I forgot where I was going with this….

She needs to be killed. Somebody PULEEZZZZ. OMFG!!!!!!!!!!!! Steve says I’m moving slower than my 89 year old grandma. And that’s being nice. And after she examined my wrist that was healing? It’s all angry and pain woke me up all night again. So let’s recap: Angry, angry wrist; check, Angry, angry, angry knees; check, Angry, crabby, grouchy, foul Helen; check, check. OMFG. Somebody take her out. PLEASE. Because her last words were ”I don’t want to make your knee too angry.” And what thought goes through my head? “I am fine. I am tough. This isn’t going to hurt. I’m still doing karate, Woman! A wheel kick to someone’s head hurts. You’re just poking around my knee.” But I should have seen it coming when she said “Wow. You REALLY messed up all these ligaments. I can’t even figure out how you made them so angry.” Come this way, My Pretty. Let me show you………

Ha! Back to our regularly scheduled programming here. Steve’s home finally from his nearly month-long traveling. And Dooddddeeee. He snuck up on the plumbing. Because the plumbing ALWAYS breaks while he’s gone. It was trying. It was thinking about it. The kitchen sink AND the shower have developed a slow drain in the last few days. They WANT to break. But AHA! He snuck up on you, Plumbing!!!!!!!!!!!!! Take that!

My favorite thing to eat in Paris is chocolate croissants. I never eat croissants. Too many calories and fat and they never taste good enough to warrant the fat and calories. However? French croissants? TO DIE FOR!!!!!!!!! So guess what my loving spouse did? He went to a French bakery before leaving Paris, got me a chocolate croissant still warm from the oven, wrapped it up and brought it home. It was still fresh and OMFG, DELISHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Whatever Wednesday rules: Answer the question left by the person before you and leave a question for the next person. Play as many times as you wish. Anything goes. And it doesn’t have to be Wednesday to play.

First Question: What’s your favorite food to eat in a foreign country and which country is it?

After three frustrating phone calls with Nurse Biotch (God, I hate that woman!) I managed to get a call back from the doctor himself this afternoon. The cadaver injury with all the words in it was explained to me as a ding or dent in the cartiledge caused by trauma- a direct blow to the knee. (I think I know EXACTLY how I did that.) Ironically he seemed more concerned with the non-cadaverous injury, the chondromalacia. However, he told me that he thinks it can be treated without surgery (OMFG I almost died of relief) however, I have to take a break from karate and do physical therapy. And for those of you that know me, you know that I specifically did NOT ask if I had to take a break from Hapkido too. ;D Shhhhh. Don’t tell on me to my Hapkido Sensei! He already said to me on Monday “There is NO CHANCE IN HELL I’m letting you spar.” Geez. People are so bossy and mean. ;D It’s not like I can kick with either leg or hit or block with my left hand, but for the love of God, my right hand works! Let me spar! ;D I discovered today that I can’t kick or even go through the motions with my left leg because of the torque it puts on my right knee. Sigh and OUCH. Any semblance of a wheel kick hurts like a son of a bitch. Ditto for a roundhouse kick and side snap kick. Sigh. Forget about even lifting my right leg right now.

The Sensei who runs the dojo sat me down in his office yesterday (before the doctor said I had to take a break from karate) and said that he wanted me to take a break from Karate so that I could heal. (The Senseis really aren’t joking about banning me. I’ve already been banned from sparring by two of them.) I think they are going to give me my next belt without me having to take the test. I had just run through a mock test not 10 minutes before my knee collapsed and the Sensei running that class said that she had been watching me and there’s no way I would have done poorly on my test, much less not passed. And Sensei said that in the old days, they didn’t even do tests. You were just given your next belt when they felt you were ready. And no one sees any point in me taking a break and coming back and starting over.

Sensei is keeping the kata for the next semester a secret so that I don’t find out what it is and start practicing. He practically yelled at me today “NO! You go on vacation (we leave Saturday) and REST!!! You are NOT finding out what the next kata is!!!!” Sheesh. What, is national security at risk? ;D

Anyway, that is my good news. I already had a physical therapy evaluation scheduled for tomorrow night for my wrist. They said I can get my knee evaluated tomorrow night instead, but not both unfortunately. My wrist is almost healed, but not quite. It’s been six, long, annoying weeks since that started. Sigh. In the future, I will be much more careful when I block. This wrist injury was a tough lesson in hard blocking. I’m not sure what lesson my knees have taught me. Maybe that I’m just getting old. Or that I’m too old to over train anymore. Either way. When my own children won’t buy that I’m 22, it’s time to become an AARP member and start looking for a condo in Florida. Sigh. ;D

If the Doctor or Nurse won’t call you back and give you your MRI results even though they’ve had the results since WEDNESDAY? Don’t go to the MRI place and pick them up yourself. Cuz you will freak. the. hell. out.

Um yeah. So that’s what I did. I went and picked up the report. Because my reasoning was this: I worked in a physical therapy clinic for years. I worked for an orthopedic device and orthopedic post-op home health care company for years. I was so absoultely certain I would understand the injury and the report was going to say: meniscus tear that it never occured to me that it would say anything else.

But I don’t have a meniscus tear. Oh no, it is much, much worse. With words I don’t even understand. And I tried googling the “impressions” and just managed to make myself absolutely sick. Cuz ya’ll? As far as I can tell, the only way one of the problems can be treated is with surgery. And it’s nothing easy like a fricken’ meniscal tear or ACL. They’re talking bone grafts from cadavers and shit. I literally almost passed out. And if that Nurse Biotch doesn’t call me back and start ’splaining tomorrow? I am going to drive my ass up to Seattle, hunt that bitch down and kick her ass with the only part of my body still in working order: my right fist. I’m so mad and scared, trust me, I’ll only need one fist. Yeah, cuz when you start reading that your bone has collapsed and then the cartiledge has folded into and collapsed into that hole you start feeling a little quesy….

And if any of you are an MD and can explain anterior aspect medial femoral condyle focal osteochondral defect combined with chondromalacia of the patella and lateral patellar subluxation, I would be mighty appreciative. I know what subluxation is but I don’t understand it in the context of the total picture. And whatever thickening of the medial patella plica is, doesn’t sound good.

Hold me.

Me: And then….
(interrupted by kids screaming with laughter and cutting up)
Me: (hissing) Boys! I can’t hear myself think much less Grandma talk!
Grandma: Awwww. Sure sounds like they’re having fun! I can hear them laughing!
Me: Sigh. They’re farting on each other, Grandma.
Grandma: Hee heee heeee. Sounds like they’re having a lot of fun though.

Yesterday I got head butted by an ill-tempered goat!!!!!!!!!! WTF?! I’m just standing there at a friend’s house, minding my own business, when all of a sudden WHAM!!!!!!!!!! I yelled “HEY!” Brought both fists up and yelled “You ill-tempered goat! Bring it!” While she said “It was just a friendly little love butt…..”

Steve calling from Paris:

Steve: I got tear gassed by the police last night!
Me: WHAT?
Steve: Yeah I got tear gassed by the Paris police. I’ve never been tear gassed before. It was SO COOL! Then when I went running this morning and it kicked up dust, my throat started burning all over again. So I got secondary tear gassed AGAIN! It was SO cool!

Me coaching baseball:

Me: ETHAN! Stop eating your glove! Ready position!………. E-TH-AAANNNN!!!! Stop eating your glove! There’s no glove eating in baseball!

Me: (watching a child run to second base) What the hell is that?! Hey Glenn! What is your son doing?!?! It looks like Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies!
Glenn: Uhh, I think he’s casting spells.
Me: Well we he comes in, could you tell him there’s no Nutcracker or Harry Potter in baseball?!

Sensei to me:

Sensei: What are you doing here? I thought you were banned.
Me: Yeah. Everyone’s threatening to ban me.
Sensei: Well duhhhh. You don’t have any working parts. You are BROKEN.
Me: (holding up my right hand hopefully) THIS ONE WORKS!
Sensei: At this rate, NOT FOR LONG!

The kids always ask to help me water the garden. Except they usually end up watering ants walking along the concrete cracks or a spider in a tree or worse, each other. They always end up muddy and wet and the flowers are still dry. So tonight I let them water knowing they were going to get soaked and require immediate showers, but I said nothing as they watered the windows and roof and each other. When son #2 opened the door to come inside he looks down and notices how wet he is. And he says out loud, but mostly to himself “Oh man, I am soaked. Even my underwear is wet. This is why Mom never lets us water the garden.” LOL.

So Steve’s only been home about five of the last twenty days and has been in Europe since Sunday and now that the kids are out of school and fighting enjoying their summer, it’s really starting to wear on me. I almost broke down and cried tonight after getting the kids in bed. I spent three hours in the car with them today with them alternating between fighting and pounding on each other and screaming and laughing. Like a bunch of manic lunatics. And I’ve got piles of laundry to do and the kitchen to be cleaned and the house to be picked up and all I want to do is go to bed. Sigh. I thought I’d sit down and write a post while I summoned up the energy to do what I need to do so I can go to bed.

I had originally intended to write this post about fear. Men don’t understand that as women, we live life where there is always the possibility that we become a victim. There is always a small undercurrent of fear in our lives. When we walk through a dark parking lot alone at night. Or when we find ourselves alone with someone who we suspect has the potential for violence or a million other circumstances where a man wouldn’t even know to feel fear. I despise feeling afraid or vulnerable when a man in the same situation wouldn’t.

I’ve mentioned before that I constantly dream about bad guys trying to get me in a variety of situations. And whatever weapon I use never works. In the last month or two I’ve finally started dreaming that I use Hapkido or Karate as my weapon and it WORKS! Of course I’ve woken myself up a few times because I punched or kicked the covers so hard while I was sleeping, they flew off. But it’s a good thing. And I don’t feel afraid anymore. I know I can defend myself. That’s not to say I’m going to go walking down in Pioneer Square alone at night or do something stupid, but I don’t feel that undercurrent of fear anymore. And I wondered if I was confronted with a scary situation now, how would I react? The answer came today.

We had just come home after being gone all afternoon. The kids were outside watering each other and I was in the kitchen starting dinner. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a shadow of someone move across the doorway of the dining room. In the past, this would have made my heart drop down to my knees while I desperately looked around for a knife or something to defend myself. Today, I took a deep breath, went straight to the dining room in a fighting stance with both fists up. I cautiously stepped through the doorway, ready to fight. It turned out that there was nothing there, but I SWEAR I saw the outline of a head peak around the doorway and then a figure move across. It was freaky. But, there was no fear. I was calm but cautious.

I can’t even begin to explain how liberating this was. Martial arts has completely transformed not only my outlook on life, but the way I live it. I love every aspect of both Karate and Hapkido, from it being a sport, to the discipline, tradition and honor, to the sparring. This has been a fantastic journey and I have to say that I never expected this journey of the mind as well as the body. And I like living life without fear.

The dog doesn’t like to take his Prozac. In fact, he can be really ornery about it. And when he and I get into a power struggle, it gets ugly. Like the other day. I gave him his Simba-be-cool pill, and he had the nerve to spit it back out, so I called him an asshole, and wrastled him to the ground like Steve Irwin. I straddled him, pried open his jaws, and shoved the pill down his throat while he gnawed up my fingers. Then I called him some more names that were so bad I can’t print them, and held his mouth closed while he tried to shake, rattle and roll free. HA! Take that! Then I did some trash talking like “Bring it, Dog! I’m not taking any sh!t from you! Uhh Huhhh, that’s right, Dog…… Go Helen, it’s your birthday!!” Then I did a victory dance right there in the dog kennel, said “That’s right, Biotch!” and went back inside.

Don’t judge me. If you had put up with this damn dog for the last 14 years, you’d be like this too.

Annnnywayyyyyyyy. We usually buy the cheapest, softest, white bread in the grocery store to put the pills in and mush it up and he usually takes his medicine fairly well. We refer to the white, Wonder type breads as “dog bread.” In fact, my kids know not to eat the dog bread because it has zero nutritional value. Last summer when we were staying with my parents, son #2 comes in my room, early in the morning, wakes me up and whispers in horror ”Mommy! Wake up! Grammy is trying to feed me dog bread!“

So yesterday I ran out of dog bread. And the human bread was molded. I was going to have to be creative, because I was NOT wrestling the dog again for the third time this week. Besides, I’m pretty sure the neighbors hear me swearing up a storm in the dog kennel. I decided I would somehow use a concoction of milk bones and peanut butter to make the pills stick. I got a dog bone, spread it with peanut butter, and humming to myself, stuck the Prozac into the peanut butter. I added two Benedryl because a sedated Simba is a good Simba. Then I stuck another bone on top. It was a neat little peanut butter and crazy sandwich. I think he found the sandwich suspicious, because I was all cheery about giving it to him. I saw him rolling the pills around in his mouth, but they were stuck to the peanut butter and he wasn’t willing to spit that out. HA! Take that, Dog!

I think I’ll start a business. Catering to male, yellow labradors. We’ll call the sandwich Peanut Butter Sedation. And all will be right with the world………..

This morning while waiting for the bus, the kids and I were watching bees on the rhododendrons.

There was one bee in particular that seemed to be having a little trouble. He was trying to walk on the flowers and kept falling off and flying all wonky. When he fell off and landed on his back son #1 said “Mom? What the heck is wrong with that bee?” Reminiscent of Calvin’s Dad,

I replied “I think it’s drunk. It’s been up partying all night with the other bees. They were bar hopping until after midnight. He shouldn’t be flying. This is what happens when you drink and fly. You see how he can’t even stand up or walk straight? He’s totally wasted. He has probably been sniffing the roses too…..Hey! Where are you going?” And he rolled his eyes at me and walked away.

What? Was it something I said?

ARGG!  Went to the knee doctor today. I’m sure it will shock you to know that my knee is really messed up. I have tendonitis in my hamstring tendon, bursitis in the front of my knee (that was the burning pain that I thought might be RSD moving to my right side. Thank GOD it’s not.) and he thinks I have torn my meniscus. Sigh.

Honestly. I wasn’t training THAT hard. Why does my body have to quit on me like this?!? Anyway, I have an MRI Wednesday morning to see if the meniscus is intact or not. If it is, I get to do therapy and will be able to do my Karate belt test in a couple of weeks. If it’s not intact, I can’t even bring myself to think about surgery. So for once, I’m going to go with the best case scenario instead of preparing myself for the worst. Because I can’t even cope with the idea of having another knee surgery. If you’re the praying type, pray for me. Or burn some sage or whatever it is you all do.

When son #1 turned 8, we let him have a sleepover. It was a total nightmare. Well, less of a nightmare than ones he’s gone to, but still a nightmare. The kids went to sleep between 1am and 2am and were up at fricken 5 am. I was ready to start killing them one by one. Also, he invited two kids that had never been in our house and were never allowed back. I’m pretty sure those kids were raised by wolves.

Anyway, even the mention of a sleepover usually makes me nauseous. So when he asked for a sleepover, I felt a little quesy. It’s felt like a punch in the gut for the last couple of weeks leading up to it. However? I have learned lessons in the ensuing years. I don’t allow nightmare children back in our house. They get ONE chance. And if they are awful to son #2? They don’t get invited back either. Every kid gets a test drive. Sometimes if I’m really unsure of the kid, I won’t even test drive them in my home. We meet at a park. Just several months ago, a ten year old wrote on the walls of son #1’s room. The pencil literally CARVED into our walls. He hasn’t been invited back. I’m soooooo looking forward to repainting.

So I hand-selected the children who were allowed to sleep over. I only allowed him to have two kids. I let son #2 invite one friend to play, but didn’t sleep over. And so:

Sleepover report: Kids asleep by 11 pm. Up at 7. No injuries. No property destroyed. Son #2 treated nicely. No one needed to be killed. No one banned from house forever.

Keys to success:

1. Smaller sleepovers definitely more manageable.
2. Do not invite hyperactive, impulsive or ill-behaved children.
3. Make sure you know the children being invited. You don’t want any ugly surprises at 2 am.
4. Choose children that will get along with birthday child’s siblings.
5. Let attending kids know right off the bat, this isn’t going to be an ugly, free-for-all like they may have attended at someone else’s house.

We took the kids out for ice cream, to the Lego store where they each picked whatever they wanted that was $20 or under, then to a movie (Kung Fu Panda), picked up pizza on the way home, and then let them play outside until dinner where they exhausted themselves from sword fighting with swim noodles. They played video games until bed and legos this morning. I made them homemade waffles for breakfast and they played more video games until their parents came. Whew. I’m breathing a sigh of relief at the end of it all………

I even got to sleep in until 7:45am when the older kids sent in son #2 to inform me that I needed to get up so that they could play video games. lol.

Thank you Tendrils for this link!

Your GreenIQ is just about as good as it can get. Congratulations! Now it’s time to just keep up the good ecocentric work and continue to promote the health of this planet.

I’m doing my part, how about you?

Until Steve leaves me alone with a slumber party.

Of course I’m not panicked. Why would you think that? No, no. I’m good. Really. I’m fine.

Why do you ask?

For the last few months, I have been training through multiple injuries and health issues. My Karate belt test was last night. I was making a final run-through of my kata yesterday morning and something popped and then my knee buckled. I’ve struggled with a left knee injury (bucket handle meniscal tear and RSD) for the last two years and lately my right one has been hurting even worse than the left one. And guess what? It was my right knee that popped.

I was trying not to freak out or lose it in class, because it felt like it was something bad that happened. I told my Sensei I needed to leave and go home and ice. I had hoped to make it to the car before bursting into tears, but alas, I made it two feet out of the room, when one of the other Senseis saw me limping and said “Oh no!” And yep, I burst into tears. Right there in public. Such a proud moment for me. And actually I cried on and off all day yesterday.

And I don’t even know what I’m so upset about. They told me that if I couldn’t do the test last night, I can make it up when I’m better. I suspect it’s the frustration of coming so far, with all these injuries, only to have the house of cards fall on test day. I was READY to test.

Today I’m still limping. Going up and down the stairs is a nightmare. Walking is painful. But the worst part is still that I missed my test last night. I still feel a bit hysterical. I burst into tears again at the dojo last night.

I’m trying desperately to remind myself of the following haiku:

Don’t curse your bad luck
Until you’re sure it’s not good,
A blessing disguised.

Sigh.

I’m trying to find a flight and every time I find one I think I might like and then take a look at where my connecting flight is, I then have to grumble about where my connecting flight is. Steve, the comedian, keeps saying “Well you know what that place is, right?” And I say “What?” then he says “It’s a little bit stabby” when the city we’re connecting through is a high crime area. So far, there are a lot of stabby cities in the US. According to Steve’s research, Detroit, Philadelphia and Atlanta all make the list for stabbiest cities in America. Just sayin’, it could get a little stabby there…

As the search progresses….

Me: We could connect through Houston.
Steve: It’s just a little bit stabby.
Me: It’s not so much stabby as rape-y.

Steve’s now reduced to just whispering stabby every few minutes.

My good friend, Scout, has a raging case of PMS over there and is ready to kill that spouse of hers. Over the weekend, he defied specific spousal instructions as to which type of socks to buy, and his oldest told him “Sometimes you just have to face the fury.”  He apparently has had to face several days of fury over various acts of alleged oblivious behavior and non-compliance.

Fast forward to that spouse of MINE. Son #1’s birthday is this week. Son #1 requested a sleepover for his birthday. So I say to that spouse of mine, not 10 days ago, “when are you leaving for Europe on Sunday?” And that spouse of mine says “Oh, sometime late on Sunday, like 6 pm.” So I say to that spouse of mine “So we can let son #1 have his sleepover on Saturday night and there still be some family time?” And that spouse of mine replies “Sure.”

Fast forward to yesterday when he forwards me his itinerary for the two weeks he is spending in Europe. Whereby I notice, that his flight leaves at 7:40am on Sunday morning!!!!!!!!!!!! And I? Will have a house full of boys to manage BY MYSELF, that he most surely will wake up with his stomping moving around and dragging suitcases at four o’clock in the morning!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh he’s facing the fury, all right. FACING. THE. FURY.

When I wrote yesterday’s post about boy moms and girl moms, I think I gave some of you the impression that I am a tomboy. I’m not. I’m a girly-girl. (Oooohhhh the irony!!) And I always assumed I would have girls. Because I love pink and princesses and pigtails. In fact, if you bring your daughter to my house, most likely she will be returned to you with a cute little hairdo with pink ribbons. And while I love sports and I’m not afraid of bugs, except roaches and we all know how I feel about rats, I really am a girly-girl. I sew and I cook and I do artsy-craftsy stuff. I know how to use a gun, and I love to fish. I have shoes with four inch heels that sit in the closet next to my scuba fins and running shoes. I’d rather go play street hockey than go shopping. And no, I don’t like to go shopping. So whatever that makes me? That’s what I am. I’m a girly-girl with an identity crisis. Because I’m just as likely to roundhouse kick you as let you kiss my hand while I curtsy. ;D

Whatever Wednesday rules: Answer the question left by the person before you and leave a question for the next person. Play as many times as you wish. Anything goes. And it doesn’t have to be Wednesday to play.

First Question: What is your favorite thing to wear? (Asks she who sits here in a pair of sweats and a soft, fuzzy-warm sweatshirt.)

I was talking to my friend, Rita, the other day at the dojo. Rita does not have children yet. Someone else from my karate class, Mary, walked in with her daughter and I said to Rita “AHA! Mary only has girls, doesn’t she?” Rita said “Yeah, she has a daughter, how did you know?” and I said “Because she is SUCH the girl mom.” Rita looked totally confused. “What’s a girl mom?” she asked. I sighed and said “There are women who are born girl moms and there are women who are born boy moms.” Rita said “I don’t get it.” Patiently I explain “Ok, you know Mary, right? And you know me and Lisa, right? (Lisa being son #2’s sensei who kicked me in the side of the head the other day and also has two boys.)” Rita looks from me to Lisa. We’re both grinning because WE know what boy and girl moms are. She says “I still don’t get it.” So I start telling her this bug story. And before I’m even finished she’s laughing so hard she has tears in her eyes. And I can tell, she fully understands the difference between boy moms and girl moms now. And I say “You think Mary is going to sever the head off a bug?” And in between the gasps of laughter, Rita says “No way. I get it now.” Yeah, because there are boy moms in this world and there are girl moms……

There also appears to be girl dads and boy dads. Because we were across the street at our neighbor’s house last Christmas and the kids were drawing pictures. They have two girls. Son #2 brought his picture to our neighbor, Ray. Ray says “Aww that’s a great picture, what is it? An angel?” Son #2 looked at him like he had grown a second head and said “No! It’s a rocket and the alien monster is eating the other alien.” And Steve and I laughed our asses off at his girl dadness…….

It’s June, been in the 40s all week and raining hailing now, here in Seattle. I bet you’re jealous. Because I’m thinking the rest of the world is suffering 90 something degree heat and getting sunburned. No chance of that here, folks. Still freezing my ass off. It’s winter in Washington.

Steve’s coming home tonight for a whole, like, five days. We’re anxiously awaiting his return because we need milk and butter from the garage and neighbor dude is still gone too. Son #1 tried to all act all tough after he couldn’t bully me into going into the garage. He opened the garage door, heard noise, screamed and shut the garage door. He was pretty desperate for milk. But not that desperate. He wanted me to give him the bear spray. He said he didn’t care what he took the paint off of. Except his bike. He didn’t want the paint off of his bike.

My good friend, Joe, can’t make it out here until Monday. However, I’m telling him he has to come back later in the week to get milk out the fridge for us again unless he kills the rats this time. Maybe I’ll have Steve get the BB gun out of the garage. But it’s rifle style. I think I need one of those BB handguns. It’s kinda a tight space. And I need to go in like a SWAT team. As long as I’m armed, I’m ok with going in. I’ve got no qualms about shooting them. I know, I make a FINE vegetarian. PETA can go to hell.

Ok that’s the plan. I’m going to buy a BB handgun. With a scope. Just in case they’re up on the rafters.

This sucker is a semi-automatic beauty with a tactical flashlight and 3-position 30 mm red dot optics.

I think I might need an ammo vest and a hand grenade too. Just in case.

Who needs Joe? I gotta plan.

Peace out.

Who ever said “A watched pot never boils”? Because I just watched a pot of water boil. Ok, I waited until I saw a few more little bubbles than when I first started watching, got bored and dumped in the pasta. But honestly, it was going to start boiling ANY second. It’s just my attention span prevented me from standing there slack-jawed, staring into the mesmerizing little bubbles on the sides of the pot. What the saying should really say is “No one, without the use of hallucinogenic agents, has the attention span to stand there and watch a pot of water boil.” There’s no scientific proof of this so-called watched pot never boiling. Anyway, that’s what I was thinking about when I was standing there staring into the pot of water that was going to boil any second, WHILE I watched it.

So, the fact that my body is falling apart is not an indicator of age. That’s not the problem. The first inkling that I had that something is amiss someone is trying to pull some kind of practical joke, was yesterday when I said to Steve that I wanted to join the weapons program at our dojo and learn weapons kata, defenses and sparring. I currently only know how to fight with one weapon that we use in Hapkido. Steve’s silent for a few seconds then says “Uh Honey? You know your body is not holding up under the eight hours a week you’re doing right now, right?” I have no idea what he’s talking about. He was trying to point out something about my wrist and both my knees. But I seriously have no idea what he’s talking about. I’ve been doing this all my life. Over training is my friend.

Then this morning, I was putting on my make-up and someone tried to create some alternate reality there, staring me right in the face. You know those long, wiry eyebrow hairs that old people get? Someone glued one to my eyebrow!!!!!!!!!!!!! I wrenched it out in horror and discovered that not only was it all wiry, BUT it was also a strange color. Like, not really a white-grey because it was strawberry blondish, but it was a totally different color than my other eyebrow hairs. WTF?!?!!!!!!? I WANT TO KNOW WHO DID THAT NOW! I checked for chin hairs, the biggest sign you’re old and I still have none. So I’m good, right? No chin hair, no aging, right? Ok, Right.

I wrote a Dear John letter today. No really! I wrote a real, honest-to-God letter. Who writes handwritten notes anymore? I swear I’ve forgotten how to write!! It’s becoming a lost art.

I wrote to each of my coaches for baseball, thanking them for their help. One of them just happened to be named John. But I laughed like a lunatic after writing out Dear John. Ok, I crack myself up. Shut up. It was funny. You had to be there. ANYWAY.

It got me thinking about handwritten notes. Last month I got a handwritten letter from my 89 year old grandmother. She used to write me letters all the time, but she hasn’t written one in at least 10 or 15 years, probably longer. I suspect that it will probably be the last letter I ever get from her as with her age, she finds writing difficult now. But she wanted to thank me for some things I did for her when I was there in April. Sniff. Just the fact that I got a letter from her made me all verklempt.

While I appreciate the speed of technology, sometimes I think a good, old-fashioned, handwritten letter is the best way to communicate. When was the last time YOU sent a handwritten letter?

Although I have not received my scores yet, my judge told me that I passed my Hapkido belt test tonight. YIPEE! My Karate belt test is next week.

I did hurt my wrist tonight when my partner did a takedown that had me landing on my left side, but hopefully it will be better in the morning. On to Whatever Wednesday!!!!!!!!!!

Whatever Wednesday rules: Answer the question left by the person before you and leave a question for the next person. Play as many times as you wish. Anything goes. And it doesn’t have to be Wednesday to play.

First Question: What’s the most stressful test you have ever taken and did you pass or fail?

I’m gonna just go ahead and say it. We have a rat problem. Luckily, the rats are not in the house, but they are in our garage and in the ceiling crawl space. We have battled these rats for three years. We had tried hiring Orkin, who set out a bunch of glue traps, but now we have glue traps stuck all over the floor of the garage and Orkin never caught a single rat. Steve caught 26 rats that year on a single old-fashioned rat trap. Then we didn’t hear from the rats again. As fall approached, suddenly the rat activity picked up. We got one of those rodent deterrent things from Sharper Image that makes sounds that irritate the rats and drives them away. It also irritates the hell out of people too. That just made the rats fight. AND we discovered that instead of just having roof (black) rats, we had also acquired Norwegian rats this year. Norwegians are very aggressive and one of them chased son #1 while he screamed like a girl. Ok, yeah, I laughed. 

I finally cried uncle and called a pest control company that specializes in rats and doesn’t just phone it in like Orkin. They actually kill pests, instead of scratching their heads and suggesting we might not have a pest problem if there are no pests in the traps. (That’d be because the traps are all stuck to the floor after the rats had a party with them.)

My new best friend, Joe, promised to get rid of the rats for me. And I told Joe, “Dooooodeeee. They’re making so much noise up there in the ceiling, we can’t hear the TV! I bang on the ceiling with a mop, and yell ‘Keep it down in there, I’m trying to watch TV!’ and they don’t even pause with the ruckus they’re making. And now, with two kinds of rats, there are gang wars happening up there. The Norwegians have moved in on the Black’s territory and there’s gun fire and shit up there.” When Joe finally stopped laughing and wiped the tears from eyes, he said “We can get rid of them, I promise.”

Joe found that they had chewed a hole in the roof among other things. He did a bunch of exclusion work. Only? We were still hearing them, although the gang wars have died down. I haven’t heard a drive-by in weeks. Two days ago though? I went into the garage to get milk from the garage refridgerator. I thought I heard something, but decided it was the water pipes. When I rounded the corner to get to the fridge, I see the floor to ceiling cabinet with a moving rat tail hanging out of it. After I stopped screaming ten minutes later, I decided I wasn’t going back to the garage EVER. Except? Steve is out of town and I need milk. So yesterday I did what any female would do and went to the store to get milk instead. That’s why they pay us chicks the big bucks. And we were out of bread so I bought bread. I usually buy a few loaves and put them in the garage freezer until we need them. Except I forgot that meant I’d have to go into the garage to put them in the freezer.

I formulated a plan last night to get into the freezer. I was going in with Bear Pepper Spray.

Steve had a stroke when he found out my plan. I ran my plan by my neighbor, Michele, who thought it sounded perfectly reasonable. But Steve’s all concerned about me taking the paint off of stuff. So Michele suggested I go in with a torch and burn them. Steve thinks I’ll burn the house down or something. He’s totally unreasonable and suggested that I use a Karate side snap kick instead. Right. Like I’m gonna do that. Then I’d have to touch it. NO. I thought about a bat, but I’m concerned about swinging room. What I really need is some suggestions about how I’m gonna get in the garage, People, and what weapons I’m going in with. I’d use a firearm, but those are in the garage too. Steve has zero sympathy and told me to stop being a p****. I informed him that I actually HAD one of those. So I was entitled. I need a plan, People. Michele’s husband is out of town too so there are no dudes around to do the deed. Help me, Obi-Wan, you’re my only hope.

We went to Sequim, WA last weekend and we loved it so much, we’re going back this summer for our vacation. We decided we’d leave a smaller carbon footprint this year by exploring Washington instead of traveling halfway around the world. And to our surprise, there was so much to do in Sequim, we didn’t even make a dent in it all.

We got all Cape Cod, Martha’s Vineyard and dug for clams like the Kennedys. Except I’m sure the Kennedys have their servants dig the clams for them. But still. It was so hunter-gatherer! And Doooooode! Clams really do spit! I had clam loogies all over me. I didn’t eat the clams (the whole vegetarian issue and all), and son #2 wasn’t a fan, but Steve and son #1 made pigs of themselves. And paging Dr. Freud? Have you seen clams? The kids kept referring to the neck of the clam that sticks out as “clam wang.” (I know, precious little creatures of God, aren’t they?)

We also took the kids fishing several times. Steve made the big catch on our Puget Sound fishing excursions:

Yes folks, he caught a crab. Go Steve. You stud!

The next day, he had to hang his head in shame as I caught a 5 lb trout, just a few ounces shy of a record for where we were fishing. We were fishing on private property and when the guy who owned the property saw my fish, he asked what I caught him with. There had been a huge array of fancy baits all splayed out but I had gone to car and gotten a piece of bread and marshmallows. When I informed him that I had used a marshmellow I dug out of the car, he was all shocked and walked away muttering “Never had no damn marshmellows in my water EVER.” lol.

The last place we went before returning home was the Olympic Game Farm. You drive through acres of open land and the animals come up to your car. You can feed them through the windows of your car. This was a fantastic experience. I loved it. Right up until a smelly buffalo came and stuck his head through the car window and tried to molest me with it’s 7 inch tongue. It licked all over the head rest and the side of the car while I screamed. On the plus side, Steve invited his new friend over for dinner next week.

The buffalo is totally NOT invited.