My Month-long Hiatus is Over

Things I know about sea turtles:

1. They eat sea grass.
2. People kill them to use their shell for jewelry and such.
3. They lay eggs on the beach.
4. They love interrupting wedding vows.  It’s their favorite thing to do.

Even as a little girl I dreamed of being upstaged by a sea-turtle at my wedding

Now it’s back to life (and blogging) as usual.

 

Happy Father’s Day!

Today I had dinner with my parents, which was great. I’d brought a Father’s Day card for my dad, and he mentioned that over the years Father’s Day and his birthday were sometimes forgotten by some of the kids in my family.  I won’t let that happen to me!

So, a reminder for everybody.  Especially you, future kids:  

•   60 days until my birthday
•   75 days until my anniversary
•   Mother’s Day is spring-ish.  Don’t stress too much about it - TV commercials will remind you

 

So the search continues for what kind of crazy old lady I’ll be

You often hear stories of a “crazy cat lady” and, in fact, I think we all probably know of one.  But you never hear about anyone having tons of dogs. 

Probably because the dogs would eat you.

Don't let this little face fool you... 12 more of these and I'd be lunchmeat.

 

My own Freaky Friday

I would wake up in my parents house (weird!) and be totally grossed out by being in bed with my dad (Aahh!)  I would quickly realize that something was wrong as I stumble around seeing nothing at all.  (My joints hurt!) I’d find some huge glasses, put them on and see myself in the mirror (whoa!)  It’s Friday and I’ve traded places with my mom!

The rest of the day would be pretty sweet.  I’d get to sit around all day and watch TV.  Maybe I’d go golfing with my free seniors membership!  Or go shopping with a seniors discount!  I’d get to hang out with my dad, go to Chili’s, see my sister.  Man…. that would be a great day.

 

Three. Three. Three. Eight!?! Three.

The kids in my family are:   39… 36… 32… … ..24… 21  years old.

Now, I know  you’re out there thinking: “Joanna, you were clearly a shock!”  And you’re right.  The surprising part is how long it took me to figure that out. 

When I was around 11 or so I punched the numbers and came up with that conclusion.  Sitting at the kitchen table I calmly asked my mother whether or not I was an “accident’.  I expected it to be a battle to get the truth out of her.  I was armed with the age differentials and my powers of tantrum.  Instead, she informed me: “Let’s just say you were the only one we didn’t plan on.”

The only one they didn’t plan on?!  Are you looking at those ages?  Now here was a surprise I hadn’t planned on.  It turns out my kid brother was planned so that I would “Have somebody to grow up with.”  Being a hot-shot 11 year-old, I was able to take all of this in stride.  In fact, it was pretty exciting being able to tell my little brother:

“You were born to entertain me.  Go ask mom, she told me so.”

So if you’re out there reading this kid sibling,  give me a call or take me to a movie.  Learn how to juggle or plan a big family vacation for us all.  Whatever it is, just make sure it’s entertaining.  Because we aren’t done growing up yet!    

 

No tears this year

In 2004 I took three of my nieces and nephews to an Easter egg hunt at a local park.  It was an unusual experience for two reasons:

# 1 – They don’t have the Easter bunny in Britain – That’s right.  My British niece and nephew had never heard of the Easter bunny before.  Nobody told me about this beforehand, and it wasn’t until my five-year-old niece pulled on my arm and asked “Who’s that strange man in the rabbit suit?” that I realized they had no idea what was going on.  I spent the rest of the morning trying to make sure they didn’t ruin Easter for the good, godless, bunny-believing American children.

#2 – 100 eggs for 200 kids – Somehow the parks department had grossly underestimated the number of children that would show up to an egg hunt on a beautiful spring morning in April.  There were hundreds of kids there, and only 100 eggs hidden.  The Brits were so well behaved that they each decided to stop the hunt after finding one egg a-piece (my nephew actually re-hid eggs after learning there weren’t enough).  But at the end of the afternoon there were about a hundred crying children littering the park — their baskets devoid of any colorful eggs.  My efforts had been wasted: I’m sure those kids no longer believed in an Easter bunny that would break their heart like that.

 

Another post about candy!

All the kids in my family are candy-crazy.  It came from growing up in a house that was totally free of junk food.  Growing up the closest I ever got to junk was corn flakes with extra sugar or fig newtons (you know, they’re neither a cake nor a cookie, nor any good).  But around holiday times my mom was forced to bring candy into the house.  I lovingly remember the “candy holidays.”

About a week before a candy-holiday my younger brother and I would scour the house to locate where my mother had hidden the candy.  The game was not so much finding the candy, but making sure my mom didn’t catch us with the candy.  I remember eating stolen goods in the basement and closets to keep it out of her grasp.  I even experimented with building a small horde of candy in my dresser… but alas, it disappeared one day.

In case you’re wondering where this strange behavior comes from, my dad told the following story at lunch yesterday:

“So, your mom bought this big bag of chocolates for Easter and put them right on the table.  I wasn’t supposed to eat them, so you know what I did?  I got a razor and cut a slit in the back of the package.  That way I could eat 3 – 4 a day and she wouldn’t know.  I had to keep pushing them all forward so that the bag still looked full.  It worked great!”

My poor health-nut mother.  You can’t say she didn’t try…

 

Kids! Great at doing things!

Ah Easter time!  The smell of a three day weekend and candy coated marshmallows is in the air.  When I was a kid my much-older sister invented a tradition for myself and my little brother.  The game went something like this:

Every few minutes she’d shout out “Bring me some candy!” And that was our cue.  We’d scramble over to her Easter basket and each spend several tense moments picking out the perfect piece of candy from the basket.  We’d then rush over to the couch and present our findings.  The person who’s candy was eaten “won” that round.  The winner would rejoice while the loser returned the rejected candy to the basket.  It was intense.  It was competitive.  It was fun.  

The game would last all day. 

I am amazed at the simple manipulation of this servitude disguised as a game.  Though I was never able to try the same sort of tricks on her, I am looking forward to playing this same game with her 2 children this weekend.  I only had to wait 16 years, but I will finally have my candy and eat it too – without having to move a muscle all day.

 

What the heck was going on in there?

Years ago, my father told me about a trick he would play on his middle-school science class.  It consisted of him staring over at a random point on the wall every once in a while during his lesson.  The goal of the game was to see how many of his students he could get to start looking over at that wall as well, when clearly there was nothing there. 

 This, in and of itself, is a pretty great story – and a great idea I’ll probably try someday.

But then I reached senior year of high school and was making conversation on the starting line of a track meet.  It turns out one of the girls (from a different school than my own) had had my father as a teacher.  She explained that during class they would stare over at the phone.  If enough kids looked over at the phone, my father – who was hard of hearing – would go over and pick it up.

Another good story / good idea. 

When you put these two stories together, it blows my mind.  Imagine being in that classroom: do you pay attention to the teacher and stare at the wall??  Do you make like a student and stare at the phone??  Do you watch the blackboard and teacher where lessons are actually taking place??  Or do you simply stare at the guy sitting next to you because, after all, it is middle school…

 

Oh snap! Sundaes!

Years ago my family was at Friendly’s and my father ordered his usual — a Jim Dandy.  (The heart-stopper of sundaes.)  This particular visit however, was different.  No longer would he stand for runny sundaes or ones smaller than the 5 giant scoops depicted in the menu picture.  So, he asked the waitress for:

“I want one that looks like the picutre.  I don’t want one that’s small or melted, but I want a real Jim Dandy, like that one!” 

When our food arrived the family was blown away.  It was the most beautiful Jim Dandy we had ever seen!  My excited father grabbed his spoon, ready to dig-in to the work of art…

“Plink”

Yes indeed.  Plink.  The waitress had brought my father the plastic sundae from the store window.  Behind us was the entire waitstaff that had come out to see the gag in action, and behind them was a just-OK looking Jim Dandy for my dad.