Ninety-One

Let's see, what's happened around here lately?

Last week I dropped the kids off at school and went to the Y. The second I got into the weight room, one of the trainers came in to tell me school called and Finbar had bashed his head and needed stitches. How they found me at the Y is a mystery. Anyway, I went to school and he was laid out on a stretcher in the health office with a huge bandage on his head.  Meg was there reading him stories, how sweet is that? She skipped gym class because he wanted her. Talk about guilt.

(crying, bloody little boy)"Where's my mom?"

School nurse: "She's working out, dear. Apparently her abs are more important to her than your skull."

"Well, could someone get my sister, then?"

He did have a pretty nice sized cut on his head, but he didn't need stitches. Instead of taking him back to school, though, we went to the bakery. You know, like a field trip. Of alllllllllllllllllllllllll the goodies in the case, he wanted the malted milk ball cheesecake. I reminded him that he hates cheesecake,(and a malted milk ball cheesecake, I mean how gross does that sound?) how 'bout a donut or a cookie? Nope, had to get the cheesecake. He ate the whole piece, threw his fork away and said, "That was disgusting."

Meg sewed her American Girl doll an entire outfit, complete with sewn on buttons, all by herself.  Not only did I not help her at all, I didn't even know she was working on it. She also got busted for sneaking and eating molly's chocolate easter bunny. After dinner one night, Molly asked for some of it.  I opened the fridge and it wasn't there.

"What happened to Molly's bunny?"

From the other room, Meg yelled "I didn't!"

pause....."You didn't what?"

"um...the bathroom trash can needs to go out, it's overflowing!"

She runs upstairs, comes back with the trash can, runs outside and empties it into the dumpster.  I went up to the bathroom and there were chocolate shards all over the floor.

Now, I understand the need to scarf chocolate. But the lying was no good, so later that night I said to her, "Meggie, do you have something on your conscience?" And she started to cry. I felt so bad. How mad can you get at a kid who holds her brothers hand when he cracks his head? She apologized to Molly, who had consoled herself by eating Nesquik powder straight from the cannister.

An hour later she pooped all over her dresser.

Ninety-Two

I FREAKING HATE THIS NEW COMPUTER!!!!  I don't understand it, I can't find anything or open anything, this see-through plastic keyboard looks and feels like one of Molly's toys, the moniter is one of those flat-screen-on-a-stalk things that looks like ET's head, staring at me and laughing at me,  I'll get used to it, but right now I hate it!!!!!!!!!  It's like my Oreck vacuum cleaner, you know the eight pound Oreck? Claim to fame, it can suck up bowling balls, just in case you ever come home to find your living room littered with them? I hated it for a good month.  It's lack of heft made me think there was no way it would work.  But it does, and this STUPID EFFING COMPUTER PROBABLY DOES TOO, BUT I DOUBT IT.

Last night Mike and I went on a blind date with a guy who's a friend of a friend and new to the Twin Cities.

We invited him to our house for a beer and some get-to-know-you chit chat.  Finny decided it was the perfect time to try out his imitation of Richard Burton in The Robe, which quite honestly I didn't even know he'd been working on, and sat upstairs WAILING the entire time.  He was just being dramatic, he didn't want us to leave, but it sounded like his appendix was exploding.  Mike and I were just ignoring it.  Our guest was trying to follow our lead, but finally halfway through a sentence, he  said, "Is he all right?"  So Mike had to go up and make a show of parental concern.  He made Finny drink a bunch of Robitussin.

I figured it was a good time to skedaddle, before the other two kids tried anything.  How do you impress someone from NYC?? "So.....Minneapolis......it's  neat here....that building is kinda tall....do you wanna go to Kieran's,  O'Donovan's, McGillicuddy's, or Shamrock Sam's?"  We settled on The Local, which is, surprisingly, an Irish pub.  But Mike forgot where it was exactly, so after D telling us how much he loved driving around and parking underground instead of walking everywhere like he had to in New York, we led him on a two mile march through the sub-zero cold.

Settled in, warmed up,  actually not really, I don't know if the bar owner figured the body temperature of a crowd of drunken irish is a sufficient heat source or what, but it was seriously freezing in there, food ordered, and our new pal is telling us all about Bob Costas, with whom he worked for a long time.

Now people, you all know there are about five names that instantly transport me into fantasy land, and Bob Costas is one of them. Love him or hate him, that man reminds me I'm a girl.  I didn't want to give myself away, however, so I kept my questions purely professional.

"No, I mean what's he like. What kind of cologne does he wear? Are his eyes really that beautiful or does he wear contacts? Is he a good kisser? Describe it.  Don't leave anything out," I said, closing my eyes and getting comfy.

"She's not kidding," Mike said.

Was that wrong?

My husband made up for my bad manners, though.  After D finished telling us he enjoyed playing blackjack, Mike launched into a vivid description of his own compulsive personality, culminating in saying if he ever started gambling it would result in him  "snorting coke off a strippers knock."  Check, please. (But then Mike pulled a Curb Your Enthusiasm and EXCUSED HIMSELF TO THE BATHROOM. Very nice.)

See, the thing was, the guy bore such an uncanny resemblance to Steve R, I mean even his mannerisms were the same,  I think we maybe were too comfortable.  But we got home, looked at each other, and both yelled, "WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU!?" Thank heaven we have each other.

It's a big big night, Golden Globe night for anyone who's forgotten,(Margy,) which of course means we need more Robitussin for the babies.  So I went to Walgreen's this morning (I was getting toothpaste for pete's sake, I'm not really gonna drug the kids with Robitussin!  Benadryl works way better.) Anyway, while I was there, I noticed something called Naso-fresh.  Naso-fresh kills nasal mold.  Is that something I needed to learn before breakfast? Also, the Kim Carnes song 'Crazy in the Night' was playing over the p.a. That might be the worst song ever recorded. Give it a re-listen and tell me if I'm wrong. Get back in the car, Meg was with me, and she starts asking me why, if my last name use to be Hubbell, it's McCollow now.  Sweet, unassuming Meg is asking a lot of these types of questions lately, you may remember a few months back she wrote a letter to out new priest expressing her dissapointment that she could never become one.  Anyway, I believe in complete honesty with my kids when dealt these hard questions, so I said, "When you google ]Katie Hubbell, all you get is stuff about The Way We Were."  Meg said we should change our name to McHubbellow. Little cutie.

Ninety-Three

It's 7:16 pm and mom and dad are over to watch JP on Cold Case, but instead it's been pre-empted so the stupid gasbag weather man can bloviate on the friggin' rain!! We've been sitting here watching Paul Douglas say 'tornadic storm' 17 times. Has anyone ever heard the word tornadic before? That's a made up word. You know it popped into his head and he thought, "Hello, Emmy!"

He keeps cutting to Bruce out in the field, who has said, "it looks like a dust storm" three times.  Oh wait, now Bruce is on the phone... what's he gonna say...he just said it looks like a dust storm!! Whaddya know! Then some viewer calls to say something brilliant like "My lawn furniture blew over" and they put up a graphic of a lawn chair. One lady called in to say a branch fell down in her yard, the graphic changed to a phone key pad and Paul said, "let's re-cap: Becky Bronfman says a branch blew down in her yard." and a wood chuck would chuck as much as a wood chuck could chuck... Fer cryin' out loud! PUT ON THE DAMN SHOW, IT'S JUST RAIN. Mom's losin' it, Paul D just said, "Hold your breath, folks, the storm's comin'," and she yelled, " Why don't you hold your breath and die!!" Hey, this is her son we're talkin' about, and we're MISSING IT. Then she said all disgruntilly (If he can make up words, so can I)  "You know this reminds me of when Singin' in the Rain was going to be on network television for the first time, and John F. Kennedy got shot." Now we're watching a lot of yellow blobs on a radar screen. I'm sorry folks,but  IT AIN'T NEWS UNTIL SOME COWS ARE AIRBORNE, OK??

Now they've put up some bullet-points. It says to avoid underground shelter. That isn't right, is it? Arent we supposed to go into the basement? Dad's asleep.

Ninety-Four

Ever do something so totally dumb and embarrassing that you couldn't even look in a mirror for at least a week?

Well not me, I never have. Especially not last Friday night when I mistook the Fine Line Music Cafe for a Poison concert circa 1988 and relieved myself of the confines of my brassier.  And threw it at Rog Clyne who was minding his own business and trying to put on a show, for Pete's sake.  Criminy, my face is actually getting hot as I write this, I feel such shame.  And it got worse. Muzz flipped her undies up there next and I didn't want to be outdone so surely you can figure out what happened next....

See, the thing is, I haven't had Smirnoff Ice in a reeeeaaallly long time and they were ice cold and refreshing, so ice cold and refreshing that I didn't listen to my inner voice which was saying, "No one wants to see the size 34A underthings you've had since ninth grade, you silly old twat." Actually, that wasn't my inner voice at all, it was Billy.  My inner voice was saying, "I wish this bar sold ice cream."

And it gets worse again. After the show, (which was great, by the way,) my not-so-delicate unmentionables were lying totally ignored in a heap next to the footlights. Since I hadn't seen my pride all night  anyway,(it was stuck in New Hope, in case you're wondering,) I grabbed them and stuffed them back into my purse. So at least I saved nine bucks. At least, that's what they cost back in ninth grade.

Please don't think I was the only one acting like it was Mardi Gras on Mars, though. Last I saw of Muzz, she was belligerently yelling at the singer at O'Donovan's to shut up and hand over the mic because "it was her turn."  Joe and Heidi got lost trying to find their car, having forgotten which parking ramp it was in, and didn't get home to their six lovely children till 3:30am. And word on the street is, Billy was seen crying over his victuals at the Uptown Diner as the sun came up, so moved was he by their beauty.  "I want to marry my food," he was heard blubbering. I may have shed a few bits of clothing, but at least I didn't try to hump a plate of eggs.

JP finished our deck, and it is spectacular!! It was actually finished just in time to kick off Friday evening's festivities, plus it was JDubs' last night in town AND the Aquatenniel block party, so you can see how the odds of me making it through the whole night with my undies in tact were bad to begin with. Throw Roger Clyne into the mix and you know what?  I officially absolve myself of all guilt.  Not really. See how bad it is? I tried to change the subject and my mind went right back to it. UGGGGGGGHHHHHH. Seriously, let's talk about something else.

My folks are having a "say goodbye to the house" party tonight, I'm bringing my video camera so everyone can help make a video diary of heart warming, house type memories.  "This is the closet I used to hide in every time mom and dad went out  for dinner so Joey wouldn't  find me and make me wash the pans HE was supposed to wash but he was too busy lifting weights and chugging DMSO and thinking of new ways to beat the crap out of me."  "This is the blood stain where Margy pulled out three handfuls of Billy's hair."  "This is the spot where we used to hold 'Suffer Margy I Hope You Die' meetings." Stuff like that.

Ninety-Five

The Hubbell family home is sold....41 years the Bubbells lived there.  We  all spent the last three weeks cleaning and packing the place up in anticipation for the open house.....did the whole, group cute chair-table-tiffany lamp combos attractively around the house, stategic bowls of lemons and fresh baked cookies for the day it officially went on the market, and  some rich dinko in MALAYSIA who never even saw the inside faxxed in an offer for the full price and his earnest money that very day.  The sign was up for literally six hours.

It's sad and everything, lots of memories, good times, that house has seen more laughs than anyplace on Earth, but don't cry for us Argentina, Ron G. and Pumpkin are healthy and well and they made a boatload of dough. My sister-in-law Heidi was trying to silver-lining it by saying that now gramma and grampa could travel and enjoy themselves, maybe forgetting that Grampa spent the better part of the last 60 years on a golf course and my mom's never worked a day in her life. I mean other than taking care of us brats.  As for travelling, they've both been around the globe several times each, and what with al-qaeda itchin' to behead a few more Americans, I don't think they'll be crossing the pond anytime soon. But at least they won't have to take care of that giant barn anymore, or pay the exorbitant city property tax.  I'm being cynical and cold because if I let myself think about it too much I'll start to unravel. They don't have to move out until the end of August.  I hate Malaysia.

Some of you may have heard that Mike was offerred a job by his good friend Sam Mitchell to join him in Toronto as an assistant coach of the Raptors.  This happened Friday. Anyone who knows Mike knows he jumped at the opportunity, basically  started immediately because the team is in Mpls doing summer league or something. So he spent all weekend going to practices and he was so excited and he got his gear and his per diem and went to sign his contract last Friday and whoops, he won't be a coach, technically, he'll be thte videographer-slash-assistant director of player developement. Oh, and did we say the Toronto Raptors? We meant the Toronto Reptiles, which is the intramural softball team of the Raptors' Human Resources department.  (I'm kidding.)  He took the job anyway, figuring after a year he'll either hate it or love it, but at least he'll know.  So he comes downstairs all decked out in his basketball coachy-clothes, you know the baggy golf shirt, long shorts, high cotton socks look that I haven't seen in a veeeeeeeeeery long time, and I said, "What's with the cotton socks?? Our mantra at the store is 'Cotton is Rotten!'" And he looks at me like "Huh?" Like "Running is gay, I'm back in a REAL sport."  Of course I know he doesn't think that, but it is hilarious, these two worlds of his colliding that couldn't be more different.  We had Coach Mitchell and a couple others for dinner the other night, and they're all  eating a half a cow apiece and laughing and screaming stories I'm sure they've all heard a thousand times and I thought, what a far cry from dinner with the shy, tiny, quiet runners this is.

In kid news, Meg's baseball team won the league championship. I think she went to four games. A bunch of games in the middle of the season were rained out and then the Franks came to town and I just forgot about it. So I get a call from her coach, who is the nicest, sweetest gal, her husband is the other coach and they absolutely eat, sleep and breathe baseball. In a good way. I mean these are the people you want to coach your kids. Just gems. Anyway, she calls and says, "I know Meg couldn't come to a lot of games but we won the championship and we really want her to come to the team party."  Meg got a trophy with her name on it.  She has sailing lessons all this week, then the kids and I are going to Liz's lake place for the weekend.  Let's see, what's new with the other two......Finny's still in karate, just hanging out this summer, he did tell me he wants to sign up for sailing for the next chunk of lessons, and Molly is already living up to her irish name by wandering away from grandma's house while we were all busy cleaning and being found with her three year old cousin Vince down at the trolly tracks, scared the absolute shite out of everyone, we even called 911.  This was about ten days ago now, and she's been reminiscing about it ever since.

"Mommy, Vincey and I were at the trolley!  It was fun, mommy!"

"No it wasn't, you gave everyone a heart attack, you were lost for a half hour."

"We weren't lost, mommy."

She insists they weren't lost. 

One evening soon after that incident, Mike made a pitcher of margaritas and Molly climbed into my lap and drained half of mine while I watched.  It was one of those things where you're looking at it happen but it's not registering, you know what I mean?  I'm watching her suck down my drink and a beat goes by and I yell, "OMIGOD MOLLY JUST DRANK MY MARGARITA!"  I wasn't sure if we should make her throw up or what, so we just let her be.  She laughed and ran around a lot, but she always does that.  She did sleep till nine the next morning.

I guess that's everything, my folks did just buy another house yesterday, very different from the old one but really nice.  And JP's gonna build me a deck. Because everyone knows sitting outside on a bunch of wooden planks is funner than sitting on grass.

You know what else would be nice?  IF IT WOULD STOP BEING COLD AS A WITCH'S TEET AND STOP RAINING. That would be reeeaaaaaaaaaally nice.

I also seem to have some super-tired-all-the-time-night-sweats-disease, it's going on three weeks, fine during the day, sick all night thing.  I'm sure you're all thrilled to know that.  It's probably psychosomatic, too many changes happening at once. I'm not a huge fan of change.

Ninety-Six

I'm lying in bed last night reading Interview magazine, which might be

the stupidest magazine on the planet, by the way, no wait, actually it's the stupidest magazine in the Milky Way, which is, of course, why I love it...for any of you who are unfamiliar, it's a mag that's basically star interviewing other stars. It should be called Ego Stroke or Celebrities Blowing Each Other.

"You're the shit!"

"No, you're the shit!"

"No way, you are,"

"Now way, you are."

"You know what?  We both are!"

"We so are.  You know who else is? Shakespeare."

"Omigod, I know. And Jake Gyllenhall."

And so on.

Anyway, in this month's issue there's an interview between Jeanne Moreau and Sharon Stone, who's my favorite never-really-was, argue if you want but I'm right, and I want to share a part of it with you.  And I quote:

SS:  "I think we have to be not so afraid of scarcity.  We have to be willing to give away all things.  I mean, what's the big deal?"

JM: "Well, these are questions that were inspired by the questionnaire Proust answered when he was very young, before he began writing what became those marvelous books .  Anyway, I wanted to ask you about to ask you about the film you made, Catwoman, which is going to appear on the screen very soon..."

My hand to God.  Sharon goes on to say her dream role is Hamlet. Of course it is, Shar! Your career has so obviously been leading up to Hamlet, why did you feel you even needed to verbalize it?

So I toss that aside and pick up InStyle, and that cute blond gal from CSI is showing off her house.  Elizabeth Rohm.  I'm reading and looking and "oh yes that is a cute Hamptons hideaway-ing" and I get to about the middle of the piece and she says, "Even if I did own this house, there's nothing I'd do differently."

Wait a second.  WHAT? It wasn't even her house, it's a rental cottage, and it came fully furnished. Wow, neato, your landlord has really good taste.

Next month maybe we could do a piece on the sandwich your boyfriend ate or what your next-door neighbor thinks about breast cancer.

And I love it, I don't know why. I love reading about how Lori Laughlin 'downshifted' from a Bel Air mansion to a Santa Monica cottage just because she really loved the intimate feel of a smaller house.  I'm sure it had nothing at all to do with her Full House residuals all going up her nose.

If her new show is a hit, how long before we hear her tires squealing out of Santa Monica?   "Buh-By, you poor saps! Forget you ever knew me!" I love that little section where they ask stars what they're reading/listening to/watching, and the answers are always super obscure high falutin' crap no real person has ever heard of.  Really, Keanu? You were listening to the unreleased rehearsal sessions of Captain Beefheart, available only in Amsterdam?  Shutup, you were listening to Sugar Ray just like everyone else. The all-time best example of this was way back in the day when Molly Ringwald was famous, and she said her favorite pig-out food were rasberries. It was so hilarious it's stuck with me all these years....rasberries.

Funny, they look like ding-dongs.

Sorry, I'm sure Lori Laughlin is a lovely person. Do you ever purposely put something on just because you never wear it? I'm wearing this screaming orange t-shirt I got at the banana on sale, and I've never worn it, so I put it on and it's so ugly it's actually pissing me off. I guess what I should really stop doing is buying stuff just because it's on sale.

I'm sitting on my new deck, my newnewdeckeckeckeckeck, that's my happy new deck song.  I love to sit, stand, walk around on, look at, talk to, talk about, eat, nap, and smell my new deck.  Molly's sleeping, Mike is playing golf, Finny's riding his bike.  Mike's mom had a stroke about ten days ago, she's still in the hospital in recovery, doing pretty well, all things considered.  Last night we brought her dinner because she hates the food and is losing too much weight.  She seemed pretty spunky, was complainin about all noise from the heart monitors and was treating her weight loss as a

silver lining. So hopefully she'll be home soon, but it could be several more weeks.

Meg finished sailing and I think we're gonna spend the rest of the summer doing nothing, meaning no scheduled activities.  She's across the street at a birthday party, she attended a sleepover two nights ago and was crabby as a bear all morning. I told her we needed to go get a gift for this kid's party and she asked which car we were taking.

"The truck,"  I said.

"Hmph. Why can't we take the convertible?"  She grouched.  "I wish all our cars were convertibles."

I think that should be somebody's campaign slogan this fall.

 © Katie McCollow, 2004 • katie.mccollow@mac.com