I Don't Strike You as a Survivalist, Do I?

It's because I'm not.

But, I felt like one as I checked out at Wal-Mart with sleeping bags, lanterns, whistles, dust masks, a wrench... You might wonder why I felt like a "survivalist" instead of say... oh... a camper. It's because survivalist made me laugh. And, made me think of "going off the grid." And, having meetings in cabins. Where everyone brings a shotgun... or a rifle (personal choice).

Where in the world was I going with this?

Oh, yeah. Survivalist. I'm not. But, back in March when the 8.9 magnitude earthquake hit Japan, I read that so many more Japanese had survived because they were prepared. Then I saw a Emergency Supply Kit list from ready.gov and, well, that was all the shove I needed to think that my family was doomed if I didn't assemble supplies. Immediately.

But, I did take heed from one suggestion I saw that it is expensive to assemble all of these supplies. So, I made a list. And, I bought one or two things every time I went to the store. Unless I had forgotten to buy some things in a while - and then I bought ten or twelve things at once... What's that saying about paving the road to hell with good intentions?

This was all going fairly well. Until I got bored. And, Japan wasn't in the headlines every day. And, it was summer. And, most of the times I was at the store, I had kids in tow, so disaster supply gathering was really the least of my concerns. Getting out of the store as quickly as possible seemed much more necessary for my family's survival.

Then a little broad came along named Irene. And, we have some friends who live in her path. And, again, I got certain that the fate of my family lay in our disaster readiness kit.

So. I finished it. And, I felt like a survivalist as I checked out.

But, here it is:

Pretty, ain't it.

And, now? I don't want to discuss the fact that the most likely natural disaster we will see in our neck of the woods is a tornado.

I can't tell you how annoyed I'm going to be if my disaster supplies get picked up in a tornado and deposited in somebody else's yard...

Barf or Small World?

Which to tell you? Which to tell you?

Both.

Barf:

I signed up for E-mealz. (Public Service Announcement: You should, too. $15 for 3 months. It gives you weekly meal plans/recipes - it has a ton of different options - and a grocery list. And, it tries to economize, so I spend much less on groceries than I ever have before.)

Last night called for cheese grits as a side. I'm always a fan of making my kids try new things. "Just one bite. Taster's Club (as many bites as your age), if you want dessert." No fuss, no muss, no drama. Do or don't. Their choice. But, they've discovered quite a few things that they actually like in their quest to attain dessert each night (and by "dessert" I mean a piece of candy out of the Candy Basket).

Anyway, back to cheese grits. Personally, not a fan. Elizabeth scarfed them down like they're about to stop making grits forever. Spencer... really wanted dessert. He took a bite and gagged. A bonafide, legitimate gag. I looked away to try to let him suffer without an audience. He started chewing. And chewing. (A sign that you really don't want to eat something: When you're chewing the unchewable. How exactly does one chew grits?) I started talking to Elizabeth and... splash! He barfed out the grits he had tried to swallow.

Alright, son. Point taken. You really do not like grits. Go get dessert.

Small World:

Shawn and I had a beloved professor in college. Actually, he was advisor to both of us. He rocked. He was an hysterical smart-ass. He was hard. Studying for Surviving his class is when Shawn and I got to know each other so well. He's also probably the only reason I have a degree in accounting. I loved him (and I hate accounting). We still send him Christmas cards. He always wrote back. Last year he didn't write back.

Today, I dropped Elizabeth off at school. Her teacher said, "You live on the same street as one of our other families."

"Really?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, the mom said you sent her parents a Christmas card." (So, we sent a Christmas card to the grandparents of some of the kids at our school. hmmm...)

"Really?! I wonder who her parents are?" (Especially, since there are precious few people up here that we even know to send Christmas cards to. I was thinking more along the lines of one of Shawn's business associates.)

"I don't know. But, I think her dad was a teacher."

I screamed his name. Elizabeth's teacher agreed that that was right. And, I realized that the mom's name the teacher was telling me was the name of The Daughter that he would go on and on about, he adored her so. And, then the teacher said...

"He's passed away. She said she didn't think you knew."

I almost cried in the hallway.

I can't wait to meet The Beloved Daughter. But, first, I came home and wrote her a note that I'm going to drop in one of her kids' bags. I don't think I can tell her what her dad meant to Shawn and me without blubbering like a loon - and what a first impression that would be.

So now how do I FORGET?!

I heard a news segment about how Americans are dumb and getting dumber. What's new, right?  But,  this particular segment was dealing with our increasing lack of memory skills. It went on to suggest useful memory devices; one of which was imagining a scene that consists of all of the things you need to remember for, say, your shopping list.  It claimed the more outlandish your scene, the easier it would be to remember.  So, I tried.

I imagined myself putting ponytail holders in Elizabeth's hair while she was wearing a Pull-up and I was wearing exercise shorts (yes, I need them so this never happens again) and socks and holding a razor in my mouth.  Then I started floating on a cloud of cotton balls while wearing a knee brace and applying makeup.

It worked perfectly.  I wrote out my list... once I finally remembered... to write it down... ummmm...

The problem is I can't get it OUT of my head now.  And, because misery loves company, I hope you never will either.

And, by the way, if you make it to the store anytime soon, could you pick up those few things for me?  I can't seem to remember to go.

Public Restroom Ranking

Let a couple of human beings come out of your body and tell me you've retained the luxury of only using private "facilities".  I'll call you a liar.  Or, try to potty train a toddler and avoid public restrooms.  Impossible.

This has caused me to develop an informal ranking system among the establishments I frequent:

Doctors' offices/hospitals
Restaurants (that I still eat at)
Movie Theaters (before a movie)
Walmart (new one)
Target
Movie Theater (after a movie)
Bed, Bath and Beyond
Walmart (old one)
Hobby Lobby
Steinmart
Restaurants (that I don't eat at anymore)
Airplanes

This has been a public service message.

Public Service Message

If the temperature in your "beer refrigerator" gets turned to the lowest setting, this will happen:

Notice the bottom of the Diet Coke can that shot off and landed near the Gatorade?  And, fyi, Diet Coke and beer do not smell good when mixed together.