Tripping & Traveling

Today was the big day. It's been on the calendar & we've planned around it for months. Man left this morning, heading to Virginia for a 3-week class. It's some Leadership in the WorkPlace class - it's for people with real jobs who bring home a paycheck. Or something like that. What would I know?

I found out last night that he not just going to some Ft. Something-or-Another in Virginia, but specifically the D.C. area. Now, I'm a weenie bit jealous. The Smithsonian. All that yummy ethnic food . . .

But, I'll get over it.

Besides, the girls & I are heading to Germany very soon (Hi, Heather!). Although D.C might trump my Haus & the damn rooster nextdoor (He's obnoxious, isn't he, Coral?), Bavaria definitely trumps D.C. At least as far as we Rockin'Bauers are concerned. Especially, in the ethnic food category.

Anyway, this travel day started like many, many others. Man got up, with the damn rooster, at the butt-crack of dawn & headed down stairs to goof-off on-line & watch TV. He ate 2 PopTarts & kicked back at least one diet Dew. He surfed the net. Maybe checking the weather at his final destination. Probably Maybe looking for another job. He watched a little "news" that's been taped-delayed for us by a mere 7 hours or so. Surfed the net some more.

Eventually, he decided to do the whole shower & get ready bit.

45 minutes after eventually, he finished up with the shower & looked around for clothes to wear.

Then he started to get ansy. Time was tick-tocking away & he still had not packed yet. Or decided what to wear - today OR for the next 21 days.

3 ½ hours after he dragged his butt out of bed, he glanced at the clock. Oh shit! Golly Gee, where did the time go? Man noticed that he had at whopping 17 minutes before his self-imposed deadline for pulling out of the driveway.

He then began to show classic signs of getting pissy. He stomped around the bedroom in his sock feet. Mumbled something about Frau mixing up his blue and black socks again. He threw a pair of gray slacks into his suitcase only to yank them back out again to double check the size. Tossed them back into the suitcase with a big-bad wolf huff because he could not remember what size he currently wears & he didn't have time for this crap.

T-minus 10 minutes rolled around & Man proclaimed that he needs to pack at least one suit-shirt-tie combo. Hopefully, he had the good sense to plan that wardrobe choice around the perfect Double Windor knot I tied for him last month.

I wouldn't know because I didn't stick around long enough to find out. I immediately evacuated the premises, with MiniMe in tow. No one was going to honestly accuse either of us of ignoring the 0940 departure time.

Man finally made it downstairs & loaded the Pilot. He was almost in a full blown pinging fit, complete with cold sweat & elevated BP. It was either that, or he drank 3 diet Dews while goofing off earlier.

We left our Haus at 0950 & Man anxiously watched the dashboard clock - which happens to be perfectly dustfree thankyouverymuch. He doesn't have to tell me, but I know that he has visions of missing his flight dancing in his head. Dolby Digital with THX surround sound.

Traffic was good and we took the exit to the airport at 1000. I know, it's mind boggling. We live next door to damn rooster & his buddy the turkey, but we can be at a busy international airport in 10 minutes. At 1005, we were still waiting in the line to get to the departure drop-off area.

Mans knees started knocking anxiously up against the glove compartment. He was now inside the 2 hour window for an international flight & feared the worst. Damn airport face-lift road construction. He didn't have to tell me, but I knew he was now running down a mental list of what he might have forgotten in his mad rush to pack. Toothbrush? Shaving cream? Undies?

I remind him to calm down. There's plenty of time & we are almost to the drop-off zone. Besides, he was headed to America, the Land of Plenty, where he could get into his rental car, shop 24/7 & swipe the debit card until Kingdom Come. He even had the Tom-Tom to guide him to any number of name brand establishments. So, should his suitcase be short on Fruit of the Loom or the gray pants be on the tight side, there was nothing to worry about.

It's only 1008, Babe, it's O. K.

The original drop-off zone was closed and under construction, so we followed the detour signs & temporary fencing to the new drop-ff area. Man kept nervously glancing at his watch.

About that time (1009 to be exact), we both noticed the "detour" signs. What? Not French? Not Flemish? But English?

Me: Oooohh, get my camera out of my purse!

Man: Uh, no. We. Are. Late.

Me: I have to take a picture of this. I either take a picture while I am driving past or I will have to pull over, get out of the Pilot & walk back. And, as you've casually mentioned, we are running a bit behind.

Man: Oh, fine. Here's your camera

Uh, Kiss & Drive? What's that all about? Isn't that dangerous? Note to self: I should probably make a new Haus Rule about kissing & driving for Laze-E. Wouldn't that be a first? A proactive Haus Rule?

Turns out that Kiss & Drive is what Brussels National calls drop-off parking. Isn't that sweet? Unless you are dropping off the obnoxious visiting relatives 3 days after the welcome was completely worn out.

In that case, we might need to consider:

• Park & Punt
• Drop & Drive
• Fling & Fly
• Bump & Board
• Slow Down & Skeedaddle
• Hug & Hurry
• Off-Load & Accelerate
• Brake & Boogie

Sooo, I pulled into a parking space & watched as Man unloaded his bags. We did the whole smoochy, kiss-kiss, hug get a room thing. Afterall, it was practically manadated by law. And, Man was on his way - with time to spare. His flight actually departed at 1219. Ten minutes late!

Have a safe trip, Babe. I'll hold down the fort while you are gone.

Ich liebe dich. Tschuß!

VBS, Very Bloggable Stuff

What I Learned at VBS 2008

By HausFrau

I learned that the words for the song are not Choose Jesus! Choose to Believe! Choose Jesus! Elbows & knees!

I learned that they were not serving "Baby Jesus" for snack time.

I learned that CheerBear makes a really good paralyzed man for Jesus to heal.

I learned that I'd much rather deal with cutie-patootie preschoolers than juvenile delinquent kindergarten & first graders.

I learned that I look really hot standing in front of a castle.

I learned that GloryWoman some people don't think Tootie-Ta is an appropriate time filler for the preschool crowd.

I learned that there is a Christian version of Tootie-Ta that's only slightly different that the evil secular rendition.

I learned that GloryWoman does a lot of head-shoulder-knees-toes head-chest-shoulder-to-shoulder cross thing in my presence.

In my defense,

Laze-E was raving about the "Baby Cheeses" (tiny cheese cubes for those of you, like me, who were wondering) & how good they were. Can I help it if the K-1 crowd was so loud so that cheeses sounded like Jesus? Futhermore, GloryWoman it's not "sacriligious" as you put it that I mentioned "Baby Jesus" and food in the same sentence. I seriously thought they were serving "Baby Jesus" sugar cookies. Or something along those lines.

And, Tootie-Ta, for those of you unfamiliar, is a wonderful preschool & early elementary song with lots of fun movement. It does not have anything whatsoever to do with the ta-ta's.

Or farting.

Also, there is a popular children's song called Head & Shoulders, Knees & elbows & Toes, maybe you've even heard of it? But, I now know the words to Choose Jesus are really "help those in need". A big, heartfelt thank you goes out to whomever printed off the lyrics to the entire SonWorld CD. Now when I lie awake in the middle of the night with all those songs playing non-stop in my head, I can lip-sing all the right lyrics.

Additionally, the Story Time center was set up to be the castle of the SonWorld Amusement Park. I did look hot. It was a flippin' 90 degrees outside & we were inside, at dinnertime, on the second floor, facing south & west, surrounded by lots and lots of windows. So, it was a dripping with sweat kind of hot, not an oooh-la-la kind of hot.

In conclusion, I'll be back next summer to help out. Maybe I can be on cupcake or cookie duty.

I have this really great idea . . .

Number Crunching

In honor of my math teacher friends (Hi, Jen! Hi, Laura!) let's have a little pop quiz, shall we? See if you can keep up with the numbers. The complete version of this word problem can be found here at AOL's Strange But True News.

Given:

26 teen girls who happen to be cheerleaders

14 ≤ age of girls ≥ 17

50% of available neurons working at any given time

one elevator, volumetric dimensions unknown

four floors

one birdbrained dare double-dog dare idea

a few panicked cell phone calls to 911

1 girl taken to the hospital

2 girls treated at the scene

25 minutes to extricate/resuce all girls

1 elevator repairman


Using only the given information, calculate the following:

The number of police & firefighters who responded to this prank emergency.

The final bill to the tax payers for services rendered.

Number of parents actually annoyed with their daughter.

The final cost of repairing the elevator door, including parts & labor.

Number of cell phone calls made within the first 30 & 60 minutes after the crisis.

Number of text messages sent within the first 30 & 60 minutes.

Number of girls who needed to pee (& hold it -- should've thought about that ahead of time) while stuck on the elevator.

Number of tears cried.

Number of girls who learned their lesson (& how to read maximum occupancy signs and calculate accordingly, both by number of people & weight limit).

Number of HausFrau's readers who are currently making new Haus Rules about elevators.

Extra Credit (+6 points), and yes, spelling counts.

Give me an . . . S
Give me a . . . T
Give me a . . . U
Give me a . . . P
Give me an . . . I
Give me a . . . D

What's that spell?

Memaw Strikes Again

Warning: I have another Memaw story to tell.

Depending on how well your bladder is aging & how keen your sense of humor, you might consider a quick tinkle trip to the loo before you continue on. When Memaw first told me this story about 2 years ago, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I did both. And, let me tell you, if I hadn't been crying from laughing, I might have been crying from embarrassment. Especially when I consider for one moment that some of her nuttiness charm just might be genetic.

I hope I do her story justice. Remember: This is her story, told my way.

Memaw and Pepaw have a little Shih Tzu named Precious. Yes, Clarice, that's the dog's name, and for some reason, it adds dimension to the story. Anyway, it had been a while since Precious had been groomed and the poor puppy was having problems, as Memaw put it, shoo-shooing.

Oh, yes, this is a puppy poo story. Do not say I didn't warn you.

And, once I learned that this tail tale was about doggie-doo, I should have just stopped listening. I mean, there were major bells & whistles going off inside my pretty little head. But, I chose to ignore them. We all know that I'm a really big fan of morbid curiosity - it was really out of my control at this point.

So, where were we? Oh yes, the puppy’s butt hair was too long and became matted up with puppy poo to the point that her little butthole couldn't see the light of day. Constipated, backed-up and plugged-up, Precious needed an emergency visit to the vet. On a Sunday.

Memaw has limited mobility, so Pepaw was tasked with taking puppy to the vet. The vet does whatever medical procedure vets do when dogs can’t poo. Yeah, I prefer not to get bogged down with the specifics, but this is how the vet chose to earn a living, and I have no sympathy whatsoever. Let's face it, people who are smart enough to make it through vet school are smart enough to train for numerous other professions – especially ones that may not require dealing with elderly people’s constipapted dogs on the weekend.

After this rather expensive vet trip, Precious is mostly cured and Pepaw is sent on his merry way - loaded down with an obnoxious assortment of medical paraphernalia because the poo problem needed some follow-up treatment at home.

So Pepaw brought the dog home and showed Memaw a wide array of latex gloves, syringes, enema bottles, & KY jelly. Pepaw swore he couldn't remember what the doc said needed to be done, how, when or how often. I’m convinced that he knew exactly what to do but chose to play dumb. He feigned ignorance to ensure that he wasn’t slammed with dogshit doodie duty for the next week.

I mean, afterall, he did drive the dog to the vet, wasn't that sacrifice enough?

So, Monday morning rolled around & Memaw flipped through the Yellow Pages to find the Vet’s number. She dialed-up and explained her unique situation.

One ringy-dingy.

Two ringy-dingies.

Three ring . . .

Memaw: Yes, hello, my name is Memaw. I'm HausFrau's grandmother. I live in Holliday (it's in Texas). My husband, Pepaw, had our little dog, Precious, in to see you yesterday. She's the little Shih Tzu with the pink bows who had shoo-shooing issues.

Memaw: Pepaw can’t remember what we are supposed to do to fix the poo-poo problem.

Memaw: Pepaw came home, driving his green Caddy, with all this stuff and we don't know what to do with it. Can you tell me what to do?

Are we supposed to just rub the KY on the outside of her anus to help her poo?

Or do we stick it up into her rectum, using the gloves and syringe? You know, kind of like a little doggie KY enema?

If so, how much KY needs to be squirted up in there? How do you measure that?

How far past her anus would the syringe need to be placed? That is, if that’s how we are supposed to do it.

Again, I'm just the over-eager messenger. And, I warned you back a few paragraphs that this wasn't a skittles & sunshine post. If you are still reading, it's your own darn fault.

Hey, I was still listening at this point too. It's kind of like watching the proverbial train wreck - it's just too hard to turn away.

A n y w a y,

According to Memaw, she goes on & on making sure that the vet is not confusing her and Pepaw with any other grandparents who brought a Shih Tzu into the Emergency Center for failure to properly poop any time in the last decade just the day before.

Once she was convinced that the vet knew exactly who she was, exactly where she lived and the exact doggie diagnosis, she took a breath and paused just long enough for a reply. Anxiously, awaiting professional medical advice.

And, the vet responded:

Ma’am, I believe that you’ve dialed the wrong number.

Now that guy. He's the one I have sympathy for.

Moral of the Story: To save yourself embarrassment, make darn sure you are talking to the Pizza Guy before you order an XL pepperoni.

Ooohhh, How Sweet!

My camera & I expertly snapped this little gem in Canterbury, England, on Saturday. Aren't we just witty & clever? Man was trying to ignore me and listen intently to our tour guide. He had no clue what I was giggling about. He nevers sees what's funny until I blog about it point it out.

Let's vote on our favorite caption:

• a) When I grow up, I want to be a Sugar Daddy!
• b) Yes, I have a sweet tooth. What's your point?
• c) But, I wanted to be a real boy!
• d) Man Rockin'Bauer, DDS
• e) Who are you calling boy?!
• f) Hope nobody noticed that I just farted.

Haus Quotable

Setting: Outside on the patio

Event: Having dinner (homemade, from scratch, totally nutritious)

Time: Straight-up 6 o'clock

Conversation is as follows.

MiniMe: Sissy, I want you to play Little Pets with me after dinner.

MiniMe: Sissy, OK? You can play Little Pets with me after dinner.

MiniMe: Sissy, Please play Little Pets with me after dinner.

MiniMe: Sissy, Mom said you have to play Little Pets with me after dinner.

MiniMe: Sissy, after dinner, you can play Little Pets with me, OK?

Man: You don't have to keep saying it over and over and over!

MiniMe: Yes, I do. I have to repeat myself so that Sissy will listen.

MiniMe: Sissy, Daddy will pay you to play Little Pets with me after dinner.

Sinners and Saints

It's VBS week at our community chapel.

I could almost stop with that one sentence, couldn't I?

Some of you might even get it. My friend in Hohenfels (Hi Laura!) said that VBS would definitely give me something to blog about & I wouldn't want to disappoint her. So, here goes:

Last month I experienced a rare moment of insanity practically jumped up and down, wildly waved my arms & said Pick Me! Pick Me! I'll help out with VBS. And, before I completely thought through what I was saying,

Let me know what you need me to do.

came flying out of my mouth.

What I really meant was that I would help out with crafts, bake cupcakes, or sweep floors. You know, all that HausFrau stuff that I'm really good at. I was even thinking along the lines of kinder crowd control, registration, or helping feed everyone.

What they needed me to do was the Story Time center, and being that I am the Story Time lady at the library, that was the obvious best choice for me.

OK, they needed me.

So I agreed.

And 4 days into VBS, everything is going fair well. But,

I must confess.

They are driving me to drink.

No, not the kids. Although, it's probably a very good thing that tonight is the finale, because the K-1 class that MiniMe is in is about to get the better of me. First of all, I don't do kindergarteners. And, second of all, I don't do first graders. So, needless to say, I'm just about done with the combined K-1 class. But, they are just children and some of them are really beauti-cute & adorable, so it's not all bad. Just very loud & noisy with lots of pinging & raw energy. Not to mention that it's been hotter than hell a very warm upper 80s all week which just makes me everyone sticky, sweaty, puffy, bloated, swollen, stinky & cranky.

The kids are just being kids. So, who's pushing me straight down the Autobahn to Margaritaville, you might ask?

Well, let me tell you.

It's a few of the holier-than-me Christians who are literally glowing with angelic glory of their perfectly straight halos & their syrupy goodness. I swear, you can almost hear the Hallelujah! Chorus in the background & see rays of sunshine beaming down from Heaven emphasizing their self-proclaimed perfection.

I find it all very nauseating.

There's one particular woman who is trying my patience more than Little Johnny & his buddies in the Kindy class. She, like me, volunteered to help out with VBS. Unlike me, she specifically requested Story Time because that's her calling. I think I ended up in charge of Story Time because people running VBS know me & I could actually show up all 5 days without transportation and getting on-post issues. She couldn't.

Maybe? I'm not really sure. All I know is that job assignments were not determined by a Halo Competition. Had that been the case, I definitely would have been on Floor Sweeping or Toilet Scrubbing Duty.

Certainly not Bible Story Time.

The point is that I have spent more time with GloryWoman than I would have preferred. And, I've suffered through many stories about how perfectly Christian and perfect her life is. All unsolicited, I might add. Apparently, she's confused by my job as Bible Story Lady. I think she thinks I'm a little more hard core qualified than I am & more like her. Obviously she doesn't realize that I wasn't valedvictorian of Halo 101 Class.

Let's see . . . in junior high, she went to church camp and has a crush on this one particular boy. Because she felt so strongly about him and wanted to be faithful to him, she didn't look at any of the other boys. HausFrau's opinion: obviously, this boy wanted nothing to do with her at all, or she might have been singing a different tune. To paraphrase, she said something about God having a plan for her and protecting her, even then, from all boy related sins.

My eyes actually hurt a little bit because they involuntarily rolled way up in the back of my head. Thankfully, they didn't get stuck that way.

I don't think she would appreciate my Little Blue Notebook. And, who said there was anything wrong with sucking face at church camp? Right, Tammy?

So, she escaped Christian School unscathed by boy sins, then met her husband in missionary school. Married him, then had perfect kids, first a boy, then a girl. Now they do missionary work here in Brussels. I guess Belgium has such a great need for missionaries. I mean a whopping 8% or so of the population is not either Catholic or Lutheran. But, that's neither here nor there.

Once I got the DL on the history of her perfect life, she proceeded to give me a running commentary on her transportation to VBS. I have to hear all about how she's having to catch a ride with another family, where the mom is running from a childhood of Roman Catholicism & is only bringing her kids for the 3 hours of free daycare - oh, the nerve of some people. And, these kids of the CradleCatholic mom say all kinds of horrible things like, and I quote, H-E-double-hockey sticks.

I came thisclose to saying oh, you mean "hell"? Instead, I minded my manners, striaghtened my halo ignored its few dings & agreed that kids should not be cussing like sailors. Seriously, I do agree. Afterall, I've reminded MiniMe several times that it's not appropriate for her to say what the hell? even though she may hear Man other people say it.

GloryWoman actually moved her daughter from the K-1 class to the PreK class to get her away from the sinner kids like MiniMe. Her reasoning was that certain sins are ok for her kids, but others like saying H-E-double-hockey-sticks, aren't.

Wha . . . Huh?

Seriously, you can't protect your precious little saints from those loser sinner kids unless you never let them leave the house. Like it or not, even the the Rockin'Bauer girls loser sinner kids show up to VBS. Isn't that what it's all about anyway? Spreading the Word? Giving it to people who need it? It's not supposed to be just a love-fest for Halo Brigade.

And, don't get me started about which sins are ok for her kids and which ones aren't. I'm still trying to wrap my brain around that line of thinking. But, I'm fairly sure that whatever sins her kids are committing are much, much less offensive that the ones plaguing everyone else's kids.

While I was recovering from an overdose GloryWoman's perfection, another perfect mom pipes up about the horrible language her child picked up from other loser sinner kids at school. You know what was so bad?

Her child got angry at her and said I'm going to sue you!

She had no clue why he would repeat such language knowing that it was wrong and he was going to get into trouble.

Wow. On the Rockin'Bauer Richter Scale of Profanity that wouldn't have even made the needle quiver, much less move - at all. Being the loser sinner mom that I am, I might have even taken it as a sign that someone might be going to Law School someday. But, hey, that's just me.

I've only got to endure about 3 more hours of this polished perfection crap, depending on when everyone shows up tonight. Hopefully, I have about another 4 hours of perserverance left before something smartass or sarcastic speweth forth from mine mouth.

I really don't think the majority of the adults participating in VBS are competing for Gold in the Holier-Than-Thou Olympics. I think most are just doing the best they can, on a day-to-day basis. At least, I hope that's the case. If not, I'll be looking for a new crowd to hang out with . . .

If anyone knows where First Saint Christian Bible Church of the Perpetual Sinners meets, let me know. Maybe they offer a Happy Hour Bible Study. I'd be all over that.

Anyone else's interest piqued by A Margarita and A Miracle? If so, we'll meet at my Haus tonight after VBS. Bring the tequila. I've got salt and limes. And, a bible . . . around here somewhere.