Historical Day

Don't you love being a witness to an historical event? No, I'm not talking about the Saints and the Superbowl. If you haven't heard about that one yet I'm sure you're enjoying the underside of a very comfortable rock. I'm talking about snow. In fact, I'm talking about reports from several sources I've seen that indicate this is the first day in recorded history that snow is on the ground in all 50 states.

To me, that's one of the most impressive elements of this day. But given the opinions through the years of what must freeze in order for the Saints to win the Superbowl, I have my suspicion there's more behind this impressively cold weather than meets the eye.

Here are some special moments of the day!

Cheap Pets and Expensive Linens

The no-so-bright dog I speak of sometimes is a pound puppy. She's a good dog, but is not very bright. But what should I expect from a very cheap pet, right? Given her lack of intelligent life up top, we often refer to her by her acronym name: U-WODD, which stands for Useless Waste Of Dog DNA.

Well, this not-so-bright one pulled a very not-so-bright stunt last week. She ate one of my favorite dish towels. Red is my favorite color so I'm sure that's why she chose that particular one to ingest.

As you can imagine, dish towels are not very digestible. Especially when, it seems, you chase them with some rubber bands. It can make a nasty mess in the intestinal tract of an animal. So after multiple x-rays, several medications, a barium series, and finally a nice abdominal surgery followed by several days in the hospital we have our not-so-bright but cheap pet back. She's recovering nicely, but that's turned out to be one very expensive dish towel that I'll never use again!

Parting Ways

How do you know when it's time? When to say it's the final curtain call? When to end it gracefully, before anyone gets hurt? When to close the door and just walk away?

This has been on my mind for a while. I'm still not ready to throw in the towel, but I've come to realize the messages are becoming clearer.

Yes, it's been a long and tumultuous ride. There have been good times and bad times, and even scary times. But last night it really reached a pinnacle. I fear the end of the road is near. But how do you really know?

When the trust is no longer there? When you're not comfortable any longer? When it becomes more about the journey and less about the destination?

Truth be told, I've changed. I'm not the same person I was ten years ago. I'm not the same person I was five years ago. When it comes right down to it, I'm just not a mini van kinda gal any longer. I'm not sure I ever was one. And I think it's coming time to move on.



My trust is diminishing. My fears that I'll be left high and dry are increasing. I'm losing my confidence in it's ability to provide for my needs. And the subtle messages are frightening.

While experience has taught me (unfortunately many times over) that there are alternative means for stopping, I still prefer brakes. Overwhelmingly I prefer brakes.



This message has become more frequent in recent years. I'm about out of services to offer it.

I think it may be time to...**gasp**...car shop. If you know me, you probably know I have a strong dislike for shopping. I guess I'm not a stereotypical female in that way. I'd much prefer swinging in the park, walking through the woods, camping by a lake, or reading a good book. You can even add dental work to the list of things I prefer over shopping.

And if you know me you may also know I'm a shrewd negotiator when buying vehicles. There have been instances through the years when D probably prefers the serene comfort of a combine harvester over sitting next to me at a car salesman's desk.

I guess I'll have to be biting the bullet soon and moving on...closing the door on the van before it breaks down and we get hurt. And I promise I'll try to be nice to the car salesmen. In fact, I'll even try to approach it with a better attitude. I'll call it a "car negotiating challenge" instead of the much dreaded shopping word. That should help.

Priorities

Yesterday afternoon there was a slight knock at the door. The boys rush to it asking, "Is it Daddy; is Daddy home from work?"

I smile and gaze out of the window. "Even better," I say. "It's FedEx with my new shipment of coffee."



Well hello there, Sunshine. What will you be assisting me with today?

I spent a little time this morning getting acquainted with the new delivery and thinking over life's pressing questions. Questions such as why my kids think D knocks on the door instead of uses his key to get in. I must admit it has me befuddled, in a caffeine-hyped way.

And in case you are concerned, there are more cases of coffee in the pantry. I've experienced running out before and it's not pretty.

A New Yardstick for Bad Days

Someone comes up to me today and tells me she's been enjoying reading my blog. Mmmm, say it a little more slowly, please. Bllllloooooggggg, you say? I'm not sure what you mean. Oh wait, I have a niggling little recollection of something called a blog. On a side note, is that not one of the funniest words, niggling? You've got to love a word that rhymes with giggling, wiggling, and jiggling. I laugh every time I write, read, or say "niggling." Which thankfully is not often seeing it's quite hard to work the word into casual conversation. If I did, and laughed every time I said it, people may think I'm weird. Okay, weird-er.

So back to the blog thing. I figured I'd better revisit all those lonely, forlorn ones and zeros I've created somewhere in cyberspace. Here I am and I'll catch you up on some of the better points of the last few months. I'll start with a story about my friend.

I have a friend, a childhood friend from so long ago that some of my earliest memories have her in it somewhere. If a memory doesn't have her in it it's probably because one of us was punished from playing together. As a sickly little child in and out of hospitals, I recall many times thinking how I must get better so I can go home and play before she wears out all the new toys she's probably getting. I was so very shallow back then. I'm much different now, you know.

My family moved, then her family moved and we lost touch. We saw one another a time or two in high school, but never were able to spend time together again. Fast forward to last summer, when I attended the orientation meeting for our homeschool group. What a surprise to see her after all these years! We have a lot in common again, and I enjoy her company very much.

We decided to take our punks (okay, my punks and her darling children) to the corn maze one day during the fall. D had never had the chance to meet her and he got to tag along with us. My poor friend had one of my kind of days and encountered one obstacle after another getting to the corn maze. Finally she got there and was feeling much relieved, as evidenced on her face. She began to relax after a harrowing morning.

We took the kids to the animal encounter area where they get to pet and feed animals, then watch a pig race.

The pig race. Not just any ol' pig race, mind you. It was a Special pig race where each pig had a kid chosen out of the audience to cheer him or her on. If the pig won, the kid got a prize. After a few of these races, the grand finale was announced. My friend's son was chosen to cheer the pig, but since this was the last race, it was the bestest one. The cheering kids got to bring an adult with them to help out. They had to cheer loudest of all in the final race, and as an incentive the losing parent had to kiss the losing pig. Oh my!! My friend and her son so diligently cheered but luck was not on their side that day. I saw the stress returning to her face.



Oh boy did the stress of the morning return to accompany the stress of losing the race.

But she did it!! And without a meltdown even. However, she only proceeded once she was assured the pig was cleared from having the swine flu. Personally, I'd have asked for a doctor's note. But that's just me. She's a stronger person.

I could only get one shot, since she wasn't very happy with the event and didn't try to make it last for my photographing pleasure. But as you can see in this closely cropped version she did kiss the pig. Sort of.

Now as part of my daily drama and tongue-in-cheek bad days, I have a new yardstick by which to measure. If someone asks how my day has been, I've been known to say "It could have been worse. At least I didn't have to kiss any pigs!"

One Tough Year for One Tough Lady

Take a look at this picture and I'll bet you get goosebumps.

This is my grandmother's car. My grandmother, some of you may remember, lost her husband just one year ago after a terrible botched surgical disaster. A week after we buried him she lost a large portion of her home to Hurricane Gustav. A tree also landed on this car. It survived, and so did she. The house and car were fixed and she kept going. She's had a tough year but was finally moving onward.

Like most ladies her age she's very persnickety about her hair. She goes to get her hair "done" every week. Every Friday. This Friday morning when she left home to have her hair done, she was rear ended by an 18 wheeler. A very large truck that carries very heavy loads. She was at a complete stop waiting to turn but the truck driver didn't notice. He plowed into her going 45 mph. That's the speed limit. I bet he was going faster.

Can you believe none of her 82 year-old bones broke? She's been hospitalized since then. She's quite shaken, bruised, and in a lot of pain. But nothing was broken!! She said she saw Jesus standing by her. Obviously He's not ready for her yet, and for that we're thankful!

The Gluten Monster

Yesterday was one of those days. In the whole scheme of things I guess it wasn't too bad, but it was still one of those days.

M was in his Destructo Baby mode, but the funny thing is that he doesn't realize he's destroying everything. He thinks he's helping. He thought he'd help me by cleaning my bathroom while I was getting the Bigs started on their schoolwork. Granted, the bathroom could use a good cleaning but his disinfectant of choice happened to be a new tube of toothpaste opened just 11 hours earlier. He ran past me toward his room as I was helping N with his vocabulary words and I caught a whiff of toothpaste. I knew immediately where to go since he was with me when I opened the tube 11 hours earlier.

I guess he heard the panic in my voice as I headed to the back of the house and he followed, albeit at a good distance. I find an empty tube of toothpaste on the blue sparkly counter. The counter sits atop blue sparkly cabinets, in front of which are blue sparkly floor tiles. Nearby are a blue sparkly toilet, a blue sparkly shower, and a blue sparkly bathtub. Honestly I don't know how he had enough time to do it all. I'm beginning to think he has a twin but my family didn't want to send me over the edge so I only see one at a time.

He's hiding in the doorway, with his arms and legs a very unnatural blue sparkly color. UGH! As I evaluate the best way to tackle this cleanup I notice sitting very inconspicuously in the midst of it all is the toilet brush. Double Ugh! I see a subtle swirly pattern in the toothpaste layer on pretty much everything. I ask anyway, though I already know the answer.

"Mommy, I wanted to help you clean the bathroom. I scrubbed it in for you. Are you happy?"

Heck no, I'm not at all happy. He knew it before he asked, but I didn't say anything. I changed my thoughts on cleaning up from one of wiping to one of hot water and bleach. Really hot water. Lots of bleach. I started with cleaning him up, sans bleach. Then sent him off to play. Big Mistake.

A new school year = new school supplies, which include Elmer's school glue. M always calls it gluten since we, for obvious reasons, don't let him have any of it, either. While I'm cleaning and the Bigs are doing their schoolwork, he's quietly painting himself with school glue. I turn around to get more cleaning cloths and see him walking stiff-legged with arms outstretched moaning in typical monster fashion. "I'm the Gluten Monster and I'm after youuuuuu!"

The thin coat of glue has now dried and it's peeling off of his arms, legs, face, and hair. What a sight! J and N clean up the glue he's spread around and I finish the bathroom. We sat him at his kid table to color with strict instructions about not getting up.

Sitting there, he manages to take a scribbled on coloring sheet and stick it to the wall next to his chair. "Look Mommy, I made a sign for you. What does it say?"

It clearly says for me not to have any more kids.

When I Wanted to be a Cartoon Character

Yesterday was B-day for N. He got his braces and palatal expander put on. He was so nervous, anxious, jumpy, and apprehensive. Me? I was downright terrified. Afraid they'd hurt my little man, you ask? Not so much. Afraid my little man would have a big man sized meltdown is more accurate, but yet still understates the emotion of the moment.

If you know him, you know he has a tendency to whine. If you don't know him, here's the deal. He whines. A lot. About everything. All the time. He's a complainer too. I love him dearly, but he has the ability to send the strongest among the population on a quest for mind-altering substances.

Needless to say I was terrified of the journey on which we were embarking. Braces hurt, expanders hurt, and the process to have them put on can be long and tedious if you don't work with the orthodontist and stay still. Did I mention he's ADD too? Sitting still for an hour and a half is asking way too much. Heck, sitting still for a spelling test is asking for too much most of the time! I was dreading this day, and even contemplated waiting a few more years. After talking with the doctor we made the decision to go ahead though, since time was working against us as his bones become stronger and less movable.

So there I sat in the waiting area, sweating it out and thinking of the strange thing I just did. I just wrote a check for a small fortune, which buys N almost two years worth of whine. Parents do very illogical things at times.

They call us to the back. The nurse tells me it will take an hour and a half, and if I have any errands to run or anywhere I need to go I can come back and get him. Uh-oh. Do you know how, in cartoons, a character will lift one leg, you hear a PEOWNNNNnnnn sound, then see some squiggly lines and a bunch of dust where the character once was? I thought for a fleeting moment I could be a cartoon character.

Then I feel a tiny, gentle hand on my arm and I knew without a doubt I could never go PEOWNNNNnnnn and leave him. He's eight now, but he's still my baby and always will be. I'd no more leave him alone in that situation than I'd eat mushrooms. (I know for a fact I'd rather eat mushrooms than leave him there. I'd swallow them whole and hold my nose if it came down to such a choice, but I'd still ingest them!)

Off we go and to my total and complete surprise he never complained or whined. He sat as still as he could, though the doctor laughed and told me he's a wiggly one. "Oh really?" I asked. I looked so surprised. "I guess he must be a little nervous."

I'm so proud of my little man, who sat there and stared the next two years of braces in the face and said, in his own way, to bring it on! Then he came home and whined until I let him play Wii.



He's getting a good look at the new expander. Such a strange contraption!

Time to glue in the expander and prepare for the brackets on the teeth.

This ain't our first rodeo. We did the same dance two years ago with J. This doctor knows his stuff and J's teeth look fabulous!

Sorry Bud, the pout is cute but will not get you anywhere.

The final result! He wanted blue bands around his brackets since blue is his favorite color. He's not going to get the wires for a bit because we'll be expanding his palate so rapidly. The wires would be bound too quickly or we'd have to change them too often to accomplish anything. He'll get the wires soon when we slow down the expansion rate. It's so complicated!

I'm so proud of him. So far so good with the whining. A little whining and a little Advil goes a long way. I'm proud of me too. I made it through my terror with only the minimal of mind-altering substances...I added extra shots of espresso and chocolate to my morning mocha. It did the trick!

Book Day!!

I love the UPS Man. He brings me such wonderful things. And somehow he knows exactly what I want.

Yesterday and today the UPS Man is the Book Man. He's bringing our new school books. I usually order way before now, but this year I'm being a little more conscientious of the fact that I don't need to buy their stuff three or four years in advance. I'm realizing it just doesn't take that long to make lesson plans. However, it does seem to take that long to find science experiment supplies.

So we've been unpacking and sorting through boxes and the punks are so very excited. I hear you laughing. Seriously, they are. They abandoned the unloading and putting away of groceries because they were so anxious to open the boxes. They even decided it was more important to sort by subject and grade rather than clean their bathroom and vacuum their rooms. I'm glad they're so into school this year. I guess you still don't believe me, though.

He Snow Angel

The title makes no sense unless you say it faster. I'll explain why but first I often wonder if the title of my blog should be something like "The Mischievous Antics of the Babiest" or "Earning the Grays--One by One." I don't think people really believe me when I tell them stories of M. I've decided to take pictures. I can use them to blackmail him one day when he's getting married. You better pick me out a really nice nursing home or I will show her what her kids will be like.

This is what happens when I iron clothes. I found him stomping in the baby powder. When I return with the vacuum I find him making snow angles. I guess southern kids need to improvise snow scenes.





I now realize the best way to avoid this in the future is to stop ironing. I think I'll probably have to put the powder out of reach instead, but the first plan sounds like the best one to me!!

A Correction

I have to correct the previous post. M does not have chicken pox. He says he has "chicken foxes." At first he told me he had "chicken punks" but after trying to correct him, I decided I really liked fox better than pox too.

I love the little things they come up with!

A Rash Independence Celebration

We celebrated July 4th as we typically do each year. We spent the day with D's family, the kids played in the pool, and everyone complained about the oppressive heat. I vote we move July 4th to the Spring from here on out. I'm working on a plan for it. I'll have to get back to you on the details at a later date.

I love taking pictures of the kids in the pool. I have so many and after a while they start to all look the same. But as soon as I take one picture, the next scene/smile/dive/pout/whatever is better than the last. Or so it seems until I sit down at the computer and look at hundreds of pictures of a head floating in blue water. I'll show you what I mean.


Here's the best smile ever. It speaks to me. It tells me what a great time he's having. Keep on grinning, dear one. The braces go on in a few short weeks!


This picture screams to me that Daddy tickles while protecting. They love swimming together, if that's what you'd call it. It looks more like the bouncy baby--tired Daddy underwater shuffle. I'll stick with the word swimming for simplicity.


This picture shows the preteen angst/boredom look I'm seeing so much of lately. Will you make it go away, please?



So what does the title of this post have to do with swimming on the 4th? (Point, meet Stacie; Stacie, meet Point...) Back on track now, I've been fighting a nice little rash on M for almost a week. A week for a rash with no other symptoms is my limit before I turn it over to the professionals. I noticed it was worse after the weekend swim, so off we went this morning to the doctor.

His rash is actually three rashes. First, there's a nice uniform and bumpy heat rash. Then comes the longer lasting viral rash thingie (that's formal medical terminology--you can look up like I had to if you don't understand it). For the icing on the cake we have the red, bumpy, easily identifiable to everyone but me, and much hated Chicken Pox. The doctor politely but firmly made us exit the back door to prevent spreading and sharing the good fortune.

Now I'm tasked with calling everyone we've come in contact with the past few days and warn them to be on the lookout. There were a lot of kids in the pool. My nephew spent most of last week with us. We had friends from out of state over for a visit. We went bowling a lot. It's such a social time of year!

I've called most of them and not a single one has cursed me out...at least not to my face but my ears are really burning.

Now my next task is to run away. Far away. You see, I just realized there was something I forgot to do 30 years ago. I forgot to catch Chicken Pox myself!!


Stay tuned for the next episode of "As the Spot Emerges."

Boudreaux's

M loves Boudreaux's Butt Paste. Actually, he loves the name more than anything. The product doesn't really do much to help any rashes he has. He responds better to Desitin. But Desitin is called Boudreaux's at our house, to humor the Babiest of course.



I missed him for literally three minutes. It was probably more like four by the time I checked his usual haunts.



This is what I found when I discovered him. He told me "Mommy, we're all out of Boudreaux's. Will you go to the store and buy me some more?" Ummmm, NO!!!





In case you are not savvy in the diaper rash protection genre, Desitin is designed to stick to the skin and protect it, not wash away with a liquid. It doesn't easily come off furniture or little punks.

'Nuff Said

Holy Bats and Balls Batman, Did You Watch That Game?

Oh my, I still can't sleep! If you didn't watch it, I hope the recovery from the coma goes well. And I hope you had your DVR set up prior.

I have a confession. I was totally put out after the top of the 10th when my Tigers couldn't capitalize on the bases loaded and one out. I thought it was over and proceeded to fold a load of laundry. Totally off subject, but does that stuff ever stop? Anyway, I was thinking they just didn't seem to want it enough. But then it all came together. Whew! One down and one to go!! Way to go, boys.

I think we'll be eating some steaks while watching game two. Beef steaks. Longhorn beef, maybe? Ya got that, dear brother-in-law?

Hmmm, do you eat Longhorn or just laugh at them for looking so funny?

The Preparations are Under Way

Let me first provide you with some answers before proceeding. No, we do not know where he gets this stuff. To address the obvious, but unspoken assumption: No, we do not speak like this to each other so he did not get it from us.

Now that that's out of the way, on with why I'm making preparations, and what I am preparing for.


During the really dark times of M's regression I wondered if he'd ever develop the ability to verbally communicate his needs, wants, desires, intentions, etc. That wondering disappeared over the course of the last year...and boy did it disappear!!


He communicates his intentions quite clearly now.

Last week as I was dressing the little guy he smiled at me and said, "Butt." Just one word. And a big smile. It communicated all he needed to at the moment, and was intended to get a strong reaction.


I thought it best to ignore it. Next came "Butt. Butt. Butt." I still didn't bite. Finally after he was dressed and, I suppose able to adequately run from me, came the biggest challenge. "Buttbuttbuttbuttbuttbutt" while running around his room smiling. I'd let him win this round by not taking him on. I walked away thinking I was being a good mom by not reacting.


Not so.

Later as I was resting on the couch the following transpired:

M, walking up to me: I like to kick butts.

Me, thinking WHAT DID HE SAY?!?!: What did you say?

M, the smile is getting bigger: I like kickin' people's butts.

Me: Why do you say that?

M: It's fun to kick butts.

Me, trying not to explode in laughter and shock: You shouldn't say that. It's not nice.


M, eyes sparkling because he now has the upper hand, leans forward and points his crooked chubby little finger at me: I'm gonna to kick some butt...and I'm startin' wif you.

Me, oh never mind, I wasn't able to say anything. I was hyperventilating from the laughter I was unable to hold in any longer. He won round two, but the match wasn't over. I sought to compose myself while he ran around the room dancing.


Round three was beginning.

For his next move M pauses the dancing-running thing he's doing, looks over at me, points his two index fingers at me and pumps his hands back and forth. "Preeeepaaaarrrrre for ya butt-kickin'!"

The match is over and I've thrown in the towel. Let me again say we do NOT speak like this to each other at our home and I do NOT know where he comes up with these things. Promise.


But I'm preparing for my upcoming butt kicking with a sense of humor and a sense of dread.