I Don't Think That's What She Meant

Tomorrow I have to have a breast MRI. It's nothing serious, just routine maintenance, if you will. With a family history like mine, my doctor recommends a mammogram and an MRI once a year.

Today as I was leaving work, my co-worker said "Good luck tomorrow. Think happy thoughts!"

For some reason I have the urge to paint smiley faces on my boobs.

eBay is Right...

It really is better when you win it!

It's mine, all mine! And all for the bargain price of $27!! Based on the prices of similar items at Target, this is a steal! A steal, I tell you.

And can I tell you that it was really quite embarrassing how fast my heart was racing right there at the end?

Woo hoo!

I'm a Sore Loser

You know what sucks? Watching something on eBay for hours and waiting til the last minute to bid on it and still losing by mere cents. Twice.

See, we're getting Punkin a big girl bed. We've already bought the bed and frame. Mr. Daddy has sanded it and we're going to paint it sometime in the next couple of weeks. I went on eBay to see if I could find a quilt or comforter that I liked and found one almost right away. It's so cute. And it had no reserve and the starting bid was only 99 cents. And it came with a comforter, sham, dust ruffle, and valance. We watched it and watched it and watched and watched and finally, with only 30 seconds to go, we started bidding. And we lost. By twenty five cents. The winning bidder got the entire set for only $3.75. Three dollars and seventy five cents!!!!

Well, the set was from a lady's eBay store and I know that they will often have more than one set, so I started looking and sure enough, there was another one just like it. No reserve. Only 99 cents. But the kicker was that the auction was going to end while we were at church this morning so Mr. Daddy set up the bid assistant and we entered the top dollar we were willing to pay.

When we got home from church this afternoon, I ran to the computer only to find out that we had lost -- by SEVEN CENTS!! The winning big was $15.07. I don't think I took into consideration the fact that we had just returned from church when those cuss words came rolling off my tongue.

And now my dilemma. She has another set. No reserve. Only 99 cents. I could "Buy It Now" for only $49.95 plus $20 shipping, which is still a really good price for all that you get. But the thought that I could get it for $3.75 keeps running through my head. But then I think, what if it's the last one? But then I think $3.75!!! But on the other hand, I'm not sure I could take losing the auction again. Who are all these people who want the exact same bedding I do? Is somebody trying to thwart me? If it's somebody out there buying it just to re-sell it, I'm going to be really peeved.

Anybody have an eBay tips for me? Should I just go ahead and buy it? 'Cause this competition stuff is turning me into a bitter old woman.

How To Ruin Your Daughter's Social Life in One Easy Lesson

When I was in elementary school, my brother turned sixteen and my dad bought him this:

A pristinely restored 1964 Chevrolet Impala. It was gorgeous. New paint. New interior. Pale yellow with black cloth interior. It was sweet.

I guess I was maybe 9 or 10 when my brother got this car, so I had a few years to think about what I might get. My dream car was a convertible Mustang, preferably vintage, but really any year would do. My dad borrowed a newer one for me to ride on in our local Christmas parade when I was in 8th grade and I think he inquired as to the price, but found it too high and my dreams were temporarily put on hold.

I would be lying if I said I didn't expect to get a car for my 16th birthday too. I mean, it's only fair, right? What's good for the goose and all that.

So imagine my surprise when I got my car for my 15th birthday! I'm not quite sure why my dad chose to give me mine early, but but boy was I excited. Until I saw this:

Yes, my friends, that is a 1980 (I believe) Mercury Bobcat. But that photo? Is not representative of my car at all. AT ALL. No. My car was special. How special was it? My car was tri-colored!! My first car was black on the roof and hood. It had a long, swooping red stripe similar to the one above and the area below was silver. And it it had the words "bobcat" down the side in red letters about a foot high. I searched the internet high and low for an image of my car, but I'm beginning to believe it was one of a kind. And trust me, there are NO pictures of my car. I made sure of that.

Oh, and another awesome thing about my car? It had no seat belts. The man who refused to allow me to take karate, have a motorcycle or a go-cart all because they were too dangerous, bought me a car whose gas tank was known to explode in collisions and whose seat belts had been cut out. Yeeeaaah.

I tried to act excited, but inside I was crushed. I know I sound like a spoiled brat, whining over a free car, but y'all? A bobcat? Seriously? That's the best he could do?

I've mentioned before that I wasn't really a part of the in-crowd. I mean, I was popular enough, but nobody's popularity is strong enough to withstand the 'cat. Did I catch hell about that car from my classmates? You bet I did. My arch-nemesis, Jennifer, took to calling me bobcat. She would say it as I walked past her in the hall. Kind of low and under her breath. But I heard her. Every time. Or I would come to class and find "bobcat" written on my desk. Some friends of a friend of mine had a field day making fun of the wood "accents" in the interior.

But I drove it. Every day. For almost two years. Until the day that my brother moved to Thailand and we got to keep his car. His new car. That my dad bought him. This one:

A Nissan 200sx. Black. With a sun roof.

So that's what I drove my senior year. Occasionally I felt bad about driving my brother's car. But hey, he wasn't using it. And they owed me. Big time. Right?

And There was Weeping

and gnashing of teeth, as my beloved Bulldogs failed to win the College World Series. The only bright spot? I no longer have to hear the phrase "Cinderella story" or hear about that Detwiler kid's thumb. Geez louise, ESPN.

A little bit of housekeeping -- my apologies to Mr. Daddy's brother, Blub, whom I completely forgot yesterday. So named because he got a little, um, "husky" in adolescence. I told Mr. Daddy this morning that I was so glad I wasn't part of his family during my adolescence. I'm sure they would have zeroed in on the large gap between my front teeth. Mr. Daddy said they probably would have called me "Gappy." Awesome.

Anyhoo, I'll be back later. I have to tell you about how my first car nearly ruined any chance I had of a social life.

Learning the Lingo

In yesterday's post, I started to refer to something as a "chillbuster," but then figured most of you probably wouldn't really know what I meant by that. "Chillbuster" is a word I added to my vocabulary when I met Mr. Daddy. See, he's the youngest of six kids and they developed a lingo which I've since adopted.

To give you a little background, when I met Mr. Daddy it was some months before I met some of his siblings and it wasn't until the wedding that I met all of them. I knew their names, of course, but it took me ages to learn their order by age because for some reason their actual birth order just didn't seem right.

THEN I had to learn their nicknames. They all had one, and it usually referenced some physical trait, usually disparagingly. First there was Schnoz (big nose), Chuck (short for chuckhole because he had a depression in the middle of his chest between his pectoral muscles), Flip or Gump Girl (Flip because she had big feet as a teenager and Gump Girl because she got kind of tall and lanky and awkward as a teen), Ratboy (because he has kind of a thin face and because of a certain facial expression he used to make) and Biggz (Mr. Daddy, because he has a large head).

I have to say that I find the "language" that they created quite useful and have fully adapted it into my own speech and now even into our kids'. Here's a rundown:

Chillbuster: If something is beyond cheesy and complete cringe-inducing (i.e., someone dancing very embarrassingly, the thing I get called out on most often!)

Jakey: something very tacky or trashy looking (for example, when Mr. Daddy wanted to put up a temporary dog pen at our house, I was very concerned that it would look "jakey."

A Grit: a redneck or, since Mr. Daddy and his family hailed from West Virginia, a hillbilly.

Squid Squeezin's: what they renamed a jar of candy at his Mamaw's house and which is now our standard answer when the kids ask what's for dinner.

UPDATED TO ADD: Fruit Loop Frenzy: Once when they were living in Detroit, one of his siblings walked down to the store in the snow to buy some Fruit Loops. When he got back he left them in the kitchen and went to do something and while he was gone, other sibilings ate ALL the Fruit Loops. When he got back he went into a rage, which his siblings called the Fruit Loop Frenzy. It is now used to describe any type of tantrum or fit.

I'm sure there are more, but those are all I can think of. Did you inherit any sayings from your spouse? Did they inherit any from your family? Share!

Put Me In, Coach

Sorry y'all. Baseball has taken over my life. For those of you who are not aware, Georgia is in the finals of the College World Series. And I love baseball. So, that means little time for blogging (let's not blame the total and complete lack of inspiration, shall we?).

The Georgia Bulldogs rallied back and beat the Fresno State Bulldogs last night. It was looking fairly grim for our boys for a while, but truthfully the worst part of the night was listening to some announcer attempt to differentiate between the "dawgs" (that's us) and the "dogs". Dude, Andie McDowell does a better Southern accent than that (which, also, why is Andie McDowell's Southern accent so bad? The woman hails from South Carolina for pete's sake!)

Mr. Daddy and I harbor secret dreams that Bubba will grow up to be a baseball phenom. We recently moved to Madison County and the Indian's Jake Westbrook grew up here. So did Josh Fields, who plays for the Dawgs and was recently signed in the first round of the baseball draft by the White Sox. Maybe it's something in the water. Maybe it's the fact that there's not much else to around her BUT play baseball. Bubba has shown some early skill at hitting, but we missed baseball season in this county because of the move. I don't really want him to be a pitcher because I'm seriously not sure he (or I) could handle the pressure.

We've also given him fair warning that if he does become a baseball star and he's drafted by the Yankees, he's going to have to turn them down. We've taught him since birth that the Yankees (and cigarettes, by the way) = yuck.

Hopefully this baseball watching marathon will be over tonight after the Dawgs sweep the Dogs. And maybe inspiration will strike like lightning and we can return to our regularly scheduled blogging.

Random Funny

I got nothing. I mean, in the way of blog fodder. Don't know if it's some kind of doldrums, writer's block or what, so I'll just share with you some funny things the kids have said recently.

While on our trip, we slept "late" one morning. All the way to 8:00 -- yeah, that's late for us. When Bubba woke up and saw how bright it was, he said "Holy smokes! We slept clear 'til morning!"

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Bubba was telling me about going fishing once with his Papa Jack. He said "When Papa Jack pulled the fish out of the water, the fish was all flippery." What a great word!

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Punkin has recently become a little fascinated with my "girls." And my bras, which she calls "boobies." We were walking through Target one day and walked by the lingerie section, at which point Punkin yelled out "Look Mommy! Your boobies!" Heh.

The other day as we were getting ready to go to the pool, she found a bra of mine in the hamper. She ran into the room yelling "Here's your boobies Mommy, so you can go swimming!"

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Tomorrow we're headed out to a local music festival. They have a great kids area and will be featuring a dance troupe showing off their breakdancing skillz. Bubba is thrilled and is already working on his "moves." I'll try to get some video.

She's Everywhere!

Last night after dinner, I pulled out the Press N'Seal wrap to cover some leftovers.

All of sudden Punkin said "Look, Mommy! Dora! Dora on the box."

I was quite certain that Dora hadn't yet been prostituted to market cling wrap, but Punkin sounded so sure. So I turned the box over and over in my hand. Nope, no Dora.

"Punkin, there's no Dora on this box."

"Yes there is. Look!"

So, I looked again. And lo and behold, I found her. Can you spot her?

UPDATED: I actually thought more people would get this. Maybe the visual below will help.

Dora and her football shapbed head are everywhere! Frankly, I thought it was hilarious that even a two year old thinks Dora's head is shaped like a football!

I Got a Feeling Called the Bluuuuues.

The post vacation blues, that is. That's what happens when you plan your vacation so early in the summer. Now I have the whole long summer before me with nothing really to look forward to. Sigh.

I'm going to divide my recap into the bad and the good and I'm going to get the bad out of the way first because really there was way more good than bad. And honestly? It's kind of like childbirth -- those bad memories are already fading.

Bad #1 - Punkin started seriously potty training on the Thursday before we left. Her teacher told us that she thought she was ready and for us to go ahead and get some underwear for her. Why is this bad, you ask? Have any of you been around a potty training toddler lately? One that is alternately FASCINATED and utterly repelled by the potty? One that has had a tiny taste of the ABSOLUTE POWER that she wields when she utters five simple words -- "I need to go potty." Why, with just those few words, she can make mommy stop whatever she is doing and search out the nearest bathroom. Where she can then make mommy's head spin around by declaring "I don't need to go."

THAT is how the first 48 hours of my vacation went. Thank God Mr. Daddy had selected a campsite that was right across the road from the restrooms. I swear I think I spent more time in the bathroom than I did on the beach. Finally, I just put her back in a pull up and everytime she said she had to go potty I told her it was too bad. I didn't believe her anymore -- she was the little girl who cried pee, though I think the lesson was mostly lost on her. Fortunately she didn't seem to have sustained any permanent damage by our backtracking as the potty training seems to be back on track (ha! did you see that? train-ing. back on track. get it? I crack myself up.)

Bad thing #2 -- boys, avert your eyes momentarily. Before we left I decided I needed to do a little grooming in the old bikini area, so I decided to try out Veet. For those of you unfamiliar, it's your basic depilatory that comes with a bladeless razor. I applied it to the bikini area (and only the area visible to the public!) and both of my legs, ankle to thigh. Hey, I thought, if this stuff works the way it claims, I won't have to shave the entire time we're gone. Score! Well. I'm not sure if I was allergic to something in the Veet, or if it was the combination of the chemicals and scraping a rubber squeegee across my body, but let me tell you, the outcome wasn't pretty. I jumped in the shower and washed most of it off. My legs were itchy and splotchy for about an hour, but my delicate bikini area was left a little...burned. I actually had scabs where small pieces of skin came off. Fortunately, salt water helps heal wounds and the beach was pretty much deserted. Not cool. Also? Not a good advertisement for Veet.

Bad thing #3 -- Bubba thought it would be awesome if he slept with Mr. Daddy and I slept with Punkin. Okay, fine. I was a little nervous about having them sleep on the pull out bed in the camper anyway. It was a little too near the stove for my taste. But I discovered something really weird while sleeping with Punkin. Her toes have MAGNETS in them. And there are also magnets in my RIBS. Weird, huh? I swear there was one night where she her feet seemed to be actively seeking either my ribs or my kidneys with her pokey little toes, depending on which side of my body I presented for slaughter, ALL.NIGHT.LONG.

Other than those three things, the trip was great.

We left Sunday morning about 8:00 and arrived at Hunting Island State Park near Beaufort, SC around 2:00. We were quickly greeted by the welcoming committee:




















I was in the camper and heard Mr. Daddy say urgently and quietly, "Mommie, come out here." I walked out and this deer was standing in our campsite, eyeing the rope in Mr. Daddy's hand as though it were food. We held out the cheese crackers were eating for a snack and she came right up, just as pretty as you please. She (pretty sure it was a she) returned a couple of other times, once bringing another another young female and two ADORABLE spotted fawns. The fawns wouldn't get close enough for a picture, but the two older ones were a little jaded by tourists, I guess.

After the welcome wagon left, we hightailed it to the beach, eager not to waste a moment of our time there. And of course we had to carry the stuff. Fortunately, the pack mules came in handy:
Until, of course, the plastic bucket and the Styrofoam board got too heavy (insert whine here) and Mommy ended up carrying everything.

The beach was gorgeous and not crowded at all. Sandcastles were built, tans were acquired, shells were gathered. We were definitely the coolest people on the beach.































During our trip we visited the Lighthouse. Mr. Daddy and Bubba went up -- though Mr. Daddy is afraid of heights and Bubba would rather have a bee in his pants than climb up 175 stairs -- while Punkin and I waited outside. Fortunately it wasn't a long wait -- Mr. Daddy and Bubba only made it up one flight of stairs before retreating to solid ground.

We played on the playground:


We went to the beach every evening after supper. There were great tidal pools full of blue crabs, hermit crabs, fish, and all manner of aquatic life -- perfect for wading.



































This was where Bubba learned to ride his bike with no training wheels. The sand at low tide was perfect for learning to ride -- hard enough to ride on, but soft enough not to scrape any knees!

Also perfect for practicing your surfing stance.


We made some memories. And it was good.

Everybody all together...It's About Time.....

somebody opened one of these.






Too bad it's in Belgium.



More on the vacay later!

The Sound....of Silence

This morning I sent Punkin off to school with Mr. Daddy. I'm taking today off so that I can get some stuff done before our trip. Bubba is still at his MeMe's house, though we will be picking him up this afternoon.

So, I grabbed my 3/4 C. Honey nut Cheerios, 1 cup fat free milk and my coffee and sat out on the back deck.

The sun is coming up over the trees and it is so quiet, except for the birdsong. There are so many birds that you would almost think you were in a bird sanctuary. The air is still cool(ish), though somewhat damp. (Please ignore our dying grass -- anything that gets full sun has been cooked. We need to re-seed with a different kind).

So, I'm off to do some laundry. Make some lists. Do some grocery shopping. I may post one more time before we leave, but next week I plan on having no internet connection, so it might be at least next Friday before you hear from me again.

Oh, and thanks for all the book recommendations. I checked out a few and have put the rest on my TO READ list. You guys are great!

In Which I Enlist Your Help

Have I mentioned that we're going on vacation next week? No? Really? I'm truly surprised because it's all I can think about. I was sure that was all I had been rambling on about.

We leave Sunday morning for the shores of SC. We're taking my dad's big RV to a state park along the coast. I've never been there but my mom says it's one of the most gorgeous beaches that she's been to. The upside is that the cost of the space from Sunday to Thursday was only $100. Seeing as how we spent $600 in gas in the month of May, we need a cheap vacation.

So, I need your help. I need some book recommendations. I've been kind of in a dry spell recently, reading-wise. So, help me out. Recommend something. But preferably not anything too new. I need to check it out from my library and they don't usually have the newest things (it is a University library after all).

Here's what I like: mysteries (though not really police procedurals), historical fiction (particularly dealing with the 1940s/WWII), 19th Century British Lit., some "chick lit," and that's about all I can think of.

Your assistance is greatly appreciated.

The Cold Hard Facts

Back in February, I told y'all about our friends, Matt and Erica, who were getting ready to have their first child. Well, d-day is tomorrow. The baby is breech and Erica is a tiny little thing, so they've scheduled a c-section. After I gave her the little book I made in which I compiled y'all's excellent advice, she noticed that I had not given her any advice myself and asked me to contribute something. I ended up telling her a few things, but here's what I wanted to tell her -- and I'm only putting this down here now because I'm pretty sure she's not going to read it tonight:

Y'all, that shit is hard! THAT's what I wish somebody had told me. Oh sure, they tell you it's the toughest job you'll ever love (the Army SO stole that from mothers). It's so challenging but it's so rewarding. Blah blah blah.

Nobody ever told me that it was going to be THAT hard. Nobody told me that there would be days when I dreamed -- awake of course because you never sleep -- about running away. Nobody told me that there would be days I would call my SIL, mother already to three, wailing "All he ever wants to do is nurse! I feel like that's ALL.I.DO." Nobody told me that when I went to lie down so that I could "sleep when the baby sleeps" that my ears would be constantly straining for his cry, wondering "Was that him? Did he squeak? Oh for the love of God, just go to sleep for five minutes so I CAN SLEEP." Nobody told me that, vigilant as I was for it's signs, that I would suffer from a mild case of postpartum depression. And that making that phone call to get help would be one of the hardest things I would ever do, even though I am an avid proponent of therapy in all forms.

And that's not really fair, you know? Somebody SHOULD tell you how hard it is. It's like sending you into battle with no map, no weapons, without even knowing what battle is. I think if I had had any inkling of how hard those first days, weeks, heck even months, were going to be, then I might have been better prepared. Less likely to question myself. More willing to seek help instead of thinking that I could, should, do it all myself. Less likely to beat myself up if something didn't work. Nothing about becoming a parent comes easy, but maybe knowing that would have made it easier somehow.

So should we tell soon-to-be-parents all of our horror stories? Or do we keep it a secret, making it some whacked out rite of passage that everybody has to go through? Or would we just be scaring them to death? Do they HAVE to learn it for themselves?

I don't know. Hindsight is, of course, 20-20. But I kind of wish I had known.

Updated to add: Matt and Erica's baby girl was born at 9:47 this morning. She weighed 7 lbs 10oz and everybody is doing great. And even though I wrote about how hard it all was, when I got the news I got a little teary eyed and all I could think was "Awwww....it's so wonderful." I should just shut my piehole.

Three's Company

I'm experiencing a phenomenon this week that I have experienced only rarely in three and half years -- I have only one child.

Bubba has gone on his annual camping trip with his MeMe (my mom), Papa Jack and his cousin Birdie. He left on Saturday night and will be gone until Thursday. If I know Bubba, he is having the time of his life, eating whatever he wants, swimming, staying up late, and playing with his cousin. He'll return tan as all get out, filthy dirty, exhausted, and full of stories.

So this week it's just me and Mr. Daddy and Punkin. And while we miss Bubba, it's kind of nice. We spent two and half years with just us and Bubba before Punkin came along, but Punkin rarely gets our undivided attention. Welcome to the life of the second child -- you get half as much of everything as the first child. Or at least that's the way it seems sometimes.

Saturday night we went to Outback -- just the three of us. It was entertaining to listen to Punkin's observations, watch her interact with the servers, and generally be the center of attention without having to compete with her brother, who, let's face it, is always talking. A girl can barely get a word in edgewise. Punkin either, for that matter.

So this week it's all about us. Just the three of us. And by the time Bubba comes back, we'll be ready for him. And his stories.