I'm wondering if I will ever, ever recover from the lack of sleep I'm experiencing these days.
I'm too old for this shit.
The yellow jackets appear to be gone. The plexiglass emtombment over the closet door hasn't failed us so far and even though it's a bit creepy to have a glass-encased closet door, hey at least it's sealed up. When I was a kid, there was some restaurant around here that had one wall in the lobby that was nothing but a big honey bee comb thing in a glass wall. It was cool when I was six, but I think if I had to look at a wall of honeycomb (not the cereal) now I'd freak out. This door reminds me of that. Uh, well, except there aren't any bees in it and well, they'd be yellow jackets anyway.
Jill, Chan's mom, made these marshmallow things last night and brought a whole bowl of them to my house and even left them with me. OHMIGOSH I could eat a whole lot of them. She said you freeze the big jumbo marshmallows, then spear 'em with a toothpick, roll 'em in a caramel mixture and then roll that ooey gooey goodness in Rick Krispies. YUH-HUM. I love her for leaving them here. I love her a whole lot. She actually left them for the kids, but they all turned up their picky little noses and refused to even try them. Fine by me, ya little shits.
Mr. Diva and I went to the casino last night at 1am with $90 between the two of us. We walked back in our house at 4:15am with $703. We actually could've come home with close to $1000, but we really enjoyed playing. And I'm just happy that the Diva kids are getting Christmas presents this year! Hey, it was touch and go as to whether Santa was visiting. We took $60 of that $90 we gambled with from the children and $15 of it was from winning free play at the casino's birthday party Friday night. Hey, the kids were gone, they didn't know we borrowed from them. Hush.
So the money we borrowed from the kids has now been magically transformed into some TMNT "Turtle Talkies", a set of handcuffs (no, I didn't buy them), a Kim Possible GBAdvance game, and a Weebles camper with a toilet that really flushes and trust me I know this because those Weebles have really small bladders and they pee a lot and oh my gosh make the flushing STOP. I also bought us a new phone because the one currently hanging in the kitchen won't hold a charge at all anymore. And they don't make that particular kind of battery anymore either. So now we have a new phone. And I have new eyeshadow and Mr. Diva and I both have new things of deodorant and dadgummit, the kids are going to have Christmas.
And now I must go once more to yet another social event. Tonight is our neighborhood's hayride. The first group to go will be the little kids. Then we'll take the big kids out and scare the shit out of them. The trail is littered with Mr. Diva's Wal*Mart co-workers and their wives, neighborhood daddies, coffins with real people in them, chainless chainsaws with spray bottles attached, witches and cauldrons, a graveyard and swooping corpses from the trees. I can hardly wait. Somehow in the whole preparation thing I got nominated to be the storyteller on the trailer. Why, I have no idea. I'm not so good at telling stories unless I'm typing them on my blog. I guess this where a laptop might come in handy, I dunno. A brave new hayride or something.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Saturday, October 29, 2005
You are never gonna believe this. Really. Trust me.
Okay, so the last time I posted I was tired and mad and just generally in a funk. But now the carnival is over and at least that is behind us.
But now we, the Divas, are on to bigger, better and more stressfully weird things. As I said in the title, you really aren't going to believe this.
Okay, so we live in the country and we get mice in the house. It's one of those facts of life things. Well, last week sometime we started noticing a smell in our house. Last year we got the dead mouse smell really bad in our house when we killed a momma mouse and her little orphaned babies started rotting. Gross, yes. Was I sorry? Nah, not really. I mean, dead mouse smell is not pleasant, but in my mind it at least means that there is one less mouse on the planet and thus, in my house. But dead mouse only smells bad about 2 or 3 days. After 3 days the smell didn't dissipate, it got worse. Much worse. So bad that I was spraying Neutra Air about every 30 minutes in an attempt to eliminate the odor. I am having people over to my house tonight and I was considering cancelling because of the smell. It was that bad.
We took out all the trashes and bleached the cans. That didn't help and I was getting desperate. The smell was much worse out here in my office so we started assuming that the dead critter was behind my computer desk or in the wall or a closet. TaterSis gagged when she walked into my office the other day. Yeah. I was mortified and more than disgusted.
So Thursday night, Paul brought the kids home from the carnival while I stayed to sling the remaining nacho cheese and then clean it all up. He bathed the kids and put them to bed and then decided that he was going to find that smell, by golly. He checked all of the kitchen cabinets first because that is where they usually die - the multiple traps may have something to do with that. He then checked behind the washer and dryer because the smell was getting pretty bad in there. He found nothing in there. The utility room and my office share a wall, so he continued on toward the ever-growing smell. He opened the small closet out here and gagged when the smell hit him. Bingo.
That closet houses our hot water heater, a rubbermaid box of my old dolls, the fold-up lawnchairs, a bb gun and Paul's work uniforms. He emptied that closet entirely. Then grabbed the spotlight and went to work.
Here's what he found:
Those, my friends, are yellow jackets. A whole HIVE of yellow jackets.
IN
MY
HOUSE
Remember the post about killing the little stingers all over my house? Yeah, turns out we shouldn't have been worried so much about them entering the house because they were already in here!
Paul used a whole can of Raid wasp spray on the paper hive and after the frantic, angry, dying buzzing stopped, he started knocking away the paper nest. We kind of figured, okay, you knock down the paper nest and voila the bees are gone. Uhhhh, no . . . that would be entirely too easy for a Diva adventure. There was a space of a few inches where the concrete and sheetrock don't mesh and the paper nest on the outside was only to protect the massive combs up inside the wall. The outside paper hive was as big as Sam's head and the combs that were up inside the wall were pretty extensive. We honestly have no idea how many or how big they were/are.
He hooked a wire coat hanger and dug up in the wall until he pulled out a monstrous piece of comb with the queen on it. Now, we are not professional bug killers. Heck, neither of us are even college-educated. In our minds, you take away the queen and the bugs go away. We are just so silly sometimes.
I jumped on the computer while he was performing his coat hanger operation and looked up yellow jackets, bees, wasps, hornets, lions and tigers and bears, oh my! From what I found, yes, they were yellow jackets and while not normal, it's not uncommon that they would nest inside the walls of a house. It told us to call an exterminator. Hmmm . . . Christmas presents for the kids or professional extermination of nasty horde of stinging insects? We'll take what's behind door #1, Bob. So after he disposed of the queen, he sprayed more of the residual poison up in the wall and called it good. Like I said, calling an exterminator just wasn't an option.
Yesterday morning Paul got up and filled the space with dirt and gravel and was going to pick up some expanding foam stuff at work to seal in the space in the closet and the space under the siding where they were entering. (Yeah, it's rather unnerving to stand in your backyard and watch yellowjacket after yellowjacket fly up under the siding of your house.) That done, he left for work and the kids and I stayed here to play and slobber and wipe snot and stuff. (Just to clarify, I never slobbered.)
About 9:30 I walked into my utility room and heard buzzing. Angry, loud buzzing. I ran out here to the closet and slammed the door shut, hoping to darken the closet and not give any option of going toward the light. The problem with my theory and subsequent plan of action was that the door to that closet is a vented door. Slats from top to bottom. Duh. I told you I played on too many chat piles as a kid. Then I shut the door from the living room to the playroom. Again, a vented door. It just gets better, doesn't it? But in my mind, we were safe. I was so, so wrong.
Cute Little Baby has dreams of being an Olympic Speed Crawler and shot off like a rocket toward the toyroom. I saw him working up speed and headed after him. Then I heard the screaming. Ohhhhhh the screaming!! I knew it before I ever saw a bug or a stinger or even him. He was holding his little hand in the air and just bellering. I tried to grab his hand but he would have none of that so I just scooped him up because the yellowjackets were starting to swarm around my head. I slammed the door shut, screaming baby in my arms and ran to the dining room. I held the baby down with my leg because he was so uncontrollable, bless his heart. After I scraped the stinger out of his finger I hollered to Kady, "GET OUT OF THE HOUSE!!" put the little baby in the carseat, grabbed the big baby by the hand and we ran. Then I realized I was in my nightgown still.
So I put the kids in the van and ran back in the house to throw on some sweats then jumped in the van and sped off down the driveway. I called CLB's mom to tell her he got stung because she, herself, is allergic to stings. So not cool. She said she'd call the doctor and call me back. I drove towards the school because Paul had gone to pick up some carnival stuff and I was hoping to catch him on the road somewhere and bring him back home to save us from peril. He had already left the school. Dang! I have one freaked out nearly 4 year old in the back of my van (in her pajamas), one screaming baby and another baby who was so stunned at what was taking place that he just sat there slack-jawed and drooling. So I called Wal*Mart and told them to have him call me immediately when he got there. CLB's mom called back and told me what the doctor said, all was well, sting sensitivity isn't usually hereditary, give him Benadryl, etc etc. I pulled back into my driveway to wait for Paul's call and realized I was still in my bunny slippers.
So I made CLB a bottle, let Kady out to play in the driveway, gave CBB some Cheerios (Thank God I'd left the diaper bag in the van overnight.) and then braved my house to get the Motrin and Benadryl. The noise was so creepy! All that buzzing was totally out of a horror movie. Or at least a documentary on Discovery.
Paul came home to fight off the bugs. By that time there were hundreds more dead in the closet. At least the poison was working. Evidently the one that stung the baby was dying as well because we found a bunch in the floor later. The kids and I stayed outside - thank God it was a warm day. I called the college and asked if I could speak to the entymology guy and he asked for samples of the combs, nest and some of the bugs.
Here's what I learned:
This particular species of yellow jacket is closely related to the bald-faced hornet. Very aggressive, very mean. They have the most toxic venom of all stinging critters, but the fact that they are so small keeps them from being as deadly as a hornet. He opened the eggs that were in the combs and they were ready to hatch. He said that the cool weather was what kept us from being really badly hurt by them swarming, but he said it's a good thing we found them before we got the fireplace going because once the house warmed up they would've swarmed to the point we would've been stepping on them, sleeping with them, eating them and sitting on them. We would've had to have left our house. He said that the reason they had been out so bad in the house is because a new batch had evidently just hatched and there were many more to come. He was confuzzled by the fact that both times we had a sting, the stinger was left in because yellow jackets are multiple stingers usually. They are ground-dwellers but because the siding lip was so low to the ground they probably thought they were going underground.
Oh. And the smell? Well, he said they could've very well stung a mouse to death and that's what we're smelling, but he said more than likely it was just the nest. I think Paul would have to agree. While he was pulling the nest out, he ended up vomiting the smell was so bad. The bug dude said they sting other insects and bring them back to the nest, chew them up, regurgitate them and stuff the barf into the comb, lay an egg and seal it up. Then the babies eat it, poop it and what you smell is rotting bug and stinky rotting bug poo.
We have now sealed off the closet with plexiglass and masking tape and, per his instructions, we will be setting off a bomb a day for six days to eliminate any in the walls. Hopefully.
I just want this week to be over.
But now we, the Divas, are on to bigger, better and more stressfully weird things. As I said in the title, you really aren't going to believe this.
Okay, so we live in the country and we get mice in the house. It's one of those facts of life things. Well, last week sometime we started noticing a smell in our house. Last year we got the dead mouse smell really bad in our house when we killed a momma mouse and her little orphaned babies started rotting. Gross, yes. Was I sorry? Nah, not really. I mean, dead mouse smell is not pleasant, but in my mind it at least means that there is one less mouse on the planet and thus, in my house. But dead mouse only smells bad about 2 or 3 days. After 3 days the smell didn't dissipate, it got worse. Much worse. So bad that I was spraying Neutra Air about every 30 minutes in an attempt to eliminate the odor. I am having people over to my house tonight and I was considering cancelling because of the smell. It was that bad.
We took out all the trashes and bleached the cans. That didn't help and I was getting desperate. The smell was much worse out here in my office so we started assuming that the dead critter was behind my computer desk or in the wall or a closet. TaterSis gagged when she walked into my office the other day. Yeah. I was mortified and more than disgusted.
So Thursday night, Paul brought the kids home from the carnival while I stayed to sling the remaining nacho cheese and then clean it all up. He bathed the kids and put them to bed and then decided that he was going to find that smell, by golly. He checked all of the kitchen cabinets first because that is where they usually die - the multiple traps may have something to do with that. He then checked behind the washer and dryer because the smell was getting pretty bad in there. He found nothing in there. The utility room and my office share a wall, so he continued on toward the ever-growing smell. He opened the small closet out here and gagged when the smell hit him. Bingo.
That closet houses our hot water heater, a rubbermaid box of my old dolls, the fold-up lawnchairs, a bb gun and Paul's work uniforms. He emptied that closet entirely. Then grabbed the spotlight and went to work.
Here's what he found:
Those, my friends, are yellow jackets. A whole HIVE of yellow jackets.IN
MY
HOUSE
Remember the post about killing the little stingers all over my house? Yeah, turns out we shouldn't have been worried so much about them entering the house because they were already in here!
Paul used a whole can of Raid wasp spray on the paper hive and after the frantic, angry, dying buzzing stopped, he started knocking away the paper nest. We kind of figured, okay, you knock down the paper nest and voila the bees are gone. Uhhhh, no . . . that would be entirely too easy for a Diva adventure. There was a space of a few inches where the concrete and sheetrock don't mesh and the paper nest on the outside was only to protect the massive combs up inside the wall. The outside paper hive was as big as Sam's head and the combs that were up inside the wall were pretty extensive. We honestly have no idea how many or how big they were/are.
He hooked a wire coat hanger and dug up in the wall until he pulled out a monstrous piece of comb with the queen on it. Now, we are not professional bug killers. Heck, neither of us are even college-educated. In our minds, you take away the queen and the bugs go away. We are just so silly sometimes.
I jumped on the computer while he was performing his coat hanger operation and looked up yellow jackets, bees, wasps, hornets, lions and tigers and bears, oh my! From what I found, yes, they were yellow jackets and while not normal, it's not uncommon that they would nest inside the walls of a house. It told us to call an exterminator. Hmmm . . . Christmas presents for the kids or professional extermination of nasty horde of stinging insects? We'll take what's behind door #1, Bob. So after he disposed of the queen, he sprayed more of the residual poison up in the wall and called it good. Like I said, calling an exterminator just wasn't an option.
Yesterday morning Paul got up and filled the space with dirt and gravel and was going to pick up some expanding foam stuff at work to seal in the space in the closet and the space under the siding where they were entering. (Yeah, it's rather unnerving to stand in your backyard and watch yellowjacket after yellowjacket fly up under the siding of your house.) That done, he left for work and the kids and I stayed here to play and slobber and wipe snot and stuff. (Just to clarify, I never slobbered.)
About 9:30 I walked into my utility room and heard buzzing. Angry, loud buzzing. I ran out here to the closet and slammed the door shut, hoping to darken the closet and not give any option of going toward the light. The problem with my theory and subsequent plan of action was that the door to that closet is a vented door. Slats from top to bottom. Duh. I told you I played on too many chat piles as a kid. Then I shut the door from the living room to the playroom. Again, a vented door. It just gets better, doesn't it? But in my mind, we were safe. I was so, so wrong.
Cute Little Baby has dreams of being an Olympic Speed Crawler and shot off like a rocket toward the toyroom. I saw him working up speed and headed after him. Then I heard the screaming. Ohhhhhh the screaming!! I knew it before I ever saw a bug or a stinger or even him. He was holding his little hand in the air and just bellering. I tried to grab his hand but he would have none of that so I just scooped him up because the yellowjackets were starting to swarm around my head. I slammed the door shut, screaming baby in my arms and ran to the dining room. I held the baby down with my leg because he was so uncontrollable, bless his heart. After I scraped the stinger out of his finger I hollered to Kady, "GET OUT OF THE HOUSE!!" put the little baby in the carseat, grabbed the big baby by the hand and we ran. Then I realized I was in my nightgown still.
So I put the kids in the van and ran back in the house to throw on some sweats then jumped in the van and sped off down the driveway. I called CLB's mom to tell her he got stung because she, herself, is allergic to stings. So not cool. She said she'd call the doctor and call me back. I drove towards the school because Paul had gone to pick up some carnival stuff and I was hoping to catch him on the road somewhere and bring him back home to save us from peril. He had already left the school. Dang! I have one freaked out nearly 4 year old in the back of my van (in her pajamas), one screaming baby and another baby who was so stunned at what was taking place that he just sat there slack-jawed and drooling. So I called Wal*Mart and told them to have him call me immediately when he got there. CLB's mom called back and told me what the doctor said, all was well, sting sensitivity isn't usually hereditary, give him Benadryl, etc etc. I pulled back into my driveway to wait for Paul's call and realized I was still in my bunny slippers.
So I made CLB a bottle, let Kady out to play in the driveway, gave CBB some Cheerios (Thank God I'd left the diaper bag in the van overnight.) and then braved my house to get the Motrin and Benadryl. The noise was so creepy! All that buzzing was totally out of a horror movie. Or at least a documentary on Discovery.
Paul came home to fight off the bugs. By that time there were hundreds more dead in the closet. At least the poison was working. Evidently the one that stung the baby was dying as well because we found a bunch in the floor later. The kids and I stayed outside - thank God it was a warm day. I called the college and asked if I could speak to the entymology guy and he asked for samples of the combs, nest and some of the bugs.
Here's what I learned:
This particular species of yellow jacket is closely related to the bald-faced hornet. Very aggressive, very mean. They have the most toxic venom of all stinging critters, but the fact that they are so small keeps them from being as deadly as a hornet. He opened the eggs that were in the combs and they were ready to hatch. He said that the cool weather was what kept us from being really badly hurt by them swarming, but he said it's a good thing we found them before we got the fireplace going because once the house warmed up they would've swarmed to the point we would've been stepping on them, sleeping with them, eating them and sitting on them. We would've had to have left our house. He said that the reason they had been out so bad in the house is because a new batch had evidently just hatched and there were many more to come. He was confuzzled by the fact that both times we had a sting, the stinger was left in because yellow jackets are multiple stingers usually. They are ground-dwellers but because the siding lip was so low to the ground they probably thought they were going underground.
Oh. And the smell? Well, he said they could've very well stung a mouse to death and that's what we're smelling, but he said more than likely it was just the nest. I think Paul would have to agree. While he was pulling the nest out, he ended up vomiting the smell was so bad. The bug dude said they sting other insects and bring them back to the nest, chew them up, regurgitate them and stuff the barf into the comb, lay an egg and seal it up. Then the babies eat it, poop it and what you smell is rotting bug and stinky rotting bug poo.
We have now sealed off the closet with plexiglass and masking tape and, per his instructions, we will be setting off a bomb a day for six days to eliminate any in the walls. Hopefully.
I just want this week to be over.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
I see mean people
Yes, I'm still alive. Barely, but yeah, still alive. And kickin'. Almost literally this afternoon. The kickin', that is.
Mean people suck.
Mrs. Coach, thank you for the offer on the ice. So far Oklahoma Ice has offered to donate 100 pounds and BX Express in Baxter is donating 100 pounds as well. In my mind 200 pounds of ice is a lot, but if I see it tomorrow and decide it's not enough I may call on you.
Irish Divinity and Mrs. Coach, where did y'all get the idea I have small feet?? That cracked me up when I read that! I wear size 10, ladies. :D
I found some really incredibly ugly Mary Janes at Wal*Mart, though. Only in a 10 1/2, though. But hey, I'll wear thick socks and they'll be fine. I only paid $7 for them so when Halloween is over I'll trash them with no qualms. Or I could just Bedazzle them for Christmas.
I took Monday off of work and kept Abby and Sam home from school. Abby was running a little fever due to a sinus infection and Sam was coughing. They rested and I did laundry. I was really ready for them to go back to school on Tuesday. My daycare babies don't backtalk and roll their eyes. Nor do they fire cap guns at each other from the recliner and the couch.
This week we are so consumed with the school carnival that I want to cry. It's hectic and everyone's fighting. Parents fighting. When will we all just get off the junior high bus and grow up?? Okay, rephrasing - I have grown up, it's the other poopoo heads that haven't.
Kady woke up this morning with the croup. You know, that baby harp seal bark thing? Yeah. Grand fun. At least this time, though, she decided to present it to me at 6:30am and not 1:30am. That middle of the night run to the ER with my flashers on was not something I ever care to repeat. I was much calmer this time due to the fact that I wasn't awakened from a sound sleep to hear my child making that horrific noise, plus she wasn't having an asthma attack in the middle of it all. Last time she'd bark then gasp for air, lips blue, shaking, the whole nine yards. Scary shit, man. The doctor called us in some extra albuterol and steroids this morning. I hate steroids as much as I hate mean people.
We went on the Coleman Mystery Tour tonight. 3 hours of family bonding was all I got out of it. Sis, Dad and I went and we laughed our asses off through the entire thing. There is nothing worse than getting struck with a case of the giggles when it's a serious moment - like church, a funeral or something like that. Sis and I got the giggles while the tour guide did his impression of a er...um...scary person. I'm not sure how else to describe what he was trying to do. The tour was so hokey and corny and incredibly staged that I wasn't scared in the least, but like I said, we laughed. And I so needed to laugh tonight. So did Sis. Did I mention I hate mean people?
Tomorrow night the dreaded carnival takes place. Y'all should come on down. It'll be super great fun. If the mean people stay away. I'll be the fat Little Red Riding Hood in the concession stand slinging nacho cheese from here to the Pecos.
I am exhausted, tired, sleepy, angry, frustrated, hurt and just downright pissed off. I need some rest. And I see me getting NONE of that rest stuff until mid-week next week. Tomorrow night is the carnival. Friday is parties at school - and I'm seriously considering skipping them altogether and being a horrible momma. Saturday morning Sam has a karate test which will eat up 2 hours. Then Saturday night is a Halloween party. Sunday is supposed to be a neighborhood hayride thing, but part of me wishes that would get cancelled. Then of course, Monday is Halloween. *sigh*
I heard on the radio tonight a theory. She said that people who are insanely busy, always volunteering for stuff and constantly taking on project after project after project are just running from something. Hmh. The only thing I'm running from right now is mean people. And I'm running to my bed now.
I doubt there's much blogging from me until after Halloween. So y'all have fun out there bein' all spooky and stuff and I'll catch y'all when I stop living on a steady diet of cheese sandwiches, hot dogs, cigarettes, the occasional bottle of wine, paint fumes and cheddar bites from Sonic. Sometime next week. I hope. Although, the occasional bottle of wine and the cheddar bites aren't such a bad thing. They make me drunk and constipated - what could be more fun?
Mean people suck.
Mrs. Coach, thank you for the offer on the ice. So far Oklahoma Ice has offered to donate 100 pounds and BX Express in Baxter is donating 100 pounds as well. In my mind 200 pounds of ice is a lot, but if I see it tomorrow and decide it's not enough I may call on you.
Irish Divinity and Mrs. Coach, where did y'all get the idea I have small feet?? That cracked me up when I read that! I wear size 10, ladies. :D
I found some really incredibly ugly Mary Janes at Wal*Mart, though. Only in a 10 1/2, though. But hey, I'll wear thick socks and they'll be fine. I only paid $7 for them so when Halloween is over I'll trash them with no qualms. Or I could just Bedazzle them for Christmas.
I took Monday off of work and kept Abby and Sam home from school. Abby was running a little fever due to a sinus infection and Sam was coughing. They rested and I did laundry. I was really ready for them to go back to school on Tuesday. My daycare babies don't backtalk and roll their eyes. Nor do they fire cap guns at each other from the recliner and the couch.
This week we are so consumed with the school carnival that I want to cry. It's hectic and everyone's fighting. Parents fighting. When will we all just get off the junior high bus and grow up?? Okay, rephrasing - I have grown up, it's the other poopoo heads that haven't.
Kady woke up this morning with the croup. You know, that baby harp seal bark thing? Yeah. Grand fun. At least this time, though, she decided to present it to me at 6:30am and not 1:30am. That middle of the night run to the ER with my flashers on was not something I ever care to repeat. I was much calmer this time due to the fact that I wasn't awakened from a sound sleep to hear my child making that horrific noise, plus she wasn't having an asthma attack in the middle of it all. Last time she'd bark then gasp for air, lips blue, shaking, the whole nine yards. Scary shit, man. The doctor called us in some extra albuterol and steroids this morning. I hate steroids as much as I hate mean people.
We went on the Coleman Mystery Tour tonight. 3 hours of family bonding was all I got out of it. Sis, Dad and I went and we laughed our asses off through the entire thing. There is nothing worse than getting struck with a case of the giggles when it's a serious moment - like church, a funeral or something like that. Sis and I got the giggles while the tour guide did his impression of a er...um...scary person. I'm not sure how else to describe what he was trying to do. The tour was so hokey and corny and incredibly staged that I wasn't scared in the least, but like I said, we laughed. And I so needed to laugh tonight. So did Sis. Did I mention I hate mean people?
Tomorrow night the dreaded carnival takes place. Y'all should come on down. It'll be super great fun. If the mean people stay away. I'll be the fat Little Red Riding Hood in the concession stand slinging nacho cheese from here to the Pecos.
I am exhausted, tired, sleepy, angry, frustrated, hurt and just downright pissed off. I need some rest. And I see me getting NONE of that rest stuff until mid-week next week. Tomorrow night is the carnival. Friday is parties at school - and I'm seriously considering skipping them altogether and being a horrible momma. Saturday morning Sam has a karate test which will eat up 2 hours. Then Saturday night is a Halloween party. Sunday is supposed to be a neighborhood hayride thing, but part of me wishes that would get cancelled. Then of course, Monday is Halloween. *sigh*
I heard on the radio tonight a theory. She said that people who are insanely busy, always volunteering for stuff and constantly taking on project after project after project are just running from something. Hmh. The only thing I'm running from right now is mean people. And I'm running to my bed now.
I doubt there's much blogging from me until after Halloween. So y'all have fun out there bein' all spooky and stuff and I'll catch y'all when I stop living on a steady diet of cheese sandwiches, hot dogs, cigarettes, the occasional bottle of wine, paint fumes and cheddar bites from Sonic. Sometime next week. I hope. Although, the occasional bottle of wine and the cheddar bites aren't such a bad thing. They make me drunk and constipated - what could be more fun?
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Ponderings, musings and thoughts
Has a person ever painted themselves to death? I feel I'm perilously close.
Where did Fall go? It went from hot and humid 94 to cold, windy and frigid in a matter of days.
When am I going to find time to go to Wal*Mart???? We need groceries desperately and I still haven't picked up the material for the skirt of my Halloween costume yet. I have to wear the costume for the first of four times this coming Thursday, so I really need to get on that.
I totally forgot to call the ice company to see if they'd donate ice for the carnival's concession stand (which I am in charge of). I'm thinking at this point they might not. If they choose not to, I wonder how many times I'll have to dump and refill my 8 ice trays between now and Thursday. A friend of mine who owns a convenience store is donating some, but I'm not sure just how much "some" is. I should really check on that
Why is it that the more tired a child gets the more hyper they become? I guess I know the answer - they're overcompensating. But yeesh, I found it incredibly hard to believe that all that noise was only being made by five children. It sounded like the playground at recess. And it was COLD out there! There's no way I could've had that much fun outside tonight.
I can't find any Mary Janes in my size and I need them for my Halloween costume. Like, a year ago, Mary Janes were in style. WHY didn't I buy some last year, dammit? I even hit the Friendship House hoping to find some, but nope. I did find some black velvet pumps that looked like they'd been run over with a Bedazzler, though. Too bad I'm not going as something that would need Bedazzled Christmas shoes.
At one point last night I had a cool $100 in my hand at the casino. The Lucky Leprechaun had obviously found his Lucky Charms and was sharing the love with me. Do you know how many Christmas presents that could've bought my kids? Do you know that I instead, walked out of that casino with my original $20 and that was it? I am a moron.
Has anyone else ever wondered why it is that men are SO MUCH NICER the day after they get laid? My husband was one of the nicest guys you could've ever met today. One would think that would make me want to put out more often. But nah.
The season finale of Ghost Hunters took place at a hotel in Eureka Springs, AR, which is really only a hop, skip and a jump from here. Right now they are doing ghost tours and an overnight stay for only $99. Sis and I really want to go, but we're stuck working on the farmette. Anyway, I knew my dad and step mom used to go to Eureka Springs quite a bit, so tonight when I was on the phone with Dad I asked him if they'd ever stayed at The Crescent. He said that yes, they had and I asked if they'd had a ghostly experience there. He said, "More like ghastly." Then went on to tell how the doors didn't fit. I asked what he meant by that. He said that the doors kept opening by themselves. Now, I love my dad a lot and I really do consider him a smart man, but HELLO, did he not realize that the spirits were opening those doors?????? Now I want to go stay there even more.
On that same note, though, we're going on a Mystery Tour at The Coleman Theatre on Tuesday night. I can hardly wait!!
And now I am going to collapse exhaustedly into my bed once again. I seem to be making this a habit. It really kinda sucks, too.
Where did Fall go? It went from hot and humid 94 to cold, windy and frigid in a matter of days.
When am I going to find time to go to Wal*Mart???? We need groceries desperately and I still haven't picked up the material for the skirt of my Halloween costume yet. I have to wear the costume for the first of four times this coming Thursday, so I really need to get on that.
I totally forgot to call the ice company to see if they'd donate ice for the carnival's concession stand (which I am in charge of). I'm thinking at this point they might not. If they choose not to, I wonder how many times I'll have to dump and refill my 8 ice trays between now and Thursday. A friend of mine who owns a convenience store is donating some, but I'm not sure just how much "some" is. I should really check on that
Why is it that the more tired a child gets the more hyper they become? I guess I know the answer - they're overcompensating. But yeesh, I found it incredibly hard to believe that all that noise was only being made by five children. It sounded like the playground at recess. And it was COLD out there! There's no way I could've had that much fun outside tonight.
I can't find any Mary Janes in my size and I need them for my Halloween costume. Like, a year ago, Mary Janes were in style. WHY didn't I buy some last year, dammit? I even hit the Friendship House hoping to find some, but nope. I did find some black velvet pumps that looked like they'd been run over with a Bedazzler, though. Too bad I'm not going as something that would need Bedazzled Christmas shoes.
At one point last night I had a cool $100 in my hand at the casino. The Lucky Leprechaun had obviously found his Lucky Charms and was sharing the love with me. Do you know how many Christmas presents that could've bought my kids? Do you know that I instead, walked out of that casino with my original $20 and that was it? I am a moron.
Has anyone else ever wondered why it is that men are SO MUCH NICER the day after they get laid? My husband was one of the nicest guys you could've ever met today. One would think that would make me want to put out more often. But nah.
The season finale of Ghost Hunters took place at a hotel in Eureka Springs, AR, which is really only a hop, skip and a jump from here. Right now they are doing ghost tours and an overnight stay for only $99. Sis and I really want to go, but we're stuck working on the farmette. Anyway, I knew my dad and step mom used to go to Eureka Springs quite a bit, so tonight when I was on the phone with Dad I asked him if they'd ever stayed at The Crescent. He said that yes, they had and I asked if they'd had a ghostly experience there. He said, "More like ghastly." Then went on to tell how the doors didn't fit. I asked what he meant by that. He said that the doors kept opening by themselves. Now, I love my dad a lot and I really do consider him a smart man, but HELLO, did he not realize that the spirits were opening those doors?????? Now I want to go stay there even more.
On that same note, though, we're going on a Mystery Tour at The Coleman Theatre on Tuesday night. I can hardly wait!!
And now I am going to collapse exhaustedly into my bed once again. I seem to be making this a habit. It really kinda sucks, too.
It's here! It's here!
Soup weather has come to Oklahoma.
Finally.
For lunch today it was tomato soup and Cheezits.
Tonight it's homemade vegetable beef.
I have found nirvana.
Finally.
For lunch today it was tomato soup and Cheezits.
Tonight it's homemade vegetable beef.
I have found nirvana.
Friday, October 21, 2005
Painted hussy
Yesterday I painted more than I ever have in my entire life. At least, it sure felt that way. I'm sure I've painted an entire house before, but I was a lot younger. By 1am I was aching all over. Of course, by 1am I'm usually asleep, so that may have had something to do with it.
Sis' living room is the color of pea soup. At least, that was the food it reminded me of. It's gorgeous, even though the thought of smearing green pea soup on the wall doesn't sound too gorgeous. Trust me, it is. We were laughing at how probably someday her kids will say, "Mom, I cannot believe you painted the walls that color!" I said, "Yeah, it'll be your kids' Burnt Orange, Harvest Gold and Avacado Green." Then later, we discovered that the color of her living room is Guacamole Dip.
Sis and I started painting around 3 yesterday afternoon and we took a break around 7 to come back here and feed the kids. Mom had brought us Route 44 Sonic drinks (I have a nasty sore throat) and met up with us here. Paul was here as well, so we all ate a bite, visited awhile, doped all 5 kids up on Benadryl (What? It's allergy season!) threw them into blanket sleepers and went back to the farmette with Mom and Paul in tow. And while Sis and I had had a lot of fun painting, just the two of us, the hilarity just grew and grew with two more added to the mix. I love my family so much.
We got in bed around 1:30 or 2 this morning. We'd have stayed longer, but it was so cold in that house that the paint wasn't drying real fast. I was beat and tired and cold and was ready for some ibuprofen and a bed. I had brought shorts to paint in because I am entirely too fond of my sweats and wind pants to sacrifice any of them to painting, so shorts it was. And the shorts were fine until the cold front moved in and dropped the temps down to what felt like Arctic temps after the daytime high the day before had been 94. Yeah. Gotta love Oklahoma weather.
The Divas are the kind of people who get up early, get the job done and then go to bed at a decent hour. The Taters, however, are the kind of people who sleep late, get around at a leisurely pace and then stay up half the night. And I'm not knocking their style, don't get me wrong - but theirs and ours are definitely not the same. Like right now, it's 12:15 and they haven't left for the house yet. And I'm still in my pajamas simply because I knew there was no point in killing myself to get up and around early. And I still have to run to town to the bank and State Farm, but you know what - I'll still probably beat them to their house. And we'll paint until 2am again. But this time, I am so taking alcohol. If I'm going to be up that late, I'm at least going to have alcohol running freely through my veins.
(MamaK, bring your tequila and margarita mix - we're having a painting party tonight!)
Well, Kady just came to me and said, "I have water in my eyes from that movie," and then burst into hysterical, sobbing tears. They're watching Lilo and Stitch 2: Stitch Has a Glitch. It can't be a Disney movie without someone dying.
Sis' living room is the color of pea soup. At least, that was the food it reminded me of. It's gorgeous, even though the thought of smearing green pea soup on the wall doesn't sound too gorgeous. Trust me, it is. We were laughing at how probably someday her kids will say, "Mom, I cannot believe you painted the walls that color!" I said, "Yeah, it'll be your kids' Burnt Orange, Harvest Gold and Avacado Green." Then later, we discovered that the color of her living room is Guacamole Dip.
Sis and I started painting around 3 yesterday afternoon and we took a break around 7 to come back here and feed the kids. Mom had brought us Route 44 Sonic drinks (I have a nasty sore throat) and met up with us here. Paul was here as well, so we all ate a bite, visited awhile, doped all 5 kids up on Benadryl (What? It's allergy season!) threw them into blanket sleepers and went back to the farmette with Mom and Paul in tow. And while Sis and I had had a lot of fun painting, just the two of us, the hilarity just grew and grew with two more added to the mix. I love my family so much.
We got in bed around 1:30 or 2 this morning. We'd have stayed longer, but it was so cold in that house that the paint wasn't drying real fast. I was beat and tired and cold and was ready for some ibuprofen and a bed. I had brought shorts to paint in because I am entirely too fond of my sweats and wind pants to sacrifice any of them to painting, so shorts it was. And the shorts were fine until the cold front moved in and dropped the temps down to what felt like Arctic temps after the daytime high the day before had been 94. Yeah. Gotta love Oklahoma weather.
The Divas are the kind of people who get up early, get the job done and then go to bed at a decent hour. The Taters, however, are the kind of people who sleep late, get around at a leisurely pace and then stay up half the night. And I'm not knocking their style, don't get me wrong - but theirs and ours are definitely not the same. Like right now, it's 12:15 and they haven't left for the house yet. And I'm still in my pajamas simply because I knew there was no point in killing myself to get up and around early. And I still have to run to town to the bank and State Farm, but you know what - I'll still probably beat them to their house. And we'll paint until 2am again. But this time, I am so taking alcohol. If I'm going to be up that late, I'm at least going to have alcohol running freely through my veins.
(MamaK, bring your tequila and margarita mix - we're having a painting party tonight!)
Well, Kady just came to me and said, "I have water in my eyes from that movie," and then burst into hysterical, sobbing tears. They're watching Lilo and Stitch 2: Stitch Has a Glitch. It can't be a Disney movie without someone dying.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
The definition of pathetic
pathethic - adj. Sitting around in your pajamas all day long watching a Ghost Hunters marathon on SciFi.
But man, it was awesome.
But man, it was awesome.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Another installment of . . .
Kristin is . . . Oh come on, you know you wanna know.
******************
Kristin is looking for a personal trainer. Yes I am. And a cabana boy.
Kristin is the host of our monthly tribute to old. Please welcome to the stage, straight from your worst middle-aged nightmare . . . Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiit'ssssssss The Geriatric Hipsters performing "I Can't Poop Without My Prunes"! *applause applause*
Kristin is worth 11 points. And here I'd always thought I was only worth 1 or 2.
Kristin is still sick. And twisted, too. What's your point?
Kristin is departing the scene. Hopefully not in a 55-gallon drum.
Kristin is an undisputed expert. On everything. Just ask me.
Kristin is the newest member of our family of paddlers. Tater's always telling me Jesus is gonna spank me.
Kristin is known as a master of smooth and personal distortion as well as bright and complicated singing techniques. I can distort with the best of 'em.
Kristin is picked up at her home on the upper west side and is in the hair and makeup trailer by ten. It's not easy being me.
Kristin is a sluagh of the female persuasion. Uhhh . . . what's a "sluagh"? Whatever it is, I guess I'm glad I'm a female one.
Kristin is the most georgeous person i have ever. Ever WHAT? Seen? Kissed? Been ordered around by? WHAT???
Kristin is my little easter doll. This reaches new heights. Heights I'm not sure I'm willing to aspire to.
Kristin is the daughter of Tim and Sue Gibbons. Mom? Dad? We need to talk.
Kristin is the daughter of Waldo Weathers and Carissia Dixion Malone. Seriously, Mom . . . we really gotta talk. I'm having an identity crisis now.
Kristin is living with people she did not know before. Who are these children and why are they calling me Mom?
Kristin is very mean and gross. Obviously written by one of the children who went on that hayride Saturday.
Kristin is rearranging her office. Rearranging it? Heck, I can't even find the carpet out here much less move things around!
Kristin is pioneering the use of webmathematica as a backend tool controlled by flash to create useful and educational applications. And y'all just thought I was a daycare provider.
****************
And then, because I am shamelessly shirking my housecleaning I wanted to know what Diva is . . .
Diva is a dynamo. Not to be confused with JJ Walker, who was DY-NO-MITE.
Diva is delightful. Delightfully mean and gross, obviously.
Diva is as diva does. Yes, Forrest. Mama always said so.
Diva is een leuke zaak met niet alleen mode dingen. I have no idea what I am here, but with the word "dingen" in the sentence it's gotta be good.
Diva is in touch with the wellspring of her own creativity. I feel it springing out of my well as I type. Watch out - it might be messy.
Diva is not supported anymore. Nope, not since I busted the underwires in my white bras.
Diva is a small astronomy satellite. Hey now - enough of the fat jokes.
Diva is left scratching her head. Maybe Diva needs to wash her hair. Just a thought.
Diva is the only member of her species. Momma always said I was special.
Diva is not dog. Rat's right, Ri'm rot a rog - Ri'm a RIVA!
Diva is also an incredibly muscular b*tch. You got a problem with that?
Diva is also fully compatible with dolby digital. Nothing better than Diva in Dolby Surround. It enhances the experience.
Diva is a bouncy young lady and yet very gentle. Not. Going. There.
Diva is a nine. Yeah and I'm also worth 11 points.
Results provided by :
Googlism - We're taking your Google and adding an "ism".
******************
Kristin is looking for a personal trainer. Yes I am. And a cabana boy.
Kristin is the host of our monthly tribute to old. Please welcome to the stage, straight from your worst middle-aged nightmare . . . Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiit'ssssssss The Geriatric Hipsters performing "I Can't Poop Without My Prunes"! *applause applause*
Kristin is worth 11 points. And here I'd always thought I was only worth 1 or 2.
Kristin is still sick. And twisted, too. What's your point?
Kristin is departing the scene. Hopefully not in a 55-gallon drum.
Kristin is an undisputed expert. On everything. Just ask me.
Kristin is the newest member of our family of paddlers. Tater's always telling me Jesus is gonna spank me.
Kristin is known as a master of smooth and personal distortion as well as bright and complicated singing techniques. I can distort with the best of 'em.
Kristin is picked up at her home on the upper west side and is in the hair and makeup trailer by ten. It's not easy being me.
Kristin is a sluagh of the female persuasion. Uhhh . . . what's a "sluagh"? Whatever it is, I guess I'm glad I'm a female one.
Kristin is the most georgeous person i have ever. Ever WHAT? Seen? Kissed? Been ordered around by? WHAT???
Kristin is my little easter doll. This reaches new heights. Heights I'm not sure I'm willing to aspire to.
Kristin is the daughter of Tim and Sue Gibbons. Mom? Dad? We need to talk.
Kristin is the daughter of Waldo Weathers and Carissia Dixion Malone. Seriously, Mom . . . we really gotta talk. I'm having an identity crisis now.
Kristin is living with people she did not know before. Who are these children and why are they calling me Mom?
Kristin is very mean and gross. Obviously written by one of the children who went on that hayride Saturday.
Kristin is rearranging her office. Rearranging it? Heck, I can't even find the carpet out here much less move things around!
Kristin is pioneering the use of webmathematica as a backend tool controlled by flash to create useful and educational applications. And y'all just thought I was a daycare provider.
****************
And then, because I am shamelessly shirking my housecleaning I wanted to know what Diva is . . .
Diva is a dynamo. Not to be confused with JJ Walker, who was DY-NO-MITE.
Diva is delightful. Delightfully mean and gross, obviously.
Diva is as diva does. Yes, Forrest. Mama always said so.
Diva is een leuke zaak met niet alleen mode dingen. I have no idea what I am here, but with the word "dingen" in the sentence it's gotta be good.
Diva is in touch with the wellspring of her own creativity. I feel it springing out of my well as I type. Watch out - it might be messy.
Diva is not supported anymore. Nope, not since I busted the underwires in my white bras.
Diva is a small astronomy satellite. Hey now - enough of the fat jokes.
Diva is left scratching her head. Maybe Diva needs to wash her hair. Just a thought.
Diva is the only member of her species. Momma always said I was special.
Diva is not dog. Rat's right, Ri'm rot a rog - Ri'm a RIVA!
Diva is also an incredibly muscular b*tch. You got a problem with that?
Diva is also fully compatible with dolby digital. Nothing better than Diva in Dolby Surround. It enhances the experience.
Diva is a bouncy young lady and yet very gentle. Not. Going. There.
Diva is a nine. Yeah and I'm also worth 11 points.
Results provided by :
Googlism - We're taking your Google and adding an "ism".
Sting operation
Well, the nest has been sprayed. Whether it will entirely alleviate our yellow jacket problem we don't know yet - only time will tell.
When Paul got home yesterday I told him that I was tired of killing the little buzzers and he needed to find the nest. This is what he found under the eaves on the east side of the house:
When he went out to spray it there weren't any on it, but the spray is supposed to be residual.
After he sprayed it, we walked all through the house trying to find where they're coming in. We're still baffled - there is no obvious entry point.
This is what the toyroom window and window seat look like:
We counted 28 dead yellow jackets in the sill and seat, not to mention the 4 that are in my office windowsill. AND the probably 10 that I've smacked on the front door screen just today.
The worst finally happened, though - Abby got stung just awhile ago. I told the kids to clean up the toyroom so that I could run the vacuum and get the dead ones out of the window. She knelt down to put something up and squashed one. She was so very brave, bless her heart. Only a few tears and I know yellow jacket stings HURT. I put a paste of baking soda and water on the sting and gave her a chocolate donut (ONLY because my mother got her on the phone and told her that was the best medicine for a sting. And now we all know why I'm fat - Mom always medicated with food when I was a kid, lol.) and she laid on the couch like the Queen of Sheba for 20 minutes reading a Junie B. Jones Halloween book and enjoying all the attention when the other kids wanted to look at it.
I'm ready for the reign of yellow jacket terror to be over. Now.
When Paul got home yesterday I told him that I was tired of killing the little buzzers and he needed to find the nest. This is what he found under the eaves on the east side of the house:
When he went out to spray it there weren't any on it, but the spray is supposed to be residual.
After he sprayed it, we walked all through the house trying to find where they're coming in. We're still baffled - there is no obvious entry point.
This is what the toyroom window and window seat look like:
We counted 28 dead yellow jackets in the sill and seat, not to mention the 4 that are in my office windowsill. AND the probably 10 that I've smacked on the front door screen just today.
The worst finally happened, though - Abby got stung just awhile ago. I told the kids to clean up the toyroom so that I could run the vacuum and get the dead ones out of the window. She knelt down to put something up and squashed one. She was so very brave, bless her heart. Only a few tears and I know yellow jacket stings HURT. I put a paste of baking soda and water on the sting and gave her a chocolate donut (ONLY because my mother got her on the phone and told her that was the best medicine for a sting. And now we all know why I'm fat - Mom always medicated with food when I was a kid, lol.) and she laid on the couch like the Queen of Sheba for 20 minutes reading a Junie B. Jones Halloween book and enjoying all the attention when the other kids wanted to look at it.
I'm ready for the reign of yellow jacket terror to be over. Now.
Ew
It is 4 minutes until midnight as I start typing this. Paul is in the shower and hopefully I will be soon, too. We've been at the Farmette. We are dirty.
We taped off every window, doorway, facing and closet in the house. We painted Kilz on any surface that wasn't moving. We called each other a lot of names. Thankfully we love each other and it was all in jest. I told her at midnight she couldn't call me a certain name anymore and she had to be nice to me tomorrow.
Tomorrow the guy comes to spray the orange peel textury stuff allllll over the house. Then Thursday we commence to painting. Whoo frickin' hoo. The moving that was supposed to occur this weekend isn't going to occur. We will instead spend the weekend painting instead. Then next week trim will be put in. THEN the carpet can be laid and finally they'll move. Probably sometime around Valentine's Day. Yeesh. Just kidding. They're hoping to be in by month's end, but honestly I'm not sure if that will happen, but don't tell her I said that.
We girls had finished all we could do and we both dropped exhaustedly onto the hearth to sit and watch the boys take down the living room ceiling fan. I popped a cookie into my mouth and discovered I didn't have the energy to chew it. Now, people . . . that is tired.
We taped off every window, doorway, facing and closet in the house. We painted Kilz on any surface that wasn't moving. We called each other a lot of names. Thankfully we love each other and it was all in jest. I told her at midnight she couldn't call me a certain name anymore and she had to be nice to me tomorrow.
Tomorrow the guy comes to spray the orange peel textury stuff allllll over the house. Then Thursday we commence to painting. Whoo frickin' hoo. The moving that was supposed to occur this weekend isn't going to occur. We will instead spend the weekend painting instead. Then next week trim will be put in. THEN the carpet can be laid and finally they'll move. Probably sometime around Valentine's Day. Yeesh. Just kidding. They're hoping to be in by month's end, but honestly I'm not sure if that will happen, but don't tell her I said that.
We girls had finished all we could do and we both dropped exhaustedly onto the hearth to sit and watch the boys take down the living room ceiling fan. I popped a cookie into my mouth and discovered I didn't have the energy to chew it. Now, people . . . that is tired.
Monday, October 17, 2005
What is yellow and stripey and stingy and buzzes around annoyingly?
A whole frickin' herd of yellow jackets, that's what.
And it seems they have decided to take up residence in my house. Namely my toyroom.
This is so not acceptable.
Friday I killed twelve in my house. Yes, twelve. In. my. house. Saturday about six of them died by way of purple flyswatter. Yesterday I don't think I killed any, now that I think about it. Today I have killed eight. Bub killed one while he was here.
Evidently there is a nest somewhere and now that the temps have soared back up perilously close to 90 they decided to come out en force.
I am terrified of stinging insects. I was stung once on the leg by a wasp when I was 6. I turned on the outside hydrant and disturbed a nest. And then in high school one of those annoying "trash bees" crawled into my Coke can unbeknownst to me and I drank him. Stung my tongue and down my throat many, many times. So while I haven't been stung as many as some people, the experiences I've had are unforgettable and frankly, I am not fond of that kind of pain. We always keep multiple cans of that wasp and hornet spray in the house - the kind that will shoot like, 12 feet - because I'm too scared to hit bees and wasps with a flyswatter. Okay, so there are greasy splatters on all of my windows where I've sprayed the errant critters, but hey, I didn't get stung.
Well, I'm out of wasp spray. So I had to find a fly swatter and have been killing nasty stinging insects by hand. Er, swatter. You can't believe how fast my heart races when I have to do it! I'm really scared of them! AND I'm a bad shot. I can only hit things with a gun - but give me a bat or a flyswatter and it's just pathetic. BUT I'd rather risk pissing one off and getting stung myself, rather than one of my babies get stung.
This afternoon I totally missed one and in the process just made it furious with me. I was trying not to scream (even though I really wanted to) because it was naptime, so instead I set about frantically trying to backstep away. And in the process tripped over Strawberry Shortcake's strawberry-shaped house. The fact that I fell toward the ground saved me from getting stung, but now I'll be sporting a bruise the size on my calf.
I'll be so glad when Fall acts like Fall. All of the summer clothes I put up, we are now having to drag back out again. And obviously the insects are confused as hell.
And it seems they have decided to take up residence in my house. Namely my toyroom.
This is so not acceptable.
Friday I killed twelve in my house. Yes, twelve. In. my. house. Saturday about six of them died by way of purple flyswatter. Yesterday I don't think I killed any, now that I think about it. Today I have killed eight. Bub killed one while he was here.
Evidently there is a nest somewhere and now that the temps have soared back up perilously close to 90 they decided to come out en force.
I am terrified of stinging insects. I was stung once on the leg by a wasp when I was 6. I turned on the outside hydrant and disturbed a nest. And then in high school one of those annoying "trash bees" crawled into my Coke can unbeknownst to me and I drank him. Stung my tongue and down my throat many, many times. So while I haven't been stung as many as some people, the experiences I've had are unforgettable and frankly, I am not fond of that kind of pain. We always keep multiple cans of that wasp and hornet spray in the house - the kind that will shoot like, 12 feet - because I'm too scared to hit bees and wasps with a flyswatter. Okay, so there are greasy splatters on all of my windows where I've sprayed the errant critters, but hey, I didn't get stung.
Well, I'm out of wasp spray. So I had to find a fly swatter and have been killing nasty stinging insects by hand. Er, swatter. You can't believe how fast my heart races when I have to do it! I'm really scared of them! AND I'm a bad shot. I can only hit things with a gun - but give me a bat or a flyswatter and it's just pathetic. BUT I'd rather risk pissing one off and getting stung myself, rather than one of my babies get stung.
This afternoon I totally missed one and in the process just made it furious with me. I was trying not to scream (even though I really wanted to) because it was naptime, so instead I set about frantically trying to backstep away. And in the process tripped over Strawberry Shortcake's strawberry-shaped house. The fact that I fell toward the ground saved me from getting stung, but now I'll be sporting a bruise the size on my calf.
I'll be so glad when Fall acts like Fall. All of the summer clothes I put up, we are now having to drag back out again. And obviously the insects are confused as hell.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
How many events can one family participate in in a single weekend?
Well, I'm not sure there's a world record or anything, but I think the Diva family tried really hard this weekend.
Of course, Friday was Sam's special day, complete with his own personal meltdown at 9pm. Saturday morning the three children in my care were up at 5am. I managed to stay on the couch in a semi-conscious state until 7ish. Then it was up and at 'em. Breakfast for the kids and myself and Paul, although he declined to eat with us because sleep seemed more important at the time. I threw Kady in the shower with me because we were running short on time. Ya know, I've had my ladybug tattoo since 2001 yet she still had to ask why it doesn't come off in the shower.
I loaded up the munchkins into my van and headed off to town to pick up the girls from Jen. They were at the soccer field, so I drove out there, found them and loaded up one moderately happy girl and one very, very angry girl. TotOne was SO not happy about having to leave! It was her first real life, non-family slumber party and she was having too good of a time! Then I drove Miss Pouty Pants and her brother to Mom's house (TaterCentral for the time being) and dropped them off. With 6 minutes to spare, I flew across town to the salon for a haircut. Normally the place is pretty quiet, sometimes I'm the only person there, but that day it was so crowded my kids had to sit in the floor. But I got my hairs cut and that was all I cared about.
After that, I drove over to Mr. Ed's Barbershop. He's an actual man, not a horse, btw. Larry's barbershop was closed and Sam was bordering on a Beatles' tribute 'do, so we had to get a haircut for him. Paul was threatening to break out the clippers and I have seen what that man does with those things. It's just not pretty. We sat for what seemed like an eternity and watched Disney shows on a very staticky TV until it was finally Sam's turn. It's not the best haircut Sam's ever had, but it'll do. He's not a junior mop-top anymore and that's what matters. Plus, the guy sprayed my son's head rather heavily with AquaNet hairspray. Oh, that did NOT make the child happy! He's used to his barber, Nick, putting gel and "glue" on his hair, not spray!
By the time we left there my hair had totally dried. It was rather embarrassing, but the barbershop closed at noon and I didn't have time to waste. Upon leaving the barbershop Ab asked where we were going next. I told her that we had to go to Gram's so I could fix my hair. She goes, "Whew. I'm glad you're going to do that. Your hair is some kinda funky right now." Gee thanks, sweetie.
I fixed my hair while Sis showered and got ready, then I stole some blue and gold ribbons from TotOne's ribbon box for Kady's hair. She had to have dogears to complement her cheerleader outfit, which she was stoked about wearing in NEO's Homecoming parade. I braided Sis' hair and then we all loaded up into the Astro and headed for Sonic for food. I love Sonic food. (No, Hillbilly Mom, I didn't get a Cherry Diet Coke, but the regular Coke I had was simply wonderful. So were the jumbo popcorn chicken. Yummmm.) Paul met up with us at the Sonic and I gave him my last $20 so he could get gas. Diesel, I mean. Then he sped off toward downtown to find a nice shady spot on Main Street to await the parade.
Did I find a nice shady spot on Main Street to await the parade?
Oh no I did not. Instead I drove my Astro amidst throngs of band members, cheerleaders, Homecoming queen candidates, and various other spectators to where I had to drop Kady off for her first ever ride on a parade float. When we got to the float I saw Jill and a very tearful Chandler. The child, who had been anticipating the parade for a week, was now balking and refusing to board the viking boat and don a pirate hat. Kady had her viking wings on and she wanted Chan in a pirate hat (NEO was playing the Buccaneers), but he would have none of it. She even told him he was handsome in his blue shirt. I tried extolling the virtues of float riding. Nope, he wasn't buying. YaYa tried bribing him. Grammy even made an appearance and pleaded. Talk about reallllllllllly not wanting to ride on a float! It ended up that Jill had to ride with him. I'm not sure how thrilled she was about that, but she did it anyway. The things we do for our children.
After depositing KD, we walked back to the van (one block) and drove probably eight blocks to a parking lot and then walked two blocks to Main. We were all sweating. For October 15th, it was a very warm and sunny 86. Yeesh. Fall ain't what it used to be. Then, after the float went by I said it was time to go get Kady, but funny, no one was ready to leave. The kids were too busy getting candy thrown at them and Paul had found a shady spot. I ended up walking the three blocks to pick her up by myself. She was sweaty and tired and we were both so hot, but we walked the three blocks back to Main and sat out the rest of the parade. Then it was a two block trek back to the van. Sam wanted to ride home with his daddy, so the girls and I took Sis and the tots back to TaterCentral and then we headed home where I made everyone lie down for naps.
Abby was not thrilled, to say the least. The whining I heard from the top bunk was, "But I'm a THIRD GRADER! Third graders DO NOT take naps! I. AM. NINE. YEARS. OLD." I said, "Hon, the fact that you are bawling hysterically over not wanting to take a nap just lets me know even more that you need one. Now, go to sleep." Then I took a nap myself.
At 6:30 we were invaded by April and Jen's Brownie troop, who were at our place for a hayride/weenie roast. Oh my gosh, that was fun! Their girls painted pumpkins and roasted weenies, then while they were munching away happily on hot dogs and chips I told them the story of the "Hudson Creek Howler".
(Funny sidenote about the Hudson Creek Howler: Jen, who is a research fanatic, decided to look online for the legend of the Howler. She called me and asked if she had the name right because she couldn't find anything online. I nearly fell in the floor laughing as I told her that we made up the Howler to scare the kids on hayrides. So please, don't go Googling the HHH - he ain't there. Actually, I think a Google search will bring you right back here, lol.)
Then, when they were finished eating and wondering if there was some crazed man roaming the woods in which they were about to enter, my two oldest children and I excused ourselves to "go to bed." Kady wanted to stay with Miss Jennifer, so I told her that the hayride was going to be scary and she was okay because she has grown rather fond of Miss Jennifer as of late. Abby and Sam donned their black shirts and camouflage and we rounded up a sack of rocks and some flashlights and waited for the tractor to take off.
April's husband and Jen's husband were on one four-wheeler, the kids and I were on the other. Headlights off, we headed out across the field and beat the tractor to the road. We raced back into the woods and hid the four-wheelers. The guys and I discussed our plans and I felt like we were ya know, like buddies in the whole "scare the poo out of the girls" endeavor. The kids and I found a spot to hide and the men said they were going off directly across from us. We crawled back into our spot and waited for the tractor. Then we heard noises NOT directly across from us where they were supposed to be. My kids basically crawled up my legs!! I screamed, hollered an expletive and then yelled "GUYS! We are out here TOGETHER to work TOGETHER as a unified front. We have a COMMON CAUSE here! Quit trying to scare the crap out of us!" I'm sure they thought they were cute.
Then we heard the tractor and the girls squealing and giggling. We crawled back deeper into our hidey hole and readied our rocks to throw into the woods. As planned, Paul got the tractor into the clearing and then the tractor "died". Oh my GOSH, the screaming!! We broke limbs, stomped our feet, the men were using distressed animal calls and generally crashing about. But I think it was when Sam and I started howling that they got really scared. It was all I could do not to bust out laughing at their terror (I'm sick, I know), but when I heard my little Kady, my darling little not-quite-four-year-old, holler "I (hic) just (hic) MISS. MY. MOMMMMMMMAAAAAA!" that I had to really keep from going into momma bear mode and not run into the clearing to assure my baby that there really was no bad man out there.
I don't think there was a child on that trailer that wasn't crying. It was awesome. After Paul finally got the tractor running again and the trailer of sobbing girls pulled away, Sam was holding his belly and rolling around on the ground laughing hysterically. "Oh wow, what babies! Did you hear them all crying?" I said, "Yeah, and I guarantee you that if you had been on that trailer, little man, you'd have shed your fair share of tears yourself, so hush." Abby was holding onto the back of my shirt, nearly choking me. She had had her fill of being in the dark woods at night and I'm not sure she wasn't wondering if there really was a Howler.
We managed to beat the tractor back to the house and tried to be all innocent, but it didn't take the girls long to figure out it was us, especially after they realized the four-wheelers were hot.
After the girls left, I put the kids to bed (Actually Kady insisted in Miss Jennifer tucking her in) and Paul, April, Jen and I watched the new Amityville movie. Scary indeed. Jen says she's never watching a scary movie with me again EVER because I freaked her out with my facial expressions and mutterings. Hey, I like my scary movies, okay? She even made me get up to shut and lock the front door!! Then, of course, after the movie, we sat around and talked about our own personal haunted experiences, etc. After they left, Paul said that if he had know them better he'd have thrown something at them at a really tense part of the movie just to see how loud they'd scream. Heehee. We really are sadistic, aren't we?
All in all, it was a great weekend, just very, very busy. The kids all laid down again this afternoon to rest for awhile. Abby still protested, but not as long. I did relent and let her just read this time, though. She was more okay with that than an actual nap.
I'm not sure how much posting will be done this week by me. Thursday starts Fall Break and The Moving Of The Taters. When my daycare kids leave tomorrow, we're all heading down there to help - Paul will be sheetrocking and me painting. Then I'll send the kids home at 7 with him for bed and I'll stay as long as it takes to get ready for the texture to be blown on on Tuesday. Wednesday and Thursday will just be painting (providing the texture is dry enough) and by Friday we'll be moving them in (providing the paint is dry enough). They hope to stay there by weekend's end.
It's sure to be a Fall Break we never forget. If I don't make it on here to post this week, y'all just have fun without me, but for the love of Pete, don't run with scissors or play with matches. I'm going to trust y'all to behave while I'm out running amuck.
Of course, Friday was Sam's special day, complete with his own personal meltdown at 9pm. Saturday morning the three children in my care were up at 5am. I managed to stay on the couch in a semi-conscious state until 7ish. Then it was up and at 'em. Breakfast for the kids and myself and Paul, although he declined to eat with us because sleep seemed more important at the time. I threw Kady in the shower with me because we were running short on time. Ya know, I've had my ladybug tattoo since 2001 yet she still had to ask why it doesn't come off in the shower.
I loaded up the munchkins into my van and headed off to town to pick up the girls from Jen. They were at the soccer field, so I drove out there, found them and loaded up one moderately happy girl and one very, very angry girl. TotOne was SO not happy about having to leave! It was her first real life, non-family slumber party and she was having too good of a time! Then I drove Miss Pouty Pants and her brother to Mom's house (TaterCentral for the time being) and dropped them off. With 6 minutes to spare, I flew across town to the salon for a haircut. Normally the place is pretty quiet, sometimes I'm the only person there, but that day it was so crowded my kids had to sit in the floor. But I got my hairs cut and that was all I cared about.
After that, I drove over to Mr. Ed's Barbershop. He's an actual man, not a horse, btw. Larry's barbershop was closed and Sam was bordering on a Beatles' tribute 'do, so we had to get a haircut for him. Paul was threatening to break out the clippers and I have seen what that man does with those things. It's just not pretty. We sat for what seemed like an eternity and watched Disney shows on a very staticky TV until it was finally Sam's turn. It's not the best haircut Sam's ever had, but it'll do. He's not a junior mop-top anymore and that's what matters. Plus, the guy sprayed my son's head rather heavily with AquaNet hairspray. Oh, that did NOT make the child happy! He's used to his barber, Nick, putting gel and "glue" on his hair, not spray!
By the time we left there my hair had totally dried. It was rather embarrassing, but the barbershop closed at noon and I didn't have time to waste. Upon leaving the barbershop Ab asked where we were going next. I told her that we had to go to Gram's so I could fix my hair. She goes, "Whew. I'm glad you're going to do that. Your hair is some kinda funky right now." Gee thanks, sweetie.
I fixed my hair while Sis showered and got ready, then I stole some blue and gold ribbons from TotOne's ribbon box for Kady's hair. She had to have dogears to complement her cheerleader outfit, which she was stoked about wearing in NEO's Homecoming parade. I braided Sis' hair and then we all loaded up into the Astro and headed for Sonic for food. I love Sonic food. (No, Hillbilly Mom, I didn't get a Cherry Diet Coke, but the regular Coke I had was simply wonderful. So were the jumbo popcorn chicken. Yummmm.) Paul met up with us at the Sonic and I gave him my last $20 so he could get gas. Diesel, I mean. Then he sped off toward downtown to find a nice shady spot on Main Street to await the parade.
Did I find a nice shady spot on Main Street to await the parade?
Oh no I did not. Instead I drove my Astro amidst throngs of band members, cheerleaders, Homecoming queen candidates, and various other spectators to where I had to drop Kady off for her first ever ride on a parade float. When we got to the float I saw Jill and a very tearful Chandler. The child, who had been anticipating the parade for a week, was now balking and refusing to board the viking boat and don a pirate hat. Kady had her viking wings on and she wanted Chan in a pirate hat (NEO was playing the Buccaneers), but he would have none of it. She even told him he was handsome in his blue shirt. I tried extolling the virtues of float riding. Nope, he wasn't buying. YaYa tried bribing him. Grammy even made an appearance and pleaded. Talk about reallllllllllly not wanting to ride on a float! It ended up that Jill had to ride with him. I'm not sure how thrilled she was about that, but she did it anyway. The things we do for our children.
After depositing KD, we walked back to the van (one block) and drove probably eight blocks to a parking lot and then walked two blocks to Main. We were all sweating. For October 15th, it was a very warm and sunny 86. Yeesh. Fall ain't what it used to be. Then, after the float went by I said it was time to go get Kady, but funny, no one was ready to leave. The kids were too busy getting candy thrown at them and Paul had found a shady spot. I ended up walking the three blocks to pick her up by myself. She was sweaty and tired and we were both so hot, but we walked the three blocks back to Main and sat out the rest of the parade. Then it was a two block trek back to the van. Sam wanted to ride home with his daddy, so the girls and I took Sis and the tots back to TaterCentral and then we headed home where I made everyone lie down for naps.
Abby was not thrilled, to say the least. The whining I heard from the top bunk was, "But I'm a THIRD GRADER! Third graders DO NOT take naps! I. AM. NINE. YEARS. OLD." I said, "Hon, the fact that you are bawling hysterically over not wanting to take a nap just lets me know even more that you need one. Now, go to sleep." Then I took a nap myself.
At 6:30 we were invaded by April and Jen's Brownie troop, who were at our place for a hayride/weenie roast. Oh my gosh, that was fun! Their girls painted pumpkins and roasted weenies, then while they were munching away happily on hot dogs and chips I told them the story of the "Hudson Creek Howler".
(Funny sidenote about the Hudson Creek Howler: Jen, who is a research fanatic, decided to look online for the legend of the Howler. She called me and asked if she had the name right because she couldn't find anything online. I nearly fell in the floor laughing as I told her that we made up the Howler to scare the kids on hayrides. So please, don't go Googling the HHH - he ain't there. Actually, I think a Google search will bring you right back here, lol.)
Then, when they were finished eating and wondering if there was some crazed man roaming the woods in which they were about to enter, my two oldest children and I excused ourselves to "go to bed." Kady wanted to stay with Miss Jennifer, so I told her that the hayride was going to be scary and she was okay because she has grown rather fond of Miss Jennifer as of late. Abby and Sam donned their black shirts and camouflage and we rounded up a sack of rocks and some flashlights and waited for the tractor to take off.
April's husband and Jen's husband were on one four-wheeler, the kids and I were on the other. Headlights off, we headed out across the field and beat the tractor to the road. We raced back into the woods and hid the four-wheelers. The guys and I discussed our plans and I felt like we were ya know, like buddies in the whole "scare the poo out of the girls" endeavor. The kids and I found a spot to hide and the men said they were going off directly across from us. We crawled back into our spot and waited for the tractor. Then we heard noises NOT directly across from us where they were supposed to be. My kids basically crawled up my legs!! I screamed, hollered an expletive and then yelled "GUYS! We are out here TOGETHER to work TOGETHER as a unified front. We have a COMMON CAUSE here! Quit trying to scare the crap out of us!" I'm sure they thought they were cute.
Then we heard the tractor and the girls squealing and giggling. We crawled back deeper into our hidey hole and readied our rocks to throw into the woods. As planned, Paul got the tractor into the clearing and then the tractor "died". Oh my GOSH, the screaming!! We broke limbs, stomped our feet, the men were using distressed animal calls and generally crashing about. But I think it was when Sam and I started howling that they got really scared. It was all I could do not to bust out laughing at their terror (I'm sick, I know), but when I heard my little Kady, my darling little not-quite-four-year-old, holler "I (hic) just (hic) MISS. MY. MOMMMMMMMAAAAAA!" that I had to really keep from going into momma bear mode and not run into the clearing to assure my baby that there really was no bad man out there.
I don't think there was a child on that trailer that wasn't crying. It was awesome. After Paul finally got the tractor running again and the trailer of sobbing girls pulled away, Sam was holding his belly and rolling around on the ground laughing hysterically. "Oh wow, what babies! Did you hear them all crying?" I said, "Yeah, and I guarantee you that if you had been on that trailer, little man, you'd have shed your fair share of tears yourself, so hush." Abby was holding onto the back of my shirt, nearly choking me. She had had her fill of being in the dark woods at night and I'm not sure she wasn't wondering if there really was a Howler.
We managed to beat the tractor back to the house and tried to be all innocent, but it didn't take the girls long to figure out it was us, especially after they realized the four-wheelers were hot.
After the girls left, I put the kids to bed (Actually Kady insisted in Miss Jennifer tucking her in) and Paul, April, Jen and I watched the new Amityville movie. Scary indeed. Jen says she's never watching a scary movie with me again EVER because I freaked her out with my facial expressions and mutterings. Hey, I like my scary movies, okay? She even made me get up to shut and lock the front door!! Then, of course, after the movie, we sat around and talked about our own personal haunted experiences, etc. After they left, Paul said that if he had know them better he'd have thrown something at them at a really tense part of the movie just to see how loud they'd scream. Heehee. We really are sadistic, aren't we?
All in all, it was a great weekend, just very, very busy. The kids all laid down again this afternoon to rest for awhile. Abby still protested, but not as long. I did relent and let her just read this time, though. She was more okay with that than an actual nap.
I'm not sure how much posting will be done this week by me. Thursday starts Fall Break and The Moving Of The Taters. When my daycare kids leave tomorrow, we're all heading down there to help - Paul will be sheetrocking and me painting. Then I'll send the kids home at 7 with him for bed and I'll stay as long as it takes to get ready for the texture to be blown on on Tuesday. Wednesday and Thursday will just be painting (providing the texture is dry enough) and by Friday we'll be moving them in (providing the paint is dry enough). They hope to stay there by weekend's end.
It's sure to be a Fall Break we never forget. If I don't make it on here to post this week, y'all just have fun without me, but for the love of Pete, don't run with scissors or play with matches. I'm going to trust y'all to behave while I'm out running amuck.
Sam's Exciting Friday
Friday morning I got up early and came out here to empty my memory card and get the camera ready for the firetruck visit. I was sitting here in the dark when I heard someone walking through the living room. I turned around to see Sam in his underwear and plastic fire hat. 6:15 in the morning and he was in his fire hat ready to go. He rubbed his eyes and in a groggy voice asked, "When's that fire truck gonna be here?" He only had 2 hours to wait, poor guy.
He was dressed and ready to go before his sisters even woke up a 7, so he watched cartoons with one eye and watched out the window with the other. We heard the dog bark, signalling someone was coming up the drive and he nearly wet his pants. Then we looked out to see his Granny in her blue Buick, not the fire chidf in his red fire truck. Granny came in and beheld the hyper, nervous boy-child of ours and laughed at how cute he was. Then we heard the dog bark again and lo and behold
THE FIRE TRUCK WAS HERE!!!
I grabbed the video camera and hit record. In the distance you can see the truck coming up the drive, but the foreground is filled with the intermittent red plastic fire hat on my son's head, popping up and down as he jumped for joy. I can only imagine what he was feeling at that moment. I know how excited I got over stuff as a kid - it's quite a feeling. As soon as it had pulled in and turned around, the fire chief himself got out. Sam ran out to him and the fire chief said, "Are you Sam?" The plastic hat bobbed up and down as he nodded. "Well, nice to meet you, Sam. I'm the fire chief!" And he shook my little boy's hand, just like he was a real grownup person. I swear to you I saw little cartoon hearts floating up out of my son's eyes. He looked so small next to the chief and his ginormous truck.
I cut the camera off and ran in to grab my digital camera. In that short amount of time Sam was in the truck and getting buckled. No! I still had tons of pictures to take! Slow down, Mr. Fire Chief and Mr. Diva!!
I hollered for Kady to come take a look at the firetruck. The chief was okay with it because he said he was actually running way ahead of schedule and didn't want to get him there too early. So Kady came over to inspect the truck as well.
You can't see them in the picture, but she was wearing red rubber boots with her skirt. She said firemen wear rubber boots and she wanted to as well.
Then the fire chief climbed in and turned on the siren and just let me say that our Jakey did NOT like that one bit. He hunkered down and started to run, then decided he didn't want to look like a pussy so he stood his ground and just howled to beat the band at the big red monster in our yard. Sam thought the sirens were just the coolest thing ever and I think we got hear them three times before it was time to go.
He was the happiest kid on earth that morning.
-----------------------------
Friday was also Camp Bandage at school. They haul the kids to a local community center and they spend the day learning about safety, stranger danger and all kinds of other neat stuff. Fun, but exhausting to young'ns.
THEN, when school was out, Sam went with his "backup best friend" (His words, not mine. He says he plays with Owen when Riley's not there, so that makes him his backup best friend.) to play Laser Tag for Owen's birthday. Those brave, if not somewhat insane, parents took 5 little boys to Laser City and plied them with lots of gun-shooting activities, cupcakes, candy and pizza. I gotta admire them just a little, although I worry about their mental status.
So by the time Sam got home at 8:15 he was wound for sound. I've never seen so much fast talking, bouncing up and down and just plain little boy energy! We knew he was exhausted and that's why he was so wired. TotTwo had been with me all evening, in anticipation of a guy sleepover, - with Kady tagging along - but by the time we got them in from riding their scooters and bikes in the dark front yard, Sam was crashing. So much for watching movies and such. Sam hit bottom hard and it was horrible. There was much crying and whining and laying in the floor and even a little foot stomping. I built them a tent with sheets and dining room table chairs in the toyroom, got out sleeping bags and everything, in an attempt to quell the tears and frustration. But even then he couldn't sleep for all the crying.
Finally I scooped him up out of his Scooby Doo sleeping bag and carried him to the living room, where I piled all three and a half feet of very tired little boy into my lap and for the first time in a very long time, I rocked my baby boy. It was pure heaven. As an infant he didn't like to be rocked. That nearly killed me. Abby would still be rocked if I'd allow it, but Sam was just never much of one for it. Oh, he likes to snuggle, but the rocking thing just never appealed. But that night, he curled up with me and finally the tears slowed, the sobs quieted and his eyelids blinked slower and slower. I would've loved nothing more than for him to actually fall asleep in my lap, but no, in true Sam fashion he popped his eyes open and said, "Yep, I'm ready to go to bed now. That rocking's making me nauseous." I love that kid so much.
Saturday morning, all three of those little shits were up at 5am. So much for recovery sleep. I guess when you are nearly 4, nearly 5 and nearly 7 you don't need it as much as when you are nearly 33.
He was dressed and ready to go before his sisters even woke up a 7, so he watched cartoons with one eye and watched out the window with the other. We heard the dog bark, signalling someone was coming up the drive and he nearly wet his pants. Then we looked out to see his Granny in her blue Buick, not the fire chidf in his red fire truck. Granny came in and beheld the hyper, nervous boy-child of ours and laughed at how cute he was. Then we heard the dog bark again and lo and behold
THE FIRE TRUCK WAS HERE!!!
I grabbed the video camera and hit record. In the distance you can see the truck coming up the drive, but the foreground is filled with the intermittent red plastic fire hat on my son's head, popping up and down as he jumped for joy. I can only imagine what he was feeling at that moment. I know how excited I got over stuff as a kid - it's quite a feeling. As soon as it had pulled in and turned around, the fire chief himself got out. Sam ran out to him and the fire chief said, "Are you Sam?" The plastic hat bobbed up and down as he nodded. "Well, nice to meet you, Sam. I'm the fire chief!" And he shook my little boy's hand, just like he was a real grownup person. I swear to you I saw little cartoon hearts floating up out of my son's eyes. He looked so small next to the chief and his ginormous truck.
I cut the camera off and ran in to grab my digital camera. In that short amount of time Sam was in the truck and getting buckled. No! I still had tons of pictures to take! Slow down, Mr. Fire Chief and Mr. Diva!!
I hollered for Kady to come take a look at the firetruck. The chief was okay with it because he said he was actually running way ahead of schedule and didn't want to get him there too early. So Kady came over to inspect the truck as well.
You can't see them in the picture, but she was wearing red rubber boots with her skirt. She said firemen wear rubber boots and she wanted to as well.
Then the fire chief climbed in and turned on the siren and just let me say that our Jakey did NOT like that one bit. He hunkered down and started to run, then decided he didn't want to look like a pussy so he stood his ground and just howled to beat the band at the big red monster in our yard. Sam thought the sirens were just the coolest thing ever and I think we got hear them three times before it was time to go.
He was the happiest kid on earth that morning.
-----------------------------
Friday was also Camp Bandage at school. They haul the kids to a local community center and they spend the day learning about safety, stranger danger and all kinds of other neat stuff. Fun, but exhausting to young'ns.
THEN, when school was out, Sam went with his "backup best friend" (His words, not mine. He says he plays with Owen when Riley's not there, so that makes him his backup best friend.) to play Laser Tag for Owen's birthday. Those brave, if not somewhat insane, parents took 5 little boys to Laser City and plied them with lots of gun-shooting activities, cupcakes, candy and pizza. I gotta admire them just a little, although I worry about their mental status.
So by the time Sam got home at 8:15 he was wound for sound. I've never seen so much fast talking, bouncing up and down and just plain little boy energy! We knew he was exhausted and that's why he was so wired. TotTwo had been with me all evening, in anticipation of a guy sleepover, - with Kady tagging along - but by the time we got them in from riding their scooters and bikes in the dark front yard, Sam was crashing. So much for watching movies and such. Sam hit bottom hard and it was horrible. There was much crying and whining and laying in the floor and even a little foot stomping. I built them a tent with sheets and dining room table chairs in the toyroom, got out sleeping bags and everything, in an attempt to quell the tears and frustration. But even then he couldn't sleep for all the crying.
Finally I scooped him up out of his Scooby Doo sleeping bag and carried him to the living room, where I piled all three and a half feet of very tired little boy into my lap and for the first time in a very long time, I rocked my baby boy. It was pure heaven. As an infant he didn't like to be rocked. That nearly killed me. Abby would still be rocked if I'd allow it, but Sam was just never much of one for it. Oh, he likes to snuggle, but the rocking thing just never appealed. But that night, he curled up with me and finally the tears slowed, the sobs quieted and his eyelids blinked slower and slower. I would've loved nothing more than for him to actually fall asleep in my lap, but no, in true Sam fashion he popped his eyes open and said, "Yep, I'm ready to go to bed now. That rocking's making me nauseous." I love that kid so much.
Saturday morning, all three of those little shits were up at 5am. So much for recovery sleep. I guess when you are nearly 4, nearly 5 and nearly 7 you don't need it as much as when you are nearly 33.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Sirens say "Sam's on the way!"
Cartoon Network has a new 2-hour thing on weekday mornings called TickleU. Total preschool programming for 2 solid hours. I love it and so do the kids. There is one show on it called "Firehouse Tales" and the talking firetrucks well, they fight fires. (Duh) And when the call comes in they all shout "Sirens say, 'Help's on the way!'".
Well, tomorrow the sirens will say that my son has arrived at school. Why? you ask. Well, I'm glad you did.
Today was the "good behavior" drawing at school and Sam got picked! Out of PreK through 5th grade my boy got drawn to ride the firetruck to school! I'm sure he knows by now, but when I talked to the school secretary she hadn't told him yet. She wanted to make sure we were going to allow it before they announced it. Allow it? Heck, I wanna ride, too!!
I was squealing and laughing and just generally making a fool of myself on the phone. I said, "Jill, when you tell him he's going to pee his pants!" She's kind of a dry person and she said blandly, "Well, it sounds like you already did." Okay, so I got a little excited.
I then called Jen, my mom, my sister and my mother in law. I may have to be sedated. It might not be such a big deal, but Mr. Diva used to be a volunteer firefighter and Sam thinks firefighters are just plain cool. Of course, Mr. Diva rolled a firetruck once, so we're going to hope that Sam has better luck on his ride to school tomorrow.
Now I've got to empty my memory card on the digital camera, make sure there's film in the regular camera and dig out the video camera. I may not sleep tonight.
Well, tomorrow the sirens will say that my son has arrived at school. Why? you ask. Well, I'm glad you did.
Today was the "good behavior" drawing at school and Sam got picked! Out of PreK through 5th grade my boy got drawn to ride the firetruck to school! I'm sure he knows by now, but when I talked to the school secretary she hadn't told him yet. She wanted to make sure we were going to allow it before they announced it. Allow it? Heck, I wanna ride, too!!
I was squealing and laughing and just generally making a fool of myself on the phone. I said, "Jill, when you tell him he's going to pee his pants!" She's kind of a dry person and she said blandly, "Well, it sounds like you already did." Okay, so I got a little excited.
I then called Jen, my mom, my sister and my mother in law. I may have to be sedated. It might not be such a big deal, but Mr. Diva used to be a volunteer firefighter and Sam thinks firefighters are just plain cool. Of course, Mr. Diva rolled a firetruck once, so we're going to hope that Sam has better luck on his ride to school tomorrow.
Now I've got to empty my memory card on the digital camera, make sure there's film in the regular camera and dig out the video camera. I may not sleep tonight.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
::insert witty, eye-catching title here::
Tonight was Lost. All of life at the Diva house stops during Lost. Last week my dad called during the show and we blatantly ignored the machine. During a commercial I ran in and called back. My stepmom answered the phone and I said, "I'm on a commercial break tell Dad I'll call him back after nine okay gotta go thanks bye!" I'm thinking he was a bit offended at my ignoring, but now he knows not to call between 8 and 9 on Wednesdays. I used to be that way during Alias, but eh, not so much this year.
So anyway, I made hamburger patties and calico potatoes for dinner tonight. Bub and Sis have been working on the house all day and they came up to eat and watch Lost with us. My kids love Wednesdays because they get to stay up a whole hour later than usual and this makes me, for one night a week, the coolest mom EVER.
Tonight's episode was mysterious and raised a lot of questions. But then again, every episode is like that. So nevermind. But at one point I was totally confused and clueless and I said, "OH MY GOSH I am SO lost right now!" Abby rolled over, looked at me over her glasses and said, "Uhh, Mom . . . duh. You're watching Lost." The minute it would cut to black for a commercial my living room would just erupt in a cacophony of talking and questions and "oh my gosh"'s. And look at me, I used the word cacophony. Whoo hoo!
I cried at the end. Literally cried. I fell in love with the Rose character from the beginning and just KNEW that the scary black man was her husband. Who knew it was the sad, sick, scared looking white guy? Wow. That was unexpected. That'll teach me to stereotype, huh. And how many of y'all really thought from what you saw on the trailers that Jin had been bewitched or something by The Others and was really speaking English? Me too!!!!
I am just so sad. Waiter, could I get a life over here, please? Yes, me - the pathetic-looking 30-something woman sitting at the table with cardboard cutouts of Jack and Locke. Okay, I don't really own cutouts of Jack and Locke, but if y'all know where I could find some . . .
Eh. I guess it could be worse. I could be blogging about my soap opera. Of course, the thought has crossed my mind a time or two . . .
It's now 10:05 and I'm going to walk on the wild side and just flat-out NOT watch the local news and
I'm
going
to
bed.
Wait, I haven't read Hillbilly Mom, Stacie, Andi, Sam, Anna, Courtney and Jersey Girl and . . .
Aw shucks. I'll be up till midnight like always.
So anyway, I made hamburger patties and calico potatoes for dinner tonight. Bub and Sis have been working on the house all day and they came up to eat and watch Lost with us. My kids love Wednesdays because they get to stay up a whole hour later than usual and this makes me, for one night a week, the coolest mom EVER.
Tonight's episode was mysterious and raised a lot of questions. But then again, every episode is like that. So nevermind. But at one point I was totally confused and clueless and I said, "OH MY GOSH I am SO lost right now!" Abby rolled over, looked at me over her glasses and said, "Uhh, Mom . . . duh. You're watching Lost." The minute it would cut to black for a commercial my living room would just erupt in a cacophony of talking and questions and "oh my gosh"'s. And look at me, I used the word cacophony. Whoo hoo!
I cried at the end. Literally cried. I fell in love with the Rose character from the beginning and just KNEW that the scary black man was her husband. Who knew it was the sad, sick, scared looking white guy? Wow. That was unexpected. That'll teach me to stereotype, huh. And how many of y'all really thought from what you saw on the trailers that Jin had been bewitched or something by The Others and was really speaking English? Me too!!!!
I am just so sad. Waiter, could I get a life over here, please? Yes, me - the pathetic-looking 30-something woman sitting at the table with cardboard cutouts of Jack and Locke. Okay, I don't really own cutouts of Jack and Locke, but if y'all know where I could find some . . .
Eh. I guess it could be worse. I could be blogging about my soap opera. Of course, the thought has crossed my mind a time or two . . .
It's now 10:05 and I'm going to walk on the wild side and just flat-out NOT watch the local news and
I'm
going
to
bed.
Wait, I haven't read Hillbilly Mom, Stacie, Andi, Sam, Anna, Courtney and Jersey Girl and . . .
Aw shucks. I'll be up till midnight like always.
Inquiring minds want to know
Or maybe they don't. But I'm sharing anyway.
As usual, I'm stealing from Hillbilly Mom, because I like her and she's always got cool stuff on her blog and well, dadgummit I wanna be cool like her, is that so wrong?
So here are the last month's worth of keywords that got people to my webpage. Some are interesting and one is just gross. The gross one I'm leaving off because even my blog won't go that far.
28% got here from the word "redneck". Well duh.
8% found me from "redneck sayings". That's because of this post, I'm sure.
Another 8% came here by way of "redneck names." In my experience, redneck names are usually ones that include the middle name. Take for instance, a few of my relatives - Dana Jo, Cora Faye, Connie Mack (A guy actually. The ambulance driver in Westville, OK, years ago. He had some mighty nifty gold chains entertwined in his visible chest hair at the reunion where I met him.), Verna Lea and Julie Ruth. Then there are the stereotypical ones - Billy Bob, J Dub and Junior Lee. I don't recall writing about any redneck names recently.
4% came for "ugly women nekkid". I'm pretty, dammit! And I'm only half-nekkid once a week, anyway.
4% visited me by way of "kids colored plastic dresser". Strangely that one stemmed from the squishy thing that was lurking in my kitchen cabinet. Yeah, I'm confuzzled on that one, too.
4% wanted to know "diva define". Naturally they would come to me. I am the definition of diva. Sort of. I mean, I did stack wood day before yesterday in my bunny slippers. That's why they call me Redneck Diva.
All of the rest are 4% as well. Because I haven't had the stat counter very long, 4% is one visitor. I'm hoping that someday 4% is really closer to about a hundred or so. Wouldn't that be nice. Okay, where was I . . .
"rugrats all grown up porn" How that brought anyone to my site I'm still trying to figure out.
"diva" Again, this is only natural that I'd be in the results.
"weight loss - pills" Obviously from a rant about how the mean indian doctor won't give me any until I lose ten pounds all by myself. I still think that sucks. There's a doctor in town (of the non-indian variety) who will give them to anyone who walks through the door and asks. If only I had money, I'd ask.
"adult tinkerbell black sweaters" This is a combination of the post about winning an auction of a Little Black Sambo book, my TinkerBell bathroom and buying my kids winter clothes. Some of these searches are jacked up.
"fat lump on the back of the neck" My first thought was that maybe I'd posted about Sis telling me to "mind my hump, Granny" after we'd spent the day with Papa's former classmates, all of who had humps on the backs of their necks. We both have bad posture and we now tell each other to "mind our humps" when we catch the other one slouching. Granny Glenn had a hump to beat the band, God love her. But I didn't post anything about minding humps. Again, a twisted combination of gobbledygook.
"redneck cabin" We have an estate, not just simply a cabin. We are the Diva family, after all.
"80's redneck" Okay, so maybe the 80's called and want their redneck back, I dunno . . what do you think, Tiff?
"left leg giving" I have no comment. It's even too off the wall for me.
"definition hairy girl videos" At first this distressed me until I realized it's a combination of The Country Bears, Veggie Tales and ZZ Top. Combine, mix for 2 minutes on medium speed, pour into greased 9x13 pan.
"plans for hillbilly golf" Now, those are some plans even I'd like to see. Hillbilly Mom, you ever played?
"redneck big johnson shirts" Nope, none here. We limit ourselves to Eskimo Joe's t-shirts (I have 7 of them, you know, and Mr. Diva has 4. We like us some cheese fries, yes we do.) and Orange County Choppers around the Diva place. Nope, no Big Johnsons here. Just cheese fries.
As usual, I'm stealing from Hillbilly Mom, because I like her and she's always got cool stuff on her blog and well, dadgummit I wanna be cool like her, is that so wrong?
So here are the last month's worth of keywords that got people to my webpage. Some are interesting and one is just gross. The gross one I'm leaving off because even my blog won't go that far.
28% got here from the word "redneck". Well duh.
8% found me from "redneck sayings". That's because of this post, I'm sure.
Another 8% came here by way of "redneck names." In my experience, redneck names are usually ones that include the middle name. Take for instance, a few of my relatives - Dana Jo, Cora Faye, Connie Mack (A guy actually. The ambulance driver in Westville, OK, years ago. He had some mighty nifty gold chains entertwined in his visible chest hair at the reunion where I met him.), Verna Lea and Julie Ruth. Then there are the stereotypical ones - Billy Bob, J Dub and Junior Lee. I don't recall writing about any redneck names recently.
4% came for "ugly women nekkid". I'm pretty, dammit! And I'm only half-nekkid once a week, anyway.
4% visited me by way of "kids colored plastic dresser". Strangely that one stemmed from the squishy thing that was lurking in my kitchen cabinet. Yeah, I'm confuzzled on that one, too.
4% wanted to know "diva define". Naturally they would come to me. I am the definition of diva. Sort of. I mean, I did stack wood day before yesterday in my bunny slippers. That's why they call me Redneck Diva.
All of the rest are 4% as well. Because I haven't had the stat counter very long, 4% is one visitor. I'm hoping that someday 4% is really closer to about a hundred or so. Wouldn't that be nice. Okay, where was I . . .
"rugrats all grown up porn" How that brought anyone to my site I'm still trying to figure out.
"diva" Again, this is only natural that I'd be in the results.
"weight loss - pills" Obviously from a rant about how the mean indian doctor won't give me any until I lose ten pounds all by myself. I still think that sucks. There's a doctor in town (of the non-indian variety) who will give them to anyone who walks through the door and asks. If only I had money, I'd ask.
"adult tinkerbell black sweaters" This is a combination of the post about winning an auction of a Little Black Sambo book, my TinkerBell bathroom and buying my kids winter clothes. Some of these searches are jacked up.
"fat lump on the back of the neck" My first thought was that maybe I'd posted about Sis telling me to "mind my hump, Granny" after we'd spent the day with Papa's former classmates, all of who had humps on the backs of their necks. We both have bad posture and we now tell each other to "mind our humps" when we catch the other one slouching. Granny Glenn had a hump to beat the band, God love her. But I didn't post anything about minding humps. Again, a twisted combination of gobbledygook.
"redneck cabin" We have an estate, not just simply a cabin. We are the Diva family, after all.
"80's redneck" Okay, so maybe the 80's called and want their redneck back, I dunno . . what do you think, Tiff?
"left leg giving" I have no comment. It's even too off the wall for me.
"definition hairy girl videos" At first this distressed me until I realized it's a combination of The Country Bears, Veggie Tales and ZZ Top. Combine, mix for 2 minutes on medium speed, pour into greased 9x13 pan.
"plans for hillbilly golf" Now, those are some plans even I'd like to see. Hillbilly Mom, you ever played?
"redneck big johnson shirts" Nope, none here. We limit ourselves to Eskimo Joe's t-shirts (I have 7 of them, you know, and Mr. Diva has 4. We like us some cheese fries, yes we do.) and Orange County Choppers around the Diva place. Nope, no Big Johnsons here. Just cheese fries.
Ahhhh . . .
This morning Cute Big Baby's mom brought him in nearly 30 minutes late. She said they'd had a rough morning and I assumed that meant the alarm hadn't gone off or the car wouldn't start. I was close. They had a flat so Cute Big Baby's daddy had to run to Wal*Mart for a can of Fix A Flat - which I didn't tell her is the bane of existence to every tire mechanic. (Paul sighed when she said it, but I don't think she heard him. He knew that eventually that tire will probably make it into the shop for him to deal with.) Then Cute Big Baby was chasing her through the house playing and he crashed into the table leg. The child had a goose egg the size of a ping pong ball on his head. Oy. I've had mornings like that. She flitted out the door, leaving me with a baby who wasn't happy with the morning's events to begin with, plus she was leaving him with me and I had suddenly become the Antichrist in the child's eyes. Usually he lunges from his mommy's arms into mine every morning and greets me with hugs and pats, but oh no, not today. If the child had had access to a flaming torch and a pitchfork I'm pretty sure I'd be dead right now.
He doesn't cry like normal babies. This has something to do with the fact that he's not the size of a normal baby. He's HUGE. Proportionately huge, not just fat. So his cries aren't high pitched and baby-sounding, but instead they come out sounding like a wounded yeti. He did his yeti cry for 20 minutes, through breakfast and two phone conversations before I'd had enough and gave that child some Tylenol. Then we snuggled on the couch.
And of course, Cute Little Baby was seeing snuggling and he wasn't involved, so he crawled over and held his adorable pudgy hands up to me and well, I can't resist that. CBB was totally claiming territorial rights to my lap and upper body and refused to allow CLB anywhere near any snuggling appendage or surface. The fight was on. CLB was clawing at CBB's face, CBB was grunting his dissatisfaction at that which led him to head butt, which in turn made his ginormous goose egg come in contact with CLB's forehead and well, if it hadn't been so dang amusing I'd have cried with them both. Finally a partial peace treaty was reached after the tears subsided and both pursued the cuddling, wallering and general meelee that is known as "I can snuggle better than you and I am out to prove it, so there." I love my job.
--------------------
Kady is battling allergies and a sinus infection something fierce. The purple circles under her eyes last week had faded, but came back again last night. I have been worried that she would go into a full-blown asthma attack while we were without a nebulizer, but yesterday I finally got to the medical supply place and got one, so let the wheezing come. I am now prepared. Not that I want the wheezing to come, mind you. I'm just saying that now I'm only moderately worried. I hate the middle of the night wheezing, gasping for air, crying and screaming between gasps, that is a sudden asthma attack. It's scary for her and scary for me to be woke up like that.
--------------------
A few nights ago Paul went back to the big bathroom to shave. Normally he shaves in the Tinkerbell bathroom, but for some reason he didn't that night. He wasn't back there long and when he came out, unshaven, he said, "Don't use the sink in the big bathroom." I asked why and he informed me that the pipe underneath the sink had rusted through and water was just going down the drain into the cabinet underneath.
Now, nearly 2 years ago we discovered that the pipe was leaking at the joint and I had to empty the cabinet of all towels and washcloths because they were continually wet from the dripping. Ew. He was going to repair it, but the pipes looked rather thin to him and he was afraid that if he went to wrenching around on them they would burst up in the wall and we'd be in a world of hurt. So what does a redneck family do in a situation like that? Well, I'll tell you what this particular redneck family did - just leave the cabinet empty and ignore the rusty pipe. For two years. Oh, occasionally I'd ask if he could fix it and he'd shrug and grumble and then the conversation would be dropped.
Shortly after we moved in, a friend discovered that the faucet in the bathroom exactly matched the faucet in her tub and asked if I would be willing to sell it to her. You betcha. I HATE that faucet! The knobs are hard to turn for the kids and invariably the little ones leave the water running at least once a day. She bought me a new faucet and said there was no hurry, but when we were ready to replace it she'd take the old one. We've been in this house 4 1/2 years, people. And Ginger has waited oh so patiently for the faucet.
The big bathroom is our main bathroom. The bathroom where the kids and I shower and get ready. The bathroom that company uses. It's a pretty integral part of our daily life. For four days now it has been out of commission. Only the sink was unusable, but Paul isn't the neatest person when it comes to repairs and he had scattered blackened, rusted metal all over the bathroom which I did not want tracked into my carpet, so we've pretty much stayed out of there. Last night I met him on the road when I was headed to town and he was headed home. He had the necessary piece of pipe to finish the job and I sweetly asked him if, while he was in the plumbing frame of mind, he could install my new faucet as well. He agreed to it and I was ecstatic!
Then I got home last night to discover an even bigger mess in my bathroom and no new faucet. I asked him why there was no new faucet and he said, "You're not getting a new faucet because the sink is rusted through, too!" Yeah. He wasn't happy and neither was I. But I, being the sunshiney person I am, said hey, no big, we'll just get a new sink and put in the new faucet and all will be right with the world. But alas, no, it is not to be this way, thus sayeth the gods of plumbing. The vanity top was cut specially for that sink and the sink is set lower than the counter top. You just don't drop a new one on there and call it good. Which means, we have to install a new vanity and sink, plus put in the new faucet. It started as just a measley rusted pipe!!!
So when Mom called today to find out if I liked my new faucet I told her that there was no new faucet and would never be a new faucet because life sucks and I must've killed a bunch of cute fluffy kittens in a past life because all I wanted was a stupid new faucet and now my entire bathroom is USELESS and I don't have the money to fix it! The sunshiney attitude from last night was gone this morning. But my mother, the angel from heaven that she is, called TradeX in Joplin and found a white marble-y vanity top that you purchase by the foot AND a white sink to go with for $65. She was going to call some friends that do cabinets and see if they could just real quick-like cut a whole for the sink in it if we haul it out to them in the next day or two and if that happens, we'll have a new countertop, sink and faucet by the weekend! Which is good, because Jen and April's GS troop is invading our place for a haunted hayride on Saturday. We'll need a working bathroom to accomodate an extra ten little girls, who more than likely will need to pee at least once during the evening, especially after we scare them with the hayride. And I am not going to clean my bedroom enough to allow company to traipse through to use the Tinkerbell bathroom, even though it really is pretty cute.
It's Whiney Wednesday, I just realized. Eh. Go back up there and read it in a whiny voice and there - you've got my WW post.
He doesn't cry like normal babies. This has something to do with the fact that he's not the size of a normal baby. He's HUGE. Proportionately huge, not just fat. So his cries aren't high pitched and baby-sounding, but instead they come out sounding like a wounded yeti. He did his yeti cry for 20 minutes, through breakfast and two phone conversations before I'd had enough and gave that child some Tylenol. Then we snuggled on the couch.
And of course, Cute Little Baby was seeing snuggling and he wasn't involved, so he crawled over and held his adorable pudgy hands up to me and well, I can't resist that. CBB was totally claiming territorial rights to my lap and upper body and refused to allow CLB anywhere near any snuggling appendage or surface. The fight was on. CLB was clawing at CBB's face, CBB was grunting his dissatisfaction at that which led him to head butt, which in turn made his ginormous goose egg come in contact with CLB's forehead and well, if it hadn't been so dang amusing I'd have cried with them both. Finally a partial peace treaty was reached after the tears subsided and both pursued the cuddling, wallering and general meelee that is known as "I can snuggle better than you and I am out to prove it, so there." I love my job.
--------------------
Kady is battling allergies and a sinus infection something fierce. The purple circles under her eyes last week had faded, but came back again last night. I have been worried that she would go into a full-blown asthma attack while we were without a nebulizer, but yesterday I finally got to the medical supply place and got one, so let the wheezing come. I am now prepared. Not that I want the wheezing to come, mind you. I'm just saying that now I'm only moderately worried. I hate the middle of the night wheezing, gasping for air, crying and screaming between gasps, that is a sudden asthma attack. It's scary for her and scary for me to be woke up like that.
--------------------
A few nights ago Paul went back to the big bathroom to shave. Normally he shaves in the Tinkerbell bathroom, but for some reason he didn't that night. He wasn't back there long and when he came out, unshaven, he said, "Don't use the sink in the big bathroom." I asked why and he informed me that the pipe underneath the sink had rusted through and water was just going down the drain into the cabinet underneath.
Now, nearly 2 years ago we discovered that the pipe was leaking at the joint and I had to empty the cabinet of all towels and washcloths because they were continually wet from the dripping. Ew. He was going to repair it, but the pipes looked rather thin to him and he was afraid that if he went to wrenching around on them they would burst up in the wall and we'd be in a world of hurt. So what does a redneck family do in a situation like that? Well, I'll tell you what this particular redneck family did - just leave the cabinet empty and ignore the rusty pipe. For two years. Oh, occasionally I'd ask if he could fix it and he'd shrug and grumble and then the conversation would be dropped.
Shortly after we moved in, a friend discovered that the faucet in the bathroom exactly matched the faucet in her tub and asked if I would be willing to sell it to her. You betcha. I HATE that faucet! The knobs are hard to turn for the kids and invariably the little ones leave the water running at least once a day. She bought me a new faucet and said there was no hurry, but when we were ready to replace it she'd take the old one. We've been in this house 4 1/2 years, people. And Ginger has waited oh so patiently for the faucet.
The big bathroom is our main bathroom. The bathroom where the kids and I shower and get ready. The bathroom that company uses. It's a pretty integral part of our daily life. For four days now it has been out of commission. Only the sink was unusable, but Paul isn't the neatest person when it comes to repairs and he had scattered blackened, rusted metal all over the bathroom which I did not want tracked into my carpet, so we've pretty much stayed out of there. Last night I met him on the road when I was headed to town and he was headed home. He had the necessary piece of pipe to finish the job and I sweetly asked him if, while he was in the plumbing frame of mind, he could install my new faucet as well. He agreed to it and I was ecstatic!
Then I got home last night to discover an even bigger mess in my bathroom and no new faucet. I asked him why there was no new faucet and he said, "You're not getting a new faucet because the sink is rusted through, too!" Yeah. He wasn't happy and neither was I. But I, being the sunshiney person I am, said hey, no big, we'll just get a new sink and put in the new faucet and all will be right with the world. But alas, no, it is not to be this way, thus sayeth the gods of plumbing. The vanity top was cut specially for that sink and the sink is set lower than the counter top. You just don't drop a new one on there and call it good. Which means, we have to install a new vanity and sink, plus put in the new faucet. It started as just a measley rusted pipe!!!
So when Mom called today to find out if I liked my new faucet I told her that there was no new faucet and would never be a new faucet because life sucks and I must've killed a bunch of cute fluffy kittens in a past life because all I wanted was a stupid new faucet and now my entire bathroom is USELESS and I don't have the money to fix it! The sunshiney attitude from last night was gone this morning. But my mother, the angel from heaven that she is, called TradeX in Joplin and found a white marble-y vanity top that you purchase by the foot AND a white sink to go with for $65. She was going to call some friends that do cabinets and see if they could just real quick-like cut a whole for the sink in it if we haul it out to them in the next day or two and if that happens, we'll have a new countertop, sink and faucet by the weekend! Which is good, because Jen and April's GS troop is invading our place for a haunted hayride on Saturday. We'll need a working bathroom to accomodate an extra ten little girls, who more than likely will need to pee at least once during the evening, especially after we scare them with the hayride. And I am not going to clean my bedroom enough to allow company to traipse through to use the Tinkerbell bathroom, even though it really is pretty cute.
It's Whiney Wednesday, I just realized. Eh. Go back up there and read it in a whiny voice and there - you've got my WW post.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Broccoli burps
Bleh. We ate Chinese again tonight, only this week we did it before karate instead of afterwards. So that left me lots more time to experience my body slowly dehydrating and my skin turning into the texture of a raisin. I love Chinese food, but my gosh it makes me thirsty.
And that broccoli whatever it was I ate was a big mistake.
-------------------
I bought some new shirts at Old Navy over the weekend. When I went shopping with Cousin Stacey the weekend before I bought a Halloween shirt and even though it's a little snugger than I normally wear my shirts, it wasn't vulgar and I actually got felt up by my husband the entire day I wore it. He said it made my ta-tas look big. Yes, that's actually what he said.
So the two shirts I bought are the same size as the Halloween shirt, just long sleeved and v-neck. This morning I decided to wear the black one. Omg, I felt like I was wearing shrink wrap!!! Talk about snug. Oh my gosh, it was snug. I tried to pull it out away from me, ya know, stretch it a little, but oh no, the spandex in it kept it nice and tight. I decided that I'll more than likely wear them to sleep in unless I decide to ever get serious again about the the whole weight loss thing. But then, if I sleep in them and it creeps up and gets around my neck I'm liable to be choked.
Tonight while the boys were doing karate, Sis and Melissa and I were talking and the subject of clothes came up. I mentioned the horrible Old Navy shrink-wrap I'd bought and have already washed and am now the not-so-proud owner of. I said, "Oh it was just vulgar! I had curves here and here - curves I didn't know I had! I was just positively spilling out of that thing!" Melissa and Sis exchanged knowing looks and Melissa said, "Kristin, if you have curves in strange places, they are not really curves - they are fat rolls." Heather chimed in, "Yeah. Sorry to break that one to ya. While you might be curvy, what you were experiencing were not true curves." That's brutally honest friendship right there, people.
---------------
Tonight in Wal*Mart my children went bezerk. T-total, haywire, off the charts, wound for sound, beyond reason INSANE. Sis' kids did, too. While I was bra shopping they were all five holding bras up to their chests and going "Ooh looky at meeeeee - I have big booobieeeeeesssss!" and then would cackle hysterically. We considered just walking off and leaving them, but when we tried they followed us.
I have mentioned before to y'all about how I've broken the underwires in both of my white bras, leaving me wearing only dark-colored shirts until I find a new white bra. Well, the nearest Lane Bryants are in Tulsa and Springfield and the bras are also $32.50, so eh, not happening. I hit the bra aisle at W*M tonight and I must say, I am so spoiled to my fancy, schmancy, made for fat chicks bras. I wear a demi cup, which Sis says is obscene and perilous close to nipple exposure, but what can I say, I like my girls to breathe. Well, W*M doesn't carry a demi cup in the fat chick bra section. I ended up buying one that, while it isn't a demi cup, looks better than the turtle neck bras I was terrified of and will probably have nightmares about tonight. I'll keep you posted. I'm sure you'll be on the edge of your seats until I do.
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Driving by the Coleman Theatre tonight the marquee said MYSTERY TOURS. That means that every weekend from now until they stop doing them my sister and I will be forking over $5 at every opportunity to experience all that there is to the haunted theatre. We do it every year and every year it's freaking awesome. Dad said he'd like to go with us this year, but Sis will only let him if he keeps his mouth shut and doesn't try to analyze everything we see/hear/feel/experience. I'm not sure he can. We shall see. I am so stoked about going I can hardly stand it!! I've invited Hillbilly Mom before to come down and go through it with us, but she made up some excuse about living like, 5 hours away and blah blah blah, yada yada yada. Every party has a pooper, Hillbilly Mom. You know that, right?
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Oh yeah, forgot to mention that yesterday morning Sam had the most gruesome nosebleed ever! It was horrific and his room looked like a crime scene when it was all said and done. So that means that since Wednesday of last week I've been peed on, pooped on, puked on and now bled on. If I could find a baby to deliver and maybe someone in need of CPR, I'm pretty sure I could get my medical license and open up a practice.
And that broccoli whatever it was I ate was a big mistake.
-------------------
I bought some new shirts at Old Navy over the weekend. When I went shopping with Cousin Stacey the weekend before I bought a Halloween shirt and even though it's a little snugger than I normally wear my shirts, it wasn't vulgar and I actually got felt up by my husband the entire day I wore it. He said it made my ta-tas look big. Yes, that's actually what he said.
So the two shirts I bought are the same size as the Halloween shirt, just long sleeved and v-neck. This morning I decided to wear the black one. Omg, I felt like I was wearing shrink wrap!!! Talk about snug. Oh my gosh, it was snug. I tried to pull it out away from me, ya know, stretch it a little, but oh no, the spandex in it kept it nice and tight. I decided that I'll more than likely wear them to sleep in unless I decide to ever get serious again about the the whole weight loss thing. But then, if I sleep in them and it creeps up and gets around my neck I'm liable to be choked.
Tonight while the boys were doing karate, Sis and Melissa and I were talking and the subject of clothes came up. I mentioned the horrible Old Navy shrink-wrap I'd bought and have already washed and am now the not-so-proud owner of. I said, "Oh it was just vulgar! I had curves here and here - curves I didn't know I had! I was just positively spilling out of that thing!" Melissa and Sis exchanged knowing looks and Melissa said, "Kristin, if you have curves in strange places, they are not really curves - they are fat rolls." Heather chimed in, "Yeah. Sorry to break that one to ya. While you might be curvy, what you were experiencing were not true curves." That's brutally honest friendship right there, people.
---------------
Tonight in Wal*Mart my children went bezerk. T-total, haywire, off the charts, wound for sound, beyond reason INSANE. Sis' kids did, too. While I was bra shopping they were all five holding bras up to their chests and going "Ooh looky at meeeeee - I have big booobieeeeeesssss!" and then would cackle hysterically. We considered just walking off and leaving them, but when we tried they followed us.
I have mentioned before to y'all about how I've broken the underwires in both of my white bras, leaving me wearing only dark-colored shirts until I find a new white bra. Well, the nearest Lane Bryants are in Tulsa and Springfield and the bras are also $32.50, so eh, not happening. I hit the bra aisle at W*M tonight and I must say, I am so spoiled to my fancy, schmancy, made for fat chicks bras. I wear a demi cup, which Sis says is obscene and perilous close to nipple exposure, but what can I say, I like my girls to breathe. Well, W*M doesn't carry a demi cup in the fat chick bra section. I ended up buying one that, while it isn't a demi cup, looks better than the turtle neck bras I was terrified of and will probably have nightmares about tonight. I'll keep you posted. I'm sure you'll be on the edge of your seats until I do.
-------------------
Driving by the Coleman Theatre tonight the marquee said MYSTERY TOURS. That means that every weekend from now until they stop doing them my sister and I will be forking over $5 at every opportunity to experience all that there is to the haunted theatre. We do it every year and every year it's freaking awesome. Dad said he'd like to go with us this year, but Sis will only let him if he keeps his mouth shut and doesn't try to analyze everything we see/hear/feel/experience. I'm not sure he can. We shall see. I am so stoked about going I can hardly stand it!! I've invited Hillbilly Mom before to come down and go through it with us, but she made up some excuse about living like, 5 hours away and blah blah blah, yada yada yada. Every party has a pooper, Hillbilly Mom. You know that, right?
-------------------
Oh yeah, forgot to mention that yesterday morning Sam had the most gruesome nosebleed ever! It was horrific and his room looked like a crime scene when it was all said and done. So that means that since Wednesday of last week I've been peed on, pooped on, puked on and now bled on. If I could find a baby to deliver and maybe someone in need of CPR, I'm pretty sure I could get my medical license and open up a practice.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Moon over Miami
As I mentioned in the last post, Mr. Diva had gone a'cuttin' wood yesterday morning. The plan had been from the beginning that he would fell the tree and me and the young'ns would come out and load it onto the trailer, then help stack it up here by the house.
So after the drama of the flaming laundry, I was eager to get out across the field and enjoy the sunshine and coolish weather. So Kady and I hopped on one four-wheeler, the other two kids got on the other and off we went, once Mr. Diva radioed in that he was ready for us.
That 3 year old of mine is a worker! She looked so cute in her lace-up ropers, Wranglers (hand me downs from Bubby, but she loves them so much!) and Disney Princess turtleneck, complete with belt and bead necklaces and bracelets declaring her Princess-hood, hair all up in a bow. That kid knows how to do manual labor - with style. Abby is stout, even if she is built like Olive Oyl. Both girls jumped right to work, really working up a sweat. Sam, however, stood over by the tractor and whined that he was hot, he was tired, he was thirsty, he was hungry. (His daddy does not tolerate laziness and I kept trying to give the kid the skunk-eye to keep him out of trouble, but to no avail. Oh the lecture he got! 7 year olds don't understand words like "work ethic", but I think he got the idea that his daddy was not real happy with him.) I went to work throwing the big logs out into the clearing so the kids (girls) could get to them easier.
Once the trailer was full, we rode back up here to the house and stacked the wood against the wall under the carport. Again, Sam whined and Mr. Diva lectured. Again, us girls worked our tails off. What was left in the clearing by then were ginormous trunk pieces that had to be split, so Mr. Diva said I could drive the tractor and trailer back while he pulled the splitter with the four-wheeler.
I hate driving that stupid tractor. I like speed and speed the tractor does not have. Even opened up all the way I feel like I'm crawling. I prefer the wind in my hair, bugs in my teeth kind of driving, not so slow that butterflies will light on you. (It has happened.) So I drove the tractor to the clearing with the kids on the trailer and Mr. Diva caught up with us pretty quick.
He had just gotten going with the splitting and the kids and I were caught up. So I was watching Kady climb on the tractor and Sam whine when suddenly I felt something crawling up my leg. Something scratchy with lots of legs and more than likely long, poisonous fangs. So I kind of squealed and batted at the poisonous critter through my pant leg. This stopped the crawling. I shook my leg, hoping that a now dead poisonous creature would fall out my pants cuff and all would be well once more. Nothing fell out, but nothing was climbing again so I was okay.
Then I felt the crawling and climbing up higher. Like behind my knee. This time it was no little squeal, but a full-fledged scream - "AYYYYIIIIIIII THERE IS SOMETHING IN MY PANTS!!!!!!!!!!" Complete with the furious smacking of my leg, jumping around in circles and much cursing. All three kids were stock still, staring at their mother who had obviously gone quite mad. Mr. Diva even stopped splitting wood and stared. The climbing would not stop and I was in a state of utter panic, so I did what any normal person with a poisonous critter in their pants would do
I dropped my laundry.
I couldn't get them unbuttoned and unzipped fast enough. Granted, we were out in the corner of the 40, but still anyone driving by would've seen my blue and white flowered panties if they had just looked to the north. The kids were cackling by this point and Mr. Diva didn't say a word, just nodded back behind me. A quick look behind me and I discovered the neighbor's grain truck just across the fence line. "Screw him. If he sees, he sees. THERE IS SOMETHING IN MY PANTS!"
I never found the pant intruder. He either flew out when my pants hit my ankles or a particularly well-executed jump sent him out the cuff. I inspected my leg for fang marks, but so far have found none. I keep checking. One can never be too careful.
I saw our neighbor drive by today. He waved a little bigger than usual. Maybe it was just my imagination. Or maybe he just liked the way I danced.
So after the drama of the flaming laundry, I was eager to get out across the field and enjoy the sunshine and coolish weather. So Kady and I hopped on one four-wheeler, the other two kids got on the other and off we went, once Mr. Diva radioed in that he was ready for us.
That 3 year old of mine is a worker! She looked so cute in her lace-up ropers, Wranglers (hand me downs from Bubby, but she loves them so much!) and Disney Princess turtleneck, complete with belt and bead necklaces and bracelets declaring her Princess-hood, hair all up in a bow. That kid knows how to do manual labor - with style. Abby is stout, even if she is built like Olive Oyl. Both girls jumped right to work, really working up a sweat. Sam, however, stood over by the tractor and whined that he was hot, he was tired, he was thirsty, he was hungry. (His daddy does not tolerate laziness and I kept trying to give the kid the skunk-eye to keep him out of trouble, but to no avail. Oh the lecture he got! 7 year olds don't understand words like "work ethic", but I think he got the idea that his daddy was not real happy with him.) I went to work throwing the big logs out into the clearing so the kids (girls) could get to them easier.
Once the trailer was full, we rode back up here to the house and stacked the wood against the wall under the carport. Again, Sam whined and Mr. Diva lectured. Again, us girls worked our tails off. What was left in the clearing by then were ginormous trunk pieces that had to be split, so Mr. Diva said I could drive the tractor and trailer back while he pulled the splitter with the four-wheeler.
I hate driving that stupid tractor. I like speed and speed the tractor does not have. Even opened up all the way I feel like I'm crawling. I prefer the wind in my hair, bugs in my teeth kind of driving, not so slow that butterflies will light on you. (It has happened.) So I drove the tractor to the clearing with the kids on the trailer and Mr. Diva caught up with us pretty quick.
He had just gotten going with the splitting and the kids and I were caught up. So I was watching Kady climb on the tractor and Sam whine when suddenly I felt something crawling up my leg. Something scratchy with lots of legs and more than likely long, poisonous fangs. So I kind of squealed and batted at the poisonous critter through my pant leg. This stopped the crawling. I shook my leg, hoping that a now dead poisonous creature would fall out my pants cuff and all would be well once more. Nothing fell out, but nothing was climbing again so I was okay.
Then I felt the crawling and climbing up higher. Like behind my knee. This time it was no little squeal, but a full-fledged scream - "AYYYYIIIIIIII THERE IS SOMETHING IN MY PANTS!!!!!!!!!!" Complete with the furious smacking of my leg, jumping around in circles and much cursing. All three kids were stock still, staring at their mother who had obviously gone quite mad. Mr. Diva even stopped splitting wood and stared. The climbing would not stop and I was in a state of utter panic, so I did what any normal person with a poisonous critter in their pants would do
I dropped my laundry.
I couldn't get them unbuttoned and unzipped fast enough. Granted, we were out in the corner of the 40, but still anyone driving by would've seen my blue and white flowered panties if they had just looked to the north. The kids were cackling by this point and Mr. Diva didn't say a word, just nodded back behind me. A quick look behind me and I discovered the neighbor's grain truck just across the fence line. "Screw him. If he sees, he sees. THERE IS SOMETHING IN MY PANTS!"
I never found the pant intruder. He either flew out when my pants hit my ankles or a particularly well-executed jump sent him out the cuff. I inspected my leg for fang marks, but so far have found none. I keep checking. One can never be too careful.
I saw our neighbor drive by today. He waved a little bigger than usual. Maybe it was just my imagination. Or maybe he just liked the way I danced.
Flaming laundry
Yesterday morning all of the Divas got up early. Paul headed off to cut wood out on the other side of the 40. The kids were helping me pick up the house and put up summer clothes and hang up winter clothes. The past week had been so crazy that I was behind on laundry, so I started that with a vengeance.
I was drying my first load of the day and washing the second load while I was cleaning up the kitchen and dining room. I walked through the utility room for something and smelled something hot. Our non-burnable trash sits next to the dryer and any extra trash bags awaiting the burn pile. Never has the dryer melted a trash bag before, but that was my first thought. So I pulled the trash bags and can out to check, but nothing was melted or smoldering. While I had things pulled out I swept back there. Satisfied that my efforts were going to stop any further smoking odors I went about my business. On another trek through the utility room I noticed the smell was worse. So I shut off the dryer, opened it up to check to see if there was something plastic inside the drum. Nothing. I pulled the dryer out away from the wall - nothing suspicious back there. Satisfied once again, I turned it back on and left the room.
I was leary at this point, feeling sure that something was amiss. I went back into the utility room to find smoke pouring from the electrical outlet! I ran to the back of the house and in my best "nothing's wrong here, I'm a strong in-control mommy" voice, said, "Ab, get your jacket on for me, hon," while I jerked open the closet doors to get the fire extinguisher. "Why?" was her response. Ahh, the quizzical nature of children. "Ab, get. your. jacket. on. NOW. I need you to go get Daddy for me." Again, she queried why. On the verge of panic, I said, "BECAUSE THERE IS A FIRE IN THE UTILITY ROOM NOW GET YOUR JACKET ON!!"
My eldest child is somewhat of a mother hen, so while she got her jacket on she was keeping the other two calm, telling them to get their shoes on in case we had to leave the house. I ran to the breaker box and flipped the switch marked "Utility room". The lights went out, the washer quit filling, I had killed the power. I hollered to Abby to get on the four-wheeler and go as fast as she could across the field to her daddy, praying that the thing wasn't torqued down to a crawl, which is usually how its kept to keep the children from sure death and dismemberment. She couldn't get it started. I have never driven that particular vehicle, so I wasn't sure what to do. I said, "Calm down now, hon. Just start it like you usually would." It wouldn't start! So I ran to the pickup and laid on the horn. Sam ran to the fence and started jumping up and down and waving his arms. I laid on that horn for dear life. From where I was, I couldn't tell if Paul had seen or heard us. So I said, "Abby can you drive the other four-wheeler?" She immediately said no then a lightbulb went off and she said, "YES!! Yes I can!! YaYa just showed me a few days ago!" Bingo!
We both ran to the bigger four-wheeler and I tried to start it. It wouldnt' start either. Then it would start and die. Abby threw her hands in the air and said, "Satan's doing this to us, isn't he?" That's when it hit me to pray. Oh me of little faith. It started on the next try. She flew off across the field and I ran back into the house to monitor the smoking outlet. No smoke, no flames, I ran back outside to see the tractor, which up until this point I wasn't sure would go over 4 mph, bouncing and tearing across the field with Abby behind it, hair flying behind her. Paul jumped off and said, "What's on fire?" as he ran toward me. He pulled the dryer from the wall and said, "Did you kill the power?" I assured him that yes, I had flipped the breaker. "Are you sure?" I said, "Paul, I flipped the breaker that says Utility Room." He took that as gospel and began trying to yank the cord from the wall. Except it was melted to the outlet. Finally he pulled it free, a wisp of smoke came from the wall and he grabbed a screwdriver and began unscrewing the plate.
Nothing all that unusual, neither of us are electricians, so we weren't sure what to look for if we didn't see melted and smoking wires. He told me to call Dad. Dad ran off a list of possibilities, blamed it on the dryer, but said he'd come over and look at it. 15 minutes later Dad arrived and again asked "Is the juice off?" I again said that I had flipped the breaker to the utility room. There we all were bare hands all over the wires, crowded around shoulder to shoulder while we peered at the blackened outlet and cord. Dad couldn't see and said, "Turn on a light, Sis." I said, "Well now Dad, I just told you I had flipped the breaker when it started smoking." He stood up real quick and walked, without another word, to the breaker box. So he could flip the 220 breaker to the dryer.
Oops.
I wanted to vomit.
So I stood in the doorway to the utility room, chewing on my thumbnail, which is what I do when I get nervous or excited (and trust me, excited was not what I was feeling), silently thanking God for the angels that had kept my father and husband from being electrocuted.
When it was all done, Dad took me out to the breaker box and then showed me that the 220's are all labeled with specific appliances PLUS they are doubles. Duh. I so knew that.
An hour and a half later, a new cord in place, the dryer humming along and peace reigning once more, Dad was walking out the door. I said, "Dad, thank you so much for coming over and helping with that." He smiled and said, "Hey, no problem, kid. That's what I'm here for." Then I patted him on the shoulder and said, "Oh yeah, and sorry I tried to kill you."
I was drying my first load of the day and washing the second load while I was cleaning up the kitchen and dining room. I walked through the utility room for something and smelled something hot. Our non-burnable trash sits next to the dryer and any extra trash bags awaiting the burn pile. Never has the dryer melted a trash bag before, but that was my first thought. So I pulled the trash bags and can out to check, but nothing was melted or smoldering. While I had things pulled out I swept back there. Satisfied that my efforts were going to stop any further smoking odors I went about my business. On another trek through the utility room I noticed the smell was worse. So I shut off the dryer, opened it up to check to see if there was something plastic inside the drum. Nothing. I pulled the dryer out away from the wall - nothing suspicious back there. Satisfied once again, I turned it back on and left the room.
I was leary at this point, feeling sure that something was amiss. I went back into the utility room to find smoke pouring from the electrical outlet! I ran to the back of the house and in my best "nothing's wrong here, I'm a strong in-control mommy" voice, said, "Ab, get your jacket on for me, hon," while I jerked open the closet doors to get the fire extinguisher. "Why?" was her response. Ahh, the quizzical nature of children. "Ab, get. your. jacket. on. NOW. I need you to go get Daddy for me." Again, she queried why. On the verge of panic, I said, "BECAUSE THERE IS A FIRE IN THE UTILITY ROOM NOW GET YOUR JACKET ON!!"
My eldest child is somewhat of a mother hen, so while she got her jacket on she was keeping the other two calm, telling them to get their shoes on in case we had to leave the house. I ran to the breaker box and flipped the switch marked "Utility room". The lights went out, the washer quit filling, I had killed the power. I hollered to Abby to get on the four-wheeler and go as fast as she could across the field to her daddy, praying that the thing wasn't torqued down to a crawl, which is usually how its kept to keep the children from sure death and dismemberment. She couldn't get it started. I have never driven that particular vehicle, so I wasn't sure what to do. I said, "Calm down now, hon. Just start it like you usually would." It wouldn't start! So I ran to the pickup and laid on the horn. Sam ran to the fence and started jumping up and down and waving his arms. I laid on that horn for dear life. From where I was, I couldn't tell if Paul had seen or heard us. So I said, "Abby can you drive the other four-wheeler?" She immediately said no then a lightbulb went off and she said, "YES!! Yes I can!! YaYa just showed me a few days ago!" Bingo!
We both ran to the bigger four-wheeler and I tried to start it. It wouldnt' start either. Then it would start and die. Abby threw her hands in the air and said, "Satan's doing this to us, isn't he?" That's when it hit me to pray. Oh me of little faith. It started on the next try. She flew off across the field and I ran back into the house to monitor the smoking outlet. No smoke, no flames, I ran back outside to see the tractor, which up until this point I wasn't sure would go over 4 mph, bouncing and tearing across the field with Abby behind it, hair flying behind her. Paul jumped off and said, "What's on fire?" as he ran toward me. He pulled the dryer from the wall and said, "Did you kill the power?" I assured him that yes, I had flipped the breaker. "Are you sure?" I said, "Paul, I flipped the breaker that says Utility Room." He took that as gospel and began trying to yank the cord from the wall. Except it was melted to the outlet. Finally he pulled it free, a wisp of smoke came from the wall and he grabbed a screwdriver and began unscrewing the plate.
Nothing all that unusual, neither of us are electricians, so we weren't sure what to look for if we didn't see melted and smoking wires. He told me to call Dad. Dad ran off a list of possibilities, blamed it on the dryer, but said he'd come over and look at it. 15 minutes later Dad arrived and again asked "Is the juice off?" I again said that I had flipped the breaker to the utility room. There we all were bare hands all over the wires, crowded around shoulder to shoulder while we peered at the blackened outlet and cord. Dad couldn't see and said, "Turn on a light, Sis." I said, "Well now Dad, I just told you I had flipped the breaker when it started smoking." He stood up real quick and walked, without another word, to the breaker box. So he could flip the 220 breaker to the dryer.
Oops.
I wanted to vomit.
So I stood in the doorway to the utility room, chewing on my thumbnail, which is what I do when I get nervous or excited (and trust me, excited was not what I was feeling), silently thanking God for the angels that had kept my father and husband from being electrocuted.
When it was all done, Dad took me out to the breaker box and then showed me that the 220's are all labeled with specific appliances PLUS they are doubles. Duh. I so knew that.
An hour and a half later, a new cord in place, the dryer humming along and peace reigning once more, Dad was walking out the door. I said, "Dad, thank you so much for coming over and helping with that." He smiled and said, "Hey, no problem, kid. That's what I'm here for." Then I patted him on the shoulder and said, "Oh yeah, and sorry I tried to kill you."
Friday, October 07, 2005
It's only been a week
Yeesh, if I had half a brain I'd have remembered that I wrote a HUGE post on Tuesday night and when I went to publish it gave me that dreaded "page not available" business and then wouldn't let me back into Blogger at all, so I left the window open so I could recover the post later, BUT then a storm hit really quick and suddenly and I had to shut down and unplug everything and well, I kind of haven't plugged my computer back in until today. I kind of forgot. I wondered why there were so many comments full of concern!
Okay, now . . . where to begin . . .
Last Saturday morning I got up and put on a pot of brown beans and ham then set about cleaning the house a bit. Not much, just a bit. Then at noon, the kids and I loaded into the van and headed to Tulsa for their first trip to the airport. And my first trip since I was 17 years old. The last time I went I wasn't driving, so of course I paid no attention because I was 17 and what 17 year old actually pays attention if it doesn't directly affect or benefit them in any way? Point being, I was totally clueless as to how perilous a trip to the airport would be. Turns out - not perilous at all. Easy drive, no problems, wheeled into the short-term parking with no incident. The sign said 30 minute parking was free, after that it was $2. I was praying for an on-time flight.
So the kids and I went into the terminal that looked ginormous to us, but in all actuality is pretty small. I strolled in like I visit the airport daily. The kids walked in with eyes wide and mouths agape. I checked the flight screen and yep, the flight was on time so I was praying for the free parking thing. We found a seat because we were about 10 minutes early and I wasn't actually sure at which gate we needed to be. Then I heard the familiar ring on my cell phone that told me
COUSIN STACEY WAS IN OKLAHOMA!!!!!
We retrieved her and her luggage and headed to the van, loaded up, buckled up and made it to the toll booth thing with one minute to spare. Parking was FREE! I love it when I get my way. We drove to Casa Bonita because Cousin Stacey was jonesin' for some sopapillas, but alas they were closed. Not just closed for the day, but closed forever. It was a sad, sad day. Midnight the night before marked the end of the 30-year reign of all you can eat sopapillas at the big pink casa in Tulsa. *sniff sniff* So instead she got some Taco Bueno and called it good. She bought the kids a soda and you'd have thought that was more exciting than the trip to the airport.
We arrived back at Casa del Hoover, where you don't get all you can eat sopapillas, but you do get a noisily entertaining visit and sometimes, yellow cake with chocolate icing. Not the same, but nearly as good. She and I visited while I made cornbread, a yellow cake and an apple crisp. Up to that point we had kept the visit a secret from everyone, so we were both excited as to how it was going to play out. Tater and her tots, Mom and Bub were supposed to come out for dinner and then a casino/darts run, so I called and asked them to bring some ice cream for dessert. When Mom got there she tried to hand me the ice cream. I ignored her. She tried again to hand it to me and I just said "Would you just go put it in the freezer for me?" I know she was puzzled as to why I wouldn't take the ice cream from her, but when she walked into the kitchen and was greeted by Cousin Stacey, the screams and squeals that ensued blew away any puzzlement.
Dinner was spent catching up on family gossip and such, laughing a few times till I thought cornbread was going to come out my nose. The sitter arrived at 8:30 and we all loaded up into Paul's truck and headed to the Lucky Turtle. I'd like to think the spur of the moment trip in from NC was all about me and how much Cousin Stacey missed me, but I'm thinking the Turtle played a big part in the visit, too. ;) After the Turtle we visited Bordertown and then ended up at the Buffalo, of course.
Sunday morning, since Paul had to work, Stacey, the kids and I went to Joplin to spend Abby's birthday money. She got some really nice clothes and still had $12 of her money left at day's end. I also bought myself a $5 Old Navy Halloween shirt. Yeah, I realize it was a frivolous expenditure, but hey I was giddy with delight. Kady had a massive meltdown at the mall and that can only mean one thing - an asthma flare-up is on its way. She gets purply black circles under her eyes and her personality switches right before the wheezing begins. When we got home that evening I started her on her inhaler and so far we've kept it at bay.
Sunday night we had a weenie roast, just the family, minus Mom. That was fun. Thankfully the next day was Pajama Day at school for Spirit Week, so that justified the late bedtime for the kids. Monday was relatively uneventful around here. We went to Ladies' Night. Whoo hoo. I'm not sure I'm going back. It's become more dreadful and miserable than it is fun, as of late.
Tuesday afternoon, Sis and I drove Cousin Stacey back to the airport. Jen came out and stayed with the kids so we wouldn't have to drive with all the kids. Then we drove back in enough time to get the kids around for karate. After that Mom and Bub met us at the Chinese restaurant and there were five happy kids; they got to get their own ice cream from the machine.
And that, dear friends, is why I didn't blog last weekend and into the first part of the week.
The rest of the week I didn't blog because this has been probably one of THE worstest weeks of my entire life. Anything that could go wrong, did. I was taken advantage of, hurt, misunderstood, peed on, pooped on and finally puked on, I got my panties in a wad more than once, cried a few times, cussed a LOT, the kids have been demons from hell, and frankly, I was afraid I'd get on here and just scream, rant, rave, cuss and just generally make a fool of myself, so I refrained. The computer hasn't been even plugged in until today.
Tonight was Abby's birthday party. Most of the girls that were invited came. They had a blast. It was friggin' cold, but they still had fun. Well, when they weren't whining, that is. The fire was a hit, simply because by the time we got it built they were frozen from the hayride. But even though it was cold, the hayride was fun. After the girls left we had another hayride, just the family. We talked about the "Hudson Creek Howler" and just generally fuh-reaked all of the kids out. Sam and TotTwo ended up in the floor by our feet. Kady asked if a werewolf was going to eat us. Abby tried to poo-poo it all off and be tough and aloof, but even she got spooked. After that even-more-frigid-than-the-first hayride, we built another fire and made s'mores. Then we came back into the house so Abby could open her present from us - a karaoke machine. It's the mac daddy of karaoke machines. She was stoked. So was I. I will sing Copa Cabana in my sleep tonight, I'm sure of it.
Now my sister is on my couch under a pile of blankets, wearing my daughter's sock hat because we have no heat. The central heat doesn't work, which really isn't a big issue - we heat solely with wood anyway. BUT we have no wood cut. The house is freezing right now. Our husbands are at a casino somewhere in town. Neither has money, but they're there anyway. Sis' kids are in my kids' beds and my kids are all three sleeping in the humongous boxes that my Home and Garden Party order came in. I hope they're not practicing to be street people. They have gotten so much joy from those boxes, I am seriously considering saying to heck with Christmas presents this year, we're just giving them boxes.
Tomorrow Sis and I are taking the kids to Joplin again for more shopping. Mom gave us each some money to buy them some clothes. WHOO HOO!! Free shopping money! Okay, so it's for the kids, but still . . . FREE SHOPPING MONEY!! Abby doesn't get any more clothes, but she does get a new coat. It seems that, as per typical Oklahoma weather, we're going straight from summer into winter.
Nine years ago, right now, I was spending the longest night of my life in the hospital. Paul and I tried to sleep, but were both terrified, nervous, anxious and completely unaware of what kind of effect the child inside me was going to have on us. So far, the effects have been good ones. So much so, that we did it again twice more and nothing has been the same since.
Thanks to everyone who left comments in my absence. I hated being gone, but the break was needed even though I didn't realize it at the time. Besides, it would've just been a week full of me whining and bitching anyway. I hope to never have another one like it again. Ever.
Okay, now . . . where to begin . . .
Last Saturday morning I got up and put on a pot of brown beans and ham then set about cleaning the house a bit. Not much, just a bit. Then at noon, the kids and I loaded into the van and headed to Tulsa for their first trip to the airport. And my first trip since I was 17 years old. The last time I went I wasn't driving, so of course I paid no attention because I was 17 and what 17 year old actually pays attention if it doesn't directly affect or benefit them in any way? Point being, I was totally clueless as to how perilous a trip to the airport would be. Turns out - not perilous at all. Easy drive, no problems, wheeled into the short-term parking with no incident. The sign said 30 minute parking was free, after that it was $2. I was praying for an on-time flight.
So the kids and I went into the terminal that looked ginormous to us, but in all actuality is pretty small. I strolled in like I visit the airport daily. The kids walked in with eyes wide and mouths agape. I checked the flight screen and yep, the flight was on time so I was praying for the free parking thing. We found a seat because we were about 10 minutes early and I wasn't actually sure at which gate we needed to be. Then I heard the familiar ring on my cell phone that told me
COUSIN STACEY WAS IN OKLAHOMA!!!!!
We retrieved her and her luggage and headed to the van, loaded up, buckled up and made it to the toll booth thing with one minute to spare. Parking was FREE! I love it when I get my way. We drove to Casa Bonita because Cousin Stacey was jonesin' for some sopapillas, but alas they were closed. Not just closed for the day, but closed forever. It was a sad, sad day. Midnight the night before marked the end of the 30-year reign of all you can eat sopapillas at the big pink casa in Tulsa. *sniff sniff* So instead she got some Taco Bueno and called it good. She bought the kids a soda and you'd have thought that was more exciting than the trip to the airport.
We arrived back at Casa del Hoover, where you don't get all you can eat sopapillas, but you do get a noisily entertaining visit and sometimes, yellow cake with chocolate icing. Not the same, but nearly as good. She and I visited while I made cornbread, a yellow cake and an apple crisp. Up to that point we had kept the visit a secret from everyone, so we were both excited as to how it was going to play out. Tater and her tots, Mom and Bub were supposed to come out for dinner and then a casino/darts run, so I called and asked them to bring some ice cream for dessert. When Mom got there she tried to hand me the ice cream. I ignored her. She tried again to hand it to me and I just said "Would you just go put it in the freezer for me?" I know she was puzzled as to why I wouldn't take the ice cream from her, but when she walked into the kitchen and was greeted by Cousin Stacey, the screams and squeals that ensued blew away any puzzlement.
Dinner was spent catching up on family gossip and such, laughing a few times till I thought cornbread was going to come out my nose. The sitter arrived at 8:30 and we all loaded up into Paul's truck and headed to the Lucky Turtle. I'd like to think the spur of the moment trip in from NC was all about me and how much Cousin Stacey missed me, but I'm thinking the Turtle played a big part in the visit, too. ;) After the Turtle we visited Bordertown and then ended up at the Buffalo, of course.
Sunday morning, since Paul had to work, Stacey, the kids and I went to Joplin to spend Abby's birthday money. She got some really nice clothes and still had $12 of her money left at day's end. I also bought myself a $5 Old Navy Halloween shirt. Yeah, I realize it was a frivolous expenditure, but hey I was giddy with delight. Kady had a massive meltdown at the mall and that can only mean one thing - an asthma flare-up is on its way. She gets purply black circles under her eyes and her personality switches right before the wheezing begins. When we got home that evening I started her on her inhaler and so far we've kept it at bay.
Sunday night we had a weenie roast, just the family, minus Mom. That was fun. Thankfully the next day was Pajama Day at school for Spirit Week, so that justified the late bedtime for the kids. Monday was relatively uneventful around here. We went to Ladies' Night. Whoo hoo. I'm not sure I'm going back. It's become more dreadful and miserable than it is fun, as of late.
Tuesday afternoon, Sis and I drove Cousin Stacey back to the airport. Jen came out and stayed with the kids so we wouldn't have to drive with all the kids. Then we drove back in enough time to get the kids around for karate. After that Mom and Bub met us at the Chinese restaurant and there were five happy kids; they got to get their own ice cream from the machine.
And that, dear friends, is why I didn't blog last weekend and into the first part of the week.
The rest of the week I didn't blog because this has been probably one of THE worstest weeks of my entire life. Anything that could go wrong, did. I was taken advantage of, hurt, misunderstood, peed on, pooped on and finally puked on, I got my panties in a wad more than once, cried a few times, cussed a LOT, the kids have been demons from hell, and frankly, I was afraid I'd get on here and just scream, rant, rave, cuss and just generally make a fool of myself, so I refrained. The computer hasn't been even plugged in until today.
Tonight was Abby's birthday party. Most of the girls that were invited came. They had a blast. It was friggin' cold, but they still had fun. Well, when they weren't whining, that is. The fire was a hit, simply because by the time we got it built they were frozen from the hayride. But even though it was cold, the hayride was fun. After the girls left we had another hayride, just the family. We talked about the "Hudson Creek Howler" and just generally fuh-reaked all of the kids out. Sam and TotTwo ended up in the floor by our feet. Kady asked if a werewolf was going to eat us. Abby tried to poo-poo it all off and be tough and aloof, but even she got spooked. After that even-more-frigid-than-the-first hayride, we built another fire and made s'mores. Then we came back into the house so Abby could open her present from us - a karaoke machine. It's the mac daddy of karaoke machines. She was stoked. So was I. I will sing Copa Cabana in my sleep tonight, I'm sure of it.
Now my sister is on my couch under a pile of blankets, wearing my daughter's sock hat because we have no heat. The central heat doesn't work, which really isn't a big issue - we heat solely with wood anyway. BUT we have no wood cut. The house is freezing right now. Our husbands are at a casino somewhere in town. Neither has money, but they're there anyway. Sis' kids are in my kids' beds and my kids are all three sleeping in the humongous boxes that my Home and Garden Party order came in. I hope they're not practicing to be street people. They have gotten so much joy from those boxes, I am seriously considering saying to heck with Christmas presents this year, we're just giving them boxes.
Tomorrow Sis and I are taking the kids to Joplin again for more shopping. Mom gave us each some money to buy them some clothes. WHOO HOO!! Free shopping money! Okay, so it's for the kids, but still . . . FREE SHOPPING MONEY!! Abby doesn't get any more clothes, but she does get a new coat. It seems that, as per typical Oklahoma weather, we're going straight from summer into winter.
Nine years ago, right now, I was spending the longest night of my life in the hospital. Paul and I tried to sleep, but were both terrified, nervous, anxious and completely unaware of what kind of effect the child inside me was going to have on us. So far, the effects have been good ones. So much so, that we did it again twice more and nothing has been the same since.
Thanks to everyone who left comments in my absence. I hated being gone, but the break was needed even though I didn't realize it at the time. Besides, it would've just been a week full of me whining and bitching anyway. I hope to never have another one like it again. Ever.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
I'm just wondering
Have y'all ever had four days in your life that you were so thoroughly entertained, occupied and just plain busy that you didn't have time to blog? And then when those four days were over you weren't busy anymore, but just too exhausted to blog?
Really? You, too?
Hmh. That makes two . . . erm . . . a bunch of us.
More to come.
I promise.
Really? You, too?
Hmh. That makes two . . . erm . . . a bunch of us.
More to come.
I promise.
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