Driver's Safety: Think

Photo credit: Crunkish

When one's husband drives a '96 Ford Explorer with a temperamental transmission, the last thing she wants but always expects is a call at 10:30 on a Friday night informing her that he is broke down. Only it's not the transmission; it's a blown tire. And he is on the interstate.

As soon as he called me, I was up and grabbing my pocketbook ready to rescue him. "No," he says. "I am going to change the tire. I just wanted to let you know where I was."

I can hear the traffic whizzing by. Granted he WAS on the interstate, but still. It sounded too close. Also, the blown tire was the front driver-side. This bit of information sent me into a fit of oh-my-g-he-going-to-be-killed-and-I'll-have-to-raise-these-kids-alone-with-no-father. IJUSTKNOWIT.

To add insult to potential injury, the tire had to blow next to a LONG guardrail AND five miles from the exit.

He did manage to move the truck further up the road so he could pull over properly. Then the jack-lugnut-looser-upper broke and there was nothing he could do.

I had to come to the rescue.

After some creative juggling, mostly consisting of me having to drive him to work this morning as I needed the car*, I procured a brandnew lugnut-looser-upper, picked him up from work, whereas he was able to change the tire in the light of day and a torrential downfall. Ironic being we haven't had a good rain in about three weeks. Oddly enough, it didn't rain at our house.

As I sat in the car behind the truck with the emergency lights on, I watched the traffic. I lost count of how many times people COULD have moved to the inside lane, but didn't.

Why not move for everyone?

Sadly, the Move Over law (in Tennessee) does not extend to personal vehicles. As I watched my  husband struggle with sub-par tools** in the pouring rain and road-spray, I just knew any second something would catch and he'd accidentally fall back into the lane of traffic.

I propose that we as drivers should really look out for one another.  I have always tried to move over when I see any sort of activity on the side of the road. Sure, we are all in a hurry, but a quick lane change may prevent  the unthinkable from happening.

Photo Credit: Tennessee Department of Safety

*For those of you that knew about the book sale today, that was not the reason I needed the car. Nice benefit, but not the reason.|
**I am going to take the money I WAS going to spend on a tow truck and buy some better car tools. He just doesn't know it yet. 

Tweet

This may suprise you, but I am normally not one to complain -

Okay, now that you are done laughing and saying, "Yeah, right," let me finish.

I am not one to complain when it comes to calling or emailing companies about poor customer service. That does not mean I won't make snarky comments on Facebook, make a comment in the store, or tell someone else.

Big Daddy usually tells me that I should call/email/complain. But what he forgets is that he will also tell me about customer comments about his store. Those comments are usually petty and unfounded. I don't want to become someone else's dinner converstation. "You won't believe what this woman complained about today...."


On Saturday, I was in a particular* store that visit at least once a month. It is not unusual to have poor customer service at this location, but I tend to overlook it. Or make a comment directly to the offending person.  This time, I couldn't couldn't let the rudeness slide. I did make a comment to the offending person, and then left my buggy** sitting up front and walked out. Later that evening, I emailed the corporate office and declared this store dead to me.

I felt better by and honestly thought nothing would happen.

______________

"I bet she is trying to get somethin' for nothin'.

Monday a.m. : A reply to my email was in my inbox. My original email was being sent on to the retail services.

Monday 2:30 p.m.: District Manager called to get more information. He gave me his direct number, the name of that store's general manager, and is sending me a gift certificate. He apologized no less than five times for my experience.

Monday 3:45 p.m.: Store Manager called to apologize. He assured me that the associates involved had been addressed as well as other problems associated with that store. Entire call lasted one minute according to my phone. He even questioned as to why I didn't come to him directly.  
______________

I get the sneakin' suspecion that I just become someone's conversation fodder.

I considered going back to the store dependent on how the store manager's call went. But now? I won't be back.


*The actual name is not essential here. 
**Southern translation; buggy -noun: a rolling recepitcal used to contain items one wishes to purchase in a store. syn: shopping cart, carriage, handcart, gig, dolly, pushcart.

Tweet

Follow Up: You'll Never Think of Graham Crackers in the Same Way

Frankly, I think everyone should be vegetarians.

I got an interesting response concerning Nicholas' project and the offending graham crackers. I think it's safe to say that I won't be able to give them to my family anymore.

His teacher emailed me back. She was embarrassed, I think. She said when she started doing these inventor projects there was no talk of the real reasons Sylvester Graham invented them. She also mentioned she'd be pulling his name out of the hat.

Nicholas came home with a new inventor to research. The object? Popsicles.

I haven't googled it yet.

Tweet

A Word About Certain Words

Yesterday on "The View," Whoopi Goldberg made mention that Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn was being re-written to remove any use of two specific words.

An article discussing the same subject can be found here. The article also details those specific words, in case you weren't aware.

I immediately knew I wanted to write about this, but I chose to sit on it for a day. Off and on, I was thinking about how I really feel about this.

My first reaction, which is also my current reaction, is that the entire project shouldn't be done. Who is to say that any words that are used in the text are wrong and should be omitted?

Oh, wait. The same people that choose to ban that very book out of libraries years ago.

My complaint is two-fold:

1. If the powers that be felt that the book was unfit to be read, how is their "power of speech" more right than Mark Twain's?

2. How can a book be changed as not to offend anyone with certain words yet the very words in question are an integral part of history?

Sure, we don't use these specific words in daily conversation. But we don't use other words either and some of those words may offend those they reference. Remember the term "politically correct?"

Should someone go through and rewrite any book that references policemen, firemen, secretaries, or handicapped?

From the moment someone begins to understand language, he or she could be offended by a word or two. An educated person can look past certain nuances. An educated person should be able to read the context clues. This skill is taught as early as Kindergarten.

We teach our children from early on that certain words are not acceptable. There are certain words that used to be censored from television, but now are as common as one would say leg, dog, or cat. However, the words that are still censored or not used on television can still be heard or seen. Words that I may not allow at my house may be just fine at yours. For example, we made "shut-up" a bad word. But that is for us, in our home.

My point is this: The first Amendment gives us freedom of speech; however, that seems to be a bit of a misnomer.

You can't yell fire in a crowded room. You can't say anything that can will cause harm to another person (slander). You can't write anything that could cause harm to another person (libel). In various situations, it is just understood that certain language is not acceptable, such as a teacher in a classroom.

But, even with our limits when it comes to words, that doesn't mean words that aren't accepted for general use anymore have to be erased as the times change.

I have never said the n-word. I heard it when I was growing up (not a lot), but I never liked it. As an adult, I chose never to use it, even in private conversation or writings that would that would be contextually correct. But does that mean that I am right?

No.

There are other words that I don't like and won't use. I could become offended and find a few hundred people to back me up and have any literature banned that contains those words. Or request that books be written so that I may not be offended.


No, we don't have freedom of speech in the literal sense, but we certainly to have freedom of opinions.

And in my opinion, Huck Finn needs to be left alone. Should the author go ahead with this project, I am reassured that I still have my copies with the original text, tucked safe on the bookshelf so that my boys may have the same experience of a rich novel that I did.

The Early Bird Might Get The Worm, But She'll Still Be Grumpy About It

So, for Day 10 Sara wants to know:

"How was your day?"

Well, I am sure at the end of this you'll be sorry you asked, Sara. And I can assure you it's not retaliation for the getting John Mellencamp's song stuck in your head.

I could NOT sleep Friday night/Saturday morning. At least, not a deep restful sleep. Tossed and turned. Turned and tossed. Dreamed about grammar ALL. NIGHT. LONG.

And Tim Gunn. But that's a story for another day.

At 6:30 I tried to slip quietly out of the bed and make a quick trip to the potty without alerting the dogs of my awakeness. I was going to attempt to lay/lie down a bit longer. For some reason other than sleep, obviously.

They were not fooled.

I headed downstairs and enjoyed approximately fifteen minutes and three sips of coffee before the troops started to awaken and wish for things like breakfast.

Um, hello? It's SATURDAY. Otherwise known as, "My Day Off."

Today is Big Daddy's last day of vacation. However, being he is the main dog in charge, he needed to go in for a "few minutes."

At work. Not here, people. Let's be real.


I was dressed in my housecleaning clothes and had already gotten started. He finished getting ready to go and THEN asked me to go with him.

(Censored for content)

He did offer a Diet Coke as my reward. As if I could be bought so cheaply.

I took a book to read while he did these vital tasks that apparently only he and the president of some third world country have the codes to open the necessary forms on the computer. He assured me he would be out in twenty minutes.

Forty-five minutes later, he comes out and...

(censored for content)

To make a LONG story short:

• I am tired.
• I am ready for him to go back to work TOMORROW.
• I am grumpy.
• I did not buy any chocolate while we were out.
  
• I am glad tomorrow is Sunday.
• In one week, they will all be home. Every. Day.
  
• I am looking for alternate accommodations for the dates of October 3-10. It's either them or me.
  
• I really do love them. But it is time for some absence so my heart can grow fonder.

Sorry. But you asked. Or didn't.

Whatever.

In case you were wondering...

Apparently, words allude me today. I am taking a break from work so that I can write the way I LIKE TO WRITE.

With humor.

In first-person.

Non-formal.

Yesterday, I wrote so much and even had a bit-o-drama to go with it, that today...

I got nothing.

*-*-*-*-*

The above text is what I mentioned in my entry earlier today.

I looked at the "I got nothing" for a few minutes and watched the blinking curser. Only to get up, go into the kitchen, decide the dishes could wait, and retreat to the couch where I spent the remainder of the afternoon watching all manner of courtroom drama.

I can neither confirm nor deny that a nap may have occured.

Today, I attempted to make-up for yesterday's transgressions, or lack thereof. I got up a 5 am. Fixed sausages and eggs. Packed healthy lunches. Cleaned the kitchen. Started laundry.

By the time the kids walked out of the door at 6:05, I was working. Of course, with any office job, one has to warm up. Fix a fresh cup of coffee. Check emails (Google reader) and chit-chat at the water cooler (Facebook).

After I wrote that compelling entry for today, I started in on writing. It was an odd assortment today. The first article was sent back because I didn't use a key phrase exactly as it was ordered. My usual method of splitting up two words that need additional punctuation or perhaps a preposition did not work.

Let's pretend the key phrase was "paper book." Obviously, the words don't flow correctly just as written. Typically, for SEO practices, this method would work:

"Most manuscripts should be written on plain, white paper. Book publishers will reject any queries that are written..."

See what I did there? But, NOOOO. I had to revise.

Anyway, I did a lot of writing today. Since I met my daily goal in a relatively short amount of time, I should have saw these things coming:

• The water meter tank thing is full of water. We can't figure out why. Upon opening the lid, it was discovered that a black widow had also taken up residence. She was none-to-keen to our siphoning out her in-ground pool.
• The internet went down this afternoon (thankfully not while I was in the middle of sending in a copy) for about an hour. It's a wonder I lasted in such primitive conditions. Plus, I was trying to figure out what to make for supper with spaghetti noodles, a pack of raisins, and coffee creamer.
• The power went out AGAIN. This is a daily annoyance occurrence. About a mile or so up the road they are building a substation that is suppose to help something or another. If it would keep the clocks on the right time, that would be a start. This daily loss of power is crazy.
  
• Big Daddy reiterated the fact that I don't have a "real" job despite the fact I have received "real" money. Of course, it is not a lot of money (see bullet point above) but it is more than I made last week and the week before that. And certainly more than the State of Tennessee thinks I am owed. He then followed up with, "I just thought you'd be making a lot more, that's all."
  
• I did not tell him that I thought I'd be thin with long thick locks. We don't always get what we want.
  
• The living room TV died. During Judge Judy no less.
• After a quick google search, I have figured out the problem(s):
  
  1. The flux- capacitor all- spark died. This is common and an easy fix. And cheap! (See above bullet points)
  2. This has happened on every model of Magnavox TV with the same model number as ours. Clearly, it's a conspiracy. I am blaming the blond on "The View."

And finally, I was nominated to be the Secretary for the band boosters. During a meeting that I didn't attend--for the second time. Because I am so good with dates.

However, tomorrow is a new day. Except the small folks will be home at noon.

Well, it's better than nothing.

I Don't Think GhostBusters Could Help

Day 26: Fears

Things that I would label as a fear would probably be re-labeled by a mental health professional as something else. Anxiety. Insecurity. Abnormal.

Pfft. Whatever.

I say, if something gives you that feeling, and you know what I mean, it's a fear.

Here are mine:

• Rejection
• Ironically, success. (more on this later)
• Things I can't see. For example, the ocean. I will get in until I can't see the bottom anymore, then I back up. You won't see me in a lake, either. Nor will I stick my hand into a box.
  
• Snakes
• Guns
• Electricity. But not to where I'm not able to plug in things, but not to be able to do any repairs or additions in the house. Exposed wire? YIKES!

There are probably more, but I am afraid I can't think of any more at the moment.
Don't judge, O.K?

Further Proof That I'm Not An Irrational Person

Or Reason #4432 Living in the South Isn't Always Fun and Games


Yesterday was about 96 degrees. At the cooler part of the day.

And "cooler" as described by the meteorologists this morning since we are under a heat advisory.

Again.

Anyway, the grass needed to be mowed. And being that it was so chilly out this weekend, I thought Darrin and I would knock it out.

Important note here: I don't mow. I don't pull weeds. I don't clean/organize the garage. Everything beyond the back door to the garage is considered Manland. The menfolk take care of these chores. I used to mow before the boys were promoted, but it is thought that I was the reason that our mowers break down. Whatever. Telling me that I don't have to mow anymore is like telling me I have $100 to spend at Goodwill. No tears will be shed, I can assure you.

So, Big Daddy was working a double yesterday; one of three this week. He has no days off and don't forget that the temperature is going to spike. Heat advisory! Nicholas wasn't feeling well yesterday. He has an allergy/summer cold thing going on. I stepped up and bribed asked nicely for Darrin to help me.

He complained it was too hot. I assured him it was cool outside.

We finally get started. I am weedwackin' around the front flower bed. I hit the gutter and a swarm of angry wasps coming flying out. I am afraid that they will sting me, and I'll have to go to the hospital. (Allergic to bees AND Benedryl).

Darrin gets a nosebleed (not unusual), but he is hot and it won't stop. I worry that I'll have to take him to the hospital if it doesn't quit soon. It finally did after about twenty minutes.

Darrin shakes a bush and another swarm of wasps come flying out. I have to get spray and battle them so we can retrieve the running mower he left. Previous fear comes back.

I am pulling these weeds neglected dead flowers in a back flower bed. Being that it is cool, I fear unearthing or disturbing a sleeping snake. Further, this ticked off snake will bite me, and I'll have to go to the hospital.

We barely finished alive, I tell ya*.

All that cool air and sunshine must have gotten to me because by 8:30 I was in bed with a book. By 8:31, I was asleep.

I woke up later and thought it was just 10:00. Then I heard a couple of noises. I wasn't sure what it was, but I figured whatever was going to happen would and chose to stay upstairs in bed. You know, to protect the young-ins and all.

Not too much longer, Big Daddy came upstairs. It was closer to 11:00. I was awake(ish) and gave him a sleepy, "Hi."

He gives me a kiss and says, "I just got a snake in the driveway." (Source of the noise I heard.)

Suddenly, I was wide awake.

Apparently, he was pulling up in the driveway and a three or twelve foot snake was behind my car and HEADING TOWARD THE GARAGE.

If that wasn't enough, he says, "I'm not surprised. You leave the garage door open all the time."

Yes, I am sure that nasty serpent has been watching our house for the LAST FOUR YEARS and decided to make his move last night. It's all my fault.

Long story short (ha):

• He has seen snakes in the yard. ::shivers::
  
• He doesn't know why he hasn't told me. (Um, I think we all know the answer to that.)
• I will make sure I have a day's supply of beverages in the inside fridge before he leaves so that I don't have to go in the garage.
• I will not be opening the garage door except to bring in groceries. I will be carrying a hoe and wearing boots.
  
• *I don't usually have repeating thoughts of having to go to the hospital. Be it me or my children.
  
• I have and always will have a fear of coming across a snake.
• The first time he flung the snake out of the drive, IT CAME BACK.
• The second time he flung the snake into our neighbor's yard.
• Please note he didn't KILL the snake.
  
• You know the snake will be back. For revenge.
  

Life in the fast lane

Darrin came in from playing and announced he would like a Wendy's for dinner.

"What would you get from there?" I am expecting him to say, "A Kid's meal," or "Chicken Nuggets."

"A salad."

There's a shocker.

So, I think about my options for a moment:

• It's already after 6.
• I haven't slid the mac-n-cheese in the oven yet.
• They really hate when I serve mac-n-cheese, a vegetable, and fruit for dinner on nights Big Daddy is at work.
• Yesterday, it was affirmed I would not be getting my Mother of the Year award after all.
• A frappe sounds good and McD's is next door to Wendy's.

Nicholas wants a salad, but he doesn't know what comes on them. This is starting to turn into drama. I tell him that McD's has (I think) a BLT salad. Drama is avoided for the moment.

Until we pull up at McD's. Why is it the one time I need a moment to look at menu there is NO ONE IN LINE? Any other day and they'd be at least five people deep.

In a panic, I ask what all is on the Bacon Ranch Salad. He responds, sounding quite exasperated, "lettuce, four tomatoes, bacon bits, and cheddar jack cheese."

I am glad he was specific naming the lettuce, because you know, I wouldn't have guessed.

Nicholas gives me a thumbs up, and I order it. The speaker asks if I want crispy or grilled. I ALMOST said, "Crispy or grilled, what?" because those aren't options that correspond with the ingredients we were given. However, I assumed he meant chicken (even though that wasn't given as an option) and ordered crispy.

Three points I need to make here:

1. I didn't get smart-mouthed because as Monty said in the movie Waiting, "You don't make the people that handle your food mad."

(Totally paraphrasing. He may have been a might bit more colorful in his advice.)

2. When I googled McD's because I couldn't remember the name of the
salad, I saw that there are two versions. One is without the afore-
mentioned chicken. Dude totally duped me.

3. The Shrek glasses at McD's have been recalled due to cadmium.
Shocking, I know.

After, I made the selection for the crispy chicken, Speaker says, "That's $.."

I'm all, "Great, but I am not done."

"Oh. Well, pardon me." Sarcastically, he says.

I ordered three drinks and my frappe and then say, rather nicely I might add, "OK. Now I am done." The whole time I can hear him sighing in the background.

"Again, I apologize. $12 something or another, pull around to the first window." He acts like I am putting him out.

We zip over the Wendy's and get Darrin's salad. She does the same thing--gives me the total directly after I make the order. I mean, there was no, "Would you like a Diet Coke to go with that?" or "How about a frosty this evening?" NOTHING. Just, "$6.54, please pull around."

I guess I am too passive in my ordering. I know they are typing the orders in, so I pause after each item, or sometimes, just take a breath. When I said, "What in the world? Why did she assume I was done? Nicholas said, "You paused."

Fine.

Watch out fast-food restaurants. The next time I come in to order it will sound like this:

:::takes big breath:: Ineedtwodoublesplainwithcheeseonlyregfrylargedietcokenomakethataspriteakidsmeal
withcheeseburgerplainbutaddketchupandsweetteaanotherkidsmealwithchickennuggets
anddrpepper.....

Thought I was the Queen. It looks like I was the Joke(r)

I think Sara was sheer genius for saying that there should be Xanax machines at the entrance to WalMart on my last post.

I know where I'd be spending my quarters.

Today, I was thinking that perhaps one of the problems with Americans (being general here people. Don't start sending the hate mail and throwing tomatoes) is that we are spoiled. We want what we want when we want it. Yesterday is better.

Case in point:

Before we went grocery shopping yesterday, Big Daddy and I sat down and made a supper menu for the week. Or should I say the next five days because starting next Friday, I will be spending the next four days with Big Daddy at his store. In the Weenie Wagon. If ever there was a time for Xanax....
Anyway, we hadn't come up with anything Sunday and another day so he says "we'll come up with something" whilst browsing the store.

Which, I'd like to say is annoying anyway because 1) he is so picky, that I feel like I only make like six meals on a revolving basis, and 2) Hello?!? It's Saturday. Browsing is not an option.

(Don't try to figure us out. You'll only need to be medicated later.)

Long story short, nothing sounded good. I am not sure what his problem was. I'm all, "Why can't we just eat a salad and some fruit and call it a day?"

Those of you that know what my husband looks like probably would have guessed his reaction to that. Anything that is consumed without a meat, potato, and bread product is called an appetizer.

Today, I had to run to Target so he asked me to come up with something for dinner. Never mind the fact that he came from his store. Where they supposedly sell groceries.

Nothing sounds good to me other than salad and fruit, so I finally take the easy way out and grab some ground turkey to make a meatloaf.

I get home and he says, "Well. Okay. But that doesn't really sound good."

Someone dial the number for Oxygen. If they hurry they can film actual footage for next season's "Snapped."

After looking at the paltry selections that we studied yesterday, His Majesty decides that chicken salad in a pita, cantaloupe, strawberries, and chips sound good. Now, I could have come up with this menu YESTERDAY had he not specifically said, "I don't know what I want to have on Sunday, but I just know that I want to get back to the "traditional" Sunday dinners you were making before you were working.

So, I leave AGAIN and run to Kroger. There were about nine million people in there. And of course they were all getting the same things I was. Probably due to the fact it was about 95 degrees today.


Now that I am "unemployed", I have decided that for the rest of the summer, things will go like this:

1. Big Daddy won't be accompanying me to the store. I will be going during the weekday. This means that I'll have to take the boys, but that's fine. I can tell them "no" and even punish them if they get out of line.

2. I will be resuming my role of Queen and will serve what I want on the night I want. Special requests will have to be submitted in writing at least a month in advance.

3. Big Daddy will not starve if he doesn't like what I serve. He was cooking long before I came along, and as a matter of fact, he is actually a better cook than I am.

4. Maybe I should rethink this role of Queen....

5. I am going to find out how that woman Jenn mentioned got $150 for $1.

6. Moving to Germany with Sara may be worth considering.

Lowered Expectations

I think I need a shopping intervention when it comes to getting groceries.

I've known for quite sometime that I had issues in this department. I should probably turn myself in to do some psychological study. Someone could get wealthy from studying me, and I am hoping that I am not alone when it comes to my shopping habits.

I mean, I could probably give a whole new meaning to passive-aggressive behavior.

Today was especially bad being that it was Saturday and in interest of saving as much money as I could, we chose to go to the gates of hell Wal Mart.

And just let me tell you, that if we were in a better financial position, I would never set foot in that establishment. Hopefully after my neighbor shows me what she has been doing with her couponing next week, I shall never have to darken that doorway again.

The passive side of me comes in the path that I walk. I tend to be the person on the right side of the aisle, as if I were driving a car. Apparently, I am the only one that does that as I tend to have to stop a lot to allow others to pass me that are coming head-on. This is where the aggressive side comes in, as I getting rather (rhymes with hissy) for having to do this.

Big Daddy doesn't mind coming with me, and for this, I am eternally grateful. I always channel Monica saying to Chandler, "I'll cook whatever you want in there, and do whatever you want in there."

While we go through the Health and Beauty section, I'll leave the buggy at the end of an aisle, he stands guard, and I dart in to grab my selections. Sounds easy enough, but inevitably, some person will be all, "Excuse me" (said in an exasperated voice) and get right in front of me.

Sure, go ahead. Your deodorant/shampoo/soap selection is more important than mine.

See what I mean?

So, we bob and weave up and down the aisles, all the while my heart rate and anxiety is escalating. No matter what methods I try to take, I am in someone's way. How do I get past this?

Another example: two nights ago, Nick and I ran into Krogers to pick up some junk for his "non-end-of-the-year-party," cat food, and dog food. We are walking to the exit, and I notice that four or five people are coming in. We have to make a turn to get out, so we stop. (Passive) This dude that is walking behind me goes around and continues his exit. This ticks me off, so I loudly say, "Well of course you should go ahead. I am clearly not trying to get out of this store. I am standing here as decoration." (Aggressive)

Not that I think I am better than anyone else trying to get those everyday low prices, but it just seems to me that if we all did the same thing, there would be less aggression for all. Instead of people wheeling those buggies around willy-nilly, there would be better flow.

And don't even get me started with the family reunions that seem to happen on the most popular aisles. They always block the way and are oblivious that this is a public place and there are other people trying to get their groceries on.

Now that the kids only have one more day of school, and I am officially unemployed, my shopping shall be done early on a weekday. That will help somewhat, but there will come a time that Big Daddy needs to go somewhere on a rare Saturday or Sunday he is off.

How do you handle the shopping?

Mama said there'd be days like this

I am really ok. Thanks so much for all your thoughts and comments.

Life is just....

complicated?

I am learning some things that:

a) I didn't want to learn,
b) thought grown folks didn't have to deal with,
c) hectic is the new black,
d) life just stinks sometimes and there is nothing that can be done to avoid it.

What was that bumper sticker a while back?

"Doo-doo occurs?"

Just trying to keep it country fresh up in here...

Anyway, because life isn't fun enough, the boys have the flu. School starts on Monday.

I'll get caught up. Someday.

Regret

I actually wrote out a list yesterday morning. It was quite lengthy, and I just kept breathing and telling myself, "It's just a tool. Not everything has to get nor will it be done today."

The anxiety would not ease up but I plowed on determined to get something accomplished. I was trucking on quite nicely, and stopped chores to pop on Facebook/FarmTown to harvest some grapes.

Then, it happened.

My laptop died.

No warning signs. No bells. No whistles.

She just froze up, looked at me like,"Can't.Do.Any.More," and was gone.

I did an emergency turn off, got it back up to the desktop, and she froze again. She took one last breath and that was it.

I had a great many things on that laptop:

-The Book; I was only about 12 chapters into it.
-iTunes library
-every educational paper I've ever written
-many, MANY pictures that had never been developed into actual photos
-other book ideas I have started
-my favorite short story
-other things my grief and ignorance won't allow me to remember

It's a shame that I wasn't famous already; I could talk about it for the next month and speculate on who sabotaged me as if I was a certain pop singer.

I guess in all fairness, I need to give Big Daddy his props. He had asked me only four or twelve dozen times if I needed anything to back-up my work. Especially my book.

(Ok. I need to say this as well. Not that you all aren't great cheerleaders, but my husband has never been more supportive or positive about anything I want to do than he has on this book idea. He honestly thinks I should write and that someday I will get published. Could be false-hope but it still feels good, you know?)

Every time he would mention it, I would be all, "Yeah. Sure. I'll look. I think it'll fit on my flash drive."

Yes, Honey. You were right. I should have done it when you asked.


It could be a sign....

If only I were a man

I am completely overwhelmed.

(This could get ugly. Consider yourself warned.)

Sunday everything was fine. Big Daddy was off. I woke up and felt a little off and told him so. I noticed his stature change, mostly to keep me happy I am sure. We spent the whole day working on a couple of projects. It was a nice day.

Monday I woke up determined to get many things done. The housework had fallen behind. It was laundry day. The tables from Sunday needed more paint. I needed to paint a dresser. The dogs need a bath. You know, the usual stuff.

Except....

I decided to expand my farm on FarmTown. Then proceeded to plant raspberries which need to be harvested after two hours. The first harvest went well and I replanted.

Then....

My cell phone rings. It is the PTO president. I didn't get to the phone in time. Read: I let voice mail get it. After listening to her message, I stop what I am doing to research applying for our tax-exempt status the last three PTO boards failed to do.

There are many documents we need that are not in our possession.

We don't know where said documents are.

The Vice President called the school secretary and demanded the school's tax-exempt number. I find this out when I called the school secretary to see about the aforementioned documents.

School starts next Wednesday. The first full day is August 3rd.

Big Daddy is on vacation again starting Sunday.

Last night around 10pm, I asked Big Daddy to come upstairs and talk to me. We lay down and I say, "I am completely overwhelmed. I can't handle all of this. I am stressed out and school hasn't even started yet, let alone the college classes. I really need some help."

His response?

"Just make a list. Prioritize."


Of course. Why didn't I think of that?

When I was a kid, we didn't even have CDs. And I had to walk uphill both ways

One day last week, and I have blocked that day from my mind because it was that bad, both Jessica and Nicholas were in ill-moods. Like from the time they opened their eyes.

Jessica was mad she had to be the fountain girl on a Friday (oh, I did remember!) and thought it would be busy. There was something else I can't remember.

Nicholas was just mad at everything and anything. And he was so dang dramatic about it, too.

"Boys, are easier than girls." Psht. I don't think so.

At one point, I told Big Daddy I was going to the store. He said, "For what?"

"Kotex and Midol."

"Um. Ok." He was confused, and the mention of feminine products makes him jittery anyway. Especially when he knows it isn't for me.

I said, "Yeah. I am getting prepared because Nicholas is bound to start his period any second."

So, all day I am walking around on eggshells hoping not to waken the beast. I am not one to say, "Oh, he is just growing," or "Boys will be boys." I figure if I can teach him to control and direct his frustration in a productive way, we'll avoid much more serious drama later down the road.

Later in the afternoon, and when I say later, I mean like 8:00, he is more like the sweet, tender boy he can be. I am complimenting him on something he did. He looks at me all sweet-like, and I say to him, "You know. I understand that it's hard. I was your age at one time."

He starts giggling and says, "Yeah, but that was a long time ago before you had technology."

"We had technology, but it was different just like it will be different when you have kids. It's always changing."

He thinks about this for a second, and then asks, "Well, did you at least have a color TV?"

I nearly wet myself laughing. "How old do you think I am? Even PawPaw and MawMaw (my parents, age 54) had color TV."

(Not to confuse him, I didn't mention it wasn't until THEY were 10.)

Of course, he'll never understand. This is the kid that thinks that black and white movies were made in the '80s.

I guess it's all the technology that makes 'em cranky.

The games kids play

I no longer have a stalker.

As a matter of fact, should I choose to commit some crime in the near future, I fear the content contained herein could be used against me in a court of law.

Last night, I am innocently typing up the previous post. I publish it and head back to Farm Town, not because I am addicted, mind you.

I had about sixteen trees that needed to be planted when who should show up ON THE FARM. When someone shows up, a chat box automatically opens up.

So we are going through the pleasantries and I finally ask him how old he is. He tells me he is 19. No biggie, right? But I am not about to have an internet affair with a cartoon character.

He starts telling me that he is mad that is too (to) young for me, and that he just wants a pretend girlfriend like the other people have.

::cue the violins::

The mother side of me tells him that there are tons of girls (emphasize) his age and that he'll find someone.


Blah, blah, blah.

I am getting tired of the chit-chat and want to make a quick escape when finally tells me he is 10.


:::record screech:::

I am all, "You are up awfully late. I better go." And he finally leaves.

All I can think is that Chr!s H@nson is going to come in and accuse me of chatting with a minor.
I seriously was panicked.

I think I have been cured of my Farm Town addiction.

(Or at least befriending people. Let's be reasonable.)

There isn't even a title

You'd think that someone that wishes to be a writer would, well, write. Right?

Yeah.

I guess I have let the carefree feelings of summer get away with me. And by that I mean that absolutely nothing worth talking about happens every single day.

I hardly have any readers now as it is and if I start writing about my day, both of you would probably hit the unsubscribe button.

Last week the boys were gone to a VBS, church camp type of thing. They left every morning at 7:30 and arrived home between 3-3:15.

Best $30 and a box a popcicles I ever spent.

The first three days I got the house put in order and had a lot of fun listening to the quiet. On the fourth day, I ended up being gone all day in what turned into Operation What-Was-I-Thinking.

For three days I went in search of the perfect dress to wear to an evening wedding that is due to take place in T minus 12 days. The dress and necklace has been located but the shoes remain MIA.

The stress of trying to find the appropriate attire stress me out, therefore, I want chocolate/cookies/candies/cake/whateverIcangetmyhandson.

The aforementioned confectionery delights is what has caused an extended tour of every store in middle Tennessee. It's a vicious cycle.

I may be wearing silver flip-flops at this point.

In other news, I helped a friend write a paper on diversity in the classroom. She was assigned Educating Esme to read as well. I started it Sunday night and finished it Monday morning (it's a quick read). I highly recommend this book. If you are a teacher, want to be a teacher, or think you know what a teacher has to deal with, READ IT. It will open your eyes to a whole 'nother world.

Love her.

(Click on the link in my sidebar to get to the amazon.com listing.)

Well, that about sums me up. With this exciting life, I am expecting TLC to offer me a show any day now...

The early bird...

will be asked to come back at 7am.

Seriously.

I have many pet peeves when it comes to putting on a yard sale, and this is probably my number one. My husband goes to great lengths to make these fantastic signs, with not too much information, but enough to lead you to our house.

We have always been successful. For years we have talked about putting together a package, sell it late at night on TV right after J.ohn Rich, C@sh *4*Gold, and the Magic Bullet commercials.

Just so there is no confusion, I love the Magic Bullet commercial and always watch it. I also own one and made dinner in almost 10 minutes the other night.

Anyway, if you are a yard/tag/garage sale person, you know what I mean about the signs. You are out early one morning, the sun is just coming up, but is still blinding, and you'll see this index card sign with the address:

Sale today only!
122 firhds st
turn right, look for the oak tree
there is a boy with a jump rope
he is wearing a red shirt
then turn left and immediately right
at the stop sign roll through, and before you
hit the curve, turn right

With the great signs that all but lead them by the hand, you get the dealers. The ones that watch the papers, craigslist, and generally drive around early in the morning stalking the poor menfolk trying to post a few signs up before the city comes behind and takes them.

Hand to heart, we opened the garage door this morning at 6:15 to get things out.

SOMEONE WAS AT THE END OF THE DRIVEWAY.

Big Daddy had been back all of 5 minutes of putting the signs (more detailed than the one shown here) at the entrances to the subdivision.

He gets out of his car, I say, "I am sorry. We are no where ready. Could you come around closer to 7?"

"Yeah, but how much is that cooker?" Big Daddy has it in his hand and is walking down the drive.

"We aren't ready yet. Sorry."

It's like being at the store with a child, he asks for a toy, you say no, and he asks again hoping the answer will change since you last took a breath.

These leads me to pet peeve #2. "Will you take ______ for this?"

Item is marked, $4.00. "Will you take a quarter for this?"

Um. No.

This practice drives me insane. It is a bone of contention with Big Daddy and I. He likes to mark items high, and give them a chance to ask us to take less. I like to mark items according to what I would pay. I don't pay retail for much, and I know the going rates at most consignment shops, Goodwill, ect. When I am shopping a yard sale, if there is something I want, if I like the price I'll buy it. If it is too high, I let it go. I can't and won't haggle.

I had went inside to avoid a neighbor and perhaps check out facebook (What? I had crops coming in today.) When I felt like enough time had passed, I opened the door to no less than twelve people milling about. Come to find out, I missed a bit o' drama.

Lady walks up and has a white shelf. It has $2 on it. She asks, "Will you take $1?"

"No, sorry. $2."

"Will you take $1?"

"No. $2"

"Will you take 1.50?"

"N.O. $2."

"Will you take $1?"

"N O. I WILL TAKE $2."

She finally, but reluctantly paid two dollars. The even FUNNIER ending to that...as she is sulking away, a lady walks up and has a glass frame and some other small piece of crap, and asks, "Will you take a dollar for these."

"Yes."

I love my husband.

The $2 lady I guess had drove him nuts with other things before the shelf, so I guess she had it coming. I wish I had witnessed it.

Little does she know, she got BLOGGED.

And will become a scene in the book.

Stay tuned for part two....