Holiday Curmudgeon

I’m not much into holidays (even birthdays, to be honest). Mostly they just seem like opportunities to make us spend money or dirty my house. For example, I could live without pine needles all over the floor and trying to remember who put the angel on the top of the tree last year. Or kids hyped up on soda, ice cream and cake. Although teenage parties are easier—“Here’s cake and soda, have fun playing Munchkin.” (Aren’t you glad I’m not your mom?)

This year, Matt wanted to make a Jack-o-lantern. I said, “Okay.” After all, he’s seventeen, which means I don’t have to deal with any of the squishy mess. So when I was at WalMart, I decided to get a pumpkin. Except they were $8! There’s no way I’m spending eight bucks on something you can’t even eat. I told Matt, “Sorry, Dude.”

Then the other day, I spotted a pumpkin for $4. I bought it. Last night, Matt carved it.

Now I’m roasting the seeds with garlic and salt. And the guinea pigs get treats from the chunks of eyes and mouth that were left over. They think that I’m their fairy godmother. And Matt thinks I’m an okay mom. Four dollars well spent.

The Pot of Gold

When your kids are little, they seem to go from one thing to the next making messes. A knocked over plant here, and spilled orange juice there. Not to mention the laundry, the toys strewn everywhere, and fights. You tell yourself that eventually, they’ll be helpful. But you’re not sure if you believe it.

I’m here to say, “It’s true!” While Luke and Ariel had summer jobs doing research, Jake and Matt were part of the unemployed masses. (Gone are the summers when jobs for teens were available to anyone who applied.) So Jake and Matt worked for me. And even though they didn’t get paid, they worked hard. I even heard, “Is there anything else I can do for you?” I almost passed out when I heard that.  (Of course, the quid pro quo between computer game time and chores done might have contributed to their willingness.)

Here’s what Matt and Jake did. They mulched, replaced bathroom caulk in two bathrooms, washed mildew from wallpaper, cleaned bathroom ceiling, raked and bagged yard waste, sanded and painted trim, cleaned/organized tool shed, scrubbed and repainted the deck, scrubbed and repainted back porch, and washed blinds. Thanks, boys! (Yeah, they’re glad the summer is almost over.)

Out of thirty projects I put on a list, they’ve finished all but three. Weeding, pressure washing the carport, and painting the carport.

So there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Just seize it while you can. Before you know it, they’ll be gone.

Games Closet

Yesterday, I announced to Matt and Jake that it was Clean-Out-the –Entry-Closet Day. Since our house was built in 1940, it has only one storage area. A walk-in entry closet. So you can imagine what happens. And you’ll understand why the boys’ smiles became tight and their eyes narrowed. Suddenly, they thought of chores they needed to do.

But to no avail. To understand the boys' chagrin, you need to know that the closet currently houses two sewing machines, three sleeping bags, three sewing boxes, a stereo, winter coats, baby books, boxes of CDs, a tripod, three boxes of piano music and games. Out of all those things, it was the games that the boys didn’t want to deal with.

We are game people. It’s a nice cheap way to spend time with your kids that isn’t mind numbing. Of course, there are the inevitable squabbles. But when the kids were little and they showed “unsportsmanlike behavior” we made them pay the “idolatry tax.” They lost money, points, whatever was valuable in the game because they were making winning an idol. It worked really well until we had an adult visitor, who was a bit “intense” and the kids told said visitor that he had to pay the “idolatry tax.”

Back to the closet. So, uh, we have a lot of games. A lot of games. After I culled the horde yesterday and made a Goodwill pile for the games we don’t like, we had one hundred games. (Cringe. I know that’s a lot of games. But we have four almost adult kids, so that’s a lot of birthdays and Christmases.)

The nastiest problem, besides fixing the boxes, is sorting the “orphaned pieces box.” Every game piece, card, faux money, dice, and timer that I find, which didn’t get put away, ends up in the OPB. And we didn’t empty the OPB last summer. So imagine 100 games and two years’ worth of orphaned pieces. Yep, there were enough Risk soldiers to form an army, enough dice to make Las Vegas happy, and enough faux money to pay off our mortgage.

But we got the whole closet, including the games, done in three hours. But I know that’s not why you’re reading this blog post, you want me to tell you what the top ten games are.

So here’s my list.

1.      Settlers of Catan. (This is my favorite. And it even makes it into the Screwing Up Time sequel.)

2.      Killer Bunnies and the Quest for the Magic Carrot. (I hate this game. But apparently, male high school, college and graduate students find this game addictive. I think it’s the cards: Ebola Virus, Kitchen Wisk, Terrible Misfortune card—a bunny pulls a pin out of a grenade because it would make lovely jewelry. Enough said.)

3.      Lost Victory. (Only Luke loves this game—it takes weeks to play. It’s a historical battle between the Russians and the Germans.)

4.      Set. (Ariel’s favorite game. It’s a Mensa game, and the only one who will play this with her is Jacob. I liked the game until Ariel began consistently doubling my score.)

5.      Quelf. (The boys think this game is hilarious. It involves barking like a dog and wrapping people in toilet paper. I don’t understand why this is fun.)

6.      Louis XIV. (You get to be a member of the Sun King’s court. There’s tons of intrigue, manipulation, influence peddling, and multiple ways to win. I love those domination games.)

7.      Guillotine. (You collect heads. Literally. Sorry. But I think it’s really fun.)

8.      Power Grid. (You build power plants across Germany, trying to dominate the industry and become cost efficient. Hmm. That sounds lame. But it’s fun.)

9.      The Farming Game. (You are a farmer in Washington, trying to earn enough money from farming that you can quite your other job. This game was actually translated into Russian and given to Russian farmers when the farms were de-collectivized so they'd know what to expect.)

10.  Zeus on the Loose. (It involves Greek gods and goddesses and speedy addition and subtraction. Weird combo, but it works. Our dog Jezebel hates the Zeus character. One day, she finally got him. His head is now…mangled.)

What about you all? Any game recommendations?

Star Wars: Keller Style

I was in junior high and high school when the Star Wars series came out--the original episodes, which are actually 4, 5, and 6. And like every other kid, I imagined myself in the movies. Of course, there was only one girl role, so although Chewbacca was very cool, I imagined myself as Princess Leia.

A lot of things have changed since then and thanks to a friend (Grace Duke) my children have discovered that with a little computer savvy and some animation, they actually can be in the original Star Wars trilogy. Enjoy. Click on the link: Star Wars Keller-Style (N.B. This is a hefty file and takes a couple of minutes to load. Please be patient.)

For those of you who don’t know my kids: Jacob is Luke Skywalker, Ariel is Princess Leia (duh), Matt is Han Solo, and Luke is Lando.

Good News

Today was a good news day, sort of. Many of you remember that last December Matthew had oral surgery, a triple frenectomy. (If not, you can read about it here.) He was told it wouldn’t be a big deal and that he’d up and running around later in the day. After the surgery, he was told “this is a very painful procedure—you’ll be on codeine for 3 to 4 days.” And, in fact, it was painful, especially when we discovered that because of Matt’s autism he doesn’t process pain killers normally. And not only did the codeine cocktail not totally knock him out, as the pharmacist claimed it would, it barely took the edge off the pain.

So with great trepidation Matt, Cal and I went to the surgeon to see if Matt needed more surgery. If he did, they’d need to do skin grafts, etc. And, in the meantime, Matt’s been pondering which was worse: donor skin (akin to becoming a zombie) or his own skin (meaning more slicing and dicing). Matt was sweet enough to volunteer for which ever was cheaper since insurance didn’t want to cover this because it was “oral” surgery.

Since December, Matt and I have careful inspections for his mouth. We both had decided he’d need more surgery. Last night, I spent part of the night praying for God to work this out, especially the finances. He’d always provided before, but...

After we arrived at the surgeon’s office, the nurse ushered us to the consulting suite. Matt waited in the chair, shivering. (It was very cold. They should have handed out blankets to the patients. I could have given Matt my sweater, but I was cold too. Besides it was way too girlie and he’d never have taken it.) The doctor came and examined Matt’s mouth. He told me to swab the sites twice a day with an antiseptic, healing rinse and bring Matt back in June. In other words, Matt dodged a speeding bullet, at least for now, and I learned a bit more faith.

How NOT to Get Ready for Vacation, Part One

We’re going on vacation! And I’m not sure I’ll have internet access on the ship, at least not affordable internet access. But fear not, dear readers. I’m not abandoning the blog. I have posts that are set to post while I’m gone. And if I have internet access, then you’ll get those too. Now on to today’s post.

I always imagine getting ready for vacation as this lovely anticipatory process where I wash, iron, pack, clean, put a hold on the mail and go. And once or twice, I’ve experienced that. But not this time.

First, the day of his last final Luke came down with a cold. And not just any cold. It was a swollen eyes-constant sneezing-spigot for a nose-type of cold. But he took his final. I’m not sure how and I’m not sure he even cared, but it was finished. He left. Until he remembered that he forgot to put his name on the scantron. He hurried back and his professor let him look through the stack of scantrons to find his.

When Luke told us the story at dinner, Matt asked, “Lukie (Yes, Luke is patient with Matt’s nicknames), were there other scantrons without names?”

After sneezing six times, Luke said, “Several.”

Matt said, “How did you know which one was yours?”

Luke wiped his watery eyes and said, “Mine had distinct smudges.”

Each member of the family opened his/her mouth to argue the reliability of this method. But Luke gave us a nasty look that said, “Don’t say a word, or I’ll put the cold hex on you.” We closed our mouths. I just hope Luke put his name on his own paper, instead of the scantron of the kid who didn’t put his name on his paper because he was failing anyway.

But this was merely the beginning of the troubles. Stay tuned for Part Two in the next post.

The good news—since I wrote this post we found out that Luke got an A in chemistry. Whew! He must have found his own exam after all. Three cheers for "distinct smudges!"

State Championship

On Saturday, Jacob, Matthew, and I got up at 5am and didn’t get home until 11pm. Only one thing will motivate them to do that. First Lego League. For those of you who are new to my blog, FLL is an amazing opportunity for kids from 9 to 14 to build and program a robot. Of course, it’s more than that. The kids are given robot assignments and time limits in which to do them. And they compete against other teams. Last year Jake and Matt’s team took third place in the robot performance category in the State Championships.

This year they worked harder. So they went off to the 7 hour Championship with high hopes. The Championship is more than “robot runs” although they have three of those. The kids also have to do a presentation based on their research—this year they were assigned to research traffic issues. They discovered which areas of Chattanooga had nasty accidents, and then they met with the city’s traffic engineer, researched areas of the country with similar problems, brainstormed solutions to the problem and later presented their solutions to the city traffic engineer.

Of course, the kids didn’t want to do your typical science fair report. One day after a team practice, Jake announced, “I wrote a play for FLL.” I blinked and said, “Oh, right. Uh, maybe I can help you.” Without taking offense, he passed me the script. I read the script. I passed it back. “Uh, this is really good. I wouldn’t make any changes.”

Besides the presentation and the robot runs, the judges (professors from Tennessee Tech, scientists from Oakridge Nat’l Lab, and even a prof from MIT) interview the kids on robot design, leadership, and teamwork. They’re even tested on communication skills.

In one of the teamwork/communication/leadership tests, the judges gave the kids a few props and told them to make the tallest structure they could. After the kids did, they tried to pick up the table and make it taller still. The judge stopped them—lifting the table didn’t count.

A team of ten judges interviewed them about their robot’s design. The kids’ design had unique features (including a “hammer,” a ring tosser, a capture box, and reverse mechanism to go over bumps) that the judges hadn’t seen in any other robot. In fact, the design was unique and effective enough that the judges laughed and shook their heads. I told the kids it’s called “thinking outside the box” and engineering professors love it.

I could go on, but I’ll stop. The kids took third place in robot performance, and they were very happy. But we all sat patiently in the stands as the rest of the awards were called out, even the final big awards “Champion’s Award.” When they called out the number of the second place team, the kids just sat there and I said, “Hey, that’s us.” They were in shock. They never even considered that they could take the second highest award in the state championship.
Then Jacob and his friend Andrew got an invitation this morning—to join the next level of First League. The kids are older, the robots and programming are much more complex, and the competition stiffer. But the sponsors want them to join their team. Cal explained to Jake that it’s like going from triple A to the majors just before the World Series. This First League’s State Competition is in February. And just when I thought we were done with robots and programming...

Tug o' War

My almost 91 year old grandmother (Oma) is staying with us. She’s still fairly spry and her mind is still sharp. And though she’s had dogs most of her adult life, even Alsatians, she’s a bit skittish about Jezebel. So we keep Jez separated from Oma. That’s worked very well…until this morning.

This morning, Jez decided to take her big furry Yankees blanket from Matt and Jake’s room into the living room so she could lay on it where the sun streams through the plate glass windows. And as the sun shifts through the room, Jez carries her blanket to the new spot of warm sunlight. This is her favorite habit, besides laying on the air condition vents during the summer. But this morning would be different.

Jez was carrying her blanket through the dining room into the living room when my grandmother spied her. In righteous indignation, my grandmother yelled at the dog for “stealing a blanket.” As if that weren’t enough, my grandmother decided to take matters into her own hands. So she hurried to meet Jez and grabbed the blanket. When Oma did this, Jez thought, “Oh, cool, she wants to play tug o’ war.” On one end of the blanket we have nearly 91 year old Oma tugging. On the other end, we have a one year old black Lab. I think you can imagine what happened. Oma tugged, and Jez pulled right back. Oma heaved, Jez hoed. About this time Matt has caught sight of the problem and loudly (my grandmother wears hearing aids) tried to rectify the situation, but he didn’t have much luck. Drawn by the loud noise, I came to see what’s going on. “Oma!” I yelled loudly, “that’s the dog’s blanket.” My grandmother looked at me oddly (I’m guessing her dogs never had big fuzzy blankets), but she let loose of the blanket, much to Jez’s chagrin. Finally, I explained the situation, and my grandmother laughed heartily.

You’ve heard it said, “Never get into a land dispute in Asia, and never bet against a Sicilian with death on the line”…I’d add to that, “Never pit a black Lab against a 91 year old Dutch woman—you can never tell who might win.”

A New Hamster

Matt’s hamster Sam died, and we buried her in the backyard. (You may remember our “male” Sam became “Samantha” when she gave birth to a litter of babies.) After the burial, it was time to get a new hamster. First, we went to Petco. They had hamsters, but Matt didn’t like the conditions of the cages. Unless hamsters are properly cared for they can be aggressive and won’t make good pets. Matt could get a PhD from a major university with what he knows about hamsters, including their Latin names. On to PetSmart.

PetSmart had clean cages and happy looking hamsters. Matt debated whether to get a Roborovski hamster or a Russian white. The Roborovski are small and hyper, which means they can’t be held—they are escape artists. But robos are fun to watch. Russian whites are actually brown/black mottled, but their fur turns white during the winter. As Matt was trying to decide, we were distracted by some dwarf Chinese hamsters. Matt pointed one out and said, “Mom, you should get the small animal care person. I think that hamster is having a baby.” I said, “You’re right!” Promptly, I tracked down the small animal salesman, brought him to the cages, and explained the problem. The man looked at the hamster. He cleared his throat. “Ma’am, that’s a male hamster. They’re just, uh, well-endowed.” I blushed every shade of red.

Later I explained the situation to Matthew. He looked aghast and said, “They look really deformed—I’m glad we bought a Russian white instead.” I guess he doesn’t know everything about hamsters.

Feasting on My Flesh

As of yesterday...all the summer projects are done!! WooHoo!!

However, there is a downside. Jake and Matt stained the deck swing. Don’t get me wrong, the deck swing looks fantastic. But, they ended up with as much stain on themselves as on the swing. And the stain is oil-based so it doesn’t wash off. Big splotches of reddish brown decorate their legs and arms and even their faces. Both boys look like they’ve caught a skin disease—reverse leprosy or something like that. And Jezebel must have tried to help. The fur on her rear-end is red brown. Not very cute for a black Lab.

Cal tackled another summer project, painting the siding. Being an adult, he had less spills. Though for some reason the inside of his ears were Software Gray. I didn’t ask how that happened; I’m not sure I want to know.

As for me, I scrubbed and stained the two park benches. And since I’m an adult and wore gloves, I came out pretty clean. No weird blotches of any kind. Unless you count mosquito bites. Why is it that I can spray myself with Deep Woods Off—uber-high amounts of DEET—and the mosquitoes don’t care? They still bite. I am covered with swollen itchy patches. No, “bite” isn’t what they do to me…they feast upon my flesh. I must be the equivalent of lobster bisque for mosquitoes. (If lobster bisque doesn’t do it for you, you’re free to imagine steak or Veggie Burgers for my vegetarian friends.) So what’s a girl to do? Scratch, slather on more Benadryl and pray for an early freeze. I’m sure I can feel a chill on the breeze already…oops, that was the air conditioner.

I Know What You're Thinking

The other morning I was hurrying to get laundry started, the dishwasher running, put on makeup, etc., because I had errands to run with Luke and Ariel. Matthew and Jacob were going to be home alone.

In the midst of mascara and fabric softener (not at the same time), Matthew asked, “Is Real Lemon the same as lemon juice squeezed from a lemon?” To which I replied, “Yes.” After all, the chemical makeup is the same, the difference is in freshness.

After I applied lipstick, I realized this wasn’t a cooking question. So I tracked Matt down. “Matt,” I said, “you are NOT making a wet cell battery while I’m gone.” Matt frowned. “Why not?” (Why do kids ask these questions?! Do they seriously not know?!) I answered, “Because I don’t want you to.”

Later Ariel said, “Mom, how did you know what Matt was planning to do? Did he have his science book out?” I shook my head. “I’ve been Matt’s mom for all of his nearly thirteen years—I know what he’s thinking most of the time. That’s what being a mom is all about—you know when your child is considering creating electricity, or other dangerous things.” If moms didn’t…the earth would be far less populated.

High Temperatures

Yesterday it was 98 degrees. My grass seedlings wept and only survived because I drown them in water. The only living things enjoying the heat are my hedge of knockout roses—they’re in a blooming nirvana. Today, I’d like to avoid thermometers—it’s easier to handle the heat if you don’t know how hot it is.

Only I can’t avoid thermometers unless I close my eyes when I drive—the doctor’s office on nearest cross-street proclaims the temperature and a “coupon” for $500 off a breast augmentation surgery. The doctor is a plastic surgeon. He also advertises getting ready for “bikini weather.” His slogan is “Diet and exercise—yuck. Liposuction—yeah.” I’m not sure which advertisement I find more offensive. The fact that he (yes, I’m a sexist and assume the doctor is male) thinks women need their glands enlarged or the fact that he wants people to believe that the way to deal with excess adipose tissue is to suck it out of your body with a glorified vacuum.

But wait…I was talking about the heat. (Sorry, went crazy on a tangent there for a moment.) Back to the temperature. It’s in the high 90s outside, maybe even pushing 100. Inside the air conditioner is running, but we still have people living at 100 degrees. Matt still has his upper respiratory infection and a fever just over 103. Thankfully, ibuprophen keeps it down to 101. However, we’ve added another malady to our house. Ariel now has a fever and throat infection. I’m either going to learn patience really soon or start buying Sam’s Club-sized cartons of masks and gloves.

The Plague Redux

Since early May there has been at least one sick person in our family. And just when I thought we were finally getting healthy, Matthew came down with the scourge. He’s coughing and stewing an aggressive fever. His cough is slightly different though. Instead of the wet cough that sounds like a backfiring tuba, Matt has a croupy cough that sounds like a seal on steroids.

What is prolonging this plague? Why couldn’t everyone get super sick at once and then we could be done with it? I’m sure there must be some heavy-duty sanctification behind it, but if I knew what exactly I was supposed to learn I’m sure I could do it much faster.

I’m probably supposed to be more patient, which means I shouldn’t have said, “Jacob, we’re getting really tired of listening to your cough.” Yeah, that was the epitome of tact and motherly compassion. Or, “Matt, you don’t need to announce your fever every five minutes.” After all, he doesn’t have anything more exciting to do. (Though I will state for the record that digital thermometers that measure to the tenth of a degree were created by engineers who had never taken care of a sick, bored pre-teen.) Or, my favorite, “If you don’t cover you mouth when you hack, I will duct-tape your mouth shut.” Okay, I didn’t really say that—I only thought it. Hmm…I see a pattern here. Patience. I need to hurry up and get some.

The Death of GI Joes

Calvin was gone for nine days on a trip. (Ariel thinks it’s important to note that I get through these extended absences through the use of blended adult beverages. But this post is not about me.) Instead, it’s about Jez. She was heartbroken that Cal was gone.

Jezebel sat by the door waiting for him to come home. (Have you ever since the movie, Return to Me, where the dog sits by the door waiting for the dead woman to come home? Well, it was just like that.) She’d glance at me with her sad black eyes and a quizzical look that said, “Where is he? Has he abandoned us?”

Of course, her grief wasn’t confined to sad eyes. She also refused to eat. In case you’ve never had a Lab, they never, ever refuse food. They live to eat and retrieve.

At some point, she decided it must be our fault. Her doggie mind reasoned that we must have chased him away. So, she punished us by being heinous. She chewed Matt’s GI Joes—now they’re only good for playing “the wounded.”

Since Cal was “dead”, she figured the pack leadership was up-for-grabs. She began to randomly chase after Ariel and chew her arm. To prove her alpha capabilities, she wanted to show that she’d protect us well—so she began barking at…fireflies. Yeah, they’re really scary and dangerous.

Just before Jez drove us crazy, Cal came home. Jez was giddy. She followed him everywhere, so closely that her nose was against his knee at all times. When she bothered to look at the rest of us her eyes said, “Yeah, it’s me and the master. We’re good. We’re in control. Yep, it’s the master and me.” Our response is “Whatever, Jez.” We’re just happy that Matt’s no longer yelling, “Jezebel ate another GI Joe!”

BTW, thanks, everyone, for your concern about Mr. I. He did call again, and I gave him a dose of the bo’sun’s whistle. (Matt was extremely jealous.) He tried one more time during the middle of the night, but I don’t answer the phone between 11pm and 7am. And he wasn’t too interested in the answering machine.