Wanted: TTY/TDD large printing telephone for the hearing impaired

My sign language interpreting skills paid off again yesterday. I have this 'insane' habit of playing the role of a deaf woman. At home and away from home. Anytime really. It just takes over my whole body. We practice 'talking' deaf at home. We sign nursery rhymes and songs at home.

(If you read my blogosphere drivel, then you know I have the "no-hear-ums", I use closed-caption, I ignore, and I don't listen.)

My children and I were on our way to Target, just six miles from home, when sirens started wailing and thus, I was pulled over by a friendly policeman.

Child #1: "Were you driving the speed limit?"
Me: "Only five over... but that shouldn't warrant a pull-over!"
Child #1: "Oh NO!"
Child #2: Starts crying and announces the obvious, "Daddy's NOT going to be happy."
Child #3: Is already wailing, "Waaaaaaaa!"
Child #2: "If you get a ticket, does that count as your birthday present?"
Me: "Let me handle this... no laughing, no talking, NOTHING!"

Officer approaches car. Officer gestures to window. Officer gestures for my license and insurance papers. Officer pauses, rubs his head, and begins to fidget.

The window is down and I dramatically start fiddling with my ear. Adjusting my 'pretend' hearing aid. I gesture to my ear. I suddenly start using hand gestures and signs ... very quickly and efficiently (mainly I begin signing the "Pledge of Allegiance" because I am good at that one). I then put on my "DEAF" voice and start mumbling about nothing in particular.

Loudly I shout, "I'n horry oh-ih-her, I con ere oo."

The officer immediately comprehended the situation ... Oh, shit! This woman is DEAF. I am thrilled that he deduced my situation so quickly. He started to apologize and he definitely wanted to ESCAPE FAST! He held his hand up to interrupt my Deaf Driveling Voice.

"You were going over the neighborhood speed limit", the officer announced slightly frustrated. And then the officer added slowly with a loud shout, "I-m s-o-r-r-y m-a-a-m b-u-t y-o-u-r b-r-a-k-e-l-i-g-h-t-s a-r-e o-u-t."

I stare at him. "I'n horry..."

He uses a stop sign hand gesture. He goes to his police car and starts writing. Oh shit. I hope it isn't a ticket. Maybe he is on to me. What could happen to me 'for deception'? Maybe I will have to appear in court and continue with my charade. If my deception pisses off said officer, I suppose he could haul my ass to jail and call my 'mommy and daddy' or worse, my husband.

He comes back and hands me a hand written note stating that my brakelights are out.

I smile a big fake smile. I nod in acknowledgement. The officer looks in the back seat at the children. One is still crying. One is looking down, almost pretending to be asleep. And one is looking at the officer.

The officer speaks to child #1: "Hi there, you take care of your mother, OK?" (Like I need taking care of...)

Child #1 looks confused but she responds to the officer: "I'n horry, I con ere oo". She speaks in her perfect six year old deaf voice.

'UM all day long!

The no-see-ums have invaded my home. The no-see-ums have taken over every resident's brain except mine. The no-see-ums are here all day long! The no-see-ums are flippin' annoying!

"Mom, where are my flip flops?"

"Um, where you left them?"

"I don't see um."

"Stand in front of your closet, look at the third shelf, look in the third shelf, and look at your flip flops."

"I don't see um. Can you come and find um?"

"First, open your eyes really wide and then look. IF you still can't see them, let me know."

"I don't see um."

I stomp all the way to the closet and pull the flip flops off the third shelf. "UGH!"

"Honey, do you know where my sunglasses are?"

"Yes, where you left them."

"I don't see um."

(Surprise I mutter.) "Go into the kitchen, open the first drawer on the right, look in the first drawer on the right, and pick up your sunglasses."

"I don't see um."

(Oh, for the love of God.) "Look carefully, they are there."

"I don't see um."

I stomp into the kitchen and lift the sunglasses out of the first drawer on the right. "HERE!"

"Mom, where are my markers?" "Honey, where are my pliers?" ... and it goes on and on.

"MOM ..." "HONEY, ..." "MOOOOMMMMM ...." "HONNNNEEEEEY, ..."

Oh, I am sorry I have the NO-HEAR-UMS!!!
(And the other resident, I believe she has the no-taste-ums.)

Small Farm Animals in Question

Dear HOA,

We would like to inquire about the small farm animal policy per HOA [home owner's association]guidelines.

How many chickens equal a small farm animal?

Sincerely,

Melissa
Lot #9


Response:

Dear Melissa,

We at the HOA regret to inform you that we are a very busy volunteer group and do not have sufficient time for questions/riddles. This may come as a shock to you, but we do have full-time employment and the HOA is in addition to our regular life duties. Please contact us when you have a legitimate question/concern.

Sincerely,

HOA
of _____________.


Response:

Dear HOA,

I am sorry if I appeared to be mocking your duties. But, I seriously would like to know "how many chickens equal a small farm animal?". I am not ridiculing with the old "how many chickens does it take to ....?"

My daughter, Victoria, has been trying to decide which small farm animal she would like to have on our lot #9. And recently, she decided that she would like to house chickens. So, according to policy, can we have ONE chicken only? Or can we have a couple of chickens? Victoria is flowing with empathy. She feels that only ONE chicken will become lonely. She would like the chicken to have a sibling. And possibly some 'eggs'.

So, once again, how many chickens equal a small farm animal?

Thank you,

Melissa
Lot #9


Response:

Dear Melissa,

Please have your husband contact us at his earliest convenience!

Sincerely,

HOA
of __________

Just hot air ...

Eggs for breakfast, anyone?

It's 6:19 am and it is 81 degrees! It's 8:17 am and it is 89 degrees! It's 10:46 am and it is 96 degrees!

100 degrees and the temperature is climbing...

103 degrees and the temperature has stabilized...

This is not even including the heat index. Screw the heat index. What do we need a friggin' heat index at 103 for?

So, join us gathered 'round the cement pond for some fried eggs! We are doing an experiment and hopefully, we'll get breakfast out of the deal!

The rest of the day will be spent in a horizontal NAKED position, unmoving, afraid to stir up any hot air. (Yes, there is a/c in Texas but at 103 plus the heat index does it really help when you have to move around? And I'll put my clothes on IF anyone dares to come over!)

Fire Engine 26

You know who you are!

I was on my front porch yesterday when you all (four firemen and a truck) were out for a morning drive. 9:45 am to be exact!

You were braking to a stop at the four-way sign. My house is on the corner. On the left. Yes, that was me.

I was standing on top of a three-step stool wearing a YELLOW bathing suit. Yes, still ME! I was watering the hanging baskets and washing the entry windows. REMEMBER?

I saw your truck approaching, so I sucked in my 'post-baby' gut and posed really sexy while perching and stretching upward on top of the step stool. (Approximately 36 inches off the cement ground.) Thought I might turn your head?!

Suddenly, I lost my balance and tumbled HEAD-FIRST into the shrubs off the porch (36 inches plus 18 more porch height inches), falling 54 INCHES!

DID IT NOT OCCUR TO YOU THAT MAYBE I NEEDED HELP OUT OF THE PRICKLY BUSH?? DID IT NOT OCCUR TO YOU THAT MAYBE I NEEDED RESCUING?? DID IT NOT OCCUR TO YOU THAT MAYBE I DROPPED MY PHONE IN THE HEDGE AND I NEEDED TO RETRIEVE IT??

AND, you all just sat and stared (and probably laughed). Your time limit had clearly EXPIRED at the STOP SIGN!

And, by the way, I AM OKAY! I AM NOT INJURED! (although my pride is!) I WAS JUST CHECKING THE HEIGHT AND DENSITY OF THE SHRUBS!! (YES, I WAS!) OH, AND RETRIEVING MY PHONE!!! (YES, I REALLY WAS!)

It IS Summer

Hair TODAY. THONG Tomorrow.

I am off to a 'laser' appointment with promises of 'thongs and going commando' in my future. (As if I have ever needed a reason.)

Better than waxing.
Better than ignoring.
Better than shaving.
Better than electrolysis.
Better than denying.
Better than tweezing.
Better than shearing.
Better than granny pantying.
Better than alcohol. Probably not.
Better than chocolate. Doubt it.

Chocolate, alcohol and thongs. NOW, that's GOOD!

Spell check does not work in real life

On Monday morning, the teacher greets the classroom of twenty-four eager, happy students.

"I have the new first grade spelling list for this week. Ten fabulous new words and two bonus words. Let's introduce the new words!"

1. have - I have a new dog.

"Who would like to volunteer to spell the word 'have'?" asks the teacher.

"h-a-v-e", Brian confidently spells.

The teacher writes the word on the board and praises Brian.

2. funny - I laughed at his funny joke.

"Any volunteers?" questions the teacher. "Go ahead, Jake."

"f-u-c-k", Jake innocently spells.

The teacher ceases writing midstream f-u-.... and hides her face (creative, new, and very funny).

"Well, not exactly. Actually, there are five letters in this word. But ... Jake can I see you a moment. Class, please continue working on your reading handout."

Thank God the other twenty-three first-graders have not been weaned on the F-Word.

Going on a Fieldtrip

Heading out on a field trip to the local park, the teacher asks the children to imagine what they might encounter. Remember this park has a pond.

"Grass!" shouts Hyllary.

"Ducks!" announces Wyatt.

"Geese!" bellows Carter.

"Squirrels!" yells Aliya.

"Bugs and other yucky things!" insists Betsy and Windy.

"Good job, students! I love all of your answers. When we return to the classroom, we will record our findings in our journal," states the teacher. "And ..." an interruption occurs ...

"FLAMINGOS!" shouts Vanessa, who has obviously never been to a park in Texas!













(Photo courtesy of flickr.com and marymactavish)

beauty has a price

AND, beauty definitely has an element of PAIN.

Botox, Restylane, Face lift, Lipo, SmartLipo, Abdominoplasty (Tummy and mini-tummy tuck), Breast implants, Breast reduction, Breast lift, Butt lift, Butt implants, Cheek implants, Rhinoplasty (nose), Blepharoplasty (eyelids), and the list goes on.

I have friends that began Botox and/or Restylane Injections when they celebrated their 3oth birthday. But, my question is... what happens when they turn 40? Will the need (not desire) for cosmetic surgery accelerate to a face lift at 40? or 50? For example, because the 30 year old decided to accelerate the 'anti-aging' process, will she desperately need a face lift? Will her face be 'older' than the average 40 year old because she chose injections over hydrating creams and SPF sunscreens?

I am definitely a plastic-surgery virgin... but there are a lot of women (18 and up) who have had more surgeries than I have had boyfriends. Breast implants are quite popular among the high school crowd. Boyfriends, Drinking and Boobs before college! Oh My!

The mommy mafia majority have all had Abdominoplasty! (Because they all got their boobs at 18, tummy tucks are IN for the thirtysomethings!) And for my age group, the fortysomethings, ANY and ALL plastic surgery is IN!

The thought of elected surgeries fill my senses with extreme pain. But... is it something I could consider, with highly effective post-operative pain MEDS?

MAYBE. MAYBE NOT.

PROBABLY NOT.

Considering my eyes well with tears at the "India Salon" - the new place in town to get beautifully arched eyebrows, I think elective, plastic, painful surgery is NOT in my future.

Eyebrow threading.

My four year old daughter innocently questions, "It is just string, how bad can that hurt?" IT hurts like HELL.

Here's to Fathers!

Bonkers Baby,
Cuckoo Cat,
Doo Doo Doggy,
How 'bout that?

Goofy Girly,
Lazy Lad,
Madcap Mommy,
Where is Dad?

Swimming? Golfing? Snoozing? Fishing? Lazing? Procrastinating? Running? Building? Well, where ever he has disappeared to ... we hope he is enjoying HIS day!

Something to consider...

Fire drills are necessary. Children practice drills at school. But what about an emergency planning of a fire drill at home?

We have smoke alarms mounted in every corner of our home. Hopefully, someone in the household will hear one of them! Because IF I cannot awake to an alarm clock, or five, then I surely will not awake to a smoke alarm. I do not even hear them.

One night in my college dorm room, the fire alarm went off at three o'clock in the morning. My roommate insisted I get up. Sleepily, I rolled over and stated the obvious, "Hit SNOOZE". I think roommate pushed me out of the bunk. Because I eventually made it outside into the bitter temperature of twenty degrees. We cannot burn out here in a three foot snowbank.

We barely have an escape route planned for our home. I have told the children to just get outside. Jump out your windows. Luckily we reside in a one story. And IF you do not know where to go... go to the pool. The water will keep you safe until you are rescued.

My life flashes before my eyes - the good, the bad and the questionable. A fire. We will burn. I must plan an escape. I have some redeeming to do before 'that' day arrives.

I hear the searing of flames, the burning, ravaging fire offers its condolences:
STOP DROP AND ROLL WON'T WORK IN HELL!

A Movie Reference

My movie of the week is "Made of Honor" with Patrick Dempsey. I apologize because I am not sure what other actors are in it because I never get beyond the name "Patrick Dempsey".

I chauffeur my daughter every morning at 7:45 for soccer camp. She is finding the camp a bit boring due to the fact that it is all "Drills" and not so much "Soccer". I bring my chair, jug of water, book, sunscreen (because, yes, at 7:45 am it is already 95 degrees!), camera, cellphone and ipod.

Why do we stay to watch "camp"? I am not really sure. But all the other moms, dads, nannies, or grandparents are staying. So I stay, too.

I find the silver lining in soccer camp. I take photos. I take more photos. I wait for my daughter. I tell her to hurry and get in the car because I have some private news to share.

In the voice of an adult and all it's maturity, I gush, "Did you see TINY SHORTS?"

"MOM, shhhh!"

"I know, I know, but did you see TINY SHORTS?"

"It's just like our new favorite movie, 'Made of Honor', and TINY SHORTS playing basketball!"

I have captured TINY SHORTS in approximately twenty-six photos. We do not know TINY SHORTS therefore I will not add insult by posting his photo.

TINY SHORTS wears teeny shorts and knots his long t-shirt in the front (like Farrah Fawcett in the seventies!)

I laugh all the way home. I have more enthusiasm for soccer tomorrow. My daughter is gaining a bit more enthusiasm too. Too bad it is not for the 'right' reason.

Mommy Mafia

A group of "first grade" moms congregate on the same patch of grassy lawn as school is dismissed. The mafia of moms varies daily. The rich moms. The fit moms. The tan moms. The dowdy moms. The intellectually-challenged moms. The mis-fit moms. The mis-understood moms.

Today the conversation is dull, braggart, and nauseating. We all "pay" the same tuition. We all "wear" the same uniforms. We all "have" the same teacher. We are all "getting" the same education. WE ARE ALL THE SAME. Maybe. Maybe NOT. NOT. Definitely NOT.

Mom A announces, "My Sara is reading on a second grade level already". (Woo Hoo!) Mom B counteroffers, "Dillyn is so smart. She has been accepted in the Children's University for summer!" (Another Woo Hoo to YOU!) Mom C agonizes with her statement, "Lizbeth is reading on the seventh grade level according to the latest testing at ESU" (What is ESU?). Mom D admits, "Where is ESU? My Briella has straight A's". (An amazing feat considering the students do not receive letter grades until third grade!)

I listen without volunteering as the one-ups-man continues in full force. Mom E sighs, "I wish there were another program for the extremely gifted"! Mom F declares, "Yes, I would pay more IF there were only a 'special' extra program for our children"!

I finally interject with my off-kilter humor, "The children are SUPPOSED to be READING???"

Six moms stop and stare at me in shock. They are aghast. It is apparent on their faces. They are oblivious to my sarcasm. Inside I am giggling like a six year old. I am totally pleased with my banter.

Later on, I realize that the gossip has begun. I am its focal point. I am the reason their brilliant children are being "held back" in the classroom. I am the reason their children are just mediocre. BUT, I GET THE LAST LAUGH!!

Coneheads, Fisheyes, Wideangles, OH MY!

Avon* was adopted from the humane society. One black ear, solid black tail, white body, pink ears, pink nose, very rat-like.




EARS?








Spunky* was also adopted. Two, for playmates. She is a quirky cat.

And what about her EARS?







In our very free time, we have this funny, odd habit of taking photographs with the cone lens. We can give everyone, and our cats, CONEHEADS.

We have also experimented with the FISHEYE lens.

I have started a therapy fund for our baby. She is going to need it. I wanted this photo to be our annual Christmas Card, but we didn't want to solicit any unwarranted sympathy (from those friends and family we only 'see' by mail).

GASBAG vs. AIRBAG, there is a difference!

My neighbor is a GASBAG. Or, is he an AIRBAG? Gas is definitely more toxic. So, most likely, GASBAG!

Everyone has at least one GASBAG in their life. And everyone has an AIRBAG!

He is excessively pumped up with helium so that he can drivel on for hours and hours. He talks incessantly without pause. He can yack about nothing and everything. If he does not let all his "gas" out, then he will offer a reprisal and continue droning on and on and on. If he was pumped with air, then he would deflate in a shorter amount of time. He is definitely inflated with GAS. He is colorless, odorless, and tasteless. He is monatomic.

It is a 104 degrees on the heat index scale at eight o'clock in the morning. And GASBAG neighbor selects this opportunity to detail his Sunday. By the half-hour, covering the entire twenty-four hours. His bike ride alone dragged on for 95 minutes. Miles per hour. Pedal turns per minute. Mileage. Ground covered. Route. Gears. Gears uphill. Gears downhill. Gears on level ground. Seat height. Spokes. Number of spokes. Handle bars. Tape. Cost of bike. Cost of new seat. Cost of aluminum. My mind is in neutral. My mind is on coast. Why did I have to get trapped by the GASBAG? I have nowhere to go but inside. I continue listening. I am wishing, at this moment, that GASBAG was an AIRBAG. He would surely be running out of air by now.

Hey, GASBAG, did YOU forget that I am a professional Bi-athlete? I get PAID to ride my bike!

A new line (that may or may not work) ...

I went out for a social fix -- to "Sam's". Not Sam's Club (although I may try that next). But "Sam's" as in a neighborhood pub. A spin off of 'Cheers'. "Sam's" as in the bartender Sam.

I did not have a current sponsor. So, I sat on a stool with my eyes focused on the television. A sporting event. What game? Don't know. What sport? Don't know. Don't care.

A well-dressed, blue-suited man approached my stool. He gazed upward so that our eyes would be fixated on the same program. I continued to sit in silence. He began to fidget. I am a top fidgeter so when someone else becomes the fidgetee, it gives me anxiety.

After what seemed an eternity, blue-suit smiled and commented on the game. My response was blank. Perhaps, I didn't hear him. So, blue-suit spoke louder, "Where are you from?"

"What makes you think I am from somewhere?" I retort.

"Well," he challenged, "you have a tan and people that live here don't go outside."

"First of all, it is not polite to comment on one's ethnicity or skin color. But to address your question, I just arrived from Tokyo." I informed blue-suit.

Blue-suit studied me and brilliantly proclaimed, "Is that SOUTH of here?"

I gasped. He was serious. Yet, (hopefully) intoxicated, thus, botching his intelligence quotient.

I tried to give blue-suit the benefit, perhaps, he was referring to TUCSON.

(In happily ever after, we married three years later)

CALM -- a very serious post, no funnies today.

The commercial advertisement mitigation act was introduced on 3 June 2008.

The act proposes that advertisements on television must be of average decibels. Currently, the decibel can be as loud as the loudest decibel heard on the program you are viewing. (Which, in my opinion, is quite loud.)

When the program cuts to a commercial, the volume is immediately elevated! The commercial's entirety can be heard in the loudest decibels. UGH.

That explains the "mute" button. Or the continuous lowering of the volume every ten minutes. (Especially if you are trying to record! Legally? Illegally?) Or the closed-caption button... commercials are rarely available in closed-caption!

Now if we can ONLY get relief from the LAUGH TRACK. (Do we really need a laugh track to guide us in laughter? What are we, imbeciles? defunctive laughers?)

Just one more hour...

are you sleeping, are you sleeping
mommy dear, mommy dear
babies cries are deafening, babies cries are deafening
boo hoo wah
bin ky now

are you cooking, are you cooking
mommy dear, mommy dear
everyone is starving, everyone is starving
chop stir mix
feed your self

are you cleaning, are you cleaning
mommy dear, mommy dear
house is a dirtying, house is a dirtying
dust dirt grime
kiss my a$$

are you writing, are you writing
mommy dear, mommy dear
my life is driveling, my life is driveling
blah blah blah
yak yak yak

are you listening, are you listening
mommy dear, mommy dear
y'all are annoying, y'all are annoying
nag nag gripe
ir ri tate

are you hiding, are you hiding
mommy dear, mommy dear
family time is pending, family time is pending
go a way
far a way

are you imbibing, are you imbibing
mommy dear, mommy dear
i continue drunking, i continue drunking
gulp guzzle gulp
beer wine beer

(sung to "are you sleeping, brother john")

liberal vs. conservative

conservative: adj 1: so 'close minded' your brain has swollen up?

Thought of the day...
Why does a person have to be labeled a liberal or a conservative?
Why can't one be a liberalized conservative? You know, a Republican voting, tongue-ringed, tattooed, traditional-valued, chauvinist/feminist!

"Tinkle, Tinkle" (sung to "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star)

Tinkle, Tinkle on the seat,
On the floor and on your feet,
How you miss the bowl, you fool,
but tinkle in the tub and pool!

... written for all boys in honor of the torrential rains were experiencing in the south!

Life is NOT Fair

A totally overused cliche to describe something we WANT but do NOT receive:

bigger boobs
lipo'd thighs
botoxed lips
moneyed trees

Recently I discovered the true meaning of "Life is NOT Fair" when I accompanied my friend, Lander, to divorce court.

Wallace served Lander divorce papers as if she were the recipient of a Surprise 40th Birthday Party. After twenty-two years and two children, Lander was shocked, horrified, and bewildered.

Eight months later, Lander and I took our seats in front of the judge. Lander is in need of child support and alimony.

A few minutes later, a tall, striking woman approaches the bench. Wallace's lawyer? Wallace's new companion? Whoever she is, she is impeccably dressed with a definite air of plastic surgery-ness!

The judge taps her gavel three times (for effect). Lander Raney? Claudia Nicole Raney? Please stand!

I can no longer concentrate on the divorce proceedings. Wallace no longer exists. Wallace is now verified as Claudia Nicole on a social security card. Claudia Nicole has filed bankruptcy. There is NO money available to support their two children, presently or for college. Claudia has spent it ALL, having her "penis" chopped off.

(Lander is over the initial shock, but I am NOT! Claudia is lucky that I am not her ex-to-be. Because I have one word: REVENGE!)

NOT a Hallmark

To Someone Special
On Her Birthday
Hope your day is filled
with fun and laughter.

"Enjoy your spending money!" from Granny

The envelope was empty, yet addressed to me on my birthday. And I don't even have a "Granny". (But I do know who the card was from and I do believe it was NOT a joke.)

In our household, this card has become the "Birthday" joke. In distasteful humor, we now mail empty birthday cards to family members and friends with the insincere greeting "Enjoy your spending money!"

Ten months have passed. Sixteen cards have been mailed and delivered. One thank you note received (for the nonexistent birthday money). One familial suggestion of "gift cards" for children's birthdays. Zero phone calls have been received.

Why won't anyone call and claim their forgotten birthday money???

natural habitation

Strolling in an amazing zoo, I pause for a photo opportunity.

"Oh, NO!" shouts my four year old. "He's eating my crackers!"

Head down, I continue to fiddle with my camera; lenses and settings, and I wonder why I have to reprimand another adult. "Please do not eat your daughter's snacks. That is all I have with us!"

"What?"

"What, what?"

"Mommy, Daddy, get them out!"











Lemurs on the Loose, "I like to move it, move it"!, as daughter vacates seat.

detoxification

I am craving. I am wanting. I am desperate. I am lonely. I am needing. I am wishing. I am hoping. I am desiring. I am detoxing.

Diet coke, people!

It has been six very long hours. Perhaps if I just resort to staying in bed, then the desire will dissipate. Has anyone ever been bed-ridden due to a caffeine-detox?

I admitted myself to the detox house after I found myself rising from a deep sleep at 3:47 am to go and slam an eight ounce Diet Coke (in the dark kitchen, ALONE).

And the day got worse. At 5:56 am, I had my first twelve ounce Diet Coke because I convinced myself that the 3:47 Diet Coke was a "DREAM".

At 10:16 am, I started my list of errands. But before I could REALLY begin, I had to stop at the convenience store for a 32 ounce Diet Coke (because for the next thirty days, the 32 ounce drinks are ONLY 49 cents!). I have a talent for making this large drink last. I took my last sip at 2:37 pm.

At 3:37 pm, I felt as IF I was slipping into a non-caffeinated abyss. I impatiently waited for the craving to fade. I chewed off eight of my ten finger nails. At 5:18 pm, I caved. I opened a twenty ounce bottle of Diet Coke (that I bought at Target on one of my errands -- just in case, but with the sincere thought of drinking it the following day).

By 9:12 pm, I was wired. I ran for an hour on the treadmill. I organized my daughter's birthday photos. I cleaned out the junk drawer (which really isn't a junk drawer because I have OCD). I reorganized the toy box. I mended all the shirts in my pile that had missing buttons. And by 3:33 am, I was finally able to admit that I was tired.

At 6:30 am, a mere three hours later, the children were awake and ready to go for the day. But not ME. I could barely lift one eyelid. I swayed in bed, pondering yesterday's caffeine consumption, when I realized that I have a caffeine hang-over. Total: 72 ounces. That is a hell of a lot of Diet Coke.

If I can make it through today without a single drop of Diet Coke, then I might make it through Detoxification.

Response from Nescafe

Nescafe actually acknowledged my email request for 3-in-1 Strong. Maybe there is HOPE!

June 5, 2009
Dear Melissa,
Thank you for contacting Nestlé® on the Internet regarding availability. We welcome questions and comments from our consumers.
Each Nestlé market evaluates whether a product has the potential to be successful in their country in light of local consumer preferences. Nescafe 3-in-1 Strong is not currently distributed or sold in the United States by Nestlé USA. Although Nestlé does not offer direct sales, you may be able to search the Internet for sites that may offer foreign Nestlé products for direct purchase.
Our company strives to offer quality products and packaging to the greatest number of customers possible. We will report your comments to our marketing personnel.
We appreciate your interest in our products.
Sincerely,
Consumer Response Representative Ref: xxxxxxxxx

OR maybe not. Mommy brain has taken over both hemispheres and it never occurred to me to GOOGLE! I just bypassed the GOOGLE brainchild and went directly to Nescafe... who, more or less, reminded me to use my BRAIN! I located some 3-in-1 but it is from the Asia consumer market. And I know Europe and Asia are not the same continents. So, the 3-in-1 probably IS different. But considering I am completely depleted of my 3-in-1 stash ... the Asia Market may be better than NOTHING.

NOT the Orient Express

Cami and Missy, cousins, are boarding a train in Copenhagen bound for Munchen. They select a seat, a comfortably affordable seat despite their state of unemployment. (A seat on an overnight train costs considerably less than a night in a guesthouse.) One seat in a group of six. Six seats in a little room with a glass sliding door and one window. A seat for sitting upright for the next ten and one-half hours.

The remaining four seats quickly fill. Two French men enter together. One Dutch man. And one man from Senegal. All six riders stare out the window in an uncomfortable silence. Not really sure why it is uncomfortable except for the fact that they are all strangers in a very small compartment together. (Perhaps it is the unknown and untimed bodily functions that may cause embarrassment!)

Silence.

The train begins to slowly depart from the station. Picking up speed as they jut out into the sunset. No showers and no toothbrushing as the journey begins and looks forward to a six o'clock morning arrival.

Cami opens up her backpack to reveal a Carlsberg. Missy opens her backpack to display another Carlsberg. The four men stare at the girls. "What? This is dinner."

Then, one by one, the four men are opening their bags to produce their favorite traveling beverage companion. Two more beers. One bottle of whiskey. And a small bottle of red wine.

None of the them speak the same language. But the bottles of alcohol are speaking the same international language: "Drink and Be Merry".

Picking up speed, the countryside is whizzing by.

The laughing begins as the beverages become communal. The group appears to be playing charades and pictionary as if the shouting makes themselves understood. The alcohol gives each person courage. They are profound. They can miraculously translate the foreign languages. They are DRUNK!

Henning, the Dutch, clearly has an intoxicated advantage. Unknowingly, he enters the train already inebriated.

From the solo window, out in the distance, they see hazy smoke billowing in the fields. The smoke is probably from grass fires. Definitely NOT from a train passing by and smoking up the tracks with immense speed! But Henning, declares with great authority in broken English, "Shit, I thought WE were on the Orient Express!"

YES! Si Hai Oui Ja Ken Ano Da

Staying Positive in a Negative Charged World. Is it possible?

It is truly amazing if any of our children grow up and adapt positive attitudes after mommies have to be negative all day long -- every single day, including weekends. Mommies are duds!

No, you cannot sit in the cat tower.
No, you cannot jump through the screen door.
No, you cannot bite the cat.
No, you cannot lick the dog.
No, you cannot paint the dog.
No, you cannot eat the toilet paper.
No, you cannot bathe in the toilet bowl.
No, you cannot draw on the floors.
No, you cannot drive the car.
No, you cannot play with those friends.
No, you cannot stomp on the flowers.
No, you cannot eat the dirt.
No, you cannot eat lollipops on the treadmill.
No, you cannot walk in puddles.
No, you cannot buy a horse.
No, you cannot wake the baby.
No, you cannot sing THOSE songs.
No, you cannot repeat THOSE words.
No, you cannot call your brother a dipshit.
No, you cannot phone your cousin in India.

No, in some languages, resembles the English word "NO". And definitely based upon enunciation and inflection, "NO" can easily be translated.

NO! No Iie Non Nein Lo Ne Ne

In order, the yes and no language translation: English, Spanish, Japanese, French, German, Hebrew, Czech, Croatian.

3-in-1 Strong

Spinach? No.
Cleaning Product? No.
Spouse, Partner or Significant Other? No.
Disinfectant? No.
Deodorant? No.
Fragrance or Perfume? No.

Coffee. Yes, Coffee. Yes, Instant Coffee. Yes, Coffee in a long, narrow, green packet - tear open, just add hot water and stir. Yum! Coffee.

3-in-1. Coffee. Milk? Sugar?

That is my guess because the product is written in a foreign language and I can only translate: 3-in-1 Strong Nescafe Coffee. And it is also available in 3-in-1 Mild. But who wants to drink MILD? I would prefer 4-in-1 Strong ... the 4 being extra caffeine!

Honestly, this is THE best INSTANT coffee. I prefer BLACK coffee. But this instant coffee is truly good and perfect for any of us on-the-go-types.

In America, we have a large quantity of coffee brands and flavors. My 3-in-1 is produced by Nescafe. So, why doesn't Nescafe sell this particular coffee in America? It is sold in the European Markets - Czech, Slovakia, Hungary, Russia, Romania... I would definitely keep Nescafe in business. I would be very loyal to Nescafe. (Nescafe does sell instant coffee in America but it needs to be the specific 3-in-1 STRONG.)

Please go to http://www.nescafe.com/ and click on contact to bring this most amazing instant caffeinated beverage to America.

Anyone going to Europe? I need my 3-in-1 FIX! Please send. I have finished my last packet.

A close second is the Douwe Egberts brand. Send Douwe Egberts if 3-in-1 Strong is unavailable. Just send caffeine!

Why I Don't Hire A Babysitter?

I quickly put the baby down for a nap. Babysitter arrives and appears to be eager. Currently, the babysitter has free time and can relax until busy baby wails from her crib. I assume baby will wake up in one hour. I create an even easier scenario as I take big sister with me. There is only one sleeping baby in the house.

I have three errands to accomplish. My estimated time of return is two and one half hours. I will probably create a fourth errand if time permits. Off we go.

We hustle. The first two errands are complete within an hour. I curb the urge to phone home reassuring myself that the babysitter will phone if there is a problem. Besides, I do not want to wake up sleeping baby.

The next errand is long and is finally complete in one hour. We decide to tackle the fourth errand which takes a mere twelve minutes. Whew! Errands are finished for the day. And that saves me from having to tote two girls tomorrow.

We return home after two hours and twelve minutes. Just eighteen minutes earlier than our estimated return.

We enter the house through the back door. The house seems to be extraordinarily quiet. The babysitter's car is still parked in its spot.

Upon further investigation, we discover a trail of spoons on the kitchen floor. The spoons lead us into the playroom. The playroom is disorderly. Crayons have been strewn all over the hardwoods. (I'll probably discover a waxy diaper later.) We continue our search for baby and babysitter.

We spy a couple of crayons in the foyer and leading into the living room. The crayons lead us to plants... and more specifically, dirt. Dirt which has been expelled from its pot. And most likely ingested into some little person's belly.

Following the dirt trail, no baby in bedroom number one. No baby in bedroom number two. We venture into bedroom number three. Still no baby.

However, the babysitter has been located in bedroom number four. My husband is fast asleep (at four o'clock in the afternoon). And from the master bath, we hear tiny gales of laughter. We peek around the corner and there is baby ... making snow. Tissues and toilet paper have filled the bathroom, several inches thick.

And, yes, that is why I don't hire a babysitter!