When it's Christmas Time in Oklahoma.....

I was just reading Redneck Diva's blog concerning what is redneck, and it made me wonder....is what happened at Thanksgiving considered redneck? Cuz it just seems like normal to me....and that makes me wonder....what has happened to the prissy missy I used to be? At my mom's at Tgiving, my two male cousins from T-town came down (or up, as the case may be), and one of the boys had his girlfriend with him....his girlfriend most of us have not met. Very trendy, seemed nice, but I live in small-town-Oklahoma, even worse I think than small town Oklahoma. Now, I am not saying that the girl had probably not seen a real live horse before....I didn't really talk to her that long. I am just saying that judging from what she did talk about....the chances are quite slim. My parents live across from what used to be a happening place in our little town....the rodeo arena. The people who own this piece of land and the houses around it are quite well-known here in Little Town, Ok. I don't know that I would call them rednecks, but possible. When I was getting ready to leave Mom's, I was standing in front of a big window that faced the arena. I could see/hear the backhoe running....it was pulling into the front gate of the arena. I could also see that it was carrying something....and I was really trying to figure out what it could be, just looking through the ...whatever those sheer curtains are called (it's late, shut up). Finally, I went to the door and walked out onto the front steps......and seriously, I almost laughed my a$$ off. The neighbors had a fiberglass, inground pool shell on the end of the backhoe, and they had ended up in my parents' ditch and pretty much up in the yard. I thought they were going to get stuck up in the yard and leave the pool half in the yard/half in the ditch. And I knew, just knew, my mom was going to lose her shit and cuss in front of Cousin's girlfriend. Good times were about to be had. Yes, I am evil. Shut up. So I go in laughin my a$$ off and tell my mother what was going on, and sure enough, she went flying out the door to yell at the neighbors who probably wouldn't hear her anyway. There had to be at least 30 people out in their yard. After they got the pool into the arena, they took it to the northwest corner and torched it. That's right...you read it...TORCHED IT!!! In my small town, some...ahem....older people have nothing better to do with their lives than to listen to those police/fire scanners...or than to simply look out the window (the blaze/smoke could be seen at least 2 miles away) and then call everyone they knew or getting in their cars, and possibly on their cell phones because EVERYONE has one these days, and calling everyone they knew while driving by the arena which by the way is just on the edge of town before it turns into county roads.....so everyone circled my mom's block while rubbernecking the big flames. To top it all off, an environmental officer lives like 2 or 3 houses down from the arena, but he came screeching up in his car, made a gravel-spraying U-turn and proceeded to take pictures of the fire. At which point, the neighbors heckled him while they were standing around in the yard drinking their beers and maybe contemplating breaking out the hot dogs and sticks??? It was simply...awesome. What do you think? Redneck? Or just typical small-town?

He's Going Macando, Baby!

My little boy is five and has never been a big fan of wearing clothes, even when it is freezing outside. As soon as he gets home from school, the first things off are shoes, socks, and usually the pants...not always the shirts or underwear, but it has been known to happen. A few times since he has started kindergarten this year he has been caught (by me or my mom) without the underwear that was laid out for him that morning with all of his other clothes. He did this quite a bit this summer--he loves to change clothes. When he did it this summer, we all laughed and laughed about him "going commando." Which he says as "macando." All cute and funny, right?

However, the first part of November brought some chaos to our lives. My sweet (and favorite) uncle found out that the cancer in his lungs had not all been eradicated by the chemo and radiation. My mother, who also takes care of my munchkins before and after school, had to make many trips back and forth to T-town, so my hubby and I took turns being late for work and taking the kids to school. Can you see where this story is going?

The week previous to Thanksgiving, my uncle was not given much time left, so things were even more chaotic. It's hard to remember things as it is, right? Hubby was being sooooo good about helping with the kids, even saying that he really enjoyed it and would do it on a full-time basis. This was nipped in the bud by me in very short order.

One morning, I woke up Hubby (several, several times--NOT the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed type by any means) and told him the kids' clothes were all laid out on the chair in the living room. I reminded him again what time it was, that the kids needed to eat breakfast, the daughter needed to wear deodorant, etc., etc., etc. I took no chances and made the kids get out of bed before I left. Let's travel forward in time....

When I got home from work, my son was sound asleep at my mom's. The Girl and I made a trip for some boots and came straight back....still asleep. The Girl sat down to finish her homework, and Mom and I visited for awhile about the uncle and the kids, etc. I finally woke my son up because it was after 6:30, and I wanted to go home sooooo badly. It was a Monday, for the love of Pete.

When I woke him up, The Boy's socks were looking kinda floppy.....and I thought that was odd. I assumed he had stripped off his socks because they were wet, or he had thrown them somewhere in the house, so Mom had replaced them with hers? Sister's? Grandpa's? No, No, not so.

The Boy goes flopping through the house with me following, asking What is up with your socks? The Boy laughs and says he doesn't know in that innocent tone of voice that he has down pat (but the look on his face was pure orneriness). So I stopped him and really looked at the things. The Boy had one of my shorty socks on one foot and one of his daddy's shorty socks --which was dang near a knee sock on the boy--on the other foot. I am like, "Bubby, what is going on? Where are the socks Mommy laid out for you? Did Daddy not help you get dressed? All of your clothes were together in the chair. You have the pants and the shirt. The socks and underwear were with them....." And then the 'oh, crap' minute hits me. I realize there could be a very good reason why his pants were hiked way up when he crawled off the couch, even though he said it was because "Lebi" yanked them up real high at recess. Very seriously I ask him, "Bubby, do you have on your underwear?" The Boy answers, "Sure, Momma, look right here." He pulls down the waistband of his jeans, and all I can see is skin-colored underwear. Sigh. I yelled, "Mom! The boy went 'macando' at school today!"

Of course, we have laughed and laughed and completely harassed Hubby for his non-talents as a child-minder. He swears he thought I dressed The Boy because he was already dressed when Hubby finally dragged his arse out of bed. And we all think it's a cute story, but I can't help thinking I might be hearing a knock on the door from Child Services or some such.... I can only imagine what someone who might have met him for the first time that day might have thought about the poor little boy whose parents didn't take the time to put decent socks or any underwear on this boy.

On a side note, The Girl wasn't reminded to put on deodorant.....she takes a long time to wake up and be alert enough to remember things(too much like her daddy?). I don't believe I will be waiting for the Parent of the Year award this year.

I am losing my mind. I am going to be more or less substituting for a professor for the next six weeks. Thrown in with a mixed up plan of attack. The prof has been ill on and off for quite a while, so everything is in a jumble.

On another note....cuz my brain is all jumpy like that...I am in major lovey with Jason Aldean. I think he has replaced Harry and Chris. Which, trust me, is damn hard to do.

Back to work, I have been trying to come up with a plan of attack, and I am concerned because I have been out of this rodeo for awhile...quite. I don't know if there is stuff available or if I will have to come up with the stuff on my own, and then have to (gasp) make copies on the copier?! I go there as little as possible. Much easier to print off my puter straight to the printer on my floor instead of 2 more flights up.

Okay, this is the third time I have listened to Relentless.

I have no bedroom curtains. I do hope the skeighbors are not spying on me. I wouldn't hear them due to the headphones. Which is also why I am not singing aloud. God forbid, they would come running with a shotgun, trying to figure out who was killing an animal slowly....yeah, it's pretty bad.

I can't outrun it....it just keeps coming.....I can't fight it.....damn, why would you want to? Jiminy, JA is freakin hot. Yum. I won't run, baby. Okay, time number 4...he can't tangle up with me anytime. I have a feeling that it has been too long without for me...do you get that impression? lol....great, put me on a soap opera...Desperate Bloggers.

This is so not helping me get my thoughts straight. I have to go find some story, but I am too busy mentally drooling over a much younger man...at least I think he is.

I had a nice talk with an old friend tonite. Makes me realize again how much this person is missed. Wish we could see each other more, but lives have diverged into paths that are not likely to cross for while.

Here's something else that made me ponder the past...but a much more distant past...that song that is on Napoleon Dynamite...The Promise. Wait, have I lost my mind? And why does it all of a sudden smell fruity in here? That is strange. Really creeping me out. Rick Springfield is getting on my nerves...fast forward...oh yeah, baby...JA again. I am just a melting puddle at this part. Baby, lately my memory ain't what it used to be at all....it's crazy.....

Geez....I need to straighten up. back to the song, wasn't it The Promise? At the end? So I googled, and it was The Promise by When In Rome. Completely made me laugh my butt off today when I was watching the end of the movie. Favorite high school bf--that was our song. Man, he was such a good bf...almost perfect. We were so good together.

Oh, my. On Old Flame by Alabama now. I am sooo old. Dang, I LOVE this song.

Fark, I am getting a headache from my hair being up on top of my head. Too heavy. Supposed to get a cut sometime in November. Hope it wasn't today.

Sigh, texting & instant messaging has completely ruined me. Forgive the mistakes because I will not, even though I am so sleepy, my head is about to hit the keyboard.

Narn out.

Oh hell what is the name of that song?

Well, I can't think of the band or the song...for some reason, Tesla's "Love is all around you...love is knockin', outside your door..." keeps running through my head. Eureka! Faith No More...is that the band or the song? Damn, I may have to google. Epic? Yeah, yeah, something like that. Rhapsody is my friend...But the whole reason the stupid song is in my head is because of some stupid movie, Meet Joe Black. Why am I a moron? I swear....this guy from high school that I had a crush on from freshman year once told me that Meet Joe Black makes him cry. I believe that he even told me that this was info that he had never shared with anyone else. And I still believe him even when I know that he is somewhat full of shiat. Possibly completely full. I don't know...I think I blame him for some things that are my stupidity, and I should be fair. Here is the extent of my dumbassery: I watched that movie tonite. And bawled through most of it. Thank goodness the kids were asleep, and the other was not home. He makes so much fun of me when I cry at movies. One of the reasons why I rarely watch movies/shows or read books that I know will make me cry. Some book about a year ago made me sob so hard that I actually woke him from his coma AND he even asked what was wrong in a panicked voice. I have become a hardened heart-type person. (Sigh) My defense is that he taught it to me--"I am married to a sissy girl. Are you gonna cry? you want your momma? What a suck titty!" Keep in mind, this is when he used to try to wrestle with me...I had no brothers, a somewhat absentee father (ha, the somewhat makes me laugh), and a ....not dysfunctional family, but not a touchy feely one either. Besides, wrestling is not foreplay, even if he still thinks it is. Moron. And now he is the one whining. What a crybaby. Dear God, Nancy Grace is soooooo annoying! I need some sleep. And some really awesome sinus pills. Any suggestions? Like anybody reads this....

Love is a Battlefield, Pat

Is it bad that when you are cleaning your half of the bedroom, you are picturing what it would look like if you were single and free to do what you want with it?

I HATE hats. On people's heads, fine. On my bedroom wall, NO.

For some one who doesn't have a cat, why am I feeding SEVEN of them several times a day??

When you would like someone to come in and ask for help or do their work, no one shows. They all come at once when you least want them.

Why would a girl spend a whole hour in here and not mention that she was here to do her work? Does she not realize that I might need to know that? That I might not realize she is here on her scheduled time which is something so rare that it would never occur to me?

I must be mean. Or bitchy. Yeah, that's it.

If one more person does not shut the door, the door mind you that they have to OPEN to get into the room, behind them when they walk in this room, I am gonna throw down on someone. And I am not picky who it is. Not one bit.

How do necklaces always disappear at my house? And I am talking costume jewelry more or less here people, not things that are expensive. Where do they go? What kind of animal likes shiny things? I am pretty sure it is not cats....maybe my 4 year old.

Apparently, the stomach flu can incubate a few days. My mom just called to say she has been spewing from both ends since early this morning. I bet my son is not her favorite now.

Pinky & Not-Brain

One fine evening, it must have been a Monday since it was fire-meeting night, I was enjoying myself by cleaning the kitchen. It was during the summer, I believe. I am so old that I really can't remember, but it seems like the weather was nice. Pretty sure I had on shorts. Anywho...I opened the kitchen closet/pantry and felt this horrific, stabbing pain in my foot. Really thought a knife had cut into me. Turns out that my handy husband had stacked paint cans in the closet - I don't think he realizes that paint does not keep for ten years-and one of the paint cans decided that it had had enough of being stacked on top of the other one and jumped off, thus nearly cutting annihilating my pinky toe. Pinky does not like to be separated. That extremely sharp pain was Pinky's separation anxiety. I looked down and saw blood running like a river--ok, a small stream- on the kitchen floor, so I got a towel, examined the toe hanging by a piece of skin, and called down to the fire barn to tell Hubs to come take me to the ER. As a back up plan, I also called my parents because I knew the Fireman/First Responder Hubs does not like the sight of blood. Ironic, no? You know, as a matter of fact, our little daughter went and got a wet wash cloth for Pinky. Hubs arrives home about the same time as SSD (Stupid Step Dad --he made up his own title; yes, he has a strange sense of humor, but yeah, we probably did call him stupid --he's a man) arrives. I wrapped the towel around Pinky and clutched her. I didn't want to lose her. Then I would walk even more clumsily, wouldn't I? I would be even more off-balance. Physically, that is. Nothing can be done for the mental balance. Clutching the towel and toe, I sit in a chair by the door and ask Hubs to take me to the vehicle. Pinky is letting her displeasure be felt by throbbing unmercifully. I am in somewhat of a daze, okay, okay, a panic...I loathe stitches. Just the thought of my skin being sewn back together makes me all teary-eyed and crybabyish. Hubs proceeds to pace through the house. I wonder if there is something he needs, say like a billfold, car keys, etc. But wait, SSD is there to drive. Mom has come and gone with Little Girl. What in the name of all that is holy is he doing? I stand up at the door and ask if we could go because Pinky is unhappy and wants to be stitched. I am afraid she will get disgusted and tear herself the rest of the way off. WHAT IS HE WAITING FOR? I finally tell SSD, who is patiently, or impatiently, standing there waiting to be told what to do. I hop down the step to the porch, hop to the car, and lay there waiting. SSD comes to the truck after standing and looking at Hubs who is still pacing through the house. I tell SSD to leave Hubs and GET ME TO THE ER. SSD finally gets in and starts the vehicle but waits on Hubs. Hubs EVENTUALLY, and by eventually, I mean paces through the house another five minutes or so, shuts and locks the door only to jiggle the knob and push on the door for another five minutes. Did I mention Hubs' unfortunate OCD tendencies. We go through door knobs like a dose of salts through a widow woman (say that in an Okie accent --"widder wo-man"). When Hubs finally comes to the vehicle, he climbs in the front seat, turns all the vents on himself, and lays the seat back, thereby scrunching me and Pinky, and covers his face with a wet washcloth. In sympathy for Pinky? No, in sympathy for himself. He was trying not to puke, I am assuming. Hubs--absolutely worthless in a Pinky crisis. Pinky got 7 or 8 stitches right under the nail, cuz that is where the paint can decided to decapitate her, just at the base of the nail. Sliced right under it.
Well, that is Pinky's story. Next post--Hubs's Vasectomy. How fun is that?

Your husband is a what?

Hillbilly Mom's story of her husband being sick during her vacation made me think of all the times my darling hubby has conveniently been on his deathbed during my vacations which of course fall on the school's vacations. I am not quite the teacher that Hillbilly Mom is. I could be but have instead chosen to be what I like to call a glorified tutor. Don't get me wrong. I love my job-- lots, actually. However, it is not such a demanding job or a soul-sucking job like Mean Teacher's. Hillbilly Mom reminds me a lot of my mom, and her stories from 32 years of elementary lovelies. Back to the story, Hubby has gotten bronchitis several, several times. Funny thing is, he usually gets it very sudden-like and always on my vacation. The first time was our first married Christmas together. He went to the doc who wanted to put him in the hospital because he also had pneumonia. How do you not notice something like this? Hubby never does until he just can't do anything but lie on the couch and barely breathe. Did I mention that he is very melodramatic? Or a great big faker? I swear sometimes, when he calls in sick, he purposely sounds like he is just about to keel over into a grave. His boss, who was once upon a time my relative, sometimes calls and imitates Hubs, and we have a great laugh over it. I swear it is the funniest thing you could ever see a grown man do. Now that we have children, I do not feel the need to constantly check his temp, get him drinks, rub him down with alcohol, make him soup, etc., etc., etc. We are getting fairly close to forty here people. Apparently, Hubs has always been this way. When he was little, he would make himself sick if he knew his mommy planned to go somewhere while he was in school. And she let him get away with this people. Now, I am not so hard-hearted, people. I would let one of my kids skip every once in awhile when I know they are not really sick. There might be something else going on that they are not ready to deal with at school. But Hubs is now a grown man. Physically anyway. He can deny it all he wants, he is still a mommy's suck-titty baby. The last time he was sick, I had some clues that soon he was going to be ill and began to hound him about taking his allergy medicine and getting a jump on his cold/whatever before it became a big problem. Did he, you ask? Ha ha ha Ha ha. I don't think so. He laid in our bed for at least 4 days straight. While I was at work, I know he had to have gotten up and made soup because I found evidence of such. When I was home however, completely helpless he was. And so, so pitiful. Like I don't have enough to do. Man, I do sound hard-hearted. Hmmmm. Well, maybe tomorrow I will tell you the story of his vasectomy, and we will see what you think then. I have to admit, this is a lot of fun to vent/write/whatever you want to call it. Feel free to leave a comment and tell me what your husband might be. Mine is a ....kittycat. Hahahaha---I am sure that one is not too much of a stretch. Maybe I should tell the story of the time I almost lost my baby toe, and he had to have a cool rag for his head. Yes, I believe I have some things to say....