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!

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?

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.

Twisted Knickers

Recently, my Memaw was telling me a story about one of her shopping trips into town. Memaw was on a mission to find a new pair of shoes. Pink, because that's her favorite color. When Memaw couldn't find was she was looking for, she asked CutieTeen Salesclerk for assistance.

Memaw: Excuse me. I'm looking to buy some hot pink thongs.

CutieTeen Salesclerk:

This is total speculation on my part, but I'm guessing that horror-movie, slasher-flick screaming had to be deafening inside that pretty little head of hers.

Flip Flops, Memaw. We call them Flip Flops now.

Not. Thongs.

Certainly, not thongs.

So, I have spent a good chunk of this week slowly working my way through a mountain of laundry, most of it courtesy of Laze-E’s floor, damn floor. I’ve washed & dried & fluffed her towels, t-shirts & shorts. And, I have folded to perfection most of what came my way with the exception of a stray quarter, a leftover Princess Band-Aid (ewwww), 2 hair clippies & 2 ponytail elastics.

Uh, wait one minute here. Those aren't ponytail holders, are those . . .

2 pairs of thong underwear? In my laundry?

Being of the hipster, full-bum coverage persuasion myself, I’m not really sure exactly how to fold a thong.

OK, so folding a thong is not really the issue. And, neither is the thought of Laze-E walking around with a piece of elastic shoved up her butt riding her crack all day - provided that said piece of elastic is attached to practical & functional underpants. But, how did they end up in my dryer?

My mind has wandered to some pretty dark places. And,

I suspect that the middle school teens have been trading, sharing & borrowing more than just t-shirts and jeans. This thought is particularly disturbing because:

The idea of undie swapping is about as appealing as sucking on ABC gum.

The exact origin of these itty, bitty bloomers is a bit ambiguous.

And, who buys thongs for their 13 year old, anyway?

To date, I've bought My Little Pony briefs, fairly skimpy teen bikinis & everything in between, but never a thong for any hiney that I've diapered. Apparently, I'm not alone. Even The Limited, Too stores pulled the tweeny-teeny thongs off the market after a very brief (ha ha) run -- because it's just wrong & they eventually figured that out (probably with the help of lots of savvy moms out there who threatened to take their business & daughters elsewhere). Yes, I know there are various & legimate reasons for wearing thongs - none of which apply to Laze-E.

So, what do I do? Take the offending knickers out of circulation without mentioning it? Recycle them and let MiniMe use them for ponytail holders for her Barbies? Do I restrict Laze-E to white, 100% cotton grannie-panties until graduation? Do I attempt to return them to their rightful owner?

Hello, Mrs. ThongMom. I believe these belong to ThongGirl. Yes, these. I know they are difficult to see, being all x-small and all. Look closer. Yes, reading glasses are a good idea. See now? Yes. It is actually two pairs. ThongGirl must have left them at our house when we had that sleepover last weekend.

So, here I am, once again, flying by the seat of my underpants with this whole parenting thong thing. And yet again, I have to make up new rules in response to extremely dumbass scenarios & events that actually happen without prior warning.

New Haus Rule: Panties and bras must be roughly the same size until you are old enough to drive yourself to the Planned Parenthood Clinic vote.

Toodles for now. I'm off to buy a new pair of flip flops.

The Dance

There are times when I ask Laze-E to remind me (again) just how old she is. Depending on the tone of deliverance, “How old are you?” is asked for various reasons.

For example, “How old are you?” may be a question that requires a simple answer of “thirteen”. In these instances, I look lovingly at my child as I remember the baby she was & look to the future at the lovely young woman she’s becoming.

Other times, “How old are you?” is quickly followed by “And, why are you acting like a 2-year-old?” This question technically requires no answer; however, I usually get one punctuated with squinty eyes, a you-get-on-my-last-nerve huff & a “what-ev-er” door slam.

Laze-E: starring in both The Terrible Twos & The Terrible Twos II – the Encore Presentation.

Still yet, “How old are you?” can be a strictly mathematical question. OK, 13, born in February, graduate in June. So that’s, T-minus 5 years, 4 days and 14 hours until you could technically get a job, get a life and move out of the Haus.

I said all that to say this: yesterday was the 8th Grade “Prom”.

Yeah, I know. That’s what all the kids were calling the event. Since I believe in calling a spade a spade, it was more of a Middle School Akward, Dorky, Semi-Formal Freak Show with Music & Snacks. OK, I don’t know that for sure because I didn’t actually hang around to chaperone the darn thing, but I was extensively involved in the pre-game events and commentary afterwards.

Round One: I ask Laze-E “How old are you?” (option #3) when I was in the middle of chauffeuring her around the greater Brussels area. First, to a friend’s house to hang out & do make-up, then to pick her up later so that she could complain about the make-up. Only to drive her back to our Haus so I could re-do the make-up because her friend made her up like street walking 'ho & re-do her hair because she walked outside for no good reason to visit another friend's house in 100% humidity. Then I had to haul her princess butt to the actual dance. Then someone (me, again) had to be the DD and do the pick-up routine. I marvel at my lack of judgement sometimes. Seriously, what was I thinking? Letting her go to the dance? Letting Man crawl into a bottle while I drank seltzer water with lemon?

Round Two: I asked Laze-E “How old are you?” (option #2) when I picked her up from the dance only to be greeted with attitude, tears and foot stomping as she demanded an answer other than “because I said so” as to why her friend couldn’t spend the night (But. Why. Not? stomp, pout, cross arms, muster up a tear - oh, my goodness & gag me with a spoon!). After all, the dance didn’t quite meet her Cinderella (darn you, Disney) expectations & she needed a friend to nurse her back to emotional well being. Please pass the spoon. Did I mention my sobriety?

And, finally Round Three: I asked Laze-E “How old are you, dear?” (obviously, option #1) because this is how she looked last night:



Gorgeous, huh?

Thankfully, we all survived 8th Grade Prom & I'm currently working on my AAR. For those of you who aren't well versed in Army-speak, that's my After Action Report.

What worked well:

• eBay for the dress & shoes
• the curls looked awesome
• we arrived to the dance on time

What will be modified for next year:

• no prissing around in humidity after doing hair
• Mom does make-up the first & only time
• Man gets to be the DD
• Mom will only be spoken to in a loving tone using nice words with positive connotations
• reiterate (you know, again and again) that boys will act more like SpongeBob than any Prince Walt D created

Last but not least. Here's our Savvy new VISA commercial:

Ticket to the Dance: $5
Silver sandals with 2 inch heel: $7.49 (seriously!)
Teal halter dress: $11.99 (score one for the HausFrau!)
2 gallons of gas for all that running around: $8.74




Looking & Feeling like a Princess: Priceless