Survival


I managed to survive my weekend with Betsy and her bridesmaids. In spite of the fact that I was at least four years older than all of them and a bit grown out of my party-girl days, I had a lot of fun. I dropped Abby and Perrin off at my mom's on Friday night and stayed over at Will and Betsy's as we were planning on getting an early start for KC in the morning. Of course, get a bunch of girls together and they'll stay up half the night talking (and drinking in our case). At least Jenny and Katie got naps in on the way down. We went to Oceans of Fun first thing. My feeling self-conscious in a bathing suit lasted less than ten minutes. I may not have a flawless body, but most of the women surrounding us at Oceans of Fun made me look like Jessica Alba in comparison. Okay, maybe not QUITE that good, but pretty darn close. There were even women with smaller breasts than mine. Seriously! I know, I didn't think it was possible either!

After a few hours of water play, we checked into the hotel and got ready to go out. It's a good thing we don't all live together. Four girls trying to get ready in one hotel room is a near nightmare. Especially when they all need showers to wash off the chlorine from swimming. We made it work though and it went better than I thought it would. Ever the pessimist. We went out to eat at this awesome underground restaurant called Boca. Italian, of course. It had I don't know how many rooms and seemed like it went on forever. The food was excellent and so was the bartender. I was all warm and fuzzy after two drinks. It made me a little unsure of my ability to keep up with Betsy, Jenny, and Katie all night. Turns out, after I actually ATE something, I felt better. Go figure.

After dinner, Betsy's parents dropped us off on Westport in the middle of the bars. Then the drinking REALLY started. Naturally, Betsy was all decked out in "bride-to-be" paraphernalia so we drew all sorts of attention. Not paying any covers was a nice bonus. We met a group of guys having a bachelor party in the first bar. I believe they'd already had a good start on their drinking. Each of our groups made up a list of ten things to do before the night was over for the other group. Of course, most of their list was about showing your boobs to six guys from Minnesota. Can you guess where they were from? Real original guys. It was also at this bar that we decided to use my permanent marker to keep a drink tally on each of our arms all night.

From there, we went to a couple of places we weren't all that impressed with and finally ended up at a place called "Dueling Piano Bar". It was fun. The best, by far. The guys on the pianos up front meant there was never a dull moment. They entertained the crowd with everything from Disney themes to "It's Hard to Say 'I Love You' When You're Sitting On My Face". In between drinks, we all got hit on by guys in various stages on intoxication. The one that we actually had a good time with was this older gentleman who Betsy dubbed "Rodney" because she thought he looked like Rodney Dangerfield. He kept asking her to dance. Once he decided to give her a break, he turned his attentions to me. I don't dance. Only, by this time, I'd had enough to drink that I heard myself say "okay". Thank goodness I still maintained some degree of gracefulness. Not that I ever have much. I didn't step on his feet at all and followed his lead with only one minor mistake. It's not like it was complicated, but I'm still kind of proud of myself for remaining upright (except for the dipping) on my tall shoes. He was a sweet old guy. He kept telling me what a natural I was and that my husband needed to take me out dancing. He made me feel pretty though, and I thanked him for that as the bar closed. I told him how rare that was for me. It still makes me smile.

Once the bar closed, Jenny and I were starting to feel the weight of the day and wanted to call it a night. It was just after two in the morning. Betsy wanted to stay out 'till three, but by that time, she had no idea what time it was anyway. By the time her dad got there to pick us up, we were the only white people (besides police officers on foot, in cars, on bicycles, on horseback, etc. I'm not kidding. They were EVERYWHERE) to be seen in any direction. It was a good time to head back. We made it to the hotel without anyone puking, although Betsy came close. If I counted the tally marks on my arm correctly, it's a wonder I didn't too. Guess I can hold my liquor better than I thought. Betsy had us all beat, though. She had eleven tally marks and most of them were shots. Needless to say, she passed out as soon as we hit the hotel room. At least she had a good night!

We all slept pretty much the entire way back to Des Moines. I really thought I'd be sick, but it was just tired. I napped a lot Sunday, but by Monday I felt like normal again. Boring old normal. Expect that I've had a lot to do this week. The cats had their big vet visit yesterday. They are now incapable of reproducing and have no front claws. They were so out of it all evening I felt kind of bad. They're much better today. Charlie even kept me up half the night licking my hair. Obviously, he's not mad at me.

I took Perrin to get his hair cut this afternoon. I made sure to have the lady leave it long enough to cover his ears on the sides since they tend to stick out. It sort of disguises them. He doesn't look so much like a girl now, although I liked his hair the way it was. I thought it might be nice for him to have a more boyish haircut for his stint as ring bearer. I'm still kind of nervous about the kids being in the wedding. I just KNOW they're going to do something embarrassing. Please, let me have a sense of humor that day! More importantly, let everyone ELSE have one that day!

Change In Plans


I'm going to KC after all! My mom got back to town today so she's letting me leave the kids with her. I'm more than grateful for this considering she just spent the past week taking Sam to Arizona for his orientation for college. She could have told me no, but my mom is great. And I am thankful. Maybe she knows I could use a night out with the girls or she knows I never had a bachelorette party of my own. Whatever the case, thanks Mom!

I'm looking forward to this more than I probably should be. As you know, I don't get out much. I also don't drink like I used to. I guess that means it'll be cheaper for me to drink, right? I must remember not to wear tall shoes. I like to think I know my limits, but just in case, I don't want to wear anything that will making walking in a straight line harder. At least Betsy's parents are going with us to be our designated drivers. She assures me they're pretty laid back. And they'd have to be, wouldn't they?

I forgot to ask if the other girls going are married or not. I suppose it doesn't really matter, but does being married mean behaving differently at things like this? Do I have to act all grown-up or do I get a free pass to act like I did "back in the day"? I don't mean picking up guys or crap like that. (Although if they want to buy me drinks I might let them. Just don't get any ideas, punk.) I guess I don't really know what I mean. For once, I can't seem to describe what I mean. Weird.

Whatever happens, I'll likely enjoy myself and maybe even take lots of pictures. If they turn out to be the kind that shouldn't be shared, well...

Musings on Heirs


My sister-in-law, Alicia, is pregnant. I'm excited for them, as they have been married longer than we have and this is their first child. That makes one sister-in-law and three cousins of mine who are expecting at the moment. I'm staying away from the water. I'd better warn my soon-to-be sister-in-law, Betsy, too. I'm pretty sure she and Will are planning to wait awhile before adding a human baby to the family. I think Patrick, the puppy, is enough entertainment for them now. Of course, I think they're going to make excellent parents. That's why they're our choice for guardians if anything should ever happen to us. Not sure about the kittens, though...

Back to Alicia. Because she is my sister-in-law, her child will be my niece or nephew, effectively making me an aunt. Obviously. I'm going to be Auntie Em. Yes, I find this funny. Rather than being annoyed by it (like my younger brother Sam who became "Uncle Sam" when Abby was born), I'm going to embrace it. Maybe I'll even get a house in Kansas. I like "Auntie Em" much better than "Aunt Emily". Aunt Emily sounds like a little old lady. Someday, that may suit me, but definitely not yet!

Speaking of Kansas (or, rather, Missouri), Betsy's having a sort of bachelorette getaway this weekend in Kansas City and I want to go. I'm invited, that's not the issue. The problem is that Heath is going to an arena football game with Will and both of my parents are out of town. It's not fair. I want to have a night out with the girls, even if I only know one of them. Besides, I'll bet they could use a photographer. I'll bet there will be drinking and I would love to have a chance to do that with just girls for a change. Anyone want to volunteer to watch my kids this weekend? Haha. Oh, well. Maybe next time, right?

Watching "The Other Boleyn Girl" the other day inspired me to do some reading about English history. I read a book yesterday that covered some 300 years including the Tudors and Elizabeth I. It was rather bare bones type stuff, but it was interesting. The only thing that bothered me was the fact that the British historian who wrote the book seems to have a very low opinion of Shakespeare. For a man who is, quite possibly, England's greatest bard, giving him a mere few sentences seems like an insult. Chaucer and his pervy tales got an entire chapter. Needless to say, I think it's absurd to have given Shakespeare so little.

After finishing the first book, I began one on the wives of Henry VIII. I'm already intrigued by Anne Boelyn, but I want to know more about each of the six women who endured such a man. Divorced, beheaded, died... Divorced, beheaded, survived. Thank goodness men can't behead their wives for not producing a male heir these days. At least not here in the United States. Not legally anyway. Although, I'd be safe, I suppose. I feel for poor Catherine of Aragon, though. So many stillbirths and miscarriages. I don't know how she kept it together. Especially married to Henry. I'm pretty sure I'd have been beheaded fairly quickly.

On that note, I'm going to do some more reading and be grateful for the fact that I'm not medieval royalty.

Sleepless Again


Last night was unpleasant. I went to bed early feeling sick. Not too long after I fell asleep, some vile insect or arachnid bit me on the cheek and in felt like a bee sting. Having been so rudely awakened, I got up and went to take my nightly supplements. Heath is in the basement playing "Grand Theft Auto" with Abby. Yeah. I thought we'd agreed about that game. (He later told me he wasn't killing anybody or anything, just letting her drive the tractor. ????) So that got me all annoyed and I couldn't go back to sleep. I checked my face in the mirror to see if whatever it was that bit my face left a mark. Didn't see anything. If we had ducks in the house there would be no bugs. Of course, there would be duck poop...

Eventually Heath put the kids to bed and came in to go to sleep. We had a brief "discussion" about the video game with me being extra crabby since I wasn't feeling good and was still a bit pissed about the bite thing. (Aren't you glad you married me, dear?) I don't even really remember what we said, but I think we went to sleep on good terms at least. (If not, put a quarter in the "Bad Wife" jar for me.) FYI: The Breathe Right strips don't really stop snoring. I took something to help me sleep, but ended up crawling into Perrin's race car bed desperate for sleep. I had just curled up with my pillow when the rain started. Then the tornado siren, which they have finally mended, by the way. It's definitely working properly now. Wow.

Heath and I took the kids and went to the basement. I checked the weather and we all settled down onto the couch. Yes, it's that big. Then the power went out. Then it came back on. Then it went out and stayed out. Which means, (Oh, can you guess?) the sump pump was out of commission. And it was still raining. Next, Perrin starts saying he's going to puke. Rather than risk him puking on the new couch, I took him upstairs (by the light of the cell phone). The tornado sirens had ceased rattling the windows of the house so I decided it must be safe. He ended up puking once. In the toilet, thank goodness. I was really hoping to avoid scrubbing vomit out of the carpet in the near total darkness. There's the silver lining, folks.

We all finally got back into our beds. I stayed with Perrin in case he threw up again. Just as I'm falling asleep, this giant machine grumbles down the road and starts removing tree branches from a house 'round the cul-de-sac a bit. I guess it's dangerous to leave tree branches in the middle of the road when all the street lights are out. It took him several tries and a lot of backing up (backup sensor in working fine) to get it done, but yay for him.

By this time, it was nearly dawn and I was cross indeed. I don't feel like I got any sleep and the power didn't come back on until mid-afternoon. At least the basement didn't flood again. (Another silver lining) Did I mention I didn't get much sleep? Is the world really against me? It's probably retribution for all the sleeping-in I did in high school. They warned me about this.

I had about thirty library books that were due today so I couldn't sleep all day. I took both kids to both libraries we frequent and they actually behaved surprisingly well. I was optimistic about how much I'll be able to read in the next three weeks and picked up several new books to read that don't have pictures. I also got an email from Sarah today, who informs me that the only ones allowed to call someone "emotionally unstable" are those who are also "emotionally unstable". She was offended that someone called me that. I love having a best friend who sticks up for me. So, to the person who called me "emotionally unstable", take it back or join the ranks!

I'm just teasing. Sort of. I can take the occasional hurtful comment if I know it's meant to improve me as a person. That's constructive criticism, right? I've known one or two people in my life who used to be really excellent at giving that to me. Not that I LIKED it, mind you.

A friend of mine sent me an email of famous women caught without makeup. I have to admit, I felt better about myself after seeing it. I'm just glad I don't have people stalking me with cameras all the time. Still, having a team of professionals to pretty me up and take pictures would be nice to try just once. That's likely the only way there will ever be viewed photos of me around. We all know I'm much better at being behind the camera than in front of it.

I forgot to mention the rest of the story about the bite. By this afternoon, I'd developed this weird spot of almost burned looking skin from whatever bit me. It doesn't hurt, but it looks like I have an abnormal birthmark. That creepy little bastard better pray I don't find it and that this mark goes away soon. Otherwise, I may just go buy a duck.

My Day Off


I had a day without the kids on Wednesday. What did I do with all that freedom, you ask? I tended to a few things I'd been putting off for long enough and then I went shopping. The funny thing is, I don't actually LIKE shopping all that much. I never have. (Unless it's for books.) Heath would probably beg to differ based on our bank account alone, but I swear, it's not because I actually like shopping. It's more about boredom and this weird need for stuff I seem to have. I have "stuff" that I've never even taken the tags off of or removed from their packages and even I can't remember how long I've had them. I find things buried in piles of stuff (yes, more stuff) that I had completely forgotten about buying but I seemed to think I needed it at the time apparently. It's this disease that I can't seem to cure. They probably have anonymous groups for people with problems like this somewhere. Sign me up.

What was I writing about? Oh, yes. My day off. I decided to pick up a movie just for me. I haven't bought a "me" movie in quite awhile. Let alone a new release, so I bought "The Other Boleyn Girl". It was beautifully done and I think the casting was good, too. As far as the plot, I'm not all that polished on my English history so I don't know how accurate it was, but Anne DID lose her head in the end. There was a lot of spouse-sharing. And one woman who had the power to get what she wanted and knew how to use it. Of course, things didn't exactly end well for her...

After the movie, I tried to get in some reading. Ironically, there was more spouse-sharing. I'm not making this up. I was NOT expecting it in the book I'm reading now. It gave me a different view on why people cheat though. In fact, it came dangerously close to glorifying it. Pointing out that these two people had been lovers for fourteen years and how the passion never wore off. They never had to deal with each other's bad habits or argue about whose turn it was to do which chore around the house. They only had the good parts of a relationship. None of the bad. That is the first time I have thought of cheating as understandable. NOT THAT I'M CONDONING IT! I'm just saying I could see the upside someone might see when it was put this way. Anyway, I'm sure it's going to end badly for them in the book. Besides, most novels are meant to be a break from reality, not give you a dose of it.

Again, where was I going with this? My day off. Right. The short version is that it was good. In my world, there's always room for improvement, but I'm trying to complain less. For posterity. I'm also going to try to make fewer references to my medication and my mental state because it seems to have given some people (who shall remain nameless) the idea that I'm emotionally unstable. If I didn't have a sense of humor I might be more offended by that.

I know this has nothing to do with anything I've written so far, but what is with the people who pick up our recycling? Is it really necessary to come before dawn? I wanted to put the box (which would be overflowing were it not for my packing prowess) out at the curb last night, but as it was pouring rain I thought I'd wait until morning so as not to give you guys a wet mass of paper, cardboard, plastic, glass, etc. I even got up WAY before my usual time to put it out. But what do I see when I open my front door? All of the neighbors' bins are already empty. You bastards. I try to do you a favor and you insist on coming at some unholy hour. Thanks. I really was hoping to keep this stuff around for another week. I'll bet you don't even recycle your own stuff, do you? That's fine. See if you get any cookies for Christmas. The mailman will.

...It Pours.

If I'm to be honest, I must admit I'm a little freaked out at the moment. I've been standing at the window nervously dancing on my toes. A bit like Abby when she has to go to the bathroom, actually. Except, I DON'T have to go to the bathroom. I'm watching the rain and watching the flood rise in our backyard. Each flash of lightning reveals a slightly higher water level and I start to get slightly more agitated. Bodies of water upset me. Especially when they're ones that aren't supposed to be there and it's dark AND they're in my backyard. I don't like it. I try to distract myself by grabbing my camera and trying to take pictures of it so I stop bouncing around.

Now, I know this picture is next to worthless, but when you take into account that is was nearly eleven o'clock at night, taken through a screened window, and was attempting to be taken timing with the lightning, it's not bad. This was from my bedroom window toward the east. You can see our neighbor's house across the way and in the foreground, to the left, is the kids' wading pool. That pond reflecting the lightning is supposed to be our (and the neighbor's) backyard. Evil, evil water. Our poor little Elmo sprinkler might have been washed away were it not for the fact that he was still attached to the hose. I'm certainly not about to go out and rescue him.

This picture is slightly improved. It actually rained during the day for once. This was after it had stopped raining and the water had gone down a bit. It's nasty water, too. It brings all manner of garbage down into the reeds behind the house. Once the lightning stopped that day, I actually went out (barefoot, naturally) and took a walk into the water in a few places just to see how deep it was. I didn't go in past my knees, but I could have. There was more than enough water there, but I have no desire to be sucked into the murky depths by some bizarre water snake or alligator. People will tell you those kinds of creatures don't live around here, but I have my doubts. Speaking of snakes, where do they go when it rains like this? Can they all swim or only certain kinds? Maybe they put on little snake snorkels and masks and slither along the bottom of the water.

Outside of being freaked out about the water, I talked to my mother-in-law for awhile tonight. She asked about our new carpet and I told her we were going with tan for the basement and a very light, almost white, for our bedroom. I told her the carpet for our bedroom felt so soft it was like walking on kittens. At the moment, it was the softest thing I could think of, okay? Thank goodness she has a warped sense of humor, too, sometimes. She laughed instead of making me feel weird and twisty. I'll have to remember not to use that phrase when we go to order the carpet, though. "Yes. I'd like to order that carpet that feels like you're walking on kittens." On the other hand, it might be kind of funny to see their reaction. If only I could keep a straight face. And speaking of kittens...

How can something so small smell so HORRIBLE? I mean, I've changed some ripe nappies in my day, but nothing NEAR what that smells like! Couldn't they put something in cat food to make their crap smell a TAD less offensive? And they always, always have to "christen" the litter box after I've tidied it. Honestly. I swear they do it just to prove something. Their day is coming, though. They will no longer have front claws or reproductive abilities. I'm still the Queen of this house.

Yet Again...


Another sparrow nearly killed itself on our front window this evening. For all I know, it was the same on mentioned in my last post. Maybe the poor girl just really doesn't get windows. Maybe she just really likes me. Whatever the case, I heard her hit it pretty hard. I went out (like last time) and found her lying on the porch. This time, she was on her back and her wings were twitching so I knew she was at least alive. I picked her up (gently) and she sort of relaxed into the cradle of my palm. The way her head slumped to the side I was afraid she might have broken her neck, but she soon became more alert and began looking up at me.

I stroked her tiny little back while she snuggled against my open hand. She just kept sitting there and I kept talking to her softly. Every once in awhile she'd cock her head and gaze up at me with her pretty brown eyes, but she didn't seem at all frightened. She even started to doze off a couple of times. It seemed almost surreal. This tiny, wild creature seeming so at ease in my hand. Of course, she was probably just too dazed to know any better. And she did crap on me. Still, I'd rather think of it as a magical sort of experience than the more realistic version.

Of Birds and Booby-traps



Have you ever heard the saying about how a bird hitting your window means someone is going to die? If that's true, The birds around our house are the death omens of half the city. I swear, it's an almost daily occurrence around here. It's not like my windows are all that clean either. Between the kids and the kittens, there are plenty of prints on them. I am mystified by this. Do they really not see the giant house in front of them? Maybe it's their reflection they're attacking, but is that really any smarter? I know, I know. Birds aren't known for their large brains. Hence, the phrase "bird brain". Still, you'd think after the first half a dozen or so had made impact, word would have gotten around in the avian community. Apparently not. See the photo below.



Can you see the imprint left by this unfortunate soul? I mean, the poor bird had to have hit the window head on to have left a mark like that. You can't tell from the picture, but up close, you can see the fine details on each individual feather. Wings, breast, head. There's even one tiny white feather that's stuck to the glass and refuses to blow away or be washed off by the rain. I looked for a body, because I honestly didn't think it could have walked..er...flown...away from something like that. No body. I must admit I'm impressed. Maybe because it was a larger bird. Probably one of the mourning doves or a robin.

The other day, I heard one hit the front window. I went out to check and found a sparrow on the porch. I picked it up and it opened its eyes. She was merely stunned, I guess. She got her wits about her (if she had any left) and flew off. Probably to smash into someone else's window. At least she didn't leave an imprint on mine. The only thing I saw there were the muddy bird footprints from a few weeks ago where some other bird (slightly brighter than the rest) must have realized at the last second that it had misjudged and glanced off the window. Honestly.


Not to sound superior or anything, but if you've never had small children, you're missing out. The way their minds work is unequaled. They have this weird oxymoronic ability to have no common sense and perfect common sense all at the same time. For example, they'll run into a street full of moving cars without even THINKING to look first, but they'll come up with new words or phrases that make more sense than the "grown-up" ones. Perrin, Heath, and I were at Home Depot last night looking at carpet. Perrin overheard the voice on the loudspeaker and asked us what that noise was. We told him it was somebody talking. He then asked, "Whobody?". "Whobody". I've never heard that word before, but it makes perfect sense to me. Why ISN'T that a word?

Perrin has also made his own deductions about my underthings. He picked up one of my bras out of a pile of laundry the other day and, at first, I didn't get what he was trying to call it so I just said "uh huh" and sort of ignored it. A couple days later he said it again (I do a lot of laundry so don't think I let my kids play with bras all the time) and I actually got what he was saying. He calls them "booby-traps". How fitting. My Aunt Carol always called going without a bra "letting those puppies roam free". Perrin came to the conclusion all on his own, though. At least, to my knowledge he did. It's hilarious to take him to department stores now. Whenever we pass the lingerie department, he shrieks "booby-traps" at the top of his lungs. I could be embarrassed by this, I suppose, but it's too funny. He is so often my comedy relief.

I think I'm going to go do some research on the birds flying into windows thing. Maybe there's a real reason for it after all.