She's An American Girl

The other day I made a total rookie mistake.  You'd almost think I'd never done this mom thing before, that I hadn't learned anything in the last 10 years.

As we pulled into the driveway, I checked the mail.  There, amongst the grocery store circulars, was an American Girl catalog.  And without thinking, I handed it into the backseat to Punkin.  Did you hear that loud scratching sound last Wednesday?  That was the needle of realization scratching across the record of my consciousness. 

What had I done?

Sure enough, before I had even put the car in drive, "Look, Mommy!  There's a doll in here named Punkin! And she has blonde hair just like me! And a pony! And a nightgown! And a sleeping bag!"

And the coup de grace, "I want an American Girl doll, Mommy."  Cha-ching!

Oh Lord.  This, from a girl who has never once played with a doll for more than five minutes.  I don't really care that she doesn't play with dolls.  She comes by it naturally.  The running joke in my family was that within five minutes all my dolls were naked in a box under my bed.  The only time I seriously played with Barbies was when I chopped all the hair off one of them and "punked" her up by using magic markers to streak her hair and apply more makeup.

I actually kind of like the idea of American Girl dolls because of the stories that accompany them.  What I don't like is their price tag or the fact that I know that she wouldn't play with it for five minutes.  I'd rather just get her some books.

Now, where DID that American Girl catalog get to, anyway? 

They're Not the Boss of Me

I'm tired of my appliances telling me what to do.

"Beep beep beep" if I don't attend immediately to whatever the microwave has finished heating. Ninety seconds later "beep beep beep." I'll leave my reheated coffee in there all damn day if I want to.

Also with the beeping is the iron if I leave it too long in one position. Cheesey Pete! Leave me alone! You won't steam otherwise!

And don't even get me started on my coffee maker. It's such a Whiney McWhinerson. "Cleaning Needed" it flashes EVERY DAY. I could clean it every five minutes, make a pot of coffee and it would still say "Cleaning Needed." Needy much?

No, I'm not tired at all. Why do you ask?

Nothing Good Comes Easy.

So, I promised a post about our recent camping trip. It's become sort of an annual event -- our winter camping extravaganza. Winter camping is always a dicey enterprise and we don't even DO hardcore camping. I mean, we sleep in a camper. A pop-up, but still, a camper. Some of you might remember this camping trip -- one of the most miserable in my life, but they've generally gotten better and I actually look forward to them now.

It doesn't look like I wrote about last year's adventures, but we went up to Unicoi State Park and had a great time. We froze our butts off the first night, but the second night we cranked up both heaters and actually slept pretty warmly.

This year we went to Enota campground and our pop up had been upgraded from a soft-side pop up with few amenities to a hard-side pop up with a built in heater! So we fully anticipated an easy set up and sleeping warmly.

Getting a campsite set up is always frought with stress, at least for our family. Mr. Daddy is, um, shall we say, easily stressed, and if things don't go just right (and they seldom do!), voices might be raised. A teeny bit. Getting a camp site set up after dark is a completely different animal. There are a lot more opportunities for things to go awry.

When we pulled into the campsite it was pitch dark -- problem number one. Problem number two? It was about 20 degrees outside. Mr. Daddy pulled the camper past the site, getting ready to back the camper into the space. The space for the camper was very narrow and I was dispatched to the back to help guide Mr. Daddy into the spot. All of a sudden, a car pulls up behind us, shining its lights into our face. We waved it around, but it just stayed there. Lights on. In our faces. Mr. Daddy sat there. I waved at the car again and I'm pretty sure my aggravation could be read in my wave. Dude, GO AROUND. The car didn't move. More aggressive waving. Finally, finally, it went around.

An older gentleman (henceforth known as Helpful Older Gentleman, or HOG) got out and walked over. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was trying to shine my headlights on the spot so that you could see a little better," he said kindly. Oops.

We finally got the camper into the spot, with the "help" of HOG who kept yelling things like "get on top of it" -- whatever that means. Mr. Daddy then pulled out the power cord, plugged it into the power pole, and hit the switch to raise the electric pop up.

Nothing.

He hit the switch again. Nothing except a slight groan as the motor tried to work. Awesome. He flipped the breakers on the power box and tried the switch again. Still nothing. HOG, who was still hanging "helpfully" around, offered to pull his car over and hook it up to the camper battery. Once we hooked it up, the pop up, well, popped up. HOG 2 pts, Us, 0.

The kids and I hurried inside and turned on the heater, which began blowing warm air immediately. Ah, heaven. I also set up the griddle to start cooking some hot dogs since it was way past suppertime for all of us. I grabbed the griddle and plugged into the nearest outlet and turned it on. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Now that just didn't make any sense. The lights were on, the heat was on. Why wasn't the outlet working?

"Babe!" I hollered out the door, "The griddle's not working. And I think the heater's blowing cold air now." And wait, were the lights getting dimmer, too?

Mr. Daddy came in and fiddled with the switch on the griddle. He unplugged it and plugged it back in. "Are you sure you've got it plugged in all the way?" he asked. I just stared at him in disdain, not bothering to dignify that question with answer.

"Look," I said. "The lights are getting dimmer." He reached up and flipped them off and then back on, though they were now on in name only. We looked at each other in the near (freezing) darkness. "See!" I said.

"Oh, it's just the ballasts on the lights," he said. "They have to warm back up." "I don't think we're getting any power from the power pole," I said helpfully. At least in my mind it was said helpfully.

"I'm hungry," whined both kids at once.

Mr. Daddy went back outside and began flipping breakers on the power pole, all the while it was getting darker and colder inside the camper.

In and out, flipping switches, turning the heater on an off. Turning the lights on and off. All of us mystified as to why nothing seemed to be working. By this time, Mr. Daddy and I are both in a state. I'm frustrated, hungry and cold. So is he. In nearly fourteen years of marriage you'd think I'd have learned when to keep my mouth shut, but somehow that just hasn't sunk in yet.

In one of Mr. Daddy's forays into the camper to see if anything was working, I "helpfully" pointed out, yet again, that the heater wasn't working.

That was the straw the broke the proverbial camel's back. "I hope y'all are having fun," he said loudly as he walked back outside, "because this is the LAST TIME we are ever going camping!"

It was quiet for a moment. The Punkin said, in a quiet voice, "Really?"

"No," Bubba said reassuringly. "Sometimes people say things when they're mad that they don't really mean."

Mr. Daddy walked back in. "I don't know what the problem is."

"Let's just go to a hotel for the night," I said. "We can't stay here. It's too cold. We'll get it figured out in the morning." At the mention of hotel, both kids went berserk as staying in a hotel is obviously the coolest thing we could do.

"Let me try one more thing," Mr. Daddy said and he headed back out into the cold, though the inside temp and the outside temp had once again reached equilibrium. As he walked out, I might have said, one more time, "I don't think we're getting any power from the power pole."

Mr. Daddy must have agreed with me because he took the extension cord and ran it across the road to the empty campsite across from us. I wasn't aware of what he was doing, as I was watching my kids eat a healthy supper of potato chips and capri suns in the near darkness in the camper. All of a sudden -- LIGHTS! The kids and I actually cheered.

Mr. Daddy came back in and said "Well, you were right." WHA? Somebody please note this date on a calendar. It turns out we weren't getting any power from the power pole. We ended up having to call the campground's after hours number because by this time it was nearly 9:00. A very nice man came to help us and he and Mr. Daddy poked around out in the dark, switching breakers and futzing around.

Finally, the guy located the problem. The power pole? The one that stood about three feet tall with the large breaker box nailed to the side? That was not the power pole we were supposed to use. No, the correct one, the one that worked, was only about 8 inches high and was literally located at ground level next to the water pump. In the dark it was nearly impossible to find and we being somewhat familiar with the effects of mixing water and electricity, I don't think any of us thought to look for the power panel next to the water pump.

Finally, the lights came on for good. And the heat. At that point I began to laugh. Mr. Daddy looked at me like I'd lost my mind and said "It's not funny!" Oh, but it was. I laughed and laughed and eventually he joined in. Hot dogs were cooked and consumed. A beer or two was had. As we snuggled down under the covers and prepared to go to sleep, Punkin piped up, "Will we ever go camping again, Daddy?"

"Yes," he admitted grudgingly, "but you can bet we're getting this night for free!"

Keep Your Politics out of My Social Justice

Warning: This post has some religion in it, but don't be skeered. I'm not a judgmental Christian.

The Bible warns Christians about not bragging about their good works. It even goes so far as to tell you not to let your right hand know what your left is doing, so I hesitate to write about this. But it's on my mind so I'm going ahead.

I also hesitate to write about this because it's going to be somewhat political and I usually do not discuss politics unless I'm almost 100% certain that the person I'm talking to has identical or similar views. However, something happened recently that really made my blood boil and I also find that I'm becoming more and more comfortable stating what I believe. If it makes someone else mad, well, then, that's THEIR problem.

My Sunday school class has recently begun a Food to Kids program with the elementary school my son attends. There are some children in his school who do not have food to eat on the weekends, and frankly, that just breaks my heart. I can't imagine what the lives of those children must be like, but there is no reason that children in the United States of America, children in my own community, should go hungry.

Now there are some people out there who would scream that it's not my job to make sure those kids eat. What are their parents doing? Are they working? If not, are they even trying to get a job? You know what? I don't care what their parents are doing. I mean, yes, I hope that they are trying to work, trying to support their families. But ultimately, what matters to me are those children. They can't help it if their parents are in an unfortunate situation. They are the innocents. They have no control over what happens to them.

Conservative talk show host Glenn Beck recently made headlines (and isn't that really all he's trying to do?) when he said that if your church preaches social justice that that's really just another a code word for Nazism and communism. Really, Glenn? Really?

Because see, the Bible says that Jesus said:

"For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me."

"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' (Matthew 25:35-40)

I didn't see anything in that passage that mentioned communism or Nazism. In fact, I didn't see anything regarding politics at all. All I saw was about showing kindness to those in need.

Hell, even if you're not a Christian, putting some good out in the world can only help, right?

A couple of weeks ago, I went to a parent breakfast with Bubba. As part of the program, we played a game using some practice questions for the upcoming standardized test they're going to have to take. Some of the kids' parents weren't able to attend, so the teachers asked the parents who were there to help out. There was a little girl at our table that I helped who broke my heart. Her hands and her face were dirty. Her hair wasn't combed. Her clothes weren't clean. I can't get that little girl out of my mind. So tell me Glenn Beck, am I a bad person because I want to help her?

The Radio Knows!!

Hellooooo.... Anybody out there?

Tap, tap, tap. Is this thing on?

I have a theory I'd like to postulate. How often a radio station plays your favorite song is inversely proportional to how much you'd like to hear it. However, my companion theory is that songs you hate will be played on a nonstop loop. Yes Single Ladies, What About Now and Kristy, Are you Doing Okay, I'm talking to YOU.

And for those of without iPods (or even a generic mp3 player), this can be maddening. I recently fell in love with a song. This song, to be exact (I'd embed the video but I can't). I didn't listen to it for ages because, to be honest, I doubted I would like a song by a band named The Airborne Toxic Event. It sounded too...toxic. But then I listened to the song and I was hooked. And guess what? Now they NEVER play it.

And then just two days ago I heard a new song by Manchester Orchestra that was touted as the newest of the new. So I listened. And I liked it. Have I heard it since? No, no I haven't. In case you want to hear it, it's here. Also, I just found out they're from Atlanta. I also just found that their album doesn't drop until the 21st, so maybe I'll hear the song more in the coming weeks. Kewl, as Punkin would say.

Do you have any theories, conspiracy or otherwise, that you've come up with? Share.

You've Gotta Be Kidding Me

I'm starting a new series for this blog called "You Gotta Be Kidding Me" in which I'm going to post things that I stumble upon that are just plain weird or strain my credulity. Today I offer you this:

(image courtesy of dlisted)

What the hell, Nikki Cox? Do you honestly think those lips look good?

As I told a coworker yesterday, these lips leave me speechless. They probably leave Nikki Cox speechless too, because seriously, how do you talk with those things?