I HATE CARS

On Friday I had to leave work early (and let me tell you, my complaints were so loud they could be heard across the river in Minneapolis, because I am a dedicated work-loving employee, especially on the Friday before a holiday weekend) to rescue Kip, whose form of transportation -- the Mercury Villager minivan we inherited from my father, aka the Waggymobile, because my dad's grandchildren called him Waggy and because we got a personalized license plate for it that reads WAGGY -- broke down. (Please take the previous sentence out and have it executed.) We had it towed home, and Kip went back to work. He made a few cursory inquiries over the long weekend about what might be troubling the van (beyond the fact that it has 130,000 miles on it and is kind of tired), but when Tuesday rolled around, it was running, kind of, so he jumped into it to go to work.

It got him about four miles before it broke down and he had to hike the remaining mile or so to the office, where he called me frantically (I was still at home, getting myself ready for work and Andrew ready for school) and said he needed to go to the Bloomington office, 15 miles away, and he had to be there by 9. So I dropped off Andrew, picked up Kip, took him to Bloomington, came home, e-mailed my boss with our tale of woe, called the repair place, called our insurance company to arrange a tow and then took a book ("I Love You, Beth Cooper" by Larry Doyle) and went and parked behind the stranded van for an hour and a half, waiting for the tow truck. Not exactly hardship duty, but still. A large tow truck containing a large tow-truck driver eventually arrived and took the Waggymobile away, and I went home, where I did little, waiting for a phone call.

The upshot was that the Waggymobile needed a new distributor, to the tune of almost $900. This was pleasant news in light of the fact that we make our first mortgage payment this week, tra la.

The Waggymobile, BTW, is still not well. It's supposed to be done by midday today. This meant that I drove Kip to work in Bloomington today (did I mention that he had to arrive by 7:30 a.m.?), then I drove Andrew to school, then I drove myself to work. I spent almost two hours in the car this morning. I could never be a chauffeur. I consoled myself with a jelly doughnut.

OUR WEEKEND

We spent a lot of it entertaining. Some old friends of Kip's from his young wild days on the river (that sounds really dashing and dangerous, don't you think?) came to dinner on Saturday evening, and many animals were sacrificed on the mega-grill. On Sunday, our lovely and wonderful friends from Washington, Jessica and Louise, came over during their Twin Cities visit and Kip cooked his famous fresh spaghetti that doesn't have a name but has plenty of garlic and onions and tomatoes, and we all gorged ourselves, then fell on a fresh strawberry pie.

We told J and L that the next time they visit the Twin Cities, they are welcome to stay with us in the guest room, which admittedly at this point looks more like a dumping ground for boxes in the process of being unpacked (I remember there being a bed in there, but I haven't seen it for a week or two).

ANDREW'S WEEKEND

On Friday, he created a list of things that we needed to do over Memorial Day weekend:

Get Legos storig (he crossed that off right away; Kip found the Legos in storage and brought them home)
Morcit (I told him we were going to the farmers' market)
Moovee (we were planning to see "Shrek the Third")
Cmpony (the aforementioned friends coming over Saturday and Sunday nights)
Presint for Maxim (his classmate Max's birthday party is in two weeks)
Eat
Food stor (trying to spell "grocery" defeated him)
Rember hevn (we were discussing Memorial Day last week and he asked what kind of holiday it was; I told him it was a day when we remembered people who had gone to heaven)

MY GRANDMOTHER

Today is her 94th birthday. Happy birthday, Grammy. You rock.

WHAT I'M READING WHILE WAITING FOR TOW TRUCKS AND AT OTHER VARIOUS TIMES

"I Love You, Beth Cooper" is one of the funniest books I've read in some time --
since "The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid," actually. I also finished David Housewright's latest book, "Dead Boyfriends," yesterday, and it was pretty good, but not as good as "Tin City," I didn't think. I am also reading "The Covenant" by Naomi Ragen and "Bobbie Faye's Very (very, very, very) Bad Day" by Toni McGee Causey, which is popcorn, but mildly amusing.

THE MONKEES

I am quite certain that there are those discerning souls among you who love the
Monkees. In fact, I daresay that some of you might have harbored crushes on one or the other of them back in the dark, dark ages. (I always cast my vote for Davy Jones, although he was always a distant second to Bobby Sherman.) There's an underground movement afoot to get them inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame; if you're interested in signing a petition, it's here.

No pressure. I'm just sayin'.

SUMMER PLANS

We plan to spend most of the summer unpacking boxes. We will, however, take time out to go to Bismarck, ND, for my 30th high school reunion in July, an event at which I hope to be selected as the person in our class with the youngest first child. I think I've got a lock on it. Kip's never been to Bismarck, and the anticipation is keeping him up nights. (Actually, that's the loud birds, and they don't keep him up at night; they wake him up far too early in the morning. On Saturday we bought a fake-looking plastic owl at Wal-Mart to perch outside our bedroom window and scare them away. People have insisted that this works; if that's true, I think birds must be massively stupid.)

STEALIN' MY BUCKET

I give you my new mantra:

I has a bucket.

I hope nobody be stealin' your buckets and that all your cars continue to run.