Meatloaf and the Puking Flies

Sorry for my absence from posting. My previous computer has an dead hard drive that passed away on 3-11-2010 from the Blue Screen of Death syndrome. Not to get technical but evidently I had massive data corruption and my whole hard drive was thrown into a read only mode. I was semi-vigilant about backing up my picture/video/music/work files but there are still large quantities of data that were not backed up. Suffice to say, I will be the Backup Queen of the Universe (sounds septic, eh?) when I get my computer back. A shout out to my pal Tom H. for performing CPR on my computer.

Anyhoo, just a couple of random happenings to share...both which provide evidence that my kids are weird.

The first is a paper that Eli brought home. The school has been going overboard on Black History month and they must have reviewed the story of Rosa Parks refusing to give up her seat on the bus. Eli had to write what she would have done. You'd think she's be all "Hey, I'm black, too and power to the people...we gotta stick together" but no, this is what she writes:

"If I was Rosa Parks I would give up my sit. I don't want to be eressted. I would ask someone eles if I could sit with them. I would want to cook the meatloaf for my husband. I would want to make them happy."

So much for the revolution for equal rights. She wants to cook meatloaf. Where did that random thought surface? Ah, there I go again...assuming my squirrels process thoughts in a logical manner.

When instead, we get random utterings like this one...Kate very matter-of-factly announced at dinner the other night that "Flies can puke". Husband looks over at me with a very weary look and says, "Man, it starts early."

"To what do you refer," I respond.

"The random thoughts that women have that have nothing to do with anything we were just talking about."

And as usual, Husband is right.

Feet First and Back Pedaling

This week, the local area swim clinic commenced and giddy with excitement, so did Eli. I marvel at the long distance we have come in her swimming ability, considering when she first came to our house, she was TERRIFIED of the water. She told me she had not been swimming before and would not even put her face in the water in the bathtub. Pictures of our first attempt at swimming lessons below:

I knew not only did we have a family vacation coming up to the beach which would mean daily access to a private pool, but I also consider swimming an absolutely necessary life skill. In fact, if I had not gone through swimming lessons, including what was called "Junior Lifesaving" at the time, (and then on to Water Safety Instructor training), I may not be here today.

In 1993, I was on a band trip to Colorado Springs with my high school. One of the activities was white water rafting (man, those chaperones must have either been gluttons for punishment or incredibly brave to try to wrangle 100+ wiggly, hormonal, brainless teenagers at one time). If you remember, 1993 was the year of the floods and the Arkansas River in Colorado was no exception.

I was in a raft with my good friends Shauna, Jennifer, Amy, Gina, and Becky. Our river guide was from Iowa (should have been our first clue he wasn't used to white water) and had been on the river only two or three months (should have been our second warning). Plus, as we navigated our raft down the river, two of us had to bail water constantly as it was taking on more water than we could have and still make it around several rocky bends in the river.

Well, long story short, we became too water logged, our guide couldn't wrestle back control of the boat, and we smashed into a rock, capsizing the boat. A couple of girls were caught underneath, one swam for shore for all she was worth, and lucky me got swept down the river at warped speed. I was sucked under from time to time but luckily had the presence of mind to remember my training (which was all theory and no practical application until now) which was to keep my feet forward to hit the rocks first, knees bent to absorb the shock, and recline back in the water and backpedal with my arms to slow myself down.

The rafting company had an assistant posted along the bank of the river and he tried to toss me the tow rope. I missed and got sucked under the water. The river guide that had been in our boat came swirling up behind me and latched onto my life vest. He caught the next toss of the tow rope and I was pulled into the river bank. I scrambled up on a rock, dripping wet, and heart pounding with adrenaline.

It was one of those moments when I realized I was not ten feet tall and bullet proof...but could very well have spun out of control in the water, dashed my head against a rock, and would have been nearly impossible to retrieve.

And so now, several years later, I am passing on the knowledge to my squirrels. And, after several months of giving Eli lessons in Grandma Ellie's fitness center pool, I am pleased to report little ole Eli can swim like fish. A blue swim capped large mouth snaggle-toothed bass, that is;-)

Spit Bombs and the Fear of Peas

I don't know what kind of chuckleheads I am raising but the latest head scratcher was Eli's "Bio Poem" that she completed at school. In case it is hard to read, let me decipher:

She describes herself as cute, nice, smart, and creative (and if by creative, she means creative ways to try to make up stories to get out of trouble or to tell half truths, she is right on the money)

Says she is a lover of cats, dogs, candy and her parents (all together now... "Awwwww....!")

Who feels happy when she eats pizza, good when she gets what she wants, and cool when she has her sunglasses (which the dogs chewed to bits when she left the van door open).

Now here comes the weirdness...she says, she fears (and I quote): "peas, tests and twisters".

PEAS? Seriously? Is there even a clinical definition of the fear of peas? Peasophobia?

And then, I have had several incidents of the squirrels spitting at each other, spitting into each other's food, spitting on each other's floors. I had HAD it! Who spits? What do they think they are...Major League baseball players? I mean, if it were boys, it wouldn't make me shake my head. Boys also make farting noises with their arm pits and walk around scratching themselves...and neither of those two behaviors stop in adulthood. But girls spitting? I had seen enough of that at the first college I attended in the Dakotas (where the women also have to shave...and not just their legs, ifyaknowwhatimean).

I had them wailing and accusing each other of spitting yesterday and up to this point, no punishment seemed to fit the crime until a LIGHTBULB went on in my head. I marched them downstairs, had them get into coats and boots, and stood them on the bottom step of the porch steps. Then, I set the timer and told them if they got caught spitting at ANYTHING, they would have to repeat today's punishment...which was to spit continuously until the timer rang.

I'll admit, it was hard to keep a straight face to see two little brown squirrels, out front, hocking loogies for all they were worth. They ran out of saliva about halfway through and were pretty much just barely spraying at that point. Five minutes later, they had to face each other and vow never to spit at each other or into each other's food or on the floor again.

You all thought I lived in the country for the breathing room, fresh air, and wildlife...but really it is so no one can see what kind of weird parent I am and wonder who makes their kids spit until a timer rings. I can only imagine the stories they tell at school.