Going to camp

One of my daughters has landed her dream job for the summer. She will be the Assistant Camp Photographer at a beautiful science camp in California. I cannot tell her this, but I see some great irony here. This is the daughter who only went to camp one time, when she was 12. She hated it. She didn't appreciate the beauty of nature and complained about the bugs, the heat, the bugs, the green slime on the edge of the lake and the lack of air conditioning as just a few of the things she hated. She never went back. She does not like to sweat, gets faint feeling in the heat and science has never been a strong subject for her. So the idea that she sought out this job, where she will live for twelve weeks in a cabin much like the one she hated after just a few days, is ironic. The idea that she will be leading geeky kids in science experiments and then photographing them is even more ironic. But she is excited, therefore I am excited for her.

Trying it again....hmmmm

I haven't blogged in a while, just too much stuff happening, but here goes again.

The last couple of years have been a lesson in what happens when you make plans. I have twins who graduated high school last year. My older child is in his third year of college now. My plans for my children have always included all of them "going away to college". I didn't do this and always felt I had missed out on something special. So much for my plans. The girls did cooperate to a certain extent. We made all the rounds of all the state schools within a 400 mile radius that they were interested in. They chose Sam Houston State University, approximately an hour north of our home. We moved them to Huntsville. I personally thought it was an awesome little town, reminiscent of my home town. Again, so much for plans. They stayed for one semester. I played the part of an empty nester in a large house. Just as I was settling in to my new role, in early December, the girls sat down with me at breakfast on a Sunday morning and gave me their news. One of them played the role of the speaker for both of them. She said they felt they had tried it my way, living away from home, paying their own bills, paying their own rent, buying their own groceries, etc. They felt they had proved they could be independent, but they didn't like it. They were both very unhappy in Huntsville and would I be too disappointed if they came back home and went to community college?

WOW! I knew they were having some problems fitting in, but this was a shock! They both took college courses in high school at the community college and told me, comparison, the classes at Sam had been "dumbed down to accommodate all the alcohol soaked brains". They didn't feel challenged. They both had all A's, but didn't feel any sense of accomplishment because it was all so easy. Final exams were not required, go figure.

They are not partiers. They have a close circle of friends who do lots of things together that don't include alcohol. Its a personal choice they both made that has limited their circle of friends. According to them, most of the people they encountered in class, in the clubs they joined, in their housing unit, were immature 18 year olds who were without parental boundaries for the first time and exploring what the means in ways that are stupid, dangerous and always include alcohol and/or drugs. Each morning when they opened the door of their apartment, according to them, the hallways outside reeked of the piles of vomit that were always there from the nightly parties. The first weekend they were at their new apartment, the police were in their building multiple times during the night breaking up parties, fights and carting people off to jail for offenses such as minors in possession and public intoxication. It was an eye opener!

I told them the only thing I could. Of course you can come back home. I did say that they had to stay through the end of the school year unless they could sublet their apartment. They went back to Huntsville that next Monday and drafted up signs and flyers. They went to the local copy shop and had 1000 copies made of the flyers. They posted them everywhere. They put them on all the cars in all the parking lots they passed. They posted bulletins online. Within a week, I was back in Huntsville, moving them out. I had no idea how unhappy they were or how much they hated the party atmosphere until they came back home. The stories I've heard since they returned made me shudder.

They have been back home since mid-December. They are both working (one has two jobs) and going to school. They are both content, although still unsure about "what they want to be when they grow up". Living at home and going to school wasn't what I had planned for them, but you know what happens when you make plans? Life.

Crawfish or Mudbugs?

My neighbor, the one we call the Cranky Cajun, did his annual crawfish feast this weekend. This is the 4th year we've done this and after 25 years in Texas, I'm finally getting adept at cracking those things open and eating the good stuff (I DO NOT SUCK THE HEADS). I grew up in Iowa and in Iowa, one does not eat crawfish under any circumstances. They are bait. Pure and simple. You would no more eat a crawfish than a a peanut butter stink bait ball. (Its exactly what it sounds like...old cheese and peanut butter with some stale wheaties and a can of corn thrown in). Imagine my disgust and surprise at my first crawfish boil. However, I've gradually come around to the southern way of thinking. I've also managed to convince the Cranky Cajun that sausage, corn and potatoes aren't the only things to be boiled with crawfish. A few years ago, he let me throw in some mushrooms and asparagus (although he made me put them in a pantyhose leg so they wouldn't mix up with the other vegetables). The other neighbors, even those who do not eat the crawfish, asked for a repeat the following year and another tradition was born. These get-togethers inevitably bring up the subject of what people call these evil looking fish (Are they fish?) It seems divided along state lines. The Louisiana born folk usually call them mudbugs, especially those from the northern part of the state. The Texans among us usually call them crawfish, with an accent that cannot be imitated by someone like myself who grew up in corn country. Another thing about those Louisiana folk, they don't mind playing with their food before they eat it. The Cranky Cajun usually walks around with at least one crawfish attached to an earlobe, or shirt pocket or back jean pocket. All the Louisiana people want to examine the coolers of crawfish before they eat, because the degree of muddiness in the water means something to them about the flavor of the mudbugs. They allow their children to each pick one, name it and then race them. Since all of them inevitably end up in a pot of boiling water, you'd think this would permanently damage the children in some way, but I watched several children between the ages of 4 and 12 argue over whether the one they were currently tearing apart was Gerta or Boudreaux or Rocky.

I'm finally far enough from having a three year old to appreciate one!

Its been many years since I gave birth to my three kids. I did it the hard way too...3 in 18 months. (My twins were born when my son was 18 months). I came home from work via Wallyworld today, and after making my weekly deposit comparable to the national debt, honked my horn when I reached the driveway. My kids all know that is the signal mom gives when she wants help with groceries and they all came running, even the one home from college for the weekend. The surprise was that the little girl next door, who just turned a very cute three, also came running. She "helped" unload the car and then "helped" load the pantry, fridge and freezer. Her mother, who came running after her, assured me she does NOT help at home and even told her mom the last time she went shopping that the bread was too heavy and she couldn't carry it. Isn't it amazing how helpful kids are at other people's houses? And isn't she too cute for words?

What's wrong with this picture?

No doubt you've heard of many stories of phonies....phony policemen, phony doctors, etc. This one takes the cake! Click Here. Not only did the man con women into letting him perform breast examinations, but it seems he was only caught because he did not put on rubber gloves before performing a genital exam???? Your first thought, since its in Florida and Florida is known for its geriatric population might be that he was conning senile old women. That was my first thought. But no, this man managed to con at least two women in their 30's. Are we not educating our young women better than this? A door-to-door, breast examining doctor?

My First Ramblings.....

Blogging. Its something I've been thinking about, playing with and finally decided to do. Remember the first time you rode a bike (mine was a turquoise Schwinn Sting-Ray with high-rise handlbars, banana seat and a white basket with daisies on the front) and your dad let go of the back and you yelled "I'm doing it by myself!"? That's how I feel now.

I've been reading many blogs for the last several months and recognized the value in each...not just for the writer, but the readers and commenters as well. I've hesitated to start my own because I wasn't sure anything I had to say/write would be valuable in any way, but I've decided that is just crazy and like most things, I'm over analyzing. So here it is. Of course, even now, I'm reading back over this and wondering where the valuable part is. Hello blogging world!