Are are we gonna be on teevee? Yeah, purty much.

Over the past few months, life has handed me several unexpected twists and turns and I’ve been busy navigating my reality.  (See. The truth about why blogging has been light is far less complex than those vodka-pickled theories of my friends.)

February and March were spent tending the extremely-ill Ms. Diva as she endured two surgeries, three chest drainage tubes, a GI tube, a few weeks of intravenous antibiotics, and enough Demerol and Morphine to make ten grown men slobber on themselves.

She was diagnosed with the flu on a Monday.   By the following Wednesday, she was admitted through the Holston Valley ER to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit  with strep pneumonia, empyema and a long list of other complications.  She was placed in isolation for nearly three weeks.

I haven’t arrived at a point where I can discuss my daughter’s near-death experience without feeling compelled to weep, testify (which would also require me to sing a bit of righteous black gospel music and trust me, we don’t wanna go there) or compose a sonnet containing words like hope, innocence, strength, blessings and miracles.  This would not only blow my reputation as a smartass – a month or so from now, I’d almost-certainly gaze back upon my brief stint as a soulful singing sonneteer and be mortified.

So, let’s skip to the conclusion:

Diva recovered and will be sharing her story on WJHL (Channel 11)  during the Children’s Miracle Network Telethon.  She’ll be on at 8pm tonight.   Now, cross your fingers the live portion  goes smoother than the pre-recorded interview during which she answered each question Phillip Murrell asked with the same three words: “Yeah, purty much.”

Backseat Predictions: US Economy is Road Kill

Following last week’s discussion of Old Wives Tales, particularly those dealing with woolly worm weather prognostication, acorn-induced luck and future fatalities as portended by the birds, Ms. Diva has developed a tendency to search for a deeper meaning in all things inconsequential.

On the way home today, she inquired about the number of opossums on the roadway.

“Look!  That’s the sixth dead one we’ve seen. What do you think it means?””

Smartypants, who has all the answers, announced:  “Well, I’d guess it means they’re too stupid to look both ways… or it has something to do with the economy.”

(And I’d have found this terribly amusing – had I not been preoccupied with the fact that Diva can tally up the number of carcasses between here and yonder.  Seriously, how weird it is that?  Like… on a Southern scale of 1-10 – with 10 being , when the tornado hit the trailer-park, she appeared on the local news in foam hair rollers type of crazy-  counting roadkill has to be… what? A five? Maybe a six? )

Comebacks and Christmas Don’t Mix

Last week, I thought to myself: ‘Hmm, I should get back to blogging.’

I decided to wait until the kids and I had finished baking Christmas goodies. One thing led to another. By the time I’d scraped the sugar goo off the kitchen ceiling and opened the windows for ventilation, which was necessary after the mixer caught fire, I had forgotten all about blogging.

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When the warm fuzzies fade…

I notice advertising – commercials, promos, print ads, online and mobile. And I analyze them: What is the message? How are they communicating this? Who are they targeting? What kind of psychology are they using? How is this going to make the consumer feel? Is that going to be effective?

A little geeky, I know. What’s worse is I subject my kids to the analysis and encourage them to decode advertising. Of course, they don’t always listen – which is why we have tubs of Moon Sand and a closet full of must-have dolls, now painted with glitter marker and rocking horrible Fiskar hairdos.

Still, my skepticism regarding advertising not only causes the children to roll their eyes and go cataleptic during commercial breaks: it means I’m rarely influenced to buy, go, do, have or repair anything. Annoying commercial jingles do not even stick in my head… well, this could be because there’s no room left in there – what with all the cheesy 1970 and 80’s sitcom theme songs floating around. The point is: it’s unusual for me to be moved by advertising. Continue reading

While You Were Sleeping…

On Tuesday when the election results were in, Obama won. The earth didn’t move. No voices rang from the heavens singing “Glory Hallelujah” or “Holy Shit, Ya’ll Done Messed Up” The lame didn’t walk. The blind didn’t see. The seas didn’t part. The moon didn’t fall from the sky. There were no rioters or looters taking to the streets. Jesus didn’t show-up riding a storm cloud, wearing MC Hammer pants and singing, “Rapture-Time.”

Nothing happened.

The night America made history, time progressed as normal with the hours becoming almost forgettable except for the programming on television and my (still ongoing) argument with Mr. Smartypants over whether or not Sarah Palin has ever appeared in a Bud Light commercial.

There was not one single moment wherein I thought to myself – I will remember this forever.

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Four Long Years

Mr. Smartypants and Ms. Diva were sitting on the couch earlier this morning watching the Disney Channel – oblivious to the fact that today we make some type of history.  Therefore, I felt the need to announce it:

“Today is The Day.  We’re going to elect a new president.”

Diva jumped up and down, using the couch as her own personal trampoline, “Go Obama! Woo-hoo! Obama, Obama, O-bam-a!”   She must have incorrectly assumed I’m so excited about history being made that I could overlook the whole “no jumping on the furniture” rule.

I’m not.

“Sit down Obama Mama – or I’ll vote for John McCain twice,”  I told her and she, having no knowledge of election laws, plopped on her bottom immediately.

See, both of my kids are Obama supporters: each voting for the candidate in mock elections at their respective schools – one more reluctantly than the other.  Last week, we discussed their reasons for selecting Obama.  Ms. Diva voted for Obama because “he’s hotter than the old guy.”  Diva’s friend, the Delightful Ms. O, voted Obama because “he wants to help the poor people.”  Mr. Smartypants voted Obama because “if McCain kicks the bucket while in office that psycho lady is taking over the country.”

Smartypants, who is clearly the less enthusiastic supporter,  didn’t jump on any furniture today.

He simply asked: “So, when will Obama take over?”

“In January.”

“How come we didn’t do this last year?”

“Presidents are elected to a four-year term.”

Then, he jumped to his feet, “WHAT? What does that mean?  We will have Obama as President for four years?  I thought we were just voting for him for, like, a year or something…  to try him out.  I don’t want him for four years! Well – No Obama then. Not for four years.  That’s a long time.  I’ll be in Middle School…  and I don’t want McCain either.  I don’t like either one of them.  Not for four years.  They’re both stupid.”

“Well, who do you like?”

“Neither one of them.”

“Is there another candidate you did like?”

Smartypants shrugs, “No… none… I don’t know… maybe we should have went with that Mitt Huckafee guy.”

Then, he grumbled: “This means you’ll be hogging up the TV and watching the news all night.  Doesn’t it?”

“Probably.”

“SEE! SEE WHAT I MEAN! His Four Years hasn’t even started and he’s already messing up my life!”  Mr. Smartypants has now wandered off in search of his shoes, muttering, “This is going to be the four longest years ever in the history of forever… so let’s just get it over with already.”

No, I didn’t have the heart to tell him Obama is eligible for two separate four year terms.  He has until Middle School to figure that out – but for now, we’re off to “get the first four over with.”