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. 

Yesterday, on Tire Swings...

...As I was saying, this rain is making me miserable and causing problems all around. Our drive (which is the fine, sifted brown creek gravel I just had to have because you know gray limestone would just clash with the color of my brick) is almost non-exsistent anymore. I am two rains at most from knowing how my ancestors must have felt as they crossed the Appalachian Mountains in their bid to settle the west. You know, the first thing I would do if I found out some long lost uncle had died and left me a bunch of money would be to concrete my drive. And I wouldn't give one hoot that concrete is gray.

I don't know about you but I hate how my yard looks during the winter, especially during an overly wet winter. One of the biggest eyesores in my backyard is our pool. You'll remember that we opted for one of the above-ground variety that could be more easily removed should we ever tire of it. Well, there it sets...in all its round glory. There is a deck around much of it but we have yet to put any lattice, etc. underneath to actually hide the darn thing. I had also hoped that we would have added some plants to further soften the look of it by now. In the summer it doesn't look bad at all, what with all the trees around in just the right spots, but during the barren winter...well, it's pretty bad.

When we opened the pool last year we found the cover was in rough shape, as it had been wind-whipped throughout the months it was in use, so John rolled it up and laid it in a nearby tree line. He told me at the time he would put it in the trash as soon as we ordered a new one, which we did within a week or two.

Almost nine months later and after a ridiculous number of requests from me for him to remove it, the cover was still there - staring at me like some stalker every single time I looked in its direction. I was always most aggravated whenever I was driving home and would come around a certain bend in the road from which my whole back yard seemed to be laid out for all to see thanks to the leafless trees. Rarely a time have I seen it that I haven't thought There it is.

Well, Wednesday while I was home with a sick child I decided I was going to do something about it. It was trash day and I was going to accomplish what I had been seeking all these past months. Really, I was just as guilty as John for it being there so long. Am I not an able-bodied adult capable of doing a little manual labor? I think so.

Now, I knew there was no way I could pick it up and carry it all the way to the end of the drive. Being able-bodied doesn't always mean one is strong. I would need my car.

My plan was brilliantly simple. I would drive my car over to the cover, reach down and take hold of it with my hand. Then using the horsepower of my automobile, drive back down the drive and dump the cover amongst the waiting trashbags.

What is it that Burns wrote of plans? The best laid schemes of mice and men often go askew.

I learned a few things that day.

1.) Pool covers are heavy, especially those that are waterlogged.

2.) I am more out of shape than originally thought.

3.) My car is not a 4-wheel drive.

4.) It is not a good idea to drive in certain areas of our yard during a wet January.

5.) Mud, under the tires of a stuck vehicle, reproduces faster than rabbits.

6.) Our truck is a 4-wheel drive.

7.) A trailer hitch and chain are good things to have around.

I Just Hate It When I Make a Mystake

Don't look now but I made a mistake in my last post. Seriously, don't. I've already changed it. It was a spelling error. At first, I thought it must surely have been a typo. Usually, by the time I finish up writing something and post it I am working from my bed. In the dark. With only the soft glow from my laptop screen to light my way. Lately, too, I have been under the influence of pharmaceuticals. A typo it must be. So, you can imagine my surprise just moments ago when I saw the same word spelled incorrectly AGAIN two paragraphs later. Gasp! Utter humilitation set in. I'm a teacher for crying out loud! Besides that, I'm near perfect - or so I have maintained for such a long time in my home it's hard for me to believe otherwise.

I don't know which is worse...making such a flub-up on the internet for all the world to see (or at the very least the 50 people who may sometimes read my blog when they need to feel good about their own family) or the time, years ago, I spelled something wrong for everyone at the school in which I taught to see. Hmmm. That must have been the first mistake I ever made, but it was actually a joke gone wrong.

My friend, a co-worker, came to school one day and informed us of how she decided to clean her husband's gun a day or so before. What she hadn't planned on was the gun being loaded. She found out soon enough, though, when she blew a hole through her mattress. It's a thousand wonders she hadn't killed her dog! Anyway, to rib her a little bit about her unfortunate event I posted an ad for "shooting lessons" on the Coke machine in our lounge, only to spell something wrong on it. Can you imagine? That's almost as bad as this. Well, dear ol' Debbie got even with me the next day when she posted her own ad on the machine...Spelling lessons by Tyla. Again, I'm sure that was the first time I was wrong, so I think I am entitled to at least two in a lifetime.

What's That You Say, Sonny? Granny Can't Hear Too Well.

Okay, I will admit that I may be somewhat overdue for a girls' night out with my friend Clairol, but I think some youngster needs glasses.

Tonight, at the JV football game John-Heath was playing at the top of the bleachers with one of his little buddies from 1st grade when he got just a little too rowdy for my taste (he wasn't being bad, mind you, but the barking and squeaking sounds he was making at people passing behind the bleachers had to stop), so I sent his dad up to patrol. While there, John-Heath introduced John to his friend. Here's how that went down.

John-Heath: This is my dad.

Friend: How old are you?

John: 48.

Friend: Wow! My grandpa is 52. Who's that down there (pointing at me)? Is that your mom or grandma?

Yep. Some kid is definitely going to fail his school vision screening.

Why I Will Never Again Feel Carefree Getting Into My Car!

Now, unless you're a newcomer to TireSwings, you know I am no fan of snakes. Actually, I am scared to death of them - even to the point that I rarely see much of my beautiful 150 acre backyard for fear of seeing one of them. Seriously, unless it's the middle of winter and the temp is waayyyy below zero, this gal won't be found more than a couple hundred feet from her back door. Thankfully, this type of thing is not inherited so my children are able to appreciate the great outdoors more so than I.

And now my heebie-jeebies have found a new place to reside. My automobile.

Those of you who live in my neck of the woods have probably already seen this as it made the local news, so I apologize for regurgitated information, but I couldn't pass it up.




Actually, I was quite impressed with how steady the driver kept the car. That would not have been the case with me. I'm not kidding ya. The screams would have been much louder, windshield wipers would have been going wild, and we would have all landed in a big pile of dust.

John assures me there is a firewall between the engine and the actual inside of the car, but I think he may be lying. He's been known to do that before when he thought it would shut me up. But please tell me he's telling the truth this time. Please.

P.S. Pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top.

Setting a Little Something on Your Shelf

Just when I feel life has become a little unblogworthy (yeah, I know that’s not a real word but neither was Google a few years ago) something always seems to happen that makes me want to take pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, and record it for posterity.

According to many polls, one of the perks enjoyed by pregnant women is the enhancement of cleavage. Well, I don’t know who they canvassed for such a vote but it surely had to be only women who enjoyed the benefits of temporary endowments. I just can’t see women who are already blessed in that area being particularly thrilled with more. Why? Well, I could site just how disadvantageous it is to a woman’s health but there’s another area of equal concern. A woman’s wardrobe.

A good friend of mine, we’ll call her Twyla because she’s been known to pass as my twin, happens to have this problem. Not a shirt in her closet has made it through a meal without coming home with a souvenir. Poor girl always manages to drop something... soup, salad dressing, ketchup - she even managed once to land a whole fried apple slice smack dab in the middle of her shirt while at the Cracker Barrel. Her daughter thought the entire episode was quite hilarious. Twyla was just thankful she wasn’t wearing a v-neck.

Anyway, lo and behold today, at the local meat and 3, what does my friend do? She goes and decorates the front of her favorite t-shirt with a stewed tomato. I know. I was there. Others were witness to this as well, including one longtime friend of the family at another table who let my friend know she suffers from the same and, often, can’t eat without setting a little something on her own shelf.

Well, I need to head on to bed. Tomorrow’s my last day of summer vacation and I promised John-Heath I would take him to see The Smurfs. But first, I have a little laundry to do.


P.S.
Oh, and if you have never had macaroni and tomatoes you just don't know what you're missing. They're as yummy as they are messy (to some)!

P.S.S.
P.H., this one was for you ;)

Blast from the Past - Stripes!

In honor of another situation I got myself into that would, most assuredly, cause Momma Gump to shake her head (you know, stupid is...), I thought I’d post an old picture for your viewing enjoyment.

After wearing my sunglasses in the pool for an extended period of time a few days ago, I emerged from the water looking like a raccoon. Facebook friends begged for photos. Those friends of mine are sooooo funny!

Anyway, the whole ordeal reminded me of the above photo, which was taken in 1978 in my parent’s back yard at what appears to be a cookout or quite possibly my nephew’s first birthday party on the 4th of July.

Yep. That’s me. The striped one. I was 8. And that work of art was caused by a green and white striped one-piece bathing suit.

Luckily, it faded and slowly but surely my new mask seems to be fading, as well.

P.S. These kids today think they're so original snapping photos of themselves with their cell phones and iPods. We were already doing that 30 years ago with our little plastic cameras and we did it without making those ridiculous fish faces ;)

The Fall

In case you’ve been wondering, contrary to popular belief, I have not dropped off the face of the earth. It’s just that I’ve been busy trying to enjoy the last of my summer break. It won’t be long before everyone in my district will be headed back to school. (insert BIG SIGH here)

The past several days have been full of ups and downs, and I mean "down" in the most literal sense of the word.

I think it all started the afternoon I swallowed the bug, a rather large one I’m afraid. From that point on, if something stupid was going to happen, it was going to happen to me. What is it that Forrest's momma always said...stupid is as stupid does? Well, allow me to introduce myself.

This past Sunday, four of the youth from our church were to be baptised (this was a most definite high point in the week as my youngest great-nephew, Dylan, was one of the four), so a nice spot in a local creek, deep and wide, was chosen. We all met and followed each other, caravan style, traveling down a country lane and across the pasture of a friend’s farm to the appointed spot.

Two things became clear almost instantly...

1. No one had told the owner of the land that a terrified-of-snakes-diva would be attending, so he hadn’t mowed an area in the grass for her/me to park and walk. It was a little high for my taste. Then again, any grass higher than what you would find on a putting green or football field (made of artificial turf) tends to make me nervous and puts me on the lookout for snakes.

2. This farmer raised cattle - a lot of it. My nose told me so even before my eyes confirmed it. So, as we trooped through the slightly above ankle-high grass, warnings were issued from those up ahead, “Watch where you step!” Now, if you live in the country you know exactly what that meant. If not, just know that cows are not very discriminating poopers. I guess when you have four stomachs you can’t afford to be picky about when and where you go to do your business.

After a short walk I had finally made it to the tree line which separated the field from the creek bank. I had arrived safely. I was now out of the sun, had sighted no snakes, and thanks to using nearly a whole bottle of Deep Woods Off, was confident I could elude chiggers and mosquitoes.

The reprieve from the sun was much appreciated, too. I’m not kidding, people. It. Was. Hot!!! Of course, I knew it would be, so I dressed as cool as possible (yet still dignified enough for a church service) in a white peasant-like top and cream capris, and let me just say thank heavens for capris. Now, all that was left in our journey was to walk down a little embankment to the water and witness what is always a wonderful event.

My 78-year-old mother was in front of me, cautiously making her way along the path and telling me to follow her. That was my plan. But before I could, I took a step to the side giving her room to cross under a branch.

Again, cows are not discriminating poopers. On an incline, where water run-off makes for an already slippery slope, some cow had recently been a visitor and my left foot stepped in what had been left behind. Before my mother even got the words, “Tyla, don’t go that way” out of her mouth I was down. I’m not sure how far I slid, but it was far enough and hard enough and fast enough that my cream capris were not so creamy anymore. On second thought, I guess they were creamy - just not in color.

According to John, only a few people saw it and, thankfully, even fewer heard what came out of my mouth at the exact moment my bottom side made contact with the ground. In fairness to me, though, I did manage to cut it off mid-word, so it sounded more like what old women say when they are frustrated. John’s grandmother, an otherwise very proper southern lady, actually said it quite a lot, always in a series of three. I think leaving the i out makes it okay.

Just up behind this group of people is the pants-ruining slope.

Thankfully, God is a loving Father and just as soon as one slips up (no pun intended) he is ready to forgive, and whatever a person’s transgression may be, becomes invisible to Him.

Dylan being baptised by my father (and his great-grandfather).

People still see, though. And if they can’t see, they can smell. And if they can neither see nor smell, John-Heath is always there to point it out!

There Was An Old Lady...

...who swallowed a fly.

I don't know why she swallowed the fly,

I guess she'll die!

Oh, wait! It wasn't an old lady, but a slightly less than middle-aged one who, in a manner somewhat out of character, threw her head back and laughed heartily at something her daughter said - only to have some blankety-blank-blank bug decide to take the evening tour of her throat at that exact moment!

Goodnight, people. I have a bug making its way through my innards and I may wretch. You don't want to be around for that.

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

Do You Ever Hear What I Say?

I can be somewhat anal about a few things. One of my pet peeves is when I am talking and the person to whom I’m speaking is not listening. I know. That sounds sorta diva-ish, doesn’t it? Next thing you know I’ll be requiring that the space heater in my office be turned on prior to my arrival at work and that my morning mug of coffee, with 1 tsp. each of Splenda Blend and milk, is smiling at me from the coaster on my desk. Luckily, I’m not a diva and there are only a few things which really bug me.

My husband is great at many things. He is hard working with not even the tiniest smidgen of laziness, active in the community, an excellent teacher, a fabulous historian and storyteller, and ABOVE ALL a terrific father. He is, however, the absolute worst listener on this rock!

Remember how I asked him for a specific bottle of perfume for Christmas? Yep, turns out he didn’t pay attention TWICE and got it wrong. I had asked for a bottle of Irresistible by Givenchy “just like Debbie wears.” When he couldn’t remember the name – he thought I had said Invisible- he went and asked her what she wore. She explained that there were different fragrances in that line and that she always buys the purple bottle. I ended up with the pink.

This past Tuesday afternoon we travelled a couple hours down the road to pick up a little Craigslist find. It was cheap enough so I didn’t mind the drive. In preparing to go I asked my husband to take care of two things. Two. Dos. Deuce. Stop by the ATM and get some cash and pack the tarp, as I warned it might rain. I would meet him at my parents after dropping off Ren and we would go from there.

To make a long story short, he neither had the money or the tarp so we ended up spending 30 minutes exiting off the interstate to go into a town and find a bank and then, less than a minute after getting back on the interstate, it started to rain. So, we had to spend another 30 minutes getting off at the next exit and going into the next town to find a place that sold tarpaulins.

Sitting in the passenger side of a somewhat cramped Ford truck, driving around looking for a hardware store (we weren’t in a one horse town, but I thought finding one was going to be somewhat of a challenge), an old Far Side came to mind. It was actually my very favorite of all the Far Side comics.

A woman and her husband are trapped in their bomb shelter after a nuclear explosion, surrounded by hundreds of canned goods .

... "How many times did I say it, Harold? How many times? Make sure that bomb shelter's got a can opener -- ain't much good without a can opener, I said!"...

You Get What You Pay For

The next time I decide to save a few bucks by trimming my daughter's hair myself would someone please reach through cyberspace and slap me - or at least remind me to invest in a proper pair of scissors.

A Major Award, Or Two

John said I must now know how the father in A Christmas Story felt when he won. My reply was, "Yeah. But this is waayyy better than a lamp."

Something wonderful happened to me this past week and I just have to share. One happened prior to the unfortunate incident involving my purse and the other the morning after I realized the unfortunate purse incident had happened. But first, have you ever seen the movie A Christmas Story? If you have then you will surely recall when the father wins his major award. Remember? “Fra-gee-ly...must be Italian.” Well, that scene should help you paint a mental picture of what happened to me.

About 11 months ago I began blogging. About two months ago I became a follower of two other blogs, one called Stone Gable and the other called Between Naps on the Porch. Both are wonderful sites full of many, many ideas for your home and they are both on my daily must-read list. A couple weeks ago it just so happened that each site was hosting a fabulous giveaway. One lucky Stone Gable reader would win a complete set of some seriously beautiful Christmas dishes depicting the Nativity, while an equally lucky individual would triumph in the Between Naps on the Porch giveaway for a fabulous set of dishes by Mikasa. Well, I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that the lucky person was meeee!!! Both times!!! Can you believe it!?! Not one, but two major giveaways within a week!!! Karma must surely have been feeling quite sympathetic toward me since my purse was lost/stolen.

You can understand why I had to scream aloud when I saw my name announced as the winner the first time and then felt as if I had superhuman prize-winning abilities when I saw I had won AGAIN. John actually ran in from another room the first night because he thought something terrible had happened and, as he works across the hall from me and was the first person I told upon winning the second set, suggested I should look into playing the lottery.

I’m Tyla and I now have a new set, umm make that TWO new sets, of very pretty dishes. Or at least I will when they arrive in the mail. If you want to sneak at peek at my winnings just click on the links in the first paragraph.

image credit

A Really Black "Black Friday"

Well, Black Friday was truly a black one for me. That evening my family visited a neighboring town to attend a party for my great-nephew. Since his birthday is in November, it has become somewhat of a tradition for his parents to take him for an overnight stay in a hotel so he and invited guests can swim. Anyway, upon leaving the party we decided to make a quick stop at the local Wal-Mart to pick up a few essentials.

I don't always take my purse with me when I go into stores with John, as he is the one who usually pays (let me clarify, we have joint accounts - he just is the one who physically pays on the occasions we are in a store together). However, anytime I do take my purse with me I always put it in the child's seat of the buggy and fasten that little child safety strap around it. My sister taught me to do this so no one can sneak off with your purse while your back is turned.

John and I also typically shop with two carts. John-Heath rides in one and the other is used for our purchases. On this evening John-Heath was with me. We browsed for quite a long time in the Christmas aisles and picked up a few rolls of wrapping paper and some darling church house ornaments to give our friends at church.

Upon arriving at the checkout stand I excused myself to go to the restroom. When I returned John was nearly finished checking out so I walked to stand next to John-Heath who was beginning to punch a few buttons on a nearby ATM. A moment later and we were all out the door and the purse remained strapped in the buggy - which we apparently left behind.

Today, I got into my car to drive to my sister's house for a piece of leftover pumpkin pie when I noticed my purse was not in my car. After a quick, frenzied search we realized it was lost and the retracing of steps began. Of course, this had to happen on the busiest shopping weekend of the year. We were only in 3 different Wal-Marts on Friday alone, along with countless other businesses. I made all the obligatory phone calls to each and every place we entered with no luck. Some young girl in customer service at Wal-Mart #2 squealed when I mentioned I had lost a purse and I was filled with a momentary sense of relief thinking that her squeal must mean they had just such a purse in their lost and found. I was wrong.

Anyway, I am 99.9% certain the last time I had it was during our 3rd trip to Wal-Mart after the party. And I am 99.9% sure that it was left, still strapped, in the child seat of that buggy. Of course, no purse had been turned in.

We have now done all the needful procedures when one loses a purse, like notifying all credit card agencies, etc. Don't get me wrong...I would love to get my purse back. It was a cute little Dooney and Bourke handbag which was a gift from my niece two years ago. She knew it was not something I would buy for myself and, since she was making her own money, wanted to buy one for me. I loved it. I carried it year long - even if that was fashionably taboo. However, even better than having the purse back would be knowing what happened to it and my wallet and my kids' pictures (a couple of them were the only ones I had left) and any other little things I had tucked away.

By the way, if you are the person who picked up my purse and are, by some fluke, reading this, I beg you...please... spare me the pain of going to the DMV and the heartache of losing my children's pictures and one of my daughter's baby teeth (yes, that may seem disgusting to you but I, nonetheless, did keep one in there). I'm sure you can find my address on something, so just mail it back to me. You can even keep the cash that was in it. Consider this your chance to right your wrong. I would be really grateful.

Over and Out.

black...friday...is here.

been...shopping...all morning.

too...tired...to talk.

time...for...a nap.

Van Gogh He's Not...Just Yet

You wouldn't think this can could be THAT dangerous, despite it's written warnings, but in the hands of a little boy it is. I still have not heard the whole story of exactly how he was so unattended for the amount of time it took to create his masterpiece.

"You know his little yellow dump truck?" "Yes." "Well, it's no longer yellow." This is how I was informed of my son's art work.

Luckily, this is on the side of the house and not the front.

Nothing a little flat black paint can't take care of.

No stone was left unturned in his quest to decorate our yard.

Our deck. One of many, many spots. John has sanded most clean now.

Yikes! My brick, too.

Thankfully, it doesn't stand out quite so much from a distance. It's a thousand wonders there's not a big smiley face here.

Oh, well. At least we're off to an early start for Christmas!

If I Get Fired One Day, I'll Blame It On My 5-Year-Old

As I mentioned earlier this week my son is a stinker (and not always in the literal sense). Each day, our school (where John and I work) dismisses a few minutes prior to John-Heath’s school. This gives one of us the chance to pick him up, though he would gladly give his eye teeth to ride the school bus. To kids who are normally car-riders the school bus is just something awesome I suppose. As a former child who had to ride the bus, I could go the rest of my life without riding on another one and not be sad. The sticky floors, cramped seating, uncomfortable chill in the winter and putrid smells, depending on who your seat-mate is, in the summer - to this I say, “No thanks.” But back to my story...

After John or I pick him up we will most always return to our school to complete some unfinished business. I tutor in the library after hours and John has lessons to make, papers to grade, and grades to enter into grade books (both print and electronic ones). Because of this, John-Heath is able to visit our school every day. His presence rarely goes unnoticed.

First, he must make the rounds and say hello to everyone. He might stop in to see the ladies in the office or check out how things are going with certain teachers, especially those who happen to keep toys or candy in their cabinets. I’d like to say my son is just friendly and never has a hidden agenda but I think some visits might be prompted by the lure of Legos and Hersheys.

After securing a snack, he checks the t.v. monitors in the principal’s office to make sure the security cameras are still working properly. Apparently, he considers this his “job”. From time to time he’ll also swipe some piece of fruit from a basket while he’s there.

The custodians are busy cleaning on our end of the building at this time of day, so he always stops to see how they’re coming along. And, at times, he even pitches in. Just the other day he came home after spending some time with one of these ladies and swept out our garage and then went and cleaned his playroom. John mentioned that if this keeps up we’ll have to put someone of the payroll.

But his favorite person to visit in the entire building is our assistant principal. He’ll usually greet him with a barrage of questions about his job, the building (ours is comprised of two main wings and John-Heath is fascinated with this, so he is always asking something about the north wing or the south wing, and it doesn’t help that the south wing is thought by some to be haunted), the school buses, or any other topic that makes its way from his brain to his mouth. Typically, if he’s not in the library with me or in John’s rooms with him, he is apt to be found following around behind the number #2 man.

John-Heath loves to hide. At home, if one of us returns from having been out he will hide and make the other tell that he has “left home” or “run away”. Then when the one of us that has just returned starts to bemoan the fact that he has gone, he will jump out to surprise us.

This past week, he decided it would be funny to surprise one of the men who evaluates me each year. As it was recounted to us, the ass’t principal was at his desk working when a desk drawer ever so slowly opened. Busy working, he (the AP) took his knee and pushed it back in. A moment later the same drawer slowly opened again. Thinking what is up with this drawer he investigated - only to find a small boy, and not a ghost, hidden underneath his desk

We’re just hoping that when he gets a little older, say in about 5 or 6 more years, he won’t be spending too much time on the other side of that desk.

This Moment Has Come Too Soon

Could someone please tell me where the past 15 years have gone? Tomorrow night will be the county-wide high school basketball jamboree. It will be held in the town that is our county seat, roughly 18 miles away. Ren will be going with a friend. This friend is the daughter of one of my former co-workers who Ren has come to know better this semester since being in a class or two with her. The moment I am dreading? The friend is DRIVING! Yep, even though, being one of the youngest in her class, she is not yet a licensed driver herself, her friends are. John says we can’t hover over and shelter her forever, but I don’t think I am ready for this. I am seriously thinking of revising my weekend plans to include watching a little round-ball.

Here's hoping for a wonderful, SAFE weekend - from my family to yours.

The Value of a Handprint

You see this little trunk? You can find these pre-decorated at any crafting or unpainted furniture store for about fifteen bucks. However, their value increases exponentially when adorned with a little primary paint.

This past weekend was the fall carnival at John-Heath’s school. This event is a major fundraising affair for the school and has been done so long it is now tradition. There are games, concessions, hayrides, barrel train rides, an auction and, sometimes, a king and queen contest.

We got there a little late (surprise, surprise) One reason for this was that John-Heath was adamant that we take quarters and so we had to scrounge around for these. “No!,” he said. “We have to take quarters. It takes quarters to buy the tickets!” Now you and I know that they’ll take money in any form or fashion. But when a five year old is told to bring quarters then quarters it must be!

Anyway, he had a good time riding the rides and playing the games (he was quite good at corn hole) and eating a cherry snow cone with one of his best buddies Cooper. I walked with him and John for a while before heading on my own to the cafeteria for the auction.

This year, in addition to all the donated goods from local and not-so-local merchants and citizens, each class had made or arranged for an item to donate. The fourth grade classes made quilts. My nephew’s wife, who happens to be one of the 4th grade teachers, had her students bring in swatches of fabric from home from their old clothing, etc. She gave each one a 10” square and, with the help of parent/grandparent volunteers, she allowed the students to sew their square using her sewing machine. It was a large quilt and turned out just beautiful. It also happened to be the top-selling item at the auction.

The kindergarten classes contributed the aforementioned trunks to the sale. Each child in a class pressed their tiny hand in paint and then stamped it somewhere on the trunk. Each handprint contained their name. To be honest, when I first arrived at the sale I held no pre-conceived notion of bidding on it. I had not even looked at it up close. But the more I stood back and examined it from a distance the more I thought that it would make a sweet storage box for all the little mementos from this, his first year of school. I made my way around to the side and summoned a teacher who was helping with the sale. I asked if she would 1.) check and make sure his print was on it and 2.) tell me where it was located. If his print was on top I would just have to buy it. She did. The imprint of his left hand was on the right side of the trunk. Hmmm. What to do?

The first of the trunks (Ms. Amanda’s class) went up for sale. It brought $76. By this time, I had already convinced myself that I should try to get the one from John-Heath’s class. If I didn’t I would surely regret it, especially if I could get it for $76. Yes, $76 is way too much money to spend on such a cheap little piece of wood so I would just consider this as my donation to the school. The trunk would just be icing on the cake.

As the bid crossed the $100 mark I was beginning to rethink this donation thing. I consider myself a generous person but, as the trees in our yard yield only leaves and nuts, my generosity must have limits. My sense of fiscal responsibility should come first.

I have heard that going to auctions can be addictive. There’s no doubt bidding at auctions can be highly stimulating. I know I felt a certain amount of nervous energy flowing through my veins with each nod of my head toward the auctioneer. I did not look around the room so I had no idea with whom I was competing in this bid for that little white trunk. I told myself that I was being really silly. Quite ridiculous, in fact. I should just go buy a trunk, invite all his class over for a party and paint one myself. But those ole heartstrings kept tugging. I would go to $200 and not a cent more.

At $160 I turned to my dad and asked if I should just up the bid to $200 and try to scare off the other bidder. No, just stay slow and steady. At a $190 bid by the other party I felt a little heartsick (for two obvious, but different reasons). I made my final nod at $195.

Ren thought it was neat that people clapped when the bidding was over and I had won. John told her that people did that because they were thinking Wow! What a dummy! Better her than me. I don’t care though. Yes, economically, it was a poor choice of a purchase. But one of these days, when his hand is much larger and wears a class ring, I’ll still have that little white trunk with his small left hand stamped in green.

And should I ever start to feel too much guilt or be reminded of my purchase by my husband I will kindly remind myself or him that it could have been worse. I could have paid $725 for a quilt.