Isn't it time for school to start again? J & E have had at least a billion arguments over legos and bionicles. Then there are the trails of mess that follow the kids wherever they go. Paper trails, popsicle trails, toy trails, dirty clothes trails...

The electrical work is going in next door, and the guys doing it give me a show everyday. They sing...loudly and a lot. Mostly Queen. I don't know how many times I've heard Bohemian Rhapsody in the last few days. Every once in awhile they throw in some Grateful Dead for a change of pace. The giant propane tank got delivered today. How nice that I'll get to see it everytime I look out the windows. Even better, it's right next to the bright blue portapotty. When construction starts on our pole barn in August, we'll have one of those cool blue towers of stench in our yard too. Gotta keep up with the neighbors, you know.

Know what hurts?

Fresh ground pepper stuck to your eyeball.

People turning left from American Lane onto Reed Market deserve to die.

Not that I don't like sitting in the heat with a melting ice cream cake in the stupid truck with no air conditioning, of course. So much fun...

fears

J's two biggest fears are Big Foot and jackalopes. We've spent the last year trying to convince him that Big Foot is not going to knock on the door, and jackalopes will not chase him everytime he's outside. Imagine our surprise when we found this hanging on the wall of the condo.


J has now confronted one of his demons, and even went so far as to pet the jackalope. Now we just have to deal with Big Foot.

Some highlights from Tahoe...

The resort we stayed at had a narrow entrance with a sharp turn and a rock wall- nearly impossible to negotiate with cars coming from the other direction. The passenger side running board on my car is now at a 45 degree angle. I never knew how much I rely on the running boards until I couldn't use it, because I'd slide right off. I have tons of little cuts on my legs to prove it.

Putting two teenage boys together is awful. They become obnoxious and forget that they actually have working brains. Combine that with water balloons, and you have a lot of other pissed off vacationers. I swear I spent half the trip lecturing them and confiscating balloons.

My 5 year old nephew was digging on the beach one night and he found a balloon that he was filling with water. Unfortunately, rather than a water balloon, it was a special "adult" balloon, complete with reservoir tip. He liked squeezing it to make the water shoot out. I think I pulled some muscles laughing. I really need to superimpose the picture of him with his adult balloon (and J staring at it in fascination) over the picture we took of the Bunny Ranch. It would make a wonderful Christmas card. "Santa got me a whore for Christmas. What did he bring you?"

While riding the Heavenly gondola and the Squaw Valley gondola didn't bother me, my fear of heights really comes out on cliffside roads, especially hwy 4 between Yosemite and Tahoe. Rand McNally was on drugs when that road was listed as a regular highway, because it's one lane for 2 way traffic, and it's all twists and cliffs, and the scariest road ever. I nearly put my right foot through R's dad's car hoping that a brake would suddenly appear, while at the same time I was chanting "please don't let wheat thins and aerosol cheese have been my last meal." That road is listed in bicycle articles as the Death Ride. I never want to see it again.

R's sister and her family are even more racist than I thought. I will never, ever understand that mentality.

Beer at 10,000 feet (top of Heavenly) is far stronger than beer at 6200 feet. I love beer.

I'm back from Tahoe. I survived. I didn't kill anyone. I came back with the same amount of kids I took with me. I'll be back later with pictures and stories when I am allowed more than 2 seconds to myself (damn summer vacation).

Just about time for Lake Tahoe. Trapped in a car with kids for EIGHT hours. Too bad about those pesky open container laws. I'm sure I'll have tons of good evil family stories when I get back. Hopefully J won't move from digging in my purse to holding up casinos.

Why is it soooo much work getting ready to go relax? It's like some twisted joke.

J's kindergarten graduation was yesterday. He was so excited and proud, and now he tells me every 5 minutes, "I'm a first grader now, Mom!"

Talking to J

J: Mom, I need some dollars.

Me: What do you need money for?

J: I want to buy some new cars, but I only have three dollars in my pocket. I need more.

(For the record, we stash all of J's paper money, because he loses it)

Me: I noticed that I'm missing $3 from my purse. Did you take it?

J: No!

Me: Where did you get your $3?

J: I found it.

Me: Found it where?

J: I don't know. (failing at looking innocent)

Me: Are you sure you didn't take it from my purse when you swiped all my gum.

J: No, I think it was the cats.

So now I know that whenever something is missing, it's because those damn cats were in my purse again. They better not be searching for my keys to steal the car.

When the kids get home from their last day of school on Friday, would be wrong to have a big banner hanging on the front door that says ONLY 2 MONTHS AND 20 DAYS UNTIL SCHOOL STARTS?

J's last day is tomorrow...my last day of silence except for wrestling cats and barking dogs. My last day of accomplishing anything without "help." My last day of running errands without having to listen to someone having a complete meltdown over the huge array of candy at the grocery store checkout.

I need to make a list of things for them to do.

Wash my car
Wash the dog
Wash the windows
Scrub the driveway with toothbrushes
Dig out the place for the barn and save me the excavation money
Recaulk around the boys toilet
Collect all the rocks on all three acres, so we can mow the brush rather than attack it with a whacker

All this crappy weather is pissing me off. A lot.

I'm supposed to be sitting on the patio in the sun with a book and a beer. Instead, I'm locked in a dark and gloomy house and wearing a coat. Stupid June.

I have this mental list of things that clutzy people should not be allowed to do. It's full of things I've learned through trial and error, like clutzy people shouldn't be allowed to walk around the house half-asleep in the middle of the night, because things like doors, walls, and furniture jump out. Clutzy people should not scrub bathrooms with a cell phone in their pocket, because phones have a way of leaping for freedom and ending up in the toilet.

I added a new one to the list this morning. Clutzy people should never attempt to back a ginormous dirt bike off a metal mesh trailer in the rain wearing sandals with no traction. And then they shouldn't try to do it again an hour later with a different bike, even though that second bike is smaller. Smaller doesn't mean easier or less slippery. I didn't hurt the bikes, and I didn't hurt myself, but I did slide backwards all the way to the driveway. I really hope my neighbors on that side were at work. I'd hate to know there was photographic evidence of my slide. Plus, if I'm going to be the fodder for neighborhood gossip, I'd much rather it be about something like streaking. Not that I streak through the neighborhood, of course, but I could if I felt like. I also couldn't be naked outside until it's actually summer, and I don't think summer is coming this year.

Leaving the dogs in the kennel and not paying attention to the weather is bad. I'm so glad that I spent $40 to have Cassidy groomed, so that he could roll around in mud puddles. Max helped by digging another hole. My cute yellow lab is now a chocolate lab.

Dear Mother Nature,

Please tell me that you didn't attack my car with hail. I don't want it to look like a golf ball. I don't even golf anymore. I know you threw hail all over town, but I promise I'll worship you daily if you left my car alone. I just paid it off and had it detailed to beautifulness, and I haven't even had a chance to drive it yet.

You know what I love about Costco? You don't know that you need something until it calls to you from the display, and then you must have it at all costs. I didn't go into Costco looking for a tennis ball slingshot for the dogs, but it's the coolest dog toy ever. My arms are killing me, but my aim is now good enough to take out D at 50 feet. I was nice enough to use a squishy foam ball rather than the tennis balls when I was aiming at him.

I've been running around like crazy lately. I feel like I have a bazillion things to do this week before the kids are out of school for the summer. I've got relatives coming into town on Friday. I have to haul one dirt bike to the shop and pick up another one from another shop tomorrow. I need to meet with the housesitter about taking care of the cats. I need to haul the luggage down from the storage room, because I can't remember what suitcase can be shoved between the middle row seats in the car. I have to haul the dogs to the kennel.

I can't decide if I'm looking forward to going on vacation or not. I love Lake Tahoe, and I can't wait to sit on the shore with a book. However, I am so not in the mood for a big family trip being a condo full of thirteen people. I don't want to be dragged out to browse in touristy shops, because I don't like browsers. Last time we did one of these trips, R and his sister didn't speak for nearly 2 years. Guess who got the joy of playing middleman. I wonder if I can fit a beer bottle up someone's nose if I try hard enough. I wonder more who will be my victim.

On the way home, we're going to stop for dinner at The Cowboy Dinner Tree. THIRTY OUNCES of steak??? I better wear elastic pants. Or maybe no pants. The food is supposed to be fabulous, and it will be nice to have something to do on the way home besides dread unpacking the car late at night.

Tis the season to have my ears assaulted until they bleed.

The construction next door has moved from endless parades of cement trucks to endless days of hammering. Pound, pound, pound, pound...all day long. All day starts at SEVEN AM. Of course, by that time I've already been listening to arguing teenagers for what seems like hours. Pounding so loud that I can't even hear my coffee pot beeping to tell me that I can now begin pouring enough caffeine in my body to wake Rip Van Winkle. Every once in awhile there is a short break from pounding, but don't worry - I don't have to face silence or anything like that. I get treated to the whining of a saw. It breaks up the monotomy nicely. When we start construction on the barn, we'll fit right in.

When the construction guys leave for the day, it's time for brushcutting. Now I totally see the point in whacking down all the brush to prevent fires from spreading all over the place, but the noise makes me insane. I think every household in this neighborhood must own multiple weed whackers (we have 3), and they use them ALL THE TIME. When we go out to cut brush (and that we doesn't include me, because I refuse to learn how to use a weed whacker), we wear ear protectors. That doesn't mean that those of us not cutting get to protect our ears. We get to suffer. We also get to be helpful, which means we hide inside and call out "You look tired. Oh, and you missed a spot over there. Can you get that section down by the corner?" The opportunity for blackmail pictures is great. What 14 year old boy wants his friends to see pictures of him wearing old, red snowpants and earmuffs while carrying around a weed whacker?

observing people

I love grocery store checkout lines and seeing what other people put on the conveyor belt.

You get the people into their health piling on organic vegetables and fruits.

There's the junkfood addicts with mounds of chips, dips, candy, and bakery items.

Some people add the latest celebrity gossip magazines to their piles of food, because you know we just can't go on living until the photos of Brangelina's baby surface, and OMG! Is Britney really dumping Kevin?

Today, I think I saw the greatest purchase combination ever - beer and tampons. Since I know that feeling, I was nice enough to bite my tongue instead of bursting into laughter.

My secret to K's odd form of rebellion?

I must be too liberal. Kids want to be opposite right?

I've spent years instilling in her my belief that one can be spiritual without participating in an organized religion. I've told her of the many hypocrisies I think organized religion holds. Her only exposures to any sort of church with us has been through weddings and funerals. Everything else comes from her friends or relatives. R's mom was horrified that we did not have the kids baptized, so she dunked them in a river and declared them children of God. I'm not sure if R's mom chose a particular religion as her basis for baptism, because she's belonged to several in the years I've known her.

K is also advocates virginity until marriage. Could that have something to do with her being born 2 months before R and I got married?

For all of the odd conservative facets of her that I can't understand (but accept happily), she still has her liberal tendencies too. She doesn't understand any form of discrimination. She calls people on racism. She thinks that gay marriage should be celebrated joyfully. She does not think that religion should be a part of government. She does not think any Bush should be a part of government.

I can only hope that the boys turn out very much like her.