Making a List

So…coming up with these past few posts have been something of a struggle. Apparently my brain has been reduced to producing small little sound bites. Facebook post-sized.

That being said, I am doing my best to draw this out and provide my adoring fans with an actual post.

It may not be good but it will be longer than a Facebook post…so that’s good, right?

Case in point…because I was terribly proud (and yes, I know pride is wrong…don’t judge) of this parenting moment, I shall share it here with you lovely people, just in case you missed it on FB…you’ll want to be sure to read this because it may be the best part of this entire blog post:

So earlier this week, my 13 asked me to buy something for him, promising "I'll pay you when we get home!"

Unfortunately, he forgot that he didn't have any cash. Except coins...so he paid me $5, mostly consisting of dimes.

Last night, on the way home from soccer practice, I stopped at the store to buy a tub o' ice cream (don't judge...that's not the point of the story). And I made him stand there while I paid $5 for it...mostly consisting of dimes.

So there’s that…

I have been ruminating lately on Bucket Lists. I admire people who have such lists, although I myself do not have one.

We have an “Always Random Family” Bucket List, though I am not entirely certain we will accomplish anything on it.

It’s not for lack of wanting…it’s for lack of moolah.

I am not complaining…I am just saying. It is truly ok and we are all fine with it…mostly we took an opportunity to write down things we’d like to do and it didn’t go beyond that.

No plan to make it happen. No plan at all. And I know that a Bucket List necessitates a plan.

I can live with my short-comings.

As for my own personal list? It doesn’t exist except kind of in my head.

Nor do I have a Non-Bucket List…a list of things I never care to do. I mean, sure, there are loads of things I could put on that list, but I find that once I put those things on my list, the good Lord, in his infinite wisdom, makes sure it is something I end up doing.

Shall I make a list of some of those things for you? (I apologize if I have done such a list in the past…I can’t recall. And if I can’t recall, I am going to venture a guess that you cannot recall either.)

So here is the list…either for the first time or not.

Deal with it.

• I will not live in Indiana, once I graduate from college.
• I will not live in Greenwood.
• I will not have boys.
• I will not name my children with the same first letter of the alphabet.
• I won’t be a teacher.
• I won’t be a homeschooler.
• I will never be a foster parent.

So yeah…it’s kind of like that.

All that to say, I have officially (ok, probably not really but a girl can dare to dream, right?) stopped telling God what I will NOT do.

And that rambling being shared, here’s what I’ve got for you today: I DO (apparently…this is a recent discovery) have a list of “Things I Never Cared to Know How to Do but Do, In Fact, Know How to Do…and Not Only That, I Appear to be Fairly Rockin’ Awesome at Doing”

Yes, the title is a bit lengthy…it’s a work in progress. Kind of like me.

But the title is not the point of my list. My point is to tell what is topping my list.

I must (and this should surprise you not at all) digress for a moment and share a little secret about myself…I beg you to allow it.

I have a bit of a weak stomach. As in: I get uber-queasy when people share medical-related stories.

Even baby birth stories sometimes gross me out.

Now, I can tell anyone who’d care to know about it about my boys’ births, or about my 9+ hour surgery for “my back” (just to clarify, it was not really “back surgery”, but my 11yo is STILL convinced it was; it may have something to do with the fact that I explained my surgery was happening “because I have so many back problems”…take from this what you will, astute readers).

However, I grow pale, get clammy, turn “green in the gills” when other people choose to share their medical “talk”.

OK…do you have a clear picture of this now? Great…I can continue.

In the same vein of telling God what I don’t want to do, he gave me a foster kiddo on a feeding tube.

Lest you be confused, I had previously told God that wasn’t going to happen.

Now, in case you have not seen him live and in person, I shall explain: the feed tube it doesn’t go directly into The Little Man’s belly; it goes in through his nose.

Because I like the rock under which I live, I had no idea until 3.5 weeks ago that that was even a possibility.

Oh, the miracles of modern medicine, right?

So anyway…I’m sure the build-up is killing you (actually, I bet you have all already figured it out…I never claimed to be a suspense writer), I shall let you off the hook.

What is the thing currently topping my list of “Things I Never Cared to Know How to Do but Do, In Fact, Know How to Do…and Not Only That, I Appear to be Fairly Rockin’ Awesome at Doing”?

Threading a feed tube in an infant’s nose and snaking it down to his stomach.

Unfortunately my “partner-in-crime” in this ordeal (because yes, it is an ordeal and yes you most-assuredly need a minimum of two people to accomplish this task; hard to believe but the infant does NOT care for this and there’s a fair amount of, oh, how do you say? Thrashing. Thrashing is the word.)

But I digress…

One thing of note: this would be much easier of my partner (also known as the illustrious Mr. Always Random, who supposedly-has a cast-iron stomach) would stop gagging during the process.

This is all the "fun" equipment we get to use now...the tube is the orange, "snake-like" thing. Oh yeah...

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Deep Thoughts: Dog Walking and Bin Men

So…I clearly do some of my best ruminating while I’m walking Indy so be prepared for some greatness.

OK…maybe that’s a stretch. Or simply an out-right lie.

I can’t really promise anything other than a bunch of words strung together.

This morning began as any other: I left the house at 5:45 in an effort to get $50 in free groceries at the new Fresh Thyme Market which is celebrating its grand opening today.

So maybe that’s not like any other day.

As I pulled into the PACKED parking lot at 6 (yes, that’s in the AM), my phone began ringing. It was my friend CB (who was the mastermind behind this whole idea), calling to tell me that all the numbers (there were 250 numbered tickets for the first 250 people in line to each claim $50 in free groceries) were already gone. The line had wrapped around the building. And then some.

Bummer.

But, because of this, I was back home by 6:15 and by 6:20, I was walking Indy. Which I am certain he very-much appreciated.

He’s trying to watch his girlish figure.

I don’t know what that means because

a) he’s a boy…technically a eunuch, but potato, potahtoe…and

b) he’s a dog…so yeah…not really a “figure” to watch.

My apologies…these are the things that pop into my head and I feel compelled to share.

So…I was out walking the dog and he, as he (usually) does, made a deposit in someone’s yard (rarely is it one of the various empty lots nearby).

And being the conscientious dog-owner I am, I bring little “poo-bags” with me.

Much to my boys chagrin, this can be anything from a grocery bag, a bread bag, a tortilla bag, or a newspaper bag (you know what I mean, right? The bags the newspaper is delivered in if the weather appears somewhat dismal and wet. Or at least should be put in…sometimes it is not and you have to spread the newspaper all over the house trying to get it to dry just so you can thoroughly check out all the ads and clip the coupons.)

The PBA thinks is odd that I would save all those bags, but I ask why pay for something you can get for free?

Sometimes I think I’m a product of The Great Depression.

But other times I actually buy (insert look of shock here) the pack of 60 or 900 or whatever the count is “official poo bags” at the Dollar Tree…but only the ones with pink bones on them.

I try to emasculate the dog whenever I get the chance, apparently.

Besides…he’s color blind so he doesn’t even know the difference between pink and blue or why that would even be emasculating.

But do me a favor and please don’t tell him.

Anyway…this morning (as ALWAYS) I picked up the poo. Twice, actually. He went twice. And even though it’s lots of fun to carry a dog’s poo through the neighborhood, I began looking for somewhere to dump it. I mean…throw it away. There’s not nearly as much construction as there has been, so finding a construction dumpster isn’t as convenient.

I mean, there is a house nearby that was struck by lightning a few weeks ago and there’s a large dumpster in that driveway, but it’s really close to my house…if I’ve carried the poo for most of the walk, what’s a few more yards, right?

Yes, you’re right…if I happen to pass by it, I chuck that poo right in the dumpster.

Don’t judge.

And if you’re judging me on that, just wait; you have not yet begun to judge! (I don’t know what that means.)

Today was trash day. (Note the smooth transition) As my British friends might say, “The bin men are coming today.” How very proper and lovely to say it like that.

Anyway…lots of people had already put out their trash cans. And it occurred to me that I could sneak those poo bags into someone’s trash can and no one would ever be the wiser.

You’re judging me, aren’t you? Well, I have to admit, I also judged myself. Where would I draw the line?

What else would be acceptable to throw in someone else’s trash can, uninvited and unwanted?

Where would the insanity stop?

Well, I decided throwing dog poo in someone else’s trash can probably wouldn’t get me in too much trouble…but I still didn’t do it. I am "a straight and narrow kind of gal"...I say this in case you didn't know.

Don't judge.

I did carry it (it being the dog poo, in case you had lost track there) all the way home and put it in our own bin. (Look at me, pretending to be British; if I begin speaking in a British accent, just go along with it, please. Also, I’d like you to read the rest of this as though my voice does have a British accent. Thanks.)

But I did have another deep thought while walking the dog…I waffled between “where to unload this dog poo” and “the Mint-X trash bag commercial”.

Anyone out there know which commercial I am referencing?

Here it is for your viewing pleasure…it’s not on Youtube so you’ll actually have to click on the link…sorry to make you work a bit for it.

Is there such a large problem with rodents destroying trash bags that we have to market specific bags to avoid it? I suppose for some people but for the masses, probably not.

Just going out on a limb here. (I’ve certainly just jinxed it and we will now, most certainly, have an infestation of rodents in our garage…my apologies to Mr. AR.)

Anyway…the commercial makes me giggle (yes, I have the maturity of a 10yo boy) and really just wanted a reason to share it with you.

Notice my smooth segways…oooo and ahhh appropriately.

On that note, I think I hear the bin men coming down the street...and me without my bins out! Have a lovely day!

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