about NPR

My unenviable children have only the sweet sounds of NPR's lulling commentary to listen to while driving with me.  

Clint's better at balancing talk radio and Top 40, and is their source for all things current.  For the 8 minutes a week the kids are alone with Clint in the car, they suck up all things Katy Perry and the like, committing to memory every verse and chorus, to later use as ammunition on the playground against the assault of "you're the loser who can't sing along with your friends cuz you don't know the words cuz you're mom's a loser too".  Unfortunately for my children, I'm the head chauffeur so NPR is their primary source of sound waves.  

And they're listening.  Sort of.  Emersen's probably learning a thing or two through osmosis, but Asher's paying attention.  While listening to All Things Considered, Asher's interest was piqued and it lead to a very enlightening, albeit controversial, exchange.

Asher: "What does "the Republicans want Obama out" mean?"

Me: "It means there's some people called the Republicans that don't want Obama to be president anymore."

Asher: "How do they make it so he can't be president anymore?"

Me: "A bunch of grown-ups get together in a room and they say "Raise your hand if you want Obama to go away" and if most of the people in the room want Obama to go away, then he does."

Asher:  "But isn't Obama the President of America?"

Me: "Yes."

Asher: "But doesn't Jesus love America and think that America is the best ever?"

Me: "Yes."

Asher:  "So does that mean that Jesus doesn't love the Republicans?"

Me: "........"

For safety reasons involving myself and family members, my response to last question will not be made public at this time.

NPR's reporting runs the gamut; some reports are preceded with disclosures about possible upcoming inappropriate material for the younger listener. 

Here is the reply I offered Asher to his question while listening at home to a streaming episode of Diane Rehm.  Tell me if you could have done any better -

Me: "Uh, hmmm, well, it's a, it's you know, um, a, uh, thing that maybe, uh, maybe when you're a little older I will, um, I can explain it to you."  





Asher's question: "Mom, what's Gay Sex?"

about free food

Deal of the Day at Sonic: 

When you order a Large Dr. Pepper, 2 Corn Dogs, a Cheeseburger, a Power-Aid Slush, and Medium Sweet Potato Tots, your order is free!  It's a $10 and change savings.  

But you must act quickly

Here's the deets- 

Starting at 9:30am, paint your daughter's ceiling.  90 minutes later, stupidly rinse out a paint tray in the gutter.  Plead to your God that the neighbor cop won't come out of her house since you're clearly breaking a law concerning the proper disposal of a chemical substance.  Swear a bit when you notice that the more hose water you spray, the more you add to the stationary pools of white water in the gutters of the two houses flanking your own.  Swear again and spend the next 20 minutes herding Benjamin Moore Dove White down the gutter towards the storm drain that looks to be 37 miles away.  You'll run out of hose before you can make much of an impact, so you'll arrive at a point where all you're doing is wasting water.  After you feel you've done all you can to shift the culpability from you to another neighbor, run inside and quickly change out of your dedicated painting apparel - very low slung since the elasticity has stretched to it's limits during both pregnancies, gray GAP yoga stretchy pants, with a 6 inch hole in the crotch, that you purchased 20 lbs ago.  On the way out the door to pick up your already waiting at the curb Kindergartner, whose asking at that very moment "why is my mommy always late, teacher? doesn't she love me?" grab your wallet since you promised the little ones lunch from Sonic.  Upon arriving, order the meal as stated above.  Notice you have $6 dollars in your wallet and no debit card (the misplaced debit card is a highly occurring event as most of your friends can attest to since you have a running tab with at least 4 of them) to pay for a bill of $10 and change.  Curse to yourself that YET AGAIN, it's looking like you'll need to drive up to the window to tell them you have no way to pay for your meal (you're no stranger to this).  Pat yourself down and say a silent prayer of gratitude that in your haste to dress, you clothed yourself in the same apparel as yesterday, which has the thin plastic form of victory in your back pocket.  At the point of sale, with your debit card between your legs, patiently wait for several minutes.  The line in back of you will be at least 6 cars deep, all waiting on you and your tots.  Panic will start to set in because you know that when you're waiting in the drive-thru 6 cars back YOU blame the gluttonous driver at the window for the delay because clearly they've ordered too much food for the the poorly staffed kitchen to quickly microwave.  After several more minutes of listening to the employee yell at thirty second intervals "How's it going on her tots?", "Her tots ready yet?", "Lady's waiting for her tots" you're now VERY aware of the drivers in the waiting cars, watching their 30 minute lunch break tick to an end.  After waiting at least 8 minutes, weak with anxiety, Sonic will finally hand you your items; you'll be too relived to notice the outstretched fingers waiting for payment - just gun the gas and drive off with your debit card still between your legs.  

Not to fret.  Hell is still a ways off.  About a mile down the road, you'll realize your folly, but continue on.  5 hours later, swing by and they'll thank you for your honesty by comping your meal.  And they'll throw in a mint.

About my happenings

Bi-annual posting coming your way.  Because I tend to ask more questions about you than I answer about myself, it seems the only insight you can glean regarding my happenings are provided by my hanging on a thread blog.  I'm like a blank canvas.  Let's color it in a little with irrevocably true information about the last 6 months - I've ran a marathon a day; I've slogged through Moby Dick and didn't skip ANY of the whaling chapters; I've learned Cantonese.  Twice. Dà Zhīfáng Sāhuǎng.

For realsies.  Our home address is a little different.  We're a few miles east of our (sniff sniff) Alameda house.  After reviewing 9 offers, we chose to sell it to an older-ish couple who both grew up in Tempe and whose family 25 years ago owned the liquor store I frequented with my mother as a wee lass and from which I 5-finger-discounted a pack of rolos.  The smuggled goods were later quietly fished out from my pants pocket where the warm summer day had turned 10 individually wrapped rolos into 1.  It was devoured in it's entirety, paper and all - the fear of chocking on aluminum wrappings and being caught completely tainting the experience.

The new homeowners won our hearts after writing a letter gushing and goo-ing at the beauty of the house.  We closed on a Thursday afternoon and by Friday morning, the Alameda estate's beauty included a stripped kitchen and several demolished walls.  The homeowners are making room for their custom ordered sink from Paris.  No joke.  Miss you orange Formica countertop.

The children fair well.  Emma's in 5th grade and Asher's in Kindergarten.  Do I have a picture of either of them on their first day of school?  No. Did I have every intention of photographing them on their second day of school and lying about when it was taken?  Yes.  Did I photograph them on their second day of school?  No, and neither any subsequent day.  They'll forgive me for the missing scrapbook page.  Wait, I don't scrapbook.  Terrible mom am I.  A mess all around.  I do have a picture of Asher doing his best impersonation of Ray Charles.  Is it PC to scrapbook a picture of Asher impersonating a blind man?  Jury's still out.