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

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.

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.

ManBoxes, Take 3

If you are not into all the ManBox drama around the Rockin'Bauer Haus, you might want to just skip this publication. I really hate to keep harping on this subject, but I feel I haven't quite made my point.

And, I really feel that I need to make a point.

To Man.

Let me tell you something, my friends. That boy is in some major denial. While he was reading yesterday's ManBox post (Yes, he reads me religiously - just so he knows what's going on around here.) he piped up and demanded that I "go easy on the ManBoxes". Then he unequivocally proclaimed that there was no way there were 51 ManBoxes lying around the Haus.

Then . . .

(here's where this conversation becomes an exercise in extreme restraint on my part & I knew I should have consumed a preemptory glass of wein)

he told me that some of those boxes were my responsibility too.

My eyeballs still hurt this morning from rolling so far into the back of my head.

His only supporting fact as evidence was that I had also used the old computer at some point. Then he milked that one fact for all it was worth. And declared that I needed to help him decide what to do with some of the ManBox contents because . . .

it all couldn't possibly belong to him. Some of it had to be mine. And, don't forget, you used that computer too!

And, again, there's no way on God's Green Earth that there are 51 ManBoxes. I must have miss counted. And fabricated my photographic evidence.

What

Ev

ER.

Shall I recap for Man those of you a little slow out of the gate and didn't catch on the first two times? There are fifty-one Rockin'BauerManBoxes. These ManBoxes are filled with ManStuff. The ManMobile is parked in the driveway because of the 32 ManBoxes in the garage. I absolutely claim no ownership whatsoever to any of the ManBox contents.

However, I have offered many times to organize & label the very few items we can use and/or need to keep. I have also suggested calling GoodWill to come do a BigA pick-up.

And, I've priced industrial-sized paper shredders.

Upon learning of the number 51, WonderWoman did want to know if the ManStuff was piled into original packing boxes. The answer is YES! This would be a typical ManBox. Slightly crushed after umpteen moves/years and sporting several layers of packing tape & a rainbow of inventory stickers.

And, here's evidence of how long the ManBoxes have existed. The particular box was packed by Aloha International. Hawaii, sometime mid-90's.

I did come across one non-descript box of an ambiguous origin.

I flipped open the top flaps & was greeted by this:

I know it's hard to read - because it's so old - but the publication date is December 5, 1988. Let's see . . . I would have been a junior in high school & this paper was addressed to a TSgt Rockin'Bauer (Who is that?!). Talk about a lifetime ago. I was amused at the Man-written note about this issue having "resume writing tips".

Ok, maybe some things never change.

With just a cursory glance, the box below might appear to be recently packed. The moving company Georg Herrie (pronounced Gay-Org Harry) is located in Neumarkt. For those of you familiar with the Oberpfalz area, you know it's located right up the Autobahn from HoTown. However, this box was sent to storage in Texas 18 months before we ever dreamed of an assignment to HoTown.

This box would have to have been packed in Nuremberg. Early 90's.

sigh

I hope Man considers this post to be an intervention of sorts. I'm here to help whenever he's ready to take the first step. I'll even stop by the Class XI and buy him a case of bier to take the edge off.

Oh, stop! You know I would never dream of getting him drunk and taking advantage.

You know me better than that. I'm not much of a dreamer.

But I am one heck of a planner.

The ManBoxes

This is Man. Hello, Man.

These are boxes.

But these are not ManBoxes. These are boxes that HausFrau knows what to do with.

These are just plain ol' moving boxes.

These, on the other hand, are ManBoxes. I counted very carefully. Three times. There are 31 ManBoxes in the garage on this wall.

I thought 31 boxes was the grand total for the garage. Then I saw this sucker hiding on the top of some shelving on the opposite wall. This ManBox (it contains a VHS camcorder, all original packaging) brings the total up to 32.

Don't get all excited thinking you won the Official ManBox Count Contest if your guess was close to 32. This is just the garage, people. There's more.

In the basement.

I counted. Twice. There are another 19 boxes here.

32 + 19 =

That's right, my friends, there are a Grand Total of FiftyOne ManBoxes at Haus Rockin'Bauer. I think my original guess of 50 was not too far from the truth. And, Man actually accused me of exaggerating. Humpf!

I think he was just hoping to sneak that camcorder past me.

Here is the moment we've all be waiting for: the results for the

Rockin'Bauer PCS 2009 ManBox Count SmackDown.

Can I get a drum roll please?

The winner (besides me and my guess of fifty) is . . . . . .

Subourbon HausFrau (Hi, Stacey!) coming in at 48. She obviously knows a ManBox when she sees one. Or fifty one.

WonderWoman (Hi, Heather!) is the first runner-up with her guess of 56.

BeachMum (Hi, Laura!) is second runner-up with a guess of 43, although she did admit to being conservative with her numbers.

Let me do some looking around the Haus for the perfect prizes.

In the meantime, how many ManBoxes do we think are going to show up at the next duty station? You'll have to guess first. Right now, I'm afraid to even go there.

Before & After

Has this ever happened to you?

You wake up on Moving Day and BoInG off the air mattress on the floor. You are tingly from head to toes with anticipation of what's to come. All worldly possessions will finally be returned to you after their Trans-Atlantic voyage.

It's like Christmas in February.

Or whatever month Uncle Sam chooses.

You may think to yourself,

Oooooohhhh! The king sized pillow top mattress . . .

Goody-goody-gosh! Can't wait for the rest of the kitchen gadgets . . .

Oh, boy! The real TV . . .

Of course, you've jumped ahead of yourself a bit & have envisioned all of that (& more, lots & lots more) in your new Haus. Perfectly clean & properly placed.

You are snapped back to reality when you hear the semi-truck outside your new residence.

MoverDudes ding-dong the door bell & announce (Hopefully in English. But you can deal with whatever they toss your way. Keep thinking of the prize . . . those 800 thread count sheets are out there somewhere.) that they are here with the first truck. They'll bring the other 7 crates after these are downloaded.

Wha . . . huh?

You mean there's more?

Guess it's a good thing you had that second bowl of Frosted Flakes this morning. You toss your Man the bingo sheet to track the inventory. You threaten your children with no TV for a whole week - that's right, not just any ol' TV, I'm talking Disney & Nick - if they dare peek out of the basement.

You stand akimbo, a determined look on your face, ready to direct box traffic & finish off this PCS pronto.

And, just after crate "Rockin'Bauer #8 out of 16" gets dumped on your front lawn, You may think to yourself . . . Oh. My. Goodness! This is barely half! But, you'll suck down another big glass of iced tea & deal.

Yeah, I know. You are a military wife. You do this all the time.

You are also a HausFrau. Go work the magic, girl. It's what you do best.

See? That wasn't so bad was it?

Except for the fact that the MirrorHangingFairy has failed to make an appearance, the downstairs is looking rather dashing.

Especially, if dashing can be defined by many, many second hand items displayed in every nook & cranny. By the way friends, if you happen to see anything that you might recognize, you probably do. I most likely bought your stuff at SubourbonHausFrau's Boutique and am attempting to pass it off as antique, unique, European, exotic &/or expensive.

Speaking of second hand . . . the dining room table with its double-pedestal & 6 chairs is now ours thanks to a mere $500 & a bit of luck with Craig List. Like the sheer curtains? 10 bucks at the thrift shop.

Not the best-ever kitchen, not the worst.

Not the cleanest either. But, while I was not cleaning the kitchen last night, I did manage to win $5 at Bunco.

In the picture below, if you make squinty eyes & look from left to right, you can see into the dining room, kitchen, past the entryway & into the office. And, you'll notice the "before" picture on our TV.

Yep, that's right. HGTV. On my TV! How fun is that?

Like our new sofa? I managed to get the guy who sold us the dining table to give up his couch too, for $200. He also parted with the mirror over the mantle. For free.

Lucky for him, I didn't see anything else in his condo that I wanted before I was escorted from the premises.

What about the bedrooms, you might ask? Well, let's just say that I chose to goof off on the computer instead of making beds, dusting dressers and vacuuming floors.

Surely, that's happened to you before. Like now?

Repurposing Plastic

I have no inkling whatsoever how this happened, but I'm fairly certain that MiniMe was involved on some level. Shall I mention that I found this in the bathtub & that it has water inside? On that same line of questioning, guess what pegleg was found unceremoniously dumped on the basement floor?


Although I didn't try too terribly hard As sad as I am about the situation, I couldn't manage to snap this leg back into the leg hole on Rosie. Neither could Man, but I'm not convinced he tried very hard either.

Anyone else thinking what I'm thinking?

Besides the fact that Rosie just might be on her last leg.

I'm thinking I need to be on the Thrift Store Look-Out for a nice fashionable lamp shade & some fishnet stockings. Combining a little elbow grease with my HausFrau ingenuity . . . and Voila! I'll have the perfect gift for the BBFamily.

You know, in honor of BBMan's favorite movie & that extremely entertaining minor incident involving the my friend & skunk.

Now that I think about it, maybe they would like a matching pair.

Weather Holiday

Normally, I hate snow days. Especially when they just happen to occur the day the kids were due back at school after a long, boring 2 week Christmas Break. Can I get an Amen from my Buddies in Belgium?!

What I don't particularly care for is the getting up early to check the weather & to be surprised there's no school because of a lousy two inches of very wet snow.

Most of you know the drill. The kids bundle up & beebop out outside but quickly discover that you can't do much with 2 inches of wet snow. After they've sloshed around in the snow & mud for a whole whoppin' 8 minutes they are ready to dump all the dirty, wet winter gear on the kitchen floor & proclaim that they are bored.

out.

of.

their.

minds.

There's nothing to do at this fine hour of 0810 AM.

Well, we all could have still been sleeping except for the fact this dandy snow day wasn't announced until 0600 AM.

And, so begins a very long day.

Guess what! We had a snow day yesterday. And, I will say that I was pleasantly surprised by how the day progressed. A properly planned snow day - that would be one that is declared at 8 PM the night before - can be quite nice.

For instance:

You can entertain yourself by shoveling 6+ inches of snow off the driveway and sidewalk before you drive yourself to work 2 hours late.

Go ahead, take my our only car, Babe. Not like I need it for anything today.

You can build a small snowman in your jammies.

You can walk across the street & go sledding down the neighbor's back yard. Sorry about the mud, the boys were obviously up & at 'em early this morning & used up all the powder.

You can play with your new friends.

Or walk along the creek in the neighborhood looking for a smaller hill.

Or, just sit in the hot tub & eat icicles.

Or you can be like my neighbor down the street & shock MiniMe.

But, Mom! Look! (Gasp!) They didn't even use any of their snow!

Can you imagine the will power MiniMe summoned not to go sashaying across that white blanket of a yard!?

Or you could be like us Rockin'Bauers. We used our snow!