The Conveyance Involved In Vehicular Mom(non)slaughter

Remember yesterday, when I revealed that I was almost run over by a car? 

Here's the car:

 

There are two of them at Country Mart. As you can see, the kiddos go in the car, which has two steering wheels (non-working!), and can feel like they're driving around the store.

As blog buddy River pointed out, we didn't have these things for OUR kids, and they turned out just fine. Indeed. Young Genius preferred to lie on the shelf underneath the cart to ride through the store! The shelf where you put giant bags of dog food, or flats of canned vegetables, or 12-packs of soda. At least he was savvy enough to keep his fingers out of the wheels. He'd lie on his stomach facing forward. Maybe he felt like a low-flying Superman. I let it happen, because I could see him through the cart, and I knew he wasn't traipsing off to the electronics department to quiz the workers on when they were getting in some new hard drives.

The cart-car keeps the kids out from underfoot. Thankfully, they don't have working horns. The last thing I need is some toddling whippersnapper honking at me to move my ample rumpus.

Mrs. HM Is Bamboozled By The Highway Department, And Almost Hit By A Car

Sweet Gummi Mary! I've had it with this highway department! The bridge is still not resurfaced, even though there has been intermittent work and lane closures. 

 

Wednesday, the local paper online said that our lettered county highway would be undergoing resurfacing on THURSDAY, from 7:00 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. And that local residents might not want to wash their cars, since there would be gravel and oil spread on the road to seal it. So not an actual application of blacktop, but a cheaper and quicker way to seal "low traffic" roads. The article described the process. Gave the roads where the work would start and end.

 

"What am I supposed to do? I don't care about getting T-Hoe dirty, but I don't want to get in that traffic mess. I guess I'll go down the back road and come out over behind the local junior college. That's close to the bank. I can go there first on my errands."

 

"Well, you don't have to go all the way there. Other roads branch off."

 

"You know I'll get lost! I'll just stick with the way I know."

 

"Yeah. You can do that."

 

So I did. Went the very back way, and did my errands, and came back the regular way, since by then it was 3:45, and I thought they might be getting done and cleaning up.

 

I was kind of right. THERE WAS NO RESURFACING ON THE WHOLE WAY HOME! No sign of resurfacing. The bridge was still not done, either!

 

I wasted my whole detour for NOTHING! Those dang liars! I imagine they'll pop up on Friday, when I least expect it, and wreak havoc with my travel plans.

 

Oh, and while I was standing at the left lottery machine in Country Mart, scanning in two $3 winners so I could buy more scratchers... a lady came through the door with her kid in the cart with the built-on plastic car, and ALMOST HIT ME!

 

I know it's hard to see when you come through the door. Especially when pushing an extra-long cart with a car on the front. So I didn't make a scene. Didn't even huff or shoot her the stink-eye. But she said to her companion:

 

"Oh, no! I almost hit that lady. I'm so sorry!"

 

"It's okay. Not a big deal. But I was almost hit by a CAR, heh, heh!"

 

I can forgive that cart-car driver way easier than the highway department.

Sweet Sweet Juno Is Souring Me On Farmer H

I'm a little concerned about my Sweet, Sweet Juno. First she had that limp on her back leg. We can't see anything wrong with the leg itself, nor her foot pads. She was at least leaning on it Wednesday. Maybe she jumped off the porch, or off the carport chasing after Jack and Copper Jack in their squirrel quest. Juno is no spring chicken. We've had her since she was a too-young pup, and we got her in 2011. So she's 11 years old. That's 77 in dog years!

Anyhoo... I had told Farmer H to check Juno's leg. He said she runs away from him. Yes, she does. But he didn't say he'd actually TRIED to get a look at her foot.

Juno is molting her summer fur, and now that most of it is gone, she looks THIN. Way too thin. I've been telling Farmer H that the dogs don't like that food he bought last. He SAID he bought more food, and is mixing it together. Yet the bowls are full when I leave for town in the afternoon. He feeds them before 7:00 a.m. So they are consciously shunning that food until they get really hungry.

So worried am I about Juno that I told Farmer H to get her some canned food. He at least did that. Got her 10 cans. Just for her, not to share with Jack. Farmer H says she's been eating her canned food. She also eats the treats I dole out, so it's nothing wrong with her mouth, or a pain that might keep her from eating.

Farmer H said he'd get some wormer, just in case that's her problem, although little Jack is quite rotund, and not suffering the same ailment that is slimming Juno. THEN he forgot to get the wormer. So maybe tomorrow. 

 

Last night, Juno had her can of food. Then I gave her an expired chicken-something frozen dinner with hamburger grease from our pre-taco meat. Thawed, of course. And she was in the middle of eating that when I tossed out some expired Buffalo Chicken chunks to Jack and Copper Jack. She ran out of her house to snatch one from under the tiny mouth of little Jack! So it doesn't seem to be a problem with her appetite. Except where that dry dog food is concerned. I hope that food is not what's making her sick!

Meanwhile, Farmer H is nearing dog house cohabitation with Juno, because he used my regular can opener on her dog food! It's not a fancy can opener. Just a hand-held version with black plastic handles. You might say that Farmer H had no other alternative, except I bought TWO can openers the day before! A plain metal one, and another kind of like my regular can opener. And specifically told Farmer H to use one of those on Juno's food. His picture is in the dictionary next to non-compliant. Or nincompoop. Maybe both.

Anyhoo, I hope Juno starts picking up weight. I fear that she is just getting old. Though aging has not had the same effect on me...

Junkestician, Heal Thyself

Farmer H is not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he can build a shed! Sometimes his porch light is on, though nobody's home. But the porch is sturdy and the light doesn't flicker. He may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but the box is handmade, dovetailed, sanded, and lacquered, with monogrammed initials inlaid.

 

Saturday, Farmer H went to his Storage Unit Store as usual. He wanted to make some sales in his last remaining weeks, and was still there when I called him around 3:30 as I was leaving for town. I think I was just inquiring as to his whereabouts, and if he wanted something from the store.

 

"I don't know, HM. I'm not feeling well." 

"What's wrong with you?"

"I just don't feel good. I'm putting my stuff away now."

"Did you have lunch?"

"No."

"You'd better eat something when you get home, before going off to the auction."

The more I thought about it as I drove to town, the more I was convinced that Farmer H shouldn't be driving himself home in his delicate condition. He has diabetes, you know. And shouldn't be skipping meals. I remember when I had to drink that sugary stuff at the doctor when I was pregnant with Fetus Genius, and they let me leave, and when they gave me the test results, I found out my blood sugar had been 48! No wonder I could barely find my way back home, and had trouble remembering how the gas pump worked at Casey's! 

Anyhoo... I had an inkling maybe Farmer H was having an episode of low blood sugar. I had some butterscotch hard candies in T-Hoe's console. Sure, they're probably several years old. But might give Farmer H a boost to get him back home to eat some protein. Mrs. HM to the rescue!

Within 7 minutes, I was pulling onto the gravel lot of the storage units. There was SilverRedO down by Farmer H's locker. I drove up, and Farmer H came out. So did another guy, younger, who might have been helping Farmer H put away his stuff, or might have been about to rob him blind. He kept walking. Farmer H stepped up to T-Hoe's passenger door, and stood there. Looking through the window.

"What in the Not-Heaven? What are you doing?" I put the window down. "Aren't you getting in for a minute?"

"No. I was just seeing what you wanted."

"I bet you haven't eaten anything for 7 or 8 hours! Do you want a butterscotch?"

"Yeah. I'll have one." Farmer H took the bag and shook them in his hand, then put them back except for one. "I had a sausage biscuit that my buddy brought around 7:30."

"So it HAS been that long! And you only took ONE butterscotch?"

"I'm on my way home. I'll eat something there. And I just had a couple of those auction cookies before you got here."

"Those tasteless shortbread cookies in the tube? Did it help."

"I'm feeling a little bit better..."

"You need to start taking better care of yourself. You can't just go all that time moving stuff in and out of your locker, and not eating!"

"Yeah. I'm going to put a mini fridge in my new locker so I can take a sandwich."

Not exactly helpful for Sunday's sales. I made him take some string cheese, and Ritz crackers. He said his buddy "across the way" usually brought a cooler. So he'd put his cheese in it. 

The Perfect End To Casino Robbery

And now, for the tale of the next forkin' thing depriving Mrs. HM of her peace of mind...

At the end of our casino outing last Thursday, we had plans to meet up front at 3:15. Farmer H would go out and bring A-Cad around to the front doors for me and The Pony, who stays with me for moral and perhaps emergency physical support.

The Pony found me at 3:00, at my favorite Wonder 4 Tall Fortunes slot, playing Indian Dreaming.

"Dad already went out to the car. I'm supposed to text him when you're ready for the car."

"Okay. He said 3:15, and I said I'd have to go by the bathroom first. Here. You can go cash in my ticket while I finish playing this out."

"Um. So... you're not going to include that on your ticket? Won't you just have to cash it out anyway, or send me back?"

"Heh, heh! You act as if I'm going to be left with some money! That's probably not happening."

"Well. Just in case, I'll stand right here by you. Give me that ticket! I'll hold it for you."

Good thing I did. I might have been tempted to put THAT back in and lose it as well! Anyhoo... I played down my credits and The Pony left to cash my ticket. He said he'd wait in the chairs by the front door, and text Farmer H when he saw me come out of the bathroom. That's a sad testament to how slow I walk! From bathroom to front door in the time it takes for Farmer H to start A-Cad and drive around.

Anyhoo... I always go to the bathroom before our 90-minute drive home. Only THIS time, I was feeling a bit... um... indisposed! So I figured I might as well make a little deposit in that bathroom before hitting the road. I don't normally like to do that out in public, but that IS the purpose of a bathroom. 

 

In fact, the lady running right up my rumpus on the walk over there was in more urgent need than was I. At least she didn't knock me out of the way. There was room to go around, but she must have been using my aerodynamic airflow to draft and use less energy. Once we entered the bathroom proper, she darted into the first stall the minute I stepped past. She was one of those "AHHH" people. Really. That is totally unnecessary! But she let her sigh fly at the same time she let her other business fly.

I can't really fault her for her business, since I was there for the same purpose. Though much more quiet about it. She was out of there quickly, and I was left with three empty stalls to my right. It didn't take long for me to do my business. That BBQ pork loin from lunch was squealing its way right out of me! I reached for the toilet paper.

There was a big silver metal holder containing an upper and a lower roll of toilet paper. I'd used the upper one with no problem when we first arrived. The bottom roll was full, still intact and unused. But there were scraps on the floor. Like single squares. 

 

As I tried to pull out some TP from the top roll, the square tore off in my hand. And the next one! Those two rolls were too close. The double-ply sheets of the top roll were no longer lined up. So each square was really flimsy. It took much shimmying and finagling to pull out a small strip of squares. In my efforts, several single-ply squares dropped to the ground. Except they didn't. They landed on the leg of my pants! And stuck like velcro!

Of all the times for this to happen... when Farmer H was probably fuming in the car over his losses, having gone out early to sit and wait on me. And The Pony waiting to text him at a moment's notice. You can be sure that I plucked those squares off my pants one by one! No way was I walking out of the bathroom with TP stuck on my leg! It must have had static electricity.

Anyhoo... I made it out unmarked. And made sure to tell the tale to Farmer H and The Pony as we pulled away. The Pony rolled his eyes and seemed to think it was too much information.

There's no such thing in The Blogoverse.

Casey's Bathroom Is The New Clown Car

My series of misadventures last week included a couple of bathroom incidents. NO! NO! It's not like THAT! Nothing that would scar me (or YOU) for life. Just something you don't expect, nor want, to happen when you have a need to use the facilities.

 

Last Wednesday, I was over in Sis-Town doing my errands, to free up Thursday for our casino trip with The Pony. I started my tasks at the bank, then proceeded to the Sis-Town Casey's for T-Hoe's weekly gas and my scratchers. 

 

I have learned to take advantage of a clean roomy toilet as it presents itself to me! You never know when you might get tied up in a convenience store line or an unfortunate traffic incident. So I always do my business in the Sis-Town Casey's bathroom. I have also learned to use the facilities BEFORE pre-paying for my gas, because the pump shuts off the pre-payment after an inordinately short period of time, necessitating a walk back inside and another wait in line to have it reset.

 

Anyhoo... I was there before the after-school rush. I proceeded to the bathroom, where there are two stalls. They are both roomy, but only the handicap stall has a bar on the wall for help in arising from the throne. Of course that's the one I covet.

 

I walked in and saw feet under the first stall. I poked the handicap door, and it was latched. I leaned against the wall to wait, trying not to seem like a perv peeping into the cracks of the other stall's door. A woman was washing her hands at the sink. We had a full house. I rarely encounter a single soul in that bathroom.

 

Anyhoo... I heard a flush, and the denizen of the handicap stall emerged. She was a middle-aged woman, slim of build, with neither wheelchair nor cane, and an unencumbered gait. I have no idea why she would need a handicap stall, but perhaps she had a spasm-y bladder that put her in urgent need, and she couldn't wait. I limped myself into the handicap stall.

 

I heard further flushing, and some milling around. New feet became my neighbor in the other stall. When I came out to wash my hands, the sink area was full of two not-so-small women. Neither was washing her hands! They were chatting. Having a family reunion of sorts. As if they didn't have somewhere better to do that. One had an item on the back of her neck that looked a bit like a maxi-pad. Or maybe it was an actual bandage. The other was telling her it looked okay. Whatever...

 

Still, they stood and talked. I know the main talker could see me in her peripheral vision. Even Maxi-Pad could see me in the mirror. Yet they stayed. Not washing. Not drying. Blocking the double sinks. I gave up and left. I have GermX in my purse in T-Hoe. The world won't stop revolving if I don't wash my hands for five minutes. I'm not a face-toucher.

 

As I stood in line to pay for my gas and order up my scratchers, those two lingerers went out the door. I swear they were trying to out-wait me!

 

I have no idea why the Sis-Town Casey's bathroom was the place to be at that very slim window of time.

One Forking Thing After Another

Mrs. HM has been having a few days of not-the-best luck. Too many incidents to cram in all at once. But we'll start with the most obvious:

 

On Tuesday, I ate part of my fork. I can't give you a review of its taste, because I didn't taste it. Didn't even know I ate it until I saw the end after I licked it clean of the baked potato/broccoli/cheese/sweet banana peppers that I had as my side dish. 

I'm guessing that everything came out okay. That I am not harboring a fork tip that will eventually work its way out of my digestive tract, through my thick skin, and fall to the dark green ceramic tile of the master bathroom floor as I'm getting ready to shower.

Side note... in college, I ran five miles a day. I missed a curb one fall morning, only a block into my run, and slid my knees across some gravelly concrete. I was able to continue my run with minimal blood loss, and wash and treat and bandaid the worst knee when I returned to the dorm. By springtime, my wound was well-healed, with a little bumpy scar. It itched every now and then.

Imagine my surprise when I scratched and a PIECE OF GRAVEL CAME OUT! That was kind of weird. But painless. And then the itching stopped.

The more you know... the less you WISH you knew!