I have no reason for this blog post other than we just got VH1 Classic yesterday and I am sitting my stay-at-home mom hiney on the couch today during naptime, reliving my youth with Totally 80's.
Okay, I'm doing this Stream-of-Consciousness style so hang onto your skinny ties and day-glo mis-matched earrings. Here we go......
Tiffany: "I Think We're Alone Now" -- Okay, first off let me say I owned the cassette. I already had a major girl-crush on Molly Ringwald so it was only natural that Tiffany would capture my heart as well. I wanted red hair so badly back then.
Why does she look so bored? Does she not know she is the Princess of the Malls? Does she not know she is dancing with a dude on the beach who has perfectly symmetically squared hair? Does she not know that she should soak up the glory and sassiness now because in about 20 years Miley Cyrus is going to make her look like a virgin at a 50's sock hop? Seriously, my mom was so offended by her gyrations back then, but Miley Cyrus' pole dancing on stage makes this look like nothin'.
The final shots of Tiffany on the luggage carousel make me want my high-top Reeboks back. Dude, they had VELCRO at the top.
___________________
Phil Collins: "Sussudio" -- HA! He's wearing a skinny tie. An ORANGE skinny tie. Well, more of a peachy, yellow-y, mystery sherbet tie.
Sussudio. Seriously. What up with that name? That was one name that just never took off. Bazillions of parents didn't find out they were having a girl and decide to name her Sussudio after this song. They named their daughters Tiffany.
"Now she don't even know my name..." Dude, you are a stalker. However, you are adorable. I will give you that, Phil.
I can't stop saying Sussudio. With a lisp.
Any video with guys in white suits playing trumpets is okay by me. It has the Redneck Diva Seal of Approval.
__________________________
Night Ranger: "Sister Christian" -- SQUEEEEEE! This song is on my iPod! Brian Highfill used to call me that!!! I didn't realize it meant I was a prude and a "good girl" and that I needed to quit being quite so uptight. I was just stoked someone called me the name of a song. He didn't say it mean. He always said it with a smile.
Okay, some of these hairstyles I am seeing like now. The hair on the girls. Not the band's hair. That style will hopefully remain forever in the 80's. Big hair band hair should stay with the band. In the 80's. Farrrrrr away in the 80's.
OOh red pants. I bet they're leather. Oh Mr. Keyboard Guy in the red probably-leather pants, would you like to borrow some baby powder? I bet you're chafed.
Were those bras they threw off the back of the convertible as they drove off? I remember when I could do that.....
_________________________
Richard Marx: "Hold Onto the Night" -- You know it's gonna be good when it starts out with black and white still shots from concerts.
Wasn't this the theme to my Senior Prom?
Mullet.
Curly, brushed-out mullet.
Oh, Richard. *shakes head*
I miss jean jackets.
I wonder how many cans of Aqua Net gave their lives so that Richard's hair would move in one solid mullet-y mass during this video....
Why did we stop rolling our t-shirt sleeves a couple of times? That was cool. Wicked cool.
________________________
Van Halen: "JUMP" -- My kids only know the Glee version. I am SO recording this for them. They must know of the Roth. They simply must. Abby will gag at his latex pants. Guaranteed.
Guyliner. David Lee Roth may have been the first to usher this is so successfully. I know of no other who wears the guyliner like he did.
I love me some banana-colored tiger-print, Eddie. Really.
The drummer always looks like a two-year old throwing a tantrum. It wasn't head-banging for him - it was entire body banging. Kind of awkward. Don't purse your lips like that, sweetie. I don't want to kiss you any more when you do that.
I never understand why he wiped the mic stand across his butt like that. Did he have an itch? I bet Mr. Red Leather Keyboard Guy from Night Ranger would let him borrow his baby powder.
__________________________-
ZZ Top: "Sharp Dressed Man" -- Every girl crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man.
I can't say anything about this video other than AWESOME. I always completely dug ZZ Top's videos. I like the stories.
Okay, I can say one thing. The chicks in their videos always bounced and bobbed so lasciviously. No one else could've pulled it off in any other band's videos, ladies. Just know that. You bob like that in a Journey video and you are a slut. You do it in a ZZ Top video and you are hawt.
"Legs" was my favorite. Just sayin'.
______________________
Poison: "Every Rose Has It's Thorn" -- Oh naked man lying there with your arm across your forehead....what hav eyou done to the curly-headed woman in the tank top next to you? She looks forlorn and possibly angry.
Poison always looked dirty to me. As in unbathed dirty.
How did the hair bands of the 80's and 90's see through that hair in front of their eyes? They remind me of that sheep dog in the old Looney Toons cartoons. The girls today have at least one eye peeking from behind their uber-straightened bangs. How did y'all DO it?? Was it like bat radar?
"Now I hear ya found somebody new and that I never meant that much to you. To hear that tears me up inside and to see you cuts me like a knife." Oh gah, those lyrics right there bring back memories of my first big breakup. Wow. Ouch.
______________________
Cameo: "Word Up" -- Can't hear this song without thinking of Steve Carell in The 40-year old Virgin. Just can't.
Oh sweetie, the hard plastic cup goes under your jeans. Not over. Bless your heart. I'll look away while you fix that.
W-O-R-D UP!
_____________________________
Huey Lewis and the News: "The Heart of Rock and Roll" -- Okay, yum. Huey Lewis gets me ... right.... here.
I miss the days of buttoning your shirt all the way up. I used to wear a pin right over that top button. One was dangly. I was cool.
I remember getting so excited when he'd shout out Tulsa. I'm not even from Tulsa, but HUEY LEWIS MENTIONED OKLAHOMA. Okay, so he also mentioned Texas, Michigan, Ohio and others, but still....
The lit-up heart under his shirt at the end is like, super corny. But he's cute so we'll let it go.
_____________________
Beastie Boys: "(You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (to Party)" -- Lurve me some Beastie Boys. So does my 13 year old. She is cool.
"Do you like parties?"
"I hope no bad people show up."
HAHAHHAHAHAHHA Nope. None of those will show up. Really.
Why did my parents not stop me from listening to these guys? Oh wait, probably for the same reason I don't stop my teenager from listening to it. Because they're cool.
I never understood the whole pie in the face thing in this video. It seems kinda random.
That one guy looks like he's 12.
______________________________
Rush: "Limelight" -- Why do I not remember Rush? Oh maybe because I was too busy trying to be like Debbie Gibson and Tiffany.
Fast-forwarding. ....
__________________________
Modern English: "I Melt With You" -- I am completely supressing the urge to get up and dance right now.
I miss the sunglasses and hats of the 80's.
The lead singer reminds me of Danny Evans.
Why does the world have to stop for melting to occur? I've been known to melt while the world rushes right along around me. Just sayin'.
_____________________________
Tony Basil: "Mickey" -- Cheerleading sure has changed a lot since then. There's much more gyration now. And my parents thought there was a lot of gyration back then.
I like her dog ears. What is she like 40 in this video?
I used to have some pom poms on my shoes, too. Okay, no I didn't. But I wanted some.
The poms the cheerleaders use now are about 1/100th the size of the ones in this video. I wonder why they shrunk 'em..... I liked the big ones. Not that I was ever a cheerleader or anything. But when I gazed longingly at the cheerleaders' pom poms I liked 'em.
____________________
Kiss: "Heaven's on Fire" -- Oh goodness, I think this song is dirty. Not the unbathed kind of dirty I mentioned in the Poison video. I mean, like, really really dirty. That kind of dirty. Yeah.
Oh my. NO WONDER my parents didn't like Kiss!
I think I'm blushing.
Don't tell me to feel your heart, young man! I'll grab you by the ear and drag you right on outta here! Horny little whippersnapper.
Wait. Aren't the guys from Kiss older than me?
Oy.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Spring Break in the Yukon
I have become a bit of a homebody in the last few years and my desire to go places (other than Disney World) is gone. I like my house, I like my 40 acres, I like my routine. But....I also miss my sister like mad, so I threw my wanna-be-agorophobia aside and we planned a trip. Since Paul now works week days he wasn't going to be able to go and that was another issue for me entirely - being away from him. I kinda like him, too.
I spent all day Tuesday fretting and fussing and packing and fussing and cleaning and fretting. I did so much fretting that I forgot to eat. Like all day. I used to say you had to be a special kind of stupid to forget to eat and apparently Tuesday I was that special kind of stupid. By the time Mom got here at 6:15 I was nearly fit to be tied, on the verge of tears from the overwhelming thought of being away from home and Paul for three. whole. days. THREE!
When we were loaded and ready I hugged him way longer than he was comfortable with - okay, let me rephrase, it was probably my bawling on his shoulder that he was the most uncomfortable with. He didn't mind the hugging so much. He said so. And then we took off. We got about seven miles from home when I remembered I hadn't put gas in the van, so we detoured at Buffalo Ranch to fill up. Mom told me to go buy some chicken strips or something to eat, otherwise I'd be sick before we got to Yukon. I bought some popcorn chicken which was apparently made from Mexican chickens because they were HOT! I do not like hot, spicy food. I like having feeling in my tongue and spicy food makes my face hurt. Seriously. I popped one in my mouth and took off. By the time we made it to the turnpike entrance and my face was on fire. So much for eating.
The kids were angels. I always said I'd never allow my kids to watch DVDs in the car. Highway Bingo, ISpy, 20 Questions and poking each other to the point of making my father's ears steam was good enough for Sis and I and I said it was good enough for my kids. Yeah. Apparently I am a weenie because each of my kids has their own DVD player now and I have a seemingly eternal supply of ear phones and ear buds in case they lose theirs. Mom and I chatted and listened to the soundtrack to Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat and I occasionally complained that that dang popcorn chicken gave me tongue cancer. When we saw the sign for the Stroud McDonald's in the middle of the highway Mom said she needed coffee. Abby said she needed ice cream. (Abby always needs ice cream, by the way. Not wants, needs. She seriously believes this.) And even though no one said they needed a bathroom stop I made everyone try. The girls and I headed to the restroom while Sam and Mom stood in line to order me a burger to test whether my tongue still had the ability to taste. As we were leaving the restroom a woman came in. We did that little shuck and jive where I go right and she steps in front of me so I step the other way and so does she. It's always uncomfortable, isn't it? Especially in a restroom. Igh. When she and I finally finished our awkward dance we managed to get to the door and she headed on in the restroom. As we were passing her she loudly exclaimed, "OOH! It smells like COOKIES!"
Uh.....wha....?
Abby, Kady and I made it about four paces out of the bathroom before we all three busted out into hysterical laughter. When we could all breathe again Abby said, "And lady, you are obviously on CRACK!" which sent us all into gales of laughter again. I have no idea why that poor woman thought the restroom smelled like cookies. Unless maybe she, too, had eaten some spicy popcorn chicken and it messed up her olfactory abilities worse than mine.
We joined Mom and Sam in line just as they were about to order and were informed they had no ice cream. THE STROUD MCDONALD'S HAD NO ICE CREAM. Abby nearly fainted. Sam settled for fries, Kady, who had a wicked sore throat and was crying, settled for a burger and Mom got her coffee. Abby just pouted. And y'all will also be glad to know that my burger tasted fine and apparently my taste buds were unharmed by the pollo caliente.
We called Sis to let her know we were about an hour away, got back on the turnpike and by then all three kids had finished a movie and were restless/excited/bored. Abby whined she was bored. Kady cried her throat hurt and she exclaimed she was sure she was going to die. Sam farted. See why they need DVD players? After all the declarations of boredom and flatulence Mom happily suggested we all sing. Abby groaned and said, "Ohhhhhh great" which prompted Mom to begin "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" and I joined in a round. This FREAKED my kids out. How have they lived 8, 11 and 13 years and have never heard a song sung in a round??? Abby said it was sensory overload. Kady said it ruined the song. Sam giggled and farted again.
We got to Sis' apartment a hair after 10 and after lugging our van load of luggage up three flights of stairs we hugged and all that. We let the kids stay up til nearly 2am because all five of them were together and so were we grownup girls.
The next morning we got around, met Sis for lunch and then did some shopping on Garth Brooks Boulevard. My mom is absolutely fascinated with Garth Brooks Boulevard. Maybe because it's named after GB himself, maybe because it's just a mouthful to say or maybe because it has a Big Lots AND a Hancock Fabric AND a Tuesday Morning. We bought the girls some Pixos and Sam a "spy kit" at Tuesday Morning, scored major patterns at Hancock (NINETY NINE CENTS MCCALLS PATTERNS, PEOPLE) and well, Big Lots was a disappointment, but the boys got X-Men bobbleheads and did I mention NINETY NINE CENT MCCALLS PATTERNS AT HANCOCK? By the time we left Big Lots Kady was bawling her throat hurt REALLY REALLY BAD and her ear was going to explode and her head was going to cave in and she just wanted to go to bed.
Let me just say here that I really thought she was just having allergy issues. And even after she started talking like she had a wad of bubblegum in her throat I still just thought it was allergy/drainage irritation, maybe some tonsilitis. Also let me just say that I am so going to win Mother of the Year this year.
We stopped at Walmart to get ear drops, decongestant, Motrin, Cepacol Fizzlers (which don't work, don't waste your money) and the salad stuff for dinner and some ice cream for Abby because she said she was near death because she hadn't had any in two whole days. The kids also got treats for being so good. I dropped $68 on Harumika sets for Addison and Kady, a Twilight t-shirt for Abby, a license plate for Gentry's bike and an apothecary of pain relief for my ill child.
We had Mom's homemade chicken casserole for dinner with Sis and her boyfriend and managed to get the kids in bed by 11 since we were headed to the round barn in Arcadia, Pops' Diner and Omniplex the next morning. After the kids went to be and we all decided we were really pretty exhausted from all the running we opted out of the round barn and Pops'. We'll hit it next time. Thursday morning we all got up and snacked around for breakfast, Kady looked like hell and ended up back in bed, taking a two hour nap from 8 to 10, bless her heart. (Still was in denial at that point.) We grabbed sandwiches for lunch, picked up Sis' boyfriend then drove toward the Omniplex which I think they just call the Oklahoma Science Museum now, but I'm all old school and stuff. Traffic was at a standstill miles away, but as we got closer we saw there had been a wreck and assumed that was the holdup. Turns out that no, every child in Oklahoma and their parents were all jonesin' for some science-y fun, too. As we sat waiting through green light after green light it was about 20 minutes in that my son, who was in my sister's car, puked. He's awesome like that. My kids are classic car pukers, especially that boy of mine.
A phone call from the gagging adults, one of which who doesn't have children, God love him, and a quick conversation where we all concurred that the museum wasn't going to be any fun with all those people, we pulled out into traffic and headed to the most ghetto KFC/Taco Bell I have ever seen. I got Sam out of the backseat, assessed the pukey damage while Sis ran across the street to a CVS to buy paper towels, Lysol and disinfecting wipes. Abby kept whispering she was quite certain we were going to be mugged, raped and/or murdered. While I held my breath and cleaned Sis' backseat the other adults figured out our next stop - Celebration Station. Abby whined that if it was like Chuck E. Cheese she wasn't going to have any fun no matter what and the other kids talked excitedly about ALL THE FUN they were going to have.
As we pulled out into traffic Kady saw two birds who were uhm.....twitterpated. She sat bolt upright, face pressed against the window and yelled, "SWEET! Two birds fighting! AWESOME!" Abby said, "Yeah, well, in this neighborhood they better be careful. Someone might bus' a cap in someone's...." and my mother rescued the conversation with the word "WING!". The rest of the trip we all threatened each other with busting caps in each other's wings.
Celebration Station was fun. We, of course, came home with oodles of craptastic junk.
We had leftovers for dinner that night, watched Hairspray and after the kids were in bed and the boyfriend had gone home we grownup girls sat at the table and drank sweet tea, ate Rice Krispie Treats and visited till we were yawning.
Sis had to go to work the next morning so Mom and I got the kids up, packed up, cleaned the apartment and loaded the van up to head home. Kady was still complaining of her throat and ear hurting and since it was Friday and the weekend was on us,threatening to bust a cap in our wing, I called the PA's office, explained we were in Yukon, described her symptoms and asked what I should do. I made the statement she hadn't run a fever the whole time so I was sure it wasn't strep. The nurse then said, "Uh, Kristin. She can have strep without a fever. Sounds like strep. Let me talk to David and I'll call you right back." Five minutes later she called me back to say that yeah, more than likely she had strep and they were calling her in antibiotics back home. Oy. Imagine how awesome that made me feel. Poor baby.
We had lunch with Sis, dreaded leaving and promised we'd be back over the summer. A quick stop at Walmart so Mom could buy all the kids inordinate amounts of candy and we were on the road with two more kids than we came with. They were so dang quiet, though, we kept asking if they were all okay. I have never traveled with five better kids. Thank you, Santa, for the DVD players. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
We dropped the Tots off with their other grandparents, I picked up some laundry detergent, sugar and milk in Fairland in anticipation of Snownado 2010, then hotfooted it back here to the ranch. We pulled into the driveway to find my darling redneck husband and Pops, who was waiting with a couple bottles of Amoxil for Kady and a brand new 2010 Prius to show his bride. The kids attacked their daddy with hugs and kisses and stories. I caught my parents kissing and hugging and heard Abby say, "I think I just threw up in my mouth a little."
All in all, it was a tremendously fun Spring Break. I nervously left the comfort of my home and couch and had no idea I'd find a different comfort at the teeny tiny dining room table in my sister's apartment talking about nothing in particular.
I spent all day Tuesday fretting and fussing and packing and fussing and cleaning and fretting. I did so much fretting that I forgot to eat. Like all day. I used to say you had to be a special kind of stupid to forget to eat and apparently Tuesday I was that special kind of stupid. By the time Mom got here at 6:15 I was nearly fit to be tied, on the verge of tears from the overwhelming thought of being away from home and Paul for three. whole. days. THREE!
When we were loaded and ready I hugged him way longer than he was comfortable with - okay, let me rephrase, it was probably my bawling on his shoulder that he was the most uncomfortable with. He didn't mind the hugging so much. He said so. And then we took off. We got about seven miles from home when I remembered I hadn't put gas in the van, so we detoured at Buffalo Ranch to fill up. Mom told me to go buy some chicken strips or something to eat, otherwise I'd be sick before we got to Yukon. I bought some popcorn chicken which was apparently made from Mexican chickens because they were HOT! I do not like hot, spicy food. I like having feeling in my tongue and spicy food makes my face hurt. Seriously. I popped one in my mouth and took off. By the time we made it to the turnpike entrance and my face was on fire. So much for eating.
The kids were angels. I always said I'd never allow my kids to watch DVDs in the car. Highway Bingo, ISpy, 20 Questions and poking each other to the point of making my father's ears steam was good enough for Sis and I and I said it was good enough for my kids. Yeah. Apparently I am a weenie because each of my kids has their own DVD player now and I have a seemingly eternal supply of ear phones and ear buds in case they lose theirs. Mom and I chatted and listened to the soundtrack to Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat and I occasionally complained that that dang popcorn chicken gave me tongue cancer. When we saw the sign for the Stroud McDonald's in the middle of the highway Mom said she needed coffee. Abby said she needed ice cream. (Abby always needs ice cream, by the way. Not wants, needs. She seriously believes this.) And even though no one said they needed a bathroom stop I made everyone try. The girls and I headed to the restroom while Sam and Mom stood in line to order me a burger to test whether my tongue still had the ability to taste. As we were leaving the restroom a woman came in. We did that little shuck and jive where I go right and she steps in front of me so I step the other way and so does she. It's always uncomfortable, isn't it? Especially in a restroom. Igh. When she and I finally finished our awkward dance we managed to get to the door and she headed on in the restroom. As we were passing her she loudly exclaimed, "OOH! It smells like COOKIES!"
Uh.....wha....?
Abby, Kady and I made it about four paces out of the bathroom before we all three busted out into hysterical laughter. When we could all breathe again Abby said, "And lady, you are obviously on CRACK!" which sent us all into gales of laughter again. I have no idea why that poor woman thought the restroom smelled like cookies. Unless maybe she, too, had eaten some spicy popcorn chicken and it messed up her olfactory abilities worse than mine.
We joined Mom and Sam in line just as they were about to order and were informed they had no ice cream. THE STROUD MCDONALD'S HAD NO ICE CREAM. Abby nearly fainted. Sam settled for fries, Kady, who had a wicked sore throat and was crying, settled for a burger and Mom got her coffee. Abby just pouted. And y'all will also be glad to know that my burger tasted fine and apparently my taste buds were unharmed by the pollo caliente.
We called Sis to let her know we were about an hour away, got back on the turnpike and by then all three kids had finished a movie and were restless/excited/bored. Abby whined she was bored. Kady cried her throat hurt and she exclaimed she was sure she was going to die. Sam farted. See why they need DVD players? After all the declarations of boredom and flatulence Mom happily suggested we all sing. Abby groaned and said, "Ohhhhhh great" which prompted Mom to begin "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" and I joined in a round. This FREAKED my kids out. How have they lived 8, 11 and 13 years and have never heard a song sung in a round??? Abby said it was sensory overload. Kady said it ruined the song. Sam giggled and farted again.
We got to Sis' apartment a hair after 10 and after lugging our van load of luggage up three flights of stairs we hugged and all that. We let the kids stay up til nearly 2am because all five of them were together and so were we grownup girls.
The next morning we got around, met Sis for lunch and then did some shopping on Garth Brooks Boulevard. My mom is absolutely fascinated with Garth Brooks Boulevard. Maybe because it's named after GB himself, maybe because it's just a mouthful to say or maybe because it has a Big Lots AND a Hancock Fabric AND a Tuesday Morning. We bought the girls some Pixos and Sam a "spy kit" at Tuesday Morning, scored major patterns at Hancock (NINETY NINE CENTS MCCALLS PATTERNS, PEOPLE) and well, Big Lots was a disappointment, but the boys got X-Men bobbleheads and did I mention NINETY NINE CENT MCCALLS PATTERNS AT HANCOCK? By the time we left Big Lots Kady was bawling her throat hurt REALLY REALLY BAD and her ear was going to explode and her head was going to cave in and she just wanted to go to bed.
Let me just say here that I really thought she was just having allergy issues. And even after she started talking like she had a wad of bubblegum in her throat I still just thought it was allergy/drainage irritation, maybe some tonsilitis. Also let me just say that I am so going to win Mother of the Year this year.
We stopped at Walmart to get ear drops, decongestant, Motrin, Cepacol Fizzlers (which don't work, don't waste your money) and the salad stuff for dinner and some ice cream for Abby because she said she was near death because she hadn't had any in two whole days. The kids also got treats for being so good. I dropped $68 on Harumika sets for Addison and Kady, a Twilight t-shirt for Abby, a license plate for Gentry's bike and an apothecary of pain relief for my ill child.
We had Mom's homemade chicken casserole for dinner with Sis and her boyfriend and managed to get the kids in bed by 11 since we were headed to the round barn in Arcadia, Pops' Diner and Omniplex the next morning. After the kids went to be and we all decided we were really pretty exhausted from all the running we opted out of the round barn and Pops'. We'll hit it next time. Thursday morning we all got up and snacked around for breakfast, Kady looked like hell and ended up back in bed, taking a two hour nap from 8 to 10, bless her heart. (Still was in denial at that point.) We grabbed sandwiches for lunch, picked up Sis' boyfriend then drove toward the Omniplex which I think they just call the Oklahoma Science Museum now, but I'm all old school and stuff. Traffic was at a standstill miles away, but as we got closer we saw there had been a wreck and assumed that was the holdup. Turns out that no, every child in Oklahoma and their parents were all jonesin' for some science-y fun, too. As we sat waiting through green light after green light it was about 20 minutes in that my son, who was in my sister's car, puked. He's awesome like that. My kids are classic car pukers, especially that boy of mine.
A phone call from the gagging adults, one of which who doesn't have children, God love him, and a quick conversation where we all concurred that the museum wasn't going to be any fun with all those people, we pulled out into traffic and headed to the most ghetto KFC/Taco Bell I have ever seen. I got Sam out of the backseat, assessed the pukey damage while Sis ran across the street to a CVS to buy paper towels, Lysol and disinfecting wipes. Abby kept whispering she was quite certain we were going to be mugged, raped and/or murdered. While I held my breath and cleaned Sis' backseat the other adults figured out our next stop - Celebration Station. Abby whined that if it was like Chuck E. Cheese she wasn't going to have any fun no matter what and the other kids talked excitedly about ALL THE FUN they were going to have.
As we pulled out into traffic Kady saw two birds who were uhm.....twitterpated. She sat bolt upright, face pressed against the window and yelled, "SWEET! Two birds fighting! AWESOME!" Abby said, "Yeah, well, in this neighborhood they better be careful. Someone might bus' a cap in someone's...." and my mother rescued the conversation with the word "WING!". The rest of the trip we all threatened each other with busting caps in each other's wings.
Celebration Station was fun. We, of course, came home with oodles of craptastic junk.
We had leftovers for dinner that night, watched Hairspray and after the kids were in bed and the boyfriend had gone home we grownup girls sat at the table and drank sweet tea, ate Rice Krispie Treats and visited till we were yawning.
Sis had to go to work the next morning so Mom and I got the kids up, packed up, cleaned the apartment and loaded the van up to head home. Kady was still complaining of her throat and ear hurting and since it was Friday and the weekend was on us,threatening to bust a cap in our wing, I called the PA's office, explained we were in Yukon, described her symptoms and asked what I should do. I made the statement she hadn't run a fever the whole time so I was sure it wasn't strep. The nurse then said, "Uh, Kristin. She can have strep without a fever. Sounds like strep. Let me talk to David and I'll call you right back." Five minutes later she called me back to say that yeah, more than likely she had strep and they were calling her in antibiotics back home. Oy. Imagine how awesome that made me feel. Poor baby.
We had lunch with Sis, dreaded leaving and promised we'd be back over the summer. A quick stop at Walmart so Mom could buy all the kids inordinate amounts of candy and we were on the road with two more kids than we came with. They were so dang quiet, though, we kept asking if they were all okay. I have never traveled with five better kids. Thank you, Santa, for the DVD players. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
We dropped the Tots off with their other grandparents, I picked up some laundry detergent, sugar and milk in Fairland in anticipation of Snownado 2010, then hotfooted it back here to the ranch. We pulled into the driveway to find my darling redneck husband and Pops, who was waiting with a couple bottles of Amoxil for Kady and a brand new 2010 Prius to show his bride. The kids attacked their daddy with hugs and kisses and stories. I caught my parents kissing and hugging and heard Abby say, "I think I just threw up in my mouth a little."
All in all, it was a tremendously fun Spring Break. I nervously left the comfort of my home and couch and had no idea I'd find a different comfort at the teeny tiny dining room table in my sister's apartment talking about nothing in particular.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Adventurers ho!
We're headed off to the Yukon for a few days over Spring Break. No, not the Yukon in Canada, which is what one of Abby's friends asked. God love her. Going to go see my baby sis and the tots and do whatever it is ones does in Yukon. I think it's pretty much what we do up here except it involves much more traffic. Anyone got a few spare Xanax?
Please don't try to rob my house while I'm gone. The redneck is staying here. And so is the chewingest dog. Which means if the dog doesn't eat your shoes while you're attempting to break in he will eat the tires off your car so you can't leave which will then give that redneck man of mine time to shoot you. Just giving you fair warning.
If y'all are reading this from down south be on the lookout for the Diva van this week. It's a red Dodge Caravan with the license plate RDNKDVA. If you see us, honk and wave wildly, but don't expect us to pull over and visit if Mom is in the car. She will automatically think you are trying to murder us, rob us or steal all the strawberry Mentos in my purse.
Please don't try to rob my house while I'm gone. The redneck is staying here. And so is the chewingest dog. Which means if the dog doesn't eat your shoes while you're attempting to break in he will eat the tires off your car so you can't leave which will then give that redneck man of mine time to shoot you. Just giving you fair warning.
If y'all are reading this from down south be on the lookout for the Diva van this week. It's a red Dodge Caravan with the license plate RDNKDVA. If you see us, honk and wave wildly, but don't expect us to pull over and visit if Mom is in the car. She will automatically think you are trying to murder us, rob us or steal all the strawberry Mentos in my purse.
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Just Call Me Trigger
We went to Cowboy Church a week ago Sunday and it was kind of chilly where we sat just outside the arena. By the end of the service I was achey from what I thought was just being tensed up and cold for an hour and a half. By the time we got home I hurt all over and was chilling, but figured I was still just chilled from that cold arena. I'm smart, huh. I took three Aleve (Please no one chide me for OD'ing on naproxen) and we took off for Carthage, MO, nearly an hour away to get a ton of pellets for the stove because it being a few weeks til Spring it would only be logical that we would run out of pellets. Of course. By the time we got to Lowe's in Carthage the Aleve had kicked in and I bet a lot better. We stopped at Sam's Club on the way home and bought the most gigantic barrel of cheese balls I have ever seen, among other things like candy bars the kids don't need, dishwasher detergent, more paper towels than I have places to stuff the extra rolls and some Wolverine/X-men movie my son was claiming not purchasing would surely lead to his demise.
When we got home Paul, Abby and I settled in to watch a movie and by the time it was over I was chilling to the point my teeth were chattering. I ached in every joint and just generally felt like poo. I was chilling so hard I couldn't do anything more than lie under a pile of blankets and shiver. I called Courtney to tell her I really didn't think I should watch Conner the next day and she said, "Sounds like the flu. You'd better get to the Indian Clinic in the morning." I called my mom to tell her I was sick. She said, "I think you have the flu. You should probably go to the clinic in the morning."
Now, I am proud of my Native American heritage and since I have no health insurance I take even more pride in it when I am sick because the clinic is all I have and can afford. I also try to only go when I am dying or perilously close to it. Then my dear, cupcake-loving friend and The Giver of Free Cheese, text me and said they are only allowing six walk-in triage appointments a day so get there like at 2am. Yeah. No.
Monday I got the kids up and off to school then went back to bed until 12:30. Normally I wouldn't be able to do that to save my life, but I slept the whole time and slept hard. When I got up and swung my feet over the side of the bed I noticed my right foot was a little swollen, but I had also just laid on my right side without apparently moving for the better part of five hours. I didn't give it much thought. I made a sandwich and decided that the bed was a nice comfy place to be so I went back to the bedroom to eat and watch some horrible daytime TV. Our bed is wicked high off the ground - okay, it's probably only wicked high to me because uhm, I'm short and my legs are so short it's comical - so there is no graceful way for me to get in my bed. I was still achey and sore so it was even more laborious to get up there that day and amidst all the wallering and flopping I was doing the pant leg of my sweats came up to expose a very angry-looking red area just above my ankle.
Given the fact that I have a genetic blood clotting disorder called Factor V (as in the Roman numeral 5) Leiden which means my blood has the potential of over-clotting at some point in my life, any time I have a sore spot on my leg or smack it on something (which I do a LOT) and off-handedly mention it to my mother and sister who also have FVL and have had clots, they both start hollering, "CLOT!" I usually don't worry too much about them, but dude, there was a red spot on my leg and it was warm and tender and oh man.... I figured that after the last few weeks we've had it would only be the next catasrophe to occur.
I popped a couple aspirin to ease my mind more than anything, called my momma who said, "GET THEE TO THE CLINIC" and I said, "Eh, I think I'll just wait it out. Maybe try some heat and elevation. And denial." I thought it looked like cellulitis, but I always have blood clot looming in the back of my head.
Finally after gimping around on it for nearly 24 hours and actually starting to almost worry myself, I decided to take a shot at the clinic Tuesday. I made it there right at noon and got the last walk-in appointment for that day. I only waited about five minutes before I heard my name called overhead to go to Triage. For ya'll who have never partaken of the Native American healthcare system, this is epic. The nurse took my temp (99.5*) and blood pressure (normal) and weight (off-limits for discussion) and then asked why I needed to be seen by the doctor. I raised my pant leg and she grimaced. I find that such a visceral reaction to an ailment is always effective in gaining sympathy and possibly a quick appointment. She said, "Let me get you an appointment," and left the room. From around the corner I heard her holler, "Have you had lunch yet?" I said, "Well, I've eaten today if that's what you mean." She said, "No, I mean, why don't you get something to eat real quick and be back here at 12:45 and I'll get you in by 1. Sound okay?" Oh heck yeah.
I ran down to the FastTrip for a Mountain Dew and then called Abby who had been at her classmate's funeral, then called Mom who was picking Abby up after the funeral. I walked back into the clinic precisely at 12:45 and by 1:00 I was sitting in an exam room - where I would sit for the next 50 minutes. I heard my name mentioned a couple of times through the door and just knew the delay was because the doctor was looking up Factor V Leiden. I wasn't wrong. It's not something most people have widespread knowledge of. I'm used to them Googling my disorder prior to examining me.
Then Dr. Brown came breezing through the door of the exam room and he reminded me of one of the doctors on "The Doctors" or maybe a hunky soap opera doctor with a smilie that causes a little sparkle and a *ding*. He was self-confident and athletic-looking and handsome and charming as all get out. I really hated the fact he was soon going to be looking at my fat, hairy leg, but hey, he's the one who went to medical school. Occupational hazard. If he didn't want to mess with fat and hairy he definitely shouldn't be in a government-run health clinic, 'sall I'm sayin'.
He looked at my leg, felt my leg and said, "What do I think this is? I think it's cellulitis." I nodded in agreement. He continued, "But given your family history and the fact you know you have a clotting disorder, why not go ahead and check it out. There's about a -1% chance you have a clot, but..." and I stopped him right there with, "If you only knew how rotten my past few weeks have been....well, I'm all but insisting you check for a clot." He laughed his hunky, loud soap opera doctor laugh, his lab coat billowing behind him as he left the exam room and said, "Let me call x-ray."
He came back in a few minutes later and said x-ray wasn't busy, to go wait in the waiting area and they'd call me back soon. I moved to a different waiting area, made a phone call, sent a text (or four) and waited. Within five minutes (again!) I heard my name called. And of course, because I just have amazing luck, the guy who greeted me in the lab was a young, blonde cutie-pie who I wanted to take home in my purse. He looked terrified. He asked where the spot was and I pulled my pant leg up to just above my ankle. He shook his head and said, "Oh gosh, that's low. We usually won't do a doppler below the knee because clots that low don't usually cause any problem. But....we'll go ahead and check it out. Doc says you have Factor V Leiden." I nodded, resisting the urge to pinch his cheek and offer him a cookie.
Then, poor guy said, "Okay, so just uhm....*blush* uhm.....pull your pants down to your ankles....uhm.....no need to take them all the way off....and uhm....*blush* *avert eyes* ....uh, lie down on your back on the uh table and uhm....cover up with this." He handed me a drape and made himself scarce. I pushed my sweats down to my ankles, grabbed the drape and laid down. Instantly I was warped back in time to another event that left me lying with my pants around my ankles (and it didn't involve a backseat, ya pervs) and took a few breaths to keep myself from cracking up into hysterical giggles. I heard a knock at the door and it opened to cute-patootie looking insanely uncomfortable at the fat old lady lying on a table with her pants around her ankles. I mean, seriously, it's a comical, disturbing picture you have in your head, isn't it?
He said, "Uhm....after I left the room I got to uh thinking that uhm....we'll probably need that leg all the uh way uh out so uhm....I can help you with that....if that's uh okay...." and I kicked off my Croc and said, "Yeah, you're going to have to help, otherwise I may fall off the table and embarrass us both even more." He kind of chuckled and set about half-way depantsing me. Fortunately he had turned the light off in the room prior to coming in so he couldn't see my glowing red face. He then set about exposing my entire right leg, all the way to my thigh.
Folks, I haven't shaved in weeks. Hey, it's winter and I've been sick. Shaving is not a priority for me unless the weather is approprite for the wearing of capris and even then I only shave to the knee. There was hair on that thigh that could very well have been there during the Bush administration. Thighs that large and hairy should only be seen on a horse. I again was thankful the lights were dim in the room.
He started the ultrasound and I resisted the urge to ask if he could tell if it was a boy or girl, figuring things were already awkward enough in the room without bad jokes. He got to the point where he had me flex my foot to force blood up through my leg. The sound on the machine was wicked awesome and I said, "Oh wow, that sounded very comic book-y." He just went, "Hmh." Then I realized I had meant to say "cartoon-y" because duh, comic books don't make noise. *sigh* I just shut up and didn't say anything else the rest of the time. It was just to glaringly obvious I wasn't going to lighten things up by opening my big mouth.
When he finished he assured me there was no clot to be found, I have great veins (best come-on line I've heard in years) and said to clean all the goo off my leg, get dressed and go wait in the triage waiting area for the doctor to call me back again. I wiped approximately 47 pounds of goop off my leg from ankle to thigh and prayed really hard he would be nowhere in sight by the time I left. God answers prayers. I ducked out as fast as I could and headed to the back hallway. I sent another half-dozen text messages, played Bookworm and Word Warp on my iPod, tried to pick up someone, anyone's internet to no avail, ate a whole package of Mentos because remember I had only gotten a Mountain Dew, no food, at the FastTrip and wondered if they had forgotten me. At 3:15 they called me back to Triage, Doc Hollywood breezed in the room in a flurry of white lab coated glory and said, "Just as I thought, hon, cellulitis. We'll get you hooked up with some Keflex. How's that sound?" I said, "Great - if you want me to die. I'm allergic to Keflex." He belly laughed at that one. At least he appreciated my humor. He then said he'd make sure not to prescribe that, he'd sent my chart to the pharmacy and get me outta there. 15 minutes later, one awkward waiting room encounter with a very nervous momma with low self-esteem who only wanted me to praise her child for chewing on a book (which I did) and I had my antibiotics.
A week later I'm almost completely healed up and my leg only hurts if Conner gets me with a direct hit with a teeny tiny Chuck Taylor.
And I shaved my legs yesterday.
When we got home Paul, Abby and I settled in to watch a movie and by the time it was over I was chilling to the point my teeth were chattering. I ached in every joint and just generally felt like poo. I was chilling so hard I couldn't do anything more than lie under a pile of blankets and shiver. I called Courtney to tell her I really didn't think I should watch Conner the next day and she said, "Sounds like the flu. You'd better get to the Indian Clinic in the morning." I called my mom to tell her I was sick. She said, "I think you have the flu. You should probably go to the clinic in the morning."
Now, I am proud of my Native American heritage and since I have no health insurance I take even more pride in it when I am sick because the clinic is all I have and can afford. I also try to only go when I am dying or perilously close to it. Then my dear, cupcake-loving friend and The Giver of Free Cheese, text me and said they are only allowing six walk-in triage appointments a day so get there like at 2am. Yeah. No.
Monday I got the kids up and off to school then went back to bed until 12:30. Normally I wouldn't be able to do that to save my life, but I slept the whole time and slept hard. When I got up and swung my feet over the side of the bed I noticed my right foot was a little swollen, but I had also just laid on my right side without apparently moving for the better part of five hours. I didn't give it much thought. I made a sandwich and decided that the bed was a nice comfy place to be so I went back to the bedroom to eat and watch some horrible daytime TV. Our bed is wicked high off the ground - okay, it's probably only wicked high to me because uhm, I'm short and my legs are so short it's comical - so there is no graceful way for me to get in my bed. I was still achey and sore so it was even more laborious to get up there that day and amidst all the wallering and flopping I was doing the pant leg of my sweats came up to expose a very angry-looking red area just above my ankle.
Given the fact that I have a genetic blood clotting disorder called Factor V (as in the Roman numeral 5) Leiden which means my blood has the potential of over-clotting at some point in my life, any time I have a sore spot on my leg or smack it on something (which I do a LOT) and off-handedly mention it to my mother and sister who also have FVL and have had clots, they both start hollering, "CLOT!" I usually don't worry too much about them, but dude, there was a red spot on my leg and it was warm and tender and oh man.... I figured that after the last few weeks we've had it would only be the next catasrophe to occur.
I popped a couple aspirin to ease my mind more than anything, called my momma who said, "GET THEE TO THE CLINIC" and I said, "Eh, I think I'll just wait it out. Maybe try some heat and elevation. And denial." I thought it looked like cellulitis, but I always have blood clot looming in the back of my head.
Finally after gimping around on it for nearly 24 hours and actually starting to almost worry myself, I decided to take a shot at the clinic Tuesday. I made it there right at noon and got the last walk-in appointment for that day. I only waited about five minutes before I heard my name called overhead to go to Triage. For ya'll who have never partaken of the Native American healthcare system, this is epic. The nurse took my temp (99.5*) and blood pressure (normal) and weight (off-limits for discussion) and then asked why I needed to be seen by the doctor. I raised my pant leg and she grimaced. I find that such a visceral reaction to an ailment is always effective in gaining sympathy and possibly a quick appointment. She said, "Let me get you an appointment," and left the room. From around the corner I heard her holler, "Have you had lunch yet?" I said, "Well, I've eaten today if that's what you mean." She said, "No, I mean, why don't you get something to eat real quick and be back here at 12:45 and I'll get you in by 1. Sound okay?" Oh heck yeah.
I ran down to the FastTrip for a Mountain Dew and then called Abby who had been at her classmate's funeral, then called Mom who was picking Abby up after the funeral. I walked back into the clinic precisely at 12:45 and by 1:00 I was sitting in an exam room - where I would sit for the next 50 minutes. I heard my name mentioned a couple of times through the door and just knew the delay was because the doctor was looking up Factor V Leiden. I wasn't wrong. It's not something most people have widespread knowledge of. I'm used to them Googling my disorder prior to examining me.
Then Dr. Brown came breezing through the door of the exam room and he reminded me of one of the doctors on "The Doctors" or maybe a hunky soap opera doctor with a smilie that causes a little sparkle and a *ding*. He was self-confident and athletic-looking and handsome and charming as all get out. I really hated the fact he was soon going to be looking at my fat, hairy leg, but hey, he's the one who went to medical school. Occupational hazard. If he didn't want to mess with fat and hairy he definitely shouldn't be in a government-run health clinic, 'sall I'm sayin'.
He looked at my leg, felt my leg and said, "What do I think this is? I think it's cellulitis." I nodded in agreement. He continued, "But given your family history and the fact you know you have a clotting disorder, why not go ahead and check it out. There's about a -1% chance you have a clot, but..." and I stopped him right there with, "If you only knew how rotten my past few weeks have been....well, I'm all but insisting you check for a clot." He laughed his hunky, loud soap opera doctor laugh, his lab coat billowing behind him as he left the exam room and said, "Let me call x-ray."
He came back in a few minutes later and said x-ray wasn't busy, to go wait in the waiting area and they'd call me back soon. I moved to a different waiting area, made a phone call, sent a text (or four) and waited. Within five minutes (again!) I heard my name called. And of course, because I just have amazing luck, the guy who greeted me in the lab was a young, blonde cutie-pie who I wanted to take home in my purse. He looked terrified. He asked where the spot was and I pulled my pant leg up to just above my ankle. He shook his head and said, "Oh gosh, that's low. We usually won't do a doppler below the knee because clots that low don't usually cause any problem. But....we'll go ahead and check it out. Doc says you have Factor V Leiden." I nodded, resisting the urge to pinch his cheek and offer him a cookie.
Then, poor guy said, "Okay, so just uhm....*blush* uhm.....pull your pants down to your ankles....uhm.....no need to take them all the way off....and uhm....*blush* *avert eyes* ....uh, lie down on your back on the uh table and uhm....cover up with this." He handed me a drape and made himself scarce. I pushed my sweats down to my ankles, grabbed the drape and laid down. Instantly I was warped back in time to another event that left me lying with my pants around my ankles (and it didn't involve a backseat, ya pervs) and took a few breaths to keep myself from cracking up into hysterical giggles. I heard a knock at the door and it opened to cute-patootie looking insanely uncomfortable at the fat old lady lying on a table with her pants around her ankles. I mean, seriously, it's a comical, disturbing picture you have in your head, isn't it?
He said, "Uhm....after I left the room I got to uh thinking that uhm....we'll probably need that leg all the uh way uh out so uhm....I can help you with that....if that's uh okay...." and I kicked off my Croc and said, "Yeah, you're going to have to help, otherwise I may fall off the table and embarrass us both even more." He kind of chuckled and set about half-way depantsing me. Fortunately he had turned the light off in the room prior to coming in so he couldn't see my glowing red face. He then set about exposing my entire right leg, all the way to my thigh.
Folks, I haven't shaved in weeks. Hey, it's winter and I've been sick. Shaving is not a priority for me unless the weather is approprite for the wearing of capris and even then I only shave to the knee. There was hair on that thigh that could very well have been there during the Bush administration. Thighs that large and hairy should only be seen on a horse. I again was thankful the lights were dim in the room.
He started the ultrasound and I resisted the urge to ask if he could tell if it was a boy or girl, figuring things were already awkward enough in the room without bad jokes. He got to the point where he had me flex my foot to force blood up through my leg. The sound on the machine was wicked awesome and I said, "Oh wow, that sounded very comic book-y." He just went, "Hmh." Then I realized I had meant to say "cartoon-y" because duh, comic books don't make noise. *sigh* I just shut up and didn't say anything else the rest of the time. It was just to glaringly obvious I wasn't going to lighten things up by opening my big mouth.
When he finished he assured me there was no clot to be found, I have great veins (best come-on line I've heard in years) and said to clean all the goo off my leg, get dressed and go wait in the triage waiting area for the doctor to call me back again. I wiped approximately 47 pounds of goop off my leg from ankle to thigh and prayed really hard he would be nowhere in sight by the time I left. God answers prayers. I ducked out as fast as I could and headed to the back hallway. I sent another half-dozen text messages, played Bookworm and Word Warp on my iPod, tried to pick up someone, anyone's internet to no avail, ate a whole package of Mentos because remember I had only gotten a Mountain Dew, no food, at the FastTrip and wondered if they had forgotten me. At 3:15 they called me back to Triage, Doc Hollywood breezed in the room in a flurry of white lab coated glory and said, "Just as I thought, hon, cellulitis. We'll get you hooked up with some Keflex. How's that sound?" I said, "Great - if you want me to die. I'm allergic to Keflex." He belly laughed at that one. At least he appreciated my humor. He then said he'd make sure not to prescribe that, he'd sent my chart to the pharmacy and get me outta there. 15 minutes later, one awkward waiting room encounter with a very nervous momma with low self-esteem who only wanted me to praise her child for chewing on a book (which I did) and I had my antibiotics.
A week later I'm almost completely healed up and my leg only hurts if Conner gets me with a direct hit with a teeny tiny Chuck Taylor.
And I shaved my legs yesterday.
Thursday, March 04, 2010
Winner Winner Possum Dinner!
In all the cacophony and hubbub and utter absolute chaos these last few weeks I totally forgot to put a thank you post up for everyone involved in the 2009 Oklahoma Blog Awards.
In the past Mike Hermes, our beloved Little Axe-ian from Okie Doke, has taken on this seemingly insurmountable task, but due to the fact that he's trekking up a mountain in search of Shangri La or Oompa Loompas or The Whos on that little speck of pollen, he let someone else take over this year. (Really, I doubt he's trekking up a mountain, but it still put an air of mystery around the man, the myth, the legend, huh?) Jennifer James from Are You There God? It's Me, Generation X took the reigns and ran with it. She did a bangup job and really needs a pat on the back, a round of applause and maybe a box of Girl Scout cookies. Or I could make her one of those potholders on Kady's little loom thingy.
I was nominated in one category this year, a new category: Best Rural Blog. I was up against:
* Another Chance Ranch
* Blog Oklahoma US
* Brit Gal in the USA
* Muskogee Politico
* OklaCookiemaker Quilts
* Straight Shooter (a personal favorite of mine since last year)
* The Prairie Maid
* Turtle Rock Farm Blog
and THE PIONEER WOMAN
Not that they all weren't worthy opponents, but seriously? The Pioneer Woman? I was so thrilled when I saw the nomination list and it took looking over about three times before I realized she was on there. That was when I donned my sackcloth and ashes and moped about the house for a few hours. Then I decided that hey, yeah, she's all teh awesome and uber wonderful and cataclysmically talented and skinny and positively gorgeous, but hey, so am I! Okay, well, I can fudge on everything but the skinny.
Anyway, all y'all Okie bloggers votes a few weeks ago and voted me
Note: The final nominations list is here and the list of winners is here for all categories in the competition this year. Go check them all out and discover a whole new group of folks to entertain you while you're avoiding housework or desk work or homework or lab work or foot work.....
In the past Mike Hermes, our beloved Little Axe-ian from Okie Doke, has taken on this seemingly insurmountable task, but due to the fact that he's trekking up a mountain in search of Shangri La or Oompa Loompas or The Whos on that little speck of pollen, he let someone else take over this year. (Really, I doubt he's trekking up a mountain, but it still put an air of mystery around the man, the myth, the legend, huh?) Jennifer James from Are You There God? It's Me, Generation X took the reigns and ran with it. She did a bangup job and really needs a pat on the back, a round of applause and maybe a box of Girl Scout cookies. Or I could make her one of those potholders on Kady's little loom thingy.
I was nominated in one category this year, a new category: Best Rural Blog. I was up against:
* Another Chance Ranch
* Blog Oklahoma US
* Brit Gal in the USA
* Muskogee Politico
* OklaCookiemaker Quilts
* Straight Shooter (a personal favorite of mine since last year)
* The Prairie Maid
* Turtle Rock Farm Blog
and THE PIONEER WOMAN
Not that they all weren't worthy opponents, but seriously? The Pioneer Woman? I was so thrilled when I saw the nomination list and it took looking over about three times before I realized she was on there. That was when I donned my sackcloth and ashes and moped about the house for a few hours. Then I decided that hey, yeah, she's all teh awesome and uber wonderful and cataclysmically talented and skinny and positively gorgeous, but hey, so am I! Okay, well, I can fudge on everything but the skinny.
Anyway, all y'all Okie bloggers votes a few weeks ago and voted me
And I couldn't be happier about that.
Thank you all for voting and reading and commenting, although y'all really should comment more. Seriously. Don't be shy. I'm even trying to be better about commenting back! I love me some comments. So do it, okay? Please?
I am closing in on six years blogging and it's been a crazy ride. Y'all have shared the ups, the downs, the scary, the funny, the stupid, the whiny and the possums.
I can't think of a better group to share it all with and I love each and every one of you. Really. Even though my mom is still scared to death that one of you is going to hack me up and bury me in your backyard in a 55 gallon drum.
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
A little more
Friday night I was working on organizing my ever-UNorganized office while Kady played on the desktop and Abby was fooling around on her daddy's laptop (because in case you had forgotten MY LAPTOP WENT KAPUT last week). The boy was watching something on TV and Paul was asleep in his recliner. We girls were just being silly and chit chatting when Abby got a text then said, "No way. That's not cool." I asked what she was talking about and she said, "I just got a text that said Cheyenne died. Why would someone say that?"
Cheyenne had moved away mid-year last year after having gone to school with Abby since 1st grade. They weren't BFF's, but they knew each other and got along; they were classmates for six years. I said, "Oh, Abby, someone's just being cruel. She moved away so they're just trying to stir up drama. You know how rumors get started." Then suddenly her phone started receiving message after message, all saying the same thing: Cheyenne had died. She kept saying no, not possible and I was getting kind of irritated that these kids were perpetuating something so absolutely awful.
Then I got a text from another mom who confirmed the horrible news.
I have yet to hear a 100% ironclad reason as to why Cheyenne passed away, but I know one thing for sure -- 13 year olds just aren't supposed to die. It's not right, it's not fair and it's just something I, as a mother, have a very hard time wrapping my head around.
Abby internalizes everything, so I kept a close eye on her all weekend, watching for signs she was heading for a meltdown, blowup or anything in-between. Saturday Paul and I left Kady and Sam with Mom and Pops while we went furniture shopping with just Abby. We had lunch, kept things light, joked with her and gave her some extra attention. She was insisting on attending the funeral and I said I'd take her, but suggested maybe we should try the visitation first before we decided, explaining it wouldn't be like a funeral for an older person. She cried off and on here and there throughout the weekend over little things, things that would normally never make her cry. She's not one to wail and gnash teeth. She's very low-key. She had to take her Zantac several times, something she always has to do when she's upset or stressed.
I was 18 and a Senior in high school when a girl a grade below me was killed in a car accident. She and I weren't what you would call close, we were in accounting and band and on the yearbook staff together and had ridden the same bus since she started school. I think we played together a time or two during the summer when we were kids. We were schoolmates. Rebecca's death, though, was the first time I had to come to terms with my own mortality. I had lost a cousin to muscular dystrophy when I was little, had attended the funeral of a neighbor lady who bought milk from Papa's farm and was always so sweet to us kids and had gone to a few other funerals to farther-down-the-line relatives. But all those people were older than me, most by a lot; Rebecca was 17. Younger than me. Not supposed to die.
This week my 13 year old had to deal with her own mortality. At first she asked a lot of silly questions, questions she knew the answer to already, but I answered regardless. Then she asked tougher ones, like "What would you bury me in if I died right now?" That's a question that as her mother I didn't want to answer or remotely think about, but to her hurting little heart and mind it was important. I hate it we had to have conversations like that. I hate it that she had to learn so young that sometimes kids die and we don't know why, we don't understand, we don't have to like it and it sucks.
I got sick on Sunday evening and was in bed all day Monday which left her Daddy to take her to the visitation Monday night. She did okay. She's attended more than her fair share of funerals and visitations and was prepared for it. She came home and talked about how Cheyenne looked and the color of her casket and pictures they had put out of her as a little kid and that she had been holding a pilot's headset in her hands because she wanted to be a pilot just like her daddy when she grew up - things my precious little girl shouldn't have to talk about or deal with. I cried. She didn't. She was more than ever, though, resolute about attending the funeral.
I made arrangements with the mother of a classmate to take her to the funeral the following day and kept her home from school that morning. She took extra time to get ready and make sure what she was wearing was sufficiently nice and grownup, "but not dorky, right?" she made sure. When Melinda pulled in the driveway Abby grabbed me and hugged me so hard. And didn't want to let go. Not only was she preparing to attend the funeral of a peer, but she was having to do so without me. I cried again. She didn't.
It worked out that I was at the clinic when she got home from the funeral and my mom picked her up. God made that doctor's appointment work out for me so that Abby could express some feelings and emotions to her Grammy, maybe things she just wasn't sure she could say to me. Mom said she talked quite a bit and asked a few questions and voiced her concerns over a few things, but all told, she handled things pretty well. She said she was glad she went to the funeral and was glad it was over. She said it had been a sad day.
She grew up a little more yesterday.
Cheyenne had moved away mid-year last year after having gone to school with Abby since 1st grade. They weren't BFF's, but they knew each other and got along; they were classmates for six years. I said, "Oh, Abby, someone's just being cruel. She moved away so they're just trying to stir up drama. You know how rumors get started." Then suddenly her phone started receiving message after message, all saying the same thing: Cheyenne had died. She kept saying no, not possible and I was getting kind of irritated that these kids were perpetuating something so absolutely awful.
Then I got a text from another mom who confirmed the horrible news.
I have yet to hear a 100% ironclad reason as to why Cheyenne passed away, but I know one thing for sure -- 13 year olds just aren't supposed to die. It's not right, it's not fair and it's just something I, as a mother, have a very hard time wrapping my head around.
Abby internalizes everything, so I kept a close eye on her all weekend, watching for signs she was heading for a meltdown, blowup or anything in-between. Saturday Paul and I left Kady and Sam with Mom and Pops while we went furniture shopping with just Abby. We had lunch, kept things light, joked with her and gave her some extra attention. She was insisting on attending the funeral and I said I'd take her, but suggested maybe we should try the visitation first before we decided, explaining it wouldn't be like a funeral for an older person. She cried off and on here and there throughout the weekend over little things, things that would normally never make her cry. She's not one to wail and gnash teeth. She's very low-key. She had to take her Zantac several times, something she always has to do when she's upset or stressed.
I was 18 and a Senior in high school when a girl a grade below me was killed in a car accident. She and I weren't what you would call close, we were in accounting and band and on the yearbook staff together and had ridden the same bus since she started school. I think we played together a time or two during the summer when we were kids. We were schoolmates. Rebecca's death, though, was the first time I had to come to terms with my own mortality. I had lost a cousin to muscular dystrophy when I was little, had attended the funeral of a neighbor lady who bought milk from Papa's farm and was always so sweet to us kids and had gone to a few other funerals to farther-down-the-line relatives. But all those people were older than me, most by a lot; Rebecca was 17. Younger than me. Not supposed to die.
This week my 13 year old had to deal with her own mortality. At first she asked a lot of silly questions, questions she knew the answer to already, but I answered regardless. Then she asked tougher ones, like "What would you bury me in if I died right now?" That's a question that as her mother I didn't want to answer or remotely think about, but to her hurting little heart and mind it was important. I hate it we had to have conversations like that. I hate it that she had to learn so young that sometimes kids die and we don't know why, we don't understand, we don't have to like it and it sucks.
I got sick on Sunday evening and was in bed all day Monday which left her Daddy to take her to the visitation Monday night. She did okay. She's attended more than her fair share of funerals and visitations and was prepared for it. She came home and talked about how Cheyenne looked and the color of her casket and pictures they had put out of her as a little kid and that she had been holding a pilot's headset in her hands because she wanted to be a pilot just like her daddy when she grew up - things my precious little girl shouldn't have to talk about or deal with. I cried. She didn't. She was more than ever, though, resolute about attending the funeral.
I made arrangements with the mother of a classmate to take her to the funeral the following day and kept her home from school that morning. She took extra time to get ready and make sure what she was wearing was sufficiently nice and grownup, "but not dorky, right?" she made sure. When Melinda pulled in the driveway Abby grabbed me and hugged me so hard. And didn't want to let go. Not only was she preparing to attend the funeral of a peer, but she was having to do so without me. I cried again. She didn't.
It worked out that I was at the clinic when she got home from the funeral and my mom picked her up. God made that doctor's appointment work out for me so that Abby could express some feelings and emotions to her Grammy, maybe things she just wasn't sure she could say to me. Mom said she talked quite a bit and asked a few questions and voiced her concerns over a few things, but all told, she handled things pretty well. She said she was glad she went to the funeral and was glad it was over. She said it had been a sad day.
She grew up a little more yesterday.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)