Tolerate intolerance?

The sticker that really gets me mad.

Some new neighbors moved in recently.  I haven't met them.  Based on their bumper stickers, I'm not sure I should.

Perhaps I'm making an incorrect assumption about its meaning. Each time I see it, all I think is that it must be a response to the popular equality sticker from the Human Rights Campaign.  The unequal sticker appears on their car which also has a giant "GOD" decal on the rear window promoting some kind of mission organization.  This combination of stickers was another reason for my assumption that this is a symbol of support for DOMA; support of no marriage rights for gays.

So, here I am.  I'm making assumptions about neighbors I never even met based on stickers on their car. Their sticker makes me upset because I think it shows intolerance and hate.  Does my judgment of them make me any different than them (or, my perception of them, I should say)?

Who knows?  Maybe the symbol is a statement about Pepsi being unequal to Coke.  If that's it, then we could get along and go for a Coke because Pepsi doesn't come close to equaling Coke.

What in the Sam Hill?!?

For whatever reasons, certain ages are allotted certain legal rights.  At 16 you can get a drivers' license.  Age 18 allows you to smoke, to vote and to join the military.  Alcohol consumption is legal at 21.  These things are big deals and have with them pretty big responsibilities.

So, how is it that before I reached any of these ages, I was entrusted with the lives of people's children?  When I was about 10 years old or so, I started baby sitting.  SERIOUSLY???  What were people thinking???  Nothing against my 10 year old niece, but I can't imagine her babysitting...at night...alone...with small children.  HOLY CRAP!!!  I can't imagine how I EVER did this!!!

Once I started to think about my babysitting days, I then thought about the end of the night.  Most of the time, the dad drove me home while the mom stayed and checked on her babies.  Let's take a minute to ponder that.  Let it sink in...really, really sink in.  I was always so uncomfortable on the ride to and from the babysitting job.  When I think about it, I can't believe no one thought it was kind of awkward to put a young girl alone in a car with a grown man who, more often than not, had had a couple of drinks.

I'm not saying that anything ever happened.  I think there were only a couple of dads that really creeped me out.  Not that they ever did anything, I just, for some reason got a weird vibe.  In my experience, the most dangerous thing about the drive home was probably the sobriety level of the dad.  Not to make light of that, but I just want to be clear that I never worried that something sexual was going to happen.

I'm not much in the loop about babysitting these days.  I know my siblings have mostly had family and close friends watch their kids.  Their kids either go to the house of the sitter or the sitter drives him/herself over to their house.

Maybe it's just me, but I look back and can't believe I was in charge of babies, toddlers, and young children when I was still such a child.  I also look back and think about the rides home and what a risk it was for me, and, for the dad.

Sing, sing a song

I know some of you have been graced with the sound of my singing.  It is angelic, no, demonic.  Well, I'm no recording artist.

Anyway, I have a tendency to make up songs.  I'll sing to our dog, Jarvis, about what we're doing.  "We are going to go for a walk and you are going to pee and poop and behave yourself then we'll come home and you can have a treat and some water and a nap or we'll play or maybe a bath..."

But wait, sometimes the songs aren't just me getting my sing-song creations on.  There are times when I change the words to known songs.  These can be even BETTER!!! Here are a couple I've come up with:

"I know you have a little ketchup in you yet.  I know you have a tablespoon left." Which I sing to the tune of Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work."  I know, I know, I should be ashamed of myself.

Here's another GREAT one:

"Acrobat Reader" in place of "Paperback Writer" by The Beatles

I haven't done anything full-length.  You're letting out a great, big sigh of relief, I'm sure.  It's all in fun and part of embracing my inner-goofball.  I learned it from a song on "Sesame Street."

Hold your tongue and say, "Apple"

When I was a kid, my siblings, friends, and I thought we were bad ass.  We would stick out our tongues, hold them in our thumb and forefinger and then say, "Apple"  ("Pirate ship" was another favorite, but it doesn't fit this post).  In our minds, it was hilarious and, of course, no adult would ever figure out our little trick to cussing.

Okay, maybe none of that has to do with this post, but it mentions "apples" and that's good enough for me.

It's fall (unless you happen to be a southern hemisphere reader) and with that comes all things apple and pumpkin.  My Facebook feed has transitioned into fall with posts about football, pumpkin patches, corn mazes, and, of course, apples.  I've seen families on outings to orchards and fruit farms.  Apple fritters, cider, and caramel apples abound.

You are probably saying, "Who cares?"  Well, no one, probably, except me.  But, it's my blog, and I can write about apples as much as I want, so there (see, in someways, I'm still that little kid from above)!

All of this apple stuff reminded me of something I haven't thought about in years.  Now, when thinking about it, I can't believe I ever forgot.  When I was a kid, my family would drive out to my grandparents' house.  It seemed like such a long drive and kind of in the "country."  On the road was this tiny, country store.  I'm not sure what the name was because we just called it, "The Apple Lady's."  (Picture a scaled back, de-cheese-ified Cracker Barrel "store.")  It was fascinating!  She sold old fashioned stick candy (I was always partial to the root beer flavored) and fruit leather.  I thought fruit leather sounded gross, but it was delicious.  It's what fruit roll-ups would like to be, but just can't seem to get it right.  Obviously, it wouldn't be right to stop at The Apple Lady's without getting apples.  A purchase of apples could mean my mom would be making homemade applesauce!  Store bought applesauce can never compare to fresh, warm, homemade.  I can practically smell and taste it right now!

So, thank you Heather for sharing on Facebook about your dad wanting to take your kids to get apples for making homemade applesauce.  Now, I'm off to make an apple pie.

The icky, cream-filled ones

I was trying to come up with a name and description for this blog.  I was thinking about the whole "Life is like a box of chocolates" yadda yadda.  Yeah, it's trite.  My husband guessed the "you never know what you're gonna get" angle and thought it was a bit outdated.  I get that.  Another reason to pass on the idea is that I'm pretty sure what you'll end up getting, more often than not, is the opened-box-with-half-eaten-smashed-icky-cream-filled-ones.  I hope that, occasionally, you'll be lucky enough to get the sticky, caramel-filled ones.