Buddy & Buddy

A dinnertime jingle for Buddy

Buddy doesn’t like cats, bats or rats.

He doesn’t like delivery men with hats.

He likes meats, treats and sweets

And smelly things, like summertime feet.

He can be a gross dog but we love him so

We will really miss him when it’s his time to go.

Big Monkey started that jingle and then I finished it.  I share it here because we were looking for a birthday gift for a friend when we came across this string doll that looks a lot like Buddy—and its name is Buddy!  I have to figure out where it’ll go—because I’m not one for a big wad of key chains and tchotchkes but this one is sure cute:

We bought it at Frances Vintage http://www.francesvintage.com/, in case you're interested.  I'll add it to the one from http://www.curlygirldesign.com/ that has one of my favorite sayings, "I'm off to join the circus."  It gets said fairly frequently in our house, mostly by me.

At any rate, here's the real deal:

Not the best comparison pic (plus, his head isn't as roundy) but he does share similarities in person.  Really, he does.  My house full of guests and family agree--or they are just being agreeable...

We are out of X

You may not think this is funny, but it is one of those “seriously?” kind of ways or the more you hear it the funnier it becomes in a “Wayne’s World” sort of way.  When we were coming home from the airport we decided to go through the McDonald’s drive-thru to get something quick because it was well past lunch time and we hadn’t eaten since breakfast.  The first thing we hear from the speaker is that they are out of soda—they can only sell iced tea and water.  It reminded me of the time many years ago when Boston Market first came to the valley and we weren’t really sure what it would be like.  Being the very good married “bachelors” that we were (figure that one out on your own—I know you can do it, especially if you knew us back then—a hint, perhaps “bachelorly” would be a better word and, yes, it’s an oxymoron) we decided that trying this new place out was a most excellent idea and we enlisted our other married bachelor friend to go with us (her husband was on call).  Here’s a brief lowdown on how that went:

After much debating lone married bachelor decides that we should share a whole dark chicken meal and I agree.  Chief does his own thing.  We get to the register, ready to order and we are told—wait for it—they are OUT OF CHICKEN!  Have you ever heard of such a thing?  We thought the guy was being funny—joke was on us doubly because he had no sense of humor—and after a long pause we tried to order, again.  Him: No, we are out of chicken.  Us:  Seriously, you aren’t joking?  Him: No, not joking.  What can I get you?  Us:  Uh, no thank you, we have to leave now. 

So I ask you, if you sell chicken dinners as your main gig (because when Boston Market first came here that’s what they did, mostly chicken—perhaps they had to add all the other meats and whatnot because they kept running out of chicken…I couldn’t even begin to speak to such nonsense) how could you possibly run out of chicken?  Seriously, a chicken place running out of chicken?  McDonald’s not selling soda (they may have had a technical problem but that still doesn’t bode well for them)? 

When I was pregnant with my first child a Shamrock shake sounded very good.  It was weeks before St. Patrick’s Day and there wasn’t a Shamrock shake to be found (after being told "no" once I was on a mission--it was barely March!): “I’m sorry we’re all out of Shamrock Shakes…”  I find it funny that places stay in business with this kind of model.  Sigh.  This post must sound like I live for nasty quick food—while I do have my vices fast-food isn’t one of them.  It seems that every time I go to a place like that there is nonsense galore, although it does make for good storytelling later on.

Vacations Past

Yesterday
I picked up an old girlfriend, her daughter and her daughter’s friends at the airport.  They are loving the Phoenix heat as they just came from chilly Seattle.  We were talking vacations past and about rides we won’t do as parents and my friend said that she did the Tower of Terror (at Disneyland) and won’t be doing it again.  I said I’d never do it and I don’t like to say “never” a whole lot because I don’t like eating crow.  With that said, I can pretty safely say that’s one ride I just won’t do.  I don’t like drops or roller coasters any more.  Somewhere I crossed some sort of line and I don’t feel obligated to go back.  Seriously, you couldn’t beg me enough—won’t do it.  At any rate, I was telling them that my husband, Chief, took Big Monkey on The Tower of Terror when he was 4.  They couldn’t believe it (although we all agreed he is a tall kid, always has been, and meets some of the height requirements earlier than might be expected) and so I told them I have a picture Big M drew after we came back—it’s of the Tower of Terror.  I then gave pause and said aloud—that really sounds like something that came out of a therapy session, doesn’t it?  I couldn’t believe that Chief took him and I can’t believe that Big Monkey to this day acts like it was cool and he wants to do it, again.  If he does, it just won’t be with me.

I still have this hanging in my workspace--this was a time of ripe imagination for him as well as creative pictures and art.  Although this picture does kind of say "therapy session" in its bleakness but then again what can one really remember whilst "dropping" from the top of a building to the bottom?

The Venting Machine

For some reason, the vending machine became a very popular topic a few weeks ago.  Apparently, at one of the camps the boys went to the counselors were using the vending machine to get extra snacks for themselves and the boys became fascinated by it.  It kind of reminded me of the Seinfeld routine where he’s talking about drive thru food and how it’s fascinating for dogs because you drive up and then food gets handed out of small window.  Like Seinfeld’s imaginary dogs, the boys were all about the vending machines.  But little man keeps calling them “venting” machines which leads me to another story altogether…

There’s a Japanese saying that you should tell your troubles to the ocean.  I remember reading that in a novel once, but the character who was telling the reader about this was saying that he didn’t want to do that because the ocean would only take the problems to someone else.  Where I get hazy on this is if the ocean carries it out and back to the shore or if it takes it out to the “other” side—either way, someone else is an unknowing “beneficiary” to your problems when you shout them out to the ocean.  It’s just bad news for the recipient.  I’m sure there are those of you out there who receive a lot of info you just don’t want/need/or know what to do with and the idea of having more heaped on doesn't sound so pleasant. 

What if we had a “venting” machine, some sort of machine where you took your problems and gave them up?  The machine could purify those thoughts/vibrations and send it back out into the world as something cleaner—kind of like a city water system, clean it up and move it on out.  We all need someone to tell our troubles to, even if it’s just to get it off our own mind—the best kind for the venting machine because you aren’t expecting a return you just want to rid yourself of a hot potato.  We all have days where all we’d like to do is vent but the accompanying vitriol is just a little too much for friends and family, maybe even ourselves.  With a venting machine you’d have a better place to put it without coming across as a big ass.  I could use a little of that.

I could probably use a little of this as well, but that, too, is another story:

Vacation

I honestly thought that I’d be able to post while on vacation.  This is despite the fact that my mom’s, where we stayed, has no internet.  My mom does text, if pressed, but doesn’t do computers.  She barely uses her cell.  My brother in-law and sister in-law are tech-savvy but they don’t text—don’t even try to text them because they don’t have it.  It’s kind of a funny juxtaposition—I love to tease them all about it.  My brother lives on a small sailboat with his girlfriend, but that’s too long of a story for here.  (I didn’t want anyone to feel left out so I added him—he really doesn’t have much to do with the techy part of the story.) 

I guess at different junctures in my life going home has conjured up different emotions and thoughts for me and it certainly brings out old dynamics and issues.  This time everything was muddled like the weather.  The weather was pretty fall-like the first part of the week and then a little like spring towards the end when we visited—Seattle just isn’t having the best summer, at all.  If you asked most Seattleites they’d say that’s an understatement.  I’m o.k. with bad weather but this time I caught a mild cold or something and it put me in a little funk which has lingered all the way home.  Not a funk because I was sick but more because it put me in such a reflective and pensive mood.  In turn, everything annoyed me to some extent.  It doesn’t help that I’m so tired I feel like the walking dead.  I’m exhausted for no good reason. 

Since my mom doesn’t have a computer or do anything computer related, I won’t get busted for sharing private thoughts, for being dead tired or for being just a little pissy and admitting it to the world. 

The night before we left I couldn’t help but think of the Wizard of Oz.  I was really obsessing about it when I couldn’t go to sleep—tick, tick, tick, midnight, 1am, 2am, 3am, 4am—time to get up.  We all make these journeys home and sometimes the very things that we’ve given so much power to over the years turns out to be the great “wizard” behind the curtain.  Instead of yanking on cords to create smoke screens he’s yanking our proverbial chains.  I couldn’t figure out what specific person, event or thing was my wizard this time around.  I was off to see the wizard but why?

Whether home is 15 minutes or 2 days away we all face some sort of dynamic—what’s yours and how do you deal with it?

We love dogs

           

Our family loves dogs.  We tell stories about dogs.  We sing and talk to our dogs.  We love seeing other people’s dogs—you get the idea.  We are getting ready to go visit the grandparents, both sides, and were talking about how long it would take if we drove.  The conversation moved on to how we could reduce the driving time if everyone took a turn—including the 5 & 7 year old and eventually the dog.  Yes, the boys decided that grandma would think it was very funny if Buddy drove to her house—then were cracking themselves up holding imaginary steering wheels and making the backing up beeping sound that some vehicles make.  This all happened while we were driving.  I’m sure that Buddy would also think that he’s a good driver, no, make that a stupendous driver because that’s the kind of dog he is (remember, most everyone thinks they are good drivers…).  I’m sure he’d be a focused driver because he’s a focused dog—until he saw a cat, then all hell would break loose.  There would probably be some curb hopping and sidewalk driving and definitely a lot of swerving and driving into oncoming traffic.  So, when the boys asked if I thought grandma would think it was funny all I could think of was “horrific.”  Big monkey must've read my mind because he said "horrific" aloud just as I was thinking it.  Although you have to admit the thought of a dog driving is a little funny.

This was our dog, Trigger, who didn't like to go in the car.  He liked it in theory but not as much in reality:

Poor guy is post-op coming back from a check, so he's looking even less thrilled.  Plus, he's in the Mini because the vet didn't want him jumping into the SUV.  My husband and I used to joke about Buddy & Trigger driving places and here I was having a similar conversation with the boys--although they started it. 

Magical music box

The fairy shopkeeper, aka magical shopkeeper, gave little man a music box that plays row, row, row your boat.  It’s a little red-bottomed box with a clear top that has a tiny crank to play the music.  She has a pile of these she gives to the “littles.”  She’s so good with children.  Fairy shopkeeper and little man seem to be on the same wave length--it's very cute to watch them interact. 

Fairy shopkeeper told little man that she likes to have hers by her bed and when she plays her music box it makes her smile.  Little man dutifully went home and put his new music box by his bed and every night for a long while after receiving this gift he’d play it before he went to bed.  One night he reminded me that he needed to play it after I turned out the light and was leaving.

As with many toys it was set aside, seemingly forgotten…but not so!  It hadn't been played for a few weeks but just as I was in need of some soothing from the extremely rough summer days filled with energy-riddled children and occasional arguing from all parties involved I would hear the magical music box playing from the playroom like the magic harp from Jack in the Beanstalk.  Just like the giant I would feel my body relax and a smile would cross my face at the thought of sweet little man (not angry, indignant or hollering little man but loving, kind and gentle little man) playing his magical music box right before bedtime.  He’s done this the past couple of nights and it’s as if he really knows that mom needs some serious help because she seems to have run out of her own resources come bedtime.  The music seems to start the reset button in a more official way and washes away the hot summer dust that wants to corrode my sanity.  Or maybe he needs the magical music as much as I do.