Weird Dreams

I feel like I hardly slept at all. I had dreams all night about being a last minute understudy (without knowing the script or blocking nor having rehearsed). For Elphaba in a version of Wicked that was also The Wizard of Oz, where I was also Dorothy? The dream was me having agreed to do it (why?) and trying to sleep the night before the performance. I kept dream waking up in a sheer panic because I had no idea what I was doing, and I kept dreaming (while in my dream) that I was going to flop, was freaking out, forgot the words to the songs while on stage, you name it. I was convinced that once I woke up, I was going to call and cancel the performance, because my playing the lead was beyond ridiculous. I was dreading my alarm, and in real not dream life, I hit snooze a few times before pulling myself fully out of the dream and realizing that I was dreaming about dreaming. Weird.

Well that was a weird dream.

A good weird, not a scary weird.

I was in New York (maybe). I'd been with Liz (a dear friend I do not see nearly enough). She was showing me what Spot does when you scratch under her chin. The sound was kind of a shushing mixed with a grunting. It was a bit odd, but adorable. At some point in the dream, I was walking Spot and was to send her up to Andy & Liz' quarters, and wait for them to come down to the common room. I had a key to turn the dead bolt and there was some sort of riddle or puzzle to solve before the door would open, and Spot raced up the stairs. I turned and entered the common room to find a large gathering of bikini clad co-eds. I worked my way to the bar, ducking beach balls and enjoying the views. I had no idea that they lived at a women's college, and told Them both as I sat down. Andy was in high spirits, cracking jokes with various people and being very entertaining, but never leering at the scantily clad young women. He really only ever has had eyes for Liz, who was whipping up something in the bar top blender.

That is when I woke up. I can't help but think the setting and mystery around getting Spot upstairs is related to the trilogy I am currently reading. Perhaps that Andy and Liz and Spot feature in the dream is a desire to reconnect. Oh, Spot is a chihuahua. I've been rereading the first two books of Deborah Harkness' trilogy.

That was a weird and haunting dream

I dream - I'm sure I dream often, but I do not remember most of my dreams upon waking. This morning was the exception. Because it has stayed with me for hours now, I obviously just need to get it out of my brain.

I (and many others) were in a Chinese prison camp of sorts - that is at least the closest I can come to a general description. It looked mostly like a combo of the inside of Urban Ore in Berkeley, the old Wolf Books in San Leandro, and the room of requirement from Harry Potter. So basically junk everywhere. dusty, not well lit, beams of light through dust in sparse shafts, not really illuminating the ground. Your eyes adjust however. We were dressed in prison drab grey/blue, collarless button up shirts, and pajama type pants. There had to be shoes, but no clue what they were like. We were dirty, dusty, grimy, sweaty and greasy. We were supposed to be digging through all of the junk and sorting it to be taken away. I was deep in the room? warehouse? with another person (think Nathan Fillion), and we were members of a resistance movement. We were looking through the junk for evidence of the propaganda being false information in order to topple the regime. I ended up finding a passport of one of the regime, but it was a US passport, claiming the regime leader was indeed a US citizen, not a Chinese National as he claimed. The passport was inside the back of an antique camera. Once I found it, there was a raid, and I was unable to get back to my resistance cohort, as we ran in different directions. I dodged into an alcove to discover a stairway going up, but it was carved into a stone wall and more of a ladder, steep with notches in the stone every 3 feet. Would have been easy to miss, but I started up as fast as I could, with regime guards on my heels. I was not high enough (around a bend in the stone) to be unseen when the guard started into the alcove, and another prisoner caught his attention, speaking in rapid Chinese, allowing me the additional time to get out of sight. I remember thinking I should know Chinese by now.

In the clear light and heat of the day, I now realize how much this dream resembles a potential scene in Firefly... I don't think it is an actual scene, but it was weirdly haunting as I woke from the dream twice before it had ended, and still vividly remember it this afternoon.

Boys... ... Yet ANOTHER proud mom moment

As I write this it is only Tuesday, and already this week, there has been a call in the middle of the school day. From. The. Principal. About not just one of The Boys, oh, no... BOTH OF THEM...
Great.
Just. Great.

So, what was it this particular time?

It is alleged that my darling angels, the very boys who fill my days with laughter and sunshine (along with a friend) have been terrorizing the school by threatening to peek over the stalls in the bathroom at other kids. They have also been standing on the toilets and climbing over stall walls.  Evidently this has been happening for a while, but no names had been disclosed until yesterday when they actually did peek over the wall at someone. There have been multiple complaints from parents because their sons are afraid to use the bathroom, and coming home with stomach problems. The custodian has had to lock that bathroom because of the mess, which I can only assume looks something like this:

Their side of the story states that kids chase them into the bathroom, and when they are hiding in there, they stand on the toilets. There has also been admission that at least one of them has climbed the stall wall, but only to unlock the one that is locked. They have admitted to peeking over, but only to check if the stall was occupied.

I don't buy it. The Boys are on restriction from play dates and parties until Halloween. They have no screen time until the weekend. They had to each write a letter of apology to the custodian and the kid who was their victim. And that was just what came from The Dude and I. At school, they are helping the custodian clean up the playground and lunch room for every recess and lunch for at least this week. I recommended they make the kids scrub toilets, but I guess there is some health code or child labor law violation in that... This weekend they will have the privilege of scrubbing the grout in my bathroom. With a toothbrush.

I'm thinking of adding this sign (with the addition of the red circle and slash) to their rooms:

Add to this the fact that The Oldest has had a difficult transition into 4th grade, and the amount of homework he has nightly is ridiculous. I think this is mostly due to him not effectively using the time he is given in class, or making poor choices when he does get them. Last week we discovered that while he is given 20 minutes a day of silent reading time, he wasn't using that time to read the book he had for his weekly book report. He was reading lower level books instead. So on Wednesday and Thursday nights, he got to read two books and write two reports on those. He may have learned his lesson on that as he has already read this week's book, and written the report, leaving the rest of his reading time for fun books, like Captain Underpants. I'm sensing a theme here. this week is all about math homework (3 hours a night), plus piano and saxophone practice and reading. Today both boys were ill behaved toward me and had their bed times moved up 30 minutes.
SERENITY NOW!

The photos for this post were found via google search of images. Search strings = Footprints on toilet, and peeking over wall toilet.

Boy, oh Boy is it shaping up to be a Looooooong summer

This was my day yesterday - officially day 2 of summer break for The Boys. The day started OK - my work day looked like this:

Leaving me little time to do anything for The Boys.

The Dude took them to swim practice, as I'd unsuccessfully tried to obtain wifi at the pool the day before.
Once home from swimming, they were all worn out and The Dude napped while I was on conference calls, and that is when the shenanigans took place. Following my calls, I emerged into the house to a weird smell. great. But it was a chemical smell, not a gross smell, so I thought it might actually be cologne, or something equally harmless. I entered the living room to 2 "cat that ate the canary" looks.
The following exchange took place:
I asked, "What's that smell?" The Oldest replied with a shrug, the youngest just ignored the question.
J9 (more emphatically and likely sounding more angry): Really, What's that smell?
The Oldest - another shrug
The Youngest - still silently ignoring the request
J9 (Now pissed off and moving to turn off the TV): WHAT. IS. THAT. SMELL?!?!
The Oldest: What smell?
The Youngest: I don't smell anything.
J9 (gesturing to the air): This smell, the smell that is NOT what our house normally smells like - THAT smell!
The Oldest (removing a can of hairspray from behind him): Well, I accidentally sat on this.
J9: Accidentally? You expect me to believe that you ACCIDENTALLY sat in the recliner, on a can of HAIRSPRAY that was no where near the recliner earlier?! Really?
[I must state that at this point what flashed though my brain was, "Oh dear God, he's going to be one of those people that show up on RN reports as having "accidentally" sat on a vibrator or something.]
The Oldest - shrugged again.
J9: Just so you know, this is hair spray, not air freshener. When you spray it all over the house, it makes everything sticky, thereby creating more cleaning work in the house. Also, it's poisonous for people and animals. To. Your. Room.
At this point The Youngest decides to chime in. I cut him off and went back to work.
Minutes Later, The Dude (from the bedroom): What's on Augie's fur? - Augie is the Mini Daschund puppy.
Upon emerging from the office again and seeing Augie walk by, I scooped him up and carried him to the living room, calling for The Oldest to join us.
J9 (to The Boys): What is on Augie's fur?
The Oldest: I dunno
The Youngest - again ignoring the question.
J9: I Asked, WHAT is on Augie's fur?
The Oldest: Where?
Mind you, this is a dog that is less than 18 inches long, so there isn't much examination needed...
J9 (presenting the dog to The Oldest): Here. On His Back. See? From his collar, to halfway down his back.
The Oldest (likely thinking it better to come clean at this point as I'm sure my face was red): Deodorant.
J9: DEODORANT?!?!?! WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU PUT DEODORANT ON THE DOG?!
The Youngest: Well, he did it. (Likely story)
J9: SERIOUSLY! Deodorant is poisonous to a small dog like Augie, if he licked his back he will get sick. Deodorant is for people, NOT DOGS!
At this point, The Dude comes out and asks where they got deodorant. I interrupted to say I'd bought some at the store, and hadn't had a chance to put it away yet. I'm sure he was thinking none of this would have happened if only I'd put it away. Not true, but worth thinking about.
I sent The Oldest back to his room, where he wailed like we were beating him. Decent performance, but not Oscar worthy.
I got out towels and washed, partially dried the dog and handed him over to The Dude. The whole time, I was thinking, doesn't this burn animal's skins? Isn't that what the PETA ads are about? Crap! I hope Augie will be okay.
I put away the deodorant.
I found a coffee mug on an end table, and called The Oldest out to ask him about it.
J9: What's in this mug?
The Oldest: Butter for my popcorn.
J9: Put it in the sink please.
After all of this, I got The Boys into their Tae Kwon Do uniforms and drove them to the studio. While they were in class, I walked nearly 3 miles, in an attempt to release some of the stress. It was mostly successful.
When we got home, I made breakfast for dinner - eggs, bacon and toast for The Boys, and toast and celery with Yogurt Blue Cheese for me. The Dude declined dinner.
As I was doing dishes later, I came across the mug of "butter" from earlier, and it didn't look like butter, so I called The Oldest back over.
J9: What is really in the mug?
The Oldest: Deodorant and butter.
J9: I hope you didn't eat the deodorant.
The Oldest: No
J9: Why did you choose to waste the deodorant like this?
The Oldest (with a shrug): I dunno.
At this point I could really only sigh, and ask that they not play with any personal hygiene items, or medications, or chemicals of any kind.
I also need to talk to The Dude about leaving The Boys to their own devices.

Today was better, and easier, and I was able to get decent wifi. And we didn't leave The Boys alone for a moment.

It's likely going to be a Loooooooooong summer.

Wicked Wednesday #2

First off, I've decided to remove myself from ABC Wednesdays. With 100 participants, it was pulling me away from Friday Shoot Outs and Sunday Stills just to go and look at all of the posts, let alone thinking up comments.Second, it is also a Weird Wednesday, as I found out yesterday that my fur butt cat is quite the connoisseur - I left my brown rice and lentil soup bowl on the desk yesterday to get some water. When I returned, she was heartily enjoying the dish. It was a slightly spicy Indian lentil soup at that.Wicked Wednesdays all began with this post. I'll regale you with another night of drinking that went horribly, horribly wrong. If you are under the age of consent for wherever you live in the universe, take these as cautionary tales. If you are like me and have had your share of poor judgement moments, then we can laugh together. Yes that is a picture of me with a lampshade on my head, doing the shimmy. I will not be posting the names of my cohorts in these wanton ways, but for clarification, will identify them by an initial of their names.

Given that my last Wicked Wednesday event occurred years after my very first night of drinking that went horribly wrong, one would think that I had learned my lessons by the time I was in my late 30s. Not so. I was going out with my friends J, C, and M. By then I was doing Girls Nights Out (of which some will show up here in Wicked Wednesdays), and really not drinking all that much. I thought I had learned my lesson. Was I wrong! I love red wines, Merlot, and Cabernet Sauvignon are my absolute favorites. I'd already been a vegetarian for a number of years, but reds go well with lots of dishes. On this particular night we were going to dine at Oliveto, and dessert at Bittersweet. I had also invited L, a co-worker who had recently ended a relationship (and upon whom I had a crush). This was lining up to be a horrible ending right from the beginning! Dinner was yummy with pasta and bread (plenty to soak up the alcohol), and in my crushy nervousness, I ended up drinking nearly a bottle of wine by myself. I likely also talked way too loud and laughed way too much. The wine certainly clouded my judgement when we arrived at Bittersweet. A pots de creme, a hot chocolate and a chocolate bar later, and we walked back to BART. I was feeling really good, though my lack of an antacid was starting to be a point of some concern. By the time we boarded the train and were in motion I realized that I was going to be sick, likely all over the train, and near my friends. I was panicky, and upon realizing my panic, my dear friends started looking for items I could vomit into, including emptying my purse, but my stomach was not hearing of it. I ended up keeping it in my mouth until we arrived at the next stop, I got off the train, hurried to the nearest restroom (in an unfamiliar station no less), and exited the restroom victorious. Not a drop on me, the restroom, the train, or my friends, who were all concerned, but duly impressed with my ability to keep something truly disgusting in my mouth without further retching. (Keep your dirty minds to yourselves, thankyouverymuch!) We boarded the next train and headed home without further embarrassment on my part (Thankfully). This event had closely followed yet another red wine incident that I will detail perhaps next week. Since then, I have only had a sip of red wine on rare occasion (maybe twice), and I am sad that I can't really drink wine anymore because I'm not into whites.

Wednesdays and I need a new name

So I had an idea this morning at 3ish while driving home from Harry Potter and The Half Blood Prince. I was listening to a replay of Derrick and Romaine And they were taking calls about "A Night of Drinking That Went Horribly, Horribly Wrong". I have certainly had my share of these, but they wouldn't fill more than 2 months of Wanton or Wild or Wicked Wednesdays Weird Wednesdays seems a bit more in step with what happened today, so I'll start with Weird Wednesday tales. This is eerily similar to earlier weird tales of my home. The temperatures here have been hovering just around 100 degrees. Yesterday afternoon, the office/playroom started smelling weird - like melted poo. This morning I spent some time trying to locate where the dog or cat may have left something. It wasn't until late this afternoon that I was able to sniff out the dead, bloated and rotting roof rat. Thankfully, The Dude was able to get it out in one piece, but that left a trail of smell. I sprayed everything down with Febreeze, opened the window, turned up the fan, and shut the door. Two hours later, everything was good to go. I have to wonder when my Little fur butt brought that treat in - this week? while we were on vacation? It makes my skin crawl really. I will regale you with tales of my Drunken nights gone horribly wrong starting next week. In the meantime - vote in the poll at right for your favorite alliterative Wednesday name.

Boys are kind of weird

It struck me today just how different boys are from girls - I know, I know, besides the obvious. Get your heads out of the gutter folks!


My boys like fart jokes. They like to show their bare butts to each other, and think it's the height of hilarity when someone gets whacked in the junk on America's Funniest Videos. I just don't get it. Not. At. All. I also don't like The Three Stooges, but they all do. I prefer Abbott and Costello. I always thought there was a bit more than slapstick going on for them. While they all started in Vaudeville, A&C seemed to be more clever and well written, where TTS seemed to be all physical comedy. I suppose I should be grateful that the musician/artist, and the athlete/weapons expert have something they can agree upon.
Sometimes I worry about how they will turn out as adults, and then I realize that it matters little, as I will likely be paying for therapy for years. I figure I'm ahead of the game if I recognize that I cannot be the perfect parent to the boys, and just try to stay afloat in the ever increasing tide of testosterone. Just wait until the teen years my mind screams, just wait.

Is this weird?

Originally posted 8/20

My cat Daisy likes yogurt covered raisins. I think it's a bit weird since she doesn't like either by themselves. She is a weird animal. She's very mouthy - biting me to wake me up in the morning, biting my ankles on the way to her food bowl, biting the dog when he's asleep and she wants to play. In fact all of my animals have had odd behavioral ticks.

TC (Third Cat) liked to fetch McDonald's cheeseburger wrappers. She'd fetch all sorts of other things too, but she liked the wrappers best. She'd bring them back and fetch again and again, for an hour or more. This was WAY before kids.

Stella the cat liked to ride and sleep on my shoulder. She greeted everyone who entered our home at the door, and had to sniff them before allowing entrance. She was after TC passed, and the alpha animal until her own passing after 15 years.

Molly the cat coexisted with Stella and was horribly fat. Her nickname was Fat Mol. When she would bite something, she would clamp her jaw like a dog, and not let go. It was cute on pizza crust, not so much on my knuckle.

Josie the dog - so named because we got her after Stella and Molly. She was a stray, and part Border Collie. She would pace in a triangle to all entrances to the house. I guess she never realized if she only laid near the back door, she could see the other two. She was very sweet, but eventually went insane and started attacking the other dog (who we will get to in a minute), and growling at the kids.

Duke the dog - he was a shelter dog, and is now about 15 years old. Half German Shepherd and half Chow, with the blue tongue, and the big ruff around his neck. He still acts like a puppy most days, but does spend alot of time asleep. Actually that is his only quirk. I guess he's the mellowest pet we've ever had. Oh wait, when the neighborhood delinquents light off fireworks he goes insane, and pulls a Houdini on every type of enclosure we've ever had, somehow gets out of the house and yard, and runs until exhausted. He then scratches at the nearest front door, and those people call us. In fact, our neighborhood knows him so well, I will get calls with sightings of Duke, and I am usually able to recover him before he gets too far. This only happens when he is home alone (or with Daisy), and we've found that locking him in the house with the TV on keeps him home usually.