Redneck Diva

Sparkly, Twinkly and Possum-y

2009-12-04T13:10:00.001-06:00

As we have for the past two years, this year we have a display at Twin Bridges State Park's "Park of Lights". Two years ago it was a hasty, from conception to reality in 36 hours type deal. Last year we put more thought, time and effort into it. This year we spent weeks scoping out a new spot because of those crazy state park squirrels who had certain dietary requirements involving my lights, added some new "fixtures" and recruited my niece, Karissa, to help put it together. We're pretty proud of the results and a girl that graduated with my sister said her husband nearly peed his pants laughing at it the other night. I warms my heart to know we nearly made a grown man wet himself.

Here's a shot of Paul's rump as he was fussing and stewing over the endless network of extension cords all over the ground. The display looks much, much different in the dark. And you can't see it in this picture, but one of the newest additions to the display is just hidden behind that open door on the trailer. No, I'm not telling you. Drive to the park and see for yourself. Nyah.

And really? This shot has no importance whatsoever regarding the display other than the fact that my daddy handed me his electric staple gun and said, "Go have fun" while my mother stood there with her mouth agape. As I skipped off toward the display, looking for things that needed stapling I heard her say, "You do realize you just gave Kristin a staple gun, right dear? You do realize this may result in injury, right?"

I totally got my Tim the Tool Man on stapling that garland to that board. Paul laughed at me the whole time, but I didn't care. I had enough testosterone flowing through my veins I could've taken him. I'm pretty sure.

Now, if you're local or anywhere NEAR local you need to drive your family out to Twin Bridges State Park this weekend and see the display. For one thing, it's just dang time you got into the Christmas spirit. And for another - my crew and I will be working one of the gates Saturday night. I think we'll be at the front gate, but don't hold me to that. (If you don't see an adorable family at the front gate you'll see us at the end.) If this weekend doesn't work for you then Paul and I will be working a gate next Tuesday night as well, sans kids, so come out then. Either way, get thee to the State Park and partake of the Christmas wonders beheld there. And make sure you say hi!

Some things you just can't fix

2009-12-03T15:59:00.002-06:00

I know, I know....I say I'm going to post more and I do pretty good for awhile then boom I'm all gone and stuff again. I really did have a good reason this time.

Sunday the kids and I just hung out at the house here, doing laundry and eating gratuitous amounts of Oreos. And I know y'all have days like this, I didn't ever find ~~energy~~ time to shower. It's gross, but some days merit absolute laziness. You know that. When Paul got home I started dinner - I had a plate of hamburger patties done and was in the process of getting another skillet going, the calico potatoes were just starting to sizzle in another and I was feeling ten kinds of relaxed. I was up to my wrists in hamburger meat when my cell phone started ringing the theme to "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly" which is my biological father. I hollered for someone to come answer it and Abby came to the rescue. I said, "It's Pepaw, answer it." She did then palely handed it to me and said, "He wants to talk to you NOW." I could hear him shouting as I leaned in as she held it.

My father is a stern man who rarely emotes, but I said hello only to hear him say in the most frantic voice I've ever heard come from that man, "Your Aunt Shirlye just went down. We did CPR, she's on her way to Baptist. Come now, kid. Now." I said, "We're on our way," walked into the living room on the verge of quiet hysteria and said, "Aunt Shirlye's on her way to the hospital. They had to do CPR. That's all I know. Get your shoes on." Paul and the kids just did what I said and for like the only time ever no one said anything, asked anything, whined or complained.

I washed my hands (finally) and still fighting back the urge to just sit in the floor and cry for awhile, managed to get my shoes on, run a comb through my greasy hair and put the half-cooked dinner away for whenever. I had Paul call Cousin Courtney to see if the kids could stay with her, still not knowing the situation at the hospital, and then we blew out the door - all this in a matter of probably less than 10 minutes. I still hadn't cried at that point. I wasn't sure if I could stop if I started and I didn't want to walk into that hospital looking skanky AND hysterical.

I pulled up to the ER entrance, got out so Paul could get in and drive the kids to Courtney's and as I was walking toward the door I saw my father waving frantically for me to get in there. I ran as best as a fat girl can run and as soon as I entered the lobby my father put his arm around me and the hospital chaplain ushered him, me and my Uncle Tom into the ER. Still, at this point I had no clue what was going on and we met up with my stepmother as we walked. I raised my eyebrows at her, hoping for a clue. I got none. We were then led into a trauma room to find that Aunt Shirlye didn't had died. Then I cried.

These past few days have been a whirlwind of non-communication, tears, laughter, confusion, acceptance, anger, frustration and memories. Any time I am with my father's side of the family I realize how close we all aren't and it makes me so sad. When Nan passed away and we spent day after day in that hospital room with each other, drinking bad coffee and sodas from the machine in the waiting room and telling stories from our childhood, we all decided we needed to be closer. That was the first of September. It's now the first of December and I can say that one cousin and I are in closer contact now. That's all. When my Papa passed away you could barely drag us away from each other. Every family is different - it just so happens that my two sides are polar opposites. And we haven't even touched on my husband's family. They all think I'm an alien. No, I'm not kidding.

I love my father's family and they all love me, but it's just not a priority to get together I guess. They are just vastly different from my mom's side of the family and I have to realize that rather than get my feelings hurt or be disappointed when I feel like a raucous, loud stranger in a group of non-vocal people who stare at me like they wish I was a mute. My loud sense of humor and desire to make people laugh is wholly appreciated by one side and wholly not by the other. Aha...something just occurred to me - maybe it's ME they're all avoiding! Maybe that's why we never get together - they probably are having family dinners and just not telling me!

I kid, I kid.

I think.

So see? I have a great excuse this time for taking a few days from the blog - I was coming to terms with the fact that I am THAT relative.

This is going to make Christmas so much fun this year! I am going to try doubly hard to live up to expectations! WOOT!

Dear Sis

2009-11-27T22:20:00.002-06:00

Dear Sis,

Tomorrow you move. I could just add the line "You suck" and call this complete because it sums up my feelings at this moment.

Actually no, it wouldn't be complete because there are so many other things I want to say.

You and I are just about as alike and different as two sisters can be. At times I find it so hard to believe that we share the same set of parents, but at other times it's like we share a brain.

You like asparagus. I personally would rather chew on a dog turd than eat that nasty stuff.

We haven't done it in a long time, but that whole bursting into song IN HARMONY thing? Still freaks me out.

You wear heels and suffer through the pain for the mere sake of fashion. My sneaks and I wouldn't know fashion if it hit us with a Coach bag.

We both love us some Michael Buble'.

You do math puzzles FOR FUN. I used to have Mom write a notebook page full of sentences just so I could diagram them FOR FUN.

You feel like there is so much more out there waiting for you, full of opportunity and adventure. I feel like all that stuff out there is waiting for me so it can chop me up into pieces, stuff me in a 55 gallon drum and bury me in its backyard.

We both love our kids and feel we're doing right by them and anyone who doesn't agree is not only a complete a**hole, but will probably also get mowed over.

For the rest of my days I will remember and be appreciative of the time you took a brussel sprout for me.

I will also remember all those times when we were kids that I shot you down, hurt your feelings and dismissed you because you were annoying.

The night we were dragging Main and you made me laugh SO hard then flipped the seat down so it looked like I was a raving lunatic laughing by myself? Yeah, also a very fond memory.

I slapped a kid for you on the school bus when he kicked you. The week of riding in the front of the bus as punishment was totally worth it.

You were there last summer during the church drama that dented my faith and made me doubt humanity and religion and people as a whole.

When I was about 15 I told you you could just wake up one day gay, not knowing you had OCD and that very thought would terrify you for years. Of course, I also told you that if you pulled your pants and your underwear up at the same time you would get sick, so you should've known I was full of it.

You held onto my arm for dear life the first time I rode the Tower of Terror and made my first trip to Disney World one I will never forget.

You refrained from punching me in the mouth the day I backed you against a wall and screamed in your face. The only thing that saved me from a fat lip that day was the fact I was pregnant. I deserved a fat lip, pregnant or not.

You killed my goldfish.

I probably broke 27 traffic laws driving your orange kitten to the vet after the dog got hold of her and shook her nearly to death. Dad was pretty peeved about that vet bill, but you were so upset I couldn't just do nothing.

You allowed me to be there for your first child's birth and I'm so glad you were there for the birth of my last. You have allowed me to have a very important hand in raising your children and for that I am eternally grateful.

You were and still are one of the few people that acknowledge the baby we lost as a real child, someone to be missed. Everyone else was quick to sweep his death under the rug, but you were an Auntie from the start to a child you never knew.

I haven't been there for you lately and I've already apologized for this, but I feel the need to do it again. It's because of my selfishness and fear that I have pulled back. I hope you can forgive me for doing this. You and I have a very special and unique relationship as sisters and I am terrified that is never going to be the same. I have had so many women say they wish they had the same kind of relationship with their sister that you and I have. I'm scared that putting 200 miles between us is going to change that. I still don't understand your need to go because as I mentioned before that same world out there that seems so welcoming and full of promise and opportunity to you seems cruel and unforgiving to me, but boy how I admire your courage. I always have. I worry, but it's because I'm the big sister and it's my job.

Be good. Always lock your car and apartment. Sleep with your cell phone under your pillow. Call me. Read my blog. Be cautious. Know that because we're broke and can't come see you does not mean we don't have the desire. Take pictures. Play your Wii. Read books. Glee and LOST should still be priorities, as well as calling me during both. Be safe. Take a vitamin every now and then, okay?

The night of the Glenn Thanksgiving last week, when you were here early, both of us in the kitchen, singing songs from Glee and dancing like idiots while the bruschetta baked and your banana pudding mixed will probably be one of my most precious memories ever. I almost said something as it was happening, but decided to keep my mouth shut and just enjoy.

If things get tough, if you've had a bad day, you know where to find me - you know I'm not going anywhere.

I love you,

Sis

Christmas, Possums and a Whole Lotta Drama

2009-11-25T21:54:00.001-06:00

I said I was going to post here at least every other day, managed ONE POST before I blew it. I am awesome.

Yesterday Paul, my niece Karissa, Conner and I spent the entire day at the state park setting up our display for the Park of Lights. Okay, we took about 45 minutes out of that to go eat deliciously greasy hamburgers at the Turtle Stop Cafe', but the rest of the time we were at that dang park. We couldn't have done it without Karissa - she kept Conner occupied with a seemingly endless supply of Froot Loops and entertainment, plus she kept me amused and entertained by adding "on a steek" and "That's what she said" to the end of virtually every sentence spoken.

Cars have been driving through to see get a preview, I guess. One car stopped and rolled their window down. I stopped what I was doing and looked up, but they just waved and I could see they were laughing. They drove on and next thing I know there's this little kid, about 11 or 12, standing next to my outhouse! His mom asked if she could take his picture next to it. I would've been happier if he'd wanted his picture taken with me but I guess my outhouse is the next best thing.

We left the park around 3 with chapped lips, no fingerprints because of all the duct taping we did (we can embark on a life of crime!) but a sense of accomplishment at what we'd managed to get done. Or maybe we were all just punch-drunk and exhausted.

In fact, that's why I didn't post last night - I just flat fell asleep. I changed in my pj's, sat in my big chair to read Wicked and boom I was out. Sam woke me up laughing and saying, "Mom, if you're going to read you should probably open your eyes." The whole house was in bed by 9. You know the whole household is tired when even the kids are asking to go to bed.

This morning Paul, the kids and I went back to finish up at the park. Courtney called me mid-morning and asked if she could bring Conner to me since Aunt Janet had to have some unexpected surgery. Abby had a great time babysitting him so I could listen to my husband mumble and complain about how he had no idea how we were going to power the display despite the extension cords snaking all over the ground. I ended up driving to Fairland to buy four more cords to satisfy him. He still mumbled, though.

I think the best highlight of the day was when Pops handed me a staple gun and told me to go have fun. My momma works for the county election board and their display is next door to ours. I am probably a pretty bad neighbor because I kept going over and bugging them. I'd gone over to ~~borrow a cup of sugar~~ see if they had a stapler and he gave me an actual staple gun. Oh the power! I probably put WAY more staples in that garland than were necessary, but oh wow did I have fun.

The next-to-best highlight was using his big hammer to drive stakes into the ground. Again, THE POWER! My mom had walked over to bring me a Mountain Dew and got so tickled watching me hammer and punctuate every blow with a word - "GET - IN - THE - GROUND". She said she was about to get misty at the sight of me doing physical labor. She's so funny.

The display is now done except for a pair of socks that Paul's going to have to hang on the line on his way home from work tomorrow afternoon. We're in a bigger spot this year and we're right on the highway. We had to get more lighting because not only did we add a few more large items but we are just spread out more. There are still a lot of trees around us, but hopefully being right on the highway will keep the squirrels at bay and keep them away from our lights. If we start having trouble I'll either call Leslie with OK Tourism or just sic the BACA guys on 'em.

The display opens tomorrow night at 6pm and will be open until 9. Make sure you drive through and see the lights. Heck, drive through many, many times and vote each time! I don't know our display number, but it will be out in front of the display. Really, just keep your eyes peeled for the possums. Ours don't move much, though, so if you see one scurrying it might not be our display.

It's THAT Time Again

2009-11-22T12:05:00.000-06:00

You know, if the holidays came around in the summer I'd be able to do everything that needs to be done without flirting with a psychotic break. Just sayin'.

I HEREBY PROCLAIM that from now until the first of the year I am going to post something here AT LEAST every other day. It may be something wondrous and splendid and it may be a string of letters and characters from me banging my head on the keyboard. Still, check back. Both could prove to be edutaining and informational.

If my daughter gets an iTouch before I do I will literally throw myself on the ground and scream and cry. Unfortunately it looks like I have a tantrum to perform because my mother-in-law gives the kids $200 apiece for Christmas. And not me. :-(

Last night I stayed up until 1am watching Brokeback Mountain and drinking what may or may not have been an alcoholic drink from a Mason jar.

I have decided that the 21 year old me would find that scenario laughable. She has no idea. Or...uhm....er.....I have no idea. Oh you know what I mean.

We had our Annual Glenn Family Festivus Planning Meeting Friday night. The bylaws were amended, there was mucho goosing by the Sergent at Arms and while the meeting was very raucous and loud, I think it was the most fun Planning Meeting we've ever had.

To learn more about our Festivus Celebration and see pictures from last year's gathering go here, but be warned: there are pictures there that actually have been used against me by a very angry woman who tried to ruin my reputation. (Yes, seriously.) If you are offended by pictures of a fully-clothed man in a candy g-string and don't have much of a sense of humor you should probably not go look. However, if your family is as crazy as mine you should seriously consider adopting a tradition like that yourselves. The Festivus tradition, not the candy g-string tradition. Unless that's how you roll and if it is, you are awesome.

It has been decided by several family members that over the Christmas break we are going Duggar hunting. We'd like to be able to add "Duggar Sighting" to our list of what we did over the holiday.

We love our Duggars here at the Diva Ranch - so much so we renamed our prolific momma cat (formerly known as Mamacita) Michelle Duggar. She has done as much for the feline population as the human Michelle Duggar has done for the human population. (Maybe even more, but we figured asking the real Michelle Duggar to rename herself Mamacita was out of the question.) We asked Abby if she'd like to be a Duggar someday, seeing as how John David is a teenager and the next male in line to marry, but she said she wasn't willing to give up her skull wardrobe and flat-ironed hair. However, my Kady is totally on board and thinks being a Duggar would be "Duggarific". We now call her J'Kady.

I have rag-rolled Kady's hair several times over the last few years. The first time she looked like the Cowardly Lion. The second time, Little Orphan Annie. For Halloween this year she was a gypsy and I l o o s e l y rag-rolled her hair. The results were beautiful ringlets that lasted two days without making her look like a member of the Jackson 5. So the other night Abby asked if I could roll hers l o o s e l y as well.

Yeah. Something went awry. After sleeping on the rags all night she was excited to see the finished product the next morning. I unrolled the rags and had her flip her head over so I could finger comb the curls out. When I finished I had her flip her head up. Instead of busting out into the loudest BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I had in me at 6:30am like I SO wanted to, I instead grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her toward the mirror. The look on her face was a Kodak moment and I hate it I missed catching it with the camera. When she could speak again she said, "Oh Momma you have to DO SOMETHING!" I pulled the sides back. She made a face. I grabbed it all and pulled it back into a ponytail. Okay, have you ever been to the county fair and walked the area between the cattle barns right before a show? Ever seen those kids take a teasing comb and a bottle of AquaNet to a cow's tail? If you're a city slicker and have no idea what I'm talking about well, you are just going to have to use your imagination because I have Googled every possible combination I can think of to find a picture of a cow's tail before a show and can't find one. Dadgummit.

Anyway, her ponytail was a gigantic ball on the back of her head and she was starting to panic. Next try was me piling it on top of her head. She groaned and said, "Well, just stick a tiara in there and send me to the ball, MOTHER." Oops, my bad. So I grabbed a wide-toothed comb and started trying to relax the curls. Ugh, it just made her hair W I D E, as I kind of though it would. The clock was ticking, she had tears threatening to spill over and at one point declared she was NOT going to school. Finally, I pulled it back into a ponytail again, this time with the curls not so tight and angry-looking, and managed to arrange them and tame them with hairspray.

Word to you mothers: Be ye careful with the rag rolls. For thou knowest not how your child's hair will reacteth. Thus, tryeth the rolling of the rags out on a weekend first. Henceforth. And stuff.

This afternoon, after we get our bellies full of turkey and all that other yumminess, we Hoovahs are headed to the state park to get the ball rolling on our Park of Lights display. As usual, we have procrastinated and lollygagged until we're down to a few days to get it set up, lit and running. We do it every year and I said this year would be different, but life has just kind of gotten in the way as life is wont to do. Stupid, inconvenient life.

(Pictures of the first year's display here. Not sure where last year's display went...)

We are setting up at a different spot this year, right on the highway, in an effort to elude the dadgum squirrels that kept eating our lights in years past. We gave our spot to the nice fellas at BACA (Bikers Against Child Abuse) because number one, I *heart* them and because number two, if anyone can scare those squirrels into the stopping of the chewing, it's those guys. They're really just big ol' tenderhearted teddy bears, but the squirrels don't know that.

Starting Thanksgiving night you can mosey on our to Twin Bridges State Park by Wyandotte, OK, and get yourself into the Christmas spirit by driving through and seeing the lights everyone has put blood, sweat and tears into for your pleasure. It's free to go through, but you can leave a donation at the end if you so desire. Make sure you look for the outhouse and possums and vote for ME!

Oh and as it gets closer to time I'll let you know when you can drive through and actually SEE US! I know! Seeing bazillions of Christmas lights AND getting to see your favorite hometown Redneck Diva is THE BOMB. Trust me on this.

Review This

2009-11-16T13:43:00.003-06:00

Hey y'all, mosey on over to my review blog and check out the latest!

My reviews of a book, a few CD's, a website for moms and a Cinnabon treat - it's all over there!

And now I vomit on my keyboard

2009-11-10T10:04:00.001-06:00

Last week was bad. Now, yes, I realize that it could've been worse and technically I have no right to complain and whine around, but it's my blog and you've decided to share in this splendiferous journey known as My Life, so settle in and listen up, childrens. Momma Diva is tellin' a story.

On Halloween my biological dad told me that he has five tumors on his thyroid or parathyroid and they were going to have to do biopsies and surgeries and essentially the doctor said, "You'll have another 20 good years. By then you'll be 78. That should be long enough." Kind of callous and cold if you ask me. While my relationship with my father isn't as close as I'd like it to be, he's still my father and I do love him. Parental mortality isn't a subject I care to dwell on at any time, much less when everything else around me is crap.

I haven't said anything about it here on the blog, but if you're my friend on Facebook you've seen me mentioned a few times that my little sister is moving. As in away from me. I don't like to talk about it because it sucks. I've had many little meltdowns over the past month or two, but Tuesday of last week I just lost my stuff and went and blew a freakin' gasket. Unfortunately I lost that stuff all over my momma and because she is one of the two people I can tell anything to, she got the brunt of every emotion that had been bubbling up inside. There are more issues than just Sis moving and let's just suffice it to say that it all sucks a big ol' bunch of sucking.

Wednesday Sam had an orthodontist appointment to get another round of metal installed in his little mouth and an hour later Kady had an appointment with her PA because her eczema is causing her to scratch like a puppy with mange all the livelong day. I am so tired of her scratching to the point of bleeding and so is she, bless her heart. Because we didn't know how long Sam's appointment would take Paul drove his truck to town, too, just in case I had to leave before Sam was done to take Kady to her appointment. It ended up that timing-wise we were fine so when Sam was done Paul just took him to get ice cream and go home while Kady and I headed across town.

Now, because there are signs all over the waiting room that scream TURN OFF CELL PHONES BEFORE ENTERING EXAM ROOM I did. I really wanted to concentrate on what the PA was saying, too, so really my cell phone was forgotten for the 30 minutes we were in there. With prescriptions in hand Kady, Conner and I made our way to the van and as I reached in my purse to turn my phone off vibrate I felt it going off. Before I flipped it open I noticed there were about eight missed calls. That is never, ever good in my world. I answered with a trepiditious "hello" and was greeted with my husband's voice angrily asking, "DID YOU NOT PAY THE ELECTRIC BILL? Of COURSE you didn't because WE DON'T HAVE POWER!"

See, it's one of those months where it's a decision - pay the electric bill and have power or pay my van payment and have transportation. Oh and throw in food and water and toilet paper. I know we're not the only ones who have had to make such a decision. We can't be. I honestly thought there was enough time to skate by on the electric bill until the next payday, but apparently I was totally wrong. We've received a cut-off notice a time or two in our life, but they've always given plenty of notice of the impending doom and managed to get things righted. Guess they just decided we needed a big ol' wake-up call this time.

I asked Paul how much it was going to take to get it turned back on and he informed me that he had been too angry to ask. He had called to report the outage and was informed that his wife is horrible at pooping money and therefore didn't pay the bill. So I hung up with him, took a deep breath and did what I had to do - I called my momma. I was composed until I heard her voice and that's all it took. I lost my stuff yet again. She didn't judge, she didn't scold, she just said, "How much do you need?" It was 2:35 when I called the power company and was told that if I made the payment before 3:00 I could avoid $60 MORE on top of the insane amount they were already charging to turn it back on. I went from Mom's office to her bank, to my bank, then to a parking lot to call the nice lady at REC who managed to get my payment in at 2:58.

I called Paul back to let him know we'd have power by 5 and apologized for being irresponsible and asked him to please not yell at me because his yelling wasn't going to make me feel any worse than I already felt. He was so sweet and said no, there would be no yelling. Strangely enough, his compassion and understanding made me cry more. So by then I had cried myself into a pounding headache, had managed to calm Kady down who had started crying shortly after I had because she has a strict policy that no one cries alone in her presence and decided that power or no power I needed a Sonic sweet tea. Kady and I scrounged around the van (a fun, distracting game) and found enough change to get me a sweet tea, Cousin Courtney a diet Dr. Pepper and her a cherry slush then we took Conner home where I sat on Courtney's couch and cried for 45 minutes while we waited for Kady's prescriptions to be filled.

That night Paul and I sat down and looked at our spending and made some decisions. Man, it sucks being a grownup.

Last year we bought virtually all of our Christmas online at Walmart using BillMeLater, paying it off with our income tax return. Sunday I sat down to do my shopping and BillMeLater denied the purchase because apparently we have a "seriously delinquency" on our credit report, i.e., the $400 hospital bill we have tried to make payments on and they sent our check back because it wasn't the amount they wanted us to pay.

Fortunately, Paul's momma bailed us out on Christmas. Instead of having ham or turkey for our holiday dinners we're going to be eating humble pie.

While talking to Cousin Courtney this weekend she asked how my NaNoWriMo project was coming. I told her I just couldn't do it and I had quit. She immediately started a supportive and uplifting speech then stopped and said, "Wait, which do you need me to be right now? Supportive and understanding or do you need tough love? I can do either." I love her so much I can't even begin to express it. I told her I needed understanding and that I needed her to tell me that being a mother is more important than writing a novel this month. She wholeheartedly agreed and instead turned her pep talk around to encourage me to try again during a month of MY choosing. Have I mentioned how much I love that woman?

Sam and Kady are both playing basketball this year and from now until February we will be living at the gym at least two nights a week and all day on Saturdays once games start. Not to mention that for the next month Sam has Little Theatre practice as well, meaning that Thursdays you will find one or more member of the Hoover clan at the elementary gym from 3:30 until 7:30pm. I don't begrudge one second of this because this is something our kids want and we will make it happen if it means giving up even more. Those kids are my everything and no novel will ever hug me at night and tell me it loves me more than soup. Everything I do in this life is about them, even when I think it isn't.

Now before anyone gets all preachy at me about money -- Paul and I talked about me going back to work again and it still doesn't pay us for me to do that. We like me being at home and until we get to where we can't feed our kids it will likely stay that way. We're in that uncomfortable spot just under the poverty level where if you stay where you are and scrape by the skin of your teeth, paycheck to paycheck, you keep medical insurance for your kids and free school lunches. If you add another income you lose all that and you pay more than you make in insurance and food and gasoline and clothing. See, I can still wear my old holey sweats and save us money!

We made a choice several years ago to give up any and all credit cards. We do our absolute best to only buy what we need and pay cash. We didn't do as much this last summer, we don't run out and buy the iTouch we want so desperately we can taste it, we only get our highlights touched up every 9 months because we don't have a credit card BUT by March of next year we will also own our vehicles, have no credit card debt and while it's hard now, we know there's a light at the end of this really poor tunnel.

Why am I writing about this? It's not for sympathy. I guess it's to let anyone out there who has had their power cut off, who has had to tell their kids that even Santa is feeling the pinch of a rotten economy, who has had to give up TLC, Disney Channel and Spike which means no more Duggars, Hannah Montana or WWE, who has had to lean on family to get them through.... well, you're not alone. You really aren't. You can ask for help if you have a support system, you can swallow your pride and admit things are tough, you can send me emails and I will cry with you.

This Thanksgiving I think I'm going to be more thankful than I've been in years. Yes, it's tough and I've seen happier days, but I am blessed with three healthy kids, a husband who puts up with my poor budgeting skillz, a roof over my head and no one in this house has ever had to miss a meal.

And my father just called - the biopsy showed no cancer.

Thank God.

NaNoWriMo boo boo! Stick your face in doo doo!

2009-11-03T11:01:00.004-06:00

I've heard about it for years. I actually looked into it last year. I guess it was just in the natural progression of things that I would actually do it this year.

I am writing a novel this month. I am participating in NaNoWriMo. OH MY GOSH. Please take this moment to put together a Priority Mail Package for me full of Mountain Dew, Xanax, Dunkin Donuts coffee and chocolate Tootsie Pops. I find I can concentrate much better with a chocolate Tootsie Pop crammed in my maw. Yes, seriously. It causes synaptic firing or something. Google it.

People tell me all the time they think I should write a book. However, no one has ever told me to write one in a month. Also, my plans for a book are really more of an Erma Bombeck type format, short stories, essays and the like. (Hey, kind of like my blog! Wow. How creative of me.) So this writing a 50,000 word work of fiction is really causing me to step out of my warm little bubble of security and comfort.

I have set a personal goal of 2000 words a day. I know there will be days I don't get there. Yesterday I wrote 1794 by day's end, but in my defense, yesterday my goal was 1800 words. Today I have written two words so far. Of course, I've also been trying to keep the puppy from using Conner as a chew toy, doing laundry and cleaning up puppy mess. Oh and being interrupted 92 times when my husband finds something on Jerry Springer and Maury SO amusing he must rewind the TV to show me - like how that gal in the g-string pulled out some other chick's weave while their boyfriend threw Cool Whip at them. (Why the boyfriend had Cool Whip on stage in the first place is beyond me, but then again, I don't even pretend to understand half of what happens on those shows.) Plus, all those closets in my house are now in URGENT NEED of being cleaned out and organized. I'm also sick and tired of all those pictures of the kids being just stashed in totes under the beds and those picture albums aren't going to fill themselves, ya know. Oh and? I'm thinking about hand crafting our Christmas cards this year. You know, because I've never done that before and it might be fun and what? No, I'm not avoiding writing. Why do you ask? Oh, because I'm writing a blog post instead of my novel? Hmh. You might have a point.

My friend Cap'n Neurotic said at this point last year he had 10,000 words and he had 4600 last night. I told him he sucks. My friend Delinda had nearly 3500 words last night. She sucks, too. And I also admire them and applaud their progress. Because they are rocking the NaNo, which is only somewhat like rocking the Casbah yet much more fulfilling. My cousin Lori is my favorite cheerleader of all. She was one of the "winners" last year and she's awesome like that. She's a continual source of encouragement and tips. She may find me sobbing on her doorstep one of these nights. (Lori, just give me a Tootsie Pop and I'll go away. Well, I'm pretty sure...)

I have wondered many, many times who the dingbat was that decided NOVEMBER was the right month to crash-write a novel. I mean, does that person not celebrate Thanksgiving? Does that person not have pumpkin pies to bake and a house to clean? Does that person not shop for Christmas presents early? Wait. Wait wait WAIT. I know the answer to these questions. Because that person is obviously not female. That person may very well be my husband.

I considered giving up the night before it all started, so to stop myself from backing out I ordered the t-shirt. Yes, I am that dorky. But I also know that the money in my PayPal account is so precious right now that ordering a t-shirt for a project I weenied out of before I even started was not an option.

And while I think the design is great and I look forward to wearing it I think instead the official t-shirt slogan should be, "I wrote a 50,000 word novel in a month and all I got was this lousy t-shirt."

Wild Rumpus

2009-10-29T11:31:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was my nephew TotTwo's birthday. He wanted to see Astro Boy, but our little theater wasn't showing it and trekking 45 minutes to Joplin on a school night wasn't an option, so we all loaded up to go see Where the Wild Things Are.

First off, let me just say that I have the rawest emotions right now - my family is in a bit of upheaval, it's been rainy and gloomy for weeks now and my self-diagnosed SAD is kickin' in early this year, we are feeling that $2 an hour pay cut my husband took several months ago (How convenient that we just start to feel it this time of year...), and the holidays are closing in quickly. I cry at stupid stuff, I tend to over-emote over minute details and everything is cataclysmic. Yeah, I'm pretty much a wreck.

When I first saw the trailers for Wild Things I teared up, even though it was previewing before the dang Harry Potter movie I saw with my then 12 year old who merely rolled her eyes are her mother who had the audacity to cry over a TRAILER. I came home gushing over how I HAD to see that movie and Kady immediately picked it as her "And Me" date.

Explanation: Paul and I try very hard to spend one-on-one time with our kids when we can. Whether it's a trip to Walmart with one child, an afternoon making cookies or even a "Hey, I've gotta go pick up a loaf of bread, wanna ride with?" type thing. Not very often we also do an "And Me" night with the kids - you know, Mom and Me, Dad and Me. Get it? Back in the summer Abby and I saw Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Paul and Sam saw both Transformers movies. Sam and I are going to see AstroBoy and Abby and I will see New Moon next month. Kady and I .... wait.....something just occured to me. Our dates should be "And I" date. Dude, my mad grammar skillz are slipping. Oh well. We've called them And Me Dates for so long, why switch now?

ANYWAY

Kady and I have planned for months to go see Wild Things but TotTwo's AstroBoy-less birthday party kind of demanded a change in plans. When we got there Kady asked if I was okay with her sitting with the "big girls" (her cousin and her cousin's friend) and I said that was fine by me. Not every day your big bad 7 year old self gets to sit with full-fledged BIG GIRLS WHO ARE NOT YOUR BIG SISTER, ya know. Well, all it took was watching poor Max destroying his big sister's room in a rage of hurt feelings too much for his little self to handle to send Kady running back to me in a blubbering, sobbing mess of tears and emotion. It wasn't that long ago she taped all of her brother's books shut in a fit of frustration and hurt feelings and I'm guessing she totally knew what Max was feeling.

At one point she and I had to get up and leave the theater for a few minutes so she could calm down. She is a very emotional child, to say the least.

I loved every bit of the movie - even the loud, visually intense scenes and was able to enjoy them despite my mother saying, "Oooh I'm getting nauseous from that camera wiggling like that." I was able to dwell internally on the underlying themes of familial conflict and acceptance while my oldest daughter and sister yawned loudly and repeatedly. I was able to nod my head in complete agreement at the unconditional love the Wild Things had for each other even when all they wanted to do was eat each other and run away, even though everyone else around me was checking their cell phones for the time and fidgeting in their seats.

I was riveted. I was mesmerized. I was Max. I was a Wild Thing. I was a mother with my arms wrapped around my sobbing 7 year old, silently crying into her hair, hoping she never grows up and never loses her imagination and always hangs onto those emotions that grab her the way they do right now.

When the movie was over and Kady and I had at least stopped sobbing to the point we could walk, we all got up to leave. Mom patted Kady and said, "Honey, I'm on the verge of tears, too - I paid money to see this movie." Pops chuckled. Mom said, "No, I'm serious. I didn't understand one thing that went on on that screen!" Abby rolled her eyes, flipped open her phone and sent a text updating her Facebook status to say that she had just seen a movie that was dumb and confusing.

Standing in the theater lobby tried to explain to them what they had all just experienced, but they all stared back at me blankly. Finally I gave up and said they were all dumb and shallow-minded. Fortunately, they love me enough to know that I said that in the nicest way possible and don't hold their inability to understand wild rumpuses and gobbling someone up because you love them so against them in any way.

When I tucked Kady in last night she asked if she could be Max for Halloween. I said, "Honey, Halloween is two days away and I just don't have time to sew you a wolf costume by then."

She nodded, yawned and said, "Okay, next year then, Momma...."

I turned her light off and hoped beyond hope that next year she still believes in Wild Things. Really, I hope she always does.

It's Spooky How Awesome I Am At This Mother Thing

2009-10-27T13:33:00.004-05:00

Normally when it comes to Halloween and my kids' costumes I am one crazy stage mom. I mean, seriously, in years past those gals on Toddlers and Tiaras would have had NOTHING on me. We don't just dress up - we get into character. We suffer for the sake of the costume. We rehearse. We research. We live and die by the costume. We meaning my kids. See also: the year Abby pushed a shopping cart as a bag lady and nearly had security called on her when she walked into the Library Administration building at the college. Or the year my kids were Goth.

This year I just haven't been feeling it. I was totally in a zombie frame of mind and all three kids were going to be zombies - Abby a zombie cheerleader, Sam and zombie nerd and Kady a zombie ballerina. I already had my little zombie family pictured in my head, we talked about it constantly. But then something happened and suddenly my zombie dreams just staggered out the window and into the path of an oncoming truck.

Abby decided that dressing up was lame. Sam decided that he wanted to be something from Star Wars (which I nixed). Kady said if she was going to be a ballerina she at least wanted to be a clean one that wasn't oozing brains. Apparently, they didn't want the zombie family dream as much as I did.

Sigh.

Plus, with Halloween being on a weekend this year, it would require TWO separate days of costuming and since we have all of three houses to trick or treat I wasn't feeling the whole drama of doing it twice in as many days. The elementary kids will dress up Friday for school and then we'd have to dress up again Saturday night and fight what I fear will be a crazy wicked insane night full of people. People who might be carrying a flu virus!

Yes, our Halloween has been drastically redirected because I am terrified of the pandemic that is upon us. I admit it. Feel free to send your leftover Paxil, Prozac, wellbutrin or Xanax my way since, ya know, I don't have health insurance.

So anyway, I bribed the kids with the promise of exorbitant amounts of candy, DVR'd spooky shows AND A NEW PUPPY.

YES, INTERNET, I PROMISED MY KIDS A NEW PUPPY IF WE DIDN'T HAVE TO GO TRICK OR TREATING.

You can either boo me or send me an award. I figure it could go either way.

I asked Abby last night what she wanted to do on Saturday night. "You want popcorn AND candy? Or just candy? Movies? What?" She looked at me blankly and said, "Play with the new puppy. That's it. Nothing else." Sweet. Saves me money on candy.

Yesterday I made a quick run to Joplin to buy Sam a pair of black, low-top Converse shoes and a Fred t-shirt because he just wants to be Fred now. Please be warned: If you have not yet experienced Fred I hereby disclaim any auditory injury you may incur by clicking that link. Also, don't play it around your 10 year old son, otherwise you, too, will live that life I live right now - where every sentence is spoken in a false-preschool voice and seventy-leven times a day I hear, "HEY, IT'S FRED!"

Kady is resurrecting the gypsy costume her older sister wore in the 2nd grade. She doesn't really understand what a gypsy is, she just knows she gets to wear makeup and gigantic hoop earrings. This morning she asked me, "Exactly what is a gypsy, anyway?" Apparently yesterday she was trying to explain to her friends what a gypsy was.

She told them she's dressing up as someone who dances for money.

I am just glad she didn't ask me if she gets to carry around a pole.

Observations from the Yard

2009-10-25T22:29:00.002-05:00

* Saying you'll never have another garage/yard sale doesn't necessarily make it so.

* I used to think that ads saying "NO EARLY SALES" was rude and unnecessary - until we had someone show up at 5:45 this year. Sis and I were bringing things around from the back yard and as we got into the front yard we saw Mom talking to people in a car in the driveway. We said we weren't ready. The driver shouted out the window, "Well, can we just hang out here until you are? We don't have any place else to go!" I felt like I was on a reality show as I finished putting things out with all the watching they were doing.

* There is one lady who comes to EVERY yard sale we've ever had. Over the years we've come to call her Snake Light Lady because one year she showed up before dawn and had a snake light wrapped around her forearm so she could see. She will try to bargain with you on EVERYTHING no matter how cheap you have it priced. I absolutely refuse to come down for her on principle alone. We price yard sale items to sell because we have no desire to bring them back into our houses. Plus, she buys our crap and RE-SELLS it in her own flea market! I think not, Snake Light Lady. I'm onto your clever and cheap ruse.

* I posted this as a Facebook update Saturday morning and it bears repeating: Rude yard sale people that unfold EVERY SET OF SHEETS may get sissy kicked in the back of the head. Yeah, you heard me, grandma. Your bun will not protect you. She didn't even buy any of the dang sheets and I had to refold them all.

* Most disconcerting thing I heard all day: A child barking his head off like he had tuberculosis and as he touched every toy on the table his mom repeatedly put his hood up on his head and said, "Put yer hood up, Johhny. Yer sick, remember?"

* Sometimes a .50 pooping Barbie dog is the best toy a kid could ever get at a garage sale. Just ask my mom's neighbor's daughter.

* Normally on yard sale day we do a sleepover at the host's house, but this year I didn't have it in me to sleep on my sister's couch. Paul was already borderline whizzed at me for having another yard sale to begin with, so we came home around 10:30 Friday night. Also normally, I get up in time enough to shower, fix my hair and put on makeup. This year I didn't. Two cousins, my optometrist's wife, a kid I was in band with in high school, a teacher at my kids' school, a girl I was in youth group with at Picher FBC and several thousand other people I knew came to our garage sale this time. Of course. I looked like a skanky street walker by day's end. Heck, I probably looked that way before 8am.

* I simply cannot - CANNOT - have a garage sale with my sister and not buy something from her. It's something in my DNA. Or maybe I'm just stupid. This sale's booty? Two ginormous coffee mugs that hold roughly 2.6 gallons of liquid apiece because really I need that much coffee at a setting, a copy of The Portable Pediatrician to give to my cousin because it is THE BEST book to have if you're a parent and neurotic like I am and two of my niece's Pixel Chix that are totally going in Kady's stocking this year because I am cheap.

* Some people will bargain with you, not because they are poor or really even looking for a great deal - some bargain with you just to tick you off. You can see it in their eyes. I once had a guy bargain with me for five solid minutes over a food dehydrator. I had it priced at $7 and considering I had used it once, that was a great price. He thought he'd eventually wear me down and maybe that I'd give in just to get rid of him. I did not. I also did not sell the dehydrator and at day's end I hummed a happy tune as I loaded it up to be donated.

* I just remembered I haven't paid Sis for that stuff.

* I will never, ever, EVER have another yard sale.

Dreams

2009-10-20T11:14:00.004-05:00

**UPDATED BELOW**

The kids do a Career Walk in the 5th grade where they go to school. They pick a career and then dress up and give a short speech over and over and over throughout the day as people come through the building. Abby did it two years ago, my niece did it last year and this year Sam is doing it.

When Abby was Sam's age she wanted to be a gymnastics coach. She was told that was a dream job.

My niece said she wanted to run an orphanage. She was told that was a dream job.

My son wants to go to Julliard. He has dreams of being an actor. He was told yesterday that being an actor is a "dream job."

Now, I realize that choosing a job for this career walk isn't setting in stone their career paths, nor is it feasible to let all the firemen be firemen and the all the teachers be teachers for this project. Then you'd have a room full of firemen and teachers and the waitresses and business owners would be under-represented. I realize this is a project about jobs and careers and it's for enrichment purposes.

But these kids are ten and eleven years old. They are not in college prep courses. Most of them aren't even standing on the front porch of puberty yet, knock knock knockin' to get in. Most still think the opposite sex is gross and holding hands will give you cooties. But they have dreams. When Sam was little he wanted to be Superman. Guess who wore Superman pajamas every night. My cousin wanted to be a dogcatcher. His mom told him it was a noble profession and bought him a net. Someone told me last night that her brother-in-law wanted to be a police dog. Did his parents tell him it wasn't possible? No, they let him sit under the table and bark when someone came in. Did he grow up to be a police dog? No. But for that brief moment in time he totally thought he could. He thought he could until he realized on his own that he truly could not be a dog. My cousin, a Kindergarten teacher, wrapped a little girl's legs in aluminum foil once because she wanted to be a mermaid. She was a mermaid that day.

Joe Don Rooney, a member of the country group Rascal Flatts, is from Picher, OK. Carrie Underwood is from Checotah, OK. Mickey Mantle hailed from Commerce, OK. Jamie McMurray is a NASCAR driver from Joplin, MO. And J. R. Conrad played for the New York Jets and he is from the town where the kids go to school. My cousin is from Picher, as well, and he has done acting on the History Channel, has done standup at the Gotham Comedy Club and has been on other TV shows. They're all from relatively small towns, but that didn't stop them. These people were kids once and they pursued a dream. They didn't give up on it.

If we tell our kids that they should always aim low, they will. We need to point them toward the sky and tell them, "See that? It's yours. THERE IS NO LIMIT."

When I was a kid I wanted to be a mommy. I was told I was selling myself short. I was told I was wasting myself. I was told that because I was settling for motherhood I would amount to nothing. Why, I was college-bound! I scored a 32 on the English section of my ACT! I made straight A's and had scholarships! WHAT WAS I THINKING??

I see those three kids walk up my driveway every afternoon and my breath catches in my chest. They are amazing, they are wonderful, they are full of limitless opportunities....

They are my dreams come true.

Just got off the phone with the school counselor who apologized profusely for the misunderstanding. He assured me he wasn't a dream basher (although I kind of feel like he was making such a title akin to "kitten mangler") and that he wasn't telling the kids they couldn't achieve their dreams, just that they needed a plan B, a way to put food in their mouths until they hit it big. He said he would stop calling them dream jobs and would make doubly sure the kids understood what he meant. I also assured him that I would be having a talk with my extra-sensitive boy-child who apparently got his feelings hurt wayyyyyy too easily over this. A talk that may very well begin with, "Stop acting like your sister. You know, the sister that cries during Annabelle's Wish and at Kodak commercials just like her mother. Wait. You know what, just stop acting like your mother. Oh and by the way you are going to make a GREAT actor, son."

And let me just take a moment to tell you that a personal phone call from a school employee who calls me by name is just one more reason why I'm glad my kids attend this school. I wigged out, sent an email in pure advocacy for my child and wasn't met with criticism or defensiveness, but instead with an apology and an explanation. Let the above post just remind us all to refrain from kitten mangling - I mean, dream bashing.

Mouse Gone Wild

2009-10-07T11:27:00.001-05:00

We've lived in this house for eight years now. We live 1/10th of a mile off the road and have 30 acres of field on one side, brush and pasture in the front and back and brush to the side. I think it pretty much goes without too much explanation - we have critters. We have armadillos, coyotes, window possums, mangling raccoons that love dogfood, window snakes, not baby copperheads, closeted yellowjackets and various other varmints. We also have mice. Lots and lots of mice.

At this particular moment in time we have four cats - a tom named Floppsy (because he got caught under the truck and broke his foot and it flopped for awhile), two kittens, Zeeb and Carbon and our rather prolific momma cat, recently renamed Michelle Duggar. (What? She's had like, 174 litters over the past seven years, it just seemed like a good name change.) This merry band of felines usually keep the mouse population from entering our house, but apparently Michelle Duggar has morning sickness or something and one got in our house this week.

Monday morning we were going through our usual routine when the discovery was made. I had been sitting on the edge of the couch for probably a good 20 minutes, fixing Abby's hair and then Kady's. We had VH1 going, I had quizzed Sam on his spelling words; in other words, we were not being quiet or still at all.

The kids had cleared out of the room, leaving me alone to watch that song that Abby says sounds like there are ducks in the background (I don't hear waterfowl in it, but she swears that's what it sounds like) when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I looked to my left and there stood ....... the mouse.

He was wearing a little cowboy hat and had holsters criss-crossed over his hairy little mousy chest. He stared at me, moving the cigarette dangling from his lip as he grinned casually. Raising his mousy paw, he removed the cigarette and spit on the ground. *patooey!* Small claws tapped slowly on the butt of the gun resting securely in its holster. He winked.

That's when I screamed.

And began shouting expletives as I hoisted myself from the edge of the couch to a standing position on the middle cushion. Of course, all three kids came running up the hall. Suddenly the mouse was naked as he fled under cover of the ottoman, thus ruining my chances of the children witnessing the fact we had a Clint Eastwood look-alike rodent in our house. Dang sneaky mouse.

Abby finally shouted above my screams, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, WOMAN??" I managed to articulate the word MMMMMMMOUSE!!! and because she is the oldest and the one who likes to control every situation she asked, "What do you want me to do? Who do you want me to call? Daddy? Kevin? (the neighbor) WHO, MOM? WHO??" I shook my head and continued screaming.

Instead of allowing her mother to have a stroke right there on the sofa in front of her two younger siblings, she said, "Sam. Get me the broom. I'm going to kill it."

She. Is. My. Hero.

My daughter who is one day short of being a full-fledged, card-carrying teenager and at that moment had eyeliner on a full 1/4" thick below her eyes, was wearing a shirt that plainly stated, "I didn't slap you. I just high-fived you in the face," and was reeking of Butterfly Flower body splash, grabbed my kitchen broom, kicked the ottoman and when the mouse ran out proceeded to attempt to beat the living snot out of the nasty thing. She got a few hits in, but ya know, those mice are incredibly flexible and if you don't hit 'em hard enough they just kind of squish, they don't die. He eventually managed to flee to the safety of the cabinet that houses Wii, PS2 and board games and the battle was over.

I was disappointed for two reasons: 1. I really wanted Abby to be able to brag about a fresh kill to all her friends, which would in turn make them all squeal and turn pale because Abby is one stylish bad-a*s and 2. because I knew that meant I had to leave the house because there was no way I was staying here with a dadgum battle-weary rodent all day with only a 15 month old to protect me. He's just not coordinated enough to deliver a deadly blow with a broom just yet.

Conner and I did indeed leave the house as soon as the bus picked up the school kids and we didn't come back to the house until noon. I called Paul after I bought snap traps and sticky traps and boy howdy, every person that worked in the vault at the casino that day had a good ol' laugh at my expense, especially after I asked him what I needed to bait the sticky trap with. Hey, I didn't know! In my mind it made complete sense to put a tasty, tempting morsel in the middle of the trap so the little bugger would be more inclined to walk on it. Apparently not. Apparently mice are stupid enough to walk across a sticky piece of cardboard for no reason whatsoever ALL ON THEIR OWN.

So far the mouse is still managing to avoid capture, but late at night when everyone else is asleep and the house is quiet and dark......I swear I can hear the theme from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly being whistled from under the ottoman.

Pants on Fire

2009-09-30T10:21:00.001-05:00

Sunday Sam went into his little sister's room where the bookshelf is housed to get a book to read because I had just declared the Wii off-limits and apparently he couldn't find his NintendoDS because in case you hadn't heard I am not only the queen of the run-on sentence, but also the cruelest mother on the planet for making him do something as ghastly as READ. After he'd been in there awhile I heard him exclaim, "WHAT THE?" followed by the sound every mother cringes when she hears - "MAWWWWWWM!" It's not the tender sweet sound we long to hear our infants coo at us, it's not the word we hear when our child is hurt and needs us to make it all better - no, it is the sound that makes our spines stiffen, our faces grimace and our eyes squint. It's the sound of tattling.

Here he came, stomping up the hall, waving a Captain Underpants paperback in the air, hell bent for election, ready to gather up a lynch mob and string someone up.

"Mom! Someone taped all of my books shut!"

My initial response? *blink blink* followed by "Huh?"

"SOMEONE TAPED EVERY ONE OF MY BOOKS SHUT!" he screamed.

I was intrigued, to say the least. I went back to the bookshelf and yep, sure enough, Captain Underpants 1-6 were taped soundly shut as well his wimpy kid books and as several others. Funny, no Junie B. Jones books were taped shut. No Judy Moody either. Hmmm...something was fishy.

Now, let me explain the dynamics of sibling relationships in our house these days. Abby is the queen bee, the one-week-away-from-being-a-teenager-I-am-SO-much-better-than-you absolute princess of everything around her. She has very little to do with her younger brother and sister and when she does it's a mere eye-roll, a scathing remark or the toss of her Chi-ironed hair over her shoulder and poof she's gone in a cloud of glitter and body splash. Kady idolizes her and Sam just wants to annoy her to death. She ignores them. However, the two younger children have just one goal in mind from the time their precious eyes open in the morning until their darling little heads hit the pillow at night - to fight with each other. And to do so in such a manner that I now have a streak of gray in the front of my hair that makes me look like Stacy London from What Not to Wear. You think I'm kidding. I'm not.

Now, I know siblings fight. My sister and I fought - so profoundly that apparently, as mother has since told us, there were nights she'd cry herself to sleep wondering where she went wrong and what she did to make us hate each other so. When Abby and Sam didn't fight I figured that being barely two years apart was the key. I should've known that Sam and Kady being three years apart - just like my sister and I - there would be fighting and lots of it. I really should've known.

That all being said, as soon as I became aware of the book-taping escapade I had a pretty good idea of who the taper was. However, I didn't want to accuse wrongly so I simply asked both girls, "Did you tape your brother's books shut?" Abby, of course, scoffed at the mere suggestion of there being a moment of time in her imminently important day to do such an immature act and Kady blinked innocently and said, "Of course not, Momma. I would nevvvvver do something like that."

Bingo. We had our perp.

She is creative and she is sneaky, but she is a horrible liar. I mean, really, really bad. She just can't do it. She's going to have to get better if she's going to utilize the sneakiness to its fullest potential. Just sayin'. So instead of starting a big ruckus right then I simply said, "Well, I can't imagine who would've done it. Maybe TotOne or TotTwo? But why would they do it? Hmmm...." She shrugged and batted her eyelashes again. "Well," I said, "I'll just have to have everyone in the living room for a meeting as soon as y'all get off the bus tomorrow afternoon." That seemed to satisfy Sam who was carefully picking scotch tape from the holy grail of pre-pubescent humor and Kady bit her lip and picked at a piece of paper in the floor.

Yesterday my three kids, the Tots and my friend Kim's daughter, Nattie, got off the bus here and when they got to the house I asked them all to have a seat in the living room. Sam was all business - he just wanted justice. Abby settled in to watch the show with smugness written all over her bad self - probably secretly hoping a flogging was in order for the offender. Kady plopped down primly in the big chair and said nothing. The Tots and Nattie sat down with looks of utter confusion on their faces. I started with The Golden Rule then asked if anyone liked it when someone tore up their toys or books or games. Heads shook all over the room. I then said, "Well, last week someone taped all of Sam's books shut and I would just like to know who that person was." Of course everyone was looking at everyone else as well as declaring, "Wasn't me! Not me!" I went on to say, "The person who did it (as I was looking straight at Kady) isn't in trouble for doing it, I just want that person to know that taping books is disrespectful and could've torn up the books. Anyone wanna tell me anything?"

Nada. I got nothing more than what I'd been getting, "Wasn't me! Not me!"

So then I said, with a heavy sigh that suggested the weight of the world had been set on my shoulders at that very moment, "Well, then until someone confesses and tells the truth no one can play in the bedrooms. Y'all will just have to stay up here. And if no one tells the truth by Christmas break I guess y'all will still be sitting here after school every day." Of course, this brought outrage to everyone in the room - except Kady.

Then I see a hand shoot up quick as lightning and this teeny tiny voice say, "Miss Kristin! I know who did it! It was Kady! Kady did it! I sat there and watched her do it! She said she was mad at Sam and she was going to tape all his books shut! I promise! It was Kady!" All this from little bitty Nattie. Paul and I both bit our lips in order to keep from busting out laughing at the absolute sincerity and desperation in the announcement. Apparently the thought of no toys until Christmas break or beyond was just too much. I looked at Kady and asked, "Kady, did you?"

"NO MOMMA! I WOULDN'T DO THAT! I don't know WHY she'd say that!"

Uhm....because you did it? Just a thought.

So the kids continued to sit and I was so frustrated at Kady's absolute refusal to budge! OH MY GOSH she takes after her father! And in my own frustration I brought out The Big One - God. Because we're Baptist and guilt is pretty much all we know. So with another heavy-hearted sigh I said, "Kids, whoever is not telling the truth, you may be fooling us, everyone in this room, but do you know who you aren't fooling?" I bit my lip again as hands shot up all over the place. "God! You can't fool God, Aunt Kiki!" (Boy howdy, don't I know it.) I confirmed this and reiterated again how lying makes you feel all yucky inside and sometimes you have trouble sleeping and sometimes food doesn't taste right and things that used to be fun aren't anymore because you're all yucky inside.....and everyone looked guilty -everyone except Kady.

And on we sat. And sat....and sat.

The Tots were talking between themselves and I heard, "So....ya think Mom'll carry this on when we get home?"

"Who knows. She could."

"Yeah. That's what I was thinking, too." Then they both sighed.

Courtney and Aunt Janet came to pick up Conner and heard the whole story and both found amusing the stubbornness that was going on and Aunt Janet was just very impressed at the boundless creativity of taping books shut. Aunt Janet always makes me think a different way. I can be angry or frustrated about something my kids did or didn't do or I can be feeling inadequate and inferior about being a parent and she has this knack of helping me see it a different way. I love that about her.

After they left I said, "Okay, ya know what, I'm going into the kitchen to fix a glass of tea. If anyone needs to talk to me, I'll be in the kitchen. Ya know....if anyone needs to confess anything."

Once in the kitchen Paul and I laughingly conferred over where to go at that point. The 7 year old perpetrator wasn't budging. Paul suggested taking them each into a room by themselves. I said, "OOH yeah! And I can shine a light in their face and ask them where they were on the night of January 12th." He blinked at me and flatly asked, "What does January 12th have to do with this?"

*sigh*

So went to the back of the house and called TotOne back first. She hit the door and immediately and vehemently proclaimed her innocence - "Aunt Kiki, you KNOW I didn't do it! I have homework every day and you make me stay up front to do it!" I shushed her and said, "Sweetie, I know who did it. I'm calling everyone back here so the person that did it can tell me in private. I just need you to pretend like you're talking to me so it looks legit." Then, because she is one of the most precious people on earth, she nodded solemnly and then she pretended to talk to me. Like, she moved her mouth like she was talking, but she wasn't. Because she was PRETENDING. Just like I told her. I love that kid more than I could ever express.

Next in the lineup was TotTwo. Again, he hit the door proclaiming innocence. I said, "Dude. Chill. I know who did it. Just hang with me for a minute or two, okay?" and he nodded. Then proceeded to dance for me. I nearly fell in the floor laughing. I'm thinking we should have interrogations every week just for the entertainment value alone.

Next was the tapee, Sam. He was still indignant and did nothing to entertain me because he just wanted a public hanging. Or perhaps a drawing and quartering.

Then I called Kady back there. She walked in like someone had just hollered, "Dead girl walking!", stood there about 2 seconds and busted into a wailing mess of tears and snot and guilt. Somewhere in the midst of it all I heard, "Oh Momma! I'm so sorry! I wanted to tell the truth I really did but I didn't want to do it in front of everyone because I was so embarrassed and I KNEW God was watching and is He sad because I lied? and I disappointed you and OH MOMMA! I'M SORRY!" I hugged her and said, "Okay." She stopped wailing, blinked a few times and her mouth dropped open in a gesture of absolute incredulity. "What?" I smiled and said, "Okay. Thank you for telling me. I told you that whoever did it wasn't in trouble for taping the books. In fact, Aunt Janet said you are a very creative prankster, but let's not do it again, okay? No matter how angry you are at your brother." Relief flooded over her.

Then I took away TV privileges for one day for the lying.

Hey, I'm trying very hard NOT to raise a hey-let's-tell-my-parents-I'm-spending-the-night-at-your-house-while-we-use-our-fake-ID's-to-try-to-get-into-a-bar, lie about my weight on my driver's license kind of person here. She needed to know lying isn't acceptable.

And just because my driver's license says I weigh 125 pounds, it's technically not a lie. I did weigh 125. When I got my first license -- at 15. They've never asked me to change it and I'm not offering. It's not lying. And I don't feel yucky inside about it.

I feel nostalgic about it. But not yucky.

Rasslin'

2009-09-25T14:27:00.001-05:00

Monday night means one thing in our house - WWE. We don't watch anything else regularly on Mondays except WWE, which stands for World Wrestling Entertainment. Don't be fooled though, it's not wrestling, it's rasslin'. Please make note of this. We know it is fake, we know it is staged, we know these guys truly are professionals - barfights that violent usually involve someone ending up in the pokey doing ten to life.

Thanks to the DVR we came out of the Dark Ages to purchase we can now pause TV to have conversations if we feel the need, however we rarely do. Now, keep in mind as I say "we" you must know that I am not including our youngest child nor our eldest. I am the only uterine-abled person in the house that enjoys rasslin'. And if during WWE either of the non-watchers feel compelled to speak to any of the other three the person holding the remote will sigh and hit pause while six glaring eyes stare down the verbal perpetrator.

It really is serious business.

This last week, though, I made a huge rasslin' faux pas and didn't realize it until my husband, a very quiet man not prone to outbursts of anything other than foul language, had to pause the TV while he busted out laughing at me until he was out of breath.

On the screen was a montage of past rasslers and one of them had a ghostly white face and dark eyes. You've heard the phrase "Death warmed over" - well, this guy was "Death with big biceps". I said, "Ooh look it's Grave Digger!"

Laughter ensued from the redneck in the recliner. And a lot of it.

Without realizing I had inadvertently attempted to mesh together two redneck sports, I had called the former rassler the name of a monster truck.

I giggled, more at his laughter than my mistake, and when we both stopped he seriously said, "Who wipes your butt at the funeral home?"

Aha. The Undertaker. I stood corrected.

Drive-by

2009-09-20T15:33:00.001-05:00

While I am a fairly sentimental person... wait. Okay, I am a really sentimental person. So sentimental I still have the "four carrot" ring my friend Cedric game me when we got "married" the day before Christmas vacation my Senior, his Junior year. So sentimental I have notes from girlfriends, passed scandalously, even though we knew the penalty would be to read them in front of the class. I take a lot of pictures of seemingly mundane things, but years from now I am fairly certain that I will still want to go back and see the day we put in our storm cellar, the hair bows the girls wore to school on August 25, 2009, and the moldy fiberglass we found behind the bathroom walls. I still have my mother's wedding dress, leftover napkins from our wedding and yes, my report cards from Kindergarten on up. I cry at Kodak commercials, refuse to watch Lifetime for fear of dehydration and have only recently let my daughters wear my Band Queen tiara because OH MY GOSH WHAT IF A RHINESTONE FALLS OUT? I WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO WEAR IT TO TEA WITH THE QUEEN!

Okay, so now that we've established my sentimentality (and borderline psychosis) there are some things I don't do. I didn't save my kids' umbilical stumps because...well. Ew. I don't send birthday cards, nor do I save them. I didn't keep up my kids' baby books. (Okay, so I kept up Abby's for awhile, but she was the first one and I didn't have anything else to do.) And no matter how many of them my mother hands me as I enter the gymnasium, I don't save the programs from the Christmas program. I know. String me up by my toes right this very minute. I am surely unfit.

There is also something else I don't do - I don't visit the cemetery. I never have. I remember as a kid any time I stayed with Nana and we left Picher to go to Miami for any reason (usually to take me to McDonald's) we almost always stopped at the cemetery on the way to or from. She always put a Masonic decoration thing on Pops' grave for Memorial Day and until she wasn't physically able anymore, kept his grave site neat and flowered. I never understood this. Even as a little kid I knew Poppy wasn't there so why were we?

As the years have gone by I've lost more and more family members and I haven't visited the cemetery any more often. My cousin Russ, Memaw, my cousin Jeff, Uncle Homer, Papa....all of them are buried in the same cemetery, Nan and Pop are somewhere else and so is Granny Glenn (I don't even know where Grandpa Glenn is...) and the only time I've been in the vicinity of their graves was at the funeral of someone else. Tater goes every so often and takes her kids, but not me. This last Memorial Day Paul said he wanted to take the kids around to all the cemeteries and I said I would go with him if he insisted, but I had no desire whatsoever to spend a day looking at headstones. He says I'm cold-hearted. He says that for the sake of history and respect I should go. I say bah humbug. And we didn't go.

I asked Jesus into my heart as my personal Savior at the tender age of seven. Even before that I fully understood that when we die our bodies cease serving a purpose and our souls are no longer on Earth. I can remember standing at the cemetery with Nan while she trimmed and pulled and decorated and wondered why would she do such a thing? It seemed so silly to me. It still kind of does today, although as an adult I know that everyone grieves and deals in their own way. If it makes you feel close to someone to visit their gravesite I certainly don't see anything wrong with it. Please do not attack me in the comments section. I honestly and truly believe you have to do what you have to do to heal. My sister visits the cemeteries and her kids can tell you where all of our late relatives are buried. My children cannot. Are either of us right or wrong? No. We are both doing what we feel is right for ourselves and our children. If my kids ever ask to go I will certainly take them, but I don't see me loading them up all by myself. And if Paul ever truly insists I accompany him, as his wife, I will.

I remember after my mother was single a year or so she announced to Sis and I that she wanted to be cremated and we both freaked the heck out. It seemed so barbaric, so viking-ish, so cruel to cremate someone you love and I refused to listen to her speak of it for years. In recent years I have quit freaking out and completely and 100% will follow her wishes. I will even drive to Iowa to the dang covered bridges to sprinkle her if that is still her wish. And I have since come to the decision that I want whatever part of me is useful to be donated wherever it needs to go. I want my organs harvested if they can be and after they take what they need - if they need it - I want the rest of me donated to science. Frankly, I don't know how possible the scientific donation is after organ donation - it may not be - but whatever. I just want the body I no longer need to be of some help to someone who does. When they're done with the fall organ harvest, they can cremate me and send the ashes to my family. Paul has issue with this but says he'll follow my wishes. My kids, even as young as they are, are okay with this as well. I tell them that instead of visiting a grave where I am not, to instead go to Disney World every few years, ride the Tower of Terror and scream "I LOOOOOOOVEEEEEE YOUUUUUUU MOMMMMMMM!" and that'll be enough to honor my existence. I thought of having them release my ashes on the ride, but that might get kind of messy and dusty and then people would be all sneezy and snotty because they'd have inhaled some of me while they were screaming their lungs out on the ride and I don't want to contribute to an allergy or asthma attack, so I'm still trying to decide where I want my remains scattered.

Sam is by far the most sentimental of my children and he and I were discussing my wishes awhile back. He asked why I would want my body to be picked over, poked, prodded and whatever else-d by medical students. I hugged him close to me and said, "Because Sam....what if by me donating my body to science they were able to find the cure for fatness? I mean, wouldn't you just feel ten kinds of awesome knowing that you momma was the woman whose selfless donation cured fatness for millions of people everywhere? I mean, you could have t-shirts printed! 'My Mom cured fatness' - just think of it!" He giggled and so did I. Most of our really serious conversations end in giggling. That's my gift to him. Hopefully that's my gift to everyone here while I'm alive - giggling, snorting, spewing beverages on your computer screens and chuckling about something I wrote as you go about your daily business.

All that being said, I found myself turning into the cemetery drive on Friday. I don't know why. I really don't. Even though I had been at her services less than two weeks before, I wasn't exactly sure where Nana and Pops' graves were. I couldn't see fresh dirt piled on top....I looked for the dang trees Tater told me to use as visual markers and couldn't remember what she'd told me - was it the second one? The short one?....I turned around and drove back....and turned around and drove back again. The little old couple who were visiting someone else probably thought I was some crazy psycho grave robber because they were eyeing me suspiciously with every pass. Yeah, because I always go grave-robbing on a Friday afternoon in broad daylight with a sleeping toddler in the backseat of my van that is easily identified by my vanity plates.

Maybe I couldn't find their graves because I am a negligent granddaughter. Maybe it was because I couldn't see through my tears.

Or maybe it was because a drive-by was enough for me.

One Tough Ol' Bird

2009-09-07T22:04:00.003-05:00

My Nana, my father's mother, lived a pretty lonely life. Don't mistake what I'm saying - she had us, but her one true love, her husband, my Poppy was killed in an accident at B.F. Goodrich when I was not quite three years old. She spent the last 36 years missing him. When the house started falling in around her and her health started failing she was adamant about staying there because that's where Pop was. Unfortunately after breaking her second hip she didn't have a choice and was moved to the nursing home. Oh, how she missed him.

For as long as I can remember Nana wore Vanderbilt perfume - and lots of it. As we grandkids got older we would talk among ourselves about how even her ice cubes tasted like Vanderbilt. Somehow it wasn't bad, though. Just very perfume-y.

Nana loved Coke and even this past week as she lay in her hospital bed, weighing barely 70 pounds, when my cousin Michanne asked her what she wanted she mouthed, "Coke." We didn't always have Coke at our house growing up, but it was guaranteed that a visit to Nana's meant as much as you could drink and cookies from the cookie jar.

I can't tell you how many hours we spent at her house growing up. When we were small enough we'd hide in the sliding-door cabinet in her coffee table. I remember spending a lot of time in front of the book case looking through books we didn't have at home - Gulliver's Travels being the one I remember most. And our childhood physical fitness is attributed solely to Nan's record player and her 45's, mainly "Chicken Fat". We grandkids burned a lot of calories on the shag carpet in her living room. She is also the only grandma I know that had all of the Village People's hits on records.

There were three bedrooms at Nana's house and we were always given the option of sleeping in the other beds, but until we were nearly teenagers we always chose to sleep in Nan's bed with her. It seems like maybe Sis tried once to sleep in the front bedroom, but it didn't last long. I know personally it was always better to sleep with Nana because we got to eat in bed and we always watched Johnny Carson. Popcorn, apples with salt, grapes - whatever we wanted - was on a paper towel and our Coke was on the coaster and we were propped up there against the headboard livin' large. It was never too late at Nana's for snacks. One year I spent the night with her on New Year's Eve. I know she expected me to fall asleep well before midnight, but no, I manged to spend the entire evening waiting on the ball to drop. As the new year marched in I bounced all over that bed, over Nan, around the room, did cartwheels and hooped and hollered. I vividly remember her watching me with a huge grin on her face, never telling me to hush, just enjoying my exuberance.

Whatever we wanted we got at Nan's, so the one time she denied me what I asked for it's no wonder I wrote a hateful note in a steno notebook and left it in the secretary in the dining room. I can only imagine what I had asked for - possibly a unicorn. It'd have to have been something that unattainable for her to tell me no. I wrote the note in anger, put it away and got over it pretty quick, but a week or so later while paying bills or writing a letter maybe Nana found it and oh my goodness the phone call I got! The jist of the note was that she loved my cousin Michanne more than me because Michanne got whatever she wanted and Nan never told her no and it was because of that that Nan told me I couldn't have what I wanted that particular day. The phone call cleared that issue up real quick. While she all but yelled into that phone she assured me she loved us all the same and how dare I suggest she loved any of the other kids more than me and what kind of grandmother would she be if she did.

You didn't mess with Nan either - once Sis stole a quarter from her purse. Her punishment? Nana put her in that big blue car and drove her straight to D&D Drive-In and forced her to spend it on a video game. Sis said it was the most miserable video game she ever played. Nan always described herself as a "tough ol' bird" and last week one of the nurses called her a tough cookie. I was holding Nan's hand and I gently corrected the nurse and said, "No, she's a tough old bird." Nan nodded her head, squeezed my hand and confirmed the description.

For probably the last 25 years or so Nan was plagued with facial tremors that could not be cured. She was constantly tense and it had to be painful. Medication didn't help much and talking to her any time but early in the morning was a frustrating thing because her muscles were so tired soon after she began the day she became nearly unable to be understood. Sometimes when I'd take the kids to see her she'd be so frustrated she couldn't talk to them so they made sure they entertained her with stories about school and their days. She loved to laugh and the kids made sure they accomplished that at each visit. She was always so worried that she scared the kids with her appearance, but never once were the kids anything but utterly and completely in love with her.

As we all sat around her bed this past week comforting her and hearing first audible words and then, as she grew weaker, whispers of "I love you" we all realized that there were few people in our lives that gave as much as she did. I know my sister and I would've had far fewer dresses with jingle bells in the petticoats without Nana. Bomber jackets, the popular tennis shoes, school clothes, Christmas dresses, toys, toys and more toys - Nana made them ours. But in addition to the gifts and clothes she gave us she gave us a solid foundation of unconditional love, constant support and votes of confidence, neverending assuredness that we had a place to go and someone to always be on our side. She adored us.

She was prissy and always cared about how she looked. She was neat, she was an amazing cook and loved laughter, big family gatherings and all of us more than we could ever imagine.

She slipped away just after 3:30 Friday afternoon while my aunt, my mother, my sister, my cousin, my cousin's fiance and God bless him, my uncle, the token male at a boisterous hen party, sat around her bed talking. She hadn't been awake in over 24 hours, had stopped communicating with us and her breathing was so very labored. The conversation had turned to boobs and boob jobs and aging not-so-gracefully when I think at the exact same moment we all looked at her and realized she was gone. It was peaceful, it was quiet and she was in the midst of a very girly conversation - it was just exactly what she wanted.

She's with Poppy now, she is relaxed and I guarantee you that Heaven now carries the faint scent of Vanderbilt in the air.

If Only Home Improvement Stores Sold Xanax

2009-08-30T22:32:00.004-05:00

It all started last Sunday. A mere week ago I had a clean house and some sanity. Now I am living in a pit and I'm battier than a belfry.

After the invitation and final prayer last Sunday Mom asked if the kids and I would go with Pops and her to Grove to eat at Braum's and then accompany them to Lowe's. They are remodeling a house so I figured she wanted some input on cabinets or fixtures or I dunno, a paper towel holder or something. When we got to the parking lot she said, "I am remodeling your bathroom for you."

And because I didn't know what else to do, I busted into tears.

She said she wanted to do something nice for her girls and was able to do it, so Tater's getting a new kitchen overhaul and I got a new bathroom.

I've mentioned before that our house is 33 years old. 33 years old looks good on my little sister, however on a house...well, things start to surreptitiously fall apart. Sometimes you don't even realize they've fallen apart behind the walls, in the attic or under your very feet -- until you start doing one simple project.

Last Sunday we picked out a new walk-in shower stall to replace the bathtub, a new shower head, trim, a vent that actually works and a new overhead light fixture.

Over the course of a week she's also purchased caulk, nails and lots and lots of plumbing supplies. If she could've found Xanax for me it would've been helpful.

The project began, Pops and Paul dug in and .... One thing led to another and sheetrock had to be removed, the concrete floor had to be jackhammered away - twice! - and then one morning we woke up to carpet that said SPLOOSH and SQUISH when you stepped on it. That splooshy carpet led to a different wall being torn out. Paul has called the trim everything but trim and I'm telling you, the air in the bathroom was blue tonight from his name-calling. Heck, even I've uttered a few long-forsaken phrases this week. Splooshy carpet will bring out nasty old habits.

We are exhausted. We are cranky. We are discombobulated. We are upheaved.

But oh, our bathroom is gorgeous. We went from blue walls, white wainscoting and a bathtub to walls, trim and waincoting the color of a hot fudge sundae and the most gigantic shower I've ever had the pleasure of bathing in. When Tater saw it she said, "Oh my word. You could just take the kids in here and camp out for a few days! It's like the ultimate stay-cation spot!" I have a BIG shower.

And I have the best momma ever.

I will post pictures of the whole debacle tomorrow, but tonight I'm emotionally exhausted on top of physically worn out. I have the day off tomorrow and plan to finish painting the bathrom vanity and then put back all the stuff that used to be in a cabinet, but will now have a new home on the shelves my husband installed for me last night. (I haven't had a day in this house by myself in MONTHS. I am nearly giddy the thought.) While the paint dries, however, I will make sure to post pictures of wet, moldy insulation, rotten sheetrock, a cracked bathtub, wet carpet and who knows what else I'll find on that SD card.

I know you'll hardly sleep tonight, the anticipation will be so great.

One Booty Shake Away from a Hoveround

2009-08-27T11:44:00.001-05:00

These days my daytime TV begins with a hefty dose of VH1, MTV's aging cousin. When VH1 came on the scene it was marketed to my parents, a kinder, gentler music video channel. Now that MTV has all but given up videos the videos were given to VH1 as a gift -a loud, obnoxious, angsty gift. Those of us who grew up with Michael Bolton on VH1 have a hard time with this transition sometimes. Just this morning I sat slack-jawed, staring at the TV, wondering if Shakira's momma ever had a talk with her about "less being more" and the girl took it literal. I was apalled at the lack of clothing on the girl and sent a tweet saying,

And then I had a bran muffin and prune juice and sat there trying to decide if Lady Gaga is a boy or a girl. Not that it really matters....it's just that she's so both.

And I am so old.

An Adventure in Babysitting

2009-08-24T11:36:00.000-05:00

I babysit my cousin's little boy, lovingly known last year as Nonner, but now we just call him Conner, which is, ya know, what his parents named him so I'm sure they're happy about the change. He's been coming here since last September when he was the tender age of about 10 weeks. When school let out for the summer he wasn't crawling, just kind of rolling around where he needed to go.

Last week my cousin brought to me a walking, babbling little ball of fire. 14 months old, the child is now and goodness, if they could figure out how to bottle up what this kid runs on we, as a societal whole, would be much more productive.

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday last week my kids were here to keep him occupied and pretty much give him anything he wanted, when he wanted it - visits outside to see the "hi kitties", many wagon rides around the yard, swinging in the yard swing at the mere point of a finger and the eating of graham crackers galore. Thursday morning when the kids got on the bus he got royally whizzed at the universe for taking away his playthings and newfound servants and immediately, upon entering the house, threw himself to the ground and commenced to screaming angry baby expletives at me. Or at least I assume that's what he was saying in his garbled verbal explosion.

Funny thing, though, by day's end Thursday, the boy had figured out that his Kiki is nearly as awesome. Paul and I call Conner our practice grandkid. We have some rules, we make sure he's safe and then we just spoil the ever-lovin' heck out of him. Basically what I'm angling for is that someday I hope I'm the person he declares he's running away to when his parents are unfair and mean.

My youngest is 7, so even though a mere two years ago I had a veritable herd of rugrats milling about my house we're kind of out of practice with small human beings that can't wipe themselves and get their own juice. Cousin Courtney kept saying, "He will wear you out. Really. Kristin. He will wear you out." So far I'm not so much worn out as just completely confounded at how he can move so stinkin' fast when he has some sort of contraband grasped in his pudgy little fingers.

Friday I had gotten him out of his chair after breakfast, washed his hands and face then settled him with his toys in the living room. When I made sure he was occupied sufficiently I ran back to the kitchen to finish loading the dishwasher and start it. Now, were I in practice dealing with chunky little monkeys of the toddler variety I'd have remembered that my time was extremely limited and I wouldn't have decided to take the knobs off my glass-top stove and proceed to scour off the burnt-on goo off the burners. Yeah. Guess how out of practice I am. I was in mid-scour on a particularly nasty stain when I realized it was quiet. Too quiet. Just like in horror movies.

I threw my baking soda-laden scrubber, grabbed a towel to wipe my hands and started hollering his name before I even got around the corner to the living room.

"Conner?"

Nothing.

"Hey, Conner! Wherrrrrrrre's Conner? Come on out, buddy. Kiki's looking for you!"

Still nothing. I couldn't see him, hear him or smell him. Yeah, I was even hoping for a good ol' poopy diaper to give me a hint at that point. I knew he hadn't gotten out of the house because I keep the doors locked all the time, but our house is really long and I couldn't decide which way he might've gone. Had he gone right? Down the hall to the kids' rooms where there are all kinds of delicious Polly Pocket shoes and Legos to eat? Where there are scissors and glue and MAKEUP? Or had he gone left? Had he ventured into my room and/or office? Oh gosh, there is no limit to the things out there that can ultimately lead to michief out there.

Finally, after more hollering and trying to make my voice sound playful and not "You're in big trouble, mister, not to mention how much trouble I'm in with your mother if I have lost you already" I saw his little blonde head poke up from between my big chair and the ottoman. I took about two steps toward him, but stopped when he stood up and - wha? When did Conner start smoking? And when did they start making long....red? Droopy? Twisted cigarettes?

The moment I realized what he had and the moment he realized he was SO busted were one in the same and as I moved toward him again the child took off sprinting toward my bedroom door with a red Twizzler hanging out of his mouth and the bag clutched in one hand. It was downright amazing how fast he propelled himself away from me. I caught him just as he stumbled down the small step into my bedroom, attempted to take the Twizzler out of his mouth, but that's when he whacked me with the half-full bag of Twizzlers. Now, it didn't really hurt, but I can honestly say that's the first time that had ever happened, being smacked in the face with a bag of Twizzlers. I took the bag from him, pulled the Twizzler from his little maw as he was desperately trying to chew as much in as he could. Man, he was wood-chipping away at that thing quick as you please.

Of course, I immediately became the enemy, even though I was laughing the entire time, and he pitched himself backwards which is always my cue to put him down. He laid there on the floor for awhile glaring at me any time I looked at him.

We have eventually made up and I have learned that I can pretty much get anything I want from that child by waving a Twizzler at him. Time to clean up? You betcha, you get a Twizzler, buddy! Naptime? Oh yes, there will be Twizzlers afterward.

I'm just hoping he will always be this easy to pay off. He'll be about the right age to mow yards in about 13 years.

Let He Who Casts the First Hailstone

2009-08-21T15:22:00.001-05:00

Night before last we had some pretty whoppin' storms roll through our neck of the woods. By whoppin' I mean they surpassed toad strangler and at times it even rained harder than a cow peein' on a flat rock.

Now with those redneck colloquialisms out of the way...

I had gotten Twitter updates all day from various weather gurus, The Weather Channel included, and knew we were probably going to get hit with something before it was all said and done. I am a weather nut and really, I find it one of my most endearing qualities, but most just find me geeky and annoying with my tweets, Facebook updates and because my mother subscribes to none of that techno mumbo jumbo she gets personal phone calls regarding the weather. See? Endearing isn't it?

Wednesday night was First Day of School Eve and even though I had been trying to implement school bedtimes for TWO WEEKS and had yet to really succeed, we managed to get everyone in bed at the appointed times. I made sure the NOAA radio was plugged in and ready to go on the far edge of the window seat, made sure my phone was charged and the volume up nice and loud so I'd hear if The Weather Channel sent a severe weather alert during the night. Those previous two actions would haunt me as the night went on.

After going through the house and saying good-bye to my new windows, because I was certain they were going to be busted out by the bowling ball sized hail on its way, Paul and I managed to get to bed around 10 or so because I had to get up at 5 and he had to get up at 5:30 the next morning. Of course, because he is male and his timing is unfailingly impeccable and he is eternally amorous he wanted to get his groove thing on. No sooner had I finally relented to his ~~annoying~~ romantic overtures than the NOAA radio went off. At full volume. My heart was racing at that point, but it had nothing to do with my husband or his mojo - I was just scared. There I am trying to listen to the robotic voice detail our imminent doom across the air waves, Paul still bound and determined to be romantic, when my cell phone began loudly declaring A SEVERE! WEATHER! ALERT! Then? My favorite friend Lori sent a text as well to make sure we were okay. Ever heard of sensory overload? Ever seen those cartoons where something scares the cat and then you see the poor kitty hanging by its claws from the ceiling? That was me around 10:45 Wednesday night.

When we got our new windows we, of course, had to take down all the blinds and the ones in our bedroom kind of got broken when we washed them and hung them on the line and uhm....kind of forgot about them and a storm came through one night, thus breaking them beyond repair. So when there is lightning we basically get a light show from our bed until it passes. That particular night the light show went on until about 4:30am. I'd like to say I enjoyed it, but the fact at one point during the night when I got up out of bed to turn off the screeching weather radio I literally stomped my foot and said, "STORMS ARE STUPID AND I JUST WANT SOME SLEEP!" probably means I didn't enjoy it very much.

Over the course of that night the NOAA radio went off about 15 times and my cell phone about 439. Remember when I said the radio was on the far edge of the window seat? That meant I had to get up to turn it off. Remember when I said I had the volume up good and loud on my phone? That meant every time it went off I hit my target rate. I was so punchy and goofy that it never occured to me to turn the volume down or move the radio to within arm's reach. I'm brilliant like that.

Around 3 things quieted down and I relaxed enough that I started to drift off. Then it sounded like someone was throwing rocks at our house. I didn't even move from my position at first, I just said, "Hail." Paul mumbled, "Why are you cussin'?" I said, "HAIL, not HELL. It's hailing!" We both jumped up, he grabbed a pair of shorts, stepped into his shoes as I stood there screeching, "What are you doing? Seriously! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? If you go out there you will be killed and I have NO DESIRE to raise those kids by myself! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO???"

He dumped the contents of the basket on his end table, snatched up his keys and said, "I'm taking my truck to the barn! Unlock the back door so I can come back in that way!" As he flew out the front door I said, "Fine. But when you are dead I am going to be SO mad at you!" I stood at the front picture window and watched him dodge little marbles of ice as he ran to his truck. It then hit me that we both essentially freaked out over incredibly small hail, but see, we have a metal roof and boy howdy it sure sounded like someone was lobbing icy grapefruits at our house when we were half asleep.

I ran to the bedroom, unlocked the back door and waited for him to run back up from the barn. I waited. And I waited. It quit hailing and then began the heaviest downpour I think I've ever seen in my life. Then I saw headlights from the barn, speeding through the field, coming back to the house.

I started laughing at that point because I assumed he'd decided that since the hail was over and it was raining so hard he'd just drive back up to the house and call it good. When he came through the front door, dripping, soaked to the bone, I was still laughing. He took the towel I handed him and said, "I know what you're thinking. But the tractor battery was dead. Couldn't get my truck in the barn. Hush."

Shortly after we got back in bed, neither of us the least bit sleepy, Sam joined us because the child got his mad light sleeping skillz from his mother. The three of us enjoyed the light show until about 4:30 when Sam decided we were all out of mortal danger and could go back to bed.

Looking back, we should've just put the kids to bed in the cellar that night, tucked ourselves in with them and set an alarm for 5am. Because sleeping in lawn chair in a 6x8 concrete underground room would've been WAY more restful.

Wherein I Wax Annoyingly Sentimental

2009-08-18T21:45:00.000-05:00

My kids are growing up.

I swear it had to have been just yesterday Abby was puking and yakking all over everything in her path, Sam was screaming his ever-lovin' head off for no reason whatsoever and Kady was glaring at us all, probably plotting our imminent demise much like Stewie Griffin.

Now Abby has a cell phone, a Facebook page and is officially two whole inches taller than her momma.

Sam has braces, wears enough Axe body spray to kill a full grown camel and even though he makes all kinds of noises and faces when there is kissing on TV I know he secretly likes it when it comes on.

Kady has gone from enraged and murderous to free-spirited, I love the color of the world in Kady-Land and -- ooh look! A squirrel!

Tonight was Open House at their school. We went to the Middle School first and it didn't take me long to realize that Abby, who has never, ever been a conformist, is starkly different from most of the other 7th grade girls. She isn't squealy, she is rarely giddy and I can count on one hand the times she's acted like she's just eaten a big ol' bowl of Crazy Flakes and is about to unleash her pubescent freakishness on the world. She is definitely Hoover. I remember when my 7th grade BFF DeLisa and I were in 7th grade we giggled at the drop of a pin. Heck, pins didn't even have to be involved. We giggled because giggling made us giggle.

In the past few weeks Abby has expressed no anxiety over the coming school year. Wait, I take that back - she did mention more than once that she really hoped she got a top locker. (She got a bottom one, by the way.) But tonight we walked into that school - after her being accosted by a classmate who nearly squeezed her in two, all the while squealing and screaming her ears off while Abby just smiled and patted the girl's arm - and Abby got all shy and bashful and backward, much like the little 4 year old who dropped out of PreK because of extreme shyness. The Home Ec teacher scared her. The new coach who is teaching her math class this year "looked mean" she said, even though I think he's charming. After I bought last year's yearbook, watched as she carefully hung a picture of Taylor Lautner in her locker and visited with another Mom we walked across the street to the elementary. She quickly, almost imperceptibly, touched my arm, quietly groaned and said, "Oh man...I need my Zantac." Open House was obviously stressful for her.

Sam waltzed right in to his classroom, found his desk, located his friend Patrick's desk, calculated the distance between the two, visited with his teacher, showed off his braces and in his usual Sam way, touched, poked, prodded and just generally explored the room. I visited with his teacher, who had also been Abby's 5th grade teacher, about orthodontist appointments and supplies and schedules and meetings and volunteering. I was considering a swig of Ab's Zantac at that point.

We went down to Kady's room, discovered that her BFF Jaycee had already chosen two desks side-by-side for them, we looked over the stack of books on her desk, visited with Queen Tammy whose son is in Kady's room again this year (yay!), congratulated her teacher on her recent Las Vegas wedding and then went down to the Indian lady's room for school supplies. (Oh thank the great and mighty Cherokees for free school supplies) When Mrs. Robin asked Kady a question she got suddenly shy and blushed bright pink. After that her hand pretty much stayed in mine.

After a quick visit with Sam's 4th grade teacher we then dropped school supplies back off at classrooms, went back across the street to the Middle School and about halfway there I said, "Ab, if you want I can stay out here while you go back in..." It was an honest, genuine offer and I wouldn't have been hurt in the least had she taken me up on it, but instead her eyes got huge and she said, "NO. I mean, no...really Mom...it's okay if you go in. Really."

So holding Kady's hand, we delivered the 7th grader's supplies to her locker, watched my itty bitty niece tour her 6th grade classrooms and finally, made our way back to the van.

Abby's been quiet all evening, playing Uno on Facebook and keeping to herself. Kady had a borderline major meltdown after her shower, something I was totally expecting. Sam fell asleep on my bed at 7:30.

My oldest is in her 2nd year of Middle School, tall and confident even in her shyness. My son is a 10 year old on the verge of stinky pits, his first crush and a killer smile, thanks to the miracle of orthodontics. My baby girl will be writing in cursive by the end of the school year.

The evening pretty much went the way I thought it would. There were no big surprises.

So why do I feel this crazy urge to cry?

Extreme Home Makeover: Redneck Edition Part 3, the Final Chapter THANK GOD

2009-08-18T14:54:00.001-05:00

After three days - yes, literally - of trying to upload pictures to Blogger and failing miserably because if I haven't mentioned it before, satellite internet is the serious pits, I FINALLY got pictures of the house uploaded.

First off, Sam's room.

Really, I didn't do much in his room. Last year we painted his room brown to match Tow Mater, but he's since progressed perilously close to puberty and decided that Lightning and his merry band of gearheads had to go. He opted for camo because well....he's a redneck-in-training.

I do apologize for the low light quality. It's cloudy today and I couldn't get any natural light and the overhead light wasn't any better. Trust me when I say his curtains are camo. And the poster? Star Wars. Geek meets backwoods. Great.

This is the wall lettering I did for him from Uppercase Living. He wasn't sure about basketball this year or any year, for that matter, so I didn't really want to put a lot of basketball-heavy stuff on his walls because his next interest may be shell reloading or macrame or whatever, so I figured I'd just make his name in HUGE LETTERS to slap on the wall.

This is Ab's room before. She had quit sleeping on the loft bed because at 5'4" she couldn't do anything more than lie down in her bed. She had been sleeping on a mattress in her floor for quite awhile before her daddy finally relented to take down the bed and move it across the hall.

Here's her room now. She and little sister swapped beds, loft for bunk. Pretty good trade. She was sleeping on the top bunk, but has since decided that's a great place for all the rogue dolls and animals she can't part with. She says she'll move back up to the top bunk in the winter because she learned last year that heat rises. Truthfully, she probably learned it years before, but just retained that knowledge last year.

No curtains on that window because she kind of lost one of the brackets. Yeah.

Here is a horrible picture of her curtains on the other window - SKULLS! Mom ordered these from the ABC catalog and she could hardly wait for the Amish to leave so she could put them up. Wish you could see them better...

And below is the reason I'm sorely tempted to take over Abby's top bunk. We are totally Team Jacob in this house. Le sigh.... Oh and the "practically perfect" lettering is from Uppercase Living as well. I put it on her wall to describe her, but I'm thinking it describes young Taylor as well. Yum.

This is Kady's room before. All pink and berry-rific. Gag. She outgrew Strawbaby Shootcake a lonnnnnng time ago, but it just never seemed a priority to redecorate. I'm so glad we finally did. It's berry much better.

Here's the loft bed in her room. She's only standing 4'4" right now, so she'll be able to use it awhile. Thankfully. I'm not sure her daddy's going to want to dismantle it again any time soon.

Santa brought the desk last year and had to bring it in blue because that's all Walmart.com had. Because that's all the elves had made and had shipped to Walmart.com apparently. So now I'm on a mission to find purple/lavender cloth baskets to replace the blue ones. If you see any let me know. Please.

And since her room is now done in everyone's favorite pixie-turned-fairy (Something I'm still not happy about. People at Walt Disney, I am talking to you. Tink is a pixie. End of story.) I went with this lettering from Uppercase Living:

Precious, huh?

And now, last but certainly not least, and I still have the sore muscles and splinters to prove it, the living room!

Below is a picture from several years ago, but it's the only picture I could easily find of the living room before we started painting because Paul kind of started before I knew he was in the process of gettin' 'er done and he insisted I just jump in and not go around "snapping stupid pictures" like I always do.

Notice the dark paneling and the bookshelves next to the fireplace. Now you see 'em....

Now you don't. I was never so glad to get rid of a set of shelves in my life! I also didn't realize how taking them down would open up the room before we ever began to put paint to wall.

And isn't my living room bright??

I still cannot get over how gigantic the room looks now. Whoever invented paneling, especially dark paneling, should be dragged into the street and shot. Seriously.

Here's a shot down the hall. Yes, I know the entry wall and hallway look like two different colors, but they are the same - the color of chocolate pudding. Trust me on this. The color down the hall is actually closer to what it really looks like. That entry wall really does look like peanut butter, though.

This is the view from the other end of the room. The paint was barely dry before the deer was hung back up. Partly because I think Paul feels like nothing in the world is right when it's not there and partly because after it laying in my office floor for three days I got tired of it still scaring the poo right out of me when I'd walk out there.

Bouncy Painty

2009-08-13T18:33:00.001-05:00

Currently I am at the Maccaroo Gym where my kids and their three friends are bouncing the heck out of their little selves. They bounced from 4:15 until 5 and it was then they all declared themselves entirely too weak from hunger to continue jumping. Nourishment has been doled out and now they are jumping probably to the point of puking. I fully expect someone to ralph. Or at the very least vurp. Yep. Parenting is so glamorous.

I have been missing the blog somethin' fierce, but Phase Three of Extreme Home Makeover: Redneck Edition has been going on since Monday night. (to refresh your memory - Phase One: pellet stove, Phase Two: new windows) Y'all...I hate to paint. I hate it even more now. BUT? My house looks great and I'm just glad it's over.

The house we live in was built in 1976, so it's as old as my darling little sister, Tater. She looks way better at 33 than my house did. As do most houses built in the 70's, our house was paneled. As in THERE IS PANELING ON THE WALLS. And we couldn't have just normal-colored paneling. Oh no, the home-builders were part vampire and liked it dark. The paneling was nearly black. Across the ceiling the beams are visible, giving the living room a lodge kind of feeling and eight years ago when we bought the house we were actually going for the lodge look. We decorated with fishing nets, creels, lanterns, pictures of fish and of course, like any good redneck family, we have a mounted deer head hanging proudly on the wall. (It's a 13-pointer, so that thing will be displayed until it literally disintegrates. Hopefully that will be soon.) But I have since outgrown the lodge look and THANKFULLY so has Paul. I talked him into painting it after a year of discussion and the moment he agreed I loaded him in the van to pick out colors.

We settled on Almond Cake for the living room and Cappuccino Spice for the entryway and hall. My sister's living room and hall are painted Cashew Crunch, Popcorn and Avacado. Something about us Bass girls - we like food on our walls. And I think I've passed on this desire to my children because yesterday as the paint was going on the walls of my hallway they were going to the kitchen and getting all sorts of food to see what color matched the paint best - bread crusts, pudding, peanut butter, wilted salad in the bottom of the bag, and melba toast. When it was wet peanut butter was a sure winner, but when it dried Hunt's Snack Pack chocolate pudding won.

Yes, my hallway is the color of chocolate pudding. I love it. It makes me happy. I think it will come in especially handy on those weeks I have PMS.

Paul asked me last night what the theme of the room was going to be now. I am happy without a theme, personally. We have a picture over the couch of a log cabin on the edge of a lake because deep down inside I am a recluse who would love to live in such a place - as long as it has WiFi. We have a floral couch. We have Paul's grandpa's gas lantern sitting on the mantle (WITH a dirt-dauber nest still in it) (because we are CLASSY). We have a 52" humongo TV, Wii, PS2, Super Nintendo, digital picture frame and the two laptops are perpetually sitting out in there as well. Basically, our living room is decorated in Middle Age Poverty with heavy Redneck tones and some Techno Nerd to accent.

No one can ever say we put on airs.

Seeing as how I'm 40 miles from home, I can't upload pictures of the new look, but of course, you know I will. There may even be one of me licking the walls in the hallway. I'm feeling a little PMS'y today.

Highway Robbery

2009-08-03T14:39:00.003-05:00

Last week we farmed all three kids out to various places so we could take down mini-blinds, move furniture and spend a few moments of peace and quiet before the Extreme Makeover: Redneck Edition began.

Mom took Kady to her office for the day because she can put her on a computer, give her a can of Diet Coke and never worry a second she's going to get into mischief. Mom's new office is in a building that houses other offices and a community room and you can walk a complete circle through the whole thing through various hallways. For some reason the kids love "make the circle" when they're there and that day was no different.

Mom and Kady had gone through part of the circle when Mom said, "Kady let's stop here in the bathroom so Grammy can go, okay? You just wait out here and don't touch anything." Mom went in a stall and she could hear Kady humming and her flipflops flipping and flopping as she investigated her surroundings. All of the sudden she heard Kady gasp.

"You have GOT to be freaking kidding me!" Kady exclaimed.

Mom waited but said nothing.

"Oh my GOSH. Seriously? I mean REALLY??" she blurted out again.

Mom couldn't wait any more and finally asked, "Kady, what are you talking about?"

Kady huffed and said, "TWENTY FIVE CENTS FOR A NAPKIN? Who would PAY that? Good grief, Grammy, there are free paper towels hanging right HERE on the WALL!"