Well, it's vacation time. Mexico this year (if we ever get our passports that is... read my blog entry titled National Passport Hotline for a glimpse into the reality of trying to call the National Passport Hotline).
Getting ready for a trip in our house goes something like this: I start making lists approximately two months in advance. I purchase new underwear for the whole family 6 weeks early. The neighbors are informed, the goats get manicures, the plants get automatic feeders stuck in their roots. The children get haircuts, the house gets steam-cleaned, the house-sitter gets four hundred and thirty-two pages of instructions on how to take care of the house, the animals and the attack Doberman that we always rent when we leave town. (This translates into, "Don't bother trying to come over and steal our finest Saran-Wrap and/or one of the twins. The Doberman can make it to the fence in three seconds.)
So I haven't slept in two months. I have extensive packing check-off sheets for the family. The dogs are bathed, the goats are brushed, the floor is shiny, our paperwork and tickets are in order, we have six bottles of sunscreen available and I have twelve years' worth of snacks in my carry-on. Now here's where it gets interesting:
Four hours before we leave for the airport, the husband opens his suitcase. He throws in six pairs of shorts, shirts and underwear. He closes the suitcase and announces, "Let's go!"
The pre-teen daughter walks in with fourteen chapsticks and lip glosses in fun and fruity flavors and cries, "I don't have any GOOD lip stuff! I'm NOT GOING!"
The teenage boy shuffles in with a bag containing a bathing suit, three socks and a Game Boy, and wants to know when we eat.
The twins are upset because they aren't going, and threaten to eat all of my flowers while we're gone if we don't bring them back t shirts that say, "MY PARENTS WENT TO MEXICO AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS STUPID T SHIRT".
I contemplate going alone. But I'm afraid to leave them all in the house if I'm not here. So we're off like a dirty shirt. Or a band of Gypsies. Or whatever. Mexico has no idea what's coming.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
National Passport Hotline
Thank you for calling the National Passport Hotline. For English, press one.
Para Espanol, prensa dos.
To be immediately hung up on, press three.
To save heartache and just do it yourself, press four.
To listen to forty-one minutes of terrible classical music followed by complete dead silence, leaving you to stare at the phone and repeatedly say, "Hello? Am I still on hold?" press five.
To hear a very bland man announce that if you are not traveling in the next few weeks, there is NO NEED TO WORRY, press six.
To hear the rest of his statement which is, "Don't bother worrying, it won't change the fact that your passport isn't coming", press seven.
To hear the announcement that you may now travel to Mexico, Canada, and the Caribbean with your Government- issued ID and, in Mexico's case, a certified birth certificate, press eight.
To hear snickering because we not only have your passport, but also your birth certificate, press nine.
To hear your mother's voice scolding you that "You should have planned ahead!", press ten.
To hear the ocean waves that you may miss while waiting for your passport, press eleven.
To begin unpacking to the tune of, "You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me, Lucille", press twelve.
To hear all of the above options, press thirteen. At the conclusion of the announcements, you will hear a recording telling you that your call is very important and please stay on the li.....
*click*
Para Espanol, prensa dos.
To be immediately hung up on, press three.
To save heartache and just do it yourself, press four.
To listen to forty-one minutes of terrible classical music followed by complete dead silence, leaving you to stare at the phone and repeatedly say, "Hello? Am I still on hold?" press five.
To hear a very bland man announce that if you are not traveling in the next few weeks, there is NO NEED TO WORRY, press six.
To hear the rest of his statement which is, "Don't bother worrying, it won't change the fact that your passport isn't coming", press seven.
To hear the announcement that you may now travel to Mexico, Canada, and the Caribbean with your Government- issued ID and, in Mexico's case, a certified birth certificate, press eight.
To hear snickering because we not only have your passport, but also your birth certificate, press nine.
To hear your mother's voice scolding you that "You should have planned ahead!", press ten.
To hear the ocean waves that you may miss while waiting for your passport, press eleven.
To begin unpacking to the tune of, "You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me, Lucille", press twelve.
To hear all of the above options, press thirteen. At the conclusion of the announcements, you will hear a recording telling you that your call is very important and please stay on the li.....
*click*
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Gone in Sixty Seconds
Once upon a time, a bag of Ruffles lasted about a week in my house. A half-gallon of Rocky Road hung around for at least four days, and a 12-pack of Dr. Pepper lived peacefully among us for at least a week and a half.
No longer. The boy is a teenager.
The boy has been known to polish off several helpings of dinner, rinse his plate and pop a Hungry Man XXL frozen Beer-Battered Chicken Strip meal into the microwave, all in one fluid motion. When stared at, the boy looks annoyed and says, "WHAT?"
Two Chalupas from Taco Bell are a pre-dinner appetizer. A gallon of milk is simply a warm-up, and a box of cereal generally lasts about 20 minutes. I've caught him with his head in the fridge, talking lovingly to the fruit before annihilating it. He salivates when he sees me come home from the grocery store and does the "Happy Dance" around the bags of bread and produce. He's been known to hold a frozen burrito up to the ceiling with both hands and yell, "Behold! I give you the riches of the bean world!"
So........I made spaghetti and meatballs the other night. I was standing at the sink and said over my shoulder, "Get a bowl, Jethro," and turned to find him standing in front of me with a grin.....holding my PUNCHBOWL! My giant punchbowl.
I gotta go now, though. It's been three hours since I went to the store. The pantry is whispering like a forgotten graveyard and the boy is laying in the corner, clutching his stomach and crying. Come to think of it, his sister is crying too, but I think that's because she got too close to him while he was gnawing on the last of the Doritos. Better add Neosporin and Band-Aids to my list.
No longer. The boy is a teenager.
The boy has been known to polish off several helpings of dinner, rinse his plate and pop a Hungry Man XXL frozen Beer-Battered Chicken Strip meal into the microwave, all in one fluid motion. When stared at, the boy looks annoyed and says, "WHAT?"
Two Chalupas from Taco Bell are a pre-dinner appetizer. A gallon of milk is simply a warm-up, and a box of cereal generally lasts about 20 minutes. I've caught him with his head in the fridge, talking lovingly to the fruit before annihilating it. He salivates when he sees me come home from the grocery store and does the "Happy Dance" around the bags of bread and produce. He's been known to hold a frozen burrito up to the ceiling with both hands and yell, "Behold! I give you the riches of the bean world!"
So........I made spaghetti and meatballs the other night. I was standing at the sink and said over my shoulder, "Get a bowl, Jethro," and turned to find him standing in front of me with a grin.....holding my PUNCHBOWL! My giant punchbowl.
I gotta go now, though. It's been three hours since I went to the store. The pantry is whispering like a forgotten graveyard and the boy is laying in the corner, clutching his stomach and crying. Come to think of it, his sister is crying too, but I think that's because she got too close to him while he was gnawing on the last of the Doritos. Better add Neosporin and Band-Aids to my list.
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