Before I Forget

M speaking to his sister:

"I got to talk to a real policeman at Jason's and he didn't shoot me."

Yep, this is what I heard on this morning's drive to school. Odd, since this actually happened months ago...like in January. It cracks me up how things just pop out of my children's mouths. M has been fascinated with police, firemen, and farmers for a long time. Speaking to a police officer obviously made quite the impression on him.

My children's mouths remind me of the old popcorn poppers, things just come flying out when you least expect it. I will hear stories about when we lived in Virginia or when they were born. The story is told from a first hand account. Never mind the fact they were too little to remember or had just exited the womb. H is very proud of how she bit the doctor, not once but twice. M is never tired of telling me how he pee'd on the doctor. Yes, darlin', I kind of remembered that...watching that finally clued me in to why there are all those cherub baby water fountains...it looked just like that. Obviously, someone watched their child's stream and decided to re-enact it for the whole world to enjoy in the beauty of someone's garden or patio.

What I really need is a videocamera on at all times. Last night, M was telling me about his trip to the Botanical Garden. His face was completely animated and one eye would close giving him a Popeye countenance and his upper lip had this little curl to it. I was enthralled watching him tell me about his day...yet, the very back of my brain was thinking "Why don't I have something to record this because this is never going to happen again!" I will have to get him to tell me the story again just like I had to when he built his guitar...I hope I get the curling lip and the one-eyed squint...before I forget.

Writer's Block

Dear Readers (all 4 or 5 of you),

I thought it was time to sit down and write you an entertaining blog...problem is...I have writer's block. I guess it is true, it takes a 1000 compliments to get rid of one unkind remark...I have 998 compliments to go. I am cheating, I am copying and pasting from an email I sent to my friend, Steve.

So, I thought I would tell you about my worst day in high school. Then you can tell me about yours.

Once upon a time, during my sophmore year in high school, I arrived at school, did my thing at my locker in the 800 row and schlepped across the field to the annex for geometry. I was in geometry with my mind going other places (as usual) and realized...I didn't see my tennis racquet in my locker...Odd...Mr. Ley (an odd duck, I'll have to remember to tell you about him someday) gave me a pass and back I schlepped through the mud to check my locker. No racquet. Someone had stolen my racquet. Off to P.E., changed and did whatever it was I did for P.E. and went back to change...my purse was missing out of my locker. I thought my friend had stolen it as a joke...couldn't figure out how since no one knew my locker combo. It finally dawned on me, it wasn't a joke. I am forever a problem solver, I decided to go to my car and get the change I keep in the ashtray for lunch money. Off I go, with my BFF, Linda Pilcic to my car (which I always parked across the street and not in the lot). Imagine my surprise when there is no car. Now I need to recruit an adult and give my dad a call. (Sound familiar?) Police are called and the police officer obviously spying my blonde hair makes me sit in his car while I search the parking lot for my car...just in case I forgot where I parked. Tony Morrow hops in the back of the police car to help me out...how gallant...or he wants in on the action...I will go with the latter on that one. No car.

By now, my dad has arrived. He decides to call it a day for me and take me home. I have to talk to the principal first...Actually, I think it was the principal's idea for me to go home...while I am talking to the principal...the zipper on my pants breaks...right there, in front of him, my audience, and anyone happening along at that moment.

Home I am, about 3:30, my older brother, Rick, pulls up in my '63 Fairlane. My car. No one elses. He had stolen the extra key and helped himself to the car while I was at school. Now the police have to be called and told the car has been located...and it is in my driveway.

A police officer arrived to take the report...my mom, not one to let our dirty laundry be known to anyone never spoke up and never said my brother did not have access/permission to my car...The police officer's parting words to me were "Next time, pull your head out of your ass before calling the police."

If that weren't bad enough, the next day when I got to school and everyone was giving sympathy...the question was asked "Who stole your car?" And I had to answer, "My brother." UGH!

I never did find out what happened to my purse or tennis racquet. Weird.

High School picture provided to help you picture me wandering around looking for tennis racquet, purse, car...you name it, I was looking for it.

Best Buddies

This blogger has been suffering from a bad case of writer's block. Thank goodness for videos...This little video was made yesterday during a visit to the park...The Stay At Home Wenches put all household chores on hold and embraced the sunshine...while it lasted.

Best Buddies from Susan Bice on Vimeo.

Kissy Huggy

The "Kissy! Huggy!" is another M invention. The "Kissy! Huggy!" is a kiss and a hug...which can last forever. This is used to delay parents from leaving, delay a sister from leaving and to stall bedtime. It is rather sweet and I love the "Kissy! Huggy!" but I do have to admit, he has us bamboozled.

Why I Don't Mind Driving a Taxi

Conversations with my children are odd, humorous, and today...sweet. Our best conversations happen while driving in the car and I tell myself "Don't forget this, don't forget this!" I forget. (I wonder if it has something to do with the fact that is pre-8 a.m. and I am not a morning person) Today, I remember our conversation! (And I think it has to do with the fact that this is in the afternoon...3 p.m.)

First up, Miss H.
H: Mom, they're selling flowers for $4 and I have $4. Can I take it to school so I can get you a flower for Mother's Day?
Me: (Bear in mind my response has a lot to do with the fact that I have no idea what to do with an 18" tissue paper flower) That is very sweet but why don't you use your money to get an ice cream from the popsicle man when he comes by this weekend. I would rather you get an ice cream.
H: I want to get the flower, Mother's Day is more important than ice cream. (I love being a mom)

Now for Mr. M.
(This conversation took place after M heard me make an appointment for a pedicure)

M: Was that the makeup lady?
Me: Yes. (I am too lazy to try and explain haircut/spa/pedicure kind of place)
M: Is that why you look so beautiful all the time. (This is a keeper...I am 47, I am pretty sure as he grows, he will not be describing me as beautiful, but as wrinkled)

Yep, conversations in the car are pretty special.

How To Make A Guitar

by MJB

This past Thursday and Friday, school was cancelled in our area for a few probable (now confirmed)cases of Swine Flu. M has never lacked imagination, he took a discarded broom stick and a brown paper bag...and voila...M now has a guitar and boy, can he ROCK!

I was not prepared with a video recorder when he came in and explained his guitar to me. I was also given an impromptu concert. I realized this was a priceless moment in my life and asked for an encore. A Rock Star was born, May 1, 2009.

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M Makes a Guitar from Susan Bice on Vimeo.

My Story

This was on one of my friend's Facebook Page. Those of you who know me, know how close this is to my heart...so I am sharing it. For those of you who don't know me...many miscarriages and infertility treatments and peace at just one child occurred in the 12 1/2 year space between the birth of my first daughter and my second daughter. I think you'll like this video.