Deliver Me

"Ack. What time is it?"

"looks like almost six."

"Bah. I suppose I should start thinking about dinner."

"yah, okay."

"What do you think I should make?"

"ummmm... a phone call?"

*********************

There are other reasons I love him. But this kinda thing?

Totally makes the list.

Disgust This

A conversation in three voices circa 2008,

somewhere in Holland

A motherly tone " So then, I guess you are all done with the big "I am going to clean my room today" project?

A daughterly tone "Uh, yeah, well kind of."

Mother tone "Oh, what happened to the whole "I'll see you later I am off to clean my room!"

Daughter tone "Well, I worked for like an hour up there!"

Mother "So is it clean?"

Daughter " Not exactly."

Fatherly tone joins "What does that mean 'not exactly'"?

Daughter "I really worked up there for like an HOUR!"

Mother "So, it's really not clean, right?"

Indignant Daughter tones "Whatever. My room has character!"

Insightful Father tones " Yes, I've seen that character and I believe his name is TEMPLETON"

Lingering

If you've ever wondered just what it might be like to celebrate Christmas with a houseful of comedians, then I am warmly extending the invitation to you to join us next season.

It's been a laugh factory around here as we planned, purchased and executed the frivolity around our house.

I will sum up.

Traditionally, we put our names into a hat, a box, or a bathrobe pocket--we're not all that particular--and exchange with one another the wish list we've created. With name and list in hand, we then plan and shop for the person we've selected. The spending limit is 25 euros. It's meant to be a way for all of us to single out one other of us and select something meaningful for that person.

I got Andrew this year.

Andrew got Emma.

Emma got me.

Don got Ian.

Ian got Don.

Don worked feverishly on his list before folding his paper and placing it into the upturned baseball cap. As he scribbled, he asked only one question: "what is the spending limit?"

His list read something like this:

The things I want for Christmas--

One 20 euro bill and one 5 euro bill, or

Two 10 euro bills and one 5 euro bill, or

Three 5 euro bills and one 10 euro bill, or

Two fifty cent coins, one 2 euro coin, two 1 euro coins, and two 10 euro bills

OR

One Folbot folding Kayak, 1500 euros plus shipping.

So we all did our shopping bit and when Christmas morning rolled around there was a grand buildup of excitement in the air in anticipation of presenting family gifts.

Andrew got police cars and firetrucks.

Emma got a discoball lamp. (Really. Andrew was certain this was THE gift for his sister.)

Ian got some cool new clothes and a game for his playstation.

I opened my gift to find this note:

Dear Mom,

First of all I want you to know, whatever I say from now on is in a Spanish accent.

What, oh, what could your gift be?

So little and small and tineee.

I know you will like it, it came from my heart, and the 25 euros dad gave me, but mostly from my heart.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Emma

Don's gift was double or perhaps triple wrapped with this note taped to the outside of the second layer:

Fulbot Folding Kayak

Size: Extra extra extra extra small (xxxs)

Color: Blue

Capacity: Your big toe

Dimensions: 5" x 2"

Warning!

Not for ACTUAL use!

Precautions: Keep away from water! If kayak comes into contact with any form of water, the kayak will disintegrate immediately.

We made merry with our giggles and then merry again with our guffaws. I am beginning to think that they who coined the phrase "Happy Christmas" had premonitions of just how it would roll at our house.

Here's hoping we keep Christmas in our hearts all year.

Late in the Evening

The living room floor was littered with torn wrappings. Paper bits discarded here and there, my children and our guests inspected the goods which had been delivered to them via the Sint's large sack. It had been determined just after the loud knock on the front door that as the rounds went for opening gifts, I would be the last spot.

That was okay by me.

Andrew got his fish; a swimming one with a tail. He watched it circle round the tiny bowl.

Ian and Emma were blown away when they opened cell phones. Ian's spontaneous happy dance made everyone in the room howl with laughter.

Our guests each received photographs, something from my heart and personalized for each of them.

Don got his photos too, and then it was my turn.

I knew he had written his poem, just as I had begged asked him too. Early in the evening I spotted him surreptitiously stashing a set of scribbled notes on top of the bookshelf. I have to admit, I couldn't wait to find out what he'd come up with. He called attention in the room back to focus on me, and then pulled his papers from the top shelf. He appeared to study them for a minute or two, then shook his head and said aloud "No, this just won't do." I watched him then leave the circle of company and step over to collect his tall stool.

You know, the one he sits on to play his guitar.

I started to cry.

He set up the stool and grabbed his guitar from its stand. And then?

Then he sang to me.

Yup, the boy came through on this poem writing thing with a bang.

And. He. Sang. To. Me.

He apologized for being neither a songwriter nor poet, and apologized again for stealing the tune from one of our favorite artists. I apologize now (to you, not to him--I know he's secretly pleased about this next bit) that the video which was captured on the night cannot be displayed. I have tried it every which way but Sunday and cannot get the file to upload properly. So I have nothing to show for it, really. But you can trust me when I tell you the performance was brilliant.

And now, my friends and readers, a Sinterklaas poemsong. From my house to yours.

"The night's getting long
And the Sint's come and gone
Leaving pakjes and goodies for all
The last one's for you
and it seems to be true
It really looks awfully small.

Oh, Jenn, you know me so well
You asked me 10 times
but not once did you yell
You said 'please write my poem'
Okay, what the hell!
Oh, Jenn, you know me so well.

So, your poem is a song
Let's thank God it's not long-
The misery soon will be through.
You ask, you receive
Although none would believe
That I'd sing something funny to you!

But, oh, Jenn, you know me so well.
You asked me 10 times
but not once did you yell
You said, 'please write my poem'
Okay, what the hell!
Oh, Jenn, you know me so well.

Well, the night's getting long
And the Sint's come and gone..."

Linking to you Live from Soccer Mom in Denial

Spot Check

The status report from Jenn's place:

The youngest is sick (yet again) with a barking cough. Sounds something akin to a TB patient. Might be why I get strange looks on the tram when I take him out in public.

The middle one is on emotional overload. Should she go to the Winter Ball tomorrow night for her middle school or not? Yes, no, yes, no, maybe. If only she had something to wear. Fairy Godmother? Anyone?

The oldest is copping a 'tude. His chores undone, his schoolbag tossed carelessly in the hall. Seems like it might be high time for a holiday from school.

The Dad is fine by all reports. He doesn't sleep much lately. He says it's beginning to feel normal.

The Mom is holding it together, albeit by narrow threads. Good thing Mom nerves are strong as spider silk.

And so, no good blogging to be done tonight. I shall put off the report of all things Sinterklaas and promise you that forthcoming. I will however leave you with this pre-pakjesavond conversation. It might make you giggle.

That's a good thing.

*****************************************************************

"There! I've got it done. The gifts are all wrapped and the poems are written. It's just down to you to take care of my stuff.

"Your stuff? What stuff?"

"You know, my gift and my poem which you're going to write yourself."

"Awwwww, I don't want to write a poem."

"Bummer."

"But I'm no good at writing poems, can't you write one for yourself?"

"Nope. I wrote all the others and it's kinda lame if I have to write my own. That's your job this year."

"I just don't think I can do it."

"And yet, you must."

"So this poem that I HAVE TO write for you, does it have to be long? Is it supposed to rhyme?Can I write it in any format I want or are there special rules?"

"It can be anything you want, it just has to be a poem."

"Anything I want?"

"Yup. Anything."

"Cool. So I can write a haiku?"

A Point, A Chat and A Vote

Point of reference: Lekkerbek (pronounced just the way it looks--lecker beck) is a white fish filet breaded and deep fried.

************************************************

"So how are things shaping up for Pakjesavond then?"

"Fine, I think. Nearly there anyway. I would still like to find a mini-trampoline for Andrew and then there is the matter of his fish."

"His fish?"

"He wants a fish from Sinterklaas"

"Oh, we're not getting him a fish, are we?"

"In his letter to the Sint he asked for a fish"

"Oh, man, can't we just get him a lekkerbek?"

************************************

I ask you.

This?

Or this?

Armed and Dangerous

From a phone call with my husband:

"Have you called the doctor yet, to talk about the headaches?"

"Uh, not yet. I will do that....er... right now."

"Will you?"

"Yeah, okay. Yes, I will do it."

"Now?"

"umm-hmmm"

"Jenn, put down the keyboard and step away from the blog."

*snort-giggle-guffaw*

"Hey! I am not even on the blog!"

"Make the call."

"Right. Okay. Making the call."



Notes of explanation:

1. I am notoriously bad at taking care of myself. Details like calling the doctor for my own pain tend to escape me.

2. Before you jump on the scolding wagon you should know that I have indeed called the doctor. I have an appointment today for an acupuncture session. Perhaps I should have titled this post "On Pins and Needles".

3. I believe my husband is a funny, funny man. I really wasn't on the blog when we had this conversation, but what he said was so hilarious I immediately had to blog about it! Thus confirming my status as a blog junkie...

Stupidity in Two Parts

"Babe, I need you to help me sort something out with the new dryer."
"What's going on with the dryer?"
"It's not working."
"It's not working?"
"No. Can you check the fuses for me?"

*check fuses*

"Is that better?"
"I still don't see any lights on it. Maybe we should switch out the extension cord. There is another extension cord downstairs."
"Okay, let's try."

*switch out power cord*

"Now?"
"Still nothing."
"Have you tried plugging it straight into the wall?"
"I did earlier and I got nothing."
"Arrrgh! *bad word*"

*heavy sighs*

"Well, is the washer working?"
"Yes, I think so. It appears to be."
"Let me check the fuse box again."

*check fuses again*

"Okay, that should be it. Try it now."
"Still nothing. There should be lights on. There are always lights on."
"Crap."
"I know."
"When did it stop?"
"Working you mean? Just this afternoon. It was fine and then it wasn't. I don't know what happened."

*clean filters--empty water condenser--rinse all removable parts--shake dryer for good measure*

"I just don't get it."
"Me either"

*additional heavy sighs, with brow wiping*

"Wait a second. Oh, hell, you are KIDDING ME?!"
"What ?"
"I saw lights! Do that again. Move the dial. There! There are the lights. It's on! It's working!"

*snorts of disbelief*

"Okay, see this. The dial is set to "0". Off perhaps? Holy crap--It's not broken, it just got turned off.! I am such a dork. I didn't even consider this! Oh, my dorkiness has reached epic proportions with this one. Sheesh! That's never happened before. What happened here?
Oh, wait. I know.
AAAAAAAANNNNNNDDDDRRRREEEEWWWW!"

*cue laugh track*

The above vignette comes complete with stage directions for your reenactment pleasure. Just grab a partner and enjoy a read through. It has also been edited for content and time because if I told the full truth about just how long it took for us me to notice that the switch was in the OFF position, well, you just wouldn't buy it. You could not willingly suspend the disbelief to get your mind around that kind of stupidity. Truly, you would say "Surely that couldn't happen. Dorkiness at this level just doesn't exist".

You would of course be dead wrong.

Welcome to my world.

Like a Diamond in the Rough

(((YAWN))

"You tired, babe?"

"Mmmm-hmmm, just a little."

"Why? Just 'cause you went to bed really late last night and then got up really early with [Andrew] and let me sleep in?

"Yeah, that's probably it"

"'You're so nice"

"You got that right. Seriously, I'm such a gem."

"Yes, yes, you are. You are a total Jenn"

Perhaps We'll Die

"Ack-OH-Aaaargh! okay! NEW RULE IN THE HOUSE!"

"What's that then?"

"No more leaving the juice sitting out for any extended period of time in the warm summer temperatures."

"Oh, okay. Did it turn or something?"

"No, there was a fly in it."

"Ah, so you had a fly in your glass?"

"No! I had a fly in my mouth!"

"You had a fly in your mouth?"

"Yes! A fly in my mouth. Ack!"

"Oh, sick."

"That's what I'm saying."




****




"How are you doing since the fly-in-your-mouth incident?"

"Ugh. Don't remind me. I can't get the taste of soggy fly out of my mouth. I guess I won't be on Fear Factor anytime soon."

"No? You not up for eating bugs then?"

"Nope."

"You know this whole thing today kinda reminds me of the time I ate soap."

"You ate soap?"

"Yes! You don't remember?"

"No. You really ate soap?"

"It's not like I meant to. It was when we were newly married, living in Vegas, and I was really sick one night and went to the cupboard to look for medicine."

"Uh-huh..."

"I found a bottle I had "borrowed" from your Mom's house. It was a cold medicine bottle with an orangey liquid inside. I thought it was Triaminic. It looked like Triaminic."

"Yeah?"

"It wasn't Triaminic."

"It was soap?"

"Yes! It was soap! I guess your Mom must have used that bottle to send some shampoo with one of your sisters to girls' camp or something. I thought it was medicine."

"Wait, so you took soap?"

"Yes! I am telling you, I took soap. By the way that's EXACTLY what you said to me that night when I woke you with my hysterics because I had just swallowed soap."

"I don't remember this."

"I do. It's one of my more embarrassing moments. I swallowed soap. On purpose. Kind of. I was delirious with the sniffles. I was in a panic after guzzling soap and wondered if I might get sick. You weren't especially sympathetic. You told me I could call Poison Control."

"Did you?"

"Yes! And I explained the whole thing to the operator and asked him if I was going to die now. He was very professional and didn't snicker too loudly. Not anywhere near as loudly as you are laughing right now."

"I can't help it. You swallowed soap!"

"Yeah, well you swallowed a fly!"

"No, I didn't swallow a fly. I just swished it around in my mouth and then spit it out."

"Oh, lovely."

"I am glad you didn't die when you swallowed soap."

"Yeah? And I am glad you didn't really swallow a fly."

I know an old lady who swallowed a fly.

I don't know why she swallowed a fly,

perhaps she'll die....

Damn, he's funny!

"Oh shoot! I forgot to buy envelopes again."

"Well aren't you lucky that I have some for you?"

"You do?"

"Yup. I remembered that we needed some when I went to mail that stuff, so I got some for you yesterday."

"Damn, you're amazing!"

"Yes, yes I am. I am DAMN-AZING"