Father's Day Fail

Larry's Father's Day presents?  They are residing, unopened, on our living room coffee table, waiting for that magical moment when all 6 of us can be in the same place at the same time to watch Larry unwrap them.  So, yes, in case you were wondering, I would say things are still a tad hectic around here...






[Gifts image: Mat-Su Figure Skating Club]

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Et Tu, June?

Picture all these squares FULL.

Has anyone else noticed how June (which USED to be my favorite month, and not just because it has MY BIRTHDAY in it) is becoming almost as over-scheduled and over-celebrated as December?  Every time I turn around, there is another end-of-school-year event that I need to

a) organize
b) bring something to
c) arrange rides for
d) all of the above

The emails!  Good Lord, the emails!

And we homeschool!  If the kids were actually IN school, I might just have to wave the white flag and hide under my bed for the month.


So we've been running the gauntlet here - David's birthday, Father's Day, Boy Scout Court of Honor BBQ and pool party (that's right, just pile it on), Civil Air Patrol awards banquet, just to name a few.  At some point, things should settle down this week, just in time for (have I mentioned this enough yet, Larry?) MY BIRTHDAY.

Am I supposed to WANT to be foxy at fifty?  Why?

50.  I'm turning 50.

I'm torn - I could plan a few fun (but inexpensive) things to do with my friends to celebrate.  OR  I could simply make guest reservations for a private room/cell this weekend at a nearby monastery (ah, the quiet!  The blessed quiet!) to give myself time to reflect on what half a century means and what my plans are for the 20 good years I might have left.  Also?  Just to get away (have I mentioned the quiet?).

Votes?  Opinions?  Ideas?  All are welcome.





[Calendar page image: Creative Calendars]

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Dementia Diaries

Actually, this is probably the phone he was looking for.

Just a quick note tonight, because driving over 10 hours in one weekend makes me too tired to write a real post:

I spent this weekend visiting my dad and checking up on his care; while there, I had to reassure one of his (very concerned) neighbors that my brother was NOT, in fact, stealing all my father's money and taking away his phone so he couldn't call for help.

In other words, if you are going to let an elderly parent suffering from dementia take a walk around the block by himself?  You might want to find out what he is saying to people while he's out there.



[Phone image: Low-Tech Times]

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Reverse Narcissism

Exhibit B of How We Are Our Own Worst Enemies:

These USED to be fun.

Remember the Bike-a-Thon?  Well, we rode, we saw, we kicked its a**...and at the end a nice person took a photo of my friend and I smiling at the Finish Line.  My friend posted this photo to Facebook as soon as she got home.  "Gah," I thought when I saw it.  "Why did I wear that shirt?  It makes me look even MORE busty than I already am.  I look like a freak."

In an attempt to act like a normal person (that is, someone who can stand to see a photo of her own self), I shared it to my Facebook timeline; but all day I had to restrain myself from taking it down.  "Stop being so vain," I told myself.  "What the heck is wrong with you, anyway?  Who cares if the camera hates you? Stop it."

Fast forward 5 days, to the weekly walk I take with this same friend.  At some point, she mentioned the photo.  Oh, no, I thought.  Don't talk about it.  I don't want to relive the self-loathing.

Turns out I needn't have worried.  "You know," she said, "I put it on my Wall because it got both of our faces really well.  But then, when I was looking at it, I realized that the shirt I was wearing made me look flat as a board.  I look like a boy.  It's humiliating.  I couldn't stop thinking how bad I looked."

Apparently, self-loathing - like biking - can be a team sport.


[Photo booth image: ACA Entertainment]



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Well Preserved

We be jammin' today, folks!  All day, we be jammin'.  That's what happens when you lose your head and decide to go pick 50 dollars worth of strawberries the day before.

This is how old I'll be by the time we are done.

FIFTY DOLLARS.  This had better be some really good jam.

[Jam image: The Telegraph]

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