Well-Timed Moments

So when your kids ask about your blog, you listen.

Your ears perk up. You blush with feigned humility. You feel special.

I mean, come on... if the kids think I must write, well then-
It is for the children, after all.



Yeah. I'll shut up already, but seriously, two out of three really did ask. With that in mind, we'll make this a test run and see if either one of them have any questions, comments, or otherwise. It should make a good story anyway.

We live in a house of somewhere around twelve hundred square feet. With one kid out of his teenage years (I need to update that blurb on my bio) and the other two kids well into the teenage life, it mostly feels like we are five adults sharing a sometimes very crowded space. Throw into the mix only one television (and antenna tv at that), and there are only so many places to hide when you would rather not face the world. So, when one is having a difficulty of sorts, we all know about it and we all share the pain. Last night when the pain for one became all too evident, a pow wow ensued with grievances aired, pep talks offered, and affirmations given. In the end, three kids celebrated their God-given sibling bond with a late night trip to the meeting place of all meeting places, Walmart.

And I have yet to figure out the allure of that.

At any rate, I found myself in my usual spot on the couch, book in hand, and settled in for the evening. The husband succumbed to the pull of online video gaming/you tube searching/mindless jump surfing and tuned out the world. The tv was off. The house quiet.

And Vince Gill began to sing.

I looked up from the glow of my nook book to see the husband looking at me. Granted, I had to put on my glasses to be certain he was looking my way, but when the blurriness adjusted to 20/20 vision, he had indeed pulled the jack on the headphones and motioned me to the dance floor, otherwise known as the living room floor rug.

While the kids walked the aisles of Walmart, the parents danced to bona fide country music. At one point I looked at my worn, pink fuzzy socks and chuckled at the sight we must have been to the cats who looked lazily on from their vantage point by the fire.

Now, twenty-four hours later, I sit in the same spot on the couch, the same worn, pink fuzzy socks on my feet, and the television on for a change. Before me is the husband, his back to me, an virtual mafia/swat team contest in the heat of battle capturing his attention. The Dick Van Dyke show has taken over what was a Wonder Woman movie and from time to time a kid wanders through the living room.

And all I'm thinking is,

Shouldn't you people be at Walmart?

Of Obnoxious Brides And Clueless Politicians

Darn this nice weather.

I woke up in a bad mood. Maybe it was due to an overload of Bridezillas on Netflix last night (not good, I know). Maybe it was due to that teleprompter-reading-commander guy we've got in the big house and that ridiculous, threat-ridden virtual speech I caught a few minutes of on the late news (manipulation, for sure). Maybe it's because we once again have no hot water and I simply cannot bear the thought of a cold shower (get over it, I will). At any rate, when my eyes opened my first thought was of a for sale sign and a moving truck, but here I sit on this blasted front porch.

The air is cool. My cat is beside me. A string of motorcycles just went cruising by. Those old men looked pretty darn happy, if I do say so myself. It's quite difficult to stay in a bad mood.

I gotta tell you, though, those bridezilla women are crazy. It's like a train wreck that I can't look away from... I know I shouldn't watch, but good grief... do people really act that way? All that stress and drama wrapped around what some girl thinks perfection should look like. I just don't get it, but then again, I've never understood the pressure of having the perfect wedding. I would rather shoot for the perfect marriage (which we all know ain't gonna happen) than strive for an hour or two of me "being the princess for the day" while those around me are made to feel like cra--

Back away from the Netflix and nobody's gotta get hurt.

And what about our head guy? The guy in the big house? His eyes were bouncing back and forth so much reading that teleprompter that it was hard for me to follow a word he was saying. He threatens to shut this down and shut that down- even had the nerve to say that if the other side doesn't get on board with what he wants, "the soldiers, even those serving overseas, will not receive their paycheck come October 1st." Really? I don't believe him, or any other politician for that matter. I've not seen or heard one smack-talker who will ever convince me they have a clue what is going on outside their glass walls, at least not at this particular moment in time. That entire group of overly-paid, public-elected officials sit in padded leather chairs and blah-blah-BLAH-blah all the day long while we can barely afford one family pack of GROUND BEEF a week.

We have never lived in a home where the American flag is not displayed. We have honorable discharge papers under our belt and military achievement awards on our wall. We pay our income taxes, our property taxes, our vehicle taxes, and what will soon be our healthcare taxes-fines-whatever. We abide by the law.

It's enough to put a person in a horrifying, bad, bad mood...

Except for this wonderful, refreshing cool breeze. The cat is looking inside the boys' bedroom window. I don't know what he thinks he's gonna see... there won't be anybody moving on that side of the window for a while yet. I can hear the husband rattling around inside the house. I've been blessed with a man who knows how to wield a wrench and isn't afraid to use it. He's fixed that water heater before, Lord knows he can do it again. I've got a kid who helps buy groceries, a kid who wants to serve his country, and a kid who is just plain happy.

A God who gives me hope.
So much for that bad mood.

I just hope those bridezillas get their act together quick.

Having The Queen Over For Coffee

My dreams have been rather twisted lately, something that tends to happen when I immerse myself in places other than reality. I've spent the better part of this weekend in Elizabethan England and as a result, Queen Elizabeth I and Robert Dudley have invaded my dreams. I'm pretty sure that Sir Francis Drake was a student of mine last night and somewhere in the midst of the dream-like confusion, I think I was giving a pep talk to Fanny Price of Mansfield Park (as dreams tend to do, I skipped a few centuries without giving it a second thought). Anyway, this is what happens when I have one too many lattes and spend too much time with PBS on Netflix.

Happy Labor Day To Me.

(And to you, too, of course. May your grill be hot, your feet propped up, and your pajamas still on).



Bring on the fall!

Larry Tate Is A Jerk

As I sit in my usual spot on the couch watching yet another black-and-white episode of Bewitched, I can't help but notice for the umteempth time what a pig that Larry is... an old, gray-haired man in a suit checking out every female form in a skirt that strolls by his office door. In tonight's plot, he thinks Darrin (Darren?) is fooling around on Sam and slaps him jealously on the back. That a boy, he says. You son of a gun, he gushes.

oink, oink, oink.

Next up is I Dream of Jeannie. Nothing like a little feel-good manipulation to get a man to do whatever you want (sarcasm alert!). I will say this, though... I have always been jealous of the cushy digs Jeanie has in that bottle. Granted, she can also get trapped in those digs with a simple plug of a cork. There's always a trade-off to the peace and quiet a woman craves. I suppose a man feels the same way.


(lapse of time due to a cookie break)


I heard my phone ringing and as I pulled myself off the couch, I grumbled under my breath about who would be calling me after eight-thirty on a Friday night. I mean... sheesh. Some of us enjoy the comfort of a mundane evening, at least most of the time. The name popping up on my phone was that of the husband. I never even noticed he left.

What are you doing? he asked.

Talking to you, I said trying hard to keep the duh! out of my voice.

He told me to come out to the backyard (which explained why I never heard him leave). When I hesitated- I mean, I was awfully comfortable on that couch, he sweetened the deal: I've got a fire going and your chair by mine. That kind of offer is hard for even a bum like me to resist.

So we sat together watching the flames of our first bonfire of the new year.

Peaceful. Quiet. No Jeannie's bottle necessary.

And no pig-of-a-man Larry Tate in sight.

Tuesday

I'm looking out on what our local weather guy has deemed a blustery day. The forecast this morning included smiling warnings to bundle up! and I've seen no less than seven stocking caps, three scarves, and one pair of mittens so far this morning. Is it really that cold out? No, but then again, I know what a blustery day is suppose to feel like. I remember the days of long johns under the clothes and the mandatory two pair of socks. I'll take southern cold over mid-western cold any day.

The weather is the big headline, though, isn't it? I hate it for the people being affected by the latest big wind to blow in off the ocean... times like this make me rethink that fictional house on the beach (the one that exists inside my head anyway). The only good that has come from the latest turn of events is that the media has something else to talk about besides politics, Lindsey Lohan, and Octomom. When you think about it, it must be pretty tough to come up with enough stuff to talk about in this constant news-hungry world. I mean, I don't ever remember thinking, Boy, I wish I could watch/read/listen to news twenty-four hours a day; but evidently somebody out there had that thought (and I bet it was the same person who decided Lindsay Lohan and Octomom were newsworthy to begin with).

Anyway.

Last night we did the parent-teacher thing and collected a few report cards. I presented this account to my mom: No Drama. No Lecture. No Tears. The two remaining school-age kids are doing very well as they muddle through their high school years. In fact, I was so relaxed afterward that I willingly watched an hour of The Voice. I'm not a fan of any kind of music show that does not include a live singer in a cowboy hat, but it was entertaining nonetheless. Actually, I think I might like that show better than the rest of the wanna-be-a-star series. Listening to the opinions of the kids as they watch it is entertainment enough. That's about as much television as I can take on a week night.

And that's about all I can do for right now.

It's just another Tuesday. Life goes on.

Eat More Chicken! (Or At Least Learn A Lesson From A Couple Of Cats)

I'll tell you, people never run out of having something to talk about complain about, that is. Between the on-going headlines about the tragedy in Colorado (is anyone else sick of seeing that bright orange hair?) to the recent back-and-forth about Chick-fil-A and their stance on biblical values (including valued opinions [HA!] from Miley Cyrus and the Kardashian clan), I am weary of clicking on any online news link. For that matter, my own facebook page is driving me insane. Come on, people, even my cats get along. They don't always agree... like who should have dibs on the food bowl first... but the older one will wait patiently why the younger, more immature one has her turn. When the more feisty, young one (with claws, mind you) pesters the more laid-back, been around the block more than once, older cat (without claws), the old just watches the young with little interest waiting for her to run out of steam.

Call me crazy, but I think there's a lesson there.

And this entry was just interrupted by my daughter's alarm. She's not even here and yet the sound of "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" was playing from her room. I'll have to ask her about that one later. I can never figure out her alarm to turn it off, but I can figure out the yanking of the batteries. I've never been a fan of Christmas in July.

Back to business, though. There is real life happening out there, remember? A good friend of mine had a scare yesterday with her grandbaby-to-be. My husband's grandma is still recovering from a car accident that happened over a month ago. Drought-stricken states are arguing with government agencies about whether or not they can use what corn they do have for food or fuel. Regardless of what mainstream media polls or a late-night-show-hopping president has to say, unemployment is still a big problem. And on a more pressing note, we are having issues with ants and other creepy crawlies in the house. A woman can only take so much, you know.

Meanwhile, families in Colorado are learning what life is like when the cameras and reporters turn their attention to the Olympics and what Team USA will be wearing while they are still minus one at the dinner table. And when it comes down to it, does anyone really care where you get your next chicken sandwich at anyway? I mean, I'm all for Chick-fil-A, hands down. I've always admired their company and Closed On Sunday policy (much like Hobby Lobby), but the real reason I go there is for the service (and well, they do have the BEST chocolate chip cookie ever). I'll be there next Wednesday for the big appreciation day, but I'm there at least one day out of the week anyway. I also like KFC for my Sunday after-church dinner and Wendy's new almond-chicken-berry salad any day of the week.

Yes. I just like chicken.
I also like rainbows in the sky.
And cats that play nice.

Happy Thursday!

Two Cats + One Cat = One Too Many Cats

We came home tonight to find a scrawny black kitten galloping across our yard. The youngest was the most natural target and so now, some two hours later, she is still outside pampering that cat. Although another inside varmint is not in the cards, I wouldn't be entirely opposed to a roaming outsider. I'd bet everything I don't have in my wallet that she comes in with that kitten already named.

*door opens*girl walks in*
You got that cat named yet?
*guilty smile*
Simba.


I am sitting in my usual spot on the couch. There's a laptop in front of me, a nook tablet to my left, and a cell phone to my right. Do I really think I'm gonna miss out on anything? On the television is a rerun of America's Got Talent. It's the same episode from last night. Evidently prime time is running out of ideas. Imagine that.

Ooooh. I guess there is a new one coming on.
I think I'll skip it and head elsewhere.
I'm sure this same one will be playing tomorrow.

Yeah. I must be running out of things to talk about.

Except that graduation is coming up and my parents are driving out next week. The job search continues and the printer went kerplunk today in the middle of a resume. I guess there are lots of things to talk about, but I think we'll save all that for another day.

And if you're in the neighborhood and need a cat, feel free to swing by and pick one up. You're certain to find one curled up on our front porch.

Reading Makes Me Happy

The Rifleman is on. Supper is over.
And my boy's not back from his bike ride yet.
Does the child not know it's dark outside?

Scratch that. I hear his truck pulling in now. One of his favorite things to do is to throw his bike into the back, meet up with a friend, and find a long path that leads to nowhere. And okay, now that I've opened the door I can see that it's not actually dark yet. Guess I'll save that lecture for another day.

I've got the week off from school and have been pleasantly surprised at all the extra time I've had. Sunday night I downloaded a few new books to my nook and have been hooked on The Help since page one. I know it's been out as a movie for some time, but I'm just not much of a movie person. I'd rather read it anyhow. I also got Extremely Close and Incredibly Loud. Yeah, I know it's a movie, too, so don't tell me how either one of them ends. The point is that I'm glad to have the time to be reading again. This is one week I'm going to hate to see come to a close.

Other than that, things have been pretty quiet around the old ponderosa. The weather has been beautiful, although I'm quite certain the flowers are a bit confused. I was raking some today and noticed a few buds on an azalea bush already. The husband has been busy doing some work around the house and the middle is recovering quite well from his accident the other week. All in all, I sit back and look at our quiet and ordinary life and think things are pretty good. Of course, watching Dr. Phil on any given day will make any quiet and ordinary life look pretty good.

As for now, another episode of The Rifleman is coming on.
There's a kitchen waiting on the oldest to eat his dinner and clean up.
And I've got a good book to get back to. You may not hear from me for a while. =)

Miss USA And A Teenage Girl

"Stick thin."
"Rather large on top."
"Perfect singer."
"Probably a good dancer."

My thirteen-year old daughter's thoughts on the Miss USA competition.

"And they wonder why we have issues."
Her words, not mine.

"I would like to see one dress that is straight across."
Referring to the plunging necklines.

"She looks orange."
Spray tans.

"I hope she knows she would look a lot better if she sat straight up."
Slouchiness at the piano.

"I really don't like that dress. Looks like a rainbow puked on her."
Complete with sound effects.

"Walking chicken legs."
"I could be a dancer."
"That looks painful."
"Her hair looks perfect all the time."

My girl. Beautiful. Tall. Healthy. Dancing through the living room as I type.
So much potential. So many choices. So many things confusing the way she thinks.

"Can I mute it?"
"Have you ever seen that movie Fame?"
"I hope she knows the sleeves make her arms look kinda squirrel-wingish."
"I wanna see somebody on roller skates."

"I think people worry too much about their weight, Mom."

Well said, Daughter. Well said.

Although I'm still trying to figure out if squirrel-wingish is an actual word.

What Tomorrow May Bring

Do you ever feel like you could just melt into your bed? I feel that way right now. My legs and feet ache from walking two nights in a row. How sad is that? My head aches from the Normans and the Slavics and some other stuff that although interesting to read, has left me feeling a little weary. I would take a hot bath, but then I would have to clean the tub first. There's no fun in that.

My girl's skirts keep getting shorter.
I keep pulling them back down.
That's become our nightly routine.

Last night we broke up the nightly routine with a family viewing (minus the girl) of the original Clash of the Titans, one of my favorite movies as a teenager. The boys were disappointed in what they labeled as "lame graphics" and deemed the entire plot "BORING," and yet they stayed glued to their seats the entire time.  Either they secretly liked the movie and just didn't want to admit it, or they enjoyed their time with their mom and dad so much they just didn't want to leave.

And a minor note here.... if you're anything like me, you tend to forget certain scenes from certain movies long ago. This one had brief glimpses of the female form in all her glory. I had completely forgot. While I positioned my hands in strategic places on the tv screen, the boys (and the dad) chastised me for what I brought into the home. Of course, their argument didn't stand a chance when I started rattling off video games that they play (dad included). Nonetheless, we all had a good laugh and I am confident they were in no way scarred. The plus side? No sex, no profanity. I'm good with what they saw. In fact, I would prefer that over most of the crap they see on primetime television any given night.

But that's another story.

I received some sad news from back home today that had me searching for cheap plane tickets. There were none to be found. Driving is out of the question so I read and cleaned and read some more. I looked at old pictures, talked to the kids, and thought about how precarious life can be. I watch the news and see things that don't matter get valuable media time and things that do matter swept under the rug. It really is an upside-down world.

But again, that's another story for another day.

For today, I'm thankful my kids are safe (short skirts and all).
I'm thankful for a friend to walk with (even if I do whine about achy legs).
And I'm even thankful for a dirty bathtub (I can always get a kid to clean it).

I'm thankful for schoolwork, past and present.
I'm thankful for people I have known.
I'm thankful for a God in Heaven.

Yet you do not know [the least thing] about what may happen tomorrow. What is the nature of your life? You are [really] but a wisp of vapor (a puff of smoke, a mist) that is visible for a little while and then disappears [into thin air].

 James 4:14 (Amplified Bible)

 

Goodbye, World

Goodbye, Laura Bush. I'm just not going to be able to finish your book which I love. You all just made it to the White House (the first time) and you were talking about gowns, I believe. I get a little teary-eyed knowing that I won't be visiting with you anytime soon, but back to the library you must go.

Goodbye, Mitch Rapp. You are my all-time favorite spy, even if you're not real. Book number four was next in line after Laura. It's just not gonna happen. I'm going to hide my nook in the closet so I won't be tempted. Don't worry, you are forever in my dreams.

Goodbye, Kathie Lee and Hoda. You're my favorite mid-morning pleasure, but you're going to have to go, too. I get too easily distracted with your talk of weekend travel and white wines and celebrity gossip. It's best if I just leave the television off.

Goodbye, Facebook.

Nevermind that one. No sense in going overboard here, but the farm may very well have to go into the dormant mode for now. Heavy, heavy sigh.

Just when I thought I might be getting a handle on this middle eastern nonsense that I've been trying to learn (no offense to my middle eastern friends, mind you)... but just when I was getting caught up on the reading and writing and somewhat understanding, I started a new class today.

Traditional Russia.
Fourteen initial chapters to read.
One hefty assignment to kick things off.

This in addition to my assigned four chapters regarding the middle east and war.
And two assignments to go with that.
All due by Sunday.

I love history.

Good thing I also love coffee.
You all pray for me, okay?
This too shall pass.

How's That New Attitude Working Out?

For the record, my new positive attitude for the new year was tested about five minutes before I went to bed last night. My mistake was reviewing our new insurance premium. Strange thing to look at right before bed, I know, but the mail was scattered on our bed along with laundry waiting to be put away, and the envelope with our insurance company's return address caught my eye. We recently added our son to our auto insurance. Our seventeen-year old son. Need I say more?

That positive attitude was suddenly in an extreme tug-a-war with the oh-so-comfortable negative, pessimistic attitude that has accompanied me for a while now. How in the world are we gonna pay that extra? Yes, I know some of you are thinking We? How 'bout he? We all have opinions on that and I am certainly not up for debate on the subject. The boy is looking for a job in the same environment that I am having trouble locating work. He is on track for a scholarship to a technical college after his senior year doing the work he loves. Work will come. He has a whole life ahead for that.

After repeating several times in my mind positive! Positive! POSITIVE!, I turned out the light still grumbling out loud. My husband told me in so many words to "can it" and "go to sleep". So that's what I did. I slept soundly and woke up with my positive attitude intact.

And the day went pretty good. I even ventured out for a latte (courtesy of my dad's Starbuck's gift) and decided I would try the non-fat version they were pushing. Yeah. I won't make that mistake again. The pre-planned barbeque for supper was a big hit as always (even if I did have my buttons pushed a few times at the dinner table) and I even managed to stay calm while my husband headed to the attic (twice) with gun in-hand to attempt to eliminate the woodpecker that has chosen our home as his (her?) refuge. I realize I'm doing a lot of patting myself on the back here, but hey, the battle in my mind knows no relief. I take what I can get.

Now the television is on and the show we're watching is making me want to cry. I hate that. I would turn it off, but two out three kids are totally engrossed in the drama. The only good thing is that I could potentially have a welcomed cry and blame it on the tv. But then that would blow my positive attitude. And I'm not ready to give it up yet.

I still have the woodpecker to deal with.
And a husband with a gun.
And a seventeen-year old driver.

No more skinny lattes for me.
I'm going after the real stuff tomorrow, Dad.

New Dishes, Barbeque, and Andy Griffith

Well, I am still sitting on the only clear spot on the couch, but progress on the after-Christmas mess was accomplished today. The totes and boxes that littered the floor last night are now neatly piled waiting for some lucky boy to haul them up to the attic. The pine needles have been vacuumed and to celebrate having a clutter-free dining room table again, we enjoyed a steak dinner on new dishes. One problem with having new dishes, though, is having to find a place to put those new dishes.

In fact, that is the process that takes a while... finding new homes for all the new little knick-knacks that made their way to my home via Christmas presents. I got a couple of new scent warmers and it's always a challenge to strategically place those types of things in our small house, but they sure do smell good. The dishes required me to do a little rearranging of the cabinets which then required an impromptu family gathering in the kitchen for me to point out the changes that had been made (a necessary step when the kids are in charge of the dishes and don't really care if the plastic cups are mixed in with the glass ones).

All this cleaning and rearranging and organizing has been good for me, I think. I've been making a conscious effort to think positive regardless of the unchanged circumstances. Yes, I realize that we're only into day two of this new way of thinking, but it sure feels good for a change. Tomorrow might be a whole other story. My husband goes back to job he despises and the "first day back to school" will have lost its excitement for the kids. I've already got a game plan, though. It's called barbeque pulled pork sandwiches. Guaranteed to put a smile on all faces in this family.

My daughter just called out from the kitchen, I love how you organized the bowls, Mom. She's baking again. Baking and watching Andy Griffith. I don't know how many twelve-year old girls out there watch the clock for The Andy Griffith Show, but she is one of them. And if I can make her life easier in the kitchen by keeping the bowls organized, then so be it. She makes my life easier by keeping me supplied in chocolate.

I've never really been a New Year's Resolution kind of girl, but I might consider some this year:

Stay positive.
Love the Lord.
Practice patience.

Then again, I think I'll wait to see how the rest of the week goes. I can only fix so much barbeque.

Dancing with a Plan

If it's Monday night at our house, then it's Dancing with the Stars. As far as my girl is concerned, all life stops with the opening number. Tomorrow night will be no different due to the results show. Since we haven't had anything but antenna television since something like 1994, nobody really complains because quite frankly, nothing else is on.

I was never really a fan of this show because of the sometimes scantily-dressed women and two teenage boys in the house. I've got into it this season for some reason (probably because the channel gets changed right after Andy Griffith). Also, if the dances get a little to, well... let's just say suggestive, I've got a daughter that will turn the tv off until she thinks that number has ended. "Gotta think about the boys, Mom." Yeah, I've trained her well.

Those kids of mine are in seventh heaven tonight anyway. No school tomorrow. Why? I have no idea. Election day, I suppose. Last year was their first year of public school and we're still trying to figure everything out. Some things I like and somethings I don't. God's got a plan, though. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

That plan is what brought us to where we are now. Kind of like public school, some things I like and some things I don't. I like that our oldest boy is excelling in a course that would have never been offered where we were. He's probably the main reason we are staying put. Well, he is the reason. How do you pull a kid from something he is good at? You don't, in our opinion. That's a good thing.

God's got a plan. That's been my theme of the day; the theme of my life. "Many are the plans in a man's mind, but it is the Lord's purpose for him that will stand," Proverbs 19:21. I have given up trying to understand it. I no longer act like I even have a clue how it's all suppose to work out. It's His plan, not mine.

I am momentarily distracted by the "Bust A Move" routine. My girl about falls off the couch laughing when I tell her, "Boy, I'd like to be doing that."  Must be the visual of her mom in split-up-to-thighs pants busting a move across the dance floor. I'm pretty sure God's plan for me doesn't include that.

But wouldn't it be funny if it did? Stranger things have happened. I've got a southern accent that proves that.

 

Stains on the Tablecloth

During my latest round of afternoon tv, a commercial came on where the dad spills bar-be-que sauce on the tablecloth, gives a "no problem" look to the kids because he knows he has the perfect stain remover, and has the tablecloth washed, dried, and back in place by the time the mom gets home. Whatever.

At my house, the tablecloth would stay on the table along with all the dirty dishes (provided I'm not there to motivate anyone else to do it). Don't get me wrong... my kids can clean a kitchen and leave everything spotless within thirty minutes flat... they just need that mom-inspired motivation to do so. Before we had a dishwasher, I use to joke that I, in fact, had three: Nick, Andrew, and Katelyn. They use to rotate with one kid having the week off while the other two washed and dried. They still do that, it's just with an actual dishwasher now. Yeah. They have it made.

But that has nothing to do with bar-be-que sauce and a tablecloth. At any rate, if you want to remove a stain before the mom gets home, Tide evidently can do the trick and she'll never know what you've been up to. Thank goodness for progress in the laundry department.

By the way, my lunch time with The Young and the Restless and another pepperoni hot pocket carried over to The Bold and the Beautiful and two double-stuffed oreos. I have to say, for better or worse, I was rather impressed. No twisted love triangles or glamorous big-money deals taking place, just a half hour focused on one woman's (Stephanie's) introduction to the homeless of the inner-city. Looks to be a interesting storyline, but I think I best break my habit before it becomes too comfortable (and let me tell you, a recliner with an open-door breeze and a curled-up cat is a very comfortable picture). Yep, I think I'm gonna have to move this party outside and away from the allure of Hollywood.

And with that, back to the Shenandoah Valley and Jackson's brilliant military strategy, chapter fourteen.

Soap for Lunch

I'm sitting here watching Nikki fall off the wagon on The Young and the Restless. She's crying about how she has been sober for seventeen years and doesn't understand how she could start drinking again. Funny that I can relate to that. Not necessarily the sober part, but the soap opera part. I've been soap opera free for fifteen years myself. What happened?

Normally I would have been working and besides, we all know that you can skip years on a soap and still perfectly understand what's going on when you randomly happen to tune in. Even during the summer when I was off with the kids, I never really felt the urge to sit around and watch tv all day. Typically once the Price is Right is over, the tv goes off. Heck, I'm not even an Oprah fan. Afternoon television has never done much for me.

Blame it on reading. I've been so engrossed in the same book for four weeks now that I've little time for anything extra. Usually I read while I eat lunch. Lately, though, to take a break from reading, I've been keeping company with the Newman family and I have to admit that I'm just a little more than intrigued.

When did Victoria change? Nick and Sharon aren't together anymore? Crickett is still around? And I thought Paul was the love of her life? Kathryn is married and apparently has a long, lost son that nobody really likes. Oh, and the same with Victor. His family tree alone must be a work of art.

I know, I know. I could be doing so much more with my time but in all fairness, the laundry gets folded, a question gets researched, and today... well, blogs and emails have shared the recliner with my remote and a pepperoni hot pocket. I would call that time well spent.

Besides, between my muting the steamy parts and ignoring the new characters in which I am clueless and/or not interested in, Nikki is really the only one who catches my attention. She really needs to get off that booze.