Nana Blume

I read a lot. I really do. I check out 4 books from the library every week. Sadly, it's generally chic lit, or crime novels. I have read East of Eden, Uncle Toms Cabin and Watership Down and many other classics ... but given the choice, I would choose a Stephanie Plum or a book by Elizabeth Berg. Does that make me a bad person? No? Well then let me tell you more!!

3 of the 4 books I check out are fun, grownup reads. For the fourth, I sneak over to the young adult section and snag a book from my early teen years. It is fun to go back and reread some of these books that I was obsessed with in junior high. I am a bit embarrassed to admit it though. I am hoping that the librarians think that I have a preteen at home that hates me, since I generally have the babies with me.

This week, my closet choice was Judy Blume's Tiger Eyes. Even after 20 years, I could almost recite whole sections once I got into it. There is no telling how many times I have read that book. It took me about 4 hours of reading off and on, before I reached the end. I really hated for it to be over and was wishing I had some Freckle Juice, or Blubber or Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing... and I glanced over to the back jacket. You know, where it tells all about the author. "Mrs. Blume resides in blah blah and has two children in college..." So out of curiousity, I look at the copywrite... 1981. That was 24 years ago. Which means her children are possibly grandparents. And she is possibly a great gramma.

And not even taking that into consideration. Can you IMAGINE having Judy Blume be your grandmother?

"Oh honey, I noticed you were starting to develop breasts. Here, this book your nana wrote will tell you all about that, and about your period."

"Honey? I heard some strange moaning in your room last night. Were you masterbating? Its ok, its normal. In fact, here is a book your nana wrote that should help you not feel so embarrassed."

That would really suck. Especially 6th and 7th grade. Kids probably taunt them with the "we must, we must, we must increase OUR BUST" exercises. Poor things.

By popular demand...

Here is a picture of me and my hot, precious obgyn. I just love him. SUCH a sweet person. If you didn't know better, you would think he was a nurse. He seems WAY too nice to be a doctor.

I told this story to Kiki a week or so ago, but I am opening up with it again, strictly for everyones amusement. (although it seems everyone has left me... i knew this would happen. I am a pretty boring person.)

Back in the day when babycenter had its infamous "Secrets" thread, I jokingly (?) admitted my huge crush on my doc. It's not that it was REALLY a secret, (except to him!) because my whole family knows about it. Even Marty knows and accepts that I am half in love with Dr. Obgyn. Heck, Marty loves him too, in a manly - you - have - touched - my - wife's - cervix kind of way. You would have to understand the committment that Dr. Obgyn has for his preggo mama's, to understand the swooning women in the waiting room. It's not just me. (Although he does love me best.)

Anyway, just a couple of weeks after the secrets thread was murdered, including my confession of a deep and undying love for the man who delivered my children, and ALSO including A PHOTO of the two of us and my widdle biddy Colby, (seen above) I had to go in for my 3 month check up postpartum.

Following is an excerpt of an email written to the oft mentioned best friend Tasha, who also sees Dr. Obgyn, and also admits a bit of a crush on him. (not as deep as mine though) Draw your own conclusions.

natalie ***** wrote:
I tried to call you earlier, i guess you had already gone to bed.

The funniest thing happened today, and i want you to tell me that i am being crazy.

Anyway, you know i had my yearly exam. Well i am in the room reading a magazine with the little gown on waiting for Dr. ******* Well, he comes in and smiles really big, and takes my magazine and gives me a full body hug. That in itself was odd, he usually grabs my hand. ANYWAY, he chit chats for a few minutes, how have you been, hows the baby, when was your last period, blah blah. Then he says "you have lost about 32 pounds since your last visit when you were preg." and i say yeah, i need to lose about three times that, and i told him that i am doing weight watchers and he says he is so proud blah blah. then he goes and gets the nurse and does my exam and that is all normal and then he tells me to get dressed and he will be back.

So i get dressed and he comes back in and sits down and says, "you really are looking really good." and i say thanks thinking that he is trying positive reinforcement because he wants me to stop being a fatty because he is tired of looking at all my cellulite. Then he says "how old are you?" and i say "almost 31" and he looks like he doesnt believe me and said "nooo, you are not! I thought you were about 25!" and i say no, i wish! haha. AND THEN he says "i want to tell you something." umm, ok. and he says "i just want to tell you how much i enjoy your being my patient. You are such a sweet young lady, and you are just so genuine and sincere, and i just absolutely love you." (Could you repeat that while you do my breast exam?? Just the last part.) and i smile and say "ohh, thank you so much! Now go and tell the girl in the next room the same thing" and i am laughing and he said "No, i am being serious. You really are one of my favorite patients and i love when you get to come in so that i can visit with you. There aren't many of my tons of patients that i think about through the year, and wonder how they are doing, and you are one of them. I just think you are precious" (WHAAAA....????) and so i smile and say thank you again and he gives me another hug and we start to walk out. I am really confused and suprised and really somewhat speechless at this point. So then i said "well, i guess i will see you in a year, if i don't get knocked up before then" and he laughs and then we start talking about the possibility of my having a third baby and how much he loves his 3rd baby blah blah blah. Then when i am leaving, he gives me the one arm hug. (that makes 3, if you were counting) and a kiss on the temple/forehead area. (he said someother stuff, but i can't remember it all now because i am panicking so much)

So i leave thinking how sweet that was for him to say blah blah. Then tonight i am just about to get online and i was thinking about it all again and how really odd the whole visit was.... and then it hit me. WHAT IF someone else was on babycenter and saw the picture that i posted of ME AND HIM with the proclamation that i have a huge crush on him??????? It could be any one of his patients that was like "you would not believe what i saw on the internet!!" (hell, if i saw it, i would tell him) Surely not. Surely none of his PREGNANT and POSTPARTUM patients would be on BABYCENTER. What the hell was i thinking???? Do you think i am just overreacting?

I did call marty and tell him that we were going to have to get divorced because Dr loves me. He laughed and said that was fine as long as we paid him child support. haha.

So anyway, I don't know what the deal is with all of that!! But I thought you all might find it a bit amusing. And maybe it really is just that he is crazy in love with me.... *sigh* It is time for me to go back for my one year visit, so maybe I should wear something lowcut... Oh wait. I will be naked. Hmmmmm. How do you play hard to get when you are naked??

I'll be right there, just let me get my teeth

My age caught up with me this weekend.

Now, it has been sneaking in here and there, but I was able to ignore it. The aching back when I stayed in bed too long. The fact that I stop drinking after one margarita because I don't want to be sick or have a hangover. Buying shoes based on comfort instead of "coolness". I go to the mall to shop instead of looking for hot guys. And that the hot guys have all disappeared. The guys at the mall are like... tweleve, or eighty. No self respecting 30 something guy goes to the mall alone. You might see him with his wife and children, but never alone.

My very best friend in the world, Tasha, and I decided we needed to have a yard sale this weekend. We are both poor, and have lots of junk. Three Durango loads and three Jeep Liberty loads of junk to be exact.

Tasha and I have been friends for 13 years. We have known each other our whole lives, but she was a year older than me and couldn't be seen with me. That was ok though because I didn't think she was the type of person I would ever had been friends with in high school. Her dad was a preacher and she seemed very straightlaced. I was not straightlaced at all.

Of course, she wasn't either - as I found out later... She was just better at hiding it than me.

Either way, through a bunch of circumstances that I won't go into, (thats more her story than mine) we got to be friends. Then we got to be the best of friends. We still have our differences, and our disaggreements, but I like to think that we have been through it all and are closer than ever. I hope that we are always friends, but we all know that things change. I hate to think of my life without her in it though. Very depressing.

We used to work together. Back in the days when I was still single and she was recently divorced, and her mom kept her daughter for her on the weekends. (We worked weekends) We were young. I seriously can not tell you how many nights we stayed up drinking and dancing and partying, never went to bed, then went straight to work in our party clothes, worked till 3pm, went back to her house, slept three hours, got up got dressed and partied all night again. And then repeated the whole cycle. And felt FINE. What has happened to us?

We got older. We had kids. We suck.

She came down on Friday after work at about 10:00pm and we started pricing stuff. I had already been pricing all week, but was no where near finished. You can't imagine the pile of stuff we had. We have 5 kids between us so we more or less had sizes 0 through teen, and adult medium through plus. We both have little boys, her little Jonah is 19 months, and of course Colby is 16 months. It was amazing the number of things we had that were identical. (actually, i guess it is not so amazing. We decided a few years back that instead of trying to buy presents for each others entire families, we would just exchange a Christmas ornament between us each year. Four out of the five years that we have done this, we bought each other the same exact ornament. How crazy is that?) This would have been a great yard sale for someone with twins. We had matching bouncy chairs, baby gyms, carseats, bathtubs, swings... you pretty much name it.

So, we are pricing and pricing and pricing and by about 2:00am, we were giddy with laughter. We decided that there was no way we were going to be able to go to bed by that point, so we were having a good laugh. "Nat and Tasha!! UP all night!! WORK all day!! Whoooohoooo!! Just like the old days!!"

By 10:00AM, four hours into the yard sale, I thought I would die. My eyes were swollen nearly shut. It was 100 degrees and we had no shade. My feet and ankles were swollen more than they ever were during pregnancy. I was cranky. I could not form sentences. One lady bought $27.50 worth of clothes and handed me $43.00. I stood there stupified, trying to decide if I was actually going to try and figure out how the hell much change I was supposed to give her or if I should just knock her over the head with a used cowboy boot and run. And I used to be a bank teller. What has happened to me??

And to top it all off, the yard sale was a COMPLETE bust. I have never in my life made less than $200 on a yard sale and this time... I made $87.25... I could have been a hooker and made three times that by staying in bed. And then gotten a good nights sleep. And probably not been so cranky either.

The best part of the day was that my little princess had a lemonade stand. She sat out in the heat and waited patiently for someone to get thirsty. I was afraid for awhile that I was going to have to start calling people to come and buy lemonade, because everyone was bypassing her. But finally someone declared thirst! She opened her ice bucket, filled the cup, and then poured the lemonade. She was so proud. One mama gave her daughter a quarter and she ran and threw it into Elizabeths money jar... and then ran away. Elizabeth made her a cup of lemonade and went chasing after her, sloshing lemonade everywhere she went. She found the little girl hiding under a table. "Here is your lemonade, you forgot it!" she said, offering the cup. "I DOAN WANNIT!" yelled the little girl, pouting.

And what did Elizabeth do? Sat down beside her and said, "You know, lemonade is a very refreshing drink on a hot day like today."

I thought Tasha and I were never going to stop laughing. I have a teeny little marketing rep on my hands.

We packed everything up around 2pm, and headed home. Marty had a fishing tournament, so I still couldn't go to bed. I stumbled blearily around the house until 8:30pm when I could stay awake no longer, put Colby in bed, and lied to Elizabeth and told her it was 9:00. We all went to bed and I fell asleep before my head even hit the pillow.

I didn't wake up until 1:00pm on Sunday.

helmets save lives

Too bad our mutant fat dachshund mouse didn't have one.

He met his untimely demise sometime in the night. He passed quietly, without a fuss, in our sleep. We never even knew it happened until we came in the kitchen and saw his huge mutant tail stiffly poking out from behind the trashcan.

I called to Marty that something had happened to Mr. Freakmouse. I think my exact words were "Oh my gosh!! That fat bastard is dead!! Whooohoooo!!" Marty was in the shower, and could not come claim the body at that time.

I tried to pretend it had not happened, and went about making breakfast. Elizabeth heard me in the kitchen and walked carefully into the kitchen. "Have you seen the mouse this morning, mama?" she asked me, fearfully. "Yes, honey. The little mousie is dead."

"Where is he dead?"

"Lets not worry about that honey. Sit down and eat while I go wake up brother."

It wasn't until the body was claimed and layed to rest in the outside trash receptacle, still housed in the vehicle of his demise, (we think that is the way he would have wanted it.) and I was getting Elizabeth ready for school that she came clean.

"Mama, I know you told me not to worry about that dead mouse, but I had to go and look at it."

Oh great. Now my poor daughter has seen her first dead freak mouse body. She will probably have nightmares of little beady fixed eyes for years. She will run screaming from men with squished noses.

"You know what mama? He looked kind of funny."

"Well honey, that is because he was dead."

She stood there for a minute and said "Did you look at him?"

Lord no! I can't stand to look at the warm blooded demons from Hell when they are alive, much less when they are crushed! "No, baby. I didn't."

"Wanna see what he looked like? He was really furry, so pretend I have fur all over me."

She then proceed to get down on the floor and do a REMARKABLE imitation of a dead mouse. Arms and feet pointed straight out, the ones on the top at an angle, eyes fixed, and tounge slightly protruding.

If it is possible to bust a gut laughing, I did that this morning. I laughed until I had tears pouring down my face, and she giggled right along with me.

She is so talented, and really advanced for her age. I don't think dead rodent jokes typically come along until the 8th and 9th year of age.

like sands through the hourglass....

I don't know what is going on lately, but I am about to choke my husband. Feel free to enter this into evidence as premeditation.

First of all, Wednesday we had a huge fight. H.U.G.E. I had dropped Elizabeth off at school, and then went and picked Marty up at work. She has to be at school at 7:40, Marty gets off his 24 hour shift at 7:30, and I don't have to be at work until 8:30. We needed some groceries, so what better plan than to go early in the AM so that the store is nearly empty? Get in and get out... plus and added bonus of spousal togetherness... Great plan!!

Well, my normally good natured husband is being an ass from the get go. I won't go into all the details, but he more or less called me irresponsible and incompetent. I got pissed and asked him to please just take me back to the office, because I didn't want to fight before having to go to work. He refused and said something to the effect of "The grown up way to handle this would be for you to suck it up, and lets go get groceries like big people." NO WAY!! I am NOT going to be a grown up about this!! irresponsible, incompetent, and now, immature. Nope. NOT going to suck it up and go pick ripe apples and lunchmeat with a flippin smile! NOT GONNA DO IT!! AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!!!! *stomp* *stomp* *stomp*

So I did the totally mature thing, and got out of the durango and started walking back to the office. I figured it was only 2 miles and I had 30 minutes. I was FURIOUS. I am sure that comes from not ever really fighting. All my frustrations come out at once.

He was not really amused with my getting out and walking. Lets just leave it at that.

So, I get back in the durango and he takes me to work. As soon as I get to my desk, I take care of the problem that brought up the "irresponsible" tag. My boss comes in about two minutes later and asks me for a phone number. I tell him, "We don't have their home number on file." He gives me an exasperated look and says, "Natalie. I saw Mr. Customer at the post office last week and he gave me his number. I came back here, and gave it to you. Are you telling me you did not enter it in his file? What is the problem that you can't remember these small details?"

So I burst into tears. Let's see. Anyone else want to take a shot at me today? Can I hear a "fatass"? how 'bout a "bitch"? Anybody???

So that day goes well. And Thursday equally well. Then last night, Marty comes outside, where I am sitting reading the paper, and sits down and says, "I am sorry about yesterday. I had a really bad night. We had a bad wreck in town, and I was pulling a young girl out and I didn't think she was going to make it. I couldn't sleep all night. When this kind of things happen, it is hard for me to transition back to the stupid details of life, like groceries and bills."

Well, why the hell didn't you tell me that in the first place, instead of just yelling at me???

So we made up. And didn't have another fight until... 2 hours later.

Same old story. I came home and nothing had been done. He only has one kid at home now, Elizabeth is in school. Normally I just do the household chores and keep my mouth shut because it is not worth the fight. But I am having a yard sale this weekend, and specifically asked him to please try and help me around the house, because I have to spend every night after the kids go to bed cleaning out closets and pricing. Well, last night, I am pricing and pricing after we made up and the kids went to bed, and he is in here on the computer. I am doing laundry and he is on the computer. I never ate supper, so I asked him if there was any way he could make me a sandwich. "Uhhh... yeah, I guess... in a minute. You wouldn't BELIEVE what is going on on the board today!" (sound familiar?) So I go back to pricing and about 30 minutes later, I came back in the kitchen and said, "Are you please going to make me a sandwich?" and he never takes his eyes of the keyboard and said "I guess, but you are going to have to wash the skillet." I look over at the mound of dishes. Two sinkfulls, plus they are all over the counter and stove.

The pot that had simmered for 2 days suddenly reached the boiling point.

"You know, it would not flippin kill you to wash a flippin dish, Mr. STAY AT HOME DAD!!! If the tables were turned and I was the one to stay home, LIKE THAT WOULD EVER FLIPPIN HAPPEN, I would feel that it was my JOB to do the housework..."

"Natalie! I mowed the grass today!!"

"OH jeez, I am so sorry!! I didn't realize that you did GROUNDSKEEPING today!!" (Our yard is about 1/3 of an acre. No plants, no bushes, no weedeating.)

"You know, that is your problem, you don't think taking care of the yard is WORK!! You don't appreciate my efforts outside one BIT!"

"You are 100% correct on that count! I wish to hell someone would let me crack open a beer and ride around the yard on a modified golf cart, with only my own thoughts to accompany me! It's not WORK like you are making it out to be! Its not a PUSHMOWER. If we had a PUSHMOWER then I would understand your not doing the dishes."

"I wish you would stop harping about the damn dishes all the damn time! They only get washed twice a flippin week anyway!"

OH

MY

GOSH!!!

Is the sign of a stroke that your eye starts twitching at the same time that your brain actually gets HOT and feels like it is going to leak out of you ears? I may be having a stroke. Oh crap, and my face is going numb. He is going to feel really bad when I drop dead right in front of him just because he wouldn't wash a skillet.

"I cannot believe you just said that. I am freaking stunned here. I was these damn dishes every damn night, except for this week because I have not had TIME! I washed them Sunday while you watched the race, I washed them MONDAY while you watched Monster Garage, and I washed them TUESDAY while you were watching Oceans Twelve... (I remember all of this because each time I thought he might come help me since all he was doing was watching tv... HA!!)

"Whatever."

It went swiftly downhill from there. Maybe this is the 10 year itch. Or maybe I just need to get remedicated so that I don't care what the flip he does. But is that really fair? Like yesterday, I worked from 8:00 until 7:00. My boss is pissed about me taking off once a week to keep Colby and he said that I am starting to get "behind" and that "disturbs" him. So I came in early and left late every day this week, to totally catch up. I am stressed out. I want to be like Lynn's husband on Desperate Housewives and say, "I have decided. YOU are going back to work. Its MY turn to stay at home." (Can you tell that I REALLY identify with Lynn?)

It's funny, I hear all the time that the best man to marry is one that is once divorced. He has learned from his mistakes, and is determined not to repeat them with his new love. He has loved and fucked up and lost, and he never knew how much it would hurt.

Well, I will be damned if Marty is going to be someone else's GOOD husband!!

GROUCH!!

Sorry I haven't blogged much this week. I am so grumpy!! I was going to post a picture of Grumpy, Snow White's vertically challenged friend, but I found this one of Grumpy Guy in Tub with Ducks, and it made me laugh. If I were a slightly balding, skinny guy - this pic could definately be me. I can even hear him, "Can I NOT take a flippin BATH without a flippin PARADE marching through here??" I even have the ducks.

One of my favorite things to do when I am supposed to be working is to go to Yahoo Images and put in random words and see what pictures come up. Most of the time, I find some really hysterical stuff! In fact, I have a couple of pics that I am saving gleefully for drama. I am giddy with anticipation. Go on, go start a fight somewhere. Do it for your buddy Nat.

You can, however, put in a word - thinking you are looking for a picture of something specific-and be shocked. Here is a hint. Instead of grumpy, I put in pissed. Thinking angry. DON'T SEARCH FOR PISSED PICTURES!!!!!! I cannot stress this enough. You will never be the same.

Either way, grumpy.

Please don't tell me what all I have to be thankful for. I KNOW. I am very thankful for my health, food on the table, healthy precious children, I have a husband (not sure he should be on my thankful list at this point, but there he is.), my family is all well, the air is fixed in my durango, and my house is so welcoming that a bunch of flipping mice have moved in.

Remember those cartoons when we were kids - the fat lady in the polka dotted dress leaps on to the top of the fridge at the sight of a mouse? And when we were kids, we were like "What a LOSER fat lady!"

That is me. I am the cartoon loser fat lady. Only my dress was a flowered gown that I wore when I was pregnant and the mouse, that fat bastard, was in my flipping UTENSIL DRAWER. I was making some Iced Java and opened the drawer to get a spoon and there that fucker was. I screamed like I had been shot, and ran trembling from the room. I screamed at Marty, "THERE IS A FUCKING MOUSE IN THE UTENSIL DRAWER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Since he is currently pissed at me, he gave me a look and said "Huh. Sorry." So then I am mad at myself because I forgot I was ignoring him. Now he has the upper hand because I showed that I cared last. DAMMIT. That DAMN mouse is ruining everything!!!!!!!!!!!! And besides that, now I have to scour every last utensil in bleach. And turpentine. And vinegar. I would rather open that drawer to 20 cockroaches than a mouse. I HATE MICE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am getting wiggy about my weight again too. This time last year, I went to see my hot gynocologist and he told me how proud he was of me because I weighed less than I ever had in the 7 years he has been my doctor. And I remember thinking "Wait till he sees me next year!"

Yeah, he will be floored. At that time I was doing Weight Watchers, and loving it. I don't know what happened. I stopped counting points and started counting snacks. I have not even called to make my appointment because I don't want to go like this. I think to myself, "I will just wait until around November, and maybe I can lose a little by then."

Now I will probably get cancer, and he will say, "Too bad you didn't come in September. We might could have saved you then."

this is my week

In case you can't tell, thats a bunch of carp. LMAO!!!

cant flippin sleep!

I hate nights like this. I went to bed at 10:30. It is now after 1:00AM. I do this every single Sunday, dreading the back-to-work week. (and generally at least 2 other nights during the week!) It is even worse tonight.

Generally, I get up at 7:45, shower, throw on some makeup and clothes, and I am out the door at 8:15, and to work by 8:30. Now that I have a kindergartener, she has to be in her CHAIR in her class at 7:50. This puts quite the cramp in my sleep schedule, especially when you factor in that I have to get HER ready, and that her school is at the other end of town. I have to drive the long way, adding another 10 minutes to the trip. Uggg. I know that is my problem this week. I am terrified I am going to oversleep, and she is going to be late to school. I will become "that parent". Double uggg. Maybe I should talk Marty in to homeschooling. (LMAO!)

And whatever happened to wake up services? I once told Marty that I wanted to quit my job and start a wake up service. Hell, I live in a town with two major universities: one private Baptist college and one state college. I bet many worried parents would pay me $20 a week to wake up their precious Kyles and Myrandahs, and insure that they might actually get to that 8:00 class. "Hey Kyle! It's Natalie with the Wakeup Honey's. Are you awake? Your mom told me to remind you that you have an English paper due at 11:00, and a frat meeting at 2:00! Now say something and let me know you are awake!! Are you sure? Ok, talk to you tomorrow!" The only problem with this plan is that I would have to be getting up earlier than ever. I would need a wake up service for me, so that I could start my wake up service.

I hate nights like this! Where is the damn sandman? Come on with your bag of sand! Grit up my eyes a bit!!

Oh, and my bed is a magnet, by the way. Marty snores, horribly snores. So tonight, when he fell asleep on the couch, I was a bit overjoyed. I crawled into the king size bed, my sheets clean, the fan on low, and streched out, fully prepared to go to sleep. Of course, we have established that sleep was a bit elusive. At 12:00, I hear Marty walking down the hall. He crawled into bed beside me and cuddles all up, making me even more uncomfortable. (Why do men not have to shave their legs??? I shave MINE! I don't really like hairy, scratchy legs all over me at night.) I toss away from him, and start getting hot. I wish I had turned the fan on medium.

I actually almost drift off for about 3 seconds, until I hear much stumbling and toy kicking. Elizabeth jumps up in my bed too, bringing with her a pillow, her own blanket, a barbie, a stuffed dog, and a stuffed gorrilla. Good thing we don't have a dog. Good thing Colby is still confined to crib jail.

I just bit a tylenol pm in a third. Hopefully that will be enough to put me to sleep, but not enough that I will sleep until Tuesday.

Anybody wanna call me at 6:15 central time? oh grief, that is only 4 hours and 30 minutes from now...

The deep, rich, European aroma of ear infection

A few weeks ago, I was taking a (nobodylovesme
everybodyhatesme imightaswelleatworms!) break from babycenter. During that time, something happened to make me feel like the absolute most inept mother to walk the face of the Earth. It gave everyone a huge, huge laugh, and I thought I would finally share the story with the 5 of you that read this blog! Sit back and relax!

I have mentioned proudly, numerous times, that both my children are excellent sleepers. I pride myself on their ability to go to bed without a peep and sleep many hours before waking happy and ready to play. Therefore, I am not equipped to deal with night wakings and sleeplessness.

Well, one night, I had JUST gotten into bed and was in that drifty sort of not-asleep but not-awake time. All of a sudden, Colby lets out a blood curdling scream, and keeps screaming and screaming. I jump out of bed and run to his room and he is standing in his crib, screaming. I pick him up, my heart pounding, and start talking to him quietly... you know, the "Heybaby itsok mamashere don'tcry mommasherebaby" etc... I carry his little sobbing body into the kitchen and I didn't turn the light on because I didn't want him totally awake. I grabbed a sippy and a lid off the rack, and opened the fridge. I had forgotten we were out of milk. Crap. I look a bit deeper into the fridge and i see the kids juice pitcher, full of grape juice. Thank goodness for Marty! I poured him a cup, and carried him into the living room. I didn't turn on the light in there either, but turned on CMT really low. I sat on the couch with him, holding him tight. As he gulped down his drink, I noticed he was pulling on his ear. Great. Another ear infection.

He finishes his cup and does his ceremonial cup toss to the floor, buries his head in my chest and drifts off to sleep. I waited until I was sure he was back asleep, and then turned the lamp next to me on "low". To my horror, there was something wet and brown all in his ear. The one he had been tugging on. I am somewhat panicky. I quietly go and lay him down, and except to pop his thumb in his mouth and pull his blankey close, he doesn't move. I close the door, head into the kitchen and turn on the light. It is then that I notice that on my shirt, where his head was laying is a huge brown wet spot. I take my shirt off, and catch a whiff of something. I bring the shirt to my nose and it smells vaguely of... coffee? Oh no. What is HAPPENING?

I boot up my computer and do a search for "ruptured eardrum". The information that I pull up is comforting: he is not going to be deaf for life, and I do not have to take him to the ER. But I can't seem to find anything that describes the "smell" of ruptured eardrum.

SO! I go to the JodyEvansFan's board, because one of my new found friends is a pediatric nurse, and I knew that when they were slow, she was often in chat on the board. Thank goodness, she was there! I describe the whole situation to her, and she said that yes, it could be a ruptured eardrum, but she has also never heard of the coffee smell. But you never know. She said if it would make me feel more at ease, by all means bring him to the ER. I debated it for awhile, but decided to let sleeping babies lie. I did call Marty at the firestation and let him know what was up, in case we did end up having to take him somewhere.

I tossed and turned all night. I went in about 17 times and checked on Colby. Sniffed his ear. Coffee. But it didn't seem to be draining anymore. Poor guy. My poor, sweet sick boy.

When Marty got home the next morning, both kids were still asleep. I gave him a kiss and told him that I didn't get much sleep for worrying about Colby, so I was going to go and lay back down. I fell into a deep sleep, knowing that Marty was there to handle any crisis.

I don't know how long I slept before I heard, "DAD!! COME QUICK!! COLBY HAS SOMETHING NASTY STUCK ALL OVER HIS FACE!!!!!!" (It is one of Elizabeth's great joys to be the first one to open Colby's door in the morning and greet him.) Before I can get out of the bed, I hear Marty gagging. I run into Colby's room (again), and the floor, the wall, the crib, and the baby are covered in throwup. Oh Lord help me. And Marty says, "Something is seriously wrong with him. Even his vomit smells like coffee."

We strip him down and Marty takes him to the tub.

Marty is so funny. He can cut people out of wrecks, he has worked fires where people have died and burned, he has seen horrors that most of us can not imagine. But give him a bit of vomit or a really bad diaper, and he is a complete basket case. He gags and runs outside, gulping air. Therefore, I was elected to clean the baby room. I just threw the sheets away, and as sheer luck would have it, I had taken the bumper pad out a couple of nights before, so I didn't have to deal with that. Just used a whole container of clorox wipes on the room.

After I got done cleaning the mess, I went in the kitchen to start breakfast. It was the wierdest thing, because right as I opened Colby's cup from the night before to put it in the sink, Marty comes up the hall, laughing, holding a wet, fresh smelling, precious baby.

Right as I got a whiff of what was in the empty cup from the night before, Marty says, "You didn't happen to give him anything out of the juice pitcher last night, did you?"

Seems my dear, sweet, loving husband was trying to suprise me. Since money is so tight around here, I have been completely unable to indulge in my frappachino addiction. So he had been experimenting with different recipes while I was at work. He made a huge pot of black coffee a few days before to experiment with. And when he got frustrated, he just poured the black coffee into the kids juice pitcher, so that he could try again later. And shoved the pitcher to the back of the fridge and hoped I wouldn't find it, and spoil his surprise.

Colby's ear was fine.

A glimpse into the teens

I finally see why my mom bugged me so much when I was a teenager.

We took Elizabeth to kindergarten today. She was so excited, and a bit nervous. She walked right in and sat down on the floor with her class and I jumped around embarrassing her by taking photos and calling out her name. "Elizabeth!! Look here!! Smile!!" I was really happy and doing fine, until a little boy came in with his mom. One look at the class and he started crying, very silently, but his breath was hitching. His mom was doing the same thing I was... big smile, a big hug and a big kiss. She cupped his chin and said "You are going to have so much fun today!! I can't wait to hear all about it!!" and he looked at her like she had repeatedly run over his dog and said "But why can't I just stay with you?" very quietly. For some reason, that made me start bawling. I blew Elizabeth a kiss, she pretended not to know me. I whispered loudly, "I LOVE YOU!!" and she gritted her teeth and said "I looob yoo too" in a way that told me she was not really loving me so much at the moment, and proceeded to start talking to the boy next to her. We were dismissed.
Marty, Colby and I left, and Marty didn't notice until we were in the car that I was crying.

So, I wait all day. I try to figure out at any given time what she might be doing. HMMMMM... its 11:30, I bet she is eating lunch... It's 1:33, I bet they are getting up from resting time... OOHH! Its 2:35, almost time to go and pick her up!

We did the whole family thing in the afternoon too. It took us a while to find her, but when we did, we immediately started excitedly pelting her with questions. And she started the "you-are-boring-me" answers...

"So!! How was your first day of kindergarten?"
"Fine."

"Do you like your teacher?"
"yes"

"Were any of your friends from daycare in your class?"
"No"

"Did you make any new friends?"
"Yes"

"What were their names?"
"dunno"

Ok, this isn't working. What would the child psychologists tell me to do? OH! Don't ask yes or no questions!

"Tell me about your day, honey!" (did I just actually use that old worn out question? Yes.)
Blank stare, closely followed by, "Huh?"

"What kind of things did you do in class today?"
*huge sigh* followed by her reply, which obviously took extreme effort to force out of her mouth, "Kindergarten THINGS!"

I flash back onto all the papers I signed last night. The Volunteer Parent sign up form... The Permission to Videotape your Child form... THE DRUG FORM!! I start panicking. Maybe that is why we had to sign the drug form! This school is infected with pint sized drug dealers! I bet she is on drugs! Some 5 year old addict probably gave her a joint on the playground! Or a benny! (not really sure what a benny is, but i have heard about it all my life... It must be something bad!)

I start looking at her eyes, searching for pupil changes. I can't really tell any difference. And besides that, she is looking at me like I have lost my mind. So maybe its not drugs. Maybe this is when it starts. Her own life. She doesn't have to share with me anymore, because she doesn't need my validation in her life.

I am hoping she was just overwhelmed with joy.

Retro? What? When did my life become retro?

(THANK GOODNESS for the "Recover Post" button!! I love you blogger.com!! I got this whole thing typed, was uploading the pic, and my power flickered and shut my whole computer down... I booted it back up, logged back on, crossed my fingers and clicked recover post. AND there it WAS!! It was like Magic!! Half my blog!! Which is much better than NONE of my blog!!)

My house is finally silent. Well, as silent as my house gets. Marty had a big fire last night, it started at 10:30pm, and lasted until this morning. (More on that tomorrow.) He fought it all night, with 4 other departments, took a shower and came home, utterly exhausted, to watch the kids all day while I was at work. I tried not to get mad when I walked in the door and was met with a horrific mess that Colby made. I won't go into it, because it is disgusting. Really disgusting. I also tried not to get mad at the dishes. See, I decided to take a stand, and not do anything to the house. I figured that when there was not a clean glass, plate, or pair of underwear, Marty would be forced to do... something. Anything. Unfortunately, my plan backfired. I had to do 4 sinks of dishes before I could cook supper. *sigh* Not the way I planned on spending the last night before Kindergarten.
Anyway, silent house. The air conditioner is humming. Marty is asleep on the couch. A car show is on the TV. He is oblivious. Colby is tossing and turning, and every once in a while, I hear his crib music box start up. He keeps punching it until he is too tired to get up anymore. That is when I know he is asleep.

Elizabeth is also tossing and turning. She has been a complete handful tonight. Literally spastic. Bouncing off the walls, talking too loud, grabbing Colby too hard. Every motion completely exaggerated by her can't-wait-until-tomorrow mania. I hate to admit it, but I was really glad to put her down for bed.

The backpack is by the door, ready to go. Strawberry Shortcake. Which I think is hysterical, because all of my things were Strawberry Shortcake when I started Kindergarten. Those scented dolls were the crack-for-kids of the 80's. Who could resist shoving their nose into her hair and inhaling the scent of rubber and strawberries? I remember yelling at my friends to stop smelling of my dolls because they were going to "use up all the smell". And whatever happened to the others?? Huckleberry Pie? Purple Pieman & Capt'n Crackle? Blueberry Muffin? Raspberry Tart?? Lime Chiffon? Did they move away, out of Strawberry Land? Did they grow up? Did they D. I. E.??? And why can't you buy the big rubber dolls like we had? Strawberry Shortcake, in my mind, always seemed a bit chubby, like me. A happy, chubby, carefree girl with a big, huge bonnet. Today's Strawberry Shortcake is a rail thin, curly headed sprite, a hipper version of what I grew up on. I don't like her. She is an imposter. Bring back the fatty!!

I digress. A few months ago, I told Elizabeth about all the fun things we were going to shop for when it was time for kindergarten. The clothes. The school supplies. And the much anticipated, completely revered... lunchbox. You know, the kind that snaps shut, and contains the even cooler thermos. Decorated in a slightly different motif than the lunchbox, the thermos was always the most awesome part of my back to school experience. What else can keep milk coldish, and soup warmish from 7:30 in the morning until 11:30 lunchtime? And it had the cool cup on the top, so that you could daintily drink your milk / coke / tea / soup without having to drink out of the thermos. I never felt so grown as I did when I opened that lunchbox to see what suprises my mom had packed.

I was in for a big shock. The old metal lunchboxes gave way to the plastic ones many years ago, and I remember being somewhat sad about that. What I didn't know is that the hard plastic ones had given way to "soft sides" lunchboxes with "sport bottles". Sport bottles are not cool. How can you drink soup out of a sport bottle? Your noodles, or corn, or tomatos would clog up the spout! And they are not even insulated! Milk will be hot! Gross! I don't want to give my kid milky chunks to drink for lunch!

So, we didn't find a lunchbox. I had not brought up the topic for a couple of weeks, hoping she would forget. I made a huge deal about getting the school lunch menu. "WOW! Elizabeth!! On your first day of school, you are going to have a chicken crispito! Salsa! (what? is there a kindergartener alive that eats salsa?) A spinich salad! (can't wait for that!) Ranch Dressing! Grapes! and MILK! Yum! I wish I could eat with YOU!" She seemed as excited as me. On Open House day, I pointed out the cafeteria. "This is where you will eat a nice yummy lunch that they cook for you!" YAY!

But tonight, right before I turned out the light, she said, "Hey mom? What are we going to do about my lunchbox and thermos?"

"Don't worry honey. Mom will take care of it. I love you, and get a good nights sleep."

Ebay, here I come.

Crybaby Mama

This week. How can it be????

My little baby starts Kindergarten this week. I don't know if I will survive.

A month ago, we went to Old Navy to shop for school clothes and I cried. Seeing her in these "big girl" clothes and thinking about her wearing them to school just sent me over the edge.

Then about a week after that, I walked into Walmart and saw the "YAY FOR SCHOOL!! Get your supply list HERE!" display. Ok, I can do this. It is just a supply list after all. Crayons. Check. Fiskar Scissors. Check. Two spiral ring wide rule notebooks. Che... WHAT?? My baby isn't big enough for wide rule!! She needs blank pages to draw pictures on!! And what is this "headphone" business?? What are you going to do, brainwash her?? And a backpack?? Bad for her little posture for one, and two, she isn't a backpack type girl. Can she bring a stylish tote with feathers and her name embroidered on the front instead????? I think i got the crayons, glue, and scissors before I started crying again. And left the store. After that, I tried to sneak one thing past myself each time I went in walmart until I had the backpack full. Lets see.... milk, tomatoes, bread, threeringbinder, apples, cereal... wait, what am I getting a threeringbinder for...? I don't know. But its on my list. Lalalalallalalalalalalalala!!!!

Yesterday was Open House. Meet the teacher.

First of all, we didn't get our welcome letter in the mail. We had to call the school to get her teacher assignment. The lady that Marty talked to looked up Elizabeth's name and told him her teacher was Mrs. Kirkpatrick, but didn't tell him anything else. Like that there was a Kindergarten Mixer at the waterpark on Monday. Oops. Missed that. Or that she needed to bring her backpack full of supplies to the Open House so that everything could be put away for the first day of school. Or that there was a second kindergarten mixer at Gymnastics Plus today. Uggggg... missed that too. Or that there was an assembly before the Meet The Teacher time that would make me cry like a baby in front of all of Elizabeth's prospective friends and their parents.

It began as your typical school-is-starting assembly. Or I assume it was, seeing as I have never had a kid in school before. The Superintendant gave a speech, closely followed by the Principal. (By the way, things have really CHANGED since I was in kindergarten!! We had one teacher that taught us EVERYTHING... math, colors, art, music, spelling... Now they have a separate art and music teachers, and they have a COMPUTER class every day. I don't think computers even existed outside of NASA when I was in school.) Anyway, then the principal introduced all the teachers. Elizabeth was happy to see that Mrs. Kirkpatrick was young, AND pretty. We got to hear all the achievements and honors and awards that all these unknown teachers had received. No problem. This is easy. Where are the snacks??

But then they pulled out their secret lets-separate-the-crybabies-from-the-sane-parents weapon. The lets-find-out-whose-parents-need-to-be-medicated weapon. The ultimate psycological test.

The principal said into her microphone, "Now, before I let you go to your classes and meet your new teachers, I have a special suprise for you. Mrs. White, our music teacher, is going to sing us a song with her six year old daughter!"

YAY. What IS it about little kids performing that sends me over the edge? Even before I had kids, take me to a school play where some kid dresses up like a turkey to welcome Thanksgiving, and I am a basket case. Or take me to a little league game where 4 year olds swing for that baseball on a stick, and finally hit it! Sob city. Or heaven forbid, dress up little three year old girls in tutu's and let them do a ballet and I have to be helped out of the auditorium. Doesn't matter that I don't know the kids at all. You would think I birthed each and every one of them from my uterus and then they were sent to live with this other family.

So Mrs. White and her precious little daughter walk up to the front of the stage and each have their little microphones, and her little girl looks up at her mom, waiting anxiously for her cue to begin, with those little trusting eyes, her pink fingernails gripping the mic so hard her fingers are white, and I can already feel my throat closing. THEN the music starts. Nope, not "Welcome to the Jungle", or even "School Daze"... it is some slow song I have never heard before called "You Lift Me". Here is an excerpt, just so you can get the feel for this song:

When I'm down on my luck

and i'm searching for my soul

When i'm feeling too much

and i start to lose control

When i'm down so low

that even enemies dont wanna know

You still care for me

say a prayer for me

and i know

Ooo I like you hangin' round

Cause you lift me up when i am upside down

Ooo you are my favourite sound

Cause youre always down for

Lifting me up like an angel when i hit the ground

Feel your arms all around me when im feeling down

Lift me up like an angel when i hit my low

when your arms are around me

i don't wanna let you go

Ok, now if that wasn't bad ENOUGH, when they sang the first line, this big screen slides out of a pocket on the ceiling and they are showing slides for heaven's sake... slides of little kids huddled in smiling little kid groups looking at fish... little kids waving to the camera as they walk in to the front doors. A little kid smiling at her bus driver and her bus driver grinning right back... two little kids hugging...

FOCUS!!... Don't cry. Lets look around... NO!! Don't look at Elizabeth, what are you THINKING?!?!?! She is sitting there, ramrod straight, little cheeks flushed, her freckles glistening. Hands clasped in her lap, looking joyous, thrilled, excited, scared and oh so grown. Don't look at her. What can l look at? Lets count floor tiles... one, two, three, fourfivesixseven oh lord i can't see. Don't flipping CRY!! I can't help it. I sit here surrounded by happy faces, parents shifting their weight on these seats designed for kindergarten buttocks, probably thinking about when they were going to get out of here and go to McDonalds, and I am crying like a loon.

Mrs. White and her daughter finally finish the longest song in history, and I desperately wipe the tears away before Marty sees me and starts making fun of me. We head out into the crush of parents and children searching for Mrs. Kirkpatricks room. I see a few people I know and they all look at me oddly. I really didn't think anything of it at the time.

We finally find her room, and introduce ourselves to her teacher, find Elizabeth's chair, and show her the treat bag her teacher has made. I apologise to the teacher about her backpack and tell her that we didn't get the letter from her. (Ends up after a bit of detective work that she had our address wrong.) I tell her that I will bring it early on Friday. She is patting me on the back, and I am looking at all these little babies that will be in my daughter's class and wondering who will be her friend. I want to weep again. I hope someone wants to be her friend. I want to parade her to each child and introduce her. And tell them if they are mean to her, i am coming over to kidnap their puppy / kitty / baby brother or sister / doll. I stop myself in time. I don't think i want to be known as Elizabeth's Mother, you know, the one that was arrested at open house for 19 counts of terroristic threatening.

We finally leave open house and get in the car. As we head home, I ask Elizabeth, "Did you see anyone that you might like to be friends with in your class?" and she said "YES!!" and I said "Who?" and she said "ALL OF THEM!!!" She is trembling with joy. She is growing up, and about to embark on a journey all her own. And she is thrilled. Friday can not get here soon enough.

For me, I am sick. I am scared. I am also proud of her. She is strong. And brave.

Oh, and the reason everyone was staring and being so nice?

I had mascara SMEARED all down my face, and caked under one eye. GREAT.

Pink, is my favorite crayyyonnn...

(Becky! This blogs for you!! LOL!!)

Colby has gotten so much more blog time than Elizabeth, so this blog is for her, too.

Six years ago, when I found out I was having a baby girl, I was ecstatic. I could not have been happier. There was only one issue.

I hated pink.

Hated it. Pink was not allowed in my house. That was sincerely ok with Marty, since he is not a fan of pink himself. We painted the baby room blue and white, and put up a classic pooh border. I bought blue classic pooh bedding. There was not an ounce of pink in the room.

Until the baby shower. What is it with people that they think that if you are having a girl, everything must be pink and frilly and bow-ey? I am not a frilly kind of gal. Everything that could be taken back, was, and I bought plain, no frills clothing. In green, and blue, and yellow... Blue jeans and red tops. Little teeny black slacks, and white button ups.

My MIL did send one pink sleeper with Paddington Bear on the side, and the material was so soft, like powder in my hands. I kept that one. That one pink outfit. I figured she would have grown out of it by the time she was able to pick and choose colors, thus the "pink crisis" would be averted.

Boy was I wrong. Instead of the polished, no frills girl that I ordered, a princess arrived. No matter how hard I pushed the camouflage capri's on her, she clamored for the pink ones... with glitter... and lace. Oh my. Even better if you can find something with pink feathers. Or flowers for buttons. Petticoats!! Dresses!! Pink shoes!!

When she was about two, she invented this whole pink world. It was hysterical. If she asked for a toy and I refused to buy it for her, she did not pitch a fit... she would very calmly look at me and say "Dats okey. I gots one at my pink house." and she would calmly walk away from the doll, or book, or toy that she was asking for with such a grownup air of nonchalance that I almost wanted to run over and grab her and say "OK!! Mommy was just kidding! You get to pick TWO dolls!!"

Even her teachers at her preschool started asking me about this "pink house" that she had. Over the next few months, it got bigger. Not only was her pink house full of toys, she also had 7 dogs, 1 cat, 6 brothers and 6 sisters at her pink house. And she would tell stories about all of them. "Yesserday at my pink house, my dog Lois grabbed a bawl away from my brother Davey. It was sooooo funny!" Or "My sisser Mandy got a bad cut on her keener. (her word for finger.) It bwed and it bwed. We took her to the Dr and she got a banaid." The stories got bigger and bigger. My aunt asked her one day how you got to the pink house, and she replied "Well, you gots to walk in the gween woods till you get to the pink woods, then turn wight." We asked her how long you had to walk and she said "I dunno. I drive my pink car, I don't walk." (Marty just walked up behind me and said "OH!! The pink house! I miss the pink house!!")

Somewhere along the line, as she grew up, the pink house stories that were once so abundant began drifting away. At first I didn't notice it, and when I did, I would prompt her. "So, what is going on at your pink house today?" and she (I think totally for my benefit) would tell me some story or another to appease me.

Until Colby came. I guess with the arrival of the real baby brother she had waited for for so long, the imaginary pink house lost a bit of appeal for her. I remember the death of a dream like it was yesterday. Colby was about a month old, and I was still a bit in the throes of PPD. Elizabeth was having to drop out of daycare, and I was feeling like a bad mother for that, and both babies were growing too fast for me. One night while Marty was working, and Colby was sleeping in the bouncy chair beside the bed, Elizabeth and I cuddled up reading a book. After we finished the book, it occurred to me that I hadn't heard anything about the pink house in... I have no idea how long. I gave her a hug, and said "Tell me a story about your pink house before we go to bed."

She looked at me for a long moment, as if deciding how to break it to me. "Well, mom... I can't." she sighed. "Why not??" I asked, almost fearfully. I don't need this right now. I need my baby to tell me a story about the pink house!!

"Well, mom... see... the pink house burned down." "WHAT??? It burned??" I am horrified for many reasons. Maybe this is Marty's fireman influence coming through. "Yep. It did. The woods burned too."

"What about the dogs?? What about the cat??"

"Well, they all got sick and died. That was before the fire though." (Our dog, that Marty and I had had since our first year of marriage, had recently had a stroke and died.... I guess that is where that came from.)

"What about the pink car???"

"Well, it was kind of crappy. It broke down." (CRAPPY!! My word!!)

I am afraid to ask the next question. After a deep breath, I blurt out, "What about the CHILDREN?"

"Oh, they all got adopted. They have all new moms and dads. I asked them to come live here, but we didn't have enough room."

And that was that. No more pink house stories. Now when we bring up the pink house, she rolls her eyes and says, "You are embarrassing me!! I was just a baby then!!" How sad. I miss the pink house, too.

But, some good has come from my little pink fairy. I have come to love pink. I search out pink whenever I am buying her something because I know how much she still loves it. I have even bought a couple of pink things for myself, and you know what? I like it. Pink looks good on me. It makes me feel girlie... I am not used to such. And in the next couple of months, I am going to give Elizabeth Colby's room, and put Colby in Elizabeth's room so that I can give her the pink room of her dreams... the one that only a few short years ago would be a nightmare for me. And I am excited about it. I can't wait. It's going to be so awesome.

Hopefully she doesn't decide that pink is too babyish before then.

wolves

I wasn't going to blog tonight, but I came across something in Elizabeth Berg's The Year Of Pleasures that struck me. I guess it caused what Oprah refers to as a "lightbulb moment"...

... There is a story about a Navajo grandfather who once told his grandson, "Two wolves live inside me. One is the bad wolf, full of greed and laziness, full of anger and jealousy and regret. The other is the good wolf, full of joy and compassion and willingness and a great love for the world. All the time, these wolves are fighting inside me." "But grandfather," the boy said. "Which wolf will win?" The grandfather answered, "The one I feed."...

retail crack

Hi, My name is Natalie and I have an uncontrollable addiction to yard sales.

I love them. If I am broke, I will throw Friday's paper away without ever taking the rubber band off of it, because I know that I will "accidentally" end up on the yard sale page, and something will catch my eye, and I will be up all night contemplating ways to beg, borrow or steal $10 to hit the sales.

Marty knows this is the way to get me "un-pissed" at him for those Saturday fishing tournaments. Right before he leaves at the crack of dawn on Saturday, he will wake me up and slip me the yard sale page and $20. "I love you honey, hope you find something good."

Elizabeth is almost as bad as me. She knows that if we go, she gets $4 of her very own, to be spent on whatever she wants. I try not to limit her, (except there is a "no stuffed animal" rule.)although there were times that I cringed. The huge Barbie Commercial Jetliner that broke into 400 small pieces everytime she touched it. This thing was twice the size of Colby when he was born. I have never seen it in stores. I guess you could simulate actual airliner crashes, because all the seats were removable and the wings popped off, as did all the doors and the cockpit controls. Not to mention, there were tiny plates of airline food, bags of teensy weensy peanuts, itty bitty magazines, miniscule pillows, and microscopic glasses... i suppose intended to hold those Bloody Mary's that Barbie is so fond of. The perfect thing to calm Barbie's nerves before a big flight to Paris, and to help tamper down her horrible panic attacks.

The funny thing is that I have always taken Elizabeth with me to yard sales. Back when she was a wee toddler, she used to embarrass the hell out of me when people would complement her on her outfits. See, she was born a diva. She can tell you where every item of clothing in her closet came from. Even at 2, she was extremely aware of her clothing. And more than once, someone would say "Oh, Elizabeth, that is such a pretty dress!" and she would reply, "Tanks. My mom gots it at Yard Sale." Like it was a store. It was funny, in a sad and twisted way.

Now Colby gets to tag along. He isn't too impressed just yet. Not even with the stuff he gets. But he will learn, or else he is going to have to start fishing with dad. I just wish he would learn to walk. I get quite the workout every Saturday, toting his 30 pound butt all over the neighborhood, trying to sort through peoples clothes and shoes and books and dinnerware, without dropping him, or missing a great deal.

Arkadelphia is a yard sale Mecca. Not only are the ads printed in the paper, they also print a "yard sale map" and show you where each one is. I am extra lucky because Marty is a fireman. Not only does he know the quickest path to each house, and what order I should take to insure the fastest coverage, he also nearly always knows whose house it is, and if it will be worth my time or not. "Hey, Marty? Where is 1111 South Adair Lane?" I will inquire from my cell. "Well, blahblahblah but if its 1111, I wouldn't even go out there. That is Mr. Messyhouse, and its pretty trashy." Thanks! A 10 minute drive that I don't have to make!

I have been a part of the Arkadelphia yard sale cult for so long that I have certain yard sales that I won't miss. And I have made yard sale allies... and foes... LOL! And in case you were wondering, it's not all about the clothes. I also love to hit yard sales where people have held on to stuff for centuries and are moving. I LOVE really gaudy stuff from the 70's and early 80's. You know, the mushroom dinnerware era. The Orange and Avacado Color Collection. Today, I bought a lettuce bowl. Its a bowl with a lid, but it looks like a head of lettuce. And it's bright green. At one time, I had a big avacado green hippopotamus toothbrush holder, and you could put your bar of soap in his mouth. HOW COOL! Somehow, Marty accidentally knocked it all the way across the counter and on to the floor. (Enough times that it actually broke.)

It's also great fun just to see what people are selling. The best thing I ever saw was this little old lady having a sale. She had everything very neatly hung and displayed like she was competing with Dillards. You could tell that it was mostly stuff that her family had given her, probably at Christmas and for her birthdays, that she had absolutely no use for. A Salad Spinner, still in the box. TWO George Foreman grills, also, still in the box. Quite a few clothing items, with tags. And on the table, with the all the dinnerware, next to a box of Corelle dishes (in the box) was a bong. I thought I would die. I suppose that one of her kids or grandkids had it hidden in the house, and she found it and assumed that it was another kitchen appliance that she couldn't figure out, and slapped a $1 tag on it.

Poor little old lady.

just ring a ling a ling me, i'll be waiting at the other end...

I think call waiting is the worst invention ever made. Is there anything else in the world that makes you feel so unimportant? I detest it. Yes, I have it on my phone. It's part of the package. But so is call-waiting-caller-ID. I NEVER click over on call waiting. I see who is calling, make a mental note and call them back. And when I call back, I never say "Sorry, I was on the phone with Tasha. (and your call was way to unimportant for us to stop talking.)" I always make up some crazy lie. "Sorry I couldn't get the phone. I had just taken off Colby's poopy diaper and realized that I had never brought in the diapers and wipes out of the car. So I had to wrap a towel around his butt and go out to the car. While I was out there with a poopy-towel-baby, the mailman pulled up! How embarressing! So I had to sign for a package. When I came back in, Elizabeth had spilled milk all over the kitchen floor. It's just one of those crazy days!! So, what's new with you?"

Not everyone is nice enough to lie to their friends like I am.

Here is an example of what I am talking about. Last night I called... well, lets just say my mom. (Because that's exactly who I called.) Here is a transcript of our conversation.

Me: Hi, mom! What are you doing?
Mom: Oh, just watching a little bit of TV. How are you?
Me: I am good! I just called to tell you what your crazy grandson did today while I was at work!
Mom: Uh oh! That doesn't sound good! (laughs)
Me: Marty said that Colby was taking a nap, so he got the baby monitor and...

(click, click)

Mom: Oh, hang on, someone is beeping me. It might be your aunt.

(I sit holding a silent phone. I hum. I sing a little song. "If ya need me CALL me, no matter where you ARE no matter HOW far... Just call my name, i'll be there in a hurrrr REY, so try not worrrr REY..." Oh, singing makes me thirsty. I carry the dead phone to the fridge. Let's see... water. Not the flavored kind? Naah. There's some tea. good. Open the sweet n low. Hummmm daaaadaaadeeedooo. lalalalalalala. Oh the smurfs! La la lalalala LA la la la laaaaa... wonder if we have any cookies?)

(click)

Mom: You still there?
Me: Yep. Who was it?
Mom: It was your aunt. They are letting Ron out of the hospital tomorrow.
Me: Oh, that's really good! He doing alright, then?
Mom: Yes, she said that he...

(We talk about Ron for like 10 minutes.)

Mom: Well, dinner is just about ready, so I guess I need to go.
Me: Wait! I wanted to tell you what Colby did!
Mom: Oh, yeah! What did that rascal do now?
Me: Well, Marty had put him down for a nap, and had taken the monitor outside because he needed to work on Larry's motor. Well, the neighbor came over when he saw Marty outside and they were talking and...

(click, click)

Mom: Well, crap. There is someone else. Hang on just a minute.

(*sigh* I pick up the book I am reading. I read about 2 lines.)

(click)

Mom: You there?
Me: Yes, I am here.
Mom: It's Jim's mom, long distance. Can I call you back after dinner?
Me: Sure.

(click)

So I go ahead and make dinner for MY family, and we all eat, and I get Colby in the bathtub, and cleaned up, and diapered and pajamaed and then put elizabeth in the tub, and realize that my mom never called me back.

So I call her.

Mom: Hello?
Me: Hey its me, you done with dinner?
Mom: Yep, we had chicken strips and green beans and some potato salad that was leftover.
Me: Sounds good, we just had tacos. ANYWAY, I just wanted to tell you what Colby did today.
Mom: Oh yeah! So, Marty had him outside, and then what happened?
Me: No, Colby was down for a NAP, and MARTY was outside.
Mom: Oh that's right. So then what happened?
Me: So anyway, Marty was talking to the neighbor and they heard a crash and then...

(Click, click)

(OH FOR THE LOVE OF... )

Mom: Oops, someone is beeping me, hang on.
Me: Colby climbed out of his crib and fell. That's all. He fell.
Mom: O gosh! Well, hang on and let me see who this is...
Me: It's ok mom, I will talk to you tomorrow.

(click!)

So anyway, that in a nutshell is why I HATE call waiting. And what really gets me about the whole thing...

Oh, wait! I just got a new email! Wonder who that is from? YAY! I love new emails! I'll be right back...

ridiculously metaphorical

First of all, I wonder if its possible that we are all experiencing cyber menstrual synchrony? It seems that we are all getting moody and depressed at the same time lately. And then drama erupts. And then someone says that they are leaving. And within a week or so, we all seem to be ok for a while.

Either that or we are all sympathetically depressed for each other.

I have had a bad few days. (No, I am still not on my medication, I am arguing with the insurance.) Not severely bad, but enough that it makes me angry. I have good reason for my bad days, so it's not like I am just in a pit of despair for no good reason, but still. (We have had some pretty bad family accidents over the last few days, but I am not wanting to share that right now.)

I had to miss work yesterday because I still haven't found a sitter for my days off. I keep getting leads on people, but things go wrong. Yes!! They take kids one day a week!! .... Turns into "NO! We have a waiting list. We can fit Colby in.... Let's see... Around 2022. Unless we get a cancellation, of course. We will add you to the list."

And it's not just that. (This is where the ridiculous metaphor comes in.)

When I have days like today, I don't like to look on the bright side. That Mary Poppins spoonful-of-sugar bullshit is for the birds. I don't want to consider how much worse things could be. I like to dwell on it until I feel good and shitty.

So at these times, I like to pretend that my life is a sandcastle. Everything is great. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and there are little crabs playing hide and seek around my moat, and people standing around admiring how well it all fits together.

And then the tide comes in. Waves are crashing at my little castle, washing away my moat and windows and towers. I can stand in front of the castle, and protect part of it, but not all of it. Water is still going to seep between my ankles and damage parts of my house. For a bit, I try to fix it. There went the north side! Lets slap some sand up there and shape it up and lets put a window here and... OH CRAP! While I was working on the north side, I missed the wave that hit the south! Hurry! Hurry! Lets fix that... oh no! The only way to protect the whole thing is to lay down in front of it and cry. And by that time, the structure is so weakened by attack that the whole middle is falling down around me. No matter how hard I try to scoop all the sand back up, I can't seem to get the castle back together.

On days like today, I feel like no matter how stretched out I am, I can't protect the whole castle. I have built my castle too big or something. Stretched myself too thin. No matter what I do, no one is happy with me. My boss wants me more, my kids want me MUCH more, my husband wants me more, my house needs much, much more than what I have left at the end of the day, I volunteered for some stuff that I don't have time to carry through, I can't seem to keep up the contacts with my friends that I need so much, and there is never, ever, ever, ever enough money to pay the bills. I am tired of asking Peter to borrow some money from his uncle AND grandmother so that I can pay Paul, Ringo, John, and George. So what do I do now?

And if the castle metaphor doesn't work, we could try... pie. Let's say that I am one nice, fresh... Key Lime Pie. Not everyone likes Key Lime pie. Some people hate it. Key Lime pie is sour, and sweet. And crusty. You can put whipped cream on it. Just not meringue please. Who wants scrambled eggs on their pie?

So I have this pie, see. And I have to cut my boss a huge piece, because he pays me. I cut the kids a small piece each. And then Marty wants a piece. And my family. And the bills, and the filthy house. And the mouse that won't die wants some too.

Now I am sitting here with no pie. Why can't I have some pie? I have been good. It was my pie to begin with. I bought the damn thing! And I didn't even get to enjoy it.

Awwww, forget it.

Life is a highway...

I have had a horrid, horrid, horrid day. I am not kidding. I don't want to bring everyone down though, so I thought I would give you all a laugh, and a peek into my nuttball family. (One of many, you can be assured.) I am beginning to feel a creeping fear that somehow, someone in my family will stumble upon my blog... my family will definitely overreact... the term "bread natzi" comes to mind...

Either way, here we go. (sorry if I disappoint, this will not be one of my better efforts.) Now, this is somewhat of a visual blog. In order to truly appreciate the ridiculousness of the situation, you must actually picture what I am describing. Close your eyes... (*tick, tick, tick, tick...*) take a deep breath... (*tick, tick, tick, tick...*) count backwards from 100... (*tick, tick, tick, tick...*) LOL!

My family suffers from panic attacks. We all have our weird hangups. But you can be sure, at any given time, one of us is having heart palpatations, sweaty palms, and difficulty breathing. My aunt suffers from them the worst. She has complete breakdowns, and for about 6 months of the last 12, rarely left her house. Mine, on the other hand, are quite mild. I get them the worst when there is some sort of confrontation going on. I just can't handle it.

Now, for some odd reason, my mom, my aunt and I all have driving related panic attacks. (I have gotten some sort of control over mine the last few years, but they used to be really bad.) Here is where the humor lies:

My mom gets horrible panic attacks when she is forced to drive on the interstate, or drive at night.

My aunt's panic kicks in when she has to drive over a bridge.

I panic when I have to drive somewhere I have never been before.

So, a few years ago, we decided it would be GREAT FUN to drive 6 hours to Shreveport and go gambling. An all girls weekend. It took us nearly 8 hours.

We started out with my mom driving, until we had to get on I-30. Then she pulled over and my aunt drove, until we hit the river bridge. Since the river bridge was still technically on the interstate, I got behind the wheel and just drove over the bridge, then pulled over, and my aunt got back behind the wheel. Until we had to go over an overpass. Then I drove, just over the overpass, and then my aunt got back behind the wheel. We were finally able to get off the interstate, and my mom took over. She made it almost all the way into Shreveport before the sun set. Then my aunt had to drive again.

Unfortunately, we had all forgotten about the bridge leading to the casinos. My aunt was already on it before we realized it. She made it halfway across, with my mom and I cheering her on, before she burst into tears, let go of the wheel, and covered her eyes. She never took her foot off the gas. I had to lean up between the front two seats and steer us until we were off the bridge and able to pull over.

We had a great time! I won $150.

Oh, and I drove all the way back, since I now knew the roads.