Am I...Wha...?

Last night when my daughter came out to kiss me goodnight, she had a serious expression as she asked me, "Mom, are you still sarcastic?"

I looked over her shoulder at J., who looked every bit as puzzled as I was. Don't laugh, or you'll never get this particular tidbit explained, my brain warned me.

"Uh...what?" I finally said lamely...all originality, that's me.

She looked annoyed. "Are.you.still.SARCASTIC!" She said--slowly, loudly and exasperatedly, as to an idiot.

Puzzled look on husbands' face deepens.
A thought occurs to me: I've been ill. "Oh...do you mean 'contagious'?"

Enlightenment dawns on her face. "Yes!" she says.

No, I tell her, I'm OK now. At this she goes ahead and gives me a kiss goodnight, and J. and I wait until she's in bed to giggle amongst ourselves.

No, But Thanks For The Ego Boost, Anyway...

I drive a 1969 Plymouth Fury III convertible.

Not a muscle car, but a beach cruiser/professional gasoline swallower. The other day I was walking away from my car after I'd parked it at a local shopping strip mall, when some guy in an SUV stops next to me as he's passing.

"HEY! Want to sell your car?"

Now, I'm not exaggerating when I say I get this ALL THE TIME. People stop me to ask, shout it across streets and parking lots, pull up at red lights, knock on my front door, leave notes, etc. The longing look in their eyes is downright amusing and they practically drool. Even my mechanic wants it, and he told me that in his research of my car, it's estimated value is around $30,000. I already knew this, as I'd done my own research long ago...but it was nice to hear from an independent source!

So anyway, I politely decline the guys' offer, coupled with a smile and my standard response of, "Sorry, it's my baby." Most people recognize that there is no chance of a sale and accept it graciously enough.

Not this guy, he's determined.

He's also not pulling away, and I stand there somewhat awkwardly, waiting for him to pass by so I can continue into the store.

"Aw, come ON! Are you sure you don't want to sell it?" *cue longing look* "It's an awful nice car, I love those..." *wistful look* Oh dear, another Fury fan. I can sympathize, I know that illness. I again decline, with an understanding smile.

Undeterred, he desperately begins rummaging in his glove compartment. "No, wait! I'll...I'll TRADE YOU! I can give you TWO fully restored Corvairs! I did them myself, it's a hobby..." He waves a fistfull of photographs. At this point he's attracted the frowning attention of a police officer, who is getting into his cruiser parked nearby.

Oh God, the guy loves Furys AND is a rabid auto hobbiest. He's now holding forth the fanned-out photos and has a hungry, pleading look in his eye. This is getting a bit weird, and I'm not about to approach some strange guy's car close enough to inspect the photos. The cops' stare is getting harder by the moment.

I still say no, but nicely, and wish him goodbye and good luck on his Corvairs, then step back a pace or two...I'm going to go around the back of his car and into the store that way. The cop shuts the door to his cruiser and prepares to walk over to the guy, who now has two cars waiting behind him.

Finally, to everyone's relief, the guy accepts defeat and goes on about his business. But I have to say, that's the best offer I've had for my car yet!

But...We Really NEED Your Help!

I knew it would happen.

Less than a week since the school told me I couldn't read for the Book Fair/Reading event, and the principal has hit me up TWICE to volunteer--once for the Book Fair (but not to read) and again this morning, trying to get myself and J. to serve on the PTA. I told her 'No' both times.

Last week she had gone up and down the line of parents waiting to pick up kids, armed with a clipboard, asking for volunteers for the book fair that night...and being, as always, rejected by parent after parent. She finally got to me and asked me if I could volunteer and I told her 'no'. Afterwards, two of the other moms laughingly called over, "Hey Velvet, I bet she got you to help out, huh?" I walked over to them and told them I hadn't, and why. I wanted to see what their reaction would be, to see if maybe I was overreacting to the whole thing. But they were amazed and digusted, and agreed that that was a rotten thing to do and if it happened to them, they would have the same reaction. Hmmm.

So this morning the principal cornered me in the office after I went in to pay for N.'s yearbook. She had her little clipboard out and a big grin, and said, "So, Velvet--can I count on you to help out and maybe serve on the PTA?" like she was offering me some kind of rare and special treat. I stared at her a moment and then burst out laughing (I couldn't help it) and shook my head 'no', which made her smile crumble in one big hurry. She said hastily, "But you can have your pick of projects! You tell me--what would you like to do?" OK, I thought. "Read tonight." I shot back.

"Oh no! That's just for staff!"

I just tossed my hands in the air, laughed and shook my head again and went for the door, but she stopped me. "It's a staff thing!"

"Well, then I should have been told that months ago when I asked if I could participate, NOT just a few days before the event when I had everything set up and was looking forward to it." I told her. She stammered the same thing again, so I just waved goodbye in disgust and left.

Up to now I thought that maybe the principal, who had previously welcomed, appreciated and been very happy about my offer to participate in the reading event, perhaps didn't know that I had been unceremoniously kicked to the curb, but it seems she did and is OK with it.

So much for volunteerism. I'm soured on it for good.

We Desperately Need Your Help! But Not Really...

My daughter's elementary school saddens me.

During the year, they have various events such as field trips, science fairs, student art shows, etc. The school is forever clamoring and whining in their weekly newsletter for more parent help and participation. The school secretary and principal are very vocal in person about this as well, and VERY few people step forward--maybe 3-4 parents in the entire school.

Well, I'm a stay-at-home mom because of my various chronic injury problems, so I offer to help the school however and wherever I can. I've volunteered as a Kindergarten helper, gone on field trips, taken yearbook photos, done things around the school, all with no problems.

The school has an event every year at this time to promote reading, where they invite kids and parents to come out for an evening of books read aloud and a take away dinner (hot dogs, tacos, etc.) to eat picnic style on the grass. We loved it when we went when N. was in Kindergarten two years ago, and I volunteered to be a reader last year. Unfortunately I contracted pneumonia and was unable to do it, which really crushed me. I love reading with a passion, and J. and I have read to N. every day since she was born. As a result, she loves reading as well, and is well beyond her grade level in reading and comprehension. This year, the event is next Friday, and back at the beginning of this year I once again volunteered. Both the principal and the school secretary were appreciative and very eager for help, they said, "Sure! The more the merrier, fantastic!". So I got the green light months ago and I was all excited about it--books ready to go and no goddamn pneumonia this time. I had popped into the office a few times over the year to remind the secretary that I was still interested in it. I checked in again with her two weeks ago so I wouldn't forget the date. Book nerd that I am, I've literally been waiting all year for this.

The school secretary just called me to let me know I couldn't join in.

Apparantly, one of the teachers who is in charge, got upset and feels that it should be a 'teachers only' event. That was the only explanation given and I got the distinct impression that there was more going on under the surface, if you know what I mean. It's almost like she wanted to keep all her toys and not share. I think this particular teacher may have some control issues as well...

I feel like I've been dis-invited to a party. Why in God's name would you tell someone for months that your participation would be wonderful, and then with a week to go tell them not to come? Sad that the school constantly clamors for more money and parent participation, then at the last minute, spits in the eye of one of the few people who consistently volunteer.

Well...Hell, here are the books I was going to read:

Edward The Emu by Sheena Knowles
Edwina The Emu by Sheena Knowles
Don't Let The Pigeon Drive The Bus! by Mo Willems
Cook A Doodle Do by Janet Stevens
The Story Of Ferdinand by Munro Leaf
Pinduli by Janell Canon
Click, Clack, Moo: Cows That Type by Doreen Cronin
Raoul The Owl by Louis Untermeyer

I had a little audience participation thing for the kids all planned and everything. I so would have loved to share these wonderful books.

Damn, She Was One Of My Favorites.

Rita in the back, Poof photobombing in on the left.

Rita was a feisty, headstrong little Cochin/Jersey Giant mix that we hatched ourselves back in 2003. She was one of my favorites and whenever I sat down out back, would come RUNNING over as fast as she could waddle (cochins aren't built for speed) to sit in my lap--and woe betide any other chicken that wanted equal lap time! Rita would warn them off right away. She would sit in my lap for as long as I would let her, and complained loudly when I set her down again. Often I'd have Rita on one knee, Babs on the other--Babs was a gift from a sibling's household, and Babs thinks she is still a baby chick and insists on sitting on your lap with her head rammed in your armpit--under your wing, as it were.

Rita had a habit of at the last minute, sticking her head into pictures we tried to take of the other chickens. The end result was like bad vacation snapshots, photobomb city. So it's kind of fitting that in the photo above, Poof is doing it to her.

Rita died yesterday. I don't even know what killed her. Granted, it was nearly 100 degrees yesterday, our first really hot day this year. I had gone out like I always do on hot days to hose off the chickens and yard to keep things cooler for the animals. I had gone out at 8:30AM, 10:30AM and 12:30PM. Everything was fine. I even stopped to talk to her and pet her and all was well. At 2PM when I went again to hose things off, we found her in the coop, sitting in the corner as if to lay an egg and breathing a bit hard. Since she was distressed (we thought by the heat), we brought her in to cool off. She died less than 5 minutes later. She had been eating, drinking and carrying on normally up until then. I don't know what's worse--having an animal get ill and die slowly or go quickly like that.

Rita was one of those animals that 'picked out her human'--she chose ME as her favorite human first, not the other way around. Rita's mother, Elizabeth, is elderly but still with us, and Rita's daughter, Skitters, is twice as feisty and psycho as Rita ever was. Even Moet, our very elderly Frizzle Cochin who was Rita's foster mama, is still with us.

This is Rita as a baby, back in 2003.

Last night when I went out to sit with the chickens in the evening, Rita's mother, Liz, jumped up in my lap and sat with me a while.

She's never done that before. I appreciated it.

Spider Twinkie!

One of the best parts of having kids is getting to mess with them.

Every so often, after she has gone to bed for the night, we will take a few of N.'s toys out onto the living room floor and stage elaborate dinosaur tea parties, stuffed animals coloring with crayons in her coloring books, etc. So when she wakes up in the morning and stumbles out of her room, she finds them. She's still young enough to believe that it's the toys sneaking out to play while she sleeps, and has a lot of fun discovering them, talking to them and playing with them.

Tonight, as a reward for coming home from school today on 'green' (second grade color code for 'behaved herself for a change'), I set up this:

Spider Twinkie!
I can only imagine her reaction tomorrow morning to one of her plastic spiders sitting with his butt parked in her Easter bunny bucket, about to devour a hapless Twinkie.

Springtime Grade School Art!

N. brought home this classic bit of second grade artwork the other day, it's your basic tempera paint painting of little birdies with orange construction paper beaks. Can you tell she shares her home with real birds?

And a close up of the fun part, note the little guy with his eyes squinched shut, wings over his ears, desperately screaming, "Stop Peeping!!" while the other ditzy little twits chirp merrily on:

This is too good to store away in a box, I'm going to have to frame it!