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Monday, December 31, 2012

The youngest one.....she scares me.

I'm sitting on the sofa working hard on my computer  playing Dream Chronicles on the computer when little Kimberly comes up and says "Hey, mom, can you open this?" I look up and she is holding up a box that is as tall as she is. I recognize it as her Princess Collection doll set that she got for Christmas, it has yet to be opened.

Worst. Mom. Ever.

So we set out to the task of setting these gals free. KK has been hog wild for Barbies ever since her Aunt Kim gave her a bunch of Barbies and Barbie stuff that her daughter outgrew (thank you Kim! You have kept KK very occupied!).

As we set each Princess free KK would croon over her, making sure her little high heels were set on right, smoothing her gown, then she would sit her on the foot of the bed. There all the Princesses sat, like they were ready for the theater when I collected the box that they came in and told KK to have fun.
"Yes, ma'am, momma, thank you so much! Love you!" Aaahhhh, my sweet little angel. How did I ever get so fortunate? How did I get so blessed?

And then, it happened. It did not sound like the sweet little 6 year old that was just telling me she loved me, instead it sounded like a drill sergeant on day 1 of basic training.
"Listen up, ladies, and listen up good, I'm not going to repeat it. You will not be called a Princess in this house! No you will not! Do you hear me? There is only one Princess in this house, and you're looking at her. Do I make myself clear?"

Yep, there's the KK I know!

Friday, September 14, 2012

I'd like to say things like this is few and far between but then I'd be a liar. Yea.

So, The Hubs and I are sitting in the living room watching some tv last night, the kiddos are behind us coloring and making art on the table. We can clearly see both KK and Jon's bedroom doors from where we sit.
Now let me just say, when we lived in Mississippi we had a real problem with the kids writing on the doors and the walls. I spent a lot of money on Mr Clean Magic Erasers. So when we moved here we sat the kids down and lectured them about how we would beat them be very disappointed if they wrote on anymore walls or doors.
Okay, back to last night. I glanced over to KK's door and there it was: bright pink marker writing on her door- smack, dab in the middle of her door.

Me: Holy mother of all that's pink, look at KK's door.
The Hubs: Huh?
Me: KK's door! She wrote on it!
KK: (running over to her door) No, momma, see! It's on paper! (and with that she magically lifted the pink letters right off the door. Now I could see the bright pink letters were written on white paper that was then placed on a white door. Very tricky on this old lady eyes! The Hubs and I let out a sigh of relief.)
The Hubs: Very good, KK! That is exactly where you write on, paper and not the door! Very, very good! Go ahead and put that back up on your door!

So we watched her smooth the paper back up onto her bedroom door. Hmmmm, that looks odd.

Me: KK, what did you use to make that paper stick to your door?
KK: Glue, duh!


Saturday, August 25, 2012

It’s my oldest son’s Birthday today, so I’m celebrating by telling you this story about him!

When Michael was little (around 4) he was playing outside after one of Washington’s notorious rains.  Now when it rained there THOUSANDS of big fat worms would come up out of the ground. They would be everywhere. It was really quite a sight to see.
Michael LOVED these worms. They were his ‘friends’.
So, back to the story: after one of these rains Michael comes back in the house with one of my nice, new Tupperware containers.
Me: Hey, whatcha got there?
Michael: Worms. (Okay, here’s where I’m going to say that even though he knew better than have worms in my bowl, he was also very honest.)
Me: Uh, no. You have to go dump those worms out.
Michael: But they’re my friends.
Me: They can be your friends somewhere other than my bowl. Now outside. (And with that I pointed outside, and that’s where he headed.)
A few minutes later Michael came back inside, headed for the kitchen and put the bowl in the kitchen sink.
Me: Thank you.
Michael: (Mouth closed- just nods)
Me: You okay?
Michael: (Mouth still closed- nods again)
Me: Michael?
Michael: (Looks up at me- mouth still closed)
Me: Hey, did you put the worms outside?
Michael (Mouth STILL closed, shrugs his shoulders)
Me: Michael, where are the worms?
Michael: (Mouth still closed, just looks at me)
Me: Michael, open your mouth.
Michael: - Opens his mouth, and to my horror about twenty big, fat worms are crawling around inside his mouth.
Me: (Shrieking a bit) Outside now, Michael. Go spit them out. Now, now, now.
I pushed walked him outside so he could spit them out. Then I demanded that he go brush his teeth- for a very, very long time.
A little while later he said he was headed back outside to “Play with his friends”.
Me: Okay, but don’t put any more worms in your mouth.

And he didn’t. But the next day when I went to wash clothes I found the pockets of his jeans jam packed with dried up worms. Great. Well, at least he didn’t put them back in his mouth.

Friday, August 24, 2012

Wanna know something great about my oldest son Michael?

He’s grown now, in the Army. And he’s pretty independent. Always has been. When he was little we lived on base at Ft Lewis. Our housing was Evergreen housing, which was right by Madigan gate. Remember that, it’s important to this story, mmmmkay?

Michael had one of those battery-powered cars. He went everywhere on this (well, up and down Acoma Loop, anyways.) He also would recruit all the kids in the neighborhood to help him get it up the slide – one of those extra wide slides that was like 4 feel wide- and then he would go zooming down it. So yea, I was like awesome and all that. I probably have unclaimed “Mother-of-the-Year” awards out there (insert sarcasm here).
Anyhow, he loved this car.
He also LOVED to unlock the door. He could unlock the front door with ease, even at 4 years old. And the chain? Not a problem, he would build a tower of chairs, books, toys (you name it) and climb it so that he could unchain the door. And stealthy, this kid would not make a single noise while constructing elaborate towers. It was really quite amazing.

Now, picture me sleeping soundly, like a NORMAL mother would at midnight. Got a good image of that, okay, now picture me being awaken by very loud knocking on the front door- one might even call it banking.
What the heck? Right?
I open the door to find:
·      2 MPs
·      Michael
·      And his car
You get the picture? Good. You guessed it; he decided to go for a little midnight drive. Wanna know where he was headed? Out Madigan gate. Maybe he wanted a some Taco Bell, who knows.

In the end I wasn’t reported, his father was an MP there on Ft Lewis, and I had been an MP there. So we knew everyone. But still it was talk of post for a while. And the car? No, I didn’t pull the plug on it, but I did secure it in our garage every single night- and by secure I mean LOCK IT UP.

(The face of trouble right here, folks- back in the day)
(Also, he's awesome!)

Thursday, August 23, 2012

These things just happen to me. I don't know why, I just attract the 'crazy'. Tell me these things happen to you as well.

One of the issues we have had since we moved to College Station are the raccoons. They love our garbage cans. The other night The Hubs went to throw some trash away only to come back, trying to catch his breath and saying, “He’s out there!”
I casually looked up at him thinking, “Well, he’s lost his mind, it was bound to happen, really.”
But once he calmed down The Hubs explained that when he lifted the lid to our garbage can to throw the bag in a raccoon came charging out at him. I gave him the old “Well, he’s probably more afraid of you than you are of him.” But I don’t think he bought it.
But this was my chance to see the furry little bandit, so I ran outside followed closely by The Hubs. Upon seeing the trash bag ON THE GROUND I grumbled “What the fruit? You didn’t even get the bag in the can?”
“Heck no, he jumped outta the can and I threw the bag and turned and ran.” He said.
“Ppfft, he’s just a little ol’ raccoon.” And disappointed I went back inside.
Then tonight The Hubs said he could hear all the raccoons chattering away outside.
Let me set the record straight: He was outside putting the trash cans at the street for trash pick up in the morning, and then had to stay outside after letting Calvin outside- who immediately ran across the street and climbed the neighbor's tree.
So I went outside, and that’s when I had THE IDEA.
Wanna know “THE IDEA”? Of course you do.
“I’m gonna hide out in the back of the car and ambush the raccoons.”
Apparently my crazy ideas are nothing new to The Hubs, he just rolled his eyes and asked if I wanted a water bottle.  Happy that I was not doing anything destructive he went to bed. I set up my post on raccoon spotting duty.
What was I going to do when one came to chow down on our leftover Chinese food? Video tape it, what else? Geez, I’m not some crazy lady.
Then I spotted Calvin who had climbed down from the tree and was sitting in the neighbor's yard by the sidewalk. What I did NOT see was the grown man out for an evening walk about 5 or 6 good strides away from Calvin. I jumped out of the car, started patting my legs and saying “Come to momma, come on sweet boy, come to momma, coma on” (and then I made kissing noises) in the voice that I always say that to Calvin, perfectly mimicking the lady who mistakes her cat for raccoons (the irony of the situation is not lost on me).
The man jumped back from ‘the crazy lady’ and clutched his heart. I can only imagine his horror as he probably thought I was talking to him and not my cat.
Still shaking he asked me “Did you just jump out of that car?”
Me: (totally unphased because at the time I didn’t realize how crazy I probably appeared- I’d also like to point out that I was in pajamas) “Oh, yea, I’m waiting for raccoons.”
His jaw hung open for a three count and then he formed a “Huh.” And then walked away faster than I have ever seen anyone walk before.
I’m sure he went home and told his wife/friends about the crazy lady that jumped out at him saying, “Come to momma”.
Anyhow, Calvin meandered over to me (With what I can only describe as a smile on his face, I mean he just witnessed all this. So yea, he’s a total jerk) and I scooped him up and we went inside.
Corey called out from bed “Did you find any raccoons?
Me: No, but I got Calvin, plus I scared some guy out for a nighttime walk. So I consider it a successful night.
Corey: Are people going to be walking slowly by our house staring tomorrow?
Me: Probably, but I guarantee they’ll be making a wide girth of our house if they do.
With a sigh he rolled over and I plunked down on the couch, still kinda bummed that I didn’t see any raccoon. Oh well, tonight’s a new night!

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Boys these days need to learn to respect girls, seriously.

Don’t mess with my kids.
I am vicious and unrelenting when someone attacks them, either verbally or physically.
However, what I wasn’t prepared for is my beautiful Hannah growing up and boys taking notice to her.
We were at the Lagoon not long ago when she slid down one of the big slides, swam over to me, chatted for a bit, then got out of the water to go back up the steps to slide down again.
A group of young teenage boys (like 15, maybe 16 years old) began making cat-calls and one even said “Look at that a**.”
“Excuse me? She is 10 years old. TEN YEARS OLD.” I said, as I was near enough to slap them upside their heads (I didn’t, and I want bonus points for that. Because really????)
And then the village idiot of the group said “Yea, but she got that a**.”
Ok, now you’ve disrespected my daughter, and me. And I understand peer pressure, and I am sure he was just showing off for his friends, though the rest of group looked like they were ready to run for the hills and never come back.
“She’s ten, you little puke. You know what they call guys like you oogle ten year olds? Pedophiles, that’s they call them.”
By this time I think I was starting to get through to him, though maybe he was just terrified by the lady that was screaming at him.
I continued my rant, “Ya know what, where is your mother? I’d like for you to tell her what you just said about my ten-year-old daughter. And I’d like to let her know that obviously she didn’t spank your butt enough because you have no control over your mouth and the filth that spills out of it.”
I should point out the rest of group by now is apologizing to me, and saying that they were wrong, and sorry. So very, very sorry. But Village Idiot was just staring at me, kind of “deer in the headlight” like.
“You know what, forget talking to your mom.” When he heard this he let out a huge sigh, kind of like a deflated balloon. But my rant was not over. “Instead, you need to tell her father what you just said about his little girl.”
“What?” He finally found his voice. “No ma’am, please.” (Oh, I see, he finally found his manners. Amazing.) “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
“Alright, we won’t go find him and tell him what you dirty little mouth said. But you seriously need to think twice before you go spouting off about a girl because every girl out here at this pool, every girl you ever meet, is someone’s little girl- no matter what the age. And no girl deserves that disrespect. Okay?”
“Yes ma’am. I understand.”
“Aright. You boys have a good day.” And will that they all swam off and I literally did not see them for the remainder of our day. I mean, they disappeared, probably hiding off in the deep end watching my every move to see if my husband was some hulk of a man with threatening tattoos. I wonder if they noticed that I was there alone?
Still doesn’t matter, I hope that think twice before they want to make cat-calls to a girl again.  I hope they show restraint. I hope they show they have manners. I hope….

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

What we have here is a failure to communicate!

I understand that this move is hard on all of us. We all have an adjustment period that will more than likely push us the brink of our sanity. But I do believe that one of us has already tumbled off that 'brink' and is now residing in a land of delirium and mischief and absolute corrupt behavior:
"Yo, can you fill my fishy up with catnip again? it's getting a little dull."

Senior Loco himself. And he's out of control.
Our house here is a lot smaller than the one in Mississippi, Halleluyer! (I recommend doing that in Madea's voice, after all it's her signature hallelujah, plus it's fun and who doesn't like to have fun.)
We have put the litter box out in the garage and the cats and are now totally used to going in and out to go potty. But here's the catch, with access to the garage Calvin hatched a plan, and evil plan.
He corrals poor 'Rabi into the garage and then comes back in where it's nice and cool, and then he guards the door. After a bit he'll go lay down somewhere, and when 'Rabi comes sneaking back in he instantly attacks here and runs her back into the garage.
This breaks my heart.
Poor 'Rabi has been with us for nearly a year now and she is being viciously bullied by him. I scold him, I crate him up away from her. I put their cat towers in different rooms, only to have him take over both towers and he attacks her if she touches hers.
For the first time ever I am having to feed them separately.
Poor, sweet 'Rabi.
Here she is after we put Calvin out in the garage and brought her in, she immediately jumped up on her perch and fell asleep. 
So I know she wants to be in the house with us, but Calvin the Horrible won't let her. And Calvin got out (it's one thing that is different here in town, we can't let Calvin out. But he is fighting us tooth and nail on this one) the other evening and 'Rabi took turns laying in each of our laps and giving us love.

But it's not just 'Rabi he's reeking his vengeance on. Oh no. As soon as we are asleep he sets out to destroy things. His main target is the kitchen. Now before I go into any detail let me be clear: the cats have a watering station, they have a dry food feeder that is full at all times, plus I feed them canned food twice a day (once before I go to bed). So I know he's not hungry.
But Calvin will drag down loafs of breaks and attack them, shedding them. Leaving pieces of bread and plastic bagging scattered across the kitchen floor. He will paw open our cabinets and forcibly knock down boxes of cereal. If a drink glass is left out he will attack it such a vengeance that the splatter from it will be enormous. And don't even get me started on what that creep is doing to our curtains.
Any suggestions?

Monday, August 6, 2012

Just a little update on us, plus a few words to hopefully help you grow.

I know it's been nearly 2 months since my last post, and I apologize. We are now officially back in TEXAS!!! Woohoo! It feels great, plus the kids are very, very happy. You know, all three kiddos are Texans by birth, as is The Hubs.
It is so nice to be able to go over and visit family, or (and this is so absolutely wonderific- is so too a word) to hear the phone ringing, pick it up and be all "Oh, hey,....mmmhmmm, yea, you want us to come over for pizza for supper? We'll be right over!" The kids love that their grandparents are right here in town (or at least one set of them).
It was truly a whirlwind move. We were hoping (and planning) to stay there in Mississippi and have The Hubs work right there on Camp Shelby. But after a 4th of July visit to Texas everything changed.
Instead of having transportation move us (like we have always done), we did a DiTY move. It was challenging, it was hard, it sucked at times. But we did it with lots of help!!!
We have tried a couple of churches here in town. Both were really great and it will be hard to decide which one is best for us. One is small(er) and everyone knows everyone. The other is huge, but they have a great children's program, with lots of activities. Plus (and this is big), I was moved to tears at the big church, the sermon was heartfelt and emotional and it was a good bible-preaching sermon. Now will it always be like that? I don't know. We will see.
I know that it will be hard to find a church like Central Baptist, Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Pastor Miller is truly a God-called preacher. Every single sermon struck a chord in my heart, I never left one of his sermons without thinking "Does he have a camera in my house? Does he know what is going on inside my heart?" Yes, it was really like that.
Anyhow, what I am trying to say is find a bible verse and try to live it.
Mine is Matthew 6:33
"But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you."
It's okay, you can have that as your life verse as well if that one speaks to you.
As christians we should be fruitful. I know it's hard, especially in todays day and age. People don't want to hear about God (isn't that sad?), they are too busy with their lives to stop and just be thankful. Just stop and look around and be thankful for what they have. Instead (and we all do it, I know I'm guilty) we dwell on what is wrong in our lives, we grumble, we complain. Isn't it funny how we almost compete with who is the most miserable?  Someone will say "Whew, that was a rough night last night. I didn't get much sleep at all." And the response will be "I know what you mean, I haven't slept in days!" How sad. Quit competing in misery.
In life we will have out mountain peaks (our highs) and our valleys (our lows). But we need to understand that it is during our lows that God is preparing us, this is our time of learning, of growth, of fruitfulness. It is during these lows that God can really use us.
You will never see an orchard at a snow-topped mountain peak. It is in the valley that an orchard is fruitful.

Saturday, June 9, 2012

That was a bad night, but it was probably worse for Jon!

It’s pitch-black when my eyes fly open. I scan the room, making out the big window to the right of me. I’m still in the master bedroom, which is a little weird since I usually abandon our room due to Corey’s snoring. My heart is slamming in my chest, something is wrong – something woke me up. I listen. There! There it is! Wheezing! And it’s bad. I reach out and feel Jon’s skinny little arm next to me. He must have wandered into our room after we all fell asleep. I glance at the clock: 12:19.  I jump out of bed, scoop him up and head to the living room. As I carry him I listen to his breathing, I have to decide now if I should try to give him a treatment here at the house or get him to Wesley ER. As I sit Jon on the sofa he looks up at me with sleepy eyes “My chest feels tight, momma.” My heart breaks into a million pieces. I run my hand through his hair, “I know, buddy, we’re gonna take care of that.”
Even without my glasses on I hook up the nebulizer with ease, strapping the mask around his face. “Just breathe in, little man.”
With the medicine going I run to grab my phone just in case, just in case….
When I return the hum of the machine has all three cats gathered around, it’s humorous, and it’s what I need, even Jon smiles.  When that tube of albuterol is emptied I listen to his breathing, he’s still wheezing, so we go for another dose.
When the nebulizer runs dry again I turn it off and remove Jon’s mask, listening closely to his breathing. Calvin immediately jumps up and inspects the nebulizer and then Jon; it’s a routine of his. Jon’s lungs are clear.
“Sounds good, buddy.”
The meds do not taste all that good. They leave a pretty bad taste in his mouth, we have discovered that honey after his treatment helps. Plus honey (local) helps with allergies. And Jon is allergic to everything. EVERYTHING!!!!
Here is a pic of his allergy test:

 It's easier to list what he isn't allergic to (cats are one those, big shock!), as well as some molds like penicillin. 
We return to bed, tucking him in close to me so I can listen for anymore attacks through the night. Thankfully no more happen and we all rested well.
According to doctors this year is one of the worse years for asthma, and kids are being hospitalized for it. It's scary, folks, scary!