Flip Flop Wars

Popcorn has a flip-flop habit.

It actually started at a very early age...

When she was about four she would insist on wearing flip flops everywhere. One day I was to take her to her daycare, since I had to go to work for some training. Normally her daddy took her to daycare, and picked her up, since daycare is not open for 14 hours at a stretch.

Anyway, her sister was at school, and it was time for Popcorn to get her shoes on so we could go...

She showed up in a pair of Strawberry Shortcake flip flops. Yes, I remember the pair...

Me: You can't wear those to school. You will get stickers in your feet, and it is against the rules.

Popcorn: I want to wear these. Other kids wear sandals and flip flops! I AM wearing these!

Me: Other kids do not have me for a mommy. The rules for daycare are no open toed shoes, and no boots. Go put your tennis shoes on.

Popcorn: I HATE tennis shoes! I want to wear flip flops! (She is stomping into her bedroom.) When I am a mommy, I will NEVER let my kids even own flip flops! NEVER! They will only wear tennis shoes. My kids will never wear flip flops....

And she took off her flip flops and threw them across the room, put on her shoes and stomped out the door...

Gentle Reader, we pause in this post to bring you a reminder of how Popcorn thinks "A Great Mommy" will be. Please, please click here to read all about that....

I know you haven't clicked it yet...

Could you just humor me here? Click!

Clickety, click click!!!

Oh, I give up....Returning to this post...


She still loves sandals and flip flops. She claims her feet get claustrophobic (hot and squeezed) in tennis shoes. She begs to wear sandals. She begs to wear flip flops.

At our school here in Oklahoma, they are allowed to wear anything to school as long as they have something to change into for P.E.

I, being stubborn, disagree with this rule. I think she needs shoes that offer protection on. I think she needs to wear a shoe that completely covers her foot. Even if she can change for P.E., what a hassle for the teacher to wait for everyone to change shoes before they begin...

Today she offered a compromise:

She would wear tennis shoes, but pack flip flops to change into after P.E.

For a minute, I was stumped on how to handle this, but then a revelation came to me. I played my trump card.

Me: Do you think Daddy wants you to wear flip flops to school?

P: No. (said in a mumbling whisper)

Me: Do you think he would be irritated if he found out you wore them to school?

P: Yes. (again, mumbling and now shuffling feet)

Me: Do you think you should just wear tennis shoes all day?

P: (with a big sigh) Yes.

And, she went off to school.

But, I did spy a pair of these in the floor of the back seat....





Now, I'm not saying she was contemplating wearing them anyway, they could have been there for days, and I just noticed them.

But, it still gave me a chuckle when I saw them.

P.S. My girls have been using my camera. Isn't it amazing how beautiful weeds can look? Welcome, Spring!!!

Mood Lifter

Wednesday was the day. I could not wait one day longer. Something had to be done about my roots. It didn't matter if I didn't think I had the time, it HAD to be done. Unfortunately, I could not remember the name of the color that I used the last time I shared hair drama with you. On top of that, I wasn't even sure of the brand! Good grief, I think my brains are leaking out with my gray hairs...

Oh, and please overlook the wrinkles that I have in my forehead. Fair skin, multiple sunburns, failure to wear caps to shield my face...They have all lead to wrinkles. Dang it. But, I refuse to grow old gracefully. I will color my hair until I'm 85 years old, just like my Grandma Irene, the Original Prairie Woman. At that age, I think gray hairs will be perfectly acceptable. But probably not before then.



And can somebody please tell me why salt & pepper hair on men is attractive, but on me it's just depressing? I totally don't get that.

I have always loved to color my hair. I started coloring when I was in high school and usually looked forward to coloring days. I would paint my nails. I would sit and do nothing but drink lots of coffee and perhaps read a book...

Alas, those days are gone. Now when I color I usually end up doing laundry at the same time. And cleaning house....

And, to be honest losing track of the time.

Notice: Yes, I still can squeeze the endless cups of coffee in.

Then, I have a complete panic attack. Especially when I realize that I have gone 10 minutes extra, and my grays are stubborn and resistant, but what if the blasted color doesn't come off of my scalp, and I have an orange scalp, similar to when I first met the love of my life? YIKES!!!

Note: If you have not read how we met, please go now and read all about our love story. Click here for Part One. Click here for Part Two. Click here for Part Three.

Are you done?

Good.

Now, to return to our hair saga:



So, in a state of panic, I begin the tedious process of rinsing the color out. Do you ever get the feeling that the bloody water (and it really looks like blood when you are using a red product) will never run clear, and you will be rinsing your hair for the rest of eternity?

Do you ever get the idea that I tend to lean towards the dramatic?


I acknowledge there is a slight tendency towards drama. That is why I'm determined I'm really a natural redhead...


Of course, after 17 years of coloring my hair, I'm not sure what my natural color is, other than the grays, and they are very obvious... My husband has never even seen my real hair color. Seriously. He claims that only God knows what my natural color is by this time. I have changed it multiple times, and none of them have been my "natural" color. Whatever that is...


And, speaking of dramatic, don't you feel awkward taking photos of yourself? I mean, to smile or not to smile? I think smile is always the way to go, because the ones where I'm not smiling look unnatural to me. And, I look cranky. Ick. So, I tried various angles and different smiles, and tried to choose the one that was most flattering, and didn't show all of the wrinkles in my neck, or the giant crevices in my forehead...

Moments of Idiocy: The Horseback Version

Remember my mention of Blue, our temperamental appaloosa I grew up on? Well, I didn't completely grow up on him. My Granddad Pat gave him to my brother when I was nine years old. I remember, because the same year he gave me a paint horse colt, whom I promptly fell madly in love with and named Mischief. I groomed him and played with him, and sneaked him treats...(Okay, I gotta say. Sneaked seems totally wrong. I want to use snuck, but spell check denies it's existence. But, still, I'm more a snuck kinda gal, so I'm using sneaked under protest.)

Never name a horse Mischief. He will undoubtedly live up to his name. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I was never allowed to ride any of the horses at my Granddad's because they were never gentle enough. I'm sure there was no hereditary "mean gene" in him. All I do know is that horse was mean.

He liked to try and bite my shoulder when I was distracted dealing with his cinch.

Or, he would get mad in the middle of a ride, and turn his head and try to bite my foot. No kidding. If that isn't mean, I don't know what is. Or, he might decide to start pitching. Or run off. Whatever he could think of to get out of a ride.

Obviously, Mischief and I never advanced our relationship much passed the scratch his ears, give him a treat phase...

My brother had no interest whatsoever in anything that could be conceived as remotely "farm" at that phase of his life. Also, the horse I had learned to ride on died tragically. His name was Bay Dandy. He developed pneumonia in his old age, and when Dad sent him to the vet, he had an allergic reaction to the antibiotic. That is the first time I ever saw my dad cry, and we both sat on my bottom bunk and he held me and cried silently while I sobbed all over him...

Anyway, all of that to say, I ended up riding Blue. Yes, he was temperamental. Yes, he was high strung, but he had heart. And he loved to work, so I loved him.

One day when I was in high school Dad sent me to ride through some cattle a mile north our house. Do you remember I told you that Blue had a tendency to tear things up if not properly tied? Well, I got to the gate, and there was a tree hanging over it, and Blue absolutely refused to go under it for me to get to the gate.

Another detail about this gate that will be pertinent later in our story: This gate had what I call a "cheater" on it. The cheater is a lever action clamp type thing that goes around the fence post on tight gates. You hook the chain loop over the post, then flip the lever, and it pulls the gate taut. Reverse that to undo the gate...

I looked around, and realized that there was no place safe to tie him up, and I hadn't anticipated my problem, so I didn't have a lead rope on me. We used a roping rein on Blue. This is a single rein that loops around the horses neck and clips on the opposite side of his bridle. This is convenient when you rope, as you never have to worry about dropping a rein when you are trying to rope, then dally off on the saddle horn all before the calf hits the end of your rope. Not that I ever roped successfully. I never advanced beyond roping the steer head on a bale of hay, or a fence post in the corral...

But, returning to the situation at hand. I needed to get to the gate. And, Blue was having none of it. When I tried to lead him under the tree he planted his feet, rolled his eyes and started throwing his head.

I stopped and thought...

I had an idea!

I took the aforementioned roping rein that is in a continuous loop, attached to either side of the horses bit, and hooked it around the toe of my boot. I then proceeded to stretch into a balancing stick pose to flip the "cheater" on the gate.

Well, when that cheater flipped, and the gate sprung loose, Blue went berserk. He reared up and started backing up...

With his rein still around my boot. I was immediately jerked off balance and did a face plant in the thankfully sandy dirt of the gate....Then, I began to eat dirt. I was being drug backwards by my loyal mount!!

I quickly flipped onto my bottom so I at least wasn't face down...

He drug me about 20 yards and I got my foot worked loose...Then, he stopped. Sides heaving, nostrils flaring, body trembling, he looked at me like I had completely lost my mind. I got up, snatched his rein into my hand and started stroking his nose...

"It's okay, Blue. You're going to be okay. Calm down. I didn't mean to scare you. Sorry old boy," and so on. It took me a few minutes to get him calmed down. Then, we walked to the loosened gate, drug it out of our way, then he let me lead him back under the former tree of death to relatch the gate, gentle as a lamb.

Then, to my memory, we rode through the cattle, and returned to the house without further mishap.

Dumb horse.

Dumb girl for hooking the rein around my foot.

More Riding Adventures...

The kids decided they wanted to ride the horses down to "the trees." Now, "the trees" is a grove of trees a mile north of my parents...Popcorn rode in Sugar's saddle, with her freckle faced cousin riding behind. Bookworm rode in the saddle on Appy, and I rode behind. I was along to be sure the horses behaved, and to help the kids remount after they got off to continue construction of the fort in the trees.


However, my nephew decided that instead of building a fort, he should work on his mad horse riding skills. "Can I ride Sugar while they play?"

"Sure!"

I helped him back in the saddle. "Is this how I hold the reins?"

"No. Turn your hand like this, with your index threaded between."

"I can't get my feet in the stirrups."

"No problem." And, I helped him adjust the length, gave a quick and dirty reining lesson (actually, a reinforcement to make myself feel better about putting my sister's baby on a horse that tried to unseat me the day before), and sent him on his way...

As you can see in the above picture, he totally had it down.


I decided it was a great time to get a mugshot of Appy's old, gray face. I took several shots before I got him worried about the camera enough to actually look perky and hold both ears forward...

Wait a minute, how's my bronc rider doing?!


He came back at a quick trot. If that isn't the picture of a nine year old totally in control of his mount, I don't know what is! We'll not focus on the hard and fast rule, "never let your horse run to the house. She'll get barn sour."


I was so encouraged by his horsemanship, I put them all on the horses by themselves, and sent them on their way.


Yep. I was totally confident in their ability to keep things under control. I was walking behind them merely to document this moment in history. Yep, that's the only reason...

However, when they decided to ride to the pond a half mile away, I insisted they let me ride with them. NOT because I'm overprotective, but because there's the whole gate opening, remounting issue all over again.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

Family Portraits

See this picture? Let's discuss it, shall we? Okay. Look at that shirt I'm wearing. It is circa 1993. I wore it my senior year of high school during homecoming week. It was something about support your favorite professional team, or some such nonsense. Of course, being the avid sports fan that I am, I chose my team based on color. And, I had some inkling that maybe they were going to go to the Super Bowl. Or had been to the Super Bowl... I really didn't care, except it was red, and I kind of thought Joe Namath was associated, and he was a hottie. And, I don't even know if that's how you spell his name. See that jacket? It was $5 off of the clearance rack at Walmart. The horse is Appy. He is a whopping 28 years old. He has not wintered well this year. Paula and I were kind of sad to look at his old face. He has sunken areas above his eyes. He has bony hips. He slobbers when he eats. It's pretty sad. My dad got him for Paula (I think). It's kind of funny that he was intended for the shortest member of our family. He is a huge horse. The beauty there with me is Paula. She is a natural blonde. She used to think she was adopted. Because, clearly, there is nor family resemblance there. At all. Anyhoo, that natural blonde has served her well, as now Dawn and I are constantly battling our gray hair, and hers just blends in. I hate to beat a dead horse here (pardon the pun), but I sure do wish Paula would get a blog. She is a brilliant story teller, and her kids provide endless fodder for tales, if she would only share them with the blogosphere!

This is a picture of my Grandmama Dolly with my girls and my cousin Jaime's girls. Aren't they just too cute? That little one is named Jasee. She is too precious. She rode in front of me on Appy while the bigger girls took turns on Sugar. She talked nonstop. Literally. I was trying to listen to the bigger girls conversation (I love eavesdropping on kids), but would every once in a while tune in to discover we were still on the topic of her horse also named Sugar. She told me all about her horses and how her daddy never lets her ride, but apparently they don't have a good kid horse. Hmmm....I don't think we've ever had a good kid horse either. We just sort of throw them on there, cross our fingers, say a prayer, and hope it all goes well.


Look at these lovely ladies. That is my Grandmama Dolly and my mom. Obviously, they are mother and daughter. I would tell you how old Grandmama Dolly is, but she's touchy about such things. She does not believe in growing old gracefully. Grandmama gave me a love for red. We looked through old pictures at her house. I found a picture of her in turquoise Rockies and a pair of bright red Justin boots. It was taken sometime in the 90s, and she was beautiful in them. I found countless pictures of her in red dresses with red bows in her hair. She was always a pretty lady. I can remember my Granddad Pat always told her "Did you know you are the prettiest lady I know?" She would kind of laugh and tell him, "Oh, go on." But you could tell she loved it. He also used to say, "Have I told you today how much I love you?" Again, she would kind of laugh and serve him up another piece of Mrs. Smith's pie...


My beautiful cousin Jaime came out to see my mom while we were there. Isn't she gorgeous? She was always the prettiest little girl, and she is proof positive that women only become more beautiful when they hit 30. Not that she's there yet. But almost! Let's analyze this photo a bit. No, I'm not wearing makeup. I am also wearing jeans with the knees ripped out. And the left hip pocket half ripped off. And they have green paint on them. But, they are perfect for farm adventures, and I hadn't planned on being photographed when I neglected to wear makeup or wash my hair that week.

Yes. That week.


Here's an uncropped, unedited version of our pose above. You can see why I decided to crop my white knees out. Clearly, they detracted from the loveliness of our faces!



Finally, here is a cropped and edited version of a photo Studmuffin took of us at my Grandmama's house. I decided to edit out the red eye, and for some reason, I edited in a strange green rectangle on my right eye. I have no idea why it's there, but I decided to give up and post it anyway. Heaven forbid I start at ground zero.

Remember the mention of looking through photos? Well, Grandmama has a big stack of boxes of photos in her living room. They are in cute tins and decorative chests, and they are a hoot to look through. They are also sorted.

Very meticulously.

They are all in envelopes. Labeled envelopes. That say things like "Christmas 1992." Inside these labeled envelopes you will find a picture of Granddad Pat's cousin's senior picture, with a picture of my great-Granddad Richard's prize registered herford bull named "Big Boy" (I think) with a photo of Christmas in the 1970s. I know it's in the 1970s, because I am a toddler. Anyway, as you can see the filing system is uber complex, and can not be disturbed...

I was looking through one of these ultra organized stacks of photos, and I commented, "You know, all of these photos are labeled in Granddad's handwriting. How come you never labeled any?"

"Well, he had nothing else to do! All he did was sit and work crossword puzzles while I did the housework and cooked all of the meals!"

And that was true. After Granddad retired from the highway department, I fear he may have been a bit underfoot to my Grandmama, who was used to having the house to herself for the past several years...

Also, I was looking through another well filed stack of photos, and Grandmama was watching for me to come across one of her favorite photos....At last, she spotted it.

"That's a picture of your Uncle Jim Bob with his dog in the front yard. I always loved that picture."

I paused. I was unsure of what to say. At first, I thought I would simply flip past it and not say a word, but then she took it from my hand...

It was a picture of the back of a horse, with it's tail swished to the side, and a colt standing next to it...

Grandmama looked at it, started laughing and without missing a beat said, "Well, didn't you know your uncle is a horse's rear end?"

And that, Gentle Reader is where I get my gentle way of speaking!

A Good Kid Horse

We grew up on horses. I don't ever remember not riding. I remember riding all over the country as soon as I have memory. I remember teaching my friends to ride horses. They would bounce around like fish in the saddle as we progressed to trotting, and eventually galloping. I can remember their confusion over how I moved so easily with the horse, and they were being beat to death.I rode horses nearly every day that we were home. Remember Sugar? Remember how sweet and even tempered she was?

Well, it seems that Sugar has been spoiled. It seems that my dad and brother have not been riding her every single day. It seems that they think they have farm work or some such nonsense to do, and it doesn't always involve horses. Do you know what I say to that? Phooey!

Anyway, Sugar has become a little sour. It seems my brother decided to rope a calf off her the other day. Do you know what she did when he threw his lariat? She planted her front hooves and screeched to a jarring stop. He denies flying over her head. He insists that he kept his seat...

Well, the first day out at my folks I took Sugar for a ride myself. Dad rode Appy, his 28 year old appaloosa pictured below. We needed to bring the cattle in from the pasture behind my parents house to their corrals, and then we needed to sort off a few pairs to be sold.

We headed to the pasture, with my faithful dogs in tow. I'm not sure how much help they were, but they felt pretty darn important. Holly stopped every few feet to roll in some fresh cow patties. Just in case we didn't understand the importance of her position, she wanted us to be sure and see how hard she was working...

We started gradually pushing the heard from the northwest corner, up the fence to pick up a few that were near the northeast corner, then along the east fence and into the corral. Easy peasy, right? Well, in fact it was very easy. We only had one cow who was determined to break away, but she presented little problem.

The only thing that presented a problem was Sugar. She did not want to gather cattle. She did not want to be ridden. No. She wanted to hop around from side to side. When I pulled up on her reins, and said, "whoa," she decided that meant to run backwards. A cow was considering breaking away, and instead of going to head her off, Sugar decided to start throwing her head, and I had visions of the broken nose my dad sported from Appy pulling a similar stunt while he was roping a calf.

Now. I gotta say, I grew up on a spirited, temperamental appaloosa named Blue. I can't count the number of times Blue decided a piece of wire on the ground was deathly scary and he bolted. Or, he would be tied to the fence, and the wind would blow something past him, and he would go into a rearing frenzy and break his reins, the post, or whatever. No kidding. The hard and fast rule with Blue was to never ever tie him with his reins. You always had a halter on him with a HEAVY lead rope, attached to a large, very heavy post. He seriously pulled down panels that weren't secured well enough for his moments of panic. AND he cost my dad a small fortune in ruined bridles and reins from his escapades before we decided he could never be trusted to remain calm while tied.

Blue's number one redeeming quality was his desire to work. That horse loved to gather cattle. He loved to rope. He loved to run after any calf that may even consider straying...

He was an absolute dream to work on. He never gave me a bit of trouble. His work ethic actually caused my broken foot. It was the first week of summer break between my freshman and sophomore year of college. We were gathering cattle off of a field to be moved down the road about a total of three or four miles, to my folks house where we would sort them according to weight, and sell them... We had taken our horses over in a stock trailer, and my Granddad Marvin was in his pickup.

My granddad was their to honk his horn and draw the cattle to him, so that we didn't have to ride all over the field and pasture they were in to round them up...When we feed cattle, we honk the horn, so they associate a horn honk with the dinner bell. It's a pretty nifty trick.

I was pushing a group slowly toward the gate, and my dad was over pushing a group. A black baldy calf decided he didn't want to go with the flow. He broke from my group, most of which were already near the gate...Blue was immediately pleased. There was nothing he loved more than a good chase. The calf cut down the field, and eventually ended up in the bottom of a terrace, out of the sight of Dad & Granddad. We had recently had rain, and the terrace bottom was muddy and slick. The calf took a quick turn away, and Blue did the same. Only he slipped. I thought we were totally going down. My right boot hit the ground, and I kicked out of my stirrups, prepared to jump to the left, so he wouldn't land on me. Unfortunately, Blue got his feet back under him, and decided to totally freak out because I was hanging off of his left side. He pinned his ears back and took off as fast as he could. I was dangling off the left side of the saddle, trying to get my boot back in the stirrup, but not being very successful...Eventually, I lost grip, and landed with my full weight on my right foot. Blue, being the loyal mount that he was, headed for the trailer....

My granddad saw him come running, riderless, and quickly drove to my dad... He knew where he'd last seen me headed, and Dad came over and found me laying in the terrace bottom, in the mud, holding my foot in the air...

"Are you okay?"

"I think I hurt my foot." I didn't feel any pain yet. I was in shock, but I just knew I didn't dare let my foot touch the ground...

"I'm going to take your boot off."

I immediately started begging him to please leave it on. It was just fine, and it wasn't hurting yet, but I was pretty sure that if he took my boot off, it was REALLY going to hurt...

Obviously, my dad ignored me. He took my boot off, drove me to the hospital, met my mom on the way (she was working at the school as a bus driver and teacher's aide) and did the 55 mile drive in about 35 minutes, including the stop. I do remember mom trying to say we didn't need to drive that fast, as I wasn't going to die from a broken foot. Dad looked at my pitiful face in the mirror and ignored her...

It turned out I had broken the arch of my foot from the impact. The doctor said that sort of break was typically seen on men when they jump off of oil rigs or something with height.

Now. Back to Sugar, the perfect kid horse. She, unlike Blue, does not like to work. She does not like adult riders. She jumps from side to side, throws her head, and is just a general pain in the behind...
I was a tad nervous to put my girls on her. I put a lead rope on her halter when we left, just in case she acted up. (She had pulled the screeching halt thing with me when I was trying to ride the vinegar out of her after gathering cattle. I darn near lost my seat, and I wasn't leaning over her twirling a lariat. You can see why I was wondering if my brother kept his seat.)

Of course, she didn't. She never gave my kids a moment of grief.

Studmuffin says I was just over her comfortable weight limit...

He likes to live dangerously.

Bad Decisions

Hey, I just posted a comment at The Suburban Life, and had another inspiration for a blog!

Top Secret Information: I am actually typing this on Friday. Studmuffin will be here any minute, expecting me to be loaded and ready to go. Sadly, my list is not complete. I still have to do floors and bathrooms. And go to Walmart. And I remembered I need to go to the library to return some movies, and extend my checkout on a few items, as internet at my folks is sketchy.

BUT!!!

I did make a lasagna for my neighbor (not on the list), cleaned the gerbil cage (also not on the list) AND did a workout!

Yes. I am amazing. Feel free to feel insignificant.

However, none of that is the point of this post.

Before I get to the real point of this post, I must share a sad story with you. This morning our local news show wished a happy anniversary to a couple who has been married for 24 years, and never fought. Why is that sad, you ask? I find it sad that they are willing to LIE on television just to look good! For shame!

Now to the real point:

The point is that 13 years ago Studmuffin made a poor decision. And he has been paying for it ever since.

You see, I took my a family member's advice to take 287 north out of Texas to Oklahoma, instead of our usual, burning up the pavement trip up I35 to I40 and across...

We got stuck behind a cotton truck. A very slow cotton truck. One that was impossible to get around for forever, or at least 30 minutes, whichever comes first. Studmuffin was the King of Annoyed, and Righteous Indignation, that I took "stupid back roads when the interstate is always faster...."

Well, the argument went on and on and escalated to these two statements:

Me: FINE! You can pick the route from now on! But YOU will do all of the driving!
Him: GREAT!!! At least I won't pick these stupid back roads!

So. He has driven every where we go ever since.

For 13 years.

Whether it's 3 miles or 700.

He drives.

Yep. I stick to my guns....I'm sorry, but he made a very poor decision when he threw down that gauntlet...And I have happily picked it up and held it like the prize trophy that it is.

So, today he will drive. And I will read and finish my bloody quilt patch for Molly.

And all will be right with my world.

The End.

Listification

I love creating new words...

Doesn't listification have a nice ring to it?

I read Freckled Hen's latest blog, and decided to share with you my plans for the day...

I know. You are just super excited!

There is such joy in listification... You feel as if you've accomplished so much. I first fell in love with lists when I would pack for kids camp. I would list my items weeks in advance, down to what underwear, and add to it as inspiration struck. Then, when packing began, I could check off each item as I packed it! How fun!

Then, I made the grave mistake of becoming president of my school's chapter for the National Student Nurse Association. I was in nursing school. I was working. I suddenly had this big responsibility. Do you know what happens when things aren't done and you are the leader? The Dean of the School of Nursing calls you in her office to ask why it's not done. Even if you assigned the duty to someone else, if it's not done, it's your fault. BLECH! I learned to never trust any of my co-officers to do their jobs... Isn't that lovely? I also learned to live by a list.

I became so obsessive with my lists, that if I did something that wasn't on my list, I would add it, just so I could cross it off! Oh, the joy! The euphoria that comes from a completed list! Unfortunately, my list was seldom completed. Most days at least one thing would be carried over to the next day...

When I'm feeling particularly lazy, or overwhelmed, I still love to resort to the list. So, without further ado, and a picture of my bare toes, that are currently resting on the couch, and desperately need painted (I think this should be on our to-do list at Mom's this weekend, ladies!) here is today's list, so far.



Don't you agree that labeling your list as LIST, and dating it makes it more official? Me too. I'm glad our thoughts are so harmonious, Gentle Reader...



Notice my list takes up two pages. This is because I'm so incredibly Green. I'm using the back of my daughter's overdue library slip and low lunch money balance notice...

I fear my chillin's aren't on board as much as I'd hope. I think you'll see what I mean when you take a gander at these pictures taken this morning. And, these were taken at 8am. My kids have been awake since 5:30. Yep. 5:30. Apparently the little hooligans were very eager to start their spring break.


Apparently, that 5:30 wake up time is starting to catch up. Truth: They both were playing when I walked in. Bookworm was reading a book to Popcorn and her babies when I walked in. They quickly threw their toys aside and struck these poses for fear the world may know they play with babies.


Little did they know that this was in the hallway as proof of their escapades.


And these stuffies were abandoned in a very precise fashion. I know it's precise because I got scolded for moving them out of the walkway. Apparently this is a very exact arrangement, not the pile it appears to be.


Now the final bit of evidence: I told them to plug in their game systems and MP3 players to have charged for the trip. They have not even touched those games in over a month, but the reminder of their existence has brought all productivity to a halt.

I'm afraid they haven't learned the beauty of my lists. But, there is still hope. There is always hope...

Red Neckedness...

Did you know that my ice dispenser dispenses corn?

Yep. Just put your cup under my in door ice dispenser, press the button, and PRESTO!!!

Frozen corn!

WooOOOO HOOOoooo!

Another way to sneak in those pesky vegetables that are so hard to get 5 a day of...

Wait! It gets even more exciting!

The corn has freezer burn!

What. You didn't expect to get fresh frozen corn from my ice dispenser, did ya?

So. Here's how it all came about...

The refrigerator was part of the house...We decided to leave our cheap, poor energy efficiency fridge in South Texas. After all, how convenient we can leave ours behind, and not mess with moving it!!!

We move into our lovely castle, and discover that the handle is broken off for the on/off of our ice maker. Also, apparently, this fridge isn't so energy efficient itself! The ice is in the door. However, it doesn't keep it cool very well, because, when I put ice in it, the ice melts, then refreezes in a big chunk! So, even if I buy ice, I have to get an ice pick to get to it!

I decided this was a complete waste of my time, so I bought a nice stack of ice trays and a handy dandy ice bucket, which I keep in my freezer. However, now I have this big bucket of nothingness taking up space...

You know I hated to waste that space. One day when I was trying to cram my frozen veggies in my freezer, which needed cleaned out as usual, I decided to throw the bag of corn in there for the moment...

After all, I was pretty sure I'd get around to cleaning my freezer in the next few years or so...

Unfortunately, my kids had a friend over who was determined to convince my girls that the ice maker actually dispensed ice...Unfortunately, all they proved is that the ice dispenser could indeed tear a hole in a plastic corn bag....

Of course, I was slightly horrified, and decided that I simply must get that freezer cleaned out soon...

And I will...





*Someday*

But for now, you will receive not only a warm welcome from my front door...


You will get this in your glass...




Now if that ain't classy, I don't know what is!

And, yes. Apparently some peas met the same demise as the corn.

P.S. Am I the only one who occasionally struggles with blogger thinking that pictures need to be turned sideways? I even went and edited them to sideways so blogger may rotate them the right way. Oh well..

Questions I Need You to Answer

I'm running dry, people! I want to post, truly I do, but everything I think of is lame-OH! When I start to put it on paper, or lap top in this instance, it simply doesn't work.

I was inspired to share my parasailing adventures by Popcorn's fall in church...

But, other than that, I'm pretty bone dry.

Maybe I should share my sky diving adventures? Except that story isn't really funny, but it is on VHS, and it occurred to me that I can use my camera to record it as I play it on my TV. I'm pretty sure that's the best redneck solution I could come up with...

I also need you to tell me if it's okay to let Popcorn ride her razor scooter with her roller blades on if she is wearing all of her pads...She assures me it's perfectly safe, but for some strange reason, I felt concern when she did this...

I also need to know if it's okay for Studmuffin to run the rototiller. Of course this is irrelevant as he already did it. I just want a crowd of people on my side saying that running a tiller is in no way on the nonweightbearing scale...I went out there to help as soon as i realized what he was doing, but he had already done 75%, and he insisted it didn't hurt. I made him take off his ball cap for me to look at his forehead, and contrary to my suspicions, "idiot" was not written on his forehead...

Finally, I need to know why my child who is in GT (that's gifted and talented) can not remember to do her homework. Even when I ask her if she has homework, she never remembers she has homework until she is bed or about to go to bed, or we are about to go somewhere, or anytime it is completely inconvenient...

That is all I need to know for now, people. Your help in answering these questions is integral in my success not only as a blogger, but as a mother and wife...Thank you for your careful and thoughtful answering to these life altering questions...

Just a head's up: We will be leaving on Friday to go to my parent's for a week. It will be a week of horses, overeating, and letting my mom wait on me hand and foot.

It will NOT be a week of blogging...So, I will be gone for a while...

Maybe I should schedule to repost some of my classics...You know since my blog is such a classic and all...And nobody's day is complete without a word from me and all....

What you Need to Know...

First of all, you need to know that my nanny is wonderful. She is changing my life!

Today she said, "Hey, if you ever need me to do housework for you, just let me know. I mean, I'm here anyway!"

I broke out laughing, dancing, and started singing the "Hallelujah Chorus." She may have been slightly confused by my reaction...

I did tell her that while school is in, and she's only here a few hours, she needs to just focus on her school work...However, this summer, there will probably be chores to do. She was totally on board.

Next, you need to know that my mailman is stealing my mail....

I don't know why. I just know that he is.

Did you know I can go as much as 3 days without receiving a single piece of mail? Did you know I did not receive my electric bill, my phone bill, or my credit card bill at all for the month of February. I noticed they should all be coming due (thank you online bill pay), yet I hadn't received paper copies...I had to call and get my balances. I've gone to my Post Office, and they express disbelief that I don't get all of my mail...They think I overlook it.

Fact: I pay bills the day I get them. I'm afraid I'll forget to pay them if I don't, and since this is the system I've always employed, it works for us...I can't imagine I've suddenly started mislocating...

Did I just type mislocating? I mean misplacing...

I can't imagine I've suddenly started misplacing a minimum of one bill a month!

What does he do with it? Is he burying it in his back yard like that one mailman from years past, who was rebelling against junk mail?

The next thing you need to know is that I was never a good Psych nurse...

I revealed this to 3 of my male coworkers today that laughed and laughed and laughed at me...

And then they laughed some more!

"I'm sure you weren't! I bet the patients were like, 'Too much information! I wanted to share, not listen to you share!' "

"Dear Lord, I thank you for this beautiful person, and all of the personalities you've given her. I ask in your Name that you remove all but 2 of her personalities, and that those personalities will be to your glory. In Jesus Name, Amen."

"No! No! She would say, come here. I think you just need a hug..."

Obviously, these guys don't know me at all!

Some other things you need to know:

I do pray with my patients.

I do talk a lot.

I do hug my patients.

I was laughing so hard at their impersonations of me, I nearly wet my pants and spewed coffee all over myself...

Because, clearly, I can laugh at myself...

Finally, you need to know what Popcorn wrote in her journal:

My favirot famus Afrkin Amarkin is....
1. Rosa Parks
2. I think she was nice.
3. Because she saved some suff when the White house fell down.
4. At least that is what I think she done.
5. Well I like here.

WAIT!!! I have one more!

The most import peorsn in my life is...God.
1. God is.
2. Becase he is the king.
3. I love him more than enthing.
4. I will not love enthing more then him.
5. I love my mom and my dad but God is my God.

And with that, Gentle Reader, I will say: AMEN!!!

It's a Bird! It's a Plane!

When we lived in Arlington, TX, before the days of children, we had a couple in our circle of friends who had all of the toys. They had horses (covet, covet, covet) and a pond. They had an in ground pool. They had a houseboat with a professional ski boat and even "the most expensive jet-skis on the market." Did I mention covet, covet, covet?

Obviously, they were lacking for people to hang out with in our middle class, primarily apartment dwelling crowd of young married couples...

One weekend when we were at their houseboat, they decided it would be fun to get out their para-sail.


You know I was the first to volunteer, right?

They took me to a lovely rocky shore on Lake Ray Roberts. There, they strapped me in a super comfy body harness, while Studmuffin and our friend James (who was an aerospace engineer) spread out the para-sail...

Clint, the owner of all the aforementioned fabulous toys, says, "Now, Andi, when I start to take off, it's really important that you don't move until the rope is taut. When the rope is taut, you will run a few steps and then the sail will catch. Then you will soar in the air..."
At this point, his lovely bride Jenny pipes up, "You are going to LOVE it. It is so peaceful and graceful....You will feel like a bird flying through the air..."

"Okay. I'm super excited. Only, I'm a little concerned about all of these rocks. Won't they hurt my feet?" Obviously I am barefoot. Who has shoes on a houseboat?

"Don't worry, you will barely take a step, then you will be flying gently through the air..."

Now, I must interrupt the conversation I was having, to share with you the conversation that Studmuffin was having with James (remember him? He's the engineer for Bell helicopter. He's a pretty smart dude...) "Hey James, I'm not sure this is going to work. The wind is blowing towards Andi. The sail is trying to inflate the wrong direction!"

James, in all of his engineering wisdom gave an explanation of the rope pulling taut, the pulling of the sail causing it to inflate the correct direction and it will be fine... It seems to involve drag, and uplift, and downforce, and blah, blah, blah. Studmuffin continues to express doubts to anyone who will listen, but no one is in a listening mood...

Do you get the picture here? The wind is out of the south. Blowing north. I am facing north. The sail is fully inflated, only it is towards me!

I am completely oblivious to the entire conversation...

Clint wades out to his super fast professional ski boat. Jenny waves enthusiastically and gives me a big thumbs up....

Clint starts forward...The rope loses it's slack...

I force myself to exhibit patience and wait for the boat to start pulling me forward where I will take a few steps then magically float into a world of rainbows and sunshine...

I take a few steps...

I take a few steps faster....

And faster...

I am now in the water, trying to run as the boat continues to gain speed....

I am now up to my knees, and unable to keep up with a speed boat...

I fall...

I am being dragged....

My husband is on the shore FREAKING OUT because I am bouncing across the lake like a skipping stone, with a giant trail of mud floating in the water behind me...

I am still being dragged....

I can't breathe, because the water is flying in my face, and up my nose, and I can't see, and I'm starting to wonder when the graceful soaring is going to occur, and if Clint is really secretly planning to drag me to my death...

I roll over to take a breath...

The boat comes to an abrupt stop...

"Andi! You rolled over and tangled up the lines! The sail was just about to inflate!"

I am in total disbelief...

I stood up and said, "Hey, Jenny! I didn't feel like a bird! I didn't feel like I was soaring gracefully in the air! I pretty much felt like a stone being skipped across the lake!"

And do you know what Jenny said to the other couples with us?

"Thank God that happened to Andi. Anybody else would have been furious!"

So.

We got back in the boat. We folded up the sail.

And we drove to the opposite side of the lake to try it all over again.

Because, really, I'm already in the harness. My knees are already bloodied from being drug through the rocks. My crotch is already rubbed raw from the harness rubbing the inside of my thighs...And this shore is perfect!

It's sandy! And, the wind is blowing the opposite direction of where we are taking off, so the sail is actually trying to lift me off of the ground before Clint has even gotten back in his boat...Everyone is smiling and waving and cheering me on for my idiocy...I mean BRAVERY...

Clint gets in the boat.

He starts the motor, and puts the boat in gear....

I panic and begin to run as hard as my legs will carry me so the rope will never pull tight, and I will never be drug again...

Remember, this is a speed boat, right? Clint, the dearest friend in the entire world, sees my panic and immediately throws the throttle forward...

My body was jerked into a bow shape, something like a back bend, only it is occurring as I run across the blissfully sandy beach...I took maybe 2 more steps on the blissfully sandy shore before....

I took off flying in the air! It was amazing! It was beautiful! I was high up in the sky, just sailing away!

Unfortunately after several minutes my turn was up. It seems that since everyone saw that in fact I was not going to be drug to death, they too wanted a chance to experience sailing in the air...

Clint begins to slow the boat down...

I have a sudden thought...

How do I get down? How is this going to work? Nobody told me what to expect when it was time to land? Will it hurt? Will I get a giant water wedgie? Will the sail land on top of me, pressing me into the water, where I will get hopelessly tangled in the lines, be trapped and die a horrible death? Is this in fact the real way Clint is planning to kill me? Why is Clint so intent on killing me this trip?

Luckily, the landing was very gentle. The sail dropped into the water behind me, and I lived to tell this tale to you...

Aren't you glad?