Domestic Oblivion

Here at Chez Star, some of the apples haven’t fallen far from the trees.  Isabelle can be so infuriatingly like me that Davie-O calls her “Mini-Mom”.  A woman stopped me at the pool last week and told me that if she hadn’t seen the three boys standing next to each other before they hopped into the pool, she would have sworn I had triplets because they look so much alike.

Davie-O has lots of characteristics that amuse me.  He’s charming and funny, and can usually successfully microwave most items.  He also has lots of little quirks that add to the whole package.  He prefers bowls over plates, and spoons over forks.  He couldn’t navigate his way out of a paper bag with a GPS and a searchlight.  And he falls down on an appallingly regular basis.

When we were first married, I’d hear him fall down and I KNEW he had just dropped dead of an aneurysm.  I’d rush into whatever room I’d heard the racket from and he’d be jumping up and getting back to whatever activity it was that caused him to fall over, like walking over to the bookshelf. 

This happens a lot, and it got to the point where I just couldn’t take the adrenaline rush anymore.  So I  trained Davie-O to yell out after gravity had finished taking it’s toll.  Just a simple “I’m OK” to let me know that the stroke/heart attack/partial paralysis I kept imagining wasn’t real.  Now I hear the crash, and pause my activities until I hear the inevitable “I’m OK!”.

As Mason gets older, he is moving from being a lot like his dad to being a clone of his dad.  It’s seriously disconcerting some times;  he will say or do things that stop both Davie-O and I in our tracks.  It appears that that apple has fallen exceedingly close to the tree.  But, for an apple to fall close to a tree, it first has to fall.

Sadly, Mason inherited the entire falling-down gene from his dad.  We weren’t fully aware of this until recently; it seems that the onset of puberty has kicked this gene into action.  The kid has started falling down ALL THE TIME.  While he’s doing NOTHING.  Just like his dad.

The other evening Davie-O and I were sitting in his new office chatting.  We heard a huge clatter on the stairs, the proverbial “oh, oh, oh” that usually goes along with someone falling down.  Neither of us got out of our chairs.  We waited, looking at each other.  Then, without any prompting, a cheerful “I’m OK!”.

I can’t wait to see how many more Star apples repeatedly fall this close to the tree.

Some of my kids attend a grade school that has an autism/asperger’s program.  The school does a phenomenal job of integrating these special needs kids with the rest of the school’s population.  The mainstream kids get experience being with kids that aren’t like everyone else; it’s really a positive experience for all the kids.

At least once a week there’s some story told at the dinner table here at Chez Star that starts with “today one of the autistic kids…..”.  This afternoon I was driving Bowman over to a friend’s house to play, and he was telling me a story about a kid at school.

Bow:  There’s this artistic kid at school who really, really, really likes to pee on the playground.

Mom:  Who? 

Bow:  An artistic kid.

Mom turns down the radio.

Mom: WHO likes to pee on the playground?

Bow:  An ARTISTIC KID!  You know, from the artistic program at school?

Mom:  Ah, yes, the artistic program.  And?

Bow:  Well, he’s artistic and likes to pee on the playground.

So, as a warning to all of you who have artistic kids, be careful.  Apparently they’re prone to peeing in public.

So, we are wrapping up yet another ginormous project here at Chez Star.  The three boys got together and decided they would like to all share a room, and asked to switch their rooms with sewing studio/guest room/Davie-O’s office on the third floor.  After discussions, much lifting and moving ensued.  The end result is thus:  Davie-O now has an office with a door that shuts and will remain free of my piles of crap, the boys have an awesome space on the third floor, and I have my own studio with a door that closes.  I also got a really really good first hand look at the mountains of crap I’ve collected over the past 5 years.

Seriously people.  If you EVER need stuff packed away and are hurting for space, call me.  I have a gift for squirreling things away.  A frightening, potentially dangerous gift.

The good news is that I’ve gotten a handle on the mountains of crap.  Lots of stuff for charity, Craig’s, and the garbage.  The studio is now put together and fabulous.  I haven’t painted it yet, but did take the time to wash all the dirt, grime and boogers off the walls.  Just in case you didn’t know, little boys are gross;  if you ever take over a room from little boys, be sure to wash the walls.

While moving stuff, I came across a few things that I’d forgotten about.  Small things from my now-deceased grandmothers and trinkets from my childhood.  One item in particular was unearthed by Isabelle.  It was a tiny mirror, with a photo on the back.  This is how our conversation went:

Belle:  I never had a swim suit that looked like that.

Mom:  I know.

Belle:  “Olympic View Swim Club”

Mom:  Yep.

Belle:  1977?

Mom:  Yep.

Belle:  But I wasn’t even born then.

Mom:  I know.

Belle:  I was born in 1999.

Mom:  I know.

Belle:  Then how did I get into a swim suit I don’t own and put into a photo that’s labeled 1977?

Mom:  You didn’t.

Belle:  Yes I did.

Mom:  No you didn’t.  That’s a picture of me.

Belle:  No it’s not.

Mom:  It’s not?  Why do you think it’s you?

Belle:  Because I KNOW what I look like, and that’s a picture of me.

Mom:  I was born in 1969, so in 1977 I was 8 years old, just like you are now.  That picture is photo taken of me when I was the age that you are now, and we just sort of look alike.

Belle:  (skeptical look and a long pause…)  Dad did this, didn’t he? 

Davie-O has been a dad for 11 years.  Despite his total lack of good role models, Davie-O is a great dad.  The neighbor who borrowed our truck this morning told me they were talking about dads in the ‘hood, and Davie-O was at the very tippy top of their great dad list.  I’m lucky to be married to a man who works so hard at his dad duties, and these guys appreciate it too.

Thanks Davie!  I lurve you.

Davie-O is still slaughtering songs and enjoying it.  He is also still dragging the children into it, which really chaps my hide.  Yesterday’s lyrical nightmare was one of Davie-O’s most passive aggressive to date.  And yet, at the very very end, when it came down to the wire, he was thwarted by the 11 year old.

Mom and Cutter sitting at the table playing cribbage, Dave sitting on the couch using his laptop, and Mason standing between them.

“Blinded By The Light” by Manfred Mann playing on radio.

Davie-O to Mason:  Ask Mom what a douche is.

Mason:  Mom, what’s a douche?

Mom:  It’s a deuce.  “Revved up like a deuce….”

Mason:  Mom says it’s a deuce.

Davie-O:  Ask Mom what a rover is.

Mason:  What’s a rover?

Mom:  It’s a runner, not a rover.

Mason:  Mom says it’s a runner.

Davie-O:  Nope, tell Mom it’s a rover.

Mason: Mom…

Mom:  Runner.  Revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night.

Mason: Dad?  Mom says “Burn!”

God, I love that kid.

(Via IM)

Mrs. Star to Mr. Star:

I hate you for not being here.
Not being here when the dog had a big ass tick.
On her neck.
Which I VALIANTLY removed.
And while doing so found that the big f$%@ing disgusting tick was having tick sex.
Yes, tick sex while sucking dog blood.
I will never fully recover.
Or forgive you for being gone.

Mr. Star to Mrs. Star:

What’s with all the ticks?

Mrs. Star to Mr. Star:

It’s tick season, dumbass.

Mr. Star:

Oh.

Life just keeps on moving, doesn’t it?  Sometimes I pause and the thought occurs to me that my life, if put down on paper, could be construed as being very very very boring.  Then, the truth hits me;  I am really really happy.  And it’s all the little things that add up to the happiness.

Of course, as with anyone, there are challenges.  Sick and aging relative, a friend recently diagnosed with cancer, kids with issues, a friend struggling with her marriage, a friend having legal problems, the earthquake in China.  As long as we leave our houses, read the news, and interact with anyone else, this sort of stuff will always be there.  It’s life, and it’s messy.  But it’s beautiful and rewarding, so don’t hold back.

*****

This is one of the funniest things I’ve read in a long time, because she’s so very right.  Who hasn’t done this?  I did it last week, which was the first time I’d included ex-boyfriends in the Google search.  I came no where near hitting the same sort of jackpot she did, although I did get confirmation that I’ve made some decent decisions in my adult life.

*****

Anyone have an opinion on when being obsessed with an activity becomes detrimental?

Next weekend the Ironman 70.3 is being held here in Boise.  By all accounts, it’s a big freakin’ deal.  I’m impressionable enough to think that all triathlons are a big deal, but this one is the king of all triathlons. 

Some of my neighbors will be participating in this event.  And by participating, I don’t mean handing out water.  They will actually be competing, or as one guy I talked to said, they’ll be working on finishing the event.  I’ll be thinking of all of you while I’m drinking my second cup of coffee and you’re climbing out of a 54 degree reservoir.

This morning I engaged in my very own lower level triathlon, and haven’t stopped being amused by it.  Here’s the recipe for Mrs. Star’s triathlon:

45 minute run in 4′6″ deep neighborhood pool

Jump out, quick take off swim skin and iPod, throw on sweats

Hurry onto leopard print three speed beach cruiser, shove afore mentioned iPod and swim skin into basket, pedal 2 blocks home in third gear

Jump off bike, change shoes, and take Butters for brisk walk around the poop loop

Just so you know, I won this event.  I was the only participant who make it through all three event.  There was a pair of mallards in the pool with me, but they bailed out of the event after the water portion.  Butters can’t actually swim, so she only took part in the brisk walk portion.  That makes me the champion people!  I won!   

Anyone who knows me well knows that I can’t stand the thought of running out of something.  Mostly food, and mostly when there’s company about.  I perish the thought of not having enough, which is why I usually have enough for an entire army.  This works out well for almost everyone most of the time, and especially if they’re hungry.

Sadly, this weekend, we ran out of top soil.  All my beautifully laid plans were destroyed.  Soil delivery on Thursday, the plants arrived on Friday, the Bobcat was here by 8AM on Saturday, and the plants were supposed to be in the ground on Sunday.  Alas, no.  There was just enough soil to fill the holes, but not to create any burms. 

The affordable soil place was not open this weekend, and the Bobcat went back to the rental place on Sunday.  We need 10 more yards of soil, and we’re going to have to move it with wheelbarrows.  This project is the gift that just keeps giving.

Check out Mason and Bowman, before we moved the pile:

I’m still finding dirt in Bow’s pockets from this one.

This is what we’ve been working feverishly on over here at Chez Star:

One half of the big freaking hole we dug around the patio.  We dug the hole with an excavator because the soil is so bad here (and it’s a big freaking hole).  We then repaired all the irrigation lines we killed with the excavator and filled the holes with 6 yards of horse poop.  The kids were distressed at this addition, as we had previously convinced them that we were installing a never ending river/koi pond for their summer time floating pleasure.

Last Thursday I had 15 yards of top soil dropped into the driveway.  The dump truck was too big to back across the lawn and dump directly into the hole.  This is what 15 yards of soil looks like in my driveway:

That’s my VW Bug parked behind the pile.  We moved almost all of this pile last weekend, and it didn’t even fill the small hole all the way.  So today I had 30 more yards of soil dumped in my driveway.  People, I’m here to tell you that 30 yards of anything is a lot, especially when it’s in your driveway.

The trees and shrubs will arrive tomorrow, and the Bobcat is showing up at 7AM on Saturday.  Hopefully, by Monday, we at Chez Star will be sitting on the patio surveying the landscaped splendor.  All that’s left after that is to install the drip lines and top it all off with a big fat load of soil aid/bark.  Ahhhhh, the ultimate do it yourself!!