Thanks for the Gift…What is It?

Recently, my 11yo brought in the mail…it’s one of his assigned “jobs,” lest you think he’s just that helpful.

Don’t get me wrong…sometimes he IS that helpful. But this wasn’t necessarily one of those times.

But I digress.

He brought in the mail and within it was a package. He wanted me to tear into it right away, but I didn’t. In glancing at the size, I presumed it was Indy’s heartworm/flea & tick preventative.

Yes…in spite of my vet’s stringent warnings, I order from Petcarerx.com.

My vet says that I don’t really know what I am giving my dog, it might not be what I think it is, blah, blah, blah…but if I buy it from the vet, it costs quite a bit more.

And to be honest, Indy’s never had fleas, ticks or heartworms and we’ve been ordering it for him all along.  I will admit that I love him, and I will do what I can to keep him healthy but at the end of the day, he is still a dog.

I’m all big a tough right now, but let’s talk when he gets sick, ok?

Actually…let’s not.

Again, I digress.

So the package sat on the counter for a while…maybe an hour or two. We had just gotten home when he brought in the mail and frankly I had stuff to do. Facebook had not been checked in hours, and I most certainly was writing a witty and charming post for all of you lovely people to enjoy.

By the time I got to opening the package, no one was around. The PBA had scattered outdoors. (You like how I use the word “scattered” as though there’s more than two of them? It only feels like more than two of them…but there’s still just the two.)

I realized as soon as I lifted my scissors to slice open the tape that I had been mistaken. This package had a return address in Paris.

“Well, how nice was this?” I was thinking. My friend Christine (aka “In the Coop” had recently been to London and Paris and I simply assumed that she had gone way above and beyond in speaking my love language: gifts).

I opened the box and inside was this:

Hmmm…I had no idea what this was.

And why on God's green earth would she send this to me.

I looked back at the address. My name and address were typed nicely and neatly on a proper mailing label. Now…I love Christine and all, but I had my doubts that she had the time or the foresight to type up and print a label before she left for her trip, and then schlep it all the way to Paris and mail something to me.

I mean…she TOTALLY would if it had occurred to her, I am quite certain. But being as how she was in Europe visiting some friends, as well as celebrating 20 years of marriage with her hubby, her thoughts were not likely to be on me.

And I’m fine with that. 

Mostly.

So then I looked back inside the box and actually lifted the contents up to take a look. In the bottom of the box was a clue (ok not really a clue, but the whole stinkin’ answer) to my question of why I had received this.

True...this did not show the flag for the US but it was the only paragraph which had English so I went with it...

Recently I had joined a group called Toluna…they send you surveys and you answer questions to earn prizes, and/or they also have promotions in which you can apply to test market an item (for free) and then give them your impressions and input.

Ah…so now it’s crystal clear.

Well, except for the part about having no clue what it is. All of the print on the box was in French.

All of it.

I even took the contents from the box, thinking that they would, perhaps, offer up a clue.

Nope. No help at all.

Now, I took 4 years of high school French. I tested out of 2 semesters of college French (probably not my wisest move because I took at least one more semester and it was rough…fortunately my mother was a French teacher and dragged my behind through that class.)

I’m not too proud to tell you that on more than one occasion I had to call her and say something to the effect of, “So this is what I am trying to say…how would I write that in French?”

And because she’s a fabulous mom, she helped me.

All this to say…I am not fluent in French. Not even remotely close. I throw French phrases at you every now and then because they spontaneously pop in my head, but otherwise…yeah. It’s not fabulous.

Or remotely fluent.

My apologies to my mother, Madame Frampton and Miss Hodges…all of whom gave a valiant effort to teach me French. I appreciate your attempts.

So…before I tell you what I discerned from my bits of French memory, I will share my conversations with the PBA. I called them in, one at a time, so as to not influence one another’s responses.

Me: I got this in the mail. It’s from a company who sends out products to people for them to try and give their opinions.  It’s all in French. Using your etymology from the past couple years, tell me what you think might be in here.

11yo:  A biology kit.

Me: OK, these are things the people who receive them might actually use. Do you think a 40yo woman would have need of a biology kit?

11yo: No, probably not. Is it some sort of medication? I don't know, Mom...I've done all I can do.

And then the 11yo was finished with the entire process.

I did get the 13yo to hang in there a little bit longer and actually look at some of the words.

13yo: Coffee or tea? (He based on picture on the front)

Me: Do you see any words you recognize.

13yo: Himalayas… Nepal…I think it’s coffee or tea.

Me: What about this word?

13yo: Oh…"detergent"…maybe it’s detergent made from coffee or tea.

Then he lost interest.

Please take note that I am quickly skimming over the fact that neither boy truly attempted to utilize their etymology lessons, so that was a good three years of effort wasted. They’ll use it someday, right?

OK, so then I showed it to Mr. AR. He was much more into it…however he has never taken a day of French in his life. He took Spanish. Same etymology root base, so I figured we’d be ok.

With his help, we were able to tell that it does have something to do with laundry, and that it’s from part of a tree. And you put the fruit or seeds or whatever they are “dans le petit sachet de cotton” (in the little cotton bag…you could all read that in the French though, right?)

Here’s the burning questions which remain: WHY would I do this? How often? Will this stain my clothes?

Like any good little French student, I took my box to my favorite professeur de Francais (That's "French teacher"…try to keep up, people).

And I am referring to my mother, lest you be confused.

So…I toted my little box on over to her house and explained the situation. Now she won’t think the blog is quite as funny because I even told her the part about me believing that Christine had sent a package. 

Because I cannot tell a story succinctly. You may have noticed.

This goes for real-life too.

Anyway…she read the box and even though we still don’t know exactly what KIND of seeds these are, they are most-definitely for washing.

Washing your “delicates”…at this house, we don’ t have any “delicates”…so I’m not certain these will be used.

So because I am certain you wanted to know the full details (you’ve hung in there for this long with the post, so you must be fairly interested), I shall share my wealth of knowledge.

Basically you put 4-5 of these seeds “dans le petit sachet de cotton” (we knew that already) and place the sachet in among the clothes.  Run the washer but before the spin cycle, you can stop the washer and scoop out the water. Because these seeds are biodegradable (I mean, they’re seeds for the love…do we need to explain this characteristic about them?), the water is safe to use on your lawn or garden.

Let me just stop right there and say that I am all about biodegradable stuff, etc, but it is highly-unlikely that I’ll be doing this step.

Don’t judge.

One other thing of note, you can reuse each set of seeds for up to 3 washes.

These seeds are non-staining (nice to know…no one wants all their white skivvies to be brown from the detergent...or for any other reason, frankly).

And one kilogram is sufficient for a family of four for one year. (Unfortunately, we only received 500g, so we’re only set for 6 months. Rats...)

So…that’s all I know about this product. I’ll be curious to see if I actually get it used…especially by the time I am requested to answer my survey. BTW I am happy to share with all of you lovely people…you just need to have your own “petit sachet de cotton” because I am not sharing that; something that would come into contact with both my and your "delicates" just would not do...no matter how close our friendship.

Sorry if that bothers you.

One last note: You might be asking yourself “Why didn’t she just Google it?” Because frankly, my dear readership, where’s the blog post in that?!? Would you have wanted to read a post that went like this: “I got this strange package in the mail from France. It was all written in French. I Googled it to find the English translation. The end.”

  

On second thought...maybe you would.

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Spray Painting Instruction…May Include Overspray

So…some of you may have stumbled onto this post uninformed and unaware. Caution: this is not really a post offering the reader quality spray painting tips. So before you go any further, please know that you have my permission to bail out.

You’re viewing already counts in my log and since that’s what I’m really after, feel free to pull the rip cord on this.

However, if you are truly seeking helpful (not quality necessarily) spray painting tips, you might want to stick around.

I do have a few. I’m not ALL fluff.

Random and shallow…yes. All fluff…no.

Now because it is summer and you are all "footloose and facy free," you are looking for some artsy-fartsy craft projects (maybe even some from this new thing you might have seen. What’s it called…Pinterest?). 

And what makes  a project better than some good, old-fashioned spray paint?

So…without further ado, I give you my version of good (because I am clearly lacking in my ability to recall decent adjectives) spray painting instructions:

• Read the directions…always a good idea with any endeavor, however I scarely (ok, I’ve NEVER) read spray paint instructions. Ever. I mean seriously…how hard is it? You remove the lid (thankfully, they have changed the lids from those impossible-to-open-without-a-screwdriver ones), ensure that the nozzle is directed at the item you intend to paint and push down. Voila.

Well, there must be more to it, right? Otherwise my search online (yes, I am full-service…I actually researched some of it, so you know it’s legit) would have left me empty-handed.

• So…after reading the directions, you should place the intended item on a large dropcloth. Or old newspaper (which is my dropcloth of choice). The overspray can get everywhere. If you don’t have extensive enough coverage, and you happen to be painting in the garage (insert aimless whistling and looking around at the sky here), you may find that you have the outline (I liken it to some dead body tape) of the painted item forever affixed to the garage floor. The grass in the lawn is not nearly so permanent (as one can imagine), assuming you mow your lawn with some degree of regularity. NOTE: This is not true during a drought…you will most-assuredly have those outlines for weeks if not months if Mother Nature does not see fit to send you any rain for the grass to grow. In that case, I suggest you use green spray paint, because the lawn will not only not grow, it will also die.
• Go light with each coat…better to do 20 coats (this is possibly something of an exaggeration here) than one that is heavy and runs and turns out all gloppy (yes…that is the technical term).
• Wear a mask…well, I never have and I’ve not experienced any issues…

What was I talking about? Oh yes…a mask. Yeah I just hold my breath and make sure I paint in a well-ventilated area. Preferably outside as the weather allows. When I die, the autopsy may show my lungs to be a veritable rainbow of spray paint colors, thus proving my theory to be incorrect…so take it for what it’s worth.

So these things are mostly common sense, right? Well they should be. But if not, consider yourself notified…at the root of each of those items is some glimmer of truth.

Now…here are the secondary rules by which you SHOULD abide…these are not necessarily common sense. Maybe. OK, not for me and since I am clearly the epitome of common sense, they obviously cannot be common sense material.

That being said, I shall not tarry.

• Don't spray paint with a fresh manicure. If you choose to throw caution to the wind, I assure it that it will be this ONE TIME that the paint nozzle clogs and paint will shoot out all over your hand. Mostly on your nails. In fact…wear gloves if at all possible. I personally can’t stand to wear gloves when I paint b/c the can always feels like it’s sliding out of my hand…but it works for some people. Just not me.
• Don't spray paint when it's humid…the extra moisture in the air makes the drying process last for DAYS. Or it at least feels that way. And it may never dry at all (ok, that's not entirely true...but it will feel tacky for a LONG time. It may also look tacky, but that's more about operator error than the weather.)
• Don't spray paint when it's windy…ok this should be obvious, right? You will end up with a new outfit whether you want one or not; sure it’s ala the 80’s with the nod to splatter painting, but still. It would appear new.
• Don't spray paint when it's rainy (goes along with the same reasons for not to spray paint when it's humid).  The whole “additional moisture” thing does not mix so well with paint.
• Don't spray paint when it's very hot. It can cause the paint to bubble, which will create more work for you. If you do get paint that bubbles, DO NOT PANIC (say this in the same voice as the ant in Bug’s Life. “Do not panic! Do not panic! We are going AROUND the leaf!”) When the paint dries (yes, just let that bubbling dry too…don’t try to fix it when it’s wet...you will only serve to make a larger mess of things), you can lightly sand it down and re-paint. Voila!
• Don't spray paint when it's very cold…also can cause the paint to bubble. (See above for details on the "additional work" part.)

Now, these last two are possibly the most important…and dare I confess...most recent additions to my list. I know you can hardly stand the anticipation.

• No matter how long you have had those projects necessitating spray paint on your list, do not...I repeat, DO NOT spray paint outside on a day when the cottonwood is flying around like December snowfall.  I promise...the projects can wait another day. Or two…whenever the cottonwood is no longer falling AND has blown away into oblivion. If it is still on the ground, it will most-assuredly blow and stick right to your project. Consider yourself notified.
• Also...no matter how quick you think you will be, do not...I repeat, DO NOT, grab the spray paint and try to apply "a quick second coat" when you're on your way in the house upon returning from the neighborhood pool. You will benefit greatly by taking the extra couple minutes to go inside and get dressed BEFORE returning to paint. If you heed this advice, the handyman who is scheduled to drop by your house to take a gander at the siding that needs to be repaired will be spared some embarassment when he rolls up to the house; he won't see you standing in the front yard wearing your swimsuit and holding a can of spray paint...because let's be honest: nobody wants to see that.

You're going to have to trust me on this one.

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Yoga Pants

So…I never thought this would be true but I must confess that I LOVE me some yoga pants. And no, I don’t do yoga. Ever. I work out at the gym in said pants, but it’s never yoga.

I just had to put that seemingly random piece of information out there for you…I’ll bring it back around in a moment.

At the preschool where I used to work (and sometimes still have the blessing of getting to substitute) we began a “clothing swap”…which wasn’t really a swap because you didn’t have to leave something in order to take something.

It is a “take as you have need” kind of thing, actually.

It was…let me back that up…it IS a wonderful ministry opportunity for people in so many ways…both the givers and the receivers.

Now I won’t lie…there were several things which were donated which I had my eye on. But because I am not in NEED of them, I never took anything until the end of the last day, after all the other families were gone.

Often what I thought I “needed” went to someone else. Which is exactly as it should be.

Well, last week, I subbed on Thursday (which is the last day of the preschool week, lest you be confused) and it so happened that there were still quite a few items left after the families had picked up their kiddos. I was helping the Assistant Director bag up all the leftover items (because we can’t leave them out over the week-end…that would make the church look a touch messy on Sunday mornings) when I spied a couple pairs of yoga pants.

And they looked practically brand new! Wow…what a score! They looked like something that would fit me (don’t look at sizes, girls…just look at how things fit you…this is what I am trying to learn for myself; you should learn it too).

So I took them home and tried them on…planning to bring them back to “redonate” (yes, that’s a real word) the following week if they didn’t work out…

Imagine my delight when they fit. AND (I am well-aware that I told you NOT to look at the size, but I accidentally glanced down at it)…they were size SMALL!

I was shocked! I knew I had not lost weight recently and had frankly NEVER been in a size "small" and could not fathom how this was possible, but ok…I was claiming it.

Then I washed them up and put them on the next day for the gym. I thought, as I straightened them out, “Boy, this waistband is higher than most…that is nice…I don’t feel like I will always have to be pulling them up because they are a ‘low rise’”…which is something I don’t really comprehend in yoga pants, but then again I am not a designer. Perhaps with good reason.

When I got home from the gym and was hoping in the shower, I REALLY noticed the tag. “Small Maternity.”

Well…there you go…apparently I wear a size small in maternity pants. Which is information I do not currently need and hope to NEVER need again.

And perhaps I should rethink the whole “not look at the tag theory” as well…

Now…because this post wasn’t as funny as I had hoped (or maybe it just wasn’t that funny to me), here’s a little Tim Hawkins for you, singing about yoga pants. Pardon the filming on this one…I chose this lady’s version because in the intro, Hawkins was talking about homeschoolers. Imagine that…

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Who's Got the Button?

I think I already wrote a post with this title but if I can't recall with a great degree of certainty, you more than likely cannot either.

So I shall continue as though it has never happened.

I am a thrifty gal.

I was so upset at what happened on Sunday to one of my favorite shirts.

You can go here if you somehow missed that post.

Anywho...I washed the blouse and discovered that I was missing 3 buttons.

Three.

Out of a total possible 7.

To be fair, one had been missing for a while...it was the top button, which I always leave unbuttoned. There was a button missing when I bought the blouse (yes, time for total honesty: it cost me 75 cents at Salvation Army) so I took the one from the top and moved it down.

But I figured if I was in the market to possibly replace them all, I might as well include that one.

You know...in the vein of "doing my personal best" which I always tout to the PBA.

But...I must tell you: they were not just any plain old buttons. They were cute little black with white polka dots, fabric-covered buttons.

If you know anything about buttons at all, you'll understand what I mean when I tell you that these would probably not be easy to come by.

And even if by some stroke of luck I did find something close...well, to be honest, I don't want to be a Debbie Downer, but I figured they would be either

• too expensive
• too big
• too small
• the wrong shade of black
• and I would have invested more time/energy/money than it was worth.

Instead, I looked to my button jar. It is an old mason jar with some of my buttons and some from my grandma.

I hoped/prayed/crossed my fingers I would find something that would work.

And if there was nothing in the fabric genre, maybe there would be enough white or black buttons (just plain old buttons) which could make it still wearable.

Again...I'm thrifty. No need to go spending upwards of $1-$2 at Jo-Ann's for new buttons when I have something perfectly workable right under my nose.

So...I rummaged and rummaged and when I came up for air, I had one solid black fabric-covered button and two of these.

But I also had a black Sharpie. You may recall this from last summer...

So I ended up with this:

Yes, I am holding the button with a pair of tweezers. I may be cheap but I am not stupid; Sharpies are permanent for crying out loud. (It even says so on the side.)

So, once the buttons dried, I sewed them on. And ended up with this:

If you didn't know, would you know? I didn't think so.

Will the Sharpie run in the wash? I hope not, but I have ample Sharpies for repair-work if needed.

And what's the worst that could happen? The blouse could be ruined?

Actually, yes. That is the worst thing that could happen.

Well, that and all the clothes being washed with it.

Kind of makes me rethink the value of a 75 cent shirt.

Stay tuned as this drama unfolds...

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Birds of a Feather

So, I am certain that you are all most-assuredly wondering “Where are Mrs. AR’s posts detailing her entanglements with the local avian persuasion this spring?”

Well, until last week, I was doing ok, thank you very much.

In fact, better than ok. I had experienced nary a run-in with the birds at all.

You may recall my “series” from last year, detailing the mama bird on the back porch who was tenacious in building her nest in the cherry spot on our back porch.

If you want to refresh your memory (though I would be completely SHOCKED if you can’t recall such riveting tales!) please click on “Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds” at the bottom of this post and it should take you to all of them. (If it doesn’t please let me know…technology is great but only when it works.)

But if you don’t want to read them (which is totally understandable) I will at least tell you this: since we moved in our house 9 years ago, we have had a bird build a nest on our back porch every.single.spring.

Last year, the poor mama was so eager to lay her eggs that she neglected to make sure the nest was under her.

It was not. Needless to say (but I’m saying it anyway), the babies did not survive past yolkdom.

That is to say, we have had birds attempt to build on the back porch every year…until this year. 

Apparently word got out that the place was increasingly hostile and any nest (finished or in process) would be removed immediately upon discovery (or after a picture was taken...depending on who made the discovery); no one even attempted a nest this year.

Pay no attention to the grossiness from years past..bird poo is not always as easy to remove as one might think

And we didn’t have any run-ins with a nest on the front porch either…only because I didn’t put my usual bucket of flowers on display…thus removing another cherry spot from the nest-locale line-up.

But that didn’t mean we didn’t have nests this spring. We actually have a few, but as yet there do not appear to be any babies...

And with that, we shall embark on the "Tour of Nests" you've all been eagerly anticipating...or dreading. There's kind of a fine line.

Frankly I’m not sure what kind of nest this is but I am thinking either robin or cardinal. I haven’t seen anything in it but I am fairly certain it is not leftover from last year.

And I am too short to see inside, so I don't actually know if there are babies or eggs or anything inside.

Don’t judge.

________

This one was actually leftover from last year. It belonged to a robin last year. But this year I have seen both a Mourning Dove and a Robin (and yes, I am no avian specialist but I can distinguish between the two, thank you very much). But so far no babies…not exactly sure what’s going on there. No judging but it is too high for me to see inside.

________

This one is more my height…and empty. But VERY pretty. As in “I might want to keep it because it’s so pretty” pretty. Perhaps it was also a better height for a neighborhood cat or raccoon? Which is probably/possibly why it is empty. (Look at my deductive reasoning skills hard at work.)

________

And this one I believe is a dove’s b/c it is a little messy. I don’t respect the dove so much (yeah, you read that right…I do not respect the mourning dove; I find their work ethic to be somewhat lacking), although at least this one tried to build in an actual bush, instead of the sorry attempts at nests which we have found over the past few years; putting about 5 sticks on our window ledges and laying the eggs on them all willy-nilly. It would be “ok” except the ledges are sloped to prevent water from standing on them. Ergo…the eggs roll off and the birds appear mystified.

Ok, I have yet to see a mystified mourning dove, but it is kind of funny to consider, right?

Just say “yes” and we can move on.

________

This brings me to the nest experience of last week.

But I must back up a bit. A few days prior to our latest visit, my mother told me (and the boys, though I am certain it was more directed toward me…I am her favorite, I’m fairly certain) that there was a dove’s nest in the blue spruce next to their garage and that we (I) should check it out the next time we are(I am) over.

So I went by last week to pick up my kids (I also went by to drop them off but I forgot about the nest during drop-off so I was alone when I remembered…I say this because you are certainly pondering the whereabouts of the PBA during this event. Are you with me?)

Now this was (and frankly still is) a fairly dense tree (no, I am not calling it “stupid” but thanks for asking), but there was a hole, right at my eye level. As I looked at the tree, I thought to myself, “Well I don’t know where the nest is, but I’ll peek in there and look.”

No sooner had I “peeked” in than I had an angry mama dove flying right at me…making whatever noise it is a dove makes when it is scared, angry or both.

Of course I screamed. And jumped back about 5 feet.

Maybe not 5 feet…probably more like 2. I have this whole “depth perception issue,” due to my lazy eye so who really knows. And as I said, the PBA weren't with me so we have no one who can give any sort of accurate estimation of how far I jumped.

I'm sorry that I can't be 100% accurate in my reporting, as I oh-so-often am.

And once my heart stopped trying to find its way out of my chest, I approached the hole again.

I knew the mama had flown "away", but she was still close by…making her noises.

Of course, I (again with my vast deductive-reasoning skills...they are getting a workout in this post) figured out why she was upon me immediately (I don’t care what you say…I’m a quick-study…).

The nest was right inside the hole.

Can you see it? There's just one baby in there...not a tiny baby either. I'm certain you can see how I missed it initially...

And thusly I ended my tenuous truce with the winged creatures of our area.  

But since you stuck it out and read this whole thing…or at the very least skipped to the end, I should give you a little something funny…you know, since this wasn’t very funny at all.

Also, because I don’t have a good way to end this.

So enjoy this Pixar Short Film instead…and please forgive that it’s not Youtube…I could not find the original on Youtube so you’ll have to settle for vimeo instead…

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Thankful for my Son's Physique

So this is an odd-sounding post, right? So I shall explain before you think it is anything other than honorable.

He's an honorable boy, that one. At least that's what I am trying to claim as my take-away from today.

Today he had a soccer game. Two actually. It was day two of a tournament.

And I was dressed for the day. Or as best as someone in Indiana in early May can be dressed for the day...you know, layered up and ready to shed and/or add layers as the wind dictated.

So I was wearing a super-cute black with white polka-dots short-sleeved blouse. Not because I wanted to wear a blouse for watching my son's soccer games...but because I love the blouse and I felt like wearing it.

But because it was early May in Indiana, I wore a long-sleeve white t-shirt underneath. And a black jacket on the top. It may not sound it, but it was cute. I promise.

However, over the course of the morning, it got a little warm with all those layers. So, like the good little former soccer player I was, I tried to do the "remove the bottom layer without anyone being the wiser" trick by pulling my arms inside both shirts and then putting them back through the shirt on the top, then removing the undershirt from under by taking it off over the head. Voila!

It's one of those necessary tricks I had to learn as a girl (and especially a girl on a boy's soccer team) when I had to change jerseys and there was no where private to change.

Those boys did not need to see my skivvies.

Unfortunately I had never tried it with a blouse. Learning point here so pay attention and do not try this at home: a blouse does not like this trick.

In fact, it so rebelled that I popped not one but two buttons. Oh yes.

Fortunately I still had the shirt on underneath which I had to wrangle my arms back into.

But still, I felt oh-so-exposed and uncomfortable.

And worst of all...very warm.

So I paid little attention to the rest of the 12yo's soccer game, instead scheming how I could get myself into a short-sleeve shirt. And then it occured to me: my son has two uniforms.

Unfortunately for me, he was going to need them both over the course of the day. He was wearing the black one, but for the afternoon game he was going to need the red one. Which left me with two options: wear the funky one he was currently wearing, or wear the red one for most of the day, changing out of it just before the game so he could be properly dressed.

I opted for the funky black one. Most assuredly you are thinking "Yikes!" and you would be correct. It was FUN-KY.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

As soon as the game was over, I made a bee-line toward my son. Fortunately for me, he had already changed out of it into his warm-up shirt.

I said to him (after I congratulated him on playing well, of course!): Dude, I need your black jersey.

12yo: Ummm what?

Me: I need your black jersey. Is it in your bag?

12yo: Yeah but why?...

Me: I popped two buttons on my blouse and even though I have a shirt underneath it, I still feel a little "exposed" and nobody wants to see all that!

Without further hesitation, he reached around to his backpack and pulled out the jersey. "You're right mom, nobody wants to see that!"

I am mostly trying to NOT be insulted by my son's observation and mostly just be thankful that he and I can wear the same size shirt.



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Thankfuls of the Week...Foster Care Week #1

I won't even venture to make an introduction. And please excuse any typos you may see. I may or may not proof this bad boy.

Throwing caution to the wind I am.

And frankly I don't really haev time to be writing but I NEED to do this.

For those of you who may have missed my post on Thursday, we got a foster child placement this week. Our first placement since we were licensed last August. Two girls (sisters) ages 8 and 3.

We picked them up on Thursday afternoon.

This was not what we had anticipated.

We thought we wanted siblings up to age 4...the 8yo was NOT on the radar.

At all.

But we prayed that God would bring the children he wanted to be here, when he wanted them here.

And we trust him.

Ergo...we said "yes" to this placement.

So...what are my thankfuls?

1. Finally getting a call we could accept. And PLEASE do not "congratulate" us b/c a placement means that a family has been torn apart because of poor choices by at least one person. Hearts are broken into pieces and there is fear running rampant on the parts of these children. They are coping but still...they are children.

2. The girls were TERRIFIED of the dog. Like "screaming like wild banshees" terrified. But it is all good now. Except for the dog jumping on the 3yo's bed this morning when she was still asleep. That did not go over too well.

3. That at least one of the girls is going to sleep well and easily. We are continuing the work with the older one.

4. We have plenty of clothes and shoes and toys to last us for a while...most of which was given by generous friends and family.

5. They are pretty much rolling with our schedule and keeping pace with us.

6. My grocery bill was only about $5 more for the week, even with the addition of 2 more people. It remains to be seen if this will hold true for every week; I am venturing to guess it will not. And that we made it through Aldi with a screaming 3yo and I was able to ignore it. No one else in the store was, but I did! In fact, at the end of the trip as we rolled out the door, I threw my arms in the air and exclaimed, "I'm sure no one will notice when we leave!" and the approximate 20 people in line, as well as the cashiers, all laughed. That right there told me we were about as obvious going through the store as we could be.

7. That I confirmed that I can homeschool the 8yo for the remaining 6 weeks of school, instead of enrolling her in a school system in which she will be in the vast minority, and potentially adding to her stress and anxiety.

8. That they both came with braids in their hair, thus allowing me to delay the inevitable: figuring out how to do their hair.

9. And that a sweet friend who is a hairdresser said she would come and help me when the time comes for the braids to come out.

10. This funny made my day on Saturday: There was some momentary confusion at my 12yo's soccer game. The 8yo was asking who all the players were so I gave her a cheat sheet with the boys’ names and jersey numbers. 

She was greatly entertained, cheering for each boy when he made a good play (or a bad one…she’d never been to a soccer game before; and to be fair, the 3yo was yelling at the boys to use their hands.).

At one point, the 8yo asked about a player on the other team and I told her that I only knew the players on our team. She gave me a blank look, like she didn’t know what I meant.

Me: “Honey, there are two teams out there. Remember, we’re cheering for ‘name omitted to protect the innocent’; he’s on the black team.”

3yo: “He not black!”

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It’s Not You It’s Me

So I need you to know before I continue that this is not me breaking up with you. It is me needing some time and space away from you to figure some stuff out.

I have to be honest, when we first got together, it was lovely and glorious and everyone was happy.

Well, I know that I was. And I assumed you were, because you’ve stuck with me thus far. But you know what assuming can get you.

But now this whole thing feels like work. And yes, relationships can be (and any relationship worth anything IS) work.

And I am not opposed to work. You can ask the PBA about that. I am in no way opposed to making them work.

And I am not personally opposed to work either. So much so that Mr. Always Random has, on occasion, accused me of not being able to relax.

I can relax. For instance, when I began the blog, it was relaxing to write. And it was enjoyable. And fun.

And don’t get me wrong…I still love the writing. But I find, as of late, that it is not relaxing. Or all that fun. I find it stressful to come up with topics. And I have self-imposed pressure to post more.

And the very worst part of my inner angst: I am doing the writing just for the “accolades”.

Trust me. I use the term “accolades” loosely.  I am fully-aware that it only amounts to a comment here or there. Which is fine. I am not complaining. It only sounds like I am.

OK, maybe I am complaining a bit. When you value “words of affirmation” as I do, it’s difficult not to get them. But I do know in my heart that it is truly ok.

To be honest, I have the same issue with FB (from which I am also taking a “posting break”…on my blog page especially). I don’t post on there much but I feel as though I have become too focused on “likes” and not about producing “good writing”.

Notice my use of “good”. Clearly I need to hone my skills a bit; may I suggest beginning in the adjective department?

Anywho…I still love the writing, and while I can be random with the best of them (clearly sticking to the theme of the blog…yeah me for being consistent!)…I need to take some time off from this relationship.

That being said, I am not doing a “Lenten Fast” as it may seem. 

I very-well I might be back before Easter. 

Or it might be sometime AFTER Easter.

Let’s be honest…it could be next week.

Or it may be never. I just don’t know. I make no promises.

As I said on my blog…please don’t cry as I am a sympathy crier and my heart can’t take the tears. 

Thanks for your patience with me!

Wordless Wednesday: I Hate to Brag...

Receipt close-up awaiting your "ooooo's" and "aaaaahhhh's"

And I got 75 cents back in ExtraBucks...so that was good.

Note: You astute readers may notice a discrepancy between the number of items listed on the receipt and the number of items shown. There MAY have been one additional Reese's Peanut Butter Egg which is not included in the picture. It MAY have been given to the 10yo, who was an accomplice to the shopping trip, in an effort to keep his mouth shut about the haul of candy. He kept his mouth shut about getting the Reese's Peanut Butter Egg; he did not, however, keep his mouth shut about the bag of candy I bought.

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Perfect Comedic Timing

So...one of the recent topics of conversation in our house has to do with comedic timing. 

I, of course, am teaching this to my son because...well, do I really need to explain the why?

If this needs explanation for you, you should probably just stop reading this blog right now. And no, not just this post. All of them.

He's struggling with the concept of "not every joke makes it to the album."

Sure this would necessitate that he knows what an "album" is...but I digress. (For the record, he does. And that between albums and CDs, there were things such as 8-tracks as well as cassette tapes. And he also knows that we didn’t always have remote controls for the TV. You know…in the Stone Age.)

For those of you who have all of a sudden gotten lost, what I mean by is this: old school comedians would put out an album of their material…often it was live. But always was edited.

Most assuredly, not every joke they told in their act was "for the album"...they just weren't good enough.

Everyone clear now on what I mean?

I must pause and give credit to Mr. Always Random for coining that phrase. Or if he didn’t coin it, he stole it convincingly enough for me to think he coined it.

And we’re back: the other thing we discuss in the context of our comedic timing is that if you tell a joke and don't get a laugh, it isn't necessarily because the other person didn't hear you.

It's probably that it wasn't funny.

You do not need to repeat it.

Or, if they did laugh the first time, they won’t necessarily laugh again (or more) if you tell it a second time.

One and done.

Actually, I didn't say it like that. Instead I said, "You don't need to beat a dead horse."

"That's exactly right mom."

Stunned, I said, “It is?"

"Yes, if I was beating a dead horse, no one would be laughing for sure."

Now THAT was funny.

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Ten Teeth of Thankful...With Revisions and Addendums

Please note: I originally posted this Tuesday but I am reposting (and revising) it for my "Ten Things of Thankful" post for Saturday...lest you be confused. I TRIED to include my revisions in RED...you know, to match the blood still on the teeth. 

And no, that's not a joke...I love a theme!

But I may have missed a few, so no need to go back and do a side-by-side comparison.

All that to say...if you read it on Tuesday, it is similar. But I am CERTAIN you'll find it worth a re-read.

______

So…I’m certain you knew about my 10yo having oral surgery. And the deed has finally been done. He had the surgery on Tuesday and all went well. We returned to the doctor on Friday for a follow-up, just to ensure that everything is kosher, but so far, so good.

But just in case you missed it, here’s the initial post of the whole to-do.

And here's the x-ray in case you just wanted to see it again:

X-Ray from November

Now that you are caught up, I shall fill all of you in on the delightful surgery to which we had to look forward to experiencing:

Ten Teeth were removed from his head on Tuesday.

Ten.

Six of them were casualties, if you will…baby teeth on the top which were pretty-much just hanging there (one had more root left than the others but mostly they were ready) and we decided to take them out while we could. He's never been a "Oh that tooth is slightly loose so let me wiggle, wiggle, wiggle it until it comes out"; he's more of "Yeah it'll come out when it is ready" kind of loose tooth kid. Which meant they could potentally be in there for weeks if not months.

And there is WAY too much work to be done in this tiny mouth to be waiting around for those teeth to fall out.

Patience isn't really my thing...have I mentioned that?

But, I am also cheap (you've possibly discerned that before about me?). And to have those upper teeth removed wasn't going to be cheap.

My frugality was over-riding my patience.

So...this brings me to my first item of thankful: the orthodontist wanted those out but we were ok with them staying in and coming out in their own sweet time...much as it pained me.

But we knew the oral surgeon (I actually babysat him and his sister a few times…yikes! How old AM I? and he attended our wedding, with his dad who was our dentist.) and he was SO gracious and took out those teeth FOR FREE. Oh yes…big money savings right there.

More thankfulness than I can even explain.

So that’s the story with the six teeth on the top.

The four baby teeth on the bottom which came out were ankylosed…which meant that not only did the roots not dissolve but they fused to the jawbone. Fun, right?

You can see from the pictures included that they have roots still...and a couple of them have quite a bit. And you can see where the bone was cut.

Words fail me.

Oh, and one last bit…don't forget about those two permanent teeth which were coming in at an angle…remember those? Well, they were exposed by cutting back the gum tissue. Then they were attached to a chain (at least that’s how I understood it…I can’t quite see very far in that tiny little mouth, especially since he can’t open it very far!) and next week those chains will be attached to the braces which were already put in place a couple weeks ago.

And because you were wondering…why yes, the back teeth on which the braces are attached…those back teeth are also ankylosed baby teeth. But there wasn’t any choice on what teeth to choose, so those teeth will come out (in another surgery) in about a year, or whenever those teeth straighten up and the permanent teeth have come in next to them and the braces can be attached to those instead.

All that to say…I am thankful that the next surgery won’t be nearly as extreme as this one…only two teeth. Which is good because he only has two baby teeth left.

But they will probably be about the size of the largest ones shown here:

I know you wanted a photo to show these roots at close range...I am a full-service blogger. You're welcome.

As an aside, he's already reminded the 12yo (several times in 24 hours, in fact) that he has fewer baby teeth than him; I believe the 12yo still has 4 or 5 baby teeth. As one might expect, such reminders are well-received by the 12yo. (Insert his eyerolls here.)

(He has since actually stopped the reminders...perhaps it was the threat of a punch to the face which caused the sudden and obvious cessation of said comment...)

We shall deal with the wisdom teeth if/when they decide to make an appearance. They’re not showing signs of themselves yet and possibly won’t. I didn’t know this (and you may not have known it either…if you did, bully for you) the doctor said it’s around age 12 at the earliest when wisdom teeth begin to develop.

So there’s THAT to wonder about/worry about/look forward to. Not that I am a worrier at all...why would I even say that?...

One other thing about the surgery...because of it, my 10yo couldn't play in his team's basketball tournament game on Tuesday night. To be honest, I had my doubts all along, but Mr. Always Random wanted me to ask the doctor.

Mr. AR was the coach of the team, so he was really hoping to have a full roster for this next game in the tournament. I don't blame him but still...a ten-tooth extraction is kind of a big deal.

Unfortunately, the doctor's answer was a big, fat "No." I mean, he was nice about it, but it was a firm answer. 

But we held out that maybe by Saturday he'd be ok to play in the championship game. And that would also be if the team held on to the make it to the championship game.

They did not. 

And I'm sure you're wondering where the thankful part comes in...it comes in that even after going to the surgeon for the check-up on Friday and we got a good report, he was instructed to continue to "lay off" physical activity until Monday, just to give the stitches a few more days. And especially those teeth in the front, which are still (understandibly) just a touch on the tender side.

So...I'm sure you figured it out, but that means he would not have even been able to play in the championship game. So I'm thankful that we didn't have to deal with that disappointment.

Yes, yes life is full of disappointments and all that, but I felt like the surgery was enough on the "trauma" end of the spectrum (although he did surprisingly well!), we didn't need to miss out on a championship game too.

Now…what you have ALL been waiting for…the entertaining parts of the day…and I am thankful for all of them:

When he came out of surgery, he (I was told) was humming “Frere Jacques”…which is the song my mom and I would sing to him when he was a baby. Even now, he wants me to sing it (again…he’s clearly tone deaf because I cannot sing on key to save my soul…and I’m so thankful my salvation does not require that) when he’s upset or scared.

But yesterday, the sweet boy hummed it to himself. That part isn’t entertaining so much as it was sweet.

______

When he came out of surgery he told the nurses they he had to go to the bathroom, so they came to get me to help him. (Good call on their part.)  

He felt pretty shaky; “I feel really weird” was actually what he kept saying, so the nurse brought a wheelchair for him. She got him into the bathroom and allowed me to “take over”.

I helped him stand up thinking he would take one tiny side-step over and then pee…with his back to me. No embarrassment needed for anyone.

But no…he turned around and sat down on the toilet. With his pants still pulled up.

Me: Dude, you are sitting down. Do you have to pee or poop?

10yo: Pee!

Me: But you’re sitting down?

10yo: Yes…(like I’m the dumb one)

I’m pretty sure he would have rolled his eyes if it would have been possible.

______

He kept asking me “What are you laughing at?” But the gauze stuffed in his mouth make it almost unintelligible, which only made me laugh more.

And then he started laughing but didn’t know why…which also made me laugh.

Which made him ask why I was laughing.

Ah...fun with anesthesia.

______

After the nurse finished giving me instructions on "wound care" and we were waiting to see the doctor, the nurse asked the 10yo if he wanted to see his teeth.

His reply with swagger: “Yeah I want to see my teeth!” (Translation: Yeah lady…you think I’m a freak? No way…I’m a cool dude who wants to see those teeth…hand them over!)

After taking a quick glance at the bag of teeth, he turned his head, clutched his stomach and said, “Oh no, no, no! I DON’T want to see my teeth!”

And then he burped. A sign of things to come.

______

Once we left the doctor’s office, he continually asked, “Where are we going?”

Me: We’re going to get your medicine and then to get a shake for you. You can’t take your medicine without eating a shake first.

Turn the car; stop the car; make any sort of movement.

10yo: Where are we going?

Me: We’re going to get your medicine and then to get a shake for you. You can’t take your medicine without eating a shake first.

(Repeat conversation as needed or approximately 300 more times)

______

We went to CVS first to drop off the script. They were going to be a little while so we went across the street to Burger King for a shake. Why Burger King, you may be asking…because it was close.

And even though Steak N' Shake was right next door, my boy isn’t a big fan of Steak N' Shake shakes.

Weirdo.

I asked him what flavor he wanted, and he said chocolate, which was actually no surprise.

But I figured I had better ask, just in case he all of a sudden wanted strawberry or something ridiculous like that.

Yeah, strawberry shakes ARE ridiculous. I said it.

In the meantime, the kiddo dropped back off the sleep.

So I placed the order and pulled up to the window to pay.  As I was handing my money to the cashier, I realize that he was looking past me and he shouted (yes, actually shouted), “Oh my GAWD! What happened?!?”

I turned to see my child had momentarily awakened; the stocking cap he never leaves home without had migrated to the floor of the car, leaving him with some CRAZY bed-head-type hair; there was a large bandage across his chin and traveling up his cheeks in an effort to keep him from opening his mouth too far and busting the stitches; and a fairly large piece of bloody gauze was hanging out of his mouth.

So clearly I could understand the need for the guy’s question, but since my child had not seen himself, he had no idea why this guy was asking.

Me (to the guy…with my eyes WIDE, so as the say “SHUT UP, IDIOT!”): Ummm he had some teeth pulled this morning. Like 10 of them…so, yeah.

Guy: “Oh my GAWD! “Oh my GAWD!”

Apparently he did not speak “mom eyes”.

I gave him my money and the next thing I knew, he sent another employee over to the window to gawk at my child and hand me the shake.

Really? This is Greenwood…but it can’t possibly be the first time you’ve seen this come through the drive-through.

In hindsight, I wish I had had the wherewithal to mess with the guy...turning to my son sand say "OH! What DID happen?"

That would have been funny. To me. My 10yo may or may not have even remembered it.

No worries...now I'll be ready when we go back to get those last two teeth removed. And yes, we WILL be returning to the Burger King.

______

Moving on, we drove BACK across the street to pick up the scripts.

10yo: Where are we going?

Me: We’re going to get your medicine.

When picking up the prescription at CVS, I, of course, went through the drive-through. No way was I taking my “happy little drunk” into the store and marching him all the way to the back to pick up the scripts.

Nor was I going to leave him alone in the car.

In hindsight, both of those decisions were sage in every way.

So, we pulled into the drive-through line and THANKFULLY someone had (previously) suggested I take an “urp bucket” in the car…and that I had heeded the advice.  Because the child belched probably the loudest burp I have ever heard come out of his tiny body and he said, “Ought oh!”

I scrambled for the bucket and shoved it under his chin; at the same time I glanced out the passenger side window in time to catch the eye of a guy sitting in his car in the lane next to us.

I can’t be sure, but I think I saw him heave a little bit when he saw my son start to “spew”.

It reminds of the quote from Wayne’s World “If you’re gonna spew, spew into this…” Fortunately I had more than a Dixie cup.

Just an aside: blood and bile do not make for appetizing vomit. I mean, what does, really…it was probably good that there wasn’t anything chunky in it.

Of course I started laughing at the absurdity of the situation, and I hear “Why are you laughing? What are you laughing at?”

And then in a moment of clear lucidity, he held out the bucket and asked, “Where are we going to dump this out?”

Me: Well, we’re going home so we’ll dump it out at home. Just put it down there in front of you on the floor…in case you need it again.

He handed it to me and I put it on the floor in front of him.

______

On the drive home from CVS, he, understandably, kept dropping off to sleep…only to reawaken a few seconds later.

Finally he told me “I’m not really tired, I just need to go to sleep.”

In case you were wondering, yes, I did receive permission for this photo to be included.
But he BEGGED me to show off the teeth (once his stomach settled and he could actually look at them.)

Days 1-5: check!
_______

Conversation the next day:
10yo: Mom, when we were at Burger King, did you get a cheeseburger for yourself?

I was surprised that he even remembered, but no, I didn't lie.

Me: Um...yes, I did, actually...
10yo: Well, why didn't you get one for me?
Me: Could you have eaten it?
10yo: No, but it was kind of rude of you to eat it in front of me...I love cheeseburgers.
Me: Did you actually even see me eat it?
10yo: No.
Me: Why do you think I bought it?
10yo: Because you were hungry.
Me: Yes, and did you want me taking care of you when I was hungry?
10yo: Ummm, no...

I have a confession. I am not the nicest person on the planet when my blood sugar gets low. On occasion, my children offer to bring me food. When I told him I was hungry, he knew it was best that I ate that burger and he should not say another word about it. No one wants Nurse Ratched when they can avoid her...

Hop on over to visit Lizzi and see what everyone else is thankful for this week!

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