Monday, July 31, 2006

That's what friends are for

I got a phone call while putting prices on my garage sale items today around 4:00pm. I was so surprised to see on the caller ID that it was a friend from my latest teaching gig. She called me just to chat. She talked for almost 45 minutes! I mean, the Husband walked in from work and I was still on the phone! He was surprised, too.
B.Couden, the infamous caller, told me all about her trip to Paris, Italy, etc. that she took with the French/Spanish clubs from the high school we taught at. She had a good time. She said it was kind of a smorgasboard of activities and sights, quite quickly gone through. Nonetheless, she said it was so worth going and now she feels like she would know enough to plan a trip back. I wannna go, I wanna go. I would be satisfied with just Italy. Imagine the food alone... oh, sorry. Got lost in the moment. She was kind enough to give me a little friend pep talk on the job hunt. I appreciate it so much. I cannot express how much I will miss her and M.Jones. I already do, but the day I know that school is starting at SHS, I will be sad beyond belief. I don't miss the school, just the great people I met. It is hard to leave a couple of great people like those two. I hope they continue reading here just to stay connected.

In other news...
I went to the doctor today out of necessity. The female doctor, as I stated to the kids. When you have four, it is a given that they must ride along in the car and wait in the waiting room for you.
So on the way there, the conversation went something like this:
Cam (middle daughter, age 11): So where are you going again?
Me: To the female doctor. You know...
Mak(oldest, almost 13): THE FEMALE DOCTOR! Idiot. She's said it like fifty thousand times.
Cam: What's a female doctor?
Me: She looks at all your female parts. You know, the Hoo-Ha, Tooter, Vagina...
Mak: Gosh! Why do you have to ask so many questions, Cam!?
Me: ... boobs.
Mak: Boobs?
Me: Yeah, boobs.
Mak: You mean like check you for breast cancer?
Me: Yes.
Mak: Have you ever had your "boobs" checked for cancer?
Me: Yeeeeesssss.
Mak: Well, do you have it?
Me: No.
Mak: Oh. See, Cam. She's going to the female doctor so the doctor can look at her female parts!
Me: Okay. That's enough. I would have said Gynecologist, you know, but I knew you guys wouldn't have any idea what I was talking about.
Pak(only male in car and in sibling line up): Yeah. Let's call it the female doctor.

I can honestly say that at least I am not embarrassed by any conversations about sex, organs, or the reproductive system. Thanks, Mom; I'm so glad you were a nurse.

FYI: Garage sales are great when you think about possibly getting a return on the money you have spent on clothing your kids have not worn. When it comes down to it, the garage sale is a pain in the a** and is possibly more hard work than anything. Don't do it.

Sunday, July 30, 2006

Anger Management

You moms out there may understand this post. For those of you who don't, and ultimately see me as a monster who doesn't deserve to be a mother, then boy do I apologize.

I am absolutely fuming right now. My blood is traveling so fast through my veins, that it is breaking the sound barrier - you hear that? I thought so. Let me start by saying I knew the day would end up terrible. Call me a pessimist. I knew that by the events taking place, I would be in this present, pre-heart attack position. The first event that set off the chain was that while I was trying to get fresh sweetcorn shucked for dinner, my stepson was trying to put up our new tent (see pic below) all by himself. He just knew he could do it. In the middle of me having thousands of corn silks covering my sweaty hands and forearms, I yell to him that he needs to go get his Father (inside the house) for help.
"Well, he won't want to help me!"
"I know he won't WANT to, but he isn't doing anything else, so he NEEDS to!"
"Fine." He says this as he stomps off into the house, and back out again with Father pacing behind.
Just as I go in with over a dozen shucked ears of corn in hand, making my way to the sink for rinsing, Pak (stepson) comes in the door.
"He said to go get mom. He doesn't know how to do it."
"How convenient. Just a second!"
I go outside as the Husband comes in the door, already sweaty and ticked off. I make my way to the "campsite" out in the yard and begin huffing and puffing because of my annoyance at the convenience of me being the only one that knows how to put the sucker up. What a dumba** I was to put it up the first time so that I had experience under my belt to be used against me at a later date. Man, how could I not see that coming? I begin to immediately assess the problem and go about fixing it. I show Pak where the poles go for certain things and return to my other duty of corn patrol. After finishing washing the ears of corn, I go back out to make sure the tent is not damaged already. Once again, Pak is at a standstill with no clue what to do next.
"Here, just let me do it" I said.
"Gosh, you are as grumpy as Daddy. You are BOTH being grumps, if you ask me."
"I didn't ask. And the reason I am grumpy is because I am the only one that can do this, which makes it great for your Father!"
"This is why I told you I was not thrilled about setting up this tent today. "
"There you go!" I said this in my best sarcastic tone, letting everyone within ear shot know that I was not a happy person.
After the girls got home and it was decided the oldest three children would sleep out there tonight, many trips were made by those children carrying things they HAD to have out there: blankets, air matresses, comfort items to sleep with, and more that they tried to put past me like a TV, Playstation, lamp, fan, extension cords out the wazu...
I told them the dangers of all of those things and how the dew would ruin whatever they thought they had to take out there. I swear, only five minutes went by and they were already back in the house! Told ya!!! I knew it. All of the sweat, blood, and tears to get the tent in shape, then nothing. Now, to boot, we have it all to carry in, take down, and put away. I can't stand it!

Upon returning to the house, at eleven o'clock at night, the sweet little children decide they want to be loud, as the "angry bear" as they called him, was trying to get some sleep so that he can go to work tomorrow. I warned and I warned. They went upstairs. (where the bear was) They were so loud that I could hear them through the ceiling while I was downstairs. I tried to be patient and warned them once again about being quiet for Daddy. Nope. Again, back to the instantaneous blood boiling Mom. I mean, that makes me absolutely insane! I could bite nails and spit them at someone at that point. It was all I could do to not stomp up the stairs and rip their ears off. I asked, while steam was pouring from my eyeballs, "What are you doing that sounds like you are jumping up and down up here????"
Answer: Pak jumps up and down twice with no words spoken, smirking.
I was ready to tear something up.
"I swear, you guys better knock it off, and BE QUIET, stop whatever you are doing, or Daddy is gonna get up and whip your asses!!! Do you NOT GET IT???!!!!"
"He's already told us to be quiet once since we've been up here." (they say this as if it is no biggie)
"Then I suggest you shut up!"
At that point, I turned and walked away, knowing what I was capable of. What can I say besides I told you so? I knew it was going to turn out this way. Instinct.
What happened to the philosophy of "If Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy"? Why doesn't that apply at my house? I am on the verge of calling SuperNanny. I mean it!

Saturday, July 29, 2006

What'll It Be, Madame?

I am back from my dinner out with the Husband, except it wasn't just us two. We had a tag-along, so to speak. My stepson unexpectedly came home today instead of tomorrow evening. Long story, not worth getting into. Regardless, we kept our dinner reservations at Bonefish Grill and made it a party of three, not two.
I now sit at home with a dying stomachache. Yes, I am paying for my neediness for food. I was so indulgent and had such great seafood, that my stomach reared its ugly head and said, "Whoa! What pleasurable, expensive food this is; we shall make you pay!" And the stomach is now working overtime to compensate for the garlic, lime, tomato sauce; the au gratin potatoes; and the seared vegetables, washed down with a glass of Reisling. That is the other downfall - the GLASS of Reisling, instead of a bottle. Children in the area with watchful eyes=only a glass of wine.
Not that all of you know, though some of you do, I have major stomach/colon problems so this gut-wrenching pain I have from eating something I don't normally eat is not amazing to some. I hear tell of dooce having constipation issues. Well, dooce, let's swap stories. I have what has been dubbed as "Colonic Inertia". Yep, dead colon. Old lady, unmoving, gone to rest inwards parts. Dead. As in never to again be alive and well. I have to take a cocktail of Miralax and orange juice every morning that about gags me to no end. If anyone needs full details, you could ask my mother, who had to give me baby enemas since birth. This obviously did not happen overnight.
So, I am ridden with that same old rumbling in the belly - the working parts bitching at the colon, telling him to move his shit. Unfortunately, he's not budging. But they'll keep on fighting. Thanks, shrimp and scallops. You were great.

A shock to the system

I opened my inbox this morning with ease, not expecting anything too jolting. I opened an email from Archiver's, my favorite scrapbooking store, and then clicked onto the next. It was a newsletter-type email that I get from Women's Christianity Today ( Those of you who know me well might think to yourselves, "Hmm. Didn't know she was that into it." Ups and downs in my faith are common. Nonetheless, I try.
The topic of the main article in this email was about suicide. Wow. What an item to wake up to, so to speak. So, I scrolled down to see the teaser; see if I wanted to read on. Certainly, I did. I clicked over to the article in its entirety and read on. Yes, I was aware of the horrors of a family member's suicide. Oh how I remember the pain well. Though I was just in the fifth grade, I can remember it like yesterday when my grandpa took his own life.
According to the article, "In the United States alone, a person commits suicide every 17 minutes, making suicide the eleventh leading cause of death." This is quite alarming, actually. Death is inevitable, true. But taking one's own life is not something that I think of as a "normal" death. It didn't have to happen right at that very moment. What is the real kicker is that the person who is hurting at the time gets over his hurt, but leaves friends and family to endure prolonged hurt with no answers for comfort. I have written a beginning of a memoir, so to speak, about my grandfather's suicide. I was his first grandchild, and he adored me. Given my mother and I lived with them for the first two and a half years of my life, he was my male figure in my life during a very influential time. I miss him so much and feel so much agony over him missing the so-very-important things in my life: my wedding(s), my children, my college graduation, and so on.
The article I read today drudged up ugly feelings. It was a slap in the face; a wake-up call for the buried emotions I successfully pushed down for months now. The last time I felt all of these was when I visited his gravesite in early spring. That is when I knelt down and sobbed at his headstone. Right now, I feel I could do it all over again in the middle of my den. It is gut-wrenching pain.
I am including here a list of warning signs so that those of you who DO read this blog will have them for reference. I want no one to have to go through the suicide of a loved one, but from the statistics, I know others will. Pay attention! Save someone!

Suicide Prevention: If you think someone you know is suicidal, consider these tips from the Suicide Information & Education Centre (

WARNING SIGNS:• threatens suicide• talks about wanting to die• shows changes in behavior, appearance, or mood• abuses drugs and/or alcohol• deliberately injures himself• appears depressed, sad, withdrawn

WHAT TO DO:• let the person talk about his/her feelings• be accepting; don't judge• ask if the person is having suicidal thoughts• take all suicide threats seriously• do not swear secrecy—tell someone• contact a counselor, pastor, or one of the organizations involved in prevention

*I love you, Grandpa. I miss you terribly.*

Friday, July 28, 2006

Tiny bubbles to boot.

Folks, you heard it here first: I have to give props to the One Above for answering my worry list prayers. Let me explain. Last evening as I was preparing to take a shower downstairs (whirlpool tub/shower area), the Husband said, "Hey, did you get the jets to work?" I explained that, no, I hadn't tried them again since the fateful night I learned they were faulty. He told me to let him take a look at them. So, he did. Miraculously, as he pushed the button, they turned on like they had never been out of whack. Yes, you heard me. Worry list item #1 able to be taken off the list at that very moment! So, I filled the tub and put in some aromatherapy salts and BANG!-had myself an orgasmic, large-bubbled, relaxing bath at a temperature not suited for children. It was great. I mean, how much better can you get when an item can be crossed off the worry list AND be rewarded at the same time? Priceless.

I found it funny that the Husband said last night:
"Did we sign papers on her or something? Damn."
He said this about an overnight guest who was staying at our estate last evening. It was the same friend that Mak has had over multiple times in the last two weeks. Seriously, there has been ONE night this week they have not been at each other's houses. ONE. And I am babysitting her and her little brother today, again. He cracks me up. He brought a Ziploc baggie of doughnut holes this morning and has yet to eat one, but has to carry them around everywhere he goes. It's quite cute. Lord knows if I had that Ziploc, filled with any food, I'd have gobbled it up in two seconds flat.

I need to have a garage (carport) sale. I have so many clothing items that I could open up my own Goodwill Store. And movies, and books. Don't get me wrong, I am NOT selling any of MY books. Can't do it. That librarian in me won't allow it. Gotta keep them, even if I am not anal enough to catalog them, I still want them around. Plus, they look great on the built in shelves in the living room. Decorating made easy. Can't beat that. Sure, a little pricey at about $25.00 a book, but it'll do. I am thinking of selling my couch and "big chair" that goes with it. How much should I put on it? It is a good brand name, but there are a few kid stains. Nothing that a slipcover couldn't handle. I just don't find it comfortable. I don't like it.

I am terrible for beginning a book from the library like I said I wasn't going to do, instead of starting the book I just purchased from Borders. I began reading Digging to America by Anne Tyler last night. I just couldn't resist. It was IN at the library, after all. It is good so far, about 80 pages in. Names are weird, though. It is odd that when I find names in a book difficult to decipher their pronunciation, it drives me wild. That is one reason I haven't read any Harry Potter books. I started the first one and by the time I was done trying to pronounce the names in my head correctly, I was exhausted and uninterested. I had to stumble over the names each time I encountered them. I hated it. Call me OCD, go ahead. It is a hang-up of mine. I do not like to break my rhythm of reading because of a name. I'm managing on this novel, though. I'll make it through. It deals with issues on Mothers-in-law. I like that a lot, considering I have issues on that, too. (This would require thousands of posts to explain. Perhaps one day I can discuss an anecdote on here that would give readers a glimpse of what I mean.)

Gotta sign off here. Little tyke needs me. Maybe more later.
"Peace, love, and chicken grease!" -Grunk

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Is that so wrong?

This weekend will be the Husband and my's off weekend. What that means for all of you normal nuclear families is that our children will be gone to their respective parents' houses and we will be alone. That may sound horrible to some of you, but to me, it is much needed "me" time. AND, after twelve weeks of waiting because of an interview resulting in a canceled hair appointment, I am getting my hair done Saturday. Without children waiting in the waiting area for two hours unnerving me. I will be there relaxing in the "hair chair" and reading a book, chatting with Jane about life. (See previous post about Jane) And then, my friends, the Husband and I will go out for a nice, delectable dinner at this place. Yummy! They are in various locations, so check out one near you. The drinks are excellent, the staff is great, and the food is to die for. Is it so wrong that I LOVE FOOD? I think not. It tells a lot about a person if they are totally excited about going out for dinner and having many enticing entrees to choose from.

In other news...
Watched a movie yesterday that was pretty good. It is called Rumor Has It. I just love to watch movies with Kevin Costner in them. He can be so charming. And the dress that Jennifer Aniston wears to a ball in this movie is beautiful. If I had that body, I'd wear it to the post office, grocery store, PTO meetings, anywhere! But I don't, nor do I have that dress, so I'll stick to my athletic shorts and T-shirts, I guess.
Might I add, while on the subject of television, movies, entertainment - on the Young and the Restless today, Phyllis and Nick were hot and heavy. They better stay together! I'll strangle those writers if they don't. Nick is hot. Period.

I've given up on the job at the middle school where I interviewed. I'll be pleasantly surprised if they ever call that way.

I seem to be in a mood for quotations/poems/and such, so I will leave with one for today. I perhaps could post again later. That also seems to be a trend. Tomorrow is FRIDAY!

"The food of thy soul is light and space; feed it then on light and space. But the food of thy body is champagne and oysters; and so shall it merit a joyful resurrection, if there is any to be."
-Herman Melville (author of Moby Dick)

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

What did I say?

"You don't write because you want to say something, you write because you've got something to say." - F. Scott Fitzgerald, author of The Great Gatsby

Can I even call this writing? I guess I can. I'd like to think that's what I am deep down, a writer. Sure, I've published a couple of devotionals, but that isn't making me a Barnes & Noble favorite author. So when I do write, this blog for example, what it is that I have to say? There is another quotation that I like about what someone writes being a riddle for readers to decipher what is being said between the lines. What is written between my lines? Especially over the last couple of days?

After a long talk with the Husband today, I have been turning the wheels inside my head at such an RPM it is nauseating. I've got to quit reacting to things the way I do. It just isn't healthy. I need to do some self-talk when I feel myself getting overwhelmed, angry, anxious. I would like to take up Yoga or something. Perhaps that might help. But when will I have the time and money?

I've got to do something. I think I need direction right now. Jobs aren't working out, the kids act like they hate me, I am being mean to everyone, I lack motivation for the small stuff like doing the dishes, and I need to get rid of this knot in my stomach. So, it is up to me. Maybe my "self" will be able to read what is written here at some point later and read between the lines - get the big picture. Writers often have clarity when they approach what they have already written at some later date. I hope that happens for me.


See this woman here in the picture, smiling? Well that won't be me anytime soon. (The picture is ME, but some time ago, in a good place.) After having a successful camp out with Clovis until 6:30 am this morning, I encountered the Husband as he was going off to work. Clovis and I came in the door as he was getting ready to go out of it. I holler to him...

Me: Hey, last night Clovis tried to take a whirlpool bath and when she hit the button for the jets, it didn't work.
Husband: Yeah. It's unplugged again.
Me: No, it isn't; I checked. It like power surged when I tried to turn them on.
H: Power surged? It power surged?
Me: Yes, it did.
H: Well, Clovis, you broke it.
Me: No, she didn't. (I'm starting to get annoyed at this point. The severity of the issue is definitely not getting across to Husband.)
H: Well, I don't know what you want me to do about it?
Me: (Thoughts in head= okay, I guess we'll just have a whirlpool tub that doesn't create bubbles as it is intended to do. ) Pauses.
H: Oh well.

Now, given this conversation, my worry list has reprioritized. *Disclaimer: the above conversation may not be verbatim - it was early and I had slept outstide in dew-filled tent.* I know the Husband doesn't MEAN oh well. The tub was expensive and needs to run properly - he knows this. But the comment sent my brain into overload. When will it be fixed? Who will fix it? What will it cost - it cost so much already? I can't just sit around with it not working!
So, I couldn't go back to sleep with all of this nonsense. I am now awake, with one child in the house asleep, and cannot go back to sleep. It's like I need to look up the phone number of every available plumber in the area. No, I won't, because I am still holding out on the hopes that Husband will look at it soon. He knows about these things; I don't!

more later when I am perhaps more clear-headed...

Tuesday, July 25, 2006


I set up this tent with the help of the kids and we were planning on camping out in the yard last evening. Things didn't work out, so tonight we were planning on the same scenario. Now, it seems, Clovis (youngest) and I are about to venture fifteen feet outstide the door and camp, just the two of us. The two older girls went over to a friend's house at a last moment's notice. No big deal. We'll camp out there with just two instead of four. We did make a bonfire of sorts this evening, all of us. We have this fire pit thing I bought husband last August for his Bday. I started a fire in it two nights ago and enjoyed it so much that I thought we'd do it again. Except this time, we had s'mores. It was funny because today at WalMart while getting groceries, I knew there were graham crackers up in the cabinet at home, so I didn't buy any. When it came time to make the s'mores tonight, we were taking our first bites, and the darn things were stale as all get out. Chewy graham crackers. A girl that was over here trying to have Mak (computer savvy, remember) save her iPod, had the s'mores treats with us. She was laughing because she came inside and checked the date on the graham cracker box and it was Dec. 16, 2005! I am a horrible mother, aren't I? Feeding my poor children stale, outdated food. What has my parenting come to? Oh well, every one of the kids ate the tasty treats just fine. They had seconds, even.
Right now Clovis is in the ginormous whirlpool tub. She loves to take those kinds of baths. However, as I am trying to type here, the power surges and the lights dim while she tries to start the jets. I immediately jump up, running to the rescue. Nope, they won't work. Now just one more thing to add to my list of things to worry about. Husband won't be home tomorrow evening, so that means said tub will not be looked at until Thurs. That is wayyyy tooo loooonnnnggg to wait to cross that off the worry list. Well, back to square one. Anxious again.
In other news...Mak got her hair highlighted today. She actually looks girly! Can't believe it. She does look cute, really. She is officially "middle schoolish" now. And can anyone guess how much Husband had to pay up? $60.00 You heard me right. Way too much. Now we can't eat for a couple of days. Just kiddin'.
Have left a voice mail and an email to principal of middle school I interviewed at last week. Have heard NOTHING. How disrespectful can people get? I swear, I could just rant and rave for pages on the bureaucracy of the education system these days. Unbelievable.
School starts in about two weeks here. That is unreal, too. I can add that to worry list as well - homework, bedtimes, shower order (who goes first, second, next to last, last = huge arguments at my house over this one), and more. I, for one, am not really ready. Anyone else in the same boat?
The worry list is growing exponentially as I sit. School supplies, school clothes, sports physicals, yadda yadda yadda. Gosh. Can't I hire someone to do some of these things for me? Where is good help when you need it?

CONFESSION: I love the Young and the Restless. I have wanted to be on that soap opera since grade school. I'm not on it, but I can live vicariously through the characters that I know I could portray. For instance, next week I could be one of those fill-ins for a character and the voiceover could say at the time I walk on screen: "Today, the character of Phyllis Abbott will be portrayed by Nina (last name)." I would be in seventh heaven. Can't really do that from a den chair in the Midwest, now can ya? Shoot. Dream deferred.

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore-
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat
Or crust and sugar over-
Like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
Like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?
-Langston Hughes

Monday, July 24, 2006


I lied - I want to whine about my sidebar info - how in the name of Peter do I get it to come back up to the top? Does any God-forgiven soul out there know? Please help me before I internally combust!

TROUBLE IN PARADISE -Life of a Teenage Girl & Mom

Well, now I feel as bad as my pre-teen, I feel like throwing a fit because blogger isn't working correctly today. But, I won't, because I know how horrible it makes everyone else feel. I digress.
Today, I made her cry. Sure did. Being a horrible mother again. Mak, pre-teen, spent the night at a friend's. I went to pick her and the friend up to take all the children (sans Pak) swimming at Uncle David's pond. Usually they want to go. Today, it seemed like pulling teeth. I mean, if my own mother would have offered to take me or me and a friend to do things of the sort that I do with the kids, I would have been an ecstatic young lady at age 12. But, no. So I get there to pick them up, Clove and Cam in tow, and they want to show me the pics they downloaded from the camera that Mak took over there last night. When she was walking out with it, I naturally said, "That is Nana's camera. You shouldn't be taking..." as she cut me off with "I know. I'm not taking YOUR camera!" My ill advice was waysided with the roll of the eyes, the huffing and puffing of the breath. So, she took it. They took funny pictures, downloaded them successfully (quite computer savvy at such a young age - that's a positive), and showed me. However, then when it was time to load up and go, alas, Mak has 'misplaced' the case. I was hot. Flames shooting from my ears after fifteen minutes of searching the friend's house, I was irate. Sure, a case, no big deal. Not deathly cancer or cutting off a finger or anything. But still. After the intelligent warning I tried to give the previous evening about taking the damn thing, and the nonchalant response - I was fuming. So, she storms out to the SUV, won't speak, is crying uncontrollably, giving me the "I HATE YOU" vibe and eyes, showing her inner most beautiful self to friend and said friend's mom, etc. I was really angry then. Like it was MY fault it was lost. So, she'll have to work somehow at Nana's or home to earn the money to replace it. She tells me now that "she knows" this. Like I'm some kinda idiot. She refused to put on her swimsuit or get in the pond after this for about twenty minutes. While everyone else swam, she sat in the smoltering vehicle, waiting for someone to appease her. I told her to get her damn swimsuit on and get out there. She finally did. Man was her face ever so constrained into a hideous mess, though. Tough love is terrible. I AM the world's worst Mom today. Just ask her. I mean, taking her swimming? With a friend? What a horrible thing to do. I must be Mommy Dearest. Next thing you know, I'll be beating her with a coathanger.
Does this help my current condition of witchiness? I think not. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and I'll be in Kansas. With Dorothy. Or Glenda the Good Witch. Then again, I could have my legs smashed under my own house, with my sock feet wilting beneath the rubbish. We'll have to see.

Sunday, July 23, 2006


Folks, I'm in a funk. You heard me right. I am a downright witch right now. I can't really put my finger on what caused it, why it doesn't cease, or just how to get out of it. One minute I feel like crying uncontrollably, the next minute I feel like just zoning out and sleeping for two hours. As I tried to take a nap earlier, I just couldn't get comfortable or lie still. I am anxious. Restless. Could it be over these jobs (or lack thereof)? Late summer blues, not looking forward to school routines? What is it? Hormones? Jeez. So many choices for blame, I can't pick just one.
I really feel like doing only one thing: sitting in or near water, soaking up sun rays. Now, I do have a bit of hesitation about it. See, I have these spots, shall we call them...a few on the back of my right hand and one rather bigger one on my right thigh. These spots, so to speak, scare me a bit. I mentioned them in passsing to the husband, but he didn't think they were worrisome. My mother, on the other hand, said, "Uh, yeah. I think you better go get that one checked out!" (about the thigh one). So, while I love the sun, I am afraid it is going to turn on me and be devilish, harmful to my health. But, alas, I fret not enough to stay away from the beloved sun. I just can't. And, I'll continue to put off going to the dermatologist until someone other than my mother deems it necessary.

Clovis and Mak got their haircut on Friday. Now, as promised, Mak can get her highlights (Wed.). The husband promised. So, pay up. She went through with it and it is time for payment. Her hair looks cute. And Clovis' hair is adorable! She got it bobbed off, but "stacked" in the back, as the hairstylist called it.
Hold the phones because Mommy is due for her hair appointment. Saturday can't come soon enough. My hair is showing roots so badly that I must wear a hat out of shame. And at the party last night, I was forced to actually fix my hair and not hide it under a ballcap. It was brutal. I could feel my roots saying hello to everyone I talked to. Painful shame. As of Saturday, though, all will be good. Jane will fix me up like a glamour queen. She is awesome. She's pricey, but worth it. And I love to hear her stories (she is a lesbian whose life partner also works in the same shop)about her life and her nephews and nieces that keep her on her toes. I'm sure I'll have something good to tell on the blog come Saturday.

Well, I must sign off because I am restless and feel like my brain is about to explode. I feel I am rambling, not really making sense. Not typing anything worth reading. Until tomorrow...A Bientot! as Monsieur Tanner would say in French class.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Maude's Annual Summer Slam '06

Tomorrow the husband and I will be attending the annual party given by "Maude". No, that is not her real name, just a nickname. However, everyone that knows her, calls her this. The funny thing about it is, she isn't even thirty yet, and the name sounds so archaic. Anyway, we are fortunate enough to attend tomorrow thanks to Nana (my mom) and her offer for babysitting. The kids are going to spend the night at her house. Fun, a sleepover at Nana's! All the junk food you can eat! The kids are stoked.
There are, of course, a few things that I (I say "I" because wives out there know there are things that only wives do to get ready for things like this) must do in order for things to go smoothly. First, I did the natural thing - I called Maude and asked her what everyone else was bringing as their covered dish so that I would not duplicate. I got the response of: we are having brats, hot dogs, sloppy joes; Witkempers are bringing buns; K.O. is bringing mac&cheese and beer bread; and Thomsons are bringing deviled eggs. Now, a helluva lot more people are going to be there than that, but...these are the committed people who have given their kind hand at R.S.V.Ping so that the food deal is covered. Back to the story...I asked Maude if she would rather me make some sort of dessert type thing so that is taken care of or what. She preferred I make another side dish. So, I chose baked beans. What goes better with the summer BBQ than that side dish? One issue - I've never made them. I am a good cook, though, so I thought it would be no problem. Wrong. The problem is, I want them to be thick, verrrry thick. So, as any twenty-first century cook would do, I researched recipes on the net. Not much help there in the way of "thick" baked beans. So, I'm just gonna wing it and take a chance. They better be thick, that's all I'm sayin. Maude, in addition, assured me that whatever I decided to make, it would be safe in the house, away from the bugs. "I don't do bugs in my food. That's just nasty. If anyone wants food, they'll have to come in the house for it. Bugs on my food - gross!" I'm with her there.
One other item on the "to-do" list: we have no tent. My mom and dad had one that we used on a previous attempt at camping, but mom informed me that we 'ruined' it by not letting it dry before folding it up. I don't believe her. It dried. I can't help the mold in it - it wasn't my fault. I must blame it on my younger brother somehow. Sure, he did it, not me. Anyway, now we have no tent to borrow. See, there will be all sorts of fun activities (cornhole, hillbilly golf, volleyball, four-wheeling) lasting until the wee morning, so we must stay all night at Maude's. Everyone's doing it! haha - high school talk...Off to Target tomorrow morning to get sleeping arrangements purchased. It must be done, folks. Plus, when we attempt our second camp outing, we'll have our own tent then. See, it all works out for the best. Ah, yes, and while at Target, I must make sure I purchase that Deet-filled bug spray because as sweet as I am, those bugs will nibble me all night long!

Thursday, July 20, 2006

The hooligans I speak of - babysitting club

Demi and Thatcher
No, not Demi Moore. Different. Seriously, I evidently can't handle two year olds any more - I took a two hour nap after Thatcher left. Man, I was worn out.


I'm back...yes, back from the wisking away my husband took us on. The kids, the husband, and myself went to Toledo,Ohio. What's in Toledo, you ask. Nothing, really. The night we arrived, we went to a Holiday Inn Express and it was in the ghetto. Stayed because it was very late (almost morning, in fact), and quickly booked a different room for the next night. In the second hotel, there were three pools instead of one. Much better. And it was within one mile of a SuperTarget - that means it was NOT in the ghetto. See, you can tell a lot about a hotel by the little things. For instance, in the first said hotel, there was a small whirlpool next to the swimmable pool. When I turned the timer on for the massive bubbles, nothing happened for the first ten minutes. It was simply hot water. No fun. So I turned it past thirty minutes again, and then a trickle of "fart bubbles" so to speak, came out. Crappy hot pool, as Clovis might say. The second hotel had a whirlpool with massive waves of bubbles and hot steam. Much better.
The drive was not fun, but then again, I refuse to drive on trips unless absolutely necessary, so I just sat and tried to hold my eyes open. I survived. As did the children. Thank God for in-car DVD players. Thank you GMC. Thank you Envoy. Couldn't make it without you.

In other news...
As I sit here and type, I have a little man on my lap. No, I did not give birth again. I am babysitting my friend's son and daughter (she's older - 13). He is two. Wow! Glad I decided not to have anymore. He's great, don't get me wrong, but butt-wiping is not. Trying to make it to the potty is difficult sometimes - those poop pains just creep up on a little guy. He's doing great with the potty training, though. Much better than Clovis ever did. She refused for what seemed like forever. Many moons ago, but still so fresh in the memories. . .
His little hands are grabbing at the keyboard, the paper for the printer, the phone, the water bottle, the pens, and on and on. My house nor office is babyproof any more. I cram things on higher shelves as he tries to get them. What can I say? I take each crisis as it comes.

We are going to the fair tonight to eat that fish I spoke of. The outing was postponed due to the business trip. I hear tell of the fair rides being one ticket per ride today. I'm sure the kids will hit us up for those.
Wait! I forgot to tell you I spoke with my department head from my previous employer. Man, I miss her. She was the greatest. It was nice that she gave me such compliments about me and my abilities with words. Thanks, Marliyn. I also informed her of my purchase at Borders - Between, Georgia. I was given the gift card as a "goodbye" present from the department. I sure will miss them all. I'll miss B.Couden, too. Keep those cheerleaders spirited, girl! Hopefully I will move on to another teaching position this coming year. I have yet to hear the interview results. I hope to today or tomorrow. Keep your fingers crossed!

Monday, July 17, 2006

...the continuance...

Whoa, am I surprised. My husband is going on a business trip at the last moment and we are going with him. Off we go. . . only for two days, but leaving the sweltering heat. Indoor pool here we come. Reading the novel, here I come. Bliss. No dishes or laundry. Love it. Return soon, me.

Just a Tidbit

Just a small tidbit this morning as I am headed off to an interview (Please, God, make them be desperate - hire me on the spot), then off to the dentist for a cleaning and the kids' cavities filled. Clovis won't lay off the candy, so she has 2, and Cam has one. A day of fun, indeed.
So, as I venture out into the sweltering heat, I wanted to tell everyone what I am currently enjoying on the front porch when it isn't 100 degrees: a novel called Firefly Cloak. I am only about half way through it, but the reading is smooth and pleasurable. I like the premise of the mother leaving her two offspring in a tent, trying to kill all the mosquitoes before she abandons them. She even "cares" enough to write her mother's phone number on her son's back so that anyone who finds the kids can call. When the son passes away, his sister goes on a hunt to find the mother. It truly is intoxicating to read. Especially if one has abandonment issues, so to speak.
The other book that I have purchased and is on deck is Joshilyn Jackson's Between, Georgia. I can't wait to delve into that one! The novel I am reading now, though, is from the local library, so it is on a strict time schedule to be returned. Purchased books can wait two weeks, though it won't take me near that long to finish it.
And leaving you with this: my husband wants to go to the fair tonight. (to eat fish that a local fire department fries, I'm told) See previous post, folks. I'm breaking all the rules. If I don't want to cook tonight, and Lord knows I don't, I'll break down and enter the gates of The Fair.

To be continued. . .

Saturday, July 15, 2006

Take me to the County Fair - NOT!

With the county fairs upon us in those states participating, I give an ode to the idea. Here are several things I loathe about the county fair. Now, for those of you in 4-H or who participate, accept my apologies. I am merely going on previous experiences, pessimistic attitudes, and rural ideology. Please, no hatin'.

Things I Loathe about "The Fair":

*My local county fair is a place for teenagers to show their cleavage, wear the shortest shorts available, and let their butt cheeks hang out for all the males to see.
*The fair is the one place a person can go and pass out from heat exhaustion in front of all the nice people.
*Carnies: (again, no hatin' on me for the comments) Those people who refuse to brush their teeth(gums) or hair, could grow potatoes under their fingernail dirt, and seem to be pedophiles because they flash their toothless grins at any female who is breathing, no matter what age. And where do they sleep? Those pop-up campers are from 1950 that arrive with the machinery! And cramming fifty carnies in one when it isn't known if any of them bathe? Wow.
*It's a brewery for trouble. Every bad-ass girl from school wants to beat up any "prep" who performs at the cheerleading event in the grandstands.
*It is a place that teens want to go just so they can see who is walking around holding hands with whom. Then, they can gossip about it up until the time school starts.
*It reeks of animal feces.
*It is a well-known fact that SOME of the 4-H'ers who spend the night in the barns with their animals sneak out to other barns to fornicate with the opposite sex. True! I've heard tales.
*The bathrooms are disgusting.
*Nothing is cheap, except for the atmosphere.
*All the kids who aren't in 4-H at school hate the ones who get Grand Champion on something because they usually get to miss a few days of school for free to attend the State Fair.
*The Fair Queen competitions is always rigged.

Needless to say, I will not be attending the local county fair. Those of you who choose to, good luck. Watch out EVERYWHERE for piles of dung. You never know where they'll be.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

B4B (Blogging for books) Entry on "Between"

The following is my entry for Joshilyn Jackson's contest for signed books, etc. The topic - between.

Just between you and me

Just between you and me, this thing called motherhood is crazy. One day I went to sleep as an independent, carefree, driven woman at the young age of nineteen and then woke up the next day a different person. I was pregnant. No, I wasn’t single or unattached. I was married, so it was all legit. No one, and I mean no one, could have told me that I was too young. I wouldn’t have listened. Now, of course, being older, I can look back and see how between I was then - I wasn’t really a woman in the depths of my soul, I was a person trying to find my way through that odd place that holds things for adults unattainable for a nineteen year old. I was between the systems.
Married, nineteen, pregnant, still taking college classes, and in my first duplex with my new husband. I should have been able to see the place I had myself in - doing everything all at once. We adults know how that works, right? Yep, it doesn’t work. That, my friend, is the issue. So what do you think I did? I was forced to choose between the myriad of things I had going on at the time. Did I already mention I was devastatingly nauseated? Crackers by the bedside, didn’t work. Lying still and waiting a few moments before rising out of bed, didn’t work. Small, bland meals throughout the day, didn’t work. I was miserable. Ah, yes, forced to choose between the items I was juggling...I choose motherhood. Plain and simple. I put college on the back burner, got a full time job, and tried to become the perfect "woman" that the textbooks said I should have been.
Thirteen years later, two children more, finally a college graduate, remarried after a divorce, and more so of a woman today, I am no longer between anything. I am a mother. Crazy? Sure. Would I know anything different other than being a mother? No. That would be crazy.

In other news...
The girls are on their way home from vacation with Nana and Papaw(my mom and dad). They have been having great fun. Nana loves to spend money on them. One whole day was devoted to shopping. Did she and I ever do that? I don't recall. Anyway, they are bringing home my "grandbears" that have been adopted and the push up bra mentioned above. Last night when I talked to them they asked, "Yeah, why didn't you pack us a brush?" I did. And Cam said, "You only packed ME one pair of underwear!" Now, seriously, what mother in their right(or wrong) mind would only pack a child ONE pair of underwear for the week. She is losing it early, folks. I packed enough for the number of days she would be gone, plus a couple more. Any mother knows that a kid may a) fall into a puddle; b) not make it to the bathroom on time; or c) just plain sweat their a** off and need a new pair beyond the one pair per day allowance. It just happens sometimes!
So, they are heading back, loads of goodies in tow, and cranky as all get out for the vacation to end. My oldest, Mak, is already back on the best friend wagon: "Oh, man, I really wanted to stay all night at Rylie's house one night as soon as I got back...You're not gonna let me, are ya?" Nope. I'm gonna torture her with serious Mommy Time instead - the most horrible thing a mother could do to a pre-teen - spend time with them.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Blast from the Past

Last night, in a bout of insomnia, I watched the David Letterman show. We usually tape it and then watch it the next evening, but since I was wide awake, I thought I'd watch it real-time. Boy, am I glad I did. The first guest was none other than one of my all-time favorites, PeeWee Herman! (Paul Reubens, real name) If you want to view a bit of nostalgia, click on the following: PeeWee's Playhouse. I can remember watching this show and falling in love with Chairy. Remember? The mint green chair that talked. Loved her. Back in the day I could entertain my family for hours with the bits from the show. Last night on Letterman, they showed a clip from the original PeeWee show involving PeeWee's big underwear. Classic! PeeWee was swinging in them, made a turban out of them, and let them flow behind him saying, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel...let down your hair." I was dying.

In other news...I called my girls last night to see how they are doing on vacation with Nana and Papaw. Clovis, the youngest, (not her real name - story on that another time for those of you who don't already know) got on the phone first, naturally. She can't function if she isn't up my crack. She said to me, "Mommy, you're a grandma!" I thought it would be many years before I would hear those words, yet my 8 year old is telling me my worst fear. Grandma at such a young age... She and my oldest daughter "adopted" Boyd's Bears in Tennessee. My mom said it was so cute. The place they did this takes their pictures with their adopted bears in front of a stork and everything. The girls had to fill out paperwork so that they will get their bears' birth certificates in the mail at home. Kids love mail! (Parents hate it because it is nothing but bills. )
So, I am a grandma. Thank goodness I don't look like one yet. I'm surely not ready for that.
Oldest daughter, Mak, told me this: "Mom, Nana bought Cam (middle daughter - age 11) a 'push-up' bra. It makes her KNOCKERS look like five times bigger than what they are!"
My reaction: "Mak! Why do you call them that?!"
Mak: "Well, that's what Dad calls them"...laughing hysterically
Now, I must explain that by "Dad", she means her real father, not her stepfather. See why we divorced? Thought so. Saying KNOCKERS in front of three girls who are impressionable, pre-teen beings. Knockers. Unreal. If she calls Cam's boobs "knockers", I'd hate to see what she calls mine!
(*Picture is of Pak, Mak - blue shirt, and Cam - white shirt)

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Cartwheels At Midnight: The Traveling Journal - Departure Tomorrow AM

Cartwheels At Midnight: The Traveling Journal - Departure Tomorrow AM

I am a part of this traveling journal for bloggers. The blog it links you to is pretty entertaining, to boot!

Go easy on me, I'm a virgin

Today is my first blog post. Sure, it's true. I have been avoiding it like the plague, but no longer can I do it. So, advisors, sorry. Couldn't put it off any longer. I'll try to be discreet, but there are no guarantees.
Yesterday I submitted an essay to B4B courtesy of Joshilyn Jackson's contest online for bloggers. Bloggers can win signed copies of her new novel, Between, Georgia. My post is actually hosted by Edgy Mama - go check it out. Since I didn't already have my own blog I had her host it for me (rules of the game). If I am indeed the winner, I'll let you know. While I'm on the subject, however, I must tell you to read Jackson's first novel, Gods in Alabama. I'm telling you, you won't be able to put it down. I read it in two days. Her voice is like a friend of mine from high school. It's unforgettable.
Lastly, welcome to my blog. View my profile and learn more about me. Most of all, enjoy. And go easy on me, I am a blogger virgin...