awwwwww...

Yes, I know I am WAY in the minority, but I am secure enough in myself that I don't mind saying that I am very sad that Kellie Pickler is gone. I loved her! No, she was not the best singer, but her personality outsparkled everyone else this year. (Yes, before you start beating the comment button to death, I know that it is not called Personality Idol. Or Silly Goosey Idol.)

She reminded me of a girl I used to be friends with... (Tasha, I am talking about Jennifer. Think about it!) and I know that a ton of people are / were sick of her "small town ding dong act", but I don't think it was an act at all. I think you have to maybe be from the small town south to appreciate her. (And even then, some of you are meanie weenies!)

Anyway, Kellie Picker gone = Natalie sad. (Elizabeth sad too. Elizabeth had a sobbing breakdown after it was over, and blamed me for not letting her vote. Well, of course it is my fault! I am also the reason gas is so high.) (oh, and yes, I also know that if my 6 year old is having such adverse reactions to television shows, I should be out teaching her some life lessons, and volunteering on Mother Daughter day at the hospital. But I am not. It's not like I let her watch Unan1mous or anything... well, at least not the WHOLE show.)

Either way, I knew Kellie would not win, and I actually think that Chris should win, with Katherine a close runner up. I like Elliot too.

UH UH UH!!! (Hmmm... where is my million dollar house???)

I need to make a list of all the things that I said my kids would not do... before I had kids. Because I am having some massive pre-kid flashbacks now.

The newest one is the "grunt, point, and scream". Maybe you know of it. Your kid wants something, but lacks the verbal skills necessary to say, "I would like a piece of cheese now, mommy." So instead, they point and grunt, "UH UH UH!!" and if you cannot read their mind, they meltdown into a screaming mass of writhing baby.

Before I had kids, I had a friend whose kid did this exact same thing. Yes, he was older than Colby is now, but still. He would come in the kitchen where we were talking and start grunting and pointing, and my friend would jump up, ignoring whatever we were talking about and start saying, "What is it honeypookiepie?? Does my wee babyboo need some milkywilky? No? what about a poppytarty?? Does sugarbutt want an applewapple?? No?? What about a trip to disneywisneyworld and a ride on the Mad Hatter? How about a Wexus Convertible??" etc. And she is running around the kitchen, ripping things out of the cabinet and offering them to him, while he is... screaming and grunting and pointing.

I remember going home after these visits and telling Marty, "When WE have kids, they WILL ask for what they want. That kid is big enough to freaking talk, she just doesn't make him. She needs to be tough, and stop that cartwheels shit every time he whimpers!"

Yep. That is exactly what she should have done.

*Sigh* Go ahead and laugh. Karma, and all that.

We are up to about 15 words with Colby. Unfortunately, "Mama, I would like some milk in my sippy cup." are not any of them. He doesn't even call me mama. He calls me Daddeeee. Marty is dada. (Lorraine, this never fails to make me think of you and Mary. LOL!!)

So instead, he does the point and grunt. And I, of course, do cartwheels to try and figure out what he wants before the screaming starts. I do tell him what he wanted after I figure it out.... like, "OH! Colby wanted a banana! Here you go, Colby! Here is your banana! Can you say banana??" I swear he is smirking at me while heading back to his chair with his banana...

It isn't too bad when he points at something easy, like the front door. "Sorry Colby. We can't go outside and play. It is 9:45 at night. The buggywuggies are biting."

But when he stands in the kitchen and points towards the cabinets with that grunting, there is just no telling what he wants. It could be anything from cereal, to raisins, to chips, to a sour apple martini, easy on the ice.

And I do cartwheels every time trying to figure it out.

it's all fun and games till someone has to pee

It's a conspiracy. I just don't know who they are conspiring against.

Maybe it is just an Arkansas thing.

Having children and being poor, we have one stand-by activity: going to the park. There are two run down parks in Arkadelphia, and one run down park in Gurdon. (We live between the two.) I have also been to numerous other parks in Arkansas.

Arkadelphia recently built a new small playground on the land where the baseball fields are. We decided to check it out today, and found the same problem.

Cities build these parks for small children, but they neglect to put a freaking bathroom anywhere within 7 miles.

It makes it even harder when you have two kids.

Colby had a diaper issue, and I had to take him to the car. Elizabeth was playing with a friend and I hated to make her go to the car with me. LUCKILY, there was a mother there that I knew and she said she would keep an eye on Elizabeth for me. Since Marty is on vacation with my Durango, I had to change him in the front seat of my mom's car. That SUCKS!! The car is too low and the seat is too small. I miss the expansive "changing table" in the back hatch of the Durango.

No sooner do we get back that Elizabeth has to pee. I had to pee too, but had been holding it. I told her that we would have to go home, because there was not a bathroom around. This really sucks. She cried. But I was not going to load them up and take them to McDonalds or Walmart to pee and then go back to the park.

Note to cities around the globe: If you are going to build a playground, at least maintain a port-a-pot or something.

go rest high, on that mountain...

Early last week, Elizabeth found three caterpillars. She named them Mrs. Sammy, Mr. Sammy, and baby Sammy.

She kept them in a cardboard box lid, lined with leaves and sticks. She also put some of her dollhouse furniture in there, in case Mr. Sammy felt like laying on the couch and watching tv, or Mrs. Sammy wanted to sit down to a meal of painted on pancakes and eggs. Even with these lush surroundings, Mr. Sammy and Baby Sammy moved out while she was sleeping that first night. But Mrs. Sammy hung around for almost all week. Until Wednesday.

We got home from school / work about 5:30, and she did the same thing she has done all week - went to check on Mrs. Sammy. It isn't long before I hear a screaming, sobbing, keening wail coming from her room."MRS. SAMMY IS DEAD!!! SHE IS DEAD!!! NOW SHE WILL NEVER BE A BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLY BECAUSE SHE DIED!!"

This went on for several minutes, until I talked her into lying on the couch with a wet washcloth to calm down. After she was settled, I went to start dinner in the kitchen.

It wasn't long before I heard her go outside, and come in and go out and come in, but I really didn't pay much attention. We live way off the road, and she is allowed to play in the yard within sight of the windows.She comes inside, all calm and sad and says, "Can you come outside in a minute?" and I said "Honey, I am right in the middle of cooking dinner, can you wait a bit?" and she sighs and says, "Yes, I just need you to pray with me."

ok, so maybe that can't wait.

I go outside, and she has buried Mrs. Sammy in the front yard, with dirt from my flower beds. There is a nice little gravemound... she took a styrofoam cup and cut it in half and made a tombstone. I can't remember exactly what it said but it was something like, "Mrs. Sammy. She was a good friend to me. I didn't want her to die." and she has drawn a broken heart at the bottom. THEN she took two sticks and made a cross and put in the ground at the end of the grave. And we prayed for her to become a butterfly in heaven.

Meet my son, Vince Neil

When I found out I was having a boy, one of the first things that I thought was, "At least we won't have 'hair' issues."

hahaha.

I am more anal about his hair than I am Elizabeth's. I had no idea. I mean, if a girl is having a bad hair day, there are so many options: flat iron, curling iron, ponytails, braids, barrettes, french twists.... the possibilites are endless.

But with boys, bad hair is just... bad hair.

It doesn't help that the last time I took him to get a haircut, they BUTCHERED his hair. It was 17 different lengths and gappy and he looked like he was from Arkansas. Since then, I have been terrified of taking him back to get another cut.

But now his hair is getting ridiculosly long. When he gets up in the morning, it is a mess of cowlicks and lumps and frizz. It has grown over his ears and over his collar.

He is the ringbearer in my cousin Nicole's wedding in three weeks, and I can't decide which is worse; possibly a horrible haircut, or looking like he is a girl in a tux.

apologies...

Misty, your wedding was beautiful, seriously gorgeous. I loved your dress, and think you could not have picked anything better. I hope you and Andrew are having a wonderful time in Cabo.

I am sorry I got drunk at your reception. I have no idea how it happened. One minute I was fine, and then next minute, I was on the dance floor with Elizabeth. I don't dance. You know that. (Elizabeth had a fabulous time. She even learned the Electric Slide. Her ankles hurt this morning from all the dancing that she did.)

Either way, the apple martinis were awesome. There is nothing that I can blame my behavior on, except Weight Watchers. Thanks to that stupid points bullcrap, I had not eaten all day to save up calories for the reception. It was like that office Christmas party, revisited, but without a bonfire, or Ricky flashing his penis all over the place.

Tell Sarah and Celeste that I am sorry I hugged all over them. And I am sorry if I said anything weird. I never saw Melissa so I didn't hug her. I did hug some other people. And I remember saying something crazy to someone, but we can talk about that later. Oh and I am sorry I hugged all over you and kissed you.

Tell your sister it was so nice to finally meet her! She is so sweet. I hope I get to visit with her again sometime, but without all the drinking and stuff.

I hope your wedding was everything you wanted it to be. And now that it is over, you can relax and begin your whole new life with cutie Andrew and your new house that I can't wait to see.

I would send you smooches, but I probably gave you enough last night.

25.5 hours as a prisoner of US Air

I had a great time on my trip last week!! In fact, my friend Tess said it better than I ever could. It was wonderfully weird. I am so so glad that I finally got to meet these girls that have come to mean so much to me. They are the first people I check in with in the morning, and the last people I check on before bed. And I can't wait until we all get to meet again.

But this story begins after the meetup ended.

I checked out of my hotel and took the shuttle to Dulles Airport around 1pm. I was supposed to fly out at 7:25, but the weather channel was calling for storms, so I thought I would try to fly stand-by for a 3:30 flight.

Thankfully, that flight was empty enough that I didn't even have to wait and see. They changed my ticket right then and there. I checked my big suitcase, got my receipt, and headed through security. I went straight to my terminal, and got out my book and waited for 3:30.

And at 3:00, got my first taste of bad news. "Due to mechanical error that cannot be corrected at this time, Flight 1234 to Charlotte, North Carolina has been cancelled. Please see the ticket office to be reticketed."

Lovely. I guess this is what everyone is bitching about lately. Ah well, no big deal. They put me back on the 7:30 flight. With hours to spare, I decided to explore the airport.

All these big airports are nothing like the Little Rock Airport. They are like tiny malls. (And they have duty free stores with all this cool stuff in there, and I am not allowed because I am not traveling out of the country. Ever notice when you can't have something, everything seems nicer??) They even had a Ben and Jerry's. And a pizza place, and a sandwich shop. I ended up just buying a magazine and a water.

Hours pass like days.

I finally get a Subway sandwich just out of boredom.

As it gets closer to 7:00, the terminal starts filling up. I made friends with a girl that has a one-year old, and another that was 22 weeks pregnant. We talked about babies, and birth, and children... and watched the clouds start rolling in.

First, they pushed our flight back to 8:00. Then 8:20. Then 8:40, Then 9:15. Then 9:45... at that time, I knew I would not make my Little Rock connection. I went up to the desk, and the ticket agent confirmed my fear. Not only that, he added to it. "The next flight we can get you on in at 6:55 in the morning."

In the morning??? What??? Like, as in nearly 10 hours from now??

Yes.

He reissues me a ticket for that flight, and then says, "Since you don't have any checked baggage, you can just stay up here until then."

"Um... I do have checked baggage."

He looks at my ticket and says, "No you don't."

I handed him my receipt for my bag, and he seems very confused. He calls on a little radio and a little guy in a raincoat comes in and looks at my receipt and starts to laugh.

"I know RIGHT where that bag is! It did not have a tag on it, and we had to leave it outside."

I have no idea what happened to my tag, as I saw the first guy affix it, but whatever. I am sure that it made things worse that I didn't have any luggage of my own, so I borrowed some from a friend, and my bag said, "Dixon" which is not my last name, all over it. They probably thought it was a bomb or something. (I told Marty as much when I called him to tell him my flight had been cancelled and he screamed at me for uttering the word "bomb" in a Washington DC airport. Since I was already crying at the time, it really wasn't a good time for him to yell at me.)

Raincoat Man tells me that he will send my suitcase through carousel 13. I asked him if I would be able to come back up after that and he said that I would just have to take my suitcase to the US Air office and ask them to keep it overnight, and then I could come back up. Before I went downstairs, I asked a security guard the same question and got the same answer.

I need to explain here why I was concerned. I have only flown one other time in my life. I live in a tiny redneck town in Arkansas. I was nervous about being mugged or raped or kidnapped or beaten. If you are upstairs, you have gone through all the security screenings, and therefore are hopefully not carrying any weapons. It is also carpeted, and warm upstairs.

For those that have not been to Dulles, baggage claim is kind of underground. No carpeting, not really warm. At all. And there are lots of outside doors where criminals could perceivably come in to rape or mug or kidnap people. Or to pick up their loved ones who are flying in. I did not want to stay all night downstairs.

So I go downstairs, collect my wet suitcase, and head to the US Air office. The clerk that was working in there was super nice, but told me that there was no possible way that I could go back upstairs until two hours before my flight. She would not let me leave my suitcase in her possession. She did not offer me a blanket or a pillow. She did tell me that the most comfortable way to sleep was to sit in the chair and prop my legs up on my suitcase. Gee. Thanks.

This is when I called Marty. He told me to call and get a hotel. I decided that sounded like a great idea.

So I called the hotel where I had spent the last two days, and asked if the shuttle could pick me up. She said yes, and asked me what room I was in. I explained that I checked out that morning, but that now my flights were cancelled and I needed to check back in.

She informs me that they are booked up. As are all the other hotels nearby. She even calls to check and make sure that there weren't any last minute openings, and calls me back. There were not.

So. Looks like I am trapped.

I try to settle in, but my nerves were too bad. So instead, I started walking back and forth through the baggage terminal, with all my luggage. My cell phone wouldn't pick up unless I was standing by the doors, which I did not want to do. It isn't long before I see a few of the other people that were upstairs with me. Seems all the flights have been cancelled. So at least I am not alone.

By midnight, I am really starting to get tired and cold. I go to one of the stands and drop a ridiculous amount of money on a sweatshirt and a neck pillow. I try to get comfortable, but it is just impossible. The chairs have arms, set just high enough that it is uncomfortable on your neck and legs to lay across them, and just low enough that your legs don't fit under them. The floor is icy, there is no way you can lay down there.

One thing about it, there were a lot of people to talk to. I spent most of the night with an older couple who were trying to get to Boise Idaho for her dad's heart surgery the next morning. They were not going to make it there and were both really upset.

4:30AM rolls around days later. I finally go check back in and get to go upstairs again, where it is warm. The lucky bastards that did not have luggage checked are spread out all over the nice warm carpet. I want to kick them.

6:30. Guess what? Mechanical problems. Shouldn't take long. 7:30. 8:00. 9:00.

Finally we board. I am not too upset, because my connection at Charlotte leaves at 10:45, which means now I won't have long to wait once I get there. I finally sleep about 45 minutes on the nice, big airplane.

Land in Charlotte. Find my terminal. The first thing I see is that my 10:45 flight now says "Scheduled departure of 11:30". Apparently we do not have a pilot. When they bump it up to noon, I decide I have got to have something to eat, since I have not eaten since around 4:00 the day before. I go find a chicken bagel at some bagel place. Delicious. I am somewhat embarrassed at the way I wolfed that thing down in front of God and everybody.

We board the plane, and I immediately start to panic. It is tiny. Only three seats across. I like big planes. We sit, and we sit and we sit.

Guess what?? "This is your pilot speaking. We have a small mechanical error that we are having fixed, but I am going to have to shut off the engines. It may get a little warm in here, but just be patient with us. We hate to unload you if we don't have to."

So I go from freezing, to a damp, hot, stinky plane. We sit there for a good twenty minutes before they kick the engines back on and everyone starts gulping at the little air blowers above our heads.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your pilot. We have used up too much fuel and now need to be refueled. It should only take a few minutes."

I start to laugh. There is only one thing left. This damn plane is going to crash. God is telling me not to fly. When it crashes, and I get to heaven, he is going to say, "Natalie! How many signs did I have to send you?? I finally just gave up! Welcome to Heaven!"

When we finally take off, it doesn't seem so funny anymore. The turbulence is horrible, and I am gripping the seat in front of me for all I am worth, gritting my teeth to keep from screaming, "WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE." I finally either fall asleep or pass out. When I wake, my ears feel like they are going to explode and I can see the Little Rock skyline.

The first thing Marty says to me?

"You look like shit."

There's no place like home.


*all times are approximate.