Soccer Camp, Swimming, and Our Favorite Channel

It finally feels like summer around here.
No, I am not referring to the outdoor thermometer and its unholy numbers. I am referring to the fact that:

We are at home.

No one is sporting a 103.5 degree temperature.

No one is in the ER.

We have been in our pajamas more than our regular clothes.

We have eaten lots of cereal, chicken nuggets, mac & cheese, and chips.

We have enjoyed lazy lie-around and read afternoons.

Last week, the boy participated in Soccer Camp. He came home each afternoon roasted and tired.




And... we have been to the pool.




My personal favorite... hiding under a towel... eating Chex Mix. Good times.


And what better way to spend the dwindling days of Summer vacation than being a couch potato? With your cat?

Yep. I don't often write about the two cats that own the blog title, but this was worth sharing.

I came into the living room and saw this.


My cat was WATCHING TV.
Look closely. She has the remote.


And what are they watching? What else?


Ahhh. Summer.

Houseguests and Goats

Due to a ridiculously high fever and a demon possessed car, we were unable to join our family at the beach last weekend. I'm still not over it.

But the boy got better and the car got fixed, so they came on (as planned) to spend a few days with us! Yippee!

The boy and his cute cousin played in the sprinkler, and we all roasted hot dogs over the fire pit. Yummy!





When we made s'mores, I made a fascinating discovery about my "little" brother. He likes his marshmallows absolutely burnt to a crisp. Just like me! I never knew that we both enjoyed the torching of a marshmallow.

The next day, we gave them the obligatory "tour" of Fort Bragg. This place is huge and there aren't any really "impressive" buildings to see... so you just drive around a lot and go to one of the museums. Which was closed. So we walked around one of the displays outside... old planes and vehicles. The cutest nephew LOVED it.





Somewhere along the ride to our house, my sis-in-law did a little Internet reading and "discovered" a Fayetteville treasure that I had only heard about.

Jambbas Ranch.

Oh boy. It consists of land and a couple of guides and some animals. Mostly goats. Lots of goats. Possibly a million goats.

Don't get me wrong. I LOVE goats. Always have. I would actually own a goat, and have twice considered dragging one home. Then my husband reminds me that we live on a military base and that would probably not be allowed. Nor would our neighbors like us when it climbed all over their car.

Anyway... Jambbas Ranch. It was really a cute place, and the boys loved being able to feed the animals.










The goat obsession must be genetic.

We had one particularly exciting moment. The sheep we were feeding got a little ticked off and rammed the fence separating us from him and his big horns. Everybody jumped a few feet in the air, and my nephew cried and cried. Mean old sheep.

My only complaint was that it was not a pleasant day to be outdoors. The next time I visit my goat-friends at Jambbas, it will be November. 100 goats + 95 degrees... you do the math.

We were so sad when Tuesday arrived, and the crew had to go. They were headed on to SC to see Baba and Papa for a few days. I am grateful every day that I actually get along with my brother and that I adore his wife. I know SO many families where this isn't the case. And an adorable nephew just makes it even better!

When I Write My Book

I am gonna put this story in there. In my book. When I write it. After I do all the other things on my GIANT "list of things I would love to do but will probably never get around to doing."

The boy is well. Finally. I am not a fan of fevers, and the one that hit him was way too high and stuck around way too long. But, he is better and enjoying soccer camp this week.

The "story" I am referring to involves my car. It was possessed. Really.

On Friday night - when the boy's fever was at an all-time high - I decided that I was talking him to the doctor. Urgent care, ER, something. I wanted some answers, and I wanted a medical type person to tell me that my thermometer wasn't lying.

We got into the car, and I turned the key.

GGRRRNNNNNGGRRRRWHHIIIINNNWWEEE.

That's the sound my engine made as EVERY SINGLE LIGHT on the dashboard came on. It looked like Christmas in my front seat. And that sound? It was LOUD.

I turned the car off and did what anybody in the same situation would do. I tried it again. 'Cause you know - cars will miraculously heal themselves if you turn the key enough.

GGRRNNNNNGGRRWWHHIIINNNNNEEEEEE.

At this point, a HUGE thunderstorm began to rumble all around us. HUGE.

I got out of the car. (The boy - by now - has run back inside for safety. Not from the storm... from the car.)

I closed the car door and began to walk away. All of a sudden, the headlights came on. By themselves. On bright.

And then the horn began to blow.

BBBBBBLLLLLLAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRR.

I am not making this up. I promise. I covered my ears as best as I could and reached in through the open window to turn off the lights. They wouldn't go off. They wouldn't even dim. The horn kept on blowing.

Did I mention that all this is taking place in my garage? Where sound is MAGNIFIED?

Thinking I can kill it at it's life source, I sent my feverish child running to a neighbor's house to ask if he could help me disconnect the battery.

By the way, both my father and my husband have trained me well. I know how to change a tire. (Don't wanna have to actually DO it, but I know how.) I know how to check my oil and other important fluids. I even know how to call the repair shop. However, I was not trained in car demon possession. Nor battery disconnection. Truthfully, I just wanted a witness in the garage with me in case it began to transform into a giant alien robot.

In the time it took the sick child to run out across the lightning streaked yard, the horn went off. And then back on.

My neighbor came out, listened to my wild ramblings, and went back into his house to get a wrench. And probably a good stiff drink.

We got the battery disconnected, and no one was struck by lightning.

In all the chaos, I noticed the boy was DRIPPING sweat. His fever had broken.

We didn't go to the doctor that night. We sat in the house and called a tow truck and the Jeep dealership service department. I took 4 Advil. And we waited out the storm. It was a doozy. The storm.

As a nice ending to our evening, the power went out.

I promise I don't make this stuff up. Here's the little booger on it's way out the next morning.



The car has been healed. Apparently, when a battery is dying, weird electrical things can occur.

The boy has been healed. Thank the Lord... and the makers of Zithromax and Advil and Tylenol. And the makers of Gatorade. And popsicles.

And the power came back on in time to cool off the house so we could sleep.

I really am gonna write a book.

No Germs Allowed

The boy has been hit hard with a nasty cold. Or somethin' like that.

One of my facebook friends said he didn't get the memo about NOT getting sick in the summer. Nope. He didn't.

And boy oh boy is the timing bad on this one.

We had a crazy busy fun day planned yesterday... breakfast out with our pals, a $1 movie, the 4th night of VBS, and don't make me go on.

Instead, I sat at home pouring 7-Up and Motrin down a feverish child's throat. And picking up snotty Kleenex.

We also had dentist appointments. (Can you make yourself sick to avoid the dentist?) Had to cancel those.

The worst part of it all is that this "summer sick" may just mess up our weekend plans. We are supposed to go to the beach. We're meeting my brother, sis-in-law, and nephew there. Spending a day or two on the beach and then all heading back to our house.

That is, if this fever breaks.

At least we got to see THE MOVIE WE'VE BEEN DYING TO SEE before the yuck hit. In our humble opinions... IT WAS THE BEST HARRY POTTER YET! (We are already making plans to go see it again.)

So bloggin' world friends, please pray for a quick recovery for this boy of mine. Being sick in the summer is no fun at all. And this momma has better things planned.

Just a Few More Hours

Here at our house, the boy and I have no patience left.

Harry Potter arrives tomorrow. Not at our house. At the movie house.

And the anticipation is killin' us!

Our Fish Tale... Not for the Squeamish

As you may have guessed by now, we had a little extra "fun" on our vacation last week.

The boy was fishing (gasp) with his Pops when the sea catfish they'd just caught decided to do a little flop-twitch-wiggle-thingy. Sadly, a certain little boy's hand was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and one of the catfish's barbs stabbed him right in the thumb.

Now please don't assume a lack of supervision or a lack of skill... his Pops was right there and this kid's been catching catfish since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. (I cannot resist old-lady Southern phrases. Sorry.)

Once we all realized it was REALLY stuck, Pops cut the fish's barb off, leaving a very sharp and very painful piece of a fish in the boy's hand. Ouch.

High ho - high ho - it's off to the ER we go.

We were given the option of waiting for a bed (three hours) or having him treated in the hall (immediately). We'll take the hall, thank you.

They took X-rays to see just how far the barb went in and just where it was in proximity to his thumb bone.

Um.. that would be all the way through. Good times.


Next, there was a tetanus shot and a series of very painful (according to the boy's face) injections of a deadening agent. More good times.

After waiting for the doc to check the X-rays and the medicine to work it's magic, the real fun began.

The doctor (and I am not making this up) walks up and plunks down a plastic basket of tools. Not hospital-ish tools. Tackle box stuff. Garage stuff. Tool box type stuff. Nothing sterile about it, people.

He says, "This is my fish-hook gettin' stuff." More good times.

He started with a pair of needle-nosed pliers. Two or three hard pulls on the barb. Nothing. It ain't coming out.

Then he grabs a HUGE pair of pliers. HUGE. Like he's about to go work on a car. HUGE PLIERS.

After locking them down on the other end of the barb, he begins to pull. And pull. And pull. Then, he braces himself against the bed where my wide-eyed child is lying, and he looks at me and says,
"I'm gonna try one more time. Then I'm going to get someone else."

At this point, the boy looks at me and says,
"WHAT DOES HE MEAN WHAT DOES HE MEAN WHAT DOES HE MEAN?"

I translate, "They may need to cut it out." More good times.

(And I'm thinking, "Now THIS is the stuff that NORMALLY happens when your husband is deployed! It's about time things got interesting around here!")

With one last huge yank with those huge pliers, the barb came out. All three of us - me, the doc, and the boy - let out a big breath of relief.

We had a little praise-the-Lord moment.

After more X-rays (to make sure it was all out), we got some prescriptions and a wound washing. And a hefty dose of Motrin.

I must say, the boy was brave. He is a tough one.

The next morning, I - of course - took pictures. (He wouldn't let me take any in the ER.) It was VERY swollen, but not as painful as I had anticipated.


And then, a few days later, it was pretty clear exactly where Mr. Barb had intended to come out on the other side.


I am thankful that it didn't.
I am thankful that it wasn't worse.
I am thankful for the triage nurse who was an Iraq vet... who kept making sure we were ok.
I am thankful for such a good hospital so close to the beach.
I am thankful for antibiotics that kill nasty water germs that could be deadly.

I am thankful that the boy has enough of his mother's cautious spirit in him to say,
"I am NOT going fishing tomorrow!"

I am thankful that the boy has enough of his father's adventurous spirit in him to say,
"It wont' keep me from fishing forever... not in a million years... live life to the fullest."

I may need heavy medication to get through the next 10 years.

"Teach a Man to Fish..."

... and that's all he'll ever want to do.

I don't think that's how the old quote really goes, but it pretty much sums up the boy.

We spent the last two weeks visiting family, and fishing was high up on the list of activities. Until... the accident.

But that's another long story for another day.

First stop: Baba and Papa's house in South Carolina. The boy fished...



hung out with stinky farm dogs...



and built a new home for his hermit crab... with a LOT of help.





Me? I sat my hiney on my parents' screened-in porch and read 3 books... whilst sipping lemonade and tea... bliss.
We also went to the movies and ate a load of good food.

After a few days on the farm, we packed up - again - and left for Florida.
The 2 cats stayed behind at "summer camp" with their grandma.

In Florida, at Nana and Pops' house, it was hot. Really hot. We went to the beach a few times...



tried to catch those little tiny fish and crabs in the surf...



and caught a jellyfish...



There was also another trip to the movies, more good food, and still more fishing. The boy went out fishing with Nana and Pops every chance he got... on the river (in the boat) and at the little ponds on the neighborhood golf course.

After a week in sunny Pensacola, we drove back to my parents' to pick up the cats and celebrate the 4th of July. There was more good food. (Do you see a pattern here?) There was a semi-professional fireworks display in the driveway. There was a BBQ and a snake show... NOT attended by me. (I was celebrating our nation's independence by stimulating the economy at the pottery warehouse.)
And there was...

no more fishing. (Did ya notice?)

The boy had declared a "break" from catching fish. That's only because one had recently "caught" him. But, that's a fishing tale for another day...

All in all, we had ourselves a mighty fine time.

And our little trip to the Gulf Breeze Hospital ER was just icing on the vacation cake.

I promise it's a great story... and I have X-rays to prove it.