Spelunkin' (A continuation)

Originally published in the Miami News-Record on October 18, 2015

Back at camp, Lana praised me for passing my free cardiac stress test, but kept a close eye on me. I know she loves me and all, but really didn’t want to do CPR on her friend. I drank a bottle or seven of water, rested my shaking legs, and was excited to hear Tour-guide Lumberjack Barbie say that the cave entrance was “only a minute” from our camp. I was fairly certain I could handle a minute of walking. As we started for the cave I tried to ignore the nagging voice in the back of my head that kept saying, “This path is preeeeeetty steep which means coming back up later is going to finish you off where the other hike didn’t. You better call your mom and tell her you love her.”

At the entrance, the guide warned us about low hanging ceilings, fluttering bats, and slippery surfaces. He cautioned us to not touch anything with our hands and to stay on the path because some of the critters living in there were so small we could knock out an entire community with the toe of our shoe.  “Horton Hears a Who” flashed in my head. He said if there were hand rails we could touch those, but to be very careful to not bump other surfaces with any body parts. I vowed to lovingly make those hand rails my new best friends.

And thus we began our descent. Our friends’ youngest son had been very nervous and scared to go in the cave and they had been praying God would help him overcome that fear in the weeks prior to the trip. I know in my heart of hearts that God conveniently placed some salamanders in the stairwell as we entered. Ezra was fascinated with those scurrying boogers and we were 20-some feet underground before the little guy knew it. I, on the other hand, didn’t do so well on the trip down. I am terrified of heights and the stairs were steep. In order to keep from breaking my hip, I had to look down at the steps. Looking down made me light-headed and I lost my balance and bumped the wall….and felt something wiggle. I called down the stairs. “Uhm…..Nathan? I’m pretty sure I just killed a salamander with my butt.” Paul whacked me on the shoulder and shushed me. He said didn’t want me banished before we even got in.

We went 170 feet below the ground that afternoon. We saw all the usual cave offerings: stalactites, stalagmites, bats, lizards, frogs, unknown drippy things and wiggly things. I saw this cool looking stuff on the handrail and hollered to the guide to see what it was. “Oh that? It’s a fungus growing in some guano.”  It was then that I shone my flashlight further onto the handrail and realized that the rail that I had been clinging to was pretty much covered in bat poo. So. Much. Bat. Poo.

Sam entertained us all with random Batman quotes and declarations to save Gotham from the Joker. Everyone over 5’ tall whacked their heads. For once Kady and I felt pretty fortunate that we’re short. We saw a pile of guano that had to have been 12-feet tall. I heard the folks at the head of the line say, “We’re almost there!” and I assumed that “there” meant “exit”. No, “there” meant “as far as we can go and now we have to turn around and walk all the way back out.” It was a half mile in and the same half mile out, but it took a quarter of the time to get out than it did to get in.

It was a really cool experience and I’m glad we did it. I’d even do it again someday. But I’m hoping that between now and the next time, that special cave snail pays for a golf cart and paved pathway to and from the cave. Nature schmature. 

The Great Outdoors

Originally published in the Miami News-Record on October 11, 2015.

Awhile back, Mike and Lana, the friends that came over to sort-of camp in our yard and go four-wheeling back in the summer, asked us if we would be interested in visiting an underground laboratory in a cave in the Ozarks. How does one say no to such a proposition? Kady and Sam are studying earth and space science this year, so I thought caves would go right along with such a trip and you know us homeschoolers and the constant educating of our children and stuff. We were SO in.

We were only going for an overnight stay and would really only spend about 24 hours on the property, but goodness gracious it looked like we were packing to stay a year. We had lawn chairs, flashlights, coolers, bags, sleeping bags, enough bug spray to kill half of Missouri’s insect population, plus hot dogs, sandwiches, and I made enough blueberry muffins for an army. We arrived, grabbed a bite for lunch and finished up just as our tour guide showed up. He looked like a lumberjack. He had a beard and wore a flannel shirt and very serious-looking hiking boots. His name was Nathan, but in my head I referred to him as Tour-guide Lumberjack Barbie. He was adorable.

He took us on a hike through the beautiful wilds of a tiny dot on the map called Protem, Missouri. He explained about the cave and its impact on the environment. He told us about how the owners were working very hard to protect the endangered species that lived in their cave. He said, “The elaborate septic system that keeps the groundwater free of waste was paid for by the snail.” And rather than wonder why or how a snail paid for a septic system, all I could think was, “Where is this snail and will he pay for stuff for me, too?” Turns out, there is a species of cave snail that is only found in this particular cave in the whole wide world. It’s a VIM (Very Important Mollusk). And apparently when you have a VIM on your property you are a VIP and people pay for your toilets.

Not far into our hike we came across a pygmy rattlesnake. But being homeschoolers, we didn’t run screaming; we all gathered around to inspect it. Tour-guide Lumberjack Barbie nearly had a stroke. “Folks, that’s a poisonous snake. Folks? Rattlesnakes are poisonous. PEOPLE! RATTLESNAKES ARE POISONOUS SNAKES.” Poor fella. Apparently he had never led a tour for homeschoolers before. We are a curious lot.

Little did we realize that our hike was taking us downhill. (Or at least, I didn’t – maybe everyone else did.) When I heard, “Okay, let’s head back to camp for a quick rest then we’ll walk down to the cave,” I was thinking, “Oh, it’s been such a lovely trek so far. I can’t wait to see the rest of the trail.” Then about 10 minutes later after a nearly vertical incline that would make a mountain goat faint, I was sucking so much wind I was seriously considering trying Kady’s inhaler even though I’m allergic to albuterol and it causes my throat to swell shut. I was pretty much just thinking it would bring about death quicker than the heart attack I was certain I was going to have. Lana is an RN and Mike is a firefighter. They both looked ready to spring into action if I keeled over – something I think we all felt was fairly imminent. However, I made it. I survived all 4,270 miles of that hike.

I also exaggerated a few times in the previous paragraph.

You’ll have to come back next Sunday to hear the rest of the story. I know, I know… I’m not one for suspense either, but such a tale requires more than my 650-ish word limit. And believe me, you will all want to read about how I’m pretty sure I killed a salamander with my butt.

Sort-of Camping

Originally posted in the Miami News-Record, May 31, 2015

This past year a new family joined our homeschool co-op and while I had their oldest son in my class, we hadn’t really gotten to know each other that well. Eventually I asked the husband to speak to my inventions class and they asked my son to play on their basketball team. Slowly, slowly (because turns out, we’re all just a bunch of dadgum introverts), we started testing the waters of becoming “family friends” and thankfully, it worked. Our son and their oldest are good friends (and involve the middle brother in moments of brotherly kindness), their little guy is still enchanted by my youngest, and all of us adults get along insanely well. For a bunch of introverts, that is.

Toward the end of winter we decided to have a camp-out here at our house. We had to start planning it fairly early because she’s a nurse, he’s a firefighter, and their schedules call for creativity and very little spur-of-the-moment stuff. The plan was for the boys to camp out at our pond and we girls to stay in the house in the air conditioning. I’m not opposed to tent camping; I would just rather, given the option, hang out in a house if one is nearby. (I am far more diva than redneck, no doubt.) The plan was to fish, shoot guns, watch fireworks, and my husband even got us permission to ride four-wheelers on the trails over at D-Day, the paintball place just behind our property.

After months of anticipation, the camp-out day finally arrived. They pulled in our driveway in their minivan full of a giant tent, food, fireworks, and boys. We had to re-configure the camping a bit because back in March we had no way of knowing that Oklahoma would have a monsoon season and our pond would exceed its banks, thus running every snake for higher ground. That made camping down there a seriously bad idea no matter how much emergency training anyone had. We ate lunch, visited, did some front porch sittin’, drank some sweet tea, shot a few guns, and just generally enjoyed relaxing. Finally we could put the kids off no longer and loaded up on the four-wheelers and my brother-in-law’s UTV for a very muddy, hot, and sweaty adventure. I forget how rough four-wheeler riding is on a hind-end until I ride for an hour – and then walk like my Granny Glenn for awhile after I dismount.

After our ride, about 2/3 of us stunk to high heaven thanks to some stinky, stagnant puddles and the males’ attraction to splashing their cohorts with said disgustingness. We made the boys hose off so we could stand to be around them, then sent them off to set up the fireworks display. Abby’s dog had been bitten by a snake while we were gone, so we women tried our best to get some Benadryl down her. Then we needed hosing down because we were covered in dog slobber and pond water funk. That dog hasn’t quite figured out that snakes are not fun toys.

After more gun shootin’, tea drinkin’, and porch sittin’, we roasted hot dogs on the fire pit, shot off fireworks, ate watermelon, and then when all threat of bad weather was past, the boys set up the tent close to the house, away from snakes (we hoped). Eventually, the boys settled down in their tent and we grownups kicked back in the recliners, turned on a movie (that we didn’t really watch) and visited some more. The next morning after breakfast, the men went out to build gates for our new front porch, the boys shot more guns, we moms talked curriculum, birth stories, parenting woes, and other mom-ish things. When the rain moved in, all nine of us piled onto our couches and watched “Jurassic Park”.

So….how many rednecks does it take to get dirty, drink a lot of sweet tea, and make some memories?

Apparently, for us, nine is the perfect number. 

The Sisterhood

Published in the Miami News-Record on April 26, 2015

Girlfriends are a necessity of life. I have had the same core group of girlfriends since 1^st grade. Over the years our numbers waxed and waned, people were ushered in, some faded out, some moved, but the same fundamental group is still among my dearest friends. The kind you can go awhile without talking to, but when you see each other again you pick right back up like you just saw them an hour ago.

When I was in college I had work friends. As a newlywed I got couples friends. Then with children came new people – other parents with kids my kids’ ages. Now I have homeschooling friends, too. But these ladies from grade school …. well, we are the ones who know each other’s darkest fears, secrets, wishes, dreams, and as we get older, health issues as well. Goodness knows we commiserate about gray hair, aching backs, sneeze pees, and bone density more and more as the years go by.

Last week I got together with this group of four other ladies for dinner. Three of us started Kindergarten together, one joined our merry band in 7^th grade, and the other was my little sister, who didn’t attain “cool” status until she was 15 or so and was then allowed into our circle. (I was so gracious, I know.) One of our crew was missing, but we’ll wrangle her in next time. We sat at a table at Los Dos Amigos for a ridiculous amount of time – well, until they turned the “Open” sign off. (To the staff there, you fellas are a patient crew and very gracious hosts. To the other diners that night, I hope we weren’t too annoying with our laughter and reminiscing. My apologies if we were. Truly. You have no idea the therapy that was going on.) Then after we paid our tab (and left big tips) we stood in the parking lot talking until 11:00, well past my elderly bedtime these days.

We had slumber parties starting in the 5^th grade. Most of us were in band together. We have so many blackmail-worthy photos of each other it’s not even funny. We fought passionately, cried together, and shared a boyfriend or two. We attended weddings, mourned the loss of babies, went camping together, babysat each other’s kids, and two of us still send letters and cards in a time of email. 

We’ve comforted in times of divorce and congratulated on graduations and grandbabies. Now we are all in our 40’s (except my little sister who isn’t far behind) and all of us are coloring our hair purely out of necessity now. We all wear glasses and several of us are in the dreaded bifocals. While two of us are still driving sportscars (lucky!), the rest of us are in minivans and SUVs that will haul our broods around. One of us has a baby, one has a toddler, and one of us is a new grandma. We all cross our legs when we sneeze now.

A woman who knew all of us from our days back at Wyandotte High, stopped by our table to say hello. She remarked at how we had stayed friends for so long. DeLisa, my first friend from age 5, said it best with her reply: “We’ve loved each other, hated each other, and now we love each other again.” I don’t think we ever hated each other, but man, did we fight back in the day.  Thankfully we’ve moved past all that and found our way back to the sisterhood.  

That night of chips, salsa, shared pictures, stories, laughter – so. much. laughter. – was balm for my soul. I didn’t know how much I needed those girls at this very point in my life until I drove away that night still giggling all the way home over “muddy chewbaccas” and how we all got tickled and simultaneously crossed our legs while we laughed until we cried.  

Well, Hello There...

I swear to you, I do not know where all my time goes these days! I turn around twice and it's been three weeks since I've posted here (or three months, but ya know...who's counting) and I'd swear to you I just posted a day or two ago. The blog is on my mind a lot and my brain is so completely full of blog posts, I'm surprised my head hasn't exploded. Of course, also floating and bumping around there in my noggin are recipes I want to try, the fact that we are out of paper towels and I keep forgetting to write it on my list when I walk by the fridge, the ever-present quest to teach my children the correct use of quotation marks (seriously, I can't figure out why this is escaping them the way it does!) and the fact that I really need to sweep my bedroom before the dust bunnies start to resemble something from The Walking Dead. So I suppose it's no wonder the blog posts get jumbled around and never written down.

In super exciting news, I recently had a piece on homeschooling published in the local newspaper. My first love as far as local news will always be WelchOK.com. They will always, always be my favorite Welchkins and the folks who gave me my first chance to write for the masses outside my own blog and have never once given me a deadline (although, a deadline might prompt me to actually you know....write there), but the opportunity to write for the Miami News-Record kind of fell in my lap one morning and I took it. It was pretty exciting, I gotta say, seeing my words in print and knowing there were all kinds of strangers out there reading it while they drank their Sunday morning coffee. I also realize there may be folks out there who lined their hamster cages with it, too, but I focus more on the idyllic coffee drinker being inspired and amused by my writing. If you want to check it out, feel free. And if you want to print it out and line your hamster cage with it, well, that just seems superfluous and rude, but I hope your hamster is inspired to homeschool in the process.

This past Tuesday was our 100th day of school. Public schools all over had their 100th day celebrations a few weeks back and while we started two weeks earlier than public school, we've also taken off a week extra at Christmas and have had a little more flexibility with our schedule. We'll finish on time, I have no doubt, especially since we don't have parent/teacher conferences (when I talk to myself, people laugh) and federal holidays and professional days. It will all balance.

The plan for several weeks had been to go to the state Capitol with Delinda and her boys for Homeschool Day (on our 100th day, no less) and while both of my girls were less than enthused, Sam and her oldest had already made plans to be the other's wingman and had developed a pretty decent arsenal of teenage boy pick-up lines. A few days prior to the scheduled trip, the weather started showing snow in the forecast. Then it fizzled. Then it flared. And fizzled. Monday, Delinda and I had both checked the forecast for the City and it was just looking too iffy and tumultuous to attempt. The forecast for during the day here at home was fine, but we had both already planned the day out of actual schoolwork and the kids were prepared for a day of fun together. Eventually we settled on heading north, away from the snow/ice/sleet/wind combo our own great state was throwing at us, and went to Springfield, MO, to Incredible Pizza.

Field trips on a week day are wonderful! We essentially had the place to ourselves, and Chip, the typically less-than-friendly manager, gave Delinda and I each a free turn in the 6D theater with the kids. We each had a pass to ride it once, but our buddy Chip threw in an extra. We later discovered that while you are inside the theater, enjoying the show, squealing and being tossed about in your smokin' sexy giant black 3D glasses, everyone outside the theater gets to watch YOU on a public TV screen. We're preeeeeeety sure that we got the extra show because Chip and his buddies were laughing at us on the outside. *blush*

As we were driving out of Springfield, it began sprinkling and by the time we got to their house, just over the state line, it was raining. We were already too late to make it to a Bible study we had going on at church, so we stopped at the RedBox in Fairland and as I checked out, big, giant, fluffy, wet snowflakes began to fall. It was just about the most perfect 100th day of school I've ever had.

Show Some Love, Wouldya?

Back when I was in 2nd grade I had this boyfriend named Brian. Now, don't dismiss it because we were eight. I mean, we were married like, 27 times at the school carnival that year. Brian had an older sister who I thought was the bomb diggity. Honestly, I think the light of heaven shone through the Farrah Faucett "feathers" in her hair. I felt so special when Edie paid attention to me and said I was "cute".

Time marched on....Brian left for a few years, Edie graduated high school, Brian came back (with muscles and long hair *swoon*), but the magic was lost. While Brian was off growing muscles, facial hair and a 'do that would make any 80's hair band member jealous, I was working hard to hone my mad nerd skillz. I had become a quintessential geek.

The 27 marriages fell apart.

Fast forward to adulthood, enter email and Facebook. A few years back I got an email from a woman named Beckie who said she was married to my first husband. That kind of took me aback at first because frankly, I had forgotten about those magical 27 moments at the alter with Brian in the corner of the gymnasium back in 2nd grade. She told me she harbored no ill will and was actually a reader of my blog and thought I was hilarious. I met her in a casino one evening and when I heard a little voice ask, "Are you Redneck Diva?" I was shocked, then delighted and I think I scared the poor woman to death when I hugged her neck probably a little too tightly. And then last year Brian's big sister, Edie, friended me on Facebook. Be still my geeky heart! She doesn't have Farrah Faucett feathered hair anymore, but she's still awesome. And she needs our help.

This is where you come in, Constant Reader.

Edie is a finalist in a contest with The Tulsa Dentist and needs your help! If she wins she will get a $50,000+ complete, head-to-toe makeover and folks, that beats out Farrah Faucett feathers any ol' day. She told me the last estimate on her dental work alone was over $10,000 alone. She also informed me she was a breastfeedin' momma for FORTY EIGHT MONTHS and had three C-sections. Girl needs a little lift, methinks. She's deserving, she's a great gal and anyone who said I was "cute" when I was in 2nd grade is going to get my support.

So here's what you can do: If  you're on Facebook already, search for The Tulsa Dentist (or just click that link), "like" the page and then click the Photos tab. Find EDIE and leave a simple comment with the word "vote" in her album. That's it! And if you're not on Facebook already.....WHY NOT? I'm there!

I appreciate you, Edie appreciates you and I'm pretty sure her boobs will appreciate you if they get a good hoisiting in the near future.

Thanks for your support. *snicker*

Two redneck women, a can of cooking spray and a Christmas tree

Last Saturday I trekked all the way to Little Kansas, OK, to visit my BFF Tiff (who has a brand spankin' new blog, by the way). We met her and her husband, John, back when Kady was probably two, so we've known 'em awhile. Even though I'm 11 years older than Tiff we hit it off right from the start. I swear there are times we share a brain. When they moved to Tahlequah, which might as well have been on the other side of the universe, I was devastated, but I love 'em and wanted the best for them. But....not once did I ever make to to Tahlequah to see them. I know. I'll just put my BFF Award right next to my Mom of the Year Award.

So when I sent Tiff a text last Thursday and asked if she minded that we invade her home on Saturday she said she nearly fell out of her chair in surprise and utter excitement, because, ya know, I often do that to people - excite and surprise.

She had sent the directions in a text message and after Sam's basketball practice we were on the road. Now, maybe I'm just a really slow driver, but Tiff said it would only take 45 minutes to get there. I took us nearly two hours, however, the last 30 minutes were spent driving back and forth on a seemingly endless red dirt road, swearing the entire time that I heard banjos. If I'd seen one toothless hillbilly, barefoot in overalls I'd have been SO outta there, BFF or not. We finally arrived, chatted, got the grand tour of the house, the kids ate, we chatted some more, I burned a few Christmas CDs for her and then she announced it was time to put up the Christmas tree.

Her tree is GINORMOUSLY HUGE and while I was a little jealous, I was also a little intimidated by the behemoth she said we were going to put in her dining room. It made my 6 1/2 foot living room tree look like a shrub and my 5 foot dining room tree look like that poor tree from the Charlie Brown Christmas special. She also had this gargantuan base for the tree that was supposed to rotate the tree to make sure all ornaments have equal face time. I would never be able to have a rotating tree because no matter how hard I try to convince my children the back of the trees need ornaments, too, they just don't get it. My tree would be all sparkle, sparkle, sparkle....bare....bare....bare....sparkle, sparkle, sparkle....

We hoisted the metal pole on the bottom section of the tree into the hole on the base, Tiff tightened the screws and voila, section one of three complete. Yah right. We lifted the middle section and put it into place, except it wouldn't go all the way down into the fitting. We tried to pull it back out and start over, but it was stuck. We took turns holding the base of the tree while the other tried to yank that middle section back up. There was a piece of wire that had gotten in the way, thereby causing the two sections to be forever fused together. We were both scratched up, sweating and had muttered a few cuss words under our breath when Tiff said, "Wait. I have an idea." She went to the kitchen cabinet and whipped out a can of canola oil cooking spray. When I busted out laughing she shrugged and said, "What? The WD-40's in John's truck." And then she sprayed her Christmas tree pole with canola oil. Eventually we managed to get the wire out of the way, but I don't think it had anything to do with the cooking spray, and we took the pieces apart and put them back together correctly. We put the top section on and stood back to admire our handiwork. While we were admiring Sam hollered from the living room, "Y'all know that tree's leaning, right?" The boy nearly got a can of canola oil thrown at his wee head.

But he was right - the tree was leaning and doing it bigtime. After some wiggling, head-scratcing and muttering, Tiff got a screwdriver and crawled under the tree to tighten the screws again. And again. And again. No matter how many times she tightened them they would not hold that tree steady. After she read the directions on the rotating base, it was apparent that her tree was entirely too gigantic for that base. We dismantled the tree, piece by piece, she found a roll of painter's tape (the duct tape was with the WD-40 in John's truck) and she sat in the floor to figure out how to Southern engineer it. She removed the little plastic collar that was designed to steady the a "trunk", aka pole, in the base, then said, "Where's the dang canola oil?" Then my BFF Tiff sprayed canola oil all over the pole and what she did next was so visually hilarious and borderline x-rated that I can't even begin to write about it. When she saw the expression on my face and realized what she was doing we both lost it. She ended up on her back on the dining room floor, I ended up doubled over and we both laughed till we were out of breath. Abby walked through at one point, didn't even ask what was so funny, just shook her head and kept on walking.

When we regained our composure I suggested that instead of lubricating that poor tree any more, why not just use the tape. Of course, by that point we were both slap-happy and our minds were in the gutter so every comment from that point on was chock full of inuendo and made us cackle like a couple of hens. Two hours after we began, her tree was finally standing proud in her dining room, it's base wrapped in tape, and tied to a closet door because it was still a little lean-y.

I'm not sure how to end this story. There are so many ways.

Like, "Redneck Christmas to all and to all a can of canola oil!"

Or, "All I want for Christmas is some WD-40..."

But I think I'll leave you with this - "And remember kids: All of life's problems can be solved with your BFF, a roll of tape and a can of cooking spray."

Tractor pullin' for a good cause

Awhile back I sent an excited Tweet saying that I had just gotten recognized by a reader while I was at a local Native American gaming establishment and that I may have hugged her a little too hard and quite possibly acted like a total dork. That reader was my grade school husband's current wife, Beckie, and let me just say that I really like her. She and I have emailed back and forth several times over the past few years and seeing as how I married her husband approximately 50-some times in the 2nd grade at the school carnival, we share a bond.

So when she emailed me the other day I didn't even have to think twice about helping her out.

Not long after I met Beckie face-to-face her daddy, Zane Starr, had a stroke. She's been staying with him nearly full time, helping take care of him. He doesn't have any medical insurance and bless his heart, he didn't have any house insurance and suffered damage in the May tornado. He has lived in Seneca, MO, his whole life and evidently has a lot of friends because .....

Mr. Starr's friends have rallied around him and are holding a benefit truck and tractor pull this coming Saturday, November 8th, at 3:00 at the Seneca Saddle Club arena. Beckie tells me that there are supposed to be some guys from the Outlaw Nationals there, too. If you're a truck and tractor pull fan, you know that's a good thing!

So if you're local, love tractor pulls as much as I do and want to help someone out, head out to Seneca this Saturday afternoon!

You only love me for my blog, Mrs. Coach

As I picked up my kids tonight at VBS, Mrs. Coach immediately told me that my youngest child had given the whole church an opportunity to bond together because within the first five minutes, Kady had wandered off and no one knew where she had gone. What a kid, giving the church an opportunity like that. How kind of her. The whole church was able to form one gigantic group to search for an errant 6 year old. Yep. That's my Kady.

As soon as Mrs. Coach had related the story she then, with a deadpan look on her face, said to me, "You need to update." Mr. Coach gave her a funny look and asked, "Update what?" She said, "Her blog." Then she turned to me and said, "What happened to that 'I'm gonna blog every day' thing?" Yeesh. She ought to know I'm busy. What with all the staying at home that I'm doing these days.

So, because she asked so nicely........ HEY, MRS. COACH! I'M BLOGGING. FOR YOU. YOU'RE WELCOME.

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Friday night was the water fun extravaganza at our VBS. I had absolutely NO INTENTION of being involved in the water fun and therefore wore a white t-shirt.

Note to self: Never wear a white t-shirt where there are going to be water balloons, a water fight, or even drinks of water because that is nothing more than an invitation. You might as well not even wear a shirt because one good dousing and you're showing off your business to the congregation, the deacons and God.

I had taught the youth class one whole night (three boys in attendance) and then two of my boys didn't show up the second night so Mom asked me to take the Nursery class on Wednesday since we had some little ones who were just too young for the Preschool class. Then Thursday I didn't even have any little ones. Friday I had just planned on helping tie water balloons and clean up the church.

I went outside the church to where my husband and our friend Tommy Joe were already busy filling and tying balloons. A youth, Madelynn, was there as well. Tommy and Madelynn would fill, Paul and I would tie. Until Madelynn "accidentally" tossed a balloon at me. Then another youth got in on it. From that point on, I was nothing more than a target. We had about 2 1/2 hours to fill about 800 balloons, but about 20 minutes in, I was soaked from head to toe.

Note to self #2: Lane Bryant's Plunge pushup bras hold water. Lots of it. I would just be standing there and lean to one side and feel about 4.3 gallons of water run out of one cup or the other. It was hot outside and the sensation was rather refreshing, if not a little weird, though.

When the water fight actually began I was past the point of even attempting to dodge. I just stood there as child after child squirted me with guns, lobbed balloons at me or dumped gigantic bowls of water over my head.

Oh and did I mention that I hadn't planned on being involved in this water fight? This means that I had no extra clothes or even a towel. I drove home sitting on a tablecloth my mom dug out of the church kitchen. Then I had to run my bra through the spin cycle to get out the 45 gallons of remaining water in the extra padded cups because it's the only white bra I own and I had to wear it the next day.

First time I'd ever gone to church and come home looking like I'd been a particpant in a wet t-shirt contest at Chunky Hooters.

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Saturday Paul and I worked the back gate at the 8-man football game. I've worked the gate at the game for the last 5 or so years, but this is the second year Paul's worked it with me. It's hot as all get out, dusty and hectic, but for some strange reason we love it. This year no one honked at me and called me a b*tch, though. Whoo hoo, let's hear it for improvement!

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Sunday was the kids' VBS program and immediately after a small group of us went to a nursing home in town to sing. I wish I could say I love our monthly nursing home visit, but I can't really say I love it. I spent too many years visiting my Memaw in the nursing home and it brings back a lot of painful memories. However, I go because of my experience with Memaw. She would get so lonely....and there are some of those people in there that have no one to visit them. We saw some faces literally just light up yesterday, so we did good. I hope.

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Today I got my driver's license renewed. I had 3 days left to do it before I had to jump through many, many hoops, donate a kidney, and change my name to Julia and move to Mexico. Seriously, you just don't let your license expire in Oklahoma anymore. If you do, it's a trainwreck to get it again. It's easier to just leave the country.

I have worn glasses since I was 11 and have an eyeglass restriction on my license, but because Oklahoma's gone all Big Brother, now you have to take your glasses off for your license picture. And you can't smile. Somethig about facial recognition software and criminals and blah blah blah. You also have to put our index fingers on a little scanner thingy and your fingerprints are encoded somewhere on the card. Yeah. I'm tellin' ya. Big Brother has his hands alllll over it.

And because of the lack of smiling in the pictures, my last license had me looking like a very angry indian. My hair was very dark, long and I just looked very indian for some reason. This one, though, I look like I'm drunk and in serious need of a nap. I knew I blinked as soon as she snapped it, but my eyes were open enough that she kept it. Oh yay. For the next four years I get to flash that pretty thing at store clerks everywhere. I can't wait for 2012.

Skool Kloze

Yesterday Mrs. Coach and I were stricken with temporary insanity took off for glorious Jay, Oklahoma, to get school clothes vouchers for our kids. Why? you ask. Because we're both Native American and poor and so are our kids. Lucky kids. Not only are they blessed with awesome moms like Mrs. Coach and myself, but they're also hovering right there close to the poverty line.

But that's beside the point. The point is this: Indians - or Native Americans, if that's how you roll - have this fun little quirky knack of doing things their own way, in their own time and who cares if it's inefficient. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for the perks that come along with being Native American, but sometimes I get frustrated when I sit in a less-than-cherry community center for 3 1/2 hours with a hundred or so other Native Americans and my own three children, two of which swear they didn't hear me say "Take something to keep you occupied because we're liable to be there for awhile!" and therefore brought nothing to keep themselve occupied. Fortunately Abby had a tiny thing of PlayDoh that kept the three of them busy until it go so dirty that I was about to have a panic attack. And Sam kept throwing the container at Abby. And Kady kept getting PlayDoh on Mrs. Coach's pants. Yeah, good times.

Oh yeah....they were also giving out free sno cones. 40 gazillion children in a gigantic room with nothing to keep them busy, fueled by pure sugar poured over ice. What genius said, "Let's drag out the sno cone machine for clothing voucher day!"?

By 12:30 my kids were all but convulsing in the floor (the dirty, dirty floor) and I dug through my purse for some change. Fortunately Mrs. Coach was much more prepared than I was and had some ones. A small stampede to the vending machine and my kids came back with Chips Ahoy!, blueberry PopTarts and powdered donuts. She's like the cool aunt who always has gum. Had I escorted them, they'd have come back with nothing because as a mother I'm contractually bound to not give them crap for lunch, but because they aren't her children, let the crap be eaten, kids!

If it wasn't for our cell phones, we'd both have been COMPLETELY insane by the end of our adventure. Heck, we were even texting each other and we were literally sitting feet apart. She's way more popular than I am, so I'm sure she texted more than one person over the course of our visit, but I just conversed with The Queen of Dirty Laundry, aka My Favorite Texan, who took pictures of her kids and her dog in a onesie (which was borderline disturbing, Lori, hon...) to keep me occupied.

We interrupt this blog post for a friendly PSA: Tube tops. Bad. If we can see the total details of your nipples through the thin yellow fabric covering your gazongas....it's actually a bad thing.

They called Mrs. Coach around 1:15 and I had my purse on my arm and I was in a runner's stance as soon as her name was called because I was on the list after her. After being prepared to hand over my kids' tribal cards, proof in income, proof of residency, urine sample, a DNA swab, the results of my last pap smear, a contract agreeing to give the Cherokee Nation my nextborn AND tell the interviewer she was pretty, I was pleasantly shocked at how quickly I got my clothing vouchers. Mrs. Coach and I both were utterly astounded at the lack of skepticism we were presented with yesterday. Normally, yeah, you have to do all those things I listed previously. Yesterday, however, we basically slapped down proof of residency and income and didn't have to compliment anyone. That's progress, people. All we can figure is that the certifiers haven't been working for the Cherokees long enough to become good and jaded.

My poor children dragged their malnutritioned bodies back to the van and we promptly headed to Sonic. As we pulled in, Mrs. Coach noticed the new advertisement on the board for Biscuit Dippers - little sausage biscuits to dip in a mini-vat of gravy. She said, "Does that look wrong to anyone else? Or is it just me?" I heartily agreed that yes, it seemed indeed wrong. I took my kids' orders while they drifted in and out of consciousness - trust me, they thought they were just. that. hungry. When I had my kids' orders squared away I looked at Mrs. Coach and said, "Okay, what do you want?" She leaned way over in front of me and said, "Hmmmm....I dunno.....what do they have?" I looked her square in the eye and said, "I hear they have these new biscuit dippers. They make great suppositories." She conjured up an order pretty quick. Well, after we both managed to breathe again after the laughing. I don't think we would've laughed that hard had we not just endured what we just had. Or maybe we would've. Because we really are just that weird.

So now I have $225 worth of clothing vouchers just burning a hole in my pocket but I hate to buy school clothes for my kids right now. They can wear shorts until November 1 at their school and trust me, here in Oklahoma, it could very well be that warm November 1. Of course, we could also have 12 feet of snow on the ground and more on the way. But my point is, my kids are growing so fast these days that I hate to buy jeans now and them outgrow them by the time cooler weather comes around. I have until September 15th to use them so guess who will be at Stage on September 14th 15 minutes before it closes? Come join the fun! I'll be the one screaming at her three children in three different dressing rooms to "HURRY UP AND GET THOSE JEANS ON YOUR SKINNY INDIAN BUTTS."

Why I love my friend Tammy so much

"I'm tellin' you, this job might be a good thing. In the last two weeks I've lost four pounds!"

"Really?"

"Yeah, I don't have time to eat anymore! I work through the noon hour and by the time I get home and get busy, I look up and it's time to make dinner! I go most days without eating anything until dinnertime. I know it won't last, I'll eventually make time to eat, but who knew I'd lose four pounds just by working?"

"Well, let me just say - I can tell."

"Huh?"

"Just in talking to you on the phone here, I can tell. I can tell that you've lost four pounds and girl, you look good!"

"Have I told you lately just how much I love you?"