Anniversary's coming up in December. Seventeen years. Today Wood finds out two things: First, I buy gas at more than one station. Two, I prefer diet Pepsi to Coke (any flavor). Hands me my blankie and pillow and says "Bye. Been good up to now."

I think this stems from the Great Cereal Rebellion. I buy cereal based on two criteria (hmm, a duplicity of coincidence...or coincidence of duplicity, yeah, that's it) one, it has at least a vague reference to nutrition, two, it costs less than $3.00. Unfortunately for some cereal eaters at this address, this has resulted in a disappointing selection. There are at least two of us who benefit from increased fiber in our diets, so Raisin Bran and Shredded Wheat are pretty much a staple. If the name brand isn't on sale, the store brand usually is. I like the Cheerios with the dried berries (berry blend or strawberry, yumm) when it comes around on sale, but even then it's usually at the top of the register at $3.00/box. The Boy gets to pick a box now and again (Cocoa-Puffs, I swear to god, and Flip ate em too), but it pretty much ends up being the same kinda stuff every week. So the other day I come home and find a list next to my computer. "Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Cracklin' Oat Bran. Any other cereal that costs $5.00/box and has no store brand equivalent." "What's this?" I ask of Flip. "Dad says you never buy cereal he likes. So we made a list." Subtle little shift on the fence-"we", implies a division, a difference, a divergence (doh! alliteration run amok!). So at the store today I find Cracklin' Oat Bran ON SALE for $3.50/box. Do I buy it? Do I? Do I dare cross the line of frugal shopping and price vs. principle vs. happy regular husband? Wait, um, how many lines was that?
Well, yes. I love my man, love my girl, love my boy, and if cereal at $3.50 a box does it for them, then, by golly, I'm their huckleberry.

On a completely different note, as we were driving out and about today, we saw a Jag with the plate (DESYNER), and Wood admires the car (and its driver) murmuring "jag, huh..." and I say "Yeah, but what's Des Whiner?" He looks at the plate, looks at me, and shaking his head says "Designer." I laughed till I couldn't hardly drive. Betcha I'm not the only one who reads it that way. Pooh, do you remember the Straits of Wanda Fucha?

Gotta laugh sometimes.

Load of the day: towels.

Had some wonderful rains here. (Flip and I saw a ruby-throated hummingbird at the feeder right in the middle of a downpour. Sweet!)

It takes a couple of hours for the city smell to wash away and the desert smell to come out, but when that creosote fragrance comes washing in the door, it brings peace to your soul. I can just picture, even here in the middle of the ugly city, the desert around Tucson, with saguaro, creosote (aka greasewood) ocotillo, cholla and any number of scrubby grasses, their colors washed vivid by the rain, set on wet earth, stretching to thank the low clouds draping the hills. I guess it's a sign of a desert-raised mind that a low cloudy day is such a thing of wonder. I don't remember thinking a low cloudy day in Tacoma was such a great thing, (perhaps I was always comparing to Tucson...) but I certainly recall that a sunny day was a cause for celebration ("I can't come into work today, the sun is shining....").

Pooh's 25 now. Had her B-day yesterday. She had her fifth birthday when I was in Basic Training. I was 25.

Fascinating perspective, this age. I talk to my mom, who was concerns about her mom (my granny), and concerns about her own retirement etc, and then I talk to Pooh, who is just starting out in her adult life, and here I am inbetween. I can remember 25 pretty well, and 50 is pretty close, and my mom is looking at 70, and I can picture this thread, this blood-thread, woman-thread, this connection stretching foreward and back to infinity (or just around the corner...) and it just makes me wonder. Makes me feel small to think of all those before me (did they have this moment? did they mark it somehow? would I be able to find it) and how they coped in so many different situations that I will never be exposed to. And what about Pooh, and Flip? Will their future be significantly different? Will they too be mothers and have these thoughts? In twenty years can I look at Flip and say "I told you so. I wasn't making it up."?

Well, anyway.

Autism classroom smack-down!

The Boy came home yesterday with livid bruises on his forehead and a strap-like bruise across his throat. Not the first time for bruises, but the first time this school year and pretty darn mean-looking.

I talked to his teacher this morning, and it turns out that the classroom lost an aide to injury so they've been working short (sounds like he was solo yesterday), and the scenario was this: somebody laughed until they snorted and the snorting upset the Boy and he started hitting himself and that caused more laughing/snorting which caused more hitting ad nauseum. The poor teacher, I can just see him refereeing two or more 100+ lb. no-common-sense-no-self-control-outta-control-nearly-men. He's got a pair to come back for year two.

We discussed the possibility of taking the Boy out for at least one period to a regular classroom, accompanied by an aide, in order to decrease his exposure to inappropriate behaviors (duh, ya think?). So, we'll see how it goes. It's never easy.

Poor Flip. Seems the bank won't let a 14year-old have an account unless they are getting paychecks or something. Hmmm...I suppose I could start cutting her checks for her work here at home....hmmm. She was bumming, but a trip to Dick Blick's helps take the sting out of being too young still.

Well, hush my mouth. Sitting out on the patio yesterday evening, we saw a hummingbird. guess I'll leave the feeder out a little longer.

Flip was in a good mood yesterday. She watched The Boy while we took our working but stinky gas stove (future post) to the recyclers. Wanna know what a gas stove is worth when you take it to be recycled? $1.40. Yup. I told Wood I'd buy him a drink next time I'm not on call (um...several days from now). Hah. Need to find a cheap place with cheap specials. Sounds like we're having Black Label in the kitchen. (Remember generic label beer?).

At any rate, Flip was singing along with the music and Wood says "What a great kid." So I figure a great kid like that deserves brownies, which reminds me of Wood's birthday last month...

It's his birthday and it's my day off, so I made brownies for his birthday. The Boy was very helpful, (he likes to get the eggs and will occasionally mix the batter and helps lick the spoon. He just hovers at times right at my elbow, so eager to help, it's hard to say get lost, so you just gotta let him help.) The brownies come out of the oven, all hot and shiny, and Hovering Boy starts putting the candy Happy Birthday letters on, just loving it. Over too soon. He sees the candles on the counter (a mere token number, no way in hell am I putting 36 candles on a square pan of brownies) and I tell him, sure, put the candles on. So he proceeds with great deliberation to put candles around the brownies and boop! we're done. So...Flip wanders by a little later and says "where are the candles?" "What?" We look at the brownies and sure enough, the three-inch candles that Hovering Boy put in with such great care are now half-inch little stumpy things. Seems brownies hot out of the oven will indeed melt your average birthday candle within minutes. Within the brownies. I'll bet Wood is one of the few lucky individuals who has ever had premium wax-filled brownies for his birthday. Maybe it'll catch on...but you gotta sing real fast!

well, not really.

But, since Wood and Flip are SO insistent that I have a voice and (gasp) things to say that might be interesting, I caved.
Hey, it might be fun. I learn things about Flip and Wood and Rachie by reading their sites, mayhaps mine might reveal as well.

As for the title, well, it's just something I do a lot of, and, well, okay. It's a dumb title. I do have definite opinions about how many bath towels constitute a load (6 max-to leave room for sufficient agitation) and which detergent works best (Tide, with a shot of Zout), but I am not the queen of clean.

I merely do the things that need to get done, and think. Wood says "what are you thinking about?", and I have to stop and, well, think. My folks would call it daydreaming or woolgathering (stupid, that, just leave it blow on the wind. Sheep make more). I look at the yard and see the possibilities for future landscaping or the way the wind piles the pine needles here but not there and how much wind does it take to move a pile of needles and how efficient it is to burn the needles versus filling twenty plastic bags that don't decompose but Las Vegas frowns on burning things in your yard (but will often frown and look away if your neighbors trust you and you stand guard with the garden hose). See?

So, here it is October. The hummingbirds that we have enjoyed so much this summer seem to have moved on. Haven't seen any for a couple of weeks. I'll put the feeders away til spring. Probably ought to bring the coleus in before it gets too cold. The pineapple, too. Wonder if it'll ever bloom/fruit? It's two years old now...hmm...here I go....

Okay well, there's an introduction to the blog. Stay tuned for the Laundry Load of the Day.

Welcome to my little corner of this little house in this not-so-little town.