The Library Cops Had Me...

I was down in the Cities and visited a beautiful opulent brand new library. I walked around gawking at the ceilings, artwork and wide-open spaces. I picked out some new reading material and then came time to check out. I stood in line and when my turn came, I presented my local library card. It should be good enough, or so I thought. The librarian was wearing her glasses on a gold chain around her neck. She must have been around seventy-five with blue hair in a tight bun. She examined my card as if I had just handed her something inferior and dirty. “This isn’t a Hennepin County Library card.” she informed me. “I know, it’s an East Central Regional Library card. It’s from my local library. You should be able to use it. I’ve used it before in Anoka County.” I confidently answered. “We’ll need to see some ID,” she stated. The family next to me didn’t even have their cards. That librarian just looked them up on the computer— all with no ID, but not me. I guess I look too shifty. You can’t trust a middle-aged soccer mom. They are wild and have nothing to lose. I handed her my driver’s license. She put on her glasses, looked at my library card, my ID, the computer screen, and then back at me. The librarian scowled and said, “It looks like you had a Minneapolis library card and lived on Grand.” She peered at me over the edge of her glasses and made it sound sinister. The clear disapproval in her voice made me nervous. “I moved ten years ago. I now live in a different County.” My confidence was wavering and I was starting to sweat. “I’ll be right back.” She took my ID and library card and disappeared around back. I stood there feeling guilty. What was the hold up, I wondered. Four or five minutes passed and she finally came back. The librarian narrowed her eyes and scrutinized me. “It appears you have a $12.00 library fine.”
“Ok, I’ll pay the fine. Can I check out these books or not?” I was doubting my decision to check out any books and starting to feel like a criminal. “I’ll be right back.” And off she went again with my cards.I was getting more worried about this mysterious “Library Cop.” Maybe I should just drop everything and make a break for it. Screw my driver’s license and local library card. When you live on the lamb, you don’t need things like that from your old life. I could start over again, maybe somewhere warmer. I could also envision the film footage of me on the TV show “Cops”
The theme “Bad boys, bad boys, what ya gonna do.” Started running in my head. Just image me running and being tackled by an 85-pound blue haired old lady with her glasses on a chain.
After another five minutes, she came back and jarred me out of my daydream. She took my money, and gave me back my cards. “You are now in our system, here’s you book, it’s due back in three weeks. Have a nice night.”
“Uh, thank you.” I stammered and breathed a sigh of relief. I was free from the library cops. I looked back over my shoulder as I left in time to see her hassling the next guy in line. He was starting to sweat and squirm.

Spring Is Really Here!!

Spring is finally here. I can tell it's official because the soccer goals are up in the soccer fields. This is the one true and sure sign of spring. That and my kids want to wear shorts to school. Never mind that it's only 35 degrees in the morning when the bus comes. I got my garden started, lettuce, spinach and peas planted. The heavy winter clothes are put away, the summer shorts and tops are out. Look out world, I'm ready for the warmer weather. I'm sure I'm asking for a blizzard. So if it snows, you can and should blame me.

Getting Too Personal

When one of my boys was a toddler, we were out shopping at Target. I noticed him tugging at the front of his pants. "Do you have to go potty?" I quietly asked. "No." He said. We continued on shopping until he started tugged again and I asked, "Do you have to go potty?" "No!" Was his answer and he was starting to sound annoyed. When he did it again, I pulled him over to me and asked, "Are you sure you don't have to go potty?" He shouted, "No, I don't have to go potty! Geeze, can't a man have an itch?!"

Ready Set Go!

My potty training tricks are a bit unorthodox. I'll be the first one to admit it. When it came time to potty train my daughter, Tess I had to think outside the box. Tess always said she didn't have to go, and then had an accident. So I came up with "pee races" so she would at least try to go. This trick worked like magic. The only draw back is it's been two years and she still wants to have pee races with me once in awhile. She's only four so it's still cute, I can't help wondering if it's not going to be so cute at fourteen. The other day I made the mistake of winning the latest race. Tess cried for over ten minutes. Oscar had a friend over and he came up to me and asked, "Why is Tess crying? Is she saying you won the pee race?" I sheepishly answered, "Yeah, we have pee races. I used the race idea to potty train her and she still likes to race, kinda weird, huh?" And God bless this sweet ten year old, he said, "That's OK, I used to have pee races with my umm....(I could tell he was trying to think of a name) um, my dad." He was trying to make me feel better;which only made me feel more like a goober. I have more odd parenting tips, I'll share more of them someday...

A Guy's Gotta Keep Busy

On Friday my daughter Tess got to go and see her daddy at work. Max's a truck driver, and he drives semi's and straight trucks (a straight truck is smaller then a semi but way bigger then a pick up.) We met Max at a gas station and she got to ride back to the shop in his straight truck. I handed off a supply of "busy work" for Tess, crayons, coloring book and a Barbie doll and her car seat. Up she climbed into the cab of the huge truck and settled happily into her car seat. You couldn't see Tess over the hood of the truck--but you could see the crayons, coloring book and Barbie on the trucks huge dash. I told Max he looked very cute with the crayons and Barbie on the dash, he answered without skipping a beat, "A guys gotta keep busy."

Was That The Tire?

Years ago when Max & I were younger, we had a string of POS cars (piece of s**t) One in particular stands out. It was 1986, the car was a brown Satellite from the late 60'S. Max had just bought the muscle car and proudly brought it to work to show off. After our shift was over at the movie theatre, we took it out to run errands for our boss, Mr. Johnson. We had to go to a different movie theatre and pick up some more drink cups. We were circling the parking lot, Max driving, our good friend Dave rode shot-gun, and I was wedged in between them. The car made a funny noise and started lurching. We looked up in time to see the front left tire rolling across the parking lot away from us. And it kept on rolling. Max jumped out of the car, held his hands up to his head, covered his ears and started screaming, "shoot, shoot, shoot!!" Only it wasn't 'shoot' he was screaming. Dave and I just looked at each other, too speechless to say anything. Max was so mad; should we try to comfort him, or just stay out of his way? We climbed out of the car and stood around looking at each other. Max ran across the parking lot and retrieved the run-away tire. The lug nuts were all missing. It's a good thing we were driving slowly in a parking lot, and not on the freeway. Max was stomping around and swearing at the top of his lungs. We stood around and watched him have a hum-dinger of a teen tantrum. Dave leaned over and whispered to me, "I feel like such a girl, I can't help him." Sometimes it's better to stay out of the way. Not a bad motto to live by. That car caused Max many problems, or learning opportunities--depending on how you look at it ( I like to be a glass half full kinda girl.) We've learned a lot of lessons from all the crappy cars we've owned. My favorite is that a roach clip makes a fine wire clamp in a pinch.

Stuck In Karoke Hell

On Saturday I helped out at a school circus. There were many booths of activities, and I floated from booth to booth helping out. At one point I was at a booth with the Mayor, helping fill up and pass out helium balloons. At the booth next door was a karaoke machine. Thirty minutes of hearing kids sing off key at a deafen level was a slice of karaoke hell I hope never to have to endure again. The Mayor, God bless her, kept on smiling and shaking hands. Was it just me who had the nervous eye twitch going? It must have been, because now I kinda feel like a dink complaining about kids having fun. How dare they have noisy fun, can't they play quietly like civilized human beings? This behavior is out of character for me. I'm the one with kids yelling and screaming in the background when I'm on the phone. People always ask me, "Should I let you go? It sounds like I got you at a bad time." "Naw, they're just playing. Talk louder so I can hear you over the din." Is the answer I usually give. I can go to my "happy place" when the noise level gets too much. I call mine "The Edge" and I post notations from there (ta-da, that's where I get the title of my blog, clever huh?) I think everyone has a happy place to go when things get too crazy. Sometimes I just stop in for a visit, sometimes I'm there longer. If you're ever talking to me and I just zone out, don't take it personal, I'm just stopping by my happy place for a visit.