What HAVE I Been Doing?

There are times - on the phone - my husband will ask me, "What have you been doing?"

He doesn't mean it sarcastically... he KNOWS I have lots of things to keep me busy.

He doesn't say it to be mean or condescending... he KNOWS that raising the boy alone is as hard as being in a war zone. At times, it is a war zone.

He really just wants to know what activities we've filled our days with. What keeps us occupied.

And here lately... I have no idea.

I wake up, and before I know it... it's bedtime again.

It's all a blur.

A blur that looks a lot like a really cute, but tiring, 10 year-old.

And so I give you... a moment in my day, honey. Multiply this scene X 24 hours, and then you'll know exactly what I've been doing.


Monday afternoon. 3:32 pm.

The boy: "Beep. Beep. BEEEEEEEEEEEEP!"
"Ba-whooop. Ba-whooop."
"Bee-boo. Bee-boo."
"Oh-wee. Oh-wee. Oh-weeee-beepbeep."
"Bwap. Bwap. Bwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap. Bwap."

Me: "How in the world can you be doing homework while you're making all those robot noises?"

The boy: "It's just easy math; it helps me concentrate."

The boy: "And I like it."

(More various assorted noises and singing.)

The boy: "I'm watching you."

The boy: "With these two eyes."

Oh The Weirdness Of It All

Do you ever feel like you're on Candid Camera? (Did I just reveal my age?)

You know... do you ever feel like the things that are happening around you and to you are a huge practical joke? As if, at any moment, a host with big hair and a fake smile is gonna pop out and say,

"Surprise! You're on our new hidden camera game show!"

Last night, after AWANAS (kids' Bible clubs), I scooted through the Burger King drive-in to feed the boy. I wanted him to have a hot and nutritious meal before heading off to bed.

I pulled up to order, and the voice said,

"Welcome to Burger King. Can I take your order? We are all out of burger meat and steak-burger meat."

Turning to my little co-pilot, I said,

"Did she just say they were out of BURGER meat?"

"Yep," he said, "I think so."

"OK," I said, "I'll have a kid's chicken nugget meal, please."

As we "pull forward to the second window," I can't help but wonder just how many people came (like us) for a burger tonight. This place is on an Army base, folks. LOTS of young hungry soldiers... looking for food. And the line for the drive-thru is usually out the wazoo. Whatever that is.

At the window, as she took my money, I could not suppress my curiosity (or my mouth).

"Did you really say you guys were out of BURGER meat? As in, no BURGERS?"

"Yep," she said, "That's right."

I couldn't stop myself. The sarcasm rolled out faster than I could think...

"But this is 'BURGER' KING," I said.

I don't know how to put her reply into words. It was more of a sound. Like a groan and a grunt combined. She wasn't rude. She seemed to be wondering the same thing as me.

When is the hidden camera guy gonna pop out?

And by the way, did you know that some chickens produce nuggets in the shape of tiny little crowns?

Go BK, I say! If you're gonna run out of beef, at least you can serve us fancy royal nuggets.

Let's Just Say It's Only Been 10 Years

Whew.
I'm spent. Done.

We're back home after an extra long weekend at my parents' house, and you all know how much I love getting back to reality.

I had myself an excellent time at the reunion. It was amazing to see how GREAT everyone looked. And how we all turned into relatively normal adults. We laughed and talked and laughed and talked and no one broke a hip... we partied like it was 1989.

Except with mortgages and minivans and less hair on the dudes. And way less hair on us gals. We spent part of the evening wondering just why... back in the day... we felt it necessary to poof our hair up into the stratosphere. The hair was B I G, folks. Big. Huge.

Thank you, Lord, for some changes.

And thank you, Lord, for friends. Even after all these years, it felt like only yesterday that we were all 18. I went to school with these people from Kindergarten to Senior Year. They were like my family. And it feels like they still are.









The boy had himself a mighty fine weekend as well. He tromped around the farm behind my dad. He spent 3 whole days shooting at things, poking dead things with sticks, eating greasy hot dogs, eating an entire bag of Chick-o-Sticks, and riding his 4 wheeler. While I was at my reunion, he and his grandparents ordered pizza and rented a movie. Ahhhh... to be 10 again.

Or, 18.

Does This Shirt Match My Walker?

As I may have mentioned before, my high school reunion is coming up. "Up" as in, this weekend.

And I can tell you exactly what I've done to prepare myself to see these people I haven't seen since we were all MUCH younger.

Not. A. Thing.

That's right. Oh, I had plans, let me tell you. I was gonna drop a few pounds, get myself into kick-boxer shape, and get some Botox. Remember?

Instead, I got myself some germs. Germs that have pretty much incapacitated me for the last 10 days.

After 2 trips to the doctor, 2 flu tests, 1 strep test, one peak flow meter breathing test, one respiratory infection test that I SWEAR PULLED OUT BRAIN MATTER, 2 finger pricks, and 1 chest X-ray....

I have some kind of infection. Medical marvels.

I also have an antibiotic, some steroids for the whole breathing issue, and some mighty fine cough medicine. Translation... narcotics=sleep.

So I dragged my feeling better self out today to find the outfit. You know, the one that will make everyone say,
"Wow! You look great!"
"You haven't changed a bit since graduation!"
"You could pass for 21!"

Let me just pop your Class of '89 balloon right now and tell you... that outfit does not exist.

I may just settle for a new top or a pedicure.

And a puff of my inhaler to get me through the night.

My cousin, who also graduated the same year (and will be at the reunion), posted a great Facebook comment recently. He said we may need a doctor on hand Saturday night in case someone falls and breaks a hip. Oh my. Now that's funny.

But don't make me laugh too hard, 'cause I'll start coughing and then probably tinkle a little bit in my cute jeans.

Who Put Rocks in My Throat?

Happy October, Bloggity World.
Wish I felt more like celebrating.
You see... I have swallowed some rocks. Well, not really. It just feels like I did.
Mr. Army doctor said,

"It's not H1N1."
"It's not strep."
"It's congestion from... probably a virus. Your ears and nose and throat are all closed up."

Well, duh.
And, he failed to mention that some rocks have moved in down my throat.

On a much brighter note, we have had ourselves some genuine Fall-like weather. Thanks you, Lord. I was totally finished with that whole hot and humid summer stuff. Finished.

I put out some scarecrows and a hay bale on my front porch.
The guy at the farmer's market looked at me kinda odd when I asked him to load the hay for me.

I said, "My son and I are both allergic to hay."

I read his mind, and he was thinking, "Well then... dumb lady... why are you buying it?"

'Cause it looks darn cute on my front porch and I had to have something to stick my scarecrows into... they kept falling over.

I know what you're thinking... hay allergy=sore throat

Nope. The rocks were there long before the hay.

Now I just have to get well before next weekend. It's my ___th Year High School Reunion.
I am so excited to live close enough (for once!) to be able to go! A lot of us old timers have re-connected on Facebook, and I think it will be great to see everyone.

I have one week to lose 25 pounds, get some Botox, attempt to look 18 again, and get rid of this crud.

Something tells me it's gonna be a busy weekend.

Hey Little Boy, Ask Me Again Why I'm Tired

There's an area in our kitchen that is separate from the "food prep" area.

(I need a place to dump all assorted items of junk, and I like to use Food Network terms.)

You probably all know or have the type of area that I'm talking about. It's a section of counter covered in:
-school papers
-my calendar/organizer
-to do lists
-grocery lists
-bills to be mailed
-bills to be paid
-assorted pens and pencils
-stacks of stuff to mail to a war zone (well you may not have this)
-my purse
-a dirty coffee cup from ?day
-my camera
-coupons
-chapstick that fell out of my purse
-and whatever else happens to land there... which is where this story is heading...

On Wednesday night, I was turning out the kitchen lights and locking the doors in preparation for going upstairs. ('Cause once I'm up there, I'm not coming back down.)

I glanced over to my calendar (in this junk area) to check the next day's schedule to make sure I wasn't forgetting anything critical... like breakfast with my girlfriends or coffee with Jeanna, or a good sale at Hobby Lobby or saving the world...

And this is what I see.



Yep.
Those are grasshopper legs.

Placed lovingly there on the month of September for my personal enjoyment.

Plucked tenderly from a dead (I asked) bug in my yard.

(I do apologize for the poor photo quality... I was tired and it's hard to zoom in properly on bug legs.)

"Are these grasshopper legs on my planner?" (Stupid question.)

He answers, "Yep! They sure are!"

"Great. Now go upstairs and get in the shower."

I tossed those little legs in the trash and was instantly 135% more tired.

It's Not Really Stealing

There is a Texas girl's blog I enjoy reading. Sometime last week, she posted this "list" thingy, and I found it quite interesting. It's a list that reveals a lot about the blogger... some things trivial, some things not. I liked it, so I am stealing it. Not really. She said we could take the idea.

I received a comment once that suggested I don't blog about myself enough. Really? Brace thy selves.

I suppose I do write more about the boy then anything else. He's just far more entertaining than the rest of us. I can't blog too much about the husband right now...
1. He's not here to entertain us.
2. I might compromise national security and be arrested in the comfort of my own home.
The cats? They are sorry sacks of fur. One keeps me up at night meowing and the other one is trying to drive me to insanity by going poopie in the floor (inches from the litter box) on a regular basis. At least she's regular. But I do love them.

So, here's a glimpse into my world...



I am thinking that I should not have busted into that bag of Halloween candy just yet.

I think too much. Over-thinking is a curse.

I have a sore mouth from my new fangled-y night guard. It's supposed to keep me from grinding my teeth.

I wish I had a billion dollars. Seriously.

I hate picking up cat poopie.

I miss... oh please!

I fear watching people I love suffer. (Wow. That's a deep one. Sorry.)

I hear the fan from the stove still running from Lord only knows when. If that husband were here... he'd have shut that thing up a long time ago.

I smell my semi-cold coffee sitting in front of me. (Dear God, please don't let it fall into the keyboard. Again.)

I crave all things el Mexicano. And Spanish lessons, obviously.

I search for a way to drop 40 pounds without exercising. I hate it.

I wonder what my little boy will look like as a teenager. Hide your little girls.

I regret not doing more with my creativity. Out of laziness, out of fear, out of lack of motivation.

I love my bed. It's cozy. Bedtime is my favorite time of day.

I ache when I work in the flowerbeds. And I worry that my neighbors are looking at my fat behind all stuck up in the air.

I am not a good decision maker... especially the small insignificant ones. Big ones? Much better.

I believe in the ultimate control of God in all things. (Wow. Another deep one.)

I dance when we watch High School Musical. (Is that too much information?)

I sing when I hear anything I know or think I know. At church, in the car, on TV, when watching High School Musical...)

I cry at the drop of a hat. And I quote, "I have a strict policy... No one cries alone in my presence." (Dolly Parton as Truvy in Steel Magnolias)

I fight as little as possible. I hate confrontation.

I won a chili cook-off contest last Fall. Without even really intending to enter. And I'm not bragging... I was truly stunned.

I lose my train of thought. Often. And my cel phone.

I never feel like I have my act together.

I always have a headache when it's gonna rain. My skull is my weatherman.

I confuse myself.

I listen to whatever happens to be on the radio. I'm not really picky about music style as long as no one's singing through their nose.

I can usually be found in flip flops.

I am scared of snakes, big snakes, little snakes, snakes, and worms because they look like tiny snakes.

I need to get off this dang computer and go be productive... it's a half day at school and my time is a-wastin' away.

I am happy to live in this beautiful land we call America. It is a gift. (Cue patriotic music...)

I imagine myself sitting on the beach about 23 times a day.

I tag... no one! I only do that on Facebook.

Feeling overloaded with information about me yet? I know I am.

Have a Blessed Wednesday, folks.