Monday, August 31, 2009
The Hospice Visit
Well, if you read my Saturday post then you are aware that at 1:00 central time today my family met with Hospice concerning my father. The pain he has been experiencing in his back...is the cancer rearing its ugly head. The two ladies showed up a little after 1:00. I need to tell you...that I have a gift...for years it frightened me until the day I realized that it always came at a time when I needed reassurance...or guidance...and today was no different. I see aura's in some people. It is not something I can make myself do...it is just something that happens from time to time and it always leaves me feeling zapped when it happens. When Ginger and Anna walked in...their auras were shining so bright...it was as if some celestrial being had entered the room...and no...I am not nuts. I immediately felt a peace like I had never known come over me. The six of us sat down and they began to ask questions of my dad, my mom, Frank and I. It was a team effort. My mom, of course, was oblivious to the word Hospice...she thinks they are from Home Health...and I let her run with that...whatever it takes to cope is my motto these days. They explained that they were there to help...and my mom was excited that they were going to make my dad well again. Anna got busy taking my dad's vitals and checking his physical being out. I was impressed with her thoroughness. She looked at his feet(noticed his gross nails)...asked if he was diabetic, looked at his hands (the right one is discolored and they have a blue tint to them), and asked if he was cold...turned out his oxygen level was only 74%. That was not good. I had to get a glove to warm his hand up enough for her to get a reading. She checked his back, asked questions about his cancer, his eating habits, his mobility...and we responded honestly...sometimes changing the responses my mom gave. They explained all they would be doing for us. A chaplain would be visiting, volunteers were available to sit with my dad if my mom needed to go somewhere....or would run errands for her, they would be delivering oxygen (which will improve his memory), a walker (to help with mobility and stability), and a raised bathroom seat (to give him some dignity). They were also going to deliver Ensure (for when he does not want to eat), pads, and pull ups. They asked if there was a DNR (do not resusitate), a living will, or any other documents that they needed to be aware of. My mom said they changed their will...hummmm...wonder what that means? When they got ready to leave Frank and I went outside with them briefly...explained my mom to them, changed some of her answers to reality ones...and the ladies told us that if the time comes when we have to rule my mom incompetent...they would even help us with that. Relief was immediate. Then they explained to me once more...that their job was not to make my dad better....I did realize that didn't I....their job was to make my dad comfortable and give him quality of life....not quantity. I explained that I knew their purpose...but that she did not! They gave me their number to call....24/7. So, now we begin the process of watching a life end. Dying is a sad state for those that are left behind...and today I crossed that threshold to begin that journey with my parents. I think the thing that makes me the saddest is that I realize that when my dad dies, and my aunt dies,....my mom will die shortly thereafter. Her sole reason for existing is to take care of my dad and aunt Shirley. So it is a really sad thing for me, an only child, to accept the fact that I could possibly lose both parents in a short period of time. I am glad I have this blog. I see my road ahead as a stormy one and I am glad I have somewhere to vent all I am feeling...and who knows...maybe my walk....will help someone else when they have to take this same walk with their parent(s). I hope so. God Bless You all...and if you still have parents...call them tonight and tell them you love them. Make each day with them count.
To The Neighborhood Kids
Do you want to know how my weekend was?
Well, it went something like this:
Ding dong!
Ding Dong!
Ding Dong!
No, I wasn’t being called names. That was my doorbell being abused by the neighborhood kids who constantly feel the need to molest it.
For some reason they all like to gather in OUR garage. I do not like this. Why don’t they play in Billy’s garage? Why must they stay in ours? I see that Billy has toys scattered in his garage—aren’t they getting bored with our toys? They must be!
“People aren’t sharing!” kids will whine to me after they’ve leaned on the doorbell.
Go tell your OWN parents. Jesus.
But of course I’ll have to pop out and do the Mom thing even though I was looking forward to quiet because at that point I had just put Natalie down for her nap. I was hoping to type out a chapter in my novel or at the very least, a few pages. Something. But no. I had to give that up and deal with other people’s children.
“Please share,” I informed the group through clenched teeth.
“Chase is being mean!” a little girl told me seriously, pointing to the brat who has been known to make fun of Tommy. His parents seem like fabulous people, really. I went over to introduce myself and I was in the middle of going, “Hi, I’m Amber, I’m Tommy Mo—” but then the father’s cell phone went off and he actually HELD UP A FINGER at me and answered it. Then he proceeded to carry on a conversation about biking (!) so I just walked off and sarcastically said, “It was lovely to meet you too…”
So really, this Chase kid doesn’t seem to have the greatest parents. I haven’t even seen the Mom yet and I’ve been here for nearly three years. I’m wondering if Creepy Biker Dad keeps her caged.
“If you aren’t going to be nice, then you can go home,” I said loudly to everyone because I know it’s not fun to be singled out.
Then I went back inside and started to write a few sentences in my novel. I was starting to get into a groove. The words were flowing, my grammar seemed to be on par, the dialogue seemed plausible, the---
DING DONG!
“For the love of chocolate!” I shrieked and stomped to the door.
“Yes?” I practically yelled at the girl standing there.
“Um...people aren’t sharing the water guns,” she informed me.
“Then go home!” I wanted to shout.
But I’m too nice so I went out and said that people had to share, for the love of God, SHARE! Didn’t they learn that lesson in preschool?
I came back in. I had already lost my writing groove so I decided to watch some Gilmore Girls because it’s possibly one of the best shows out there. I started to get involved with the plot even though I already knew the outcome. But it doesn’t matter, with a show like Gilmore Girls you can always---
DING DONG!
“Why do I even bother?” I muttered as I paused the show. I walked over to the door.
“Some kids are breaking stuff,” the same girl said.
What?
WHAT?
BREAKING STUFF?
I hurried out and saw that they had taken apart one of Tom’s things that he uses for his models. It’s some sort of bottom that helps his diagrams stay up.
Look, I don’t even know exactly what it is. I just knew that it was now in pieces all along my garage.
Right, you little shits, what is WRONG with you all!!? This was on the tip of my tongue but I forced it down.
“Who did this?” I demanded. “Who did this?”
Of the six kids standing there, no one would confess.
“You can’t just take apart people’s things!” I shouted, throwing the pieces into a plastic bag. “Please be good out here! I was in the middle of watching a very good episode of Gilmore Girls where Dean breaks up with Rory since she keeps making eyes at Jess!”
The kids just blinked up at me in confusion. They had no idea what I was going on about.
I wished I could be mean like Tom. The kids are afraid of Tom and if they see his truck in the driveway, they basically stay away. Because one time they started to get rough with one of Tommy’s toys and Tom went out there and went, “How about I come to your house and start throwing YOUR toys on the ground?”
And then when a few of them got too close to his beloved truck he suddenly screamed, “DON’T TOUCH MY TRUCK! You don’t want to know what will happen if you do!”
But I can’t do that. No. Instead all I can manage is, “You can’t just take apart people’s things!” which doesn’t exactly have the same effect as Tom’s “DON’T TOUCH MY TRUCK!”
I went back in and started to watch a bit more Gilmore Girls but then I heard the sound of running water outside and realized they were messing with the hose.
This was my breaking point.
I stepped outside and saw that our poor lawn was drowning in water. It was like a giant puddle outside the front door.
“Okay, it’s time for everyone to go home. The garage is closed. Bye bye now,” I said and started to shut the garage door.
“Wait! Misty is still in there!” a girl shrieked so I held open the door and a terrified looking blond raced out from behind a bunch of plastic totes that they had stacked up. This also infuriated me because hello, don’t touch other people’s plastic totes! Is that not a rule?
I told Tommy he could go play with his friends at THEIR houses if he wished but that ours was closed for business.
Tommy shrugged. “I’m done playing. Those kids give me a headache,” he said.
Tommy is just like me. He doesn’t mind hanging out with people but after a few hours we like to retreat and enjoy some silence.
I am so not going to be the Mom who invites a bunch of teenagers in the house. No way. They can go hang at someone else’s home.
Plus, if one of them accidentally hit Tom’s truck, I honestly think some blood would be shed and Tom would wind up in jail.
So future friends of Tommy and Natalie? Please piss off and go somewhere else. Thanks. Because this house contains a semi anti-social writer and a man semi-obsessed with his truck. Just so you know.
Well, it went something like this:
Ding dong!
Ding Dong!
Ding Dong!
No, I wasn’t being called names. That was my doorbell being abused by the neighborhood kids who constantly feel the need to molest it.
For some reason they all like to gather in OUR garage. I do not like this. Why don’t they play in Billy’s garage? Why must they stay in ours? I see that Billy has toys scattered in his garage—aren’t they getting bored with our toys? They must be!
“People aren’t sharing!” kids will whine to me after they’ve leaned on the doorbell.
Go tell your OWN parents. Jesus.
But of course I’ll have to pop out and do the Mom thing even though I was looking forward to quiet because at that point I had just put Natalie down for her nap. I was hoping to type out a chapter in my novel or at the very least, a few pages. Something. But no. I had to give that up and deal with other people’s children.
“Please share,” I informed the group through clenched teeth.
“Chase is being mean!” a little girl told me seriously, pointing to the brat who has been known to make fun of Tommy. His parents seem like fabulous people, really. I went over to introduce myself and I was in the middle of going, “Hi, I’m Amber, I’m Tommy Mo—” but then the father’s cell phone went off and he actually HELD UP A FINGER at me and answered it. Then he proceeded to carry on a conversation about biking (!) so I just walked off and sarcastically said, “It was lovely to meet you too…”
So really, this Chase kid doesn’t seem to have the greatest parents. I haven’t even seen the Mom yet and I’ve been here for nearly three years. I’m wondering if Creepy Biker Dad keeps her caged.
“If you aren’t going to be nice, then you can go home,” I said loudly to everyone because I know it’s not fun to be singled out.
Then I went back inside and started to write a few sentences in my novel. I was starting to get into a groove. The words were flowing, my grammar seemed to be on par, the dialogue seemed plausible, the---
DING DONG!
“For the love of chocolate!” I shrieked and stomped to the door.
“Yes?” I practically yelled at the girl standing there.
“Um...people aren’t sharing the water guns,” she informed me.
“Then go home!” I wanted to shout.
But I’m too nice so I went out and said that people had to share, for the love of God, SHARE! Didn’t they learn that lesson in preschool?
I came back in. I had already lost my writing groove so I decided to watch some Gilmore Girls because it’s possibly one of the best shows out there. I started to get involved with the plot even though I already knew the outcome. But it doesn’t matter, with a show like Gilmore Girls you can always---
DING DONG!
“Why do I even bother?” I muttered as I paused the show. I walked over to the door.
“Some kids are breaking stuff,” the same girl said.
What?
WHAT?
BREAKING STUFF?
I hurried out and saw that they had taken apart one of Tom’s things that he uses for his models. It’s some sort of bottom that helps his diagrams stay up.
Look, I don’t even know exactly what it is. I just knew that it was now in pieces all along my garage.
Right, you little shits, what is WRONG with you all!!? This was on the tip of my tongue but I forced it down.
“Who did this?” I demanded. “Who did this?”
Of the six kids standing there, no one would confess.
“You can’t just take apart people’s things!” I shouted, throwing the pieces into a plastic bag. “Please be good out here! I was in the middle of watching a very good episode of Gilmore Girls where Dean breaks up with Rory since she keeps making eyes at Jess!”
The kids just blinked up at me in confusion. They had no idea what I was going on about.
I wished I could be mean like Tom. The kids are afraid of Tom and if they see his truck in the driveway, they basically stay away. Because one time they started to get rough with one of Tommy’s toys and Tom went out there and went, “How about I come to your house and start throwing YOUR toys on the ground?”
And then when a few of them got too close to his beloved truck he suddenly screamed, “DON’T TOUCH MY TRUCK! You don’t want to know what will happen if you do!”
But I can’t do that. No. Instead all I can manage is, “You can’t just take apart people’s things!” which doesn’t exactly have the same effect as Tom’s “DON’T TOUCH MY TRUCK!”
I went back in and started to watch a bit more Gilmore Girls but then I heard the sound of running water outside and realized they were messing with the hose.
This was my breaking point.
I stepped outside and saw that our poor lawn was drowning in water. It was like a giant puddle outside the front door.
“Okay, it’s time for everyone to go home. The garage is closed. Bye bye now,” I said and started to shut the garage door.
“Wait! Misty is still in there!” a girl shrieked so I held open the door and a terrified looking blond raced out from behind a bunch of plastic totes that they had stacked up. This also infuriated me because hello, don’t touch other people’s plastic totes! Is that not a rule?
I told Tommy he could go play with his friends at THEIR houses if he wished but that ours was closed for business.
Tommy shrugged. “I’m done playing. Those kids give me a headache,” he said.
Tommy is just like me. He doesn’t mind hanging out with people but after a few hours we like to retreat and enjoy some silence.
I am so not going to be the Mom who invites a bunch of teenagers in the house. No way. They can go hang at someone else’s home.
Plus, if one of them accidentally hit Tom’s truck, I honestly think some blood would be shed and Tom would wind up in jail.
So future friends of Tommy and Natalie? Please piss off and go somewhere else. Thanks. Because this house contains a semi anti-social writer and a man semi-obsessed with his truck. Just so you know.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Traditions and the State of My Heart Today
A tradition is a belief, custom, story, or practice handed down from generation to generation by word of mouth or demonstration. So, when you hear the word tradition what thoughts come to mind? Do you think of regular activities that enrich your life, annual rituals that your family performs, perhaps at Thanksgiving or Christmas? Do you think of extended family gatherings, perhaps the reading of a special biblical story, watching the Macy’s Day parade, or a football game…or several of them. Or when you think of the word tradition, do you have negative thoughts that might include strict guidelines that limit your creativity( we have always done it this way)…or dead routines that have no meaning to you whatsoever. I love the email I got once about a young bride cooking a ham…..” A young woman was preparing a ham dinner. After she cut off the end of the ham, she placed it in a pan for baking. Her friend asked her, "Why did you cut off the end of the ham?" And she replied, "I really don't know, but my mother always did, so I thought you were supposed to." Later, when talking to her mother, she asked her why she cut off the end of the ham before baking it, and her mother replied, "I really don't know, but that's the way my mom always did it." A few weeks later, while visiting her grandmother, the young woman asked, "Grandma, why is it that you cut off the end of a ham before you bake it?" Her grandmother replied, "Well, dear, otherwise it would never fit in my baking pan." The tradition continued….but the reasoning was flawed. I love the play, Fiddler on the Roof. I remember the opening scene: there is the village and you see a fiddler on the roof and Tevye says: "A fiddler on the roof. Sounds crazy, no? but in our little village of Anatevka, you might say every one of us is a fiddler on the roof, trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple tune without breaking his neck. It isn't easy. You may ask, why do we stay here if it's so dangerous? We stay because Anatevaka is our home. And how do we keep our balance? I can give you that answer in a mere word--TRADITION--Because of our traditions, we've kept our balance for many, many years. Here in Anatevka we have traditions for everything---how to eat, how to wear clothes. For instance, we always keep our head covered and always wear a little prayer shawl. This shows our constant devotion to God. You may ask, how did this tradition start? I'll tell you---I don't know.” My family…just like yours has traditions. We always have Thanksgiving dinner at my Aunt Shirley’s (and our mom’s do the food)….we have our Christmas gathering at either Amanda’s or my house…and the we do the cooking. We have done this for years. My mom’s family used to always have a big reunion on Father’s Day Saturday…why???....well it was my grandfather and his twin brother Gurry’s birthday. Both of them are dead now…but the tradition continued until there were very few of their generation left. So you are asking yourself by now…where is she going with this…..well…Frank preached from Mark 7:1-24 today. In his sermon he showed an angry Jesus, he is condemning the scribes and Pharisees, not for honoring a tradition, but for placing their traditions above the commands of God. The Pharisees accuse the disciples of violating their sacred traditions. Jesus responds in three ways, addressing three questions to them that are also pertinent to us still today. Where is my heart? What am I obeying from the heart? Is my heart prepared to approach God? You know you can't have a true worship experience if your heart is not in it, you will simply go through the motions of worship. Just what am I obeying from the heart? How often do I judge others because they don't act like I expect them to act, or they don't dress like I think they should, or don't sing the songs I like to sing -- even within the church? How many times have I found myself looking down on others because they were not doing things the way "they've always been done?” Hummm…this sermon was a rude wake up call for me, telling me to get my heart right and do it now...when I think of the children's prayer,:...if I should die before I wake"...do I get nervous? Does that statement bother me? Well, today when I examined my heart in my pew at Waverly UMC I am ashamed to say I saw some evidences of the big bad five….anger, greed, envy, pride, or lust? So I want to ask you right now…”What is the state of your heart?” I made a conscious decision today not to let the traditions of man bind my heart! Oh I will still be at Thanksgiving dinner, and do Christmas, attend reunions...but I will definitely be doing them with a whole different outlook. I don't want to just be a religious person...I want to be a Christian....You know...Christ Like. God Bless You All Today...and get rid of those Shackles so you can dance!
Saturday, August 29, 2009
My Dad and an Appointment With Hospice
I just got off the phone with the Hospice nurse. She will be coming to see us on Monday at 1:00. When I returned the original call...I thought I was calling Home Health. I cannot even explain to you what happened when the person on the other end of the phone answered....Lake Martin Hospice. I thought I was going to die right then and there. My aunt was a Hospice worker for a number of years....I know what Hospice is about...but...I also knew I was going to have to be strong for my mom...so I did a little research....and I need to share it with you so I can cope with this devastating event in my life. My dad's back began to hurt a couple of weeks ago when he stepped out of the car. Mom took him to the doctor, he ran a series of outpatient tests...perscribed lortab for pain, a muscle relaxer for the back....and then a few days later called in an antibiotic for the kidney infection...but the back is still hurting....why? Cancer is back....it is riddling his body with pain...he barely moves, he does not eat, he sleeps an abnormal amount, he is lifeless....so I took off Monday to go with my parents to see Dr. Powers...but then I found the message from Hospice saying Dr. Powers had referred Daddy to them...at that moment in time...it was a death sentence. I wanted someone to hold me...and make it go away...I wanted my daddy to be strong and vibrant again...but that is not the way the story is leading. So in my research I found the American Cancer Society site...again. I had visited them back in December when my dad was first diagnosed with lung cancer. I am trying to cope right now...but not doing it well...so here is what I found.From the American Cancer Societies website I found this information. "Hospice, in the earliest days, was a concept rooted in the centuries-old idea of offering a place of shelter and rest, or "hospitality" to weary and sick travelers on a long journey. In 1967, Dame Cicely Saunders at St. Christopher's Hospice in London first applied the term "hospice" to specialized care for dying patients. Today, hospice care provides humane and compassionate care for people in the last phases of incurable disease so that they may live as fully and comfortably as possible.
Hospice is a philosophy of care. The hospice philosophy or viewpoint accepts death as the final stage of life. The goal of hospice is to enable patients to continue an alert, pain-free life and to manage other symptoms so that their last days may be spent with dignity and quality, surrounded by their loved ones. Hospice affirms life and does not hasten or postpone death. Hospice care treats the person rather than the disease; it focuses on quality rather than length of life. Hospice care is family-centered care -- it involves the patient and the family in making decisions. Care is provided for the patient and family 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Hospice care can be given in the patient's home, a hospital, nursing home, or private hospice facility. Most hospice care in the United States is given in the home, with a family member or members serving as the main hands-on caregiver.
Hospice care is meant for the time when cancer treatment can no longer help you, and you are expected to live 6 months or less. Hospice gives you palliative care, which is treatment to help relieve disease-related symptoms, but not cure the disease; its main purpose is to improve your quality of life. You, your family, and your doctor decide together when hospice care should begin.
One of the problems with hospice is that it is often not started soon enough. Sometimes the doctor, patient, or family member will resist hospice because he or she thinks it means you're giving up, or that there's no hope. This is not true. If you get better or the cancer goes into remission, you can be taken out of the hospice program and go into active cancer treatment. You can go back to hospice care at a later time, if needed. The hope that hospice brings is the hope of a quality life, making the best of each day during the last stages of advanced illness."
Please pray for my family and I as we walk down this dark road. I know my father is a Christian...and I truly do not want him to suffer anymore...but as you all know...I am a daddy's girl...and an only child...and I am going to have to start dealing with saying goodbye to my dad...and letting go. Suzy Bogus did a song several years ago...that is about Letting Go...it is about letting go of a child...but it applies just as well right now. Oh letting go...
Friday, August 28, 2009
Let Me Introduce You to Alexander City, Alabama
ALEX CITY...Alabama...is not my old home town....but I have lived here over half of my life...and can't imagine living anywhere else. This town was a great place to raise kids...I teach in it...and believe we have an excellant school system. It is a good place. You can't convince some of that...but then...when I was 15...you could not convince me that West Palm Beach, Florida was a good place. I wanted to live in New York...so here I am in rural small town Alabama...and to be quite honest...I love the slowness of the pace. I love that people you don't even know speak to you when you come out of Walmart...just because it is what you do in the South. We pride ourselves here in Alex City of being the South's best kept secret and we truly are. 
Lake Martin, one of our biggest draws, "is located in Tallapoosa County, Elmore County, and Coosa County in Alabama. It is a 44,000 acre (178 km²) lake with over 750 miles (1,200 km) of wooded shoreline." "Lake Martin was formed by the construction of Martin Dam on the Tallapoosa River. The Martin Dam powerhouse is used to generate hydroelectric power for the Alabama Power Company. Construction was begun in 1923 and completed in 1926, creating what was then the largest man-made body of water in the world. Originally known as Cherokee Bluffs for the geological formation upon which it was built, the dam was renamed in 1936 in honor of Thomas Martin, the then president of Alabama Power Company." It is still one of the largest artificial lakes in the United States. 
Horseshoe Bend National Military Park is another big draw to the area. Horseshoe Bend National Military Park is a U.S. National Military Park managed by the National Park Service that is the site of the last battle of the Creek War on March 27, 1814. General Andrew Jackson's Tennessee militia, aided by the 39th U. S. Infantry Regiment and Cherokee and Upper Creek allies, finally crushed Lower Creek Red Stick resistance at the Battle of Horseshoe Bend on the Tallapoosa River. Jackson's decisive victory at Horseshoe Bend broke the power of the Creek Nation. On August 9, 1814, the Creeks signed the Treaty of Fort Jackson, which ceded 23 million acres (93,000 km²) of land in Alabama and Georgia to the United States government. There are some awesome hiking trails...The nature trail is a 2.8 mile long loop with hills and valleys. in the park, a great museum, and each year numerous reenactments take place there.
You can also find Camp Ascca here. What is that you say? Camp ASCCA is a year-round 236 acre camp, located on beautiful Lake Martin in Alabama. The camp serves children and adults with mental and/or physical disabilities. Their mission is to help people with disabilities achieve equality, dignity and maximum independence. They take pride in offering a wide variety of exciting educational, social and recreational activities. Camp ASCCA is an ACA accredited camp. The Easter Seals Camp ASCCA (Alabama's Special Camp for Children and Adults) first opened its doors in 1976. Since then it has touched the lives of tens of thousands of children and adults with disabilities. Located on beautiful Lake Martin in east central Alabama, Camp ASCCA is a nationally recognized leader in providing camping and outdoor recreation service for people with disabilities in a barrier-fee environment. AT the end of the summer sessions....they had a prom this year. Some of my students were counselors...and came and borrowed prom decorations from me...I loved it.
Children's Harbor, is the next stop. It is a 501(c) (3) non-profit organization, provides free and confidential counseling and support services to children with long-term serious illnesses as well as to their families, and we provide camping and retreat facilities for these children and families as well as for other children with special needs. Children's Harbor was officially dedicated in 1990 to the memory of Adelia M. Russell. From the beginning the mission has been simple: strengthening children and families. Their icon, a replica of the Plymouth Lighthouse which is located on Providence Point at the Lake Martin campus, symbolizes their goal of helping children and families find their way through the treacherous waters in which they sometimes find themselves. The beautiful campus, located 15 miles south of Alexander City, Alabama, on Highway 63, is built around a picturesque New England seaside village motif and features the Plymouth Lighthouse and a charming little early American church, Children's Chapel. The lakeside setting is also home to Church in the Pines, Harbor House, Mariners' Adventure Camp, Mariners' Adventure Course, Mariners' Retreat Center (Concord and Salem Cottages), Time Capsule Park, and our administrative headquarters. This was a taste of some of the things Alex City has to offer. Tomorrow...I will tell you how the town came to be.BTW there is some amazing camping to be found in Alabama....and in Alex City....want to know where the best places are to go? If you are an avid camper then check out the following links:
Alabama Camping (linking to: http://woodalls.com/
Family Camping Resources (linking to: http://www.woodalls.com/
RV Campgrounds (linking to: http://www.
24 Hour RV Roadside Assistance (linking to: http://www.goodsamers.com/)
Simply Free
I don't know if you have ever heard of Chonda Pierce...but I have....she has delighted me for several years with her wild and crazy antics...all kidding aside....what a powerful Christian testimony this woman has. If she EVER comes close to you....you have got to go and see her. You will be in for a night of rare entertainment...wonderful singing...and just all time good fun. BUT...what I am writing about right now is something she has coming up. It is called Simply Free....I am enclosing Chondra's email to me about it...and I hope if you are close enough to go you will make plans to go. I am shooting for it.
Message from Chonda, "OKAY, I admit. I am perfectly capable of missing the voice of God. Two years ago God gave Doris a fantastic vision for SIMPLY FREE, an event that where we could both celebrate and experience the FREEDOM that only Christ can give. Well, I took God's plan and improved it ever so slightly. God needs my help you know. NOT! So here is the deal. I was wrong. From the very beginning Simply Free was supposed to be Simply Free. So, as we step out in faith we DESPERATELY need your help. Will you PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE get the word out? Even if you cannot come, put this on your Facebook, MySpace, Twitter and on your church bulletin board. Print it out and hang it in your grocery store, your oil change place, even your country club. Help us tell everyone (EVERYONE) about Simply Free."
This event is Friday, Sept. 4 and Saturday, Sept. 5. The cost is SIMPLY FREE (get it, Simply Free). There will be great speakers, fabulous testimonies, amazing worship. And it is FREE. The purpose is to let others know that they can be set free from depression, addiction, and shame. I don't know about you guys...but that sounds pretty amazing to me. I have dealt with some of the above for years...and thanks be to God have left a couple at the altar and walked away a whole lot straighter...but I understand that there are some out there...who can't let them go....this is for you....and even for those who have turned their lives around...and for those who are family members of people in trouble...Get some girlfriends together and try and make it. There is nothing like a good women's conference to uplift me....I can fly high for a long time on one.
CALL NOW! To make your
Reservations! Or just show up...there will be room!
How much is it? That is the greatest part...It's SIMPLY FREE!
a love offering will be taken. Hope you can go. I know you won't be disappointed.
Message from Chonda, "OKAY, I admit. I am perfectly capable of missing the voice of God. Two years ago God gave Doris a fantastic vision for SIMPLY FREE, an event that where we could both celebrate and experience the FREEDOM that only Christ can give. Well, I took God's plan and improved it ever so slightly. God needs my help you know. NOT! So here is the deal. I was wrong. From the very beginning Simply Free was supposed to be Simply Free. So, as we step out in faith we DESPERATELY need your help. Will you PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE get the word out? Even if you cannot come, put this on your Facebook, MySpace, Twitter and on your church bulletin board. Print it out and hang it in your grocery store, your oil change place, even your country club. Help us tell everyone (EVERYONE) about Simply Free."
This event is Friday, Sept. 4 and Saturday, Sept. 5. The cost is SIMPLY FREE (get it, Simply Free). There will be great speakers, fabulous testimonies, amazing worship. And it is FREE. The purpose is to let others know that they can be set free from depression, addiction, and shame. I don't know about you guys...but that sounds pretty amazing to me. I have dealt with some of the above for years...and thanks be to God have left a couple at the altar and walked away a whole lot straighter...but I understand that there are some out there...who can't let them go....this is for you....and even for those who have turned their lives around...and for those who are family members of people in trouble...Get some girlfriends together and try and make it. There is nothing like a good women's conference to uplift me....I can fly high for a long time on one.
SIMPLY FREE CONFERENCE
FRI, Sept. 4 (6:30pm) & SAT, Sept.5 (9am - 4pm)
Branches Recovery Center
Presents
Held at Calvary Baptist Church
431 Dejarnette Ln.
Murfreesboro, TN
Contact: 615.904.7170
Email: info@branchesrecoverycenter.com
www.branchesrecoverycenter.com
CALL NOW! To make your
Reservations! Or just show up...there will be room!
With special guest:
Comedian and author,
CHONDA PIERCE
Speakers include:
Mike & Doris Courtney, author and life-coach
Dr. David Appleby, Liberty University
Anne Beiler, "Auntie Anne" author and speaker
And others ...including Dynamic Worship!
Breakout sessions include:
Dealing with Depression
Surviving An Affair
Temperament or Temper Tantrum
Breaking Free From Addictions
Codependency and Church
Forgiveness
Inner Healing Prayer
Deliverance or Medicine...And more...
How much is it? That is the greatest part...It's SIMPLY FREE!
a love offering will be taken. Hope you can go. I know you won't be disappointed.
The Right Ear
"Tom, remember to take the trash out," I reminded my husband the other day.
He was on his computer game, his eyes focused on the screen. He moved the mouse as if on autopilot and inwardly cursed when someone apparently took a shot at his soldier.
"Tom," I repeated. "You need to take the trash out."
Tom's fingers started flying across the keyboard as though he were writing his own blog entry. But instead he was quickly gathering ammunition for his soldier. While he was doing this he was muttering, "Take that, asshole."
I massaged my temples slowly. I was already feeling the first signs of a cold coming on. Since Tommy is back at school it means he's been bringing home germs and I'm due for a sickness since it's been awhile. My mouth already felt sore at the base of my throat and my left nostril was getting difficult to breathe out of. I didn't have the patience to deal with a husband who was ignoring me.
I do know there is a way to get Tom's attention when he's on the computer.
And that is why I did this:
"Tom! Breasts and tits! Miranda Kerr naked!" I shouted. (Don't worry. The kids were playing upstairs. I would never utter such a thing in front of Natalie, who repeats everything you say. I can just imagine her sweetly telling the Target cashier, "Breasts and tits!")
Tom's eyes swiveled from the screen. "Huh?" He looked baffled but I noticed he was scanning the room as though he expected the Victoria Secret model to be prancing around our living room clad in next to nothing.
I smiled. "Now that I have your attention, please take out the trash."
Tom looked a little deflated that there would be no nudity. "I will," he promised, returning back to his game.
Ugh.
I decided to give up and fix some lunch. As I was eating I was flipping through a Glamour magazine and I noticed some words at the bottom of the page.
It said something like: "A recent study has shown that men are more apt to listen if you talk into the RIGHT ear."
Hrm.
Right ear, eh?
After I ate I marched back over to Tom and leaned over to his right ear.
"Don't forget the trash," I hissed into it.
Tom shivered. "Why did you just hiss into my ear?" he demanded.
But look! It got his attention! I didn't have to mention boobs at all!
So...maybe it's true.
Later, Tom had still not taken out the trash. No, he had moved from the computer onto the Wii. He was busy playing his Wii Resort game and I decided that I better whisper into his right ear again.
But this proved harder than I thought. He kept bouncing around from one side of the room to the next and I'd sort of follow him around until he was like, "WHAT?" He paused the game, irritated that I was behaving like his shadow.
I stood on my tiptoes and said into his right ear, "Don't forget the trash."
Tom raised his shoulder to his ear to cover it. "Stop doing that! Why are you doing that?"
I just gave him a loving smile.
Later, I saw that our lawn needed to be mowed and I came inside and Tom was on the couch. I plopped down on his lap, leaned over to his right ear and said, "The lawn needs to be mowed."
Tom gave me a Look. "Okay. What's going on? Are you filming this or what?" He glanced around the room as though he expected to see a camera.
I batted my eyelashes at him. "I'm just trying something out."
Tom threw his hands in the air. "What? How to creep a man out?"
"No," I explained gently. "Apparently if you talk into a man's right ear, he listens better."
Tom rubbed his chin. "I don't think that's true," he said thoughtfully.
Well. Maybe not. But Tom DID end up taking out the trash and mowing the lawn.
So maybe, just maybe, talking into a man's right ear helps.
"I love you," I told Tom that night, into his right ear.
"You're crazy," he replied lightly.
He was on his computer game, his eyes focused on the screen. He moved the mouse as if on autopilot and inwardly cursed when someone apparently took a shot at his soldier.
"Tom," I repeated. "You need to take the trash out."
Tom's fingers started flying across the keyboard as though he were writing his own blog entry. But instead he was quickly gathering ammunition for his soldier. While he was doing this he was muttering, "Take that, asshole."
I massaged my temples slowly. I was already feeling the first signs of a cold coming on. Since Tommy is back at school it means he's been bringing home germs and I'm due for a sickness since it's been awhile. My mouth already felt sore at the base of my throat and my left nostril was getting difficult to breathe out of. I didn't have the patience to deal with a husband who was ignoring me.
I do know there is a way to get Tom's attention when he's on the computer.
And that is why I did this:
"Tom! Breasts and tits! Miranda Kerr naked!" I shouted. (Don't worry. The kids were playing upstairs. I would never utter such a thing in front of Natalie, who repeats everything you say. I can just imagine her sweetly telling the Target cashier, "Breasts and tits!")
Tom's eyes swiveled from the screen. "Huh?" He looked baffled but I noticed he was scanning the room as though he expected the Victoria Secret model to be prancing around our living room clad in next to nothing.
I smiled. "Now that I have your attention, please take out the trash."
Tom looked a little deflated that there would be no nudity. "I will," he promised, returning back to his game.
Ugh.
I decided to give up and fix some lunch. As I was eating I was flipping through a Glamour magazine and I noticed some words at the bottom of the page.
It said something like: "A recent study has shown that men are more apt to listen if you talk into the RIGHT ear."
Hrm.
Right ear, eh?
After I ate I marched back over to Tom and leaned over to his right ear.
"Don't forget the trash," I hissed into it.
Tom shivered. "Why did you just hiss into my ear?" he demanded.
But look! It got his attention! I didn't have to mention boobs at all!
So...maybe it's true.
Later, Tom had still not taken out the trash. No, he had moved from the computer onto the Wii. He was busy playing his Wii Resort game and I decided that I better whisper into his right ear again.
But this proved harder than I thought. He kept bouncing around from one side of the room to the next and I'd sort of follow him around until he was like, "WHAT?" He paused the game, irritated that I was behaving like his shadow.
I stood on my tiptoes and said into his right ear, "Don't forget the trash."
Tom raised his shoulder to his ear to cover it. "Stop doing that! Why are you doing that?"
I just gave him a loving smile.
Later, I saw that our lawn needed to be mowed and I came inside and Tom was on the couch. I plopped down on his lap, leaned over to his right ear and said, "The lawn needs to be mowed."
Tom gave me a Look. "Okay. What's going on? Are you filming this or what?" He glanced around the room as though he expected to see a camera.
I batted my eyelashes at him. "I'm just trying something out."
Tom threw his hands in the air. "What? How to creep a man out?"
"No," I explained gently. "Apparently if you talk into a man's right ear, he listens better."
Tom rubbed his chin. "I don't think that's true," he said thoughtfully.
Well. Maybe not. But Tom DID end up taking out the trash and mowing the lawn.
So maybe, just maybe, talking into a man's right ear helps.
"I love you," I told Tom that night, into his right ear.
"You're crazy," he replied lightly.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
The First Day of Second Grade...
The alarm went off early in the morning.
I groaned and buried my head deeper into the pillow to try and stifle out the noise.
It didn't work.
If anything, my alarm became insulted that I was attempting to ignore it and grew louder.
"Okay," I mumbled. "Okay."
I sat up and turned the alarm off. Then I sort of sat there in confusion for a few minutes. What was going on? Why was I up so early again? What in the world is wrong with Heidi Montag? Is it inappropriate that my daughter says, "Sooo Meaty!" since I allow her to watch The Soup on the E! channel?
At least the answer came to me for one of my questions:
Why was I up so early again? Oh right. Tommy. School. First day.
I forced myself out of bed and stumbled to pull out a pair of what I dub 'comfy pants.' Comfy pants are basically the bottoms of those jogging outfits. I have them in a variety of colors: pink, black, brown, purple and when I'm feeling exceptionally bold, white. I always pair that with t-shirt. I try to match but sometimes that just doesn't happen. That morning I made an effort to match because I knew I'd be taking Tommy to the bus stop and I didn't want to embarrass him.
Then I walked over to Tommy's room and threw open the door. He bolted right up from his bed.
"Is it time? Am I going to school today? Second grade! Do you think I'll have homework? Hi Max the Cat, good morning! I'm excited about wearing my brand new shoes. Will they really make me run faster?" He shot off questions, one after the other while I stood there staring blankly at him with my mouth agape. I've never understood how he had so much energy in the morning.
"Happy first day of second grade," I managed to croak out because I don't want my son's memories of me to be that of a half-dead mother who shuffled around the house in a half asleep stupor.
"Thanks!" Tommy said brightly and jumped out of bed. Because he's my kid he nearly went sprawling to the ground but then he regained his balance. Then he went over to his clothes, which I had left folded on top of his toy chest that I know he'll eventually be too old for. It's blue with a teddy bear on it and I know one day he'll say, "Mom. This needs to go. I'm not a baby anymore."
I settled down on Tommy's bed while he got dressed.
"Don't see my underwear!" he sang and I promptly shut my eyes.
A few minutes later he told me I could open them again.
"Mommy?" he said. "I SAID open your eyes!" He came over and pulled my arm.
Oh. Crap. I had nearly fallen asleep.
Then we headed downstairs and I asked what cereal he wanted. He tapped his chin as though this were an important decision.
"Froot Loops," he finally decided.
I poured him a bowl and brought it over to the table. Then I got him a glass of water and sat down.
"Aren't you going to eat?" Tommy asked.
I rubbed my eyes. "Mommy's stomach is still asleep. I'll eat when it wakes up," I replied.
I really really wish that I liked coffee. I think coffee would help the mornings. But I've never gotten a taste for it. I've tried a variety of flavors and none of them have stuck. I usually get my caffeine in the form of diet sodas but I don't allow myself to have one until lunch.
Tommy ate in silence for a few minutes. Then he cocked his head to the side, chewing thoughtfully. "Will I be on the same playground as first grade?" he wondered.
"I think so," I answered. At the Back to School night I had peeked out the window and it looked like it was the same playground as before.
Tommy sighed. "Oh darn," he muttered.
We took pictures before we headed to the bus stop:
(For fun, here are pictures of him on his first day of Kindergarden and first grade respectively..)
After pictures, I walked him to the bus stop which is just across the street. Usually he walks to it himself but I wanted to be there on his first day. He held my hand at first but when we approached the bus shack, he abruptly dropped it. He said hello to a few of his friends and I said hello to the other mother that was standing there. She was actually dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with her hair neatly brushed.
Crap! Did I forget to brush my hair?
I heard the mother say to her daughter, "Did you enjoy your big breakfast?" and the little girl nodded her head. "I love bacon!" she said happily.
I know some parents cook their kids big breakfasts on the first day. I served my kid cereal. From a box. I looked down at Tommy, who was kicking a rock with his shoe.
"Hey Tommy?" I said softly. "You don't mind that I didn't make you eggs, do you?"
He shook his head. "You'd probably burn them," he said kindly. He wasn't being mean, just speaking the truth.
"Well, I hope you have a great first day," I said, rubbing his head. He allowed me to do this for a few seconds but then moved away so that my hand was left stroking the air. Tommy gives me subtle signs that he's growing up and I know it's inevitable, but it doesn't make it sting less.
"If anyone is mean to you," I whispered. "You tell an adult."
Most kids are pretty nice to Tommy. But there are some, who I've dubbed Little Shits, who make fun of the way he runs awkwardly and the fact that he wags his fingers when he gets excited.
"I will," Tommy assured me but I knew it was unlikely. Tommy has been known to take the cruel jabs and then burst into tears. Sometimes I've heard him shout, "Stop it! You're being mean!" which only causes the brats to laugh. I once witnessed this in our front yard and it took all my might not to stomp out there and spin the brats around the yard by their ankles roughly or take them by their ears and drag them to their homes and demand to know what kind of parent would allow such behavior.
Then Blake, the World's Most Annoying Kid, bound over to us.
"Hi Tommy's Mom!" he said even though I've asked him more than a hundred times to call me Miss Amber.
"Hi," Tommy and I both said in unison. Blake is actually pretty nice to Tommy which is why I tolerate him. But sometimes the Little Shits try to drag Blake away from Tommy just to be mean.
"Why are you here, Tommy's Mom?" Blake asked.
I shrugged. "Ask God, I guess," I replied.
Blake screwed up his face. "What?" Obviously my lame joke went right over his seven-year-old head.
"It's Tommy's first day. I wanted to be here," I explained.
"Why? That makes no sense," Blake said.
Oh geez. It was too early to get into it with Blake. Conversations with Blake could take hours. The kid just doesn't give up.
"I just wanted to see Tommy off since it's his first day of second grade," I tried again. Then I heard the rumble of the bus approaching and knew I was safe. Thank goodness!
I tried to give Tommy a hug but he quickly pulled away.
"Mom." He shot me a Look as he got in line.
Oh. Right. The growing up thing.
"You have a great first day," I said primly even though what I really wanted to do was burst into tears and pull him against my chest and cry into his blond hair. How did you get so big? How are you seven? Weren't you just a baby yesterday???
I waved as he climbed on the bus and waved some more as the bus pulled off and sputtered down the street. I still waved even when the bus was out of sight and then realized that I better stop, that people might be staring out the window and wondering what the Crazy Lady with the Crazy Hair was doing.
I came back inside where Tom was waiting with Natalie, who seemed a little sad that her playmate was gone.
"Brother at school?" she asked me sadly.
I sighed. "Yes. Brother is at school," I replied as my heart tugged.
I groaned and buried my head deeper into the pillow to try and stifle out the noise.
It didn't work.
If anything, my alarm became insulted that I was attempting to ignore it and grew louder.
"Okay," I mumbled. "Okay."
I sat up and turned the alarm off. Then I sort of sat there in confusion for a few minutes. What was going on? Why was I up so early again? What in the world is wrong with Heidi Montag? Is it inappropriate that my daughter says, "Sooo Meaty!" since I allow her to watch The Soup on the E! channel?
At least the answer came to me for one of my questions:
Why was I up so early again? Oh right. Tommy. School. First day.
I forced myself out of bed and stumbled to pull out a pair of what I dub 'comfy pants.' Comfy pants are basically the bottoms of those jogging outfits. I have them in a variety of colors: pink, black, brown, purple and when I'm feeling exceptionally bold, white. I always pair that with t-shirt. I try to match but sometimes that just doesn't happen. That morning I made an effort to match because I knew I'd be taking Tommy to the bus stop and I didn't want to embarrass him.
Then I walked over to Tommy's room and threw open the door. He bolted right up from his bed.
"Is it time? Am I going to school today? Second grade! Do you think I'll have homework? Hi Max the Cat, good morning! I'm excited about wearing my brand new shoes. Will they really make me run faster?" He shot off questions, one after the other while I stood there staring blankly at him with my mouth agape. I've never understood how he had so much energy in the morning.
"Happy first day of second grade," I managed to croak out because I don't want my son's memories of me to be that of a half-dead mother who shuffled around the house in a half asleep stupor.
"Thanks!" Tommy said brightly and jumped out of bed. Because he's my kid he nearly went sprawling to the ground but then he regained his balance. Then he went over to his clothes, which I had left folded on top of his toy chest that I know he'll eventually be too old for. It's blue with a teddy bear on it and I know one day he'll say, "Mom. This needs to go. I'm not a baby anymore."
I settled down on Tommy's bed while he got dressed.
"Don't see my underwear!" he sang and I promptly shut my eyes.
A few minutes later he told me I could open them again.
"Mommy?" he said. "I SAID open your eyes!" He came over and pulled my arm.
Oh. Crap. I had nearly fallen asleep.
Then we headed downstairs and I asked what cereal he wanted. He tapped his chin as though this were an important decision.
"Froot Loops," he finally decided.
I poured him a bowl and brought it over to the table. Then I got him a glass of water and sat down.
"Aren't you going to eat?" Tommy asked.
I rubbed my eyes. "Mommy's stomach is still asleep. I'll eat when it wakes up," I replied.
I really really wish that I liked coffee. I think coffee would help the mornings. But I've never gotten a taste for it. I've tried a variety of flavors and none of them have stuck. I usually get my caffeine in the form of diet sodas but I don't allow myself to have one until lunch.
Tommy ate in silence for a few minutes. Then he cocked his head to the side, chewing thoughtfully. "Will I be on the same playground as first grade?" he wondered.
"I think so," I answered. At the Back to School night I had peeked out the window and it looked like it was the same playground as before.
Tommy sighed. "Oh darn," he muttered.
We took pictures before we headed to the bus stop:
(For fun, here are pictures of him on his first day of Kindergarden and first grade respectively..)
After pictures, I walked him to the bus stop which is just across the street. Usually he walks to it himself but I wanted to be there on his first day. He held my hand at first but when we approached the bus shack, he abruptly dropped it. He said hello to a few of his friends and I said hello to the other mother that was standing there. She was actually dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with her hair neatly brushed.
Crap! Did I forget to brush my hair?
I heard the mother say to her daughter, "Did you enjoy your big breakfast?" and the little girl nodded her head. "I love bacon!" she said happily.
I know some parents cook their kids big breakfasts on the first day. I served my kid cereal. From a box. I looked down at Tommy, who was kicking a rock with his shoe.
"Hey Tommy?" I said softly. "You don't mind that I didn't make you eggs, do you?"
He shook his head. "You'd probably burn them," he said kindly. He wasn't being mean, just speaking the truth.
"Well, I hope you have a great first day," I said, rubbing his head. He allowed me to do this for a few seconds but then moved away so that my hand was left stroking the air. Tommy gives me subtle signs that he's growing up and I know it's inevitable, but it doesn't make it sting less.
"If anyone is mean to you," I whispered. "You tell an adult."
Most kids are pretty nice to Tommy. But there are some, who I've dubbed Little Shits, who make fun of the way he runs awkwardly and the fact that he wags his fingers when he gets excited.
"I will," Tommy assured me but I knew it was unlikely. Tommy has been known to take the cruel jabs and then burst into tears. Sometimes I've heard him shout, "Stop it! You're being mean!" which only causes the brats to laugh. I once witnessed this in our front yard and it took all my might not to stomp out there and spin the brats around the yard by their ankles roughly or take them by their ears and drag them to their homes and demand to know what kind of parent would allow such behavior.
Then Blake, the World's Most Annoying Kid, bound over to us.
"Hi Tommy's Mom!" he said even though I've asked him more than a hundred times to call me Miss Amber.
"Hi," Tommy and I both said in unison. Blake is actually pretty nice to Tommy which is why I tolerate him. But sometimes the Little Shits try to drag Blake away from Tommy just to be mean.
"Why are you here, Tommy's Mom?" Blake asked.
I shrugged. "Ask God, I guess," I replied.
Blake screwed up his face. "What?" Obviously my lame joke went right over his seven-year-old head.
"It's Tommy's first day. I wanted to be here," I explained.
"Why? That makes no sense," Blake said.
Oh geez. It was too early to get into it with Blake. Conversations with Blake could take hours. The kid just doesn't give up.
"I just wanted to see Tommy off since it's his first day of second grade," I tried again. Then I heard the rumble of the bus approaching and knew I was safe. Thank goodness!
I tried to give Tommy a hug but he quickly pulled away.
"Mom." He shot me a Look as he got in line.
Oh. Right. The growing up thing.
"You have a great first day," I said primly even though what I really wanted to do was burst into tears and pull him against my chest and cry into his blond hair. How did you get so big? How are you seven? Weren't you just a baby yesterday???
I waved as he climbed on the bus and waved some more as the bus pulled off and sputtered down the street. I still waved even when the bus was out of sight and then realized that I better stop, that people might be staring out the window and wondering what the Crazy Lady with the Crazy Hair was doing.
I came back inside where Tom was waiting with Natalie, who seemed a little sad that her playmate was gone.
"Brother at school?" she asked me sadly.
I sighed. "Yes. Brother is at school," I replied as my heart tugged.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Wonderings......
Several years ago my daughter and I took a trip of a lifetime to Prince Edward Island. It is the home of Lucy Maude Montgomery, author of the Anne of Green Gables books. My daughter Kat loved them...so when she was 15 I took her there to see the homeplace. Our trip was a coastal trip for the most part, and part of it was for me. I love lighthouses....so we hit as many as we could....and the Lighthouse Depot. I have always wanted to spend a vacation as a volunteer lighthouse keeper. I have read about them, visited them, am really drawn to them. I guess it comes from living within the light of the Jupiter Lighthouse as a kid. Anyways, I had done a little research and found a haunted lighthouse. It was called Pemaquid...and there was a cozy little B & B within walking distance of the structure. We loved the Bed and Breakfast. It was the first one I had ever stayed in and I loved the homey feel it had. The innkeepers were lovely. I was so excited about the lighthouse that I could hardly sleep. Pemaquid is, to me, one of the most photogenic lights on the whole eastern coastline, and definitely one of the most visited. It is located at the end of Rte. 130 and people from all over the world come to stand at the foot of this majestic giant and take pictures of it. This lighthouse is not known as one of the most haunted lighthouses, it still has a ghost associated with it. The ghost resides in the former keeper's house, now the Fisherman's Museum run by the Town of Bristol. It seems that a red haired lady in a shawl sometimes appears. Usually near the fireplace and no one associated with the lighthouse seems to have any history on her. No one has ever died in the lighthouse, and there have been no historical deaths associated with Pemaquid at all. Yet, there she is, visible to guests of the lighthouse on occasion. Maybe she is a survivor of a shipwreck that occured many years ago...or maybe she is the wife or sweetheart of someone who was lost...and now she is waiting for them to return. Whatever her purpose or mission it is definitely something to think about. With that on my mind I went seeking her. I was not one of the fortunate ones for she did not appear during my visit. The museum worker told me she had been seen earlier in the month...so I left a wee bit disappointed...and a wee bit relieved. What would I have done if she had appeared to me? You all know I am a Christian...and a preacher's wife...but I do truly believe that sometimes there are souls that just don't rest until wrongs have been righted. Is she one of those stories? Who knows. If you like a good story about ghosts...that will raise the hair on the back of your neck a bit...then you need to read Kathryn Windham Tucker's books....13 Ghosts and Jeffery. I love them! I read them to my kids when they were young...and we even visited the 13 places in Alabama as a vacation when they were younger. I can imagine some of you are sitting there going...Girl...you are kidding me....right? You don't really believe in ghosts do you?...well....have I got a story for you....and some day...I will share it. Happy Hump Day!
Back to School Night
“Oh crap,” I said as I parked the car in the school parking lot. We were there for Tommy’s Back to School night so he could meet his new teacher.
I peered down at my flip flops and saw it. The hairs. On my big toe. Normally I remember to shave my toes because fine, I’m hairy. My Mom would always embrace me when I’d bemoan this fact and say in a singsong voice, “We’re just a hirsute family!”
Let me tell you, it’s not easy to be hirsute during the summer. You have to constantly check to make sure you aren’t sprouting hair in places that are frowned upon for women. Like toes. Oh sure, it’s perfectly acceptable for guys to sport jungle feet but if a woman does it then it obviously means she doesn’t love herself enough or something.
This just isn’t true for me.
No, my problem was that I forgot because I’ve been under stress thanks to the upcoming move to Montana.
“What happened, Mommy?” Tommy asked from the backseat.
“I have hairy toes!” I moaned, throwing my hands in the air.
Tommy blinked at me. Since he’s a boy, he’s allowed to have hair wherever he wants so he didn’t understand.
I started to worry that Tommy would be mocked for having a Hairy Mommy.
“Was that a caterpillar on your Mom’s feet?” I pictured his friends taunting.
I mean, the hair wasn’t that thick. It was just a couple of strands. But still. Not attractive. I suddenly had the bright idea that I could pluck them out but when I reached down to try, I only managed to curl one when I tugged at it.
They weren’t budging.
“Why don’t I carry a razor with me?” I muttered, digging through my purse as though my Venus razor was going to magically pop up. Really, I carry so much crap in my purse so why SHOULDN’T my razor be in there?
“Can we go in now?” Tommy begged, getting antsy. He shifted in his seat with his school supplies sitting on his lap.
I sighed. “I guess so. There’s nothing I can do about my feet now.”
We walked in the school and I longed to shield my toes as we stood in line to find out who Tommy’s teacher would be. I mean, I knew everyone would be busy inside, perhaps even too busy to look at my hairy feet, but I do know there are some women who give The Once Over which is basically a quick scan from head to toe. I never bother with it because I’m not into fashion. But there are ladies who are and I’ve noticed them giving me The Once Over and usually they wrinkle their noses slightly because I’m usually clad in a t-shirt with a funny saying (Like my Happy Bunny “Boys are Funny when they try to think”) and Mudd jeans that I picked up from the Juniors Department.
Everyone at the school knows who Tommy is. I’d like to say it’s because he’s such a great kid. But really, it’s because he threw horrible fits in Kindergarten. No one knew what was going on with him. The school called me on a weekly basis to the point where I’d begin to dread the ringing of the telephone. I attended more meetings than I care to remember. It’s not easy sitting there surrounded by a bunch of professionals who are telling you that something is wrong with your kid.
It turns out Tommy has Asperger’s Syndrome which is a form of autism. That’s topped off with Sensory Processing Disorder and ADHD. He’s a great kid but if there is too much going on in his world, he shuts down which is what happened in Kindergarten. He’s doing much better now because he’s pulled out into the Resource Room for Reading and Math where he was able to thrive.
So yes, this is why everyone knows who Tommy is. And I mean everyone down to the cafeteria lady. This is another reason why I’m upset that we’re moving. Everyone knows how Tommy works here. When we get to the new school we have to go through that all over again.
We went down to Tommy’s classroom and the teacher automatically knew who Tommy was.
“Hi Tommy!” she said cheerfully.
Tommy looked at his feet. “Hi,” he mumbled.
“How was your summer?” she asked.
“Good.” (He said to the ground.)
“What did you do?”
“Um…I went to the…the…beach,” Tommy said, still looking down.
“Tommy. Eyes,” I reminded him gently. Sometimes he forgets all about eye contact and will have an entire conversation with his feet.
Tommy obligingly looked his teacher in the eye but his lips twisted in a way that told me he was uncomfortable. I don’t blame him. I don’t really like looking people in the eyes either. I usually speak to a person’s shoulder because the second I look into another person’s eyes, I get this bubble in the pit of my stomach. I’m 27 and I still have to tell my own self, “Amber. Eyes.”
“Well, if you can just fill this form out and Tommy, can you find your cubby and your desk?” the teacher instructed.
Tommy nodded shyly and started to look at the row of cubbies. “Found it!” he said, pointing to his name.
I filled out the paperwork and tried to hide my hairy toes. I didn’t want the teacher to think, “Okay, how can I remember all these parent’s names? Okay, right, Amber was the one with the hairy feet. The Hairy Feet Mom is Amber.”
Then the next time we meet she’ll be all, “Hi Hairy Fee—I mean, Amber!”
I hate being hirsute!
“I found my desk, Mommy,” Tommy said, settling down in the seat. But then he wrinkled his nose at the sign on it. “Mommy, it says Thomas. I’m not Thomas, I’m Tommy.”
“That’s because the teachers want you to be able to spell Thomas,” I explained.
Tommy sighed. “I do! It’s T-H-O-M-A-S!”
Er…
“Well, Thomas is your given name. Maybe when you’re older you’ll want to be called Thomas,” I tried again.
Tommy made a face as though I had just let out a loud fart. “No way! I’m Tommy!”
“Well, you know, Thomas Jefferson liked the name Thomas,” I reminded him. We’ve been studying the Presidents over the summer. He still can’t believe that someone shot Abraham Lincoln or that someone was actually called Rutherford.
“Mommy? Where’s my seat?” Natalie wondered beside me. She looked downright insulted that she didn’t have her own desk.
I squatted down to her level. “Well, you don’t have a seat because this isn’t your classroom,” I said gently.
Natalie stomped her foot. “Where MY desk?” she demanded.
“Sweetie, I just told you. You don’t have a desk because this isn’t your classroom,” I repeated.
Natalie started to cry. “Where MY desk?” she sobbed pitifully.
She so wants to go to school. When she turns 3 I’m going to see about enrolling her in preschool two times a week.
Natalie was still pouting as I picked her up and walked around the room.
“Me! Me!” Natalie suddenly shrieked, waving her finger wildly.
I had no idea what she was talking about. I thought she still wanted a desk so I stroked her head and said soothingly, “I know.”
“Me! ME!” Natalie said again.
I followed her finger and realized she was pointing to a desk that had Natalie written on it.
“Well, that’s not really your desk,” I said thinking to myself, “Holy crap, my kid is a genius!” (Even though she totally likes putting her mini potty on her head but let’s forget about that…)
“Natalie! Natalie!” Natalie practically screamed.
After that we were able to walk around the school. I did that even though Tommy knows where everything is. Everyone kept saying hi to him and I’d just softly remind him about his eyes.
“You feel comfortable about school?” I asked Tommy before we left.
He nodded. “I’m all ready!”
So we walked out to the parking lot, which was a total zoo. People were making up their own parking spots because there were no spaces left. Getting out was horrible—I tend to break down in difficult situations and I tried not to burst into tears when I tried to back out of my spot. This truck had just parked haphazardly behind me so it didn’t give me a lot of space to get out. Then there was a car who wanted my spot and the lady kept gesturing to me to hurry up which made me want to give her the finger but I didn’t because I had kids in the backseat.
I eventually made it out and rewarded myself with Burger King.
“Second grade is tomorrow!” Tommy said happily.
“Yup. Second grade is tomorrow.” I looked in the rearview mirror at my baby boy who isn’t really a baby anymore and sighed. “Second grade,” I said softly. “Please be good to my boy…”
I peered down at my flip flops and saw it. The hairs. On my big toe. Normally I remember to shave my toes because fine, I’m hairy. My Mom would always embrace me when I’d bemoan this fact and say in a singsong voice, “We’re just a hirsute family!”
Let me tell you, it’s not easy to be hirsute during the summer. You have to constantly check to make sure you aren’t sprouting hair in places that are frowned upon for women. Like toes. Oh sure, it’s perfectly acceptable for guys to sport jungle feet but if a woman does it then it obviously means she doesn’t love herself enough or something.
This just isn’t true for me.
No, my problem was that I forgot because I’ve been under stress thanks to the upcoming move to Montana.
“What happened, Mommy?” Tommy asked from the backseat.
“I have hairy toes!” I moaned, throwing my hands in the air.
Tommy blinked at me. Since he’s a boy, he’s allowed to have hair wherever he wants so he didn’t understand.
I started to worry that Tommy would be mocked for having a Hairy Mommy.
“Was that a caterpillar on your Mom’s feet?” I pictured his friends taunting.
I mean, the hair wasn’t that thick. It was just a couple of strands. But still. Not attractive. I suddenly had the bright idea that I could pluck them out but when I reached down to try, I only managed to curl one when I tugged at it.
They weren’t budging.
“Why don’t I carry a razor with me?” I muttered, digging through my purse as though my Venus razor was going to magically pop up. Really, I carry so much crap in my purse so why SHOULDN’T my razor be in there?
“Can we go in now?” Tommy begged, getting antsy. He shifted in his seat with his school supplies sitting on his lap.
I sighed. “I guess so. There’s nothing I can do about my feet now.”
We walked in the school and I longed to shield my toes as we stood in line to find out who Tommy’s teacher would be. I mean, I knew everyone would be busy inside, perhaps even too busy to look at my hairy feet, but I do know there are some women who give The Once Over which is basically a quick scan from head to toe. I never bother with it because I’m not into fashion. But there are ladies who are and I’ve noticed them giving me The Once Over and usually they wrinkle their noses slightly because I’m usually clad in a t-shirt with a funny saying (Like my Happy Bunny “Boys are Funny when they try to think”) and Mudd jeans that I picked up from the Juniors Department.
Everyone at the school knows who Tommy is. I’d like to say it’s because he’s such a great kid. But really, it’s because he threw horrible fits in Kindergarten. No one knew what was going on with him. The school called me on a weekly basis to the point where I’d begin to dread the ringing of the telephone. I attended more meetings than I care to remember. It’s not easy sitting there surrounded by a bunch of professionals who are telling you that something is wrong with your kid.
It turns out Tommy has Asperger’s Syndrome which is a form of autism. That’s topped off with Sensory Processing Disorder and ADHD. He’s a great kid but if there is too much going on in his world, he shuts down which is what happened in Kindergarten. He’s doing much better now because he’s pulled out into the Resource Room for Reading and Math where he was able to thrive.
So yes, this is why everyone knows who Tommy is. And I mean everyone down to the cafeteria lady. This is another reason why I’m upset that we’re moving. Everyone knows how Tommy works here. When we get to the new school we have to go through that all over again.
We went down to Tommy’s classroom and the teacher automatically knew who Tommy was.
“Hi Tommy!” she said cheerfully.
Tommy looked at his feet. “Hi,” he mumbled.
“How was your summer?” she asked.
“Good.” (He said to the ground.)
“What did you do?”
“Um…I went to the…the…beach,” Tommy said, still looking down.
“Tommy. Eyes,” I reminded him gently. Sometimes he forgets all about eye contact and will have an entire conversation with his feet.
Tommy obligingly looked his teacher in the eye but his lips twisted in a way that told me he was uncomfortable. I don’t blame him. I don’t really like looking people in the eyes either. I usually speak to a person’s shoulder because the second I look into another person’s eyes, I get this bubble in the pit of my stomach. I’m 27 and I still have to tell my own self, “Amber. Eyes.”
“Well, if you can just fill this form out and Tommy, can you find your cubby and your desk?” the teacher instructed.
Tommy nodded shyly and started to look at the row of cubbies. “Found it!” he said, pointing to his name.
I filled out the paperwork and tried to hide my hairy toes. I didn’t want the teacher to think, “Okay, how can I remember all these parent’s names? Okay, right, Amber was the one with the hairy feet. The Hairy Feet Mom is Amber.”
Then the next time we meet she’ll be all, “Hi Hairy Fee—I mean, Amber!”
I hate being hirsute!
“I found my desk, Mommy,” Tommy said, settling down in the seat. But then he wrinkled his nose at the sign on it. “Mommy, it says Thomas. I’m not Thomas, I’m Tommy.”
“That’s because the teachers want you to be able to spell Thomas,” I explained.
Tommy sighed. “I do! It’s T-H-O-M-A-S!”
Er…
“Well, Thomas is your given name. Maybe when you’re older you’ll want to be called Thomas,” I tried again.
Tommy made a face as though I had just let out a loud fart. “No way! I’m Tommy!”
“Well, you know, Thomas Jefferson liked the name Thomas,” I reminded him. We’ve been studying the Presidents over the summer. He still can’t believe that someone shot Abraham Lincoln or that someone was actually called Rutherford.
“Mommy? Where’s my seat?” Natalie wondered beside me. She looked downright insulted that she didn’t have her own desk.
I squatted down to her level. “Well, you don’t have a seat because this isn’t your classroom,” I said gently.
Natalie stomped her foot. “Where MY desk?” she demanded.
“Sweetie, I just told you. You don’t have a desk because this isn’t your classroom,” I repeated.
Natalie started to cry. “Where MY desk?” she sobbed pitifully.
She so wants to go to school. When she turns 3 I’m going to see about enrolling her in preschool two times a week.
Natalie was still pouting as I picked her up and walked around the room.
“Me! Me!” Natalie suddenly shrieked, waving her finger wildly.
I had no idea what she was talking about. I thought she still wanted a desk so I stroked her head and said soothingly, “I know.”
“Me! ME!” Natalie said again.
I followed her finger and realized she was pointing to a desk that had Natalie written on it.
“Well, that’s not really your desk,” I said thinking to myself, “Holy crap, my kid is a genius!” (Even though she totally likes putting her mini potty on her head but let’s forget about that…)
“Natalie! Natalie!” Natalie practically screamed.
After that we were able to walk around the school. I did that even though Tommy knows where everything is. Everyone kept saying hi to him and I’d just softly remind him about his eyes.
“You feel comfortable about school?” I asked Tommy before we left.
He nodded. “I’m all ready!”
So we walked out to the parking lot, which was a total zoo. People were making up their own parking spots because there were no spaces left. Getting out was horrible—I tend to break down in difficult situations and I tried not to burst into tears when I tried to back out of my spot. This truck had just parked haphazardly behind me so it didn’t give me a lot of space to get out. Then there was a car who wanted my spot and the lady kept gesturing to me to hurry up which made me want to give her the finger but I didn’t because I had kids in the backseat.
I eventually made it out and rewarded myself with Burger King.
“Second grade is tomorrow!” Tommy said happily.
“Yup. Second grade is tomorrow.” I looked in the rearview mirror at my baby boy who isn’t really a baby anymore and sighed. “Second grade,” I said softly. “Please be good to my boy…”
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Score One For the Team
Football season is fast approaching...so be sure to checkout the Football Carnival: Score for Your Team!!! There is going to be a blogging carnival and what a great way for Alabama bloggers to get to know each other better. And with football season fast approaching, there is no more fitting of an Alabama Bloggers celebratory event than to have a big ole football blog carnival! Sound like fun? I think it will be so you have to go the Alabama Bloggers site and check out the rules and grab your teams button. Alabama is noted for its huge football rivalry. When I first moved here and started teaching my kids would ask me each year who I was for. I am from South Florida....we are not "for" anyone. I ended up graduating from Auburn twice, and Alabama...so I guess my loyalty lies with the orange and blue.
In great anticipation of football season, the Alabama Bloggers site will be having a link-up carnival on Monday, August 31st - the week of the season opener games! AND, Rachel will be keeping score to see which team has the most blogger support - Alabama or Auburn!...so next Monday be sure you check this site out and earn your team a point! WAR EAGLE!
No More Salsa Before Bed!!!!!
I had a sinking moment last night and was still hungry when we got home from the meeting we had attended....so I ate some chips and salsa. What was I thinking??? I know I am not supposed to eat corn....but I was hungry...and I only had 15 chips...and counted the calories...but the cilantro and spices in that salsa did a major number on me. I had nightmares all night long. My first nightmare was my little sweet dachy Beau....turned into a rabid Pit Bull that would not let me off my bed...and I could not get to my parents to save them. I woke up in a sweat only to find Beau peacefully sleeping at the foot of my bed. Whew....back to sleep and on to nightmare number two....my house was overtaken with snakes...they were everywhere. I tried to wake Frank up...but a giant anaconda was wrapped around him. Back to sleep and the worst of all the nightmares....I dreamed my dad was at my bedside...telling me he had to go....and asking me to take care of my mom. I woke up physically crying this time. I got up and went and checked on him...he was breathing easy and sound asleep. After nightmare number three....I gave it up for the night. Moral of this story....if you don't eat enough at dinner....don't eat salsa before going to bed....an easy rest will not be found. I may never eat salsa again...and before last night I loved the stuff. Curses on you salsa! Griefus....tonight I am eating oatmeal!
This Is.....
This picture surprised me. Can anyone explain to me why this Mom is being so mean to the delicious treat monster?
What did it ever do to her?
This is my Mom's wedding dress. I love it. I imagine it could be something worn around Henry VIII's time.
This is my Dad at the beach. He's like a big kid.
This is my Mom. She loves bugs, horses and plants.
This is me at the beach. I get cranky when I'm hot. And no, I did not plan on Natalie and I matching. It just happened like that.
This is my husband Tom. He plans on scaring off Natalie's dates by cleaning his shot gun when they stop by to pick her up.
This is Natalie. She doesn't mind getting dirty.
This is Tommy. He starts second grade tomorrow. Where does the time go?
Monday, August 24, 2009
Another One of Life's Disappointing Moments....or Was It?
Life is what you make of it. I have this lesson ingrained in my very core of being....but Saturday night something happened that really shook me up and rocked my world. I am part of a catering team....and we did the 1969 Benjamin Russell (the school where I teach) 40 year class reunion. It never occurred to me who might...or might not be there...a couple of hours before the shindig I found out that my very first real big girl crush, Steve McLeod, was going to be there...with a guest. For two hours I worried about...Was it his wife? What was she like? What was HE like? I have not seen or heard from this guy in almost 30 years. I was a nervous wreck. My partner and I set up, changed into our work clothes, and the crowd began to arrive...I looked towards the door a few times....and all of a sudden, there he was. He looked older than he did last time I saw him...but he was still Steve. I would have known him anywhere. My heart dropped to my feet. I could not breathe...or move. I finally made it back to the prep area....to get myself pulled together. Then it happened. I walked out of the prep room, almost ran into him...and realized...he had no clue who I was...or that he even knew me. I was crushed. In my mind I guess he would see me across a crowded room...know me instantly....and we would pick up as if 30 years had not passed....but that is not what happened. I passed him several times during the evening....and he looked for a name tag...I wasn't wearing because I was the caterer...and he had a confused look on his face...as if he was trying to pull me somewhere from the bowels of his memory. So much for lost love and it does not say much for me being unforgettable...curse you Nat King Cole. I went home and told my husband a modified version of the story...he said...why didn't you tell him who you were....well...leave it to a man to come up with an answer like that. I did not tell him who I was....because I wanted him to remember me. Nuff said? So...ladies if you feel you are unforgetable....don't kid yourselves...guys are not like us. (I know that is a sexist remark....but from the men I know...it is pretty close to accurate.) Happy Magical Monday.
The Air Force is Trying to Freeze Us
When Tom first told me we were moving to Montana, I didn’t take the news well. I had been keeping my fingers crossed for a base in Texas or Ohio so we could be near family. I wouldn’t have objected to Florida or anyplace warm, really.
“Is the Air Force trying to freeze us to death or something? What’s with all these cold bases?” I had fumed.
This is where we’ve been so far:
Nebraska (cold)
England (cold and bloody overcast half the time)
Wyoming (cold and windy)
Montana (COLD!)
Are you noticing a pattern? Because I certainly am. What does the Air Force have against sending us to a place where we can wear short sleeved shirts all year long?
Whenever Tom tells someone where we’re moving to they always toss us sympathetic looks. One guy even sucked in his breath sharply and went, “That sucks.” Malmstrom, the base we’re going to, is known for being small with nothing much to do.
Oh, I suppose there is plenty to do if you like to be outdoors.
Which I do not.
There is fishing, which I suppose I could try. But then my mind with inevitably wander and I’ll be like, “Lalala, is this fish ever going to bite and why oh why doesn’t Malmstrom have a Kohls around it?” I’m still in disbelief over that one. I’m not going to even go into the fact that there is no Gymboree or Toys R Us because it’ll just upset me all over again.
Tom reminds me that I can shop online but his Man Mind doesn’t understand that actually shopping in a store is part of the fun. He doesn’t get the thrill of pushing through clothes on a rack and getting to walk out with a bag of new purchases.
People camp in Montana because the scenery is beautiful. I don’t really mind camping but it’s just not my favorite thing to do. I’m petrified of bugs and bugs come with camping. Just the other day this grasshopper leaped up and bounced off my cheek and I started to screech, “The fucker tried to attack me!” while wiping my face off frantically as though it left behind a trail of piss. If I react like that to a GRASSHOPPER, imagine how I’ll behave if we come across a bear.
My patience is thin lately because moving stresses me out. I constantly worry that the movers will steal something—really, I could care less if they steal something of mine but suppose they take Natalie’s Gymboree clothes? Or all those toys I bought from the Target toy sale for Christmas? What if they take some of the Christmas decorations that I’ve been working so hard to build up? Suppose they break our furniture? I’ve been chewing my nails more often than usual which I know is a disgusting habit but I can’t help it. My fingers inevitably end up in my mouth as soon as I think about moving to a place I don’t even want to go.
Tom has been bothering me. He plays this computer game (Company of Heroes) online and he wears these headphones that he can talk into so he can communicate with the other players. I’ll be sitting on the couch, which is less than five feet away from the computer and I’ll have to hear him go, “We’re screwed…we’re screwed!” every few seconds. Then it’ll be silent again and Tom will suddenly yell, “There’s a sniper, there’s a sniper!” and nearly make me jump out of my skin.
Yesterday I had enough. I went over, lifted up one of his earpieces and said sweetly into his ear, “You’re bugging the crap out of me.”
Then we went to Wal-Mart and Tom practically went into convulsions when he saw the movie Patton.
“This is the best movie ever, I’m going to get it, it is such a great movie, things blow up, blah blah blah…”
“Fine, get it,” I said blankly. I suppose my voice set Tom off because he went, “Fine, I won’t get it,” and I went, “I SAID get it!” Then Tom grabbed the DVD and said, “Well, I do deserve it since I let you get that vest.”
“The vest wasn’t for me, Tom,” I sighed.
It was this vest:
For Natalie.
And can you BLAME me? Is that not the cutest vest ever?
On the way home Tom suddenly said, “Oh, do we have Miracle Whip for my sandwiches at work tomorrow?” He had just bought some lunch meat and cheese at Wal-Mart.
“I don’t know. We have mayo for sure,” I replied.
Tom made a face. “Mayo. Gross! I only can have Miracle Whip or forget the sandwiches.”
Sometimes married to the Pickiest Man Ever wears on a person’s patience. Especially if said person’s patience is already stretched thin.
“Just use the mayo, Tom,” I said through gritted teeth.
“I don’t like mayo,” Tom pouted.
I threw my hands up in the air. “Well I don’t like the fact that we’re going to Montana but I have to deal with it, don’t I?”
That shut Tom up. He mashed his lips together in a tight line and drove home with his fists clenched against the wheel.
When we got home he asked, “Are you going to be like this until we move in November?”
“Probably,” I answered. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Then a few minutes later I felt guilty and apologized.
“I’m still getting used to the idea of Montana and I’m worried the movers will SOS,” I explained.
Tom raised an eyebrow. “SOS?” he questioned.
“Steal our stuff. It’s my code. So when the movers come I’ll say, “Tom, watch the movers so they don’t SOS,” and they won’t know what I’m talking about. Because if they hear me talking about being paranoid about them taking our stuff they’ll probably do it out of spite,” I said with a sharp nod.
Tom still looked confused. “You’re a strange one, Amber. But I like that you’re not snapping at me now so I’ll just let it go..."
“Is the Air Force trying to freeze us to death or something? What’s with all these cold bases?” I had fumed.
This is where we’ve been so far:
Nebraska (cold)
England (cold and bloody overcast half the time)
Wyoming (cold and windy)
Montana (COLD!)
Are you noticing a pattern? Because I certainly am. What does the Air Force have against sending us to a place where we can wear short sleeved shirts all year long?
Whenever Tom tells someone where we’re moving to they always toss us sympathetic looks. One guy even sucked in his breath sharply and went, “That sucks.” Malmstrom, the base we’re going to, is known for being small with nothing much to do.
Oh, I suppose there is plenty to do if you like to be outdoors.
Which I do not.
There is fishing, which I suppose I could try. But then my mind with inevitably wander and I’ll be like, “Lalala, is this fish ever going to bite and why oh why doesn’t Malmstrom have a Kohls around it?” I’m still in disbelief over that one. I’m not going to even go into the fact that there is no Gymboree or Toys R Us because it’ll just upset me all over again.
Tom reminds me that I can shop online but his Man Mind doesn’t understand that actually shopping in a store is part of the fun. He doesn’t get the thrill of pushing through clothes on a rack and getting to walk out with a bag of new purchases.
People camp in Montana because the scenery is beautiful. I don’t really mind camping but it’s just not my favorite thing to do. I’m petrified of bugs and bugs come with camping. Just the other day this grasshopper leaped up and bounced off my cheek and I started to screech, “The fucker tried to attack me!” while wiping my face off frantically as though it left behind a trail of piss. If I react like that to a GRASSHOPPER, imagine how I’ll behave if we come across a bear.
My patience is thin lately because moving stresses me out. I constantly worry that the movers will steal something—really, I could care less if they steal something of mine but suppose they take Natalie’s Gymboree clothes? Or all those toys I bought from the Target toy sale for Christmas? What if they take some of the Christmas decorations that I’ve been working so hard to build up? Suppose they break our furniture? I’ve been chewing my nails more often than usual which I know is a disgusting habit but I can’t help it. My fingers inevitably end up in my mouth as soon as I think about moving to a place I don’t even want to go.
Tom has been bothering me. He plays this computer game (Company of Heroes) online and he wears these headphones that he can talk into so he can communicate with the other players. I’ll be sitting on the couch, which is less than five feet away from the computer and I’ll have to hear him go, “We’re screwed…we’re screwed!” every few seconds. Then it’ll be silent again and Tom will suddenly yell, “There’s a sniper, there’s a sniper!” and nearly make me jump out of my skin.
Yesterday I had enough. I went over, lifted up one of his earpieces and said sweetly into his ear, “You’re bugging the crap out of me.”
Then we went to Wal-Mart and Tom practically went into convulsions when he saw the movie Patton.
“This is the best movie ever, I’m going to get it, it is such a great movie, things blow up, blah blah blah…”
“Fine, get it,” I said blankly. I suppose my voice set Tom off because he went, “Fine, I won’t get it,” and I went, “I SAID get it!” Then Tom grabbed the DVD and said, “Well, I do deserve it since I let you get that vest.”
“The vest wasn’t for me, Tom,” I sighed.
It was this vest:
For Natalie.
And can you BLAME me? Is that not the cutest vest ever?
On the way home Tom suddenly said, “Oh, do we have Miracle Whip for my sandwiches at work tomorrow?” He had just bought some lunch meat and cheese at Wal-Mart.
“I don’t know. We have mayo for sure,” I replied.
Tom made a face. “Mayo. Gross! I only can have Miracle Whip or forget the sandwiches.”
Sometimes married to the Pickiest Man Ever wears on a person’s patience. Especially if said person’s patience is already stretched thin.
“Just use the mayo, Tom,” I said through gritted teeth.
“I don’t like mayo,” Tom pouted.
I threw my hands up in the air. “Well I don’t like the fact that we’re going to Montana but I have to deal with it, don’t I?”
That shut Tom up. He mashed his lips together in a tight line and drove home with his fists clenched against the wheel.
When we got home he asked, “Are you going to be like this until we move in November?”
“Probably,” I answered. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Then a few minutes later I felt guilty and apologized.
“I’m still getting used to the idea of Montana and I’m worried the movers will SOS,” I explained.
Tom raised an eyebrow. “SOS?” he questioned.
“Steal our stuff. It’s my code. So when the movers come I’ll say, “Tom, watch the movers so they don’t SOS,” and they won’t know what I’m talking about. Because if they hear me talking about being paranoid about them taking our stuff they’ll probably do it out of spite,” I said with a sharp nod.
Tom still looked confused. “You’re a strange one, Amber. But I like that you’re not snapping at me now so I’ll just let it go..."
Monday, Monday
Monday's child is fair of face. No matter how we try and stop it...Monday always comes around and sometimes turns out like we don't want it to. I am one of the fortunate ones...Monday is usually good to me. It is all I hoped it would be....but I also learned a long time ago....that that statement is only true if you believe. Monday can be however you want it to be. I choose to make it a red letter day...and it usually is. Thank goodness. Well, Monday, Monday by the Mamas and the Papas, wraps up my week of song titles. I know you are either...very glad....or kind of sad. I will miss the researching...but I am ready to move on to something else...I am not usually a series kind of girl...this was a stretch for me...but it was fun. With that I wish to leave you with the following: May your day be touched by a bit of Irish luck, brightened by a song in your heart, and warmed by the smiles of the people you love. Have a Happy and Magical Monday!
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Sunday Morning is Coming Down
Today is Sunday and my favorite day of the week. Most of you know that I go to church on Sunday in two places...and love it! I enjoy the heck out of spending my day worshipping...so the song I picked today is a real study of conflicts. The Kris Kristopherson song I chose is one I really like...it is one of deep hurt and pain and sometimes we, as Christians, have to understand that in the real world...everyone does not love Sunday's like we do. The words remind me that somewhere...in the shadow of the steeples I worship under...there are people like this and it makes me kind of sad to know that that is true. So on this glorious day...pause for a minute and if you are a praying person...pray for those in the world that are hurting, hungry, have no shelter, are abused, are searching, are lost....and if that descibes you....then feel good...somebody is praying for you. Can you feel it? God loves you all and so do I
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Saturday....Oh What to Do?
Saturday's child works hard for a living....but on Saturday...he plays. Ahhhh what to do....well it is a gorgeous sunny day...so let's go to the park and fly a kite. Today's song was a no-brainer for me. I love the group Chicago and have since they did their very first song. Saturday in the Park always made me feel happy when I was a teenager. So because today I want you to have a Happy Saturday I am sharing it with you. Enjoy todays contribution and know the week is almost over!
Friday, August 21, 2009
Dentists Are Fun???
“I can’t wait to go to the dentist,” my son Tommy told me the other day as we walked inside the dentist office.
I had to bite my lip to keep from saying, “Okay, what’s wrong with you?”
I hate the dentist. The dentist gives me panic attacks. Of course I hide my fear from my children which is why they enjoy going. I’ll lie through my teeth and say things like, “And remember, when you go to the dentist, you’ll get a STICKER and they’ll clean your teeth with delicious toothpaste!”
Delicious toothpaste my ass. I love when the dentist says, “Okay, this is bubble gum flavored,” and then he or she puts it in your mouth and it tastes nothing like bubble gum. Instead it tastes like rotten meat loaf.
“Remember Tommy, when the dentist asks if you floss, what do you say?” I pressed as we pushed open the door.
“I’ll say I do,” Tommy answered with a grin.
Okay. Lying is wrong. I know it. And technically, it’s not a lie. Tommy does floss. Only it’s once per week. If that.
We checked in and when Tommy was called back he gave me a thumbs up.
“Here I go!” he said cheerfully.
Seriously, did he really come from my dentist-fearing vagina? Because whenever I was called back to see the dentist I nearly dissolved into tears and latched onto my parent’s ankles in fear.
Natalie was called back a few minutes later. I went back with her. We were led into a room and Natalie immediately climbed onto my lap and buried her face in my shoulder as the hygienist cooed at her.
“Are you ready to get your teeth cleaned?” she kept asking.
Natalie responded by digging her nose deeper in my flesh. She’s been going through a shy phase and doesn’t much like strangers to address her. Basically if you’re not in our gene pool, she wants nothing to do with you at the moment.
The hygienist got all the equipment that the dentist would need out and then chirped that he’d be in shortly. From my chair I could hear Tommy in the X-Ray room. The hygienists were telling him to bite down, to not move, NO, don’t push it out with your tongue….
Tommy always has issues with the X-Ray. He has my gag reflex and will quickly try to push the offending object out and then will be politely admonished for it. Normally it probably takes kids less than five minutes to get the X-Rays done.
It takes my son over ten.
He eventually gets it but it just takes awhile. Usually all the available hygienists have to go in the room and try and distract Tommy so he won’t push the trays from his mouth.
I have the same problem. I’ll start to gag and make choking noises as the thing is pressed against my teeth.
Tommy was finishing up as the dentist strolled in the room. He carried Natalie’s chart and beamed at us. The dentist is this older guy, probably in his late fifties with thinning gray hair.
“How are you, young lady?” he asked Natalie and reached out and rubbed her leg.
Natalie made a hissing sound.
“So how are things?” the dentist wondered.
“Great,” I said even though it was a lie. Things haven’t been great. We’re moving to Montana. To another missile base. The Air Force is screwing us over and they don’t even care. We have to go through another move and Tommy will miss a few days of school and he can’t afford to miss any days because he tends to forget things and then will get frustrated.
Then I had to tilt Natalie’s head back into the dentist’s lap so he could check out her teeth. First he counted them and then started spitting out dentist codes to the hygienist. I think he said something like, “Okay she has A through F,” or some nonsense that meant nothing to me.
“Does she have her two year old molars yet?” I inquired. I had been curious because there have been days where Natalie will just whine and I’ll assume it’s her teeth.
“Not yet,” the dentist said.
Oh. I guess that’s just Natalie’s personality then.
Natalie was doing fine at first. She allowed the dentist to count her teeth and poke at them. But when it came time to clean them, she flipped the crap out. She started thrashing in his lap and tried to bat his hand away.
“Natalie. Let the dentist do his job,” I said sternly and then hummed the McDonalds theme song as a reminder that if she was good, she’d get a delicious McGriddle for breakfast.
Natalie brightened at the thought of McDonalds. She calmed down as the dentist brushed her teeth—but then I saw an evil glint in her eye and the dentist’s gloved fingers were in her mouth again as he flossed.
“Natalie,” I warned. I knew that look. She was up to no good.
And then...
“OUCH!” the dentist shrieked, pulling his hands from her mouth and shaking them. “She bit me!”
Natalie looked quite pleased with herself.
“Natalie,” I admonished even though I was secretly thinking, “Good on you. Get those evil dentists with their rotten meat loaf flavored toothpaste.”
“I’m sorry,” I felt the need to apologize as the dentist winced. “She’s just…well, she’s two.” I shrugged palms upward.
The dentist regained his composure. “That’s okay. It happens.” He grinned at Natalie but it appeared to be forced. When he was finished he said that Natalie had no cavities and that her teeth looked great.
“Goodbye, little biter,” he told Natalie, who made another hissing sound at him.
Then we headed into the back where Tommy was finishing up. I sat down across from him right as the hygienist said, “And do you brush you teeth at least twice per day?”
Tommy nodded.
“Do you floss?” she continued.
Tommy tossed me a Look before saying, “Yup.”
(Again. Not a total lie. He does floss. When he remembers.)
“Good news, Mom,” the hygienist told me, scribbling something down in his chart. I tried not to make a face at this. I detest when people just call me Mom as though that’s my only identity now. My name is Amber. I am a mother and proud to be one, but I am also Amber, the chocoholic who loves to read and hopes to publish a novel one day.
“No cavities,” the hygienist continued. “His teeth look fantastic.”
“Because I don’t drink juice OR soda!” Tommy said proudly.
The hygienist looked startled. “Is that true?” She looked at me with eyebrows raised. Most people are always stunned when they hear that.
“It’s true,” I confirmed.
My son has always been different. He’s never liked juice or soda. He only wants to drink water. We were at a restaurant once and the waitress accidentally brought over juice when he had requested water. Tommy took one sip and blanched as though he had just sipped oil. “This is awful,” he gasped, shoving it away. “I need water!”
Then the kids each got to pick out a small toy. The dentist came in as Natalie chose a plastic elephant and said, “Now, if you bite me next time young lady, you can’t pick out a toy.” He wagged his finger and Natalie just wrinkled her nose at him.
We headed out to the reception area where I was meant to make another appointment in six months. Instead I sighed and went, “Actually, we’re moving in November. So I won’t need to make an appointment.” I nearly cried as I said this. “So can I just have their charts now?” My voice started to come out all scratchy so I had to swallow quickly.
I still can’t believe the Air Force is doing this to us. Sending us to a crappy base. When do we finally get a break?
I was given their charts. “Well, we’re sorry you’re leaving,” the perky receptionist told me.
“Me too,” I croaked out. She has no idea how sorry.
I drove to McDonalds next. When the yellow arches came to view Natalie pointed from her car seat and yelled, “DaDonalds! DADONALDS!”
When I got into the drive thru lane Natalie was all, “Fries? Fries?” even though I had explained several times that there were no fries before 1030.
“You can have a hash brown. Basically the same thing,” I explained as I pulled up to grab the food. I ordered a large hot chocolate to cheer me up.
As soon as I got the food I handed Natalie her hash brown.
“Fries? Fries? Mommy, I want FRIES!” she screeched, hurling the hash brown past my head.
“There are no fries!” I replied as the hash brown bounced off the radio and slithered down into a cup holder.
When we got home I tried to get Natalie interested in her food but she just poked at it.
“Fries?” she said pathetically. “Fries?”
This meant that I not only ate my McGriddle, but hers as well because you can’t let good food go to waste. This meant that I couldn’t have lunch because I had already had at least 1000 calories for breakfast which meant that I was in a foul mood by the afternoon.
When Tom came home from work he asked how the dentist appointments went.
“Natalie bit the dentist!” Tommy offered and then started laughing.
Natalie bared her teeth at this and went, “I bite!”
Do I have a toddler or a vampire? Sometimes I wonder...
I had to bite my lip to keep from saying, “Okay, what’s wrong with you?”
I hate the dentist. The dentist gives me panic attacks. Of course I hide my fear from my children which is why they enjoy going. I’ll lie through my teeth and say things like, “And remember, when you go to the dentist, you’ll get a STICKER and they’ll clean your teeth with delicious toothpaste!”
Delicious toothpaste my ass. I love when the dentist says, “Okay, this is bubble gum flavored,” and then he or she puts it in your mouth and it tastes nothing like bubble gum. Instead it tastes like rotten meat loaf.
“Remember Tommy, when the dentist asks if you floss, what do you say?” I pressed as we pushed open the door.
“I’ll say I do,” Tommy answered with a grin.
Okay. Lying is wrong. I know it. And technically, it’s not a lie. Tommy does floss. Only it’s once per week. If that.
We checked in and when Tommy was called back he gave me a thumbs up.
“Here I go!” he said cheerfully.
Seriously, did he really come from my dentist-fearing vagina? Because whenever I was called back to see the dentist I nearly dissolved into tears and latched onto my parent’s ankles in fear.
Natalie was called back a few minutes later. I went back with her. We were led into a room and Natalie immediately climbed onto my lap and buried her face in my shoulder as the hygienist cooed at her.
“Are you ready to get your teeth cleaned?” she kept asking.
Natalie responded by digging her nose deeper in my flesh. She’s been going through a shy phase and doesn’t much like strangers to address her. Basically if you’re not in our gene pool, she wants nothing to do with you at the moment.
The hygienist got all the equipment that the dentist would need out and then chirped that he’d be in shortly. From my chair I could hear Tommy in the X-Ray room. The hygienists were telling him to bite down, to not move, NO, don’t push it out with your tongue….
Tommy always has issues with the X-Ray. He has my gag reflex and will quickly try to push the offending object out and then will be politely admonished for it. Normally it probably takes kids less than five minutes to get the X-Rays done.
It takes my son over ten.
He eventually gets it but it just takes awhile. Usually all the available hygienists have to go in the room and try and distract Tommy so he won’t push the trays from his mouth.
I have the same problem. I’ll start to gag and make choking noises as the thing is pressed against my teeth.
Tommy was finishing up as the dentist strolled in the room. He carried Natalie’s chart and beamed at us. The dentist is this older guy, probably in his late fifties with thinning gray hair.
“How are you, young lady?” he asked Natalie and reached out and rubbed her leg.
Natalie made a hissing sound.
“So how are things?” the dentist wondered.
“Great,” I said even though it was a lie. Things haven’t been great. We’re moving to Montana. To another missile base. The Air Force is screwing us over and they don’t even care. We have to go through another move and Tommy will miss a few days of school and he can’t afford to miss any days because he tends to forget things and then will get frustrated.
Then I had to tilt Natalie’s head back into the dentist’s lap so he could check out her teeth. First he counted them and then started spitting out dentist codes to the hygienist. I think he said something like, “Okay she has A through F,” or some nonsense that meant nothing to me.
“Does she have her two year old molars yet?” I inquired. I had been curious because there have been days where Natalie will just whine and I’ll assume it’s her teeth.
“Not yet,” the dentist said.
Oh. I guess that’s just Natalie’s personality then.
Natalie was doing fine at first. She allowed the dentist to count her teeth and poke at them. But when it came time to clean them, she flipped the crap out. She started thrashing in his lap and tried to bat his hand away.
“Natalie. Let the dentist do his job,” I said sternly and then hummed the McDonalds theme song as a reminder that if she was good, she’d get a delicious McGriddle for breakfast.
Natalie brightened at the thought of McDonalds. She calmed down as the dentist brushed her teeth—but then I saw an evil glint in her eye and the dentist’s gloved fingers were in her mouth again as he flossed.
“Natalie,” I warned. I knew that look. She was up to no good.
And then...
“OUCH!” the dentist shrieked, pulling his hands from her mouth and shaking them. “She bit me!”
Natalie looked quite pleased with herself.
“Natalie,” I admonished even though I was secretly thinking, “Good on you. Get those evil dentists with their rotten meat loaf flavored toothpaste.”
“I’m sorry,” I felt the need to apologize as the dentist winced. “She’s just…well, she’s two.” I shrugged palms upward.
The dentist regained his composure. “That’s okay. It happens.” He grinned at Natalie but it appeared to be forced. When he was finished he said that Natalie had no cavities and that her teeth looked great.
“Goodbye, little biter,” he told Natalie, who made another hissing sound at him.
Then we headed into the back where Tommy was finishing up. I sat down across from him right as the hygienist said, “And do you brush you teeth at least twice per day?”
Tommy nodded.
“Do you floss?” she continued.
Tommy tossed me a Look before saying, “Yup.”
(Again. Not a total lie. He does floss. When he remembers.)
“Good news, Mom,” the hygienist told me, scribbling something down in his chart. I tried not to make a face at this. I detest when people just call me Mom as though that’s my only identity now. My name is Amber. I am a mother and proud to be one, but I am also Amber, the chocoholic who loves to read and hopes to publish a novel one day.
“No cavities,” the hygienist continued. “His teeth look fantastic.”
“Because I don’t drink juice OR soda!” Tommy said proudly.
The hygienist looked startled. “Is that true?” She looked at me with eyebrows raised. Most people are always stunned when they hear that.
“It’s true,” I confirmed.
My son has always been different. He’s never liked juice or soda. He only wants to drink water. We were at a restaurant once and the waitress accidentally brought over juice when he had requested water. Tommy took one sip and blanched as though he had just sipped oil. “This is awful,” he gasped, shoving it away. “I need water!”
Then the kids each got to pick out a small toy. The dentist came in as Natalie chose a plastic elephant and said, “Now, if you bite me next time young lady, you can’t pick out a toy.” He wagged his finger and Natalie just wrinkled her nose at him.
We headed out to the reception area where I was meant to make another appointment in six months. Instead I sighed and went, “Actually, we’re moving in November. So I won’t need to make an appointment.” I nearly cried as I said this. “So can I just have their charts now?” My voice started to come out all scratchy so I had to swallow quickly.
I still can’t believe the Air Force is doing this to us. Sending us to a crappy base. When do we finally get a break?
I was given their charts. “Well, we’re sorry you’re leaving,” the perky receptionist told me.
“Me too,” I croaked out. She has no idea how sorry.
I drove to McDonalds next. When the yellow arches came to view Natalie pointed from her car seat and yelled, “DaDonalds! DADONALDS!”
When I got into the drive thru lane Natalie was all, “Fries? Fries?” even though I had explained several times that there were no fries before 1030.
“You can have a hash brown. Basically the same thing,” I explained as I pulled up to grab the food. I ordered a large hot chocolate to cheer me up.
As soon as I got the food I handed Natalie her hash brown.
“Fries? Fries? Mommy, I want FRIES!” she screeched, hurling the hash brown past my head.
“There are no fries!” I replied as the hash brown bounced off the radio and slithered down into a cup holder.
When we got home I tried to get Natalie interested in her food but she just poked at it.
“Fries?” she said pathetically. “Fries?”
This meant that I not only ate my McGriddle, but hers as well because you can’t let good food go to waste. This meant that I couldn’t have lunch because I had already had at least 1000 calories for breakfast which meant that I was in a foul mood by the afternoon.
When Tom came home from work he asked how the dentist appointments went.
“Natalie bit the dentist!” Tommy offered and then started laughing.
Natalie bared her teeth at this and went, “I bite!”
Do I have a toddler or a vampire? Sometimes I wonder...
Friday is Truly on My Mind
Friday's child is loving and giving....and I have definitely got Friday on my mind. I am so excited. The weekend is almost here. I can't wait to get away from the school house and spend some quality time with my favorite person....ME! I am truly tired this week! It takes me about three weeks to build my stamina back up...so until then I drag home to lick my wounds and recouperate. I loved the Easy Beats back when they were popular and I also loved this song when it first came out. I used to sing it every Friday...I had all but forgotten about it until I decided to begin hunting for songs with days of the week in the titles and the song itself. I was sure glad I found it. Want to know what Saturday's song is gonna be? Come back tomorrow morning and see!
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Okay, School Can Start Now...
Ding Dong!
Ding Dong!
Ding Dong!
My doorbell seems to go nonstop some days. Of course it’s never John Krasinski coming to whisk me away. No, instead it’s a bunch of neighborhood kids asking if Tommy or Natalie can come out to play.
Yes. Natalie. My two year old. A bunch of third graders love to tote her around and pretend she’s their baby. This means I have to follow them even though they tell me, “You can go inside. We’ll watch her.” Um. I don’t think so. I let Natalie “play” with them because she seems so thrilled—“my friends, my friends are here!” Natalie will tell me when she sees them at the door.
Needless to say, at this point, I am sick of other people’s children. Can’t they go bug someone else?
The thing is, children seem to love me. So if they see me outside as I pretend to know how to grow things they’ll rush over and talk my ear off.
Really, I want to tell them that I could give a rat’s ass.
But I don’t. I just smile and nod as I pull out some weeds.
You know, I was planning on being a teacher. I was all set to get my degree in Early Childhood Education. But then I realized that I don’t really like other people’s children. Heck, sometimes I’m not even sure I like my own. So really, I’d have no business being a teacher because a teacher should be someone who adores children and can sit for hours listening to them prattle on about High School Musical.
I can’t even do that. The neighborhood girls, well, they all love Zac Efron so they always ask me, “Have you seen High School Musical?” even though I’ve told them no at least a dozen times.
“I think that movie would scare me,” I once said, wrinkling my nose at the thought of a bunch of high schoolers dancing around a gym.
“But why? It’s a great movie! You get to see Zac Efron,” I’m always reminded.
Sometimes I think there must be something wrong with me. There are grown adults who will happily sit and endure High School Musical. There are grown adults who actually ENJOY watching shows like iCarly. In fact, just the other day I was talking to a woman who lives on the street and she tapped her watch and went, “Oh shoot, I need to get inside. iCarly is about to start and I want to see if she ends up fighting that one boxer!”
I had to bite my tongue from saying, “Are you KIDDING me?”
I cannot stand children’s programming. If the kids want to watch, they can go upstairs.
I am just ready for school to start. It begins Wednesday, thank goodness.
Because not only do I get to deal with other people’s kids on a daily basis, I also get to hear the fighting that goes on between my own children.
Like yesterday Tommy decided that Natalie was not allowed in his room. He taped a sign to his door:
Yes, he misspelled Natalie’s name.
Of course Natalie kept trying to go into his room because usually he doesn’t care. But yesterday he’d throw a huge fit the second she stepped in.
“GET OUT! DID YOU NOT SEE THE SIGN?” he’d bellow.
“NO BROTHER!” Natalie would scream, equally loud.
It went like this most of the day. Then add the doorbell going off every few minutes.
Wednesday can’t come soon enough.
Ding Dong!
Ding Dong!
My doorbell seems to go nonstop some days. Of course it’s never John Krasinski coming to whisk me away. No, instead it’s a bunch of neighborhood kids asking if Tommy or Natalie can come out to play.
Yes. Natalie. My two year old. A bunch of third graders love to tote her around and pretend she’s their baby. This means I have to follow them even though they tell me, “You can go inside. We’ll watch her.” Um. I don’t think so. I let Natalie “play” with them because she seems so thrilled—“my friends, my friends are here!” Natalie will tell me when she sees them at the door.
Needless to say, at this point, I am sick of other people’s children. Can’t they go bug someone else?
The thing is, children seem to love me. So if they see me outside as I pretend to know how to grow things they’ll rush over and talk my ear off.
Really, I want to tell them that I could give a rat’s ass.
But I don’t. I just smile and nod as I pull out some weeds.
You know, I was planning on being a teacher. I was all set to get my degree in Early Childhood Education. But then I realized that I don’t really like other people’s children. Heck, sometimes I’m not even sure I like my own. So really, I’d have no business being a teacher because a teacher should be someone who adores children and can sit for hours listening to them prattle on about High School Musical.
I can’t even do that. The neighborhood girls, well, they all love Zac Efron so they always ask me, “Have you seen High School Musical?” even though I’ve told them no at least a dozen times.
“I think that movie would scare me,” I once said, wrinkling my nose at the thought of a bunch of high schoolers dancing around a gym.
“But why? It’s a great movie! You get to see Zac Efron,” I’m always reminded.
Sometimes I think there must be something wrong with me. There are grown adults who will happily sit and endure High School Musical. There are grown adults who actually ENJOY watching shows like iCarly. In fact, just the other day I was talking to a woman who lives on the street and she tapped her watch and went, “Oh shoot, I need to get inside. iCarly is about to start and I want to see if she ends up fighting that one boxer!”
I had to bite my tongue from saying, “Are you KIDDING me?”
I cannot stand children’s programming. If the kids want to watch, they can go upstairs.
I am just ready for school to start. It begins Wednesday, thank goodness.
Because not only do I get to deal with other people’s kids on a daily basis, I also get to hear the fighting that goes on between my own children.
Like yesterday Tommy decided that Natalie was not allowed in his room. He taped a sign to his door:
Yes, he misspelled Natalie’s name.
Of course Natalie kept trying to go into his room because usually he doesn’t care. But yesterday he’d throw a huge fit the second she stepped in.
“GET OUT! DID YOU NOT SEE THE SIGN?” he’d bellow.
“NO BROTHER!” Natalie would scream, equally loud.
It went like this most of the day. Then add the doorbell going off every few minutes.
Wednesday can’t come soon enough.
Thursday's Child
Thursday's child has far to go....and that would best sum up my life...the one who has never had anything easy happen or given to me. I have always had to work hard for everything....grades, life....it has never mattered...it has always been work! I have friends who go through life and they are given everything....the easy way...no effort involved on their part...they must be Sunday's children. Sigh...but with all this said...I have to admit that working hard all my life has made me appreciate the things I have managed to achieve. Today's song is called Thursday's Child...and for the second time this week is by someone from Ireland. There were several songs with that title...one of which was by David Bowie...I found it rather dark and sad...but this one actually talks about being a Thursday's child. I hope you enjoy it. I did. Bet you are dying to know what Friday is going to bring...huh?
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
No More Alien Shows
“Don’t watch it. You know you’ll scare yourself,” my husband warned me in an ominous tone.
I grasped the remote control. I had just finished witnessing a houseguest on the reality show Big Brother have a meltdown and I was on the search for something else to watch. What I had found was a show on ABC called The Outsiders and it was all about people who had an alien experience.
“I’ll be fine,” I assured Tom. I gestured to the screen. “It’s not scary at all.” But then the narrator mentioned that there was a video of an alien looking through a window and that sent shivers up my spine.
“Amber. I know how you get,” Tom tried again.
“I’m fine,” I said firmly as I watched twins talk about being abducted.
“Well, I’m going to bed so you’re on your own,” Tom said, heading up the stairs.
Wait! You can’t go to bed or else I’ll freak out!
I nearly shouted that. But then I swallowed it back. No. I had to show Tom that I could handle this. I’m a grown adult for goodness sakes.
I followed Tom upstairs to tell him goodnight after pausing my show. DVR is one of the greatest inventions ever.
“Tom,” I said as he climbed under the covers. “Were you ever briefed about aliens when you joined the Air Force?” I have it in my head that because he helps defend nuclear missiles that perhaps he was briefed about the fact that the military does not set them off if an extraterrestrial comes down. I picture Tom and a bunch of other soldiers being taken to an underground room and being forced to sign papers that say that they will never ever tell the world that aliens do in fact exist.
“You know I couldn’t tell you either way,” is always Tom’s response.
I always try to search his face for telltale signs that he’s lying. He usually smirks when he’s lying. But when I talk about aliens he always turns stoic. So that either means that A) aliens do not exist, he was never briefed on such or thing or B) aliens do exist, he was briefed but he’s not going to spill any news.
“Look, just wink if aliens exist,” I pressed. “Then you’re technically not telling me.”
I stared intently at Tom’s face, waiting.
I thought I saw one of his lashes flinch and bounced on the bed. “I saw that! You winked!”
Tom frowned. “I did not.”
“You did, you did!”
“NO I DIDN’T!”
Oh. Well.
“I think the military told you about aliens but you can’t say or else there would be a public hysteria or something,” I said diplomatically.
Tom shrugged. “Who knows?”
He’s frustrating. He’ll never let anything out.
I told him goodnight and went down to watch my show.
Everything was fine at first. But then one of the people on the show claimed he had an actual picture of an alien. Of course it looked fake and I tried to remind myself that it couldn’t be real—but then I glanced up at the little window near our front door and I swore I saw a face looking in.
“Leave me alone,” I squeaked, and curled up in a ball.
I turned off the show after that and put it on Chelsea Lately so I could laugh. This helped for awhile—until I realized I had to switch the laundry from the washer to the dryer but I was too freaked out to walk into the laundry room because it was dark in there. The light switch is unfortunately not near the door so there was no way I was going in—suppose an alien was waiting for me?
When I went to bed I buried my head under the covers. I was about to drift off to sleep when…
The entire room started to shake.
They’re coming for me!
Then I realized it was just a train rumbling past our house.
Oh.
When I woke up this morning there was a note from Tom:
“You left wet clothes in the washer!”
Yes. That’s so the alien wouldn’t abduct me.
Did he not watch Signs? Aliens like to LURK!
I grasped the remote control. I had just finished witnessing a houseguest on the reality show Big Brother have a meltdown and I was on the search for something else to watch. What I had found was a show on ABC called The Outsiders and it was all about people who had an alien experience.
“I’ll be fine,” I assured Tom. I gestured to the screen. “It’s not scary at all.” But then the narrator mentioned that there was a video of an alien looking through a window and that sent shivers up my spine.
“Amber. I know how you get,” Tom tried again.
“I’m fine,” I said firmly as I watched twins talk about being abducted.
“Well, I’m going to bed so you’re on your own,” Tom said, heading up the stairs.
Wait! You can’t go to bed or else I’ll freak out!
I nearly shouted that. But then I swallowed it back. No. I had to show Tom that I could handle this. I’m a grown adult for goodness sakes.
I followed Tom upstairs to tell him goodnight after pausing my show. DVR is one of the greatest inventions ever.
“Tom,” I said as he climbed under the covers. “Were you ever briefed about aliens when you joined the Air Force?” I have it in my head that because he helps defend nuclear missiles that perhaps he was briefed about the fact that the military does not set them off if an extraterrestrial comes down. I picture Tom and a bunch of other soldiers being taken to an underground room and being forced to sign papers that say that they will never ever tell the world that aliens do in fact exist.
“You know I couldn’t tell you either way,” is always Tom’s response.
I always try to search his face for telltale signs that he’s lying. He usually smirks when he’s lying. But when I talk about aliens he always turns stoic. So that either means that A) aliens do not exist, he was never briefed on such or thing or B) aliens do exist, he was briefed but he’s not going to spill any news.
“Look, just wink if aliens exist,” I pressed. “Then you’re technically not telling me.”
I stared intently at Tom’s face, waiting.
I thought I saw one of his lashes flinch and bounced on the bed. “I saw that! You winked!”
Tom frowned. “I did not.”
“You did, you did!”
“NO I DIDN’T!”
Oh. Well.
“I think the military told you about aliens but you can’t say or else there would be a public hysteria or something,” I said diplomatically.
Tom shrugged. “Who knows?”
He’s frustrating. He’ll never let anything out.
I told him goodnight and went down to watch my show.
Everything was fine at first. But then one of the people on the show claimed he had an actual picture of an alien. Of course it looked fake and I tried to remind myself that it couldn’t be real—but then I glanced up at the little window near our front door and I swore I saw a face looking in.
“Leave me alone,” I squeaked, and curled up in a ball.
I turned off the show after that and put it on Chelsea Lately so I could laugh. This helped for awhile—until I realized I had to switch the laundry from the washer to the dryer but I was too freaked out to walk into the laundry room because it was dark in there. The light switch is unfortunately not near the door so there was no way I was going in—suppose an alien was waiting for me?
When I went to bed I buried my head under the covers. I was about to drift off to sleep when…
The entire room started to shake.
They’re coming for me!
Then I realized it was just a train rumbling past our house.
Oh.
When I woke up this morning there was a note from Tom:
“You left wet clothes in the washer!”
Yes. That’s so the alien wouldn’t abduct me.
Did he not watch Signs? Aliens like to LURK!
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