Ode to a Trapper Keeper

All of this back to school business always makes me sentimental so I was telling Little Emmer about the coolest, most awesome, greatest invention school supplies ever birthed. No not the pen that had all those colors you could click and change ink ( but that was pretty awesome ) - I'm talking about the Trapper Keeper. I told her all about the various designs and pictures you could choose from. Then if you were a serious student how you got the one with the double closure. And the absolute best part was the sound. I mean come on - if you don't just get chill bumps thinking about that awesome Velcro sound - you my friend are not my friend. ( or you didn't have the pleasure of going to school in the late 1980's).  Little Emmer still didn't get it so I had to compare it to the pitiful "binders" they have now. Then she got interested. So of course we google it. Couple of keystrokes - I was right back in 1988 -4th grade. Mötley Crüe was singing about stuff I didn't understand but I still liked the sound. Cheerleaders were my idol. And my Trapper Keeper was keeping organized and looking good. The world was good place. I can smell gym now. Ahhhh!! Still smells like feet. 

So of course her next question was - "Mom do they still make them?" Well let's just see. What did we do before Google? We lied. Or guessed. Or lived in world shrouded in sweet mysteries. But not today - today I am going to finally know if my old buddy, my old pal, Trapper Keeper (preferably a Lisa Franks design) is still made. And in less than 2.345688 seconds - I knew. It is!!! It's a miracle!!! I did a little inappropriate dance. But hey it's not everyday you can share something from your childhood with your own flesh and blood!! Here we come TK. We will just visit this website and what the what!? What is thing calling itself a Trapper Keeper? It has the words "Trapper Keeper" on it but that's the only thing I see familiar. Where is the shiny smooth plastic that protected my horse running through a green pasture, or my rainbow raining hearts down into fluffy clouds or those huge lips?? Where is the VELCRO for goodness sake? This is a mockery. This is a rip off ! This is a tragedy. 

We watched in the mirror as we grew up. We sadly watch as our children grow up. But never did think in a million years that my beloved Trapper Keeper would grow up. And unfortunately he grew up to be a responsible,boring, 58 year old man. He traded in his see through  plastic for some practical stain resistant nylon. He traded his fancy prints out for a more streamlined (*boring) one color that matches black. And sadly, he even gave up his Velcro for a zipper. Maybe a snap. I don't know I was too hurt to look. 

So my point is - some things  in the past were actually better in the past.  Youth is fleeting. We all grow up. And sometimes it sucks. 

Til tomorrow ! 

The Fabric of America

All over America last weekend there were huge parties with expensive decorations, long parades with elegant floats, and extravagant pyrotechnic shows put on by some of the best in the business.  I'm sure millions of Americans came and celebrated by some stranger they had never seen and will more than likely never see again.  I'm sure that the financial burden of the whole event was just a drop in the bucket to whomever or whatever corporate conglomerate sponsored the entire event.

I'd even bet everyone had a good time that went. But..... There's just something sweet and nostalgic about a small town's Independence Day celebration. Isn't that where it all started? From the small settling colonies to the small towns in the Midwest, America started small. It wasn't until we decided that small wasn't good enough anymore that we went big and then super size.  Last Friday night I attended my little tiny hometown Fourth of July celebration and I'll just say that it rivaled any show around.  Maybe it was just my sentimental attachment to my home or maybe it was the drifting laughter of the children sliding down slippery slides reminding me of everything that summer is about, or maybe it was the smell of hamburgers and hotdogs  wafting through out the park that symbolized the camaraderie of the men cooking , but I do believe that the gathering had some kind of special meaning.  Perhaps it was the reflection of the spectacular fireworks show in my own children's eyes and hearing the sweet oohing and ahhing that made the experience even more meaningful to me.  It meant that even though we go through each day knowing that life is hard and even though we don't know where this country is headed, our little town still knows what patriotism is and what being an American means. It means that in God we trust, in family we love, in friends we laugh and in neighbors we celebrate.  This is a great nation, no one needs to tell us that, but sometimes we need to be reminded that the very flag that waves over us is made up of single threads.  Those threads, my friends, are our small towns.  They are the fabric of our nation.  These small towns have treasures all in them if you look closely.  Or maybe you'll see one burst into the air on a hot summer night from the middle of a ball park.

Good job my little town!! My heart is so proud and full... Red, white, blue .... and a little maroon.
Can't wait to see what you do next year!

        

Til Tomorrow! 

God must have a sense of humor!

There are just so many things in life we take for granted.  I am as guilty as anyone. Especially since I have become "with child".  I've officially began my final and fantastic 3rd trimester.  The excitement is growing and so is my belly. With that said....  I can't remember the last time I was able to bend over and pick something up without it needing to be announced, a wardrobe adjustment, someone to monitor the situation, and an enormous groan.  It's quite the dog and pony show.  Do you know how many times a  person drops something during the normal course of a day? Two.  Do you know how many times a pregnant person drops something? Eight hundred and fifty seven.  Now, not only have I been missing the ability to pick up trash and not just kick it near the trash can and then wait for someone to come along and accuse them of missing the trash can and guilt them into picking it up, but I've also been missing having a full functioning bladder.  I'll tell you my favorite thing of all time is to feel as if I will explode at any given moment and knock anyone (children, old people, blind, deaf - I don't care) out of the way, only to discover that I can only muster a thimble full out.  Then we do that at least 8 more times in the hour. There's not like you actually have anything else to do.  Like work.   But if you think your bladder isn't working - just sneeze.  That will seem to empty it faster than you can think "Shazam!  I'm going to sneeze!".  Not every time you sneeze will you be incontinent, just when you have on the good pants. Or when you're in the grocery store and you have on pants. Or when you sneeze and laugh at the same time.  Or when you sneeze.   People everywhere are just sneezing away not aware that that tiny little instinctually act will put the fear of God in any pregnant woman who is at the wrong place at the wrong time.  I am pretty sure the Good Lord has a sense of humor, because this is funny stuff.  Who else would give a woman the dropsies (supposedly this is caused by a hormone that loosens our joints so that our pelvis, when time to give birth, will give way and the children can just walk out)  then give her such a huge abdomen that she can't bend over?  It's hysterical.  Speaking of bending over I haven't really tied my shoes in a real bow in months now.  Don't get me wrong I could, but I just like this life sustaining stuff I like to call oxygen.  It really helps a person to breath and whenever I bend over to tie my shoe the supply is cut off.  I used to be afraid of spiders, but now I'm afraid of tying my own shoes for fear I may pass out from lack of O2 and become brain damaged. But I'm okay, I'll not be able to see my shoes in a few weeks and then I just won't even care.  Now, don't get me wrong I'm not complaining, I'm just speaking the truth.  The truth we all know is true.  Which is the best kind of truth. I know this will end soon and I'm not taking that for granted, so for now I'll laugh.  And try not to bend over.  Or sneeze.  And maybe get some slip on shoes. 

Til Tomorrow!

** I almost died taking this picture because I had to bend down really low to the effect I wanted.  So go me.  Risk taker...that's my middle name. 

Sweet Sweet Summertime

Hey Y'all! I'm baaaa-aack!  Can you believe it's summer time again??!! Every summer I always get this irresistible urge to become a teacher.  All I want to do is help those children.  I just want to teach those precious little darlings reading and writing and arithmetic.  And then teach them what arithmetic means.  Oh how I want to be a teacher... but then mid August comes and I'm really over it.  But hey, you don't have to be a teacher to enjoy the summer.  Almost everyone I know enjoys the summer some way or another (some a little more than they should - if you know what I mean).  To celebrate the beginning of the summer I've decided to let y'all in on some of my favorite things about summer.  So here's what made the Top Ten:

1. Grocery store feet.  People will fall into one of two catergories on this subject: People who have children and the people that do not have children.  Those of us that have children don't really worry about it. We don't sweat it.  We know that under all that nasty-footedness there is a real child foot under there.   We do this because most of us haven't seen clean footed children since the middle of May.  We don't mind it.  We feel like they are building up an immunity to all things- baldness, canker sores, insomnia, etc.  It works for us.  Now those of you that don't have children - you will notice the grocery store feet and snarl your nose up them. It's ok- it will be just one of the many things that you will be wrong about. 

2. Crickets and cicada's singing at night.  It's one of the most beautiful sounds at night. It's basically like the theme song of the summer.  And the hotter it gets the louder those little creatures sing.  I love them.....unless one of them lands on me and I will go all ninja on it and deliver a death so swift and powerful that all the other crawly buggy insects will think twice before they come near me again. I won't think twice about squashing their tiny little bug guts all over my patio or trying to cause them to become deaf by unleashing a bloodcurdling scream.   Other than that I love to hear their sweet song of the South.

3. Water.  I love love love the water.  Any form of it.  Pools, lakes, oceans, rivers, sprinklers. ( But not water theme parks: That is not water.  That is chlorine with a little water mixed in but it's mostly bodily fluids I need not think of- that is whole other blog I will touch on later).  You need to get out there and splash. I can guarantee if you find a cool swimming hole, your day will get much better. 

4. Long days. The mornings start earlier and the evenings end later.  The day is stretched out into infinity it seems.  The sun lingers.  These are the times that we can get so much accomplished. You could exercise, work out in the yard more, clean more.  Or in my case it gives me extra time to sit on my porch to list all those things I could be doing.  While drinking a cup of coffee.  So there. 

5. Summer Veggies.  Now if you live in anywhere within the sound of my keyboard, then you either grow a garden or know someone who grows a garden.  The "haves" are almost always eager to share with the "have nots."  Unless they caught your cat "fertilizing" their garden.  The law states they don't have to share with you then.   There are oodles of farmers markets, roadside stands or just plain ole friendly neighbors where you can pick up some of these limited time only vegetables.  Cursed are those that buy tomatoes from the grocery store in the summer time! Shame on you!!! May your socks fall down into your shoes forever!

6. Porch Swings. Don't try to analyze why a porch swing is so good, just sit down and revel in it's greatness. 

7. Home town ball parks.  Oh my.  The memories I have from the ball park are endless.  The neatly lined fields by some  sucker wonderful parent, the wafting smell of nachos and hot dogs, and the cheers when someone becomes a legend in their parents' eyes are just some of the things that come to mind when I think of my own ball park.  Ball parks are where we learn the basics and fundamentals as children and as adults we learn what the game is really all about. 

8. Lemonade Stands. If you have never stopped by an old fashioned lemonade stand and gotten a small cup of  Heaven, you have not lived my friend!! You are not only contributing to the success of a future entrepreneur, but also warming your own heart.  There's no other place in the world that you will drink a hot, sour and often times dirty glass of lemonade and ask for a second cup.  If you're lucky the dirt will only be on the outside of glass.  Well, I guess a little dirt never hurt anyone. 

9. The Wal-Mart fashion show. My summer is not complete until I have seen the "Braless Wonder".  She's like the Great Pumpkin in the Charlie Brown cartoon. She is an elusive mythical creature that comes out during the summertime. She sports a tank top, tube top, or any top... but no brassiere.  She is mainly seen at the Wal-Marts, but I have heard that she will make an appearance at your home town ball park occasionally.   You must wait for her.  You may even have to hide.  But when you see her, you'll know.  You'll just know. ... . 

10. Serenity. I have a simple formula for this.  No getting kids up for school + no homework the night before / vacations x 2 holidays that don't require buying presents for = peace. 

We only have a few weeks of summer we can soak up.  Find some water or a porch swing or even just a tiny little girl with a lemonade stand and enjoy it while it lasts.  You can thank me later. 

Til Tomorrow!

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.