Because I'm SUCH a conscientious mom...

The Husbandly One and I are both... well... geeks. Science fiction, fantasy, we read, we grew up on Star Trek, Star Wars, and all the stuff that childhood in the late sixties, early seventies entails. And there are certain phrases that we will bandy back and forth that make us laugh uproariously, but leave the Impertinent Daughter frowning and saying, "Er... what?? I don't get it..."

One that has really thrown her is when THO or I pop out with, "Brain, brain, what is brain?" at highly appropriate moments, and then fall apart laughing. "What's so funny about that?" she says, looking at us like we're nuts. Well, we are nuts, but that's neither here nor there.

So today, while the Impossible Son was playing at a friend's house, I got on Veoh.com and found the notoriously and infamously worst written episode of Star Trek ever put into production... "Spock's Brain."

Even the title sucks.

It is so awful, it's hilarious, in an entirely unintentionally funny way.

What gets me about that episode? If that's the script that actually made it to the point of being made... what the hell were the scripts they turned down like???

Anyway, she watched it with an air of disbelief, and burst out laughing at times. By the end, though, she got it. And will most likely die laughing with us when either THO or I quip, "Brain, brain, what is brain??"

It's a wonderful life...

For want of a pen...

An addendum at the end of a friend's post this morning made me laugh somewhat ruefully and think of something that is an everyday irritation around here.

Whenever I need a pen... I have no problem finding one. Seriously, there are pens and pencils all over the place here. What I have a problem with is finding one that works!

The bottom shelf of one of our kitchen cabinets has several jars filled with pencils and pens. Whenever I'm presented with a permission slip, or some form or other that needs to be signed, I open the cabinet and begin the process of finding some sort of writing implement that works or isn't broken. I kid you not, there have been times I have ended up signing a health form in crayon.

That's not even including the two drawers with pens and pencils, and the majority of those pens don't work, and the pencils are all broken. And yes, I have tried to throw the non-working pens out, but I have to be very sneaky about it. If I do it where the Husbandly One can see it, he immediately grabs it, frowns at it, scribbles on some paper with it, and throws it back in the drawer with a "I can get it to work, I just need a few minutes with it. I'll work on it later." And I'll go back a few days later to grab that same pen and it still doesn't work!!

Meaning I have to toss them when he isn't home.

One of these days, I'm going to get a wild hair and sharpen all the damn pencils, too. I mean, it's sad to want to sketch something, or write something down... and all the pencils have broken leads!! And even the mechanical pencils are... empty!!

Happens most often when I'm on the phone. If someone calls me, say from the soccer board, I have to write whatever they are telling me down or... I'll forget it. See, if I hear something, I tend to forget it, but if I read it, I'll remember it because... I remember everything I read.

Sad, isn't it?

So there I am, with plenty of paper, mind you, scrambling for a pen, pencil, anything to write down what I'm hearing, asking the caller to please wait a minute while I find something to write with because... nothing works. I have actually had to resort to carrying a little zippered pouch in my purse of working pens and pencils. And believe me, I guard my little pouch with a ferocity usually attributed to mother wolves protecting their cubs. I know the pens and pencils in my pouch work, and I am not parting with any of them, so get your dirty mitts OFF!!

Sad, sad, sad.

Of course, I have sharpened all the pencils before. Want to know what happened? I went back ten minutes later to grab a pencil, confident that I would find a fully sharpened, unbroken pencil lead... and pulled out a broken one. Why? Because my daughter had come in, taken all the sharpened pencils, and replaced them with all the broken ones that were in her room.

Then she wondered why I was sitting at the table with a handful of broken pencils, chin quivering and tears running down my face!!

Hmmmm... maybe today I'll go through all the pens and winnow out all the ones that aren't working. Tomorrow is trash day. If I bag 'em all up and toss them in the bin outside and put a few bags on top of it, THO will never know!! Unless the kids rat me out.

Guess that means I'll be baking cookies today.

Who, me? Bribe my kids??

You bet your bippy!!

*sigh* The things I do for a working pen!!

That's how I roll...er... shake... whatever...

Top Ten Good Things About How Hard Albuterol Makes Jo Shake

10. I don't need a battery powered toothbrush, because I shake so hard when I'm brushing my teeth, it's practically like having one!

9. I don't have to work that hard making cinnamon toast, because shaking the cinnamon/sugar mix on is a breeze! I don't even have to shake the bottle!!

8. I can do the shimmy without even trying!!

7. Need to draw squiggly lines? Jo's your gal!!

6. Vibrator. Don't need.

5. No need for a motorized tiller in the garden. Just give Jo a gardening fork, and and let her rip!!

4. Give her a cranky baby, and she'll jiggle that sucker to sleep in no time!

3. Don't need a sprinkler. Just hand Jo the water hose and let her go!!

2. One word. Maracas!!

... and the number one good thing about how hard Albuterol makes Jo shake?

"Watch her wiggle
See her jiggle
Bouncing ta-ta's
Jo's got the shakes again!!!" **



And just for an extra bonus laugh, I took the kids to Dairy Queen yesterday after my doctor's appointment to get us all some Artic Blasts, which are really just slushies. Anyhow, I went to the drive-thru, because no way did I feel like getting out of the car and walking in! So, I drove up to the intercom thingie, place my order, and wait for the gal to tell me how much it is. But she can't do that, no, she has to offer me something more, right?

This is where my hearing glitch kicks in. It's hard for me to understand the drive thru intercoms anyway, but most of the time, I figure it out. However, yesterday, my glitch decided to give me an extra entertaining session in the drive-thru.

"Would you like to knit me some argyle socks?"

Blink. Blink. "Er... what was that again?" I said, knowing there was no way in hell she even remotely could have said that!

"Would you like... to knit me... some argyle socks?" she says more slowly.

Blink. Blink. Okay, I KNOW she didn't actually say that. There is simply no way she could have said that. And really, I just... didn't want to ask her again, because I knew I'd hear the same thing again, so I decided to err on the side of caution and said, "Um... no."

"Okay, your total is $5.81, please drive up to the window to pay."

I turned to look at the Impertinent Daughter, who was riding shotgun, and said, "Could you understand what she was saying?"

"No, not really," she said, then grinned knowingly at me, recognizing the signs. "Okay, Mom, what did you hear?"

I told her and she burst out laughing, and we spent a good few minutes trying to decipher it with out any real success. Thus, by the time we drove up to the window, we were semi-hysterical. When the server came to the window, I managed to wheeze out, "What the heck were you asking me over the intercom after I placed my order?"

She blinked and said, "Um, I wasn't taking the orders, Ma'am. But... I can ask." She looked over at the blonde teenager wearing the headset dubiously, then said, "Might not do any good, though."

"That's okay, it's more fun for us to try to figure out anyway," I said, paying her and accepting our slushies.

"Why, what'd you think she said?"

I told her, and she nearly dropped my cup. I have a feeling Miss Ditzy Blonde is going to have a hard time living that one down.

When I told the Husbandly One about it later, he laughed, but as I thought about it, I realized she was probably asking something like, "Would you like to order any more with that?" or "Would you like some extra snacks?" But it doesn't quite fit.

Oh well, I may never know!! File that one away with the man in the grocery store that I could have sworn said, "Beat me, Daddy, I slobbed the knob." And no, he didn't really say that, because (1) he was saying it to his wife while holding his little daughter on his hip, and (2) I was reading his lips, and his mouth didn't match his words, but I was so stunned by what it sounded like, that I just... couldn't get past it!!

** For those of you who don't know, back in the 80's, Jello brand gelatin had a commercial jingle with the lyrics, "Watch it wiggle/See it jiggle/Cool and fruity/Jello Brand Gelatin..."

I write, therefore I ... AAAUUUGHH!!

Writing for the last four months has been... difficult. I don't know what it is, but every time I sit down to write... something happens.

It'll be difficult to start, it goes in fits and stops, and then finally, blissfully, I settle into the writing groove, I'll be going great guns and...

"Mom, Mom, wait, you have to hear this! So, I was in my choir class, and this guy came in... no wait, it wasn't a guy, it was... no... wait... forget it, I forgot. So... whatcha doin'? Is it okay if I hang here a while? I'm bored. Oh, and I'm hungry, too... can you make me some ramen? Or, no... wait... popcorn. Can you make popcorn, Mom? I'm not hungry so much as I just feel like nibbling... you know, popcorn. And hey, can we watch a movie? You haven't watched a movie with us in...."

Then she wonders why I'm banging my head against the desk.

So, I find another opportunity to write, sit down, have trouble starting, then hit the groove, the keyboard is practically smoking, it's going so well, I'm flying and completely lost in the story and...

"Hey, honey, we need to talk about whether we're going to send the kids to soccer camp. I've been looking at the budget and I think we can manage if we do this camp, as opposed to the Outrageously Expensive Soccer Camp of Doom. But we'll need to cut out this, that and the other from the budget, if you'll let me get on the computer so I can bring up the... honey... why are you grinding your teeth?"

Literally. It never ends. It's like a vast conspiracy to Keep Auntie Away from the Computer, and it's driving me completely insane. I have several writing assignments that I am supposed to be working on, and one of them is nearly completed if... I... can... just have a friggin' hour alone!!! And the other, I am barely halfway through.

I have to tell you, there are times when I get so frustrated, I want to throw up my hands and say, "Fine. I give up. No more writing. I get the damn hint, okay? Just forget the writing and give up on it because there's just no point. No point at all!!"

Then I remember why I write in the first place. Because it hurts not to. Because I can't stop. Because I have all these ideas, and pictures, and voices in my head, and they all need to come out, and the only way to do it is to write it all down.

But... I CAN'T DO IT IF I DON'T GET AT LEAST A COUPLE OF HOURS TO MYSELF!!!

*is very frustrated*

Right now, though, the temptation to throw in the towel and just give it all up is very, very strong.

Why am I doing this again??

Ever been working on something for months, writing, researching, struggling with it because, dammit, you just know you can make it work, but every attempt seems to just be... wrong. It's stiff, unnatural, refuses to flow no matter how you try to rewrite it, no matter how many different angles you try to approach it from, and your deadline is looming closer and closer, and you start getting desperate, because you don't want to ask for an extension, you know you can do this but... AARRRGGHHH!!!

Then life seems to throw all these obstacles and blocks your way, keeping you from working on it, until finally, it slams into you with all the force of a speeding train... you're writing about the wrong characters. It's not a story about this person... it's a story about those two people. And suddenly, everything flows the way it is supposed to, your fingers are flying across the keyboard, it's so easy to write now, whereas before, it was like trying to slog through mud uphill in a torrential downpour with a 150 pound pack on your back.

Serious, that drives me nuts. And it drives the people around me nuts, too.

I hate being a writer.

But then, sometimes, it just comes so easy, words seem to flow from my fingertips, and I can literally see the story before my eyes, like my own little movie and I'm just taking notes, really. The characters speak to me, leaning over my shoulder and whispering suggestions as I write, making me laugh at highly inappropriate moments when I suddenly realize why a certain thing needs to happen in the process of a story, or almost making me cry when I realize someone has to die and why. Sometimes, I feel like I am just a medium through which the story comes, the conduit that brings it to life on paper, because it can't stay in my head or it hurts, like they're drumming against the inside of my skull, trying to escape, and I can only relieve that pain by writing them out of me, and it feels so good, so good when it all works, when it comes together and it works and I know it works, there it is, see?

I love being a writer.

And this is why the Muggles think writers are crazy. And maybe we are. But who cares, as long as it makes a good story?

WAAAAARGH!!!!

The kids have been home from school for 3 hours and 31 minutes. And I already want to strangle send them back.

This does not bode well for the summer.

*shriek*

Tales in the Land of Counterpane...

I read to the Impossible Son at night. We go through books much more slowly than I did with the Impertinent Daughter. He goes to sleep, lulled by the sound of my voice, whereas she wanted very much to know how the chapter ended, and often would beg for more.

I was like the Impossible Son, lulled to sleep by the sound of my mother's or my Uncle James' voices, no matter how interested I was in the story.

This is why we are on Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince and taking our time through it. I feel like I'm letting him down, though. I've been reading to him since he was a baby, just like I did with Miss Priss, and by this time, Miss Priss and I had gotten through The Wizard of Oz, Charlotte's Web, Alice in Wonderland, and Through the Looking Glass, all the Harry Potter books that had been written up to 2004, all of the Narnia books, The Back of the North Wind, many, many fairy tales, The Black Arrow, The Secret Garden, The Light Princess, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, James and the Giant Peach...

Whereas the Impossible Son and I have gotten through from Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone to The Half-Blood Prince.

I think we shall take a break from Harry Potter after we finish this one and maybe start on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory as a change of pace!

Tonight, however, I did something different. I told him a story, a story my mother used to read to me when I was very small, and the cadence of it entranced me so much... that I memorized it. It was the story of The Old Woman and the Pig, and I have told him this story before, as I have told it to his sister many, many times, and I always tell it a little different, though the cadence part remains the same. And as he listened to me go from, "Cat, cat, kill rat, rat won't gnaw rope, rope won't hang butcher, butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water, water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick, stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig, pig won't jump over the sty, and I shan't get home tonight," to "The cat began to kill the rat, the rat began to gnaw the rope, the rope began to hang the butcher, the butcher began to kill the ox, the ox began to drink the water, the water began to quench the fire, the fire began to burn the stick, the stick began to beat the dog, the dog began to bite the pig, the pig began to jump the sty and she FINALLY got home..." he blinked and said, "It's like a song, isn't it?"

And I said, "Yes, yes, it is, it's very like a song!"

He said, "That's what helps you remember it all, right? Because it's like a song, it has a rhythm and a flow, and you tell it like a song, just... not singing it?"

"Yes, that's it exactly!" I said, very pleased. "A lot of the old fairy tales are like that. Like the Three Little Pigs tale, you know, little pig, little pig, let me in, not by the hair of my chinny, chin, chin, then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in?"

"Yeah!" he said sleepily. "Just like that! Are there any more like that?"

"Oh, lots and lots," I said with a smile. "Want me to tell them to you?"

"Sure, but not now. For now, I just want to know what happens to Harry on his first day back at Hogwarts."

It's not like he hasn't seen the movies. But, he knows the books are different, and has learned to appreciate that.

Meanwhile, my head is filled with the stories and rhymes my mother and sisters and uncles and aunts read to me. And I can hear my mother softly saying...

Wind, wind, gently sway
Blow Curdken's hat away
Let him chase o'er field and wold
Till my locks of ruddy gold
Now astray and hanging down
Be combed and plaited in a crown...

*goes off to bed with visions of goose-girls, talking horses, ravens and swans flying, and glass mountains in her head*