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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Wednesday, September 12, 2007

A convo at our house

Noting that child # 2 is wearing a foreign-looking t-shirt.... a hockey player with "Canada" written at the top of the hockey player logo.

Noting that child # 2 has never been to Canada....

Hey .... what's different about you?


Yeah.... what?

What what?

What is that you are wearing?

A shirt.

I can see that. What shirt is that that you are wearing?

A Canada shirt.

Yeah. Been to Canada today, eh? Been up in Windsor gambling?


Never mind. Why are you wearing that?

Oh yeah. I got it from the school nurse.

{insert thought here} School nurse and new shirt.... not a good sign.


When I was opening my strawberry applesauce, I spilled it all over the front of me.

Ok. Well, where is your brand new, long-sleeved John Deere shirt that Nana got you for your birthday?

It's in my backpack.

{feeling inside his backpack} Are you certain about that?

{digs around himself} No. Oh yeah. I must have accidentally dropped it at school.

{thinks how do you accidentally drop something and not realize that you have dropped it and think to yourself "self... you dropped that ... pick it up or your mom is gonna whip your a$$"} Dropped it, huh? Where?

I don't know. But the school nurse said I could keep this shirt.

Boy ... it ain't no t-shirt trade-up program.


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My 6 am dreams

So ... you know I have a hard time getting out of bed. Ace's alarm goes off twice; once at 5:30, and the other at 5:35. Mine goes off at 6 am.

And I normally go right back to sleep.

And that is what I did this morning.

And promptly became the girlfriend of the college-going Peyton Manning.

And it was all good (get your minds out of the gutter; not that kind of good).

It was fun. It was fresh. It was new love.

Dudes... it was Peyton Manning!

And then I had to come back to the reality that I didn't have the body I had in that dream.


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Monday, September 10, 2007

This, my friends, is the true definition of TMI

An email from my MIL this evening.

Hi, how did the kids do on their first day? Hope to see some pictures soon. hint, hint

I saw the gynecologist today. I liked her a lot. I should have the results of the Pap Smear by next week.

Pardon me while I go wash my eyeballs with bleach. Maybe I can erase the image that way, too.

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Remember those Staples commercials...

I think they were Staples.... or Office Depot or something. The one with the kids dragging through the school supply aisle with that Christmas carol playing in the bacground ... It's the most wonderful time of the year.... and the Dad is happily throwing the supplies into the shopping cart with reckless abandon?

Yeah. That's me. And that will be me, making up those lunch boxes today and carting two of three children to school this morning. You see, the Monkey and the Queen go to schools very close to one another, but the Man goes to school a little bit away from them. So Ace and I are dividing and conquering this morning.

And then .... I will have the WHOLE house to myself for about 2 hours until I have to go back and get the Monkey from preschool.

I might ... work. I don't know. Don't hold me to that.

But I do know this: It will be quiet in here. Vewy, vewy quiet.

I am slowly moving toward that mother that I have envied for so many years ... the one who doesn't have a kid in preschool anymore. That will be me next year.

But I will relish this time. I will savor it.

Because I know in nine years, when I am rousing a senior, a sophomore, and an eighth grader from their beds, I will wish for these years to come back.

Happy First Day of School, people.


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Thursday, September 06, 2007

Dear (Insert Name Here)

Thanks a WHOLE helluvalot for that $ 199.99. That will take us far, you buttwipes.

Duane, the flood insurance adjuster dude:
Just exactly WHAT do you want and need from us? You ask for a basment estimate. We give it to you. You tell me that you can't approve that, and you will need to call out a structural engineer. You know what I think? I think you KNEW that you were going to deny it the first time out, unless the estimate came in at $ 40.00 for 10 boxes of Bandaids that we would just put up on the all of the cracks in the basment walls.

And when you say things to me like "maybe I need to oversimplify this for you," you better count your lucky stars that there is one whole state between you and I. Because I guarantee you that if you were holed up in some hotel somewhere in this town, I would hunt you down and let out all of the air in your truck tires, and scratch "I still live with my mother" in the paint of your truck.

Smart choice in calling MY HUSBAND back when you needed to discuss the apparent "miscommunication" between myself and you. Don't even think about calling ME to talk to ME about this alleged miscommunication. Because you know what? I never miscommunicate. I listen and I actually have a brain that processes that information that I take in. If you think that I am some ditz of a woman who can't formulate a sentence without looking to her husband for guidance, you have another thing coming.

You better pony up the money that is needed to place us back in the same position we were in before this flood. Because I sure as heck know that I had a furnace and an air conditioner that actually worked before the water entered my basement, and I also know that it wasn't quite so bare down there.

My fellow city residents:
If you don't have anything nice to say in the newspaper, don't say anything at all. Thank you to the gentleman who wrote in his scathing letter to the editor regarding the people who should be "taking care of themselves" and purchasing flood insurance, and not relying on the federal government to bail them out. Guess what? Those people didn't call in FEMA. The river called FEMA in after the channels were followed and all the paperwork was submitted. If FEMA is there for people, then let them ask for the assistance.

Because that $ 199.99 is taking me all the way back to a house that is going to be fully repaired.

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Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Wow... where IS your mother?

Tonight was the first night of our Kinder Choir program. Of course, yours truly is the leader. I was prepared for about 10 kids because this is the first week back, there was no programming for the kids afterward, and with the flooding and school being pushed back to next week, I didn't think we would have many.

We had five.

And four adults.

And one of those five decided that she would be a pain in EVERYone's ass tonight, including mine.

WHERE is this child's mother? I can't believe that let her ACT like that. Look at her, shaking her head defiantly, even after the leader told her to stop. A number of times.

I had to put that child in TWO times out. She was the ONLY one who had to go into time out. The others were playing nicely and singing. This one. Man.

I felt sorry for her parents because this is obviously a problem child. She was such a smart a$$. I needed to have a conversation with her parents when they came to pick her up.

The end of our time together neared, and I couldn't WAIT for this kid to be picked up. I was looking forward to my time in ADULT choir. Thank goodness I wasn't taking that child home with me.

I waited patiently for her father to arrive.

And I had a talk with Ace about putting that child in her room when they got home, and her mother would deal with her later.

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Tuesday, September 04, 2007

To My Little Man

Seven years ago tomorrow, I checked into the hospital early in the morning to be induced. At 5:35 pm, you came into this world after having literally slid out of me. You, little man, by far, were the easiest birth.

We have had our ups and downs with you, health-wise. When the peditrician said "it could be cataracts or it could be neuroblastoma," I didn't know where to turn. I fell to my knees and I prayed like I had never prayed before. I could handle cataracts. I couldn't handle neuroblastoma.

Not that cataracts was a wonderful diagnosis, but I could handle it. I could handle knowing that you needed surgeries to correct the problems. I could handle putting contacts in your tiny little eyes, spending countless hours on my hands and knees, scouring the floors for lost lenses. And there were many.

We then had to address the appearance of seizures. I couldn't believe that you had to deal with that after having had to deal with the eye issues. When a diagnosis of epilepsy was returned, and when we decided to not medicate you, we trusted that God would handle everything. And He did. You didn't need medication, and if we had medicated you, we would have thought it was the medication that had "cured" the seizures and not just you having grown out of them.

You have been a complete joy. You have the ability to make someone smile with your grin. You love to build with Legos. You love to make things out of ordinary items .... give you a box, and you have a play thing for at least a month. And paper .... boy. I have never seen someone love paper so much.

You love your months, you love your days, you love to learn. You love going to school. You love art. You love social studies. You are a sponge, little man.

Life would be boring without you. We need to have laughter in this house, and you provide that for us. You have the ability to crack us up at a moment's notice. You make us think of a good answer when you ask "do we breathe in heaven?"

You are convicted in your beliefs. I am proud of the son I am raising. I am proud of the little man who has emerged, and I look forward to meeting the young man who will replace that little boy.

But for right now ... this moment ... I will hold on to that little boy for just a little while longer. For as long as you will let me.

Happy Seventh Birthday, Little Man

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Monday, September 03, 2007

Shhhh.... what's that I hear?

We were sitting in the house, listening to the news helicopters flying overhead. We had called our rescue call in earlier in the morning, wondering when they were going to come and get us.

We sat around. And sat around. We heard the occasional sound of what sounded like an airboat off in the distance. The Queen had romantic visions of being carted out of here on some cool boat. I told her that it probably wouldn't be a boat, but some other vehicle that could make it down our street.

Around 3:30 in the afternoon, I heard something. I ventured out into the knee-deep water in my driveway, and saw our salvation.

And then had a panic attack.

It was a city dump truck.

An orange city dump truck.

With a police officer asking me if we wanted to be rescued.

Well.... let me ponder that. Six feet of water in the basement. The river hadn't "officially" crested yet. Kids on our nerves. No power. Hotter than he**.

Yeah. I think we'll hitch a ride.

So I thought this was our rescue. I thought this was what had been called in for us.

And I was thinking "someone has an innate nasty sense of humor somewhere in this town."

They weren't letting us sit in the cab. That seat was already taken (and rightfully so) by our elderly neighbor, Lily. Jack, her husband (a spitfire of a little man) was already in the back of the dumptruck with their two cats and two dogs. They had water in their house. Our next door neighbor had water in his, too so he was on the back of the truck already.

We carried the kids out. The Monkey didn't want to let go of me, but I assured her that nothing would happen to her. I was more worried about the kids getting out. A nice gentleman carried the Man, and Ace carried the Queen.

It was then time for my fat rear end to hoist itself up into the truck. THAT was a definite sight to behold. I felt sorry for the man on the behind duty. Really, it is a memory I have blocked out of my mind, and I can't remember the specifics on it anymore. But I DO remember thinking .... hmmmmm. Diet anyone?

And my father ... well, my father wanted to "stay behind and watch the house."

I told him under NO circumstances was I leaving the house with him in it.

I had these visions of that old codger character in all those disaster movies ... the one who doesn't want to leave. Harry Truman didn't want to come off of Mt. St. Helens. Linda Hamilton's mother in law didn't want to come off the mountain in Dante's Peak. That stupid policeman who thought it would be better to trek out with a group of stupid people in the middle of that snowstorm in Day After Tomorrow. That stupid meterologist who was sucked up into that F5 on Twister.

I knew the real reason he didn't want to leave. He didn't want to leave his car in the street.

I started yelling at him to leave my house, and that I wasn't leaving him behind. I was going to tell the police officer to arrest my Dad for trespassing if he wouldn't come willingly.

FINALLY my father saunters out of the house. Do you know why he took so long? He had to change his PANTS and his SHOES before he left. Priss.

And then we were off. In the back of a dump truck that had served its life as an asphalt truck. The kids were having an awesome time.

We saw a lot of people getting rescued, under water, pumping water out of their houses, and just basically trying to understand the whole thing.

And then ... there were the picture takers.

The ones whose houses weren't underwater. The ones who wouldn't have to return to those houses to assess the damage done. The ones who thought it was "cool" to see what all the fuss was about.

And they took pictures of the poor evacuees in the back of a dump truck, driving down our main street. And business was ... usual. People were driving around that end of town like nothing was happening. Like it was a minor inconvenience that they couldn't get downtown and on to the other side of the river, but if they needed to do that, they could just take the interstate bridge, which was the ONLY passable bridge over this river.

I think that was the hardest part of that day ... to see and hear of people who were just going about their business like nothing had happened. We were stuck in a house with water in our basement. We were without power from the early morning hours. We had to be pulled out of our sleep at 4 am to deal with water rushing into our house at a rate that scared the crap out of us, wondering if we would need to evacuate completely since we live in a ranch house.

Time will heal the wounds of losing a lot of stuff. Memories will fade of this event, and I can only hope that the kids escaped this whole thing without feeling the panic their Dad and I felt that morning when we thought we were about to lose the whole thing.

Once we left in the dump truck, we were told by our neighbors across the street that 10 minutes later, the Queen would have received that romantic rescue of firemen coming to our aid in their boats.

Oh well. Maybe next time.


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Sunday, September 02, 2007

Clean Sweep, Mother Nature Style

We have gone from this:

To this:

Unfortunately, we had too much of this:

It was hard to see this:

And I wish it didn't take this to kick us in the butt to get it out:


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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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