Stumbling Towards Perfect

I called my Dad up and asked if he wanted to go on a date with me to see the bluegrass group Dailey & Vincent  at the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater's Young Auditorium ... he instinctively screamed out No! and then mumbled something about not trusting me alone out in public. Which is ironic, because I stopped going out with him alone in public back in 1995 when he picked me up from the airport. Two and a half hours into our 45 minute drive home I realized he was (1) lost on these ridiculous back roads he insisted on taking and (2) driving off his drunk. We got home about 4 hours after he picked me up. Again, the airport is 45 minutes from our house. Who doesn't trust whom, Dad? So, I asked my Mom to go with me. Because she's not that good at coming up with excuses on short notice. And also, growing up she had these long playing records of various folk singers, gospel singers, bluegrass bands -- no Elvis or The Beatles, mind you, but music was always

It's Halloween ; are you giving it your all? This home has become a local tourist attraction... they go all out and no two years are ever the same... Enter at your own risk: Needless to say, this is a house that we drive by daily, in awe, but we do not walk up to, at night, during trick or treat hours... because they will scare the snot out of you.

Okay. So I didn't really sob after finding out I had Celiac Disease, but I did shed a tear for this amazing cheese herb bread that I had just discovered and now will no longer be able to enjoy. Such is life. I can't enjoy my Size 2 jeans or my used-to-be perfect 20/20 vision either. You just move on. Afraid I would be existing solely on eggs and water for the next 50 years I contacted my cousin, Kelly. She's one of those women that can do anything life throws at her and she does it well. With a Martha Stewart style. Each of her three children has a special - and different - dietary need. Trust me when I say she knows her way around a Gluten Free kitchen. And Kelly took me shopping. We spend hours wandering around Walmart alternating between seriously discussing ingredient labels and laughing so hard I was going to pee. We even ran into my sister, which is an incredibly dangerous situation - but her husband pulled her out before we could consider margaritas in the cann

THE TEEN BEAN: You remember my super-super cute super old man bus driver right? He's retiring and today's his last day... I just got sad.  :( ME: What the hell? TEEN: What do you mean what the hell?! It's SAD!!! He's the cutest old man ever. He wears button up shirts and combs his hair over and has little glasses. ME: Is this the poor man that watches you every morning as you race down the front steps and run toward the bus stop after he's started driving away? TEEN: No. We have a girl for the morning who I HATE. He's only the afternoon driver. I wanna take a picture of him to show you. He's just the cutest thing! TEEN: Oh jesus.... Mary's walking her dog... ME: TAKE A PICTURE!!!!! TEEN: She's not to our house yet! I will when she gets in the yard. ME: Good. Do a surprise attack. Like karate drop-kick ninja stuff. TEEN: She took a turn and didn't come by our house. Probably because you yelled at her that one time. ME

Our mornings are hectic. I expect most homes with school age children in it are hectic - some more than others. Ours is really bad. Mostly because I hate waking up and having to do things quickly. And also because I hate when people try to speak to me in the mornings before my ears are awake and ready to listen to them which doesn't happen until some where around 9:43am. So, basically, if it's before 9:43am and you're holding a conversation with me, know that I'm pretty much putting on an act and stifling my urge to tell you to shut up and leave me alone. The one exception is my early morning phone calls to my sister on our respective drives to work. That's because she's my sister and can get away with saying things like sounds like someone needs about fourteen more hours of sleep and also I feel that I owe her because I pretty much made her mornings a hellacious experience throughout our childhood, what with the slamming doors and screaming in her face an

Today I learned I am a freak of nature because I have issues with cookware. It was the fault of Starbucks, actually, because no one would have known this about me if their line hadn't been ridiculously long this morning and I hadn't subsequently posted a picture to my Facebook account mentioning said line. Then a friend of mine was all can't you just make coffee at home? and I was all I'm after the chai tea, y'all! and she was all well, can't you make THAT at home ? And I was all no, because : then I'd have to purchase a tea kettle. Which I think are pretty gross because they end up getting lime deposits on the bottom in the inside and you can never really get them clean. Or else I would have to use a pan to boil water in because I have issues with microwaving a cup of water (don't ask; I could never explain it other than "it smells funny"). Then I'd have to wash the spoon I stirred with - and wash up the counter because there would

Long story short: I've been diagnosed with Celiac Disease. And now I don't know what on earth I'm allowed to eat except eggs. I'm more of what you'd call a silent sufferer because I don't really have any symptoms, per se -- I'm tired all the time (but I blame that on the kids) and I'm usually walking around with an upset stomach (which I've always blamed on stress and anxiety). I would have totally put my money on colon cancer but the doctor said my colon looked beautiful -- (he really needs to get out more) -- except for the internal hemorrhoids. (Yes, I'm keeping them.) [Side note: Dotter totally added my name to the prayer list at school. "Aww! That's so sweet! For what?" "For your celiac and hemorrhoids."] Anyway, the upper endoscopy I had Monday showed I have something called Barrett's Esophagus as well as confirmed Celiac. I was talked to today about the importance of adhering to a strict gluten free die

Ever have one of those days where you can't talk because you're absolutely emotionally bankrupt? Like, let's say your daughter turned 10, which is a super huge deal - double digits, yo! And you always make a HUGE deal about Birthday Days - the day you celebrate a birthday, just Mommy & Daughter, doing fun things together because it's about the love, and not about those sticky pawed, drooling sugar-high kids you're forced to entertain and be responsible for if you were one of those mothers who hosted an actual birthday party? And you always make a HUGE deal about the fact you're building memories together and that's why you have to take 3,487 pictures and print them out in a birthday album because the Gift Of Memory Keeps On Giving! And then, after you enjoy your day, you tell someone else to look at your pictures but they say there's none on your camera and you're like of course there is. I took them. They've got to be there . Only when you

I had a colonoscopy and upper endoscopy yesterday. That meant they went in both ends - but not at the same time because that might get the camera tubes all tangled up, and what a mess that would be. They went down my throat first - which is good, because since I was asleep I couldn't be certain they didn't use the same camera tube for both ends, know what I mean? Just in case they did I wanted to make sure they went through my mouth first. I wasn't totally asleep though. More like hanging out after having way too much to drink. They call it conscious sedation . I call it my sophomore year of college . Basically I could talk, communicate and respond to verbal clues, but had to rely on others to tell me what the hell I did that I couldn't remember. I wasn't allowed to operate heavy machinery, go up or down stairs or sign any legal documents for the remainder of the day. Probably because I was going to be hungover. First they had to numb my throat (so I wouldn'

Our house is not pretty. In fact, it's pretty plain and boring. A single story ranch with ugly brown trim. It wasn't even brown, really. More like the color of rust. The ugly brown trim was peeling paint which made it look even worse. In fact, that's how I gave directions: we're the corner house with ugly brown trim . They always found us. We updated the trim to a more neutral, less gaudy color and added shutters for some aesthetic appeal. (Window boxes will be next, if I can figure out where to get decent ones for under $200 a piece.) Not huge changes, I'll admit, but surely noticeable, one would think. BEFORE AFTER ( you cannot imagine how much I dislike those wires on the side of the house ) Bean, you haven't said anything about the house. What about the house? The outside. What about the outside? What? Go out and look at it.   [forces teenager outside] Yeah? Well? Well what? Do you like it? Umm.... yeah. The color. It's

Hey, Dad! Guess what? Remember how we took out that scrub brush from by the street? On the other side of the garage? By the lilac bushes? There are sunflowers growing there! The girls noticed them the other day! Can you believe it?! Maybe someone planted them as a joke. Who would plant sunflowers as a joke? No one plants flowers as a joke. We used to back home. When someone left we'd plant something in their garden and wait for them to find it. Did you plant sunflowers in my yard as a joke? (stifles laughter) No... I'm just saying that some people would do that.... I feel like this is a good time to point out that my parent's back yard is massive. Like regulation football field massive. And it's neatly (and proudly) mowed and trimmed. With beautiful gardens bordering the yard, which is big and wide and all smooth cut grass .... like a blanket of velvet. I wonder if Dad likes corn. I'm picturing three or four cornstalks sprouting up from the exact center

Long story short: although I did absolutely nothing in high school that was memorable or newsworthy, I still felt it important to have a class reunion. Mostly because I like cheese. And there is always cheese at reunions. I was never on Student Council. I was never an honor student. Or a popular kid. Or a cool kid. Or a pretty kid. I was just a random teenager trying to figure out my place within the High School Galaxay. Surprise! I found out I didn't belong there. Just like all the other kids in high school -- because you're not meant to stay in high school . You're meant to grow up and mature and find yourself and stop throwing french fries at the dorky guy who walks past you on his way to get his fifth carton of chocolate milk. I'm not sure who was relegated with the duty of reunion planning but no one did anything about it for 16 years. That's when me and this other guy joined forces and planned an impromptu gathering at our local Legion Hall. Reminiscent of