It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like...

... The bleak tundra of Alaska's North Pole! Seriously.... but without the snow, so a tundra-less tundra. Only just as cold. Which makes no sense now that I am typing that, but that's pretty much where I am at!!

It's been a wild and crazy month: moved into new house, cleaned old house, unpacked new house (with some help from friends and family - special thanks to the Diet Coke deliveries and Papa John's), had garage sale with Sister Lunch Lady (now that was fun, though she needs to be renamed Sister Molasses!!!), took both female Masses to a pageant (that is entirely another blog), ran #1 to various dance events, thankfully entertained Sister M'Bellish and her beautiful family for Turkey day, and kept up all the rest... including dog training and getting children to school and feeding them and washing their dirty nasty clothes... which makes me think of the new exciting dirty nasty things which we have discovered in this past month...

SO, we should start there: the dirty nasty things category. Yeah, you THINK you've smelled some really gross things, and you probably have, especially if you have a child on the verge of 'tweening'. And you will identify with me when I tell you there are few things as pungent as the stinky feet of a said 'child on the cusp'. One night after #1 finished with dance (one frozen night), I picked her up and engaged in the usual niceties of 'how was dance?' 'did you have fun?' 'what did you learn?' Which was suddenly and rudely interrupted with:

OMG!!!!!! WHAT IS THAT SMELL?????? GOOD HEAVENS???? DID SOMETHING DIE BACK THERE??? DID YOU FART???? WHAT DID YOU EAT????

THAT'S YOUR FEET??????????????????????

She had removed her shoes after 3 hours of intense dance, in the car, which was enclosed, and the heat was on high, as it was 2 degrees outside (therefore rolling down the windows was on the 'cons' list.) This had to be addressed!!!

We stopped immediately at the store and picked up some foot powder, foot spray, foot pads, foot wipes, foot perfume, foot mist, foot deodorizer. IT WAS ONE OF THE WORST THINGS I HAVE EVER SMELLED!!!!!!! Note: with four children and various pets, I have smelled a lot. THerefore, please believe me when I tell you this was abnormally BBAAAAADDDDDD!!!!!

We wiped and washed and sprayed and deodorized and fluffed and buffed and perfumed and talcum-ed, and frankly, it only works for a while. The Stank returns. Like a bad boyfriend, or ginormous zit. It's there... lurking beneath the leather of her dance shoes... just waiting to rear it's evil head!!!

And we both know it. And I'm ready... OK, not really, but what choice do I have??? And it could be worse.

And it has been.

Thanks to Fat Annie the Very Bad Dog.

And her great adventure with all things dead and rancid; it would be titled: Ways to Kill Yourself Through Nature - Your Dog's Intestinal Tract on Dead Festering Wild Game Dinner.

But that's gonna have to wait til next time - gotta go make a cute gingerbread house with my Southern Living kids (this oughta be REAL messy!!!!)!

Deep Thoughts

Yes, it has been a while. And yes, I have been thinking blog-worthy thoughts; but, frankly, I have had little time, and little desire to blog after I offended someone. It was a big lesson for me. I never thought that many people cared or would read what I had to say, or rather think, and therefore, I expressed myself - and I tried to be funny, but that obviously flopped like and elephant on trapeze!!!

But I think it was good for me. As a writer, I expect to learn from each mistake. And learn I have. (and for all of you laughing that I fancy myself a writer, I am deeply offended) Anyway, I want to move on; and you want me too, too (grammatically, if that is incorrect keep it to yourself, please.).

So, I wanted to comment on the recent ad I saw at the Miley Cyrus Stripper Show. She had a new campaign going to 'Get Your Good On'. Interesting. Not the first one I've seen; don't forget the "Pass It Forward" campaign. And the many thousands I won't list to help our environment, help the needy, help the elderly, help ourselves. And all of these are GREAT!! Let me just say that upfront, so there is no confusion. I am all for helping, and being responsible, and going green, etc. But what has happened to our society when we have to be told to do good??

I'm not talking about a Good Samaritan event, here. I am talking about the every day little things we do to be polite and respectful to others, and ourselves. The things I watched my Grandaddy do for others without a second thought, because THAT WAS WHAT YOU DID - YOU TOOK CARE OF EACH OTHER. You didn't take advantage of one another, and if you did, well everyone knew; but people still cared to stop and help you fix your tire, because you were a part of their community, even if you were a little dishonest. People believed in each other; they believed that there was good in everyone; that we were all in this together; that you had to answer to a higher power for what you did... and it just might be your mama!!!! (she knew before you got home) People brought food when a baby was born, or when someone died, or when someone got married, or graduated... come on, this is the South, folks, and we are into our food!! But there was a sense of 'us', not 'we'.

I know all about generation X and Y and all that, but I want to tell you something, so listen well: we allow our children to develop a sense of unmitigated entitlement that is neither satisfiable by material goods or personal achievement. We tell them 'it's all about you', and give them whatever they want. We teach them to be unappreciative and blase about who they are inside - and they learn to care more about what they have. And as a Generation X'er, I know. I have watched countless friends that were so blessed growing up struggle as adults with who they are and where they are going now. Focusing on brand names and fancy cars and pricey jeans has taken the place of integrity, honesty, hard-work, and self-worth.

And now we are having to teach our children something different, something that will keep this world turning positively and without hate and war. And we don't know how. I was slightly offended by the campaign, because I believe I am teaching and doing this with my children and in my personal life; but perhaps I shouldn't be; perhaps I need to look at it as a way to reach those who are so desperately seeking some type of instructional manual to maneuver the rest of the way, or at least forward a step or two. Perhaps, I could be doing more too...

Kids say the darnedest things!

Like that wasn't going to be an issue here! Well, this one is about my dear sweet Sister M'Bellish's child, who is a delightfully verbose and precocious 4 years of age. Which means that she says things that make you pee yourself laughing, or hang your head in shame, or simply examine your life wondering if God is using her to teach you something (which He probably is, and that goes for the shame thing too - but man, do I hate it when He uses my kids to teach me!) This story will focus on the former, and therefore I advise you to make a pit stop before you continue reading.

READY?? OK. Sister M'Bellish, like so many of us, is teaching her children the correct anatomical terms for body parts: lips, eyes, hair, knee, feet, toes, vagina, penis... you get the point. Well, it appears that for Child #2, these lessons have not been in vain!

I taught #1 to call her girly stuff her vagina, which in her child-speak came out 'China' - now that oughta make anyone reconsider the phrase "made in China"!!! We have friends that teach their daughters that theirs are 'monkeys', coochies, hoo-hoo's, v-jay-jay's, and other various terms, which no doubt have been passed down through the generations... or more likely made up on the spot at prompting from said child to know what 'this' is!!

So, our dear Sister's child has evolved one step further - it has a personality! Child#2 tells Mom one day that she is having a bad day. Her head hurts, she's tired and her vagina just isn't right today. Hence, the birth of the "Bad Vagina Day"! Who knew the girly goody of a 4 year-old was so sensitive??? Personally, I would have responded in a way to deflect the comment... just make it go away. But not Sister M'Bellish - she is too funny and clever!! she tells her daughter that it truly is a rough day when your vagina isn't quite right!!!!

I'LL PAUSE WHILE YOU LAUGH!!!!

I wish I were so clever - that is some really funny stuff!! But wait there's more!!! So, the other day in the car, dear Sister and her child are rockin' out to the ever-classic, 'Brick House', when Child #2 says that her vagina feels funny. Sister thinks to herself... could she have an irritation, a rash? So she asks Child#2 the pertinent questions to diagnose the problem. Child #2 denies any of those issues. Then, Child says, with index finger pointed up by her face as if to signify the lightbulb flickering on:

"I know what it is... it's movin' to the music!"

SOMEONE CALL AMERICA'S GOT TALENT - I THINK WE HAVE A WINNER!!!!

I would like to recommend that Sister M'Bellish keep her off motorcycles, bicycles, the washing machine, and anything else that might cause it to move to the music for a looooonnnnnnggggg time!!! Otherwise, there might be a lot of explaining to do!!

Oh, and Child #2 also thinks her brother has a 'peanut'....

Heavenly Angels Sang

No matter how you view the start of school, there are those of us that view it as a true gift from the Good Lord Above! Yes, I love the Masses, and yes, I loved the summer with them... the whole summer... with them... together... all day... plus their friends....

So, I am happy to inform you that there are now three of the Masses enjoying the benefits and blessings of a very good public educational system here in our small yet booming Metropolis. And I would like to thank all those who make their public education possible - THANK YOU!!!! I admit, I really tapered off the blogging as summer wore on, as the masses frankly wore me out!!! We had fun, we had seasons in the sun, and now is the time for my favorite season of all - FALL!!!!!

I kicked off the fall with a nice pedi, and some new nails, which I do like ever so much (got 'em today!) And will start volunteering at the kindergarten on Wednesday, and thus begins the school year. Not a bad start. So far, I haven't had to force any to walk to school because they weren't ready, or forgotten to pick any one up... not bad... for now.

So what have you missed??? Well, #1 had a sleep-over with 10 of her 10 year-old friends, and I survived... barely!!!! And I made a quick trip to the Promised Land for a long weekend with the girls in the blessed city of San Antone... and I got to eat a little crow!! Yeah for me... well, except the crow part.

Seems that I have offended someone, and for that I apologize and take complete responsibility. Yes, it is dangerous to speak one's mind - THOUGH I TRY TO DO SO IN A JOKING FUN BELLY-LAUGHING WAY - someone may be listening. So, I apologize. Because I was wrong. And it is the right thing to do. And at least I know that I have that going for me... that and three of the Masses going to school AGAIN tomorrow! Later, ya'll... gotta go floss the 'crow' outta my teeth before I can get my funny on....

My New Regime

There are few New Regimes in the Wilson Household: one has to do with the Masses and their slovenly, childish ways (and since they are children, it is appropriate for me to find ways to train them up to be less swine-like, and more human... like); the other is my workout. I routinely engage a Medieval Torture Specialist (twice weekly) and enjoy 5 to 6 cardio workouts per week. I am motivated. I am motivated to fit into the 'skinny' jeans; motivated by swimsuit season; motivated by seeing my glaring white flesh naked in the mirror... and yes, it is STILL white.

The Hub... not so much. So I found a great circuit training series that is very cardio in its approach - the best of all worlds in under an hour! He'll love it. He will be motivated to do it! He will grow old with me and not die early leaving me to put the faucet covers on outside or fend off endangered woodpeckers by myself!!

And he does love it!!

And he is doing it!!

One catch... I am there with him.

Squat after squat, fly after fly, push-up to push-up, I am there... sweating and silently cursing the peppy bimbo (though I am really certain she is a delightful person, for the sake of my sanity I prefer to pretend she is a Food Nazi who works out 14 hours a day and is genetically a mutant; this makes me happy... so work with it) who's directing each excrutiating move and exercise!! And because I am a creature of habit (translate: a little OCD), I continue along with my REGULAR EXERCISE PROGRAM IN ADDITION TO 'GI JANE"S BURN YOUR BUTT OFF MAKE A BIG GIRL CRY' workout!!!!!

In short... even my eyelashes hurt!!! Now, the Hub's been manning up and saying yeah, I'm sore, but not terribly so... like YOU (raising eyebrows at me). And if he'd said it without raising his eyebrows I might refrain from telling you this (might is a big 'maybe'): I heard him cry like a little girl trying to sit on the toilet the other day!!!!

OK, that was a little bit of an exaggeration. But It Was Funny!!!!!!

Amazingly, all this pain has me thinking: what if I get all buff and beautiful (hey, that could be a soap opera title...), and then 30 or 40 years from now, when I am old and wrinkly and sagging, I hear someone say "she was once a real looker, but now..." What good was all the torture??? Face it: it's going downhill, folks... I'm just trying to slow the ball down, know what I mean???

So, I have come up with a whole New Regime for thinking: (drum roll) I'm gonna try to maintain what I have so that 30 to 40 years from now people say, ''Why, you haven't changed a bit!!!!" Just think!!!! I could be the gal who is JUST THE SAME as she was when she was... well, younger!!!! No, she's really porked out since then, or her muscle tone is shot, or her jowls hag low... No sireee!!!! Not me!!!! I could wear the jeans then that I wear now... if they are fashionable, of course!!

This has revolutionized my life!!! I am free!!!!

Except the Hub is expecting to workout today...

Summertime

The song from Porgy and Bess says the livin' is easy. Well, that's a BIG FAT LIE!!! I am totally exhausted!!! It's been soccer camp, and dance recital, and tennis, and art classes, and swimming, and laking...  What happened to sleeping in? Taking it easy? Lazy days of summer?? I'd like to speak to the management!!

Oh, wait, I AM the management.

This isn't looking good...

It started last summer, with letting the Masses try some new things, which is great and it is a good time with no school work and all, to try new things. And it sure kept them busy and out of my hair, which was never brushed because I was too busy flying out of bed and out the door. And they had a great time, and really, so did I. Fast forward to 2009. And we are on the same schedule, or at least a similar one. But I started the summer worn out, because all the neat activities from LAST summer somehow became year-round activities, and therefore continued through last fall, winter, and this spring.... which means I haven't had a break. Hence, I feel like I've been hit with a Mack truck, carried on the grill for about 25 miles, and endured the desert heat, polar snows, and hurricane winds and rain,... all while being pelted by giant horned winged angry slow-to-die bugs from some science fiction novel with large stingers. And my hair still isn't brushed. And yes, I do own mirrors and know what I look like. I am too tired to care.

So, today may be the ONE day of R&R... except the boys had some friends spend the night (which is no problem), and they are already up and going STRONG downstairs.. and it was 7:20 when this started. AM. However, they are in for a BIIIIGGGG surprise: NAPTIME!!!  YES! Today I will employ that good ol' summer tradition (lots of European and Central/ South American cultures have this sooooo right) of the afternoon nap, because frankly, I need one.

I just hope I can stay awake until then...

Bronze Goddess

I know you've been on pins and needles since reading about my self-tanning efforts. By now, you are picturing me as a bronzed goddess, no doubt. And since I used the 'firming' self-tanner, you are no doubt imagining me as a lean, mean muscle machine as well. That's how I imagined the results myself. Twice a day, I slathered and dreamed, slathered and dreamed. I became so proficient that I could slather mirror-less, which was better for my mental health. The self-tanner and I developed a close relationship... I was worried the Hub would be jealous of my commitment to the tanner!

What is that statement? Oh yeah, 'tan fat looks better than white fat'.

For those of you that uttered this phrase, live it, or even remotely thought it... may you struck with a thousand oozing boils and a really bad zit!!! Bronze goddess? Nothing could be farther from the truth!!!!

I AM STILL WHITE!!!!!

So, now, white-boy Hub has recommended a spray-on tan, with bikini so I have tan lines... because he thinks that's 'cool'. And he's declared that he thinks he wants one too! 

But I'm recommending he skip the bikini...

Fish and Family

We had house guests this week: three young British (one was Polish, but lives in Britain) Challenger Soccer Camp coaches. Never met them. Delightful folks. Took them to the lake a few times, cooked, supped, shared some good times, and got to know one another. Such a neat program that Challenger runs so that kids benefit from a great soccer camp, and these young adults get to travel the US, and make a little cash as well. They get to eat with their hosts and have a warm bed - cuts down on their costs significantly! 

They were here a week. Very unusual for us to have house guests for a week. Now a days, our schedules are so packed that 'we' generally only have a long weekend or 'a few' days to spend with family and friends. We are too busy. And this week was a classic example of busy - but that isn't what this was about.

These coaches were fabulous house guests. Polite, grateful, and very chilled - and they really liked the Masses... in fact, Neva Kate has found herself a man!!! She really took to our Polish friend, and him to her; alas, it isn't to be, as he has a girlfriend, and is much too old for her....

The whole visit got me to thinking: why am I able to tolerate complete strangers in a relaxed, happy manner, but not my own family? Seriously. If this had been DOD or Sybil, I'd have slit my wrists and dove into ring of sharks!! A week with my family?? There is not enough Diet Coke in the state to get me through that - and I know because we've done this before!!! 

Could it be that we have so much baggage that I wonder when the train will lurch and it will come crashing from the overhead bin right onto me? Yes. And most likely is. I tread a fine line with Sybil - you never know who you're getting (please see previous blog about Sybil, or blogs)! And I do worry about DOD, and his various annoying habits... such as constantly talking about what he wants to talk about (mainly himself) which we've already covered at least 15 times since he arrived (this is NOT an exaggeration). I count the hours until they leave... OK, I'm lying... I count the minutes!! And yet, out of guilt for feeling this way when all the movies in the world say I should feel warm fuzzies toward the fam, I let them come. And they do. And they are. This summer. Because I am powerless in my guilt to stop them. And therefore am questioning my decision to NOT install a fountain drink machine in the new house.

I have no immediate solution to this problem, except moving without telling them, and the Hub said I couldn't do that.... My cousin is coming this summer, too, and I adore her, and am quite thrilled and very happy and excited - no worries... only fun to come!!!  But that smile turns upside down when I hear the others may be headed east of Texas, and I suddenly get the desire to join  WitSec; really no good if the Hub is gonna rat me out, though. 

So, today, we said good luck and farewell to our new friends, and sent them on their way.... Sure would love to see them again. Sure wish I felt this way about DOD and Sybil.

Perhaps we are related somehow....

My White Legs

I want to make a dangerous statement, that in NO WAY is meant to racist, or racy: I am a white girl. My legs are white, my butt is white, my arms are white... I am white. I was white when born, and have been except for a few years when I tried to lay-out and get a tan: this for me consisted of one hour of prep for about 30 minutes of sun time; I hadn't had hair removal yet, and I get bored easily. I tried a tanning booth for two months, but found it too much like a very unmotivated dating relationship that left my skin smelling funny; this was not for me.

I was white when the Hub married me; white for the past 13 years of marriage. White today. But, recently (for the past 13 years or so) the Hub has been making noises about how he thinks it would be sexy for me to get a spray tan, or self-tanner. And he mentioned something to Sister Lunch Lady, too. So, I decided to take him seriously. And try to do something about being white.

I am sitting here, buck-nekkid under my bath robe, trying to recover without alcohol from the shock of seeing myself naked not once but twice now, as I slathered self-tanning lotion on my whole body. My vision is blurry, and I can't remember the names of my children! I almost passed out during the back of the thigh area!!! All this in pursuit of some color. That the Hub thinks he'll find sexy. Well, sitting here for 'several minutes before dressing' with a look out of a horror movie plastered on my face (imagine talking-severed-head-glaring-at-you-scared face) ain't particularly sexy, folks!

All this has led me to believe that we should have fewer, and smaller... MUCH smaller, mirrors. I, for one, could care less about what color I am, or anyone else. I think, live and let live. And I am too lazy to care if my legs can reflect rays from outer space. This is how I was made. I'm stuck with it.  Or am I? I suppose in light of my recent blog about hair removal and vein zapping that I am a ginormous hypocrite for NOT doing something about the glow-in-the-dark properties of my extremities!!!  In fact, I suppose the horror of my nakedness reflected back at me, which surpasses the intense pain of abdominal surgery, rings in with 'painful to be pretty'. Of course, after what I witnessed today, I think pretty is terrifying!!! But, I will continue to slather and color, and slather some more... only now, I think I can do it without a mirror.

But, I will have that wine now....

Day dream believers

And Homecoming Queens... of which I never was one! So, today I am thinking of all the things I thought I wanted to do someday, and all the things, I have done, and am planning, and wondering if I am fulfilling God's great plan for my life. Nothing deep, you know, the usual! 

I would never have guessed I'd end up the mother of four children, and some days I pretend they belong to someone else (esp. in Walmart, or at the Olive Garden in Branson the other day) - but I am always so grateful for them when I watch them sleeping, and hear them laughing, and realize that I could have chosen something so different.

I thought I wanted to be a secret agent with the FBI, or CIA; until I learned that I'd have to be OK with sneaking around in the dark... and my deeply rooted fear of the dark won out. Then, maybe and archeologist; that too went by the wayside after I learned about the bugs and the dirt and the digging in it... yea, not for me so much.

Next, I decided that I would love to be a recording artist. And for this I had the talent. But my parents talked me out of majoring in music, and told me they wouldn't pay for me to do that (big decision maker there) because they were afraid I'd fail and starve... or worse, move home. Love and support. BUt I don't blame them. I think I should thank them! After all, I decided to go into nutrition, and there begins the love story of me and the Hub. (This was a brief summary of my formative years... very brief; but the highlights!)  And with that, four kids.

Pretty amazing for just an ordinary gal. Which makes me wonder why I still feel like there is something I am supposed to be doing (besides laundry). Yet, I am so clueless as to what that is! Should I be a writer? (well, you're reading this...) Should I start a business? (please, no!) What is it that I am supposed to be doing? (again with the laundry comment? you have a one tract mind!) I'm not sure, but I'm keeping my options open.

And going to start the laundry, already!

Much Ado About Nothing

I'd like to preface this blog with the statement: I am not really that much of a Shakespeare fan. And this has not much to do with Shakespeare, other than the use of his title. This blog is about nothing. That's correct: nothing. There are several types of nothing. Yes, there are. Think about it. Or, I'll save you the brain cells and explain 'em.

1)Nothing. This is what you say on an average day to a friend's inquiry of "whatcha doing?" "oh, nothing." Or, "nothing much." this means that you aren't doing anything out of the ordinary or worth wasting your breath and their time talking about.

2) Nu-thiiiinn... This is what your kids say when you hear a strange noise like the cat being loaded into the dryer, or eggs frying on the stove and you call out 'what's that noise?' or "what are you doing?' Their answer: nu-thiiiinn (in a little sing-song voice). It usually means something, and specifically something really bad, and you'd better get off your hiney and hustle in there before the smoke alarm goes off, missy!! (no personal experience here - pure speculation)

3) Nothing. Be careful not to confuse this nothing with #1, as they are VERY different! #1 means you are doing something... this nothing means you are doing nothing.... Nothing that uses any brain waves, voluntary or involuntary, no actual work or function other than that of breathing. This 'nothing' is the most elusive, because the minute you start to tell someone about it, well, there it goes! You're doing something, and thus nothing is very over! Watching TV? Nope, that's something - watching TV! Duh! Sleeping? Nope! That in itself is a definable action. Blogging? Still definable... starting to get it? 

Thus, when one says one is doing nothing, it is safest to assume he/ she is actually performing rote, daily tasks so mundane they'd snooze the brain off a sloth! To be doing actually #3 nothing is a real challenge, and should not be undertaken by your average individual. Leave this up to the professionals!!! And today I had the pleasure of talking with one such professional who braggingly shared with me - once she had finished doing #3 nothing - that she'd been doing #3 nothing and would be going back to #3 nothing after her phone break with me! I was humbled and astonished to be graced by such greatness! I myself spend the majority of my time doing #1 nothing in pursuit of caring for my family and home, and had to bask in her... well... nothing-ness! I had no idea we had this kind of talent here!! 

Do you think she offers seminars???? Gotta go do something....

(NOTE: this is written completely tongue-in-cheek, MY tongue in MY cheek!! I applaud those who eek out a little peace and quiet once or twice a month in order to maintain sanity... you see why I am not, therefore, sane...)

Bidets and Other THings We Never Talk About

Now, I don't know the last time you had a conversation about your toilet, or toilet-ing accessories, but there is a thing, used mainly in Europe, but in some homes here in the US, known as a bidet. We'll pause for a moment while you google the dictionary and look it up... go ahead... no, really,... go ahead. I'd prefer to wait than try to explain it.  Got it? Good!!! Wait a minute... are you too lazy to google or go to wikipedia, which if you google you can find an 8-step how to use a bidet... very handy!!!  Alright, here's the definition: 'a low-mounted plumbing fixture or sink intended for washing the genitalia, inner buttocks, or anus. ' Really. GO to wikipedia, and that's what is says... word. for. word.  Bluntly: it sprays water on your privates to clean 'em off after using the restroom.

Well, I rarely have the luxury of using the restroom by myself, what with four children, two dogs, and the Hub; someone is either outside the door talking to me, or crying to the point that I take her blankie-toting -16 month-redheaded-baby-self and plop her on my lap. If she can't handle the stench, she'll figure out how to leave, amen? This particular day (2 days ago, to be exact), Stella decided to join the fun - and what a party it was! Me, the baby, the dog, and the pooper... riveting. When what to my wondering senses occurred than the wee little doggie sniffing my behind (which means she was standing with her paws on the toilet seat, thus enabling her to attempt to cold-wet-nose my tushy out of the way so she could get a better whiff!!)!! I shooed her away... but this was temporary, as apparently the heightened senses of the canine allow them to pick out the more... uh, pleasant and favorable scents,... and she moved to a new tactic:

SHE STARTED LICKING MY BEHIND!!! THE PART JUST ABOVE THE SEAT!!!! REALLY!!!!

In one swift (oh, and I DO mean S.W.I.F.T.) I swatted her down, chucked the baby safely and gently to the floor, and hitched my skivvies back into place!! That was the end of that, my friends!!!

But, apparently, Stella took that as an open invitation to barge in and grab a 'whiff and lick' anytime, as the minute I head to the potty... click click click... here she comes!! I have to race to shut the door - and sometimes I just want to wash my hands for cryin' out loud!! Not to mention the PTSD - I'm getting a little jumpy just thinking about the fact that my bladder is ready to build a canoe and launch itself!! What to do??? Oh, what to do???

For starters, I may need therapy... or is it the dog?  So, I relay the story to Sister Sassy Loope, who in her characteristic glass half-full manner gives me good advice: who needs a bidet when one has a bidog!!!!

All about Bears

OK, so this blog really has nothing to do with bears, but I couldn't think of a better title. What it has to do with is specifically the colloquial sayings that over generations and geography have become a part of who we are, and how they are passed on.  More specifically, one saying which I had the delightful opportunity to lend my ear to today, and haven't stopped laughing!!

"I'm so hungry I could eat the ass off a bear!!!"

YES!!! That is REALLY what I heard someone say today, and she knows who she is!!! That inspired me to go home and fix myself a plate-o-food lest a dingleberry-bearing, furry, nasty, smelly ol' bear behind look the least little bit appetizing!!!  Right after I called just about everyone I have a number for to tell 'em about this descriptive, exciting, creative way to describe the rib-gnawing hunger from dieting!!

In fact, if you are THAT hungry, and I doubt even Bear Grylls has ever been that hungry, and he eats all sorts of nasty ... well, crap... go get yourself a Big Mac and Fries and ditch the stupid diet!!!  And if you are into eating bear booty, are you picky? Is it grizzly versus black bear? Are pandas more tender than a brown bear? (I bet Panda would be really high dollar, actually.) Does age matter? I would think so... using veal as a guideline here. Butt tartar? Butt burgers?? Ooooh, you could go exotic and have polar bear (just don't eat the liver - it'll kill you from vitamin A toxicity)!   And that leads me to the all important question...

How exactly do you think the BEAR feels about this???

Now, I realize all of this is a bit frivolous in light of starving people in the world (and I bet they'd eat some bear hiney all right!), global warming, and the crashing economy, but one has to take time to laugh, especially at our selves, and most of all, at our friends!!!! I mean, why else keep 'em around, right? And that got me to thinking (shocking and dangerous, both)... what sayings are slipping out of YOUR mouth?? Share them with me!!

Well, gotta go pee like a racehorse....

(NOTE: Again, I have used some inappropriate, foul language. I was quoting someone, and feel that I should not be charged as guilty for such quote. I am responsible for the times that I choose to use this word in employing the above statement, though I think that seeing as it is a colloquial saying, it ought to count as a heritage thing, and therefore not require absolution. As for the 'c-r-a-p' word, please see my note about that on a previous blog. Thank you.)

May I See Some ID, Please?

Oh, how I love to hear those words, in the appropriate setting, which is almost anytime other than being pulled over for speeding (which has not happened in quite some time, and that I am very thankful for!) Yes, today I was carded again! No, I don't frequent the package store THAT much, but when a nice glass of Chardonnay would accompany the meal, well, I do stop in and grab a stash. Hence, this story.

So, I went to Jack's Package, which has a nicely stocked wine room, and chose a few bottles (I pick some I know I like, and then employ my spectacular new system that Food & Wine ought to publish: I pick names and labels I like! It's the wine room, ain't nothing bad in there!!). I approached the counter, and proceeded to check-out. I handed my debit card to the young whipper-snapper (meaning probably just 22) behind the counter, and low and behold!! He asked to see my ID!! Now, I will confess that after a little wallet theft incident at my sons 2nd birthday party, I have written 'please see ID' on the back, but they don't always ask... like in Italy, where they can't read what I wrote; in some cases, I fear that the cashier can't read.

So, I happily told him that if he'd have asked to see it without looking on the back, I might have been so happy I'd have come across the counter and kissed him (which I might have - I can get really happy)! Well, when I entered the store there was no one there; but by now, apparently there had developed a line (5 to 6 people) behind me... and several were women. One lady spoke up and said she'd love to see that, and could we try this again; so, I said, well... (pause) OK!!! Next thing I know my New Favorite Best Friend says he was gonna ask to see it anyway!!! I decided then and there to not judge him harshly for his youth or piercings or tats!! (note: 'tats' is slang for tattoos. I am not sure how to spell the slang, so go with it, OK!)

This was a man with discerning qualities, a man wise beyond his years, a man with appreciation for the finer things in life! Why, I bet he enjoys the symphony and ballet, and certainly can identify a real Armani at a glance. Yes, this fella is going somewhere!!! I wouldn't be surprised to hear he speaks multiple languages, and has traveled the world, lived in a monastery for a week or two, and stayed amongst the indigenous people along the Amazon River. Most likely, he is an accomplished photographer, and holds several degrees from well-respected universities world-wide! He's the kind of person you always invite to dinner parties because they can converse with anyone about anything, from your grandmother (who would worship the ground he walked on and giggle like a schoolgirl) to the President of the United States!!!

Or, he could have just been hoping for a tip...

An Apple a Day

Some days my titles just crack me up!! Yes, this is the Apple Lady story, and no she doesn't live down the lane... she lives in Dallas. I have a tendency to develop a real, personal relationship with customer service for any corporation I am forced at gun point to call ( or b/c my iPhone is dead and spiritually in heaven). And this is not because I am such a friendly gal, which I am, but because I have a house full of living objects that require little to no attention unless I have a phone receiver up to my ear in an active conversation, and then they are all bleeding, dying, maimed, missing a body part, or on fire... or all of the above... simultaneously.

The conversation I am about to relay to you took place over a remarkable short time span (despite the illusion that it could have taken much longer) of approximately 9 (nine) minutes:

(following general greetings and explanation of now heavenly iPhone our conversation went something like this - please note that I had #3 and#4, who are 5 and 1 respectively, home)

ME: Could you hold on for just a moment (#4 is now wailing like a police siren in my ear, and therefore her ear; I did not get her name because of the sirens)? I am so sorry, but I'll get her some milk, and then she'll feel better. I don't think she feels too great!

HER: oh, sure I understand I have children too!

ME: Thank you. So, as I was saying, did my husband happen to purchase the insurance plan?

(enter 5 y/o begging for food... again ; picture my hand in the universal stop sign, mouthing that I am busy)

Him: Can I get something to eat? Some cheese? some crackers? I don't want grapes... how about a cookie? Why not...

ME: I'm sorry, again. (covering phone) No cookies. You may have cheese... (going to fridge, getting cheese... opening). OK (I say to Mrs. Dallas)

HER: (she is talking but I hear nothing as an entire fleet of tanks now rolls down the hardwood floors into the kitchen, followed by the grinning, cheese-filled five year old. He is quite proud of his new army, and rolls it the other way... and back again... the house is shaking from the noise - we've exceeded tolerable decibels)

ME: I am sooo sorry, but I seem to be having a little trouble communicating with my 5 y/o!

HER: oh, I know all about that! My oldest is hard-headed!

ME: Well, I almost put this one out at the curb last week with a sign that said 'Free to Good Home'! (we are both laughing and exchange a few more kid stories - we could have lunch!)

HER: Do you want to express the new phone?

ME: Yes, and yes, you may get out a hamster (to #3).

HER: Oh, you have hamsters?

ME: Yep. Three dwarf hamsters, and two dogs. And the four kids.

HER: Are the hamsters all one gender?

ME: (chuckling) Oh, no. We thought we had three males, only to discover that one was female when she had a litter... and ate them; she then had another litter, which by the way was fathered by her brother. Funny thing, all the incestuous offspring have died off, and we have the original three, separated of course!

HER: Wow! Do you ever put them together?

ME: No! Except recently the boys did, and thought it hysterical that they were 'wrestling'! I had to intervene rapidly!! (we laugh together... we are thinking that perhaps an afternoon of shopping would be great! I am now walking down the hallway to the office where #3 has shut the door and is being V-E-R-Y quiet; #4 is banging on the door...)

ME: Oh, my, honey!! You can't do that to the hammie!! Oh, heavens, Aidan! Don't push him!!! STOP!! You're hurting him! Here give it to me... give me the whole thing... the cage, baby... not the truck! Oh, Good LORD! (I take the safari truck with accessorizing cage featuring the trauma of the day: Fuzzy is stuck halfway in, halfway out of the cage. He doesn't appear to be too thrilled with wearing the safari truck's cage. At this point as I carry the hamster and said cage down the hall, I remember that Mrs. Dallas is on the line, thinking we are crazy! I now explain what has happened)

ME.... I shouldn't be surprised after my house was broken into, for the third time, this morning!

HER: Oh, MY!! Is the hamster OK?

ME: Oh, yea, look - he's unstuck! I'll go put him away!

HER: ... You'll just mark the box and return blahblahblah...

(enter said 5 y/o AGAIN bawling at the top of his lungs about having nearly killed his hammie)

ME: It's OK, sweetie (I coo); Mommy put him back in his cage. I think he needs a little rest, OK? (now #4 enters the kitchen... it's like a crying parade! I bend to pick her up, and she snags my car keys, unbeknownst to me)

HER:... and the postage will be covered already; just be sure to return your old phone in 10 days... is that your house alarm????

 (the car alarm is now deafeningly blaring in the garage - the baby has pushed the panic button. She is now screaming from fright, drops the keys, and hides in my shoulder! I am now hysterically laughing! Or crying! I'm not sure which!!)

ME: No Ma'am! The baby set off the car alarm!!!

HER: Is there anything I can help you with???? (padded cell, therapist, full-time nanny???)

ME: You could come be my full-time nanny?!?! (silence from her) Nope. Just need a lot of Jesus and DIET COKE!!!

I know what she did on her break: she took that phone conversation 'which may be recorded for quality assurance', and replayed that bad boy for the whole office!!! Now everyone in Dallas thinks this poor Texas girl is stuck in Looneyville, Arkansas breeding incestuous hamster offspring, or WORSE, drinking Diet Coke (spiked, no doubt) and belongs to some weird religious cult centered around sirens!! Heaven help me!

From now on I'm using email.

Alien Invasion

Yes, Monday marked the THIRD time someone, who shall hence forth be known as the Intruder - gender non-specific, attempted to enter my home. The Intruder apparently has the uncanny knack for striking when I an conveniently, and thankfully gone, or they are watching me. I find the latter a very disconcerting possibility, and have now taken to wearing multiple layers of clothes; drawback is that I now look ten pounds overweight! To think it isn't enough to feel my home has been violated; NO! I must feel fat too! I think this person should be caught and sentenced to tread water in a thong four sizes too small with an audience of professional comedians making pot-shots... yea, that sounds good!!!

But I digress. My real reason to blog tonight, despite the fact that this is my blog, and I spent one hour talking non-stop to the Hub who patiently endured my logorrhea secondary to the death of the iPhone, and for the sake of my marriage and the Hub's sanity... well, I gotta get this off my chest (still waiting on the return of the Girls... anyone seen 'em??).

Every person I have told or retold the story to asks me the same insane question:

WAS YOUR DOOR LOCKED?

I find this completely the most ridiculous question EVER! It implies that if for some reason you don't lock your door, you are more than happy... in fact, it is an open invitation for some stranger with friends, potentially, to just walk right on into the place of your dwelling... your humble abode, and help themselves to your crap !!!* ( Please see disclaimer about this word in a previous blog)  In fact, if you don't lock your door, you should just expect it!!!

WHERE IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY AND RIGHT DID THIS MENTALITY COME FROM? This is MY HOUSE (NOTE: the yard is the Hub's, the house is mine; this was agreed upon in 'the beginning', and he likes it just fine, thank you very much.). NO ONE COMES OR GOES WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. I DO NOT NEED TO LOCK MY DOOR TO BLOW YOUR TRESPASSING SELF TO KINGDOM COME FOR COMING INTO MY HOME UNINVITED!!! I have an alarm so that I don't have to pack heat, and so that if some trespasser chooses to BREAK THE LAW, and decide today is a good day to be STUPID (ooooh, the 'S' word) and try to get themselves arrested, we can happily oblige, courtesy of the Mountain Home Police Department!!! I have an alarm so that I can leave my home and, oh I don't know, take my children to school or the doctor, and come home without meeting someone new in a potentially threatening environment, thus scarring me for life and requiring me to live in a padded cell (which the Apple Service lady already thinks I need... 'nother story.)!

Now, just in case someone thinks after all these attempted break-ins that I have something fabulous and expensive in my home, let me remind you who I live with: 3 dwarf hamsters, two dogs, 4 (FOUR, four, f-o-u-r) kids under the age of 10, and one Hub. I have nothing of value to anyone but us; we have Little Tikes, Fisher Price, Hot Wheels, Imaginext, Bakugans, American Girl, Legos, and various other toy brands you will not find at Tiffany's!!  My priceless artwork consists of photos of my children and their pictures and paintings for me. To me these ARE priceless... but I doubt if anyone else (grandparents excluded) would want these nearly as much as I do. So, I have to ask myself, and the Intruder, what the heck do you want? I find myself at a cross-roads: I have never felt threatened living here, and yet now I feel like breaking out the 380 automatic and taking a little practice in one afternoon soon.

We live in a beautiful town, with very little crime considering, but with the economy (the scapegoat for all things unholy and just plain wrong) I fear we may see more of this... I just don't want to see it in my neighborhood.  So, tomorrow, after I lock the doors, set the alarm, and take the kids to school, I'll be asking the men and women on the MH police force to please patrol my area, specifically around the documented times of intrusion. Oh, we'll get you, you Intruder, and your little doggie too!!!!! (wicked witch cackle here)

Well, I'm too tired to tell you about the dead iPhone and my insane phone call to Apple... but I be I'll be feelin' perky after a good night's rest... so stay tuned!!!!

The Road to Pretty is Paved in Pain

So, I am in the shower this evening scrubbing off the tape wads (gooey stuff left on the skin from medical/ paper tape or band-aids) when it occurs to me that Mom's words were really true: it's painful to be pretty! What started as some laser hair removal (courtesy of Wilson Aesthetics, 870-425-3737) has moved to some vein removal (again,Wilson Aesthetics  );  I 've had them shot down, and now zapped with a laser in order erase, or at least reduce, the signs that four full-term pregnancies have left on my legs! And frankly folks, it is painful!!! But I want to look at my gams without wondering where the capital is and which highway gets there fastest!!

I say this not to discourage you, but to warn you that the results are great, but, CRAP! It hurts!!! (Please note: some people do not consider crap a curse word, merely a descriptive term, or noun; in my house growing up, it was one of many on the verboten list. For the sake of this blog, I may use it to indicate strong feelings or emphasis. I am truly sorry if it offends; I kinda prefer it to other words I could say, and just ask God to forgive me when I use it - or any other - word. God is not surprised that I am a sinner. Really. For those of you that don't care, I'm greatly relieved that you find this side note a waste of time.) Anyone that's ever had their bikini area waxed (yes, I have) can tell you some of this stuff is medieval and cruel! And yes, I will still do it, in order to wear a skirt that doesn't skim the ground sometime in my future!!!

It is nothing unusual to starve, over-exercise, nip, tuck, lift, suck, augment, reduce, abrade, peel, wax, color, fade, inject, and plump our way to ideal beauty.  Which leads me to the all important question: who decides what beauty is?

Years ago, as I watched God heal me from an eating disorder that had consumed most of my life, I realized that the outer beauty meant nothing to God; He's after the inner kind. My focus on my reflection had led to an obsessed, driven, jealous, miserable person. Sure, there were extenuating circumstances that influenced my problem, but I believe God had a better way to handle it than I did! So, I stopped reading Glamour, Vogue, Skinny Models R Us, etc. in an effort to better actualize what God really has in store for me when He said healthy and beautiful (... still working on it, folks!). Now, I am not condemning anyone who reads these magazines or has procedures done to look better and feel better about themselves, because I have (well, duh! you know a-l-l-l about my hairy, veiny problems!) The body is a temple; I'd like mine to look less like it was in the path of a tsunami!

I WILL HAVE THESE UGLY VEINS ZAPPED B/C I HATE THE WAY THEY LOOK!!!!

 And I don't ever want to shave again, really. So, I will go for hair removal (really, genetics played a cruel, cruel trick on me!) I wouldn't mind having my boobs back, either (have you seen them? If you do, catch them, box 'em up and deliver them under armed guard... they are very sneaky...). But that involves pain, and I am not really fond of pain, hence this blog. I think a little botox might be OK. As long as we keep our perspective.  Are we beautiful to God, and is that our priority? Our daughters are watching!!

So, while I thought about what to write tonight, in the shower, I heard *The Hub clapping... thought one of the Masses' had done something great. Imagine how startled I was to look up and see him peeking into the bathroom at ME in the shower! That's right... he was applauding ME!! Now that, ladies and gents, is beauty...

*this actually happened; he probably needs new glasses, and the shower door IS frosted, but I think he's the greatest guy - despite some of the incredibly mind-numbingly dumb things he does sometimes!

Our wee little doggie, Miss Stella Rose

I thought my next fur baby would be a little Shih Tzu, a successor to Rainey (Satan Incarnate/ Mr. Pee-Body) in physical form, just with a new and improved personality. Apparently, I was wrong.

I feel like I say that last phrase a lot... says a lot about me, now doesn't it? Anyway, I digress.... My BFF Sister Scout wove a tangled web all right, and I ended up with a Chihuahua pup (10 months) about 12 days ago.  She went to buy one for herself... please note that I was NOT PRESENT... and ended up with two, hence the panicked phone call, and threats to reveal my deepest, darkest secrets, or worse, terminate or friendship all together, unless I came to get the dog.

I let her sweat... then drove out there.

Miss Stella Rose is the epitome of a little lady: quiet, sweet, mannerly, potty-trained, and loving to all the children.  And BFF is still the BFF; crisis averted.

I told the Hub that it was a necessary move given my options, and that if I hadn't taken Stella, then he'd have to talk to me all day about the same mundane things over and over, and it would ruin the mystery in our relationship, thus leading to general dissatisfaction with one another and our marriage, and ultimately divorce!! And it would be all his fault because he didn't want another dog right now! Did he think he could live with the single-handed death of our love??? Could he look his innocent wide-eyed, trusting children in the face and tell them it was all his fault??????

He looked at me with the same tolerant gaze I have come to know for the past thirteen years of marriage, meaning "aren't you just the most adorable, creative, big-hearted, sweet woman, and isn't it great on your behalf that I love and adore you and tolerate all your crazy antics??"

So, Stella Rose is sitting in my lap, adorned in a blingy collar with her name on it, and snoozing quite comfortably; I'd say she's adjusting quite well. So is the Hub... :)

The Legend of the Box People

Aaah, the mysterious legend of the Box People. An amazing story, truly exciting edge-of-the-seat, nail-biting suspense! Never heard of it? What, you live under a rock?? OK, so maybe I made it up. But it is good, and no doubt you know some Box People!

Box People are just what they sound like: they do not 'think outside the box' ( not to be confused with 'out of the closet' - completely different concept here). They only interact with people like themselves, that adhere to an often spoken code (usually best understood in their jibes at unboxed people - done behind their backs, of course), that dress like them, and think like them, and eat like them, and exercise like them, and drive cars like them. They do not readily accept new people into the Box that do not act appropriately to their preconceived and pre-appointed station ( appointed by none other than the Box People themselves). In short, they only like their own kind, stick to their own kind... sorry channelling West Side Story (humming)...

And you know Box People; you live next to them, or with them, go to work or school with them; you see them at church, in town, at the gym. They are nice to you, cheerful and engaging even...

BUT BEWARE!!!! 

Behind your back, they are talking about you, speculating, dishin' about your outfit and your muffin top, taking apart every word you said... and interpreting it based on past information the Poison Ivy Vine has passed around, true or false. Yep, if you aren't one of them, they know it, and you are fair game!!!!

Which makes everyday life exciting! Sure, you could hole up in your house and become a recluse, but why??? I figure, if they wanna talk, give em sumpin' to talk about (oh, soooo channelling Bonnie Raitt right now!!!) Nothing like spicing up the Poison Ivy Vine with a little tall Texas tale of your own... where I come from this is called embellishing.

Now, those of you that know me KNOW that I don't need to embellish at all!! This stuff REALLY happens to me, and I do wonder what that says about me and my karma (though I am not really into Karma - that'd keep you at home thinking the universe was against ya, all right!!!)  But if you need to borrow a story, well, that 's OK too... just be sure to give credit where credit is due. And use a good codename... hence the Box People...

Confession Time

Yes, I have been enjoying Crackbook too much. I miss my prose outlet, and I bet you miss my 'funny'!!! Well, we are fast approaching summer; this means we have to lay down some rules, guidelines, do's and don'ts.  So, I took the opPortunity a few weeks ago to broach the subject with he Masses: God did not put me on this earth to run you over to your friends' houses, or host them all endlessly from the time the school bell rings for the summer 'til it rings in August!

THEY WERE SHOCKED, TO SAY THE LEAST!

I had to ask myself what it was exactly that originally gave my children the idea that I was their personal chauffeur and servant (let's leave the Christian perspective of servanthood on the side plate... it is NOT referring to me being their slave...). I dread Friday afternoons simply because my 7 year-old son knows this is when he can have a play date... if we can still call it that, him being seven  and all. And then it's all day Saturday and Sunday: "Can I have a friend over? Can I go to someone's house??" And my personal favorite (and yours too): 'I'm bored; I wouldn't be if I had someone to play with!"

I'd like to invite you to my home at this time to review the number of people and pets that dwell here (daily): Me, The Hub, #1, #2, #3, #4, two dogs (that's a story too), and three hamsters.  There isn't enough oxygen in my house for very many more living breathing beings! In fact, we are building a house so that all the breathing beings have more air!!! 

So, I went over the rules... which I had very little trouble coming up with, but I'm sure could use some tweaking.  They are as follows:

1. You will get up and get dressed (clothes, hair, teeth brushed, breakfast) by 9 am daily.

2. You will make bed daily.

3. You will tidy-up: pick up jammies and put in laundry, wipe toothpaste off sink, put away clean clothes, and shoes, clear dishes from the table.

4. You will then willingly and joyfully complete any chores Mom should give you, simply out of thanks to the Lord Our God that He has given you a place to live, sleep, eat, and a loving family to do all those things with.

5. You will not play daily with a friend, so don't ask; if you want someone to play with, God has given you siblings. If your father and I had wanted you to be bored and lonely we would have stopped with one child!

6. You will do some school work daily so that your brain doesn't turn to mush, and so that the baby can nap.

7. You will read, read, and read this summer; there will be an incentive program, and NO, I don't know what it is yet.

8. You will not fight with your siblings more than once a day - that's all you get, so pick your battle wisely. Also, be aware that I will be settling that battle, and both parties could lose big at any time...

9. One hour of TV daily, tops. Only exception is if you are sick and unable to get out of bed.

These are just a few that I rattled off... but should you come up with any ideas, I sure would be happy to add them on!!!

That said, I just informed #2 that he could go outside and play with his brother; #3 was told that if he didn't want to play with the toys downstairs PLEASE let me know as I'd like to reduce the crap factor in our house!!! #1 is watching TV, and her hour is almost up!!! #4 is napping...

WELCOME TO GRANOLA MAMA KATIE'S BOOT CAMP, BOYS AND GIRLS!!!

And Sybil Called

Yep. It was just a temporary job for dear Sybil, over with the end of tax season. She was very chatty for 30 mind-numbing minutes today, and I wondered where the Flarp  EB (Easter Bunny) brought had disappeared to - I needed a little quick entertainment! Somehow we managed to segue into the subject of storage space and the lack of in her current home, of five or six years.

Sure. Boring. And you think it couldn't be that bad. Oh, foolish youth, for you are wrong!!! 

We took a wee little 12 mile hike (uphill, both ways) down memory lane to mentally picture and tour each and every one of her former residences and TOGETHER review their more than adequate space. Compared to her house now, there is no comparison; this one's a dud in the storage department. And there is a whole host of other disappointments in this house, though it is large and spaceous with a delightful layout. But there is one problem. WE are building a house... that WE designed... that WE will love... 

and she is not.

Thus she has found renewed fervor in her days of unemployment - torturing me with how much more difficult her life is than, say, anyone else's on the face of this or any planet sustaining life!! And she knows this game well, for she is the Inventor and Perfecter of this game! She owns it, and I do mean OWN!!

I tried one time (OK, like for almost eight or nine years, seriously) to convince Sybil that her life IS so much more blessed than people living in third world countries* with unclean water, children dying from diseases we can immunize against, people dying of starvation and at the hands of merciless guerrilla warriors fighting for their cause at the cost of innocent lives... I'd think (and so would any other reasonable person with a brain and a pulse). But to no avail. She has taken the art of self-pity to an all new level and dwells there daily. There ought to be an award for this.... 

I am not sure where the conversation ended up, as I remembered some pictures I had stored away that I wanted to sort, dug them out, and commenced with sorting. Somehow we ended up talking about #4's recent allergic reaction, and the conversation REALLY took a turn for the worse... yes, it CAN and DID get worse. She began to tell me about these interesting skin allergies she had as a child and adolescent, and even up until she went to college; now, I grew up in very close proximity to Sybil, and I only know of ONE, and I do mean ONE allergy she had - to fluoride - that caused a skin reaction.  But today I learned a most disturbing fact, one that I could have gone the rest of my life without: she apparently had a persistent rash requiring cream. Just gander a guess at where.

I myself have suffered allergies all of my life. I do not exaggerate. I do not remember life without allergy shots, medicine, asthma, puffers, and mostly through childhood, hives... a lot! Detergents gave me rashes. Dry cleaning fluid gave me rashes. Foods gave me hives. Medicines gave me asthma attacks. Everything I breath is still against me. (But let me take this moment to personally thank the makers of Zyrtec, Singulair, and Advair, along with the various nosesprays I use - I LOVE YOU!!!!)  OK, so I was the one with all these problems. Fast forward to now. Amazingly she is the one with the terrible history of allergic and asthmatic problems. Very interesting. History retold by a crazy person - WOW! That could really sell!

So, she discloses to me this secret info about her rash condition, which thank the Good Lord is GONE!! (I'd have had to Lysol the phone!) She says: you probably didn't know about this then.  Uh, what makes you think I want to know about it now?? And how can I believe you?? because so much of what you remember is made up? fairytale? Disney-esque?? I found a way to get off the phone STAT, skin crawling, and ran to wash my hands, my hair,... heck, I deloused myself and everyone else here (even the dog) - can't be too careful!!!!

I have decided to pray that Sybil finds more gainful employment, as that really cuts into her phone time!

PS - I want to take this opportunity to just ' put this out there': within the past two years, someone told me that (apparently this is fact according to them) the people in these *countries want to live this way and are lazy, thus perpetuating their own poverty cycles. I find this theory the rantings of a moron. Anyone disillusioned enough to say this out loud and in public should be subjected to fish slapping a la VeggiTales style (see the Jonah DVD) until they recant, beg forgiveness, and spend time doing mission work in these countries to feed and vaccinate these Children of God. This is my personal opinion; I am not sponsored by anyone for this blog, and I take sole responsibility for not telling said individual this when I heard their ridiculous statement the first time. I know it's risky putting this out there, but really, I feel it needed to be said. Ignorance can be cured one idiot at a time!!!!

Extending Circumstances

Today was a real red letter day: I saw the Hair Guru (henceforth to be known as 'The Guru", due to proving his worth in all things hair related, and on the subject of St. Joseph, who is to be buried upside down in your yard). Oh, he does do wonders for a girl and her frolicking springtime locks!!

Per usual, we caught up with one another, and I trusted his expert hands to trim, tame and coif my lustrous mane of curls. When what to my wondering follicles did appear, but three spiraling chestnut extensions, my dear! Glorious, glossy, and glamorous to boot - he fixed them in my hair, and then with a scoot - shooed me out the door!!!

I WAS GIDDY! I WAS DELIGHTFUL! I WAS SIMPLY DIVINE!!!!!!!

I pranced through the rest of my day tossing and stroking my perfectly coiffed curls that now extended nearly TO THE FLOOR! (OK, this might be a slight exaggeration,... but they were long!) Paparazzi popped out from behind parked cars to snap my picture, strangers opened doors and tipped their hats, the sun even shone a bit brighter just on me. My children were obedient, the Hub an absolute dear, and my dear friends expressed undying devotion and loyalty. YES!!!! This is what I was born for!!! All this time, just waiting on the secret to being...

DIVINE

And so I am forced to go on this way.

What a burden to bear - greatness!

Darn you, oh Guru, Darn you to heck!

Oh, and can I come in tomorrow for you to fix my hair???

DISCLAIMER: GRANOLA MAMA KATIE IN NO WAY BELIEVES SHE IS GREAT; ONLY THE HAIR EXTENSIONS. AND THE GURU. AND ON FRIDAYS - DEFINITELY GREAT ON FRIDAYS. AND SOMETIMES ON WEDNESDAY MORNINGS. BUT ONLY SOMETIMES. BUT PRIDE IS IN CHECK. EGO TOO. YEP, IT'S ALL GOOD.

Are You Being Served?

This was the title of a delightful British comedy years ago, set in department store, but now longer available via PBS, though you can order the complete collection on DVD from the PBC catalog... but this bit of trivial trivia has nothing really to do with what I plan on talking about today.

THis afternoon, the Hub, made one of his now famous statements (famous because I am talking about it now). We had just spent the day attending/ coaching (often from the sidelines... please see previous post about the beast at soccer) two soccer games, spent two hours at the circus (a REAL circus that comes to town every year... not my house around 4:30 on Friday afternoon), when we pulled into our neighborhood amidst complaints from the Masses of extreme hunger; I suggested that he start heating up some leftover Mom's World Famous Spaghetti sauce and pasta, and I'd get the sodas and be right back. Here's the good part... he responded:

Nope. I'm not doin' it. I'm tired of serving them.

WHA-HUHHHHH????????  HE's tired of serving them???? HE????? Are you kidding me???? Last time I checked (which was just this morning), I was the stay-at-home parent; on duty for sick child care, school programs, afternoon marathons, and play dates. I am the one who grocery shops, clothes and shoes shops, cleans, cooks, launders (with help from God's Greatest Blessing), and basically sees to the every need of every one and thing in this house!

In fact, service is my job. And his too. He just doesn't know it. I'm breaking him in slowly... like taking off a band-aid... little by little.  Thank heavens I was on my way to Sonic right after he opened his mouth and inserted his foot, or I would have guffawed in his face!!!!

BUt one more silly comment like that, and I'm changing my 'band-aid' removal approach - RRRRIIIIPPPPP!!!!!! OUCH!

Phone Silence

Sybil broke phone silence today; apparently I am now forgiven for ambushing her about her new job. Funny how she 'job dropped' it into her new daily schedule; for example, 'I've been busy with work, and the kids' projects...'. See how she did that? Like she's always had a job outside of the home! Very chameleon-like. Could this be a new personality? The Birth of a New Dimension? The Dawning of a New Demon??? 

We shall call her Corporate Betty. The gal who brings home the bacon, fires it up in a pan, and never ever lets her man forget about it.... Or any of the rest of us!

Actually, I am rather glad that she's moved past the self-imposed stigma of the New Job and has finally returned my calls: was running low on material!!  Really, she did start with: 'Oh, you're alive!"  And I smartly and snarkily replied: 'Back at ya, Syb! I have left TWO messages..." Oh, how I did love that moment, when I could turn the tables on her and say that. Sybil is famous for telling me how many messages she's left: 'I left you four messages' translates to she really called once earlier today.

I didn't have to tell her too much as she conveniently had to go - but that left the balance of power in my hands, as she had called when I was away Sunday, and I returned her call, but I had originally called her twice first... at this point in the story, the Hub is completely lost! He has no idea who's on first and if they've called and how... cell or land line? But the power shift was too much for her.

SO, NOT 15 MINUTES LATER, SHE CALLED ME BACK!

Yep, she thinks she's now got the upper hand, like she has the power... but we all know that I am the Master at this game, and I shall call her tomorrow and leave a message, and thus will have the power!!!! Muh-waaa haaa haa haa (evil laugh... you know the drill, wringing of the hands)!!

And why should I care about the power? Well, honestly, the phone silence is MY game, My brain child, MY signature trait. And she stole it, the hag!! She used it on me, and that means war, my friends. See, I originated the move - it is mine; my way to not speak to the Crazy and Deranged, of which Sybil is one, for a length of time until I am completely ready for another dose of the Twilight Zone.  I simply don't call; or I only return a call when I know they are not going to answer. That way, we actually never speak on the phone, hence the name 'phone silence'. And it works. I then regale said person when I choose to speak with them with all the piddly things I have been doing (only on a grander scale - it's all in the telling) and funny stories so said Crazy doesn't realize I have been avoiding them; I also call when I have a very limited amount of time to talk, and must preface the conversation with the details of how I will very soon have to abruptly end the call, and I don't want to be rude so I warn them ahead of time. Again, it works.  Thus, I control the situation as best I can, and am more likely to have a tolerable outcome.

YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION TO USE THIS METHOD AS OFTEN AS NECESSARY.

And tomorrow, I will use the 'call when they aren't available technique' to successfully swing the balance of the Power. After all, I AM THE MASTER!

CHickens

Pretty descriptive title, eh? Well, after the Amish experience, I have decided that as a part of my transformation into a delightful provincial European on American soil, chickens will be in order. At the new house. In their own house. Away from Fat Annie the VBD.  I want layers, so my children can race across the verdant field laughing, egg basket in hand (which I have purchase, thank you very much), ready to collect farm fresh eggs for a frittata (fancy omelette)! Golly gee whiz, what a beautiful sight!!

Reality: obnoxious rooster crows at 3 am because he's a little off on the time thing; children fight over who gets to carry the basket, and race to the hen house, thus scaring the chickens into pooping or loosing their feathers... or both; same children have to gingerly pick their way across the copperhead infested field cuz we haven't bush-hogged in a while; children let chickens out, and Fat Annie has a fresh chicken dinner... and it ain't courtesy of KFC! Said children hop, skip, and jump through the field of doom and spill any eggs they have collected, necessitating a trip to the market for non-farm fresh eggs.

Yep. THis is gonna be great!!!

Now, on to the garden...

Manure

Yes. Manure. Cow manure, specifically. It lingers. It smells. It is a volatile organic chemical. It has infested ever piece of clothing in the suitcases, as well as the suitcases themselves.  The boys' boots may be a lost cause. I opened the bag they were in, and the smell brought me to my knees; my eyes watered; it was almost a religious experience!!!! I did not feel like a particularly holy or clean one, but it was a real experience!!!! We knew something was amiss when we identified our bags by their smell... people crinkled up their noses and turned away from our bags... the fire department was called to deal with a toxic waste spill... Fat Annie the VBD fell in love with the duffle bag...

So, I've been doing laundry. Mountains, and mountains of VERY STINKY LAUNDRY!!

I FEEL LIKE IT IS N.E.V.E.R  G.O.I.N.G  T.O.  E.N.D!

Needless to say, I am not in the nicest, friendliest, let -me- be- at- your- service moods. I bite. Hard. 

The smelly laundry does attest to the great success of our Amish farm vacation, and I feel proud to say that we have made new friends in Pennsylvania! It was all that I could have hoped for, and more... and a bag of chips. While they had no Sonic, they did have the Turkey Hill chain of EZ Mart style gas stations with a delightful and satisfying blend of caffeine, carbonation, and Diet Coke flavoring and secret ingredients! All was saved!!  

And now we are home - grumpy from travel, and wearing the last pair of clean skivvies we own... because I am STILL washing the rest!

Forget the Dome

My husband's truck has its own ecosystem. I used to joke that amidst all the dried, rotting apple cores/ burgers and fries/ chocolate smeared candy wrappers/ lollipops/ and various sports beverages, something had to be cooking itself to life. 

Well, today I saw proof!!! I feel like the people who've seen Bigfoot, or Nessie. I am a pioneer in my field! It was too fast, too elusive to get a photo, but I got a really good up close look at its eight spindly legs, pale segmented body, and general creepiness!

IT WAS A SPIDER!!! REAL. LIVE. ARACHNID. CRAWLING. IN. THE. TRUCK. WITH. ME!

He claims that is his antitheft security system, but if you could see how dirty his car is, you'd know that NO ONE on either side of the Mexican border is desperate enough to steal this truck!  He also claims that the adhesive seats are a part of the safety mechanism - if the seatbelt won't work, the seat keeps you glued down. NICE.

I NEED TO BE DELOUSED AFTER RIDING IN HIS TRUCK!

Proof positive that there is some type of life form besides roaches that can survive a nuclear holocaust.

THe night before departure...

Packing for six makes me wonder what we were thinking when we decided to actually leave our home with four children for an overnight stay somewhere... anywhere!!!!  I didn't know a week's worth of clothes required that many suitcases. I considered cutting back on jeans, having them wear them a day or two; problem is, we will be at a farm. With cows, cause that's what they have on dairy farms. With cow patties, cause they have a LOT of those on dairy farms. In the Amish country. At an Amish farm. No washer. No dryer. 

Then, I thought back to my college days and good 'ol Pat's piles of clothing on this bedroom floor. They are as follows:

1. Clean, but not folded.

2. Dirty, and definitely not folded.

3. Not so dirty, wear again.

THis last category included... yes, you guessed it, his tidy whities and boxers! EEEWWWW!!!!

So, I asked 'ol Pat how exactly he could wear his undies again? His reply (not for the weak stomached): I turn them inside out!!!!

HE WAS SERIOUS!

Funny part: his family owned a dry cleaning/ laundry service!!!!  Ironic, isn't it? Well, my college roomate/ sorority sister married him, and I have a sneaky suspicion that his undies are all clean now!

But back to the packing. I am trying to cut back on the amount of luggage we have to take, as now a days you have to pay about $15 for every checked bag. For this amount, I  would expect my luggage to come off the plane in sparkling, pristine condition. We are down a few large suitcases due to airline accidents. I'm not holding my breath!

However, despite my dilemnas, I am almost done!!!! yeah, me!  So, I want to notify you that my blogging will be a little on the short side, as I will be using the iPhone and it's itty bitty keys, which gets an itty bitty annoying; plus, the auto correct really makes me mad... :(  Oh, I breifly considered trying to 'go Amish' on the technology, and it was brief all right!!! In and out, baby!!! Thank goodness I heard the voice of reason! It sounded like this:

"KATIE!" (that's what it calls me - we're on a first name basis by now) "Katie, do you really think you can give up your LAST link to the civilized world on a trip with your four children? To a location so remote that the availability of Sonic is questionable? That involves driving, flying and renting a car? With four children? With multiple restaurant stops? With four children?"

Now, I really didn't have to hear the whole speech, I was convinced when Reason mentioned the four children part, but I have learned to just let Reason have her say (of course she is female), lest we have to start all over again!!! She doesn't like to be interrupted.  So, I will definitely be blogging, and checking for comments... hint, hint!

I Believe...

I Believe....

1. anyone that misinterprets 'easy ice' as 'pack it to the gills with ice' needs to be on my prayer list; they are just stupid!

2. buttercream is proof positive that God loves us... a lot.

3. buttercream IS its own food group.

4. there ought to be an off switch after you're done bearing children.

5. all treatments for spider veins should be reimbursed by the children that caused them.

6. that I ought to have some privacy in the potty.

7. women should have a little pop-up button that signals to our men when we are ready.

8. nice shoes should be affordable; no need to torture the innocent bystanders with views of ugly shoes!

9. pediatricians should have at least one child, preferably two.

10 . that caffeine is more than just your friend.

11. relationships with relatives should be optional.

12. scrappin' should be an Olympic event.

13. people should have to complete a screening process prior to procreating.

14. one can never have too much time or supplies for scrappin'.

15. I am not obligated to explain myself to my kids; I am the Momma, therefore you obey.

16. baby's drool is good for your skin.

17. the UGLY YEARS should remain locked away forever.

18. you should just speak your mind to my face, with kindness of course; talk behind my back comes full circle, and it is usually worse than what you would have/ did say!

19. sarcasm is a way of life.

20. Sonic should deliver.

A Moment of Silence

Please join me in observing an evening of blogging silence in loving memory of our dearly departed Rainey (aka Satan Incarnate, Mr. Pee-Body). He will be missed... by some.  Mainly me. OK, probably only me. Yes, only me. Happy now? Anyway back to my tribute: take amoment to scroll through pas blogs, enjoying the foolishness he was fodder for. And now, our moment...

(ssshhhh....)

Life Lessons On Memory Lane

I apologize ahead of time for the more serious, philosophical nature of this blog; sometimes, this just cannot be avoided. But, you've been warned!

I've been looking through my old high school and college pics as I reconnect with my buds from years gone by. Aside from being depressed at how young I looked then (compared to now), and extremely entertained by the clothes and hair (Kaci, you were queen of teaser comb - you had one and weren't afraid to use it), I realized that each set of pics brought back so many memories - they seemed so fresh!

I read love letters from high school and college beaus, and felt so sad that I know two hearts that I shattered. No, I am not being boastful; we've all broken a heart or two! I just read them for the first time in so long, and realized that, yea, I hurt these fellas' hearts. And I feel badly about it. As a grown woman, I thought about how I was gonna need to use this info to help my kids' through a broken heart, or letting the sweetheart down easy.  It's inevitable. And I dread it.

I saw pics from the first few years after my mom died, and I didn't see a happy college girl at a function or dance, I saw the abandoned, wounded girl I was. I still see what few people (others than those close to me) saw; not even my family could see. And that hurts. There is a reason I haven't been down this road in a long time.

But, it's time to put them in an album, and give them a place in my history. These events shaped me, whether I like it or not. They played a part in making me who I am - the rest was up to God. I think He's done better than I would have given what He had to work with!!  I watched my face glow in pictures with my husband; I could see the same look in his eyes that I do tonight - we are in love! What a dramatic evolution from the insecure, self-conscious teenager I once was, to .... well, ... ME! Oh, sure, I deal with insecurity, low self-esteem, days of knowing I have been the worst mom on the face of the earth! I don't think that will ever change.  I just have learned to get up, dust myself off, and get back up on the horse, so to speak.

And I have learned to laugh like never before about my most embarrassing moment, which Kaci just learned lo these many years later, though she was there that night... and is now sworn to secrecy! I am afraid some of you don't know me well enough for this one - it's doozy!!!! 

Yep. We have to go back sometimes from whence we came, in order to see how far we've really come!!!!  

Granted, I don't plan on staying in some places too long.  I'll put them in an album, record my thoughts, and close it up. Someday maybe my kids will read it and gain some insight into their dear momma. I'd much prefer that to telling it all over again myself.

And some, well, I'll keep them around longer, right out in the open - these are lessons I need to refer to more often! Or ones that make me smile, or laugh hysterically until I cry and almost wet my britches! Yeah, those are gonna stay out for a while!!!

Good night, all! Gotta go clean up the doggie poop! 

(Really, I haven't come that far in every area, now have I!!!!!!!!!!!!)

TRUE CONFESSIONS

IT'S TIME FOR CONFESSION (in college, this involved alcohol and Mexican food; tonight, its just me and a weak Diet Coke/ aka DC ):

1. I am enjoying facebook. There, I said it. You happy, Sister Scout?? Yeah, I bet you are. Still secretly hate you for it, but loving it none the less. Grrrrr.....

2. Trips down memory lane can lead to fits of laughter, and fits of depression!!!  Seriously, I howled laughing at my old high school and college function pics - oh, the hair and clothes - still wiping the tears from my eyes!  Oh, perhaps those are tears of anguish and despair, as I found bathing suit pics, and realized the decent abs I had then were soooo wasted on my insecure, self-conscious youth. Drat!!!! Oh, woe is me!!! (cookie, anyone?) If I had that body, I'd dress like a hoochie mama every stinkin' day just to show it off!  Really, I'd wear a bathing suit to the grocery store WITHOUT THE COVER-UP!

3. The above confessions have led me to need another DC, which means I must sneak out of the house and head to Sonic (I am not stupid enough to keep the joint stocked - I'd be mainlining in no time - HA!) And this leads to confession #4...

4. All this time that I kept telling the Hub I was gonna quit, well,... I was lying!!!! I have no intention of quitting! EVER!! NOT IN THIS LIFETIME!!!! MUH-WAH-HAAHAAHAA!!!!

(don't forget to wring your hands with the maniacally evil laugh, it really helps with the whole effect)

Hmmmm, they've all gone downstairs... now's my chance....