The Numbers Game

I am sitting by an adorable golden-haired child who is excitedly telling me all about the new theater room in her house. "We're getting a big t.v.," she tells me, her eyes wide, "a 47-inch one." She seems a bit befuddled and adds, "Right now we only have a 50-inch one so this is gonna be huge." She spreads her arms wide for emphasis.

I hope it's as huge as those blue eyes of hers.

But she got me to thinking. Numbers, numbers. That's what our world is about. How much money do you make? How much do you weigh? What did you get on your SAT? How fast is your computer? Your car? How expensive was your house?

Maybe numbers don't really matter as much as we allow.

Then the golden-haired child turns and asks, "I can never remember how old you are. Are you 46 or 64?"

Shut up, kid.

Meet the Ubers

I am going to be a grandmother. Oh, don't get too excited. Not anytime sooner than the next say, ten months. I'm just saying that it's going to happen. Sometime. In the future. But it's never too early to prepare for such a major event and I find myself concerned about a grandmother issue or two. For example, at that point, I will find myself married to a grandfather. Are you kidding me? How sexy is that?

But that is for another post, because I wish to discuss an issue that Daughter recently discussed in her blog. And that is: What should the grandbabies call me?

Oh, I know you're thinking, "Grandma, duh" but WAIT! Stop yourself. Close your eyes. Picture me. Is there anything about that picture that speaks Grandma? I need a more vital, outgoing persona. I'm not ready for aprons and rockers just yet.

I know a few Nanas (what is that? Short for Banana?) and Grammys (which sounds like an award) and even a Moma, which is the Museum of Modern Art, so far as I know. Considering the importance of a grandmother, I also thought it should be easy to say, perhaps even the first word a child says, but "Dada" is already taken and "No" doesn't really have the right ring to it. Other first utterances include "Baba" but that feels a little too Baa Baa Black Sheep for me. Or I would use my initials and be called "DeeDee" but that reminds me too much of Husband's previous girlfriend who had a Porsche 911.

The concept of being "Grand" means "extensive in size or scope" and "expansive" neither of which really describe me, either. But that's where Daughter and SIL come into play. While canoeing down the river they informed me that I wouldn't just be grand, or super, or awesome as a grandmother. I'd be UBER. Thus the UBERMA and UBERPA were born. The urban dictionary describes UBER as the ultimate, the best, nothing can top it.

Wow. Now that's a high standard to attain.

Ah, that little brown-eyed bundle of joy could call me 'Doggy' for all I care!

Happy Birthday Rubi!

Today is Rubi Gamblin's sixth birthday! Six, imagine that. It seems like just yesterday that she was five. Oh, wait. She was.

Anyway, my awesome woman's best friend is six today. Now, we all know that dogs don't age in the same manner as humans. So I went online for a definitive "human age" for Rubi (although that's dumb because she is decidedly NOT a human unless being human involves licking portions of the body I can't even reach). Definitively, she is either a.) 37 b.) 40 c.) 44. One particularly helpful site even calculated how old I would be if I were a dog. (197, which is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard of. What kind of information is THAT?)

But anyway, it's Rubi's birthday and she is the greatest, most awesome dog ever. She has seen me through thick and thin and she believes I am the bomb. Rubi has chosen a quiet celebration today with her family--me, Hub, Buzz & the Senator. She will do the things she enjoys most--asking for cookies, barking at the bad golfers, going for a ride, having a big go and smelling all of the other dogs' 'postcards' and finally, enjoying a big dollop of whipped cream.

Happy Birthday Rube!

Is it J-Lo?

I would like to thank both of my devoted readers for their patience and support as I recovered from a recent Brazilian Butt Implant Procedure (BBI). The doctors and staff provided excellent care, and the procedure went beautifully. There were a few glitches in finding Brazilians who were willing to donate their butts AND were O-Positive, but luckily, it all worked out.

And the results speak for themselves. (Of course I am the one in pink!)


Disclaimer: Teeny portions of the preceding post may not be entirely factual. (Do I really need to say that? I mean, really?)

Seeing Double

Sometimes I see the strangest things. I'm not talking about ghosts or UFOs or drug-induced hallucinations, although those inclined to seeing ghosts and UFOs or taking hallucinogenic drugs may claim to see some mighty strange things.

I'm also not talking about the cows playing "leapfrog" in the pasture (although that's a strangely upsetting sight) or even the 4H girls walking their goats on leashes in my neighborhood (and leaving goat dooty on my doorstep--are you kidding me?)

I'm talking about my wacky cataract-inclined aging eyeballs.

Four years ago I had my cataract removed and now sport a bionic lens replacement (we owe a lot to Steve Austin aka The Six Million Dollar Man, which by the way is a darn good deal by today's monetary standards). Unfortunately, over time the lens has become cloudy again, requiring additional laser procedures when I get around to it. In the meantime, I don't quite see the world with pinpoint accuracy.

The downside? I can't see too well and often I misread street signs and grocery store aisle markers.

The upside: I can't see too well and often I misread street signs and grocery store aisle markers. And sometimes the results please me.

Case in point: Yesterday I was at Lucky's Supermarket in the frozen food section. I had made peach cobbler (a wonderful recipe by Martha and I actually followed most of the instructions). So I wanted some vanilla ice cream. To melt and ooze on the warm crust and drip into the cinnamony peaches.

I was reviewing my ice cream options. So many choices! Lucerne, Clover, Dreyer's, Breyer's, Haagen Dazs, Ben & Jerry's. I couldn't decide, so I glanced through all of them again and found a brand I hadn't seen earlier:

Breyer's Natural Vanilla Bean Double Chin Ice Cream.

Double Chin ice cream? Fantastic!



What is this, I wondered. Is it some sort of "truth in advertising" ploy or some new strange requirement by the Obama Administration? Sadly, of course, when I closed my crazy left eye, I realized it was Breyer's Double Churn ice cream.

But what a concept: Let's just say it like it is. Let's call 'em as we see 'em.

Double CHIN ice cream; Cinna-BUM rolls (all 730 calories go right to the butt) and even the truth about Little Debbie and all those snack cakes. Little Debbie?

Doubtful. But I just call 'em as I see 'em.