Naw'lins

The women sitting around me are all sitting in a circle.  We are in a dimly lit room that resembles a warehouse.  The smell is musty,  but the loud cheap perfume doesn't take away from the mildew scent.  The woman sitting to my left has on bright red lipstick that is also on her teeth.  Her short skirt is distracting me from looking at her fishnet stockings.  The woman on my right is smoking a cigarette while nursing her newborn baby.  I stand up from my chair and I say:
 Hello, my name is April.
*Hello, April*
I'm a terrible mother and I .......I took my kid to Bourbon Street.
*Gasps.... then one lady fainted*
This is the scene I have  imagined in my head.  I have a vivid imagination.  But yes it's true. Yes I took my kid, my sweet, innocent baby to Bourbon street.  My best advice to her was- "Don't step in any puddles" and   "Darling, that is a question only your father can answer. Go ask him."  I really think that it was a great experience.  She enjoyed it.  She looked at the "hobo's" as she likes to call them.  Then she informed everyone that a hobo was a man that had a beard and was dirty and stinky with no job and rode a bicycle - but sometimes they don't ride bicycles they just sit and look scary.  She's wise beyond her years.  I was going to take her into Marie Laveaus House of Voodoo  but they wouldn't let her in.  At first I thought it was because she was a child and they were protecting her eyes from seeing any evil entities or scary voodoo paraphernalia, but then the doorman/bouncer told me it was because she had a cookie and she looked like she would get crumbs everywhere and touch everything.  He was wise beyond his years.

We got lucky enough to see a St. Paddy's day parade. It was kind of short though. Well, I think it was a parade - it had men and women dressed in green tight short clothes throwing beads and grinning like fools.  Come to think of it I may have seen a "I'm the bachlorette -Shhhhhh don't tell my husband you saw me here"shirt on one of those girls. Oh well, Paige thought it was a parade. And she got some cool beads.  The most unusual thing we saw was a tall, frizzy, red headed woman in a dress.  No wait, it was a man in a dress.  You couldn't really tell until you got up kind of close to him and saw arm her hair.  This wasn't woman arm hair.  This was man hair.  The kind that was hairy.  Only testosterone grows this kind of hair.  She had lots of freckles so I'm assuming he was a true red head.  At least she was trying to fool people with a tacky platinum blonde dye job.  His face was painted completely white.  I'm not sure what that was about.  Maybe her razor was dull and she couldn't shave her face and had a 5 o'clock shadow.  Fortunately Paige didn't ask any questions when we saw him.   Other than - Why does that man have on a dress and have his face painted white?

'Til Tomorrow

*post script- I actually had a wonderful time in New Orleans. I absolutely loved every single minute I was there and we did do some fun unbad stuff.... it just wasn't as funny!

*post post script- Check out the poll on the right hand side and be sure to vote.... IT'S NEW!

*post post post script - Just kidding! I'm done!

I apologize in advance for the picture...

I've never been much of a patient.  I'm more of a health care provider type.  I've only been hospitalized twice in my life : once was to actually be born and the other was to birth a baby.  I've had very little experience with being a patient.  I had my wisdom teeth taken out once.  Horrible experience.  I spent most of the 3 days recovering in bed with a head the size of a watermelon.  I didn't want to get up and I didn't want to take my meds and I didn't want to swallow water and I didn't to be touched but I didn't want to be left alone.  It wasn't a good couple of days.  I did stick tooth pick in my knee once - but that's another story.  It was a real bright moment in my life.  Anyway, to sum up the patient part of my medical career is to say that it has been short and thankfully so. 

About a year ago I started experiencing excessive tearing.  Not life altering but yet completely annoying.  It's the equivalent of your pantyhose always falling down or your socks always sliding down into your shoes.  It's almost as annoying as a car full of 6 year olds singing the only line of a Justin Beiber song they know.  (Baaaabaaaay baaaabbbaaay baaabbbbaaay ooooooo).  So for a year now I have dealt with my left eye tearing and crying at inopportune times.  It's really hard to have a serious conversation about flossing with someone while you have huge crocodile tears running down your face.  But a person can only handle so much and when my mascara wouldn't stay on I decided enough was enough.  There just is no justice in a one makeup eyed Louisiana girl.  I looked like a real live QVC make up special.  One side was the before and the other side was the after.  Ridiculous.  Now as you all know going to the doctor is not as easy as it used to be.  Doctors have to look at you, then refer you to another doctor that has to look at you a couple of times.  This doctor will then finally tell you what is wrong with you which is usually what the first doctor said anyway  and then one short year later they decide to treat you.  In my case the diagnosis was Dacryostenosis and in normal terms means stopped up tear duct.  The treatment for me was a dacryocystorhinostomy.  And in normal terms it means this: surgery.... where they place a plastic tube from your eye to your nose.  It's not as bad as it sounds.  I did wake up one time during the surgery and they were hammering and fine chiseling on my face.  I must have said something funny because I remember the mad laughter from the surgical team.  I think I said "HELLO ! I'M AWAKE!".  Humorous, I know.  Now after the next round of Versed I was feeling good and didn't know about any more hammering.  The next thing I remember was announcing to Jeremy - well it wasn't exactly announcing-  it was more like slurring "I'm not pregnant".  His exact response was, "Ummmm OK?".  Then I heard the nurse laugh and tell him I had taken a pregnancy test and it was negative.  He was still confused, he thought we had come for my eye. 

The next few days were nothing unusual. I spent 2-3 days whining and taking full advantage of my "patient" status. I slept. Then whined.  I ate. Then whined.  I watched television.  Then whined.  I really milked it.  I figure if I'm gonna have to lay up and be whiny, then I'm gonna be the best whiny patient ever. I even had poor Paige feeling sorry for me.  She asked me if it hurt and I gave her a dramatic story on the extent of the pain. Of course she believed me. I even left the little bit of dried blood on my nose to make my story more credible. It's sad when a mother will  misuse a sweet six year old's sympathy for her own personal enjoyment. I may have even asked her to rub my feet.  I can't remember for sure.  Then,  I asked Jeremy if I could have a bell to ring.  He said I'd gone too far. 

'Til Tomorrow

Stop the Insanity!

Today I'd like to talk about something very important.  This can be a touchy subject and it's not something people like to talk about. I feel like it needs to be put on the table and discussed because I know that other people are going through the same thing. I won't be naming names due to privacy issues.   There is no easy way to say this so I'm just going to say it: The bathroom is a place of solace and should not be used as the conversation parlor or the observatory. 

I have not used the bathroom by myself in SIX YEARS! SIX YEARS! I would love to go into my bathroom and not see anyone else's face or hear anyone else's voice.  Just once.  Just once, I would love 5 minutes alone without someone coming in to ask me what I am doing.  It's a strange phenomenon because when I come home no one wants to talk, no one can even remember what they did all day. I can go into the bathroom and within 2 seconds Chatty Cathy can remember every conversation that was ever conversed. And suddenly they even remember what they had for lunch.  (I still think they serve roofies at school.) They are even caring and want to know how my day was.  Sometimes these people will even bring a stool in to make themselves more comfortable to carry on the conversation.  Now other times, conversation is not what they want and they want to play games.  Mostly,  it's a twisted peek a boo game that consists of the peeker peeking and me screaming to GET OUT.  To try to ward off these intruders I try to keep my answers to all questions short one word answers. I am hoping those people/or person will get the hint.  Normally they don't. On the rare occasion that I don't have face to face time with these people, they like to stand outside the door and yell questions.  Usually it's "Where's this?" or "How do I find that?" or "HUH?" whenever I don't answer.  That is rare because most of the time they just like to look at me when asking me these questions. I do not want to draw a picture while I am here.  I do not want to play Nintendo.  I do not want to discuss the relationship dramas of a Kindergarten class.  I do not want to talk about stocks or bonds or retirement.  I would love to just be left with my own thoughts and my Southern Living.  But,  I must be the most beautiful thing they have ever seen as they just stare and sigh.  My protests fall on deaf ears because no matter how much I scream, shout, spit or curse, it does no good.  I know some of you are wondering why I just don't lock the doors.  I wish it was that simple.  You just don't understand - I live with Houdini's. They can pick any lock known to man.  They may not be able to find their own socks or be able to tie their own shoe but by golly they can use a bobby pin and a dust bunny to create a key. Their MacGyver skills do not impress me.  Not at all.  I have tried to reason with these people.  I have begged.  I have cried and I have bribed them.  They do not listen.  Threatening them with their little lives only leaves them with one option. 

And then a new game begins. The "Can You See My Hand" game.   I just sigh, resolve that God really must have a sense of humor and decide that there must be a support group that deals with this sort of thing.  I must go join it. 

'Til Tomorrow

* I cannot take credit for this pic... it's a stock photo... I usually am not carrying a camera while I am in the bathroom, but I'm glad to see this is a common occurrence. 

I Love Laundry!

I'm baaaackkk! I know some of you have been wondering what I have been doing and if I was still going to blog.  Honestly, I didn't intend on neglecting my blog this long.  I have been very busy and the writing just wasn't on the days agenda.  Now, what in the world is so important that I would not blog and inform all you good people on the boring details of my life? Well I'm gonna tell ya. Mostly I have been doing laundry. I'm not talking about a few loads - I mean hard core laundry.  Night and day - day and night.  From sun up to sun down.  Every waking moment I wash, dry, fold, put up, iron - the whole schmear.  I have developed tennis elbow from all the ironing and I have blisters from all the folding.  I even make my own detergent and hand wash at least 50% of our clothes.  Laundry has become my life.   I eat, sleep and breathe laundry. My hamper looks so lonely and smells fresh too.   OK, well maybe that was an exaggeration.  Maybe I haven't actually done laundry.  Maybe I tried.  Maybe I pulled it out of the hamper onto the bathroom floor and left it there for days until my husband got tired of stepping on it and put it back up.  Then maybe I pulled it out again and this time sorted it and then washed only the bare necessities. Maybe I washed a few loads then piled them on the couch waiting for someone to fold them.  Maybe I "fluffed" the load I had in the dryer for 8 hours waiting for the couch to open up again.
 OK, that was probably how it really went. Y'all know I can't lie to you.  I did have good intentions.   The laundry isn't done, but I listen to my baby every night read her homework.  I also get to step out my back door and see my baby brother in his yard and a cute blonde by his side.  From my window I get to see my dear old dad fly by and hear a honk as he goes by for at least the 14th time that day.  I'm back to getting my expected visits from Henry P at least 3 times in a weekend. I get to call my mom and love the fact she is just down road not in a hotel room. I get to watch as my neighbors use their front yard as a dirt track again.  I get to see all those creek checkers slowly ride by on their daily outing.  I get to sit down every night with my family. Yeah, I may not have all the laundry done, but we have clean towels and that's all that matters. 

'Til Tomorrow