They're Not the Boss of Me

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?

Goodbye Ruby Tuesday

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.

The Hard Way

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

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.

I miss my blog

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.

Creepie Crawlies

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!

All The News That's Fit to Print

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.

Have You Exercised Your Brain Today?

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.

Tomorrow is the First Day of the Rest of Her Life

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.

Possum Tales

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?

I Think I'll Go Eat Worms

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.

I Promise I'll Shut Up About It Now

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.

Indecision, Much Like Indigestion, Is Painful

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.