Tonight Ms. C brought home her new puppy JR all the way from South Carolina. My kids are so excited they can hardly stand themselves.
C. and her husband are our next door neighbors. C. is retired and is always busy with one thing or another and always finds time to pop in unexpectedly and take my kids to McDonald's or bring us a craft to do or send over something she's baked. C. and her husband had a Jack Russell Terrier named Leroy Brown when we moved here. Evidently he had quite a reputation in his earlier years and legend has it that he bit most of the kids that grew up on this block back in the day. But when we moved here four years ago, Leroy had mellowed with age and with each passing year grew more and more docile. Peach has loved Leroy Brown from the get-go. Well Leroy passed away a few months ago and because it was really hard on Ms. C. and her husband both, I didn't say anything to the kids because I knew they wouldn't be able to NOT say something. As the weeks passed John found out and then there were plans for the new puppy and I just never got around to telling Peach.
Tonight J.R. came home from the airport and my kids all ran to greet him in their driveway and there was much squeeling with delight and ooo's and aaahhh's and "Isn't he SO cute!"'s. Peach and John both managed to wrangle themselves into the house with the luggage, so I went in to try to talk them down and get them back home. They are both out of their minds over this dog. We were walking home when Peach said, "Leroy is going to LOVE J.R.!" Oops. I had to tell her that Leroy had gone to heaven a few months ago and that's why Ms. C got a new puppy, because she missed him so much.
Then the crying started. She scrunched up her face and said "But I LOVE Leroy! I'm gonna miss him! I want Leroy! And Leroy wants me too!" Man, this crap is hard. I don't like hard. "Leroy's gone to heaven to be with the angels." "But I want Leroy here, not in heaven!" "I know, but he wasn't feeling very good and know he's in heaven and his legs don't hurt anymore." Oh the crying and the faces, by the time she was done we were all crying. Finally Charlie took her and said "Leroy's in heaven sittin' on a pillow, eating Bon Bon's with the sun shinin' on his back. There's nothing a dog likes better than sittin' on a pillow and eating Bon Bon's." And she started laughing every time he said "Bon Bon's".
Then tonight after we put her to bed, Charlie's sister emailed to say they had to have their Corgi put to sleep last Thursday. And Peach loved Jasmine even more than she loved Leroy.
Ya'll keep that sweet girl in your prayers. She's gonna have a hard week. And send up one for Jasmine and Leroy too.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Fair Warning
On Wednesday we are on our way to Amarillo. I'd like to provide my friends and family the following warning:
I know you love us. You wouldn't have invited us to stay with you otherwise, but I'd like to give you the opportunity to reconsider. I know we were there just a year ago, but we're bigger, and we're badder and we're louder than ever. Please note the following example.
Uncle J had us over for dinner last night. We waited till close to the grill lighting hour to show up, to limit our opportunities for mischief. First stop, the water cooler. Filling paper cups and drinking copious amounts of cold water until tummies were so full that we switched to filling any container that could be filled with water. There was much going in and out of doors letting out all the air conditioning. There was lots of rearranging of items we shouldn't be touching. Then they found the remote controls. At the end of the evening, Uncle J's satellite receiver wasn't working. He said "Oh, it's probably just been hit by too much lightening." Coincidence? I think not. They dumped a cooler full of ice and water onto the carpet in the living room. They spilled full glasses of tea onto the good linens. Their Dad did an erie impersonation of his Dad yelling "GET OUTSIDE AND STAY OUTSIDE!" There was crying and whining and burping and yelling and one ear splitting scream.
I'll just cut to the chase. They're animals. Ill behaved, poorly trained animals. It's the worst circus act you'll ever see. The trainer should be shot.
If you'd like to send me an email later and let me know that you've got a plumbing problem that just can't be corrected till the following week, I'll completely understand. Having the house fumigated? No problem. I have a couple of hotels on stand-by.
I know you love us. You wouldn't have invited us to stay with you otherwise, but I'd like to give you the opportunity to reconsider. I know we were there just a year ago, but we're bigger, and we're badder and we're louder than ever. Please note the following example.
Uncle J had us over for dinner last night. We waited till close to the grill lighting hour to show up, to limit our opportunities for mischief. First stop, the water cooler. Filling paper cups and drinking copious amounts of cold water until tummies were so full that we switched to filling any container that could be filled with water. There was much going in and out of doors letting out all the air conditioning. There was lots of rearranging of items we shouldn't be touching. Then they found the remote controls. At the end of the evening, Uncle J's satellite receiver wasn't working. He said "Oh, it's probably just been hit by too much lightening." Coincidence? I think not. They dumped a cooler full of ice and water onto the carpet in the living room. They spilled full glasses of tea onto the good linens. Their Dad did an erie impersonation of his Dad yelling "GET OUTSIDE AND STAY OUTSIDE!" There was crying and whining and burping and yelling and one ear splitting scream.
I'll just cut to the chase. They're animals. Ill behaved, poorly trained animals. It's the worst circus act you'll ever see. The trainer should be shot.
If you'd like to send me an email later and let me know that you've got a plumbing problem that just can't be corrected till the following week, I'll completely understand. Having the house fumigated? No problem. I have a couple of hotels on stand-by.
Friday, July 28, 2006
But for My Memory Stick
I'd really like to be participating in Boo Mama's Tour of Homes. But sadly, Ace found my memory stick from my digital camera that had been left unattended in the uploader-thingy-me-bob on my newly rearranged desk arrangement and I haven't found the crevice in which he has tried to install it. AND ME WITH A NEWLY SEMI-PROFESSIONALLY REARRANGED AND TOTALLY PROFESSIONALLY CLEANED HOUSE! I am SO bummed.
In the dirty and mossy driveway. (Insert your own redneck joke here ______________. ) Which I would absolutely show you if I could find that confounded memory stick!
PLUS
John insisted yesterday, that he ask Ms. Sunny if we could borrow her powerwasher. At first I resisted, because that's a really big appliance to just willy-nilly go around borrowing, and all I've ever lent her is a little vinegar and a couple of eggs. But being the hard-head he is, he kept at me, and being the wishy-wash I am, I relented and NOW I HAVE A TOTALLY SPARKLING WHITE CONCRETE FRONT PORCH AND SIDEWALK! Which I can't show you. See above.
I have scoured this desk and every computer component on it. I've taken out from under the desk, all the carefully arranged cords, towers, speakers, plugs, thingy-me-bobs and the heavy doo-hicky. I dumped the book box and checked there, desk drawers, the kiddie kitchen that is the dumping ground for all toys and things "put away" in a hurry, the toy box-in which I had a brief shimmer of something I thought was small and purple but turned out to be a blue poker chip, and I have tried to get him to help me recreate what he did with it.
Me: "Ace, what did you do with the little purple chip?"
Ace: Shoulder shrug
Me: "Like this one? Did you take it out?"
Ace: "Yeees."
Me: "Where did you put it?"
Ace: "I pood it dere."
Me: "That's where it came from, but it's not there. Where did you put it?"
Ace: "I did."
Me: "I know, but where is it?"
Ace: "I did, but, but, I um. Den I, but, but, I don't know."
And I tried one more time this afternoon to find some secret toddler level hiding place he could have stuck it, all to no avail.
Plus my handsome stranger came home today, so we took the power-washer and wrote
Welcome
Home
Daddy
In the dirty and mossy driveway. (Insert your own redneck joke here ______________. ) Which I would absolutely show you if I could find that confounded memory stick!
But yall go snoop around Onetallmomma's house and start the tour from there.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Melee's First Blog Entry
I don't want to blog. I hate blogging. Stop it. Don't write that.
I don't want to write. Stop and I'm serious.
I don't want to write. Stop and I'm serious.
*Although he tried very hard not to laugh, it deteriorates into crying and fit throwing, resulting in his mother calling an end to GameCube for the rest of the day and ordering all children outside.
Ace's First Blog Entry
B
J
Way whoa. Gee. Words.
I want to ride a moto cycle. Let's go outside. I want to go outside. Can you come outside with me? Can you come outside with me? Can we go outside? Can we move a moto cycle? Can we move the moto cycle?
J
Way whoa. Gee. Words.
I want to ride a moto cycle. Let's go outside. I want to go outside. Can you come outside with me? Can you come outside with me? Can we go outside? Can we move a moto cycle? Can we move the moto cycle?
John's First Blog Entry
I like riding my motorcycle. I want Dad to come home so he can take me to the motorcycle track. The weather is rainy and I'm stuffed in the house, bored. Our Grandmother is here and that helps. She's the Queen of Clean. I'm not ready for school to start. We went to the book store and bought some books, which I've been reading in my spare time. (which I have a lot of) I'm reading Narnia right now. It's five o'clock and I'm thinking about going to the pool, but it will probably be too hot and no one will be there. I'm getting a haircut tomorrow. And that's about it.
John
John
Peach's First Blog Entry
i love my mommy. i love my daddy. i love everyone. and i love my baby brother and my big brothers. and i love my flowers. and i like everything i love. and i love nanna and i love miss caroline and miss caroline's puppy. and everthing that i like, is good puppies that lick. i like my momma and daddy. i like my house. i love the color of the house, red is my favorite color, kind of like pink. daddy's work and daddy. i love everthing that i like and everything that i love and i like hearts and chewies and pink. and now that i'm done i want a smiley face on it.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
He Painted Such a Big Target, It's Invisible
Evil Dr. Will. If by Evil you mean charming, witty and hilarious!Come on Jodi! Show me what you got!
Give me your best Chicken George Love!
You got nothin', man. Nothin'.
Please don't let me be eating crow tomorrow night.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
GMC HEAR MY CRY FOR MERCY
Oh how I hate car trouble, let me count the ways ...
1) I had waited till last week to go and get my inspection sticker (the one that was out of date last month), first because my Check Engine light was on, which is an immediate fail, do not pass go, plus pay me two hundred dollars. So before my lovely DIY husband went out of town he filled the oil and brake fluid and power steering fluid, and just all around any kind of fluid. Sure enough, the Check Engine light went off and I'm back in business baby!
2) I take it to get inspected, I wait for forty minutes and thecar truck Yukon fails in three areas of concern and barely scrapes by on the emmissions. I call my husband in San Antonio to tell him the good news and of course he says, "Drive it on over if you think it's safe and I'll fix all that when ya'll get here." Okay, first off, I LOVE a man who can do it himself. Pay for it himself is good too, but do it yourself is studly. However, I'm driving my car truck Yukon to San Antonio that is leaking power steering fluid from the pressure hose and brake fluid from the master cylinder and has one dud windshield wiper on the driver side. Yes, I could have fixed the windshield wiper blade myself, I'm not a total girl, but I'm just givin' you the rundown. PLUS now I've got to schlep tools in addition to everything else and take it on the road show.
3) During the course of the "vacation" we make several trips to various AutoZone locations, GMC dealerships and Wally for all the odds and ends that the repair entails. Then a few more trips for the two or three pieces he broke in the commission of doing it himself. And finally took it to the shop that repairs the "company" cars there in San Antonio where they put the finishing touches on the repair. Two hundred twenty-five dollars later "Thpt." Spit in my hand, clap, clap, all done. Right? I get back home, take it back for inspection. The guy says "Hey, your back, all fixed?" "Yep!" "Those brakes working great now?" "Yeah! Well, it's not a new car you know. It's definitely better!" And he gives me a sticker. SMOOCH!
4) I go to take the kids to the book store today and as I'm cruising the parking lot, I have to brake for a woman who beat me to a parking spot and my foot goes all the way to the floor and I hear cckkkshhckkkk and it finally stops two feet later. "What was that?", everybody in the car yelled. "I don't know, I was just turning, maybe it was the steering wheel. It's fine, we're good." Twenty minutes later, back on the wet slippery streets, I'm pulling up to the red light, and suddenly I'm Fred Flinstone with my feet on the pavement and thecar truck Yukon is screaming kkkkchchchchckkkkshk! "Okay, we'll just go really slow all the way home, and I'm sure we'll be fine."
We made it home just fine and I call my DIYH to tell him the bad news and of course he's in a meeting. All day Mom's telling me how I really need a new car. I can't be driving these kids around in an unreliable car. We just need to break down and buy a new one.
The subject of breaking down and buying a new one has been floating around our house now for a while, with those for and those opposed. And like I am on most subjects in life, I sit comfortably on the fence. Remember, I'm not a chief, just a regular indian. (And I can say that because I have the Choctaw card to prove it). She was our first new car purchase, she is 10 years old, and she just hit the 222,225 mile mark. We love her, she's one of the family. We both have a few scratches and dings and not everything we were given, hangs exactly where it used to. We've been thrown up on, had food thrown at us, had our headlights adjusted .. wait a minute, that was just her, I'm still thinking on it. Anyway, it's not an easy decision. It's both emotional and primarily financial. John is asking me every five minutes, "So Mom, are you getting a new car?" "No", I say. "No", I say. Again and again and again. Today I said "John, be a dear and go out to the mailbox and see if we got that check for ten thousand dollars, would ya?" I got him, but just for a split-second. "Oh, Mom."
I think we would make a GREATcar truck Yukon commercial for GMC, and if they really wanted to sell more Yukons they could trade mine straight across for a brand new 2007 (could be 2006 I'm not greedy) Yukon XL, fully loaded with some kind of DVD system. Because nothing says "Go out and buy you one of these fantastic BEST IN CLASS fuel economy cars trucks Yukons" like a family of six who has worn their Professional Grade Truck down to the NUB. Wouldn't you agree?
1) I had waited till last week to go and get my inspection sticker (the one that was out of date last month), first because my Check Engine light was on, which is an immediate fail, do not pass go, plus pay me two hundred dollars. So before my lovely DIY husband went out of town he filled the oil and brake fluid and power steering fluid, and just all around any kind of fluid. Sure enough, the Check Engine light went off and I'm back in business baby!
2) I take it to get inspected, I wait for forty minutes and the
3) During the course of the "vacation" we make several trips to various AutoZone locations, GMC dealerships and Wally for all the odds and ends that the repair entails. Then a few more trips for the two or three pieces he broke in the commission of doing it himself. And finally took it to the shop that repairs the "company" cars there in San Antonio where they put the finishing touches on the repair. Two hundred twenty-five dollars later "Thpt." Spit in my hand, clap, clap, all done. Right? I get back home, take it back for inspection. The guy says "Hey, your back, all fixed?" "Yep!" "Those brakes working great now?" "Yeah! Well, it's not a new car you know. It's definitely better!" And he gives me a sticker. SMOOCH!
4) I go to take the kids to the book store today and as I'm cruising the parking lot, I have to brake for a woman who beat me to a parking spot and my foot goes all the way to the floor and I hear cckkkshhckkkk and it finally stops two feet later. "What was that?", everybody in the car yelled. "I don't know, I was just turning, maybe it was the steering wheel. It's fine, we're good." Twenty minutes later, back on the wet slippery streets, I'm pulling up to the red light, and suddenly I'm Fred Flinstone with my feet on the pavement and the
We made it home just fine and I call my DIYH to tell him the bad news and of course he's in a meeting. All day Mom's telling me how I really need a new car. I can't be driving these kids around in an unreliable car. We just need to break down and buy a new one.
The subject of breaking down and buying a new one has been floating around our house now for a while, with those for and those opposed. And like I am on most subjects in life, I sit comfortably on the fence. Remember, I'm not a chief, just a regular indian. (And I can say that because I have the Choctaw card to prove it). She was our first new car purchase, she is 10 years old, and she just hit the 222,225 mile mark. We love her, she's one of the family. We both have a few scratches and dings and not everything we were given, hangs exactly where it used to. We've been thrown up on, had food thrown at us, had our headlights adjusted .. wait a minute, that was just her, I'm still thinking on it. Anyway, it's not an easy decision. It's both emotional and primarily financial. John is asking me every five minutes, "So Mom, are you getting a new car?" "No", I say. "No", I say. Again and again and again. Today I said "John, be a dear and go out to the mailbox and see if we got that check for ten thousand dollars, would ya?" I got him, but just for a split-second. "Oh, Mom."
I think we would make a GREAT
Monday, July 24, 2006
Chicken George is Up for Eviction ...
It should have been sooner, but I'll settle for later.
Chicken George is up for eviction against Dr. Will. They better not vote out my Dr. Will. I won't watch anymore if they do.
Okay, I'll watch, but I won't be happy about it. Did ya'll see him spraying on that fake tan? That was awful. I thought I was the only person alive that looks that orange with a faux tan. I can't decide who would be my number two pick after Dr. Will.
I like Howie, he's funny, but he just doesn't seem too smart. Not that smart is a prerequisite for my top picks. I like Janelle and despite her blonde bimbo act she's probably a pretty smart cookie. Bitch. I like Diane too, but I don't think she's gonna make it too far.
I think they went too far with the Big Brother Slop. Quit trying to be Survivor, people like you just the way you are. And it seems a little bit boring this year, but as my Mom says, they've all seen themselves acting like asses on t.v., so their keeping a low profile. It's just a little something to get us through till Survivor starts up here in the fall.
Fall? Time flies ...
Chicken George is up for eviction against Dr. Will. They better not vote out my Dr. Will. I won't watch anymore if they do.
Okay, I'll watch, but I won't be happy about it. Did ya'll see him spraying on that fake tan? That was awful. I thought I was the only person alive that looks that orange with a faux tan. I can't decide who would be my number two pick after Dr. Will.
I like Howie, he's funny, but he just doesn't seem too smart. Not that smart is a prerequisite for my top picks. I like Janelle and despite her blonde bimbo act she's probably a pretty smart cookie. Bitch. I like Diane too, but I don't think she's gonna make it too far.
I think they went too far with the Big Brother Slop. Quit trying to be Survivor, people like you just the way you are. And it seems a little bit boring this year, but as my Mom says, they've all seen themselves acting like asses on t.v., so their keeping a low profile. It's just a little something to get us through till Survivor starts up here in the fall.
Fall? Time flies ...
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Walmart Supplies Your Every Need
It's already time to shop for school supplies!
That's CRAZY talk, you say!
What's even more crazy, is that I decided to buy the supplies myself this year. Our schools have this great thing where you go on "supply day" and purchase everything in one nice convenient pre-packaged bundle. In the elementary schools, you don't even have to bring them home. They just send the supplies straight to your child's classroom and you never have to deal with them at all. But as a kid, I always loved buying my school supplies and I was feeling a little nostalgic over picking out my own pencils and scissors. Man, am I dumb.
We went to Wally, of course, and I have to say, I got out much cheaper than the pre-packaged price. Or at least, in theory, I would have gotten out much cheaper. However, as everyone knows, sanity is temporarily suspended when you walk through the doors of Walmart-world.
Normally I like to take John shopping because he's agreeable, and enjoys looking and browsing and touching and sniffing and admiring all things with price tags. While Melee' is a typical male hunter-gatherer, he wants to know what's on the list, exactly. And he wants you to give him an ETA for arriving back at the house. He immediately starts whining and carrying on when you deviate from the plan in any way. And while John's shopping style is more my own, it also carries with it the potential for unending requests for more, more, more.
"Can I get these poly-folders? The ones I got yesterday didn't have brads."
"Are you sure?"
"Well, I don't think they did. Are you 100% sure they did?"
"No, but we were going by the list, right?"
"Yea, but I don't think they had brads."
"How much are those?"
"A dollar forty-three."
"What? The ones we got yesterday were twenty-nine cents!"
"But I don't think they had brads, and what if we get home and find out they don't? Then you're just gonna have to come back and get more."
"Fine. But don't ask me for anything else, you're done."
Two minutes later.
"Can I get one of these composition books?"
"For what?"
"To write in."
"To write what in?"
"You know. Stuff. Like when I'm home and I want to write something, I can write it in this."
"That wasn't on your list."
"Just, you know, like a journal."
"I gave you a journal. That flowered one I used to have. You never use it."
"It doesn't have lines. This one has lines."
"It's not on the list."
"It's only fifty cents."
"You don't need a journal, I can't even get you to write for school."
"Mom, it's fifty cents."
"No. I said no."
"Fifty cents."
The death stare.
"Okay, okay..."
And in the background Melee' is picking up packages of 96 crayons and two hundred count map pencils and electric pencil sharpeners, all in an effort to get me the hell out of the store before I become distracted by something that is not a school supply. I, in turn, have to go and dig out all the things from the basket that were not on the list and backtrack through the isle to get the 16 count crayons, the twelve pack of map pencils and the ninety-four cent pencil sharpener.
I picked up a new lunch bag for Peach as hers got torn last year. Some trash bags and paper towels, because I was out ... and then I got distracted. Some new permanent markers for me, I really need them, I'll use them all year, and the ones I have are starting to run out and the kids have lost some of my colors. And then I found the computer game chairs. All the while Melee' complaining and whining because this wasn't on the list, and simultaneously stopping every three steps to tell John "No. Because I said so."
A hundred and forty seven dollars later, I stalk out of Wally-world with my unflatened hair flying around in a fuzzy mess. Irritated beyond my limits and feeling like a failure with the need to go to confession for not abiding by the homily of the day "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want." I wonder if Deacon Pat's available to go shopping with me and my kids?
That's CRAZY talk, you say!
What's even more crazy, is that I decided to buy the supplies myself this year. Our schools have this great thing where you go on "supply day" and purchase everything in one nice convenient pre-packaged bundle. In the elementary schools, you don't even have to bring them home. They just send the supplies straight to your child's classroom and you never have to deal with them at all. But as a kid, I always loved buying my school supplies and I was feeling a little nostalgic over picking out my own pencils and scissors. Man, am I dumb.
We went to Wally, of course, and I have to say, I got out much cheaper than the pre-packaged price. Or at least, in theory, I would have gotten out much cheaper. However, as everyone knows, sanity is temporarily suspended when you walk through the doors of Walmart-world.
Normally I like to take John shopping because he's agreeable, and enjoys looking and browsing and touching and sniffing and admiring all things with price tags. While Melee' is a typical male hunter-gatherer, he wants to know what's on the list, exactly. And he wants you to give him an ETA for arriving back at the house. He immediately starts whining and carrying on when you deviate from the plan in any way. And while John's shopping style is more my own, it also carries with it the potential for unending requests for more, more, more.
"Can I get these poly-folders? The ones I got yesterday didn't have brads."
"Are you sure?"
"Well, I don't think they did. Are you 100% sure they did?"
"No, but we were going by the list, right?"
"Yea, but I don't think they had brads."
"How much are those?"
"A dollar forty-three."
"What? The ones we got yesterday were twenty-nine cents!"
"But I don't think they had brads, and what if we get home and find out they don't? Then you're just gonna have to come back and get more."
"Fine. But don't ask me for anything else, you're done."
Two minutes later.
"Can I get one of these composition books?"
"For what?"
"To write in."
"To write what in?"
"You know. Stuff. Like when I'm home and I want to write something, I can write it in this."
"That wasn't on your list."
"Just, you know, like a journal."
"I gave you a journal. That flowered one I used to have. You never use it."
"It doesn't have lines. This one has lines."
"It's not on the list."
"It's only fifty cents."
"You don't need a journal, I can't even get you to write for school."
"Mom, it's fifty cents."
"No. I said no."
"Fifty cents."
The death stare.
"Okay, okay..."
And in the background Melee' is picking up packages of 96 crayons and two hundred count map pencils and electric pencil sharpeners, all in an effort to get me the hell out of the store before I become distracted by something that is not a school supply. I, in turn, have to go and dig out all the things from the basket that were not on the list and backtrack through the isle to get the 16 count crayons, the twelve pack of map pencils and the ninety-four cent pencil sharpener.
I picked up a new lunch bag for Peach as hers got torn last year. Some trash bags and paper towels, because I was out ... and then I got distracted. Some new permanent markers for me, I really need them, I'll use them all year, and the ones I have are starting to run out and the kids have lost some of my colors. And then I found the computer game chairs. All the while Melee' complaining and whining because this wasn't on the list, and simultaneously stopping every three steps to tell John "No. Because I said so."
A hundred and forty seven dollars later, I stalk out of Wally-world with my unflatened hair flying around in a fuzzy mess. Irritated beyond my limits and feeling like a failure with the need to go to confession for not abiding by the homily of the day "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want." I wonder if Deacon Pat's available to go shopping with me and my kids?
Saturday, July 22, 2006
A Little Obsessed with My Latest Hair Appliance
The loveliness of Paris
Seems somehow sadly gay
The glory that was Rome
Is of another day
I've been terribly alone
And frumpy here in Houston
I cannot stand to see the way it used to lay.
I left my Chi in San Antonio
High on a hill, it calls to me.
To be where little fuzzy hairs
Climb halfway to the stars!
The morning fog may chill my hair I don't care!
My love waits there in San Antonio
Despite the blue and windy sea
When I come home to you, dear straightening iron,
Your golden plates will shine for me!
Seems somehow sadly gay
The glory that was Rome
Is of another day
I've been terribly alone
And frumpy here in Houston
I cannot stand to see the way it used to lay.
I left my Chi in San Antonio
High on a hill, it calls to me.
To be where little fuzzy hairs
Climb halfway to the stars!
The morning fog may chill my hair I don't care!
My love waits there in San Antonio
Despite the blue and windy sea
When I come home to you, dear straightening iron,
Your golden plates will shine for me!
Friday, July 21, 2006
Schlitterbahn Shutterbug
* Disclaimer *
I am the single worst picture taker of all time. I just spent a small fortune having doubles made of some of the worst pictures you have ever not seen. Whenever I have my film developed, the clerk always seems to be absent when I go to pick them up, so that I don't have the option of giving back the 14 bad pictures in order not to pay for them. Conspiracy theory? I don't think so. In the collection that you won't see here today are:
A picture of my armpit, inadvertently taken as I hurtle down the pirate slide.
One jumbo closeup of my index finger.
A picture of John's eyebrow, the rest of his face being obscured by something on the picnic table.
Four pictures of Melee' putting "rabbit ears" on different members of his family.
Two totally blank shots, which I'll blame on toddlers grabbing my camera.
Six shots that were taken so far away from the subjects, that I can neither identify them nor remember them.
The crew, before the fun has started. Because, I know that chances are high that I will forget to bring my camera with me from one attraction to the other and that I probably will not see the older boys for the remainder of the day.
I remember this as being a great picture. Hunh.
No one looking at the camera, Peach totally covering her face.
Yep, I took it.
Oh look! A good picture of ME! Of course, I've got sunglasses on, so you can't see if I've got my eyes closed, which I almost always do. And blocking the excess rolls with cute toddlers. SCORE!
(And also, Charlie took the picture.)
Action shot.
After the action has taken place.
Mine.
Great smiling subject!
Forgot to check the background before snapping.
Sorry Charlie.
The lazy boys, in the lazy river.
How apropos.
Poetic almost.
Cute picture.
The boys however, are a little taken aback by the reality of their "man-boobs".
I am the single worst picture taker of all time. I just spent a small fortune having doubles made of some of the worst pictures you have ever not seen. Whenever I have my film developed, the clerk always seems to be absent when I go to pick them up, so that I don't have the option of giving back the 14 bad pictures in order not to pay for them. Conspiracy theory? I don't think so. In the collection that you won't see here today are:
A picture of my armpit, inadvertently taken as I hurtle down the pirate slide.
One jumbo closeup of my index finger.
A picture of John's eyebrow, the rest of his face being obscured by something on the picnic table.
Four pictures of Melee' putting "rabbit ears" on different members of his family.
Two totally blank shots, which I'll blame on toddlers grabbing my camera.
Six shots that were taken so far away from the subjects, that I can neither identify them nor remember them.
The crew, before the fun has started. Because, I know that chances are high that I will forget to bring my camera with me from one attraction to the other and that I probably will not see the older boys for the remainder of the day.
I remember this as being a great picture. Hunh.No one looking at the camera, Peach totally covering her face.
Yep, I took it.
Oh look! A good picture of ME! Of course, I've got sunglasses on, so you can't see if I've got my eyes closed, which I almost always do. And blocking the excess rolls with cute toddlers. SCORE!(And also, Charlie took the picture.)
Action shot.After the action has taken place.
Mine.
Great smiling subject!Forgot to check the background before snapping.
Sorry Charlie.
The lazy boys, in the lazy river.How apropos.
Poetic almost.
Cute picture.The boys however, are a little taken aback by the reality of their "man-boobs".
Thursday, July 20, 2006
I'm Baaaack
And I can tell you all about San Antonio. Well, I can tell you about the North part of San Antonio and.. o.k. I can tell you about the Drury Inn at FM 1604 and 281 and the Chuck E. Cheese right at the corner.
Oh, the joys of vacations with kids. :) I'd like to have a lot of hair raising stories to tell and complaints to chew on, but the truth of it is, I've spent an entire week without cooking one meal. Six glorious days without making my bed up one time. AND CABLE!! A two room suite with two t.v.'s, one on Nickelodeon 24/7 and me on the other scanning thru channels I hadn't seen in such a long time that I couldn't spend more than 5 minutes on any one channel, for fear I was missing something more compelling on one of the others. Every morning we got to go down and eat sausage and eggs, biscuits and gravy, four choices of cereal, waffles made fresh, orange juice, apple juice, milk. (And maybe some fresh fruit and yogurt, but COME ON, I'm on vacation!) Then Charlie would come back from the office and take us to lunch, then back to the hotel for more cable and naps, and back up and refreshed for "snacks" at 5:30. :) But we got some "exercise" at Schlitterbahn, going around the Lazy River . We spent two days on the Kristal River and sitting in the shade watching toddlers slide down Pirate Ship Gang Planks and octopus arms. Truth be told, there was a little chasing involved. And yes, a panic attack or two when someone who will remain nameless Ace, snuck off the gangplank and headed for the submarine without letting his Mom know where he was going. But then I have to go back to the sausage, oh and funnel cakes at the park, with powdered sugar on top.
We went to a great restaurant called the Alamo Cafe where I had my bi-annual margarita fix. And then we hit all the standards that come with a playground, arcade, or sandbox. And of course no family vacation would be complete without a trip to an Acute Care center for antibiotics of one kind or another. Every day I would tell Charlie, "I think we'll go on home tomorrow." and he'd say, "Well, you could stay tomorrow and we could take the kids to see Cars." "Okay." Then the next day I'd say "I think I better get on back to the house tomorrow." and he'd say "Ya'll could hang out at the hotel pool tomorrow and then we could go to dinner when I get off." and I'd say "Okay." The clincher came this morning when Melee' woke up crying about his ear hurting and after laying on his side with anti-biotics pooled in his right ear for 50 minutes, I realized the inside of his ear was so swollen that the medicine wouldn't go in. So we had to come home today. But don't feel sorry for us, we got to the doctor where they put a wick in his ear to get the medicine down (he was a brave guy) and then on to the house where my Mom has been painting, rearranging, washing, weeding and I'd go on but I'm starting to embarrass myself.
Tonight, I sleep in my own good bed.
Tomorrow, I'll try to post pictures. :)
I missed you guys!
Oh, the joys of vacations with kids. :) I'd like to have a lot of hair raising stories to tell and complaints to chew on, but the truth of it is, I've spent an entire week without cooking one meal. Six glorious days without making my bed up one time. AND CABLE!! A two room suite with two t.v.'s, one on Nickelodeon 24/7 and me on the other scanning thru channels I hadn't seen in such a long time that I couldn't spend more than 5 minutes on any one channel, for fear I was missing something more compelling on one of the others. Every morning we got to go down and eat sausage and eggs, biscuits and gravy, four choices of cereal, waffles made fresh, orange juice, apple juice, milk. (And maybe some fresh fruit and yogurt, but COME ON, I'm on vacation!) Then Charlie would come back from the office and take us to lunch, then back to the hotel for more cable and naps, and back up and refreshed for "snacks" at 5:30. :) But we got some "exercise" at Schlitterbahn, going around the Lazy River . We spent two days on the Kristal River and sitting in the shade watching toddlers slide down Pirate Ship Gang Planks and octopus arms. Truth be told, there was a little chasing involved. And yes, a panic attack or two when someone who will remain nameless Ace, snuck off the gangplank and headed for the submarine without letting his Mom know where he was going. But then I have to go back to the sausage, oh and funnel cakes at the park, with powdered sugar on top.
We went to a great restaurant called the Alamo Cafe where I had my bi-annual margarita fix. And then we hit all the standards that come with a playground, arcade, or sandbox. And of course no family vacation would be complete without a trip to an Acute Care center for antibiotics of one kind or another. Every day I would tell Charlie, "I think we'll go on home tomorrow." and he'd say, "Well, you could stay tomorrow and we could take the kids to see Cars." "Okay." Then the next day I'd say "I think I better get on back to the house tomorrow." and he'd say "Ya'll could hang out at the hotel pool tomorrow and then we could go to dinner when I get off." and I'd say "Okay." The clincher came this morning when Melee' woke up crying about his ear hurting and after laying on his side with anti-biotics pooled in his right ear for 50 minutes, I realized the inside of his ear was so swollen that the medicine wouldn't go in. So we had to come home today. But don't feel sorry for us, we got to the doctor where they put a wick in his ear to get the medicine down (he was a brave guy) and then on to the house where my Mom has been painting, rearranging, washing, weeding and I'd go on but I'm starting to embarrass myself.
Tonight, I sleep in my own good bed.
Tomorrow, I'll try to post pictures. :)
I missed you guys!
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Trading Spaces
I just got done with my daily read at What Makes a Housewife Desperate? And I decided to give SuperMom a view from the other side of the grass.
First of all, I'm not saying I have a gargantuan house, or in any way saying nyah-nyah-nyah-nyaah-nyaaah. But what I have is another viewpoint to offer. Now I definitely have those days where I have little people under feet and even worse Peach who has grown to exactly crotch level has become a sniffer (another post, another day). But lately, I've been having the opposite problem.
The background: This is the first two-story house we've ever lived in. We have four bedrooms all upstairs, Melee's, John's, Peach and Ace together and the master. And I am a baby-proofer from WAY back. I have more plug covers per capita than most daycare centers. I have door locks and drawer locks and even a refrigerator lock. And the most wonderful thing in my arsenal is the doorknob cover. Well in the last month, Dear Sister learned how to deactivate the doorknob cover by putting her finger in the center hole and grabbing the doorknob with said finger. (She learned how to open these door's faster than Melee') Furthermore, Dear Sister has taught Ace how to enter my doorknob covered rooms. Starting with Melee' and his mini-drum set, then John with his five and dime lifestyle, who has more 25 cent prize machine jewelry than the Gabor sisters, and last but certainly not near the least is my bathroom. This morning I came downstairs in a stiff-necked fog, my eyes were still sticking together when the two of them came thundering down the stairs. Ace came over and I caught a whiff of something floral and as Peach rounded the corner and my eyes came into focus, I noticed she had used my matte finish makeup and smoothed it around haphazardly on her cheeks and chin. (MAN, it is TOO early in the morning for this.) We had a short discussion on age and natural beauty and it just rolled on from there.
You know when you're a mom, and there are these sixth sense things that you have. Like a spidey-tingle. When they're babies, it's being able to hear them breathe from four rooms away, then when they're crawling, it's being able to determine which are the thumps and cries of the frustrated or the bruised. Well right now, my super-hero power is my super-human internal timer/clock that dings every four minutes that the Wondertwins have been too quiet. Sometimes I have to stop, mid-sort and use my bionic ear to determine which of the forbidden rooms they have infiltrated and listen for regular sounds, or super secret sounds. Then I have to go bustin my hump up the stairs to shoo, threaten and redirect. As many times as I've had to do this is the last few months, you'd think I'd have buns of steel, or at least tin, but I don't. Instead I've got a twitchy eye and a sore knee and I'm thinking about getting one of those dog-spikes. You know the ones. The dog spikes that you put in the center of the yard, so your pit bull can get just to the edge of your property so you don't have to put up a fence. I could put it right in the center of the playroom, hook it to their belt loops and then .. oh, wait .. that won't work, Ace wears nothing but a diaper.
Well, I would like an Extreme home makeover. They could give me keyless remote entry for every door. All upper shelving and storage with step-stools that can only be accessed by my 7 letter password. Front and back doors and windows with alarms that go off when being opened by anyone under three foot tall. A souped up playroom with an inground trampoline and padded walls, A T.V. room padded floors and fold-in-the-floor seating for adult-use only. And an intercom system so I could stand next to the stove while cooking dinner and click the button and have my voice boom out of the heavens and say things like "UH-UH-UH, Mommy can seee you, put that down and come out of your brothers roo-oom."
*Sigh*
SuperMom, I here ya sister. But the grass over here, it's not so green.
First of all, I'm not saying I have a gargantuan house, or in any way saying nyah-nyah-nyah-nyaah-nyaaah. But what I have is another viewpoint to offer. Now I definitely have those days where I have little people under feet and even worse Peach who has grown to exactly crotch level has become a sniffer (another post, another day). But lately, I've been having the opposite problem.
The background: This is the first two-story house we've ever lived in. We have four bedrooms all upstairs, Melee's, John's, Peach and Ace together and the master. And I am a baby-proofer from WAY back. I have more plug covers per capita than most daycare centers. I have door locks and drawer locks and even a refrigerator lock. And the most wonderful thing in my arsenal is the doorknob cover. Well in the last month, Dear Sister learned how to deactivate the doorknob cover by putting her finger in the center hole and grabbing the doorknob with said finger. (She learned how to open these door's faster than Melee') Furthermore, Dear Sister has taught Ace how to enter my doorknob covered rooms. Starting with Melee' and his mini-drum set, then John with his five and dime lifestyle, who has more 25 cent prize machine jewelry than the Gabor sisters, and last but certainly not near the least is my bathroom. This morning I came downstairs in a stiff-necked fog, my eyes were still sticking together when the two of them came thundering down the stairs. Ace came over and I caught a whiff of something floral and as Peach rounded the corner and my eyes came into focus, I noticed she had used my matte finish makeup and smoothed it around haphazardly on her cheeks and chin. (MAN, it is TOO early in the morning for this.) We had a short discussion on age and natural beauty and it just rolled on from there.
You know when you're a mom, and there are these sixth sense things that you have. Like a spidey-tingle. When they're babies, it's being able to hear them breathe from four rooms away, then when they're crawling, it's being able to determine which are the thumps and cries of the frustrated or the bruised. Well right now, my super-hero power is my super-human internal timer/clock that dings every four minutes that the Wondertwins have been too quiet. Sometimes I have to stop, mid-sort and use my bionic ear to determine which of the forbidden rooms they have infiltrated and listen for regular sounds, or super secret sounds. Then I have to go bustin my hump up the stairs to shoo, threaten and redirect. As many times as I've had to do this is the last few months, you'd think I'd have buns of steel, or at least tin, but I don't. Instead I've got a twitchy eye and a sore knee and I'm thinking about getting one of those dog-spikes. You know the ones. The dog spikes that you put in the center of the yard, so your pit bull can get just to the edge of your property so you don't have to put up a fence. I could put it right in the center of the playroom, hook it to their belt loops and then .. oh, wait .. that won't work, Ace wears nothing but a diaper.
Well, I would like an Extreme home makeover. They could give me keyless remote entry for every door. All upper shelving and storage with step-stools that can only be accessed by my 7 letter password. Front and back doors and windows with alarms that go off when being opened by anyone under three foot tall. A souped up playroom with an inground trampoline and padded walls, A T.V. room padded floors and fold-in-the-floor seating for adult-use only. And an intercom system so I could stand next to the stove while cooking dinner and click the button and have my voice boom out of the heavens and say things like "UH-UH-UH, Mommy can seee you, put that down and come out of your brothers roo-oom."
*Sigh*
SuperMom, I here ya sister. But the grass over here, it's not so green.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
BIG BROTHER ALL STARS BABY!!
Man, I had to post again, post-haste. I may have to take that last one off entirely. Too corny. Not that I didn't mean it, and not that I'm not corny but, bluuuuhhhhggg.
BIG BROTHER ROCKS!
I'll say it again .. CHICKEN GEORGE? What is up with that!
Everybody gave him a hard time! He is truly a goofball. And the snoring? Hilarious! Won't I look dumb if he winds up winning this thing. Which with my luck, is totally doable.
When Will said "Howie and I both have one thing in common. We both think I'm good looking." I almost fell out of my chair. And then when they were playing on the slip and slide and they put Chicken George on top of Howie and slid them down and Marcellas said "That sight was the one thing that might make me straight." pause "That was gross."
This is the best comedy on t.v.
I want Will to win, I don't care if he already won.
And if you can't stand Big Brother and Reality T.V. in general, go pout in the other room with my husband. Yeah, I know, you're better than me.
BIG BROTHER ROCKS!
I'll say it again .. CHICKEN GEORGE? What is up with that!
Everybody gave him a hard time! He is truly a goofball. And the snoring? Hilarious! Won't I look dumb if he winds up winning this thing. Which with my luck, is totally doable.
When Will said "Howie and I both have one thing in common. We both think I'm good looking." I almost fell out of my chair. And then when they were playing on the slip and slide and they put Chicken George on top of Howie and slid them down and Marcellas said "That sight was the one thing that might make me straight." pause "That was gross."
This is the best comedy on t.v.
I want Will to win, I don't care if he already won.
And if you can't stand Big Brother and Reality T.V. in general, go pout in the other room with my husband. Yeah, I know, you're better than me.
Private Lessons
I just got back from John's viola lesson. I just have to say I know I look like an overprotective nerdy mother because I go in to the lesson with him, but the truth is I love to listen. When Mr. Smith plays along with John and John "makes his strings sing", the entire room fills with this wonderful noise that gets bigger and bigger till it tickles the insides of my ears and almost always makes my eyes fill with tears. John asked me today why it makes me cry and I said "You know what? I think it must be what heaven sounds like and it makes me cry cause I miss it."
How's that for sentimentality? Truly though, the viola and the cello? Most beautiful things I've ever heard.
Tune in later for a Big Brother update. Or don't if you're allergic. :)
How's that for sentimentality? Truly though, the viola and the cello? Most beautiful things I've ever heard.
Tune in later for a Big Brother update. Or don't if you're allergic. :)
Monday, July 10, 2006
The Person I Need is Nanny McPhee
The brother and sister-in-law and niece are gone.
Charlie's in San Antonio for the week.
And Nanny McPhee will be here tomorrow.
Well, Nanna McPhee. Or just plain ole Nanna. I love it when The Calvary comes to town. My mom is a recovering perfectionist, at least when she's at my house. We try very hard to get our ducks in a row before she gets here, and she's equally good about telling us how WONDERFUL the house looks when she does. Then she starts cleaning. She cleans, I cook, she organizes, I herd, she paints, I entertain, she babysits, I run errands. It's a beautiful system and I squeeze everything I can get out of it, till she has had all she can take, and exhausted and usually sick, she returns home for her much earned vacation from us.
We usually rearrange at least one area of the house while she's here and I'm thinking that we may take down Ace's baby bed. (He's broken the latch on it and jumps in it so much that I'm afraid it's getting dangerous.) So we'll have to exchange the bed that's in Melee's room for Peaches bed and then get out the frame of the other red bed, so that the matching beds are together in the same room. This is so boring, you guys can hardly keep going, but I'll put a funny picture at the bottom, so stay with me. Then next week when I start "The Adventure's of Ace, the Amazing Out of His Bed Baby", you'll know how it all started.
She's planning on sticking around for quite a while this time, as Charlie's going to be out of town a lot over the next six months. It will be fun to see just exactly how long she can take it. I forsee a trip to the Home Depot for a couple of new sets of baby gates. Mine have all been used up and broken and she's a big fan of containment. She likes to gate off the kitchen, because much like Cook she believes the kids should NOT be in the kitchen.
So, I've got to get rolling, I've still got seven loads of laundry to do, I need to purge the toy box (it won't close) I've got to mop the floor, and re-make a few beds. I've got to get those kids a Whuppin' and a Ridin' we've got Choreboys to do!
Here's the gratuituous cute picture....
Charlie's in San Antonio for the week.
And Nanny McPhee will be here tomorrow.
Well, Nanna McPhee. Or just plain ole Nanna. I love it when The Calvary comes to town. My mom is a recovering perfectionist, at least when she's at my house. We try very hard to get our ducks in a row before she gets here, and she's equally good about telling us how WONDERFUL the house looks when she does. Then she starts cleaning. She cleans, I cook, she organizes, I herd, she paints, I entertain, she babysits, I run errands. It's a beautiful system and I squeeze everything I can get out of it, till she has had all she can take, and exhausted and usually sick, she returns home for her much earned vacation from us.
We usually rearrange at least one area of the house while she's here and I'm thinking that we may take down Ace's baby bed. (He's broken the latch on it and jumps in it so much that I'm afraid it's getting dangerous.) So we'll have to exchange the bed that's in Melee's room for Peaches bed and then get out the frame of the other red bed, so that the matching beds are together in the same room. This is so boring, you guys can hardly keep going, but I'll put a funny picture at the bottom, so stay with me. Then next week when I start "The Adventure's of Ace, the Amazing Out of His Bed Baby", you'll know how it all started.
She's planning on sticking around for quite a while this time, as Charlie's going to be out of town a lot over the next six months. It will be fun to see just exactly how long she can take it. I forsee a trip to the Home Depot for a couple of new sets of baby gates. Mine have all been used up and broken and she's a big fan of containment. She likes to gate off the kitchen, because much like Cook she believes the kids should NOT be in the kitchen.
So, I've got to get rolling, I've still got seven loads of laundry to do, I need to purge the toy box (it won't close) I've got to mop the floor, and re-make a few beds. I've got to get those kids a Whuppin' and a Ridin' we've got Choreboys to do!
Here's the gratuituous cute picture....
Saturday, July 08, 2006
The Day I Knew This Mothering Thing Wasn't Gonna be as Easy as I Thought
John was a talker really early on. By the time he was eighteen months old, he had built up quite a little vocabulary and by the time he was two he had started to put together sentences. Of course, I wasn't really around any other children at that time and didn't have any perspective on his language developement compared to any other babies his age.
And I was a first time mother, so I listened to all the advice I could get. And if nobody was talking, then I was watching advice on t.v. or I was reading advice in a book. Somewhere along the advice trail I picked up the advice about calling private body parts by their true names rather than cutsie names like weenie and willie and so forth. This advice was hard for me to take, first because I came from a family of no-talkers. If it was important, we didn't talk about it. If it was serious, forget about it. If it was emotional, run for the hills! And if it was sexual, pretend there is no such thing. When I turned twelve or thirteen my mom came into my room and handed me four red books about the Life Cycle and said "Here, I want you to read these books and let me know if you have any questions." Well I pretended like I didn't know what she was talking about, I'd actually already read the books over at Sherry McGoverns house. Then I said "You can set them over there, but I'm probably not gonna read em." "Okay," she said, "but if you do, and you have any questions, let me know." "Okay, but I'm not going to, and I won't." And that was the sum of all my sex education.
So I decided to bite the bullet and when John was a baby and we got to naming parts, hands, fingers, nose, ears, eyes, and yes penis. I had to practice saying it when no one was around, because for me, it wasn't easy, not even almost. But I perservered and all these words found there way into his vocabulary, but rarely did we have the chance to discuss it, outside diaper changes and bathtime.
One day we went shopping for a Glider rocker, I was pregnant with Melee', and John was about two and a half. Back in the day, all the possible shopping places were more like furniture stores, they didn't have the SUPERWALLY or SUPERTARGET or SAM's complete with baskets in which to secure your curious toddler. Which meant that each time we went to check out a rocker, we would have to schlep into a store and chase John around the store while trying to locate and price rockers. After about the third store, I'd reached my limit of toddler chasing fun for the day, seeing as I was pregnant and cranky. So when we got to Best Furniture I told him that I was going to hold him while we were in this store and he couldn't get down and run. He was not a happy camper. I was determined however, and knew that if I passed him over to his Dad, his Dad would let him down and we'd have to scurry through the store digging him out from behind lamps and coffee tables. We went in and he was whining and complaining and I was ignoring. He was wiggling and trying to get down and I was switching him from hip to hip. After about the third wrestling move, I clutched him close, leaned into his ear and said " I'm NOT putting you down, be STILL." I walked toward one of the clerks to ask if he could direct us to the glider rockers as John yelled "OOOOWWW! YOU'RE HURTING MY PENIS!"
I think we bought the rocker that day, I don't really remember many of the details after that. But I knew from that day on, that advice my friends, is all relative. And my relatives call it a "pointer". Try screaming that in the middle of a crowded store. I double dog dare you.
And I was a first time mother, so I listened to all the advice I could get. And if nobody was talking, then I was watching advice on t.v. or I was reading advice in a book. Somewhere along the advice trail I picked up the advice about calling private body parts by their true names rather than cutsie names like weenie and willie and so forth. This advice was hard for me to take, first because I came from a family of no-talkers. If it was important, we didn't talk about it. If it was serious, forget about it. If it was emotional, run for the hills! And if it was sexual, pretend there is no such thing. When I turned twelve or thirteen my mom came into my room and handed me four red books about the Life Cycle and said "Here, I want you to read these books and let me know if you have any questions." Well I pretended like I didn't know what she was talking about, I'd actually already read the books over at Sherry McGoverns house. Then I said "You can set them over there, but I'm probably not gonna read em." "Okay," she said, "but if you do, and you have any questions, let me know." "Okay, but I'm not going to, and I won't." And that was the sum of all my sex education.
So I decided to bite the bullet and when John was a baby and we got to naming parts, hands, fingers, nose, ears, eyes, and yes penis. I had to practice saying it when no one was around, because for me, it wasn't easy, not even almost. But I perservered and all these words found there way into his vocabulary, but rarely did we have the chance to discuss it, outside diaper changes and bathtime.
One day we went shopping for a Glider rocker, I was pregnant with Melee', and John was about two and a half. Back in the day, all the possible shopping places were more like furniture stores, they didn't have the SUPERWALLY or SUPERTARGET or SAM's complete with baskets in which to secure your curious toddler. Which meant that each time we went to check out a rocker, we would have to schlep into a store and chase John around the store while trying to locate and price rockers. After about the third store, I'd reached my limit of toddler chasing fun for the day, seeing as I was pregnant and cranky. So when we got to Best Furniture I told him that I was going to hold him while we were in this store and he couldn't get down and run. He was not a happy camper. I was determined however, and knew that if I passed him over to his Dad, his Dad would let him down and we'd have to scurry through the store digging him out from behind lamps and coffee tables. We went in and he was whining and complaining and I was ignoring. He was wiggling and trying to get down and I was switching him from hip to hip. After about the third wrestling move, I clutched him close, leaned into his ear and said " I'm NOT putting you down, be STILL." I walked toward one of the clerks to ask if he could direct us to the glider rockers as John yelled "OOOOWWW! YOU'RE HURTING MY PENIS!"
I think we bought the rocker that day, I don't really remember many of the details after that. But I knew from that day on, that advice my friends, is all relative. And my relatives call it a "pointer". Try screaming that in the middle of a crowded store. I double dog dare you.
Friday, July 07, 2006
100 Things You Never Needed to Know About Me
I did it. I've always wanted one and now I have one.
I like to snoop at other peoples 100 things, so since you showed me yours, I'll show you mine. I never promised it was gonna be purty.
I like to snoop at other peoples 100 things, so since you showed me yours, I'll show you mine. I never promised it was gonna be purty.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
SUPERFLUOUS POST
CHICKEN GEORGE?
WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?
If you're not watching Big Brother 7 All-Stars, move along please. NEXT!
I took notes because I knew with my short term memory problems, I would never be able to remember everybody. Out of the eight "America's Choice" only two were not on my list and that would be Nakomis and James. Of the other six my hit list includes Allyson, Mike, and CHICKEN GEORGE!
Do they think they've got to pick somebody old and weird to represent? Dude, that is SO lame! The fact that he was not on the block at the end of the night just FLOORS me, and also goes to show I can never predict anything that happens on these shows. I'm a looser. BUT NOT A CHICKEN GEORGE LOOSER! (Sorry George, that was harsh.) They went for the jugular on episode one! I love it! Danielle is so busted for trying to stir the pot, she's got a lot a guts, because my strategy for all my imaginary Reality show appearances is "lay low", "lay the ground work", "keep your head down", which may be why I'm only on imaginary shows and not real ones. Howie is over the top as usual, thank goodness he explained about the stars and the asteroid and getting knocked off the pedestal. No really, I'm not being sarcastic, the stars I got. The pedestals ... a little too subtle for me. And my favorite is Will, I can't help it. He's the smack-talker of all times! I love his smack talk. And even though he's being totally corny, so what! At the end, when they were pulling keys to see who was safe and it was down to Will, Danielle and Allyson, I just KNEW Will was going to be on the block! And I was so relieved when it was Allyson, cause I can't stand her. And then Will goes to the confessional and says "How dare they not put me up for nomination, now I'm pissed!"
I love you Big Brother.
WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?
If you're not watching Big Brother 7 All-Stars, move along please. NEXT!
I took notes because I knew with my short term memory problems, I would never be able to remember everybody. Out of the eight "America's Choice" only two were not on my list and that would be Nakomis and James. Of the other six my hit list includes Allyson, Mike, and CHICKEN GEORGE!
Do they think they've got to pick somebody old and weird to represent? Dude, that is SO lame! The fact that he was not on the block at the end of the night just FLOORS me, and also goes to show I can never predict anything that happens on these shows. I'm a looser. BUT NOT A CHICKEN GEORGE LOOSER! (Sorry George, that was harsh.) They went for the jugular on episode one! I love it! Danielle is so busted for trying to stir the pot, she's got a lot a guts, because my strategy for all my imaginary Reality show appearances is "lay low", "lay the ground work", "keep your head down", which may be why I'm only on imaginary shows and not real ones. Howie is over the top as usual, thank goodness he explained about the stars and the asteroid and getting knocked off the pedestal. No really, I'm not being sarcastic, the stars I got. The pedestals ... a little too subtle for me. And my favorite is Will, I can't help it. He's the smack-talker of all times! I love his smack talk. And even though he's being totally corny, so what! At the end, when they were pulling keys to see who was safe and it was down to Will, Danielle and Allyson, I just KNEW Will was going to be on the block! And I was so relieved when it was Allyson, cause I can't stand her. And then Will goes to the confessional and says "How dare they not put me up for nomination, now I'm pissed!"
I love you Big Brother.
Come on .. sing it with me "I'm crazy....crazy for feeling this way.."
The kids have me on the ropes again today. I'd blame it on the monthly, but that's such a tired, overused, crude, oh what the heck "my cousin's visiting". What's a girl to do but grouch at the kids and scavenge at the back of the pantry looking for forgotten half-used bags of chocolate chips? And I may have mentioned at least once that I'm not good at letting the kids have their way with "activities". My niece is here visiting and usually adding one more to the pack is a nice distraction, however, it turns out, there are a couple of exceptions to the rule. a) You cannot add another boss to an organazation that is management heavy b) You have to add a new member who is equal to the pack in their ability to stick with a task. It is only day two and I'm running out of things to entertain with really fast.
We've done cookie making, she said with a shiver up her spine. I walk in the kitchen to find the twelve year old hunched over a puddle of sugar cookie dough that is spilling over the edge of my plastic cutting board, cutting shapes anywhere from an inch and a half thick to tissue paper thick, with the other half of the dough stuck to the rolling pin. "The dough keeps sticking to the rolling pin, mom." he says. "Well first, you need some flour and you shouldn't be cutting that on that plastic cutting board it's gonna stick to that too. And look at that dough! You need to put it in the freezer for a couple of minutes it's too warm. Your never gonna be able to...." blank stares "um.. it's fine .. it's good .. here, take the flour and dust it around and put some on the rolingpinandtrynotTOGETITEVERYWHERE!" and I rushed out the room as fast as I could and didn't go back till they were done.
We have the pool right down the street and despite the fact that it has rained, there have been big chunks of time that the pool has been open. The boys go down everyday and spend at least three hours playing. It doesn't matter whether their friends are there or the place is deserted, they always have a great time. So Tuesday, all three get their swimsuits on, sunscreen, snacks, the whole nine yards. They jump on their scooters and I'm thinking, "YES!" a little quiet time. I'll finish the dishes and the laundry and maybe I'll sit for a minute. Thirty minutes later she and Melee' walk back in the door. "What's up?" I asked. "They were playing a game I didn't want to play and so we came home." "What about playing something else?" "No, I don't want to go to the pool right now." Melee' heads back to the pool and ten minutes later she says "Where's my Dad?" "He and Uncle Charlie went to the pool about fifteen minutes ago." "Oh, O.K, I'm going back to the pool now." "O.K." I'm thinking this is going to be a very long week.
Don't get me wrong, she's helpful and polite and she comes up to me out of nowhere and says "Is there something I can clean?" I really didn't know what to say to that at first, and then I came to my senses and put her to work. But I can't let her clean the house all day and then when I ask my boys to pick up something they yell "WHAT? I didn't do THAT! WHY DO I HAVE TO PICK IT UP?"
My Dad called as I was trying to make them a pan of smores bars. "No, I don't need any help ya'll go in the other room and I'll let you know when they're done." But they didn't go. I talked to my Dad as I melted marshmallows and chocolate chips and every couple of minutes one of them would ask "Can I stir that?" I'd shake my head and mouth *no* flap my hand in their direction and mouth *go on .. go in the other room .. I'm on the phone* more flapping and pointing at the reciever as I measured out eight cups of cereal. "Are you gonna put extra marshmallows in that?" "Well, how's grandmommy doing? Uh-huh. Yeah." *SHOO! GO ON* FLAP-FLAP "OUT!" "Oh, nothing Daddy, talkin to the kids." *OUT!* Pointing my finger into the other room with my hand on the hip for extra emphasis. And they just stood there leaned over the counter breathing on my melting chocolate chips "Spreaken de Duetsch?" Firm in their knowledge I wouldn't swat them with a wooden spoon that had chocolate on it.
I told them what to pick up, I told them how to pick it up, I gave directions, I suggested ideas, I explained things, I joked, I cajoled, I yelled and I pleaded. By eight o'clock last night I needed a margarita AND a shot of Botox right between the eyes. I couldn't even talk. I had completely run out of words. Peach NEVER uses her daily allotment of words but I had exhausted my entire supply and borrowed out of today's stash. I put the three older kids to bed at nine and told them they could talk quietly for a little while. I came back downstairs and quietly stalked around the house looking for something to take it out on, but I don't have a dog. I steered clear of Charlie so as not to use anymore words out of the next days savings. Everytime I stalked near him he'd ask "Whatcha doing?" "Nothing." I grumbled and moved on to an empty room. "Everything O.K.?" he ventured. "Yep. Just grouchy." over and out. I had to make him go into the kids rooms at eleven to tell them to SHuuuuuusSSSSSHHH! because I had been in three times prior to, and knew that I'd explode like a crazy bomb if I had to do it.
Charlie just called and said "Are you in a better humor today?"
Big pause ....
"Yes. I'm gonna say yes, because I'm a positive thinker, that's why."
We've done cookie making, she said with a shiver up her spine. I walk in the kitchen to find the twelve year old hunched over a puddle of sugar cookie dough that is spilling over the edge of my plastic cutting board, cutting shapes anywhere from an inch and a half thick to tissue paper thick, with the other half of the dough stuck to the rolling pin. "The dough keeps sticking to the rolling pin, mom." he says. "Well first, you need some flour and you shouldn't be cutting that on that plastic cutting board it's gonna stick to that too. And look at that dough! You need to put it in the freezer for a couple of minutes it's too warm. Your never gonna be able to...." blank stares "um.. it's fine .. it's good .. here, take the flour and dust it around and put some on the rolingpinandtrynotTOGETITEVERYWHERE!" and I rushed out the room as fast as I could and didn't go back till they were done.
We have the pool right down the street and despite the fact that it has rained, there have been big chunks of time that the pool has been open. The boys go down everyday and spend at least three hours playing. It doesn't matter whether their friends are there or the place is deserted, they always have a great time. So Tuesday, all three get their swimsuits on, sunscreen, snacks, the whole nine yards. They jump on their scooters and I'm thinking, "YES!" a little quiet time. I'll finish the dishes and the laundry and maybe I'll sit for a minute. Thirty minutes later she and Melee' walk back in the door. "What's up?" I asked. "They were playing a game I didn't want to play and so we came home." "What about playing something else?" "No, I don't want to go to the pool right now." Melee' heads back to the pool and ten minutes later she says "Where's my Dad?" "He and Uncle Charlie went to the pool about fifteen minutes ago." "Oh, O.K, I'm going back to the pool now." "O.K." I'm thinking this is going to be a very long week.
Don't get me wrong, she's helpful and polite and she comes up to me out of nowhere and says "Is there something I can clean?" I really didn't know what to say to that at first, and then I came to my senses and put her to work. But I can't let her clean the house all day and then when I ask my boys to pick up something they yell "WHAT? I didn't do THAT! WHY DO I HAVE TO PICK IT UP?"
My Dad called as I was trying to make them a pan of smores bars. "No, I don't need any help ya'll go in the other room and I'll let you know when they're done." But they didn't go. I talked to my Dad as I melted marshmallows and chocolate chips and every couple of minutes one of them would ask "Can I stir that?" I'd shake my head and mouth *no* flap my hand in their direction and mouth *go on .. go in the other room .. I'm on the phone* more flapping and pointing at the reciever as I measured out eight cups of cereal. "Are you gonna put extra marshmallows in that?" "Well, how's grandmommy doing? Uh-huh. Yeah." *SHOO! GO ON* FLAP-FLAP "OUT!" "Oh, nothing Daddy, talkin to the kids." *OUT!* Pointing my finger into the other room with my hand on the hip for extra emphasis. And they just stood there leaned over the counter breathing on my melting chocolate chips "Spreaken de Duetsch?" Firm in their knowledge I wouldn't swat them with a wooden spoon that had chocolate on it.
I told them what to pick up, I told them how to pick it up, I gave directions, I suggested ideas, I explained things, I joked, I cajoled, I yelled and I pleaded. By eight o'clock last night I needed a margarita AND a shot of Botox right between the eyes. I couldn't even talk. I had completely run out of words. Peach NEVER uses her daily allotment of words but I had exhausted my entire supply and borrowed out of today's stash. I put the three older kids to bed at nine and told them they could talk quietly for a little while. I came back downstairs and quietly stalked around the house looking for something to take it out on, but I don't have a dog. I steered clear of Charlie so as not to use anymore words out of the next days savings. Everytime I stalked near him he'd ask "Whatcha doing?" "Nothing." I grumbled and moved on to an empty room. "Everything O.K.?" he ventured. "Yep. Just grouchy." over and out. I had to make him go into the kids rooms at eleven to tell them to SHuuuuuusSSSSSHHH! because I had been in three times prior to, and knew that I'd explode like a crazy bomb if I had to do it.
Charlie just called and said "Are you in a better humor today?"
Big pause ....
"Yes. I'm gonna say yes, because I'm a positive thinker, that's why."
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Rednecks and Motorcycles, The July 4th Edition
This is Charlie giving Peach a ride. Yes, I intentionally color-coordinated her outfit to go with my helmet. We may be redneck, but we're not colorblind.
Ace, taking a break. We brought out his battery powered four-wheeler so he could join in the fun. (If we were true Rednecks, the two year old would have a gas powered four wheeler.)
This is my niece, here for a visit. She has a spiffy Yamaha. She has an Aunt that takes less than spiffy pictures.
This is my brother and Charlie, racing the kids bikes on the pee-wee track. Yes they have big bikes they could be riding, but just because your over 35 and six foot tall, doesn't mean you have to act grown-up.
This is the back of Melee's head, continuing to propagate the myth of no pictures of the middle child. You're welcome.
This is My-hammy. "Take a picture of ME mommy, take a picture of ME!"
(Note the ominous storm-clouds)
My Brother and Charlie riding big bikes. The green one is mine. I didn't ride yesterday, you'll have to wait for the next installment of Rednecks and Motorcycles.(Note the even MORE ominous storm clouds)
A picture of Muddy John after riding in the rain. Cause you can't say you had a good time if you didn't get muddy.
My muddy feet, because I wanted to have fun too. Or maybe because we didn't load up and leave when it started raining, so when we finally DID decide to load up and leave, (because of a little lightening) both trucks got stuck in the mud and Charlie and I had to walk in the rain to see if we could find a True redneck, with four-wheel drive, who would be willing to pull two trucks with a trailer holding five motorcycles out of the mud. We ended up having to walk about a quarter mile to the scoring booth and ask the owners of the joint if they would mind firing up the back-hoe and come drag us out with chains. And they did and we all lived happily ever after. Except the fireworks were canceled because of the rain, and fireworks ARE the coup-de-gras of a true Redneck celebration.
And also because I wasn't going to ruin my favorite pair of flip-flops.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
My Oprah Aha Moment
I live in a house filled with my husband's DNA. They're loud talkers, they're morning people, they love a good fart joke. I'm the only person in my house that locks the bathroom door when I'm using the facilities and the "others" get irritated with me when I do. I'm an Indian in a house full of chiefs. With one exception.
Melee'. He's my kind of people. We like to think before we talk. We freckle, we don't tan. We can ride in a car for thirty minutes and never speak a word. Hey, we're not being rude, we're enjoying the scenery, we're listening to the words of the songs, we're taking it all in. When you ask us "How was your day?" we respond "Good." in our heavy Texas drawl. We are Indians of few words. He's my dawg.
But there are a couple of things about Melee' that drive me nuts. They are traits that I can't trace to anyone's genes and I was starting to worry. This boy of nine cannot open packages. No, not packages that come in the mail with three kinds of packing tape, bubble wrap and styrofoam. Boy cannot fight his way through a Poptart wrapper. When he was little it was kind of funny, a year or two later it was endearing, but he's as big as the twelve year old now, and wants to be a professional baseball player. "Melee', honey, when you make it to the big leagues, I won't be there to open your bag of peanuts." And he spills drinks, all the time. There are two things that Charlie barks about at the dinner table "Chew with your mouth closed." And "Where does your drink go?" So the phrase "Don't cry over spilled milk." really takes on new meaning here at our house. We were out on a rare lunch date with his Dad the other day, and while we are always prepared for the fact that it's going to be bad, when Melee' knocked over his completely full soda across the table and into my lap, it was all I could do to keep from going postal. Charlie had already barked "Where does your drink go? Where? Where?!" And of course he dissolved into a puddle of tears, because we're sensitive like that.
On the way home I made an emergency stop at the Walmart for a few rainy day supplies and bought him two sippy cups. No, not the toddler kind with a stopper for no spills, but those cheapy plastic cups with the straw attached to the bottom that looks like a teapot. At first he thought it was all fun and games until I rubbed his nose in the fact that I was buying them because he can't seem to get through a day without spilling a drink. (Cause I'm Mother-of-the-Year, like that). We got home and the short people started playing with their play-dough. Melee' came up to me with one of his new cups and said "Can you open this for me?" "What?" I asked. "I can't get this open. Will you open it for me?" "You can get that open." "MOM! LOOK!" He held out the plastic cup, put his hand on the lid and slipped his hand back and forth over the thing like it had been lubed with oil. "No. I won't do it. You can." He puttered around in the kitchen for a few more minutes as I watched Ace and Peach. Every once in a while I would throw out a suggestion "Use your fingers. Really grip it." "Try the jar opener." "No, seriously I'm not gonna open it for you." "Because you need to work on your hand strength."
*BING* And that' s when it happened. I always wondered when I would have an Oprah Aha moment. And THIS WAS IT! IT WAS THE PLAYDOUGH! I have four kids ages 2 to 12 and this was the first time I had ever purchased play-dough and brought it in to the home. I don't like it, it's messy, it could get in the carpet, they're just gonna mix all the colors anyway and I'll have four cans of brown. My mother used to let John play with it when she kept him, she's OCD enough to manage the mess. And Peach has been playing with playdough for a year now thanks to Mothers Day Out. But Jeremy went to a different MDO where play-dough was not a part of every day centers and his mother's a tight-ass who has a control problem. As I looked down and saw Ace struggling to squeeze and smush the dough with little success ("Momma make me a nake.") I knew that Melee' had been deprived of a vital motorskill-enriching right of passage. I don't know if I can make up for it. I often imagine him stranded on a desert island with a case of breakfast bars, quietly expiring on a beach littered with little shiny unopened packages. But now, armed with the knowledge gleaned froma lifetime twelve years of mothering, I've got a plan. Hasbro stock is currently at $18.13, keep your eyes peeled....I'm just saying...
Melee'. He's my kind of people. We like to think before we talk. We freckle, we don't tan. We can ride in a car for thirty minutes and never speak a word. Hey, we're not being rude, we're enjoying the scenery, we're listening to the words of the songs, we're taking it all in. When you ask us "How was your day?" we respond "Good." in our heavy Texas drawl. We are Indians of few words. He's my dawg.
But there are a couple of things about Melee' that drive me nuts. They are traits that I can't trace to anyone's genes and I was starting to worry. This boy of nine cannot open packages. No, not packages that come in the mail with three kinds of packing tape, bubble wrap and styrofoam. Boy cannot fight his way through a Poptart wrapper. When he was little it was kind of funny, a year or two later it was endearing, but he's as big as the twelve year old now, and wants to be a professional baseball player. "Melee', honey, when you make it to the big leagues, I won't be there to open your bag of peanuts." And he spills drinks, all the time. There are two things that Charlie barks about at the dinner table "Chew with your mouth closed." And "Where does your drink go?" So the phrase "Don't cry over spilled milk." really takes on new meaning here at our house. We were out on a rare lunch date with his Dad the other day, and while we are always prepared for the fact that it's going to be bad, when Melee' knocked over his completely full soda across the table and into my lap, it was all I could do to keep from going postal. Charlie had already barked "Where does your drink go? Where? Where?!" And of course he dissolved into a puddle of tears, because we're sensitive like that.
On the way home I made an emergency stop at the Walmart for a few rainy day supplies and bought him two sippy cups. No, not the toddler kind with a stopper for no spills, but those cheapy plastic cups with the straw attached to the bottom that looks like a teapot. At first he thought it was all fun and games until I rubbed his nose in the fact that I was buying them because he can't seem to get through a day without spilling a drink. (Cause I'm Mother-of-the-Year, like that). We got home and the short people started playing with their play-dough. Melee' came up to me with one of his new cups and said "Can you open this for me?" "What?" I asked. "I can't get this open. Will you open it for me?" "You can get that open." "MOM! LOOK!" He held out the plastic cup, put his hand on the lid and slipped his hand back and forth over the thing like it had been lubed with oil. "No. I won't do it. You can." He puttered around in the kitchen for a few more minutes as I watched Ace and Peach. Every once in a while I would throw out a suggestion "Use your fingers. Really grip it." "Try the jar opener." "No, seriously I'm not gonna open it for you." "Because you need to work on your hand strength."
*BING* And that' s when it happened. I always wondered when I would have an Oprah Aha moment. And THIS WAS IT! IT WAS THE PLAYDOUGH! I have four kids ages 2 to 12 and this was the first time I had ever purchased play-dough and brought it in to the home. I don't like it, it's messy, it could get in the carpet, they're just gonna mix all the colors anyway and I'll have four cans of brown. My mother used to let John play with it when she kept him, she's OCD enough to manage the mess. And Peach has been playing with playdough for a year now thanks to Mothers Day Out. But Jeremy went to a different MDO where play-dough was not a part of every day centers and his mother's a tight-ass who has a control problem. As I looked down and saw Ace struggling to squeeze and smush the dough with little success ("Momma make me a nake.") I knew that Melee' had been deprived of a vital motorskill-enriching right of passage. I don't know if I can make up for it. I often imagine him stranded on a desert island with a case of breakfast bars, quietly expiring on a beach littered with little shiny unopened packages. But now, armed with the knowledge gleaned from
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Stark Screaming Mad
That's how my day started. With screaming. I don't care if you are a morning person (which I'm not), screaming is not what you want to hear first thing in the morning. And it hasn't stopped. We're screaming cause we're happy, we're screaming cause we're mad, we're screaming because our brother is the tickle monster and he's coming for us.
Charlie's been in California since Tuesday, and so help me, if this rain delays his plane even ten minutes, the Lord and I are gonna have a talk. And I'm not gonna pull any punches, because I have a long hard road ahead for the next sixth months and I'd appreciate getting broken in nice and slow. A little help here please.
I've changed sheets on three beds, three to go. Fixed two squares, a snack and one to go. I've redressed naked baby dolls, collected every stray friend from here to the nether-lands and put them in one, easy to choose from spot. I've done dishes. I've done my 14th jumbo load of laundry in two days. And DAMN You Perfect Post Awards , I've read seventeen or so Perfect Posts, (and Lindsay if it's not too much more trouble could you categorize the PP's into categories, say, Serious, Sad, Seriously Sad, Seriously Funny, and so on for next month?) I've written a crabby email to channel 11 for delaying the Saturday Morning Cartoons so that we can watch 4 hours of continuous Saturday Morning News and CBS Saturday MORNING whatever the heck. It's not even safe for my kids to turn the TV on ON A SATURDAY MORNING! And did I mention I have a screaming headache. (Yes I took some Tylenol, not helping) Then Charlie called and said "I'm at the airport and they've overbooked the flight and they're offering $300 for people who will take the next flight." and in the most calm and sweety voice I could muster I said "We'd much rather have you home than have $300." And have I told you about Ace playing the Eye-ano? And that our Eye-ano has drum rhythms and plays "Doe a deer, a female deer"? And as I gave up trying to do any more chores and just layed like a lump on the couch with the kids, to watch the 3rd airing of Kercules, Charlie called again and said "Now they're offering an additional first class upgrade for a flight out first thing in the morning." and I gripped the couch with my fingernails and tried as hard as I could not to scream "GET YOUR ASS ON THAT PLANE AND GET HOME RIGHT NOW, I MEAN IT!!" so I said "I don't care baby, whatever you think." And thankfully, he did not call back, so I'm assuming he is on his way. Oh and I just got the sweetest email from my New Friend With Four Kids, and now I'm crying, and GOOD LORD IS IT THAT TIME OF THE MONTH ALREADY? Get ahold of yourself girl!
Ach-hem. We interrupt this program for the following announcement.
I'd like to say if your looking for reading that's a little more uplifting, my neighbor, known here as Sunny, has started her own blog called The Laughing House. She's the most positive person I've ever met, she is a hoot. And maybe I'll tell you some stories about her some day! Hee, hee! When I'm having a day like today, I just look out my window and see her house across the way and I just feel calmer. But seriously, that plane better not be late.
There goes the dryer....gotta run.
Charlie's been in California since Tuesday, and so help me, if this rain delays his plane even ten minutes, the Lord and I are gonna have a talk. And I'm not gonna pull any punches, because I have a long hard road ahead for the next sixth months and I'd appreciate getting broken in nice and slow. A little help here please.
I've changed sheets on three beds, three to go. Fixed two squares, a snack and one to go. I've redressed naked baby dolls, collected every stray friend from here to the nether-lands and put them in one, easy to choose from spot. I've done dishes. I've done my 14th jumbo load of laundry in two days. And DAMN You Perfect Post Awards , I've read seventeen or so Perfect Posts, (and Lindsay if it's not too much more trouble could you categorize the PP's into categories, say, Serious, Sad, Seriously Sad, Seriously Funny, and so on for next month?) I've written a crabby email to channel 11 for delaying the Saturday Morning Cartoons so that we can watch 4 hours of continuous Saturday Morning News and CBS Saturday MORNING whatever the heck. It's not even safe for my kids to turn the TV on ON A SATURDAY MORNING! And did I mention I have a screaming headache. (Yes I took some Tylenol, not helping) Then Charlie called and said "I'm at the airport and they've overbooked the flight and they're offering $300 for people who will take the next flight." and in the most calm and sweety voice I could muster I said "We'd much rather have you home than have $300." And have I told you about Ace playing the Eye-ano? And that our Eye-ano has drum rhythms and plays "Doe a deer, a female deer"? And as I gave up trying to do any more chores and just layed like a lump on the couch with the kids, to watch the 3rd airing of Kercules, Charlie called again and said "Now they're offering an additional first class upgrade for a flight out first thing in the morning." and I gripped the couch with my fingernails and tried as hard as I could not to scream "GET YOUR ASS ON THAT PLANE AND GET HOME RIGHT NOW, I MEAN IT!!" so I said "I don't care baby, whatever you think." And thankfully, he did not call back, so I'm assuming he is on his way. Oh and I just got the sweetest email from my New Friend With Four Kids, and now I'm crying, and GOOD LORD IS IT THAT TIME OF THE MONTH ALREADY? Get ahold of yourself girl!
Ach-hem. We interrupt this program for the following announcement.
I'd like to say if your looking for reading that's a little more uplifting, my neighbor, known here as Sunny, has started her own blog called The Laughing House. She's the most positive person I've ever met, she is a hoot. And maybe I'll tell you some stories about her some day! Hee, hee! When I'm having a day like today, I just look out my window and see her house across the way and I just feel calmer. But seriously, that plane better not be late.
There goes the dryer....gotta run.
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