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    It’s a little game we like to call, “where the hell did this come from?”

    April 7, 2008

    Last night I walked into my house after the Richmond Bizarre Bazaar to find this on my wall.Calendar  Yes, that is my desk, and no, I can’t ever find anything.  Yes, that is a vent in the middle of the wall and no, I don’t know what the moron was thinking that built the house.   That calendar, in that slightly odd place?  I didn’t put it there.  I knew it was time for the walk-around.  And I walked downstairs to find this…

    George overseeing the liquor cabinet 

    I think he wants the rum, but that could just be me.   And then I turned around to find this…

    Abe Lincoln and the Stout that may never be 

    You’re right.  That IS Abe Lincon perched against the IKEA placemats, under the paper towel rack, directly beside the carboy filled with five gallons of stout greatness and covered with my favorite towel-that’s-where-it-was-I-have-been-looking-for-it. 

    My mother-in-law is in town.  I don’t think she has ever come to our house without putting up at least two pieces of “art” on our walls, unannounced.  And, bless her heart, I’m sure one day I’ll take one of these to the antique roadshow to find out that it is worth $700,000.  But right now?  I’m a little creeped out by Abe.  And I’m feeling that Jefferson is distinctly missed. 

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    Just wait until the credit card offers come

    July 21, 2007

    Ever since he has been about 2 months old, my child has been getting mail. I would like to say that it is from his various college trust funds, informing him that his education investment has been growing at 15% yearly, but who are we kidding? Trust funds?It started with a letter from Robert Kennedy, imploring E to contact his congressman and strongly urge him to vote against drilling in Alaska. I asked E if he wanted to call his congressman, but he just threw up on me. The only thing more apropos would have been crapping all over me. He apparently is precocious when it comes to politics.

    Then it was a slew of mail from all manner of wildlife organizations–Save the Whales, Wildlife Land Trust, The Jane Goddall Society, The National Audubon Society, Friends of the National Zoo. You get the picture. He has gotten stuffed animals, pennies, and return address labels.

    This seems extremely odd to me. We aren’t animal people here. We have a dog, we love our dog but reality is that we would rather have a night out eating sushi than pay for a stray to get neutered. It’s the cold, hard facts.

    So, is E crawling into the bedroom, climbing up onto the top of the dresser, stealing a 20 from dad’s billfold and sending it off to PETA? I mentioned this situation to my friend when we were talking on the phone this morning and she mentioned that she had begun to get a stack of fitness magazines in the mail recently. Appalled at her husband’s insensitivity, she asked him why he was doing this to her. He maintains his innocence and ignorance on the matter. She said that they now think their 7-year old daughter is ordering them online. Probably while she reads the Washington Post in the morning (dear Lord, is this what I have to look forward to?).

    My guess is that my mother-in-law, the champion of all four-legged creatures, contributed some amount of money to an animal cause in my son’s name. Let’s just hope it wasn’t ALF or ELF. I can’t wait to see the FBI agent’s face when he comes to interview Ethan regarding his involvement in ecoterrorist organizations.

    I’ll take a picture for you.

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    A monk, a nun and 2 red bras

    July 19, 2007

    Every year my in-laws go to the Caribbean for 2 weeks with three other couples. They have been doing this forever. They come home every year and regale us with stories that would make your ears curl up and fall off your head. Tales of costumes, skits, songs. It sounds like kid’s summer camp, except instead of bug juice there is a lot (A LOT) of gin and tonics. And wine. And beer. Enough that my FIL always says that one of these years they are going to swing by Betty Ford for a couple of days on the way home to dry out.

    Apparently crazy things always happen at the beach. Just last week they were discussing the nun habit that my FIL got for my MIL to wear this year. He has a monk outfit. But our favorite story is the year my MIL was showing the vacation pictures to a friend and she had forgotten to take out the picture of my FIL, wearing only an apron. I didn’t ask if the view was from the front or the back. I now refuse to look at vacation pictures. You can never be too cautious.

    This year the ‘rents decided to swing by our town on their way down. I picked them up from the airport yesterday, with the Boo in tow.

    MIL: Can we stop by a department store? We need to buy red bras for FIL and Tommy.

    That kind of comment will send you careening off the road. Into opposing traffic. Full of semis. What do you say to that? Part of me was freaking out but part of me was fascinated that I could participate in this psychosis. So off we went to Target. I couldn’t see buying my FIL a Victoria’s Secret bra that he would only wear for 2 weeks. Really. 15 minutes later we were in the Lingerie department.

    And there he was. My 6’5″ FIL, trauma surgeon extraordinaire, trying on a lovely red lace bra over his green shirt. It fit.

    I could go on about Gonzalo, Target’s Customer Service Representive/Traumatized Checker, but I have already gone too far. These people sure know how to have a good time.

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    Father-in-laws say the darnedest things

    March 31, 2007

    “Hey, is there any way you can milk yourself tomorrow and give us a bottle so you guys can go out alone?”

    Uh, sure???

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    She never ceases to say things that surprise me

    October 30, 2006

    My mother-in-law mentioned on the phone the other night that while she was at my sister-in-law’s house taking care of the grandkids while He-Who-Still-Remains-Nameless-8-Days-After-Birth was being born, that she had to sleep with my niece Hailey AND the dog.  Not only did the dog sleep in the bed, apparently she needed to lay on top of my MIL in order to sleep properly.  I asked my MIL if she had been allowed to sleep with her dog when she was growing up.

    This was a valid question because if you have ever heard stories about Nana, she was NO NONSENSE at all times.  I was guessing that the answer was “no” and that was the reason that my MIL allowed my SIL to have about 20 pets at any given time during childhood.  You know, that whole “I’ll-do-it-differently-than-MY-mom-did.”  She said that her mother was very strict and the dogs weren’t allowed in the house unless it was 40 degrees below zero. 

    Does it get to 40 degrees below zero in eastern Washington?

    She said that she came home one night and walked into the living room to find a black lab laying in the middle of the floor.  She said that she knew at this moment that someone very important must be there for her mother to allow a dog in the house.

    My mind wandered off for a second, thinking about who the important person could be.  This was the one horse town that gave my husband’s grandfather a house in exchange for moving there and opening his ear, eye, nose and throat practice, a la “Northern Exposure” but without the moose.  There aren’t moose in Eastern Washington state, are there?  They gave him a house.  I’ve seen it.  It was huge. 

    The town mayor?  The Methodist minister? 

    “Bing Crosby.”

    Admit it.  You never saw it coming.  I know I didn’t.  But now you know why Nana let the dog in the house.  Who could deny Bing anything?

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    Having missed the Boob boat…

    August 9, 2006

    I realize that it happened over a week ago, and that I saw a copy of the magazine, but I missed the scandal.  And now there a nursing picture on hundreds of blogs.  Every where you go, there are boobs.  Derek suggested I post a picture San Francisco photographer Lucy Hilmer took of me nursing Ethan (by a window in the lobby bar–the only thing missing was a red ruby martini in my hand and perhaps doing it in on the piano rather than while sitting in the oversized chair).  I told him that it may seem odd that my first picture “out” on the blog was of my porn star breast.  But in the spirit of solidarity with my peeps, I am posting a story from vacation last year….

    On the way
    to Costco with my father-in-law (just the three of us–G, me and E), he stated that if I
    planned on nursing the baby in Costco, he would like to stop on the way and buy
    a t-shirt that says “Grandpa” on it. I told him that if I had to choose between
    a screeching baby and exercising my legal rights under Idaho law, I choose the
    option that results in silence. He agreed wholeheartedly.

    I know that I should think that breastfeeding is for the good of The Boy, but usually my motivation was silence.  Motives don’t always matter, do they?

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