Sam's Exciting Friday

Friday morning I got up early and came out here to empty my memory card and get the camera ready for the firetruck visit. I was sitting here in the dark when I heard someone walking through the living room. I turned around to see Sam in his underwear and plastic fire hat. 6:15 in the morning and he was in his fire hat ready to go. He rubbed his eyes and in a groggy voice asked, "When's that fire truck gonna be here?" He only had 2 hours to wait, poor guy.

He was dressed and ready to go before his sisters even woke up a 7, so he watched cartoons with one eye and watched out the window with the other. We heard the dog bark, signalling someone was coming up the drive and he nearly wet his pants. Then we looked out to see his Granny in her blue Buick, not the fire chidf in his red fire truck. Granny came in and beheld the hyper, nervous boy-child of ours and laughed at how cute he was. Then we heard the dog bark again and lo and behold

THE FIRE TRUCK WAS HERE!!!

I grabbed the video camera and hit record. In the distance you can see the truck coming up the drive, but the foreground is filled with the intermittent red plastic fire hat on my son's head, popping up and down as he jumped for joy. I can only imagine what he was feeling at that moment. I know how excited I got over stuff as a kid - it's quite a feeling. As soon as it had pulled in and turned around, the fire chief himself got out. Sam ran out to him and the fire chief said, "Are you Sam?" The plastic hat bobbed up and down as he nodded. "Well, nice to meet you, Sam. I'm the fire chief!" And he shook my little boy's hand, just like he was a real grownup person. I swear to you I saw little cartoon hearts floating up out of my son's eyes. He looked so small next to the chief and his ginormous truck.

I cut the camera off and ran in to grab my digital camera. In that short amount of time Sam was in the truck and getting buckled. No! I still had tons of pictures to take! Slow down, Mr. Fire Chief and Mr. Diva!!














I hollered for Kady to come take a look at the firetruck. The chief was okay with it because he said he was actually running way ahead of schedule and didn't want to get him there too early. So Kady came over to inspect the truck as well.





You can't see them in the picture, but she was wearing red rubber boots with her skirt. She said firemen wear rubber boots and she wanted to as well.







Then the fire chief climbed in and turned on the siren and just let me say that our Jakey did NOT like that one bit. He hunkered down and started to run, then decided he didn't want to look like a pussy so he stood his ground and just howled to beat the band at the big red monster in our yard. Sam thought the sirens were just the coolest thing ever and I think we got hear them three times before it was time to go.




He was the happiest kid on earth that morning.










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Friday was also Camp Bandage at school. They haul the kids to a local community center and they spend the day learning about safety, stranger danger and all kinds of other neat stuff. Fun, but exhausting to young'ns.

THEN, when school was out, Sam went with his "backup best friend" (His words, not mine. He says he plays with Owen when Riley's not there, so that makes him his backup best friend.) to play Laser Tag for Owen's birthday. Those brave, if not somewhat insane, parents took 5 little boys to Laser City and plied them with lots of gun-shooting activities, cupcakes, candy and pizza. I gotta admire them just a little, although I worry about their mental status.

So by the time Sam got home at 8:15 he was wound for sound. I've never seen so much fast talking, bouncing up and down and just plain little boy energy! We knew he was exhausted and that's why he was so wired. TotTwo had been with me all evening, in anticipation of a guy sleepover, - with Kady tagging along - but by the time we got them in from riding their scooters and bikes in the dark front yard, Sam was crashing. So much for watching movies and such. Sam hit bottom hard and it was horrible. There was much crying and whining and laying in the floor and even a little foot stomping. I built them a tent with sheets and dining room table chairs in the toyroom, got out sleeping bags and everything, in an attempt to quell the tears and frustration. But even then he couldn't sleep for all the crying.

Finally I scooped him up out of his Scooby Doo sleeping bag and carried him to the living room, where I piled all three and a half feet of very tired little boy into my lap and for the first time in a very long time, I rocked my baby boy. It was pure heaven. As an infant he didn't like to be rocked. That nearly killed me. Abby would still be rocked if I'd allow it, but Sam was just never much of one for it. Oh, he likes to snuggle, but the rocking thing just never appealed. But that night, he curled up with me and finally the tears slowed, the sobs quieted and his eyelids blinked slower and slower. I would've loved nothing more than for him to actually fall asleep in my lap, but no, in true Sam fashion he popped his eyes open and said, "Yep, I'm ready to go to bed now. That rocking's making me nauseous." I love that kid so much.

Saturday morning, all three of those little shits were up at 5am. So much for recovery sleep. I guess when you are nearly 4, nearly 5 and nearly 7 you don't need it as much as when you are nearly 33.

Sirens say "Sam's on the way!"

Cartoon Network has a new 2-hour thing on weekday mornings called TickleU. Total preschool programming for 2 solid hours. I love it and so do the kids. There is one show on it called "Firehouse Tales" and the talking firetrucks well, they fight fires. (Duh) And when the call comes in they all shout "Sirens say, 'Help's on the way!'".

Well, tomorrow the sirens will say that my son has arrived at school. Why? you ask. Well, I'm glad you did.

Today was the "good behavior" drawing at school and Sam got picked! Out of PreK through 5th grade my boy got drawn to ride the firetruck to school! I'm sure he knows by now, but when I talked to the school secretary she hadn't told him yet. She wanted to make sure we were going to allow it before they announced it. Allow it? Heck, I wanna ride, too!!

I was squealing and laughing and just generally making a fool of myself on the phone. I said, "Jill, when you tell him he's going to pee his pants!" She's kind of a dry person and she said blandly, "Well, it sounds like you already did." Okay, so I got a little excited.

I then called Jen, my mom, my sister and my mother in law. I may have to be sedated. It might not be such a big deal, but Mr. Diva used to be a volunteer firefighter and Sam thinks firefighters are just plain cool. Of course, Mr. Diva rolled a firetruck once, so we're going to hope that Sam has better luck on his ride to school tomorrow.

Now I've got to empty my memory card on the digital camera, make sure there's film in the regular camera and dig out the video camera. I may not sleep tonight.

::insert witty, eye-catching title here::

Tonight was Lost. All of life at the Diva house stops during Lost. Last week my dad called during the show and we blatantly ignored the machine. During a commercial I ran in and called back. My stepmom answered the phone and I said, "I'm on a commercial break tell Dad I'll call him back after nine okay gotta go thanks bye!" I'm thinking he was a bit offended at my ignoring, but now he knows not to call between 8 and 9 on Wednesdays. I used to be that way during Alias, but eh, not so much this year.

So anyway, I made hamburger patties and calico potatoes for dinner tonight. Bub and Sis have been working on the house all day and they came up to eat and watch Lost with us. My kids love Wednesdays because they get to stay up a whole hour later than usual and this makes me, for one night a week, the coolest mom EVER.

Tonight's episode was mysterious and raised a lot of questions. But then again, every episode is like that. So nevermind. But at one point I was totally confused and clueless and I said, "OH MY GOSH I am SO lost right now!" Abby rolled over, looked at me over her glasses and said, "Uhh, Mom . . . duh. You're watching Lost." The minute it would cut to black for a commercial my living room would just erupt in a cacophony of talking and questions and "oh my gosh"'s. And look at me, I used the word cacophony. Whoo hoo!

I cried at the end. Literally cried. I fell in love with the Rose character from the beginning and just KNEW that the scary black man was her husband. Who knew it was the sad, sick, scared looking white guy? Wow. That was unexpected. That'll teach me to stereotype, huh. And how many of y'all really thought from what you saw on the trailers that Jin had been bewitched or something by The Others and was really speaking English? Me too!!!!

I am just so sad. Waiter, could I get a life over here, please? Yes, me - the pathetic-looking 30-something woman sitting at the table with cardboard cutouts of Jack and Locke. Okay, I don't really own cutouts of Jack and Locke, but if y'all know where I could find some . . .

Eh. I guess it could be worse. I could be blogging about my soap opera. Of course, the thought has crossed my mind a time or two . . .

It's now 10:05 and I'm going to walk on the wild side and just flat-out NOT watch the local news and

I'm
going
to
bed.


Wait, I haven't read Hillbilly Mom, Stacie, Andi, Sam, Anna, Courtney and Jersey Girl and . . .

Aw shucks. I'll be up till midnight like always.

Inquiring minds want to know

Or maybe they don't. But I'm sharing anyway.

As usual, I'm stealing from Hillbilly Mom, because I like her and she's always got cool stuff on her blog and well, dadgummit I wanna be cool like her, is that so wrong?

So here are the last month's worth of keywords that got people to my webpage. Some are interesting and one is just gross. The gross one I'm leaving off because even my blog won't go that far.

28% got here from the word "redneck". Well duh.

8% found me from "redneck sayings". That's because of this post, I'm sure.

Another 8% came here by way of "redneck names." In my experience, redneck names are usually ones that include the middle name. Take for instance, a few of my relatives - Dana Jo, Cora Faye, Connie Mack (A guy actually. The ambulance driver in Westville, OK, years ago. He had some mighty nifty gold chains entertwined in his visible chest hair at the reunion where I met him.), Verna Lea and Julie Ruth. Then there are the stereotypical ones - Billy Bob, J Dub and Junior Lee. I don't recall writing about any redneck names recently.

4% came for "ugly women nekkid". I'm pretty, dammit! And I'm only half-nekkid once a week, anyway.

4% visited me by way of "kids colored plastic dresser". Strangely that one stemmed from the squishy thing that was lurking in my kitchen cabinet. Yeah, I'm confuzzled on that one, too.

4% wanted to know "diva define". Naturally they would come to me. I am the definition of diva. Sort of. I mean, I did stack wood day before yesterday in my bunny slippers. That's why they call me Redneck Diva.

All of the rest are 4% as well. Because I haven't had the stat counter very long, 4% is one visitor. I'm hoping that someday 4% is really closer to about a hundred or so. Wouldn't that be nice. Okay, where was I . . .

"rugrats all grown up porn" How that brought anyone to my site I'm still trying to figure out.

"diva" Again, this is only natural that I'd be in the results.

"weight loss - pills" Obviously from a rant about how the mean indian doctor won't give me any until I lose ten pounds all by myself. I still think that sucks. There's a doctor in town (of the non-indian variety) who will give them to anyone who walks through the door and asks. If only I had money, I'd ask.

"adult tinkerbell black sweaters" This is a combination of the post about winning an auction of a Little Black Sambo book, my TinkerBell bathroom and buying my kids winter clothes. Some of these searches are jacked up.

"fat lump on the back of the neck" My first thought was that maybe I'd posted about Sis telling me to "mind my hump, Granny" after we'd spent the day with Papa's former classmates, all of who had humps on the backs of their necks. We both have bad posture and we now tell each other to "mind our humps" when we catch the other one slouching. Granny Glenn had a hump to beat the band, God love her. But I didn't post anything about minding humps. Again, a twisted combination of gobbledygook.

"redneck cabin" We have an estate, not just simply a cabin. We are the Diva family, after all.

"80's redneck" Okay, so maybe the 80's called and want their redneck back, I dunno . . what do you think, Tiff?

"left leg giving" I have no comment. It's even too off the wall for me.

"definition hairy girl videos" At first this distressed me until I realized it's a combination of The Country Bears, Veggie Tales and ZZ Top. Combine, mix for 2 minutes on medium speed, pour into greased 9x13 pan.

"plans for hillbilly golf" Now, those are some plans even I'd like to see. Hillbilly Mom, you ever played?

"redneck big johnson shirts" Nope, none here. We limit ourselves to Eskimo Joe's t-shirts (I have 7 of them, you know, and Mr. Diva has 4. We like us some cheese fries, yes we do.) and Orange County Choppers around the Diva place. Nope, no Big Johnsons here. Just cheese fries.

Ahhhh . . .

This morning Cute Big Baby's mom brought him in nearly 30 minutes late. She said they'd had a rough morning and I assumed that meant the alarm hadn't gone off or the car wouldn't start. I was close. They had a flat so Cute Big Baby's daddy had to run to Wal*Mart for a can of Fix A Flat - which I didn't tell her is the bane of existence to every tire mechanic. (Paul sighed when she said it, but I don't think she heard him. He knew that eventually that tire will probably make it into the shop for him to deal with.) Then Cute Big Baby was chasing her through the house playing and he crashed into the table leg. The child had a goose egg the size of a ping pong ball on his head. Oy. I've had mornings like that. She flitted out the door, leaving me with a baby who wasn't happy with the morning's events to begin with, plus she was leaving him with me and I had suddenly become the Antichrist in the child's eyes. Usually he lunges from his mommy's arms into mine every morning and greets me with hugs and pats, but oh no, not today. If the child had had access to a flaming torch and a pitchfork I'm pretty sure I'd be dead right now.

He doesn't cry like normal babies. This has something to do with the fact that he's not the size of a normal baby. He's HUGE. Proportionately huge, not just fat. So his cries aren't high pitched and baby-sounding, but instead they come out sounding like a wounded yeti. He did his yeti cry for 20 minutes, through breakfast and two phone conversations before I'd had enough and gave that child some Tylenol. Then we snuggled on the couch.

And of course, Cute Little Baby was seeing snuggling and he wasn't involved, so he crawled over and held his adorable pudgy hands up to me and well, I can't resist that. CBB was totally claiming territorial rights to my lap and upper body and refused to allow CLB anywhere near any snuggling appendage or surface. The fight was on. CLB was clawing at CBB's face, CBB was grunting his dissatisfaction at that which led him to head butt, which in turn made his ginormous goose egg come in contact with CLB's forehead and well, if it hadn't been so dang amusing I'd have cried with them both. Finally a partial peace treaty was reached after the tears subsided and both pursued the cuddling, wallering and general meelee that is known as "I can snuggle better than you and I am out to prove it, so there." I love my job.

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Kady is battling allergies and a sinus infection something fierce. The purple circles under her eyes last week had faded, but came back again last night. I have been worried that she would go into a full-blown asthma attack while we were without a nebulizer, but yesterday I finally got to the medical supply place and got one, so let the wheezing come. I am now prepared. Not that I want the wheezing to come, mind you. I'm just saying that now I'm only moderately worried. I hate the middle of the night wheezing, gasping for air, crying and screaming between gasps, that is a sudden asthma attack. It's scary for her and scary for me to be woke up like that.

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A few nights ago Paul went back to the big bathroom to shave. Normally he shaves in the Tinkerbell bathroom, but for some reason he didn't that night. He wasn't back there long and when he came out, unshaven, he said, "Don't use the sink in the big bathroom." I asked why and he informed me that the pipe underneath the sink had rusted through and water was just going down the drain into the cabinet underneath.

Now, nearly 2 years ago we discovered that the pipe was leaking at the joint and I had to empty the cabinet of all towels and washcloths because they were continually wet from the dripping. Ew. He was going to repair it, but the pipes looked rather thin to him and he was afraid that if he went to wrenching around on them they would burst up in the wall and we'd be in a world of hurt. So what does a redneck family do in a situation like that? Well, I'll tell you what this particular redneck family did - just leave the cabinet empty and ignore the rusty pipe. For two years. Oh, occasionally I'd ask if he could fix it and he'd shrug and grumble and then the conversation would be dropped.

Shortly after we moved in, a friend discovered that the faucet in the bathroom exactly matched the faucet in her tub and asked if I would be willing to sell it to her. You betcha. I HATE that faucet! The knobs are hard to turn for the kids and invariably the little ones leave the water running at least once a day. She bought me a new faucet and said there was no hurry, but when we were ready to replace it she'd take the old one. We've been in this house 4 1/2 years, people. And Ginger has waited oh so patiently for the faucet.

The big bathroom is our main bathroom. The bathroom where the kids and I shower and get ready. The bathroom that company uses. It's a pretty integral part of our daily life. For four days now it has been out of commission. Only the sink was unusable, but Paul isn't the neatest person when it comes to repairs and he had scattered blackened, rusted metal all over the bathroom which I did not want tracked into my carpet, so we've pretty much stayed out of there. Last night I met him on the road when I was headed to town and he was headed home. He had the necessary piece of pipe to finish the job and I sweetly asked him if, while he was in the plumbing frame of mind, he could install my new faucet as well. He agreed to it and I was ecstatic!

Then I got home last night to discover an even bigger mess in my bathroom and no new faucet. I asked him why there was no new faucet and he said, "You're not getting a new faucet because the sink is rusted through, too!" Yeah. He wasn't happy and neither was I. But I, being the sunshiney person I am, said hey, no big, we'll just get a new sink and put in the new faucet and all will be right with the world. But alas, no, it is not to be this way, thus sayeth the gods of plumbing. The vanity top was cut specially for that sink and the sink is set lower than the counter top. You just don't drop a new one on there and call it good. Which means, we have to install a new vanity and sink, plus put in the new faucet. It started as just a measley rusted pipe!!!

So when Mom called today to find out if I liked my new faucet I told her that there was no new faucet and would never be a new faucet because life sucks and I must've killed a bunch of cute fluffy kittens in a past life because all I wanted was a stupid new faucet and now my entire bathroom is USELESS and I don't have the money to fix it! The sunshiney attitude from last night was gone this morning. But my mother, the angel from heaven that she is, called TradeX in Joplin and found a white marble-y vanity top that you purchase by the foot AND a white sink to go with for $65. She was going to call some friends that do cabinets and see if they could just real quick-like cut a whole for the sink in it if we haul it out to them in the next day or two and if that happens, we'll have a new countertop, sink and faucet by the weekend! Which is good, because Jen and April's GS troop is invading our place for a haunted hayride on Saturday. We'll need a working bathroom to accomodate an extra ten little girls, who more than likely will need to pee at least once during the evening, especially after we scare them with the hayride. And I am not going to clean my bedroom enough to allow company to traipse through to use the Tinkerbell bathroom, even though it really is pretty cute.

It's Whiney Wednesday, I just realized. Eh. Go back up there and read it in a whiny voice and there - you've got my WW post.

Broccoli burps

Bleh. We ate Chinese again tonight, only this week we did it before karate instead of afterwards. So that left me lots more time to experience my body slowly dehydrating and my skin turning into the texture of a raisin. I love Chinese food, but my gosh it makes me thirsty.

And that broccoli whatever it was I ate was a big mistake.

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I bought some new shirts at Old Navy over the weekend. When I went shopping with Cousin Stacey the weekend before I bought a Halloween shirt and even though it's a little snugger than I normally wear my shirts, it wasn't vulgar and I actually got felt up by my husband the entire day I wore it. He said it made my ta-tas look big. Yes, that's actually what he said.

So the two shirts I bought are the same size as the Halloween shirt, just long sleeved and v-neck. This morning I decided to wear the black one. Omg, I felt like I was wearing shrink wrap!!! Talk about snug. Oh my gosh, it was snug. I tried to pull it out away from me, ya know, stretch it a little, but oh no, the spandex in it kept it nice and tight. I decided that I'll more than likely wear them to sleep in unless I decide to ever get serious again about the the whole weight loss thing. But then, if I sleep in them and it creeps up and gets around my neck I'm liable to be choked.

Tonight while the boys were doing karate, Sis and Melissa and I were talking and the subject of clothes came up. I mentioned the horrible Old Navy shrink-wrap I'd bought and have already washed and am now the not-so-proud owner of. I said, "Oh it was just vulgar! I had curves here and here - curves I didn't know I had! I was just positively spilling out of that thing!" Melissa and Sis exchanged knowing looks and Melissa said, "Kristin, if you have curves in strange places, they are not really curves - they are fat rolls." Heather chimed in, "Yeah. Sorry to break that one to ya. While you might be curvy, what you were experiencing were not true curves." That's brutally honest friendship right there, people.

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Tonight in Wal*Mart my children went bezerk. T-total, haywire, off the charts, wound for sound, beyond reason INSANE. Sis' kids did, too. While I was bra shopping they were all five holding bras up to their chests and going "Ooh looky at meeeeee - I have big booobieeeeeesssss!" and then would cackle hysterically. We considered just walking off and leaving them, but when we tried they followed us.

I have mentioned before to y'all about how I've broken the underwires in both of my white bras, leaving me wearing only dark-colored shirts until I find a new white bra. Well, the nearest Lane Bryants are in Tulsa and Springfield and the bras are also $32.50, so eh, not happening. I hit the bra aisle at W*M tonight and I must say, I am so spoiled to my fancy, schmancy, made for fat chicks bras. I wear a demi cup, which Sis says is obscene and perilous close to nipple exposure, but what can I say, I like my girls to breathe. Well, W*M doesn't carry a demi cup in the fat chick bra section. I ended up buying one that, while it isn't a demi cup, looks better than the turtle neck bras I was terrified of and will probably have nightmares about tonight. I'll keep you posted. I'm sure you'll be on the edge of your seats until I do.

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Driving by the Coleman Theatre tonight the marquee said MYSTERY TOURS. That means that every weekend from now until they stop doing them my sister and I will be forking over $5 at every opportunity to experience all that there is to the haunted theatre. We do it every year and every year it's freaking awesome. Dad said he'd like to go with us this year, but Sis will only let him if he keeps his mouth shut and doesn't try to analyze everything we see/hear/feel/experience. I'm not sure he can. We shall see. I am so stoked about going I can hardly stand it!! I've invited Hillbilly Mom before to come down and go through it with us, but she made up some excuse about living like, 5 hours away and blah blah blah, yada yada yada. Every party has a pooper, Hillbilly Mom. You know that, right?

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Oh yeah, forgot to mention that yesterday morning Sam had the most gruesome nosebleed ever! It was horrific and his room looked like a crime scene when it was all said and done. So that means that since Wednesday of last week I've been peed on, pooped on, puked on and now bled on. If I could find a baby to deliver and maybe someone in need of CPR, I'm pretty sure I could get my medical license and open up a practice.

Moon over Miami

As I mentioned in the last post, Mr. Diva had gone a'cuttin' wood yesterday morning. The plan had been from the beginning that he would fell the tree and me and the young'ns would come out and load it onto the trailer, then help stack it up here by the house.

So after the drama of the flaming laundry, I was eager to get out across the field and enjoy the sunshine and coolish weather. So Kady and I hopped on one four-wheeler, the other two kids got on the other and off we went, once Mr. Diva radioed in that he was ready for us.

That 3 year old of mine is a worker! She looked so cute in her lace-up ropers, Wranglers (hand me downs from Bubby, but she loves them so much!) and Disney Princess turtleneck, complete with belt and bead necklaces and bracelets declaring her Princess-hood, hair all up in a bow. That kid knows how to do manual labor - with style. Abby is stout, even if she is built like Olive Oyl. Both girls jumped right to work, really working up a sweat. Sam, however, stood over by the tractor and whined that he was hot, he was tired, he was thirsty, he was hungry. (His daddy does not tolerate laziness and I kept trying to give the kid the skunk-eye to keep him out of trouble, but to no avail. Oh the lecture he got! 7 year olds don't understand words like "work ethic", but I think he got the idea that his daddy was not real happy with him.) I went to work throwing the big logs out into the clearing so the kids (girls) could get to them easier.

Once the trailer was full, we rode back up here to the house and stacked the wood against the wall under the carport. Again, Sam whined and Mr. Diva lectured. Again, us girls worked our tails off. What was left in the clearing by then were ginormous trunk pieces that had to be split, so Mr. Diva said I could drive the tractor and trailer back while he pulled the splitter with the four-wheeler.

I hate driving that stupid tractor. I like speed and speed the tractor does not have. Even opened up all the way I feel like I'm crawling. I prefer the wind in my hair, bugs in my teeth kind of driving, not so slow that butterflies will light on you. (It has happened.) So I drove the tractor to the clearing with the kids on the trailer and Mr. Diva caught up with us pretty quick.

He had just gotten going with the splitting and the kids and I were caught up. So I was watching Kady climb on the tractor and Sam whine when suddenly I felt something crawling up my leg. Something scratchy with lots of legs and more than likely long, poisonous fangs. So I kind of squealed and batted at the poisonous critter through my pant leg. This stopped the crawling. I shook my leg, hoping that a now dead poisonous creature would fall out my pants cuff and all would be well once more. Nothing fell out, but nothing was climbing again so I was okay.

Then I felt the crawling and climbing up higher. Like behind my knee. This time it was no little squeal, but a full-fledged scream - "AYYYYIIIIIIII THERE IS SOMETHING IN MY PANTS!!!!!!!!!!" Complete with the furious smacking of my leg, jumping around in circles and much cursing. All three kids were stock still, staring at their mother who had obviously gone quite mad. Mr. Diva even stopped splitting wood and stared. The climbing would not stop and I was in a state of utter panic, so I did what any normal person with a poisonous critter in their pants would do

I dropped my laundry.

I couldn't get them unbuttoned and unzipped fast enough. Granted, we were out in the corner of the 40, but still anyone driving by would've seen my blue and white flowered panties if they had just looked to the north. The kids were cackling by this point and Mr. Diva didn't say a word, just nodded back behind me. A quick look behind me and I discovered the neighbor's grain truck just across the fence line. "Screw him. If he sees, he sees. THERE IS SOMETHING IN MY PANTS!"

I never found the pant intruder. He either flew out when my pants hit my ankles or a particularly well-executed jump sent him out the cuff. I inspected my leg for fang marks, but so far have found none. I keep checking. One can never be too careful.

I saw our neighbor drive by today. He waved a little bigger than usual. Maybe it was just my imagination. Or maybe he just liked the way I danced.

Flaming laundry

Yesterday morning all of the Divas got up early. Paul headed off to cut wood out on the other side of the 40. The kids were helping me pick up the house and put up summer clothes and hang up winter clothes. The past week had been so crazy that I was behind on laundry, so I started that with a vengeance.

I was drying my first load of the day and washing the second load while I was cleaning up the kitchen and dining room. I walked through the utility room for something and smelled something hot. Our non-burnable trash sits next to the dryer and any extra trash bags awaiting the burn pile. Never has the dryer melted a trash bag before, but that was my first thought. So I pulled the trash bags and can out to check, but nothing was melted or smoldering. While I had things pulled out I swept back there. Satisfied that my efforts were going to stop any further smoking odors I went about my business. On another trek through the utility room I noticed the smell was worse. So I shut off the dryer, opened it up to check to see if there was something plastic inside the drum. Nothing. I pulled the dryer out away from the wall - nothing suspicious back there. Satisfied once again, I turned it back on and left the room.

I was leary at this point, feeling sure that something was amiss. I went back into the utility room to find smoke pouring from the electrical outlet! I ran to the back of the house and in my best "nothing's wrong here, I'm a strong in-control mommy" voice, said, "Ab, get your jacket on for me, hon," while I jerked open the closet doors to get the fire extinguisher. "Why?" was her response. Ahh, the quizzical nature of children. "Ab, get. your. jacket. on. NOW. I need you to go get Daddy for me." Again, she queried why. On the verge of panic, I said, "BECAUSE THERE IS A FIRE IN THE UTILITY ROOM NOW GET YOUR JACKET ON!!"

My eldest child is somewhat of a mother hen, so while she got her jacket on she was keeping the other two calm, telling them to get their shoes on in case we had to leave the house. I ran to the breaker box and flipped the switch marked "Utility room". The lights went out, the washer quit filling, I had killed the power. I hollered to Abby to get on the four-wheeler and go as fast as she could across the field to her daddy, praying that the thing wasn't torqued down to a crawl, which is usually how its kept to keep the children from sure death and dismemberment. She couldn't get it started. I have never driven that particular vehicle, so I wasn't sure what to do. I said, "Calm down now, hon. Just start it like you usually would." It wouldn't start! So I ran to the pickup and laid on the horn. Sam ran to the fence and started jumping up and down and waving his arms. I laid on that horn for dear life. From where I was, I couldn't tell if Paul had seen or heard us. So I said, "Abby can you drive the other four-wheeler?" She immediately said no then a lightbulb went off and she said, "YES!! Yes I can!! YaYa just showed me a few days ago!" Bingo!

We both ran to the bigger four-wheeler and I tried to start it. It wouldnt' start either. Then it would start and die. Abby threw her hands in the air and said, "Satan's doing this to us, isn't he?" That's when it hit me to pray. Oh me of little faith. It started on the next try. She flew off across the field and I ran back into the house to monitor the smoking outlet. No smoke, no flames, I ran back outside to see the tractor, which up until this point I wasn't sure would go over 4 mph, bouncing and tearing across the field with Abby behind it, hair flying behind her. Paul jumped off and said, "What's on fire?" as he ran toward me. He pulled the dryer from the wall and said, "Did you kill the power?" I assured him that yes, I had flipped the breaker. "Are you sure?" I said, "Paul, I flipped the breaker that says Utility Room." He took that as gospel and began trying to yank the cord from the wall. Except it was melted to the outlet. Finally he pulled it free, a wisp of smoke came from the wall and he grabbed a screwdriver and began unscrewing the plate.

Nothing all that unusual, neither of us are electricians, so we weren't sure what to look for if we didn't see melted and smoking wires. He told me to call Dad. Dad ran off a list of possibilities, blamed it on the dryer, but said he'd come over and look at it. 15 minutes later Dad arrived and again asked "Is the juice off?" I again said that I had flipped the breaker to the utility room. There we all were bare hands all over the wires, crowded around shoulder to shoulder while we peered at the blackened outlet and cord. Dad couldn't see and said, "Turn on a light, Sis." I said, "Well now Dad, I just told you I had flipped the breaker when it started smoking." He stood up real quick and walked, without another word, to the breaker box. So he could flip the 220 breaker to the dryer.

Oops.

I wanted to vomit.

So I stood in the doorway to the utility room, chewing on my thumbnail, which is what I do when I get nervous or excited (and trust me, excited was not what I was feeling), silently thanking God for the angels that had kept my father and husband from being electrocuted.

When it was all done, Dad took me out to the breaker box and then showed me that the 220's are all labeled with specific appliances PLUS they are doubles. Duh. I so knew that.

An hour and a half later, a new cord in place, the dryer humming along and peace reigning once more, Dad was walking out the door. I said, "Dad, thank you so much for coming over and helping with that." He smiled and said, "Hey, no problem, kid. That's what I'm here for." Then I patted him on the shoulder and said, "Oh yeah, and sorry I tried to kill you."

It's only been a week

Yeesh, if I had half a brain I'd have remembered that I wrote a HUGE post on Tuesday night and when I went to publish it gave me that dreaded "page not available" business and then wouldn't let me back into Blogger at all, so I left the window open so I could recover the post later, BUT then a storm hit really quick and suddenly and I had to shut down and unplug everything and well, I kind of haven't plugged my computer back in until today. I kind of forgot. I wondered why there were so many comments full of concern!

Okay, now . . . where to begin . . .

Last Saturday morning I got up and put on a pot of brown beans and ham then set about cleaning the house a bit. Not much, just a bit. Then at noon, the kids and I loaded into the van and headed to Tulsa for their first trip to the airport. And my first trip since I was 17 years old. The last time I went I wasn't driving, so of course I paid no attention because I was 17 and what 17 year old actually pays attention if it doesn't directly affect or benefit them in any way? Point being, I was totally clueless as to how perilous a trip to the airport would be. Turns out - not perilous at all. Easy drive, no problems, wheeled into the short-term parking with no incident. The sign said 30 minute parking was free, after that it was $2. I was praying for an on-time flight.

So the kids and I went into the terminal that looked ginormous to us, but in all actuality is pretty small. I strolled in like I visit the airport daily. The kids walked in with eyes wide and mouths agape. I checked the flight screen and yep, the flight was on time so I was praying for the free parking thing. We found a seat because we were about 10 minutes early and I wasn't actually sure at which gate we needed to be. Then I heard the familiar ring on my cell phone that told me

COUSIN STACEY WAS IN OKLAHOMA!!!!!

We retrieved her and her luggage and headed to the van, loaded up, buckled up and made it to the toll booth thing with one minute to spare. Parking was FREE! I love it when I get my way. We drove to Casa Bonita because Cousin Stacey was jonesin' for some sopapillas, but alas they were closed. Not just closed for the day, but closed forever. It was a sad, sad day. Midnight the night before marked the end of the 30-year reign of all you can eat sopapillas at the big pink casa in Tulsa. *sniff sniff* So instead she got some Taco Bueno and called it good. She bought the kids a soda and you'd have thought that was more exciting than the trip to the airport.

We arrived back at Casa del Hoover, where you don't get all you can eat sopapillas, but you do get a noisily entertaining visit and sometimes, yellow cake with chocolate icing. Not the same, but nearly as good. She and I visited while I made cornbread, a yellow cake and an apple crisp. Up to that point we had kept the visit a secret from everyone, so we were both excited as to how it was going to play out. Tater and her tots, Mom and Bub were supposed to come out for dinner and then a casino/darts run, so I called and asked them to bring some ice cream for dessert. When Mom got there she tried to hand me the ice cream. I ignored her. She tried again to hand it to me and I just said "Would you just go put it in the freezer for me?" I know she was puzzled as to why I wouldn't take the ice cream from her, but when she walked into the kitchen and was greeted by Cousin Stacey, the screams and squeals that ensued blew away any puzzlement.

Dinner was spent catching up on family gossip and such, laughing a few times till I thought cornbread was going to come out my nose. The sitter arrived at 8:30 and we all loaded up into Paul's truck and headed to the Lucky Turtle. I'd like to think the spur of the moment trip in from NC was all about me and how much Cousin Stacey missed me, but I'm thinking the Turtle played a big part in the visit, too. ;) After the Turtle we visited Bordertown and then ended up at the Buffalo, of course.

Sunday morning, since Paul had to work, Stacey, the kids and I went to Joplin to spend Abby's birthday money. She got some really nice clothes and still had $12 of her money left at day's end. I also bought myself a $5 Old Navy Halloween shirt. Yeah, I realize it was a frivolous expenditure, but hey I was giddy with delight. Kady had a massive meltdown at the mall and that can only mean one thing - an asthma flare-up is on its way. She gets purply black circles under her eyes and her personality switches right before the wheezing begins. When we got home that evening I started her on her inhaler and so far we've kept it at bay.

Sunday night we had a weenie roast, just the family, minus Mom. That was fun. Thankfully the next day was Pajama Day at school for Spirit Week, so that justified the late bedtime for the kids. Monday was relatively uneventful around here. We went to Ladies' Night. Whoo hoo. I'm not sure I'm going back. It's become more dreadful and miserable than it is fun, as of late.

Tuesday afternoon, Sis and I drove Cousin Stacey back to the airport. Jen came out and stayed with the kids so we wouldn't have to drive with all the kids. Then we drove back in enough time to get the kids around for karate. After that Mom and Bub met us at the Chinese restaurant and there were five happy kids; they got to get their own ice cream from the machine.

And that, dear friends, is why I didn't blog last weekend and into the first part of the week.

The rest of the week I didn't blog because this has been probably one of THE worstest weeks of my entire life. Anything that could go wrong, did. I was taken advantage of, hurt, misunderstood, peed on, pooped on and finally puked on, I got my panties in a wad more than once, cried a few times, cussed a LOT, the kids have been demons from hell, and frankly, I was afraid I'd get on here and just scream, rant, rave, cuss and just generally make a fool of myself, so I refrained. The computer hasn't been even plugged in until today.

Tonight was Abby's birthday party. Most of the girls that were invited came. They had a blast. It was friggin' cold, but they still had fun. Well, when they weren't whining, that is. The fire was a hit, simply because by the time we got it built they were frozen from the hayride. But even though it was cold, the hayride was fun. After the girls left we had another hayride, just the family. We talked about the "Hudson Creek Howler" and just generally fuh-reaked all of the kids out. Sam and TotTwo ended up in the floor by our feet. Kady asked if a werewolf was going to eat us. Abby tried to poo-poo it all off and be tough and aloof, but even she got spooked. After that even-more-frigid-than-the-first hayride, we built another fire and made s'mores. Then we came back into the house so Abby could open her present from us - a karaoke machine. It's the mac daddy of karaoke machines. She was stoked. So was I. I will sing Copa Cabana in my sleep tonight, I'm sure of it.

Now my sister is on my couch under a pile of blankets, wearing my daughter's sock hat because we have no heat. The central heat doesn't work, which really isn't a big issue - we heat solely with wood anyway. BUT we have no wood cut. The house is freezing right now. Our husbands are at a casino somewhere in town. Neither has money, but they're there anyway. Sis' kids are in my kids' beds and my kids are all three sleeping in the humongous boxes that my Home and Garden Party order came in. I hope they're not practicing to be street people. They have gotten so much joy from those boxes, I am seriously considering saying to heck with Christmas presents this year, we're just giving them boxes.

Tomorrow Sis and I are taking the kids to Joplin again for more shopping. Mom gave us each some money to buy them some clothes. WHOO HOO!! Free shopping money! Okay, so it's for the kids, but still . . . FREE SHOPPING MONEY!! Abby doesn't get any more clothes, but she does get a new coat. It seems that, as per typical Oklahoma weather, we're going straight from summer into winter.

Nine years ago, right now, I was spending the longest night of my life in the hospital. Paul and I tried to sleep, but were both terrified, nervous, anxious and completely unaware of what kind of effect the child inside me was going to have on us. So far, the effects have been good ones. So much so, that we did it again twice more and nothing has been the same since.

Thanks to everyone who left comments in my absence. I hated being gone, but the break was needed even though I didn't realize it at the time. Besides, it would've just been a week full of me whining and bitching anyway. I hope to never have another one like it again. Ever.

I'm just wondering

Have y'all ever had four days in your life that you were so thoroughly entertained, occupied and just plain busy that you didn't have time to blog? And then when those four days were over you weren't busy anymore, but just too exhausted to blog?

Really? You, too?

Hmh. That makes two . . . erm . . . a bunch of us.






More to come.
I promise.