When you pick up your mom’s cell phone that she’s left with you in the car, and decide it would be fun to play a video game whilst waiting for said mom, so you connect to the internet and play for 10 minutes until your mom returns,  and when your mom returns and  tells you that she doesn’t actually have web service on her phone, you flippantly say it’s “no big deal”  and you’ll just pay for it when the bill come.

Want to know why it bites?

The bill came yesterday and Mason owes me $87.52.  And I don’t care who you are, no video game is worth $8.75 per minute.

Here, let me show you…

SINCE IT’S

VALENTINE’S DAY

AND I BOUGHT YOU

THIS REALLY

ROMANTIC CARD

EXPRESSING

MY LOVE FEELINGS,

YOU PROBABLY WANT

TO MAKE OUT

WITH ME.

(and then you open it up and it says)

OKAY.

That, people, is my idea of an awesome Valentine remembrance.

Upon mutual agreement, Davie-O and I don’t do V-day.

HOWEVER!  I think that after Halloween, it’s one of my favorite things to celebrate with my kids.  Why?  Because I get to give them little something-somethings, and it’s a tradition.  I always leave their gifts lined up on the table before I go to bed the night before V-day, and when they get up they’re welcome to rip into they shiny red gifts.  It thrills them, to be included exclusively  (Davie-O doesn’t get a gift) in an event that seems so grown up to them. 

I heard two of the kids talking yesterday, wonder what I was going to get them this year.  It’s sort like wondering what you’re going to get for your birthday, only you know it’s going to either be pajamas or silly underwear. 

Mason came home from school yesterday, and when asked how his day was he answered “bipolar”.  His explanation:

“Well, I got to school, and I was having a good day.  Then they started handing Ram-O-Grams (Valentine grams that the kids could buy for 50 cents), and I worried that I wasn’t going to get one,  and I felt down.  But then Mr. Apple said “Mason, come up and get your Ram-O-Gram”, and I felt up.  Then I sat down, and opened it and felt a little down, because all it said on the inside was “nerd!”.  BUT THEN, I realized it looked like it was written by a girl, and I  was up again.  All in all, a great day in the end.”

Bowman brought me a poem he had written just for me, which reduced me to tears.  You try to not cry while reading a poem where the first line says “My  mom is a red haired jubilant shiny bright pearl”.  Seriously.  I’m tearing up right now because it’s just so damn sweet.

Isabelle brought home one of those ginormous chocolate kisses that was given to her by a boy in her class who has such a big crush on her that he can’t even talk to her.  But he begged his mom to be allowed to spend his own money to buy the gift, and walked up to her after school, shoved it over to her, and ran away.  AHHHH, 4th grade friendships. 

And then there’s Cutter. Unbeknownst to me, he took $3 to school and ordered 3 red carnations for Olivia.  He has known her since the third grade, when she befriended him and they’ve been two quiet, kindhearted peas in a pod ever since.  Olivia doesn’t go to Cutter’s school, so he had the flowers delivered to himself, each with a note that said “this flower is for Olivia”.  He spent his own money to buy her three tiny spools of ribbon, because “she loves to make things”, and got her some chocolate as well.  Seriously, how thoughtful is that?

When he delivered Olivia’s gift, she gave him an envelope.  It contained a card that she had made just for him and on the inside it said “you are a good friend”.  He was so happy that he smiled all night.

So, all you (Mrs.. All) who think I’m a total holiday curmudgeon…..here’s proof that my heart is not made of stone after all.

I learned a very interesting factoid yesterday.  It was new to me, and very enlightening.  So much so that I feel compelled to pass it on to you.

Ready?

I learned that  IF an eight year old boy were so inclined as to clean up a spilled bowl of Cheerios and milk with the hand held vacuum, AND said vacuum was then put away for approximately a week, THEN when vacuum is turned back on the stench which is forcefully blown out the back and directly into your face is rather overpowering.

How overpowering?

Well. Strong enough to make a person vomit, right where they were standing and without warning, before even having a chance to switch off the vacuum.

Something new, every day, here at Chez Star.

Ask me how many times in the last six weeks I’ve needed to use the replacement policy, and keep in mind only the three boys wear glasses.

Well……

The FIRST time, Bowman came home from school with busted frames after a tether ball to the face.

The SECOND time, Bowman came home with really, really bent frames after a basketball to the face, and I broke them trying to bend them back.

The THIRD time, Cutter bent his frames while adjusting his ski goggles.  I heard “Uh oh” from the back seat of the car when he broke the hinge off while trying to bend them back.

The FOURTH time was three days after the third time, when Cutter’s new frames miraculously and mysteriously “just broke” while he was “just sitting” on the bus.

The FIFTH replacement came yesterday, when Mason arrived home from school, where he had tripped and broken the nose piece off the frames when the glasses slid off and landed under his hand when he caught himself.

So there.  Five new pair of kid glasses in the past six weeks.  This has led to a new rule here at Chez Star.  Mom will buy your new glasses every year before school starts.  She will pay to replace them ONE time.  After that, you’re on your own.  Oh, and because of the whole three day thing, I’m also charging them for gas.

I have been looking at these houses for years.  Years.  And if ANYTHING every embodied the saying “just because you have money doesn’t mean you have taste”, it’s these two houses.

One is a Mediterranean monstrosity that looks for all the world like it was designed by the same guy that did Caesar’s Palace, only he did this work after dropping a bunch of acid.  Everyone in the ‘hood refers to this house as “the Hotel”. The Hotel looks across the gulch at a house which everyone calls “the Hospital”.

Both of these properties have had a colorful past.  The Hospital built and inhabited by a builder and his family,a  nasty divorce ensued, the horse barn was vacated, and the Hospital eventually went back to the bank.  It has been empty for the better part of a year, in which time all vegetation has died and fallen over.  The Hotel was built as a spec house, and near it’s completion a whole bunch of stuff was done for a prospective buyer.  Of course, that buyer bailed, and the house sat empty, while all the palm trees (oh yeah, palm trees in Idaho, cause they go with the house) died.  Someone briefly moved in, the palm trees were replace, and then the house was vacated.  It, of course, sat empty long enough for the palm trees to die again.  New tenants moved in, the palm trees were replaced, a woman was struck by lightning in the driveway, and eventually  the house got repoed.

Happily, the third set of palm trees seem to have taken.

Recently, both properties have gotten new owners.  One of the things these new owners like to do is to turn on all their outdoor up-lighting at night.

To which I say:  SERIOUSLY?

As if we ALL haven’t see your houses for the past 5 years.  As if we weren’t well aware of your ostentatiousness during the day, but must be alerted to it at night as well.  Last time I drove by, I was able to count 17 lights illuminating 2 sides of the Hospital.  Why, WHY? I ask, do you need to light up the entire outside perimeter of your house when it’s snowing and you’re inside of it?

My theory?  It’s either a battle to prove whose house is gaudier, or they’re sending secret messages to each other through their up lighting.

What upset him the most, however, was the fact that I didn’t let everyone know that he did, indeed, pull up his manties and attend the concert with me.  I am here to set the record straight:  Dave attended a social event without a gun to his head or an electronic device in hand.  Sadly, the Reverend Peyton and the entire Big Damn Band broke down in Jerome, depriving us of his music, his wife and her washboard, and leaving us with only the opening band.

Upon returning from Las Vegas, my geek announced that he had made a decision.  This sort of announcement is almost never a good thing.  It usually culminates with things like the geek eating everything with chopsticks, walking around in his underwear, or napping in his motorcycle helmet. 

The big decision?

Response will no longer be elicited when references are made to the office, the Dave Cave or the man cave.

Yep.  The man cave has officially jumped the shark.

But, take heart all you men with special places that belong only to you.  This is the dawning of a new golden age; it is now the era of the Man Bunker.

Anyway.  Off I went to Office Depot, to once again be astounded at the highway robbery that is day planner inserts.  I blame Franklin Covey for the phenomenon, but that is neither here nor there.  I’m not highly effective, I don’t have 7 habits, and I don’t use F.C. stuff, yet it still cost $26 for my calendar insert.

Or it would have, had I not had a “spend at least $20 and get $10 off” coupon.

And I was pleased.

Today I went to Wal-Mart, which I loathe, to buy cleaning supplies, tooth paste, Tampax and Ziplocs.  I was armed with Sunday circular coupons.  Along with scoring a free box of tampons, I also saved $12.75.  AND the best part?  I didn’t buy anything that I don’t normally buy and that I didn’t absolutely need.

So to recap:  that’s $22.75 saved in 24 hours, PLUS a free box of Tampax.

As I was pulling out of the Wal-Mart parking lot, which is a total goat fu*k of epic proportions and appears to have been designed by 4th grade boys at engineer-for-a-day camp, I saw something that actually made me stare.  Had I not been actively and vigorously chawing on my gum, I’m pretty sure  my mouth would have been hanging open.

Walking  across the parking lot were two blue hairs.  They were dressed exactly alike, with their white elastic waist pants, quilted aqua jackets and spiffy white tennis shoes.  This was not an accident people.  This was not meeting your BFF at a party, only to find you both wore the same Forever 21 sparkly pink tank top that makes your rack look fabulous.  Nope, this was planned.  Do you think they were twins?  I did too, until they got close enough for me to see their faces, and I realized it was a mother/daughter duo.  And the daughter was 65 if she was a day.

And that?  Is even creepier than grown adult twins who dress alike.  Adults?  Turns out they shouldn’t do that.  Just don’t.  No.

From there, I went to Winco.  Because we eat food here at Chez Star, and we had completely run out of the things that make my children happy, and were almost out the the stuff that makes me look like a decent parent.  First stop is always produce.  There, rifling through the oranges, I saw the most awesome thing I’ve seen in the grocery  store in the last year.

A very lovely Muslim woman, wearing a rather pretty purple head scarf.  The scarf was pulled tight around her face, so no hair was showing, and fastened under her chin.  She had her cell phone firmly tucking into the head scarf, enabling her to talk on the phone while engaging both hands in her produce shopping experience.  It.  Was.  Awesome.

That reference came from my post regarding wrapping myself in saran and duct tape to make a body form for alterations.

I sincerely hope they weren’t disappointed with what they found.

Wonder what they were actually looking for…..

At the beginning of December, it came to light that one of my lovely, charming (apparently functionally retarded) boys decided it would be a good idea to use his pocket knife to carve large, satisfying chunks out of both the banisters and some of the other woodwork in the stairwell.   I’m pretty sure we won’t be able to fix the banisters, and fixing the woodwork calls for Bondo, sanding and repainting.  If you are imagining that I was not pleased, you are correct

Three weeks after that, I noticed all these weird notches in the door jam in the kitchen.  Closer inspection revealed the notches to be made by a blade of some sort.  Solving the mystery was not difficult:  the door jam is about 12 inches away from the knife block, and there was only one kid who had emptied the dishwasher the entire month of December.  Again, I was not pleased.

To my greater displeasure, it turned out to be a different kid than the child responsible for the banister debacle.

This morning I was cleaning the bathroom that is most frequented by the male types of my household.  As I was scrubbing the inevitable pee off the floor around the toilet, I discovered that, yes indeed, someone had peed in the air vent.

At which point I marveled that my life has come to this.

And then I wondered if stuff like this happens to other people, and they just don’t talk about it, or if I’m really as alone as I feel.

Did I wait for the kids to come home and clean the air vent?  Hell no.  Because A) no one in their right mind is ‘fessing up to that and B)  whoever got stuck cleaning it up would do a shit job that I’d have to come back and redo once they either went to bed or to school.  So I just did it myself.

When I finished that lovely little chore, I leaned over to get the chewed gum that had missed the garbage can and dried onto the tile.  That was when I discovered the straw (read “carving”) that will break the camel’s (read “my”) back.

And now I find myself gearing up for the following conversation:

“Who carved the perfectly symmetrical star into wall next to the toilet?”

I.  Am.  Not.  Pleased.