Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like had I made different choices. What if things in my life had happened differently? I think we all wonder that from time to time, but for some reason tonight I'm thinking about it hard.

What if I had been more athletic and active as a child? Would I be a coach now? Would I be an Olympic athlete? A model? Thin, at least?

What if my parents hadn't spanked me when I needed it?

What if that car accident when I was 3 had been worse?

What if my dad had been killed in Viet Nam? Or hadn't gone at all?

What if my mom had gone on to college instead of deciding to get married and be a homemaker?

What if I had been an only child?

What if Tater had been a brother not a sister?

What if I hadn't had my first date at 15 and had waited till I was 16? Would I have made better choices later on? Worse ones?

What if I had said no that night on the dirt road?

What if that pregnancy test I took at 18 had been positive?

What if my parents hadn't gotten a divorce when I was 18? What if they had stayed together longer? Or gotten divorced sooner?

What if I had let that guy hit me instead of getting angry and threatening to leave and refusing to cower? Would I have started something I couldn't have stopped, either with him or any other man in my life?

What if the thought of going on a date with a skinny guy called Boog hadn't sounded absolutely terrific that night?

What if the pregnancy test I took at 21 had been negative?

What if we had never been given the opportunity to discover that we actually wanted three kids?

What if after the loss of our first child we had been too scared to try again? What if the fear of losing another child had been too much for us and we'd have given up?

What if I had tried pot? And liked it?

What if Mr. Diva's motorcycle accident hadn't been more than four staples and some road rash?

What if?

What if?

It's hard to not wonder, isn't it? And even on the nights I get melancholy and introspective and start the game of What If's . . .

I know that those three kids sleeping back there in their beds are the most perfect things to ever happen to me. I know that the man snoring in the recliner was put in my life for a reason. Some days I wonder if that reason wasn't just to teach me patience and other days I wonder how I managed to earn such favor with God. When I roll over in the night and feel him there next to me I can't explain the feeling of peace and comfort that comes over me. Even when we've been fighting, just knowing he's there makes me feel better. And even though my kids are well past the baby years, I still find myself waking up at 3am to check their breathing. I look around at what I've accomplished and know that every choice I made - even the bad ones - made me who I am today and got me to this very point.

It's overwhelming at times just to think that one different answer, one action in a different direction, one more moment of thought or hesitation ... it would all be different.

Loving the laundry

I am always amazed at how quickly my house gets out of hand. Always. You'd think after 13 years of running a home that I'd kind of pick up on the fact that it takes on a life of its own if I'm not careful.

Before I left last Friday I caught up all the laundry and dishes. I ran the dishwasher when it wasn't quite full and ran two loads of laundry that were only Medium sized, not Super Gigantic Can We Fit Any More In This Drum sized. I never do that. But I also couldn't stand the thought of that dirty laundry sitting there in the hamper dirty and no one to love it and wash it for 3 days. I knew that Paul wasn't about to wash a dish or so much as a sock. Hey, he had TV to watch, motorcycles to ride and things to spit. I didn't expect him to.

Sunday afternoon when I got home I took my suitcase and the kids' bag straight to the laundry room, made four piles of laundry and proceded to wash them. I unloaded the not-quite-full dishwasher that I had run Friday, loaded it and ran it again. (I never will figure out how one man who ate at the convenience store/deli for 3 days managed to dirty up that many dishes. It's one of life's mysteries.)

But by bedtime all laundry and dishes were done. The living room was picked up, the toyroom was clean, the kitchen was spotless, the bathroom . . . well, it's never clean . . . but what I want to know is how in the blazes just a mere four days later is my house a wreck again?

Oh yeah, we didn't run around naked and we ate two home-cooked meals. We did homework. We played Legos and Weebles. We watched TV. (How watching TV messes up a house I'm not sure, but go with me on this one) We stuffed money in envelopes and secured them in backpacks for field trips. We bought groceries. We showered. We read books, played Barbies and Godzilla.

It's a never-ending cycle of life, laundry and the pursuit of happiness. So am I happy?

You bet your clean socks I am.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

I got smacked

Okay, I haven't mentioned anything on here because I'm a big weenie and was afraid that if it was a really, really bad review then maybe y'all wouldn't read it. Obviously, a few readers visit italk2much every dang day because they've already commented that I've been smacked.

But not too badly. 3 out of 5 smacks ain't bad, right? And there was very little raking over the ego is only slightly bruised. And I keep telling myself that I asked for the review. Had I gotten this review last week before my vacation, (that Boggzie swears I smoked pot during - DUDE, SHHHHHHH. I'm a mother.) I'd have probably set my hair on fire and quite possibly camped out on my roof or something, but this week I'm a little more centered and calm and now I'm trying to quit chewing Xanax like they're TicTacs and fix the problems.

I kind of wondered if the white writing on blue background was hard on the eyes, but really no one's mentioned it so I didn't worry about it. And I know my posts get kind of long sometimes. I can't help it! I even talk like this people. Just ask my friends.

I was reviewed by Merciless Minx and here's what she had to say (just in case you have no inclination to visit the actual site):

"First off I’d chop off the first half othe name. Just plain Redneck Diva is
good enough. I like the header image, except the girl looks smudged and vaguely
blurry. A better version of that image is needed.

"The sidebar is annoyingly centered, but not too cluttered. I’m not sure
about the colors. It doesn’t immediately hurt my eyes, which is good. I was able
to read the entire front page, which is also good. But something is holding me
back from saying this is a pretty template. Because aside from the cute header,
it isn’t all that pretty.

"However the writing is good. I find her entertaining. Some of the posts
are a little long, but they’re not excrutiating. Rednecks fascinate me."

I was kind of thinking anyway of dropping "the ramblings". Really. Not just because she said that. But I don't's been this way for so long......change is hard.

Okay, so in my browser my redneck chick looks fine. I use SBC's browser, though. Does she come through fuzzy to everyone else? Am I just looking at her through a blog owner's eyes? Like a mother who can't see that her child is just plain butt-ugly and still enters her in pageants, am I just refusing to see my redneck girl fuzzy and perceiving her to be clear?

According to her my posts aren't excruciating and my kind fascinates her. I feel that her three smacks were incredibly generous compared to other reviews I've read and am just glad she was kind. The readers who visit the site and comment, however, were not so kind. I'm not gonna go into that. It'll mess up my chakra or karma or something. Yeah. Go read them if you must.

So now I'm asking y'all - what needs to change around here? It's Spring, after all. Maybe it's time for some cleaning.

But just know that I'll never, ever, ever, quit writing about the things I have written about since the beginning of this blog: my kids, my life, my boobs and my possums, skunks and various other farm critters. Oh, those are here to stay.

Monday, April 24, 2006


Ahh...I feel so rested.

You know those anit-pot commercials? The one where the chick is all deflated on the couch from smoking pot? Well, I kind of felt like that all weekend. Not from smoking pot, but I was just so relaxed. It was quiet. It was calm. It was chock full of alone-y goodness.

Friday morning I got up at 5. That was hard. I knew it was way too early and I would have everything done way before time to leave, but just in case something went wrong I’d have a cushion. Sam woke up at about 5:02. That kid...if he hears any noise in the house he’s wide awake. He gets that from me, bless his heart. I heard him frantically rapping on the bathroom door and then whisper loudly, "MOM! I have to POOP!" I sent him on to the other bathroom because I didn’t want him to stink up the bathroom that I was showering in and bless his heart, that I-just-woke-up-and-I-have-to-poop thing he was doing should’ve been my cue to pack extra clothes for him.

I woke the girls up a little earlier than usual so that I could spend some time with them. Kady resisted and made me want to set my hair on fire, but she eventually warmed up when I threatened to take away her next three birthdays. I had obsessively checked my lists for Jennifer, checked the diaper supplies, made sure bottles were clean and ready to go, considered making up bottles for her, but decided not to, checked and re-checked my suitcase before I loaded it in the van then checked and re-checked the suitcase while it was in the van... I was stressing much. Babies started arriving and then Jennifer got here. Abby was clinging to me like a staticky sock, Kady was totally declaring to the world that Jennifer was going to spoil her all day and Sam was bouncing off the walls at the sheer magnitude of the cave trip.

Abby was hugging me for the 40 gazillionth time when she stopped, looked up at me and said, "Have you lost weight?" I said that yes, I had lost a little. She grinned, put her head back down and squeezed me again and said, "I thought you had. I can put my hands around you and do this." She pulled back and interlaced her fingers. I nearly cried.

I gave Jennifer some last-minute instructions and Abby, Sam and I headed out the door. I stopped at the Snak-Atak for a Diet Coke, which I later found out from a boy in Sam’s class that "that stuff will eat holes in your brain, Mrs. Sam’s mom." Then the chaos began. Kids everywhere, noise, smells, teachers, intercom voices, lunchbox comparisons - I needed a Xanax with a Ritalin chaser. I got to check every kid for a lunch and pack them all in boxes and then we loaded up. The note the teacher had sent said that all kids had to ride the bus up there, but could ride home with their parents. Well, since I was staying Sam couldn’t ride home with me and I assumed he couldn’t ride up with me. I guess I should’ve asked because I found out after we got to Springfield that one little boy rode with his parents. That kinda sucked.

But the ride by myself was kind of nice anyway. I plugged my MP3 player into one ear, you know, so I could leave the other ear open to talk on the cell phone. I’m all about road safety, after all.

We checked in at the cave, had all the kids go to the restroom and then had a picnic lunch. I let Sam pick where we sat and he immediately went to a table full of little girls. Nope, he didn’t pick the table full of little boys that were crawling all over each other, jumping off the table, throwing food, screaming, yelling and generally being little boys. Nope, we sat with 5 little girls and another mommy. He’s such a playa. His little "girlfriend" wasn’t at that table, but she did hover quite a bit after she finished eating. The kids ran off to play and the other mom and I sat and visited. She has a daughter in Abby’s class, too, so I’ve known her since they were in Kindergarten, but I wouldn’t call us friends or anything. She’s nice, but I’ve just never been a real big part of that "in" crowd. But we visited and had some interesting conversation, although I’m quite sure she thinks I’m a total nutjob because she kept talking about her chickens and I didn’t say much and she asked if we had any and Sam piped up with, "No, we don’t have chickens. Mom’s scared to death of them!" What is up with the world and chickens lately?
When it was nearly time for the tour to begin Sam and I walked up to the van to put up the lunchboxes. He said he needed to use the restroom, his tummy was kind of hurting. I said we’d go as soon as I locked up the van. Then suddenly he got this look of panic on his face and said, "Uh oh. Uhh...Mom? Uhh....I think I just pooped my pants." Poor fella. That’s when I had a flashback to that I-just-woke-up-and-have-to-poop thing he had done that morning. Oh no! No extra clothes. So I grabbed a handful of wet wipes and we ran to the restroom. I figured he’d be all upset, but not my Sammy. He’s so dang easy-going that he was like, "Come on, Mom! Let’s get me cleaned up so we can go into the cave!" Abby and Kady would’ve been in tears and we’d have had to have bought new clothes and had years of therapy.

Just as the trailer was headed into the cave my cell phone rang. It was Jennifer telling me that there was a snafu with a fax that Mom was sending to the GS Council about our trip. And I guess the chick from the council was freaking. Thankfully the guy parked our trailer for a minute and I had a chance to call Mom and fix the problem. Good thing it happened when it did because we weren’t 15 feet into the cave and there was no cell phone service. Duh, I guess, huh?

The cave, although named Fantastic Caverns, was not really what I’d call fantastic. The tour was interesting, yes. Informative, yes. Fantastic, eh not really. But the kids loved it and that’s all that matters. I sat by one of the moms that I’ve known since the boys were in PreK. Her husband is hot. I didn’t sit by him, though. And she kind of made fun of me for not looking down the sinkhole because in addition to my fear of chickens, spiders, clowns and water, heights is pretty far up there on the list of phobias for me. It was really deep and scary looking, in my defense. Btw, Hillbilly Mom, I had no idea that "sinkhole" is an official word! I thought that was just some hillbilly colloquialism you coined. I was laughing even while I was panicking at the rim of the ginormous sinkhole.

The tour got done late, the kids all had to pee of course and they loaded the bus late, and of course, Sam was whining that he wanted to stay in Springfield with me, but as much as I love him, I needed the break. So his teacher told him he could sit by her and suddenly I was replaced and he was fine. Although, he did wave and blow kisses at me until they turned toward home and I turned toward downtown Springfield.

I went directly to the mall because there is a homing beacon that calls to me when I’m close. I can’t ignore the call of the mall. And as I neared, the Lane Bryant coupon in my wallet was veritably glowing from the sheer power that $25 off a $75 purchase holds.

I am now the proud owner of three new bras. And I must say, the girls look pretty perky and defined in them. I feel so supported yet OH SO PRETTY all at the same time. I started to have a sports bra burning party, but with the burn ban and the high winds I decided to just bring them home, put them in the drawer in the off chance that someday I might work out. Or I’ll just use them as dust rags.

I had just purchased my new supportively pretty undergarments when my phone rang. It was Jennifer. There was no "hello" from her, just a panicked "OhmigoshKadyhasatickwhatDOIDO????" I felt like a 911 operator trying to talk the panic-stricken accident victim through the trauma as I calmly told her how to remove the tick and then what to put on the bite afterwards. She called me back 5 minutes later to tell me that the vile creature had been disposed of and Kady was fine. I was more worried about her. I told her I knew she could do it and that there was liquor in the pantry if she needed it. I think she did. She had spent the day with 5 small children and I always need liquor after that.

That night I watched Armageddon and bawled my freaking head off.

Saturday night I watched Powder and bawled my freaking head off.

And I slept. A lot. Just random napping. That was awesome.

I left Springfield fairly early yesterday morning and went directly to Buffalo Run. There’s a homing beacon there, too. I put in a $20 and promptly won $89. I called Paul to see if he wanted to come in and play and I’d share my vast winnings with him. But he was out riding with a friend and I couldn’t get hold of him, so I spent it all myself. From the casino I went to Wal*Mart where I bought a gallon of milk, a loaf of bread because Paul informed me that I could not come home if I didn’t. I think he missed me.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Running Amuck

Okay, okay....just to let all of my concerned fans out there know:

I am emotionally okay. I have not committed suicide. Or homicide. I am still married to my darling husband. I see no divorce in the immediate future, but that is always subject to change at my whim.

Thank you to all of you who inquired, asked and generally voiced your concern. I love y'all. It was just one of those days. Two days.


I have been running amuck for two solid days now and the end is in sight. Tomorrow morning I will leave the house (Yes! You read that right. I'll actually leave the house!) at 7:45 and will not return to the Ranch here until Sunday afternoon. I am running away from home. But unlike when I was 13 and had plans to work in diners and rent crappy one-lightbulb-lit, sparsely furnished apartments with my best friend who was also running away with me, I will actually return home.

I'm taking a Selfish Vacation. Not a "Vacay" because well, I'm not 17 and it just sounds pitiful coming from a 33 year old stressed out mother.

And along with leaving my house attended only by my husband for two days comes masses of laundry and dishes and other not-normally-done chores because he will do nothing but fish, sleep, watch COPS and porn and eat sandwiches while I'm gone. Nothing else will be done. Plus I'm leaving the daycare in the able hands of Jen. The Lord be with her. I have written out a three page detailed list of our routines, little tips and hints and an hour by hour schedule and a vast list of emergency phone numbers. It's not that I don't think she's going to be fine, it just makes me feel better to write it out so she'll have it if she needs it. I used to do the same thing with my mother when Abby was a baby. She'd just nod her head and then promptly toss it when I left. Jen will probably do the same. And I'm okay with that. I just have to obsess a little before I go.

Sam's class is going on a field trip tomorrow and I'm going with them. I love going on field trips with his class. More than with Abby's class. Not that I love him more, but because the little girls in his class think I am The Shit. Even Hillbilly Mom confirmed that yes, I am The Shit, so it must be true. But these little girls just want to be with me constantly, want to sit by me, hold my hand, eat lunch with me and best of all - they tell me I'm pretty!! Not OH SO PRETTY, like Hillbilly Mom, but still pretty. The little girls in Abby's class are well, frankly, pretty much standoffish. I hope that the girls in Sam's class don't turn out that way by the time they hit 3rd grade because 1) that will just crush my ego and 2) my son could very well end up dating one (or two or three) of them eventually. I don't think they will - the girls in Ab's class have always been that way. Kindergarten and up, aloof, standoffish and they don't tell me I'm pretty. That simply will not do. I have always been closer to the boys in Abby's class because see, when I spend time in her class she is attached to my hip and along with Abby comes a herd of little boys. They really like her. Up until this year it's been because she just plays better with boys, she likes what they like (most of the time) and she can play their games. This year things have changed. Boys are not just for playing with, but for giggling over as well. She still only has eyes for *Chance*, though. (Insert little hearts here) So Mr. Diva is going with Abby's class to the aquarium next week. That way he can hang out with all the little boys that are hanging out with his daughter. Oh my gosh, those poor boys.

Sam's class is going to a cave. Whoo hoo, a cave. I can hardly wait. I will double up on my Xanax, Prozac and carry a flask of whiskey in my pocket along with my cell phone which will be rendered useless underground but just in case I need it to throw at a herd of wild bats which might decide my hair looks like a playground I'll have it. Whew. That was quite a runon sentence. Mrs. Coach admonished in an email this morning that I should not wear my Daisy Dukes because the cave is somewhere around 69 degrees. Dang, I already had them laid out and everything. And a tube top, too. No, even the bats aren't ready for that. But now I at least know to take a jacket. Thanks, Mrs!

Then after the field trip is over and the kids are headed back to school, I am going into Springfield to buy bras!!!! (Yes, four exclamation points really were necessary there.)

I can't handle the Uniboob anymore. The speedbump on my chest that should be two rather roundish, attractive uhhh......humps.....yeah.......well, I just can't handle it anymore. Be damned, ye Uniboob!

Monday, April 17, 2006

me! Me! ME!

Okay, it appears that the Duchess has tagged me, but I kind of hadn't made it over to her blog yet today to find out. But I saw where Irish Divinity had been tagged and thought that surely she hadn't forgotten me, her favorite sitter! She didn't disappoint - I was tagged, sure 'nuf.

(Btw, Tater, you've been tagged, too. It might not hurt to go update that blog of yours.... Just a thought....)

1. Do you still talk to the person you lost your virginity to? He's scared of me. For one reason, I have children and he is deathly afraid of children - possibly allergic - so, no. Haven't seen him since probably 1994 or so.

2. What would you do with 1,000 plastic spoons? Find some craft for my Brownies to make. They dig making crafts out of weird stuff.

3. What kind of music did you listen to in elementary school? You laugh and I will cut you - The family was way into Kenny Rogers, The Statler Brothers, The Oak Ridge Boys, The Gatlin Brothers. And when Dad was in one of those moods, he' d break out the Olivia Newton John records. Yes, records.

4. What kind of music do you listen to now? My MP3 player has everything from The All-American Rejects to Faith and Tim, Kanye West to Barenaked Ladies, Gavin DeGraw to Queen Latifah. I listen to whatever hits me just right.

5. What is the best thing about your current job? Getting to stay home with my own kids, being the coolest big person in these little dudes' lives all day long and being able to skip wearing makeup if I feel like it.

6. Are you against same sex marriage? Yes.

7. Have you been on a date in the past week? Strangely, yeah. If you call spending 5 hours and way too much money in a casino a date.

8. Where are you going on your next vacation? I'm taking a "selfish vacation" this weekend actually. 2 1/2 days all alone. I can hardly wait.

9. Quote a song lyric: (Oh heckl, I'll just quote the whole song)
"I don't feel like loving you today.
So don't you even try to change my mind.
The best thing you could do right now is just go away
'cause I don't feel like loving you today.

I don't want to talk about last night.
I'm angry and I haven't had much sleep.
I'm so tired and bloodshot ain't no tellin' what I'd say.
I don't feel like loving you today.

But you know I will anyway
Even though we make it hard sometimes.
I'll wind up forgiving you
And probably loving you for the rest of my life.

But I don't feel like loving you today.
And I've got 16 hours left to go.
I might tell you that I'm leaving even though you know I'll stay.
But I don't feel like loving you today. "

Sad thing is, he did just go away. Mad. He's still not home. I hate that.

10. Are most of the friends in your life new or old? Eh, I'd say about half and half.

11. Do you own any furniture from Ikea? Rednecks don't do Ikea. We do Yard Sale.

12. Do you like your parents? A few of them.

13. Do you live with them? No. Heck no.

14. Where are you from? Oklahoma forever.

15. Tell us about the last conversation you had? Cried Talked to Tater about how angry Paul was when he drove off on his motorcycle this morning. That was right after the conversation with Irish Divinity about her child barfing on me.

16. Where do you see yourself in one month? Hopefully divorced. (Only partly kidding on that one)

17. What is your favorite smell? Freshly bathed babies slathered in Baby Magic

18. Do you consider yourself bi-polar? No. Compulsive, but not bi-polar

19. What is the time and the outside temperature right now? 2:58pm 90'

20. Have you ever done anything vindictive to your coworker? I don't think so...

21. Have you ever gone to therapy? No, but I could use some today.

22. Have you ever Played Spin the Bottle? Yes.

23. Have you ever Toilet Papered someone's house? No.

24. Have you ever liked someone but never told them? Who hasn't?

25. Have you ever had a crush on your brother or sister's friend? I stole a boyfriend from Tater once, but that's it.

26. Have you ever been to a nude beach? The world is not ready for me to visit a nude beach. Besides, the thought of sunburned nipples just doesn't sound appealing to me.

27. Have you ever drank Jack Daniels? There's a bottle in the pantry right now. Next to the Jim Beam.

28. Have you ever had sex on the beach? Iewwww......sand in my private parts, no way.

29. Have you ever had a stalker? Oh I guess you could've called him a borderline stalker. He used to write me poetry about killing himself over me, etc.

30. Have you ever been in love? Yep.

31. Have you ever gone skinny dipping? No. How weird. I better get on that!

32. Have you ever laughed so hard you cried? Any time I go on a Girls' Night Out with my Wyandotte friends.

33. Have you ever gone to a party where you were the only sober one? Never been to a real live party party. Those wild Tupperware parties rarely get too outta hand.

34. Have you ever been cheated on? I don't think so....

35. Have you ever had sex with one of your MySpace friends? Uhh...if we're having sex wouldn't it be Our Space?

36. Have you ever felt betrayed by your best friend? Oh yes.

37. Have you ever felt like you were just completely rhino raped? Uhhhh........

38. Have you ever lied to your parents? Yes. And I am going to SO able to spot the lies outta my kids. I guarantee that.

39. Have you ever been out of the country? We get off the place and go to town once a week for groceries.

40. Have you ever thrown up from working out? I'm too fat to ride a roller coaster - do you think I work out?

41. Have you ever gotten a haircut so bad that you wore a hat for a month? No, but I did cry for two days.

42. Have you ever eaten three meals from three different fast food places in one day? Yes, it's called Vacation.

43. Have you ever gotten so wasted you didn’t know what was going on? Oh my yes. Those were the days, my friends.

44. Have you ever spied on someone you had a crush on? Ugh yes. That's partly why the guy in Question #1 is scared of me. How embarrassing.

45. Have you ever seen your best friend naked? ROFL ......... Tater? Have I?

46. Have you ever fell in love with someone elses partner? Yes. Long time ago.

47. Have you ever had your heart broken by someone you love? Yes. This morning. He said something that really cut deep.

48. If you could change anything that has happened in the last six months would you? I'd change the way I acted towards my husband yesterday because obviously it didn't set well with him. Yeesh.

49. Favorite time of day? Naptime.

50. Favorite thing to do? Listen to my MP3 player while I read and ignore the kids. (My own kids, not the ones I get paid to duct tape to the floor.)

51. Favorite food? Chocolate

Death by poultry

Saturday morning I took Sam and Kady to Tater's so Ab and I could have our day of insulting beauty. We walked in the door and Tater said, "Come on out to the garage." So I did. Not knowing that I was about to face a poultryphobe's worst nightmare -

TWENTY FOUR BABY CHICKS all pecking around and shitting everywhere.

The girls started squealing and wanted to hold them. I, for the sake of my child, managed to touch one on the head with one finger. I needed a Xanax.

Why is the world trying to kill me with poultry??

Of course, it makes the whole eating healthy thing easier because now I eat a lot more chicken and I feel really good about it. But not from a health standpoint.

(Btw, if anyone's counting - I've lost 6 pounds so far. Of course, PMS has begun it's monthly attack and I am once again retaining more water than Hoover Dam and the scales showed a gain of 2 pounds this morning. I'm trying not to freak out, but I have run around the house 47 times already today and have cut off all of my hair and fingernails.)

Salon Drama

Abby's grades got bad again a few weeks back, so I offered her a deal - get them all up from C's and D's to A's and B's by the time the 9-weeks progress reports came out and I'd take her to get a manicure. Well, the little booger did it!! And a whole week before progress reports came out! She really wanted that manicure. So Thursday I had made her an appointment at one salon the manicure and then made us both appointments at our regular salon for haircuts. All the girls at the first place thought she was so adorable and just gave her the princess treatment. She walked out of there with pretty, pearly pinky nails. Then I took her to Sonic and let her sit in the front seat while we ate- again making her feel like queen of the world and ruler of all. After that we jaunted over to the "Dollar Treat" for some bubbles because it's spring and by golly, it's a law somewhere that bubbles must be purchased in the spring.

After that we headed over to our regular salon. She did a really good job on Ab's hair. She cut about 5 inches off the length and gave her some layers. It's much thinner and absolutely precious. But I should've stripped off my cape and flew out the door when the second I sat down she said, "You colored your hair again." I said, "Yes, I did." Her deadpan reply:"I thought I told you not to do that again." Followed by a hateful You Are A Moron sigh. After that the rest of the haircut was just horrible. A few of the comments I heard were:

"Wow, you really have some dry ends." Yes, I knew that. That is why I'm here.

" want me to wax your moustache, too?" Yes, I believe when I said "lip wax" that was what I meant. I just prefer not to call it a moustache - I save that term for Magnum PI and my husband. You're just being hateful.

"Hmh. So are we growing out an eyebrow that we messed up?" No, we are not growing out an eyebrow that we messed up. It's my eyebrow, not ours. I didn't mess it up - it just grows that way.

" like, do you ever try to like, fix it?" Does it look like I try to fix it? Obviously it offends you, the demon eyebrow. Quit making me feel like I have a tumor on my face - it's an eyebrow.

Needless to say I came home I plucked out the stupid "messed up" part.

And I'm looking for a new salon.

Friday, April 14, 2006

Why I love my job

Back at Christmas and again on my birthday, Tammy, CBG's mom, made me her World Famous and Orgasm-Inducing Snickerdoodles. I believe that directly after eating the first one I came out here and announced to the world that I wanted to marry her.

Scoot over, Tammy. I guess we're going to have to become Mormon Lesbians because now I want to marry Irish Divinity, too. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

The woman brought me a six-pack of Schmirnoff for Easter.

That totally beats any hollow chocolate bunny.

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Spring has stung

I'm definitely more of a fall/winter person. I love cold, crisp weather. Well, I actually don't like to be outside period, but I like being in the house in the winter with a fire in the fireplace, curled up with a book or baking something yummy and really bad for me. But unfortunately, it's now spring. Time for warm weather, more humidity, pollen, and stinging insects.

I hate bees, wasps, hornets, yellow jackets and anything else that flies, buzzes and stings. If you wonder why, just take a gander back here. And here. Oh and for the love of all things holy, don't forget here. Seriously, you need to go back and read those posts. It explains so much. It's worth the little extra reading.

Okay, you're back? Good. So see why I have this unnatural fear of stingy things? Not to mention I was stung by a sweat bee on the finger at the tender age of 3 and my dad wanted to put Skoal on it. I cried harder at him trying to put chew on it than the sting itself. If you read those posts from last October you know I was stung by a wasp when I was 6, I ate a yellow jacket when I was in high school . . . I just prefer ladybugs and butterflies and heck, I'd even prefer a rooster to a wasp. Stinging things + Spring = bad things happening to the diva.

So yesterday the temps were supposed to be up in the 80's and it was just too nice to keep the kids in the house all duct taped to the floor like I usually have them restrained. (Hey, it's become somewhat of a game around here. They like it. Trust me.) I put shoes on all the bare toes, including mine, and then took the Exersaucer out onto the carport. I noticed one dirt dauber, but that was it. In the time it took me to walk back into the house, retrieve one child and walk back out the Exersaucer was swarming with wasps! Okay, so maybe not really swarming, but still, there were a lot on it. Four even.

I ran back into the house, dropped previously retrieved child back into floor and made a mad dash to the kitchen to find the wasp spray. Of course, that child had gotten a taste of sunshine and fresh air and promptly began screaming. And that hence set forth a chain reaction of crying known among childcare providers everywhere as Why The Sitter Drinks Before Noon. I ran back through with two cans of wasp spray in hand. The children were instantly quiet. It must've been the wild look in my eyes and the paleness in my cheeks. I was all business. All I needed was some holsters, spurs and somebody to whistle that gunfight tune. (whoo-we-whoo-we-whooo....bwah bwah bwah) I was ready for action.

Now, anyone who actually knows me can attest that while I occasionally talk big on my blog and will sometimes even talk big to your face, I'm really a big ol' weenie. I know, shocking. The rooster debacle is a prime example. I try to remain brave for the kids' sake because I have a really unhealthy fear of stingy things and I don't want them to develop it as well, but it's hard to keep them from getting all worked up when I'm out on the carport, two cans of spray firing every few seconds at anything flying (that poor, poor blue jay) and I'm squealing like there's a squirrel in my pants. Seriously. I'd spray a wasp and then squeal. I'm sure it was humorous.

And I also learned a valuable lesson: Never spray wasp spray into the wind.

It even says so on the can. Who knew?

Monday, April 10, 2006


I have mentioned before the breaking of the underwires in my bras that I seem to do quite often because obviously I have Wonder Boobs and don't know the power my breasts hold. (*cue super hero music*) Well, I was down to two bras - one jersey gray and one black leopard print. (I know, hubba hubba. Shh, though...I'm secretly a sex fiend, but don't tell my husband.) The jersey gray one could be worn under white shirts - granted, thick white shirts, but still white shirts nonetheless. The leopard print, however, cannot. Well, sadly last week I broke the underwire in my hideable bra. I now have ONE BRA, people! And it's leopard print.

Awhile back I bought a sports bra in an attempt to preserve the last two real bras until I could make a Lane Bryant run. I figured that on the days I was staying at home I could wear a sports bra because well, do the kids really need to see my breasts all heaved up and perky?

I have come to a very serious conclusion - Sports bras are not called that because they are for wearing during sports. They are called that because it's a workout to get into one.

And do I even need to go into the fact that when I wear one I have a Uniboob? A UNIBOOB, people! Granted, as I said, the kids don't need to see perk and definition, but I do! It's disheartening to see my ample bosom squashed down into a rather benign looking hump on my chest.

And last week, Tater bounced a quarter off my Uniboob. It went pretty far, too. Of course, I laughed, but inside I was crying.

Sunday, April 09, 2006

"Mom, I think you should be a doctor."

"Nah, I don't think so. I'm not really doctor material."

"Oh yes you are! You knew that stuff on my face was a fungus. Even the doctor wasn't sure it was a fungus, but you knew. "

"Yeah, but knowing about face fungus doesn't make one a doctor. It's called 'mother's intuition', not 'I'm smart enough to be a doctor.'"

"But, you really should be one, Mom You know EVerything!"

I'm going to cherish that moment forever. I'll be sure to look back on it in a few years when she begins to think that her mother is a complete and total idiot. At least I can say, "She knew me when."

Git 'r done with interior design

Last night we finally got to see Larry the Cable Guy: Health Inspector. And I've decided that he and Mr. Diva were twins separated at birth.

Okay, actually my husband is not as bad as Larry the Cable Guy, but ONLY because he's married to me. I'm not just tootin' my own horn here, either. I seriously mean that if it weren't for him marrying a diva 13 years ago, the poor man could've very well been Larry the Cable Guy.

Case in point:

When I started dating Mr. Diva he was living alone in a little red house down in a holler. He and his buddy called it "the little red stabbin' cabin." Not because they were homicidal maniacs and took their victims there or anything, but because they thought they were the epitomes of manly charm and that they were sex gods and "stabbin'" was their word for what they wished they were doing on the weekends. Not to say that they weren't just sweepin' the ladies off their feet with the wearing of their starched Brush Popper shirts and Stetson hats or anything, but for the most part the Little Red Stabbin' Cabin was the "get drunk and watch movies till we pass out" cabin.

The first time I entered the cabin, I was about four and a half sheets to the wind. I was 19 and I was horny and well, let's just say the cabin served us well that drunken night and I paid no attention whatsoever to anything but the good-lookin' cowboy and his bed. But it was the next time I visited - completely sober - that I realized that my new boyfriend had some seriously retarded views on decor and taste in general. The signs that he had lived alone too long were everywhere - from the stolen stop sign leaned up against the living room wall and the 1960's era TV with folded up paper wedged in the dial to keep it from slipping off the station to the cassette holders stacked about chest high just chock full of Hank Williams Jr and Waylon and the $6000 stereo system proudly displayed in a second-hand Wal*Mart fiberboard entertainment center

But the piece de resistance was the couch and the chair. Now, I'm sure that in the late 60's, early 70's when the furniture was obviously manufactured and sold, it was some expensive stuff. Good quality craftmanship woven together with the metallic rust brown and tan that matched some of my mom's old Tupperware and then add in wooden armrests and back . . . oh yes - my husband had a couch with velveteen cushions and a wooden frame. (The armrests were fairly handy for beer can stability, though, now that I think about it.) Oh and lest we forget the pattern on the cushions - a house/cabin/barnish structure of some sort, a water wheel mill thing, babbling brook, trees, foliage, Lord deliver us from the forest type thing. It was at my insistence (and threat of witholding certain boyfriend/girlfriend activities) that he sold both pieces to his brother. Glory halleluiah.

Last night we were sitting in the theatre, watching the movie and getting our crass humor fill for the month when the realization of what I had saved him from never became more evident. I was sitting with my Diet Pepsi in my lap, Tater was leaned over toward Bub who was slumped down in his seat. Mr. Diva, too, was slumped down low in his seat, chuckling and out and out laughing from time to time. All in all we were pretty relaxed and entertained. The scene switched to Larry drunk on his couch. When Larry stood up and the couch was shown in its entirety, Mr. Diva sat straight up in his seat and said, "I used to have that couch!!"

Mr. Diva's brother sold his old couch to Larry the Cable Guy. It had to be the his old couch - there surely wasn't more than one made.

Friday, April 07, 2006

Not sure where he learned that . . .

Abby: Hey, when we get done with dinner let's play "Prom!"

(chorus of cheers from the group)

TotTwo (Tater's youngest tot): Cool!! Abby you're my date!

TotOne (Tater's oldest tot): You're mine, Sam!!

Sam: No way.....I am NOT going to the prom with TotOne!

Kady: I'm not going to the Prom with Chandler either! He's a ... a...BOY!!

Sam: Yeah, but I can't go to the Prom with TotOne because she's my cousin.

TotOne: Oh Sam, it's just for pretend. In real life, I'd never date you!

Abby: Yeah, Sam. You can't date your cousins.

Sam: Yes you can. In Arkansas you can even date your sister.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Yellow Brick Road

So.....anyone tired of the Wizard of Oz references yet? No? Well, I am. I think I'll quit now.

The Diva Ranch is still standing, but from the looks of the local radar it may not be for long. Eh, who am I kidding - the storm will peter out at the county line, just like they always do. It's like some elected county official walks around the perimeter of the county and sprays Bubba's Tornader Repellent when one's predicted. Hey, it's just a theory.

The kids are running amuck, the dog is pacing the front yard and my hair is frizzy.

Yep. Storm's a comin'.


I'm grabbing my ruby slippers and a few munchkins and battening down the hatches. Looks like we might be visiting Oz before the day's over.

Storm season freakin' ROCKS.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Love that Tater

While sitting at the Pizza Hut tonight, the fact that I have the world's best sister just smacked me in the face. I mean, I've known for years what a precious treasure she is, but tonight was the kicker.

We were enjoying our 3 Points per slice Veggie Lover's pizza and I was toying with the idea of a third slice. I'm really watching my portions, but I had been saving up Points all day in anticipation of pizza, so after much deliberation I decided to go for it.

It's the simple things that speak so loudly. Like when she said, "Ooh, don't take that one! It's a waste of Points - look at that huge air bubble! Here take this one with the extra onions and no air bubble."

I love that woman.

That sucks

I woke up Saturday morning with a headache. I got up, poured the kids some milk, set the box of PopTarts on the table, popped some Tylenol and headed for the couch. I slept there with cartoons and sibling bickering as background noise until 10 or so. We were having company that night, but the head, it was hurting so badly that only sleep was possible. So after I dragged my lazy rear off the couch and threw in some laundry, cleaned the kitchen and fed the kids, we prepared for a trip to Wal*Mart (and the ensuing poultry fiasco). I went into the bathroom to run a brush through my hair and was just turning to walk out when I noticed it: a hickey. On. My. Neck. For all the world to see. I had a hickey.

I stomped up the hall, stopped in front of Paul's recliner and said, "Thanks. a. lot. jerk." He looked up innocently and said, "Whut?" I pointed to my neck without saying another word. "Whut?" he said again. Quietly, yet vehemently, I stated, "A hickey! You gave me a hickey!" He just grinned like a possum.

Abby walked through about that time and asked, "What's goin' on? OH MY GOSH YOU HAVE A HICKEY ON. YOUR. NECK. MOTHER!!!" By this point, Paul is about to fall out of his recliner laughing and I am about 47 shades of red. I just said, "Yeah. I know."

"WHY would you let him suck on your neck like that?" she asked, obviously disgusted at the mere thought, which is fine by me. I hope she always thinks boys sucking on necks is gross. I said, "Oh, Abby. Unfortunately, someday you'll understand."

She turned around to walk away, flipped her hair over her shoulder and said, "Well, you can't taste that good."

Sunday, April 02, 2006

Playing chicken

Yesterday the kids and I went to Wal*Mart to get the stuff for the get-together we were having last night. I had called Tater to see if she needed anything from town and yes she did, so I picked up 5 of the 7 layers in 7-Layer Tex-Mex Dip for her. I was running so incredibly late - I hadn't actually prepared any of the food, I hadn't showered and the house was still a disaster, so I called them to see if Bub could meet me at the end of the dirt road and pick up the missing layers. I got to the road before he did, so I went to the back of the van to sort out the groceries. I was bent over in the back of the van searching for guacamole and sour cream. I found all the ingredients, straightened up and shut the van doors, turned and oh holy chickens THERE WAS A ROOSTER LIKE, RIGHT THERE!!!

I am scared of chickens. Growing up, I was the only one of Papa's grandkids that didn't get flogged by the Mac Daddy of all roosters up at the farm. It's because I avoided them. Frankly, they terrify me.

Upon discovering said rooster, naturally, I screamed. And his reply was a hateful, throaty BAWK!! I screamed again as he started doing his funky chicken approach and then I started waving the Wal*Mart sack full of groceries. And still he approached. He was relentless. He was evil. He was chicken. And so was I.

Now, keep in mind my kids are still in the van and well, many thoughts were going through my head, but the main one was, my children are going to witness their mother being dismembered and eaten by a rabid chicken. I was scared for them. Yeah. For them.

I was backing up, still swinging my bag of guacamole and other acoutrements when Bub pulled up. Seeing me in obvious peril, he drove the car directly at the demon poultry. My hero, my brother in law. Of course, he was laughing at me being backed into the ditch by a chicken, but I didn't care. My children had been saved from watching their mother being pecked to death on a county road in broad daylight on April Fool's Day of all days. The rooster, he ran.

I walked toward Bub, trying to catch my breath (yes, I was nearly hyperventilating) and handed him the groceries. I'm thinking now that maybe that rooster just didn't want me to give him the groceries because here he came again - bigger, badder, angrier and obviously craving guacamole. Bub is not afraid of poultry and ran at the thing while I did a very frightened high-steppy kind of run to the back of my van, where I stood shaking in fear by the bumper. Oh but that rooster wasn't to be bullied and came right back. I was just waiting for the moment when its back was turned because I was making a run for the van door.

Finally, Bub managed to run it as far as the fence and I made a scurry toward my van door. I said, "ByethankyouI'llseeyoutonight!" and sped off before the rooster could get to my van door, open it, pull me out to peck me to death.

I was so freaked out by the incident that I didn't immediately hear my children laughing at me. My 4 year old, 7 year old and 9 year old were all three doubled over laughing, tears running down their faces, unable to even speak for the laughter that consumed them. I kind of chuckled, too, because I'm sure the whole scenario was pretty funny. Finally the laughter subsided, the van got quiet and Abby chuckled quietly and said,

"Oh my gosh. Mom, you are such. a. weenie."