and yet he loves me

This post began when I answered one of those silly facebook quizzes. If you want to know how girly I am, I am 0% girly--totally tom boy! I made some cheesy comment about needing to pass gas and scratch myself to show what I thought of those results. My husband, who may possibly have made comments previously about my sometimes passing gas (topic #782 I never thought I'd write about. . .), just had to say something smarty. I may or may not have had to respond with something smarty, and he may or may not have been in trouble for the rest of the night.

Enter the next day, where we are driving home from church. In Arkansas, we have horseflies. (You may call them something else. . .) Horseflies bite. They are especially keen on biting horses (hence the name, I guess). Considering I spent a lot of time horseback growing up, I had to learn to handle horseflies. Many people just swat them, but that can be dangerous. Horses don't like horseflies (They hurt when they bite.), so they can get jumpy when the horseflies are around. Imagine hitting a horse that's already jumpy. It's not always a good idea.

Therefore, my dad has always ripped the heads off the horseflies. When I was little, I would catch them, and he would kill them for me. When I got older, I had to do the ripping myself. My husband thinks this is the grossest, most disgusting thing I've ever done. Even worse than the flatulence issue. . .You know, growing up, you don't know that things are weird. You just do as you're taught. I blame my parents for all my weirdness. . .so far, I think that's valid.

(And yes, my dad is doing better.)

mi vida loca, round 582

Posting shall be sporadic this week and possibly the beginning of next week. (OK, you got me, smarty pants. Read that last sentence: Posting shall be more sporadic than usual.)

My dad is in the hospital. A few weeks ago, he broke some ribs. He's been in a lot of pain, but otherwise, he'd been improving daily. Then, on Tuesday, he developed blood clots in his leg and lungs. Pretty serious stuff. As of yesterday pm, he is in a regular room. He is breathing better. He is getting better.

I shall now leave you with my list of what we've learned from this medical crisis/experience. (I totally feel like I'm "spinning" this to my kids. . ."Papa is sick. He's at the hospital, and they're going to make him alright.")

Top 12 things you learn in a medical crisis

1. You never want your mom to call and say, "your dad is not doing well. Can you come to the ER now?"
2. Hospitals work on their own time frame. This means it takes hours for a procedure/discharge/transfer, etc., but do not think this means you can eat or visit during random times. . .
3. No matter how many times you explain to your father what you do for a living, your dad will mess it up when he tells someone. . .but he'll do it proudly!
4. There is no comfortable place to sleep in a hospital. . .
5. but eventually, you'll look longingly at the hospital bed that your family member is resting (uncomfortably) in.
6. Getting to speak with a doctor is like winning the lottery.
7. Hospitals are noisy--even if it's just the internal ramblings tumbling through your mind at 3 am.
8. EVERYONE calls when you're in a hospital, and you do not have a phone charger.
9. No matter how many times you tell the staff that he's hard of hearing, they will talk softly and have to repeat everything.
10. My father can find out more about someone (and less about his medical condition!) in 3 minutes than most people. (Case in point: His doctor grew up in Osceola, and he could throw a rock from his house to the river growing up. . .)
11. If you wear scrubs, you will get a discount--no questions asked.
12. Words can never express an appropriate level of gratitude for the thoughts and prayers from friends, family, and strangers.

THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR PRAYERS!

tv. . . or the lack of it

We don't have a satellite or cable at our house. We have the old "rabbit ears" antenna that sits on our little 23" or so tv. Therefore, we've been without tv for a week or so now. Our two tv channels went digital with everyone else's, and we were left watching dvd reruns. It was fun to rewatch some of our old favorite movies, but there's only so many times a person can watch Indiana Jones, ya know?

Last night, I finally went to buy our digital converter box that the government has been peddling for eighteen months or so. (I'm still peeved that I had to buy it. . .) Now, we get three educational channels, ABC, and the CW. Kady and Kyler are thrilled at one of the educational channels, because it plays nothing but shows for kids. As Kyler said, "Cool! We get the Cartoon Network now!" I may be stunting my children's worldly knowledge, but that's not such a bad thing, right?

a girl (at any age) is a girl

The following exchange happened this morning at our house and is typical of just another day in paradise.

Kyler: Mom, can Kady wear these shoes? Do they actually fit her?
Me: Yes, they do.
Kyler: You mean, her foot is actually this big?
Me: Yes, babe, she's growing up.
Kady: MY FEET NO BIG, KYLER!

I'm sharing

Privacy and disclosure is something I think we all struggle with when sharing information. There are some things I am an open book on. For instance, my quasi-failures as a mom are always blogging material. I know that I do my best as a mom. I may not be the best. I may not even be good at the whole parenting thing, but I'm willing to share my foibles with the understanding that I'm trying and learning. . .constantly.


There are some things that I'm willing to share some info on, but I'm not sure you're getting the whole picture. I've mentioned I am a horrible housekeeper. I'm not sure you understand the depths to which I sink in this area, but I'm not willing to, you know, show pictures of my inadequacy.

Other things, I tend to keep to myself. We all have headaches. This blog is not my moan and groan session. It's not meant to be my "poor, little, pitiful me" platform. Therefore, I often keep bad stuff off here. (Trust me, I do.) Until today.

Here's the brief rundown. My mom has been getting over pneumonia. She's still sick, but apparently, she is getting better. (I'm ready for her to be well, and she's not there yet.) Friday night, my dad fell. He didn't go to the emergency room until Sunday night, when they diagnosed broken ribs and a punctured lung (less than 25%) and sent him home. He returns to the doctor today, so please pray he is doing well and getting better.

Kyler has been helping take care of my father. He returned to the babysitter today. When asked if he was tired of "babysitting" Papa, Kyler said, "Yes, he's always wanting a glass of water or the phone or something!" Ah, the responsibility threshold of an 8 year old!

We can read!

A wondrous thing happened this weekend. We went to church on Sunday--which is a wondrous thing, in and of itself, but that is not what this blog post is about. We were driving along and Kady asked Kev to read a book to her. Since he was driving and not as adept at multitasking as Mom (I jest--mostly), he felt it would be safer for Kyler to read the book. Kyler read the book aloud to his sister while we were driving down the road. A pretty ordinary thing perhaps. An everyday occurrence, some might say. A wondrous, magical thing if you thought it would never happen.

If you've been around here awhile, you might remember THIS post. In it, I detailed finding out that my son basically could not read. . .at least not well enough. I am so happy and proud to say that he is reading 4th grade books the summer before he enters 3rd grade. He made tremendous progress this year (with the help of The-Best-Teacher-in-the-Whole-Wide-World) and now (sometimes) enjoys reading! This is our answer to prayer. God is good.

If a tree runs a 5k. . .

I did it. I ran my first 5k last weekend. Ok, I had to walk part of it, but I'm still happy. I beat my personal best time! I did it! Truthfully, it was kinda fun. In fact, [gulp] I'm going to do another one. I want to be able to run an entire 5k, so I'm going to keep training. (I know. I think I need medication for this whole "temporary insanity" thing I've got going on! It seems to keep happening. . .)

Here's the really crazy thing. You can look up all of the runners and their times on this website. Except I'm NOT there. . .so does that mean that I didn't run or that I didn't finish or that it doesn't count or. . .I think the answer to this could save the age-old question about the tree falling in the forest thingy or at least a similar "does the race count if no one records it" question. So, what do you think?

In want of change. . .

You know how you put your dollar in the change machine at the car wash, etc., and you get out quarters? Those things hate me. Seriously. I used to believe it wasn't me. I thought I just had funny money. (Not THAT kind of funny money!) I thought that keeping my money wadded up made me the enemy of the change machine, but I refused to believe it was personal.

[sigh]

Then, I started noticing things. Someone else, anyone else really, could use my dollar easily. The machine didn't care about the dollar--it was the holder of the money. Those machines could sense my fear of them. They KNEW it was my money. They knew that I needed those quarters, and they knew that I wasn't going to get them. It became a battle, a war. It was a losing war, but one that I refused to surrender. I tried every trick in the book. (Everyone had a tip for me. . .fold it this way, hold it this way, turn it this way. . .) It was hopeless.

Except. . .

You know how I hate going to the Blue Monster? I still do. Except, I've noticed something. I can tell you that the Blue Monster's self-checkout lines do NOT discriminate. Regardless of my dislike of the Blue Monster, he has no qualms about taking my money. . .unlike his uppity car wash friends.

Rednecks R Us Returns and Offers Tidbits

Remember my impulsive decision to RUN a 5K?! Well, tomorrow is the day. I pray I survive. I am disappointed. Weird, nagging shin splints forced me backwards for awhile, so I am not where I want to be. I will NOT be able to run the whole race; I'll have to run/walk it. I'm trying to stay positive, so last night, Kady and I had fun mother-daughter time, where we treated ourselves to pedicures (and manicures, in her case). You know, a toddler can be very persuasive. She kept telling me she would make my toes pretty. She said I would "lub" it.

She's right. I do. I absolutely "lub" my fuchsia pink toes. She had to go over the toes a few times to get the spots she missed. That's right. Toes. Not toenails. (I'm not sure the picture from my phone does it justice. . .)

In other news, you know you are a redneck who lives in Arkansas, when your toddler tells you she has a tick in her ear. . .and then pulls out a white piece of wax. Eeewwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND! See you Monday!

(Does anyone else think fuchsia is spelled incorrectly? It looks SO wrong, but spell check can't be wrong--can it?)

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, to the River We Go

Hello, all. I have unenthusiastically joined the world of the working again. . .[blech] I'll do my best to fill you in on all the fun we had on our mini-vacation, but the paying gig might slow things down a bit. (I know you're all on the edge of your seat, so I'll do my best to keep you informed.) : )

Kevin and I have always enjoyed outdoorsy stuff. I grew up on horses. He grew up running wild on the creek near his house. . .and then there's all that hunting and fishing stuff he enjoys. When we started dating in high school, we just kinda fell into floating (literally). It was fun and we both enjoyed it. We'd grab a canoe, an ice chest, a bit of sandwich stuff, and in those days, beer, and head out. The motto was something like, "If you don't tip, it ain't fun."

Things have changed since then. Now, days on the river number 2 on a good year. . .Two days of packing later, we had enough supplies, clothes, and food for the two big people, Kyler, and Kevin's dog, Maddie. (Kady is still too little, so she spent the weekend with MooMoo.) The beer is long gone, and tipping the canoe is no longer fun.

Once upon a time, Kevin had his own canoe. The canoe had an unfortunate run-in with a fence post during a storm, so we were to borrow Kevin's brother's canoe. This is where it gets confusing. Kevin's brother had loaned it to his brother-in-law, who had managed to knock a hole in that canoe. The word we got was that it was patched and ready for us to go get it at the brother-in-law's house, except that when Kevin called, it wasn't. It still had a hole and the brother-in-law wanted to know how early we were coming to get the canoe on Saturday. Um, we needed to be on the river Saturday; we wanted to get the canoe Friday. All that to tell you that we hit the river with the canoe the brother-in-law borrowed from "Heath." We're not sure who Heath is or even if he knew we were borrowing the canoe. Luckily, we didn't sink the canoe, and no sheriff's deputies awaited Kevin when he returned the canoe.

We headed out EARLY Saturday morning looking for a campsite. This family doesn't do early well, but we were excited. All of the campsites on the upper Buffalo are first-come-first-served, so there was no way to reserve a campsite. This had me more than a little nervous. I just knew I would have to load everything back up and carry it home--especially after the first campground was full. I spent a good 30 minutes trying to be very zen-like. I kept telling myself that it would all be ok. God has a plan, and all would work out according to His plan.

We got a campsite. It was the last available site at Erbie. All was well with the world, and God was good. (God IS good, but you get my point.) Anyway, Saturday at 10:30 or so, we finally hit the river. That post is filled with pics (and much shorter) and will (hopefully) appear tomorrow.

gimme a minute. . .or a day. . .

Hello, all. We're back from a wonderful mini-vacation of camping and floating on the Buffalo River for our anniversary. Thank you to everyone who wished us a happy anniversary! It may take me a day or two, but I have pictures and stories to share. (I was never very good at Show and Tell. . .They always expected you to tell only one thing and keep it short. . .) Anyway, I can tell you that a shower has never felt more wonderful or a bed more comfortable, but I'd do it all again if I could. Unfortunately, work beckons. . .[sigh]

There has never been a more appropriate card. . .

than this one I picked out for Kevin.

and inside. . .

Unfortunately, I'm the clingy one. . .Happy anniversary to us!

reminiscing and getting all me-motional with you

Today is the last day of school. My son has the entire summer stretching before him. Unlike some of you SAHM's, I'm torn by this milestone each year. This is when the working-mom guilt hits full force. This is when you feel the full weight of relying on someone else to care for your child. This is when you realize that you're missing very important moments of their lives. . .daily.

This year, I am excited and sad about school ending. I know the summer will go too fast, and there will never be enough time to spend with him. Kyler moves up to the upper elementary building next year. My baby boy is no longer a baby. The baby I used to hold has matured into the young man that I admire. He is the young man that thinks of others. He is the young man that does nothing halfway. He is the young man that loves life. . .each and every day of it. He is the young man that has many, many friends. He is the young man that I will let choose my nursing home, knowing that it's entirely possible he'll choose someplace that allows bungee jumping.

The next time I enter the k-2 building, Kady will start kindergarten. And that. . .that scares the crap out of me.

techno geek

My loving husband and his burly brother were home this weekend. It turns out that no matter what happens with my husband's current job, he shall never (and by that, I mean NEVER, EVER) have a job in technology. Kevin asked me to explain twitter to him, because he heard it mentioned on tv. Twitter segued into facebook into myspace and into skype. At one point, Kevin asked me when I would start speaking English again. To be fair, this is the same man that used to make me program his alarm clock. . .Techie, he ain't.

In fact, our gender roles are somewhat reversed in this matter. I'm the one programming the dvd player and hooking up the tv and using the computer and. . .I have always been into gadgets. I enjoy technology. . .even if I don't always "get it". I enjoy being a bit of a techno geek.

Kelly, Kevin's brother, just purchased a new cell phone for his tween daughter. It has a slide-out keyboard. Kelly was impressed and wanted to know if you could actually type letters on the phone. When told by his daughter that he could "text message" on the phone, Kelly asked if that was the same as typing a letter to someone. When shown an iPhone and several exciting (albeit useless) applications, Kelly was confused. He thought an iPhone was a, um, phone. . .

This coming weekend, we are hoping to float the Buffalo River (for our 11th anniversary!). Now, that's something my husband knows about! Just don't ask him to post pictures on facebook or update his status or send you a tweet or. . .well, anything that involves technology.

And if you use twitter, look me up. I'm the pitiful one with only 8 followers! : )

Families, Funerals, and Buffalo Herds

Families...well, I think it's at least obvious that most of us don't choose ours. Most of you are aware that I went to a funeral last week. I went with my hard-of-hearing mom and my all-but-deaf father. If it had not been a somber affair, their behavior would have been enough to make me laugh. Instead, I was transported back to my teenage years--you know, the "embarrassed by your parents" years.

My cousin, Theresa sat 2 rows in front of us. At least, my mom was sure that's who that was. In a loud stage whisper, she kept saying, "Theresa, Theresa, Theresa!" this went on several times before she leaned over to me and said, " you know, Theresa is deaf in one ear. I bet it's this ear." Gee, um, ya think?

My dad leaned over frequently and said things like, "who's that man in the blue shirt?" I'm surprised the man in the blue shirt didn't answer--I know he heard him...

The only thing distracting me from my parents (thank goodness there was something!) was the funeral etiquette of some of these (mostly unknown to me) people. While I feel that jeans and ratty t-shirts are questionable funeral attire, I respect the individual right to wear what you choose. I am sure the actual attendance was what was important, and if you choose to attend my funeral adorned in t-shirts or even clown suits that will be fine with me.

However, if you frequently get up and down and go in and out at my funeral, I WILL come back and haunt you. There is no excuse for disruptive behavior--outside of a medical one, and if that applies, you should make yourself as inconspicuous as possible (sit in the back, be quiet entering and exiting, etc.). There were times my rogue herd of buffalo would have been less distracting!

Consider yourself warned...and if you forget, my dad will remind you...loudly. : )