Last night was so completely reminiscent of my children being newborns with the up-down-up-downness of it all that I had to check my nipples to make sure they weren't cracked or that there wasn't a infant hanging off one.
The puppy who had appeared to have narcolepsy all evening became the most. playful. puppy. ever. come 11pm. I got him calmed down, put him in his carrier next to the bed and turned off the TV. And then the howling began. Whining. Howling. Whimpering. And just general noisiness. I ignored it until my ears bled then got up and thought that maybe he was hungry, so I fed him. He didn't chew, just gulped and swallowed and when he was done let out a resounding belch that just reassures me of the fact that he was totally sent down from Heaven just for our family.
After the eating I took him outside to potty, but instead of being interested in bowel health the dog decided to attack every piece of grass in the side yard and jump at my shadow more than twelve dozen times which leads me to believe he ain't the sharpest tool in the shed. Upon entering the house and approaching the carrier the yelping/whining/howling/whimpering began again in earnest as if to say, "You mean, horrible lady what makes you think that a plastic pet carrier is humane?" But I stuck him in it anyway because I'm a mean, horrible lady like that. Just ask my kids.
After ten minutes of incessant NOISE I totally caved and put the little turd in bed with me where he snuggled in, let out a contented sigh and went promptly to sleep. I dozed off as well only to be awakened about 30 minutes later when Biscuit the Intelligent decided that his tail was a threat to national security and therefore he felt compelled to growl at it. I firmly removed his tail from his mouth and told him it was not time to play and that it was time to sleep and he closed his eyes. I thought to myself, "What a good puppy I have...." until he woke me up 15 minutes later by chewing on my hair.
He went to the carrier after that and I was prepared to ignore his cries and pleas for rescue, but after about 15 more minutes Paul came out and said, "That's it. The little ba#tard is going outside." So Biscuit slept on the carport in his carrier the rest of the night. Well, "slept" is a loose term because what he actually did was just continue the noise but at least it was filtered by the back door.
I will have to say, though, he's doing quite well in the not having accidents department and so far I haven't had to clean up one single mess. Today he was left alone in the bathroom for 5 1/2 hours - he peed once and it was on the puppy pad. As soon as I got home I took him out and he looked at me gratefully as he trotted off to poop. After that he pretty much followed me around whining at me while I sorted laundry,. When he dug under a pile of jeans he was so preciously adorably adorable that I forgave him for chewing on my hair.
Right now he's curled up next to me, fighting sleep, but very much intrigued by the typing. Well, intrigued or annoyed as all get out. I'm thinking paybacks are hell, Biscuit. Paybacks are hell.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Wherein we name our animals after baked goods
After much debating and worrying and denying I think we've finally come to terms with the fact that Jake is gone. We saw him for about an hour two weeks ago and that was after he'd been gone before that for a month. He's either been shot or stolen or he's shackin' up with the hussy he's all twitterpated over.
So......we got a puppy.
Meet Biscuit.
Don't you just want to put him in your pocket and keep him forever? And you cannot - SIMPLY CANNOT - resist talking baby talk to him. Seriously. It is impossible.
We actually picked out two puppies, Biscuit and his blonde brother, but when we got to Tater's house to pick up our kids we kind of gave one to her and Gentleman. For her kids. Yeah, her kids. After a trip to Wal*Mart where we bought puppy pads, puppy chow, puppy bowls, puppy toys and a puppy collar we brought Biscuit home where we took 90 gazillion pictures of him and he slept a lot, totally unimpressed with our fancy schmancy human things. He's in the house for awhile because an owl would swoop down and have him for a midnight snack right now because have I mentioned that he's tiny and cute and has PUPPY BREATH??? Because if I haven't I probably will. It was more like Alpo breath earlier, but yeah, now it's puppylicious.
Notice his collar? It has paw prints on it! And the bear! All puppies should have a stuffed bear! And that black thing in the front? That's Sam's Justice League alarm clock. No, I didn't set it so the dog could get up and make me breakfast, I just heard it helps 'em sleep. He's curled up to it now.....oh my gosh I think my brain is going to explode with the cuteness.
We wore the poor little guy out with all the oohing and aahing and baby talking and picture taking.
We wore out this poor little guy, too.
Puppies rock.
Sigh.
(Notice the facial hair growing back WHOOHOO)
So......we got a puppy.
Meet Biscuit.
Don't you just want to put him in your pocket and keep him forever? And you cannot - SIMPLY CANNOT - resist talking baby talk to him. Seriously. It is impossible.
We actually picked out two puppies, Biscuit and his blonde brother, but when we got to Tater's house to pick up our kids we kind of gave one to her and Gentleman. For her kids. Yeah, her kids. After a trip to Wal*Mart where we bought puppy pads, puppy chow, puppy bowls, puppy toys and a puppy collar we brought Biscuit home where we took 90 gazillion pictures of him and he slept a lot, totally unimpressed with our fancy schmancy human things. He's in the house for awhile because an owl would swoop down and have him for a midnight snack right now because have I mentioned that he's tiny and cute and has PUPPY BREATH??? Because if I haven't I probably will. It was more like Alpo breath earlier, but yeah, now it's puppylicious.
Notice his collar? It has paw prints on it! And the bear! All puppies should have a stuffed bear! And that black thing in the front? That's Sam's Justice League alarm clock. No, I didn't set it so the dog could get up and make me breakfast, I just heard it helps 'em sleep. He's curled up to it now.....oh my gosh I think my brain is going to explode with the cuteness.
We wore the poor little guy out with all the oohing and aahing and baby talking and picture taking.
We wore out this poor little guy, too.
Puppies rock.
Sigh.
(Notice the facial hair growing back WHOOHOO)
Savage
Today I did something I have only done one other time in my life. The previous time I did it it didn't turn out so good, so I didn't repeat that unpleasantness. Until now.
I tanned.
Oh, not in the sun. Heaven's no! I don't like the sun enough to go sit out in it and swat sweat bees, wasps and chiggers. Nope, I climbed my fat hiney into a tanning bed and sweat for seven minutes while a fan cooled my roasting hide. Seven minutes is plenty of time to obsess over how long it might take for the skin cancer to get me. More than enough time to obsess over whether or not seven minutes is long enough to cook a human liver even though the heat has to go through a lot of fat first. And plenty of time to obsess over that farty noise I just made I wiggled around and my sweaty back sucked up off the bed and wonder how loud it was to the women outside in the salon and if they really honest and for true thought I farted that loud. 'Cuz I didn't. Swear.
A few years back when Tater and I were stay-at-home moms and really had nothing to do other than raise our children to not be axe murderers, we came up with the most scathingly briliant plan. The plan was to go around to all the salons and tanning places that offer your first tan free and take advantage of the promotion. We figured that if we did enough first tans free then we'd get a fairly decent tan without being out anything more than gas money (back before gas required you to give up your first-born child or a fatted calf in exchange for a fill-up). The first place we visited was one of those places that offer the ultra tan in 1/3 the time of regular tanning and there was a guarantee not to burn. Considering my lily white, transparent skin, I was on board. In the sun I don't tan - I burn, freckle and peel pathetically, so anything guaranteeing I didn't have molt I was on board.
Nope, I didn't burn. But for two solid weeks after that fateful tan I itched. It was a deep-down, burning itch straight from the bowels of Hell itself and I was certain that every place I itched I was going to just spread the cancer cells that I was certain had been implanted by the government or perhaps the aliens that owned that salon. It was not a pleasant experience, to say the least.
Kady was a baby when that took place. She's 6 1/2 so I figure it's time to get back in the saddle again and tan like a man. I kept telling myself that when I got my next BlogHer check I'd go buy an unlimited tanning package and work on becoming a plus-size Coppertone model. I got the check out of the mailbox yesterday, called the salon this morning and this afternoon I tanned.
I declared my newbiness to my stylist and she was sweet as pie, showing me how to turn on the bed, where the cleaner, shades, lotion, etc were. I'm pretty sure that she thinks I'm a moron, but that's okay because she does kick-ass hair. I stripped down to my bra and panties and started to just go that way because heck, the only one who sees my business is Paul and he's used to all of that being retina-burning white, but then I decided that since I was taking giant strides to step out of my comfort zone I stripped down to my birthday suit, pushed the Start button twice like she said, climbed in the bed and waited. Nothing happened. Hmh. I waited a few seconds for my flesh to start melting then decided I hadn't hit the button twice after all. And it was a good thing, too, because I forgot my little peeper covers. I grabbed some funky mad-scientist mini-shades, hit the start button and oh yeah, the bed looked like the skies over Hiroshima that fateful day. I nearly screamed, but held it in, squeezed my eyes shut, climbed in the bed and covered my eyes.
I wasn't comfortable, so I shifted and that's when my back made that farty noise. Yeah, I'd only been in the bed about 7 seconds at that point, but it was already so hot I don't think it was sweat that adhered me to the bed - it was the fat of my body melting into Crisco. I finally got comfortable, tried to position myself so that I wouldn't have white armpits and began trying to relax. Everyone out in the salon assured me that it was going to be the most relaxing seven minutes of my life, but I wasn't feelin' it. I kept hearing the bed pop and creak, certain that I had exceeded the maximum weight for the bed and that when I fell through the glass onto a bed of white-hot burning light bulbs the volunteer fire department was going to be talking about me to years to come. I felt like I needed to shift again, but made sure to do it slowly so as to break the suction of my back from the glass before I ripped off another mega fart noise. I took deep breaths. I counted. I made a mental shopping list. I dared to open my eyes and when my eyesballs didn't melt onto my cheeks I spent the remainder of my time reading the words on the bulbs.
Tater always tells me that she falls asleep and the bed kicking off wakes her up. I never fell asleep and when that bed shut off I was up and outta there so fast I'm surprised I didn't fall or break something. I dressed, cleaned the bed, made sure I hadn't forgotten an important part of my wardrobe, took a deep breath and unlocked the door, ready to face the folks in the salon and try to discern if they thought I had a raging case of gas. I decided that I was entirely too traumtized and that I didn't ever want to tan again.
Yeah. I made four more appointments.
I tanned.
Oh, not in the sun. Heaven's no! I don't like the sun enough to go sit out in it and swat sweat bees, wasps and chiggers. Nope, I climbed my fat hiney into a tanning bed and sweat for seven minutes while a fan cooled my roasting hide. Seven minutes is plenty of time to obsess over how long it might take for the skin cancer to get me. More than enough time to obsess over whether or not seven minutes is long enough to cook a human liver even though the heat has to go through a lot of fat first. And plenty of time to obsess over that farty noise I just made I wiggled around and my sweaty back sucked up off the bed and wonder how loud it was to the women outside in the salon and if they really honest and for true thought I farted that loud. 'Cuz I didn't. Swear.
A few years back when Tater and I were stay-at-home moms and really had nothing to do other than raise our children to not be axe murderers, we came up with the most scathingly briliant plan. The plan was to go around to all the salons and tanning places that offer your first tan free and take advantage of the promotion. We figured that if we did enough first tans free then we'd get a fairly decent tan without being out anything more than gas money (back before gas required you to give up your first-born child or a fatted calf in exchange for a fill-up). The first place we visited was one of those places that offer the ultra tan in 1/3 the time of regular tanning and there was a guarantee not to burn. Considering my lily white, transparent skin, I was on board. In the sun I don't tan - I burn, freckle and peel pathetically, so anything guaranteeing I didn't have molt I was on board.
Nope, I didn't burn. But for two solid weeks after that fateful tan I itched. It was a deep-down, burning itch straight from the bowels of Hell itself and I was certain that every place I itched I was going to just spread the cancer cells that I was certain had been implanted by the government or perhaps the aliens that owned that salon. It was not a pleasant experience, to say the least.
Kady was a baby when that took place. She's 6 1/2 so I figure it's time to get back in the saddle again and tan like a man. I kept telling myself that when I got my next BlogHer check I'd go buy an unlimited tanning package and work on becoming a plus-size Coppertone model. I got the check out of the mailbox yesterday, called the salon this morning and this afternoon I tanned.
I declared my newbiness to my stylist and she was sweet as pie, showing me how to turn on the bed, where the cleaner, shades, lotion, etc were. I'm pretty sure that she thinks I'm a moron, but that's okay because she does kick-ass hair. I stripped down to my bra and panties and started to just go that way because heck, the only one who sees my business is Paul and he's used to all of that being retina-burning white, but then I decided that since I was taking giant strides to step out of my comfort zone I stripped down to my birthday suit, pushed the Start button twice like she said, climbed in the bed and waited. Nothing happened. Hmh. I waited a few seconds for my flesh to start melting then decided I hadn't hit the button twice after all. And it was a good thing, too, because I forgot my little peeper covers. I grabbed some funky mad-scientist mini-shades, hit the start button and oh yeah, the bed looked like the skies over Hiroshima that fateful day. I nearly screamed, but held it in, squeezed my eyes shut, climbed in the bed and covered my eyes.
I wasn't comfortable, so I shifted and that's when my back made that farty noise. Yeah, I'd only been in the bed about 7 seconds at that point, but it was already so hot I don't think it was sweat that adhered me to the bed - it was the fat of my body melting into Crisco. I finally got comfortable, tried to position myself so that I wouldn't have white armpits and began trying to relax. Everyone out in the salon assured me that it was going to be the most relaxing seven minutes of my life, but I wasn't feelin' it. I kept hearing the bed pop and creak, certain that I had exceeded the maximum weight for the bed and that when I fell through the glass onto a bed of white-hot burning light bulbs the volunteer fire department was going to be talking about me to years to come. I felt like I needed to shift again, but made sure to do it slowly so as to break the suction of my back from the glass before I ripped off another mega fart noise. I took deep breaths. I counted. I made a mental shopping list. I dared to open my eyes and when my eyesballs didn't melt onto my cheeks I spent the remainder of my time reading the words on the bulbs.
Tater always tells me that she falls asleep and the bed kicking off wakes her up. I never fell asleep and when that bed shut off I was up and outta there so fast I'm surprised I didn't fall or break something. I dressed, cleaned the bed, made sure I hadn't forgotten an important part of my wardrobe, took a deep breath and unlocked the door, ready to face the folks in the salon and try to discern if they thought I had a raging case of gas. I decided that I was entirely too traumtized and that I didn't ever want to tan again.
Yeah. I made four more appointments.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Fire! Fire!
Okay, before I get to the real pictures for this post, I have to show off the awesome freakin' hair day I had last week. Behold:
Okay, you may continue.
We hosted a weenie roast out here at Redneck Ranch Saturday. Of course, you cannot get any members of my family together with hotdogs and not have suggestive conversation galore. We were all giggling and then out-and-out laughing at "Hey, honey? How do you like your weenie?" and "Watch it, hot weenie!" and other such mature comments and weiners and sticks just teeming with innuendo. I think it's something about stepping foot on our property - it turns them into well, us. Pops just sits back and smiles. I think he's praying, actually.
Be it noted that there were no actual weiners on their sticks at this juncture. They're just a bunch of budding pyromaniacs.
While this picture has nothing to do with the bonfire, it does, however show off the inherent orneriness that is my stepfather.
Dudes, that is a wet willie primed and ready if I ever saw one.
When Gentleman (as in "the gentleman Tater is seeing") said he was going to do it I didn't believe him. I laughed at him. He put it down. Then it was too much for him and he did it - he roasted a Twinkie.
While my son normally likes the everlasting Twinkie, he wasn't going for one over an open flame, no matter how much Gentleman tried.
Gentleman said he could see the caption of this picture now, "Gentleman was banned from future family gatherings for roasting his Twinkie." The entire family busted into uncontrollable laughter and when I could finally breathe again I said, "What you don't understand is I think this means you are truly one of us!"
Banned hell....we're making him our leader.
Okay, you may continue.
We hosted a weenie roast out here at Redneck Ranch Saturday. Of course, you cannot get any members of my family together with hotdogs and not have suggestive conversation galore. We were all giggling and then out-and-out laughing at "Hey, honey? How do you like your weenie?" and "Watch it, hot weenie!" and other such mature comments and weiners and sticks just teeming with innuendo. I think it's something about stepping foot on our property - it turns them into well, us. Pops just sits back and smiles. I think he's praying, actually.
Be it noted that there were no actual weiners on their sticks at this juncture. They're just a bunch of budding pyromaniacs.
While this picture has nothing to do with the bonfire, it does, however show off the inherent orneriness that is my stepfather.
Dudes, that is a wet willie primed and ready if I ever saw one.
When Gentleman (as in "the gentleman Tater is seeing") said he was going to do it I didn't believe him. I laughed at him. He put it down. Then it was too much for him and he did it - he roasted a Twinkie.
While my son normally likes the everlasting Twinkie, he wasn't going for one over an open flame, no matter how much Gentleman tried.
Gentleman said he could see the caption of this picture now, "Gentleman was banned from future family gatherings for roasting his Twinkie." The entire family busted into uncontrollable laughter and when I could finally breathe again I said, "What you don't understand is I think this means you are truly one of us!"
Banned hell....we're making him our leader.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
For your listening pleasure...
Okay, so it appears after 24 hours of cursing, swearing and heavy sighing, I have managed to get THE FIRST EVER REDNECK WEBCAST posted to the blog!
I had to download freeware to convert .wma files to mp3 files, figure out exactly what in the world Podbean.com meant when it said it uploaded the file, but the file was nowhere to be found anywhere in the universe only to find that I had posted about 14 posts without audio. Yeah. It's been good times. My family will be glad to have me back now.
And on that note I leave you to listen to my sister and I laugh like the total dorks we are, talk about facial hair, beer and depressing people. I hope you keep reading my blog now and that you still respect me in the morning.
So sit back, have a listen, tell your friends, your momma and your Uncle Joe to listen and please, for the love of all things redneck, LEAVE A COMMENT!!!
Powered by Podbean.com
I had to download freeware to convert .wma files to mp3 files, figure out exactly what in the world Podbean.com meant when it said it uploaded the file, but the file was nowhere to be found anywhere in the universe only to find that I had posted about 14 posts without audio. Yeah. It's been good times. My family will be glad to have me back now.
And on that note I leave you to listen to my sister and I laugh like the total dorks we are, talk about facial hair, beer and depressing people. I hope you keep reading my blog now and that you still respect me in the morning.
So sit back, have a listen, tell your friends, your momma and your Uncle Joe to listen and please, for the love of all things redneck, LEAVE A COMMENT!!!
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Sunday, April 20, 2008
The thing about me that makes my mother cringe
I was sitting out here at my desk which is in my office which is in our bedroom, watching Heather and Jon Armstrong's latest TV interview and feeling incredibly jealous that no one from KTUL or heck, even KSNF have called to ask me to be on their morning show to talk about MY blog, when I noticed this noise. I don't like annoying, repetitive noises like clicking, clacking or dinging and after mere seconds I realized that I was going to peel my eyes from the computer screen to find out what the noise was.
Something I dislike even more than repetitive noises is bugs and that's what was making the noise - bugs. While we were unloading the van earlier a couple of hard shelled bugs flew in and decided that the lights on the bedroom ceiling fan would suffice as the moon tonight and they were repeatedly flying into the globes and blades.
So, because I noticed that the precision coating of dust on the ceiling fan blades was in danger I hollered in to the next room, "Paul, honey? There are a couple of bugs out here flying around the light and threatening to disturb the dust on the ceiling fan. Would you come out here and take care of them?"
He was quiet for a moment, then replied, "Sure. I'll take care of the bugs if you'll take care of the dust."
Something I dislike even more than noises and bugs is housework, so I was quiet for a moment before I replied, "You know what? Those little bugs aren't hurting anyone."
Something I dislike even more than repetitive noises is bugs and that's what was making the noise - bugs. While we were unloading the van earlier a couple of hard shelled bugs flew in and decided that the lights on the bedroom ceiling fan would suffice as the moon tonight and they were repeatedly flying into the globes and blades.
So, because I noticed that the precision coating of dust on the ceiling fan blades was in danger I hollered in to the next room, "Paul, honey? There are a couple of bugs out here flying around the light and threatening to disturb the dust on the ceiling fan. Would you come out here and take care of them?"
He was quiet for a moment, then replied, "Sure. I'll take care of the bugs if you'll take care of the dust."
Something I dislike even more than noises and bugs is housework, so I was quiet for a moment before I replied, "You know what? Those little bugs aren't hurting anyone."
And she let out a contented sigh
Today I went shopping with my kids. Normally the very thought of doing this alone strikes a deep panic in my heart, but today it was fun. Wanna know why?
My oldest daughter likes to shop!!!!
People, rather than spend four hours in mall stores threatening the child with "If you don't try on this skirt I am going to staple your ears to your forehead, young lady!" and then mumbling under my breath, "Of course, I don't know why you're even trying on a skirt since you don't wear them...." I instead stood side-by-side with my daughter and we looked through clothes and laughed and giggled and gave sidelong glances at the chick with hot pink hair and multiple facial piercings to go along with the glare that I have a feeling is perpetual and I really think that Abby secretly wants to look like that even though she told me that the gal was scary, but heck I remember wanting pink hair when I was a teenager. Oh and look - it also appears I have perfected the run-on sentence.
Anyway, my daughter and I, we shared something today. I showed her how to go straight to the clearance rack and walk out of Limited Too not with a second mortgage on your home, but instead walk out with two shirts, one skimp, four bracelets and three pair of earrings for under $30. She spit ice at me when I made fun of how she walks in heels. I told her that she couldn't have that particular shirt until she grew some more boobage. She rolled her eyes and acted miffed, but two minutes later she had wound her arm through mine and laid her head on my shoulder as we walked and quietly said that boobs were overrated.
Kady has always liked to shop. Heck, in utero she would kick extra hard when she knew we were in the vicinity of a bargain and she knew how to read the words "clearance", "markdown" and "SALE" when she was a mere toddler. But Abby has always been her own person, probably more of a daddy's girl than anything and I was okay with that because not everyone gets utterly giddy at finding a sale on boy-cut underwear or $1.99 earrings like I do. I knew she loved me even if she didn't like to shop. She and I shared a love of books even if we didn't share a love for all things retail. She was happier with a fishing pole in hand rather than a shopping bag. And really, I was okay with that.
But now.....oh now we are like two war captains heading to battle when we enter a store. One goes one way, one goes the other and we shriek and squeal to alert the other of impending victory when we find THE exactly perfect hot pink skull shirt or open-toe shoe. Kady followed us around all day with little hearts coming out of her eyes, knowing that someday....someday she, too, will be a professional shopper like her mom and older sister. And when she declared that the sale prices in Gymboree weren't low enough to impress her my heart nearly burst with pride. Oh yes, she is well on her way.
Sam spent the day stepping on our heels as we walked, hiding in clothing racks and sighing. He declared more than once that we don't spend as much time in Bass Pro as we do in the mall, but I assured him that time is relative when you're doing something you love. I learned long ago, though, that when shopping with a male you buy yourself more shopping time if you stop at Great American Cookie Company when the sighing becomes more frequent than every 15 seconds. After a colossal M&M cookie and some time off our feet, the boy was ready to go again, smiling happily with chocolate all around his mouth. He is certainly his father's son.
Those girls, though.....they are all mine.
My oldest daughter likes to shop!!!!
People, rather than spend four hours in mall stores threatening the child with "If you don't try on this skirt I am going to staple your ears to your forehead, young lady!" and then mumbling under my breath, "Of course, I don't know why you're even trying on a skirt since you don't wear them...." I instead stood side-by-side with my daughter and we looked through clothes and laughed and giggled and gave sidelong glances at the chick with hot pink hair and multiple facial piercings to go along with the glare that I have a feeling is perpetual and I really think that Abby secretly wants to look like that even though she told me that the gal was scary, but heck I remember wanting pink hair when I was a teenager. Oh and look - it also appears I have perfected the run-on sentence.
Anyway, my daughter and I, we shared something today. I showed her how to go straight to the clearance rack and walk out of Limited Too not with a second mortgage on your home, but instead walk out with two shirts, one skimp, four bracelets and three pair of earrings for under $30. She spit ice at me when I made fun of how she walks in heels. I told her that she couldn't have that particular shirt until she grew some more boobage. She rolled her eyes and acted miffed, but two minutes later she had wound her arm through mine and laid her head on my shoulder as we walked and quietly said that boobs were overrated.
Kady has always liked to shop. Heck, in utero she would kick extra hard when she knew we were in the vicinity of a bargain and she knew how to read the words "clearance", "markdown" and "SALE" when she was a mere toddler. But Abby has always been her own person, probably more of a daddy's girl than anything and I was okay with that because not everyone gets utterly giddy at finding a sale on boy-cut underwear or $1.99 earrings like I do. I knew she loved me even if she didn't like to shop. She and I shared a love of books even if we didn't share a love for all things retail. She was happier with a fishing pole in hand rather than a shopping bag. And really, I was okay with that.
But now.....oh now we are like two war captains heading to battle when we enter a store. One goes one way, one goes the other and we shriek and squeal to alert the other of impending victory when we find THE exactly perfect hot pink skull shirt or open-toe shoe. Kady followed us around all day with little hearts coming out of her eyes, knowing that someday....someday she, too, will be a professional shopper like her mom and older sister. And when she declared that the sale prices in Gymboree weren't low enough to impress her my heart nearly burst with pride. Oh yes, she is well on her way.
Sam spent the day stepping on our heels as we walked, hiding in clothing racks and sighing. He declared more than once that we don't spend as much time in Bass Pro as we do in the mall, but I assured him that time is relative when you're doing something you love. I learned long ago, though, that when shopping with a male you buy yourself more shopping time if you stop at Great American Cookie Company when the sighing becomes more frequent than every 15 seconds. After a colossal M&M cookie and some time off our feet, the boy was ready to go again, smiling happily with chocolate all around his mouth. He is certainly his father's son.
Those girls, though.....they are all mine.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Goals
When I was a teenager I had specific set of goals: Get married, have a family, be a homemaker, etc.
Now I just want to learn to yodel.
Now I just want to learn to yodel.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Critters galore!
Here's some video of the kids' souveniers from our trip to Branson:
Isn't that thing just the cutest? It'd be even more lifelike if it didn't make that grind-y motor-y noise.....
Ah Sam.....he's so precious.
And last but not least......
The Possum. A gen-u-ine stuffed possum. Ain't it purty?
I took The Possum to work today and of course, everyone went "ewww" and commented on the sheer redneckness of it. One caseworker asked why on earth anyone would find it necessary to make a stuffed possum. I told her that the lady at Cracker Barrell commented they can't keep them on the shelf. Her exclamation was priceless: "You mean there are more out there like you?"
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Bulleted for your pleasure
* Didn't work Thursday because of the puking and various other things I was afflicted with the previous night.
* In the midst of the puking and various other things, I was awakened from a rare moment of nauseated sleep early Thursday morning to the sound of water hitting a hard surface. In my bedroom. It was raining so hard that water was pouring in the windows over the window seat in my bedroom. Not only was I exhausted, nauseated and just generally icky feeling I had to clean up the flood in the window seat. Good times.
* I slept most of Thursday, but was still queasy and blechy feeling. However, I wasn't going to let a stomach virus ruin our impending plans of over 24 hours of Bransony goodness and willed myself to suck it up.
* Friday morning we left the house at 7am to head to Joplin to meet the rest of our merry band of travelers at Cracker Barrel for breakfast. It was after we were already on the turnpike, about halfway between Fairland and Miami, that I remembered I had left my camera batteries on the charger at home. Can you imagine just how unhappy my family was when I declared that we had to turn around and go home? It wasn't pretty. Apparently, they were all near death they were so hungry and no one had ever been as hungry as my family was that morning. I kept telling them I was sorry and that going back to unplug the charger was better than going home to find our house burnt to the ground, but since I didn't present my apology with a plate of pancakes or a case of chocolate fudge pop tarts, it wasn't accepted.
* We got to Silver Dollar City at 12:30pm. The original plan was to be there around 10:30 or 11. My bad.
* It was COLD. And windy. And did I mention COLD?
* Roller coasters the day after a stomach virus - not advisable.
* Going on a showboat the day after a stomach virus when you're already scared of water makes one realize that one can do anything for the sake of their children. I fought back the urge to vomit a few times and more than once found myself scoping out the nearest corner so I could curl up in the fetal position, suck my thumb and find my happy place and pretend I wasn't on a gigantic boat in hurricane force winds. Also found myself humming the theme song from Titanic and saying, "I'll never let go, Jack. I'll never let go." Fortunately, the Captain decreed that the wind was too high to leave shore (yesssss!), but it still rocked. And not in the "Woah, that RAWKED!" kind of way, but more of how the people on the S.S. Minnow felt on that three hour tour kind of way. Paul swore he didn't feel the boat moving, but I didn't leave my chair once I staggered to it because every time I stood up I nearly fell over. Mom said the funniest sight she'd seen in a long time was watching me attempt walking up the ramp to the boat. Apparently, it looked like I'd been hitting the rum with Cap'n Jack beforehand. I didn't find it so amusing at the time.
* Showboat Branson Belle - talking dogs make me laugh. Out loud. Obnoxiously. And nearly forget I was on a boat and fearing for my life and the lives of my children.
* I have video from Silver Dollar City and of the souveniers two of my kids brought home. However, I'm tired from the events of the last few days and I'm heading to bed pretty quick. Plus, I need to go over my Sunday School lesson once more since I'm teaching the Youth class tomorrow. If you pray, would you please pray for me tomorrow morning? I am doing this because I think God is testing my endurance, committment and ability to convey wisdom to teenagers. Or He has a sense of humor. Either way, it's freaking me out.
* Sam's Baptism is in the morning. I don't think there has ever been a person look so forward to a Baptism. That makes me happy.
* In the midst of the puking and various other things, I was awakened from a rare moment of nauseated sleep early Thursday morning to the sound of water hitting a hard surface. In my bedroom. It was raining so hard that water was pouring in the windows over the window seat in my bedroom. Not only was I exhausted, nauseated and just generally icky feeling I had to clean up the flood in the window seat. Good times.
* I slept most of Thursday, but was still queasy and blechy feeling. However, I wasn't going to let a stomach virus ruin our impending plans of over 24 hours of Bransony goodness and willed myself to suck it up.
* Friday morning we left the house at 7am to head to Joplin to meet the rest of our merry band of travelers at Cracker Barrel for breakfast. It was after we were already on the turnpike, about halfway between Fairland and Miami, that I remembered I had left my camera batteries on the charger at home. Can you imagine just how unhappy my family was when I declared that we had to turn around and go home? It wasn't pretty. Apparently, they were all near death they were so hungry and no one had ever been as hungry as my family was that morning. I kept telling them I was sorry and that going back to unplug the charger was better than going home to find our house burnt to the ground, but since I didn't present my apology with a plate of pancakes or a case of chocolate fudge pop tarts, it wasn't accepted.
* We got to Silver Dollar City at 12:30pm. The original plan was to be there around 10:30 or 11. My bad.
* It was COLD. And windy. And did I mention COLD?
* Roller coasters the day after a stomach virus - not advisable.
* Going on a showboat the day after a stomach virus when you're already scared of water makes one realize that one can do anything for the sake of their children. I fought back the urge to vomit a few times and more than once found myself scoping out the nearest corner so I could curl up in the fetal position, suck my thumb and find my happy place and pretend I wasn't on a gigantic boat in hurricane force winds. Also found myself humming the theme song from Titanic and saying, "I'll never let go, Jack. I'll never let go." Fortunately, the Captain decreed that the wind was too high to leave shore (yesssss!), but it still rocked. And not in the "Woah, that RAWKED!" kind of way, but more of how the people on the S.S. Minnow felt on that three hour tour kind of way. Paul swore he didn't feel the boat moving, but I didn't leave my chair once I staggered to it because every time I stood up I nearly fell over. Mom said the funniest sight she'd seen in a long time was watching me attempt walking up the ramp to the boat. Apparently, it looked like I'd been hitting the rum with Cap'n Jack beforehand. I didn't find it so amusing at the time.
* Showboat Branson Belle - talking dogs make me laugh. Out loud. Obnoxiously. And nearly forget I was on a boat and fearing for my life and the lives of my children.
* I have video from Silver Dollar City and of the souveniers two of my kids brought home. However, I'm tired from the events of the last few days and I'm heading to bed pretty quick. Plus, I need to go over my Sunday School lesson once more since I'm teaching the Youth class tomorrow. If you pray, would you please pray for me tomorrow morning? I am doing this because I think God is testing my endurance, committment and ability to convey wisdom to teenagers. Or He has a sense of humor. Either way, it's freaking me out.
* Sam's Baptism is in the morning. I don't think there has ever been a person look so forward to a Baptism. That makes me happy.
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Full of twittery goodness
Oh
My
Gosh
I have discovered Twitter.
I think my life is complete.
If you would like to follow me, go here.
Please follow me. I am such a dork that I am afraid my self esteem will be crushed if I don't have tweeting followers.
And if you follow me, I'll follow you! Promise! I'm needy like that.
Miss Wisabus welcomed me as soon as I joined up last night and I nearly fell out of my chair with happiness. And then when she tweeted that she was "off to the farmer's market!" this morning I ran screaming through the house, "Miss Wisabus is buying fresh fruits and vegetables!" which gave Abby yet one more reason to declare, "Gosh, you are so embarrassing."
My
Gosh
I have discovered Twitter.
I think my life is complete.
If you would like to follow me, go here.
Please follow me. I am such a dork that I am afraid my self esteem will be crushed if I don't have tweeting followers.
And if you follow me, I'll follow you! Promise! I'm needy like that.
Miss Wisabus welcomed me as soon as I joined up last night and I nearly fell out of my chair with happiness. And then when she tweeted that she was "off to the farmer's market!" this morning I ran screaming through the house, "Miss Wisabus is buying fresh fruits and vegetables!" which gave Abby yet one more reason to declare, "Gosh, you are so embarrassing."
Friday, April 04, 2008
A person's a person, no matter how small
Okay, here's how you know for sure that there is serious humidity in the atmosphere: This morning the alarm went off and as I rolled over to turn it off, I felt a strange sensation. That sensation was my hair being ripped from the pillow because the humidity was so high that the hairspray glued my head to my pillow.
Now, that's humidity.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
I slept in till all of 6:15 this morning, instead of my usual 5:00, since I didn't have anywhere to go until 12:30. I got the kids off the school, worked on a writing project that I've recently undertaken, argued with Paul about just exactly how many eggs he desired for breakfast, then got in the shower. About halfway through, I heard the bathroom door open then I heard Paul say, "Uhhh....Jill at the school called. Sam just puked." He's been so dang well all winter; in fact, before Spring Break, every morning began with him whining, "Why can't I just get sick like the girls? I haven't gotten to miss ANY school!"
And bless his heart, he got a good one. More than once today he's been on the toilet with his head in the trashcan. Double whammy.
Today was Kady's field trip to Pizza Hut and to the movies to see Horton Hears a Who! and Paul and I had both planned on going, though neither of us really wanted to. The plan was to go to Radio Shack, trade my stupid piece of poop Rockr for a RazrII, then meet the class at the theater, but since we had a puker, Paul volunteered to stay home. Lucky turd. I told him I had no problem pulling puke duty, but he insisted. Sam hadn't gotten sick again by the time I left for town, but I guess he just waited for me to leave because he yakked almost continually the entire time I was gone. Paul was none too happy that I went to Wal*Mart after the show, adding another hour and half to my absence, but hey, he volunteered to stay home.
It's 8:00pm now and Sam has finally gone an hour without barfing, so he's eating a grape popsicle. I know he wants to badly to devour it and about 17 more, but he's showing amazing restraint. I hate that feeling of being sooooo thirsty after nearly 12 hours of puking.
I don't know how it happened, but we were completely out of groceries and important supplies. Okay, not completely - there was plenty of stuff here to like, cook and prepare, but who wants to do that? Actually, I buy very little convenience food - except Hamburger Helper because I am completely addicted to that stuff - but we were out of the basic stuff like sugar, dishwasher detergent, baking soda, milk, deodorant and microwave popcorn. And Paul kept insisting that I could run the dishwasher with Tide, but you know, I didn't take his advice. I don't entirely trust his homemaking skillz. He's also the one that told me that powdered milk tastes just like regular milk. Riiiiiight. You'll be happy to know that now we have clean dishes and I have pits that smell like Oriental Silk, so says Secret. And no one is in danger of having to drink powdered milk. Oh, and because buying only essentials and necessities at Wal*Mart is absolutely no fun whatsoever, I bought Alvin and the Chipmunks today. Next on the list: Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium and Enchanted. The kids haven't asked for them - this is entirely me.
Did you catch that brief mention of that piece of poop cell phone Motorola calls a Rockr? I did not like that phone. I did when I wrote that I loved it so much I was going to sleep with it under my pillow, but that was before it became posessed by an angry, evil, electronic demon whose entire mission was to make me crazynuts. I use my cell phone as my alarm clock so the continual shutting down was quite inconvenient and annoying as all get out. I figured out after about the 90 millionth shut down that sliding it shut was what was making it shut down. Pops looked at it Wednesday and said there was a short somewhere in it and I should take it back. I also wasn't all that crazy about the slidy-ness of it anyway.
I traded for a RazrII since I had one of the old dinosaur Razrs and loved it. I gave $52 more bucks over what I had given for the Rockr PLUS I have to buy a USB cable to sync it with Windows Media Player AND I have to get the software for Bluetooth capabilities (something that only Razrs require) AND get a Bluetooth adapter for the computer AND a MiniSD card. Yeah. I hope I learn how to poop money soon. Pops said I could borrow his Bluetooth adapter until I get one of my own. I figure by the time I buy everything necessary to make my phone fully functional I'm going to be out $150 for the phone plus another $130 or so. Maybe putting up with a stupid slider wasn't so bad.....
Horton Hears a Who! was quite disappointing, I thought. Tater had taken her kids to see it and she fell asleep. Mom and Pops took Sam and Kady to see it and they both fell asleep. Naturally, I was not looking forward to it. Granted, there were times I chuckled out loud, but for the most part I was really just plain expecting more. The best part was where Horton was imagining himself as an anime hero. That amused me very much. Overall, though, Jim Carrey annoyed me, as usual. Even as an elephant, he annoyed me. Steve Carell was funny, but I really think he's just better on screen as a person and not a Who because it's not just his voice, but his facial expressions that make him so funny. But have I mentioned how much I *heart* Seth Rogan? Even though he was just the voice of a wussy blue mouse in this movie, I still couldn't help but fantasize about running my fingers through his adorable curls the entire time I was cringing every time I heard Jim Carrey's voice.
Now, that's humidity.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
I slept in till all of 6:15 this morning, instead of my usual 5:00, since I didn't have anywhere to go until 12:30. I got the kids off the school, worked on a writing project that I've recently undertaken, argued with Paul about just exactly how many eggs he desired for breakfast, then got in the shower. About halfway through, I heard the bathroom door open then I heard Paul say, "Uhhh....Jill at the school called. Sam just puked." He's been so dang well all winter; in fact, before Spring Break, every morning began with him whining, "Why can't I just get sick like the girls? I haven't gotten to miss ANY school!"
And bless his heart, he got a good one. More than once today he's been on the toilet with his head in the trashcan. Double whammy.
Today was Kady's field trip to Pizza Hut and to the movies to see Horton Hears a Who! and Paul and I had both planned on going, though neither of us really wanted to. The plan was to go to Radio Shack, trade my stupid piece of poop Rockr for a RazrII, then meet the class at the theater, but since we had a puker, Paul volunteered to stay home. Lucky turd. I told him I had no problem pulling puke duty, but he insisted. Sam hadn't gotten sick again by the time I left for town, but I guess he just waited for me to leave because he yakked almost continually the entire time I was gone. Paul was none too happy that I went to Wal*Mart after the show, adding another hour and half to my absence, but hey, he volunteered to stay home.
It's 8:00pm now and Sam has finally gone an hour without barfing, so he's eating a grape popsicle. I know he wants to badly to devour it and about 17 more, but he's showing amazing restraint. I hate that feeling of being sooooo thirsty after nearly 12 hours of puking.
I don't know how it happened, but we were completely out of groceries and important supplies. Okay, not completely - there was plenty of stuff here to like, cook and prepare, but who wants to do that? Actually, I buy very little convenience food - except Hamburger Helper because I am completely addicted to that stuff - but we were out of the basic stuff like sugar, dishwasher detergent, baking soda, milk, deodorant and microwave popcorn. And Paul kept insisting that I could run the dishwasher with Tide, but you know, I didn't take his advice. I don't entirely trust his homemaking skillz. He's also the one that told me that powdered milk tastes just like regular milk. Riiiiiight. You'll be happy to know that now we have clean dishes and I have pits that smell like Oriental Silk, so says Secret. And no one is in danger of having to drink powdered milk. Oh, and because buying only essentials and necessities at Wal*Mart is absolutely no fun whatsoever, I bought Alvin and the Chipmunks today. Next on the list: Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium and Enchanted. The kids haven't asked for them - this is entirely me.
Did you catch that brief mention of that piece of poop cell phone Motorola calls a Rockr? I did not like that phone. I did when I wrote that I loved it so much I was going to sleep with it under my pillow, but that was before it became posessed by an angry, evil, electronic demon whose entire mission was to make me crazynuts. I use my cell phone as my alarm clock so the continual shutting down was quite inconvenient and annoying as all get out. I figured out after about the 90 millionth shut down that sliding it shut was what was making it shut down. Pops looked at it Wednesday and said there was a short somewhere in it and I should take it back. I also wasn't all that crazy about the slidy-ness of it anyway.
I traded for a RazrII since I had one of the old dinosaur Razrs and loved it. I gave $52 more bucks over what I had given for the Rockr PLUS I have to buy a USB cable to sync it with Windows Media Player AND I have to get the software for Bluetooth capabilities (something that only Razrs require) AND get a Bluetooth adapter for the computer AND a MiniSD card. Yeah. I hope I learn how to poop money soon. Pops said I could borrow his Bluetooth adapter until I get one of my own. I figure by the time I buy everything necessary to make my phone fully functional I'm going to be out $150 for the phone plus another $130 or so. Maybe putting up with a stupid slider wasn't so bad.....
Horton Hears a Who! was quite disappointing, I thought. Tater had taken her kids to see it and she fell asleep. Mom and Pops took Sam and Kady to see it and they both fell asleep. Naturally, I was not looking forward to it. Granted, there were times I chuckled out loud, but for the most part I was really just plain expecting more. The best part was where Horton was imagining himself as an anime hero. That amused me very much. Overall, though, Jim Carrey annoyed me, as usual. Even as an elephant, he annoyed me. Steve Carell was funny, but I really think he's just better on screen as a person and not a Who because it's not just his voice, but his facial expressions that make him so funny. But have I mentioned how much I *heart* Seth Rogan? Even though he was just the voice of a wussy blue mouse in this movie, I still couldn't help but fantasize about running my fingers through his adorable curls the entire time I was cringing every time I heard Jim Carrey's voice.
Grumble grumble
Stupid Oklahoma weather.
Tater and I deliberated all day yesterday about recording the webcast. The final phone conversation on the subject was punctuated with a gigantic lightning bolt right in front of my car somewhere along I-44.
However, I have a brand! new! microphone that is just itching to transmit our melodic voices, so see, I'm really not pulling your leg. There will someday be a webcast!
Heck, I was tempted last night to just use Abby as my co-host, but she rolled her eyes and said, "Mom, teachers from school read your blog! No way am I talking on it!" Allllrighty then. That turned out to not be a option after all.
Of course, I asked her right after I had been dancing to "Low" while driving my van down the main drag in Vinita, you know, right after I slapped my booty at the appropriate time in the song. She slid down in her seat and said, "I SO don't know you. Who are you and why are you driving me somewhere? Crazy lady!"
I love that kid.
It's actually not supposed to storm tomorrow (one day reprieve! whoo hoo! we won't know what to do with ourselves!) so I'll dig up a co-host somewhere and see what happens. Regardless, it will be recorded and posted here as a playable file, so don't worry about times and stuff. You can access me 24/7 because I'm all accessible and stuff. Now I just need some Apple Bottom jeans and boots with the fur. Because not only am I accessible, I can get low. Just ask that strange child I drove around yesterday. She can vouch for me even if she claims she doesn't know me.
Tater and I deliberated all day yesterday about recording the webcast. The final phone conversation on the subject was punctuated with a gigantic lightning bolt right in front of my car somewhere along I-44.
However, I have a brand! new! microphone that is just itching to transmit our melodic voices, so see, I'm really not pulling your leg. There will someday be a webcast!
Heck, I was tempted last night to just use Abby as my co-host, but she rolled her eyes and said, "Mom, teachers from school read your blog! No way am I talking on it!" Allllrighty then. That turned out to not be a option after all.
Of course, I asked her right after I had been dancing to "Low" while driving my van down the main drag in Vinita, you know, right after I slapped my booty at the appropriate time in the song. She slid down in her seat and said, "I SO don't know you. Who are you and why are you driving me somewhere? Crazy lady!"
I love that kid.
It's actually not supposed to storm tomorrow (one day reprieve! whoo hoo! we won't know what to do with ourselves!) so I'll dig up a co-host somewhere and see what happens. Regardless, it will be recorded and posted here as a playable file, so don't worry about times and stuff. You can access me 24/7 because I'm all accessible and stuff. Now I just need some Apple Bottom jeans and boots with the fur. Because not only am I accessible, I can get low. Just ask that strange child I drove around yesterday. She can vouch for me even if she claims she doesn't know me.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
I would appear my pants are on fire....
Because apparently I am a big fat liar!
I am SO sorry about the whole saying I'm gonna do a webcast then not doing a webcast thing. If it helps at all and makes you want to keep reading my blog can I blame it on the weather? And my little sister? Because she's the reason God made Oklahoma's weather stupid, I'm sure of it. In fact, I think someone wrote a song about that.....
It's rained harder than a cow peein' on a flat rock more than once this week. No joke. And lots of lightning, too. My paranoia won't allow me to leave any electronics plugged in if someone in the house even utters the word "lightning".
The next date is set for this Thursday. Seeing as how it is our first one, I am not EVEN going to attempt it live. However, keeping our fingers crossed while eating a four-leaf clover salad and sitting on a rabbit's foot while tickling a leprechaun should get the cast posted that night. I promise nothing because if I've learned anything as a parent, if you promise something is going to happen on a certain date at a certain time, it's pretty much a sure fire bet that it ain't gonna happen at that date and time. I should've remembered that when I got your hopes up TWICE.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Friday Ab had a friend spend the night. I really like this little friend and anytime she wants to come over I am all for it. However, it wasn't until Sunday night that Abby showed me the progress report that would've totally kept her friend from spending the night. Oh yeah, it was that bad. What makes me so dang mad is that it's because she's not turning in her work. She claims the D in Math is because "fractions are stupid" and you know, I totally agree with her because fractions ARE stupid, but not once did she come to me for help. (That may be because she knows I am a mathtard, but we'll not go there.) Anyway, she's in the in-school tutoring thing for that D, plus she's on serious restriction right now (Our word for "grounded" - because I strive to be different and frankly, to me, it's a more relevant term. Kids are not airplanes, after all.) which means no computer, no movies, no sleepovers and what hurt her most was that I am not giving her the $10 I gave the other two for the book fair at school. I hate to withold something as important as books, seeing as how she has a C in Reading already, but I'm trying to make a point. She cried when I put her on restriction and turned her back to me. That kind of stung, but I completely remember being soooooo mad at my mother when I felt she was the most unfair human on the planet, so I instead said, "Okay, I understand that you are mad at me. That's fine. I'd probably be mad at me, too. But, Ab, I'm right and you are just going to have to be mad." It took her about two hours to come out of her room, but when she did she came straight to me, put her hand in mine and laid her head on my shoulder. She was also verrrrrrry helpful with chores last night. Hmh. Coincidence? I think not.
When I asked her teacher for advice on what to do at home, aside from beating her, she emailed me back with, "Welcome to parenting a pre-teen. They wake up in a different world every day." Ah, wise sage.
=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-
Sunday morning Sam went forward during the invitation at church and accepted Christ as his Savior. As a parent, I don't think there is any happier moment as when you know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you will see your child in Heaven.
This has been about a month in the works and people, it has been amazing seeing this all take place. When Abby was saved it was quiet, understated and she did it at Vacation Bible School when I wasn't around. Sam actually came to me about a month ago, telling me that he felt like God was talking to his heart. I asked what God said (because if you only knew Sam, there is no telling what comes out of him sometimes) and he said, "God told me that I'm a sinner and I need to do something about that. He said I need Him." How simple, yet how true. So we went to Pops and Pops has talked to him several times (how convenient when your pastor is also your dad/grandad), but told me that the decision has to be Sam's and while he would answer questions and guide him, he wasn't going to push. I love that man.
His baptism is scheduled a week and a half from now. Our church is very small and we don't have a baptistry, so we have to borrow the "dunk tank on wheels" that the Association keeps for baptistry-less churches. One older lady in the church suggested we just hold the baptism at the lake since the church is literally right above the lake, but that water is not only cold, but it's nasty. I said that the dunk tank on wheels would suit me just fine.
Also, praise God, Paul went to church with us Sunday night and we all moved our memberships to the same church. Paul, Ab and I all had our memberships in separate places, then Sam joined the new church this week. I had asked Ab several times if she wanted to join the church and she emphatically said yes, but she wanted to wait for her daddy. Since he works on Sunday mornings we had to wait till a Sunday night, but he went, loved it and we're all together as a family. Also, Paulgot suckered into was asked to help with recreation time at Awanas on Wednesday nights. He did it willingly. Life is good.
=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
My pants may be on fire, but I do have HAIR PICTURES, so hopefully that helps some.
And by the way, it's really hard to take pictures of your own hair. Just for the record. I couldn't get the light right or I'd take one at an angle that made me look like I needed some Rogaine for Women (Heaven help me if that's how my hair really looks) (Oh man, now I'm worried...) (Seriously.) and I took about 30 before I narrowed it down to these.
So, that being said, let it be known that if the weather is bad on Thursday, there will be no webcast and it will have to be postponed yet again. If you want to pout and turn your back on me, fine, but don't get too sassy or I'll have to put you on restriction and take away your Book Fair money.
I am SO sorry about the whole saying I'm gonna do a webcast then not doing a webcast thing. If it helps at all and makes you want to keep reading my blog can I blame it on the weather? And my little sister? Because she's the reason God made Oklahoma's weather stupid, I'm sure of it. In fact, I think someone wrote a song about that.....
It's rained harder than a cow peein' on a flat rock more than once this week. No joke. And lots of lightning, too. My paranoia won't allow me to leave any electronics plugged in if someone in the house even utters the word "lightning".
The next date is set for this Thursday. Seeing as how it is our first one, I am not EVEN going to attempt it live. However, keeping our fingers crossed while eating a four-leaf clover salad and sitting on a rabbit's foot while tickling a leprechaun should get the cast posted that night. I promise nothing because if I've learned anything as a parent, if you promise something is going to happen on a certain date at a certain time, it's pretty much a sure fire bet that it ain't gonna happen at that date and time. I should've remembered that when I got your hopes up TWICE.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Friday Ab had a friend spend the night. I really like this little friend and anytime she wants to come over I am all for it. However, it wasn't until Sunday night that Abby showed me the progress report that would've totally kept her friend from spending the night. Oh yeah, it was that bad. What makes me so dang mad is that it's because she's not turning in her work. She claims the D in Math is because "fractions are stupid" and you know, I totally agree with her because fractions ARE stupid, but not once did she come to me for help. (That may be because she knows I am a mathtard, but we'll not go there.) Anyway, she's in the in-school tutoring thing for that D, plus she's on serious restriction right now (Our word for "grounded" - because I strive to be different and frankly, to me, it's a more relevant term. Kids are not airplanes, after all.) which means no computer, no movies, no sleepovers and what hurt her most was that I am not giving her the $10 I gave the other two for the book fair at school. I hate to withold something as important as books, seeing as how she has a C in Reading already, but I'm trying to make a point. She cried when I put her on restriction and turned her back to me. That kind of stung, but I completely remember being soooooo mad at my mother when I felt she was the most unfair human on the planet, so I instead said, "Okay, I understand that you are mad at me. That's fine. I'd probably be mad at me, too. But, Ab, I'm right and you are just going to have to be mad." It took her about two hours to come out of her room, but when she did she came straight to me, put her hand in mine and laid her head on my shoulder. She was also verrrrrrry helpful with chores last night. Hmh. Coincidence? I think not.
When I asked her teacher for advice on what to do at home, aside from beating her, she emailed me back with, "Welcome to parenting a pre-teen. They wake up in a different world every day." Ah, wise sage.
=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-
Sunday morning Sam went forward during the invitation at church and accepted Christ as his Savior. As a parent, I don't think there is any happier moment as when you know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you will see your child in Heaven.
This has been about a month in the works and people, it has been amazing seeing this all take place. When Abby was saved it was quiet, understated and she did it at Vacation Bible School when I wasn't around. Sam actually came to me about a month ago, telling me that he felt like God was talking to his heart. I asked what God said (because if you only knew Sam, there is no telling what comes out of him sometimes) and he said, "God told me that I'm a sinner and I need to do something about that. He said I need Him." How simple, yet how true. So we went to Pops and Pops has talked to him several times (how convenient when your pastor is also your dad/grandad), but told me that the decision has to be Sam's and while he would answer questions and guide him, he wasn't going to push. I love that man.
His baptism is scheduled a week and a half from now. Our church is very small and we don't have a baptistry, so we have to borrow the "dunk tank on wheels" that the Association keeps for baptistry-less churches. One older lady in the church suggested we just hold the baptism at the lake since the church is literally right above the lake, but that water is not only cold, but it's nasty. I said that the dunk tank on wheels would suit me just fine.
Also, praise God, Paul went to church with us Sunday night and we all moved our memberships to the same church. Paul, Ab and I all had our memberships in separate places, then Sam joined the new church this week. I had asked Ab several times if she wanted to join the church and she emphatically said yes, but she wanted to wait for her daddy. Since he works on Sunday mornings we had to wait till a Sunday night, but he went, loved it and we're all together as a family. Also, Paul
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My pants may be on fire, but I do have HAIR PICTURES, so hopefully that helps some.
And by the way, it's really hard to take pictures of your own hair. Just for the record. I couldn't get the light right or I'd take one at an angle that made me look like I needed some Rogaine for Women (Heaven help me if that's how my hair really looks) (Oh man, now I'm worried...) (Seriously.) and I took about 30 before I narrowed it down to these.
This shows the nice blonde streak that is reminiscent of Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. Fortunately, it's on the back of my head, not right in the front.
Pretty much the same picture......why did I post this one?
See what I mean about the light? In this pic my hair looks more red, but the other two it looks more brown with blonde.
Just so you know, she did two colors - Yes TWO! TWO VUNDERVUL COLORS! MUAH HAHAHAHAHAH - so if you were to see me in person you would probably see that there's dark brown in there, along with my natural color and then BAM! Emeril came along and kicked it up a notch with some blonde.
All of the various colors are more noticeable when my hair is straight, but did I mention that it's been a little rainy lately? Yeah. Not even a Chi can help when it's raining this much. Trust me.
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It's springtime in Oklahoma and that means SEVERE WEATHER!!!!! (wild applause) As you know, I am a bigtime fan of severe weather, storms and they totally weren't kidding when they said, "When the tornado sirens go off, that's not signal to run for shelter, it's the signal for all rednecks to go stand in the yard and look for the twister." Amen and amen. Monday looked hopeful and there was even talk of a tornado in the area after I got to work, but the part of the storm that spawed the funnel had already passed over us, so we missed out. I'm ready for a good run to the 'fraidy hole. Paul's nephew lost his trampoline, so I'm hopeful this is the year we lose ours. I hate that trampoline.
So, that being said, let it be known that if the weather is bad on Thursday, there will be no webcast and it will have to be postponed yet again. If you want to pout and turn your back on me, fine, but don't get too sassy or I'll have to put you on restriction and take away your Book Fair money.
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