Countdown to the family party: 7 days

It's that time of year again, and as always, my darling old parents have decided to throw their annual Christmas bash. It's supposed to be on Sunday (a week from today) and I'm rather looking forward to it. We're going to have music and food and fun. As always, there will be a Yankee gift swap, and, as always, I hope it doesn't get to far out of hand. One year I swear we had twice as many people as their were presents. Those who picked first ended up with absolutely nothing. I think we'll be a bit more careful this year.
My dear old dad may be getting a bit senile. You wouldn't believe how many people he's invited. Then of course, there are the guests invited by me and Bob. Even the kids are getting in on the action. Sally Ann, my oldest daughter, blackmailed her brother Bob Jr. to invite a guy she likes. Another one of my kids, Joey, invited his entire 3rd period English class to bring their families. It could get a little crazy.
Hopefully my parent's house will be big enough to hold everyone. It might get close, especially when you consider that their one story ranch was barely big enough to hold myself, them, and my brothers when I was growing up. Forget crazy, this party has the potential to get downright insane.

Old Peoples' Party

Great fun, don't you think? Yesterday, my mother and my father kidnapped me to go to my Grandmother's birthday party. Somehow, Bob and all of our kids managed to get out of it. We ate Dad's fried chicken (he just learned how to use a deep fryer), taquitos, chips, and other fun little munchies while surrounded by three elderly couples, not including my parents. It was a TON of fun. Just imagine it, sitting there in a pristine formal room and chowing down while the homeowner showed off the newest additions to her wardrobe. After dinner, we cut the cake (chocolate with pink and white frosting). The thing had only one candle on it, because after you get old, I guess you don't want to admit you're getting any older. But anyway, we cut the cake, ate it, and then talked for a little for awhile before leaving. I am extremely glad I went.

The Glory of a Yard Sale

The garage has been cleaned out, so today we're having a yard sale at Mommy's house. It's great fun. The best part is that my mom can't be anywhere near the driveway when a sale is taking place- its just to painful for her to see precious possessions sold for 1/10 of what they are worth. Or worse, for free.
Dad, who'd been a salesman for 49 years, did most of the bargaining. He refuses to tell Mom what he sold the stuff for.
Mom, do not read the rest of this post.
My old bike and Dud's bike sold for a total of $35. The ugly divider (It has an orange sea scene on it) sold for $15. I gave away several of my old dolls and stuffed animals for free to some neighborhood kids. One little girl I gave some clothes to go along with the doll, including my first swim suit, which Mom still has for some unknown reason. Don't ask me why.
The fake guitar still hasn't gone, neither has my brother Tom's old golf set. No one's sure where he got the golf set from in the first place, though, so I guess it's okay. An unused tire from Dad's old red Jeep is still sitting in the middle of the driveway. The broken white lamp that my darling old Mother says is worth $100 is still sitting next to the perfectly fine black lamp which my ancient father is willing to give away for a buck.

Correction

My bad. My brother Ben was the one who pointed out the Ellen Degeneres similarity. Dad just said that Hilary Clinton looks like a lesbian Mrs. Partridge.

This one's for Dad

Pops and I are watching the political debate that's going on at the University of Nevada Las Vegas right now. All the Democratic presidential candidates are talking about the issues (though it sounds like they're arguing about who's cooler), and my Dad made an interesting point.
If you close your eyes while Hilary Clinton is speaking, she sounds a whole lot like Ellen Degeneres. Yeah, Ellen's ten years younger than her, but still. And then there's the fact that they look and sound alike. Check it out:
There is a definite similarity between the two. They're both women with short, blond hair. They're both stretching the limits of being "middle aged." They both have a slight southern twang when they speak.
I don't know about anyone else, but if I was trapped in a room with the two of them, and they both wore masks and identical outfits (Hilary dresses like she's ninety and Ellen like she's still in her twenties or thirties), I would not be able to tell the two apart without a great deal of effort. But I could just be being weird. That happens sometimes. A lot of the times.

Poor Doggys

My family's going on vacation for Thanksgiving weekend. Bob and I invited my parents along and are considering taking our dogs. If we don't take the dogs, we'll have to leave them at their vets' office, and they hate that. Buddy, our shepherd-rottweiler mix, and Sparky, our cocker spaniel, go absolutely crazy there.
When we returned from our last vacation, we picked the dogs up from the vet. Buddy was so excited, he peed allover Bob Jr.'s leg. Bob Jr. didn't mind too too much, but it still didn't exactly make his day.
So we're in the middle of deciding whether or not we want to bring the dogs along with us. If we do, then they'll be thrilled. However, Buddy is a bit of an attack dog. He doesn't like strangers much, and if he bites anyone else, we'll have to put him to sleep. Therefore, there is some risk in bringing him along.
Mom is completely against the idea, not that she has much say in the matter. After all, she'll be our guest. However, if we bring them and her and she doesn't agree, it'll be one grumpy car ride in the Builder family van. Unlike my dear old mother, the rest of the family, from little Dud to my aged father, all support the idea of bringing the dogs along. What's the worst that could happen?

Mom's Garage

It's a nightmare.
A complete and total nightmare.
My dear old mother, who's been getting loopier and loopier with each passing year, decided that today would be a good day to clean her garage. She called me up and guilted me into coming over to help. Bob and our useless kids all found convenient excuses that prevented them from coming. So next thing I knew, I was at my parent's house, with my parents and brothers, standing in front of their garage. Dad soon drove off to go "shopping for supplies." Like we all didn't know he was making a clean run for it.
For a garage that is maybe six feet deep, twenty feet long, and seven feet high, it held a catastrophic amount of stuff. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought she had found a way to fit some kind of black hole into it to keep all her stuff inside the garage.
Anyway, it took the four of us about five hours to go through the thing. It's a lot emptier now, but only because most of the stuff is either waiting for the garbageman to come on Tuesday or sitting in our backyard, waiting for next week's yard sale.

My Dad is an old man

And boy, do I mean old. He was walking around with a cane yesterday. A CANE! The man acts like he's 150 years old when he's only a third of that age.
Okay, so he does have a medical excuse. His knee was bothering him. But still, it's kinda sad.

What's even sadder is what he did to the cane. It was practically antique. It's genuinely broken now. Before breaking it, he added red duck tape to the bottom of it so that it wouldn't slip and slide while walking. The duct tape did nothing to stop the handle from snapping off when he actually put to much weight on the thing. Because the cane was beautifully carved and fairly oldish, Mom was fairly upset. She called me to complain, and I drove over to their place just in time to stop her from throwing the cane out completely. Some good wood glue and it will be in one piece, though it may never work properly again. I don't think wood glue can support 200 pounds of force. I might be wrong though.

The neighbors visit

Our neighbors, the Lockes, are visiting th Builder house for dinner tonight. No sooner did I get home from a hard day of escorting kids to their Saturday activities than the first of the Lockes appeared.
They're really nice people. There are two little girls and one little boy. Dud likes to play with the boy, and the two girls adore all my daughters.
Dinner was delicious, of course, because my parents are also visiting. The house is stuffed. We had our nine and a half kids, Bob and myself, my parents, and all five members of the Lockes family. The table was stuffed. No elbow room allowed. None. Luckily, I knew what I was doing and managed to set the table just right to give everyone enough room to eat without getting in each other's way.
Ugh. Now I have to go do all of the dishes. Joy.

Old Dad and Co.

In honor of the Red Sox game tonight, Bob and I invited my father, a die-hard Red Sox fan, over to watch the game. Dad brought along a friend.
So now we've got two old dudes starring at our television, counting down the milliseconds until the first pitch is thrown. It's horribly boring, so I'm stuck blogging for something to do.
On the plus side, Dad's a good cook, for all he is quite a way over the hill. Tonight for dinner he is making Chicken Cordon Bleu, one of his favorite meals to make. I can't wait for dinner, but I can wait for dishes. Where's Bob Jr. when you need him? Dumb kid had to run off to sleep over a friend's house tonight. To bad none of the other 8.5 kids are any good at dish washing.
5:02. That means there are 28 minutes left until the game. Yay!