A Blogging Birthday

Happy bloggiversary to me!  Happy bloggiversary to me!  Happy bloggiversary, dear Tire Swings!  Happy bloggiversary to me!

 

Three years ago today I wrote my first post.  Prior to that, I was only vaguely familiar with two other blogs so I really didn’t know much about the process.  I   just wanted to begin keeping a journal for my children and a blog seemed a good alternative to the traditional way (which I knew – based on previous experience – I would likely discontinue once the writing began to seem tedious). 

 

In those early days (and sometimes even now) I could spend hours on one post.  With each new thing I learned, I felt a little more accomplished.  I’m not the most tech savvy of persons so you can bet when I figured out how to make changes in html I felt like standing on my desk and yelling I’M THE QUEEN OF THE WORLD - a la Jack in Titanic.

 

I do not blog for financial gain (in three years I have earned a whopping ten bucks, a couple sets of dishes, and a month's supply of ice cream), nor do I blog for a following (though meeting new friends from the blogging community has been a nice bonus).  Now, as it was then, it is mainly for my children, family and friends.  Every now and then I will get lucky with an idea for a post that may be creative, funny or meaningful enough to appeal to the masses (i.e. people outside my immediate family) and, if I were completely honest, I would admit that it does feel good when people mention they’ve read my blog or that they enjoyed a particular post (is that just completely conceited of me?).  But, at the end of the day, my main desire is to leave a written record, so that my children can look back and say “Ohh, I remember….”

Blogging in the Dark

Have I ever mentioned that I am a night owl?  Oh, I am.  John, however, is not.  I am reminded of this each night that I sit in bed and attempt to write.  Just as something pops in my head and I begin to put the words in permanent storage via my laptop he turns off the lights and I am left chicken-pecking my way through my thoughts and swatting at, usually, one or two flying insects drawn to the only source of light in the whole house -a.k.a. my computer screen - at the same time.  I tell you this, friends, so that the next time you read something from me that is grammatically flawed, incoherent even, please check the time stamp.  Oh, here he comes. Got ti ron.  Zee yoi all tumrrow.



P.S.  Pleze frgiv me, Ms. Cox. As yoi cen tel/ I shold habe paif mor attemtopn un typomg clazz,

Down on the Farm

If you’ve visited with me much at all here at Tire Swings (or wandered in by accident while doing a Google search for swing set and play fort companies and stayed at least long enough to read the “about me” blurb) you know that I live in a small Southern town - the same town I have always lived in, and let me go ahead and say there are both pros and cons to doing such.  

Now, even though my mail is stamped with the same zip code as it was when I was younger, my surroundings are quite a bit different.  You see, I was raised in town.  I could practically reach out my bedroom window and into the window of my neighbor to change the channel on his bedside television.  In fact, such close proximity supplied my room with free cable for years, which was great for a kid growing up during the early years of MTV.

Upon marrying, though, I moved to the country - a whopping 5 minute drive away during high traffic times - to live within the boundaries of my husband’s family farm.  Initially (and by initially I mean 15 years or so), it was not such a good fit.  Think of me as a much less glamorous version of Lisa Douglas from Green Acres.  I knew almost nothing about farm life.  In fact, so little did I know that my father-n-law, who was not known for his soft, kind demeanor, upon his first time in asking me to lend him a hand with something in the barnyard, said - and I quote - “I ought to kick your momma’s a_ _.  You don’t know anything.”  So, I thought it might be best to learn something. *Insert sigh here*

I would look through magazines and see some picture of a fresh looking farm wife handing her handsome husband a glass of iced tea with a sprig of mint as he set on a tractor and think How sweet!  I can do that.  

Unfortunately, those pictures left out a few teeny, tiny details.  Unshown in the romanticized, Southern Living version of farm life was the cow crap one would have to bypass along the way (dried, wet, and/or oh so super fresh and green) OR the dozens of huge flies swarming around  - the likes of which would have been enough to weaken the resolve of even the most stubborn of pharaohs - OR the snakes (both real and imagined) OR the very large cows (hellooo...some with horns).  

So,  I came to a few conclusions early on...1.) John should always take a thermos with him when leaving to to do any work on the farm  2.) Lisa Douglas could run circles around me and 3.) I am okay with that.

Let's hope they don't take after their mom.

A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

I'm feeling a bit like Alexander today.  If you're familiar with children's lit or have had small children you probably know I am referring to the character in Judith Viorst's classic.  Though I didn't wake up with gum in my hair I did wake up on the proverbial "wrong side of the bed".  I have been in what we in the South refer to as a "piss poor mood".  All.  Stinkin'.  Day.  You would think getting to sleep late and not having to attend school inservice (as I had the previous three days) would have made for a wonderful day.   Nope.  Just wasn't in the cards today.

My plan for the day was to get up, mow the yard, clean up the house, clean up myself, take the kids and secure some items needed for a Father's Day project, enjoy an evening out with the family, and settle in back at home and watch a little Big Bang Theory (Season One arrived from Amazon.  Its arrival was the only bright spot in an otherwise loathsome day). 

Instead, I woke up irritable.  I hate this yard.  I'm so sick of having nothing to do.  I wish we could get out of this town for a while.  Would you please weed-eat today?  A cell phone just doesn't disappear into thin air (lamenting left over from and continued daily since this past Tuesday)!!!  

So, I decided to mow.  I love to mow.  I love the look of my yard as I mow.  I can clear my mind when I mow.  We have a Bad Boy ZTR mower.  Bad Boy's slogan, "Mow with an Attitude", was something I felt sure I would be able to do today.

Instead, I almost blew myself up.  It's a thousand wonders I didn't wind up in a burn unit somewhere. Someone had left one of John-Heath's t-shirts and pair of shorts laying across the back of the mower and I failed to see them when I began.  One lap from the top of the yard to the road and I caught a whiff of something burning.  By the time I reached the mid-way point back up the yard I caught another whiff.  Luckily, I stopped to wait for Ren to pass by in the drive and that's when John noticed the clothes on fire on the back of the mower and came and knocked them off.  Needless to say, I had to take a little break.  And now there are two small burned spots in my yard.  Of course, better in my yard than on me.

After a day of much whining (plus my near-death experience) we went to Cheddar's for a bite to eat.  It was 6ish.  Usually they are packed at this time and the wait is long.  Tonight, however, we waited no more than 5 or 7 minutes.  Maybe this terrible day was going to end on a good note.  As we stood to be escorted to our table I heard something hit the floor.  It was John-Heath's iPod Touch...the one he received for his birthday NOT EVEN A WEEK AGO...to replace the one he received for Christmas which he lost about a month ago.  It still works but the screen is shattered and will have to be replaced.  

Dropping spinach dip down my shirt (Ren:  Um, mom, you have some spinach in your cleavage) and John-Heath dropping what seemed like the rest of the dip in his lap (on his white shorts) were just the final touches. 

So, goodnight, friends.  I think I had better turn in.  There are still a few minutes left in the day and I don't want to temp fate.

 

P.S.  As rotten as this stupid day has felt, I will still give thanks for all the blessings in my life - which far outnumber a little scare, a burned t-shirt, a broken iPod, and some spilled spinach.  Thank you, Lord. 

The ABC's of Me.

Okay, I first saw this over at Amy's Kitchen Table, who saw it at Artsy-Fartsy Mama, who saw it...well, you get the picture. And thank goodness they did and that I did!!! How would you have ever made it through the week without finding out 26 more things about me! The drought of inconsequential bits of information about all things me since I posted my "100 Facts About Me" Series last year has been as dry as my backyard (thankfully, though, it did get a little reprieve yesterday and today with some much needed rain).

So here goes. Was that a collective sigh I just detected or perhaps the rolling of eyeballs? And yes, I can detect when eyeballs roll - even from miles away. I have a teenage daughter, so I’ve gotten pretty good at it.

A. Age: 41

B. Bed: Queen (with a fairly new, fairly pricey, yet very uncomfortable, mattress). The only stipulation I would have should someone want to break into my house and rob me is that they must take the mattress, too.

C. Chore I Hate: Manually washing dishes (and folding/putting up clothes).

D. Dogs: Nope

E. Essential Start to My Day: If you want to get really technical about it, it’s a trip to the potty, which could come at various times in the A.M. But something that really gets me going is a cup of Joe once I get to work.

F. Favorite Color: It’s always been green.

G. Gold or Silver? Silver.

H. Height: 5 ft. 6ish

I. Instruments I Play: The piano since the 4th grade and various percussion instruments in high school band.

J. Job Title: Librarian, but in today’s fancy schmancy lingo loving world I suppose I would be called a Library Media Specialist.

K. Kids: Two, ten years apart.

L. Live: The Volunteer State

M. Maiden Name: What? Who are you people? The Secret Service? You want my social security number, too?

N. Nickname: Twyla. Thank you, Mr. Brown ;)

O. Overnight Hospital Stays: Three (two c-sections and an adios party for my gallbladder - which happened on Thanksgiving Day a couple months after Ren was born. Pumpkin pie from a hospital bed was just sooo special. You know I'm kidding, right?)

P. Pet Peeve: Oh, my. I’ve become such an A personality there are way too many to mention here. Ummm, here’s one. People who honk their horns at the car in front of them the moment the light changes from red to green. Okay, one more. People who make fun of people for saying "honk" instead of "blow".

Q. Quote: " 'Shine', said the moon. And so I did."

R. Righty or Lefty: Righty! And how my husband, also a righty, and I managed to have two lefties, I’ll never know.

S. Siblings: One, my sister Shelia, whom I have always called Sissy because, I guess, I couldn’t pronounce her name when I was little.

T. Time I Wake: Unfortunately, I have a mortgage which dictates I work, which dictates I rise around 6:00ish, which is when I am still in REM mode.

U. University Attended: A swell little local community college for my A.S., a not-so-hot-to-trot university for my B.S. (if you live in the Nashville area and want advice I can definitely tell you of which one to steer clear), and Western Kentucky University for my M.S.

V. Vegetable I Dislike: I’m not particularly fond of brussel sprouts.

W. What Makes Me Run Late: Genetic engineering.

X. X-rays I’ve Had: Once for a broken arm. I was 5 and in kindergarten. I played a game of “Jump or Get Pushed” with some kids in my neighborhood. I didn’t jump.

Y. Yummy Foods: Just about everything except brussel sprouts. And hominy. I’ve never had it, but yuck!

Z. Zoo Animal Favorites: Stuffed ones in the gift shop. Sorry, but I’m a big chicken around wildlife.


Well, if you're still here, there you have it.

Hmmm. Have You Ever Had a Moment Like This?

I don't know whether to be amused at something that happened to me earlier in the day or slightly worried.

Today was a work day for teachers at school (students are out for the summer now) and in between helping do a few things to get ready for the retirement luncheon that was going to be held in the library, I was at my desk getting a little last minute paperwork done.

Before leaving in the morning I told Ren I would call and remind her to begin getting reading so she could join us for lunch. Not only were two of her former teachers and a longtime cafeteria worker being honored, but her dad was too, as he is leaving teaching after 25 years to join the world of school administration.

Anyway, when the time came to make my phone call home I could... not... remember... my... number. My own home phone number - that I've had for 15 years!!! I sat and thought. And thought. And thought. 4499? 4494? 9944? Wait. Isn't there another number other than 4 and 9? After a while I realized it just wasn't coming so I went across the hall to ask John. Thank goodness my husband works in the same building (at least for another day). How embarrassing would that have been! I can only imagine the look on Ms. Sherry's face (our school receptionist) if I had buzzed her and said, "Excuse me, Ms. Sherry, but could you possibly find out my phone number and tell me what it is?"

I once heard someone say these episodes are called "senior moments". Now, I'm no longer in the freshman years of my life, but, at 41, I don't think I'm quite at the age to be considered a senior. Hmmm. Maybe being a librarian is a more stressful job than I've thought all these years - that or I need to eat more fish.

Dazed and Confused

If there was ever a time I was thankful to have a kid with a stomach ache it was yesterday. I woke up Monday morning with, I guess, allergy crud. Sore, scratchy throat. Itchy eyes. Ughh. Of course, we were in the middle of TCAP testing (our annual achievement tests) and though I don’t have my own classes anymore, I help by administering the tests to a small group who are required to have such tests read aloud.


After part one of the science test, which lasted nearly an hour, I had to seek some relief during the break. I found what I was looking for - and then some - in a drawer in the office. Children’s Benadryl - especially formulated for allergy symptoms. It was an old, unopened bottle set to expire in just a couple months so I decided to take advantage. One of the office ladies asked if it wouldn’t make me sleepy. Naaaa. Not me. So I poured a swigful in the little plastic cup and down she went.


Fast forward another hour to the end of part 2 of the science test. I started feeling a little drowsy. Hmmm. Strange. Once my small group of test takers had dispersed back to their regular locations it was time to get some paperwork done. Upon plopping down in my office chair and beginning to focus on my computer screen it was ALL I could do to keep myself awake. I honestly thought I might have to apply masking tape to my eye lids to keep them open. Can you imagine? Some poor kid comes in to check out James and the Giant Peach and sees something like this sitting behind the desk.

Lucky for me, John-Heath became sick right about this same time. The call from his school nurse was music to my ears (No, momma. I am not ashamed to say that). He wasn’t seriously ill so I thought it was okay to rejoice in my ticket home. Anyway, one of the perks to being in a near comatose state was being able to enjoy a nap with my little boy. Those are few and far between anymore.

image via

Forty-Something

Today, I am celebrating another birthday. As you can tell by the title of this post I am now considered in my forties. Yep. 41 to be exact. Or at least I will be at 4:15 this afternoon. As I was just typing that second sentence I inadvertently typed thirties and had to backspace. *sigh*

My first gift this year (other than a new broom my dad delivered to me for my back porch because he and mom were tired of seeing my ratty old one) was this card from my Aunt Susie. It seems Aunt Susie has read I See London, I See France. Come to think of it, though, she was actually there that dreadfully embarrassing night.

If you can't tell what is happening in the not-so-good picture I took of this card, let me explain. A young woman, obviously impressed with herself, finds it funny that an older woman is walking around with a streamer of toilet paper attached to her shoe, while mooning everyone herself. Aunt Susie is my dad's baby sister. She will celebrating a birthday of her own in just a few more days. I always thought it was neat that she, Pa Frazier (her dad), and myself all celebrated our big days just a few days apart and, also, that there were an even thirty years between us. 1910, 1940, 1970.

As this is the second birthday I've celebrated since beginning to blog I thought I would make a tradition out of posting my ever aging eyes. You'll have to settle for just one of them this year. My other eye twitched when the camera flashed so it got edited out in Picasa.

While playing around with Picasa I found a way to make all those age lines (frown lines in my case, as I am, and have always been, a natural frowner) just disappear.

Just increase the highlights and fill light and take every bit of shadowing out, and you can look as young and wrinkle-free as me.

Here We Go Again

With the beginning of each new year there comes a litany of resolutions, goals, desires, and/or the basic to-do lists, and yours truly is most certainly not immune to the attraction of wanting to accomplish something in the forthcoming 365 days.

Each year I tell myself I am going to lose weight, get fit, live healthier, and become more organized. In those early years I would take the time to write out my goals. Later, I would actively think of things on which I should focus and then tell John so that he could keep me on track. The past few years these goals have been more of the fleeting thought variety - sorta like this...

Tyla: Hmm, look at the calendar. It’s January 1. I really need to lose a little weight this year.
John: Hey, do you wanna go out and get a bite to eat?Tyla: Sure. Sounds great!Kids: And can we stop off somewhere for ice-cream on the way home?Tyla: Sure. Sounds great!

Actually, if I had followed through with my resolutions each of the years I’ve been making them (which has been as long as I’ve been married) I would be putting both Jillian Michaels and Adrian Monk to shame. But, of course, like so many others I fall into the 92% of Americans who fail to keep their New Year’s resolutions.

However, this year is going to be different. I can feel it in my bones. So, I’m making a list once again. And this time, I’m making it public. That way, if you see I’m not doing what I should to keep on track with these resolutions you can give me a swift kick on the backside. Those of you in Utah, Wyoming, and other various and sundry places will have to just send me a virtual kick.

For 2011, I want to...

1.) Be the kind of person God wants me to be. I guess I could stop right here. If I’d do this everything else would just fall into place.

But for the sake of argument, though, here are the rest...

2.) Be the kind of mommy every child would want to have.

3.) Live a healthier lifestyle (less of things like sugar-laden coffee, fried foods, butt in the bed on the computer, butt on the couch watching t.v. and more of things like walking, water, and vitamins)

4.) Live a more stress-free lifestyle (this one will go a long way in making numbers one, two and three doable). Don’t be so quickly and easily ruffled.

5.) Get organized. There is happiness and calmness to be found when everything else can be found. Get rid of the clothes. Realize that yard sale is never going to happen. Toss out the stained, torn & out-of-date. Donate the rest. Also, for once and for all, organize your photographs. Give them, at least, somewhat of a fighting chance should a tornado hit the house.

Well, my friends, that’s about it for this year’s list. I’ll keep you updated from time to time on how it’s going. If I suddenly, for no apparent reason, stop blogging you will know I have either died or I am not meeting my goals and I’m too embarrassed to tell you.

Meet Me On Mondays

In meeting a "new friend" today, Michelle over at Faith on Fyre, (well, I didn't really meet her but I did stalk her blogs) I found a neat little blog hop called Meet Me on Mondays. Unfortunately, I think it was from last week and was already closed, as I couldn't link up to include my own answers. But I thought I might post my answers to her questions for you here tonight. I'm still somewhat bummed out about my lost/stolen purse and wasn't up to anything very lengthy. After being on hold with the Tennessee Department of Safety for a good chunk of my adult life today, I am still a bit drained.

Now, in case you didn't learn enough about me here, here, here, here, or even here, you will be glad to know a few more things about my most fascinating life. Here ya go.

1. How many pillows do you sleep with?

3 - two rather skimpy little things and a larger, more fluffy one.

2. Where did you eat on Thanksgiving?

My Sissy's house (that would be my sister's house - for all you who may not know that I have called my sister, whose name is really Shelia, Sissy for as long as words have dripped off my tongue). We've had it at my house the past two years so it was time to stop the selfish behavior and share the joy.

3. Would you rather go to a party or host one?

I never, ever mind hosting any party of the weenie-roast or pot luck variety.

4. How many purses do you own?

Currently, I am in the market for a new one (insert sobbing here).

5. What is your favorite kind of seafood?

I love crab legs. I could seriously do the Tom Hanks' role in Castaway...well, if I had someone to actually catch and cook the crab for me.

Have a great rest of the week, ya'll.

P.S. Ladies, would you like to win 2 ever-so-cute bags? If so, head on over and visit Kellie. She's giving away two bags of your choice from Bags Full of Posies. I am particularly fond of the To Market, To Market bag and the one you can have personalized with your family name.

I Am a Peacock

During lunch one day this past week a co-worker gave me a personality test. It was one that she had done at an earlier training. After answering 18 questions one could be found to have the personality of an eagle, a peacock, a dove, or an owl. While I was very close to the center of the graph I was, nonetheless, found to be a peacock. Here are some things you may or may not know about us peacocks.

We...

are good at persuading and motivating
(Obviously this is not correct, as I am still waiting on John to take my car and have it fixed to rid it of its squeak. And there’s a little issue with the commode in our utility room)

have a short attention
(Okay, this one may be somewhat true)

fear losing our prestige
(If I’m not the wife of a Pleasant Grove Cemetery Committee board member then just who am I?)

are irritated by routine
(I'm torn on this one. While it’s true I do hate to fix my hair or put on make-up each and every morning, I could easily eat out/ order takeout every single day for a month and never tire of it)

are fashionable and stylish
(Umm, at times, like in my dreams. I guess that makes me a wannabe)

are fast and spontaneous
(No, yes)

seek recognition
(Hello? I do blog as a hobby)

are internally motivated by “the chase”
(Flirting with/dating John was pretty nice. Marryin Flea markets and antique stores can be pretty good, too)

gain self worth through recognition and compliments
(I must confess. I do get all giddy when people leave comments)

procrastinate
(Guilty, as charged!)

We are disorganized, excitable and reactive.
(Sometimes, sometimes, usually)

Well, there you have it. Me in a nutshell.

It's Like Looking In a Mirror

My baby.

John-Heath’s first "official" school pictures have arrived. He’s a cutie. He’s also a little stinker (as is evident by what he he did yesterday to my assistant principal - more to come on that Friday)! While he’s looking more like John as he grows, I can still see a lot of me in him at this point. And there are times, in certain shots of him, it’s almost as if I am looking at pictures of myself at that age, though I always had darker hair. Speaking of hair color, both my children have light brown hair, while John and I each have dark brown hair. Go figure. Of course, I have a friend who is a redhead and has two sisters, a blond and a brunette. Me thinks that’s neat.

Me. A long time ago.

Actually, in this shot John-Heath's hair looks a little darker than it really is.

Then there’s Ren. She looked more like John and his family as a baby. Actually, I have always thought that, in those very first pics of her taken by the hospital after her birth, she looked so much like John’s father that all she needed was a pipe in her mouth and a Stetson hat and she would be good to go. Of course, as she gets older she is beginning to resemble me a bit, too - only a prettier version of me.

I guess it’s all in the eye of the beholder. I think my sister and I favor. My mom has never thought we looked alike. Though the other night as we were looking through old pictures at my sister’s house, I came across one of her (my sister) from about 20 years ago and showed it to my mom and she thought it was me. Then I said, “See? I told you we look alike." To this she replied, “No, you don’t.” lol

So, do your little stinkers look like you, your husband (I assume most of you reading this are women), a relative, or are they completely unique?

THIS JUST IN...Tonight, as Ren and I were sitting in my bed talking about our day, John-Heath crawls in between us and asks, "Is Santa Claus real?" Ugh! He said so with a sheepish little look on his face, like he thought he might already know the answer. My bet is that he heard such a vicious lie at school from some terribly mis-informed child. By the way, John-Heath has landed a plum role in the upcoming kindergarten Christmas music program. He is to be the man in red himself. So, this weekend I'll be looking at Santa costume patterns. I can't wait to see this, as I'm sure there will be some improv going on that night.

Ren Van de Kamp

Ren presenting a project in one of her classes this year. Doesn't she look so Breeish in that apron?

If you know me personally you know that I was quite the spoiled child growing up. And if you don’t know me personally but have read even a few of my posts, you are probably clued in by now, as well.

Before I continue let me clarify what I mean and what I don’t mean by spoiled. The kind of spoiling my parents did was not with $$$. Unlike many kids today (including a certain lad of five I know) who feel entitled to something each and every time their dear mom or dad has to drop by some market for a gallon of milk, I wasn’t treated to toys or candy every time we went walked through the doors of the Big K or TG&Y. By the way, I realize I have clearly dated myself with the stores mentioned above. If you are younger than 30 you are probably thinking, “What the heck is a TG&Y? Some kind of yogurt shop?”.

I was spoiled another way. Because hers was a hard childhood, my mom wanted to make sure mine was easy. And it was! (In my mind I just sounded like Forrest Gump saying that.) She did absolutely everything for me. I rarely, if ever, made a bed or dusted or helped with cooking. My closets and drawers were magical places where pairs of socks and jeans routinely replaced themselves. I cannot recall even one time that I was without several clean changes of clothes. Come to think of it, I don’t even think I ever saw the bottom of any drawer in my dresser. And the same held true for towels. Never did I have to use an old, damp towel. Not only were there always plenty on hand, they were IRONED.

I did help with the dishes once. I was about 16 and my father was unhappy that I never offered to help out and seemed unappreciative of all my mom’s hard work. So, he was determined one evening that I would wash the supper dishes. As I recall, he even stood over me (or close by) with a certain leather strap, aka The Belt, in hand. Swallowing hard and bravely forcing my hand into the DIRTY DISH WATER, I pulled up what I thought to be the rag and there, draped over my dainty, clearly not-meant-for-manual-labor fingers, was a slimy tomato slice. I have been told that my eyes rolled back in my head and I passed out on the spot! If you want a clearer mental picture of how this would have looked just watch/remember the scene in Stand By Me where Gordie finds the leech. I was never again asked or made to do the dishes.

Yes, I led a charmed life. And it was fabulous! But then I went and got hitched. And for a while, I was found to be somewhat lacking in the domestication department.

Luckily for Ren, I am not as loving and caring a woman as my mother was. She cleans her own room and bathroom, helps with laundry, and is not afraid to fix something to eat should hunger pains strike.

One of our favorite shows to watch together is Desperate Housewives and a favorite thing to do while watching is to laugh about which character(s) we are most alike. Ren loves Gabby’s style but has said she would one day like to be like Bree, minus the dysfunctional family. Seems, according to my daughter, I am a mixture of Susan (who doesn’t cook) and Lynette (easily exasperated with her husband and offspring) and, give it a year or two, Ms. McCluskey.

Have a great weekend, everyone. I am Tyla and I am in the market for a housekeeper. Just kidding. But it would be awesome if I had someone to do my floors. I can pay in peanuts, with cashews thrown in for those willing to do baseboards.

The Blahs

If I were to have sung the little song John-Heath and his classmates sing each morning this is how it would have gone today. Sung, of course, to the tune of “London Bridge”.


What’s the weather like today? Like today? Like today?
What’s the weather like today?
Today is...

Dreary.
And cold.
And rainy.


Which is making me feel dreary.
And cold.
And rainy (if that word can be used to describe nasal conditions).

Too Much Harper's + Too Little Exercise = Too Much Me (Part 3)

Most of the weight I’ve gained in the 22 years since marrying was gained during the first 2 years, with a little bit more over the course of having my two children. Sometimes I think, “Poor John. He didn’t marry this.” But then I remember what he gets to eat and how frequently he gets to eat it and how nothing is gained when he eats it and I don’t feel so sorry for him anymore.

Now, as anyone who has ever struggled with weight issues can attest, it can be crippling. The list of things I have refused to do over the years because of it, that the old me, the high school me, would have done in a heartbeat, might easily astonish you. It really is ridiculous what I have missed out on. Things like riding roller coasters, horseback riding, taking a cruise, parasailing, shopping at the cutest clothing stores, and having tons of family pictures taken (and being in them myself). I know you’re probably thinking that these things are not generally weight-restricted, but being restricted does not always manifest itself in the physical sense.

I know I need to do better, try harder, put forth some semblance of a real effort. I have approached an age where it becomes more about health and longevity than appearance. More importantly, I have a young teenage daughter who needs a good role model. And while I’m pretty sure I will never be the exact role model I’d like to be, I know I can do much better.

But it’s sooo hard, especially for someone like me who expects things to just fall in my lap and has almost a nonexistent willpower to boot. I suppose that’s why I decided to write about it publicly. Maybe by doing this I’ll be more motivated to keep at it. Not that the person from Idaho who checks out my blog from time to time would ever know whether I’m sticking with it or not - but I can pretend she does.

Well, thanks for joining in on my pity-party for the past three days. I hope I haven’t driven you away with all my bemoaning and sniveling.

Oh, and to answer a possible question some of you may have had...what is Harper’s and why is too much of it a bad thing? Harper’s is a little restaurant in a small Kentucky town not too far a drive from where I live that serves some of the best catfish (and slaw) anywhere around. I think its proper name is Harper’s Catfish, but anyone within a 50 mile radius knows it simply as Harper’s. As you can see by the picture you’re not going to leave feeling as if you’ve eaten at the former Tavern on the Green, but it’s not their aestheticism that packs the place on weekends. John and I usually order the adult fish dinner (so that we can split ours with John-Heath) but grown-ups can also order a child’s portion and it’s still a lot of fish. We also usually place an order via the cell phone as we get close and take ours home to eat. Kentucky has not yet jumped on the idea of no smoking in restaurants, like Tennessee, and my eyes and nose don’t handle smoke too well.

Too Much Harper's + Too Little Exercise = Too Much Me (Part Two)

How had I not seen that coming? I suppose allowing more pictures of me to be taken along the way would have helped. I had never really enjoyed being photographed so it was easy enough to just make sure I was photographed even less. So I guess when you never see yourself in print it’s easy to think of yourself as you’ve always been. Actually, there are so few pictures of me my family, upon my death, will have a hard time putting together one of those slide shows done for funeral home visitation.

My friend’s proclamation that evening should not have come as some huge revelation, though I remember being about as stunned as I’m sure John was on the isle of Patmos. Lord knows my family reminded me enough. Some were, out of love, very blunt with me about it. Others were more polite.

I remember the time we went and spent a few days with John’s maternal grandparents. They lived a couple hours away so this was the first time we had seen them since our wedding. Granny was originally from Canada and became a naturalized citizen after marrying Papa. She was a very gentle, polite woman who still had tea and cookies each day and remained loyal to the monarchy. Her notice of my extra baggage came as one would expect from someone who lived during the depression, “My, you sure are looking healthy.”

I’m certain it was even more obvious to Granny because I was standing next to her grandson. John was blessed at birth with the great fortune of a very high metabolism. Makes me sick. He can eat anything, and I mean anything, and not gain weight. He’s one of these people who talk of having a desire to gain weight. Insert finger into throat now. Sometimes it has been too much to bear and I have actually told him the wrong pants or shoes to wear just so his appearance would be a little off and not so perfect. Okay, so I was a lot younger then and more immature and prone to petty jealousy. I swear I have not done anything like that in, at least, the last month or two.

To be continued...

Too Much Harper's + Too Little Exercise = Too Much Me

I would like to say I came to the realization this weekend that I am terribly out of shape and unhealthy and need to do something about it. Truth is, I came to this realization about 21 years ago but somewhat failed to follow through on the whole do-something-about-it part. As January 1 approached I told myself that 1990, 1991, 1992, (you get the picture) would be the year I would make a change. Unfortunately, I am the kind of girl who expects things to fall in my lap.

This is a terrible thing to admit, but I have never had to work really hard at anything in my life. High school was easy for me. No, I wasn’t a whiz kid. Quite the opposite, I was content to get by with an average grade. At the end of a semester I would average my grades and figure out that I could pass a particular class with a C if I made a 20 on the semester exam. Then I would only study 1/5 of the material. A brilliant plan, huh? By the way, if you happen to be reading this post and are currently enrolled as a high-schooler, please, for the love of all that is good and decent, do not follow in my footsteps. Yes, your life may be more relaxed but you will regret walking the graduation line without those pretty little golden cords.

College was even easier. I found that I possessed a knack for the art of BS. And anyone who has attended college can tell you that a good 40 - 50% of your grade can come from being skilled in this area.

For the most part, life has gone relatively smooth. Thankfully, I have had few struggles. Except for my weight.

Prior to my marriage I was thin. Not runway, anorexic skinny, but thin. For my height, my weight was fine. Then came marriage and college, along with fast food at the Grill and Pizza Hut lunches with the gang from the teacher program. And soon I became another statistic in the number of overweight Americans.

I was not even really aware that I was packing on the pounds...until about nine months after I married. My baby niece was in a beauty contest (her first of many) at the local high school and I was there to cheer her on. I was standing in the hall when a former classmate approached me with this stunned look on her face. “Tyla? Is that you?” “Yes, hi. How are ya?” “Oh my gahhhsh! You’ve gotten so fat!” What do you say to that? My first thought was to come back at her with some mean-spirited comment inquiring as to whether or not she ever went back and got that GED since she didn’t actually graduate with our class, but I resisted. I realized she hadn’t made her comment out of meanness, just tactlessness.

TO BE CONTINUED...

My Bucket List

I noticed on the internet last night that Bill Clinton has created his bucket list so I thought I might just get started on one too - not that I am anywhere near the age of our former president, or Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson either for that matter.

Clinton mentioned that he would like to live to enjoy having grandkids. This is something I would also like one day - one day in the farrrr off future. Ren is only 14 so I best not be called granny anytime soon.

Well, here goes with the first three things that would make my life feel a little more complete.

1.) Get healthier (so that I can really enjoy the other items on the list)
2.) Visit all 50 of the states in our country. I have 21 left to see.
3.) Spend an entire summer abroad.

Just curious...what would be at the top of your list?


P.S. Pool is growing on me - a little.

Dear Nikon Charger, Please Come Home. I Promise Things Will Be Different.

As you can tell from the title of this post I have lost the battery charger to my Nikon. And, as luck seems to always find its way to my door, the battery in this particular camera is now dead. So, I am without one. I can't even use Ren's little camera (a nice one she got for Christmas from Ma-Ma and Pa Gene), as it had to be tossed out recently due to some severe damage to the lens.

I tell you, if the girls on Designing Women were the poster children for bad vacations (weren't those some of the best episodes?), you would see my family's picture plastered on a poster advertising Electronic Equipment Abstinence. I just don't think that we have matured enough to handle a serious relationship with anything electronic.

We tell ourselves we are ready, that we've grown and are ready to take it to the next level, that we're committed to see it through. But who are we kidding? The cell is still going to get lost mid-way through the contract, the portable dvd-player dropped and broken only a month after being left under the tree by Santa, and the laptop peed on by the dog. Now, that last one may seem an unlikely possibility for us, as we have no dog. But, I'm not counting my chickens before they're hatched. Things have a way of happening around here. If it has a chip somewhere on the inside, it's outlook for a long and happy life in our home is grim.

The search continues.

Have a great weekend!

P.S. The pictures I had planned on taking of our town's summer celebration this evening will have to be postponed until next year. In the meantime, use your imagination (think small town park, great music, cake walks, hayrides, fire trucks, glow-in-the-dark light sticks being held by children everywhere, and fireworks) and insert pictures here X.

100 Facts About Me - The Final Twenty, Finally!!!

81. I had long hair in the 2nd grade. Many times I wore it clipped back with barrettes. During naptime, when our heads were supposed to be down on our arms, I would eeever so slowly reach into my hair and unattach the barrettes. Then the others at my table and I would use them for a game of "spin the barrette". The rules to this game were simple. 1.) A person would spin the barrette. 2.) Whoever the clapsed end pointed to when it stopped spinning was who the spinner liked. I know what you're thinking...it boggles the mind that Parker Bros. never caught on to what a genius game we had going back then and mass-marketed it.

82. I somehow ended up wearing the same shirt for my fourth grade school picture as I had for my third grade school picture. The only difference? A little maturing had begun to take place and a certain undergarment would have come in handy. Boy! Am I glad our school didn't start publishing yearbooks until my 6th grade year!

83. I am not a morning person, as you may already know. Even so, I was nicknamed Sunshine by a fellow teacher (herself not a morning person either from what I can remember) many years ago while at Guild Elementary.

84. This same person and I actually had a contest once to see just how early we could show up at school (as we were typically always late). I don't remember now who won (so it must have been my friend) but I do remember walking in at about 6 that morning with my hair up in curlers and running in to my assistant principal, Mr. Nolen.

85. I am a GRITS (Girl Raised In The South).

86. I also like to eat grits - naturally, with lots of butter and sugar.

87. One of the first books I bought my husband was the Encyclopedia of Southern Culture. I purchased it as a Christmas gift for $49.99 in 1989 or 90. The book still resides in our home.

88. The books currently on my nightstand include The Guernsey Potato Peel Pie and Literary Society, Raising the Spirited Child, The Strong-Willed Child, and 1-2-3 Magic Parenting. Hmmm, I am beginning to see a possible pattern emerge with those last few.

89. My husband is the co-author of the book A Celebration of Houses Built Before 1900 in Sumner County, Tennessee. If you were to visit the Library of Congress you would be able to see a copy of the book. Of course, you could also see it if you were to visit the Sumner County Archives in Gallatin or just come to my house. I know, this one is really not a fact about me, but my name is mentioned on the inside of the book jacket so I'm going to count it. Seriously, it is a lovely book full of beautiful homes and stories.

90. The secret ambition of my heart throughout school was to become a playwright or an actor and live in New York. I guess this little blog and a few church Christmas plays will have to suffice.

91. I have passed out in public, to my knowledge, three times. Once at pre-band-camp the summer before my freshman year (you guessed it...I locked my knees), once while working at Burger King (the summer before my senior year) - I was waiting on a customer and just remember waking up on the floor looking skyward at the menu - and finally, once in my classroom in front of my students (or at least in front of those seated close by my desk). I was not feeling well anyway and, from a seated position, reached over to pick something up off the floor and stood up too fast.

92. In addition to being prone to passing out, I am also a little clumsy. ACtually, I am a LOT clumsy. I remember falling twice while teaching at Guild (yes, aaalll the way to the floor) in front of students. The first was in the classroom after allowing the students to bring their trays back to the room to eat with me. Walking toward my desk I stepped in bean juice that had been spilled on the floor and slid like Ty Cobb or Rickey Henderson stealing home right up under my desk. I think my comment at the moment was "WHO SPILLED THE BEANS?". The second time was also during lunch, this time in the school cafeteria. I had just picked up my tray and glass of tea and was walking toward the door when I stepped on something - not sure what, probably a stupid grape - and landed all sprawled out on the floor in front of about 150 students. I did manage to hang on to my tea though and I am pretty sure I remember praying something like "Please, dear Lord, just let me die".

93. My favorite fruit - watermelon. (Yes, I know. I am really stretching it now, but I am running low on things to tell you) Favorite vegetable - my mom's green beans. Favorite food - too many to name but chicken salad and chicken casserole come to mind. Favorite drink - fruit tea. Favorite sweet - again, from mom, banana pudding.

94. Least liked food as a child that I would give $1,000 right now to taste again - my Pa Frazier's biscuits. He frequently made a big batch and kept them on a plate underneath an old metal cake plate lid. Whenever we visited that was one of the first things to do, look under the cake lid and hope for cake. Usually though we were met with the disappointing sight of a mound of flour, buttermilk, and lard in the form of biscuits. On a good day Cracker Barrel serves up a poor imitation. As a side note, I have often wondered what happened to that cake plate lid. I wish I had thought to ask for that. I hope it landed with someone in the family.

95. I would also love to hear Pa Frazier tell a good ghost story again. I love a good ghost story. I think I would request the one told to all the older grandchildren called "Raw Hide and Bloody Bones". As the youngest of the grandchildren I was not privy to as many of his stories.

96. I didn't get to be around my maternal grandfather, Pa Vernon, as much. He died when I was very young. However, I do remember enjoying visits to his house (except for his chicken coop. I was scared of that). Once when my grandfather needed to go to town I asked if I could go and was told no. Not to be left behind, I hauled my little stowaway butt right up on the running board of his truck. Luckily, Pa Vernon did not drive very fast and stopped just a short distance up the little country road to say hello to a neighbor, who happened to see me and rat me out to my grandfather. I don't remember it but I have been told that Pa really burned my backside up good over that little episode.

97. My moral compass is my father, who once made me return a package of crackers to a buffet-style restaurant in Panama City Beach, Florida when I was 12 or 13 because a sign posted inside asked that food not be taken from it. We had already driven a few miles up the road when he noticed that I had them. I have failed miserably in my life to live up to his character but I am so glad to have him as an example by which to aspire.

98. I am the proud mother of a beautiful, tall (5'10), talented, and creative daughter who grows more beautiful each year and never ceases to amaze me with her ability to write some really good stuff - most of which I have found secretly stashed away in her room or in random notebooks. Maybe she will take after her father in that area.

99. I am the proud mother of a handsome, funny, and smart little boy who cracks me up just about every day while he goes through childhood as a policeman, fireman, helicopter gunship pilot, ambulance driver, doctor, teacher, preacher, cowboy, Indiana Jones, Barney Fife, and Ernest T. Bass.

100. I never, ever could have imagined it would be so hard to come up with 100 facts to write about one's self. But, trust me, it is. Try it. You'll see.

I really hope you have enjoyed reading all these fine little morsels about my life. I'm sure you feel much more enriched having done so. And if you are joining our program already in session please feel free to go back through our archives and read the first 80. Oh, and overlook any typos or spelling errors. This one was actually written in the wee small hours over several nights.