I think we should settle this right here — and right now.
The issue of towels. And how to fold them.

A stack of towels sets beneath the dining room lamp. Glowing in all of its new folded glory. This task has been performed by a male species because they do not honor the band on the edge of the towel. You know which band I am talking about, the 2 inch horizontal strip that doesn’t have any fuzzy stuffies coming from it.

I believe this flat band was put there for mothers like me, who like to watch Oprah while creating that perfect crease without having to look away from the TV. Yes, that band is my hero. I can mindlessly fold my towel in half then tri-fold it over so that when it is placed onto a shelf, (and not left to bask beneath the dining room lamp), it is the just right size for making two rows which not only feature the pretty band facing up, but allow for extra blankets and pillows to have a home, too.

The men in my house have a different technique. It’s the one with choirs singing above it called “ignore the band all together” — just get the towel bunched into a square and shove it onto the shelf while hoping the door closes.

I dunno — maybe I am having one of those Calgon moments where you bathe in wildflowers. I should be grateful the guys actually washed them. The last time Kyle went near the towels, he informed he took a short-cut. “They were dirty so I just threw them in the dryer with one of those scented thingys”.

Today’s Life Recipe: Appreciate thy band and the terri-cloth shall hum.

Painting, Blue Bonnet Rain, used in this blog is by Artist Michael Warren.

Saturday, August 3oth is Debbie’s first Flip Your Dish event, benefiting the Children’s Miracle Network. There will be art by Michael Warren, live music and a raffle valued at over $600.  Click here for details!

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What was she thinking when she wasn’t thinking?

My friend Bonnie. Sweet, calm spirit. Dark brown hair. Bursting with freckles, never wears make-up, doesn’t have to. She is the organized one of the two of us. But Bonnie is having one of those days… Her computer died. She left her cell phone charger at the house. Her kid’s are fighting in the back seat. And if couldn’t get more glam than that, she has a gyne appointment in two hours. So I called to check on her. “Are you back at the house?”

 ”No, I’m at the gas station. Hold on a second…… I’m on pump number six. I need to pay for gas on pump number six.”

 ”Is that your car over there?”

 ”Yes, by pump number six. The pump’s not going on. I need to pay you so I can get gas and leave.”

 ”Well, I can’t do that right now.”

 ”I can’t pay you right now? Why?”

 ”Because someone else is getting gas on pump number six.”

 ”Are you serious? Someone took my turn?”

 ”Ma’am, I don’t know. I’m just telling you that I can’t do that right now. You need to step over there so I can help the next person in line.”

 ”Oh my gosh! Debbie! Did you just hear that? The gas station lady is chewing me out!”

Poor Bonnie. I can’t even respond. I am laughing too hard. That’s okay though… Bonnie hasn’t stopped spewing….. “and now Debbie you are not going to believe this one! Michael just got out of the car and he is waving his arms, Mom! Nestle tea! Nestle tea! I’m like I heard you five times! Hello??? Debbie??? Are you still there???”

 ”Yeah, Bonnie– I’m just wondering if you are!”

 TODAY’S LIFE RECIPE: If the pump won’t pump and the phone won’t phone, then ET go home. Bake brownies and laugh.

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 (Yes. The Answer is Yes.)

My name is Debbie. (Hello Debbie.)I overcooked my family. (Welcome to overcooked anonymous, Debbie.)

The nice thing about being here, with other parents at OA, is that I learn how to take the 5th again. (We’re glad you’re here, Debbie.)My two kids were in the kitchen yesterday, rolling like chicken wings in flour. Practically laughing too hard to ask me, “You don’t remember?”

“Mommmm! I am sooooo glad that I learned how to lie to you or I would have been the nerdiest kid in high school!!” Marissa continued chuckling while I scraped myself off the ceiling. “Don’t…..” bwah-hah… “let mom…..” bwah-hah… “do this to you Kyle.”

Kyle who begins his freshmen year in three weeks, stopped rolling. “Whhhat? You made Marissa take that great big white huge clunky air purifier to a party when she was in high school? Whhhy?”

“Because I’m allergic to cats and the person who was throwing the party had cats. I told mom that I’d be fine. But noooo. When my date pulled up, she stuck that old round thing in his arms. The dumb thing was so ginormous it didn’t even fit inside his pick-up truck. So he laid it in the back. When he turned the corner we heard a clunk-clunk-clunk. The thing had flown out of his truck and rolled into a field! The whole time we looked for it, I kept thinking to myself - ‘thanks mom… you’re sort of ruining my cool image here’!”

Today’s Life Recipe: There are several ways to clear the air —– trusting is one of those.

WATCH THE 2 MINUTE VIDEO of this funny, air purifier story ala Sonoma Chicken Salad.

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What was he thinking when he wasn’t thinking!

Is it just me — or, was this my husband’s way of saying he wanted to become a Thursday Thoughtable?

You may recall in my previous post that our family recently sustained a few break throughs… While pacing in his attic, my brother in law’s foot went through their ceiling, then my car door fell off while ordering ice-cream cones. Chocolate dipped. That is why my driver’s window needed to stay rolled down. It was the only way to get in and out of the car.  (Which, by the way it was —– down, completely in the above gushing water sprinkler photo.)

Lucky for my front seat, it had been a very long, hot day. So it was thirsty. Fortunately for me, I was driving Ken’s truck tomorrow. He wanted to take mine “in” (thought maybe the dealership could fix the dangling door better than he had. Hmmm…) So, I was wondering — do you think I should remind my husband that he is the one who told me to leave the window rolled down? That we were switching cars tomorrow?

Raindrops keep falling on my car…..

Today’s Life Recipe: Let the sun shine in. Especially if dad is watering the grass!

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Okay, I don’t normally text and tell, but then again I’m rolling so I have to.

My sister text messaged me. Asked if I heard about her husband’s leg going through their ceiling. Since the headline hadn’t made it to my small east Texas town, I quickly wrote her back. Asked if he was okay, which part of the ceiling took his big foot — that sort of thing.

She answered their den. His right leg. It’s all scratched up.

Visualizing my sister’s husband — a computer whiz with similar gifts for carpentry as my hubby– (Sorry Ken but remember when you “fixed my car door?” Well,,,,, it fell off at Dairy Queen last night. It’s hanging by a black wire in our driveway), I quickly texted her a LOL !!! Take a picture! I’ll turn it into a blog post.

She wrote back quickly. Okay. I’ll take a picture. He’s sleeping.

I am sure my head did the puppy dog tilt as I read and re-read her text for a third time. Did my sister think I meant her husband’s leg? Take a picture of his scrapes?

Oh! LOL! hahahahahahaha! Yes, I thought you meant his leg! Okay — I’ll go take a picture of the ceiling, now.

(Do you see why I had to text and tell? Apples don’t fall far from the tree… or car doors… or ceilings…)

Today’s Life Recipe: Not everyone can be fixers. That’s why God made pixers! LOL !! I couldn’t help it !!

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So every Thursday I post my what was I thinking when I wasn’t thinking moments which I seem to have oodles of.

This week, (wink-wink), I didn’t have any. Ohhhhkay, so that’s a teensy exaggeration. The truth is, I thought it might be fun to flip my dish. That’s right — do something wild and crazy, like take the day off. Woah! Go to a water park and slide down tubes that turn directions my body doesn’t move anymore.

That’s when my friend Bonnie said, Hey! Look how adorable Becky-FrumpMama looks in her prize from Southern Gourmet! I think we need to make her our first Golden Apple Thoughtable Award winner, for posting sweet thoughts about winning in her blog.

I loved Bonnie’s idea, because Becky’s post about winning our Write the Fun contest, made my day! Every other week I give away a prize on my show and it’s really cool to hear from winners. So, thank you for being such a FUN blogging buddy! Enjoy your Golden Apple Award!

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Poof! You guys are a blog post.
I wave my invisible wand. Kyle points the sink squirter at me.
Ken yelps. Don’t spray mom! If you spray her, she will turn us into another blog post.

That’s right! I will turn you into two posts instead of one. That’s what you get for my being out numbered. Men…… hmph….. My husband and teenage son do not appreciate the money I am saving our family by ordering make-up off TV. They say if I order one more mineral eye shadow they are going to bury me in a QVC envelope… with all the jewelry that I can’t find.
 
Actually dad, I have a better idea. Instead of burying mom in one of those padded envelopes, let’s bury her in that vacuum bag she bought. The one you stick the vacuum hose into and it sucks all the air out and shrinks the blankets into washcloths or something.

Good idea, Kyle. That way mom will be 3 feet instead of 5 feet and cheaper to send back.
 
If we shrink her with the vacuum bag, we need to mark it non-returnable.

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“What was I thinking when I wasn’t thinking?”

Not me. My friend Bonnie. She sent me a twilight email. Relieved. Marshall’s mother called to tell her that it was poison ivy with an allergic reaction. Bonnie can go back to bed now. But not me. I sit here at 2 a.m. wondering whether or not I should plaster the kitchen walls. Googling different textures. I’ve been wanting to change the walls for years. That’s how I found Bonnie’s email.
 
Bonnie’s nephew and her son had taken a nature walk behind their new house. Looking for fossils. They returned after ten minutes, bored. Dinner was served. Bedtime hit. Then at 1 a.m. her son Michael blasted a bunch of “m’s” into her right ear.

“MommmmmmMMMMM — Marshall has bites all over him!”
 
Bites?
 
Yeah!!!! Bug bites!
 
Sure enough, Marshall was covered. His left earlobe was huge. And he had a huge spot in the middle of his forehead, too. Bonnie, being concerned that this could be some rare form of nature walk chicken pox, calls Marshall’s mother who picks him up and takes him to the emergency room.

 
“I was concerned…” Bonnie tells me. “I mean those spots could have been a brand new rare form of something or other. Scientists from all over the world could have shown up in my backyard with those big metal tubes… Quarantining us. There goes our appreciation value. It’s a good thing I was worried.”
 
Yes, it’s a good thing mom’s know how to worry… I mean, how many dads would fathom busting through non-breakable bubble shields installed by the American government? Bonnie could sleep now. She has saved the world. Again.
 
Today’s Life Recipe: Google + three leafs = poison ivy. Moms + worry = blue capes monogrammed with capital “S’s”.

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 If necessity is the mother of invention, then why do they say,
 ”father knows best?”

Do not ask me. Ask your father. “But dad doesn’t know anything.” Okay. I’ll give you that. Hey Ken - where are all of your towels?
 
I don’t know. I was wondering the same thing myself.
 
See what I mean? Ken is funny, he is kind, he can arrange coals on the grill and cook up the best steaks ever, but sometimes my husband simply has no idea. Step into my living room. Into the middle of any conversation.

Hey mom - where’s my blue baseball belt?
 
Probably attached to the baseball pants you can’t find either.
 
I didn’t ask you dad. Mom - have you seen my belt?
 
Did you look in your room?
 
Yeah - I thought I did when I was looking for a t-shirt. But I didn’t see a blue belt.
All right. Let me help you. Hey Ken! I found your towels! Kyle - you can’t take dad’s towels and throw them on your floor. You need to at least hang them up.
 
I have an idea! How about we install hooks all over Kyle’s floor. That way when he throws stuff, he’s bound to get one on there.

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What was I thinking when I wasn’t thinking?

Me. The woman who asked my husband (fourteen years ago), to bundle our newborn while I packed the diaper bag.
 
Whew! A lot of winters have blustered since then. Each one of them filled with me telling Kyle to put on a coat… zip his sweatshirt. Take off those nylon shorts! It’s 30 degrees outside! I have thrown myself across our threshold, hands folded, begging him not to wear sleeveless shirts during the middle of winter. But it’s no use — the child is weather illiterate.
 
Granted, it is summertime now. I shouldn’t be thinking about wool sweaters. But the way I see it, I have four years left to get it right. Kyle begins high school in August.
 
I am completely unaware during this woah is me, mama-drama-moment, that in two minutes my phone will ring. Ken will call asking me to go into his file cabinet for a folder that he forgot to bring to work. While digging through his gray metal cube, I stumble across a most unexpected jewel. Not the kind you wear around your neck, but one so magnificent, that in that instant I know exactly how it feels to be Indiana Jones…
 
Stuck to a paper clip, underneath the orange folder thingys, is a 4×6 photo of newborn Kyle stuffed into that fluffy blue abominable snowsuit… (Above) If you use a magnifying glass you can see his precious little lips saying, Help! Something ate my arms! 
 
Talk about discovering what I was looking for… now that it is July. 2008.
 
Today’s Life Recipe: Little boys are not born weather illiterate. They are created —— by dads who mean well.

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