The band that DID come

The band that DID come

So there’s this band…

I first heard about it from my friend who tends bar at a nearby brewery. “They play stuff from the 90s,” and he started listing several bands, making my jaw drop lower with each one.

“You’ve got to book them!” I told him.

A couple months later, he did. I told all my friends.

Then, for whatever reason, the band canceled.

Then they rescheduled. I told all my friends.

The band came! And I had one of the best nights of my life. I remember repeatedly saying, “I am so happy right now.” Plus, I did this: (It’s a slide show, so go quickly and you can almost see me playing! 😉 )

Do I know how to play the drums? No.

Did I have permission to climb on stage during a break and play the drums? No.

Did the drummer turn around and say, “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Yes. But after the first two words his face went from irritation/borderline anger to a broad smile. I was clearly having fun, for one thing, and I was the one who gave him food, for another. (That would be a separate blog post.)

Then, after applying some subtle pressure, the band got booked for a second time. I told all my friends.

The band got canceled.

The band was booked for a third time to play this past Saturday! I told all my friends.

Then Thursday morning I got a message from the bartender:

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the band isn’t playing Saturday night after all. There was a miscommunication and we double booked.”

Picture me hanging my head.

Then he says, “The band that will be playing instead is a Pearl Jam cover band.”

Now picture me laughing my head off.

Pearl Jam is the band of my youth, my first musical love since age 12 when my big brother handed me their first album and said, “Check this out.” I was instantly hooked.

I told the bartender all was forgiven. I’d be there.

The bartender at me at the brewery on another occasion. When I asked if he’d mind if I put his face on my blog, he said, “I’d be honored.” Stand up guy. Despite the fact that he’s kneeling here.

I had told my mom and sister that the band was returning, so I updated them with the news that instead the performance would be by a cover band for “a particular Seattle 90s grunge band.”

My sister responded, “Nice,” then launched into a series of puns involving PJ song titles. (I love her.)

My mom said, “Is it a country band?”

She could hear me rolling my eyes from across the country.

“Ok. Ok. EV’s band?” EV, as in, Eddie Vedder, Pearl Jam’s singer. Mom’s way cooler than she lets on. Living in Cleveland, my parents sometimes take out-of-town guests to the Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Fame. After one trip, she mailed this to me:

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Beware of squirrels with backpacks


My eight-year-old nephew said a squirrel had been digging in their sandbox, making holes in their castles. His mom told him to be sure to wash his hands after he played in there because squirrels can carry diseases.

He said, “Squirrels don’t have backpacks, so how can they carry diseases?”

Moral of the story: Be safe. Don’t play with squirrels, backpacks or not.

Post-skydiving hair

Tangled, wind-blown mess.

Indoor skydiving, that is. Not quite as cool as the real thing, but still fun.

Anyhow, I had a hair tie in, but somewhere along the way, it was sucked up into the giant suctioning fan, never to be seen again.

When I got home, my kids said, “Mom, what happened to your hair?”

That bad.

I spent 15 minutes trying to work out the snarls with my fingers because my brush was utterly useless. In that time, I untangled maybe a third of it. Then I remembered that conditioner exists, so I hopped in the shower, feeling sure there was a bottle in there somewhere.

There was not.

I texted my friend two houses down with a desperate plea for conditioner. She didn’t respond until much later. She’d gone for a walk without her phone, and had wished she could text me because she’d left her oven on. I showed her my hair. She showed me her food.

This used to be peppers.

Fortunately, her house didn’t fill with smoke, but it did smell, she reported.

Her veggies were ruined, and I was seriously considering chopping my hair, or at least portions of it, way short. She recooked, and I spent the entirety of a Doc Martin episode (Have you seen this show? You must.) straightening my hair out with my fingers.

But it was all worth it because this:

Hair tie halfway out.

And this:

We spun around and around to the top of the tower and back down multiple times in rapid succession. It was a blast!

In case you’re wondering, I know where my neighbors hide their key due to an unfortunate baking incident in which I had to do the cliché of all clichés: ask to borrow a cup of sugar.

She responded that she wasn’t home, but would be in half an hour. However, if I needed sugar right away, she’d tell me where she hides the key.

I texted back, “Please tell me where you hide the key. And the good chocolate.”

Believe it or not, she told me both, but I didn’t dare raid her cocoa stash. A woman’s chocolate is sacred. But the fact that she was willing to let me partake, in addition to entering her home while she was gone… truly an amazing neighbor.

Questions for you to ponder/comment on:

  1. What’s worse: hair that takes an hour to untangle, or burnt peppers?
  2. Have you been skydiving–indoor or otherwise? If not, would you want to?
  3. Do you have an awesome neighbor?

Do share!

No greasy fingers here, Mom.


I allowed my son to eat popcorn, but I wanted him to do it in his high chair. That way, his greasy fingers would be staying put, not potentially running along my sofa.

My son did not want to eat his popcorn in his high chair. He wanted to be free to roam.

And so he found a solution. He would eat his popcorn chair-free and hands-free.

“Look, Ma! No hands!”

I suppose I should applaud his problem solving skills.

Hubby picked up our hold items from the library, including this item:


“What’s this?” I asked him.

“Looks like it’s called Predators,” he helpfully tells me.

“I see that, but why did you bring it home?”

“It was on the hold shelf. You must’ve ordered it.”

I had not. It was clearly misfiled. I’m not sure if him thinking I had actually ordered this movie says more about him or more about me.

Do you have a favorite unexpected movie or genre?

[I did see the original Predator, actually, and can quote lines from it even, but that’s the extent of Predator movies for me.]

If you need an excuse, make it a good one.

If you need an excuse, make it a good one.

My mom nearly forgot my daughter’s birthday. Her card arrived a few days late, but she was prepared with her excuse.

Here’s what came in the envelope:

It reads: “Happy birthday, Elise! No, this card is not late! Check the date! [Much earlier than when it was actually written.] Mailed in plenty of time. It is the postman’s fault! (See enclosed letter.)”

And so, the enclosed letter from “Harold Postman”:

“It is my fault. The snow is high, seven feet high, and I could not see the mailbox. Do not blame your kind and beautiful grandmother. (I cannot believe she is a grandmother, she looks so young.) Now snow melted and I find letter. -Harold Postman”

That’s how you write an excuse with flair.

A blogger who knows who he is, has talked about Dot’s pretzels and how superb they are (probably even erroneously claiming their superiority to my beloved Chex Mix). I didn’t give much thought to Dot’s, as they seemed to be local to his area.

But, lo and behold:

There’s Dot’s Homestyle Pretzels on the top shelf for $7?! And waaaaaaaaaaayyyyy down on the bottom shelf, unimposing and humble, are the Chex Mix on sale for $1.

Now, now, folks, let’s not assume Dot’s has superiority based on perceived value due to cost and shelf placement. Yes, Mark, I was tempted, but, no, I didn’t buy your favored over-priced snack of choice.

I will, however, keep an eye on it in case it goes on sale to something reasonable! Then I’ll give it a try. Maybe. Perhaps. Probably.

Anyone eat anything new and interesting lately?

What’s the best excuse you’ve ever given or received?

Is my Mom great, or what? (Yes, Mom, I can see you beaming from here.)

Human Jungle Gym, Part 2: A Happy Medium

Human Jungle Gym, Part 2: A Happy Medium

Here’s Hubby’s latest approach to working from home with a toddler:

(If you missed it, here’s Part 1.)

As you click through the slideshow, note Hubby’s concentration. Working through distractions is a learned skill.

That last pic is just for fun, so you can have your “Awwwww!!!” moment once you get a load of that kid’s eyes!

My final offering is in honor of fellow blogger, tref, because when I saw this pic, I was reminded of those I see of him looking at his restaurant food. I get extra points, however, because my sweater perfectly matches my deep fried matcha green tea ice cream, which was, by the way, delicious.

Thank you for reading. Which pic did you enjoy the most? Eat anything extra tasty lately?

So sweet. So innocent. So… wait.


Look! I made a slideshow!

Image 1: What’s Darth Vader holding?

Image 2: Oh, that’s nice. It’s a flower.

Image 3: Joe: “It’s not a flower. It’s a bomb that explodes people.”

Yep. That’s my son, folks.

I recently visited a larger version of the store where I normally buy Chex Mix. Curious, I wandered into the snack aisle to see what varieties of Chex Mix there might be.

Behold! Varieties I didn’t even know existed!

Buffalo Ranch and Ghost Pepper Chex Mix!

Did you know Chex Mix made these flavors? Would you try the Buffalo Ranch with “Flavor Blasted Spicy Buffalo Chex Pieces + Ranch Chex Mix” or the “Hot and Spicy” (ya think?) Ghost Pepper with “Danger” and “Scary Hot” written on the packaging?

Look! I made a poll!

Can I get that in writing?


My son tells me he loves scrubbing toilets. (Despite his expression. He was singularly focused.)

My three-year-old scrubbing away. Go figure.

I wish he was old enough for me to get that in writing. It may be useful later on.

And apparently this post has a theme.

I found this in the hallway:

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Spelling reality check

You’ll note that after the word noisiest my daughter wrote “AKA Joe,” her little brother. Later she did the same next to “craziness.” I didn’t complain since both statements were accurate.

I went over my daughter’s weekly spelling words with her to be sure she knew their meanings. Most were easy, but some, like ascertain, required an explanation. Others I pointed to and asked, “Do you know what this word means?”


“And this one?”


“Let me tell you what this one means.”

“I know what cleanliness means!” she said.

“Based on the state of your room, I don’t think you do,” I countered.

She grinned sheepishly.

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