Monday, September 24, 2007

Retiring the Blog

Nope. Not getting out completely. Just changing scenery and providers.

So come on over to and get your fill there.

Don't make me come and get you.


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A Blast from the Past

Robin's recent post about her child's alternative use of feminine products brought back a memory of mine that I thought had been repressed forever.

When I was about seven years old, I loved to go through my sister's drawers. I was obsessed with looking in there for some reason. Well, the reason was ... I was nosey and I was an obnoxious little sister.

Back in the late 70s, early 80s, the Stayfree Maxi Pad was thicker than an average child's arm. I remember looking at those things on a daily basis, but I could never quite determine the use for them.

Then ... I had an epiphany.

On the same day my mother was having a group of ladies over from church.

I snuck into Mini Martha's room and started rifling through her dresser drawer. I pulled out the bag o' pads and tore the backing of off two of them.

I went downstairs with these pads ... one on the front and one of the back of my neck ... and proceeded to go into the living room where my mother was entertaining her company.

I stood in the middle of the giggling group of women and blasted out my question:

Why does MM have all of these neck pads in her drawer?

My mother's face was almost draimed of all color. She escorted me out of the room, ripping the pads off of my neck, and shooing me back upstairs.

We had a miniature schnauzer. He had this bad habit of getting excited when people laughed.

So he immediately ran around in the gaffawing circle of women and peed on the floor.

I don't remember too many more of those meetings held at our house.


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Thursday, September 20, 2007

Just nothing today ....

Nothing at all.

No wit. No charm. No condescending remarks.

Just ... nothing.

Maybe that's better than something.


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Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Move over, Mom

There's a new woman in the Man's life.

Last year, it was Allison. She had the hugest crush on the Man. She would smile shyly at him and say hello. We saw her at the pool this summer for swimming lessons, and she was so excited to see him.

Now they aren't in the same class anymore.... I was kinda sad about that.

But life is going on. New love is in the air in the first grade room.

And that love is called Eve.

And for my near and dears, this is the child of the woman who I had words with at the very first Vacation Bible School Extravaganza. You all know who I'm talking about .... the one who was all ticked off at me because she can't read a clock to tell time.

And it looks like we are practically family. I can't WAIT for the wedding.

And it was Eve who made the moves on the Man. She asked him yesterday to be her boyfriend.

And like any good boy would, he said "yeah."

This, of course, was the boy who came home last night from his first Scout meeting with mosquito bites all over his face. Because apparently he can't swat them away. It is a whole lot cooler to stand there with about five feasting on your cheeks.

This is also the boy who came home today with maple syrup all down the front of his shirt as he matter-of-factly states "oh yeah.... I dropped it on me."

But I am hoping his judge of character is a lot stronger than his inability to fend off blood-sucking insects and dodging 4 oz souffle cups of maple syrup.

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Because life wasn't exciting enough....

Yesterday, the Monkey and I went to The Walton Trust Fund for some items. Sorry Sue..... I can't help myself. I have to go there. If you don't read Sue's (The Mind) blog, you should. She is HIlarious ... and her viewpoints on Wally World... priceless!

So we were done shopping and loading our things into the van. And the phone rings.

I have ringtones for a select few. I know I have talked about them before ... the Mominator has The Godfather. Mini Martha has The Odd Couple.

I really should set something like The Death March to the schools' ringtones.

It was the Queen's school. And not just the secretary .... the dreaded SCHOOL NURSE!

Waiting to hear that the Queen had a headache, or her stomach was hurting her, I stood in the parking lot, tensing up.

But it wasn't that at all. She had taken a "spill" on the playground.

Ok. Fine. This is the same child who took the header off the bus when she was in Kindergarten... that was a good one, let me tell you. So I thought "all right, they want me to talk to her to tell her to go back to class."

Nope. They had sent her back to class after icing the goose egg on her head, but she had returned, complaining of feeling "wobbly" and nauseous.

Of course, the first thought through my head was: concussion. So off to the ER we went.... the first time.

The first time, the Queen looked ok. She was perky. I thought "WHY am I here with you?!?!" The Monkey decided that riding the doctor's chair around the room was good entertainment. I thought so, too ... until she started to climb up on it. And then we were looking at a twofer visit if I didn't get her down. So she was relegated to just riding the seat around, and got a curt "get DOWN from there" when I saw her getting all Monkey-like.

The doc took a look at the Queen, felt the back of her head, said "I don't like to overexpose these kids, so I'm not going to order any scans. She is going to be just fine. I will send you home with a list of things to look for ... if you see any of those, bring her back in IMMEDIATELY!"

So we got our marching orders, and started to take off. I had given the Queen an ibuprofen. And then the games began.

She immediately stated that she felt like she was going to throw up. So she hung over the trashcan. The nurse said "well maybe she's hungry...." so she immediately handed us a package of crackers and a barf bag and sent us on our way.

We didn't even get home before the Queen used that bag.

We got home, she barreled past the Monkey in the van, ran into the house, and laid down in our bedroom with a trashcan. Which she immediately started to use.

Throwing up more than once is one of the signs.

Then she started crying that her head was hurting worse than ever.

The headache getting worse, not better, is another one of those signs.

So the ER was called, they told us to come back immediately, and a CaTscan would be ordered.

We arrived, they scanned, and we sat. And sat. And sat. And sat.

And the Queen got better. And better. And better. To the point that I kept telling her to sit down.

And I sat there, thinking that we had just wasted everyone's time.

You see, the Queen ... when she has a massive headache (we used to think it was migraines), she does this same thing. But when it is so close to a head injury, you have to wonder.

We FINALLY received the green light well over two hours after the scan, rushed off to get the Monkey from dance class so Ace could take the Man to his first Scout meeting, and promptly ran through Taco Bell, where the Queen ordered a Nachos Supreme and a soft taco.

And she snarfed those down like they were being taken away from her at any minute. And threw a fit that her brother was wearing one of her shirts (that was MY fault ... shoot, it was gray), and had gotten a stain on it.

So I would say we are in the clear.

For another day, of course.

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Monday, September 17, 2007

Mystic Pizza

Last Friday, we decided to treat ourselves to our local pizza joint.

And the nightmares ensued.

The Queen came back at 12:30 *we were still awake* to report that she had had a bad dream. We are trying to break these kids of this habit. Stay in bed, dude. Don't come back to report a bad dream, only to say "I can't remember it ...."

Then the Monkey started SCREECHING at 1:30. As Kendra and I share the same fear of reaching the room to only see that they are lying in some pool of sick, I ran up to her room.

Bad dream. About a "disgusting hand." Not sure about that one. Quieted her down. Back to bed.

2:10 ... same thing. SCREECHING at the top of her lungs. She had had the same dream, and was begging to come back to our bedroom. I told her no. Yes, I'm heartless. But I don't like to start a bad habit with this one when I didn't allow with the other two. She finally settled back down, and I went backt to bed.

We woke up around 7 with the Monkey wake-up call. She started reporting her bad dream. Something about a doll that actually pooped and had spit in it. And it choked. And it died.


Then Ace revealed that he had had a dream (didn't say it was "bad") that our whole family was being hunted down by some bounty hunter.

And then mine revealed itself. I was in our van and accidentally ran off the road. I was caught inside and ended up swallowing some nasty river water (see something, here?). I went to Dr. McGeeky, and he lovingly told me that I was going to die. That was impossible, I thought. I felt just fine. He said "you will follow this downhill trend that will end up with high blood pressure. That is what you will die from."

So I frantically started to take care of loose ends. But I couldn't believe that I was going to die. I kept calling McGeeky to tell him I didn't think i was going to die. He said I would. And then I started to cough up blood. And I started to cry.

And that is when the Monkey woke us up.

I saw McGeeky at church yesterday morning when he and Ace were picking up the kids, and I informed him that I wasn't too happy with him as he had to break the bad news to me that I was dying ... in my dream. He made this face and said "I'm so sorry."

I mean ... the man apologized for coming into MY freaked out dream ... I told you he is a cutie.

And then, with the unerring ability of always knowing the right thing to say, he said "you know, my oldest has said that the only time that he has a bad dream is after eating pizza."


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Friday, September 14, 2007

Starting off on the wrong foot

This was the first week of school for the kids.

The Man, of course, had his applesauce encounter on Wednesday. By the way, the shirt returned home yesterday. So I will release the Canada shirt.

The Monkey had a little cry on Wednesday because she missed me. She did let me know that her teacher is "soft" like me. Great. But the good thing is, that teacher is a tall beanpole. So there is some hope.

And the Queen ... well, she was doing good until yesterday when she announced that she would be moved to yellow (they have a green/yellow/red/blue behavior system at school) if she didn't return her forms.

Yellow? Automatically? That didn't seem too fair. So I asked her if her teacher said that, or she was coming up with that on her own. She said the teacher didn't say that. But she said that the teacher did single her out, in front of the whole class, and announced that SHE was the only one who had not returnedher school forms.

This ticks me off. There is nothing that I can't stand more is public humiliation. If you don't have the forms, and it isn't the CHILD who fills those forms out in the first place, do NOT call the kid out as if she is some common criminal in front of a class of students she is JUST getting to know. She is timid enough as it is. This is really not acceptable.

So I wrote "the" note. The note that says something to the effect of so sorry for the inconvenience of not getting the forms turned in, but the last time I checked, that was a parent responsibility. If she needed to communicate that with ME, then she should have CALLED me or sent a note home.

Doesn't take much effort to write a note ... hey, loser mom in a class of overachieving parents, where in the heck are those forms for your deadbeat kid?

I used the words fault and blame a few times ....

Starting the school year off well with this one, I think.

This will probably overshadow the time when the Queen's looping teacher for 1st and 2nd grade asked me if I was the Queen's grandmother.


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The Lovely She, that is me!

I'm a mom of three peeps ... Queen Bee, The Door Man, and the Chandelier Monkey, and wife to Ace, the Helpful Hardware Man. I created this space to get away from the people known as my inlaws, and because life with three kids and a hubby is all Unexplored Territory.

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The nine-year-old who seems to be growing older every minute, has an opinion and a comment for everything, and has a true servant's heart.
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The seven-year-old who loves the organization of things, will someday be someone's therapist because of his kind soul, and will more than likely be living with us until he is 40 years old.
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The five-year-old with the 13-year-old attitude, who has a dictator's personality, asks you to watch her all the time and say "hold on" to keep your attention, and will someday come home on the back of some dude's motorcycle with 10 tatts and a body piercing or two.

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The man of the house, the fixer of things, the winner of prizes, and the only person in his family to escape the South.

Retiring the Blog
A Blast from the Past
Just nothing today ....
Move over, Mom
Because life wasn't exciting enough....
Mystic Pizza
Starting off on the wrong foot
A convo at our house
My 6 am dreams
This, my friends, is the true definition of TMI


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