Seething with Frustration and Mama Bear Anger

My daughter has been sick a lot this year. Anyone reading through my blog can attest to the mishaps and illnesses that we've endured this school year. As a result, she's missed 14 days of school. Even so, she maintains a 3.8 - 4.0 grade point average.

I think if a person is out for two or three days because of one illness and they have a doctor's slip to prove so, it should count as one absence, not two or three. This is not the way it works in our middle school, hence the number of absences for my middle child.

Emily loves school. She loves everything about it. The learning, the social aspect, the sports - everything. Conferences were last week and every one of her teachers said she was the top in her class or among the top. In math, Emily was the only student that passed a particularly difficult algebra test. Not only did she pass, she passed with an A- and was the only one that wasn't required to retake it. She's on student council, she's a Student Assistant and she is on the cheerleading squad. I'm not saying all this to brag, although it does feel kinda good. I'm giving you an idea of what kind of person my daughter is.

I've talked to the school principal about her absences and they've assured me that because I've called every time and have provided doctor's excuses when necessary that there wasn't any truancy issues.

I just got off the phone with the director for the class trip this year. She informs me that Emily has missed too much school to go on the trip - by two days. Now I know there are rules and I agree with them, but I also believe one needs to look at the whole picture in making any decision. You're telling me that as long as a student is scraping by with D's, but only has 5 absences, they are more deserving at this opportunity. I think that Emily should go because she's proved that she can stay on top of things with missed school. What better candidate to leave for an entire week of school?

Rules aside, what I'm really pissed about is the condescending tone the director took with me.

DIR: I see that Emily has had a problem with attendance. Would it be better for me to talk to her and let her know the importance of being in school.

ME: No, she likes school. She wants to be there, she's just been sick this year. I've got the doctor's slips. I feel like I need to remind you of the schools rule about being sick - if you're child has a fever, they are not allowed in school.

DIR: Well, we can bend the rules this time, but I need you to assure me that Emily will do all she can to make an effort to be here.

ME: Again, she does make an effort to be there, but if she's throwing up, I can't send her.

DIR: I still need to have a commitment from Emily, because if she can't commit to being here, we will give her spot to someone on the waiting list.

(If they don't fill her spot though, we are out they money we've put toward the trip)

ME: I know Emily will make every effort to be in school, but I can't guarantee that she isn't going to get bronchitis between now and May.

DIR: Maybe that child needs to take Vitamin C or Echinacea then.

EXCUSE ME???!!!! WHAT???

I ended the conversation before I completely ruined Emily's chances of going, but wish I would have said a lot more. I think it's shitty. I don't think it's fair and I'm not going to just accept it.

Furthermore, why am I only be told this now. Why wasn't I made aware of the absence situation when we were at 10 absences instead of 14. Conveniently timed after my 2nd non-refundable trip payment.

It remains to be seen whether or not she'll be able to go on the trip, but you can bet your brass monkey that I won't be paying for it if she doesn't go.

Tuesday Scrapbook Layout

From New York to Toronto

These are pics from my daughter's school trip. She's the one in the lower left corner making the "Stuck-on-myself rock start" look.

Bailey the Kid

During the cold winter evenings after Drew is in bed, my furry companion sidles up next to me as I settle in to watch a movie in front of a roaring fire. He won't settle down until I get him sufficiently covered and snuggled. This is his time and he knows it.

Blogging Blunder

Recently, in our local news there were reports of some teenager's getting into trouble because of the content on their blogs.

Apparently these teenagers had gone to a party, took all kinds of digital pictures and then posted them. The athletic director of their school saw the photos and the beer bottles that the kids were holding in a "cheers" salute and several more in the background and punished said kids with expulsion from all sports.

It's imperative that you know what kind of community and school district we are talking about before I finish the story. This school is a Class A district and always takes the state championship in football. It's a very rich, snobby area where even average houses are priced sinfully above market and in every driveway is parked a Lexus, but for no longer than two hours at a time so as not to violate the ordinance. This is the school in which the kids who wrote "American Pie" metriculated from. This gives an idea of the type of family I am talking about.

I believe there is a zero tolerance policy in all schools now days that if you are caught abusing alcohol, you don't play sports. Simple as that. Well, these highfalutin parents hired lawyers and are arguing that "we don't know for sure that there was beer in those bottles".

Yeah. Right! The kids dumped out the beer and re-filled the bottles with soda just to give the illusion that they were drinking. They were so drinking.

So what are these parent's teaching their kids? One, that is okay to break the rules if you don't get caught; and two, if you do get caught, lie about it.

Chad the PT (aka Hands McGee)

I think I'm in love with my new physical therapist, Chad.

I finally broke down and saw the doctor about my neck and after an x-ray of my spine, he prescribed physical therapy for as long as necessary. Did you know that in order to get a picture of the top of your spine, the x-ray needs to be taken through your open mouth? That was not a pretty pose.

So, therapy started today and Chad stretched and pulled and massaged my neck and then he placed his hands on the back of my head and applied continuous pressure to a certain area and made my headache disappear. Then, right before I left, I got another massage. I had to resist hugging the guy before I left.

Oh yeah, he's cute too!

To Gay Monroe

~the only person I ever teased deliberately.

I still see the look on your face sitting on the bus that day - it was humiliation - I wish I could live that day over.

I still hear my voice asking if your hair was supposed to be french braided or if it was just matted - I wish I could take it back.

I still hear the echoes of laughter as the other kids enjoyed your embarrassment - I wish they had been laughing at me.

I still remember the sick feeling I had the rest of that day - I still feel it whenever I think of you.

I'm sorry.

Address Book

I keep my address book in a "junk" drawer in the kitchen. I purchased this address book, when my son who is 17 was just a baby. Over the years, many new additions have been added as well as multiple changes to phone numbers and addresses. More recently, phone numbers get scribbled on tears of paper or napkins or scrawled on the back of a business card or take-out menu and eventually make their way back home and get tucked inside this address book. Or simply thrown in the drawer with the intention of the address book being their final resting place.

Each time I have to look for a phone number, I have to painstakingly sift through each piece of paper, large and small and half the time, never find what I'm looking for. With my need for organization in every area of my life, this is driving me insane. I finally linked more pain to not having it organized that I did to physically correcting the situation. (Yes, I consider it a situation.)

I bought a new address book with crisp, clean pages and even a line for email addresses which was not available in my current book. I went through every napkin, envelope, menu, business card and sticky note, recording the numbers and addresses in their corresponding section. It's been done for 3 days now and I haven't had to look up a single phone number.

One wouldn't think this domestic task could cause one to ponder the delicacies of life, but it has. As many additions were made to my list, there were almost as many deletions. A few deaths, but mostly friends and acquaintances who've drifted out of my life due to geographical location or a parting of ways. I reflected on those people who were at one time a part of my life and wondered about the short time they graced it. Were they placed in my path for my benefit, or I for theirs? And have we really changed that much that we have nothing in common anymore; that there is no reason to contact one another?

Then I started thinking about the chain of events that led to each new encounter and the unlikely consequences leading to a break down in friendships. I'm left to wonder, which friends will stay and which will be deleted from my new address book in another 17 years. Right now I can't imagine it any other way, but experience shows me that everything changes. The only physical evidence of past friendships is the ink in which their name resides in my address book.

Tuesday Scrapbook Layout

If nothing else, this will get "Grievances" off the front line of my blog. I hope any first time visitors will give me another chance.

NYC

It's hard to see, but in the lower left hand corner of the 2nd page, there is a picture of a homeless man holding a sign that says, "Need money for booze, drugs and hookers. Hey, at least I'm not bullshitten' you" My son (the one in the middle of the page, next to the girl in the green shirt) went to NYC with the school orchestra and contributed a few quarters to this guys cup in exchange for a photo. After taking the shot, the guy tells him, "Welcome to NYC kid".

Grievances

Part of this post was written a week ago when I was feeling particularly snarky and I had since decided against publishing it. After discussing it with a friend, they sanctioned for its publication citing that this was a fleeting glimpse of who I was at that particular time. I've cleaned up the language a bit (not that you'd notice), but it may still be offensive. You the reader, have the benefit of choosing not to continue, my friend did not have that luxury. So here's a permanent reminder of a temporary feeling.

Abysmal Ignorance

People are so fucking stupid. We sold a house last week to a couple who through the course of their lives have ruined their credit. Trying to get back on track and out of the shoe box that they've been living in for the past 5 years, they made an offer on a house that we own. A nice house. 1800 square foot, four bedroom Victorian with two baths and a fenced yard, priced below appraised value.

I also have the advantage of supplying them with financing for the purchase. This couple, while making great strides, has not been able to save money for a down payment. Consequently, we offer to pay for their down payment and in return they make payments to us at 8% interest over the next five years. It does us no good to keep sitting on this house either. After much explanation, every one thinks it's a fine idea.

That is until this couple decided to talk to an appraiser who attends their Bible study. Of course, they don't quite get all the details themselves, and ultimately give the appraiser a load of misinformation. The appraiser tells them that what we are doing is illegal and it would be best for them to get out of the deal if they can.

Now, this is only illegal if you raise the price of the home first and if you don't tell the first mortgage holder about the second loan for the down payment. We did not violate either condition which I tried to explain to them. But the damage was done and now the appraiser is helping them look for a new house. They didn't even have the courtesy to tell me that they were backing away. They simply stopped all communication. Assholes!

Volunteering in the Name of Christ?

How can this be a grievance you're wondering? Well it is! My mother-in-law hosts Coffee Break at our church every Thursday morning for both members of the church and the community. She's been asking for some time if I would run the nursery for this group. I've continually said no, I don't have time, but finally about 6 weeks ago, I relented. (Hmmm, any correlation with the neck injury?)

The deal was that I was supposed to take care of two kids, a 3 year old and a 2 year old and I could bring Drew to play if I wanted. It was only for an hour every Thursday and I would get $20.

This week, I had a 4 1/2 year old, a 3 year old, two 2 year olds, a 6 month old and a 3 month old. Both of the babies shit, one required a full clothing change and the 2 year old screamed the entire time. I got scratched on the chest by the 3 month old with razor fingernails and spilled ice water on by one of the 2 year olds. An hour continually stretches to an hour and a half AND I found out I get paid $20 a month, not $20 a week.

It seems that since words out there's a babysitter in nursery again, the women are coming out of the wood work with these kids. It makes me wonder, since they weren't coming before, if they are interested in learning the Bible or if they just want a break from these little monsters for a couple hours out of the morning.

When my MIL gets back from Mexico, I'm telling her to look for someone else!

Restocking Racket

I used to be a Creative Memories consultant before I had Drew. I quit before he was born thinking that I wouldn't have time for the business, but didn't want to get rid of my product because I thought I might start up again in the near future.

When I did re-list as a consultant I found that I had understandably, lost most of my customer base to other consultants. After a few months, I realized that I didn't feel like working to build my business back up, so I quit for good.

Creative Memories has a "buy back" program where they take back all unopened merchandise from consultants minus a 10% restocking charge. Most consultants, if they want to have a successful run, have to keep a large stock of supplies on hand, and I was no exception. I've got five pages of merchandise to return totaling $1500 in retail.

The call from CM comes yesterday. "We're sorry, we only take back products that were purchased in the last year." Well whoop-ti-fucking-do. That's only about half my stuff. I can see not taking back product that discontinued or that was labeled a limited edition, but stuff that has not been changed or deleted from the product line or had packaging upgrades, why can't they take those back? It's stupid. So if anyone needs anything Creative Memories, I've got some stuff for sale. CHEAP!

Damn Leap Frog Anyway

We have this Dreamscapes Soother for the baby that attaches safely to the crib and with the push of one button by said baby, provides soothing music and a relaxing scene to coax him back to sleep. This thing works beautifully and Drew loves it! However, it sucks batteries life in vampire style. I'm not complaining for the cost. We've gone the rechargeable route now, so it's only a matter of changing the batteries.

You'd think if the company were going to make a toy that went through batteries so quickly, they'd make the battery compartment easily accessible. Oh no! Every time we have to rejuice, I have to get the whole tool box out and unscrew two different panels and pry them off to replace the batteries. Usually, I don't realize it's out of batteries until the middle of the night when I hear this distorted music in the monitor and then cries when he can't get it to play. By the time I get it working again, we're both wide awake.

There was more, but I'm stopping. It was a rough week. I feel better now!

Product Raves and Reviews

Have any of ya all heard of these home spa shows? A consultant comes into a person's home and each guest has the privilege of receiving a foot bath, a facial, a lip treatment, and a scalp massage. I went to one last summer complete with poolside candles and margaritas. I didn't want to go, but I enjoyed it immensely.

Fast forward to beginning of January this year. As I awoke one morning, I kind of lifted myself up off my pillow to turn onto my left side, when I felt this sharp stabbing pain in the left side of my lower neck. For days afterwards, I was not able to lift my left arm away from my body. It's never completely healed. Every day feels like the last day of "An I Slept Wrong" bender. About once a week, I re-injure it with a sneeze or a wrong turn to the point of paralysis. Okay, I'm exaggerating a little bit.

Finally, after six weeks of tolerating the pain, I remember about this spa show and that we got to try out these wonderfully warm and relaxing neck wraps. I call the consultant girl and tell her I need one of these magic wraps pronto. Then I find out that they aren't for sale, they can only be obtained by hosting a freakin spa show.

I call a friend to complain ~ because that's what girls do and to my surprise, she says she has one that I can HAVE!!!! I offer to pay for it, but she says no. Instead I take her some Creative Memories supplies she's been wanting and run home with my new neck wrap. After two minutes in the microwave this little dandy delivers non-stop heat right to the affected area. It's so much nicer than those sticky, stinky, icy hot patches from the store and easier than trying to fold a heating pad and keeping it in place. I can walk around and do my work while trying to coax my neck into being the easy-to-turn thing that it used to be.

If anyone has neck problems or just needs to de-stress I highly recommend one of these wraps. I think the company might be called Beauty Control. That's what it says on the wrap, but that's not the name I remember from the party.

Get one today - any way you can.

Tuesday Scrapbook Layout

Three months

Mod Podge

I've been wanting to take on this new project for a while now - well ever since my hand surgery - and I decided this weekend was the perfect time. The letters are made of pressed wood and you decorate them with scrapbook paper and embellishments. The secret is in the Mod Podge glue. Most people do their kids' names in coordinating colors for their rooms; but I thought that would be too predicatable, so I made something for my bar.

I took all this stuff....

And turned it into this. It was so much fun!

Sisters ~ Til Death Us Do Part

The following excerpt is a journal entry from a very close friend. She emailed it to me this morning reminding me of what we've had to overcome. She was, at one time, my sister-in-law; but through a series of sequential events, we weren't able to speak for several years.

Now, both in our 30's, we've been in contact again for about 10 years and still refer euphemistically to each other as sisters (not ex-sisters-in-law) although we have no "legal" relation. But what does sisterhood consist of? It's not necessarily the blood that courses through our veins, but rather the love and experiences that knit us together forever.

In reading this entry from her journal, I feel as if I'm watching that part of my life like a movie. Because we lived it, we simply accepted it. Viewing the experience this way now, I see the tragedy in it that neither of us could have foreseen. Just like a movie that you see it in it's entirety though, this account also has a happy ending.

And now you'll also know that my name is Michelle.

One person that has influenced me more than anyone is my best friend Michelle. But truly she is more than my best friend; she is my sister, guider, and mentor.

I met Michelle at the age of 12. She began dating my oldest brother and although we were 7 years apart we hit it off immediately. We liked so many of the same things; reading, poetry, writing, clothes, current hair styles, movies, and boys. At times I was almost jealous of my older brother because he was able to spend more time with her than me; nonetheless, our relationship grew and in two years I was delighted when she married my brother, officially becoming my sister, and gave birth to my first nephew Steven.

Our relationship grew tremendously within the next year; after all we were sisters at that point. During the summer I would stay weeks with her while my brother worked third shift jobs and sometimes even worked overtime. We watched Steven together, would go grocery shopping together, draw together, and became fascinated with 50's pop music together. She even showed me how to drive her car although I was only 14. I loved and adored her, more than anything I wanted to be like her when I grew up, strong, determined, and willing to try out new things.

Looking back I realize that Michelle saved my life during those years. My relationship with my overly verbally abusive family became strained and although I was only 14 I often contemplated suicide. I felt so misunderstood and different but because of Michelle I had someone to turn to, someone that liked and loved me and someone that I could like and love in return.

As the years went on Michelle and I stayed close although once she had my niece Emily and I began high school we weren't able to spend as much time together with each other as we would have liked. But we were still sisters and I loved having her as my sister. However, after I graduated from high school in 1994 we were able to see one another much more and I noticed a change in her. The years of being with my abusive asshole brother had caused her to grow weary and she asked him for a separation. Although I completely understand and whole-heartedly supported her decision, I felt sad as well. She was my sister and I wanted her to always be my sister. I didn't want her to leave.

The following year they divorced and she began her new life. After she left things changed in a way that I never predicted. My family hated and blamed her for everything. They concluded that she had an affair and that my brother, of course, could not be at fault for anything. But to me she was still my sister; I loved her; I had loved her for practically as long as I could remember and I did not want to divorce her. I was crushed when my family forbade me to see her and threatened to disown me if I did. But I loved my sister, how could I not see her? I was almost jealous of her, if only I could divorce my family and start new just as she did. The years have passed and although my parents still blame her for everything I do attempt to remain in contact with her. As I have grown and been separated from her I have realized the powerful impact she has had on my life. If she had never entered my life who knows what may have happened to me? Instead, today I am a strong (or at least I like to believe so) woman that has gone on to become a teacher, traveler, dreamer, and doer. I am truly a reflection of her, my sister. Her influence upon me has caused me to realize that blood relation does not necessarily define one's family, it is love that does.

Suicide

Augustine argued that suicide was a violation of the sixth commandment, "You shall not murder" (Exodus 20:13). Later, Thomas Aquinas, being catholic and believing that confession of sin must be made prior to departure from this world to the next, taught that suicide was the most fatal of all sins because the victim could not repent of it. The problem with his view is that it represents a misunderstanding of eternal security. One in which Scripture clearly teaches. We are saved by the grace of God, not by works (Ephesians 2:8-9) and nothing can separate a Christian from the love of God (Romans 8:37-39).

After Myth Busters last night, I caught the beginning of a show called Stunt Junkies. The guys performing these stunts are clearly out of their minds, jumping over semi trailers on their quads while completing back sommersaults with these four-wheelers. Come on! It got me thinking that if they were to crash resulting in their death, would it be just like suicide? Even if they really didn't want to die, they are clearly tempting the fates. Knowing that their heedless abandon could very well lead to their end, yet continuing their recklessness.

We could take this thought even farther and suggest that people who smoke or drink or take drugs are really partaking in a long-term suicide. But that just sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? Or does it?

Opening the polls for opinions. The mind thinks of weird shit when it's awake in the middle of the night.

The Heart Goes Pitter Patter

Or thud, thud, thud depending on which emotion is currently winning the war. Last night's emotion was panic and fear mixed with a nagging voice saying "nah, you're over reacting."

A trip to the ER in the middle of the night confirmed that the little voice was right. Sorta.

Glenn came home from work with some upper back pain and headed off to bed early. When I joined him a few hours later, he was still awake because of the pain which was now also traveling down his left arm. I knew this could be a sign of an impending heart attack but he had also been shingling all week and had moved a pile of shingles that day. Could just be a pulled muscle, right?

Then he got up to take some Pepcid because he had heartburn and an alarm went off in my head that we should probably get this checked out. I talked him into going to the ER. Boy, they sure don't mess around when you complain of any pain that might be associated with the heart. We didn't even have to register, they came to us in the room later to fill out the paper work. His vitals were taken and the attending had examined him within 10 minutes of our arrival.

Turns out that he tore some muscles along the left side of his upper spine and the inflammation was causing the pain. We got some Vicodin and some muscle relaxers and arrived home only 2 1/2 hours after we left. That's gotta be some kind of record for an emergency visit.

Thankfully it was nothing major and we felt a little foolish at having rushed to the hospital, but they assured us that we did the right thing. Then probably laughed like school girls when we walked out the door.

Yet another exciting event to mark in my calendar of life.

Tuesday Scrapbook Layout

WATER BOY

A different take on AC's "Show and Tell Tuesdays" is going to be my "Tuesday Scrapbook Layout" This twist on the show and tell came after the brutal discover that besides not having anything fun to post, likewise, I have nothing interesting to share via show and tell. So, here is the first layout. I wanted it to be titled Water Baby, but I ran out of room.

First Time for Everything

This is the first tag I have played along with. Works out nicely, because I have nothing worthwhile to post anyway.

Four Jobs that I have had:
1) Advertising Coordinator for Blue Cross & Blue Shield
2) Video Store Chain Manager
3) New home construction/designer
4) Loan Officer

Four Movies I could watch over and over:
1) Good Will Hunting
2) Fried Green Tomatoes
3) Mr Smith Goes to Washington
4) Princess Bride

Four places in the U.S. I like:
1) Mackinac Island, Michigan
2) Denver, Colorado
3) Pigeon Forge, Tennessee
4) Sanibel Island, Florida

Favorite places I have vacationed: (Sadly, besides Canada, I've never been out of the country)
1) Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
2) Sanibel Island, Florida
3) Denver, Colorado
4) Savannah, Georgia

Four t.v. shows:
1) The First 48
2) Trading Spaces
3) Unsolved Mysteries
4) ER

Four favorite dishes:
1) Stuffing - that could be a meal alone
2) Crab Rangoons - again, an entire meal for me
3) Wet Burritos
4) Chicken & Broccoli Pasta Alfredo

Four places I would rather be:
1) Anywhere tropical
2) Cuddled up in bed with a good book and no work to do
3) Scrapping with Clew
4) Out anywhere with Molly

Four sites I visit daily:
1) My personal bank
2) The blogs and my mail
3) The MLS
4) Stocks

Four people I will tag:
1) Rebecca, cause she always participates
2) Nicole, if I ask real nice, she can't refuse. ;)
3) Joy, cuz you seem fun
4) Anonymous Coward, just to see if he'll lower himself to our shenanigans and play along.

Clew tagged me.

Come Visit Me

Over at this blog today. I'm blogsitting for a fellow blogger and have the chance to be someone I'm not. Or rather, someone I'm uncomfortable being. It's much more exciting over there and you'll all realize just how boring I am if you return.

I can entertain you with a tap dance.

Right, shuffle-ball-step, shuffle-ball-step, toe tap
Shuffle-ball-change,
Left, shuffle-ball-step, shuffle-ball-step, toe tap
Shuffle-ball-change...
Right, shuffle..............ball.........step,
Cough, cough wheeze, cough,
Shuffle.........................................
Ball....................................
Step...........................
Cough, toe tap, toe tap, toe tap,
Top hat finish.
Heh, huh, heh, huh, heh, huh
Wheeeeeeze.

Maybe not.

Join Me

In wishing Clew a very happy birthday, wont you? Love you sis!

Farts are Funny at Fifteen Months

"Children learn what they live."

If that's true, then I'm embarrassed to admit that the baby thinks it's hilarious when he breaks wind. Or "opens up his peach basket" as my Grandma used to say.

Now before everyone conjures up an image of our family walking around saying things like "pull my finger" and "shhhh, do you hear that" prior to ripping off a butt clapper, let me just tell you that Drew has most likely acquired this habit because we laugh at him when he let's one fly.

Since he seeks our approval above all else except maybe his food, any way he can please us brings him great delight. Each time he toots, he stops in his tracks, looks at us from the corner of his eye and starts smiling, which of course makes us laugh even more, further reinforcing his antics.

I suppose just as he's learned this behavior, he'll soon enough learn that it's embarrassing to fart in public and I won't need to worry.

Post Op Update

Praises to the doctor for removing my cast and my stitches. The finger is still really swollen and I can't straighten it, not because it's painful to do so, I just can't do it. So therapy might be in my future after all.

As with good news, there always seems to be a BUT. The pathology report showed nothing sinister like cancer, but there was a comment in the report that indicated the cyst or part of it may still be there. I'm not sure how the lab would come to that conclusion, but what do I know.

We're going to let some healing happen and then I go back to the doctor in two weeks. At least for now, with only one finger wrapped, I'm more mobile than I was with the cast on.

Hey Rocky! Wanna see me pull a survey out of my a$$?

Working with the public, especially when it involves their own money, is not for the faint of heart. Strictly knowing this fact, does not necessarily secure smooth transactions between client and broker.

I did everything I could to get all my proverbial ducks in a row before my surgery fearing that I wouldn't be able to do anything during recovery. This included having everything ready for a mortgage closing tomorrow. I made sure the package would be ready, that the title office had all the documents and the lender had cleared the conditions. The only thing the buyer needed to do was find a copy of their existing survey and fax it to the title office. They assured me they had one and they would have it faxed by the beginning of this week.

I get a call from the lender today. "We need a survey on the (insert last name) file."

Thinking that there was a transmittal error at worst, I ring the buyer and ask them to fax it again. "Oh, it turns out we don't have a survey. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Well not for me, but the lender wont give us final clear to close until we produce one and if we don't close tomorrow, I can't guarantee your rate because the lock will expire." They've known this was the deadline for 3 weeks and still have dragged it out not getting me certain documents I've needed.

Anyway, I work my magic and get a surveying company out to the property and they agree to have my survey ready by tomorrow morning. They want to charge $200 instead of $150 though for the rush job. I authorize it without the buyer's okay. Seemingly the right thing to do in this particular situation.

Call up buyer to explain and he's irate that it's going to cost them $50 more dollars. I go from hero to zero in a matter of thirty minutes. Should I kill him or strangle myself?

Fuzzy Limbs on Woody Skeletons

(This is today's view from my office window)

Once a lush green foliated screen,

A kaliedoscope of fall color

turned tangle of gnarly limbs,

Reduced to this icy scene

with buds lying dormant underneath,

waiting.

Honorary Mayor

Forty five years ago, a little boy announced his entry into the world with a crackled squawk. He was known as what some refer to as a "blue baby". His little brain had been depraved of oxygen for too long resulting in a compromised mental state. But despite the challenges Dougie faced, he grew to be a warm, generous and funny guy.

He hung out at Hilliards General Store which is the epitome of country stores. The smell inside is one of must combined with lavender and old, dry wood mixed with cinnamon. The creaky, blue wood floor spills onto a covered porch adorned with padded rocking chairs and an ice chest. This is where Dougie passes his time, rocking back and forth in his baseball cap, waiting for people to stop in so he can get their autographs.

Before softball games, my high school friends and I would go to Hilliards to buy provisions for the bus trips and there we would chat with Doug and sign little notes to him in his book. We'd known him since we were little and we just accepted him as he was, never feeling sorry for him. As we got older, some of the boys would tease him indirectly, making sexual comments that he most likely didn't get. Either because he was unable to or because he didn't care, Dougie was not bothered by their subtle jibes and would ask for their signatures despite their laughing.

Over the years, Doug collected thousands of signatures in many different books from friends and strangers alike. Often duplicate names appear in the pages of his journals, sometimes dated a few weeks apart and sometimes years span the entries. Last year, we saw Doug at a birthday party where he asked my daughter to sign his book. Not knowing him, she was a little intimidated by his close proximity to her and his slurred words, but she signed her name anyway giving him a smile and a wave goodbye.

This past week Doug was named Honorary Mayor of the small town of Hilliards, which doesn't even have it's own town council. His campaign signs were plastered on telephone poles in a mile radius of the store. His slogan: "Beware of the Doug". This simple appointment, this small token of responsibility could not have been bestowed on anyone more deserving. Doug has been the one constant Hilliards has seen in this ever changing world.

While the rest of us have changed and evolved, Doug has remained the same sweet innocent person he's always been, collecting names in his journals and greeting all that patronize the store from under his baseball cap with a big cheesy grin.

OY!

Well, I felt pretty good yesterday as my hand was numb until 10:30 pm, but today it really hurts. The good news is that my tendons looked good and I probably wont need any therapy. The cyst was not caused by an injury to the tendon shaft, but was growing independantly. I'll have the pathology results on that in 10 days or so.

Today, I just plan on laying around. Be back soon.

Update

This is Martie with an update on Naive.....she is now home from the surgery and doing very well. They removed a cyst from her finger and fortunately the shaft wasn't damaged that we know of at this point. She is going to be resting and taking it easy for the rest of today (Mother's orders). We will keep you updated further when we have new news!

Something To Pass the Time

When most of you are reading this, I'll be dozing peacefully under the affects of the anesthesia. Until I get back and can report the events of the surgery, I thought I'd leave you with this humorous piece of information. Enjoy. Ruben will especially enjoy this. ;)

THE HANGOVER SCALE

One Star Hangover *:

No pain. No real feeling of illness. You're able to function relatively well; however, you are still parched. You can drink 5 sodas and still feel this way. For some reason you are craving a steak and fries.

Two Star Hangover **:

No pain, but something is definitely amiss. You may look okay, but you have the mental capacity of a staple gun. The coffee you are chugging is only increasing your rumbling gut, which is still tossing around the fruity pancakes from the 3:00 am Waffle House excursion. There is some definite havoc being wreaked upon your bowels.

Three Star Hangover ***:

Slight headache. Stomach feels crappy. You are definitely not productive. Anytime a girl walks by you gag because her perfume reminds you of the flavored schnapps shots your alcoholic friends dared you to drink. Life would be better right now if you were home in your bed watching Lucy reruns. You've had four cups of coffee, a gallon of water, three iced teas and a Diet Coke --- yet you haven't peed once.

Four Star Hangover ****:

Life sucks. Your head is throbbing. You can't speak too quickly or else you might puke. Your boss has already lambasted you for being late and has given you a lecture for reeking of booze. You wore nice clothes, but that can't hide the fact that you only shaved one side of your face. (For the ladies, it looks like you put your make-up on while riding the bumper cars.) Your eyes look like one big red vein, and even your hair hurts. Your sphincter is in perpetual spasm, and the first of about five shits you take during the day brings water to the eyes of everyone who enters the bathroom.

Five Star Hangover *****:

You have a second heartbeat in your head, which is actually annoying the employee in the next cube. Vodka vapor is seeping out of every pore and making you dizzy. In fact, you are probably still drunk. You still have toothpast crust in the corners of your mouth from brushing your teeth in an attempt to get the remnants of the poop fairy out. Your body has the lost the ability to generate saliva so your tongue is suffocating you. You don't have the foggiest idea who the hell the stranger was passed out in your bed this morning. Any attempt to defacate results in a fire hose like discharge of alcohol scented fluid with a rare "floater" thrown in. The sole purpose of this "floater" seems to be to splash the toilet water all over your ass. Death sounds pretty good about right now!

The Day is Almost Here

I've been dreading it for a while now and not because I'm afraid of the surgery, but because I'm not looking forward to the recovery.

It's only hand surgery, nothing invasive, but it requires more than local anesthesia. I will be sedated for two hours while the surgeon tries to remove a cyst that is in my finger. It's wrapped around the tendons and nerves requiring the longer procedure. I'll have 12-14 stitches and a cast covering my entire right hand. (Yes, I'm right handed.)

For ten days, I'll have to try to take care of a 14 month old with one hand. I'll have some help, but ten days is a long time to have someone take care of your kid. Once that cast comes off, a smaller one will take it's place for 2-3 weeks and then possible therapy. And the cyst will go to pathology for testing.

Seeing as I won't be able to do a lot, I will be very much around in the blogworld. However, I don't know how often I'll post. We'll see how hard it is to type. A friend pointed out that I could use Audioblogger, but I hate the sound of my own voice on recordings, so we'll see. If you don't hear from me for a while, this is why.

Thine Eyes have Seen the Horror

I swear I'm the only one in my house that has eyes. Or ears. Or a brain for that matter.

I've been gone most of this week and today, my first full day at home, I survey the damage.

I'm not making this up either. The library floor is scattered with various plastic zoo animals and the piano bench is sitting at an awkward angle in the middle of the room. The basement dvd, receiver and satellite system are off, but the tv is on, illuminating the room in a phosphorus blue glow. There is an unopened box of Hungry Jack pancake mix in the fireplace next to a yellow oven mitt. A full piece of red velvet cake on the counter - untouched. The dog's water and food dishes are empty. The laundry - I don't even want to go there. There are three used diapers on the bathroom counter despite the fact there is a bag for diapers sitting right in front of the cabinet. There is a plastic Folgers coffee can on the trunk at the top of the steps beside a pile of receipts and the Sunday paper. One sole battery in my kitchen sink, a double AA. A urine spot in my bedroom - I'm assuming from the dog. And a wet towel slung over the back of a dining room chair.

I quit. I give up. I think I'll go on strike.

Found on my daughter's blog

I was pretty suprised to find this and had to share. I know everyone doesn't think he's as cute as I do, but indulge me. :)

http://x1d.xanga.com/f088960432c3024880950/b17534701.jpg

Taking Advantage

Sunday was the first day in 15 days that the sun decided to force it's way through the cloudy atmosphere to grace us with it's warmth. According to the weathermen, we were the cloudiest place in the world as of late. And the wettest. We recorded 47 days in a row with some form of precipitation. (Clew, we would have had to commit you!)

At any rate, Sunday was brilliantly sunny and my neighbor decided we should take the girls and make our first trip of the year to the beach. She wanted to show their Brazillian exchange student the big lake. So we packed up, got our cameras and headed to Grand Haven.

We walked about two miles along the board walk out to the pier through the blustery, cold wind. Despite the brightness and warmth of the sun, Old Man Winter was still rearing his ugly head on the water. My ears and cheeks stung in the cold air and my body froze each time the waves rolled into the pier spraying us in a fine mist. My fingers were bright red, save my knuckles which were an odd color of white. By the time we got back to the car, we all had headaches and wild, wind swept hair, but it was still worth enjoying the sun for a while and worth spending time with close friends.

Here's a picture of me and Emily trying to warm up in a little pub with overly chocolatey hot cocoa. Our hair started out in pony tails, but the hair ties were no match for the gale force wind.

A Different Art Form

I don't recall if I've ever talked about this on my blog before, but me and my husband used to build houses. Well, we still do, I just don't do the physical labor anymore.

One time a guy actually asked me with sarcasm dripping from his words, "What do you do? Hand him nails?" But, I've done it all. From the basement sill plates to the vent cap on the roof, I can build you a home myself. I learned how to layout walls, set trusses, rafter, shingle, set windows and doors ~ everything. The only area where I didn't keep up with the guys was in hefting material. I just couldn't carry as many studs or sheets of plywood as them and those 80 lb shingle bags are almost imossible to carry up a twelve foot ladder, but I did it once anyway to prove a point and win a bet.

I came out of retirement, so to speak, when we built our own house two years ago. I don't really miss the physical work, but being on a job site again reminded me of the things I did miss. The first warmth of spring days, how the radio sounds echoing off concrete walls, the smell of pine two by fours when the saw blade hits a knot, the whir of the compressor and the fa-thoo of the nail gun as it's power sinks a 3" nail into the board.

When we designed our house, I told my husband that I wanted a round window on the roof. Well, it's an elliptical shape really, but it's easier to say round window. His reply was, "If you want it, you build it".

So I did. All by myself. Here's a picture of me standing on top of it, having conquered the crazy angles.

Okay, no laughing please...

One of the things I've always wanted was to be able to paint. Not paint for money, but have the ability to whip out some extraordinary masterpiece that I could say I created. I've always been able to draw and put colors together in a pleasing way, but unless it's paint-by-numbers, the skill of painting has eluded me.

About five years I broke down and decided to teach myself as lessons weren't affordable for us at the time. I purchased a few books, some canvases, an easel, oil paints and brushes. I learned what is called the wet-on-wet technique, layering wet paints on top of each other then blending them with a dry brush.

I immediately botched the job when I pulled the dry brush vertically down the picture rather than horizontally. I usually don't get the two directions mixed up, but I did that day and the result was a strange coloration of sky and water.

All in all I was semi-pleased with the final product. Still, it sits in a closet collecting dust never having been displayed on a wall. Here it is, and promise, no laughing!

Three Terrible Shots

"Three terrible shots and one brilliant shot still makes par"

This is one of my favorite quotes from the movie Bagger Vance and the conception for my New Year's declaration.

See, I don't much care for resolutions, New Year's or otherwise. I'm tired of the pressure that comes with setting unrealistic goals and the disappointment and sense of failure afterward when they aren't achieved. Instead, this year I'm going to focus on what not to do. Some of the patterns that I've fallen into or the bad habits that have formed ~ these are the things I am resolving to take charge of. I'm not setting goals of advancement and self-improvement but rather hope to better myself through an alternate mind set. One that focuses more on what not to do rather than on a rigorous new schedule.

Bad habits have a way of sneaking up on you and becoming an integral part of life. So much so that we don't even recognize them as bad habits, even when they start to consume all productive time.

On that note and with the understanding that my time up to now has been "two or three terrible shots", I intend to tighten up my proverbial golf game to make that par. Maybe even an eagle.

Myst - End of Ages (End of an Era)

It's become sort of a tradition around here that my oldest son and I started when the Myst games first came out. I usually get them for him for his birthday or Christmas and we spend weeks together on them trying to figure out the clues and puzzles and ultimately, how to beat the game.

I think he was only 10 or 11 when we first started this quest and we kept a little journal of all the mysteries we figured out. Neither of us would play it without the other and we'd even talk about the game and what we were going to try the next time we played it. It was something only him and I shared.

This year, the final chapter of the game was released. I got it for us for Christmas. He loaded it yesterday and we decided to play after everyone else went to bed last night. I got a bag of chips and two Cokes and we parked ourselves in front of the computer ready to delve into new worlds and break unbelievably hard codes.

Right from the get go, it seemed different than normal. I usually sit back and point to the screen saying things like, "ooh, try that switch," or "wait, did you see those numbers? they must be a clue, let's write them down". He navigates through the worlds and keeps track of the journals. I'm not sure if he didn't want to play last night, but he seemed more annoyed at my observances than anything else. He didn't want to try my suggestions or maneuver where I thought we should go. Eventually, he feigned a stomach ache and retired to bed.

Having a slight headache myself, I decided to hit the hay too after checking on the baby. I accidentally woke him up and he stayed up with me for almost two hours. This I didn't mind, because he was being unbelievably cute and unoridinarily cuddly. It did, however, get me thinking about my older son and how his time with us at home is coming to an end.

Just as this is the last segment in the Myst series, soon the last days of Steve living at home will be here. Now he'll only be 17 next month and he at least has one full year left of school, but the day will come when my first baby will not be with me all the time. The disappointment I felt last night over the early ending of our play time is only a prelude to the sorrow I'll feel when he moves on.

"Myst - End of Ages" is an ironically appropriate title to finish our tradition.

Carousel

Bells ringing, lights flashing wildly, Christmas music playing in place of the normal carnival theme. This is the scene at our local mall very near to the food court and the make shift North Pole where children can tell their deepest desires to Santa. Not the jolly, red-suited, synthetic beard fella either. This Santa looks like the real deal. Real hair and beard, bright blue eyes, rosey cheeks, but only red pants and this pathetically ugly blue pajama top under his suspenders.

We took Drew to have his picture taken last night and after shopping for a half hour, our little pager went off signaling that we only had 15 minutes to get back to the location for our turn. I think they need a new system because we waited in line for 45 minutes once we got back and had to endure little David and Zack-y in front of us. I'm not sure if I wanted to smack them, or their mother. While she chatted on the phone, the kids ran in and out of the gaited line making each person step to the side or move their strollers so the brats could get through. Everyone was annoyed and the mother, oblivious. They hit Drew with their little basketball that they were throwing around, they screamed when I wouldn't move our stroller for them to get out and then they ran into the shot of Drew and Santa. We had to take another picture and of course, Drew wanted down by then and our picture turned out horribly.

We decided to treat ourselves to pizza and lemonade to calm down before finishing our shopping.

We sat by the carousel.

We decided to take Drew for a ride.

Daddy rode with him and the excitement on his face was the best. He clapped his hands and waved to me and Emily and then the horses began to move. The first time he went by, he laughed and clapped. The second time was just a smile. The third, a frown and the fourth time around, Dad was struggling to keep his squirming body in the strap. He was done. I found it very amusing. Half the kids were crying while their parents tried to comfort them and half wanted to go again.

I'm not sure the mall should be the source of children's entertainment. Without fail, there is always a handful of kids having serious meltdown and frustrated parents ready to leave them there.

I'm Rollin' Now

Tonight some of the ladies from my church met for their monthly craft night. Each woman brings a various craft they are working on or comes to learn a new one. I took advantage and decided to make my own Christmas cards. While I didn't get them all done, I will be able to send them out in a couple days now. Here's the finished product.

The inside reads: How beautiful the feet of those who bring good tidings. From Isaiah. I did the photo's myself and you wouldn't believe how many tries it took to get the above shot. The rejects are funnier than this. Nevermind the Sasquatch feet on the left. LOL

So, since I don't know anyone's address, here's your Christmas card. Merry Christmas.

One Step Closer

Is that the choir of angels I've been waiting to hear? -pausing to listen- Nope, that's just the sound of silence that comes with the satisfaction of a job completed. Nothing as grandiose as finishing the holiday shopping, BUT, the Christmas beer is bottled.

We accomplished that daunting task over the weekend and I've captured it digitally to share on my blog.

There's an equivalent of 450 - 12 oz bottles, but some if it is in 16 oz bottles and some in mini-kegs. A lot of this is for Christmas presents and we are planning a beer tasting party in January, so I don't want people thinking that this is all for our personal consumption. Each year we do a special Christmas beer, but only for the last two years have we decided to keep one bottle from each bach to display proudly in our bar.

2004's edition was Santa's Brew. The fine print on the bottom says, "For those on the naughty list".

2005's version is Jingle Ale. The label says A Mulled Blend of Holiday Spices. "Get your jollies".

At least if I'm not ready for Christmas this year, I've got my libation. :)

The Third Candle

The third candle in the Advent Wreath was lit yesterday at church and I think my heart actually fell into my abdominal cavity. Christmas Eve is in like, HELLO, 12 days! I have a huge Christmas confession to make. I haven't even started my shopping. Not one single gift is in my house patiently waiting to be wrapped.

If you know me and my need for organization, you know this is so not like me. I'm always done by now. I'm going to seriously have to haul if I want to be ready by Christmas. (All you Christmas Eve shoppers can just keep your comments to yourself!) I don't have any choice but to handle this challenge and maybe, just maybe it will be good for my anal little world.

*despondent sigh

After all the fanfare....

...leading up to the big party last night, I'm sorry to disappoint my readers.

Don't get me wrong, we had a great time as usual, but as far as our neighborhood parties go, this one was pretty mild. We did the usual eating and drinking, shooting pool and playing Screw Your Neighbor for quarters, but no wild shananigans (sp?). We did consider going sledding in a farmers field around midnight, but I'm sure someone would have ended up being arrested.

We did lots of giggling and picture taking, which seemed like a good idea at the time. Looking through the digital camera this morning though, I'm not sure I should post any of them.

Well, no one will know which one I am. (and I'll thank Clew and Martie to keep their mouths closed.)

No that's not Sammy Hagar in the center. That's my friend Molly.

Another Currier & Ives Scene

Last night was my neighborhood's annual Christmas Cookie Exchange. I hosted it this year and while normally I stress out trying to get ready for any event, I was looking forward to the night and had a fun time decorating and visiting with my neighbors.

The snow was falling (10" which resulted in a snow day today) and the luminaries that I lined the walk with were picturesque.

Pictures never capture that warm, glowing feel that you see in real life.

There were nine of us in all and we each made three dozen cookies to share. The efforts resulted in a wide variety from Pecan Sandies to Toffee Bars to the traditional sugar cookie cut outs. We had a great time chatting and sharing hot spiced wine, coffee eggnog and crackers and cheese.

Tonight we gather again for our annual Christmas party. I love our neighbors. We have so much fun together. We have a party for almost every holiday and even make up reasons to have parties. We've gone on small weekend camping trips together and with the exception of a few people, we never seem to tire of one another.

Did I mention it's a "fun" association. If one family doesn't show up for a party, they are guaranteed to find a 'for sale' sign in their yard the next day. Or a bra hanging from their flag pole or (very limited) toilet paper streaming from their trees.

Another favorite prank is the panther. One of the neighbors found this old ceramic black panther with a missing paw and the mouth shaped in a perpetual roar at a rental property and brought it home to hide at another house. We never know where the panther will end up next, but last we saw it, it was peeking out from the landscaping at the first house on the street. She was dressed in a leopard bra and thong, had purple Mardi Gras beads around her neck and a red feather hat on.

You can see why we have so much fun. I'm sure there will be a story for me to tell tomorrow about the gathering tonight.

Alas.....

Only a few of the missing pictures have been found and posted. If anyone is interested, they are in the previous post.

Norman Rockwell with a Twist

Despite the unusual lack of Christmas spirit around here and the impending implosion of my ear drums from this unending illness, I decided this was the year to cut our own Christmas tree. We usually have two trees. An artificial in the basement and a real one upstairs-purchased from any corner lot. My kids have, sadly, never had the experience of chosing and cutting a tree themselves.

Anticipating hesitance with at least the teenagers, I braced myself for their resistance. When they seemed amenable (I don't dare say excited) to the idea, I decided to make a thermos of hot cocoa to take along.

Finally, after finding enough warm clothes for everyone and a saw for hacking, we were on our way up north.

The snow was falling in big, lofty flakes and piling up fast. It was a perfect scene for our Christmas tree hunt. I would have preferred to continue the mood with Handel's "Messiah" or some such musical pleasure, but the kids and my husband with their weird senses of humor all seemed more interested in listening to Bob & Tom's "It's a Wonderful Laugh". I conceded, just happy that every one was in a good mood and hummed "O Come All Ye Faithful" to myself.

As we drove further north into snow country, the flakes became smaller and smaller and finally ceased to exist at all. At least there was still some snow on the ground.

After an hour of driving, we pulled into the tree farm, woke up the baby, and bundled up. It was cold! Taking the saw, we headed north out of the parking lot in search of a Balsam Fir. I wanted an aromatic tree this year. We walked past the Concolor Firs, the White Pines, the Spruces and the Balsams. They all start looking the same after a while. (I think I'll remember a sled next year so we can pull the baby instead of carrying his thirty pounds through the snow.)
There was no light shining down upon it nor any choir of angels singing, but when we saw it, we knew that was our tree! It was such a pretty shade of green, had a perfect shape and it's trunk was nice and straight. We sawed it down, and pulled it back to the vehicle, taking turns heaving and hefting.

Then it was time for hot cocoa and peanut bars. The 17 year old promptly burned his tongue with the hot treat (complaining the rest of the way home) while hubby spilled his on the dash in a failed attempt at balancing the cup so he could remove his gloves. Yes, down the vents and all. I'm sure it won't last, but right now the Suburban has a faint chocolate smell in it when we first turn on the heater.

We took our little tree home and got it set up and decorated even. It's beautiful and smells wonderful. I ended up getting a Spruce. (Next year, I'll brush up on my tree identification before we go.)

Norman Rockwell-esque it wasn't, but it was perfect for who we are!

PS: I had pictures on my digital to include in various points of this story, but when I plugged it in, the only pictures were of my 17 year old in his tuxedo from the violin concert last night. Pictures I did not take. The kids must have somehow deleted the tree chopping pictures. Grrrr!