Monkeys! Monkeys! Everywhere!

So, what does a 44 1/2 year old peri-menopausal woman do who is at home with a two year old?  (Yes, I know I've aged in just a few weeks.  Apparently I have a hang up about being 44.  My husband informed me that I typed the wrong age on my menopausal announcement post.  It's not the first time I've done that.  I seem to tell doctors the same thing.  Annsley has corrected me in front of them.  On a personal note, I think my hubby needs to find that marriage book that tells him women don't want to be reminded of their age.  He lost valuable brownie points that night...)

OK, back on track. 

The hormonal driven woman paints the kids' bathroom with monkeys!!!! (You didn't guess that? You're kidding!!)   I think I announced it to the girls like I was going to fix scrambled eggs--ya know, no big deal. I searched all over the internet for ideas, combined different heads and bodies of monkeys, drew out my patterns on butcher paper and then armed myself with a pencil, a huge eraser, gobs of green acrylic paint and lots of deep breaths. TWENTY-TWO HOURS later they got this:



Everyone needs jungle vines wrapped around their head as they sit on the potty, don't you think?




Monkey #1 squatting beside the bathtub.




And his cousin...




Sure Annsley, I'll put something beside your sink.  Hey, how about another floor to ceiling tree?  I've got nothing but time on my hands...




And, of course, every jungle needs a toucan!

 It had been a long time (since high school??? eeks!) since I had painted anything other than walls or stencils. I thought surely I had enough of my talented grandma to pull this off. I was a bit nervous though. It was a daunting idea, but I knew I had enough base coat paint to repaint the bathroom if I bombed. My shading is a bit off, but I think they turned out OK. 

SOLD!

We signed the papers on our old house last Wednesday.  That is relief beyond measure.  Now we can look at getting some flooring down and saying goodbye to our purple carpet that crinkles when you walk in certain spots.   Did I tell you what our carpet cleaner said when we had the carpets cleaned before we moved in? 

No? 

I didn't think so, and I didn't even go back into my archives to double check.  He said he wasn't able to get out a few stains. I told him that was OK.  We weren't planning on keeping it.  He said, "I didn't think you would."  Enough said right there, don't you think?

Anyway....as we approached the last few days of double home ownership, I began thinking about all the things I would miss and NOT miss about our old house.  Here's a brief run down: (I'm telling you now-- hold on to your seats.  You might not be able to handle this!)

I'll miss being able to watch Annsley and Kennedi drive their battery powered jeeps all over the pasture.  They were truly 4 wheel little vehicles--unless they ran over a yucca plant.  That would stop them in their tracks every time. Nasty little cactus weeds.

I'll miss watching Annsley do her mud cooking on top of the gun range.  She found an abandoned aluminum slide, some fencing material, and old pots in a junk pile on our property and set up a little play area at the gun range. She dragged the slide probably 200 feet all by herself one afternoon.  Independent little thing would you say?

I'll miss Annsley catching horny toads, especially the baby ones. And I guess I'll include all the tarantulas here as well.  They did nothing for me, but they brought my oldest daughter joy beyond description.

This is the house that Kennedi learned to ride a bike without training wheels. 

I'm very much missing our master bathroom right now.  Our new house's master bath is tiny, and Doug and I haven't had to share a sink in 21 years. 

I miss our huge covered back porch.  I miss looking at our beautiful awesome sunsets.

I'll not miss the wind.  We lived on top of a hill.  No wind breaks in sight.  There were some days that I thought the back porch ceiling fans were spinning so fast that they would certainly fly off and become a deadly weapon.  40-50 mph winds nearly daily in the spring--all day long--all night long and the sandy dirt that came with it.

All the ants.  The red ones on the ground and the flying ones that showed up the first week or so in June.  Of course, with all the ant beds we had a plethora of horned frogs running around which my girls enjoyed immensely.  (Well, Kennedi and Andrei not so much.) 

Sand burrs.  Do I need to really go into detail about these stickers from hell?  I'll bet we dug up 1000s over the course of 3 years.  I. HATE. THEM. 

The black widows.  We had our fair share of them.  I will say, however, I pick those things over the Brown Recluse which we had at our new home.  At least black widows make nasty, sticky webs and stay around their webs.  Brown recluses are nasty little brown spiders not known for web making and like coming out to feed at night when you are asleep.  (And as a side note, if anyone in my area needs a good pest guy, I'll get you the name and number.  We knew we had a problem before we moved in, so we had our pest guy do his thing before we actually moved.  He said it was the most brown recluse infested house he'd seen in 25 years.  They sprayed carpet, every drawer, every cabinet, every crack, dusted the attic, etc.  The arachnid carnage that was found the day after the exterminators left was simply short of amazing. We haven't seen a creature AT ALL for the last two months, and yesterday he gave us the go ahead to start putting stuff back in our attic. Whoo Hoo!)

Enough reminiscing.  Our dog chewed up a soccer ball yesterday.  She dumped the outside toy bucket and chewed every cup, plate, baseball bat, and glove that was in it.  Our back yard resembles a small scale war zone.  I keep telling myself that every day she lives, she is one day closer to becoming an adult dog. 

X Rated Post!!

We finally have a contract on our house. Whoo Hoo!! Making two mortgage payments has been about a -1 on the Fun-O-Meter these days. Andrei and I have been busy the last week going back and forth picking up those items that "Oh, we'll get them later" kinda stuff.  (Pictures, baskets, window treatments, area rugs, etc.) In fact, there was so much stuff that we have had to make several trips.  Poor Andrei.  On the last trip, the giant mirror I had crammed into the Jeep was leaning on his car seat for support.  Good thing he is not claustrophobic.  He had brooms and mirrors and lamp shades bouncing all around him. 

While sweeping out the dead flies, Gus, our neighbor's dog, ran into our yard.  I had a flashback to earlier this summer...

We had a female dog show up at our house on morning.  Someone had obviously dumped her out.  She was fat.  Not very pretty.  Solid red.  I called her Red Dog.  She decided to make her temporary housing under our porch.  I finally called the sheriff's to come get her after she made it clear that she preferred our house over any others.  I made the call about 2 days too late. 

My three little innocent children were eating their wholesome breakfast their wonder mom had created for them one blissfully sunny day, and I look out our dining window and to my horror Gus is doing his manly duty to Red Dog right there on our porch. 

"Oh my goodness!" I yell.

Kennedi says matter of factly, "Oh Momma.  Daddy says that is Gus's new trick."

Obviously Red Dog has been in heat for a while now, and my children have already seen it.

"His new trick?"

Kennedi nods her head and shrugs her shoulders.  That's not going on during my watch, so I open up the back door and yell at Gus.  He dismounts, and well, let's just say he was now stuck. Red Dog outweighs him by several pounds and pulls him down the porch steps. 

Oh dear.  What have I done?  My neighbor's dog is fixing to be minus an important body part.  Maybe if I close the door and ignore it, it will all go away. 


After breakfast I hear Annsley from the living room." Mom, look at Gus and Red Dog! What are they doing?"

Oh my stars! Are those two at it again???!!!

They (this gruesome twosome) have made their way to the front of my yard.  Gus is being dragged in reverse.  It's been 15 minutes. Perhaps he needs a vet.  I'm not really up on this breeding thing, but this must be painful.

I call Doug.  I explain the situation and ask, "How long are they going to be stuck?  Should I be worried?" 

Incredulously he says, "Oh, it'll take 30 minutes or so. Don't you know that?"

"Gus is being dragged all over the place.  His hind end is in the air and his front paws are the only thing on the ground."

"He'll be fine," and Doug hangs up on me. 

I don't know why he's acting like I should know these things.  He doesn't act like that.  I have no experience in such scandalous going ons. 

I close the blinds.  I can't bear to watch Gus become gelded--or a eunoch-- or whatever. 

Later that afternoon, Red Dog returned to her porch dwelling-minus an attached  Gus.  I later saw Gus running around chasing a tennis ball.  Either he survived his amputation with all the class an Australian Shepard could muster, or he was fine just like Doug said he would be--probably the latter (although becoming an amputee survivor would make a much better story!)

To this day, we don't talk about it. I'm still dealing with the fact that my children saw raw mother nature and call it a "new trick".   It will be one of those memories burned into the recesses of my mind that  I bring from our former home however.  (Sigh). My children had to grow up that summer morning. 

Life in a Small Town

Our new "city" is small.  Like 2000 people small.  I haven't lived in a small town since I graduated high school.  The college I attended was in a small Oklahoma town, but I don't count that.  A college town just doesn't have the same feel. Too many strangers are popping in and out all year long.  Some people think 35,000 is a small town.  That would be true if all you had known was Oklahoma City, Amarillo, Austin, etc.  I lived and taught in a 35,000 town. Yes, it does have that small town "feel," but it was never a really small town in my opinion.

I have been amazed and blessed by strangers in this town.  Of course, when you live in such a small town, everyone here knows you are the new guy. There is no Wal-Mart; there is no Jump-N-Jive; there is no chimney sweeper. But, the experiences I have so far have been refreshing. 

#1~On moving day, Doug took the tool box with the allen wrench in it back to our old house to get another load of stuff. I was assigned to getting the beds all put together.  Kennedi's bed required an allen wrench.  I called Doug and he told me there was a parts house on Main Street.  The owner (I think) who is also the town mayor couldn't find the size I needed in his inventory.  So, he loaned me his mechanic's allen wrench from the back of the store.  That wouldn't have happened in our previous city!

#2~I was mailing a package the other day, and the lady at the post office read the return address.  "Oh, I've heard good things about your husband," she says.  In my most cordial and intellegient voice I uttered, "Huh?"    I was taken aback how in the world she knew who I was.  "Your husband is Doug, right? I heard wonderful things about him at the game last week."  Yes, small town people are always at the the Friday night football game and talk about the new people in town.  I don't think in 7 years of going to the post office in our prior town the people at the post office knew who I was.  Just a regular face at the window...

#3~I was at the pharmacy last week looking for some over the counter medicine for Annsley.  It has been a long, long, long time since a pharmacist walked out from behind the counter, asked me questions about her, and picked out the best congestion medicine for her.  I was in such a state of shock.  I must go back and tell him how impressed I was by that.  I just walked out in such a daze of "wow--that is service!" 

#4~Andrei and I usually make a quick run to our neighborhood Thriftway grocery store once a week after we drop off the girls at school.  While I'm paying out, the grocery bagger asks me what car I am in--there are 2 cars in the parking lot so she couldn't tell. (Yes, they bag your groceries and take them outside for you.)  By the time Andrei and I get to the car, she's already loaded all my groceries in my vehicle.  (Of course, this only works if you don't lock your car door.  And I haven't felt the need to lock my door since we moved here.  Ever.  I've just been trying to break the habit of NOT locking it.)

I LOVE all this stuff.  Maybe the new hasn't worn off yet, but it's good so far! I love the fact that my kids are safe.  That they can ride their bikes to the park and chances are slim they will not get run over even if Kennedi doesn't check the traffic at the intersections.  That I'm not sent in panic mode when Annsley leaves the back yard and heads down the alley to see our neighbor without telling anyone.  Doug and I had always talked about moving back to a small town to raise kids as we both came from small towns.  So far it's been a great decision!

Adjustments

We've moved.  We're still among boxes, but every day we can see more and more of our glorious amethyst colored carpet.

I looked out our backyard with our brand spanking new cedar fence and saw my Saran wrap all over the yard.  Tiger Lily managed to get a hold of it and unrolled 195 feet of the 200 on the roll.  Doug saw her do it.  He just watched.  "She was just having a good time, Mom.  She was running around the yard with the plastic wrap flying in the wind behind her," he said.  I was not amused.  Plastic wrap might be something I need desperately in the middle of my unpacking.  Now that days have passed, I wished I had gotten a picture of it. 

Tiger Lily and Mickey (our cat) are both adjusting to life in the "city".  Tiger Lily about came through the window the other morning when the garbage truck came down the alley.  Mickey spent 3 days under Annsley's bed--refusing to go outside.  I finally kicked him out two days ago.  Gotta toughen up some time Fur Ball.  He spends his days hiding under the backyard shed.  I think he slinks out early evening and explores.  At least the neighborhood dogs barking don't send him into cardiac arrest anymore. 

Andrei's new word is "nasty."  I'm not sure where he picked it up other than he overheard me say that the house was nasty.  It had been empty for 3 years.  Nasty doesn't begin to describe it.  It has literally been cleaned, dusted, vacuumed, fumigated from the top down.  I was given a wonderful gift of having someone come clean my windows for me.  Thank you Momma Carol!! I asked the guy if we would be nominated for America's Dirtiest Windows.  He said he'd seen much worse.  I hope I never see what "much worse" is.  Anyway, I served Andrei scrambled eggs the other morning.  He took one bite, pushed his plate away, and said, "Nasty." 

I was not amused.  (He got no brownie points for using correct context either.)

For lots of reasons, we decided to put the girls in public school this year.  Monday was their first day.  I will post pictures, but I first must find (a) my camera and (b) the cord to download the pix.  We were all sad, but the girls did absolutely awesome and have wonderful teachers.  I know their classrooms will be blessed.  Andrei kept asking, "Where are the gools?" 

"Do you miss Kennedi?" I asked him.  He said, "I miss Ken....I miss Annie." 

I have been amazed at how grown up he is when they are not around.  He is obedient.  He is pleasant.  He talks like a big boy.  The moment Kennedi walked into the house on day 1 he started baby talking again and whining.

Again, I was not amused.  Seems to be a theme these days.  I've been too tired to have much amusement.  There are trains that go through our town.  LOTS OF TRAINS.  I can usually sleep through them until the 4:00 am bunch rolls through.  There are usually 3-4 trains going through town then.  I know I will eventually not even notice them, but dang! it is brutal until then.  Those who lived closer to them tell me they rattle the house.  No rattling where we live, but it is LOUD!  

I've noticed Sanford's theme song is still going strong.  I'll get it off one of these days so you can read in peace...

Fast summer update

Back from the dead temporarily at least...maybe once fall arrives, I'll become inspired. 

Kennedi turned 6 in July.  Annsley spends hours (literally) reading books every day--something that her father does not understand or can relate to. 

And Andrei was using the toilet water this morning to brush his teeth.  Lovely. 

In other news, we are moving.  To a little bitty town.  So little that mail is not delivered to your house we have learned.  We have to get a PO Box.  I have already decided that I shall train Annsley to go in and get our mail.  I just hope we don't get a box on the top row where she can't reach it.  That would mean a rethinking of my brilliant "stay in the car with the little hooligans" plan while big sister acts as Moma's gopher.  We drove by the grocery store the other day.  Annsley takes one look at it and says, "Now Mom, if we have serious grocery shopping to do, we will drive to Big A, right?" She's obviously concerned about the neighborhood Thriftway offering only two types of cereal. 

We close on our new house in two weeks. There were only 12 houses for sale total in this little town (and from what I understand that number is unheard of.)  It seems that almost everyone who lives there loves it and never leaves.  As a result, very few houses are for sale, and while there are some very nice homes, the ones which were available while we were on the look were grandma and grandpa's house that the older children were selling--houses that were still in a 1960 time warp from the people who loved living there and never left.  We are blessed in the fact that we were able to purchase this house as it only has wall to wall mauve carpeting (literally--every square inch of the house--kitchen included) and blue Waverly wall paper.  I'm thinking that my 1990s couches will go absolutely beautifully with it.  And the oven doesn't look like something out of an I Dream of Jeannie rerun. All cosmetic which can be changed easily.  And the best part--all my children will have separate rooms.  I can't begin to tell you how excited I am about that!!!!

Everyone we have talked to has only great things to say about the town, and we are ready to see what all the "hub-bub" is about! For me personally, I'm excited about getting back to a small town--where my kids can walk around at night, and I don't have to hear traffic in my backyard.  Whoo Hoo!

Sanford and "Wife"

That's what I feel like.  We've been cleaning out (or up) the place for the last two weeks.  There's nothing better than spending your afternoons in an attic with outside temps over 100.  My pores are clean and I paid no one. After this last move 3 years ago, I refused then to NEVER move stuff that we don't use.  Two years ago I got rid of box after box of 20 year old wedding gifts that had never seen the outside of the box it was packed in 20 years ago.  Every time I would go through the attic or move, I'd think, "Now I just know I will have a use for these 6 crystal pitchers." 

Nada.

So, two years ago we got rid of lots of stuff in our garage sale.  But this summer it was different.  Now it was Doug's turn to let go and let loose.  He's had a bit tighter grip on his stuff of 15+ years that he doesn't even know he has.  (Sad to say, but I've "helped" him purge at various times over the years.)  But this time, he finally ditched a box of college textbooks.  We collectively agreed that the 3 1/2" floppies and the notes on DOS were out of date, the old professors had probably died, and  it doesn't look like you're planning to attend medical school any time soon, so really, why are we hanging onto this stuff?  And yes, those I Can Learn Spanish in Easy 14 Lessons on VHS that we've been carting from house to house for the last 18 years must go.  And, let us not forget the 5 boxes of infomercial materials that my husband bought when he stayed up a little too late one night.  They have never been opened.  I personally cleaned out no less than 20 boxes of old stuff hanging around in the attic.  I even have plans of sending our hard copies of pictures in bulky albums to a place here in town to scan them and put them on CD. 

Let me must say it was liberating.  Let me repeat. LIBERATING! Thanks to our intense clean out efforts, we'll only require 2 giant U-Haul trucks next time we move instead of 5. 

 Doug and I have both decided to not let our stuff define us any more.  Fear of lack has kept us in bondage for years.  We are children of the Most High God.  We lack for NOTHING.  It's high time we start acting like it.  We took pictures of stuff and then just let it go. (Let me clarify...pictures of "sentimental" stuff.  I did not take a picture of Herman Cassidy's Becoming a Millionaire by Buying Dilapitated Homes infomercial package.)

And then we had the junk piles.  When you have acrerage, you are entitled to junk piles.  I'm not sure that is a good thing because that then turns into the "good" junk pile and the "real" junk pile.  To define the difference, the "good" junk pile is stuff that could be used for future projects.  (Which, by the way, never get used for said future projects...) The "real" junk pile has seen its day. For instance, rather than pay Sears $30 to haul off our old dishwasher, we just tossed it into the "real" junk pile. Two days ago we decided to haul off all things junk.  ALL THINGS. 

The scrap metal went to scrap metal recycling place here in town.  Yes, we recycled.  Amazing for those of you who know us.  This morning the girls and Doug took a field trip to the dump.  I'm not sure who was more excited--the children or their father. I've never been.  I don't really have an inkling to go either.  I understand it smells.  The dishwasher proudly sat at the front of the trailer.  Coupled with all the old stuff overflowing the trailer, all I could do was think about how we had almost become a real live Sanford and Son.  Never Again.  Never Ever.

(Now, what Sanford and Son have to do with "stuff" is beyond me.  It's just that whenever I hear that song, I think of junk piled everywhere.  I don't know...)

Cayenne Pepper to Amoxicillin

There has to be a law SOMEWHERE that says mommas can't get sick if they have children under the age of 7.  Surely, there must be a law that says that.  I, obviously, missed the enrollment period, and therefore have forfeited said benefit. 

I say 7 because I'm fairly sure that my oldest daughter, who is currently 7, could run the house for the entire day.  I'm fairly certain that she'd even wash the dishes without being told to do so.  Of course, she might take the opportunity since Mom would be oblivious, to paint the barn a nice shade of purple, but at least she'd attempt to try to rinse the brushes out. 

Annsley and I developed strep this week.  I originally thought it was some kind of nasty, nasty flu.  I've never had strep and quite frankly, I don't ever care to again.  Annsley had a fever and threw up Tuesday night. On Wednesday morning I woke up feeling like my throat had a blow torch attached to it, Kennedi carefully analyzed the situation and realized that she was the "oldest one left standing."  She had remembered back in December when I had some stomach bug and threw up not short of 20 times in less than 24 hours that I put Annsley in charge of everyone.  (In case any of you may be having some bad thoughts about my husband not being around to take care of the kids, this week was the STAAR state mandated tests.  It wasn't an option about him skipping out.)

"Mom," Kennedi asked Wednesday morning, "am I in charge since you and Annsley are sick?"

"Yes.  I'm gonna need your help to take care of Andrei.  Can you be a big girl for me today?"

Rather elated at the thought, she replies, "Oh yes! Does that mean I'm in charge of lunch too?"

"Yes.  You'll fix you and Andrei something to eat."

"I want peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and I'll fix Andrei some ham, and cheese, and a banana.  Is that OK?" 

At that point I truly would not have cared if she wanted to make chicken fried steak.  I would have said yes to anything that I didn't have to do. Lunch that day couldn't have come quickly enough.  10:00 and she was already having hunger pains.  It ended up being a long 2 hours for literally all of us.  Graciously the clock read 12:00 and she began lunch.  She was absolutely so precious.  She cut some turkey up for Andrei.  Cut up his cheese, and peeled his banana for him.  She smothered peanut butter on her bread, shirt, and counter.  Licked the knife and then dipped it into the jelly.  Licked the knife again and went in for seconds on the blackberry jelly. 

I'm on the internet looking for remedies for sore throat because the salt water gargle isn't helping.  I read gargling with apple cider vinegar works wonders.  Annsley gagged.  I tried it myself.  I actually love apple cider vinegar just as a little "kick start" for your day kinda thing, but I couldn't tell it did too much for my throat.  I then read that cayenne pepper added to the vinegar will cure any sore throat.  These people said that only burned slightly when the mixture was spit out.

So I tried it. 

I didn't have any of the the dried red pepper, but we did have plenty of Tabasco sauce ready for duty.  I shook about 7 drops in the bottom of my cup.  I added about a tablespoon of my friendly apple cider vinegar and about 1/2 cup of warm water. 

#%#%!!!##! THOSE PEOPLE LIED!  Instead of one blow torch, I had the entire manufacturing plant ablaze in my mouth.  WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE??!! They can't possibly be human.  And to think that they prey on desperately sick people like me. 

Long story short, this is the sickest for the longest period of time I have ever been in my life.  IN. MY. ENTIRE. LIFE.  My body felt like one of those lawn aerators had run over my entire body.  Ibuprofen was falling short of lasting 6 hours of fever and sore throat pain.  Really, by Thursday evening, I could understand how people could choose death. Friday morning Kennedi wakes up complaining of a sore throat. 

I finally glance at my throat and count new fewer than 10 white pus pockets.  I've had enough.  I call our pediatrician and get Kennedi and Annsely in to see her.  She suspects strep.  On a whim, I have her glance at my throat.  She swabs the girls' throats, gives them Amoxicillin, and strongly encourages me to see the nurse practioner at the pharmacy while I'm getting their prescription filled.  I'm not up to arguing any more.  I'm never sick enough to go to the doctor.  I haven't been to the doctor since Kennedi was born.  At this point I'm more than ready to give up my "record" for relief. 

The PA does a strep test.  It's positive.  I get Amoxicillin too!  I've never been so excited to take an antibiotic in my entire life.  When we three finally get home, Doug wants to take one of my pills "just in case." 

NO WAY!  I've been the most miserably person for the last three days.  These are all mine.  ALL MINE! "

"Go get your own!!" I hiss with clenched teeth.

He goes back to work.  Within three hours of taking my first pill, I finally notice how nasty my kitchen floor is after being at the mercy for three days of Doug and Kennedi.  I actually sweep, mop, and wash two loads of laundry before I go to bed that night!  Doug comes home from work.  He looks like he's in severe pain. 

"Where'd you go? I need medicine!!" 

So he's got strep too.  The PA didn't do a test on him.  She just took a look at his throat and said, "Oh, yeah.  You got what your family has.  Here's some Amoxicillin for you, too!" Andrei is a rock of immunity.  He's currenly coloring with his Color Wonder markers so his daddy can sleep.

From My Husband...

  

My Favorite Animal

Our teacher asked what my favorite animal was, and I said, "Fried chicken."
She said I wasn't funny, but she couldn't have been right, because everyone else laughed.


My parents told me to always tell the truth. I did. Fried chicken is my favorite animal. I told my dad what happened, and he said my teacher was probably a member of PETA.
He said they love animals very much.

I do, too. Especially chicken, pork and beef. Anyway, my teacher sent me to the principal's office. I told him what happened, and he laughed, too. Then he told me not to do it again.

The next day in class my teacher asked me what my favorite live animal was.
I told her it was chicken. She asked me why, so I told her it was because you could make them into fried chicken.

She sent me back to the principal's office. He laughed, and told me not to do it again.

I don't understand. My parents taught me to be honest, but my teacher doesn't like it when I am.

Today, my teacher asked me to tell her what famous person I admired most. I told her, "Colonel Sanders." Guess where I am now.......

The Little Red Pen

Annsley and I checked out this super cool book from the library the other day. She absolutely was enthralled by it.  (We're working on Fancy Nancy words---can you tell?)  It's about the thrills and skills of grading papers that mirrors the "Little Red Hen" story and Toy Story movie. By the way, have I told you how much I love libraries? I should have been a librarian.  I was such a geek growing up.  I'd spend hours at a time during the summers at my hometown's tiny library.  What kind of junior high kid takes great pleasure in walking to the library just to browse or check out my favorite book yet again?  I needed therapy even then.   And imagine my glee when I first stepped into my college library! (You mean you have a separate floor for just the microfilm????) I'm sure I asked the assistant librarian, "Is this heaven?"  I'm sure she looked over her out of date at the time wire rim glasses and scowled, "No, it's Northwestern."  (Yes, I borrowed from one of my favorite movies, Field of Dreams.)

(Get back on track, Shelly.) 

This is the cutest book.  Maybe I'm partial because I am an ex-English teacher, but it is loaded with teachable material.  Personification...character analyzation...cause and effect...fantastic illustrations...compare and contrast... Houghton Mifflin even has a great resource kit available.  Even if you're not into the schooling thing, it is a precious book. 

(Disclaimer:  I write for pure fun on this blog.  I take off my English teacher hat, but I know when I have a big, fat run-on sentence or dangling participle.  I just don't care to fix the sloppy at this time...)

Hee-Bee Gee-Bees!

I found this in my Yahoo News today.  Wolf spiders are taking over in an effort to get away from flood waters in Australia.  Apparently the residents aren't too shaken up about it.  They've already escaped to higher ground themselves, and the spiders are eating all the mosquitoes due to the rain. Gag! It's like something out of those 1960-1970s science fiction movies when the rats, mice, birds, or spiders invade and you've got the dead sheriff who died while investigating the initial reports, and the town is now in the hands of the 20 year old Deputy So-and So with no experience and a few brave citizens driving beat up pickups.  Oh, and who can forget The Blob, the standard in which all man-eating sci-fi movies are judged against??!! 

Not snow....spider webs!

Curly

My parents headed to Georgia yesterday as my little sister was 3 1/2 cm dilated and wasn't expected to "make it" through the end of the week.  They bravely left Curly, their 5th child rather late in life who has more jingle on him than Mr. T, in our care. 

My girls have BIG plans unbeknown to Curly.  I'm not quite sure yet what they are, but I know they are conniving them.  As I'm typing this, Annsley comes over to me and says, "Smell here," pointing to her chin.  Ughh! Doggy breath!!  She thens turns to Curly and says, "You need to go to the dentist!" 

Momma Carol called this morning to check in on Curly and let us know that Kasey was on her way to the hospital.  I got off the phone and told Annsley that Aunt Kasey was going to have her baby today!  My daughter's reply was, "Oh shucks!  That means Grandpa is going to be coming back to get Curly!"  She wasn't excited about her new nephew about to make his grand appearance.  It's still all about "little ole' me!" 

While my girls love Curly, Andrei has a love/hate relationship with the dog.  When he's not trying to stick his little fingers in his eyes, he's either screaming for Curly to get away or chasing him down to pet him.  The girls love taking him out to the backyard and running around with him.  That's good.  It makes him tired, and the little ladies will sleep soundly. 

Annsley brings him in from the latest romp earlier tonight, and he's covered in Bermuda grass and sticks.  Have I ever told you how much I hate Bermuda grass?  Especially in the winter and spring before it turns green????? Anyway, I told her to take Curly outside and get the grass out of his coat.  I didn't realize it at the time, but she decided to use her hairbrush to remove the grass. 

We are now in the care of a black poodle with a bad afro on a humid day.  Fluffy doesn't begin to describe him.  Uhmmm....Momma Carol and Grandpa, he's gonna need a little help from your doggie stylist once you get back home!!

Lovin' Curly!

Lovin' Curly's crate more than he's lovin' the dog!

*** Edit: Congrats to Aunt Kasey and Uncle Mike!!! William is beautiful!***

A Lesson on Birth Order

I feel like the "education" part of my blog has been on the back burner lately.  Who wants to tune in every week simply for entertainment and to pass the "blahs?"  Let's get more bang for our buck and learn something at the same time!! So, I introduce to you...

Doug and I have studied extensively on the different personalities.  We could teach an all day seminar on them.  In fact, Doug often does.  If you've never studied the personalities, it is worth doing it.  It will help you with your co-workers, children, friends, spouse, etc.  I'm a melancholy (orderly, don't like surprises, analytical, cautious).  Doug's a sanguine (friendly, outgoing, loves being around people, emotional, spontaneous).  Don't think it didn't cause WWIII when we got married, and he used my toothbrush one morning!

But, I've never studied birth order.  And I wish I had.  The personalities made teaching junior high children so much easier, but this would have added to it.  (You know the kid with so much potential,  but he doesn't do a flippin' thing???)

As I've posted earlier, we've been reading some of Kevin Leman's books around here.  I decided to pick up The New Birth Order on the fly the other day.  I was in a desperate attempt to try to "figure out" Kennedi as she is now the middle child.  Middle children are not something our families (Doug or mine) has much experience with.  Just about everyone has/has come from an only one child or two. My motive was to get a download on middle children, but what I really got was a download on first borns. 

Annsley obviously is a first born.  However, because Andrei is the first born male, he will have many first born attributes despite him being the baby. Any child in the family who is 5 years+ younger starts a "new" family and becomes the first born. 

There isn't a lot about middle children.  Out of all the research out there, there is the least written and known about the middle child.  In fact, Leman states in his book that middle children are the most likely to be the well adjusted adults.  Counselors/psychiatrists see fewer of them than anyone else.  They actually see mostly first borns and only children!  Apparently, the skills that middle children learn being the middle child will serve them well later on.  Yea for Kennedi! You go, Girl! He did stress though to do things to make the middle child feel special as he feels "squeezed" by big sister and baby brother...ie: squeezed right out of the game in other words.  Point taken Dr. Leman!

Doug and I have been working on becoming recovering procrastinators this past year and surprise! A great deal of the book was devoted to first borns/only children and their perfectionism--and that perfectionism leading to procrastination!  And how we as parents influence them in that area and how we as the parents need to be mindful of the little things we do to them to further that perfectionism mentality.  An example he makes in the book:  Your 4 year old makes her bed.  You say, "That's a great job" as you smooth out the wrinkles.  She learns that her job wasn't really good enough.  They become so concerned with being perfect that many first borns/only children that it leads to procrastination because they have a fear of messing up--so they end up not doing anything. And yes, I know there are lots of reasons why people procrastinate.  But lots of people tend to procrastinate because of the perfection issue. 

Doug and I (both first borns) can write a book about that one.  We have already been able to witness that in Annsley.  Literally, she will take 45 minutes picking out a shoe to buy. She's doesn't want to bring home the wrong one.  In contrast, I took Kennedi the other day to buy some new shoes.  We walked into the first store and she tried on and bought the first pair of shoes she saw.  I've been catching myself after reading that book about "correcting" Annsley.  The other day she was folding laundry, and I just had to bite my tongue and sit on my fingers.  I all of a sudden got what Leman had been saying in his book. 

He also cautioned about piling all the responsibilities on the first born.  As he stated in his book, he said that so many first borns complained that they still had trash detail when they were in high school--meaning, their chores just kept adding and adding because "they were so responsible".  The "baby" chores weren't dropped from their list and given to their siblings. (For instance, the first born 10 year old vacuums, sweeps the floor, cleans the bathroom while her 8 year old sister wipes her booger on the front door that her older sister just shined to perfection because the only thing the 8 year old had to do was dust, and so she had time on her hands to stick a finger up her nose...OK, so Leman didn't say that in his book...perhaps I am dealing with some unresolved issues from my own childhood...) I've caught myself doing that with Annsley.  I know she will do a better job gathering all the trash and putting the trash bags in the cans, and she's been doing that since she was 4.  So I've rearranged some things and have Kennedi picking up some of Annsley's easier chores.  And I just have to take a deep breath when I go into the bathroom and find Q-tips spilled on the floor by the trash can and the bag not exactly the way I would have done it.  He also addresses the "dethronement" issue all first borns encounter when the next child is born, and he gives suggestions on how to handle that. 

It's been interesting because Doug and I have examined about how we were raised and having to deal with the whole perfectionism thing. It's really been an eye opener for both of us.  I remember thinking as I read those chapters that I felt so vindicated!  Yea! I knew there was a deep seeded reason why I would rip the heads off and drowned my sister's Barbies in the swimming pool or spend hours and hours and hours reading books on how to ski before I even skiid for the first time. (I needed to get as much information as I could so I would make the fewest amount of mistakes...and maybe, just maybe I would be able to ski like Jean Claude Killy right out of the box!)  I wasn't an island.  We first borns were a club! We had others out there who were card carrying members of the "Suffering First Born/OnlyChildren" and had very similar upbringings. (And to know that our first born/only child parents are card carrying members of the same club!) I don't know about you, but I always feel better when I realize that I wasn't the only one in the world.  Then I realized that this book wasn't so I could be validated in my shortcomings.  It was a wake up call to Doug and me to be watchful that we didn't take Annsley's natural first born giftings and create a liability in her.  Knowledge brings power! 

If you're into reading, check it out.  I know you'll learn something about yourself and those you love! Although the book largely in part discusses parenting your children, there are chapters about birth order in the workplace and marriages as well.  I give the book a "2 thumbs ups!"

Remind Me Who I Am

My new favorite song!  What a message! Every single person must have a revelation of how God sees him. Satan tries to make us remember all the times we messed up and put condemnation on us.  That's not how God sees us--even when we mess up big time!  What image do you have of yourself today?  When you look in the mirror, whose image are you seeing--the one satan conjures up or the one that knows God loves you no matter what you did or didn't do...?

On a side note, if you don't know much about Jason Gray, he's a chronic stutterer--except when he sings.  I love that he hasn't let that interfere with his goals and dreams and walks in Philippians 4:13 "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!"  CAN'T is a bad word around our house anyway.  "Mommy, I can't do...." Doug and I try to immediately ask our daughters as soon as those words come out of their little mouths, "What does Philippians 4 :13 say?"  They say the verse.  "Do you believe that?" They nod their heads.  "Then let's rephrase that."  They usually come up with something like, "Mommy, can you help me.....?" 

Take 3 minutes and listen to this amazing song! :)

Courageous Movie Trailer

I mentioned a few posts back that Doug and I saw the movie Courageous over Christmas break.  If you haven't heard of it or seen the previews, take 2 minutes and watch the trailer. (I have not been given nor promised any compensation for my promotion of this must see movie!! :)

 Click here! to watch the trailer.

Stop the Presses!

I made a BIG, HUGE accomplishment yesterday.....drum roll please...............................

Yes, I, Current Queen of the Toilet Paper, managed to get all my washing, ironing, AND housecleaning completed in one day!! It's the first time since we brought home Andrei!  It was nearly 9:00 last night when it was all finished, but I finished it!

I've tried the method of just concentrating on one room a day, but it doesn't work for me.  It's kinda like when you begin a remodeling project.  Painting the kitchen leads to dingy looking tile.  That leads to new tile.  New tile shows how scraggly the cabinets look, so that lead to new cabinets. New cabinets show just how nasty your kitchen faucet is, so that leads to a new faucet.  New faucet = new sink.  And on, and on, and on. 

Same with house cleaning.  A clean child's room shows just how dirty the other ones are.  Then you notice dust all over the bookcases in the living room.  And then you notice the fingerprints all over the sliding glass door, and so forth.  It just easier to get it all done at once.  Up until yesterday I usually managed everything but the floors, and I would get that finished the next day.  Today I'm just getting to enjoy my already clean house this morning.  I'm breathing easier today.  My secret?  Andrei took a really, really long nap yesterday and the girls were quite cooperative yesterday about cleaning up the toys off the floor. Combined with my hypersensitivity about getting everything finished, I met with success! Whoo Hoo! (And maybe because the girls left yesterday afternoon to spend the night with their Mimi could have a HUGE factor in the matter...) 
Wow, such stimulating news around here....

Pig

I remembered yesterday why there are no school field trips to the pig farm.

My husband raised hogs when we were dating.  It had been my first time to be around them--and I mean around them. My nose started to hitch hike off my face.  Nostril hairs were thumbing for a ride.  I promise.  I had never smelled anything that horrible in all my life--a smell that makes you want to smack your momma smell. Skunks have NOTHING over pig poop.  Dung.  Whatever it's called.  So, I knew I had to be in true love when he took me for a ride to meet his prized pig breeder.  Oh joy.  It was in the middle of the summer.  About 100 degrees.  No wind.  He drove Mabel (the name for his pickup) into the middle of his breeder's hog farm, parked it, and turned off the engine. 

"Do you want to come in to his office?"  Doug asked pointing to a sad looking 1950s style trailer with rusty tin on the outside. 

"I don't think I can suck in enough air to breathe in order to walk that far," I gulped. 

"You think it stinks?" he asked.  I couldn't tell if he was serious or just making fun of me.  "OK, well, if you get hot, start Mabel."

He leaves, and I soon learn a very important lesson about my future husband (although this experience put that manifestation in serious jeopardy).  If there is another living human close to the vicinity, gab will over take Doug and we will be there a long, long time.  Live animals will also take his attention to new heights as well.  I'm new to this phenomena.

I sit in the pick up.  It is sweltering.  The smell is insane. It seeps in through the glass.  I am in absolute shock that Mabel's paint isn't peeling. Beads of sweat are starting to pour down my head.  I can feel sweat down my back.  I have to get some air.  I start up Mabel and turn on the air conditioner.  I am met with a blast of pig poop a la perfume.  The air conditioner is cooling me off but it's blowing nasty pig particles through my hair.  The horrendous smell is now magnified.  I turn off the engine.  I smell pig in my hair now.   15 minutes goes by.  Surely my new love knows I'm still sitting out here.  Surely he will come and rescue me.  Time ticks away.  No Doug.

I am miserable.  I am sweating.  I am breathing very shallow.  I can't take a deep oxygenated breath. I can't physically will my body to do it.  I have to get some air.  I roll down the window about  2 inches.  I then roll down the driver's window about two inches.  I'm hoping that it will create a draft above my head.  It doesn't.  Of all days in the Texas Panhandle, there is no wind today.  The pig stench is permeates my skin.  Every so often I pull the collar of my shirt above my nose and take in a huge amount of air.  I'd keep my nose covered, but it is too hot.  As the afternoon melted into evening, I sought relief in the setting sun....Just kidding, but my 30 minutes in the truck might as well have been 4 hours. 

Doug FINALLY shows back up.  "I couldn't find Leroy." 

What???? What in the world have you been doing all this time????? Can you not fathom how miserable I've been?? My love tank was on empty.  He's been walking around looking at sows and boars and what not.   I've been gasping for my last breath. 

He notices my severe state of distress.  "You didn't turn on the air conditioner?"  He takes me home.  I need a shower.  Pig smell is much like cigarette smell.  It is in your ears, your shoes, your hair, plastered to your skin.  I burned my jeans that evening. 

So yesterday, my husband takes Annsley and Kennedi to a nearby pig farm to see the baby pigs.  God is amazing as He wipes from our memory really really horrific things.  I had totally forgotten in nearly 20 years about the polluted odor.  It came rushing back to me about 7:30PM last night.  It was in Annsley's hair, Kennedi's shirt.  I told Annsley and Kennedi to leave their shoes on the porch.  Clothes went immediately into the washer.  I personally washed both girls from head to toe myself.  Doug was just laughing.  He actually questioned my sincerity of having him take a shower before he read the girls a good night story!  And his dress pants spent the night on the porch rail in an attempt to water down the smell before putting them in my car for a trip to the cleaners. 

Now I like bacon like any other Southern girl.  I'll fry up the entire package and eat it all by my lonesome.  I put bacon grease in my green beans.  Anything is better with bacon on it or in it I say. But I like my pig already butchered.  I like my pig on the pages of a children's book.  That's where it stops.  I honestly do not know how hired hand/owners of farrowing barns survive without an oxygen tank.  I've been in one and only one in my lifetime.  Doug was so excited to show me all the baby pigs.  He tried to explain to me how clean it was.  I walked in and turned around and walked right out.

If you're running low on ideas to do, I I double dare any of you to load up the family and head to a pig farm/farrowing house. My advice: ask for a tour but don't wear flip flops.  Take a plastic garbage bag to toss your clothes in for the ride home.  Tie the bag to your back bumper.  Maybe the clothing will air out a bit before you get home.  Load up on body wash BEFORE you take your field trip. Have your olfactory nerves/system removed before attending. Or, be like me and support your local pig farmers from a distance--literally.

Love-Hate

I have a love-hate relationship with autumn.  Or fall.  Whatever your preference in vocabulary makes me no difference. We don't use the term autumn around these parts.  It sounds so formal.  I think of it as an Eastern United States word instead of a West Texas southern word.  It's a "pretty" word--one that I can imagine using if I lived in Vermont where the leaves blanket the road like a beautiful patchwork quilt.  Our leaves are brown unless you are one of the few and far fortunate ones harboring an oak tree.  Around here we don't rake the leaves into a pile. We don't have to. You won't find any leave laden country roads either.  First, we hardly have any trees to speak of.  Secondly, the leaves we do have just turn brown and the wind blows them off to unknown parts of the world.  The leaves I have blowing around in my yard are from Tucumari, NM. Western Oklahoma gets my leaves...

 I LOVE the cooler air.  I love being able to go outside and not sweat. I love not having to put on a double dose of deodorant because the little dab from the morning hours doesn't quite cut it after your body temperatures reaches the melting point. I love the fact that the cooler breezes really act as an air conditioning unit instead of a miserable furnace blast in 100 degree heat. I love knowing that winter will soon be on its way and the flies will die.  I love not having to mow as often (although this year our mowing effects have been minuscule due to our extreme drought, so really, that point is moot.) I've never really been a summer lover.  I don't like to garden; I've tried the whole flower garden thing too.  I found no pleasure in watering it every day and picking those pesky little weeds from it.  Half of the time I found I couldn't differentiate between the baby plant and a weed any way. I cannot relate to those of you who live to tend to your gardens every year.   Any thing green outside my house is due largely impart to my oldest daughter.  She reminds me to water things. I thought I would enjoy the gardening lifestyle.  I was brought up on it.  My mother had huge vegetable gardens and huge flower beds.  So did my grandmother. I figured it had to be encrusted in my DNA. I'm here to tell you that the whole green thumb thing is known to skip a generation.  When we bought our first house, I made Doug plow up the entire side of one fence so I could have a flower garden.  Three years later my tribute to the Audubon Society and the such had been whittled to a 2 x 3 foot square area.  By year five I was scattering wild flower seeds and calling it good.  I hate having dirt under my fingernails.  I cannot begin to tell you how much I hate it.  And I'm one of these who can count on one hand how many professional manicures I've had in my life time.  I'm not a foo-foo girl, so I don't know where that trait comes from.  Anyway... fall brings football. I love high school football games--the sounds of the band, the math teacher turned Friday night announcer...maybe it's because my husband is an ex high school football coach... I love not having to turn on neither my home's air conditioning or heater and thus saving muchas dollars.  I love homemade applesauce.

Then on the other hand...

Autumn (aka fall) brings the flies indoors.  They know that winter is coming--that they will soon meet their demise with the first hard freeze and they are anxiously trying to avoid the death trap by nesting in my house.  I have killed 13 of them so far this morning.  I hate flies.  Our cat Mickey starts "beefing up" for the winter.  He is such a lush.  He starts putting on weight in September and keeps his Garfield physique throughout the winter.  Around May he starts slimming down and turns back into a lean, mean tomcatin' machine.

Fall also means critters are coming out.  Soon our evening air will be filled with the aromatic skunk.  I've never seen one out here, but you know they've been around.  Utterly disgusting.  And let us not forget the tarantulas.  My girls play with them. I act like think these oversized, hairy arachnids are cool, but they are not.  I wrote about my girls playing with them here. 

Fall also means the end of summer and hours of playing outside for my children.  That equates to a little peace and quiet for Mom.  I am so thankful that they like playing outside.  Freezing winter temps will put an end to that.  I'm not sure how Andrei is going to handle that.  He loves to go outside.  About 11:00 every day he is asking for his shoes and pointing to the back door.  If he doesn't stay out long enough to suit him, he breaks down into a temper tantrum upon entering the house.  Our winters will challenge all that he holds near and dear.  Pray for me.