Quick to Listen

Hey, did you guys know that I am just about the coolest mom ever? I knew my currency was high, but really? Coolest ever? Me?

So what if it was just the opinion of two mentally questionable 13 year olds? And, so what if it was just for yesterday? Today? Who knows? My fall from grace could be swift and quick. And, ugly.

Or not. So far I'm doing okay today. Amazingly enough, I wasn't greeted with any stray ice cream wrappers, cartons or sticks as I made my way to my computer this morning. So I haven't had to go off on any minors at this early hour of 8am.

Only because I haven't done anything to screw up today all children are still snoozing , I'm sitting pretty on the Super Mom Throne.

It all started when ThongGirl came over yesterday afternoon to hitch a ride to VBS. She's practically been living here this summer anyway, so this is nothing unusual. What was a bit out of the ordinary is that she showed up with a tell-tale band-aid gracing her upper arm. Before I could inquire, she told me that she had a shot so that she wouldn't get cancer "here" as she pointed to the general area of the girlie goods.

Me: Oh, no cancer in the hoohah for you.

TGirl laughed: Yipee! No hoohah cancer for me!

You see, TGirl can be very funny & she's got great potential. She even coined the term über-boobs: C cup & up qualify. Just give her another 20 years and some life experience, and she could have a hilarious blog some day. But for now, she's just 13 year old funny & needs some guidance.

Currently, I'm the one who doesn't need adult supervision with a few extra years and Man, Laze-E & MiniMe life experience, so I can blog all about it.

So, we all pile into my car & before we got buckled up, I informed both Laze-E & TGirl that they were both grounded from ice cream at my Haus for a week. Yes, I actually grounded a child that's not mine! How funny is that? Hey, if you are comfortable enough to leave ice cream wrappers on my computer desk, then I am comfortable enough to put you on frozen treat restriction.

That pendulum swings both ways.

Anyway, on the way to VBS, TGirl proceeds to give the scoop on her school physical. Her major complaint was that embarrassing questions were asked by her healthcare provider, who just happens to be our clinic's charge nurse, who just happens to be one of her (& Laze-E's) friend's mom.

I'm not a fan of hers, but I kept my opinions to myself as TGirl continues to tell me all about the appointment. The conversation basically went like this, with an occasionally nuhn-uh interjection from Laze-E.

TGirl: OMG, she asked if I was sexually active.

Me: That was a completely legimate medical question & that healthcare providers need to know. Absolutely need to know so that they can help keep you disease free, fertile & alive.

TGirl: But, she's my friend's mom - it was totally embarrassing to even talk about it. Then she asked if I was interested in boys.

Me: Oh, she was probably just joking around with you. But next time, have fun & tell her you don't swing that way. That'll shut her up.

Everyone: LOL HaHaHa.

Me thinking: is she keeping this all professional or is she probing for information that's none of her business?

TGirl: Then she asked if I've ever kissed a boy.

Me: What?

Me thinking: She just wants all the gorey details on her daughter's friends. Not a fair question.

Laze-E: Oh, you have to be careful. You can get herpes on the mouth. My dad tells me that all the time.

Me thinking: Is it a fair question? Maybe it is, but I'm still thinking very inappropriate especially since it really embarrassed TGirl for no obvious medical reason.

Me: So, what did you tell her?

TGirl: I lied. I told her NO. I mean, she's my friend's mom, I can't tell her!

Me: Wha . . . Huh?

It's at this point that I put on my Capt. Obvious Hat and informed TGirl that I definitely qualify as a friend's mom too. Duh.

And, that's precisely when the Cool Mom tiara was passed my way. Both girls agreed that I was totally cool because they can tell me anything & I won't yell at them too much or freak out in a clinical sort of way.

On one hand, it's great that they have an adult to share with. On the other hand, why me & why so much?

Maybe it's because, I'm someone who can discuss thongs, über-boobies, hoohah HPV & oral herpes without losing composure or having a full blown panic attack.

Maybe it's because I will watch 90210 with them.

Maybe it's because when they talk & tell me stuff, I don't tend to get all preachy & go all "thou shalt not" on them. I listen, then we discuss black, white and every shade of gray known to mankind.

I've been mulling this over since yesterday afternoon & I've developed an exact opinion on these issues. I've decided:

that teens need to have a primary healthcare provider that is strictly just that. Not someone that the kids or parents know outside that professional setting. Definitely not a friend's nosey & unprofessional mom.

And,

that when kids/teens take the risk & confide in you, just listen and gently guide (quick to listen, slow to speak, slower to anger). Save the judgements, the finger-wagging, the you'd better nots, the I told you so's & the "Thou shalt nots" for a later time. Mess this up just one time & you'll never be on the inside info track ever again.

As an example for ThongMom who remains clueless to this day: should your teen come home from a shopping trip with friends and tell you all about the 5-pack Hello Kitty "friendship thongs" (I know what you are thinking, and yes, I'm here to tell you that Hello Kitty does indeed make thongs!) they purchased, just listen. Actively listen and kick back a generous shot of tequila. You might even respond with Oh SweetPea, so that means that BFF#1 has one pair and BFF#2 has two, so that means that you have two also, right? So, have you tried them on yet? They might not be very comfy.

Here's what you don't want to do (think Penny's mom on Hairspray): OMG! You are never going shopping with those girls again. You are too young to wear a thong. You know better. That's just the devil trying to take hold. Next thing I know you'll be pregnant! What do you have to say for yourself? You really don't want to flip out because next time it might be something really important like condoms & no one is going to tell you squat.

Think about it. Being oblivious is one thing. Being grandma is something else.

In my opinion, it best to approach the topic at a later time, in a totally seperate event. You start a thong conversation: You know, I've been thinking about the thong-thing. It's a no-go. Until you are old enough to vote, you must follow my HausRule. Yes, dear, bras and panties must be roughly the same size. Yes, I know, you have über-boobs, so I'd better be seeing some big-girl panties on your fanny.

Oh, yeah, and by the way, Thou Shalt Not . . . leave ice cream and/or popcicle wrappers, sticks, or cartons lying around. Especially on. my. desk. Or I will go ballastic.

Cleanliness Is Next To Craziness

It's been the HausFrau battle cry of Summer 2008. Maybe more of a threat. It goes something like this:

"Take the crusted over ice cream carton off my desk and throw it away . . .
or, I will go ballistic!"

"Pick up the popcicle stick off my office floor . . .
or, I will go ballisitc!"

"All markers & crayons need to go back into their containers right now . . .
or, I will go ballistic!"

"Fold and put away every piece of clothing in your room on your floor . . .
or I will go ballistic!"

I will give MiniMe a little credit here; she's wired more like I am when it comes to the need for order and doesn't cause as much cleaning stress. Laze-E on the other hand . . . .

oh, dear.

That girl is going to drive me to dry-swollowing Prozac by the handfuls before the summer is over.

Thankfully, she has enough sense to jump quickly when she's in danger of being on the receiving end of a good old fashioned conniption fit. Been there, done that. Wasn't a whole lot of fun.

I'm sure it wasn't a picnic for her, either.

OK, Laze-E is pretty smart and over the years has developed a good feel for what will set me off. She could probably give you a fairly accurate Top Ten for Pushing Mom's Buttons -- especially when considering order & perfection in the Haus. However, because she's uh . . . lazy . . . she only considers un-pushing buttons when threatened with bodily harm. Or loss of computer privileges.

Man, on the other hand, has apparently been living in the recliner facing the TV La-La Land. It was only 2 days ago that he finally got a clue that certain inperfections around the Haus can push me to the edge of sanity. Seriously, I only half joke about having some OCD tendencies. It's not like I'm diagnosed PsychoFrau or anything. It's all very subclinical, but slight anxiety lurks just beneath the surface of my savvy self.

And, Man didn't know. Can you say denial?

How did he finally get a clue? One might ask. Well, let me tell you.

After letting some HausFrau tasks slide for a few days, I was feeling that must-clean-Haus anxiety creeping up on me. I started loading up the laundry basket & just happened to mention to Man that it was almost impossible for me to stay motivated daily to do HausWork. As a result, I get behind and, as a result, I get stressed.

You know what he did?

He looked around and said the Haus looks fine to me, what are you foaming at the mouth talking about?

Obviously, he's blind our standards are a bit different. I was almost in tears - admittedly, it's ridiculous - as I reminding him about the OCD thing. When certain things are not a certain way, I get stressed.

His response: Seriously? I thought you were just joking. I had no idea it was that bad.

My response: Seriously? How could you not know? I mention it a few times per week. Most of my frineds know. Seriously? You had no clue?

Seriously. He had no clue.

So, I clued him in.

Ok, hon, you know how I whip out the vacuum cleaner, fluff & arrange the pillows, flip the rug tassles and line up the DVD's before I can sit down and watch the entire first season of Weeds a bit of TV? Well, crumbs on the floor, crooked tassles, DVD's and pillows in disarray totally drive me nuts and I can't relax.

Man's response: my vacuuming, fluffing & arranging totally drives him nuts.

Or, how about when we are about to take off for a Rockin'Bauer Road Trip. You know, how I whip out the Swiffer duster to clean off the dash & console? And swipe a Windex wipies over the windshield? It drives me nuts and I can't relax and enjoy the trip with dust on the radio controls.
Man's response: my swiping and wiping drive him nuts.

Or, how about when I'm in the kitchen swiping and wiping and missing a good TV show. A messy kitchen drives me nuts and I can't relax in front of Medium.

Man's response: Seriously? It's that bad? I just thought you'd rather be cleaning than watching TV.

Side note: the only reason this doesn't drive him nuts is because he's in another room.

Bottom Line: if not doing it drives me nuts and my doing it drives him nuts, it's the OCD talking.

But, now he's trying to blame every bit of HausWork on OCD. Meaning that if all HausWork is just OCD craziness, he's off the hook from ever having to do any, forever & ever. Hello?! Most of the time I'm loading or unloading the dishwasher or washing dishes by hand because it needs to be done & it's my job. Ditto for toilet scrubbing. And, dusting.

Just so he can help me keep the pillows fluffed and neatly arranged be informed, I gave him the short list of other anxiety-inducing infractions:

Towels - including bath towles, hand towels, dish cloths and towels, must be neatly folded the right a certain way.

Rugs cannot be cockeyed; they must line up with the tiles on the floor.

Stainless steel in the kitchen, espeically the island, has to be shined.

Chairs have to be pushed up to the table and symmetrical.

It's not like I obsessively or compulsively fold and re-fold towels. I just feel better when that perfect tri-fold is gracing the bathroom shelves. Like I said, it's all very subclinical. It's just freaking denial part of the unique tapestry that makes me me.

Amazingly enough, other things I can somewhat ignore. I can handle a bit of mess in the bathrooms, my desk (to an extent - does not include stray ice cream cartons), I can let laundry pile up for a few days (remember, I have a European size washer so I can't go that long), windows don't really bother me, dishes don't have to be 100% done 100% of the time, and as long as pantry & fridge shelves are mostly in order, I'm okay.

I also pointed out that because I am HausFrau and not 9-5Woman that I can much better manage the anxiety. As long as I stay on top of the HausWork, I'm good. And, his quality of life is good. And, the kids are mostly intact.

However, if I have job-realted stress on top of HausWork stress, the anxiety can really get to me. Been there, done that. Wasn't a whole lot of fun.

And, it wasn't a picnic for me either.

So, we have a deal. I continue to play HausFrau for now, keeping the OCD subclinical, Man's quality of life remains undisturbed & the kids should remain mostly intact. When I do go back to work full time, Man will not play full time HausMan - remember that part about his being blind our having different standards?

We will hire a housekeeper. A live-in would be awesome, part time would be desirable. I'll settle for a once-a-weeker.

Of course, we'll have to probably pay extra for him (keeping it PC) or her (keeping it real) to deal with popcicle sticks and ice cream cartons.

Either that, or the hired help might go ballistic.

And, I'm pretty sure that wouldn't be a picnic.

For us, either.

Prim & Proper Propaganda

I think I've mentioned a few times how much I love our Dutch cable. Not only do we get great programming (According to Jim totally rocks) in English, we have access to some pretty awesome commercials, too.

This is Man's and My favorite commercial - it's for Telenet, our Internet/Cable company:



Granted, we are easily amused. But, isn't that a hoot?

This commercial is a close second. Same family, same baby. The Dad leaves the house in a hurry to attend an important meeting at work:



While I was searching YouTube for these little advertising gems to share with you, I came across this one:



Who knew they could advertise those on TV? The literal translation of the slogan: nothing comes absolutely by herself. I'm thinking the only thing better than Dutch commerials are the Norwegian ones!

Gyno Groupie

This was a first for me. I visited three countries in one afternoon all by my lonesome. I left MiniMe in the loving care of Laze-E & ThongGirl and headed off to Germany for a doctor's appointment. My afternoon went something like this: Gyno in Germany, Groceries in Holland & back home for Dinner in Belgium. If only I had a tour bus I could start marketing this unique TriBorder excursion.

Yes, there is major university hospital just minutes from my house, but I chose to drive 90 minutes back to Germany to seek medical care. It's a long story that would absolutely bore you to tears, but suffice to say, there's a not a doctor in Belgium who could make me happy. Besides, I'm going for an all-out record. This made 4 doctors in 2 different countries in 8 months. When put it that way, I sound more like a Gyno Roadie than a mere Groupie.

The problem with such a long trip is that I had way too much time on my hands to think and amuse myself. I usually have some whacked out dialogue ping-ponging off my neurons at any given time, but it's way worse when I alone. Especially on road trips.

That's one of the reasons I love to blog. It gives me a chance to release some of those random thoughts & calm down my brain chemistry.

I had no clue where I was going and just plugged an address into the GPS. I was rocking right along hauling A obeying the modest speed limit through western Belgium and the darn thing kept falling off the windshield. I was getting super annoyed when I remembered that it needed to be wet to stick. I grabbed the TomTom and did a really big, slobbery tongue over the suction cup and stuck it back in place - where it stayed, just for the record. I'm not saying that it happened, but if there ever was a really bad time to flash a speeding trap camera, that would have been it. Me flying down the highway, licking the TomTom.

After a few miles, I made a left hand turn in Holland and enjoyed the scenic route for a few miles. I decided to make a proactive pitstop at the first McD's I saw. It wasn't anywhere near a panic stop, but since I didn't know exactly where I was going, I wasn't willing to take any chances on a pee crisis. It's probably in bad taste to show up at a new gyn's office doing the full-bladder, knees-together wiggle demanding a toilet before even handing over insurance information.

While at Ronald's I decided to grab a Happy Meal for lunch & sashayed from the toilet up to the counter. I smiled, said hello and asked for a hamburger Happy Meal. It was almost an out-of-body-experience as I was greeted with mumbled Dutch. Huh? Did I manage to find the only location in Holland where only the manager spoke English. Was I on the wrong side of town? Seriously, I didn't know there were people in Holland who couldn't speak better English than 1/2 of Texas.

Who knew?

Anyway, after the pitstop I dug around in my purse for a breath mint and pointed the car in the direction of Deutschland. While sucking on the mint, my mind went to one of those places - again.
I started thinking how cool it would be to have a breath mint equilavent to freshen up the female parts. You know, sitting in the car for 90 minutes knowing that stirrups await you at your final destination can get a girl to thinking. Maybe not exactly a mint, but perhaps one of those quick dissolving strips. I've worked out the basics for my ad campaign:

Tic Tacs for your Twat - Have a Happy Hoohah

Recommended by 4 out of 5 gynecologists.

I know, I can dress me up but can't take me anywhere.

So, I make it to the doctor's office & go through the whole pertinent medical history spiel. Then, once again, I'm faced with a unique etiquette dilemma. How are you supposed to respond when a doctor compliments the girlie goods? This is twice now that I've had a German Gyn give my cervix an enthusiastic double thumbs up.

What I'm I supposed to say?

It's not like when a girlfriend gushes about a new hair-do.

Oh, thank you! I just got it done. The highlights are fab, huh? Do you really like it?

So, I said, oh, that's good.

Then the doctor announced that other relevant body parts were just about fan-damn-tastic too. My uterus looked awesome & both ovaries were rocking right along looking picture perfect. OK, I'm paraphrasing here. What really happened: I got a play-by-play commentary on how wonderful I appeared on ultrasound, then the doctor did a circular hand waving motion and declared that "everything down here looks great."

Oh, thank you! I just got it done. The highlights are fab, huh? Do you really like it?

Uh, that's good, huh?

Since I passed the obvious physical abnormalities test and managed not to be referred to a good pyschiatrist, he wrote me the prescription that I've been chasing down since last November. I practically waved the big, foam #1 finger as we discussed possible side effects from these pills. I made direct eye contact with the doc and said . . . one . . . eins . . . éen . . . uno . . . un.

Not . . . zwei oder drei.

Nicht . . . sext.

Got it?

He said the German equivalent of okee-dokee and sent me on my merry way.

While I waited at the desk for the paper copy of the script I just happened to notice that the nurse had on the cutest Birks ever. My friend in Hohenfels (Hi, Laura!) and I are going to have to get us a pair - each. The nurse was the best ever - she not only gave me the script on one piece of paper, she gave me the address for her shoe store on another.

Hey, I just tried to find the shoes the nurse was sporting online & had no luck. But, here's a wonderful bit of info - did you know that Birk now has the Heidi Klum kollection? Talk about über-cute.

Yeah, I know. I'm admittedly not a shoe person. But, these will hardly count -- because they are orthotic and comfy. And, really cute, did I mention that?

Anyway, I left the doctor's office thinking about shoes (very disturbing, I know) and walked across the street to the pharmacy. I wiped them out claiming the last 10 pills in the joint & was paying for them when I happend to look at the box:

ClomHEXAL 50

Written just like that.

Wha . . . Huh?

I'm no SAT verbal genius, but I do know that hexa- just happens to be the Greek prefix for, uh,

SIX.

I think I would have preferred a prescription for ClomUNO 50.

But, that's neither here nor there. I walked back out to my car & started the long drive back to my house. Again, I was alone with my thoughts & pondered the Tic Tac thing again. Dissolving strips are definitely the way to go. In a slightly-minty scent. I'll market them to women with ob-gyn and/or bikini wax appointments.

My secondary scent will be cinnamon rolls. I decided this because of a scientific study that concluded that particular smell was the number one way to rev up a man's libido. I'll market these to anyone not scheduled for an appointment were mint would be more appropriate.

I also toyed with the idea of HubbaBubba, Bazooka & Big Red. This could be marketed to women who are way more talented than I or to anyone woman needing help with those pesky Kegel exercises.

Man's always looking for an entreprenuial opportunity. Wonder if he's interested?

Might be a nifty way to fund the Sensational Six's way through college.

Where in the World?

Grab a box of Kleenx. This is going to be the saddest middle class sob story that you've ever heard.

I can't decide how to "spend" my $2400 in travel vouchers. Yeah, the ones I got for suffering through a first class flight to JFK with the kids in tow. Yes, it was a real inconvenience for me to fly a day later & make a connection in NY versus Chicago.

Whatever.

But should I ever have to testify in court, I might be able to muster a tear as I describe how traumatized we were by fully reclining seats, on-demand movies & real ice cream sundaes for a mid-afternoon snack. With hot fudge. And nuts. On top of the Ben & Jerry's.

Yeah, I'll be crying because I know how the upper echelon get from Point A to Point B. And, they do it without getting pesky cankles as a souvenir.

I have to use the vouchers by the end of March and it's torture deciding where we want to go.

Greece is on the table. But, for a November get-away, the weather might be a bit yucky. Even though I can get a condo for the week for "free" by trading in some RCI points, it might not be the best option.

We want to spend some time in England, but that's too close to 'waste' free airline money. I'm leaning toward trading in points to get a houseboat for a week next spring or summer. Besides, we are taking a daytrip to Canterbury next weekend. It's not London, but I can score some cider and fish & chips. That should tide me over until we can get back up there.

Spain would be a good location, but we can get there cheap with RyanAir for a whole lot less than $2400. Ditto for Rome.

Other places scattered across Europe, well, BTDT. Hey, I told you to grab the tissues. Don't roll your eyes, it might smear your mascara. Or they might get stuck that way.

Of course, I'm only looking at European desitnations since we are practically there anyway. I'm not even sure if we can use the vouchers to fly on American's OneWorld partners. If not, these vouchers must be used to travel back to the States.

Just for kicks I looked up a flight from Brussels to Honolulu. For around $2500 a ticket we could all fly economy. For a mere $7200 a seat, Man and I could sneak up to First Class. Maybe the travel vouchers could cover the cost of the shrimp cocktail appetizers & pre-flight mimosas.

Obviously, Hawaii is off the table. Especially, since one or both girls at various times mention the "C" word.

Get your mind out of the gutter. College. The "C" word is college.

And, they have a nasty habit of wanting to eat several times a day.

I downsized, did a 180 & I checked out flights into Dallas. They are only slightly cheaper than continuing on to Honolulu & I wouldn't get to sip Lava Flows on the beach. I'd have to settle for margaritas at Cheddar's. OK - so that wouldn't be so bad since I never drink alone & my Texas friends are a blast.

But, sorry, girls, it's still way too expensive. I wouldn't be able to afford the margarita. Even during Happy Hour. And, we all know, I don't do Texas without the Cuervo.

I want to use my vouchers and fly somewhere for free. That way I can brag about a totally free flight - I could get a lot of mileage out of that. That would totally trump $1 for new shorts at the Thrift Shop on the Frugalista Scale of Bargains. Free flight is definitely a 5. The shorts might register a 3, depending on the brand.

So, I checked out American's Special Fares page. Since when did $900 for a crappy economy seat become a special fare to fly to JFK? Seriously, if you start in Brussels and fly to New York, that just barely qualifies as a trans-Atlantic flight.

And, on top of not having my free airfare spent, now we have to decide if we want to take a Med cruise over spring break. Several families from here, including the ThongFamily, are going. So, the kids would have playmates built into the itinerary - and an inclusive Kid's Klub. And, you know what that means? Free time for parents. Like maybe we could even have sex a romantic dinner alone while sailing past the southern tip of Italy. Maybe.

But, that cruise sails to Greece, and I don't want to waste my free airfare flying to some place that we may sail to on Royal Caribbean's Brilliance of the Seas. If I can even get to Athens courtesy of American or any of their airline buddies.

The cruise would also pulls Spain, Malta, Cyprus, Tunisia & Egypt off the table too.

I know, it's all very sad and disturbing. The world is our oyster, but I can't figure out how to crack open the darn thing.

Perhaps, I should pop that Pretty Woman VHS into the VCR and take notes. With hot pink paint pen in my blue sprial notebook.

More or Less

Last month, while visiting Ramstein & breathing in some Air Force fumes, we had dinner with some friends of ours (Hi, Melodi). My friend was begging both of her girls to just eat something & MiniMe was very puzzled by this. She even asked, "Why are you making them eat?" It was a completely foreign concept to her because we are are more focused on when to stop eating and not when to start.

It's not MiniMe's fault. She does live at the Haus, afterall.

Man and I have a motto: Anything worth doing is worth overdoing. Oh, come on. You've seen us in action both individually and as a team & you know we just about have the market cornered when it comes to being anal overachieving.

Ours is not totally a beat a dead horse kind of philosophy. It’s more like a more is more way of seeing the world. I can't speak for Man, but personally, I've never understood the Less is More mantra. What's that all about, anyway?

Shall I introduce HausFrau Rule #4?

More is better.

OK - here's how this rule works around the Haus:

When changing a diaper, if it looks like it might need another wipie, then grab at least 3 more.

When terminating the creepy crawlies, if the cockroach looks like it needs another whack, then go ahead and beat the hell living daylights out of it with a flip-flop.

When fixing things around the house, if it looks like it needs more duct tape, use the whole darn roll on the bed support beams.

When finishing up in the loo, if it's smelling like it needs more air freshener, go ahead and hold down the nozzle for another 5 seconds 15 seconds.

This rule is especially applicable for culinary ingredients, more specifically butter, olive oil, cheese, garlic & alcohol.

As examples:

When preparing Texas Beer Chili: Most published recipes call for a 12 ounce can of beer. My recipe starts with a ½-liter bottle of Pils and I taste to season “season to taste” after that.

When making cherry pie filling: most recipes list ½ teaspoon of amaretto as an optional ingredient that may be substituted with almond extract. Personally, I start with a ¼ cup & leave the option open to adjust up from there.

Likewise:

When making a wine sauce: if the sauce is tasting a little anemic in the wine department, by all means, add another swig splash or two. It’s called Riesling Cream Sauce for a reason. If Riesling wasn’t meant to be the predominant ingredient, it shouldn’t be listed first.

When making Sangria: if it looks like the pitcher needs more kirschwasser, then please, add a weeny bit more. This definitely livens up the party and makes for very memorable evenings. (Hi, Naomi. How’s the baby?) For those of you unfamiliar with kirschwasser, it's basically cherry flavored Everclear.

Although More is Better applies to most situations at the Haus, there are a few exceptions to this rule. Less butt fat is certainly better, less debt is better, less clutter is the best ever and less boxes of HausFrau-defined junk is definitely better. I bring this up because,

A few days back I lost my mind again & plowed full force into our basement boxes. I probably would have kept my head in the sand and let sleeping dogs lie except for the fact that I have to look at piles and piles of boxes every time I venture to my pantry for a bag of Doritos can of spaghetti sauce.

Without any alcohol whatsoever (do I ever cease to amaze you?), I dove head first into not only boxes of my "teaching materials" but also many, many boxes of "Man's Crap". He obviously wasn't going to do it, and I can't participate in another PCS with thirteen intact boxes of junk important papers from the 70's, 80's & 90's. For music, that's a great period of time, for outdated paperwork, it's a HausFrau nightmare - PCS panic attack just waiting to happen.

I have sorted through a mountain of dead trees and loaded up at least three four big huge boxes of paper that needs to be shredded. Members of my Paper Death Row include: hundreds of Hawaii travel brochures from the mid-90's, warranties for electronics that were pawned off as donations to unsuspecting Thrift Shops we do not own anymore, gas ration card from Würzburg (circa 2001), financing paperwork for a 1980-something Daytona that was purchased in 1980-something, years of bank statements from an account that was closed years ago & just to spice things up a bit, a few pictures of crazy witches ex-women that have slipped through the cracks.

Yeah, I know. It would have behooved me to have sipped a little Chianti ahead of time.

In my all out attempt to lighten the load, I've even agreed to throw out some of my teaching files. What's fair is fair. Ok, so it's not that big of a sacrifice. Somes of the files haven't been touched in 10 years, others weren't that great in the first place. Plus, if I get in a bind at some point in the future, I figure the Internet can bail me out. Seriously, how hard can it be to locate a middle school fetal pig dissection lab online?

Obviously, if I NEVER teach again I won't be crying any tears. I'm chunking everything except for bare bones biology curriculum. And, anatomy, that might be handy someday. You just never know . . . yes, I watch all the top-rated crime shows . . .

Besides, I'm 95% certain that I am going to make a career change and this is just one more step in that direction. Once I feel the perfect order of all household files pulsing through my veins, I can more efficiently work on an online Nutrition 101 class. Or, something really exciting like Sociology 101 or better yet, Texas Government. I think this is also the driving force behind my sudden interest in snazzing up all our paper files. That and we could PCS at any given time.

It's either that or I'm stuggling yet again with control issues. Even though there are numerous events and situations that I have absolutely no control over whatsoever, I sure as heck can pare down the paperwork and perfectly organize, file and label every last scrap of paper in this house. Except for toilet paper - I know where to draw the line - it's not like I have a diagnosed disorder or anything.

So, while I'm digging through extremely outdated and irrelevant files I happened upon some interesting artifacts of times by-gone. Thankfully, my sense of humor is intact, más o menos.

Among the basement treasures, I found a deck of bare naked ladies playing cards. Obviously, distibuted somewhere along the way for troop morale & welfare. Right? Again, more would have been better - specifically, more clothes on them would have been better for me. Remember, I've been working without the benefit of ethanol.

Sometime a while back, Man and I were watching Dr. Phil together - like that ever happens - and he recognized the über-dysfunctional couple as "friends" from Germany, Round II. Some couple the exxie decided to befriend - he even remembered being at their house for some New Year's celebration. Yeah, I know.

But, I found the birth announcement for their first born - picture included. What a gem of a find. I mean, cute baby and all, but it was almost like reaching out and touching Jerry Springer from the privacy of my basement. Even I can't say that I actually know anyone who has admitted stupidity &/or moral turpitude on nationally syndicated TV, so Man wins on that count. Ok, so I might be related to know more people who engage in stupidity and moral turpentine, they just don't flaunt it on TV (or in movie musicals).

I also found some baby pictures of Man that I've never seen before. Yes, they were stashed away in a file folder labeled "P" for pictures - I assume. He swears I can out freak him in the neat department. But seriously, while all my photos are chronologically & asthetically displayed in albums or neatly in stacked in photo boxes, that's nothing compared to having them filed under "P", n'est-ce pas?

Anyway, I now know why MiniMe has always been such an Amazon baby. I found this picture of Man, at a tender 3 1/2 months of age - yes, months. Isn't he just adorable? And, definitely out achieving his peers on the standardized growth chart.



And, this one at age 8 months. He's a whopping 26 pounds!



Again, an absolute cutie-pie, and totally buying into the More is Better philosophy.

My project is ongoing & I'm still sorting through boxes and slowly adding more stuff to the trash boxes and retaining less stuff for our next PCS. And, I'm definely feeling better. More or less.

Summer 1987

Earlier I was sorting through some ancient videos (circa 1987 - VHS of Pretty Woman for example) & DVD's in an attempt to control clutter and lighten the total pounds of our household goods. Yes, I know exactly how much everything in our house weighs . . . 12,000 pounds, plus we have 3,000 in storage in Texas. 2000 of it is Man's refusal to part with his past -- I can think of at least 20 t-shirts, also circa 1987, in a size way too small medium that are in box in San Antonio. Their combined weight conspiring against what furniture I can buy here in Belgium.

But, I digress. Summer of 1987 has absolutely nothing to do with Man, at all. Instead it has everything to do with Tammy & I -- and countless other confused and lovesick 15 year old girls like us.

You see, while I was sorting through DVD's I came across a blue spiral notebook filled from front to back with poems and lovesick ramblings. At first, I thought it was filled with my handwriting, but upon closer inspection, it's decidedly Tammy's. She filled the notebook as a gift for me. I'm thinking this was probably her main source entertainment as she spent much of her freshman year (86-87) grounded for not following one of her parents' Haus Rules. It was the one about not hosting wild keg parties with boys in attendance while the parents are out of town. Gosh, from the way T-Mac (her dad) reacted, you would have thought she broke a major rule or something.

Anyway, the front cover of this sprial has a note to me written in hot pink paint pen:

Michelle, Hi Babie! I coped all of these that I have for you. Enjoy! I know you will. Love always, Tammy Lynn :)

The first page:

July 15, 1987

Michelle, I love Scotty Lee Kelley! Remember that Always! Big, fat, poofy heart, Tam

Did you notice the date? It was 21 years ago TODAY - how apropos that I should find it on its anniversary. Also, we won't think too much about the kids born on that day -- they are officially old enough to legally drink!

Anyway, I'd like to share with you the contents of this spiral. Most of the entries are written by unknown authors & many of the poems will be familiar to those of you who were teens in the '80. Poems like:

Loving Him

When I met him, I liked him
When I liked him, I loved him
When I loved him, I let him
When I let him I lost him.

And,

All Because

I climbed up the door and shut the stairs
I said my shoes and took off my prayers
I turned out my bed and climbed into the lights
All because he kissed me goodnight.

And,

Boyfriends

A boyfriend is a conceited jerk
He thinks he's really grand
He's high opinioned of himself
It's more than I can stand
He thinks he's all my dreams come true
that he's my guiding light
And, what's worst of all -- he's right

And,

A Prayer for My Boyfriend (I'll transcribe this exactly! Strikethrough & all - what's that about?)

Heavenly Father, full of grace
Bless my boyfriends foxy face
Bless his hair that tends to curl
Keep him away from other guys girls
Bless his eyes that tend to roam
Keep him from seeing what's not shown
Bless this guy I love to miss
Bless this guy I love to kiss
Bless this guy I long to marry
Bless his children I'd love to carry
Bless his body that feels so right
Bless his arms that hold me tight
Bless his hands so big & strong
But, keep them, Lord, where they belong
Bless this guy I love to clench
Bless his tongue that loves to French
And, if he should read this prayer of mine,
Bless the thoughts that cross his mind.

Other Titles include:

Forget, GoodBye, Child Abuse, The Class Ring, You Think, I Died of Love, God Above, I Will Always Love You, For You, Faraway Thoughts, Love is not for Boys, Broken Dreams, Breaking Up, Pretenders, A Love to Call My Own, The Corner of My Mind, I Had You Once, The Crumpled Letter, I Still Love You, A New Start, She & I, I Am Not There, Friends, Protected Love, Hold Onto Your Dreams, Faithfully and You Fulfill My Dreams.

Yeah, I know, could you imagine any of these being blog titles for HausFrau? Well, now that I take a close look, I might be able to salvage: Forget, GoodBye, A New Start & Friends. Hey, now that I think about it, it's almost my life's motto: never Forget your Friends as you say GoodBye and make a New Start. LMAO, I'm just once step closer to reconnecting with my inner 15-year-old.

Now for the real treat, I'll share with you musing from a 15-year-old me. This one has survived 21 years without a title.

I will now dub it Gag Me With A Spoon

In the distance, so far away
Drawing closer everyday

Now in my reach, now in my sight
Almost mine, but not quite

Moving away to a faraway place
the only memory is of the face

Someday soon coming back
now it's mine, nothing to lack

Or, even better this one. Also Untitled until now -- I'll call it Like, Oh, My Gawd!

Tossed on life's merciless waves
Washed out to sea, but not forgotten
- my dreams

Floating helplessly through the lonely tides
but not forgotten
- my dreams

Wanting desperately to soar away
on eagles' wings
- my dreams

Someday - yes, I'll soar through clouds
and over mountains with the wind beneath
- my dreams

How about this one? The original title of Protected Love is now being changed to Put Your Big Girl Panties on and Get Some Self-Esteem

So many times I've left myself wide open
For you to play with my emotions
Just this once I'd like to know
If you really love me so
You can't decide if you like me or not
But I love you so and care for you a lot
Before you ask me another thing
Be sure you love me more than anything
I love you so much, it's easy to see
But do you really truly love me?

And my personal favorite. I vaguely remember calling a local radio station (yes, KNIN for those of you wondering) and reading this on-air. Maybe? Anyway, here's my best teen attempt to cram as many '80's love songs into one DumbAss Essay.

Together Again

Somehow all the thrown words and Careless Whispers finally got around. I really thought we had Endless Love, but maybe I was wrong. you wouldn't listen to me when I begged for that One More Night. Just Once I would like to look Through The Eyes Of Love and see Just You & I. I really tried to get over you, but You're a Hard Habit to Break. So, I tried to think of us living Seperate Lives, but couldn't. My Burning Heart got the best of me. Suddenly, I changed, and you should Take a Look at Me Now. Finally, I come to you with Broken Wings and hope you'll take me back with Open Arms. I have been Saving All My Love For You and We've Got Tonight. Now I look into your eyes and see Heaven, realizing the Search is Over. After All That We've Been Through, I've stayed Faithfully yours. Tonight I Celebrate My Love For You and pray it will last longer than any before. Being in your arms I know Nobody Loves Me Like You Do. For what seemed an eternity I prayed that If Ever You're in My Arms Again I would never let you go. Against All Odds, we are together again and I know I will Cherish the love forever.

Perhaps I should copyright this one & sell it online as part of a 1980's Retro Wedding Package - Love Song Wedding Vows plus a CD with all the songs to play at the reception. I could sell it for $19.87.

Seriously, I think I'll let Laze-E and her friends browse my secret stash of retro love poems. I have a feeling they will be well received & that MySpace is about to experience a whole new level of desperation & lovesickness. Finally, someone put into words exactly what they are all thinking and feeling. For the record, we are hosting a day-time sleepover right now and there's 80's music blaring on Laze-E's stereo . . . ooooh, Heaven is a place on Earth . . .

TTFN. I'm off to sort through our CD collection. No, not to lighten the HHG's load, silly. I'm checking to see how many 80's love songs we own.

All Tied Up

It was normal bedtime routine around the Haus tonight. We shut off the TV, put the computer to sleep, tucked MiniMe in for the third fourth time & then Man started his what-do-I-wear-tomorrow drama. Usually, we keep clothes decisions to a bare minimum:

Do I wear this shirt with blue or black pants? These pants are the black ones aren't they? Are you sure? They look black to me. Are these socks blue?

Hold them under the light. Nope, they're black.

Well, you put them in the wrong sock drawer. Are you trying to confuse me?

As a matter of fact, I am. Obviously, there's not enough excitement around here & I have to create it by tossing blue socks into the black sock drawer. On purpose. It's a HausFrau conspiracy.

Tomorrow is a VIP day at Man's work so he must look like he belongs - noose around his neck and a little pep in his step. Tonight, we had to chose an appropriate suit-shirt-tie combo. Since it was pushing an incredibly late 10pm, we I kept it simply monochromatic. Blue suit, blue shirt, blue tie. As opposed to the more complex black suit, gray shirt, black & gray tie.

Man steamed the wrinkles out of the suit and shirt while I tucked MiniMe in for the fourth fifth time. Then Man pulled the price tag off the blue tie, stared disbelievingly at the price tag & wondered aloud if we really paid that much. I don't know for sure, but let's do the math:

Calvin Klein + AAFES + new director job + PCS = full price for a tie.

Actually, the $30-something price tag ended up not being near as important as the fact that it needed to be tied.

Man drapes it around his neck & promptly declares ignorance.

And, looks at me.

What? I'm supposed to tie the tie? Oh, Man looked so sad & desperate standing there in the bathroom in his gym shorts and ragged t-shirt with a brand-new, full-price tie draped around his neck. I really had no choice.

I stepped up to the plate & did the whole criss-cross in front, loop around back, up and through . . .

and it didn't work.

Then, I criss-crossed, looped twice, over and up, down and around . . .

and that didn't work either.

I even tried the bunny ears
over, under around and through
the pants are black, the sock are blue

My cute little poetic chant didn't work & neither did an enthusiastic attempt at nose wriggling.

So I did the only thing I could do, I grabbed the tie and bee-bopped downstairs to the computer. Man meant to profusely thank me for sacrificing sleep for him but only managed some mumbling about wanting a Double Martini Windsor knot.

I plopped down, draped the tie around my neck and googled "double windsor knot". The fist website had crappy, tiny pictures and very confusing written directions (obviously written by a man), so I moved on to the second site. Much better with nice sized, colored diagrams and 10 (yes, TEN) individual steps for tying a Double Windsor (obviously written by a fellow HausFrau).

OK, I have excellent visual-spatial skills & excel at following directions (my blog, my story told my way). I just needed to remember my left is the diagram's right. Wide part crossed over the skinny part, front to back, loop around, up throught the middle, down toward the right, something about my non-dominant hand . . .

OK, start over. Criss cross wide over narrow. Up with the wide, loop around back, loop toward dominant hand . . .

Ok, X wide over narrow, loop around wide side, down through the middle, pull left, loop twice, up & down and tighten . . .

Cleraly, this whole my left is really the right is a wee bit confusing, much like anatomy diagrams and the which left is whose right conundrum. Admittedly, I get confused when right is really correct right and left is wrong left.

To avoid unnecessary confusion when I naggigate navigate, I irritate Man with use my much simpler verion of left & right. In any driving situation turn "this way" means to turn toward my side of the car and "that way"means to turn toward his side. Man still claims it makes no sense and that he has no clue what is "this way" versus "that way". Even though I explain it slowly everytime we travel together.

Too bad for me, but my brilliant "this way" & "that way" didn't work for tying the brand-new, full-price ties.

I decided that if Calvin was ever going to get familiar with Windsor, I needed the real tie to look like the one on the computer. I needed a model - someone other than me. But, MiniMe was actually in bed, Laze-E was out with friends, the cat was off somewhere licking her butt and Man was still upstairs playing with the iron. It was a brief moment of shear desperation when the best idea ever popped into my head.

I flopped my left leg on the desk and rolled up my shorts & looped Calvin Klein (aka Marty McFly, aka Michael J. Fox - not that I'm going anywhere with that line of thinking . . . ) around mid-thigh. I breezed through the complete 12-step 10-step program and tied a very, very nice knot. I held the wide part, hobbled up the stairs like a tipsy puppet, on a mission to deliver knotty perfection to my Man.

With the help of the bathroom sink, a few stablizing hops & couple of full arm waves, I proudly presented Man with my thigh & his tie. Of course, Man gave me the look punctuated with huffy sigh for playing around during a über-important clothes crisis.

His quickly changed his tune when he realized that he got to be the one to extract his tie from my thigh - it was all very garter belt sexy because I even shaved today. With shaving cream and not just soap. Above the knee.

I did the whole ta-dah! thing and

He did the whole mouth open, stars coming out of his eyes thing.

Yes! I tied a freakin' perfect Double Windsor knot! Man was totally & completely impressed & singing my praises. Oozing gratitude. He tried it on & it fit perfectly.

As it turns out, the middle of my thigh is the perfect body part for tying Man's tie. How's that for putting some extra special VIP pep in his step?

TV Junkie

It was MustSee TV last night at the Haus. Don’t you know it? Thursday nights at 2100 hours everything in my world comes to a screeching halt so that I can catch the latest episode of Desperate Housewives.

I didn’t intend to be rude when I escorted my neighbor out the front door at 2059 last night. I calmly explained the situation to her & invited her to stay. She was probably a bit freaked by the glint of wild excitement in my eyes and politely declined my invitation as she bolted for the door.

OK, so “Latest episode” is a bit relative. For those of us subsisting on the current AFN line-up, “latest episode” meant the Mother’s Day edition. Thanks to the Hollywood writers playing a little hardball earlier in the year, we are only a mere 2 months behind and not more.

Now that I have actually seen this episode & not just cheated read about it on abc.com’s episode recaps, I would like to personally thank Marc Cherry for sparing us the gorey details of the Delfino baby’s birth. Since I was on the wagon last night, I was super happy that I did not have to suffer through whiney Susan’s highly dramatic, long, hard, unmedicated vaginal delivery of a breech baby in the cab on the way to the hospital while Mike was off somewhere else fixing some Frau's leaky pipes.

Let me tell you, it’s the small things in life that can bring such gratitude.

It was refreshing not to have a front row seat for TV L&D drama. I liked the variety of a retro TV birth, circa 1975. Start with a contraction & skip right to a beautiful, bouncy, perfectly cleaned-up 3 month old bundle of joy. Now, that’s my kind of delivery. Too bad I couldn’t have that starring role. The only thing better would have been TV birth circa 1960. You know, the ones where the mother & baby just mysteriously show up on the hospital’s postpartum wing, perfectly coiffed & awaiting visitors.

The way I see it, Marc owed us since we had to suffer through Danielle’s comedic delivery on Bree’s dining room table (or was it a desk?) while freakish Fairy Tale characters looked on. Really, I love the gals on Wisteria Lane probably more than I should, but Little Bo Peep playing midwife to Frankenstein was a bit much.

In the days before Susan actually had the baby, we enjoyed several scenes of the mother-in-law-from-hell playing HausGuest. "Mama" shows up striaght off a turnip truck from the Confederacy in a taxi and proceeds to teach a little southern domestic diva know-how. OK, so she was trying to get Susan to pony-up in the kitchen with a flour sifter so that she bread and deep fry something, but she was also imparting a little throw-back southern philosohpy from her Memaw. Man especially like the part where Mama was telling about her Memaw’s definition of a perfect HausFrau.

She’s the wife to give her Man what he wants: a chef in the kitchen, a maid in the living room and a whore in the bedroom.

Hey, my Memaw just wants hot pink thongs. And, Heather's drives around with wine in a go-cup. What is it with these southern grandmas? And, how much much fun am I going to have being one?!

Anyway, Mama's Memaw's definition wouldn’t have been so offensive but my Man had to do the whole touchdown hooting & hollering routine on the couch, emphasized by a Preach it, Brother! And a Now, that’s what I’m talking about!

Whatever.

Shall I point out that he was doing this whole bit while digesting prepackaged frozen chicken fried steak w/ Lipton’s Pasta Sides and a nice salad a home cooked meal & sitting his bum on my our perfectly vacuumed couch.

Will someone please tell him that 2 out of 3 ain’t bad? Especially on a Thursday night – Thursday night’s rule is no gorilla sex monkey business unless necessary for procreational purposes & then it has to be before 2100 or after 2200. Hello. It’s my Desperate night. A HausFrau has to draw the line somewhere.

And, don’t let him kid you. Y’All know all about the duct tape.

Anyway, now I’m patiently waiting on Mr. Cherry to give equal air time to the flip side of that coin. I'm eager to hear the definition of the perfect HausMan. And, if the recently re-empolyed male writer's can’t think something up, I’ll help them out:

The perfect partner for any HausFrau is ready with a piña colada at the cabana, eager with the suntan oil by the pool, shirtless and muscular while weed whacking, a pancake flippin’ fool in the kitchen & a freakin’ genius when it comes to changing crappy nappies.

Oh, and, a little Fabio in the boudoir doesn’t hurt, either.

Preach it, Sister! That’s what I’m talking about!

Got Milk?

Last week, my good friend Heather and I were out on my back patio chitchatting and enjoying the nice weather. Somehow our conversation detoured right on past socially acceptable dinner topics and headed striaght south toward dysfunction. I know, don't we all find that predictable unbelievable?

Since I was sipping on iced tea and Heather was enjoying a diet soda, I'm not quite sure how we so quickly ended up on the topic of breastfeeding your 8 year-old. Usually, in the absence of tequila, we talk about our kids, food & bargains at the Thrift Shop. But, not this particular night. Maybe Heather was tiring of my frugal-bragging . . . Score! Got it at the Thrift Shop. Only paid a dollar. Isn't it cute? . . . and decided to get even. Maybe she just wanted to brag about her cross-cultural knowledge . . . Hey, guess what I know about those crazy Brits.

Either way, she just happened to mention that there's this whole movement in the UK promoting extended breastfeeding - like really extended. Stop nursing right before your lil' darling graduates from middle school. But, only if the child is willing to give it up voluntarily & comes up with the idea all by his lonesome.

Huh?

I was risking pesky creases & wrinkles frowning as I attempted to wrap my sober neurons around all this when Heather mentioned that we could probably find the referenced documentary on YouTube.

At the mere mention of YouTube, Laze-E came out of her inattentive trance and volunteered to look for us. The only time I've seen her move faster has been with the code words of MySpace. Low & behold searching the site for "breastfeeding 8 year old" produced results. Who knew? I've saved you the hassle of searching, here's the video.

You don't have to admit to morbid curiosity. Just watch the video so that we can all discuss this. That's what I did, I only watched it for educational purposes.

Now that you've done the whole click & watch bit, tell me, did you choke on your diet Cola? Specifically when the children were at the dining room table drawing mum's breasts? And, then again when the mum protested that there's no way her nipples looked like the kids' drawings?

Yeah, me too. I just about spewed Lipton Cold Brew all over my keyboard.

Here's the deal: my girls have always included me in their artwork. Usually, I'm the one that's drawn a bit bigger than the children. Often I have oodles of lovely squiggles for hair and frequently, there's a crown involved (keeping it real). Occasionally, body parts - normal ones like hands, arms & feet- might be a little disproportional, but it's nothing that an eraser swiped across my hips couldn't fix.

Although, I certainly have been blessed with them, my ta-ta's have never debuted in any of these refrigerator masterpieces. If not for the ubiquitous hair squiggles and tiaras, any of the Me stick-figures could easily be Man.

Or the neighbor's dog.

I know it's absolutely none of my business & that I should not judge. But Eeeeeewwwwww! Mummy's milk is sweeter than a 1000 melons? Sorry, but any child who understands metaphors & similies and uses them appropriately in complete sentences obviously doesn't need the extra IQ boost that only breastmilk can provide. Obviously.

Ok, I know my child got an F on her PE exam. Now, I feel guilty.

Uh, noooo.

I'm not feeling one bit of remorse about Laze-E's crappy academic performance possibly due to Similac toxicity. I feel guilt because it's slacker moms like me, raising kids like Laze-E and MiniMe, who keep mums like her in the milk business indefinitely.

Don't you just want to reach through you computer screen and give that mum one big cyber-hug? Tell her it will be okay? Help her put on a nice support bra? Introduce her kids to chocolate milk and A&W Root Beer? Throw away all those drawings of bare breasts w/super long nipples?

Naw. Me neither.

Except for tossing the boobie doodles. I'm all over that.

I'd rather settle down with a diet Pepsi & watch a little YouTubing entertainment. That's the whole reason Heather mentioned MilkMummy in the first place. It was necessary background info so that I could fully appreciate the hilarious spoof on Little Britian's Bitty Episode.

How do you know that you have the best friends ever? When diet soda and YouTube bring hours of fun.

Cheers, Heather.

Otherwise Occupied

Too busy to blog? Hard to believe, huh? I mean, it's not like I'm holding down a real job or anything remotely close. OK, so I have a little part-time library gig going on, but it's not like I'm getting paid or required to get up early, so it hardly counts.

Don't get me wrong. Although we've been busy, it's been an absolute blast. But I've been left with very little time for lounging on the couch, watching Oprah, blogging and munching on Belgian chocolate goodness for Haus work.

I finally got caught up yesterday -- with the Haus work, that is. It was a full day of frenzied scrubbing, vacuuming, mopping & wizzing through an incredible pile of laundry. Don't worry, both kids are still relatively intact & neither seem to be suffering too badly at all from my maniacal yelling encouraging them to pull their weight around here in the Haus work department. Admittedly, if I could train Laze-E to pick up her soda cans and ice cream bowls off the floor & convince MiniMe not to leave books and crayons lying around, this HausFrau thing might be a little less work.

I was rocking right along, staying on top of HausFrau tasks and getting my daily Internet fix. Then June hit with a vengenance and school let out for the summer!

Just about the time the little one started speaking Flemish and putting the throaty "phlegm" sounds in all the right places, the preschool teachers wanted to take a break. That's great for them, but what about me? MiniMe's last day of preschool jolted me right out of my delusions of a relaxing summer. Here's a picture of her and her teacher on their last day.



I'm really, really missing Olga about right now . . . right now is exactly 7 business days into a very long summer break. I just need to figure out how to keep MiniMe busy, occupied and quiet mentally engaged until September. Think I could get her set up on BlogSpot? Maybe between that and Webkinz I can have a few spare moments to soak in a bubble bath and sip chardonnay cook dinner.

Seriously, she wants to learn how to read, but I have no inkling how to go about teaching her. Phonics, foniks, schmonics? Not a clue. Hey, Sweetie, can't Mommy just keep reading 20 books to you every day? Doesn't it work that way?

I know what you are thinking . . . Yes, I am in charge of Children's Programs at our Library. But, that doesn't mean I'm qualified, just enthusiastic & insane generous enough to do it for free.

Too bad she doesn't want to dissect a frog or grow nasties on a Petri dish. That I could handle.

Laze-E made it back from her trip to Italy. Yep, that's a little slice of heaven in the picture. No, not her, the pizza.



I'll spare you all the gorey details of a 16 hour middle school bus trip. You are very welcome. I wish someone would have extended that same courtesy to me. All I have to say is that we now have a new Haus Rule. I'm ashamed to confess that, once again, it is a reactive rule and not a proactive one. What can I say? Laze-E's Owner's Manual got lost on one of our PCS's and we've had to revert to Trial & Error Parenting. Hey, as long as there's enough red wine love and understanding involved, it's not a totally assine way of delivering her to adulthood, nicht war?

The new Haus Rule: Thou shalt not play "Truth or Dare" and especially not "Dare or Double Dog Dare" on bus trips, especially those associated with Church.


Uh, yeah.


A n y w a y . . .

Right after the bus got back from Italy, we scooped up Laze-E and headed to Wiesbaden for the Berlin Airlift 60th Anniversay Air Show. Laze-E was totally thrilled be to taking a Rockin'Bauer roadtrip before she got feeling back in her bum from the bus trip, and she didn't gripe, whine, cry, stomp, huff & pout too much mind at all.

The bratwurst & bier Air Show was awesome & totally worth the time (& gas money) to get there and back. Here's a picture of us in front of a C-17 from McChord AFB. It was the last plane to take off from Rhein-Main AB before it closed in 2006. Yes, I know this fact and many others because Man was totally in his element giving us the technical scoop all day long.



We were privileged enough to meet some of the pilots who flew in the Berlin Airlift right after WWII & even snagged the autographs of the Chocolate Pilot & some of the other Candy Bombers. Talk about true American heroes!

Theirs is such a wonderful, heart warming story that Laze-E and I eagerly await our her next "chose your own topic" assignment. Yes, I know, PE is not her thing (remember the dreadful F?), but when it comes to multifaceted projects to wow the teacher, she definitely sucks up in that department knows how to pull it together.

Right after we got back from Deutschland, Gary Sinise & the Lt. Dan Band showed up at our itty-bitty military community for another rocking concert.

You know what's great about awesome concerts in small communities? That's right, you can get up close and personal to the band & stay there as long as you want. Of course, the MP's were standing by all locked & loaded in case any derranged HausFrau lost her mind & decided to do an on-stage strip tease to the theme song from CSI New York for crowd control.



Laze-E got the FAB-U-LUS chance to shake her booty dance on stage & MiniMe sashayed across the same stage in a huge conga line. Man stayed in his lawn chair, drinking beer and I ran around taking pictures. Yep, we were all taking our stereotypical roles very seriously.

My friend (Hi, Heather!) and her family came to visit us this past week. They were our first official Haus Guests here in Belgium & we all had a great time. Heather has been overly appreciative & complimentary of my hospitality. Either her expectations are incredibly low or I somehow managed to execute Opertaion: Bed & Breakfast flawlessly.

OK, if you must know, I'll share the secret of my success.

HausFrau Rule #3: Keep the alcoholic beverages flowing & make sure all meals are totally fattening.

It's like crossing the full-gut happiness of Thanksgiving with the fizzy, bubbly excitment of New Years's Eve. How could guests not be singing your praises? Of course, freshly laundred bed linens and chocolate candy on the pillows nightly add special charm I'll have to remember that for next time.

We all spent the 4th of July at the beach in Knokke. Believe it or not, it was actually warm enough to wear an itty-bitty, teeny-weeny yellow polka dot binkini -- or go topless, whatever your preference. Me? I was more partial to shorts and a tank with a lightweight jacket. But, it's nice to have the legal option to bare the ta-ta's without a making that shameful walk down Misdemeanor Lane.

Not that I would know . . .

This next picture shows just what a gorgeous day it was. If you look closely enough, you can see Laze-E, MiniMe, ThongGirl & Heather's CutiePatooties I & II.



Our Independence Day celebration took place on the 5th of July. Yeah, I know. We are a military community full of flag-waving, proud Americans, but quite a few of us work directly for NATO & didn't have the holiday day off. So, we all patiently waited until Saturday to stuff ourselves with hotdogs and beer and enjoy an impressive display of made-in-China fireworks.



I celebrated my independence from Great Britain by drinking cider and eating sausage rolls spreading a little face painting cheer. To be precise, I spent a butt-numbing 6 hours painting rainbows, flower princesses, fireworks and Stars & Stripes on many, many faces - some a little more bumpy and stubbly than others. My efforts were greatly appreciated by all & I have yet another skill to add to my resume. Should the Dallas Cowboys ever need someone to apply the black stripes beneath their eyes before those sunshine filled games, I am the woman for that job.

Now that I have a good chunk of summer fun & excitement behind me, I should have a few moments this week to finish Season 3 of Medium up around the Haus. Let's face it, with 5 toilets, irritable bowel syndrome 2 kids & one Man, there's always some scrubbing to be done. And, it just so happens, that I am the woman for that job.

My Favorite Crime Guy

Whew! For those of you closely following the adventures of Tampon Woman you'll be happy to know that I am in the free & clear. The Army CID sent my fingerprints off to CSI New York for further analysis.

Det. Mac Taylor called me into his office today to personally deliver the good news!



Of course, as far as he's concerned, I'm just HausFrau. No need bringing up that unpleasant bit about the tampon.

To help me celebrate, he's bringing the Band by later tonight. I'm sure it will be a party.