Yes. Yes, I do. See, every time I get an LL Bean catalog I call Customer Service and suggest gentlely but firmly that they should offer the Adventure Duffle in more than one solid "girl" color. They offered pink, but that was it. And I have two little girls. Thus, I need TWO "girlie" colors. Especially since the boys had taken the other good colors.

And, today, FINALLY, I win. I WIN! I got email pointing out that they now offer a "custom" service with Lilac as an option. Admittedly, it will take an additional three weeks for delivery. And we'll leave on vacation before that. BUT I'm forward thinking enough to realize that we'll be traveling again in the future. WITH A LILAC DUFFLE BAG FOR KATHERINE!

Yay!!! I feel like doing that crazy head-bobbing arm-flailing thing Kermit-The-Frog does when he's really really happy!

I was brought up short today (as if I'm not short EVERY day) while making a mad dash from the house to the van, intent on a strategic strike on Walmart.

I happened to look down and I realized I was surrounded by lavendar snowflakes. At least, they looked like lavendar snowflakes. In reality, they are tiny tiny tiny purplely-blue flowers. Everywhere. And they are lovely. Truly lovely. After that moment, I couldn't bring myself to ruin my day by going to Walmart. So we went out to breakfast, and then to the library. And then home again. And the tiny lavendarish-purplely-periwinklely-bluish snowflakes are still here.

I'm using the kid's computer and it dawns on me, after MUCH searching, that they don't HAVE "office" on their computer. Which means no Excel. I LOVE Excel. With every fiber of my being. I don't understand how THIS has happened to me. AGAIN!

I'm in a bit of a hurry this morning. So, I let Cassie have "whatever" for breakfast. Yeah,yeah, "bad mother alert". Anyway, want to know what she had? She made it herself ...

CHOCOLATE CHIP NACHOS! Thats right, people. Nachos with chocolate chips sprinkled on top of them. They weren't bad at all!

They count it among their greatest accomplishments that they can make me laugh almost at will. But, we all knew I was easy anyway ...

"Just how easy?" you might find yourself asking. Well, here's a prime example ...

About two years ago (when Cassie was about two, which would make Lee four) we were all at dinner at that little Italian place over near the Baptist church. It as a cozy booth, full of love and breadsticks. Lee was in a sparklely mood and proceeded to tell us the most ridiculously nonsenseical joke. I seem to remember that it didn't even involve complete sentences. My husband didn't laugh, I just smiled. Cassie was livid. She gave my husband THE most contempuous Look Of Death then suddenly threw back her head and went "ha ha ha ha ha" while her little curls danced around her head. I couldn't help myself. I disolved into fits of laughter. Which only got worse when she suddenly stopped her performance to look over at my husband and announce acusingly "Mommy. Laughed." He just smiled indulgently and shook his head. "Yes, Mommy is good at laughing".

I suppose I should be outraged at her lack of respect. Or something. But all I remember feeling, aside from hysterically gigglely, was relief that she would stand-up for her brothers. In her little head, no one, absolutely NO one was allowed to rain on his parade. And Lee went on his merry way, content knowing that he was still the best joke-teller in the world. Its good to have a sister like Cassie.

Lets celebrate with a knock-knock joke!

Cassie: Mommy, knock-knock!

Lucy: Who's there?

Cassie: Boo-hoo

Lucy: Boo-hoo who?

Cassie: Don't cry! Its only Boo-hoo!

At which point she falls on the ground laughing hysterically. Which makes me laugh. Which reinforces the idea that its a wonderfully funny joke. Which makes her want to tell it again and again and again. There are worse ways to spend the day.

Do NOT miss Leni's post today about lunatic relatives! Its a trip!

I found myself thinking about my own "odd" relatives, and wondering about everyone else's. See, reading Leni you'd never guess that she has totally insane relatvies! She seems so charmingly normal on the average day. I bet ALL of us have really great "odd relative and/or friend" stories! Let's share! Feel free to post in my comments (which are working today, yay) or drop me a link to a post on your site. C'mon. You just KNOW you've been hoarding those special moments that still make you laugh years later! I'll get us started with The Episode With The Peas. Here we go ...

My Dad's brother married Jenni. My Dad told my mother once "Its hard to know where the meaness stops and the crazy starts". But, lets talk about the crazy. When my grandfather was an invalid, the year before my Dad retired to stay with him, Jenni "babysat" during the morning until my mom got home from work at 2:00. My parents were living with my grandfather at the time, taking care of EVERYTHING else both financially and physically.

Jenni insisted on clearing out one shelf of the refridgerator for "her" stuff, although she never brought more than a package of yogurt for snack because she ate my parents food. Which was obvious because she left dirty pans and dishes all over the kitchen. THAT didn't bother them, except that she crammed all their stuff onto the other shelves. And the washer had to be empty, so that Jenni could do laundry if she wanted to bring her clothes. Although she NEVER dropped in the linens that the home-health-workers changed. Once, my mother forgot and found all her clothes from the washer stuffed into the freezer! How do you even think of something like that!?!

But that pales in conparision to the Peas. One day my parents came home from work to find a can of Peas in every room. Every. Single. Room. At that point, my parents were ... confused. It was eventually clarified that Jenni had decided to exercise her right to put stuff where she wanted in my grandfather's house as my mother did! Because, afterall, Jenni was also a daughter-in-law. Inspite of the fact that my mother (and father) had given up their lives to actually LIVE with my grandfather. So, her plan seemed to be a can of peas placed prominantly in every room as some kind of anti-decoration!

You can't even MAKE UP that kind of ODD!

My name is Lucy and sometimes I watch bad movies and sometimes I read bad books. (background murmuring "Hello Lucy")

Recently, I seem to be doing a lot of both. And, thus, I admit that I watched Skyhigh. You know, the movie with Kurt Russell as the super-hero dad and the son that goes to the highschool for junior super-heroes. I found myself rooting for the "bad boy", the guy with flame ability. I wondered what that said about me, and women in general, that we love the bad boys.

And the last three fiction books I read all featured relationships with "bad boys". Hard to define, definitely not "chick flick" kinda plots. More action-hero stuff with a significant dose of science-fiction. Kinda like X-men. And this seems like as good a time as any to admit that I like action-adventure movies. And Westerns. Yes, I will say it out loud "I like Louis Lamour books". And Zorro.

{Note to Gentle Readers: Lest you get the wrong idea, in high-school I captured the attention of one bad-boy lifeguard by confounding his assumption that all the girls at the pool read Harlequins when he noticed I was reading KingLear. For fun.}

When you get right down to brass tacks, what do all those different Bad Boys have in common? After giving this a lot of thought, I found the answer in a forgotten sliver of memory.

A very long time ago, in a land far away, I was dating my husband. After a particularly unfortunate day, we were sitting on the steps, just ... sitting. Not talking, not waiting, not moving. Just sitting. It felt SO good after the day, finally safe. Let me tell you, NO guy wants to hear his girlfriend say "You're so safe". The response is ... tense. Along the lines of "WHAT!?!" And I had to explain that what I meant was that he was dangerous enough to be able to keep me safe, and willing to do so because I was HIS girlfriend.

And another long-lost memory pops up: It used to annoy his friends' girlfriends to no end that his friends treated me better than they treated their own girlfriends. You know, opening doors, walking to the car in dark parking lots, pulling out my chair, etc. My husband only laughed quietly when I mentioned it to him. Without him ever saying a word, they knew he was the kind that Could and Would take care of HIS girlfriend. Period.

Wait, there's another memory! (I just LOVE memories). Pool party. I forgot my cover-up and borrowed his buttoned-down shirt. The look on his face was so ... seriously possessive ... that people noticed. Well, mostly other girls noticed. But they definitely pointed it out to their boyfriends on the way home. He still has the shirt.

And thats what the best Bad Boys have in common, both Ability and Willingness to take care of their own.

Admittedly, somtimes I forget things. I get lost in the everyday. Buried in mountains of peanutbutter sandwiches. Distracted by late nights at work. Trying to take care of things so he won't have to. Of course, I NEVER forget the Ability. But, occassionally, once in a while, I forget the Willingness.

He doesn't walk around announcing every day "I'll slay the dragon" which is understandable because there aren't that many dragons in my life. And thats fine as long as everything is Ok with me. But this week everything wasn't., for the first time in a long time. I saw some subtle unpleasent bullying going on at church about volunteering and I didn't say anything because it was two adults and I generally let adults manage their own lives, but also because I didn't want to cause a scene that would certainly have repercussions. I didn't want to embarrass him.

I mentioned it to him later, while he was trying to save my hard-drive, because I felt compelled to find a way to fix the injustice perpetrated. His response? Paraphrased, "You never have to pull your punches because of me and I'LL deal with it if they upset MY wife". And there was ... somthing ... in his eyes, a brief flicker of ... something ... that reminded me he's not such a good guy. Not where I'm concerned.

Some women ride rollercoasters for the thrill, or bungee jump, or hang-glide, or parachute, or climb Everest. Amateurs. The REAL thrill is taking the plunge, stepping into the flame hoping not to be consumed, marrying a Bad Boy.

It seemed reasonable at the time. Really, it did. But, then, it had been a very long tiring day. The kind of day that seems to have sucked the life right out of you. The kind of day that could only end in a very long bath in the bubblely tub. Well, I suppose technically it could have ended some other way, but this is MY story and I needed to be in that tub.

I love the tub. When we bought this house it had the most horrid bathroom. Olive. Or avocado. Just ... nasty. And no tub. The bathroom was completely ripped out, and expanded into the hallway closet, making room for a lovely black-n-white vintage style bathroom. With a huge extra-deep extra-wide tub. And God bless my husband for installing a tub with jets and an in-line water heater! Yes, its relevant to the story as opposed to just random nice thoughts about my husband. Which wouldn't be a shock to y'al since sometimes I just like to babble about his wonderfulness. But this isn't one of those times.

An in-line water heater is one that continually slightly heats the water in the tub as it circulates through the jets. So I can stay in the tub for hours and hours as the water maintains a lovely warm temperature. You know how your fingers get all pruney when they've been in water for a long time? Well, I know I've been in the tub too long when my PALMS get all pruney, usually about the three hour mark. And let me tell you, I'm seriously relaxed after three hours in the tub.

So, there I was, laying in the tub. Speculating that perhaps in a minute I might think about maybe looking at my palms. Or not. While trying to decide if it were worth the effort to raise my hand out of the water, my husband came in to brush his teeth and suggest gently that I could think about getting out. I was disinclined to agree. So, I'm laying there in water thinking about water very relaxed in the water and SUDDENLY WITH NO WARNING HE THROWS A TROUT ON ME!

Ok, so he didn't throw a trout on me. But that was the thought that surfaced fastest when something about 18 inches and wet landed with a "thunk" on my tummy. Trout! Trout! Afterall, what else could it have been? Because, for the life of me, I couldn't imagine he had thrown a glass of water on me. Tossing the water sideways into the tub, watching it elongate before it slapped onto me. And having discounted that possibility, and laying in water thinking about water, and the actually impact being about 12-18 inches then OF COURSE the first thing a reasonable person would think is TROUT! TROUT!

To add insult to injury, he seemed surprised by the extreme reaction to a little water when I was already wet. I explained, as indignently as I could while being incredibly relieved there was no actual fish, that I thought he had thrown a fish on me. "A goldfish!?!" No, I explained to him. A trout.

I thought he would come unglued. Laughing, grabbing his appendix incision which still kinda hurts, collapsing against the wall, gasping for air, little tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. Personally, I didn't think it was THAT funny. I TRIED to explain about the water and the trout and how I refused to believe he would be so MEAN as to throw water on me and how ... I had to stop because I thought he'd pass out laughing.

Over the course of the next hour he periodically raised some interesting questions. Why trout instead of catfish, or bass? Where did I think he would get a live trout? How and where did I think he had kept it alive until the perfect moment? Did I really think throwing a trout was less mean than throwing some water?

Sure, those were valid questions. But in my own defense it would behoove everyone to remember that hind-sight is 20/20. I'm sure any reasonable person in the same situation would have lept to the same conclusion!