My son, the enforcer
Well, I haven't figured out how to get the video to be up the right way. Apparently, I shot this with the camera sideways ... it is better if you turn the volume down because you can hear the wind blowing on the microphone.
Hot Rod's coach doesn't have my mad coach pitch skillz, so he can't be as selective with his choices when it comes to swinging. Worst part is that we had finally gotten him to be selective when swinging. *sigh* It is going to be a long season.
God is a Cowboys fan
Ok, despite Jerry Jones making this horrid Papa John's commercial, God is a Cowboys fan. Growing up Southern Baptist in the suburbs of Fort Worth-Dallas, every Sunday when the Cowboys played, the pastor ended services at 11:45. Otherwise, you heard every man's alarm on their wristwatch beeping to let him know he was running long. Pastors who didn't end on time on Sundays didn't last long at our church. I had to laugh today when I was dropping the kids off at CCD (I'm Catholic now) and the priest had ended mass early today. I was wondering if the 11:15 mass will end early, too. The Cowboys do play at noon. Go 'Boys!
Granny, PaPa and the .410, Oh My!
194,871 miles of toilet paper are used per year;
Disney buses travel nearly 18 million miles annually;
the number of trees, shrubs, and flowers exceeds 7 million;
daily water usage runs 15 million gallons;
turf mowing miles equals 18 trips around the Earth at the equator each year;
Disney’s wardrobe has more than 1.5 million costumes in use;
730,102 gallons of bleach are used annually;
and Disney employs approximately 55,000 Cast Members.
My heart is filled with sadness
Then, I read the name and felt a giant pit in my stomach. The child - Gavin - is the grandson of one of my baseball moms from the spring. She was also one of Pickle's teachers at the middle school. She is raising Gavin. Or was, I guess.
My heart just aches so much for her. We're not good friends, but we talk. While the boys were playing baseball together, we'd occasionally talk on the phone and we've chatted over email since the season ended. We hung out some at Pickle's field trip last spring. In June, when the hail storm struck during the baseball game, she was the dugout mom who, along with her husband, had their arms wrapped around Stinkerbelle to keep her safe.
I just wish I could wrap my arms around her now and shield her from the pain, but I know that nothing will replace that hole in her heart. I hope God's peace can fill her soul. I can't seem to quit crying. I just keep thinking about her telling me how much she hated her swimming pool and now I can't imagine how she'll ever be able to walk into her own back yard without being tormented by the image of the firefighters diving to retrieve his lifeless body. God help her.
This is also a lesson to my children in life and death. Little Bit kept asking if he would come back. She played with Gavin on the sidelines of the baseball games sometimes. I'm not sure if she remembers him, but she would know him if he showed up. As I was explaining his death to the kids after karate, Little Bit asked if he went to live with Jesus. Yes, I told her. Jesus takes all the little children to heaven with him. Hot Rod isn't quite sure what to make of it. I don't think he really understands. Thank God, we've never lost anyone. I lost my grandparents when he was an infant, so he has no concept of loss. We talked about what happens at a funeral. He made a card for his friend. His teammate was probably with Gavin when he disappeared. The story I read in the paper this evening said he was playing with a group of kids when my friend realized he was missing. Pickle made a card for my friend. He wrote that he was sorry it happened, but that Gavin is in a happy place now with Pickle's aunt and his dog. He drew a picture of little Gavin as an angel with Pickle's Aunt Debbie and Cricket and Jesus. So, he has a pretty good grasp of things.
I think the kids aren't sure what to think about all of mommy's tears, but I've hugged them and repeated just how much I love them. I also took the opportunity to reiterate to Hot Rod exactly why I'm so hyper vigilant around water when I have the kids. This summer, he was really mad because I made him wear a life jacket when we went to the beach. Maybe this will help him understand a bit better. Sorry for the stream of consciousness writing. I just can't seem to form a simple coherent thought right now.
Please pray for Gavin's family.
Help 'em Obi Wan, You're His Only Hope
More dorky Star Wars kid. This time as Princess Leia. I can't help it, this stuff is funny. I don't care who you are.
Feeling White and Nerdy
Listening to the Weird Al CD that Uzz burned for Pickle and while feeling very white and nerdy, I thought about the original white nerd: the Star Wars kid. Enjoy.
Target in site
Wow, sexy assistant voice
*in very sultry sex kitten voice*
Hi, you have reached the voicemail of *generic suit name here*. He is unavailable right now *because he is boinking the sultry voice assistant, I'm thinking*. Please leave a message at the tone.
I sort of feel dirty after listening to that voicemail recording. Maybe that gal moonlights as a porn actress. Don't they make those in California?
Aom and the Seven Dwarves
Ok, I know there is no Droopy, but it was even funnier because I don't think he got the true humor in calling me Droopy. :)
Later, we all decided that AoD would be Grumpy (although with his allergies lately, he could compete for Sneezy); Hot Rod is Sneezy, because of his allergies; Stinkerbelle is Happy; and Pickle is Sleepy.
Me? I'm stuck with Droopy, I think.
Also, just a tip to both genders - it is NOT appealing to smell your cologne/perfume from 30 feet away. It is almost as offensive as smelling B.O. It is. Trust me. When your aroma is so strong that my eyes water, it is not sexy. It is gross. Sort of like that one commercial with the hot chick in it - it is sexy when I can smell you while giving you a hug. Not so sexy when it is overpowering.
Crow fajitas, crow pot pie, crow casserole
I loves me some Tony Romo, T.O. and Nick Folk!!!! I call Nick my lil punkin. :)
*cross your fingers that the good play continues*
Eso Vaqueros de Dallas!!!!
Is it just me?
I had the great privilege of hearing one of the best writing coaches out there, Paula LaRocque, last week. One of her tips included NOT writing run-on sentences. Keep them short and concise. Only occasionally do you want a long drawn out sentence and only one written very well that says something.
So, I'm reading a supposed humor column titled "This Writer's Life" about some dude who wants to write a novel. The intro to the sentence that makes me want to claw my eyes out explains that the writer has read about writing a novel and has set clear goals and expectations for his work. Then, he goes into this sentence:
All I want is a well-written, three-dimensional-character-filled, drama-thick, tension-heavy, hilarious, thought-provoking, insightful, bestselling commentary on the human condition and small liberal arts colleges that forces people to ask questions of themselves and of society and not shun delicate issues and people wearing zip-off cargo pants.
Ok, first point: I get the humor in the first 25 words. Clever and amusing. He loses me on the second half of the run-on sentence. I simply don't understand it. Do you? Am I missing some wonderfully insightful humor here?
Wouldn't it be more palatable in bites?
All I want is a well-written, three-dimensional-character-filled, drama-thick, tension-heavy, hilarious, thought-provoking, insightful, bestselling commentary on the human condition. I want small liberal arts colleges that force people to ask questions of themselves and of society and not shun delicate issues.
I have no clue what he is saying about zip-off cargo pants. Is he saying he wants colleges not to shun people who wear them? He wants people who wear them? I mean, it doesn't make sense. What troubles me most is that this column appears in a magazine for writers and people aspiring to be writers. Is it wrong to anyone else?
Happy Weasel Stomping Day
Just because it seems like a wonderful holiday every Sept. 23. Put your viking helmet on, grab your boots and stomp your cares away.
Awakening from the anesthesia after the surgery, she found three roses on her nightstand.
Outraged, she called the doctor. "I thought I asked you not to tell anyone about my operation!" He told her that he carried out her wishes for confidentiality and that the first rose was from him because he felt bad that she went through the procedure and recovery alone.
The second rose, he explained, is from his nurse because she empathized after having the same procedure herself.
"And the third rose," the woman asked.
"It is from a man upstairs in the burn unit," the doctor said. "He wanted to thank you for his new ears."
Tales of the uterus
But, alas, Nurse Ratchett was not going to allow this to be fun. With a bedside manner described best as stoic, the tech was all business and wanded me with apparent great finesse and before I knew it, she was leaving a rose on the nightstand, smoking a cig and telling me to get my fat ass dressed so she could take care of the next gal.
Let me say, though, that sitting in a waiting room full of women who are 8 months pregnant when it is 92 degrees outside remind me why I had my tubes tied. Oh good grief. These poor waddling women fanning themselves with Parenting magazine made me smile and thank God that I won't be doing that again any time soon.
TMI, but I went to my annual a week or two ago and apparently my answers to the doctor's questions revealed that I suffer from Menorrhagia. You think its gross? Imagine being me. So, anyway. This has been going on for about a year, maybe more. But, I didn't know that it was anything but my lack of good luck that I was dealing with it.
So, doc sends me in for the wanding. He speculated that it could be anything from a polyp to fibroids to Adenomyosis. So, Nurse Ratchett found a polyp. According to the MayoClinic, they are small, benign growths on the lining of the uterine wall, which may cause heavy or prolonged menstrual bleeding. Polyps of the uterus most commonly occur in women of reproductive age as the result of high hormone levels. *I'm guessing the high hormone levels explain my erratic mood swings, huh?* The Adenomyosis occurs when glands from the endometrium become embedded in the uterine muscle, often causing heavy bleeding and pain. Adenomyosis is most likely to develop if you're a middle-aged woman who has had many children, according to the MayoClinic. I guess three counts for middle. I also read that if you've had c-sections, it can be a contributor to this, as well.
So, the solution is to have a D and C (dilation and curettage). The doctor opens (dilates) the cervix and then scrapes or suctions tissue from the lining of the uterus to reduce menstrual bleeding. Although this procedure is common and often treats menorrhagia successfully, additional D and C procedures may be needed if menorrhagia recurs. Doesn't this sound like fun? While he's in there, we'll do an dndometrial ablation, too. Using ultrasonic energy, the doctor permanently destroys the entire lining of the uterus (endometrium). After endometrial ablation, most women have normal menstrual flow. However, some women have little or no menstrual flow after the procedure. The doctor said a hysterectomy is the only way to "cure" the problem, but since I'm a good 15 years from menopause, that really isn't an option we want. So, this may be the next best thing.
But, the busy gal that I am, I've asked to put this off till the new year. Not only will the timing, perhaps, be better, but if I've got to meet a $1000 deductible, why not do it when I can benefit from it for the rest of the year. Doc said that seemed fine.
I would like to hear any stories anyone has about their procedures. I know one reader said she wasn't happy with hers. My friend, Kelvinator, had it done and loves life ever since with barely a cycle each month.
The world is full of stupid people
But, I digress.
The world is full of stupid people, but even beyond the idiots, there are dumb criminals and simply evil individuals. The dumb people bother me because they are shallowing out the gene pool for my children.
On the list of douchebaggery of the highest order is the "don't taze me, bro" douchebag down in Florida.
Then, we have this asshole who kidnapped a 14-year-old girl and held her captive for 10 days, raping her repeatedly. Thank God she is clever. Asshole let her play games on his cellphone and she texted her mom where she was.
The inexcusable sadism of this couple who kept five children and two adults locked in a basement for years to collect the state-paid stipend for their "care."
The psycho mom who set her three daughters on fire burns me up (sorry for the bad pun) maybe more than the rest. These are three children that she conceived, carried and cared for daily. How? I just can't fathom it. I have a hard time disciplining my children when they need it. I can't imagine the life ahead of those two children who lived. The youngest child perished.
Ok, back to stupid. Douchebag extraordinaire stuck a live rattlesnake in his mouth to impress his girlfriend. Needless to say, the snake bit him and almost killed him. I wonder if the gal is still is girlfriend? I'm thinking if you are THAT stupid, I'm out the door once I drop you off at the ER and stop laughing long enough to tell them what you did. Oddly enough, I think I know some fellas who may be this dude's inspiration.
Granny Gone Wild
My 68-year-old mother, who I'm sure only had sex twice when my brother and I were conceived (and I don't say that casually, this woman is NOTHING like me in the libido department and complains about anything related to sex).
She ranted on and on about how she didn't want that trash and how the telemarketer guy (bless his heart, another "Iranian" according to mom) couldn't fathom that she didn't want to get this delightful DVD series.
I'm going to giggle for a while at the mental image of my mom giving this poor guy the what for on trying to send her that "trash" and how her mailbox would "catch on fire if that trash were put in it." Those are quotes, by the way.
Going where few men have gone before
*shaking my head*
I'm going to the vagina whisperer (term coined by ArmyWife ToddlerMom) in the morning. I have an ultrasound - possibly vaginal ultrasound - to sniff around *ick, bad visual image* for fibroids or polyps.
Doesn't that sound like fun? I know you're jealous. On top of it all, it makes me feel old. When the doctor says "things like this are common for women your age" it just doesn't make you feel like a hot young chickee anymore. *sigh* As if having a teenager now didn't kill it for me already, I've reached the "women your age" comment.
So, I get poked around and rubbed with gel - that makes it sound like way more fun that it will be - and then I'll see my doctor immediately afterwards with his take on what the tech saw. So, from there, we'll figure out what to do. His office was trying to schedule an ablation for next week when I told them WHOA, back that bus up. Let's wait and see what the damn test says first, mmm kay?
Unless I'm filled up with tumors - which is highly unlikely - I'm not doing anything until next year. Let's make meeting that deductible worthwhile.
Living up to measurements
With that, he proceeded to get a measuring tape and measured the grill and then went over to measure his wife's butt.
"Yeah, I was right. Your butt is two inches wider than the barbecue," he tells her.
The woman chose to ignore her husband.
Later that night in bed, the husband is getting frisky and makes sexual advances toward his wife, who totally brushes him off.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"Do you really think I'm going to fire up this big-ass grill for one little weenie?" she replied.
Arrr, me matey
We can look back at my pirate children and dream of getting AoM's booty. :) I have a lot of one kind, but not the other. *hee hee*
Bud - weis - er
I dunno. It is going to be hard for me to picture that sweet face swilling Bud for commercials. I picture him as more of a Sam Adams kind of guy. Maybe Fat Tire. But, not Bud. Jr? He was a Bud kind of guy.
Making my brain hurt
In the story - I honestly remember very litte about it except this point - the writer of the story (and she's the magazine's editor) uses the word "bwallah."
Swear to God, bwallah.
I went back and read the story again. I think she meant to use the word, voila.
It just makes my brain hurt to think that a magazine editor could foul up like that. Bwallah.
Good God. I need some Tylenol now.
Beware the cute overload
Finally, soccer starts for Hot Rod
C'mon N Ride The Train
When I worked at DFW International Airport, I was on the media relations team promoting the new Skylink automated people mover (fancy name for train). Every time we talked about this in meetings, my boss would start singing this song and we would all start dancing. I heard the song on the radio Saturday night and just started giggling at the thought of all these public relations professionals dancing in this tiny office to the Quad City DJs.
So, I'm also getting anxious. My wonderful sister-in-law made all the arrangements because she is giving us her frequent flyer miles to pay for our flights and she is booking a 3-bedroom suite at one of the Disney resorts for the whole clan to stay in. We are even getting a lift to the resort from the Orlando airport via the Magical Express. This bus not only takes us to the resort, but they will claim our baggage for us and take it to our rooms. How is that for cool? I did read on some blogs that it doesn't always seem so magical because it is not always express, but it is free and the kids should be pretty freaking happy to just be on the trip and riding the Mickey Mouse bus. We'll see how well that works.
Stinkerbelle will not only be making her first flight, but she'll get to ride a bus, too! Both the boys have flown in small aircraft a few years back, but this will be Hot Rod's first commercial flight and Pickle's first that he'll remember. He flew about a half-dozen times before he was a 1-year-old. This will be my first flight since 1995. Yeah, you read that right. I haven't been on a place in more than 12 years. I'm sort of nervous to take my entire family on a plane trip, but I figure I'll do lots of preparation for how to take a terrorist out with my bare hands and a tube of lipstick, if I have to.
But, I digress. I found several informative sites about the Magical Express (and Disney trips, in general) including the Laughing Place as well as some XE dude's blog, and a trip planner, too. It is all pretty cool. Of course, I should be cleaning my house. But, this is much more fun! I also am trying to pass the time till the AC repairman comes to replace our fan motor. *sigh* There goes some of my spending money.
Last of the anime posts
A hit with the babes, ok, the anime babes
I've purchased a Disney secrets online book to help me learn some other tidbits, as well. Thanks to Trixie for her advice in some comments in another post.
And, I get a Disney online newsletter regularly. It had a little piece of trivia that I didn't know.
Question: What did EPCOT originally stand for?
Answer: Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow
See, now you know.
Every girl who was a teen in the late 80s ...
Wanted John Cusack to ask her out. We all wanted a guy to do this for us ... be a jerk (they all did that anyway) and then love us so much that he'd pull up his hoopty outsid our house and blare Peter Gabriel's "In your eyes" from his boombox. *sigh* Makes me long for those days of young love when the feelings are fresh and new and exciting. I have to say, though, that movie-made men aren't real. They don't exist. They are there for romance novels and to create unrealistic expectations for men for us women. Ok, enough of that. I love this movie. 1989. Wow. Seems like a long time ago.
The perfect wife
Happy 13th Birthday Kiddo!
Here he is in our hotel room at the Hyatt Regency with the Dallas skyline behind him. It was a great way to celebrate his birthday with him a few weeks early.
I enjoy seeing him grow, mature and become a young man. I love you, honey. Happy birthday. I hope it is everything you want and more.
The mom of Little Bit's best friend
Friend from high school
Ex-boyfriend from high school/college
Academy director for soccer club
Neighbor from two houses down
Friend from high school
Husband of party friend
Hot Rod's teacher
Pharmacist/mom of one of Little Bit's friends
Army of Dad's doctor
One of my editors
Army of Dad
My ex-husband/Pickle's dad/Uzz
Editor- business colleague
Friend - colleague
Friend from high school
Sister of a soccer mom friend of mine
Soccer mom friend
LaLa - friend from high school - cruise buddy
Friend from high school
Next door neighbor
Mother in law
Assistant soccer coach from last summer
Ex-mother in law/Pickle's grandmother
Soccer mom friend of mine
Friend from high school
Friend - colleague
Husband of party friend
Army of Dad's best friend
Friend from high school
Mom and dad's neighbor across the street
Pickle's former teacher
My mother thinks any person of Middle Eastern origin is Iranian. It doesn't matter where they are from, what they look like, nice or evil, they're all Iranians. It is quite the joke in my family. She also can't say library. She says libary.
My two little ones are having allergy issues. We put the cool-mist humidifier in the room of the worst off child and the vaporizer in the other room. Last night, my 8-year-old asked if I could put the pacifier in his room.
I used to think Fatboy Slim was saying "the funk's so rubber" rather than the actual lyrics of " Funk Soul Brother. Listen, see if you can tell the difference.
I love this song and have to turn it up really loud and roll the windows down every time I hear it. Sort of scares me, but I like a Tupac song. I changed the words for Little Bit and sang "Stinkerbelle knows how to potty. In the bathroom, bathroom of mommy ... Stinkerbelle knows how to potty."
It is going to cost my family of five $694 to buy tickets to Disney World for two days. Swear to the Good Lord Above. I used to get comps because I worked at a newspaper, so I had no idea how much tickets cost. Gees Louise ... I may need to put up a "will write for food" sign in downtown Dallas.
Marking Six Years
I was disappointed when I opened up the local daily newspaper and there was not one single mention of the anniversary of 9/11 on the front page. Not even a one-inch American flag awith a blurb about it on the side of the of page. Nothing. Not a damn thing. Come on, people. And, the media wonders why there is such hostility toward them. Either they don't give a damn about their country and one of the most important days in its history or they simply want us to forget about it. I refuse to forget. 3,000 of my fellow Americans of all walks of life, ethnicities and religions in the melting pot of America were brutally killed that day.
A mother and daughter died together on a flight bound for California to visit Disney Land. A woman lost the father to her unborn child. Many children lost moms and dads. Mothers and fathers lost their only children.
And for what? The sick satisfaction of some assholes that they killed Americans. Did they have a point? I really don't think so. They're jealous that we live in the greatest country in the world. They're mad because we're arrogant. Yeah, we are. I really don't care if you're offended by us. Don't let the door smack your ass on the way out. Do what I tell my children when they don't like the way someone acts - but there is nothing they can do about it - simply ignore them. I don't understand how killing innocent people makes a point. I really don't.
My dear Hot Rod has finally gotten the visions of the burning towers out of his little 8-year-old mind. Watching the news this morning, he asked what was on fire in the news spot. I reminded him about the bad men flying the airplanes into the buildings and I could see the flicker of remembrance in his eyes. He was a little more than 2 when it happened and it was awful to watch this toddler terrified whenever he saw an airplane. At an airshow in October 2001, he saw an American Airlines jet and pointed to it, telling me it was just like the one that flew into the building. Good God, he paid close enough attention to the news coverage while I held him and cried in September 2001. It never dawned on me that he'd get it. But, he did.
I don't want to let my anger go. I want it to burn inside me and remind me to be vigilant. I don't want this to ever happen on American soil again. I'll be damned if I will let it happen when I can do something to prevent it. I used to think my husband and my best friend's husband were paranoid about the possibility that America could ever be attacked or invaded and that we'd have to defend ourselves. Never in our lifetime, I thought. But, after 9/11, I am no longer that Polyanna who feels invincible. We're not. I'm not. And, I will fight tooth and nail to preserve the life that I have worked so hard to have for my family. Yeah, the prissy little soccer mom is ready to pick a gun, a hammer, a knife - whatever it takes - to defend our freedom. Think of me as a little hobbit fighting the orcs in LOTR. Don't understimate a pissed off over protective mom.
Don't forget what happened on Sept. 11, 2001. I won't.
A bit of Army of Mom 9/11 archives:
It is pretty cute. He visited the hospital where he was born, his first apartment home (oddly enough - numbered 1313), where he was baptized and where mom worked. I actually miss Midland, if you can believe it.
The wife turns over and says "I'm sorry honey, I have a gynecologist's appointment in the morning and I'd like to be fresh."
The husband, rejected, turns over.
A few minutes later, he rolls back over and taps his wife.
"Do you have a dentist's appointment, too?
*Irony abounds here. I had my gyno appointment today and I need to make a dental appointment. LOL
Arr. I've come for the booty!
Went to have my annual female plumbing inspection this morning. Doc suspects uterine polyps may be causing some of my misery, so I go back next week for a sonogram and follow up appointment.
He has talked about ablation as a remedy to the situation, but wants to check for the polyps and possible fibroids first. I dunno. It would be nice to be free of the 7-day-plus monthly visitor, but I'm so tired of having medical procedures done.
Although, maybe this maintenance check is an upgrade, so Army of Dad won't be trading me in for a newer model. He's already been window shopping, I suspect. :)
LabKat is going to kill me
I am mama, hear me roar!
The two little ones helped me clean the back yard. We got to see all sorts of cool little creatures and some not so cool. We put the amdro out for the nasty little ants to eat and I stumbled upon a black widow under a bucket near my compost pile. She is dead now, too, as is her buddy the hornet, who had built a dirt nest on my back porch. A sweet little frog was happily scampering in the herb garden. I'm guessing the light watering I did probably helped with his happiness. But, I was very proud of the kids. They swept, raked, bagged up the gunk and pulled weeds.
Now, I'm off to the hardware store to buy some spraypaint and see if they have stuff for me to rig the trampoline for the last two parts that need to be repaired. Then, I'm off to the fabric store to see about something to recover our patio chairs (that is what the paint is for, too) they're wrought iron (I think) with a back and seat that need to be covered.
I still have to clean the bathrooms, pick up the family room and front room and clear out some clutter. ACK!
Enough blogging ... back to work. Oh yeah, I look great today *note the sarcasm* with my bandana over my head, an oversized shirt and shorts and my sneakers. Hold yourselves back, guys. I'm sure I smell good, too. *sigh* That bath tonight will be a great reward for a hard day's work!
Then, the gay Link in the fireman's pants. He put a sticky note on our Twink that said "Ima gonna eat u." It sort of freaked our dude out a bit.