I feel like there’s always a grizzled backwoodsman in my life.  He’s off-screen, but constantly saying to me, “Ok, Varmint, I wanna see you DANCE!” as he shoots his olde tyme revolver at my feet.  Pew! Pew!  Tappity, tap, tap.  [That’s me dancing a frantic jig to avoid his bullets.]

Why do I feel this way?  I present to you Exhibit A: Exactly one, single, solitary hour of my morning today.  From 7 a.m. to 8 a.m.  One.  Single.  Hour.

Sonny and I had just gotten back from his cat-sitting duty.  He’s allergic to cats by the way.  So I ONLY let him take this job because Sissy was going to be doing most of it.  ‘Cept Sissy is sick with some extremely painful 3-day stomach bug (which I will VERY SOON be getting.  Lookin’ forward to it.)  So, since Sissy is out of the picture, I now have cat sitting duty and Sonny just comes along as the “familiar face” so the cat doesn’t hiss at me.   All I can say about that is: I’m not getting paid NEARLY enough to deal with nasty cat food while Sonny looks on.  But please, please, please don’t tell the Unemployment Office any of this.  Pew!  Pew!  Tappity, tap, tap.

So Sonny is sitting at the kitchen table, I’ve made him breakfast and just packed his lunch.  (Pew!  Pew!)  I’ve also packed a lunch for Sissy who, I realize, will not actually be eating again today.  Instead, she’s sitting slumped in a chair with her puke bucket.  She’s taken to carrying it around on her hip like an in-need-of-constant-attention baby.

Nor will she be going to school, which means I’ll have to teach her more math-that-she’s-missing.  (And you KNOW how I feel about math.  Tappity, tap, tap.)

And I’m showing the kids a video of the dog that I took at 1:30 this morning.  He’d been acting like HE had the stomach bug, mewling and groaning, until I let him out of his cage.  At which point he SHOT out the back door like I had just opened the ironing board behind him.  And he proceeded to RIP out mouthfuls of grass, chew them frantically and swallow them.  (What?  It’s 1:30 in the morning!  This is soooo crazy I have to take a video.  And don’t tell me YOU’RE getting the stomach bug too, Teddy, in some sort of reverse swine-flu-for-dogs-which-you-caught-from-your-human.)  Pew, pew!  Tappity, tap, tap.

Teddy was so set on grazing that he alluded capture for a full 15 minutes until I tricked him into the house with the complete lie of going for a ride in the car.  It’s 2 a.m.!  Of course we’re not going for a ride in the car!  But I did catch it all on tape so I had to show the kiddies what I’d been up to while they slept.

It’s at this point in the re-telling of my midnight adventure that I hear the sprinklers start up.

Whaaaat?  That CAN’T be the sprinklers because I personally turned them OFF when we had all that rain last month.  And they never got turned on again.  Pew!  Pew!  But just in case we’re now starring in a show where the house turns… against us, I checked anyway.  Sure enough, OFF.  Like I say, they’ve been OFF for over 4 weeks.  So how did they just now turn ON?!?  I frantically call Hubby (who’s on a business trip, natch, to ask what to do.  Uh…turn them off.   I did that, I did that already!!!  Uh…unplug them.  Oh, ok.)  Tappity. Tap. Tap.

The possessed sprinkler then made us late, so Sonny and I SHOT out the door to school like someone just opened an ironing board behind us.  Pew!  Pew!   Before we’re even out of the driveway, I start getting video messages from Sissy asking when I’m gonna be back because her stomach is KILLING her.  (I wanna see you DANCE, Varmint!)

20 minutes and 3 videos later, I burst back through the door and she’s sitting on the couch watching t.v.  Huh? 

“Ok, Sweetheart!  We’re gonna get this under control already!  I’m pretty sure your stomach is hurting because you don’t have anything in it.  How about a banana?  Even if you just force yourself to eat half, that would help.”

So she quietly submits to the plan and nibbles on ½ a banana.  When she’s done, she leans over her fussy baby and throws up ALLLL of the banana she’s just eaten.  She remarks, “Yeah, Mom.  That banana really helped.”

Yes, it did, didn’t it? In fact, Barkeep: Bananas for ALLLLL my friends!  Especially the grizzled backwoodsman with the firearm.  Pew!  Pew!  Tappity, tap, tap…

Step 1:  Go to a Halloween party where the host’s son has been throwing up since 2 a.m. that day.  Dress as a witch (and then joke that you came as yourself – heh, heh, heh).  Your husband should dress as Walter White from Breaking Bad.  No one will know him or his character – until they look him up on the internet and then think he looks EXACTLY like Walter White, complete with porkpie hat.  (As a side note: if a pork pie looks like THAT?  I’m glad I never ate one.)  But actually…your costume makes no-never-mind.  What you REALLY should do is avoid the sick boy when he makes an appearance without a costume and a bad case of bed-head.  Forget to tell your children to avoid the sick boy.

Step 2:  When your daughter develops stomach bug symptoms very early the following morning, do all you can to comfort her while avoiding touching anything she has touched.  As a precautionary measure, thoroughly wash your hands up to the elbows every time you’re within breathing distance of her.  Lysol all surfaces upstairs-and-downstairs for good measure.

Step 3:  Set sick daughter on the couch after the first throw-up bout to watch some cartoons.  Multitask the heck out of the morning.  If you’re up that early, you may as well make it count: make yourself oodles of coffee, sort through mail, look up recipes and craft projects, clean out kitchen drawers and so on and so forth.  In general, organize everyone’s life while swigging hot joe.

Step 4:  When you get tired of all the moaning and groaning from the couch about how she’d like to throw up because that would make her feel better – but she doesn’t WANT to throw up because she hates it – make the sick daughter some peppermint tea to “force the issue.”

Step 5:  Present sick daughter with peppermint tea, and when the first few sips have stayed down for 5 minutes, present her with her mug for a few more sips.  When she is done, do NOT place the mug on the table by the couch because the dog will knock it off and spill it everywhere.  Instead, place the mug on the kitchen table.

Step 6:  Congratulate yourself on outsmarting the dumb-dumb posse all while organizing everyone’s life AND the kitchen drawers to boot!  Take several big gulps of your coffee.  Then wonder why your coffee tastes like…PEPPERMINT TEA!!!!

Step 7:  Gaaack!  gaaaaAAAACKKKKKK!!!  Gaaaackity gack from GACK town!  GAAAAAAACCCCCCKKKKK!!!!  Stomach bug – here I come!  WHEEEEeeeeeeeeeee!!!

And also?  Dumb-Dumb Posse…UNITE!

You know what’s totally wack?  That my A.P.* biology lab partner senior year of highschool ended up MARRYING our A.P.* biology teacher. 

Wacky, no??  Not only is that against some rule somewhere…but we ALL (including my lab partner) thought our teacher was SUCH a NERD.  Especially when he would talk about the poinsettia growing operation he had in the basement of his landlord’s house.  Or when he brought in that huge bumblebee-on-a-leash which he flew around the classroom.  (Dork!)  So why end up MARRYING the guy?!? 

You know what ELSE is totally wack?  The fact that I went into college with a declared Biology major.  But then switched to Management and French majors after my run-in with Chemistry. 

Huh?  What’s Chemistry got to do with anything?!  In my college, most Biology majors ended up DOUBLE majoring in Chemistry, that’s how many Chemistry classes were required as part of the Biology major.  So when I got a ‘D’ in Frosh Chemistry (yes a ‘D’ and you can’t POSSIBLY be any more surprised or displeased about that grade than my Chemical Engineer father who yelled down the phone line, “WHAT…don’t you UNDERSTAND…about CHEMISTRY?!??!” when he found out about the grade.  So you others?  You others can just SHUT IT!  It’s all already been said.  And for the record, the answer to Dad’s question is: anything.  I don’t understand ANYTHING.  Not a single thing.  About Chemistry.)

Which brings us to our FINAL wack thing.  Given my history with Chemistry (well…and math – unless chemistry and math are actually the same thing?  Which they could be.  Given my history.), I’m now trying to make limoncello (an Italian lemon-flavored liquor) out of lemon rinds and grain alcohol and sugar-water.  (Neighbors & Friends: please act surprised and pleased if you receive limoncello from me as a Christmas gift.)

I had to phone-a-friend (my Chemical Engineer Dad) for some help figuring out how much sugar-water to add to the grain alcohol to make it palatable.  Here’s the response I got:

        Hi,

It’s not clear to me as to exactly how much of the 190 proof starting material you have.  Is it 750 ml?  If it is 750 ml, you are starting with 3.2 cups.  (946.6 ml = 1.0 qt) and (1 qt = 4 cups).  Therefore 1 cup = 946.6/4 = 236.6 ml.    If you are starting with  750 ml then 750/236.6 = 3.2 cups.  Plugging the 3.2 cups into the calculator, 95 for starting alcohol, and 35 for final  says that you should add 5.5 cups of syrup.  Another way of thinking about it is if you start with 3.2 cups of 95 proof, roughly you should wind up with about 9 cups of 35 proof. (You are cutting it to about a third  of the proof you started with so you should wind up with about three times the amount you started with. ( 3.2 + 5.5=about 9))  Tell me how much of the starting material of 190 proof you have and I will double-check the calculations.  Incidentally I checked the vodka (and gin) in the cupboard and they are 80 proof.  But for a liquour 70 proof should be fine.

Hic, Dad

Here’s what I read:

Hi,

Math, math and more math.  And now let’s mention things that will give you a flashback to that ‘D’ in college Chemistry.  I won’t directly mention the number of molecules in a mole – or ANYTHING about Avogadro’s constant – but I will allude to it.  Finally, we’ll throw in some more math.  Why were you never good at math?  Or chemistry??  We always let you live another day, so you must have had something going for you.  But your mad math and chemistry skillz?  Terrible.  Just terrible.

His in Christ,  Dad  

Uh…ok.  And for an extra credit homework assignment,  I had to figure out how much STARTING material of sugar AND water I needed in order to END UP with 5.5 cups of sugar-water.  (Math alert!  Math alert!!)  Also?  Does water boiling at a lower temperature here in Colorado have anything to do with anything??  (Chemistry!  CHEMISTRY!!!  Abort mission!  ABORT MISSION!!!)

But no.  I can’t let 750 mls (or 3.2 cups) of God-given grain alcohol go to waste.  So I soldiered on, despite the hitch in my math-and-chemistry giddyup. 

So again, Friends and Neighbors?  Prepare to be AMAAAAZED come Christmas-time!

*A. P. stands for Advanced Placement.  You gotta be pretty dedicated to your field-of-interest to be taking these college-level courses in highschool.  Come to think of it…I also took A.P. French classes – AND took that placement test that allowed me to skip all of those College Freshmen French classes – which put me so far ahead of the curve I was able to major in French.  So screw Chemistry.  Maybe FRENCH was the plan all along.  Now why won’t someone hire me already?  I have a Bachelor’s degree in FRENCH, for Heaven’s sake!!!  Put THAT in your pipette and titrate it!

I opened a portal to Hell the other day.  This caused the dog to shoot out the open sliding glass door like a bullet.  It was a full-bore, every-man-for-himself cartoon move.  He may have even galloped in place for a few seconds before he got enough traction to BLAST out the door with the unspoken words spilling out of the air behind him: Get me OWDAAA heeeeeeeeere!!!!

Now, how exactly did I open this portal?!  Well, truth be told – it wasn’t actually a portal; It was just the ironing board.  This must have been the first time I used it since the dog came to live with us in March.  [Hello?  You know I can see you through the computer, right?!   And you know I can see you counting the months on your fingers.  So I’ll just go ahead and do it for you: March, April, May, June, July, August, September, and October.  Yep.  That’s 8 months.  Is that unusual that I haven’t gotten the ironing board out in 8 months?  In my own defense, all I can say is that I had a roommate in college who ironed her SHEETS and I’ve been rebelling ever since.]

You know who else went all cartoon-y on my a$$ with the “8 months since I’ve gotten out the ironing board” shtick?  The kids with their, “Where did you get THAT?  Where did that COME FROM?!”

Really?  REALLY??  They’re gonna claim THEY’VE never seen it EITHER?  Come on!  That’s just ridiculous!!  I KNOW the kids have seen the ironing board before.  Who CARES if they last saw it before they had memories, right?  In fact, it’s totally justifiable that my “It’s an IRONING board…and it’s been in the laundry room the ENTIRE time we’ve LIVED here!” response was a bit sharp.

But because it’s been cooped up for (at least) 8 months, it was especially… squeeeEEEEEEEAAAKKKKKKkkyyyyyyyy.  Total Haunted House squeeeEEEEEEEAAAKKKKKKkkyyyyyyyy.  So you can see how it was mistaken as a portal to Hell.  Especially when you don’t spare a backward glance at where the squeak is coming from as you’re shooting out of your scaredy-cat cannon.

Now, if you asked the scaredy-cat…er…dog, he’d tell you I’ve opened up many, many portals to Hell.  If you asked me, I’d tell you I use the mixer, vacuum cleaner and hairdryer much more frequently than the ironing board.  So you think he would have gotten over it and grown up already.  Get used to the Hell portals whydoncha?!?

But no.  All the portals have the same effect.  They require that the dog thoroughly saturate the immediate vicinity with pee, then get doggone for 2 or 3 hours – skulking around the backyard (rustle, rustle, rustle….nope, I can still see you behind that tree…rustle, rustle, rustle…Nope, I can still see you behind that bush) and gradually creeping closer and closer to the house to determine when/if the coast is clear.  Side note: a treat usually helps him gain clarity on clear coast time.

Except?  Except lately, the dog hasn’t been spraying pee everywhere before he shoots out of his cannon.

Maybe he IS growing up after all?!?  Better bladder control is ALWAYS a sign of maturity, right?  Well…until it peaks and then you find yourself on the DOWNSLOPE of bladder control.  But that’s a whole ‘nother show, Folks.  For a whole ‘nother day.  In the meantime, thanks for stoppin’ by.

Goin’ to the airport is always so enjoyable, don’t you agree?

Before I leave home, I always make sure I have three cups of coffee and absolutely no food.  I find this cranks up the fun level exponentially.  And is a great idea.

Ok.  Scratch that.  It’s actually a bad, baaaaaad idea – which is exactly what I thought to myself halfway to the airport when I came to a full stop in construction.   I thought it again when I got to the entrance of east long-term parking only to have the entrance sign start flashing “FULL!”   Whaaaaat??  What the frickety frickety frick frick?!?   I have to PEE, People!  And I’m starting to get the shakes!!

Then I thought it a third time after I drove around WEST long-term parking for a HALF HOUR looking for the one spot left in the whole kingdom.   I thought it a fourth and FINAL time as I ran for another FIFTEEN minutes from long-term parking to the terminal.  Gang Way!  Shakey McGee has to peeeeeeeee!!!

My thighs were quaking and sweat was pouring down my back by the time I got to the…er…stall, but all’s well that ends well.  Now, not another PEEp heh heh heh out of me about that.

What I REALLY wanted to mention about the enjoyable airport experience are the lines.

First off, there was the security line with a dog walking up and down sniffing everyone’s bags.  What’s he gonna find, exactly?  Stowaways??  Or in our heart-of-hearts are we all hoping he finds something more exciting?!  I’m sure I’m not the only one surreptitiously looking around trying to peg the drug-runner-about-to-get-his-throat-ripped-out-by-a-beagle.  My money was on the twenty something grunge queen who actually RECOILED from the beagle.  But the beagle didn’t do anything.  So no cause for alarm, I suppose.

In addition to the grunge queen, there were a couple of other gems in line with me.  Behind me was a teen in tears whose nana was assuring her that it was an old phone anyway.  And that losing it was just good practice for when she goes to Italy.  (Huh?  Good practice how?!  For crying in ITALIAN??)

And in front of me?  A frazzled mother with twin one year olds in a side-by-side stroller.  The TSA agent informed her that her license had expired.  The frazzled mom just started to laugh.  And laugh.  And LAUGH long after I had skirted past her.  (I remember those days, Sweetheart.  It does get better.  In the meantime, check with the beagle.  He may have something to help you out.)

And when you’re done with the security line, you get to stand in the Southwest boarding line.  I find that this rounds out the good time.

B52 was my boarding position.   And all I have to say here is: Hop in my Chrysler.  It’s as big as a whaaaaale!  And it’s about to set saillllll…Love shack, baby, love shack!  (Love Shack released September 1989 by the B-52’s on their album “Cosmic Thing”.)

And once again, I’ve proven that there IS an 80’s song for every moment in life – even for that moment when you’re standing in the Southwest boarding line with a bunch of fools who know absolutely NUTHIN’ about numerical order.  You would think Southwest was asking them to line up by HEIGHT or birth-month for the love.  Sign says, ‘Stay away, FOOLS’ ‘Cause love rules at the LO-uh-uh-VE SHACK!…

So…we’ve established that I lied in my blog yesterday.  Fall is NOT my favorite time of year.  Just as an FYI, Spring is my fave.  (They – you know them – the people in charge of the world – say that you have an affinity for the season in which you were born.  In my case it’s true.)

But that’s not to say that Fall in Colorado doesn’t have its perks.  Because it does; one of which is that the Aspen trees seem to change their leaves all-at-the-same-time, thus creating fields of gold on the mountainsides.  It’s really quite beautiful.  But you have to catch them at their peak!  Otherwise they’re just a scrabbly mess of mottled yellow.

[I could mention here that I now have that Sting song “Fields of Gold” playing in my head:  You’ll remember me when the west wind moves, upon the fields of barley.  You can tell the sun, in his jealous sky, when we walked in fields of gold.  When we walked in fields of gold…when we walked in fields of gold…]

But I won’t mention it.  Because then YOU might say, “Actually, that wasn’t an 80’s song.  It was released in 1993 on the album Ten Summoner’s Tales.”  To which I might reply, “Screw you!  Three years on either side of the 80’s is CLOSE ENOUGH to the 80’s to be CONSIDERED the 80’s!!  Therefore I continue to RULE in the ‘80’s song for every moment in life’ game we have going.”

At which point we’d devolve into name calling and hair pulling and would miss the entire point of the blog, which is: I’m incredibly witty – even when it comes to aspen trees.

So let’s carry on, shall we?

Several years ago, when I first moved here, I created the following poem to capture the majesty of Fall in Colorado.  It goes like this:

Fall comes to the Mountain Peaks
And we wait and wait for just the right week
To answer for ourselves the eternal question
When, where, why and HOW’S YOUR ASPEN?!?

HARDY har har har.  Get it?!  ASS-BEEN?!??   HARDY HAR HAR HAR har har har harharharharharhar ass-been hardyharharharharhar

This is my favorite time of year…where you can watch BOTH baseball AND football games all Sunday long.  Yippee!!!

You have to know I’m lying here, right?  I can’t STAND the time-suck that these sports are.  Nor can I stand the useless conversations they engender.  Case in point?  Sunday’s conversation with Hubby during the Bronco’s game…

Me: “Ok, now we’re jumping over to baseball?  Why is baseball still going on?!  I thought they were called the Boys of SUMMER??  It’s October!  WRAP. IT. UP!  Didn’t they have the World Series already??”

Hubby:  “Nope.”

Me:  “Now we’re back to football.  When sports overlap like this, they need to cut someone’s season short.  And that’s ridiculous!  They just called him for unnecessary roughness?!  That’s a total joke.  The entire THING is unnecessary.  And rough.”

Hubby: “You know Sonny got called for unnecessary roughness during his football game Saturday?”

Me: “No.  I didn’t know that.  Is that when he was standing there and the kid ran into him and bounced off?”

Hubby: “Yep.  But that was a ticky-tack call anyway.”

Me:  “Ticky?  Tack?!  Is that an actual phrase?  Is that an actual phrase sanctioned by football people?”

Hubby: “Yep.  It means ‘tacky’ or ‘cheesy’.”

Me: “Ok, why not just SAY ‘cheesy’??  This is what I HATE about football.  It’s so in the weeds with the nonsensical minutiae about rules.  And?  It has its own LEXICON*!  Ticky-tack?!  So annoying.”

[…lower your sperm count.  Other complications include enlarged or painful breasts.  Problems breathing while you sleep.  Blood clots in your legs.  Axiron is flammable until dry.  Let Axiron dry before smoking or going near an open flame…]

Hubby: “Good Lord!  What is THAT for??  Low T?!?  What a fad.  Why would you take something that’s WORSE than the fad?”

Oh.  And also the commercials.  This is my favorite time of year because you can watch baseball, football AND horrific man-specific commercials all Sunday long.

*Yes, I actually say words like ‘lexicon’ during casual conversation.  Don’t you?

Anyone else remember 6th grade as being excruciatingly awkward?!  If so, then you’re in luck!  Because it still is.

I present to you Exhibit A.  Which has been subtitled: When Jack* asked Sydney* to go “out” with him (at the all-school roller skating party).

[Are you cringing yet?  Because you should be.]

This is how it unfolds…

It’s the all-school roller skating party.  Jack requests the One Direction song “What Makes You Beautiful” from the d.j.

You’re insecure Don’t know what for You’re turning heads when you walk through the door…

When it finally starts playing, he’s standing in the middle of the rink.  He reaches out his reed-thin arm and points at Sydney (Uhhh, me??!).  Then he skates over to where Sydney is standing beside the rink in her side ponytail and Keds.

Baby you light up my world like nobody else The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed But when you smile at the ground it aint hard to tell You don’t know Oh Oh You don’t know you’re beautiful…

Everyone is a hot, sweaty mess with their hair sticking to their foreheads.  It took so long for the d.j. to play the song that the party was almost over.  Sydney was all done skating and on her way out the door.  But Jack will not be deterred.  He skates over to Sydney.  And when he’s close enough, he shouts in her ear, “WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME?!?”

So c-come on You got it wrong To prove I’m right I put it in a song I don’t know why You’re being shy And turn away when I look into your eyes Everyone else in the room can see it Everyone else but you…

Sydney shouts back, “MY PARENTS DON’T LET ME GO OUT…BECAUSE WE’RE IN SIXTH GRADE!” and turns and walks away.

If only you saw what I can see You’ll understand why I want you so desperately Right now I’m looking at you and I can’t believe You don’t know Oh oh You don’t know you’re beautiful Oh oh That what makes you beautiful…

Jack is left behind, broken-hearted, but wearing his lucky tank top.  Because that’s what you want to be wearing when your carefully-planned-and-executed Ask Out Scenario goes down in flames.  In front of the whole school.

Nana Nana Nana Nana Nana Nana Nana Nana Nana Nana Nana Nana Baby you light up my world like nobody else The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed But when you smile at the ground it aint hard to tell You don’t know Oh Oh You don’t know you’re beautiful…

Ugh – horrific, is it not???

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent.  And the awkward.  But the rest of the story is entirely true.  Sydney slept over at our house after the party and we got to hear her and Sissy discussing the ill-fated Ask Out Scenario umpteen times.  Over and over again.  In all its gory glory.  God bless 6th graders everywhere!

Because I’m a total dork, I signed up to receive newsflashes from my town hall.  (Dork!)  One such newsflash came across today while the entire family was on the way home from parent/teacher conferences.  Serendipitously enough, it was about “Local Youth Invited to Join 4-H!”  because really, what better time to be alerted about 4-H enrollment than on the way home from parent/teacher conferences with the entire family in the car!  Am I right, or am I right??  (I’m right.  I’m always right.  It always goes down much easier if you get on board with me always being right.  And no, I’m not joking.  In fact, it’s no joking matter.  Being right all the time is a terrible, terrible burden and it’s not something to joke about.  It’s serious business.)

After some general conversation about where we may have encountered 4-H (the County Fair we attend every year to see the 4-H exhibit and all the blue ribbon winning entries – Dork!) we shifted into a discussion about what exactly 4-H is (home economics projects, how to raise animals etc.).

Sonny immediately chimed in with, “I’ll do anything with monkeys!”

Me: “Uh….No.  There’s not even anything ABOUT monkeys!  4-H is more about baking cakes and how to raise livestock and stuff like that.”

Sissy (the girl who wants to be a veterinarian): “Oooh.  I’ll do livestock!  Can I sign up for livestock?”

Me: “Actually, Sweetie…I think ‘livestock’ is more along the lines of raising a calf all the way through butchering it and selling its meat.”

Sissy: “THAT’S LIVESTOCK?!?!  Then no, I don’t want to do THAT!”

Since this conversation is going nowhere fast, I decided to READ them the list of classes on offer, rather than us MAKING UP OUR OWN.  Some of the more intriguing options were:  Beef Breeding (this may be what they’re calling Livestock nowadays so as to set expectations right up front about the ‘butchering’ component), Dogs, Horseless Horse (this must be for Headless Horsemen…or for city kids who like horses but don’t have any??  It didn’t say anything about all the work being done on sawhorses…but I expect this might be the case – total yawn), Model Rocketry, Orienteering, Rabbit Breeding, Robotics, Veterinary Science.

Sissy:  “Ok, I want to do Dogs, Rabbit Breeding and Veterinary stuff.”  (Sense a theme here, anyone?  This girl basically just wants to spend her entire day hugging and kissing furry animals.)

Me: “Well…I’m not sure about the Rabbit Breeding thing, Honey.  If it requires us to build our own hutch in the back yard to raise specialty rabbits and eventually sell their furs, then we’re out.  If we can just go VISIT someone ELSE’S hutch?  Then we could consider it.”  (As a side note, I do not know why I have to constantly beat Sissy’s choices down with a death stick.  At least I have NEVER mentioned that part about euthanizing animals when she brings up her Veterinarian Dream.  I’m not THAT mean even though I feel like I could win a blue ribbon for Hard-hearted Mothering at the County Fair EVERY YEAR!)

Sonny: “If there’s nothing with monkeys, then I want to do Robots and Adventuring.”

Me: “Adventuring is more like Orienteering, I think, Buddy.  Like reading maps and using a compass to determine direction.  Is that what you want?”

Sonny: “No.  Then just robots.  Can you read some more about the robots?”

Hubby – who has remained the mute driver this entire time and has seen me go under THREE TIMES now in the course of this cockamamie conversation – finally pipes in with: “Sonny wants the class where you can drive by the 4-H office, pick up a robot and bring it home.  That’s actually the class that Sonny wants.”

Sonny: “Yeah!  That’s the class!  That way you guys don’t have to do any more dishes!!”

Yeah.  Good plan about the dishes.  So yes…let’s sign you up for robot class.  ‘Cause Heaven knows I could use some help with the dishes.  Well, and the laundry.  And really, the mothering in general – especially that part about enrolling in 4-H classes!

P.S.  I’m awarding bonus points if you can tell me what the 4-H’s in 4-H stand for.  Anyone?  Anyone??  And just as a fun fact, I’ll tell you that the 4-H slogan is “Learn by Doing.”  But if I were in charge, I’d change the slogan to “Learn by doing what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it.”