The Pretty Rock

I try to be very patient with Grant. I try to make myself pause and realize that, at 4 years old, he sees everything much differently than I do. When he points to something that I might not give a second look to and calls it beautiful - whatever it is - I try to make my adult mind look at it a little different. Adulthood ruins a lot of things that parenthood has the chance to kind of bring back, right? When Grant and I go for walks and he calls it our adventure and pretends things, it reminds of playing in the woods behind my parent's house and all the fun we had in our "forts" back there. I try to re-appreciate things like that because I can see how amazed Grant is by the things he's learning and discovering.

I think I maybe need to work a little harder on that sometimes.

Sunday, Grant and I were getting ready to run some errands. I was getting him in his car seat when he peaked in the cup holder and pulled something out. He held his hand out to me and saw this off-white/yellow colored hard thing in his hand. Paying zero attention to what had to have been a look of pride on his face, my adult mind saw an old piece of string cheese (a snack he occasionally has in the car). I grabbed it, threw it over my shoulder and asked him to get in his seat. He started sobbing. HARD. And then wailing so loud that Husband came out of the house at a sprint thinking that I had to have shut Grant's hand in the door or something.

He was sobbing "It was a pretty rock! It was my pretty rock and I wanted to keep it!" So...not old string cheese. I had forgotten that my mother-in-law had had my car seat Friday & Saturday while Grant spent the night with them. He told us that he picked up the rock while they were at a store and he wanted to keep it. All this while I'm crawling around on the ground looking for the rock. Husband is asking what color it is, I told him a dirty off white. Grant is wailing "Its orange! Its my pretty orange rock." It was honestly heartbreaking, he was so upset.

But Husband saved the day. After a 10-15 minute search of the area where it could have gone over my shoulder, Husband found the rock and Grant's little teary face lit up. And, to be fair, it was kind of orange. He was happy after that and was in the car seat in no time ready to head to Target. Husband was explaining to him that it was an accident and I was apologizing like crazy. Grant said to me "It was an accident, Mama. I'm not mad at you. I love you." Maybe that should have made me feel better but I felt even more horrible after that. He only mentioned it one other time that day and not since then (which is odd because the he is The Boy Who Never Forgets). We ended up having a really great evening together but I had major guilt hanging over me.

The whole time we were looking for the rock, all I could think of was this saying I've seen from time to time:

I know it's not exactly like what happened with Grant, but it was on repeat in my head and there's a good message there. I definitely learned a lesson and I'm going to work harder on my patience.

Other Kids and Their Parents

This is a relatively long post that is slightly embarrassing to me about something Grant did and, if I'm being honest, a little judgy about some other parents.

A few weeks ago we attended a birthday party for one of Grant's school chums. It was interesting to be a part of a group of people I don't think I'd typically hang out with. I guess that's what happens when your child is in school. The comedian Louis C.K. said it in a way that I find very true (for me anyway and if you decide to look him up, he's pretty vulgar so beware if you're offended by that stuff). He said something about his daughter having a playdate with a little boy he didn't like and the boy's dad came to "bringing his face into my house and I gotta talk to it. What do you do again? I don't care." He says that the only reason they're hanging out is because they're kids are friends "based on no criteria, by the way. They're the same size. That's it." 

That sums up how I felt about this birthday party. After 5 minutes with the birthday boy's mom, I realized that we are not two people who will likely be sitting down to a coffee date in the future. But she was nice - a bit abrasive but nice - and very welcoming to  the kids coming in. I was feeling slightly more comfortable and then the parents I call Beige Mom & Beefcake came in with their two kids and my comfort level went out the window. Beige Mom & Beefcake are this set of parents who's names I don't know or even want to know and I try to avoid them at school like the plague. I've called Beige Mom that name so long that even Husband calls her that but Beefcake (he's noticably proud of his unimpressive gym body) is a new nickname I decided on at the birthday party. Honestly, the husband never bothered me. It's the wife who always makes judgy, snarky comments to me or about Grant (once I walked into the toddler room when Grant was about 1 1/2 and she had snatched his paci out of his mouth telling him "You don't need that! You're so much cuter without it!" Bitch.) One of their boys is older than Grant, the other - who I will call K - is in Grant's class. K & Grant have been chummy since their days in the Waddler room when K's mom used to tell me they looked like brothers (never have I agreed with this). K always seemed like a bit of a wild kid whereas Grant tends to be more laid back. When I pick up Grant, K seems to be in trouble a lot or I'd hear the teacher scolding him. The birthday party showed me just how unruly K really is, how poorly he listens to his parents, and how his parents let him get his way a lot so he'll stop (or, sort of stop) misbehaving. One parent seemed to always be off "talking to" one of their boys. You can raise your kid however you want, I don't care. Seeing how K acts in public made me even more thankful for Grant. But when K becomes a bad influence on my kid...that's not ok.

At dinner time, Grant tells us about his day. Last week he told us that K called another kid fat. From the sounds of it, K picks on a lot of kids - including Grant. Grant asked what "fat" means. We tried to explain that it's not nice to say that, tried to use that as a teaching moment. Then the next day we found out that Grant said it too. I guess K had called the kid fat first and Grant followed up with "Yeah, you're fat!". They both got in trouble which I'm glad about and we had another big talk with Grant when we found out. 

My kid isn't perfect, I know that. But we're not just letting him grow up. We're trying to raise him right, trying to teach him good things. He's polite. He says please & thank you, no ma'am, yes ma'am, yes please, and no thank you. All that good stuff. He's learning not to interrupt, or try not to interrupt. And we try to teach him about name calling because you never know what can hurt a little kids feelings. Having been picked on as a kid (for being fat), it broke my heart when I found out Grant picked on another kid. I don't want him to be one of those kids. I really feel like Grant only said what he said because K said it first (I mean, he doesn't even understand "fat"). So after I'd punished him for saying it, I told him "I know K is your friend but...he's not a nice boy." It was the first time I'd said something negative to him about one of his classmates. The kid is a bad influence and I don't care if that gets repeated. Even one of Grant's teachers told him he needs to pick a better friend. 

I think this is the first time I've been embarrassed by something Grant did. He was never really a biter at school (at least, nothing we got a report about). He's never been the kind of kid to act up in a restaurant or throw food on the floor. I guess, this is the first time I've ever felt apologetic about something he's done. Husband kind of had to talk me off the ledge with this one (a rarity, usually it's me calming him down). Next year starts Kindergarten - a whole new set of challenges. But since K's family lives in another county, I'm happy knowing that particular challenge will be behind us soon.

In the Morning

The weekend was supposed to be a date weekend for us. Grant was going to spend the night with Gramma & Grandpa. Husband and I were going to go out for a nice dinner and had planned to watch a movie in our quiet house, one that didn't have any cartoon characters in it (I'm thinking it was going to be Monuments Men). But in the wee hours of Friday morning, Grant woke up with a nasty cough. Husband ended up staying home with him after the doctor's visit that put him on breathing treatments and prednisone. No one in our house was getting sleep so we definitely weren't putting the in-laws through that.

Saturday morning, Grant was much more improved. Husband went out to get us breakfast since I was too tired to took. Grant and I were hanging out on the couch just watching TV and he was talking non-stop about the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse episode that was on. 

I rarely take pictures of Grant in the house. Not like the ones I do with him where I pick out the perfect spot and have a couple adorable outfits picked out. But Saturday morning, I decided to just take pictures of him sitting on the couch.

I loved the bedhead he had going on, he was wearing his favorite dinosaur pajamas, and his eyes looked so pretty. I didn't ask him to smile or pose for me, I just took pictures of him while he talked to me. 

My favorite! My happy boy :)

I just love hanging out with this guy! Which works out well since he wasn't able to go to school today. We're going to rest up and make sure he gets better :)

My Favorite Serving Spoon

Perhaps only my sister and I will find this funny. I think it even took my Husband a few minutes to find the humor in it. Obviously, I find it funny enough to write about it (and I'm still chuckling about it as I type).

I'm sure at some point in the blog I've mentioned once or twice what a thief my mother was. If I haven't or you don't remember, I'm relatively sure she was one of the most successful petty thieves of upstate NY. I even mentioned in our meeting with the funeral home guy that it should've been put in her obituary as a hobby.

I remember the first time my husband - then boyfriend - went home with me. My parents took us out to dinner and my husband ordered water for his drink. They brought him a glass with his own carafe of water. My mother leaned over, tapped the carafe and said "That's nice. Finish it before we leave so I can put it in my purse." My husband laughed until I told him she was serious (though I don't think she managed to get it).

There was one summer vacation - I was probably 7 or 8, we were waiting for a table at our favorite place to eat in Old Forge and my parents each ordered a beer. They came in these really heavy glass mugs that my mother seemed to struggle to carry to the table when we were called...all the while commenting on what a nice mug it was. After dinner mom asked dad to take her purse for her. Dad picked it up and it was so heavy it surprised him and he dropped. Mom snapped at hime to be careful. He said - a little too loud - "Jesus Christ! What do you have in here?!" It was her beer mug.

There are a lot of those stories. She went through a phase where we couldn't go out without her pocketing the steak sauce. She didn't need it. She just did it. Once at my parents house we were getting ready to eat dinner and my husband said what a nice steak knife he was using. He told me it looked like the ones Outback uses. With him having been around for about 10 years at that point, I stared at him and asked him just where he thought she got it.

Which brings me to my favorite serving spoon. It was nothing fancy. Just a good, sturdy stainless steel spoon that I used for almost everything. My mom stole it from some catered function at work and I loved it. It even had the name of the building she stole it from etched on the back. This year, I used it on Thanksgiving and it seems to have disappeared. My mother-in-law has searched for it, I've searched for it, my husband has too. We're thinking it was set on top of the car when we were leaving and never got put inside. Whatever happened to it, it's gone. I was really sad about it. Maybe that's stupid but I was. After searching high and low and realizing it was gone, I just told my sister one day that I lost it and how upset I was.

She sent me back a picture of one and asked it was the same.

It was. I figured she'd tell me I could have it and I knew I couldn't take it. After all, mom had apparently stolen one for her too. So I told her it was the same kind. Then she sent me another picture:

I lost it. I was laughing so hard I couldn't breathe. I can't believe she was never arrested! Also, I'm getting more spoons :)

I won!

A lot of the blogs I follow hold giveaways that I always enter and never win. But guess what? I won one! Thanks to Two Peas & Their Pod I won $200 to spend at Albion Fit! 

You want to know what I picked?

They have some REALLY cute swim suits so I knew I had to get one of those. I decided on this one:

{click the picture to shop}

I had THE hardest time deciding. Ask anyone. I think I was pretty annoying about it. I even annoyed myself a little. They have an emerald green color in that suit that is gorgeous and after finally narrowing it down to that style...I agonized over the color for days. But I love love love the red.

I also spotted this cover-up that just looked so pretty and perfectly beachy (to me) and I decided I had to have that too.

{I couldn't get this picture to link. If you like it, go HERE}

They also have these long sleeved shirts that look so super comfy and...they have thumb holes. Don't ask me why I'm so intrigued by this but I am.  So I added that to my list.

{I couldn't get this picture to link. If you like it, go HERE}

So I'm actually getting two of those because they sort of look like I want to live in them. One in that pretty pink color and one in purple.

I debated on some exercise gear since I've actually been excercising BUT even though their yoga pants and running tops are cute (and probably quite comfy), I wanted other stuff. I'm so excited and I can't wait to get my stuff (which should be soon because I only ordered yesterday and it's already shipped)!

The Little Birdie's Visit

Two weekends ago while I was sitting at my kitchen table working (not on anything fun, actually working) I noticed a gorgeous red bird - assuming it was a cardinal, not sure what their winter habits are - in a tree behind our house. By the time I grabbed my camera, snapped on my zoomier lens, and made my way outside it was of course gone. But there were other birds out there so I ventured out in my yard.

All the other little birds pretty much blended in with the trees and I didn't get any good pictures of them, so I headed back to the house. When I got up on the deck I saw a little birdie sitting on our doormat that couldn't possibly have been there when I walked outside because I'm sure I would have stepped on it. Our guess is that it had a head-on collision with our door and was composing his/her little self before flying off to join it's friends. It let me get really close so I knew it wasn't right.

It didn't seem alarmed by me. I guess maybe it knew I wasn't going to hurt it, who knows. I didn't touch it...because there isn't enough soap and sanitizer in my house to make me think I wasn't going to get sick from it. But I did take pictures.

Then I propped open the door so Grant could see it. Again, no touching. I don't even let him touch petting zoo animals. But I thought he'd like to see the bird.

Grant said "Ooooh a birdie!" in this cute high pitched voice he's been using lately when he talks about baby animals. And he was really good about not trying to touch the bird when I'd told him not to. (And the bird didn't try to come in the house when the door was wide open even though Husband was super concerned that it would.)

After that I shut the doors and let him be. I checked back a little while later and he had made his - presumably safe - departure.

It's Medication. Maybe. Or It Could Kill You.

So yesterday Husband drove me to Chapel Hill to see the liver specialist. Both of us were sort of looking at this visit as a formality. After all, I was told just this past Friday that the biopsy showed that my condition was medication related. My appointment was at 2:00 - in the Transplant Clinic. That was a little off-putting, but I was confident that it was going to go well.

Be there 20 minutes before your appointment time, the letter says. And I was there 20 minutes before my appointment time (30 minutes, actually but I had to stop at registration). And then I wasn't seen until 20 minutes after my appointment time. So, the nurse does her thing and then the doctor comes flying into the room. Or maybe it just seemed like he was moving really fast because he was short. No hello, how are you, introductions...nothing. He just sits down and starts looking at all of my labs. And he talks to me in a way that makes me think he really doesn't like having to talk to or see people on a daily basis. He tells me that by looking assume it was medication related. I love it when doctor's tap dance around a simple "I don't know". But he also told me that there was a "marker" that was positive in my biopsy that could indicate autoimmune hepatitis. And if that's what it is then it needs to be treated - it's apparently not curable but is treatable - because "It'll kill you if I don't treat it". Fantastic. I walk in thinking I'm getting better...I leave thinking I possibly have a disease that will kill me if they don't figure out what the hell is going on. And then, before sending me down to the lab to have more blood drawn, he tells me not to worry. And I really wasn't that worried. I was a little, of course, but I was also kind of angry. But not nearly as much as my Hubby who was ready to call the doctor from last week to ask why he gave me a diagnosis that this new guy isn't sure about yet.

So we get home and go about our nightly routine. After I get Grant to bed, I did some dishes and cleaned up the kitchen. Then I crawled into bed for some good reading. It was 10:15 when I was just about to turn off my Kindle. And guess what? Our house phone rang. A phone call that late is never a good sign. I figured someone was sick or hurt. We didn't get to it in time and Nate says "That was your doctor on the answering machine. I think you need to get up and call him." I. Was. Pissed. 10:15?? What's so urgent? Then my cell rings. It's him. "I want to talk to you about your labs from today" he says. No apology for the time. No mention of Gee, I hope I didn't wake up your baby since your house is probably the size of the garage where I park my Mercedes and every phone you own is ringing. Nope, just started talking about my labs. And what was so urgent, you ask? NOTHING. He called to tell me that my labs look good are even more improved from last week. That it looks like I'm getting better and it's probably not autoimmune hepatitis. He calls at 10:15 p.m. for that. That and I won't have to have more blood drawn until the week after next "so I was hoping to talk to you about setting that up". What? This couldn't wait until, say, 8:00 a.m.? Ugh. This is why I try to avoid doctors.

And the Biopsy Says...

After my liver biopsy on Tuesday (while getting a peek a the sample because the ultrasound tech was cool like that) I was told I'd have my results in a day or two. When I talked to my doctor, though, he told me I wouldn't get results until this coming Tuesday at the appointment with the liver specialist. So I prepared myself for another weekend of sleepless worry (and not just mine, Nate too - this hasn't been easy on anybody).

But Thursday I went back to work, after a quick stop at the hospital lab to have more blood drawn to check my liver levels again, and I felt decent. A little sick still when I ate and, of course, sore where they shoved a needle in my side but otherwise not too bad. Then yesterday I woke up actually feeling pretty good and feeling something else I hadn't felt in a while...hungry. Hmmm...was I getting better? So I went about my morning. I was surprised to notice around 10:00, I think, that I missed a call from my doctor's office (who I have an appointment with that afternoon). I checked my voicemail and it was the actual doctor, not his nurse, asking me to call him back. Uh oh. So I call, ask the receptionist for him and in a second he picks up and says "Hello, Tara? I have good news for you. I have your pathology results and I was hoping to save you a trip into the office." Wait...what? I was not expecting any of that.

So he tells me that my condition is related to medication that I've been taking. He also tells me that the biopsy showed no signs of permanent damage to my liver AND my levels are going down. He even cancelled my afternoon appointment because he was encouraged by the results! I still have to see the specialist on Tuesday in Chapel Hill because he's taking a second look at everything.

I can't even begin to tell you how relieved we all are. Last night I slept better than I have in a long time. It's amazing what unexpected good new can do for you. I'm feeling so much better and I think my yellowness going away. My veins are really relieved too. My arms look like I decided to become a crack whore. They were starting to hide from the blood people. Although I should point out that people in lab at Rex Hospital are really good at what they do. I wish I could go back there every time I have to have blood drawn. But anyway, I'm so happy that I'm going to be ok and we're going to be able to have a Merry Christmas.

THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone for the help (especially to my sweet Hubby and my Mother-in-law!), the concern, well wishes, thoughts, and prayers!

*Side note: If you're wondering what medication it is, I was told there is no way to tell. I'm supposed to bring to two likely culprits with me to my appointment on Tuesday but I don't think they'll do anything with them. My doctor thinks it's either my birth control pill (I've been on this specific one only since September) and an over the counter medication for a UTI - which I sort of self diagnosed myself with. I really want to blame it on that - and even if it's not that, I'll never take it again - but I just don't know. And it's not my job to know, right? It's just my job to not take them anymore. I can handle that.

Which Outfit Goes Best With Jaundice?

I haven't felt well for a couple weeks now. Since Thanksgiving weekend. I figured it was something I ate, then I thought it was a stomach bug. A couple people who knew about it all asked if I was pregnant. Absolutely not. So this past Thursday after I got out of the shower I looked in the mirror and got a little scared. I called Nate into the bedroom and I asked him if my skin and eyes look yellow to him. He kinda made fun but quickly stopped when he said "Umm...yeah, you're yellow." And then the fun began.

That day I went to just a general doctor who threw every scary possibilities at me (including pancreatic cancer) and took some tons of blood. Then he sent me for an abdominal ultra sound to check for "blockages" which of course made me think they were going to find all kinds of tumors and I was going to die (the doctor actually was hoping for a gall stone stopping up my plumbing). Nothing. Ultra sound was clean except for a "slight" inflammation of my liver and spleen. So Friday I went to a gastro guy who once again took my history and ordered more blood tests. And then an MRI of my abdomen on Monday.

I'm not a claustrophobic person...but that MRI tube gave me some anxiety. And I left there once again feeling like they were going to see something awful. Nope. Clean. What to do, what to do? How about more needles? But let's make a big one. So Tuesday, I had a liver biopsy done. "Don't worry," the nurse at my doctor's office said "It sounds scary but they'll sedate you. You won't know what's going on. You'll just need to have someone there to drive you."

Liar.

They most certainly do not sedate you before shoving a large needle into your troublesome liver. And honestly it wasn't too terrible. But they SHOULD sedate you before sending in the socially awkward nurse to attempt THREE TIMES to start an IV. She eventually gave up (after bruising me in all three places) and someone else - much more friendly - came in and got it on the first try. Just start with him next time. So they did the biopsy and I was sent off to recovery to lay still for two hours with Nate to keep me company (who refused to give me my phone to play with).

No joke, I look like I've taken a position
at Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory.

So at this point it was about 3:30 in the afternoon and I'd had nothing to eat all day (finally had something to drink when I got to recovery and it was the best tasting ginger ale I've ever had!). The very sweet nurse was going to bring me some graham crackers but on second thought brought me the hospital menu and ordered me a sandwich. I went with grilled cheese thinking it would be easy to eat from the above position. I wasn't sure how my stomach would handle it but I took one look at it and it was gone in about 3.2 seconds. I was starving. After that I was discharged and took yesterday off as well to rest up. I'm not allowed to lift anything over 20 pounds - and that includes Grant - for 5 days. On the off chance my liver decides to spring a leak. 

This morning it was more blood work and tomorrow another follow up with the gastro guy. Next week I go to Chapel Hill to see another specialist who, I'm told, should have my biopsy results. The doc seems to be leaning toward a virus but it apparently could be related to medication or an autoimmune thing. They've ruled out the big bad stuff so we're all very relieved about that.

 Regardless of the outcome, I will be very glad to have this all over with (I'm so tired of needles)! It's put a huge kink in all my Christmas plans (and my Christmas baking!)

Look At Those Legs

Raise your hand if you think your little one is the cutest thing ever. Yeah, me too :) And I have to say...as adorable as some chubby cheeks and chunky thighs are on a baby...I love how scrawny my little man is. And he is scrawny. Grant does have a little belly on him sometimes but for the most part he's a little stick. That's not to say he doesn't eat. He totally eats. I think he's made of 85% pasta. Maybe he just burns it off while he's bouncing off the walls. But anyway, I frequently let him run around in just a onesie because I loooove to watch his tiny self running around with those skinny little legs.

Pictures were taken with my phone while trying to capture a moving
subject. Please excuse the blurriness. However, you can
clearly see those silly skinny legs.



Seriously, it makes me smile every time :)



An Office Treat on Friday

Yesterday it was 90 outside. Today I'm not even sure it hit 60. Yesterday when I got ready for work I was wearing a short dress and sandals. Today I wore jeans and a sweater. I absolutely love fall and I love the days that "feel like fall". I knew yesterday that it would be a little cooler today so on my way home I bought the makings for s'mores. S'mores remind me of sitting around a campfire on a chilly night and they're so comforting. So this afternoon I put together s'mores at the office for us to have a little afternoon treat :)



Gooey goodness!



I ate two and I don't feel the least bit guilty! I love me some s'mores.

 Of course they weren't as amazing as when you get to roast the marshmallow over the fire on a stick you just found in the woods. But still very tasty.

P.S. Random fact about me: the only time I can eat a whole marshmallow is in a s'more. I can't stand it in anything else, not even a marshmallow swirl in ice cream. And I can't eat a naked marshmallow all by itself - yuck.

Irreconcilable Differences

Judge: "Why are you seeking a divorce?"
Me: "He won't kill the spider that's right outside my bathroom window."
Judge: "Excuse me?"
Me: "In my defense, judge, it's a really big spider."

I really don't like spiders. I'm not as afraid of them as I am of somethings, spiders I will actually kill. Unless, of course, they're so big that I could shake hands with them. And we have quite a few that fit that description living around our backyard. Last Sunday, after Grant's birthday party (I promise to post about that soon), Husband and his step-dad were outside fixing our minor hurricane damage.

Very minor considering what others are dealing with.

So Grant and I went out to check things out and, really, just to be in the sunlight for a minute after two straight days in the house. As soon as I rounded the corner of the house I saw a large gigantic spider hanging out between the house and A/C unit.

I took that myself, it's not something I stole from Wikipedia. I'm told that
it's called a writing spider. That creepy zig-zag thing in the web is part
of it's artwork. I've had two people tell me "Don't show it
your teeth or he'll write your name in his web!"

I said to Husband that after the roof is fixed, he can work on killing that spider. And he said "Oh, you should have seen him a couple weeks ago. He was only about half that size two weeks ago. He's been eating good." Probably a small child from the neighborhood, judging by the size of him.

Spider update: there are now two - yes TWO - large sacks near the web that make me think we're about to have a whole new generation of writing spiders living in the yard. Fantastic. Can't wait.

Mom-provising

I never fail to be amazed at how odd my mind is at times. Two weekends ago I was changing Grant's diaper and butt bandage and narrowly missed being hosed down by a rather impressive stream of pee. Rarely do we get peed on anymore. At first it happened at least once a week. When we were very new parents, maybe even once a day. To one of us. Or both of us. Or, if the dog was standing there, all three of us. But it's a very uncommon occurrence now. But that one weekend I didn't have a bandage at the ready like I usually did AND I had already removed the offending diaper (quite poopy, if I remember correctly). Not seeing an immediate need for coverage - Moms of boys know exactly what I mean! - I let him lay on the changing table in all his nakedness because, lets face it, he's just happier naked. And he let it fly. I managed to get the hose covered but not before he soaked the changing pad cover, carpet, and the t-shirt he still had on. So this is how the thought process happened in my head: He needs his little peeper covered. But I don't have the bandage ready. So I can't put a diaper on him. I need to get him off the pee-covered changer. Put him in his crib. Naked? What if he pees again? I don't want to waste a diaper, it annoys me to waste a diaper. *spots laundry basket of clothes needing to be folded* Eureka!

I made a temporary diaper out of one of the rarely-used-anymore receiving blankets. It kind of looks like a loincloth doesn't it?

Look, He's Praying!

Before you read further, I warn you this is so random. Consider yourself warned. The other day I was talking to my cousin (well, we were texting) about Andrea Bocelli. One of my favorite singers. And then this week I was listening to him in the car too. And it made me think of one of my favorite stories of my parents:

My Dad was a really emotional guy and my Mom made fun of him for it. A lot. He would cry about stuff that would make most people say "Awww, that's sweet" or "Awww, that's sad". He even cried during the Olympics. Not because somebody great won...but because that person coming in last was "just trying so hard". Mom always said "Ugh, put it in your journal."

A few years ago when she and I were on the phone - around Christmas - she told me that she and Dad had watched a Christmas special. Well, Dad was watching it and he called Mom into the room. "Hey! Come watch this. I think it's that guy Tara likes." I think my Mom was a little surprised (as was I) that he even knew who he was let alone that I liked his music. Mom said "Oh yeah, Andrea Bocelli". So they listened to his song and at a break in his singing my mom noticed my Dad crying silently. She said "Ugh, what's wrong?" Thinking he would say he missed me or something like that she waited for him to calm down a little and he said:
"Look at him. He's praying." And then he started crying all over again.

I can still picture what my Mom's face must have looked like when she said to him "Oh my God. He's blind, you ass!"

Happy Anniversary - To Me!

Yesterday was my 10 year anniversary of moving to North Carolina.

Hooray for me! The day I left I was told by someone I was close to at the time she wouldn't hug me goodbye because I'd be moving back in two weeks. I can't say I never thought about it, but obviously never serious enough to do it. I'm still here.

I really put almost no thought into moving, very unlike me. It was an impulse and I know now that had I waited until I was a little older I probably would have over-thought the situation so much that I never would have left. I don't remember my parents really giving me too much grief over it. Honestly, I don't think my mom thought I'd stay either. But stay I did, even when I was faced with situations that probably should have made me go back.

Ten years is a long time and it has changed me considerably. It's amazing how much can happen in that amount of time (or even in the last 5 years really). A decision that took me probably 30 seconds to make has made some really interesting people part of my life. I met my husband here, I started my family here, and I've made some really great friends. It would be a much more difficult decision to leave here than it was for me to leave Norwood, NY.

Things I've learned from my move:

• Sweet tea generally so sweet that it needs to be chewed. I have gotten to a point where I can drink sweet tea but it's not my drink of choice.
• I don't know how I went the first 20 years of my life without having experienced pimento cheese. It is amazing. If you have never had homemade pimento cheese you must do so immediately.
• They have sayings here. Sayings that people just seem to know that I've never in my life heard before but was immediately entertained by them. My favorites starting with the best one I've ever heard:

1. I'm just as busy as a cat covering up shit. (I have seriously heard this used in normal conversation)
2. He doesn't know me from Adam's house cat. (His house cat, really?)
3. Who licked the red off your candy?

• Southern dialect creeps up on you. You will eventually say "Y'all". It happens even if you try to rebel against it. And I was recently called out on my use of the word "holler".
• Barbecue is something you eat, not something you do. And it's delicious.

My last thing to share before I end this super long post. This is my favorite news story since I've been an NC resident:

Last year I learned about Knobby. Knobby is a Bigfoot-like creature who resides in Cleveland County, NC...and he has beautiful hair. He apparently likes to torment a man named Tim Peeler. Mr. Peeler made the news last year when he called 911 to report Knobby trespassing on his property. He keeps his dogs in a pen outside his home and they were making some noise. Thinking that some coyotes were messing with the dogs he went out to have a look. But "instead o' them...it was him". Meaning Knobby, of course. Mr. Peeler "rough talk 'im and run 'im off". He instructed Knobby to "Get away from 'ere! Git!" which apparently did the trick because he was no where to be found when the authorities showed up. But they did file a suspicious person report. Check out the video below for Mr. Peeler's "amateur sketch". This story continues to amuse me every time I think about it. When I first saw the video I laughed so hard I cried.

I have made such a big deal about Knobby that I have, at times, irritated the absolute mess out of my family and co-workers. As it turns out, someone I work with went to school with Tim Peeler. I've been told that in that video he was not drunk on moonshine like I had originally thought but that he is an enormous pothead. Well, surprise surprise. At our annual work conference last year that same co-worker who knows Tim Peeler presented me with this shirt and it's quite possibly one of my favorite things. Ever.

Front



Back

Dog Poop

I am, to put it mildly, slightly irritated. I took Grant outside today to take some 10 month pictures of him (post coming soon!). I decided to try some next to a holly tree at the end of our driveway. Grant was less than cooperative so picked him up to move him to a shadier spot. When I bent down I noticed a pile of small dog turds not too far from where I had planted Grant's bum. Looking at that pile, I knew it wasn't a job done by our dog. Not only because, even as a puppy, he's never had a poop that small but also because he only poops in the backyard. Even when we walk him on his leash. I feel certain that I know who's dog did the doody (get it?) and I think that our neighbor is quite rude and inconsiderate.

 This woman - who's name I don't know because we aren't friendly with any of our neighbors - has two very small dogs that resemble dust mops. That kind that I like to refer to as "barking handbags". I love dogs...almost all dogs. These dogs serve no purpose except to annoy. She's the kind of dog owner that thinks it's funny that her dogs growl and bark at any person except her. Like it's charming that her dogs would nip at me if I got too close. They aren't even cute. And they're even less cute now that I know they're crapping in our yard. I've even seen her allowing them to pee on our mailbox post. I feel it's necessary to point out that we don't allow Brodie to pee on things like that in our neighborhood (but there is a stop sign that he likes to pee on and I let him do that). A lot of people plant flowers and things around these posts and I can't believe that people let their dogs ruin them like that. And we don't allow him to poop on anyones property except our own within that neighborhood. When we walk him he does it on the side of the road when we get outside the subdivision.

So I had an idea that I thought would make this neighbor and others aware that we find their actions rude, if not remedy the situation. I want to put a sign in the front yard that says something like (I know I'd have to cut down the verbage a little):

Dear Neighbors,

We have found dog poop left in

our yard that does not belong

to our dog. Please clean up after

your pet if when you let them

crap our yard. We have a small child

who plays here. If you keep leaving

your dogs poop on our property we

will pick it up and kindly bring

 it back to you.

-The Williams Family

Husband said no.

What Makes My Job Fun

I am a state employee. I tend to make light-hearted jokes about state employees when people ask me what I do because people have two expectations of "state employees". They expect us to be lazy and they expect us to be fat. I feel like only one of those applies to me, but I prefer the term "pleasantly plump". I don't know what the rules are about me writing about my job online so I'll refrain from telling you my department and division. What I will tell you is that the main part of my job deals with the health paperwork of almost all "livestock" (this covers a lot of species!) moving in and out of our state and some poultry (I know that way more poultry/avian species are being moved that I don't get paperwork for - but really, that applies to a lot of animals). That's slightly telling, isn't it? I do other things too but it's mostly the health paperwork. I can also say that most of the people I work with aren't your typical lazy state employees and some of us actually enjoy helping the general public. Don't get me wrong. We have got some lazy, unhelpful people. And some that are just unenjoyable to work with or they feel like the rules don't apply to them so they get their way with everything. And the [insert name of elected official here] that department works for is a giant douche bag.

However, the people I work directly with are fun. Including me it's a group of five women so you can imagine the gossip flying around the office. There is a large room with three of us in it and then a smaller office with two more. We talk over the cubicles at each other which is apparently bad cubicle etiquette because we were given a handout by a co-worker detailing all the ways that we disrupt the work environment. But he or she no longer works in that room so we don't have to worry about cubicle etiquette and we happily shredded his or her handout.

Our boss is pretty laid back. He knows we cut up a lot but he knows we get our work done so he's ok with it. He and my co-workers put up with a lot from me. I joke around a lot in the office. And I'm constantly reading out loud the stuff on my paperwork that makes me laugh. For instance:


I know, my maturity level has reached a new low.

 

Doesn't that make you want a ground hog named Big Mamma?
That one is on my "Wall of Fame".




This one requires more explanation. This is a health paper on a horse. And EVERY TIME
I see a horse paper and it says the horse is for "pleasure" it makes me giggle. I know
what they mean, but I just can't help it. I find it funny!


 There are a million more examples that make me laugh. I get to see all the names that people give to their horses. Most are quite stupid (but that also sums up my feelings about the owners of the horses) but my favorite is and always will be Banana Pancakes. Or the vet who writes health papers for a traveling petting zoo type thing and every time he writes one for the porcupines he spells it "Porky Pine". But this is the same vet who wrote one for a Donkey and marked his species as "other" and then wrote in Assine. Even with my minimal animal knowledge I knew that wasn't real (Apparently a lot of people I work with know this vet and said he went to vet school out of the country. They said that's what you do when you can't get into vet school in the US.). We also get all kinds of crazy phone calls from people that make our days interesting. The crazier, the better because at least it gives us something to laugh at ("Um...hi. I found a dead bird on the street outside my office. So I brought it in and put it in our freezer. My boss is really mad at me and she wants it out of there. She says I have to clean the freezer. Do you guys have somewhere I can take it to be tested for the bird flu?" Hahahahaha!) So, yes, we're state employees who have some fun at work. But we get do get our work done and, for the most part, I think we try to be helpful to people.

Snow Sculptures

Well, we have officially hit the time of the year where I begin to regret moving south. I have no one to blame but myself. I literally faint when if I get too hot (though that hasn't happened in a few years). The instant I left the house today I felt like I hadn't showered. Which sort of made me angry that I even bothered (to shower, that is...not leave the house). Days like today make me think of winter. And then I came across these pictures. I don't remember much about it but way back when the people of Potsdam, NY used to do snow sculptures in their front yards. I'm not talking snowmen here. They went all out. I wish we had more pictures because these are really just a tease compared to what they did. I think it was a contest, but I'm not sure. I don't know if they stopped doing it or we just stopped going but I remember it was something I looked forward to.

A snowy circus

Ok, I know I'm just an innocent kid putting my arms around the
leg of that "guy"...but please look where my hand is. Hahaha!

I probably should have put this picture second because
it's another view of the circus scene

Either it was a little warm that day or Shauna tore up that little
snow person. I'm guessing she wrecked it. She looks guilty.

Crazy, huh?

Somewhere I remember seeing a picture of one sculpture that was either Garfield or Odie and beneath it was Odie's bowl. One of us (or both of us?) was in the bowl and you could tell how huge the thing was. And I think one year the house that had the circus out front in these pictures did The Wizard of Oz and they had music from the movie playing. You can see why it was something we looked forward to. For as cold as it gets there in winter, we always had so much fun :)

Conversations Like This

Let me just start off by saying that I love my sister. And spending time - especially the last five days - with her makes me appreciate her insanities much more than I did when I lived at home with her.

When we were kids we all used to pick on my sister because it seemed like she had a hearing problem. We used to tease her that she was "deafer than a fence post". We thought it was pretty clever.  I think she still has that hearing problem. It is conversations like this that make me want to hug her roommates and co-workers just for having to deal with her everyday:

*As we're walking into Target yesterday*
Me: "OMG, I think I forgot to put on deodorant today."
Sis: "Are you serious?!" <--- I thought this reaction was a bit heavy for smelly pits.
Me: "Umm...I can't remember. I don't think I did."
Sis: "You can't tell?"
Me: "Well, judging from the way I'm sweating I don't think I did."
Sis: "No, you did. I saw you take some into the bathroom with you."
Me: "No I didn't. I never take that into the bathroom with me."
Sis: "Yes you did. You went in there to change and you had underwear with you."
Me: "Uh...yeah, but not deodorant."
Sis: "OMG, we're talking about deodorant? I thought you forgot to put on underwear."
Me: "I don't think I'd have to think to hard about that!"
Sis: "Well, yeah, I was gonna say..."

Socially Acceptable...Or Just Rude?

I don't like money. It makes me uncomfortable. I know we all need it but I hate what it does to people. Especially those people that let it completely run their lives. The kind of people that when I announced my pregnancy to them said "Woo, having a baby is expensive!" rather than the congratulations I was expecting. Or a comment I heard when I said that Grant was starting solid foods "Oh your grocery bill is gonna get high!" instead of, well, anything else they could have said.

But when did it become socially acceptable to talk about your financial situation in general conversation? When did it become OK to ask someone - actually ask someone - about their financial situation as if it were their business?

Yesterday while having a conversation with a person in my office building they asked how Grant is doing, specifically how he's sleeping. It turned into a conversation about all sorts of things including day care which I said I wasn't happy with. That person said that it seems like we should switch to a new day care. I told them that my husband doesn't want to do that, he just wants me to quit my job *chuckle*. To which they replied "Well, does your husband make enough money for you to quit your job?" with a slightly condescending tone (typical of this person). I was floored. Is that the new normal? Am I silly for feeling like this was completely uncalled for? Perhaps I need to get out more, but I'd like to know when it became socially acceptable to ask someone a question like that.