Baaaaad Monday

I am not having a good day. (I am also a master of understatement.)

I woke up 15 minutes early from a ridiculous bad dream about an HIV-positive vampire who broke into my house and said he'd bite me or my son. If I didn't choose, he'd kill us both. I couldn't go back to sleep.

After 15 minutes of futilely trying to go back to sleep, I finally stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen, where I began to gather up the trash. On the way out the back door, I managed to piss off a wasp. It proceeded to sting me on the temple a quarter an inch from the edge of my eye. Holy crap, that hurt!

I'm supposed to be preparing a major training presentation for Thursday, and I can't seem to get going on it - I've had one stupid interruption after another. I'm going to wind up waiting until this evening when nobody can call and bother me.

Jeff was supposed to get paid today, but because of tax confusion - he's working in Alabama and Tennessee - they didn't do his check. The accountant is trying to figure out how to tax his income. It may be tomorrow before he gets paid - and we need it now!

Oh, I need a nap!

Bible Class

I've been teaching a girls' class this summer, using the book "For Young Women Only." While it's been enjoyable so far, this morning's topic is going to be difficult at best, impossible at worst. I almost skipped this chapter, but then decided I'd better not.

The topic is modesty - but it goes deeper than that. The point of the book is how guys react to girls and the things they do. I already know I'm going to offend several girls this morning - probably the ones wearing necklines so low I can see their underwear. In fact, if I don't have a few parents breathing down my neck afterwards, I'll be more than a little surprised.

I know that in my day I have worn things I shouldn't, but the reality is that fashion has changed significantly in the last ten years. I simply didn't have the same choices when I was in high school. Even today, as a Big Girl, I find shopping for clothes to be a complete exercise in futility. You'd think it wouldn't be so hard to find a shirt without a plunging neckline, or a pair of shorts that didn't threaten to reveal your underwear to the world. All I can say is thank God for capris. I have approximately 5 shirts in my closet. I own one pair of jeans and one pair of capris. That's it. That's all I can find to wear that doesn't make me feel any more self-conscious than I already am.

Back to the topic at hand...

How am I supposed to convinced these girls to tone it down and cover it up when their parents are letting them out of the house looking like that? How do I get through to them that the boys around them are having a hard time worshipping in church because of the girls' attire? (I know it's tough on the guys - I've been watching their reactions for months now.) I just have a distinct feeling I am going to be the target of some serious post-class grumbling.

Oh, well. It needs to be said, and I guess somebody's gotta do it.

On my mind today

I freely admit that my mind wanders a lot, especially when it's quiet at home, with nothing going on, and XM radio playing quietly in the background.

Topics of interest swirling around in my gray matter tonight include:

Jeff sent me flowers the other day. I wonder how long they'll last. More importantly, I wonder how long his niceness will last this time...

My sister is an absolute idiot. I used to think she was smart. I've changed my mind.

I need to get Braeden's new dresser cleaned out and loaded up. Dad brought it a couple of weeks ago, but I still haven't had a chance to put it to use.

I hate VBS. Our VBS sucks. Really. I don't know why we don't just let it die already.

Do I eat the cookie dough ice cream in the fridge or should I take Bebo to Sonic for a treat?

Is it worth a trip to Wal-Mart to buy the 50-cent box of spaghetti that I forgot when I went grocery shopping?

I really can't wait for my birthday. I am so excited about seeing Transformers, but I can't decide what to do about Braeden. He won't sit through the movie, but I don't want him at a babysitter's all day either. Maybe we'll catch a matinee and then get Bebo for the fireworks. I'm looking forward to taking pictures again. Hopefully I can snag a good spot without too much light to watch.

Did Doege read my blog?

I hope the ant traps work in the kitchen. We go through the bug problem every summer. It's a fact of life when you live in an old, uninsulated house - no matter how clean you keep the kitchen. If I absolutely have to, I'll call the exteriminator. I just hate the smell of their spray.

I really like listening to the US Country radio station on XM. It's all the 80s & 90s stuff that I grew up with. It's country before it got obnoxious.

I feel so sorry for my poor dog. We still haven't figured out exactly what happened, but it looks like someone tried to detach his tail from his body. He had a massive gash that went almost completely around the base of his tail. The skin separated nearly two inches. The poor fella got shaved around his butt, so it looks like somebody tried to give him a French poodle haircut and gave up. He's got tons of stitches, and thankfully he hasn't tried to chew them out. I just feel awful for him - he can't get comfortable no matter how he sits, and he's afraid to go outside. I really wish I knew what happened to him. The cut was fairly clean, which makes me think a person was responsible - but Buddy is so territorial that I can't imagine he'd let anyone get close enough to hurt him without chewing the idiot to pieces. Guess I'll never know what caused it.

That's enough randomness for now.

Home

Funny, isn't it? You don't necessarily have to like home, but it still feels good to return when you've been gone for a while. There's just something about your own pillow, and your own recliner, and your own hairdryer. After a few days on the road, those things feel comfortable like an old friend.

Our trip went as well as could be expected. Bebo & Gabe went from giggling to fighting and back to giggling the entire trip. Katie spent a lot of time blowing raspberries, which left drool running down her chin and Braeden cackling like an old hen. Actually, when you consider that Gabe & Katie are not the road warriors that my child is, the journey went quite well. We arrived at my aunt's house Saturday morning to find Grandma already there. Bless her, she looks so tired now. The years have certainly caught up to her. She's lost weight and moves very, very slowly - and only with much assistance. Even so, she was glad to see the little ones. We only stayed a few hours. It was obvious that she was getting tired, and we had a long way back, anyhow.

More than a few comical moments occurred, so allow me to share a couple:

One night I had the kids in the room with me while Mom was getting ready. I was tweezing my brows in the mirror, and Gabe asked me what I was doing. When I told him, he said, "Cool! I want to do that when I'm a girl!"

I hadn't said much to Braeden about our trip, because I didn't want to listen to an endless barrage of "We go see Grandma Gates now?" Mom, however, told Gabe all about it, so he was very excited about seeing her. It didn't take long for his exuberance to rub off on Bebo, and before long I heard them singing "Grandma Gates, Grandma Gates, Grandma Grandma Grandma Gates" to the tune of the old 70s-version Spiderman cartoon. I had to laugh - Braeden has the remarkable ability to sing a tune perfectly.

I closed the weekend feeling quite proud of Bebo. He behaved very well, for an utterly exhausted 4-year-old who'd been tied to a carseat for four days straight.

Oklahoma

...where the wind comes sweepin' down the plane....

I am heading out with Mom, Braeden, and my sister's two youngest kids. They've never met my grandmother, and it's been about six years since I last saw her. It will be a wild trip - we're leaving this afternoon and will return Sunday. Keep us in your prayers - for a safe trip and quiet kids!

My Obsessive Personality

It's really Kevin's fault. He's a good friend of my husband's. He loaned us Smallville seasons 1 & 2. It took - oh, about half the first episode to get totally and completely hooked. I have a bit of a thing for the whole superhero genre, anyway. The Superman-as-a-kid angle is simply fun. It doesn't hurt that Tom Welling is so stinkin' hot. Be still, my beating heart!

Anyway, so now that I'm reduced to watching reruns while waiting for the start of Season 7 this fall, I've let myself slip into total Smallville stupidity. I'm watching all the old shows again, regularly checking in at the cult websites for rumors & spoilers (Supergirl is going to make an appearance next season), and anxiously awaiting September.

All this is actually symptomatic of my overly obsessive personality. When I get into something, I really get into it. I'm doing the same thing with the Harry Potter books. I read all six books, then the speculations book that Jeff got me for our anniversary, and I am currently halfway through Book 3 again. Yeah, I know - it makes me utterly dorky. But I felt an overwhelming compulsion to scour the books one more time, searching for the elusive clue that might tell me if Sirius is really dead, and who might die. . . well, you get the picture. It seems that I move from one obsession to the next, happily immersing myself in a universe far more exciting than my own. I've done it with books, TV series, video games. . .

Now if I could just channel that same energy into keeping my house clean!

You put your left foot in....

I love light-hearted humor. Mom sent this to me today, and even though rarely give heed to forwards, this one just cracked me up. Enjoy!

Larry LaPrise, the man that wrote "The Hokey Pokey" died peacefully at the age of 93. The most traumatic part for his family was getting him into the coffin. They put his left leg in. And then the trouble started.

Shut up. You know it's funny.

Not a Reject

Something interesting and entirely unexpected happened in my last two days at the office.

People were actually happy to see me. It caught me completely off guard to have so many folks walk in the office, see me sitting there, and say something like - "Where have you been? We've missed you!" I even had one person try to convince my boss to make me work in the office again!

See, here's the thing: I am actually a shy person. I clam up like a frightened mollusk when I'm forced to endure parties. I don't mingle well when mingling is the only purpose. Even though I occasionally enjoy an alcoholic drink, I'm not at all interested in social drinking. You couldn't drag me into a club or a bar if you chained me to a dolly and rolled me in the door. Because of this, a certain someone (who shall remain unnamed) has informed me that I am a social reject; I'm anti-social and people don't like me.

I was starting to believe this person - until today. I do enjoy people; I am just more comfortable in controlled situations, particularly when it's one-on-one. And people do like me. Surprise, surprise.

I really needed that!