2008, here we come

I don't have any grand plans for next year. I think that I succeeded in meeting my resolutions for 2007.

This time, I think I'll, again, set reasonable goals. I also realize there is definite room for improvement in my life in many areas.

So, with that in mind, I'm giving a mixed bag of goals and resolutions for 2008.

• I resolve to eat gooey, underbaked chocolate chip cookies and drink lots of cold milk. (Who am I to buck a trend?)
• I resolve to be a better friend and daughter and wife and mother.
• I resolve to be more honest, tender, caring, firm and loving with those that mean the most to me.
• I resolve to read more books and less blogs. (Sorry! Although I love my blog addiction, it doesn't not advance my goals of being able to stay awake with a book or reading in places other than the bathroom.)
• I resolve to exercise, at least a little bit.
• I resolve to take more pictures of my family. (The Mighty Hunter's Christmas gift will promote this!)
• I resolve to swear less.
• I resolve to sing more.
• I resolve to find my laughter again.
• I resolve to live more deliberately and courageously.
• I resolve to not have a baby this year.
• I resolve to throw two ROCKING birthday parties within mere hours of each other.
• I resolve to make more phone calls and email/IM less.
• I resolve to procrastinate a little less, but I don't know just when I'll start.
• I resolve to simplify my labels for my posts.
• I resolve to irritate anyone who has forgotten to unsubscribe me from their Google Reader with my new post labels.
• I resolve to take my meds on schedule. (This crying without notice truly sucks for everyone around.)
• I resolve to kiss my babies cheeks, nibble their toes, caress their skin and snuggle their heads under my neck.
• I resolve to nap whenever possible.
• I resolve to shave my legs as often as possible for a mom with a (almost) 1 year-old.
• I resolve to rub my smooth, shaven legs against The Mighty Hunter's.
• I resolve to continue to support Amy, my beautician, through my dependence on her mad skillz with the scissors and dye. (I cover my natural platinum blonde. It's NOT gray! Shut up, you'll make me cry.)
• I resolve to paint my toe nails from time to time.
• I resolve to try to keep a cleaner house.
• I resolve to use my new cookware and love it everytime my eggs don't stick.
• I resolve to teach Stinkerbell to cook. (You should try her "Famous Baked Potatoes" and "Famous Mashed Potatoes!")
• I resolve to finish this list... now.
• I resolve to encourage Stinkerbell to work hard in school and sports and her other interests and not make the minimal effort that still produces great results.
• I resolve to finish this list... right now. I promise.

If you're still here, thank you. Also, get a life.

Really.

But, if you're still here now, I wish you a wonderful 2008. I pray that in whatever it holds for you and your families, you will find joy and grace and beauty somewhere in every day the Lord gives you. I hope you will enjoy His love for you. I thank you for your friendship. I love you for your prayers. I look forward to reading and sharing with each of you.

God bless you all.

or rather...

God bless y'all.

whatchathink?

Crying out for help here

To all (3) of you who have felt pity for me googled "slumber parties" or "ginormous cheap bunnies" stopped by to visit...

Stinkerbell will be turning 7 soon. (TOO soon!!! The heart, it is breaking.) I have talked her down from a Build-A-(very over-priced)Bear party, which would include driving 6 kids to a mall that is, at a MINIMUM, 1 hour from home and chasing them around the mall and store to build a bear. The website claims that a party can be had for as little as $10/kid.

Tempting, huh?

Don't be fooled.

The $10/kid gets them one animal, apparently there are cheap animals and not-cheap animals available from which to choose. This is the cheapest. And, certainly you know that the whole Build-A-Bear experience is all about the accessories and sounds and extras and investment.

So, guess what you get to go with your cheapest bear for $10/kid?





See that space right up there? That's your answer.

Nada.

Well, I suppose, not nada. You probably get one of those ginormous boxes that I feel certain would simply become a home to dust bunnies, because it could NEVER be thrown away.

gasp! It was the box that once held an over-priced, under-accessorized bear from a very stressful 7th birthday party! The horror!!!

Now, naturally, you can pay more than $10 per kid. But seriously. Do you think that other people's kids are worth more than $10? Be honest. My kid is worth a pile of cash to me. But her BFF's? $10 is probably my max.

kidding!!! (obviously kidding! Since I took 3 of her friends to Libby Lu last year!)



So, I have convinced her that a slumber party is PERFECT for her 7th birthday.

(Hold your applause till the end, please.)

(And when I say "the end," I mean till AFTER the party has successfully proven my insanity and they have carried me away in the newest look in white canvas jackets. You know, the ones with all the oddly placed buckles?)

(But won't the medication be fun?)

ahem

Slumber party...

But not just any slumber party. noooo. This will be a Rock Star/Spa Slumber Party, complete with a chauffer (me), a limousine (the Pimped-Out Mamamobile), fine dining (local restaurant that has a dance floor), red carpet (well, carpet, anyway), stylists (Bev and Mama Peg and me), private screening of the greatest kids movie (HSM2) and the finest in spa hotel linens (sleeping bags).

There'll do facials (lotions and cucumbers). Manicures. Hair-styles. And lots of junk food.

How did you ever guess that I have a habit of over-planning?



Here's the thing...

I need help with the invitation wording.

We would like for the girls to arrive dressed in their "fanciest Rock Star" clothes, (Here's a valid question: Shouldn't we dress like that everyday?) bring a sleeping bag and pillow and any makeover stuff they already have. (We've had pinkeye in our house this month, and I don't think sharing makeup and facial products and swollen, gooey, matted-closed eyes are a good idea.)

Oh, and the phrasing should be rhyming and funny and, above all, cool.

Come to Stinkerbell's Rock Star/Spa/Sleepover Party on Saturday, January 26. We will leave for dinner at Archie's at 5:30pm. We will return home to begin the Spa Treatments (bring your own cootie-infested makeup and facial stuff.) We will then watch High School Musical 2 and sing and dance and eat junk food till someone pukes (keep your cell phone ringers ON so that you can be summoned to retrieve your sick kid.) When total physical exhaustion sets in, the Rock Stars will collapse, in accurate Rock Star fashion, in the living room floor (send a sleeping bag and pillow and whatever lovey they need to sleep the night through) (again, keep your cell phone CHARGED and ON so that I can summon you to retrieve your weeping, homesick Rock Star.) When the evil sunlight awakens the Rock Stars, I will pump them full of sugar and caffeine so that you can retrieve them at 9:30 am. At 10 am, I will tie them to the fence posts at the road and let them find a ride home, much like one-hit-wonders do - with their thumbs in the air.

What do you think?

Christmas bullets...

... you know... as in "jingle bells, shotgun shells..."

• The bottom burner on my oven decided it was time to retire just before its call to active duty for all the requisite Christmas baking.
• The replacement of said bottom burner was accomplished by The Mighty Father-in-law and The Mighty Brother-in-law (that hurt to say, since he's a weenie and all.)
• The Mighty Hunter was unavailable for the repair since he was feeding the homeless hunting.
• No one was electrocuted during the repair. But their was a loud POP! and a flash of FIRE! and a mumbled "maybe we should turn off the power before we unhook it."
• The Mighty Hunter fancies himself a Mighty Turkey Roaster and volunteered to cook the turkey for - not one - TWO family meals.
• Cooking the first turkey set off the smoke alarm.
• The smoke alarm is connected to the security system.
• The monitoring company called and tried to hide their laughter when I explained that the smoke alarm was going off because we were cooking a turkey.
• It is the design of the recipe that their is an excessive amount of smoke produced.
• It was the moistest, yummiest, juicies, deliciousest turkey I've ever eaten. (All hail, Alton Brown!)
• Stinkerbell nearly cried over the thought that the weather might be too good and the sky too clear for Rudolph to fly with Santa.
• Santa's regular stop-over to see if she was in bed relieved her fears, since Rudolph was outside with her.
• She nearly cried over getting to see the "REAL RUDOLPH."
• Rudolph left her an autographed picture and she was stunned and treasures it more than any of the other toys that cost infinitely more than my attempts at photo editing.
• Lucky thought TMX Elmo was a little scary and yelled at him from across the room.
• I got some new cookware (the 7pc and 5pc sets.)
• I got a new bluetooth.
• I got an extra lens for my new camera.
• We spent lots of time with The Mighty Father-in-law's finacee, which was not the first, but was still fun. (This was her first time to see Lucky - period. Yes, I'm bitter about that. Yes, I'll get over it.)
• During my preparations for the traditional clog-your-arteries-eat-yourself-sick Christmas morning breakfast, my microwave died.
• I loved that microwave. It could cook AND run its timer at the same time.
• It rained Christmas Day. A lot. We needed it.
• My roof over my kitchen counter leaked all over Stinkerbell's gingerbread men cookies.
• Stinkerbell never saw the drowned gingerbread men and hasn't noticed their disappearance - yet.
• I'm just now seeing that I've received comments on some of my posts from this month.
• I did NOT get these posts via email. I'm feeling loved again. I'm not invisible.
• I drank sweet tea at lunch - two glasses - and can't sleep. Apparently I can't type either since I'm hitting the Backspace button more than any other key on the old 'puter.
• My mom HAD recovered from her pneumonia and partially collapsed lungs only to get sick again last week.
• She saw her pulmonologist today, pneumonia is back again. She's having a bronchoscopy next Wednesday to determine if there are any blocked passages and possibly get a sample of the pneumonia for identification/culture.
• Lucky turned 11 months on Christmas Day.
• He cut his first top tooth last week. It's his left-hand Lateral Incisor.
• I need sleep in a BAD WAY. And this isn't helping.

In closing, here's the way I see Lucky many times each day. (I haven't rotated the picture.)

I hope your 2007 was full of the blessings of our Lord. I pray that 2008 holds even greater joys for you and your families.

May the best of '07 be the worst of '08.

God bless y'all!

2006 vs 2007

Christmas 2006:
Wiring on the bottom burner in my oven went out and the kitchen sink leaked into the cabinet.
$250

Christmas 2007:
Bottom burner in my oven completely failed.
Roof leaked.
Microwave died.
$to be determined

Merry stinkin' Christmas Lowe's and Sears.

Heaven, here I come...

'Cause I've already been to hell and back.

Hell is a Wal-Mart SuperCenter in Anywhere, USA, the week preceding Christmas.

Hell is a first-grader with pink-eye the last few days of school before the Christmas break, crying herself to sleep because she's missing pajama-day/bring-your-favorite-book-from-home-to-read-to-your-class at school.

Hell is a hyperactive 6 year-old, eating entirely too much cake icing and chocolate-peanut butter combintations in any Wal-Mart SuperCenter in Anywhere, USA, the week preceding Christmas.

Hell is buying groceries in a Wal-Mart SuperCenter in Anywhere, USA, with said amped-up 6 y-o and 11 month-old and trying to remember what you needed to get that you forgot to put on your list.

Hell is trying to go through the self-check-out lane with said amped-up 6 y-o who LOVES to unload or scan the items on which you've just spent her college savings and NOT breaking the eggs or THROWING the eggs across the room or simply collapsing into a puddle of sobs in front of the self-check-out begging the computer to please, just be quiet. would SOMEONE just be quiet!?!?!????!!!

Hell is trying to eye drops in the pink-eye infected 6 y-o's eyes with her squeezing them SHUT without poking her in the eye or crying yourself.

Hell is dealing with the OH SO SENSITIVE feelings of your husband about his dad's fiancee' who doesn't want to spend time with your late mother's family because she feels "strange". (all of which is understandable, but PLEASE JUST COME ONE PEOPLE, GROW THE HECK UP!!!)

Hell is trying to discipline your 6 y-o without being "too hard on her" as you've been reminded by your husband or NOT disciplining her and being told (again, by your husband) "you need to follow through" without bitch-slapping him.

Hell is trying to find your own Christmas Spirit when you're so pissed off at everyone around you that you'd just rather be completely alone. I wonder if I could check myself into a hotel (or a hospital) for some alone time?

Really. I'm just wonderin'.



Merry Christmas, y'all. I hope your Christmas preparations and events are blessed and joyful. Mine are blessed, I'm working on the "joyful" part.





Now, there's a dirty diaper to change. Merry stinkin' Christmas...

Welcome to the Auburn Family Christmas

BooMama is having a Christmas Tour of Homes. Actually, she hosted it yesterday, but I barely managed to get my pictures taken yesterday. I was busy doing more important things, like dusting and vacuuming and sorting through bills I've been ignoring.

Here is a sample of the Christmas clutter decorations and creations around our home this year...


Last year, I found these gift tags that I had hoped Stinkerbell would color to put on our gifts. She is only barely interested in them this year. But we have made some progress. (Coloring is one of the perks of having children, btw.)



We have two Nativity Scenes in our home. "Mine" is in the background, with its breakable, ceramic figures. The one featured belongs to Stinkerbell. I found it a few years ago at Lowe's, labeled "polyresin". I interpreted "polyresin" to mean "unbreakable." Well this might be the case if one's child does not train and deploy the Three Wise Men to kill the bad guys that apparently followed them to the Baby Jesus' birthplace (it's in the Bible, check it out.)



As you can see, there was some collateral damage as The Three Wise Ninjas protected precious Baby Jesus. Joseph lost his right hand and the shepherd's staff was broken.


The Three Wise Ninjas suffered one near-fatal injury. Thanks to the quick thinking of the medic, his head was successfully reattached to his body with the aid of medical grade adhesive.

Below is a creation of Stinkerbell, the Chef Elf. We used the white chocolate/oreo variation, and it is becoming clear that I am developing a nasty addiction to the salty-chocolatey goodness.

Don't make a mess in her kitchen!

This is one of my favorite ornaments decorated with Stinkerbell's sweet little fingers.

This is Lucky's first ornament, which cost way too much. Don't tell The Mighty Hunter.

Here you see a variety of things... 1) Our dining table chairs doing double-duty as a gate around our tree to prevent Lucky from squishing/electrocuting himself. 2) Our tree, with its crooked, homemade star, and entirely too many lights. 3) The reindeer imprisoned behind the gate, on their best behavior, lest they experience the same fate as the deer with their heads stuck through our wall. 4) My old, dirty curtains. 5) Tracks in the carpet, proof that I do vacuum more than once a year.

Here are two of my absolute favorite things about Christmas: pretty babies in warm, new, coordinating pjs.

Merry Christmas y'all. God bless us everyone.

Labor of Love

We've been married 15 years, as of September 5, 2007. Our beginning was modest, as college seniors (at Auburn, of course), we had no money for gifts. I don't remember what I gave The Mighty Hunter. He took some old barn wood, scrubbed the filth off it, sealed with some sealer-stuff, cut it to size and made a "potato bin" for me. I still have it and use it to hold gardening stuff at the back door (gloves, bug spray, etc.) Its design was not ideal for potatoes, but that doesn't matter much.

Over the following years, we have been blessed to be able to increase our gift-giving funds each year. For a few years, however, I bought my own gifts. I got a great espresso machine and some other things that I no longer know where they are. I wrapped my own gifts and labeled them "To Auburn Gal - From The Mighty Highty Hunter".

It didn't bother me then. And it doesn't bother me now that I did it. He was working some really crazy hours and I was able to do it all for us then. No kids. No job of my own. Free schedule. Apartment 10 blocks from the Galleria. Those were the days.

But he wasn't satisfied with my not having any surprises on Christmas morning.

So, I took my favorite catalogs and marked the things in it, noting size and colors and handed it to him.

If YOU'VE picked it out, then it's not going to be a surprise.

You don't have to get me EVERYTHING in here - although, I wouldn't complain about it. And I won't know which things you've picked out for me. The gift is in your effort to call and place the order and get the stuff wrapped.

And he did. And the Auburn Gal saw it and was pleased. And there were several Merry Christmases to be had thereafter. He even picked out somethings in my catalogs that I had not marked, and I loved them too. (It is surprising me more and more what good taste he is developing.) (I take credit for it, of course.) (His mother, God rest her soul, had tacky taste. Can you say "knit ties and pale blue tweed suits?")

Last year, he truly surprised me with a beautiful cross necklace with diamonds on it. Totally unexpected. Not very practical right now with a baby that likes to pinch me on the neck constantly, but I love it.

This year, you may have already seen what he got me and already gave me.

Yesterday, he left work a little early to do what he does - hunt. He let me know that he would not be by right after leaving the woods so that he could go to his aunt's house (Beverly/Beboo) and "take care of something."

Wrap my presents?

Maybe... Well, yes. But I'm not telling you what you're getting.

So, he called to let me know he was safely out of the woods and that he was stopping at Kmart - did I need anything from there? The time was 6pm.

At 8:30, I decided that he had played "Medal of Honor" long enough while Bev wrapped my gifts and that his kids needed to see him before they went to bed.

One gift still needed a bow and he would be on his way. Oh, and he was starving, would I leave the chili out for him? Never mind, Bev had a frozen dinner for him.

At the front door, he appeared with 5 boxes, each with hand-tied bows. 2 are pretty large (18"h x 24"w x 12" d) and heavy. Three are small. Two appear to be a shirt box and probably has clothing in it. The smallest is probably a blue-tooth.

Yes, I shake my gifts. Shut up.

I have no idea what is in the big boxes or the shirt boxes. I guess the blue-tooth because I've whined about my hand-me-down one for a few months and have finally refused to charge it so that I can say that it doesn't work at all. It's 2 years old and was his until he replaced it with a T-mobile one.

The thing is, it really doesn't matter what is in any of the boxes. He went to Kmart (which is the dirtiest and worst-organized one in the world) to buy paper and ribbon. He sat on the floor for 2 1/2 hours, wrapping the boxes, only allowing Bev to hand him tape. He tied the bows himself, except the last one - to which he relented and let Bev finish, mainly due to extreme hunger.

His gift to me - as strange and sad as it may seem - is the paper on the boxes that I'll let Stinkerbell tear off. The bows, with their creases and sweet curls, if I can't save them from the garbage bag, will go in the box of bows to be used next year.

He is not experienced or naturally gifted at folding paper around boxes. It is just not in the genetics of a Mighty Hunter.

But it's in his heart.

Merry Christmas, y'all.

I hope your upcoming days are full of all that is good and right in this world. May your thoughts and prayers return, daily, to the Reason we celebrate. I hope your gifts are exactly what you requested or at least wrapped with the love of their hearts. And if you've never received the most important Gift of all, I pray that you open your heart to it now.







Wise men still seek Him.

wow

Surprises Suck

I hate surprises. If you have something for me that you would to be a surprise, then just frickin surprise me already. Don't taunt me with your childish:

"I know something you don't know."
or
"I know what you're getting for Christmas and you don't!"

Cuz, lemmetellya, Buddy. I'll find out what that stinkin' surprise is if it kills me.

Years ago, after buying MY first brand new car (1998 Maxima), I asked for a cd player to put in it. I wanted a Nissan player not some tacky aftermarket that wouldn't fit right in the hole. One night, I noticed a very large and heavy box had appeared under our Christmas tree. Like many men, The Mighty Hunter hasn't found his inner Martha Stewart to channel and is not a highly skilled gift wrapping guy.

Let's just cut to the quick: he's lucky to cover the box with ONE TYPE of wrapping paper, all right? And this was the case with this large, heavy gift. I know it was heavy because I picked it up and tried to shake it. I was too heavy to shake and identify its contents.

Yes, I shake my gifts. Shut up.

I also teamed up with my brother as kids to find every. single. present. our parents bought and hid. They figured out what we were doing and began wrapping them before hiding them. This only allowed me the opportunity to develop my amazing gift-cracking skills. I can successfully cut the tape at the edge of the wrapping paper, unwrap a gift, identify it, play with the toy (as a kid, that is) (well, maybe now too, whatever), re-wrap the gift in the SAME paper, using the SAME folds and creases, and apply new pieces of tape on TOP of the tape I cut very precisely with the blade of my safety scissors and make NO ONE any the wiser.

My mom was dumbfounded when my brother and I confessed to having done this as a kid. My dad just laughed his big Homer-Simpson laugh.

Back to the large and heavy Christmas gift...

I decided that I would have too much difficulty in trying to re-wrap a gift that The Mighty Hunter had wrapped so haphazardly manly and that I should find a different way of verifying the contents of the large and heavy box.

I called the credit card company and asked what the most recent charges were and where they were made.

Regal Nissan + $200 = cd player for my Maxima

And no, the player was NOT large or heavy. He had gotten all his old Cabela's catalogs and piled them into a box on TOP of my cd player to TRY to fool me. Silly, silly man. He had only begun to see the depths of my surprise-loathing obsessions.

Since that year, we have accomplished the Christmas gift shopping for me from him in a few different ways. My FAVORITE way is when I look through a few catalogs, circle the items I like, write in the size and colors I want and let him pick and choose. He has done well at this, and I feel it's a good system.

No, I'm not controlling. I look at it like this. This is one of our ways of expressing our love languages to each other (blech I know.) I love him by telling him what I want him to do and take pressure off him and prevent him from giving me the crappiest gift ever. He loves me by buying me the things I want in the correct size and colors. It's a win-win.

So this year, he has tried to be subtle. Yet he has failed. Twice we've been in Sears looking at stuff - whatever it is in Sears you look at. Each time he has said, which of these cameras is it you want?

"Canon Digital Rebel, but it's too expensive."

"you sure?"

"yes, but not now, it's too expensive."

Saturday, I forced him to go Christmas shopping with me and both kids. His uncle Carl and Carl's wife Beboo, went along too. We do a lot of fun/stupid things with them. Shopping last Saturday definitely falls into the stupid category. In our 15 years of marriage, he has gone Christmas shopping with me to a mall on a weekend ONCE. And that was last Saturday. And, frankly, I'd like for it to be the last. He just doesn't get the "divide and conquer" and meet me at Barney's for coffee in 2 hours game plan.

The first store we stopped in, we spent $300 on him for clothes to wear to work. Stinkerbell got to use a Club Libby Lu gift card and get her hair and make-up and nails done and dance in the middle of Belk's to that dumb cha-cha slide song that makes me want to poke a fluffy glitter sprinkle stick into my ear drums. After spending 90 minutes looking for him some nice clothes, we had lunch in the food court. Then he announced that he needed about an hour to go find something with Carl.

"While I'm gone, try and get something accomplished, willya?" Yes, he actually said that. And no, I'm not writing this from my jail cell, although I would probably be given some kind of award from every other wife that heard him say that had I actually pummeled him to death with my diaper bag.

Beboo and I split up for a little while. The kids and I went looking for Christmas pjs in the Children's Place. As I was walking to the store where Beboo and I agreed to meet up, I passed the Wolf Camera shop and...

What to my wondering eyes should appear
The Mighty Hunter at the sales counter looking at my gift...

After the mall, we went to Target and wasted more time, including 5 minutes when The Mighty Hunter drug me to electronics and forced me to look at the camera again. And then he said, "It's just so expensive. And I already have something for you. Why don't we wait and save up for it for our anniversary next year or next Christmas."

And I just smiled, "that's fine. We can save up for it. It's not a big deal, really."

On the way home, he brought it up again, saying, "why don't you use your Minolta anymore? Would you use it if I got you some really good film?"

So, to answer Jennifer's question about what I'm getting for Christmas...

Sunday night, I got mine. And I love it.

and I didn't even tell him that I saw him in the camera shop.

I'll let him enjoy his false superiority.

Is it wrong to be smug about this?

updates ad nauseum

Mom's health is improving. Thank you for your prayers. Her PT is making very slow progress (pneumonia and collapsed lungs will complicate that.) But she will recover. She needs herniated disc repair in her neck (lower place and no, it couldn't be done at the same time as the tumor-ectomy) and also in her lower back. Both of these surgeries must wait for her to recover from the tumor surgery and pneumonia. But we have a lot of hopes pinned to them for an even better situation for her.

Lucky is big and charming and crawling and pulling up to furniture and climbing stairs and charming and smart and loving and charming and handsome and loud and funny and charming. He sings like a Mourning Dove and growls like a monster.

Stinkerbell is SMART. According to the Standardized Tests That Will Forever Determine Your Child's Future and Give You Alternating Fits of Joy and Despair, she has advanced (in 6 weeks time) from reading equal to or better than 70% of all first-graders in the US to that of 96%. She is reading at 2nd-3rd grade levels. Now, according to the Non-Standardized Tests That We As Knowledgeable And Genius Parents have administered to her, she is adding 3 columns of numbers, subtracting 2 columns and carrying/borrowing numbers IN. HER. HEAD. I can't do this in my head. Sheesh, it's a challenge on paper! Now I can calculate a 33% discount on a pair of $99 boots. THAT'S useful stuff, folks.

The Mighty Hunter is hunting and not killing. As he says, "that's why it's called hunting." He took his aunt (Beboo) hunting Saturday afternoon and she bagged a small 5-point. She was soooooo excited. Giddy, even.

After awaking at 4:30AM! yesterday, I was able to get to sleep at an unusually early 10:30 last night. Don't envy me. It wasn't a good night. Not good at all. At 1:30, someone (caller ID says Joe Howard - and yes, I did just out you, Mrs. Joe Howard. Don't call my house EVER AGAIN!) jolted me from my slumber with an "uh oh, I must have the wrong number."

Then, sometime after that, I got, still asleep, to pee. I know that I didn't wet the bed for a number of reasons: 1) The bed is dry. 2) I woke The Mighty Hunter with the loud cracking sound made when I walked into the bathroom door. 3) The bed is dry. (I think the bed being dry is note-worthy in itself, since I sleep-walked to the bathroom and would have slept through it had I not centered the OPEN! door with my right eyebrow bone.)

Thirdly, Lucky awoke, hungry. I have weined him (shrinking the milk boobs down to NOTHING, FLAT. pun intended.) He has transitioned to formula in a bottle like it's all he ever had. He still gets all giggly and bouncing-up-and-down when I fiddle with the buttons on my shirt or change in front of him, so I no longer do this. I also can't scratch my neck or chest without him salivating. I fear I've created the Boob Man of all Boob Men. However, he was hungry at 3:30 this morning and the Pappy wouldn't do the job. FINALLY, The Mighty Hunter left his coma-like sleep long enough to hold Lucky while I staggered down the stairs to fix a warm bottle.

And, to finish off a crappy night of interrupted sleep and bruised faces, the alarm woke me up this morning. It just seems fair to me that if you have a really rough night that the next could be DELAYED or cancelled or SOMETHING! But, no. I'm awake. I got Stinkerbell fed, dressed and off to school. But I'm still in my pjs and robe and could certainly fall asleep without much encouragement or excuse.

Christmas shopping is later and harder this year than it has ever been for me. Even last year, when I was VERY PREGNANT and waddly and gimpy-legged from the 9 lb. behemoth on my left sciatic nerve and helping with the father-in-law who had prostate surgery and working part-time and all, I had my shopping ALMOST done by now. This year, though, I've got about 1/3 of my shopping done. I even guilt-tripped The Mighty Hunter into going shopping with me one day last week! And he DID! We were able to buy for all of our neices and nephews and God-sons and a good bit for Lucky and a little bit for Stinkerbell. But the HARD gifts are still looming, the ink fading and being obscured by the wrinkles and folds on the List.

Can someone out there Photoshop a picture of a REAL REINDEER so that it has the appearance of Rudolph? I would be soooo thankful. This is one of the things that Stinkerbell has asked Santa to bring her. That and a PET reindeer.

Seriously, I need a REAL picture of Rudolph. And if you could somehow put an autograph on it, you would totally rock this 6 year-old's Christmas morning.



Now, on to more (or less) important updates...

Auburn totally beat the CRAP out of alabama. Golly, I love my Tigers!

Life Goes On Without Me

Mom's been very sick, but is improving. Double pneumonia. Partially collapsed lung. Asthma. Bronchitis. LOTS of antibiotics. 1 week in the hospital. Back at home, but visiting the pulmonologist every 10 days or so. She's making progress, but it's very sloooooow progress.



Stinkerbell is the most wonderful little girl in the world. I know. You out there think yours is great. And, they are great. They're just not as great as mine. She has lost her 2 bottom teeth. Each of them had to be pulled as they were cutting through BEHIND her baby teeth. Lemmetellya... She loves the little purple-colored, grape-scented mask that gives her the happy gas. Getting her teeth pulled by the dentist is not NEAR as scary or bad as it was for her mommy. I don't recall cute gas masks or pleasant scents. I DO remember very CLEARLY the pain of shots in the ROOF OF MY MOUTH!



Lucky is the sweetest little boy in the world. I know. You out there think yours is great. And, they are great. They're just not as great as mine. He has both of his bottom teeth all the way through. He hardly complained or suffered at all with them as they cut through his pretty little gums. He eats anything I put in front of him. He has bit me a couple of times while nursing, but not a lot. And he cries his little heart out when I yelp and say (probably too loud), "that hurt mama!" He's standing and scooting along the furniture. He's climbing the stairs without assistance - which causes me MUCH worry. He is a very affectionate and snuggly little boy. His chubby little legs and feet are the sweetest, softest things I've ever seen and nibbled. There is nothing sweeter, purer, innocent-er, lovelier, special-er, yummier than my baby's little legs when I uncover them from their warm little pj's. yummmmm



The Mighty Hunter is doing something he has never done before. He is growing a beard. Well, he's TRYING to grow a beard. You should know that he has the genes that produce very little body hair. If he were a body builder, he wouldn't need to shave his chest. Back hair? Not a one. Leg hair? Just enough to be manly but not furry. Arms? Sparsely haired, but not smooth. And that's just how I like it. He has let his beard grow out and has shaved it off after a few days. I wish he'd just pick one. Either grow it until it gets soft or keep it shaved smooth. I think it's adorable, though, that his beard has little holes in it where hair just won't grow. I covet his beautiful, baby-smooth, easily-tanned skin.

Life is busy. Truth be told, I began this post back in November and am finally finishing it today, Dec 31 at 1:45 am.

Life isn't that busy. I just forgot about this post and never published it.

Until now...

milestone miscellany

Stinkerbell's bottom 2 front teeth have been loose for a couple of months now without any real progress in bringing the Tooth Fairy over for a visit. Thursday, during her soccer game, she ran over from the center field line, where she was playing defense, and said...



Mommy, my tooth!



Yes, I know your tooth is loose. It's been loose. It'll be loose for a while still. You and your tooth will be fine. Now get back out there and play some defense!



No, Mommy. I have a new tooth!



No, you don't. Your new teeth are waiting for your baby teeth to come out first.



No, Mommy. wook in heuh, shee? my uhher tooh is alrea-ee roo.



Well, crap. It is. Your dentist is closed tomorrow, it will wait till next week. Go play defense! Be aggressive!



So this morning, I picked her up from school about 30 minutes after she got there and took her to the dentist. She picked out the purple, grape-scented mouthpiece for the "dreamy medicine." She got a little silly, but not out of control. They pulled her baby tooth and considered pulling another one (one that isn't already loose but might be in the way of the adult one.) We left it, hoping the adult tooth will not crowd it too much.



I didn't take her back to school, because it took so long for her to go to The Mighty Hunter's office and show it off to everyone there. When we returned home to eat a lunch of over-cooked Easy Mac, she told me she wanted to go to bed after lunch.



Do you feel bad, baby? Is your gum hurting?



No. I just want to go on to bed so the Tooth Fairy can hurry up and come see me.



Well, you'll just have to wait till tomorrow morning. The Tooth Fairy only flies at night, and we're getting our hair cut this afternoon.



dog-gone it.

Haiku Friday 2

Haiku Friday two
My mom is sick, I worry
Praying fervent prayers.

Prayers, one syllable.
Trust me, I said it. Pray-ers.
Prayers, yes. Pray-ers, no.

Auburn Beat Gators
Meyers can't beat my Tigers
20-17

If it's not one thing...

My mom has a whooping to look forward to.

hopefully

When she left the hospital after her surgery and two weeks in in-patient physical therapy/rehab, she had an upper respiratory infection. The neurologists that supervise the rehab floor felt that she could fight the infection without the assistance of antibiotics, and let her go home with a pat on the head and congratulations for her PT progress.

3 days later, I was chewing them out for failing to properly treat an obviously sick woman. Let it suffice to say that I was unhappy and they probably have my home number blocked for future incoming calls.

A call to her internist produced a rx for 7 days of le_vaquin. It seemed to improve her cough and we were a little relieved.

Keep in mind that she has yet to go to her first out-patient PT appointment. Why, you ask... Because she is SICK!

Sunday afternoon, I called her. She said she wouldn't feel like going to PT the next day. The Mighty Hunter (never one to be afraid to hurt feelings when necessary) called her and said that he would put her on his shoulder and carry her in her pjs to the doctor the next day or that she could get dressed and let me carry her.

Monday, she showered and dressed. It completely exhausted her and left her out of breath. Refusing to actually MAKE AN APPOINTMENT at a real doctor, she insisted on going to a doc-in-a-box walk-in wait-2-hours clinic. Granted, the doc there is pretty good. It was completely ridiculous that we waited as long as we did.

Chest x-rays showed the lower half of her right lung as a complete white blob. Collapsed possibly or surrounded by fluid or completely filled with fluid. Either way it was BAD news.

BAD NEWS.

The doc called a pulmonologist at the hospital where Mom had had surgery, who arranged for her to be admitted through the ER that night and ordered a list of tests for her.

At 3am, she was finally moved from the ER to a hospital room. The tests showed that the white blob was a collapsed lung. She has received regular respiratory/nebulizer treatments, constant oxygen, steroid shots, insulin shots (made necessary by the steroids), bags upon bags of IV antibiotics, more chest x-rays, sinus x-rays and generous portions of horrible hospital food.

This morning, the doc said the newest x-rays showed signs of more pneumonia and that it is no longer restricted to her right lung.

She's very sick. And for some crazy reason, she doesn't think she needs to be in the hospital. She cried this morning when the doc said she wasn't going home today.

So, once again, I'm asking for prayer for my mother. Because she is on a "sick" floor of the hospital (vs the surgical floor or PT floor) I am not able to visit her without someone taking Lucky during that time (because he is still attached to my nip and won't stay away from me for very long without screaming. his. head. off.)

So, please pray for Helen Silver. She didn't take her cough and "cold" seriously and could pay a high price for it.

milestones, comparisons and "did I really say that?"

Lucky cut his first tooth this week.

This event is just one more example of how very different my children are from each other.

Stinkerbell suffered with each tooth's gradual emergence through her gums. Fevers and blow-out diapers were constant companions during her teething months. Upper teeth brought on their own special hell via extreme sinus congestion and ear infections. Tylenol and teething tablets went everywhere with us.

Lucky has not had a fever. We've not felt the need to give him Tylenol or teething tablets. Actually, I haven't even bought any teething tablets. He has always been a chewer and heavy drooler, so I can't tell you that he has been chewing or drooling more. He has been sucking on his wrist and elbow. There is even a hickey to prove it.

Yes, my son gave himself a hickey.

He's such a good natured little boy. Unless he's hungry, then he's a demanding little loud-mouth.



This week is our county's agricultural fair. It's the typical fair, with less fried everything. The theme for craft and art entries was "Let Freedom Ring". Stinkerbell colored an American flag. It was very good. She did it ALL BY HERSELF. She didn't win a ribbon. The winner was a "bald eagle" flying in front of a flag. I use quotation marks here because the "eagle" looked a little bit like a pigeon. Nevertheless, it was very good work. Much too good for a first-grader to have done without help. Lots of help. It ticked me off a little bit. But Stinkerbell was just proud of herself for her own flag and didn't cry.

I'll just try again next year.

I'm love my kid. Just a little bit.

While waiting in line for the Tilt-A-Whirl with the girl from her soccer team affectionately named "PowerFoot", I experienced one of those surreal CompetiMommy moments.

The line was a mess, crowded and going in 4 different directions. PowerFoot's mom and I were doing our best to help them not get squished by the crowd or lost in the crowd or molested by the crowd or eaten by the crowd - clearly my mommy phobias were getting the best of me. But we were especially trying to make sure they got on the ride as quickly as possible.

Because we're pushy like that.

There was a gap in the crowd that was masquerading as a line. PowerFoot's mom tells the girls to move on up in the line.

"be aggressive!"

PowerFoot's mom laughed at me till she cried.

And if you were wondering before, you should have your answers now. I am one of those moms who yells at her kid from the sidelines. But I'm also the mom who cheers for all the kids when during the game - even the other team (whose moms are yelling "kick it out of bounds" to keep PowerFoot from scoring.)



Now, I'll be leaving the internet and moving on to ESPN. Surely you're not surprised. I am the AUBURN Gal Always.

the cardiologist found nothing wrong

Next week, The Mighty Hunter's dad will celebrate 7 years since he successfully donated 5 of his own blood vessels to the restructuring of his coronary arteries. Yes, 5 bypasses at 57 years of age.



The afternoon before surgery, he prepared himself with a meal of Supersized order of fries and a Big Mac and the remainders of his pack of cigarettes.


The surgery went perfectly, as did his recovery.



We have caught him smoking a few times since. A simple, yet harsh, reminder from me about the scar on his chest and legs and wrist about the ordeals of recovery and how he now has grandchild(ren) for whom he should preserve himself is all it takes to kick his butt back into shape and get him to throw the cancer sticks away. (Not to mention that he is the only living parent his sons have.)



With this genetic history on The Mighty Hunter's mind, and having occasional chest pains over the past 6 months (I'll come back to this,) he finally agreed (actually suggested) to going to a cardiologist for tests.



Knowing he would be less than satisfied with any doc other than his dad's, I got him an appointment for yesterday morning. I convinced him to fast after midnight so that he could have blood drawn. (know that he faints when he has blood drawn! big tooty.) We woke at the butt crack of dawn and drove back to the same hospital where my mom had surgery. The Pimped-Out Mamamobile could go there on auto-pilot, but it stayed home so that we could drive his truck.



I suppose I needed to learn how to put the new carseat in there sooner or later. (btw, super easy. totally recommend this seat.)



They did chest x-rays. EKG. Stress-test. Blood work. They showed him a video of the stress test so that he would know what to expect. They asked him when was the last time he had experienced chest pains.



a few minutes ago, while I was watching the video about the stress test and the IV I'll be getting.



So not only does he faint, he has anxiety attacks over needles.



The results of the blood tests will be back soon. But everything else was normal.



Or as the doctor said, "we looked everywhere and found nothing."



But I know the truth. His heart is not there anymore.



It's here.

Haiku Friday 1

What to write about?
I have no idea. Really.
Haikus not my strength.

Would rather take naps.
Than write poems that don't rhyme.
Can't nap. Blabbing kids.

No school this Friday.
Good. Bad. Yes, I think it's both.
Have missed Stinkerbell.

College Football Fun.
Bama stinks. Auburn U Rules.
Go team that plays Bam.

Five Seven Five. Huh?
What do you do when you want
to say longer words?

Blah blah blah-tee-blah.
Gibberish gibberish more.
Snore snore, I'm a bore.

what stress does to me

caution: this one is about bodily functions. namely poop.

I don't understand it. I don't need help in the poop department unless I'm pregnant. Which I'm not. Or I've just given birth and am afraid to push to hard, lest my very efficient abdominal muscles try to give birth to something else again, when there's nothing in there to birth.

So, laxatives or stool softeners are not kept in our house. Anti-diarrheals? Check and double-check.

Keep in mind 3 words: irritable bowel syndrome.

2 more words: spastic colon.

So, when I get stressed, worried, scared or anything like that, I poop. Sometimes in a hurry. It's quite an efficient, although unpleasant, means of removing excess calories.

Now, be sure and understand that I am not bulimic. No way. No how. No thank you.

I like to eat. I like to actually USE my calories and fat grams. I also like to store them. The latter of these can be attested to by my fluffy thighs and butt and tummy flab.

Let's just say that I often need to hoof it to the bathroom when I experience stress.

it should have been obvious to me

Lucky is 8 months old. He's crawling very nicely. He's pulling up to couches, tables, legs, whatever will support him. He's falling back and thumping his head on the floor, erasing IQ points as he goes.

I've done minimal baby-proofing so far. Shut up. I know I need to get serious about it. Shut up. I'll do it. Sometime soon...

The living room is never gonna be baby-proofed enough for him, but I can stay with him and keep him away from the things he that will maim or kill him. (kidding)

For now, though, he has almost free range there. I have a few of his toys in the floor for him to find when he's crawling, which he does easily.

Lucky is not a quite baby. Happy, yes. Quiet, no. He is "dadadada-ing" or "aaaaaaa-ing" most of the time.

But just a few minutes ago, he was quiet. And because he is only 8 months old, I thought that there shouldn't be anything wrong with silence. Surely he couldn't be playing with something he shouldn't.

Surely...

I decide to see what he's doing. He's fine. He's sitting alone. His favorite toys for the moment are at his side, untouched. He's playing with a hair that is wrapped around his fingers.

Guess what he did when I took the hair and put it in the garbage...

cried.

He cried for a hair.

Poor child. Maybe I should give him some wadded up newspaper or matches to play with. He's clearly not interested in his toys.

pants shopping + near tears + tired 6 year-old = hot date

Tomorrow evening The Mighty Hunter's business is doing a Grand Opening/Open House at their showroom in Gadsden. I decided this might just be an opportunity to buy some new clothes.

Yes, I'm a smart one.

Well, maybe not. I decided that Friday evening, after dinner, would be a fine-and-dandy time to go find some pretty, new dress pants to pair with my sad, old shoes and blouses. Friday evening, after mowing the yard and moving things around in the garage ("cleaning" wasn't accomplished, just shuffling), after Stinkerbell's day at school, after throwing together some dinner (left-overs plus a bag of frozen veggies and Stinkerbell's "Famous Baked Potatoes"), after The Mighty Hunter spent the day bush-hogging (no, this has nothing to do with anyone's girly parts or any member of the porcine family. it's an implement pulled behind a tractor that cuts very tall grass), after dealing with Lucky's poop diapers all day....

where was I???

Oh, yeah.

I can now look back and see that maybe, just MAYBE, I could have picked a better time to go look for pants.

Stinkerbell's method of handling fatigue is with frantic I-can't-stop-moving-or-I-may-fall-asleep behavior. You can guess that I didn't handle it well. There were threats. There were swats made at her hiney. There were promises of no TV for the rest of the weekend. There might have been a moment or two when I asked Beboo (who now regrets tagging along to find pants for herself) "it's time like this when I wonder why I became a mom."

I almost cried with the extreme frustration and exasperation I felt while dealing with Stinkerbell while trying to find something to wear. Three times.

The next day, Beboo offers to The Mighty Hunter to watch the kids so that he and I can go to dinner.

Alone.

Alone together.

Now, that is TRUE FRIENDSHIP.



So, I told Stinkerbell that her daddy and I were going to dinner while Beboo hung out with her and Lucky.

ooooohhh! You and Daddy are going on a date. You're gonna have a hot date!

"um, yeah. a hot date. you got it sistah!"

So, we went to eat. We chose a place not too far from home so that we could get home and get Stinkerbell bathed and in bed on time.

where do you want to eat?

"I want breakfast. And not Cracker Barrel."

breakfast? not Cracker Barrel? where then?



We ate omelets and hashbrowns at Huddle House.

oh yeah. We're serious food snobs.

Granny Mighty Hunter would be relieved

The Mighty Hunter's grandmother lived past her 93rd birthday. She was of the generation that lived through the Great Depression and, from it, developed the ability to feed her family of 5 with 2 potatoes, a tomato and an egg from her hen. I don't know if she finished school, but she was an avid reader of her Bible.



She was a tiny, frail, little woman but full of love and fierce loyalty and jealousy for her family. She was one of those little women who peeked at the road through the gap between the steering wheel and dash on her 1980's model Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme with its vinyl seats.



I will not say that she easy to get along with. She wasn't. At least it became difficult for me to enjoy being with her. At first, when The Mighty Hunter and I married, it was fine. The first time I met her, she said, "you call me Grandmother, just like the rest of my babies. Come here and give Grammuver a kiss! Now, don't you want me to cook something for you? How about I make some pintos and cornbread?" As a wife to her grandson, she treated me great. I was a good wife.



But when Stinkerbell was born, her perception of me changed. The very same person who had been a good wife was not good enough for her great-granddaughter. When I went back to work after 2 months of leave, she told me that if it were her baby, she'd wash someone's clothes to be able to stay home and not let someone else raise her.



Never mind that only the dry cleaner gets paid for washing clothes now.



Needless to say that my opinion of her changed too when I became a mother. Like many first-time mothers, I lacked confidence in my new role, and she completely failed to support me and encourage me.



It may seem strange that I looked to her for so much support. But in many ways, she was my mother-in-law. The Mighty Hunter's mother had died from leukemia within weeks of my getting pregnant. We also lived across the road from Granny, so it was very easy and convenient for her to be a big part of our life then.



Daily, I had to remind myself that she came from a different era. That she had lost a baby sister, whom she loved dearly. That she had lost her first baby and suffered an emotional breakdown from the heartbreak of it. That she had experienced times that I've only read about. That she had seen the world around her transform in ways and at a pace that will never be repeated.



She grew up without indoor plumbing or electricity or telephones. She grew up riding horses or wagons or walking everywhere. She lost loved ones to World War II. She listened to FDR and Truman on the radio. She fed her family with the food she grew and the animals she loved and then killed. Yet, she couldn't stand for the mice that would visit her attic and closets to be killed. Her gardens would easily feed her family and two other families. She made sauces and juices and soups to store away in her cellar. She would joke about cracking the lids on the grape juice jars so they would ferment.



She saved and re-used sheets of aluminum foil for months.



She watched the only 3 channels her aerial antennae could receive for years until cable was installed on her country road. Then she and Grand-daddy Hunter stayed up and watched HBO's adult movies all night "just to see what they would do next."



She told stories of "panthers" and bears killing her animals. Of how when her parents first moved here, they found a little abandoned cabin and moved into it. The women and children stayed in the cabin while the men took the oxen and wagons back to wherever they had left to get the rest of their furniture or whatever they had not been able to bring with them. She smiled the sweetest smile when she told about during the nights while the men were gone, they would lie there terrified, listening to footsteps outside the cabin, whispers and bustling around. Then in the morning, they would awaken to find fresh vegetables and meat in hand-made baskets left on the cabin steps. And at the edge of the trees, one Native American woman was watching to make sure they found the food.



She also told about how much she loved that baby sister. How that little girl was the smartest of all her brothers and sisters. How much it hurt her to lose her to a fever. And how when her first-born died also of a fever that she nearly lost her mind and couldn't stand to see or hear or touch a baby for months afterward.



When Stinkerbell was born, she worried and fussed. She held and kissed her. She loved her and spoiled her. She wanted to keep her for me while I worked but was just too feeble and forgetful. She shared with me the remedies she had used on her children to get rid of coughs and colds and sniffless and tummy aches. I learned that many of those really work.



She told me that she was afraid that she loved Stinkerbell too much.

"too much?"

yes, too much.

"how can you love a baby too much?"

I loved my baby sister so much and I think that's why she died.

"she died because you loved her too much?"

it seemed that way. And I'm afraid that I love Stinkerbell too much and she'll die too.

"ok, Granny."

Then there was the time that I told her about how Stinkerbell rolled off the bed in the middle of the night. How when The Mighty Hunter woke up and said "did she bounce?" and fell back to sleep. To all of this she said...

well, that's good. she should live now.

"huh?"

if a baby falls off the bed before their first birthday, they'll live a long time.

"ohhhhhhkaaaaayyyyy"


And as of yesterday morning, when The Mighty Hunter was supposed to be watching Lucky as he crawled around on our bed, Lucky has made his obligatory fall-off-the-bed-before-his-birthday-to-presersve-his-life.

I hear thump, screeeeeammmm!!!

I run from the bathroom into the bedroom to see Lucky lying on the floor, screaming, arms and legs flailing and kicking, mad and scared and hurt. I also see The Mighty Hunter, still lying on the bed, looking very guilty and scared and sorry.

I guess he crawled over the top of the pillow.

"yeah? Did you think he couldn't? Did you think it was his Mt Everest? Cuz if you did, then we clearly need to buy him some ropes and climbing gear and probably some oxygen tanks!"

Then in the middle of the night, Lucky (who sleeps with us so that I can nurse him in the middle of the night without waking me up too much) crawled around my own extra pillow and fell off the bed again.

DOH!

At least I can plead the "I was asleep" excuse!



What stories do y'all have about the first time your babies fell of the bed?

what to do? what to do?

I've been away from here so long that I don't quite to know what to write.

Me, who can ramble for screens and screens about, well, nothing. Blocked.

I suppose I can tell you about the kiddos.

Stinkerbell is LUVIN! soccer. It suits her never-be-still-crawl/run/gallop-all-day-drive-everyone-crazy urges to the TEE. She starts the game as goalie and usually plays the 1st half there. Then Coach moves her to offense. This amazes The Mighty Hunter and me. Neither of us have ever played soccer. We know only the basic of basics about the game. Her ball-handling skills are already equal to the girl they call "Power Foot". She usually plays all but 15 minutes of the game.

I guess this makes me an official Soccer Mom. Is this a good or bad thing?

Lucky is almost 8 months old. He was evicted from his carrier-style car seat last week. I got the Britax Marathon at Target for $40 LESS than everywhere else! SCORE!!!

The Mighty Hunter is getting ready for hunting season. He always plows a place and plants a "green field" in the pasture where his grandmother lived. He's been working on it this week. To aid in his deer food plot farming, he has purchased a chisel plow ($500), $300 of fertilizer and seed and a leveling bar ($200) to pull behind his Rhino ($89/month). Don't let anyone tell you that deer meat is free or cheap. They LIE.

Yes, we eat deer meat, sorry PETA. We used to take it to butchers for processing and packaging. Several years ago, we bought a meat grinder and can now make our own hamburger meat. Typically, we save the tenderloin/back-strap and cook it as a roast (very tasty.) The hamburger meat is very good for chili or spaghetti or lasagna. It's fat content is too low to make it good for actual, you know, hamburgers.

Our stupid puppy, Jake, stuck his head under the garage door the other night. And, the garage door closed on him. No, it didn't kill him. But I feel certain he gained a healthy fear of getting squished by it again. When I told The Mighty Hunter about it, he rolled his eyes and said, "of course, it didn't kill him. We haven't spent enough money on him yet." Now, for those of you whose hackles are raised over our garage door not stopping or reversing when it hit the stupid puppy... I know we seriously need to change the opener. It's hard for me to shell out the $400 for a new opener right now. I mean, a girl has to have a new pair of purdy boots for fall and winter. sheesh.

About accessories, I'm in search of a new diaper bag/purse. I am sick and tired of the one I'm using now. It's a bottomless-pit backpack. It's ugly and dirty. I just can't find the perfect bag. I'm very particular about this kind of thing and would rather use the dirty, tired bag longer than is proper, than to blow money on the wrong one or the not-quite-right one.

Many of you have left comments welcoming me back to this little suburb of Mommy Bloggyville. Thank you so much. I even had 17 hits yesterday. I have truly missed being here with y'all.

Many of you have asked about my mom's condition. She left the hospital almost 3 weeks post-op, after spending 13 days on the in-patient physical therapy floor of the hospital. She still has some weakness on her left side. She is walking with a walker. She experiences dizziness that is causing her difficulty in moving around, but this should correct itself with time and therapy. She left the hospital with a cold and cough, which is still plaguing her. She has not begun her outpatient therapy yet because of the cold, which has weakened her a LOT. She will recover fully, but it will take some time and a lot of work on her part. She is determined and has an incredibly positive attitude. The attitude thing is not her natural way, so we're really surprised and pleased about that.

Again, thank you for your prayers, messages and comments. You're all very good friends.





After these messages, we'll be right back...

hear that echo? it's the sound of no one listening reading

Hello????

My shoulder hurts

Lucky just woke up

My left nostril is stopped up

Stinkerbell scored the winning goal in her 3rd soccer game EVER last night

Mom came home from the hospital a week ago and brought with her a upper respiratory
infection

No doctors will step up and call in her a rx for antibiotics

I'm peed off at the doctors

The doctors know this

Stefano didn't actually die

Will Sami ever solve the mystery of the Brady-Dimera Vendetta?

I have put 5k miles on the Pimped Out Mamamobile

My brother's wife made a very profound statement: "I think it's time to leave when someone finds a dead bug in their nose."

She also said piss and I caught it on video (this was after The Mighty Hunter had said h-e-double-hockey-sticks and got brother's kids forbidden to ride with us anymore that day.) Serves her right!

My Auburn Tigers football team is not playing to their full capabilities. dangit.

I am no longer living in the "blond" world. I'm now definitely brunette. and lovinit

If Lucky drops his apple-flavored wagon wheels on the floor and I determine that the 5-second rule applies, but then I drop it into my tennis shoe, is it ok that I gave it back to him to play with and/or eat? What if it hit one or two of my toes?

I hate using the booger-sucker on Lucky. He hates it as well. But the green mustache must be stopped!

I must go now. My house is dirty - as always - and I must ignore it and go buy bananas and diapers.

I've missed writing and visiting with y'all. I hope to post a little more regularly but am not sure if it will actually happen.

I faced the unfaceable. I wept for a love that I did not lose. My heart broke with fear of the unthinkable. I fought away the tears of my love.

For 8 days, I prepared myself for my mother’s surgery. The tumor was in the crappiest of crappy places. It had, apparently, been there and affecting her life for some time, with symptoms that were easily blamed on other problems. I took the surgeon’s words into my heart and mind and felt the foundation of my very being shake with their weight and meaning.

Meningioma tumor.

C3 vertebrae.

Against or on the spinal cord.

Constricting the spinal fluid.

Nerves controlling the heart and lungs and all bodily functions below the neck.

Instant death.

Paralysis.

Intense pain.

Physical therapy.

Recovery.

I refused to allow myself to weep in front of her. I refused to reveal the depth of my fears. I refused to cause her more worry.

I prayed. I poured my fears out to God. I begged him. Pleaded with him to not take my momma now. To not take her from Stinkerbell. To give Lucky time to get to know her and be able to remember her.

I wept. My tears stuffing up my nose and swelling my eyes. I couldn’t let Stinkerbell see those tears. I couldn’t reveal to her how terrified I was. The fear was too great and the burden too heavy to share with her.

Denial was not a possibility for me. I knew too much. I understood too well. I wished I weren’t that one for her. That person that she depended on for going with her to appointments, for asking questions and listening and remembering. I wish I didn’t need to be that person for her.

I told The Mighty Hunter that I would not be able to tell Stinkerbell that her Nanny was dead. He reminded and reassured me endlessly that everything would be ok. I couldn’t completely believe him. Yet, he knew my pain. He knew the fear. He lost that love once, not too long ago.

As I showered the day before the surgery, I wept aloud and cried out to God. I had never felt such pain.

As I drove to the hospital the night before the surgery, I searched for songs that spoke to me and for me. I sang along when I could control my voice through the tears. I prayed when I could bear it. I thought through the upcoming hours. I wished I had eaten dinner with her. I regretted many mistakes I’d made in my life. I thought about the things I had packed to bring with me. I imagined hearing the news.

The horrible, awful news.

I praised God as best I could in my fear. I sought His presence. I begged Him to take away my fear. I asked Him why I had been so fearful. I asked Him where He had been. Why wasn’t He with me?

I realized that I had failed to bring my Bible. But there was a book still in the van, left in there from vacation.

It’s Not About Me, by Max Lucado

And with the meaning of that title in my head, I felt His presence. The lights were on again. I understood.

I got it.

It wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about my fear. It wasn’t about my loss. It wasn’t about my mother. It wasn’t about my daughter or my son. It wasn’t about my heartbreak. It wasn’t about me.

It was about Him. What He had done to get us this far. What He had done to prepare us for the surgery. What He would do in her healing. It was about how He loves us. It was about sharing His love with others in this time. It was about praising Him for knowing our pain and sharing it with us and bring us through it.

It was about Him.

And my fear left me. My doubt was gone. My worries dried up with my tears. I smiled with the confidence of knowing my Savior lives. That He loves me. That He is with me. That I can depend on Him in this storm – and every other storm.

As she rolled through the doors into the surgical wing, I told her I loved her. I smiled. I squeezed her hand and told her I’d see her in a few hours. And I truly believed the words. I wasn’t bluffing anymore. I wasn’t saying the words that should be said. I was saying the words that were true.

And then after surgery, I sat with her. I told her that I had been afraid. I told her of the book title and God’s presence and the peace that filled my heart.

As she rested, I read to her. I listened to her breathe. Her puffing little snores. I looked at her face. That beautiful face. I held her hand and rubbed the back of it with my thumb.

I thanked God for her.

I thanked God that she could feel my hand in hers.

I thanked God for the blessing of my mother.

I thanked God for His healing.

I thanked God for His presence and courage.

Because it was His courage that relieved my fear. When I had no courage of my own, He gave it to me.

For me to live is Christ and to die is gain. Phillipians 1:21

Thursday, August 23, 2007, the tumor was removed. It was attached to her spinal cord. It was larger than expected. The vertebrae that were cut to provide access to the tumor had to be fused back together with 6 screws. The tumor was completely removed and was benign. It will not grow back. The surgery took about 4.5 hours. The halo that was applied to her skull during surgery was removed before she left recovery. She was given only a soft cervical collar to support her neck. She experienced a lot of pain initially and through the coming days. There was a “pins and needles” type of pain that she felt on her left arm, from the wrist to the neck. She felt this on a smaller scale on her right shoulder. Each day showed this pain to recede higher and higher on her arm. She was very weak on her left side, making it difficult to lift her left arm and move her left leg. She had good feeling with all her fingers and toes and was able to wiggle them freely. The top of her right thigh and collarbone were numb. She stayed in Surgical Intensive Care for about 28 hours and was transferred to a private hospital room. In this room, she continued to receive pain medication on schedule but on a decreasing rate. An attempt to move from the bed to the toilet caused her to turn her left ankle. It was only a sprain, but a splint was applied. Physical therapy began on Saturday. PT was painful and unpleasant. Xrays proved that the ankle was only mildly sprained.

Sunday was a better day. More PT with more progress. Monday was even better. Dr said she was ready to move to the inpatient rehabilitation floor. This finally happened Wednesday afternoon.

Thursday morning was rough. A lot of dizziness and nausea prevented her from going to PT. PT on Thursday afternoon was productive. With a walker, she walked from her bed to the hallway – approximately 15 feet. Before this, she only had stood at the edge of her bed, turned toward the potty chair and then reversed those steps. Friday’s PT was productive also.

She could be released from the hospital Tuesday or soon thereafter.

God has really given us all a wonderful gift. My mom, known for her sarcastic nature, has a better attitude than I’ve seen from her in YEARS. This attitude will prove important over the upcoming weeks and months.

She has weeks and months of recovery ahead of her. She may not be able to return to work, but she will recover. She will walk unassisted again. She will drive again. She will hold her grandkids again. She will visit the Smokies again.





Thank you all soooo much for your kind emails, comments, prayers and concern. You are all my sister and I love you all!

I don't promise to be here often in the upcoming days and weeks. I will be staying with my mom and running Stinkerbell to soccer games.

My life is full.

Full of blessings.

Trying to find peace

Psalm 121
A Pilgrim Song

1-2 I look up to the mountains; does my strength come from mountains?
No, my strength comes from God,
who made heaven, and earth, and mountains.

3-4 He won't let you stumble,
your Guardian God won't fall asleep.
Not on your life! Israel's
Guardian will never doze or sleep.

5-6 God's your Guardian,
right at your side to protect you—
Shielding you from sunstroke,
sheltering you from moonstroke.

7-8 God guards you from every evil,
he guards your very life.
He guards you when you leave and when you return,
he guards you now, he guards you always.

Only here for a moment

I'm not ending my break yet. I'm actually requesting an extension.

First grade began last Thursday. It is going well. Stinkerbell loves her teacher and is more confident than she was when she began kindergarten. I'm disappointed in the difficulty (rather the lack thereof) in the reading that is being sent home. (She was reading at almost 2nd grade level at the end of kindergarten. We didn't do any serious summer work, but she did improve.) I hope that her teacher quickly determines Stinkerbell's reading level and adequately challenges her. If not, I'll become the meddling mommy and just tell Teacher what I think and exactly how she can do her job better.

ahem

Soccer began Monday night. We skipped soccer last year as I was very much pregnant and only beginning to sneak away from the stupor of constant migraines. I think soccer might be more suited for Stinkerbell than teeball. She loves teeball and is pretty good. But soccer? Oh my. She had a big grin all over her face as she ran around and kicked the ball with her little fists bent at the wrist. The heat never seemed to bother her. Me and The Mighty Hunter? Griping and complaining and whining. Lucky? Mr Happy-Go-Lucky. Besides the heat, I got bit on my left foot by 3 ants during soccer practice. Stupid ants.

sigh

2 weeks ago my mother went to her internist for annual bloodwork, checkup, etc. She complained about her neck and lower back pain and was gladly referred to a neurosurgeon for proper diagnosis. CTs and MRIs showed 3 problems. I will list these in order from "routine" back surgery to earth-shaking-how-do-I-get-through-this...

1. lower back vertebrae joints have deteriorated and need repair. probably "fusing" of joints.
2. 2 bulging discs in her neck. standard surgical repair.
3. probable meningioma in her c3 vertebrae. intense, dangerous surgery.

My mom is my best friend. I'm scared shitless. There is a significant probability of paralysis and death.

The spinal cord at the c3 controls the heart and lungs and everything else below the neck. Basically, an injury to that particular area (whether accidental or damaged during surgery) could cause immediate death.

How do I tell Stinkerbell about this? Her Nanny is her only living grandmother, and she ABSOLUTELY ADORES her. Is there any way at all that I can prepare her for this? What do I say? How do I say those words? How do I do it without sobbing?

Because sobbing is about all I can do right now.

Today, mom had a stress test to determine her cardiovascular fitness for surgery. We'll know the results of it by Monday.

Thursday night, after soccer, we're leaving town. Mom, Dad, The Mighty Hunter, Stinkerbell, Lucky, me, and probably my brother, sister-in-law, 4 kids are going to the Smokey Mountains. We're going to do whatever strikes my mom's fancy. We'll loop Cades Cove. We'll climb Roaring Fork Motor Trail. We'll put our feet in the cold water (if there is any, thankyouverymuch drought.) We'll eat at her favorite restaurant. We'll laugh and tell stories. We'll be a family.

We'll be TOGETHER.

Thursday, August 23, 2007, 7:00 am CDT, my mother, Helen Silver, will undergo spinal surgery. Please pray for her.

Until then, I will not be spending a single moment reading your blogs - I'm sure you'll understand. I will be at my mom's house. On the phone with my mom. Cooking with my mom. Shopping with my mom. Watching Elvis movies with my mom.

I will not regret the way I spend this upcoming week.

I will not.

(I will be checking my email and will see any comments left. Thank you for your prayers and love. I will be back sometime soon.)

a break in the break

As Elton John said, so very eloquently, "the bitch is back."

I try to keep my language PG here. I know that "bitch" pushes the limit on PGness. Sorry.

But in my life, the bitch is all in my head. And her name is Migraine.

Aunt Flo is no fun for anyone, but I'd trade Aunt Flo for Migraine everyday of the week and twice on Sunday. Endometriosis and cramps have nothing on eyebrow-splitting, turn-off-the-lights-be-quiet-its-hot-in-here-but-I-must-be-under-the-covers-preferrably-w/o-clothes-don't-bump-the-bed-or-look-at-me Migraine pain.

I've had migraines since I entered the dreaded hormonal fluctuations of puberty and adolescence. They seemed to coincide with my periods. I simply laid in bed, suffering, the first few years. But they became more intense and more regular. Regular = every single month, every Thursday of that week and sometimes Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

Typical migraine meds worked for me. Imitrex did the job, but after a while, I had to increase my dosage to a point that I felt was too high and too frequent. I tried the newer version, Relpax, and got GREAT results from it. But these were only treatments for AFTER the onset of the headache.

My ob/gyn and I tried different Pills and dosages and even the birth control patch. They all worked well for 3-6 months, but then the Bitch figured it out again and worked her way back into my life again. My best results were from the Pill without a break.

While pregnant with Stinkerbell, I had ZERO headaches. I thought pregnancy would be the end of migraines. However, my first trimester with Lucky was near constant migraines, with bonus trips to the ER for IV pain and nausea/vomiting medicines. Lucky me. They'd get me good and drunk and send me home. I remember trying to walk down the hall to the bedroom and bouncing against the walls.

With the passing of that painful, torturous first trimester went the migraines. By this point, I had my own stash of Tylenol 3 with codeine to eliminate the need to go to the hospital and be treated as a drug addict seeking my fix.

I'm still breastfeeding Lucky and have yet to have Aunt Flo to visit again. Yes, that's great. But I suspect she's on her way to my house.

Friday afternoon, I got a headache, but plain Tylenol helped it. Saturday, however, it came back and the movie feeteyur (theatre in Stinkerbell-speak) popcorn (Ratatouille - pretty good, cute, fun for the kids) made it worse. (I think I'm allergic to the butter or some preservative in the butter.) (Enough parentheticals.)

Sunday morning, she was still here and trying to plant her roots deep. I fought her off without resorting to the serious drunk-inducing medicines. But she's still here this morning.

And the Doodlebops are her conspirators.

GOOD LORD I hate the Doodlebops!

sweetest words to my ears

Mama 07-23-07 from auburngalalways and Vimeo.

If the player doesn"t open, click here.

2:05, 13, 6, 4, 101.1F, 2, 12, $10, 1, and 252nd

Technically, I'm still on my bloggy break. It's 2:05am. So, I'm not taking away time from Stinkerbell and the Countdown To School. (13 days BTW)

Why, you may ask, am I up at 2:05am?

Good question. I am up at 2:05am because Lucky had his 6 month well-baby appointment today. And you know what happens at well-baby appointments.

Shots.

4 of them. He was so sweet and pitiful. I hold his little legs at the knees, and the nurse leans across the table and blocks his arms. He thought we were playing a game or loving on him. Grinning and cooing at us. Then the happy little eyes looked at me with fear and pain in them. It was pitiful.

He has felt good all day. But at bedtime, he began to act like he wasn't feeling well. At midnight, he cried and wouldn't nurse or take his pappie. His head was hot. His arms and belly and legs and feet were hot too.

101.1 F (rectal, so it's as accurate as possible.) In my fatigued, post-partum depression mind, I couldn't find the infant tylenol/ibuprofen. So, I dashed off to the Super W-M that is 2 miles from my house. I arrived on the night when the employees of W-M's everywhere get their paychecks. And they cash them. At the cash registers. Without buying anything else. Or sometimes buying 12 things and forcing them to do a price over-ride because K-Mart has the booster seat for $10. And there is only 1 cashier! working. And NONE of the self-checkout lanes were open (which I use all the time, because I am a better and nicer cashier than the ones they pay and I don't have to smell anyone else's bad breath while I pay for my baby's pain/fever reliever!)

So, I come home and give him his medicine. And am too worried to go back to sleep yet. I know he's ok. I just can't sleep when my babies have a fever. I've got to try though.

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

I noticed the other day that I have passed a milestone in my bloggy life.

This is my 252nd post.

You would think that I could have come up with something more profound, more important, more funnier, more better to write.

I definitely could have come up with a better title.

But, I'm on a break. SO shut up.

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

Good news. My Friend Rachel, who lives in Minnesota, is coming to visit her parents in Montgomery for a few weeks with her beeeuuuuuutiful baby boy. And I'm going to go see her and nibble his ears! I can't wait!!! I haven't seen My Friend Rachel since she got married!

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

I'll be back again soon. I'm going back to bed now.

I miss y'all. Funny things keep happening, and I think "I need to blog about this." But I don't do it immediately, and then I forget what in the crap it was that was so funny anyway.

I suppose I could write down the funny things to help me remember them!

After these messages

I simply must share what just was said over our late Sunday morning breakfast.

The fact that this breakfast occurred at 11 am should tell you two things. 1. We did not go to church. SINNERS REPENT! 2. We slept very late but will still probably find a way to nap this afternoon. Even the Lord rested on Sunday. Who am I to argue against that logic?

So, The Mighty Hunter had the tv on, as it always is. And, naturally, it was tuned to the Outdoor Channel or the new hunting channel MOR - which I lovingly refer to as the MORON channel.

Odd to think that The Mighty Hunter doesn't laugh at that particular joke.

anyhoo.

There is a commercial on these channels for some deer hunting lure. Let's just call it piss in a bottle.

Cause that's just what it is.

This particular commercial talks about collecting this piss at the moment that a buck deer has tried to, um, err, um, mount the doe.

For those of you not familiar with the life of a deer hunter, a buck is the boy deer; a doe is the girl deer; and the mounting of a doe is exactly what it sounds like. And the piss of doe at all stages of her fertility (estrus) cycle has different effects on the bucks.

But the piss of a doe who is, shall we say, ripe and ready is like beer goggles for the buck. It wil make the ugliest doe a complete hottie.

So, someone who has no dignity left and doesn't mind the extremely nasty and humiliating task of collecting said piss has developed quite a booming business.

And here is where I talk about the deer p*rn.

This one commercial has a picture of a buck mounting his hottie. Earlier this week, I told The Mighty Hunter that this was a disturbing commercial and didn't feel comfortable looking at a picture of deer "getting it on."

We had a good laugh. Neither of us needed a cold shower. Life moved on.

Then as we were having breakfast, this same commercial came on.

And Stinkerbell saw it.

And Stinkerbell saw the deer p*rn picture.

And I gave him "the look". You know the look. The one that says "where's the clicker? why do you have to watch deer p*rn? find the clicker FAST! oh crap. it's too late. she's already seen it. what do we do now? ignore it? explain it? wait. pretend to be deaf and blind. yes. deaf and blind. just don't laugh."

And Stinkerbell says "look at that buck! he's on the girl's back! what's he doing there?"

don't laugh

don't answer her

pretend she didn't say anything at all.

don't make eye contact.

isn't there ANYTHING I can point out to her?

don't laugh

We manage a good 30 seconds before The Mighty Hunter manages to say "and there went an uncomfortable silence."

deer p*rn.

What's this world coming to?

I suppose this is what we get for not getting our butts to church this morning. This is one of those times when being Catholic and having confession would be handy.

Forgive me father, for I have sinned. I've looked at deer p*rn 4 times this week. I didn't enjoy it. I promise, but I feel guilty all the same. I feel so dirty. Dirty and guilty.

We're on a BREAK, ok???

Stinkerbell has been weepy of late. This big sister gig is not all coos and goos and giggles, like she thought it would be.

She turned 6 on Jan 20, and Lucky was born on Jan 25. She had our undivided attention and devotion for 6 years and 5 days and is now in full withdrawal. And her emotions are flashing red and purple and blue neon:

"Feeling left out and sorry for myself"

Yes, she's a wonderful, loving big sister. She is mature and responsible enough to care for him and entertain him when I need to shower or cook or go to the bathroom. She enjoys the approval she gets when she does these things for me and eagerly (sometimes) takes on the job.

Then there are times like yesterday and the day before and the day before that.

There are times when she cries at bedtime because she just wants me.

"me to do what?"

"just you"

"just me?"

"yes. you. would you lay down with me please? without Lucky?"

"sure baby"

There are times when I can let The Mighty Hunter entertain Lucky, allowing me to spend girl time with Stinkerbell. I am resolved to find these times and use them to their utmost. Screaming baby or no.

There are more times when she will have to simply share my time and attention - "never my love" - with Lucky. And she will have to learn to not begrudge them.

But there are times when she could have more of my time and attention and I'm not giving it to her.

And many of those times, I'm here. With you. And as much as I like you and being here, I like her more and really I should be with her. And being here prevents me from being with her as much as she deserves.

No problem in choosing, right?

Right.

Except that I need some form of outlet for my pent-up anxieties and insecurities and worries and manias and giggles and hermitness. And that is what I get here.

20 days till school starts.

20 days till I take Stinkerbell to her first grade class.

20 days that I can devote maximum time and attention on her.

20 days that I can play with her, color a princess coloring book with her, water her tomato, pepper and eggplant plants with her, take her to the pool, play with play-doh, teach her to cook, take her to the OTHER library, go to the park, organize her room, watch "kids shows" with her, chase her with the waterhose, play dress-up, paint her toenails, make chocolate chip cookies, read stories to/with her, help her improve her writing and spelling, play horsey/doggy/kitty/bunny, watch her play...

So, although this may feel like I'm breaking up with you, we're really just taking a break. 'kay?


Ross and Rachel Break Up

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