Plenipotentiary

Look at what my Mom was up to this weekend.

She spent the weekend paddling on the Rivanna river. First time she’s been camping out in a while.

Pretty.

It’s not every day that I am surprised by advertising. In fact, as an average American, I consider myself nearly immune. I am so inundated with it, I don’t really even see it anymore.

Which is why it’s amazing that this little gem got my attention:

Hubby and I were at the Kroger (grocery store). We’d been there a while (shopping for five can take some time). Anyhoo, we were checking out, and I spotted this little bottle in the ‘impulse buy’ checkout fridge.

I was peaked. And thirsty. And because I’m a nudnick, I actually read the fine print (the whole e.e.cummings bad grammar thing is all theirs):

“essential

orange-orange (C+calcium)

ah, orange juice commercials. funny stuff. mom cheerily prepares some huge breakfast while the rest of her family sleeps. sure, this could happen. but every morning? please. maybe if mom were heavily medicated, in which case, we wouldn’t condone operating a stove or any electrical appliance.

for those of us who don’t live in an orange juice commercial, there’s still a way to get your morning nutrition. this product has calcium and lots of vitamin c, so you can you can get your day started right, minus the whole stepford mom thing.

vitamins + water= all you need.”

How could I argue with that? A laugh, a beverage, and some vitamins. Well done, “the center for responsible hydration,” aka Glaceau*.

(*Now owned by Coca-Cola. Take that, Hubby, you Pepsi-drinking fool!)

It occurred to me, as I was browsing my own blog, that I talk about Hubby a lot.

I should be more forthcoming.

Let me tell you what I like about my man. (I’ll skip the messy parts – no one wants to hear that, unless Nora Roberts is writing it.)

Here’s what I most like about my man: he raises a family. Pretty much, that’s it. That’s all it takes. I am so lucky, because I have a man who is a father, a husband: a man.

How sad that he is so rare.

He works hard, so we don’t have to. He travels every week – so we can be a home for him to come back to.

He and I have so much fun together, we’re goofy. No, really. We went shopping for groceries this weekend. How boring is that? Hubby started cracking jokes with the pimply kid at the checkout – then he snuggled up to me and said, “Honey, we’re the ‘fun couple’ at the Kroger.” We had some nice moments with that.

The last few weeks of my Grandmother’s life, Hubby flew us out to Nevada to be with her, and family. He didn’t want to go, but he wanted to make me happy. So we went . (We fought the entire time. Crazy, stupid arguments that you only have with the person you love, that you don’t remember later. )

But here’s the funny: Hubby and I got into a (mock) argument about whether Anakin was born evil or evolved. Grandma was baffled. My sister-in-law looked at Baby-Bro (her husband) and asked, “How did they find each other?”

We so very much belong together, I wonder where I was before I met him.

I have found love in my life, and the love of my life, after many long years of searching. We are raising a family together. He has made all of my dreams come true (until I publish the Great American Novel).

And I keep finding it – over and over. I am so very much married to this man. He is so very much my Husband.

Happy (early) aniversary, my darling.

(Now we’re off to the dentist.)

Hubby and I love the local Japanese steak house, Kabuto. We go there once or twice a month.

The last time we were there, we noticed this weird little golden cat, with its fist pumping up and down. Neither of us knew what this was about. Hubby asks me, “Why does the manager have a cat on his desk that looks like, ‘Fight the power!’?” He then made the same gesture as the cat, leaned over to me and whispered, “Meow, motherf**ker!”

Once I was back in control of myself (I probably laughed for a full ten minutes – I couldn’t help it. Hubby doesn’t normally talk like that, and it just killed me), I asked the manager what the cat was about. He said something in Japanese that I didn’t understand. I thanked him and let it go.

But I couldn’t let it go. So I spent some time looking into this cat phenomenon. (Once I noticed the first one, they began to pop up everywhere. Well, not really everywhere, but I eat sushi a lot and they’re in every sushi place I go to.)

They’re called Maneki Neko (beckoning cat), and they seem to be very popular.

The gold color is to attract wealth; the fact that it’s the left paw beckoning is to attract customers. The reason it looks like a fist is that Japanese beckon with their palm showing, as opposed to Americans and most other westerners, who beckon palm-in.

They’re available in all kinds of colors and styles, and the colors mean different things (red keeps away evil spirits, for example).

Now I think I have to run out and buy one of these things. I’m fascinated.

Who knew you could learn so much by web-searching for ‘Japanese steak house cat’?

So, before too long I won’t be welcome anywhere, as I keep damning people. Well, you know, I’m unlikable that way.

Hubby is stuck in Atlanta. Thunder storms and FAA crack-downs have combined to rob me of my husband yet again. He hopes to be home tomorrow by lunch. Then he leaves again Sunday.

I’m starting to rethink this whole “need money for food and shelter and whatnot” thing. Maybe we can all go live in a box in Brazil – but with Hubby.

But then there’s that silly car payment…

On the upside, the ABC affiliate in Atlanta apparently interviewed him about airport incompetance. He’s currently feeling smug. If you’re in that area, check him out at 11:00p tonight.

Every night at bedtime is Hell.

No, really.

Three boys in one bathroom, with three showers to take, three teeth-brushings to muster, three hair-checking-outings going on at one time. Generally one of them will drop the towel, make some sad reference (sad to us Moms, at least), and then there will be punching.

Tonight, Middle Son told Oldest Son he looked STOOPID (happily for me, this is still the worst pejorative they throw at each other in my hearing. Idiot, maybe, shows up once in a while, but they’re outgrowing that one) (at least where I can hear).

Middle Son started out laughing. Then Middle Son was on the floor in the hallway, screaming, “MOM!” He was no longer laughing.

Mom was in the kitchen, finishing the dishes, praying this would all go away…

So I, of course, intervene, and the children are all safely ensconced in their beds at this moment.

But I reflect…

Eldest and I had a moment (after I’d rug-burned his arm because he’d sucker-punched his brother). He wanted to know why punching an idiot younger brother was bad behavior. He had been told (by MY older brother, of course) that it was the Eldest’s Brother’s job to abuse the Younger.

I told him he was doing fine, and that he reminded me completely of his elder Uncle in that respect. He preened. And then I said:

“If you act like an Arse-candle, you’re going to be treated like an Arse-candle.” Otherwise known as the Golden Rule, Scalzi-style.

This resulted in many things:

First thing: giggling fit from Eldest Son. He’d learned a new swear-word, and a new way to call other people bad names. He was completely appriciative of this, especially as it came from Mom. Any time you can tank your enemies with Mom’s sanction – well done, you!

Second thing: He had no idea what I was talking about. Which means his enemies have no idea what I’m talking about. This comes down to the “My Dad’s smarter than your Dad” view of things, which makes my son really happy, as road trips are filled with ‘Who Wants to be a Millionaire’ on the cell-phone, so he’s a pretty bright guy, and this makes him think he’s smart. But gives him no idea about his buddies.

Third thing: I have done my son a disservice. He has no idea how badly his ass is about to be kicked. Really. He thinks he’s strong – and he is actually pretty strong – but eventually his ass will be kicked. And my disservice is letting him think this ass-kicking will be avoided.

I can serve my son best by letting him be THE MAN.

Right?

One of my visitors searched me out with “What does it mean when I crap on myself?”

Ha HA HA!

How did he get to me? Seriously, how did he get HERE?

Laughing is the only thing I can do, cuz…  ick.

Where do you people come from?

I’m thinking of poor Scalzi, with his 10,000 per day. He must hit delete without any thought, and smile at the spam-filter.

I, on the other hand, am a little person (online-wise). I have friends and family who come here, and catch up.  My grandfather visits here. When weirdo child-molester ass-wipes pays me a visit, I am completely creeped.

What are you people thinking? No, really. You could not actually be thinking. When two years of my life and my loves and my children are all here for your perusal, you choose ‘Hot Wrestling Women’ as the top post?

Ew.

You are the reason people don’t want to connect. You are what we’re afraid of. I have met some terrific people online, (Meabh just had a similar post, in fact) but you make me afraid to even try. Shame, so much shame, on you.

But I will win. I will keep posting, even though I know you sick (people?)  are lurking. I will visit those folks whom I know and trust are not creepy, and I will keep on keeping on. I trust they will do the same.

I will delete you, and block you, and shout to the rooftops with my addlepated YAWP that you are not the majority (God, I hope not).

Information may want to be free, but it certainly does not want to be in your hands, you sick fucks.

Stay away from me.

In case the last post was too touchy-feely, I swiped this little bit of lunacy from Jim:

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