In Which I Convince My Husband to Forsake Cox Cable

We're on a pretty tight budget most of the time. My husband makes plenty of money, but we have too many kids and too many pets. Hence the budget.

We love watching television, and we have a couple of really nice ones. (I can justify this expense with the fact that we don't travel and we rarely go on expensive dates.) My husband enjoys things that are broadcast in HD. I don't really understand that. All I know is that my televisions are big, colorful, and clear, unlike the 13 inch black and white one that my dad and I had when I was a teenager. Those of you who were alive when the earth was still cooling probably know what I'm talking about: they had knobs, no remote controls, and the picture would do that weird rolling thing. It makes me happy that that type of thing is in my past.

HD cable TV has been a bone of contention between John and me for a year or so. It's expensive and I can never find anything to watch. We've spent precious hours scrolling through hundreds of channels only to turn to our Netflix account for entertainment. But John wanted it, so we kept it, at an expense of over $100.00 a month. I would whine about it and suggest that we cancel our account and he would say "No, I want cable, so we're keeping cable". $100.00 a month for Nancy Grace, Anderson Cooper, America's Next Top Model and 19 Kids and Counting. He didn't watch those, of course; he's in the Navy and was spending most of his time deployed. Not even home to enjoy his cable. It was the kids and me, damaging our brains with what surely could only be the intellectual equivalent of eating McDonald's for dinner every night. And really, nobody needs to watch Nancy Grace in high def.

My pleading continued, and finally, as we teetered on the precipice of paying for dance competition season, buying bagpipes for our 9 year old, and getting ready to send our high school senior off to college, we were forced to reevaluate our lifestyle. We needed that $100.00 a month more than we needed a clearer image of Anderson Cooper's blue, blue eyes, so John gave in, and I was sent to Cox cable to turn in our dvr and cable box. I felt thrifty, free, and triumphant.

So what do we watch now that we don't have 2,000 channels? We still have Netflix and we subscribed to Hulu Plus, which is about $8.00 a month. So before, our tv expense was about 125.oo per month. Now it's about $32.00. Much better.

It still wasn't perfect, though. Thanksgiving rolled around and we couldn't watch the cheesy parade because we had no local stations. Then New Years Eve rolled around and we couldn't watch the ball drop. What to do? So John did an internet search, searched the garage for some crap. 'Cos god knows, he hoards all the crap. And he did this:

It's a board from an old futon frame and some wire coat hangers. I don't know what those other things are, nor do I care.

Which resulted in an HD antenna:

The antenna is totally white trash, but the picture is amazing. He mounted it on the back of our dresser and is slightly annoyed that I didn't take a picture of that, too. A splitter was added so that we can use the antenna on our living room TV as well. Now, if we want to be terrified we can watch the local news and weather, we can fall asleep watching Saturday Night Live at it's original time, PBS, and we can catch several religious stations when the mood strikes. Just kidding. We're not watching Bible TV at all. Between Netflix and Hulu, we've got more to watch than we have the time for. But I'm glad to have that antenna (and that extra $100.00) just in case.

On Becoming a Grandmother

Three months ago, I became a grandmother. Willingly? No, because the timing was horrible and the circumstances were less than ideal. And I'm just not old enough to have a child who's a mother. When we think of grandmothers, we imagine doddering ladies with white hair and huge purses who listen to Lawrence Welk. I wear Birkenstocks and concert t-shirts, and jam out to Heart and Peter Frampton. To complicate matters, I have even less of an idea how to be a grandmother than I did how to mother my own children.

In the picture below I'm not raving emotionally about how beautiful this new life is. I'm saying, "Ew! Gross!" because umbilical cords are creepy, and this is the first one I've ever cut. You really have to work those scissors, because cords are tough. But I was there to cut it.

My mother checked out when I was 17, so my kids never really had that stereotypical, enthralled granny who wanted to know everything about them, who called every Sunday, who came to visit, and was imperfectly perfect in her own way. As in motherhood, I have no blueprint for either being a grandmother or mothering the mother of my grandchild. Very important jobs, when you think about it. There are a lot of funny quotes about how grandchildren are a reward for not killing your children or a reward for properly raising your children. My children are all alive, so there's that. As for raising them properly, the oldest is only 20, so I can't claim that one yet. Maybe my granddaughter is my reward for just being there.

I have no idea what I'm saying to the baby in this picture. It was the middle of the night and I probably was making no sense. But I look like I know what I'm doing, right? And I was there so that she wouldn't be too lonely while they baked her on the baby-warmer.

I won't be perfect. I'll interfere sometimes, say the wrong thing, not be available constantly, forget the rules, and generally be a pain in the ass at times. (You people with moms and grandmothers: I know you complain about them. Don't deny it.) The cool thing about making mistakes, though, is that you can start over the next day. I wish my own mom had known that. Perhaps I wouldn't be so clueless right now. But I'm here! That counts for a lot.

She's got to learn how to flip the bird from somebody.

My Daughter's Freshman Scholar's Assignment...

I have not blogged in a while...kids, the house, various catastrophies have all conspired to keep me from being really, truly creative. I don't have to be, though, because I have Ione's schoolwork to thrill and inspire me.
School sure has changed a lot since I went. I don't know if my teachers would have understood what my child has written here, but I hope that *her* teachers have a good sense of humor. Having said that, I present to you Ione's Freshman Scholar's Assignment:


Zeus’s Umbrella

Zeus’s Umbrella is a magic device that protects you from Zeus’s evil rains. You will always be safe under the protection of zeus’s umbrella ella ella. They are magic and can help you fly. They come in every color except purple, white, and chartreuse. Zeus’s umbrellas can be used for protection, hiding, assaulting and lightning reflecting. They can also do your homework and walk your dog. ORDER NOW AT USEPROTECTION.COM OR CALL 666-6666 AND GET YOU ZEUS’S UMBRELLA FOR FIVE EASY PAYMENTS OF $29.95. ZEUS’S UMBRELLAS MAKE THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE. All you have to do is believe!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So order now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Useprotection.com

666-6666

USE PROTECTION. DON’T GET WET


Our tax dollars at work so that Ione can practice her comedic skills. I am so proud.

Vacuum, Shmacuum...

I just bought a Dyson Animal Vacuum cleaner. It's almost Christmas and I had to spend money on a vacuum. I feel guilty to my very core, but there's nothing I can do. I have floors, I have rugs, I have animals, therefore I must clean. Vacuums and I have a long, sad history, beleaguered with problems, heartache, and expense. I remember my husband and I, a young couple with a 5 month old baby and a carpeted apartment, going to Montgomery Ward to purchase one. (Why in the hell did we go to Montgomery Ward? Who goes there? Do they still exisit? Why didn't we just go to Target?) After much hand wringing and knashing of teeth as we fretted with the sales lady over motor strength and price, we walked out with a vacuum that literally broke down every time we rolled it over something harder than a large ball of lint. Imagine the horror of a young mother who can't keep her floors immulate for her baby; what if the little thing gets dirty? So the years passed and we bought cheap vacuum after cheap vacuum, never spending more than $80.00 or so, but never managing to keep the same one for more than a few months, or if we were lucky, a year. This frustrated me, and my frustration led me, powerlessly, almost as if in a trance, to Costco, that delightful warehouse store to beat all warehouse stores. I sweated, I wrung my hands, I grabbed strangers by the arm and, pointing at the display of Dysons, asked, "Do *you* have one of these????" The thought of spending $349.00 on something that will make extra work for me was horrifying. If a vacuum doesn't work well, why should I vacuum my couch and chair cushions? If it's just going to spit the dirt back out at me, why bother vacuuming the stairs? I can sit and knit, or cuddle with 6 year old and watch "Spongbob Squarepants." But I reluctantly put the big box with the little picture of that handsome Englishman who talks about "cyclone technology" in the commercial in my cart, and trying not to throw up, went to the registers and paid for it. Normally a big purchase will give me a thrill. $300 on a chest freezer? That made me feel like a real woman for the first time in my life. Forget childbirth and breastfeeding like a freaking superhero; the beauty of that pristine, white appliance sent chills down my spine as I anticipated large, bulk quanties of food purchased and nestled snugly within it's shiny walls. Several hundred dollars dropped on a Kitchenaid mixer? I was high for weeks! The bread dough...the cookies...the muffins! Oh, the delight of gazing at my beautiful mixer while reveling in my good fortune. Shouldn't the purchase of a lovely purple vacuum fill me with the same sense of domestic well being? No, because I look at it and wonder if it, too, will betray me like the dozens of vacuums that came before it. I don't trust that label that boasts, "5 Year Warranty!!!!!!!" It may be *lying* to me. What if it breaks? What if it can't withstand the torture of white Boxer hair, cat fur, and non-clumping cat litter? But then again, maybe I'll end up loving it. Maybe it will be everything that the commercials proclaim it to be. Maybe it will be so amazing that my children will fight over it when I die! So tomorrow, I will carefully open the box, and read the directions and warranty information meticulously before I assemble the purple amazingness that is a Dyson Animal. Because god knows, I sign loan documents, medical documents, and cell phone contracts with nary a glance, but this is a $349.00 vacuum cleaner, damn it! You can't be too careful!

I'd Walk Over You To See The Who....

Okay, I know, that's really not funny. It's making light of a tragic event that happened in the '70s when some unfortunate concert goers were trampled because not enough doors were opened at a concert venue. Crowd control is better these days, thank goodness, so we music lovers can go forth and see our favorite artists without fear of a freakish, accidental death. And I most certainly did that last week (although any time I venture more than a few miles from my children I wonder what would happen if I died, but I digress...) I saw The Who with my friend Tammi.

It was my third time seeing them. The first time was back in 1982, more than 26 years ago. The tour was "It's Hard". I was all of 16, and vaguely asking my father if I could *please* drive to Lexington, Kentucky to see The Who, with my best friend Chris, her boyfriend John (who is now my husband) and John's friend Keith. There is a faint memory of Daddy agreeing to this, and honestly, what father *wouldn't* allow his young daughter to be transported across state lines by two young men who are 18 years old? I shudder at the thought when I look at my own daughters, but the kid in me is very glad that he let me go. Honestly, I barely knew who they were at that time, but they quickly became my favorite. Everyone else I knew loved The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones (we were rebel kids and eschewed most new music at that time...) but I fell in love with The Who and couldn't get enough.

The second time was with that young man who drove me and my lucky friend to Kentucky, only this time, I was the lucky one in the front seat with him. We went to Atlanta, Georgia, and it was the "Tommy" reunion tour back in '89, I think. We had a wonderful time, my life was complete; I'd seen my favorite band a second time and that was enough.

And I lost interest for a long time. Parenthood took priority; music was something in the background and most of the time *that* was Disney or Raffi. But then I started noticing The Who (the two who remain) all over cable T.V., documentaries, "VH1 Rock Honors", and what have you. One morning, surfing on the computer, I discovered they were touring, with tickets on sale for a show in D.C. and it seemed possible, but maybe not... I'd never been to D.C. before. Could I drive there? John will be deployed. Should I go alone? Is it stupid, too much money, irresponsible, and what about *the kids*??? After talking to John, I just went ahead and bought tickets, and let the rest of it work itself out. My friend Tammi was my date, my friend Susan slept over with my big kids, my friend Rosemary kept my little ones and Tammi's husband Lou provided an awesome free hotel room with his Mariott points. So we drove up, threw our bags in our room, drove to the station and took the metro into Chinatown, and here is what we saw:

Warning: Horrible pictures!

It was an awesome show, with the exception of Hoodie Boy (see obnoxious blue striped hoodie in top photo), who blocked our view for a good part of the concert. Neither of us ever got a good view of Roger Daltrey or Pete Townshend at the same time, only little bits and snatches as we stood on tiptoe and craned our necks. It was a *good* time, though. They were generous and very gracious, playing hard for well over two hours. The music was familiar and comforting, everything I loved to listen to when I was experiencing those hard, grueling years of trying to grow up. Roger Daltrey joked at the end about feeling like he'd gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson, but he looked just fine from where I was standing. Both he and Pete were in top form, Roger hitting every note and Pete just as amazing as ever, if not quite as agile on the feet as he was in his earlier years. They're in their 60's, but I think they've got a lot of good years left in them. Maybe even another tour or two. Please? I'd love to go for Number Four, and god knows, I'd Walk Over You To See The Who.

Obligatory Blog Post...

I am stopping in the middle of an insane number of vital, household responsiblities to reflect on the pleasant "triumphs" of my week in an effort to convince myself that I am, indeed, keeping things under control.

Notice my lovely, compliant Boxer. She is putty in my hands most of the time, letting me pose her in ridiculous contortions and humiliate her on the internet. Sometimes I play with her lips and roll them back in such a manner as to expose her extreme underbite, allowing her bottom teeth to protude up over her top lips. It's amusing. As she has helped drain my checking account, she owes me *at least* this much. I think I'll knit her a hideous sweater with dinosaur spikes and make her wear it. Vandie was Ione's idea, but she's mine, all mine. I'll do with her as I wish. Muuuwaaaahahahahahah!


I'm now a Loopy Groupy! Last week's sock yarn purchase turned into a windfall of knitting goodness: an awesome vinyl bag, a keychain, candy (!!), a beautiful skein of sockyarn, and a nice pattern. I wasn't expecting any of it, which made it all the more exciting. I'm convinced that Sheri at the Loopy Ewe is one of the most thoughtful people in the world; it takes a special soul to be that generous with clients, and this one most certainly is grateful. It's good to get a present after a crappy week.

Notice the lovely skeins. The multi-color is Gypsy Knits DK in the Sea Legs colorway. The turquoise and brown is J Knits Sock Yarn. I am enthralled. Vandie was, too; so much so that she tried to eat both skeins. I saved them.

Homeschooling! Jillian is into the Ancient Egypt portion of her _Story of the World_ curriculum. We mummified an apple, leaving the raw chicken to braver folks.

A sarcophagus for the apple mummy:

Proof that I am not going to hell in a handbasket: a nutritious meal for my spawn. Tofu Noodle Casserole from the _Vegetarian Family Cookbook_ by Nava Atlas. Great cookbook. I did put in more cheese than it initially called for. Like five times the recommended amount. What? Everybody doesn't quintuple the amount of cheese in every recipe they cook? Oh. Well. I did give them broccoli, too.

Hey Yall, Watch This!

Today was the day to take air conditioners out of the window. It's a tough job, and with John and all his mad muscle power gone, Kirsten's boyfriend, Ben, kindly offered to do it for me. One of the air conditioners, however, stopped blowing cold midway through the summer, so I suggested just tossing it in the garbage can. Ben suggested putting said garbage can under the window and just letting it drop. (In all fairness, those A.C.s are heavy and he had already taken several down to the basement.) So that's what we did:

I didn't realize the video would be sideways when I was taking it. I held the camera wrong in order to get the full shot, so we have to turn our heads to see it. Still funny, though, and a brilliant look at *Coping: Navy Family Style*.