RTT: Sex and The College Boy

Oh, look – it’s Tuesday and I actually have some Random!  Yay!  You guys know the drill…



We were incredibly fortunate to be gifted with a deer for our freezer this year – this makes me especially happy because we decided not to get a goat again this fall.

We went to pick her up after she’d been processed and packaged this last Saturday, and while we were perusing the freezer cases at Whitefeather Meats we noticed they had some nice-sized domestic rabbits, already cut into pieces, for sale.  Our last two forays into cooking rabbit were quite successful, so I grabbed one and added it to our purchases.

It wasn’t until we were headed home that I realized we had both Bambi AND Thumper in the trunk of our car.


‘Tis the Season, of course, and The G Man has informed us that what he wants most from Santa is a “hewicopter wif a ‘mote” and…batteries.

Yes, he asked for batteries, and at the rate he’s playing with all of the battery operated decorations on the tree and around the house we, at least, are going to need them by Christmas.


As I’d noted earlier, The Young One has been accepted to Kent State University and we did the obligatory campus tour yesterday afternoon. He’s bound and determined to live on campus and I’ve resigned myself to letting him go, even though we live close enough for him to commute if he wanted to.  I have to say, it’s a nice school and I’m excited that he’s so excited about going there.  But they certainly seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time assuring me how safe the campus is.

I guess as long as they keep the National Guard away, I’ll be okay.


Kent State is a big school; I’m a bit worried about the quality of the food available to The Young One while he’s there – at one point I thought I’d wandered into the food court of a shopping mall.  It seemed every kid we passed on our tour was sipping a Pepsi, and I was absolutely appalled when we were told there is a Quaker Steak and Lube in the student center.

Is it inappropriate to send him care packages of pastured eggs, raw milk cheeses and grass-fed ground beef?  I hear you can accomplish amazing things with a microwave if you know what you’re doing.


One of the things we learned while touring the campus is that he can buy just about anything on campus (apparently as long as it’s a product of PepsiCo or ConAgra) with the exception of toiletries, which he’ll have to buy in town.  He was pondering that as we drove away, when we passed a CVS and Walgreens, right next to each other and right off the college grounds.

“Oh, look, hon,” I said, “You won’t even have to go all the way in town.  You can go right there if you run out of toothpaste or shampoo.”

He turned to me and grinned.  “Or condoms!”

Why…oh, why, did he have to say that.

Reunited, And It Feels So Good…

Jen of Sprite’s Keeper has brought back The Spin Cycle!  Can you give me a halleluiah?

C’mon, y’all – repeat after me:  “Halleluiah!”  After a six month hiatus, this is truly a momentous occasion, and I could not be more thrilled.

Then again, the subject matter is “reunions” and I had to think about what to write about.  Hmmm…

I could write about how my 30 year high school reunion is this summer, but since I haven’t heard anything about it…nope.

I considered writing about being reunited with my health (I’ve started losing weight again – yay!) – feeling crappy used to be the norm, and days of well-being were few and far between; now the opposite is true.  However, since the last day or two have been “crappy” days…nope (add FD&C Yellow #5 to the ever-growing list of “Things That Make Jan Feel Like Shit”, along with MSG, aspartame, gluten and casein from cow’s milk).

I thought about talking about having all of the kids up for a week this summer, sort of a mini family reunion, but since we haven’t quite worked out the details…nope.

I thought about squealing over the fact that we’ll be reunited with a certain adorable grandson over the Memorial Day weekend, but since you’ll see more pictures of that than you probably care to next week…nope.

So I’ll talk about reuniting The Young One with his lunch.

While long-time readers are familiar with my immediate family, I’m sure most of my newer readers (and there are quite a few of you) are blissfully in the dark.  You’ve seen me mention my husband, Beloved, quite often (and seen his comments, under the “Be” moniker) as well as The Young One, my 16-year-old son.  However, there are four other adult children in this mix – Oldest Son (28), Darling Daughter (24), Jolly (22, and mother of that adorable grandson) and Miss J (19), all of whom we are grateful live on their own, scattered over three states (Texas, Nevada and Ohio).  Since The Young One is the only chick left in the nest, I’m afraid he gets most of the Blog Notoriety.  He’s a pretty good sport about it.

He’s also the one kid that has been most affected by our change in diet.  He’s been a good sport about that, too, since there are no longer sodas, cookies, chips, candy, cereal, Pop Tarts, Hostess cupcakes, Twinkies, et al in our home.  Okay, there were rarely Hostess cupcakes or Twinkies here in the first place,  but that’s beside the point.  Junk took a hike, and the poor kid has been reduced to cheese sticks and (natural) peanut butter (no soy or HFCS) toast for after school snacks.

He also has ceased to buy his lunch at school, which was no hardship on him since most school cafeteria food is atrocious and he’s been horribly spoiled at home.  He also does not make his lunch – we’ve tried that route, and when lunch was left up to him he’d slap a single shred of ham between two slices of bread and call it good (if he feels ambitious, he’ll throw a cheese stick into the mix).  So I get up at a perfectly ridiculous hour every morning and make sure he has breakfast and make his lunch, which usually consists of a sandwich on that soy-and-HFCS-free bread and includes minimally processed, nitrate-free lunch meat and cheese – raw milk and grass fed, if I can get it – a piece of fruit (usually an apple, banana or some grapes), a cheese stick, some baby carrots or celery stuffed with peanut butter and, lately, a handful of dry-roasted cashews.  Once in awhile, he’ll take a leftover burger or I’ll make his sandwich with leftover roast, if we have it.  Once in a couple of blue moons I’ll make popcorn and put it in there as a treat, but not very often because if Mom makes popcorn, Mom eats popcorn and we’re simply not having any of that.

Anyhoo – all in all, it’s a pretty good lunch, especially for someone as picky as this kid.  Nutritious and filling.

When he remembers to take it with him.

The lady who mans (womans?) the desk just inside the high school entrance, welcoming visitors and directing hapless parents, recognizes me on the spot.  I don’t even have to tell her who the lunch goes to anymore.  Oh, once in awhile I’ll throw her a curve ball and hand her a calculator, or folder, or a permission form, or homework assignment that the dog most decidedly did not eat, but the vast majority of the time it’s that brown paper bag.

Yesterday, however, I never made it to the lady at the desk at all, because whom should I spy, wandering aimlessly around the foyer and clutching a wrinkled, soiled, slightly odoriferous and somewhat larger bag, but the fruit of my loins.  I walked over to him and held out the bag I was carrying.

“Forget something?” I asked.

“Oh…yeah.  Thanks, Mom.”

“Young One, what are you doing out here?”

“Taking my gym clothes back to my locker.”

“Why are you taking your gym clothes back to your locker?”

“Because I don’t have gym today.”

“Why don’t you have gym today?”

“Because they’re doing some senior testing thing in they gym this morning.”

Now, granted, he has gym first period and the kid is never fully awake and functioning until at least 10:00 a.m. (why they start school at 7:25 a.m. is beyond me), but I can guarantee you the P.E. Powers That Be reminded him there would be no gym Monday morning every day last week.  I just sighed, handed him his lunch and pointed him in the general direction of his locker.

I will be ever so relieved when he leaves the teen years behind and reunites with his brain.

That’s What She Said

For all of my bloggy friends that have very young children:  In case you’re worried that once they become teenagers they’ll stop saying cute and funny things, I’m here to tell you…

…they’ll very likely become disgusting.

Oh, wait, this is supposed to be supportive.  Sorry about that.  Anyhoo, yes, they will still say things that will crack you up.

A little background information:  our favorite waiter at our favorite restaurant happens to share the same first name as Beloved (imagine that – a waiter named Beloved).  For the purpose of this post, we’ll refer to the waiter as Be.  Now, Be The Waiter loves us – we’re fun, naturally, we love food, of course, and then again – we tip well.  A couple of weekends ago we had an excuse to go to our favorite restaurant two nights in a row, the second night with The Young One and Miss J, who was visiting from Texas.

There were all sorts of indulgences that night, in the way of an upside-down banana rum cake that I shared with Miss J, and just a smidgen too much Hendricks gin for Beloved, who became quite, er, jolly.

How jolly you ask?  Well, when the dinner was over and the check paid, Be The Waiter came up to me and gave me a big hug and kiss on the cheek, like he usually does.  This night, Beloved felt he should get a hug and a kiss instead of a handshake and said so.  Be The Waiter may have been a tiny bit startled, but not being one to offend a customer that consistently tips 20%, gave Beloved a warm hug and peck on the cheek (and, if I might add, probably enjoyed it, if you get my drift.  Nudge, nudge, say no more…).

I drove us home, teasing Beloved about being amorous with the wait staff at the restaurant.  The kids were in the back seat, rolling their eyes at us as usual, so Beloved turned around and asked, “I didn’t embarrass y’all, did I?”  (Are you kidding?  He was banking on it.)

“What?  Never!” exclaimed The Young One.  “We’re always up for a little Be on Be action.”

At which point I nearly ran us off the road from laughing so hard.

But I think I need to confiscate the boy’s computer.

High School Is Not a Musical

Hansome Boy!At least according to The Young One, who grumped through the morning like a Disney dwarf with bursitis.  I’m sure the fact that 47 of his closest friends chose to call him at 10:00 p.m. last night to talk about the impending first day of high school while I yelled, “GET TO BED ALREADY!!” in the background didn’t help.  Nor did the fact that we were both up at the crack of absurd this morning.

When I was in school, we had to be there at 8:00 a.m every morning, and we left each and every day at 3:00 p.m. (well, until my senior year when the really bright kids, like myself, managed to weasel in a study hall for first and last periods, meaning we could show up an hour late and leave an hour early).  We had 6 periods a day, and lunch.  This was true even when Darling Daughter was in high school (although they had block scheduling and managed to fit in 8 periods by having them attend 4 a day on alternating days).

Not so now – school starts here at 7:20 a.m., which means the bus comes at 6:45 which means he has to be at the bus stop no later than 6:35.  He has like 11 periods (don’t ask me how they manage this; I have NO idea) and they get out of school at 2:38 p.m.

2:38 p.m.  What, if they stay an extra two minutes all of the teachers will implode?

At any rate, he got off this morning without any tears or drama on either of our parts.  I don’t have any desire to wax poetic about how my baby is a mere four years away from college, or how he grew into a handsome and reasonably responsible young man seemingly overnight.  There will be no sappy prose about him starting a new phase of his life or his impending journey into young adulthood.

Mostly due to this conversation this morning.

“Young One, stop abusing your lunch!” I scolded, as he swung the paper bag around.  He immediately raised it in front of his face and began poking and slapping it around.

“Take that, rotten lunch!  Good for nothing!  Bad lunch – BAAAAAAD lunch!”

It’s going to be a looooong year.

How To Torment Your Child On Facebook

With the exception of Oldest Son and Darling Daughter, all of our kids have a Facebook page.  There is a probably a very good reason reason the two oldest don’t have a Facebook page – namely, Beloved and I do.

Jolly, Miss Jacki and The Young One are all our “friends,” a state of affairs that may very well change after last night, when Beloved and I decided to comment on Miss Jacki’s status.

Which was:

Miss Jacki: Wtf  4 hours ago

Me: OMG  16 minutes ago

Be: BTW is it TLA Day?  14 minutes ago

Me: LOL  14 minutes ago

Be: WALSTIB   13 minutes ago

Me: AFU  13 minutes ago

Be: FUBAR  12 minutes ago

Me: WYSIWYG   10 minutes ago

Be: TMI  9 minutes ago

Me: SWAK  9 minutes ago

Be: SSDD  9 minutes ago

Me: STFU  8 minutes ago

Be: ASL?  6 minutes ago

Me: FTW!  6 minutes ago

Be: BRB  5 minutes ago

Me: PIA  5 minutes ago

Be: GTR  5 minutes ago

Me: MIA  5 minutes ago

Be: POW  4 minutes ago

Me: WWJD?  4 minutes ago

Be: FOAD  3 minutes ago

Me: TTFN  3 minutes ago

Be: L8R  15 seconds ago

Okay, yes – so we may have gotten carried away.

Have a lovely weekend, y’all.