Grand Slam Communication
I got my darling husband to confess.
When we first moved in, there was a rat snake in the big tree in the front yard.
Bob jiggled the branch with a broom and the snake slithered away.
Oh. My. God.
A snake.
In a tree.
That’s much, much, much worse than a snake on the ground.
I’m reworking that old 80’s song in my head.
“It’s raining snakes…”
If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go and have a little heart attack now.
Rat snakes are good.
They control the rodents around the property.
Supposedly.
They are doing nothing about the rabbits in my yard.
All of the neighbors have seen rat snakes recently.
I think my husband is holding out on me.
He’s afraid I would pack up and leave at the sight of a snake.
I guess I don’t mind rat snakes so much.
In theory.
I guarantee that I will scream bloody murder if I ever see one.
I just wish they weren’t so snake-y.
I was reading two books at the same time.
And then three books I had on hold with Overdrive came in all at once.
Now I’m juggling a bunch of books.
I have several other items on hold.
I hope they don’t come in this week.
Too many books is a very nice problem to have.
Our roof was destroyed in the hailstorm.
The roofers are here today.
They’ve been pounding and banging and making a racket since 7:00 am.
There’s no quiet way to get a new roof.
However, in the past hour, the workers have been making a horrible screaming noise.
I can’t tell if it’s a gruesome industrial injury or not.
The same company is doing several houses on our street.
They’re probably just calling out to each other.
If someone were hurt, they would most likely stop banging and pounding and go to the aid of their poor dismembered colleague.
I haven’t heard any sirens. Yet.
Hopefully they will finish the roof without any gruesome injuries.
I made some cookies with Easter M&Ms.
However, both Grown Sons are T1 diabetic.
We don’t need that much temptation.
I packed up half of the cookies into the freezer.
The Grown Sons were not amused.
They thought it was a practical joke.
It’s no joke.
I swear.
I love them more than cookies.
Which is saying a lot.
Because I really do love cookies.
Happy birthday, Mom.
She’s been gone for many years now.
I make a chicken tetrazzini dinner every year to celebrate her birthday.
Part of the tradition involves the Grown Sons complaining bitterly about the mushrooms.
This year, emboldened by his pending move to his own apartment, one Grown Son rudely declared, “Those mushrooms smell like the dog’s a$$hole.”
This led to an animated discussion about how in the world he came to know that particular bit of information.
Grandma would have thoroughly enjoyed this conversation.
In no particular order of preference, Mom loved:
If anyone ever wonders what it’s like to be a boymom, it can be summed up as a lively discussion about the dog’s a$$hole while lovingly preparing Grandma’s birthday dinner.
Happy birthday, Mom, I miss you every day.
What might have been just an errand a year ago is now an occasion.
I put on real pants, not yoga pants.
I put on real shoes, not slippers.
And all I can say is, “OUCH!”
Well now I know what I need to do.
I’m going to dress in real clothes every day from now on.
The pain and suffering will remind me to PUT DOWN THAT FORK!
That’s how it works, right?
I knew I shouldn’t have eaten them.
The Caramel Delight Girl Scout cookies.
Chocolate gives me a migraine.
But they were calling my name.
Like a siren song.
They lured me in.
And they were so delicious.
And coconut-y.
And caramel-y.
And chocolate-y.
Now I have a raging headache.
Have I learned any valuable life lessons from this experience?
No.
No, I have not.
The Grown Son mumbles.
Which is probably why he does it.
This morning he mumbled at me from the bathroom.
“What?” I asked, “You need sugar cubes?”
Sugar cubes?
“No!” he shouted, and then mumbled his request louder.
“I can hear you,” I sighed, “But you’re mumbling. I can’t understand you.”
He clearly enunciated that he was not mumbling.
And then he mumbled some more.
I shrugged and started to walk away because the conversation was becoming too annoying.
It was then that he decided to speak like a normal person.
Shaving cream.
He needed shaving cream.
Why didn’t he just say so in the first place?