A Speckled Trout

The family vacation started last Friday with The Big Daddy driving the family to Chicago.  He tends to fancy himself as a pioneer, forging a trail northward for Ma and the Youngins.  We have hitched our wagon to this trail for nineteen long years and The Big Daddy is about making Good Time.  Move along, let’s go, time’s a wasting.  The trip with a stop for lunch takes nine hours, but Pa would love to crack that time and have something to tell the menfolk over the campfire while they’re whittling their pipes. 

Somewhere in Iowa I had to take a bathroom break and The Big Daddy said I’ll just keep the car running while you go in.  That means run that overactive bladder of yours in and out so we stay on schedule.  Back in the car and down the road he says to me, “We should have been at this point at 2:45 instead of 2:52.”  What are you talking about? ” I’m calculating our ETA and now we’re off by seven minutes.”   I’ll be sure to wear Depends from now so you won’t be able to tell if I’m looking out the window or peeing in my diaper. 

Ten miles from our destination and due to arrive thirty minutes early, we came to a screeching halt due to construction.  Like a driver in a NASCAR race, The Big Daddy pulled off the road and bobbed and weaved in search of an alternate route.  Trouble was he was in unfamiliar turf, but it just so happened to be the town where both of my grandmas lived and I knew a little something about the old school ways of getting around before they put in an interstate.  Namely, Route 6.

He will tell you that he was never really trying to beat the nine hour mark, that he wasn’t out to prove anything and that I’m just like my brother when it comes to embellishing a story.  There’s some truth to that.  I’m just saying that like Moses, it was me that delivered my people to the Promised Land.

The only time I’ve not had a dog in my entire life was the five years we lived in Maryland.  When we had to give Clem away when we moved there, I cried and cried and am always on the prowl for a Clem look-a-like. Currently, we have a dog, cat, Boy Child’s hamster and a couple of fish tanks.  Yep, we love the animals.

The other day, I was watching t.v. and a commercial for dog food came on and said, “If you’re a pet parent……….”   What?  I understand the attachment to a pet and I often talk to mine like they’re capable of dispensing advice, but I am not, nor never will be the parent of an animal.  You know the difference when you are a parent, because a dog will not roll its eyes at you, does not make fun of you and so far, is not capable of putting you in a nursing home.  A sick dog will not make you bargain with God to do anything to make it better, including taking you.  A dog wags its tail every time you walk in the door (even if you left a minute ago to take out the garbage) and loves you almost as much as feeding time.  A child, however, will take that comfort zone rug you’ve been laying on all your life, rip it out from under you and while you crawl to get back to it, they’ll have tossed it out the door.

And that’s o.k., because it is youth that changes things, that questions the status quo and puts a mirror in front of you to examine and defend your beliefs, and then slowly changes everything about your life.  While they’re doing what they’re meant to do, we all get pushed forward, for better or worse, and no dog is going to do that.

We are finishing up our fabulous week of vacay with better posts to come next week.  Sorry :(.  I thought I’d be writing away up here, but a girl from land-locked Kansas can’t waste her time doing that when there’s so much lovely water to gaze upon.   In the meantime, I thought I’d post a picture of The Big Daddy in some sweet, little shorts I crocheted just for the occasion.  Oh, he’s a looker all right, but sorry, ladies, he’s taken.

With Oprah in reruns and closing up shop, I think we need a new Favorite Things Sheriff in town.  Okay, I’ll be it. 

The Daily Show
I heart anything on t.v. that does not make the assumption that I am stupid.

Headbutler.com
See above.

Pinterest
I am addicted to this website.  Like I need an intervention.

Stevie Wonder, Dean Martin, Usher, James Taylor & Michael Buble
I love me a man that can sing me out of a bad mood.

Chip and salsa.  Chips and guacamole.  Chips and hummus.
No explanation needed.


Savers Thrift Store
Recently purchased an Ann Taylor black silk dress for $12.99 less 30%.  Score.


Gin and tonic.
The go to drink of the summer for me and The Big Daddy.


Garnet Hill, Sundance and Pottery Barn catalog.
Add to make-believe shopping cart with make-believe pile of money.


Sparks Flea Market
Two times a year.  Lots of farmers clearing out their barns of vintage goods with a little flirting to go with that deal we’re bound to make.


The Book of Wisdom
A spiral I’ve kept for many years of great writing – be it quotes, articles, advice or motivation.  I add to it and look it over all the time.

Malted Milk Balls
When the kids were little, I kept a stash hidden inside the crockpot.  Whenever there was a meltdown at the OK Corral (like every day), the kids would be sent off somewhere to “think about their behavior” and I’d head for the balls to de-stress.


I plan to update this from time to time, but I’ve kept the first one basic and inexpensive, because that’s how I roll these days.  Most good things in life are the simple pleasures, right?  I kinda crack myself up sometimes with my AHA moments.

This photo has been on my fridge for six months.  My dream kitchen.  See, I even wrote that on there in case somebody needed an idea for a birthday present.  Oh Lordy, how I love looking at this picture.  I imagine myself in there getting ready for a dinner party.  I look pretty.  I’m standing under the chandelier and the soft light is making me glow.  Good working dimmers.  I’ve washed my hair.  For once.  I have makeup on and took time putting on concealer so my undereye circles look sufficiently concealed.  I’m wearing wedges and a cute, ruffled apron over my little black dress.  Big Daddy comes down and he looks handsome and smells good.  He puts his arm around me and says, “Would my lovely wife like a glass of wine?”  I smile, he whispers in my ear and I throw my head back and laugh.  Oh, it’s the dream life I have in that kitchen.

Do you see how the whole corner was ripped off?  The Big Daddy needed some scratch paper and used this piece of paper.  My dream kitchen picture.  I can’t even have a copy of something nice.  How am I supposed to daydream about my dream life in my dream kitchen when the photo looks like the dog chewed on it?  My dream kitchen photo has become a snapshot of my real life, as if I needed a reminder of something that started out nice until it got into this house.

Isn’t this a great little dresser?  It’s next to The Big Daddy’s side of the bed.  It’s much bigger than his last dresser and gives him more room to store his books and other reading material in all the drawers.  It’s also where we store all our sex toys.  I kid. I kid.

He likes having it on his side of the bed for many, many reasons. 

Sheesh, this is where the fur handcuffs are supposed to go.

Mallie Bee and I were at CVS, each buying some things.  I was before her and when all my items were rung up, the cashier asked me if I would like to donate $1.00 to ALS.  One dollar.  I said no because it’s automatic to me when someone is trying to upsell me something at the register to turn them down.  When I had ten seconds to think it over, I said of course, yes, add that on, what was I thinking.

Mallie Bee went next, paid for her items and we left.  When we got in the car she said, “That lady never asked me if I would like to donate $1.00.”  Would you have, I asked her.  Yes, she said, I think that would be a terrible disease to have and I would want to do something for someone who has it.

It nearly made me cry to think in all of my fumbling and bumbling through parenthood, I raised a teenager who makes minimum wage handling other people’s dirty clothes and she doesn’t have to think long about parting with some of it to help another.  It also nearly made me cry to think I was close to blowing it all by example.

Mr. Handsome B.D. and I have been married 28 years today.  It was wicked hot on the day we got married and geez, it’s still hot.  Har, har, har.

Many years ago, we invited some old neighbors over for dinner.  For whatever reason, it felt awkward to me and hard to make conversation.  After about thirty minutes, Big Daddy blows in from work and sorry I’m late,  I’ve missed you guys in the hood, how’s the new place, everybody got something to drink, the cement business treating you well, da Bears are killing me this year………..

I  remember that night vividly for many reasons.  I knew I married a guy who loved the company of other people, who got the party started the second he walked in the door and was the perfect compliment to my often shy self.  Since that first blind date at Denny’s, to marriage, to three kids born in three different states, to ups and downs, he has always felt like home to me.