Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Parenting is really hard. Thank you. That is all.

Okay, so after that yummy lunch of pigs in a blanket yesterday we were all so logey and full that we all just collapsed into naps. You know how filling those bread-wrapped weenies can be. So I never got around to the rest of my story.

Thursday was the kids' last day of school for the week. Brownie night is always a crazy night and homework gets done late, dinner is put on late, I start hitting the bottle late - it's just a late night all around. But even in the midst of all of the chaos, Abby found time to hand me a bundle of papers. I tried to shoo her away, but she kept insisting I look at them. It was a grade card - well, they don't have actual grade cards anymore, they're just computer print-outs - and a note with the words "ENCORE ALERT!" emblazoned across the top. I had no idea what an that meant, but it didn't take me long to learn. Encore is a noon-time in-school tutoring program

for children who are about to fail a class.

Now, for those of you who have known me since childhood you will remember that I have always been a rather studious person and took learning very seriously. (Now, after three kids, my brain is the consistency of oatmeal, but that's neither here nor there.) Stacie had the most endearing name for me - The Walking Dictionary. Teachers would come to me if they needed a definition or a spelling. I by no means have an off-the-charts IQ, in fact I think I just barely eeked into the Gifted and Talented program in school, but I was always considered smart. I was never seen without a book in hand, I would freak out at the sight anything less than an A on a paper and oh my gosh, when I got that first C in Algebra I in 9th grade, I nearly hyperventilated. I was called Teacher's Pet from first grade on and actually, being called that didn't bother me. There was no cramming, no last minute getting a paper done - I was a hard-core, blue-blooded, dyed in the wool NERD.

Now, my daughter has been pretty much my mirror image for oh, about 7 years now. She's a phenomenal reader, always reading way above her grade level, never bringing home anything less than near perfect on papers in every subject. She has always loved school and it was never a challenge to her. But for some reason, third grade is about to kill us both. In second grade her lowest grade was a 78 in penmanship. Penmanship! In other words, she had sloppy handwriting. And even that was brought up to perfection once they learned cursive. (She's a horrible printer, but has beautiful cursive handwriting. Go figure.) What I'm getting at is - for some reason third grade has caused my child to channel her father.

Mr. Diva grew up dirt poor. They didn't even have an indoor toilet until he was in upper elementary school. His father was a mean drunk and after he left, that left DivaMa-in-Law to raise three boys by herself. She worked during the day and then went to school at night until she got her LPN license, then worked nights as a nurse. Mr. Diva and his brothers had no one at home to help them with their homework and so it never got done. School became considerably harder and harder and they eventually began giving up. In fact, Mr. Diva is the only of the three that even graduated. I am not blaming their mother because that woman came close to dying trying to keep those boys safe, fed and clothed - she did the best she could. But what I'm saying is, school and learning was never a priority for my husband. He hated school and could've cared less what his grades were. If he passed, great. If he didn't, eh, no big.

It seems my oldest child, my mini-me, my studious little gorgeous intelligent bookworm doesn't care that she is nearly failing Social Studies. She also doesn't care that she now has to take in-school tutoring. The only thing she's pissed about is that she can't spend noon recess with *Chance*. I have tried to evoke emotion out of her over this. She refuses to emote. And even Mr. Diva has gotten in on the game because of her lack of caring over it. He is adamant that his kids do well in school and have more opportunites than he had. So at first he was pretty much chilled about it, saying "Missy, you better get that grade up. You're capable of A's and you know it," but now this blatant "I don't give a shit and you can't make me" attitude is pissing him off as well. Now he's right with me with the threatening and the cracking of the whip.

Now, at this point I'm sure y'all are snickering at the insane mother who is obsessing over a Social Studies grade. Go ahead. But I really feel like I have reason to be upset - she's being a real shit about this! I want her to at least care.

I called DivaMom about it and she, first off told me to call her teacher at home over the weekend. I've called Sam's teacher at home several times, but I had reservations about calling Abby's teacher. I really don't know her that well, but I really do like her. So I decided to call her on Friday. She wasn't home. I left a message and then jumped every time the phone rang the rest of the weekend. She called me back Sunday night and after I thanked her for returning my call she thanked me for caring enough to call her at home. I felt so much better!

She and I discussed the grade. She said that if Ab starts slipping like this in the future she hopes to give me some fore-warning. It snuck up on her and she apologized for blindsiding me with it. She explained the Encore program and said that Abby had to spend at least one week in it and she really felt like after this week she could return to cavorting with her *Chance* at recess. She also offered to send home extra work this week. I told her that would be great and to just inundate the child as far as I was concerned. Then I mentioned that Abby really just wasn't upset about it at all. She laughed and said the whole class has been pretty lackadaisical since Christmas break and "If she comes home saying I've been cranky, she's not lying. I've really be ranting and raving at them!"

So after I got off the phone I went up to the living room where Mr. Diva was in the recliner and Abby was sprawled in front of the fireplace with a book. I relayed the gist of the conversation and then told Abby that she would have extra work PLUS her Encore work this week. Nothing. No response. I asked if she heard me. She mumbled a quiet yes. Then I told her that the grade had better be up by week's end or she was grounded. Nothing again. So I kicked it up a notch and said, "Young lady, I hope you're listening to me. If the grade doesn't come up, Girl Scouts go. Plain and simple. I will let YaYa take over the Troop and you and I will spend every breathing moment doing Social Studies. Do you understand?" She slowly looked up from her book, glared at me over her glasses and shrugged. She shrugged at me when I threatened to take away Girl Scouts!! Shrugged!!!

To keep from ripping her arms off and beating her with the bloody ends I calmly went into the kitchen where I held a tea towel up to my face to muffle my outburst and proceded to call my eldest child some really bad names, "little bitch" being the main one.

Last night, though, after one day in Encore and one day of not leading *Chance* around the playground like a googly-eyed puppy and one day of so much Social Studies she wanted to vomit she was much more demure. No eye rolling, no shrugging. Just a new appreciation for the city of San Francisco, its population, bays, bridges and cable cars. We sat at the table for over an hour last night learning allllllllllll about SF and it's more notable qualities. She thanked me for helping her.

Maybe she's not a little bitch after all.

Monday, January 30, 2006

Blogeo, Blogeo, wherefore art thou, Blogeo?

I have no clue where that title came from. Just call it Monday delirium and go from there.


Gosh, the last time I posted it was Thursday. What has happened at the Diva ranch since then.....

Oh, I know.

Okay, Thursday was Girl Scouts as usual. The final tally for cookies this year was 1175 boxes!! Who knew 7 little girls were capable of such cookie-selling magic? They had set personal goals and then we totaled their goals to set the troop's goal. They passed it by 145 boxes. I am so proud of those kids I can hardly stand it. Now we definitely have the money for our end-of-the-school-year overnight trip to Branson! And to celebrate and reward them for their hard work we're having a skating/slumber party in the next few weeks. Yes, I'm really proud, but insane all at the same time. Skating AND a slumber party? What was I thinking?? Oh I'm sure we'll have fun, but it's quite a daunting thing to sit and ponder, so I try not to.

Thursday, also, our friend Melissa got a new job and when she picked her daughter up from Brownies she said they were going to The Stables to celebrate. We wanted to go, too! So, Bub, being the awesome dude he is, said he was tired and didn't feel like going out so he offered to take the kids to the Farmette so Paul, Tater and I could go out. The kids didn't have school on Friday so they were just going to spend the night. We got all gussied up and got to the Stables and Melissa and her husband weren't there. No answer on the cell phone, no answer at home, no answer at her mom's where the kids were supposed to have been . . . so we went to the Buffalo and celebrated her new job without her. We got home around 2am. Not smart when you both have to get up at 5:30. Fortunately, the only kid I had on Friday morning was CLB and he and I just chilled. He never lets me rock him anymore, but Friday morning he crawled up in my lap and fell asleep. That was pure heaven.

I picked up the kids around 10 Friday morning and Tater still sounded like crap from the head cold she picked up on one of her many trips to the indian clinic to check the consistency of her formerly maple-syrupy thick blood, so I told her kids to get their clothes on and they came home with me. They played outside in the freakishly warm January weather all day, effectively wearing themselves out realllllllll good. Then Mom picked up the Tater kids to spend the night at her house Normally this time of year when a child comes in from playing outside you have to strip off the 47 layers of clothes they're wearing and give them hot chocolate. This year we strip off the 1 1/2 layers and throw them in the bathtub to get off the dust. Strangest winter I've ever experienced.

So after scrubbing my three children to get off a day's worth of dust and goo, I fell asleep on the couch at 7. That left Paul to handle any arguments and disasters that arose. I woke up after an hour, tucked the kids in and then fell back to sleep. I was wiped out from being out late at the casinos three nights that week. But I don't have a gambling problem. :)

Saturday was Mom's birthday! WOO HOOO! The kids and I piddled around all morning. Okay, let me rephrase that: The kids played like little angels while I laid on the couch in a vegetative state until nearly 11. I'm just going to have to stop running around late like I'm still 32. Of course, Tater has been telling everyone she sees that her sister just turned 46. (Oh, revenge is sweet, little sister. Revenge is so sweet. You turn 30 this year, remember that, darling.) So everyone came out here for dinner at 4:30 and then we headed out on the casino circuit. A good time was had by all. Well, for awhile. I won $20 at the Turtle and that pretty much was all I won the whole night.

One little delight we had during the latter part of the night was at the Buffalo. There are three machines on the back wall of The Outback that Mom, Sis and I play anytime we're there. Across the room are some electronic Blackjack machines. There were two chicks at the Blackjack machine that were either just very easily amused or chemically impaired. If they would lose they would shout a resounding "OHHHHHHHHHHHH!" and if they'd win they'd clap insanely and scream "WHOOOOOOOOOOO!" After rolling my eyes and groaning every time they would shout, I decided to get in on the action. So if they shouted OH! I shouted OH! louder. If they screamed and clapped I screamed and clapped louder. Then Tater got in on it. The people at the machines all around us were cracking up at us and we had quite a sideshow goin' on. At one point I looked over at Tater and said, "We are probably SO going to get our butts kicked, you realize that, right?" She shrugged and said, "Hmh. Yeah you probably are. But I got your back, sister." I finally got up and walked over to their machines just to see how much money they had won, because from the sounds of it they were really rakin' it in. One had $28.50 on her machine and the other had $14.00. If I'm screaming at a machine it's because I have just won enough money to cause me to pee my pants. I don't scream for a measly $14.00. Sorry, I just am not that easily impressed. Call me jaded, whatever.

Yesterday was a fairly uneventful day. Paul slept till nearly noon, the kids got out every My Scene Barbie and all of the accessories and set up a mall, the island of Jamaica, a football stadium and a Hollywood rock concert in my toyroom. I did laundry and managed to get it completely caught up. Well, until everyone took their showers and then miraculously my hamper was full once more. It's a magic hamper, I'm telling you.

There's more to tell, but it will have to wait until after I feed the kids some yummy pigs in a blanket for lunch. Mmm good.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

What is the state of your weapons?

For those of you who don't follow along for the sub-story that usually takes place in the comments, I'll fill you in while I sit here and wipe up the iced tea I just spit all over my screen and keyboard.

Recklace (Your blog link is bad, darlin', or I'd link you right here) and I have been carrying on a conversation, of sorts, in the comments today.

I asked where the weapons were and she said something about not having weapons in her. Which in all actuality is probably a good thing. It might cause chafing.

You'll just have to read the comments for the whole thing, but what made me spit iced tea everywhere was when I entered her last comment into the handy dandy Babelfish translator.

I knew that the first part of the last sentence was that she had taken three years of Spanish from a Peruvian instructor. Or something fairly close to that. But Babelfish instead informed me that she had three Spanish anuses.

Well, I'll be. I feel like I know you so well now, Recklace.

Profound much

I was just reading DeadpanAnn and she has this most adorable Quote of the Day thingy on her sidebar.

Today's quote:

"It is easier to be a lover than a husband for the simple reason that it is more difficult to be witty every day than to say pretty things from time to time."

How profound from a man whose last name is Ballsack.

Or was that Balzac?

Eh, either way.

Donde estan translacion?

My dear friend, Stacie, informed me in the comments that she thought "vamanos" means "let's go". And it's not that I don't trust her because she did spend half a summer in some Spanish-speaking country (Where I think she learned how to say "Donde estan lavatorio?" a lot, bless her heart.) but I had to find out for sure. I had been told vamanos meant "hurry".

Well, not only did I confirm that vamanos does indeed mean "let's go" in Spanish, but I also learned how to ask

Donde estan sus armas?

I'm sure that will come in handy in my chosen profession.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Tell me if you've heard this one ...

What's worse than having the two males that reside in your household sick with a stomach virus at the same time?


El Dumb-o

I just re-read my last post.

I said,

"Poof. Vamanos. El gone-o."

Vamanos is Spanish for hurry.

I have no idea where that came from.

I am obviously a tard.

Oh my achin' head

I suffer from migraines. I have had them since I was 13. They used to be really bad, especially when I was a teenager. I would lose vision and then when my vision would come back it would be dragging along an excruciating headache for company. They got better as I got older, then got worse again as I went through fluctuating hormones, infertility and the like. Now I probably only get one every two months or so. I know of people who get them on a weekly basis. I also know a lot of people who feel a twinge in their noggin and say, "Oh, I can't get out of bed, I have a migraine" and what they actually have is a really bad headache. There is a difference. I think it can be used as a catch-all, like asthma, GERD and fibromyaligia.

I can tell you when I'm going to get one. Probably anyone who gets migraines can tell you they feel one coming on before the pain ever starts. The foreshadowing for mine is a feeling like I've been staring at the sun - that feeling like your pupils are dilated to the max and your eyes are watering and you need to close them but closing them doesn't help.

Yesterday in Tulsa I got that feeling. I had been driving and blew it off as eyestrain and a sunny afternoon. Eventually the feeling went away and I thought I had dodged a migraine. Oh but noooooooooo . . . last night lying in bed talking to Mr. Diva about the day, the watery, overdilated feeling came back and there went my vision. Poof. Vamanos. El gone - o. I could see out of the lower right corner of my right eye and that was it. It only lasted a minute, maybe, but when my vision came wandering back in like the prodigal son it brought back a hobo carrying a bandana on a stick and inside that bandana on a stick was a motherfucking migraine.

Today my head feels like someone in a crazy Slovakian hostel just released my melon from the vice grip that was holding it so that they could drill into my skull with a Craftsman battery-powered drill with a 7/32" bit on it. But hey, at least it doesn't feel like it's being drilled anymore - it's only that achey, just-having-been drilled feeling.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

It smells like butt

I have no tattoo. And it's kind of my fault because I threw a temper tantrum and spent the majority of the day pouting.

Dang me.

And now, because I am a total dipwad, I am not sure exactly WHEN I will have the time to drive all the way to Joplin to get it.

Monday: Ladies' Night and I don't miss that unless I am on an operating table, giving birth or squashed under a truck.
Tuesday: Quapaw Casino's January Birthday Party. 'Nuff said. I won't miss that unless I am on an operating table, giving birth or am squashed flat under a truck. (Just so you know, it's a 100% guarantee that I will not be giving birth, though.)
Wednesday: LOST. I don't miss that unless I am on an operating tabl . . . you get it by now, don't you?
Thursday: Brownies. We miss that on occasion, but we won't this week because last week was cancelled due to the fact that I was in the middle of dying a slow and painful gastrointestinal death.
Friday: I actually don't have anything planned, but I DON'T WANT TO WAIT THAT LONG!!!!!
Saturday: DivaMom's birthday and thus, another casino run.

Don't forget the fact that my last daycare kid goes home at 5:30 each night, so it's not like I can just whiz up there after work one night. Oh, and one of Abby's headgear bands just fell off yesterday. Just. Fell. Off. We were just at the dentist a week and a half ago!! Now I must throw in another trip to Tulsa this week. *sigh*

I am going to have to hide that money from myself, otherwise after the way this week looks, I'll be tempted to go to the bar at The Stables and spend it all on kerosene apple martinis. Kerosinis. Hmh. I kind of like the way that sounds.


I still use Baby Magic baby lotion on my children. Well, not on Abby so much because she's way into the American Girl line at Bath and Body right now and well, when you're nine maybe it's time to stop smelling like a baby's behind. But Sam and Kady are still young enough and weak enough that I can hold them down and slather them in that yummy smelling moisturizing essence of heaven. Granted, older kids wearing Baby Magic doesn't smell quite the same as an actual baby wearing Baby Magic, but it's enough so that I can get the general idea and still be pretty happy.

But *gasp* our Wal*Mart doesn't seem to carry Baby Magic anymore. It's just wrong. Just plain wrong. I looked in every possible location in the store where Baby Magic might be shelved, but it was to no avail. There's not even a spot on the shelf where it used to sit, so that makes me think they're not just out. I think they just flat don't carry it anymore. So, after much grumbling and stomping of my feet, I bought some Huggies brand with shea butter.


I just covered Kady in it and my hands smell like butt. Dirty. Baby. Butt. I have washed my hands and still they smell. I have GermX'd my hands. And still they smell. That's some powerful lotion.


I made a total carb-fest for dinner tonight. Sausage gravy, hash browns, biscuits/toast and oh, I threw in some eggs for Mr. Diva. I personally skipped the eggs and instead finished off the hashbrowns. Omg, I love hash browns. Homemade ones, fried in butter . . . oh yeahhhhhhh.

Now I'm feelin' kind of logey and sleepy.

It's either carb letdown or I'm on the brink of a diabetic coma.


My Brownie Troop KICKED BUTT in cookie sales this year!! I don't have everyone's totals in yet, but from the looks of it we sold close to, if not just over, ONE THOUSAND BOXES OF COOKIES!!! I am so treating them to something wonderful. Pizza's not even enough of a treat, I'm thinking skating or Lazer Tag. Okay, so the Lazer Tag would be more for me and Tater....but I think the girls might enjoy it as well....

For a small troop of 7 Brownies I think selling a thousand boxes is great. Considering our troop, which had 5 last year, only sold about 400 some boxes last year, I think we vastly improved. I am so proud of them!


I need to get my GS stuff organized. I still have stuff stacked all over the place in here. It was just pretty low on the priority list this week while my insides slowly poisoned me. Now, tomorrow starts another work week and the office is still a mess. Actually this side of it looks great. This wall is where Abby's desk and my computer armoire sit. It's clean and tidy, partially because at day's end I can close the doors to the armoire. But the other side of the office is another story altogether. My desk and GS table are a disaster. Seriously. It's bad. I should probably get on that..... yeah.....I probably should.....


Ugh, I just scratched my nose and got a whiff of that nasty lotion again. I may have to dip my hands in an apple martini to get that smell off.

Miami Ink

Not "my-am-ee", but "my-am-uhhhhh". Did you know that actually used to be on the sign that greeted folks coming into our town when they exited the interstate? What a way to introduce ourselves - MY-AM-UHHHHHHHH. Made us sound just real educated. I'm sure people saw that sign, turned to the others in the car and said, "Do you hear banjos?"

ANYWAY, the point of titling this post "(My-am-uhhhh) Ink" is because . . .

With any luck I will have new ink by day's end.

Yes, last night on the casino run I kicked butt! Paul and I each had $30 when we left the house. Actually he had a bit more, but he was going to buy dinner. Needless to say, my compulsive gambler husband came home dead broke and I bought dinner.

Tater drove the Official Car of the Diva Casino Birthday Run. We were getting ready to leave and Tater said, "Let's take my car." Heck, okay. I'm out of gas in the van anyway and the Dodge uses diesel. Our babysitter was shooing us out the door and she only turned 47 shades of pink when I nudged Paul and said, "Cool! Tater's drivin', baby! Mom, sit in the front so Paul and I can make out in the backseat!" Meg said, "OOOH GROSS!! You guyyyyyyss!" Let it be known that there was no making out in the backseat of my sister's car. That's just wrong.

But it did cross my mind briefly when my darling husband handed me a card not long after we got on the road. First let me say - I don't read cards. I don't even give cards, for cryin' out loud. I figure why spend $3 on a piece of paper that no one really reads the words to anyway? I'd rather just hand you money and tell you what I want to say. So, anyway, naturally I opened the envelope and squealed with delight at the fifty dollar bill (Or was it a "fitty"?) that fell out. I think the card said something about mushy mushy love bein' your husband you light up my life you're so awesome or something like that. I'm not sure. Like I said, I don't read cards. Well, I always read the ones Stacie sends because, let me tell you, that girl can pick out cards. But Stacie didn't pick out this one, so I didn't read it.

So before got to the first casino I put $80 in my right jeans pocket. Anything I would win from there on out would go into the left pocket.

Our first stop was the infamous Lucky Turtle in the booming meccca of Wyandotte. They gave me $10. I played on it awhile and cashed out with $10. Straight into the left pocket it went.

Next stop, Grand Lake Casino in Grove. They give $20 and get the award for Least Cheap Casino. I put $10 in a Red Ball machine and cashed out with $50. I was pretty much done and was waiting on everyone else when we realized it was almost time for another Hot Seat drawing and you have to have credit on a machine and be actively playing it to get in on that. So I stuck a $20 in a quarter Money Bags slot. I was just going to hit the button every few minutes just so it would look like I was playing. But I won another $50. I gave Tater $10 and stuck the rest in my left pocket. The total in my left pocket was up to $90.

Then we drove to Seneca to Bordertown. I didn't play there. I pocketed the $10 and had a nice comfy $100 in my pocket. Paul and I walked around checking out the new part they just added on. He found a row of machines that no one was playing and sat down while I wandered some more. A few minutes he came up to me and said, "Listen to this!" and proceded to tell me how he put a $20 in this machine, but when he bet one, which he thought was a quarter, it wouldn't let him bet. This guy standing next to him said, "Hoss, that right there is a twenty five dollar machine. You better put in some more money, son." Paul said, "I don't think so, buddy," and cashed out his $20. Holy crap. WHY on earth would ANYONE want to bet $25 a SPIN on a slot machine???? And if you max bet you're kicking out $75 a spin!! Bleh.

By this point it was 8:00 and we still hadn't had dinner so we went to the Dairy Queen and ate.

Then it was off to Eastern Shawnee Travel Plaza. There they actually take a $10 and put it in a machine for you. And there were only like, 4 to choose from. I played their $10 and walked away grumbling. Their choice of games bites.

From there we went to The Stables. I played Yahtzee and cashed out with their $10. I also took advantage of my free drink there. I strutted up to the bar, informed the bartender that it was my birthday and then ordered an apple martini. Thinking of Brian and anticipating the apple-y goodness, I waited patiently. He brought me my drink and, nearly giddy with delight, I brought the glass to my lips and then proceded to drink KEROSENE. There might have been some Apple Pucker in it, but I'm thinking he just showed the glass the bottle of Pucker and after a brief introduction, put the bottle away. Holy night that was nasty, yet I drank every drop. I also couldn't feel my ears for an hour.

In the car, between casinos I kind of moved money around, replacing the money I used for dinner with winnings from my left pocket, making the $80 whole again in my right pocket. I had plannnnnnnns for that $80.

Next stop, Miami Tribe's casino. I put their $10 in a Super Ball machine and cashed out with $30.

Then we went to the Trailer Trash Casino, aka Peoria Tribe's casino trailer. Seriously. It's a couple of trailer houses stuck together and chock full of slot machines. I played their $10 down to .15 then won it back up over $10, played it down to $10 again and cashed out.

We finished out the night at Buffalo Run. I took their $10 and gave it right back to them via a Yahtzee machine. How nice of me. I put a $10 in a dollar slot machine, something I NEVER do, and cashed out with $20. Put a $20 in a different one and cashed out with $50. And when Paul's heavy sighing and pitiful pouting got to be too much I'd throw a ten at him and tell him to go play nice. I'm a good wife. I was also trying to buy my way out of having birthday sex that I did not want.

So all told, I ended the night with $40 to put gas in the van and $80 to buy a tattoo. Not too shabby, eh?

Mom gave me a bag of stuff from Bath and Body Works. I mean, that bag was FULL. I think I got one of every product they make in my fragrance! I'm gonna smell gooooooood! Tater didn't bring her with us last night because she thought I might feel uncomfortable opening up a present in a casino. Are you kidding? Anything that draws more attention to me, the better! So she says she'll bring me the present today.

All in all, it was a fine birthday. It was no day at the spa, but a night at the casino is nearly as good. Just a little smokier.

Saturday, January 21, 2006

You say it's my birthday?

Yes, it's my birthday. My 33rd birthday. For 33 years I've been having these and the last 6 have been met with dread and just a general lack of anticipation. It all started when, on my 27th birthday, my mother was about to color my hair, stopped brushing it and said, "Wow. Honey, you are really gray!" It's been downhill from there.

See, I don't like for things to not go my way. Which is precisely why I stopped reading romance novels. I would read a romance novel, think that it might just be possible for there to be actual romance like that and then would just become generally teed off about the lack of romance in my own life. So to keep myself from being a witch all of the time, I quit reading them.

But if I quit having birthdays, well.... then I'm pretty sure I cease to exist, so I have to continue having them, don't I? Which sucks.

I only want to be queen for a day. I want to sleep until I wake up, then be greeted with breakfast in bed. I want a day at a spa. I want a party to beat all parties, one that I don't have to cook one entire morsel of food for and then I want to win $50,000 at a casino.

I obviously ask for too much.

Last night, Paul and two of our Divettes went to town for dinner. I am getting over this stomach thing still, didn't feel like cooking and so we headed to town. After dinner we went to Wal*Mart because you know I can't seem to stay away. I told Paul that I'd kind of like to have a new blouse/sweater/top of some kind to wear out tonight and he said if I had the money to go for it. This lead to a series of things that caused me to be in a really. bad. mood.

Bad mood causer #1: I kind of wanted him to buy it for me. Granted, the money was coming out of the household money and not my own personal funds, but I kind of wanted him to use HIS money to get it for me. But I really wanted a new top so I said fine and headed to the clothing department.
Bad mood causer #2: I shopped for clothes at Wal*Mart. If you want to find cute clothes, chances are you are not going to find them at the Miami Wal*Mart. Occasionally I have happened upon a cute sweater or top and heck, I get all my sweats there, but I didn't want sweats!
Bad mood causer #3: Nothing I tried on fit right. Oh, they fit, it wasn't a size issue, it's just that everything they had in the fat chick deparment, when tried upon my body, looked like a caftan, muu muu or something that a dude named Omar had fashioned upon his tent-making machine. Cute on the hanger, hideous on me. After three attempts I and my dwindling body image skulked out of the dressing room. I tried on one thing that fit, a cute 3/4 sleeve black sweater, and I really liked it. But I don't have any black shoes.
Bad mood causer #4: Wal*Mart has already put out SANDALS and had no black winter shoes. Well, they had black winter shoes that had velcro on them. This alone is enough to drive a woman to grab one of those doohickies that puts the tags on clothing, snatch a hostage from the detergent aisle and go ten kinds of crazy until someone digs her up some cute black shoes. "FIND ME THE SHOES OR HER UPPER LIP GETS TAGGED!"
Bad mood causer #5: The earrings I wanted were defective. After discovering that there were no cute black shoes to be had, thus I would not be buying the cute black sweater, I decided to soothe my suffering soul by buying some new earrings. I am a hoop wearer by nature. I wear big, gaudy, ostentatious hoops and have for years. Yet, the trend this year is earrings that hang down and look like tangled fishing lures dangling from your earlobes. I found some cute antiquey looking black and silver filigree dangly earrings and held them up to my ears and they looked okay. I held them up for Paul to see and he said, "They don't match." I stomped my foot and said, "No duh, Einstein. I'm not trying to match them to my track pants and sweatshirt! I'm talking about for tomorrow night!" He said, "No. Look. They don't match each other." When did he start paying attention to detail? I threw them back and stormed over to just buy more hoops. But then decided that I would not let the dangly, defective earrings defeat me and instead found some green dangly ones that Paul said he could make for me a lot cheaper if we just dug through his tackle box. So in response to that I picked out another pair of silver multi-dangly square-shaped earrings that looked NOTHING like fishing lures, PLUS some silver dots and pearls. I walked away with earrings that I didn't really need and no new clothes.
Bad mood causer #6: The checker broke the non-fishing-lure-looking ones. Yet I didn't realize it until I was in the truck, almost home, and decided to try them on. Paul, upon seeing the steam rolling out my ears and hearing the expletives I was calling one of his fellow associates, offered to take them back for me today.

Fortunately when we got home Drumline was on and that's a super cool movie and dang, that Nick Cannon is one cute little dude, so we watched that and my mood slightly improved. Then my husband called me "sexy" and even though my body image was still pretty bruised from the dressing room mirrors at Wal*Mart, I kind of liked hearing it. I didn't believe it really and I know he was just trying to get into my pants, but still, it's kind of nice to hear.

I got up this morning, started some laundry, made some monkey bread, washed some dishes and drank a pot of coffee.

So much for the sleeping in, the breakfast in bed, the day at the spa....

But there's still the casinos tonight.... I can still hope....

Thursday, January 19, 2006

I'm not dead yet

Of the 7.5 hours between 8am and 3:30pm today, I slept 5 of them, the naps only punctuated by trips to the toilet. My longest awake time was during All My Children and even then I wasn't completely coherent. I did manage a shower and a phone call with Magnet Lady as well. Wait. The phone call with with Magnet Lady, the shower was alone.

There is something very evil lurking in my intestines. Even dry toast sent me to the toilet this morning.

My precious 4 year old child is actually very self-sufficient, I've discovered.

The only thing that sounds good is dill pickles and the cereal out of Chex Mix. I can't stomach the pretzels or those funky bread stick things (Yes, *gasp* Hillbilly Mom, it's BAGGED Chex Mix!) so I've poured the mix into a bowl and am picking out the cereal. Even though the pickles sound good, I'm not sure eating them is wise. I am refraining.

Now my stomach is starting to sound like an alien is about to emerge from it.

My head is still pounding and my body aches like I have been beaten with a really heavy ball bat.

But I feel so much better.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006


i feel like someone has poured battery acid through my lower intestine, lit my stomach on fire, screwed my head in a vice and turned the thermostat down to -40'.

yep. diva's sick.

you might want to keep your blog away from my blog until we can be sure we're not contagious anymore.

*note: it took me like, 20 minutes to type this from my coccoon of blankets. hard to type through fleece i discovered.

Nothing to see here, people. It's only Whinesday. Keep moving, keep moving.

Yesterday Paul took Abby to the doctor for the sore throat that she'd had for a week. She hadn't run a fever, but her throat looked really yucky. (Yucky. Yes, that's a medical term. Look it up in the Journal of American Mommy Medicine.) The doctor said that there was a bug going around that causes a sore throat and since she'd had it a week she wasn't contagious anymore, treat her with Tylenol and Motrin and send her to school. He said it wasn't strep and didn't test her for it. I didn't think it was strep, but I know that since she doesn't have tonsils that throat infections go into pharyngitis and that, my friends, isn't fun. I've had it. I know.

That was all well and good until she came home last night nauseous. And then I was thinking that he should've done a rapid strep on her. She was so nauseous that she actually asked for Phenergan. The kids hate the Phenergan. It's a nasty fluoroescent green, foul-smelling potion, lemme tell ya. When they were post-op after their tonsilectomies and using the Phenergan liquid I had to tell Sam that it was alien blood and he had to drink it to keep the aliens away. Gross yes, but the kid took his medicine. So when Abby asked me for some last night I knew she didn't feel good. She was chilling and pale and looked like hammered doo.

And before karate last night Sam was complaining of a sore throat.

So I lined up the kids before bed last night and started doping them up. Abby got some Motrin and more Phenergan. Sam got Tylenol Cold and Flu w/Cool Burst for his sore throat. Kady got her Singulair to ward off the evil spirits because we haven't had any major asthma outbursts this winter and I'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much.

Paul went to Men's Night and the kids went to bed and I came out here to play my newest obsession: Collapse. I kept hearing something in the back of the house and figured that Kady was up pilfering around. She took a pretty long nap yesterday and I figured she was having trouble going to sleep. Nope. All three were sleeping like logs. But I kept hearing noises like someone was walking around in the living room and down the hall. I guess the ghosts were just really restless last night.

In fact, speaking of ghosts, Paul and I were moving some furniture around out here in my office this weekend. He asked me what this part of the house was before we moved in. When the house was built it was a garage and later they turned it into a den. Then they built a half-wall around part of it, the part that is now my office. They built this little cubby for her mom to sleep in. I told Paul that and he looked kind of thoughtful and said, "Hmh. So....I wonder if it's her that I see walking through the house every now and then." [Dana, I know you've been reading the blog lately - she didn't die in here did she???? Maybe it's your grandma splitting her time between your house and mine?!?]

Anyway, there are periods of time where we hear nothing strange, see nothing strange and then other times I feel like we're not alone. No one's ever scared, the kids haven't ever acted frightened and we never feel threatened, but there are definitely times I feel like there are other presences here. I took an online quiz last week and it said I was definitely NOT clairvoyent, psychic or even remotely capable of any of that, so who knows.



Tater has had a stomach bug thing since early Saturday morning. She went to the clinic yesterday to have more blood drawn (They had to up her Coumadin again - she obviously had maple syrup running through her veins.) and was so borderline dehydrated they had trouble finding a vein. 4 days with a stomach virus!! I have been nauseous since Monday night, but I have a real aversion to vomiting and will do everything in my power to avoid it. Sometimes there are times I wish I could because I know I'd feel better if I could, but there's something in me that just can't. Now Paul, you can say "vomit" and he's puking over the moon. Bleh.


I dug out all of my old Kindermusik CDs yesterday and the kids and I have been having a blast with them! Back when I only had one child and had time and money, we enrolled Abby in a Kindermusik class in town. She took two regular semesters and one summer semester. She was 1 1/2 and 2 when she took the classes and still to this day remembers the songs. She's been out here this morning wrapped up in a blanket like an old woman, singing along and rocking in my rocking chair. I tried to get CBB to do a fishy finger play with me yesterday, but he honestly gave me a look like, "You, my grownup friend, are certifiable." CLB, however, was rocking and clapping and singing like Randy Jackson was watching him. CBG is still alien posessed and music has no affect on her whatsoever. She did get the giggles watching all of us dance around the room like goons, though. My gosh, I love my job. I can act like a total dork, wear my sweats every day and then there's nap time!


Abby and I are sharing an office now. When the girls' bunk bed started breaking we decided to separate them into two twin beds in order to avoid making a Kady sandwich. Well, that now means that their room has enough room for two beds, two dressers and a small desk that holds the karaoke machine. That's it. There are two walkways to scoot through and well, I can't gain any more weight if I'm going to continue walking in there. Since the bed separation Ab's desk has been sitting in our foyer, like a reception desk. Except it's yellow and has magic marker marks all over it. And ceramic kittens. And some weird artsy looking thing that I think might be a napkin holder, but it might be an upside down saddle for all I know, that she made in art class last year.

So Sunday and Monday Paul and I rearranged my office. There was a small chest freezer out here that we really just don't need. We have a larger small chest freezer on the carport that holds everything that we need frozen. The one that was in here had deer meat in it and Paul hasn't gotten a deer in like, 3 years. So we emptied the smaller one and moved it to the barn, so I guess if Paul is working on the tractor and gets a hankering for a popsicle he should be good to go. Then we moved Ab's desk out here and a drop-leaf table I got at an auction. The table is for all of my GS stuff; I'm an organizational freak and need some order to my ever-growing files, craft supplies and endless permission slips. After it's all said and done, strangely enough, I think my office has more space now. Ab thinks she is hot stuff with her desk out here by mine. She's got a cat calendar and a memo board over her desk, I gave her a couple of my shelves, too. Plus, the coolest part - my office has two Napoleon Dynamite posters on the wall, so who wouldn't want to be in my office? It rawks. And no, my chickens don't have large talons.


It's Wednesday and I haven't whined in ages, so I'm going to give it a go. Actually, I whine all the time. Have you ever heard my voice? I'm one whiny woman!! It's pathetic really. Anyway, even though I actually whine a lot, I'll just make a list of whines to put on the blog today.

* My birthday is 3 days away. In three days I will be 33. It's not near as cool as 23 was. At 23 I was a whole heck of a lot skinnier, had far less grey and a lot more money. That sucks. Of course, now I have three kids, less money but a lot more joy, so I guess it all works out.

* I woke up this morning with my left hip hurting. I have no clue why.

* I heard this morning from one of my mommas that they said earlier this week that it's supposed to snow this weekend. THAT IS GOING TO STINK IF IT ACTUALLY HAPPENS. The day I was born it was raining and every year from birth until I was about 15 it either rained or snowed on my birthday. It would figure that this year, after a 4 month drought, it will snow 4 feet or something. If I don't get to make the birthday casino run I will throw a genuine humdinger of a fit, you just wait.

* I'm cold.

* I just heard from CBG's momma that her brother in law, a guy that Tater graduated with, is in the ICU in critical condition. He went into septic shock yesterday and is really, really sick. They weren't sure he was going to make it last night. That's scary. So if you're a pray-er, you might send a few up for him.

* Okay, the Kindermusik is kind of starting to get on my nerves now. One can only handle so much of a very dramatic man with a tenor voice singing pirate songs and a soprano with too much vibrato singing Pitty Patty Polt. Where's my dang Barney CD....... At this point I could go for some large purple dinosaur singing about manners.

* All of my nails were the same length and I had them all squared off and looking pretty good then over the last two days I've broken 5 of them.

* Paul has something planned for my birthday, but no one will tell me what it is. It's this big hushy thing that everyone giggles about and says how much I'll like it, but for the life of me I can't figure out what it is! Surprises drive me batty!!! I wish they'd have all kept their mouths shut and actually surprised me, rather than tell me there's a surprise and then make me wait.

* If it snows a buttload this weekend I can't get my tattoo. I will be mad.

* Okay, that's it. The Kindermusik is going bye-bye. I would even rather endure Kidz Bop than one more minute of the Musik for Kinders. SOMEONE FIND THE BARNEY CD!!!!!

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Another installation of pillow talk

"I really appreciate all you did around the house today. Thanks, honey."

"Eh, needed to be done."

"Well, when I appreciate something you do I just want you to know."

"Yeah. Well. I. Uh....I uh....appreciate you, too. I just wish you'd put out more."

"So.....you appreciate me putting out?"

"Well, yeah. But I appreciate other stuff, too."

" ... "

"Uhh....like doing my laundry....and you're real good with the kids and all."

"Well, I'm glad I'm appreciated. It'd be nice if you'd tell me once in awhile."

"I do tell you. When I start humping your leg when you get in bed? That's me appreciating you."

"I feel so loved."

"You should."


"Next time you have a hard time getting in the mood I'm just gonna give your hair a little tug. I bet that'll wake you up."

"Next time you pull my hair during sex I'm going to twist your balls off. I mean, twist them off like twisting-the-lid-on-the-milk-jug twist them off. AND you'll actually hear an audible pop when they come off your body. So g'head and pull my hair, big boy."

"Well, maybe I can think of another way to get you in the mood...."


Well, here it is - my bright-new-shiny-penny-colored hair.


Monday, January 16, 2006

Satanic Hot Wheels

I'm telling you, the person who invented Hot Wheels playsets is the Antichrist.

No kidding, I spent over an hour this morning trying every way I could think of to re-assemble my son's four Hot Wheels playsets/tracks. The easiest one, the figure-8 track that millions of little boys have owned since time began, is neatly stored away in the top of Sam's closet. It's the ones with 40 gajillion pieces that were down and demolished.

Oh, they're fine when you open them up at birthdays or at Christmas. You pull the pieces out of the boxes along with the instructions and stickers and you think, "Okay, this is kinda cool. I'll whip this thing out in no time." And with the exception of positioning the stickers just right we never have any problems putting them together.

The first time.

It's later, down the road, after the box and instructions have been long thrown away, that you nearly gnaw off your arm after trying every which way you know how to make the oil change bay fit onto the Service Center and the little pop-up skeleton fit just perfectly in the shallow grave so that it pops up when the unsuspecting car goes over it. Oh yeah. It's enough to make a mom wish her son played with dolls.

Saturday, January 14, 2006

Someone shoot me full of estrogen, PLEASE

I just realized that I not once this last week mentioned that Sam was chosen to be the crown bearer for basketball Homecoming. I'm not sure what the criteria for it was, but the elementary principal called me and said that the high school had called her to say he'd been chosen. I don't know if the high schoolers stalk the grade schoolers at recess or if they look at test scores or if they just pick their names out of a hat, but I like to think it's because he's so darn cute and adorable. Annoying, yes, but cute as hell.

So the day I found out, when he got off the bus I asked him if his teacher had told him anything. He said she hadn't, so I told him he was the crown bearer and teased that he was walking with his girlfriend, Bailey. He immediately put his hand up and said, "Uh no. She's my ex girlfriend, Mom." Young love is so fickle.

Well, yesterday was the big day and I had to have him dressed up and ready for the pep assembly by 2:15. Tater came down to watch the kids and I headed to the school to get him dressed up. I took CBG with me to deposit in her mother's room, per her mother's request. She wanted to show her off and who could blame her - she's CUTE.

On my way from CBG's mom's room over to Sam's room, I saw Abby lined up with her class on the playground. Right behind her was Chance, her boyfriend. Chance is at least a full head taller than everyone in the class, even Abby who is one of the tallest in the class, so you don't miss him easily. I saw them standing there together and for a brief flash they weren't 9 year olds, they were teenagers. The way she pushed her hair behind her ear when he leaned down to say something quietly to her, the way she grinned and looked up at him - it made my heart do a little flippity floppity thing. But I didn't dwell on it much because I was in a hurry to get Sam dressed and said hi to Abby and Chance and moved on, pushing out thoughts of him picking her up in a real live car, kissing her with his real live hormonally charged lips and other real live horrific thoughts.

I got Sam decked out in courduroys and a sweater vest and Gentry's too-small shoes because we realized in a moment of panic yesterday morning that he didn't have any black dress shoes. and then he and I drove over to the gym. We were early so he and I just sat and talked, kind of shooting the breeze, talking about things that are important to 7 year olds and almost 33 year olds - which is pretty much food, 4-wheelers and Disney World. As time drew closer to the pep assembly I said we needed to move to the row of seats right in the center of the gym so I could take as many obnoxiously close pictures as I wanted and he suddenly changed from my little boy who wanted to meet Buzz Lightyear at Disney World to "Hey Mom, I need to go over there and hang with the guys now." And I watched my little boy in his cousin's too-small shoes strut over to the far side of the gym to stand with "the guys". He approached their little cluster and they all turned to high five him and do that weird guy thing where they smack their knuckles together, which you wouldn't see women do because we'd take off someone's finger with our rings if we did that. I felt my heart doing that little flippity floppity thing again.

In this picture he looks lonely and miserable, but the jock guys had all gone somewhere to probably lift something heavy for someone, so the two guys standing there were the band guy and the drama guy. He had built up more of a rapport with the jockish type guys for some reason.

So I sat there, watching my son from across the gym. I watched his posture change, I watched him smile and laugh with the guys ten years older than him, I watched him get instructions from the teacher organizing the whole thing and he suddenly seemed so little yet so big all at the same time.

Gradually classes started filling the gym and I watched as Gent's class came in, Addison's class came in, then I watched Abby's class file in. There was Abby again with Chance trailing along behind her, little hearts emanating from his eyes and floating dreamily towards my oldest child. And while she certainly appreciates his affection and returns it, it's so totally obvious to me that Chance adores her. Did you see what I just wrote? "Chance adores her". Someone is adoring my little girl!! And I'll admit I teared up a bit.

But the thing that got me the most was when Bailey and Sam started their walk across the gym. They read Bailey's little profile thing and I hadn't filled out Sam's activities and plans for the future on his! I thought that was for the high schoolers and they'd just given the little kids the same form. The teacher in charge said, "Don't worry. I'm sure someone asked him." And sure enough they did.

"Sam's activities are playing video games and working on his yellow belt in karate. When Sam grows up he wants to join the Army and serve his country and protect his family."

Bailey wants to be a rock star and Sam wants to be a soldier. Why couldn't I have gotten the rock star?

I barely heard the collective "Awwww" that the crowd put forth. I was sitting there envisioning my son in olive drab, with a gun over his shoulder, marching in the desert . . . and then the tears began anew.

Yes, I sat in the noisy, crowded gymnasium yesterday during the Homecoming pep assembly and bawled.

I just don't know why they have to grow up.

Friday, January 13, 2006

Phreakin' Photoblog Phriday

I can't believe it, I'm doing it again this week. Someone high five me!

We begin this week's photographic journey with my daughter and I in a forced hug. As she gets older it's only going to get worse, I realize this. If I have to get her in a half-nelson to get her to love on me, then so be it.

Who are these masked men? That would be my son and my nephew. They do this a lot - pull their sock hats down over their faces and run around until they run into each other or something like a wall or a tree. They are so special.

This was taken of Tater and her obvoiusly feral child on a hayride this last fall. I'm not sure, but I'm thinking that the blood clot was causing her to make this face, we just didn't know she had it yet. Doesn't it look like a lack of circulation to you?

This is Mr. Diva and Sam. On the tractor. Duh.

This picture of Kady is nearly 2 years old, but it is one of my favorites. So chic, so redneck, all at the same time. I like her versatility.

And here we have Tater cheerily painting the Farmette back in the fall. We had really been painting a lot.


But I think this is my all-time favorite set of pictures. The whole fam had gone to Silver Dollar City in Christmas 2004. Mom was being all cute and taking pictures of everyone so Tater and I posed. The result of that first pose was this:

But then something strange happened between the last frame and this one. We lost about 450 IQ points and had obviously been beat with the ugly stick:

So there you go! Happy Phriday everyone!

Bright copper kettles

Or bright copper hair, take your pick.

Last night, the Taters and DivaMom came over for dinner. I offered to feed them all in return for Mom coloring my hair. See, I would love to be able to go to the salon to do that, but Tater just had hers done last week and it set her back a whopping $75!!!! So I'm not doing that. I instead, bought a $20 thing at Wal*Mart and went for it.

Silly me.

It's the same brand I got last time, just a different color. Very dark brown hair doesn't take kindly to home highlights. Make a note of that. Especially if you have very dark brown hair. Now, go to the salon and they can give you some gorgeous blonde-y streaks in your very dark brown hair and you will be ravishingly beautiful, but give yourself home highlights and you will end up red. It's guaranteed.

Now, I fully realized that, according to the box, my hair would have some red in it when it was all said and done. I knew this going in and I was okay with it. In fact, I had a box of actual red haircolor in my cart and then opted to just go with my natural color instead. See, the stuff I used is an all-over color with highlights all in one box. You color your hair and then, while it's still chemically vulnerable, you slap some highlights in it. I'm okay with red hair and actually wanted to be Molly Ringwald when I was a teenager. I love red hair. I married a red-headed man, for cryin' out loud. But I've also seen some of those old ladies out at the casino who dye their hair like, cherry Lifesaver red or orange Livesaver orange and eh, I'm only on the brink of 33 and am just not ready to have my head look like a hard candy.

Last time, when Tater colored my hair, the color we used was called "Truffle". This is we used "Chocolate Macaroon". I should probably stay away from candy/cookie/pastry-type colors from now on.

The kids went to bed before we were done and when they got up this morning I was about halfway through flat-ironing my hair. Abby stumbled out of her room, leaned on the bathroom door frame and dryly said, "Hmh. Your hair is the color of pennies. Bright, shiny new ones."

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

The magic

Yesterday morning when Jen dropped off CLB she handed me a copy (by copy I don't mean one that she burned illegally because well, no one really does that, do they? heehee) of Baby Bach, one of the Baby Einstein videos.


WHY on earth have I not discovered these before? Actually since she started bringing CLB out here she's proclaimed the wonders of Baby Einstein and offered to bring me one to try and I always said, "Oh, thanks, but I really don't need it."

Well, by golly I DO NEED IT!! I really do!

I spent nearly an hour hooking up the DVD/VCR/Satellite/TV conglomeration hanging in the corner of the toy room to where all components worked correctly just so I could play this DVD. I got it all working, plugged in the DVD and instantly two of the three crying babies flatlined, began drooling and swaying and rocking to the music. CBG, well, I'm afraid she might be an alien because it affected her not. The other two - oh WOW. I'm not kidding when I say instantly they stopped crying and were mesmerized.

I will definitely be burning buying more of these videos. And eventually, I'm hoping that CBG grows to like them and I can quit thinkin she's an alien. I think that when the demon teeth that are bugging her come through she'll quit being an alien.


The Tater is doing great. Thanks to everyone who prayed for her and sent her blood-thinning thoughts over the weekend. She and Bub ended up going to Claremore Saturday and Sunday mornings to get more injections and have more blood drawn. The oh so personable government-paid doctors seemed to think that three generations of blood clots and being overweight weren't really risk factors for having one. Yyyyyyeah. So they effectively scared the shit out of us all by declaring that they think she has a blood disorder and the entire family should be tested. We're still awaiting the results of the blood work before we all run in to be tested.

She's been getting injections of Lovenox, a clot stabilizer of sorts, twice a day since Friday and today she actually gets to go to the Miami clinic, rather than go back to Claremore again. Mr. Diva is taking her because, in addition to telling her she couldn't horseback ride, skateboard, kickbox and bungee jump, she can't drive until the clot is gone. Bub had to go back to work yesterday so he couldn't take her, I'm here with a house full of kids and no one wants to sit in a germ-filled, overcrowded, poorly run government medical facility with three infants and a preschooler so I was out of the running as well. Mr. Diva just happened to have the day off she he volunteered. It probably had something to do with the fact that a casino is right next door rather than purely helpful intentions.

She's also on Coumadin, a blood thinner, for six months. She can't shave her legs. She's really not happy about that. Now me, it wouldn't affect at all because hell, I've been married 13 years and if he couldn't handle a little leg hair he'd have been gone a long time ago. I'd consider it a free pass and be a happy camper. But she's having real issues with it. She shaved her armpits yesterday and like to gave my mom a heartattack. "YOU COULD'VE BLED TO DEATH!"
Mom declared. Tater replied, "Yeah, but I'd have at least had smooth armpits in my casket." She had a point. She won enough last night at Ladies' Night to buy herself an electric shaver. Thank goodness. I don't think Mom could've handled another proclamation of smooth armpits.


It's snowing right now. It's a slushy, gooey, glumpy kind of snow, but it's pretty to look at all the same. Of course, it rained all night and the snow is melting on contact with the wet ground, but if you just look at the sky when it's coming down you can almost pretend it's winter. Wednesday's high is supposed to be 60 again. But rumor has it in meterological circles that another snowy system is coming in on Thursday. Gotta love Oklahoma weather.

Well, you don't have to. In fact, most of us don't.


My birthday is a mere 11 days away. I've been in a bad mood since January 1st. While I love getting presents because I'm a selfish bitch, I hate the whole having of the birthday. It sucks.

I had a total grownup moment the other night when the babysitter burst into tears as we walked in the door. I thought something was wrong with one of the kids, but it turns out that she was having boy troubles. I resisted the urge to totally go into a verbatim speech my mother gave me at the age of 17. It was just too motherly. But after she left I had a rant right alongside my husband who was ranting as well. Boys are stupid and that's that. I have a boy and I fully am aware that someday he is going to be a stupid teenager as well and he is probably going to break some girl's heart and hoo doggies is he going to get a lecture from his mother when that one happens. Yes, girls are stupid sometimes, too, but being of the girl persuasion myself I tend to overlook most of the stupidity. Because I can.


The lull of the Einsteinish music coming from my television is causing me to become strangely drowsy. Will write more later when I find the energy and will to turn it off.

Friday, January 06, 2006


It's nearly 8pm and it feels like it's at least 3am. I am mentally exhausted.

Tater is, right now as I type, at the hospital in Claremore. It appears that the pain in her leg that has been plaguing her for weeks is indeed a blood clot. I'm no veiny expert, but this is one instance where I can actually say "I told you so". It's been hurting her for quite awhile now. Mom told her that it looked suspicious, I told her I felt 95% sure that's what it was, but did she listen to us marvelously intelligent women? Nope. She just drank more water and popped more aspirin. But when she got in the shower this morning, I guess the red streaks running up her leg scared her into getting it checked out. As soon as the doppler (the medical one, not the one that tracks storms) indicated that a blood clot it was, they plopped her rear into a wheelchair and wouldn't let her get up or leave the clinic.

At this point we're not sure if they will admit her or just send her home with the injections that will make the clot bust up. They wanted to admit her, but the teepee hospital didn't want to take her since she came through the clinic, so they were going to try to get her admitted to the white person hospital in town. But it appears they balked on that one as well. SO they asked her if there was someone that could give her two injections a day over the weekend. Well, by the time the nurse told her she needed to find someone and by the time we both called and finally got hold of those capable of injections, oh, oopsie, it's too late to order the medication. Thus the trip to Claremore tonight. Yeesh. Sometimes that free government medical care is a royal pain in the tush.

Tater's Tots got off the bus here and TotOne is still here. TotTwo and Sam went to Mrs. Coach's house for a sleepover. Mrs. Coach, you are an angel from heaven in my books! Sam burst in the door after school rarin' to go, hollerin' for his sleeping bag and were his Spiderman pajamas in the bag and oh my gosh, I was ready for Mrs. Coach to get here. Well, after Sam left poor TotTwo was stuck here with three girls who were playing dress-up and eyeing him like hungry wolverines after a lame gazelle. He was scared, I could tell. So I called Mrs. Coach and prayed the woman wouldn't mind me inviting my nephew to her son's birthday party. She's awesome because she said, "Bring him on over!" Mrs. Coach, you're my hero. He nearly did a cartwheel when I asked him if he wanted to go. Please, God, let them behave. They're both great apart, it's when you put them together that sometimes it gets hairy. Like last night when Sam called TotTwo a jerk on the bus so TotTwo called him an a*s. Good times.

All three girls have kept themselves occupied by dressing up in countless dress-up outfits and even clothes from their closet. Oy, I haven't even looked at the bedroom. There is no telling what condition that room is in right now. Right now they are eating pop-tarts and I am gearing them down for bed.

I've tried to keep the phone lines open all evening, but by golly I'm stressed so I'm blogging. I've got the cell phone right here so I can immediately call back anyone who tries to get through. This is where DSL would come in handy.

My father the RN said that the clinic overreacted by sticking her in a wheelchair and essentially scaring the crap out of all of us, that they were just covering their butts, but still it's scary. I could tell from Tater's tone of voice that she's scared. Our mom and dad have both had blood clots, Memaw had a leg removed due to poor circulation and had multiple blood clots throughout her life, and her father as well had them. Plus Mom's brother has had them. Pretty much, we're battin' a thousand in the circulation department . You'd think that two women with that kind of family history would be skinny. I guess we're gamblers. I'm not really making light of it, just trying to keep myself from chain smoking, thus adding to my risk of my own personal blood clot.

So now I have my MP3 player on - of course I have to listen to it through my durn Discman headphones, rather than the ultra cool ear buds because ya know I have deformed ears or something - trying to allow the sounds of John Lennon's "Imagine" and Billy Joel's "Just the Way You Are", Kanye's "Gold Digger" and Prince's "Cream" to keep my mind off of things. So far it's not working.

If you're a praying person, please send a few up for the Tater tonight. Pray for non-gooey blood and a speedy recovery.

Phreakin' Photoblog Phriday

Look at me, posting not only a half-nekkid post yesterday but also a PhPhPh post today as well! I'm on a roll. Of course, the laundry's piled up and the vacuum needs to be run and there's filing to be done and I should probably floss or something...

So today I bring you a random sampling from the vast number of photos taking up incredible amounts of space on my computer.

First off, your favorite diva and the jolly ol' dude himself -

I look way happier than any 32 year old woman should look when being photographed with Santa Claus. You gotta admit, he's adorable, but seriously I look like freaky insane happy. Yikes.

Next up, this is CBB and oh my gosh, he was PISSED OFF that he had just been set on Santa's lap -

If looks could kill, Santa, you'd be one dead elf.

I love this pictures of CLB! He tolerated being held by Santa, but you could tell that he wasn't all that overjoyed by the whole situation.

"I'm not gonna cry, I'm not gonna cry..."

This one is of my man on Christmas morning. If the purple Larry the Cable Guy pants weren't enough, he had to add work gloves and an orange sock hat to the ensemble. Gosh, he's so precious.

"And finally, the annual "Everyone pile on Grammy's couch and get a cheesy family picture taken!" pictures-

First, the Taters

Then, the Divas

Ahhhh, holiday memories.

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Missing my holiday naps

CLB, who missed his MOMMAMOMMAMOMMAMOMMA all day yesterday, has been a dollbaby today. CBB walked right in this morning like he'd never spent a day away. CBG, on the other hand, seems to have me confused with Hitler, Martha Stewart or Satan himself because SHE HATES ME. I'm hoping that it'll just take one day to make her like me again, like it only took CLB one day to like me again. *sigh* She's precious and all, she just hates me. Too bad Abby went to school today - maybe she could've helped.

Last night I was in one of the worst moods I've been in in a long time. I'm guessing it's hormones, I have no other explanation. I went from July to December without a period and now I feel like I have MegaPMSExtreme or something. The hormones are raging a war the likes men have never seen, with battles staked out in my pituitary gland, ovaries and quite possibly my left big toe for all I know. For all you men, sorry about that TMI there. I'm venting, you know.

Anyway, back to the bad mood. Paul walked in from work, said something smartallecky and all that came out of my mouth in reply was, "I baked you some cookies today, jerkface." He stopped in his tracks, opened his mouth like he was going to say something, thought better of it and then quickly left the room. He's getting smarter, that man of mine. THANKFULLY he called me while the kids and I were at McDonald's (what a better way to top off a horrible mood but to eat McPoo for dinner) and said he was going to Men's Night with Bub. I really didn't want to spend the evening with him. I guess he won a boatload of money, too. Even better.

By the time the kids and I left McHell (Where we ate for .42 - thank you Papa Jim and Grandma Ginger for the Arch Cards) we drove directly to the dojo where I walked my son in, told Sensei to beat him, hang him up by his thumbnails or make him do 6 trillion pushups, I didn't really care. Sensei smiled and said, "Hmh. Ready for Christmas break to be over with?" Dryly I replied, "You have no idea. I'll pick him up in an hour. Maybe." And then Tater, the girls and I went to Wal*Mart. Oh yes, the evening just kept getting better and better. I had $2.95 in the checkbook and, just so you know, a half-gallon of milk costs $1.77. I didn't over draw the checkbook to buy milk. Whoohoo. Of course, that half gallon of milk is already gone and it's 2 in the afternoon.

After karate, Tater and the kids and I went to Papa's house because he had been bugging Mom to death that he wanted us to bring the kids over. He gave us adults each $20 and the kids each $5 for Christmas. Then he proceded to clean out his desk drawers and we came home with 3 flashlights and some keychains. I also checked the almanac while I was there to see when to wean because Jen doesn't believe that it works and while I was browsing, checked the weather forecast for January - "January 1-3: Snow." Yesterday's high was 73. After seeing Papa, we went next door to Mom's where I just pretty much yelled at the children a lot.

After that merriment the kids and I came home, I sent the two big ones straight to the shower and the little one to get her pj's on, stuffed about 5 chocolate chip cookies in my mouth, took a swig of strawberry wine and sat in the recliner, pouting and waiting until I could tuck the little darlings in for the night. They were in bed and asleep by 9:15. I watched Whose Line is it Anyway, which usually makes me laugh out luod. I didn't even crack a smile. I considered watching The 40-Year-Old Virgin, but figured it'd just make me mad, the mood I was in. I decided to check my email then, hoping to find something happy and delightful. I didn't find anything delightful, but I at least know where to look if I want to enlarge my p3n1s.

Mom called me while I was on the internet. The message on the Callwave was: "Kristin, this is your mother. Abby left her turquoise jacket at my house. Please do not beat her for this. Thank you."

I called her back and told her that Abby would indeed not get a beating, but only because she was already in bed. Lucky kid. Then Mom read me a poem called "When You Thought I Wan't Looking" and made me cry. Great stuff, this guilt.

So after that I took a shower and went to bed. I woke up briefly when Paul told me that Bub's van was overheating and he was taking him home and the next thing I know the alarm was going off at 6. Paul even slept on the couch, bless his heart. I think he was afraid I would dismember him if he rolled over the wrong way during the night. I probably would've.

I feel a little more emotionally stable today. Not a lot, but I at least don't feel like running to the barn, hiding in the boat, chain smoking and drinking myself blind.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006


Productivity - there is none here today.

I picked up my kids from Tater's house around 8:30 and CLB never did fall asleep in the van. But he at least quit screaming for his MOMMAMOMMAMOMMAMOMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Ever since we walked in the door Abby has taken care of him. I guess I'm going to have to pay her for the day. He really wants nothing to do with me today since she's here. I tried to hold him awhile ago and he was leaning and grabbing and whining for her. So. I let her. Bad babysitter I am.

I made a double batch of chocolate chip cookies on New Year's Eve and they're already gone. I sent a whole bunch down to Tater's with the kids and man, Mr. Diva got upset that he only got 5 out of the whole mess. He's just going to have to be quicker. When you have three children and one Redneck Diva in the house with yummy homemade chocolate chip cookies you can't just expect them to be there when you might just happen just get a craving for sweets. Oh no, you must seize the opportunity and eat cookies like a ravenous wolverine in order to make sure you indeed get some. Or at least put some in a ziplock bag and hide them in your underwear drawer.

So today, even though this morning Mr. Diva turned on the hall light and turned the TV up really loud in order to thoroughly PISS ME OFF even though I could've slept another 30 minutes, I am going to make him some more cookies. Then I am going to have my mouth wired shut.

New year, lots more naps

If there was a lack of sleep goin' on in my life awhile back, well that problem has now been fixed. I have slept more over the course of the last week than should probably be allowable by law.

New Year's Eve I slept till 8 and woke up with a stuffy nose, sore throat and headache. I laid around and whined until DivaMom called and offered to take the Divettes to see The Chronicles of Narnia. She told me to nap, but since we had friends coming over that evening I instead spent the afternoon making cookies and enchiladas. Oh and Mr. Diva and I put up the wall mount thingy for the daycare room TV. We nearly divorced over it, but stayed strong considering it was the day before our anniversary. The Taters and a guy Mr. Diva works with and his girlfriend (the guy's girlfriend- not Mr. Diva's girlfriend) came over that evening and we ate and then watched The 40-Year Old Virgin and laughed until we cried. We crashed around 2:30. You know you're old when no one even attempts to count down the new year, no one gets up to open champagne, but instead everyone just stays on the couch or chair of their choice and mumbles, "Eh, Happy New Year everyone. Could someone turn up the sound? I can't hear the TV."

On New Year's Day I woke up around 7, fell back to sleep on the couch, slept till 11 even while the children ran amuck under my semi-conscious nose, ate some lunch, then dozed some more. Then Tater took my kids with her around 2 and I promptly fell back to sleep until nearly 5. I know!! I can't believe it either.

After all that napping I got up and showered, then Mr. Diva and I went out for our big anniversary celebration. Earlier in the day I had asked him what he wanted to do for our anniversary. He replied, "I dunno. What do you wanna do?" This drives me insane! Do not counter my query with a query, mister. Grrr. Anyway, after a check of the two wallets it was decided that McDonald's and dirt-road parking were about all we could afford. So we went to the casino.

Buffalo Run has a really nice restaurant and I suggested we use some of our gambling alottment to eat there. So instead, I had chicken strips and he had a cheeseburger in the snack bar in the back of the casino and allllllll the free soda I could drink. Yep. The romance is still there after 13 years.

At one point both of us were down to our last $20. I sat down to play RedBall and he went to a dollar slot machine. I could see him from where I was sitting, I couldn't read the numbers on the screen, but I could see how much that silly thing was ringing and turning red and just generally going crazy. He cashed out with $245. Now, if it had been me winning that $245 I would've promptly put said money in my purse because I owe the orthodontist $200 this month. But instead said money was pissed away with wild abandon and we walked out of the casino dead-ass broke.

Good times for the Divas who do not have a compulsive gambling problem. At least I don't.

We actually left the casino around 10 or so and came home to celebrate with what Mr. Diva thought was going to be Really Loud The Kids Are Out Of The House Sex. Except I am having a hormonal flux and pretty much feel like an asexual being right now so it was only moderately huffy and puffy with a lot of sighing and saying, "Are you done with that yet?" Hey, I can't help where the hormones take me.

I slept until Mr. Diva started farting and giggling the next morning, thinking he was all cute and stuff. So I grabbed my pillow and stomped up to the couch where - you guessed it - I fell back to sleep and woke up around 10:30. Oy vey, all the sleeping! He got up around 11:30 and we watched A Haunting on like Discovery or TLC or one of those channels and Celebrity Swag on VH1. Then he rode 4-wheelers with a friend and his friend's kids down in the creek bottom. I went to the mighty bison place to redeem my free $5 coupon, having no intention of spending it until Ladies' Night later on where I'd then have not ten, but a whole FIFTEEN DOLLARS in free play. It is scary the things that excite me sometimes. I found Mom and followed her around like a puppy for 2 hours, watching her play. I drank a lot of free soda and am swollen up like a poisoned pup today. But I had fun and we visited and laughed and cursed her stupid machine that was refusing to turn red like we felt it should've.

I came home from that mid-day casino spree and started cleaning the day care room that had been trashed over the course of two weeks. We had new Christmas toys that hadn't found a place yet, sleeping bags were still strewn about from New Year's Eve and there was still sawdust in the floor under the new TV mount. I vacuumed, dusted, moved, threw away, cleaned, organized and arranged until time to leave for Ladies' Night.

The Diva kids stayed another night at Tater's last night so it was a quiet morning around here until CLB and Chandler arrived. It's about time to either put CLB down in the playpen for a nap or stick him in the carseat and drive him down to Tater's to pick up the kids and pray he falls asleep. He's been gone for two weeks and has pretty much sat on my lap all morning crying and saying "Momma-momma-momma-mommamommamommamommamommaMOMMAMOMMAMOMMA" so I'm thinking this week is going to be one of transition and getting used to each other again. Jen, that should make you feel so good - today he hates me and wants you!

So now you have been caught up on the fabulous and always exciting lives of the Divas.

Oh! I almost forgot. I SO got hit on last night at the casino. That was freaking AWESOME.