Happy Day in DC

It took some effort & coaxing on my part, but look what I managed:

It's Sir Winston Churchill bunny-earing Man! I'm trying to decide if this is stereotypical British dry humor or very stereotypical HausFrau Humor . . . perhaps a bit of both?

It took some effort & coaxing on my part, but look what else I managed on the same day:

Oh yeah! It's an awesome sangria-margarita! All I had to do was order twice, argue with the waitress & flash my Over-21 Texas driver's license. Well worth my effort, my friends. Watch out DC, I have a valid ID card & I'm not afraid to use it.

If you are ever in the National Capital area & would like to recreate the events documented above, I highly recommend taking a personal day off from toilet scrubbing & laundry your high-paying government job. Leave the kids at school (free babysitting at its best) & stroll up Embassy Row, passing British Embassy compound. Stop by the National Cathedral on your way to Cactus Cantina for a leisurely lunch - no dishes to do, my fellow HausFrauen, and the Tex-Mex is some of the best. Even by my standards.

Once a Band Geek, Always . . .

What does every band geek want to know?

What is the football team doing on our marching field?

What does every band geek already know?

That it's awfully nice of the football team to schedule their game around the Band's halftime show!

I have really been embracing my inner band geek ever since Laze-E started Band Camp back in August. I have been loving every minute of it - especially since I'm not the one having to do all the hard work to put on a crowd-pleasing, awesome show. As a BandMom, I just get to sit back and enjoy what the band does best - make it worth my while to show up for a football game!

Although I love all band geeks, there is one who is my all time fave. She plays tenor sax, which happens to be my fave instrument. Yeah, yeah, I was also in The Band & played tenor sax, but I swear that had nothing to do with Laze-E's choices.

I love my band geeks, even when they won't cooperate for photo ops.

And, I love them even more when they cooperate with a little bit of attitude.

I love The Band because they are not afraid to go head-to-head with the football jocks. Football might have some heavy-hitting defense players, but The Band has 7 tubas. And, if we failed to learn anything else from American Pie, we learned to never underestimate the flute players.

This is the opening act of every home game. The Band forms two lines on the football marching field & the football team runs through while The Band plays the fight song. Granted, this ain't the way things are done in Texas, but I find it amusing.

This next picture was taken last Saturday at the Marching Band Festival. It warms my heart because it has three of my all-time favorite things:

A very sharp looking Marching Band.

Gorgeous tress with beautiful fall leaves.

A football marching field reserved only for The Band.

Busted

It was bound to happen sooner or later.

I always thought later meant after HausFrau becomes a top-rated sitcom & I get to make the Oprah-Letterman couch rounds as being the real Savvy.

But, I didn't make it to later because sooner happened this past Friday. I actually met someone (for the very first time, mind you) in real life who very quickly put 2 & 2 together and totally guessed that that my Internet alter-ego is Savvy.

Even as I sit here writing this, I am amazed. I was picked out of a crowd of thousands & thousands of HausFrauen out here in the DC 'Burbs & drug out of my secret Internet hidey-hole.

Here's how the event went down:

I show up at the elementary school Friday morning to chaperone the 1st graders on a walking field trip. I'm looking all cute in my Happy Halloween shirt & brand-spanking new hair color (red is such a hot color for a HausFrau). While we waited for the kinder to get ready for the field trip (just another reason to thank God for those teachers who love their elementary jobs!) I begin to mingle with some of the other parents & surprisingly, a mom introduced herself to me.

Y'all know that I immediately assumed she must be military because the NoVA natives don't tend to gravitate toward me & ask things like . . . my name. Or whose mom I am.

Over the next 45 minutes of our walking field trip, I chit-chatted with Matt'sMom as the logistics of herding 21 first graders 1.5 miles would allow. As could be predicted, it eventually came up in conversation that we Rockin'Bauers only moved to the DC area from Belgium as recently as February.

Matt'sMom, wow. . . let me tell you, nothing gets past this woman. She could probably bust up a few terrorists cells without breaking a sweat. And, frost cupcakes for a class party. All in a day's work, right?

Anyway, no sooner than the word "Belgium" came out of my mouth, she wanted to know if I knew her friend, Red (Hi Sandra! Know & love you!) & ooooohhhhhhh,

then she wanted to know if I was the one with the blog.

Uh . . .

The one with the blog?

Uh . . . oh!

Seriously, she figured that out from my casually mentioning that I lived in Belgium? I suppose it could have been worse. She could have blurted out: OMG, you're Tampon Woman! Hey, everyone, it's Tampon Woman & who decided to let her be the Room Mama?! Does the principal know?

I do believe that I now have two options:

1. I have to homefool school MiniMe, give up my job as 1st Grade Room Mama & lay low (very, very low) until we PCS again.

Or,

2. Matt'sMom is my new DC BFF because there is a real possibility that she knows way too much. (Hi, Rachel - Sandra vouched for you on Facebook. Maybe she'll vouch for me too? If not, are you interested in the Room Mama job?)

Carded

It happened again.

And this time I had a witness.

Man & I made a recent trip to Costco to purchase Laze-E yet another iPod. With her money. This time the new Nano. In pink.

I had a splitting headache but made the necessary trip so that my oldest blessing from heaven could have music for a very long Band Bus Trip the next day. Splitting headache, on a mission to get an iPod, at a super warehouse, late on a Friday afternoon. It's the recipe for a good time, I tell ya.

Even a headache didn't stop me from enjoying the best part of Costco: the food samples. As Man & I sashayed around the back of the store for appetizers, he found & had to have a case of Hofbrau Oktoberfest Bier. I'm all for a little German culture, so no objection from me. Although I would have preferred a Dunkel. Preferably, Winklerbrau Kupfer Spezial, straight from the middle-of-nowhere Bavaria.

Eventually, we pushed past all the other shoppers and waited to check out. Man with his bier. Me with the iPod & headache & by this time, I was ready to just go home. I zoned out for a brief moment daydreaming of Advil & the couch, but was quickly snapped back to Friday afternoon Costco reality when the cashier asked for my ID.

Not tracking her intentions, I replied:

Oh. I thought I handed you my membership card.

Nice little Asian Lady Cashier responded:

No. I need ID. You try to buy beer.

Seriously, here we go again. Not only am I plenty old enough to purchase alcoholic beverages, I look plenty old enough to do so. Since I couldn't be bother to dig through my wallet to produce proof of age, I decided to pass the buck:

Oh, the beer? I'm not buying the beer. He (I pointed to Man & smiled) is buying the beer. It's not a Dunkel, after all.

Man joined in the fun at this point, starts digging out his driver's license & asked eagerly:

You need my ID card?

The Cashier Lady frowned & waved her hand in dismissal. Then announced:

I no need your ID. You okay to buy beer.

Just few moments later, Man left Costco with his beer. I left with Laze-E's new iPod, my headache and a really bad case of the giggles.

Poke Her With a Pool Cue

For some reason a topic of discussion at tonight's dinner included poker. (And, potential jobs & moving & Germany & Texas & the Rockettes & Marching Band & Meet the Teacher & pseudophed - just another ordinary day around our Haus.) For whatever reason, Laze-E commented on FryBoy's (age 9) ah-mazing math skills at the poker table.

MiniMe immediately piped up wondering what the heck is poker, anyway?

I answered that it was a game. And, before I could explain farther . . .

Man began poking at her in some misguided attempt to make a joke. See? Poker. Poke-Her. Hardy-Har-Har.

I know, I know. And, yes I was the one forcing this quality family time around the dinner table. Salad & leftover lasagna my incentives. That, and of course, bribes of ice cream for dessert.

MiniMe either did not see the so-called humor of the game Poke-Her (who could?) or the "joke" was completely lost on her. She only missed about one beat & then I could see the awesome power of deductive reasoning beginning to dominate her neurons. Though Man continued to poke-her (annoying, isn't it?) as if to illustrate the details of a poker game, my baby's eyes lit up as it all finally made sense.

Oh, Poker! It's that game where you poke the balls with the stick.

Huh?

Lucky for me, Laze-E caught on quickly and set the record straight. Oh, that game is called pool.

Oh, the swimming pool!

No, Sweetie. Pool is the poke-her game. And, poker is a card game.

Other than taking MiniMe to WalMart occasionally, I fail miserably in some areas of motherhood, most notably: pool, poker, light beer, tattoos & BB guns. Some essential life lessons will just have to wait until our next trip to Texas. Uncle Jerry can teach her to play poker. Grammy can show her a few tricks at the pool table. PaPa can handle any questions about light beer & tattoos. And, BBLady, well, we all know what she can do.

Me? I'm all about the ice cream. Praline Caramel Crunch, anyone?

Finally!

In a matter of just a few short hours life changed drastically around the Haus. Gone are the lazy days of hanging by the pool . . .

Gone also are the hot days of Band Camp:

Gone are the days of my attempting to entertain my children around the clock:

As it turns out, sometimes they can entertain themselves.

With or without adult supervision.

A party for no reason other than you requested one.

Roller coasters & Hershey's Bars.

Glow sticks & aliens.

Countless hours of ModPodge crafts.
And yes, we should quit our day jobs and just create greatness all day.

Picnic with the neighbors.

Slumber Party in the RV - and nooo we didn't actually play LIFE.

Score: Water Gun, 0 . . . Water Hose 183

Auf Wiedersehen to the beach bags, Adios to way too much Disney Channel, Hello to backpacks & adults supervision courtesy of the public school system:

Laze-E, Freshman

MiniMe, First Grader

Empty Calories

No kidding, folks. This conversation actually happened today at an On The Border:

Waitress: Hi! I'm Buffy, I'll be your waiter today. What can I get you to drink?

Me: What do you have that's sugar free?

Waitress: Uh, I don't think anything.

Me: Well, how about Diet Coke?

Waitress: We have Diet Coke, but I don't think it's sugar free. Want me to go ask?

Me: No, that's okay I shall spare you that potentially embarrassing conversation with the manager. What the heck, I'm on vaca. I'll splurge & have the Diet Coke. And, make it a double.

Next time, I'm ordering a margarita like a normal person should & not worrying about calories, butt fat & my pancreas. I'm also checking back with Buffy . . . in 20 years . . . after 2 kids . . . plus 30 lbs . . . my bet is that she'll know a thing or two about "diet".

The Camera Doesn't Lie

IF . . .

you (Hello, TGirl!) were on a weekend family fun trip with us Rockin'Bauers,

and had the oppotunity to be in a few family pictures . . .

would you at first be happy to be included?

Would you then think that maybe, just maybe you don't want photographic evidence that you actually associate with us?

Would you finally decide that it's just not worth risking public humiliation?

IF so, you are not alone.

And, IF anyone knows how to get two certain someones to behave for photos, please share.

Driving Around, It's A Hoot

If you are ever driving around out here in the 'burbs of The District, you may come across this road repeatedly:

Backlick Road? Seriously? Just when you thought the real South had the market cornered on RedNeck-isms.

Every time I pass a sign for Backlick (which is frequently because the road is long and filled with modern-day suburban goodness) I get one of two visual images in my head: othe first is of my cat licking her backside & the other is of . . . well, something that might be a Dare Double-Dog Dare at the tail-end of a fraternity keg party.

Pleasant thoughts, I know. Just thought I'd share.

Keep in mind, though, if you take the I-95 Richmond exit in the picture, drive southbound for about 10 miles & turn right, you can be at this next location lickety-split.

At first I was sophomorically amused because there was Dick's Sporting Goods Store across the street from the Hooters.

(giggle, giggle)

Then, I noticed there was a STOP sign in between.

(Bwah-ha-ha-ha-hilarious!)

Ugly Is Skin Deep Too

There are times when you see something on the news or read a story on your AOL start-up page and you think to yourself:

Goodness Gracious!
Somewhere on this planet there is a village missing their idiot.

Not missing as in heartache for the noticeable absence of someone. I'm talking missing as in gone AWOL & the remaining village population is doing the happy dance.

I only bring this up because recently the news (& I use that term in the loosest sense possible) brought me the story of a Belgian teen was was suing her tattoo artist (again, loosest possible context) for vandalizing her face.

Yes, this sweet, young thang supposedly requested three tastefully done star tattoos on her face (yes, I can recognize an oxymoron when I see one). Her originial claim was that she passed out drunk went to sleep while the artwork was being done and when woke up looking like this:

Now she is the plaintiff in a lawsuit alleging that it's not her fault that she "can't go out in public becasue she looks like a freak". As of late, she does admit to being awake for the procedure, but remains displeased with the results. There must have been some confusion with the translation between French/English/Flemish, and she would like 10,000 Euros to ease the pain & pay for plastic surgery to remove a star.

Or 53.

The defendant, who thankfully doesn't look like a freak when he appears in public, pleads not guilty & states that Twinkle Face knew exactly what she was getting, was excited about it & initially thrilled with the results. He has agreed to pay for half of Twinkle's plastic surgery bill & is quite happy by all the publicity he's received.

And, then there are those times when you think to yourself,

Wow. There are two villages missing their idiots.

Be Careful What You Ask For

For those of you who have been following me on Savvy, you know that in order to be blog-worthy, a story must possess a little pizazz. Or a lot, depending on the day. The run-of-the-mill, blah, blah, blah reports of mundane daily activities (not that there are many around the Haus in the first place) just don't inspire me to write in complete (& often run-on) sentences.

That's why I was a bit surprised when my favorite 17 year old friend Ya-Ya (Hi Olivia!) requested to be a guest star on the blog. Seriously? Did your mother let you read Tampon Woman? Public humiliation around here knows no limit.

But, she asked so nicely (pretty please with a cherry on top) & she did fly all the way from Alamo City to the Haus for a quick visit, so how could I possibly refuse?

I was planning on a very rare & vanilla blog publication. This is Ya-Ya. She is normal. So are her parents to the best of my knowledge (Hi Dave & Jenn). They came to visit. Ya-Ya attended Summer Seminar at the Naval Academy where all the eye candy in uniform just about gave me perimenopausal hot flashes. They flew back to Texas. The End.

As it turned out, these bland thoughts were absolutely unnecessary. All the adults (who should have known better) agreed that we would all pile into the Pilot for a road trip out to Annapolis to drop Ya-Ya off at the campus.

I know. I know.

But, if you knowingly & willingly agree to go on a Rockin'Bauer RoadTrip (no matter how short) you almost deserve any drama that comes your way. Once I realized my normal friends were riding with us, I whipped out the camera to document. To document what . . . I wasn't quite sure, but I knew it would be something. We don't call me HausFrau for nothing.

This is Ya-Ya, JayCee & DeeCee (& MiniMe)
right before we all squeezed into the ManMobile & headed out to Annapolis.

And, this is MiniMe about 15-20 minutes into our trip & just across the state line. Yep, she's feeling pukey & we are using to plastic bag from the ManMobile owner's manual just in case. Man frantically looks for a place to pull over because . . . well, we've done this before & it ain't pretty.

Soon Man (with DeeCee as co-pilot) find this exit off the Capitol Beltway. We take it and begin the search for some nice place to either vomit or suck up some fresh air and push past the nausea.

Note that the exit is numbered 13. Yeah, someone should have been paying attention to that wee bit of visual foreshadowing. Also make a big, fat note that if you ever need to vomit or suck air while in the national capitol area, drive as fast & far as you can away from this exit. And let me tell you why . . .

Because this was this best place we found for dealing with carsickness. And, this is a dirty port-a-potty at a Shell station. Which anyone of the female persuasion would no doubt refuse to use. Even for puking. Notice that we were aiming for the grass.

I'm not sure who snapped this picture (perhaps Ya-Ya who had to be regretting her blog request by now) but while this picture was being taken . . .

Are you ready for this?

An undercover police officer came out of undercoverness & flashed his badge at Man & JayCee. According to my best second-hand sources of info, the conservation went something like this:

Police Officer: Uh, do you people know where you are?

JayCee: Sure, we have the GPS. Just taking a little pit stop because the little one was carsick.

Police Officer: Uh, no. You obviously don't know where you are. You need to get into the rather expensive, new looking, totally middle class SUV and get out of here. Now. And, take your 4 cell phones, 2 Blackberries, GPS, 2 iPods and Leapster with you. You are a carjacking, theft and God-only-knows-what-else just waiting to happen.

JayCee: But the little one needs to vomit.

Police Officer: Let her throw up in the vehicle. It's better that way.

Man: Uh, Savvy, we are leaving. Now.

Me: But . . .

Man, JayCee, DeeCee & Police Officer: NOW!

Yep, it happened just like that. Apparently, "just across the state line" means that you are no longer in the most affluent county in the USA & even if you stop outside the major city loop, you need to beware.

Who knew?

In Texas, if you pull over outside the loop, you are usually good to go. You might encounter few RedNecks, but they are mostly harmless.

But, guess what? Maryland isn't Texas. And, we now have a new HausRule: We don't stop in Maryland for anything. Ever. Need to pee? Go in the car seat. It's better that way! Hungry? You won't starve before Virginia. Feeling nauseous? Too bad . . .










Hey JayCee, I knew I said that I would delete these awful pictures that MiniMe snapped of us (honestly, that child could probably make Zach Efron look like a dork!) but I did fuzz out some of the reality & left only what I consider to be our opinion of what I am now calling OPERATION: It's Better to Vomit in the Car.

We did eventually make it to the Academy & you can see the shear joy on Ya-Ya's face. I'm not sure if it was the excitement of seeing all the Hotties in Uniform or extreme gratefulness that she actually arrived in one piece. Praise God! Hallelujah! Either way, Ya-Ya, you rock & this publication is dedicated to you!

DeeCee & JayCee seem to also be happy to have survived the pit stop at Exit #13.

As for us Rockin'Bauers, it was just another blah, blah, blah, vanilla, happens everyday, run-of-the-mill adventure. DeeCee snapped this picture of us for the family history books. Hey y'all, remember that time when . . . ?

I couldn't help but notice that the picture is framed so that the torpedo is aiming straight for my head. Yep, all continues to be Savvy in my world. It's what I do best.

Making the Grade

Below is the sad, sad tale of how a HausFrau got a B on an anatomy test.

OK, fine, you know it was me. As I hang my head in shame, I confess that I got an 88 (a flippin' B) on my Joints & Muscles test last week. Can you believe it? Me neither & I'm still a little miffed.

It all started with a simple email distributed to all students enrolled for the summer at the local community college. The message simply stated that the visitor parking garage would be closed for the day. I made a mental note to be on the look-out for an alternative parking solution, perhaps I could locate metered parking somewhere. It's not like I have a decal like a real student - I'm only there to have adult supervision while I take on-line tests, least I cheat and actually manange to pull off an A.

After spending a leisurely morning & part of the afternoon at the pool with the kids, cramming for the test, I decided to just bite the bullet and head on over to the college. It was just an exam during the summer, so I didn't spend too much time in front of the mirror before leaving the Haus. Tank top from the pool, hair in a clippie, capris, lip gloss & flip flops on the way out the door. Oh, and my pop-of-color magenta handbag that I bought from the thrift store for $6.99.

As I arrived at the campus armed with extreme knowledge of ligaments, synovial fluid & microscopic muscle structure, I noticed that indeed the parking garage was closed as promised. Blocked off with yellow crime-scene-ish type of tape. As a matter of fact, several large parking lots & walking areas were blocked off with the yellow tape. And, both an ambulance & firetruck were positioned for a quick response. To whatever.

I think to myself, "Oh, this must be an emergency preparedness type of exercise. You know, community college as the local shelter in the event of . . . well, you name it, this is DC, after all."

After driving around for a bit, it became apparent that the only place I could park was in "Decal Only" parking, violators will be fined. Heavily. So, I parked with the intention of approaching the first official looking person - perhaps that campus security officer standing over by the firetruck - and inquire about my legal parking options.

As I sashayed across the parking lot - totally looking like a HausFrau in Flip Flops with a thrift store purse off to take a test for a class she shouldn't have to be taking in the first place - I noticed that I am beginning to feel way under dressed. Way.

Hmmmm.

Pantyhose & suits?

Neckties?

Hello? This is summer school at the community college. I might never not always fit in. For example, I am older than everyone else, I've got that suburban HausFrau look going on that not everyone can pull off, I don't wear a head scarf & English is my native language. And, I don't need a math placement test thankyouverymuch.

As I meander, I again think to myself, "Oh, I guess that dude in the black suit with the black-out shades standing by the big black SUV with black-out tint doesn't look like campus security now that I am closer."

I must admit, I was beginning to think the Secret Service had that place locked down. Tight.

Deciding to risk a parking fine in the name of higher education, I chose not to bother the man in black - or his amigo, the other man in black standing by the firetruck - & I attempted to work my way through the maze of yellow tape, heading for the testing center in Building CG. Guess what. The oodles & oodles of yellow tape were way more clever than this HausFrau & I could not figure out how to get from point A to point B. Since all the official people looked scary & unfriendly in a military police sort of way, I found a friendly looking real college student to help me.

She was young, definitely not a HausFrau in Flip Flops, & she used her English as a Second Language to explain that . . .

Obama was in the Haus. Building CG to be specific & there was no way the Secret Service was letting any uninvited HausFrauen past the yellow tape.

Not even to take a stupid Anatomy & Fizz test.

Seriously friends, I was thisclose to marching up to the Secret Service to ask about parking options at the community college.

In flip flops.

And, I was thisclose to snapping a picture of the POTUS, or at least putting a full-on effort into doing so. Except for my camera was sans memory stick. By the time I ran back home to fetch it & returned, all the hoopla at the campus had cleared away. Sigh.

Eventually & without further obstructions, I flip-flopped over to Building CG & incorrectly answered one too many questions for an A. Sadly for me, not quite an A means a big, fat B.

While I take responsibility for my part of this dismal grade - like maybe the few incorrect answers that landed me with a possible 90 - which is an A, I would like to personally thank the following people for distracting me & consequently causing me to miss that one extra question & make this B a reality:

First, the person responsible for sending the email that the parking garage would be closed. While it was nice to have that information ahead of time, you could have mentioned the reason for the closure and suggest alternative test dates/times.

Then, the Democrats for the Stimulus Package which I am sure is one of the reasons that necessitated a POTUS trip to the local community college.

Next, all the "visitors" in pantyhose & neckties who made me feel under dressed & inadequate. Even though my handbag was way more rockin' than any of those standard-issue-business-office-black ones.

And, finally the head honcho Secret Service guy for staring at me from behind his black-out shades. I know he was looking. He was also probably requesting back-up from other agents pre-positioned on the roof of the parking garage. Hey, Herb, heads up. Coming up on your nine-o'clock. HausFrau in Flip Flops. Earl, got a visual? JoeBob, can you run the plates on that illegally parked SUV. Blue Pilot, Virginia tags. JoeBob! JoeBob! She is carrying! I repeat, she's carrying! Earl, got a visual? Roger that. Phew! It's just a red purse. Herb, keep an eye on her. She looks a little shifty & out of place around here. OK, fine, Earl, it's magenta, not red, what are you? The fashion police? Just keep an eye on her, OK? Over & out.

He Said, She Said

Man: So, do you want to go or not?

Me: Uh . . .

Me: Well . . .

Me: Maybe . . .

Me: OK . . .

Me: Maybe not . . .

Man: Are you trying to be passive aggressive?

Me: No. I don't think so.

Man: Can you be anymore indecisive?

Me: I don't know. Maybe.

Camera Ham

MiniMe loves to Bogart my camera and run around the Haus taking obnoxious pictures of herself. (As well as others of us, but those get deleted pronto! because at my age, only pictures with good lighting & proper warning are going down in the history of our family photo albums, or on FaceBook.)

I usually discover that MiniMe has been über-busy clicking & snapping when I attempt to upload photos and it takes forever because there have been 157 pictures taken since . . . uh, 12 hours ago.

Here's a sampling of what most of those 157 photos may look like:



She's defintely the Poster Child for something. Perhaps . . .

A) Yuck! Broccoli!

B) But, I don't wanna take a bath right now!

C) Eat more fiber.

D) Birth control. Just saying.

E ) Eeewwww. Somebody just farted!

F) Have you hugged your dork today?

I know that every mother dork duck thinks her duckling is the fluffiest & most gorgeous. Of course MiniMe is a CutiePatootie.

And, I have the pictures to prove it.

Competitive Moving - We Win

A few days ago I happened to glance across the street & noticed this scene:

My neighbors are packing up to move to Germany. And, as jealous as I am about that, I did take a moment to be really glad it wasn't me on the receiving end of an overseas move. Or any move for that matter.

I said to myself:
Hey, SavvySelf, just looking at that makes me want to vomit & hyperventilate.

My SavvySelf agreed (which is really fortunate since we are one in the same & if we didn't agree, we'd probably be diagnosed with a multiple personality disorder & we I would need more therapy than what the occasional blogging can deliver).

Anyway, later that same day, Man waltzed in the door from a hard day's work and commented that just looking at the Trucks & Crates gave him heart palpitations.

I agreed with him (which is also very fortunate) & explained that I had the same kind of visceral reaction just thinking about a move. I also pointed out that I was extremely thrilled that another one wasn't in the immediate future. And, by immediate I mean not until next summer. Because that's what you told me, that's what the Military wants, and next summer at the earliest, right? Right?

And, I really have no desire to compete for the Gold in the
Military Moves Olympics. Silver is just dandy with me.

His answer . . .

Unless I get another job within the HQ. Then we can leave in February.

Wha . . . Huh?

Surely he's just joking? You know, just kidding?

Seriously? Really?

Excuse me while I . . . bluughck! Breathe in, breathe out.breathe.breathe.in.out.in.out.in.out . . . Anyone have a brown paper bag handy? Bluughck!

No Butts About It

Bright and early this morning (unfortunately for me, before any caffeine or wine),
I bee-bopped down the stairs, sauntered into my kitchen and was greeted by this:

Yes . . . this is a broken toilet seat on my kitchen table.

And, no . . . I didn't stage this just for giggles & grins.

While I prefer not to think of the condition of trashy trailers, circa 1973 other homes that may have a similar kitchen decor, I did wonder if anyone wants to play another round of Name that Picture.

Please choose your fave from the following captions:

A - Your digestive system. Where it begins . . . and ends.

B - Gee, Frau, that the Cream-of-Something-Casserole tastes like crap.

C - Hey, Savvy, I hate to eat & run . . .

D - Wilkommen to HausFrau's Kitchen! Please seat yourself.

E - Today's Special: Poo-Poo Platter $13.95

F - Friendly reminder: the diet starts today!

G - Shhhh . . . It Happens.

H - The Do-Run-Run-Run . . . The Do-Run-Run . . .

I - Etched into the table with a steak knife: For a good time call Jenny 867-5309

J - HGTV Host: And, to tie the theme all together, use toilet paper for napkins.

K - Mmmmmm! Fiber.

Quit While I'm Ahead

Over the last two days I have spent quite a few hours hanging out with these guys:

I know, they are just about as cute as they can be. And, they are ready for First Grade! Actually, they are just ready for summer and you can feel the buzzing and excitement as it oozes out of every pore.

Yesterday, I was buzzing right along with them for Field Day. Apparently, I managed to impress the right person & got myself assigned to the Tattoo Station. For those who have been paying attention: a little removable body art is more my style than, say . . . relay races or stupid water games.

Today at the Kindergarten End-of-Year Party (sniff, sniff), my luck held & I finagled Craft Table Duty -- far away from water games & smack dab in the middle of a shady patch of lawn. I even managed to avoid SnoKone Duty and Hold The Rope for Limbo Duty. Once again, the Volunteer Fairy was tossing pixie dust and sparkles all over me.

I mean, if you are going to volunteer to work with kids, can it get any better than Shady Craft Duty?

Probably not.

Can it get any worse?

OK, I'll just tell you what happened . . .

One particular cutie-patootie, while working away on her craft (decorating foam sun visors with foam stickers, if you must know), announced with extreme excitement . . .

Hey, I just coughed & out flew a loogie!

Thinking the absolute worst, I asked very slowly and with extreme urgency . . .

OK, SweetHeart, exactly which way did the loogie fly
& where did it land?!

Yes, I actually said that out loud. With witnesses.

Thankfully, what didn't land on her shirt was dripping down between her fingers. Hello, people! A loogie landing on anyone else but me is something to be very thankful for. I also have gratitude in my heart that Loogie Duty only required that I escort the princess to the potty.

Just to be on the safe side though, I'm not going to volunteer for any activities involving small children for a while. Thankful is one thing. Pushing your luck is something entirely different.

And, I really don't want to go there.

The Savvy Shopper

I recently made the necessary journey out to the World's Busiest & Most Profitable Commissary. Thanks to extremely poor planning on my part, I made this voyage on a Friday.

A pay-day Friday.

I know, I should have better things to do. Like scrub a toilet. Or vacuum. Or menu-plan around 3 chicken nuggets, leftover taco meat, 3 frozen blueberry waffles & German mustard.

Needless to say, the commissary was a cluster f**k little bit crowded. If I wasn't dodging other shopping carts & bumping into small children, I was doing my best to maneuver around the retiree population & their walkers.

Oh, the elderly crowd . . . some of them are the sweetest little old people. Others are quite crabby & should double-up on their mood elevators before they commissary shop on a Pay Day Friday.

Some are just downright entertaining . . .

Harriet (pushing her walker in front of her): Hey Herbert! Remember: You need your prune juice. Better get the big bottle.

Herbert: Good Lord, Harriet! Why don't you just announce to the world that I am constipated?

Me Thinking: Harriet, I could have gone all day without knowing about Herbert & the Prune Juice. Thankyouverymuch.

And, what commissary trip would be complete without the MOPS (moms of preschoolers) crowd shopping with their broods? Pushing those impossible to maneuver dumb ass car carts. First the kids beg to ride in them. Then they get bored with being good and sitting quietly in the car just after passing by the banana display. By the time mom pushes past the Hamburger Helper, the kids are hanging off the top of the cars & moms are threatening bodily harm. And, I'll put those Princess Gummy Snacks right back on the shelf, missy, if you climb on the top of the car one. more. time. Now, sit. down.

Then there are creative moms who are obviously oblivious to the sanity of the rest of us. One mom started out gaining my admiration when she suggested that her three kidlets follow right behind her in a straight line. (I know, shopping on Pay Day Friday with 3 kids in tow . . . it's the reason someone invented margaritas.) She'd be Momma Duck & they'd be the Ducklings.

It's was a great idea.

Right up until it wasn't.

I wanted to bop Momma Duck right smack in the middle of her forehead with a big can of crushed tomatoes when she pushed the envelope a bit too far:

Momma Duck: And, everybody can quack like ducks!

Seriously, could we not just walk like ducks and be done with it?

On the cereal aisle: Quack! Quack! Quack-quack-quack!

On the lunch meat aisle: Quack, quack! Quack!

Three aisles over by frozen pizza: Quack! Quack! Quack!

Then there was Little Johnny's Mommy. It took me a while to figure out what game she was playing, but I'm on to her and her kind now. At the first overhead announcement, I felt badly for her & her obvious panic of a missing child . . .

Attention, Commissary Shoppers. We have a lost little boy, about 3 years old, in the manager's office. He is wearing a bright orange shirt, navy blue shorts & says his name is Little Johnny.

(Quack! Quack!)

I just knew the worried mom would be relieved to know that her child was safely tucked away in the Manager's Office. I almost felt the relief for her. But, five minutes later at the second announcement,

Attention, Commissary Shoppers. We STILL have a lost little boy, about 3 years old, in the manager's office. He is wearing a bright orange shirt, navy blue shorts & says his name is Little Johnny.

No sigh of relief for me or the panic-stricken mom. According to the PA announcer, mom and child had yet to be reunited. I was actually looking around the store for some worried mom climbing over shopping carts, dumb ass car carts & old people walkers making a beeline for the Manager's Office.

(Quack! Quack!)

However, five minutes later at the third announcement, it occurred to me what was really going on.

Yep, 15 minutes ago Little Johnny had been the one climbing on top of a dumb ass car cart & while Little Johnny's Mom was price comparing Honey Nut Cheerios vs. the Bagged Knock-Off, he wondered off.

Once she noticed that Little Johnny escaped, that woman, not missing a beat, immediately began power shopping and racing up the bread aisle and down the juice aisle, tossing WonderBread & JuicyJuice into her cart. By the time the first announcement was made, she was halfway down the pickle aisle, having conquered Valasic.

Knowing Little Johnny was safe & sound in the Manager's Office, she power-walked down the chicken nugget aisle. At the second announcement, she was on an all out mission to finish up shopping in peace & quiet. As she raced down the dairy aisle, throwing yogurt & cheddar into her cart, she nearly flattened Herbert as he stocked up on Activia.

(Quack! Quack!)

By the third announcement she was chunking hotdog buns & Cheetos into her shopping cart. Wiping her sweaty forehead at the end of her childless SuperMarket Sweep, she "frantically" headed to the Manager's Office to fetch Little Brat Johnny and then made her way to the check-out line.

Hey, I think it's a brilliant plan - especially if you can get away with it.

(Quack! Quack!)

After all the drama with prune juice, ducks & "accidentally" misplaced kids, I was ready to check out (of the grocery store, silly). I kid you not when I say the line was long.

Well, how long was it, Savvy?

It was so long that I had to wait in line UP aisle 17 and back DOWN aisle 16 before I made it to the zig-zag line in front of the registers. Yep, it was so long that a regular civilian store would be out of business because of the insane lines.

So, while I waited in line I entertained myself with Shopping Cart Psychoanalysis. It's a little game I invented where I guess a person's life circumstances based on what items are in their shopping carts.

For instance,

Oma and Opa are waiting in line with a cart full of Eggo Waffles, Fruit Loops, Popcicles, hot dogs, Pringles and Oreos. My obvious analysis: the grandkids are visiting this weekend.

Ralph is standing in line with his HotPockets, PopTarts, Lean Cuisines, diet Mt. Dew & individually wrapped frozen burritos. HausFrau's opinion: The divorced bachelor is making his weekly shopping trip.

Debbie is waiting to pay for her chicken nuggets, boxed mac & cheese, cheerios, hot dogs, Similac, Pampers and 3 gallons of double chocolate chunk icecream. Savvy suggests: Hubby is deployed she's existing on chocolate ice cream.

Pam's cart if chocked full of red wine, chocolate, Lay's potato chips, cheddar cheese, cheesecake, frozen cheese pizza and Midol. The obvious conclusion: Hubby is deployed, she's PMSing & the kids are getting frozen pizza for dinner, damn it.

Carla (who can stand to lose a few) is loaded up with fresh veggies, fish filets, bottled water, fat free yogurt, chicken breasts & fat free dressing. You guessed it: the diet starts today. But Debbie is her neighbor . . . so the diet probably ends today too.

Bob is in line waiting to purchase strawberries, cucumbers, red bell peppers, pesto sauce, cream of mushroom soup, Montreal chicken seasoning, whole wheat bread, ricotta cheese, garbanzo beans and red wine vinegar. Apparently: Bob's Frau sent him to the store with an detailed shopping list so that she can cook a few meals this weekend. He puzzled over the list as he knew he couldn't find some of the items & wonders how much trouble he'll be in at home. Dude, if it was up to him, he'd be buying HotPockets, PopTarts & frozen burritos. And, what the hell is pesto sauce anyway?

Jane is buying one cart full of hot dogs, buns, condiments and individual variety pack of chips. The other cart is full of bottled water, juice boxes, 2 liter bottles of soda and cookies. We all feel for her because: the soccer team is having an end of season party this weekend and she's in charge of feeding everyone.

Julie is purchasing Pepsi, Doritos, bacon, sausage, cheddar, biscuits, eggs, hotdogs, ketchup, frozen french fries, mayonnaise, pancake syrup, Little Debbie snack cakes, chocolate milk, Cookie Crisp & Lucky Charms, hamburger meat, peanut butter, Fritos and bean dip. My analysis: the problem is probably not her thyroid.

Once you start minding everyone else's business, it's amazing how quickly you fly through that long check-out line. The best part of this trip . . . I was done and neither Little Johnny nor the Ducklings were going home with me. Nor was I going home with Prune Juice Dude.

The worst part . . . it set me back $200. And, I'll have to do this all over again in 2 weeks.

Tell me your honest opinion, would it be so bad to have a nice glass of red wine before my next trip? And another on the cereal aisle? Perhaps another over by the chicken nuggets? And while waiting in line . . .

Class Act

As of this past Monday, I am now in the throes of two.
Count them: one . . . two online classes.

What does this mean for me?

That I have options, of course.

If I chose to avoid haus work, I can throw myself into anatomy diagrams.

It also means that if I want to avoid school work, I can become more enthusiastic about our toilets.

See? It's a win-win situation.

Except for when I want to avoid both & crash in front of 3 weeks' worth of DVR'd Medium.

And, even that looks like a win to me.

It's all skittles & rainbows until I consider the nitty-gritty details of the class. Although it is online, it's from a local community college & that means that most of my virtual classmates are in the NoVA area. Meaning I could run into these people at any given time.

Meaning, I have to be careful what I say & write.

My speciality.

Anyway, our first "assignment" was to introduce ourselves in an open forum.
So I did:

Hi, my name is HausFrau. This is my first ever community college class (!!). I am a wife & a mother. And, I am not gainfully employed. Nor have I been for 4 years. I am hoping to turn my life around with this one community college class. Gosh, I sure hope I can stay on top of the course content.

OK, so that's not what I really said.

Hi, my name is Savvy & OMG! I can not believe I am paying out-of-state tuition (to the tune of $1100) to take a flippin' community college class for a course that I am certified to teach! I am totally here against my will & had best be getting a A out of the deal.

OK, I didn't quite say that either.

I really did the whole blah, blah, blah thing. Just moved to NoVA, getting necessary pre-requisites out of the way. Trying to re-purpose, re-career. Tired of the toilets & crappy pay.

And, then I read what some of my fellow classmates wrote. There were several in my same boat: mid-life career crisis, retiring from the military, second career, etc.

Then, there were the others.

** Hi, I'm __ (fill in the blank with any super popular name for babies born in 1989). I'm 19, but I will be 20 (OMG!!) next month. I was attending ____ (fill in the blank with any Virginia University) but that wasn't working out so well what with the Frat parties & all. I moved back home & am now taking community college classes. I am so excited & nervous about this class like, my parents actually expect me to pass. Wow! This class looks really hard. You mean we have to memorize all the body parts?!

** Hi, it's Miss 1989 - again. OMG! I'm still stressing about this class. Does anyone want to start a study group?

** Hi, Miss 1989, I'd love to be in the study group. Email me the details: BornIn1990@NoVA.com

** Oh, I'd love to join the study group. Keep me posted. StillWearingDiapersIn1991@NoVA.com

** Hey, I'm game. Let me know & I'll have my husband keep the baby. SeniorClass98@NoVA.com

** Hi, all. I could sure use a study group. I'm in.
RetireArmy2010@NoVA.com

** OK, esteemed colleagues - especially those of you over the age of 21. When you say study group, do you mean the kind where you actually show up with textbooks, diagrams, notes & discuss possible test questions?
If so, I'll have to take a rain check.

Or, do you mean study group as in margaritas & appetizers in Old Towne?
If so, count me in.

And, make mine a double.
SavvyHausFrau@aol.com

Miss Fit

(Excuse for being MIA: Let me just put it this way - I'm 2.5 weeks into my Food Nazi class, I'm one chapter away from the midterm & I have a 100 average.)

And, I'm still not fitting in with the locals. As a matter of fact, I usually feel like that Sesame Street segment - which one doesn't belong, which one is not like the others? No doubt, I'd be the one wearing a tank top & shorts while the others are bundled up in winter gear.

I took time out last week to pick MiniMe up from school & hung out on the playground afterwards. It's just easier to sit there reading a book (a real book, not some15 lb textbook) than to come home to MiniMe & boredom.

So there I sat reading my book, which admittedly is a bit on the geeky side, but chit-chat & offers of Happy Hour later are either few & far between, or sadly, non-existent.

Did I mention that I was sitting on a bench next to a Dad who was also reading & not watching his 3-year old go skinny dipping in the mud hole on the baseball field, but who am I to judge? He was really into his super thick book (complete with frowny creases between his eyes) when a Mrs. came over to chit-chat with him.

I know. But, who am I to judge?

Anyway, they promptly interrupted my reading (complete with giggling & preemptive leg-crossing, just in case) to discuss what he was reading. They droned on & on about the excitement of history, especially the primary & secondary causes of the American Revolution. Then DadDude said he had another book that he started - the book's focus centered around the primary & secondary causes of WWII & the events leading up to the first bullet being fired. But he only started that book. Didn't finish it because he thought it might be more appropriate as a Beach Book.

Hey, I almost started liking the guy (even though he was distracting me from my reading & his daughter was still vastly unsupervised & up to her eyeballs in mud) because I thought he was being sarcastic. Yep, that WWII book was 1500 pages & way too exciting for just an ordinary day at the playground. It's like a page-party between the covers. I'll save it for my vaca on the beach down in South Carolina. It'll be light & fun (& funny) in a breezy, sandy, sunny kind of way. You know how Hitler & his homies can be! LOL

No such luck. He was serious & went droning on about why he was saving the book for the beach . . . it was really fascinating & thought-provoking . . .

There I sat, being way less geeky than originally accused, hiding the cover of my rather thin-ish book. The PMS Murder by Laura Levine.

Well, at least my child wasn't role-playing a bimbo mud wrestler.

Not today, anyway.

As if the Book Incident wasn't bad enough, you should see the inside of MiniMe's backpack:



Yep, that's what you think it is. The unsophisticated solution for anything that needs a solution. I'm just too cheap & lazy to hunt down a new backpack with just over a month left of school. In my defense, this is the inside of the backpack. I do draw the line a visible duct tape. I wouldn't want to appear trashy or anything. Especially considering my choice of recreational reading material.

And, I saved the best for last. Anyone care to guess?

Happy Birthday You-Know-What to Man!

Who: use your imagination
Where: in the Rockin'Bauer Biergarten
When: 29 April some plain ol' day last month
What: attempting to work the grill for the first time after the move
Why: Only God knows for sure
How: MiniMe was in charge of taking Man's Festivus pictures for the scrapbook

I can see where this next year might be a weeny bit challenging for me. The question remains . . do I even bother? Do I stand a chance?

I bet the all NoVA Natives make wise book choices, buy their kids new backpacks & take face pictures for birthdays. And, I'm just not sure I can compete with that.