Crumb Snatcher Speak & a Sashi Saying

• As we passed a hospital that specializes in brain trauma and mental issues, I said, "Mommy used to work at that mental hospital before you were born." Girl Child immediately corrected me with, "Didn't you mean to say lived there...not worked there?"

• While eating in a local yocal diner in small-town America (Pawhuska, OK) Girl Child observed just how busy it was during the lunch hour. "I mean, wow Mommy...people really do live in this town."

• "I am so not looking forward to my teenage years, " Boy Child solemnly announced yesterday. "Why? What's going to happen during your teenage years that will be so bad?" I asked. "You know, Mom. Braces and pimples...and braces and pimples are just life's way of saying it bites to be old. Like you Mom." Long pause. Then, "No offense Mom."

• I was trying to explain the concept of a wedding reception to Boy Child and his fellow 10 yo friend when Boy's light turned on and he proudly reported, "Oh yeah! I know what a wedding reception is Mommy! It's where I'll learn to spin on my back on the dance floor."

• My fave of the whole post was uttered so seriously and matter-of-factly by Saucy Sashi to one of her offspring in the van one day, I almost missed it..."If you don't stop chewing on your toenails, you won't get any ice cream."

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Wow! I realized as I was typing this post, either you haven't given me your typical blog fodder lately or I haven't been documenting them for posterity's sake (read blog's sake please). I am falling down on the job and haven't even had a good stiff drink to blame it on. I shall be Johnny-on-the-Spot from now on so watch what you say and do Buddy Boy!

Yesterday's post got me thinking about names and I remembered this fun name game my sweet friend FarOut Mom did a looooong time ago.

You'll love this. (Big Shooter's are red.)

• Rock Star Name: (1st Pet's name & current car) ~ PoPo DeVille (Ginger DeVille)
• Fly Guy/Girl Name: (1st initial + first 3 letters of your last name) ~ S-Mer
• Detective Name: (Fave color & fave animal) ~ Red Dog (Blue Cobra)
• Soap Opera Name: (Middle name & city/town born in) ~ Ann Falls (It's really Twin Falls, but that sounds so super silly!) (Robert Rupert)
• Star Wars Name: (First 3 letters of last name + first 2 of first name) ~ Merst (Merb-R)
• Superhero: ("The" & second fave color & fave drink) ~ The Pink Apple Pucker (with a spritz) (Black Jack DC)
• Nascar Name: (1st names of grandfathers') ~ Keith Ole
• Stripper Name: (Fave scent/perfume/cologne & fave candy) ~ Black Vette Chocolate(Fierce Jellybean)
• Witness Protection Name: (Mom & Dad's middle name) ~ Rae Findley (Helen G.)
• Weather Anchor Name: (5th grade teacher's last name & a city which starts with the same letter) ~ Memphis McAdams (Wynnewood Wright)
• Spy/Bond Name: (fave season/holiday & fave flower) ~ Summer Lily (Christmas Tulip)
• Cartoon Name: (fave fruit & article of present clothing + "ie" or "y") ~ Mango Shorty (Blueberry Bootsie)
• Hippy Name: (What you ate for breakfast & fave tree) ~ LoMein Dogwood (Kracker Pine)

That was fun!

My faves were PoPo DeVille and The Pink Apple Pucker. Big Shooter's fave was his stripper name Fierce Jellybean. If you partake in it yourself...leave me your fave creation for yourself.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: I think Sledge should meet Kracker Pine. I think they would be soul brothers...

Name game

I'm a name girl. Always have been.

I love names.

Naming my own children was like running a marathon.

We had the names we'd call them everyday picked out before they were a twinkle in Big Shooter's eyes. It was the middle names that gave us problems. Since I'd taught school, every name that came into contention I had a distinct like or dislike of.

Boy Child was not near as difficult as Girl Child though.

Big Shooter and I could NOT agree.

I thought we'd come to an agreement on the way to the hospital.

So did he.

Until he went with her to the nursery and I listened intently to the anesthesiologist and my O.B. G.'s conversation... then I wanted to change my mind. I loved the anesthesiologist's daughter's name. AND it was my great-granny's maiden name to boot! Ashton. I loved it.

(Of course I loved Cody Ryan, Paxton, Merry and Yancy too.)

She (the OB) and Big Shooter would have nothing to do with it. They were tired of me and my mind changing. So, they filled out the birth certificate with all the names Big Shooter and I had previously agreed on and I signed it.

Girl Child is blessed with four names.

Poor girl. She still can't wrap her mind around it.

What brought all this up?

Well remember my sweet, new, alternative-livin', heavily tattooed and very young neighbors? Did I mention they were 7 1/2 prego?

With Juniper.

I love that name.


Love Note to my Big Shooter: Thank you for stepping in. You knew who they both were the moment you laid eyes on them. Me, on the other hand, was irrational with extremely high raging prego hormones and couldn't think clearly. You saved the day as usual. Sigh. I love you.

"Dallas or Bust!"

That's what we painted on the Gas Hog's windows.

Dallas is our End of the Year Field Trip destination to see the one and only -

Olliver, the brain dead pug, has a weekend of play dates planned. The grass has been watered sufficiently for the past 21 days in a row. And Sledge is itching to hit the road.

So off we go into the wild blue yonder!

May God have mercy on our many travel companions' souls.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: You have ONE LAST HURRAH before we return to Plainsville and BUY A LAWNMOWER...or I am taking my bloggy friends' advice and either picking out a new girl for you OR hiring a shiny, new, powerful, well-built Bad Boy to mow the grass. You know how I {heart} Bad Boys...

Once Upon a Time

There was a man who loved his new yard...But nothing compared to the love he had for his lawn mower.
He was exceptionally proud of his love affair.
He met her in a friend's garage. It was a meeting filled with hot anticipation and lusty secrecy.
He proudly brought her home. Only to find his wife very unaccepting of this dirty, dirty girl.
His testosterone ran high as he defended her honor and questionable class to his un-understanding wife.
He could not begin to comprehend why his thoughtless spouse could call her such hurtful names.
Ugly. Dirty. Used up. Unusable. And the worst, cheap.
On the inside, he knew these things to be true.
But, on the outside he fought for her a place in the palace garage.
His wife agreed.
With conditions.
He readily agreed to them.

• Wife would never, under any circumstances, have to touch the dirty, piece of trash.
• He would only bring her out from the back recess of the garage in the late evening hours when the light was fading and the neighbors had most likely retired to the AC of their homes.
• When she died, she would quickly be replaced by one with a...clean reputation.

For 14 years he abode by the conditions. Never once did he ask the wife to intermingle with the help. Not once did he bring her out into the light.

And then she died.

And the man has been heartbroken ever since.
His spirit is gone.
His lawn is in dire straights.
His pent up frustrations of the last 14 years are shining through.
He cannot/will not/refuses to honor the last condition.
His wife is tired of staring at this...

She has given him sufficient time to mourn the passing of his slutty mistress.

He, apparently, feels he needs more time.

The wife has heard from all the neighbors. They wonder what has happened to The Pride the man once had. She is too ashamed to tell them the truth.

She has asked politely, reminded gently, then whined and bitched.

She even asked to go look at replacements on the saint of all days, Mother's Day, knowing he could not refuse.

"O, Darling Husband, that I love with all my heart, please accompany me to Lowe's, Home Depot, Sears, and the nearest farmer's Co-Op to look for a respectable replacement for your dead girlfriend."

It may have been in the way she asked, but he actually thought of refusing her on the Saint of All Days...

Eventually he agreed. But each one had something "not right" about it.

Too small.Too much power.Just too much everything.

The wife was disappointed to say the least. Their yard will look like this very soon. She is out of sadistic, bribing, guilt-inducing ideas. She is begging/seeking/ your help.

Her desire is to have this man living in her home again.One who loves his yard.
And yes, his mower too.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: I'll only give in and tell them the pics I've been posting are not really pictures of your yard...after you replace that sleazy tramp. Not a second before. Get over her already!

Welcome to the Hood

I so wanted to have this introduction to my "charming neighborhood" all thought out and planned in order of the houses.

And typical of my charming neighborhood...it ain't gonna work out like that.

Today you get to meet the Recluse Artist. By meet I don't mean get to see and make his acquaintance. You get to hear about him.

• He has lived across the street from the Shooters for about 14 years.
• He did not talk to us for the first 9. (Don't think I didn't try. Alot.)
• He leaves his house every day between 4 and 4:30pm.
• He returns with a case of beer.
• He has long hippy hair.
• He walks with a cane.
• He is thoughtful enough to make sure his Pink Floyd is heard by us all. In our houses.
• His art is unbelievably fantastic. Fantastically scary. And fantastically creative.
• He threatened our other neighbor, a former Vietnam vet, whom I'll call Hot Head for a very real reason, with a hammer one morning. (I guess he'd eaten his Wheaties.)

Things always seem to happen to his house. During the Ice Storm of the Century, the Crumbs and I watched in disbelief as giant tree limb after tree limb crashed down on his roof and car. Someone recently decided to use the side of his house for bottle rocket target practice. And today...

Young Pedro decided to park his "borrowed" ride on Artist's porch.

He was showing off for Girlfriend.

Their date ended in the backseat.

Of a police cruiser.

That'd be Young Pedro getting the cuffs.

Recluse Artist is in the blue shirt.

He's leaning over on his cane so you can't enjoy his long hippy hair.

(Yes. I was just standing out in broad daylight snapping pics with my phone. I figured it wasn't me who should be embarrassed.)

That would be Girlfriend standing beside the car talking/crying/confessing her undying love to Romeo.

I was concerned about what kind of life lesson the whole thing was teaching the Crumbs when Girl Child pointed out to me what a fool young Girlfriend was. When I gave her the Momma raised eyebrow look, she pointed out, "She should be embarrassed. She should re-think her boyfriend choices. She needs to change purses."

????

I looked more closely.

Sure enough, as bold as Dallas, her purse said, "I (heart) Bad Boys"..

Yup.

It couldn't have been a better life lesson today in the hood for the Crumbs.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Oh the fun we have while you are away!

I'm in a dither...

Lately havin' too many topics to choose from to share has NOT been a problem.

'Member that whole dried up period I just supposedly went through and am now over? Well, I am over it. Mostly. But, I still wonder what to write about each time I sit down.

Tonight, I don't have that dilemma.

You see a while back my most lovely friend Podcastin' Cyndi, whom by the way is known as Hyacinth to the rest of the bloggin' world (Yeah, uh huh. That's right. I am friends with Ree's best friend. Go ahead...touch me. Ssssss. It burned ya, didn't it? Or were you rollin' your eyes because you can't believe I stooped to pullin' out my Pioneer Woman card again?)...any way, my lovely, lovely friend Podcastin' Cyndi suggested I write a series about "the charming neighborhood" I live in. (Stop laughin' family and real life friends...you're risking offending Ree's real life friend.) And tonight would be a good story to introduce the hood to y'all.

Or

I also wanted to share a most delightful little tidbit complete with fabulous and interesting pics about that state (Idaho) I am always writing about (Idaho) and haven't lived there full-time in over 20 years...

OR

The fact I cannot, no matter how much I beg, plead, demand, cajole, whine, barter or any other method you can name...get Big Shooter to purchase a new lawn mower. This is the same guy who steamrolled over his betrothed and only precious-beyond-words daughter in the parking lot to get into the electronics store to purchase a new TV last year. Apparently, mowers just don't do it for him like plasma?

I can't imagine why?

So...

I am going to bed.

I'm not elaborating on my new, young, hip, alternative-living, abundantly tatted and pierced neighbors whom I just returned home from the hospital with a few minutes ago.

I'm not elaborating on the phenomenon very few people (me and Big Shooter included) have witnessed in real life...in Idaho.

And I am not elaborating on the testosterone levels in my house involving a lawn mowing devise.

G'night. Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Shush. Not a word. You had your Cancer Card. I am allowed one too. Mine just happens to be someone, instead of something!