In case y'all didn't know, I am a little on the goofy side. Yes, really. I know. Shocking, huh? Well, I am funny-strange in a lot of ways - one way being, I don't like to correct people. Well, unless it's grammar and then I am all UP in the correcting. (Drives Tater batty; probably why I continue doing it.)
So Thursday I didn't correct someone and then it spiraled out of control. It would appear I inadvertently lied. Shame on me, but dang it if isn't blog fodder.
Now y'all know I babysit my cousin's baby, affectionately known as "Nonner" here on the blog. I love that kid to pieces and he's way more fun than my kids were because I was so busy worrying about parenting them I forgot to enjoy them a lot of the time. But that little, adorable, pudgy, cute baby is the reason I lied. The reason I inadvertently lied.
Wednesday evening a guy came out to look at my old van. He's a friend of a friend of Paul's who thinks my kids hung the moon and that Paul is the patron saint of friends. (Paul's friend thinks that, not the complete and total stranger) (Because that would be weird to like us THAT much that quick, even if we ARE that cool) While he was here so were Tater and Gentleman and all of our kids. While Paul was showing him the van and they were driving it around a little, we were here in the house playing Mario Kart on the Wii and just generally causing a ruckus and having fun until LOST started. I had to print out some pictures of the van for the guy to take to the bank and Abby was helping me. That was really the only interaction the guy had with any of the kids. In fact, I didn't think he paid much attention to them at all, other than to probably think, "My GOSH but they are loud!" which is a thought I have quite frequently myself.
Thursday I got a phone call from the guy asking if I could meet him at the finance place to turn over the title and get my check. I said, "Yeah, sure. I just need to feed the baby and then we'll head in." He said they had an appointment available at 3 if that worked for me. I fed the baby and then we went to town. I have a carseat for Nonner permanently installed in my van, I carry a diaper bag when we go out and he thinks my boobs are potential dinner (even though I have repeatedly told him they are not) and really, that little guy thinks I am freakin' AWESOME. So considering the rapport we have I guess it's only natural that people think I might be his momma.
It used to happen all the time when I babysat hoardes of children and was insane enough to take them out in public - people always assume that if you are in possession of a child, that child is yours. Back then, with a veritable herd of children surrounding me, I was probably whispered about as "that crazy woman over there" or "that woman without the ability to tell her huband no" or other such things because it apparently never occured to people that I might not be a raving lunatic with an overactive uterus and I dunno, that I might be babysitting.
I got to the finance place with Nonner one one hip, a burp rag over my shoulder and the title in hand. The kids get off the bus around 3:35 so I figured it'd take all of 5 minutes to hand over the title and get my check and be home in plenty of time to catch the kids off the bus. Right? Wrong. Instead, the gal they had an appointment with was holed up in her office and had Ellen on the TV. I secretly wondered if she was just pretending to talk on the phone and was really just watching Ellen to avoid the lot of us in the waiting area. Instantly, the guy's wife commented on how cute Nonner was and of course, I just said, "Thanks." I learned long ago that people give you a funny look if you say, "I'll make sure to tell his momma you said so." It's just easier so accept the compliment and go on because those comments are usually made in passing. Passing as in "I thought I'd only be there long enough to drop off the title and take my check."
With Nonner bouncing happily on my lap, grinning at everyone in sight and occasionally grabbing at my boobs it's no wonder they would assume he was mine. Now, I realize I should've corrected the woman after the second time she called me "momma" but I didn't. Still, in my head I was thinking "No harm, no foul. They're strangers. You'll never see them again." It didn't occur to me that I was caught in a downward spiral of lying until the guy said, "Yeah, last night Bob called to see if I was gonna buy the van and he asked me if I saw the kids. I said I saw a whole buncha kids there. He told me you have two girls and a boy, but I never saw this little guy. Boy, he's a cutie! No wonder Bob likes your kids so much." The whole time Nonner is just giving him toothless grins and slobber bubbles and basically winning him over and making a heck of an impression. The guy's wife said, "Well, of course you didn't see this little cutie because I bet he was in bed, right, Momma?" I just grinned and nodded. Because technically..... when the guy was there the night, yeah, I'm pretty sure Nonner was in bed. Okay so it was at his own house, but still....
I just wanted to get the heck out of there. I looked at my watch and politely asked, "Uh....do you have any idea how much longer this is going to take? I have kids getting off the bus soon..." They both apologized and wondered out loud what the holdup was. Abby has a key to get in the house if by some chance I'm not there, but I wasn't about to tell them that. I just reiterated that I needed to be there when the bus dropped them off. Then the wife asked "How old are your girls?" I said, "12 and 7." Okay, now that wasn't a lie. She exclaimed, "Oh how lucky that this little guy here has sisters that much older than him! I bet they help you out a lot!" I just nodded and looked at my watch again. They do help me out a lot....even if they aren't his sisters....
I really was about to cry because I felt like such a dolt for lying - even if it was inadvertently - to these seemingly nice folks who were buying my van. I was embarrassed that I led them to believe my 2nd cousin was my child. I just wanted to go home. I was sitting there thinking to myself that if I could just avoid further conversation with them I wouldn't have to lie anymore and I would conveniently be in the bathroom when they came to get the van later that night. Maybe I'd even be asleep. Or maybe I could just up and die suddenly from a mysterious case of ebola or something.
FINALLY the gal opened her office door - at 3:25, no less - and invited us all in. Fortunately the wife came to my rescue before I had to say anything. She told the gal that I had kids to get off the bus and could we speed things up a bit? I then felt even worse that I had lied to this incredibly kind woman who was worried about my daughters (not my son, nope, she didn't even know he existed) but man, did I take advantage of the opening. I quickly vomited out some hasty words about school bus and kids and driving 20 minutes and running late and other garbledygook. She nodded and said, "Fine. Can you come by and pick up your check later then?" The wife again took up for me and said, "No, she lives south of town! You don't have her check ready?" I wanted to cry. I asked, "Can't you just send it with him? He's coming out to get the van tonight." She didn't want to do it, but agreed to send it with him but insisted on making the check out to me only. FINE, geesh! I practically flew out the door of that buildling, holding back tears and hysterical laughter.
Ever have those moment that you instantly KNOW you cannot wait to tell someone about? Or blog about it? Because it's so dang funny and embarrassing and stupid and memorable? Yeah. Me, too.
I laughed at and berated myself all the way home. And no, I didn't beat the bus. But let's just fast-forward to when Paul got home from work and I said offhandedly, "Oh yeah, by the way, I kind of sort of uhm....lied to those people and uhm.....theythinkNonnerisourbabyandwouldyoupleasejustgoalongwithitformePLEASE?" He stopped taking off his shoes and said, "WHAT? You told them he was your baby? WHY, Kristin? Why?" I said, "Well, I really didn't tell them he was mine....I just didn't correct them when they wrongly assumed he was. Please just go along with it and really honey, I'm already embarrassed about it enough. Stop laughing."
Imagine how much harder he laughed when the guy drove up at that very moment and there I was, still alive since I hadn't contracted ebola yet AND I didn't even have to pee. Paul was just about shaking, holding back his laughter. The guy came in the door and saw Nonner and I in the floor playing and said, "Well, THERE'S that cutie I saw just awhile ago!" Paul said, "Yeah, he's a pretty cute kid, isn't he? His momma and daddy are awful proud." I shot him a look that probably could've given him ebola, it was so evil. He just snickered as he grabbed his coat and ushered the guy out the door.
Fortunately, my cousin Courtney is a very real and undertanding person and after I explained to her that her cousin/babysitter is truly not a psychotic maniac who has delusions of motherhood and doesn't go around town flaunting her child as my own, she just sat down to visit so that it didn't appear she was kidnapping my child when she loaded him into her car to take him to his real home for the night.
Ah, family.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Mah face iz all up in yer bookz bein a winner
That title is a direct result of the fact that I have just recently spent hours upon hours at I Can Haz Cheezburger laughing myself into coughing fits. I don't know why it's taken me this long to discover it and it's just sad that I'm so amused by it.
Another new obsession of mine is Facebook. Oh gosh. I resisted for YEARS because I already had a MySpace page and who needs another networking site, huh? Well, apparently I DO. I can't stop myself. When I am online I have my Gmail inbox open and my Facebook page open and I refresh them both frequently. Stop giggling at my pathetic life.
I have kinda quit MySpace. It just doesn't know it yet. I hate to be all 7th grade like that because it was a good site. Really, it's not MySpace, it's me. We've just outgrown each other. Maybe we can still be friends.
We sold my Astro van today, otherwise known in past times as the A$$hole Van. I was really sad to see her go. She wasn't all that pretty, she was shaped like a big green shoebox, her back door didn't open and she had a rather disconcerting thump at 2nd gear that used to scare unsuspecting passengers to pieces, but man, I loved that van.
Admittedly, the bun warmers in the new van are nice. My buns haven't shrunken from repeated heat exposure like I'd hoped they would, though.
LOST last night made my head hurt. That whole "let's do the time warp again" thing they had goin' on last night was crazy nuts. I kept hitting the pause button and exclaiming, "THREE YEARS FROM WHEN?" and "I AM SO CONFUSED."
Didja catch that in the last paragraph? That I kept pausing the TV? Yep - we got a DVR!!!! It was so overdue and we are so lovin' it. Because we upgraded, we got HBO and Starz free for three months and people, we have watched more movies in the last week than we did in all of 2008. The thing we've watched the most is horror movies - mainly zombie movies. I did not know how much I liked the simple intricacies of the zombie movie until I saw a few.
We had the "family friendly" programming before which included Boomerang and Nick but not Disney. That is something I never understood. Isn't Disney just about the most family friendly thing around? Regardless, now we have limitless supplies of Hannah Montana and well, she's no Drake & Josh, but she's a nice change of pace.
I keep forgetting to mention that our Park of Lights Christmas display won 2nd place this year! They award three cash awards based on votes by people who come through the park, then several smaller judges' choice awards. Last year we got 6th in the judges' choice awards, but this year the folks in the cars voted for us only slightly less than the 1st place winners. Huzzah!
We were beat by a casino, namely the casino at which my huband is employed, so that kinda stunk because it would've been cool to beat them, but we're already planning this Christmas's display, so look out Casino That Shall Not Be Named! We're gunnin' for you this year.
We got an actual check, but if you saw us in the paper you'd have noticed we were proudly holding up a GIANT check, just like the ones the Prize Patrol gives out to those ladies in the housecoats who scream in their front yards. The kids were so excited about that GIANT check they asked if we could hang it on the living room wall, right over the couch. I said no. Paul was more disappointed than the kids.
Last year the committee made my check out to Redneck Diva. They did again this year and the bank told me that next year they have to make it out to a real person.
And now because I've rambled on about really pretty much nothing because I'm feeling rather uninspired right now which is horribly bad timing considering
and should probably like, ya know, try to maintain my title and stuff. Voting is open right now and at the risk of sounding pathetic and whiny and pitiful, I'm going to ask all Oklahoma bloggers who are reading this to vote for me. Why? Well, because I think being able to use the term "threepeat" would be FREAKING AWESOME.
Seriously, I am up against some amazing humorists this year and even though it's trite and cliche' it really is an honor just to be nominated.
Check out my competition then go vote for me! No matter what Oppobrious says.
Another new obsession of mine is Facebook. Oh gosh. I resisted for YEARS because I already had a MySpace page and who needs another networking site, huh? Well, apparently I DO. I can't stop myself. When I am online I have my Gmail inbox open and my Facebook page open and I refresh them both frequently. Stop giggling at my pathetic life.
I have kinda quit MySpace. It just doesn't know it yet. I hate to be all 7th grade like that because it was a good site. Really, it's not MySpace, it's me. We've just outgrown each other. Maybe we can still be friends.
We sold my Astro van today, otherwise known in past times as the A$$hole Van. I was really sad to see her go. She wasn't all that pretty, she was shaped like a big green shoebox, her back door didn't open and she had a rather disconcerting thump at 2nd gear that used to scare unsuspecting passengers to pieces, but man, I loved that van.
Admittedly, the bun warmers in the new van are nice. My buns haven't shrunken from repeated heat exposure like I'd hoped they would, though.
LOST last night made my head hurt. That whole "let's do the time warp again" thing they had goin' on last night was crazy nuts. I kept hitting the pause button and exclaiming, "THREE YEARS FROM WHEN?" and "I AM SO CONFUSED."
Didja catch that in the last paragraph? That I kept pausing the TV? Yep - we got a DVR!!!! It was so overdue and we are so lovin' it. Because we upgraded, we got HBO and Starz free for three months and people, we have watched more movies in the last week than we did in all of 2008. The thing we've watched the most is horror movies - mainly zombie movies. I did not know how much I liked the simple intricacies of the zombie movie until I saw a few.
We had the "family friendly" programming before which included Boomerang and Nick but not Disney. That is something I never understood. Isn't Disney just about the most family friendly thing around? Regardless, now we have limitless supplies of Hannah Montana and well, she's no Drake & Josh, but she's a nice change of pace.
I keep forgetting to mention that our Park of Lights Christmas display won 2nd place this year! They award three cash awards based on votes by people who come through the park, then several smaller judges' choice awards. Last year we got 6th in the judges' choice awards, but this year the folks in the cars voted for us only slightly less than the 1st place winners. Huzzah!
We were beat by a casino, namely the casino at which my huband is employed, so that kinda stunk because it would've been cool to beat them, but we're already planning this Christmas's display, so look out Casino That Shall Not Be Named! We're gunnin' for you this year.
We got an actual check, but if you saw us in the paper you'd have noticed we were proudly holding up a GIANT check, just like the ones the Prize Patrol gives out to those ladies in the housecoats who scream in their front yards. The kids were so excited about that GIANT check they asked if we could hang it on the living room wall, right over the couch. I said no. Paul was more disappointed than the kids.
Last year the committee made my check out to Redneck Diva. They did again this year and the bank told me that next year they have to make it out to a real person.
And now because I've rambled on about really pretty much nothing because I'm feeling rather uninspired right now which is horribly bad timing considering
and should probably like, ya know, try to maintain my title and stuff. Voting is open right now and at the risk of sounding pathetic and whiny and pitiful, I'm going to ask all Oklahoma bloggers who are reading this to vote for me. Why? Well, because I think being able to use the term "threepeat" would be FREAKING AWESOME.
Seriously, I am up against some amazing humorists this year and even though it's trite and cliche' it really is an honor just to be nominated.
Check out my competition then go vote for me! No matter what Oppobrious says.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Dear me,
Wow, you're 16 already? I bet you think you're invincible, don't you? Wait, I already know you think you're invincible.
Because I'm you. Just 20 years later. Today is my 36th birthday. I'm relatively spry for being such a senior citizen, but before the senility sets in I'm going to write you a letter. I mean, write me a letter. You as in me. Agh, now I'm confused.
Anyway, that's right, I'm totally stealing a Brad Paisley song and turning it into a blog post.
Huh? What's a blog post? FREAKING AWESOME, that's what. Just wait.
Allow me to give you some advice, if that's alright. No, please don't roll your eyes. Yes, I know you're only rolling them on the inside, but I am wise to your sneaky ways. I'm you, remember?
Let's just get this out of the way first thing - that virginity of yours? It's precious. Don't give it away, no matter how much you love him right now. No, I'm not negating that love because I do know it's real, deep, true and overwhelming love, but trust me when I say you need to hang onto the virginity. It's really humbling to tell your 12 year old about the birds and the bees and have to admit you weren't a virgin when you got married and you'd like for her to not make the same mistakes you did.
Stop starving yourself. It's ridiculous and you're not healthy. It's only going to lead to problems later.
Your mom is incredibly wise. When it comes to moms you already know you've got the best, but in true teenager fashion you still think she's old-fashioned and silly sometimes. Yep, she is. Someday she's going to marry a preacher and become even more old-fashioned. You should absorb some of that. It's not a bad thing.
No, your parents are not going to stay married forever. Yes, I'm serious. Just go easy on your momma, okay? She's going to take it hard and she's going to be fragile for awhile. She'll be fine in the end (see above: marrying a preacher) but it's going to be rough on her for a long time. She's going to be bitter. A little tolerance goes a long way.
Thankfully you've already figured out that your little sister is not an evil alien put on this earth just to annoying the living fire out of you. Thankfully you already cherish her friendship. She, too, will get a divorce someday. She's going to need you. She's incredibly tough, but you've got to make sure you're there to offer a shoulder to cry on. She will eventually become your best friend in the entire world. Be a good big sister.
Oh, and when you're pregnant with your first child and you feel this overwhelming urge to back that little sister to the wall and yell at her nose-to-nose? I think I should warn you that you will come perilously close to getting punched. You might want to chill out. The baby inside you will be all that protects you from getting a knuckle sandwich.
Getting pregnant isn't going to be easy. Don't believe the doctor that tells you you will never be a mother. Don't believe the other doctor that tells you your first will be your only. In fact, if you'd like to laugh at them that'd be okay by me. Trust me - you are going to make them both liars. Three times over. Yeah. Pick your chin up off the floor, honey.
If you don't breastfeed you'll still be a good mom. Your kids will be fine.
Floss. Please.
You are going to someday be close friends with an upperclassman who used to throw pennies at you on the schoolbus and tease you mercilessly. Yes, really. She will become invaluable to you when you're a young mother and she's going to tell you that sex really does get better when your last kid is out of diapers and the stress level goes down. Believe her. Hang in there.
On that same note, the girls you are running around with now....you will have no contact with whatsoever by the time 20 years roll around. One will even meet you head-on in the mall while you're doing your Christmas shopping and pretend you don't exist. Just don't put all your eggs in one whole basket of "friends." The girls you were so close to in elementary school will be there for you when you're adults. You might not talk to each other every day and you might not even see each other that often, but they are true friends. These three you're running around with now? They aren't.
The internet is awesome. Oh, and learn to use a computer before you're 23.
While Dr. Brazelton is a guru in the field of child-rearing, please don't think that his opinions and research trumps your maternal instinct.
You will NOT die when Brad breaks up with you. I know you think you will, but I swear you won't. I'm living proof. Russell is a jerk and not worth stealing from your little sister. By the way, shame on you for stealing a guy from your little sister.
When that credit card application comes in the mail when you're somewhere around the tender age of 21 BURN IT.
There are going to be two men in your adult life that will frustrate the heck out of you. One is your father, the other is your husband. You can't change either of them. Don't try. They love you the best way they know how. Yes, you like to dictate how the world revolves around you, but with these two you are outmatched. You'll be happier when you just love them back the best way you know how and leave it at that.
Years 7 through 14 of your marriage are going to suck. And hard. You will want to give up and call it quits and run away. More than once. I'm here to tell you that you are strong and it's totally worth it. He's an amazing man.
Spend more time with Papa and Memaw. Even though you don't think you will get a durn thing out of spending time with an old farmer, you are going to miss him something fierce when he's gone. And while your Memaw is sick and won't know who you are sometimes you need to just be there. There will come times in your life you wish you could go back and just sit there next to her.
God will never leave you. When you feel far from Him it's because you moved. Stay close. It makes all the difference in the world.
You are going to have some post-partum depression after the birth of your third child. Get some help. Or some medication. Better yet, get both.
Exercise is not the enemy. Your fat hind-end is will be, though. Just remember that.
I really should go now. There still need to be some secrets and surprises. You turn out to be awesome, though. Trust me on this one.
Happy 16th birthday, Kristin.
Love,
Me
Because I'm you. Just 20 years later. Today is my 36th birthday. I'm relatively spry for being such a senior citizen, but before the senility sets in I'm going to write you a letter. I mean, write me a letter. You as in me. Agh, now I'm confused.
Anyway, that's right, I'm totally stealing a Brad Paisley song and turning it into a blog post.
Huh? What's a blog post? FREAKING AWESOME, that's what. Just wait.
Allow me to give you some advice, if that's alright. No, please don't roll your eyes. Yes, I know you're only rolling them on the inside, but I am wise to your sneaky ways. I'm you, remember?
Let's just get this out of the way first thing - that virginity of yours? It's precious. Don't give it away, no matter how much you love him right now. No, I'm not negating that love because I do know it's real, deep, true and overwhelming love, but trust me when I say you need to hang onto the virginity. It's really humbling to tell your 12 year old about the birds and the bees and have to admit you weren't a virgin when you got married and you'd like for her to not make the same mistakes you did.
Stop starving yourself. It's ridiculous and you're not healthy. It's only going to lead to problems later.
Your mom is incredibly wise. When it comes to moms you already know you've got the best, but in true teenager fashion you still think she's old-fashioned and silly sometimes. Yep, she is. Someday she's going to marry a preacher and become even more old-fashioned. You should absorb some of that. It's not a bad thing.
No, your parents are not going to stay married forever. Yes, I'm serious. Just go easy on your momma, okay? She's going to take it hard and she's going to be fragile for awhile. She'll be fine in the end (see above: marrying a preacher) but it's going to be rough on her for a long time. She's going to be bitter. A little tolerance goes a long way.
Thankfully you've already figured out that your little sister is not an evil alien put on this earth just to annoying the living fire out of you. Thankfully you already cherish her friendship. She, too, will get a divorce someday. She's going to need you. She's incredibly tough, but you've got to make sure you're there to offer a shoulder to cry on. She will eventually become your best friend in the entire world. Be a good big sister.
Oh, and when you're pregnant with your first child and you feel this overwhelming urge to back that little sister to the wall and yell at her nose-to-nose? I think I should warn you that you will come perilously close to getting punched. You might want to chill out. The baby inside you will be all that protects you from getting a knuckle sandwich.
Getting pregnant isn't going to be easy. Don't believe the doctor that tells you you will never be a mother. Don't believe the other doctor that tells you your first will be your only. In fact, if you'd like to laugh at them that'd be okay by me. Trust me - you are going to make them both liars. Three times over. Yeah. Pick your chin up off the floor, honey.
If you don't breastfeed you'll still be a good mom. Your kids will be fine.
Floss. Please.
You are going to someday be close friends with an upperclassman who used to throw pennies at you on the schoolbus and tease you mercilessly. Yes, really. She will become invaluable to you when you're a young mother and she's going to tell you that sex really does get better when your last kid is out of diapers and the stress level goes down. Believe her. Hang in there.
On that same note, the girls you are running around with now....you will have no contact with whatsoever by the time 20 years roll around. One will even meet you head-on in the mall while you're doing your Christmas shopping and pretend you don't exist. Just don't put all your eggs in one whole basket of "friends." The girls you were so close to in elementary school will be there for you when you're adults. You might not talk to each other every day and you might not even see each other that often, but they are true friends. These three you're running around with now? They aren't.
The internet is awesome. Oh, and learn to use a computer before you're 23.
While Dr. Brazelton is a guru in the field of child-rearing, please don't think that his opinions and research trumps your maternal instinct.
You will NOT die when Brad breaks up with you. I know you think you will, but I swear you won't. I'm living proof. Russell is a jerk and not worth stealing from your little sister. By the way, shame on you for stealing a guy from your little sister.
When that credit card application comes in the mail when you're somewhere around the tender age of 21 BURN IT.
There are going to be two men in your adult life that will frustrate the heck out of you. One is your father, the other is your husband. You can't change either of them. Don't try. They love you the best way they know how. Yes, you like to dictate how the world revolves around you, but with these two you are outmatched. You'll be happier when you just love them back the best way you know how and leave it at that.
Years 7 through 14 of your marriage are going to suck. And hard. You will want to give up and call it quits and run away. More than once. I'm here to tell you that you are strong and it's totally worth it. He's an amazing man.
Spend more time with Papa and Memaw. Even though you don't think you will get a durn thing out of spending time with an old farmer, you are going to miss him something fierce when he's gone. And while your Memaw is sick and won't know who you are sometimes you need to just be there. There will come times in your life you wish you could go back and just sit there next to her.
God will never leave you. When you feel far from Him it's because you moved. Stay close. It makes all the difference in the world.
You are going to have some post-partum depression after the birth of your third child. Get some help. Or some medication. Better yet, get both.
Exercise is not the enemy. Your fat hind-end is will be, though. Just remember that.
I really should go now. There still need to be some secrets and surprises. You turn out to be awesome, though. Trust me on this one.
Happy 16th birthday, Kristin.
Love,
Me
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Scary
I have always been a fan of all things frightening. I love a good horror movie any time of the day and Stephen King has been my favorite author since I was 13.
The first Stephen King book I ever read was actually The Bachman Books, which I checked out of the college library on my dad's ID when he was in nursing school. At the same time I also checked out The Talisman. Now, granted these are not the most horrific books he's ever written (in fact, The Talisman made me cry more than it scared me) but I immediately fell in love with his writing style and my love for his stories spiraled from there.
But the fascination with all things frightening actually went back to when I was in the 5th grade and had my 11th birthday party - my first slumber party. We wanted to watch scary movies and scream like little girls (because uhm....we were little girls) and stay up all night and drink "suicides" (where you mix all the soda in the house into one cup and drink up) and maybe put on makeup and talk about boys even though we didn't know much about them. My mom was skeptical about the horror movie marathon we had planned but my grade school BFF DeLisa and I convinced her to take us to good ol' Showtime Video in town to pick out the movies.
For that first sleepover we rented Children of the Corn, It's Alive!, and Of Unknown Origin. High-budget films, the lot of them.
Children of the Corn is a Stephen King short story-turned movie (although he doesn't like to admit he wrote the story the movie is based on because it was so poorly done) and for years all any of us girls had to do to make another one shiver and squeal was just say "Malachi's coming to get youuuuuuuu." I'm sure it was scary at the time, but now when I see ol' Malachi I can only think about Carrot Top and I get cracked up. Abby got this DVD for Christmas and I cannot WAIT for her to see it. She'll probably react to it like she did to Sleepaway Camp - she laughed and rolled her eyes. Kids these days.
It's Alive! is about a woman who gives birth to a human-hating monster baby who consequently slaughters everyone in the delivery room - except his momma, of course - and then goes on a killing spree. All my kids ever did when they were newborns was cry, sleep and poop.
Of Unknown Origin is the basic man vs. rat story line. Rodents in general freak me out and always have, so this movie had me rooting for the man from the beginning. The most memorable scene for me was when the rat-hating man obliterated a grand piano with a baseball bat because the rat was inside. I was really hating that rat, but would've loved to have had that piano...
Right on the heels of our first VCR and the wide world of VHS rentals was the satellite dish. Yeah, you know what I'm talkin' about, don't ya - the gigantic satellite dishes that had to be manually cranked to a different position if you wanted to watch something on a different satellite. This was quite an ordeal, all for the sake of TV beyond three channels. Life in the country left us with either an aerial antenna on the roof or bupkis. No cable out there, no sir.
Our humongous dish sat outside the back patio door and Dad would go out there, leaving the sliding glass door open while Tater or Mom or I would stand in front of the TV yelling "Fuzzy....fuzzy.....better.......ooh ooh! Good!...... fuzzy.....too far, Dad!.... fuzzy......RIGHT THERE RIGHT THERE! STOP!" Dad eventually scratched marks in the metal, labelling the satellites, which made it a little easier, but still, there was cranking and running and yelling involved.
Now, my sister does not share my love for all things frightening and she never has. She is, in fact, so squeamish when it comes to suspense and gore and horror that she barfed in the parking lot after watching Jaws 3D at the Thunderbird Twin in town. When a group of her friends went on a girls' night out awhile back, she lasted about five minutes in I Know Who Killed Me before she left the theater and asked the manager if she could go watch Hairspray instead. Our father simply refused to accept the fact that both of his daughters didn't love scary movies and the poor kid had to watch scary movies whether she liked it or not.
Our dad would scour the Orbit magazine/satellite TV guide thing to find the most gruesome horror movies for us to watch and poor Tater would get roped into watching them every time. Bless her heart. The worst one she ever watched was The Boogens. Poor kid ended up in the bathroom horking up her guts after that one. To this day she still speaks of the emotional scars rendered from that one.
I just happened to find the IMDB page on it the other day, which led me to search for it to buy, which is what sparked this post. I called her at work to ask her, "Which format do you prefer - VHS or DVD?" When she asked for what I said, "I found The Boogens and thought I'd get you a copy!" She didn't think I was all that funny. We spent a few more minutes on the phone, me making fun of her and her defending her squeamishness. I guess I crossed the line by reminding her she puked one too many times.
She retorted, "Well, I may have puked over a horror movie, but you farted in the Tastee Freez."
Touche'. Well played, sister. Well played.
The first Stephen King book I ever read was actually The Bachman Books, which I checked out of the college library on my dad's ID when he was in nursing school. At the same time I also checked out The Talisman. Now, granted these are not the most horrific books he's ever written (in fact, The Talisman made me cry more than it scared me) but I immediately fell in love with his writing style and my love for his stories spiraled from there.
But the fascination with all things frightening actually went back to when I was in the 5th grade and had my 11th birthday party - my first slumber party. We wanted to watch scary movies and scream like little girls (because uhm....we were little girls) and stay up all night and drink "suicides" (where you mix all the soda in the house into one cup and drink up) and maybe put on makeup and talk about boys even though we didn't know much about them. My mom was skeptical about the horror movie marathon we had planned but my grade school BFF DeLisa and I convinced her to take us to good ol' Showtime Video in town to pick out the movies.
For that first sleepover we rented Children of the Corn, It's Alive!, and Of Unknown Origin. High-budget films, the lot of them.
Children of the Corn is a Stephen King short story-turned movie (although he doesn't like to admit he wrote the story the movie is based on because it was so poorly done) and for years all any of us girls had to do to make another one shiver and squeal was just say "Malachi's coming to get youuuuuuuu." I'm sure it was scary at the time, but now when I see ol' Malachi I can only think about Carrot Top and I get cracked up. Abby got this DVD for Christmas and I cannot WAIT for her to see it. She'll probably react to it like she did to Sleepaway Camp - she laughed and rolled her eyes. Kids these days.
It's Alive! is about a woman who gives birth to a human-hating monster baby who consequently slaughters everyone in the delivery room - except his momma, of course - and then goes on a killing spree. All my kids ever did when they were newborns was cry, sleep and poop.
Of Unknown Origin is the basic man vs. rat story line. Rodents in general freak me out and always have, so this movie had me rooting for the man from the beginning. The most memorable scene for me was when the rat-hating man obliterated a grand piano with a baseball bat because the rat was inside. I was really hating that rat, but would've loved to have had that piano...
Right on the heels of our first VCR and the wide world of VHS rentals was the satellite dish. Yeah, you know what I'm talkin' about, don't ya - the gigantic satellite dishes that had to be manually cranked to a different position if you wanted to watch something on a different satellite. This was quite an ordeal, all for the sake of TV beyond three channels. Life in the country left us with either an aerial antenna on the roof or bupkis. No cable out there, no sir.
Our humongous dish sat outside the back patio door and Dad would go out there, leaving the sliding glass door open while Tater or Mom or I would stand in front of the TV yelling "Fuzzy....fuzzy.....better.......ooh ooh! Good!...... fuzzy.....too far, Dad!.... fuzzy......RIGHT THERE RIGHT THERE! STOP!" Dad eventually scratched marks in the metal, labelling the satellites, which made it a little easier, but still, there was cranking and running and yelling involved.
Now, my sister does not share my love for all things frightening and she never has. She is, in fact, so squeamish when it comes to suspense and gore and horror that she barfed in the parking lot after watching Jaws 3D at the Thunderbird Twin in town. When a group of her friends went on a girls' night out awhile back, she lasted about five minutes in I Know Who Killed Me before she left the theater and asked the manager if she could go watch Hairspray instead. Our father simply refused to accept the fact that both of his daughters didn't love scary movies and the poor kid had to watch scary movies whether she liked it or not.
Our dad would scour the Orbit magazine/satellite TV guide thing to find the most gruesome horror movies for us to watch and poor Tater would get roped into watching them every time. Bless her heart. The worst one she ever watched was The Boogens. Poor kid ended up in the bathroom horking up her guts after that one. To this day she still speaks of the emotional scars rendered from that one.
I just happened to find the IMDB page on it the other day, which led me to search for it to buy, which is what sparked this post. I called her at work to ask her, "Which format do you prefer - VHS or DVD?" When she asked for what I said, "I found The Boogens and thought I'd get you a copy!" She didn't think I was all that funny. We spent a few more minutes on the phone, me making fun of her and her defending her squeamishness. I guess I crossed the line by reminding her she puked one too many times.
She retorted, "Well, I may have puked over a horror movie, but you farted in the Tastee Freez."
Touche'. Well played, sister. Well played.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Gummy
Yesterday was my yearly dental visit out at the Indian Clinic. When they called back at the first of December I figured they'd make the appointment for after the first of the year, but I'll be danged if she didn't want to schedule me in before Christmas. Now, I need more time than a few days to mentally prepare myself for a dental appointment. I can't just pick up and go - my fragile self just doesn't handle it well. So I uhm...kind of told 'em I had plans and bought myself a week and a half. Then WHEW! They called and said their hygienist had to have "unexpected" back surgery. Yikes. Unexpected surgery of any kind is usually not good, but back surgery? While I was sorry she was down in her back and soon to be down-er, I was also dang relieved they canceled my appointment and said they'd call after the first of the year to reschedule.
When they said after the first of the year, they meant it. She called on January 2nd. And wanted to schedule me for January 6th. No way, Jose. I can't mentally prepare in that short amount of time, so again I kind of uhm....told 'em I had plans. I bought myself 10 days.
Man, I hate going to the dentist.
The dentist told me last year at my checkup that I had a spot between two teeth that was "iffy" and if I'd just floss I could probably keep it from becoming a full-blown cavity. Well, guess who didn't floss but like, maybe 10 times in 2008? I brush like a fiend, but flossing? Not so much.
I went to that clinic yesterday with a book in my purse and dread in my gut. I filled out the form that asks the same ol' questions then sat there and tried to read my newest Stephen King book but couldn't concentrate. Finally they called me back and the gal who took my blood pressure and did my x-rays loved my purse (the link is for the shop, not my actual purse) so I gushed on about Etsy for awhile. That kind of eased my nerves a little, but not much.
After my face had been shot full of gamma rays or something the hygienist came over and hooked my pretty little paper bib around my neck then laid the chair back. Before she laid the chair back, though, she asked if I had a problem with being laid back. I honestly considered for a second just saying yes just to see if she could clean my teeth while I was sitting straight up, but went ahead and said no and back I went.
As my chair reached the position where you're not really lying on your back but really more on your head, my paper bib flipped up into my face. I quickly whipped it down and giggled nervously. As soon as my hands moved away from it, there it was in my face again. I flicked my eyes to the hygienist who was quietly and efficiently gathering her intruments of torture and was unaware that my bib was trying to smother me. Again I smoothed it down and again as soon as my hands were off of it it flipped up into my face. She wheeled her chair around to my side as I finally folded my hands across my chest thus trapping the wiley bib. She asked, "Having a little trouble?" I laughed and said, "Yeah, this thing just won't stay out of my face." She nodded. Then, because as if I wasn't nervous enough I had to say the following sentence: "Well, I'm not sure if it's because I'm virtually standing on my head or if it's because of my gigantic rack."
Having been told more than once that I'm a funny person, I expected a chuckle. And ya gotta admit, given the situation and the fact that I indeed do NOT have a gigantic rack, it should've gotten a laugh-reaction. Instead she just held her instruments of torture poised over my mouth and I swear I heard crickets chirping. That moment was probably when she decided she was going to shred my gums beyond recognition because apparently funny isn't her "thing".
Oh my gosh, the scraping. As I laid there allowing a stranger with sharp pokey stick to scrape the gunk off of my teeth I was totally regretting the lack of flossing. Ya know, flossing isn't that difficult and it only takes a few minutes....why can I not find the time to do it? By cracky, I will in 2009. I can't handle someone taking a cheese grater to my gums again. She assured me that I am a fabulous brusher, it's the flossing or lack thereof that is my downfall.
She finally finished and patted me on the shoulder as she told me that there were some abrasions on my gums. No duh. The throbbing was the first giveaway. The fact I felt like I'd sucked on a whole roll of pennies was the second.
As I sat in the chair with a plastic tray full of sour grapey foam in my mouth and the suction thing hanging out the side of my foamy mouth to ward off any resulting drooling, I remembered that I was going to refuse the fluoride this year. Oops. She snuck it in there on me before I knew what was happening. While I was sitting there wondering what in the world I might look like sitting there (Like a rabid dog, maybe? A rabid dog with a plastic sucking stick hanging out of its mouth, yes?) I overheard a conversation in the next chair - a gal came in complaining of pain on one side of her mouth. Now, maybe she'd been having trouble with those teeth and maybe they were really bad and maybe she'd been in there over those teeth before, but when I heard the dentist say that she'd be more than happy to just take those teeth out in a day or two and then she followed that statement with "Well, sure you can go to a private practice and actually have them fixed but that's just not what we do here" yeah, that's when I decided that come April I seriously might start paying for dental insurance.
Don't get me wrong, I really like the dentist at the clinic. She's not scary and she's funny and she laughs at my feeble attempts at humor (I bet she'd have laughed at the gigantic rack comment) but just in case somewhere down the road I lose a filling or break a tooth I would like to think I have more of an option than just having it removed. Yes, it's a government funded clinic and they are seriously limited in funding and such, but ...... yeah.
And now I must go floss.
When they said after the first of the year, they meant it. She called on January 2nd. And wanted to schedule me for January 6th. No way, Jose. I can't mentally prepare in that short amount of time, so again I kind of uhm....told 'em I had plans. I bought myself 10 days.
Man, I hate going to the dentist.
The dentist told me last year at my checkup that I had a spot between two teeth that was "iffy" and if I'd just floss I could probably keep it from becoming a full-blown cavity. Well, guess who didn't floss but like, maybe 10 times in 2008? I brush like a fiend, but flossing? Not so much.
I went to that clinic yesterday with a book in my purse and dread in my gut. I filled out the form that asks the same ol' questions then sat there and tried to read my newest Stephen King book but couldn't concentrate. Finally they called me back and the gal who took my blood pressure and did my x-rays loved my purse (the link is for the shop, not my actual purse) so I gushed on about Etsy for awhile. That kind of eased my nerves a little, but not much.
After my face had been shot full of gamma rays or something the hygienist came over and hooked my pretty little paper bib around my neck then laid the chair back. Before she laid the chair back, though, she asked if I had a problem with being laid back. I honestly considered for a second just saying yes just to see if she could clean my teeth while I was sitting straight up, but went ahead and said no and back I went.
As my chair reached the position where you're not really lying on your back but really more on your head, my paper bib flipped up into my face. I quickly whipped it down and giggled nervously. As soon as my hands moved away from it, there it was in my face again. I flicked my eyes to the hygienist who was quietly and efficiently gathering her intruments of torture and was unaware that my bib was trying to smother me. Again I smoothed it down and again as soon as my hands were off of it it flipped up into my face. She wheeled her chair around to my side as I finally folded my hands across my chest thus trapping the wiley bib. She asked, "Having a little trouble?" I laughed and said, "Yeah, this thing just won't stay out of my face." She nodded. Then, because as if I wasn't nervous enough I had to say the following sentence: "Well, I'm not sure if it's because I'm virtually standing on my head or if it's because of my gigantic rack."
Having been told more than once that I'm a funny person, I expected a chuckle. And ya gotta admit, given the situation and the fact that I indeed do NOT have a gigantic rack, it should've gotten a laugh-reaction. Instead she just held her instruments of torture poised over my mouth and I swear I heard crickets chirping. That moment was probably when she decided she was going to shred my gums beyond recognition because apparently funny isn't her "thing".
Oh my gosh, the scraping. As I laid there allowing a stranger with sharp pokey stick to scrape the gunk off of my teeth I was totally regretting the lack of flossing. Ya know, flossing isn't that difficult and it only takes a few minutes....why can I not find the time to do it? By cracky, I will in 2009. I can't handle someone taking a cheese grater to my gums again. She assured me that I am a fabulous brusher, it's the flossing or lack thereof that is my downfall.
She finally finished and patted me on the shoulder as she told me that there were some abrasions on my gums. No duh. The throbbing was the first giveaway. The fact I felt like I'd sucked on a whole roll of pennies was the second.
As I sat in the chair with a plastic tray full of sour grapey foam in my mouth and the suction thing hanging out the side of my foamy mouth to ward off any resulting drooling, I remembered that I was going to refuse the fluoride this year. Oops. She snuck it in there on me before I knew what was happening. While I was sitting there wondering what in the world I might look like sitting there (Like a rabid dog, maybe? A rabid dog with a plastic sucking stick hanging out of its mouth, yes?) I overheard a conversation in the next chair - a gal came in complaining of pain on one side of her mouth. Now, maybe she'd been having trouble with those teeth and maybe they were really bad and maybe she'd been in there over those teeth before, but when I heard the dentist say that she'd be more than happy to just take those teeth out in a day or two and then she followed that statement with "Well, sure you can go to a private practice and actually have them fixed but that's just not what we do here" yeah, that's when I decided that come April I seriously might start paying for dental insurance.
Don't get me wrong, I really like the dentist at the clinic. She's not scary and she's funny and she laughs at my feeble attempts at humor (I bet she'd have laughed at the gigantic rack comment) but just in case somewhere down the road I lose a filling or break a tooth I would like to think I have more of an option than just having it removed. Yes, it's a government funded clinic and they are seriously limited in funding and such, but ...... yeah.
And now I must go floss.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
12 first sentences
I found this on Dustbury this morning and he got it from Incurable Insomniac. Since they are both Oklahoma bloggers I enjoying reading and also admire I thought I'd just ya know....copy.
January - "My dear friend, GoingLikeSixty has tagged me for what I can only think to call the "Were You a Snot-faced Spoiled Brat When You Were Growing Up?" meme." Turns out, I'm not as spoiled as Paris Hilton.
February - "Snow days are a lot more fun when you're in grade school." Because when you are a mom you're just stuck with a pile of wet laundry and that's all you can dwell on.
March - "I just made a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies from my Memaw's recipe." And I think I ate them all because no one else in my house likes raisins. One might consider that unfortunate, but one who considers it as such has never had my Memaw's oatmeal raisin cookies.
April - "Because apparently I am a big fat liar!" I'm really not. Opprobrious, do not try to use this against me in any way. It is not a confession or self-implication.
May - "No, I'm not talking about the horrendous wind that is blowing through Oklahoma today and threatening to blow us clean off the map." But anyone who was in Oklahoma in May TOTALLY knows what I was talking about.
June - "Why are my legs tired, you ask?" Not that you did. I was referring to the fact we had just spent multiple days running to and fro from house to cellar because my husband was suddenly tornado-paranoid.
July - "My children have discovered that a gigantic pile of dirt in the front yard is THE. BEST. TOY. EVER." Ah, every member of my family was enamored with the cellar and subsequent dirt pile - except me.
August - "Yesterday I met Cousin Courtney at her classroom so she couldscare the bejeebies outta me show me around, familiarize me with her lessons plans (which are absolutely amazing, by the way) and give me a crash course in being a Kindergarten teacher." Oh look it was sweet, innocent me writing so flippantly about the Kindergarten experience from Hell before I knew it was going to be so....hellish.
September - "It's nearly 11 am on Labor Day and I've eaten a waffle, loaded the dishwasher, started a load of laundry and read seven blogs." I don't know why I felt the need to specify that it was a holiday - that's pretty much my every day. Except some days I don't eat a waffle - instead I eat a bagel. But only when I'm feeling especially wild.
October - "Yesterday morning I got the kids up and then stumbled up front to find coffee, crack or an electric generator to make me feel more human and less like the cranky, allergic fiend I had become." Be it known, I only found coffee.
November - "My youngest daughter, the not-quite-seven-year-old, just came up here into the dining room with a ponytail in her hair." Which was much less startling to find in her hair rather than, say.....a small mammal or something.
December - "Head on over to my Review blog to see the newest itty bitty giveaway." Gosh, that was bossy. It sounds like I should've followed that sentence with "or else".
Go into your archives and post the first sentence from the first post you madeSo here ya go - 2008 in 12 easy sentences....
each month last year.
January - "My dear friend, GoingLikeSixty has tagged me for what I can only think to call the "Were You a Snot-faced Spoiled Brat When You Were Growing Up?" meme." Turns out, I'm not as spoiled as Paris Hilton.
February - "Snow days are a lot more fun when you're in grade school." Because when you are a mom you're just stuck with a pile of wet laundry and that's all you can dwell on.
March - "I just made a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies from my Memaw's recipe." And I think I ate them all because no one else in my house likes raisins. One might consider that unfortunate, but one who considers it as such has never had my Memaw's oatmeal raisin cookies.
April - "Because apparently I am a big fat liar!" I'm really not. Opprobrious, do not try to use this against me in any way. It is not a confession or self-implication.
May - "No, I'm not talking about the horrendous wind that is blowing through Oklahoma today and threatening to blow us clean off the map." But anyone who was in Oklahoma in May TOTALLY knows what I was talking about.
June - "Why are my legs tired, you ask?" Not that you did. I was referring to the fact we had just spent multiple days running to and fro from house to cellar because my husband was suddenly tornado-paranoid.
July - "My children have discovered that a gigantic pile of dirt in the front yard is THE. BEST. TOY. EVER." Ah, every member of my family was enamored with the cellar and subsequent dirt pile - except me.
August - "Yesterday I met Cousin Courtney at her classroom so she could
September - "It's nearly 11 am on Labor Day and I've eaten a waffle, loaded the dishwasher, started a load of laundry and read seven blogs." I don't know why I felt the need to specify that it was a holiday - that's pretty much my every day. Except some days I don't eat a waffle - instead I eat a bagel. But only when I'm feeling especially wild.
October - "Yesterday morning I got the kids up and then stumbled up front to find coffee, crack or an electric generator to make me feel more human and less like the cranky, allergic fiend I had become." Be it known, I only found coffee.
November - "My youngest daughter, the not-quite-seven-year-old, just came up here into the dining room with a ponytail in her hair." Which was much less startling to find in her hair rather than, say.....a small mammal or something.
December - "Head on over to my Review blog to see the newest itty bitty giveaway." Gosh, that was bossy. It sounds like I should've followed that sentence with "or else".
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Panic at Bedtime
All three of my kids have carried around some form of security blanket. Abby carried around a quilt that my Granny Glenn made for me when I was a baby until I took it away from her for fear it would literally disintegrate and take her with it. She replaced it with a throw and to this day still sleeps with her "snuggle blanket" but you didn't hear that from me and dude, if you tell her you read about her snuggle blanket on my blog I will SO deny it.
Sam carried around a "woobie" which was essentially cloth diapers that we used as burp rags. It wasn't intentional, his love for the burp rags, but he was a spitter and I always had one slung over my shoulder and he started rubbing it between his fingers and that was that. Eventually I started tying a knot in the corner so we could differentiate between his woobie and a rag full of spitup. He carried a woobie until I went to Chicago for a Pampered Chef conference and his Grammy decided it was high time for him to be a man or something and grow hair on his chest and scratch his genitals and she took his woobie away while I was out of town. I was more crushed than he was.
I bought those cloth diapers from my boss when I worked in the hospital pharmacy and they had used them for burp rags for both of his kids, so by the time they got to Kady some 10 years later they were lookin' pretty rough. I knew she was my last child and really hated to buy more new ones so I bought some Rit dye and dyed them all pink to spruce them up a little. And we wonder why she's such a mini-diva. Kady wasn't too royal to spit up on those pink rags, though, and eventually she started carrying around a pink woobie with a knot tied in the corner, too.
She's seven now and she still carries around Woobie. I know that I have perpetuated the carrying of Woobie mainly because she was so sick when she was little with her asthma and man, it's scary when you can't breathe and you're rushed to the ER at 2am with blue lips. Heck, there were times when she was little I thought maybe I could use a woobie or twelve on those kinds of nights. She needed the comfort and no matter what my mom said, I wasn't taking it away from her (and I didn't leave town on business either). My defense came from the likes of Dr. T. Berry Brazelton who said that children needed a "lovey" to give them a sense of security and that children who carried lovies were more secure children in the long run and Dr. Penelope Leach whose show "Your Baby and Child" just made my mornings. Plus, Kady was just darn cute carrying around a raggedy pink cloth diaper with a knot in the corner.
She had woobies at her Yaya's house, woobies stashed at Grammy's house and about 40 gazillion here at home. She'd sometimes hold The Great Woobie Roundup and gather them all into a pile and just lay in 'em. (Yes, she's a little strange, my Kady.) That is, until they started falling the heck apart. And how they they fell apart quick. It was like they had all lived a good life and were being called home to Woobie Heaven where they would be restored to all of their original woobie glory and they were going in one big herd toward the light. We got down to two pink woobies here at home and a white woobie and a half at Mom's. Then down to one pink woobie here at home. Mysteriously, pink woobie disappeared and Kady didn't seem to notice really. I said not a word because I am a former smoker and I know how hard it is to break an addiction, be it cigarettes or soft pink woobies.
Then she had as asthma flare-up. Ohhhhh good golly did she want Woobie. I offered her blankets, washcloths, towels, curtains, the sofa.....nothing doing, she wanted Woobie. I made her calm down before she could call her Grammy and ask if she had any at her house. She hiccupped and sobbed into the phone and eventually got her question out. Mom did indeed have an emergency Woobie and assured her she would bring her one the next day. That night she reluctantly slept with a washcloth and the next day she was presented with The Very Last Woobie. Or so she thought. Mom handed me the half-woobie and told me to hide it and use it only as a last resort.
Kady's very particular about Woobie. I have to wash it early in the day and cross my heart, hope to die, that it will be back in her posession by bedtime. I always bleach it because she drags it all over the place, sucks on it, chews on it - it gets pretty gross. She hates it when I wash it, too, because she says it doesn't smell like her anymore and apparently that's the allure. Or something. She really, really, really loves Woobie.
The only woobie rule I have is - it doesn't go to school. It has gone to sleep-overs, ER visits, car trips, to the park, McDonald's, doctor visits, flu shots and has ridden to preshool, but has never gone in to a school building. It's not that I feel Woobie is unteachable, I just think that if I'm going to allow a ridiculous obsession with a piece of cloth I should at least impose one rule.
The Very Last Woobie went missing one night awhile back and half-woobie had to be used because it was after 9pm and she had school the next day and I have to get up at 5:30, people, and it was definitely necessary. We eventually found Last Woobie but then lost half-woobie.
At this point in the post I have to ask: Do you think we're insanely irresponsible with our Woobies or just insane?
So here's where the panic comes in - the other night Kady could not find Woobie. Paul and I tore her room apart, we looked in our room where she'd been watching TV, we checked the bathroom (Woobie has been known to hide in the shower for some reason, making him occasionally soggy), we checked her siblings' rooms - it appeared she was Woobie-less. We were out of emergency stashes, spares and hidden treasures. She was inconsolable. I didn't know what to do and considering I slept with my teddy bear, Einstein, until the day I got married, I didn't feel I was one to say "Suck it up, grow up and get over it." Nuh uh. No way. I pulled her up onto my lap and held her close while she cried and cried and criiiiiiiied. I told her that she could use a really soft blanket for that night and we'd look for it again in the morning and it would probably turn up. I was smoothing her hair back from her face when she looked up at me, took a deep breath and said, "Well.......Momma......this might mean it's time for me to quit carrying around Woobie," and as she laid her head back down on my shoulder I quickly wiped away the tear she had invoked.
She had all but admitted she was ready to leave childhood behind.
When the tears began to subside and apparently she came to grips with her impending Growing Up I suggested we go find that soft blanket and get her in bed. On the way toward the hall I just happened to see Woobie out of the corner of my eye. It had been hiding in a dining room chair the whole time, sneaky Woobie. I said her name and she turned around to see me holding a ragged white piece of threadbare material out to her. She ran to me, grabbed it then threw her arms around my waist.
She held on tight for a long time, then with her arms still tight around me, looked up and said, "If I didn't have you.....life would be really hard."
I know it won't be long before Woobie disintegrate into nothing more than a memory. I just hope she doesn't grow up when that happens. I don't think I'm ready.
Sam carried around a "woobie" which was essentially cloth diapers that we used as burp rags. It wasn't intentional, his love for the burp rags, but he was a spitter and I always had one slung over my shoulder and he started rubbing it between his fingers and that was that. Eventually I started tying a knot in the corner so we could differentiate between his woobie and a rag full of spitup. He carried a woobie until I went to Chicago for a Pampered Chef conference and his Grammy decided it was high time for him to be a man or something and grow hair on his chest and scratch his genitals and she took his woobie away while I was out of town. I was more crushed than he was.
I bought those cloth diapers from my boss when I worked in the hospital pharmacy and they had used them for burp rags for both of his kids, so by the time they got to Kady some 10 years later they were lookin' pretty rough. I knew she was my last child and really hated to buy more new ones so I bought some Rit dye and dyed them all pink to spruce them up a little. And we wonder why she's such a mini-diva. Kady wasn't too royal to spit up on those pink rags, though, and eventually she started carrying around a pink woobie with a knot tied in the corner, too.
She's seven now and she still carries around Woobie. I know that I have perpetuated the carrying of Woobie mainly because she was so sick when she was little with her asthma and man, it's scary when you can't breathe and you're rushed to the ER at 2am with blue lips. Heck, there were times when she was little I thought maybe I could use a woobie or twelve on those kinds of nights. She needed the comfort and no matter what my mom said, I wasn't taking it away from her (and I didn't leave town on business either). My defense came from the likes of Dr. T. Berry Brazelton who said that children needed a "lovey" to give them a sense of security and that children who carried lovies were more secure children in the long run and Dr. Penelope Leach whose show "Your Baby and Child" just made my mornings. Plus, Kady was just darn cute carrying around a raggedy pink cloth diaper with a knot in the corner.
She had woobies at her Yaya's house, woobies stashed at Grammy's house and about 40 gazillion here at home. She'd sometimes hold The Great Woobie Roundup and gather them all into a pile and just lay in 'em. (Yes, she's a little strange, my Kady.) That is, until they started falling the heck apart. And how they they fell apart quick. It was like they had all lived a good life and were being called home to Woobie Heaven where they would be restored to all of their original woobie glory and they were going in one big herd toward the light. We got down to two pink woobies here at home and a white woobie and a half at Mom's. Then down to one pink woobie here at home. Mysteriously, pink woobie disappeared and Kady didn't seem to notice really. I said not a word because I am a former smoker and I know how hard it is to break an addiction, be it cigarettes or soft pink woobies.
Then she had as asthma flare-up. Ohhhhh good golly did she want Woobie. I offered her blankets, washcloths, towels, curtains, the sofa.....nothing doing, she wanted Woobie. I made her calm down before she could call her Grammy and ask if she had any at her house. She hiccupped and sobbed into the phone and eventually got her question out. Mom did indeed have an emergency Woobie and assured her she would bring her one the next day. That night she reluctantly slept with a washcloth and the next day she was presented with The Very Last Woobie. Or so she thought. Mom handed me the half-woobie and told me to hide it and use it only as a last resort.
Kady's very particular about Woobie. I have to wash it early in the day and cross my heart, hope to die, that it will be back in her posession by bedtime. I always bleach it because she drags it all over the place, sucks on it, chews on it - it gets pretty gross. She hates it when I wash it, too, because she says it doesn't smell like her anymore and apparently that's the allure. Or something. She really, really, really loves Woobie.
The only woobie rule I have is - it doesn't go to school. It has gone to sleep-overs, ER visits, car trips, to the park, McDonald's, doctor visits, flu shots and has ridden to preshool, but has never gone in to a school building. It's not that I feel Woobie is unteachable, I just think that if I'm going to allow a ridiculous obsession with a piece of cloth I should at least impose one rule.
The Very Last Woobie went missing one night awhile back and half-woobie had to be used because it was after 9pm and she had school the next day and I have to get up at 5:30, people, and it was definitely necessary. We eventually found Last Woobie but then lost half-woobie.
At this point in the post I have to ask: Do you think we're insanely irresponsible with our Woobies or just insane?
So here's where the panic comes in - the other night Kady could not find Woobie. Paul and I tore her room apart, we looked in our room where she'd been watching TV, we checked the bathroom (Woobie has been known to hide in the shower for some reason, making him occasionally soggy), we checked her siblings' rooms - it appeared she was Woobie-less. We were out of emergency stashes, spares and hidden treasures. She was inconsolable. I didn't know what to do and considering I slept with my teddy bear, Einstein, until the day I got married, I didn't feel I was one to say "Suck it up, grow up and get over it." Nuh uh. No way. I pulled her up onto my lap and held her close while she cried and cried and criiiiiiiied. I told her that she could use a really soft blanket for that night and we'd look for it again in the morning and it would probably turn up. I was smoothing her hair back from her face when she looked up at me, took a deep breath and said, "Well.......Momma......this might mean it's time for me to quit carrying around Woobie," and as she laid her head back down on my shoulder I quickly wiped away the tear she had invoked.
She had all but admitted she was ready to leave childhood behind.
When the tears began to subside and apparently she came to grips with her impending Growing Up I suggested we go find that soft blanket and get her in bed. On the way toward the hall I just happened to see Woobie out of the corner of my eye. It had been hiding in a dining room chair the whole time, sneaky Woobie. I said her name and she turned around to see me holding a ragged white piece of threadbare material out to her. She ran to me, grabbed it then threw her arms around my waist.
She held on tight for a long time, then with her arms still tight around me, looked up and said, "If I didn't have you.....life would be really hard."
I know it won't be long before Woobie disintegrate into nothing more than a memory. I just hope she doesn't grow up when that happens. I don't think I'm ready.
Friday, January 02, 2009
Oh, it is ON
Great balls of fire, it's time for the 2008 Okie Blog Awards! This is big news for us Okie Bloggers who thrive on the affirmation from others that we are indeed good enough, smart enough and that doggonit, people like us. Expect me to post, post and more post from now until like, February. After that I'll probably go back to my slacker ways. Hey, I'm nothing if not honest.
I have been to two of the Okie Blogger Round-ups (okay, so there have only been two...) and have met some awesome people both times. The first year Tater and I worked the table at the door (I mean we sat at the table, we did not dance on it) and Melessa introduced herself then proceeded to just all kinds of unload about Abby's at-that-time teacher who she had called "Dude" in class and the dude (heh) kind of went off. It was a wonderful way to meet her and we ended up hanging out pretty much the whole day. She also sat with Tater, Paul and I at last year's round-up (and was later joined at our table by Shannon). (Nevermind that I sat in the corner and just wanted all night for someone to say, "No one puts Diva in the corner" but alas, no one did...)
I have been to two of the Okie Blogger Round-ups (okay, so there have only been two...) and have met some awesome people both times. The first year Tater and I worked the table at the door (I mean we sat at the table, we did not dance on it) and Melessa introduced herself then proceeded to just all kinds of unload about Abby's at-that-time teacher who she had called "Dude" in class and the dude (heh) kind of went off. It was a wonderful way to meet her and we ended up hanging out pretty much the whole day. She also sat with Tater, Paul and I at last year's round-up (and was later joined at our table by Shannon). (Nevermind that I sat in the corner and just wanted all night for someone to say, "No one puts Diva in the corner" but alas, no one did...)
We also spent the better part of the day that first year with Babs (Babs, if you're still around ...uhm, your blog is not yours anymore, hon - just FYI) and that was also the year I got to meet Steph and Nettl and see Mozartballs. Last year I was honored to meet Kelly and looking back I kind of feel like maybe I wasn't very friendly, but in my defense, dude, it was KELLY as in FROM KELLYOLOGY. I was nervous.
Last year I also got to visit a bit with Tyson and Jeane from the WynnBlog and the WynnCast. Folks, you need to go listen to their old podcasts and prepare to think, be amused, chuckle a little and if you listen to the right ones you'll even hear them say my name! I know! It's exciting! They keep saying they're going to have me on the show and I keep promising snickerdoodles, but my invitation must keep getting lost in the mail.
Last year I also got to visit a bit with Tyson and Jeane from the WynnBlog and the WynnCast. Folks, you need to go listen to their old podcasts and prepare to think, be amused, chuckle a little and if you listen to the right ones you'll even hear them say my name! I know! It's exciting! They keep saying they're going to have me on the show and I keep promising snickerdoodles, but my invitation must keep getting lost in the mail.
Last year I started emailing Miss Wisabus a few weeks in advance of the awards in sincere hopes that she and her now-fiance' would make it to the awards because I am just seriously jonesin' to meet this gal. Unfortunately, they didn't make it and if they don't again this year I may get a complex. Did you hear that, Elizabeth? A COMPLEX.
Of course, the first year's Round-Up is where I first met Brian and Monty. They are both awesome. Just awesome. Brian and I had grand plans to drink apple martinis together, but the bar only served hard liquor and beer, so he bought me a beer and we danced a dance and it was good times. Monty just entertained us all with her charming personality and flamboyant ability to bring on the party. Not flamboyant like she wore feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there and danced the merengue and the cha-cha, but Monty just has this way of making it feel like a party. I say that like we hang out all the time - and we don't unfortunately - but seriously, even though we compete with each other every year in the Best Humor Blog category, I heart her with a big puffy purple heart.
And speaking of Monty - here's where the REAL meat of this post gets gristly - it appears she and I are victims - victims of a vicious smear campaign run by a heinous Oklahoman with vengeance in his heart and an agenda.
An agenda of what?
Oh let's see.....apparently he thinks I have enough redneck pull that I can have Walmart stores shut down at will. Now, I am from the Walmart side of the tracks, indeed, but even I do not have the power to shut down stores. And why would I? Where else would I buy my GreatValue brand food if I started having stores shut down all willy-nilly? And the store he refers to is in SAND SPRINGS! I don't think I've ever been to Sand Springs!
He also says I didn't help him when his home was in danger of becoming burned to a crisp on the vast Oklahoma prairie, but in my defense, he's a Y2K survivor so that means he's all secretive and conspiracy theorist-y and won't even tell anyone where he lives! How can I help out a fellow Okie when he's in hiding? Huh? He's gotta be available to help, ya know? No one ever made any friends by staying all holed up in their house, Cris....I should know.
Of course, the first year's Round-Up is where I first met Brian and Monty. They are both awesome. Just awesome. Brian and I had grand plans to drink apple martinis together, but the bar only served hard liquor and beer, so he bought me a beer and we danced a dance and it was good times. Monty just entertained us all with her charming personality and flamboyant ability to bring on the party. Not flamboyant like she wore feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there and danced the merengue and the cha-cha, but Monty just has this way of making it feel like a party. I say that like we hang out all the time - and we don't unfortunately - but seriously, even though we compete with each other every year in the Best Humor Blog category, I heart her with a big puffy purple heart.
And speaking of Monty - here's where the REAL meat of this post gets gristly - it appears she and I are victims - victims of a vicious smear campaign run by a heinous Oklahoman with vengeance in his heart and an agenda.
An agenda of what?
Oh let's see.....apparently he thinks I have enough redneck pull that I can have Walmart stores shut down at will. Now, I am from the Walmart side of the tracks, indeed, but even I do not have the power to shut down stores. And why would I? Where else would I buy my GreatValue brand food if I started having stores shut down all willy-nilly? And the store he refers to is in SAND SPRINGS! I don't think I've ever been to Sand Springs!
He also says I didn't help him when his home was in danger of becoming burned to a crisp on the vast Oklahoma prairie, but in my defense, he's a Y2K survivor so that means he's all secretive and conspiracy theorist-y and won't even tell anyone where he lives! How can I help out a fellow Okie when he's in hiding? Huh? He's gotta be available to help, ya know? No one ever made any friends by staying all holed up in their house, Cris....I should know.
And I have no reason to keep people from using certain "pharmaceuticals". I think even the little guys deserve some every now and then. Bless y'all's hearts.
This post? Well, this one I can't even begin to be snarky about this one. I just wanna know where he got our family pictures....
He told me in an email (which I saved to use as evidence just in case anything unfortunate happens to me) that his blog looks like it was designed by a third grader. Hmmm....looks like Cris and Kathie Lee Gifford have a lot in common. Child labor is just wrong, people. Just wrong. Remember that.
This post? Well, this one I can't even begin to be snarky about this one. I just wanna know where he got our family pictures....
He told me in an email (which I saved to use as evidence just in case anything unfortunate happens to me) that his blog looks like it was designed by a third grader. Hmmm....looks like Cris and Kathie Lee Gifford have a lot in common. Child labor is just wrong, people. Just wrong. Remember that.
This is not over. In fact, I think it's only begun. And I think that Opprobrious guy is going conspiracy theorist on me again. Or maybe he's just underhanded and shifty. Or MAYBE he's trying to make me go all conspiracy theory paranoid.... hmmmm..... Regardless, I think he and Monty have been talking - I just got an email from Monty and included in the text are the words "sleep with one eye open" so that big puffy purple heart that I love Monty with? It may well be used to smother her instead.
While you stay tuned for more posts which I'm sure will be filled with me just trying to defend
my poor self from these vicious smear campaign tactics, go check out some Oklahoma blogs here, here and here and consider becoming an Oklahoma blogger yourself so you can particpate next year. Oh, you're not from Oklahoma? Well, as Miss Wisabus says - you should move. Here. Not somewhere else. Duh.
my poor self from these vicious smear campaign tactics, go check out some Oklahoma blogs here, here and here and consider becoming an Oklahoma blogger yourself so you can particpate next year. Oh, you're not from Oklahoma? Well, as Miss Wisabus says - you should move. Here. Not somewhere else. Duh.
Oh and by the way, if you just happen to be an Oklahoma blogger you should consider nominating your favorites for an award this year. I won't be so bold as to ask you to nominate me, but if you do.....I will uh.....thank you very much. And so will my husband and children because they are the ones that have to live with me and if I don't get a single nomination I will be really difficult to live with. And then Monty? Mabe you'll end up barricaded in your laundry room, rocking back and forth, holding a plastic spork in one hand and a Sooners flag in the other chanting "Beware the big puffy purple heart.....beware the big puffy purple heart...."
Just sayin'.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
It comes down to this
Some things I've learned in 2008:
* I've been 5'2" since I was 13 years old and I'm now almost 36 - it's probably inevitable that all three of my children will be taller than I am. One already is.
* No matter how excited she originally was about reading it, when I got all giddy about a book and kept insisting that she read it, she lost interest. I have to learn to keep my parental mouth shut.
* Sometimes all it takes is a baby to bring a bunch of cousins, aunts and uncles close together again.
* If I had known that marriage was going to eventually be this good, it would've been much easier to endure the really hard times.
* My daughter managed to survive the first semester of Middle School just fine without me holding her hand and compulsively organizing her locker. That realization was pretty hard to grasp at first. Now I'm marginally okay with it.
* I turned around twice my babies are suddenly not babies anymore and the day is closer than I probably realize that I will no longer be the coolest mom. I might still manage to maintain a certain level of coolness, but my days are numbered as #1. And you know what? I'll survive.
* My office will never be clean. I have come to terms with that and I'm done whining about it.
* A couple of stuffed possums wired to an outhouse and a camouflage camping trailer make all the difference in the world.
* No matter how hard you try, sometimes people just aren't going to love you to way you want them to or need them to. It's not that they don't love you, they just love you the only way they know how. You can either drive yourself nuts about it or accept it.
* My mom is still my hero.
* Saying something over and over to my kids does not gain effectiveness when I raise my voice even though that totally would make sense.
* God's grace is totally undeserved. When I stop running around like a crazy person and slow down long enough to breathe I realize this and am completely awed and grateful.
* I need to slow down and breathe more often.
Happy New Year, y'all.
* I've been 5'2" since I was 13 years old and I'm now almost 36 - it's probably inevitable that all three of my children will be taller than I am. One already is.
* No matter how excited she originally was about reading it, when I got all giddy about a book and kept insisting that she read it, she lost interest. I have to learn to keep my parental mouth shut.
* Sometimes all it takes is a baby to bring a bunch of cousins, aunts and uncles close together again.
* If I had known that marriage was going to eventually be this good, it would've been much easier to endure the really hard times.
* My daughter managed to survive the first semester of Middle School just fine without me holding her hand and compulsively organizing her locker. That realization was pretty hard to grasp at first. Now I'm marginally okay with it.
* I turned around twice my babies are suddenly not babies anymore and the day is closer than I probably realize that I will no longer be the coolest mom. I might still manage to maintain a certain level of coolness, but my days are numbered as #1. And you know what? I'll survive.
* My office will never be clean. I have come to terms with that and I'm done whining about it.
* A couple of stuffed possums wired to an outhouse and a camouflage camping trailer make all the difference in the world.
* No matter how hard you try, sometimes people just aren't going to love you to way you want them to or need them to. It's not that they don't love you, they just love you the only way they know how. You can either drive yourself nuts about it or accept it.
* My mom is still my hero.
* Saying something over and over to my kids does not gain effectiveness when I raise my voice even though that totally would make sense.
* God's grace is totally undeserved. When I stop running around like a crazy person and slow down long enough to breathe I realize this and am completely awed and grateful.
* I need to slow down and breathe more often.
Happy New Year, y'all.
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