More with the Pants Wearing
Mood:  d'oh
Topic: Jason
Recently Jason and I were getting ready to go somewhere.  Jason, donning his aforementioned jacket, looked himself up and down while walking to the van.  He got in, looked at me, and (I swear this is true) said, "Does this jacket make me look fat?"

Regarding who wears which pants
Mood:  cheeky
Topic: Jason

My husband, bless his heart, could make Charlie Brown look like General Norman Shwarzkopf.  The man cannot decide.  Anything. 

On Wednesday we went shopping together.  I sent him off to the men's department to pick himself out a pair of jeans while I shopped in the kids' sections.  Twenty minutes later, I found him stewing at the stacks of Levi Strauss.  He had tried on the 34 x 34 and the 36 x 34 but wasn't pleased with the fit of either of them.  He wasn't sure which length he wanted, either, and should he get a 32 or a 34?  What color: dark or light blue?  Is the fit relaxed enough?  Do the boot leg cuts look silly?   What did I think of the price?

This, Dear Readers, was nothing compared to the trip to the Harley-Davidson store two weeks ago.  I'd equipped him with a gift certificate to cover the purchase of a new jacket.  The man didn't even have to spend real money.  Yet the jacket selection was treated like a major purchase, in the category with cars and homes.  FOR THE BETTER PART OF AN HOUR we stood in front of three choices while Jason tried each one on in turn, listing its pros and cons out loud, holding them up in comparison, turning them over and upside down and inside out.  Then he'd walk away and bite his lip, and then walk back and start the process all over again.  Behind him I was holding my thumb and forefinger in the shape of a gun against my temple.  When we got home with the chosen jacket, Jason opened the closet and fretted about how maybe he has too many jackets. 

So when I pulled a pair of Levi's in the size of 35 x 34 off the shelf at JC Penney, Jason was nearly beside himself.  Do they come in dark blue?  Nope.  Are they on sale?  Nope.  Should I just get them any-...  Yep. 

In line at the register, we were making light of Jason's signature shopping style.  He knows this about himself, and quite frankly, I think it's why he takes me along when he shops.  Wearing that endearing smirk of his, the one that simultaneously says humble AND bite me, Jason tried to even the score.  Well, how about you?  He asked.  You spent the whole day shopping with your sisters.  That was different.  I was Christmas shopping.  For 13 people on our list.  You bought yourself a sweater, though.  How long did it take you to pick it out?  Honestly?  I was in line to buy that DVD I gave you, and from the checkout I saw this sweater, went and found it in a medium, and got back in line.  Took maybe 60 seconds.  (Jason's resulting expression:  humble and bite me.)

The JC Penney cashier took our purchases and rang them up.  She smiled at Tobey, who flirted back.  And as she brought up our total, she glanced at her computer.  "Did you know these are buy one, get the second for half price?  Would you like to go pick out another pair?"

Here, Bambi
Mood:  chillin'
Topic: Jason

Finally.  After a long countdown, my biggest kid is happily on his way to the Biggest Day of the Year:  Opening day of deer season.  He and his buddies are heading to deer camp as we speak, gathering together as a collective male body to do horribly male things:  Gambling, eating meaty man foods, pissing God knows wherever, and going days without any form of personal hygiene.  Oh, and shooting at stuff.

Yep.  Rednecks all.  And I wouldn't touch the place with a ten-foot...match.

Meanwhile, my kiddos and I will be on our own vacation - one that starts with me doing whatever the hell I want in a happy-go-lucky sense of freedom, and ends with me pulling my hair out after several days alone at home with the kids.  Friday and Saturday usually go well; the laundry is dramatically decreased, we eat PB&J for about 4 meals in a row, and we camp out in front of movies with tubs of popcorn. 

But by late Sunday or Monday, the laundry has found me, we can't stand to look at another PB&J, and the toys seem to be EVERYWHERE I LOOK.  And my happy freedom clouds over into serious derangement.

Unfortunately working against us is this stupid early sunset.  The dark evenings do something to me - confuse me, perhaps.  It feels like bedtime at 6:00.  It feels like time to have all my day's work done and my feet up on the couch (shyeah, right).  It feels like the TOYS ALL OVER THE FLOOR and the DISHES WAITING and the FLOOR NEEDING SWEPT are sudden conspirators; what seemed charmingly comfy in the light of day is nothin' but clutter by nightfall.  Irritating clutter.  In a suddenly too-small amount of space.  You know what I mean.

Therefore, come Tuesday I will greet Jason with fierce relief.  And with my shoes on, car keys in hand, and a dire need for a drink, maybe.  Move over, Bambi.  You're not the only one gonna be taking shots.

The Extraction
Mood:  accident prone
Topic: Jason

Yesterday my dearly beloved underwent oral surgery for the removal of four wisdom teeth.  At his doctor's bidding, I had to remain on-site during the surgery to ensure our sedated friend wasn't going to try to drive himself home.  So at 7:30 a.m. we packed a bag of cereal and a basket of toys, and Tobey, Jason, and I headed to the oral surgeon's office.

The procedure took about 35 minutes.  Waking Jason up took the next 45.

The day thus continued with Jason in La-La Land, and my restraining myself from breaking out the video camera.  My nursemaid rating would probably be a 10, if it weren't for the evil temptation of making terrible fun of my groggy husband behind his - or, in front of, for that matter - his sleepy back.

The Sacred Turkey
Mood:  special
Topic: Jason
Anyone who has been in my basement knows what I'm talking about: The big bird forever memorializing Jason's One Good Shot. It was once a 28-lb tom. Now it's about 12 ounces of styrofoam supporting the hyde of a deceased, yet colorful animal. But more than that, it is a trophy. Morbid, sure. Once you get past the stage of it surprising you on a dark trek through the living room, you get over that. Now, it's only The Holy Turkey.

Our Dear Tom is mounted on styrofoam "rock" which has been covered with moss and pinecones, and a pathetic sprig of fake - what, fern? poison ivy? - "foliage." Oh, and the turkey tag, blaze orange and wadded up from its journey in a sweaty pocket, which documents it as a legal catch.

The problem: Tobey likes Tom. Make that, Tobey like's Tom's moss. I swear, this is not a euphemism (we are still "talking turkey" - and tell me you didn't see that coming). Tobey has been stripping the fake moss off the fake rock on which the dead turkey stands. I don't think he's exhibiting a protest in taste. It seems to be just temptingly pickable.

The results of the bald fake rock are twofold. First, we have the obvious Mad Hunter, which is neither cousin to the Mad Hatter nor to Blond Kid Hunter; this is the state to which Jason reverts when he finds his turkey messed with. (Again, not a euphemism, I swear.) The other problem is that the moss gets friggin' everywhere. It is especially attracted to stuffed animals, fuzzy blankets, and socks. We'd both dearly love for Tobey to lay off the turkey (not a euphemism), and yet, he won't.

Friends, if ever there was kitsch to be had, it is sitting in my living room in the form of arrested rigor mortis and sparse artificial foliage. If ever there was a lower form of prose to be created, this blog entry definitely plucked. And that, Dear Readers, is a euphemism.

Whistle a happy tune
Mood:  lyrical
Topic: Jason
My husband's taste in music can best be described in one word: Annoying. He's partial to polka, country music, and anything with punny lyrics.

The worst part is when he tries to whistle along. He sucks at it.

The kids and I recently put together a c.d. for him. This is what we wrote in the insert:

It was difficult to put a name to this album. Our first idea was “The Songs You’d Love To Torture Us With.” But then we didn’t know if we could stomach The Hustle, Chicken Polka, or or pretty much anything by Weird Al Yankovich (we couldn’t: they aren’t on here), and really not all the songs on the c.d. are so bad. So then we came up with “Jason’s Rock” or perhaps “Jason Rocks” – but it wasn’t all rock, and sorry, you don’t. (No offense.) Basically, we know you sing when you’re happy. So here is a bunch of songs that we knew you’d get a kick out of, plus some we’d really like for you to learn the real tune and words to, but since that’s too long for an album title, let this simply be known heretoforth as simply “Jason’s Album.” And, by the way, the kids loved this project. So did I. Well, except for the “Japanese” one. Please play that one sparingly. Thanks. With love, Amy, Hunter, Audrey, and Tobey

As it turned out, we found so many songs that he frequently quotes that we covered two discs. I won't list them all, but the c.d.'s include the following.

MC Hammer - "U Can't Touch This"
Bob Marley - "Three Little Birds"
Ella Fitzgerald - "Heat Wave"
The theme song from "Kill Bill" (the annoying whistling one)
Ram Jam - "Black Betty"
Aerosmith - "Dude Looks Like A Lady"
The Vapors - "Turning Japanese (I Really Think So)"
Baha Men - "Who Let the Dogs Out"
Hank Williams, Jr. - "If You've Got the Money, Honey"
Billy Joel - "You May Be Wrong"
Jim Croce - "LeRoy Brown"
Jimmy Buffet - "Margaritaville"
The Turtles - "Green Tambourine"
Gene Kelly - "Singing in the Rain"
Neil McCoy - "Hillbilly Rap"
The Beatles - "Yellow Submarine"
Styx - "Mr. Roboto"
Johnny Cash - "Folsom Prison Blues"


Of course, Jason has been playing the c.d. non-stop. But the good news is that now he actually knows the tune.

Not that you could tell by his whistling.

Birthday Hangover
Mood:  party time!
Topic: Jason
Today marks 32 years of Jason. And, whattaya know, the world was able to handle it.

Jason, on the other hand, is under a pile of blankets on the sofa.

Last night was the Hoof & Paw Christmas party. The Merlot and the 1800 were flowing freely. The mood was especially festive on account of Jason's birthday and the partnership papers being officially signed. It's true: Jason is now one of the big bosses. Did you think it would ever happen? Me either.

After the meal and dessert and mushy speeches, a request was made to enter the parlor of the historic mansion in which our party was taking place. I was shown to the piano where (Jason J, you will appreciate this) there was a book of hymn melodies with chord notations above the lyrics, so I was able to wing a few Christmas carols. Well, the lighting was bad and the piano's tune was worse, so I was asked to sing instead (which they ask me to do every year anyway), and of course I was happy to oblige.

I've sung "O Holy Night" now. It can be Christmas.

After a few more carols - and my musician friends will understand the disappointment of the reality that not everyone knows every verse to every carol like we do - we bid good-night to the senior docs (and one very drunken Mrs. Senior Doc). The rest of us went to a local hole-in-the-wall and yucked it up a while longer.

This morning came early, but there were kids to bustle toward their school day. Tonight, we'll go out for barbecue with the kids and some of our friends. We'll do the birthday cake and the whole nine yards.

To my beloved husband, here's to another terrific year. I can't imagine being hungover with anyone else.

Cheers, Hon.