Friday, September 29, 2006
Embarrassing Moment #1791
This morning Karate Kid came into the kitchen and said, “Sassy (the puppy) got something out of your cabinet that’s pink and square.” Since I was busy fixing breakfast and lunches, I didn’t really take the time to think about it. When I went into my bedroom later, I found that she had pulled a package of panty liners out of the cabinet and spread them from the bathroom all the way to the other side of my room. At least she only opened one package. But that incident reminded me of another one. No, not the panty liner in the driveway, another one.
A couple of years ago an insurance agent had come by the house to discuss some things with me. Just as she was leaving, one of the boys that I watched arrived, dropped off by his grandpa. Just as grandpa and grandson step into the room, the insurance lady says, “Um…your dog has something out of the trash.” My dog (not the same culprit as today) had been in the bathroom trash and was tearing up…ahem…a used feminine product in my living.room.floor. I don’t think I’ve ever moved that fast in my life.
10:03 AM ~
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Thursday, September 28, 2006
Okay, I'm a dork! My Thursday Thirteen is about my fears, so I was looking for a scary banner. When I saw this, it looked like two glowing eyes. After I loaded it onto my blog, I realized that it's a picture of outer space!
Before I get to my list, I just wanted to thank everyone for being so kind with your comments to my post yesterday. You never know what kind of comments a post will generate, and I'm so glad that everyone was supportive instead of tearing into me.
And now, without further ado, I present to you my Thursday Thirteen:
Thirteen Things that Scare Me1. Spiders--Before I had children, I was too scared to kill them at all. I learned to kill the small ones when my children were born because I was afraid the spider would crawl on them. The big ones? Not gonna happen. Last year I had a huge spider in my kitchen, so I trapped it under a bowl, put a pop bottle on top of the bowl, and then blocked off the kitchen so the bowl wouldn't get knocked over (and pulled a muscle climbing onto the counter!). The spider sat there for 2 or 3 hours until my friend's husband came over on his lunch hour and took it to the trash.
aka More of My Neuroses
2. Mice--Where would I even begin to list the stories that have caused me to fear mice? How about when one ran out at me when I was a child and cleaning my closet? Or the time one ran across my leg? Oh, I know, when one ran through my hair while I was lying down. No, no, I've got it. When a pregnant one got in our house and had babies!!! (All but the last happened when I was a child. We weren't slobs or anything, we just lived next to a field, and I liked to hide food in my room so my brother wouldn't eat all of it. Not a good idea.)
3. Lice--OMG!! Karate Kid got lice when he was 2, and it quickly spread to Drama Queen (who was only 4mo at the time) and me! That was the same day the dryer broke. I spent hours and hours (and hours) trying to get rid of all the nits. For years I attacked my children whenever I saw them scratch their heads. Drama Queen even got to the point where she would scratch, hold her hand in the spot and say, "I'm itching, Mom!" so I could come check her.
4 Cancer--Of course this is a universal fear, but a partcularly bad one for me. Just the idea of having to battle cancer, the exhaustion of chemo, the hair loss, the nausea, and all of the many other facets of the disease that I don't even know about are more than I can even stand to think about. My biggest fear about cancer is that it will strike one of my children.
5. Screwing up my children. 'Nuff said.
6. Drowning--I can swim, so I'm not exactly sure why this is one of my biggest fears. I think it's the thought of knowing you are dying, of not being able to take a breath, and the terror of the whole situation. Whenever I see someone under water on TV or the movies (Fear Factor, Titanic, The Abyss, etc.) I can't even breathe correctly. I end up gasping for breath until the whole scene is over.
7. Heights--Once when I was in college, I went rapelling with some friends. I was only supposed to be going to watch, but I ended up participating because I didn't want them to think that I was a baby. I told the guys that I would cry, but I don't think they believed me. As soon as I lifted one foot off the ground, the tears started. Since I wasn't making any noise, we were about halfway up before they noticed the tears streaming down my face. Freaked them out. Once I was hooked into the rapelling line, I was absolutely fine. Going down was a blast. Going up, not so much.
8. Change-- I am a creature of habit. I do not like change at all. I crave consistency. It doesn't have to be big changes either. A doctor's appointment during the routine of my day can throw everything off and make me a nervous wreck.
9. Caves--Why would I ever choose to go into a dark hole filled with bats, bears, or something else I can't even imagine and have the possibility of it collapsing on me?
10. Flying--Sorry, Kailani. The only time I've flown was on a little, bitty private plane. It was so small that there weren't enough seats, and I had to sit in the co-pilot's chair. I was scared to death to move for fear I would hit an instrument or the steering wheel (what's it called in a plane?) and cause us to crash. I don't care what size the plane is; I don't want to be that high up in the air (see #7 above).
11. Traveling too far from home--that could be a challenge since I'm going on a cruise in January! For some reason, I only feel comfortable if I am close enough to home that I could get back quickly if needed.
12. Ski lifts--We went to Red River, NM, the summer I was 5. We were supposed to take the ski lift to the top of the mountain so we could see the view. We were running short on time, so my parents tried to scare me out of wanting to ride it by telling me about the big hole we had to go over (I'm sure it was not a hole so much as a huge depression). I've been scared of them ever since, although I have gotten on them. When my sister was 3mo, we were back in Red River, and my parents decided to ride the ski lift. I was too scared to go up but even more scared to stay by myself. I ended up riding with my dad and sister. I was so scared that she would wiggle too much and fall out of his arms. To make things worse, the wind was horrible. For some reason the lift stopped, the wind caught the wire, and we dropped. I thought we were going to die right then and there. I'm sure it didn't drop more than 3 or 4 feet, but it felt like 300.
13. Elevators--I panic when the doors close. If the elevator stops on more than one floor, I get sick (motion sickness). I've gotten a little better about riding them, but only when absolutely necessary. Like when I was 7 months pregnant and my doctor's office was on the 6th floor. I walked the stairs every time until then. I had to choose the lesser of two evils at that point.
And there you have it, friends. More reasons to make you wonder about my sanity.
9:55 AM ~
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Wednesday, September 27, 2006
A Month of Change
Have you ever read Kelly's blog, Pass the Torch? She has such great insight into parenting matters, and I often feel challenged to do better in my journey as a mom. A few days ago she wrote a piece over at The Imperfect Parent. That post really spoke to me deep down in my heart.
I have fallen into the habit of yelling at my children. Sometimes I yell because I'm angry at them, but most of the time I yell because I feel like they can't hear me or are just choosing not to listen to me. This is not a healthy way to communicate with my children--for me or for them.
Habits are so hard to break, and this is definitely one habit I need to banish from my life. Kelly often has a monthly "theme" or challenge in her home. Since I was inspired by her writing, I am going to have my own monthly theme. This month will be Speak Softly Month. I will explain to my family this evening (and it is so hard for me to do this in front of The Hubster--gulp) that for the next month my goal is to speak softly and gently. No yelling. If they catch me yelling (or if I catch myself when no one else is around), I will put a dime in a jar. At the end of the month, we will do something special with that money. I haven't decided what that will be yet, but I'm hoping there's not much money in there by that time anyway.
I will periodically post the amount in the jar so you can see how I'm doing on my project. In the meantime, I better brush up on better communicating skills!
9:57 AM ~
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Tuesday, September 26, 2006
I have been trying to post for 30 minutes and nothing will work. I hate, hate, HATE Blogger! We'll see if I can even get this to post.
11:32 PM ~
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I'm barely squeaking this entry in before Tuesday turns into Wednesday. I've been waiting a week to tell about this wonderful boy, so I wasn't about to miss this opportunity to sing his praises over at Pass the Torch.
Last week Josh Marlin, a sophomore at a nearby school, noticed that the school bus that he was riding on was veering toward the ditch. He went to the front of the bus and realized that the driver had passed out. Within 32 seconds, Josh managed to put the bus in neutral, pull it over to the side of the road, direct another student to dial 9-1-1 and get every student off the bus. All of that in 32 seconds! Josh then proceeded to do CPR on the bus driver (who was having a heart attack) until paramedics arrived. Unfortunately, the driver passed away a week after the incident. It is so sad that he did not make it. But think about how much worse it could have been. Josh prevented an accident that could have injured and/or killed all of the other students on the bus, plus any other people in cars that could have been involved if he had not reacted so quickly.
Josh may be young and inexperienced, but he is most definitely a hero. I know there are many, many thankful students, parents, relatives and friends who feel the same.
11:09 PM ~
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Monday, September 25, 2006
Here's a shining example of brilliance for you:
In a high school science classroom in Kansas, about 50 juniors and seniors were conducting an experiment. The exact experiment is still unclear, but the students may have been checking their blood glucose levels. Harmless enough, although probably not too fun. The moronic part? The teacher had them all use the. same. lancet.
Hello? What was the teacher trying to accomplish here? Saving on funds? And what about all of those high school students? Didn't their parents ever teach them the dangers of dirty needles? Some of the students got a double dose because they came in contact with additional blood when they cleaned the dirty experiment slides.
11:31 AM ~
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Friday, September 22, 2006
One Born Every Minute
I keep getting weird e-mails from a guy who claims that he’s dying from cancer and has a mere 2 million dollars he’s wanting to disperse. Apparently out of all the millions of people on the earth, he chose little ‘ol me from an extensive search on the Internet.
I get 10% of the money and get to use the other 90% for the greater good of all mankind. He doesn’t want the money used in an ungodly manner, so he decided that I would be the perfect one to figure out how to use this wad of cash. ‘Cause there’s nothing ungodly about me. Nope. My halo is so bright that it keeps me up at night.
Since his health is deteriorating so quickly, I have to Act Now!! He found me online and doesn’t have all the particulars, so I just have to send him my address, phone number and fax number so he can make all the arrangements with the attorneys and have the funds sent to me from Europe.
Now I looked in the mirror this morning, and unless it’s written in invisible ink, the word “sucker” does not appear anywhere on my forehead. Give him my address?! Riiiiiiight. How about I give him my phone number so he can call me night and day. Or use it to find the address I wouldn’t give him.
So thank you, but no, Mr.Tarnue Weah. Let one of the other thousands of people that you sent this email to be given the privilege of handling your money. I can barely take care of my own.
9:30 AM ~
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Thursday, September 21, 2006
Let’s try something. I want you to inhale quickly like you are gasping. While you are doing that, try to make a sound like you are yelling/yelping. For lack of a better word, I am going to call that a yesp for the rest of this post. Actually, I think I’ll just start using that word and see how quickly it catches on. Who knows, I could be starting the next trend. I can just imagine it now: Someone saying, “Oh, that story made me yesp.” Or how about, “I yesped when I saw the price tag.”
For those of you lucky enough to speak a foreign (to me) language, please let me know if the word I’ve created means that I have solicited a farm animal, prostitute, a member of my family or anyone/anything else that is illegal.
Last night I was in bed but was having trouble falling asleep. I had been lying there for a little while with my eyes closed, just trying to relax and drift off. I felt the edge of the bed sag, but I assumed it was one of the dogs. Yes, they sleep with us. Yes, any and all of them are up for adoption. Especially the one that won’t stop using my carpet for her own personal bathroom.
Anyway, when the dogs move around, it is never just one movement. I mean, they have four legs. They don’t take a step with one leg and then decide they’re through. So when I felt the bed sink down but no other movement, I opened my eyes. I totally and loudly yesped when I saw a figure standing over me. It wasn’t a quick little yesp, either. It was long, drawn-out and loud. The figure was my daughter, who had managed to come into my room without making any noise whatsoever. If she had, I would have heard her because I was still awake.
Once I removed my body from the ceiling and picked my heart and stomach off the floor and put them back in their normal places inside my body, I asked Drama Queen what was wrong. It seems she had a bad dream. At least I think that’ what she said. The roaring in my ears kind of drowned out what she was saying. I comforted her as well as a shaking, heart pounding, stomach-clenched momma could. She went back to bed after I rubbed her back for a minute and kissed her. I felt really bad about not walking her to her bedroom, but I really don’t think my legs could have supported me right then.
That little scare really did wonders for my insomnia. I spent the next 10 minutes willing my heart to beat in its regular rhythm again. I figured sleeping was a lost cause, but I was willing to try again. I snuggled back in my covers with all of my pillows (shut up, Meg), closed my eyes and tried again. And then…then I thought I heard a noise in my room. It was so quiet I wasn’t sure. I opened my eyes and, dang it, if my daughter wasn’t standing there again. Round 2 of yesping.
Do you know what my daughter said to me at that point? “Stop doing that! You’re scaring me!”
2:57 PM ~
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I'm Gonna Be Mad!
We are under a tornado watch until 10:00 tonight. You know what that means, don't you? The weather men will begin to break into our regularly scheduled programming during the commercials. Then the break-ins will become more and more frequent, interruping the shows. At 9:00 they will show the first 7 minutes of Gray's Anatomy before going to continuos weather coverage. And. I. Will. Miss. Everything. I'll have to wait until 2:34 in the morning for them to rebroadcast it, which means I will be unable to turn on the radio, watch TV or speak to any other human being until I get to watch it. Gah.
2:45 PM ~
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Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Recently overheard at our house:
* This skirt attracts boys.
* He told me I was hot.
* That boy that likes me gave me a bracelet today.
* There is another boy at school that likes me.
* I look gooOOOoood.
* That boy that likes me poked my rear today (What?!?!).
And she's only 9! Gah.
6:55 PM ~
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Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Following the Leader
I have always been slow to follow fads, especially in fashion. I tend to dress very unobtrusively. I prefer dark colors that allow me to blend in with everyone else and not stand out (my self-esteem is just oozing out all over, can’t ya tell?).
I’ve heard that straight, tapered jeans are “in” this year. Do you know how long it took me to wear what I considered bell-bottoms? Years. And it took a l-o-n-g time before I could see big, chunky shoes and muster up the desire to wear them. I still can’t get myself to wear pointy toe shoes. I feel like the Wicked Witch of the East waiting for a house to drop on top of me.
I’m slow to follow a lot of trends. When the Sudoku craze hit, I had no idea what it was. My friend’s son likes to work the puzzles, so I picked up a book of his while at their house. One look at all the numbers and I broke out in a sweat. I thought that you had to actually do math to solve the puzzle.
You see, math and I? Not such good friends. Math is my life-long enemy. My nemesis. I suffered through years and years of math during school. The only classes I didn’t make an “A” in were math classes. I managed to pull off a “B” every time, but I seriously have no idea how I did it. The only way I passed Geometry was by the use of my fabulous notebook. Each homework assignment and all of the notes we took in class went into a 3-ring binder. The teacher, may God bless her for the rest of her life, allowed us to use those notebooks for our tests. No textbooks, just the notebook. You can bet I took plenty of detailed notes. The next year she banned the notebook. The next year. I got through by the skin of my teeth.
Not only did I have to slog through all of the equations, numerators, denominators (that word sounds a lot like “dominate,” dontcha think?), powers, and fractions (OMG, the fractions!) during my school years, but now I’m being subjected to it all over again via my children. Drama Queen seems to be able to whiz through it right now, but we’re not actually into multiplication yet.
Karate Kid, on the other hand, is a whole different story. He and I are just alike. Math is going to be his challenging subject also. Even if he finishes his work in class, he always brings it home for me to check. Thank goodness for the wonders of the Internet, so I can figure out what the heck I’m doing. But here’s the kicker: he’s in Honors Math. Spitting image of his mother, same lack of the math gene, and his teacher recommends him for honors. That means that he is in 6th grade but using a 7th grade book. That’s one whole year of missed instruction—for me. How am I supposed to be able to check this boy’s math if I missed an entire book? It’s very embarrassing when I tell him he has the wrong answer, we argue our point back and forth about why we each think we are right, I persuade him to change his answer, and then he gets it wrong. He, of course, had it right in the first place.
So back to Sudoku. I have managed to steer clear of it all this time. Until this weekend, that is. My sister brought along her Sudoku book, and I picked it up and was flipping through it while I was waiting for her to get ready. It’s a wonder I didn’t break out in hives just from picking it up. She, being the good sister that she is even though I got the last two extra pillows that the hotel had and wouldn’t share them with her, forcing her to sleep with no pillow so she could hold on to the one she had, told me I could work a puzzle if I wanted. And, dang it, if I wasn’t bored enough to try one (I obviously did not have a book with me, or I never would have been looking through it in the first place).
I had been told that you don’t have to do math at all to solve the problems. They very well could have used the alphabet or colors or something else instead of numbers. And you know what? They were right. No math needed, my friends.
Guess what my new, albeit late, addiction is?
12:37 PM ~
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Monday, September 18, 2006
We're on the "A" List
Apparently combining 3½ hours of sleep, a tour of the winery—complete with taste-testing-- and a pina colada at dinner does not make me chipper. More like comatose. Remember how I thought we would all stay up late? Apparently that’s what we all did the night before we left on our Girls’ Weekend. After a full day of traveling, talking, laughing, eating, and hanging out at the amusement park, we were exhausted. We hit the complimentary “Ice Cream Social” at our hotel and then were in bed watching the Dog the Bounty Hunter marathon by 10:00. Party animals, I tell ya. Par-tee.
3:33 PM ~
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Friday, September 15, 2006
On My Soapbox
I don't know about you, but I am sick of the clothing options for girls. I went to a store a couple of days ago and noticed that there were Disney character panties and shirts for teenagers and college-age girls, but the clothes for Drama Queen's size was slutty stuff! I wouldn't even let my teenager wear those types of clothes.
What is wrong with retailers? What is wrong with consumers that we would think it okay to buy clothing that attempts to make our girls grow up way too fast? Why do they feel the need to make clothing that would attract a boy's attention to various parts of my daughter's body? I know many, many people let their children wear pants or shorts that have words written across the rear-end. If you are one of those, please don't think I'm judging you or being critical of you. Each family has different rules, opinions, and guidelines. Our family has decided that it is not okay to draw a boy's eyes to my daughter's bottom. She is only 9 right now, but how can I justify letting her wear it now and then telling her in two or three years that suddenly it isn't okay anymore? I would rather draw the line now and not have to battle it later. The same goes for tops that bare her stomach.
It was a nightmare trying to find a swimsuit this year. My daughter is 9. She is not a 21-year-old college girl trying to snag a man. Now, I will admit to buying two-piece swimsuits, but only because it is so much easier for her to use the restroom in a two-piece. The girl practically lives in her swimsuit during the summer, so I'm all about whatever makes it easiest. Two-piece does not have to mean teeny, tiny bikini bottoms and a barely-there bikini top. Out of the myriad of suits we looked through, I think we ended up finding 3 that were actually decent enough for her to try on. We chose a swimsuit that is more like a tankini. It does show a little bit of her stomach, but not much.
No matter what her age, I don't want any boy to only be attracted to her for her body. And she has a gorgeous body, believe me. Her looks may attract the boys initially, but I want my daughter's character and the beauty inside her to be what shines the most. I have told her from the time she was little that she is pretty but that it's more important to be beautiful on the inside.
On the other side of the coin, I have a son who is going through puberty. The last thing he needs is for girls to be prancing around half-naked, making those raging hormones that much more uncontrollable. I would like for my son to wait for sex, but how he can stand against the onslaught of skin? And how can a girl's parents be so upset with a boy for pressuring their daughter for sex when she teases and tantalizes by showing so much cleavage and skin? I'm not taking sides on that issue, saying it's more the boy's fault or the girl's fault. I'm just saying that we as parents have a responsibility to teach our daughters modesty so that we can give the guys, and thereby the girls, a fighting chance against sex before they are ready. For me, that is after my children are married. For others that time could be after they turn a certain age or reach a certain maturity level.
Needless to say, I am all for modesty, so I was thrilled when I saw this:
The link won't work on the picture, so go visit Everyday Mommy to read her mission statement for Moms for Modesty. Let's teach our daughters that being modest is a good thing--for them and the boys!
2:03 PM ~
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Branson, Here I Come--Again
I am so excited about this weekend, I am giddy! I have two best friends--my sister and Lisa. Lisa's birthday is today and mine is tomorrow. To celebrate, the three of us and two of Lisa's sisters are all going to Branson for a Girls Weekend. Being the gluttons for punishment that we are, we're leaving at 5:30 tomorrow morning! Actually, we want to get to Silver Dollar City by the time it opens. We'll be spending the day there and then out for dinner tomorrow night. I'm sure we'll stay up way too late talking and laughing and doing what girls do on a Girls Weekend. At least I hope we do!
Saturday morning we'll split up for a while. Lisa's sisters are going shopping and Meg, Lisa and I are going to the Titanic exhibit. I wanted to go so badly on vacation,but it cost way more than we wanted to spend for a family of four. Paying just for me is a much cheaper way to go.
But guess what else. I'll eventually have the house all to myself tonight! The guys are leaving for a Boy Scout camping trip. Drama Queen has a birthday party to go to and then I'm taking her to my parents'. Then it'll be back home to peace, quiet and doing anything I want to do. What I should do is go to bed early since I'm getting up early in the morning. Any guesses on what time I"ll actually turn out the light?
8:43 AM ~
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Thursday, September 14, 2006
Since I'm not officially a member yet (I'm still contemplating joining), I don't want to post the Thursday Thirteen banner. But I am going to post a list. I think you have to have a couple of lists up anyway before you can join, so maybe this will accomplish something.
This list is in honor of the new TV season. It just goes to show you what a TV junkie I am!
Thirteen Shows I Will Be Watching This Year
1. Grey's Anatomy (was there every any question?)
2. Desperate Housewives
4. The Amazing Race
5. The New Adventures of Old Christine
6. How I Met Your Mother
7. ER (I quit watching towards the end of last season--too much junk about trips to Africa or wherever. This year they promise to get back to the basics of the show.)
8. Dancing with the Stars
9. The Bachelor: Rome
10. Deal or No Deal (only if I tape it on the VCR--the Tivo will be busy recording Grey's!)
(These are all of the ones I know I will watch. The next few I'll try out to see how I like them.)
11. Ugly Betty
12. 'Til Death
13. Men in Trees
Because I have nothing better to do with my time than rot in front of the TV, right?
11:45 AM ~
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Wednesday, September 13, 2006
My Direct Line
*note Please don't leave me comments telling me that I shouldn't talk on the phone and drive. I rarely do it, and I already know that I shouldn't.
Yesterday on the way to Drama Queen's Girl Scout meeting, I had to call my friend and let her know I would be over to pick her up for a meeting. Drama Queen heard me talking but must not have been paying attention to the conversation. I hung up right before we got to the street leading out of our neighborhood. We usually have to sit for a minute or two until the traffic clears enough for us to turn out. This time, however, it was completely clear, which was perfect because we were already running late.
Drama Queen: Wow, that never happens! We always have to wait a long time before we can get out.
Me: That was God giving us a break.
Drama Queen: God talked to you on the phone!?!?
11:56 AM ~
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Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Today’s post is in honor of Pass the Torch Tuesday.
A few days ago Karate Kid came home from school rather upset. It seems that the day before a classmate was passing out papers and failed to give one to K.K. and another boy. Due to a miscommunication, K.K. thought he had all of the papers. He went to school the next day and found out that he didn’t have that one. The teacher gave him and the other boy 5 minutes to do the paper, but she was only going to give them half-credit. That meant that he would start out with a 50, an “F.” Anything below a “B” is upsetting to Karate Kid, so he was devastated. We talked it over many times that night and even the next morning.
A couple of days later, the teacher returned their graded papers. Karate Kid’s was marked with a 97. He immediately spoke up and told the teacher that he was supposed to only get half credit on that paper. She told him, “Oh, don’t worry about it. But thank you for being honest about it!”
I was so very proud of him for telling the truth even though he thought his grade would drop from an “A” to an “F.” That teacher didn’t have to let him keep that grade, but I’m so glad she did. I’ve always tried to teach my children that being honest will get you in a lot less trouble than trying to lie or hide things. It was so nice that he was, in essence, rewarded for his honesty.
He makes me proud!
12:53 PM ~
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Sunday, September 10, 2006
In Memory of Jeffrey D. Bittner
Jeffrey Bittner was the sort of big brother that I always wanted. He was, in the words of his sister, “nurturing, protective, and wise.” Who wouldn’t want to have an older brother like that? I imagine him standing up for his sister when others were being mean to her. When they called her names, I’m sure he said, with much pride, “Don’t talk like that to her! She’s my sister!” I’m sure the siblings had a very special relationship because Jeffrey wasn’t just Pamela’s older brother; he was her twin brother, only older than his sister by one minute.
Jeffrey was the sort of person I would want for a friend. He has been described as being a brotherly person to everyone. He was kind, thoughtful and had a quiet way about him. He was the person who noticed those no one else even gave a second glance. He didn’t just notice them; he helped them and did things for them. He spent most of his life putting others before himself, often doing things for others without asking for thanks or recognition. Just a few weeks before September 11th, Jeffrey joined a mentoring program that allowed him to be a big brother to NYC schoolchildren.
Jeffrey was the sort of co-worker I would love to have. While he attended the Kingswood-Oxford School, he was awarded the Primus Medal for outstanding academic and community achievement. He was a political science major in college and then went on to work as a research analyst at Keefe, Bruyette and Woods in New York. He worked on the 89th Floor of Tower 2 at the World Trade Center. A co-worker said that Jeffrey “thrived on excellence in performance.” Although he had many opportunities to boast and brag about his accomplishments, that was not his way. Jeffrey was a very, very humble man. Even those he was only 27-years-old, he had the compassion and maturity that many people years older never achieve.
More than anything, Jeffrey D. Bittner was the sort of man that I hope my son will grow up to be.
10:54 PM ~
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In Memory of Pamela Gaff
Today would have been your 56th birthday. Tomorrow marks the anniversary of your death.
I wonder about your life. I know the particulars, but I would like to know more. How many times did you move, since you were the child of an Army officer? Did you get excited each time you moved or were you reluctant? Did you have lots of friends, or were you afraid to get too close to people since you might have to leave them?
What were like in college? Did you study hard or party? I’m betting on the former since you have degrees from two colleges. Finance and technology—you must have been very smart. What kind of jobs did you have that caused you to travel extensively? Was it still exciting to you to travel or was it old hat since you traveled when you were young? What was your favorite place? Did you ever return to any of the places with your husband for a relaxing vacation?
You had such a long marriage—30 years! That says a lot about you. You obviously married the love of your life, but I’m sure there were hard times too. You must have been a loyal, committed person, willing to do whatever it took to keep your marriage alive and intact. I’m sure your husband misses you terribly, even after 5 years. I know that he considered you his soul mate and that he was devastated by your death. Time may have eased the pain a little, but how would he ever “get over” his wife of 30 years? That’s just it—he won’t. I know you were on the 102nd floor and that your husband didn’t receive the message you left on his cell phone telling him you were okay until later. I wonder if he still has that message saved so he can hear your voice just one more time.
I know your life must have touched many, many other people in ways I’ll never know. Friends, family, co-workers, acquaintances, strangers that you met on the street that received a smile or a greeting from you. How many times did you brighten someone else’s day? And how many people missed out on having a better day now that you’re gone?
Your life reminds us that each one of us needs to tell our friends and family how much they mean to us every chance we get. It’s our turn now to brighten someone else’s day.
2:58 PM ~
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Saturday, September 09, 2006
Time Flies, Part 2
Note: If you haven't read Part 1, below, you might want to so you can catch up.
Yesterday I left you at the point where The Hubster announced to our family that it was a "baby" and walked out. After chasing him down the hall and asking him again, he gave them the same answer. I think they had to go to the nursery to find out for sure what we'd had.
I was still in the operating room by myself. The doctor told me they were going to give me a little shot so I wouldn't remember what they were doing. Wrong! I remember every second of what they were doing--cleaning me out and stitching me up. For some reason I felt a lot of pain. Why I didn't tell them is beyond me. The shot must have kicked in when all that was done because I remember very little after they were done. I was taken to the recovery room but don't remember that ride at all.
This is skipping ahead a little bit, but a couple of days later my neighbor said, "When you were crying, I just wanted to cry with you." I was very polite until she left and then turned to my mom and said, "She was in the recovery room?" Once that question was answered I said, "I was crying?" My mom told me that I was crying so hard that the nurses came and got her and told her that I needed my momma. I forgot that I cry every time I am given anasthesia.
Although I really don't remember anything about the recovery room, God gave me a clear memory of seeing Karate Kid for the first time. My family was all in the room with me, and The Hubster brought my precious boy to me. I remember that The Hubster kept turning one way and then the other, trying to figure out which way to hand him to me. I impatiently told him, "Just give him to me!" I couldn't wait any longer to hold my baby. I had just finished mopping up all my tears caused by the drugs, but they started again. This time they were tears of wonderment and love. I couldn't believe he had finally arrived. I unwrapped him and counted all his fingers and toes, just like the stereotypical first-time mother. Everyone kept telling me he had a cone head (from his head being jammed under my rib cage), but I never saw it until we got his hospital pictures back. He was absolutely perfect in my eyes.
I was finally taken to my regular room, thankfully a private one. The rest of the day was spent holding Karate Kid and drifting in and out of consciousness. I still had the epidural, and the nurses were also giving me pain killers. I had no idea they were giving them to me. All I knew is that I would fall asleep mid-sentence or holding a cup of ice chips.
The Hubster was taking some college classes then, so he left in the early afternoon to get back for those. Not long after he left there was ashift change. All of the babies had to be taken back to the nursery so that nobody strolled out with a baby that didn't belong to them, escaping in the chaos of nurses coming and going. My mom and I waited and waited for Karate Kid to be brought back to my room. Mom finally walked down to the nursery and found out that Karate Kid was the only one left in there. I called down and asked them to bring him back to me. A nurse brought him in but asked that I try to nurse him. It seems that he was breathing too quickly and they wanted to see if nursing would help regulate his breathing and slow it down some. Karate Kid was too sleepy to even try to latch on, even though I tried repeatedly. The nurse said she needed to take him back to the nursery "for a minute" and that she'd be back. More eternal waiting. Just when I was ready to call back down there, she came in to tell me that they were moving him to the NICU--the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.
I can't explain the terror that filled me. My baby was in trouble, and I didn't know why. She explained that they were afraid he had an infection that was causing him to breathe too fast, and that they wanted to get some tests run and start him on antibiotics.
I don't know how many hours I cried. My husband was gone, my baby was gone, and because I was still on an IV and had a catheter, I couldn't get out of bed to be with him. The one thing I was grateful for was that they had closed-circuit television cameras in the NICU. The nurses turned the camera on Karate Kid so I could see him on my TV downstairs. Mom stayed with me until they got him all settled in, and then she went to check on him for me. Looking back on it, it was a miracle that they let her in. The rest of the time he was there, no one could go in to see him unless The Hubster or I was with them.
Poor Karate Kid was crying and crying. The nurses finally asked my mom if she thought I would let her rock him. Would I let her? I was so, so glad that she was there to take care of him for me. She rocked and rocked him for the longest time but couldn't calm him down either. She finally looked down at him, told him his mommy was going to be mad at her, and gave him a pacifier. That was what finally calmed him down. It took until he turned 3 to get that thing away from him!
The nurses had to turn the camera off at one point. I was left all alone in my room worrying about what was going on upstairs. Mom eventually came back down and rejoined me. It took her forever, but she finally helped calm me down too. About 9:00 that night, The Hubster walked in the door of my room. I took one look at him and said, "I'm going to cry again." My mom told me, "It's okay to cry," and the floodgates opened. My poor husband had no idea what was going on! He left thinking everything was great and returned to a hysterical wife.
The next morning the nurses told me that Karate Kid was hungry. They were ready for me to come nurse him, but they needed someone to come take my catheter out. I think I waited for 30 minutes for someone to come help me. It felt like 30 days. I was so impatient that I almost took it out myself. All I could think was that my baby was upstairs, probably crying because he was hungry, and no one could bother to come help me!
Karate Kid was put in the NICU on Thursday evening and was released late Saturday morning. It turns out that he didn't have an infection after all. Because he was born by C-section all of the fluid hadn't been squeezed out of his lungs that normally happens during a vaginal birth. Since I was breastfeeding and had already been released, they took him to a pediatric room instead of the nursery. I was able to use the bed while he stayed next to me in a bassinet. They treated me like I was still a patient, getting me drinks and food. They told me that since I fed their patient, they fed me.
I was so relieved that he was out of the NICU, but I was still so worried. He still had an IV in his head and was hooked up to monitors. At one point my mom was holding him while I sat in a chair across the room. His monitor went off showing that he wasn't breathing. Even though I had just had surgery, I flew up out of the chair and rushed across the room. The nurses flew through the door right behind me. It turned out to be a false alarm, something wrong with the equipment. From that moment on, I could hardly take my eyes off of his monitor. I was so scared that he would stop breathing for real. My dad was holding him later and counting his breaths. He told me that the maching was wrong because Karate Kid had taken many more breaths that it showed. That made me feel better, but only slightly.
That night, as I was lying in bed, one of the nurses came in to check on us. She found me staring at the monitor and crying. She, in all her wisdom, said, "Are you watching the numbers on that monitor?" When I confessed that I had been, she turned it around so I couldn't see it. What she didn't realize is that I had figured out that it made a soft little click when the numbers fell below a certain point. I was awake for hours, listening for the click and keeping my eyes glued to Karate Kid's little chest. Whenever it clicked, I began crying hysterically and yelling at The Hubster to check him. Again, it was a machine malfunction every time.
Sunday morning I took a shower and came out to a great surprise. The nurses had come in and disconnected all of the monitors and the IV. He still had the capped off part of his IV in his head, just in case, but for the first time since right after he was born, I could hold my baby without worrying about a monitor lead falling off or getting tangled up in all of the cords. It was heaven. We were so excited that The Hubster took a picture of it before I got out of the bathroom. That is one of my favorite pictures.
Monday morning the doctor told me that Karate Kid was ready to be released. I mistakenly thought we'd get to leave within the hour. We finally made it home at 10:00 that night! Home has never been such a welcome sight.
And that is the story of the trials and tribulations, the terror and the joy, of Karate Kid's birth. It's been 12 years since he was born. Twelve! It seems like just yesterday.
2:56 PM ~
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Friday, September 08, 2006
Time Flies, Part 1
A month before I had Karate Kid, the doctor told me that she thought he was breach. We trotted down to the ultrasound room to have a gander. During the ultrasound she asked if we wanted to know the sex. As soon as we told her no, she said, "Well, I better move away from between the legs then because it's very apparent." I was ticked off that she even said that because I knew right then that he was a boy. I probably could have talked myself into thinking that I could have misunderstood her meaning, in the hopes that we could still be surprised, until a few minutes later she said, "We can try to turn him--turn the baby." We went out that night and started buying boys' clothes.
Twelve years ago today I woke up in the wee hours of the morning, showered, did my hair and makeup, and left for the hospital. Since he was still breach and he was my first baby, the doctor wouldn't let me try to have him au naturel. I was scheduled for a c-section two weeks before my due date. You wanna talk about one scared girl! Lordy, I was so nervous I was shaking all over. I can't remember if I babbled all the way to the hospital or if I didn't say a word. Knowing me, I babbled incessantly.
My parents' next-door neighbor (a family friend) was a nurse at the hospital I was going to, so she told me that she would adjust her schedule so she could be with me. I thought it was a great idea--until later. The first thing she did was hook me up to a fetal monitor. She tried and tried to find a hearbeat but couldn't get one. I was starting to worry, but when she asked me if I had felt any movement that morning, I freaked. She tried again and again before asking me where the doctor usually found it. She gave up and told me she'd be back in a minute. I was panicked by then! The wait for her to get back seemed to take forever. She brought a new monitor in and found the heartbeat the very first try. Apparently the first one was defective.
Next came the I.V. Definitely not fun, but bearable. However when I realized that my neighbor was the one that was going to shave me and insert a catheter? Any semblance of fun was gone. We ended up knowing each other in a much more intimate way after that day!
Down to the operating room we went. Time for the epidural. Wonderful things, those epies. BUT when they threaded mine in and said I would feel a little tingling, they forgot to warn me that if they hit a nerve it would feel like I had been struck by lightning. That was absolutely the worst part of the whole birth experience.
By the time it was actually too late to change doctors, I realized that I hated my doctor. With a passion. I quit asking her questions during our office visits because she would treat me like I was wasting her time or I was an idiot. She didn't have any children at the time, but I did a little dance when I found out a couple of years later that she was pregnant with twins. I hope it hurt. Just kidding. Kind of Anyway, I was not looking forward to having her do the procedure, but their office policy was that her partner would assist in all c-sections. He was the exact opposite of her--caring, warm and nice. For some reason, medication or nerves or both, my whole body started shaking. Everybody kept asking me if I was cold, but I wasn't. Dr. Nice got me a couple of heated blankets and covered me up and then held my feet to warm them up.
The last thing they did was strap my arms out to my sides on some armrests. Not a good thing for someone who is claustrophobic. They wouldn't let me wear my contacts, so I had my glasses on. Once they put the oxygen mask on me, my glasses fogged up and I couldn't see anything. That's when I started to panic. I felt like I couldn't catch my breath because of the stupid oxygen, like I was trying to look through a sauna room, and I was scared to death that they would start before I was completely numb. Thankfully this was about the time they brought The Hubster in.
Warning: A couple of things may be a tiny bit graphic. Squeamish people, read at your own risk.
Having The Hubster there really helped calm me down. He pulled my glasses away from my face a little bit and held my hand. I was still freaking out about them starting too soon, though. My doctor asked me if I was okay, and when I answered yes, she told me that they had made the first incision. I hadn't felt a thing. I didn't know whether to throw up, cry, or what.
Then the sounds reached my ears. Oh, my freakin' gosh! I thought I was going to come undone. I was begging The Hubster to talk to me, to say anything at all so I didn't have to hear what they were doing. I have no idea what he talked about, but it did the trick. Before too long, my sweet baby boy was born. I could barely see him. My glasses had fallen back down and I was crying, so I was pretty blind again at that point. Plus they held him next to my head kind of upside down, so I didn't get much of a view. All I wanted to do was hold my precious baby, but they had my arms tied to those stinkin' boards. Before I had much time to react, they took him away.
The Hubster went to watch them weigh and measure him and then came back. Now he is not good with blood, so he was very thankful that they had a drape so he didn't have to see anything. As he was sitting with me, my doctor called his name and said, "You want to know why he was breach and couldn't turn?" When she called his name, The Hubster instinctively turned to her. What he didn't know was that she was holding my uterus (was too far out of my body, if you ask me!) and he got a full view of it. She explained that I had a septum (a line) that ran down the center, making it heart shaped. Once Karate Kid got big enough to turn head down, that septum made it impossible for him to do so.
Nice going, doc. I had no idea what had happened, but The Hubster sat back down with a really weird look on his face. Well, on what I could see of his face above the mask. I asked him if he was okay, and he told he was find, just a little hot. His eyes began to glaze over, so I asked him again. The anesthesiologist heard him that time and asked if was okay. When The Hubster said he was fine, just hot, nurses came running from everywhere. They yanked him out of the operating room, took his mask off, gave him orange juice, and made him lie down on a bench in the hallway. Once he was feeling somewhat better, he went to the waiting room to give everyone the news. He must not have been completely over the ordeal because when they asked him what it was, he informed them it was a baby and then turned around and walked off.
To Be Continued...
12:27 PM ~
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Yep, I'm a Blogging Chick. If you haven't heard of them, look over in my sidebar and click on their little linky-loo.
In other news, head on over to A Mama's Rant if you want to win a free book. The book up for grabs is What Do You Do All Day? All of the how-to's to enter are at her site. I won one of her three copies of Flirting with Forty that she gave away a few weeks ago. She even threw in a neat little Club Mom water bottle. So head on over and check it out. You better hurry, though, because tomorrow is the cut-off for entering.
12:10 PM ~
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Thursday, September 07, 2006
On a Brighter Note
I'm not officially a member of Thursday Thirteen (because I'm not sure I could come up with a topic every week), but I'm taking Denise's challenge via Sleepy New Mommy to come up with 13 Positive Attributes about myself. This is sad to say, but I'm not sure I can come up with 13. We'll see how it goes.
Thirteen Things I Like About Myself
1. My legs. Yes, they're a little larger now than I would like, but I think they are the most attractive part of my body.
2. I am honest. If I ever even try to pull off a little white lie or a stretch of the truth, I feel immensely guilty about it. I can't even play that game (Balderdash?) where you have to try to make someone believe a lie--my face gives me away every time.
3. I am extremely loyal.
4. I love to learn. I used to copy things out of the encyclopedia when I was younger for the fun of it! Yes, I was quite nerdy when I younger--still am, probably. I am not satisfied with not knowing the answer to something--I have to look it up online, in the dictionary or wherever else I can get the answer.
5. I can crochet. I made a baby afghan for Karate Kid, an afghan with a bear dressed for karate for him, an afghan for Drama Queen with a ballerine in the middle, lots of dishcloths plus numerous other projects that I can't remember.
6. I am good with English, spelling, grammar, punctuation, etc. (although you probably can't tell by my blog because I rarely use spell check--my computer always freezes when I try).
7. I am a voracious reader and have passed that love on to my son (and still working on getting my daughter to love it too).
8. I am learning to not judge people on their looks or their beliefs. I now try to see the person and not the appearance, the blustery words, etc. I'm still learning and working on this one.
9. I am not an overprotective mother. I try to keep my children safe, of course, but I also like to give them room to explore and be kids.
10. I am not a spendthrift. I am frugal, but I also like to spend money--within reasonable limits.
11. I am not materialistic. I am satisfied, for the most part, with what I have. I don't feel the need to keep up with the Joneses, to always have the newest and best.
12. My faith and my Christianity. I've broken away from some of the things that were force-fed to me as a child, but I still hold true to God and His Word. Am I perfect? Not on your life. Do I try to be a better person? Yes.
13. I like to nickname those I love. It makes me feel that there is a special kind of bond between us. My sister has outgrown hers, but for those of you who read her blog, it's Boog (as in booger). Go read her blog and give her a hard time about it! And if you haven't read her blog, just click on the Sleepy New Mommy link at the beginning of this post or on my sidebar. Tell her Sissy sent you.
2:02 PM ~
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Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Take This Job and Shove It
I started babysitting on my own (outside of our house and away from the watchful eyes of my parents) the summer after 5th grade. My mom was back in college trying to finish up her degree, so she took me with her (the college was in a town about 10 miles away) to watch her classmate's 9mo baby. I was a very responsible and mature child, but can you imagine leaving your 9mo with a 5th grader?! That mom was either very trusting or very desperate! That's the same year I got hooked on Good Morning, America and Hour Magazine (I always felt much older than I was--maybe a little too old). There wasn't anything else to do while the baby was asleep.
I continued to babysit throughout my younger years and continued off and on during high school and college. When I could work it around my social schedule, that is. Once I got married, it never occurred to me again until I had children. I was so torn up over leaving my baby with someone else while I went to work. Because of some bills that had to be paid and the amount we owed the hospital after Karate Kid's birth (more on that Friday), I had no choice but to go back to work. Once I got all of those bills paid off and we were planning on trying for a second child, I started socking away the money so that we could pay the hospital bills right away. This time I was determined that I was going to stay home with both of my babies.
Unfortunately, The Hubster's job doesn't pay well enough for me to stay home without working. In order to bring home some money, I became a licensed home child care provider. This was the best of both worlds to me--being home with my babies and making money at the same time.
Nine years later, and I'm still at it. There are days now, though, where I start to think about working outside of our home again. I miss adult conversations. I miss the legal world (I have a degree in court reporting and worked at a law firm for years before I stayed home). I think I'm getting closer and closer to finding a different job, but I'm still not there yet.
Today, though...today was one of those days that could move me one step closer to finding other gainful employment. I got a call from the lady that was Karate Kid and Drama Queen's 1st grade teacher. I've watched her youngest daughter several times over the past couple of years when she needed someone in a pinch when her regular sitter couldn't do it. I am now going to watch her daughter the two days of the week that she doesn't go to preschool. She's a dream to watch, so it's no problem.
BUT whenever there is a new child, the energy level in the kiddos rises exponentially. They all have to talk at once, show off everything they can do, drag out every toy, try to get away with breaking the rules since the "new kid" doesn't know any better yet, raise their voices to be heard above the others, etc., ad nauseum. Today was no exception. At least one of the regulars was gone, so that cut down on the craziness just a tad.
Naptime is the best part of the day, but it was a chore to get them ready today. Out of the 6 kids here, 4 wear diapers all of the time, one wears a pull-up for a nap, and the other one wears a diaper for her nap. Only the pull-up wearer can change into them by herself. The rest have to be changed by me, and one of them has to be catheterized. Out of the 4 full-time-diaper-wearers, 3 had dirty diapers. Joy. I was ready to drop by the time I got them all settled down.
Yep, today just about did me in. Maybe I can finally convince myself to get in bed early enough that I can get a decent night's sleep for once. I'm sure everything would be much easier. In the meantime, I may be looking through the want-ads a little more often.
2:36 PM ~
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Tuesday, September 05, 2006
A Big Hairy Deal
I never really stopped to think about it before, but my family is quite hairy. I must be turning into my mother because I could keep the hair removal industry in business all by myself. My dad is also one hairy beast. One time when Karate Kid was very young, he reached over and petted my dad's arm and said, "I like your fur, Papa." At least he doesn't have any on his back! And while I don't believe in evolution, my sister's hairy monkey-long arms makes one wonder at times.
I thought my children might have a chance when I married The Hubster. He's got a lot of Native American heritage (he was adopted, so we're not exactly sure how much or what tribe--we only found out a little bit of info), and Indians, apparently, don't do well at growing mustaches, beards and the like. He was only 23 when we got married, and the poor thing didn't finish going through puberty until 10 years later. He had a grand total of 3 chest hairs for most of our married life. Once he finished his own weird time of "growing up and filling out" (complete with cracking voice at really strange times), his chest had sprouted about 30 chest hairs--all on one side of his chest. I like to tease him that he's half Native American--right down the middle.
Did our offspring fare as well as their father? Well, Karate Kid remains to be seen. He's hit the voice-cracking, acne-prone, deoderant-wearing, hair growing in all the "right" places stage. If any of that hair eventually makes it to his chest or face? Only time will tell.
Drama Queen? Ah, she's our hairy little monster. The poor child is covered in it! She is begging me almost daily to shave her arms and legs. Every time she gets cold and the goosebumps break out, she runs to tell me that this would be the "perfect" time to shave since it's all standing straight up. If she only knew what shaving goosebumps was like...I don't condone trying to make children into adults, but I also understand what it's like to be uncomfortable in your own body. Since she isn't asking for a boob job (yet!), liposuction, a nose job or anything else so drastic, I'm sure she'll wear me down one day soon. But, hey! If I wait long enough, maybe I can convince her that all that body hair will help keep her warm this winter.
7:50 PM ~
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Monday, September 04, 2006
Man's Best Friend
I love camping. I loathe camping with my dogs! We really didn't have the money to board our dogs this weekend, so we took them with us. All.Three.Of.Them. They are all three dachshunds of various ages: puppy, middle age, and knocking on death's door.
My dogs are townies. Not only that, they are indoor dogs. Camping was a whole new experience, one I will never, ever repeat if I have anything to do with it! They immediately began barking as soon as we let them out of the truck. They continued to bark pretty much the entire time until we loaded them up to come home. Gah.
Our middle age dog is neurotic. She has to be right by me at all times. If we leave her too long, she gets diarrhea, which turns bloody if we are gone beyond the limit of what she can handle. Apparently the combination of being left in the camper while we went swimming and then eating the fat off of a brisket my BIL was smoking was just too much for her system. At least she waited until she was outside--at first. The Hubster got up and took all of the dogs out during the night. He woke me up early the next morning to have my turn at it. I, being the chipper morning person I am, convinced the dogs to snuggle back down for a little more sleep. That worked for a little while until the frantic tone in their wimpers and barks let me know they'd had enough. Before I could get up out of bed and let them out, Neurotic Dog (Her real name is Molly--we try not to label her for fear that it will be a self-fulfilling prophecy. *snort*) had made a mess. On the blanket that somehow ended up in the floor.
The next night I suggested we take the two problem dogs for a walk before bed in the hopes that we could avoid outdoor trips in the middle of the night. Molly did fine, but the puppy was all over the place, checking everything out but never going to the bathroom. We finally gave up and headed to bed. As soon as I got in bed and slid my feet down under the covers, I discovered why she had never gone to the bathroom--I had a nice wet spot on my side of the bed. @*#(!
Needless to say, our camper was beginning to smell. The mixture of puppy accidents, rotten teeth and old age made it smell like a doggie nursing home. I was seriously considering making each and every one of them outdoor dogs by the time we returned home.
The third night The Hubster woke me up and informed me that I had first shift on taking the dogs out. Hoping to avoid a repeat accident, I was scrambing to get them outside. Of course I couldn't find any of my clothes, so I was racing around in the dark bumping into things and trying to convince the dogs to wait just a few more seconds before they let loose. I finally found my shirt and decided to call it good. After all, it was the middle of the night and everyone else would be asleep. The door just about flew off its hinges from the force of the dogs bursting through it. I hadn't even taken the time to put their leashes on because I was so afraid that the extra few seconds would be their undoing. The oldest one can't move fast enough to get away from me, and the middle one is the one that I have to physically scrape off of my person, so I wasn't worried about them. The puppy, though, took off barking her fool head off at the three people walking by to the bathroom. So there I was standing in a T-shirt and pair of panties, illuminated by the rope lights The Hubster left on the ground to give us a little bit of light, hissing at the dog to come back and shut up. It didn't help that I was calling her the wrong name. And I'm sure the people passing by loved the view of my barely-clad backside as I stooped to put the leash on the puppy!
As soon as I woke up this morning, I began packing so we could get the heck out of Dodge. I couldn't wait to return my dogs to their natural habitat. I'm sure the people camping around us had a little party once we left.
Sooooo...anybody want a dog? Or three? They're free! Shoot, I'll pay you to take them.
2:09 PM ~
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Friday, September 01, 2006
Maybe I Should Trademark This
I've thought of a new game called "Procrastination." Let me tell you how to play.
Rule #1: Wait for a holiday weekend, such as Labor Day. No time like the present to play, right?
Rule #2: Make plans to go camping 3 or 4 weeks in advance of said holiday.
Rule #3: Never think another thing about the camping trip unless it is to invite someone to go with you. A family member, preferably a sister, is perfect for such an outing.
Rule #4: Wait until the day you are leaving to realize that you have no idea what you are planning to eat.
Rule #5: Make sure that you are leaving before you have a chance to go buy groceries for the trip.
Rule #6: Wait until there are children napping in every bedroom in your house, thereby making it impossible to go into those rooms, before you decide you should probably pack some things to take with you.
* Make sure the weather is perfect for a fire but there is a burn ban in effect so that you are unable to enjoy sitting and gazing at the burning logs and embers.
To Win: The person who arrives at the campground and has forgotten the most stuff wins "Procrastination." In the event of a tie, make sure that your Drama Queen will be missing a close friend's birthday party (even though you were just called by the mother the night before you leave on the camping trip to inform you that there is even going to be a birthday party). If you are this lucky parent and your ears begin bleeding from the shrieks, moans and other unwordly noises emitted from your daughter to show her displeasure at missing the party, this indicates that you are The Winner!
12:12 PM ~
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