FlipSide:Starting June 11, 2001

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A journal of the trials, tribulations, and triumphs in the life of a woman in the 21st century.

Last Updated : Sunday, June 17, 2001 10:49:30 PM -0500

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Monday, June 11, 2001

I look out my windows and I see deer. And grass and trees. And, of course, my lovely deck jungle on smurf turf. Apparently all my coworkers are not so fortunate. In our support staff meeting today, we discussed what we saw when we gazed out our windows at home. One lady has a neighbor who enjoys undressing in front of her window. Another neighbor's husband greatly enjoys this view. (I just have this mental image of a guy pulling up a chair in front of his window with a bag of popcorn and a soda while his wife fumes behind him, gripping her rolling pin.) His wife, understandably, is not particularly enamored with his little pastime. Her solution? She draped a sheet from the roof of her house down over the fence in her yard, effectively creating a tent so her husband couldn't watch his favorite show. Series cancelled.

Another told of her friend who had a young male neighbor who enjoyed cavorting with his girlfriends (yes, I do mean plural, apparently her neighbor is Hugh Jr.) in front of the open windows of his split level house, au naturel. Of course what you choose to do and bare in your own home is your own business. Butt, that said, in many suburban neighborhoods, one house can look right into the windows of the next house, as the lots are not overly large and the houses are of the same or similar floor plan, and unless you have a privacy fence, bushes, or trees on your property line one doesn't necessarily have as much privacy as one would like to think in your own home. The really unfortunate part is that this lady had young children, who were asking their mother some some uncomfortable (and perceptive) questions regarding the activities at the Nudey House. She finally had to approach said neighbor with the request he no longer cavort in front of his kitchen window. (Hmmm. . . the kitchen? I guess they worked up a hunger or thirst or . . . nope, not gonna go there. . .) Surely an uncomfortable conversation, baring the truth, as it were. (Sorry, couldn't resist that one.) She didn't see that neighbor, even in passing in his yard for months.

However, the topper of the day was another coworker's experience. It was the night before Thanksgiving (and all through the house . . . oops, sorry, wrong story) at about 12:30 at night and she was preparing her pies for the next day. Suddenly, the piece of the evening was interrupted by a knock at her front door. She went to answer her door and there was a police officer there.

"Ma'am, may we come in?"
"Certainly, officer." At this point she is thinking a robbery or assault has taken place in the neighborhood. She was unprepared for the officer's next question.
"Ma'am is your husband sitting at the kitchen table naked?"

Doh! Seems her husband enjoys lounging about the townhouse in his original equipment, as it were. Apparently, some neighbors were peering out their windows and objected to the "moon" that had risen that night.

"Ma'am, you may want to close your blinds next time."
She still turns red when she tells the story.

At least John wears his underwear.

Tuesday, June 12, 2001

My children were on a roll today. At supper, the conversation was quite wide-ranging. It began with Jack telling me he was going to be a firefighter when he grew up and I could visit, when he wasn't too busy to see me. However, when his father inquired, he was told that he could visit anytime. Apparently he felt a little guilty after that comment (hey, I know how to lay a guilt trip) so that he revised his thoughts on the matter to say we could visit anytime.

Rhiannon was musing on her love life. She was weighing the relative merits of her current amore, Alex H, versus her old preschool boyfriend, Colin. When I asked her why she liked Alex H, she said, well, look at his school picture. Then she pointed at her father. Apparently she felt the need to suck up to her father, as she said she liked Alex because he looked like her daddy. Jack quickly pointed out that Alex didn't have a beard. (I should hope to God a first grade boy doesn't yet shave.)

And then Jack brought an abrupt end to to dinner by looking at his father and asking, "Daddy, who do you have fur in your nose?" After that, nobody was eating any more. (Especially since I had passed milk out of my nose.)

Just when you though the saga of the Hulkster was all over and it was safe to be out on the smurf turf, Mrs. Hulk showed up. She knocked on our door at about 6:15 this evening, complaining that she had just gotten all wet on her deck. Considering all of us were inside and no plants or anything were knocked over, I don't know where the water came from. In fact, John told her, you live on the bottom, that's part of why you pay less rent, deal with it. Then he called the office, who basically said, they'll just have to get over it.

At work today we spoke of horrifying mental images (images I have been know to torment my husband with). Your mother-in-law naked, your parents having sex, John in lederhosen. Oh, my eyes, my eyes!

Wednesday, June 13, 2001

What horrible wet muggy day. We had thunderstorms most of last night. I like storms, I like to watch them and listen to them, especially in bed. However, that said, I do have a rather irrational fear loud sudden noises. So, especially loud cracks of thunder in the middle of the night tend send me sitting bolt upright in bed, sometimes screaming. After almost 11 years of marriage, John is used to this quirk of mine. If I jerk, he pats my arm. If I jerk and whimper, he holds my hand and murmurs soothingly. He doesn't even really wake up. Now, for the really loud, my-God-it-hit-something-just-outside-our-window cracks where I sit bolt upright in bed, then he wakes up. Cuddles me until my heart ceases to race and prepares himself for the onslaught of our offspring. Luckily last night, we never got past the jerk and whimper stage. (Hey, now, we're still talking about thunder, here!) So the kids never woke up. However, such a night does not lend itself to a good night's sleep.

Anyway, the rain continued through the morning. Although I carried my umbrella, I ended up soaked from my navel to my toes, courtesy of the drivers in St. Paul. Nothing feels worse on your body than wet blue jeans. Not damp. Wet. Soaking wet. As I waited at a crosswalk for traffic to pass, several cars went through a rather deep puddle of water and each, going a little faster than the last, managed to splash me, even as I retreated farther and farther from the offending puddle. When the sun finally came out after noon, it was so terribly muggy, you felt like you were in the jungles of Costa Rica. Our dew point was 75 degrees at 6:00 this evening. Tropical by any standards.

Muggy weather makes me lethargic, hence the unimaginative post. Sorry. More rain and thunderstorms in the forecast of tonight and tomorrow, but they are expecting this muggy streak to break before the weekend. I hope so.

Thursday, June 14, 2001

(ed - Due to an excess amount of weather in the neighborhood, the normal author of this particular place has taken the evening off. Actually, she didn't take the evening off so much as she used the energy normally used in thinking and typing to guide a cranky husband and two whiney children through dinner, a trip to the grocery store, and putting all of the food we got away. So she didn't precisely take the evening "off" - and this is what you get thanks to "truth in labeling" laws. Sheesh. Next time I'll just say "technical difficulties have forced us to reschedule today's events for tomorrow." But you couldn't get that lucky. -- jd.)

Friday, June 15, 2001

Well, glad that week's over. Maybe now that we are in the weekend, somebody will be less crabby. Nope, you're right, probably not. Proximity to the kids can make him more childish. <g> But I should be nice, it's Father's Day weekend. You know, he hasn't bubbled lately . . .

Ah, well. After the passing of our monsoon season, the deck jungle seems to be doing very well. I even have some small green tomatoes on one of my plants. All the flowers have survived the storms as well. My peas, however, don't look quite as perky. This happens to me every time, they grow like weeks, start climbing, and then just slowly peter out and die. Don't know what I'm doing wrong . . .

Moved into an office at work from my cube. Frankly, the office is noisier than the cube was, due to its proximity to the front desk and lunchroom (high traffic areas, don't ya' know). What I like about the office is having a window. Being able to see that there is, gasp, a big yellow ball in the sky. Not that we have seen much of it in the past couple of days, but it did put in a cameo appearance today. John picked up tabs for his car today, so he is legal to drive for another year, so I get my car back. Speaking of cars, there was some excitement at the park and ride lot this afternoon. We pulled into the lot in time to see a police cruiser careen in. A car in the lot was shooting up flames. By the time my bus had unloaded some of it's passengers and was leaving, the flames were reaching about 7 feet into the air. Oooo, scary kids.

Well, I really can't think of much more to say, and I have Charlie's Angels to watch. Hey! Don't mock! I loved that show when I was a kid. It was the first show I remember watching that the girls got the guns. Nobody had to rescue them, they were doing the rescuing, especially of poor hapless Bosley. We used to play Charlie's Angels at recess when I was in grade school. I always wanted to be Sabrina, but my friend Jean always insisted that she had to be Sabrina, so I always ended up as Kelly. Looking at the 2 actresses now, Jacklyn Smith has held up better than Kate Jackson, so maybe I was the winner anyhow.

Rhiannon comes to tell me that her father is in the bedroom, snoring (no bubbles yet). She wants to know why I am typing what she is saying. "Peep", she says. Obviously she gets her conversation skills from her father's side of the family. And she can read it too! Not bad for a 1st grader. "2nd grader!" she squeaks indignantly. Sorry, school year is over, so she has now ascended to the rarified ranks of 2nd graders.

Well, I need to put the kids (and their dad, apparently) to bed. We have a busy day tomorrow. First thing in the morning, we are going to the Farmer's Market here in Burnsville for it's opening Saturday this year. Then, after we bring our produce back home, we are heading up to St. Cloud for father's day (and the delicate negotiations regarding our eldest spending a week with her grandparents, god help them.) The evening will possibly be topped off my a visit to the Volkmuth Asylum for Parents of Too Many Children (hey, they got five kids, they gotta be nuts.) Now I really am going. See 'ya!

Saturday, June 16, 2001

Sorry, no post today. In St. Cloud until very late. See Sunday's post.

Sunday, June 17, 2001

Happy Father's Day

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There is, in my in-laws back yard, several large oak trees. In one of those oak trees, there is a little tiny door. A door to the imagination of a child. The door in this oak tree has wooden steps down to a little picket fence around a little tiny garden.
Yesterday, Jack discovered this door for the first time. We had been helping in the yard, dragging dead branches and other refuse to the burn pile. On our way back from one of these trips, Jack took a detour. He had seen this door before, but today, he took especial notice. "Mommy," he said "be very quiet and still like stones and Santa's elves will come out."

He sat there, oh so still, for a good fifteen minutes. A very long time in the life of this very active little boy. I explained to him that the elves would know we were there and wouldn't come out, so he finally, reluctantly, decided to go in the house. Once in the house, he excitedly told his aunts and grandparents of the special little house in the yard. Jack, his sister, and Aunt Emily decided, since they couldn't see the elves, they would write the resident elf family, the McGees, I believe, a letter and make them some gifts. So the three of them labored over these gifts for a good 45 minutes and then went ceremoniously into the front yard to leave the gifts and some wildflowers on the elves' doorstep. Although both my kids had seen this door before, today the magic was there. All kids should have some elfin magic in their lives. Perhaps elves will move into my front yard when I have grandchildren.

We spent several hours at my in-laws. For a while, the kids cuddled up and watched a movie. Then we headed out to the Volkmuth residence, where we frolicked with the 5 Volkmuth kids and their folks until late. All the kids were in bed by 10, but the adults sat up at the kitchen table, talking over politics, the divorces of mutual friends and why we wouldn't divorce (at least in their case there will never be a divorce, perhaps an unexplained hole in the back yard, but no divorce), our pasts, our futures, our hopes, our dreams, all the things you talk about with your best friends. Lately we haven't been able to spend much time together, but, with good friends, that just doesn't matter.

Today, Father's Day, was fairly quiet, since we didn't get home from St. Cloud until 2 am. John didn't want to do much, so we let him fulfill his heart's desire by letting him wander the aisles of Home Depot for an hour or so, dreaming of what kitchen cabinets he would like to put in and what wood he would use on the deck and what tools he would like in his garage. Then we had Dairy Queens, made a quick trip to the grocery store and came home to watch Galaxy Quest. Good movie, the kids enjoyed it almost as much as the adults. (BTW, Charlie's Angels on Friday night was an absolute stitch. I have to get that movie. I loved it!)

For a while today, the kids were playing hide and seek in the garage. One kid would count to 15 while the other ran and hid among the cars. Jack's counting was especially amusing. He gets to about 10 just fine, but after that, he just kinda randomly announces numbers until he decides he has gone long enough and says, "Okay, I comin'". After playing for awhile, Rhiannon, my child who dislikes being dirty intensely decided to hide in a place she figured her brother would never find her. She climbed under the car on the dirty, greasy, filthy garage floor. Jack found her just find and Rhiannon shimmied out from under the car, grimy and black from head to toes. She was absolutely appalled when I announced she had to go upstairs, get out of her dirty clothes and shower. You would have thought I had told her she was going to be flogged by the way she carried on.

As for me, when we weren't out running around, I was out on my deck jungle, enjoying the warm weather (before the front moved in and brought showers) and read my book. All and all, a very relaxing weekend. Now if John's company would just tell him what is going to happen . . .

Talked to my birthparents, Donna and Al, tonight. Seems they have been having a run of rather bad luck lately. They were hit by 2 different hit and run drivers on the same day last week. The first time was when some guy pulling his boat got impatient with the amount of time it took for a semi truck to pick up speed on the freeway and tried to pass Al on the shoulder. Duh. Well, the shoulder ran out before he got his boat around the truck. That boat will now float about as well as the Titanic after the iceberg. Serves him right, don't you think? Of course, he took off. Then, a few hours later, Donna was just climbing into the bunk and closing the curtains when she heard the sickening sound of crunching metal. (Not that the truck moved. It would take a freight train to truly jolt an 18 wheeler.) "What happened?" she asked. Al replied "(expletive deleted) we just got hit again." Apparently 2 cars were racing on the freeway and one over-corrected and plowed his front end into the semi. The force of the accident spun him around and he just crossed the median and took off in the other direction. That was the end of a very expensive day, to the tune of $2000. Then, they had a brand new tire separate, making it prone to blow out, so they had to replace it. Since it was a test tire, it cost $300 to replace that. Then, Al got a speeding ticket, which they are contesting. The ticket was $90, the lawyer's fee is $300. Ouch. Seems our run of luck is better than theirs, at least. Oh well, misery does love company, doesn't it?

Have a nice evening and I hope your luck is running better than that . . .

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Copyright © 2001 Ann Dominik. All rights reserved. Complaints about the technical details of this page can be directed to the abused geek who takes care of it for me, and is grossly underpaid for what he does, he thinks. No reproduction without written permission. The opinions and content of this site are my own, and not the responsibility of this site's host, my employer, my pets, my parents or anyone else you may care to blame. Please respect my opinions and I will do the same for you. I may on occasion publish e-mail to me; if you do not wish your mail to be published, please write CONFIDENTIAL or DO NOT PUBLISH at the top of the e-mail. If you would prefer to remain anonymous, please note that as well. If you're incapable of reasoned civilized discourse but feel compelled to correspond with me, I'll be happy to filter your mail out after a few choice comments regarding your ancestors, upbringing, and the likelihood of your family tree not

	There is, in my in-laws back yard, several large oak trees. In one of those oak trees, there is a little tiny door. A door to the imagination of a child. The door in this oak tree has wooden steps down to a little picket fence around a little tiny garden. Yesterday, Jack discovered this door for the first time. We had been helping in the yard, dragging dead branches and other refuse to the burn pile. On our way back from one of these trips, Jack took a detour. He had seen this door before, but today, he took especial notice. "Mommy," he said "be very quiet and still like stones and Santa's elves will come out."

He sat there, oh so still, for a good fifteen minutes. A very long time in the life of this very active little boy. I explained to him that the elves would know we were there and wouldn't come out, so he finally, reluctantly, decided to go in the house. Once in the house, he excitedly told his aunts and grandparents of the special little house in the yard. Jack, his sister, and Aunt Emily decided, since they couldn't see the elves, they would write the resident elf family, the McGees, I believe, a letter and make them some gifts. So the three of them labored over these gifts for a good 45 minutes and then went ceremoniously into the front yard to leave the gifts and some wildflowers on the elves' doorstep. Although both my kids had seen this door before, today the magic was there. All kids should have some elfin magic in their lives. Perhaps elves will move into my front yard when I have grandchildren.