since I've been using the same password on Xanga for 7 years or so.

Now, on to the entry I was here to write.

I LOVE my husband. He often seems to be off in his own little world, staring into his own little computer screen, and blocking the rest of us out. Sometimes, however, he's aware of the rest of us, just not showing it. Last night's case-in-point:
I teased Nate about his pajama pants being entirely too big. They're loose and the crotch hangs nearly to his knees. "They look like Hammer Pants!" Nate gave me his bemused generation gap look and asked what in the world Hammer Pants are, so I stood there and was describing them, doing a little Hammer Dance to illustrate the inherent silliness of Hammer-ness. In the next room I hear the declaration "U Can't Touch This!" and of course dance along, pointing and grinning at my . He's gone to YouTube so that he can show the child just what a dorky pop-culture upbringing I had. I had forgotten about the whirling and jiggling on the stairs. It really took me back. So Much Spandex! Oh, and the rainbow of Hammer Pants. Mmm. Gotta love the 90's!

This, he followed up with a rousing round of Bang The Drum All Day by Todd Rundgren. This was in response to a conversation with a friend about the job I start Monday. I said I didn't want to work, I just wanted to bang on the drums all day. The next option was to Rock and Roll all night and party every day, except I really am fond of the daylight and find myself unable to stay up for 24 hours in a row. Maybe I -am- growing up a little? Or is that just old?

And a testament to my dorkiness: I found myself watching the whole Hammer video again after looking it up to embed it here.

Writing? Living?

Thu, 04 Oct 2007 10:12:12 GMT

I think I'm afraid to write.
I'll run out of words.
I won't have any more ideas.
My brain will empty onto the page, shrivel up, and have nothing new to say.

I want to go lay face-down in the back yard and smell the earth. I want to hear the raucous geese fly overhead. I want a moth to land on my leg to see if the flowers on my pajama pants are real. I want ...
life.
But I don't know how to have one.
I don't know how to work for it. I don't know what I want to be when I grow up, but I'm 33. I was supposed to grow up years ago. I made babies. That means I'm a grown-up right? My babies entered school. Maybe that grew me up? My babies are either a) in 6th grade, deftly dancing with puberty or b) so full of special needs and unexpressable desires. I should be a grown up. I go to PTO meetings and parent/teacher conferences. I sign my name authoritatively on IEP's and permission slips. I'm a grown up. But I'm not.

I want ...
freedom.
But I want security.

I want ...
spontaneity.
But I can't stand uncertainty.

What do I want?
Hell, I don't even know who I am. I can't tell you what a stranger wants, desires, NEEDS. That woman over there? Who has had fire-engine-red hair? Who finally thinks she has nice boobs, now that she's a grown-up with a husband and kids? Who likes tight jeans as long as they're not too tight? Who appears be in control of her self and her destiny but can't actually find the reins?
How the hell should i know what SHE wants?
She's just me, and I'm just a lost child.

The great flood of 2007!

Thu, 14 Jun 2007 00:36:52 GMT

So. The cold got the better of me. The "fudking" thing I just had to do was take a nap! I invited my in-laws into a house that was slightly more cluttered than it usually is. I planned to invite them into a house that was a complete misrepresentation of our day-to-day life.
I've been completely embarrassed to do much housekeeping in front of them, because his mother jumps in and helps me, so it feels like a double-whammy. Not only was my house not up to snuff when they got here, but I'm putting her to work to get it there!! She is doing this out of genuine helpfulness, but it still makes me feel bad.
Then the basement flooded. Our back yard floods easily, but it's clear back by the alley, and only considered a nuisance when we can't mow because it's too wet. Our basement stays dry, most of the yard stays usable, etc. Not This Time! Nate came into my bedroom and said "Mom, Mom! there's a puddle at the bottom of the stairs!" "The OUTSIDE stairs, right?" "No! In the basement!" Craaapp. I grabbed the carpet shampooer to help me suck it up, but it immediately became clear that the half-gallon capacity of its dirty-tank was nowhere near sufficient! I borrowed a shop vac and started sucking the carpet dry, and I DID let his mom help me with that. I was so frustrated, a little embarrassed, and getting worn out.   I finally discovered the water was coming IN through the sump hole in the basement corner. Heck, I hadn't even looked at that hole in years and years. I'd half forgotten it was even there. This thing was overflowing. Damn! I got to work with a pair of 5-gallon buckets and a cup, scooping water off the floor until I was finally scooping it out of the sump hole. I thought that at that point, I'd go to the store and buy a sump pump. I watched the water refill the sump hole in under a minute. Whoah. We started an assembly line with me scooping water into the buckets and dumping them into the bathtub. I estimated that we took 20 gallons alone out of there, along with 20 gallons or so out of the carpets. I probably underestimate, because I don't know how many times his mother emptied the 6-gallon shop vac. We hurried to the closest hardware store (2 blocks away), to discover they were out of sump pumps. Or water pumps of any sort. OK, so that's what we get for wanting a sump pump after 24 hours of hard rain. We did finally find a sump pump at a different hardware store, but the cashier had to be honest and tell us she really didn't have a clue what made one model better than another. She was so nice about it, though. One of the owners came in and gave a little input, but his mind was elsewhere, as he also does a lot of handyman work, so he had just walked in from being emergency-floodwater-plumber at a house much worse-off than ours. We walked out of the store with a sump pump and a 24-foot hose to just pump the thing into the bathtub. We'll plumb it properly later.
We got home and started to hook everything up, discovering that the sump pump makers hired expert plumbers to write the manual, never realizing that someone might need actual instructions. Grr. We finally got the pump all hooked up and discovered that the outlet on the pump and the end of the hose were both male ends.   That just can't be made to work in plumbing. I was tired of the whole thing and wanted to just try good old duct tape, but I was talked into going back to the store for "a cuff or something" that would connect the 2 male ends. I went back to B hardware, thinking they'd know exactly what I needed. Hahahahaha. I'm so funny. I finally expressed my need clearly enough, and the guy couldn't find the right size one for the life of him. Finally he found a heavy metal one and apologized that it would be clunky and heavy, but it should get the job done. I told him clunky and heavy was better than flooded. Yay! Sump pump is connected! But it doesn't shut off. What the hell. We tried plugging it in with and without the sensor, but either way, it sucked the hole dry and never shut off. I wiggled and jiggled the float, but it didn't seem to believe me. I was ready to cry with frustration and said I would just stand in the damn basement until I was calmer, unplugging the pump each time I heard it suck dry. didn't find this to be the best solution to our problems. ;) He may have been right, but it's the solution I wanted to pursue. I pulled the pump out again and played with it, pulling straight down on the float, and I heard a click. Hmmmmm! YAY! The pump now shuts off when it goes dry.
But now the 24-feet of hose drain right back into the hole as soon as it shuts off. What are we missing nowwww??? I whined. We re-read the instructions and looked at the pictures and decided there was a valve that we didn't have. Mannn!! I left there, putting his hand over the end of the hose each time it shut off so that gravity didn't just suck 99% of the water back into the basement floor. He was thrilled with this job, of course. I walked back to the closest hardware store to get one. I didn't want to walk into the other one AGAIN! Nope, they were out. I went home and told they were out and that this time I was going to "let my fingers do the walking" instead of driving all over hell and back. Yeah, I said "driving all over hell and back" in front of my in-laws and at least one of the kids.   I called a hardware near the other end of town. I called a hardware store AT the other end of town. One was out, the other didn't answer. I swallowed my pride and called B Hardware again. "Yep, I'll put it at the counter for you!"   At least they're nice. I told him what had gone on so far, but it was his brother who'd sold me the connecting "cuff" and he actually said he didn't understand why he'd done so. It was $6.50 for the "cuff" and $13 for the valve. After spending about $130 for the sump pump, an additional $6.50 for the valve instead of backwash wouldn't have fazed me at all! In case you lost count: that's 5 visits and 3 phone calls to hardware stores. So, for the past couple days, we've been paranoidly checking the basement, making sure the pump's doing its job and that it's still pointed into the tub. I tied it to a cinder block. I don't think it's going anywhere.

The kids, on the other hand, have had tons of fun.

I didn't mean to lie!

Sun, 03 Jun 2007 00:36:19 GMT

So laughed when he read my previous entry. "I didn't say Perdy was in the JAR. She was in the wheel, which the jar banged into when it got to the bottom." Oh. Well that's nothin'! Although it -is- a second human witness to non-Peachy wheel use. So very exciting.

's parents come to town on Tuesday. They'll be here for most of June, and I'm very excited, as I really really really like them. But I'm FINALLY starting to stress out that the house looks like crap. Sometimes I pull myself back out of the panic by saying "It at least looks better than -last- time they visited" and "They're not here to see my house, they're here to see the people in it." But it doesn't usually work. I get panicky and a bit of an inferiority complex when I know people will be in my house. And then I get a cold. Yeah, really. My voice is scratchy, I'm doing this annoying grunty throat clearing thing, my ears itch, and my whole head is stopped up. I think that tomorrow I need to kick the kids out of the house for the whole dang day and pump myself up on a combo of DayQuil and Dr. Pepper. I do NOT want to be doing it all the day before and be all knocked out when my in-laws get here. (Did I mention I really like them?)
We don't officially have a guest room, so this means A's room is becoming one. The beds are bunked into N's, and and I have been preparing A's room in stages. We went in there and did a major cleanup a couple months back, and oh boy are we thanking ourselves for that. He managed to keep it somewhat tidy after that. This means that we've only found 3 pairs of dirty underwear hiding in there. This morning, we dragged some underbed drawers up from the basement to be the base for the airbed and ran to the home improvement place to get some plywood to place on top of that. We weren't sure if there was a larger size than the standard 4'x8', so we went armed with only a measurement. This meant that after wandering the aisles for a surprising amount of time without any employees bugging us (this place is always crawling with employees when you want to be left alone to make a decision, then they scuttle away like cockroaches when you make a decision), we decided to buy 2 standard sheets and have them cut for us. An employee rounded the corner at this moment, helped me load them onto a cart, cut them, then whisked away to his next thing. It was a thing of beauty. HE wasn't. He was a goofball. But he did a great job of showing up right when we wanted him and then just *poof* disappearing when that was done.
Now A's room stinks of plywood and still needs to be swept. Tomorrow we will sweep it out, move the last of his toys (Gawd my kids have too much CRAP), and let the room air a few hours. That gives me some hours tomorrow to put the rest of the house together, and then Monday to finish building the bed and whatever last-minute unimportant item my brain won't let go of. I don't know yet what it will be, but at the time it will be FUDKING IMPORTANT, LEAVE ME ALONE GOTTA DO THIS NOW NOW NOW, and once it's all over and the dust has settled, I will say, "Why did I bother with that?"
Now, off to sleep before I screw up my sleep schedule any further.

Rodents don't sleep, why should I?

Fri, 01 Jun 2007 15:58:59 GMT

I'm sure you're just dying for an update on our darling fuzzballs.

We managed to entirely skip last weekend's cage cleaning, so it had been almost 2 weeks since a cleaning. And here I was thinking we ought to clean it early to avoid infecting any wounds. We cleaned it this morning, and since I'd noticed Socks doesn't seem to be washing her hands, I stuck all 3 rats into the tub with a little water (they could still find solid ground and avoid the water) and kept putting Socks into the puddle to rinse her feet. If rats could scowl, then that's what she'd be doing. She climbed my arm several times, trying to get out of the tub. I just kept putting her back until her feet were pink again. Even Peachy climbed my sleeve several times. It was actually pretty cute. Socks has lost a toenail off each hind foot, but they're normal-colored, so there's nothing to worry about. Peachy had dirty tips to her ears, which seemed pretty strange to me, but maybe it was from Socks' dirty paws?? And Perdita really didn't need a bath, but I didn't want her to miss out on the fun! She was also scowling. Finally I rinsed down the tub and scrubbed Peachy's ears (much prettier) and let out the water. They continued to climb me like monkey bars so they could sit on my bathrobe. I gave them THE scruffiest towel in existence and tried to get them to tunnel in it. Meh. So I picked each of them up and ruffled them with the towel, then gave up on them because the boys were back with the cage. We got everyone settled back into the cage and turned our attention to "how do we keep them from pushing their toys into their own way?
I tried wedging their clear jar behind the wooden ladder so they wouldn't dump it down the ramp, and I put a washcloth under their clubhouse so it didn't scoot as easily. Not 5 minutes later, said, "I retrieved the jar and put it under the ladder and scooted the clubhouse back into the corner." Sheesh. AND he witnessed Peachy pushing the jar down the ramp with Perdita inside!! Now, is this some new amusement ride, or is Peachy kind of a mean one?? The world may never know. I think I'll screw a mug hook into the clubhouse to trap it into the corner. I still don't know what to do with the jar. They really like it. I've thought of poking holes for a twistie, but they'd just eat it. I've thought of putting something grippie on it, like maybe fabric paint. They'd gnaw that off too. I'm stuck for the moment. The huge wheel is a hit with Peachy, but until last night, I had never witnessed the other girls using it. At midnight, I actually saw Perdita take it for a super short spin. That's the only time so far they've allowed a human to see anyone but Peachy in it. It's so cute to see her run, though.

I haven't been sleeping for crap lately. This is why I got to witness Perdy on the wheel at midnight. I took a NyQuil out of desperation. I can't get to sleep or stay asleep at night, then if I sit on the couch, pretty soon, I'm laying on the couch with my eyes rolled back in my head, sawing logs. This morning, I did wake up well. That's nice. 7 am, and my eyes popped open and said "get up get up!" I am NOT a morning person. With my sleep being messed up, I've been sleeping in (which probably contributes to the late bedtimes: an ever deepening spiral), and it really surprised me to be awake for real. I actually got up and haven't allowed myself a nap, although at about noon, my eyelids were drooping and I couldn't focus on the kid across the room. Pretty soon, we'll head over to mom's to stir the pool. We perform this service for free because we're so full of loving kindness. It involves a lot of diving, splashing and throwing of toys. Selfless acts of service, I tell you. I suspect I'll crap out on a lawn chair. Hopefully it'll be a short nap so I can sleep tonight.

Mom's been out of town more than in lately. Today she called me and said she was having an adverse reaction to her medication (one she asked to be taken off of, but was then put back on), would I call her doctor for her? I did. I sorta told the girl all the symptoms and the whole story in one big breath before I could forget it. The girl said she had it, didn't ask me to repeat anything, and that was that. Suuure. I sent mom a text message that I had done so. She said, "OK, now call the pharmacy, pretend you're me, and ask if they've done it yet." I did this just as my husband walked through the room. He erupted into laughter and flustered me so much I almost forgot my lines. Dammit! "Hey, she TOLD me to!!" "Whatever!" The answer was "No, we haven't heard from Dr. H's office today, sorry." Big shock. So mom and I apparently both called the Dr. at almost the same time. "My mother is out of town right now and is leaving again first thing in the morning, and she's really stressing about this medication!!" I got basically a "yes, yes" out of them. 10 minutes later, Dr. calls back and asks to speak to Mom. "Sorry, this is her daughter, how can I help?" No, she HAD to speak to MOM. I gave her the cell #, which stressed mom out because she was in a spotty zone (more dead than live as far as she could tell), but finally I got one more text message out of her, "She called me and it's all worked out, thanks." She's pretty sure she's going to have to have a procedure once she's in town long enough to do so. Fun. It must be handy to have a layabout for a daughter.

And that concludes my brain barf for today. Thank you for your time.

Bloody Rodents

Sat, 19 May 2007 16:55:21 GMT

A got a new rat 2 weeks ago. His previous one, Cody, died a few months ago, causing many tears and much grief. He chose a new one with the same coloring, against my advice. I keep reminding him that just because she looks like Cody doesn't mean she'll act like Cody. He named the new girl Peachy. insisted "No Recycling of Names." Whew. We kept her in a separate cage for quarantine until today. We were pretty careful about handwashing for the first week, but I know the boys were getting less and less vigilant. We had their cages about a foot apart the first week, and closer to 5 inches apart the second week. I wanted them to hear and smell each other (I just hoped nobody would sneeze directly on the other cage ) so that it wouldn't be a huge shock when they all moved in together. So when it came time to clean cages today, we put the older rats into the cage Peachy was in all week. Socks immediately did the whole "I'm the boss" thing with flipping her over onto her back, and Peachy squeaked a "yeah, I got it." I was hoping that would be the worst of it. Nooo. Socks was apparently pretty stressed out by this whole 'new roomie' idea. She kept flipping Peachy over and holding her down until she squealed. I forced myself to stay out of it until I saw her get a really good hold on Peachy's side as Peachy ran Up The Wall (!!) to get away. At this point, I pulled Socks out and put her into a cardboard carrier we still had from bringing Peachy home. Perdita and peachy sniffed each other's noses, Perdy sorta climbed on top and mooshed Peachy for a moment, then Peachy licked Perdita's nose like a kiss. (She has -the-softest-tongue!) Then they each went their separate ways and all was well! We finished cleaning the big cage and the floor and put the Big New Cage into place in its new home. We bought the new cage at the same time as the new rat ... there was another family looking at small animals and the dad said to his daughter "see, you need a biiig cage for a rat, we want something smaller." I laughed and said we actually had two more at home, so this would be a nice roomy 3-rat cage. She ended up with the cutest black bear hamster.
What? Me, off on a tangent?
We put all 3 rats into the new cage, and pretty soon Socks was following Peachy around and being a bully. Again, I made myself ignore it for the most part while we cleaned the littler cage in preparation for it to go into storage. At one point, I did pull Socks out, flip her over on her back, and said "No, _I_ am the boss" and held her there until she gave in with a kind of sigh. This seemed to work for, oh, all of 3 minutes. Other than those 2 interventions, I kept my nose out of it. After it had mostly quieted down, A went to look again, "OH NO! PEACHY'S BLEEEEEEDING!" Crap. I went to look at her, and she had a little smear of blood on her 'wrist.' It didn't look like an actual wound, so I looked her over to see where the blood was from. Nothing obvious. Hrm. Then we noticed a huge smear of blood on Socks' hip/knee area. So I pulled her out of the cage. She has torn off one of her toenails. Her right pinky toe. Ouch. I took her into the bathroom and washed the blood off her hip as well as I could, but mostly left the foot alone, figuring she wouldn't appreciate me messing with it too much. Our rats aren't used to baths anyway. We scrub the cage weekly, but we let them do their own version of bathing. Several minutes later, "Now Perdy's bloody!" I assured him that I was 99% positive it was Socks' blood, but I pulled her out and washed her off. She was even less excited by this, but put up with it grudgingly. I sorta rinsed the wet blood off, but left some dried blood in her fur. I didn't want to annoy her too much! I glanced at Socks' foot. It's covered in blood. Yuck. One good thing about all of this; apparently hurting herself has taken all the fight out of her. Since she's leaving bloody footprints everywhere, including her roommates, I finally decided to see what I could look up about Rat First Aid. Apparently rat extremities just bleed a lot. There were recommendations for how to stem the bleeding, and also the go-ahead for giving acetaminophen and using a topical antibiotic like Neosporin. I poured several drops of children's Tylenol into a baby spoon and offered it to her. She lapped it up like candy (it did smell good.) I decided to leave off on the Neosporin, since she was all cozy in the 'clubhouse' and I didn't want to pick her up -again- if she had found a comfy spot. A little bit ago I went to look again. Her foot looks nasty, covered in dried blood, but Peachy is all snuggled up to her! I wonder if Socks thinks Peachy got the better of her, and Peachy's just glad that Socks settled the heck down. peeked in on them a little later than that, and all 3 of them were in the clubhouse. Awwwww. I hope this is it, rather than just a naptime truce.