Saturday, March 05, 2011
Wind Chimes Suck Here
JoJo's butt straight up as he monkeys around over at Yolie and Chuck's house. They hosted their Friday night movie night with Dillan, Mayra, Sabrina, Martin, CW, Allen, Chuy and JoJo. Chuck cooked hamburgers on the grill, convinced it is an activity I'll not ever teach. Well, duh.
They had a blast, Yolie telling me later she hadn't laughed that hard in a long time. They are a totally silly bunch and Chuck preceded the the main feature with a slide show of photos documenting their many years here as a Bodie. All of the Bubbas have been here since toddler hood, now they're teenagers.
JoJo can be the funniest person on earth, or the most annoying with nearly no middle ground ever evident.
The rain yesterday precluded all of our outdoor activities, so he trotted after me doing my dumb errands which I absolutely detest. Walking into a store bores me mightily, sets my irritation zone to a new level of high alert, when I'd so much rather be mucking around in the dirt. But we needed toilet paper and milk, no getting around that, and as concession to my advancing age, I bought a heating pad for my lower back that's been screaming from such over-use. I paid sticker price. Whoa.
We stopped at a junk store that JoJo particularly likes, it's run by Habitat for Humanity, and he generously picked out a book on warplanes for Jack and a bodybuilder one for Allen. Surprisingly enough, JoJo's smart, and a reader, so he chose three paperbacks for himself.
I found a CD for a buck, Saffire: The Uppity Blues Women, downloaded it and loooooooved it. Where have these women been all my life? Belting out the songs, I got a great deal of housework done later while shaking my hips to the bluesy piano playing. The OB-GY Why Me Blues had me cackling. Sarah's gonna love this CD, we can balance the cocky attitude out with a Babbie Mason one.
I have white noise, nature sounds as well on my Ipod for those days when I think I might lose my mind from all the racket around here. Ever tried reconciling Quicken with ten boys somersaulting around you? Or the obnoxious sounds of Spong Bob? Sets my nerves afire. I grabbed another CD yesterday for a buck that promised nature sounds, only to realize with a start that it was wind chimes. I tossed it back into the bin like it was a rattlesnake.
Argh, nothing sends me over the edge faster than wind chimes. There was no lifeguard in the gene pool when that one was put into my DNA apparently. Oh gosh, I'm starting to sound like Charlie Sheen.
This pitcher was bought for a quarter some 20 years ago, and it's what I've always used in my room to water plants, a larger blue one downstairs equally as expensive. Why buy new? Why buy another? I launched into a diatribe on world economics and personal finance for JoJo. "Honey, on paper," I stressed, "our family is an impossibility. It takes ten tons of penny pinching and forty years of not spending much to make this work."
I've had the same broke-down hairbursh as long as Yolie's been my kid. I don't need another, this one suffices just fine. I'm serious, totally serious. My need for stuff is so dang minimal, and I've always been this way.
Soccer's rained out today, I decided on no yard sales, wanna paint the laundry room instead of spending quarters, the kids have been at school all week, and are happy enough to have a hang out at home day.
I'm starting my marigold seeds indoors, plus the ground cherries again long ago recommended by a reader, Suzanne. I'd already broadcasted Bachelor Button weeds and Larkspur, two that don't like to first grow indoors, but prefer to germinate outside unassisted.
I'm giddy at the thought of the tons of manure being saturated under the wood chips, ready to release their nutrients into the soil as needed by the plants.
Oh Dear Lord, I just get so excited by it all. I can't help myself.