Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Don't you carry nothin' that might be a load,
C'mon and ease on down the road!

Let it be known that I am really tired of blogger's problems.

angry color

I have started a new blog at and will begin posting there very soon.

There's only one post there, an "introduction". I like the template a little better. I like the functionality a lot more, so far.

I will soon be moving all of this blog to that space...


Y'all come over and read the post that I wrote here that is in my drafts that I can't even access!!! Thank goodness I copied it over to Word!

easy to remember, huh?

Go on! Go read it and look at the pictures too!

Well, give me a little while. I've got to post it over there first. But THAT'S MY PLAN!!!

Tuesday, September 26, 2006


Well, I have tired of using certain recurring terms in my blog to tell tales about my daughter and my husband. DD and DH have been their names, respectively.

blah blah blah


So, I have decided to re-name them here, using nick names that I use for them at home.


We'll begin with DD. At home, we call her twerp, twerp-cicle, monkey, stinker. It is her misfortune that we've called her these names since birth, and, therefore, she knows WHOM is being called in the middle of a store or at school when someone says, "hey monkey!" (God love her!) Her nickname that I will begin using here has a little history behind it. (Don't worry, not a lot. I won't ramble very much.)

As I grew up, my mom's nickname for me was Tinkerbell, sometimes shortened to Tink. I don't know WHY she gave me that particular term as it infers (yo! Villaume!) daintiness, gracefulness, attitude (well, I qualify there at least) and petite size.

On our first trip to Disney World, we were waiting on the monorail to ride over to the Magic Kingdom for breakfast at Cinderella's Castle with many princesses and to visit with Fairy Godmother. As we waited as patiently as possible, DD was prancing around and generally being very, VERY excited about her first day at WDW - the Holy Grail of vacations for kids - I tried to get her attention and ask her to calm down. In a sudden, horrible moment, I turned into my mother and attempted to call DD by the name MY mom had used for me, Tinkerbell. Subconsciously (or unconsciously?), I must have realized that I was about to transform into another person and fudged on my pronunciation of Tinkerbell.


it stuck. So, occasionally, I'll call my DD Stinkerbell and she'll grin, remembering when and where I first called her by that little name.

Henceforth, DD will forevermore be known herein as Stinkerbell and is entitled to all benefits and crap that goes along with such an honorable name.

(the look of someone very pleased with her new nickname)

Now for DH.

There are just so many unfortunate ways to define DH that I really hate to think of. And although I probably have at least considered calling him by one or more of those less-than-loving variations of Dear Husband, I just hate to continue to use DH here for exactly that reason. It makes me think of the terms of endangerment rather than terms of endearment.

So, for the history behind DH's new name, please pull from your catalog of Robert Redford movies, the classic Jeremiah Johnson. One of DH's favorites - or as he would put it, a "good flick" - Jeremiah Johnson is about a mountain man who encounters trials and tribulations of the rugged Rocky Mountain variety. He takes a wife who speaks no English - which doesn't discourage him from talking to her. At some point in the movie, and DH forgive me, but I forget the specifics of the dialogue (monologue?). Anywho.. He is proud of himself for killing an animal for food and clothing and calls himself...

"Mighty Hunter"

Henceforth, DH will forevermore be known herein as Mighty Hunter (MH) and is entitled to all benefits and crap that goes along with such an honorable name.

So, please work with me as we make the transition from DD and DH to Stinkerbell and Mighty Hunter.

They're much more interesting, don't you think?


BY THE WAY!!! It has taken me 3 days to get this post edited and the pictures inserted. I've had more problems than you can imagine in just trying to access the draft I had saved to make changes.

Blogger, please get your act together. Notice my angry color text. grrrrr

Monday, September 18, 2006

It's a stick your tongue to the frozen flag-pole challenge!

With pg #1, I was very endeared to the 3 dr's in the practice as they supported me and DH through his mother's death. I conceived on April 15, 2000 and my MIL passed away on June 30. They couldn't have been MORE sensitive and concerned for me and DH during that painful time.

The 3 dr's are of excellent qualification and experience and training. The senior ob was chief resident of ob/gyn at the hospital at University of Alabama Birmingham. The others trained in Dallas and Chicago. The primary dr 's father was also an ob/gyn and was who delivered little ol' me. He returned home to our small town (also this link and this one) to join his father's practice - for which I am soooo thankful.

As I've struggled with my migraines earlier in this pg, they have been very, very attentive and concerned. It was unbelievably reassuring and comforting to be able to call the hospital and ask to speak to the one on call and tell them what was going on and be reassured or have a prescription called in the the pharmacy for me. Never ONCE did they show any frustration or impatience in my many calls - no matter the hour of day or night.

I've know they are special guys for a while, but I've learned more about each of them that maekes me very grateful that I live in this small town, with its small-town hospital.

A dear friend of mine has a wonderful son with Downs Syndrome. I love that little boy with all my heat. His diagnosis was a surprise that my friend and her husband were not expecting. The blood tests had not shown abnormally high risk for the condition and she did not have the amniocentesis. With her second pg, she had the Triple Test, which did show high likelihood of DS occurring again. The senior ob of this same practice delivered her DS son and had the difficult task of giving my friend the results of the blood tests about her 2nd pg. As he gave her the news and recommended the amnio to get more precise information about her pregnancy, this big, cuddly guy cried with my friend.

My affection for this team grew even more yesterday.

This same friend’s son had his 11th birthday party yesterday. Another mom was there, and we were introduced. She is the wife of the newest member of the ob/gyn practice. She and I talked a good bit while the kids played in the pool. Her son and daughter were there for the party.

My friend told me that her son has the Fragile X Syndrome and that their friendship resulted from their involvement in their common interests resulting from their son’s special needs.

I put 2 and 2 together last night.

I realized that when that dr cried with my fried over the results of her blood tests, it was because it hit close to home for him. His partner was dealing with a similar scenario. Genetic testing was something that wasn’t just left to discussions around the water cooler.

“Poor gal, she didn’t take it very well when she heard her child will have learning and physical disabilities. Gotta hate that.”

No, they dealt with it on a personal level. So much so, that they did IVF for their subsequent pg and selected a little girl to be implanted. That little girl is sooo cute. Her strawberry blonde hair was a beautiful, tangled mess as she got out of the pool for cake and presents. The little boy (11, and not so little) looks just like his dad and played with his sister and my friend’s son so sweetly. They’re all great kids.

Now, I dare anyone out there to just TRY and prove your ob/gyn is better, more caring, sweeter, more in-touch than mine.

Triple Dog Dare!

Friday, September 15, 2006

See the pretty girl in that mirror there?

Yes, this evening, after work, I will be hearing this song from West Side Story in my head. Except it won't be the West Side Story version. It will be the Anger Management version.

I'm going to get my hair trimmed and fresh high-lights. Woo hoo!!!

I've neglected my hair care - among other things about my personal appearance - over the past few weeks, months, year(s).

As I've said before, I'm pretty low maintenance. I prefer my Nike running shoes to most any of my other shoes.

Although I LOVE to shop for shoes and have some great ones. Like these. These were from DH for Christmas last year - I feel like quite butch in them, but they're great with a pair of jeans and in the rain and cold of Alabama winters.

Clothes that are comfy and look like the non-pg me are quickly becoming very difficult to find. DD and I are making a trip to the mall tomorrow so that I can visit the maternity store and increase my wardrobe from the measley 2 pairs of jeans, 1 cargo pants, 1 denim skirt and 4 tops. But aren't these jeans great? Mine are the "gold bling pocket".

I feel stunning.

I'm 4 months. (Look up at the top of the page and double-check me with my ticker. I lose count.) But my tummy and non-baby organs moved up to the bottom of my ribcage long ago. My ribs are already spreading out and my bra band-size is crazy. The poor little 16 y-o who measured me for a bra Wednesday night had probably never seen a pg woman's naked belly in all its glory. She stretched the measuring tape around my chest and said suck in your breath.


"Honey, this is as much as I can suck it in. Wait...." big wheezing sucking noise as I manage to somehow inhale a little more and get the tape pulled in very snugly.


big blast of air gushing out of my mouth as I laugh at her. "There's NO WAY I could stretch the elastic of a 34" anything around these ribs. I'm in a 38 now and it's hooked in the last hooks!"

My belly button is already deformed. It never actually turned into an outie, but had more the appearance of Marge Simpson's overbite. Well, I'm thinking about getting my belly painted with a portrait of Marge for my Halloween costume. That might be entirely too scary, even for Halloween.

The skin on my chin and around my mouth is rough and bumpy. I've used a variety of cleansers and exfoliators and masks, trying to fix it. Only to make my skin so dry it peels and flakes. But there are still the ugly little pimples too. They're holding their territory with the tenacity of those in the Middle East conflict. I'm soooo looking forward to September 30.

DH is clearly afraid of me already. His fear and intimidation level that appeared during pg #1 was funny as crap to me. When I start talking about having to buy clothes, he just smiles and says nothing. I saved all my maternity clothes from pg#1 but I must have forgotten how to wash and dry clothes at the end and shrunk all my pants about 3" in length. A few of my tops are ok, but the sweaters are all "pilled" up. When I leave work in a few weeks, I'll have to try this to make those sweaters presentable. Not that any of them are cashmere. But DH hasn't complained at all about my shopping binge.... Yet. I think he has a pretty high level of enjoyment that I've had to shop for larger bras twice already.

He's not good at keeping this a secret.

DH is on a hunting trip through Sunday. He got his gift for Christmas, birthday, anniversary, Valentine's, Arbor Day, National Beheading Day and every other obscure holiday that MIGHT justify the cost and is getting to use it on this trip. But when gun season opens, he has to put his gift in a box, wrap it up and stick it under the Christmas tree! He has no problem with this, as long as he gets to hunt with it NOW! I wonder if he'll observe International Rabbit Day..... probably NOT!

Now, for those reading this that are supporters of PETA and have stayed with this post this long. Bravo! You're a lot more tolerant than I expected you to be. So, in recognition of your patience with the above paragraph, I'll tell you a little more about DH.

He's the kind of guy who was raised on a cattle farm. Not a big operation. Just enough cows for his parents and him to handle. He helped care for the cattle and pets at their home. Cattle require injections of medications of varying kinds from time to time. It made him physically ill to do this. He's terrified of needles. When a cow was struggling to give birth to her calf, he was right there to reach his long arm in and help deliver the calf. If you don't know what that means, then watch the scene in City Slickers where Billy Crystal's character loses his watch. When a cow's labor is difficult like this, a barn stable C-Section is not an option. And usually the calf and/or the cow are in danger of losing their lives. Many times the calf is breached and can be too large to deliver. It was never pleasant for anyone involved, cows or humans. But DH would be sick for days over losing a cow or a calf.

He is also the kind of guy who saved a puppy from certain death. Sport, aka "the stinkingest dog in the county", was abandoned by some heartless soul on a remote dirt road in an area where DH used to hunt. The cute little black lab mutt hit the Super Mega Lotto for strays when DH found him.

He brought home Tigger, aka "demon cat", home one night. Now, that one he regretted. Tigger was never very tame or sweet. Pretty, yes. Soft, yes. Snuggly, yes but only for a few moments and then without warning, he'd bite the crap out of you and run for his life.

DH is, like all the really good ones in the world, a rawhide creature with the soft, fuzzy underbelly of a kitten. He grumps and growls and sulks like all grown-up boys, but loves tenderly and fiercely. Kisses sweetly and softly. Hugs close and tight. Holds hands when riding next to me. Brushes DD's hair with care and patience. Rubs my belly and back and shoulders and feet. Andhe wept pitifully when he and his dad and brother buried his mom 6 years ago after her battle with leukemia. It was during those last few days, weeks and months of her life that I fell crazy in love with him again.

I've got a good one. I'm keeping him. He's all mine. Mine and DD's and Peanut's.

Good luck finding one as good as DH.

How do all the things in this post relate to each other? It's all about DH...

  • DH loves Anger Management.
  • The scene with the singing cracks him up.
  • He likes for me to look nice - even if he can't tell what the guy did to my hair to make it look so great and cost so much.
  • He picked out my Merrell shoes and the boots were gifts from him.
  • Boobs. 'nuff said
  • He loves to hunt but is a caring man who works hard to care for his family (human and furry).
  • We eat most of the meat from his hunting trips and give away the rest to those without funds to buy meat.
  • He's out of town. DD is staying at Nanny's tonight. I'll be home alone and having to deal with the highly likely bout of insomnia that generally strikes when I'm home alone at bed-time.
  • I miss him.

Oh, almost forgot...

One of my favorite things about DH... He converted from the university of alabama cult so that he could go to Auburn University and yell.....

Waaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrr Eagle!!!! Hey!

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

this is ridiculous.

I've tried virtually all of blogger's templates and they just don't work for some reason or I hate their layout.

This is quite sadly the BEST layout I could find that would show the sidebar somewhere other than the South Pole and have it in a reasonably easy-to-read layout AND allow enough room for a reasonable width for the post column.

And it still looks like crap.

See how the cute divider lines and last few letters of my previous post titles extend into this post's column?

What's a girl to do?


bear with me. I feel a non-blogger template coming.

Please pardon my dust.

I am trying to fix the layout issues with my blog. I know that my links and stuff are missing. If you're an admin for one of the blog-rings I've recently joined and looking for your ring's code, please come back tomorrow or next month. I will get the code back in place eventually.

Thank you for your patience.

And if this frustrates you as much as it frustrates me, please tell I've tried to get their help. They've sent me links to "helpful" sites to visit for advice and direction.

Basically, I've decided that I need to do one of the following...

1. Learn html
2. Purchase a template from someone who knows how to design a template that actually WORKS
3. Deal with it. Blogger's templates are unimaginative and prone to just plain screwing up with no apparent EASY or SIMPLE means of repair.
4. Change Blogger templates and have to re-do all my customizations. Blogger Beta is supposed to eliminate this MAJOR flaw, but I'm not one to let my blog be subjected to beta bugs. I just want to write and post pictures.

I suppose I could learn html. I probably will learn enough some day to be able to adjust columns and colors and the like. But not now.

I suppose I could buy a cool template. There are some neat free ones, but I still have to transition everything over and I lack the time and patience to accomplish this right now. Mainly patience.

I've dealt with it all I want. I've posted my issue on the blogger "something's broken" forum. The suggestions there did NOT make a difference in my South-Pole sidebar problem.


I'm changing blogger templates to one that appears to have wider post columns and MIGHT accomodate my short links.

We'll see.

I have little faith in the process.

Tune in again soon.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

I'm a failure. But so is DH. So at least I'm not alone in my miserable dumbness.

note: this was originally written in September 2006. For some crazy, kindergarten-failing-parent reason, I never clicked that elusive "PUBLISH" button. So, enjoy it only 6 months late!

Last night was open house at DD's school. She has a wonderful kindergarten teacher. She enjoys going to school every day and has made some new friends. She seems to be doing her work well too.

It's a good thing DD is intelligent. I came to that realization last week when I looked in her backpack at her papers from that day. I knew that she was probably going to be on her own in the homework department.

Mommy can't do kindergarten homework. Bless my heart.

I sat her down to get her started on her homework sheet and was about to read the instructions (which I couldn't understand) to her. She says "Just let me do it, I know how."

And she did her homework without me reading the instructions. The instructions that I didn't understand.

So last night at open house, DH and I asked her teacher how she was doing. We were very reassured that she was doing well with her reading and her math. The reading readiness tests were finished and her tests results placed her in the Green Reading Group.

Green Reading Group. My daughter is a Green Reading Group reader.

I tried very very hard to hide my utter confusion. But it was probably very clear that I didn't have the first CLUE what the Green Reading Group meant.

Cuz I didn't! (for the record, neither did DH!)

So, I admitted: "DD's our first kid in school. We don't know nuthin' 'bout no colored readin' groups. Is that there green good or bad?"

DD's teacher, bless HER heart, smiled and said "Well, it's like it has always been. There are 3 reading groups, red, yellow and green. And Red Birds are, well, Red Birds." (poor ignorant hill-billies, their child will need every spare minute of my time and attention to compensate for their ignorance and pure stupidity)

"So, DD is in the Green Reading Group and is not a Red Bird. Is that good?"

(Clearly, in addition to being world-class stupid, these parents have a significant amount of hearing loss; probably due to shooting catfish in a barrel with a shotgun and having faulty exhaust systems on their dilapidated pickup truck.) "Well, I can show you her DIBELS score." Thinking quickly, she explained that DIBELS is the reading test they give each student in the state to determine their reading level. "She had the 2nd highest score in the class. She's doing really well. She'll finish all her reading tests before the end of the school year." (No thanks to her genetics or her home environment.)

"Why wasn't she the highest score? Dadnabbit!"

I've embellished the conversation a little bit. But the truth is, neither of us still know WHY a Red Bird is still a Red Bird, "just like it always has been." And the truth is that I really was frustrated that her DIBELS score was only the 2nd highest in the class. I want her to be first and the smartest and the best.

It is sooooo hard to not be a drill sargent and make her do 2 hours of Hooked on Phonics every night.

Well, not really. It's kind of mind numbing, which is why I gave up on it after 30 days. That and she rebelled against me being her "teacher."

Monday, September 11, 2006

It really is all about who you know...
Or at least Who knows you.

This morning I tried to find the words to explain to DD what happened 5 years ago.

You see, our morning routine includes the tv. We turn on my favorite local channel for weather and news and noise. DD needs more than just our early morning, light-hearted (y, right!) banter to get her moving and ready for school. She needs NOISE to disturb her sleepy-headedness and get her alert and sorta cooperative. And as you can guess or know from your own personal morning routine interaction with the tv/radio/internet news, the references to the terrorist attacks on 09-11-2001 were almost continuous.

As DH was sitting on the foot of our bed, watching the local news anchors discuss their personal memories of that horrible day, I asked him if he remembered it clearly too. duh. At that time, his job was as a claims adjuster for a major insurance company handling home-owners claims (that web link was intentionally not included!) His office was our spare bedroom, and he traveled to inspect claims in his unbelievably large territory 4 days out of 5. 09-11-2001 was one day he had set aside to work in the office and do paperwork. (In retrospect, I am soooo thankful he was there with me and DD that morning.)

I was working part-time then and at home that day too. My mom called us from her job and told us to turn on the news. We sat together and watched the 1st tower burn, thinking of all the people that were perishing there. We watched the 2nd plane fly into the 2nd tower live, like most Americans. We were glued to our tvs. The phone didn't ring. It didn't ring all day, not even for DH's job. I called my boss who was scheduled to fly on a charter flight to Washington DC that day for a conference and begged him to not go - not yet knowing that all flights were being returned to airports - any airport, anywhere.

We cried when the towers fell. I held DD tight and whispered my love into her sweet, nibbly ears. I prayed for her safety and protection.

We all have very distinct memories of that day 5 years ago. It was a pivotal point in the lives of every American and most people even outside the US.

But what I wonder is this... (and stay with me to the end)

What difference does it make?

What difference did September 11 make in each of our lives?

Do you remember the date that JFK was shot? or President Reagan? The shuttle explosion(s)?

Pearl Harbor is the only date that sticks in the memory of even those of us who were not yet living. Dec 7, 1941. But think about this.... We don't even have to put the year at the end of Sept 11 to know what we're talking about.

It changed us individually and as a nation. The collective heart and soul of the nation and its residents was changed forever.

But 09-11 changed our daily lives too.

Yes, many many many of us said good-bye to loved ones as they left to serve in the military in search of terrorists who colluded in the attacks - or other attacks - in some way. I'm not going to get into the debate over our military involvement in Afghanistan, Iraq, etc.

Yes, many many many of us lost dear loved ones that day. Their hearts still ache in a deep, piercing way that I can't allow myself to imagine.

But has it changed us individually? Emotionally? Mentally? Spiritually?

I will admit that in many ways, my life is much more like it was on September 10, 2001 than September 12. There are more gray hairs on mine and DH's head. DD is older and more mature. But I get up each day and do my thing, taking for granted the lifestyle and freedom and safety provided to me in my middle-class, not-at-all suburban but more rural, wife/mother/employee American world.

Still, what difference does it make?

I think one of DD's questions got to the heart of it for me.

DD: "So what happened to the people in the buildings and on the plane with the bad people?"

me: "They died."

DD: "And where did they go when they died?"

me: "Well, sweetheart, they either went to heaven and to hell."

DD: "What about the bad people who crashed the planes? Where did they go?"

me: "Well, you see they didn't know your Jesus and He didn't know them. So..."

DD interrupts me, she knows the answer: "So they went to hell."

me: "Yes, they did a bad thing. But the bad thing didn't make them go to hell, did it?"

DD: "No, they didn't know Jesus and that made them go to hell. Can I take juice in my lunch box today?" (the amazingly fast change of subjects still surprises me.)

What difference does it make to me and DH and DD? It makes me soooooo thankful for the sacrifices made by the military families around our country. It makes me realize that the small town I grew up in and now raise my DD and Peanut in is a wonderful, beautiful, peaceful place. It makes me realize that simply the fact that I was born in rural Alabama, USA, provides a security and safety and peace that most people in the world will never know. Heck, most Americans don't know how great I have it. We have reliable utility services. We have relatively uncorrupt police protection. We have safe, well-maintained roads. We have access to quality medical care, safe food sources and affordable clothing and housing - without having to grow, pick, weave and sew our own clothing, etc.

I am truly blessed.

But, more than that, I am blessed by knowing Who knows me.

If you don't know my Jesus, then everything you do that is good and wholesome and sacrificial is for the sake of the action, or your self-esteem and peaceful night's sleep, alone. It's all about Who knows you. Does Jesus know you? When you reach the end of your life, what and who will you face for eternity?

Because there is an eternity.

There is a God. A TRUE GOD - and only one.

There is only one way to that God. You will never earn it. The standard is too impossible and the price too high. It's a simple gift. All you do is accept the gift.

There is a heaven and a hell.

There is a devil.

Whom do you serve? You have to choose and not choosing is a choice and that choice makes a difference for all eternity.

a few links that are worth a few minutes of your time today, if not any other day.

Remember our blessings today and every day... but especially today. And thank you for letting me share my memories and perspective on it all.

p.s.: I finally found a link that I would like to share. A minister from San Antonio, TX, Max Lucado has a true gift with words. He was asked to share during the national prayer vigil immediately in response the 09-11 attacks. Please, if you've made it this far in my post, please follow this link and read his words. It's worth your time, I promise.

Sunday, September 10, 2006

Hello Mutha, Hello Fatha.
Here I am in
Camp Blogger.
Camp is very entertaining.
And I know we'd have some fun
If they get my stinking template fixed and help me post pictures easier!

Well, It doesn't rhyme and the rhythm is wrong, but I'm just not a concise kind of person!


Dear fellow Crazy/Hip Blog Mamas,

I am hoping you will bear (or is it bare? teehee) with me while I work on my template issues with the evil

If you'll read the 2 previous posts before my jubilant announcement of my joining your ring of, well, Crazy/Hip Mamas, you will realize that something is rotten in Blogger Land. I have posted my problem on their Google help group. I'm apparently not the only one suffering through this anomaly.

So, I HAVE posted the code in my sidebar content. You will just have to jump to the VERY SOUTH POLE END of this page to see the link - but IT IS THERE!!!

Thank you for reminding me to post the code. I thought I had, but apparently, the parasite/Peanut ate my memory of me closing without saving template changes.

so sorry.

If you would kindly find your End button now.

I will see you again soon.

War Eagle!

Good-bye - click.

Friday, September 08, 2006

Too sexy for my blog.

Look at me. I'm a member of the Crazy/Hip Blog Mamas!

little ol' me

Now, one might assume that membership of this blog ring might require one to be a crazy, hip, blogging mama. To document my qualifications, I humbly submit the following...

Crazy. If you've read any my previous posts, it's not easy to figure out that, yes, I'm a little crazy. I prefer the term "eccentric." My recent 90-day-long migraine headache episode sent to a neurologist for an MRI of my head. And, as you'd expect, they didn't find anything. (DH's favorite joke!!! haha, very funny. jerk) So, not only can you judge for yourself that I am a little wacky, a board certified neurologist has verified that "there's nothing up there".

Hip. Well, I'm miserably underqualified here. I prefer Nike running shoes to my cute Merrells. I'm extremely low-maintenance, much to DH's dismay. I would rather roll out of bed and brush my hair and teeth and dress in my jeans (normally Gap but now Motherhood) and a plain t-shirt of some kind than get shnazzed up just to go to work or to Wal-Mart for groceries. I do feel the peer pressure to put on my face and put forth some effort with my hair and maybe even my wedding and engagement rings. At the Motherhood store, I did indulge in a cute pair of jeans with rhinestones ("gold bling pocket", yup that's me!).

...a postscript to my Hip qualifications... I did graduate from Auburn University -(not with honors, but I did make the Deans List (4.0 gpa) one term) That alone makes me very hip.

Blogging. Well, I'm here. 'Nuff said. I'm working to make my blog a little more interesting and help it to extend its reach by including links to the previous posts I reference and link to outside sites related to the things and people I mention. In addition to my own blog, I've become quite addicted to reading other blogs (mostly by other moms)... Moreena's The Wait & The Wonder and Falling Down is Also a Gift. And then I love to read Bettie Bookish too.

Mama. You may have read my posts about DD and Peanut. DD is my 5 1/2 y-o girl, who thinks she's 14 already. Peanut is the baby on the way, due in February, see ticker at top of page. I also have to provide care for DH that is very much like raising him all over again. Yes, his dear mother (rest her soul) and dad did a good job, but sometimes he just lapses (like all men) into his 9 y-o little boy mentality. I also am mommy to a 8 y-o black lab mutt, Sport - aka the stinkingest dog in the county (Hey Moreena, you're NOT alone!) - and Angel - the "free" kitten from Santa with the $400 hernia repair!!! (don't blame Angel. Things like that happen when a car backs over you!)

I'm sure that if I wasted just a little more time at work I could come up with more to say about my new Crazy/Hip Blog Mama membership qualifications. But then again, I have probably done that enough for the day.

Thursday, September 07, 2006


I apologize. I am sorry for falsely accusing you. You didn't delete my links and cutesy stuff. But you moved it to the bottom of my page, which I do NOT like at all. But I have to be honest and admit that you are not guilty of my original accusations. Nevertheless, you are still guilty of messing up my blog. And to that end, I humbly submit this rant...

Auburn Gal Always

Like I told DH the other day when he twisted the front passenger seatbelt on my new pimped-out Mommabile to the point that it wouldn't retract or extend AT ALL.....


btw, dark red is my angry color. grrrrr

Seriously, I did NOT make any changes to my template. I have NO idea how my column widths changed to move my sidebar content to the bottom. It is supposed to stay at the top of the page, right? Right!

If anyone out there knows what's up with this, I'd appreciate it.

Peanut would probably appreciate it too. It seems I feel Peanut move a little more when I have to use my angry color

grrrrrrrrrrrrr kick, wiggle, wiggle.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Ok, I've had it!

This is it!!!

My links, my little pixie that looks NOTHING like me, my counter - ALL OF IT - are gone!!!

What's up with you, Blogger?

I did NOT change my template!

What did y'all do with my stuff!!!

I want it back and I want it back YESTERDAY!!!

I'll bet myspace can keep up with my links!!! I might just wander over there and see what they can do for me!!!

What do y'all say?

Can we start a revolution and make Blogger make it easier to upload our pictures and not crap-out on us when DO try to post a picture on our blogs? Can we make them provide some newer templates and make it so that if we DO change templates we can do it WITHOUT losing our links and other customizations?

What about it?

Are you reading this Blogger???


Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Goldsmith knew his stuff

“My-friend-Rachel” sent me this picture of Toomer’s Corner.

For those you who are not-in-the-know, Toomer’s is the intersection of Magnolia Avenue and College Street in Auburn, Alabama. (War Eagle!) This is the historic place where crazed, elated college students, parents, fans, etc. celebrate Auburn University sports victories by rolling the trees there. Again, for those of you not-in-the-know, rolling is throwing rolls of toilet paper into the air to beautifully (?) decorate the tree limbs.

But alas... Hurricanes have changed the landscaping of that area since I walked that route from dreary apartment to classes.

My memories are…

Rushed walks (because I never left for class early OR in plenty of time to get there without rushing!). The UNHOLIEST of heat and humidity. Rushing beneath the prettiest, towering, shady pines, oaks, magnolias, and other trees I can’t identify and past beautiful Samford Hall the antique lathe (with its questionable legend probably created by some horny frat boys back in the “good ol’ days”). Past the rose garden and its reflective pool that always seemed like a great place to yank off my socks and tennis shoes and cool my feet in the middle of that UNHOLIEST of heat and humidity. Wearing shorts with a heavy coat in January (because if you have classes from early morning to lunch or later without the chance of going home to change, you’d be freezing on your walk to class and sweating on your walk home!). Being caught in the middle of a victory celebration (AU vs FSU, 1990) and being shoved to the middle of Toomer’s to play the fight song with the other marching band members in uniform (THEY had shoved to the center of Toomer’s to celebrate – Toomer’s was merely on my way back to my apartment – besides, a clarinet doesn’t really contribute to the celebratory mood with the verve of a trumpet, tuba and trombone.) Lemonade at Toomer’s anyone??? Hoping against hope that I could get just a little bit of cash out the ATM so I could have that lemonade – really, which is more important, lemonade or rent?

I was not a Greek. I was a band geek. So my memories of “rush” are of hearing the glass-breaking, shrill squeals of the sorority pledges, their whining about the heat as they “rushed” from one air conditioned dorm building to another (this was particularly disgusting when contrasted with the band’s outdoors practice ALL DAY in the UNHOLY heat and humidity (They meet inside. The football team even practices inside an enclosed cooled field. Only the band must endure the UHH of Auburn’s summer and fall weather! I guess that makes me even on the whining score-card.) I have quite a fond – some might say devilishly fond – memory of the marching band’s tuba line gathering outside the dorms to arouse the sleeping pledges very early one morning following a very late night of rush parties. Muhahahahahaaaa

This time of year, I don’t need a picture of Toomer’s Corner to make me long for the wonderful combination of experiences that is the Loveliest Village on the Plains… Sweet Auburn. Oliver Goldsmith, you were so right.

I have tickets for me and DD to go to the homecoming game vs Tulane. We're both excited.

Waaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrr Eagle! Hey!