Sometimes being a responsible adult is not all it's cracked up to be. . .There are very distinct divisions of labor in my household--despite the fact that my husband is away from home frequently. These divisions are especially apparent when it comes to rodent and pest removal. Kev is responsible for the absolute destruction of all snakes and mice--especially the mice. I hate those blasted things. I, on the other hand, am responsible for the removal of all creepy crawly spiders.
These divisions became rock solid a few years ago. Kev, who had never been a friend of spiders, was bitten a few years ago by a brown recluse. He sought quick medical attention due to the fact that one of his coworkers was, at that time, recovering with a wound vac on his back side to heal his spider bite. (That can leave a big impression on even a macho man. . .) Kev recovered fairly quickly, but he still has a round scar on his leg. I, on the other hand, do not mind the eight-legged creatures. Sure, I would prefer the poisonous ones stay out of my house, but most of the time, I catch and release the little buggers.
This weekend, we made a quick trip to Branson. Arriving at our destination, I looked up and noticed a "dead" spider near my window. I attempted to brush the poor little guy out, when he decided to wake up. And JUMP. The nasty little creepy crawler jumped on my leg and started crawling up my pants, while I was shooing him frantically off my leg. He kept going, and I started to panic. . .you know, not wanting to have a wound vac attached to my crotch and all. . .Finally, I unbuckled my seat belt and jumped out of the car like the Boogie Man himself was about to get me. . .to find several vacationers watching the speedy exit of one pleasantly plump blond from a dirty SUV.
I'm turning over a new leaf. My new motto? A dead spider is a good spider. Dang Charlotte's Web. . .
Hubs rented a storage unit while we attempt to downsize in hopeful anticipation of putting our house on the market. (I think I'm the Queen of Clutter. . .) Anyway, I was worried I wouldn't be able to remember which unit was ours. . .until he told me the number. It's the same age I've been for the past 4 1/2 years! As long as I don't age, I should have no trouble remembering our storage unit!
So, I know I promised this a few, um, days weeks ago, so here goes for anyone still hanging around. . .
Background: Kevin was working in Shreveport. I went to visit, and Kev encouraged me to go shopping. . .My first stop was Cavendar's Western Wear, where I planned to purchase a pair of boots (I last purchased boots when I was 15. . .), a pair of jeans, and maybe a nice shirt to wear out that night.
The Cavendar's employee approached me just as I managed to knock over a display of boots. (Oh, yes I did!) The employee shall henceforth be referred to as CG (Cavendar's Girl). CG asked if I needed any help. Considering the last time I purchased boots and jeans, I was essentially a small person lighter, I thought another opinion might be helpful. After picking up the boot boxes and deciding on a pair to buy, CG asked what size jeans I wear. I answered xy.*
Her response?
"Oh, I don't think so. You don't look like an xy to me. You look smaller."
Although I appreciated her improvement as to my physical size and shape, I assured her I was, in fact, an xy. . .
so she brought me a size xu to try on. . .
and I couldn't get it past my knees.
She tried again with a size xx,
which was, of course, too small.
So, she finally returned with a size xy,
which was also too small. . .
To which she responded,
"OK, now you're my personal mission, and I will find you a pair of jeans that fits!"
And she did. . .
after approximately 45 minutes and untold pairs of jeans. I'm extremely satisfied with the fit of the jeans she sold me, and you can't argue with the personalized service; however, when a pleasantly plump woman announces she's a size xy, you should never, ever doubt that she's at least that size. . .
*and you're crazy if you think I would allow my size to be posted on the internet. . . : )
Only I could get stopped for speeding in the middle of our small town.
Only I could get stopped for speeding in the middle of our small town on the way to take Kyler to school.
Only I could get stopped for speeding in the middle of our small town on the way to take Kyler to school on the very day that we're running late.
Only I could get stopped for speeding in the middle of our small town on the way to take Kyler to school on the very day that we're running late AND Kyler has his class field trip.
[sigh]
Yes, I am THAT mom. . .
*The very nice policeman gave me a verbal warning to slow down. This was far better than Kyler's fear of me getting a ticket for $7,000 and not being able to pay it. . .apparently, speeding tickets are costly in Paradise--who knew?!
By my calculation, I've had 11 prior posts dealing with deer. (From, the "oops, I hit a deer" post to the "what's he got on his hands" post to the yep, that's our very own deer head in that picture post to the post where I try to make use sound LESS redneck but actually do the opposite, deer are everywhere. . .) Thus, I'm in the dangerous position of labelling myself a redneck once and forever by writing this post. Stay focused, however, and let's lay blame where it's truly due: Bethany. It's all her fault. In THIS post from yesterday, she asked readers to detail what grosses them out. It just so happened that I was having one of THOSE days. . .
I walked in the door at work to our new therapist and a patient asking me if I noticed the dead deer in the parking lot. Yep. You read that right. I looked out the window, and sure enough, there was a dead deer that had presumably been hit by a car and collapsed, blocking the main (but obviously not the one that I use) exit. Knowing that most of our patients are elderly and of the questionable driver persuasion, I knew Dead Bambi had to be moved. . .and quickly.
The Boss Lady, who gets paid to deal with such nonsense, was at a meeting. Not knowing exactly who to call to come pick up Dead Bambi, I asked the new therapist (henceforth known as New Girl) to help me move Dead Bambi. We donned latex gloves and proceeded to the parking lot. Since I was pretty sure New Girl had not dealt with dragging dead deer thus far in her professional (or private) life, I wasn't sure how she'd handle it. I took the front legs, assuming it was the heaviest end, she took the back legs, and we heaved Dead Bambi into the ditch.
Later, I watched a 3 year-old scratch poop off his unwiped bottom and had another kiddo with a perpetual runny nose wipe said nose across my shirt from shoulder to shoulder. I figure those things are par for the course when you're a speech-language pathologist (or in any career dealing with healthcare and/or children, actually); however, no one ever told use we'd drag dead deer off the parking lot when I went to graduate school. . .As for New Girl, she handled Dead Bambi like she'd been dragging deer all her life. In fact, we're considering partnering for the annual Dead Deer Dragging Days held in Redneckville every deer season. . .We might even give up our amateur status to go pro. . .
Kyler is my ear child. He would be a perfectly healthy child except for those darn ears of his. The child has had multiple sets of PE tubes, a tonsillectomy, an adenoidectomy, and even a frenectomy (He was tongue-tied.). We spent New Year's Eve getting another set of tubes placed. If you'll recall, I'm a speech-language pathologist, so I was familiar with this physician outside of being my son's doctor. Kevin and I both went.
OK. Now that I've set the stage. . .
The doctor comes in and introduces himself to Kev (who had never met him). The doctor then procedes to tell us what they (himself adn his wife) will be doing to ring in the new year. The doctor, whom we saw at his main office also has an office/home in Paradise, which he made reference to. In response, I announced, "I WONDERED what you were doing."
I really hadn't. . .
But at that point, it was more uncomforable to correct myself.
The doctor once again mentioned Paradise, stating that he would be driving there when he finished up with Kyler. Kevin, being the completely-friendly-but-total-smart-aleck that he is, said, "You could just ride with us," which was never intended as an actual solicitation. . .I mean, we were in the "big city," with specific shopping needs ahead of us. We were not missing this opportunity.
The doctor was very quiet for a L O N G moment before replying, "Um, thanks, but I'll just drive myself."
As the awkwardness died away (i.e., The doctor left the room.), Kev and I had one thought: Our first restraining order was approaching.
Parents. . .you just can't take them out in public.
So, these days I'm a long ways from skinny, but I have managed to get in better shape, build some muscle, and lose some weight (18 pounds and quite a few inches...) by working out and going to a trainer. As I'm working out on Friday, a co-worker comes walking through the area. . .
She: Oh, you're still working out?
Me: Yeah. [sweating and lunging and talking simultaneously]
She: Huh. So, you must think it's working, huh?
Me: Yeah, I guess so. [laughing]
Life's kicking my rear these days. In an attempt to regain some control, I've decided to simplify my life. After much thought, these are the things bringing me stress, so I've decided to get rid of a few of them in order to live a stress-free life.
In an effort to be completely new and unlike anyone else, I'll update you on what's going on in my life. Mom and Dad are getting older. You've read how Dad gave us quite a scare a few weeks ago. (It turns out it was his birthday that week, and he was feeling a little overlooked. Just kidding, but he did spend his birthday in the hospital's cardiac care unit. . .blech.) Mom and Dad have a farm. They have cattle and horses. Dad is looking to sell the cattle, but he will probably keep a few horses. My brother has been doing most of the farm work over the last couple of years. He's fairly newly married (about 2 years) with a fairly new job and will soon have 2 kiddos to chase after. He's busy with his own life, and I'm not sure how long he'll live near our parents.
Enter me.
Kevin, the kids, and I went to Mom and Dad's last weekend. We picked out a place to BUILD OUR HOUSE!! We are absolutely, positively, completely in LOVE with fifty acres to the north and west of my parents. I'm so excited, but unfortunately, I'm jumping the gun a little. First, we have to sell our house. Then, we have to get all of our ducks in a row. Finally in eighteen (!) months or so, we'll get to build. . . Kevin would be embarrassed if he even knew I was already blogging about this. (Luckily, he doesn't read my blog. . .)
Now, I'll be near enough to Mom and Dad to help out. I can be there if they need me. It's going to be much easier than driving 30 minutes from work to their house and then an hour from their house to my house. We will be far enough to give each other some privacy, but I hope they're looking forward to this as much as I am!!
That's all folks. No pictures (yet). No floor plans yet. No house on the market, even. Let's all pray that everything moves quickly, or I'm going to be a nervous wreck!!
If you follow Queen B (and who doesn't?!), you know she's currently building a house. Let's keep this copy cat post to ourselves, shall we?
I sit here eating a white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookie. Don't laugh. The truth is, I've lost 18 pounds so far. Numerous inches have also banished themselves from my waist and thighs. I am thrilled. Kevin is thrilled simply because I'm thrilled. (He says he couldn't care less what I weigh. . .) I told him when I started this that I needed a big incentive to lose this weight. He came through. He has agreed to take me on a cruise (his idea of torture) if I get to my goal weight. I have 12 pounds to go. You read that right. 12 pounds. I can totally do this, right?! So, ideas, suggestions are welcome (and keep me motivated). Give me cruise ideas, hints, tips, etc., please. Oh, and Kevin claims he'll get a spray-on tan when we go. Don't worry, that's definitely blog-worthy! : )
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.
Apparently, it's not safe for this adult to drive three hours in a car with two young children without another adult present. It had been a long week. A reeaaalllyyy long week. We were late heading out. I spent three hours in the car. The kids were tired and fussy. (You know this is going to be bad, don't you?)
My boss and I had discussed the local "boot camp" class that was beginning soon. We weren't going to be attending, but we had discussed it. Somewhere along mile 80 or 90, I decided that I really needed to lose the weight. Folks, we're talking a lot of weight. Somewhere along the Highway of Delusion, I decided what I really needed was a goal--a fun, difficult goal that I would be proud of. . .so I decided to enter a 5k in June. (I warned you.)
Afraid that I would want to back out tomorrow (proof that there was some rational thought. . .), I called my boss. She said it would be great, but she would be at Disney World that week in June. (I know--likely story. . .) I called my teacher friend. She told me I was delusional and nuts. She said she might attempt the one mile run. . .but she would have to think about it. I then called my 6 foot tall, 80 pound sister-in-law, who used to routinely run those things. SHE'S PUMPED. She can't wait to begin "our" training. It seems she's not really been training since having the baby. . .She knows I can do this. (Proof that she's delusional as well.)
Kevin, to his credit, did not laugh. He said he thought I could do it, if I really work hard. That was the really nice way of saying, "ain't no way. . ."
I called all those people back on Saturday and told them about the insane dream I had. . .They weren't buying it. It looks like I'll be attempting suicide by exercise in the next few weeks. On the positive side, it should make for humorous reading. . .even if it is short-lived.
Major decisions coming my way. Don't know what's going to happen. . .Like always, I'm trying to just give it to God and not worry. Like always, I find myself taking it back and worrying over it. I seriously need to just LET IT GO. I know God doesn't need my help. He can handle all things. . .so my little problems are no trouble for Him. He always has a plan. He always knows what's best. He can "fix" my worries and problems in ways I couldn't even think of. I need to step back and [gulp] give it to Him and [double gulp] NOT worry.
This seriously is a trust issue. It's as if I don't trust God to do all things and be all things in my life. I have to have control. That's wrong. I know it's wrong, and yet, I find myself doing it over and over and over. . .
Do other people have this same problem? How do you cope?
Before you think I've lost my mind with that title, let me explain. Tomorrow is my birthday. I'm trying 27 again, because 27 wasn't such a bad year. (Plus, I've temporarily misplaced my birth certificate, so I can be any age I want to be, right?) I never make and thus, never keep resolutions in January.
Several things have been on my mind in the last few weeks. These are things I feel I need to change about ME. Things I haven't been doing or things not done as fully as they should be. Hopefully, I'll be more accoutable to y'all than if I kept them to myself. Here goes.
Comments? You know comments make me happy, people!
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