Flushing optional.

Yesterday I got to spend the day with the high school band at the Buckwheat festival. The band was marching in the parade. And we all know what this means.


Port-a-potties.


After the parade (where it rained on us) I ran to a port-a-potty cursing myself for getting 3 refills of Dr. pepper during lunch. I couldn't believe my luck that there wasn't even a line!

I went to reach for some toilet paper and discovered why there wasn't a line. The toilet paper was gone.


"Hello! Anyone out there?" I called outside. Nothing.


I waited a bit and tried again.


"Hello?"

"Are you talking to me?" a girl finally asked.


I told her the situation and asked her if she could grab some toilet paper from another port-a-potty and give it to me. It sounded reasonable. I would've done the same for someone else.


"They are all full, and, um, I really really need to go. Can you just come out before I pee my pants?" She sounded desperate.


So without any other options I gave up. I tried to use the complimentary hand sanitizer but found that it was also empty. But that turned out okay.


Because everyone knows that if you don't wipe you don't have to wash your hands. It's some kind of unwritten rule.


Right?

Say What?

I'm not sure if I mentioned that my niece from Switzerland is here living with us. She is going to try American high school and see how she likes it. I do hope she likes it, because we love having her here with us.

Anyway, this week my niece has to give a presentation in French class. She is a bit nervous to talk in front of the class so my husband was helping her organize the PowerPoint presentation. Then he explained how he gives presentations at work.

My niece didn't sound convinced: "You mean I have to tell them what I'm going to say, say it, and then tell them again what I just said? That seems like a lot of saying!"

"I know," my husband reassured her. "But you have to assume that everyone is an idiot."

My niece thought for a few seconds then nodded her head. "You are probably right Uncle Brian. I know for sure that three people in my class are idiots---I'm not sure about the rest though."

She cracks me up.

So in conclusion, my niece is giving a French presentation this week. I'm sure it will go well and hopefully even the idiots will be able to follow along.

More adventures from my week of volunteering on the food truck

I joined The Cadets in Oregon. The next day we drove to Washington. It wasn't a super long drive so we arrived at the school in WA at 2:30 AM. At this time we unload the food truck and get everything set up for breakfast. Then sometimes we can lay back down and sleep for a couple of hours.

It was a rough night and by the time we arrived in Washington I was pretty out of it. I stumbled off the RV and headed for the school. After finding a bathroom, I met a lady who had come over to the school to help us get situated.

"I'm here to help you!" she called over to me.

I told her I was okay. She smiled and patted me on the shoulder.

"Honey, your hoodie is on backwards, you aren't wearing any shoes, and you just came out of the men's bathroom. You are not okay."

Truer words have never been spoken.

Good Morning Sunshine!

Last week I was on tour with my son and The Cadets---a drum and bugle corps he marches with. I volunteered on the food truck and we prepared 4 meals a day for 200 people. It's hard work but I love it.

Anyway, usually The Cadets rehearse during the day, have a show and then travel during the night. The kids sleep on buses and us volunteers sleep on an RV. On days that we actually get to stay in the same place for more than one day we are given rooms inside the school where we can set up air mattresses and sleep for the night. The volunteers get one room and the bus drivers get another room.

One morning after a good nights sleep at a school, we were told we needed to make a Sam's run to stock up on food for the next 4 days. Someone needed to use the truck later that morning so they wanted us to go to the store right away.

Kevin who had the shopping list was still asleep. So they asked me to go wake him up. I was a little unsure how to go about waking him up so I asked some other volunteers for ideas. They decided the best way would be to jump on his bed and roll him onto the floor.

I went into the volunteer room and it was dark. There were 2 people still sleeping but I was pretty sure Kevin was the one closest to the door. I went over to the air mattress and whispered, "Kevin!" Nothing. So I jumped on the air mattress and started bouncing. Up and down, up and down, trying to roll him off to wake him up.

After what seemed like several minutes Kevin pulled the covers off of his head and looked at me. It wasn't Kevin. In fact I didn't even recognize the poor guy. I apologized profusely and left the room quickly.

Outside I was able to re-group. I could do this---after all there was only one more person left sleeping in the room. So cautiously I went back into the room and stood by the other air mattress. "Kevin!" I whispered again. Still nothing.

I started poking him in the arm. Repeatedly. Then tried shaking his arm. He rolled over and once again it wasn't Kevin.

Running from the room I went back to the food truck to admit my defeat. It was time to go and I still hadn't waken up Kevin.

"Oh, I think he decided to sleep in the driver's room last night," a helpful volunteer informed me. Great.

Luckily there was only one person sleeping in that room and I woke him up without any trouble.

After shopping a guy came up to me. He offered me his hand and said, "If you plan on jumping on my bed every morning I think we better introduce ourselves." I had hoped it would be too dark for him to recognize me...

Anyway, his name is Phil and he drives the brass bus.

Phil no longer sleeps in the volunteer room...

It's a small world.

I'm not sure how to write this so that it makes sense. It is kind of confusing, but I will to try...

Several weeks ago I blogged about a random neighbor kid hopping into my car one morning for a ride to school. I guess this kid's mom Nellie is friends with someone I know from church (I'll call her Jane.)

Jane called me yesterday. Jane and her husband are going on a Pioneer Trek this week and their babysitter cancelled at the last minute. Jane told me that she was telling her friend Nellie (my neighbor) that she was looking for a babysitter.


Nellie my neighbor told Jane that she knew a lady who lived down the street (ME!!!) who absolutely loves kids and she was sure that I would love to babysit for her.


Jane asked her what this neighbor's name was and Nellie said, "Mindy." Jane laughed because she knows me from church and was planning to ask me to babysit anyway.

After that introduction, I had no choice but to say I'd babysit, right?



Anyway, apparently I have a random person living down the street named Nellie offering off my services to the neighborhood. Because I love children. And this is true. I do love children.

This whole conversation made me smile. Because it IS a small world after all.

Got Mustard?

We planted mustard seeds in our garden. We weren't sure what to expect but they grew. It turns out that it isn't really mustard at all. They are little lettuce leaves. Every time we eat them for dinner my husband comments that they don't taste like mustard at all.

Anyway. Last night as we ate our 10 little mustard leaves, my daughter asked if mustard doesn't come from mustard seeds, where did it come from?

Hmmm. Good question.

I had an idea. It was the first thing that came into my mind.

"Maybe mustard comes from an animal. You know, like milk comes from cows. Maybe mustard comes from milking an emu?"

Anna wasn't impressed. "You can't get milk from an emu, mom. Emus are birds."

"Have you ever tried milking an emu?" I challenged.

"An Emu isn't even a mammal." Anna knows stuff like this.

Okay. She might have a point.

So for the rest of dinner I had to endure the mocking taunts of "Emooooo" from across the table.

However, I still maintain that it's possible. Not for an emu of course. But maybe a different sort of mammal.

Random carpooling.

Monday morning. Ahh, another week begins. And it's my month to drive the carpool.

So I throw a sweatshirt on over my pj's and back the car out of the garage. And I wait for my daughter and the neighbor...

I watch in my rear view mirror as this kid wanders into my yard. He walks over to my car and gets into the back seat. I recognize him from the neighbor hood. I've seen him around. But I've never actually met or talked to him. And I don't know what his name is.

I'm waiting for him to say something. But he doesn't. He just sits there.

"So, where are you going this morning?" I ask.

"To the middle school," he replies.

"Well you're in luck---that's where I'm going." I still think he's going to explain why he's in my car. But he doesn't.

"Did my husband or someone tell you I would take you to school?" I know. It's awkward. But surely he talked to someone to make these arrangements. Right?

"No," he says. (Okay. Thanks for clearing that up.) And really I don't mind. Really. I don't. I'm going to the school anyway. It just feels so strange. And awkward. I mean is now a good time for me to ask him what his name is?

"So...you need a ride to school?" I just can't let it drop.

"Yeah. Um, my mom said the lady at the yellow house would take me to school." He mumbles this, clearly uncomfortable.

I live in a yellow house---and yet this still doesn't explain anything. Oh well. I tried.

For sure if he comes back tomorrow for a ride, I'm going to ask him what his name is.

The wheels on the bus go round and round.

Today I locked my keys in my car. I checked the doors and trunk several times to make sure nothing was unlocked. I could see the keys sitting in the front seat. Staring at me. And if keys could laugh, I have no doubt they would be laughing at me as well.

I was clear across town---about 20 minutes from home so I didn't want to have to call someone to come and get me. I wanted to figure this out for myself.

I called my husband who is out of town. I knew he couldn't do anything but figured some sympathy would be nice.

"Did you check the doors?" he asked.

Next, I wandered over to the store and casually informed the men who were talking out front that I'd locked my keys in the car.

"Did you check the doors?" they asked.

Skeptical of my competence, they accompanied me to my car to check the doors for themselves. Then one of the men checked my window and decided there wasn't any way to shove a hanger in without doing some serious damage. The other man suggested using a rock to break the window and then offered to drive me home.

Fortunately a bus pulled into the parking lot right at that moment so I thanked the men and ran over to the bus.

I rode the bus for a while before realizing that there are many different buses and maybe I should've checked the destination before boarding. The man who sat down next to me started listing all the ways you could kill someone and make it look like an accident. (His uncle has a large wood chipper, a pit of snakes, etc.) He then asked me what methods I've used that have been successful.

I pulled the rope and got off the bus.

20 minutes later another bus stopped by. Learning from my mistake, I asked the driver if this bus would take me to Bridgeport. He said no, but he would drop me off at a different stop where I could catch another bus to take me where I wanted to go.

People on buses are very friendly and talked about who was hiring and the best cell phone plans. After a couple of stops a man sat down across from me and kept giving me dirty looks. He wouldn't stop staring at me and finally came over and told me that I was sitting in his seat.

I moved. And got off at the next stop.

There I waited for my third and final bus where a lady sat down behind me. She started asking everyone on the bus if they had an extra room she could use. She had left her boyfriend and wasn't going back to live with him. No one had an extra room for her. She tapped me on the shoulder and asked me if I had a couch she could sleep on.

Luckily we passed by the library in town and I was able to pull the rope and get off the bus.

I had reassessed my plan to be self sufficient and called a friend to pick me up and drive me back to my car. Not that I didn't want another two-hour bus ride, or that the people I met weren't interesting enough, but I just wanted to get my car.

Tomorrow is another day. I'm hoping for a dull, uneventful, boring day. No more bus rides.

It's a sign.

This morning there was a "For Sale" sign in our neighbors yard. I was flabergasted. I mean, I'd not heard anything about them moving. Not a whisper! And we carpool. Every day.

I know I shouldn't feel betrayed, but for pete's sake, we've raised our children together for the past 12 years or so. It's almost like we're family!

So all morning at church I sulked and brooded over the impending move. It's not like I actually expected them to call and ask for my permission or approval or anything. But it would have been nice...

Anyway, my husband and I spent the drive home from church speculating why they could be moving: new job, bigger/smaller house, etc.

"Maybe they don't like their neighbors?" my husband suggested.

"No," I insisted with confidence. (If that were the case they would've put the for sale sign in OUR yard.)

Immediately after getting home, I ran next door to confront them.

My neighbor laughed as I ran up his driveway. He said that they were just as surprised as we were to wake up with a "For Sale" sign in their yard.

My neighbor thought it was most likely someone's idea of a joke. (And not a very funny joke, I might add.)

In the end, it turns out that my neighbors won't be moving after all. What a relief!

For future reference: If they do decide to move, I would like at least 60 days notice. In writing. Please.

Honesty is the best policy.

Last night we were skyping with Sarah and Heather. They mentioned a talk my husband gave when the kids were little. I remembered it. It was a classic family moment. I was sure I'd written a blog about it. I looked for it, but I couldn't find it...so I guess I didn't write about it. It was too good to miss so I thought I'd write about it now.

Several years ago my husband gave a talk at church on honesty. The kids were little and I'll just say that they had listening issues. Anyway, he was talking about the time we went to the Virgin Islands on a business trip. He rented a car but the island was so small, we walked everywhere. When it was time to return the car we decided not to fill up the tank since we'd only driven it back and forth from the airport.

Anyway, by the time he had to sign the paperwork saying he had filled the tank, he felt so guilty he left to get more gas, almost making us miss our return flight.

Back to me and the kids: I was sitting in between Nicholas and Heather, to keep them from talking to each other. Nicholas turned to me to ask, "What's going on?" I was about to explain what their dad was talking about when Heather answered, "I'm not sure, but I think dad stole a car."

Then the older, wiser sister Sarah added, "And he felt really guilty about it."

Mind your own business.

There was an article on the news about Japan's new interactive toilets. I guess they can talk, tell jokes, give weather reports, play music and do a variety of other things as well.

I don't know. I guess I consider myself more of an old-school type when it comes to toilets.

Although I must agree it might be helpful for your toilet to let you know that you're pregnant, have diabetes, or that you need more fiber in your diet, I prefer not to be so personally involved with my toilet.

It seems there should be limits to what a toilet should be doing---especially with a talking toilet...You'd have to start worrying about what your toilet knows and who they will tell...I can see things quickly getting out of control.

And just think about the future. Who knows what more a toilet will be able to do for you? Maybe, like my husband suggested, it will eventually offer you a photo when you are finished. Just like a roller coaster ride...

So as interesting as those fancy, new-fangled Japanese toilets may be, I'm going to stick with my plain, low-tech, non-interactive toilet. Thank you very much.

These are a few of my favorite things.

One of the things I love most about being a parent is getting to share my favorite childhood things with my children. There are foods: rice krispie bar treats, scones, and making ice cream out of snow. Movies: Back to the Future, The Princess Bride, Karate Kid, ET, and Ferris Bueller's Day Off. TV shows: Gilligan's Island, and the Cosby Show. Books and Music...

I remember positioning myself on the couch so I could watch my kids' faces as they watched the movies I used to love. Wanting them to love them as much as I did.

My kids know all the music from the 80's. I couldn't wait to introduce them to Weird Al and teach them all my favorite girls' camp songs.

Of course there are always those things I remember loving but could never replicate for my own kids. Take for example the circus. I remember getting those free tickets from school and finally my mom letting us go to the circus. It was the most amazing show on earth!!! We took our kids. Once. It was crowded and smelly and chaotic. I couldn't get out of there quick enough. And as I grabbed my kids and ran to the car I couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness---my kids would never love the circus!

Candy corn was another big disappointment. If asked what my favorite candy is the first thing that comes to mind is candy corn. I used to bite off each color layer one by one. I bought a bag for my family to try...Not a big hit. I couldn't even eat them.

Anyway, I have always thought that I'd done a pretty good job teaching my children all the essential need-to-know culture from my past. I thought I was pretty well-rounded and thorough. Until yesterday. It seems I forgot a vital part of my past...

Yesterday my husband sent this text to my kids:

"Feeling a little slow today, so in a "Calgon-take-me-away" vein, I just used 5 pumps of hand soap."

To this my daughter replied:

"Who is Calgon?"

Happy Valentine's Day: Today I want to feel the love.

This past week, I asked my daughter Anna to do something for me. For some reason, she wasn't being very agreeable. In fact, she told me no. So I decided to try a different tactic. Guilt.

"Where is the love?" I asked her. "I'm just not feeling it," I continued.

She proceeded to explain to me that the last time I cleaned up around the house I must have put it away somewhere. Because she couldn't find it.

Now since I do have this habit of finding really good hiding places---I mean very creative places to put things, I couldn't really disagree with her.

Take, for example, the paper shredder. Who would think to look in the bathroom closet? Or to look in the garage for envelopes? I'm clever like that.

Anyway, this Valentine's day I really do need to ask: Where is the love? No really. Where is it?

Career Goals.

I was talking with some friends at church the other day. Three moms with very young children were discussing their plans for all the amazing things they would do when their children were in school: going back to school, their future careers, hobbies they would start, etc.

When someone asked me what I my plans were, I just sort of shrugged my shoulders. It's not that I haven't been thinking about it. I mean in less than 5 years all my kids will be out of the house. "I don't know," I finally replied.

I could see the confusion and disappointment on their faces and I am sure one of them even gasped. "But what do you want to do?" one of them persisted. "What are you PASSIONATE about?"

Honestly? I don't really feel passionate about anything right now. Except maybe trail mix---which is the most amazing food ever created. (Which probably doesn't really count as a valid passion.)

This past week I tried thinking about jobs I might like and came up empty. So I decided that instead I would make a list of things a job should have. Maybe then I will know what kind of job to look for.

Some days I don't like to wake up...

1. No early morning hours.

There are days that I really need to stay in my pajamas.

2. No strict dress code.

I don't like to do hard things.

3. Must not be too hard.

Some days I really really need a nap. Not to sleep necessarily, but just to lie down and rest. With my eyes closed.

4. Optional nap time.

I like to listen to music while I work and it's always better if I enjoy what I'm doing.

5. Allows loud music and must be fun.

I stay more focused when snacking.

6. Trail Mix is encouraged and allowed.

So, if you are looking through the newspaper and see any jobs that meet these requirements, please let me know. That would be really nice of you. Because I don't really like looking through the newspaper either.

In the meantime I will lie on the couch in my pajamas, eating trail mix and try to think about what I'm passionate about...