Madame Queen

A little more grace....

2011-11-21T16:18:00.000-05:00

Things that make me smile

Blowing the Dust Off

2011-11-18T08:38:00.002-05:00

I'm blowing the dust off over at What Grace Is Given Me....

Have you counted YOUR blessings today?

Reflections on 39

2011-11-04T13:09:00.003-04:00

So, I turned 39 a couple of weeks ago. Really, it was no big deal. I don't FEEL 39, whatever that means. I feel like I look pretty good for my age. I'm probably in the best shape of my life (cardio-wise anyway) due to my awesome KG Ladies Running Club (that's the cheesy name we gave ourselves) and the 3.5 miles we run 2-3 times a week.

I wasn't freaking out about turning nearly 40, is what I'm saying.

But then. Then I started getting what I would call "wild hairs." And no, I'm not talking about chin whiskers or anything like that. I'm talking about crazy ideas.

Like getting my nose pierced.

Or having hot pink hair.

See, I've always wanted to do those things and now I feel like it's too late. For one, I can't really have either at my job. I could probably swing the nose stud, but should I? Really?

For Halloween this year I did a modified Goth girl costume. I spiked my hair and put fake studs in my lip and nose and ears. Several people who saw me said "Wow, you really pull that off. I bet you've got a little bit of rocker girl down inside." And you know what, I DO!

There are so many things I wish I'd done when I was younger that now I feel like I'm too old for. Don't get me wrong -- I'm not saying I'm OLD, just too old for these particular things.

I feel like I want to do SOMETHING to prove that I'm still young, still wild at heart if not so much in action. I just don't know what that SOMETHING is.

They're Not the Boss of Me

2011-10-14T08:02:00.003-04:00

I'm tired of my appliances telling me what to do.

"Beep beep beep" if I don't attend immediately to whatever the microwave has finished heating. Ninety seconds later "beep beep beep." I'll leave my reheated coffee in there all damn day if I want to.

Also with the beeping is the iron if I leave it too long in one position. Cheesey Pete! Leave me alone! You won't steam otherwise!

And don't even get me started on my coffee maker. It's such a Whiney McWhinerson. "Cleaning Needed" it flashes EVERY DAY. I could clean it every five minutes, make a pot of coffee and it would still say "Cleaning Needed." Needy much?

No, I'm not tired at all. Why do you ask?

Serenity NOW!

2011-08-24T08:01:00.003-04:00

They say that which doesn't kill us makes us stronger. I should be as strong as freakin' Hercules after all this.

The sun'll come out tomorrow and all that jazz. Tomorrow is another day.

What I'm saying is that I feel better today. I think I need to take this opportunity to say that I sometimes use this blog as an emotion dump. I think everybody in my real life is sick of hearing me worry about this stuff (not that you guys AREN'T! heh.) and this is a convenient place to just dump everything I'm thinking and feeling.

After my last "woe is me" post, Mr. Daddy asked me "Why do you put all that stuff out there for everybody to read?"

"It makes me feel better for one," I said. "Also, I got at least two "YES, me too!" comments. So it helps me feel like I'm not alone in this and maybe by posting that I'm helping somebody ELSE feel like they're not alone either."

"Oh. Yeah. I can see that," he said.

And that right there, in a nutshell, is why I still blog, even if only occasionally.

Mountains Out of Molehills

2011-08-23T12:58:00.003-04:00

So, apparently I do this thing? This thing where I withdraw when I'm feeling stressed. From everything. Even stuff I enjoy? I don't know what this is about, but I'm doing it right now.

We didn't even go to church on Sunday because I felt like I just couldn't deal. I'm only at work because I HAVE to be.

This morning I sighed one of my patented "dragon breath" sighs and Mr. Daddy asked me what's wrong. "I'm stressed," I replied.

"About what?"

"About Punkin." And although he reminded me that really, she's fine, she's healthy, she's smart, she's sweet and really we have NOTHING to worry about, I can't help it.

She breaks my heart. I want the world for her. I look at her little face and she wants to do big things, I can just tell.

Last night I had to nix the violin lessons she's been talking about since she was three. We were at our second lesson and she just wouldn't do anything, again. She picked up the violin and was picking at the strings as the instructor asked her to, but only barely. And when he laughed -- not at her -- she thought that he WAS laughing at her and she melted down. I thanked him for his time and said that perhaps we would try again when she was older. At that point I saw her making an effort to pull herself out of her shell. She reached over to the violin sitting in its case and began plucking at the strings, but when I told her that we were done, she got mad and stormed out of the room.

We went outside and sat on the bench. "Are you sad?" I asked her.

"I wanted to play it," she said, "but I was just so nervous."

I pulled her into my lap and wrapped my arms around her. "You have years and years to learn how to play the violin," I assured her, my quivering voice almost betraying me.

Am I making mountains out of molehills? Maybe. Who knows. I think I feel just as lost as she does.

What a Difference a Day Makes

2011-08-11T09:01:00.003-04:00

Yesterday did not start off well. I had a bad mood hangover that was exacerbated by Bubba's refusal to help walk Punkin into school because he would be "embarrassed." So, instead I made him walk in with his MOTHER (oh my GOD!) and I even made him hold my hand for a few feet. That'll learn him!

But last night when I picked them up, I was resolved to make it a wonderful evening. I asked them if they had a good day and Bubba said "Yeah, except for this morning." I apologized for my irritation and vowed to do better.

Punkin had a great day. In her class they have a Green/Yellow/Red behavior system, but they also can move UP on the ladder to blue and purple and she had moved up to blue. She didn't know what she had done to get moved up, but I guess it really doesn't matter.

When we got home I asked if she wanted to help me make dinner. I thought this would be a great way for us to spend some time together, doing something fun. Well, fun-ish. She poured water for the rice, she used the can opener to open the beans and dumped them into the pot. We made corn muffins from a box (Shhhh! Don't tell my grandmother) and she cracked the egg and poured the milk. She stirred them and then I held the bowl while she spooned the batter into the muffin pan.

The whole dinner itself was delightful. Everyone ate their food with no complaints (somebody mark this date on a calendar!), nobody was fussed at for squirming or standing up. Everybody used their utensils properly. Over ice cream dessert we divided into Team Vanilla (me and Bubba) and Team Mint Chocolate Fudge chunk (Mr. Daddy and Punkin). The look of betrayal on Punkin's face when she realized that Mr. Daddy was in fact eating vanilla was priceless and sent us all into fits of giggles.

All in all, it was delightful. And stress free. And there was no yelling.

And boy did I need that.

Lost

2011-08-10T08:16:00.002-04:00

Lost. That's how I feel. Frustrated. That's another good one. Confused. Inadequate.

For the first time in a long time I feel like I don't know what in the hell I'm doing as a mother. I don't think I've felt this way since Bubba was a newborn and that "Who made me a parent" panic set in.

We're still struggling with Punkin's behavior. There are some issues going on at school that have spilled over from last school year and there's her behavior at home and I don't know if the two are related, but based on several things that happened last school year, we are having her evaluated for ADD/ADHD.

I just know that I'm tired. So tired of having every interaction with her be a struggle. Nothing is ever easy with her.

You ask her to go get dressed. Ten minutes later I go upstairs and she hasn't done anything. She's playing or just sitting there. Ask her to brush her teeth and ten minutes later you go up there and she "getting some water" or she'll say "I just started thinking and I forgot to brush my teeth."

You say "Punkin, time to take a bath." Her response, EVERY TIME "I don't wanna, I don't wanna."

No matter what you say or ask her to do she has some kind of push back -- "But I just need to (insert stalling tactic here) first" or "but I don't want to."

I let her choose sometimes whether she can stay up a few extra minutes and watch a little tv or she can go to bed right then and get a bedtime story. If she chooses the tv option she will invariably beg for a story. If I hold to my guns and say no she will ask and ask and ask and ask until I lose my temper. I don't know how many times I've said "I've said no and that is my answer so stop asking." "I can't stop thinking about it!" she'll wail!

And sometimes I probably make things worse by giving in but my God I get so tired of the struggle.

Today I feel at the end of my rope. Things seem to have gotten worse lately and I don't know if it's school starting back, the new school and new teachers, the new routine.

I just know I feel lost.

Haiku for Summer Camp

2011-07-29T09:38:00.002-04:00

Today is Bubba's last day at the Y, finishing up his 3rd year there. He loves it just as much today as he did on his first day there 3 years ago when he got in the car and said "I had the best day ever!"

The last day of camp

high fives, phone numbers exhanged.

See you next year!

Goodbye Ruby Tuesday

2011-07-25T21:15:00.002-04:00

We are no strangers to camping. Believe me, we know the travails that can come with 4 people piled into a what amounts to a large tin can. Believe me, we know. So it's not like we went into our trip as greenhorns or anything.

We made our reservations for St. Joseph Peninsula State Park in February of this year and we were really excited because the place looked beautiful. It's on Cape San Blas which has been voted best beach in America two years in a row. And we were especially excited because we were supposed to go there last year, but we canceled at the last minute because of the predicted path of the oil spill.

So we were stoked, is what I'm saying.

We had planned to break up the drive by spending one night in a town along the way and so we made a reservation in an RV park, sight unseen. It looked nice enough on the website. However. HOWEVER, upon pulling into the "RV" park (and yes, I'm using air quotes) it quickly became evident that it wasn't so much a campground as a trailer park? Only, instead of regular trailers they were campers? But permanently attached with lattice work attached and small, semi-permanent porches? There also didn't appear to be any predetermined spaces for us to put our camper and to top it all off, the office was closed with only a note on the door instructing us to put our money in an envelope and slide it through the slot on the door.

Ooookay.

As we pulled through the campground trying to figure out what in the hell to do, we passed a sign that said "No overnight campers past this point." Uh, what? We meandered through the "campground" passing a couple of cars up on blocks until we finally had to turn around in what was obviously someone's back yard.

Um, no. Or as we say in my family, not only no but hell no.

We drove to a nearby hotel and briefly ~~stole~~ borrowed their wifi and found another RV park down the road. Guess what? Also a trailer park. Apparently "RV park" in south Georgia is code for trailer park? Who knew?

Hellloooo Best Western.

After hanging in the hotel room for a while we ventured out to find something to eat. Before we left home I had scouted out a couple of restaurants in this town, but when we arrived downtown we discovered that everything was closed because it was Sunday. We drove around for a good 30 minutes before we found the strip malls and the chain restaurants.

We spotted a Ruby Tuesday, headed inside, and as we sat down I reached for the beer menu. After 5+ hours in the car, getting lost in trailer park, and trying to find some place to eat, I needed a drink.

"I'll have a Red Stripe with a lime," I said to the waitress, when she showed up to take our drink order.

"Um, is that a beer?" she asked me timidly.

In my head I thought "Oh my God. Are you an idiot? I need to know right know if I'm dealing with an idiot" but I smiled politely and said "Yes?"

"Oh, you're not from Georgia are yewwww?" she drawled. "We can't serve alcohol on Sundays."

For the love of....

I resisted the urge to run screaming from the restaurant and kindly informed her that yes, we were from Georgia but that the city we lived in had voted to serve alcohol on Sundays in restaurants. I started to tell her how each city could vote on the issue, but she really didn't seem like she was up for a civics lesson, so I let it go.

Fortunately, a fairly decent steak and some delicious mashed potatoes helped me get over my sorrow. And to prepare me for the next day's adventures.

Mosquito Bit and Tarred

2011-07-21T18:47:00.000-04:00

Well, we've just returned from our most recent camping escapades. As usual, there were good times and there were bad times. I'll be back soon to fill you in on all the details.

Just one question in the meantime: why are mosquitoes so attracted to ankles? It really seems a barren place, but dang if they don't zero in there every time.

The Hard Way

2011-07-15T13:42:00.002-04:00

One of the things I love most about my kids is their bodies -- their tiny, perfectly compact little bodies. Sometimes I look at them and marvel "I made that." Well, I had some help, but you know what I'm talking about.

Punkin is getting taller by the day, fast losing the last of her baby belly. Bubba, so tan from being in the sun at camp every day, loves to walk around the house in just his underwear as he prepares for bed and I swear he looks just like Mowgli with his floppy hair and knobby knees.

I hope I can say this without sounding pervy, but I especially love their butts. They're just so cute! I have, over the years, developed a habit of smacking them on the butt. Not in a spanking kind of way, but in a "Hey there Sparky", coach-to-football player kind of way. Or if they're walking up the stairs behind me, I just can resist giving them a little goose.

Well, the kids have now decided to return the favor. I'll be cooking supper and all of a sudden - whap! And you know what? That shit is HELLA ANNOYING. So. No more put pats. No more gooses. LESSON LEARNED.

Fear Factor

2011-07-14T09:15:00.002-04:00

I'm having a little trouble getting back into the blogging groove, so I'm going to use other people's blogs as my inspiration.

Yesterday on Twitter, AndreAnna was talking about how much she hates butterflies -- well, anything with wings, really. And that made me think of Metalia's post the other day titled The Sum of All Fears, which I thought was brilliant and of course made me start thinking of what mine would be.

And then on the way home, Mindy of Absolutely Mindy on XM Kids' Place Live was playing their new game of "Would You Rather" and some kid came up with this doozy: Would you rather swim in a snake infested lake or a cockroach infested swimming pool?

Y'all.

One the one hand, I'm not really afraid of snakes. I don't love them, but as long as I can keep my distance I'm okay. I'll even hold one at a wildlife show if I know it's non-poisonous. But have you ever seen Lonesome Dove? Like, the first episode? The one with the water moccasins? Ay yi yi. Nightmares forever.

All I'm going to say about the other is whispery, feathery cockroach wings. Enough said.

However, the sum of all my fears? Would probably go something like this:

Being in a dimly lit room with Jason Voorhees and Michael Myers both just standing behind me, looking at me, not saying anything, with spiders covering the entire floor and cobwebs touching my hair.

Well. Now that I have sufficiently creeped myself out, I think I'll try to get some work done.

Home. Again.

2011-07-10T14:36:00.003-04:00

When we last left Madame Queen's family, they were in the midst of negotiations for purchasing a home. Remember? And remember how she said the whole thing was fraught with discord? Yeah, well, it was a sign. That house was not meant to be.

We had the inspection done and the inspector found some problems. Not a ton of problems, but enough and of a nature that it triggered my own PTSD from the time the sellers didn't disclose a bunch of a problems with the last house we'd owned and well...I just couldn't do it. We didn't have a contract and so we told the sellers we didn't feel comfortable buying that house. The sellers were not happy, to say the least, but what could they do.

A few weeks later we made an offer on another house, one that I'd kind of had my eye on since the previous October and within a week the sellers accepted our offer. This was in February? I think? But because of our foreclosure history, we had to wait until three years from the date of our foreclosure to buy another house, so we had to wait until May 1st to apply for the loan. You want to talk about some months that simultaneously flew and dragged by? And I was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs the whole time that something was going to wrong.

But May 1st came, we applied for the loan, it was approved, we had the closing, and we moved in.

I'm not sure I can fully describe the feeling of owning my own home after what we've been through over the past 4 years. In that time we've paid off all of our debt with the exception of Mr. Daddy's car and I think, for the first time in a long time (ever?), I feel like a grown up. No, I'm not proud of what happened 3 years ago, but I'm not ashamed of it either. It sounds like self-help mumbo jumbo to say that if it hadn't happened we wouldn't have learned so much about ourselves, but it's true.

The most exciting part about living here, though, is our neighbors. There are tons of kids close by and Bubba and Punkin have loved being able to head out after dinner every evening to play with whomever is around. And I and three of my neighbor friends have started a running club, meeting 3 nights a week to run together. And did I tell you about Halloween? It was Halloween last year that I fell in love with this neighborhood. It is THE place to trick-or-treat in our area and everybody opens up their garage doors and goes all out decorating and dressing up. We came last year because several of our church friends live here and it was so much fun -- such a sense of community.

So, if my autobiography used to be called "How I Went from Living in Tree-Lined Suburbia to a Double-wide in My Daddy's Back Yard," I think I could now add the subtitle, to steal a quote from Bilbo Baggins, "There and Back Again."

News From the Homefront

2011-07-09T10:22:00.003-04:00

Literally.

This is a teaser, of sorts, to fill you in on what's been occupying my time. More later!

I miss my blog

2011-07-07T17:00:00.001-04:00

You might not believe it, since I seem to have abandoned it so readily, but I miss my blog. I had lunch with the lovely Mir yesterday for the first time in about a year and she commented that I had retreated into my cave for a while and I suppose I did. My online presence has certainly diminished.

There was a period there where things were just kind of blah. I wasn't sad, but I wasn't really happy. I didn't really have anything that felt worthwhile to say to the larger world.

I also "quit" blogging for another reason. Now, this is going to sound extremely egotistical and self-centered, but hey, you're getting the real me here. I quit blogging because I quit getting comments. Oh, I'd get a few from my lovely, loyal readers (you know who you are!), but the traffic that I used to get was gone. And it hurt, I'm not gonna lie. My self worth as a writer was tied to the number of comments I received or how much traffic I got that day. I couldn't help but compare myself to those bloggers that I considered my equal whose traffic only seemed to be increasing. And I was jealous. And I didn't like feeling that way, so I just quit. That's the easiest way out, right? Instead of working to be like them, I just quit.

I was having lunch with a new writer friend a week or so ago and I was talking to her about how when I was younger I always wanted to be a writer and she interrupted me to say "You ARE a writer." And that stopped me cold. Am I? Maybe I am.

I'm not going to make any promises about posting here regularly. I hope I will. My intentions are good. But we all know what road is paved with good intentions, right? So. I'm back. Sort of. Maybe.

Food for Thought and I Enlist Your Help

2011-01-17T07:33:00.004-05:00

My pastor's sermon was very thought-provoking and very timely for me yesterday. She was talking about the virus of violence in our world and how what we, right here in our very own lives, can do to help stop it. Her suggestion was to follow the three rules of the Methodist Church:

1. Do no harm -- While on the surface, this seems like it would be pretty easy, right? I mean, none of us go around hitting or otherwise physically harming others. But what about those words we use? They say "Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me," but we all know that's the biggest lie there is. Words are sometimes more painful than actual physical hurts because the sting of words can last far longer any physical ailment. The pain of childbirth is but a distant memory, but I can still remember the emotional hurts of years ago.

2. Do good. This, too, at first seems easy. I think the majority of us go about our lives trying to be good people. There is a difference between being good and doing good. "Doing" implies activity, not passivity. It is not enough to BE good, we need to DO good.

And 3. Stay in Love with God. This one seems easy, too, especially when you've just left a particularly moving sermon or a great worship service. But when life gets really busy and we get stressed out, it is easy to feel one's self losing that close relationship with God, losing that connection. We start to feel as though God has left us, but it is generally we that have left God.

All of these messages struck home with me yesterday because my own home hasn't been feeling particularly peaceful as of late. I don't know whether it's the continued lack of any kind of schedule because of the Christmas holidays and then no school for a week because of the snow, but Punkin's behavior has deteriorated. It seems as though we had a great couple of months and had a lot of forward progress, but lately we're back into the daily tantrums and the yelling, oh the yelling -- it kills my soul.

Yesterday in the car on the way home from church, I made a vow to my kids: No more yelling. BUT, I also said, I needed them to do their part and do what they're told when they're told. Now for Bubba, this isn't really a problem. Bubba is a model child. If I'd ordered him from an order form, I don't think I could have done any better.

But remember that "mind of her own" of Punkin's? Well, that mind rarely, if ever, wants to do what it's told to do. It never puts on it's pajamas when asked. It never brushes it's teeth, instead piddles in the bathroom forever. It doesn't put on it's socks in the morning, pretending intead that it doesn't know how. It falls down (in the most melodramatic fashion possible) to keep from having to do something it was told to do.

And y'all? I don't know what to do. I've tried everything. Knowing that reward works better than punishment I made a chart, complete with little pictures of all daily activties. Punkin got a sticker if she completed her task when asked. Once the chart was filled, she would get a prize. Guess who got a prize? Bubba! Who also got a chart in order to head off the "why does she get a prize for doing something I do all the time" complaint.

I've threatened to send her to school in her pajamas/sockless/naked if she doesn't get dressed.

I've used a timer, which works, but which causes so much anxiety and tears in Punkin that it's really not worth it.

So, I turn to you. What's a non-yelling mom to do? Englighten me, O brilliant readers.

2011-01-17T07:33:00.001-05:00

I Wonder Where She Gets It

2011-01-15T12:01:00.002-05:00

So, Punkin's strong personality is well documented here on this blog. I recently heard this song by Frances England and it so perfectly captures what I imagine is going on her mind.

Take a listen....

Updates from the Snowy South

2011-01-13T07:53:00.005-05:00

So, after a gentle nudge in the comments of my last post from a longtime reader, I realized that I haven't posted in a while. I realized that this happens to me when I have something unbloggable going on. It's like my brain thinks that if it can't blog about x, then it can't blog at all. But I think it's safe now to blog some of the details, so here goes.

We have made an offer on a house.

Let's all let that sink in for a moment, shall we? Now let's all do a happy dance!

But don't get all Saturday Night Fever on me just yet. The reasons I haven't blogged about this happy occasion are these: 1) the possibility of jinxing the whole thing and 2) the fact that the whole experience has been frought with frustration and negativity. Except for the part where we loooove the house.

I still can't get into all the details because you just never know who is related to whom around these parts, but the sellers have been somewhat....difficult. Yeah, that's the word I'll use. There's no realtor involved and the sellers have poured a crap ton of their own money trying to save this house from going into foreclosure for their son and they have what can best be described as PTSD in regards to this house, which I totally get, by the way. However, every time we have tried to negotiate the best deal possible for US, they view it as us trying to screw them over.

We have almost walked away from the whole deal twice and it could still happen. We should see the attorney's contract today and depending on what's in it, the whole deal might be off. The weird thing is, if it is? I'm totally okay with it.

So, obviously, I'll keep you posted.

Most of y'all are probably aware that we are currently experiencing Snowmageddon 2011 around here. For those Northerners among us, please attempt to refrain from guffawing at us and our inability to deal. In our defense, I can probably count on both hands the number of times it has snowed in my entire life, and yet in the last three years we've had two snowfalls that have basically crippled us. Both times, including this one, the snow turned to ice once on the ground. When you live in a hilly geographical region as we do, well, ice and hills just don't mix. To sum up, we are not prepared.

So, I am basically looking at the 4th day in a row in the house with the kids. TV has been watched, video games have been played, books have been read, Wii bowling tournaments have been played (and lost! #$#$%)#$%) and I can slowly but surely feel my brain turning into mush. The truly sad thing is that all these negative experiences with snow (you might remember this one) have killed my love for snow. It feels like part of my inner child has died.

Come on spring!!!

It's a Conundrum

2011-01-02T16:53:00.002-05:00

This afternoon, Bubba asked me what a roommate was. We gave him a quick explanation, but it reminded me of something that's been running through my mind recently.

When I went off to college, I planned to share an apartment with my best friend from high school. Everyone warned me "DON'T live with your best friend. It will ruin your friendship."

And sure enough, it didn't go that well. Well, at first it did, but then things kind of went haywire.

And then later, I lived with another friend and everybody warned me: "Don't live with your friends!" And sure enough: good at first, later = haywire.

But tell me, what is the #1 advice people give you when you're looking for a mate? Marry your best friend.

But how is that supposed to work exactly? Marry your best friend. But don't live with them? 'Cause it will ruin your friendship? Gee, that doesn't bode well for marriage now does it?

I guess the only saving grace is that at least we're not fighting over boys.

Happy New Year!

2011-01-01T11:12:00.002-05:00

Happy New Year, y'all! Last night the family and I capped off the year (at 7:30 p.m. no less) with a sparkling grape juice toast that highlighted our hopes for the new year.

Quick aside -- Dear Welch's, WHY did you do away with the champagne-like cork on your sparkling grape juice? That was the fun of the whole thing -- getting to pop the cork! Unscrewing a top is just NOT as celebratory. Get on it!

Anyway, when I made my toast, I said that I had a feeling that 2011 was going to be a banner year for this family. We've got lots of things in the works, and I can't wait to share with y'all everything that's coming up.

This feeling, combined with the word I've chosen to signify the new year, renewal, have me feeling very positive. What do think is in the works for you in 2011?

A Gift

2010-12-24T10:26:00.002-05:00

I love Christmas music. I mean, who doesn't really? I have a favorite secular Christmas song (Silver Bells) and while I have several that are in the running for a semi-tie for favorite religious Christmas songs, probably my all-time favorite is the Harry Simeone Chorale version of "The Little Drummer Boy."

I love the harmony and the "brum brums," but mostly I love the message. Even the smallest, poorest among us have a gift we can bring -- to God, to the world, to our friends and family.

Merry Christmas!

I hope that this Christmas you learn to recognize the gifts you have to bring and that He smiles at you.

Somebody Hand Me a Tissue

2010-12-22T14:13:00.002-05:00

I've not been shy here about mentioning some of my "mental health issues." If you're new here, go read here and, to some degree, here.

Well, for those of you playing along at home, I'm off my Lexapro again. I weaned myself this time and have had a much better result. MUCH better. You know what's best about it, though? The tears. The crying. Oh, how I've missed crying. And the sad thing was that I didn't even realize that I was missing it, which is odd since I'm a life-long crier. I'm talking about the sentimental tears. You know the ones -- that ones that come when the Mom in the Publix commercial realizes that the cake the little boy made is for her, not some imagined sweetheart. Or the ones that spring to your eyes when your child gives you a spontaneous declaration of love accompanied by a huge hug.

Of course, my most notorious sentimental cry was over the Mercedes commercial. This one, to be exact. Come ON! How can you NOT cry at that? Its life is flashing before its eyes!

I didn't even realize these tears were missing until I was driving along the other day, singing along to the radio with my kids. All of sudden, my voice and Bubba's rose above the radio in perfect harmony. I was filled with such a swell of love at that moment and all of a sudden my eyes welled.

Wait. what's this? This...wetness...in my eyes?!

Since then it's been like unleashing a dam. Everything sets me off. Oh tears! How I missed you. I'm sooo glad you're back. And just in time, too, for Christmas, when the sight of the kids with Santa, every Christmas carol, the Christmas Eve service at church are sure to bring on the waterworks.

I'll be looking at the Christmas tree this year with tears in my eyes. And boy am I glad.

Creepie Crawlies

2010-12-21T13:50:00.005-05:00

First off, a note to my step-sister Amy -- just skip this post. Come back tomorrow, but don't read this one. You'll thank me, I promise you.

So, yesterday we were all stuck at home due to a strep diagnosis for Punkin'. We were all just hanging out and doing our own thing. As I walked into the kitchen, I noticed a cobweb hanging from the light fixture over our table. Not having a reputation as an immaculate housekeeper, I wasn't too surprised. I went over to swipe it down when I noticed that it stretched down to the back of one of the chairs as well as over to the curtain on the window.

And that's when I noticed that this cobweb was covered with approximately 100 baby spiders. Yes, I said spiders. Now, granted, they were tiny, but me and spiders just don't gee haw . But I really do hate to kill God's creatures so I've compromised by saying that if a spider is outside, it can live. However, if it's inside, it's gotta die.

My dilemma here, though, was that I wasn't really sure how to get rid of so many tiny spiders at once, so I grabbed the first thing that came to my mind -- I should spray them with something. I grabbed the closest thing to hand -- Windex. Hey, they say it works on zits, right? It's chemicals, right? And chemicals will surely kill spiders. So saith the Lord.

So, I gave them a quick squirt followed by a quick swipe with a paper towel. I managed to get most of them, but a few survived and began to crawl everywhere, including up my arm. I did my trademarked heebie jeebie dance all the while screaming "Aaiaiaiaiaia." Punkin, who was feeling better by this time got a big kick out of my antics, but I was completely freaked out. And that's when I made the mistake of looking behind the curtain.

More spiders. A lot more. I grabbed the Windex again and went in, nozzle blazing. Because these were more contained, they were more easily wiped out. I did more dancing and more "aiaiaiaiai-ing," but I managed to get them all.

I went into bathroom to wash my hands and try to get over my freakout. Bubba, who had been zombified by the computer up until that point, asked me what all the yelling was about. As soon as he heard spiders he wanted to see the site of the massacre.

"They're not there!" he yelled back to me.

"I know," I said. "I killed them all!" It was quiet for a moment and then...

"Mommy...um, they're all over the ceiling!"

Y'all. I went back into the kitchen and looked up. It was like that scene from that old horror movie about spiders, the one where at the end the entire town is covered in a spider web. I stared up in horror at what looked like at least 200 baby spiders. I was majorly freaked out, but something had to be done.

I grabbed the Windex again and told Bubba to stand back. I raised the bottle and gave a squirt. At which time 200 baby spiders descended from the ceiling on their webs -- straight onto the top of my head. You have never seen such screaming and dancing around, arms flailing around my head. I managed to reach the broom and then did a quick sweep, managing to catch most of them in the bristles of the broom.

Which I promptly placed outside. And squirted with more Windex, just for good measure.

This morning as I stood over my desk shuffling piles of paper, a spider crawled out from under one stack and across another. I swear to God all I could think of was "That's the momma spider and she hitched a ride here -- on MY BODY!!!!!"

So, now I have a major case of the heebie jeebies. And I'll never look at the scene from Charlotte's Web the same again. You know the one. The one where all her babies fly away at the end. That's not sweet or sad. That's just plain creepy!

Nothing Good Comes Easy.

2010-12-18T08:50:00.005-05:00

So, I promised a post about our recent camping trip. It's become sort of an annual event -- our winter camping extravaganza. Winter camping is always a dicey enterprise and we don't even DO hardcore camping. I mean, we sleep in a camper. A pop-up, but still, a camper. Some of you might remember this camping trip -- one of the most miserable in my life, but they've generally gotten better and I actually look forward to them now.

It doesn't look like I wrote about last year's adventures, but we went up to Unicoi State Park and had a great time. We froze our butts off the first night, but the second night we cranked up both heaters and actually slept pretty warmly.

This year we went to Enota campground and our pop up had been upgraded from a soft-side pop up with few amenities to a hard-side pop up with a built in heater! So we fully anticipated an easy set up and sleeping warmly.

Getting a campsite set up is always frought with stress, at least for our family. Mr. Daddy is, um, shall we say, easily stressed, and if things don't go just right (and they seldom do!), voices might be raised. A teeny bit. Getting a camp site set up after dark is a completely different animal. There are a lot more opportunities for things to go awry.

When we pulled into the campsite it was pitch dark -- problem number one. Problem number two? It was about 20 degrees outside. Mr. Daddy pulled the camper past the site, getting ready to back the camper into the space. The space for the camper was very narrow and I was dispatched to the back to help guide Mr. Daddy into the spot. All of a sudden, a car pulls up behind us, shining its lights into our face. We waved it around, but it just stayed there. Lights on. In our faces. Mr. Daddy sat there. I waved at the car again and I'm pretty sure my aggravation could be read in my wave. Dude, GO AROUND. The car didn't move. More aggressive waving. Finally, finally, it went around.

An older gentleman (henceforth known as Helpful Older Gentleman, or HOG) got out and walked over. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was trying to shine my headlights on the spot so that you could see a little better," he said kindly. Oops.

We finally got the camper into the spot, with the "help" of HOG who kept yelling things like "get on top of it" -- whatever that means. Mr. Daddy then pulled out the power cord, plugged it into the power pole, and hit the switch to raise the electric pop up.

Nothing.

He hit the switch again. Nothing except a slight groan as the motor tried to work. Awesome. He flipped the breakers on the power box and tried the switch again. Still nothing. HOG, who was still hanging "helpfully" around, offered to pull his car over and hook it up to the camper battery. Once we hooked it up, the pop up, well, popped up. HOG 2 pts, Us, 0.

The kids and I hurried inside and turned on the heater, which began blowing warm air immediately. Ah, heaven. I also set up the griddle to start cooking some hot dogs since it was way past suppertime for all of us. I grabbed the griddle and plugged into the nearest outlet and turned it on. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Now that just didn't make any sense. The lights were on, the heat was on. Why wasn't the outlet working?

"Babe!" I hollered out the door, "The griddle's not working. And I think the heater's blowing cold air now." And wait, were the lights getting dimmer, too?

Mr. Daddy came in and fiddled with the switch on the griddle. He unplugged it and plugged it back in. "Are you sure you've got it plugged in all the way?" he asked. I just stared at him in disdain, not bothering to dignify that question with answer.

"Look," I said. "The lights are getting dimmer." He reached up and flipped them off and then back on, though they were now on in name only. We looked at each other in the near (freezing) darkness. "See!" I said.

"Oh, it's just the ballasts on the lights," he said. "They have to warm back up." "I don't think we're getting any power from the power pole," I said helpfully. At least in my mind it was said helpfully.

"I'm hungry," whined both kids at once.

Mr. Daddy went back outside and began flipping breakers on the power pole, all the while it was getting darker and colder inside the camper.

In and out, flipping switches, turning the heater on an off. Turning the lights on and off. All of us mystified as to why nothing seemed to be working. By this time, Mr. Daddy and I are both in a state. I'm frustrated, hungry and cold. So is he. In nearly fourteen years of marriage you'd think I'd have learned when to keep my mouth shut, but somehow that just hasn't sunk in yet.

In one of Mr. Daddy's forays into the camper to see if anything was working, I "helpfully" pointed out, yet again, that the heater wasn't working.

That was the straw the broke the proverbial camel's back. "I hope y'all are having fun," he said loudly as he walked back outside, "because this is the LAST TIME we are ever going camping!"

It was quiet for a moment. The Punkin said, in a quiet voice, "Really?"

"No," Bubba said reassuringly. "Sometimes people say things when they're mad that they don't really mean."

Mr. Daddy walked back in. "I don't know what the problem is."

"Let's just go to a hotel for the night," I said. "We can't stay here. It's too cold. We'll get it figured out in the morning." At the mention of hotel, both kids went berserk as staying in a hotel is obviously the coolest thing we could do.

"Let me try one more thing," Mr. Daddy said and he headed back out into the cold, though the inside temp and the outside temp had once again reached equilibrium. As he walked out, I might have said, one more time, "I don't think we're getting any power from the power pole."

Mr. Daddy must have agreed with me because he took the extension cord and ran it across the road to the empty campsite across from us. I wasn't aware of what he was doing, as I was watching my kids eat a healthy supper of potato chips and capri suns in the near darkness in the camper. All of a sudden -- LIGHTS! The kids and I actually cheered.

Mr. Daddy came back in and said "Well, you were right." WHA? Somebody please note this date on a calendar. It turns out we weren't getting any power from the power pole. We ended up having to call the campground's after hours number because by this time it was nearly 9:00. A very nice man came to help us and he and Mr. Daddy poked around out in the dark, switching breakers and futzing around.

Finally, the guy located the problem. The power pole? The one that stood about three feet tall with the large breaker box nailed to the side? That was not the power pole we were supposed to use. No, the correct one, the one that worked, was only about 8 inches high and was literally located at ground level next to the water pump. In the dark it was nearly impossible to find and we being somewhat familiar with the effects of mixing water and electricity, I don't think any of us thought to look for the power panel next to the water pump.

Finally, the lights came on for good. And the heat. At that point I began to laugh. Mr. Daddy looked at me like I'd lost my mind and said "It's not funny!" Oh, but it was. I laughed and laughed and eventually he joined in. Hot dogs were cooked and consumed. A beer or two was had. As we snuggled down under the covers and prepared to go to sleep, Punkin piped up, "Will we ever go camping again, Daddy?"

"Yes," he admitted grudgingly, "but you can bet we're getting this night for free!"

Taking it REALLY public

2010-12-17T15:58:00.003-05:00

This is a test. This is only a test of the blogging broadcast system. I'm taking my blog public -- very public. Like Facebook public.

I'm not gonna lie, it's kind of scary, but it's kind of exciting too. I'm hoping it makes me write more. We'll see. Santa, that laptop I asked for would make thing sooo much easier. And I've been a very good girl.

Since today is Friday, I'll post one of my haikus below.

A half day today,
Freedom to nap, drink cocoa.
Time with the kiddos.

Rules

2010-12-14T08:28:00.004-05:00

Did any of y'all have any age-related "rules" when you were growing up?

Like, I wasn't allowed to get my ears pierced until I was 9. Or, I wasn't allowed to wear any makeup at all until 6th grade and then I was only allowed to wear a little eye shadow and some blush. When I finally was allowed to wear mascara, I wasn't allowed to wear black, only brown. I wasn't allowed to date until I was 15 and then it had to be a double date. Single dates had to wait until I was 16.

I think most of these were based on the notion of what "good" girls do and don't do. "Good" girls don't wear too much make-up and I distinctly remember my mom telling me that only trashy girls wear black mascara. When she was younger good girls didn't get their ears pierced (remember Sandy from Grease?).

But I wonder if these sorts of rules still apply? I mean, sure, there are things I definitely won't allow Punkin to do -- no short shorts or belly baring shirts while she lives in my house.

Most of these rules worked out pretty well for me, though, and I had planned on instituting some of them in my own home. The makeup rules will definitely stand and in fact I may up it to 7th grade. I'm not even sure Punkin will be allowed to date -- we'll see when the time comes. (Kidding! Of course she'll date.) (With her dad and I in the backseat.)(Kidding again! Mostly.)

But as I mentioned yesterday, Punkin has really been angling to get her ears pierced. At first I thought about making her wait, but then I didn't really have a good reason to. Pierced ears no longer equates to trashy and even though it squicks me out to see a baby's ears pierced that has more to do with the thought of actually doing that and dealing with the resultant screaming child than any aesthetic or moral reasons. So, I told her we would go this weekend.

Whereupon she promptly changed her mind. Fear, of pain mostly, has changed her mind. I'm not completely surprised, but to be honest, I am a little disappointed. It's seems like sort of a rite of passage, you know? And I looked forward to picking out some earrings with her. Heck, I even looked forward to helping her care for them.

But I didn't push her. I told her she didn't have to if she didn't want to. We'll see what happens.

I'm Baaaack.

2010-12-13T08:56:00.002-05:00

Whoa! I haven't posted since October 26th?!? I think that might be a record. (Well, I don't know if it's a record)

Okay, very quick digression to explain the parenthetical remark up there. There's an old joke about a guy who was trying to steal some albums from a record store. In order to sneak them out of the store, he stuck one in the front of his pants. As he was leaving the store, the manager stopped him.

"Excuse me sir, is that a record in your pants?"

"Well, I don't know if it's a record...."

Hence the remark. Now anytime anybody says anything about a record, that's mine and Mr. Daddy's standard comeback.

Things are good here. Life is busy. Very, very busy.

We've taken a wintry camping trip (which deserves a post of its own), Bubba turned 8 (also post-worthy since we had a house full of 7 and 8-year-old boys). Bubba lost two teeth in two weeks.

Punkin wants to get her ears pierced. She refuses to tell me what she wants for Christmas, insisting that she'll be happy with whatever Santa brings her. I hope she's telling the truth.

Anyway, I've missed you guys. If you see Santa, please tell him I want more time. And yes, I totally got the idea from Burgh Baby. But hey, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, right?

And Now For Something Completely Different

2010-10-26T11:38:00.003-04:00

Blech. Was that depressing, or what? Sheesh, if I weren't depressed before, I would be after reading that. So let's lighten things up a bit, shall we?

Things are a bit sunnier here today, in the metaphorical sense, and I realized that I hadn't shared with y'all one of the funniest things that's happened lately.

Punkin, not surprisingly (to me anyway), has turned out to be pretty smart. She is doing really, really well academically in school -- and behaviorally too, but that's another update for another day.

Periodically the teachers give the students benchmark tests. For kindergarten, the students are required to draw a little picture and then write a sentence about it. Punkin has been working on sight words since the beginning of September and I've seen her attempts at spelling come home on other projects -- "rabit" for "rabbit" and "ruod" for "road" -- both pretty excellent attempts I thought.

So, when we got her report card it included her benchmark test. Her picture was a self-portrait with a frowny-face, though more sad than angry. There was something smudgy next to her, but I couldn't tell what it was since I was looking at a photocopy. Her sentence below it read "I had a bad daeee. I hurt my knee." Everything was spelled perfectly except for "day."

"Punkin," I exclaimed, "this is fantastic! You did such a good job writing your sentence! I'm so proud of you!! But I have a question. What's this smudgy thing here beside you?"

"Oh, that's my bike," she replied.

"Your bike?"

"Yeah, I was going to write 'I had a bad day because I fell off my bike and scraped my knee' but that was too many words. So I changed it."

That's one smart cookie.

All The News That's Fit to Print

2010-10-25T12:59:00.003-04:00

It's been pretty quiet around here, I know. I'm sorry for that. The truth is that it's been really hard for me to write lately, feeling like I have, which is mostly depressed.

I tried for a long time to figure out what was wrong with me but I can't come up with anything that feels like the "right" answer. We decided not to go forward with the house thing right now. If we wait just 8 more months we'll be in a much better position financially. And while I'm glad we're waiting, it was still a disappointment and why I didn't want to get my hopes up about a house again.

I had to quit boot camp. You can read all the reasons why over at Bodies in Motivation. I'm thinking about going back one day a week while finding other ways to exercise other days, but even the thought of going back doesn't cheer me up.

I was talking to Mr. Daddy about my feelings about boot camp and I said "I've been in a funk since I had to quit" and he said "You're ALWAYS in a funk." And that makes me sad because up until recently I was feeling pretty darn good. I don't want to seem like I'm always in a funk.

Lately I'm too busy. Overwhelmed. Underwhelmed. Frustrated. Blech.

The Princess Who Saved Herself

2010-10-01T13:09:00.003-04:00

One of the best new kids' songs that I've come across is The Princess Who Saved Herself by Jonathan Coulton. If you haven't heard it before, go here to listen to it now for free. It's a wonderful antidote to the helpless princesses we and our daughters are constantly bombarded with.

Be sure to listen until you get to the phone call in the middle. That cracks my shit up every time.

I Can Play Dirty Too

2010-09-30T08:51:00.005-04:00

Katie's Love Thursday Post over at Can't Get There From Here reminded of a dirty, low down trick I played recently. I did it for good reasons and I don't regret it, but I do feel slightly guilty about it.

If you follow me on Twitter, you know that I went to visit AndreAnna in Iowa last weekend. For the record, I had a blast. AndreAnna is one of the funniest, most down to earth women I've ever met. Our visit was great -- it just felt comfortable from the get-go and it was like we'd known each other forever, which if you consider the fact that we've been reading each other's blogs for about three years now, we kind of have known each other for a while. Oh, and her kids and her husband are pretty great too. They all made me feel so at home, especially Charlotte with her hugs and her spontaneous declarations of love.

But anyhoo, on Saturday AndreAnna and I drove into Chicago to hang out with Samantha of Campenette, Katie from Pseudostoops, Sara of Belle Plaine, Anne of Annabelle Speaks, and Mandi of McMama's Musings -- cool ladies, one and all! We went out to dinner and then went to a bar nearby where we were waited upon by the most fabulous pair of gay waiters I've ever had the pleasure to know.

An aside -- if you're ever feeling down or not so good about yourself, go out with a group of girlfriends and find yourself a good gay waiter. There's nothing that will make you feel quite so fabulous.

Anyway, back to my dirty trick. On Sunday, AndreAnna dropped me off at the airport -- no mean feat since we got lost twice because we were too busy talking and not paying attention to signs. I called Mr. Daddy from the airport to let him know I was there and we immediately got into an argument.

See, Mr. Daddy has house fever. Again. I think it's sort of like malaria? You can never really be cured of it? And he'd been calling me all weekend talking about this house and texting me pictures of it and I'm all the way in Chicago and can't do squat about it. Plus, I'm loathe to get my hopes up again because we all know how this keeps turning out, right? I get all excited about a house only to find out that there's nobody out there willing to loan us any money until at least next spring. So, I'm testy, is what I'm saying.

We get into a shouting match and we both hang up in anger. I started feeling remorseful and did not want to fly home in the middle of an argument. That's like asking the gods to please make my plane crash, right? I mean, that's like headline news right there. "Wife killed in plane crash. Husband remorseful because of fight before takeoff."

So, I called back. He wouldn't answer. Called again. Straight to voicemail. Called again. No answer. Texted him to TAKE MY CALL. Nothing. Called again. No answer.

Now, I'm starting to get pissed. And then I did it. The thing I feel guilty about. I sent him the following text:

"You're going to feel bad when my plane crashes and you've been so mean to me."

In a nanosecond after hitting send, my phone rang.

"You knew that would get a response, didn't you?" he said, kind of laughing.

"Yep!" And that's why I did it. I admit, it was a low down dirty trick. But I really didn't want to get on that plane without making up. Just in case. What if the worst case scenario DID happen? I certainly didn't want our last words to have been angry ones.

So, I played dirty. And then I told him that I loved him. It might not have been my proudest moment, but I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Elsewhere and a Musical Interlude

2010-09-17T08:42:00.002-04:00

My latest post is up at Bodies in Motivation. Go check it out, please!

On Fridays I'm going to start sharing some of my favorite music with you. It might be something new, something old, or it might be some awesome kids music I've stumbled across. This week it's Guster's Do You Love Me.

Enjoy! And enjoy your weekend!

It's Exhausting Being Loved that Much

2010-09-16T15:27:00.006-04:00

I haven't talked to much about Toby around these parts since he became a family member. And I'm really not sure why because the little rascal delights me on a daily basis. I was the one who, before Sweetpea died said, "When Sweetpea goes, that's it for us! No more pets!"

But I was also the same one trolling Craigslist for dogs within a week of Sweetpea's death. I felt kind of disloyal, but I missed having an animal around the house. I would love to have a cat, but Bubba's allergies rule that out, so I got the next best thing -- a lap dog.

And Toby is a total lovehound. That dog loves people more than any other dog I've ever seen. If you're sitting down, he will be in your lap in a second, shoving his nose under your hand to make sure you're petting him. The other night I joked that his motto is "If you have time to set, you have time to pet." And even Mr. Daddy, who likes to groan that this dog was my idea, loves him. He's got such a sweet face that you just can't resist him.

But when we came back from vacation, something weird happened. Toby became obsessed with me! I think his new found devotion stems from the fact that I alone picked him up from the dog-sitter's house when we got back from vacation. Although he got along famously with her two dogs (and very famously with the large, female Rottweiler who was also a guest there, if you know what I'm sayin' and I think you do) (wink, wink, nudge nudge), I think when I showed up he thought "Aha! She's come back for me! She does love me after all!"

Because since then, this dog will not leave me alone. If I go to the bathroom, he's sitting right outside with his nose wedged under the door, whining for me. Same goes for when I'm putting the kids to bed. If I step outside for more than a minute he greets me I return as though I've been gone for years. If I'm lying down, he's all up in my grill. After petting him for what I deem a sufficient amount of time I literally have to hide my arms so that he won't keep pushing his cold, wet nose under my hand or arm.

Since we've been married, Mr. Daddy has always done voices for our pets. Sweetpea had the cutest voice ever, but unfortunately I'll never hear it again. It just didn't feel right to assign her voice to anybody else. Our cats both had voices. Occasionally, Mr. Daddy will bust out with Pigger's voice and I'll be like "What's Pigger doing here?" It took him a while to find Toby's voice, but lately he's taken to having Toby call me M'Lady, which cracks me up completely. It very much reminds me of my Medieval Lit classes and the whole notion of Courtly Love. I'm quire sure Toby would write me a poem if he could.

Yes, it is exhausting sometimes to be the object of this much affection, but it's also pretty nice to have one creature on this earth that loves you unconditionally.

Yes? No? Maybe?

2010-09-14T15:21:00.002-04:00

So....yeah, I suck.

But, y'all, I have been SO busy. Since I last posted Punkin has turned five, I've been going to boot camp two nights a week, and we go to church on Wednesday nights. Nobody reads blogs on Friday (so they say) and my weekends have all of sudden been consumed by College Football (woot!), birthday parties, and sleepovers.

Also, there's been a lot of stuff brewing in my head and when that happens I find that it becomes harder and harder to just sit down and write. In part because I'm still struggling to define my thoughts about this issue and in part because it will be nearly impossible to convey the wild swings my brain takes whenever I start to think about this. But, the only way through it is to do it, so here goes.

Y'all remember the whole saga about the Autism specialist to whom Punkin was referred, right? That's a lot of links, so if you don't feel like reading it I'll sum it up for you:

daughter was referred to Autism specialist at 4 year well visit, though to be high functioning Asperger's
called Specialist and found out there was a lengthy wait AND they don't take our insurance. Cost: $350. High but do-able. Began wait for appointment.
9 months later, called by Specialist. Daughter's behavior had vastly improved so we weren't sure what to do.
Interwebs (and gut) said we should take the appointment just to see what they had to say.
Found out that testing had increased to $1400 and they still didn't take our insurance. The cost plus our feeling that she was "okay" caused us to decline our appointment.

Fast forward another several months. Punkin's behavior continues to improve, though she still has issues with being extremely shy and still occasionally prone to meltdowns. However, at her 5 year well visit, her pediatrician followed up with us in regards to last year's referral. I confidently explained that I didn't think Asperger's was her problem and that we had declined the appointment.

At this point he asked me about a gazillion questions regarding her behavior and by the end of the questioning, somehow, I was again concerned that she DID have Asperger's. The pediatrician's main concern was what he called her "lack of warm fuzzy feelings about her peers."

I immediately thought of all the times Punkin has come home saying "No one will play with me on the playground" or "My friends don't like me." In her 5 short years, this has happened more than you'd think. I've also noticed that while she's friendlier than she used to be to kids she encounters on playgrounds, etc., she doesn't actually play with these kids as much as she plays beside them. For those of you unfamiliar, children with Asperger's often have difficulty with social relationships because they don't know how to read facial expressions and social cues.

Is it Asperger's or is she just shy?

I asked her parapro what happens on the playground and she said that Punkin would come up to her and complain that it was too hot, that she didn't feel like playing.

Was it really too hot or did Punkin just not know how to navigate the social jungle that is the playground?

Then, last week Punkin got a "card pulled" at school for yelling at a little boy. I followed up with her teacher to see what had precipitated the yelling. Punkin was playing a game with a little boy and he wasn't following the rules. Punkin got very upset and yelled at him. More than once. Children with Asperger's are big rule followers and tend to get very agitated if others aren't doing what they're supposed to do.

Is it Asperger's or is she just a rule follower like her mom?

The truth of the matter is, I don't know. But I've spoken with her teachers and we have an appointment with the Assistant Principal, Punkin's teacher, and the School Psychologist next Tuesday to begin the process of having her evaluated. I'm going into this meeting feeling very confused because honestly, I don't know the answer to any of my questions above. And, if my conversation with Mir the other day is any indication, we may not really know anything after the evaluation because it is sometimes difficult to determine at this age what is Asperger's and what is just "being a 5 year old."

There are some (hi, mom!) who wonder why I'm doing this at all. Heck, even I sometimes wonder it, especially when I see my little girl smiling and telling jokes and acting goofy. But there are also other times when I feel like she is unhappy. That there is a social aspect missing from her life. So, I'm doing this because I want to do what's best for my child. I want her to be the best Punkin she can be and I want her to be her most confident self.

So, we have her evaluated. If there's nothing "wrong," we've lost nothing. If it turns out she does have Asperger's, well, then we'll go from there. But at least we'll know.

Give Me a Break!

2010-09-07T16:52:00.003-04:00

My latest post is up over at Bodies in Motivation. And I promise I'll be back here soon.

Deep Thoughts

2010-08-24T20:55:00.004-04:00

It seems like a lot of people I know are going through some heavy stuff right now. Having been through some tough times myself, I'm well aware how easy it is to get sucked down into the muck. To despair that things will ever get better. To let one negative thing send me into a spiral of depression.

I'm about to get a little religious up in here, but I hope you will continue to read it even if you aren't religious because I think there is a message here that transcends religion and can touch everybody with a heart.

In Sunday School a couple of weeks ago we watched a video called Whirlwind by Rob Bell, from his Nooma series. We've watched a whole series of this guy's videos and he thinks about religion in a way that I've never encountered. He brings it into real world terms with real world applications. He's caught some flack for his "Hollywood" productions but I guess the reason I like him is that the message he gives urges us to follow Jesus and treat others as Jesus did -- help the poor, the widows, the "least of these."

In Whirlwind, Bell addresses when bad things happen to good people (specifically referencing Job.) We all want answers, but often there are no answers. But what would it be like if we just let it go? And quit wondering? I'm not saying "Oh, there's a reason for everything, it will all be clear eventually." Maybe it will, maybe it won't.

But the most important thing I took from his message was this: when you're sitting in the middle of the shambles that is your job/lack of job/foreclosed house/divorce, just know that your story is not over. Your story is NOT OVER. MY story is not over.

And that, that brings me hope.

Who Am I

2010-08-24T12:15:00.002-04:00

My latest post is up over at Bodies in Motivation. Come join me as I try to figure out who I am and what the aliens have done with the real me!

Also, I promise I'll be back tonight to update y'all on whether Punkin has been exercising her brain and my promised Deep Thoughts post. You're just hanging on the edge of your seats, aren't you?

Have You Exercised Your Brain Today?

2010-08-17T09:10:00.003-04:00

I've got a "Deep Thoughts" post brewing but it needs a little more work, so in the meantime I thought I'd give you guys an update on school. Specifically, Punkin and school.

The first week went great. Until Friday that is. When we got home, there was a note in Punkin's agenda from her teacher telling me that Punkin had not participated in the class' Brain Exercises all week and for me to please talk to her about it.

We talked to Punkin about it, but trying to find out WHY she doesn't want to participate is about like trying to get secrets from the Sphinx. She either can't or won't articulate the reasons. But when we were talking with her about it, she demonstrated some of the moves for me, so I know she can do them.

So, we started out telling her what the consequences would be if she didn't participate, but then I remembered that Punkin responds much better to rewards than threats, so we told her that if she did her Brain Exercises every day this week, I would buy her a toy of her choosing (within reason, of course) this weekend.

Now I'll be honest, I really had no idea what Brain Exercises even are. Bubba piped up that he had done them last year, but not in kindergarten, so it must be a relatively new thing the school does. So, I Googled them just now and found a description of Brain Gym, which sounds like what Punkin is describing. I was going to copy it here, but it's easier just to go to this page. In addition to the things you see listed on that page, at the end, the kids are to put their fingertips together, breathe deep, and vocalize their one goal for that day.

Now listen, I'm all for helping kids learn, but this sounds a little woo woo to me. I'm justAlso, to make such a big deal about it in kindergarten is somewhat frustrating to me as well.

BUT, I get that Punkin needs to learn to follow directions and do what the teacher tells her to, even if if she doesn't want to.

So. Yesterday when I picked Punkin up, her parapro was in the office. When I asked her if Punkin had done her Brain Exercises she said yes. Punkin and I high fived and we went home. Where I opened her agenda to find a note from her teacher that yes, she HAD done them, but not to the degree that the teacher would have liked and that she gave Punkin several opportunities to do better and when she didn't, she "pulled a card" on Punkin. For the uninitiated, "pulling a card" is what happens when the kids get in trouble. There are levels of cards for different levels of offenses and the punishment varies depending on the color of the card, but usually consists of missing some or all of their recess time.

I'm not going to lie, my first thought was "Seriously? This is a little nit-picky if you ask me." But I HAD asked for feedback. So, what to do? Punish? Not punish?

Perhaps I was a little harsh, but I opted to punish Punkin. Because her unwillingness to do what she is asked is an ongoing problem with her, I went with punishment. We normally allow the kids to watch cartoons while I'm getting dinner ready, but I made her turn the television off and let Bubba watch cartoons in my bedroom.

She wailed. She cried. She yelled at me. I sent her to her room until she could apologize AND tell me what she'd done wrong. She kept wailing "I can't stop crying! I can't stop thinking about television." It wasn't fun, for me or her, but I hope the message got through.

I just wish I believed in the message.

She pinky promised me she would do her Brain Exercises today. With gusto, even. We'll see.

Boot Camp Haiku

2010-08-13T09:47:00.002-04:00

Sweat pouring like rain,

Muscles burning like brush fire.

It hurts; hurts so good.

When the Rubber Meets the Road

2010-08-12T08:34:00.001-04:00

My latest post is up over at Bodies in Motivation. This is the week it gets real, y'all.

http://www.bodiesinmotivation.com/2010/08/when-the-rubber-meets-the-road/

I'm Going to Look Good from Every Angle

2010-08-10T11:13:00.005-04:00

A while back I mentioned that I had begun reading some style blogs. I meant to link to them at the time, but, well, you know, life got in the way. My road to hell is going to be so smooooooth because it will be slick as glass, paved with all my good intentions.

Anyhoo, one of my faves is Looks Good from the Back. Adrien and Marianne are so cute and I love their sense of style. Their near-daily posts are cute, funny and I love their occasional mocking of the different style blog "poses" -- though the new poses that they've created are what really crack me up. The best thing about them, though, is that the things that they wear are what I consider "real people clothes," as in "clothes that don't cost an arm and a leg." I covet their bags and their shoes and their ability to put together things I would never have considered.

See, that's always been my problem. I'm afraid to get adventurous. I don't know if things "go" or not. Or is it too matchy-matchy? Can I really put those two colors together? Does it look like I'm trying too hard?

So, a couple of weeks ago when they put together a style board for Samantha of Campenette for BlogHer, I asked them how much they would charge me to put something together for me. One arm? One leg? A combo of the two?

As it turns out, they were easily bribed and immediately set to work on helping me update my fall wardrobe. See, because of our financial situation, new clothing for me just hasn't been in the old budget. My work wardrobe is in serious need of updating/upgrading.

I sent them a brief explanation of what I was looking for, my body type, weight, sizes, etc. Hey, nothing like sharing your weight on the internet for the whole world to see, right? But to get their advice, I would have done just about whatever they asked me to.

They put all these ingredients in their magic cauldrons (i.e., their brains) and pulled out the most amazing finds. My style boards are up today over at Looks Good From the Back. I'm thrilled with everything they've put together and I can't wait to start rocking some of these outfits. I've already bought a thing or two and I'll post pictures here once I get some stuff going.

Adrien, Marianne -- thank you so much!! You're THE BEST.

It Happened on the First Day

2010-08-09T14:38:00.004-04:00

Well, the first day of school has come and gone. And I would say it was a success.

Because I drop the kids off early in order to get to work, I had to leave Bubba and Punkin in the gymnasium with about a hundred other kids to wait until it was time to go to their class. Bubba immediately found all his friends and was soon jabbering away, barely noticing my presence. Punkin and I found the line where the kindergarten class was supposed to sit. She didn't cry. She didn't cling to me, as she so often does when she's nervous. She just sat down on the line, criss-cross-applesauce and hugged her bookbag to her chest. I gave her a kiss, told her I loved her and told her I had to leave.

"Okay, Mommy."

"Have a great day, okay?"

"Okay, mommy."

I walked away and turned back to look at her when I reached the gym door. She looked so little sitting there. She saw me looking at her and then she smiled a huge smile and waved at me. I waved back.

I made it to the car. I even made it out of the parking lot. It was only when I called Mr. Daddy to give him a report of how it went that I broke down. And it wasn't full on sobbing, just a catch in my throat and tears pricking behind my eyes.

When I picked them up that afternoon, Punkin rounded the corner first, sweaty but looking happy. She got a smiley face in her agenda, but more importantly she had a smile on her face. But one of the most exciting developments was also one of the most surprising. I asked her "Did you make any friends today?"

"Yes!"

"Who?"

"Bubba!" You see, it turns out that Bubba and Punkin played together in after school. They haven't played well together at home in over a year, with most attempts at joint play evolving into a yell-fest with lots of tears. But on Friday Bubba even allowed Punkin to join the Memangee Club, a club created two years ago by a group of sweaty boys in the after school program. The only requirement to join the club, apparently, is to be able to chase Katie Smith really fast. Punkin, as it turns out, is a pretty fast runner. So, she's in like Flynn. Of course it doesn't hurt that Bubba is the President of the Memangee Club. And he's promised her that next year, she can be president.

It does my heart good to see him looking after her like that. She thinks he hung the moon, but she thinks he doesn't love her. He would probably like to pretend that he doesn't, but his actions on Friday make it pretty clear to me that he does. Hopefully she'll soon realize it too.

OH! and A Winner! UPDATED

2010-08-05T09:52:00.004-04:00

I nearly forgot to announce a winner in my Give and Get contest! I used Random.org to select the winner.

Apparently I'm too stupid to figure out how to put a screen shot of the Random Number Generator here on the page, so you'll just have to trust me. The winner is....

Commenter #11 -- Rougeneck!

Now, Rougie, you didn't specify a charity, so I'm going to email you and let you know you've won and see if you'd like to specify. If I don't hear back, I'm just going to choose for you!

Thanks for playing along, you guys.

Rougie has selected animals as her charity recipient, so I have made a donation to the Human Society in her hometown. Thanks again for playing, y'all.

Tomorrow is the First Day of the Rest of Her Life

2010-08-05T08:37:00.003-04:00

All week I've had a vague sense of anxiety. I wake up at night and can't get back to sleep. I find myself clenching and unclenching my hands. My neck is a little tense. Mr. Daddy, an excellent reader of my moods, keeps asking me "What's wrong? Just tell me what's wrong. After 13 years of marriage, I know it's something." He stays after me, even after I've protested numerous times that there's nothing wrong.

Really, I was telling the truth because I couldn't put my finger on just what was wrong exactly. Until it finally hit me.

Punkin is starting kindergarten tomorrow. My baby. Who is still only 4 years old (she'll be 5 at the end of the month, for the record). When I finally fessed up to Mr. Daddy, his response was "Oh good grief. You're being ridiculous." Um, dude, when you press your wife to share what's bothering her, don't brush her off and make her feel silly. TALK TO HER. Don't you guys get it by now? We women want to talk things through, hash them out.

Y'all know the issues we've had with Punkin. While her behavior has vastly improved and she's always better behaved for other people, her starting "real" school is making me a little nervous. I've told a couple of people that I don't have any problem picturing Punkin in the classroom, but the idea of her tiny little self in the large cafeteria, full of kids, carrying a tray nearly puts me over the edge. But then yesterday I was trying to imagine her in the classroom, learning sight words and I nearly had a panic attack.

The thing is, I know I'm overreacting. Punkin is smart. She can do this. Tonight we go to meet the teachers and then tomorrow morning, my Punkin takes her first real step into the real world. And the first step in walking away from us. And maybe that's what's really making me sad.

Olfactory Memories

2010-08-04T08:21:00.005-04:00

I have lived a good life. I don't mean I've always been good. Heaven knows that's not the truth. But I have have lived a good life. And no, I'm not about to die or anything. At least not that I know of. I had a boyfriend in college who used to say "I could step out in front of a North/South (our campus buses) tomorrow."

But that's not my point.

Last night I took Toby out for a walk before bedtime. I stood there in the dark silence, feeling the heat that was still all around me, listening to the crickets and the tree frogs. I took a deep breath and that's when I smelled it. Cows. I know I've said this before but I love the smell of cows and hay and barns and yes, even manure. My grandfather was a dairy farmer and all of those smells take me back to my childhood and spending time on their farm.

I'm not sure why it is, but olfactory memories are stronger for me than anything else. A smell can take me back to a particular place and time faster even than music. Perhaps it's because my olfactory memories are usually tied to pleasant events while songs often aren't, but who knows?

As I stood there last night and inhaled, my eyes pricked with tears as I thought about my grandparents. I have such happy memories of staying with them. Though my grandmother never really kept snacks that I liked -- she only had fig newtons and cracker jacks -- she could usually be counted on to have a homemade pound cake or a chocolate pie on hand, though I never fully appreciated her meringues.

I can remember so clearly standing outside their house, listening the window units as they cooled the house. Once you went inside, the noise of the air conditioners didn't quite drown out the crickets or the whippoorwills. As I climbed into bed, I'd bury my nose in the sheets, smelling of Gain and sunshine, one of the cleanest smells there is.

My PaPa's truck had a singular smell too -- hay, mixed with hot vinyl, dust, and tobacco. He always kept a spittoon on the floor hump between the driver's and passenger's side. If you were riding three abreast, you had to be careful not to put your foot in the spittoon if you were riding in the middle. His barn was a completely different set of smells -- dirt, gasoline, old oil, and tractors. He had a huge bin of nuts, bolts, and random parts that I used to love to sift through. We'd all take turns climbing up on the big old tractors, pretending to drive.

My grandparents were interesting people. They raised seven children, starting their family during the height of the depression. My grandfather was a funny, funny man and he got most of the attention. My grandmother, quieter, was a faithful woman -- faithful to her church and to her family. It was only after I became a mother myself that I truly appreciated what a strong woman she must have been.

My grandfather died the year after Mr. Daddy and I got married. My grandmother died when Bubba had just turned two. I grieve sometimes that my grandparents never met my children, but I grieve more that my children never really got to know my grandparents.

Last night as I stood there, I missed them. And I missed the simplicity of my childhood. But for a moment, standing there, smelling that glorious blend of summer smells, I went back.

***************************************

Don't forget to leave the name of your favorite charity on yesterday's post. The deadline for entry is tonight at 11:59 p.m.

Give and Get

2010-08-02T20:10:00.004-04:00

For a long time I kept it a secret the difficult times that Mr. Daddy and I have been through. Financially, we have struggled since we moved back to this area nearly five years ago. Having two kids in daycare was tough too. The year that we had them both in daycare full time? That year we shelled out $12,000 in daycare fees. You might wonder why I even worked, but it was always my job that had the insurance. And having had to buy private insurance for a year while we were self-employed made me realize what an awesome thing employer subsidized healthcare is. Things have gotten easier as the kids have gotten older. We went from two kids in daycare to just one and starting this Friday both our children will be in public school and all we'll have to pay for is after school care.

I came clean a couple of months back about our struggles and it was a huge relief. I always felt like I was holding something back from you guys and now there are so many more things I can blog about now that you know most of the details. Also, since then I've been reading so many blogs by people who have either been laid off or whose loved ones have been laid off. It's made me realize that we are not alone.

Since that post of mine, Mr. Daddy and I have really been working to pay off our debt. We've paid off three cards and just started working on the 4th this month. If I had actually written a physical check for the nearly $1000 I just sent Bank of America, I would have written SUCK IT in the memo field. I was saying it in my mind, though.

There's an old hymn that instructs us to "Count your blessings, name them one by one" and so I'm going to take a moment to write about a few things I'm thankful for:

1. I'm thankful that Mr. Daddy and I have been able to make such progress on our paying off our debts.

2. I'm thankful that we had enough extra money for me to buy a plane ticket so I could go and see AndreAnna this September (Woot!) Also joining us? Annabelle Speaks, Pseudostoops, Campenette, Belle Plaine, and McMama. If I left anybody out, I apologize. I've never met any of these women in real life, but I've gotten to know them all via their blogs and Twitter over the past couple of weeks. And AndreAnna is one of my most consistent commenters (and one of my favorite bloggers), so I'm super thrilled to finally get to the hang with her.

3. Mr. Daddy is able to fulfill a dream of his: to register for the introductory blacksmithing class at the John C. Campbell Folk School this November.

4. We were able to buy the kids' back to school clothes without worrying where the money was going to come from.

I know all this is money related and I don't want it to seem like we're Mr. and Mrs. Gotrocks all of a sudden, or seem like I'm bragging, but I just cannot tell you what an absolute relief it is to be able to do these things. For so many months, nay years, we had our noses to the grindstone without room for any extras. There were literally times when we were down to $5 or less before payday. So to finally be able to breathe and have a little fun, well that feels pretty darn good.

Throughout our financial troubles, Mr. Daddy and I have tried to continue our charitable giving. We give weekly to our church. Our Sunday school class provided food for needy kids to take home on the weekends. Mr. Daddy sends money occasionally to Make A Wish and I send money pretty regularly to the USO. I believe in paying it forward. So, in honor of the many, many blessings we have received, I want to make a gift. In your name.

Leave a comment with the name of your favorite charity by 11:59 p.m. on August 4th. I will use a random number generator to select one of the comments and then I will make a $50 donation in your name to the charity of your choice.

The way I see it, this way everybody wins.

Fixin' to Get Fit

2010-07-31T18:04:00.001-04:00

Woot! My first post is up over at Bodies in Motivation. Go check me out. And check out some of the other new bloggers over there (plus longtime BIM blogger, AndreAnna).

http://www.bodiesinmotivation.com/2010/07/a-long-and-winding-road/

Possum Tales

2010-07-29T08:18:00.003-04:00

We are so country, y'all. What passes for excitement around our house these days is truly astounding.

It all started when I took Toby after dinner. He beelined to the edge of the yard where we discovered a dead possum. I'm pretty sure it hadn't been there when I took him out after work, but I can't say for sure. Anyway, when I went inside I mentioned it to Mr. Daddy because I didn't want the thing stinking up the yard or to be a temptation for Toby or my dad's two dogs. Dogs have a love of the putrid you know. I wanted him to get rid of it 'cause that's like in the man bylaws -- men have to deal with dead stuff. We give birth and breastfeed and they have to get rid of carrion.

By the reaction from the younger set in my house, you would think I had announced that I had found Santa's secret workshop in our backyard. Both children immediately yelled "I want to see it!" which was complicated by the fact that Punkin was in the bathtub. When I told Bubba to get his shoes on, Punkin let out a wail of despair. So, I told her to dry off and put her bathrobe on and I would carry her out to see the dead possum.

We all trouped out to the back of the yard. Yep. There he was. Dead as a doornail. And uuuugly. We stood there staring at it for a second or two. We turned it into a mini science lesson by examining all the beetles and flies who had come to do their job. Then we all tropped back into the house.

It was probably the most exciting thing that's happened all week.

But the possum moon must be in retrograde or something because this is my second encounter with possums this week. On my way in to work on Tuesday, my co-worker called me and asked me if I was at work yet. When I informed her that I was just leaving the deck she said "Look out for the possum on the ramp near the building. It's creeping me out!"

Only, I thought she said "Look out for the coffin on the ramp near the building" and I was all like "what the hell? It's creeping her out? Of course it is! What's a coffin doing next to the building." So my whole way into the building I was looking everywhere for a coffin. The possum could have been right beside me and I wouldn't even have known because I was looking for a creepy ass coffin. The whole coffin/possum mix-up was cleared up when I got into the office, but it was pretty funny. Apparently the possum stared my co-worker down as she entered the building. Frankly, that sounds about as creepy as a coffin.

I hope last night's possum is the last one I'll encounter for a while. I can't handle too much more excitement.

Don't you wish you lived my life?

Perhaps I Exaggerated

2010-07-27T20:12:00.005-04:00

To be perfectly honest, the trip wasn't all bad.The

first two days were spent with Mr. Daddy's cousin and his wife, who is 8 months pregnant, and her parents at the parent's lake house. We fished, we rode the Sea Doo, we rode in the boat, we ate good food. I tried to ski. For the first time since I was in sixth grade. That went about as well as you would expect. For the record, I did manage to get up once, but immediately fell down. All in all, I tried six times to get up but was never successful. And man, I was sore for the next three days. Why hello, pectoral muscles! But it was truly a lot of fun.

The above picture is Bubba and Mr. Daddy's cousin, Jason. The picture below is one Mr. Daddy took of Punkin as she was chillin' in the swing on the dock. It's one of my favorite pictures of her, ever.

We saw some wildlife at the campground, so that was fun. Animals encountered included:

a black snake
a deer
a toad

The black snake was lying directly in front of the door to the ladies bathroom. My brain went through this convoluted thought process in a matter of about five seconds "Is that real? No, soembody's just playing a joke by putting a fake snake in front of the ladies room. But we are in the middle of the woods, so it could be real. But it's so still, it must be fake."

And then it moved and we were sure it was real. Punkin screamed like, well, like a little girl and ran away. I'm not personally afraid of snakes and it was already retreating, so I waited until it went around the corner and then we went on our merry way into the bathroom. The bathroom doors had this mechanism on them that kept them open for a few seconds after you let go of them, I'm assuming to keep them from slamming. I couldn't help but think, though, that if that snake had timed it just right, she (he?) could have ended up in the bathroom. I didn't mind encountering it on the pathway, but I'm not sure how I would have felt about finding it in one of the stalls, or having it join me in the shower. That's a lie. I know exactly how I would have felt -- terrified!

I also got to visit with a good friend of mine while we were in the area. My friend, I'll call her Sara, had been my maid of honor 13 years ago. Time and distance had caused us to drift apart, but Facebook, that wonderful re-uniter, brought us back together. We picked up right where we left off -- only with the addition of two kids apiece. Our kids got along famously, picking right up and playing together with no hesitation as only children can.

And we did finally get to go to that fair I mentioned in yesterday's post. Though we dropped a boatload of cash in just the two hours we were there, the kids had a blast. And I got spit on by a llama in the petting zoo. Fortunately he was aiming low and he mostly got the bottom of my dress, but he was cut off from any more kibble. Dude, everybody knows you don't spit on the hand that feeds you.

There was also a miniature donkey in the petting zoo and now Mr. Daddy wants one. I've asked him where he's planning on putting it, but he hasn't really come up with a satisfactory answer just yet. We've been having fun coming up with names for it though. 'Rastus is winning right now.

So, you see, it wasn't all bad. I just think it's one of those vacations that will get better with the benefit of some time and distance.

A Comedy of Errors

2010-07-26T18:51:00.008-04:00

Well, we had a pretty good vacation. I realize I'm damning it with faint praise, but it is what it is. Last year's vacation was so awesome that I think we just had a lot to live up to. When we're on vacation we like to see historic sites and tour quaint little towns with interesting museums. We did not find anything like that. Unfortunately, most of the little towns surrounding the state park were dying on the vine.

The campground was nice, but all the campers were bambambam right up next to each other without the benefit of even some brush or branches to provide any semblance of privacy. Fortunately, our neighbors were really nice and quiet, with the exception of the middle aged couple blasting Somewhere Over the Rainbow at midnight. Seriously? You're gonna blast show tunes? I didn't hear them but Mr. Daddy got up and politely asked them to turn it down. I know we weren't the only ones bothered because the next morning another set of neighbors snarkily asked if we'd enjoyed our Judy Garland serenade the night before.

And I don't know what happened to us, but we did not pack worth a damn. Oh, I had all the clothes and some dry goods. We'd planned to pick up the cold items we needed once we got up there. But, we completely neglected to pack our griddle, upon which we planned to cook our breakfast every morning.

So, when we headed to the local Wally world to pick up our groceries, we picked up a little cast iron griddle thingie that we figured would be perfect over an open campfire. It was only the next morning as we went to pour our eggs on it that we realized we had neglected to pack utensils. Of any kind. So. It's pretty hard to scramble eggs without a spoon or a spatula.

But guess what? A stick will do in a pinch! Mr. Daddy found a clean looking stick, dubbed it "stickula" and scrambed the heck out of our eggs with it. The eggs looked a little odd, I'm not going to lie, but they tasted delicious. Even after we bought some utensils later that day, Mr. Daddy decided to hang on to "stickula" because you just never know when a good stick might come in handy.

We went to a Pulaski Mariners baseball game one night, which was fun for me and Mr. Daddy. Bubba and Punkin only enjoyed visiting the snack bar a million times and asking "when are we going back to the camper?" We did have our picture made with Slider, the Mariner's mascot.

On Tuesday we went to the lake to swim, but all we heard was "it's too hot, I'm bored, I don't want to swim." We stayed about an hour before the whining took it's toll and we headed back to the camper.
We, like Mir, had a day of which we will not speak. Well, except for here. Actually, it was one of those days that was so bad that by the end we were all just laughing hysterically at the ludicrousness of it all. We had planned to go to a local fair on Wednesday, thinking that it opened early. It didn't.

So, we went to lunch thinking that it would be open when we finished. It wasn't.

Not really knowing anything about the area, we turned to our trusty (well, mostly trusty) borrowed GPS and queried her about tourist attractions. Rusty's Putt Around? Sure, putt putt could be fun. So, we drove 14 miles only to find Rusty's Driving Range and (non-working) batting cages.

Trusty GPS, what are our other options? Fun Challenge? Hmm, sounds like it has possibilities. But it's another 12 miles. Perhaps we should call first this time. Fun Challenge? A daycare. A DAYCARE.

Blacksburg,VA was only a few miles down the road at this point so we decided to check it out. Smithfield Plantation on the Virginia Tech campus? Hey that sounds historic -- let's check it out. Wait, what does that sign say? Open on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. What day is today? Wednesday!?!? Arghhhhh!!!!

Trusty GPS, we're giving you one more chance. What is there to DO around here? Bowling? Why the hell not. Beats driving up and down the road all day. Well, that kind of looks like a bowling alley. Or like it wants to be a bowling alley. But it is NOT currently a bowling alley, only an empty shell.

Maniacal laughter from the front seat combined with incessant whining from the backseat does not for a pleasant day make.

The only good thing I can say is that next year's vacation is going to be awesome. It will have to be compared to this one.

And the Winner Is.....

2010-07-24T20:47:00.003-04:00

Just In Case, with her suggestion of Fixin' To, though I'm going to alter it slightly and change it to Fixin' To Get Fit. I think it appropriately highlights my southern heritage and incorporates getting fit without limiting it to boot camp. Also, it seems like I'm always fixin' to diet, fixin' to exercise. So, there you have it.

The prize is a $25 gift certificate to Amazon.com. You should be getting a prize confirmation sometime tomorrow, Just in Case!

Thanks for playing everybody!!

I'm Baaaack

2010-07-24T09:06:00.002-04:00

Have you ever seen a more anticlimactic contest? Where it takes a WEEK for the winner to be announced. And boy, you guys have made it really, really tough. I thought I knew which one I wanted, but now I'm a little confused.

So, I'm going to drag it out just a little bit more. I'm officially closing the contest as of now, 9:08 a.m., otherwise if y'all keep giving me awesome suggestions I'll never get it figured out. I'll be back tonight to declare a winner and announce the prize.

Thank y'all for playing along!

Madame Queen

It's A Contest!

2010-07-16T10:48:00.006-04:00

So, I can spill the beans. It's not news to most of you anyway. Well, the ones of you that left a comment at least. I'm terrible at keeping secrets -- mine, anyway. I mean, if you tell me something and tell me not to tell, I'll go to my grave with your secret. So, if you've ever told me something in confidence, rest assured I've never told a soul. Probably. Just kidding!

So, the big secret is that starting in August I'm going to be writing over at Bodies in Motivation!! I can see your mouths are all agape. Yes, yes, it's true. I'm about to begin a fitness regime, a boot camp style workout that meets twice a week. And what better way to make myself accountable to my new endeavor than to make myself accountable to a bunch of strangers (and a few friends, I hope) on the internet, right? Accountability goes a long way with me. As I told Linda, Bodies in Motivation's creator, I'm a people pleaser and if I tell you I'm going to do something, I'm going to do it, by God, or die trying.

So, here's where I need you guys. I've got to come up with a name for my blog. It needs to be fairly short and as AndreAnna noted (she has a blog over at Bodies, too) the title shouldn't be too limiting because the focus may change over time, as hers has. So, while I'm starting with a boot camp type excercise, I may move on to something else (that is pretty much the only reason I didn't go with my friend Tara's awesome suggestion of Boot Cramp). Oh, and I would also like the blog title to be funny and catchy, if possible. There are some good titles over at Bodies and I want to fit in.

So, here's a couple of things I've thought of so far, or have already been suggested.

Two Steps Forward (BORING! and my idea)

I Volunteered For This?

Do What Now? (this, for those of you that don't know, is what Southerners say (or maybe just my family?) when someone asks you to do something ridiculous, like say, run with a tire across a field) It must be said with a tone of incredulousness. I really like this one, but I'm afraid people wouldn't "get" the title.

TeeTiney BeHiney

So, I'd love to hear your suggestions. I'm offering a prize in exchange for the winning idea. If, for some reason I end up not choosing any of these, I'll do a random number generated pick from the comments and STILL give a prize. So it's a win-win!

Now keep in mind that I'll be gone for a week and will little-to-no internet access while I'm gone. So, it will be at least Saturday before I get a chance to look over the entries.

Annnnd go!

Do You Smell Updog?

2010-07-14T20:59:00.004-04:00

What's updog?

Nothin' man, what's up with you. Hahahahaha! I slay me.

No, I'm not dead....sorry it's been so long since I've written....blah blah blah...yadda yadda yadda. You guys know the drill. Sorry.

And now I'm posting only to leave again for a week in a day or so on our vacation. We were originally planning to go to Florida, but when tarballs started washing up on the beach, we canceled our reservation at the state park. I felt really bad about it -- I hated to do that to Florida, but this is our one vacation a year as a family. Plus, I cannot go to the beach and not get in the water and if tarballs are washing up on the beach, I don't trust what's in the water, no matter what Florida's tourism board says.

We're heading up to western Virginia for several days. The state park we'll be visiting has a large lake and beach and the surrounding town has a lot of stuff going on while we're there. Plus, Mr. Daddy's cousin and his soon-to-deliver wife live there, as does my good college friend (who also was my maid of honor). My friend and I haven't seen each other in years and a LOT has changed since we last saw each other.

I just picked my kids up tonight after they spent three days camping with my mom and stepdad and my niece and nephew. Bubba met me with a litany of every travail that had befallen him in the three days -- he got a ton of mosquito bites, he stabbed his toe, he cut his finger, and he threw up.

"You threw up?!? Why?"

"I rode too long on the tire swing."

Ah. My sympathies, Bubba. I cannot even look at a tire swing without feeling nauseated.

Punkin was asleep before we got through the park gates, as is her custom.

They didn't bathe the entire time they were gone and I'm pretty sure they didn't brush their teeth. If you caught a whiff of funk late this afternoon, it was probably them. If they get cavities I'm sending the Queen Mother the bill.

So, that's what's been going on. I've got some exciting news to share, but I'll have to wait until I have full confirmation before I share. Until then, you'll just have to wonder.

I Think I Deserve A Ribbon This Time

2010-06-30T08:54:00.002-04:00

Remember those damn ribbons? The ones that caused such an inferiority complex in me? Well, funny story.

Although I wrote that post about how I needed to just let Punkin be who she was, I thought well, maybe she might like to have some ribbon hair bows. You know, if she knew about them. So, I contacted my crafty friend Tara who's made some hair bows of her own and she offered to give me some lessons.

I gathered up my glue gun and bought a bunch of ribbon and other supplies and Punkin and I set off to Tara's for a playdate and a craft lesson. Tara made two bows for me while I watched and then I set about making one of my own. They were fairly large-ish, but totally cute and exactly what I was looking for.

And guess what? With the exception of one Sunday, Punkin won't wear them. Also? They don't really look like her. I mean, they're cute on her, but they just don't look right somehow. But, at the same time, I also made some of these hair bows and they look totally cute on her. And she will wear these. Occasionally.

But the really funny thing happened yesterday morning. Remember my Bible school freak out when all the moms made their daughters's too-large shirts fit just right and look oh-so cute? Well, yesterday Punkin's camp was going on a field trip and they were all supposed to wear their camp shirts and Punkin's, once again, is a mite too big. After she got dressed, she came running out of her room with the excess shirt gathered in her hand behind her back.

"Mommy, you've got to get a hair bow and tie this up like this! That's what the big girls do."

I dutifully obliged. Then,

"And now Mommy, you need to get some ribbon and tie my sleeves up like this! That's how the big girls wear theirs."

You could have knocked me over with a feather, I was so surprised. She looked so cute! And it was all her idea. And fortunately, fortunately, this time I was prepared. I was the Mommy with the ribbon on hand. So, I learned two things at Bible school this year -- 1) never underestimate the importance of a little piece of ribbon and 2) quit worrying so much.

Uncovering a Niche Market

2010-06-29T08:45:00.003-04:00

Yesterday I went to get my hair cut and as I sat down to wait for the stylist to finish with the person before me, I looked through the stack of magazines they had spread out on a large ottoman. There was Elle, Vogue, a random hair magazine or two, Marie Claire, Cosmo and GQ. I picked up the GQ and not because Jake Gyllenhaal was on the cover (while I find him mildly attractive, he is not on my "list").

I started thinking about my favorite magazine and if pressed, I'd have to say it's Esquire. I like women's magazines to an extent, though there are some I like more than others. In fact, I downright detest Cosmo and never even pick it up. I used to like Glamour until the old Editor retired and Cosmo's Editor took over. Then it was like Cosmo Lite.

It was kind of interesting to me to realize that I prefer men's magazines. I want to read articles about delicious food -- steaks, sandwiches, barbecue. I want to read articles about the coolest new cocktails, which dive bar you MUST visit in each city. I want to read interesting articles about real world issues. If you haven't picked up an Esquire lately, they have some of the best writers in the business, if you ask me. I realized that I'm kind of insulted that women's magazines are all about makeup and fashion and !SEX! and which positions will drive your boyfriend WILD.

Sure, Esquire has some "fluff" pieces, but they're still more interesting than the offerings in most women's magazines I've seen. I like looking at women's fashion, but the prices in most of the magazines are kind of a turn off for me. And sure, I could look for similar, less expensive items to try to copy "the look," but most of the outfits are so out there that they wouldn't really work for my life.

It's true that a lot of men's magazine, Esquire included, will often feature a scantily clad woman in its pages somewhere. But it's usually tastefully done (ahem) and hey, I can admire a beautiful female form as much as the next guy. But that usually only takes up 3 or 4 pages or so and the rest of the magazine is filled with handsome men in varying stages of hotness, depending on your type. Me, I tend to be attracted to the scruffier guys -- you know, the ones with the shirts slightly open, hair slightly mussed, a little five o'clock shadow, but occasionally a man in a suit that fits just so will catch my eye.

Am I the only one who feels this way? Are there any awesome women's magazines out there that I'm missing out on?

Quitting the Hard Stuff

2010-06-25T08:25:00.002-04:00

I deleted my Twitter account yesterday. I tweeted about my decision, kind of hoping someone might try to talk me out of it, but nobody did.

I did it for a lot of reasons. One, I never, okay rarely, tweet anything. Occasionally I'll retweet something and I respond to a fair amount of people's tweets. I'm an excellent @-er.

The second reason I did it is that I believe that Twitter is killing my productivity in a lot of ways. At work I'm so tempted just to check in, but then I have to catch up from where I left off, or I find an interesting link and down the rabbit hole I go, lost for 10, 15, 20 minutes at a time.

I also credit (blame?) twitter for the original weakening of my blog. Twitter was so addictive, so fun, so easy. I would often distill a blog post into 140 characters (well, not possible really but you know what I mean) and then feel no need to blog. Plus, I was following all my blog friends on Twitter so I could keep up with what they were doing there. My visits to other blogs dropped dramatically at the same time.

And finally, I felt like I was addicted to Twitter. On Tuesday and Wednesday I was constantly checking in, hitting refresh, refresh, refresh. And feeling antsy when there was nothing new to read. All day long.

And I'm not going to lie, this post by Steam Me Up, Kid really hit a nerve with me. I often feel like I'm on the outside of the Twitter window, looking in. While in some ways Twitter made me feel more connected, in others it made me feel more isolated.

I had lunch with a friend yesterday who uses Twitter as part of her job as a Librarian. She seemed kind of horrified by the fact that I had deleted Twitter and I worried that she felt I was judging her for still using it. I'm not judging anyone at all. Twitter is fun, can be used in a variety of different ways, and it has, I believe, changed the world. In some ways for the worse in my opinion, but you can't argue that it has also changed some things for the better.

I was very nervous before I hit the "Are you SURE?" button. I do have a lot of friends on Twitter and I know I'm going to miss your Tweets. You guys are freakin' hilarious. I'm afraid we won't stay in touch the same way we did before.

But I do feel a sense of peace since I deleted my account. And yes, I started jonesing for some Twitter action late yesterday afternoon. I may be back. I'm not ruling it out. But for now, I'm done.

Mishmash

2010-06-22T08:14:00.003-04:00

We had a great weekend, though it was quite busy. On Friday night we went to a pool party for the children's ministry at our church. Though I was quite confident to attend a swimming party last summer, this summer I was a little more hesitant. Of course, I've gained back most of the weight I lost last year. As I told my friends, I'd much rather wear my swimsuit in front of strangers than in front of people I actually know. But when neither of your children can swim and your daughter looks at you with pleading eyes and says "please swim with me, mommy," you really have no choice but to get in the pool.

On Saturday, Mr. Daddy and I attended a wedding in my hometown that was held in the very same church we got married in. And in fact, our anniversary was yesterday. It was kind of neat being back there, seeing another young couple heading out into the wilds of marriage. I thought of several pieces of advice that I started to write in their card, but ultimately wrote "wishing you much love" which I think pretty much covers all the bases.

I'm thinking of doing a little housecleaning on this here blog. I'm thinking of doing away with my blogroll. It's not because I don't love you guys, but it's kind of outdated -- some of the blogs are inactive -- but I don't want to just clean it up because I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. What are your thoughts? I hardly ever click on anyone else's blogroll. If anything, I'll click through from a funny comment. I don't know, just a thought.

Hope y'all had a good weekend too.

What A Difference A Day Makes!

2010-06-17T08:10:00.003-04:00

And a nap! You wouldn't believe the angel child that greeted me last night. Punkin was pleasant with hardly a tantrum in sight. She was cracking jokes, making silly faces and doing silly voices that had the whole family cracking up. If I didn't know better I would swear she was a different child. Amazing.

BUT, I didn't intend on this blog becoming "all Punkin, all the time" so I'm going to share the love and talk about Bubba just a little.

Bubba is in the throes of the "all girls have cooties/no way would I like I girl/NO, I DO NOT HAVE A GIRLFRIEND" stage that most boys go through. The only girl that is accepted no questions asked is his beloved cousin Birdie. Bubba and Birdie have been inseparable since they were old enough to play together. While other cousins of the same gender as Bubba and Birdie have occasionally parted them, they generally wind up back together doing their "Stupid Country Cousins" routine, which is generally hilarious (and incidentally the only time I allow him to say stupid.)

Bubba did have a little girlfriend once, when he was about four. Her name was Rose and she had lovely, curly red hair. She was smart and feisty and I liked her. But somebody -- not me, I'm smarter than that -- teased Bubba about her and that was it for girlfriends. Or even girl friends -- that he will admit to, anyway.

So, when we were at the beach recently, I couldn't help but notice a little girl playing near us in the water. She kept placing herself in general proximity to Bubba and looking at me and smiling. She and Bubba looked to be about the same age, so I called Bubba over and said "Bubba, I'm pretty sure that little girl wants to play with you. Why don't you play with her?"

"Mommy! She's a GIRL!"

"So?! Just pretend she's Birdie!"

"I don't want to play with her!"

Finally, I took matters into my own hands and when she ran by me I asked her name. Her name was Hailey and she was camping with her grandparents. And I was right, she was seven, too. After that, it didn't take too long before we were all building a sandcastle together and then before too long, she and Bubba took off to ride their body boards together.

From then on Hailey was all I heard about. "Do you think Hailey will be at the beach when we get down there? Can Hailey come see our campsite? Can I ride my bike over to Hailey's campsite? Can Hailey and I ride our bikes around the loop?" Hailey, Hailey, Hailey.

On the last day, Bubba begged to ride his bike to Hailey's campsite to say goodbye. When he got back I couldn't resist and said "See, aren't you glad you played with Hailey after all?"

"Yeah," Bubba admitted. "It's just that I didn't think she would like to do stuff like I like to do, since she's a girl."

My tomboy and feminist feathers slightly ruffled, I replied somewhat indignantly, "Well, maybe from now on you should get to know someone before you start deciding what they might or might not like to do, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so. She was pretty cool."

So maybe, just maybe, girls don't have quite as many cooties as they used to. Hailey, wherever you are, thank you for being a cool girl.

The Best Laid Plans....

2010-06-16T08:38:00.002-04:00

So, I had this grand plan to write a warm, fuzzy post last night thank you all for your kind words. All of you. Burgh Baby, you made me laugh out loud. Lauren -- I can't believe I had you fooled! Perfect mom -- hah! But thank you. I'm glad I'm projecting that at least part of the time. Teresa -- your encouragement means a lot to me, especially your email that you sent. And Just In Case, you hit the nail on the head -- I often don't enjoy my time with Punkin either and that just breaks my heart. I've been so tired and so busy for the last couple of weeks and I tend to get more frustrated when I feel this way and my thinking often tends to go into a downward spiral when I'm tired, so I chalked my last post up to that.

I was feeling better as I headed home. And then, Punkin didn't take a nap at camp yesterday and was a BEAST the entire night. Everything prompted tears and yelling. She is SO frustrated and seem so angry when she doesn't get her way. I'm actually thinking of just putting her straight to bed the next time she starts acting that way. That's got to be better than the alternative -- two unhappy, frustrated, near-tears females. We'll see.

Wanna know what's getting me through right now? This song. Please take a moment to listen to it. You won't regret it, I promise. And it will stick with you -- in a good way.

While this song doesn't match my situation necessarily, I can't help but think that Crayola doesn't make a color to draw Punkin either. She's made up of so many colors and I just need to let those real colors shine through.

This Was A Hard One for Me to Write...

2010-06-14T15:57:00.005-04:00

In yesterday's post I mentioned how much I loved Bible school last week, but I'd be lying if I didn't tell you the whole truth. It was a tough week. And not just because of the long hours.

Last week was tough on Punkin too. We all stayed up late on vacation, the kids often going to bed around 10:00 or later when they are accustomed to being in the bed by 8:00. Then we jumped back into full lives -- Bubba at the YMCA every day, on the go from 8:00 until 5:00 and Punkin at our church's summer day camp where she is getting to do some really fun activities, but where she is also mostly foregoing her nap.

I'd arrive at the Family Life Center every evening around 5:30 and then we'd all get in line for dinner, followed by an evening full of Bible stories, play time, arts and crafts and lots and lots of singing. We'd usually get home around 8:45 which meant the kids would be in bed by 9:00, which meant that Punkin had been at the Family Life Center for approximately 13 hours.

Punkin did fine on Monday, but Tuesday night there was a meltdown of epic proportions. I should have known better, should have known that a whole day at the church was just too much for her. You'd think I'd know what sets her off by now, but actually I'm just now figuring it out.

While I still don't think Punkin has Asperger's, I DO think she has some sensory issues (which I'll address in a future post) and I think that a full day of activity, capped off by loud music and lot of singing was just more than she (and her nervous system) could handle. I made her go home with Mr. Daddy after camp on Wednesday and get to bed at a decent hour, but Thursday and Friday I let her stay at Bible School because she seemed like she was in such a good mood. I hated to make her miss out on all the fun, especially since she didn't go to Bible School at all last year. But the biggest thing I realized last week is that I have to be the parent which means that sometimes I have to make the unpopular decisions. I should have made her go home on Thursday night too so that she would have had a better chance of making it to the pie throwing on Friday, which she ultimately missed. I have to learn to recognize the signals that a meltdown is coming and try to head her off at the pass, so to speak. Lesson learned.

Bible school was hard for me for another reason, though this is one is all me. I mean, what I'm about to say is something that I have dealt with about myself in the past and I thought I was over it, but obviously I'm not. On the last night, all the kids got t-shirts and most were a little too large for the little girls. But just about every mom there reached into their bags and pulled out cute little ribbons and hairbows and what nots and tied up their little girls' shirts in such a way that they all looked so cute. They all had little hairbows in their hair, their faces were clean, their clothes were clean, their hair was neat. And there was Punkin, shirt down past her knees, lips ringed with punch stains, hair tangled, knees filthy. She looked like a little homeless child and for just a moment, I felt like a failure as a mom. And for just a moment I wished that Punkin was like those little girls. But she's not. She's a rough and tumble girl, always going at 100 miles an hour, playing hard, getting dirty. And I'm torn because I love that about her. I want her to be her own person and not feel like she has to be like everyone else. I love the fact that she likes to play and isn't afraid to get dirty. I was a tomboy too and I appreciate that aspect of her personality. I want her to be the kind of girl that wears Converse sneaks to the prom if she wants to.

I love Punkin fiercely. I don't know if it's because she's a girl or what, but I feel a love for her that's different than the love I feel for Bubba. Not more or less. Just different. Sometimes I think it's because she's a challenging child that I love her so much. She frustrates the hell out of me, but I think the greater challenges create a greater love. I can't explain it any better than that.

I think, when you get right down to brass tacks, what I wish is that Punkin were an easier child. But she's not. She is what she is. And I love her. But she often makes me feel like I don't know what in the hell I'm doing and I look at all these moms with these perfect little girls and I just feel less than. I feel pitied when she has a meltdown in front of everybody. I hate pity. I'm afraid it makes people look at Punkin and see "Problem" and I'm afraid they won't be able to see the sweet, smart, funny little girl that I know is in there too. I hate to feel out of control, like I don't know what I'm doing.

But like yesterday's post, I look back at a year ago and see how far we've come. I can only hope that I'll look back on these difficulties a year from now and marvel at how much progress we've made.

This Time Last Year

2010-06-13T20:50:00.002-04:00

So, I went to the beach for a week and then when we got back we jumped straight into Bible School at our church.

In planning my vacation, I forgot the importance of a buffer day between one's vacation and returning to real life. On Sunday afternoon we got home around 5:00. I dropped our bags at home, stuffed a load of laundry into the washing machine and ran up to the church to help decorate the Family Life Center for Bible school.

It was a super busy week, one that wore me out completely, but it was a wonderful week, nonetheless. I look back at this time last year, when we had just started attending this church. I wasn't involved in Bible School last year, except to drop Bubba off and pick him up. I got to know a few people on the last night, when we all gathered 'round our minister as she let the boys make an ice cream sundae on her head. That was their reward for bringing in the most school supplies for needy kids. This year the girls won and got to "throw" pies in her face. Our minister, among many other gifts, is a good sport.

But this year was different. This year I was involved, though kind of behind the scenes (as was my request.) And now I have so many friends at my church, so many people I look forward to seeing. So many people that I care about now and that I feel care about me. I'm amazed at what a difference a year can make and I can't help but wonder what amazing transformation I'll be looking back on this time next year.

Anyway, I feel like I've found "my people" here. At last.

Where Have You Been...

2010-05-28T10:07:00.002-04:00

...my blue eyed ~~son~~ daughter? Can anybody name that tune? A big attaboy (or girl) to anybody who can.

Where have I been? Well, let's see. Last week was the kids' last week of school. During that five day period we had:

one baseball practice

one end of the year choir program at church

one baseball game

one pre-K graduation ceremony/field day

one 1st grade awards day

one program at church at which the attendance of both my children was required

a makeup baseball game

church

I didn't go to church last Sunday, though the rest of my family did. I felt kind of guilty about it because I really do love my church and I miss my friends there when I don't see them. But lately, every day of my life I have to get out of the bed and immediately start getting ready to go somewhere. Even on Saturdays. So, when Sunday morning rolled around I didn't feel like waking up and immediately jumping into the shower. As I told a friend of mine, missing church might have been bad for my soul, but the time to relax was good for my spirit.

Today marks the end of an era. Today is Punkin's last day at her school. She been going there for about 2 years (including pre-K) and my son attended pre-K there too. The staff feels like family and I will never forget how helpful they were in helping me manage Punkin's behavior problems. They made me feel like our problems were normal and solvable, something I had not been feeling. And I fully believe that the pre-K teacher we had (Bubba and Punkin both had her) is one of the best teachers I've ever encountered. We have been blessed.

Last night, I made the mistake of offering Punkin a chance to go to her MeMe's house to play with her cousins who are staying there for a couple of days instead of going to school. She immediately started crying because she wanted to do BOTH. She was going to miss her friends and she didn't get a chance to say goodbye to them. We eventually worked out a compromise so that she could go to school (which is offering a camp this week) and see her friends and tell them goodbye and then go to her MeMe's house. But as she sat in my lab and sobbed about missing her friends, I marveled again at how far she's come this year. I used to worry so about her social skills and whether she had any true friends. And apparently she does. And her heart is sad because she won't see them anymore.

And my heart is a little sad today too. Because my baby is growing up. But my heart is happy for the exact same reason.

Oh, the places she'll go....

2010-05-18T20:31:00.004-04:00

Do you know what that is? That is a very blurry picture of my little ballerina at her recital on Saturday. I really hate it that the picture is so crappy because that was a big moment. I almost regret even trying to capture it on film because I would have rather been in the moment than trying -- and failing badly -- to capture it. (I have a very basic camera and they asked us not to use a flash = bad pictures).

This is a big moment because I never really thought it would happen. That little girl in that picture is the same little girl who, a year ago, crawled under a table and cried because she didn't want to sing a group song at preschool. This is the same little girl who when asked to perform in any way -- whether it was saying her ABC's or showing her grandparents the silly dance she made up -- would hide her face in my leg and refuse.

The little girl who came out on the stage on Saturday didn't resemble that old little girl at all, except for the dimples and the sweet smile. This little girl watched her teacher and performed all the moves (though she was a little shy when it came time to "shake her tushie"). This little girl confidently jete'd across the stage in front of a crowd of thirty or so strangers.

This little girl has come so far since last year. And I couldn't be more proud of her.

Don't Worry, Be Happy

2010-05-14T13:47:00.003-04:00

I'm posting today lest you all think I'm still mullygrubbing about. I had a good wallowing session yesterday (i.e., my blog post), followed by lunch with a good friend who's always known how to make me laugh, and finished off with the reading of my critique from the contest.

Y'all, I didn't hate it. In fact, I actually liked it and it made me feel pretty darn good about myself.

Here's part of what she said:

This is a very nice story! You do a particularly good job with characterization—your writing flows well. I really like the ending—the sister’s “sorry” can mean so many things she is sorry about. Great job! Thanks for sharing.

See? Not terrible. Now I will tell you that I didn't agree with one particular thing she said in another part of the critique, but neither did two other people who read it (thanks, Katie!), so I don't feel like I'm just ignoring her advice. Unfortunately, I can't see if you agree because my plan is for this little story to become the first chapter of my book and I'm not sure if it's a good idea to have that floating around on the internets. Right? I mean, what if I hit the big time and one of you tries to claim that this was your story and you wrote it first and then you'd sue me and I'd sue you and then we wouldn't be friends anymore and it just doesn't seem worth the hassle.

Anyway, I'm feeling a lot less Eeyore-ish today and am looking forward, wholeheartedly even, to the weekend. Thanks to AndreAnna's inspiration, I'm heading to the local farmer's market tomorrow to see what I can see. And eat.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

I Think I'll Go Eat Worms

2010-05-13T08:11:00.002-04:00

I'm having kind of a low day.

I found out last night that I didn't win the flash fiction contest I entered. I didn't place. I didn't even get an honorable mention. I suppose it was hubris in the extreme to think that I might win. But I'll admit I got my hopes up when I got the email that said my story had made the first cut and that it had beat out at least two hundred other stories. But 99 other people got that same email.

This contest gave you the option of paying $10 to receive a critique from the judge, a reputable literary agent. I thought that seemed a reasonable fee and so now I'm just waiting to receive my critique. That I paid for. That I really don't want to read.

Oh, I'll probably read it, but I'm not going to lie, I'm nervous about it. I had told myself that if I won or placed in this contest that I would really start to concentrate on my writing, which was, if you think about it, an almost fail proof way to keep from having to work on my writing. I keep putting up all these barriers for myself and I really don't know why. And now I'm afraid that this critique might be just another roadblock, either real or imagined.

I'm also blue because I'm very unhappy with my physical appearance right now. Last year I met my Weight Watchers goal and lost 17 pounds. Since last spring I have gained back all but three of those hard lost pounds. I keep making attempts to restart my weight loss program, but my heart really isn't in it. I did great counting my points last week until Thursday night when we got finished with Bubba's baseball game kind of late and we ended up grabbing fast food. I got the smallest burger they had (with no cheese!) and a small fry, but it all went downhill from there.

All these people on the internet are doing fitness challenges, Couch to 5K programs, 30-day shred. I get temporarily inspired by their dedication but it doesn't last. And then I stare at my closet every morning, trying to find something that will make me happy with me. And that's a tall order for a shirt or a pair of pants.

Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I think I'll go eat worms.

Can We Be Still?

2010-05-10T20:50:00.003-04:00

About three years ago, Mr. Daddy and I had serious misgivings when we bought our first portable DVD player. Our thought was that we survived without being able to watch movies in the car, shouldn't our kids also be able to survive?

But we bought it. And we used it for the first time on a trip up to the mountains. I almost immediately regretted it because our kids missed some huge icicles hanging from the side of the mountain as well as a flock of wild geese beside the road. At one point I made them turn it off and "look at nature!"

As a child, some of my happiest memories are road trips we took. We were a singing family. I don't know if this is because the radio in our car didn't work (or did it?) or if we would have sun anyway, but we had a whole litany of favorites: "The Fox," (a song my children demand that I sing almost nightly) "I Love My Rooster," "The Cat Came Back," and even "America the Beautiful" one summer because of my inexplicable fascination with the phrase "oceans white with foam." Once we were singing a rousing rendition of "The Rattlin' Bog," a song that gets faster as you go, when my mom looked down and realized she was driving over 90 mph!

Our portable DVD player hasn't gotten a whole lot of use in the past year or so. We didn't even use it on the drive to Florida last summer, but we did use it a fair amount at bedtime or when the kids -- and I'm not going to lie, Mr. Daddy and I -- needed some down time.

But I have to admit I was intrigued when I read a post the other day on my friend's blog, What a Ride. She titled it "Be Still" and it's about their recent "unplugged" camping trip. And I want to try it.

I'm scared to death to try it, but desperate to do it at the same time. I want to enjoy this time with my children without being dependent on electronics. I want my children to learn to have a good time without needing some kind of stimulation. I want to take nature walks, look at the stars, play cards, sing songs, read.

We can do this. I know we can. And we will. But I need your help on one teeny thing. Books. I would like to read a book over several nights, a chapter book if you will, on the trip that will appeal to both Bubba (7 1/2) and Punkin (4 1/2). Both love to be read to and I'm itching for this experience -- sharing a book that we'll all love. So what is it? What is this book? What should we read, dear readers? I'm counting on you!

How Did I Get Here?

2010-05-09T20:18:00.003-04:00

The other day as I was pouring a glass of milk at lunch for one of the kids, I had the strangest thought come over me -- how did I get here?

Specifically, how did I get to be the mother of two children? I mean, I know how I got to be a mother. I don't need the birds and the bees talk. But how did I get to the place where I'm in charge of two other human beings?

How did I get to the place where I'm willing to give up my free time for them? How did I get to the place where I put their needs before mine -- fixing their lunch before mine, even though I'm starving?

How did I go from the crazy college kid to the woman who actually seems to know what she's doing? I don't claim to have it all figured out by any means, but I think I'm doing a pretty darn good job so far. (knock wood!)

I'd like to think that it's because I had an excellent role model, my own mother.

In my mother's day card, I told my mom that there was no card out there that could truly capture all she had done for me over the years. She had been my first caregiver, my first cheerleader, my first honest critic, the first person to love me unconditionally. She is still my confidant, my strongest supporter, and now, I'm happy to say, she's also my friend.

There are stories about me that as an infant, if my mother wasn't holding me, I was crying. She thought things might get better when I learned to walk, but then I just followed her everywhere she went. I'd like to think I'm still following in her footsteps.

I Promise I'll Shut Up About It Now

2010-05-06T08:27:00.002-04:00

Okay, I promise this is the very last post about my "decision" about Punkin.

So, one thing y'all need to know about me is that I am easily swayed. But before I go any further, I also need to say that there have been months of worry, wringing of hands, back and forth, and conferences with teachers before I made my decision about not pursuing treatment for Punkin.

But I got so many reasoned emails and comments yesterday suggesting "what can it hurt" that I decided, you know what, what can it hurt? Other than the $350 for the appointment, it wouldn't hurt at all.

So, since we had never officially declined the appointment I called yesterday and talked to a lovely woman at this renowned autism institute. And she kindly informed me that the procedures had changed since I called last August. Now, in addition to the one hour appointment with the developmental pediatrician (for $350), there was also a two hour mandatory psychological test. For $1400. Of which my insurance will pay not one red cent.

In fact, the very nice lady on the other end of the telephone informed that only one insurance company that they had encountered so far would cover this testing (Aetna, if anybody's interested) and I have to wonder why this renowned center would make this testing mandatory and make it so expensive when no one's insurance will cover it.

In my eyes, it's almost criminal to charge people that much money, especially people who are generally desperate for answers and/or help. Am I wrong?

I turned down the appointment officially this time. I don't have $1400. If I thought that Punkin had a serious problem, I would have found a way to scrape up the money but I can't justify the cost at this point.

Also, my thoughts are that this place isn't our only option. The very nice lady on the other end of the phone totally understood my reasoning and suggested that the school system can help us once Punkin starts school if there continues to be problems/issues, though she did say the school's testing wouldn't be as thorough as theirs. My plan now is to go back to my pediatrician and ask for his advice, based on my new opinion about Punkin's problem, or lack thereof.

So, there you have it.

Mis-Information

2010-05-05T09:16:00.002-04:00

Wow. Only one comment on my last post and that from a family member! I know I've been slack about writing which means I've probably lost some readers, but I can't believe that only one person had something to say about my last post. Which, I'm not going to lie, makes me slightly nervous that I've pissed some/all of you off.

Please know that I'm not judging anybody if they do choose to opt for any services offered by their school system. IEP's can definitely work. I've seen it work for children that I know personally as well as stories I've read on other blogs. I'm not saying that means there's something "wrong" with your child and not mine. I'm just saying that given the school system we're in (cash poor) and my belief that Asperger's is not really our problem, we just have chosen this path.

Anyway, I hope I didn't offend anybody. I know this is a sensitive topic.

Or hell, maybe nobody even read it. Look at me, getting the big head.

On a lighter note, the other night as Bubba was getting ready for bed, he came into the living room and said "John Thomas said that when you get married to a girl you have to kiss her in just her bra. Is that true?"

Mr. Daddy and I locked eyes while trying to stifle our laughter and come up with some kind of intelligent response.

"Well, Bubba, to marry a girl you have to love her most of all," Mr. Daddy said.

"And you have to stand in front of a preacher and you have to promise to love each other and take care of each other. And then you do kiss. But in clothes!" I informed him, much to his very apparent relief.

I have a feeling "the talk" is just around the corner. I have a feeling we're both going to be horrifed. Who wants to volunteer? Any takers?

I Just Know

2010-05-04T11:52:00.004-04:00

On Friday just before leaving to go to Charleston, SC and Patriot's Point for the weekend, we received the call we've been waiting on since August -- the call from the Autism/Asperger's specialists to whom our pediatrician referred our daughter at her four year well visit.

Actually, to say that we've been waiting is a little misleading. They had told us there was a lengthy wait, but 9 months seems a little excessive to me. If we had been desperately seeking help I think we would have sought help elsewhere by now. Or given up.

But what's actually happened is that we sort of forgot about it. Oh, now and then it would cross my mind and I'd wonder if they lost our paperwork or if they were ever going to call. But I wasn't really worried about it because in the last 9 months a lot of things have changed and I no longer feel that we need to see them.

I'm going to try to say what I'm about to say very delicately in the hopes that I don't piss anybody off. I don't think that every child who is "quirky" or "has issues" has autism and/or aspergers. DON'T GET ME WRONG -- I'm not saying that they don't exist. They do.

And believe me, I don't think I'm blinding myself to the truth about my child. She has issues, yes. She's shy, for sure. Impulsive, yes. Immature, most definitely. But I honestly believe that most of her issues stem from her strong will and her immaturity.

However, in the last 9 months we have seen huge improvements in Punkin's behavior. She's so much more social than she used to be. She actually makes friendly overtures to other children now. In the past this would have been unheard of. She doesn't have the "transition freakouts" she used to have.

I was emailing with my new internet friend Jodifur the other day. I had just found her blog and she seemed to be dealing with some similar behavior issues with her son that we had with Punkin. In the course of our "conversation" I mentioned that we probably weren't going to take our referral appointment if or when the specialist ever called and she asked me why. And I couldn't really articulate my reasons other than to say that I didn't think we needed it. And then she asked me about the services we might qualify for if we took the appointment, a fair question, though I was a little ignorant of just exactly what those services might be.

But I've been thinking about her questions ever since and I'm going to be gut-bustingly honest in my answer. We live in a small, very rural county without a lot of money in the school system (though the teachers we've had so far have been awesome). I've been in the school where she'll be next year. And the majority of the students who receive services are students with very different needs than any that Punkin might have. And frankly, I worry that the label she will have applied to her at the age of 4 might do her more harm in the long run than any benefit she might receive. Is that ignorant of me? I don't think so.

Because the other reason we won't take this appointment? My gut. My gut tells me that Asperger's is not Punkin's problem. Our pediatrician based his recommendation after seeing Punkin a total of approximately 15 times in her 4 years (including sick and well visits), never for more than 15 minutes at a time. While I trust his judgement, I don't necessarily think he gets the real Punkin. To be honest, I think at the time I wanted her to be diagnosed with something because I was at the end of my rope and I didn't know what to do about her anymore and a diagnosis would mean some sort of treatment, something, that might bring us some relief, so I think I unconsciously played up the "problems" to some degree. In our case, it turns out that all we needed was time.

I've consulted with the other people in Punkin's life -- her teachers, etc. -- to get their opinions as well and I'm happy to say that they agree with me.

So, no, we won't be taking that appointment. And that just makes room for an appointment with someone who really needs it.

Build Your House of Bricks

2010-05-02T20:35:00.003-04:00

It's usually the rumble that will wake me. Then the flash of lightning will flicker through the curtains, lighting up the room. A crack of thunder will shake the house.

The wind whips, leaves and small limbs hitting the roof and the side of the house. I turn off our sound machine to see if that sound is hard rain or the wind.

People joke about tornadoes and trailers -- heck, I used to joke about it -- but it's really not funny when you live in one and bad weather's upon you.

On stormy nights I lie in bed playing and replaying my plan of action if a tornado were to hit. We live at the bottom of a pretty big hill, so I'd like to think we might be safe in our little valley, but we all know tornadoes are unpredictable. And we kind of live in a tornado alley. Several have hit our general area in the past couple of years.

Fortunately, my dad lives about 100 yards up the hill from us in a sturdy brick house with a basement. (Little pig, little pig, let me in!) We've evacuated up there twice, once right in the middle of a pretty serious storm. I tried to temper my fear so the kids wouldn't get scared. It must have worked because they thought it was just a party up in Papa Bill's basement.

There are bad storms on the radar for tonight and I know I'm not going to rest well. So that's just another reason to work harder to get out of this trailer.

I Don't Have That Kind of Time

2010-04-23T15:53:00.002-04:00

So, I've been reading a lot of style blogs lately. I'm trying to find ways to punch up my current wardrobe or mix and match new things because we're on such a tight budget. And the thing I'm noticing on almost all of them is purses. As in more than one. As in people have more than one.

I mean I do have more than one, but I don't switch them out on a daily basis. Hell, half the time I can barely remember to grab my purse as I head out the door, much less have time to transfer all my crap into a new one.

What about you? Do you swap out your purses? I'm curious.

Oblivious

2010-04-20T20:32:00.002-04:00

Bubba's baseball team won their first game tonight 6-5! They looked like a completely different team than the boys who took the field on Saturday. They looked like a team.

But Bubba, well, Bubba often lives in his own little world. As the team was running off the field, whooping and hollering, Bubba ran toward us exclaiming "Man, we've lost two games!"

"What?"

"We lost again," Bubba said.

"No you didn't, Bubba. You won!" we corrected.

"Oh."

"Why did you think your team was so excited?"

"Because the game was over?"

Ah, well. Despite his seeming excitement that the game was over, he is truly having a great time. And I'd rather he be his clueless little self than the little boy on his team who winds up in tears after every strikeout.

Wish in One Hand....

2010-04-19T12:18:00.003-04:00

Every day I have to walk behind the art school to get from the parking deck to my office and vice versa. Now that the weather has warmed up you can usually find some of the art students, paint and clay bespattered, lounging around.

One day last week there was a girl out there, her blanket spread out on the little grassy hill behind the building. She was sitting there, elbows on her knees, dress pulled up to maximize the sun exposure, cigarette dangling from her fingers. And y'all, it looked like Heaven. Now, I don't smoke so it wasn't that I was jealous of. It was her freedom.

She had no where to go, no one to whom she was responsible. I mean, of course this is purely conjecture on my part. She could have five kids waiting on her at home for all I know. But she just looked so free.

And for the first time in ages I wanted to go back to college, to those heady spring days when we'd find a sunny spot on North Campus to ~~take a nap~~ read for classes. The feeling of the warm sun on your bones, knowing that you could stay there as long as you want, with only the passing voices of other students to disturb you.

Don't get me wrong, I love my family. But if I would love to have just one of those afternoons back.

Friday Haiku: Play Ball!

2010-04-16T09:08:00.004-04:00

Back when I first started blogging there was a blogger (or two?) who started a meme -- the Friday Haiku. I loved it, for one because I always knew what I was going to post on Friday and two because I loved the challenge of fitting whatever I wanted to talk about into the strict Haiku format.

I don't know if the Friday Haiku is still a "thing" or not, but I'm going to start doing it because I think it's fun. I had planned to write today about Bubba's baseball practice last night and I'm still going to do it, just in haiku.

Warm metal bleachers,

making thin lines on my thighs.

Bees buzzing my ears.

Ten eight year old boys

run hither and yon to catch

balls just out of reach.

Dust clouds follow them.

Dirt and grass on skinny knees.

Sweat trickles on brows.

Eager to learn rules,

soaking them up like a sponge.

Perfecting their skills.

Mom, dad, sis, watching,

cheering while offering tips.

"Get your elbow up!"

All American.

Baseball, Mom and apple pie.

So proud of my boy.

My Secret Shame

2010-04-15T09:18:00.003-04:00

So, I feel like it's been kind of All Doom and Gloom All the Time around here lately, so I decided to shake things up a bit. I've decided to post some things that I'm slightly ashamed of.

One thing you need to know about me is that I'm kind of a music snob. I will secretly judge you if you like certain singers and bands. I live in a town that is full of awesome music. REM and the B52s got their start here. This is where great bands are born. But.

Miley Cyrus' "Hoedown Throwdown" makes me want to crank up my radio and dance in my car.

There. I said it.

Also? I don't hate Justin Bieber's "Baby."

Whew! That's a relief to get that off my chest! Woo, this feels pretty good...I think I'll keep going.

I like cheap beer. I don't mean like PBR or anything, though I have been known to drink it. But I do like Michelob and Coors. (AndreAnna, please don't scoff. I get enough ridicule from my husband, the beer snob!).

I like mariachi music. It's weird I know. I can't help it. I also like cowboy yodeling.

I like Grease 2 better than Grease 1.

Sometimes I listen to XM's Kids Place Live even when the kids aren't in the car.

I think Adrian Brody is kind of hot. Actually, I think he's really hot.

In a related note, I have a thing for guys with big noses. You know what they say...big noses, big....tissues! LOL!

They say confession is good for the soul. What's your dirty secret?

We've Got Spirit, Yes We Do

2010-04-14T12:44:00.002-04:00

About a year and a half ago, I took one of my Libraries' regular donors to lunch in an effort to get to know her better and to find out why she gives. It's part of my job.

We hit it off and had a great conversation. She's much older than I, has grandkids in fact, but because we are mothers we could still find plenty of common ground. She is somewhat estranged from her daughter because of their rocky relationship during her daughter's teenage years. Her daughter was very headstrong, knew what she wanted, and didn't see why she had to bend to the will of her parents.

At the time, Punkin was only about 2 years old. And while I already called her "my spirited child," she was pretty much a normal 2 year old. There were tantrums, but they weren't anything out of the ordinary. I confessed to her that I have often hoped that my daughter will be spirited, strong-willed. In my mind I'm picturing a daughter who goes after what she wants and isn't afraid to try new things. A daughter who puts her friends before her boyfriends and herself above all else.

"Woo, be careful what you wish for," my lunch companion laughed. I laughed with her.

I'm not laughing now. Seriously, y'all. I think she might have been a genie of some sort and granted my wish. A spirited daughter? I've got it in spades!

My mother likes to say that I came into the world with my mind made up on every subject and I think this is one of my (few) attributes that Punkin received in her genetic code.

Y'all, she wears me out. She has to be in control of every situation. If you tell her to brush her teeth, she just has to do this one thing (whatever it may be) first. Or if you tell her to get dressed, it's "But I need to give you a hug first." Come here? "But I need to...whatever." It's always something and it's maddening. It's like SHE has to prove that she's the boss of her and she will do what I ask, but only on HER terms.

And frankly, I don't know what to do. Do I force her to bend to my will and do what I say when I say it? Or do I lighten up? I've tried giving her control in other areas and it doesn't seem to help.

Any suggestsion? Or does anybody know the name of a reliable gypsy who can reverse this curse?

It's All in How You Say It

2010-04-13T14:41:00.004-04:00

Thank you all for your responses. I would like to have emailed you all back, but most of you have your Blogger accounts set up so that you can't get email responses. Get on that, people!

Anyway, I felt like I was losing my mind, so it's nice to know I'm not crazy. Or if I am, at least I'm in good company! A friend brought me a fortune cookie today that said "Tomorrow is a new day; you should begin it well and serenely." And I will. On 10 mg of Lexapro.

In my post yesterday I started to say that I felt as "mean as striking snake," which is common southern expression. It's pretty self-explanatory I think. And that started me thinking of some of my other favorite expressions. Now I know "Bless his/her heart" is a favorite example people use of the Southern two-facedness (it's a word!), but I have to admit I'm not sure I've ever actually heard anybody say that. But here are some I have heard:

He's grinnin' like a mule eatin' briers.

She's madder than a wet hen.

He's happier than a pig in shit.

If the good Lord's willing and the creek don't rise (for the uninitiated, that means that you'll do something you say you will if it's at all possible).

Save your confederate money, honey (said when I wanted money for something and I wasnt' going to get it).

I know there must be hundreds of others but my brain has gone on strike and so what started coming to mind are some of my family's sayings. I had an uncle whose commanding officer in the army used to respond to requests with "not only no but hell no." I heard that one quite a bit growing up and I'll be adding it to my stable of responses once the kids are a little older.

My mother was a probation officer my whole life and so if something was a mystery we always said "it's a misdemeanor to me." If something was missing it had "absconded from supervision."

Mr. Daddy has added "pig bitin' mad" and "fruit loop frenzy" to our immediate family's lexicon. Together he and I have bastardized a line from Fargo, one of our favorite movies, so that whenever a decision needs to be made and I'm leaving it up to him I say "It's your deal, Wade."

It's like a family's secret language. Do you have one?

Madame Queen: Up Close and Personal

2010-04-12T15:34:00.003-04:00

Back in September? October? I went to see my doctor because I just wasn't feeling like myself. My patience was *this* thin. I felt angry and hateful all the time. Sometimes my arms felt so heavy that I didn't even want to lift them to do the most menial of tasks. I could barely walk up a flight of stairs without feeling completely overwhelmed. I had a sneaking suspicion that I might be depressed.

See, I've dealt with depression before, so I recognized it's signs. In college it was brought on by a couple of bad relationships and my inability to take care of myself emotionally. This time I think it was a couple of things: 1) Our financial situation and 2) my stress and worry and frustration over Punkin's behavior issues.

All I knew was that I didn't like myself very much, didn't like the mom I was being, so I made an appointment with my MD. He suggested that I try an antidepressant, Lexapro, for a while and see how I felt. Now, I'm not a huge proponent of taking medication and I try to avoid it if possible, but I believe that sometimes your body's chemistry gets out of whack and my MD confirmed that prolonged stress can do that to you.

So, I started taking the Lexapro with the plan that I would see him again in March and if I was feeling better that I would come off the medication.

I've been off the medication for a week now. And slowly but surely I can feel my patience stretching thinner and thinner. All weekend I was like a rubber band about to snap. Mr. Daddy and I bickered at each other all weekend and I just felt MEAN.

And this morning I WAY overreacted to something Punkin was doing and I made her cry. In a bad way. And I hated myself for it.

Surely I can't be reacting to the lack of the medicine in my body already? My doc said it would probably be at least a month before I started to notice anything, if I noticed anything at all. Am I just imagining this? I hope so. I don't want to be this way. I dont' want to be that woman. That mom. I don't want to be snappy and impatient.

Mr. Daddy reminded me this morning that I am in control of my responses. And while I think he's right to a certain degree, some of this feels beyond my control. It's almost like my body and my brain react before I have a chance to tell it to calm down. But I don't WANT to go back on the medication. So I'm going to try to up my exercise. I'm going to practice deep breathing. I'm going to try to walk away from stressful situations when I can (read: PUNKIN!).

Anybody else ever been through this? Any suggestions?

It's Guaranteed to be a Bestseller

2010-04-09T09:00:00.011-04:00

So, after yesterday's somewhat serious post, I thought I would lighten things up a bit.

In the past, I think I've shared some of Bubba's artwork with you, but he was pretty young at the time and his skill as an artist has improved quite a bit. I keep meaning to share some of his more interesting pieces with y'all, but we've put our scanner away and I've just been too lazy to get it down and plug it in.

Lately, Bubba has also begun creating his own little booklets. He's created several, but the one I'm going to share with you today is one of my favorites. Now, keep in mind that I'm really not sharing this one because of the artistic skill involved, but more because of the storyline. The kid has got more imagination than he knows what to do with.

I now present to you "How to Be a Hymotist (sic)"

The End.

Keep Your Politics out of My Social Justice

2010-04-08T08:32:00.005-04:00

Warning: This post has some religion in it, but don't be skeered. I'm not a judgmental Christian.

The Bible warns Christians about not bragging about their good works. It even goes so far as to tell you not to let your right hand know what your left is doing, so I hesitate to write about this. But it's on my mind so I'm going ahead.

I also hesitate to write about this because it's going to be somewhat political and I usually do not discuss politics unless I'm almost 100% certain that the person I'm talking to has identical or similar views. However, something happened recently that really made my blood boil and I also find that I'm becoming more and more comfortable stating what I believe. If it makes someone else mad, well, then, that's THEIR problem.

My Sunday school class has recently begun a Food to Kids program with the elementary school my son attends. There are some children in his school who do not have food to eat on the weekends, and frankly, that just breaks my heart. I can't imagine what the lives of those children must be like, but there is no reason that children in the United States of America, children in my own community, should go hungry.

Now there are some people out there who would scream that it's not my job to make sure those kids eat. What are their parents doing? Are they working? If not, are they even trying to get a job? You know what? I don't care what their parents are doing. I mean, yes, I hope that they are trying to work, trying to support their families. But ultimately, what matters to me are those children. They can't help it if their parents are in an unfortunate situation. They are the innocents. They have no control over what happens to them.

Conservative talk show host Glenn Beck recently made headlines (and isn't that really all he's trying to do?) when he said that if your church preaches social justice that that's really just another a code word for Nazism and communism. Really, Glenn? Really?

Because see, the Bible says that Jesus said:

"For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me."

"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' (Matthew 25:35-40)

I didn't see anything in that passage that mentioned communism or Nazism. In fact, I didn't see anything regarding politics at all. All I saw was about showing kindness to those in need.

Hell, even if you're not a Christian, putting some good out in the world can only help, right?

A couple of weeks ago, I went to a parent breakfast with Bubba. As part of the program, we played a game using some practice questions for the upcoming standardized test they're going to have to take. Some of the kids' parents weren't able to attend, so the teachers asked the parents who were there to help out. There was a little girl at our table that I helped who broke my heart. Her hands and her face were dirty. Her hair wasn't combed. Her clothes weren't clean. I can't get that little girl out of my mind. So tell me Glenn Beck, am I a bad person because I want to help her?

Indecision, Much Like Indigestion, Is Painful

2010-04-07T14:58:00.003-04:00

So, again, I'm not dead. Only my creativity. And maybe it's still there?

I'm just not sure what's wrong with me. Well, at least when it comes to writing. Lately, I've just felt paralyzed. It's almost as if every time I even think about writing, my brain just shuts down, like I don't even want to TRY to think of something to write. Except that's not even explaining it properly. I'm not sure I can explain it.

And this is doubly weird because I recently received some very good news in regard to my writing. On a whim I entered a flash fiction contest and late last week I received an email that said that my entry had made it past the first round of judging, beating out at least 200 other submissions! What I submitted is actually what I hope will be the prologue or the first chapter of a book I want to write.

So, great news, right? Right? And you would think that I would have taken the adrenaline rush I got when I read the notification email and run with it and wrote at least 1,000 words, right?

Well, you'd be wrong. I haven't written a stinking word since then.

I don't know if it's fear that's holding me back or what. Am I afraid of the work? Failure? Success?

Today my friend Esme gave me some advice, advice she originally got from Mir: there's no such thing as writer's block, only writer's indecision. It's sort of like staring at a buffet and not being sure what to try first.

So, today I'm jumping back in with both feet. I'm putting words on the page in hopes that more words will follow.

To Write or Not To Write

2010-03-25T08:39:00.004-04:00

As usual, rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated, though I did feel sort of like dying there for about a day. Punkin has had "the crud" -- aka a yucky cough -- for about a month now. She's been on two different antibiotics for it during that time period, but neither has been strong enough to completely knock it out. And this time my mommy immune system wasn't strong enough to keep it at bay and Mr. Daddy and I were both felled by the cough.

Unfortunately for me, I had too much to do to actually be felled by it. I had to keep plugging along because on Monday and Tuesday we inducted four new writers into the Georgia Writers Hall of Fame.

This is, by far, my favorite event of the year, but for some reason it just wipes me out completely every year. It's a very labor intensive event -- lots of preparing in the days ahead and an attempt at complete attention to detail and catering to every need or anticipated need over the two days.

I love the event because I love being around writers. I love hearing them talk about writing and how they do it, and where, and when and what their process is. I always come away feeling inspired, like maybe I could write the next great American novel.

But that's as far as I get -- the inspiration part. I never actually DO anything about it. To a man/woman, every writer I've ever met has talked about the desire, nay the compulsion, to write, to get their stories on paper. And you know what? I don't really have that. I mean, I have stories and ideas for stories floating around in my head, but I don't have a burning desire to sit down and get those stories out.

I like to blame it on a lot of things. I'm tired. I have too much do. But one of the writers I met this week gets up at 3:45 in the morning to write. The other used to get up before her young daughter was awake so that she could write then. I already get up at 5 a.m. every day but there sure isn't any time to write. I think about writing at night, but by the time we get home and I get dinner ready and get everybody bathed and ready for bed and maybe fold a few clothes or straighten up the house, I mostly just want to sit on the sofa and watch television or read a book.

So, maybe I'm not really meant to be a writer. That's kind of hard for me to come to terms with because people have always encouraged me to write. Or maybe it's just not my time. I guess we'll see how it all plays out.

Updating

2010-03-18T21:01:00.001-04:00

Hey y'all. I changed my comments a little. You can no longer comment anonymously. I really wouldn't mind except my blog is getting spammed like crazy. I'm hoping this will slow the spammers down a bit.

I'm also about to update my blogroll. Some of those links are a little out of date. Sorry 'bout that.

At work I'm preparing for the Georgia Writers Hall of Fame, which is next Tuesday and Wednesday, so my brain is just slightly fried right now. Sorry 'bout that, too.

Perfection, fleeting

2010-03-17T07:07:00.002-04:00

This morning as I went to wake Punkin, I realized that my children are never more perfect than when they're sleeping. Little angels, hands still clutching lovies, sweet breath, soft skin. The day hasn't begun yet, there have been no tantrums, no tears. No defiance has yet marred the day.

But I also realize at that same moment that I'm never a more perfect mother. I haven't been dismissive or angry. I haven't had to repeat myself a thousand times. I haven't yelled or lost my patience.

Oh, to be able to hold on to that moment for the entire day.

The Story of the Half-Asses

2010-03-15T20:22:00.002-04:00

In her post on Sunday, AndreAnna over at Diary of a Modern Matriarch was talking about the problems they're having with their house and the fact that someone lied, boldfacedly (is that a word?), to a pregnant woman about the fact that water had never been in the basement.

Her situation reminds me an awful lot of my own just a couple of years ago. We bought from liars too. At least I hope they were liars because if they're not they're the stupidest people that ever lived. But since the husband is an elected official in these parts (not in our district anymore, thank God), I'm not sure whether to hope he's a liar or really stupid. That's a lose-lose proposition.

But Mr. Daddy and I came up with our own name for them. We called them the Half-Asses. They lived in the house we bought for at least 20 years and if something needed to be fixed during that time, they went about fixing it in the most half-assed manner they could.

When they painted the family room they didn't even attempt to spackle over the holes or the scratches in the wall. But the worst offense? They actually painted over dust and lint particles. You could see them there, like fossils in the paint.

The front room, what had been an old 60s-style formal living room, didn't have a light in it, so Mr. Daddy cut a hole in the ceiling and wired in a light fixture. When he took the switchplate off near the front door, there were actually two switches there -- one had been hidden under the plate. And it was taped into the up, or "on," position. Huh. That's weird, we thought and hooked the new light to that switch. Let there be light!

But then that night it started to get really, really cold in the house. Huh. We had no heat. Mr. Daddy started flipping switches and fuses. Nothing. So, he climbed back into the attic whereupon he discovered that the Half-Asses had wired their HEATER to a light switch that was located by the front door, taped it "on," and covered it up. Half-Asses.

But the real kicker, well, that was one was a doozy. When we had our annual termite treatment, the bug guy crawled out from under the house and said "You've got some water under your house." Hmmm...well, it had rained a lot recently and our soil was weird -- our land didn't "perk," whatever that meant -- so maybe that was it.

A few weeks later the pool guy (oh yeah, we had a pool, but that's ANOTHER story) was under the house hooking up the new and very expensive pump and came out and said "You've got some water under your house." Well. Hmm....this time there'd been no rain.

So, we called a plumber who was a friend of my dad's. He crawled under the house where he discovered a problem with the drain line from the washing machine. The problem, you ask? The Half-Asses had knocked a hole in the drain line. The plumber suspects they had a clog and instead of fixing it or replacing the drain line, the just knocked it loose. And water had been pouring underneath the house for over a year every time I did a load of laundry. With a toddler and a newborn in the house.

Now, someone who is more goodhearted than I might think, "Well, maybe it just burst. Maybe they didn't know about it." Well, one could think that except for the fact that they left their work light hanging there. Half-Asses.

And to top it all off with a nice big eff-you cherry, all of this had been missed by our apparently incompetent home inspector. I call him by a different name.

I don't really know why I'm telling y'all all of this. These thigns really used to piss me off, but I actually find it kind of amusing these days. Sort of one of those laugh so you don't cry kind of things.

The One Where I'm Sure

2010-03-14T17:13:00.002-04:00

I've had some kind of stomach bug this weekend. I'm not really sure what it is, but it hit me early on Friday morning. I ended up going to the doctor on Friday afternoon because of the horrific pain I was having in my stomach. It was like the WORST case of indigestion I've ever had and nothing, I mean nothing, touched it. I took Rolaids, Zantac, and something my mom bought me at the store. I was so sick on Friday that I couldn't even drive back to my house (about 30 minutes) so I went to her house and crashed.

The doctor at the Doc-In-A-Box couldn't really figure out what was wrong with me, but told me to take Prilosec twice a day for 5 days. When I woke up on Saturday morning, the pain was gone but the nausea wasn't.

I haven't really felt like eating anything and sadly, coffee holds no appeal. I laid around the house like a dishrag most of the day yesterday and today, though I did finally shower and make it to the grocery store.

But still. I haven't felt like this since I was pregnant. And no, I'm not pregnant. I got a test and took one just to be sure. It was a definite no.

And I have to tell you, I thanked God. People always ask me if we're going to have any more and I always answer emphatically, "NO!" And this is how I know I'm sure...there was not even one tiny ounce of hope that I might be pregnant. Not one. Not even a sliver.

Just a hope that I'll start to feel normal soon.

Sun, Sun, Sun, Here it Comes....

2010-03-08T11:30:00.003-05:00

It's springtime and for a small-town Southern girl, at least one who hit her teen years in the 80s, that means it's time to tan. As spring break and the prom drew near, that meant it was time to don last year's swimsuit, spray oneself liberally with the awesomeness that was Hawaiian tropic and head out the back yard. Where, if it was still a little early in the season, one could just as eaily be covered by chill bumps as the rays of the sun. Or if later in the season, you could hook up an oscillating fan to an extension cord and keep yourself somewhat cool while the rays baked your body to tanned perfection.

Or if you were really serious about your tanning, you'd jump in your car and head to one of the many, many tanning salons and there you'd don those little glasses (or not, depending on whether or you valued tan eyelids over protecting your vision), maybe your swimsuit or maybe, if you didn't want any of those pesky tanlines, just the lower half of your swimsuit.

And though I haven't been in a tanning bed in nearly 15 years and I don't set out to get a tan (much!) anymore, I have been hearing the siren song of the tan for a couple of weeks now. I look at my pasty winter flesh and remember how much better it looks with a tan. I can still remember how absolutely wonderful a tanning bed nap is. I posit that there is no better nap. It's the perfect length and you're toasty, toasty warm the entire time.

I long for the smell of Hawaiian tropic. When you open that bottle childhood memories of the beach pour out like a genie, granting me my wish of taking me back in time to simpler days. Days spent playing in the waves, building sandcastles, heading back to the hotel room for a sandy lunch in the ice cold room followed by the most delicious post-beach nap, only to head back out again after the sun is no longer directly overhead. We'd stay out until it was time to get ready for dinner or until one of those passing summer thunderstorms ran us indoors.

I'm on a furlough day today and the weather has finally warmed up. This morning I sat on my back deck with a book and a cup of coffee. The sun actually felt good for my soul and I felt my spirits coming out of hibernation.

I fully understand the dangers of sun exposure , so no need to lecture me. I don't go crazy with the tanning anymore and I certainly don't get in tanning beds. But this morning as I sat there, I pulled the legs of my pajamas up and let the sun warm my shins. And it was good.

Budgeting is Hard, Y'all!

2010-03-04T08:32:00.002-05:00

Sorry posting has been light around here. As part of our homework for the Financial Peace University class we're taking, we're required to make a zero budget. I don't want to give away all of Dave Ramsey's secrets for free, but he requires that you budget your entire month's income down to zero. Every month. Zero!! That shit is hard, y'all. Not only is it heart-stoppingly scary to budget your entire income down to zero, it's damn near impossible especially when you go from no budget to a fairly restrictive one and you have no real idea how much you've been spending on certain categories every month.

He also suggests that you spend a lot of your money on a cash basis. For example, you budget $80 bucks for lunches/dinners/coffees out (and yes, that's our VERY restricted amount we've allowed ourself for this month) and you take that money out in cash and keep it in an envelope. When you want to go out to eat or grab a cup of coffee or order a pizza, you grab the money out of the envelope. When the money's gone for the month, that's it, no more dinners out, no more pizza, no coffee from Dunkin Donuts.

Mr. Daddy and I have worked on this budget almost every night this week and my brain is tired and we still haven't gotten it down to zero. And we still have a cash flow plan to work on.

Nobody told me there was going to be homework when I grew up. If I have to do homework, don't I at least get a Spring Break?

Hopes Are Dashed, Raised.

2010-03-01T16:22:00.004-05:00

And you know what's worse than dashed hopes? When you're the one who's dashed your own hopes. Because you've done the grownup thing. The smart thing. The thing that sucks.

As I said on Facebook this weekend, being a grownup sucks.

I haven't talked a lot on here about mine and Mr. Daddy's financial issues. At first it was because I was a little embarrassed, but then I got massive writer's block and I didn't write much of anything as you all know. But now, now I'm past caring what others think and have come to a place of self-acceptance (mostly).

So, short story long....about two years ago, Mr. Daddy and I seriously downsized in an effort to get ourselves out of a financial hole we had created for ourselves (with the help of an asshat, some Half-Asses, and one severely troubled individual who didn't mean to give me the shaft, but did anyway.).

I mean seriously downsized. When I write my book about the whole ordeal, I'm going to call it "Living My Life Backward: How I Went From Tree-Lined Suburbia to a Double Wide Trailer in My Daddy's Backyard." Seriously.

In the spring of 2008, we moved into a double wide -- a VERY NICE double wide -- about 50 yards down the hill from my dad's house. My dad likes to joke that the crest of the hill he lives on is called Poverty Ridge and I joked to Mr. Daddy that if Daddy lived on Poverty Ridge, then we were at Rock Bottom. And at first it felt that way.

But, downsizing allowed us breathing room with our bills. It allowed us to live without feeling like our noses were to the grindstone every minute of every day. It allowed us to take some small, camping vacations. It gave us the money to allow our kids to do some activities. And next month, I'm going to pay my car off.

For the last month or so, Mr. Daddy and I have been working on plan called a debt snowball. This is where you take any extra money that you have and apply it to your lowest balance revolving debt. Once you've paid it off, you then take that extra money you have, plus what you used to pay on the debt you just paid off and apply it to your next lowest balance. And so on. We've also begun taking a class at our church taught by Dave Ramsey. You might have heard of him -- he's written a couple of best-selling books and has a radio and television show. Anyway, we've been planning to use my car payment money to pay off our debts and we have figured that by the spring of 2011 we can be completely debt free, including the car that Mr. Daddy just bought last summer.

But last weekend, everything changed. We found a house. And it was a really, really good deal. The house was on five acres and was structurally a great house. But, it was a foreclosure and it needed a LOT of work. But Mr. Daddy can lay tile and laminate flooring, and we're both good painters so we weren't really intimidated by the work that needed doing. All we could see was HOUSE. Bigger house. Bigger rooms. A basement.

And we were bewitched by the idea of having people over, our new friends that we've made in this community. We wanted a house that we're not (just a little bit) ashamed of. Our house is so small and even we wonder sometimes how we ended up in this situation. Even though we've come a long way about how we feel about the whole thing, we're still a little nervous to let people know we live in a double wide.

We started picking out paint colors, carpet colors, flooring samples. We talked about what we'd fix up first. Bubba and Punkin picked out their rooms.

But then the grown-ups showed up. Our inner grown ups. And they began to talk and unfortunately, they were making sense. I tried to block them out, but it wasn't working. What we began to realize is that yes, we could buy this house. We could buy it, but our situation wouldn't change. We would just be treading water, nose perilously close to the grindstone once again. We wouldn't be able to pay off any bills. And finally, the lure of being debt free won out over the need for a house.

We have a house. It's not my dream house, but it is a home -- warm in the winter, cool in the summer. What I began to realize is that this house is a means to an end. And that end IS my dream house. Once we're debt free our options will so much greater. And though I was severely disappointed to have pass on that house, I have hope that when the time comes the victory we will have won will be so much sweeter.

Musical Interlude Friday

2010-02-26T07:48:00.003-05:00

I'm not sure if I'm going to make this a regular thing or not, but I want to share with y'all this funny video/song my husband introduced me to last night. It's all about the love of words and how much fun certain words are to say. It sounds like it might have been made by some of the people who do Sesame Street (has the Street vibe), but I'm not sure.

Bulbous Bouffant by the Vestibules

Enjoy! (Mukluks!)

A New 'Do

2010-02-23T20:59:00.002-05:00

So, do you notice anything different about me?

I've got a blog design, I've got a new blog design, I've got a new blog design!!

I owe special thanks to one Ms. Cass Comerford over at Cass. Just Curious. I gave her a couple of ideas, but she came up with this one all by herself and I loved it more than anything I had suggested.

I loved my old blog design -- I created that one all by myself -- but I felt like I needed something new. Sort of like spring cleaning.

Anyway, thanks again, Cass!! I LOVE IT!

What say you, my loyal subjects?

Disco Roller Skating Queen

2010-02-22T20:05:00.003-05:00

Last night our church's children's group went roller skating. Now, I used to be the roller skating queen in middle school, but it has been quite some time since I tied on the ol' skates.

Well, actually, I took Bubba to a skating birthday party last summer, but that was the first time in at least twenty years that I had skated. I wanted to try it again just to see if I still could. I could still skate, but I was kind of surprised to find that it didn't come quite as easily to me as it used to. It is not, in fact, like riding a bicycle. I felt very unsteady on my feet and I think that feeling of unease is the same one I felt the first time I climbed a tree as an adult. I'm all to aware these days how much it would suck to break something, not to mention how inconvenient it would be.

I learned very quickly on that visit that it is much easier to keep a small non-skater on his feet if I was also not wearing skates. I had not counted on this, though, and was wearing only some cute summer slides. I think I only lost a toe or two though.

The funniest thing about that trip was Bubba's insistence on telling everybody he encountered "I'm not very good at this!" As though he needed to explain. He must have said it every ten seconds. Between trying to keep him on his feet and attempting to assure him that of course he wasn't very good, it was his first time, I was exhausted. But, by the time we were ready to go, he was starting to get the hang of it.

Last night was Punkin's first trip to the skating rink and I could tell she is a girl after my own heart -- a magpie. She is attracted to anything sparkly, shiny, or shimmery. The rotating lights and the disco ball were pure magic to her. She couldn't wait to get out there on the floor. I'm sure in her mind she was watching herself gliding across the floor like some of the older girls who were there.

After we got the skates on we headed out to the floor, whereupon Punkin's legs each went in a different direction. I felt very much like Dorothy when she's helping the Scarecrow right after he hops down from the post and he's flopping his limbs about willy nilly. Only Punkin's scarecrow feet had ten pound weights on them. I was wearing tennis shoes this time so my feet fared a lot better, but next time I think I'll invest in some steel toed boots.

We flopped and slipped and fell and "skated" one rotation around the rink before we retreated to the bench on the side. One of the other beginners told Punkin how much easier it was to skate on the carpet, so we gave it a try. We started out with my hands under her armpits, but she quickly set me straight. "No, Mommy! Let me go!" I was scared to death she was going to fall and break something (what with her recent medical luck and all), but she got her balance pretty quickly. And with that, she was off. By herself. Down the whole length of the skating rink and back.

As soon as I was willing to let go of her, she did it all by herself. I'm sure there's a metaphor for parenthood in there somewhere, but I've got a little something in my eye. Give me just a second....

By the end of the night she was sort of skating -- though she said "I was just WALKING, I want to skate like those girls!" You will, Punkin. You will.

Musical Interlude

2010-02-19T20:01:00.003-05:00

In keeping with yesterday's post, take a listen to this song by Secret Agent 23 Skidoo, one of my favorite new artists for kids.

The Art of Being You

2010-02-18T20:48:00.002-05:00

Before I launch into my Deep Thoughts, I wanted to give y'all an update on Punkin. I didn't really tell y'all about this, but Punkin's eyeball under her upper eyelid was blood red and it was freaking me out. Her pediatrician deemed it a subconjunctival hemmorhage, and while freaky it is basically harmless. He also cut her antibiotic dose in half which has alleviate her stomach troubles.

When she returned to school today all her friends greeted her like Norm walking into Cheers and Mr. Daddy said they all came up and hugged her. Her sweet little smile when she was telling me about it did my heart good, especially when I think back to those months when I worried about her social skills and whether or not she had any friends.

Anyway, back to my Deep Thoughts.

A week or so ago I read a post Alice Bradley wrote over at Finslippy talking about fear. Specifically, she was talking about the fear people get when they've done something creative like write a blog post, or a poem, or paint a picture. There's always going to be someone out there who has something negative to say about whatever topic is at hand. Most of us have had trolls on our blogs (though, thankfully I've had very, very few of them and they actually weren't very troll-y) or have read ugly comments on other people's blogs. Unfortunately, because of the option to comment anonymously, I think that this has let loose upon the world a river of hatred, vitriol, and negativity that I honestly wish we could do without. I'm all for free speech, but I believe that if you want to say it, you should be willing to give your name.

Anyway, I digress. Sort of. Because I haven't really been the target of online negative comments I can only imagine that they are quite hurtful and if received often enough, could dampen one's enthusiasm for the creative process.

But what actually came to my mind when I read Alice's post was my friend Sara. Up until about 3 months ago, Sara had long, full, vibrant, naturally curly hair. It was, so to speak, her crowning glory and the thing that people noticed immediately about her. It was just gorgeous.

But, Sara is also a full time student pursuing her Master's Degree in Divinity, a full-time mother, a wife, a friend to many, part-time pastor at her church and other duties as assigned. And I think, and this is partly conjecture on my part, that Sara's hair began to feel like a burden. It was one more thing she had to deal with and it was the one thing that was expendable. Also, because of some other things she's dealing with, I think she wanted to prove that a person is more than their physical appearance.

So she cut it off. All of it. It's pixie short and so cute.

But the reactions she's received. My Lord, you would have thought the world had come to an end. Her first Sunday at church the reactions ran the gamut from "Please tell me I'm dreaming that you cut all your hair off" to "Oh, don't worry, it will grow back!" as though she cut it off by accident. People have actually seemed to be offended that she dared to cut her hair. As though it were THEIR hair.

The day before I read Alice's post, someone had said something to Sara that had particularly hurt her feelings. They'd caught her on a low day and she began to question herself, whether she HAD done the right thing by cutting her hair. And so, when I read "A few words about fear" I thought of the trolls in our lives, the ones who stifle our creativity with backhanded compliments. The ones who can't stand it when we do something for ourselves, or something that takes us outside of the little box they've placed us in. I think we've all had those people in our lives who try to sabotage us by taking our good and making it bad.

On Ash Wednesday our minister preached about the real face behind the masks we wear every day. I think that as we get older we get more comfortable presenting that real face to the world. We become more comfortable in our own skin, more willing to stand up for what we believe, for what we want to do, for how we want to look.

I'm not going to lie, I've let other people's expectations of me keep me in their little box for many years. But I'm trying to put down my mask and be the real me.

That day I forwarded Alice's post to Sara and told her that I thought of her when I read it. That she is creating Sara every day -- the Sara she wants to be and the Sara that she presents to the world. And if other people don't like it, screw them. Actually, if you want to know the truth, I said "If they don't like it, fuck 'em." I'm sorry for the language, but sometimes I cuss. You should know that about me. Especially when I'm mad. This is the real me.

So, don't let the trolls in your life hold you back. Be you. And I'll do the same.

If It's Not One Damn Thing, It's Another.

2010-02-17T08:24:00.003-05:00

Sorry for the radio silence around these parts. It's been a crazy couple of days.

First there was the snow. And as you know, the threat of snow around these parts tends to cause chaos. Bubba's school let out early on Friday, so I picked up both kids on my way home. About an hour after we got home, the flakes started falling, small at first, then thicker and faster. Even Mr. Daddy's office closed early. As the snow started accumulating on the ground, Mr. Daddy and I both began to worry we'd have a repeat of last year. Fortunately, we only got about three inches this time and the power stayed (mostly) on.

The kids had a blast in the snow, especially Punkin. She would have stayed out all day if I'd let her. But, as we are, for the most part, woefully unprepared in the snow-approved clothing department, I made them come in after a while before they caught their death of snow (and mud).

But, we didn't really get to enjoy the snow as much as we'd have liked due to a small but potentially complicated medical issue.

Let me back up a little. Also, warning, slight grossness ahead.

Last summer, Punkin got what looked like an infected bug bite on her knee. It looked like a boil and was extremely painful and I debated taking her to doctor, but by the time I had decided that she needed to go, it was looking a lot better and eventually healed on its own.

Fast forward to about three or four months ago (they've all run together at this point) when Punkin told us that she'd mashed her finger at school and it was really sore. The end of her finger began to get bigger and bigger and redder and redder and finally, when pus began to form under the skin, we took her to the doctor. They had to lance her finger and they tested the pus as a matter of course. I was floored when the test came back positive for MRSA. Surprisingly, the didn't give us any oral antibiotics, only an antibiotic cream and instructions to add 1/2 cup of Clorox to her bath twice a week.

Now, I'll tell you, I was freaked out. If you've never Googled MRSA on Google Images, DON'T. It will haunt your nightmares. But, our pediatrician was pretty matter of fact about it. While he admitted that we probably dodged a bullet last summer, he said that as long as we were diligent about keeping cuts clean and responding to infections and/or boils appropriately, we'd probably be fine.

Since then Punkin has had one more boil come up on her knee -- this after skipping one of the Clorox baths one week. We treated this boil with a combination of the antibiotic cream and some liquid turmeric. I have done a lot of research about natural remedies and found that turmeric is an ayurvedic remedy known for it's strong healing properties. Also, if you're interested, Manuka honey, from New Zealand is a great (though expensive) remedy. Anyway, I had skipped the Clorox bath because the Clorox was drying Punin's skin out, even though I slathered her with lotion after every bath. But, the boils are way worse than dry skin so we're back to twice a week Clorox baths -- which I was comforted to read aren't really that much different than swimming in a chlorinated pool.

Anyway, fast forward again to Friday when I noticed that Punkin was getting what looked like a sty on her eyelid. On Sunday she woke up and it was more swollen and looked a little more like pink-eye. So, we went to the local doc in a box and because of her MRSA they prescribed bactrim and some drops for her eye. After we left I dropped Punkin off at my mom's because they had a date to see the Cinderella ballet.

They had a good trip to the ballet, but when I picked Punkin up on Sunday night, she had just woken up and she was cranky and her eye looked terrible. There was bloody looking pus at the site of the sty and when she cried it looked like she was crying blood! Needless to say, I freaked and we headed straight to the ER.

Three hours later, we saw a doctor. He consulted with an opthalmologist on call who prescribed a very strong antibiotic shot and some stronger eye drops and a followup appointment with him the following day. He declared her "on the mend," but today we're dealing with a severe upset stomach caused by the antibiotics. I've added in some probiotics to her diet, but I'm not sure how long it will take for those to make a difference.

And we have an appointment at 11:30 with her pediatrician to take a look at her and to address an issue still going on with her eye.

So. That's what I've been up to in a very large nutshell. We'll be going to see our 4th doctor in five days. I just want my baby to be well.

Sniffle, snort.

2010-02-10T08:33:00.002-05:00

So, I have a cold. It's not fun. Amazingly, it's my first one of the year. I asked my immune system the other day if it couldn't have held out just another month or so. Thank God for Dayquil is all I have to say. And tissues.

I didn't blog last night because last night was "one of those nights." For me that means that I'm feeling overwhelmed by the world. It was bath night for both kids, I had to prepare a veggie tray for the Valentine's party at Punkin's school, and I had to make a dessert for the kids' Valentine program at church tonight. AND I had to get all of Punkin's Valentine cards ready AND I had to sit on my butt for a little while.

On nights like that, all I can see around me is everything that needs to be done. The dishes need to be put away, some need to be handwashed. The clothes need to be folded. The carpet needs to be vacuumed. The floor needs to be swept. The piles (of crap) need to be sorted and or straightened or assigned to new piles. The checkbook needs to be balanced.

And I start to feel overwhelmed. To say the least. Tonight's not going to be much better, but at least the weekend is on the horizon.