Parent Teacher Conferences

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By a show of hands…who cried at their latest parent/teacher conference?  Yes, that’s right: CRIED.  Anyone?  Anyone?? 

Can you see ME?  Can you see how my hand is raised high above my head?!?  It’s waving.  WAVING!

Because, yes.  I cried at my daughter’s most recent parent/teacher conference.  All three of them in fact.  Apparently, I am a total embarrassment to Seventh Graders everywhere, including her.

Picture it.  We’re all in the gymnasium together – us and about fifty other parents and students ranging from fifth through eighth grades.  The teachers are seated behind card tables pushed up along the walls.  Looking like they have pay-to-play chess games going on. 

The parents and students sit or stand in some Disneyland waiting line where it’s never quite clear how far, exactly, you are from the front.  So you just shuffle your winding way through until you arrive at the boarding area.

Once seated, we strap in and prepare for the ride.

It all starts with my daughter’s Literature teacher.  He goes through this whole spiel about how she’s a great student and he enjoys having her in his class.  She has great answers and viewpoints.  And he just wants us to know she’s a very kind and kind-hearted young lady. 

Insert waterworks here.  Then AND now.  WHAAAAAAAAAA!

Because it’s really, really easy to be a LOT of things.  But kind?  Kind-HEARTED??  In seventh grade?!  Especially with some of crap rats she goes to school with?!?  That’s really, really hard.  Nigh impossible.  It would be for me at least.  But she’s a waaaaay better person than I.  And I’m so proud of her for staying true to herself and not letting the crap rats unmake her.  And thus I tear up.

By the time we sit down with the Religion/Social Studies teacher, Sissy is looking at me out of the corner of her eye like a frightened colt whose barn is on fire.  She keeps giving me these nervous sideways glances throughout the conversation.  So many  so that I become worried the teacher will become worried that Sissy is worried I’m gonna start shouting obscenities (or some equally horrifying behavior – striptease perhaps?) in front of a gymful of chess players.  So instead of allowing the teacher to speculate about the reason for the nervous looks, I address them outright by telling the teacher that Sissy is worried I’ll start crying.  Hey!  Speaking of crying!!?  I then start CRYING telling the teacher how I CRIED at Back to School night when she mentioned how – out of the 900+ Sundays we have to spend with our children from the day they’re born until they leave for college – we only have 312 left with them by the time they’re in Seventh Grade.  I swear to God, I hope you’re crying now too.  Because otherwise you’re an A$$.  And I’m an A$$ AND the most embarrassing person in the WORLD, not just to Seventh Graders.  Crying at Back to School Night AND at Parent/Teacher Conferences?!?  Good.  Lord.

On the way to the third-and-final teacher, Sissy thoroughly briefs me – via a rushed and furiously whispered diatribe – on what motherly behavior is acceptable at parent/teacher conferences, and what is so, so embarrassing to her.  Oh.  Ok.  Got it, Sweetie.  The CRYING is…how do you say in seventh grade speak?…the most mortifying thing that will ever happen to you in your entire life?!?  Good to know.      

But as we sit down at the Science teacher’s chess table, Hubby passes the box of tissues to Sissy.  Who passes them on to me, shaking her head from side to side. 

I’m not sure WHOM the box of tissues were originally intended for, or WHY they were sitting there in the first place, but they suit me just fine. 

Hey, Boo!  Did you bring your HOO?!? 

Yep, sure did.  But in my own defense, it’s good to know that my wonderful girl, who is so, so beautiful to me, is beautiful to others too. 

Fun Facts

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Everyone’s got some special talent, right?  Some fun fact about themselves that was discovered accidentally.  Perhaps while coincidentally spending hours in front of a mirror.  Some totally freakish special talent that no one ever even knew was “a thing.”  

For example, Sissy can make her two front teeth look like American Girl Doll teeth.  Like the little white nubbin teeth that show in between the painted-on lips of the Molly McIntire doll.  Who knew?  Who knew this was even something people could (or wanted) to do?  Not me and not me.  But it’s totally hilarious when you see it.  And?  I could see this talent serving her well in bars once she reaches her early 20’s.  It’s totes adorbs when combined with her freckled nose.  But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.  Gaah!  She’s only in seventh grade, ya creepers.

Sonny?  He can make a Dr. Seuss hand.  I can’t describe it any other way than to say he does this thing with his hand that makes it look like a slightly wonky hand in a drawing from a Dr. Seuss book.

But you see now what I mean when I say: Who knew?!?  Who even KNEW we were DOING slightly wonky hands from rhyming books.

Then there’s Hubby.  He can cross one eye at a time.  It almost makes you slightly queasy to see it and – if truth be told – it makes my head hurt a little watching him.

And me?  The crowning glory of all fun facts?!  And no, it’s not the say-the-Greek-alphabet-before-the-match-burns-your-fingers sort of thing.  And still no to the tie-a-cherry-stem-with-your-tongue thing.  All very popular at bars by the way, thus your weirdo comment about Sissy, I suppose.

I can make my right eye droopy like a broken baby doll’s.  Remember Big Baby in Toy Story 3?  Yep.  Just like that.  I look just like THAT when I do it.  ‘Cept with slightly more hair.  But I did the droopy eye thing first.  Take THAT, Big Baby, ya copy cat!

This all leads me to my final point.  Something I’ve suspected all along.  When it comes to voting on fun facts, the eyes have it.  Heh, heh, heh. 

Now, since it’s just us talking No, no!  Look at me.  Don’t look at any of those people.  Pay no attention to all those people.  Just look at me.  Just look right at me and my DROOPY RIGHT EYE.   Go ahead and tell me what YOUR fun fact is.  Big Baby Number One with luxurious brown hair is waiting…

Cotillion Academy

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When Sonny got home from school yesterday, his invitation to Cotillion Academy was waiting.

“Hey Sonny, here’s your invitation to Cotillion Academy!”

Cotillion Academy – or as I call it: Fancy Manners School – must have a camera trained on Sonny.  And they must know that he is the ONE boy in all the kingdom who really SHOULD go to Fancy Manners School.  In particular the “Fifth Grade Program: Minding Your Manners At Home” being offered in the lovely, just-received invitation which seems random and out-of-the-blue, but isn’t.  Because the camera reveals all.

Except when I said that thing all excited-like about “Hey Sonny, here’s your invitation to Cotillion Academy!” his immediate and emphatic response was, “No!  No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!  NO!!!”

And without breaking stride, Sonny moves right into his afterschool routine, getting a snack and telling me all about his day, in particular how he and three of his buddies did parkour during recess.  

When I asked if the whole parkour thing was just a big, huge excuse for jumping over the school fence so they could dare each other to pee once they were on the other side, Sonny’s after-school drink shot out of his nose and all over the floor. 

Ok, two things here: 1) Methinks someone hit the parkour pee scenario right on the nose and 2) Yep.  Yeppy yeppers.  Cotillion Academy, here we come.

Poetry in Motion

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Let’s pause on this busy Friday so I can brag on my Homegirl.  Whoop, whoop!  snap snap snap

You ever see something that qualifies as “poetry in motion?”  And I’m not just talking about that running-on-the-beach scene from the movie Chariots of Fire.  I’m talking about LIVE and in COLOR, real-life, poetry in motion??!

First off, there’s Sissy in softball pants.  Chick has the cutest butt EVER.  Well, aside from her father’s butt, but this is a family show, so moving along… It’s like two red delicious apples in a bag.  So biteable and nummy.  And I mean this all in a maternal-yet-jealous-of-my-twelve-year-old’s-butt sort of way so please don’t report me to the authorities.  Because my butt, due to its amorphous nature, is the complete antithesis of hers.  Thank you.  We all have our gifts.

Butt really heh-heh-heh what I actually wanted to say is Sissy playing softball IS poetry in motion.  I have seen it and lived to tell the tale. 

The setting?  The final softball tournament of the season this past weekend.  And trust me when I say thank GOD softball season is over.  That sport just gets way wack at the end.  Especially that part where one of the coach’s wives yells obscenities at the umpire during the final game and is asked by MY husband to keep it under control or leave.  And no, I wasn’t the wife in question.  But thanks for casting aspersions. 

Back to my darling baby girl.  Who is the most amazing baby girl who ever lived.  In fact I’m not sure why people continue to have baby girls when I have the best one in the land. 

Picture it: Final game of the tournament.  Sissy’s team is already mentally beat.  All except for Sissy because my sweet girl is balls-to-the-wall, in-it-to-win-it each and every time.  In softball and life in general.

She’s playing shortstop.  And every time the catcher throws the ball over the pitcher’s head, Sissy meets it at Second Base.  The ball arrives as she’s standing firmly on the bag and in one fluid motion she reaches up as high as her arm will go, catches the ball in her glove and swings the glove down and out and touches the opponent sliding into second.  I can’t even express the sheer poetry-in-motion that this move is. 

She did this at LEAST three times during that game.  And EVERY TIME, the ump called the other team SAFE!!!!  Run, stretch, catch, swoop and tag before the other girl had her foot on the base.  Sissy would turn her sweet freckled face expectantly to the ump standing three feet away.  And he would call the opponent SAFE!  Every.  Time.

Makes you wanna swear too, doesn’t it?!?  And don’t make me say this again, but I SWEAR to you it was NOT ME swearing at the ump.  Even though I had every right.  Gaah, nothing gums up poetry-in-motion more than a bad call.  Also of interest?  The fact that the umps were wearing matching shirts with the opposing team.  Weird, no?!?

Needless to say, Sissy’s team lost that game.  And therefore lost the tournament.  But that ump walked up to Sissy at the end of the game and gave her the one MVP coin awarded. 

And that’s why I have to brag for a sec on the best little girl who ever was.  Moving through life with a winning attitude, even in the face of certain defeat.  Well rounded, good at math, a Straight A student and great at sports too.  In all things, she’s willing to go again and again no matter what the outcome.  And she is the embodiment of physical beauty on the sports field and off.    And yes, if we’re being honest with ourselves, she’s got a super cute butt. 

I hope I grow up to be just like her.  Including that part about the butt.  Well…and the math. 

Carjackers

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So we were at Freddy’s for dinner the other night.  And screw you if you have something to say about my home cookin’.

And when we got back in the car afterwards, it wouldn’t start.  Swell. 

We had seen some suspicious youths loitering around the dumpster near the car.  And I, being my mother’s daughter and therefore constantly on the look-out for carjacking scams, was worried that the loitering youths had pulled some wires out of our car so as to disable it long enough to jump us when we got out to look.  They would then either rob us or quickly put the wires back in the car and steal the car while we left standing by the side of the street wondering what all the wires were for.

My husband’s theory?  That it was a dead battery.  I think you join me in saying, Snoozeville!

So an hour later, we’re still sitting in the dead car in the dark of night waiting for AAA to bring us a new battery when a man comes up to our car and knocks on the window.  No, that’s not scary as S**T considering the fact that I’m STILL thinking we’re going to be carjacked any moment now since it’s all part of the carjackers’ technique to lull us into a sense of security by waiting a full HOUR before carjacking us.  The man says that a woman parked a few rows behind us actually HAD her car stolen and he wondered how long we’d been sitting here and had we seen anything?  Uh, nothing but SOME SUSPICIOUS YOUTHS!  I KNEW THEY WERE SUSPICIOUS!!

Apparently the woman had dropped her keys on the way into Freddy’s and hadn’t bothered to retrieve them.  At which point the thieves IT WAS THE SUSPICIOUS YOUTHS – I CAN SENSE SUSPICIOUS CARJACKING YOUTHS!!! went around clicking her fob until her car lit up.  Whereupon they stole it.

So Sonny, who had been sitting quietly in the back this whole time, is growing more and more agitated by the various carjacking discussions underway.  This naturally makes him think of his worst fear: zombies.  Which makes him wonder out loud if we were ever afraid of anything in the nighttime when we were kids. 

I admit that yes, I was afraid of stuff when I was a kid.  “In fact,” I say, “I’m afraid of stuff NOW and most especially when your dad is away on a business trip…”

But before I say more, it occurs to me that it would be a bad, baaaaaad idea to tell the kids that it’s my biggest fear that the hand that has lived under my bed for the last 40 plus years will finally, FINALLY reach out and TRIP me when I get out of bed to go to the bathroom while Hubby is away on business.  

Yep.  Nope, that would be bad.  But Sonny is in the back begging to know what I’m afraid of.  So instead of actually telling him about the tripping hand, I decide it would be funny to describe something super cute, like a kinkajou, as my biggest fear.  And the more I describe it, the clearer it will become that it’s super cute and nothing to be worried about.  I’m a fun mom like that.  And then we’ll all laugh about how Mom is afraid of kinkajous when Dad’s away on business trips.  Ha, ha, ha.

So I start out with, “Ok.  I’ll describe what I’m afraid of: It’s got big, BIG brown eyes.”  Whereupon Sonny says, “No!  No!!  Stop, Mom.  STOP!!!  That’s too scary with the eye thing!” 

Which is fine because the AAA guy has finally arrived.  He diagnoses a dead battery yawn and begins to put a new one in.  Since it’ll take twenty minutes or so, he suggests we go for icecream to pass the time. 

As we’re walking away from the car, Sonny-who-is-ALWAYS-up-for-icecream is hanging back and claiming he doesn’t want to go for icecream. 

He’s looking at the AAA guy as he says it.  I tell him it’s fine and the AAA guy won’t let anyone steal the car while we’re away. 

Sonny tilts his head towards the AAA guy and says out of the corner of his mouth, “What if HE steals it??”

Huh.  Hadn’t thought of that, but it’s a good point.  That’s my boy.  That’s my boy.

Annabelle

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Have you seen the commercial for this movie?  No, neither have I.  Because every time it comes on, I close my eyes (tight) and plug my ears nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah until someone with the remote changes the channel and notifies me of same.

But I do always….just…catch that one glimpse of Annabelle’s completely banged up doll face before my eye-squinch commences.  And it’s the WORST doll face that ever came out of Doll Land.  Yet the woman receiving the doll as a gift from her husband (yes, this is still all part of that one glimpse of the commercial which is permanently BURNED into my retinas) acts like it’s the loveliest dream-gift-come-true.  Oh, Honey, THANK you!

Which makes me think, “Ok, chick.  You’re a moron because I and the million other people who wish we hadn’t caught that glimpse of the commercial can clearly see the ring of gore all around the doll’s mouth which makes it a complete certainty that it’s been feasting on hapless victims since it rolled off the gore-mouths-r-us doll assembly line.  Also?  Your death wish husband is an a$$ for giving you a gift like that.”

Now I’m the first to admit that there are some banged up dolls; Dolls that have been loved beyond their limits of endurance.  For example, my daughter’s dolls from back in the day?  Loved beyond their individual thresholds of loveliness.  Let’s see….there was Tuna Fish Binky Baby.  She had a binky permanently stuck in her mouth that Sissy would endlessly try to pull out and suck on, and when that failed, would resort to tandem sucking sessions.  (All the tugging – and sucking – does take a toll on one’s face.)  And then there was Browny Brown Tuna Fish.  She was…er…African American.  (I hesitated there because I didn’t want you to think Sissy was a racist when she was three.  The doll WAS brown.)  Sissy tried too many times to brush that doll’s hair with the wrong brush and it just went way wonky after that. 

And on and on and on.  [And as a fun side note, apart from the Creep Factor Five Thousand doll twins named Nancy and Fancy, every other one of my daughter’s dolls had “Tuna Fish” as a key component of its name.  I’m not sure why.  We’ve never figured it out.  And then Sissy conveniently “forgot” why she named all the dolls Tuna Fish once she became a sentient being.  So the mystery remains.] 

(And no, for you in the corner with your hand raised, no, Sissy actually HATES tuna fish and always has.  But nice try.)

Despite all that, Sissy never, EVER had a doll as ratchet as Annabelle.  Annabelle is not one of those dolls that got all ratchet-y because she was LOVED too much.  She’s all ratchet-y because she KILLS PEOPLE too much with her MOUTH. 

So really, according to all known doll naming conventions, wouldn’t a better name for Annabelle be: Tuna Fish Death is Coming?  Or how’s about: Gore Mouth Tuna Fish??

Who knows?  Who cares.  Hopefully we’ll never find out.  Because Husbands of the World?  Ok, really just my husband, If you EVER bring a doll like Gore Mouth Tuna Fish into our house?  And GIVE it to me as a PRESENT?!?  I will absolutely let it eat your neck.  Now change the channel already.   Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah

My Son Michelangelo

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One of my son’s teachers stopped my husband in the school hallway yesterday to pass on this sculpture she had recently confiscated from Sonny.  She thought it was super creative and that it took a lot of work, so she didn’t want to throw it away.  But at the same time, she needed to remove it as a “distraction.”

So I ask you now, can you guess what it is? 

Naw, me neither.

But more importantly, can you guess what it’s made out of?  No?!  How about if I tell you Sonny has this teacher’s class right after snack time.

Still no??

Ok, we could go on all day with this, but quite frankly I need to go wash my hands, so let me tell you what it’s made out of…

Those red wax skins that come off of Mini BabyBel cheese wheels.

Creative right?  But Sonny doesn’t like those little cheeses.  He doesn’t eat those  little cheeses.  I never buy those little cheeses nor send them in with him for snack time.

So let’s title this sculpture something like “Unsanitary Red Wax Number Three” and then you can go wash your hands too.

Captain Caveman Alive and Well in My Bathroom

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I’m pretty sure Captain Caveman lives in my house…and uses my downstairs bathroom quite frequently.

Do you remember Captain Caveman – or Cavey to his friends?  Ooooh, Cavey!  He appeared quite frequently as a key member of the “Scooby Doobies” team on Hanna Barbera’s Laff-a-Lympics cartoon back in the late 70’s and 80’s.  He also had his own show where he was joined by the Teen Angels (who looked scary-similar to The Pussycats minus Josie) and they would solve mysteries.  In case you need further remembering, Cavey was the dude with the big schnoz, whose face and body was covered by a caveman-fur-tunic-which-also-completely-covered-his-face fur tunic thing.  He could fly and would sometimes accidentally consume large non-food items like bicycles and lamps.  But he would mostly “help” the Teen Angels by pulling an assortment of crazy crap out of his caveman-fur-tunic-which-also-completely-covered-his-face fur tunic thing.  You never knew WHAT was stashed in there until it came OUT.

[As a side note, this cartoon sounds completely, completely moronic.  Yet you remember it, right?  Which means you watched it.  And the state rests, Your Honor, in the case of Society vs. What’s Wrong with Today’s Youth.]

But the reason I think Cavey’s in my house now, somewhere in the vicinity of my downstairs bathroom, is because when I went to clean it last time, I found floating in the toilet bowl: a twist tie, three leaves, and a bee ON a cranberry-sized crabapple.  All floating – completely formed and undamaged – in the toilet.

So unless the kids have the most AMAZING intuitive eating skills followed by the most incredible digestive track (which would allow things to POP out the other end completely unscathed), then my vote is for Captain Caveman.  Captain CAAAAAVEMAAAAAAANNNN!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I hear the dog drinking out of the toilet yet again and I have to go stop him before Cavey accidentally gobbles him up.    

It’s Foolproof!

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Because I find it completely hilarious, and this is my blog, I’d like to take this opportunity to once again offer insightful comments and recommendations on the crochet patterns I just received in yesterday’s crochet newsletter.

I know, I know.  It’s gonna be fun.  But shhh, shhhhh!  It’s starting, so quiet down.  And for those of you who are still wondering WHY I’m receiving crochet patterns automatically in my email, you can just SHUT IT!  But thanks for stopping by and here we go…

1. Foolproof Infinity Scarf  This pattern name implies that there are a lot of fools in your life.  So many that you should proof against them with this scarf.  In fact, this scarf is to fools as garlic is to vampires.  It repels them.  Makes them stay away.  Wear it.  I dare you.
 2. Back to School Dress Heavens to Murgatroyd!  This pattern involves crocheting AND sewing.  In addition, it will NOT help your child fit in the first day of school.  So please, no.  Absolutely no.
3. 30 Minute Beanie This pattern is actually for a baby boy.  But since my family has fairly tiny heads, I’m now having visions of making color-coordinated ones of these for the whole gang for our next skiing trip.  Oh.  Wait.  That’s right, we all HATE skiing and I don’t think tiny homemade hats will make it any better.  So I guess not.
 4. Pumpkin Spice Cowl   Don’t let the name fool you.  It’s only called “Pumpkin” because that’s the color of the yarn, not because that’s the type of head you’ll look like you have if you wear this cowl.  Because it’s not your HEAD that will look huge if you wear this cowl, it’s your body.  You see, the cowl is actually a tiny poncho look-alike.  So it either gives the impression that someone accidentally shrunk your once normally fitting poncho…or you’re HUGE.  But if you can pull off a Fat Man in a Little Poncho look, then go for it!  Also, there are pompoms.  Just fyi on that.
 5. Bubblegum Baby Leg Warmers  Because really?  The ONLY one who could “do” bubblegum colored leg warmers would be a baby.  Who sleeps most of the time.  And can’t talk (or walk) yet.  And while the instructions state that the pattern is easily customizable for adults, do not be fooled.  If you can read words and dress yourself, you should not be wearing pink leg warmers.  End of discussion.
 6. Jingle Bells Holiday Scarf  Ooooh, yes!  You won’t have a fun holiday without this scarf.  Make several of them right now.  Even make one for each of your children’s teachers for Christmas gifts instead of that boring yawn money envelope.  They’ll thank you much more heartily for the love that goes into this scarf than they ever would for cold, hard cash.  Ha ha.  Just kidding.  They’d actually cut your heart out and wrap it up in this red-and-green yarn clusterbomb.  So skip that whole plan.
 7. Fashionable Poncho  If you click-through to the pattern, you will discover that this creation was originally named the “Fling Ponchini.”  I personally would have named it “Looks like a hairy squirrel died recently on your shoulders” but I suppose Fling Ponchini will do.  Please note you can wear the dead squirrel two ways.  How fun.
 8. Sexy Leg Warmers  If by “Sexy” they meant “Bulky, Lace-up Lederhosen” then yes.  Yes, these are they.  Do it to it!
 9. 60 Minute Cowl  Did you see that expose on Cowls?  It was great.  They used a black light for some of it.  I think it was on 48 Hours.  Or maybe it was 60 Minutes?  Either way, this pattern isn’t half bad.  It gives off a pretty cool Katniss vibe.  Not bloody, fighting-for-her-life Katniss, you understand, but more of a Katniss-hunts-prey-in-the-woods-to-feed-her-family Katniss.  As a side note, this is TOTALLY what I would wear if I had to go hunting in the woods to feed my family.  Hey, Creep!  Of course I’d wear a warm winter coat too and not JUST the cowl.  Creep.
 10. Fall Fashion Leg Warmers  What’s with all the leg warmers?!  Leg warmers better not be back in fashion!  Because, really, there are certain words that should never, EVER be combined with “Leg Warmers.”  “Fashion” being one of them.  They are mutually exclusive.  In addition, Flashdance called and they want their total crap looking leg thingies back.

Up next?  “12 Church-Approved Crochet Patterns.”  That’s EXACTLY what today’s email title said.  God’s honest truth.  heh, heh, heh  It seems mind-boggling to me that the church would get involved in approving crochet patterns, but I guess they must have.  Maybe they penciled it in between the Saturday morning baptism and the afternoon wedding: approve crochet patterns. 

Just you wait.  Crochet in CHURCH??  By all that’s HOLE-y (that is a pun in more ways than one.  And that?  Just rhymed!  No applause please, just tens and twenties.), it’s gonna be fun!

Under Where?

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One day, when I was like seven years old (so really just a few years ago) unbeknownst to me, my older sisters dumped the entire contents of my underwear drawer out the bedroom window.  My bedroom was on the second floor of the house and faced the street, which means my underwear landed all over the bushes in the front of the house and was therefore visible to anyone in the neighborhood who had eyeballs.

When my father came home from work that evening, he walked in demanding to know WHOSE UNDERWEAR WAS ALL OVER THE FRONT YARD?!?

Uhhhh, not mine.  I had been playing in the BACK yard and hadn’t been anywhere near the FRONT of the house.  And I sure as snot hadn’t been strategically draping my Carter Spanky Pants ANYWHERE, so I quickly denied ownership.  That’s when the sheepish looks exchanged by my sisters clued EVERYONE in to the fact that it WAS my underwear – as punishment for some “messy room” infraction – that had been sitting out front for the better part of the day.   Noooo, that’s not incredibly awful and monumentally embarrassing! 

I’ve told my kids this underwear story a time or two.  Ohhh, no reason.  But messy rooms are ANNOYING as CRAP!  And “family lore” works in achieving “clean room” results.  Don’t even tell me YOU’RE above threatening your kids about their messy rooms.  Don’t even.  ‘Cause if you do, I’m on my way over to your house RIGHT NOW to start flinging your flea-bitten Underoos where all the neighbors can get a good look-see.

So imagine Sonny’s horror when he called me on my cell phone the other day to let me know he had found a pair of my underwear on the lounge chair on the back patio.  Like someone had begun Operation Underwear on me YET AGAIN or something. 

Me to Sonny: Accck!  What?!  WHAT?!?  How did my underwear get out there?!?  Are my sisters at the house by any chance??  Anyway, that’s embarrassing.  Did you at least bring them in?!

Sonny to Me:  No.  I just called you.

Me to Sonny:  Ok.  Thanks.  But can you please BRING THE UNDERWEAR INSIDE SO THE NEIGHBORS CAN’T SEE IT?!? 

One minute later Sonny calls back to report the following:

Sonny to Me: I brought the underwear in and guess what?  There were Lego pieces on top of it!

Weirder and weirder.  Couldn’t be my sisters; They live in Virginia and I live in Colorado now.  So either the wackiest underwear thief has visited my house and left evidence…or the DOG got ahold of all the most verboten stuff he could find and created a pack rat stash in plain sight on the lounge chair.  I’m voting for the dog, because otherwise?  The Lego piece component is inexplicable and greatly, greatly concerning.

Oh!  Before I forget!!  The other thing I wanted to say was: Look UNDER THERE!

Under where?

My point exactly.  Heh, heh, heh.