7and8

Why is 'alone' such a scary word? I'm not the only one who thinks so. Much great literature and a ton of bad movies, etc. are based on being alone. A primary set-up in a story of will or survival is to render someone alone. Be it isolated from people, resources, or even isolated from God. What do others give us? Because they do give us something, even if they aren't present, just knowing they accept you.
Maslow's hierarchy of needs shows Belonging as the 3rd step in the pyramid. 3rd only to physiological and safety needs. Esteem even comes in 4th. In effect saying that we need a group to belong to before we can be comfortable with our selves. Maybe that is an overstatement and we need to belong in a group or even be comfortable with ourselves.
There are those who prefer solitude. I don't get them but that is because if I go too long with out contact I start to look for volleyballs with which to converse.

It's important and I'm sure it is important to people in different ways. It seems so simple to just be by yourself. Most of us seek that "alone time" but only enough. Mine tends to be as long as that of a Labrador Retriever.

As my face scraped across the rough surface I thought, "I'm pretty sure this is going to bleed. But will it bleed from just the one place that is in excruciating pain or all three abrasions across my face?"

We went to family swim at the Y. 8 was swimming really fast and proclaiming that I could not get him. I decided to use my superior aquatic skills to swim under him and pop-up in front of him and do my own exclaiming of the 'gotcha!' nature. What I failed to do was realize how close I was to the wall and extend my hands in front of me as a perimeter warning system.
I popped out of the water thinking various expletives very loudly. I asked 7 if I was bleeding. He looked at me like I was silly for asking such a question and then his face turned stark with concern.
Between chuckles the life guard applied the 3in x4in bandage and suggested I should start practicing lines like, "You should see the other guy."
With the bandage in place I was able to fulfill the family swim promise but not with out many stares from the other life guards and Moms.

I'm going to look for somewhere to put all of this extra self-esteem.

Alright, now, after 4 days of rain I'm going nuts. This is where the tough get going. I have to keep them occupied or we will go happy.
Why did we go see the Cars movie so soon, it was even a sunny day. Damn my Pixar habit.
We need to build a cover fort and picnic in the basement. Yea! Basement picnic will make everything OK. I'd roast 'mallows but I'm pretty sure we would burn the house down.

I'll think of something, but for goodness sake; save your selves. TALLY-HO!

This rant is meant as a hex on whom ever buried the remains of a tile floor in my back yard.
When we moved in I wasn't surprised by finding old garbage in the woods in our back yard, but then I discovered how much was there . This wasn't a case where over a period of time the wind has blown and the boulders held the refuse. It is pretty obvious that some of this stuff was dumped there.
Then I saw the 1 inch tile. Picking it up I discovered more and more. Now I have been digging for two days to unearth the tile and chunks of concrete it was stuck to and wheeling the heavy loads to the dumpster we've rented. I'm still not done. It may not be poisoning the earth but; firstly, it's an eye sore and secondly, it smacks of disrespect for self and others. 7and8 are helping and I hope they are learning a lesson from the yeah-hoos who did this.

Is it more amusing that she was running to get to church?

I don't know what this outfit is about but the statue is a riot. I love toilet humor -- in any languare.

Ya know those tingly feelings of bliss you experience when you are agreeing with the fiance about invitations or wedding cake or other mind-numbing details that slip the mind about a day and a half after the wedding? Folks should be warned that one day their significant other will look out at the yard and decide you need to spend the entire summer sweaty with dirt under your fingernails. I especially like the "I don't care what you do with the flower bed after the fence is down." routine and then there is a lot of bitching when they see the new pavement.

Same with the grass. I can't say that I cut the grass, rather my weeds are all the same height. If it isn't the spouse then its the neighbors giving you the dirty look because you got to mow on the one sunny day in the middle of monsoon season and now they are mad because your diligence made them look like a redneck stereotype.

I hate yard work but I keep doing it because a beer tastes so good when drank with earthworm poo on your knuckles.

I was told once that (especailly with the French) you should ask them in their own language if they speak English. The sentiment being that you try to seem like you deserve to be there. If done properly, they may not know you are American.

This is such crap. Firstly, I think we are the only culture that wears Tenni-shoes as casual fashion. Nothing wrong with that but it makes us detectable. Mainly speaking for the men (because there is nothing I understand about the woman/shoe relationship). Euromen wear leather shoes. They maybe the trendy retro puma / bowling style or loafers or loafers with buckles or dress shoes they also use while they paint the house. If you don't want to stand out as a Yank, change your shoes.
Secondly, if you carry yourself respectfully and look for someone who is used to taking care of those unable to take care (someone who makes a living from tourists, a parent, a beer museum curator tired of dealing with giggling college boys) of themselves then your query will be treated as such.
Lastly, Stop it. Don't try to blend in just enjoy the surroundings.

In an unrealated story:
There was a group of teenage tarts coming back from their trip. They agreed it was good to be back in the states. They were sad, however, that they wouldn't be able to talk candidly about someone in front of them as everyone here speaks English. Dear Tarts: Ours is a country globally involved yet consistantly knows only one language. Besides they could see you coming by your Ambercrombie "shirt" and Reeboks.

Look, in the TV listings! It's a Superman special. Great Scott!

http://www.aetv.com/listings/episode_details.do?episodeid=169141

I read the novelization of Superman Returns. It is a good story line (with the usual 'it's not the original' caveats thrown in). Huge homage to the 1978 movie.

That sucked for Tessy's Mom. I just got back from my first trip to Europe. I'll write about that stuff in the coming weeks but the parental post must come first.

I boarded the plane and waited to find my seat. 34G on the isle, things where looking up. Scan for kids who look like they need a dose of NyQuil... I see Tessy. Tess didn't need a dose of NyQuil she was going to do just fine. Only Mom was with her. I've flown with 7and8 by myself a number of times and know that my tolerances would be enough to withstand this cute 2.5 year old. Maybe I should have looked deeper in her Mom's eyes to see if she needed a shot of the "Sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, how-the-hell-did-I-wake-up-on-the-kitchen-floor medicine"
Everyone around Tess and Mom was willing to help, but Mom had the air of 'I can do this and I appreciate your offer but I will be fine thank-you' She was a nice woman with a pleasantness that reflected in Tess' general demeanor. Tess was exploring her seat and surroundings and pushed the flight attendant call button. "Please don't play with the buttons, Tess." "But Daddy told me too." Remember, Dad isn't on the flight, he's waiting for his angels at home. Then Tess starts flicking the tray-table lever making it plunk down and jolting the crusty old farts in the row ahead. Tess started to get bored. Apparently one of her favorite pass-times is to hit her Mother when Mother tries to calm her down. And Mom just took it and only chided gently. I notice that Mom has a cough like I do, congested and snotty. Pretty rough sounding and in the chest. Plunk with the tray-table. I was thinking of pulling the Daddy card on Tess telling her she was not to treat her Mother that way but there is a fine line between helping and telling someone they aren't parenting to your standards. Plunk with the tray-table.
By hour 3 of the flight Tess was bouncing-off-of-the walls tired (Parents, you know what I'm talking about). Nothing destructive or bratty but rather very busy and extremely talkative. Plunk with the tray-table. Soon Tess was asleep and sleeping comfortably.

I think Tess would have slept 3 or 4 hours. Mom was coming back from the galley with a cup of coffee and accidentally spilled it on Tessy's face. There was screaming and ice and helpful flight attendants. And as coffee spills in the face go it was over pretty quick. Tess either has a high threshold for pain or the coffee had cooled considerably. Mom tried to change Tess' clothes and then we see Tess' claws. There was no way this child was going to get out of the wet clothes which she had picked out this morning. Now Mom is determined and doesn't take no for an answer. So they fought verbally and fought physically and Mom won. All is normal, until Tess gets the juice. Plunk with the tray-table, and the juice spills all over the seats. Mom is pretty exhausted now and just quietly cleans it up. Thank God in heaven that the juice didn't spill on the new clothes because someone was going to have to die in that fight.
30 minutes to go. Tess is now engaged in coloring and being an angel. Mom looks like Satan himself wiped his ass with her, tired, wrung-out and growing pale. She drinks from the water they brought on board to calm her cough. The plane starts the approach and Mom starts heaving into the air-sick bag. I'm pretty certain only Mom and I knew this was happening. Tess was busy and everyone else was tired of hearing from those two seats. And heaving, and heaving. I start looking for my air-sick bag because I sure hers is about full. I'm in full-on help Mommy mode now so I don't even think about puking. The plane lands and taxis Mom is looking better. I ask what I can do. She seems very relieved and says that she is fine now and that it's all easy from here on in. She says, "This hasn't been a very good flight." The teenage tarts sitting behind them wake up and turn off their ipods and tell Tessy that she has been a very good girl. Mom looks at them and considers throwing the vomit bag at them.

They weren't making a connecting flight, just driving 15min. to home and Daddy. I hope they had a restful night.