flightless hag

A chronicle of the adventures of birdwoman: a lonely, talentless freak who wanders the internet in search of entertainment.

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Location: Philly

I'm a 40-something married white female, survivor of weight watchers, avid reader of pulp. Dogs (not cats), extreme right (handed, not politics), ENTJ, alto, wanna-be knitter.

December 25, 2013

What's the hubub, bub?

The kids got quite a few... unique gifts this year. Pillows (that double as travel pillows). Headphones (travel headphones). Magazines. Snorkeling gear. Swim trunks. Towels. Sunscreen. And tickets to a nice place to vacation.

It was a good christmas, and the memories when we have this trip will be just as awesome as any that could be made.

But it was REALLY fun making them think they were getting all clothes for christmas (started with gloves and socks) and moving to a really strange mix that had them saying thank you with a big "have you guys lost it, finally?" look in their eyes.

They keep asking us if it's for real. Messing with minds is SO MUCH FUN!!

Anyhow. Back to 2007. A simpler time....

The Rogers Chronicles – what year is it? – oh, yeah, 2007

It was a busy year, 2007. Just as we were lighting our Kwanza unity candle and celebrating December’s sixteen awareness days, we remembered we had to write this stupid thing.  So, here goes.

We started the year once again torturing Betsy’s mother. The things some people will endure just to see their grandkids! Grandma Harvey somehow coaxed all of our dead plants back to life – our house plants die in the summer, and thrive in the winter. Maybe it’s because she waters them.

Sometime in January, Timmy became Scarface, and it was all the fault of his “fatht theuth”, which blasted the unwitting boy headfirst into the furniture. Dad got a sympathy-scar a few days later when he slipped on some ice that he hadn’t bothered to clean off the sidewalk. Betsy took great joy in pointing this out to Sean, who would love a Harry Potter scar, but ended the year with an unblemished face.

Otherwise, we made it through winter pretty well. For the great spring celebration, John decided a nice rabbit Easter dinner would be just right. For some reason, the boys disagreed. Hotdogs were cheaper, though, so it was an Oscar Meyer Easter! Only the prospect of egg hunts and Easter baskets made the holiday joyful for the boys – and then Mom and Dad went and enforced the “evil parent” tax on all loot. (Come to think of it, we did the same thing at Halloween.)

As usual, we lazed about Bryn Mawr for most of the summer, much to the annoyance of the rest of the people in Bryn Mawr. We did visit State College in August. We have a lot in common in with the Bytheways: Mary and Kim are pillars of the community, we have pillars on the end of our bed.  But they put up with us anyhow.

Titus continued his streak of unluckiest dog east of the Mississippi. The dog, who once got bit by a rabid skunk (see Chronicles, 2003), broke his leg (playing with Timmy in his fatht theuth). The tortured pooch spent six months unable to chase the tennis balls, swim, scratch himself, or properly lick his privates.  Oh, and he couldn’t be bathed, either. By December, his outside smelled almost as bad as his inside. Good thing we’re used to bad smells in this house.

Sean joined the Cub Scouts, but John’s dream that this would lead to future solitude ended quickly: John’s electric personality just screamed “Den Leader.” Sean and John built The Fort TM – a neighborhood eyesore so ugly that it became known as Sean’s Shanty. In a year or two, Dad will start apologetically telling (new) neighbors that Sean built the shanty all by himself. It’s pretty good carpentry for an eight-year old. A thirty-eight year old should have known better. John will tell you he learned a lot building the thing, but since it’s already built, what good is that knowledge now? It’s not like Betsy would allow John to do home fix-it projects!

Sean’s imagination is running wild. He has an imaginary army, his imaginary pets and of course, his imaginary friend – which is fine as long as his name is not Tommy and he does not live in the back of Sean’s throat (Sean is not here, Mrs. Torrance… ). Sean’s morbid fascination with road kill continues, but this year it has gotten a little funnier: Sean orders the car to stop whenever he sees a dead opossum. “Dad, he might be playing dead!” But any opossum that decorates the grizzly scene with his spilled guts and blood deserves an Oscar. Sean remains unconvinced in his patronizing, superior sort of way.

Timmy is a generally happy kid, and he even sings the “Thomas the Tank Engine” song while taking a poop. He can now respond to Sean’s bossiness with a withering assault of taunts, mangled childhood rhymes, and weird insults. We hate to brag about our kids, but Timmy – a four year old – recently tested at the Third Grade level for being a “little creep”.

Betsy quit her job, spending a lot of money and time training for a job that pays a lot less. But her old job just didn’t give her enough people to boss around, and she thrives on being a control freak the boss. John is hopeful that having a school of teenagers to badger will get it out of her system. John is optimistic, as ever.

Well, today is Winter Weather Awareness Day (ice-blue ribbon, white snowflakes bordering the sides), so it must be the holidays. We have been informed by Timmy’s teachers that he is once again crushing the “compitition” and dominating every Dreidel contest he can join. He will be disappointed when he finds out we are not Jewish. But he sits in his cold corner, practicing his spin. Mom is grumbling at the computer, Dad is trying to get warm cooking. Sean is battling all the enemies and knocking over the yule tree, and Titus is cowering in the corner. Everything is happy here. Good bye.


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