Letting go

My papa is in the hospital. We were told on Monday that he had a week, at most, left with us. I cannot express to you the number of tears that have fallen since we found out this news. There is a whole family of mostly liberal Democrats (maybe a Republican or two, but I'm not saying who that might be) who have shed many a tear in the last few days.

The kids and I went up to see him Sunday afternoon. He had been in the hospital a week I think by then and I hadn't been up to see him yet. I figured the kids might cheer him up. Up until a month ago, Papa worked full time at the Farm and Home. He had developed a rather cute gambling affection. Since he found out that the cancer was back, he's pretty much given up. He's lost weight - weight he didn't have to lose. But the man I saw sitting in that hospital bed on Sunday, sitting in the dark with his head bowed down to his chest was not that Papa. He was a sick man. Surely not my Papa.

The kids did their best to talk to him, to get him to talk back to them, as distressed as they were seeing him like that. They love their Papa Leo and think he pretty much hung the moon. Sam told him about school, they all three talked about the carnival that Grammy and Uncle David had taken them to the night before. He would hardly raise his head. We didn't stay long, but the kids - of their own volition - hugged him and told him they loved him. While I'm glad they saw him, I'm also saddened that that may very well be the picture of him they keep in their heads. Abby asked me on the way home if Papa was going to die. I replied, "Honey, no one lives forever." The kid is so much more intuitive than I give her credit for. She read right through that one, saw past my, what I thought was, a clever question-dodge. She said, "Mom. He's dying.... isn't he?"

Yes, he's dying. And I'm not ready for him to go.

I cried continually all morning Monday from when Mom called and told me what the doctor had said - that we only had a few more days to say good-bye. I wasn't planning on saying good-bye any time soon and now I'm told I have to do it in a week? To quote my children - It's not fair. I thought that my tears were all gone by afternoon. But when I told Tammy, I sobbed on her shoulder like a child. (My gosh, what would I do without her?) I cried a little more when Paul got home from work. I cried on the way to the hospital. But when Papa took Tater's hand and said he wasn't gonna make it through the night and Tater lost it - that's when my tears took a break. It's like Tater and I can't cry together, as strange as it sounds. One of us has to stay strong while the other loses it. We're a team that way. Of course, I can't see my mom cry without crying. I've been that way since I was a kid. I want to be strong for her, but at the same time I want to lay my head in her lap and have her tell me it's going to be okay.

We called in my uncle who lives an hour away. We called in my cousin who lives 2 1/2 hours away. The whole family was there at one point. We spilled out of his room into the hall. All of us grandkids were lined up down the hall, some sitting, some standing. The staff has been amazing. One nurse felt sorry for Tater and I sitting on the floor and brought us pillows. She'd check on us every half hour or so. Cousin Courtney's husband entertained us all by making Hamburger Helper's cousin, Ground Turkey Helper, out of a rubber glove and an empty DaSani water bottle. We cousins sat in the hall and recalled the moments that make us wonder to this day how we survived our childhood on Papa's farm. From setting fire to egg cartons, jumping out of the hay loft, playing in the grainery, and hanging out in the milk barn (all of us knowing exactly what Keith meant when he said "I'll never forget the sound of the milkers - donk chhh....donk chhhh") to watching Papa's cigarette dangle from his hand or lip and waiting for the ash to eventually fall onto the arm of the recliner and rushing to make sure it didn't catch us all on fire, watching endless episodes of The Lawrence Welk Show and Hee Haw, daring each other to go into the cellar and getting flogged by that very nasty rooster - we sat in that hall and recounted our childhood experiences on that farm. Papa has given us so much and he probably doesn't even realize he's done it.

During one of the times that I found myself sitting in his room, I took the time to look around at my family sitting there with me. I have never seen my mom and uncles look so tired in my whole life. I consider my mom a very strong woman, but I saw her looking very vulnerable and so incredibly small and sad Monday night. Uncle Larry looked like he could drop at any second. He looked tired and sad and concerned. Uncle David is one of the most Godly men you could ever meet and he always has such a peace about him. In times of mourning and sadness, Uncle David can find peace and comfort in his faith and in God, but I watched him sit next to Papa's bed and cry that night and I felt so helpless. Cousin Courtney was the one who said it best - "There has never been a time that I thought Papa wouldn't be there. He's just supposed to always be here."

Tater and I stayed until 3:30am Tuesday morning. By that point Papa was breathing just a little better and was trying to rest. We knew Uncle Larry needed some sleep, too. Mom was coming up at 5, so we felt like we could go. We had kids to get up for school, husbands to get off to work, I had daycare kids arriving by 7. We left, both of us cried out and exhausted. I caught a few hours of sleep, got up and showered and began my day. Every time the phone rang, I jumped. No call came during the day and I tried to focus my attention on the sick babies crawling and toddling about my toyroom, praying that no germs were attaching themselves to me, obsessively washing and Germ-Xing my hands throughout the day. This is not a real great time for me to get sick.

Monday night the lights in Papa's room stayed off. The TV stayed off. His head remained down. He didn't speak, he didn't do anything more than struggle for every breath. We didn't do more than sit and watch him and pray and cry. When we got to the hospital last night, we noticed that from the parking lot his room looked completely dark again. They had moved him to a double room so the family could have more room to gather and not spill out into the hall so much. I'm telling you, the staff has been incredible. The lights were on, the TV was on - I breathed a sigh of relief. We stopped at the waiting area before going into his room and the cousins said he had drank some V8 and had even toasted them with it. He was listening to the election results and I thought, Okay, so the doctor was wrong.

But when Tater took his hand, we noticed his fingers were blue. It was a stark reminder that he's really not going to get better, no matter how much we want him to. His body is slowly giving out. They hooked him up to a morphine pump yesterday as well, to sedate him and help him breathe. He's not in any pain at all, though. For that, I am so grateful.

Every adult loses a close relative or two. Since getting married, I've lost a grandmother, two first cousins, a great-grandmother and a great-uncle. I mourned every one of them - some more intensely than others. Some were such a relief, knowing they were no longer suffering. I'm trying to look at it like that with Papa - when he goes Home, he'll be able to breathe again, that tumor will be gone and won't be squeezing his lung, he'll be with Memaw once again, he'll get to see his parents and Uncle Homer. I'm trying to look at it that way, but the selfish part of me wants to go in there and tell him that I am just not ready for him to go. None of us are. We still have gambling to do out at the "Bison Run" as he calls it. His great-grandkids want to go to his house so they can obliterate the can of cashews on his end table in 2 minutes flat. I want to hear him tell just a few more stories about growing up in a time when it took a whole day to get from Edmond to Oklahoma City in a wagon. I want to just know that he's in that house on G Street and that he's there if I need him.

But maybe he's tired and just wants some rest. I have a feeling that Mamaw's been working extra hard up there in Heaven's kitchen these last few days. She's probably made a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies, a few dozen custard pies and some of her hot rolls. Maybe it's time for him to rest and catch up with her. Maybe it really is time to let him go.




Please keep us in your prayers and thoughts, friends.

P-P-P-P

Kady is learning what sounds go with certain letters. She's constantly going through the house going "B-B-Ball! That's a B!" and "T-T-Truck! Truck starts with T!"

Yesterday I was brushing her hair and she said, "Momma, what does Ponytail start with?" I said, "P-P-Ponytail. What letter is that?" She proudly exclaimed "P!" I said, "Yes. What other words start with the P sound?" She thought for a minute and said, "Pumpkin?" I said, "Yes. And Pot. Pirate. Play."

She was really getting into it and offered a few more words that began with P. Then she said, "And Pissed!"

Photoblog Phriday - Phinally!

I can't wait until the year that I can convince my children to all three dress in one collective theme for Halloween. This year I had two Goth children and one Disney pixie.



I think maybe the dark-sided ones had an affect on the pixie....



But here she is after some exorcising Photoshopping.


She had glitter around her eyes, but eventually she scratched at it and messed with it so much that she looked like LeperBell instead of TinkerBell.



Now, I must say that even though Kady was awful goshdarn cute and adorable, LOOK AT WHAT I DID TO MY OTHER TWO KIDS! I have to admit, I'm pretty proud of those getups.

I woke the kids up 45 minutes early Halloween morning that that sufficient makeup-ing could be done. I think losing nearly an hour of sleep was worth it to them because everyone thought they looked awesome. One teacher called Sam "Tommy Lee" all day. His teacher said she'd been calling people into her room all day to check him out. And man, did he play the part. He scowled at everyone and slouched like a punk with serious attitude.

When we went to the nursing home to see Nana, the residents were lined up all the way down the hall to hand out candy. One old man grabbed Sam by the arm and said, "Boy, you don't wear earrings all the time, do you?" Sam shook his head quickly and said, "No sir!" Sam liked his outfit so much, though, that his father felt compelled to reiterate many times the fact that in the event he would ever come home with a piercing of any kind it would promptly be pulled out. Violently.



Abby looked wicked hateful in that picture, but she's entirely too happy of a kid to scowl around all day like her brother did. Sam's a happy kid, too, but he's much more of an actor than she is. She's also so much like I was when I was a kid - she checked with the office on Monday to make sure she could wear her nose ring and wouldn't get in trouble for it.

Does she not look like she could bite the head off of a live bat and then groan and complain about how unfair living and breathing is?

Halloween Horrors

Agh. The older my kids get, the more trauma they put me through come Halloween time every year.

Year before last, I made frantic searches through every flea market, resale shop and junk store in town in an effort to find a gypsy blouse, skirt and scarves. I think that was also the year I drove to Joplin to the very scary costume shop looking for a Lone Ranger mask. They didn't have any, so I went to the adult toy store and the clerk said, "Honey, I have plenty of masks here, but none of them have eye holes."

Occasionally we luck out - like the year I found a Beast costume (From Disney's Beauty and the Beast) at the Disney Store for $10. And last year when both girls wanted to be witches. Or the year Abby was Kim Possible. That was wayyyyyyy easy. She still grumbles about how no one recognized who she was, too.

I don't know why I put myself through this. It's not like when I was a kid - they don't have costume contests at school. I don't know why I strive for such perfection when it comes to Halloween costumes.

I don't know why this year I have probably spent close to $75 on the kids' costumes. Well, not Kady - she going as Tinker Bell and using her cousin's borrowed costume. Totally $0 spent.

The other two - agh, my husband would kill me if he knew how much money I've spent on their stuff. It's a good thing I won at the casino last night. I have to use my gambling addiction money to pay for my irresponsible spending of money at the mall yesterday.

Abby has known for months that she wanted to be Goth for Halloween. And Sam has also known for months that he wanted to be Napoleon Dynamite. And he was so excited about it that he refused to tell anyone at school what he was going to be. I am so thankful for his desire to keep it secret because now his Napoleon dreams have been shattered. Last year you could've choked on the overabundance of Napoleon stuff - this year NOTHING.

Three weeks ago I braved Spencer's on the mall - a store that quite frankly gives me nightmares - and found a ND costume. For an adult, though. But really, the dude wore a Vote For Pedro t-shirt and jeans. Moon boots can be bought at The Friendship House. All I needed was a wig and glasses. Unfortunately they were out, but would be getting some in the next Tuesday. Obviously I missed that Tuesday boat and upon inquiring yesterday of the very scary witch-thing behind the counter, they were out and "You kind of waited till the last minute, didn't you?" If I'd wanted her witchy comments I'd have rammed her broom up her hoohah and asked her.

So I said, "Son? How would you like to be your sister's very scary and depressed Goth little brother?" He was totally on board because he is such a good kid and he could see the panic on his mother's face that oh holy night we are three days away from Halloween and you, my child, have no costume!

So then we began a new search on the mall - for black clothes. My son is a little junior redneck. He wears cowboy-cut Wranglers and cowboy boots. He wears the occasional pair of windpants and tennis shoes. He doesn't own black clothes. He is also a skinny little fart and there are no size 8 slim black jeans or pants anywhere in the SW corner of Missouri or the NE corner of Oklahoma. None.

We went to Hot Topic on the mall. We were lured there by the screaming, raging noise emitting from the speakers and wafting out onto the mall, causing every person above the age of 35 to cut a wide berth around the entrance and shield their small children from the possible corruption in the airwaves. Now, 18 or so years ago, I'd have been all over that store. The noise, the darkness, the bleakness, the utter rebellion in the woodwork - yeah, I'd have brought my sleeping bag and moved into the stockroom just to be a part of the perpetual gloom. I figured we'd hit the jackpot - even if we couldn't find clothes, we'd be able to find accessories and makeup.

Now, for the record, I totally dressed "Mom" yesterday. I normally wear my flare-leg jeans and low-cut tops when I venture out of Daycare Land where the official motto is "All Sweats, All The Time", but yesterday I grabbed the one pair of straight-leg jeans I own and a Halloween t-shirt with a stupid smiling scarecrow on it. I should've gone with my Old Navy Halloween shirt from last year to at least give me some street cred, but nooooooooooooo I had to go with the t-shirt that just screams "I am a 33 year mother of three that now only reads historical romance novels and flosses daily." Seriously. The shirt screamed that. It didn't state plainly that I abhor historical romances and I haven't flossed since the last time I ate a steak and had a piece of meat caught between a couple of molars. It blatantly covered up the fact that I would've SO been Goth had my father not been a Southern Baptist music minister when I was a teen.

So when I asked the pregnant Goth clerk with red eye makeup and approximately 27 piercings (yes, I tried to count) for some help, she looked me up and down and gave me a look that said, "You're friends with my mother, aren't you?" I wanted to show her my tattoos, tell her I secretly desire a tongue piercing and that I dressed as a funeral mourner for Halloween the year I was 18. But instead I said, "Could you help me? I have two kids that want to be Goth for Halloween and you look to be a fairly good source of this kind of information." And instead of just giving me the look, she said, "You're friends with my mother, aren't you?" She - without making eye contact - told me that she didn't have clothing in his size and maybe he should dress up as a Ninja or something. I tried to not be offended. I tried to look impressed and sound cool when she showed me the Bloody Mary brand Goth makeup and I said, "Oooh, this is the best stuff on the market." But instead of sounding cool I sounded like I'd read Consumer Reports.

Finally I just purchased a compact of corpse-white makeup and ran from the store with two very frightened daughters in tow and one head-banging son. When we got out onto the mall again, Abby let out a big breath and said, "Mother. Please. don't. ever. take. me. in. there. again." So I really don't think we have to look forward to a teenagehood of Goth for her. Not if the stores scare her. It took promising Kady something from The Great American Cookie Company just to get her to let go of my leg. She was pale, wide-eyed and shaking. Sam, however, was all but writhing on the floor, yelling, "Mom! Can we get that CD?"

We went to Claire's after that and found Abby a clip-on nose ring and Sam some magnetic skull earrings. We also loaded up on black plastic barbed wire-looking bracelets. At Wal*Mart I found a black turtleneck for Sam, (no pants) got more black plastic bracelets and a chain for Sam. It's actually a women's necklace, but I'm going to rig it up to his wallet somehow and have it hang down his leg. I saw a guy with that at Wal*Mart yesterday and stared at him so long while trying to figure out how it was done, that he looked at me and said, "You're friends with my mother, aren't you?"

Playing dress-up

Abby is going to be Goth for Halloween this year, so tonight Tater and I have been playing with her makeup. I don't have any real Goth-white foundation and Wal*Mart doesn't carry it, so we're using the white greasepaint-type stuff from a Halloween Makeup Kit from Wal*Mart.

Tater put it on Ab's face and instantly we knew it was a bit too much. We're going for a deathly ill pasty look - not mime-a-licious. Tater made a face and said, "Well, Ab, you could always go as a geisha."

Abby shrugged her shoulders and said, "Okay. But do I have to kiss a girl?"

That's my boy

Sam is home sick today with a barking cough that frankly frightens the poo outta me. Kids are not supposed to sound like a bassett hound that has a possum treed. But that's just my opinion.

He's spent the morning so far lying on the couch slipping in and out of consciousness thanks to a liberal dose of Tylenol Sore Throat which is like a double shot of Jim Beam followed by a chaser of vodka and tequila. When his drunk finally wore off he asked if he could play PS2 and I said yes simply because I was just glad he wasn't in a coma.

I've been cleaning house, doing laundry, chasing toddlers and wiping baby butts and haven't paid much attention to him other than to occasionally go in and spray him down with Lysol, but a few minutes ago he found me in the laundry room and asked me to come see something.

The TV screen showed playing cards on the green fabric of a card table, not unlike what you'd see at any regular ol' real-life casino, or the places I otherwise like to call "home". The amount in his account was $4623. I said, "Wow, buddy! You won all that money playing Blackjack!?" He grinned proudly and said, "No, I was playing Snap." I have no idea what Snap is, but he is obviously good at it. I said, "Well, way to go, son. You seem to be pretty good at it." And while I was there I took a moment to kiss his forehead to check for fever, then I roughed up his hair and said, "You look like you're feeling better."

He said, "Yeah. I'm good. Okay, Mom, you can go back to what you were doing. I gotta get back to my gambling. You know, I love me some casino action."

And my heart swelled with so much pride I think I wet myself. Just a little.

Excuses, excuses

I've been sick and busy this week. So sick Tuesday that I actually called in sick. I haven't done that in a long time. I slept all day and felt horrible that I left my daycare parents in the lurch, but agh, I felt like crap. Sam's home today, sounding like a baby bassett hound with all his barking. We're hosting a GS slumber party tonight (was originally supposed to be a camp-out and weenie roast, but the rain has put a royal damper on that) and so in the process of cleaning house and getting ready for that, I'm following Sam around with a can of Lysol in an attempt to rid his wake of germs.

I've gone all the way back to this post to reply to comments, so firstly, I apologize for not replying sooner. And secondly, if you've replied, well, now so have I. Sort of. So start there and work your way forward. I'm slowly but surely getting them all taken care of.

I'll try to be a better blogger. Y'all must really love me to hang around here the way you do.

Speed. I am speed. I also eat paint.

I am so tired of white walls that I simply had to go with a color in Sam's room. I can't wait until I get every room in this house painted a color. I hate white walls! (Paul blames HGTV for my new love of colored walls. My mother-in-law said that if I paint the living room "pumpkin" like I want to, that she'll vomit on the carpet the first time she walks in, guaranteed.) When we made the toyroom the toyroom I took a big jump (for me, at the time) and painted the one sheetrocked wall pink, yellow and green pastels. (Different panels of the wall. I didn't just throw paint all over it willy-nilly.) But now....oh now since HGTV has gotten its claws into me....pastels just aren't enough. I need color!! Bright, vibrant color. My mom painted her dining room brick red and a gorgeous yellow that I just LOVE. So my rants about color aside.....here's Sam's room:

Still needs curtains and need blinds. Mom's taking care of the curtains and a bedspread for his birthday. Shhh...don't tell.

The vibrantly blue bookcase:

That bookcase has been mine since I was a baby. My Poppy made it for me. Until Friday, it was the same white that it's been since he painted it when he built it.

The Tow Mater poster that was used as a consolation prize since he didn't get a highway painted around his room. I'm still on the lookout for some Route 66 signs. That shouldn't be a problem since we live on old Route 66. It's just a matter of getting them.

The metal on his desk and the wood parts of his chair are going to be painted Lightning McQueen red the next time I get some days off.

And as promised...a picture of me....eating paint.



And then sharing with my nephew and youngest child. Because I'm just really nice that way.

That explains it

Phone call from my mother in law Wednesday morning after the whole Jake debacle -

Martha: I'm sorry to bother you. I know you're kind of upset over Jake right now.

Me: Eh, I'm okay. I'm just pissed off. What'd you need?

Martha: Well, I just got to thinking....maybe we should have a laying-on of hands for ol' Jake. I mean, he's got a spirit of thievery in him and we need to cast out that demon!

.....

.....

Martha: (Laughs hysterically)

Me: (Joins in laughing hysterically. I was worried for a few minutes.)

Martha: Really, though, Kristin. I know why he did it. He's a male and he's frustrated. Paul told me that their dog was in the stock trailer, so of course he was frustrated! I mean, he's a male. He has needs. I guess it'd be only natural that if you're horny and you can't get to what it is you're wanting, you'd chew up a lawnmower seat.

Me: Ya know, now that you mention it.....that explains it.

Martha: What?

Me: I wondered why Paul was out in the barn chewing on the tractor seat the other night. Now I know.

I break for Fall

I've had four glorious days off of work and I haven't rested a bit. Oh, I take that back - I haven't gotten up before 10 every morning except today (I only slept until 9 today), but in my defense I've stayed up rather late every night to balance out the slothfulness of the morning.

Thursday I kept Tater's kids, but left them with Paul while Abby and I went to town for her yearly well-kid checkup. And I know I'm going to get flack on this from Tater, I'm going to say it anyway - Abby is now 4'9" and doesn't have to ride in a carseat anymore!! Tater says I'm making a big deal out of it, but I think it's pretty monumental considering the child has been restrained in a hard plastic seat of some kind since birth. Now she gets to enjoy the freedom that is a seatbelt alone. I think it's a big deal. (So nyah, Tater.)

After her checkup we went to Wal*Mart and bought paint for Sam's room. I traipsed in there with his brand new Cars pillowcase and held the part of the case with 'Mater on it up to many, many paint samples until I found just the right coordinating brown for ol' Tow Mater. Then I bought a quart of blue that just perfectly matches the blue in his sheets to paint the book case and shelves in his closet. Then I bought black to paint a highway around his room, like a border. I'll be taking that black back, btw. I'll explain later.

By the time we got home Paul had taken down Sam's shelves, but that was it. No moving furniture, no taking posters down, no nothing, so I grumbled and started on my own. Thankfully the man came in and helped. Guess he just needed me to get him started. The kids played while we painted. Abby came in and wanted to paint, so we let her have the closet. Then we let Sam have a go, but he got bored with it. Kady had a few swipes at the wall as well, but letting a 4 year old paint....well, my blood pressure couldn't handle that. We finished things up around 4 because we were supposed to go to Dad's to go through Nana's things.

Long story short - no one else in the family showed up, except for Tater and I. I was not real happy about that. The plan was that all family members were supposed to come over at the designated time and place, go through Nana's things, take anything they wanted as a keepsake, memento and then my stepmom and I were going to have a garage sale on Saturday. But the ad didn't get put in the paper, so we didn't do a garage sale Saturday, but I think we've decided to put it in a consignment auction anyway. Less hassle, methinks. I'm still just a hair miffed at the family's lack of help, though.

We visited with Dad and our stepmom awhile, then we came back here to our completely trashed house. I then immediately called Tater to see if she'd watch the kids. I couldn't stay in this horrible house one more second. I cannot believe how much disaster and mayhem the content's of one little boy's room can cause. Paul and I visited with the Not-So-Lucky Turtle then came home to our disastrous house, but I went to sleep so I blocked it from my vision with my closed eyelids.

Friday morning I slept till 10 again, but got right up and got busy with painting the bookshelves in Sam's room, did a second coat on his walls and waited rather impatiently while they dried. The house was beyond bothering me at that point - I was borderline insane. So what did I do since I had a trashed house and tons of things to do? I called Mom and Tater to see if they wanted to have a weenie roast.

Everyone came over around 5:30, Paul cleaned out the fire ring and built us a not-so-blazing fire and we roasted weenies, torched a few marshmallows and yelled at the kids to "STOP RUNNING IN THE FIRE RING!!" Good times. After everything that was scheduled to be roasted was roasted, we came in the house to warm up and Tater and I started taping off the highway that was supposed to run all the way around Sam's room.

See, I just wanted to paint a black highway with white lines all the way around his room, like a wallpaper border, except it wouldn't be wallpaper, it would be painted with love by his mother. I am not a real genius when it comes to measuring. Case in point: Two years ago we got vertical blinds in the living room. Custom-made vertical blinds in the living room. Paul told me to measure and tell the people what we needed. When we got the blinds here, they were 1/4" too long. Dad had to come over and he and Paul had to cut the custom-made blinds. So see? I'm just not the person you call when you need something measured. After much hilarity at me measuring the stupid walls and Tater playing with the laser level, we began taping with painter's tape. Until we got to the first window and we were about 1/4" off from where we'd started. We hollered for Paul who came in and got us back on track, but when you'd stand across the room and look, the tape was just as wavy as all get out. I wasn't going to paint a wavy highway on my son's walls, so I called him back there, told him the highway project was much like many Oklahoma highway projects and would have to be postponed until further notice. But I offered to buy him a new poster, so he was totally cool with it.

Yesterday morning the kids and I got Sam's room put back together. It turned out SO cute! Then we went to Wal*Mart to get organizational stuff. I have been watching entirely too much HGTV - Mission: Organization mainly. Omg, I'm totally addicted to that show. So we loaded up on totes, baskets, drawered organizers, etc. Last night at 10:30 I finished the girls' room, except for Kady's desk. I could've finished it, but Abby was wanting to go to bed. A friend's of Sam's was over and his momma was gonna be late, so after my kids crashed that kid was still going strong. I gave him the DVD remote, told him where to find the kid videos and headed out here to my office. I worked until 12:30 when his momma got here. I have every intention of completely finishing up my office today. We have a GS fundraiser starting this week, so I really kind of HAVE to.

Also today I have to get the toyroom in order because we're completely doing away with the daycare room in the next few weeks. We'll finish out the final weeks of Diva Daycare in my living room with only a few toys. Kind of sucks for the kids, and yeah, it will be cramped, but I have tons of things to do and only a small amount of time to get them done. Thanksgiving and Sam's birthday are quickly approaching, then the annual Christmas Shindig, then the end of the daycare, Kady's birthday, Christmas, New Year's/anniversary and 3 weeks after Christmas we head to Disney World, not to mention I start school right after the first of the year. I have to start getting toys divided out - quite a few of the toys are on loan from the kids' parents, plus a playpen and a crib. I need to start getting those things divided out and sent back, then start paring down the toys that my kids actually own because when the girls' rooms are separated once more they'll have their own toyboxes in their own rooms. WHOO HOO! I'm also fairly certain that Paul won't want to sleep in a room where one wall is painted pastel yellow, pink and green, so I'm going to paint that wall brick red. And also a tall shelf that is now cubbies for the daycare, but will be transformed into some kind of brick-red-colored clothes-holding structure that will be filled with those cloth-covered baskets that they always use on Mission:Organization when they overhaul someone's house. I tell you, I'm addicted.

Wow. I apologize for the torture you just endured by reading this post. I'll try to make it up to you by posting pictures of Sam's new room. Will that make it up to you, my friends? There's one of me pretending to lick the paint brush. I turned Abby loose with my camera and she was barking out orders for us to pose. And we did it. She's a very convcincing 10 year old. And we were all high on paint fumes.