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Monday, April 27, 2009
Boo Hoo (Sniffle, Sniffle)
Oh, it's been a wild and crazy couple of weeks around here. First of all, Katie had a full week of the musical, with dress rehearsals for three nights running and then three nights of performances--The play was great--I'll post a little clip of one of Katie's solos when I get the chance.
the next week, Joel had his baseball bag stolen out of his baseball locker in the field house at the high school. Bag: gone. New glove Joel bought last year: gone. Cleats: gone. Even (ick!) yucky stuff like personal protective gear: gone. Depressing.
This week was Katie's big Desert Field Trip. This is the culmination of a two year competition in science--the top twelve science students get to spend a week in the desert at a science research station. Joel didn't want me to go as a chaperone when he went two years ago, but Katie said it was okay with her--YAY! I was all lined up to be one of three drivers/chaperones for the week.
Fast forward to Sunday morning. I'm out in the studio, finishing up the journals I made for the kids and chaperones. Katie tells me she's going to clean out the car, and comes back crying.
Someone's broken into the car overnight, shattering one of the back windows, and taken my purse and Katie's backpack.
My purse: gone. My $180 I had in my purse for the trip: gone. My DRIVER'S LICENSE: gone. My debit card: gone. My checkbook: gone.
Result? I'm at home, and Katie's gone on her trip. Can't have a driver without a driver's license... (I was still welcome to go on the trip, the teacher assured me, though I'm not sure where they'd have squeezed me in).
Boo hoo.
Have to say that I just don't get it--the whole stealing thing, I mean. And okay, you want/need the money--but could you leave my driver's license and debit card? And Katie's homework that was in her backpack? Or maybe even just toss them out somewhere where maybe we could find them?
Then again, maybe they weren't worried about helping us. Duh.
the next week, Joel had his baseball bag stolen out of his baseball locker in the field house at the high school. Bag: gone. New glove Joel bought last year: gone. Cleats: gone. Even (ick!) yucky stuff like personal protective gear: gone. Depressing.
This week was Katie's big Desert Field Trip. This is the culmination of a two year competition in science--the top twelve science students get to spend a week in the desert at a science research station. Joel didn't want me to go as a chaperone when he went two years ago, but Katie said it was okay with her--YAY! I was all lined up to be one of three drivers/chaperones for the week.
Fast forward to Sunday morning. I'm out in the studio, finishing up the journals I made for the kids and chaperones. Katie tells me she's going to clean out the car, and comes back crying.
Someone's broken into the car overnight, shattering one of the back windows, and taken my purse and Katie's backpack.
My purse: gone. My $180 I had in my purse for the trip: gone. My DRIVER'S LICENSE: gone. My debit card: gone. My checkbook: gone.
Result? I'm at home, and Katie's gone on her trip. Can't have a driver without a driver's license... (I was still welcome to go on the trip, the teacher assured me, though I'm not sure where they'd have squeezed me in).
Boo hoo.
Have to say that I just don't get it--the whole stealing thing, I mean. And okay, you want/need the money--but could you leave my driver's license and debit card? And Katie's homework that was in her backpack? Or maybe even just toss them out somewhere where maybe we could find them?
Then again, maybe they weren't worried about helping us. Duh.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
"Mom, the light is perfect today..."
Katie came home from school the other day, made this pronouncement, grabbed my good camera, and said that she and Jenny were going on a bike ride to do a photoshoot.
My artist friend Kelly has always said that Katie 'has a good eye'. I thought I'd share a few of the pictures she took, completely UNtouched-up, please note!
My artist friend Kelly has always said that Katie 'has a good eye'. I thought I'd share a few of the pictures she took, completely UNtouched-up, please note!
Sunday, April 05, 2009
In Which The Truck Gets Towed and I Act Like a Transient
Before I tell you about the week I've had, let me tell you that one of my friends reads my blog or phones me when she is bored, because, as she says, "Something's always going on at your house--with your animals, or your plumbing, or something! Nothing is boring at the Smithey house!"
Ahem.
Part One (In which Poor Joel Gets Stopped by a Cop and The Truck Gets Towed)
Joel got his Driver's Permit a couple of weeks ago, so he's been driving us all around. He had a game last Tuesday, and didn't stay up on Monday night and put his laundry in the dryer, so his uniform was soaking wet (I make him do most of his own laundry--another long story). He asked if I would bring the uniform down to school, since he has to leave early for his zero period weightlifting class, and I said yes. Katie has to be at school 45 minutes early on Tuesdays, as she has rehearsal for a quartet for band. I'm just about to hop in the shower, when Joel calls.
"Mom, you have to come get us," he says. He sounds serious.
"I've gotta take Katie and Jen to school. Why do I have to come get you? Where's Dad? Why can't he come get you?" (I'm nice, huh?)
"Dad's here. He can't come get me because we got stopped by a CHP officer and they're towing the truck."
What the heck???
Turns out the truck's tags were expired and the truck hadn't yet been able to pass the smog certification--Richard had paid the registration, but the computer wouldn't pull it up. The law says that "the vehicle may be towed," and that's just what happened. I arrived on the scene to find Richard, the officer, the tow truck guy and Joel all standing on the side of the highway. Poor Joel, only had his permit for a couple of weeks, and got his name on a (temporary) citation and the truck towed (through no fault of his own, might I add).
I was just worried about everything being excused when Joel got to school. I offered to walk Joel into school and explain to his teacher, and he said, "No, Mom, really. No one needs to see you like this." (He's a sweet kid, yes?)
Which leads me to:
Part Two: In Which I Look (and Act) Like a Transient
Before I left the house to rescue Joel and Richard, I told Katie to call one of the other people in the quartet and see if they could give her and Jenny a ride to school. I believe that "Get there however you can," were my exact, slacker-mom words. I skipped the shower, grabbed a clean shirt and socks and other assorted, important pieces of clothing, grabbed Joel's baseball uniform, got in the car, realized I had no glasses on, ran into the house, couldn't find the glasses, realized they were in the studio, ran down to the studio and grabbed them, and (finally) hopped in the car. It was a hectic exit, and I'd just gotten to the end of our road and was waiting to turn onto the highway, when my phone rang. It was Katie--"You have my clarinet in the car!" she moaned, so I turned around, drove home, threw the clarinet out in the driveway (literally), and headed to town. Joel kept calling and saying, "Where are you now?" and "How long till you're here?" and when I finally arrived, well, see Part One.
I'll be totally truthful here. Early in the morning, before my shower, I don't look all that appealing--my hair is short, and I sleep hard, so I always wake up with crop circle designs on both sides of my head. So yes, I rescued Joel and Richard, but I looked like I'd just emerged from some type of bizarre wind tunnel experiment.
After I'd dropped Joel and Richard off at their respective high schools, I figured that I'd run my errands since I'd already made the twenty-minute drive to town. I walked into WalMart and got a strange look from the greeter (I got a strange look from the greeter at WalMart--doesn't that say it all? That could have been the title for this whole story: Parts One and Two, In Which I Get a Strange Look from the Greeter at WalMart. The End) and I thought, hmmm, not good. I ran into the bathroom, changed my clothes, wet my hair down in the sink, and decided that was as good as it's going to get.
It's like I'm a transient--Karen the homeless person--I pulled one outfit out of my bag and stuffed what I was wearing back in, put on socks and wetted my crop circles down, all in the bathroom at WalMart--and even then, I was just barely presentable. I looked as though I'd gotten ready in the restroom of a major chain store. And yes, the greeter still looked at me strangely when I exited the bathroom, too--and that would be because I. LOOKED. STRANGE.
Well, nothing's ever boring around here.
The End.
Ahem.
Part One (In which Poor Joel Gets Stopped by a Cop and The Truck Gets Towed)
Joel got his Driver's Permit a couple of weeks ago, so he's been driving us all around. He had a game last Tuesday, and didn't stay up on Monday night and put his laundry in the dryer, so his uniform was soaking wet (I make him do most of his own laundry--another long story). He asked if I would bring the uniform down to school, since he has to leave early for his zero period weightlifting class, and I said yes. Katie has to be at school 45 minutes early on Tuesdays, as she has rehearsal for a quartet for band. I'm just about to hop in the shower, when Joel calls.
"Mom, you have to come get us," he says. He sounds serious.
"I've gotta take Katie and Jen to school. Why do I have to come get you? Where's Dad? Why can't he come get you?" (I'm nice, huh?)
"Dad's here. He can't come get me because we got stopped by a CHP officer and they're towing the truck."
What the heck???
Turns out the truck's tags were expired and the truck hadn't yet been able to pass the smog certification--Richard had paid the registration, but the computer wouldn't pull it up. The law says that "the vehicle may be towed," and that's just what happened. I arrived on the scene to find Richard, the officer, the tow truck guy and Joel all standing on the side of the highway. Poor Joel, only had his permit for a couple of weeks, and got his name on a (temporary) citation and the truck towed (through no fault of his own, might I add).
I was just worried about everything being excused when Joel got to school. I offered to walk Joel into school and explain to his teacher, and he said, "No, Mom, really. No one needs to see you like this." (He's a sweet kid, yes?)
Which leads me to:
Part Two: In Which I Look (and Act) Like a Transient
Before I left the house to rescue Joel and Richard, I told Katie to call one of the other people in the quartet and see if they could give her and Jenny a ride to school. I believe that "Get there however you can," were my exact, slacker-mom words. I skipped the shower, grabbed a clean shirt and socks and other assorted, important pieces of clothing, grabbed Joel's baseball uniform, got in the car, realized I had no glasses on, ran into the house, couldn't find the glasses, realized they were in the studio, ran down to the studio and grabbed them, and (finally) hopped in the car. It was a hectic exit, and I'd just gotten to the end of our road and was waiting to turn onto the highway, when my phone rang. It was Katie--"You have my clarinet in the car!" she moaned, so I turned around, drove home, threw the clarinet out in the driveway (literally), and headed to town. Joel kept calling and saying, "Where are you now?" and "How long till you're here?" and when I finally arrived, well, see Part One.
I'll be totally truthful here. Early in the morning, before my shower, I don't look all that appealing--my hair is short, and I sleep hard, so I always wake up with crop circle designs on both sides of my head. So yes, I rescued Joel and Richard, but I looked like I'd just emerged from some type of bizarre wind tunnel experiment.
After I'd dropped Joel and Richard off at their respective high schools, I figured that I'd run my errands since I'd already made the twenty-minute drive to town. I walked into WalMart and got a strange look from the greeter (I got a strange look from the greeter at WalMart--doesn't that say it all? That could have been the title for this whole story: Parts One and Two, In Which I Get a Strange Look from the Greeter at WalMart. The End) and I thought, hmmm, not good. I ran into the bathroom, changed my clothes, wet my hair down in the sink, and decided that was as good as it's going to get.
It's like I'm a transient--Karen the homeless person--I pulled one outfit out of my bag and stuffed what I was wearing back in, put on socks and wetted my crop circles down, all in the bathroom at WalMart--and even then, I was just barely presentable. I looked as though I'd gotten ready in the restroom of a major chain store. And yes, the greeter still looked at me strangely when I exited the bathroom, too--and that would be because I. LOOKED. STRANGE.
Well, nothing's ever boring around here.
The End.
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