Once Bitten Twice Shy, Babe

Last Wednesday at about 8:30 p.m. AristMommy, Bugaboo and I were sitting in the front yard watching the kids play when all of a sudden we heard Pootie Pie scream and start then yelling. “Get me out of here! Get me out!” ArtistMommy jumped up and started running then Bugaboo sprinted past her. I grabbed Bunny and waited, a bit bewildered. Was this really something that warranted all this? ArtistMommy and her husband (where did he come from?) were guiding a hysterical Pootie to the house. She was crying and repeated, “A snake! A snake bit me! In the sewer! A snake!” BeeMan fell off of the skateboard and it shot down the street and into the storm drain along the curb. Pootie shimmied down in there like she had done dozens of times before to retrieve it.

We brought her to the faucet to rinse her left hand and look for bite marks. After rinsing the blood we only saw one mark on her ring finger but then a second pinprick point of blood came up so we knew it had been fangs. I had no idea what to do. How do you know if it was a venomous snake or not? What do I do? I didn’t have to think; ArtistMommy did it for me and told me to take her in. I squeezed her wrist really hard. Isn’t that what cowboys do to keep the venom from going up into their heart? Then they slice it open and suck the poison out (don’t forget to spit then, not swallow). She screamed, “Mommy it hurts!” I said I know. She said, “No! You’re squeezing me too tight!” Oh, sorry.

On the way to E-Care about a mile away Pootie started crying and asking if she was going to die. “Mommy, just tell me the truth!” I told her no because we were on the way to get help. She wasn’t lying out in the desert somewhere all alone without medical attention. She calmed down a little, but the pain kept her very upset.

After E-Care took Pootie’s vitals, which were fine and normal and our insurance info and credit card, someone came in and said they weren’t equipped to handle snake bites so they were calling an ambulance to take her to a hospital ER.

The ambulance came for her at about 9:15 and I followed in the car and was standing outside of it as they unloaded her. Inside the ER they were waiting for her and put us in a room. They took her vitals and our insurance and credit card information and then told us they aren’t equipped to handle snake bites. What? I was upset but didn’t really have it in me to throw any kind of fit. What would that get me anyway? If they don’t have anti-venin, they don’t have it. I think the ambulance service should know who has it and who doesn’t though and not waste anyone’s time like that.

By now Pootie’s finger was black and her hand was swollen like a club. Her wrist was blowing up too and it hurt all the way up into her armpit. They gave her some morphine and some Zofran (anti-nausea) at 9:40 while we waited for the next ambulance to come from Children’s Medical Center of Dallas about 30 miles away. They got there at about 10:15 p.m. and I assured her I’d be at the hospital as soon as possible and went home to pick up a bag Bugaboo and Dupree had very thoughtfully packed for us. Even if I had gone straight there I wouldn’t have been able to keep up because they took off with lights and sirens.

See that peace sign she drew on her fingernail? I think it served as a target. I keep telling all of them to stop writing on themselves. Maybe they'll listen now. (Ha.)

Later I talked to the ambulance driver, and I think she got to Children’s at about 10:45 but I didn’t get there until 11:35. He also told me she would have been air lifted but the helicopter was down for annual maintenance that night. Dang it. That would have been awesome.

A nurse came in and updated me. It takes one hour for the anti-venin CroFab to be ready once the pharmacy mixes it up and she was due to have it at about 12:15. They would give her 6 vials of an initial dose and then 2 more vials every 6 hours as a maintenance. Up to 6 extra vials could be given after the initial 6 if that didn’t seem to stop the symptoms. She had gotten another dose of morphine and Zofran but was still in a lot of pain. It hadn’t helped even a little. Plus now she had been vomiting. One doctor said it was from the morphine but another said it was from the venom. Whatever. She finally got some Vicodin and that helped ease the pain a little, although throughout this whole ordeal she was never pain-free and she has a very high pain tolerance. When she was in first grade she broke both the bones in her forearm and never cried.

They said they were going to admit her. One resident, with a meaningful look, told me they were going to send her to ICU because she was real sick. But another jumped in and said they didn’t have any other beds to send her to anyway. I didn’t know who was more right but it scared me. The pain and swelling hadn’t stopped and was going further and further up her arm. It was a very uncomfortable night in a very hard chair next to her bed with neither one of us getting much sleep. It seemed like she was some kind of celebrity because residents, medical students, paramedics and nurses that had nothing to do with her care kept coming in to ask if they could look at her hand because they had never seen a snake bite before. Plus they were pumping her full of IV fluids and the only bathroom was down the hall. She had to pee every couple hours and it was a big ordeal with a useless hand with a rotten finger.

At 6 a.m. Thursday the swelling and pain stopped progressing up her arm at about her bicep area, this was after 12 vials of CroFab. We were moved into the ER Annex, a kind of a holding area while waiting for a regular room upstairs to open up.

Bugaboo and Dupree showed up around 10 a.m. and Pootie’s eyes lit up when she saw her sister. She perked up and seemed OK for the first time. It was very good to see.

They finally moved us to a regular room upstairs at about 2 p.m. She had been seen by so many doctors, residents and medical students I couldn’t keep them all straight.

SSB flew home early and got to the hospital about at about 5 p.m. with Snickety and Taz. BeeMan had fallen asleep after school so Dupree stayed with him. Taz was very attentive and tried to help her in any way possible. That night my cousin called. I hadn’t spoken to him since I saw him at a family reunion a few years ago so it was very sweet of him to call and check on us. Pootie wondered why he called and why everyone was being so nice and concerned and calling. I told her because she could have died and she started to cry. “I didn’t know I could have died! You told me I wasn’t going to die!” Yes I did and she didn’t die did she? So then she asked “Well I didn’t die so why are people still so interested?” I told her because a lot of things still could have happened, like she could have lost her finger or several other things but none of that was going to happen now because she was getting better. She just cried more. “I didn’t know that!” Well. It’s good she didn’t know that then.

After being seen by a couple specialists they all decided we could go home Friday afternoon after she got a tetanus shot. She ended up getting somewhere between 24 and 30 doses of CroFab. The information sheet that was in the room said it costs the hospital $900 per vial. I wonder how much they charge the patient/insurance company???

We don’t know yet if there will be any damage or scarring. We have follow up appointments next week.

Lesson #1 – Stay out of the sewer and drains.

Lesson #2 - If any of the other kids get bit by a snake I will not waste my time with E-Care, local hospitals or even 911. I will just drive straight to Dallas and save myself a few hours.

Nothing Compares to A Quiet Evening Alone

Wow. Two posts in one day. After such a dry spell its no wonder.

I have to take a vacation from my computer. Especially the internet. Every once in a while I get obsessed with something or someone and I just have to step back and let reality back in.

This week I am crushing on the bassist for Fall Out Boy. I know, so are a lot of girls. But I'm not actually a GIRL anymore so its kinda gross. I'm like 12 years older than he is. And most of THEM have had their crushes for a few years now, starting when FOB first became mainstream. So not only am I old, I am also very behind the times (read: uncool).

Its not like I didn't know about him until now. After all I have Bugaboo to keep me abreast of all things new and hip, whether I want to or not. I mean, I sang "I'll be your number one with a bullet!" at the top of my lungs with the best of them a few years ago. And I always took note of him back then because he has the same monkey face that SSB has. That sounds mean, but I mean it in the nicest way possible. I love their faces.

I suppose he has jumped into my consciousness, and other places, because he's all over the place right now because of getting married to Jessica Simpson's little sister Ashlee this past weekend. And that little spark grew into wildfire and I watched a bunch of videos. That was my downfall. I never should have done that. I can't get the image of him licking his bass out of my mind. OK. Maybe its because I took a screen shot of it and played with it a little. Like this:Ooooooh. Three Peteys.

I stopped myself from watching everything possible, for my own sanity and because its creepy, but here are two videos that he does it in. *Sigh* That Ashlee is a lucky, lucky girl and I really hope they are very happy.

Dance, Dance


This next one is a remake of MJ's "Beat It" (with a bonus appearance by Dr. Turk! Woo!)


Yeah. I've noticed Pete dreams a lot in videos. And real life. And writes about it. So if anyone wants to get me his book for my birthday I'm sure I will still appreciate it by the time September rolls around. Unless I have another embarrassing-to-my-children crush by then.

Like Icky Sticky Sands Through the Hourglass

The inmates were running the asylum last night as SSB is out of town this week. Again. No one did anything particularly unusual or worse than they ever do, but it was all the little things piling up on me one grain of sand at a time.

Beeman threw a screaming fit about dinner as usual and chose to sleep instead of eat as usual. Snickety chose to go outside and play instead of do his chores as usual meaning when bedtime rolled around he didn't have his stuff done.

Taz tormented me with his constant barrage of pleas to play Xbox, his one and only true love. Pootie Pie obsessed over getting a guinea pig even though her gerbil is not yet dead, much to her disgust.

Bunny screamed NO at everyone and tried to slam the door in their face whenever they wanted to come in the house. She stood there like a London guard, very committed but much less stoic.

My saving grace, Bugaboo, was at work like always and they talked her into staying late like always so I had check up on her and see why she wasn't home an hour after she should have been.

And throughout the night one spot on the floor kept getting wet and sticky. Pootie wiped it up. I wiped it up. I mopped it. I hate dirty sticky floors, especially unworldly, reoccurring sticky floors that mysteriously regenerate themselves. I kept looking for Slimer to come swooping down at me.

Today, after mopping a few more times and still stepping on a sticky mess, I found the source: one of Bunny's abandoned juice boxes in the pantry. That is her juice box graveyard, like the drawer under the oven is her hot dog graveyard.

After a long afternoon and evening of struggle I headed to my lonely bed only to be welcomed by a pile of sand on the bedspread. Bunny loves her sandbox and has sand in all her cracks and crevices after playing. Her changing table is gritty with it from it falling out of her diaper, but this was more sand than would be in a diaper. It was my turn to throw a fit and Pootie grabbed a hand held vacuum and sprayed it around the room for me. I tried to get them all to confess to no avail. I gave up and read them a story and tried to go to bed again. This time there was an even bigger pile UNDER the covers. I am pretty sure someone did it on purpose. Someone who thinks the term/name Sandy Cheeks is funny. Now I just have to figure out who so I can dole out the appropriate torture.

Duped!

Bugaboo came home with a big smile on her face last week. She was very excited that Coach had volunteered the JV swim team to teach the special needs kids how to swim. A few weeks ago she got her Red Cross CPR certification and went through lifeguard class and since then her dream has been to teach swimming lessons. And she has a history with the special needs girls at her school.

OK. Maybe the special needs girls reach out to anyone that passes by, but I kind of don't think so. She is always very nice to them and has always smiled at them in the halls and tried to make them feel "normal" and so this year they have frequently stopped her to talk. They tell her secrets, like how this one is getting married (tee hee!) and how that one's brother died and various events in their lives. She doesn't know how much is real and how much isn't but she acts like it all is and gives them the appropriate response.

"Oh, congratulations! When's the big day?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. You must be very sad."

They love her.

Each team member got assigned to one person. We'll call Bugaboo's girl Ingrid. Day after day Bugaboo worked with Ingrid on the basics to get her comfortable in the water and learn the movements that will help her swim.

"OK, Ingrid! Do the alligator crawl!" That got her arms moving.

"OK, Ingrid! Great! Blow your dandelions!" Breathing.

"Kick, Ingrid, kick! You're doing great!"

Ingrid did NOT, however, ever want to jump off the edge. Bug didn't push her, just tried to encourage her.

Friday they were in the pool and Bugaboo was cheerleading and encouraging her little heart out. Ingrid was doing awesome. She was very proud of her little protege and very proud of herself because this was so easy for her! Ingrid was actually swimming and it was all because of Bugaboo. What an accomplishment! Was there some way she could make a career out of this? Everyone is always trying to impart the life lesson that says to do what you love. She LOVED this and she was obviously a pro at it.

Unfortunately another life lesson is that if things seem too good to be true, they probably are. After lessons Coach pulled her aside and told her that Ingrid's mom had called.

Ingrid already knows how to swim.

A Man of Action

Snick is very excited for this weekend. Yes, we are going to a birthday party this afternoon, but that's not what has his spirits soaring. This Sunday night he and SSB are going to a World Vision banquet and he can't wait.

Three Christmases ago when Snick was 6 we somehow ended up watching one of those help-save-the-fly-covered-kid specials one night. You know the ones. The ones that most people flee the room from or turn the channel to anything, even PBS or the Womens channel, to avoid. Not us. Not this time. I thought since it was Christmas it would give the kids a chance to think about giving instead of getting. Change their focus a little. We sat and watched and it was very heart-wrenching

There were some very sad stories about kids who lost their parents to AIDS and had to work to survive. In one story about a brother and sister the grandparents died, then the dad, then a brother and then the mom got sick. The two kids worked enough to send her to a hospital, but she died there. The hospital only sent back her clothes so that is what they buried and went visit her grave. Ugh! But through story after story about orphans and hunger and death, the kids sat in stony silence. No one moved or commented. A few tears may have slid down some cheeks but they were quickly wiped away.

Snick seemed the most unimpressed. He watched and took it all in but kept a very blank look on his face. This wasn't, and still isn't, unusual. We're used to this look. I thought I'd give him a break, he WAS only in first grade and its not like he could really save anyone with his $1.50 a week allowance anyway.

About half-way through he asked if he could write down the toll free number that was at the bottom of the screen. I said yes and got him some paper. He already had it mostly memorized and wrote it down without much looking. Then he wrote down the website also.

We watched a couple more stories and then he asked for more paper to write a letter. In big, 6-year-old scrawl that took up the whole paper he wrote: "Your life must suck. No mom. No dad. Only a gramma or grampa. Watching you makes Snickety sad. From Snickety. To: (blank)" Then he drew a big heart.

He got an envelope out of the desk drawer and put his letter in it and then got all of his dollars out of his piggy bank and put that in too. On the TV they said it only costs a dollar a day to sponsor a child so he figured out that since he had $31 saved up he could help someone for a whole month. He sealed it up and wrote our address in the corner.

SSB came home at about that time and watched with us and saw what Snick was doing. He praised him for his big heart and then tried to explain to him that we would probably have to send a check. Snick had no idea what a check even was, and as SSB was explaining the banking system to him he just went over and started dialing the phone and called World Vision. Enough stalling. While we all sat there feeling sad and sorry or trying to be practical, he was the only one that actually did anything about it. SSB took the phone to talk to them for him. Snick then became the proud sponsor of Foday, a 7-year-old boy in Sierra Leone.

If it had been me that called World Vision, the thing that I don't think I could even fake is how humble he was about it. As we all sat in amazement at his generosity and caring he just went on upstairs to watch cartoons. It was no big deal to him. To him it was just something needed to be done.

Now he gets letters every month, not from the kid, but from the organization. There is always a calamity that needs to be taken care of. I have started keeping them from him because he wants to send extra money all the time. He got hold of one last summer though. This one was orange and had "CHILD KILLER" across it with a picture of a mosquito. A child dies every 30 seconds from malaria. Well. Snick couldn't let that happen. He read the whole thing from front to back, top to bottom then decided he was going to send some of his own money for malaria medicine. He marked the $30 donation box. SSB tried to talk him down to $10 because it would his own money, not our credit card like the automatic monthly donation. They went back and forth, discussing and disagreeing and somehow in the end he convinced his dad to let him give $50, not $30. Don't ask me how it happened, I wasn't there. But I sure wish I had a tape recording of THAT conversation.

I am curious to see what happens Sunday night. I told SSB to NOT take the checkbook and credit cards with him but I'm afraid if he does that the only alternative Snick will give him is to bring an actual child home instead.

All Thumbs

Snickety is one of the sweetest kids anyone will ever meet. When he was 6 one night I noticed that my hands smelled like garlic. I hadn’t made anything for dinner that had any garlic in it so it was a mystery. I washed them and slathered on some VERY smelly lilac lotion. Everyone was almost gagging because I smelled of lilac so much.

But after an hour or two it wore off, at least on my thumb. My thumb again smelled of garlic. Or battery acid. Or rat poison. I had received differing opinions when I asked each person what they thought it smelled like. Right before bed I asked Snick what he thought. He said he thought it stunk, but didn’t know what of. I let it go at that and he went and brushed his teeth and put on his pajamas. later he came out and gave me a hug and kiss goodnight and said, "If I had a four-leaf clover, I would wish that your thumb would never smell like that again." How sweet and selfless!

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Pootiepie was, and still pretty much is, a tomboy. When she was about 2 she wouldn't wear anything but jeans. Then it progressed to no girl shirts or shoes or anything at all girly. Everything had to come from the boys' department and even then it had to be JUST RIGHT. At the end of Kindergarten I even relented and let her get her hair cut BOY SHORT, like with a mountain top in front. She loved it.

About a month before she turned 4 I was sitting in the glider rocker and she came and sat on the stool in front of me. She was very serious about something. Her eyes were as big as the moon. She looked straight at me and asked, "Do you want to know how to be a man?"

"Sure," I said.

"OK" she instructed. "Do this." Then she stuck her thumb in her mouth, pulled it out with a POP! and wiped it across her forehead making a cowlick in her hair. I copied her.

"Do this" she said again and the thumb went back in her mouth, out with a pop, and wiped it down her shin.

We did the same thing to the other leg. I was a little freaked out because she wasn't giggling or being silly or anything. She meant business. Where had she learned such a ritual?

"OK. Now do this" she said as the thumb went in her mouth. It came out with a pop and she made a squinched-up icky face.

When I followed her lead and did the same she said, "Does yours taste yucky too?"

I'm guessing she wiped a bunch of dirt off her legs with that thumb then tasted it. Ew. I said no.

This went on a few more times wiping our wet thumbs across our foreheads again (but NOT in our hair!) across one cheek and then the other. Then she just sat there and stared at me.

Finally she said, "There. You're done" and left.

She was so intense and serious I was just a tiny bit afraid to check my drawers. I never figured out how this all came about in her little head or if she really believed it or not. I'm glad it didn't work on either one of us, but she may still be a bit disappointed. Especially now that she has to shave her legs.

Yesterday started out pretty great. My heart was tickled or warmed by four, really FOUR, things all in one day. I'm thrilled when just one good thing happens every few days.

1. I received an Oh Shitballs award from Kadi at Seven Seeds. Thank you very much. She is going to have the whole world using that phrase!
2. Artist Mommy said some very nice things about me in her blog that made me smile. You just cannot imagine how happy I am that she moved in to our neighborhood.
3. My sister blogged about a random act of kindness she got to spontaneously perform. How sweet of her.
4. My brother got a business call (he's a mover) from an older-sounding woman who wanted to know how much he charges. He gave her the prices and said there is a two-hour minimum. She said she just needs someone to lift a TV onto a TV stand. Awww. He felt bad. She doesn't even have a neighbor or friend that can lift it? She has to hire someone? She is supposed to call back to let him know when she wants him to do it and he said he's just going to do it for free. Another sweetie. :)

But all those nice things weren't enough to save the day because we lost SSB's dad yesterday afternoon. Although it wasn't a complete surprise, it was unexpected at this time. He had a lung transplant last year and had never really gotten well. He was in the hospital for weakness but we all thought he'd get better again like he always has. He was a really nice man who is much loved and very missed.

Goodbye Grandpa.

Does a Bear Poop in the Woods?

Yesterday while driving Pootie to track practice at 6:45 a.m. she was unusually talkative. Almost manic. She does this when she is feeling guilty or upset. Most of her ranting was about a fort out in the "woods" next to our house. (The kids call it the forest but its just a strip of trees between our neighborhood and the private property next to us.) She and Taz had gone out to their friend's fort with him and were having a good time until Taz decided to take a leak right then and there.

Now. I know males of all ages pee outside from time to time. They can, so they do. And they love it. In fact, just a couple weeks ago I walked out the front door and saw BeeMan hydrating the rock wall between our house and the neighbors' and laughing his little head off. Its kinda gross but I don't really care that he did it, just that he did it in the front yard next to the driveway. You know, where the street is and all the people in cars passing by.

I can easily forgive a just-turned-six-year-old for doing it once in the front yard and I could probably forgive a 13 year old for doing it in woods if he had the sense to move away from his sister and friend and keep his junk hidden. But as it was, Pootie caught an eyeful and seemed a little unsettled by it, as evidenced by the constant blabbering.

"Look at that sign" she said in the car. "It looks like an optical illusion. Back there it looked like it was curving back, but now up here it looks like its curving toward us. I don't even know why I looked."

"At the street sign?"

"No. Last night. At IT. I thought he was squirting a water bottle and I looked up."

When Taz got home I told him to come home when he has to pee. Its NOT far. His answer, which I could have said along with him for I knew what was coming, was "But I had to go really bad." I told him to go before he leaves the house then and left it at that.

Less than three hours later Taz and Pootie were back at the fort and this time they had Snick with them. This was a thorn in my side anyway because they hadn't finished their chores and getting their stuff done on time has been an ongoing battle so I met them on the sidewalk with all kinds of admonishments. To my surprise I didn't get much resistance. I should have known something was up. I should have recognized their relief at being in trouble for leaving and not for anything they did while gone. But I didn't.

I was only caught up to speed later at bedtime by a, once again, prattling Pootie Pie. Just out of the blue she blurts out, "We had to go poop really bad in the woods."

"WHAT?? You went POOP in the WOODS??"

"Yeah. I had to go really bad."

"How did you wipe your butt?"

"I didn't. But I took a shower."

Can you picture me at this point? Try.

Actually I had a pretty exhausting day because of Bunny's constant whining and use of the word no and so by the time I learned this bit of news I was done for. I just sat. Sat and stared. No yelling. No flailing about. Pootie isn't used to this apparently, so just kept blabbing.

"Well. At least I didn't use my undershirt to wipe and then just leave it there like Snickety did!"

"He pooped in the woods too?"

"Yeah."

Ah. That's where the "we" came from. Of course.

Now I am just a deflated blob. A mommy puddle. So she didn't stop there. She had one more thing to add as I melted away.

"And Taz thought he'd get in a whole lot of trouble 'cuz he peed again. But he had to go really bad!"

Not Enough Hands to Scratch It All

Have you ever woken up in the morning or from a really good nap and gone about your usual business and then really weird things started to happen? Really bizarre things like a flock of of crows flying through your house or your kids turning into the cast of "Friends" before your eyes and you realize, "Oh. I didn't really get up yet. I'm still asleep." That's freaky but when it keeps happening over and over and you end up screaming at yourself "Just get up! Move your feet. Move something!! Please wake up!" then that's when it gets a little too weird.

Well anyway. That kinda happened to me this morning except opposite. I really was awake and sitting up but I couldn't open my eyes. Like at all. Either one of them. I have pink eye, compliments of Bunny and it sucks.

As if that's not bad enough, I also have poison ivy on my arm AND a yeast infection. I was going to post of picture of the poison ivy too but then my OCD would kick in and I'd feel obligated to post one of the yeast infection and my arms aren't long enough to take a picture like that. It would be like trying to shoot yourself in the head with a rifle. You have to pull the trigger with your toe.

I am one big mass of grossness and BeeMan is having his birthday party at Chuck E Cheeses today. Although my disdain for that place runs deep, not even I would stoop so low and do this to myself on purpose to get out of going. I actually feel bad about it. If it were outside somewhere I'd just keep sunglasses on the whole time. Texas women wear their sunglasses year-round even if its cloudy. They just love their sunglasses. So I could get away with it I bet. Eh. Who cares. Chuck E's is a veritable cesspool of bacteria anyway. Screw it. I'm goin'!

Goodbye Brett Favre

Goodbye Brett, here's to you. We will always love you. We are canceling our NFL Sunday Ticket tomorrow.
That's all I got to say 'bout that.

Nocturnalness

At dinner the other night PootiePie said that BeeMan doesn't want to share a room with her anymore. I asked BeeMan why he wanted to change and he said because of PootiePie's gerbil. He nibbles on everything and rumbles around all night. He has eaten his houses and bowls and anything he can pull into the cage, like BeeMan's underwear. He's a biter and he is not greatly loved. And while not doing anything to promote it, Pootie is patiently awaiting his demise so she can get a guinea pig instead. In the meantime she diligently feeds him and gives him water and buys him new houses and plays with him as much as she can stand to be bitten.

Although she doesn't like him either, Pootie took offense to the extreme of Beeman's disdain. More likely she was offended just by the fact that he wanted to move out away from her more than his reason behind it. If anyone should want to move out it should be her because she really does have the short end of the stick. He hardly ever helps her clean up in there and he snores like a Harley (but he doesn't believe us when we tell him). She said, "It's not like you can't sleep. I go to bed a half hour after you do and you're always asleep. I'M the one who has to put up with the gerbil AND you snoring!!

To which Bee replied, "The gerbil snores?"

An Idea Man

BeeMan has the BEST ideas. He always knows what presents he wants for Christmas and his birthday. He knows what he wants to buy other people. He knows what kind of party he wants and where and who he wants to invite.

He just never tells us any of this.

His birthday is coming up in a few weeks and we haven't made any plans yet. There are just too many people and too many things to do around here. Well. WE haven't. HE has. In the car after school recently he said he was inviting Calvin to his Chuck E Cheese party.

"Really?" I said. I hadn't heard him utter the words Chuck and Cheese in the same sentence in at least a year. "Did you talk to Dad about a Chuck E Cheese party?"

"No" he said in a slightly annoyed and confused voice. Why talk to Dad about it? It was HIS party. He didn't need DAD'S input.

"We're going to Chuck E Cheeses then coming back to our house to eat Transformer cake."

"Transformer cake?"

"Yeah. They have Transformer cakes at Wal-Mart."

OK. I hope he's right because I can't make a Transformer cake. No matter where we ended up having it or what kind of cake we had, I figured I better find out who else he wanted to invite. It is his first year at school and thus has a plethora of kids to choose from so I asked who else he was inviting.

"Just the rest of my team." I thought he meant the rest of his class. That was a little scary. I really don't want to be in charge of 20 kindergarteners anywhere especially at a place where they encourage a kid to be a kid.

"No. The rest of my TEAM. My racing team." I was beginning to remember him talking about that before. They have races at recess. I asked if his team has a name.

He nodded. "The Red Jumping Jacks."

Ah, yes. The Red Jumping Jacks.

"What about any girls? Are you inviting any girls."

"No."

"Not even Zoe?" She's a new girl that moved to our street and he really likes her. And I really like her mom. She may be my last shot at an actual friend.

"OK. Zoe."

"Well. Not JUST Zoe" I said. "She won't like being the only girl."

"OK. Zoe and Rachel."

Oh oh. "But what about Valerie? You can't invite Rachel and not Valerie." They are twins in his class.

"OK. Valerie too."

Just to give him more options I said, "What about Marybeth?"

"OK."

"And Haley?"

"No."

"Why not? You can't invite Marybeth and not Haley! They're best friends!" And Haley lives right next door. I've already missed or ruined my chance at friendship with HER mom, but it would be a huge breech of etiquette anyway.

It was at this point he flopped back in the seat and gave a huge sigh. Why was I tormenting him like this? He HAD it all planned out. I was ruining it all. I relented and said, "OK. We'll talk about it later."

A couple blocks later I heard him mutter to Snickety, "Well. At least I'm bringing Spiderman cupcakes for the class snack that day."

Its A Grey Matter

Snick is an unusual child to say the least. They way he thinks and things he says are simultaneously hilarious and frustrating (see this previous post).

Some time ago he gave up giving me daily good news and turned to what I call "Snickety's Grey Matter in Overdrive". Not EVERY day, but very frequently he'll walk up to me and ask a random question.

"Mom. What are your three favorite foods?"

"Mom. If you could have any super power, what would it be and why?"

"Mom. If you had three wishes, what would they be?"

"If you had one wish what would it be, but it has to be something real." To that one I responded, "Oh. So nothing like world peace?" He said, "No, you could wish for world peace. Just not to be able to fly." I think I have a better shot at flying than world peace.

It's like his synapses are firing too quickly and he just has to spurt out these questions. He doesn't care about the answers. Sometimes he doesn't even wait around to hear them.

I'll start blogging his questions from now on to give you all a chance to experience the essence of Snickety. Today's question was pretty good.

"Mom. If you had to write a song about one fact, what would it be?"

I said I'd write a song about how the word for apple in French is "pomme" and the word for potato is "pomme de terre" which literally is "apple of the earth" or "ground apple".

What would your song be about?

Happy VD

The sweetness of my little Bugaboo is being squandered.

Although I have always felt she was just a little too special for us and we didn't quite deserve to have such a perfect child, I know without a shadow of a doubt that the shining magnificence that is her is utterly wasted on the boy she has.

Until they are about 10, little boys are sweet and thoughtful and loving and considerate and will give their Mommies a Valentine with unabashed enthusiasm. But as the testosterone level rises, the thoughtfulness diminishes. (Usually. There ARE exceptions that prove the rule, such as my SSB!) The women in their lives - moms, sisters, grammas, girlfriends and wives - get fewer and fewer tokens as the years pass. Women are fully aware of this phenomenon but we somehow keep holding on to a thread of hope anyway. Eventually after enough slamming of doors, stomping of feet and glaring of eyes the boy will learn what to do on special occasions, but what he really is learning is that he HATES special occasions. Especially Valentine's Day.

Last night Bugaboo went straight to work right after school then to Wal-Mart to get her boy a Valentine present. She came home just before 9:00 and stayed up late making a homemade card for him. Here it is:

Isn't that cute?

And she bought him a little purple hedgehog holding a heart that says "Kiss Me". It was the most masculine thing she could find. She put it in a bag that she decorated. She really is a very talented artist. Wouldn't you love to get this for Valentines Day?

So every morning they write notes to each other and before school she puts his in his bag while he's swimming and gets hers out. This morning, Valentine's morning, he asked if it was OK if he didn't give her a note because his mom woke him up 10 minutes late and he was rushed. I told her he's probably just playing with her, making her expect nothing when he really has a great Valentine for her. I knew in my heart of hearts that was probably not the case, but I clung tightly to that thread.

Alas, testosterone won out over the ever-present female hope and there was nothing there for her. Oh foolish, foolish boy. Even if he somehow thought he could survive the fury of a woman scorned, that is nothing compared to the fury of the mother of the scorned. The story actually does get worse, but you all are already thinking he doesn't deserve her (and rightly so) and I don't want to be TOO hard on him in public. Not during Lent anyway. But he better lay low for a while and stay away from me. It could be ugly otherwise. Grrr!

Sofine

(You don't really have to watch this video. I just wanted the music on here to go with the lyrics and I can't attach an audio file. This live version isn't exactly like the album version. I like the album version.)

Bron Y Aur Stomp
Ah caught you smiling at me,
That's the way it should be,
Like a leaf is to a tree, so fine.
Ah all the good times we had,
I sang love songs so glad
Always smiling, never sad, so fine.

As we walk down the country lanes,
I'll be singing a song,
Hear me calling your name.
Hear the wind within the trees,
Telling Mother Nature 'bout you and me.

Well if the sunshines so bright,
Or on our way it's darkest night
The road we choose is always right, so fine.
Ah can any love be so strong
When so many loves go wrong
Will our love go on and on and on and on and on and on?

As we walk down the country lanes,
I'll be singing a song,
Hear me calling your name.
Hear the wind within the trees,
Telling Mother Nature 'bout you and me.

My, my la de la come on now it ain't too far,
Tell your friends all around the world,
Ain't no companion like a blue eyed merle.
Come on now well let me tell you,
What you're missing messing, 'round them brick walls.

So of one thing I am sure,
It's a friendship so pure,
Angels singing all around
My door so fine.

Yeah, ain't but one thing to do
Spend my nat'ral life with you,
You're the finest dog I knew, Sofine.
When you're old and your eyes are dim,
There ain't no old Shep gonna happen again,
We'll still go walking down country lanes,
I'll sing the same old songs,
Hear me call your name.

Local Celebrity

The results of the District Swimming and Diving championships were published in the local paper on Monday and the accompanying picture was none other than our very own Bugaboo! She's famous! I guess since her times weren't fast enough to print, they just had to include her picture because everyone in town loves her so much! :)

She thinks its an ugly picture, but she was pretty happy about it.

The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men

Last night, as on most Saturday nights, I forewarned everyone that we were going to shoot for the 10:00 church service. TEN o'clock. We get up and get ready for school HOURS before that during the week so why do we have such trouble on Sunday? Part of it is because we try to get all of our chores done first too and of course we sleep later, but still. Ten. O'clock.

At 8:20 I told everyone we have an hour and a half so step it up. They did. Everyone tried. Everyone did a pretty good job. Not perfect but pretty good. At 9:35 I was the one that wasn't dressed, had wet hair and no make up on. This was partly because every time I'd get more than 15 feet away from Bunny she'd scream "Mommy!" This is not an unusual occurrence. This is typical. However, I mysteriously have not incorporated it into my consciousness and don't allow the extra time necessary for it. I don't know why. I should have by now.

Bugaboo wasn't feeling well and I told her she didn't have to go. It was my fault she was under the weather anyway. We'll leave it at that. Call me if you want details, but really, you don't.

I came out of the bedroom to check on things in general and found Taz with a pullover hoodie on over his button-up church shirt. I told him he should wear a different jacket. I'll spare you the blow by blow of the argument that ensued but in the end he wore his winter coat, zipped up to his chin and the velcro all done up even though it was 65 degrees outside.

BeeMan had on his red Spiderman t-shirt. I told him he couldn't wear that to church so he went to change.

At 10:00 we were still running around trying to get snacks for Bunny and a cup and find her shoes and get ourselves ready too. They give the kids Cheerios in the daycare room and since she can't have them we provide alternate snacks. But even when we do, she sometimes steals stuff from another kid or picks something up from the floor and eats it and has a reaction. But we finally made it out the door a little after 10. The church isn't far away, so we walked in at about a quarter after.

But before we walked in, in the parking lot I was walking behind PootiePie. She messed with her hair as she walked and since she has the skinniest @$$ ever, no hips and legs longer than a race horse, her pants don't ever fit and were falling down. I had already had enough of the trials and tribulations that come with raising 6 kids and getting them ready, and right in the church parking lot I yelled, "Pootie! I can see your crack!!"

Six steps later I noticed Snickety. He usually gets in trouble for wearing a t-shirt to church and in the car I had noticed that he had on a nice, striped polo shirt. What a good boy. What I couldn't see and didn't think to check was his pants. Now at the door of the church I see he has on high-water jeans with a huge hole in the knee and paint splatters all over them. OMG. I said, "I quit. We're never coming here again."

And BeeMan. I look at him. He had changed into his blue Spiderman t-shirt.

Exasperated sigh.

As we walked in, there were no greeters. All the greeters had gone in. Only one lone man stood at the kiosk to sign our tardy kids in to Sunday school. And just my luck it was the director of the children's programs who always remembers us a knows our names. It couldn't be some volunteer. It had to be the boss.

I took Bunny to the nursery an lo an behold, no Kitty Binky. No binky at all. The one thing she can't seem to live without and we left it at home. I said "We're going home. This is a bust." But we didn't. We stayed No one was struck down. No one was smited. But next week I'm making them lay out their clothes and get prior approval the night before. I don't want the church coming to us with donations as part of their outreach program.

Doryboo Grumpy Gils

Remember this song Dory sings in "Finding Nemo"? (I KNOW my sister and her daughter do!)


Bugaboo had Swim and Dive Districts last night. There were about 8 schools there and only the top 6 swimmers from each event get to go on to Regionals. She did not make it, but we are very proud of her anyway. She was first in her heat for the 200 and 2nd in her heat for the 500.

She is not too disappointed. She didn't really expect to go on. She WAS upset during her 500 though because her lap counters forgot about her so no one was down at the end showing her what lap she was on until about the 5th. It was actually OK because she was neck and neck with the girl next to her and it was early on, but she didn't know if they were going to remember her or not. She had to just keep swimming, just keep swimming.

She kept her chin up throughout the race and was nice to the girl who won, but as soon as she got out of the water she started to melt. Her BF swims for a rival school, which happened to be at this meet too, and he tried to congratulate and talk to her, but even HE got the big blow off. Wow! She MUST have been upset!

I Do NOT Heart American Idol

I don't like American Idol. I just never have gotten into it. One season Pootie Pie watched it so I rooted for Chris Daughtery along with her, but that is the extent of my Idol experience.

I especially hate the beginning of the season when all the sucky people are on and the judges make fun of them. Some of them SO deserve it, but to some of them this is their future, their hopes, their dreams but its just a game to Simon, Paula and Randy and it makes me sad so I avoid it.

It is still early in the season and tonight SSB is in Vegas, Pootie is at an away basketball game, Bugaboo is at work and EVERYONE ELSE IS IN MY ROOM WATCHING IDOL. I am trapped. Doomed.

Then Amy Flynn, a 16 year old from a Catholic High School in Knoxville came on. She is on the dance team at her school, dancing all provocatively, but preaching abstinence in the midst. (Oh, I see a lot of Bugaboo in her.)

She gave Simon a little speech about waiting for the right person and not having pre-marital sex. Ha ha! They joked about it, but didn't make fun of HER.

She sang a Christina Aguilera song. Wow. That's hard no matter which song it is or who you are. She did well, but Simon was not very nice. He said she reminded him of the annoying girl singing in her bedroom. She frowned and said. "That's a bit much" but she SO took it. She TOOK it. She looked sad but she didn't crumble at all and she held her own, which is enough to be proud of. And for the first time in my life, though, I agreed with Simon Cowell: the song was too big for her. That's not necessarily a bad thing. She just needs to take a different tack, a different kind of song. Christina Aguilera songs are too big for 99% of the population.

But he said YES. And so did Paula. And so did Randy. She made it! I was so happy. I'm as happy as I'd be if she were my kid. She's too sweet and naive for Hollywood, but that's OK. She may never be a pop star, or an American Idol, but I think she has what it takes to make it in life and that's enough to thaw my cold heart a little bit tonight and make me my eyes leak. Besides she was very cute when Paula said yes and TOTALLY reminded me of Bugaboo then!

I just hope her parents don't whore her out now to make her famous.

Grumblings

Wasn't that a great game on Sunday?? I mean. Until the very end anyway. At least it was exciting, right?

When the Giants missed that field goal right before the end of the regular game sending it into overtime, I think I peed my pants a little. There was much screaming and jumping amongst us. Then we won the coin toss and we were all on Cloud 99. Everyone went back to exactly the same spot we had been lest we jinx the overtime.

Then Classic Brett appeared and all was lost. The warm excitement of just minutes before turned to cold, damp underwear. It was a dreary ride home. Dupree wouldn't even get in the car. He walked home, alone and shivering.

We tried to lift our spirits with a rousing session of Rock Band, to no avail. But here's the thing about Rock Band that I take issue with: all the good songs are the easy ones. In order to earn any fans or money you have to do the harder songs on harder levels and those songs just suck. I don't even want to listen to those songs, let alone sing them.

Another thing I don't like about it is that to stay in tune when singing you have to stay pretty lifeless on those songs. After each phrase they give you a rating, "Messy", "Weak", "OK", "Strong", or "Awesome". If I sing "Enter Sandman" or "War Pigs" or any of the other yucky songs the way I would sing along with them on the radio I am deemed "Messy" or "Weak". I just have to sit there, staring at the screen trying to keep the tone indicator level an steady. BO-ring!

So one night I was singing, SSB was on guitar, Bug was on bass and Pootie, our master drummer in life and on Rock Band, was drumming. I was sitting next to her and as her arms were flailing wildly about to keep up with the "Expert" level she had chosen for herself I noticed she kept sneaking quick peeks at me. My eyes were stuck to my tone indicator and I wasn't paying attention to her but I felt her glares. Finally she yells, "Put some STYLE into it!!" Sheesh. Everyone's a critic. Poor Brett. How he must feel.