Bob, can you cue the "Hallelujah Chorus" please?

Guess who is providing electric only for themselves again???? That's right. As the three electrical trucks pulled away from the front of the house this afternoon, I looked out the window to find the power cord back on my driveway. No "thank you very much, we are done building our house with your power" or anything.

Having received a lecture from my mother on setting boundaries (something I found completely impossible because frankly, who is going to anticipate that when the neighbor asks for an electrical cord to run a couple of lamps, they are then going to jackhammer the brick off the front of the house? I can't be the only person who didn't see that coming), I will be sure to draft a contract the next time someone asks for a similar favor. But her point was well taken (and as always, her heart was in the right place).

It's amazing how leaving the house for the better part of the day when it is 45 degrees and the contractor being forced to get a generator TWO DAYS IN A ROW directly corresponds with the electrician showing up (after 3 weeks). So long to that co-dependent relationship.

I will miss those days of heading down to the pitch black basement with only a match light to guide me (since I can't find one friggin' flashlight even though we must have a THOUSAND in this house and who would think to light one of the 8 million candles I have in every nook and cranny). I will miss the power going out as I vacuumed, when I was TiVo-ing the Charlie Brown Halloween show so Boo could have his first Charlie Brown experience (who really watches the middle 14 minutes of a 30 minute show anyway?), and having to leave all the lights on in the basement.

I still think they should have mowed my lawn for me as thanks. Now that would have made it all worthwhile.

How manly is manly?

I went shopping today and brought home two very important items. The first being the Mac lashes that I will apply with super glue to my eyelids when I am in the wedding with the five anorexics in two weeks (in hopes that my #4's will draw attention away from the fact that I am the only person over 100 pounds in this wedding). I think that between the lashes and the low-cut clothing, my diversion will be complete and effective.

The second important item was the red and green plaid flannel shirt for the Boo to wear for his Christmas picture. What I did not anticipate was his father's reaction.

K: Isn't this the cutest little shirt?
D: Yeah, it's alright (full well knowing that 'alright' is the equivalent to the 'you don't look too fat in that outfit').
K: Alright? What does that mean?
D: Well......................it's not like it is the most masculine shirt.
K: Masculine? The kid is 8 months old. It's a flannel shapeless shirt. What would make it masculine? If it was rust colored and had motor oil stains on the front of it, would that make it masculine? How about beer stains?
D: Well, don't get upset. I'm just saying that you are wanting me to say it's the greatest shirt I have ever seen, and I'm not going to say that because it's not.
K: Kind of like when you said the Sesame Crusted Tuna Medallions with Ponzu sauce I made last night weren't "the greatest tuna that I ever had but it isn't that bad" comment? Let me tell you something, mister. I went to the rack with the UGLIEST clothes on it and looked for the shirt that would match YOUR CLOTHES. I figured that in every single picture of you from the age of 7 to 20 you are wearing some DAMN FLANNEL SHIRT that perhaps you would be proud to have your own personal "Mini Me." Even though they came to mind, I kept my fantasies of the Boo wearing a pretentious, and frankly downright ostentatious red Polo SWEATER VEST to myself. You know what his friend is wearing in his Christmas picture????? It's a tossup between the red jacket with POOH in 72 font across it and a big fat HONEY POT or a red and grey argyle sweater vest. I bring home the Lumberjack Christmas Flannel Shirt and you are pissy.
D: So.....do you wanna go to bed?
K: Ah, not just no but HELL NO.

I am so going out tomorrow and buying the Boo the PeaPod Halloween outfit. You want to see unmasculine......

Mean things your professor might be saying behind your back to his wife

"Fred is like a squirrel trying to run across the highway. He is going everywhere except where he is supposed to be. Just go straight across the road. It's not that difficult."

Enough with this, Goldilocks

Last night I was too cold to put the baby back in his bed in the middle of the night and God forbid his father do it. The child then proceeded to cry and whine all night long. It's OK, cause sleep is SO overrated.

We were crowding him.
He couldn't get close enough.
He was too hot.
He was too cold.
His feet got tangled in the covers.
He wanted to sleep with his head on my pillow--his BIG FAT HEAD on my pillow.
He wanted me off what was now HIS pillow.
He wanted to stand up.
He was too tired to lay back down.
I had the gall to turn my back to him.
I was bugging him by facing him.
He didn't want to go to sleep.
He didn't want to wake up.

I need the Give-the-Gypsies-A-Baby hotline number. Anyone got it?

You can't make this up

The guy taking the picture of his kids picking out a pumpkin at FRESH FIELDS supermarket.

"Come on, Connor. Give me a smile and look at the camera."

I'm wondering if their Christmas picture is taken in front of the tree at Nordstrom's.

My father's breaking point

So let's be honest. My parents have see A LOT of hurricanes. In fact, they weathered the granddaddy of them all, Andrew. They managed to be one of the few ones in the neighborhood that had what constituted a functioning roof--one that could be lived under with the benefit of a couple of tarps.

Wilma came and went, mercifully leaving lots to clean up but not much major damage to their house. I guess the play producer, the dancer and the singer did a pretty good job when they put the new roof on the house after Andrew.

But Wilma left them powerless. Rumor has it that the power will take 4 weeks to come back on. After Andrew, it took 6 weeks to come back. In the blazing heat of August and September, they sweat it out. The neighbors all bought colossal generators, but my parents stood strong.

So I was surprised to find that my father had gone out this morning and bought a generator. When I asked him about it, he said that he was out last night, sitting on the back patio, smoking cigarettes and drinking his iced tea. He watched the lights go on, one by one, in the rear neighbor's house. The kitchen, the bathroom, the living room. As he sat in the dark, he had Monday Night Football envy.

Then the Christmas lights on the shed came on. That's when my father lost it.

So I know it's a stage and he'll be moving on to another, equally awful one

special thanks to Marelle, who bolstered me with cheerful words about how it really might get worse before it gets better (as her children were screaming maniacally in the background, so much that she had to yell the words at the moments they gasped for breath, the little monsters)

I'll send your favorite saying right back to you...

In the words of Jack Nicholson:

"I'm drowning here. And you're describing the water!"