I am in the mood to write. Something. Anything!
If I were at home, I'd be finishing the edits of "A Night With Tracy 3" right now. I've put it off for almost two months, but now I'm ready to finish it. I got into a little bit of a negative self-esteem slump where I thought I'd just quit writing.
Writing takes time. It takes quiet and concentration, neither of which I have in a house that's torn apart and is inhabited by a demanding 3-year old and a husband who might be better served by a maid and a slut (me... lol).
But as it seems, which should be a lesson I've learned previously, I can't seem to put writing on a shelf. Hahaha, both literally and figuratively. That was funny. I can't stop writing, because voices talk in my head and the only way to get them to SHUT-UP is to write, but I don't seem to apply myself to the task of writing a novel. I suck.
So, as if on cue, there arrived in my email this morning an advertisement for a book about journaling. I went to check it out and did some further research on the site, signed up for a couple email lectures, and then discovered this site www.journalingprompts.com . It offers a scroll over prompt for each day of the week or for a month depending upon how you look at it.
So, I scrolled over one and the prompt was: List 30 Things You Love To Do With Your Family. There were others of course, but I liked this one. So for today, here goes (and I'm including extended family in some of these too):
1. Laugh - I know that's broad-spectrum, but it's so true. We don't even have to laugh about anything, which is silly and fun at the same time.
2. Hug - Can anyone ever get enough?
3. Play the "Mommy needs kisses game" - Usually, this includes us all taking turn with who is going to be stealing lots of kisses from whom and creates a lot of laughter as the other person tries to get away.
4. Cook - This doesn't happen often enough, but I love sharing a kitchen with LJS and cooking a meal.
5. Dance the Hi-5 dances with Short Person - I've gotten quite a few of them down.
6. Sing - With both immediate and extended family.
7. Play Games - I come from a long line of board, card, and mind game playing family members
8. Learn and Teach
9. Watch Ducks football - With anyone else but LJS, he gets too mad.
10. Take a Weekend Walk to the Bakery - Short Person is so excited and happy to go you can't help but be happy watching her. One time, she even packed her purse (with exactly enough change for the donut she wanted) and her cell phone (a plastic one that came with her Fisher Price kitchen). Too cute.
11. Sit and talk. Reminisce.
12. Play Hide and Seek - Even with the adults. It's fun to play outdoors around buildings, trees, and such.
13. Attend Church - Haven't done it in a long time, but it is better with family.
14. Explore - When my sisters and I were younger we used to love to walk in the field behind one of the houses we lived in. There were a lot of really cool areas you could go and visit on the property- forts if you will- that was fun.
15. Play soccer. It's loads of fun with family cause you generally don't have to care about the rules just so long as you have the ball.
16. Fly a Kite - Especially when Short Person is taking the string and running full bore trying to get it in the air.
17. Go to the Movies
18. Go to the Beach and look at all the little shops in whatever small town we are in.
19. I like clothing shopping with Short Person - She has her own sense of style and I love watching her yea or nay things.
20. Go Out To Dinner
21. Paint - Not necessarily rooms, but canvas painting. Or Watercolors.
22. My annual Pumpkin Carving Party - My sister and nephew are artistic savants when it comes to carving a pumpkin.
23. I like doing anything with my sisters that just allows us to be outdoors, walking, talking, and looking at things. The State Fair is one of my fondest memories of doing that.
24. Going to the Zoo - Hey, it's not everyday that you get to see ALL your relatives!
25. Did I say Laugh already? Lots of it.
26. Create - There's no comparison to doing this with my family. Full of creative geniuses we are.
27. I like being Mrs. Electronics Fix It for my family - I get called for remote, television, and connection problems all the time.
28. Traveling
29. Sometimes, arguing - Especially when I know I'm right and they are wrong.
30. Playing Spoons - Vicious game in our family. My aunt once had a bruise on her hand the size of a baseball after one such game. During one game, I wrestled my cousins to the ground in a fight to the death battle for the spoon!
****
LOL... I just got a call from someone asking whether greenhouses needed to be permitted and inspected. I told him that if he was going to put in glass in the roof, he might want it inspected for his own peace of mind. He laughed and I wondered if he had the same image go through his mind of that scene in "Hand That Rocks the Cradle" with the apple and the roof of the greenhouse slamming down.
Definitely not easily forgotten that one
Friday, August 31, 2007
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Utterly and Absolutely Ridiculous!
Lose your car? You've got LoJack
Lose your dog? Embedded chip
Lose you cell phone? Ah hell, don't worry, we'll just dial up the GPS locator.
Lose your kid? You've got the power of prayer. (I'm not mocking that, btw. I believe in that way too much. But I am using it to emphasize a point.)
I have been on a very frustrating search to find a GPS locator for Short Person. Something small. Something so totally insignificant that no one would know it was there. That added piece of "Just in case".
I wanted it to be small like a microchip. Something that I could glue onto the back of an identification bracelet or necklace. Something that doesn't shout "Rip my arm off! They are tracking you."
Nothing. I can find nothing.
I can't believe, that in this world of kidnappers, pedophiles, murderers, and stupidity that they haven't invented something like this. Instead, they've been working on political hot buttons like embedding a chip into a person.
Don't get me wrong, they do have things you can get to track your children, such as the Wherify bracelet. It's a monstrous watch that locks onto your child's arm. It costs a minimum of $20.00 a month, plus the $200-$300 for the device itself AND the battery lasts all of 60 hours.
60 hours.
Granted that should be plenty of time for you to plug into a computer should your child go missing, but if you've owned anything that has anything to do with a rechargable battery, you know that 3 is the charm. You have to let the battery die 3 times, recharge fully, and only then can you plug it in for limited hours and "fool" the battery. Most people don't know that, which is why their batteries get a shorter and shorter life. Plus, it just happens naturally. Batteries wear down.
But also, I don't need a monthly plan. I'm not looking to track her every movement. I just want something that I can activate if she's suddenly gone. Plus, I don't like the "get rich" scheme. Pay $20 per month for 18 years. Chances are that nothing will happen, but someone somewhere is making money off of preventative strategy.
It would be a lot cheaper if the government funded devices such as these. Hours and hours are put into searching, investigating, and locating missing people... and then God-forbid, identifying them. Give new parents a gift of an id bracelet. You can catch the guy red-handed, save yourself some work, and slam dunk the guy in jail. That is, if the parent doesn't kill the perp first. I know I would.
There are cell phones, big battery packs, chips you can embed... but all have their flaws. Cell phones aren't going to make it very far, unless you've taught your child the best of the best hiding places and they know how to silence the ringer. Big battery packs with GPS locaters are too hard for a toddler to carry. Chips you embed only have limited range tracking, and are only useful if you find the child later. By then, all it's good for is identifying your child.
They make a little device to snap onto the back of your toddler too. If they wander away from you, you can push a button on a remote and a little beep will sound. Sort of like if you can't find the cordless phone. But it doesn't track. It's perfect, if only it had the GPS.
I know they exist! Those small little microchip devices, I know they are out there. WHY are they not available to the public... or why can't I find them?
One mistake. I forget to lock the screen door while I'm doing dishes, or forget to close her window at night, or she's playing with friends, or I turn my back for a second... there HAS to be something!
But the fact that there isn't, or that it's not easy to find, or that it's so outrageous... it's all utterly fucking ridiculous!
Lose your dog? Embedded chip
Lose you cell phone? Ah hell, don't worry, we'll just dial up the GPS locator.
Lose your kid? You've got the power of prayer. (I'm not mocking that, btw. I believe in that way too much. But I am using it to emphasize a point.)
I have been on a very frustrating search to find a GPS locator for Short Person. Something small. Something so totally insignificant that no one would know it was there. That added piece of "Just in case".
I wanted it to be small like a microchip. Something that I could glue onto the back of an identification bracelet or necklace. Something that doesn't shout "Rip my arm off! They are tracking you."
Nothing. I can find nothing.
I can't believe, that in this world of kidnappers, pedophiles, murderers, and stupidity that they haven't invented something like this. Instead, they've been working on political hot buttons like embedding a chip into a person.
Don't get me wrong, they do have things you can get to track your children, such as the Wherify bracelet. It's a monstrous watch that locks onto your child's arm. It costs a minimum of $20.00 a month, plus the $200-$300 for the device itself AND the battery lasts all of 60 hours.
60 hours.
Granted that should be plenty of time for you to plug into a computer should your child go missing, but if you've owned anything that has anything to do with a rechargable battery, you know that 3 is the charm. You have to let the battery die 3 times, recharge fully, and only then can you plug it in for limited hours and "fool" the battery. Most people don't know that, which is why their batteries get a shorter and shorter life. Plus, it just happens naturally. Batteries wear down.
But also, I don't need a monthly plan. I'm not looking to track her every movement. I just want something that I can activate if she's suddenly gone. Plus, I don't like the "get rich" scheme. Pay $20 per month for 18 years. Chances are that nothing will happen, but someone somewhere is making money off of preventative strategy.
It would be a lot cheaper if the government funded devices such as these. Hours and hours are put into searching, investigating, and locating missing people... and then God-forbid, identifying them. Give new parents a gift of an id bracelet. You can catch the guy red-handed, save yourself some work, and slam dunk the guy in jail. That is, if the parent doesn't kill the perp first. I know I would.
There are cell phones, big battery packs, chips you can embed... but all have their flaws. Cell phones aren't going to make it very far, unless you've taught your child the best of the best hiding places and they know how to silence the ringer. Big battery packs with GPS locaters are too hard for a toddler to carry. Chips you embed only have limited range tracking, and are only useful if you find the child later. By then, all it's good for is identifying your child.
They make a little device to snap onto the back of your toddler too. If they wander away from you, you can push a button on a remote and a little beep will sound. Sort of like if you can't find the cordless phone. But it doesn't track. It's perfect, if only it had the GPS.
I know they exist! Those small little microchip devices, I know they are out there. WHY are they not available to the public... or why can't I find them?
One mistake. I forget to lock the screen door while I'm doing dishes, or forget to close her window at night, or she's playing with friends, or I turn my back for a second... there HAS to be something!
But the fact that there isn't, or that it's not easy to find, or that it's so outrageous... it's all utterly fucking ridiculous!
Monday, August 27, 2007
Cheating Myself
I was driving in the car, thinking about this whole idea of blogging. Keeping a journal of life and what happens in it.
You may have noticed that I rarely type about anything serious, or perhaps I should say depressing. Since there seem to be entities that read this (hello, you sitting there ), I go on the basis that you don't need to be emotionally taxed by worrying about something you have no control over. Maybe I'm wrong and you are looking for a reason to take over my daily decisions. While I'd love that, because lately decision-making is wearing out my brain, I fail to see any realism in that. Most of us are just too darn busy with our own worlds to focus that much attention. So, I try to keep it funny.
Short Person is great for that!
But I started to wonder if I wasn't cheating myself by painting only half the picture instead of the entire canvas of my life-- the whole mixed-up, convoluted, exhausting, hilarious, schebang. Would I regret not being able to look back at the trials and tribulations and see how far I've come, what I've been through and overcome? Would I start to wonder if I'd missed a significant stepping stone or land mine?
Would I forget stuff?
My memory is crap. If I don't write it down, it's gone. Poor little Short Person, when she has a child of her own she's going to come to me and ask things like when did she crawl, walk, when was she potty trained and if it weren't for pictures and this place... gone. Memories would be gone. I should look into regression therapy. *sigh*
And then there's the whole thing about including other people. I do it sometimes now as they revolve around me, but a lot of the time the things in my life are a direct result of someone else's trials and tribulations. OH, I have such funny stories from my friends! But, I'm not a gossiper by nature, so I can't tell them.
So, what to do? Bore you to tears with depressing stuff, frustrate you with tales of my bad decisions, or keep on with what I'm doing? In the end, I'm going to attempt a happy medium. Once a month, I'm going to see if I can't take a written snapshot of my life as it stands now.
Maybe then, I'll be better able to hold up a virtual ruler to myself and ask the question about where I've been and where I'm going.
You know, that brings to mind a great song by Faith Hill.
Here are the lyrics:
Who I Am
Might scare me to death
Or chill my bones
Break my heart
Or warm my soul
But since I'm here and before I go
I'm gonna find out who I am
Late one cold Thanksgiving night
They welcomed me, another 60's child
To a family that's holding tight
That's part of who I am, yeah
I got a mama who prays for me
She fights the devil down on her knees
I can't see all that mama sees
But it's part of who I am
She gave me truth and she watched me grow
I told her lines and I test the rope
Then I tried a little bit of everything I know
Just to find out who I am
Who I am
Does it matter anyway
Who I am
What I've seen along the way
Who I am
Changes a little everyday
With a lot of truth
And an open heart
I just want half a chance
As long as I'm here and before I go
Just to find out who I am
Music is my soul's delight
Comes to me both day and night
It gives me wings and it gives me flight
And it's part of who I am
I hold onto a simple faith
About the choices and the path I take
That through the good and the bad mistakes
I'm gonna find out, yeah
Who I am
Does it matter anyway
Who I am
What I've lost along the way
Who I am
It changes a little everyday
With a lot of truth
And an open heart
I just want half a chance
As long as I'm here and before I go
Just to find out
Did it ever really matter
In that big forever plan
Who I am and what I'm here for I don't know
Is it wrong to want an answer
Try to understand
Who I am
Does it matter anyway
Who I am
What I've learned along the way
Who I am
It changes a little everyday
With a lot of truth
And an open heart
I just want half a chance
As long as I'm here and before I go
Just to find out
Who I am
*I know the song is copyrighted. I got it from somewhere else on the internet, which doesn't make it any better. But, if you were wondering, I'm sure you can resell it on stuff, so don't :)
You may have noticed that I rarely type about anything serious, or perhaps I should say depressing. Since there seem to be entities that read this (hello, you sitting there ), I go on the basis that you don't need to be emotionally taxed by worrying about something you have no control over. Maybe I'm wrong and you are looking for a reason to take over my daily decisions. While I'd love that, because lately decision-making is wearing out my brain, I fail to see any realism in that. Most of us are just too darn busy with our own worlds to focus that much attention. So, I try to keep it funny.
Short Person is great for that!
But I started to wonder if I wasn't cheating myself by painting only half the picture instead of the entire canvas of my life-- the whole mixed-up, convoluted, exhausting, hilarious, schebang. Would I regret not being able to look back at the trials and tribulations and see how far I've come, what I've been through and overcome? Would I start to wonder if I'd missed a significant stepping stone or land mine?
Would I forget stuff?
My memory is crap. If I don't write it down, it's gone. Poor little Short Person, when she has a child of her own she's going to come to me and ask things like when did she crawl, walk, when was she potty trained and if it weren't for pictures and this place... gone. Memories would be gone. I should look into regression therapy. *sigh*
And then there's the whole thing about including other people. I do it sometimes now as they revolve around me, but a lot of the time the things in my life are a direct result of someone else's trials and tribulations. OH, I have such funny stories from my friends! But, I'm not a gossiper by nature, so I can't tell them.
So, what to do? Bore you to tears with depressing stuff, frustrate you with tales of my bad decisions, or keep on with what I'm doing? In the end, I'm going to attempt a happy medium. Once a month, I'm going to see if I can't take a written snapshot of my life as it stands now.
Maybe then, I'll be better able to hold up a virtual ruler to myself and ask the question about where I've been and where I'm going.
You know, that brings to mind a great song by Faith Hill.
Here are the lyrics:
Who I Am
Might scare me to death
Or chill my bones
Break my heart
Or warm my soul
But since I'm here and before I go
I'm gonna find out who I am
Late one cold Thanksgiving night
They welcomed me, another 60's child
To a family that's holding tight
That's part of who I am, yeah
I got a mama who prays for me
She fights the devil down on her knees
I can't see all that mama sees
But it's part of who I am
She gave me truth and she watched me grow
I told her lines and I test the rope
Then I tried a little bit of everything I know
Just to find out who I am
Who I am
Does it matter anyway
Who I am
What I've seen along the way
Who I am
Changes a little everyday
With a lot of truth
And an open heart
I just want half a chance
As long as I'm here and before I go
Just to find out who I am
Music is my soul's delight
Comes to me both day and night
It gives me wings and it gives me flight
And it's part of who I am
I hold onto a simple faith
About the choices and the path I take
That through the good and the bad mistakes
I'm gonna find out, yeah
Who I am
Does it matter anyway
Who I am
What I've lost along the way
Who I am
It changes a little everyday
With a lot of truth
And an open heart
I just want half a chance
As long as I'm here and before I go
Just to find out
Did it ever really matter
In that big forever plan
Who I am and what I'm here for I don't know
Is it wrong to want an answer
Try to understand
Who I am
Does it matter anyway
Who I am
What I've learned along the way
Who I am
It changes a little everyday
With a lot of truth
And an open heart
I just want half a chance
As long as I'm here and before I go
Just to find out
Who I am
*I know the song is copyrighted. I got it from somewhere else on the internet, which doesn't make it any better. But, if you were wondering, I'm sure you can resell it on stuff, so don't :)
Friday, August 24, 2007
It’s All About ME!
The last few days have been very trying where Short Person is concerned. I know that the house is in upheaval and she's feeling displaced since her room is so incredibly torn apart, but her attitude is just... stinky.
She won't listen... and when she does listen, she won't obey. She is throwing fits about everything. And, she's having major meltdowns.
But there are times when she's so darned funny or cute there is nothing left to do but forgive her the bad times. Tonight, is an example. One that was hilarious but also showcases her attitude for the past few days.
LJS and I were sitting in the office watching a television that's about 1/2 the size of the one in the living room. We'd been banished there because, as we were informed, it was not our turn yet. A Barbie movie was playing and Short Person wanted to make sure she watched it-- for the 500th time.
Since LJS and I would rather be covered in peanut butter while walking through a heard of wild dogs than watch Barbie dance around again, we were sitting in my office watching Grease and talking about the last time each of us had seen the movie. It was an ongoing conversation, and lasted for a little bit, and since Short Person doesn't like to be alone, she came to join us.
I love that, she joins us, so now we're all watching the small tv and no one is watching the bigger, nicer version. But anyway...
The last time I had seen Grease it had been at the drive-in. At least 100 people sitting on top of their cars, or in lawn chairs, or wherever singing along with the songs and quoting the lines. It was fantastic. Me too, I admit. It is hard to resist the pull of that many voices and fun songs. You just get sucked in.
LJS had only seen the movie once, when he was 10. The mom of his best friend at the time had taken them to it. He was remembering and scoffing about how the mom had enjoyed the movie, but two 10 year old boys had not. It was, after all, a musical and they were tough baseball playing boys.
We were laughing at the memories, only to be interrupted by Short Person, who was sitting on my lap.
"Stop talking, Guys. I need to tell you something."
We stop talking and look at her. "What is it?" I ask, prompting her.
"Okay Mom, you got to talk about me, and then Dad, you got to talk about me."
LJS and I shared a look, and he asked, "Oh. It's all about you, huh?"
Short Person thought for a minute and then looked at him. "Yep! Now talk about me."
So, LJS and I did what any parent would do, we laughed our butts off. Oh man, no truer statement had ever been spoken. Honest to the end.
She won't listen... and when she does listen, she won't obey. She is throwing fits about everything. And, she's having major meltdowns.
But there are times when she's so darned funny or cute there is nothing left to do but forgive her the bad times. Tonight, is an example. One that was hilarious but also showcases her attitude for the past few days.
LJS and I were sitting in the office watching a television that's about 1/2 the size of the one in the living room. We'd been banished there because, as we were informed, it was not our turn yet. A Barbie movie was playing and Short Person wanted to make sure she watched it-- for the 500th time.
Since LJS and I would rather be covered in peanut butter while walking through a heard of wild dogs than watch Barbie dance around again, we were sitting in my office watching Grease and talking about the last time each of us had seen the movie. It was an ongoing conversation, and lasted for a little bit, and since Short Person doesn't like to be alone, she came to join us.
I love that, she joins us, so now we're all watching the small tv and no one is watching the bigger, nicer version. But anyway...
The last time I had seen Grease it had been at the drive-in. At least 100 people sitting on top of their cars, or in lawn chairs, or wherever singing along with the songs and quoting the lines. It was fantastic. Me too, I admit. It is hard to resist the pull of that many voices and fun songs. You just get sucked in.
LJS had only seen the movie once, when he was 10. The mom of his best friend at the time had taken them to it. He was remembering and scoffing about how the mom had enjoyed the movie, but two 10 year old boys had not. It was, after all, a musical and they were tough baseball playing boys.
We were laughing at the memories, only to be interrupted by Short Person, who was sitting on my lap.
"Stop talking, Guys. I need to tell you something."
We stop talking and look at her. "What is it?" I ask, prompting her.
"Okay Mom, you got to talk about me, and then Dad, you got to talk about me."
LJS and I shared a look, and he asked, "Oh. It's all about you, huh?"
Short Person thought for a minute and then looked at him. "Yep! Now talk about me."
So, LJS and I did what any parent would do, we laughed our butts off. Oh man, no truer statement had ever been spoken. Honest to the end.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
20 Years Together - It Almost Doesn’t Seem Possible (lol)
Today, LJS and I celebrated 20 years together. With no sex. Why is it that fate always has to play little jokes like making sure that "that time of the month" will always land when you have something important planned?
Hotel sex -- that's almost a guaranteed day for it
Anniversary -- that goes without saying
The day new sex toys, movies, or aids arrive -- mmm... maybe not every day, but often enough.
Or, the only day of the month you managed to find someone to take the kid overnight.
Seriously, that's becoming an issue. Not that long ago she walked in on us as we were finishing.
"Hey, what are you doing to my mom?"
"Oh honey, mommy and daddy are just wrestling." As we're scrambling to straighten ourselves.
Short Person has almost perfected the hand on the hip, scowl look and she's giving it to us now. "Well, don't ever do that again, okay?"
It's funny how she tries to imitate my silent I-mean-business-bub stare and I respond with false promises to temporarily appease her.
But, as usual, I digress.
Twenty years together. That is now more than half my life. Somehow, I just don't feel that old.
We met when I was about a month away from 16. One of my good friends at the time lived two houses down from his cousin. Even though they were a lot older than we were (in high school 15 to his 18 seemed like millinea apart-- and his cousin was about 35, I think) we managed to be at the house quite frequently. It had something to do with the fact that LJS's cousin seemed to have an endless supply of weed and booze. (Shh... don't tell.)
One fateful night, Beth decided to throw a party. I was supposed to be there too, but LJS was staying at his cousin's. He was about three weeks away from leaving for the Air Force and I was spending the evening with him just listening to him talk. A rare thing if you know my husband.
I kept bouncing back and forth between the party and LJS, but the astonishing variation of drugs and booze made me a little nervous. I wasn't a novice, but breaking out Angel Dust was more than even I was prepared for, so I'd leave after checking in and making sure I put in an "appearance".
About 10 minutes after one such appearance, the cops arrived and people at the party scattered. Some hiding in the backyard of the house where LJS and I were, some running down the block. My friend, hopped up on something, decided to attempt to beat the crap out of a police officer and found herself hauled away in the back of a squad car.
Since I was supposed to be staying the night with her, and now had no way back into the house, LJS and I found ourselves together for the night... and the rest, they say, is history.
He never made it into the Air Force. I never got it out of him exactly what happened, but he decided after that night that the military wasn't what he wanted in life.
It's been an interesting 20 years, with many fun memories.
One day, when we'd been dating for a year or two, we decided to go up to Bald Peak Mountain. It's a make-out spot that overlooks the City below. There's a park, but most of it (at the time) was wooded area. We were going to try to have sex, but we could hear people not that far away and LJS thought they were actually hidden, watching us, so we left.
As we traveled down the curving hill, a cliff on one-side with jutting rocks, and a 100-foot sheer drop on the other, LJS and I were talking about something. I don't remember what, but the exact words out of his mouth were, "Yeah, I'd hate to have to tell your parents that I'd killed you going down a hill."
The truck, at the precise moment that the last word was spoken, hit a slick spot on the road. LJS lost control for a moment, did a 180 turn, and stopped... mere inches from the rock wall. We'd been going about 50mph.
My senior year of high school, as a graduation gift, LJS took me to Rockaway Beach. It's a cute, small little town with little shops and restaurants, and a great expanse of beach.
We were sitting on the beach in a place where the wind had pushed the sand up so that it made a steep hill that angled down toward the ocean. It was a beautiful day, and as we sat watching the ocean waves roll in, we decided to make love. As we lay in the sand, there was only us, hidden by mountains of sand.
It was when we sat up that we turned around and noticed all the two and three story houses about a block and a half away... all with a perfect view. Of us.
There are the usual memories after that. My graduation from high school and business school. Going to purchase my new car. Our wedding. Our honeymoon. And, purchasing our first house. This house.
We closed right before Christmas and were in a rush to get things done. I mentioned in an earlier post that there was a lot we needed to do since the previous owners had not been kind to the walls and doors. While we were painting what is now my office, we needed to pull out a huge, five inch nail from the wall above the window. The thing was massive and was driven into one of the studs. It was a bitch to get out.
LJS had the hammer and was wrenching it out with the nail remover end as I watched him bash a hole into the wall with the other end. When the nail finally came loose, he looked back at me to find out why I was literally rolling on the floor laughing hysterically. All I could do was point.
Once we moved in, he wanted to put cable in the garage, but couldn't get the picture to come in clearly. He kept getting more and more angry and irrational about the situation, so I decided to leave early for work. I climbed in my car, turned the key in the ignition, and looked up to see him standing there with white fuzzies all over his head.
He'd fallen through the ceiling, landing perfectly between the recliner, the stereo, and the coffee table.
The house memories are the strongest right now because my house, once again, is torn apart. I keep waiting to see what the next funniest memory is going to be in that department. When it arrives, believe me, you'll be the first to know about it.
And it will be one more page in the history book as we head toward 21 years together.
Hotel sex -- that's almost a guaranteed day for it
Anniversary -- that goes without saying
The day new sex toys, movies, or aids arrive -- mmm... maybe not every day, but often enough.
Or, the only day of the month you managed to find someone to take the kid overnight.
Seriously, that's becoming an issue. Not that long ago she walked in on us as we were finishing.
"Hey, what are you doing to my mom?"
"Oh honey, mommy and daddy are just wrestling." As we're scrambling to straighten ourselves.
Short Person has almost perfected the hand on the hip, scowl look and she's giving it to us now. "Well, don't ever do that again, okay?"
It's funny how she tries to imitate my silent I-mean-business-bub stare and I respond with false promises to temporarily appease her.
But, as usual, I digress.
Twenty years together. That is now more than half my life. Somehow, I just don't feel that old.
We met when I was about a month away from 16. One of my good friends at the time lived two houses down from his cousin. Even though they were a lot older than we were (in high school 15 to his 18 seemed like millinea apart-- and his cousin was about 35, I think) we managed to be at the house quite frequently. It had something to do with the fact that LJS's cousin seemed to have an endless supply of weed and booze. (Shh... don't tell.)
One fateful night, Beth decided to throw a party. I was supposed to be there too, but LJS was staying at his cousin's. He was about three weeks away from leaving for the Air Force and I was spending the evening with him just listening to him talk. A rare thing if you know my husband.
I kept bouncing back and forth between the party and LJS, but the astonishing variation of drugs and booze made me a little nervous. I wasn't a novice, but breaking out Angel Dust was more than even I was prepared for, so I'd leave after checking in and making sure I put in an "appearance".
About 10 minutes after one such appearance, the cops arrived and people at the party scattered. Some hiding in the backyard of the house where LJS and I were, some running down the block. My friend, hopped up on something, decided to attempt to beat the crap out of a police officer and found herself hauled away in the back of a squad car.
Since I was supposed to be staying the night with her, and now had no way back into the house, LJS and I found ourselves together for the night... and the rest, they say, is history.
He never made it into the Air Force. I never got it out of him exactly what happened, but he decided after that night that the military wasn't what he wanted in life.
It's been an interesting 20 years, with many fun memories.
One day, when we'd been dating for a year or two, we decided to go up to Bald Peak Mountain. It's a make-out spot that overlooks the City below. There's a park, but most of it (at the time) was wooded area. We were going to try to have sex, but we could hear people not that far away and LJS thought they were actually hidden, watching us, so we left.
As we traveled down the curving hill, a cliff on one-side with jutting rocks, and a 100-foot sheer drop on the other, LJS and I were talking about something. I don't remember what, but the exact words out of his mouth were, "Yeah, I'd hate to have to tell your parents that I'd killed you going down a hill."
The truck, at the precise moment that the last word was spoken, hit a slick spot on the road. LJS lost control for a moment, did a 180 turn, and stopped... mere inches from the rock wall. We'd been going about 50mph.
My senior year of high school, as a graduation gift, LJS took me to Rockaway Beach. It's a cute, small little town with little shops and restaurants, and a great expanse of beach.
We were sitting on the beach in a place where the wind had pushed the sand up so that it made a steep hill that angled down toward the ocean. It was a beautiful day, and as we sat watching the ocean waves roll in, we decided to make love. As we lay in the sand, there was only us, hidden by mountains of sand.
It was when we sat up that we turned around and noticed all the two and three story houses about a block and a half away... all with a perfect view. Of us.
There are the usual memories after that. My graduation from high school and business school. Going to purchase my new car. Our wedding. Our honeymoon. And, purchasing our first house. This house.
We closed right before Christmas and were in a rush to get things done. I mentioned in an earlier post that there was a lot we needed to do since the previous owners had not been kind to the walls and doors. While we were painting what is now my office, we needed to pull out a huge, five inch nail from the wall above the window. The thing was massive and was driven into one of the studs. It was a bitch to get out.
LJS had the hammer and was wrenching it out with the nail remover end as I watched him bash a hole into the wall with the other end. When the nail finally came loose, he looked back at me to find out why I was literally rolling on the floor laughing hysterically. All I could do was point.
Once we moved in, he wanted to put cable in the garage, but couldn't get the picture to come in clearly. He kept getting more and more angry and irrational about the situation, so I decided to leave early for work. I climbed in my car, turned the key in the ignition, and looked up to see him standing there with white fuzzies all over his head.
He'd fallen through the ceiling, landing perfectly between the recliner, the stereo, and the coffee table.
The house memories are the strongest right now because my house, once again, is torn apart. I keep waiting to see what the next funniest memory is going to be in that department. When it arrives, believe me, you'll be the first to know about it.
And it will be one more page in the history book as we head toward 21 years together.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
The Bathroom Door Deja Vu
I feel like I'm living in Deja Vu. You see, ten years ago when we bought our little blue house we did what most new home owner do-- set about to fix up the house.
It needed new paint, new carpet, some minor repairs, and some major ones. Among the major repairs were holes in a few of the walls and holes in (literally) every door.
It is our theory that the house held a violent household before we bought it, but that is neither here nor there.
My husband wanted to save the money and refinish the existing doors. He has a friend that does woodworking and invited him up to show him how to mend the hole, putty it, sand it, and then finally refinish it (in our case, paint it).
This process, as you can imagine took months, so in the meantime we lived without doors for... boy, I want to say it was somewhere between 8-10 months. No bedroom doors, no closet doors, no bathroom door. Okay, got that? NO BATHROOM DOOR.
It was so bad that at Christmas time I sent out a newsletter with our annual Christmas cards exclaiming that if you truly wanted to get to know your spouse you should take the bathroom door off because pretty soon you'd know everything. Much, much more than you'd ever, ever want to.
LOL... to my utter disbelief, we are once again living without a bathroom door.
You see, we decided to paint the bathroom and replace the door to match the new doors we were putting in the rest of the house. If you've read my earlier blog entries you know that any type of "project" in our house is rarely limited to what we originally set out to do. I wanted to paint the bathroom yellow and maybe choose a different theme. It was ducks, I've switched to the "Bugs N Bloom" theme (in case you wish to look it up and see for yourself what it looks like).
Anyway, we set out to paint the bathroom, which my husband did. However, once all three coats were put on (don't buy Behr paint, it sucks), and the color was even and looking pretty, my husband said this...
"You know, since we have the door off, we really ought to replace the vanity. It's ugly."
I responded, quite sensibly I thought, "Yeah, but if you do that, you really have to get a new sink and counter."
"Oh, I know, but that's okay."
*sigh*
"Well, okay if that's what you want to do." I paused for a moment thinking about how, even if we replace everything in the bathroom, nothing is going to look good with the linoleum that is still in there. (The only flooring we haven't replaced since we purchased the home.) "I wonder how much it would cost to replace 70 square feet of flooring in the bathroom."
"I doubt it's 70 square feet."
Our bathroom is incredibly tiny. "Hmm... what? Maybe 50?"
"I doubt it."
"Well, we should look into it then."
Let's pause and recap here. We've now gone from painting the bathroom and replacing the door to painting, replacing the door, replacing the flooring, replacing the vanity, replacing the counter, and replacing the sink.
Sometime later, LJS had me measure the vanity. It is 42" long. He goes to Home Depot to scope out the options and brings home a couple flyers. We're looking through said flyers and I notice a shower I really like. It's the type that's made of sandstone and instead of having any type of plastic or metal anywhere, it is ALL sculpted sandstone (meaning that there are no rails for a sliding shower door, it's sculpted to about three or four inches high and then a shower curtain is put into place).
Anyway, I comment to him that this is the shower I really like (we'd also been talking about how nice it would be to take the bathtub out and just have a shower since Short Person is now independently taking them-- can you believe that? I mean, we have to wash her hair, but sheesh!)
LJS goes, "You should see how much it is."
Sometime later... we also find out that they don't make 42" vanities standard-- they have to be custom made.
And to conclude this story, that is how a $150 painting/door replacement project is now costing us about 40 times that much!
And I'm suffering from lack of bathroom door deja vu. What? Do I need to reconnect with my husband or something?!
*And in a dramatic fashion Mel bangs her head against the desk-- but in typical dork fashion forgets that there's a keyboard there. Ow."
It needed new paint, new carpet, some minor repairs, and some major ones. Among the major repairs were holes in a few of the walls and holes in (literally) every door.
It is our theory that the house held a violent household before we bought it, but that is neither here nor there.
My husband wanted to save the money and refinish the existing doors. He has a friend that does woodworking and invited him up to show him how to mend the hole, putty it, sand it, and then finally refinish it (in our case, paint it).
This process, as you can imagine took months, so in the meantime we lived without doors for... boy, I want to say it was somewhere between 8-10 months. No bedroom doors, no closet doors, no bathroom door. Okay, got that? NO BATHROOM DOOR.
It was so bad that at Christmas time I sent out a newsletter with our annual Christmas cards exclaiming that if you truly wanted to get to know your spouse you should take the bathroom door off because pretty soon you'd know everything. Much, much more than you'd ever, ever want to.
LOL... to my utter disbelief, we are once again living without a bathroom door.
You see, we decided to paint the bathroom and replace the door to match the new doors we were putting in the rest of the house. If you've read my earlier blog entries you know that any type of "project" in our house is rarely limited to what we originally set out to do. I wanted to paint the bathroom yellow and maybe choose a different theme. It was ducks, I've switched to the "Bugs N Bloom" theme (in case you wish to look it up and see for yourself what it looks like).
Anyway, we set out to paint the bathroom, which my husband did. However, once all three coats were put on (don't buy Behr paint, it sucks), and the color was even and looking pretty, my husband said this...
"You know, since we have the door off, we really ought to replace the vanity. It's ugly."
I responded, quite sensibly I thought, "Yeah, but if you do that, you really have to get a new sink and counter."
"Oh, I know, but that's okay."
*sigh*
"Well, okay if that's what you want to do." I paused for a moment thinking about how, even if we replace everything in the bathroom, nothing is going to look good with the linoleum that is still in there. (The only flooring we haven't replaced since we purchased the home.) "I wonder how much it would cost to replace 70 square feet of flooring in the bathroom."
"I doubt it's 70 square feet."
Our bathroom is incredibly tiny. "Hmm... what? Maybe 50?"
"I doubt it."
"Well, we should look into it then."
Let's pause and recap here. We've now gone from painting the bathroom and replacing the door to painting, replacing the door, replacing the flooring, replacing the vanity, replacing the counter, and replacing the sink.
Sometime later, LJS had me measure the vanity. It is 42" long. He goes to Home Depot to scope out the options and brings home a couple flyers. We're looking through said flyers and I notice a shower I really like. It's the type that's made of sandstone and instead of having any type of plastic or metal anywhere, it is ALL sculpted sandstone (meaning that there are no rails for a sliding shower door, it's sculpted to about three or four inches high and then a shower curtain is put into place).
Anyway, I comment to him that this is the shower I really like (we'd also been talking about how nice it would be to take the bathtub out and just have a shower since Short Person is now independently taking them-- can you believe that? I mean, we have to wash her hair, but sheesh!)
LJS goes, "You should see how much it is."
Sometime later... we also find out that they don't make 42" vanities standard-- they have to be custom made.
And to conclude this story, that is how a $150 painting/door replacement project is now costing us about 40 times that much!
And I'm suffering from lack of bathroom door deja vu. What? Do I need to reconnect with my husband or something?!
*And in a dramatic fashion Mel bangs her head against the desk-- but in typical dork fashion forgets that there's a keyboard there. Ow."
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Funny Phone Calls
This is probably in bad taste, but you know me... what isn't, right?
My husband constantly has his cell phone on him because work is always calling. Today, no exception. Short Person walked up to him, grabbed his phone, and asked if she could play with it-- to which my husband replied, "No Honey, I don't need you to call my boss."
This speculation that she could accidentally do just that started a hilarious back and forth about what her conversations might be, but there are some things you need to know before I start with the supposed phone conversations.
1. My daughter had an enormous hot dog balloon in the living room.
2. She's also been running around naked for the better part of the afternoon.
3. She hopped in the shower as Daddy was getting out this morning.
4. Daddy is painting the bathroom.
Here's what LJS and I came up with... all of them geared toward making his boss go, "HUH?!"
"Yeah, I'm naked... and my Daddy's painting!"
"My Daddy's here... and I'm playing with the hot dog."
"I took a shower with my Daddy this morning!"
"No, I'm just making booty prints."
We were laughing pretty good by the end of the conversation. See, the problem is... all these things have actually come out of her mouth at some given point this weekend. Thankfully, most of them have been comments to us, or we might be in some serious trouble!
My husband constantly has his cell phone on him because work is always calling. Today, no exception. Short Person walked up to him, grabbed his phone, and asked if she could play with it-- to which my husband replied, "No Honey, I don't need you to call my boss."
This speculation that she could accidentally do just that started a hilarious back and forth about what her conversations might be, but there are some things you need to know before I start with the supposed phone conversations.
1. My daughter had an enormous hot dog balloon in the living room.
2. She's also been running around naked for the better part of the afternoon.
3. She hopped in the shower as Daddy was getting out this morning.
4. Daddy is painting the bathroom.
Here's what LJS and I came up with... all of them geared toward making his boss go, "HUH?!"
"Yeah, I'm naked... and my Daddy's painting!"
"My Daddy's here... and I'm playing with the hot dog."
"I took a shower with my Daddy this morning!"
"No, I'm just making booty prints."
We were laughing pretty good by the end of the conversation. See, the problem is... all these things have actually come out of her mouth at some given point this weekend. Thankfully, most of them have been comments to us, or we might be in some serious trouble!
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Old Hands
Is there anything better than the impending dusk and ensuing night after a hot August day? You know the kind, when the sun drops and the temperature follows suit by being warm enough to be out in shorts, but cool enough that a sweatshirt will ward off any chill.
Night lights power on and the evening takes on a magical hilt to it. I think it might have something to do with the fact that it still feels like a beautiful summer day, but God turned the lights off and slowed everything down.
Last night, I hopped in my car at dusk and set off to vacuum and detail the inside of my car. A little difficult in the dark, but it was nice. Quiet. Nickelback played on the stereo as I pulled up to the Self-Care Car Place. I opened all the car doors, rolled down the windows, stored everything that wasn't to be sucked up into the powerful vacuum in the trunk, and then set off to go and change my paper money into coin money. Something I've done hundreds of times, at the same location, since the day I purchased my first car.
You know, it suddenly occurs to me that, though the car has changed, they've all been the same damn color! What the hell? It's not even a good color. I drive this gray/mauvey thing that looks like a Grandma car. *sigh* I digress, but... damn it! My next car is going to be Fire Engine Red, I swear.
I took my dollar bill and raised it to the slot to feed it in and looked at my hands. I've done it so many times before and I knew what the image was supposed to look like. Smooth, white hands with little veins showing through the thin skin. Painted nails. It was all familiar, but this time the signs of how much time has passed since the first time I slid that dollar bill in were clearly evident in the light. Wrinkle lines from years of use were etched in the white light of the bulbs.
I've always loved my hands. The way they look with long, slender fingers I inherited from one side of the family. The fact that you can line up my sisters hands, my nieces and nephews hands, my daughter's hands... and they are the same. They look the same. The DNA gene so strong that, with the exception of differences in choices, you could trade them out without too much concern that they wouldn't fit your own body. I even love the scars they carry, the memories of obtaining them clearly etched in my brain.
When Short Person was born a friend of mine suggested that I find a toy that I could photograph her against to show the passage of time and her growth. A visual measurement tool, if you will. As odd as it seems, my memory seems to hold that same measurement tool where my hands are concerned. Where have the past 20 years gone?
When did I get so old? When did my hands get so old?
Night lights power on and the evening takes on a magical hilt to it. I think it might have something to do with the fact that it still feels like a beautiful summer day, but God turned the lights off and slowed everything down.
Last night, I hopped in my car at dusk and set off to vacuum and detail the inside of my car. A little difficult in the dark, but it was nice. Quiet. Nickelback played on the stereo as I pulled up to the Self-Care Car Place. I opened all the car doors, rolled down the windows, stored everything that wasn't to be sucked up into the powerful vacuum in the trunk, and then set off to go and change my paper money into coin money. Something I've done hundreds of times, at the same location, since the day I purchased my first car.
You know, it suddenly occurs to me that, though the car has changed, they've all been the same damn color! What the hell? It's not even a good color. I drive this gray/mauvey thing that looks like a Grandma car. *sigh* I digress, but... damn it! My next car is going to be Fire Engine Red, I swear.
I took my dollar bill and raised it to the slot to feed it in and looked at my hands. I've done it so many times before and I knew what the image was supposed to look like. Smooth, white hands with little veins showing through the thin skin. Painted nails. It was all familiar, but this time the signs of how much time has passed since the first time I slid that dollar bill in were clearly evident in the light. Wrinkle lines from years of use were etched in the white light of the bulbs.
I've always loved my hands. The way they look with long, slender fingers I inherited from one side of the family. The fact that you can line up my sisters hands, my nieces and nephews hands, my daughter's hands... and they are the same. They look the same. The DNA gene so strong that, with the exception of differences in choices, you could trade them out without too much concern that they wouldn't fit your own body. I even love the scars they carry, the memories of obtaining them clearly etched in my brain.
When Short Person was born a friend of mine suggested that I find a toy that I could photograph her against to show the passage of time and her growth. A visual measurement tool, if you will. As odd as it seems, my memory seems to hold that same measurement tool where my hands are concerned. Where have the past 20 years gone?
When did I get so old? When did my hands get so old?
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
If anyone finds out, namely my husband, that I am typing right now I will probably be strapped to a chair and forced to watch horrible reruns of Hee-Haw. Why? Yes, I'm sure you're wondering that. I'll get there soon.
I have been having a very random thought day. It started while I was still sleeping. I had a dream that there was a butterfly caught in my shirt. It kept trying to get away and instead kept poking me. I was trying not to freak out that there was a bug stuck on me, while at the same time trying not to kill the butterfly.
Somewhere as this was going on the worlds of dreamland mixed with reality and I woke up nearly freaking as I tried to reason with myself that it had only been a dream. My fear at the time was that the "feeling" I had in my dream was actually a very large spider crawling up my back. I stopped just short of jumping up and hopping around while trying contortionism as an acrobatic stunt.
I read (actually on the T.A.P.S. website while trying to ascertain if there was an afterworld poker party going on in my bedroom) that your body paralyzes itself during sleep so that it won't enact the motions of dreams. Seems reasonable to me, but if a bug is going to be crawling all over me, I really think that I should have the choice of bonking it even in sleep. Would explain why I'm always covered in bug bites, though. I've never been able to figure out why I haven't been slapping the heck out of them (and myself) while they fed on me during the night. Now, I know.
Once awake, I spent some time thinking about Supernanny Jo. LJS and I were contemplating last night about whether we should give her a call. I speculated that she'd probably turn and run upon discovering that our daughter's favorite past-time seems to be getting naked, getting wet, and then making "booty" prints on the driveway. Yeah... that's a new one. Started this weekend, actually.
She's been talking almost non-stop about how much she wants me to put a princess bed in her room. I keep telling her that if I do she's actually going to have to sleep in there, but I don't think it'll hold. We're back to the whole man in her room, monsters, bad dream argument. Since I have a horrible tendency toward night terrors, I am probably way too lenient. And me, being the push-over that I am, will still get her the princess bed. Or rather, a bed that has one of those net canopy things draping from the ceiling-- all with glow in the dark stars.
Somewhere before noon I got completely fed up with people complaining. I will never understand the whole "It's okay for me, but not the person next door" mentality. It's okay if I have freedom of speech, but heaven forbid anyone else does-- and isn't there anything you can do about all the pink, purple, and turquoise houses in town? Cause you know, I just think the color is putrid. Nevermind that my house is canary yellow and glows in the night sky from 1000 miles away. Airplanes are using it as a beacon. *sigh* If the writer's of Reno 911 ever run out of material they have only to come to our town.
And finally, I reach the part of the story about why I think my husband is going to tie me up and not let me move...
Right after this complaint, I needed to page one of the guys I work with to have him go and do something (I forget what). I was feeling a little stressed and my blood sugar was dropping, so overall I was not feeling great. I reached out to grab the mouse of my computer and all the sudden my fingers started curling on their own. I couldn't straighten them out.
I freaked!
Honest to God, I thought I was having a stroke. LOL... I'm laughing now, but at the time it scared the crap out of my. My hand is curling, my eye started twitching, and because I was freaking out I started to get whoozy!
I called my boss over and explained what was happening, showing him my hand which had started to look like the witch's in the story of Hansel and Gretel. But mostly, I called him over because if I dropped dead I wanted someone there with the ability to dial 911. Especially since my hand had started to go numb.
Finally, it relaxed and turned into a dull ache. I put ice on it at lunch and it got better. Enough so that now I write to you.
But as I said, it is presently from an isolated location from somewhere inside my office.
Oh, and to end my day... Short Person pee'd on the sidewalk in front of our neighbor this time. LOL... Booty prints would have been better, I think.
I have been having a very random thought day. It started while I was still sleeping. I had a dream that there was a butterfly caught in my shirt. It kept trying to get away and instead kept poking me. I was trying not to freak out that there was a bug stuck on me, while at the same time trying not to kill the butterfly.
Somewhere as this was going on the worlds of dreamland mixed with reality and I woke up nearly freaking as I tried to reason with myself that it had only been a dream. My fear at the time was that the "feeling" I had in my dream was actually a very large spider crawling up my back. I stopped just short of jumping up and hopping around while trying contortionism as an acrobatic stunt.
I read (actually on the T.A.P.S. website while trying to ascertain if there was an afterworld poker party going on in my bedroom) that your body paralyzes itself during sleep so that it won't enact the motions of dreams. Seems reasonable to me, but if a bug is going to be crawling all over me, I really think that I should have the choice of bonking it even in sleep. Would explain why I'm always covered in bug bites, though. I've never been able to figure out why I haven't been slapping the heck out of them (and myself) while they fed on me during the night. Now, I know.
Once awake, I spent some time thinking about Supernanny Jo. LJS and I were contemplating last night about whether we should give her a call. I speculated that she'd probably turn and run upon discovering that our daughter's favorite past-time seems to be getting naked, getting wet, and then making "booty" prints on the driveway. Yeah... that's a new one. Started this weekend, actually.
She's been talking almost non-stop about how much she wants me to put a princess bed in her room. I keep telling her that if I do she's actually going to have to sleep in there, but I don't think it'll hold. We're back to the whole man in her room, monsters, bad dream argument. Since I have a horrible tendency toward night terrors, I am probably way too lenient. And me, being the push-over that I am, will still get her the princess bed. Or rather, a bed that has one of those net canopy things draping from the ceiling-- all with glow in the dark stars.
Somewhere before noon I got completely fed up with people complaining. I will never understand the whole "It's okay for me, but not the person next door" mentality. It's okay if I have freedom of speech, but heaven forbid anyone else does-- and isn't there anything you can do about all the pink, purple, and turquoise houses in town? Cause you know, I just think the color is putrid. Nevermind that my house is canary yellow and glows in the night sky from 1000 miles away. Airplanes are using it as a beacon. *sigh* If the writer's of Reno 911 ever run out of material they have only to come to our town.
And finally, I reach the part of the story about why I think my husband is going to tie me up and not let me move...
Right after this complaint, I needed to page one of the guys I work with to have him go and do something (I forget what). I was feeling a little stressed and my blood sugar was dropping, so overall I was not feeling great. I reached out to grab the mouse of my computer and all the sudden my fingers started curling on their own. I couldn't straighten them out.
I freaked!
Honest to God, I thought I was having a stroke. LOL... I'm laughing now, but at the time it scared the crap out of my. My hand is curling, my eye started twitching, and because I was freaking out I started to get whoozy!
I called my boss over and explained what was happening, showing him my hand which had started to look like the witch's in the story of Hansel and Gretel. But mostly, I called him over because if I dropped dead I wanted someone there with the ability to dial 911. Especially since my hand had started to go numb.
Finally, it relaxed and turned into a dull ache. I put ice on it at lunch and it got better. Enough so that now I write to you.
But as I said, it is presently from an isolated location from somewhere inside my office.
Oh, and to end my day... Short Person pee'd on the sidewalk in front of our neighbor this time. LOL... Booty prints would have been better, I think.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Our Bedroom is Finished and I Think I Need to Call TAPS
We've been working on redecorating our house for about a year and a half now. When we started, it was simply going to be to replace the carpet in the living and hallway with laminate wood flooring. That got extended to replacing the carpet and linoleum everywhere but in the bedrooms, replacing all the molding, replacing all the doors, repainting, and refinishing all the windows.
A year and a half later, we still have three rooms to go-- the bathroom, Short Person's room, and my office-- having just finished our bedroom.
Take a look. I love it! Wish I had a before picture to go with this so that you could see the difference... .
Now, if you look closely in these pictures you will see a lot of circles that look like polka-dots. I am a HUGE fan of Ghost Hunters and when I first saw this, I really thought the spirit world was having a poker party in my bedroom. Alas, I believe it is just dust. One of the downfalls to having a ceiling fan, I think. Dust everywhere.
So, I guess my phone call to Jason and Grant will have to wait until something else weird appears.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
I’m Surprised I Still Have Hair Left To Pull Out
I really couldn't decide what to name this blog... maybe, "Oh, What Must the Neighbor's Think?!" or "Mrs. Mortified is Married to Mr. Mortifier with One Child Named Mortimer"
Whatever the name, however you put it... Oui Vey!
So, Short Person has taken peeing in the yard to a new level. These days we're not even announcing that we need to go, it's "Hey guys! Watch this!" she spreads her legs and away we go!
As bad as that is, I am not sure that it compares to the new stage she's going through where tossing off her clothes is concerned. But hey, I could live with that were it contained to the back yard and inside our house.
Unfortunately, not the case. This weekend it seems, my daughter circled the block three times with her daddy, with her little baby doll in her stroller, wearing nothing but her underpants, socks, and little white sandals.
And just where in the heck was her mother!? That's what I want to know. *sigh*
Damn it. You know, one part of me is caught between hilarity and mortification, and the other part of me is caught somewhere between scared to death and total "what were you thinking!?". There's a reason we did a sex offender search on the internet to find out where they all lived!
Damn and double damn.
Whatever the name, however you put it... Oui Vey!
So, Short Person has taken peeing in the yard to a new level. These days we're not even announcing that we need to go, it's "Hey guys! Watch this!" she spreads her legs and away we go!
As bad as that is, I am not sure that it compares to the new stage she's going through where tossing off her clothes is concerned. But hey, I could live with that were it contained to the back yard and inside our house.
Unfortunately, not the case. This weekend it seems, my daughter circled the block three times with her daddy, with her little baby doll in her stroller, wearing nothing but her underpants, socks, and little white sandals.
And just where in the heck was her mother!? That's what I want to know. *sigh*
Damn it. You know, one part of me is caught between hilarity and mortification, and the other part of me is caught somewhere between scared to death and total "what were you thinking!?". There's a reason we did a sex offender search on the internet to find out where they all lived!
Damn and double damn.
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