Dear Little Brother
21 Sep 2011 Leave a Comment
Dear Little Brother,
I may not tell you this very often but you are a heck of a special guy and I want the world to know it! You have such a sweet and tender heart when you play with your nieces. It brings me so much joy to see their faces light up when you walk in the room. They adore their Gunkle Ray! 
Tomorrow you turn 19. I can’t believe that much time has passed. It seems like yesterday you were sleeping with a Mickey Mouse blanket and playing in the dirt with your Tonka trucks. I miss those days, but I am so proud of the young man you have become. I am looking forward to watching you graduate this year, and I am also dreading saying goodbye when you leave for military training. It makes sad that I won’t get to see you when I want, but I’m excited to see all the great things you will do!
And thank you for coming to my house on a minutes notice after a long day of work and school to entertain my kids so I could pack! You were a lifesaver! That’s why I love you, Little Brother…because I can count on you!
Thank you for insisting I let you dig through the POD to get my mattress too. I was totally set to put the kids in their travel beds and sleep on the floor. No biggie! But you wouldn’t have it! You moved a table and chairs, random boxes, and a washer and dryer all by yourself to make sure I could sleep comfortably. That rocks and my back will thank you!
I should remind you, though, that I, too, was in the military and I spent a three day field exercise sleeping in a foxhole (that I dug) with a gas mask on during a lightning storm that nearly drowned me in rainwater while I was attacked by fire ants. True story! After that, the dry and carpeted floor sans fire ants doesn’t sound so bad. Just remember that image as you make your final decision to join. I mean…I’m not trying to selfishly talk you out of it or anything…Did I ever tell you the story about how they made me drink water until I threw up? Then I had to drink more…
Okay, I’ll save it for later.
I love you and I hope you have the best birthday yet!
Love,
Big Sis
Time to Move!
20 Sep 2011 Leave a Comment
I have been waiting for this week for four long months. The longest four months of my life!!! Tomorrow, we close on our new home and we are MOVING! I am so grateful. The Lord has poured out blessings on our little family that I would never had imagined possible in the weeks that followed our loss. To be able to give my sweet baby girls a home that we will fill with good and wonderful memories just brings me to tears of gratitude. Thank you, Jesus!
But, oh boy! I totally forgot what a pain in the rear it was to connect services to a brand new home. Each utility of course has it’s own automated phone number where you spend thirty minutes pressing numbers so they can best direct your call, only to be asked the exact same questions once you get a real person, and then you are put on hold for another hour while that person transfers you to another department. I did this at least ten times today. God forbid, you’ve been on hold 45 minutes when you finally get to a real live human being who can help you and suddenly there is a freak solar eclipse and you lose your service! And what I hate even worse are those voice recognition lines. You know what I’m talking about, “please say your blah, blah, blah…for example, say ‘blah, blah, blah’…” Then, after the automated monologue, you say your answer only to hear it repeat something completely whacked and ask you, “Is this correct?” No! That’s not even close to what I said! “Okay, let’s try again. Please say blah, blah, blah…” Usually, if it didn’t understand you the first time, it’s not going to get you on the second-take. Sometimes those things end and sometimes they don’t and you have to just admit telephonic defeat and hang up. It’s even worse when you have kids because every squeak they make in the background puts the automated system into overdrive, “I’m having trouble understanding you. Please repeat that.” Hannah! Shut up!!! (spoken silently with a glare and a sharp finger to the lips which sends her into a fit of giggles) “I’m sorry. Let’s try again.” Ohhhhhhhh, forget it!
Because of this I am definitely not looking forward to calling and changing my address. For one, I live on a street with a ridiculous name that’s a throwback to an eighties movie. I can almost guess someone’s age based on whether they hear it and giggle or ask me to spell it. The other reason is that I have mail going to half a dozen separate addresses, most of which are also being forwarded multiple times. I’m sure there are more than a few important pieces of mail that are just being passed in an eternal circle at the post office right now. “Steve, didn’t I give you this same catalog yesterday?” For all I know I could have a warrant out for my arrest because I did not respond to a jury duty notice from three months ago. “Please don’t arrest me, officer! I swear I just got the notice today. See these seventeen yellow forwarding stickers on it? I think the post office was confused!”
Ah, but as crazy as dealing with the phone and the mail can be, it’s easier than having to go somewhere to take care of something. Never mind the fact that I have two kids and it takes an hour and an army just to get them fed, dressed, changed and loaded into carseats twice just to run a “quick” errand. Let me assure you, the world would end before I ever ran to the store for just a gallon of milk. If we leave this house, we come back with the Mothership LOADED. So it bugs me that I have to make a personal appearance to get water service and a trash can. Yes, water, that wet stuff that falls from the sky for free? Well, in order to get the filtered version from your tap it requires a face-to-face interview, copy of your deed, and a driver’s license. I’m sure they’ll want a blood sample before they turn over my BFI can.
But as much of a headache as all this has become, it is truly a blessing! I’m giving my girls (and myself) a home. I can honestly say, you never know what home is until you’ve lost yours. It goes so far beyond four walls! It’s sacred. I look forward to the days my girls and I will spend together transforming our new house into a safe, comfortable, and loving God-centered home!
Close calls
14 Sep 2011 Leave a Comment
in General Nonsense, Stupid does not descriminate
I almost died today. No, really. I almost choked myself to death trying to swallow a headache pill. Swallowing pills are typically not that hard to do. There are only a few basic steps: place pill on tongue, sip water, swallow. Repeat if necessary. That’s not so hard unless you are like me and you are trying to make an appointment with the pediatrician’s office, swallow a pill, and breathe all at the same time. There are just certain things you should not multitask, I suppose. Lesson learned.
I spent ALL day in the car, which led to a headache, which then turned into a massive migraine by the end of the day when I finally got home. I couldn’t get to my bottle of Aleve fast enough. And of course, it took me another ten minutes to get into the childproof bottle. Let me just say, when you are tired and can barely focus because of massive head pain that feels like someone is trying to crush your skull with a mallet…well, that’s not the time you are best able to line up two half-crooked little plastic white arrows that BLEND in with the rest of the bottle. Ever had that moment when you felt like you needed the jaws of life to break into a plastic pill bottle? I could have opened it faster if I had just run over it with my car. I am sure at least one or two pills would have survived.
No sooner than I had the pills in one hand and my glass of water in the other, I suddenly remember I needed to schedule Baby K’s six month check-up with the pediatrician. So, I set my pills down, right? Nooooo. I do what any other rational moron would do and call the office with my head cocked to the side holding my phone against my shoulder and pop that pill right in! Yes sir! Let me assure you that is not the prime position to swallow just in case you were wondering.
I felt the pill get sucked straight back to my windpipe like somebody turned on a Hoover vacuum cleaner inside my mouth. Then it just sort of teetered there, threatening to cut off my air supply. I froze in terror! I couldn’t breath or I’d suck it down. I couldn’t gag because I was mid-sentence and my brain hadn’t caught up with the reality of the situation. I had an appointment to make. I just sat there for a minute in shock before I finally started to panic!
What if I choke to death right now? Is this how I am going to die, death by stupidity? How can I call for help when I can’t talk? The kids are here!!! What if I die and no one comes to check on them??? All manners of dire scenarios played through my mind in a span of seconds!
I don’t know what the woman on the opposite end of the line was thinking. All she heard was, “Hi, I need to make an appointment for-” followed by a very long silence and finally some bird-like gagging until I got the pill out and started to cough like I was hacking up a lung. I’m surprised she didn’t think it was a prank call and hang up on me.
I probably won’t be able to take headache pills for months now. I definitely won’t be attempting it while talking on the phone. Maybe this is a lesson that maybe I should slow down and not try to do so much at once. Or that I should switch to BC powder. That sounds like a more realistic goal.
Fast Food Part II
07 Sep 2011 Leave a Comment
in Stupid does not descriminate
I always wondered if I wrote a book, what would I write about? I mean, just read through my blog…it’s completely random, right? Sometimes it’s about parenting, sometimes about my life in general, but most times it’s about what irritates me. Well, worry no more. I have an answer. I think I will dedicate my first book to the absolute retardedness that is the American Fast Food industry. Oh yes, it’s time to rip on McDonalds, my friends. They’ve had it coming for a while now.
Considering I haven’t cooked (microwaved) a real meal in months, I have to say I’m pretty proud of my restraint up until this point. Pat yourself on the back for me. Go ahead! No one’s looking. I have become a regular patron at your local drive thru and let me tell you, they are all created equal. However, this morning I had the ultimate experience of, “Did that really happen? Seriously…”
So, I was a little early for an appointment and decided coffee and a breakfast burrito would kill some time. I pull up to the window and the young lady hands me my coffee with a regular top. Like for a straw. Who drinks coffee through a straw? Now, there are days I wish coffee came in IV form, but never once have I thought to myself, “I think I’ll suck down some burning hot coffee as fast as I can through a straw the size of a PVC pipe.” Nope, never crossed my mind. I prefer to sip my flaming mocha through a coffee lid. Spoiled that way, I suppose. Sad story.
When she attempted to hand it to me, I asked her, “What’s that?”, with a puzzled look on my face that must have read: are you retarded? She fumbled for a minute with her words before she said they were out of coffee lids for the medium cups. Okay. So I asked her to put it in a small cup. Again, she just garbled at me and tried to clarify what I was saying and what she was supposed to do with the rest of the coffee. Clearly, she was in shock that a regular lid was a sucky substitute for a coffee lid. Bless her heart. I tried to be as specific as I could. “Pour that coffee in one small cup and dump the rest down the sink. I don’t care that I paid for a medium. I really need a COFFEE lid because I will make a huge mess. Thanks.” She seemed satisfied with the step by step instructions and went to fix my coffee.
Then, with a smile, she hands me a small coffee with a REGULAR lid. Again, my response was, “What’s that?”, only my non-verbal communication was screaming, “Why did they put you in the drive thru??? Please go scrub a toilet.” Not nice, I know. I have great control over what I say…what I think, not-so-much. I feel bad for her. A little.
Then she tells me, “I told you we were out of coffee lids?”
Really?
Anybody else want to finish this story…
My monologue that followed went something like this: “Noooo…you told me you were out of MEDIUM lids so I asked you to put it in a small cup with a small lid. If you had told me they were the SAME size coffee lids, I would not have asked you to pour out half of my coffee I paid ten dollars for. Give me a coke please.”
At this point she was so overwhelmed, I think I could have gotten a Big Mac out of her if I hadn’t been afraid she would pack it in a cup holder because they were out of boxes or something else stupid. “Here’s your Big Mac, ma’am. Sorry, we ran out of sacks but I put it in a trash bag for you.” Thanks.
Soooo…instead of my yummy mocha, they gave me a half-gallon sized cup of watered down flat coke. Awesome! It went well with the stale burrito that tasted like filet-o-fish. I can’t get too mad at the drive-thru girl. She looked pretty young and I worked drive-thru, myself, as a teenager. It’s my own fault that I keep going back like they will spontaneously learn how to function between today and tomorrow.
I definitely won’t be going back to THIS McDonald’s. Mostly because the last time I was there (to get coffee), the same chick was working drive thru when I ordered my mocha only to wait twenty minutes to pay and then hear, “Sorry, but we’re not selling the mochas right now because we have to clean the machine once a day, so we can’t make them.” I told her 8:30am was a really dumb time to clean the coffee machine and thanks for not telling me when I ordered so I could wait in line 20 minutes for NOTHING!
Ugh…did that come out of my mouth??? Yes, yes it did. This is why I need coffee. I should not be allowed to interact with people until I have some.
To the girl in the drive-thru, I’m sorry that you have had to deal with ne undercaffeinated. From now on, I’ll harass the people of Starbucks. That’s the REAL reason they charge so much for their coffee, I think. It’s because they have to pay their employees double to deal with crabby jerkwad customers, like me, who can’t function socially without their morning caffeine fix.
Tall Tales
01 Sep 2011 Leave a Comment
The only people who truly believe that children are inherently good or innocent have never had a three year old. Three year olds are amazing weapons of mass destruction. Why Al Qaeda hasn’t tapped into their uncanny ability to cause widespread havoc and chaos is a mystery we will never solve! Possibly because three year olds can induce terror in even the deadliest of extremists…somewhere there is a toddler running around with his Dad’s turban and AK47 playing jihad while his mother hits the deck yelling, “I said ‘Put that down!!!’ That’s not a toy!” Maybe not. But it’s a pretty funny image.
The great thing about threes, though, is that they always seem to tell on themselves when they’ve done something wrong. It’s a natural progression that occurs from the time they are one. At one, it’s “uh oh!” as the point their fat finger at the light socket hole they’re about to shove it into. That at least gives you a chance to nab them before they fricassee themselves. At two, however, they get a little smarter and make sure they complete their wrongful acts before they alert you. You may be minding your business, catching up on your latest Reality TV obsession, when they toddle into the room covered head-to-toe in Gold Bond powder and wreaking of men’s cologne, as they say, “I didn’t make a mess in Daddy’s bafroom.” Fabulous. Someone broke in and assaulted you with men’s self-care products? What kind of neighborhood is this?
But at three, they begin to wise up to the facts that: (1) there are consequences to their actions, and (2) “It was an accident” don’t fly like it used to. And if your three year old is REALLY smart, they will learn to blame someone or someTHING else for the alleged crime. Chairs in our house have been responsible for the most atrocious and curious things, as have innocent relatives and playdates, and the all-to-infamous invisible monster. One time Hannah even blamed my mom’s dog for dumping all the shampoo into the toilet along with her toy boat, a screwdriver, and one of my shoes. Nevermind the dog was three cities away. Sneaky dogs!
Today it was this:
Hannah: (as she comes running out of my mom’s room) “Why is mammaw’s bed all wet?”
Me: “I don’t know…why IS mammaw’s bed wet?” (seriously hoping she didn’t pee in it)
Hannah: “That ice melted and made her bed wet, I guess.” (smiling)
Me: “Ice?? Hannah, did you put ice in mammaw’s bed?”
Hannah: (looking like a deer caught in the headlights now) “I didn’t do it.” (looks at Jayden with those ‘don’t-rat-me-out’ eyes)
Jayden: (looking like a deer caught in the headlights as I stare at him with my ‘you-better-own-up-to-it-or-rat-her-out’ look) “I didn’t do it either.”
Then they both stare at me with satisfied faces in their united lie.
Me: “Well somebody put ice in mammaw’s bed. Who was it?”
Them in unison: “Not me!”
Then they look at each other and the explanations begin…
Hannah: “It wasn’t me and Jayden didn’t do it. Maybe that monster did!”
Jayden: “yeah, that scary monster! Let’s go get him Hannah!” (pretends to shoot a gun)
Hannah: “Yeah, let’s go get that creepy little green monster!” (shooting noises are heard as they run to the hall closet to exterminate the monsters)
But just as they go, Hannah turns and declares: “I’m thirsty!”
Me: “Where did you leave your cup?” (of ice water)
Jayden: “She left it in mammaw’s room!”
Ahhh…of course. Why did I even ask?
