Six and One Meme

The Blond Girl
Optimistic Realist, that's me. Life isn't always easy, but having a blond perspective sure helps!
Friday, September 30, 2005
Happy Birthday, Blond Girl!

Warning: A truly narcissistic post will now ensue: Happy Birthday to me! I am 40 years old today. I can hardly believe it. Funny; I feel younger now than I ever did when I turned 30. Here's some reasons why:

10 years ago I:

* was single and thought I'd never find anyone.
* had no children and thought I'd never have any.
* lived with my parents and thought I'd never own my own home.
* was answering phones for a living and hating it.
* wondering if I had heard God right years before about marrying a minister.
* was convinced that once a woman turned 30, she had to cut her hair off because only "loose" women over 30 had long hair (man, was I messed up or what?!?).
* Weighed around 260 pounds and hated getting dressed up.
* Looked about 40 years old.

Today I:

* Am married to a wonderful man who loves me almost as much as I love him. We will celebrate our 7th anniversary in 10 days.
* Have a lovely 5 year-old daughter who never ceases to amaze me with her love, good humor and sweetness.
* Own my own home and, interestingly enough, my mother now lives with me (and yes, that is different than living with your parents!)
* Have a fulfilling career as a Communication Specialist with a world of opportunity before me. I love what I do. (Though it does get stressfull now and again, but what job doesn't?)
* Know that I heard absolutely correctly that I was NOT supposed to marry a minister, but rather a quiet man who knows more about serving and selflessness than any minister I ever met.
* Am absolutely convinced that I can have my hair any length I want. And right now, it is long. And this does not mean I am "loose".
* Weigh about 150 pounds and love finding reasons to dress up.
* Look about 32 years old.

My birthday statement to everyone I see today is "this is where you tell me I don't look 40!" I guess you'll have to take my word for it.

And now for the truly narcissistic part: if you want to leave me a happy birthday comment, please do. I will love it. And if you want to give me a great birthday present, tell your friends to come and wish me a happy birthday. I'll cherish each one as testimony to the blessings God has given me in love, family, friends and life.

It is time now for Champs and me to take Sweet Girl to the Mall of America to celebrate my birthday. And then Champs is taking me out tonight. And then Geekwif and Curly Girl and I are going out tomorrow.

Isn't life sweet?

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BG's Question of the day for Friday

Today is my birthday, as you already know. So far, it's been perfect; Champs gave me a diamond ring, Sweet Girl made me a painted 3-can pencil and paperclip holder (5-year old perfection) and my mom gave me a colbalt blue stained glass angel (I collect colbalt glass).

As I said, perfect.

So how about you? What would be the perfect birthday gift from the people in your life?

Labels: BG's Question of the Day

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Thursday, September 29, 2005

I should have posted this on Tuesday of this week, but today is the first day I've been able to sit down and devote some time to writing.

It was two years ago on Tuesday that my father passed away. It wasn't unexpected; he had fought two battles with lung cancer. He won the first one and the prize was 5 years more. In those 5 years he got to see me get married and meet his youngest grandchild, Sweet Girl. In those 5 years he mellowed and learned, somewhat, how to connect with people in his life. But in thos 5 years he also watched 2 of his brothers and 1 of his sisters succomb to lung cancer. When his time came, I think he just decided not to fight. He was gone 5 months after the second diagnosis.

The funny thing is, those 5 months were a blessing to our family. He connected more during that time than ever before, especially with Sweet Girl. I think he knew he only had a short time to make an impression on her. He did; she still talks about him.

My dad was so much like Archie Bunker! My niece and nephew who are now in high school used to call him "Grumpa" when they were children. It fit him and the moniker stuck. Being a child of the 30's and 40's, he was raised to be stoic and distant. His family life instilled more of this. His father was a drunkard who never supported his family. My dad wasn't. He may not have always been nice, but he was solid as a rock. I only saw him drunk maybe 5 times in my life (always at weddings) and he did everything he needed to support our family.

I'm rambling; I should have this lovely, cohesive and touching tribute to my father and if I wanted to write and rewrite, I would. The point I want to make, though, is that he was here. He touched lives and I miss him. Sweet Girl misses him.

We were visiting my dad at the hospice about 15 days before he died when I took the picture above. He was taking Sweet Girl to see the bird cages at the hospice. I think it personifies my dad: He didn't always talk much and he wasn't always sweet. But he did take your hand and go with you where you needed to go. Just like he did with Sweet Girl.

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BG's Question of the day for Thursday

I used to be an "E.R." fan. I had to watch it every single Thursday night. Funny thing is, I used to worry constantly about losing Champs and Sweet Girl. I lived in fear of something awful happening to them. Then one day, Geekwif pointed out that E.R. and other shows like that which I enjoyed were probably helping to fuel my fear. I thought about what she said and agreed. E.R. was out the window and I cut down on watching shows like "Law and Order: SVU". My fears started to get better and although I still worry, I am not paralyzed with worries like I was a couple of years ago.

It's funny... Now I can't STAND E.R.! When it comes on, I can't change the channel fast enough. And, if I don't get to see the other shows, it's really no big deal. TV has really lost its grip on me.

How about you? Do you have any shows that you used to watch all the time and now you can't stand them? How come?

Labels: BG's Question of the Day

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Wednesday, September 28, 2005
I should be sleeping but I'm not, Part 5

This post brought to you courtesy of stupidity.

I tried to think of a different adjective. Ignorance? Forgetfulness? No, they didn't work. Bottom line, I did a dumb thing and that's why I'm awake right now.

Last night before bed, I checked my blood sugar as I always do. It was well over 200. This mildly surprised me, but I figured that the two oreos I had eaten earlier as I cleaned the kitchen were the reason for the high reading. So I took one unit of short acting insulin and my normal two units of long acting insulin and went to bed.

Now I am here. As I was getting something to eat so my skin would stop buzzing, I realized that I made a stupid mistake when I took my reading last night. I had just changed vials of test strips. Glucometers use little strips upon which you place a drop of blood to test. Each vial has a code on it and you must enter this code into the meter in order to get an accurate reading. If you have the wrong code entered, your reading can be wrong by as much as 35%.

I didn't code the new vial number into my meter. Duh!

I've been doing this now for 7 years. I know what to do. If I had changed the meter, I am pretty sure my reading would have been a little high, but probably just under 200. If that had been the reading, I wouldn't have taken the extra insulin. And I would still be sleeping now. And you wouldn't be reading this post, brought to you courtesy of stupidity.

Well, my skin has stopped buzzing and the alarm is still going to go off at 5:20. I am going back to bed. Nighty-night!

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Monday, September 26, 2005
"ST" means Shaky Triumph

There will be some people who know me who will read today's entry and not believe that it is me. They will say "Blond Girl?!? You did THAT? No Way!!!" And I will reply, "WAY!"



Today I rode on a motercyle for the first time since I was 9 years old! It was so much fun! A friend at The Big Company wanted to thank me for helping him successfully post for a new job. Since he is a motorcycle enthusiast who has a Honda ST touring bike (much like the one in the picture above), I asked him to take me for a ride.

You see, Champs has this dream of owning a Honda Goldwing Aspencade and touring with me through the US. His dad had one and when he got sick, he sold it. Champs was always bothered that his dad didn't give him the chance to buy it from him. Since I know this is Champs' dream, I figured asking for a ride would be a good thing.

At lunch we went out. My friend gave me a helmet, a heavy jacket and gloves and then explained the following rules:

* Get on from the correct side and put your leg all the way over; don't slide on.
* Put your feet on the pedels and leave them there. DO NOT put your feet down!
* Lean when I lean, in the direction I lean. The bike will do the rest.
* Hold on carefully; the bike will jerk you a bit when we start.

When we got to the hold on part, I asked him if I had to hold on to the handles behind my seat or if I could hold on to him. He said I could choose and you better believe I chose him! I didn't want my hands behind me! He helped me into the helmet and I put my glasses back on. Immediatly, my glasses began to fog up.

And so away we went. I was scared. I was nervous. I was praying! I held on with all my might; great fistfulls of his jacket were in my hands and my legs were clamped securely around the seat. I felt pretty good when I successfully leaned with him around the first corner. Then we took the second corner... I was breathing carefully, trying not to make any reactions in my fear that might distract him. As we started to move, my glasses cleared up.

At the next corner, he headed for the highway exit! I asked him, shakily, if we were going on the freeway. He said yes. I fought everything within me to avoid asking him not to and just prayed harder. I knew he was fine, but I was worried I would get scared and do something stupid.

He was a gentleman, driving very respectfully; no silly tricks. I was so releived when he took the off exit. Of course, we had to go back downtown. When he got back on the freeway, I could feel the power of the bike and the wind. I was wearing my heaviest black leather shoes and I could feel the wind on my toes!

The helmet was only 3.5 pounds, but going fast, that is a lot of weight to control. I would try to lean into him to lean as he leaned and I must have bumped my helmet against his at least 10 times. As we were driving on the freeway, my breath was coming in little spurts; it reminded me of the Lamaze breathing I did when I was in labor with Sweet Girl. I kept asking God to make sure we were safe. Just keep us safe, Lord. I was scared, but also in awe. As many times as I'd driven down that freeway, I never felt the speed the way I did on the motercycle!

I was so relieved when we got off the freeway. I began to feel like I could look around a little and enjoy the ride. It was so much fun and pretty soon it was all over. I hopped off the bike and pumped my arm in the air. I was scared, but I had done it! I was thinking, "I'll do this again, and I will enjoy it, but I am glad I have awhile before I need to do it again." My friend told me that on the freeway on the return trip, he had gotten the bike up to 90 mph at one point. That made me so glad I couldn't see the speedmeter as we were driving!

All in all, the open road was a wonderful experinece. I wonder how soon I can help Champs get his Goldwing Aspencade (kinda like the one below)?

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BG's question of the day for Monday

I so wanted to stay home from work today. I really wanted to stay home. However, I had a meeting with a director and I'd waited four days for him to come back to the office, so I had to go. I had no choice.

Since I couldn't stay home, I wanted to dress comfortably - read, some form of soft cotton on top and on the bottom. Unfortunately, due to meeting with said director, I had to look professional, darnit. So, I dressed very nicely in trousers and a comfy sweater. And it was ok. But not great.

So how about you? How do you dress for work? Do you ever have to be "professional" when you'd rather be "comfortable"?

Labels: BG's Question of the Day

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Sunday, September 25, 2005
My 40th birthday present, early

This coming Friday I will be 40 years old. As explained (ad nausuem) in my post, The Saga of the Rings, Champs bought me a 5-diamond anniversary band to add to my wedding ring and the anniversary band he bought me for our 6th anniversary. All three rings were sized and soldered together. It is beautiful.

As promised, here is a photo. It doesn't do it the justice of seeing it in person, but you can get the idea. Happy Birthday to me!





I still have two more entries for today, so read on!

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The Truth-in-Blogging Meme

Meme from Trusty Getto's site. Trusty tagged me for this one and since I love to be tagged, of course I am playing along. I have no idea who wrote it - some of the questions are pretty odd, but what the hey, right?

1. Do you try to look hot when you go to the grocery store just in case someone recognizes you from your blog?
No, I don't bother. I tend to run my blog as an "anonymous" blog. Those who know me in real life and know of my blog know me well enough that I don't have to try to look hot for them. Besides, I'm always hot! (yeah, right!)

2. Are the photos you post Photoshopped or otherwise altered?
Photoshopped, no. Altered, no. Planned, yes. You see, as I mentioned, I like to have my blog wrapped in anonymity. But I do like to post photos. The challenge then becomes to post photos that tell something of our lives and who we are without showing our faces. I enjoy the challenge.

3. Do you like it when creeps or dorks email you?
If you had read Geekwif's post on dorks and putz's (read the comments, too), you'd be laughing your butt off; I know I am! In anycase, I enjoy emails, but I prefer them from people who have read something in my blog that they connected with. Thankfully, I haven't received any e-mails from creeps. If you're not a creep and you want to e-mail me, please do. I'll even answer - eventually.

4. Do you lie in your blog?
Nope. Got burned lying a few years back and I don't go there now.

5. Are you passive-aggressive in your blog?
Is a bear catholic? I am Minnesotan. We invented the term passive-aggressive, right before we went to church and just after we attended the casserole potluck. I think I (along with other Minnesotans) do this because we want to be nice, but eventually we've had as much as we can take and we snap. If you want to see an example of this, just check out my unpredictable elbow post.

6. Do you ever threaten to quit writing so people will tell you not to stop?
No, that just smacks of desperation, and that's not my game. If I threaten to quit writing, it's because I've had as much as I can take (see question 5).

7. Are you in therapy? If not, should you be? If so, is it helping?
No, No and, um No.

8. Do you delete mean comments? Do you fake nice ones?
I only delete spam or comments that are so incredibly liberal that I can feel the diodes in my computer melting in protest. I've never faked any comments.

9. Have you ever rubbed one out while reading a blog? How about after?
Um, NO! I don't read those kinds of blogs (are those kinds of blogs even allowed?). I had to laugh at my naivete, however. I wasn't sure what that meant, so I checked out Trusty and all the folks he got it from and then asked my husband if it meant what I suspected it meant. He confirmed that it does and this confirms my suspicion that a guy wrote this meme; no woman I know would have used that term much less asked the question in the first place!

10. If your readers knew you in person, would they like you more or like you less?
I think they would like me more. At least, those who know me in person and know I blog will read my blog, but still prefer to be with me in person. I am looking forward to someday meeting someone who's been reading my blog to see what they think of me in person. Interestingly enough, I've been writing this blog partly for the benefit of my hubby's family in Another State. My sister-in-law, Princssis, has been reading my blog. Since her brother moved here to marry me, I think the blog is helping her to know me better and, hopefully, like me more. I know her blog is doing that for me. It will be fun to see how our relationship has progressed when we move to Another State in 2006.

11. Do you have a job?
Yes, and it's full time and it pays pretty well and I like what I do. How lucky am I? I am a Communications Specialist and I write for a living. And yet I still come here to blog. There's almost something sick about that, isn't there?

12. If someone offered you a decent salary to blog full-time without restrictions, would you do it?
Hell yeah! But would I get a bonus for comments? That's what I want to know!

13. Which blogger(s) do you want to meet in real life?
Michele, Sharon, Heather and E. I already know Princssis and Geekwif very well. :-)

14. Which bloggers have you made out with?
Well, my hubby, Champs, has a blog he writes in occasionally. He isn't as committed to daily posting, but I enjoy his perspective. Oh, and I have made out with him!

15. Do you usually act like you have more money or less money than you really have?
I pretty much act like I have exactly what I have. If I'm short cash, I don't get to buy anything. If I have a few extra dollars, I buy a couple of things. If I have a lot of extra money, then I planned for it and I have a specific purchase in mind. Living without a credit card forces you to keep a pretty realistic perspective.

16. Does your family read your blog?
Yes, they do. Mostly the family in Another State, that is. My mom, who lives with us, made me laugh like crazy the day she told me she wouldn't read my blog as she considered it an invasion of my privacy. If that's the case, then all of you are guilty of invading my privacy, too. Now don't you all feel guilty?

17. How old is your blog?
I started it on June 19 of this year. It's not even 6 months old yet, so I guess I am a blogging infant. I'm loving it though.

18. Do you get more than 1000 page views per day? Do you care?
No, I don't. According to site meter, I get about 100-200 hits a day. Obviously, most of them are lurkers or are me. Yes, unfortunately, I do care. I wish I had the readership Michele has. I guess I'm not as good at drawing people in as she is. I think that's mostly because I write so much instead of asking for opinions as much as she does. Oh well, every time someone adds me to their sidebar or considers me one of their "daily blogs", it makes me happy. How silly is that?

19. Do you have another secret blog in which you write about being depressed, slutty, or a liar?
No, but I am considering starting another secret blog for the benefit of all the women out there who need a safe place to let off mother-induced steam....

20. Have you ever given another blogger money for his/her writing?
No. That's why blogging is free. Although I have considered buying Lightning Bug's Butt and Paul's books. Books are different than blogs, you know!

21. Do you report the money you earn from your blog on your taxes?
I don't get NO money from this, baby!

22. Is blogging narcissistic?
No. If I thought I was the best blogger out there and spent money convincing others of the same, maybe. But since I have a healthy view of my writing (ok) compared to others (better than some, nowhere near as good as others), I think I can safely say I'm not being narcissistic when I write. (Oh, and get this; I went to dictionary.com to be sure I had it right before I started writing. I did; it's an excessive love of self, among other unhealthy things. :-)

23. Do you feel guilty when you don't post for a long time?
Yes. How sad is that?

24. Do you like John Mayer?
I had to Google him to find out who he was and then I could place him. I think he has good musical talent, but I was offended by the song "Your Body is a Wonderland". I mean, they played this all the time on all the stations and we wonder why our teens struggle with staying pure? Whatever!

25. Do you have enemies?
I'm a conservative Christian. Of course I do. I deal with it.

26. Are you lonely?
No. I used to be, but now I have a wonderful husband and a very active 5 year old girl. Not to mention my mom who moved in when my dad passed away. I'm not lonely; though I am often trying to find just a few minutes to myself....

27. Why bother?
I could take this so many ways:
Why bother blogging? Because it gives me an outlet to write creatively and make connections with people, as well as letting our friends and family keep up with the ongoing adventures of Blond Girl, Champs and Sweet Girl.
Why bother believing? Because the measure of grace I've found in my life leaves me in awe and suffused with love for my maker and my savior. And because the Bible makes the alternative pretty clear. I'd rather go to Heaven.
Why bother living? Because every day, no matter how hard it is to get through, is a blessing and a gift. It took me a long time to learn this lesson and I don't want to turn my back on that.

28. Who are you tagging?
Normally, I specifically name people and then only half of them do it. Instead, I am going to ask all of you to consider playing along and then send me an email if you do. Of course, Paul, I need to challenge you since you say you are opposed to meme's but you did such a great job on the last one! ;-)

OK, read on for my question of the day, ya hear?

Labels: Memes to enjoy

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BG's question of the day for Sunday

Aside from the time of worship each Sunday (which I really enjoy and, after a week of craziness, need), one of my favorite moments in church each week is when they release the children from the service to attend children's church. They have the kids stand up and everyone extends their hands to the kids to pray for a blessing for them. They used to gather all the kids at the front of the church for the blessing and I wish they still did. Actually, when Geekwif's husband, The Geek leads the service, he still gathers the children. It's one reason I enjoy having him lead the service; but I digress.

The children are prayed for and then all of us mothers lead the kids to their classes then get a few rich moments of talking on our way back to the sanctuary. I suppose it's a silly thing to identify as a favorite part of church, but there it is.

How about you? Do you attend church? What is your favorite part of the service?

Labels: BG's Question of the Day

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Saturday, September 24, 2005
Cranky Couple's Capricious Cubital Crisis

And so we venture forth on our vocabulary lesson for today:

Capricious
adj: Characterized by or subject to whim; impulsive and unpredictable

Cubital
adj : of or relating to the elbow

Crisis:
n: An emotionally stressful event or traumatic change in a person's life.
n: A point in a story or drama when a conflict reaches its highest tension and must be resolved.

If you have noted the bolded words, you now know that this couple, consisting of Champs and his Blond Girl, has experienced an emotionally stressful event relating to an elbow and, somehow, it must be resolved.

Here's the story: Champs is on vacation this week. Being that today is Saturday, I promised him last night that I would get up with Sweet Girl this morning. We went to bed knowing that he would get to sleep in and that I would have to get up early. Now, the thing about us is that Champs is a very heavy sleeper while I am a light sleeper. Being that it is vacation and he does get to sleep late, I thought he might wake up in a, um, loving mood sometime during the night. And being the light sleeper that I am, almost every time he awoke, I did as well.

He woke up searching for his pillow, which I put back under his head. At some point he woke up to go to the bathroom. When he returned, he got into bed and promptly turned away, falling back to sleep. Later, I snuggled up close to him and he rolled away again. Clearly, the only thing on this man's mind was sleep.

Well, not the only thing. I think he also had revenge or destruction or something else on his mind. Because somewhere around 6:30 this morning, it happened: I got W-H-A-M-M-E-D in the back with his darn elbow at about Mach 7! For some reason, Champs loves to batter me with his elbows as he sleeps. He turns from his side to his tummy. His hands go under his head and his elbows go akimbo. He doesn't perform this maneuver slowly and gently; no, he flips over quickly. And every time - EVERY. FREAKING. DARN. TIME. - he gets me with that elbow of his!

This morning took the cake. The impact of his elbow square in my back jolted me out of sleep with a shocking intensity. I felt this bomb of pain exploding and radiating through my back. It took my breath away. I flipped over and banged on his elbow 8 or 9 times, beating it back. Through my tears I said "I HATE that stupid elbow of yours!" Champs just looked at me blearily, moved his elbow and rolled over. He didn't apologize or even realize what he'd done. He just fell back asleep.

Where he still is. And will be for awhile yet.

I'm not mad at him - hard to be mad for wanton destruction performed while sleeping, right? But I'm not feeling overly loving, either. How do you teach a man who can sleep through WW3 that he can't be beating up his wife with his elbow? I'm telling you, this is an emotionally stressful, tension-filled event that must be resolved!

Editor's Note, 11:02 am: I was just checking my e-mail and came along the bible verse of the day that I get from Air 1. According to them, today's verse is: So get rid of all malicious behavior and deceit. Don't just pretend to be good! Be done with hypocrisy and jealousy and backstabbing.(1 Peter 2:1 NLT) How appropriate, huh? tee hee

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Friday, September 23, 2005
Excuse me? I'm high maintenance?

Pretty much all of you know that I had a gastric bypass and that I am diabetic. Well, because of this, I take a liquid multivitamin as well as liquid iron and calcium supplements every day. I'm not fond of the flavor if I take them full strength, so I tend to order a frozen fruit smoothie at the coffee shop at my work every morning and have them blend in my vitamin mix. Since I'm diabetic, I have them put in the liquid vitamins, then add about 4 ounces of water and only use 4 ounces of the smoothie base, instead of the 12 ounces that the recipe calls for. This helps to reduce the sugar and keep my blood glucose levels in check. I've been buying my smoothies this way for more than a year now. The gal who makes them is pretty used to the "ritual".

Not only that, but everyday I come in and grab the blender cup and put in my vitamins. I get it all ready for her to make it easy. If she's with a customer or putting out other pastries, I assure her that I am happy waiting. I approach her station with infallible good humor.

So imagine my reaction yesterday when she started to pour in the smoothie base and I asked her for the water so I could add some. She glared at me and muttered, "you're really high maintenance, you know that?"

W... T...H!?!
EXCUSE ME?!?
I am high maintainence?!?!

This same lady fixes double-mocha-decaff half-lattes with half skim-milk, half whole-milk foam and a shot of caramel every 10 minutes all morning to all the other customers and I am high maintenence because I asked to do something like add water to my smoothie? What was I thinking?

Of course, I apologized profusely for being high maintenence... In her dreams!


Read on for my question of the day!

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BG's Question of the day for Friday

Champs starts vacation today and he couldn't be happier! He walked in from work and immediately called out "Vacation is officially starting NOW!" One week of some projects, some fun and a lot of sleep. We're not taking any trips; we're just enjoying ourselves (well, he's enjoying himself. I will only have Thursday and Friday of next week off).

So how about you? What would you do with a week off?

Labels: BG's Question of the Day

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Thursday, September 22, 2005
Uncle Jim takes a walk

It's been awhile, so I figured it was time to tell another story from my family history. This one took place about 50 years ago and features my Uncle Jim and Aunt Irene. Believe me, this same story wouldn't play out the same these days.

One day my cousin Penny was outside playing in the park across the street. She was about 7 years old and back then it was generally safe enough to let your kids go down the street to play, even in the city. Now we don't even let Sweet Girl play in the backyard unsupervised. Anyway, Aunt Irene was in the kitchen getting dinner ready to put on the table and Uncle Jim, a barber, had just returned from work when Penny ran into the kitchen, crying.

"A man showed me his pee-pee and asked me to play", she said, trembling. Her shocked parents asked her what happened next. Penny said, "I ran away!" Uncle Jim took her in his arms and calmed her down, then asked Penny to take them to the park and point out the man she had seen. The three of them went off and walked about 3 blocks before Penny finally pointed out a man. "That's him, Daddy!", she said. Uncle Jim knelt down and hugged her, telling her she was a good girl. Then he told Irene to take Penny home and call the police. "Tell them to come to this street. Tell them someone was hurt." Then he walked off alone.

When the police arrived, they found Uncle Jim standing over a very bloody and beat up pervert. Uncle Jim greeted them and explained that this man had exposed himself to his 7-year old daughter, so he followed him until they could get there. They thanked him for apprehending the culprit and, noting his cuts and bruises asked what had happened.

Uncle Jim replied, "I dunno. I think he tripped. 4 times." The police thanked him and took the man away.

Now that wouldn't happen today, but there isn't a father in the world who wouldn't play it out exactly the same if it was his little girl having her innocence shattered at the local park. Having said that, I pity the fool who ever tries something like that with Sweet Girl! I also pity me, because I'll have to do the single parent thing while Champs cools his heels in jail. Because if someone hurt Sweet Girl (or me for that matter), I know Champs wouldn't stop until there was just an oily spot on the ground! I hope the cops would understand when they asked "what happened?" and Champs replied, "he fell. 39 times."

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BG's Question of the day for Thursday

My favorite radio station is a Christian radio station, KTIS. I listen to it in the car and on-line at work. I really love the on-line option because I can listen no matter where I am. The morning show manages to be funny and uplifting without being overdone and raunchy. When we move to another state, that's going to really be nice for me. I'm going to enjoy connecting with something from "home" when I'm in our new home.

So how about you? What radio station do you enjoy listening to?

Labels: BG's Question of the Day

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Wednesday, September 21, 2005
The Saga of the Rings

Blong Girl sez: Hey folks, I wrote this post yesterday but I couldn't post it! Everytime I tried, I got this nasty error. I tried everything to fix it but it wouldn't work, so I finally gave up. I saved my post as a draft and sent an e-mail to Blogger. They wrote back today that there was a server down last night and the problem should be fixed.

So this was one of the "stream of conciences" posts I was talking about. It spans 7 years so it is one of my longer posts. When you see "today is Tuesday", remember I wrote this yesterday. I hope you enjoy our saga!


No, this isn't the Lord of the Rings and it doesn't feature hobbits or elves, though it may seem as long as the trilogy by the time I tell this whole tale. This is the story of Champs' and my wedding rings. It is long and full of details. In the interest of retaining history for my family and to celebrate Champs' 40th birthday present to me, I tell it now:

The story begins before I even knew Champs. One day at the Mall of America, I stopped in at Whitehall Jewelers and fell in love with a blue topaz ring. It featured a large oval stone in a basket setting. I put the ring on layaway but only got it about half paid off.

After I met Champs and it became obvious that we were going to be married and equally obvious that neither of us had much money, I gave him my layaway slip and told him he could pay off the ring and give it to me or return it and put the money toward another ring. I assured him I would be happy with whatever he chose.

As it turned out, he visited the store without me and the only option they would give him was to pay off the layaway and take the same ring. In April, when he was home, he called them to send the ring to him in Illinois. Even though he had paid it off, they called to get my permission to ship it to him. Man, was he pissed off! He wanted it to be a surprise for when I came to visit him in Illinois, and they ruined the surprise. Oh well. He still managed to surprise me when he proposed and there I was, engaged with a fashion ring.

Champs was bummed that I had a ring he hadn't had any part in choosing and so we agreed that once we had some money, we would go about choosing a new ring for me before we got married. On a side note, I offered Champs my school ring to wear until we got married; kind of like his own engagement ring. He liked the idea and took the ring gladly. That felt pretty special, especially since we were living in different states the first month of our engagement. About two days after we were engaged, he lost the ring as we were out walking at the University of Illinois Arboretum and he was frantic about it. We searched and searched, but couldn't find it. The next day, we went back and traced our steps methodically. After about 10 minutes, I found the ring! Relieved, he wrapped the ring in yarn to make it fit snugly. He wore it on his left pinkie right up to our wedding day.

Fast forward a few months. We planned an October wedding. In May, Champs moved to Minnesota and we took out a loan on his truck to help pay wedding expenses. It wasn't a large loan, in fact, we had it paid off in a year, but it gave us some cash to work with. About this time, Mongomery Ward's went out of business and offered all their diamond jewelry at about a 65% discount. My sister-in-law and I went over and found a gold ring on clearance for about $200.00. I knew this was not a ring I would want to wear; it was a cocktail style ring with five rows of small diamonds that proceeded diagonally across the ring. I also knew that it was worth more than they were asking for. I called Champs to discuss it with him and bought it, my heart in my throat.

Thankfully, I was able to sell it the next day at work! I had a friend who had been a jeweler and still had friends in the business. She took the ring to her friend who offered me $550.00 for it. I was ecstatic! I had turned a tidy $350.00 profit and escaped a ring I knew I could never enjoy wearing.

By now, it was time to get serious and pick out wedding rings. In September, we took some of our wedding money (including my little profit) and went to the Shane Company. We spent hours looking d looked at rings for each of us. For me, we bought a beautiful ring with a heart on each side. Inside the hearts are one small marquee diamond and two small round diamonds. We had the stone from my original engagement ring mounted on it (trust me, there was no way we could afford a diamond to put in it!). Now, the blue topaz is about a 2 caret oval stone, so it is huge. They had to use a 6 prong setting to hold it and when I got it, I was amazed at how high off my finger it sat! Remember, it had been in a basket setting. Even so, it was just the most beautiful ring! Champs said that we would start out with this ring, but in five years, he wanted to have me transfer it to my right hand and he would buy me a diamond wedding set.

We also choose a ring for Champs. It was gold with a "waves" that went up from either side of the ring and crossed diagonally paralell to each other with a white gold stripe that flowed diagonally across the band between the waves. It had 3 diamonds set in the white gold. Like Champs said, why should the woman be the only one to get diamonds?

Once we had our rings picked out, we discussed a wedding band for me. Shane Company didn't offer custom jewelry, and the shape of my band dictated that I have a ring specially made to fit into the niche of the band. I went back to my friend at work and she agreed to make a gold band with a small marquee diamond to fit into the niche. It would be small, since we didn't have much money to spend. She took my engagement ring and casted a mold to use to design the new band. Unfortunately, the mold broke in the kiln as they were casting my new band. This occurred two days before my wedding and, given the amount of time needed for molding, casting, firing, etc, there was no way I would get a wedding band. So, on the afternoon of my October wedding, I took off my engagement ring, tied it to the ring bearer's pillow, and that is the ring that Champs put on my finger. My engagement ring had become my wedding ring. I didn't mind at all; lots of women have just one band for their finger.

Fast forward 4 years. One day Champs was helping my brother trim the trees around the soffets of his house. One branch that he was holding snapped out of his grip, slicing his left hand badly enough to require stitches. Champs took off his wedding ring and, he thought, put it in his pocket. It was the last time he ever saw the ring. We searched everywhere in Paddy's house and yard to no avail; his wedding ring was gone.

I put a claim on the insurance for his ring and when we got the check, we went back to the Shane Company. Champs couldn't find his original ring and they didn't have anything he liked. So, we went to Helzbreg's, where we found a similar ring, but not quite what he wanted. Looking for more options, we went to Goodman jewelers, who have been in Minnesota for years and years. They had a beautiful ring that looked almost exactly like his old ring, down to the three diamonds. Only this one was nicer; it was heavier and had the "comfort band" that is so nice. We had to add a bit of money to the insurance settlement, but that was fine; we got the ring for him.

A few months later, it was our 5th wedding anniversary. We had just bought our house. Champs had always said he wanted to get a new ring for me at 5 years, but it was out of the question. We didn't mind. But the next spring, we decided it was time. Actually, we were forced into deciding it was time. As I mentioned earlier, the stone in my ring sits up quite high, so I am notorious for taking it off. I can't sleep in the ring, and when Sweet Girl was a baby, I left it off for days at a time to avoid scratching her. Due to my propensity to take the ring off, I was forever losing it for a day or two at a time. Once, over Christmas, I left it in the woman's bathroom. I went two weeks before I put out an ad on our company's classified ad site in desperation, hoping someone had found it. It got a call in 20 minutes! The janitors had my ring; they just didn't know whose it was.

Anyway, one day in April, I took it off to go to bed. The next day, I couldn't find it. Nor the day after that and so on. We had two cats at that time and I determined that one of them had to have taken it since I know for certain I put it on my dresser and they had been known to do this before. I searched and searched for my ring for weeks. I felt so naked! During this time, we went to Illinois for Champ's brother Moter's wedding. I felt awful being there without a ring, so between the wedding and the reception, I went to Walmart and bought a $15.00 3 mm gold band. Anything to prove that I was "legit" and to keep me from feeling naked. Champs just laughed and laughed at me, but I think it also helped him understand how I was feeling not having any wedding ring. After weeks of searching everywhere, I gave up and admitted defeat. I called the insurance company and put a claim on that ring so we could put the money toward a new ring. Champs promised me that I would now get the diamond he had always planned to buy me for our fifth anniversary.

We went back to Goodman's and picked out a lovely wedding set consisting of a thin, plain gold wedding band and an engagement ring with 3 diamonds channel-set on each side and rising up to cup the center stone, which is set in a tulip setting. It was perfect! It's not a large ring, but that's ok since I don't have very big hands.

About 5 weeks later in May, I was home on a medical leave after having had my first hernia repair surgery. One day, Mom was throwing away old facial products and shower gels that she didn't use anymore. I was pouring them down the bathroom sink, and decided to check to make sure nothing was getting clogged down there. I leaned way over and looked down the sink. Imagine my shock when I saw a glitter! I turned on all the lights and looked again. Yes, there was a decided glint down there. I got a flashlight and shined it in the drain. There, way down where the trap curves, was my original blue topaz wedding ring! It was suspended between the stone and the plastic snuggie I had put on it (after the gastric bypass, it got so large it kept falling off, so I put it on as a stop gap until I was ready to have it resized)! I yelled to Mom to bring me a hanger. After fashioning a long hook, I hauled it up in utter amazement. After nearly three months in the drain, it was disgusting but beautiful! I couldn't believe I had it back. I cleaned it up and put it on my right index finger, where it still is today (except when I take it off to sleep, of course :-)

The saga, of course, continues. On our 6th wedding anniversary, Champs and I went back to Goodman. I bought him a ruby ring that is beautiful, and he bought a 5-diamond anniversary band to go with my wedding ring. Now I had 4 rings that all proclaimed "I belong to Champs!".

Well, 4 for awhile, that is. In January I was late to work and put all my rings in my pants pocket and ran out the door. When I got to work and pulled out the rings, the plain gold band was missing. I have never found it. I suppose if I had to lose one, I am glad it was the plain gold band - but Champs wasn't too happy about it.

Being a fussy woman at times, I chaffed and chaffed over that missing wedding band. It felt odd to me to have an engagement ring and anniversary band, but no wedding band. A few weeks ago when we were in making a payment, I put on another anniversary band with my two rings for the fun of it; one 5-diamond band on either side of my center stone. I loved it! Champs thought it looked a little too flashy. So, I asked if they could order in a new plain wedding band. They could and they did. I explained to Champs that, for my 40th birthday, I wanted my ring to be complete; all the pieces there and soldered together to make it harder to lose.

About two weeks ago, the plain band I ordered came in and Champs and I went in to look at it. What had been good at the beginning now just looked wrong. The band was too thin and low compared to the width and height of my engagement ring and it looked really bad with the 5-stone anniversary band on the other side. I asked them if they ordered the right band in, and they assured me they had, even though it didn't look right to me. So, I tried on another 5-stone anniversary band again. I still loved it. The price had gone up more than $100.00 since we bought the first one, and even with discounts they quoted me a price $80.00 more than we had paid the first time. I told them we wouldn't buy it unless we got the same price we paid at our 6th anniversary. The salesgirl balked, but then I explained it to the manager who agreed right away. Quick as a wink, Champs said yes and I had my new ring. We spent some time determining what size I needed (a 6) and wrote up the work order.

You would think the saga would be over, but there is one small bit left. We were to go over this last Saturday to pick up the rings all sized and soldered together. The only problem was, the salesgirl didn't write the order to size the rings! Since I had bought them at different times, they were all different sizes; a 7, a 6.5 and a 7.5. For some reason, the jeweler didn't question soldering together three different sized rings; he just did the work. Since they were all different sizes, the 5 stones didn't line up correctly at all, and you could see the different levels of the rings. I very nicely put up a minor stink and they promised to rush and correct it. At first the salesman there tried to get me to take it ("just take it and see how it feels for a few days") but I stuck to my guns. He wasn't too happy with me, but then another salesgirl came over and she understood immediately what I was explaining. She promised to have the rings separated, sized and then re-soldered. She said they would be ready on Tuesday.

On the way home, I kept asking Champs if I had done the right thing being so insistent, since that manager had so clearly wanted me to just take the rings as they were. I was bummed that Champs hadn't had the chance to go get them himself and do whatever he wanted to about giving them to me. Champs made me feel better when he pointed out that we have put a lot of money into the rings and he would rather that they be right, even if it meant that I had to pick the rings up myself on Tuesday.

So, here it is Tuesday. I called in this morning to assure that they were separated, each ring sized to a 6 separately and then resoldered. They were. Sweet Girl and I went over there tonight and picked them up. It was hard going without Champs (who is out of town on his route), but he told me he wanted me to go get it (I think so that he didn't have to listen to me talk about feeling naked anymore!). I told him that with the ring all soldered together, it should make it harder to lose. He agreed, and then in true husband manner, told me that, while he didn't get mad at me when I lost the orginal pain gold wedding band, if I lose this ring, he WILL be pissed. I said my duitiful "yes dear!"

So I have it.... And it is be-a-U-ti-ful! Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me (in 10 days)!

I'll post a picture of it as soon as I can. And thus ends the Sage of the Rings... For Now!

Posted by Blond Girl @ 8:35 PM Reveal this post.
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BG's question of the day for Wednesday

Happy 21st Birthday, Tank!

Today is my brother-in-law Tank's 21st birthday. He is a member of the Army National Guard and is currently on duty in Iraq. I think it is a common thing for young men to celebrate coming of age in a foreign country as part of the military. My brother Guitar Man was in Korea with the Army over his 21st birthday and my Brother Paddy was somewhere under the Atlantic ocean in a Navy submarine on his 21st birthday.

My heart goes out to Tank; I miss him and I know Champs misses him so much more, being his little brother. I am proud of him and his drive to defend the things that make this country great. I have to admit that I get pretty mad when I hear people saying "oh, these Army Guard boys, they didn't sign up for this! They just wanted an education." I beg to differ. Tank signed up for the Guard after his older brother, Moter, had already pulled a tour of duty in Kuwait with the guard. Our country has been fighting in Iraq for more than 4 years now. There is not one enlistee who didn't count the cost before joining up. They joined because they saw something wonderful to protect, something honorable to defend and their lives and freedom to fight for and I can't help but stand in defense and pride of them.

How about you? Do you know anyone serving in the military?

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Tuesday, September 20, 2005
23 Things about me

23 Things About Me

23 Things About Me ~ Stolen from Geekwif, who stole it from Angie's blog. I have a longer blog entry coming, but this is to kind of "fill-in" until the other is ready. Besides, for some stupid reason, I really like memes! Say, that reminds me: I asked but no one answered. Is it pronounced "meme" as in "me-me" or "meme" as in "meem"? Geekwif and I can't quite agree....

Anyway, here goes:

1. If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to go back in time and fix all your mistakes which would you choose?
A million bucks. I've made it through too much crap to want to go back, even if I could fix stuff.

2. When you look at yourself in the mirror, what's the first thing you look at?
My eyes.

3. How much cash do you have on you right now?
$16.00

4. Favorite plant?
Well, if it is a plant, then I would have to say a jade and for no other reason than my father liked Jade plants and he rarely let on to liking anything. If it is a flower, then a tulip and if it is a tree, then a flowering tree such as an ornamental pear and if it is a bush, then definately lilacs. (I'm not very good at one word answers!)

5. Who is the 4th person on your missed call list on your cell phone?
My husband. And this was a good reminder to go plug in my phone!

6. What is your main ring tone on your phone?
For Champs, "How Sweet it is to be Loved by You" For Geekwif, "We Like to Party (the 6 flags theme song)" and for everyone else, "Mission Impossible".

7. What shirt are you wearing?
A blue cotten ribbed camisole.

8. Do you "label" yourself?
All too often. Some are good, like "strategic thinker", "excellent communicator", "loving mommy", "devoted wife". Others are not so complementary, so I won't list them here.

9. Name brand of your shoes currently wearing?
Cheapies from Target. Man, I need new shoes!

10. Do you prefer a bright or dark room?
Bright, as in light paint and bright sunshine.

11. What did you have for breakfast?
A vitamin packed fruit smoothie, like I do everyday.

12. What were you doing at midnight last night?
Sleeping soundly.

13. Last thought you had before you had a wreck?
"Man, I wish Dad would have traded cars with me like I asked! These roads are so icy and this storm is terrible!"

14. What did your last text message you received on your cell phone say?
Hubby letting me know his day was busy and he's ready for vacation.

15. What's an expression that you say a lot?
"Oh, Holy Hannah!" or "Dagnabbit!"

16. Who told you they loved you last?
My hubba-hubbalicious, Champs.

17. Last furry thing you touched?
Sweet Girl's "sleepy-sleep" blanket as I put her to bed. It's a fleece tied blanket that I made for her last Christmas and she never sleeps without it. Middle of summer and hot as hades? Doesn't matter; she needs her sleepy-sleep blanket! Thankfully, she understands that sleepy-sleep can never leave the house!

18. How many hours a week do you work?
Too many! I used to work around 55 and now I am trying to get myself to an orderly 42-44. Now that Sweet Girl is in kindergarten, I'm doing better with that, but it means that I must be very orderly in my work and be as efficiant as possible. Ah, the joys of being salaried!

19. How many rolls of film do you need to get developed?
None. But ask me how many digital film pictures I want to have printed and that number will jump up exponentially!

20. Favorite age you have been so far?
Hmm, hard to answer. Each year has its challenges and its rewards. For the fun of it, we'll say 32, since that's when I met Champs, 33, cause that's when I married him and 34 since that's when Sweet Girl was born. Of course, I'll be 40 in 10 days, so I am hoping that I will have a great 40th year....

21. Your worst enemy?
My own mind.

22. What is your current desk top picture?
A picture of Sweet Girl kissing Champs on the cheek. It is the happiest picture and sometimes I minimize all the stuff on my desktop just to spend a moment soaking in that picture.

23. What was the last thing you said to someone?
"I love you honey, now Good Night!" (to Sweet Girl, who was on her second forray out of bed and who knows better).

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BG's question of the day for Tuesday

Sweet Girl's parent-teacher conferences are coming up soon. Grandma Bina, who lives with us since my dad passed away, wants to attend the conferences with me and Champs. I told her probably not; that's why they are called "parent-teacher" conferences and pointed out that my grandmother never attended them (neither did my father, but that's another story). She said, "Well, Grandma didn't live with us. I live with you."

I have to ask Champs what he thinks. But I am also interested in what all of you think, too. So, what about you? Would you invite your mother along? Do you think I should invite Grandma Bina to go with us?

Labels: BG's Question of the Day

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Sunday, September 18, 2005
Palm Pilot wishes...

Wow, do I ever wish for the ability to create a "stream of conscienceness" post! I've been working like a dog all day; this morning Champs and I sanded and power washed our deck to prepare it for painting. After that we went to Geek & Geeekwif's home for a taco lunch (very yummy), then I came home and started doing laundry, cleaning the basement and packing away books. I am almost done now; the final load of laundry is in the dryer.

Anyway, about the stream of conscienceness: As I was sanding the deck, I was creating the perfect post in my mind. How I wish I could have made like a Palm Pilot and beamed it to my computer! The sanders were so loud that any communication other than the cursory pointing to the hammer and a loose nail was pointless. I had so much that I could have talked about - and did! - in my head. I want to tell you all about my ring, about the new blog I want to start, about the joy a power washer can bring to a man; so many things!

And yet, here it is, 10:24 and I am beat. I can't take the time to blog about all the things on my mind. So, I am hopeful that maybe you'll give me an "atta girl!" for getting so much done and check back with me tomorrow to see if I've found the energy to post "the saga of the rings". Maybe you'll even tell me if you want to hear about the saga of the rings... In the meantime, goodnight.

Sleep well and I'll see you tomorrow!

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Saturday, September 17, 2005
What Dessert are you?

Well, I need to get to bed and I've got no time for the LONG post I want to write, so I am sorry; I'm giving everyone a filler post tonight.

I got this from Crouching Mommy, Hidden Laundry. It is soooo true! And now, dangnabbit, I want a cookie! Sheesh.

You scored as Chocolate chip cookie. Your perfect dessert is a chocolate chip cookie! You are intelligent and original. You are a leader not a follower. You like cookies! Sometimes you can be on the wild side and get a midnight snack...(stealing the LAST COOKIE from the cookie jar...) If this isn't you take the quiz over.

Chocolate chip cookie


88%

Strawberry Shortcake


75%

Vanilla Shake


69%

I SCREAM FOR ICE CREAM!


56%

Cheesecake


50%

Chocolate cake..mmm


44%

Bananna Bread


38%

::.what dessert are you?.::
created with QuizFarm.com

Labels: Blog Things

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Thursday, September 15, 2005
Mystery Solved... sorta

For those of you waiting for an answer to my Sweet Girl mysteries, I offer this update:

Sweet Girl did not get the "deliquent account" lunch. It just so happened that one of the offerings that day was PB&J and my girl chose her "usual" over the chicken sandwich we had discussed. We are now discussing the menu each evening and making a choice. Next we have to teach her to stop choosing chocolate milk everyday. Her little tummy can't handle it!

I met the boyfriend! And the brother! Her boyfriend is a first grader (that's my girl, after the older men, oh yeah!) and his brother, Anton, is a kindergartener in the other kindergarten class. I asked her boyfriend what his name was and I didn't understand what he said - he kinda whispered. I met the boy's mother and I asked her what his name was and I can't remember what she said! I've never heard anything like it before; it was Amani or something like that. It sure helps me understand why Sweet Girl still doesn't know her boyfriend's name. When we got home, I asked Champs if he remembered the boyfriend's name. He said (in typical daddy fashion), "I didn't hear it but it's dead meat if he tries anything".

So the mysteries are solved, sorta. Now if we can just get her to choose real food over PB& J, juice and water over milk and learn her boyfriend's name, we'll have all the bases covered.

Read on for my question of the day! Oh, and check out yesterday's post... I still need a few more of you to play my "six and one" meme challenge!

Posted by Blond Girl @ 10:40 PM Reveal this post.
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BG's question of the day for Wednesday

My favorite thing about going to bed? That lovely feeling when you sink into the sheets and you can feel your muscles let go of the burden of keeping you upright, transferring the responsibility of your care and well-being to your bed. It's either that or getting that last good night kiss from my incredible husband.

So how about you? What's your favorite thing about going to bed?

Labels: BG's Question of the Day

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Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Six and One Meme

Six Things I've Done and One Thing I'd Never Do

I got this from Shanin at The Ongoing Adventures of Naked Girl. OK, OK, I stole it but, I had to 'cuz it looked like so much fun!

Geekwif, you know me too well! You are not allowed to comment in a way that will give away answers until some others have had the chance to play.

Here Goes!

1. Yelled "You're really cute!" to a guy on an escalator three floors up while in a tipsy fog.

2. Shoplifted a $2.99 necklace.

3. Lost $922.25 and been fired for it.

4. Called my boss a bastard and got away with it.

5. Regularly wrote hall passes for my friends to get back into class and never once got caught.

6. Made out in a gazebo for over an hour with a guy I had just met at bible college.

7. Executed a perfect back sumi flip into a back walkover on a balance beam.

Now you get to guess the one I would never/have never done. Comment and tell me what YOU think!


And here are the comments:
Geekwif said...
Apparently I don't know you quite as well as you think I do! I know for sure that four of these are true, but I'm not sure about the other three. I've got an idea of which of the three I think it is, but I'm not sure and I won't say anything until some others have given it a shot first.
Wow, now I really want to know!

e said...
Okay, Blond Girl...I have played along and mine are posted...don't be too shocked by what you read! Mine are a bit more...hmmm, daring than you came clean with. My guess for you...this is tough, but I have a hard time picturing you doing a few of these things. I'll go with calling your boss a bastard. I can't wait to see which one it is!

princssis said...
I'll agree with E. I think it's #4 - calling the boss a bastard. Unless, it was behind his back. I'm assuming this meant to his face.

Heather said...
I say #7.

Paul said...
Just wondering: was it you who was tipsy on an escalator or was it the guy?
Just guessing: #3.

The "boyfriend" update and other mysteries

When Sweet Girl got off the bus just a few minutes ago, she had her backpack on her back and a sheet of paper clutched in her hand. She let me see the paper; it was a piece of homework with "Anton" written all over it. I asked her what it was and she said, "my best friend gave it to me". "Oh", I replied, "so your best friend is Anton?"

"Yuep", she answered. "Anton is my best friend and my boyfriend's brother." "So, let me make sure I've got this", I asked. "Anton is your best friend and he is your boyfriend's brother. So what is your boyfriend's name?" Sweet Girl reminded me that he whispered his name on the first day of school so she doesn't know his name.

Maybe she should ask Anton. He might talk loud enough!

Today was the fourth day of school and I thought I would give Sweet Girl the chance to buy a hot lunch instead of carrying her lunch box. So I got $1.75 out and left it on the counter. When Mom got Sweet Girl ready for school, she put the money in an envelope and told her to be sure her teacher got it so she could pay for lunch.

When she got home today, Sweet Girl's face was a mess - and it looked suspiciously like peanut butter and jelly. She said that Grandma had forgotten to pack her a lunch. I explained that we sent money for hot lunch and that she should have had lunch. She said that the lunchroom lady gave her a PB&J sandwhich for lunch (the standard lunch for children who don't have lunch money or who's accounts are delinquent). The "real" lunch today was baked chicken and potatoes. I asked her if she had any of that and she hadn't. Just the PB&J sandwhich with a carton of milk.

I went through her backpack and the lunch money was gone. I tried to call her teacher but she's already gone for the day, of course. I will need to call tomorrow morning before lunch to be sure she gets her lunch paid.

So, I have two mysteries; Who is Sweet Girl's boyfriend? Where is her lunch money and why didn't she get lunch today?

Sigh. It was easier when she was a baby!

Good Night Everyone

This is Blond Girl's hubby writing to you tonight. BG worked her little tushy to the bone today and retired to bed early. She was so tired she couldn't get up enough energy to blog. I was using the computer for my trip and she came out and said " Honey, can you log in and tell everyone I am too tired and will blog tomorrow?" Being the great and helpful husband I am, I agreed.

I know what you are thinking, "How is it possible to be too tired to blog, especially when BG is famous for blogging in the middle of the night when she can't sleep?" I don't know the answer to that, but I would hate to have her smack her head on the keyboard repeatedly as she was nodding off just to blog. I don't want to see a bruise on her forehead that reads "QWERTY". That would make me point and laugh and BG hates it when I do that.

Well, hope you all have a good night and come back and see what BG has blogged about. I have a feeling it may be about this post and me being banned from posting for her from now on!



Here's some comments from this post:
Geekwif said...
No! No banning! The QWERTY joke made me LOL! Hope you get (got) a good night's sleep.

Paul said...
Are you serious? That's how you get that? I thought I was born with this weird QWERTY birthmark.

Operation Urispaz

When Sweet Girl was born, I was in labor for 18 1/2 hours, then I pushed for 4 1/2 hours and finally, I had an emergency C-section (it's a long story and I'm not going there now). The doctors at our hospital run a 24 hour shift, and Sweet Girl was the last of 14 babies that my doctor delivered in that day - and 4 of them were C-sections. I'm sure you can imagine that the doctor was getting pretty tired.

She must have been. When she visited me in recovery before going home, she explained that she had "nicked" my bladder while opening up my uterus and that I had a 1-inch cut to heal. She further explained that I would have to have a catheter in place for the next 10 days while my bladder healed. I heard this, but I was still stuck on "nick". 'Scuz me?!?! One inch does not equal a "nick"! That is a SLICE!

Well, Sweet Girl was in intensive care for 8 days and I roomed in at the hospital, carrying my catheter around with me. During that time, my bladder started to really hurt and get infected, so they put me on antibiotics and an anti-spasm medication. It was called (yes, this really was the name) "Urispaz". Champs and I got the biggest kick out of that. "You're a spaz!" "No, Urispaz!". "No, Uri... " You get my point. We were real mature back then!

In any case, the medication worked and they let me take the catheter out at 7 days instead of 10. I know you're saying, " you took it out?!?" Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I did. I was discharged at 5 days and the last 3 days I was a "guest" of the hospital, but I didn't get any food or nursing care. Basically, I was invisible to all but the NICU staff. That was OK since I spent most of my time in the NICU with Sweet Girl anyway. Well, on day 7, exactly 1 week and 5 minutes after Sweet Girl was born, I took out that catheter.

I'm sure you can imagine that I NEVER wanted to go through that again! When I saw my OB/GYN for my 6-week checkup, she explained that in 9 years of surgery, I was the first patient she had ever cut and she apologized profusely. She went on to explain that, due to the circumstances of Sweet Girl's birth, I could readily schedule my next C-section and avoid all the labor issues. I accepted her apology and said "now, you understand, this gives me complete and total teasing rights with you for the rest of the time you're my doctor, don't you?" She sighed and accepted that I certainly had earned that right.

Once I told Champs that I now had teasing rights, he went right to work on the plan with a mischievous glint in his eyes. What would we do? How to best capitalize on my experience? When a slow grin spread across his face, I knew he had hatched the master plan to make sure I didn't suffer further organ abuse and to fully exercise my painfully won right to tease mercilessly.

The next time I got pregnant, I would schedule my C-section, bright and early at the beginning of her 24 hour shift. We would come in with a wrapped "birthday gift" for the doctor. When she opened it, there would be a brand new "Operation" game, complete with batteries. He considered asking her to play the game right then, but we figured that probably wouldn't happen. In any case, that would be just the opening gambit; the real joke would come when we got into the operating room.

See, after I showered that morning, Champs planned to take a washable marker and draw a big uterus on my tummy with a baby holding a sign that says "cut here". Then, off to the side, down low, he would draw a bladder. The bladder would have a sign that said "No knicking, no slicing; no problem".

As it turns out, we never did have that second baby and now we won't. One reason I regret this is because now we will never have the chance to perform Operation Urispaz!

Jesus Loves You

When Sweet Girl was a baby, I would put her to bed and, as I walked out of the room, I would say, "Mommy loves you! Daddy loves you! Grandma loves you! Jesus loves you!". Sometimes the list would be nearly every relative we have. Five years later, I still go through this list every night, only now she repeats it back to me: "Mommy loves you!" ("Mommy loves you!") "Daddy loves you!" ("Daddy loves you!") "Grandma loves you!" ("Grandma loves you!") "Jesus loves you!" ("Jesus loves you!")

I know the day will come when Sweet Girl decides that the ritual is no longer needed. I am not looking forward to that day. When all is said and done, with the variances of each day and the ins and outs, I look forward to the stability of this one ritual.

The Bully and the Locker

Time for another story - this time one of mine. I guess I thought of it since school is starting soon. This happened to me in eighth grade. Funny thing is, I never even told the story to my family until I was about 26 years old. I can still remember my dad's smile as I told them what I'm about to tell you. He was proud of me for standing up for myself. I still have some mixed emotions about it myself. I guess I'll let you decide if I handled it OK.

My friends know that I am primarily a verbal person; I don't tend to be physical or violent. When I was in junior high, I was extremely miserable. I was fat, unpopular, shy (with everyone but my friends) and we didn't have the money for the "right" clothes. This left me pretty much ripe for the teasing and I endured a ton of it. I really don't think about junior high much because those three years were just that miserable.

There were three boys who made it their mission to say the most cruel, hurtful things they could think of every day after third period. They stood by their lockers and waited for me to pass by and made pig noises, rude sounds, swear words - whatever they could think of - as I passed by. I never acknowledged them. One time I walked past and I couldn't keep myself from letting a tear fall, and they saw it. This only caused them to crow at their success and redouble their efforts.

Of the three, there was a ring leader. To this day I can't remember their names or faces; only that they were boys and they were there. The ring leader said the most while the two others played along. Finally one day, I had enough.

As I walked by, they began their usual litany. Something inside me snapped. I don't know why this day was the breaking point or why I chose to do what I did. The boys were in the middle of the hall about three feet from the locker bank lining the wall. Out of the blue, I grabbed the ring leader by the collar with my right hand and I swung him around with every ounce of strength I had. As he hit the locker, I pushed him up and there he was, slammed against the locker on his tip-toes, with my fist in his adam's apple.

At first, his friends started hooting, but I snapped a look at them and they shut up. I turned to the ring leader and I said, very calmly, "I've had enough of you. Don't you ever, ever talk to me or say anything to me again. Do. You. Understand?"

Somehow, he did. He nodded. I pushed harder against his neck, then dropped him and walked away. The amazing thing is, he and his friends actually listened to me. They never talked to me again. I would see them in the hall and they would look away.

I've never understood the mind of a bully, so I really don't know why this worked. On one hand, I'm proud of standing up for myself, but I wish I could have handled it without stooping to their level.

All I know is, I still remember every moment of that confrontation, and I still remember that my dad, who rarely showed approval, was really proud of me when he heard the story.

Go figure.


Here are some comments from this story:
E said...
This is like a scene right out of a movie and I love it! I always cheer for the underdog in scenes like that and I would've been in that hallway rooting you on! I hope that those boys learned a lesson from that and didn't treat anyone that way after their run in with you. You *should* be proud of yourself!
BTW...ditto back atcha about your comment on my site. I get the feeling we could be good friends and do some serious commiserating in real life!

Heather said...
You didn't sink to their level. It takes no courage to taunt a poor girl who is already feeling different. It took courage for you to confront them, though. I didn't get teased much in school but I often stood up to those who teased the underdogs. I am just built that way.
The only girl I ever teased was killed in a car accident our senior year. Even though she and I had long since become friends, I will always regret that I was ever cruel to her.

buffi said...
You are SO my hero!!

Geekwif said...
I never had the guts to stand up to the bullies in school. Good for you BG.

yellojkt said...
We teach our kids to not resort to violence, but bullies only respond to strength. I was bullied in 8th grade by the kids on the bus and even beat up once.
I finally picked the weakest kid of the gang and took him on one-on-one one day. His friends just watched him get beat up until he bit me. My mom took me to the emergency room for tetanus shots. None of the parents of the kids in the gang would believe their "baby" could do such a thing.
The whole gang steered clear of me after that. I don't know if that would work in today's zero-tolerance atmosphere.

princssis said...
Way to go, BG! I agree with Heather in that you did not stoop to their level. It's amazing how bullies can dish it out but can't take it! From what I understand, they have to make others feel bad in order to compensate for the poor self esteem they have.
I'm glad for you things worked out the way they did. I also agree with yellojkt that this probably would not fly in today's schools (unfortunately).

CoachHardin said...
As a teacher, I see that happening at times, and you can see where it comes from when the parents are the exact same way. I was also a bullied person growing up and can relate, but never retaliated. That just wasn't my style. Instead, I hung back and waited until college to start over in a new place. However, I'm a big advocate of the underdog all the time. I'm one trying to keep bullying from happening again. ;)

Baby I need to tell you sumpthin'

If you've read my blog for anytime now, you know I'm a Veggie-Tales fan. And if you've seen the Veggie-Tales story "The Ballad of Little Joe", then you've seen the song "No Belly Button". The chorus goes "Baby, I need to tell you sumpthin' - I ain't got no belly button. Belly button - no, no no nooooo...."

Well, coming into my surgery, I was warned that there may be a small chance that this would be my theme song. See, the standard practice with a tummy tuck or panniculectomy (which is an extreme tummy tuck that removes a lot of skin and fat tissue, which is what I had) is to simply move the patient's existing belly button up to a new location. Barring that, the plastic surgeon will "create" a new belly button for the patient. In rare cases, this isn't possible and the patient is left without a belly button and with a new theme song.

After my surgery, Dr. R., the plastic surgeon, came out to talk with my mom and tell her how the operation went. He explained that everything went really well. She anxiously asked "does she have a belly button?" Dr. R. replied with a smile, "Oh yes. We found her a cute little belly button."

Upon hearing this, I had a mental picture of the doctor pointing to a belly button hiding in a corner and saying, "there, pick that one up and dust it off; we'll use that." When I saw him the next day, I told him this and got a good chuckle out of him. I told him that I thought my stitches were opening up and when he looked, he told me "no, your stitches are fine; that's your belly button!"

The only problem was, I forgot to ask him a very important question. I had to wait a whole week before I went to see him again. When I saw him, I asked my very important question: Is this my belly button or did you make one for me? He told me that he was able to move my navel to a new position. He just cut around it and then cut a hole in the "new" spot and sewed it in (compare it to putting a pocket in the waistband of a pair of pants). He explained that my belly button kind of "accordions" its way to the surface.

I gave a relieved sigh and told him the punchline I'd been waiting all week to use: "Oh good. I've been wondering and wondering if you made one or used mine. Is it real or Memorex? Only her plastic surgeon knows for sure!"

So, I don't have a new theme song, but we have been singing the Veggie-Tales song with a twist: "Baby I need to show you sumpthin' - I still got a belly button!"


Here's some comments from this post:
Geekwif said...
I love your punchline! You could also have used "Maybe she's born with it. Maybe it's Maybelline." :D
I wonder if there are as many possible theme songs for your belly button as there are for my street!

Sandy said...
You've got a great sense of humor. I have a feeling if we had met IRL and not the great blog-o-sphere, we'd have been buds. ;)


princssis said...
Sorry I have to say this, but your sense of humor, especially about the health topic, reminds me of GranDee. :)

Indigo said...
LMAO!!! That is hilarious!!! How would you feel if it wasn't your belly button though?

Lindsey said...
haha...that's so funny! Can you ever imagine how weird we'd look without belly buttons? Can't even imagine.

I Saw an Old Man Today

I saw an old man today. He had white hair. I honestly don't remember if he was on TV or at the park where we took Sweet Girl today. I can't say where I saw him. What I remember was the emotion he evoked.

Out of nowhere, I missed my father. Terribly. Horribly. And all consumingly.

Dad died on September 27 in 2003. It's been nearly two years and yet I remember it like yesterday. Sweet Girl mentions nearly daily that her Grandpa is in Heaven and I agree with her. My mom moved in with us when he died since she couldn't afford to keep her home. So, it's not like I haven't come to terms with his death or that I am "pretending" he's not gone.

In some ways (and I might seem like a traitor for saying this), it is easier with him gone. He was a mean man to most people, especially my mother. He didn't have an easy life and he didn't make life easy on those who loved him. However, he mellowed in his last month of life. He died of lung cancer and was in a Catholic hospice for the last month of his life. I think being surrounded by people who loved God and were committed to giving him the most respectful death they could as a gift to him was what did the mellowing. Maybe it was spending so much time with Sweet Girl, who was a 3 year-old at the time and who would crawl into bed with him and snuggle while they watched TV. Maybe it was his realization that he was going to die and needed to make peace with his creator. Whatever it was, that last month was a gift. He was lucid right up to 2 days before his death and I enjoyed who he was more that month than many of the years prior to that.

Seeing the old man with white hair today brought back that Dad, the mellow Dad, and I missed him with a fierce intensity. Life being what it is, Sweet Girl soon needed me and Champs had a question and the emotions I were feeling were pushed to the back for later. But I haven't forgotten.

I miss you, Daddy.

You're Cute, But Don't You Ever Wash the Dishes?

Growing up, we were regaled with stories of my parent's courtship and early marriage years. I've heard some of these stories so many times that I can see the faces and expressions of those involved, even though I wasn't there, just based on their faces when they told the story. This is one of those.

My mother was one of two girls. Growing up, they were often separated, living with different family members due to my grandmother's health. My mom grew up as the oldest and, at times, the youngest. My father, on the other hand, grew up in the classic Irish Catholic home; he was the fifth of eight kids. Of those eight, one died when she was a child. Needless to say, they had somewhat different outlooks on life. For whatever reason, Dad never told Mom about large his family. Personally, I think he didn't want to scare her off.

About two months after Mom and Dad started dating, Dad invited Mom over to his sister Catherine's house for dinner. Catherine was married with two kids. While dinner was being cooked, my dad worked on his motorcycle in Jim's garage. Mom handed Dad the tools he requested. At one point, he stuck his head out from under the bike and said, "so, whatd'ya think? You wanna get hitched?" (Oh yeah, he was a real romantic, my dad was.) And thus, it was settled.

The next week, Dad told Mom "I want you to meet my brother Tom", so off they went to dinner again. This time, there was a wife and two kids again. Mom asked Dad how many kids there were in the family. "Oh, a few", he replied. The next week, Dad took Mom to dinner at my uncle Jim's to meet his wife and three kids. Mom thought for sure she that Jim was the last brother. Dad did say that she had met all his nieces and nephews, so she thought she was safe (if not somewhat overwhelmed by his large family).

Finally, about two weeks later, Dad invited Mom over to his mother's house for Sunday dinner. Thinking she had met everyone, she went expecting a quiet meal with Dad's parents. Not so; Dad still had teenagers Mike and Dorothy to introduce to Mom.

Fast forward eight months. By then, Mom and Dad were married and living in a little apartment. Both of them worked full time, odd hours. Due to their schedule (and general lack of housekeeping knowledge, I think), they would let all the housework pile up all week long. Then, on Saturday, they would join efforts and do a mass cleanup. All the dishes and laundry would get washed and the house would be cleaned up. I'm sure you can imagine what the house looked like by Friday...

Well, one Friday evening about two months after they were married, Mom came home before Dad. As she went to open her apartment door, she realized it wasn't locked. As she walked into the apartment, she saw that all the mess had been cleaned up. The living room was cleaned and vacuumed; the dirty clothes were all picked up and she could hear water running in the kitchen.

"Honey, is that you?", she called. Out from the kitchen came a man my mom had never seen before, wiping a freshly washed plate. "Well", he said, "they were right. You're a cute little thing, but don't you ever wash the dishes?" Mom was shocked to find this stranger who looked so much like her new husband standing in her living room, She figured that Dad had forgotten to mention something. It was soon revealed that he was, indeed, the last brother. His name was John and Dad hadn't mentioned him yet, either, since he wasn't able to attend the wedding.

Why?

Because he was in Leavenworth Federal Prison!*



*Naw, he wasn't dangerous; just slippery. He was there for writing bad checks.


And here's some comments from this story:
Geekwif said...
Goodness, Blond Girl! I've known you for 13 years and you still keep coming up with stories I've never heard! This is a good one. Your uncle John must have been a sweet guy to jump in and help like that, and his comment is just classic!

princssis said...
What a funny story! You and your family are just full of 'em! Thanks for sharing. :-)

A True Miracle

There are many times in life when we know we have witnessed a miracle; some small and some large. This story is of a miracle that occurred 6 years before I was born, but the passage of time does not diminish the impact.

My brother, Paddy, was born in 1958. One summer day in 1959 when he was about 7 months old, my family was gathered at my grandmother's house, as they did every Sunday afternoon. The kids would play in the backyard, the aunts would gather in the kitchen talking as dinner was prepared and the uncles would be between the two, sipping beers and supervising the kids. For the purpose of this story, you should understand that Grandma's house was on a busy street. The living room was at the front of the house, with a hallway that had the bathroom and two bedrooms and led to the kitchen at the back of the house.

Now, Paddy wasn't a very happy baby. He had colon problems and colic. Mom says he basically cried for the first year of his life. Getting him to sleep was a major feat. On this particular Sunday, Mom had finally gotten him to sleep and laid him on a blanket in the living room, in front of a large picture window.

While the aunts and mom were talking, Grandma announced out of the blue that she was going to go get Paddy. Mom objected, since she had finally gotten the baby to sleep. At first, Grandma acquiesced, but then changed her mind. "No", she said standing up, "I just feel like I have to go and get him."

As Grandma walked into the kitchen with my crying brother in her arms and sat down, the family heard a deafening crash. The uncles ran to the living room. Where the picture window once was, there was an old rusty Buick. A drunken neighbor had run his car into Grandma's living room. The man stumbled out of his car and ran away.

Three of my uncles went running after him and beat him up. They brought him back to Grandma's house where the police were already trying to calm my parents down. My uncles handed the drunk over to the police, who asked what had happened to him (the guy was a bit of a bloody mess). My uncles explained that he must have gotten banged up when he went through the window. Things were different in the fifties; the police smiled, thanked my uncles for catching him and hauled the drunk away.

It took a long time for Mom, Dad and Grandma to calm down. From that day to this, no one in our family has been able to deny that this was a genuine miracle. Who but God could have made my grandmother go and pick up a calmly sleeping baby for no reason? See, God and Grandma saved Paddy's life. When the car was pulled out of the window, Paddy's blanket was still on the living room floor.

It was in shreds.

Here are comments from this post:

Geekwif said...
Holy Cow, Blond Girl!!! I've never heard this story! Two things come to mind after reading it.
1) This is certainly proof that when you think God might be whispering to you to do something, do it - no matter how silly it might seem.
2) God must have a purpose for your brother's life; a particular reason He wanted to protect him. I wonder if Paddy know this. (?)

Heather said...
The hair is standing up on the back of my neck.
I once got up from the dinner table second before a huge, sharp chunk of metal flew through the window right where I was sitting. It would have killed me. It was part of a blade from a tractor that was mowing the pasture behind our house.

E said...
That's amazing...truly amazing.

Mamacita said...
Incredible. Miracles DO happen.
Michele sent me, and I'm glad she did.

buffi said...
God is good, all the time. I love that story. Michele sent me. I'll be back!

pantrygirl said...
Hello, Michele sent me.
Sometimes when we allow our minds to open up, we can hear God calling us.
I'm glad your Grandmother heard him.

Peri said...
Wow, that is so God....... watching out for us. What a story!!

Marie said...
Oh my goodness! Your Grandma is an angel!


Laura GF said...
What an incredible story! I think that more times than not it really makes sense to listen to that inner voice. Thanks for sharing this -- I'm here from Michele's.

Jennie said...
Wow, I have goose bumps. I'm so thankful you were all blessed that day! Wow. I betcha Paddy and Grandma got lots of good snuggles that night. :)

princssis said...
WOW! That IS a miracle! I hope Paddy realizes his life was spared that day and there must've been something God had in store for his life.
Thank the Lord Grandma listened to Him!

deputyswife said...
Hello, Michele sent me!
The hairs are standing on my arm. What a true blessing not to have him taken away at such a young age.
I loved reading your blog!

You're No Spring Chicken!

My mom is a child of the depression. She likes to remind me of this. Generally the time she starts to remind me is when I am telling her to throw something away that I think is not needed but she thinks is still usable. We tend to have this discussion quite often. It goes something like this: "Mom, I'm throwing this bread away. You bought it three weeks ago." "No!, I'm going to eat it!" At which point I gently tell her that if she was planning to eat the item in question, she could have eaten it while it was still food.

Another case in point: Yesterday she bought some file folders, which came in a bag with a little adhesive strip, thus rendering it "resealable". Mom asked if I wanted it. I told her that, no, I didn't have any use for it and she could just throw it away. Out came the depression again. She explained that, when she was a kid in the depression, nothing was thrown away until it was determined that no one in a 4 block radius could use the item in question. After determining that neither of us wanted to canvas the neighborhood to see if anyone wanted a "resealable" bag, she agreed to throw it away.

Champs and I saw just how prevalent this trait is in my mom when she went to Phoenix last winter. When she moved in with us after my dad died, she brought with her a small chest-type deep freezer and gave it to us. Champs and I decided to clean it out and find out what was in it and make room for new food when she was safely out of state. We emptied the unit, depositing various frozen items on two card tables in the sun room. We found a lot of interesting stuff. Pea soup from 2003. A bag of turkey stock from the New Year's before. Something like 15 one-pound boxes of butter. Each layer was like another historic period in my parent's life. We saw the Crustatous era (a three year-old pie shell) , the Cenozoic era (a beef roast from 1998 ) and finally, at the bottom, a perfectly preserved specimen from the Mesozoic era; a fifteen year-old whole roasting chicken.

This chicken riveted us. The skin had turned leathery and white (and red where some popsicles had melted some time back). There were small items placed around it much like the treasures in Tut's tomb. The chicken itself was permanently adhered to the freezer floor. It took us three pots of boiling water to disengage it from it's frozen nest. When we finally got it free and read the label, we saw that it was from a store that has since gone out of business. We realized that this chicken was born before our high-school senior nephew started kindergarten. This chicken had been through three presidents. It had been around for all of "Friends" and "Everybody Loves Raymond". The freezer was in its third location since the chicken was brought home. How it had managed to remain undisturbed all that time was a mystery to us.

It was almost with a sense of awe combined with an amazingly strong sense of revoltion that we put it in the garbage. I wish we had thought to take a picture of the label as proof. Mom didn't believe us when she came home and saw the "new" clean freezer. She really didn't believe us when we told her about the chicken. But it is the truth, I promise.

Now, I don't care how much of an impact the depression has had on someone - no one is going to use a chicken that old. So, in an effort to keep the food in the freezer fresh and on a rotation, we have a system. We've bought a magnetic wipe-off board where we write down the food items that are stored in the freezer and erase them when they are used (no more 15 pounds of butter!). The system is working well. I think it is because we are all following the rule at the bottom of the board:

"15 year-old chickens are NOT allowed!"


Here are some of the comments from this post:

Heather said...
What a hysterical story! It is my theory that there is so much credit card debt in our society because so few remember the Depression.

Sandy said...
THAT is a fantastic story! Thanks for sharing it.

Thumper said...
Sounds like my Great Aunt Eleanor. When she died my mom and her sister and brothers gathered to clean out the house...she hoarded *everything.* They found years-old meat, hundreds of skeins of yarn... they did take pictures, mostly because as sad as they all were, they knew they'd want proof and even then it was so fricking funny to them...

princssis said...
I love stories about your mom! How funny! 3 pots of water to free the nearly permanent chicken? WOW!
This story reminds me of when we bought our house from AR's grandparents. Certain items were agreed to be left (like the picnic table), but upon our arrival, they were gone. The grandparents even took all the toilet paper and light bulbs - out of the fixtures! Maybe not ALL the light bulbs, but there were quite a few missing!

Geekwif said...
You could write the date on your freezer items with a sharpee marker too. Then you'd always know how long they'd been in there.
I've heard this story before, but it was fun to read some of the details I missed last time. I'm a bit of a packrat myself, but I hope I never stoop to saving ancient chickens!

kenju said...
She is just like my Mom, who NEVER threw anything away. She would give it away, but never throw it out. When she died, my Dad and I cleaned out the freezer, which had stuff 3 years old in it, and the kitchen cabinets, which yielded spice cans so old they were already collectors items!! They now reside in my kitchen - but on shelves - as display.

yellojkt said...
My father-in-law was a Depression era person also. The first time I visited their house I thought he was either a survivalist or a Mormon because there was at least a year's worth of canned goods in the house. When he passed away about five years ago, my wife had to hire a hauler to take away the entire garage full of stockpiled cleaning supplies. It could have served as a Proctor and Gamble logo museum. There was a box from every style change ever.

I think part of his problem was also that he bought off of a mental grocery list that never adjusted for existing inventory.

Peri said...
haha, that is so funny. My grandmother was a teen in the depression and the same way, Never could throw food out....... later when no one would eat it, at least the dog would. Her favorite line, "now, if you don't eat this, I'll have to give it to the dog".

Blond Girl's Question of the Day for Tuesday

Sweet Girl and I just ate dinner. Champs is out of town on his route (as per normal for Tuesday) and Mom went to a meeting, so I get the pleasure of my daughter's company to myself. This means an easy dinner and a lot of Veggie-Tales and coloring. I asked Sweet Girl what she wanted for dinner. Out of all the things in the world that she could have chosen, the only thing she wanted was buttered noodles with a touch of garlic and Parmesan cheese. Easy, huh?

So, tonight's question to you parents is this:

When your kid's get to pick the menu, what's for dinner?

Here are the comments for this post:

Geekwif said...
Well seeing as my only kids are the furry kind, if I let them pick the menu it would probably be fishy canned Friskies and cheese for dessert. The cheese I could handle, but the fishy canned food, not so much.

princssis said...
tacos or cheese enchiladas. CJ even likes hot salsa and peppers!

Heather said...
Ramen Noodle Soup or supper at Chick-Fil-A. That's always what my kids want!

Sandy said...
Oh, if my three-year old had his druthers we'd be eating Mac-n-Cheese three times a day, secen days a week. Luckily the 11-month old can't request meal plans yet. ;)

Holly said...
my daughter : chicken nuggets and french fries
my 10 year old son : chicken "crispy strips" and french fries.
my 11 year old son : anything in large quantites that comes with a shovel to get it in his face.

E said...
For Nic...hot dogs, hot dogs, hot dogs...and sometimes, pancakes.
For Cars...he doesn't eat much, so he never cares, but if he HAD to choose, it would be mac-n-cheese and strawberries

trusty getto said...
Um, no kidding here, noodles with butter and freshly grated parmesan cheese (no garlic). Both girls just love it!

used*to*be*me* said...
Hello. Michele sent me. Great site.
depending on who you ask, favorite meals from oldest to youngest go like this:
13 yr old: Butter spaghetti with roasted garlic
8 yr old: Crab legs and mozerella sticks
5 yr old: Chicken enchiladas and sticky rice
I miss being a kid!

OHMIGOSH, is that ME?!?!?!

Warning: This blog is about my tummy. If you're not interested in reading my reaction to my tummy, please skip this entry and move straight to my question of the day. Thanks!

Yes, I should be sleeping and I am not. Partly it's that silly low blood sugar thing again (you should see how good my blood glucose levels have been since the surgery! They are great, but going too low has been happening a bit, too) but that's not the only problem. I haven't managed to fall asleep yet tonight but I'm not sure why. I know it's not the pain. That is getting better each day. Maybe I am still just freaked out by myself.

(For those who are just getting to know me and need a quick background, here it is in 50 words or so: On 10/16/03 I had a gastric bypass. From then until 7/29/05, I lost 111 pounds. Two weeks ago, I had my third incisional hernia repair but I also had a panniculectomy, which is a tummy tuck to remove all the leftover fat and skin hanging from my abdomen after the weight loss.)

See, here's the deal: My general surgeon removed the last Jackson-Prewitt drain from my abdomen today ( yeah!). I am so glad he removed it. That last one was really hurting me and I'm so relieved to have it gone; the pain issue has improved a lot just due to that. Now, although I still have two bandages where the drains were removed and I still have steri-strips over all the stitches (there are many more than a hundred, according to my plastic surgeon), I can finally see the shape of my "new" tummy. Add to that the fact that I've lost all the water weight from the hospital (having an IV really packs on the pounds!). Also, since my tummy is back in a little space where it belongs, I haven't been eating much and I've started losing weight again. Woo Hoo! The upshot is that I am now 10 pounds lighter than I was before the surgery and I have this wonderfully, amazingly flat tummy that I have never had in my life! OK, it's a little rounded, but it's this gentle rounding that is actually quite feminine and it won't bother me a bit. Let's just say that for the first time since, oh say, seventh grade, I can look all the way down my body from sternum to toes in one unbroken line! I see no alien children and no icky flabby hangy-downy-tummy-thing!

So, bottom line, I keep looking in mirrors, windows, anything with an even slightly reflective surface and staring at my body. Tonight, Champs took me out on date night to see Sky High (it's a pretty cute movie, by the way) and I wore this pair of pink sweats that I bought for my recovery period. They were an exact fit and just ever-so-slightly snug before the surgery. Tonight they looked amazing; they didn't even hug my thighs, much less my tummy! I also wore a white long-sleeved tee-shirt (yes, cotton tees - the nice ones, not the printed ones, are my personal "uniform") that I've always loved but not worn very often because it didn't cover my tummy. Tonight it looked perfect.

I'm sorry; this isn't meant to brag. This is pure rejoicing! Thank you, Thank you, Thank you Jesus! (And, thank you Dr. R, my surgeon and Dr. R, my plastic surgeon and even thank you, silly insurance company that took six months to approve this!) I've never had a body like this. I felt cute. I felt healthy. Truth to tell, I felt sexy - even with bandages and a binder on. I've never felt this way before. I'm not sure how long I will be on this high, but I know that for a while yet I will be looking in mirrors and saying "OHMIGOSH, is that ME?!?!?!"

What's Your First Memory?

What is your first real memory? Is it happy or sad? Do you remember it as a visual or emotional memory?

Looking back, I think my first real memory is of a rainy day, probably in 1967. My mom was driving me and my brothers around in her baby blue Volkswagen bug. It was raining and I was strapped in my car seat (a metal and vinyl contraption, rather primitive and dangerous by today's standards). I had my blue and white polka dotted elephant stuck under my arm and I was "reading" my favorite book, a very colorful book about a grey mouse, a purple monkey and a pink elephant in a green jungle (man, I wish I knew what book that was!). I seem to remember looking out the window and babbling about my book, my elephant and the rain. I don't remember much more than that visual picture, but when I remember it, I have a sense of contentedness, so I must have been a happy girl that day.

When pull this memory out of my heart's scrapbook, look at it and see how I acted, I see so much of Sweet Girl in there. Sometimes, watching her is like watching myself grow up. It makes me wonder what the earliest memory she'll recall in later years will be. I hope it is happy.

Of Faith, Fear, and Fences

Yesterday I wrote about Champs' eyes and the possible rejection of both corneal transplants. This morning, Princssis, my sis-in-law, made this comment to my post: "So glad his vision improved over the weekend. We will be praying that this rejection stops! Just don't need any more delays in your move to Another State."

How interesting that she honed right in on my thoughts.

Yesterday when I got home from work, Champs and I went to Target to pick up all the medicines he would need for his trip. We left Sweet Girl with grandma and I was glad because it gave us a chance to talk. I was really glad, because, you see, I'm having a battle between faith and fear.

Champs and I decided nearly a year ago now to move to Another State. We wanted to wait until spring to allow me some time to heal from my 2nd hernia operation and let Sweet Girl finish preschool, as well as prepare the house for selling and take advantage of a better real estate market in the spring. We expected to move by June or July so we would have time to get Sweet Girl enrolled in school before the term started.

Well, fast forward to Christmas, when the hernias popped out again (talk about getting a lump of coal for Christmas!). I knew we couldn't move until I had them operated on, and as I've explained, I spent the next six months fighting with the insurance company to get approval for the full operation.

Then, in April, Champs needed another corneal transplant. We couldn't move until that and my surgery was done. Take another step to this month. The house is still not completely ready to go on the market, I will have major surgery on 7/29 and Champs is fighting rejection in both corneas.

'Scuze ME? What's goin' on here?!?!

It's funny, really. Not funny haha, but funny ironic in that get-out-of-here-Murphy-kind-of-way. Until we can put the house on the market, we are spinning our wheels. We haven't applied for jobs because we don't know when we'll get there. Without jobs, we don't know what kind of insurance we will have. And with my hernia happenings and Champs' cornea concerns, I started to get a little shaky. That's the fear part.

And yet, the odd thing is that we know it's the right thing to do. It's the right time to do it. That's the faith part. So, I got to Champs yesterday and told him all about my fears. What will we do if we don't have good benefits? The Big Company gives me a sense of security that I will be giving away when we move to Another State (and I think most wives and moms reading this will understand how important that sense of security is). I asked him just how sure he is that we should move. He is absolutely certain. I asked, have you prayed and prayed and prayed and, more importantly, do you KNOW you've heard the right answer? Yes, he has and yes, he did. We will find good jobs, we will have benefits, even if it means that Champs works 3rd shift (yuck).

That's the verdict. Faith wins (as it should) and fear loses. My heart is already moving to Another State, but my head is stuck here in the (apparent) safety of The Big City. Fear needs to leave, since
"God has not given us a spirit of fear but of power and of love and of a sound mind (2 Timothy 1:7)"

This is where the fence comes in. Champs and I have a good relationship and because we trust one another, we can talk about things like fear and faith. I want to build a fence around that, so that our faith stands firm and our fears are dispelled and our relationship stays strong.

and I really, really want for me to not have any more hernias

and for Champs to not reject his corneas

and to finally move to Another State where we belong.

So many questions, but one answer at least: Not fear. Faith.

Sorry for the sermon, folks... but I'm pretty much preaching to myself!

He Really Knew What He was Doing.

I planned a busy, productive weekend for our family. We were going to get the basement cleaned, the garage cleaned, and all the paperwork up to speed. So much for the best laid plans of Blond Girl, the supermom. We didn't get to any of it, and here's why:

On Friday, I took Sweet Girl to her 5-year checkup with her pediatrician. I did all the stuff they asked; fill out the forms, have Sweet Girl draw a picture, help her pee in a cup, check her hearing, check her sight. Check her height, check her weight, stand up, sit down, fight. fight. fight. The entire appointment took 2.5 hours, during which I learned that she is 41 inches tall and 34.5 pounds, putting her in the 25th percentile for height and weight (that's why I always say she's a little peanut).

The highlight of the appointment was the vaccination. Her pediatrician was compelled, for some reason, to tell Sweet Girl about the shots a full half hour before she got them. Now, I'm all for being honest to a child, but not brutally so. Since both Grandma Bina and I are diabetic, Sweet Girl gets to see plenty of shots. She knows what they are. I spent the next half hour trying to calm her down. She was distracted through the rest of the tests, near tears and continually telling me how scared she was of the shots to come. I repeatedly told her that they would hurt a little, but only for a moment and not to worry about it. Fat lot of good that did. (Side note, I really like her pediatrician, but I may need to give her some feedback about how she approaches the shot issue. Yes, warn the child. Right before the needle gets visible, and not sooner. Why stress them out for half an hour? But I digress.) So she got the shots - 2 of them and now she's OK to go to kindergarten. But they told me at the office that the shots could make her feverish and tired for the next couple of days.

Fast forward to Saturday, when all the work was to commence: Champs eye started giving him trouble. You may remember that he has had a corneal transplant in both eyes. His vision went horribly blurry on Friday and was no better on Saturday. So, we went to see one of the doctors at his eye clinic. The doctor came in special just to check his eyes. It doesn't appear to be rejection or infection, but possibly some toxic overload from all the drops he puts in his eyes. So, the hubby had next to no reliable vision for getting stuff done. We went to Target for a new prescription then went home. Sweet Girl was sleeping when we got home. At 5, she rarely ever naps anymore, but she was down for the count. So, we took a nap, too.

See, it's hot in Minnesota. Well, if radar is to be believed, its hot everywhere, but it is really hot here. It reached 97 degrees with unbelievable humidity both yesterday and today. When it's this hot, you can't really go outside. You can barely function. A nap seemed to make good sense to both of us. We didn't get up until nearly 5:30, when I finally started the laundry. I got it half done and the family watched "The Incredibles".

So, yesterday was a total wash. Today wasn't much better. We went to church and when we got home, Sweet Girl was pooped again. Her arm is one big red hot welt from the vaccination and she was like a damp rag. So, I had her go to lay down with a book and Champs and I took a nap as well. 45 minutes later, Sweet Girl came into our room and crawled into bed next to me. I told her to go to sleep. Miracle of miracles, she did, her warm little body pressed up against me.

I eventually dozed off for awhile, but soon I was awake again. Here I was; the work wasn't done, the air conditioning wasn't cooling the house (I'm pretty sure it's dead) and I had my husband on my left and my daughter on my right. I was trapped between them, hot and mildly frustrated that nothing was getting done or was likely to get done.

And then it hit me. Suddenly my mind went back ten years. I remembered being alone and despairing that I would never find anyone. I remembered the unrequited love that I held for one of my college friends and how I was never good enough for him. I remembered how my dad treated my mom like crap for years and years and I always figured that if I did find someone, I would end up with the same.

Then I looked to my left and saw this man who, for 7 years, has treated me like a queen. He may not be a millionaire, but he understands the finer points of love. Then I looked to my right and saw this beautiful little blond girl, who loves me and whose favorite pastime this week has been "attack kisses".

Suddenly, my heart welled up within me in absolute gratitude. "Thank you, Father, for bringing me this wonderful man. And thank you for giving us this beautiful child. I can't believe they are mine to love. Thank you."

And it didn't matter that the air conditioning is dying. It didn't matter that money is tight and the paperwork is still waiting to be done. It didn't matter that my basement is still a mess. What mattered is that God, in his infinite wisdom and love, saw what I needed all those years and sent me Champs and gave us Sweet Girl.

He really knew what He was doing.

Is The Sky Red Where You Are?

It is July. I can hardly believe that 2005 is now half over. How in the world did that happen? Of course, I always feel this way when I start to think about how fast time flies. In fact, it seems like just yesterday that we told Grandma Bina that I was pregnant. This will take awhile, but it's worth the read. Every word is true, I promise.

You will need three important pieces of information first to truly understand this story:

1. My mom is the original blond girl... She doesn't celebrate blond moments any more, but she does have more than her fair share of "senior moments". She is well known for being a lot like Edith Bunker. Lovable and somewhat ditzy.
2. I didn't meet Champs until I was 32. I am the youngest of my mom's 4 children and even though she already had 4 grandchildren, she wanted them from me, too. In fact, the first thing she said to us when we got out of the sanctuary after the wedding was "when do I get grandbabies?" We told her to let us enjoy our wedding dance and then we would worry about procreation.
3. My father was still alive at the time of this story, which takes place in 1999. He died of lung cancer in 2003, but played a small but important (and pretty darn funny, too) role in this narrative.

On a Friday morning in mid January of 1999, I realized that after 2 1/2 months of marriage Champs and I were going to be parents. I waited all day for Champs to come home so I could share the news with him. It took until about 8:00 that night before he knew everything and we could begin calling the family. Of course, my mother had to be first on the call list, so I called over to her home. Dad answered. "Hi Dad, can I talk to Mom?" Dad gave a little grunt (he grunted to mean just about anything from "whatever" to "oh my word, that's exciting!") and told me she wasn't home and would be gone until Sunday afternoon.

I hadn't realized she was going to be out, so I asked him where she was. He didn't know. "Dad", I asked, "what do you mean you don't know where she is? What if there is an emergency?" Dad calmly replied, "there won't be any emergency. She's not here. She is the emergency." Well, you can mess with logic like that, so I asked if he had any information at all. He knew she was somewhere in White Bear Lake for a church conference, so I went into detective mode.

After calling about 10 hotels, I found the one hosting the church conference and found the room of the friend my mom was staying with - success! I asked to leave a message and was patched through to voicemail. I asked Mom to call me, no matter how late. There was no emergency and nothing to worry about; I just wanted to talk to her.

Fast forward to midnight. The phone starts ringing and when I answer, Mom frantically asked " what's wrong?!?!" I assured her everything was fine and I had just wanted to talk to her. "Oh", she replied. "I just got a piece of paper that said "call your daughter no matter what". So much for the voicemail and the friendly hotel staff. After I got her calmed down, I got Champs to pick up and extension and we called Dad to get him on the line with Mom.

Once we were on the line, I explained that the reason I was calling so late is that I wanted to share some special news. "You're going to be grandparents again!" My dad, typically, grunted. I think there might have been an "oh, ok" in there too. My mom, who moments before was so fantastically frantic, said, "oh, that's nice honey. Is the sky red where you are?"

What?!?!?!

"Mom", I said, "your youngest child just told you she is pregnant. You've been waiting for this for years! What do you mean 'is the sky red'?" "Well", she replied, "the sky is just so red tonight. I've never seen anything like it at all!" Seeing that this conversation was a lost cause, Champs and I were soon off the phone and scratching our heads.

Unfortunately, 2 months later, we lost that baby. It was very sad and my parents (and everyone else) were very supportive. It took awhile but eventually we were ready to try again. The following October, we found out that I was pregnant again.

This time, I tested myself at 4:00 in the morning. I couldn't wait to tell Champs, so I woke him up. He was ecstatic! Out of courtesy we waited until 6:00 a.m. to call my mom. Champs got on one phone line and stood in the hall where he could see me on the bedroom phone. The phone rang and rang, and finally a muffled voice said, "mello?"

"Hi Mom!" I sing-songed (remember, I'd been up for 2 hours and was pretty pumped). "Is the sky red where you are?", I asked. She drew a deep breath and said, "I don't know. Hang on" and proceeded to drop the phone with a chunk! Champs and I looked at each other in wonder as we listened to her footsteps shuffle away and then shuffle back to the phone.

"No honey, the sky isn't red. It's black. It's night out", Mom explained, still clearly asleep. Barely containing my laughter, I decided to give her a hint. "No, Mom. I know the sky isn't red right now. Remember the last time we talked about this very same thing, all you could say was how red the sky was? Remember that?". "Ohhhh....", she said. Champs and I thought she might understand now. Then she showed us that she still wasn't quite tracking with us yet when she said, "I do remember. The sky was just so red! I've never seen the sky that red before!"

By this time, Champs and I were torn between astonishment, laughter, disbelief and a myriad of other reactions. I spoke very clearly; "no, Mom. Remember? The last time we spoke about THIS. VERY. SAME. SUBJECT.... You were more concerned about the sky than my news. Remember?"

Just as the sun broke over the horizon into our window, the light dawned on Mom. "Oooohhhh! A baby?" Champs busted out laughing. "ding ding ding ding ding! Tell her what she's won, Johnny!"

Well, Sweet Girl was the happy outcome of that pregnancy. We warned Mom that if we ever called and asked "is the sky red where you are?", she'd better know what we meant! Unfortunately, I'm having my tubes tied, so I guess we won't be asking that question again. But the memory and the story are just as sweet and funny each time we tell it.

What Are You Thinking?

It's a woman thing, I know. Your husband sits quietly for awhile and you figure that something MUST be going on in there, so you smile gamely and ask, "what are you thinking?"

I'm not sure who dreads that moment more; the wife or the husband. The husband because he just wants to be left to drowse in peace. The wife because she's wondering when she'll hear something other than, "oh, nothing really".

Ask me at any moment what I am thinking and I will probably give you a song title (that's been plaguing me all morning), a work problem (that's been plaguing me all week) and a money problem (that's been plaguing me all month) as well as a happy thought to balance it all out. For some reason I have a V8 brain - and all cylinders are running at full speed, thank you.

My husband, though, is content to be on idle most of the time. I ask him what he is thinking and he genuinely doesn't have an answer. It's like he's found nirvana and forgot to leave a map to follow him. I really don't understand!

The worst time to ask what your husband is thinking is after being *loving*. There I am, suffused in the happiness of our love and forever union, so I ask the fateful question. I am silly enough to expect an answer in keeping with my emotions and what do I get? "Oh, I was thinking about that last episode of Max-X".... How did he get THERE?

This isn't a smart-or-not-smart thing. It's a guy thing. I'm learning, though. I haven't learned not to ask what he's thinking yet, but I don't ask it as often!

Don't Laugh When Disciplining Your 5-Year Old

Not too long ago, we laid down the law for Sweet Girl. You see, the girl can talk. She can talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, TALK. Normally this isn't a problem. When you're the mother to a child like this, you get really good at listening, interjecting the expected comment at the right time ("Oh really? Your toys told you that they want to go McDonald's, huh? That's interesting) while doing a myriad of other motherly tasks.

It is a problem, though, when it comes to dinner time. Sweet Girl is a tiny thing. At age five, she weighs all of 34 pounds. Although we don't make her a member of the "clean plate club" (since we don't want her to get "food issues"), we do expect that when it is dinner time she will eat. It's a little thing, really. Just eat, honey.

So we laid down the law. If we had to tell her three times during the meal to stop talking and start eating, she would need to leave the table and go to bed without the rest of her supper. We've had to carry through on the consequences a few times now.

Well, the other night we were having a very good dinner which she really likes; penne with marinara sauce and salad with all the really good vegetables including broccoli and avocado (Sweet Girl's favorites). After receiving two warnings that she needed to stop talking and start eating (I believe one admonishment was "I need to see less words coming out of your mouth and more food going into it"), Champs decided it was time for another one of his amazingly effective "daddy/daughter talks". He had her come to his seat and he put her in his lap.

He explained the importance of eating a full diet. She got that. He explained that the rules wouldn't change and reminded her of the consequences of her choices. She got that. He told her to go back to her seat and "eat up your dinner". To which she lifted up her shirt, pointed to her little belly and said "but Daddy, my tummy is all squishy!

Champs tried, but he just. couldn't. make. it.

He laughed at her antics. He managed to recapture the "authoritarian" look and get her back into her chair. She even ate her dinner without further intervention.

But that twinkle in her eye told me that his discipline wasn't as effective as it would have been if he hadn't laughed.

Happy Birthday to the Sweetest Part of Me!

Happy Birthday to the Sweetest Part of Me

One of these days, I intend to write the story of how Champs and I met and got married; it's a great story. But the important thing today is that God, in His infinite wisdom, compassion and love brought the best man in the world for me to me. Not a day goes by that I am not thankful for the gentle man who loves me. I spent too many years in poor thinking: I thought I wasn't ever going to find love and that I must not be worthy of love and if I ever did find love, the man would treat me like crap, because that's what I had seen my whole life.

God knew better, though. He brought me Champs. His nickname was Champs when I met him and he explained that it was because the soccer team he coached won a championship. That's what his nickname means to him but to me it means so much more. He is the champion of my heart in so many ways; he protects, loves, defends, supports and keeps me in his heart. I knew these things about him shortly after I met him and I knew a lifetime with him would not dim these qualities.

When we were married, I sung a song to him that I had written. The chorus goes:

Champion of my heart
More than just a dream
You're my reality.
Of two, the strongest part.
You will always be
The sweetest part of me.

You've heard people say "my better half", right? Well, that's the idea here. That's what Champs is; the sweetest part of me. If any of you read my blog and think "she's got it all together", please know that it is first because of the absolute grace and mercy of Jesus Christ and second because of the security of walking through my life knowing that Champs will be there with me and that he loves me and our daughter.

He is the best dad! I can't believe what a blessing he is in Sweet Girl's life; I know she will grow to be a self-confident woman and to set a high standard of what she expects from her relationships. She has a wonderful example of a great husband living in front of her everyday. For that I am truly grateful.

It is Champs' birthday today! He's on the road for work, so I haven't even had the chance to give him a birthday kiss. But I have thought about it many times today. I even paid for and downloaded the "happy birthday" song to send to him in a text message, but then the phone said it was too big of a file to send (yeah, right... It wasn't too big to charge me for and send to my phone...). So, we haven't celebrated yet today; we'll celebrate on Saturday. It will be a real zoo of a party, actually. We'll be having a combo party; Sweet Girl's 5th birthday, Champs' 33rd birthday and Grandma Bina's 70th birthday. Whew! I know I'll sleep good on Saturday night; I'll be exhausted from the party!

So, happy birthday, hubba-hubba-licious! May your year bring you new joys, new victories and more happiness than you've ever had before. I love you today and I will love you more and more every day. Times 5. Plus 4. Times 3 to the 8th power. Plus infinity.

Times 1.

We Should Have Just Gone Home

Murphy is not well liked in our house.

His law is liked even less.

After work (where, by the way, I didn't get a darn thing done) Champs and Sweet Girl picked me up. I asked Champs what he wanted for dinner and he replied that he wasn't really hungry yet. Knowing that we didn't have much food in the house, I asked him if he wanted to go grocery shopping ("not much in the house" means we have lots of various ingredients but fall short in the complete meals category). He said "sure", so away we went.

Murphy decided to see how much fun he could have with us in the store. We got there and sat outside in the car for a few minutes making our shopping list. Before we went in, I grabbed my cell phone, made sure Champs had his wallet and locked my purse in the trunk. We are planning a birthday party for Sweet Girl (as well as Champs & Bina) for July 9th. Knowing we won't have too much in the way of "disposable cash" by then (mortgage time, you know), I decided we should get as much of the supplies and food we needed for the party as possible. It didn't take long for our cart to take on a life of it's own, and I knew this was gonna be expensive! Fast forward to the end of the trip. When I went to pay for all the groceries we picked out, I scanned Champ's check card through the reader and it came up "transaction blocked". I tried again and still "transaction blocked". I heard Murphy snicker.

I certainly couldn't understand why his card wasn't working, but in order to use mine or pay by check, I needed my purse, which was locked in the car trunk. I explained this to Champs. "Well, go get it", he said "I'm bagging groceries." I told him I needed the keys to which he replied "I don't have the keys. You do. You drove." I know I had a look of pure horror cross my face. Champs said, "You didn't!" and I, through my hand which I had slapped over my mouth, replied "Oh god, I DID!". I heard Murphy snort.

Hoping I might have left a door open so I could unlatch the trunk, I ran out to the car. The doors were locked, alright, but my keys were not in the trunk in my purse (as Champs and I had surmised), they were swinging merrily from the ignition. I had forgotten to take them out after we made our shopping list! I heard Murphy giggle.

I went back into the store, where Champs had the bright idea that I should use the ATM card and take money out. This was a great idea, so I went to the machine. New problem. See, about a month or so ago, my check card got lost so both of us got new cards. The old cards had a $500.00 per day withdrawal limit. I found out the hard way today that they didn't raise the limit on the new card; it was down to a $200.00 per day withdrawal limit... and we had $277.00 worth of groceries. I heard Murphy chuckle.

At this point, I knew we needed uniformed assistance, so I went to the service desk attendent, who called the community service cops to come out and unluck my car. It took a good 15 minutes for him to show up. The whole time, I was worrying about the ice cream melting. I know I heard Murphy laughing by now.

After the cop came (who, I might add, Sweet Girl hugged 3 times. That girl has no shame), I went back in and wrote a check for our groceries and we were finally able to leave. As we drove away, I could hear Murphy hooting....

I'm gonna find Murphy one of these days and I AM going to hurt him.