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    Remind me to hide my purse

    May 6, 2007


    I looked over to see The Boy trying to pry open the doors to a little silver car.

    K:  Ethan, nothing opens up on that car.  It’s a Matchbox.  The doors don’t open, the hood doesn’t come up.  Nothing.
    E:  I just need the keys, Mama.

    And I venture he would add “a keyless remote” if given enough time…

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    “The British are coming! The British are coming!”

    September 2, 2006

    I have been DYING to say that since the 2nd grade.  OK, so the Brit is gone, but it felt even better to say it than I thought it would. 

    It started about three weeks ago when I told my mother that Martin and his friend were coming to visit and that they were going to spend the night at our house.

    M:  WHAT??  You are going to have strangers that you have never met, except over the internet, at your house?
    K:  Uh, yeah.
    M:  They are going to spend the night?
    K:  Yes.  On my couch and in my spare bedroom.  Mom, they are like 12 years old.  You don’t even develop the qualitites and skills of a serial killer until at least your late 20’s. 
    M:  Well what does Derek think about this?
    K:  He’s too busy preparing for the end of the world.  But if he was paying attention, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.

    I just looked at this woman, who is my mother and one of my favorite people in the whole world, and wondered if she had finally lost her mind.

    K:  Mom, I cannot believe, after all the penniless/homeless/lost people that you and Dad let crash at our house over the years, that you would be surprised by this.  After a lifetime of that, what did you think your children would do?
    M:  Not turn out like your father or me?
    K:  Nice try. 

    Not that Martin is penniless, homeless or lost, although the good people of Newark were kind enough to take his money for a hotel room when the airlines cancelled his flight. 

    Martin and his friend Sarah showed up and they did not appear to be serial killers in the least.  Sarah, a nice American girl whose mother told her never to talk to strangers, seemed a bit disconcerted with the whole arrangement, but you’ll be surprised what a few Malibu and Coke’s can do to lighten a girl up a little.  Who are we kidding?  Everyone knows how much you can lighten up a girl with a few Malibu and Coke’s.  Derek kindly tried to explain that I was plying Sarah with liquor because I was bitter that I could not have any myself, due to fetal alcohol syndrome and all. 

    Martin and Derek proceeeded to work their way through Derek’s home brew and Martin’s appreciation was enough to make Derek consider asking him to live on our couch forever.  Martin then said that he could tell that The Boy was brilliant, at which point we dropped the paperwork to adopt Martin in front of him and asked him to sign.  He did not, as such American attention and affection was clearly overwhelming. 

    By that point Sarah was saying things like, “I tried to read your blog twice but I just couldn’t get through a post.  They are too long.”  Derek, of course, wholeheartedly agreed and we decided that the time was right for Sarah to take a sobriety test.  Pictures of which can be found on Martin’s blog.  If you are Sarah’s mother and are reading this, OF COURSE SHE PASSED, SHE BARELY HAD ANYTHING TO DRINK.  For everyone else, a picture speaks a thousand words. Not only does that Sarah look like “a lot of fun,” she IS a lot of fun. 

    I think she may have stolen a butcher knife from the kitchen and taken it to bed with her for protection but she didn’t need it.

    Martin was commenting (read “complaining“) about how he would be awakening at 4 a.m. due to time zone differences and I graciously offered him the use of my laptop for the 5 hours that he would be awake before the rest of us. 

    I then went to bed and laid there sleepless for 45 minutes, wondering if Martin and my laptop would be gone when I woke up.  Sure I’ll invite a stranger for dinner and let him sleep in my house.  But to give him my computer?  I would rather have left him the keys to the Volvo, my debit card and pin number, and propped the baby on his lap on my way up the stairs. 
    Martin and the laptop, however, were right on the couch were I left them.  And no one was happier about that then me…

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    In the words of Duckie, I believe a “Touche” is in order

    August 25, 2006

    My 8 year old niece Mada bought 50 glow bracelets and 50 glow necklaces online and sold them last night at the Movie at the Park in her town.  This is her first step toward world domination, filling Warren Buffet’s shoes and probably becoming president of the United States.  She called at 9:15 to tell me how it went.  She sold EVERY SINGLE ONE.  Clearly my father’s genes have continued in the family.  She made $75.  Not too shabby.

    My sister got on the phone to tell me that it started out pretty dicey but once it got dark, they sold like hotcakes.  She said that there were a group of bad-ass teenagers sitting on a blacket beside them, smoking cigarettes and having general teenage bad behavior.  Mada decided that she could sell LOTS of necklaces to this crowd so she started to work her magic.  Jen said that the teenagers were kind of making fun of Mada for selling the necklaces but she just kept hanging in there.  One of the boys was saying smart-ass things like, “if I hug you, will you give me a necklace,” i.e. Marti Gras style.  Yeah, real appropriate to say to an 8 year old.  While Jen was trying to figure out how to deal with this one, she realized she was wasting her time.  At that moment, Mada looked over to the boy and said….

    “I’ll give you one for free if you stop talking.”

    Everyone in the group then bought a necklace. 

    Who’s your daddy now, beeotch?

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