Fish in My Hair

Bible Study

Pirates and yogurt and Stanley - oh my!

It's the most wonderful time of the year! ARRRR!

Avast, yeh scurvy dogs! It's time again to break out yer eye patches, yer gold dubloons, and yer bottle of rum (or ginger ale). That's right, yeh bilge rat - it's September 19, the annual TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY!

If yer not sure how to celebrate this most auspicious of days, head on over to the website for Talk Like a Pirate Day, yeh lump of fish breath. From there, yeh can find yer pirateish name, yer pirate profile (be sure to read the fine print at the end of the quiz, lest yeh find yerself walkin' the plank), and have a cargo hold full o' piratey fun. Arr, there be even a pattern so yeh can knit like a pirate. And if yeh need a little pirate music to help set yer mood, try The Bilge Pumps.

Arrrr, yeh better mind me, because I'm

Why didn't I think of that?

Some dude named Robert Smith has written The Nicole Richie Cookbook. Richie is the Hollywood starlet who weighs all of about 80 pounds - and 20 of that is probably hair extensions, false eyelashes, and silicone, uh, additions. By law, the woman should be riding in a booster seat.

Here's the thing. Mr. Smith is getting $11.95 a copy for a recipe book that is full of ... blank pages.

Man, I could write one like that and call it TC's Secrets to Successful Housecleaning.

Adventures With Stanley: Week 1

This whole Flat Stanley Project is not turning out at all like I expected. My kids are just being horribly resistant to enfolding Stanley into our family. This is a photo of our first meal with the new arrival.

Now isn't that just a picture of excitement and overwhelming happiness?

Today I wanted to take a photo of Stanley on the Zamboni machine after Sasquatch's hockey practice, but he (Sasquatch, not Stanley) adamantly opposed the idea and threatened to ride beside me in the front seat on the way home. If you know anything about hockey, you know that this is the equivalent to being sentenced to Painful Suffocating Death By Noxious Odor. Asphyxiation definitely would have put a crimp in my plans for the rest of the day, so I decided to forgo the Zamboni photo.

The Husband is not helping the situation. Apparently, he thinks that Stanley is the reincarnation of Mr. Bill. I have to admit, there is a physical resemblance.

But my word, the kinds of ideas he's coming up with for Stanley make me think it's time to take away his NRA card.

When all was said and done, the most exciting thing that happened to Stanley this week was that he learned to be my personal barista. I think he looks pretty happy about it.

Now if they could just replace those cheap plastic seats with recliners.

I never cease to be amazed by new technological advances. It’s probably because I grew up in an era when the phrase “high-tech” hadn’t even been coined yet. On top of that, the closest one came to being “high-tech” was if you owned a cassette recorder onto which you could record ghostly “wooooo” sounds. Then you could hide the recorder under your bed, switch it on to play late at night, and tell your little sister, who was nearly scared out of her Chatty Cathy nightgown, that Casper was in the room. Not that I would know anything about that.

So nowadays, I’m awed by everything from Goose-Me-Elmo to those new iPhone$, and everything in between. The most recent object of wonder for me has been slightly less techie, but no less impressive – scented bowling balls.

Now, I’m thinking this is an idea which is way overdue. I mean, when I think of the scent of a bowling alley, all that comes to mind is Eau de Ball Return: “A heady concoction with base notes of stale cigarettes, accentuated lightly with shoe deodorizer and top notes of cheap cologne and AquaNet.”

As it turns out, Storm Bowling is one of the leading manufacturers of scented bowling balls, so I headed over to their web site to see what they have to offer. I don’t know which is more impressive – the vast array of available scents, including lime, blueberry,  and plum, or the names of the various models.  With monikers like, “El Nino Wrath,” “Fire Storm,” and “Flash Flood,” you have to wonder if the people in the naming department spent most of their lives on the west coast. Then you realize they must be from Los Angeles, possibly even from a penitentiary in LA, when you see more names like, “Shock Trauma” and “Razor Wire.” Either that, or they’re just the kind of guys you don’t want bowling in the lane next to you and your kids. Or in the county next to you, for that matter.

Anyway. Storm’s web site has this cool feature called The Match Maker, which is designed to assess your personal bowling skills and then determine the best Storm ball for your particular style. I decided to try it out, even though my particular style could best be described as “chuck the ball down the lane and hope it hits something.”

The first question on the assessment is
What is your average score?
o Less than 150
o 150-200
o 200 or over

This was when I realized that The Match Maker is for serious bowlers. You know, the people with their own bowling shoes that are NOT red and black, and do not have the size announced to God and his dog on the heel. I thought the question should at least have a qualifier, “Is that with or without bumpers?”

I didn’t even know how to answer some of the other questions, which dealt with things like axis rotation (“My orthopedic surgeon says to avoid it”) and lane conditions (“too long”). And completely missing were questions like, “Have you ever bounced the ball over into a neighboring lane?” or “Have you ever released the ball on your backswing, thereby endangering the lives of the spectators behind you?” Not that I would know anything about that.

Eventually, The Match Maker was able to tell me that the perfect ball for me was the Sure-Fire, which comes in the delectable scent of pina-colada.

I was a bit disappointed that I wasn’t recommended the Screamin’ Banshee, because that seems to fit my personality better, but, hey, you gotta trust the professionals.

Then, if I really wanted to order a Sure-Fire, I had to identify myself as a Stroker, Tweener, or Cranker. I have no idea what those terms mean, but they don’t sound like something a nice Christian woman should be. I’d hate to know that my future descendents would read on my headstone, “Here lies TC. She was a real cranker.”

If you decide to go over to Storm Bowling’s website, don’t bother to look for a chocolate-scented model. There isn’t one. I guess those Storm guys are smarter than their XXL bowling shirts make them look. They know that if any of us women bowlers get our hands on a chocolate-scented bowling ball, we’ll just sit there licking it and forgo the game altogether.

Not that I would know anything about that.

If he wasn't flat before, he will be by the time he leaves our house.

I was over at TrainingHearts' blog today and found out that she's got a Virtual Flat Stanley project going on, so I immediately signed us up.

Well, as ol' Stanley came rolling out of the printer, my children wanted to know what was going on. From their reactions, you'd have thought I had just suggested that we start a six-week diet of Yahtzee score pads and thumb tacks.

• "You have GOT to be kidding."
• "MOM!" (Prounounced in the more dramatic, 2-syllable fashion)
• "No way am I taking that little creep to ballet class."
• "He has big ears."

"Oh, come on!" said I. "Think of all the fun adventures we can take Stanley on. And, we get to take pictures and you can put them on your blogs." I thought their eyes were going to roll right out of their too-cool teenage heads.

Then the little heathens began to suggest some activities for Stanley. Perhaps he would like to experience a paper shredder? He can light the grill for hamburgers! Maybe he'd like to play with the dogs. Origami?!

Poor, poor Stanley. I fear he's in for a rough time at our house. Photos will be forthcoming. Unless my son straps him to a firecracker first.

Didja miss me?

I've been away from the blogosphere for a few days. My brain and my body had a minor skirmish over my need for sleep, and my body won.

Anyway, I'm rested and returned, but I can't write much at the moment. It seems that no one else in my house understands the importance of washing dishes. This morning I had to eat my oatmeal with a pickle fork.

VCR ALERT!

Because she's too modest to tell you about it herself, I'm going to blab the news for her. A fellow blogger and former homeschooling mom, Cindy Downes (EmptyNestMom), is scheduled to be featured on Good Morning America on September 7. How cool is that?!

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Just to get your morning started with a smile, here are a few Christian quips.

Many folks want to serve God, but only as advisors.

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Opportunity may knock once, but temptation bangs on your front door forever.

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Quit griping about your church; if it was perfect, you couldn't belong.

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God Himself does not propose to judge a man until he is dead. So why should you?

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Some minds are like concrete; thoroughly mixed up and permanently set.

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I don't know why some people change churches; what difference does it make which one you stay home from?

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We were called to be witnesses, not lawyers or judges.

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God loves everyone, but probably prefers "fruits of the spirit" over "religious nuts!"

So true.

Testing ... testing ... one, two, three ... Is this thing on?

On the List of Things No One Tells You When You Sign Your Child Up For Hockey: You will henceforth spend every major national holiday getting up at 4:30 a.m. to go sit on butt-numbing bleachers in an ice rink for a 3-day tournament, while your friends are water skiing at the lake. (Thank you, Canada.)

Anyway. I have two things to say.

Big Announcement Number One: The inagural winner of the Grace and Peace Award is a mother of many, whose children are a testimony to the gracious home in which they've been raised. Her blog is a soothing place that is warm and inviting and accepting. Please go congratulate Jewels, from Eyes of Wonder. As the person who nominated her said, "She emanates grace and peace from every pore." What a witness to the love of God!

Reminder: Please continue to send in your nominations for next month's award. I will keep the names of previously nominated bloggers for future consideration.

Big Announcement Number Two: Work is underway on my new blog, and I'd love it if you would stop in to look at it and give me your feedback. Go here, and then comment me (either here or there). It still needs much work, but I hope to have it mostly up and running by the end of September. I'm very excited about the upcoming move and hope to have a few Grand Opening promotions and maybe even some prizes. Stay tuned.

And now I must go do some laundry. Four-thirty tomorrow morning will be bad enough, without having to be confronted by hockey jerseys that smell like they've been worn by someone who heats up his Beanie Weenies under an overpass on the Garden State Parkway.

"TAG" spelled backward is "GAT."

With thanks to PuritySeekers:

1. What is your school’s name and why? My family has always resisted naming our school, mainly because they’re afraid I’m going to make them all wear matching polo shirts with the name embroidered on the chest. Dang it, why did I teach them to be independent thinkers? So our unofficial school name is the North Texas Academy of Cheez-Doodles.

2. How is your weather today? Texas + August = hot & sunny.

3. What steals your joy? Watching Christians be hateful to each other, because it so destroys the witness of the Church.

4. Name 5 blessings you received this week.
1. Biscotti.
2. Nine hours of sleep on Wednesday night, compared to my usual 5 or 6.
3. CiCi’s pizza with three of my favorite young adults – Tyler, Emma, and Osprey.
4. Tickets to see Relient K and Switchfoot in October. Woo hoo!
5. Being part of an incredible church, and having the Word poured out on me as a means of grace.

5. Favorite Scripture passage. All of Philippians.

6. Who in the Bible do you think you are most like? Joseph. But I don’t do dream interpretation, so don’t ask.

7. The passage of scripture you read last was: Mark 5.

8. Have you ever praised God for something weird? My life, which is just a series of weird events.

9. If you were making a greeting card for God, what would you say? THANKS FOR EVERYTHING! YOU’RE THE GREATEST! And if you’re not too busy, would you mind just whacking _________ with a lightning bolt?

10. What is the best miracle God has performed in your life, or what is you favorite answered prayer? You mean besides the fact that He predestined me, regenerated me, called me, justified me, and is sanctifying me? Well, there’s that little matter of Him blessing infertile me with four children …

11. What is the most fun thing you have done lately? Gone shopping with Emma for a formal dress, which was considerably less traumatic than jeans shopping, except when she put on the dress that made her look like Marilyn Monroe and I needed oxygen.

12. How did you choose your screen name? It’s closely related to the name given me by the US Witness Protection Program, and that’s all I can say about that.

Now...choose five people to tag. OreoSouza, Telmar, EmptyNestMom, ChathamMommy, Iluvtheland .

And now for a commercial break.

Today, rather than write some inane entry, like how I just discovered biscotti and believe that this must be what God eats for breakfast, I'm going to point you to the blog of my real-life friend, Lindiepindie. But first I'm going to show you just how smart she is. Look at these pincushions she's been making.

Aren't they just cuter'n a bug's ear?! She's also made some that look like real cupcakes, but you'll have to go to her blog, Craft Apple, to see them. She's got some tutorials and patterns over there, too. I just love having brilliant friends.

Oh, and she's the person most responsible for starting my blogging career. So if you enjoy Fish in My Hair, pop in and drop her a nice comment. And if you don't enjoy FIMH, well, be nice to her, anyway. It's not her fault I'm a doofus.

I hope he didn't delete "70's Gold Disco Tuba Tunes."

I remember it like it was yesterday.

Three or four years ago, Husband came to me with information on a new device called an "iPod." "Look at these!" he exclaimed. "If I got one of these 40G iPods, it would store all the music I'd ever own."

I fell for it. He got the iPod.

In the many months since, the man has made it his personal mission to acquire every song ever written by any human, animal, vegetable, or mineral in world history. I think the only two CDs we are lacking is "Yanni Sings Ancient Egyptian Funeral Chants" and "Chinese Music to Celebrate the Year of the Ptarmigan." (I don't even know what a ptarmigan is; I've just always wanted to use that word on my blog.)

So I was only mildly surprised when he came to me last week and announced, "I have a Big Problem." Now, Husband's Big Problems usually run the gamut from running out of his favorite beverage, to needing a new Venison-scented air freshener for the car, to not being able to find his favorite pair of underwear (the one with the waistband stretched out in all the right places). But this Big Problem was of epic proportions. He glumly announced, "I have to take some music off my iPod to make room for new stuff."

I knew what was coming next.

"I could really use one of those new 60G iPods. It would hold all the music I could ever own." (This is where I was supposed to mentally hear sad violin music in the background. Instead, I could only imagine the "ka-ching, ka-ching" sound of a cash register, in harmony with Yanni.)

Here's the thing. The man has so much music, he's way past the whole pod concept. What he needs is an iSteamerTrunk.

And then he'll need the accessory iDolly to make it mobile. Ka-ching.

Goofy conversions

I didn't come up with this, but it strikes me as being very homeschoolerish. You've got your fractions (math), your homonyms (language arts), your metric terms (science), and a bit of world culture (history). Read it to your kids while they're doing jumping jacks and you've covered a whole day's worth of schooling.

 •  Ratio of an igloo's circumference to its diameter = Eskimo Pi
 •   2.4 statute miles of intravenous surgical tubing at Yale University Hospital = 1 I.V. league
 •   2000 pounds of Chinese soup = Won ton
 •   1 millionth mouthwash = 1 microscope
 •   Speed of a tortoise breaking the sound barrier = Mach Turtle
 •   365.25 days of drinking low-calorie beer because it's less filling = 1 lite year
 •   Half of a large intestine = 1 semicolon
 •   1000 aches = 1 megahertz
 •   Weight an evangelist carries with God = 1 billigram
 •   Time between slipping on a peel and smacking the pavement = bananosecond
 •   10 cards = 1 decacards
 •   1 millionth of a fish = 1 microfiche
 •   10 rations = 1 decoration
 •   2 monograms = 1 diagram
 •   8 nickels = 2 paradigms
 •   2 wharves = 1 paradox

 Author Unknown

Next thing you know, someone's going to open a Hummer dealership.

My daughters and I were out running errands the other day, when I made an impulse decision to visit a small clothing store that recently opened in our town. There it was in a small strip shopping center, squeezed in between Paulie's Pork-Out Pizza Palace and The Prickly Pear Florist ("We specialize in cactus arrangements!").

I should have known better, just by the name on the storefront. It included the word "boutique," which, of course, is French for "muchos pesos." I don't normally shop in boutiques. I usually shop in stores whose names begin with "Mega-" or end in "-mart." So I don't really know what came over me, but we went in anyway.

It didn't take my girls long to find the rack of jeans, and even less time to see the price tags - $154.95. Now, I know there are places where consumers wouldn't bat an eye at that price, like Manhattan or Hollywood. But that's not where this store is. It's in Dirtville, Texas. This is a town that's known for its award-winning high school all-girls tractor restoration team. (I can only guess that the cheerleaders chant something like, "Turn that 'driver, turn that wrench! Get that carbuerator off that bench!") This is a town with 20 beauty shops, most of which haven't yet heard that the peacock bangs of the 80's have gone out of style. We also have four feed stores and five donut shops, but you have to drive 45 miles to buy a book or find someone who knows that the Baja Peninsula isn't a drink at Taco Bell. My point is, we don't have a $154.95-jeans-buying demographic.

So I can't figure out who's paying for these high-dollar jeans. It certainly isn't me. The only way I'd pay that much is if 1) they came with a $134.95 rebate, or 2) they had magical properties which made me look like Catherine Zeta-Jones when I put them on.

And it wasn't just the jeans. I found this cute t-shirt that had a lovely collage on the front and a saying something like "Motherhood isn't for the weak." Unfortunately, the store wanted $40 for this shirt, which was about the same thickness as single-ply toilet paper. And although it was marked as a medium size, it was TINY. I don't know any mothers in this county that could wear that shirt. When we say, "Everything's bigger in Texas," that includes women's black polyester stretch pants. The grocery store can run out of grapefruit and whole wheat flour, but God forbid the Little Debbie display rack goes empty or the Blue Bell Ice Cream truck breaks down. I've wondered if the women here allow themselves to get fat as a means of weighting down their mobile homes during tornadoes.

I'm keeping an eye on this store. I figure it can't stay in business for long, and when it gets ready to shut down, there's going to be a big sale. Then I'm gonna get me some designer jeans and wear them proudly to the next big local event, which I believe is the Miss Corn Fed Cutie Beauty Pageant. And when I say big event, I mean that literally.

What, no iPod dock?

I don't know if I can take the pressure.

When I got married, there was this unspoken assumption that I would acquire certain small kitchen appliances. As if that weren't enough, I was supposed to actually know how to use them, and then I was expected to produce real, edible food! Good golly, it's a wonder I didn't have a mental breakdown.

Twenty-one years later, I can say that I've mastered the acquisition part. I'm really good at buying stuff. And I'm usually pretty skilled at figuring out how to use my appliances (as in, how to turn them on and off). It's the food production step that still gives me fits.

Well, now there's another expectation. Apparently it's not enough to have a state-of-the-art mixer and all the attachments. Now I have to bling my mixer, like these folks have done.

But after giving this a little thought, I've decided how to customize my own kitchen. I'm going to put some of that yellow "CAUTION" tape on my oven door. Lord knows I don't need flame decals - I've got the real thing going on.

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(See more customized mixers here.)

I said "BAD poetry."

People, people, people. I think I should write a unit study on Bad Poetry, and it will include the fact that bad poetry has at least one of the following identifiers:

1. Stilted or inaccurate rhyming,
2. Complete lack of meter, and
3. Use of the words "underwear," "Hillary Clinton," or "okra."

An excellent example would be this entry by Seester.

Roses are red, violets are blue. You are TC, and I am your Seester.

See? This is very unlike the lyrical, intellectual, and completely enjoyable poetry that was written by most of the other entrants. But I'm sure that, with some practice, all of you can produce truly grimace-producing poems in time for the 2008 awards.

But without further delay, here are the 2007 winners.

In the Young Adult category, the prize goes to Daffodilgirl for her entry, appropriately titled "Felony."

In the Adult category, the winner is Underdog, who actually rhymed too well to win, but his clever use of the term "exploding noses" tipped the scales in his favor.

If either of you would like a smaller version of the above photo to post on your blog, PM me and I'll send you the HTML code.

To everyone else, better luck next year! (And here's an inside tip - word is that the judge will be looking for entries that include the phrase "garbanzo bean.")

Bad Poetry

I'm excited to announce, in honor of today being Bad Poetry Day, TC's First Annual Bad Poetry Awards. Here's what you have to do to enter and possibly win.

1. Write a bad poem, using either your blog name or user name as part of the poem. (There are no specific guidelines for this. We all know a bad poem when we see one.) Here's an example, which I created before my first cup of coffee this morning - a time when the worst poetry is written, in my opinion..

   Lost and Found If you find a pair of boy's underwear, contact Fish In My Hair. Her sons' tushies are bare.

2. Put the poem on your blog, and leave me a comment here letting me know where to find your entry.
3. I will announce two winners - Young Adult (under 18), and Adult - on Monday, Aug. 20.
4. Winners will be given an award button to post on their blog.

That's it! Have fun, and remember, you're not truly a bad poet until it can be said of you the same that J.K. Stephens said of William Wordsworth: "An old half-witted sheep."

What's going on in Chocolatetown, USA?

Maybe there's a new CEO in town, just arrived from Tennessee. Maybe the local StuffMart had a big sale on white, sequined jumpsuits. Maybe listening to the Musak version of "Love Me Tender" playing in the elevators has finally caused insanity. Maybe there's just something horribly toxic, like pompadour hair gel, in the local water supply.

But whatever the reason, bad things are happening in Hershey, Pennsylvania. I give you Exhibit A.