Monte and I are in Las Vegas. You may not know it, but we are a pair of Midwestern Christians who like our sleep, would rather stay in, who rarely if ever drink, and are too tight fisted to gamble. Also, we don't do a lot of "laying by a pool" since we both get too antsy without a book or free Internet access. So what are we doing in Vegas, for a whole week?
EATing!
We've had surf and turf, pub food, burgers on the strip, buffets and so on. We ate like kings.
But the truth is, the longer I'm here, the more I miss home. Even the food at home. Even the food located AT my home. Because nothing here can ever hold a deliciousness candle to my favorites back home. They're my favorites for a reason.
You gotta leave to remember what you love about where you live. At least I do.
And I miss the kids. Really.
Be home soon. Keep the chips and salsa fresh for me.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
Fun with fruit
There are three things this photo taught me.
1. pinterest.com is a cool place to find silly stuff!
2. There's a Watermelon Advisory Board. Seriously. Move over, Got Milk people.
3. You can make this. Click here to see how.
1. pinterest.com is a cool place to find silly stuff!
2. There's a Watermelon Advisory Board. Seriously. Move over, Got Milk people.
3. You can make this. Click here to see how.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Up in the Air
Monte's work is sending him to Las Vegas in April, and I'm going with him. It will be one full week without the kids, in warm sunny Las Vegas in a hotel off the strip (that's a plus for me) and because he is attending a seminar, my days will be my own. I can do anything or nothing, as I please, and then at night I can spend time with my husband seeing the town. Or not, as we please. The description of this vacation, if I can spill SAHM secrets, is every wife and mother's dream. Really. No kids, part time husband, and an on demand pool? Think of it. I can watch anything I want on TV. Throw in a little shopping or something done at the spa, and there isn't anything a human female with children and a husband would not do to go on a vacation like this.
There's just one problem.
I have, over the last decade or so, developed a very real fear of flying. Not just a fear, but a gripping dread where I imagine this giant steel horizontal skyscraper falling out of the sky on a daily basis leading up to the actual event. There are several reasons for my relatively new phobia. 1. A little over 11 years ago, I became a mother. Suddenly, dying was a bigger deal, because I had this little baby bird to protect and partially ruin as I clumsily attempted to raise it. 2. The plane, as I have mentioned, is bigger than some homes I've seen, and made of some really heavy stuff. Like metal. Then, it's filled with fat lazy Americans and their ridiculous luggage who won't even be fully on board before they demand snacks, so a bunch of those are packed on as well. I'm just saying, an object that weighs the same as the Statue of Liberty really shouldn't remain airborne. She doesn't. And don't get me started on the laws of aerodynamics, because I have the law of gravity on my side, and basically, my law beats the crap out of whatever you throw at it. Or drop on it.
I know worry doesn't change the outcome of an event, and only compromises the health and well being of the worrier, but it just seems like I'm the only one who has noticed planes are flying coffins of death. Monte says car crashes occur everyday, but it doesn't stop me from loading up in my van and heading off to spend a bunch of money at Sam's. And he's right. On both counts. And perhaps if I flew everyday, and I had to fly or not shop at Sam's, I would become desensitized to the obvious risk of being up in the sky with no ground under me. Logic dictates that I must be more afraid of planes than cars, even though the risks are similar, because I only get on them once every couple of years or so. And even though I feel this way, it hasn't stopped me from buying my ticket or visiting other "plane only" destinations over the years. Really, all it does is make the three weeks leading up to the trip, psychologically draining. But I'd like to say one thing in my defense. If I die driving my car, it's because I screwed up. Who is this guy in a white faux military shirt working on six hours of sleep and eight cups of coffee, anyway? And how do I know the mechanic working on my plane isn't going through a painful divorce and has lost his attention to detail or will to do a good job? And what about the parts manufacturer? I mean really!!
Crap, that reminds me, I have got to update my Will, which should probably reflect all the children and debt I currently have, and make sure I still like the people I leave them, and it, to.
Details details.
There's just one problem.
I have, over the last decade or so, developed a very real fear of flying. Not just a fear, but a gripping dread where I imagine this giant steel horizontal skyscraper falling out of the sky on a daily basis leading up to the actual event. There are several reasons for my relatively new phobia. 1. A little over 11 years ago, I became a mother. Suddenly, dying was a bigger deal, because I had this little baby bird to protect and partially ruin as I clumsily attempted to raise it. 2. The plane, as I have mentioned, is bigger than some homes I've seen, and made of some really heavy stuff. Like metal. Then, it's filled with fat lazy Americans and their ridiculous luggage who won't even be fully on board before they demand snacks, so a bunch of those are packed on as well. I'm just saying, an object that weighs the same as the Statue of Liberty really shouldn't remain airborne. She doesn't. And don't get me started on the laws of aerodynamics, because I have the law of gravity on my side, and basically, my law beats the crap out of whatever you throw at it. Or drop on it.
I know worry doesn't change the outcome of an event, and only compromises the health and well being of the worrier, but it just seems like I'm the only one who has noticed planes are flying coffins of death. Monte says car crashes occur everyday, but it doesn't stop me from loading up in my van and heading off to spend a bunch of money at Sam's. And he's right. On both counts. And perhaps if I flew everyday, and I had to fly or not shop at Sam's, I would become desensitized to the obvious risk of being up in the sky with no ground under me. Logic dictates that I must be more afraid of planes than cars, even though the risks are similar, because I only get on them once every couple of years or so. And even though I feel this way, it hasn't stopped me from buying my ticket or visiting other "plane only" destinations over the years. Really, all it does is make the three weeks leading up to the trip, psychologically draining. But I'd like to say one thing in my defense. If I die driving my car, it's because I screwed up. Who is this guy in a white faux military shirt working on six hours of sleep and eight cups of coffee, anyway? And how do I know the mechanic working on my plane isn't going through a painful divorce and has lost his attention to detail or will to do a good job? And what about the parts manufacturer? I mean really!!
Crap, that reminds me, I have got to update my Will, which should probably reflect all the children and debt I currently have, and make sure I still like the people I leave them, and it, to.
Details details.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Times, they ain't a-changin'
My awkward phase continues.
In a tone that can only be described as glee, my dentist (now my orthodontist) told me on Friday that my teeth and jaws are catastrophically misaligned, any any further living without immediate treatment will contribute to a whole host of horrible outcomes like cracked molars or TMJ, and pretty much guarantee an early ticket to denturehood. I have to have braces, and I have to have them yesterday. In addition, I have a tongue thrust situation which will have to be corrected with behavior modification "barbs" on the inside of my teeth making it painful to put my tongue where it automatically wants to go. Further, my palette is too high, so I'll need an expander, and the kicker is I have to wear this stuff for two years, and then a retainer for the rest of my life. But the fun doesn't end there. I walked shell shocked from the diagnosis into what's called the "financing options" office, where I learned that my dental insurance covers braces only for individuals up to age 25 (probably because who needs them after that, right?) So I will be paying $5,000 of my own money to be transformed into an orthodontic cautionary tale.
I couldn't be more excited.
When I was 15 I had a flat chest, a face covered in acne and a giant head of frizzy hair. When these facts would bother me, I would console myself with two things: 1. At least I didn't have braces and 2. eventually I would reach adulthood and all those awful things would go away and I would emerge a beautiful grown up swan with her own car and bank account.
Well friends, fast forward to 2011, where I do indeed have my own car and bank account. I'm a 41 year old swan with persistent acne, a flat chest made even worse by several months of breastfeeding, stretch marks from pregnancy, wrinkles, and now the coup de grace, braces to keep from further damaging my precious calorie intake source. In one month I will have to learn to eat and talk with a Buick Le Sabre in my mouth, without slurring or slobbering on myself.
Mason, who just got all this junk off, is finding great joy in my present predicament, spending a lot of time educating me on what hurts the most and where food gets stuck. Most of the adults in my life are trying to keep from openly smirking. This leaves me with my my last (and frankly most desperate) effort at self consolation: at least I don't need glasses yet (my vision has always been pretty good), and I don't have to walk the Marshall Missouri high school halls while wearing enough metal to send the TSA into pat down mode. Oh yeah, and I can stay out at late as I want! (I can't stay awake as late as I want, but where I fall asleep is completely up to me!)
In a tone that can only be described as glee, my dentist (now my orthodontist) told me on Friday that my teeth and jaws are catastrophically misaligned, any any further living without immediate treatment will contribute to a whole host of horrible outcomes like cracked molars or TMJ, and pretty much guarantee an early ticket to denturehood. I have to have braces, and I have to have them yesterday. In addition, I have a tongue thrust situation which will have to be corrected with behavior modification "barbs" on the inside of my teeth making it painful to put my tongue where it automatically wants to go. Further, my palette is too high, so I'll need an expander, and the kicker is I have to wear this stuff for two years, and then a retainer for the rest of my life. But the fun doesn't end there. I walked shell shocked from the diagnosis into what's called the "financing options" office, where I learned that my dental insurance covers braces only for individuals up to age 25 (probably because who needs them after that, right?) So I will be paying $5,000 of my own money to be transformed into an orthodontic cautionary tale.
I couldn't be more excited.
When I was 15 I had a flat chest, a face covered in acne and a giant head of frizzy hair. When these facts would bother me, I would console myself with two things: 1. At least I didn't have braces and 2. eventually I would reach adulthood and all those awful things would go away and I would emerge a beautiful grown up swan with her own car and bank account.
Well friends, fast forward to 2011, where I do indeed have my own car and bank account. I'm a 41 year old swan with persistent acne, a flat chest made even worse by several months of breastfeeding, stretch marks from pregnancy, wrinkles, and now the coup de grace, braces to keep from further damaging my precious calorie intake source. In one month I will have to learn to eat and talk with a Buick Le Sabre in my mouth, without slurring or slobbering on myself.
Mason, who just got all this junk off, is finding great joy in my present predicament, spending a lot of time educating me on what hurts the most and where food gets stuck. Most of the adults in my life are trying to keep from openly smirking. This leaves me with my my last (and frankly most desperate) effort at self consolation: at least I don't need glasses yet (my vision has always been pretty good), and I don't have to walk the Marshall Missouri high school halls while wearing enough metal to send the TSA into pat down mode. Oh yeah, and I can stay out at late as I want! (I can't stay awake as late as I want, but where I fall asleep is completely up to me!)
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
Seriously?
Take tonight. At dinner, I was telling my boys about two things that couldn't be effectively compared. I said, "I mean, it's like apples and oranges." Mason replied, "Why? They're both round, they're both fruit, how are they that different?" And Monte, joining the conversation for the first time, said, "What? Do we need to go to the store?"
I could be hiding state secrets for all these people know!
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Thursday, January 13, 2011
Random Things
Stuff buzzing around in my head:
1. Sometimes the past year seems so unreal, that I actually believe I'm walking around in the world's most vivid dream, and at some point I'll wake up in the Oak Cliff house back in Missouri with some serious bed hair. Of course I will have overslept in the worst way and it will be spring.
2. Stephen asked me to play air hockey tonight. I didn't want to but I did, because I kept thinking "cat's in the cradle" you know? So thanks to Cat Stevens or Ugly Kid Joe or whomever, I'm playing air hockey to the best of my ability when suddenly the score is 3 to 1 in Stephen's favor. And in the flattest monotone you've ever heard, he says, "I'm ahead. You need to try harder."
3. I've been cooking lately, but the only meal I make that my family likes is frozen pizza. I wonder if I can get on that show Wife Swap, and be sent to some Amish family that looks forward to green beans from a can because it's almost like ordering take out.
4. It's hard to get back into the exercise groove here because lots of the subdivisions are self-contained bits of land just off streets that would elsewhere be considered county highways. No sidewalks and random cars doing sixty in a forty. "How did she die?" "Well, it appears she had some winter weight on her and thought she could still cross a street." "We lose a lot of 'em thattaway."
5. Thanks Netflix for giving me back Mystery Science Theater, even if they're mostly Joel episodes.
6. We start bedtimes here at 8:30, but still can't get our kids in bed until 10. There's nothing odd or funny about that. It just is.
1. Sometimes the past year seems so unreal, that I actually believe I'm walking around in the world's most vivid dream, and at some point I'll wake up in the Oak Cliff house back in Missouri with some serious bed hair. Of course I will have overslept in the worst way and it will be spring.
2. Stephen asked me to play air hockey tonight. I didn't want to but I did, because I kept thinking "cat's in the cradle" you know? So thanks to Cat Stevens or Ugly Kid Joe or whomever, I'm playing air hockey to the best of my ability when suddenly the score is 3 to 1 in Stephen's favor. And in the flattest monotone you've ever heard, he says, "I'm ahead. You need to try harder."
3. I've been cooking lately, but the only meal I make that my family likes is frozen pizza. I wonder if I can get on that show Wife Swap, and be sent to some Amish family that looks forward to green beans from a can because it's almost like ordering take out.
4. It's hard to get back into the exercise groove here because lots of the subdivisions are self-contained bits of land just off streets that would elsewhere be considered county highways. No sidewalks and random cars doing sixty in a forty. "How did she die?" "Well, it appears she had some winter weight on her and thought she could still cross a street." "We lose a lot of 'em thattaway."
5. Thanks Netflix for giving me back Mystery Science Theater, even if they're mostly Joel episodes.
6. We start bedtimes here at 8:30, but still can't get our kids in bed until 10. There's nothing odd or funny about that. It just is.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Are We There Yet?
I'm an avid blog reader, if not a blog writer, and one of the blogs I try to keep up with (semi-successfully) is Jeni Allen's Peace and Carrots. It's a great way to see how big her kids have gotten, get tips, have something to read while waiting for my kids to get out of school and get into my car . . . anyway, her most recent post (as of this writing) referred to ways in which we gals with seasonal affective disorder (that's right, S.A.D., or as laymen--and me when I'm being real--refer to it, the blahs that occur when nature takes back all her sunlight) can effectively cope.
Specifically, I refer you to numero seis in the list: Explore! Get out of the house and go somewhere! Go to a different library, a different mall, a museum, a park. Take a drive to a part of town you haven't seen before and spend some time exploring. If your kids are older, they can help you plan your excursion and even map out your adventure!
We Ellis' did this not too long ago. It started with cupcakes. Seriously. Apparently the new thing in urban America is bakeries that sell upscale cupcakes and not much else to yuppies and ladies who lunch. OKC has five or eight of 'em, and, tired as I was of looking at the same four walls day in and day out with breaks only for church and school transportation, I said one Saturday, "Hey, we should go get some of those deliciously overpriced cupcakes, at one of those places. You know?" Monte did know, and didn't want to go which made it even more fun, but he didn't want to argue and the babies were already in the car, so away we went seeking the elusive Oklahoman overpriced cupcake. We were driving at the time, and nobody brought an iPad, so we didn't have an exact location. But we pretty much knew about where it was, so no problem.
Except we didn't know exactly where it was. And it turned out that each of the adults in charge of the route were talking about a different cupcake place (how can this be, since you each speak the same language, you may well scoff, but these situations happen and happen regularly when one of the adults in question patently refuses to learn the proper name for anything. For example he often asks his wife if she's seen that one show, with that one guy in it. You know the guy I mean.) So our exploration ended up in one crazy trip in and out and up and down and all over Oklahoma City with three screaming boys in the back. We finally found Pinkitzel (the cupcake place I was talking about) where the cupcakes were indeed overpriced and delicious. We bought six, and by the time three of them were eaten by the brothers, my van looked like a bakery crime scene. So for my trouble, I got very very lost, paid $28 in US dollars for six cupcakes (really), got my cupcakes eaten out from under me while trying to find my way home, and the rewarding job of wiping up icing and vacuuming crumbs out of the van I had just cleaned the day before.
You might believe that I'm about to say "So DON'T explore! It doesn't pay!" but I'm not, because for all the ridiculousness of that day, I will remember it fondly while picturing Stephen's face absolutely COVERED in icing. What's more, I'll probably suggest it again in the near future (maybe overpriced buffalo wings this time) because exploration is really the best and only way to have an adventure--even one that you don't want to repeat anytime soon. I guess the lesson I learned in all this is, exploration and spontaneity certainly go hand in hand, but not if you have to be somewhere in an hour. They'll also lead you in and out of Mordor and through Kevin Durant's living room, in search of a cupcake. It's just their nature.
Specifically, I refer you to numero seis in the list: Explore! Get out of the house and go somewhere! Go to a different library, a different mall, a museum, a park. Take a drive to a part of town you haven't seen before and spend some time exploring. If your kids are older, they can help you plan your excursion and even map out your adventure!
We Ellis' did this not too long ago. It started with cupcakes. Seriously. Apparently the new thing in urban America is bakeries that sell upscale cupcakes and not much else to yuppies and ladies who lunch. OKC has five or eight of 'em, and, tired as I was of looking at the same four walls day in and day out with breaks only for church and school transportation, I said one Saturday, "Hey, we should go get some of those deliciously overpriced cupcakes, at one of those places. You know?" Monte did know, and didn't want to go which made it even more fun, but he didn't want to argue and the babies were already in the car, so away we went seeking the elusive Oklahoman overpriced cupcake. We were driving at the time, and nobody brought an iPad, so we didn't have an exact location. But we pretty much knew about where it was, so no problem.
Except we didn't know exactly where it was. And it turned out that each of the adults in charge of the route were talking about a different cupcake place (how can this be, since you each speak the same language, you may well scoff, but these situations happen and happen regularly when one of the adults in question patently refuses to learn the proper name for anything. For example he often asks his wife if she's seen that one show, with that one guy in it. You know the guy I mean.) So our exploration ended up in one crazy trip in and out and up and down and all over Oklahoma City with three screaming boys in the back. We finally found Pinkitzel (the cupcake place I was talking about) where the cupcakes were indeed overpriced and delicious. We bought six, and by the time three of them were eaten by the brothers, my van looked like a bakery crime scene. So for my trouble, I got very very lost, paid $28 in US dollars for six cupcakes (really), got my cupcakes eaten out from under me while trying to find my way home, and the rewarding job of wiping up icing and vacuuming crumbs out of the van I had just cleaned the day before.
You might believe that I'm about to say "So DON'T explore! It doesn't pay!" but I'm not, because for all the ridiculousness of that day, I will remember it fondly while picturing Stephen's face absolutely COVERED in icing. What's more, I'll probably suggest it again in the near future (maybe overpriced buffalo wings this time) because exploration is really the best and only way to have an adventure--even one that you don't want to repeat anytime soon. I guess the lesson I learned in all this is, exploration and spontaneity certainly go hand in hand, but not if you have to be somewhere in an hour. They'll also lead you in and out of Mordor and through Kevin Durant's living room, in search of a cupcake. It's just their nature.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
How ever it gets you there . . .
Peyton was standing in front of my van in the garage, when he turned to Monte and said, "N, I, S, S, A, N. That spells car."
Yes it does, baby, yes it does.
Yes it does, baby, yes it does.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Stop the presses
Stephen presented me with this handwritten story this afternoon after school:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Attack of the Glowing Monsters, By Stephen Ellis
Hi, I'm Stephen Ellis. I'm in the agent BIXQ. We heard a loud beep. Mason is my friend. Beep means there is trouble in the world. There was a glowing monster in China, and off we went to defeat that glowing monster with the powers of the agents BIXQ, one of the most powerful agencies in the world. The glowing monster was smashing building after building. We finally made it there, and we were so so so hungry and so so so thirsty for a drink and snack. We're the lucky ones. Then we attacked the glowing monster but it is no use without the crystal of China, and we did not give up. They were trying but still no use, the crystal of China was in his hand, and then we got a hold of it, but they lost their grip and still no use, but they had a steel cannon and payed for it, and got the crystal of China and defeated the glowing monster and celebrated. It was very very very very fun and we had a drink and a snack. The agency BIXQ had saved the day. The end.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Agency was spelled agentse, snack was spelled snake, crystal was spelled cristel, and sometimes China was Chinea, but he got monster and powerful and smashing and hungry and glowing right, and the story has a fantastic beginning, middle and end (which I know even college students can't always pull off), and when I asked about BIXQ, he explained that was the agency's name and it was supposed to be like that, because the letters were other secret words. An acronym, people! And on top of it all, he saves the day with his brother!
What an effort from my little guy!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Attack of the Glowing Monsters, By Stephen Ellis
Hi, I'm Stephen Ellis. I'm in the agent BIXQ. We heard a loud beep. Mason is my friend. Beep means there is trouble in the world. There was a glowing monster in China, and off we went to defeat that glowing monster with the powers of the agents BIXQ, one of the most powerful agencies in the world. The glowing monster was smashing building after building. We finally made it there, and we were so so so hungry and so so so thirsty for a drink and snack. We're the lucky ones. Then we attacked the glowing monster but it is no use without the crystal of China, and we did not give up. They were trying but still no use, the crystal of China was in his hand, and then we got a hold of it, but they lost their grip and still no use, but they had a steel cannon and payed for it, and got the crystal of China and defeated the glowing monster and celebrated. It was very very very very fun and we had a drink and a snack. The agency BIXQ had saved the day. The end.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Agency was spelled agentse, snack was spelled snake, crystal was spelled cristel, and sometimes China was Chinea, but he got monster and powerful and smashing and hungry and glowing right, and the story has a fantastic beginning, middle and end (which I know even college students can't always pull off), and when I asked about BIXQ, he explained that was the agency's name and it was supposed to be like that, because the letters were other secret words. An acronym, people! And on top of it all, he saves the day with his brother!
What an effort from my little guy!
Monday, November 1, 2010
Makin his momma proud
So we're sitting around the table at Monte's parents house with his nephew Jordan, who is a senior in high school this year. Last year Jordan went on a mission trip to El Salvador, and the topic under discussion was whether he would go on a second mission trip in the spring.
MONTE: "So, these mission trips . . . where all can ya go?"
JORDAN: "Well, there's El Salvador, Chile, Peru . . . "
MONTE: (with a silly smirk on his face) "Des Moines?"
JORDAN: "No, I don't think we go to Italy."
What makes this funnier is the kid is making reasonably good grades in school. Well, I would guess in everything but geography.
MONTE: "So, these mission trips . . . where all can ya go?"
JORDAN: "Well, there's El Salvador, Chile, Peru . . . "
MONTE: (with a silly smirk on his face) "Des Moines?"
JORDAN: "No, I don't think we go to Italy."
What makes this funnier is the kid is making reasonably good grades in school. Well, I would guess in everything but geography.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Things get serious
We have a contract on our Missouri house, and another one on an Oklahoma house, and between working out all the details, having inspection after inspection, signing this and paying for that, moving and packing, I'm out of breath.
But if nothing falls through, I'll be out of my in-laws house and in our own digs by November, and that's worth smiling about.
I'm just amazed at how many boxes there are!
But if nothing falls through, I'll be out of my in-laws house and in our own digs by November, and that's worth smiling about.
I'm just amazed at how many boxes there are!
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Say what?
Mason brought home all A grades at mid-semester recently, and is generally regarded as a smart kid by one and all, but every so often he loses things in translation. In church Wednesday night he leaned over and whispered, "Mom, what does your shirt say?" I whispered back "It says, 'Authentic'." Then he said, "What does that mean?" I said "It means real . . . not a forgery." "Oh," he said. Then he whispered something I couldn't hear to Monte, and Monte started laughing. Then I heard Monte say, "No honey, you're thinking of 'Autistic'."
Not sure what's more disturbing, that my 5th grader didn't know the meaning of the word Authentic, or that he thought I would rock a shirt with the word 'Autistic' on it to church.
Not sure what's more disturbing, that my 5th grader didn't know the meaning of the word Authentic, or that he thought I would rock a shirt with the word 'Autistic' on it to church.
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Wednesday, September 8, 2010
They're Their There
I don't know if it's Oklahoma, Fifth Grade, or what, but I have done more in the way of project homework help in the last two weeks than ever in the past decade of parenthood. Last week, we made an animal cell composed entirely of candy. Ever try to find a sugary treat that looks like mitochondria? I even drove all the way to Michael's (remember, this city is freakin' spread out) to get chocolate fondant for the cell itself, and pretty gel icing for the cell membrane. And it doesn't look like it's going to let up . . . this week Mason had to hand draw an island, complete with geographical, agricultural and industrial features. Big deal you say? No problem, you insist? Then I forgot the best part . . . for these fun projects, we get one to two days notice. Oh yeah, and Stephen has to read to me while I help Mason create these things, because he has homework too . . .
I was a much better parent before I had kids.
I was a much better parent before I had kids.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
A Duck, from a Goose
Stephen drew this for me. I asked for a chicken. He said what I really wanted was a duck. And he's right.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Old puppies, new tricks
The babies started second and fifth grade in Oklahoma today, and both reported they had a pretty decent day except for the turkey corndogs at lunch. That was one new thing they didn't care for. New school, fine. New kids, no problem. New teachers, bring them on, but new corn dogs, hold on just a cotton picking minute. I have always subscribed to the "put enough mustard on a corn dog and the flavor of the corn dog becomes a moot point" rule, but apparently the rule's only exception is a corn dog composed entirely of turkey. And probably soy, but thank heavens we haven't had to deal with that yet.
Stephen said the corn dogs tasted vaguely of mint.
Makes you wonder what these Okies are feeding their poultry.
Stephen said the corn dogs tasted vaguely of mint.
Makes you wonder what these Okies are feeding their poultry.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
The Heat Is On
Right now it's 100 degrees at 7 p.m. in Oklahoma City. That means 100 wasn't the high, it's the come down number. I used to love warm. The warmer the better. Bring the heat I would say. I'm so cold natured that at times in my life it has seemed I couldn't make my own body heat, and I had to depend on the sun or Monte to provide some warmth for my otherwise icy skin. Grocery stores, movie theaters, churches,all were places of freezing discomfort. I had to carry a sweater with me year round. No place was ever completely warm.
Until now.
Now I'm cured.
I'm finally aggressively fanning myself with all the other old ladies, with our floppy arm fat moving as fast as the paper fans we are cooling off with. I'm on the other side.
Dang it. Turns out the grass isn't greener over here. It is dry, brown and burnt!
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Sunday, August 1, 2010
Core Philosophy
Sometimes the glass is half full. Sometimes it's half empty. Sometimes the stupid thing is all the way empty, has a hole in the bottom and is made of uncoated tissue paper.
Consider the last few days. I was with the fam at Silver Dollar City, having a wonderful time. It was hot, sure, but there was plenty of lemonade and water to drink and fine misting fans at periodic intervals. And of course, we had the kids with us, and they have a tendancy to whine if things aren't spot on perfect, but we aren't new at this and so we pursued the policy of hanging in there and identifying lots of "teaching moments" while still enjoying the park. No problem, right? Manageable. Doable. Under control.
Until Friday morning.
Until 11 a.m., Central Standard Time, when I lost Monte's wallet with all our money, credit cards, season passes, IDs and the very first social security card he was ever issued, inside. He and the boys decided to beat the heat by going on a "soak ya through" water ride, so I put the wallet and his cell phone in my stretchy lightweight shallow pocketed workout capris and set off with Peyton for some quality sitting time. The only thing we did was buy a lemonade, locate a shady spot and sit in one place. That's it. I had the wallet when I bought the lemonade, but when I walked up the hill to meet Monte, I didn't have it anymore. I did everything one might do in that kind of stressful situation. I retraced my steps. I looked everywhere I had been. I asked vendors, people in the vicinity and the lost and found ladies if they had seen the wallet. I teared up. I panicked. And then, having no other options, I left the park with my family.
The first thing we did was cancel the credit card and debit card. Then we decided we needed IDs, which led us to drive an hour and a half acorss the Oklahoma border to the nearest tag agent, to get our driver's licenses replaced. Through the marvels of modern technology, the state of Oklahoma can replace your license with no other form of ID because they have your index fingerprints on file, and a scanner in every office. That's the good news. Unfortunately, what they can't do, is reprint the license using the picture you already took.
The picture you took when you were well rested, had on makeup, had your roots freshly done and hadn't just lost your husband's wallet.
The picture that didn't show someone who had been sweating in a theme park and then crying in a mini-van for three hours.
No sir. They take a brand new picture. A current picture. A picture of the right then and now.
So to make matters somewhere between worse and unbearable, I now have a government issued memento of one of the worst days of my life that I am, for the next six years, required to show clerks, ticket agents, policemen, anyone I need to prove my identity to. And I'm sure once they've seen it, they'll look at me and all ask the same thing.
"My goodness, what on earth happened here??!!"
Epilogue: They found the wallet at SDC, with the money in it and everything, the next day. It was Baptist days, so we probably have some nice Baptist to thank for being honest and giving us our life back, not to mention the license with the better picture. Also, one might say we were fortunate to have lost the wallet on a Friday when the tag agent was open, and that we were close enough to their location to get there during business hours and replace our IDs with no other proof of identity than our index fingers. Oh yeah, and cancelling the credit and debit cards were probably a good thing too, because both accounts been open for a long time with the same numbers and were probably more prone to identity theft than the newly issued cards.
Still.
Worst vacation ever.
How's that for how empty the glass is?
Consider the last few days. I was with the fam at Silver Dollar City, having a wonderful time. It was hot, sure, but there was plenty of lemonade and water to drink and fine misting fans at periodic intervals. And of course, we had the kids with us, and they have a tendancy to whine if things aren't spot on perfect, but we aren't new at this and so we pursued the policy of hanging in there and identifying lots of "teaching moments" while still enjoying the park. No problem, right? Manageable. Doable. Under control.
Until Friday morning.
Until 11 a.m., Central Standard Time, when I lost Monte's wallet with all our money, credit cards, season passes, IDs and the very first social security card he was ever issued, inside. He and the boys decided to beat the heat by going on a "soak ya through" water ride, so I put the wallet and his cell phone in my stretchy lightweight shallow pocketed workout capris and set off with Peyton for some quality sitting time. The only thing we did was buy a lemonade, locate a shady spot and sit in one place. That's it. I had the wallet when I bought the lemonade, but when I walked up the hill to meet Monte, I didn't have it anymore. I did everything one might do in that kind of stressful situation. I retraced my steps. I looked everywhere I had been. I asked vendors, people in the vicinity and the lost and found ladies if they had seen the wallet. I teared up. I panicked. And then, having no other options, I left the park with my family.
The first thing we did was cancel the credit card and debit card. Then we decided we needed IDs, which led us to drive an hour and a half acorss the Oklahoma border to the nearest tag agent, to get our driver's licenses replaced. Through the marvels of modern technology, the state of Oklahoma can replace your license with no other form of ID because they have your index fingerprints on file, and a scanner in every office. That's the good news. Unfortunately, what they can't do, is reprint the license using the picture you already took.
The picture you took when you were well rested, had on makeup, had your roots freshly done and hadn't just lost your husband's wallet.
The picture that didn't show someone who had been sweating in a theme park and then crying in a mini-van for three hours.
No sir. They take a brand new picture. A current picture. A picture of the right then and now.
So to make matters somewhere between worse and unbearable, I now have a government issued memento of one of the worst days of my life that I am, for the next six years, required to show clerks, ticket agents, policemen, anyone I need to prove my identity to. And I'm sure once they've seen it, they'll look at me and all ask the same thing.
"My goodness, what on earth happened here??!!"
Epilogue: They found the wallet at SDC, with the money in it and everything, the next day. It was Baptist days, so we probably have some nice Baptist to thank for being honest and giving us our life back, not to mention the license with the better picture. Also, one might say we were fortunate to have lost the wallet on a Friday when the tag agent was open, and that we were close enough to their location to get there during business hours and replace our IDs with no other proof of identity than our index fingers. Oh yeah, and cancelling the credit and debit cards were probably a good thing too, because both accounts been open for a long time with the same numbers and were probably more prone to identity theft than the newly issued cards.
Still.
Worst vacation ever.
How's that for how empty the glass is?
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