Itchy Butts and Manual Hygiene

There are times when I truly enjoy conversations with my
15-year old son. Last week, walking back home from the
beach, we enjoyed a hilarious, albeit disgusting, conversation
about the guy walking next to his mother about 20 yards ahead
of us. My son noticed that the guy was scratching inappropriately
in public. It was all downhill from there:



Mohamed:  Oh, Dude!
Me:   What?
Mohamed:   (pointing) That guy keeps scratching his butt while
                     he's walking.
Me:               (noticing the knuckle-deep scratch and pull effort)
                     Whoa! That's just nasty.
Mohamed:   Yeah, well, he's been going at it for the last block
                     and a half.
Me:    Yes, but has he sniffed yet?
Mohamed:    You think he will? Scratch and sniff, I mean?
Me:     It's human nature. He'll sniff.
Mohamed:     Nah, I think he's done. He just put his hand in his
                      pocket.
Me:                Looks like the right hand is tired from all that action.
                      Check out the left hand.
Mohamed:    Maybe his other cheek is itching now.
Me:    Do you SEE why your father goes straight to the
                      bathroom to wash his hands before he even says
                      hello to us when he comes home at night?
Mohamed:    Are you saying he scratches his butt in public?
Me:    NO! Look at the dude now!
Mohamed:    Oh my god! He's got his hand INSIDE the pants now!
                       That's just disgusting.
Me:    At least he's not holding his mom's hand.
Mohamed:    How many men in their 20's hold their moms' hands?
Me:     I'm just saying.

((Then a man and his wife walk up to Mr. Itchy Ass and his mother.))

Me:     I'm TOTALLY going to puke now.
Mohamed:     Did he just shake hands with that man after pulling his
                       hand out of the back of his shorts????!
Me:     Oh yeah....and he sniffed the back of his hand. I told you.
Mohamed:     I'm NEVER shaking hands with anyone again.

And We're Back.

So much for life in these United States. We've gone back to Egypt.
Now I'm back to SAHM'ing overseas. Whatever. It's not as bitter
a pill to swallow since our apartment is only a block from the beach.
RIGHT ON! But since my kids missed their exams, we are doing
the kick ass study schedule and really cramming 2 semesters of
school into the next 5 weeks before they take their exams. I managed
to get Aiman and Hamo set up to take both semesters testing our
first week back. But due to a combination or teenage angst and 11-yr
old teasing, Hamo fractured his right hand by punching Ismail in the
head and ended up in a cast. So he failed 4 subjects by not completing
the test. I guess it's hard to write with your left hand. Fine. He's got
more time to study this way for the make up tests and now that the
cast is off....he should do fine.

Randa is having a miserable time of readjusting. She is depressed and
last night melted down complete with shouting for a taxi from the
balcony and insisting I pack the suitcases so we can go back to
"the Dallas." I keep telling her that "the Dallas" is over. And welcome
to the Alexandria. It's just going to take some time. But she'll acclimate,
God willing.

So we're back in the Land of the Pharoahs, Egyptian Cotton sheets,
and streets with no lines painted on them because, really, no one pays
attention to them anyway!  Good news is
Mohamed is working and we're all doing well. Hopefully, I'll be back to
a regular sort of blog schedule and keep everyone apprised of our mayhem
and teen-induced bouts of crazy. Thanks for all the prayers and Facebook
notes and the abyss of email I've yet to answer. More as it happens...I
promise.

Come On In, The Water's Fine!

We spent last weekend in Austin visiting another part of my family.
I knew my  husband was in for a treat as we drove past a gigantic
billboard that read, "You can smell our pits from here!" (Well,
obviously it was for a barbecue joint! But I did do a quick stretch,
sniff, check to make sure my deodorant was working.)



So, we're going through all these crazy, hilly curves through the
backwoods of Wimberley and we drove past a FOR SALE BY
OWNER sign nailed to a fence post in front of a camouflage
colored SUV with no doors or windshield on it and a bright red
bench attached to the roof of it. Evidently, this hunter's vehicle
only needs to be disguised from the hood down. I guess to shock
the deer into wondering how these beer-drinking rednecks are
able to just float on a bright red bench above the forest floor at
which point they are blown to smithereens by a 30-odd-6 held
by one said floaters. We laughed as we drove by it and started
telling each other our favorite "you might be a redneck if" jokes.


We made it to my aunt's house and met her husband and greeted
my grandmother. The kids got to enjoy some country life as they
played in the stream behind her house and saw deer up close and
caught frogs and chased bugs and ran from snakes. Then my
cousin, Matthew, showed up with his son, some flowers, and a
bottle of wine. Now, drinking is a spectator sport for me and my
husband. But my cousin started pounding back red wine in an
iced tea glass. My aunt got about half a glass out of each bottle.
By around midnight, Matt disappeared. Out of fear of having to
drag him out of one of our beds, we set off to find him. He
wasn't anywhere to be found. "Oh, no!" laughed my aunt. "We're
going to find him in bed spooning with Momma!" As we hurried
toward her room, she came out shaking her head as she pushed
her walker down the hallway.

"Is Matt in there?" we asked her.

"Yes," she said. "He opened the door and scared the life outta me!
And he said, 'I'm going to sleep in here with you.' And I told him,
'Oh no, you're not!' And he just threw the pillow on top of my
shoes and started snoring before he hit the floor!" My aunt's
husband opened the door and sure enough. There he was sawing
logs with his head underneath my grandmother's portable toilet.
So, NATURALLY we photographed it!

After all, we are from the redneck gene pool. Come on
in. The water's fine.

Printer Paper Costs Money and Other Things I Frequently Say

So, I am now in the "comic book printing" business. Or so it
would seem. My kids found a website where they can create
their own comic book stories and now everyone wants their
comic book creation printed (in color, of course) and several
copies (of course.) I'm seriously considering charging them
25 cents a page or maybe more. Now I'm out of colored ink.
Really, weird. We only bought this printer 3 weeks ago and
I think we've printed a total of 35 pages. I guess this would
be how printer companies make their money, eh? Where's
my  mirror? Yup...uh-huh. There it is. The word SUCKER
stamped across my forehead.

They are so going back to drawing their own comic books
with pencil and paper.

I Will Never Be Bulemic

Hi. Yeah, I'm a little nervous. Okay, a LOT nervous. If it weren't
for the fact that I never lose weight EVER no matter what, I'd
be wearing a size 6 by now from the nerve-induced diarrhea.
But you know, it's not a  normal person we're talking about here.
It's me. I've got to do something that I absolutely DO NOT
want to do. I have to suck it up and once again, take one for
the team. I hate this. If I had a choice... well, I guess I always
have a choice. I guess it would be more appropriate to say, if
I had a BETTER choice, I'd not do this. But I don't. I have
five others that I have to consider with far more scrutiny than
if my choice only affected me. So, yeah, I'm nervous and edgy
and poopy.....very, very, poopy. And NOT in a good weight-
loss resulting kind of way. So, I get to be the perpetually
pooping, fat, sacrificial kinda guy today. And I'm not happy
about it.
Motherhood and responsibility really suck it today.

Will the Laundry Ever Stop?

About ten years ago, a colleague of mine 
told me a story about his mom and how she wigged out one day doing
laundry. Apparently, Jerry was one of eight kids and his mother only 
did laundry once or twice a week. (Personally, that would set me over 
the brink of insanity. I've gotta keep it up daily so that I don't get 
overwhelmed. I digress.) 


So, Jerry said that he and his father were working on a vehicle in the
front yard. They heard the screen door slam and his mother came out
with her arms full of dirty laundry. She stormed over to the middle of the 
yard and dropped it in the grass. Then she went back in the house and 
repeated this process about three more times until the dirty clothes
were a small mountain up to her waist. Jerry and his father sort of 
ignored the behavior and went back to tinkering under the hood of the 
car. The last time the mother came out, she was in tears and striking 
matches and tossing them into the pile of clothes, screaming, "I CAN'T
TAKE IT! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! I hate laundry day. It never 
ends!"


Jerry's dad had to grab hold of his wife and force the matches out 
of her hands while Jerry stomped the laundry to make sure all the 
flames were out. 


I'm just saying. I can relate.

Piercing Girls' Ears and Other Female Rites of Passage

So, my younger daughter is now ten years old and finally has
asked that she be allowed to get her ears pierced. Actually, she's been asking for the last
two years but for whatever reason or other, we've just neglected doing it. Yesterday, I
went to WallyWorld to buy shoes for my middle son. While we were there, we saw an
employee piercing a little girl's ears. So I asked a few questions and when I got home, I
presented the idea to my husband that we have Samiya's ears pierced there. He was a
little leery so I looked up "ear piercing" in the phone book and the only thing that I could
find were various "body piercing art" and tattoo parlors. And when I told him, "Hey, we
could take her to 'Pauly's House of Paint and Pierce' downtown. It says here on their ad
in the yellow pages that we should look in Low-Rider magazine for their 'Free Ass-Tatt
with Purchase of Ear Piercing Kit' coupon. What do you think, Honey?" he was more
than agreeable to getting it done at our local discount savings department store.

I took Samiya in and helped her choose the 3mm 14kt gold studs. And then we got the
attention of the woman who worked at the jewelry counter. Samiya looked so young
sitting there on the chair with her fingernails in her mouth and her eyes open wide like a
deer caught in headlights. The lady cleaned her earlobes with an alcohol swab and then
marked her ears with a purple pen. "Okay, young lady," she said, "are you ready?"

"I think I've changed my mind," said Samiya.

"Too late," I said, "I've already paid for it. Man up."

The employee kind of gave me a nervous glance and said, "Uhm, we can always refun...."

"Yes, ma'am," said Samiya, much to my relief. I figured if we did the refund thing by the
time we got out to the parking lot, she'd have changed her mind again and who knows
how long we'd be in and out of Wally-World until I finally held her down in the parking
lot and pierced her ears myself with a paper clip and the spongy end of her brother's
new sneakers. (I jest. I KNOW a parking lot is a public place.) So, the employee
lined up her little gun thing-a-majig and "tak tak" she was done. Poor thing. She looked
a little stunned and her eyes watered up a little before she said, "That hurt a little. I think
my ears are on fire."

"You can cry if you want to," I told her.

"Nah," she replied, "I think I'll wait till I'm in the car so I don't make a scene. But can
you get some tylenol just in case it hurts more later?" So I did. And after a quick trip
to the fast food place on our way out, she forgot all about the earrings. "Mommy," she
told me on the way home, "I'm NEVER gonna do this to my girls when I have kids. It
hurts and it's scary."

"Yeah, well," I remarked, "YOU were the one begging for pierced ears for the last two
years,  not me. Remember that, too, when you're a mommy. Now we're in the same
club though, right?"

"Yeah, I like that at least we both match now." And my baby is one step closer to being a
grown up.