Mirror, Mirror

I broke a mirror tonight. It was a medium hand held mirror that was leaning against my nightstand but had slid down onto the floor, face down right next to my bed. I stepped on it and heard a crunch. When I looked down I wasn’t happy. I’m actually not all that superstitious, but there are two things that do cause me to pause and shudder.

I don’t like crossing the path of a black cat or breaking mirrors. These two superstitions evolved for me after suffering some bad luck after doing both of the above. I don’t specifically remember what happened after the black cat incident as it was many years ago. I just remember that I credited whatever misfortune I suffered to the cat and wishing I’d just turned around or at least spit out of the window three times after crossing its path like one of my friend’s mom’s always used to do. Since then, I’ve been known to actually turn the car around if a black cat crosses in front of me. Did I actually admit that right here in black and white?

The mirror thing is also big for my husband. A few years ago I broke one while sitting in our tent on a camping trip and didn’t really think much of it until much later when my husband pointed out to me that we’d had a string of bad things happen the following year and he brought up the whole mirror breaking incident. I looked back and had to admit that we’d certainly had some bad luck after that happened. I won’t go into all of the details but will just say that the year following the mirror incident was a bad year. (My parents had a bad wreck, my grandfather passed away, our finances were extremely strained, big and expensive things around the house and cars were breaking, and life was throwing some other curve balls our way) Don’t misunderstand me, I’m very grateful that we’re all healthy and know things could always be worse, but I did find myself questioning what role, if any, the broken mirror played in the string of bad things that happened over the following year.

After I heard the crunch tonight I looked down and said, “Oh, no!” When I told my husband what I’d just done I knew he was thinking the same thing I was. Oh, great! Just what we need, another broken mirror.

I actually looked up a few things online tonight about breaking mirrors and superstitions but just wasn’t up for taking the pieces of shard glass outside to burn or burying them in the moonlight, nor did I react immediately as suggested by turning counter clockwise three times afterwards. I’m just going to hope for the best and that it’s not actually seven years for that first mirror and another seven for this one, because that would mean I now have about 11 more years of bad luck still left to go. So, wish me luck!

The Black Heads

When I was growing up my grandmother owned an antique store for many years and had a house full of expensive antiques in a variety of shapes and sizes. She still has a house full of antiques, though she’s long retired from the business, but she’s also distributed many things out amongst my mother and her siblings. One of the things my mom inherited when my grandparents retired and moved to the country were these three black heads, which were near and dear to my heart.

When we were little and stuck for hours at my grandparents house, which wasn’t all that fun for us kids considering we couldn’t take two steps without touching something old and expensive, I would stare at these three heads that sat on the fireplace mantle and just admire these three heads. I loved them and always thought of them as my sister, brother and myself up there, regardless of their skin color. They were appropriate in age to each of us and for whatever reason I made the association between them and us, and was just always very fond of these three heads. I once told my mom that I wanted the black heads one day so when my husband and I moved back home after our Military days, my mom gave me the black heads.

I was excited, although I wasn’t sure how they would look in my very plain house, minus the variety of antiques and things to go with them. When I brought them home about ten years ago, my husband asked me exactly what I was planning on doing with these three black heads, laughed and told me flat out they would look really stupid up on our entertainment center. I guess I was a little unsure myself, so I stuck them in a glass cabinet sort of hidden and waited until we moved into our new house then tried pulling them out and he again gave me a hard time again so I kept them hidden.

A few years later I redecorated our living room and was feeling really good about the “new” look, which wasn’t really done in a theme. I’d just decorated with lots of flowers and had new rugs and lamps and accessories, so I felt brave about going out on a limb and putting my beloved black heads on display, so I finally put them out on one of the shelves on the entertainment center and decided that if they meant something to me then I was going to display them, regardless of whether they went my motif.

They’ve been up there for several years and as recently as last week, I had a visitor whom looked up on the shelf and asked me why I had those three heads up there. Normally, my husband will just smile that I told you so smile and let me tell them about where they came from and why I have them. Apparently, they are out of place in my plain and simple living room. My oldest daughter informed me that her friends were also asking her about the heads. Seriously, if anyone came inside and sat down, their eyes would eventually find the heads and they would ask why we had those heads up there.

One night she had friends over and they decided to take the following pictures of the heads and then made them their own My Space. I was mortified to see that they had been carrying around my priceless heads and could’ve broken them while posing them for these pictures. They even took some outdoor pictures that almost sent me over the edge. Actually, I don’t think they’re all that “expensive” but they are sentimental to me. I also learned from my mom they were a Jamaican mom and her two children, not siblings like I had imagined them to be.

So, I ask is it really that out of place to have these three beloved heads displayed up on the entertainment center? Whether we were also black, or the heads were white, or brown or whatever, what’s the big deal? Do they really look that out of place? I love these damn black heads! If it’s such a controversy would it help if I changed the entire décor of the house to make them fit in? Maybe I’ll just print this out and every time someone new comes in and inquires, I’ll just give them this print out and let them read it for themselves.

I've Been Watching You

My friend Teresa commented that I should write about “the Barbie phone” and a few of you were curious to know the story behind that. About ten years ago Santa brought my oldest daughter a really cool phone for her room. It was actually called a “Clueless Hands Free” phone and is pictured above. It had this really cool voice changing option. You could talk normal or change it to four or five other choices. They ranged from making your voice sound like a “Chipmunk” cartoon character to that scary one that was featured in Mel Gibson’s movie, Ransom, where his son was kidnapped and he was getting those calls from the kidnapper using that exact voice. When we first tested the scary voice on each other it actually gave me chills.

I’m never one to pass up a good prank or not love acting like a kid again, so it didn’t take me long to pull out the old address book and start dialing up almost everyone we knew. (Well, those who could take a joke and didn’t have a heart condition) I’d call using the scary voice saying I was watching them or something along those lines. Yes, I know, that’s not very nice but let me tell you we had a blast doing it and almost died from laughing a few times. One of us would talk and the other would pick up the other phone and listen to the call, trying not to laugh out loud.

Of course caller ID was a bit of a deterrent but I was pretty clever and up to speed on some ways around it, such as “call block” which would not reveal the number you were calling from. Of course there were some people who had their phones set up not to accept blocked calls so there were a few foiled attempts, but most of the time we (the husband and me acting like two 10 year-olds) got through and totally scared the crap out of some of our friends and family. I know I really should be ashamed. Snort, snicker, bahahaha!

The absolute best one we pulled off actually lasted for several days. It was played on an old friend from our Military days. I had called the wife using the scary voice and then eventually told her what was going on. She wanted me to play a prank on her husband and for several days would call me with details of what they’d done that particular day, where’d they’d been and more or less what to say. I would call and say stuff like I've been watching you, I saw you at the beach with your family riding four wheelers, and I saw you do this or that. I never said I was going to kidnap anyone or really gave a reason to him for the call, other than just informing him in that scary voice that someone was watching him. I would find out from his wife what his reaction was in between the phone calls and learned that he was really tripping out about the calls. He even put the movie Ransom in the VCR to show his dad and wife so they could hear exactly how the caller sounded. If you're wondering if I felt bad about this, the answer is yes, in between my bouts of laughter I had small waves of guilt. I can't recall exactly how long we let him suffer or how many calls I made, but I'd say it was over a period of a several days before his wife finally told him the truth. Luckily, he took it well and we’re both still alive.

Teresa refreshed my memory yesterday that the trick I'd played on her was telling her that I'd seen her out at a club and thought she was hot or something along those lines, more or less posing as a psycho stalker/secret admirer. That was back when she was in the prime of her partying days so I’m sure I went with that line thinking it was believable since she went out a lot at the time. I can’t remember all of the calls we made or exactly what was said but I do know it was funny at the time. As a matter of fact, I’m now on a mission now to find that phone. I know I kept it and it’s in some closet in this house. I’ve made some new friends over the past ten years and am always looking for cheap entertainment!

Happy Birthday, Monkey!

Happy 12th Birthday, Cassidy!

This is daughter number two. She thought she was a boy until she was about four. She's always been a little tomboy, as in Santa better not even bother with barbies for this girl and just bring on the cool boy toys. By the time she was six months old she'd earned her official nickname, "Monkey". She had long arms and legs and would wrap her legs around my waist (back when I still had one) and wave her arms around in the air. People would remark to us all the time that she looked like a little monkey. I was never offended because she actually had monkey mannerisms. Our oldest daughter never required child safety locks or really got into much of anything, but this girl was born trying to walk, crawl or climb her way into mischief. They were like night and day. She's got more energy than anyone I've ever known. She loves all kinds of sports. She played baseball until last year at pitcher and first base and always held her own against the boys. She's head strong and extremely stubborn, competitive, smart, kind, hard-working and beautiful. However, if she's not happy, then none of us are. To know her is to love her (and sometimes want to lock her in the closet). We also call her the elephant because she can remember stuff vividly from when she was like three. She remembers things we have long forgotten, so we often call on her for details of things we can't recall. She's my only child with a dark complexion and my other daughter and I just want to slap her for staying so tan all year round. We also call her Harriet (as in the spy) because nothing gets past her and she always wants to know what's going on around here, whether it concerns her directly or not. (I think I might know where she gets that).

I love you, Monkey and hope you have an awesome birthday!

My Poor, Poor Car

Friday night our daughter called to invite us over to her boyfriend’s house to play Farkle and drink some margaritas with his parents, sister and a few friends. We all hung out and had a very good time as you can see from the pictures.

His sister had a friend over and as soon as I sat down next to her we became instant friends. She was so friendly and funny. I had no idea that she’d been drinking a little bit of this and little bit of that, probably long before she even arrived at the house. She needed to be home by a certain time so when it was decided that she wasn’t driving herself, my husband and Khristin (the boyfriend’s sister) decided they would drive her.

They were gone for almost an hour when Travis (the daughter’s boyfriend) said they’d just called to let us know they’d be back soon but that their trip had turned into somewhat of a nightmare. Rosie (the friend) had apparently gotten sick on the ride home and puked all inside of the car and they’d been cleaning it up. Luckily, there was someone at the house to clean Rosie up and get her all taken care of.

We all discussed how she seemed so normal at the house and that we had no idea she’d had so much to drink. Travis’ dad made a comment about how he hoped they’d gotten the car all cleaned up, and then I heard him say something about them leaving in the white car. About that time my ears perked right up and I confirmed that they had indeed driven off in the white car. Well, that white car would just so happen to be MY car. I immediately started asking myself why they had to take MY car when both Rosie and Khristin had cars there, too.

They arrived back shortly after the phone call and then filled us in on the grizzly details of Rosie hurling right there all inside of MY car before they could manage to get the car pulled over for her, and then operation puke clean up in which they used an entire roll of paper towels and a bottle of Kaboom trying to get it all up. Poor Rosie felt so bad and was crying and apologizing about the mess. Apparently she’d mixed wine, margaritas and who knows what else earlier in the evening and it all hit on her on the ride home.

When we left to go home that night I opened the passenger door and immediately saw that they’d missed a few spots so I rode in the backseat, where according to my daughter, they’d also missed a few spots. She informed me that Rosie had obviously eaten chili and macaroni for dinner. Ewwww! I told her not to say another word about what she saw on the floorboard and to just keep her feet up. We had the windows rolled down and it was all I could do to keep from adding to Rosie’s mess on the drive home. No amount of wind or fresh air could mask the odor. It was overwhelming. You all know the smell. It’s so distinctive, unmistakable and lingers forever. It’s got to be one of the worst odors there is, although I’ve never smelled a dead body. (YET!)

Saturday morning I woke my husband up and told him that I had errands to run and that he had two choices, go and have my car shampooed or drive me around in his company car since I’m not allowed to drive it. Even though my husband didn’t actually do the puking himself, I still blamed him. I couldn’t help it! I just kept asking him why he had to drive MY car to begin with. I’m really not mad at anyone and Rosie was just too sweet to hold this against her, but you wouldn’t believe how bad my car smells and how much I dread even having to get inside of it. He took it and spent forever at the car wash and shampooed it and when he first brought it home it actually smelled good. Then I took off to run those errands but after my first stop where the car had sat parked for about an hour, the stench had already set back in by the time I got back inside. I left the windows cracked all night and he drove it this morning to get donuts and admitted that unfortunately, he could still smell it. I’m so bummed. Maybe I should just sell it!

Thank God it’s not August, though. If it was still 100-degree weather around here I can only imagine how bad it would be. I’m sure by next spring when the smell has finally faded; this will just be a forgotten memory.

Who's Laughing Now?

I know a few of you have been emailing me that I’m overdue on updating the blog. I’m sorry I haven’t been around much but I’ve been really busy digging a very large hole out in the back yard. It’s the hole where I’m going to bury my husband the next time he decides to blog about my hairy legs and me stealing his high dollar razors. I can take a joke and am only joking myself. I’m just not sure he really wants to open the can of worms on personal hygiene habits because I’ll win hands down. So, if he really wants to go there I'll be happy to reveal information about his grooming habits (or lack of). Actually, I wouldn’t do that to you guys. I wouldn’t want to scare anyone off forever.

Okay, I’m kidding. Honestly, I really can take a joke, so stop sweating and thinking that you’re about to witness blood and guts. I’m smiling as I type this. Okay, my tongue is bleeding, but I’m still smiling. In all seriousness, I am trashing my loofah and just for the record, I shaved my legs tonight (someone write that down!) and I used the fancy razor, then put it back on the sink and do hope he gets lockjaw! Wouldn’t that shut him up? Then I could break his right hand and he wouldn't be able to type either. Now that sounds like a plan!

In case you missed his lovely bio about me and the razor, you can find it here:

www.thetruthaboutsixteensisters.blogspot.com

Did I mention that I was married to a wanna-be comedian? He spends many hours out in the dog house working on his stand-up routine.

The Office

In my house, we just can’t get enough of The Office. If you don’t watch this show, you’re missing out. I’ve told a few people about it and they later told me they just couldn’t get into it. I can’t even imagine that because to us it’s just so entertaining. If you’ve ever worked in an office setting you will be able to relate to all of the different characters in this show.

A friend and former co-worker suggested that I write about the annoying habits and personalities of my co-workers in the workplace. It didn’t take me long to start thinking back to some of the people I’ve spent forty hours a week with. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made some great friends at previous jobs, but have also encountered many types of people I’d never willingly choose to spend time with after 5:00pm.

The following information is from 1991 through present and taken from a variety of offices I’ve worked in. (Some names have been changed for obvious reasons).

The Unidentified Pooper- My friend and I could never pinpoint who this mystery person was but we'd narrowed it down to two people. Nan or Judy- This person needed to see a gastroenterologist immediately. She flushed but always left a little something in the toilet every morning for the person behind her to find, which is why I know she needed to see a gastroenterologist. It wasn't normal! Why she couldn't ever stick around long enough to make sure it all went down is beyond me.

Judy- I could probably do a whole blog entry on Judy alone. She was about fifty, short, overweight but not obese, lazy, sneaky and extremely nosey. She was the food police in our office, among other things. Whenever we held training classes for the field techs or customer's our sales department would order lunch for the class. If there were leftovers they would be put out in the break room for everyone to snack on for the rest of the day. She would usually be up at the front desk by 9:00am asking our receptionist what we'd ordered for lunch that day. Whenever the food would arrive the receptionist would transfer the phones to the service department and she and I would take the food over to the classroom, which was out in the warehouse in a big theatre style room, and set it all out buffet style. Judy would always follow us out there to preview the food if not sneak a plate off before anyone saw. Her desk was right outside of the break room/kitchen and when the leftovers were brought in she would literally sprint in there and start making huge plates. We found out later that she’d hide them under her desk to take home for her husband and kids. No, she wasn't poor! Trust me on this one, she was just greedy for any free handout. She was always trying to scam and steal free stuff for her brother's home business, too. She would always hint around about how she was fixing his business up and if we were going to throw anything away to please let her know, but she was hoarding supplies for him every chance she got. She really was a piece of work and gave my friend and I plenty of material to discuss every day. Once someone brought donuts in on a Friday and she’d saved them in the frig and ate them on Tuesday, which grossed me out. She carried a tote bag everyday and I know it was for the food and supplies she was collecting to take home everyday. We fondly nicknamed her “the mooch". She just wasn't a very nice person or I wouldn't have cared that she hoarded food.

Vance - He needed to see an ear, nose and throat doctor or at least take some Sudafed for his sinus issues. He would sniff constantly and then do the throat-clearing thing pretty often. It wasn’t just regular sniffing either. He would sniff so deep and hard that I had to bolt down the stuff on my desk. It literally drove me nuts.

Dustin- He came to work with a bit of a big head like he’d been there for years. I, unfortunately, had to sit in the cube next to him. He had no sales experience or a clue about the equipment that we sold, which wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d had the salesman personality and skills needed to push the product. If I were a customer I would’ve been turned off by one simple fact alone. He talked so slow that you could’ve custom ordered your product and had it delivered from someone else before he finished his sales pitch. He would make cold calls from his desk and ask for the person responsible for making the decisions to purchase our particular product, then he’d get their voice mail and start leaving a long winded message, talking so slowly that I could only imagine the person on the receiving end sitting there with a pencil and paper waiting on a name or number and for him to spit it out and get to the point of his call. I can’t tell you how many times I actually thought he was talking to a live person and how floored I was when I realized he was actually leaving some unlucky person a four minute voice mail. Do not mistake that statement to mean that I am a fan of speed talkers who leave voice mails talking so fast that you can’t get the number written down after three tries, but there is something to be said for a happy medium in between those two extremes.

Craig - He was a good-looking and funny guy but had such chronic bad breath that we (myself and a co-worker) seriously considered putting several packs of gum in each of his desk drawers. He could be standing four or five feet away from me talking and I literally had to hold my breath. I will give him credit though because he often asked for breath mints. I was more than happy to share. He also loved to use the endearing term “Hey, partner” which was just plain annoying.

Bonnie - She was the “one-upper”. Everything you’d done, she’d done bigger and better. If you had a cyst the size of a grape fruit removed from your ovary, she had one the size of a watermelon. She also reminded me of Debbie the Downer. She was always having a bad day. People were always screwing her over causing her to do back flips at work. (Well, that was her version of events, anyway.) She was also a "close" talker and got in my bubble. I just hate it when people invade my bubble.

John - He was another “cubicle” neighbor from the job where we had the lower walls and could all see each other. He was an older man who could sometimes be amusing with his Minnesota accent, “Don’t ya know?” but he yelled when he talked on the phone and he liked to stand up and look around a lot. Sometimes he stood up right in front of his desk chair just watching everyone. He also liked to stand up and walk around and lean on the counter top in front of my cube, though his cube, which was directly next to mine had the exact same countertop facing the exact same direction. He would just stand there and stare at everyone in the office for about five minutes causing me to shift in my chair. Why did he need to stand at my counter when he had his own dang spot identical to mine? He also clipped his finger nails at his desk and that noise sends me over the edge.

The evil receptionist- She was a bitter forty-five year-old recovering drug addict whom enjoyed being mean to our customer’s and employees just because she could be. She gave callers the runaround even when they didn’t deserve it. She would also burp loudly right there at her desk in front of anyone. The first time I heard her I thought I was imagining it. It was so loud and gross that I was totally blown away. She's another one who also needed to see a gastroenterologist. At least if break down and absolutely have to poop at work, which I try my hardest not to do, I get in and out as quickly and painlessly as possible. Not her. She always wore sandals with big toe rings and it was easy to spot her feet from under the stall doors when you walked in. She would sit in there for thirty minutes sometimes reading magazines but she would also be doing her business with no qualms whatsoever if someone came in. I cringed whenever I walked in and saw her feet under the stall doors, knowing I needed to get in and out as quickly as possible for my own well being. I learned my lesson and tried to avoid using the restroom if she wasn’t at her desk. My nose couldn't take it and neither could my stomach. She was also the classic “It’s not my job” and loved to pass the buck. I always love those types.

Floyd- He was the strange old man who used to throw paper spitballs at me all day long. At first it was funny and I threw them back but after about two weeks, it grew old and ignoring him didn’t work. He eventually threw one that landed in my drink and sprayed me, my entire desk and computer monitor with Coke, causing me to blow a gasket and retaliate for a final show down. He had other ways of picking on me and his peace offering would always be food that he would leave sitting on my desk. I learned later that he’d freeze anything, (like a leftover hamburger or French fries from his lunch at McDonalds’s) and keep it for weeks to eat later. Someone once brought White Castle hamburgers to the office after a trip to the casino. Floyd heated one up for me and I ate it. It tasted kind of funny but I had no idea it was from six weeks earlier when the other co-worker had brought them. I never ate any food from Floyd again after learning that! He reminded me of an old man who would have lots of cats in his apartment and always be peeking out of his window at the neighbors.

Mona - She had a mullet. It was 2005. Need I say more?

As always, I could go on and on, but I better stop myself now.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Happy Birthday, Dad. I know you insist that you're only 49, and you still look 49 and all, but according to my calculations you're actually 67!

Thanks for being such a stand-up guy. I couldn't have handpicked a better Dad, though I didn't always realize that in my younger years. Had God given me a multiple choice form to complete, I wouldn't have changed a thing about you. Well, maybe one.....................I do wish you could operate call waiting without losing the other caller, but I still love you.

P.S. I knew Mom would make sure you read this one!

Quirky Old Habits I'll Likely Never Break

I’m a creature of habit and routine. There are certain things that have to be a certain way or I’m all antsy and irritable. There are some things that I do without even thinking about it because for me it’s almost like breathing.

I can’t go to the movies without a hoodie or light jacket on hand, even during the summer months when it’s 100 degrees out. I’m the same way about restaurants unless we are already out and about and I don’t have one in the car and am absolutely forced to do so.

I will not eat alone in a restaurant. I'll get it to go and eat in my car before I do. I’ve only eaten alone in a restaurant once ever, and it was recently when my husband and I mixed our signals and he stood me up. I’d already ordered our drinks and sat there for half of my lunch hour before realizing it so I stayed to eat but it totally sucked!

I have to have a bottle of nose drops (nasal spray) next to the bed. I don’t use them daily but often wake up stuffy and need a squirt. I make sure they are sitting next to the bed every night, just in case. I also keep a bottle in my purse at all times and usually in the console of my car. My mother and sister are actually addicted and much worse than I am. When my sister and I were neighbors she often came down to use mine if she was out. Yes, we’ve actually shared those. Is that sisterly love or what?

I can’t sleep without the noise and circulation of a ceiling fan and preferably a loud one. If I'm ever in a situation without one it is a long and miserable night.

I can’t just lay my head down on the pillow and fall asleep. I either have to read, watch TV or mess around on the laptop until I can barely keep my eyes open. If I don’t have something to focus on then the sixteensisters in my head will remind me of all of the bills that need to be paid, home improvements needing to be done, blog entry ideas, whether I remembered to put the clothes in the dryer so they don’t mildew, whether I locked the doors (of course I would never forget that because it’s another thing I have to do before going to bed, but of course a sister will have me questioning whether I actually did it or not and then I’ll have to get back up to double check), etc. Get the picture?

I have to have sleep with three pillows and arrange & fluff them before I lay down.
I have one feather pillow that I guard with my life. I will pull it out from under my sleeping husband’s head if necessary. Hey, I’m gentle about it! He shouldn’t have been stupid enough to fall asleep with it knowing it’s my pillow.

I can't sleep in a messy bed. The sheets and comforter don't have to be prefect, but close. If they've been pulled more to one side or the other I just hate it! (unless it's my side that got more!)

The bedroom door needs to be “pulled to”. My words to the kids as they come in and out after I’ve already laid down. “Pull it to on your way out”. Before bed I put a piece of clothing or a small towel in the door way to keep it from shutting completely. I know that’s really weird! But if it’s shut all the way it’ll drive me nuts when my husband gets up for his middle of the night snack and if it’s just cracked and not shut I’m convinced I can still hear a kid in distress. Actually, I can’t hear much over the noise of our fans. In addition to the Fantastic Fan, we also use a small floor fan to block out noises like barking dogs, the sound of our oldest daughter’s music, her talking on the phone and the repeated opening and shutting of her door long after we’ve gone to bed.

I don’t like spending the night away from home. I will, but only when I have to and only at certain places. Anyone wonder why? Isn’t it obvious from all of the above?

I can’t go to bed without taking a bath or shower at least a few hours beforehand.

Here are my special habits that were initially developed as a result of my cockroach phobia that has been mentioned here many times before. We were clean people growing up, but the big ones would get inside from time to time. Everyone knows they like to come out at night, so some of the following were habits I developed when I was younger but have stayed with me until this day, even when we lived in California, where I never even saw a roach.

Since I was a teenager I’ve made a large glass of ice water every night before bed and sit it on my night stand. I started doing that so I wouldn’t have to get up in the middle of the night if I got thirsty and chance a roach encounter. When each of my kids was little they picked up my water next to the bed habit, too. Most nights I may not even drink but a sip or two and other nights it’ll be almost gone by morning, but it’s always there just in case I get thirsty. For a long time I used to put a wash cloth over the top of it to ensure nothing would fly or fall into it while I slept. I didn’t want to drink a floating mosquito, fly or even worse but I eventually broke that habit. The official name for that glass of water in our house is “Night Water”.

I always wear house shoes (slippers), flip flops or socks around the house. If I wake up to go potty at night I have a pair right next to the bed that I slip on. Yet another habit created from my fear of stepping on a roach in the dark. It used to be only a night time thing but then I developed a fetish about walking around barefoot in general and now I always have something on my feet if I am up and moving around, day or night. Okay, I might walk through the house barefoot on occasion, but 99% of the time I just don’t.

I hope this doesn’t make me sound part OCD/part high maintenance. I am in some ways, but for the most part my habits/routines don’t effect anyone else or require anything of them, so that’s not technically high maintenance is it? (The husband is not allowed to answer that question!)

All Dogs go to Heaven

I started this entry in the wee hours of the morning, (technically last night), while I was still very raw and emotional after losing one of my dogs to a sudden illness. I debated all day on whether I should even post this because it’s rather depressing! However, it was what poured from my soul last night and after giving it some thought, I’m going to. So, consider this your warning that it’s a sad read, but I also want to report that the entire family is doing much better this evening. We all five sat around earlier crying some more, but then our tears turned to laughter as we talked about some of the silly things Spencer would do. We even reminisced about our first family dog and what we missed about her. I’ll try to think of a happier topic in the coming days, but for now I will go ahead and let you pet lovers boo with me. I promise, we’re all doing much better tonight!

I wish this was going to be a funny, lighthearted post but sadly it’s not. It's going to be a real downer so you might want to just skip it. It's 3:30am and I’ve not yet slept a wink and the alarm will be sounding in three hours. I’ve cried a river but still can’t sleep. The kids were up past 1:30am and are staying home from school tomorrow. I had to make the decision to euthanize one of our dogs tonight and it was tough on all of us.

Spencer was fine earlier in the afternoon but when my son took dinner out at about 8:45pm, he didn't come running as usual. After installing the electric fence we’d only had a few episodes of him escaping so I walked out front and started whistling for him. My son soon called to me that he was in the back but wouldn’t come and eat. I walked around to the back of the house where he seemed to be hiding. He was at the water spicket, which we have set to drip when they drink and there was a lot of water saturated on the ground and he seemed to be sopping it up like crazy. When I called him he started walking towards me in a daze, so immediately obviously not himself and then he sort of sprawled to the ground and flipped over onto his side. He’d start to get up and it would happen again. I totally panicked. He’d sometimes manage to walk eight to ten feet at a time without the tumble, but just when I thought he might be getting better, he would regress and fall over again. His alert moments were short lived but gave me hope as I tried to figure out what could’ve happened to our dog. He was so thirsty and gulped down two small bowls of water then threw it up.

As I tended to the dog, my husband checked the fence and found a place where he could’ve gotten out and we initially suspected poisoning until I’d called a friend with a strong veterinary background and he told me it didn’t sound like the symptoms of poisoning but more like severe dehydration, from what we had no clue. I was crying as I tried to get him to act or feel normal and within the hour decided this warranted a visit to the animal emergency clinic. Who has the money to fork out for after hour’s care, but how can you just sit and watch your pet in such distress and only hope for improvement until morning? Even though he wasn't whimpering I just knew he was in bad shape and had to be suffering. My younger two kids and I prayed together shortly after we'd found him like this. We didn't want him to suffer and wanted him to be okay.

I’m not sure why I did, but the kids were too anxious and worried to sleep so I let them throw on some clothes and go with me. We had to lift the dog into the car and slide him on the sheets all the way in. In this short period of time he became so lethargic and non-responsive that I was prepared for the worst, but hoping I was wrong. My oldest daughter followed us from work to the clinic. We had to ask for help to get him inside and they brought a gurney out and took him in through the back.

I can't even begin to describe how proud and amazed I am at the way my children handled this very emotional drama. I’m still in awe of each one of them and so thankful they were with me, because as hard as it was for them to say goodbye and see their dog in such a state, I honestly don't think I could've handled it without them. We were working together as we weighed the grim options and went back and forth before making our final decision. I was told they could start IV’s and treatment on Spencer but he would require several days of hospitalization and medication, and depending on what point we’d caught the illness, he still might not make it. His blood was turning to “tar” and his system was shutting down. It’s got a name, three words that I can’t recall exactly but it was Hemorrhagic X X and they couldn’t tell us the exact cause, only speculated that he ingested something. (i.e. a plant, a mushroom, trash or bad food at some point) The cost for the treatment for just the one night would be six to seven hundred dollars and he would most certainly have needed to be hospitalized for a minimum of several days. He was in bad shape by the time we arrived at the clinic. The doctor gave me his opinion and was frank with me that I would be looking at a minimum of a thousand dollars. I hate to say that money played a role in my decision, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't. It played a role but wasn’t the deciding factor. There was a point when the kids each volunteered their own money to help fund the treatment and a point when I came so close to writing a check (thinking I'd deal with the financial strain later) and just saying go for it, do it, do whatever it takes, but after talking to our experienced friend again, and to the doctor a second time, the kids and I together agreed to say our goodbyes and let them end his suffering. It wasn't an easy decision by any means, and so hard to see them all trying to accept it and then have to say goodbye. They'd wheeled him into the room on a gurney to us and only once did he even lift his head. He had labored breathing, his eyes were closed and there was absolutely no response from him to us all petting his face and whispering that we loved him. He worsened even more in the five or ten minutes we spent with him and my oldest saw that his closed eyes were literally blood red and got very upset so I nudged them out and called them to go ahead and take him. We all sobbed and waited for them to bring him out to my car for the ride home where my husband was preparing his final resting spot in the backyard.

Yes, he was the alleged "ducknapper", very mischievous and always into something, but the most lovable, adorable, sweetest dog ever and we're going to miss him.

Ten Things

Since I can’t change the world, I wish I could at least change a few small things around me. Here are ten things that come to mind right off the top of my head. I could’ve easily listed twenty, or even thirty, but didn’t want to get carried away and have everyone reading here thinking I was just a big grouch. (Ha!)

I wish.............

1. I wasn’t the only person in my house who knew how to change the empty toilet paper roll.

2. The other four people I share a house with would flush the toilet after every use.

3. My husband wouldn’t use his side of the bed as a laundry hamper and shoe closet.

4. I could see the floor in my oldest daughter’s room.

5. My children wouldn’t take their socks off inside out.
(Folding them like that hasn’t broken them of the habit, either.)

6. My husband wouldn’t take his T-shirts and underwear off inside out. (He’s actually gotten better about his socks. I think he got the message that the kids didn't.)

7. My husband wouldn’t leave the shower nozzle in the ON position so that every time I go to start the water for a hot bath I get sprayed in the face. (Over the last few weeks there has been a slight improvement in the number of instances. It’s only taken nineteen years to get this far, so maybe there’s hope for him after all.)

8. Everyone in the house utilized the laundry basket or clothes hamper.

9. I wouldn’t find empty items put back in the refrigerator or pantry. (Ahem……anyone but me ever heard of a trash can? What good is an empty pop-tart box?)

10. Everyone rinsed the sink out after brushing their teeth. (Then again, what better things do I have to do than scrubbing dried globs of toothpaste from the sink? Well, I do have socks to fold. Plus I have to turn them right side out. How do you say that, anyway?)

There are plenty more where these came from, but I'll save those for another time. Feel free to add to this list in the comment section. I'm sure everyone has their own special list.

Coffee, Anyone?

My husband and I drink coffee every morning when we get up. The only exception to that rule is if we sleep really late on the weekends, but even then it’s rare that we don't drink it whenever we get up. He usually makes it on the weekends but I somehow got stuck with being the official coffee maker during the week. I always prepare it the night before and set the timer for it to brew before we get up in the morning. Our morning ritual consists of us drinking our coffee while watching the local news in between waking the kids for school and then getting ourselves ready.

Last night, as I was doing my "before bedtime routine", I decided that I'd just skip coffee today knowing that my husband had taken the day off from work and would be sleeping late today. I thought I'd take full advantage of the fact that he wouldn’t be nudging me to get up if I hit snooze two or three times and sleep a little later than normal. So, I crawled out of bed this morning half asleep and rushed around like a mad woman trying to get out of here on time, semi-regretting my decision to pass on the coffee.

It was a brutal morning at work without my normal dose of caffeine to keep me going. I could hardly keep from nodding off right there at my desk. I work for a very small company and we don't even have coffee at work. Can you believe that? It’s the only place I’ve ever worked where there's not coffee brewing all day long or it wouldn’t have been a big deal. We do have a coffee shop across the street that comes in handy for times like these, but it was raining today and I just wasn't willing to venture out into the rain so I just toughed it out.

As I was leaving for lunch today I called my husband to check on the status of his day and during our conversation I mentioned how tired I'd been all morning since I'd chosen to skip my morning coffee. He got very upset and asked what I meant by that so I explained myself. He went on to tell me that he’d gotten up and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot and heated it up in the microwave. Our coffee pot sits in an out of the way spot on the counter and is sort of "out of sight, out of mind". I'm usually the only one in the house who empties and/or washes it, so it's not unusual for it to sit there with a little bit of leftover coffee in it until it's time to make the next pot. We were discussing how old the coffee must've been as he tried not to puke during our conversation. He said he had looked it over and even smelled it before pouring himself a cup and that he really thought it was leftover from earlier this morning. We decided it must've been from yesterday and he was totally grossed out to think that he'd enjoyed a cup of twenty-four-hour old coffee. We both laughed, in between him gagging and hung up. I thought about it some more after that and just had to call him back after I specifically remembered that this was an unusual weekend for us because we didn't have coffee on Saturday or Sunday. He'd actually enjoyed a cup of Friday’s coffee on this Monday morning! Upon hearing this news he suddenly felt sick and asked me to go look inside at the filter to see if there was any mold growing on the coffee grounds. (And no, there wasn't!)

I guess if I were a really good wife I would've just let him keep thinking it was only twenty-four-hour old coffee rather than seventy-two-hour old coffee. Not!

One of These Things is Not Like the Other

I hope I don’t live to regret posting this entry. You will probably ask yourself why on earth I would care to share this story with anyone, much less everyone, but you have to be able to laugh at yourself in life and laughter should be shared, right?

I'd made fun of my sister for years after she’d called me one day to tell me that she’d been on the elevator at work and had looked down at her feet and realized she had on one brown and one black shoe, of the same brand and style. She’d stood there hoping and praying no one would notice and tried to remain obscure for the rest of the day. Then one day, karma took care of me and I've never made fun of her for that again.

I went to work one morning last summer and my day seemed to be off to a normal start. I worked in a large office with cubicles, but they were the ones with short walls and very little privacy so we could all see what was going on around us. I'd walked around the office to use the copier, fax machine, check my inbox, etc. and didn’t notice anything unusual. At about 9:00 am or so I went to use the restroom. Almost as soon as I’d sat down, I glanced down at my feet and immediately gasped out loud and stood back up. I let out an involuntary sound of some sort of panicked moan and must’ve said "OMG" three or four times out loud. I was absolutely mortified. I’d looked down at my two feet and saw two COMPLETELY different shoes staring back at me. I'm not talking about a brown and black pair of the same brand and style. Nope. I'm not talking about two shoes that could’ve passed for sisters, they couldn’t have passed for second cousins! One was camel colored with a flower on top and the other was dark brown with straps running across the front. The heels were even shaped completely different. There wasn't one thing similar about these two shoes! I was in shock. I wanted to crawl out of the window and run home. I could not believe that I’d walked around the office like that for over an hour unnoticed and was horrified at the thought of one of my co-workers seeing me like that. I stood in the stall paralyzed as I planned my escape. About that time a co-worker walked in and I reluctantly opened the stall door and pointed down to my feet, then asked if she would go to my desk and get my purse. She was bent over laughing WITH me, not AT me! There was absolutely no way I could've walked back through the office like that. All I needed was for one of the guys from the sales department to see me. I would've never lived it down. I still can't understand how no one noticed when I was walking around the office for over an hour like that, but am so grateful they didn’t.

By the way, there's a perfectly logical explanation for this horrifying mishap. I was getting dressed that morning and had put on one of each shoe, then walked into my oldest daughter’s room to ask her which one looked better with my khaki pants. Apparently, when I walked back to my room to finish getting ready I’d gotten sidetracked and unfortunately never gave the shoes a second thought. Don’t ask me how I managed to walk around without noticing the half-inch difference in the two heels. Take a look at these shoes and ask yourself what I was smoking that morning! The answer is nothing and I still assure you that I’m not a blonde!

My co-worker brought me my purse and I literally sprinted to the parking lot and called my boss from my cell phone explaining my sudden disappearance. I laughed at myself all the way home thanking God that no one had noticed. This definitely made the time I wore a T-shirt around all day with the cute little “pocket” on my back left shoulder seem mild in comparison!

Gone But Not Forgotten

As most of you know, I started this blog in June after learning that my friend Kim had died suddenly and unexpectedly. The first two entries were about her death but I haven’t written anything about her since then. I have refrained from doing so because I didn’t want to make this a depressing place to read. It’s been almost three months since she passed away and not a day goes by that I don’t think about her and miss her. Her name is still saved in my cell phone and email contact lists. I often come across it when I’m scrolling through looking for a contact but I just can’t bring myself to delete her.

My thoughts and prayers are with those who lost loved ones on September 11, 2001.

The Fantastic Fan

A few years ago my husband was working a different shift and his two days off were during the week. We hated not having the weekends off together but on the plus side, he managed to get more stuff done around the house with the kids in school and me working.

One day I came home from work and found the house empty, which was unusual so I headed down the hall looking for everyone. When I reached my bedroom I found my husband, son and youngest daughter all lying in our bed with these strange smiles on their faces. It was obvious they were up to something so I stood there at the foot of the bed just staring at all three of them with their silly grins and asked what was going on. We went back and forth several times with me asking them what they were up to and them denying that there was anything out of the ordinary going on. Finally, my husband asked if I noticed anything different in our room so I looked around but saw nothing unusual. It still looked like the same messy bedroom as it did when I’d left that morning. The suspense was now killing me. When I just couldn't spot anything different he finally told me to look up. I did and a brand new shiny ceiling fan was hanging above our bed. Ours had been on its last leg, rattling and shaking for a while so I was extremely pleased that he’d finally installed a new one.

As they all three continued to lie there watching me with those silly grins my husband then told me that the fan did something really cool but that he couldn’t say it out loud but that he would spell it. I looked at him like he was crazy and he spelled “S A Y -L I G H T -O F F”. I thought he was losing it so I just stood there so he spelled it out again. I hesitated but finally said, “light off”, and the light actually turned off. Next he spelled out “S A Y- L I G H T - O N”. I did and lo and behold the light turned on. I was stunned and just stood there processing this and then said “No way!” He continued giving me more commands such as “fan off”, "fan on" and this master of all fans was following my every command. I couldn’t believe that I could actually verbally command my new ceiling fan to turn on and off like that. This was better than The Clapper! (Not that I had a clapper but the idea was always intriguing!) All I could think about was no more getting out of bed on cold mornings to turn the fan off or stumbling around in the dark to feel for the light switch. This was awesome! I was so impressed and amazed with the technology of this new magical fan. Well, that was until the last two “test” commands didn’t work quite as smoothly as the first few. The timing was off by a few seconds after I verbalized a command and it was at that point my husband and kids could no longer contain their laughter and I then knew I’d just fallen for the “voice controlled fan trick” hook, line and sinker. (And no, I’m not a blonde in case you were wondering)

My husband had been hiding the remote control to the fan under the comforter the entire time. I wanted to kill him but I was laughing too hard at the time, as were all three of them. As disappointed as I was that I didn't actually have a new magical voice controlled fan, the Mother of All Fans, I was still stoked that it at least came with a remote control. It took a while for us to train ourselves not to pull the strings on the fan or to flip the light switch and to stop losing the remote somewhere in the bed, but it was pretty cool and we became spoiled by the convenience factor in no time.

About a year ago the remote stopped working and we’d really gotten dependent on it so my husband made several attempts to fix it with no luck. The fan worked just fine in the caveman mode, but not with the remote. Unfortunately, we were forced to return to life as we'd once known it, pulling strings and flipping switches. It was tough, some mornings were colder than others, but somehow we managed to survive!

Well, guess what? The prankster husband of mine came home from Wal-Mart yesterday with the part he’s needed for over a year to fix the remote and he got it working again so we’re once again living life in luxury! Now if I could just find a remote control with a mute button for my husband’s mouth, I’d be good to go!

The Grocery Store/Hell

I absolutely loathe grocery shopping. Not that anyone asked, but I felt compelled to share that tidbit of information. Luckily, my husband does the majority of our shopping, or we’ll often go together. Otherwise, we might starve.

Every time I step foot inside of a grocery store I remember why I hate shopping. It never fails that I will get stuck with a slow person that I can't seem to shake. You know, the one person who is on the first or second aisle that you start on, and they're right in your way, so you sort of mill around waiting on them to move so you can grab your item and they sort of scoot along like a turtle then you finally manage to maneuver your way around them and think you're finally in the clear, but the next thing you know they seem to be following you. You just can't shake them. You might get a reprieve for a row or two and think you’ve put enough space between you and them only to turn around and see they are again blocking you from your item or making your attempt to get down the aisle almost impossible.

I stopped by the store on my way home from work tonight to get a few things. The tables seemed to be turned and I found myself being the one in someone's way for a change. It was really strange to be on the reverse end, especially to an elderly woman. On several occasions I feared this eighty plus year old woman might plow me right over. She was moving so fast I tucked my rear end in every time I heard her coming for fear that I might lose my backside. I think this little old lady was on speed cause I’ve never seen anyone her age move that fast, especially in the grocery store.

Personally, I think they should have little tables set up like they do when they're passing out samples of a product, but instead of food and drinks they should pass out Valium in various forms. It could change the whole dynamics of the grocery shopping experience. Can you imagine how nice and relaxed everyone would be? If they were to do that I know I would be willing to go much more often, if not every day and my husband would just love that.

The Drama of Donald the Duck

I saw a missing dog poster today as I stopped at the stop sign on the corner of our street and it triggered a memory for me. About a year or so ago my daughter came inside and told me there was a duck in our neighbor's front yard. It was gone by the time I looked out and other than thinking that was really strange, considering we live in a suburban neighborhood, I didn't give it much more thought. A few days later I was driving the kids to school when one of them pointed out a missing poster sign attached to the street lamp at the end of our street. It had a picture of two ducks that were apparently missing from the neighborhood. I had to laugh out loud because we've seen plenty of missing dog and cat signs but missing ducks was a first for us around here.

A few days later my son came in from the backyard and told me there was a big dead bird in our yard. I couldn't see it from the sliding door and wasn't going out to investigate. This was my husband's territory so I told my son not to touch it and that his dad would handle it later. We have two big dogs and I assumed one of them had killed it. I like birds and all and couldn't begin to count how many times we've rescued injured ones and taken them to rehabilitation homes, but this one was dead so I went on about my business and forgot all about it and about telling my husband to take care of it.

A day or two later my husband was doing yard work. He walked in from the backyard and told me that I was never going to believe it but there was a dead duck in our back yard. He hadn't been made aware of the sighting of the lone duck in the neighbor's front yard or the missing poster for the two ducks so he was completely surprised to see a duck lying dead in our suburban backyard, apparently at the hands of one our dogs.

I was horrified. I couldn't believe that my dogs had killed the pet duck of someone in the neighborhood. I quickly explained the situation to him and told him to get back out there and get rid of the duck before the kids saw it. The last thing we needed was for one of the kids to tell the neighbors and to be forever known as the owners of the duck mauling dogs. I needed some time to think about how we were going to handle this. I felt obligated to inform the owners of the two missing ducks that they were now only missing one duck, but for now I was more concerned about cleaning up the crime scene. You'd have to know my youngest daughter to understand my panic. Rarely does anything get past her and she would've been dying to spread the news. We don’t call her “Harriet the Spy” for nothing. My husband bagged up the dead duck but rather than taking it out to the curb, he thought he should wait until it was closer to trash day so he left the trash bag tied up on the side of the house.

My plan was to eventually drive down to get that phone number from the missing poster and then make the dreaded phone call to inform the duck owner of the sad news and never tell the kids. I can only imagine how shocked my husband and I looked when later that day the kids came running inside yelling that we had a dead duck in our backyard. We didn’t know what to think. Well, the dogs had dug that poor dead duck right back out of the trash and tossed him around like a chew toy leaving a nice trail of white feathers in the yard. It was like the duck that just wouldn't go away!

I went to get that phone number but a few of the digits had smeared off from exposure to the outside elements. I was relieved. A few weeks later my daughter informed us "the word on the street" was the ducks belonged to our white trash neighbors who lived behind and one house over from us. These would be the same people we'd had issues with in the past because their kids would constantly cuss at ours and throw big rocks over the fence at both our kids and dogs so they weren’t exactly ideal neighbors. I was sorry about the death of that duck but decided I wasn’t going over to tell them. I carry around a tiny smidgen of guilt hoping they’re not still leaving the porch light on in hopes the duck is someday coming home, but I don’t lose any sleep over it. Perhaps if they'd not raised misbehaved little foul mouthed heathans I might.

PS. To make matters worse, our escape artist dog had been previously known to dig back there and had gone into the yard directly behind us on a few occasions, so my husband believes that he might’ve gotten into their yard and actually kidnapped the duck. I refused to accept that scenario. There was no proof of that and he's not the fastest dog around by any stretch. Sure it was possible, but it was just as possible the duck flew over that fence. By the way, we’ve now added electric wiring along the fence where he was digging to keep him from venturing out again, just in case he was actually guilty of kidnapping the duck. Technically, I guess that would be considered ducknapping.

Carla and Teresa (BFF)

Last week I talked to two of my oldest friends. It all started with an email. I’d been playing phone tag with one for several weeks and the other one had been on my mind for a while, but I kept forgetting to dig out her email address. I hadn’t called because I no longer have a long commute to and from work and that was when we used to chat, while we were both fighting the hellish traffic together in two different metropolitan cities.

So, when I finally hooked up with my “oldest” friend last week, oldest as in we met in kindergarten and went through every year of school together, I felt an overwhelming urge to find my "second oldest" friend, who I’ve known since 2nd grade, but have only claimed as a best friend since 6th grade. Well, I finally made it a point to email her and spent much of the day on Thursday and Friday laughing at the email exchanges from the two of them.

Carla, my “oldest” friend only lives 2-3 miles away, but sadly we only see each other about once a year, usually when we both attend the Christmas Eve church services at our childhood church. When we first moved here about 8 years ago we did see each other frequently, back when the kids played ball together and our daughter’s were on the same drill team. Then life got hectic after all of the kids started school and things changed. It’s really sad, especially considering the fact that when we do get together both of our sides hurt from laughing so hard.

Friday night Carla called on her way home from work and ended up spontaneously coming over to my house where she spent several hours. I’m not sure why so much time passes in between the visits when all we do is laugh the entire time when we do get together. Between the two of us we can remember so much more about our childhoods. Actually, I do know why. It’s the hustle and bustle of work, kids, chores, life, etc. We always vow not to let that get in the way, but we do. I hope that changes and our plan to meet for margaritas in a few weeks doesn't get pooped on due to a football game or softball practice!

Teresa lives in Atlanta now but still visits fairly often. Carla and I talked about having a slumber party during her next visit and Teresa was all for that idea. Our last slumber party was interesting to say the least, and one that none of us will likely ever forget. That was about 14 years ago. We managed to get 6 old friends together and then dropped in on a few others. I think this next one will be smaller and cozier for reasons I'd rather not discuss!

These two are also my birthday partners. We all have November birthdays, just two weeks apart. By the way, did I mention I'm the youngest? Okay, only by a week or two, but I'm still the youngest! We had a big 30th birthday bash, ummm, a few years back. It was awesome. I wonder if we'll be able to pull another one off for our 40th!

About 5-6 years ago Carla, Teresa and I, along with mine and Carla's mom's took a road trip to attend our other "oldest" friend's wedding. Ironically, our mother's attended high school together. We stayed in Fredericksburg, TX at a quaint little bed and breakfast. By the time our weekend was nearing an end, I felt as if I literally needed to get away from them all before my sides split wide open from laughing so hard. I don't think I could've laughed anymore or any harder for about 24-36 hours straight. I'd forgotten about that trip until Carla brought it up on Friday and suggested that we try to do something like that again. I'm all for it if someone will wrap my rib cage in ace bandages beforehand. I'm not sure they could withstand another weekend like that. Trust me when I say you'd just have to know them to understand. Carla's mom has the most contagious laugh I've ever heard in my entire life. That was all the more fuel for us.

During our email party on Friday, I sent both of them my blog address and briefly explained what a blog was. Teresa's first question was whether I'd written anything about her yet, and then if I'd written about anyone she knew. Then she proceeded to fill my inbox up all day long on Friday with excerpts from our past and suggestions to be used for my next entry. I told Carla about that and she said, "OMG, that is sooooo Teresa". And it is! We both laughed and laughed even more at some of the suggestions from her that triggered fond (and some not so fond) memories of our youth together. I had to remind Teresa that my mom does tend to read the blog and some things would just be better left off! Although she did enlighten her on many of our teenage escapades during that weekend trip! If we do manage to plan another get together with our moms, I just might have to bring a muzzle for Teresa! Nah, I couldn't do that! She'd just gnaw it off anyway and say exactly what was on her mind!

I sent them an email earlier today to let them know I was blogging about them and Carla replied that I better not have written more stuff about Teresa than her. Oh, they crack me up. I sure do miss those girls and all of the good times we've shared! Funny thing is, we can go months or years without seeing each other but we always pick back up right where we left off without missing a beat! So, get your rear end down here, Teresa. I'm ready for that slumber party!

The Baby Girl Starts College

The baby girl started college today! I feel so old. (Truth be told, she's exactly half my age, but who asked and who's counting?)
Lucky for us she opted to stay home for a year and attend the local Jr. College. All went well today. She bought all of her books and from the sounds of it she needed a pallet jack to get them to her car. I'm so glad she changed her mind at the last hour and decided to stay home a little longer. Granted, we drive each other nuts but I just wasn't quite ready to turn her loose out there in the real world. She semi-regrets that decision but we sure don't. That's the only reason I've kept my mouth shut about not being able to see the floor in her bedroom recently. No reason to make her regret it any more!

My brother will turn 40 on 9/11. When my sister turned 40 my oldest daughter and I went down and wrapped her house with black streamers. In Texas we call it wrapping houses but I know in some other places it's called rolling or TP'ing. We also decorated her car with some 40’s stuff I picked up at Party City. I was actually depressed on her 40th because I knew that meant I was getting closer to 40. Now I'm sweating bullets because my brother turning 40 means my turn is just on the horizon. (Ok, 3.5 years away, but close enough)

My brother has grown into a very responsible man with a wife and four children. He has a great job and beautiful home. Looking back, oh, about 25-30 years ago, I'm not so sure that anyone would've envisioned him to be where he is today. Don't get me wrong, he wasn't a petty thief or juvenile delinquent. He was just the life of the party and full of surprises. We lived in a small town and pretty much ran the roads on both foot and bicycles, even after dark. My brother had lots of friends in our neighborhood and they were full of mischief. I was fortunate enough to get to tag along sometimes, when my mom insisted just to shut me up.

Pre-high school my brother and his friends had a few ways to pass the time on those boring summer nights. For the record, I am a semi-responsible adult and no longer condone the following behavior, but it sure was fun at the time! There was the tennis ball game where we would hide behind a house and throw a tennis ball at cars that were stopped at the stop sign. Yeah, I know, we could've caused an accident, but the car wasn't actually moving at the time so was it really that bad? Although I must admit if I were stopped at a stop sign and heard a thud like that I'd probably poop in my pants and drive straight into oncoming traffic. The worst consequence we suffered from that particular prank was when one guy got out of his car madder than hell, spotted us and started running our way. I don't remember how I managed to clear that six-foot wooden fence and make it home in all of three minutes, but I did. I’ve heard adrenaline can have that effect. I think that might've been the last time we ever played that particular game again. My favorite prank was one we called "Purse". Ironically, this was staged at the same stop sign location. The boys rummaged through the closets for old purses to use. They’d lay the purse in the road under the streetlight in plain view of the stopped cars. Typically, it was supposed to tempt the person to open their door and reach for the purse. I think they played it two different ways, one with dog poop inside and one without, sometimes with fishing string attached, sometimes without. Sometimes they’d pull the string and freak the driver out and other times they’d just leave it alone with the poop inside. I was only allowed to play on occasion, but when I did my heart would pound as we hid quietly in the bushes. I know I could hardly breathe. I was having fun but terrified at the same time. I do remember one guy who stopped, grabbed the purse then drove off but slammed on his breaks. He opened his car door yelling profanities (understandable) and threw the purse back out onto the street. Can't say I blame him! I think that might’ve inspired another night of me running home like a bolt of lightning. The craziest prank of all (I never actually participated with this one) was the stuffed dummy that they made. It was wearing a shirt, blue jeans and work boots. They would hang it/him from a rope over a tree and drop him down when cars approached the stop sign. However, they used a different stop sign that had bigger trees! (Mom, please don't ground me for putting this on the internet! Don’t worry, the statute of limitations has run out)

High school was just one big good time. His senior year he was voted Most Handsome, Most Popular and Mr. GPHS. He was the life of the party and everyone loved him. All of the cops in our small town knew him well, but loved him. He never got into any “real” trouble. I'm sure there were times when my parents worried about his future at the rate he was going, but he turned out to be way more than okay. As a matter of fact, I occasionally run into old friends of his/ours who have seen him around, and they often ask me when he became so serious and grown up. Oh, he still likes to have a good time, but he’s long outgrown those wild and crazy days. After all, he’s almost 40!!