Boondock Ramblings

A couple scares with Dad

We had a couple scares with my dad this week.

The first scare was that he might have cancer.

The second scare was when he wore this shirt.

I had to look close to really see what it was all about.

Looking closer didn't make it better.

In fact, it scared me more.

I actually thought, for just a moment, that Graham Norton had invaded my parent's home on a Sunday afternoon.

(photo credit The Telegraph UK )

As for the cancer, the tests were all negative.

I'm so relieved.

I'm also relieved that I hopefully won't have to hear my dad compare the blood in his urine to a sinus infection again.

Trust me, you really don't want to know.

Hosted by Cecily

P.S. In all fairness to Graham, all the other photos I found of him he was wearing solid colors and looking very dashing. Still...when I saw Dad for some reason that's whose name came to mind.

The story behind the spit. . .

I uploaded this photo on my photo blog for my Weekly Winners post this week.

There is a story behind the spit. To some, the spit may be "gross" or elicit an "eeew!"

To me it makes me think of my kid and how crazy he is becoming.

This is Jonathan spitting bathwater, first just in the bath, then he tried doing it at me. I stopped the spitting when I remembered the water had bubble bath in it and also when I found myself soaked in bath water and baby spit.

Once I couldn't get Jonathan to take a bath. Now I can't get him out of the tub once he is in it. He swims, he splashes, he plays with all his super heroes that have now become bath toys. He then turns into a prune.

And yes, he spits.

 

Oh! I want money!

When the snow storm hit Thursday I noticed two boys shoveling a sidewalk across the street and I had a feeling they were shoveling for money. I shut our outside light off so they wouldn't ask to shovel our sidewalk, mainly because I didn't have any cash on me.

Jonathan was watching the young men too so I told him my theory of what they were doing. 

"Money?" he asked.

"Yeah, so they can buy stuff."

"Buy stuff?"

In my head I was all cynical and thought, "Yeah, like drugs," but out loud I said, "You know, CDs, or...uh...toys."

"Toys?!"

"Yes, toys. . "

"My toys?!"

"No. Not your toys!"

"My toys," he said, convinced these teenage boys were shoveling sidewalks for money they were going to use to buy HIS toys.

Suddenly, it was like a light bulb went off in his head:

"Oh. I want money," he said.

I laughed at him, ruffled his hair and ushered him upstairs to bed.

The next morning I opened the front door and found that the snow had drifted up over our front porch and was a few feet deep. My car was snowed in, our driveway was snow-plowed in. I was already late for work, but knew I was going to have to shovel. Hubby stumbled out of bed and threw on his clothes, ready to shovel. Neither of us had realized how much the snow had drifted.

While Hubby was outside I told Jonathan that maybe later he could help his daddy shovel.

He pondered this for a moment, finger to his little, dimpled chin and then he looked up, blue eyes flashing mischievously. I should have known what was coming.

"Ooh. I want money!" he declared.

This kid is way too smart(assed) for his own good.

-----

    


 

Happy 90th birthday grandma (You old bitty)

I'd heard the stories before I arrived.

"She's a mean lady," the woman who had hired me to take photos had told me.

"Well, she's 90 . . ." I started.

"No. She's always been nasty," the woman said matter of fact.

"Oh."

I shouldn't have worried. Great-grandma was as calm as could be, but her cranky past was evident by the rolling of eyes, the exchanged looks and the mouthed curse words of those around her.

The respect and the affection for the woman was there, don't get me wrong. But I still found it interesting how family members came to the table and said "Hello Grandma" or "Hello, great-grandma" but then quickly settled themselves at tables far away from the woman.

Great-grandma found it interesting too and at one point she called over her granddaughter and hissed, "Why don't you put some chairs around my table and have people sit with me."

"Get your chair and go sit with great-grandma," the granddaughter told the woman who had hired me, who hissed back at her mom, "No way, you ******."

The woman  was smiling and laughing a little even as she cursed at her mother, but she still didn't move her chair closer to her great-grandmother.

I mentioned later I thought her great-grandma had "behaved well" and she admitted she had.

"It probably helped that she ripped my mom a new one before it all started," she said.

"Oh."

(She looks pretty pleasant here, doesn't she?)

-----------------

More WordFUL Wednesday's can be found at Seven Clown Circus.

Why I like Taylor Swift. . . or why my brother is an old fart

 Brother has convinced me to be a part of The Collective, a blog on Posterous where we shall dump some of our brain farts, for lack of a better word, from time to time.

Also a part of this group, so far, is my sister-in-law (Shieldmaiden, as she is known on line). Recently we debated the worth of Taylor Swift as an artist.

Taylor Swift isn't my favorite singer. I wouldn't listen to her all day long or even once a day. But I like her. I like Taylor Swift because she has an innocent quality about her and I recognize her for what she is -- a teenager singing music she's written about teenage life. She's not Stevie Nicks. She's not Faith Hill or some other singer with a voice full of range and, from what I've seen, she knows that. She's just having fun and sometimes that's what's needed in life.

Feel free to check it the rest of this debate at The Collective. We don't plan to "debate" normally, as was a concern from Shieldmaiden who said if we were going to argue about stupid "crap" all the time she didn't want to be a part of our "collective" (resistance is futile, by the way).

I let her know there would be times we argued about important crap too.

I'm joining The Collective partially because I have no choice (resistance is futile because Brother will freaking harass me if I don't) and partially because it seems like fun.

I like the idea of micro-blogging, which is why I started my own "mental dumping ground" called Briefly Boondocks.

In other blogging business, I've been meaning to let my readers know that I am trying to reply to each and every one of your comments here on my blog these days. It might be a couple of days later when I reply, but I want you to know I'm reading your comments and enjoying them, as well as appreciate them. If you pop back over here on another day be sure to check other posts you've commented on to read my response. My response might be lame and say something like: "Thanks" or "I agree!" but at least you know I'm reading your comments and appreciating that your reading!

I'm behind right now because the ongoing saga of The Stuffed Left Ear is continuing (almost over, honestly!). Believe me, I'm sure I'll have to write about all the advice I've received for this dillema in another post. I, however, have not yet resorted to having Hubby, or anyone else, pee in my ear.