Thinks By Me

I'm feeling kind of dizzy right about now, the same way you feel when you've been playing Ring-around-the-Roses with a toddler. I looked outside in our driveway and found this strange truck parked next to my van. I'll ease your fears right away; I haven't taken up with the mailman, the FedEx guy or the pool boy. A lady brings our mail, Max is the one who tries to ride home with the FedEx guy and I pretty much play the role of pool boy around here. The strange truck apparently belongs at our house now. The kicker is that the truck John traded in for this one was officially mine - on paper anyway (something or other about lower insurance). On Saturday morning, we had a discussion about replacing the truck that I generously allow John to drive sometime this summer. We alternate vehicle purchases between the two of us, and John is next in line to acquire a new vehicle. Since John is quite the planner when it comes to large purchases, he eagerly began to scan the news

This morning the Easter Bunny was so excited to be finished with its shopping for Easter baskets....well, all except the few tidbits of candy that will be added to the toys and games. Now it's suppertime, and the Easter Bunny has to plan another outing to replenish its supply. One last trip is necessary because the meowing stuffed cat that was planned for Caroline's Easter basket will now be placed under Caroline's pillow compliments of the Tooth Fairy. It's nice that they borrow from each other that way, isn't it. What a spirit of cooperation between that Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy--they are such a pair! I tried to explain that since it is dark in some parts of the world already, the Tooth Fairy has surely started her journey toward our house, so she probably already has Caroline's gift in tow (and it probably is not a stuffed kitten). That's why Caroline started her note nicely asking "if you have it".

I knew I shouldn't be feeling so smug after taking 2 haircuts of Eric's into my own hands. By the admission of marathon Karen (who was a hairdresser in a past life), Eric has a difficult head of hair. It is difficult to cut and look good-no matter what style you choose. She was doing me a huge favor by squeezing Eric into her schedule for haircuts and his hair never looked better. It all just got too complicated trying to juggle meeting up (Eric is at school while we eat lunch at Nick's each day, so that won't work) thus the reason I took to learning to cut hair myself. The problem is, I began feeling like I knew what I was doing because his hair started looking kind of decent once I wet it down and plastered it with White Rain in the mornings. So I upped the ante and spied the ear taper attachments to my clippers. I thought those would be so much easier to use around the ears. NOT. They failed to include in the instructions that taper means "scalp" in

The best-laid intentions sometimes go awry. In the attempt to prove to myself that I can, indeed, wean off (well, cold-turkey really) half-n-half in exchange for the fat-free stuff, I've put myself into a tailspin. The first day wasn't too bad really. I choked down a couple of cups noting the foul taste but putting up with it. Since it was Friday, I had my weekly Starbucks latte and felt like a new woman. Saturday was a bit more difficult, but I was busy getting ready for dinner guests, so after the first cup, I didn't really have time to think about having a second. Sunday went pretty smoothly as well, even though I left my full coffee mug in the car during Sunday School (a first for me). I wasn't really enjoying the taste so I decided to not finish it. An afternoon nap distracted me for the remainder of the day and I really didn't need to suffer through another icky cup to get the caffeine. Today, though, instead of my usual two large travel mugs before ki

Caroline has been carefully planning her singing debut at school for the last year. Her school has a Talent Show and last school year she opted to perform a karate kata, and quickly regretted the decision because she wished she had sung instead. She was enthralled with a couple other little girls who sung and received flowers from their family "fans" after the show and she was disappointed that she hadn't received any. So starting right after last year's show, she began going through her Disney Jamz and Kids Bop CDs, rehearsing every song, memorizing all the lyrics of each one so that she would have ample choices when the day came to declare her selection. The entry form came home a month ago, and although she's had all year, she took too long to make her song choice. The morning the form was due, I suggested she pull out the CD of "Amazing Grace" that she had just performed at church. She agreed, and all was set. After two rehearsals, the performa

I am not one who denies my problems. I readily admit when I have weaknesses and it's confession time. Most of you know I am gripped with addiction to coffee. That isn't actually the real problem though since the caffeine doesn't bother me and coffee has zero calories. The issue is that I must, must, must have half-n-half to go in it. I have tried everything to change this preference, trying fat-free half-n-half, skim milk, 1%, 2% and whole milk, powdered creamer, even the creme brulee' coffee mate, plain coffee mate, and everything in between and outside those lines. No matter what I've tried, in any amount, nothing even remotely suffices. I prefer to go with no coffee rather than put something other than half-n-half in it. I have gone to great lengths at times to acquire half-n-half, even sending John out or going myself at midnight so I'd have it the next morning. So it was with dismay that I actually observed myself buy a 32 oz container (that's

Ever since Junior High, I have had an obsession with hands. I remember discovering this one day when somehow I realized that I could picture the hands of every single person that I knew. I had a friend test the theory by calling out name by name, and sure enough, I was able to picture in my mind's eye exactly what the person's hands looked like. Not the eyes, not the hair, but the fingers, all the way down to the fingernails and cuticles. Weird, I know, but I sort of hopped right on that obsession and began buying nail files, and then clippers, and then polish, and then buffers, and then ridge filler, and then ridge smoother, and then cuticle nippers and cuticle dissolvers and on and on. It fit right into my habit of snatching up gadgets, any item marked "new" on the shelf and whatever could be remotely attached to a commerical. Over time, I didn't think much about my growing collection until I would pull out my "toolbox" complete with the Craftsma

I've mentioned our Jack Russell Terrier, Max, in previous posts. What I didn't mention is that in the lineup of the "pack", she definitely sees herself first in line after John and me. To her, the kids, although larger than her, are a total bother and take up way too much of our attention. When John gets after her, she trembles in fright and pees on the floor. When I fuss at her, she looks a little sad and quickly obeys. When one of the kids tries to direct her, she ignores them until they force her, and then she yips at them to say "You're not the boss of me". One of the cardinal rules we "enforce" at our house is no dogs on the bed (note the picture--that's a bed). John detests dog hair, especially on his PJs and Eric has mild allergies, so we just don't allow her to sleep with us. She regularly tests this rule, but when she hears John's footsteps, she hops off the bed and gets busy with something else all innocent-like. W

Saturdays are weird days. They are different for everyone. For some, it is catch-up day; a day to get the laundry and housecleaning done after a week of working outside the house. For others, it is a day to do nothing; a day to relax and re-energize before the craziness of Sunday with church and family. Still for others, it is a day for projects, errands, appointments and other things we have put off until the weekend. For our family, Saturday is not the same for any one of us. For John, it is a day of yard work, odd jobs, and usually some type of fire department responsibility, either training or planning. For me, it is a day to chill out after a busy week and before the flurry of activity that Sunday brings. For Eric, nothing suits him better than to stay in his jammies absolutely all day and go nowhere except the back yard to play, when he is good and ready. For Caroline, it's a day she likes to drag all her little projects out to the middle of the floor, to stitch and

John was seriously deprived as a child in that he did not have any pets growing up. None. Nada. Zero. Since we have been dating, we've had a cockatiel (that he bought me for Christmas before we were married), two finches (after the cockatiel escaped), a miniature pinscher, two guinea pigs (Sam and Peter) a Jack Russell terrier (after the min-pin was hit by a car) a cat (who won't pee on the toilet) and two baby turtles. I grew up with lots of pets, so I gladly accept any and all new additions to our family when they come. And then I regret it. So it goes with these two amphibians. Our son, Eric, adores turtles. They are without a doubt his favorite animal. I searched high and low for a baby turtle in NY only to find out that in NY, it is illegal to purchase a turtle until it is six inches across the shell (unless you are a teacher). So last summer on a father-son trip to FL, John and Eric adopted two baby turtles that cousin Jessica Hendershot had caught. They broug

I can't believe I actually forgot what was going to be Tip #1 for Sally Anne's boutique in yesterday's post. It is this: You should absolutely refrain from introducing your children to a thrift shop until they are old enough to be interested in looking at used clothing. All thrift shops have toy sections, and your kid(s) will find it immediately. They will come to you with gem in hand, a castoff, broken-down, dirty toy that some other mother has instructed her own children to "pass on to the less fortunate children who don't have as many toys". If your children are with you, that prize will go into your cart (they actually do have shopping carts in such places) and the junk piece will go home with you. Not only that, it will be your child's favorite treasure for the next week and it will go everywhere with them. When asked where they got it, they will proudly exclaim "My mom bought it for me at the Salvation Army"!

I have a secret that I don't share very often. I am a label snob. I have always liked brand-name clothing and for quite a bit of my adult life, I indulged. But 10 years ago, I found myself deciding to quit my full time job and stay home with my baby, and I became poor for a while. So my ingrained habit of buying 2 or 3 suits at Casual Corner then hitting Kauffman's for the next sale on Liz Claiborne had to be curbed. Eventually my craving got the best of me, and I was dragged by a friend into a place I would generally turn up my nose to. Once I gave it a chance, I found out that the Salvation Army is a wonderful place. I have another friend who accompanied once and she loved the experience, but admitting she shopped there was a bit too much for her, so she dubbed it "Sally Anne's" (the initials S.A.) After my first trip, I was hooked. I had found where all the people like me take their clothes. There are original owners who get too fat or too skinny for

I realize that I have just stooped to a new level of pathetic. But I'm really liking it down here--it makes me happy. I've always been a sucker for "gadgets", unusual finds, and I watch with drooling tongue anything new that comes on an infomercial, especially if it has to do with fitness, beauty or make-your-life easier. When we got our cat 2 summers ago, I toyed with an idea I found on the internet--toilet training your cat. The process was long, involved and not guaranteed to work, and since our cat took right to the litter box, I decided not to bother. And THEN, while getting turtle food at Pet Depot, this little jewel practically jumped off the shelf into my hands. It is the Kitty Whiz, a little device for the bargain price of $12.95 that will practically perform the toilet training for you. You basically fit the plastic shield over the toilet, pour kitty litter into the closed-in bottom and the cat will magically want to use the toilet just like his human

The monster on the left (the one with its ladder reaching out to show off) is the newest addition to our extended family. I can't begin to describe the glee that entered the Olsen household on Friday afternoon when this new truck was delivered to the fire house. It brought John out of work several hours early armed with my digital camera to capture the glory. According to "dad" the light wasn't quite right Friday afternoon to show the truck in its best form, so we had to wait until Saturday to get this picture. Investigating all the thrilling features of this new machine took my kids (all 3 of them) from 6pm Friday night until approximately 11pm. There was still more to see, so John left the house at 7am on Saturday morning and returned home about 6:30pm Saturday night. I only got antsy when ye ole ladder truck just about threatened my coffee/dessert date with John. He came home just as the babysitter arrived, but he had a tough time hiding the fact that he was

There is nothing like a night of freedom with 30-something moms to make the girl-thing come out. For a few months, the group of girls I kickbox with have been getting together on the 2nd Friday of the month for a little socializing. Prior to this, we knew one another simply from a one-hour class three times a week, with not a lot of time left to get to know the personal side. We remedied that with instituting our monthly dinner out, and what a solution it has proven to be. We have become very familiar with one another, to the point that last night we wondered if some of the other patrons wished we'd asked for a private party room. At the end of dinner we realized all our kids would still be awake and nobody was ready for that. We extended the hours away by having dessert at the coffeehouse down the street and at that point the raucous laughter was just getting primed. We finished the night at Paij's house and left wondering how Trea (her 5 yr-old guy) hadn't been wak

I'm losing control. And the problem with that is I'm really not all that upset about it. The little rascal, shown here "sunning" herself in my warm clothes dryer, is taking over the house. The problem is that I'm letting her. It really doesn't bother me that much but it is a serious problem for the adult male species that shares the house with us. Last night as I peeked my head out the sliding glass door to say goodbye to John as he was leaving for an EMT class, Bobcat skitted past my legs and hauled butt outside. She has always been obsessed with going outside, but since we live on such a busy road, we've forced her to be an indoor cat. I realize this is not natural, but our neighbors have been through about seven cats to our one, so being the doting grandmother that I am to this one, I have become very protective. Her favorite escape place is under our front porch. It is the type that has a 3-foot crawl space under it, so there is just enough roo

I was hijacked yesterday. Not my person, not my car, but my computer. It was someone I knew. That's why it hurt so much. The hijacker was John. John has his own computer. Several of them in fact. One sits directly behind mine. It even has its own computer desk and chair. He has a laptop that he can use from work. And another laptop he can use from the fire department. Hey, he can even go over the hill to the fire department and find a couple more, but he insists on using mine. Mine is nothing special. It was a $400 Walmart deal, but it is free of computer games and all the other bogger-down stuff that John's computer has on it. And it is several years newer. Mine also has an ergonomic keyboard that he hates, but he persists in trying to take it over anyway. This is a problem to me because the first thing I do after my kids are out of the house (after I read my Bible) is to check my email. When I get out of the shower, I check it again. So it goes every hour o

I'm not sure if it is a male thing or whether it is just an Olsen thing, but reverse psychology is something that the boys in our household regularly fall victim to. Do I really have to call it manipulation? That sounds so much uglier! The story goes like this. John surprised us by coming home early from work Monday afternoon. He had been bugging me to get the ingredients for a favorite stir-fry he likes to cook, so I suggested that I'd be happy to make dinner but I wouldn't feel bad if he'd rather do it "since he is so much better at it". John needs little encouragement to hop into the limelight so he got right down to business. Upon hearing about the unusual event of Dad cooking, Eric came in to peer about the kitchen. I had decided to play sous chef to get ahead of the mess that always follows John's concoctions, so I laid out the necessary red onion, green and red pepper and pretty much every spice I own since John likes to experiment. As Eric w

Friendships are beautiful things. The problem is that by middle school age and pretty much from then on, even the best of friendships are riddled with a certain amount of concern over what the other person in the duo thinks of you. The bliss of friendships before this stage just can't be compared to anything else, especially when it comes to little boys. Eric has a friend at school named Isaac. By visual standards, you really can't find two people more different. Isaac is my size, at least 5'3, probably 120 pounds or more, looking like a small adult, or at least much more than his 10 years. Eric is on the smaller size, short, thin, maybe not looking quite his age of 10. But believe me when I say that their behavior is right on que with one another--by watching them interact, you can totally tell they are both 10!. It is sweet to see little guys enjoy one another before the age of toughness has arrived. They giggle, laugh, act totally goofy and think the other is all

It was with fear and trepidation that my morning began--school was cancelled because of an impending ice storm AND I only had enough cream to have one mug of coffee. However, about 10:30 am, we got built-in, delivered-to-our-doorstep entertainment. We had a knock at the door, and a frightened young woman was standing at our doorstep asking to use our phone. She had been heading to work and as she came down our steep hill, her car slid off the road, wiping out our mailbox (which has been replaced over and over because of the same thing) and running into a tree in our front yard. The road is usually well-plowed, but on no-school days the snowplow doesn't make its usual number of runs, thus the road was slick. As soon as we assessed that the girl was pretty much okay, Eric and Caroline donned their snowgear faster than lightening to go inspect the damage and wait for the emergecy crew to arrive. Max (yeah, the same dog that was limping around just yesterday) accompanied them, som

This one is getting to be a pain in the neck-neck. Tuesday night around dinnertime, I realized she was hobbling around on three legs. She refused to put her back left leg down, which means she can't scratch on the door to go in or out, she can't jump, and that is really a problem for this hyperactive, totally nutso canine. We weren't sure whether she had hurt herself inside or out since she comes and goes a thousand times an hour. We can never even remember who let her in or out last since we all do it so much. We were hoping that after a night of being still, with 12 hours of not greeting guests, not chasing rabid racoons or smelly skunks and not eating field mice, her leg might rest enough to feel better in the morning. Not so. She was still limping around and the one time I coaxed her to jump on the bed, she yelped out. So off to the vet we went (the same one where we lost our cat in the dropped ceiling). Going to the vet happens to be Max's absolute favorite