Graduating

I am still sick. I am going to do what the sick do when the sick blog. The sick do photo montages. Because the sick are lazy. Say it with me - LAAAY-ZEEEE. My brain's not working right, so funny's taking a nap. I'm on photo autopilot.

Last night my Little Guy graduated from Webelos I to Webelos II. Next January he will graduate to Boy Scouts. Rather than bore you with pictures of the ceremony (mostly because I used the wrong ISO setting and the pictures are all grainy and fuzzy), I choose to delight (that's rather a strong use of the word in this context - just go with it) you with faces at the cake and punch reception following the ceremony. The faces are familiar at this point. The angles - I told you I'm sick, right?

But first, my Little Guy in his uniform, all handsome and proud. And remembering to stand like a man instead of a slouch.


Isn't he handsome? He's worked so hard all year to earn badges and pins and was proud of himself. He's a good kid.



An okay kid. Whichever you prefer.



Here's the man who was giving him weird finger ears. Say hello to my Hunny. I kinda like his old man glasses. People used to call him Al Borland from Tool Time. Now he gets into the whole professor look.

And Maybelline, as we're leaving the house, asks Little Guy, "So do any of your little scout friends have big brothers?" Rein it in there, girl. Soon I'll be padlocking her doors and windows.


Check out Oatmeal Head, recently having discovered the opposite gender himself. And I thought Maybelline had it bad. If one more giggly girl calls my house looking for him at ten o'clock at night ... so help me ...



Not to be outdone for weird angles, Little Guy completes our set. Collect them all!


I can't leave you without my favorite photo of the evening. Okay, second favorite. The one of the Hunny is my favorite. And I'm trying to figure out Photoshop well enough to get rid of the minivan and other background junk.

To all of you out there who have caught my cold, I'm truly sorry. Get better. To the four or five year old who gave it to me, there's a bench with your name on it, kid, and I'll be right behind ya, pushing.

Until I write again ...

Flea

A New Friend

This just in! Fred and Bessie are leaving upstate New York and the ever hospitable home of Dlyn, headed to Connecticut! Check out their' departure!

*achoo*
Excuse me while I mouth-breathe for a bit.

Since I'm still sick, and still scanning pictures (thanks for the heads up, Mom. Two years - really?), I'm simply going to introduce you all to our new family friend, Pete. Bloggy internets, say hello to Pete.


Isn't he handsome? And you single ladies, he's available. He also gets along well with kids, you single moms.


Oop! But he doesn't like to share his chips. Here's a better example of his tolerance for children

See? Little Guy is torturing him and he handles it beautifully.


See how chummy they are? They even have the same smile. I love Pirate Pete.

A big thank you to Grandma, who so kindly provided today's entertainment. She works for Frito and brought Pete home for us. Little Guy finished blowing him up this morning at breakfast then left him by the front door. I wish I'd had the camera ready when the Hunny came in from his morning walk and jumped two feet. And again when he came home for lunch and jumped. But especially when Maybelline came in from school and started screaming at him. Dang. That's what I get for being sick. Not prepared.

Y'all, thanks for your well wishes. I'm feeling better today. It should be reduced to a mere sniffle tomorrow.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Taking a Sick Day

We moved to Tulsa a year and a half ago - December 2006. For the first year, we were all sick. Usually more than one of us at a time, and not pansy little colds either. We were on more antibiotics in our first year here than our entire family had been in the previous 15 years. I was grateful for the antibiotics, really, even though I usually steer clear of the things. I'd had this wicked recurring ear ache since 2000 and the antibiotic knocked it out.

Then at Christmas I noticed that no one was sick. One year of sick and it was over. Except for Little Guy, who really isn't sick, just always stuffy and snoring and congested. Allergy meds do nothing. The tonsils are coming out. But we've all been well for months. Until today.

Last night, really. My eyes, nose and throat itched. I knew exactly what it was and blocked off my calendar for the rest of the week. Sure enough, I'm deep into a cold today. Yay! My annual cold.

So what have I done with my day, you ask? Did I sleep? Rest? No. I spent half the morning ironing, since I love to iron. Then attended a volunteer luncheon at school. Cafeteria food will not cure the common cold, in case your mother ever tried to pull that one over on you as a kid. The afternoon, though - ahhh. That's where it gets interesting.

Remember awhile back I insisted I'd be dismantling my photo albums and scanning the photos? Which one of you has done this? Tell me. Because I'm coming through my computer to grab you by the lapels and shake you for not warning me. None of your, "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I not mention how much work that would be?" from you, missy. Come 'ere, let me smack you hard.

I thought, "What a nice, relaxing (here my ill brain goes blank so I'll say) thing to do while I'm sick!" The Hunny showed me how to scan pictures last night and it seemed simple. All I had to do was take the photo out, scan and put it back, right? I'd forgotten all about my plan to organize everything. So today I scanned one little photo booklet - the kind the grocery stores assembled from one roll of film? Film? That's the stuff that went into those old fashioned cameras that your grandmother used when she was a child. Scanning those 24 pictures only took about half an hour. Then I had to make folders for the different photo categories I thought I might have and drop the photos into the appropriate folder. After naming each photo.

All of that just took too much energy from my poor sick body. I stepped away from the computer, grabbed half a shelf of photo albums, scoured my closet for used gift bags and began emptying the albums, sorting them into gift bags. So far I have the Early Flea bag, the Pre-Flea bag, the Newlywed bag, the First Florida House bag, the Second Florida House bag and the Friends and Family box. And about half of the albums emptied. Once the albums are empty I'll have to sort the bags into more specific piles - times and events and such - then start scanning, before putting them all back into albums. Eliminating the duplicates will be fun, too. I plan to make albums for the kids with those.

So you'll excuse me if I take some NyQuil and hit the sack a little early?

Until I write again ...

Flea

The Case of the Missing Eyebrows

So last Monday night, the Hunny and I spent time with friends. At their house. And we were not home. In fact, we didn't get home until after Little Guy's bedtime and he was in bed. Oddly. The next morning I was having a tough time waking up, so I didn't really notice Little Guy's eyebrows. In fact, it wasn't until Tuesday afternoon, when he was badgering Oatmeal Head that I heard Oatmeal Head yell (for my benefit, I'm sure), "Oh my gosh! What did you do to your eyebrows?"

Of course I call Little Guy downstairs to see what madness has occurred. At first glance I thought he'd gotten into my waxing box, which I'd left on the counter as a reminder to do my own eyebrows, and I had to take Maybelline to guitar, so I left fuming just a tad. And I left Little Guy denying that he'd done anything. Like maybe rats gnawed them off in the middle of the night.

Evening comes, I'm home giving him the third degree, getting angry tears of denial and harsh statements questioning my love for him since I don't believe him. I just sent him to his room till dinner, refusing to be drawn in to his arguments of how it couldn't have been him who sheared his eyebrows off. Lou. That's what it was. Lou scratched the eyebrows off while they were playing. Stupid cat. Uh huh.

So the Hunny comes home, trying his best not to laugh, while I'm still steaming a little, and questions him. It turns out that our bored son snipped away with scissors the night before because he was bored. Talk about a role reversal - the Hunny thinks it's amusing (he was always the one to be incensed) and reminds me that the other two went through similar things when they hit the puberty wall. He argued against punishment, stating that Little Guy having to live with badly trimmed eyebrows was punishment enough.

Never one to humiliate my children *cough* I penciled in Little Guy's eyebrows for the rest of the week before he left for school. Yes. Yes I did. And I know that you didn't read all the way through this just for the story. Unfortunately, I didn't get a good picture of him without the penciled in brows before yesterday and it turns out his hair grows quickly. Here's what I have:


I know. It's nothing like it was on Tuesday. Sorry. The arches (he has the most wonderfully arched brows!) are what took the brunt of the cutting. And he didn't want penciling this morning, since it really is growing back in. That or the guys at school gave him a hard time about wearing makeup.

Until I write again ...

Flea

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

Boy howdy did WE ever have our share of excitement last night! See this?

This is a weather radio. Specifically, this is OUR weather radio. Yes, it's a fuzzy weather radio. And it doesn't do a darn bit of good if it's not plugged in.

We had several lines of severe weather come our way yesterday, with the worst sweeping through last night right after 7PM. In fact, my mom called about 6:40 to let me know it was coming, since she knows I don't watch TV. Thank you, Mom! I was keeping an eye on the internet radar, but it's not the same as TV, since I had no idea how bad it was.

Just after seven, and just after the Hunny got home, it all hit. I have to tell y'all, the Hunny is the cutest thing when it comes to emergencies. He ran upstairs to the TV to see the radar, Oatmeal Head turned on the computer to track the radar, I said, to no one in particular, "Where's our weather radio?" It magically appeared. And then the tornado sirens went off.

Well that was when the Hunny kicked into emergency mode. Meaning he paced and panicked in the most adorable way. The kids and I cleared out the closet under the stairs - here it is all put back together (no, people, I'm not posting from a Starbucks somewhere, even thought that WOULD be pretty cool):


We cleared it all out and Little Guy hung out there with the dogs for awhile, talking to one of his friends on my cell phone (yes! it came! I'll show you in a minute), while the Hunny stood at the door listening to the sirens and shushing the rest of us. The sirens would stop and the Hunny would make to go upstairs. I'd call his butt right back down.

All of this was a truncated version of Hurricane Charlie, when we lived in Florida. It was the Hunny's first hurricane and he was about to burst. He'd get all nervous and worked up, then in the worst of it he was dragging the kids outside to watch the transformers blow around town while I'm yelling at him to get them back in. I gave up after awhile. I've since learned to give up much sooner.

The sirens wailed off and on for a good half hour, making us a little nervous at first. Then we were bored. The poor dogs were wild eyed the entire time. I sent Maybelline for the camera so I could photograph the insane wind and rain (and the terrified dogs in the closet), but the Hunny wouldn't let me and take pictures. For Pete's sake, I didn't hear any freight trains! We survived. There was a moment when I think the Hunny and I were both wishing the wind would rip off all the siding so the insurance company would take care of it. Alas. It was not to be. And the kids have long ago learned to be calm in an emergency situation. The most excitement that happens with them is Little Guy worrying about his cat. Otherwise it's all good.

Okay, so this new phone of mine? SLEEK MOTO F-3? LOVE IT!!! Check it out:


I know - it's kinda fuzzy too. But isn't it pretty? The Hunny, who loves his games and features, took one look and had phone lust. I suspect he'd be bored with it inside of two minutes, but it is pretty and sleek - almost nothing to it. And I found an online manual for it in English (the one I received was in Spanish - no habla Espanol).

The screen is way cool! I can read it no matter the angle or lighting. I can text if I want to, but since that costs money, it ain't happenin'. The ring tones are SO MUCH FUN!!! I squishy heart the ring tones - all seven of them. And the menu is very small. BUT! I can set alarms on it if I need to. Yay! So it has everything I need, nothing more, nothing less. And it was 30 bucks plus shipping. How awesome is that? Awesome!

I'll be on a field trip with fourth graders today, visiting Woolaroc. Loving it! It's where the buffalo roam. And I'll probably wave in Mayberry's general direction in passing. Hello Magpie! And wave in the Pioneer Woman's general direction in passing. Hello Ree! And I'll take scads of pictures just to torture you all with! You knew I'd do that, though. The camera's already in the car.

Until I write again ...

Flea

The Water Story

Thank you for your patience! It wasn't till I posted the last that I realized that this isn't a terribly amusing story. And I like amusing. Dang it. But I'll tell it anyway.

Most of you know about our siding issues. We've been getting quotes, going back and forth on types of siding, blah, blah, blah. So we're pretty focused on that, not to mention a little stressed about the financial end of it. Woohoo. Meaning we missed a more immediate repair which was right under our nose. The upstairs shower faucet.

Months ago the kidlets began complaining about their shower, that it dripped, that the handle broke (the Hunny replaced the handle), that it was annoying. Yeah, whatever. I wasn't using it. Handle replaced. They stopped complaining. Then last week we heard yelling during a shower. It seemed the water suddenly went hot and stayed there. The next child to attempt using it found that the water would only turn as far as hot, never reaching the cooler stage. And the whole dripping thing? When we asked why we hadn't heard it, Maybelline tells us how smart they are. They just tucked the shower curtain under the drip after showering "so it wouldn't annoy you guys." Okay, who taught my daughter to say you guys instead of y'all? Something is seriously WRONG with that.

All three kidlets used our shower for the rest of the week. Yuck. Children shedding in my shower, using my towels when asked not to, using my shower gel and scrubbee when asked to bring their own down, not squeegeeing the water which pools in the corners. I do not like them, Sam-I-Am. We had enough.

I called a plumber, he quoted me a VERY reasonable price of $225-250 to do the job if we bought our own faucet, even knowing he'd be opening up Oatmeal Head's wall to replace the faucet completely, and that the pipes are copper. I was pretty darn psyched. Then the Hunny asked where the money would come from. Stupid Hunny. Squash my excitement and ruin my hopes of ever having my shower and stuff to myself. I had no idea. We have a paintball party to throw this weekend, a climbing party next weekend, not to mention gifts.

So the Hunny asked - nay, pleaded - to be allowed to fix it himself. I had rules. He MUST look everything up on line, including how-to videos. He MUST price everything out completely before I'd say yes, and the cost had to be half of the plumber's price. He MUST promise to have it done in one evening. He promised all of those. And he came through on the the first two.

First, I must tell y'all about my own weekend to this point. I took my last Adderall XR on Friday morning, dropped off my prescription, then didn't get my lazy butt to the pharmacy to pick it up. Saturday without it was fine - I had a large coffee a couple of times that day, climbed, did yard work, enjoyed life. Sunday? Not so much. I wanted to sleep all day, forgot Little Guy had a birthday party to attend (he was very late, and I ran out to get the gift after dropping him off), was horribly grouchy and angry with everyone. The Hunny and I had a final class to attend last night and he wanted to play plumber and let me go alone. I hate going alone. I spent too many years going to things alone when the Hunny was grouchy and horrid, and I refuse to do so now that he's a better man. But his arguments were strong, and the money angle was a good hook, so I said yes and left at 5:45. Without my phone (hello? It's dead).

I came home to a very discouraged Hunny, children who were a little put out that the water was off and they were going to die of thirst, but secretly pleased that they didn't have to shower. It seems that the Hunny had found a wonderful system for cutting and fixing the pipes, but only one major hardware store carries it. The store which closed at seven. About 15 minutes before he realized that he needed ONE MORE PIECE to complete the job. The same store which didn't open until seven this morning, even though their phone system said they'd open at six. The Hunny was not happy, I was really ticked. *sigh*

Guess what? When the water's off, the toilets don't flush. Oatmeal Head (he's not named that for nothing) had to go after the water was shut off, so he flushed both toilets to make sure they'd work. So what does the Good Flea get to do upon her arrival home? I called a neighbor and good friend and asked if we could sneak into her yard in the dead of night and use her hose to fill buckets so we could go potty! Oh yes, that was an enjoyable conversation. About as much fun as actually going for the water.

So I was not a happy camper when I arrived home. I was sweet to the children (I think), and not horribly mean to the Hunny. I even sat in the doorway while he made sure the faucet was going to fit, talking to him. But I was certainly snarly once the kidlets were in bed.

So today? The Hunny came home at 6:15 sporting a QT coffee (didn't bring me one and I still hadn't had my Adderall, so GRR), frustrated with the store not being open. But he went back at seven and had the whole thing fixed, water on, by nine. Hoorah! We have water. And a working shower, complete with new faucet, knob and shower head. See?



Grouchy as I was, I must say that I am very proud of my Hunny. He da man. He was a graphic designer for years, working as a professor and department chair for a long time now. Not really into home repair and improvement. But the man learns well. And he did a great job. And I got a shower. The End.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Finally!

Yessss! I've neglected my shin boo-boo long enough and it has achieved bruise status! How exciting is that? Check it out:

Sweet, huh? And it still hurts to touch it, so maybe that means it will color up some more. My Hunny offered to whack the other leg with the shovel if I really wanted coloration for my blog, but I passed on that. Good to knows the lengths to which he'll go for you, my readers. I think.

Speaking of my Hunny, I'll be back to post later today. I'll have to. We have no water in the house right now and it's a story I have to tell, but not till it's done or I have to call a plumber. Heh.

Until I write again ...

Flea

At Least the Door is Done

It's the weekend. No one's paying attention, right? So I'm going to post more pictures of our home improvement project. And to say a big thank you to everyone who's commented and been so encouraging! Here's a look at the nearly finished red front door (I agree - red is the best on front doors!):


The Hunny had painted the trim around the window red initially, but the white makes it pop. I love it when colors pop! I don't necessarily like bright colors, you understand, but pop is good. This door is good.










I figured, as long as I have you here, I might as well ask you all something. Does anyone out there know what this is? Is it a weed? Please tell me it's not a weed. I planted several bulbs last summer - long after they should have been in the ground, when they looked dead - and this might be one of them. I just don't know whether to pull it or leave it. Anyone? Any clue?




There's another plant coming up in the same front garden which I'm pretty sure is one of the bulbs - maybe a dahlia - but I have to wait to make sure. This plant, however, doesn't have that spiky leaf look.





Look, as long as I have you here, you may as well have a look at the plant which sold me on the house. We looked at this house Thanksgiving weekend of '06. There had already been either snow or ice, but that weekend was balmy and this rose bush was in bloom. It's beautiful for half the year, covered in pink roses, very bushy. I know a rose bush is a silly reason to like a house, but if it was still blooming in late November, I figured I needed to live in this house. Right?

Well now that I'm showing you flowers, I can't stop with the rose bush! I have to show you my favorite flower. It's common, true, and smaller than it's cousin, the pansy, but this little viola, known as Johnny Jump Up, is adorable. I'm thinking maybe that's the purple I want on the wall, but the Hunny insists the dining room is too small for such a dark color. Stink. I'll find my purple.



Yes, it's Oatmeal Head. He's relaxing for a moment at the top of the stairs, since he's been helping his dad all day with paint and repairs. Wait, I think Oatmeal Head was actually painting the upstairs bedroom doors today.

See those camo pants? He has four of the same pair of pants. I found them at Ross last fall, size 20 boys (I didn't know boys came in 20) for four dollars a pair and I bought them all. He had grown six inches in the six months prior to that and I was NOT going to spend 30 buck on one pair of jeans to have him outgrow them in a week. He hasn't grown since.

Finally, a shot of my finished front door! I love my red door. It looks even prettier from the street. But my shrubbery looks shabby. Time to trim the evergreens! What you can't see is the azalea blooming near the door - it's white!

Y'all, I'm beat. Have a great rest of your weekend, okay?

Until I write again ...

Flea

Exteriors

This house is turning out to be the House from Hell. I provide pictures for your edification and enjoyment.

Here's my handyman, the Hunny, removing the trim on the OTHER side of the house (the south side). Turns out there's a lot of water damage. I'll show you.










And this is the tip off the iceberg. On the other side of the fence, the wet boards and soft siding are horrid. The brick which comes up to about waist level all the way around? The plywood behind the siding extends all the way down behind the brick. No way to get it out without removing brick. Oh, we're cookin' with gas now!

We had several people come out last summer to give us estimates on painting and vinyl siding. Painting's not going to happen. The house needs all new sides. And vinyl won't happen. Besides the 15,000 dollar price tag, I've been researching vinyl and am NOT a fan. I'm currently looking into the fiber cement siding and think that's the way we might go.

And - a piece de resistance - the Entry to Hell:
Yes, the Hunny is painting our front door red. It's supposed to be a darker red, and we're hoping a second coat will deepen the color. But I'm kinda liking it this color. Heh. We'll see what happens. And the trim around the glass will be primed and painted white, honest.

So this is what we're doing this weekend. If I don't surface, you know why.

Until I write again ... Flea

Bits and Pieces

How on earth did Thursday arrive SO SOON?! I turn around on Monday and it's Thursday already. Who's been tampering with my calendar?

So yes, it's my busy day. I'm headed out to lunch at school with Little Guy, then into Mrs. Clark's classroom. Then who knows?

I have to let y'all know, it really probably will be June or July before that wall is purple. I appreciate your helpful advice, and I'm rethinking the hue of purple based on some of you comments. Especially I'd like to visit the Behr site Marguerite linked to in the comments. But school is ending and I have three children, two nieces and one Hunny all having birthdays in the next month and a half, as well as life in general, and my being "done" with the wall for the moment. Running out of spackle ruined the momentum. Sorry. Done for now. It will drive me crazy again in about two months, I know.

Time to scoot! Y'all have a great day!

Until I write again ...

Flea

Whirlwind Wednesday

You guys give the best advice! I actually tried the broom for the wall, but ended up with cob webs stuck to the pointy texture. I'd forgotten that the Hunny had used the broom last to sweep the siding prior to removing it. And the broom didn't actually take off any of the points. So before reading the comments about sanding the wall, I used my putty knife to scrape downward. Love it! The sharp points are gone, meaning it doesn't hurt anymore when I reach around and turn on the light. Heh. That's a good thing. But the basic look is still there. I may still sand a little. One never knows. But you all are so clever! My next challenge is having the purple conversation with the Hunny.

I'm scooting out of the house very shortly and will be gone most of the day. Ugh. But the good news is I'll be sitting in an eighth grade classroom reading the book that I'm Being Held Hostage sent me, The Book Thief. I've read maybe five pages so far and am intrigued. Thank you, Hostage Girl! Why will I be in eighth grade this morning? I signed up to be a test monitor for standardized tests. Woohoo. Gets me out of the house, I get to read, away from the computer, for a bit. It's all good. I'll just miss you guys is all. :(

Speaking of missing, Fred and Bessie have been sighted again, over at Dlyn's. She's an incredible photographer. And Zobabe sent me another lolkow photo which she'd doctored. It's a shot I took several months ago, and it made me laugh so hard I about fell over. Tell me if you get it? And go vote for the photo!


moar funny pictures

Until I write again ...

Flea

The Wall

Stink. The Hunny took the camera on the camping trip. I'm about 4/5 done with the portion of wall I'm going to spackle, which is only about two-thirds of the whole wall. The bottom portion of the wall will be covered in bead board. No, I don't have that yet. But I am covering the pencil drawings which are all over the upper wall. Sadly, I'm also going to be covering part of my pretty flower.


Mayberry Magpie asked about the drawings on the wall, so I'll give you the back story. It's not very interesting, so no whining when you get to the end. Got it?

Last spring, when we'd only been in Tulsa about four or five months, I had a really bad day. No, this was not the only bad day I had last spring, and I don't even remember what happened, but it must have been PRETTY DARN BAD. because I got out my acrylics and painted a flower on my dining room wall. The wall which had been staring at me for months, unprimed, torn and partially papered, ugly as sin, mocking me and my empty pockets and brain. That wall. You can see the unprimed parts below the flower. Ew.

I declared this the official Bad Day Wall. First, the Hunny's critique of the flower. He liked it, which is nice, but he thought maybe I was having a bad day when I painted it, since I'd left all the petals open on the ends, leaking out something, maybe parts of me. Something unresolved perhaps. I took away his Junior Psychologist kit and declared it the Bad Day Wall.

The kidlets immediately loved the wall, not reserving it for bad days. Well, Maybelline turned to it for bad days, drawing cats and wolves and flying hearts. Fortunately there are no names of teenage boys on the wall. Even the cousins got into the act, drawing themselves and their dog sized hamsters.

I finally decided to texture the wall while the boys were all out of town. No, I didn't tell the Hunny I'd be doing this. The spackle has been out for a week. He didn't ask. He'll notice though - he's good that way. He'll wig out a little (not much), immediately decide he doesn't like it, ask when I'm going to finish it. Hopefully I'll have it primed before he gets home, so we can go pick out a nice shade of purple for the dining room. There is NO PURPLE in my house! It's a travesty is what it is! And he's already made it very clear that the wall will NOT be purple. Care to wager?

Until I write again ...

Flea

Weekend Plans

I've got my spackle. I've got my putty knife. What more do I need?

The Hunny, Oatmeal Head and Little Guy are going to Cub World this weekend for a big camp out. They're all so excited! There's fishing gear in the corner of my living room, a rolled up tent sitting next to it, plans and directions scattered around the house, all the proper forms have been turned in to the proper people. The boys are leaving!

Here I'll be, alone with Maybelline for a couple of days. What do I have planned? Climbing tomorrow morning, of course, which Maybelline is beginning to enjoy. Laundry, which she is not. Trying out my new dryer lint brush with the ten foot extension rod. Woohoo!

On a side not: Little Guy is getting ready for school, putting on his socks, complaining about his cowlick and asking for hair gel, telling me the purple sparkly stuff is okay. Then, "Here's what I wanna do. I want to grow my hair out long and dye it black. It looks cool." I just smile and nod.

Sorry. The big thing I'm doing this weekend involves the spackle and putty knife. See that wall? My dining room wall? That horrendous thing? I'm going to texture it, come hell or high water.

And right now I need to run. Subbing in a pre-k class today. My favorite!

Until I write again ...

Flea

Simple But Good

I'm freakin' out a little here. Asthmagirl tagged me with a meme. I just recently did a meme (thank you to all who played along!). But I could swear that someone else recently tagged me and I've forgotten who or what. If you did and are reading this, please remind me? Or maybe I'm just going nuts? Yeah. That's clearly it.

Today's meme, courtesy my favorite apple tree, is simple, simple, simple. So I'm taggin' on this one. Look out, friends. Prepare yourselves to answer the interesting stuff which I'm about to reveal and answer myself. Think long. Think hard. It'll give your brain something to do. Quit playing dumb. You know your brain was looking for the extra activity.

1. My perfect food: Why is this always such a difficult question for me to answer? I answer it differently every time! The last thing I ate was chocolate cake, so it's tempting to answer "Chocolate cake", since this one was especially yummy (Maybelline added chocolate chips to the batter). But I really don't care for cake, as a rule. I'm going to randomly choose one of my stand-by favorites ... creamed spinach. Yes. I'm sticking with that answer.
2. Favorite colors: One of AG's answers tempts me here. She loves lavender, which is gorgeous. But I have to say butter yellow and magenta. Magenta isn't really a favorite color, but it is an inside joke between my Hunny and myself (having to do with a particular item of clothing from our newlywed days), so I'm sticking with THAT answer. Oh, and sorry mom. You pretend you didn't just read that.
   
3. Hair: Auburn. Final answer. Really. Alright already! I have ALWAYS been a redhead! The hair on my arms (still to be found in copious amounts) is currently copper colored, as is the hair on my legs. So why can't the hair on my head be red as well? It is! It is!
   
4. DVD I recently saw: Let's see ... I watched part of the first episode of Firefly a month or so ago. The last full DVD? Geez. I wanna say it was Frequency sometime around Christmas.
   
5. Guilty TV pleasure: My guilty pleasure is simply that I no longer watch TV. Don't worry. I'm sure it's just a phase I'm going through. It will pass, people. Move along.
   
6. If I were a tree, I would be a(n): My initial response is a sweetgum. I love the way the leaves smell, and it's fun throwing those prickly balls at people. But I love so many trees! My favorite, though, is the pecan tree. There were two in our backyard growing up. I love the uniformity of the leaves, the size and height, the pecans! And I LOVE driving past a grove of them, seeing their size, knowing what waits at harvest. Mmmm. Pecans. I could live without the tent worms though. Yeah, definitely.

So that's it. Nothing more to see. Wait! No. There's the tagging. First, most importantly, is Sports Mama! Hahahahahaha!!! She knows why. Then there's Poltzie, who needs something to do with herself now that she's temporarily unemployed. And I want to know what kind of tree is struggling to get out her belly. It's some kind of fruit tree, I'm sure of it. And last, but never, ever least, Coffee Bean, if only because, in the insanity of the storm and the lack of sleep and the oversleeping, I forgot the Adderall XR and am nursing a giant mug of coffee to catch up from yesterday. But I like her. She's pretty. And nice. And dang it! I want to know what tree she'd be!

Until I write again ...

Flea

How I Burned Down a Kitchen

First, let me say that post dating the the last entry to a later date did not cause it to appear at that date and time. Sorry, Melissa. Second, you people get a kick out of the fact that I burned down some poor woman's kitchen. Haven't I already told you this story? What's wrong with you people, all happy over someone else's misfortune? So what if she got her dream kitchen as a result, and her hideous 70's avacado green appliances were ruined? Geez! Have some respect! It was a fire! I was half naked running around the neighborhood!

Alright already, I'll tell the story. But it's long. Consider yourself warned!

After I graduated college in 1990 - kinda (I failed aerobics twice and couldn't get my diploma, but I know I've already told y'all that one, right?) - I moved to Maryland to work for a summer day camp I'd worked with the summer prior. At summer's end I knew I didn't want to move back to Louisiana, so I found a nice, recently divorced lady who needed a paying renter. Me. She was a little, um, needy and wild, having recently had her husband of 20+ years leave her for the secretary, but she introduced me to country music, so I'm grateful to her for that.

(This is me about that time - sad, huh?

The Hunny and I had met at camp that summer - we were spreading grass seed and straw, getting the new property ready for hundreds of children - but weren't interested in one another. In fact, we were both dating other people. Haven't I already told you all this story? I saw him, as I was bouncing down the hillside in my bare feet, carrying a bucket of grass seed, and thought, "What a cute guy! My best friend would really like him!" We started talking and I was even more impressed with how much my friend would like him. According to the Hunny, he felt God tell him I was the one he was going to marry and his response was, "Hell no!" Romantic, huh? Yeah, that's why I keep him. It's that gut level honesty which drew me in. ;)

So camp ends, I find a place to live, I get a job at a daycare with a stellar reputation and lesson plans, and I settle in to my new home. The lady I lived with would take me to Alabama concerts, Clint Black, Randy Travis - everything that came into town. I was attending the college single group at the church (which the Hunny also attended), and being hit on by the weirdest guys. Okay, there was this one guy from Nigeria, about 6" shorter than I, who was madly in lust with me and kept telling me it was God's will that we get married, that I looked like his grandmother. He wrote me poetry and long letters. Called. Extremely creepy. I would come early to singles and have two guys sit on either side of me. And another guy who was in the Army and freshly divorced, who thought I was the greatest thing ever. He drove a Jeep Wrangler, which I loved, but I just didn't have it in me to follow up on him. Then there was the one who pursued me for a year and a half, impressed that I'd volunteered to clean bathrooms my first summer at camp. He, um, wasn't quite all there. Very sweet, but a few fries short of a Happy Meal. I finally shook him when he asked me what kind of animal I'd like to be and I told him a snake, because they're slick and low to the ground and come up on a person without warning, frightening, even killing them. Yeah. Hee.


So it's January and I finally decide that I need to learn to drive. Yes, I was 23. Yes, I was terrified of driving. And yes, I already had a license. But yes, I was also riding a bike to work, four miles each day, on a two lane highway with no shoulders and tons of traffic. I was done. So I bought a car (Lil' Bro actually bought it for me - thank you, Lil' Bro!) for a thousand dollars, from a little old lady who only drove it to church on Sundays. Really! True! You should have HEARD the turn signal on that thing! In fact, if you were within 20 miles of me when I was turning, you probably did. Good night Irene! But I learned to drive in my little Plymouth Horizon by going out every evening after work with a good friend, letting her tell me what I was doing wrong.

Fast forward to March. The Hunny and I have visited a couple of D.C. museums together, spent time laughing and wandering, but he has no idea I'm even a girl, much less interested in him. Dork. We only got together because I'd call and pretend to be bored, so he'd suggest a trip into D.C. Here I am plying my feminine wiles, pouring on the humor and charm, but nothing's working. I didn't want to seem desperate, and, quite frankly, I was making plans at this point to move back to Tulsa.

St. Patrick's day rolls around and the singles group has a dinner. I'm making scalloped potatoes from a box, because that's the kind of domestic diva which is the Good Flea. Like I said, the woman I rented from's kitchen was ancient. Her neighbor had recently renovated, too, and she was green with envy. I preheated the oven, then whipped up the potatoes, but when I opened the oven, the rack was set too high.

Now, this woman's brother had worked in insurance for years, in Kansas or someplace, and had sent her every pot holder which had ever come across his desk. She still owned every last blessed one, ratty holes and tears, no longer heat coated, dirty, brown things. All in one drawer next to the stove. And I reached in, grabbed two and moved the rack. Then put the pot holders back in the drawer.

I then went upstairs to my room to get ready, In my slip, doing my hair and face, I hear the smoke alarm. Muttering about faulty wiring (that's always been my experience with smoke alarms), I open my door and am met with a face full of smoke. Smoke! So I run downstairs and pull open the oven. Flames! Pull open the pot holder drawer. Flames! I pulled open the sink cupboard to grab the fire extinguisher - flames! - and it seems that the extinguisher had been used the year before to extinguish a flaming car in the driveway. Silly me.

So I call 911 (the phone was right there), run through the living room and grab the afghan on the couch so as not to freeze to death, then run to the neighbor's to ask for help. He went over with the garden hose and kept the house from burning down till the fire department arrived. And I got a good look at the neighbor's pretty new kitchen while there, waiting.

So there's the kitchen story. The insurance company tried to pin it on me, to get blood from a stone, but nothing came of it. I didn't put a flaming pot holder into a drawer. And I told them exactly what happened. (I was told afterward that I should have kept my mouth shut) And then I had nowhere to go for Easter dinner, since there was no working kitchen in the house. So I called the Hunny and told him just that, and he naturally said, "Well, why don't you come here?" Yesssss!!!

Meeting his family for the first time? A whooooooole different story.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Me and the Hunny

I've been tagged! It's been awhile since I've done a meme, so I'm excited! Yay! Melissa, over at Hope for the Hopeless, has tagged me for a relational meme about me and the Hunny. So grab a soda and popcorn and settle in people. Well, you're not in for much, but I'll give ya what I got.

How long have you been together?

Seventeen years - I burned down the kitchen of the lady I lived with and called the Hunny to moan about having no place to eat Easter dinner. Poor me. :)

How long did you date?

Eight months. Well, okay - we dated for a month, got engaged, then got married 7 months later.

How old is he?

8 months younger - he's 39. Yes, I robbed the cradle. :) At least, he loves to tell me I did. This last year really sucks - I turned 40 in the fall and he's still in his 30's till summer. :(

Who said ‘I love you’ first?

He probably did. He's good that way. I love him for it.

Who is taller?

He's six foot and I'm 5'8". Do the math.

Who is smarter?

Oh geez. What a brutal question! Who made this meme?

Me, of course. No, really! I can say that because the Hunny doesn't read often. ;) Seriously, though, we have vastly different types of intelligence, so I'd place us as equal, but in different ways. Really!

Who does the laundry?

I do several loads a day. Ugh. The kids fold and put away their clothes. Well, sometimes I fold but the kids always put away. I put away everything else.

Who does the dishes?

Depends. About 50% of the time the kids do the dishes. I do them most of the rest of the time. The Hunny actually does a better job, having spent years in food service management, but only occasionally will take the kitchen hostage and cook and clean like a madman. I love it when that happens!

Who sleeps on the right side of the bed?

Regardless of our location, the Hunny always gets the right side. No clue why. It works.

Who pays the bills?

The Hunny makes the dough, I pay bills.

Who mows the lawn?

The Hunny used to mow, but now Oatmeal Head mows. Yay! I haven't mowed a lawn since high school, when I mowed for cash.

Who cooks dinner?

Depends on what you mean by cook. :) I usually make dinner, but the Hunny commandeers the kitchen some weekends and just has fun. He's discovered the joy of cooking and I love it!

Who is more stubborn?

I am definitely. He will NOT argue that one.

Who kissed who first?

It's a sad thing, I know, but I don't remember. (hangs head in shame)

Who asked who out?
Remember that whole burning down the kitchen thing? I didn't really "ask him out", necessarily, but I did.

Who proposed?

The Hunny did. It was something we had discussed. But in the parking lot of the Hard Rock Cafe in New Orleans, he gave me a ring and proposed. At that point we'd already agreed it was a done deal. He can be romantic.

Who is more sensitive?

It is SOOO not me! I am NOT the girl here! The absent minded professor, yes. Never sensitive. Unless you touch me. Then we have a problem.

Y'all, this has been fun! So much fun that I'm going to wish it on five of my best bloggy friends! Well, five friends, since at least one has already said, "No memes!" The list? The Color of Home, In the Gutter, Bold & Free, Confessions of a Karate Mom and Mom Knows Everything. Yes, there are several others whose questions I'd love to read answers to, but I'm not officially tagging them. Just a few of those are, if they're up to it, Mayberry Magpie, Baby Burgh's Mom and Straight Shooter. I'd be up all night if I had to list everyone I'd like to hear from on this. Speaking of which, I'm going to fiddle with the post options and see if I can set this up to post early in the morning. What fun!

Until I write again ...

Flea

A Job Well Done ... Well, Done

Man alive! If I weren't such a good wife (all together now - aaawwww!), I'd be upstairs taking pictures. My Hunny is replacing the children's toilet.


We purchased this house in December of '06. It was a foreclosure and had been a rental for about a decade. We got a great deal buying it "as is". It's enormous for us, at about 2,300 square feet, and the yard is huge! Big enough for vegetable gardens. That there is a picture of one of my bounteous cherry tomatoes from last year. Hee. But "as is" does not pertain to size.




Have you seen my dining room wall? I stripped the wallpaper when we moved in, only to find that the drywall had never been primed. What a mess! Yes, it is still a mess. It needs to be textured (I'll do it one day - honest) and wainscoted. But it is also the "Bad Day" wall, perfect for beginning artists. Or frustrated mommies. See the bare drywall toward the bottom of my daisy? Grrr.


When we purchased the house we knew we'd be replacing the carpets before moving in. It looked like someone had rebuilt an engine in the living room. And the house smelled like a rabbit hutch. While removing the carpet we found piles of gerbil food under the carpet in the upstairs bedrooms. But none of the under flooring smelled, so yay! And because of the cost of flooring an entire house, I had to settle for more carpet. Made me very sad. One day, though. One day, I'll have tile and wood. Really. With the carpet in, the house seems almost done.

But there have been consistent problems with the bathrooms in this house. The toilets both back up frequently. The upstairs bath has always had water on the floor somewhere, but with three kids showering, we've just assumed they were the problem. The shower faucet upstairs drips, and we've replaced the shower head. The sink, just today, was unclogged by the Hunny. Yay! Our bathroom - the one with the huge pink jacuzzi tub? - is butt ugly and its mother dresses it funny. Who on earth puts in a rose pink tub and counter? And blue wallpaper with pink roses! Ugh! The only water issue we DON'T have is the kitchen, where the Hunny has already replaced my faucet and disposal.

So the upstairs toilet, we find today, has a cracked tank. Just cracked enough to make small puddles every few minutes. Or large lakes when no one's up there. Which explains the water spots on my dining room ceiling! You! In the cheap seats! Stop laughing! And the Hunny decided that it had to be fixed TODAY. By him. So of course he drove to Lowes for a new potty.


Oh, what the heck. I'm giving you all pictures. You're friends. And you won't show anyone else, right? You love me. Really you do. Here's the progression so far: The boxes for the new toilet, in bone (I hate bone fixtures, but there's no white in that bathroom and I don't see us replacing everything any time soon).








Then the Hunny and Oatmeal Head installing the base. I can barely see Oatmeal Head in those camo pants. Do you see anyone there?



















Oh! And the old base, sitting in the tub. Attractive, isn't it? Eeeeewwwwww!!! I wonder who's cleaning up after all is said and done?













Here is the toilet, nearly done. Doesn't my Hunny look smart and productive? Not a plumber's crack in sight.














Aaaaaaannnnd .... the finished installation! Yay!!! Pretty. I wish you could hear these two as they work, making weird noises and laughing. Oatmeal Head will be 14 in a month and is enjoying working with dad to repair and replace around the house. And the two of them enjoying their guy humor. Makes a mama proud.

Guess what the Hunny is doing right now? Go on, guess! He's asking Little Guy to christen the new toilet! And it sounds like Little Guy is ready and willing. That's my boy! Well, until the Hunny told him they weren't leaving the room, and that mom would be up with the camera to document the first use of the potty. Boys will be boys. *sigh*






Until I write again ...

Flea

SuDoku

Just so y'all don't think that I've completely lost my mind, or that my brain has just turned to bovine mush, here's a picture of my bathroom window sill. Yes, this is proof of my sanity and intelligence. The gardening almanac and an electronic Su Doku game.

Ha! Yes, I splurged before the trip and purchased this little beauty! It kept me busy for hours in the car, as well as in the hotel, while the rest of my family watched Heroes and hogged my laptop. Stinkers. Friends loaned us the first season on DVD and the Hunny and kids are all about Heroes now. Whatever.

So, back to my addiction. I've been eying the game since last spring, but it was ten bucks then. While in the game aisle of the grocery, I saw last week that it had come down below four dollars. Woohoo! Worth every penny. Batteries included! See? I'm sane. Completely.

Really, I will will will get to posting something relevant one of these days. Something that's actually about me. Really. Honest! Really.

Until I write again ...

Flea

C'mon In. The Water's Fine!

My youngest child, Little Guy, has proven himself an able fisherman. He has spent the last three days on my aunt and uncle's dock with a cane pole and a bucket of Catawba night crawlers, catching bass and blue gill. Today he caught 18 fish!

I decided to try my hand at fishing, with the pole that the Hunny picked up at WalMart. To replace the cane pole which Little Guy snapped on his first catch - a big bass. Don't I look like I know what I'm doing? Not. Not a fan of the fishing. At all.





When I was in college, my Lil' Bro, who LOVED to fish, took me out with him one afternoon. He carried the poles and a paper bag full of cut up steak for bait. We lived at the mouth of the Mississippi River, where he usually caught red fish or bass - at least, that's what he brought home for dinner. Mmmm. He'd scale and gut them on the brick front porch, then hose everything down. One of the reasons I never fished was the "You catch it, you clean it" rule. Fortunately it didn't apply to eating it.

So we walked over the levee and Lil' Bro casts and casts. He comes up with a big blue crab and pops it into the steak bag, so I ask what he plans to do with that cute little crab. He says, "Kill it."

What am I supposed to do with that? Of course I tell him he's going to do no such thing! He laughed at me and cast again. Indignant, I reached into the bag and grabbed the crab.

Now y'all, growing up on the Mississippi, every time I'd come down the back side of the levee toward the river, hundreds of little fiddler crabs would go skittling in every direction, running for cover. We'd sit and wait for them to come back out, catching them by the rear, where they couldn't reach us with that one big ol' claw. They were so cute, and my friends and I would hold them by the rear and make them fight. Then let them go. So when I grabbed that blue crab, I knew enough to grab it by the rear, where it couldn't reach me with it's big claws. Yeah right. That sucker reached around and grabbed hold of my finger.

I flung that crab out across the rocks so fast! It went flying, bouncing on the rocks at the base of the levee. Me, screaming at the top of my lungs to my brother: "KILL IT! KILL IT!" Him: laughing. I think that was the last time I went fishing.



Until today. I still don't like it. But my Little Guy? His great-grandmother has convinced him that he needs to come visit often and keep fishing. I think he might just do that. Me? I'm coming back for the crawfish. :)

Until I write again (from home!) ...

Flea