I Don't Think Nebraska is the Answer

I hope some of my friends don't read the article. The one in the paper that tells about a law Nebraska recently passed allowing parents to leave children at hospitals and ask that they be taken care of. It's intended, of course, to protect infants and small children from being abandoned in unsafe places--but think of the possibilities! That surly, pierced, 13-year-old--gone! That noisy, tattooed 16-year-old--out of your face for good! Legally getting rid of that hyperactive 8-year-old who hasn't slept in two years! Yep, I fear some of my weary friends may be packing their cars to move to Nebraska at this very moment.

Apparently, some parents really did think that way. A 34-year-old father deposited nine children ages 1 to 17 at Creighton University Medical Center -- and then walked away.The Omaha World-Herald reported that the man had a “history of unemployment, eviction notices and unpaid bills – and a psychologist’s determination that he lacked common sense.”

It took a psychologist to point out that this man lacks common sense? Those poor kids! Several of them are at the age where kids naturally think their parents are not very smart--but what a shock to find out that in your case, it's true! I'm sure the state of Nebraska and their concerned extended family will figure out something for them, but I suspect "bewildered" is a gross understatement of their current mental state.

I would say this law isn't working out the way the lawmakers thought it would. I'm sure my beleaguered friends will snap out of it and unpack their cars. After all, they're just suffering from a lack of sleep--not a lack of common sense!

Rats: Foiled Again!

My dishwasher is broken. I'm trying the stoic approach to getting Young Geezer to install a new one. (Me: "dishwasher's broken." YG: "Yup." Me: "I think we need a new one" YG: yup, I'll pick one up after work and put it in when I have time.) I much prefer the whining approach; being quiet and kindly does not come naturally to me. I am not totally lacking in empathy, though. Young Geezer's truly awful job is keeping him obscenely busy lately. Best to wait until they've squeezed his brain dry before asking him to do manual labor in the kitchen.

That's how it came to pass that I have a dishwasher in a box in the garage. In the kitchen, I have "The Drying-Rack-Formerly-Known-as-Dishwasher."

I think I've been patient long enough, but nary a complaint will pass my lips. Alternate tactics, however, are not out of the question--as long as they are done quietly. I now have a drawer full of paper plates and plastic cutlery, installed without fanfare. Enough of this 20th Century dishwashing drudgery!

Tonight, I spied a melon wedge and a container of vanilla yogurt in the fridge. I thought the two would make a nice snack. I headed for the dining room table, clutching a paper plate bearing melon generously covered in yogurt.

Alas! The paper buckled, the melon leaped onto the floor, and a 3-ft. line of yogurt splatted across the carpet. This was not in my plan. I let out a few choice comments--totally forgetting that the windows were wide open. A neighbor pushing a baby stroller looked surprised and picked up her pace.

Here's what I've learned:

1. Use two or three paper plates stacked together to avoid messy mishaps (yes, I do know it's not as environmentally friendly. Yes, I care. No, not enough to wash another damn plate!)
2. Glance at the windows before emitting a string of invectives on warm nights.
3. Scrubbing yogurt out of carpet is even more loathesome than washing dishes by hand.

I rinsed the melon, poured the rest of the yogurt on it, and had it for my snack. What a good girl am I! And, as promised, nary a complaint...

Pretty Money

We actually found time for a vacation this year. We went to a Canadian lakeside resort that forces people to relax by simmering them into limp-pasta pliability in several hot spring pools. It's kind of miraculous--even stressed-out Young Geezer stopped bouncing off of walls by the second day. It's taken 24 hours for my fingertips to stop looking like prunes, but it was so worth it!

Yes, I'm back, sort of. My head isn't quite ready to admit the vacation is over. The weather gods smiled upon us; they gave us glorious sunny warm days (which they owed us, after trying to freeze and drown us most of the summer.) We basked; we soaked, we napped, and we read our books. I even shopped, which is something I don't ususally enjoy. I think it had something to do with the Canadian money.

Spending monochromatic greenbacks always feels like serious business. Those scowling dead presidents fairly shout: "Be prudent! Spend wisely!" I bet those old guys are rolling in their graves since we've started adding tiny bits of color and shine to our bills.

Canadian money, on the other hand, is like a little party in your wallet. Pinks, mauves, artwork, sparkly things--who wouldn't feel good about spending it? And how serious can you be when you're paying for things with "loonies" and "twoonies"? I didn't even try.

I have a few Canadian bills left. I'll put them in our Canadian money jar for our next trip--but not yet. I'm going to admire the pretty money a little more, before I sigh and go back to the scowling old guys.