Under Siege

Hello, Saturday Slackers,

What is your excuse today? Pretending to be doing something useful on the computer while you’re really rotting your mind with Tiztalk? Well, I’ll never tell. Bob’s mowing the yard, so he’s not likely to check on what I’m doing for at least an hour. It’s always dangerous to leave me alone for an hour without specific directions .

Last time I swore that I was filling your quota for doing dumb things. Well, now I think I am setting new records for surburbanites whose homes are under attack. Under attack, you say? What is she talking about? Let me tell you. I live in a very ordinary house in a very ordinary subdivision. I think I live in a civilized neighborhood, but I sometimes wonder if creatures and critters look at my house and see a big X on it. Let’s go there. We’re sure to get a rise out of THAT lady.

I can’t decide whether it’s good or bad to wake up and put on my glasses. Last weekend I got up, did not put on my glasses, and grabbed a paper towel to pick up the “leaf” on my floor. Wasn’t I surprised to discover that it was actually a tree frog? See the photo above. Well, you can imagine my response. I screamed and hopped around like a tree frog myself for a few seconds. In fact, it was a DEAD petrified tree frog. Don’t ask me how or why it appeared in my kitchen. In self defense, I put on my glasses and walked over to the counter just in time to spy an ant strutting out of my toaster. .. Due to the rain, our basement got wet and we spent a few hours taking up carpet in Tim’s room. Despite family lore and evidence to the contrary, there was no well-established cricket colony or spider sanctuary ensconced under the carpeting. However, we did discover a few slimy worms living near the doorway which Bob picked up like a schoolyard boy and attempted to scare me with… Then there are the cicadas. They’re everywhere! One flew into my hair while I was walking and I did what anyone would do: I freaked out , waved my hands, slapped about my head , and did a little dance to entertain my neighbors. While all reports say they are “harmless”, I’m not fond of personal encounters with prehistoric insects. Last night I left the light on for Nancy and she said the entire door was covered with them. She had to sneak in the garage. ..We are also the victims of a tree outside our deck which is filled with squirrels that aren’t the least bit afraid of us. They come to the window and stare us down. Bob has been searching for his electric squirrel zapper to teach them a lesson, but so far he hasn’t found it. I wouldn’t be surprised if they stuck out their tongues and put their paws in their ears to taunt us.

We are s waiting for the deer to come feast on our tiger lilies, and the mole trap is set. But the raccoons and possums have left us alone lately.

This just in….Bob reported that he just killed a large black snake in the backyard. It was about 4’ long, although now that he knows I’m blogging about it he says it was 12 feet long and 4 inches in diameter. He killed it with a rake and then cut off its head with the clippers. He’s offered to show it to me, but I have declined his kind invitation. Of course, this reminded Bob of one more reason that Ireland is better than COMO – there are no snakes there.

I am about to build a mote around my house, but somehow I’m afraid all the critters would get on my side of it…

Did I mention the biggest assault of all on our home? Nancy is home from college. Talk about creatures stirring up trouble! Well, I’ll have to save that one for another time.

First photo is Nancy and Maggie heading to London a few weeks ago.

Crittering my life away,
I remain
Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/Elizabeth

Filling My Quota and Yours

Hi, Saturday Slackers,

You know that pile of mulch is waiting for you. What are you doing in front of your computer? Well, you must want to hear Tiz talk, so I won’t disappoint you.
Do you think that there is a requisite number of dumb things a person is required to do in her life? A quota that must be filled? Are mishaps preventable? Can you really wear white pants and eat spaghetti without incident? Can a person wheel large V-carts filled with textbooks without dumping them over? After picking up the mess of books, must one then soundly knock her head on the handle bar? I’m just wondering. I’ve long excelled in the klutz category, but lately I seem to be headed for the Klutz Hall of Fame. Ready to feel good about yourself? Read on. Before heading out to Moms’ Weekend with Nancy, I was feeling pretty good about myself. I had thought ahead. I had a nearly-new pair of khakis, my hair had been cut and colored, my the car was clean and vacuumed, I was well-rested and ready to Mom up. However, like a trite sitcom, my life never runs smoothly. With a last admiring glance in the full length mirror, I noticed a red spaghetti stain on the knee of my pants. Like any seasoned housewife, I knew just what to do. I grabbed a wet rag and started rubbing wildly while cussing in daughter-friendly terms. The spot got bigger and wetter. Then I noticed that it was getting redder. After using the scientific method – well, actually, Nancy figured it out – I realized that my spot was not spaghetti at all; my knee was bleeding. They just don’t make razors like they used to. (You women readers will understand the need to shave one’s legs even when wearing khakis, just in case someone should take a thorough look at your ankles while you're sitting at brunch.) Anyway, Nancy introduced me to Tide at Hand and we ultimately got the stain to nearly disappear. (I’m still puzzled by where the blood went as the Tide stick was still snowy white; my daughter Molly, a biology major, later explained that it had “oxidized” whatever that means). I was saved as I had not another pair of trousers that would actually fit and flatter -- as in zip and not look too hideous – this 5’2” temple of mine. As we were leaving, I took a minute to clean the kitchen counter. What did I spy but a swarm of ants enjoying leftovers near the windowsill? Again I knew just what to do. I quickly and indiscriminately – again while cussing in a daughter-friendly way -- sprayed poison on the countertop and their marching quickly became writhing. I was triumphant. I could regale you with another tale of what went on that day, but it would make me look entirely too ridiculous and your would shake your head in disgust. Furthermore, I like being married, so I choose not to reveal all of my stupid Tizzie tricks, even for YOUR entertainment. Instead, I included some photos from Moms’ Weekend . But I’ll add a few other Tizzie classics and then I’ll sit back and wait for you to share a few of yours. Or tell a few tales on me if you choose. Don’t disappoint me, okay? Even if you feel mine can’t be topped? Try me…Here goes…

1. Before leaving for work one day, I once picked up the wrong can and sprayed Scrubbing Bubbles bathroom cleaner all over my hair instead of hairspray. (Yes, I went to work anyway, and I smelled squeaky clean all day.)
2. While pregnant with Tim, I once took a cart filled with 3 huge boxes of Brigance Inventories (some of you will know what those are) down an escalator packed with people at a convention. The boxes fell off at the bottom and about 100 people had to jump over me and my stuff when they reached the bottom. I imagine a few of them still remember that one, perhaps only subconsciously.
3. A few months after I got my driver’s license, I asked Dad to let me drive to Terre Haute, IN. I was so excited that he let me do it. However, I soon realized that I had no idea how to get to Terre Haute (those of you from Paris, IL, are at least smiling if not laughing aloud right now) . Of course, I couldn’t reveal my ignorance because then he might change his mind. I guess I eventually got there.
4. When Molly was 4 I bought her a nice pair of Stride Rite shoes. One shoe fit, the other didn’t. I took Molly and the shoes back to the store and demanded a replacement pair. The shoe salesman reached in and took the tissue paper out of the toe of the other shoe…
5. Tim went to a preschool co-op where parents helped. I sent his teacher’s Christmas gift with a friend. It was a lovely copper planter still in the box that Bob and I had received as a wedding gift. Well, you’ve already guess this one, right? The teacher opened her gifts and read the cards while sitting in a circle with the group. The card said “Congratulations on your wedding, Tizzie and Bob.” Well, my friend Marianne has NEVER let me forget that one!
6. Nancy’s preschool had a culminating event each year: The Mothers' Tea. The children made elaborate paper hats for themselves and their mothers, had a parade, and performed a skit. I clearly remember dropping her off at 12:30. I decided to make use of the few hours before I had to return for the party. When I showed up to pick her up, I noticed lots of extra cars and dressed up mothers with flowerly paper hats on… I was aghast. Not only had I forgotten the tea – Nancy had to sit on the teacher’s lap for the photos and events – I had spent my afternoon cleaning the garage. I had on a sweaty tee shirt and dirty pair of shorts. I truly was a disgrace. If Nancy has anything to do with it, I imagine the quotation on my headstone will read “She forgot the Mothers’ Tea.”

Doing your dumb things for you,
I remain
Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/Elizabeth

An Easter Surprise

April 24, 2011 Blogpost – An Easter Surprise

Hi, Folks,
Are you all mad at me, or just Nancy? She thinks I don’t blog nearly enough. Ah, the power of the written word. I talk to her and see her plenty, but she must see my words in print. So, here goes… After a long week of work, having a horrendous cold, and nighttime commitments, I had just settled down Friday night for what I thought were 2 days of vegging. You slackers know all about that. About 9:30 the phone rang. It was Tim. Megan’s plant had had a power outage, and she had to work all day Sat. and Sunday. What were we doing for Easter? To be honest, I hadn’t really planned that far ahead. I had bought Nancy a couple doodads at the bookstore, but that was the extent of my holiday planning. Tim was coming to visit by himself. In true motherly mode, I immediately threw off my blanket, stood up, blew my nose, covered my cough, smoothed out my flannel jammies, and got busy. I cleaned the bathroom, washed the sheets, made chocolate chip cookies, burrowed through the basement for the Easter baskets (checking thoroughly for brown recluses, of course) and made a grocery list. Saturday morning found me fruitlessly searching Walgreens and Schnucks for chocolate-covered marshmallow eggs (since some people use my unorthodox food habits to rationalize their behavior to their spouses when they are accused to eating entire bags of cookies ..”Tizzie did it in her blog,” I won’t reveal that there was a previous secret stash of such eggs purchased awhile back but which no longer existed in the physical world…). Anyway, I stocked up on healthy foods for my slim and sporty son. You know soy milk, hummus, fresh fruit, yogurt, baked potato chips, low-fat crackers, ground turkey --- you’ve heard of those foods, right? I sneaked in a package of cinnamon muffins, but the calorie count (540 each) quelled Tim’s temptation, but not mine and Bob’s. You never know when you might need some stored carbs, right? Someone might come in and steal all the food out of our kitchen or there might be another Missouri tornado which might blow the away the house - food and all -- and then I’d be glad I’d eaten that muffin. I guess you could call me a hoarder – a calorie hoarder, that is. Finally, Tim arrived. He was shocked to discover that the Tim O’Connell Suite is in the process of being transformed. That’s right. Its 1999 dark green teen angst color has been replaced by a crisp blue and beige young married man décor. While he thinks we are all talk and no action, occasionally we do take action and it is shocking to all. Megan will learn once and for all that she has not married into a family of slackers; we are merely more thoughtful than most people. Nancy joined us for a little hometown sightseeing (Pi Phi house, new Student Center Building, the new arts district) and an evening of Wii playing/watching. Since it was Easter, we had to wait for the earlier Mass to end and the people to parade out which gave me a great opportunity to yell across the departing crowd to old friends and round them up to talk to Tim. Of course, he loved it. We then went to a bounteous brunch, stuffed ourselves, and enjoyed wonderful Easter. The only things missing were Megan, Molly, and Cody. Once again, we werre reminded that family is what it’s all about.

Photos: The Bridwell Family (Easter circa 1955 _The Paris Beacon-News_), Tim & Nancy today, Mom's profile on Wii (created by Nancy)

Egging myself on,
I remain
Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/Elizabeth

Dishing on My Friends, etc.

Hi, Saturday Slackers,

I have been saving up some good stories to tell you. Now if I can just remember them. Normally, I don’t make fun of my friends, but I’ll make an exception today. The first story involves my friend Jody and her husband John. Like many of us, Jody hasn’t had a new set of dishes since 1970s Corelle with brown doodad trim was all the rage. About a year ago, she decided to improve her tableware and started buying place settings of the ever-classic Fiestaware. She had proudly acquired nearly a full set in 4 eye-popping colors. She felt good. Flash forward to March 2011. Her husband John finally relented and agreed that the dishwasher was kaput. Ever the handyman, he took out the old one and installed the new one. Jody even helped him carry the old one down to the garage. Life in her kitchen just kept getting better and better. A co-worker gave John the phone number of a man who would come by with a truck and take away the old dishwasher in order to salvage the metal. Then the trouble started. Jody became annoyed with her grandson for taking all her Fiesta cereal bowls to the basement and not bringing them back up (imagine that!). She couldn’t find her serving spoon at just the right moment. Other items in her kitchen turned up missing. She finally made her way to the basement only to discover that the bowls weren’t hiding anywhere. Her grandson was telling the truth. A disturbing thought crossed her mind. She finally had to verbalize it , “You did unload the dishwasher before you put it on the curb, didn't you, John?” John “couldn’t remember.” Oh uh. He finally remembered that he hadn’t checked inside the dishwasher. He scrounged up the scrap of paper and called the man with the truck. He got the man’s son on the phone. When John asked if there were any dishes in the dishwasher, the young man guffawed and said they all broke to bits when he dumped the dishwasher at the dump. Ha ha ha! Needless to say, John cannot and will not live this one down. It is heretofore known as the "Fiesta Fiasco". One friend asked if John would let him know when he planned to replace his refrigerator. I even offered to stop by with a truck when that happens. I can always use a steak or two and...If you’ve done anything dumb lately, be sure to let me know. I’d be happy to help you tell your story...In other news, we went to Paris recently and as I was taking Mom for a ride around the northern edge of Twin Lakes my car was attacked by two huge Canadian (well, I didn't actually see their passports, but they did squawk kind of funny) geese. One dented my car and ran right into my windshield. It flew off toward the lake. Despite Mom's urgings, I did not take a gander to go back and see if it was still afloat...Mary then told me of another disturbing animal incident at Twin Lakes. Her friend was swimming in the lake when a giant swan flew over, spread its wings over her and began pecking her head under water. Evidently, she had swum too close to its nest. She had baseball-sized welts covering her back and head before it was all over...We decided to take the scenic route back from Paris to Columbia. The photo above shows one of our stops --- a two-story outhouse in none other than (as Dave Barry would say, "I am NOT making this up.") Gays, Illinois. Unfortunately, it was locked and we didn't get to try it out.... Pictures---the dishwasher couple, Nancy and Jody celebrating their mutual birthday, my sweet great nephew Drew whom I left out of my Christmas letter....




Taking abuse from a goose on the loose,
I remain
Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/Elizabeth

P.S. Are the mousetraps set? Put down that beer and go do it now! And while you're at it, spray the wasps. They're itching to come in your house.

The Youngest Child

Hi, Friends, Fam, and Frenemies,

I've been ordered to write this blog by my youngest child. Today is her 20th birthday. She told me that I didn't have to get her any presents; she just wanted a blog written about her with baby pictures included. I wish she'd told me that earlier; it would've saved me some dough. As you can see, I didn't succeed on the baby picture front. I knew just where Tim's baby pictures were, but who knows where Nancy's are?...You see, Nancy suffers from YCS. What? You've never heard of "Youngest Child Syndrome"? Let me fill you in. A child afflicted with this disorder wants a complete filled out baby book with chronological photos. She wants her mother to reel off what her first word was, when she started walking, and every cute thing she ever said. She dreams of surprise parties in her honor, and is in no big hurry to grow up. She wonders why her cake candle (see above photo) is not a real "2", but an upsidedown 5. How does a mother explain that? As a YCS sufferer myself, I understand her pain. As the youngest of four, my mother told me that the playpen had only 3 sides and no bottom left by the time it got to me. She put it against the wall, and I never figured out how to get out of it...enough about me. Although Nancy is not my first child to turn 20, she is my last. Therefore, I must pause and note this special day in her life. I'm reprinting a poem I wrote for her high school graduation.



A Poem for Nancy
8/16/2009


And so the day is finally here;
today you will be going.
It seems as though you just arrived;
but life - it just keeps flowing.

You’ve been such fun;
you’ve kept us young.
You’re never dull or boring.
You’re comical and phenomenal,
and usually have us roaring.

You don’t give up; that’s for sure.
You have determination.
It’s who you are and what we love—
part of your Nancy conglomeration.

Today you take a step
in your own unique direction.
Just don’t forget, our darling girl,
We’re your loudest cheering section.


With love and affection,
Mom & Dad
Tim & Megan
Molly


Bloggin' about my baby,
I remain
Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/Elizabeth

Shamrocks Rock!

Top O' the morning, Bloggies,

While I never heard anyone say that in Ireland, I knew it would please my readers to read it. My blog inspirations always occur about 7:10 AM. I have to leave for work at 7:40. I'm not sure why that is. Molly had to go outside wrapped in a towel to take my photo this morning. She wouldn't keep taking them until I got a "good" one, so you'll get to see me as I really look. Sorry. If you look closely, you'll see that I have shamrock earrings (they're cheap and my ears will be infected by the end of the day, but beauty always has its price), a shamrock necklace, a vest I bought when Tim was 16 (if you read the last blog you'll know how old it is; it used to actually button in front before I "blossomed" into my current self), and close observers will even see that I have green eye shadow. Molly says I look like a regular leprechaun. I'll take that as a compliment. In fact, I'll take anything as a compliment.

Work is about to interfere with my fun, so I must wish you all a happy St. Paddy's Day!

Bein' seen wearing green,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/Elizabeth

Tim Turns 30; Tiz reflects

Good morning, Friends, Romans, Countrymen, Countrywomen,


I used an epic salutation as today is an epic day. Today I enter unknown territory. I now have a child who is 30. I’m not quite sure how this happened since I’m only 39 myself. I’m sure my mom doesn’t think she’s 100 either, but, well, life happens. Somehow we get into the category that when we tell people how old our children are they do the math and have no doubt of our probable minimum age.

I could write a smarmy sentimental blog about my firstborn and what a cute baby he was and all the funny things he said and did as a little boy. I could extol his virtues and accomplishments and convince you that he’s a fine young man who, indeed, gives me hope for mankind. But I’ll have to be careful what I say and do as my two daughters will demand equal treatment when they turn 30. They won’t fall for my old tactic of just changing the name and saying the same things about them.
I’ll share just a few tidbits about my firstborn and only son. Tim began to announce his arrival into the world at Bob’s birthday party at our house with a group of Bob’s running friends. His friends didn’t worry too much about my labor pains as they went about having a good time. Neither did Bob for that matter. At 10:30, we finally had to throw out one father-of-four so that we -- well, actually I -- could get down to business. Like most first-time mothers, I was convinced that my pain was consistent with having the baby at any moment. Wasn’t I surprised when Tim’s arrival occurred 13 hours after my prediction?? The joke was on me, as usual.

Tim was born to parents who had not the slightest idea what to do with or for him. My sister and I used to take turns babysitting a neighborhood family. When the kids saw me coming in the door instead of Mary, they would say, “Oh, no, it’s Tizzie, not Mary. ” Well, you can imagine how I responded to that once their parents drove away… Anyway, let’s just say, I’ve never had a natural affinity for small children. I like them. I just always considered them a lot of trouble.
At any rate, when Tim arrived --- all 9 lbs 4 oz of him --- we were suddenly thrust into parenthood. My mother, God bless her, came to stay with us for a week. She was a mere lass of 70 then. . She worked around the house while I contentedly rested and basked in my new role. She disdained my techniques for mopping my kitchen floor and felt compelled to soak my mop in a bucket of bleach before she would wash the floor with it. How was I supposed to know that one should clean a mop before mopping? Anyway, she fixed me hot tapioca (I don’t think I’ve had that since) for lunch and we shared scrumptious pieces of hot Sara Lee pecan pie each afternoon. She would bring Tim to me in bed when he woke up. However, she did demand that I take her and Tim to Mass when he was all of 6 days old. He made quite of mess of things – mostly himself in a cute little yellow knit outfit with a matching blanket- and I was given the first clue that my life had truly taken a new course. Too quickly, my week of being pampered was up. Dad arrived to take Mom home. Bob and I were desperate. When Mom and Dad left we would be truly on our own with this new crying, demanding, and supersized chunk of humanity: Tim. I still remember my dad standing at the bottom of the stairs saying, “Don’t you know what to do now, Tiz?” I cried, “No, no, I don’t know what to do!” Bob shared my panic. He offered to pay mom (whom he still called “Mrs. Bridwell” at that point) if she would stay another week. Despite our pleadings, they got in the car and drove away. Tim was asleep. We uneasily stared at each other several times throughout his nap wondering what we were going to do when he woke up. Well, he woke up, and somehow we muddled along as parents , and now it's 30 years later. Despite my many shortcomings as a mother..

I tend to laugh at the wrong things and thereby encourage children to behave in the wrong way..

I have done and will do anything – and I do mean anything – to get a child to take a nap. That includes bringing them blankets, favorite toys, another bottle, glasses of water, rereading books just “one more time”, etc. You name it, I would do it. (Oh, did I mention they were anywhere from ages 0 to 29 during these attempts??)

My first reward of choice was always food – any and all varieties – some favorites of Tim’s were microwave tater tots, Little Debbie cakes, frost and flakes (a.k.a. “frosted flakes”), and various other foods he thinks he wouldn’t dream of buying HIS children .. (we’ll see..)

Bribery was always part of my arsenal. For a dollar, would you just do your own homework, find your own stuff, clean your room, go play by yourself, etc,? Despite my friends’ purported outrage at this technique (it’s not in any of the parenting books, you know, I made it up myself) , I know that when they saw how well it worked, they secretly went home and tried it with their own kids. So, I may have added more than my share to the overall downfall of the next generation….

At 9:00 PM , my shift ended and I would announce that I was no longer “Mom”, but “Tizzie.” This annoyed Tim to no end and prompted him to announce one night, “Well, if you’re not my mother anymore, then get out of my house!” Of course, I laughed loud and inappropriately at that one!

I could go on and on. Those of you who know me could no doubt add many more faults to my list.

But, somehow, in spite of being subjected to me for 30 years, Tim has prevailed and thrived. I would say that he proves the nature over nurture theory. I think he would’ve turned out wonderfully no matter who is mother was, but I got to be that lucky person. Happy birthday 30th birthday, Tim.

Loving and laughing,
I remain

Mom

P.S. Picture of the birthday boys 3/10/81; picture of Bob & girls 3/9/2011; Nancy's birthday card for Bob (we chose a "Possum Party" theme this year..)

P.S.S. By the time I figured out how to scan and load the picture of Bob and Tim, I had to forgo washing my hair (it's only been 3 days) and may yet have to show up at work in my pj's. But, I prevailed! I'm still hoping to brush my teeth.