The Most Wonderful Time of the Year!

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for the Happy Dance!

I have experienced this euphoria on the eve of the most wonderful time of the year before,  but like hot dogs on the Fourth of July and turkey on Thanksgiving, it is an annual thing.

I passed through the school supply aisles at Wal-Mart this morning.  The scent of glue sticks, crayons, and pink rubber erasers filled the air creating a sense of euphoria and hope in this full time Medicare Mom.

Bins were brimming with yellow #2 pencils, brightly colored pencil sharpeners, and scissors of all kinds:  blunt, pointy, lefties, righties, plastic and metal.  Bottles of Elmer’s Glue in all sizes were stacked to the very edge of the shelves.  I was becoming light headed and giddy.

Ring binders were lined up and standing like sentinels awaiting assignments.  The end caps were being stacked head high with notebook paper:  wide rule, college rule, no rule.  Eight colors of folders with or without pockets, with or without brads, plastic or paper glistened like a long awaited rainbow offering hope after 40 days and 40 nights of no school.

I rounded the corner and actually swooned at the sight of cartons of kleenex tissue, paper towels, zip lock plastic bags, and bottles of hand sanitizers filling the aisles as they awaited their turn to be placed on the school supply shelves.

I bought two boxes of crayons and two pencil boxes; then plastic pocket folders in every color, scissors, notebook paper, glue sticks and bottles, a ruler just in case, and four spiral note books.  I got two lunch kits, two thermos bottles and 150 plastic sandwich bags. It was glorious!

As I rounded the corner heading for the check-out line, I burst into song “It’s the most wonderful time of the year. “ School bells are ringing and children are screaming and parents are grinning ear to ear!  It’s the most wonderful time of the year.”

 I couldn’t help myself.  I was a racehorse with the finish line in sight, a marathon runner seeing the last mile marker, the exit ramp on the freeway with no cars in sight. I was about to be home free.   School starts in 16 days, 6 hours, 28 minutes, 12 seconds…11 seconds…10…   I will not think that it is only 90 days until Thanksgiving break when school is out for nine and a half days.  Like Scarlet,” I will think about that tomorrow.”  But for now…

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year!”

Shih Tzu + Maltese = ???

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for new breed

I have had this talk with Miss Tia Mia before.  I told her that if she didn’t want to sit at the Wal-Mart parking lot with me again peddling illegitimate pups, she had better behave herself.  I thought she understood.  I did not count on male perseverance, the strong sense of procreation, and the tiny body hidden beneath a mound of fluffy hair that enabled this determined male Maltese to slink between the slates of a very sturdy picket fence.

When I discovered their indiscretion, I noted the date on the calendar.  We are pro puppy, after all. She gained the usual puppy pregnancy weight but this time was different.  She would just lay around and only cut those shaggy eyes up when I walked by.  Guilt, I’m sure.

 Sixty-one days came and went.  No puppies.  No digging in the closet for a maternity ward.  No eating binges or lack of eating.  Just a lot of whimpering, heavy breathing, and a strong need to be held by Dr. Hubby.  I was worried.  At 66 days she was way overdue so it was off to the vet for x-rays. The vet asked how many days and I told her 66. 

“66 days from the last encounter?”

“Uh, no from the first encounter.”

“Oh, you have to count approximately 62 days from the last encounter.”

“Oh,” and I glared at Miss Tia as if I could possibly make her feel more miserable.

 “Yes, there are five puppies in there and yes they could arrive within the next three days and yes that will be $130 please.”

And yes she had the first one two hours after we arrived home, not in the nicely prepared birthing box I had for her, but on the bottom book shelf on top of Hubby’s t-shirts.  By morning all five puppies had arrived. Now how to market them.

My niece said to advertise them as “Designer Pups”.  Ok, Designer Pups, but they needed a cute name like those Peek-a-Poos to reflect their heritage, a Shih Tzu mama and a Maltese daddy.  Would that make them Shih- Tese? Tzu-Malts? Tzu-Tese?  Shih-Malt-Tzu-ese?  Mal- Shihs?   None of those sounded very “designer-ey”.  This was not looking good for the Wal-Mart Parking Lot Puppy Sale.

Six weeks flew by.  I put an ad in our local e-trade newspaper.  I simply said Shih Tzu/Maltese puppies, shots and wormed, six weeks old, $200  A week later and we had sold two and given one to my oldest daughter.  By now the nine-year-old and the thirteen-year-old had named the two remaining “designer pups”…Tatter Tot and Two-Spot-the-Runt, not exactly the kind of names that would generate big bucks. 

Then the oldest daughter got a promotion at work which meant traveling so her puppy came back to our house.  I should have named her Boomerang but she only stayed a day. She was sold the next day to a nice family.

Spring Break and Tatter Tot and Two-Spot-the-Runt went to the RV park with us.  It was my lot to walk the two puppies around the RV park while Dr. Hubby walked Miss Tia in the opposite direction.  I’m sure he was thinking somebody in one of those half-million dollar motor homes would like a Designer Puppy to go along with the other dogs they had. One lady did stop me and ask the price of Tatter Tot.  Without twitching an eyelash, I said “$1600.”  Ok, I had become attached to the little thing.  And the price doubled when asked about Two-Spot-the-Runt.  Well he’s little and fluffy and would have gotten lost in a big old motor coach.

“Have any luck while you were walking the pups,” asked Dr. Hubby.”

“Some, but I think the price put them off.”

I have since received at least fifteen calls from people wanting a Shih Tzu/Maltese puppy. I told them I did not have any more for sale and that is the truth.

I  have two very special unique puppies valued at $3,200…..by me.

And Miss Tia has an appointment with the vet next month. 

The Maltese will be so disappointed.

Weather You Like It or Not

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for map and darts

We have watched the Weather Channel since the time it was only weather and music…on a loop, long before there were actual programs on the channel.  I think we were fascinated by the number of times their forecasts would be accurate and the number of times they missed completely.  Of course with Texas, you really can’t fault their forecasts.  It depends on the exact moment you tuned in to the station.  There is an old saying that if you don’t like Texas weather, wait five minutes and it will change.

I guess that is the reason they don’t name storms in our state, too many kinds.  Dust storms would take you through the alphabet in a week.  Thunderstorms, will that’s a daily occurrence in the spring.  Tornadoes, water sprouts, dust devils, “northers”…well I don’t think even the Cabbage Patch manufacturers could come up with enough names for all those.  Instead, we just seem to classify weather by names with our own lingo to describe the weather.

There’s the “blue tail norther.”  Now that is a cold wind blowing in from Canada cold enough to freeze your pipes and cover the tanks (stock ponds) with ice.   “Nothing between us and the North Pole except a barbed wire fence. “  Now that is different from just a “norther” blowing in.  A “norther” can drop the temperature twenty degrees in five minutes. 

  A “scorcher” is a summer day when the temperature is above 103 degrees.  “Big bank building up” is a row of dark clouds on the horizon building up to a thunderstorm or possible a “blue tail norther”.  A “downpour” is more than two inches of rain in an hour.  Of course you can have a downpour at our house and across the street they only get a sprinkle.  “Bottoms gonna fall out” means a heavy thunderstorm is going to produce a downpour soon.   We also have our share of hurricanes but we mostly just use the Weather Channels name since those are pretty widespread.

The one thing we don’t have a lot of, except in the Panhandle area, is snow. Let an inch of snow fall in any other area of Texas, and Jim Cantores could broadcast non-stop for a week.  First of all, at the first sign of a snow flake or sleet, all school administrators hop on a school bus at 4a.m. to check the bridges and roads.  They must decide if it is school as usual, late start, or If  they deem it is too slick for safety, they declare it a “Bad Weather Day” and alert the radio and TV stations, activate the automated parent calling program and school is cancelled. 

At that point all the children that have been waiting for the school cancelation news, gear up in their Carhart deer hunting clothes, ski clothes, or don seven layers of sweatshirts, thermal-underwear, and hats.  Without proper snow gear, Wal-Mart sacks are duck taped around tennis shoes and Zip-lock bags cover gloves.  Dish pans, cardboard boxes, and trash can lids are pressed into service as sleds.  Some kids are lucky enough to find left over inflatable rafts from the summer in the garage and those also become sleds.  Everyone races to the nearest drive-way, ditch, or anything with the slightest slope.  They have to hurry before the snow melts or is scraped away by careening cardboard sleds.  Mini snowballs are made and midget Snowmen are quickly made. Everyone sends their pictures into the TV stations. Whatever clean snow can be found is piled into a bowls for snow ice cream.

If there is more than an inch of snow lasting more than a day, the highway department will start sanding the bridges and iced roads but that only slows down the number of wrecks

Now I know my Northern friends think we are insane for cancelling school, shutting down the city , and declaring a State Holiday all because of a little snow; but it so seldom snows here, no one knows how to drive on it.

.  I took lots of pictures and made snow ice cream so the eight-year-old and twelve-year-old would have some kind of reference when the Weather Channel talks about Snow Storm Zelda or they study snow in science class.

In my little town, we usually get a heavy snow (for us) about every ten years. We had a good snow last year so it probably won’t snow again until 2024. By then I should have my guest room cleaned and set up for Jim and his crew.  

If it snow 3 inches, we’ll be in the news!

Strangers in the Night, Slot Buddies

by Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for oddities

            There is something about being confined with strangers for a lengthy period of time that makes you lifelong buddies, even if you never learned their names.  People trapped in elevators for a few hours might end up exchanging Christmas cards the next year.  It happens to people waiting in line for three hours at Wal-Mart on Gray Thursday.  And if you happen to run into those people several weeks later you might, as I was, be greeted with “I appreciate your teenager entertaining my two-year-old in the freezer line.”  But nothing bonds people together faster than a few drinks on New Year’s Eve in a casino around a bank of slot machines with a common “enemy”.

            Over the past few months at our favorite casino donation center, we have repeatedly encountered two people we have dubbed “The Odd Couple.”   The Odd Couple seems to have staked an imaginary claim to four of everyone’s favorite slot machines and no one else should ever play them.  If you do, they will stare at you, point at you, and frown if you win any of “their” money.  The maximum donation is $1 if you hope to ever hit the jackpot.  However, the Odd Couple will only play their system which involves keeping a thick notebook, using several player cards, allowing the machine to periodically rest,  having their spouse sit on the opposite machine so no one else can play it, and change up their bet ranging from 1 cent (yes I said 1 cent) to 20 cents and rarely $1.00. 

            Other people have come to recognize the Odd Couple as well, knowing them by various other names, of course.  I am not sure how it happened, but Carol and Sandra (we learned their names several hours later) and Dr. Hubby and I managed to occupy their four favorite machines at the same time much to the chagrin of the Odd Couple. 

As we were being entertained by the spinning slot wheels, the Odd Couple began to circle.  They pointed.  They stared.  They whispered.  We kept playing.  Dr. Hubby’s system involves “talking” to the machines so when Carol would go to the bonus round, Dr. Hubby would begin calling for more doubles, or bonuses, rather loudly.  When Carol got them, we all shouted. People gravitated to the excitement expecting to see a great win only to be disappointed at all the excitement over a $1.32 cent Jackpot.

 It seems, I am ashamed to say, the more the Odd Couple frowned, the louder we got.  To keep my playing money from running out too quickly, I would take frequent potty breaks.  The longer we held onto the machines, the odder the Odd Couple became.  Sandra said “I’ll play a penny at a time before I let them have my machine.”  After a couple of trips to the ATM machine, Carol vowed “I’ll outlast them even if I have to mortgage the farm.”  We learned later that she didn’t have a farm.   

As it got closer to midnight, the champagne began to flow even as the Odd Couple continued to circle.  Sandra wanted to go to her room and put on her warm pajamas and come back, but she was afraid one of the Odd Couple would grab her machine.  After a few glasses of champagne, referred to as “this kerosene stuff” by our new friends, one leaned over to me and said “If I was a drinking woman (I didn’t count the number of empty glasses) I might go over there and whip her butt.”  By this time my butt was numb and Dr. Hubby was hoarse from talking to the machines.  Somehow this had turned into an endurance battle, us four against the Odd Couple.  There was a sign on the wall with a 1-800 number to call if you had a gambling problem.  I think we had an Odd Couple problem.

At exactly midnight, 2015 arrived and 2014 left as did our Odd Couple. We won!  We were broke, but we had won. “Thank goodness.  I was about to run out of money,” said Carol.  “Now I can go to bed.  I have been wanting to for the past two hours,” came from a very tired Sandra.  Heady with our victory, we all smiled, wished each other a Happy New Year, exchanged addresses and I think secretly promised to meet back next year.  Strangers in the night no more.

 Odd, isn’t it?

Where was Moses When the Lights Went Out?

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for New England LED Lantern

Where was Moses when the lights went out?  If you said Wal-Mart you are right.  Well, Moses, Bobbie, Sharon, Jerry, Steve, me and about 200 other people.  We were all in Wal-Mart the other day when the store lost power.

Now losing electricity is a common occurrence when you live behind the Pine Cone Curtain.  Tall pine trees, shallow root system, soaked earth, and a gentle breeze will almost guarantee falling pines and downed power lines. And when you are at home it can be an inconvenience for an hour or two or eight but when you are in Wal-Mart, well that is a black-out of another color.

I was on my second visit of the day to Wal-Mart.  Hey, some social media folks hound Facebook hourly; I choose to wander the aisles of Wal-Mart two or three times a day.  My face appears on their video tapes so much that the employees call me by name.  As I went up and down the aisles noting which brands had moved up to eye level on the shelves and which ones had dropped to the bottom shelf, I heard the thunder.  A few minutes later the lights flickered, then went out. As I looked all the way down action alley I could see the rain pounding the pavement.  Might as well see if Pedigree had been bumped to the bottom shelf by Beniful.

“Jody, lease make your way to the front of the store” came from a silver haired lady wearing a blue vest. 

“I can do that, Madge.”

I moved toward the front of the store thankful for the skylights and noted the bakery and frozen food area had full lights.   A generator no doubt.  Donuts and TV dinners rule!

As I arrived at the front of the store, I glanced behind me.  It looked like the Spanish Armada of shopping carts was descending on the unmanned check out stations. Ten minutes passed, fifteen, twenty.  Pools of melting ice cream spread between ships of the Spanish Armada.  Previously frozen pizzas took on the shape of bottles and boxes beneath them in the carts.   Blue vests, maroon vests huddled with long sleeved-white-shirts-and-tie types. At one point a blue vest went from aisle shouting that it would be at least an hour possible more  before power could be restored and the cash registers would be up and running.  At that point it was as if someone had shouted:

                                                     ABANDON CARTS!

Wal-Mart emptied faster than a Baptist church on game day with a 12:10 kick-off.  The abandoned Spanish Armada was left becalmed on a sticky sea.  I hesitated wondering what to do about the half consumed Coke in my basket and the opened package of M&M’s beside it.  Hey, I got thirsty and hungry waiting for the lights to come on.  Being basically honest, I asked a Blue Vest what to do.  “Just forget about it.”  So I did.

Not knowing what the Wal-Mart policy was on semi-melted food, I was a little wary of any Wal-Mart “Specials” the next day.   However, I did notice Moses stocking up on ice cream and misshaped pizzas.

 

Tip:  Eat a full meal before you go grocery shopping.  You will save money and avoid spilled cookies, chips, crackers, and pretzels on the way to the check-out counter.

Lego Wars

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for Diplomatic Immunity

My eight-year-old purchased a Lego set with the Christmas gift cards he had received.  I would have preferred that he purchase a small country instead, but he wanted Legos.  When he got home, he piled all 514 pieces on a dinner plate and proceeded to separate them out.

“Have fun!” and I left to take the twelve-year-old to ballet class; then I would have another Wal-Mart walk-about while I waited.  When we returned home, I found the eight-year-old with frustration streaming down his face.  With my teeth artfully imbedded in my tongue “I told you not to get such a complicated toy” came out as “I bet your sister can assemble that in no time.  Want her to try?”

With the pre-teen throwing dartful glances at me, I whisked the eight-year-old to the kitchen for the universal magic cure-all…chocolate and Diet Coke.  With caffeine and endorphins coursing through his veins, he raced outside and up a tree while his sister assembled micro Lego dots.

An hour later, the eight-year-old once again came running in with anger streaming down his face.

“She put my Super Secret Police all terrain SWAT mobile together, then took three pieces off and won’t tell me which ones they are,” said a little future-hubby-without-a-clue.  I bit my tongue, again.

“Well I spent a whole hour putting that thing together when I could have been doing something really important like texting my bff" came from the future-wife-in-training.

 My teeth attacked my tongue.

“Wid  ooo ahwebble it an hi wee pieces wike he ed?”  My tongue had doubled in size.

Translation:  “Did you assemble it then hide three pieces like he said?”

“Yes, but he wouldn’t come down out of the tree to even look at it after I spent all that time putting it together."

At that point Dr. Hubby entered the playroom.  He spoke not a word but went straight to work and scooped up all the logo pieces and turned with a jerk.   Sorry, wrong season...poem.

He placed the logos in the center of the table and declared it the DMZ.  Eight-year-olds to the north, twelve-year-olds to the south.  It didn’t matter.  The eight-year-old had already lost interest and retreated to the tree and the twelve-year-old had gone to her room for uninterrupted texting.  I was in the kitchen soaking my tongue in a glass of flavored alcohol and ice.  Hubby followed close behind looking for his universal tranquilizers: “Where’d you hide the Snickers?  Not even any chocolate bars left? Who drank all my Dr. Peppers? “

With the Lego Truce in effect, I am once again going to Wal-Mart.   I will avoid the Lego aisle.  I don’t think I could resist the temptation. With my current frame of mine and swollen tongue, tomorrow’s lead story on CNN might be “Wabbit Woman Wacks Wego aisle.” 

Leg-oooooooo Noooooo!

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for First Aid

I am what you call a Wal-Mart frequent shopper/walker.  My face appears on their security tape entering and leaving their store more often than anyone in town.  It is not that I am an avid shopper; it’s just that I find myself with many separate hours to kill while I wait for ballet lessons, violin lessons, Boy Scouts, basketball or whatever to be over.   Because of this, I am acutely aware of their clearance aisles and their ever changing rotation and migration of merchandise and have a closet similar to a Wal-Mart warehouse.

At Christmas, not trusting anyone over four feet five inches, the eight-year-old had me put his many Wal-Mart gift cards in the safe.  This served a dual purpose. It prevented impulse buying on his part, and I could see which defective toys made it back to the return counter at Wal-Mart after Christmas.  On one of my recent walking tours, I noticed all the Christmas junk toys were gone, and the good stuff like Legos, were now being marked down.  Time to retrieve the boy and the gift cards.

As the Wal-Mart greeter called me by name, we headed for the toy aisle.   As usual, the clearance Legos were Legos no one wanted.  The eight-year-old headed straight for the good stuff.  When he showed me the box, three things immediately jumped out at me, first the price.  When did a toy cost as much a mid-size compact?  Second, how can 512 Legos fit into such a small package?  And third, why was a grenade wired to the box? 

I had promised myself that I would bite my tongue before I said anything negative about his selection.  It was his money, his choice, his Lego.  With my teeth clamped tightly on my tongue, he put his selection in the shopping cart. Why is it that every Wal-Mart has at least one cart with a wheel that is locked, lopsided, or lists to the left and I always end up with that one? We lurched toward the checkout stand with the loaded Legos.

 
As the cashier scanned and removed the detonating device from the Lego box, the eight-year-old pulled out his gift cards.  Card number one had either been next to my cell phone or had been used and forgotten because it was blank.  I bite my tongue.  Card number two was ok as was card three and four and my tongue began to swell. Card number five was for McDonald’s and so could not be used to purchase Legos, and card number six completed the purchase with $5.22 to spare.

 
“What’s the matter Mom? Are you crying?” 

“No, just bit my tongue.”

Next week, The Lego Wars

 

Recipe for Texas Snow Ice Cream

TexasSnow Ice Cream
by Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for man made snow machine


If you live up North, snow can be a daily occurrence.  You are equipped for it.   But here in Texas it is a rare occurrence.  People go nuts with the first flake.  The one highway truck is frantically looking for salt or sand for the bridges.  Pick-up trucks are either spinning down the highway or speeding along the road pulling a wash tub full of kids sliding all over the place.

Wa-Mart sells out of hot chocolate and toilet paper. School is canceled supposedly for safety reasons but the real reason is nobody would come anyway.  Everybody is outside playing in it.

When I was growing up as a kid, the first thing we did as soon as there was enough flakes to scoop up with a spoon, was to make snow ice cream.  I am including my mother's recipe for no fail Texas Snow Ice Cream.

1.  Wait six to ten years for enough snow to stick.

2.  Gather  clean snow in a bowl.  Avoid gathering snow from the barn, the chicken pen, or the hog pen.  The added flavors do not enhance the ice cream.

3.  Locate condensed milk.  If it has been expired more than 4 years, throw in the trash and switch to regular milk.

4.  Pour one cup of milk in a bowl.  Add 1 tablespoon of sugar, and a half cap full of vanilla.  Stir.

5.  Add snow to taste.

If you do it right,  it will taste similar to the ice cream snow cones you get in the summer but only better.

I should warn you that if you want the real thing, you have to wait for it to snow  Throwing ice cubes in a blender is just not the same.  Of course you  could drive north until you reach snow; however you might be called a Snow Bird.

I've got to run.  Temperature is supposed to reach 50 degrees this afternoon and I have to make more snow ice cream before it melts. You really can't can snow or put it up in the freezer.  Like everything else, fresh is best.

Black Friday and Brown Thursday?

A Sale-a-bration!
by Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for a cold shower

Black Friday has now expanded into Brown Thursday notably with several stores having sales starting as early as 6p.m. on Thanksgiving Day. I guess Wal-Mart, also known to the media as Brawl-Mart, figured since they were open anyway, they may has well rack up a few extra million in sales.

With nothing major on my "must have Christmas list" this year, I joined the crowds anyway.  I had "buck" fever. It was the thrill of the hunt. Like some neanderthal cave person, the fear of starvation or in my case missing out on a good buy, drove me from mind numbing marathon football games into the stores.

As I was wandering the aisles, I encountered old friends, not people I knew, but merchandise I hadn't seen since last year...the George Foreman Grill, the foot massager, the heated back pad, the soap on a rope, the cellophane wrapped gift baskets of toe nail clippers, back scrubbers, and lotion. They were all there.  I wondered how we managed to buy a wedding gift or a birthday present during the rest of the year.  I mean you can't find those 32 piece Tupperware look-a-likes with the red lids at any other time.

I had the twelve-year-old with me again.  This was her second BF and first BT (Brown Thursday).  Like a young cub, she was learning.

Dr. Hubby thinks I am a walking contradiction.  I don't allow her to watch violent movies, attend NASCAR races, or  pierce her ears, but I put her in the middle of the biggest free for all of the year.  Ok, for months she did talk about the fight over 800 thread count sheets she witnessed at Target last year but that was different.  That was 800 threads!  And besides, I was not encouraging gladiator mentality.

As 6 p.m. drew closer, the crowds began to circle and mill around the one cup electric food choppers encased in shrink wrap located in the automotive aisle.  I glanced at the twelve-year-old. Her nostrils began to flare, her eyes widened, and she was breathing faster.  The little hairs on the back of our necks began to stand on end. At 5:59 the crowd exploded.  Someone standing very close to me yelled "FIGHT".

The Food Chopper minimum wage security guard ran for the nearest exit.  Food choppers were flying through the air, sometimes attached to a person. Shrink wrap lassos were pulling choppers from the top. Arthritic old ladies became Roller Derby Mamas as they crashed their way through the crowd.  It was glorious!

By the time the S.W.A.T. team arrived it was over.  Hub caps, motor oil, and turtle wax were scrambled amidst shrink wrap, chopper lids, and empty boxes.

It was time to leave...
                                        for the next store.

Stay tuned next week for "Kung Fu Street Shopping"

Craig's List of Trick or Treat

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for therapy for Craig’s Mom

 

Halloween is in the air and in the aisles of every Wal-Mart, K-Mart, and grocery store.  Plastic pumpkins, Halloween costumes, and blood and guts sealed in plastic are on every end cap at every corner.  Most of the displays on the candy shelves offer sugar ladened, calorie loaded, thigh broadening treats in larger and super large packages.  But what if you were more inclined to offer up a trick instead of a treat?   You might start with Craig’s List.

If you want to sell it or buy it, Craig’s List will post it. Up until recently most of the listings were what you would expect on such a site: cars, washers, dryers, furniture, sports equipment etc. Free enterprise prevails. “If you want it, I got it. Let’s make a deal.”  According to WFAA News in Dallas www.wfaa.com/news/consumer/22236124l.html  the newest trend on Craig’s List, and just in time for Trick or Treat, is a bit unusual.  Women are selling positive pregnancy tests on Craig’s List. 

I suppose if you found yourself “in the family way”, you might be looking for ways to keep the future little tyke in diapers.  Given the procedure for taking such a test, a pregnant mom could continue to supply a steady stream (sorry about that) of positive tests for nine months. The return on your investment is better than buying gold, especially if you are a Texas gal.  For some reason, positive pregnancy tests go for around $5 more if from a Texas supplier.

Now the question is who would want such a thing?  I mean you could flash it around, maybe get a few early baby showers out of it, possibly a proposal from a reluctant boyfriend, maybe some extra cash on your Lone Star Card (equilevant to food stamps) but eventually your secret will be found out.

And how would you market such a thing?  “In need of some ‘Positive Reinforcement?’  Get your Clearblue First Response positive test results for the low price of $35.99.  But wait, call now and we will give you a second EPT test at no additional cost.  Just pay shipping and we will do the handling.  If you specify Texas, add an addition $4.99.  Call today.  Available for a limited time only.”

Since these tests are crossing state lines, will the Federal Interstate Commerce become involved?  Will they require a stamped date of freshness?  An expiration date?  Is there an expiration date?  Will they require the location of the collection site as they do for bottled water?

Is this another frivolous lawsuit in the making?  Will the positive results be used as a basis to sue Clearblue for “false/positives” or Craig’s list for fall advertising causing emotional suffering, damage, and in some cases heart attacks? This could be some trick!

Craig, does your mother know what you are listing? All I can say to the women supplying these tests, you better make hay while the sun shines because in nine months the gravy train will come to a stop.

Hey, Craig, Trick or Treat? 

Gold Fish, Rightly So

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for doubloons 

Every kid wants a gold fish.  The parents buy two or three and get an aquarium.  In a month or so the kids lose interest.   The fish die and you flush. End of story.  Oh, there is the occasional funeral and even a rare commercial for Mr. Gold, a fish, who did not have life insurance but for the most part it is not a big deal...until now.
 
Two years ago the nine-year-old wanted gold fish.  For her birthday I got the aquarium, filter, light, bubbler, and three gold fish.  The first two followed the traditional path, died within two days, and were soon flushed.  She wanted replacements.  What the heck, at 18 cents a fish I could afford to be generous, so I bought two replacements expecting all to be over within a month.
 
When the fish were four months old, I had to find solid food weekend feeders for them as we were going away for the week-end.  When we planned a week long cruise, I had to search all over town for three somewhat expensive seven-day solid food feeders for the now one-year-old fish.  When we returned I half expected to have to flush some skinny fish.  Not so.  They were thriving.
 
When I mentioned this to my friends they said "What, you didn't have the one way valve connectors for the bubblers?  Man, you are lucky the electricity didn't go out while you were gone.  You could have returned with ten gallons of water syphoned out onto your carpet and some smelly 
fish." 




Before our next trip, I bought the one way valves for the bubblers which were not cheap.
 
At two and a half years old, the three fish are still alive and have grown to be five inches long lips to tail fin.  Every time I pass by the aquarium, I swear they are laughing.
 
Night before last, the eleven-year-old came running into the bedroom.
 
 "You've got to help me.  Margarita (I swear I don't know where she got that name although I could have used one right then) is being beaten up on by Tiger Eye and Goldie Locks.  They are pecking on her (I thought only birds pecked) and pushing her up against the glass.  You've got to do something."
 
My first thoughts were of an old cheer we used to do when we played John Tyler High School in football.  FLUSH THAT JOHN!  FLUSH THAT JOHN!  But knowing how tender hearted she could be when it came to dumb animals...and fish...I went to see what was happening.

 
Sure enough, Tiger Eye and Goldie Locks had it in for Margarita. 
 
"You've got to rescue Margarita." The only thing I had big enough to accommodate Moby Dick was my cut glass punch bowl, not exactly what my mother had intended it for when she gave it to me.
Nevertheless, we filled the punch bowl with dechlorinated water and moved Margarita into her new condo.  She did have a few scales missing and was listing a little to the left; Margarita, not my mother, although my mother does that, too, from time to time. 
 
"She should be fine," I said as I eyed the toilet.
 
"What about a bubbler?  She's going to need air."
 
"She will be alright tonight. In the morning I'll get a multiple connector for the pump.  Now go to bed."
 
The next morning I got up early to do any necessary flushing in case Margarita hadn't made it.  She was laughing at me on her side.  The bubbler that at been in the aquarium was in the punch bowl and my daughter's alarm had been set for midnight.  She had been switching the bubbler from one tank to the next all night.
 
I bought the multiple connector at Wal-Mart.  Last night we tried putting Margarita back into the aquarium with the bullies.  Nothing had changed. Margarita went back into the punch bowl.  At least there would be no switching bubblers back and forth during the night.
 
I googled "bullying gold fish".  According to the experts, a ten gallon aquarium is too small for three gold fish the size of ours.  Back to Wal-Mart for yes, another ten gallon aquarium, pump, filter, bubbler, lights, and plant.  Ka-ching.
 
I set up the aquarium and all the gear. I put Margarita in her new single digs.  She straightened right up, swam around, and I swear, smiled at me.
 
The relief on  my daughter’s face when she arrived home from school and saw Margarita swimming happily  in her very own ten gallon tank was worth all the trouble and expense to me. 

 However, later  while looking at the sales slip, Dr. Hubby commented "Now I know why they are called Gold Fish."
 
"You better hope she takes as good a care of us in our Golden Years as she does these Gold fish."
 
"Good point.  Maybe you should get a waterproof TV  to keep Margarita entertained.  After all, we want her to be happy."

Top 10 Resolutions We Can All Keep

At this time of year we all set ourselves up for failure by making resolutions we know will be broken before the printer stops humming (if they even make it that far.)

This year I am making resolutions that ensure success.  Feel free to copy these for yourself.

Be it resolved that in 2013 I will:

1)  Think about the number of calories in that hunk of fudge (you may substitute any other fattening noun) as I stuff it in my mouth.
2)  Mentally  do12 jumping jacks as I pass by the gym.
3)  Place a bowl of plastic fruit on the dinning table to remind me I should eat healthy.
4)  Do more walking by making my shopping list in random order rather than organized by the lay out of Wal-Mart . (I heard really efficient shoppers can get in and out of Wal-Mart in less than 3 hours).
5) Increase my reading speed by grabbing a copy of National Enquirer in the check-out line and see how far I can read before the cashier is finished.
6) Carry 5 bags of groceries at a time from the car to the kitchen to increase arm strength.
7)  Spray Aqua Net on all mirrors to erase facial wrinkles.
8)  Tear out all the size tags in my clothes.  Ignorance is bliss.
9)  Eat whatever someone else is willing to cook for me.

and finally
10)  Laugh out loud every day, even if it is at the guy in the next lane.

With these resolutions I am sure 2013 will be a wonderful year.

Going to the Dogs, The Real Scoop

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for Christmas Past

It was time to take the seven-year-old and the tween ager to do their annual Christmas shopping or I guess now it would be called Christmas gifting.  The difference this year is that they have their own money as a result of some very hard working chickens and one lazy rooster.  They have mastered the income part but haven’t quite got a handle on overhead expenses which ain’t exactly chicken feed.  Well it is but the price of chicken feed makes for some very expensive eggs.

My job was to be chauffer and gifting consultant as needed.  When we arrived at…wait for it…Wal-Mart…they immediately headed for the toy aisle.  As they calculated their combined income to see how much they would have left for themselves once all others had been “gifted” I perused the array of toys.

Besides the usual array of baby dolls, Candy Land, checkers, and bikes, there seemed to be other toys that would have given me nightmares had Santa dropped them down my chimney.  There was a game where you arranged realistic spongy brains into some kind of skull.  There was a kit for making totally ghoulish edible intestines, livers, and other assorted body parts guaranteed to make you 
scream in sour delight.  G.I. Joe was tucked in the corner of the aisle completely surrounded and overwhelmed with alien beings spouting several heads, spikes, and assorted eyes.  Bey Blades, which I mistakenly called Gay Blades, are the new spinning tops.  These, however, were battling tops complete with pistol launchers and glorified expensive plastic dishpans that serve as combat arenas. 

From the next aisle over, I heard squeals of delight. “Here it is!”  “Just like on TV”.  The object of their excitement was the Doggie Doo toy.  Evidently you feed this plastic wiener dog colored food, and then pull its leash thus “walking” it until the inner mechanisms maneuver the food from one end of the dog to the other where it comes out as poop.  Color coded shovels were included to scoop the color coded poop.  Now these are the same two kids who will only walk their real life dog under threat of total electronic shut down.  And forget about scooping anything! 

 Now granted, my older children had a Baby Alive when they were young.  You could feed the baby special baby food that came with it and over time,  gravity and two size C batteries not included would create a poopy diaper for the little mommy to clean up.  I should have known this was going to be a forerunner of the Doggie Doo toy when, as they got older, they diluted the baby food and created life like throw-up and diarrhea.

The Doggie Doo toy reminded them to rush to the Pet Aisle in search of a gift for Tia Mia, also known as Miss Buffington, Kiwi, and other assorted names depending on who has to walk her. They spent a good hour there searching for just the right toy for her amusement and the right Christmas outfit for her to wear when somebody else is walking her.

“What about the people on your list?  I mean the people besides yourselves, like parents.” 

“Well, you’ve got everything at Wal-Mart already. “

 Ok, that’s semi-true.  “But what about sharing?”

“I know.  You can play Doggie Doo with us.  You can even have the red scoop and all the red poop.”

“That is very thoughtful.  I’ll meet you at the check-out counter. I have to stop by the CD area for another present.” 

 I’m sure the children will enjoy “Barking Jingle Bells” It’s such a canine hit

                                  Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.

The TALK, Part One, the Female

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved to purchase a Man Cave.

There comes a time in every family when the adult sits down with the child to have “The Talk.”  The parent will stall as long as possible, seeking advice from books, fellow parents, and Dr. Phil, but eventually the parent and child must have “The Talk”.  In our home it began with Dad and the age appropriate child.  It went something like this.

Dad:  Son, you may have noticed that Mom is different from us.  She is a female.  Females are different from males.  We are not the same.   We have different priorities, needs.

For example, I need the pile of papers on my desk to remain just that, a pile of papers on my desk.  For a long time when you would drop your winter coat by the door in December,   it would magically get hung back up by Mom, forcing you to ask her where your coat is. Twice a year, spring and early fall, you have seen Mom go into a cleaning frenzy, screaming and threatening to hold all clothing, toys, games, electronics, and piles of paper  hostage for the rest of your life if left scattered about .  Now that you are of that age, my advice to you is to just lay low.  It will blow over in a couple of weeks.

Females think differently from men.  Females are long range planners and they can see far, far, far into the future.  Remember when you came home with a C in Beginning Play Dough?  I said “Humph” and continued watching the football game.  Your Mom, on the other hand said “C, a C?  You made a C? Well, no more Sesame Street for you.  This is just awful.  What’s next?  C’s in Legos? Do you think second grade is going to be easy?  Do you think Harvard takes C students? I can see it all now. You will end up in community college and then what?  Transfer to an online university?   You will be taking remedial courses because you failed to challenge yourself in Beginning Play Dough and you’ll meet another remedial Play Dough person and you will get married, have children right away and never finish your degree.  You will become a stocker at Wal-Mart and they will schedule you to work every Black Friday and your wife and children will weep and wring their hands for fear you will be mobbed guarding the four available My Little Kitchens from rabid early shoppers!    A C, a C!  My brilliant child made a C in Beginning Play Dough.” 

For a female, food equals calories.  When the female goes on a diet, everybody goes on a diet. Start stock piling chips, dip, hot dogs and chocolate now before spring and the ads for bathing suits appear.  And never ever answer the question “Does this make me look fat?”  There is no correct answer.  Pretend to be deaf, change the subject, ask if you can do the dishes; anything to throw her off. 

I am printing out this talk for you.  Before you decide to bring one home to keep, read this again.  Mom is a female, whom I love, but she is different from us.  Remember that.

The Shopper Who Came in to the Cold!

By Jody Worsham

I have renamed Black Friday.  I am now calling it Blue Thursday.  Why, you may ask, as I am sure you are, so I shall tell you.  I’ll tell you even if you did not ask.

This was the year I introduced the Tween-Ager to the Thanksgiving shopping frenzy known as Black Friday only this year it started on Thursday.  We had finished our Thanksgiving dinner and it was truly a thanksgiving because I did not cook.   We prepared for battle:  store floor plans for location of all sale items, cell phones charged and ready, snack crackers, gum and water bottle in large purse, store flyers with high priority items circled, and final trip to the bathroom.  I explained that when it comes to Black Friday shopping, it’s every man, woman, and child for himself.  She must plant her feet, stand firm and under no circumstances relinquish her hold on any wanted item.   We were ready.

We said good-by to our loved ones and left for Wal-Mart, our first stop. We were able to secure a good parking place close to the door as we were two and a half hours early for the first event.  This also enabled us to canvas the store and locate the TV and trampoline lines and to sneak a peek under the black plastic wrapped crates for the “good stuff”.  At six-thirty the tween-ager took up her position in the TV line located next to the refrigerated beer and wine.  She was number eight in line for the sale that would start at 10 p.m.  I took up my position in the trampoline line which began between the frozen meet aisle and the frozen corny dog bins.   After the first hour, I realized we had made a serious tactical error in our battle preparations.  No jackets.  My “event” would begin at 8 p.m.  I promised to relieve the tween-ager as soon as I got the trampoline but she was not to leave her position.

By 7:45 p.m. I was freezing from having stood next to the frozen chickens for so long.  The tween-ager called to say she was also freezing, could I get her some hot chocolate.  At 7:48 my heretofore dormant teacher “fight’s about to start” antenna started to vibrate.  The noise rose and the first fight began on aisle three.  I left my position to make sure the tween-ager was not in harm’s way.  I explained it was just a fight over 700 thread count sheets.  “Sheets!  They’re fighting over sheets?  I want to go see.”  “No, maintain your position” and I sneezed and returned to the freezer line.

At eight o’clock I got the trampoline certificate, and then went to relieve the tween-ager.  Over the course of the next two hours we became friendly with the other people in line; some were friendlier than others due to the dwindling supply of Bud-Lite that had previously been in the refrigerator section when the line first formed.  We got reports from other shoppers of people shoving, pushing, elbowing their way to snatch an X-box and that was just the senior citizens.  I did notice that there weren’t any of the motorized shopping carts for the handicapped.  I guess Wal-Mart feared hit and runs.

Shivering and sneezing we left Wal-Mart at eleven o’clock with our TV, trampoline, and a buggy full of things we didn’t know we had to have.  

“This is great,” said the Tween-ager, “what are we going to do before the next store opens at mid-night?” 

“Get warm!” 

Minus Quarter Pounder X 30 = Negative 8

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for MIT School of Weight s, Measures, and Economics

No I have not had a brain transplant, although that might not be a bad idea.  And I haven’t been struck by lightning that suddenly made it possible for me to do quantum physics, calculus, or sixth grade math, but there has definitely been a change in our lives.  Let me explain.

For the past seven years I have made the twice daily trip from our semi-thirty-five-acre-mini-plantation into town delivering and picking up kids and passing Wal-Mart and McDonald’s a minimum of four times a day with frequent stops at both places.  Over this period of time, the clearance aisles at Wal-Mart have slowly made their way to our barn, the shop, and every closet in the house.   Ballet, gymnastics, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, violin lessons, church activities and a tight schedule resulted in fast food becoming a necessity as it was too far to go home and eat and get back in town in time for the next activity.  Those quarter pounders, happy meals, and caffeine/calorie loaded mocha frappes have found their way to my backside resulting in double digit stretch jeans.  Our credit card statement required extra postage.

At the beginning of the school year our children enrolled in a new school.  It is the same distance from our semi-plantation as their old school, but in the opposite direction.  In fact, there is nothing between our house and the new school except pine trees and speed limit signs; no gas stations, no McDonald’s, no Wal-Mart…not even a Dollar Tree. 

Now, because I no longer pass by and stop at  Wal-Mart’s two or three times a day, the clearance items are now more equally available to people who only come to Wal-Mart once or twice a week and our clearance aisle inventory is dwindling.  Since time, distance, cost of speeding tickets and gasoline have increased, we have dropped gymnastics, Girl Scouts, and one set of ballet lessons. 

The biggest change has come in the form of meals.  McDonald’s does not deliver so we have had to rely on my cooking.   Since I am not the World’s Best Cook (I am, however, in the running for Worst Cook Title) we have resorted to more natural foods….bread, peanut butter, honey, apples, bananas…natural foods that require no ovens or forgotten pots on the stove.  Also, because there are no longer four pages of credit card charges to McDonald’s and Wal-Mart, our credit card statement covers only two pages and one stamp.

And that, in a convoluted manner, leads us to the title of this week’s post.  During the first six weeks of school minus Happy Meals, quarter pounders, and mocha frappes, I have lost eight pounds.  The credit card people did call and asked if I had been ill or kidnapped.

I said, “Nope, just going in a different direction.”