Bryan lost his job yesterday. Please keep our family in your prayers.
I'll try to post something a little lighter as soon as I can get my head out of the oven. :)
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
the bestest fence ever
When we moved into our house, it didn’t have a fenced yard. That was kind of a downside since we have a two year old son who loves to play outside and a dog. But we really liked the house and it seemed like a fence wouldn’t be hard to get. If you aren’t from western Oklahoma, you probably don’t know that you just can’t get any kind of fence – no, sir – it has to be a big, wooden fence for which many trees must die. I’m not sure why but it might have to do with attempting to block the 50 mph wind gusts. Anyway, we thought it wouldn’t be a big deal to get a fence once we moved in. But that was before the furnace/air conditioner went out and the garage door had to be replaced and we had to call the roto-rooter for the plumbing and the new gutters had to be put on to stop the yard from flooding. After all that, we have one heck of a nice house, but still no fence. And in case you haven’t priced big wooden tree-murdering fences lately, they are really expensive. So we have lived without one until now. Our neighbors don’t have a fence either so it doesn’t seem like as big of a deal.
Last week, I was sitting in the rocking chair in the living room, enjoying a peaceful moment with my 5 month old son, Wyatt. We were cuddling and gazing out the window at our “yard bling” - a bale of hay and some pumpkins in the front yard which I plan to keep there until after Thanksgiving. It was almost mesmerizing to rock with him and watch the wind blowing the leaves on the trees and the neighbor’s dog trotting through. And then the neighbor’s dog, a big hunting dog, raised his leg and pooped right on my pumpkins. RIGHT ON MY PUMPKINS. Peaceful moment over, I jumped out of the chair and ran to the door to scream not so nice things at the dog and chase him away. I went out to inspect my pumpkins and found not just that one, but almost a dozen pieces of evidence that the dog views my “yard bling” as his own personal toilet. I didn’t even know dogs could poop at an upward angle…
I consider myself to be an animal lover, especially a dog lover, but this dog was suddenly on my shit(e) list. I mentioned the pooping incident a few days later to my mother in law and she said, “Oh, does this mean you haven’t seen Wesley’s playhouse?” I went to inspect said playhouse and found several turds pasted to the side of it. It appears that this dog has magical poop that defies the laws of physics and gravity.
I wanted to march right next door and return their dog’s “goods” back to them. But I can’t – because I have a dog, too. The fact that my dog weighs eight pounds and is what I like to call a “recycler” is irrelevant. Because my dog poops in their yard sometimes. And if they really wanted to take a magnifying glass outside and search for her microscopic turd crumbs, they could probably find some and return those to us.
So this week, Bryan has built us a fence. A big, glorious, wooden fence all around the backyard. I’m so thankful to him for his hard work. This will keep our dog in and their dogs out. It won’t keep my front yard safe, but it will keep the backyard (and playhouse) safe from the magical pooper.
But if he poops on the new fence, I’m getting a b-b gun.
Last week, I was sitting in the rocking chair in the living room, enjoying a peaceful moment with my 5 month old son, Wyatt. We were cuddling and gazing out the window at our “yard bling” - a bale of hay and some pumpkins in the front yard which I plan to keep there until after Thanksgiving. It was almost mesmerizing to rock with him and watch the wind blowing the leaves on the trees and the neighbor’s dog trotting through. And then the neighbor’s dog, a big hunting dog, raised his leg and pooped right on my pumpkins. RIGHT ON MY PUMPKINS. Peaceful moment over, I jumped out of the chair and ran to the door to scream not so nice things at the dog and chase him away. I went out to inspect my pumpkins and found not just that one, but almost a dozen pieces of evidence that the dog views my “yard bling” as his own personal toilet. I didn’t even know dogs could poop at an upward angle…
I consider myself to be an animal lover, especially a dog lover, but this dog was suddenly on my shit(e) list. I mentioned the pooping incident a few days later to my mother in law and she said, “Oh, does this mean you haven’t seen Wesley’s playhouse?” I went to inspect said playhouse and found several turds pasted to the side of it. It appears that this dog has magical poop that defies the laws of physics and gravity.
I wanted to march right next door and return their dog’s “goods” back to them. But I can’t – because I have a dog, too. The fact that my dog weighs eight pounds and is what I like to call a “recycler” is irrelevant. Because my dog poops in their yard sometimes. And if they really wanted to take a magnifying glass outside and search for her microscopic turd crumbs, they could probably find some and return those to us.
So this week, Bryan has built us a fence. A big, glorious, wooden fence all around the backyard. I’m so thankful to him for his hard work. This will keep our dog in and their dogs out. It won’t keep my front yard safe, but it will keep the backyard (and playhouse) safe from the magical pooper.
But if he poops on the new fence, I’m getting a b-b gun.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
my nickname has never been "the enforcer" for a reason...
Last night was Wednesday night and in our house that means…Awana. For those of you who aren’t familiar with Awana, it’s a program for kids that our church decided to start last year. We run it every Wednesday night for an hour and a half.
We have one really unruly little boy who has been a regular since it started. He is definitely our biggest behavior problem almost every week. He has a good heart but he has a super hard time controlling his impulses, apparently. Well, this little guy (who I will call Dylan) has been bringing a friend for about the last month, which we encourage. But there are always exceptions. Like this “friend,” (who I will call Wayne.) In fact, it’s funny that they call each other friends because they spend the whole time each week calling each other names, fighting, and in general being horrible distractions for the rest of the kids. Picture two wolverines fighting in the middle of the room while twenty other kids try to quietly read and learn Bible verses. Yeah, that’s pretty accurate.
So the reason this concerns me is that in our Awana program, I’m the Commander. Which means that when there are serious discipline problems (like little Wayne) I am the person who has to handle them. Last week Wayne’s teacher was at her wit’s end with him and I attempted to give him a warning. I told him that if his behavior didn’t improve, he would be asked to not return.
This is the part I really struggle with. How do you kick a kid out of church? Isn’t that where really bad kids need to be? Isn’t that like telling someone they are too fat for Weight Watchers? Well last night, little Wayne was uttering racial slurs and pushing other kids against the wall during game time and being a giant turd. So I told him he couldn’t come back if he chose to act that way. I felt terrible. Because I think this kid is really lost in a bigger sense than, like - can’t find your mom in Wal-mart. At the end of the night, I gave him a ride home so that I could tell his mom he wouldn’t be attending anymore which also felt really crappy to me.
On the way home, Wayne told me that his parents are divorced and how he has already had Saturday School many times this year and that his mom recently signed him up for “Boot Camp” for bad kids. He wasn’t bragging – just telling me the facts. When his mom came to the door, I saw a woman who looked really tired but not at all surprised to see her son in trouble once again. So I caved – instead of telling her that Wayne couldn’t come back, I told her that he needed to take a week off and then he would get another chance. I know the leaders at Awana are going to be mad at me for letting him come back again because in all reality, his behavior won’t change and it will be another week of torture for everyone involved.
Sue me for being a softy. And if anyone has any tips for handling wolverines, let me know…
We have one really unruly little boy who has been a regular since it started. He is definitely our biggest behavior problem almost every week. He has a good heart but he has a super hard time controlling his impulses, apparently. Well, this little guy (who I will call Dylan) has been bringing a friend for about the last month, which we encourage. But there are always exceptions. Like this “friend,” (who I will call Wayne.) In fact, it’s funny that they call each other friends because they spend the whole time each week calling each other names, fighting, and in general being horrible distractions for the rest of the kids. Picture two wolverines fighting in the middle of the room while twenty other kids try to quietly read and learn Bible verses. Yeah, that’s pretty accurate.
So the reason this concerns me is that in our Awana program, I’m the Commander. Which means that when there are serious discipline problems (like little Wayne) I am the person who has to handle them. Last week Wayne’s teacher was at her wit’s end with him and I attempted to give him a warning. I told him that if his behavior didn’t improve, he would be asked to not return.
This is the part I really struggle with. How do you kick a kid out of church? Isn’t that where really bad kids need to be? Isn’t that like telling someone they are too fat for Weight Watchers? Well last night, little Wayne was uttering racial slurs and pushing other kids against the wall during game time and being a giant turd. So I told him he couldn’t come back if he chose to act that way. I felt terrible. Because I think this kid is really lost in a bigger sense than, like - can’t find your mom in Wal-mart. At the end of the night, I gave him a ride home so that I could tell his mom he wouldn’t be attending anymore which also felt really crappy to me.
On the way home, Wayne told me that his parents are divorced and how he has already had Saturday School many times this year and that his mom recently signed him up for “Boot Camp” for bad kids. He wasn’t bragging – just telling me the facts. When his mom came to the door, I saw a woman who looked really tired but not at all surprised to see her son in trouble once again. So I caved – instead of telling her that Wayne couldn’t come back, I told her that he needed to take a week off and then he would get another chance. I know the leaders at Awana are going to be mad at me for letting him come back again because in all reality, his behavior won’t change and it will be another week of torture for everyone involved.
Sue me for being a softy. And if anyone has any tips for handling wolverines, let me know…
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Is my tiara on straight?
This weekend I was able to attend my very first live beauty pageant. What an eye-opening experience. Let me just start by telling you that I have never seen so many sequins in my whole life. It was all very sparkly and shiny.
One thing that surprised me is that they still do the swimsuit portion. I was pretty sure that feminists had put an end to that a long time ago but I was wrong. Those girls were very brave, though, and put on their tiny, tiny swimsuits and their very high heels and teetered around the stage like they were supposed to. I'm still shaking my head just thinking about it. You could not pay me enough to put on high heels and a swimsuit and walk around in front of an auditorium full of people. A swimsuit and Ugg boots? Maybe.
Another thing that surprised me was the talent part. To me, talent is something that not everyone else could do. I think it you want to be a beauty queen, you need to have a real talent. Like dancing or baton twirling or playing the bagpipes. In this pageant there were 15 contestants. And 11 of them sang as their talent. I use the word talent here loosely. It was almost like some of them must have thought, "Oh, crap – I don't really have a talent. I guess I'll just pretend I can sing and hope no one notices that I can't."
And the question and answer part…wow. Those girls seemed completely caught off guard by questions like, "If you could live in any other state, which would you choose and why?" Um, I can think of about 49 answers to this that might have worked but the girl who got that question said, "I don't really have an answer to that. But I guess maybe Florida." That was her whole answer. She should have just gone with "World peace."
As I sat there listening and watching, I decided that perhaps I should start a pageant. I could call it "Mrs. 30-Something." We could have talents like cooking macaroni and cheese WHILE breastfeeding or getting two kids ready for church in under three hours. And we could even have platforms like "Cellulite Awareness" and "Varicose Vein Prevention." Now THAT would be a pageant worth watching.
One thing that surprised me is that they still do the swimsuit portion. I was pretty sure that feminists had put an end to that a long time ago but I was wrong. Those girls were very brave, though, and put on their tiny, tiny swimsuits and their very high heels and teetered around the stage like they were supposed to. I'm still shaking my head just thinking about it. You could not pay me enough to put on high heels and a swimsuit and walk around in front of an auditorium full of people. A swimsuit and Ugg boots? Maybe.
Another thing that surprised me was the talent part. To me, talent is something that not everyone else could do. I think it you want to be a beauty queen, you need to have a real talent. Like dancing or baton twirling or playing the bagpipes. In this pageant there were 15 contestants. And 11 of them sang as their talent. I use the word talent here loosely. It was almost like some of them must have thought, "Oh, crap – I don't really have a talent. I guess I'll just pretend I can sing and hope no one notices that I can't."
And the question and answer part…wow. Those girls seemed completely caught off guard by questions like, "If you could live in any other state, which would you choose and why?" Um, I can think of about 49 answers to this that might have worked but the girl who got that question said, "I don't really have an answer to that. But I guess maybe Florida." That was her whole answer. She should have just gone with "World peace."
As I sat there listening and watching, I decided that perhaps I should start a pageant. I could call it "Mrs. 30-Something." We could have talents like cooking macaroni and cheese WHILE breastfeeding or getting two kids ready for church in under three hours. And we could even have platforms like "Cellulite Awareness" and "Varicose Vein Prevention." Now THAT would be a pageant worth watching.
Monday, November 10, 2008
why is your hand in my pocket, maam?
I’ve always been a huge fan of garage sales. There is something completely irresistible about having the chance to look through the junk of complete strangers, and for a small price, even take some of it home with me. I remember my brother once when he was probably eight years old, went to a neighbor’s garage sale and returned, showing my mom and me a skateboard he got. He told us, “It was only $2 and it’s in mint condition - it just needs another wheel.” He was so excited that it was hard to be critical of his three wheeled “great deal.”
And garage sale-ing is even more fun if you have a purpose – a mission – like looking for little boys’ clothes or scavenging for books for a first grade classroom. Well, this weekend, I got up early and had the newspaper ready with all the town’s sales highlighted and I’ve got a mission – I’m looking for toys. Armed with single dollar bills and a handful of quarters, I set out.
I went to several sales and found nothing really great. But then there was one that had some toys. I was checking out the available goods when suddenly I felt someone standing close to me – a little too close. Now, I am a big fan of personal space. I’m not freaky, like I won’t fall on the floor and curl up in a ball if you get too close, but I really prefer if people I don’t know stay far enough away that I cannot smell their breath. And with this lady, all bets were off for personal space. This lady was all over me, looking over my shoulder (and under my arm and around my thigh) at every item I was interested in. I felt like I had a Siamese twin. Make that a Siamese twin who was missing most of her front teeth.
I quickly paid for my toys and got the heck out of there. Because no cheap toy is worth being felt up by someone who could be an extra on Hee Haw.
And garage sale-ing is even more fun if you have a purpose – a mission – like looking for little boys’ clothes or scavenging for books for a first grade classroom. Well, this weekend, I got up early and had the newspaper ready with all the town’s sales highlighted and I’ve got a mission – I’m looking for toys. Armed with single dollar bills and a handful of quarters, I set out.
I went to several sales and found nothing really great. But then there was one that had some toys. I was checking out the available goods when suddenly I felt someone standing close to me – a little too close. Now, I am a big fan of personal space. I’m not freaky, like I won’t fall on the floor and curl up in a ball if you get too close, but I really prefer if people I don’t know stay far enough away that I cannot smell their breath. And with this lady, all bets were off for personal space. This lady was all over me, looking over my shoulder (and under my arm and around my thigh) at every item I was interested in. I felt like I had a Siamese twin. Make that a Siamese twin who was missing most of her front teeth.
I quickly paid for my toys and got the heck out of there. Because no cheap toy is worth being felt up by someone who could be an extra on Hee Haw.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
almost a catastrophe
When I plan things to do with Wesley, I always try to "talk them up" a few days in advance. I'm not sure why I do it - it's bound to backfire on me someday soon. And it almost did yesterday.
There is a corn maze/petting zoo/pumpkin patch about 50 minutes from our house. We didn't do it last year because Wesley couldn't even walk but I thought this year he would really enjoy it. And since my mom was in town, I thought she might like to go with us. So all weekend long, I've been telling Wesley that on Monday we were going to go to a special place with a giant cornfield that we would walk around in and he would get to pick out a pumpkin and there would be lots of animals he could pet, which to a two-year-old is almost better than your very own pony.
I told Bryan to hurry through his work so he could go with us. It was pretty windy but we all bundled up and got in the car. Poor Bryan had to fold his 6 foot 3 inch body into the back seat between the two carseats. We drove the 50 minutes to the corn maze, talking about it to get Wesley excited the whole way.
When my mom turned into the place, I started to get a little worried - there weren't any cars in the parking lot. Not one. Zero cars. It was like a flashback to the movie National Lampoons Vacation - the one where they drive across the country to "Wallyworld" only to find out the park is closed.
There were two men talking in front of the big barn so I told my family to wait while I checked to make sure we could go. I considered working up some tears as I approached.
I walked up to the men and asked, "Are ya'll open?" (I'm learning to speak the dialect here quite well...)
"No, maam, we aren't," was the reply.
Gulp. I hadn't even thought to call and make sure they would be open. I just assumed - I mean, this is the week before Halloween, right? How could they not be open?
I honestly can't even remember what I said next but it was something like, "Are you kidding?" The man explained that they are only open on Thursdays thru Sundays. My eyes just about fell out of my head. I told the man, "I'll just go back to the car and tell my two-year-old son...and my husband...and my mom who flew here from Ohio...and she only has a month to live...are you sure we can't go? If we are really fast?"
He let us go. I mean, it wasn't really much of an imposition since all the stuff is outside and we still paid and everything but he really didn't have to let us go and he did so for that I owe him something really big. Like a kidney. Because I'm not sure what would have happened if I had gone back to that car and told my family it was closed. Just kidding about the cornfield and the pumpkins and animals you can pet, Wesley. I don't want to think about how that would have gone.
I guess I should have learned something from this experience - perhaps to call ahead, or to not talk things up so much until I know they will happen - I don't know.
Hey, if anyone hears that Halloween is cancelled, please let me know. Because I've been talking that up, too, and I don't think even a kidney will save me next time.
There is a corn maze/petting zoo/pumpkin patch about 50 minutes from our house. We didn't do it last year because Wesley couldn't even walk but I thought this year he would really enjoy it. And since my mom was in town, I thought she might like to go with us. So all weekend long, I've been telling Wesley that on Monday we were going to go to a special place with a giant cornfield that we would walk around in and he would get to pick out a pumpkin and there would be lots of animals he could pet, which to a two-year-old is almost better than your very own pony.
I told Bryan to hurry through his work so he could go with us. It was pretty windy but we all bundled up and got in the car. Poor Bryan had to fold his 6 foot 3 inch body into the back seat between the two carseats. We drove the 50 minutes to the corn maze, talking about it to get Wesley excited the whole way.
When my mom turned into the place, I started to get a little worried - there weren't any cars in the parking lot. Not one. Zero cars. It was like a flashback to the movie National Lampoons Vacation - the one where they drive across the country to "Wallyworld" only to find out the park is closed.
There were two men talking in front of the big barn so I told my family to wait while I checked to make sure we could go. I considered working up some tears as I approached.
I walked up to the men and asked, "Are ya'll open?" (I'm learning to speak the dialect here quite well...)
"No, maam, we aren't," was the reply.
Gulp. I hadn't even thought to call and make sure they would be open. I just assumed - I mean, this is the week before Halloween, right? How could they not be open?
I honestly can't even remember what I said next but it was something like, "Are you kidding?" The man explained that they are only open on Thursdays thru Sundays. My eyes just about fell out of my head. I told the man, "I'll just go back to the car and tell my two-year-old son...and my husband...and my mom who flew here from Ohio...and she only has a month to live...are you sure we can't go? If we are really fast?"
He let us go. I mean, it wasn't really much of an imposition since all the stuff is outside and we still paid and everything but he really didn't have to let us go and he did so for that I owe him something really big. Like a kidney. Because I'm not sure what would have happened if I had gone back to that car and told my family it was closed. Just kidding about the cornfield and the pumpkins and animals you can pet, Wesley. I don't want to think about how that would have gone.
I guess I should have learned something from this experience - perhaps to call ahead, or to not talk things up so much until I know they will happen - I don't know.
Hey, if anyone hears that Halloween is cancelled, please let me know. Because I've been talking that up, too, and I don't think even a kidney will save me next time.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
my stint as a stage mom
About a week ago I was scanning the local newspaper for interesting upcoming events. Finding none, I settled for a mildly amusing upcoming event - a Halloween costume contest at a local store - a contest for dogs.
I'm slightly embarrassed to admit that I've thought about dressing up my dog for Halloween before but I've never actually been motivated enough to do it. But that's because there have never been PRIZES involved - and the ad said, "Over $8,500 in prizes." Suddenly, it's worth my time.
I'm a competitive person - I immediately wanted to win. So I started thinking. I figured all the other dogs would be wearing store-bought costumes and the key to winning would be something unique and hand made. In the back of my mind, right next to my memories of eating the foam padding out of my childhood carseat, was the memory of a costume I saw on a dog in a magazine - a dog dressed as Spaghetti and Meatballs.
My mom, the boys, and I went shopping and gathered all the necessary materials. When we got home, I fired up the hot glue gun and got to work. I was pretty proud of the end product. So proud, in fact, that the next day at Bryan's grandma's house, I invited the whole family to come and watch Winnie kick some dog butt.
The contest was scheduled for naptime and it was outside but there was no way I was missing it - $8,500 in prizes were calling my name. So I dragged my sleepy boys in hurricane force winds to the contest. I put Winnie's costume on her and we checked out the competition. There were probably 40 other dogs there but not one of them had a hand made costume. There were several dogs dressed as bumblebees, a few witches, a couple of pumpkins, and some other miscellaneous un-original costumes - but there was only one Spaghetti and Meatballs. Oh yeah, we had this in the doggie bag.
All the dogs lined up and had to parade in front of the judges. I felt just like one of those moms that force their little girls to be in beauty pageants - I really wanted Winnie to win. I whispered some tips into her ear, "Remember to smile and make eye contact with the judges." I suddenly wished we had practiced this at home. And that I had put some lip gloss on Winnie - and perhaps a breath mint.
As Bryan's whole family looked on, they announced the semi-finalists - Winnie had made it! Then the semi-finalists were lined up again for the final judging. I was so nervous, and Winnie was, well, Winnie was probably wishing she had stayed home and that she didn't have a meatball strapped to her head.
And guess what? She didn't win. I'm not kidding. Some other dork dogs won first and second prize and third prize went to a rat dressed as a teddy bear. A RAT! Was that even allowed?!? I felt so ripped off. And the whole promise of $8,500 in prizes? That was apparently at all the stores combined because the prizes were pathetic - not that we got one. Bitter? No, not me.
Next year, I won't forget the lip gloss.
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