Hey, Bunker Boys!

Just a little thought exercise here.

I keep hearing about the bunkers the rich shitbags have built against civil unrest or some sort of natural disaster, but no one ever references possible outcomes as seen in science fiction.

Two different scenarios come to mind. 

Either the rich asshole shows up with his family and the 'caretaker' he hired to keep the place stocked and ready tells him to piss off, he doesn't own it anymore now that the comet has hit/the government/ministry of magic has fallen or the rich asshole and whatever human garbage he brings along go into the bunker as planned, someone bulldozes over it and they never come out.

I know they have all the money in the world.
I know they all think they're invincible.

That arrogance can (and probably eventually will be) be used against them.

I am so sick of people (people? really?) like these being allowed to cause harm to everyone else.

People can't afford to live. They're sick, they can't afford medical care, they can't afford to have children or a home.

We can blame politics, and we're not wrong, but there's more to it than simple politics.

All kinds of theories about how we got here, but I think what happened is that people behaved badly, were allowed to do so, and more people looked up to them than those who looked down on them until it was too late. Power tripping has increased exponentially. 

I'm guessing that when they do head down into those bunkers, most of us won't get to witness the end of their stories.

But so many sci fi stories I've read have ended up being prophetic.

Which kabillionaire would you most like to see being turned away from the bunker?
Which one would you prefer to have covered over once they're in?

Sometimes, Shit Happens

Remember Ethan from a couple weeks ago? 

He's still having some issues with the afternoon bathroom thing. My theory is that because of the way his day is structured he doesn't have time to sit in the bathroom and has to hold it in all day. When I list '25 things I don't like about mass education', young humans not being able to listen to and trust their bodies always makes the list. 

When school gets out, the first order of business after checking in and washing hands is snack time. 

Ethan loves snack time. He's always starving when he comes in. 
This is a normal thing for kinders, their little bodies are used to a different schedule most of the time. 

Many of them are accustomed to eating/snacking all day until school starts. 
Then school starts and everything from peeing and getting a drink to moving your body is on an externally-imposed schedule.

Regulated/regimented.
So confusing and overwhelming for a small person to handle.

After snacks and clean up, it's time to go outside. 

And that's when Ethan's eyes get big, his little face looks urgent and he runs to me doing the butt tuck scooch (hard to describe but I'll bet you know what I mean) and he says, "I have to go to the bathroom!!"

So while we're counting kids and lining up and getting the equipment cart and official bug out bag out the door, he's in the bathroom. One of us has to stand in the open door of the building until he comes out, sometimes it's 10 minutes or more. We don't leave a child inside the building without supervision.

Next is another predictable thing.
He comes out of the bathroom looking sheepish, embarrassed, timid.

"I think there's some poop on my butt."

Translation: I had to wait all day to poop, I can't wipe properly and now I'm a mess.

Poor little guy.
Sending him back to clean up doesn't work, he isn't able to take care of it once it's happened.

There's one good thing about his timing, though. 
Everyone is playing outside and no one has even noticed that Ethan is having a problem. 

I always assure him that it's not a big deal, that sometimes it happens.
"It's okay, Buddy. Come sit outside and I'll call your dad."

The way I put phone numbers in the site phone is in alphabetical order with child name first. 

Like this: Ethan Dad Jack (599) 555-1234.
My reasoning is that if someone is subbing at my site there's a better chance they will know a child's first name rather than a parent's name and it will be faster to find in the event of an emergency. 

Dad is patient and not grumpy, but a little disbelief creeps into his voice when I call.
"This is not an emergency. But..."
"Again?"

Since we're outside, Ethan can sit on one of the benches while we wait for his dad and none of the other kids catch on. As far as they know, he's just getting picked up.

On Wednesday, Ethan once again came running to me while we were getting ready to go outside.

"I have to go poop RIGHT NOW!" he said as he ran toward the bathroom. I gestured 'go ahead'.

He passed me on the run, took another four or five running steps and paused.

"Don't worry," he said with that engaging little grin he has. "I've been practicing my wipe skills."

Ding Dong

This week in wtf-ness...

Wednesday afternoon there was a lot of silliness with the kids, mostly girls, who were still there at 4:45 or so.

They'd been running around the room and being loud. 

No one was doing anything wrong, just high energy going on. I got out the speaker and put on some dance music. That helped for a bit, but they decided on doing what passes for yoga in kidworld. If you've ever seen kids do their own idea of what yoga is supposed to look like,  you'll understand. 
If not, well, it's funny.

Highly recommend you observe it if possible. 

I had Maria, Bailey, Steffie and a few others. Maria was leading.

They were all doing some sort of downward dog except they were falling over on the rug in fits of giggles. Steffie sort of laid down on her tummy, hands a little below her waist.

Bailey got a horrified look on her face, took the four steps necessary to get next to her sister, drew her foot back and kicked Steffie in the upper thigh.

"Steffie!!! We do not ring the devil's doorbell!!!"

There were some surprised looks from the other kids, Steffie said indignantly, "I wasn't!" 

William was closer and reminded Bailey that we don't kick. 
Bailey said to him, "Our parents don't want us touching our dirty parts!"

Saying anything to them about my own thoughts on the matter is out of the question. They're not my children. 

Obviously I don't agree that a child should feel guilty about touching their own body. However. Having been raised as an Evangenital Christian, I understand the whole guilt thing. There's potential for guilt in almost every action a person can do. Some sins are worse than others, depending on which branch of the cult you're in, but it's standard to make a kid think feeling any kind of enjoyment while touching one's own self is sinful. A one way ticket to H-E double hockey sticks!

::sigh::

I also disagree with making one kid responsible for monitoring the other, whether implied or straight up told to. Bailey should not feel responsible for Steffie's actions. She shouldn't have to worry about whether her sister is 'sinning'.

The family is very kind. They've been appreciative of my efforts. The kids are adorable, intelligent, well-spoken and thoughtful. I enjoy their presence in my group. As with all of them, I consider it a privilege to be able to spend those hours with them every day. They're creative and funny, too. The idea that those sweet kids are carrying around the black cloud of fear of sinning over their heads at all times makes me sad for them.

I can't say anything or do anything about it.
Undermining parents is not part of my job description. 

Commentary on religious beliefs is also way outside the scope of my job.

Not easy to just observe and move on.

High-pitched Bears

First couple weeks of school means a fundraiser. 

When I was a kid, Scholastic Book Fair wasn't a thing.
We did order books every few weeks, though. We got a flyer that looked like this one, printed on cheap newsprint, and for a few days we huddled over them, imagining which ones we'd get and bringing our $2.99 in cash or check to the teacher.

Book order day was like Christmas. Everyone looked at what everyone else got and vowed to make different choices the next time.

Do you remember?

I don't know why they call it a book fair, it's more of a trinket and token thing.

The kids are more interested in the toys than the reading material, although they do buy books.  Diaries that lock with a minute silver key. LEGO books with a mini fig included. Spinning tops. Shark teeth. (those come with a book.) 

Mostly they buy silly toys that will go home to rooms bursting with other silly toys and the novelty will wear off and they'll be on to the next big thing in a few days.


At today's  book fairs, you get stuff like this. 

Goddamn Effin'  Poking Sticks

If you don't look at this photo and understand the soul-deep anguish the sight of one of them brings to me, congratulations. 

You're probably not working in After School.

And hey, if you didn't get a GEPS, how about a bear?

Shrieking Bears

Despite today's title and the photo caption, they're not electronic and they don't make sounds.
 
They're just jelly toys that look like Gummy Bears. 
But in the hands of the three girls who bought them, they found (loud, annoying, shrieking) voices of their own. 

In a tone that would either melt glass or ensure you'll never have earwax again, the bears 'talked' all afternoon. The girls made little paper houses for them, carried them around the playground while we were outside, took them to the sinks several times to wash them (that gummy stuff gets gross really fast) and generally were obnoxious.
I did ask them to play with them on the far table in the cafeteria, when they were closer to me the noise was giving me a headache.

I was ready to torch those stupid bears.

It's funny, though. It was a fad for a day or two, and I will almost certainly never see them again.

I'm okay with that. 
They're too loud.

And this is why I call them germy, booger-pickin', butt-diggin' little weasels. And Bobapalooza 2026.

Near the end of the afternoon yesterday, as we were all cleaning up the room so we could get the five o' clock box out, I glanced up to see Ethan (Kindergarten)  standing in the middle of the room with his pants and underwear at his knees. He was holding his waistband with his left hand and digging in his butt with the right.

Sheesh.

Couple of the kids were laughing, a couple more were saying, "DUDE!"

He looked around, perplexed, but pulled his pants up about the time I reached him.

"Ethan, what's up, Buddy?"

He looked at me, blinking his brown eyes, and said in explanation, "There's poop left in my butt and I was trying to get it."

"Okay, well, you can't do it out here where people can see you. Go to the bathroom and sit on the toilet and clean your bottom. Then wash your hands, okay?"

He wandered off, still looking confused.
Geez.

So while he was taking care of business, I called his dad. It was the end of the day anyway, but I wanted to get an idea of how far away he was and have him hurry a bit if possible. 

I mean really.

I always start a phone call that's not urgent with these words. "This is not an emergency." Getting a phone call from your child's day care can be scary.

Told him what was going on. 

He was apologetic, said he'd talk to Ethan about keeping his pants up in public. I told him that it was age-appropriate and that none of the other kids would bother Ethan about it. And that in the 22 years I've been doing this job, this isn't the first time that's happened.

Funny that he was more concerned about the little guy showing his butt than what was in his butt. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

You know the difference between inlaws and outlaws, right?
Outlaws are wanted.

Bob was here from September 5th to the 17th. 
I love the guy, but I know I've discussed that timing with him before.
Visiting us during the first few weeks of the school year is really a lot for me, personally. I'm tired, harried and hurried and not fit company for man or beast as they say. 

If you don't believe me, you can ask the man or beast I live with.
He'll tell ya, and he won't sanitize it. Ha.

Bob is 89. He'll be 90 in July. He's still mentally sharp, doing fairly well physically, too.

Good thing on the physical condition, since he caught some creeping crud on the airplane flight and brought for all of us to share. 

About that... Eric got the same respiratory crap. Lyssa also was ill. I got sick last weekend, ran a fever the entire two days and slept about 28 hours. No kidding. But I didn't get the respiratory stuff. In case you wondered. Now, back to the story.

Bob was hacking and snorting and congested. He's in decent shape for a guy his age, but pneumonia can creep up really fast and I was concerned. 

Eric took time off work to hang out with his father, so on Tuesday as I was leaving for work, I told him, "Your dad needs medical attention. He sounds awful. Don't take no for an answer, he needs to go to urgent care right now."

I was right. They started him on some serious antibiotics.
Couple days later he was feeling a lot better and told me that on the day I insisted he see a doctor that he was 'so weak he couldn't get up from his bed'. He explained that he had actually rolled out onto the floor and pulled himself up on a chair.

Ugh. 

Someone explain men to me? Maybe with small words and diagrams?

On October 14th, it will be 47 years since I met Bob. 

In that time, he has never said a negative thing to me. 
Not one. 

He complimented me on my children, thought they were wonderful (they are, just so we're clear) told me more than once that I am the best thing that ever happened to his son, and didn't say a word against homeschooling or anything else we did while raising our young humans. 

But if you'd told me 47 years ago that I'd be wiping up big ol' Bob Lung Cookies from the bathroom sink, I might have run away screaming.

No way of knowing now, I guess.

I think the lid is leaking...

Friday afternoon was mostly a normal afternoon.

I opened the program at my current school in 2023 so this is the beginning of my 4th year. 

During one of our group discussions, the kids asked if we could have 'stuffie day' sometimes. We decided to have it every Friday, the rule being that if you bring a stuffed animal to school, it needs to stay in your backpack all day because we don't want to disrupt classes.

"If any of your teachers tell me that it's a problem, we'll have to stop doing it, I don't want anyone getting into trouble."

They've never had an issue.

But some of them don't have stuffed animals they can bring or they forget. I have a bin of beanie babies that I've had since Lyssa outgrew them. It's on our Friday cart along with the dollhouse stuff, a bin of marble run and another bin that's full of fidgets. I try to rotate toys and other items so they have different choices as needed.

The room was extra noisy all afternoon. 
We ended up in the gym again instead of going outside, it had been raining off and on all afternoon and the playground was wet. As we were deciding whether to go out, it started pouring rain again anyway.

When we use the gym, everyone goes in for 20 minutes. After that, if they want to go back into the cafeteria, they can. I station myself in the doorway of the gym where I can see the door to outside, the kids in the gym and the kids in the cafeteria.

William stays in the gym with the kids who still want to run around and yell. It works out nicely, I love our program space.

We had a mass exodus of kids about 5:20. Suddenly my end of the room was almost silent. William was at a table next to the back door, playing a game with Shelly. She was the last kid.

I grabbed my laptop and finished the weekly report that I'm supposed to file, and that's when I realized I was hearing water dripping somewhere.

Not good at any time, but of particular concern because this past summer, they completely re-roofed our school. 

Great.

I left William in charge and went to find one of our custodians, but was unable to locate either one of them. 

I called our manager and told him what was going on. Asked him for a number for facilities or emergencies. He looked up a couple and texted me. The first number went to voice mail, so I left a detailed message and hung up. Called the second number, and while I was waiting for their message to finish, the phone let me know the first number was calling me back. Our phone is new this school year, so of course it's not familiar to me, and I was having a terrible time trying to disconnect the other call so I could answer the incoming one. 

After swearing to myself and poking/sliding 'buttons', I succeeded in hanging up on both calls.

Shit.

So I called the first number back. It rang and rang. I was going to hang up when she answered.

We agreed I'd put a sign on the wall where I heard the water and that she'd be sending out whoever was on call.

Everything got put away and I managed to limp on out to the parking lot. 
I was pulling out of my space when some guy came screeching in and parked in front of the gate.

I rolled my window down.
"Are you here about the leak?"

He was.

So I got out of my car and limped back into the building so I could show him where the noise had been coming from.

He wasn't thrilled, but commented on the fact that due to the three day weekend for the holiday and being on call his paycheck just grew a bit. When I left he had plans to get a ladder and remove some ceiling panels and was getting ready to phone a friend for help. 

So I saved our school. Or at least that part of it.

If our kids had been picked up in their usual fashion, I probably wouldn't have heard the water, as it wouldn't have been quiet at my end of the room. For whatever reason, things worked out.

It certainly doesn't make our company look bad, does it?

Weak One

That's not a typo. 

This is biographical, after all. 
Ha.
I'm feeling a little weak this evening. 
Getting too old for this, I think.

I read back over this post three times and I know it's supposed to make sense but it might be a little chaotic. 
Haha, welcome to my after school world!


Okay, first week of school. 
We started on Tuesday, September 1st.. 
No school on Monday, August 31st. 
::shrug::

It's weird. A four day week, a three day weekend and then another four day week. I would actually like that to be our regular schedule, but when people are making plans, they don't consult me for some reason.

I have most of the same kids this year. Only one new one this week, although six more new kids are scheduled for next week. I'll have four kindergartners to add to the mix. The new kid has a boy's name, but was listed as a girl on the forms. I caught up with Dad to ask about it. It really doesn't make a difference to me, but if there's a medical emergency, I should know what's going on. Dad was sheepish, he had checked the wrong box. The next time I opened the app, it had been corrected. Super nice kid, too. He's 9, so I think he's a 4th grader, but I haven't asked him yet.

One of kids who was supposed to start this week needed a parent to complete some paperwork so I'll be seeing her next week, one didn't understand they were fully registered and didn't show. Both things are figured out, I think. 

In the case of the 2nd kid, he was supposed to be there because he was on my schedule, but he did not arrive with the rest of the gang. So I had to figure out why. 
I called both parents and didn't get an answer from either one. I don't answer my phone if I don't recognize the number, either. Can't blame them.

They did call me back eventually, but I had to physically visit the front desk to let them know I had a kid missing.

Our legal ratio is 1:15, and we had 19. So for me to go check with the school office, I had to take four of my kids with me. During school dismissal the office staff is coordinating with all the teachers and making sure the pickup line and bus line kids are going where they're supposed to. There's also a meet location for the walking kids. The gym is full of kids who ride various day care vans to other after school programs (none of which are as good as mine, seriously). There's a great deal of foot traffic everywhere in the building. 

It's not quiet in case you wondered.

To add to the fun, two kids showed up on Tuesday who weren't on my schedule at all. They kind of stood there, looking mystified. One had arrived with Maria, and they were looking forward to hanging out together, I think.

I had to escort them to the school office so they could safely reach their after school destinations. 

This afternoon, I finished signing kids in on our app and did the standard head count. I had 18 kids signed in and there were 19 kids in the room. 

So I counted again to make sure I hadn't made a mistake. Nope. 19. I grabbed the tablet to do a match up, but then I saw him. A kid in the construction zone who did not belong there.

I walked over to the carpet and stood next to him. He had dived into one of the LEGO bins and was happily putting pieces together, talking to his friends as he did.

"Buddy, where are you supposed to be?"

"Mrs. K said I'm supposed to go to the cafeteria," he answered. "She said after gym class we should be in the cafeteria."

He was a little guy. First grade. Our cafeteria and gym are separated by a big open hallway, and there are kids going all directions after their PE class. His class had been in the gym, and his teacher probably said to meet outside the cafeteria, but his little guy brain didn't catch all of the information.

I told him that he was not part of my group and that I needed to take him to the office so he could go home and not have his parents be worried about him. 

"Did you have a backpack, Buddy?"

He did. He had walked in with the other four first graders from his class, followed their lead and stowed his backpack and lunch box and had washed his hands. 

The only thing he hadn't done is stop by my table and check in. I would have noticed him about two minutes sooner if he had. There was no harm done, the buses hadn't even left yet.

I didn't embarrass him and he seemed okay with the idea that he wasn't one of my group. 

He did tell me as he skipped beside me on the way to the office that, "I have never seen that many magnatiles or that much Legos!"

Cute. 

I've already seen a bit of the mean girl stuff come out, it seems to be numbers-based, as it usually is. If there are four of the 4th/5th grade girls, they usually manage to figure out ways to have fun and be mostly nice to each other.

But add in another one, or any of the younger girls and it turns into a different kind of thing. If I were a sociologist, I'd probably try to figure it all out, but mostly what I do is damage control. 

Discussions with the ringleader.
"How would you feel if Kyra said those things to you?"

The usual answer is, "I wouldn't care!"

Then I tell them I know for a fact they DO care, as a similar situation has happened before. And that they came to me for help.

Yesterday it was the damn Zoobs. One of them made a vehicle, four of the others made the same one, but when kid number five wanted to, Maria was suddenly all about, "HEY! Stop copying me!!!"

We had a little group discussion about the extent of what we're in charge of, and I made sure they understood they don't get to tell other people how to construct a toy. 

"It's none of your business if Bailey wants to make her creation look like yours. The only control you have over the Zoobs is what you design for you to use. You don't get to decide that for anyone else."

I got out the washable oil pastels that were gifted to me by one of my readers back toward the end of the school year. None of the kids had ever used them before, which is understandable as the usual variety is greasy and doesn't wash off. 

These are incredibly washable and bright. All of the participants loved using them. Steffie ran to her dad with her picture yelling, "Daddy Daddy!" as she zipped across the room. "I got to use REAL ART STUFF!! Look at what I made!!"

We had done a 'get to know me' project. Line art, with each square meaning something, drawn in Sharpie, and then colored and blended with pastels. They all want to try it again. 

Here's my example. Bottom right is 'loves rainbows'. The one in the middle of the second row is 'likes seashells'. They're not a drawing of anything in particular, just an exercise in how to use pastels/sharpie. 

Fun project.

Zippee!!

Ever hear of the Pee Zipper?

Well, thanks to the magic of blogging, you have now.




These pants are made for hiking/backpacking. You don't have to pull them down to pee. Or presumably to perform any other lower bodily function. 
Just unzip 'em and squat. 

As a person who has girl parts, no thanks. 
First of all, is one expected to go commando? Because you can't just squat and move your underwear aside for a little tinkle. 

And what if you have to do something more... substantial? 
Can you really trust that your pants are out of the way?

Guess that's not a problem, as it's repeated a couple times that these garments are washable and they dry really fast!

(Translation: When you pee on your pants, it will dry quickly.)

Also, let's discuss zippers. I know more than one male person who has accidentally zipped their little friend. From what I hear, that isn't a lot of fun and they really don't want to do it again.

I have never zipped any part of my flaps anatomy-that-makes-me-a-girl, and I really don't care to start now. Zippers should be located in areas where they don't have the potential to cause a person deeply personal physical harm. 

The rest of the reviews on the website are positive (of course) and you can even watch a video of a line of 4 women in a well-rehearsed unzip fest. It looks like they're digging in their butts at first. Which I suppose could be another selling point. Scratching your bits without having to disrobe. Plus you can order a Kula cloth to hang off your backpack. That's right, you don't even need toilet paper!

I need toilet paper, though. And then I need to wash my hands with soap and water. 
Call me a shrinking violet, but yeah.
(See also: shrieking harpy.) 
Whatever.
Still want that TP, soap, and water.

Who is wearing this stuff? And for $148.00??? For ONE PAIR of pants? 

Every day there's something else interesting out there.
Some things really *are* out there, though.

I end up with more questions than I have answers.

What *was* I thinking?

I actually don't know why I started blogging.

It was 21 years ago today. I just started writing on a whim.
I'd been in the daycare business for a year, I was still homeschooling, running a Girl Scout troop and working part time. Busy.

I've been glad over the years that I wrote stuff down, it's helpful to me in my work, for example. Old science experiments or other busy-nesses are there when I want to see them or remember 'how did I'.

Working (slowly) on the book I want to write about after school, the stories about my kids are invaluable. It's been pointed out to me more than once that I already have the book written, I just have to find the posts and put them in some sort of coherent order.

Coherent may not be within my reach right now, my brain is going in too many directions.
When this publishes, I'll be 11 days out from a visit from the father in law. 

This time we're putting him in the Costco room. The Momcave is more than occupied. I think he'll actually have more room in there than in here.

Anyway, it's a sort of family chronicle, a journal, a photographic record, work history. Things that make me laugh. An occasional political post, although mostly I just sit here and seethe. No point in writing it down, we still have a shit president and shit people surrounding him.

I'm approaching retirement from my job, guessing I'm going to be done in a little over a year.

I'll probably still write. Seems it's habit forming.

Another thing that I've appreciated greatly are the connections with other people that have happened through what I've written. I follow a lot of of other bloggers, too and have made more than one 'imaginary friend' as my hubby calls you.

Thanks for coming along.

I looked for a picture of a blogger via google (minus ai of course, I always add -ai to the end of my searches) and found nothing I wanted to use. 
I'll leave you with this photo of me about 58 years ago. 

We don't realize how much we're aging until we really look back, huh?

Future Blogger 1968

Get to the MONKEY!!!

I watch a lot of videos on YouTube. 
Painting tutorials, political things, stories about people finding their way out of religion. Lots of content, all free. It's amazing to be able to find so many things so easily.

One of the things I watch (because I'm always working even when I'm not at work) are craft videos. The people who are content creators are generally trying to make money off their videos, so they want to maximize engagement. That's understandable, but it causes me a great deal of impatience sometimes.

A person will be showing how to make something and you'll get 30 seconds of their hands, pointing and/or moving while they talk. Not always about the project, either.

A project will need 20 of something glued on. Instead of gluing one or two to give the general idea, they painstakingly glue on all 20 little baubles or whatever. I usually watch them on double speed without any sound. I end up skipping to the end quite often, too.

I don't want to hear about your trip to the beach or why this craft reminds you of your great uncle Henry.

Move on, willya??

It's usually necessary to mute anyway, as for some reason, they think we want to hear some tinkling, annoying, strident "music", too. Sets me on edge every time.

It annoys the CRAP out of me, in case you wondered.

And let's talk about cooking websites, too.
I do not want to hear about how your grandma moved West via covered wagon and wore gingham until she died at 107 and you still have the beat up old bowl she used. I mean, that's great for you, but I do not care. At all.

Skip to the ingredients. Now.
I scroll a lot.

I used to say, "GET TO THE POINT!" until several years ago, when my son sent me a link to this video.

The point of the video is aggravation about going to the King Kong movie (hey, this is an old video) and having them tease and not quite show the big ape until well into the movie.

Get to the goddamn MONKEY!!



I find myself saying it a lot right now as I take the art project and science experiments and other things I've harvested over summer and rewatch and try to get them into some kind of order for the school year.


Don't click on this video (it's actually audio only) if you're offended by profanity.

Commercial Time!

Once again I'm horrified by the fact that I remember quite a few of these commercials, but couldn't help laughing at the commercial starting at 5:49. 

As I recently mentioned, I was a 12 year old boy in my past life.

What is this thing?

Okay, so, this was on the floor next to my desk chair in the Momcave.

It wasn't there last night, I'd be willing to swear to it.
I don't remember ever seeing it. I have zero clues about what it might be.

I waited for Eric to get home to ask him about it, he said he's never seen it before and also has no idea what it is.

So let's just skip right over the 'who left this thing' because NO ONE DID. 
Eric didn't do it. I did not do it. No one else lives here. No one else has been in the house.

I think we're going to have to say Glitch in the Matrix on this.

But WHAT IS IT???

Any ideas?

Edited to add: I read today that using the same answer for all 'what is this' posts is perfectly acceptable. 

Here's that answer, courtesy of ye olde internet:

I have one. 
It’s a fart tone adjuster. 
Stick it up your bottom and it changes the pitch of your farts to a more pleasant sounding tone.

 

Hey Sexy Legs!

And once again, some old commercials for your viewing.

It's incredible to me that everyone just... watched this shit. 
I remember watching some of these myself. Didn't think there was anything strange or wrong about them, either.

Now I feel jussssttt a little awkward.

Except for the commercial that shows at 5:50. 
That's horrendous and I'm horrified that someone thought it was a good idea.

One of my friends from school got that whole collection for Christmas and we were jealous. 

This is why my mom's generation was so messed up

I mean, not the only reason. Religion was part of it, too.

I was surprised while watching this, I actually remembered a couple of them.

Meme-ory Lane

Found a bunch of stuff hiding in corners of my computer.

I bought a Memory Board for my mom and my brother went and set it up this weekend.
I've been searching through my computer for photos to send to her and found a bunch of stuff.

Pretty sure none of these will make it onto her board, but they made me laugh.

I Take it Back!

My paternal grandma died in 1991.

She had a fall at home and laid on the floor for something like 14 hours before someone found her. The thing that happens to so many elderly people happened to her, she ended up with pneumonia and died about 10 days later.

While the whole family gathered at the hospital, my brand new at the time sister in law took care of the young people (my son was three, my nephew, four) and made sure we were fed.

She brought a fried chicken dinner for 14 people one afternoon and we all sat in the hospital cafeteria and had a good meal.

After Grandma died and it was time to find new homes for all Grandma's possessions that my dad didn't sell as fast as he could (and of course he kept every dime and wouldn't give us any of the things we asked for, none of which were terribly expensive or rare, we just got small things and it's not the things that are the point, you get that, right?) my parents thought Grandma's clock should go to my sister in law. It was an antique with music and a ballerina all encased in a wood and glass case.

We all agreed that she should have it, Grandma had treasured it and we wanted to keep it in the family.

So life moved on, as it does.

A few years later, my brother and his wife had two little boys. I had my baby girl. My other brother and his wife had another little boy, too. 

It was 1995, I think.

There was some, uh, marital strife between my brother and his wife and he moved out of their house over a weekend and got an apartment.

It's their story, and I won't tell it here, it's not up to me. 

I called my sister in law on Monday morning and told her that I did not need to know what was going on. That I loved her and I loved my nephews and that they were welcome in my home at any time.

She did tell me a little bit of what was going on, again not my story to tell, but I couldn't blame her for feeling how she felt.  

But my parents were furious with her. 
They didn't make any effort to find out what was going on, either. They just took his side against her, started trash talking. I was actually stunned at the vitriol and name calling. They called her a slut and a whore and suggested that the youngest little boy wasn't even my brother's child. My mom called me every day to say some other awful thing. It was really incredible. I saw a side of her I'd never seen, 'cause she sure as hell never brought out the mama bear side for me. 

I did make an effort to talk them down, as it were. Not that it did any good, they had decided she was 'just like Jezebel' and they hated her.

It was about a week later that my mom decided that Jezebel had to give the clock back.

Yep, she called me up told me that 'she has no right to keep that clock, it belongs in the family' and that she was going to tell her to give it back.

I know she called her and left that as a message, but I don't know what the response was. They ended up getting back together not long after (after seeing a pastor as a counselor which is like hiring a barber to do open heart surgery ) and suddenly my parents had nothing but nice things to say about Jezebel.

It was 'all they had prayed for' and 'guess gawd has a plan after all' and 'we knew it would be okay, gawd had given us peace'.

It was really weird, that sudden reversal. All the venom they'd been spewing was magically turned into sweetness. Suddenly Jezebel was wonderful and everyone was so happy they were back together.

Mom was constantly saying, "Thank GOD and I mean that literally."

She said it so often, and with the same exact inflection that I can hear it even now.

Mom had Jezebel come speak at one of her Women's Aglow meetings, which I secretly refer to in my head as simpering Jesus rallies. 
There's a whole lot of religious crazy in the fam. 

My mom really wanted me to come over and visit  so I could hear Jezebel speak!

Yeah, that wasn't gonna happen.

I've never told Mom I am an atheist, it would serve no purpose and would hurt her feelings. She would worry over it daily. It's not about what kind of person she is, it's about what kind of person I am, and apparently I'm not the type to make an old lady feel bad over religion. Although she's made ME feel bad over it more than once, ha!

But my sister in law still has Grandma's clock.
 
She and my brother seem to be happy, and whatever route that takes is fine with me, I don't have to agree with it.

Another weird episode from the past.
Geez.

Do You Have a Storage/Costco Room?

Because of the really odd ways money was handled as I grew up, it's the thing in my life that still causes stress for me. 

One of the ways it manifests is buying things ahead of time. 
Otherwise known as hoarding. Craft supplies and stuff for work.

I can say that I don't have as much stuff as I used to, and that I've become more selective about what I bring in. I've also consciously made an effort to use the supplies I have a million of instead of admiring the possibilities. I have given a lot away, too.

It's why I don't have to buy things when I want to introduce a craft project or art activity or science experiment. I have all those things and more.

I stock up on new things, too. 
Consumable goods, I guess.

In the cabinet in the hallway are things like bar soap, liquid hand soap, hair spray, shampoo. Q-tips. You know, hygiene supplies. I buy bulk packages when they are on sale. 

My mom infrequently visited us when we lived in California. Took her shopping with me once or twice. She had a difficult time understanding why I was 'buying such a big package' because there were only two of us. 

Just a little math is needed to figure that out, but all she could see was that the small toothpaste was a dollar less than the economy sized one. The four pack of toilet paper was a lot less expensive than the 12 pack. But per roll, it was less expensive to buy the large one.

The room that was Alyssa's is now our Costco/storage room. Big bales of TP and paper towels. Aluminum foil and baking parchment, laundry soap and garbage bags and things that belong to Mason and Alyssa that they don't have room for in their apartment and a TON of stuff for my job. We have shelves all along the walls (bought those at Costco, too).

It's also where the vacuum lives. My easel is in there for when I decide I want to paint again. It's been awhile and I love doing it and I just... haven't. Bins for my tie dye stuff. 
More craft supplies. Bulletin board edging and lettering, another thing I won't need once I retire.

My hubby hangs on to things as much as I do. He has good reasons, but his story is his. Let's just say his family could have done better for him and should have.

That stuff affected us both.

I picked up some cardboard boxes last week and am in the process of getting rid of clothing I no longer wear. I keep stuff until it wears out. Frayed sleeves and little holes don't make me stop wearing it. I always figure my jacket covers the sleeves and if I'm wearing long sleeves under my uniform t shirt and happen to get paint or ink or whatever on those sleeves, I don't worry much about it. I won't cry if I have to throw out a shirt I've had for 15 years because paint won't wash out of the sleeves.

So I'm getting ready for the last full year of work, I think. I may possibly work until December of 2027, depending on a few factors.

Hopefully I'll have used up most of my stuff by then, making it less of a pain in the ass when it's time to sell the house and move.

So do you have a Costco room? 

Mine looks kind of like this one, only smaller.

Making Connections

So I told you about spending my birthday money on a sweater for my mom. (Scroll down if you missed it, it's the next post).

And my brain finally made a connection that I've been searching for since June of 1976.
Took me a long time to get there, huh?

My parents occasionally decided we kids were going to 'earn' an allowance. This happened multiple times, and was always the same story.

It was going to be five dollars every month. For the three months or so they continued to pay the allowance for all the chores we did, they'd come back a day or so later and 'borrow' the money back from us.

Did they then pay us back?

So as you've probably gathered, I did not have an allowance or any way to get small amounts of cash as I was growing up. There weren't jobs for teens in our small town. Apart from the yearly birthday/Christmas money, I was broke all year.

Forget buying clothing, I couldn't even buy a candy bar on my way home from school.

In June of 1976, an acquaintance who'd graduated from high school three or four years earlier asked me to sing at her wedding. I accepted, and learned the song (These Are The Best Times from Walt Disney's Superdad) in a couple sessions with the pianist.

Attended the wedding on June 12th all by myself. 

The only other wedding I'd been to was my aunt Sue Ann's. I was 4 years old at the time and all I remember from that was a straight pin still in the waistband of the yellow satin dress they'd made for me as the flower girl. Damn thing poked me all afternoon and I kept telling my mom and she kept shushing me.

So when I arrived at the church to sing and an usher asked me which side, bride or groom, I had no idea what he was even asking. Funny.

Once he figured out who I was, he seated me in the second row at the end, near the  piano. Sensible.

So I sang my song. (link leads to a YouTube video) 
I still remember all the lyrics. 
The piano score was much nicer than the organ that's in the background on this version, but you get the idea.

After the wedding, the father of the bride was walking around handing envelopes to the pianist, the minister, the guy who had helped park cars. He walked to me and handed me an envelope, too.

I had no idea that I was going to be paid to sing. 
No one had told me.
There was a fifty dollar bill in that envelope.

That was the most money I'd ever held in my hand. 
It was a FORTUNE to me. 
I was stunned.

I was really excited because it meant I could have some new clothes to start school in the fall. If you've ever been a teenage girl, you can probably relate. Heck, if you've ever been a teenager you probably can. 

Later that week, as my mom drove to the grocery store with me, she asked me why I hadn't bought a birthday present for my dad. She told me that I had hurt his feelings when I was being 'selfish' by wanting to spend all the money on myself.

"Very selfish," she said. "I thought you knew better than that."

It was a weird thing, felt like it just came from nowhere. I couldn't figure out why he'd say that, he'd never mentioned us buying him presents before. Why would a parent even expect that?

But after writing the post the other day about spending my birthday money on my mom, I realized that my dad was jealous! He remembered that I'd done that only six months prior, and here I was with FIFTY dollars and it was his birthday and I didn't do anything for him! What an ungrateful brat, huh?

It was only 18 months later that I left home.

I haven't thought about the 'why didn't you spend your money on your father' story in a long time, but it's finally clear to me why that happened in the first place.

Huh.

Random Memes

 

And last, the caption on this one was, "I knew I was saving my Ken and Barbies for a reason."

I keep telling myself that I do NOT need another hobby, then something like this shows up and holy crap, I am actually considering the possibilities.

Not really. But sort of.

Haha.

Not Suitable for Work

Also not suitable for children.

But I love this guy's videos. 
They're scientifically accurate and very interesting, although if you're squeamish, sometimes they're pretty graphic.

Watch this (or find another one from him, they're all pretty good) and then let me know what you think.