At least I'm covered

I have no update on the visa situation. I know the application got where it needs to be, but have no idea when, or if, it will get here. But here's the upside: If Texas ever gets hit with a typhoid or yellow fever epidemic, I'm covered!! I will be one of the few left behind who will be here to nuture and take care of the ill.
All of Texas should be petrified by that thought.
Just ask the hubby. I am not a good nurturer to anyone but my children and even they would question my ability. I have been known to come through in a pinch, but fortunately we haven't had many pinches.
Whenever the hubby gets sick he acts like most men (I believe). He becomes absolutely, pathetically unable to care for himself. It's a good thing he's not a bachelor. He lies in bed and weakly calls my name. Or he wanders in the kitchen, grabbing the counters for support in his weakened condition. Then he just stares like a lost boy and asks, "Is there anything to eat?". I want to say, "Nope. We ate all of the food yesterday. The cupboards are bare, Mr. Hubbard. You're supposed to starve a cold anyway."
Now before you feel so sorry for him that you decide to come rescue him from the witch's liar, let me tell you why my compassion seems to dry up when he's ill.
It has been my experience that whenever I have dared to be the ill person in this household (and I can count the times on one hand), no one cares. Life goes on. I could be lying in bed with 103 temperature and the hubby would come over to my bedside at 6:30 in the morning, lean over me (but not too closely) and gently whisper, "Have a good day." He would then walk out the door, drive out of the driveway and head to work. And I would be left to fend for myself, and for the children.
But let that man emit one teeny, tiny cough and he's confined to bed -- expecting me to wait on him. So forgive me if I can't muster the compassion needed to hand feed him chicken soup. Nope, he's on his own. In fact, when he refused to get a flu shot a couple of years ago (while all the kids and I had one), I forewarned him: "If you get the flu you'd better go check yourself into a Motel 6 (or other such temporary abode) because I am NOT, repeat, NOT taking care of you!!".
He has since received the yearly flu shot.
So. let's all hope that the great state of Texas ("they" say that, I don't) stays free from typhoid, polio and yellow fever. Cuz if I'm one of the healthy few left to take care of the ill, some people might want to think about moving --- now.

And the "luck" just continues to pour in!

Yep, you guessed it --- teacher contact #4 today. I passed it on to the hubby. He's less likely to kill the kid. For some strange reason my blood pressure is rising with each contact! Go figure.
Here's one of THE most fun parts of being the mom: the hubby has decided that "the kid" will not be allowed to go out tonight with his friends, as he had planned. So guess who gets to break that lovely news to "the kid"? Three guesses and the first two don't count.
This really bites. The hubby won't be anywhere close when the sonic boom goes off. He must've hung up the phone and chuckled to himself after we talked. You know they do this on purpose! And I say "they" because I know he's not the only dad who does this.
I think I'll drink a "shot" every time the doorbell rings tonight.
Happy freakin' Halloween.

Did I win the 'teacher lottery' or what?!

I am one lucky girl --- 3 teacher contacts this week. And it's only TUESDAY!!! Do I live right or what?!
Two for one son, one for another. Instead of screaming I went out with girlfriends and had margaritas tonight. It seems a much healthier way to handle things (in my realm of reality anyway).
Gotta give those teachers credit for caring, though. If I had that job I'd totally have committed a homicide by now. But that's just me.
On the sock front --- I think some headway has been made. Son #3 has paid a total of $6 and he's ticked about that. We made it through the weekend with nary a sock to be found. I'm not sure if he's even wearing them at this point but at least they're not lying around the house. :)
And for those who are interested --- the pantry door is totally a lost cause. I have come to grips with that fact and I can handle it. I can't charge money for that infraction because it's too difficult to prove who the culprits are. That's OK -- we choose our battles. At the moment my battles are socks and F's. I seem to be the victor (so far) in one and haven't a clue as to how to win the other.
I just hope that a career in tattoo artistry can feed a family. Either that, or he'd better make a mint off of his "mommy dearest" book (which I'd better get a cut of!).
That visa to Kenya better come through -- I need some time away.

Another teacher call -- hooray!

Talked to a new teacher today -- yay for me. I told her that she shouldn't take my son's total disinterest and failing grade as a personal affront --- he's failing 4 classes at the moment! When report cards came out 3 weeks ago he had decent grades in these 4 classes and had a failing grade in a totally different one.
But I must say ---- the kid is ingenious:
Me: "Your *** teacher called today" (I'm leaving out the subject she teaches to protect the innocent -- her!).
Him: "Oh yeah? What did she want?"
Me: thinking --- "Really?! Did he just ask that?!!!"
Me: aloud -- "She said you have an F."
Him: "Oh." (as in, "Dang -- she figured that out!")
Me: "You have four Fs."
Him: "Well, that's because ...... (get ready for this --- I swear it's true) ..... I totally concentrated on my prior failing class and brought that grade up (to a low D). It took all of my concentration and I had to let the other classes go."

I kid you not. He has the innate ability to leave me totally stunned and speechless.

It's always something

So, I guess things were too quiet around here -- if you don't count the whole tattoo vs. kitten scene. Anyway, this morning we were all getting ready for church (except for Daughter #1, a.k.a the Heathen, who was still in bed). Son #1 had to leave early because he was working tech at the service. I gracefully volunteered to move a car out of the driveway so that he could drive his car, which was blocked.
Picture this: me, backing the car out of the drive way and then waiting for Son #1 to back his car out so that I can pull back in. Here he comes --- backing out his car. I'm watching. He's backing. And backing. And backing ...... right into Daughter #2's car, which was parked on the street. It was like slow motion, only he was backing out too fast. I think I may have uttered an un-church-like word as I watched all of this unfold before my eyes and couldn't believe what was happening.
So there you go --- always something.
Oh, and then there's this: I came home from the shows tonight (both went well today and yay for being done) and brought in my bag of stuff and a framed 8x10 picture of me. It was a head shot that had been hanging on the wall, along with the rest of the casts' framed pictures. Daughter #1 saw it sitting on the counter.
Daughter #1: "What are you going to do with that?"
Me: "I don't know --- probably just throw it away."
Daughter #1: -slight pause, then -- "You should keep the frame."
Me: "Thanks ..... a lot."
Kids --- aren't they great for the ego?!

Three down, two to go

Well, we're almost done with the show. It went pretty well tonight, not as well this afternoon, but that's show biz.
Daughters #2 & #3 came into town to see it. Woot! So the whole family was there tonight and very supportive. After we came home Daughter #2 said she had to tell her dad & I something. "How much do you love me?" she asked. She said she had to show us something and to remember that we love her very much. What the crap? I didn't know what to think. "Did you get a tattoo?!", I asked. No, it's not that. Then she went into another room for a moment and came back out --- carrying what looked to be a hamster. It took me a moment to realize it was a kitten. A very, very small 3 week old kitten. Heck, after thinking it was a tatoo (or something much, much worse) I was glad to see a kitten! No wonder I have grey hair ---- sheesh, these kids! My blood pressure was soaring and my stomach was sinking before she came out with Jovie (she named her after a character in "Elf").
I feel much better. Ask me how I feel when the cat is here at Christmas break!
Jovie -- cute (for now!)

Opening Night

Actually the show went surprisingly well last night for our first performance. The kids suddenly filled with energy and got into their characters and had fun. So, yay for that. Hopefully we can all do that 2 more times today and two times tomorrow. Two lonnnnng days! We have to be at the theatre at 1:00 and the shows are at 2:30 and 6:30. And we cannot leave. We're trapped, like rats in a sinking ship. Oh -- since the show IS a pirate tale I guess that's a very bad analogy. I take it back. We're guests who can not----ummm, do not, want to leave the party! (does that sound better? sigh)
The girls are coming in to see it tonight. And the boys are being drug, errrr, coming, too! So at least I'll have 7 people cheering for me. Wait, strike that. At least I'll have about 5 people cheering for me and two people so horribly embarrassed by my public performance that they'll just try to blend into the woodwork. So, to make it even better (for me, worse for them!) I should take my bow and then yell out, "Hi, Son #2 and Son #3!! Mommy loves you!!".
Now THAT could make up a couple of chapters in their books!

Postal confrontation avoided --- for now

I just got home and checked on line and my package was delivered this morning---24 hours late but at least it made it. Now I just have to figure out how to get a refund for my "guaranteed" 24 hour delivery. Something tells me they won't easily cough that up. Oh well -- at least I didn't have to make a scene .... today.
Now I have to get ready to go to rehearsal -- at 2:30. The show starts at 7:30, which means 5 hours of hanging around and watching everyone get more stressed as the hour approaches.
Any friends and family who just lurk on this blog should definitely sign in to say, "Break a leg", if you're at all decent, caring human beings.
And you know who you are.
:)

Que sera, sera

So now I'm quoting Doris Day songs. She was deep.
Here's the latest. The lovely, so responsible and ever dependable US Postal Service did NOT get my package delivered today. That would be the package that was sent yesterday morning and was GUARANTEED to arrive by noon today. It did not. Maybe they're using a time zone on the other side of the globe?
So now I get to make a trip to the post office tomorrow and try not to go postal. Oh well, whatever will be, will be.
All I know is that if I got FOUR stinking injections this morning (for a grand total of SEVEN in three weeks!) and don't get to go to Africa, SOMEONE is going to be very, very sorry.
Oh, and as I was folding laundry tonight (no rehearsal -- the night before we open. A good thing?, you might ask? Highly and probably doubtful. sigh) I remembered another rule that I came up with several years ago that was delightfully freeing for me:
'If it goes into the laundry inside-out, it gets folded/hung up inside-out'. This was totally directed at the dear hubby, with side benefits aimed at the kids, back when I did their laundry (rule #562: 'at age 8ish you start doing your own laundry'). The man finds it physically impossible to turn articles of clothing rightside-out. So one day it happened one-too-many times. I cracked. And a new rule was born. But here's the kicker: he didn't care. He was perfectly fine with clean, inside-out clothes. So that's the way it's been.
Several months ago I had a moment of compassion. Strange, I know, but it happens once in a while. Anyway, I decided to start folding all of his clothes after turning them rightside-out. And guess what happened. He didn't notice. Nope, not a word. I did it for a couple of weeks and then decided to stop being compassionate. I went back to the rule. And so life goes on in our happy household.

Rules of the house

I thought I would post some of the rules of our house. That's sure to make you grateful that you don't live here!
I thought of this because yesterday son #3 called to see if I could bring something up to the school which he had forgotten. My rule on this is: 'I will bring you a forgotten item one time per semester'. After that you're on your own. So when one of the children calls home for something I always ask the following question: "Do you want to use this as your one pass this semester?" Then it's up to them to weigh the worth of the item. Many times they have passed so that they can use it on something more important later (like an essay, or take home test). However, one child would just use it up on lunch. We all have our priorities.
Another rule we've had is one of the most important: 'You get what you get'.
You know how most kids will say, "I want the blue cup!" or "I want the yellow plate, not the red one!" (which may lead many parents to purchase white cups and plates)? Well, 6 kids is about 4 too many for this nonsense. So if one would come out with an "I want" I would follow it up with, "You get what you get". It wasn't long before I just had to ask, "What's the rule?" and 5 voices would say in unison, "You get what you get", angelically-- just to rub it in the face of the one who dared to whine about the color they received.
Which leads to another rule: 'No whining'. I absolutely cannot stand whining children. It makes my palms itch. Really. When I fill out forms that ask for known allergies I have to add "whining children". Just so everyone knows why I go into a fit around a whining child and forget it's not mine. Besides, in our home Mom is the only one allowed to wine ...... ummm, I mean "whine". ;)
Another rule has been used for many years and at my whim ---- errrr, discretion. And that is this: 'I will ask you 2 times if your room is clean and then I will go up with a trash bag'. The 2nd time I ask I remind the kids that I will be going up and are they sure it's clean? This usually leads to, "Ummmmm, let me check" and they run quickly up the stairs to "check". When I go up with a bag everything that's not where it belongs goes in the bag. Over the years the fate of the bags' contents has varied. Sometimes the kids were allowed to earn back items. Sometimes, when I was low on cash, they were allowed to buy back items (oh good grief, don't have a cow --- I'm just kidding! or am I?). Sometimes the items were given to charity. It would just mainly depend on Mom's mood at the time. :)
Another rule is: 'You do the dishes for a week'. Everyone got a week of KP, which meant, back in the good ol' days, they only had to do it once every six weeks. Now that the girls have flown the coop the boys have it once every 3 weeks. Next year it will be every other week. Which means that when son #2 goes off to college (please, God) we'll hire a full-time, live-in maid, because we don't want our little baby to have to always have KP! He'll have dishpan hands and we can't have that. That's what we tell the other 5 anyway. :)
Back to KP -- we found that one week was a good fit. We originally had days but that didn't work if the child who had KP wasn't home that night. Then who had to do this dishes the next day? So we finally settled on a week. And here's the kicker: if you fail to do them, or if you don't do a good job, you get a strike. Three strikes equals another week. The longest anyone has had to do KP is 3 weeks. (I told you I was mean)
Bedtime and getting up have their own rules, too. Bedtime was always treated as just a fact of life from infancy. We never had a crying, fit-throwing child who didn't want to go to bed. I'm not sure why, but they just always went to bed when they were told. And, at a certain age, usually middle schoolish, they are responsible for getting up in the morning. When the girls were in elementary school and masters at dawdling in the morning I came up with the idea of pouring milk into their cereal at a certain time each morning. If they came down on time they got crunchy cereal. If they didn't -- it was mush. They knew what that time was and so the choice was theirs. If they are late to school then they suffer the school's consequences. If they miss a bus, they ride a bike or walk (Daughter #1 knows ALL about that). If there seems to be a problem with getting up then obviously they need to go to bed earlier. One night of that usually solves the getting-up problem. Once they get into high school there is no set bedtime -- but they still have to get up in time, so it's up to them if they want enough rest or not.
OK, that's it for now. Not that we don't have more rules, but it sounds boring. And this isn't to tell anyone what rules to have in their own home. Over the years we've had many people ask us how we run the house with so many kids, so I thought I'd share some of the things we did.
I'm sure that if the kids read this they'll have a multitude of rules to add --- many of which were quite unfair and archaic. Or they may just want to save them --- for their books.

Are. You. Kidding. Me?!?!?!?!!!

So here's the good thing about being given 4 weeks notice on going to Kenya: not enough time to really think about it and panic (especially with a show and a new job happening at the same time). So yay for less time to stress.
The down side? When you finally find out that you need a visa (in addition to your passport) you have only TWO WEEKS to get one!! Yep -- read about that today in a packet of information that I was mailed. Today. Two weeks to go. Oh-my-gosh. Guess they overlooked that little piece of information when they told me all I needed was my passport and a multitude of shots.
So I made a couple of phone calls, ran out to get some passport photos (you need two with the visa application), and filled out reams of papers. Now I have to be at either the UPS store or the post office at the break of dawn so I can send this package to Washington D.C. with next day service.
Want to know the absolute worst thing about all of this?
Cut to 3 weeks ago:
Hubby: Hey, don't you need to get a visa to go to Kenya?
Me: No, he said all I need is my passport and shots.
Hubby: Are you sure? Didn't the girls have to get visas when they went in May?
Me: If I needed a visa I'm sure they would've told me. I must not need one.
Hubby: No, you need to get a visa.
Me: (totally put out and huffy with the know-it-all) I don't need a visa! They told me ALL I needed was my passport and shots. How many times have YOU gone to Africa? Oh, that's right, NONE!
Hubby: I still think you need a visa.

Yep, he-was-(gulp)-right. And I was a big girl and told him so when he came home.
It went like this:
Me: Well, you were totally right.
Hubby: About what?
Me: I need a visa.
Hubby: I'm sorry --- what? I'm a little deaf in this ear (liar!). Could you please repeat that a bit louder?
Me: -----totally unprintable and unchristian, but I'm sure you get the idea.

Yes, that was the worst part. Almost.

Little did I know that the worst was yet to come. I read the next page in my info packet.
Under the section entitled, "What will I wear?"
(and I quote .....) "Nairobi, though located on the equator enjoys very moderate temperatures due to its high altitude. A jacket may be desired in the mornings and evenings. You will need to pack lightly. Each team member will be allowed only a regulation size carryon bag; YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO CHECK A BAG (emphasis mine)."

What the .................??!!! I must've read that wrong. No way could it say that I, a woman traveling to a foreign country for TEN DAYS, can't check a bag. No. Way.
But, alas, it did. I think I started hyperventilating. The first major panic attack. Just when I thought I was handling this whole thing amazingly well.
And then God said, "I need a good laugh today. Let's mess with txmomx6."
I have to think of a way to buck the system. Maybe I'll just wear seven sets of clothes on the plane. Isn't that the secret to almost anything? Layering?
Help!!!!!!!

More money

Son #3 is having a difficult time with the socks lately. I made another 2 bucks today. Son #2 had only to pay once. Of course, he's the one who constantly wears his outside. #3 seemed to be doing pretty well, but then he left them out three times in a week. And he was very ticked tonight when I said (quite joyfully), "KA-CHING!" as I picked up 2 socks. So I'm not his favorite person tonight. Oh well. He'll get over it.
He'll also get over the fact that I missed his football game tonight -- my first one to miss, mind you. I had rehearsal. Now, I've had rehearsal every Monday but I've always left early to go to his football games. But since the show starts Friday (as in THIS Friday, as in FOUR days) I decided to stay for the whole rehearsal. Believe me, we need as many people as possible to stay for the whole rehearsal. I've never done a show with about 25 kids. It's very, very ..... um, ....... different.
So, 2 strikes for me tonight. I'm so, so sad --- whatever. After dealing with 27 kids today for 4 hours and yesterday for 5 (and the prospect of 6 hours on Wed, 5 on Thurs and 7 hours on Fri, Sat AND Sunday!!!!!), I don't care who I tick off!
It's going to be a grumpy week.
Watch out boys!

No humor today

I'm sorry. I tried and tried to think of something funny to write, but I can't. My sons are hurting and so I'm hurting. Yesterday a 15 year old girl killed herself. Both sons #2 & #3 knew her. Both are in pain and in shock. And I have no answers. I can't take their pain away or make it any better. Neither son has ever known anyone who died, let alone a classmate. And a classmate who was funny and beautiful and happy. Or so it seemed.
I've never known anyone personally who did this, so I'm at a loss. All I can do is hug them and let them cry. And cry with them.
So I'm sad. And if I'm honest I'll tell you that I'm also angry. I'm angry that she didn't feel she had anyone to turn to and I'm angry at her for hurting so many, many people.
So I thought about pretending that I'm not sad and writing something funny anyway. But I decided I didn't want to pretend.
Sorry for the zero entertainment value. Tomorrow is another day.

Vacation memory #2

I'm realizing that one thing our vacation "moments" have in common is this: at the time they occurred someone was terrified (usually me) but later the moments are hilarious. Well, some still aren't as hilarious to me as they are to others, but here goes. Oh, I need to preface this by saying that this story and the panic that ensued may not transfer well to print.
This vacation moment occured in England. We had been visiting my brother and his family outside of London. It was time for us to head back into London to go to the airport. We had to ride the Tube (subway) to get there. It would take us about an hour. We left the suburb around 5:00 p.m. We got on the Tube at the very first (or last, depending on which way you were headed) stop. We were the only people in our car. Now, picture eight people -- 2 adults, 6 children, 3-13. Each person has 2 bags and one backpack. Now all of these people and their luggage fit rather nicely in the empty car when we got on. But we were heading in to London at 5 --- P --- M! Meaning that it was rush hour time in London. As we made our way in we had about 10 stops. Each time the subway stopped more and more and more and more and more (you get the picture) people got on. Nobody got off. Ever. Nada.
We soon had bags on our laps, as well as small children. We were about 5 stops into this journey when suddenly it hit me: we were going to have to get all 6 children and all 18 pieces of assorted luggage off of the subway, past the crush of people getting on the car, and clear the closing doors - in about 45 seconds. Suddenly, my heart started beating rapidly, my palms were sweating and my blood pressure was shooting upward. I realized that this feat was going to be next to impossible, mostly because between us and the doors stood about 30 people --- with 5 more stops coming. Hubby was sitting across from me, looking quite relaxed. In fact, I think he was nodding off! I kicked his shoe and said, "Hey! There's no way we can get everyone off of this car with all of our stuff. Someone is going to get left behind!" He just smiled, as if to say, "Don't worry your pretty little head, sweetie. I'm in full control and I'm not worried." And he wasn't. With each stop my panic rose higher. I was trying to figure out the battle plan and was muttering aloud to myself about how many children would be lost and how I needed to call an attorney at the next stop to start divorce proceedings, when a man sitting next to me heard me spoke. "What stop is yours?" (in a British accent). I told him and he said that some of the people may be getting off at the two stops before ours. I thanked him for his kind words and returned to my thoughts of alimony and child support (for whomever was not lost forever in London).
The next-to-the-next to the-last-stop came. He was totally right. About 3 people got off! Which left, oh .... about 50 still on!! My thoughts turned from divorce proceedings to wondering if criminal charges could be brought against a man who, knowing full well the danger ahead, still planned to get his entire family off this car safely. Suddenly, he spoke. "The next stop is ours." I said, "Huh? I thought we had two more stops?" "Nope, it's the next one. Let's get everyone up."
"There is NO way we can do this! We can't get past all of these people with all of the bags and all of the kids!" "Sure we can." he said cheerfully . If I could've reached past the 5 people between us I would've grabbed him by the throat. I told him that we needed to just stay on the train until it cleared, then get off and get a couple of taxis. He didn't agree and proceeded toward the doors. Son #1, being all of 9 years old and thinking he was much more advanced at getting places than anyone else in the family, was standing at the doors. The train stopped, the doors opened and quite a few people got off -- just as my dear hubby was saying, "Wait, it's not this stop. It's the next one!". Yep, you guessed it. Son #1 was standing on the platform and the doors were closing. Fortunately several people in the car realized that my scream of "WAIT!!!!!!" and my lunge for the doors were aimed at getting my son back. Some kind person hit the emergency open button and the doors re-opened. Son #1 got back on. He was quite calm. I was a mess and had moved past the divorce proceedings to pushing a certain someone off of the platform once we all disemmbarked. I was furious. And we still had to get off this thing with all of our children in tow. I wasn't as concerned about keeping the hubby with us. In fact, it may have been better for him to wait a couple of stops before later joining us. (But hubbies don't always do the "better" thing, do they?)
We once again grabbed as many kids and as many bags as we could, leaving the older kids to fend for themselves. I said a quick prayer, vowed never to marry again once I had put this one to rest, and started pushing myself and the kids in front of me towards the opening doors. Somehow, only by the grace of God, we made it. All eight people and all 18 assorted bags. As I stood there, trying to slow my breathing and my heart as the train pulled away, hubby said, "See? I told you we'd get everyone off with no problems!"
The only reason the man is alive today is that I was rational enough to think ahead. We had no one to take all 6 children in the event of dad's death by subway and my ensuing incarceration overseas.
He still doesn't realize how lucky he was.
Oh, and when I had calmed down enough to ask Son #1 what he would've done had we not got him back on the train, he said,"I would've gotten on the next train and got off at the next stop". He didn't know why I was so panicked at the thought of losing him -- he knew right where he was and right where he was going. He added, "I knew what I was doing."
Some people, who are very, very much like their father, can really tick me off.

More memories

Today was a busy, busy day. In fact, it's 10:45 p.m. and I just got home 10 minutes ago. I was gone all day so I have nothing of humor to tell you.
So I have decided to reach back in time and tell you a story. A true story (there's no way I could make this stuff up!). It's a story about something that happened on one of our vacations. I could probably blog every day for a month about "things" that happened on our vacations.
Anyway, this vacation was a cruise from Texas. One day we stopped in Jamaica. We decided to forego any costly excursion and took the kids into town to shop and see the sights. Let me stop right there. If you've ever been to Jamaica then you're asking yourself, "Sights?! Did I miss something when I was there? Sights??" Ahhh, Jamaica.
Anyway, we hailed a taxi-van driver and he drove us into town. He told us that he would meet us back at a certain time to take us back to the ship. So we shopped and bought some of the touristy stuff that you find at most tourist spots. We wandered around for a few hours and then went to meet the driver. He was there (yay!) and we loaded up to go back to the dock. Now, daughter #1 used to be a collector of Coke cans. Her aspiration was to get a can from every country she visited. So she inquired about finding a can of Coke to take back home. The driver said that he would be glad to take us to a grocery store. So he did. No Coke. We then drove to another store. No Coke. We proceeded to a third store and the story was the same. No Coke. Now mind you, we didn't ask to go to a 2nd, or 3rd, or 4th store -- he insisted. In fact, we were starting to get a bit worried about getting back to the ship before it left without us. We told him we'd better get back. He said that he knew of one more store and was certain we'd get a can of Coke there. He then proceeded to drive deeper into the "city", paying no attention to our protestations. This seemed to be a pretty harsh neighborhood, to put it delicately. And people were staring at the taxi-van carrying 8 tourists. Evidently tourists never make it this far in. He found the store and proceeded to park at the curb, backing into a man with a cart of goods in the process. He got out to talk to the man. Then my darling hubby, trying to make this all go away sooner, rather than later, said he would go check the store himself. And before I could say, "But ..........", he was gone. He left us. Me -- a defenseless mom and her eight small(ish) children. All alone in a van. And people were starting to stare -- a lot. More and more people were starting to stare. The kids were typically clueless to our predicament but I was one worried mom. So I decided to do what any sane mother would have done in my position -- I picked up the video camera and started taping. "Mom," Daughter #1 said -- "why are you taping now?!". "Because," I said, "we're probably going to be killed out here and I want to leave evidence behind of what happened to us!" ( I then added a chuckle so they'd all think I was just joking. Ha!!!) I still have that tape.
Needless to say, hubby made it back (without Coke) and we were still alive. The driver patched things up with the cart man and we headed to the dock --- where we walked by a store with a lot of Coke cans in the window. Go figure.
Oh, and yes, she got the Coke.

Another day, another teacher

Am I the only person who, when the phone rings and the caller i.d. shows one of the school numbers, looks at the phone for a couple of rings while weighing the choices of answering now or letting the machine pick it up (thus, delaying the inevitable)?
I was the proud recipient of a teacher call today. And yesterday. Different teachers. Different kids. The teacher who called today is out to win my soul, or so it would seem. She sounds young. Very, very young. And very, very idealistic. My son should drain every drop of that idealism out of her body before the end of the semester. She called a few weeks ago and ended the conversation with me pretty much saying, "Good luck to you and God speed". She seemed a little put off. I think she thought I would jump on the bandwagon and assure her that this kid would turn his study habits around (OK wait --- that, in and of itself is SOOOO hilarious!! The words 'study habits' would seem to indicate that some amount of studying was being done. hahahahahhahahahahahaha --- sorry, back to the story) and start making passing grades. What. Ev. Er. I informed her that, yes, I knew his grades weren't the best and that yes, I agreed that he needed to study more. I then told her that if she could find the magic pill for that I'd see to it that she got a raise (well, my hubby is the president of the school board, after all -- I should be allowed to offer teacher incentives, shouldn't I?!). She didn't seem to find one iota of humor in that sentence. Poor young, idealistic, starry-eyed little 20-something. I almost feel sorry for her. You see, she has yet to learn what it took me almost 15 years to learn: there are certain people in this world who cannot be "made" to do anything, let alone study. Yes, you can try to make their lives miserable, you can ground them for weeks at a time, you can remove all of the "fun" things they possess, you can even threaten them with great bodily harm. But when push comes to shove (and it might!) they will still be standing, stubbornness oozing out of their pores, while you are lying at their feet - drained, exhausted and totally powerless.
So, though I say "study" on a daily basis, can I stand over him and make sure that he's actually applying his brain and learning something? Nope -- he's in control.
And I am getting better and better at being OK with that.
Because I know that one of these days, when he's tired of making minimum wage, he's going to say, "You were right, Mom."
Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?
P.S. This is only a dream because here's what's really going to happen:
He'll graduate high school by the skin of his teeth (or by the teachers making sure he doesn't get to come back!), he'll choose not to go to college and then he'll decide to pursue his dream of opening a tattoo parlor in NYC (I kid you not) or the other dream of being a rock star. Then he will end up making more money than Bill Gates and I'll have to say, "You were right, Son." :)

Memories

I was reading another mom's blog this morning (while drinking coffee and trying to wake up) and she had posted some pics of past Halloween costumes for her kids (http://mom2my6pack.blogspot.com/). That brought back a lot of memories of our costumes. But it also made me think of Daughter #2's amazing talent for creative costuming. Here's what she did a couple of years ago:

Yep, an Ipod. She's too funny. One year she was a cactus. She got green sweat pants, a green sweat shirt, several boxes of toothpicks, green spray paint and a glue gun and --ta dah! A cactus! It was hilarious! She couldn't sit down, however, so I'm not sure she'd choose that again.
Anyway, just thought I'd share that lovely pic this morning.

I'm SICK of socks!

Can I just tell you that the boys are making large inroads in the "Great Sock Battle of 2007"?! They are wearing me down, molecule by molecule. Here's the deal:
I no longer find socks lying around the house. In fact, I've only made $4 on the whole thing so far. I know what you're thinking:
"So what's the problem? Sheesh, she sure does complain a lot. Evidently her plan has worked because they're not leaving their socks lying around. There is NO pleasing some people!"
Well STOP thinking that!! Here's the rest of the deal:
They're not leaving them lying around anymore because they're not taking them off of their feet! Which, I know, sounds like a great battle victory. Until you happen to wander by the kitchen window and see them outside playing football in their socks! Or playing with the dogs, in the mud, in their socks! Or washing a car in their socks. Or running down the street in their socks. Do you get the picture? The dirty, blackened, mud-caked picture?!
So you see, they win. They stop leaving them around, thus making it LOOK like I won, when really, they're totally laughing their buns off at how crazy they're making me!!
Would you like an example of me, being crazy?
Late this afternoon I was fixing dinner and looked out the window to see son #2 talking on his cell phone, walking up and down the street in his socks. (an aside: for some reason our house is the black hole of cell phone reception so we have to go outside to use them effectively). I knock on the window, loudly, to get his attention. He looks towards me and I, once again, use the hand language moms instinctively know to say, "Take your socks off." Kids instinctively know this language, too -- they just pretend not to (another aside: I think that is a total and much-used male cop out, but that's for another blog on another day).
He just squinted and shrugged and walked in some dirt. I tried this about three times before I ran to the door, threw it open and yelled, "STOP WALKING AROUND IN YOUR SOCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I'm sure every neighbor on the street, as well as his little girlfriend on the other end of the cell call, heard that heart-felt, from the diaphragm-booming yell.
And did I care, as I watched him quickly rip the socks from his feet? Nope. I'm secure in the knowledge that, up and down our street, many other women were nodding their heads in agreement and support.
That, and the knowledge that they probably already think I'm crazy anyway.

I'm pooped

The show opens in a week. Then a week after that I go to Kenya. At the moment I'm pooped. And I'm wondering if anyone reads this. It's been awfully quiet out in cyberspace (out in cyberspace no one can hear you scream!).

I forgot ---

The day that Mr. Fixit fixed the microwave (and then left town) the handle on our toaster oven broke. What are the odds? Apparently pretty good in this house.
So that was over 2 weeks ago and we've had a wobbly handle ever since. I decided tonight to attack that little appliance and fix it. And guess what? I did it!! It wasn't too difficult -- just needed a screw replaced and another one tightened.
Those kind of things I can handle. But I decided tonight that Son #1 cannot go to college next fall. Nope. I hope he's OK with that, though for some strange reason I doubt that he will be.
Yesterday I found a piece of the dishwasher, lying in the bottom of the dishwasher. I took a quick look inside that brand new dishwasher and couldn't seem to locate where it came from. I took the baskets out tonight and began my search anew. Son #1 walked in and asked what I was doing so I told him. He pretty much took over and started his own search. It took him about 15 minutes to discover what it was, and that it was an extra piece that's probably been flying all over the inside for the past 2 weeks or so. Guess the guys who installed it left it behind. Now I have an extra in case I need it. And more importantly, that little puzzle won't be nagging me for the next few days. Cuz it is dang hard for me to let go of something that needs to be solved or fixed. In fact, I think it gives me a headache to not solve or fix something.
Maybe somebody can solve or fix me.
Hopefully, son #1 will do it while he stays home over the next 4 years. ;)

Hello, girls!

It's time to blog about my darling daughters (OK, here's the thing: Daughters #2 & #3 are now active readers of this blog and have logged in more than a few complaints about their lack of print space. Therefore I shall try to throw them a bone and mention them a couple of times -- they'll soon become too busy to keep up with this and I'll be off the hook. This is all on the presumption, of course, that they don't read between parentheses).
Anyway, my daughters are awesome. Even the pancake-dream-crushing one. It was great to have them home, even for just a weekend, or part of a weekend.
Daughter #3 was in a talent show at college last weekend -- she did an awesome job, as usual. Those girls (all 3) can sing! I didn't get to go see her since that's the weekend I was already scheduled to be in Tulsa. But Son #2 did video the show for me so I got to see it. Well, sort of see it. Picture the camera stability of "The Blair Witch Project" and you've got a good idea of the outcome. At least the sound was great! And kudos to Son #2 for even attempting to do this for me. :)
Daughter #3 had to go back to school yesterday. Daughter #2 stayed until this afternoon. I like spending time with her, even if we're both just sitting in the same room, reading. She's pretty neat (oh, and she pretty much dressed normally this weekend. Woot.).
So now that I've overflowed with positive comments, can I just share something? Why is it that older siblings feel it's their sworn duty to tell you how much of a slacker you are with the younger siblings? I KNOW I'm a slacker --- I don't need any reminders. They don't understand this one important fact: I'm tired. Those boys are wearing me down, bit by bit. Well, not totally cuz I'm still mean. Just not as mean as I was back in "the day", I guess.
Oh, and it's not just that I'm tired, but I'm also learning to choose my battles more effectively. And learning how to loosen up a bit. I don't think that I'm alone in this. I think almost all parents loosen up over the years. That's why the youngest child always seem to get away with murder! And why the oldest child will be just as uptight with her first child. It's the delightful theory of "what goes around, comes around".
Who came up with that stupid theory anyway?

Pancake taste-off (or: siblings--they teach you how to deal with jerks when you're grown)

OK, so I don't know if "taste-off" is actually a phrase, but I like it, so there.
Today son #3, who is taking "Foods For Today" in middle school conducted a pancake "taste-off". Which begs the question, "Foods for today? What are "Foods for Yesterday" or "Foods For Tomorrow" or next week, or year, or ......" I could go on and on but I'll spare you (you're welcome).
Anyway, this was his test: he cooked a batch of homemade pancakes, using the recipe he used in class (plus his own special dashes) and a batch of pancakes using Bisquick. He put each batch on a separate plate and conducted a blind taste test.
He actually did a great job and his homemade pancakes tasted quite good. His Bisquick pancakes also tasted good. Now, I think most of us could tell which were which but everyone commented on how delightfully tasty his homemade pancakes were and made a big deal of choosing the homemade batch as their favorite. Everyone, that is, except for the eldest sibling, who took one bite of both pancakes, pointed to a batch and said, "These taste better and they're the Bisquick pancakes."
Which goes to prove that siblings can act jerky at any age. And that they're great at making you feel like a failure as a parent at any age.
At least I have 5 other chances to succeed. The odds are in my favor (aren't they?!!).

Who's got the meanest mom?!

My kids, that's who! More specifically --- today, son #3 has the meanest mom -- woot!
Sit back, relax and I'll tell you the tale.
Son #3 lost his football helmet on Tuesday, before the game. How does one lose a football helmet when every head has one? Good question. Wish I knew. Maybe some day I can get back to you on that.
Anyway, when son #2 and I got to the stadium son #2 noticed that son #3 was helmetless and inquired about his lack of head protection. I couldn't see through the crowd of kids clearly, but assumed son #3 was holding his helmet. You know what happens when you assume? Wait -- I'm not going there.
Anyway, my assumption was wrong. I realized this when I next noticed son #3 picking up various helmets and looking inside of them and then putting them down. He accidentally looked up into the stands ( I say "accidentally" because he has yet to look directly at me before, during or after a game. He seems to be quite convinced that I, his loving mother, would do something so horribly embarrassing that his life in middle school would end and he'd have to run off and join the circus. Now WHERE would he get an idea like that?).
When we made eye contact I spoke, using only hand gestures (a talent most mothers possess), saying, "Where's your helmet?!" He shrugged. I spoke again (yes, with my hands because he wouldn't have been able to hear me from the stands) and said, "Go find it." He walked around checking out more helmets. By now the game had started and he was not in it (some stupid rule about players being required to protect their heads). He usually starts, but not this day. It was not to be. He wandered around looking clueless for a while longer and then he and the coach exchanged a few words. Then he moseyed around a bit more (you can say "mosey" if you live in Texas) and looked completely unconcerned about the loss of this vital piece of football equipment. He went to the bench and sat. By this time I was beyond frustrated with his lack of responsibility and was wondering how far on the field I would get after I jumped over the wall and headed to his bench before being tackled by a security guard. As I was pondering this excellent opportunity to be embarrassing, he turned around and caught me eye. I was a bit startled by that bold move but pulled myself together enough to hand-speak again. "Where is your helmet?!!!!!". Shrug.... and as he shrugged several boys sitting on the bench with him turned in unison to see to whom he was speaking. I almost stood up in the stands as I gestured loudly with my hands, "GO FIND IT NOW!!!!!!!!". He almost shrugged --- got one shoulder up about an inch, then remembered who his mother was and how much trouble that attitude would earn him, then got up to peruse the helmet selection. He talked to a player for a minute, then the boy removed his helmet and handed it over. Now I'm thinking, "Did that kid have son #3's helmet?!!" And more importantly, "Did he put that mouthpiece in his mouth?!!!!" Gag!
Son #3 put on the helmet, removed the mouthpiece and added another. He then stepped into the game (the one we lost 20-0 ... sigh).
After the game I inquired about the helmet fiasco. Turns out that he never found his helmet; the coach told him to borrow someone's so that's what he did. I left him with instructions to check the bus, the locker room and his backpack before heading home. I'm not sure if he checked all of those (or any, for that matter) but he came home without a helmet.
Fast forward to this morning. Son #3 informs me that he now has his helmet. "Where has it been?", I ask. The coaches had it. What? Yep, the coaches have it now (don't know where or when they found it) and he was to bring in 6 bottles of a beverage to "buy" it back (or pay the ransom, however you choose to look at it). He knew that he would bear the cost of this ransom ---- um, price with his allowance. So I pulled out 6 large bottles of diet tea (evidently the coach's favorite drink and ransom request) and gave them to him. He looked blankly at me until I said, "Put them in your backpack." He seemed puzzled for a moment but then put them in his backpack. When it was time for him to leave for school he said, "I'm leaving now." and then looked expectantly at me. You see, son #3 rides his bike to school. He already had an almost-full backpack and an athletic bag to carry. He totally thought I was going to be nice and drive him to school since he had such a burden to bear. He even picked up the backpack, hoisted it onto his back and made some kind of desperate grunting sound. He looked up at me; I put down my coffee, smiled warmly and said, "OK. Have a great day. I love you." He seemed a bit stunned for a nano second then he must've once again remembered who his mother really is, because he mumbled, "Love you, too. Bye."
Yes, I AM a mean mom. But I bet he won't lose that helmet again, now will he?
The world needs more mean moms --- desperately. So to all you "nice" moms out there, I only have one word to say:
Weenies.

The girls are home!! --- sort of

Woot! Daughters #2 & #3 are home for Fall Break (some break -- they get one day off)!!! Double wo------wait a minute! Where are they? I'm looking all around the house ------ they're here, but they're NOT here! It seems that daughter #1 took daughter #3 to the mall to shop (why else would you go to the mall, you may ask? Don't get snooty --- one could possibly go to the mall to see a movie, or have dinner --- or people-watch, though the best place for that is the Tulsa State Fair, but I digress).
Where was I? Oh yes ---- do you know how many hours of labor I went through for those girls???? Did you also know that it's possible to deliver one baby (when delivering multiples) and then to have your body say, "I'm done. The baby has been delivered, I'm shutting down."?????? Oh, yessiree, you bet your sweet bippy (now THAT'S giving away my age!). Daughter #3 (a.k.a. "Twin B") was born an hour and a half after her sister! And now she's out shopping --- has been for about 4 hours now. Here I am, all alone at home (well, as alone as you can be with 3 boys) waiting and pining for my lovely daughters to spend some time with me.
OK, to be fair, daughter #2 is still on the road coming home. So she isn't to blame for leaving me behind, with the males. She's off the hook on this one.
But the other two --- did I mention that I also made dinner? Yep --- and for those who know me -- not my favorite activity. Not even in my top ten. Heck, not in my top million. Sheesh.
OK, to be really, really fair --- I did go to choir tonight, after I made dinner --- and AFTER they left for the mall. And now here I am ---- woe is me. Hubby is working late, but he's another male so that really has nothing to do with anything. :)
So while I'm waiting for them to return I'll have to blog about some really, really embarrassing story from their childhood. Let me see --- which one shall I pick? There's the time that all 3 daughters were in their car seats behind me --- daughter #1 was about 5 and daughters #2 & #3 were about 3.
I have to preface this by telling you that daughter #2 has always loved being a bit, well, "different". She's always liked to surprise people --- sometimes even shock them.
Back to my story: the daughters were sitting behind me, jabbering on about one thing or another, when suddenly, daughter #2 says ---- very loudly ---- "God.... is.... dead". Then she sat back with a satisfied grin on her face and watched all "heck" break loose around her. "MOMMY!!!!!!!! ACKKKKKKK!!!! DID YOU HEAR WHAT DAUGHTER #2 SAID?!!!!!!" "You are in SO much trouble!!! You can't say that!!!!! MOMMMMMMMMYYYYY ---- you need to punish daughter #2!!!!!!!!" and so on and so on. Daughter #2 didn't say another word for a while --- she just sat there and grinned as I watched her in the rear view mirror. Luckily, I knew enough about daughter #2 after 3 years that I just grinned back at her. And then pretended to be stern and offended and everything, just as the other 2 daughters hoped I would be. I then asked her if she really believed that (since she'd gone to church and Sunday School almost every Sunday of her life). She calmly replied, "No." and then grinned even more. Gotta love her. She's the daughter who wore a beautiful black taffeta dress with a red sash at the waist to the Homecoming dance. She looked lovely --- from the top of her up-do down to her knees. If you looked to her feet you would've seen the red Converse sneakers. Lovely. That's my girl! (she was probably the only girl at the dance that didn't have to take her shoes off to be comfortable)
If the daughters are not home within the hour I'll have to make another post --- I will now go make a list of the stories I could tell.
:)

A faraway visit

I have a fortune from a cookie that reads: "You will visit some faraway land that has long been in your waking thoughts."
I'm going to Kenya. Really. So part of the fortune is true --- but I would definitely deny that it's long been in my waking thoughts. Hawaii as been there. Italy. Most any beautiful island -- well, most any beautiful island with beautiful hotels. But Kenya? Nope. Not even in my sleeping thoughts. My twin daughters went in May (hi daughters #2 & #3!) but I had no desire to go there -- ever.
I think this is all about that wicked sense of humor that God has. I now find myself in the position of missions director at our church. A year ago I would have laughed had you asked me if I ever wanted to do that. But when it was offered to me, I thought, "Wow! That would be great." That was God --- totally changing the thoughts in my head! Because once I said that out loud, my "old" brain said, "Wait a minute! Are you kidding? Missions?! What do you know about that?!" The new part of my brain (note: this new part still doesn't understand the male species, it just has new thoughts and desires) said, "So? If this is where God is leading me then let's go!!". So, OK --- there I was, minding my own business and learning tons of things about missions. Then one day, on the way to a meeting with another missions director (who's taking a group to Kenya) I said, outloud: "I think it would be awesome to go to Kenya!". WHAT? Rewind --- did I really say that? Out loud? Yes, I had. And the person in the car said, "Tell me more about that. Why would you want to go?" And I said, "I have no idea. I don't know why those words came out of my mouth! But, now that I think about it -- it WOULD be awesome to go and experience a mission trip there." I still shake my head over that. Ask my friends -- it's just not me. I want a large ship, a beach and a pina colada.
Fast forward a couple of weeks and I'm working at church one day. I get an e-mail, saying that a paid spot has opened up on the Kenya trip and would I like to go?! WHAT?!! Really? Yes, really. And though I never had the desire to visit Africa until a few weeks ago --- I'm going. And I want to go! I started my shots (ugh -- those dang hepatitis shots hurt!) and a ticket has been purchased in my name.
Now the key question here is this: will the males survive the host female's absence for 10 days? I think I'll take bets. What odds should I offer? Maybe a better question is "will my home survive my absence for 10 days?!" My poor defenseless house. It almost makes me cry to think about it --- so I won't. There, much better.
There's no telling what those poor guys will eat for 10 days. I would think Ramen noodles will get mighty old, but then that's the female in me coming out. I would also think that about Poptarts, but who knows? This may be the best dining experience of their young lives. I'm sure it will be memorable.
So, I leave in less than a month (I think God made everything happen so fast so I would have less time to think it over and thus less time to chicken out). I have more shots tomorrow (double ugh) and in 2 more weeks.
I also need to google the area where we'll be working and see if there's pina colada place anywhere close. OK, that may border on blasphemy --- a pina coloada on a mission trip? I guess I could settle for a margarita. :)

Football is killing me

Alright, what's wrong with me?! These middle school football games bring out the worst in me!! I sit there watching our teeny, tiny team (cuz compared to the brutes they played last week and today they are very small!) getting trounced yet again and all I can think about is going home to see if we have any scotch -- and I don't even like scotch!. But, since hubby is, at this very moment, presiding over a school board meeting I think he'll need the scotch worse than I do when he gets home --- wine will have to do.
When one hulking monster from the other team face-masked (at least I'm learning stuff!) one of our little guys it took a lot of inner strength for me and about 17 other parents to not charge the field and knock that ruffian on his butt! And the ref never saw it (or at least he didn't call it).
I go from rage at the injustice imposed by the opposing team, whose birth certificates I'd LOVE to see, to huge frustration that our guys seem to get the ball and then fall face down on the field. Someone really should explain the idea of running with the ball and avoiding the big guys. But I guess if I was the little person with the football I, too, would drop down and play dead rather than be buried under a pile of sweaty, stinky thugs.
Oh, don't comment in favor of the opposing teams. I'm sure that, off the field, they're all sweet and charming and adorable. But on the field, they are the enemy of my son and therefore the enemy of me (isn't that from ancient Greek or something?).
On the home front -- I have decided that I must be missing a piece of my brain. It has moved far beyond, "I don't get them". I'm not sure what it has moved to, but the stupidity of the actions of some of the opposite sex species in my house has left me speechless. I will not go into detail here, to protect the not-so-innocent, but suffice it to say that, just when you think everyone is finally growing up and maturing and becoming responsible, you are laid flat out by the stunning fact that they are not. I have come to the conclusion that my brain must be missing something that their brain contains. If I had this piece then I'd totally understand the inner workings of the male human. I think a study should be conducted on this theory. You could win a Nobel prize if you figured out this conundrum! Actually, what it boils down to is this: God puts us together but makes sure that we spend a lifetime trying to "get" each other. He has one wicked sense of humor.

Sights to see

Yes, it IS past my bedtime but if I don't make a post then certain people who rely on this blog for their entertainment (you know who you are, ---Dawn!) will call me and whine.
So --- where was I? Oh yes, the fair. I'll take you on a little tour so you'll feel like you were actually there (don't get too excited!):This is a shot from the midway. Your typical ferris wheel. What's a fair without a ferris wheel? Right, nothing. Now on to less typical things: I'm sure many questions come to mind: 50? Really? Do we think the fair uses truth in advertising? They HAVE to, don't they?? Right. Also, can you think of a more exciting job than this guy has? Hawking a "giant"alligator? Well, guess again ---- I know, I know -- leaves you speechless, doesn't it? This was a new attraction this year -- guess the alligator wasn't pulling them in.
I think this next attraction was also new. I'm not sure why it was there --- this is Tulsa. Oklahoma.The only thing I can figure is that Oklahoma football lovers live vicariously through Texans."I know there's a fried donut on a stick around here somewhere!"
This next picture makes me SO proud:The future of Tulsa -- proud to wear (and BUY) pimp hats. Our city is secure.
Just when you thought you'd never get the chance to see another "giant" animal:Daughter #1 couldn't resist it anymore. She concurred -- the hog was huge. And boss. Alive? That's still undecided.
This is a "dummy" of a little boy who's been to the fair one-too-many-times (not unlike me):And no, I don't have any idea what that booth was about.
This is my dad putting their "scooter" together before we head in. We all fought over this scooter -- we fought about NOT wanting to ride on it!This is my sister -- too embarrassed to show her face because she lost the fight!Hey, at least she has that cool fan that her big sister had to buy for her because I was able to negotiate a better deal. The guy in the booth wouldn't deal with her: "It took African women THREE days to make this fan!", said the man. To which my sister SHOULD have replied, "Really?! Does that mean that they get every single dollar that you're trying to milk out of me?!" (she's not as quick with a pun as her big sis -- or maybe it's just that sarcasm isn't her mother tongue).
OK, I know you're sad, but here's my last picture:Before you ask (and I know many of you will!) -- I have no earthly idea. Really. As far as I know it's an escaped "tree man" from "Lord of the Rings", trying his best to entertain small children. Can you imagine anything scarier to a toddler?!!! I mean, really!! And parents were pulling their kids up to him, saying "Look, honey. It's a TREE MAN!" Holy cow --- I can't imagine how many Tulsa tots are now sleeping with their parents!!!
Well, there you have it. The Tulsa State Fair. Don't be jealous. You, too, can have just as much fun, food and frivolity next fall. Well, maybe not "just as much". You'd have to go with me and my family -- but maybe I'll come up with some kind of raffle and sell "chances" to come along. I know I'd make a mint! After all, who WOULDN'T want to experience this?!!

Home, sweet home (?)

Don't you hate it when you go out of town and then you come home to a less-than-thrilled audience? I was completely underwhelmed by my reception. Men.
I am currently recuperating from the fair. My body is in shock and is starting to turn on me. It's a good thing I only do this once a year!
So here are some of the sights I saw and the food I ate (or the food I saw being eaten!):
Of course this is one of the first things I hunt down. Sometimes it takes a while but I always find it! There it is, in all its glory -- the deep fried Twinkie. Perfection on a stick! This is what it looks like on the inside: Now, I must admit that I was disappointed in my twinkie-treasure this year. If you take a close look at the sign (above) you'll notice a banana-man. Don't ask - I just take pictures, I don't draw them. Anyway, Mr. Banana-man must've left some of himself behind in the fryer because my Twinkie tasted suspiciously like bananas. Ugh. Nothing worse than biting into something and not tasting what you expect to taste! Sigh -- I tossed my Twinkie.
Here are more pictures of food offered at our fair:Daughter #1 noticed these -- we passed. Evidently all you need to have a successful venture at the fair it some kind of food, a stick and a deep fryer. No kidding."Really?!", you ask. "Really", I say.

This next picture should leave you speechless (it did me!):

Read it again. Rub your eyes and look closer. Look up --- yep, you read it right, unbelieveable though it may seem, it's the
yummy "spam on a stick"!! Can you believe it! How long have I lived without this delicacy?!! My life now has meaning!!!
gag
But wait --- there's MORE for the choosiest of taste buds!

Yes. Curds. Of cheese. I thought only Miss Muffett ate those. yikes
OK, onto the food we DID eat:

Spiral spuds -- a.k.a. potato chips. Awesomely wonderful!

This is a fried pickle. There used to be 5 in this container. I barely got a picture of this one! These, too, are quite good. Sounds gross, tastes good (which really accurately describes most fair food).
This is one of those rare items that actually looks good and tastes good. Huge cinnamon roll. Well, half of the roll.
This is my darling dad and his annual turkey leg. You wouldn't believe how popular this item of food is! It's amazing how many people you see walking around eating these huge things. I don't know how they can see where they're going! I'm also a little sad at the thought of all of those big turkeys in wheelchairs!
OK, that's enough for today's entry. Tomorrow I will entertain you with the things to do and see at the fair. Right now I need to go take a muscle relaxer/also known as wine (for my aching legs who walked miles and miles and miles) and some Pepto -- for my stomach, which is very, very annoyed with me.

Shoot me now --- please!

This will be brief because my family is trying to kill me. We're leaving for the fair in a bit. Yes. The fair. We went last night. I walked my feet off and ate way too much fried crap. And now I'm going back and I'm exhausted. They are trying to kill me! I want to go back to bed.
Oh, lunch yesterday was great! My friends, Susan & Kem, are a hoot! And yes, everyone looks great. And more importantly, we're fun. Vicki looks wonderful, too --espcially for someone my age with a 5 year old. Yikes! That reminds me, I am POOPED!
More fair stuff later, along with some pics -- if I survive.

It's like this ..

...when you go home to visit you should not look at pictures of yourself. Seriously. Most of the time I can convince myself into thinking that I look pretty good for my age and amount of children. Last night I saw some pictures of myself when I was 23 -- post marriage, but pre children. I. Am. Old. sigh
My sister, who is only 4 1/2 years younger than I am, doesn't look old at all. She looks great. double sigh
Today I'm meeting up with 3 of my sorority sisters. We're going to lunch together. One of them, Vicki, is one of my dearest and longest (see, I didn't say oldest) friends on earth. We see each other once a year or so and when we're together it's like we haven't been apart. I haven't seen the other two in probably about 15 - 20 years. I wonder how much makeup I can put on my face to hide the fact that I'm old? Maybe I'll go buy some theatrical makeup. Nahh, that would require effort. Besides, if I went to the trouble to let my hair go grey then I better have the gumption to face the fact that I look older now. I probably wasn't fooling that many people before anyway.
OK, today we attack the fair! Fried twinkies here I come!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm still kickin'!

Well, son #2 got over the $2 loss. At least, I think he got over it. He may still strike when I least expect it so it's a good thing I'm heading out of town tomorrow. Yep, daughter #1 and I are headed to the Tulsa State Fair to people watch and eat our brains out. Well, I'm going to eat my brains out --- she'll probably turn her nose up at the fair food. Hey, it's her loss.
Here's my latest "issue" that makes me shake my head in wonder and frustration: why am I the only person in this house who can answer the phone?!!!!! And I can't even blame it on the males (well, not totally anyway) cuz the 22 yr old female (daughter #1) doesn't answer it, either. They are driving me nuts --- especially when it's ME calling!!! I hate coming home to my voice on the answering machine: "PICK UP THE PHONE! I KNOW YOU'RE THERE--WILL SOMEONE PLEASE PICK UP THE PHONE?!!! OK, IF NO ONE IS GOING TO ANSWER THE PHONE YOU"D BETTER BE GONE WHEN I GET THERE!" -- or something else to that effect. sigh
I really think they're out to drive me crazy. Seriously. That can be the only explanation for the looks of complete surprise and amazement when the rules are enforced. Every day. That or they really are brain damaged. I choose the first explanation. Then it's reasonable for me to yell at them through the answering machine.

The battle wages on!

I made my first $2 today. Yep --- I am on my way to financial abundance! Son #2 left his socks in the game room ... 2 of them (what some might call -- a pair). So I picked up the offending items and took them to him and said, "Son #2, give me $2."
Here is what occurred after those fateful words:
Son #2: "What?"
Me: "Give me $2."
Son #2: "For what?!"
Me: "For these", tossing them to him.
Son #2: "THAT'S NOT FAIR!!!!" (emphasis his)
Me: "It's totally fair. You were warned. You had knowledge of the rule and the price of the violation."
Son #2: "No, you said it was ONE DOLLAR!".
Me: (still speaking very calmly) "No, I said one dollar per sock. Or to be more precise, one dollar per item. That means one dollar per shirt, per shorts, per t-shirt, etc. One dollar per sock. I have it in writing, in my blog, if you'd like to check. You owe me $2."
Son #2: "I don't have $2."
Me: "You're right. You have $4, which I gave you last night when you wanted to change out $4 in quarters." (did he really think he'd get that one past me?! Whatever!)
Son #2: "Well, I don't have it on me."
Me: "So go up to your room and get it."
Son #2: (stomping past me and up the stairs) "This is SO UNFAIR!" (stomp, stomp, stomp -- slam!)

I now have $2! And I've made son $2 miserable (for the moment). SCORE!
If no one hears from me by 9:00 tomorrow morning, please call 9-1-1. I've probably been strangled with a sock!

Oh, and a big shout-out to my commie-fighting, Alaska-loving brother, Michael!! Hi, bro!!! (to everyone else: I don't know who he thinks he's kidding with this "commie" stuff. I mean really, are the Russians crossing over to Alaska by the hordes? The only thing he's fought up there are huge salmon! The man loves to fish almost more than he loves eat tamales! But don't tell him I said that -- he does have a reputation to protect, ya know!).

OH-MY-GOSH!!!!

This is the site that I beheld a few moments ago --- after son #3 and the hubby left:

Will wonders never cease?!!! Did the "responsibility fairy" fly into my son's window and wave her magic wand of responsibility dust over him?! Or --- did son #1 blab that I had made a post about the male's inability to shut a pantry and so they're out to make me eat my words?
Whatever the reason --- WHO CARES?! At least it's shut!
And so begins my day --- with the sons perhaps thinking they're one up on me, but with me content in the knowledge that that's impossible!
:)

Too much pressure!

WARNING! Rant ahead!!!!
If you're still reading this then you're on your own --- don't say I didn't warn you. I'm ranting. Gee, this blog could be great therapy!
First off, my lovely sister called me today. You see, she reads my blog every day because she has no life of her own (actually, I think she just gets her jollies from reading about what a sucky mom I can be!). She wanted to let me know that she reads it every day and that lately (or was it just today?) I have not been making my posts quickly enough for her liking. Like I need that kind of pressure in my life! Now I have to force myself to be creative on a time schedule! WHATEVAH! Hi Dawn!!!! XXOO
OK, now on to the ranting (no, the above was not a rant -- it was close to a snit, but not even that).
I'm hot at this moment. And no, it's not my age -- which I almost wish! No, no sign of THAT yet. With my luck I'll be buying feminine products into my 80's!!!! Sheesh!!! Wait -- that's a totally different rant --- don't make me go there. I could rant for a while on that topic.
I'm hot and I've been hot all day. Well, not all day, just since my freakin' long tennis match today. Margot and & I started this match at 11:30 a.m. and we finished at 2:30 p.m. And where we live --- it's hellishly hot still!!! And more hellishly humid. We are the people whom you read about in the newspaper or hear about on the evening news: "Four women were taken by life flight to the nearest hospital today when they suffered from severe heatstroke". You know --- those people that make you say, "What kind of moron plays tennis in this heat?! Have they no brains?! Survival of the smartest and that's not them!". Don't deny it, you know you think that. Well, we won, finally. Had to go 3 sets. After the first set I was ready to throw the towel in on my tennis "career". Then we came back from 3-5 to win the 2nd set (7-5). Then we won the third. I guess I'll play a bit more. :)
But dang, I'm hot. Got home at 2:45, showered and headed out the door to rehearsal, which started at 3:30. Left rehearsal to go sit in the heat for son #3's football game. On to 2nd rant:
We were the home team today and the other team's parents (the 3rd middle school in our town) sat on OUR side --- in the shade!!! Those weenies!!!!!!! All of "other" parents couldn't believe they couldn't take the heat on their own side. They left their little cheerleaders and band all alone over there. Wimps.
Third rant: When you purchase your ticket to get in to the game they stamp your hand. With PERMANENT ink! I hate this stamp because I can't get rid of it for 2 days. And not only that, but I was wearing white pants and I got ink on both legs. Grrrrrrr! (and yes, I know it's past Labor Day!!! That's a whole 'nother rant for another day!)
OK, what else can I rant about? Hmmmmmm, oh, I guess I could rant about son #3's team --- they lost again. Bummer. Son #3 did a pretty good job at blocking, but I wish his coach would teach these kids the importance of KEEPING A GRIP ON THE BALL! Oh my gosh -- we dropped that dang ball about 5 times, got 3 fumbles, which the other team turned into 3 touchdowns. For heaven's sake, can't they get some kind of sticky tac or glue or something out there for those kids? Oh, and he also needs to teach one kid to run forward with the ball - not sideways (his preferred direction) or better yet, backwards. Sigh.
Well, I'm feeling better (I'm not dead yet! ----> inside joke for all of the Monty Python fans out there --Dawn!). I'm still a bit warm but getting cooler.
So, before I think of yet another topic about which to rant, I think that I shall close this post.
Besides, I need to have a glass of wine and watch "Heroes". :)