I was invited for a bit of a going away luncheon for two friends who will soon be leaving our little rock. Miss Momoko said she needed to teach the white girls about the Asian culture and suggested a trip to Chinatown for Dim Sum.

I’ve mentioned Miss Momoko before. She teaches the girls piano. Several people from my neighborhood have recently voiced the suspicion that she might be a spy. All kidding aside, I’m going with secret agent considering she speaks like 13 languages, plays multiple instruments and jaunts off to foreign lands to compete in competitions at the drop of a hat. I’m also the person who dreams of a secret identity so believe you know whatever.

We get to Chinatown and one member in our party of four sees seafood in the sign. That’s when she tells us that she is allergic to seafood…and soy…as in soy sauce. We were in Chinatown for heaven’s sake! It was a bloody wonder that she hasn’t already broken out into hives!

We walk into a room, sit down at a big table and start to sample. It was all quite delicious and shockingly enough my chopstick skills were not the worst at the table. That’s when it happened…my China PTSD kicked in. Miss Momoko ordered the chicken feet!

We also hit a bakery with green tea donuts. I found the maple bacon option slightly more appealing. I was also surprised to see that spam wasn’t involved.

Here’s to my next adventure with Miss Momoko. If nothing else, I know there will be blog material!

Can I tell you a not so secret secret? I’m horrible at gift giving, birthday celebrating and romance. Poor Ray. He goes out of his way and try as I might for Father’s Day, it’s pretty much blah… He did get a nap yesterday though. Does that count? He also got an errand… he had to return the router I got him because it wasn’t the one he wanted. Ooops. Father’s Day is one of those very tough days for me. I do try to celebrate Ray, I try and make sure the kids call their grandfathers but my Dad is always in the back of my mind. I wish I had just one more year to try and get Father’s Day right for him. In honor of my Dad, I thought I would jot down a few things I learned from him.

Dad taught me how to drive, mostly like a bat out of hell and even more aggressively when I’m irritated. As a teenager someone really should have put me in the demolition derby. We could have earned some money! I grew up on country roads jumping hills. (Sorry mom.) I would like to think I’m a pretty good defensive driver and I used to be decent at maneuvering. (Old age is creeping in.) I moved from two lane roads to hello Virginia traffic. I would have frozen and never gone anywhere if it weren’t for Dad teaching me to drive like a maniac just like the rest of the city folk. 

I learned perseverance from my Dad. No matter what his job situation was, or health situation was, he never gave up. No matter how miserable he was, he trudged on through. I never knew how remarkable that was until I hit adulthood and particularly, parenthood. One of the stories about Dad that I remember most happened when Ray and I first got married, we moved to Virginia Beach. Ray had to head to Rhode Island for 6 weeks. It snowed buckets every weekend. I started a new job and had to learn to drive in 6 lane traffic. I knew one person in that town. One night, I was closing the office, I went outside to realize I had left the lights on in my car. Ooops. It was Friday night. The marketing director who was not always a particularly nice person was closing up shop with me. I asked if she could swing me by my house, one exit away. She was let’s call it irritated at the thought of having to help the poor defenseless child. I called the one other person I knew. This was pre cell phone. I couldn’t get him on the phone. Thankfully the marketing director found her last little bit of compassion before I called a cab. I had no cash in my wallet. She made a point to tell me how she was late for a party and I was really putting her out the entire way home. Ray was in a spot where I couldn’t just call him up. This was cherry on top of a particularly hard three weeks, I knew I was barely half way done.  I called Dad. I told him I didn’t think I could be in the big city so far from home by myself. If I had called anyone else, they probably would have been in a car on the way to Virginia. Dad said, “I love you. You’re a married woman. Time to act like it.” Best advice anyone ever gave me. I dusted myself off finally got my buddy to help me jump the car and made it through that 6 weeks. 

Dad taught me how to laugh and how to laugh at myself. Dad loved a good joke and was (almost always) a good sport. I remember him helping put on a Hee Haw skit at the school when I was little. I was shocked and so proud to see my dad on stage. He laughed about his middle name, laughed when his buddies called him Chico and generally had a good time. There was one time that took him a bit to laugh at though. The year he turned 40, I went up to a local florist and anonymously sent some black roses and a black balloon. He was so mad that no one he worked with would fess up to sending them. He was a bit shocked when after dinner I admitted it was me. He was pretty irritated. I guess he’s acted like an ass for a bit at work. Eventually we laughed about it together.

Other things Dad taught me, compassion, loyalty above all else and honor. He taught me that once I committed to something, I had to follow through. He was there for us when most other Dad’s weren’t. He coached Tye’s baseball team, played basketball with us until we couldn’t see the hoop anymore, had us washing cars and cutting the lawn together. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows. If Wayne Jackson was mad, there was no one on the planet who could make you feel worse by not saying a word. When we needed him, he was there. Dad taught me to not be afraid to jump off the high dive. He taught me to try new things even if I thought they were hard. 

Dad was great. I wish I had a couple of more decades to tell him how great he was. If your Dad is still around, make sure you tell him how great he is and don’t just do it on Father’s Day…do it every day. I wish I could. 

So, obviously  you people like to live through my pain… you know like the drinking of Gecko pee pain. I had more hits for that post this week than any other. Imagine that. While Mom was visiting, I mentioned that my hit number was declining. I’ve never been great about marketing this blog as it was really just a way for me to chronicle our daily misadventures. Clearly, we have lots of misadventures. Mom said it was because I was posting the link on Facebook. I had all of one share this week. It seems a bit like tooting my own horn to post daily on Facebook. 

So, what to do… google reader is going away. I have no idea how many people have this thing emailed to them. I guess I need to ask my IT guy. It made me wonder if I need to set up an Okkar Lif Facebook page. This makes me feel like I’m in middle school begging people to like me so I’m thinking no. 

If you read this blog, you must read other. What are you using for your feed? Some one recommended blog lovin’. Holy toledo, I’m pushing this to the last second. I don’t want to lose all those blogs I read. So many people aren’t blogging anymore I might need to weed through them. What if they decide to come back and I don’t know? I’ll be left out. See… I turn into an insecure middle schooler. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to deal with Instagram, Facebook and Pinterest and all askfm and all the other junk in middle school. I have a headache.

So please make my day… tell me what you’re using. Tell me what’s easiest for you. Tell me anything!

That was my view of Bria in the back of the Jeep with Tucker last night. We were on our way home from dog beach. Ray met us there, so obviously two cars. Before I knew what happened Bria had grabbed her booster seat was up and over the lifted tire sitting back there. She scares me.

We recently had a few conversations about what she wants to be when she grows up. This morning she told me that maybe she would be a dancer… on a train. (Too much Disney Jr. anyone?) At least it wasn’t on a pole. She scares me.

Another early morning conversation started with, “Mom, can I wait to date until I’m a teenager?” Heaven help me! She scares me!

She scares me but I love her to death. She sure keeps me on my toes and makes things interesting.

It is full on summer. The kids are a little bit nutty and I have only so much in my little bag of tricks. I mean I can only kick them outside for so long. There is a point when the amount of ice cream and shaved ice they consume is, well unhealthy. Today was one of those days when I felt completely worn out before we even got to lunch. Of course an hour and a half of piano lessons and taking four kids to the hospital for an appointment will do that to you. When Ray called and suggested a picnic at dog beach for supper I was all over it. I mean who wouldn’t want to hang out here at the end of the day?

So on the dog days of summer we play with the dog…

I try not to think about how many dogs may have accomplished the three pees in the water my children are playing in… you know, pee, poop and puke. I’m sure that shallow water is pretty nasty but it seems to be pushed around enough to dissipate the nasty a bit. At least that’s what I tell myself.

I throw sticks and see which of my five children will get to it first. What? If it’s good enough to wear Tucker out surely it can wear my ragamuffins out. Why is it that I had to physically roust Jack from bed on school mornings but now that we can sleep he gets up at 5:45? He no longer lays in his bed either. He wanders from room to room until he knows the entire house is awake. I have to run them through the water to get some sleep!

Then there’s Arleigh… No bathing suit. Too cool to run and play until everyone gets way out. I don’t know if she was more afraid of crabs or reef sharks but eventually even the “almost a teen” was running through the water laughing.

It’s a good night to be a dog or a Stiff or a Stiff dog us Hawaii.