Friday, February 22, 2008

More from the land of shit sandwiches

Everyone bow your head, close your eyes and say a quick prayer of thanks for the safety of Alabama Belle and her family. This happened 6 doors away from her home last week. We all have been served a shit sandwich -- but our safety and health should serve as a side of sunshine.

Which baby is it? Which baby is it?

Monday, February 18, 2008

Let Sleeping Monkeys Lie

An epiphany

It's girl scout cookie time. That time of the year --- that I HATE.

I'm sitting in my kitchen surrounded by 118 boxes of cookies - and I can't open them, can't touch them -- can't lick them, can't pop a thin mint in and feel it melt on my tongue --

This is what it must feel like for a man in a strip bar.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Does this clutter make my butt look big?

More deep thoughts from my shallow mind.

Deep thoughts about clutter, de-clutter, reorganization, re-purposing and sorting. I love to purge. Our trash day is on Friday, and some weeks, I feel like I spend all week getting ready for trash day. When I was young and sexy, I spent all week looking forward to Ladies Night at Cowboys -- now, I long to see the Best Way truck rumbling down the street.

So, with Operation Basement coming to a close (again!), furniture finding new homes and general re-organization in full swing, I'm finding myself neck deep in sort-and-pitch mode. But, I'm losing myself in boxes, containers, bins and tubs. I'm lost in things I'm keeping, things I'm selling, things I'm Goodwilling and things -- just things. Maternity things that go back to Homestead. Baby things that go back to their original store of purchase --


And some days, (I'm being honest here), I'm totally and completely, udderly and wholy overwhelmend by the sheer volume of stuff. So much so, that I can't really figure out where to start, and the best solution to that dilemma seems to be -- sit still.

So you must be thinking of those crazy ladies on Oprah that are surrounded by heaps and piles of stuff -- so I have to qualify myself here by saying, "I'm not like that." (Homestead, please post a comment in my defense!)

But, I'm finding myself in need of some general rules (amended from last year's set, of course). For example, Middle is the biggest hoarder and packrat of the bunch. She is the messiest kid in the world. Every scrap is important to her. Walking into her room is sometimes a traumatic event. I believe, in part, I have made her this way. She sleeps snuggled into (not one) -- but ALL of her blankets. She sleeps with her crayons. Is she afraid I'll sneak in at night and throw them away? She is big into arts & crafts. Sort of mod/abstract arts and crafts. And I'm in need of some new rules on what is trash and what is treasure. Example A: This week, she is doing Dixie Cup Crafts. She's exploring their potential for dangling ornaments, most of them missing the bottoms, which have been haphazardly hacked out with blunt tip scissors. She is then suspending them from old pony tail holders that are too stretched out for snug fit. So, when I venture past the threshold of her room and see Dixie Schrapnel and ponytail parts, I assume "GARBAGE" -- but wouldn't you know, "Mom, what did you do with my craft project?" -- And pretty soon, she's rootin' through the garbage can, tipping out all the truly nasty stuff in search of her bottomless Dixie Cup Bell/Ornament.

So, can anyone suggest a rule? One week of "still on the floor" -- and then it's trash? Couple of days? I've tried getting her to pick up -- that's more of a "stack up" scenario.

Yea, back to "does this clutter make my butt look big?" And the idea that all this emotional "stuff" we carry around makes in impossible to slim down, simplify or purge in the healthy eating and lifestyle area if we can't even manage to get the trash out! I think there is something to it.

Friday, February 08, 2008

I'm pondering haircuts.

I need a haircut. Getting a haircut is an annual event for me, need it or not. Kind of like a PAP smear. I have hair that is the "wash and put up" variety. I wash it, it dries -- without products or chemicals or stuff, and then it goes up. I seldom make it past 10 AM with "down hair". It makes me batty. But, short hair also makes me batty. It requires me stylin', washin', producting -- and general upkeep. My morning routine with the kiddos is tight (read VERY tight --no room for wiggle AT ALL) -- so a ponytail is in order -- I could NOT do a hairstyle that required work on my part in the morning. When I have short hair, I wake up looking like Kramer, so this will not do.

Last year, a lady named Destiny cut my hair. In the mall. She did a good job.
The year before that, someone named Vic cut my hair. Another place in the mall.
For years before that, I saw a stylist named Michael with much more regularity than in recent years. But, I had time for that -- and lived closer to him. Now, an appointment with Michael requires 8 weeks of planning, a 45 minute drive, and idle chit-chat about people we "used to know" -- (and now I don't -- for GOOD REASON!) I feel no need to reconnect. And I don't want them to know what I'm up-to, through him.

So, here is my fear. If I return to Destiny -- she'll think I've seeing someone else -- a hairstylist affair, if you will. And, she'll give me a vengeance cut -- IE: anger with scissors equals ugly client who won't return anyway.

If I return to Michael, I have to hear about the friends I've since deserted (which I know I have and care not to re-hash). Not to mention the months of planning and drive time.

If I go to someone new, it's a complete gamble. So much left to interpretation in the world of hairdos.

What do you think? Women stylists? Men? Women stylists kind of scare me. I can't put my Freudian finger on the WHY -- I just know sitting in that chair and having THAT done -- makes me have a peeker. Men. I don't know -- do they care if they butch you up and totally jack your rhythm? I don't think so. Do you have a hair person? How long? Are you having a stylist affair? And, how do I go about getting a good haircut without committment and fear?

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Yes, I'd like a Shit Sandwich with a side of Chipped Beef, Please.

Every Monday morning, I have a conference call. Company stuff. Work Stuff. It's been this way forever. Every Monday morning, I love caller ID more and more.

Yesterday, in conference call. Home phone rings -- ignore it. Cell phone rings -- ignore it.

Conference calls ends, check voicemail and get this: "Hi, Honey, It's mom. (borderline cheery voice here) -- Just thought I'd let you know where I am. (Said, in the tone of -- "you should see the shoes on clearance at Target") . I came over to the Emergency Room -- the doctor is seeing me now and thinks I might have had a little heart attack (do heart attacks come is size small??) -- So anyway, call me back when you get this."


Yes, my mother is a farmer's wife. I called. A "little heart attack" -- turns out the woman has been feeling "crushing" chest pain for TWO DAYS, has pain shooting down her left arm, feels fatigued and short of breath, has pain in her jaw -- SON OF A BISCUIT, I scream from the rooftops!! So, she unloads the dishwasher, has a shower, takes care of her dogs and drives herself to the ER. My mother is a farmer's wife.

And you know what?? All of this action/reaction -- her rationale makes complete sense to me. I would have done the same thing. My mind (as her child) is still spinning some 48 hours later -- but I can't help but think this must be the very same feeling that SHE had when I called her and said, "Just thought I'd let you know I came over to the birth center. I'm okay, just hadn't felt the baby move for a while (and we know what that translates to . . .)"

Anyhoo -- needless to say, Yesterday and today have been a bit of a blur. But, it's bedtime (my favorite time of day) and I've made it through another day. Life is good. All is well.


Mom and Dad were watching TV when Mom said, "I'm tired, and it's getting late. I think I'll go to bed." She went to the kitchen to make sandwiches for the next day's lunches. Rinsed out the popcorn bowls, took meat out of the freezer for supper the following evening, checked the cereal box levels, filled the sugar container, put spoons and bowls on the table and started the coffee pot for brewing the next morning.

She then put some wet clothes in the dryer, put a load of clothes into the washer. She picked up the game pieces left on the table, put the phone back on the charger and put the telephone book into the drawer. She watered the plants, emptied a wastebasket and hung up a towel to dry. She yawned and stretched and headed for the bedroom.

She stopped by the desk, wrote a note to the teacher, counted out some cash for the field trip, and pulled a text book out from hiding under the chair. She signed a birthday card for a friend, addressed and stamped the envelope and wrote a quick note for the grocery store. She put both near her purse.

Mom then washed her face with 3 in 1 cleanser, put on her Night solution & age fighting moisturizer, brushed and flossed her teeth and filed her nails. Dad called out, "I thought you were going to bed."

"I'm on my way," she said.

She put some water into the dog's dish then made sure the doors were locked and the patio light was on. She looked in on each of the kids and turned out their bedside lamps, hung up a shirt, threw some dirty socks into the hamper, and had a brief conversation with the one up still doing homework.

In her own room, she set the alarm; laid out clothing for the next day, straightened up the shoe rack. She added three things to her 6 most important things to do list. She said her prayers, and visualized the accomplishment of her goals. About that time, Dad turned off the TV and announced to no one in particular. "I'm going to bed." And he did . . without another thought. Anything extraordinary here? Wonder why women live longer...? Cause we are made for the long haul....(and we can't die sooner, we still have things to do!!!!)