I just rearranged my living room. I love to do that! Even if you only have about three ways you can arrange your furniture, it feels good to do it every now and then. One wall of my living room is one big picture window, so I can' t put the entertainment center there - the entertainment center takes up nearly the entire wall - one end is half open into the foyer/dining area, and the other end is the fireplace, SO I have to position all of my furniture on the windowed wall and the half wall. It leaves little room for anything out of the ordinary, but still just moving it all around every now and then is a good feeling. As I pulled the furniture out I vacuumed behind it all and THAT in and of itself made me feel better. And even though there isn't any more room in the center than there was before, you'd think I'd just added a landing strip in the middle of my living room according to the way my kids are acting. They've been performing the Diva Kid Three-Ring Circus for the last 45 minutes and are still at it. I've seen more somersaults, Ninja Turtle moves and headstands than I have in a long time.
I think I'm going to get caller ID and a new phone. I just decided that this morning as I stood beside my telephone waiting for the caller to either make themselves known or hang up and I decided it's ridiculous to be that way. If I'm going to avoid people, I'd rather do it without having to stop everything I'm doing and go stand by the machine to hear what is said.
I have done so much laundry today I think I actually heard my washing machine sigh awhile ago. I'm pretty sure I heard it audibly sigh when it heard me come at it with yet another load. I haven't washed Mr. Diva's work pants in awhile because he's been wearing shorts. He only puts on jeans for the motorcycle ride to work and home, so he recycles them and wears them more than once. I've kept up his shorts and work shirts, but the jeans have sat in the hamper awhile. Now I'm done with the greasy laundry and I'm tackling Mt. Family Laundry.
I have a killer headache, too. I don't get headaches like I used to, so when I get one I really take notice. Back when I was having them on a daily basis it was nothing big. I was so used to having one life went on. Now when my head hurts it just makes me crankier'n all get out. I'm sure it's allergies. Or a tumor. :)
I have GOT to get out to the barn and snap some pics of those kittens!!! They are so cute! There are five of them - two grey, two orange and a beige one. I'd never seen a beige cat until this one. I've seen white and silver, but honest to gosh, she's beige. Of course, my niece claimed her right off the bat. So far, one orange and the beige are claimed and Chandler is going to take one as well, but he hasn't picked yet. The remaining two are ours, plus the momma. She no sooner weaned the last litter then she was knocked up with this litter, so we'll be knee-deep in cats before too long. Oh wait, I forgot we live in the Bermuda Triangle of Felinedom, so we'll go through 'em pretty quick. If it's not me running over them with the van (Yeah, the kids were in the van and we were leaving to go to the Christmas parade. That was a sucky night.), then the fox or owls get 'em. Cats are simply not safe here. We've lived in this house 4 years and have gone through 26 cats. It's sad really.
I had the best cry this morning. It was a mixture of laughter, tears and OH MY GOSH I MISS COUSIN STACEY. She sent a care package with her parents who are in town visting. She fixed up a sack each for Mom and Sis, but I got a whole box. Whoo, did I feel loved. She sent me some super cool beaded and sequined flip flops (Rats to that doctor who said I can't wear 'em, the big dooder head), a beautiful bottle with a spout for my dishwashing soap (I've been wanting one SO BADLY), some pants with flipflops printed on them (OOh I hope they fit), a wall hanging that says "Diva" and it's all done in pink and purple (SO going on my office wall next to the Napoleon Dynamite posters) and some stuff for the kids (They thought it was Christmas), but the cherry on the top of the sundae was the picture frame. She framed the picture of her, Mom, Sis and me outside the Lucky Turtle and on the frame she glued little turtles, cards and poker chips. On mine it even says "Diva" because she recognizes my diva status better than anyone. I laughed, I cried, I called Mom and we both laughed and cried. Stacey, you are the best, girl. I love you.
Cousin Stacey is an organ donor coordinator person. I'm sure she's told me her official title, but basically she puts donated organs with people who need them. A very gratifying job, I'm sure, although I could never do it. I'd spend my life in tears. So she sent the kids some little rolls of Lifesavers that say "Save a life - donate organs" or something like that. There were also some of those rubber bracelets that say "Donate life". And a refrigerator magnet. The kids immediately ripped open the candy and stuck the bracelets on. Then Abby said, "Mom, if we wear these do we have to give anyone our organs? Like right now?" Sam heard her question and of course, asked why we would give anyone our organs. I explained that when people die sometimes their organs can be given to other people, really sick people who would die otherwise. Sam said, "OOH COOL!! Can you give someone mine when I die?" I hugged that boy so tightly and said, "Baby boy, I pray that I never have to be put in that situation, but yes, if you kids died we would donate your organs if we could." He hugged me back and said, "Cool, Mom." I got me some cool kids.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
It's Half-Nekkid Thursday, kids!
And here is my ladybug . . .
Whoo! That was liberating! Never before has my chest appeared on a webpage. It's a big day for Diva.
**Learn more about Half-Nekkid Thursday here.**
**We need more half-nekkidness in this world!**
Whoo! That was liberating! Never before has my chest appeared on a webpage. It's a big day for Diva.
**Learn more about Half-Nekkid Thursday here.**
**We need more half-nekkidness in this world!**
A few late whines
Friend Monkey is shutting down his blog. 'Tis a sad, sad day . . .
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If I didn't have plantar fasciitis before, I think I do now. As soon as my right foot hit the floor this morning, my knees buckled from the pain. I braced myself against the wall and the bedframe and tried to stretch it and make it quit shooting nauseating shards of pain up my leg, but it still hurt like a big dog.
I'm old.
I'm fat.
I'm falling apart.
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I honestly don't know when I've had this much snot in my head. Actually it's not in my head because it keeps running out of my face like my nose is a faucet.
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My house is still a mess and I have to clean it today because I'm having two parties at my house over the weekend. I love hosting parties, but man, I hate cleaning.
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If I didn't have plantar fasciitis before, I think I do now. As soon as my right foot hit the floor this morning, my knees buckled from the pain. I braced myself against the wall and the bedframe and tried to stretch it and make it quit shooting nauseating shards of pain up my leg, but it still hurt like a big dog.
I'm old.
I'm fat.
I'm falling apart.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
I honestly don't know when I've had this much snot in my head. Actually it's not in my head because it keeps running out of my face like my nose is a faucet.
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My house is still a mess and I have to clean it today because I'm having two parties at my house over the weekend. I love hosting parties, but man, I hate cleaning.
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Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Well, it turns out I'm just fat
Yep, you read that right. I'm just fat.
The doctor said he'd just pored over the database at the clinic and the internet and came up with nothing to explain my swollen foot. So he said that because he'd seen a few varicose veins on that leg (They're not actually varicose - I was smacked repeatedly with a ruler when I was 18. Long story.) he was going to give me a diagnosis of "lymphatic obstruction". Aka poor circulation. Because I'm fat. He said it, not me. His actual words were "I'm going to write it in your chart as 'lymphatic obstruction'. Now lose some weight." Real charmer, he was.
Poor circulation runs rampant on my mom's side of the family so it really doesn't surprise me at all that he came up with that. I probably do have bad circulation. And yeah, I'm fat. So I guess that's a bad combination. He also told me to quit wearing flipflops. Tell me I'm fat, tell me I'm unhealthy, but please for the love of all things right and good in this world, DON'T MAKE ME GIVE UP MY FLIPFLOPS!!!!! He said it's aggravating my condition. Oh great. I have a "condition".
I told him that I had started Weight Watchers three weeks ago and had already last 3 pounds (No loss this week. I actually ate some fries in a moment of utter desperation the other day. And pretty much nothing but bread today to quell the nausea. Bleh.) He said that was great, he was happy to hear it, but I also needed to move. I hate to move. I am just not an active person and never have been. But I'd also like to stay a living person, so move I shall. He wrote me out a referral to the Indian Wellness Center (Free- can't be that) and while he wrote he tried to give me some kind of physics lesson about kilocalories and movement and pounds and ugh, I got so confused. That's why I decided on WW - it's EASY. I don't need any more confusion and drama in my life. Give me Points to count and leave me be. He also told me that when I lose 10 pounds he'll write me a prescription for Phentermine. Yay - I get drugs!!!! I've taken Phentermine before and it's good stuff. Makes ya high as a kite and you lose weight and what can be better than that? He also told me that on the days I don't work out, I need to power walk. He wants me to start out at 6 minute miles. HA!! Double HA!! I think you have to train for that. Right?
He gave me a starting goal of 60 pounds. The other 60 is up to me. I told him that I already had a goal of 100 pounds. He looked at me funny and said, "Really? What made you decide on an even 100 pounds?" I said simply, "At 100 pounds I get a boob job." His bedside manner changed after that. He loosened up considerably and laughed more. Humor - gets 'em every time. But I really am getting myself a boob job at 100 pounds, so why in the world would I NOT lose the weight? I want perky boobs again!!! Big, perky boobs. *sigh* I used to have perky ones, but they were small. Now that they're big, they're not so perky. I just want them to stop looking at mymn ankles.
I left the clinic and went to the Wellness Center, but the trainer guy wasn't in. He's supposed to call me tomorrow to get at time set up to get started. When I came home, I relayed all the info to my sister who had so graciously braved the germs to watch my children. She said, "Well, do you want to go walk right now?" I gave her an evil look and said flatly, "No." She said, "I thought you were all on fire to start working out and get skinny!" I said, "Yeah. I am. In the air conditioning. Duh." But walk we did. The temp here was 93 with a heat index of 98. We walked my driveway 10 times to equal a whole mile. I wanted to stop a 6/10, but she pushed me on. I cursed my duck who quacked at me every time I passed her, I told my son to quit talking to me because I had to concentrate on my pain and not his voice, I dreamt about my new boobs. I turned my foot more than once on the rocks in my stupid driveway and that wasn't all that great feeling for the gigantic foot I'd stuffed into my tennis shoe. My shins hurt, my feet hurt, and dangit I was SWEATING. Iew. I hate to sweat. But I finished that mile. A whole mile. In 21 minutes. Oh hush, you. Considering I am a slug, I thought that was good. Sis was only 3 minutes ahead of me, so it's not like she blew me away.
She was proud of me. I'm a total novice when it comes to any kind of physical activity. It's shameful to admit, but yeah, I really am a slug. She's worked out before and knew that I'd really pushed myself. I was proud of me, too. Sweaty, but proud. My brother in law was proud of me as well - and I took that as a huge compliment. My mother is always proud of me, but it's always nice to hear her say it. My family rocks.
Paul was his usual self and just grunted at me when I relayed all my new information, his eyes never leaving the TV. Until I mentioned the boob job, then he said, "I never agreed to pay for that you know." He's a real sweetheart these days.
I'm tired tonight and my foot really hurts, but other than that I feel good. Really good. I like the feeling of burning muscles and the fact that I can push myself further each time, but yeah, I'd really rather do it in the air conditioning.
***********************
Oh yeah, the kids are fine. They all slept through the night. I slept in the floor till about 3am, when I woke up and the entire right side of my body was numb. I moved to the recliner then and no one even stirred until 8:30. Of course, I woke up nauseated and with the diarrhea, but I slept most of the morning, took a shower, ate some bread (yummy, constipating white bread) and then took another nap while the kids watched TV. By the time I left for the clinic I felt better, but still not super. My stomach is still doing weird somersaults, but other than that I feel alright. The kids have had more energy than should be allowed by law to have the day after being sick. I just don't get that. I just wish Paul would get a massive case of really miserable diarrhea and be really sick, but can't puke. That would make me feel a lot better.
I am so awful.
But I'm gonna have big perky boobs one of these days!!
The doctor said he'd just pored over the database at the clinic and the internet and came up with nothing to explain my swollen foot. So he said that because he'd seen a few varicose veins on that leg (They're not actually varicose - I was smacked repeatedly with a ruler when I was 18. Long story.) he was going to give me a diagnosis of "lymphatic obstruction". Aka poor circulation. Because I'm fat. He said it, not me. His actual words were "I'm going to write it in your chart as 'lymphatic obstruction'. Now lose some weight." Real charmer, he was.
Poor circulation runs rampant on my mom's side of the family so it really doesn't surprise me at all that he came up with that. I probably do have bad circulation. And yeah, I'm fat. So I guess that's a bad combination. He also told me to quit wearing flipflops. Tell me I'm fat, tell me I'm unhealthy, but please for the love of all things right and good in this world, DON'T MAKE ME GIVE UP MY FLIPFLOPS!!!!! He said it's aggravating my condition. Oh great. I have a "condition".
I told him that I had started Weight Watchers three weeks ago and had already last 3 pounds (No loss this week. I actually ate some fries in a moment of utter desperation the other day. And pretty much nothing but bread today to quell the nausea. Bleh.) He said that was great, he was happy to hear it, but I also needed to move. I hate to move. I am just not an active person and never have been. But I'd also like to stay a living person, so move I shall. He wrote me out a referral to the Indian Wellness Center (Free- can't be that) and while he wrote he tried to give me some kind of physics lesson about kilocalories and movement and pounds and ugh, I got so confused. That's why I decided on WW - it's EASY. I don't need any more confusion and drama in my life. Give me Points to count and leave me be. He also told me that when I lose 10 pounds he'll write me a prescription for Phentermine. Yay - I get drugs!!!! I've taken Phentermine before and it's good stuff. Makes ya high as a kite and you lose weight and what can be better than that? He also told me that on the days I don't work out, I need to power walk. He wants me to start out at 6 minute miles. HA!! Double HA!! I think you have to train for that. Right?
He gave me a starting goal of 60 pounds. The other 60 is up to me. I told him that I already had a goal of 100 pounds. He looked at me funny and said, "Really? What made you decide on an even 100 pounds?" I said simply, "At 100 pounds I get a boob job." His bedside manner changed after that. He loosened up considerably and laughed more. Humor - gets 'em every time. But I really am getting myself a boob job at 100 pounds, so why in the world would I NOT lose the weight? I want perky boobs again!!! Big, perky boobs. *sigh* I used to have perky ones, but they were small. Now that they're big, they're not so perky. I just want them to stop looking at mymn ankles.
I left the clinic and went to the Wellness Center, but the trainer guy wasn't in. He's supposed to call me tomorrow to get at time set up to get started. When I came home, I relayed all the info to my sister who had so graciously braved the germs to watch my children. She said, "Well, do you want to go walk right now?" I gave her an evil look and said flatly, "No." She said, "I thought you were all on fire to start working out and get skinny!" I said, "Yeah. I am. In the air conditioning. Duh." But walk we did. The temp here was 93 with a heat index of 98. We walked my driveway 10 times to equal a whole mile. I wanted to stop a 6/10, but she pushed me on. I cursed my duck who quacked at me every time I passed her, I told my son to quit talking to me because I had to concentrate on my pain and not his voice, I dreamt about my new boobs. I turned my foot more than once on the rocks in my stupid driveway and that wasn't all that great feeling for the gigantic foot I'd stuffed into my tennis shoe. My shins hurt, my feet hurt, and dangit I was SWEATING. Iew. I hate to sweat. But I finished that mile. A whole mile. In 21 minutes. Oh hush, you. Considering I am a slug, I thought that was good. Sis was only 3 minutes ahead of me, so it's not like she blew me away.
She was proud of me. I'm a total novice when it comes to any kind of physical activity. It's shameful to admit, but yeah, I really am a slug. She's worked out before and knew that I'd really pushed myself. I was proud of me, too. Sweaty, but proud. My brother in law was proud of me as well - and I took that as a huge compliment. My mother is always proud of me, but it's always nice to hear her say it. My family rocks.
Paul was his usual self and just grunted at me when I relayed all my new information, his eyes never leaving the TV. Until I mentioned the boob job, then he said, "I never agreed to pay for that you know." He's a real sweetheart these days.
I'm tired tonight and my foot really hurts, but other than that I feel good. Really good. I like the feeling of burning muscles and the fact that I can push myself further each time, but yeah, I'd really rather do it in the air conditioning.
***********************
Oh yeah, the kids are fine. They all slept through the night. I slept in the floor till about 3am, when I woke up and the entire right side of my body was numb. I moved to the recliner then and no one even stirred until 8:30. Of course, I woke up nauseated and with the diarrhea, but I slept most of the morning, took a shower, ate some bread (yummy, constipating white bread) and then took another nap while the kids watched TV. By the time I left for the clinic I felt better, but still not super. My stomach is still doing weird somersaults, but other than that I feel alright. The kids have had more energy than should be allowed by law to have the day after being sick. I just don't get that. I just wish Paul would get a massive case of really miserable diarrhea and be really sick, but can't puke. That would make me feel a lot better.
I am so awful.
But I'm gonna have big perky boobs one of these days!!
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Intestinal Distress, Part Deux
Everyone woke up from their naps feeling super wonderful and I wondered why I made such a big deal out of a few barfs in a Sonic sack. When Jill picked up Chandler, I told her that I thought everyone was okay and he should be okay to come back tomorrow. She said she'd call later to check in, but in my mind things were okay. I should just learn to quit thinking anything positive. You know we're fastly approaching July 3rd and that is NOT a good day for the Diva family, so I figure this is just preparing us for cataclysm.
Anyway, Mr. Diva got home at 5:45, which is precisely the time he and Sam should've been leaving. He stormed in that front door and said he wasn't taking him. He said he was hot and he'd stay with the girls. Well, for one thing I wasn't ready, I had just started a music download, I had laundry going and I'd already told the girls we were staying home so they were veggin'. I whined, which I guess I shouldn't have. It ended up with him blowing up in a nasty way and grabbing Sam and stomping out the door. I followed them outside and told Sam to get back here, there was no way I was letting that man drive with my son in the truck the way he was acting. Poor Sammy - it's bad enough his parents were screaming at each other, but then we started a nasty parent tug of war where Daddy says "Get in the truck, boy" and Momma says, "No, get over here, honey," and on and on it goes. That poor kid was so torn. He didn't want to make Daddy any madder, but he also knew I was serious about him not riding with his angry father. The kids don't like being around Mr. Diva when he's like that and I can't say I blame them. He ran to me and buried his face in my waist and I could've died a thousand deaths at the look on that baby's face. Parents shouldn't do that to their children and I felt horrible. So horrible.
I calmly (on the outside only) went back inside, quietly told the girls to get their shoes on and get to the van. Sam would not detach himself from me. I was cursing his father silently, cursing myself and all the while wanting to just sit down and bawl. When we got to the van, Kady was crying because her tummy hurt and she didn't want to go to town, she wanted to stay home, Sam was near tears because he had just been made to choose between parents, Abby was bitching that she was hot and shaky and hungry and then my tears started. We all took some deep breaths, I hugged them all and told the girls that it was cool that we were going and that Sam needed some support since it was his first big kid karate class. He perked up a bit that most of his family was going to be there for his debut and things settled down. I prayed all the way to town - for peace, serenity, strength, wisdom and a divorce.
Sam did great with the big kids. He was nervous as all get out, but he did super. He learned something called a "seven step" (and he's practiced it virtually nonstop all evening) and enjoyed the drills they did.
About halfway through class Kady got this distressed look on her face and said, "OOH MOMMA MY TUMMY HURTS AGAIN!!" so I scooped her up and ran her to the bathroom where she exploded into the toilet. Poor kid. When that was over she seemed okay and we went back to class. When his hour was up, we all loaded back up into the van. Abby hadn't eaten anything since breakfast and said she was starving. Kady said she was hungry too, so I told them I'd pull into Braum's and get them some chicken strips. I was nearing the driveway to Braum's when my MomRadar went off and I looked back in time to see my youngest barf all over herself. I wheeled into a tire shop and jumped out to comfort and clean up my puke-laden child. She was bawling and stinky and very, very upset. I stripped her down, cleaned her up, hugged her (and gagged a few times) and was so glad I'd had the presence of mind to grab a trashcan on the way out of the house. I threw her carseat in the back of the van, had Ab give hers up (it's a flat booster) and put Kady back in with trashcan close by. I felt the tears threaten again, but managed to keep it controlled. As we pulled back out into traffic, I heard Sam say from the backseat, "Two down. One to go." I love that kid.
I pulled into Arby's to get Ab some chicken strips and of course, they had to go find the chickens, kill and pluck them before they could fry them and in that long span of time Kady barfed twice more.
I realize I didn't use the best judgement by hitting a drive-thru, but hey, I was a little scrambled.
We got home, I informed their father that now both girls were sick, but he stayed on the ladder, painting the playhouse, totally ignoring our presence. I got everyone in the house, a pallet made on the couch for Kady and looked around to find Abby nowhere. I found her in the bathroom, leaning over the toilet, white as a sheet and shaking. So the chicken strips were a really rotten idea.
I made another pallet on the couch, turned on some cartoons and called Jill to tell her that I really didn't think Chan should come over tomorrow. She heartily agreed. When I hung up the phone, Kady started screaming that her tummy hurt again and off we ran to the bathroom again. She sat on the toilet bawling, pooping, and when she said, "I don't wanna be sick anyyyyymoooorrrreeeeeee," I lost it. I wiped her little bottom and scooped her up into my arms, sat on the side of the tub and we both bawled for a little while. Then Sam came in, sat on the toilet and guess what - diarrhea. He goes, "Oooh, guess I got it, too, eh?"
My living room looks like Jonestown - bodies everywhere. Both girls are on the couch with trashcans positioned at each end. Sam is curled up in the big chair. All furniture is draped in blankets to protect the upholstery. All three are sleeping in a Phenergan-induced slumber and I'm nauseated. Mr. Diva's asleep in the recliner, so that means I'm doing floor-duty tonight.
I've seen better days.
Anyway, Mr. Diva got home at 5:45, which is precisely the time he and Sam should've been leaving. He stormed in that front door and said he wasn't taking him. He said he was hot and he'd stay with the girls. Well, for one thing I wasn't ready, I had just started a music download, I had laundry going and I'd already told the girls we were staying home so they were veggin'. I whined, which I guess I shouldn't have. It ended up with him blowing up in a nasty way and grabbing Sam and stomping out the door. I followed them outside and told Sam to get back here, there was no way I was letting that man drive with my son in the truck the way he was acting. Poor Sammy - it's bad enough his parents were screaming at each other, but then we started a nasty parent tug of war where Daddy says "Get in the truck, boy" and Momma says, "No, get over here, honey," and on and on it goes. That poor kid was so torn. He didn't want to make Daddy any madder, but he also knew I was serious about him not riding with his angry father. The kids don't like being around Mr. Diva when he's like that and I can't say I blame them. He ran to me and buried his face in my waist and I could've died a thousand deaths at the look on that baby's face. Parents shouldn't do that to their children and I felt horrible. So horrible.
I calmly (on the outside only) went back inside, quietly told the girls to get their shoes on and get to the van. Sam would not detach himself from me. I was cursing his father silently, cursing myself and all the while wanting to just sit down and bawl. When we got to the van, Kady was crying because her tummy hurt and she didn't want to go to town, she wanted to stay home, Sam was near tears because he had just been made to choose between parents, Abby was bitching that she was hot and shaky and hungry and then my tears started. We all took some deep breaths, I hugged them all and told the girls that it was cool that we were going and that Sam needed some support since it was his first big kid karate class. He perked up a bit that most of his family was going to be there for his debut and things settled down. I prayed all the way to town - for peace, serenity, strength, wisdom and a divorce.
Sam did great with the big kids. He was nervous as all get out, but he did super. He learned something called a "seven step" (and he's practiced it virtually nonstop all evening) and enjoyed the drills they did.
About halfway through class Kady got this distressed look on her face and said, "OOH MOMMA MY TUMMY HURTS AGAIN!!" so I scooped her up and ran her to the bathroom where she exploded into the toilet. Poor kid. When that was over she seemed okay and we went back to class. When his hour was up, we all loaded back up into the van. Abby hadn't eaten anything since breakfast and said she was starving. Kady said she was hungry too, so I told them I'd pull into Braum's and get them some chicken strips. I was nearing the driveway to Braum's when my MomRadar went off and I looked back in time to see my youngest barf all over herself. I wheeled into a tire shop and jumped out to comfort and clean up my puke-laden child. She was bawling and stinky and very, very upset. I stripped her down, cleaned her up, hugged her (and gagged a few times) and was so glad I'd had the presence of mind to grab a trashcan on the way out of the house. I threw her carseat in the back of the van, had Ab give hers up (it's a flat booster) and put Kady back in with trashcan close by. I felt the tears threaten again, but managed to keep it controlled. As we pulled back out into traffic, I heard Sam say from the backseat, "Two down. One to go." I love that kid.
I pulled into Arby's to get Ab some chicken strips and of course, they had to go find the chickens, kill and pluck them before they could fry them and in that long span of time Kady barfed twice more.
I realize I didn't use the best judgement by hitting a drive-thru, but hey, I was a little scrambled.
We got home, I informed their father that now both girls were sick, but he stayed on the ladder, painting the playhouse, totally ignoring our presence. I got everyone in the house, a pallet made on the couch for Kady and looked around to find Abby nowhere. I found her in the bathroom, leaning over the toilet, white as a sheet and shaking. So the chicken strips were a really rotten idea.
I made another pallet on the couch, turned on some cartoons and called Jill to tell her that I really didn't think Chan should come over tomorrow. She heartily agreed. When I hung up the phone, Kady started screaming that her tummy hurt again and off we ran to the bathroom again. She sat on the toilet bawling, pooping, and when she said, "I don't wanna be sick anyyyyymoooorrrreeeeeee," I lost it. I wiped her little bottom and scooped her up into my arms, sat on the side of the tub and we both bawled for a little while. Then Sam came in, sat on the toilet and guess what - diarrhea. He goes, "Oooh, guess I got it, too, eh?"
My living room looks like Jonestown - bodies everywhere. Both girls are on the couch with trashcans positioned at each end. Sam is curled up in the big chair. All furniture is draped in blankets to protect the upholstery. All three are sleeping in a Phenergan-induced slumber and I'm nauseated. Mr. Diva's asleep in the recliner, so that means I'm doing floor-duty tonight.
I've seen better days.
Intestinal distress
The kids and I got around and left here about 11:30 for my doctor's appointment. I was supposed to stop and pick up some groceries after Ladies' Night last night, but Mr. Diva had already copped an attitude about me going out anyway, so I came directly home. Didn't matter we didn't have bread or anything else to eat, but I was trying to keep some semblance of peace. So anyway, because of the lack of groceries I was just going to stop at Wendy's and pick up some super cheap nuggets for the kids for lunch today. We were sitting in the drive-thru, waiting for them to cook the nuggets, when I hear Abby unbuckle her seatbelt. You just don't do that in Diva's van. Everyone remains buckled for the entire duration of the trip, no if's, and's or but's. But from the time I hear the click of the seatbelt to when I see my eldest daughter's face smack dab in my personal bubble was about 1.3 seconds. I said, "WHAT do you think you are DOING, young lady!?" She weakly replied, "I...do...not...feel...good...at...all. I need some FOOD!" Then she did this little hiccupy thing that can never been good right after you've heard the words "I don't feel good" come out of a child. I asked her if she was going to barf and she said no, she was just hungry. But I threw a Sonic sack at her (Thank God I have a messy van) and said to keep it just in case. I reassured her that as soon as the chicken nuggets were cooked we were going directly to Yaya's to eat them and I'd drive as fast as I could providing there were no cops along the way. She seemed satisfifed with that.
They finally brought the nuggets out to the van and I no sooner pulled into traffic than I hear Sam go, "THERE SHE BLOWS!!" and then the sounds of Abby barfing filled the van. Poor thing. I pulled over and she fell out onto some poor unsuspecting Miamian's back yard and puked all over it. Well, not all over it, but all over a small southwest corner of it. We then drove to Yaya's (aka Grammy's, aka my mother's house where my sister is living) where I ran in and got an actual trash bag and not a leaky, soggy Sonic sack. I went back to the van where I then handed everone else their food because they were all whining they were hungry. I called Jill to tell her that I had a puker and to ask if she wanted Chan to stay the rest of the day or did I need to take him to the other sitter while I was in town. She wasn't sure, she'd call me back. I then called the clinic to tell them that I could not make my appointment and to see about rescheduling. This is how that conversation went:
Me: Yes, this is Kristin Hoover and I have an appointment at 1:30 today except as I was driving into town my oldest daughter started vomiting.
IHC lady: Iew
Me: Yeah, tell me about it. So anyway, there is no way I can make my appointment today. I need to reschedule for tomorrow.
IHC lady: Well, let me see what I can do.
Me: Thank you so much.
(Much typing and rustling of papers and such)
IHC lady: Hmh. Well, Dr. Deakins ain't got nothing in the way of appointments until the 12th. Do you want one then?
Me: Uh no, I need one tomorrow. I have bloodwork that we were supposed to go over today and I really can't wait until the 12th. I need to get this situation resolved.
IHC lady: Well, I cain't get you in til then. He's gonna be gone for that holiday, ya know.
Me: Well, yes I realize the holiday is coming up but I can't wait till the 12th.
IHC lady: Well... you cain always come in through Triage again.
Me: Well, I suppose that's an option, but let me ask you this: The sign specifically states that Triage is not to be used for followup appointment of current illnesses. He's seen me already so I'm not sure I'd qualify for a Triage appointment.
IHC lady: Oh. Really? Hmh.
Me: I just don't want to sit in Triage all day only to be turned away. My foot really needs to be fixed this week.
IHC lady: Well, I don't thank anyone would turn you away from Triage.....
Me: Bet me.
IHC lady: Well, he's rather busy and there just ain't no appointment before the 12th. Do you want me to put you down for the 12th?
Me: No I do not. The 12th is not acceptable. I need an appointment this week. Period.
IHC lady: Hmh. Lemme see what I can do.
(I'm now on hold, standing in the 100 degree heat of my mother's front yard, watching my daughter vomit into a trash bag for the 4th time, getting madder and madder by the second.)
IHC lady: Kristin, he can see you tomorrow at 3:20. Will that be acceptable?
Me: You betcha. Thank you so much. Buh-bye.
If only I could be that assertive with my husband . . .
As soon as we got home I started herding everyone back to the bedrooms to lie down for awhile. I walked into the bathroom to check on how everyone's pre-nap pee break was going and at the bathroom door I was hit in the face by a stench that should not have come out of my three year old child's ass. Oh my gosh, that shit was foul. Literally. She was sitting doubled up on the potty going "OHHHHHHHHHHHH MY TUMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYY." Before I got her into her bed, she did that two more times. Poor thing. Sam so far has been okay, but tonight's karate so I figure he'll do some kind of public barf there. Motherhood rocks.
Mr. Diva called just now to ask if he could work an hour over. I told him I had no problem with that, but he had to be ready to leave again by 5:45 in order to get Sam to karate by 6:15. He said, "Eh, I'll just stay home with the girls and you can take him." I then told him that not only was Abby barfing, but now Kady has the diarrhea. He quickly said, "Iew. I'll be home in enough time to take the boy to karate." Wuss. He'll test the laws of time and space in order to avoid taking care of any intestinal purges.
They finally brought the nuggets out to the van and I no sooner pulled into traffic than I hear Sam go, "THERE SHE BLOWS!!" and then the sounds of Abby barfing filled the van. Poor thing. I pulled over and she fell out onto some poor unsuspecting Miamian's back yard and puked all over it. Well, not all over it, but all over a small southwest corner of it. We then drove to Yaya's (aka Grammy's, aka my mother's house where my sister is living) where I ran in and got an actual trash bag and not a leaky, soggy Sonic sack. I went back to the van where I then handed everone else their food because they were all whining they were hungry. I called Jill to tell her that I had a puker and to ask if she wanted Chan to stay the rest of the day or did I need to take him to the other sitter while I was in town. She wasn't sure, she'd call me back. I then called the clinic to tell them that I could not make my appointment and to see about rescheduling. This is how that conversation went:
Me: Yes, this is Kristin Hoover and I have an appointment at 1:30 today except as I was driving into town my oldest daughter started vomiting.
IHC lady: Iew
Me: Yeah, tell me about it. So anyway, there is no way I can make my appointment today. I need to reschedule for tomorrow.
IHC lady: Well, let me see what I can do.
Me: Thank you so much.
(Much typing and rustling of papers and such)
IHC lady: Hmh. Well, Dr. Deakins ain't got nothing in the way of appointments until the 12th. Do you want one then?
Me: Uh no, I need one tomorrow. I have bloodwork that we were supposed to go over today and I really can't wait until the 12th. I need to get this situation resolved.
IHC lady: Well, I cain't get you in til then. He's gonna be gone for that holiday, ya know.
Me: Well, yes I realize the holiday is coming up but I can't wait till the 12th.
IHC lady: Well... you cain always come in through Triage again.
Me: Well, I suppose that's an option, but let me ask you this: The sign specifically states that Triage is not to be used for followup appointment of current illnesses. He's seen me already so I'm not sure I'd qualify for a Triage appointment.
IHC lady: Oh. Really? Hmh.
Me: I just don't want to sit in Triage all day only to be turned away. My foot really needs to be fixed this week.
IHC lady: Well, I don't thank anyone would turn you away from Triage.....
Me: Bet me.
IHC lady: Well, he's rather busy and there just ain't no appointment before the 12th. Do you want me to put you down for the 12th?
Me: No I do not. The 12th is not acceptable. I need an appointment this week. Period.
IHC lady: Hmh. Lemme see what I can do.
(I'm now on hold, standing in the 100 degree heat of my mother's front yard, watching my daughter vomit into a trash bag for the 4th time, getting madder and madder by the second.)
IHC lady: Kristin, he can see you tomorrow at 3:20. Will that be acceptable?
Me: You betcha. Thank you so much. Buh-bye.
If only I could be that assertive with my husband . . .
As soon as we got home I started herding everyone back to the bedrooms to lie down for awhile. I walked into the bathroom to check on how everyone's pre-nap pee break was going and at the bathroom door I was hit in the face by a stench that should not have come out of my three year old child's ass. Oh my gosh, that shit was foul. Literally. She was sitting doubled up on the potty going "OHHHHHHHHHHHH MY TUMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYY." Before I got her into her bed, she did that two more times. Poor thing. Sam so far has been okay, but tonight's karate so I figure he'll do some kind of public barf there. Motherhood rocks.
Mr. Diva called just now to ask if he could work an hour over. I told him I had no problem with that, but he had to be ready to leave again by 5:45 in order to get Sam to karate by 6:15. He said, "Eh, I'll just stay home with the girls and you can take him." I then told him that not only was Abby barfing, but now Kady has the diarrhea. He quickly said, "Iew. I'll be home in enough time to take the boy to karate." Wuss. He'll test the laws of time and space in order to avoid taking care of any intestinal purges.
Monday, June 27, 2005
The Mystery of the Michelin Foot
Well, for those of you who have been losing sleep for the last three weeks wondering about the health of my swollen foot - and for those who are just tired of me bitching about it - I finally went to the doctor today.
I, of course, went to the Indian Clinic. I arrived at the clinic shortly before 10 and sat down to read. I was surrounded by relatively few people for a Monday morning. Mornings are bad days at the clinic. So to myself I'm thinking "Whoo hoo I'm gettin' in and outta here quick today!" Well, they must've been hiding a shitload of people in a secret waiting room somewhere because I didn't get called to even be evaluated till after 11. My BP was a little high, but whose wouldn't be after sitting in a waiting room surrounded by the Croup, various weekend injuries, (I overheard a conversation about an) case of acute acne, allergies and tons of folks complaining about the wait for the optometry and dental clinics. Even the Pope's BP would raise some, trust me.
When I entered the triage clinic the nurse set about weighing me, taking my BP, temp and pulse ox. Then she quizzed me on my foot. When she asked me, on a scale of one to ten how bad did it hurt and I said "Eh, about a five or so today" I immediately wished I'd said "Eleven! Maybe TWELVE! Oh merciful goodness THE PAAAAAAAIN!!!" because I'm pretty sure I'd have gotten seen quicker. But with a mere five on the pain scale I was sent back to Waiting and reading. Fortunately the neighbor lady was there also (Not fortunate she was sick, just fortunate I had someone to converse with) and we traded gambling stories, cat stories and light conversation. When one of us would get called back to triage, lab or wherever we'd congratulate the other one, wishing them luck at getting the heck out of there before sundown.
Around 11:30 I was called back to a room, only to sit there and wait for another 20 minutes. When the doctor came in he seemed nice enough. Not the usual sullen, hateful, apathetic government-paid physician. Not a overly boisterous bedside manner, but still much more tolerable than some I've had. I told him I'd had suggestions of Gout and a stress fracture. While poking on my foot (The pain scale revved up to about 37 then) he grunted and said, "Hmh. Gout, I highly doubt. Stress fracture, highly likely. In fact, I'm betting that's what it is. We'll test for the Gout, we'll x-ray for the fracture. Go back to Waiting, someone will call you." Argh. So back to the reading and waiting. At least when I got back to Waiting that time, a rather large, and obviously exhausted, Native American fella was snoring to beat the band. He was so cute, sitting there with his chin on his chest, hands folded around his ample belly, sawing some serious logs. I could've easily done the same since I got in bed around 4 this morning. Gambling. What else.
Anyway, I heard my name called for x-ray and wound my way through the labyrinth of doors to find it. He turned me into a contortionist and I was really wishing I'd gotten more into yoga or something. He had my foot in the strangest, most uncomfortable positions, but at least he was friendly. Back to Waiting. I was called to Lab. She then asked me if I'd had breakfast. Well, duh. Then she tells me the uric acid test is a fasting test. Had I eaten in the last 4 hours? Hell no, I've been here. So she starts to draw blood. As she's putting on the second vial I cracked my gum. She stopped jabbering about how busy it'd been all morning and said, "Do you have GUM in your mouth?" "Uhhhhh, yeah?" "Well, that's going to mess up the test." Well shit. But then she said it was only gum and she would note it on the report. Here's hoping it doesn't botch the results. It was sugar-free, but I'm not sure that will help.
Back to Waiting. I was then called back to triage to find out that no, my foot is not broken. The blood work is a send out and I'd have to come back. In the meantime he rattles off something about how he sure hopes it isn't plantar fasciitis, which apparently Shaquille O'Neal has. This is what WebMD had to say about plantar fasciitis:
I'm certainly not an athlete. Go figure.
I left the clinic at 12:45 with an appointment to see the doctor again tomorrow and he'll go over the labwork and well, who knows. In the meantime, my Michelin foot and I are off to gamble!! *sings "Oh yes it's Ladies' Night..."*
I, of course, went to the Indian Clinic. I arrived at the clinic shortly before 10 and sat down to read. I was surrounded by relatively few people for a Monday morning. Mornings are bad days at the clinic. So to myself I'm thinking "Whoo hoo I'm gettin' in and outta here quick today!" Well, they must've been hiding a shitload of people in a secret waiting room somewhere because I didn't get called to even be evaluated till after 11. My BP was a little high, but whose wouldn't be after sitting in a waiting room surrounded by the Croup, various weekend injuries, (I overheard a conversation about an) case of acute acne, allergies and tons of folks complaining about the wait for the optometry and dental clinics. Even the Pope's BP would raise some, trust me.
When I entered the triage clinic the nurse set about weighing me, taking my BP, temp and pulse ox. Then she quizzed me on my foot. When she asked me, on a scale of one to ten how bad did it hurt and I said "Eh, about a five or so today" I immediately wished I'd said "Eleven! Maybe TWELVE! Oh merciful goodness THE PAAAAAAAIN!!!" because I'm pretty sure I'd have gotten seen quicker. But with a mere five on the pain scale I was sent back to Waiting and reading. Fortunately the neighbor lady was there also (Not fortunate she was sick, just fortunate I had someone to converse with) and we traded gambling stories, cat stories and light conversation. When one of us would get called back to triage, lab or wherever we'd congratulate the other one, wishing them luck at getting the heck out of there before sundown.
Around 11:30 I was called back to a room, only to sit there and wait for another 20 minutes. When the doctor came in he seemed nice enough. Not the usual sullen, hateful, apathetic government-paid physician. Not a overly boisterous bedside manner, but still much more tolerable than some I've had. I told him I'd had suggestions of Gout and a stress fracture. While poking on my foot (The pain scale revved up to about 37 then) he grunted and said, "Hmh. Gout, I highly doubt. Stress fracture, highly likely. In fact, I'm betting that's what it is. We'll test for the Gout, we'll x-ray for the fracture. Go back to Waiting, someone will call you." Argh. So back to the reading and waiting. At least when I got back to Waiting that time, a rather large, and obviously exhausted, Native American fella was snoring to beat the band. He was so cute, sitting there with his chin on his chest, hands folded around his ample belly, sawing some serious logs. I could've easily done the same since I got in bed around 4 this morning. Gambling. What else.
Anyway, I heard my name called for x-ray and wound my way through the labyrinth of doors to find it. He turned me into a contortionist and I was really wishing I'd gotten more into yoga or something. He had my foot in the strangest, most uncomfortable positions, but at least he was friendly. Back to Waiting. I was called to Lab. She then asked me if I'd had breakfast. Well, duh. Then she tells me the uric acid test is a fasting test. Had I eaten in the last 4 hours? Hell no, I've been here. So she starts to draw blood. As she's putting on the second vial I cracked my gum. She stopped jabbering about how busy it'd been all morning and said, "Do you have GUM in your mouth?" "Uhhhhh, yeah?" "Well, that's going to mess up the test." Well shit. But then she said it was only gum and she would note it on the report. Here's hoping it doesn't botch the results. It was sugar-free, but I'm not sure that will help.
Back to Waiting. I was then called back to triage to find out that no, my foot is not broken. The blood work is a send out and I'd have to come back. In the meantime he rattles off something about how he sure hopes it isn't plantar fasciitis, which apparently Shaquille O'Neal has. This is what WebMD had to say about plantar fasciitis:
Plantar fasciitis is a common injury, plaguing runners, basketball players,
and other athletes who do a lot of running and jumping during games and
practice. The term "plantar" refers to the sole of the foot, and the "fascia,"
or strong connective tissue running from the heel to the base of the toes, can
suffer tiny tears during activity. The body tries to heal the injury, triggering
swelling and inflammation. The result is often pain and movement limitation.
...rest and proper exercise are often enough to allow the inflammation to
subside. Ice can be used right after activity to fight swelling and pain, but
only for short periods at a time...Slow, gentle stretching can speed recovery.
Heel dips at the edge of a step can be used to work the surrounding leg and foot
muscles. Often, other stretches are used to work the toes and other parts of the
foot...Stretching and strengthening the surrounding muscles and connective
tissue in the foot can prevent some of the tiny tears that lead to plantar
fasciitis. The individual shape of the feet can make a person more susceptible
to this injury as well.
I'm certainly not an athlete. Go figure.
I left the clinic at 12:45 with an appointment to see the doctor again tomorrow and he'll go over the labwork and well, who knows. In the meantime, my Michelin foot and I are off to gamble!! *sings "Oh yes it's Ladies' Night..."*
Sunday, June 26, 2005
I'm a wise ol' bear
I woke up this morning at 8 to the sound of the phone ringing. I knew exactly who it was. It was Discover Card. Even though I made them a payment, it obviously wasn't as much as they think they needed. Therefore, they have made it a habit of calling my house oh....about 47 times a day. I simply do not answer the phone anymore. We have a machine, if you want to talk to me you leave a message. If you are a friend, family member or someone telling me I won something I will either pick up when you start talking or I will call you back. If you are Discover Card, I will not. But I know how DC works - they think they will catch you all vulnerable on Sunday morning at 8am, rushing around for church and the Wrath of the Lord will rain down upon you if you don't agree to send them your firstborn like immediately. So what did I do? I didn't answer the phone. I also still have my firstborn.
Childhood Memories
Craz4acop tagged me with this last week and I finally got a chance to do it last night, but when I went to post it, it mysteriously DISAPPEARED! And I usually type big, long, drawn-out stuff in WordPerfect and then paste it in here, but the one time I didn't . . . So we'll hope this one doesn't land in the Bermuda Triangle as well.
5 Things You Really Miss From Your Childhood --
1. Playground games
Kickball - I really sucked at kickball as a kid (Hell, I sucked at virtually every sport as a kid and still do.) but I miss the sounds and sights of a kickball game on the playground. And making up the rules then yelling "1984 (or whatever year) padlock! No takebacks!" There was serious business on the kickball diamond.
Jump rope - We were the queens of the jump rope, lemme tell ya. We knew every chant there was to chant, from "Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear" to "Not Last Night but the Night Before" to "Candy Apples on a Stick". We could go up to a hundred jumps without stopping. Now I couldn't do five, I'm sure. We tried Double Dutch, too, but we were too white.
The Monkey Bars - We were the girls who wanted to wear dresses to school, but didn't our fashion choices to get in the way of our playground activities, so we wore the ol' shorts under the skirt. Yeah, what a statement. Blisters were a badge of honor on the monkey bar side of the playground and if you could skip two and three bars, well you were nothing short of a playground icon. I tried to do the monkey bars last summer when I took the kids to the park. Not only did I get instant blisters from trying to hold my own weight, but I made the kids laugh hysterically.
The Merry Go Round - I ruined a brand new pair of navy leather Mary Janes once when it was my day to be the "brake". When the bigger kids would get that thing going, man you thought you were spinning somewhere close to the rotational speed of the earth.
2. Being a country kid
I'm a country grown-up now; we were bound and determined to make sure our kids grew up in the country, but I'm pretty sure they're not getting the same experience I did. I guess their childhood will be magical to them in its own way, but I miss how it was. We'd get up on summer mornings, scarf down breakfast then speed out the door on our bikes (with banana seats, no less) and stay gone all day. Sometimes DeLisa and I would meet up halfway between our two houses, sometimes we'd make one of our houses our command post for the day. We rode down the big hill to the river bottom, hands off the handlebars, wind rushing past and we felt like we were invincible. We'd traipse through the woods, finding wildflowers (once we found wild marijuana), we'd swing on the grapevine and splash in the runoff creek that sometimes appeared through there. We didn't worry about sexual predators, kidnappers, dehydration, SPF45 or anything remotely not fun. The neighbors all knew to watch for us and we'd wave as they passed. Sometimes they'd stop and we'd visit in the road for awhile. If we got thirsty we'd stop in at a neighbor's or just hit the water hose.
3. My girlfriends
We were a close-knit group of girls back then. Our numbers varied, but for years and years it was the five of us: Stacie, DeLisa, Necia, Chloe and me. We did EVerything together - slumber parties, shopping sprees, boy/girl parties and we were always together at recess. Our slumber parties were classic and fun and I have so many pictures of us dressing up, laughing hysterically, eating junkfood and just generally acting silly. As we got older we still had slumber parties, they just had more "substance". Once we made a video spoof of Wayne's World called Wilma's World and "Wilma" interviewed a slutty cheerleader and a driftwood sculptor (think SNL and John Malkovich) and she also had a Belgian sidekick that was Garth with an accent. We laughed together, cried together, acted goofy and got in trouble together. We helped each other through
boyfriends and the lack of them, heartbreak, losing our virginity, bad grades, crappy teachers, parents who we thought would never understand us and countless other angst-bearing milestones. As we got older we weren't so clique-ish. We got other friends, we got boyfriends and they consumed more of our time. Some of us weren't friends at all for years. Now that we're adults, we've had a few Girls' Night Outs and they're always fun and we always say we're going to have them more often, but with husbands, kids and life - well, they don't happen. A few of those girls I could call up today and have a 2-hour phone conversation with like we'd spoken yesterday. Others . . .well, the conversation would be strained and uncomfortable. I miss my girlfriends a lot.
4. Being in love
There is nothing like your first love. That first love is an all-consuming, intense, passionate thing - something you can never recreate. Oh, you can have passionate love and you can find your soulmate later, but that first love . . . that first love is in a league of its own.
5. Having nothing in the world to worry about
When you're a kid you are taken care of completely. You take for granted the security and comfort of the entire adult population of the world looking out for you and your safety and well-being. Your parents support you in your endeavors, build you up when something knocks you down, comfort you when you are sick, fund your seemingly endless need to purchase something from concession stands, movie theatres, book fairs and the yearbook staff who sells suckers every day at noon and mediate when a teacher is unfair. Your worries consist of having the most awesomest lunchbox ever to grace the cafeteria, being the one to bang the erasers, looking good at the dance/prom/game/movie/date, saying "here" at roll call without your voice cracking, passing that algebra class that you swear will kill you before year's end, making sure you are popular and cool and . . . well, that's pretty much it. You have no idea that someday your greatest concerns with involve consuming enough folic acid to ensure your future children's health, picking out a name for that healthy child that won't make him a target for the name-callers on the bus, sitting up all night to make sure your croupy kid continues to breathe, refraining from kicking the kids' ass (or his momma's) that makes fun of your kid on the playground, teaching your child about predators, molesters and kidnappers without scaring them - and yourself - into never leaving the house again, teaching them to be kind and good and compassionate and not "that horrible Hoover child", wondering if your husband finds you attractive still and if he has a girl on the side, trying to figure out how to pull money out of your ass to pay the electric bill and if those last ten diapers will last you till payday . . . and the list goes on. You have gone from being the recipient of all that care and protection to being the protector, the comforter and the authority.
Innocence and ignorance . . . those were the days.
I'm tagging:
Courtney
Irish Divinity
Mrs. Coach
Granny Glenn (Check her out and say hi - she's my Aunt!)
Brady's Mom
Karbon Kounty Moos
Crazy Mom
and Hillbilly Mom
because I can tag as many people as I want!
5 Things You Really Miss From Your Childhood --
1. Playground games
Kickball - I really sucked at kickball as a kid (Hell, I sucked at virtually every sport as a kid and still do.) but I miss the sounds and sights of a kickball game on the playground. And making up the rules then yelling "1984 (or whatever year) padlock! No takebacks!" There was serious business on the kickball diamond.
Jump rope - We were the queens of the jump rope, lemme tell ya. We knew every chant there was to chant, from "Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear" to "Not Last Night but the Night Before" to "Candy Apples on a Stick". We could go up to a hundred jumps without stopping. Now I couldn't do five, I'm sure. We tried Double Dutch, too, but we were too white.
The Monkey Bars - We were the girls who wanted to wear dresses to school, but didn't our fashion choices to get in the way of our playground activities, so we wore the ol' shorts under the skirt. Yeah, what a statement. Blisters were a badge of honor on the monkey bar side of the playground and if you could skip two and three bars, well you were nothing short of a playground icon. I tried to do the monkey bars last summer when I took the kids to the park. Not only did I get instant blisters from trying to hold my own weight, but I made the kids laugh hysterically.
The Merry Go Round - I ruined a brand new pair of navy leather Mary Janes once when it was my day to be the "brake". When the bigger kids would get that thing going, man you thought you were spinning somewhere close to the rotational speed of the earth.
2. Being a country kid
I'm a country grown-up now; we were bound and determined to make sure our kids grew up in the country, but I'm pretty sure they're not getting the same experience I did. I guess their childhood will be magical to them in its own way, but I miss how it was. We'd get up on summer mornings, scarf down breakfast then speed out the door on our bikes (with banana seats, no less) and stay gone all day. Sometimes DeLisa and I would meet up halfway between our two houses, sometimes we'd make one of our houses our command post for the day. We rode down the big hill to the river bottom, hands off the handlebars, wind rushing past and we felt like we were invincible. We'd traipse through the woods, finding wildflowers (once we found wild marijuana), we'd swing on the grapevine and splash in the runoff creek that sometimes appeared through there. We didn't worry about sexual predators, kidnappers, dehydration, SPF45 or anything remotely not fun. The neighbors all knew to watch for us and we'd wave as they passed. Sometimes they'd stop and we'd visit in the road for awhile. If we got thirsty we'd stop in at a neighbor's or just hit the water hose.
3. My girlfriends
We were a close-knit group of girls back then. Our numbers varied, but for years and years it was the five of us: Stacie, DeLisa, Necia, Chloe and me. We did EVerything together - slumber parties, shopping sprees, boy/girl parties and we were always together at recess. Our slumber parties were classic and fun and I have so many pictures of us dressing up, laughing hysterically, eating junkfood and just generally acting silly. As we got older we still had slumber parties, they just had more "substance". Once we made a video spoof of Wayne's World called Wilma's World and "Wilma" interviewed a slutty cheerleader and a driftwood sculptor (think SNL and John Malkovich) and she also had a Belgian sidekick that was Garth with an accent. We laughed together, cried together, acted goofy and got in trouble together. We helped each other through
boyfriends and the lack of them, heartbreak, losing our virginity, bad grades, crappy teachers, parents who we thought would never understand us and countless other angst-bearing milestones. As we got older we weren't so clique-ish. We got other friends, we got boyfriends and they consumed more of our time. Some of us weren't friends at all for years. Now that we're adults, we've had a few Girls' Night Outs and they're always fun and we always say we're going to have them more often, but with husbands, kids and life - well, they don't happen. A few of those girls I could call up today and have a 2-hour phone conversation with like we'd spoken yesterday. Others . . .well, the conversation would be strained and uncomfortable. I miss my girlfriends a lot.
4. Being in love
There is nothing like your first love. That first love is an all-consuming, intense, passionate thing - something you can never recreate. Oh, you can have passionate love and you can find your soulmate later, but that first love . . . that first love is in a league of its own.
5. Having nothing in the world to worry about
When you're a kid you are taken care of completely. You take for granted the security and comfort of the entire adult population of the world looking out for you and your safety and well-being. Your parents support you in your endeavors, build you up when something knocks you down, comfort you when you are sick, fund your seemingly endless need to purchase something from concession stands, movie theatres, book fairs and the yearbook staff who sells suckers every day at noon and mediate when a teacher is unfair. Your worries consist of having the most awesomest lunchbox ever to grace the cafeteria, being the one to bang the erasers, looking good at the dance/prom/game/movie/date, saying "here" at roll call without your voice cracking, passing that algebra class that you swear will kill you before year's end, making sure you are popular and cool and . . . well, that's pretty much it. You have no idea that someday your greatest concerns with involve consuming enough folic acid to ensure your future children's health, picking out a name for that healthy child that won't make him a target for the name-callers on the bus, sitting up all night to make sure your croupy kid continues to breathe, refraining from kicking the kids' ass (or his momma's) that makes fun of your kid on the playground, teaching your child about predators, molesters and kidnappers without scaring them - and yourself - into never leaving the house again, teaching them to be kind and good and compassionate and not "that horrible Hoover child", wondering if your husband finds you attractive still and if he has a girl on the side, trying to figure out how to pull money out of your ass to pay the electric bill and if those last ten diapers will last you till payday . . . and the list goes on. You have gone from being the recipient of all that care and protection to being the protector, the comforter and the authority.
Innocence and ignorance . . . those were the days.
I'm tagging:
Courtney
Irish Divinity
Mrs. Coach
Granny Glenn (Check her out and say hi - she's my Aunt!)
Brady's Mom
Karbon Kounty Moos
Crazy Mom
and Hillbilly Mom
because I can tag as many people as I want!
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Recipe for a good blog
I got this Blog Recipe from Lightning Bug's Butt and had to share.
*3 parts sarcasm - Sarcasm? I have no clue what sarcasm is.
*2 parts irreverence - Am I irreverent?
*A dash of sexual innuendo - Not here. Nuh uh.
*Several bunches of political commentary - I don't do politics. Unless it's an election year and I'm campaigning for my uncle and then I just do what they tell me to.
*4 ounces of your favorite liquor (let simmer inside author) - Nope. I'm on the wagon.
*A dozen entries from your old high school creative writing notebook - I've actually been meaning to do this one. There's some good stuff in there.
*8 or 9 large anecdotes about your crappy day at work and your jerk of a boss - I don't have a boss, but I got a jerk of a husband. I think that'll substitute fine.
* A shoutout to your blogger buddies - I haven't done this in awhile. I must do this soon.
*Photos of your pets looking their cutest - I have done this. But more often it's my kids that look so darn cute.
*An open letter to an ex who dumped you - Ooh, now there's an idea.
*A pinch of potty humor (use sparingly for best effect) - The only potty humor around here is about potty training.
*An essay on why Mac is better than PC -- or vice versa - I've never used anything but PC. I wouldn't have enough info to write an essay on that and have no motivation to study up.
*A vignette on a childhood trauma that made you a stronger person - I was in a car wreck when I was 3 and once my dad didn't catch me when I was sliding down a water slide. But it's not made me stronger. Now I'm just leary of dirt road intersections at night and I'm scared of water.
Mix above ingredients together in a blog template. Season with song lyrics to taste and garnish with a personal photo showcasing your cleavage. Enjoy! - One has to have cleavage to post photos of it.
*3 parts sarcasm - Sarcasm? I have no clue what sarcasm is.
*2 parts irreverence - Am I irreverent?
*A dash of sexual innuendo - Not here. Nuh uh.
*Several bunches of political commentary - I don't do politics. Unless it's an election year and I'm campaigning for my uncle and then I just do what they tell me to.
*4 ounces of your favorite liquor (let simmer inside author) - Nope. I'm on the wagon.
*A dozen entries from your old high school creative writing notebook - I've actually been meaning to do this one. There's some good stuff in there.
*8 or 9 large anecdotes about your crappy day at work and your jerk of a boss - I don't have a boss, but I got a jerk of a husband. I think that'll substitute fine.
* A shoutout to your blogger buddies - I haven't done this in awhile. I must do this soon.
*Photos of your pets looking their cutest - I have done this. But more often it's my kids that look so darn cute.
*An open letter to an ex who dumped you - Ooh, now there's an idea.
*A pinch of potty humor (use sparingly for best effect) - The only potty humor around here is about potty training.
*An essay on why Mac is better than PC -- or vice versa - I've never used anything but PC. I wouldn't have enough info to write an essay on that and have no motivation to study up.
*A vignette on a childhood trauma that made you a stronger person - I was in a car wreck when I was 3 and once my dad didn't catch me when I was sliding down a water slide. But it's not made me stronger. Now I'm just leary of dirt road intersections at night and I'm scared of water.
Mix above ingredients together in a blog template. Season with song lyrics to taste and garnish with a personal photo showcasing your cleavage. Enjoy! - One has to have cleavage to post photos of it.
Mommy Moment
We had dinner around 6 last night and then the kids went outside to see the kittens, leaving me in the quiet house alone. I had just settled in here at the computer when Sam busted through the back door and said, "Momma! (pant pant) Daddy wants me to ask you if you want to go riding 4-wheelers! Okay? Momma? Momma! Quit blogging and look at me! Daddy asked me to ask you do (pant) you (pant) wanttoridethe4wheelersbecauseweall (pantpant)doandweneedyoutogo!" I turned and looked at him in utter disbelief that he wasn't passed out dead on the floor from oxygen deprivation after that outburst. I said that sure, I'd like to go ride and the child let out a warhoop that my Native American ancestors would've been proud of.
I got on the old 4-wheeler with Kady in front, Abby behind. Mr. Diva and Sam got on the new one and off we went. We drove out around the neighbor's wheat/corn/soybean fields, saw a few deer, smelled lots and lots of cowshit, got hit with a couple of errant limbs, found several wild turkey feathers that Sam stuck in his baseball cap, I inhaled about 47 bugs and got whipped with Kady's flying hair, but man did we have a good time.
It was nearly sunset, the air was cooler, and it smelled like summer when I was a kid. Most of the time we rode front/back, but when the path widened we'd ride side by side. Mr. Diva would slow down and I'd catch up and when I'd pull up even with them, Sam would look over at me and smile and wink. There he was in jean shorts and John Deere ballcap with big ol' turkey feathers hanging off of it, dirty little freckled face all smilin' at me, leaning back on the rack like he was the coolest kid in school and then he winked and honest to gosh I fell in love with that kid all over again. My heart did this little hitch thing and I caught my breath and thought "I did that! I made him!" It was a staggering moment.
As we rode I pointed out to the girls the girls trumpet vine that was growing all over the place, telling them that when I was a kid Papa Leo had that vine growing all over the well house. All of the grandkids would spend hours out there pulling off the unopened buds and popping them. Abby was like "Whoo, Mom. That sounds like not very much fun, popping flowers." But when we finally found some close enough to the road that I didn't have to risk life and limb to pick and I handed those girls a cluster of unopened buds and they popped to their heart’s content - well, that's when I earned me some major Cool Mom points. We rode down to the creek and up another mile section, the air getting cooler by the minute, the sun setting lower and lower. Abby said her rear was hurting so I scooted up some on the seat so she could, too. She scooted up close, wrapped her skinny little arms around my (slightly smaller) waist and rested her cheek against my back while we rode. Again, I was struck with an overwhelming rush of love for my child. It was so simple, so pure.
We turned around to head back home when Abby leaned up and said into my ear, "Mom . . .let’s leave ‘em in the dust." And with that I hit the accelerator and literally left my boys in the dust. Abby’s arms got tighter around my waist, her hands knotting up my shirt in the front. Kady’s hair was streaming out behind her and she was squealing and laughing. The boys caught up with us and we rode for nearly a mile goosing the gas and pulling ahead of the other. When we slowed down at the bridge to cross without choking the standing fishermen, Kady turned around and grinned at me, the remnants of dinner’s PB&J still around her mouth, dirt smudged on her cheeks, hair wild and I found myself choked up with emotion. This child was so pure, so innocent and so in love with life. And I had made her squeal in delight with something as simple as making the wind rush by her faster and making the smells and sounds of summer flash by quicker.
When we reached home again and pulled the 4-wheelers back up under the carport, everyone dismounted (Abby and I fluffing our hair and fixing our bangs as we Hoover Divas are kind of hair-obsessed.) and Abby leaned over against me and said, "I wanna do that again every night for the rest of my life."
Simply awesome.
I got on the old 4-wheeler with Kady in front, Abby behind. Mr. Diva and Sam got on the new one and off we went. We drove out around the neighbor's wheat/corn/soybean fields, saw a few deer, smelled lots and lots of cowshit, got hit with a couple of errant limbs, found several wild turkey feathers that Sam stuck in his baseball cap, I inhaled about 47 bugs and got whipped with Kady's flying hair, but man did we have a good time.
It was nearly sunset, the air was cooler, and it smelled like summer when I was a kid. Most of the time we rode front/back, but when the path widened we'd ride side by side. Mr. Diva would slow down and I'd catch up and when I'd pull up even with them, Sam would look over at me and smile and wink. There he was in jean shorts and John Deere ballcap with big ol' turkey feathers hanging off of it, dirty little freckled face all smilin' at me, leaning back on the rack like he was the coolest kid in school and then he winked and honest to gosh I fell in love with that kid all over again. My heart did this little hitch thing and I caught my breath and thought "I did that! I made him!" It was a staggering moment.
As we rode I pointed out to the girls the girls trumpet vine that was growing all over the place, telling them that when I was a kid Papa Leo had that vine growing all over the well house. All of the grandkids would spend hours out there pulling off the unopened buds and popping them. Abby was like "Whoo, Mom. That sounds like not very much fun, popping flowers." But when we finally found some close enough to the road that I didn't have to risk life and limb to pick and I handed those girls a cluster of unopened buds and they popped to their heart’s content - well, that's when I earned me some major Cool Mom points. We rode down to the creek and up another mile section, the air getting cooler by the minute, the sun setting lower and lower. Abby said her rear was hurting so I scooted up some on the seat so she could, too. She scooted up close, wrapped her skinny little arms around my (slightly smaller) waist and rested her cheek against my back while we rode. Again, I was struck with an overwhelming rush of love for my child. It was so simple, so pure.
We turned around to head back home when Abby leaned up and said into my ear, "Mom . . .let’s leave ‘em in the dust." And with that I hit the accelerator and literally left my boys in the dust. Abby’s arms got tighter around my waist, her hands knotting up my shirt in the front. Kady’s hair was streaming out behind her and she was squealing and laughing. The boys caught up with us and we rode for nearly a mile goosing the gas and pulling ahead of the other. When we slowed down at the bridge to cross without choking the standing fishermen, Kady turned around and grinned at me, the remnants of dinner’s PB&J still around her mouth, dirt smudged on her cheeks, hair wild and I found myself choked up with emotion. This child was so pure, so innocent and so in love with life. And I had made her squeal in delight with something as simple as making the wind rush by her faster and making the smells and sounds of summer flash by quicker.
When we reached home again and pulled the 4-wheelers back up under the carport, everyone dismounted (Abby and I fluffing our hair and fixing our bangs as we Hoover Divas are kind of hair-obsessed.) and Abby leaned over against me and said, "I wanna do that again every night for the rest of my life."
Simply awesome.
Back-pedalling
Thursday we went to the dentist for Ab's regular headgear checkup. Of course, her stupid right band had fallen off of her tooth a week earlier. But gas is so expensive that I just could not see doubling up with a regular appointment that close. And the dentist chided me for not getting her in sooner. Gr. He also chided us both for it coming off again. But what he didn't know was that the assistant had already told me that the band on there is actually too big for her tooth and it gaps so that's why it comes off all the time, no matter how much cement is on there. The next size smaller is too small. Can't win. So then he got onto Abby for sleeping with a binkit after she told him the bar got caught in it once. He seemed to think that the binkit was the root of all evil then. Gr. Again. But the band is back on and she has an appointment for the 28th of July. I'm sure we'll see them before then.
On the way home from Tulsa I called Mom to see if she wanted to go to the Buffalo later, like after my kids went to bed. She said she was having dinner with her British Flyer friends, but yeah, she was available later. I stopped in at Wal*Mart later to ask Paul if I could go. He said I could if he could. So I called the sitter. She was at a rodeo. But, when I called Sis to see if maybe Bub could watch the kids, she said she didn't have any money and Bub was already going out there for the Harley drawing, so she'd watch the kids. Not really how I wanted the evening to pan out. I wanted a girl's night out and what I got was a double date. Because Mom called and said at 7:00 Bub had gotten a key to the Harley. Of course, Sis wanted to go then because her husband had a chance at a freakin' HOG, dude. The whole evening started out as a serious mess. Mom ended up watching the kids and we met Sis and Bub out there. Paul worked till 8 so by the time we left the house it was almost 9:30. We pulled up to Mom's house, she met us on the porch and said, "Go! The drawing's at 10 not 11!!" We flew out there. Okay, actually we didn't really fly . . . we stopped to get Copenhagen and then Paul saw a guy in the store that he used to work with at Eagle Picher years ago and they had to do some manly catching up complete with the taking of a dip, kicking the ground with the toe of your shoe and a studly clap of the hand on the shoulder upon conversation's end, then we took a roadwork detour 'cuz we forgot about the roadwork. We walked in the door at 10:05. I was about to wet my pants because I drank a ginormous Sonic cup of water on the way into town and as I was in the bathroom they hollered out Bub's name over the PA. They drew his name for another durn key! The guy had two chances on that Harley!!
Paul was about to wet his pants because, for one thing, Bub can't ride a motorcycle. If he won, Paulknew he was riding the bike home for him. He's got serious Hog Fever. Plus, he had already decided in his head that he was going to sell the Kawasaki and buy the Harley from Bub. He was like a kid at Christmas.
Bub did not win the Harley. But for each key he got, they gave him $100. He was totally okay with that.
Then we proceded to do much gambling. I walked in the door with $25. My paycheck this week was $75 and I took a third of it to gamble on. How silly of me. Well, you know me - I lost it pretty quick then went off to see what my husband was doing. He had a $100 ticket in his hand and had $75 on a machine. I sat there long enough sighing and looking really pitiful that he just handed me a $20 and told me to go away. I turned that $20 into $30 then turned that $30 into $45. I played awhile on $10, then turned a $20 into $144. (When I won that $140 I was so shocked I yelled really loud. Sis nearly fell out of her chair laughing.) I loaned some to Sis, I played some more. I walked out of there with $125 at 2am. I could've walked out a lot more to the good, but man I had fun while I was playing. I was still up from what I walked in with, so I was happy. And I do not have a gambling problem.
Yesterday Sis and I took the kids to Joplin to get their annual patriotic pictures taken. Usually I buy them all either the Old Navy flag tee or a similar tee from Children's Place. But this year I found the most adorable dressier-type tanks at Kids r Us for the girls, complete with rhinestones. Uhyeah, they quietly scream of Junior Divas. They'd scream louder if there were more rhinestones. If only I had a Bedazzler . . . So anyway, we found navy, red and white oxfords for the boys to go with the girls' tops, put them all in jeanshorts, painted the girls' fingernails and toenails red, red ribbons in the hair, stuck them on the table barefoot and took some adorable pictures. They turned out really good!
Now imagine if you will, two women walking down the mall with six children in tow - three boys, three girls. Of the six children, five of them are wearing matching/coordinating outfits. The two big boys look enough alike to be brothers, perhaps twins. The two littlest look alike to be a set of of boy/girl twins. But the littlest boy is wearing a blue tanktop and doesn't match. Totally does not match. I felt horrible that Chandler didn't match the rest of the group! He's got the most adorable shock of red hair, but I told Sis yesterday that he really did look like the proverbial "red headed stepchild." Poor kid. The photographer said something about photographing six children and when I said, "No, just five," she gave me a dirty look and said, "Well! Why doesn't this one get to be in the picture?" like I was making him sit out on a family picture because he was grounded or something. Geesh.
For some reason unbeknownst to us - I'm going to blame it on hereditary insanity - Sis and I let the kids wear flip flops yesterday. We knew full well we were going to the mall, but we let them anyway. You take off on a fast clip down the mall and someone's shoes are going to flip or flop right off. Sure enough, Kady was throwing shoes faster than an ol' plow horse. (Farm colloquialism there for ya.) Then TotTwo started throwing 'em, too. At one point he just stepped right out of one, then hopped on one foot so as not to let his bare foot touch the ground. Sis just about stepped right on him. It was nearly a nasty pileup. She said, "Enough with the shoes!! Do you WANT a big fat woman to fall on top of you and squish you to death? Because THAT is just about what happened to you, young man!" An older woman was walking right in front of us and had been admiring the kids before she fell in step ahead of the tribe of patrioticism (Remember they're wearing patriotic clothes. Keep up here.) travelling noisily down the mall. Upon hearing Sis' proclamation she stopped in her tracks, busted out laughing and had to actually step over out of traffic because she was laughing so hard. It really was pretty funny.
After the mall adventure we loaded up and Sis asked if I could drive her to a cabinet shop because Bub had called and said it was "Right down Rangeline, north of the mall, in Webb City." Sounded simple enough. Thank God he gave her the phone number as well. Because as we drove north on Rangeline we saw nothing. Webb City city limits - nothing. We even back tracked. Nothing. I finally told her to call because gas is expensive ya know. The guy started rattling off the most messed up directions ever. We ended up nearly to Carthage, MO, before it was all said and done. When we hit highway 71 again right before Carthage we knew we'd done something wrong. We drove down into the bowels of Missouri and I think I heard banjos at one point. Oronogo was where we ended up. Then, of course, they could give her an estimate right there! 'Cept we had 6 kids in the van, remember. It was nearly 100' outside. You do not sit in a vehicle in the summer around here. You just don't do it. You will surely die. But you also don't let the van sit and idle in the summer around here either. So we robbed Sis' billfold, hit the convenience store and went driving. We drove. And drove. On and on we drove. Driving and driving and driving. Oh the driving. We finally got bored with the driving and went back to Kabinet Korner (Quaint name eh) to force her out, estimate or not. Fortunately we didn't have to get rough, she was done. Then we had to drive out of the boondocks, past the banjos and on home to Oklahoma once more.
I bought a WW cookbook at the mall yesterday and we spent the drive home planning what we're going to fix for the 4th's cookout. We found a cucumber with buttermilk dressing thing for ZERO points. Zero!! We are SO making that one. We have an uncle who is diabetic and we're hoping we can make some of the recipes to work for him as well. WW uses a lot of carbohydrates, but I think we can make it work.
Speaking of WW - I weighed yesterday. The day after I started, I weighed in at Mrs. Coach's workplace. She has a medical scale there and they're the most accurate. I do not own a scale, nor will I. (Mrs. Coach - you will see me once a week from now on. Whether you like it or not.) So I dropped in and said hi to her then went back out to weigh. So it's been about a week and a half since I weighed last. A week and a half of working really hard to change the way I eat and think about food. A week and a half of wondering if I was going to see a difference any time soon. My pants fit better around my waist, but I wondered if I was going to be able to see any weight loss at all. I did. THREE POUNDS!!! Three whole pounds!!!! I was so happy I nearly waltzed back out to my van. That's three pounds closer to my boob job. Woot!!
On the way home from Tulsa I called Mom to see if she wanted to go to the Buffalo later, like after my kids went to bed. She said she was having dinner with her British Flyer friends, but yeah, she was available later. I stopped in at Wal*Mart later to ask Paul if I could go. He said I could if he could. So I called the sitter. She was at a rodeo. But, when I called Sis to see if maybe Bub could watch the kids, she said she didn't have any money and Bub was already going out there for the Harley drawing, so she'd watch the kids. Not really how I wanted the evening to pan out. I wanted a girl's night out and what I got was a double date. Because Mom called and said at 7:00 Bub had gotten a key to the Harley. Of course, Sis wanted to go then because her husband had a chance at a freakin' HOG, dude. The whole evening started out as a serious mess. Mom ended up watching the kids and we met Sis and Bub out there. Paul worked till 8 so by the time we left the house it was almost 9:30. We pulled up to Mom's house, she met us on the porch and said, "Go! The drawing's at 10 not 11!!" We flew out there. Okay, actually we didn't really fly . . . we stopped to get Copenhagen and then Paul saw a guy in the store that he used to work with at Eagle Picher years ago and they had to do some manly catching up complete with the taking of a dip, kicking the ground with the toe of your shoe and a studly clap of the hand on the shoulder upon conversation's end, then we took a roadwork detour 'cuz we forgot about the roadwork. We walked in the door at 10:05. I was about to wet my pants because I drank a ginormous Sonic cup of water on the way into town and as I was in the bathroom they hollered out Bub's name over the PA. They drew his name for another durn key! The guy had two chances on that Harley!!
Paul was about to wet his pants because, for one thing, Bub can't ride a motorcycle. If he won, Paulknew he was riding the bike home for him. He's got serious Hog Fever. Plus, he had already decided in his head that he was going to sell the Kawasaki and buy the Harley from Bub. He was like a kid at Christmas.
Bub did not win the Harley. But for each key he got, they gave him $100. He was totally okay with that.
Then we proceded to do much gambling. I walked in the door with $25. My paycheck this week was $75 and I took a third of it to gamble on. How silly of me. Well, you know me - I lost it pretty quick then went off to see what my husband was doing. He had a $100 ticket in his hand and had $75 on a machine. I sat there long enough sighing and looking really pitiful that he just handed me a $20 and told me to go away. I turned that $20 into $30 then turned that $30 into $45. I played awhile on $10, then turned a $20 into $144. (When I won that $140 I was so shocked I yelled really loud. Sis nearly fell out of her chair laughing.) I loaned some to Sis, I played some more. I walked out of there with $125 at 2am. I could've walked out a lot more to the good, but man I had fun while I was playing. I was still up from what I walked in with, so I was happy. And I do not have a gambling problem.
Yesterday Sis and I took the kids to Joplin to get their annual patriotic pictures taken. Usually I buy them all either the Old Navy flag tee or a similar tee from Children's Place. But this year I found the most adorable dressier-type tanks at Kids r Us for the girls, complete with rhinestones. Uhyeah, they quietly scream of Junior Divas. They'd scream louder if there were more rhinestones. If only I had a Bedazzler . . . So anyway, we found navy, red and white oxfords for the boys to go with the girls' tops, put them all in jeanshorts, painted the girls' fingernails and toenails red, red ribbons in the hair, stuck them on the table barefoot and took some adorable pictures. They turned out really good!
Now imagine if you will, two women walking down the mall with six children in tow - three boys, three girls. Of the six children, five of them are wearing matching/coordinating outfits. The two big boys look enough alike to be brothers, perhaps twins. The two littlest look alike to be a set of of boy/girl twins. But the littlest boy is wearing a blue tanktop and doesn't match. Totally does not match. I felt horrible that Chandler didn't match the rest of the group! He's got the most adorable shock of red hair, but I told Sis yesterday that he really did look like the proverbial "red headed stepchild." Poor kid. The photographer said something about photographing six children and when I said, "No, just five," she gave me a dirty look and said, "Well! Why doesn't this one get to be in the picture?" like I was making him sit out on a family picture because he was grounded or something. Geesh.
For some reason unbeknownst to us - I'm going to blame it on hereditary insanity - Sis and I let the kids wear flip flops yesterday. We knew full well we were going to the mall, but we let them anyway. You take off on a fast clip down the mall and someone's shoes are going to flip or flop right off. Sure enough, Kady was throwing shoes faster than an ol' plow horse. (Farm colloquialism there for ya.) Then TotTwo started throwing 'em, too. At one point he just stepped right out of one, then hopped on one foot so as not to let his bare foot touch the ground. Sis just about stepped right on him. It was nearly a nasty pileup. She said, "Enough with the shoes!! Do you WANT a big fat woman to fall on top of you and squish you to death? Because THAT is just about what happened to you, young man!" An older woman was walking right in front of us and had been admiring the kids before she fell in step ahead of the tribe of patrioticism (Remember they're wearing patriotic clothes. Keep up here.) travelling noisily down the mall. Upon hearing Sis' proclamation she stopped in her tracks, busted out laughing and had to actually step over out of traffic because she was laughing so hard. It really was pretty funny.
After the mall adventure we loaded up and Sis asked if I could drive her to a cabinet shop because Bub had called and said it was "Right down Rangeline, north of the mall, in Webb City." Sounded simple enough. Thank God he gave her the phone number as well. Because as we drove north on Rangeline we saw nothing. Webb City city limits - nothing. We even back tracked. Nothing. I finally told her to call because gas is expensive ya know. The guy started rattling off the most messed up directions ever. We ended up nearly to Carthage, MO, before it was all said and done. When we hit highway 71 again right before Carthage we knew we'd done something wrong. We drove down into the bowels of Missouri and I think I heard banjos at one point. Oronogo was where we ended up. Then, of course, they could give her an estimate right there! 'Cept we had 6 kids in the van, remember. It was nearly 100' outside. You do not sit in a vehicle in the summer around here. You just don't do it. You will surely die. But you also don't let the van sit and idle in the summer around here either. So we robbed Sis' billfold, hit the convenience store and went driving. We drove. And drove. On and on we drove. Driving and driving and driving. Oh the driving. We finally got bored with the driving and went back to Kabinet Korner (Quaint name eh) to force her out, estimate or not. Fortunately we didn't have to get rough, she was done. Then we had to drive out of the boondocks, past the banjos and on home to Oklahoma once more.
I bought a WW cookbook at the mall yesterday and we spent the drive home planning what we're going to fix for the 4th's cookout. We found a cucumber with buttermilk dressing thing for ZERO points. Zero!! We are SO making that one. We have an uncle who is diabetic and we're hoping we can make some of the recipes to work for him as well. WW uses a lot of carbohydrates, but I think we can make it work.
Speaking of WW - I weighed yesterday. The day after I started, I weighed in at Mrs. Coach's workplace. She has a medical scale there and they're the most accurate. I do not own a scale, nor will I. (Mrs. Coach - you will see me once a week from now on. Whether you like it or not.) So I dropped in and said hi to her then went back out to weigh. So it's been about a week and a half since I weighed last. A week and a half of working really hard to change the way I eat and think about food. A week and a half of wondering if I was going to see a difference any time soon. My pants fit better around my waist, but I wondered if I was going to be able to see any weight loss at all. I did. THREE POUNDS!!! Three whole pounds!!!! I was so happy I nearly waltzed back out to my van. That's three pounds closer to my boob job. Woot!!
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Half-Nekkid Thursday
Here she is in all of her (and mine) half-nekkid glory: Tink!
She's not my favorite ink and she's really faded, but hey I've been in Tulsa all day and just got home and have gazillion things to do and when I handed my husband the camera and said "Take a picture of one of my tattoos," he said he wasn't taking a picture of the one on my boob. So you got Tink. Blame him if you wanted to see the bug on my boob instead.
Happy Half-Nekkid Thursday, everyone!!
She's not my favorite ink and she's really faded, but hey I've been in Tulsa all day and just got home and have gazillion things to do and when I handed my husband the camera and said "Take a picture of one of my tattoos," he said he wasn't taking a picture of the one on my boob. So you got Tink. Blame him if you wanted to see the bug on my boob instead.
Happy Half-Nekkid Thursday, everyone!!
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Why I love Weight Watchers
Because if you're really careful with your Points all day long, at 11pm you can sit at your computer and eat 36 pretzels and 3 English Toffee Squares just so you can get your minimum in.
Whoever invented this yummy delicious Weight Watchers candy is a genius.
Oh, it was Weight Watchers that invented it?
Well, that figures.
My gosh, I love the feel of toffee in my teeth.
Whoever invented this yummy delicious Weight Watchers candy is a genius.
Oh, it was Weight Watchers that invented it?
Well, that figures.
My gosh, I love the feel of toffee in my teeth.
Memory
"What 5 things do you miss most about your childhood?" I got tagged by Craz4acop and now I'm strolling right down Memory Lane. You know Memory Lane intersects with Nostagia Avenue. Probably not the best choice for me to take off walking down those two, headed toward Reminiscence Boulevard today with the tears and the whining and the funk I'm in, but hey, she tagged me and well, I can't ignore a good tag.
1. Playground games.
Kickball - Standing on the diamond yelling out rules then hollering "1984 (or whatever year) padlock!! No takebacks!" I really sucked at kickball, but I still miss being on the playground while a game was going on.
Jump rope - My gosh, we had 40 gazillion different songs and chants to sing while we jumped. "Cinderella dressed in yella", "Candy apples on a stick" and "Not last night but the night before". We tried double dutch when that was the craze, but we were all too white.
Dodge ball - I remember lining up against the south wall of the old elementary building and voluntarily letting someone throw a ball at me. That was grand fun. I was rarely ever one of the last ones and usually that was only when my "boyfriend" was the thrower.
Those hand clapping/slapping games - Where you and your bestest friend ever hold your hands one up, one down then you proceded to clap the other's hand then clap your own and you chant some little rhyme. Ooh and when we all learned "Bo Bo" - we were so damn cool. Gosh, I can remember going in from recess with red hands, giggling and still chanting "Bo bo say otten totten/ah ah say boom boom boom boom/itty bitty otten totten bo bo say otten totten/itty bitty otten totten boom!" It made no sense but it didn't have to.
2. Being a country kid.
I'm now a country grownup and I have three country kids, but it's not the same world. I can remember getting up, scarfing down breakfast and heading down the driveway and down the road on my bike (with a banana seat, no less) and staying gone till our growling tummies led us back to someone's house. DeLisa and I would spend all day riding our bikes down the big hill, coasting all the way down, hands off the handlebars, wind hitting our faces and we'd squeal and laugh like that was the best thing ever. Then we'd explore the woods and swing on the grape vine and bury time capsules. That was back before we were aware that child predators existed. We didn't wear 45 SPF. We didn't have cell phones or even walkie talkies to keep in contact with our parents. If we'd had walkie talkies we'd have used them to communicate with each other anyway. We didn't carry bottled water - we risked dehydration on hot Oklahoma summer days. We didn't wear bug repellent and if we did get annoyed with mosquitos we just spritzed on some Avon Skin So Soft because that's what everyone used. We had no fear of our world. Now, I don't let my kids go past the halfway point on our driveway. They carry their water bottles outside for a morning or afternoon of play. They don't walk out that front door unless their little bodies are slathered in at least an SPF 45. They know about "private body" and stranger danger and they run to the front porch if a car even comes down the road. I guess I've made them a little cautious, but then again, I've become a bit cautious myself.
3. My girlfriends
We were a close-knit group of girls. The number ranged from 5 and up, but usually it was the five of us: Stacie, Necia, DeLisa, Chloe and me. We did EVerything together! There were countless slumber parties watching scary movies and drinking out of baby bottles. (Yeah, we were nerds.) We would dress up in "glam" outfits, wear outlandish makeup and take oodles of pictures. Once we did a video the mimicked Wayne's World and even did a workout video that made fun of Richard Simmons. We did lip syncs and just recorded utter nonsense on those tapes. We cried together, we laughed together, we dealt with death and breakups, bad grades, crappy teachers, and we also had tons of fights, arguments and misunderstandings. As we got older we didn't hang around as much together. Our numbers grew and sometimes fell. We got other friends, we got boyfriends and they consumed our time. A few of us had fallings out - serious ones - that kept us from talking to each other for years. There are still several of those girls that I am close to, others I am not. Some I could call up tomorrow and visit for hours like we'd never spent time apart. Others . . . well, the conversation would be uneasy and strained. They were a crucial part of growing up and I love them all and the memories they gave me. I miss the giggling and the silliness and the just being with a group of friends that you could totally be yourself with.
4. Being in love
There is no love like your first. There is also no love like the love you experience when you're a kid. In elementary school it's shy and unsure. You hold hands and your heart hammers like it's going to explode. You want to kiss, but you're unsure as to whether it will amazing or gross. You write notes that say, "Will you go with me. Check yes or no," and others that say, "I quit you. I am sorry." It's innocent and cute and memorable. Then as you get hormones it changes to a little bit more of an intense thing. You still feel like you're going to explode when he holds your hand, but you don't think kissing is gross anymore. (Unless he's the kind that thinks more tongue is better. Then it's gross. Period.) You spend hours writing your name with his last name in the back of your Chemistry notebook, you write love letter upon love letter then tear most of them up, you think you're really going to spend the rest of your life with this guy and stay endlessly in love with him forever and you'll have perfect, beautiful children and life will be perfect. It's all-consuming, intense and love in it's purest form. Oh, to spend a few hours in love like that again.
5. Having so very little to worry about
When you're a kid you take for granted the security and protection your parents provide. You just know they're going to be there - and they are. You know they will keep you fed, sheltered and clothed. You know that they will pick up the pieces of a broken heart, they will take care of you when you are sick, they will mediate for you when a teacher is unfair, they support you when you're unsure of yourself, they supply you with money for concession stands, movies and library fines even when they really don't have it and they love you uncondtionally. You are taken care of. No worrying about homeowners insurance and if you got the best rate, no wondering if those last ten diapers will get you through payday, no sitting up all night long with a croupy kid watching them breathe, no crying over the bully that picks on your son, no heartwrenching feeling of watching your child get on that schoolbus the very first time, no wondering if your husband still finds you sexy, no arguing about bills and the lack of money to pay them, no endless piles of laundry. You have no idea what adulthood will bring.
Innocence and ignorance . . . those were the days.
I'm tagging:
Irish Divinity
Mrs. Coach
Courtney
Karbon Kounty Moos
Granny Glenn (Everyone say hi to Aunt Granny! She's new and she's my aunt!)
Jersey Girl
Crazy Mom
Brady's Mom
and finally Hillbilly Mom!
I don't care if it's more than the traditional three or five. I'm tagging who I want, dadgummit.
1. Playground games.
Kickball - Standing on the diamond yelling out rules then hollering "1984 (or whatever year) padlock!! No takebacks!" I really sucked at kickball, but I still miss being on the playground while a game was going on.
Jump rope - My gosh, we had 40 gazillion different songs and chants to sing while we jumped. "Cinderella dressed in yella", "Candy apples on a stick" and "Not last night but the night before". We tried double dutch when that was the craze, but we were all too white.
Dodge ball - I remember lining up against the south wall of the old elementary building and voluntarily letting someone throw a ball at me. That was grand fun. I was rarely ever one of the last ones and usually that was only when my "boyfriend" was the thrower.
Those hand clapping/slapping games - Where you and your bestest friend ever hold your hands one up, one down then you proceded to clap the other's hand then clap your own and you chant some little rhyme. Ooh and when we all learned "Bo Bo" - we were so damn cool. Gosh, I can remember going in from recess with red hands, giggling and still chanting "Bo bo say otten totten/ah ah say boom boom boom boom/itty bitty otten totten bo bo say otten totten/itty bitty otten totten boom!" It made no sense but it didn't have to.
2. Being a country kid.
I'm now a country grownup and I have three country kids, but it's not the same world. I can remember getting up, scarfing down breakfast and heading down the driveway and down the road on my bike (with a banana seat, no less) and staying gone till our growling tummies led us back to someone's house. DeLisa and I would spend all day riding our bikes down the big hill, coasting all the way down, hands off the handlebars, wind hitting our faces and we'd squeal and laugh like that was the best thing ever. Then we'd explore the woods and swing on the grape vine and bury time capsules. That was back before we were aware that child predators existed. We didn't wear 45 SPF. We didn't have cell phones or even walkie talkies to keep in contact with our parents. If we'd had walkie talkies we'd have used them to communicate with each other anyway. We didn't carry bottled water - we risked dehydration on hot Oklahoma summer days. We didn't wear bug repellent and if we did get annoyed with mosquitos we just spritzed on some Avon Skin So Soft because that's what everyone used. We had no fear of our world. Now, I don't let my kids go past the halfway point on our driveway. They carry their water bottles outside for a morning or afternoon of play. They don't walk out that front door unless their little bodies are slathered in at least an SPF 45. They know about "private body" and stranger danger and they run to the front porch if a car even comes down the road. I guess I've made them a little cautious, but then again, I've become a bit cautious myself.
3. My girlfriends
We were a close-knit group of girls. The number ranged from 5 and up, but usually it was the five of us: Stacie, Necia, DeLisa, Chloe and me. We did EVerything together! There were countless slumber parties watching scary movies and drinking out of baby bottles. (Yeah, we were nerds.) We would dress up in "glam" outfits, wear outlandish makeup and take oodles of pictures. Once we did a video the mimicked Wayne's World and even did a workout video that made fun of Richard Simmons. We did lip syncs and just recorded utter nonsense on those tapes. We cried together, we laughed together, we dealt with death and breakups, bad grades, crappy teachers, and we also had tons of fights, arguments and misunderstandings. As we got older we didn't hang around as much together. Our numbers grew and sometimes fell. We got other friends, we got boyfriends and they consumed our time. A few of us had fallings out - serious ones - that kept us from talking to each other for years. There are still several of those girls that I am close to, others I am not. Some I could call up tomorrow and visit for hours like we'd never spent time apart. Others . . . well, the conversation would be uneasy and strained. They were a crucial part of growing up and I love them all and the memories they gave me. I miss the giggling and the silliness and the just being with a group of friends that you could totally be yourself with.
4. Being in love
There is no love like your first. There is also no love like the love you experience when you're a kid. In elementary school it's shy and unsure. You hold hands and your heart hammers like it's going to explode. You want to kiss, but you're unsure as to whether it will amazing or gross. You write notes that say, "Will you go with me. Check yes or no," and others that say, "I quit you. I am sorry." It's innocent and cute and memorable. Then as you get hormones it changes to a little bit more of an intense thing. You still feel like you're going to explode when he holds your hand, but you don't think kissing is gross anymore. (Unless he's the kind that thinks more tongue is better. Then it's gross. Period.) You spend hours writing your name with his last name in the back of your Chemistry notebook, you write love letter upon love letter then tear most of them up, you think you're really going to spend the rest of your life with this guy and stay endlessly in love with him forever and you'll have perfect, beautiful children and life will be perfect. It's all-consuming, intense and love in it's purest form. Oh, to spend a few hours in love like that again.
5. Having so very little to worry about
When you're a kid you take for granted the security and protection your parents provide. You just know they're going to be there - and they are. You know they will keep you fed, sheltered and clothed. You know that they will pick up the pieces of a broken heart, they will take care of you when you are sick, they will mediate for you when a teacher is unfair, they support you when you're unsure of yourself, they supply you with money for concession stands, movies and library fines even when they really don't have it and they love you uncondtionally. You are taken care of. No worrying about homeowners insurance and if you got the best rate, no wondering if those last ten diapers will get you through payday, no sitting up all night long with a croupy kid watching them breathe, no crying over the bully that picks on your son, no heartwrenching feeling of watching your child get on that schoolbus the very first time, no wondering if your husband still finds you sexy, no arguing about bills and the lack of money to pay them, no endless piles of laundry. You have no idea what adulthood will bring.
Innocence and ignorance . . . those were the days.
I'm tagging:
Irish Divinity
Mrs. Coach
Courtney
Karbon Kounty Moos
Granny Glenn (Everyone say hi to Aunt Granny! She's new and she's my aunt!)
Jersey Girl
Crazy Mom
Brady's Mom
and finally Hillbilly Mom!
I don't care if it's more than the traditional three or five. I'm tagging who I want, dadgummit.
Hiiiiiiii YAH!
Last night my baby boy graduated from the Little Dragons program at karate. We missed week before last due to it being the Friday of the VBS program and the Brownie campout and somehow karate got kind of forgotten. Then Sensei called to tell us he would be out of town last weekend. He asked if the boys could pick up a makeup class on Tuesday because they would test on Friday. So we went last night, thinking it was just going to be a regular class, letting them kind of catch up on their side kick. But since that class was testing, he let the boys test, too. They did great. Of course, they've been practicing kicking each other, so naturally they did fine.
Sensei went down the row, adding orange electrical tape stripes to their little white belts, but he skipped Sam. Sam was bordering on panic and devastation at being overlooked. Then he said, "Sam, I've saved you for last because this is a very special night for you." Sam looked at me grinning from ear to ear. I was beaming and yes, I teared up a bit. He then removed all of the stripes from his belt, making him an official white belt, and presented him with his final patch. A year and a half culminated last night with my baby boy moving into a "real" karate class where they free-fight, learn katas and basically get more disciplined. I could've easily started blubbering, but I held back. See, the hormones - they don't control me.
So now we start next Tuesday in the children's cirriculum. I say "we" like I'm one of those those parents. I'm not one of those parents. I just was saying "we" from the standpoint that I will be there and will now have a whole hour of listening to Abby whine that it smells funny in the dojo. Not only does class-time double, but so does price. Plus he has to have a new gi (uniform) and a whole set of pads for free fighting. We're looking at quite possibly $100 in just new equipment for this class. But he loves it and really does want a black belt. So I'm not complaining. Okay, yes it actually would appear that I am complaining. But I'm not really complaining, per se. Just stating the facts.
That boy had better start kicking some serious ass on the playground to justify the cost. I wanna see blood and bruises in return for the investment.
Sensei went down the row, adding orange electrical tape stripes to their little white belts, but he skipped Sam. Sam was bordering on panic and devastation at being overlooked. Then he said, "Sam, I've saved you for last because this is a very special night for you." Sam looked at me grinning from ear to ear. I was beaming and yes, I teared up a bit. He then removed all of the stripes from his belt, making him an official white belt, and presented him with his final patch. A year and a half culminated last night with my baby boy moving into a "real" karate class where they free-fight, learn katas and basically get more disciplined. I could've easily started blubbering, but I held back. See, the hormones - they don't control me.
So now we start next Tuesday in the children's cirriculum. I say "we" like I'm one of those those parents. I'm not one of those parents. I just was saying "we" from the standpoint that I will be there and will now have a whole hour of listening to Abby whine that it smells funny in the dojo. Not only does class-time double, but so does price. Plus he has to have a new gi (uniform) and a whole set of pads for free fighting. We're looking at quite possibly $100 in just new equipment for this class. But he loves it and really does want a black belt. So I'm not complaining. Okay, yes it actually would appear that I am complaining. But I'm not really complaining, per se. Just stating the facts.
That boy had better start kicking some serious ass on the playground to justify the cost. I wanna see blood and bruises in return for the investment.
Whiney Wednesday
Is it Whiney or Whining? Either way, I'm ready for it. I feel particularly whiney and irritable today. But then, how is that any different from any other day here lately? And in an attempt to make the whining seem less annoying and pitiful, I put them all in color. Yeah, I'm crazy like that.
Here we go --
Here we go --
*My sunburn itches.
*My husband is a jerk. A royal, pain in the ass jerk.
*I'm tired.
*I want to be tan and skinny NOW. I am changing the way I eat and I'm laying out, yet I'm still fat and white. What gives?
*My house is only partially not messy. I need to get off my computer chair and fix that. Yeah, I don't see that happening.
*I plucked my eyebrows this morning and I appears as though I rid my upper face of a small wooly mammoth. When I become part Wookiee?
*My husband is going to still be a jerk when he comes home tonight.
*Said jerk of a husband says I can't go on a cruise with Cousin Stacey.
*I just tried to swallow two pills and they got stuck in my throat and now I feel like I need to cough all the time. Is this how cats feel when they've got a particularly nasty hairball?
*I want to take my kids to Disney World and I'm going to have to either win the lottery, hit a big jackpot at the casino or discover I've been left sixty gazillion dollars from my long-lost Great Uncle Belvedere or something.
*My sister and brother in law just got MORE bad news on their new house. I honestly don't know how much more those two can take. Or my mother. It's bad. And no one knows just quite what to do. I can't fix this one.
*Sometimes, like today, I feel incredibly lonely. I'm never alone, yet I'm so very lonely it hurts.
*I want to cry right now. Just go to bed, cover my head up and cry till I'm done.
Well, hope I've brightened your day. Surely you can't be as whiney as I just was.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Is it Whining Wednesday yet?
'Cuz I'm feeling pretty whiney. One more day to go and then I am unleashing the inner whine.
In the meantime . . .
I only let my kids outside in the morning today. I heard it was supposed to be a high ozone day. I'm not sure exactly what that means, but it sounded bad and I wasn't going to risk it. They went out around 9 and were back inside by 9:30, sweaty and whiny. They've wanted to swim all afternoon, but I'm still sunburned and we've got a makeup karate class tonight and I didn't want to have to wrangle 4 kids in and out of the pool then get them presentable enough to take to town. So we've stayed inside. I even made them lie down and rest this afternoon. We've not really gone all that many places lately, but we've played hard here at home. Doing that too many days in a row will wear kids out, lemme tell ya. They seem a little more centered this afternoon, even though Sam has spent the last 20 minutes running from the toyroom, through the living room and to the entrance to the hall. Then he turns around and runs back. Back and forth. He's not pretending to be a super hero or anything - he's just running. Hey, whatever works.
Last night was Ladies' Night. Just in case my mom is reading this (which I don't think she is) I didn't spend all but $20 of the $100 I won in a desperate attempt to reinvest the winnings and hopefully hit a jackpot big enough to send my family and me to Disney World in October. I did, however, carry my new casino purse that I bought in Branson. I bought it at Children's Place. It's actually a little girl's purse (Duh. Children's Place. Like you didn't already have a clue.) but I just needed a small purse to carry my money, ID, cell phone and keys and the occasional stick of gum. I hate dragging my massive purse in to the casino. Yet I also hate stuffing everything into my pockets and causing uncomfortable glances at the bulges in my drawers. So I carried it last night. Angie and Heather thought I was cute, all lookin' like a little ol' lady with my teeny tiny purse clutched tightly in my hands. But no one stared at my bulging groin area.
I kind of maybe got a little hit on last night. That was nice. In an oogey sort of way. I was playing RedBall (What else?) and this slot tech that we had a really nice conversation with last week walked by. I smiled, he smiled. Heather and I originally had him in mind for Mom, because we're always looking for a new "daddy". And just in case my dad is reading this (Which I don't think he reads me either), no one could ever replace you, Dad! It's just a term we use to drive Mom batshit. Anyway, after conversation ensued, Mom decided she wasn't all that interested. But now we have a new friend. Anyway, back to the original thought (It's still here somewhere, I think.) this guy came back by a little bit later and stood perpendicular to me, one arm on the machine, other arm on the back of my chair. He could've hugged me sideways had he wanted to. He asked if I was winning. I said that I had won $90. He smiled and said that was wonderful. Then he leaned in really, really close. Like almost put his face into my neck close. Then he leaned back up and said, "Mmmmm . . . and you smell so good, too." If he had said it in more of a "ooh nice perfume" kind of way I'd have been all complimented and warm fuzzied, but he said it in more of a smarmy, sleazy I could be your stalker kind of way. But hey, at least I smelled good.
Oops, just noticed the time! We're off to karate!!
In the meantime . . .
I only let my kids outside in the morning today. I heard it was supposed to be a high ozone day. I'm not sure exactly what that means, but it sounded bad and I wasn't going to risk it. They went out around 9 and were back inside by 9:30, sweaty and whiny. They've wanted to swim all afternoon, but I'm still sunburned and we've got a makeup karate class tonight and I didn't want to have to wrangle 4 kids in and out of the pool then get them presentable enough to take to town. So we've stayed inside. I even made them lie down and rest this afternoon. We've not really gone all that many places lately, but we've played hard here at home. Doing that too many days in a row will wear kids out, lemme tell ya. They seem a little more centered this afternoon, even though Sam has spent the last 20 minutes running from the toyroom, through the living room and to the entrance to the hall. Then he turns around and runs back. Back and forth. He's not pretending to be a super hero or anything - he's just running. Hey, whatever works.
Last night was Ladies' Night. Just in case my mom is reading this (which I don't think she is) I didn't spend all but $20 of the $100 I won in a desperate attempt to reinvest the winnings and hopefully hit a jackpot big enough to send my family and me to Disney World in October. I did, however, carry my new casino purse that I bought in Branson. I bought it at Children's Place. It's actually a little girl's purse (Duh. Children's Place. Like you didn't already have a clue.) but I just needed a small purse to carry my money, ID, cell phone and keys and the occasional stick of gum. I hate dragging my massive purse in to the casino. Yet I also hate stuffing everything into my pockets and causing uncomfortable glances at the bulges in my drawers. So I carried it last night. Angie and Heather thought I was cute, all lookin' like a little ol' lady with my teeny tiny purse clutched tightly in my hands. But no one stared at my bulging groin area.
I kind of maybe got a little hit on last night. That was nice. In an oogey sort of way. I was playing RedBall (What else?) and this slot tech that we had a really nice conversation with last week walked by. I smiled, he smiled. Heather and I originally had him in mind for Mom, because we're always looking for a new "daddy". And just in case my dad is reading this (Which I don't think he reads me either), no one could ever replace you, Dad! It's just a term we use to drive Mom batshit. Anyway, after conversation ensued, Mom decided she wasn't all that interested. But now we have a new friend. Anyway, back to the original thought (It's still here somewhere, I think.) this guy came back by a little bit later and stood perpendicular to me, one arm on the machine, other arm on the back of my chair. He could've hugged me sideways had he wanted to. He asked if I was winning. I said that I had won $90. He smiled and said that was wonderful. Then he leaned in really, really close. Like almost put his face into my neck close. Then he leaned back up and said, "Mmmmm . . . and you smell so good, too." If he had said it in more of a "ooh nice perfume" kind of way I'd have been all complimented and warm fuzzied, but he said it in more of a smarmy, sleazy I could be your stalker kind of way. But hey, at least I smelled good.
Oops, just noticed the time! We're off to karate!!
Monday, June 20, 2005
It burns! It burns!
I
am
sunburned.
And last night, as Mr. Diva was slathering my back with aloe vera and I was miserable and chilling and cringing from him touching me, I was just oh so glad I had decided against laying out topless. Because I really considered it.
Burned boobies - OUCH!!
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Man, I woke up really cranky this morning. I don't know why either. I had a relaxing day yesterday, read a whole entire book, slept 7 hours last night . . . just doesn't add up. Unless you take into consideration that my hormones are so jacked up it's not even funny. It's a freakin' estrogen roller coaster I'm on, people. And it's not fun.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
I finished Slow Waltz in Cedar Bend last night around 15 after midnight. It was good. Not quite what I was expecting, but still a good way to spend the day. Now I'm out of un-read books. Time to break out something old and familiar. Stephen King? A classic like Watership Down or To Kill a Mockingbird? OOh perhaps Lord of the Flies. Haven't read that one in a long time. I might even revisit Harry Potter's formative years, prepare myself for the next book. I'll have plenty of time to read again today since it's supposed to be HOT and the kids are going to want to swim but there is no way my skin is going to meet with sunlight today. I'll sit in the shade with my iced tea, thankyouverymuch. Ooh I just remembered that I have A Bend in the Road by Nicholas Sparks, but if it's a romance in any way, shape, form or fashion I'm not touching it with a ten foot pole. When I'm cranky and hormonal, romance novels do nothing but PISS ME OFF. At least Slow Waltz wasn't smarmy and lovey dovey. I'd have retched. I'm thinking maybe even a Louis L'Amour might be the ticket today. That's about as far away from romance as you can get, eh?
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We have a few new family members here at Diva Ranch. Friday, some woman that my mother in law knows, brought us a momma cat and two older kittens. She brought them in a pet taxi and we left them on the carport till they settled down. When we opened the cage later, the momma sniffed us and allowed her head to be pet, but those babies were EVIL. EEEEEE-VILE!!! The hissing and scratching. Oy. They wouldn't come out of the carrier, so Mr. Diva, being the humane dude he is, just picked up the carrier and dumped them out. Well, so much for calmly and gently winning them over, dear. They shot off like two grey rockets. We saw the momma out in the back backyard on Saturday, but yesterday we saw no sign of her. Either she's taken her babies and skedaddled or she's donned her kitty camo and is stealthily stalking us.
Awhile back, the neighbor called and said her dad had a cat that was about to have a litter if we wanted to come get her before she had 'em. That way she'd be less likely to hide them. Our plan was to let her acclimate herself, then go forth and multiply herself by five or so. Well, we kinda got busy and kept forgetting to get her. So they called yesterday morning and said she'd delivered the night before. Oops. So we gathered up the children and the pet taxi and drove over to gather 'em up. She was not all that happy that we were messin' around with her new babies, but we managed to get her and the wee ones into the taxi with little incident. She's locked up with them in the rabbit hutch and will stay that way for a few days until we're sure she's not going to take them and hide. There are two greys, two yellow/orange and a white. So far, 3 of them are spoken for and we'll keep the rest. The momma had just weaned her last litter right before she had these, so IF we can actually keep her here, we'll have more kittens than we know what to do with before long. WHOO HOO!!!!
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Diva's Daycare is open for business today. I've got my three, my sister's two, Chandler and then at 2:30, the neighbor girls will arrive. Right now, there is a balance - three boys, three girls. After 2:30, estrogen will rule once more. Poor guys. Mr. Diva's off today, so maybe he can donate some testosterone to the cause. I don't know if it would help, though - I have enough estrogen to keep the Titanic afloat. If ships floated on estrogen. Which . . . they don't . . . so that was pretty much a ridiculous statement to say the least.
Ach. I'm going to go lie down.
am
sunburned.
And last night, as Mr. Diva was slathering my back with aloe vera and I was miserable and chilling and cringing from him touching me, I was just oh so glad I had decided against laying out topless. Because I really considered it.
Burned boobies - OUCH!!
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Man, I woke up really cranky this morning. I don't know why either. I had a relaxing day yesterday, read a whole entire book, slept 7 hours last night . . . just doesn't add up. Unless you take into consideration that my hormones are so jacked up it's not even funny. It's a freakin' estrogen roller coaster I'm on, people. And it's not fun.
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I finished Slow Waltz in Cedar Bend last night around 15 after midnight. It was good. Not quite what I was expecting, but still a good way to spend the day. Now I'm out of un-read books. Time to break out something old and familiar. Stephen King? A classic like Watership Down or To Kill a Mockingbird? OOh perhaps Lord of the Flies. Haven't read that one in a long time. I might even revisit Harry Potter's formative years, prepare myself for the next book. I'll have plenty of time to read again today since it's supposed to be HOT and the kids are going to want to swim but there is no way my skin is going to meet with sunlight today. I'll sit in the shade with my iced tea, thankyouverymuch. Ooh I just remembered that I have A Bend in the Road by Nicholas Sparks, but if it's a romance in any way, shape, form or fashion I'm not touching it with a ten foot pole. When I'm cranky and hormonal, romance novels do nothing but PISS ME OFF. At least Slow Waltz wasn't smarmy and lovey dovey. I'd have retched. I'm thinking maybe even a Louis L'Amour might be the ticket today. That's about as far away from romance as you can get, eh?
+++++++++++++++++++++++
We have a few new family members here at Diva Ranch. Friday, some woman that my mother in law knows, brought us a momma cat and two older kittens. She brought them in a pet taxi and we left them on the carport till they settled down. When we opened the cage later, the momma sniffed us and allowed her head to be pet, but those babies were EVIL. EEEEEE-VILE!!! The hissing and scratching. Oy. They wouldn't come out of the carrier, so Mr. Diva, being the humane dude he is, just picked up the carrier and dumped them out. Well, so much for calmly and gently winning them over, dear. They shot off like two grey rockets. We saw the momma out in the back backyard on Saturday, but yesterday we saw no sign of her. Either she's taken her babies and skedaddled or she's donned her kitty camo and is stealthily stalking us.
Awhile back, the neighbor called and said her dad had a cat that was about to have a litter if we wanted to come get her before she had 'em. That way she'd be less likely to hide them. Our plan was to let her acclimate herself, then go forth and multiply herself by five or so. Well, we kinda got busy and kept forgetting to get her. So they called yesterday morning and said she'd delivered the night before. Oops. So we gathered up the children and the pet taxi and drove over to gather 'em up. She was not all that happy that we were messin' around with her new babies, but we managed to get her and the wee ones into the taxi with little incident. She's locked up with them in the rabbit hutch and will stay that way for a few days until we're sure she's not going to take them and hide. There are two greys, two yellow/orange and a white. So far, 3 of them are spoken for and we'll keep the rest. The momma had just weaned her last litter right before she had these, so IF we can actually keep her here, we'll have more kittens than we know what to do with before long. WHOO HOO!!!!
+++++++++++++++++++++++
Diva's Daycare is open for business today. I've got my three, my sister's two, Chandler and then at 2:30, the neighbor girls will arrive. Right now, there is a balance - three boys, three girls. After 2:30, estrogen will rule once more. Poor guys. Mr. Diva's off today, so maybe he can donate some testosterone to the cause. I don't know if it would help, though - I have enough estrogen to keep the Titanic afloat. If ships floated on estrogen. Which . . . they don't . . . so that was pretty much a ridiculous statement to say the least.
Ach. I'm going to go lie down.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Mini Vacation Ended - Paradise Lost
I ended that last post rather abruptly because my front door burst open and 4 of the 5 kids came rushing into my office to attack me with hugs and kisses. (Kady was off being a junior diva somewhere.)
That was awesome. Noisy, but awesome.
Sis' kids came dressed in their swimsuits, so my three got theirs on, I slathered them down with 45 SPF even though the pool was pretty much in the shade and we headed outside. I was armed with the cordless phone, a bag of baby carrots, a glass of tea and a book. I was ready for me some outdoor action. I'd had enough sun - feelin' a little burny this evening - so I sat in the shade and read while the kids splashed and generally - I hope - wore themselves out. That's my idea of "outdoor action" - a lawnchair, a shade tree, a glass of tea and a book. Baby carrots, optional.
Sis' kids are spending the night here tonight. I had intended on going to the doctor tomorrow since Mr. Diva's going to be here to watch the kids, but Sis asked if I could watch her kids while she goes to some British Flyers doohickey thingamajig in town in the morning. Bunch of British vets are in town for it. 60th anniversary, blah blah blah. She was rattling off something about 8 British Airmen being buried in the GAR cemetary and a batallion or platoon or whatever of British flyboys trained in Miami for WWII and the ones that are buried here, even though they are on US soil, those plots are considered English territory. Or something. Frankly, being the horrible US citizen that I am, my eyes glazed over when she mentioned WWII. It's not that I'm not grateful - I had a grandpa and a great uncle fight in WWII - but I don't retain history very well. None of it. Not only do I not retain it, I don't care for it either. I entirely blame the really hateful history teacher I had in high school. Left a bad taste in my mouth. Anyway, to make her hush about the soldiers and the war and the King of England (I thought they had only a Queen...) I just waved my hand at her and said, "Whatever, whatever. Just leave the kids here tonight to keep it simpler. Pick 'em up when it's over." She was overjoyed. Whoop de doo - the British are coming, the British are coming. yeah.
So I may or may not get to the doctor tomorrow. Que cera cera. It's only been two weeks walking around on my Elephant Man-like foot - what's another day or week or two?
Mr. Diva has pretty much done his own thing today. And I've let him, it being Father's Day and all. He's happier like that. So much for that quality together time my mother was disappointed we weren't reveling in. When she called and asked where he was and I told her that he was off pretending he's a big, bad biker man, she said, "You are supposed to be spending time together!" I just replied with, "But Mom...we don't really like each other all that much." Silence on the other end. It was classic. Then I laughed and she kinda sorta joined in, too. Even better. She's so easily worried.
Darling husband, in anticipation of the noisy events he was about to participate in last night, bought me some Relacore while we were at Wal*Mart. You know, you've seen the commercials - "Get rid of stubborn belly fat!" Well, he saw me reading the box, so he bought me some. It's basically an herbal conglomeration to ease stress and anxiety and reduce the production of - and I'm quoting the actual commercial here - "that nasty little stress hormone, Cortisol." Sooooo....we shall see. Even if it does nothing for my "stubborn belly fat", maybe it will ease my stress. And here I thought the only thing that could do that was a divorce, military school and a cabana boy. Who knew there was a pill for it?
I just finished the prequel to the Left Behind series, The Rising. It was spooky good. It was much darker and creepier than the others, even though there certainly wasn't anything cheery and happy about the Tribulation and the Apocalypse, which was the subject of the others. This one gave the background story about how Antichrist was conceived, born and raised and how the main dude in the Trib Force grew up. It was just creepy reading about Antichrist as a child. *shiver* The second prequel (I feel like I should be calling them "episodes") will be out this fall, with the third being released in June, 2006. By that time, the actual Rapture may have occured, geez.
Now I'm reading Slow Waltz in Cedar Bend by the same guy that wrote The Bridges of Madison County, Robert James Waller. I was deeply moved by Bridges and it remains one of my favorites, but I'm not usually drawn to romances these days. It was either Slow Waltz or The Good Earth again and I opted for Slow Waltz. I knew I was going to like it when, in the first few pages, the protagonist in the book has a particularly nasty idea of grabbing a chick by the hair and bending her over the kitchen table. Now that's my kinda book! I read 1/3 of it while the kids were swimming. I should finish it tonight.
Ach, well, Mr. Diva's on a pussy- huntin' mission now and I gotta go. Pussy as in momma and five kittens. Geez, ya perverts.
That was awesome. Noisy, but awesome.
Sis' kids came dressed in their swimsuits, so my three got theirs on, I slathered them down with 45 SPF even though the pool was pretty much in the shade and we headed outside. I was armed with the cordless phone, a bag of baby carrots, a glass of tea and a book. I was ready for me some outdoor action. I'd had enough sun - feelin' a little burny this evening - so I sat in the shade and read while the kids splashed and generally - I hope - wore themselves out. That's my idea of "outdoor action" - a lawnchair, a shade tree, a glass of tea and a book. Baby carrots, optional.
Sis' kids are spending the night here tonight. I had intended on going to the doctor tomorrow since Mr. Diva's going to be here to watch the kids, but Sis asked if I could watch her kids while she goes to some British Flyers doohickey thingamajig in town in the morning. Bunch of British vets are in town for it. 60th anniversary, blah blah blah. She was rattling off something about 8 British Airmen being buried in the GAR cemetary and a batallion or platoon or whatever of British flyboys trained in Miami for WWII and the ones that are buried here, even though they are on US soil, those plots are considered English territory. Or something. Frankly, being the horrible US citizen that I am, my eyes glazed over when she mentioned WWII. It's not that I'm not grateful - I had a grandpa and a great uncle fight in WWII - but I don't retain history very well. None of it. Not only do I not retain it, I don't care for it either. I entirely blame the really hateful history teacher I had in high school. Left a bad taste in my mouth. Anyway, to make her hush about the soldiers and the war and the King of England (I thought they had only a Queen...) I just waved my hand at her and said, "Whatever, whatever. Just leave the kids here tonight to keep it simpler. Pick 'em up when it's over." She was overjoyed. Whoop de doo - the British are coming, the British are coming. yeah.
So I may or may not get to the doctor tomorrow. Que cera cera. It's only been two weeks walking around on my Elephant Man-like foot - what's another day or week or two?
Mr. Diva has pretty much done his own thing today. And I've let him, it being Father's Day and all. He's happier like that. So much for that quality together time my mother was disappointed we weren't reveling in. When she called and asked where he was and I told her that he was off pretending he's a big, bad biker man, she said, "You are supposed to be spending time together!" I just replied with, "But Mom...we don't really like each other all that much." Silence on the other end. It was classic. Then I laughed and she kinda sorta joined in, too. Even better. She's so easily worried.
Darling husband, in anticipation of the noisy events he was about to participate in last night, bought me some Relacore while we were at Wal*Mart. You know, you've seen the commercials - "Get rid of stubborn belly fat!" Well, he saw me reading the box, so he bought me some. It's basically an herbal conglomeration to ease stress and anxiety and reduce the production of - and I'm quoting the actual commercial here - "that nasty little stress hormone, Cortisol." Sooooo....we shall see. Even if it does nothing for my "stubborn belly fat", maybe it will ease my stress. And here I thought the only thing that could do that was a divorce, military school and a cabana boy. Who knew there was a pill for it?
I just finished the prequel to the Left Behind series, The Rising. It was spooky good. It was much darker and creepier than the others, even though there certainly wasn't anything cheery and happy about the Tribulation and the Apocalypse, which was the subject of the others. This one gave the background story about how Antichrist was conceived, born and raised and how the main dude in the Trib Force grew up. It was just creepy reading about Antichrist as a child. *shiver* The second prequel (I feel like I should be calling them "episodes") will be out this fall, with the third being released in June, 2006. By that time, the actual Rapture may have occured, geez.
Now I'm reading Slow Waltz in Cedar Bend by the same guy that wrote The Bridges of Madison County, Robert James Waller. I was deeply moved by Bridges and it remains one of my favorites, but I'm not usually drawn to romances these days. It was either Slow Waltz or The Good Earth again and I opted for Slow Waltz. I knew I was going to like it when, in the first few pages, the protagonist in the book has a particularly nasty idea of grabbing a chick by the hair and bending her over the kitchen table. Now that's my kinda book! I read 1/3 of it while the kids were swimming. I should finish it tonight.
Ach, well, Mr. Diva's on a pussy- huntin' mission now and I gotta go. Pussy as in momma and five kittens. Geez, ya perverts.
Mini-vacation
My mother and sister picked my kids up yesterday evening around 4:30. Mr. Diva got home at the same time they got here. We visited awhile, moved carseats around, gave good-bye hugs and kisses and sent the kidlets on their way. I finished straightening my hair while he sat and rested awhile, then I sent him on to the shower. By 5:30 we were on our way to Grove for dinner at the Rib Crib. I had managed to "bank" 10 Weight Watchers points this week, so I spent the drive figuring out what I was going to indulge in for dinner. I had pulled pork, fried okra and green beans for only 24 points. Used up my banked 10, plus another 14, (all I had left for the day) but I was totally okay with that. It was yummy!!! I even skipped the Texas toast because I figured it would heap on another 4 or so. Mr. Diva seemed really proud that I put a lot of thought into what I ate. I know he gets frustrated that it takes a lot more thinking to prepare a meal now, but he's been really supportive.
It's only been a week and really I can't tell a difference in the way anything fits, but I can tell you that I feel better. And that can't be a bad thing.
After dinner we went to, where else - Wal*Mart. We just cannot stay away from that damn place. Both of our watches needed batteries, so we took care of that, plus everyone in the house was out of their respective flavor of shampoo. We also picked out his Father's Day gift from the kids. (Shh, don't tell them he knows what it is.)
After Wal*Mart we drove into Wyandotte to, again where else - The Lucky Turtle! It's been quite awhile since I've visited the benevolent Turtle and I was anxious to get down to business. I had no cash, so I was relying totally on the kindness of my husband, who I found out has been hoarding money again. Grr. So he said he'd take $100 in to gamble on and we'd go from there. He only gave me $15 to start and I walked off, pouting and cussing quietly. When I caught up with him, he had $77 on a machine and a $120 ticket in his pocket. I nicely offered to cash it for him and only charged him a $5 finder's fee. Over the course of the night, he won probably $400. He gave me over $100 to play with. He walked out with his original $100 and I walked out with $40. It would've been $60, but I gave him $20 for being so nice to me. So although we didn't walk out richer, we didn't leave any poorer.
We walked in the door just right at midnight, both of us smokey, tired and ready for the customary Loud Kids Are Out Of The House Sex!! WHOO HOO!! Then we crashed till 9 this morning.
My mother had said she'd bring the kids back before noon. I called around 9:30 to see how things were going. She said then that they'd be out around noon, as planned. So I checked the chemicals in the pool, thought about taking a quiet kidless swim, then decided to go ahead and watch Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban because the kids have been driving me NUTS to see if they can watch it. (Kady can't. I'm not sure about Sam. Abby'd be okay with it. We'll probably wait awhile.) So in the meantime Mr. Diva had gone to town and picked up some lunchmeat, mustard and bread and a bitchin' new air matress for me to lay out on. (That wild kids are outta the house sex makes him so nice.)
I swam for over an hour by myself. I laid out some, swam some, but mostly swatted sweat bees. After getting stung 6 times I decided that I'd had enough sun for one day. I've been in here at the computer for an hour now reading blogs, it's 4 and my kids just drove up.
What a relaxing day!!!!
It's only been a week and really I can't tell a difference in the way anything fits, but I can tell you that I feel better. And that can't be a bad thing.
After dinner we went to, where else - Wal*Mart. We just cannot stay away from that damn place. Both of our watches needed batteries, so we took care of that, plus everyone in the house was out of their respective flavor of shampoo. We also picked out his Father's Day gift from the kids. (Shh, don't tell them he knows what it is.)
After Wal*Mart we drove into Wyandotte to, again where else - The Lucky Turtle! It's been quite awhile since I've visited the benevolent Turtle and I was anxious to get down to business. I had no cash, so I was relying totally on the kindness of my husband, who I found out has been hoarding money again. Grr. So he said he'd take $100 in to gamble on and we'd go from there. He only gave me $15 to start and I walked off, pouting and cussing quietly. When I caught up with him, he had $77 on a machine and a $120 ticket in his pocket. I nicely offered to cash it for him and only charged him a $5 finder's fee. Over the course of the night, he won probably $400. He gave me over $100 to play with. He walked out with his original $100 and I walked out with $40. It would've been $60, but I gave him $20 for being so nice to me. So although we didn't walk out richer, we didn't leave any poorer.
We walked in the door just right at midnight, both of us smokey, tired and ready for the customary Loud Kids Are Out Of The House Sex!! WHOO HOO!! Then we crashed till 9 this morning.
My mother had said she'd bring the kids back before noon. I called around 9:30 to see how things were going. She said then that they'd be out around noon, as planned. So I checked the chemicals in the pool, thought about taking a quiet kidless swim, then decided to go ahead and watch Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban because the kids have been driving me NUTS to see if they can watch it. (Kady can't. I'm not sure about Sam. Abby'd be okay with it. We'll probably wait awhile.) So in the meantime Mr. Diva had gone to town and picked up some lunchmeat, mustard and bread and a bitchin' new air matress for me to lay out on. (That wild kids are outta the house sex makes him so nice.)
I swam for over an hour by myself. I laid out some, swam some, but mostly swatted sweat bees. After getting stung 6 times I decided that I'd had enough sun for one day. I've been in here at the computer for an hour now reading blogs, it's 4 and my kids just drove up.
What a relaxing day!!!!
Friday, June 17, 2005
For the zombie fans out there . . .
My niece and nephew spent the day with us today. There was movie watching, noses kicked with errant feet, wrestling matches gone wrong, lots of tattling and imaginations run wild. Hey, they were occupied and not bugging me.
So after dinner, I started bathing children. I bathed Kady alone first. Then Ab and TotOne. Finally, after the two big girls had sufficiently adorned themselves in enough glitter to make a drag queen jealous, I managed to enter the bathroom again to run a bath for the boys.
I was washing TotTwo's hair and he was just jabbering at me and playing with his penis. This child has a morbid fascination with his little "equipment", as he calls it. I could watch it no longer and finally said, "Honestly, dude. Stop. With. The. Pinching. Of. The Penis!" So upon releasing the penis, he grabs his testicles, squishes them up in, what looked to me like a rather uncomfortable position, and said, "Brains!! Braaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnssssssssss!!"
So after dinner, I started bathing children. I bathed Kady alone first. Then Ab and TotOne. Finally, after the two big girls had sufficiently adorned themselves in enough glitter to make a drag queen jealous, I managed to enter the bathroom again to run a bath for the boys.
I was washing TotTwo's hair and he was just jabbering at me and playing with his penis. This child has a morbid fascination with his little "equipment", as he calls it. I could watch it no longer and finally said, "Honestly, dude. Stop. With. The. Pinching. Of. The Penis!" So upon releasing the penis, he grabs his testicles, squishes them up in, what looked to me like a rather uncomfortable position, and said, "Brains!! Braaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnssssssssss!!"
On second thought . . .
My foot's not quite as swollen today . . .
Maybe it's actually getting better . . .
Maybe I should give it the weekend and see how it goes . . .
What I'm really trying to avoid is taking my horrible children to the clinic. I mean, if we get down to the brass tacks of it all, that's why I don't want to go.
They have spent the morning fighting, fussing, and arguing. The scene that has been repeated ad nauseum today is two ganging up on whichever sibling looks most like the wounded gazelle right before the other two pounce like a couple of voracious momma lions. Sometimes it's oldest two against baby. Sometimes it's girls against boy. Sometimes it's youngest two doing everything in their powers to annoying the living shit out of their oldest sister.
Sometimes Momma just wants a drink . . . and a pack of Marlboro Lights . . . and a cabana boy named Frederique who's just gay enough to look good but not want to touch me in any manner that might be considered sexual. Yeah. That's what Momma wants.
Maybe it's actually getting better . . .
Maybe I should give it the weekend and see how it goes . . .
What I'm really trying to avoid is taking my horrible children to the clinic. I mean, if we get down to the brass tacks of it all, that's why I don't want to go.
They have spent the morning fighting, fussing, and arguing. The scene that has been repeated ad nauseum today is two ganging up on whichever sibling looks most like the wounded gazelle right before the other two pounce like a couple of voracious momma lions. Sometimes it's oldest two against baby. Sometimes it's girls against boy. Sometimes it's youngest two doing everything in their powers to annoying the living shit out of their oldest sister.
Sometimes Momma just wants a drink . . . and a pack of Marlboro Lights . . . and a cabana boy named Frederique who's just gay enough to look good but not want to touch me in any manner that might be considered sexual. Yeah. That's what Momma wants.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Enough is freakin' enough
That's IT.
I've had it.
I am definitely going to the doctor tomorrow.
My foot feels like it's been overinflated with a bicycle pump. It is uncomfortable. It hurts. It is ugly and deformed. It is unsightly and hideous and have I mentioned that IT HURTS?
I don't care that I have to take all three children to the Indian Clinic with me tomorrow to sit in Triage for God knows how long, I simply must see a doctor. Okay, rephrasing: I actually DO care that I have to take them, but I have no choice. So there. This has gone on for a week and a half now and I've put it off and put it off thinking that I'd wake up in the morning and it'd be better. So far that hasn't happened, obviously. To paraphrase an old Garth Brooks song, tomorrow never came.
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Ya know, I told y'all the nasty skeletal rat story yesterday. Well, we keep a mouse trap set all the time in our pantry because for some reason the little suckers go to it. Even though the stench of death has got to have permeated the floor of the pantry by now, as many as we've caught. But they are not smart rodents, I have decided. They have set my utility room up as Mouse Central. It's their little germy command station full of TURDS. Last week (before the giant skeletal rat was discovered) we caught an itty bitty field mouse. Pretty typical since they were baling our hay field. We catch one every other month or so and that's life around here. So in my mind, I'm thinking that since we caught one last week that I've got about five, six weeks left before we see another one. Wrong. Oh so wrong.
I had done laundry all morning because when I got out of the shower this morning I discovered that I had no clean shorts. I had clean underwear, but nothing to put on over the clean underwear. So I just put on clean pj's. I was comfy, needless to say. I could live in my pj pants. No kidding. But I refuse to be one of those women who wear their pj's to Wal*Mart . . . Anyway, I had been in and out of that laundry room several times, washin', dryin', foldin', hangin' up . . . just goin' about my merry little homemaker ways. Oblivious that my life was in perilously grave danger the entire time. At noon I was in the kitchen cutting up pears for the kids when I saw a frickin' mouse dart from under my refrigerator to the utility room. Paul hasn't taken out the trash in a few days so there were probably 4 bags piled up by the trashcan out there. Little sucker ran into the shelter of the mountain of Hefty bags and was gone. But I still felt compelled to scream, holler, curse and then abandon all lunch efforts entirely. It was only because Sam was feigning a near unconscious state (and a rather good one, too) and the fact that I had only had a Special K bar for breakfast and I was starving that I braved the kitchen once more to finish lunch. I put on flip flops because being raised from the floor that extra inch will save you from the heinous atrocities of a vicious mouse attack. And I proceded to sing Henry the Eighth (Like Patrick Swayze did in Ghost. Remember?) and stomp rather loudly. The kids thought that was hilarious and joined in. If the preacherman had dropped in and heard that racket, he'd have prayed extra hard for us.
If we don't catch the mouse in the trap, we'll probably find him dead near the trash can, colder'n a wedge from a heart attack 'cuz I'd be terrified if gigantic people started stomping and singing like that right near my command post.
############
Today was payday. Life can resume once more. Because of the mouse threat in my kitchen, dinner was cancelled tonight. At least a homecooked one. So Paul, even though he didn't want to, took us to town to eat. I was really really hungry, my foot hurt, I was tired and very very cranky, so I pouted all the way to town because he's been nasty hateful lately. We ate at Wendy's and it took them like 47 hours to cook the girls' chicken nuggets. And the rest of us waited on them out of politeness, even though Paul and Sam were picking at the bread on their burgers while we waited. Then when I finally got to open the durn wrapper on my grilled chicken sandwich, I discovered that - even though I had asked the NOT TO - they had slathered that nasty chipotle sauce on my precious 7 point sandwich. I was too hungry to send it back. I scraped off as much as I could with Ab's chicken nugget box, then burned my tongue with my scorching hot baked potato and didn't taste a thing the rest of the meal.
When dinner was over and we were walking to the truck, Abby patted me on the back and said, "Boy, Mom, you sure do get cranky when it's time to eat now, don't you?" Paul thought that was amusing. Then she asked why I am counting points and what did it mean. I told her that I am too fat and I need to lose weight to get healthy and then I can live long enough to make her adult life miserable. She said I was doing a pretty good job of messing up her childhood already. Sam was listening thoughtfully through the conversation and when the right lull occured he said, "Man, I wish I was fat like you, Mom! You're comfy and. . . and. . . and squishy!!"
I love my kids.
##############
Well, Paul just took out Hefty Mountain to be burned. He knew I was blogging and I bet he was worried I'd tell y'all. Ha. Too late, mister. Take the trash out quicker next time and you won't get blogged, buddy.
#############
We rented some movies tonight, namely Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. It looks a little more intense than the first two, so I told the kids I'd screen it first before I'd let them watch it. So I think I'll put my pj's (back) on and head back to watch it in the bedroom.
We also rented I *heart* Huckabees, Assault on Precinct 13, Along Came Polly and for the kids, Two Brothers. Anyone up for a movie marathon this weekend? No popcorn, but we do have Special K bars, pickles and lots of salsa.
I've had it.
I am definitely going to the doctor tomorrow.
My foot feels like it's been overinflated with a bicycle pump. It is uncomfortable. It hurts. It is ugly and deformed. It is unsightly and hideous and have I mentioned that IT HURTS?
I don't care that I have to take all three children to the Indian Clinic with me tomorrow to sit in Triage for God knows how long, I simply must see a doctor. Okay, rephrasing: I actually DO care that I have to take them, but I have no choice. So there. This has gone on for a week and a half now and I've put it off and put it off thinking that I'd wake up in the morning and it'd be better. So far that hasn't happened, obviously. To paraphrase an old Garth Brooks song, tomorrow never came.
################
Ya know, I told y'all the nasty skeletal rat story yesterday. Well, we keep a mouse trap set all the time in our pantry because for some reason the little suckers go to it. Even though the stench of death has got to have permeated the floor of the pantry by now, as many as we've caught. But they are not smart rodents, I have decided. They have set my utility room up as Mouse Central. It's their little germy command station full of TURDS. Last week (before the giant skeletal rat was discovered) we caught an itty bitty field mouse. Pretty typical since they were baling our hay field. We catch one every other month or so and that's life around here. So in my mind, I'm thinking that since we caught one last week that I've got about five, six weeks left before we see another one. Wrong. Oh so wrong.
I had done laundry all morning because when I got out of the shower this morning I discovered that I had no clean shorts. I had clean underwear, but nothing to put on over the clean underwear. So I just put on clean pj's. I was comfy, needless to say. I could live in my pj pants. No kidding. But I refuse to be one of those women who wear their pj's to Wal*Mart . . . Anyway, I had been in and out of that laundry room several times, washin', dryin', foldin', hangin' up . . . just goin' about my merry little homemaker ways. Oblivious that my life was in perilously grave danger the entire time. At noon I was in the kitchen cutting up pears for the kids when I saw a frickin' mouse dart from under my refrigerator to the utility room. Paul hasn't taken out the trash in a few days so there were probably 4 bags piled up by the trashcan out there. Little sucker ran into the shelter of the mountain of Hefty bags and was gone. But I still felt compelled to scream, holler, curse and then abandon all lunch efforts entirely. It was only because Sam was feigning a near unconscious state (and a rather good one, too) and the fact that I had only had a Special K bar for breakfast and I was starving that I braved the kitchen once more to finish lunch. I put on flip flops because being raised from the floor that extra inch will save you from the heinous atrocities of a vicious mouse attack. And I proceded to sing Henry the Eighth (Like Patrick Swayze did in Ghost. Remember?) and stomp rather loudly. The kids thought that was hilarious and joined in. If the preacherman had dropped in and heard that racket, he'd have prayed extra hard for us.
If we don't catch the mouse in the trap, we'll probably find him dead near the trash can, colder'n a wedge from a heart attack 'cuz I'd be terrified if gigantic people started stomping and singing like that right near my command post.
############
Today was payday. Life can resume once more. Because of the mouse threat in my kitchen, dinner was cancelled tonight. At least a homecooked one. So Paul, even though he didn't want to, took us to town to eat. I was really really hungry, my foot hurt, I was tired and very very cranky, so I pouted all the way to town because he's been nasty hateful lately. We ate at Wendy's and it took them like 47 hours to cook the girls' chicken nuggets. And the rest of us waited on them out of politeness, even though Paul and Sam were picking at the bread on their burgers while we waited. Then when I finally got to open the durn wrapper on my grilled chicken sandwich, I discovered that - even though I had asked the NOT TO - they had slathered that nasty chipotle sauce on my precious 7 point sandwich. I was too hungry to send it back. I scraped off as much as I could with Ab's chicken nugget box, then burned my tongue with my scorching hot baked potato and didn't taste a thing the rest of the meal.
When dinner was over and we were walking to the truck, Abby patted me on the back and said, "Boy, Mom, you sure do get cranky when it's time to eat now, don't you?" Paul thought that was amusing. Then she asked why I am counting points and what did it mean. I told her that I am too fat and I need to lose weight to get healthy and then I can live long enough to make her adult life miserable. She said I was doing a pretty good job of messing up her childhood already. Sam was listening thoughtfully through the conversation and when the right lull occured he said, "Man, I wish I was fat like you, Mom! You're comfy and. . . and. . . and squishy!!"
I love my kids.
##############
Well, Paul just took out Hefty Mountain to be burned. He knew I was blogging and I bet he was worried I'd tell y'all. Ha. Too late, mister. Take the trash out quicker next time and you won't get blogged, buddy.
#############
We rented some movies tonight, namely Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. It looks a little more intense than the first two, so I told the kids I'd screen it first before I'd let them watch it. So I think I'll put my pj's (back) on and head back to watch it in the bedroom.
We also rented I *heart* Huckabees, Assault on Precinct 13, Along Came Polly and for the kids, Two Brothers. Anyone up for a movie marathon this weekend? No popcorn, but we do have Special K bars, pickles and lots of salsa.
Half-Nekkid Thursday
Again, with the half-nekkidness . . . I present to you this Thursday's pic:
Can you hear me now?
Good.
Click here to find out the guidelines for Half-Nekkid Thursday then get busy and post your own!
Can you hear me now?
Good.
Click here to find out the guidelines for Half-Nekkid Thursday then get busy and post your own!
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Savage Tan
Remember that commercial from the 80's? I am seriously working on a savage tan! Of course, it's probably not really that much tan, per se, it's just a clustering of freckles that appears to be a tan. Iew, and when I was changing after the swim, I saw something on my forehead that looked like a smudge of some kind. Being a mom, I licked my thumb and rubbed it. It didn't go away. Upon closer inspection I discovered it to be some freaky mass of freckles over my left eyebrow. Weird, I tell ya. I showed Sis. She laughed, then said, "Oh that doesn't beat this. Check it out - I have age spots!" And held out her hands. I said, "Those are age spots?? Cuz I have them too!!" Sure enough, the backs of our hands are covered in light age spots. We have become our mother. They look good on Mom. They just make me feel old. (Mom, you say you never read this, but of course, since I mentioned you and age spots in the same sentence, some mother honing device will direct you to my web page. So if that's the case, I really DO think they look good on you. And you are NOT old. And I love you very, very much.)
But I really do have a tan. You can see tan lines and everything. Which is all well and good because now my legs aren't quite as frightening as they were. Except my white ass - now THAT is still pretty scary. But it'd be scary tanned, too.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
We took all 6 kids outside to swim this afternoon. Sis and I decided that the water was entirely too cold for us, so we laid out. Occasionally we'd sit up and checked on the kids, making sure no one was drowning. It had been awhile since someone checked and Sis sat up to count heads. I mumbled, "Everyone okay?" She laid back down and said, "Yep. All 5 heads above water." I said, "Uhhhh...Heather there are 6 kids in the pool." Ever seen two fat chicks get up out of those chaise lounge lawn chairs really fast?
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
I'm fixing dinner for my family tonight. All 10 of us will have a nice dinner together tonight. Sis and Bub are scraping the ceilings at the farmette house and I told her to leave the kids here and I'd fix dinner around 6. I called Mom and invited her as well. I love being like the matriarch-ish Carol Brady to my friends and family. I am pretty much useless when it comes to yard work, remodelling, mechanics, pool set-up and tear-down, dishwasher installation and virtually any other chore, but man, can I cook. And I'll watch your kids because they keep my children occupied and thus, out of my hair.
Sis and I are both perplexed as to our new frustration at our children. I don't know if it's the phase of the moon, the alignment of the planets or the fact that our children are no longer afraid of us, but the children are driving us mad. Mad, I say. Normally, I'm a patient, caring mother who likes to spend time with her children, but I found myself wondering this morning if the yellow pages would have any kind of listing for military summer camp for pre-teens.
But I really do have a tan. You can see tan lines and everything. Which is all well and good because now my legs aren't quite as frightening as they were. Except my white ass - now THAT is still pretty scary. But it'd be scary tanned, too.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
We took all 6 kids outside to swim this afternoon. Sis and I decided that the water was entirely too cold for us, so we laid out. Occasionally we'd sit up and checked on the kids, making sure no one was drowning. It had been awhile since someone checked and Sis sat up to count heads. I mumbled, "Everyone okay?" She laid back down and said, "Yep. All 5 heads above water." I said, "Uhhhh...Heather there are 6 kids in the pool." Ever seen two fat chicks get up out of those chaise lounge lawn chairs really fast?
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
I'm fixing dinner for my family tonight. All 10 of us will have a nice dinner together tonight. Sis and Bub are scraping the ceilings at the farmette house and I told her to leave the kids here and I'd fix dinner around 6. I called Mom and invited her as well. I love being like the matriarch-ish Carol Brady to my friends and family. I am pretty much useless when it comes to yard work, remodelling, mechanics, pool set-up and tear-down, dishwasher installation and virtually any other chore, but man, can I cook. And I'll watch your kids because they keep my children occupied and thus, out of my hair.
Sis and I are both perplexed as to our new frustration at our children. I don't know if it's the phase of the moon, the alignment of the planets or the fact that our children are no longer afraid of us, but the children are driving us mad. Mad, I say. Normally, I'm a patient, caring mother who likes to spend time with her children, but I found myself wondering this morning if the yellow pages would have any kind of listing for military summer camp for pre-teens.
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