The Definition of Awkward

Aunt Flo visits whenever the hell she wants to, even when you are in bed with the flu. I had to drag myself out from under my cozy, warm comforter today and get to the store because I'm the only one in the house that is willing to be seen buying those "things." That aisle is the first stop I made, I wasn't thinking straight and I wanted to make sure "they" were not forgotten. I would have cried if I got home and then had to go back out again. So the "things" without wings were in my shopping cart, alone, minding their own business when I ran into an acquaintance from back in the baseball days, a former coach, a guy.
The awkward conversation ensued. "You don't sound too good, you sick?"
"Yeah, the flu, I'm here for some tissues and Nyquil."
His gaze tried to stay focused on my blood-shot eyes, "Uh huh. Hope you feel better."
"Thanks. Nice to see you again."
We parted ways and I found my beloved Nyquil. Nyquil is either for the flu, a cold or both, I don't know. All I know is that I'm sick and I get to throw back a few Nyquil shots.
That, my blogging friends is why I haven't posted, dropped EntreCards or visited you all week. Because I've been hit with a double whammy.

Not While You Are Living Under My Roof

"So when exactly is the last time you saw Champ?" The husband asked Boy #1.
"Wednesday."
"Wednesday? Son, today is Monday."
"Yeah."
"You haven't told your wife of less than a year that there's a snake loose in the house?"
"Do you think I should? I know I should, but I thought I would have found him by now."
Now that there is a perfect example of why we parents say, 'Not while you are living under my roof, I don't care what you do when you move out.'
While the husband is telling me about this conversation, my feet involuntarily moved up onto my chair and I got the heebie jeebies. Sensing my fear, "You know, snakes have been known to crawl up through the plumbing, right out of the toilet. You be careful when you get up in the middle of the night to go." His Sleep Apnea and Restless Leg Syndrome aren't enough to keep me up at night, he's got to pile it on.
When Boy #1 and Daughter-in-law #1 came over, I took the boy over to the side and asked if Champ came home yet.
"No."
"Does the wife know?"
"Yes."
"Can I blog about it?"

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If anyone knows how to lure a corn snake out of it's hiding place, by all means please leave info in a comment. The poor kids worried about his snake, oh and there is a minor obstacle, they have two dogs.

See If You Can Detect The Note Of Sarcasm

How wonderful it was to wake up to an inch, and climbing, of fresh fallen snow this morning. After enjoying a week of a clear driveway, we can now start shoveling again. Years of snow removal experience has taught us a few tricks, start the car 10 minutes before work so the windows defrost, this way you jump in, roll down the windows and the excess snow falls off. But not this morning, the window were frozen shut. So for extra fun I got to scrap and scrap, while the snow blew down sideways. As the snow swirled around me I wondered just why I spent all that time on my hair. I was also treated to popping the SUV into 4 wheel drive to avoid sliding into a ditch, it was a exciting drive into work. Upon my arrival, I navigated my way through the parking lot carrying extra shoes, lunch, purse and coffee without peripheral vision, because I got to wear my heavy jacket with the big hood again.
Mother Nature, you ignorant slut.

It's Time To Tell The Fish Story

We're going way back today. Back to a time when life was much simpler, back to when I was a kid, back to the day my brother and I won goldfish at the community carnival. Oh it was a great day, after we talked our mom and dad into letting us pay a quarter to throw a ping-pong ball into a little goldfish bowl. Every parent knows that a kid will say anything to acquire a desired pet. 'Yes, we'll take care of it, feed it, clean up after it, yada, yada, yada'. And every parent knows that they will either end up taking care of it themselves or nag continuously until the task is complete. Mom choose the latter. The goldfish that we bragged about to our friends, that we won with amazing skill at the carnival, were becoming a chore. And mom wouldn't let up. The woman was relentless. Didn't she know about our kickball game we had tentatively scheduled for after lunch or the cartoons that were on Saturday morning? No, I think not.
What a drag it was to carry that goldfish bowl, that replaced the tiny ones, down the stairs to the laundry room. And then we would fill one side of the stationary tub with water, dump the fish in there and on the other side clean the bowl. It was taking up a good 15 to 20 minutes of our day. About the fifth time we schlepped down the stairs to the laundry room we had to talk loud because the washer and dryer were in use. Uh huh. Some of you might have already caught on to the horror that unfolded next. Let me tell you that no goldfish deserved what happened to ours, I don't care how much they smelled or how much work it was to take care of them.
Right about the time we had the bowl clean the washer decided to go into it's spin cycle. There was a slight pause, my brother and I locked eyes, slowly our heads turned to the ominous, black hose connected to the washer and one second later hot, soapy water began to spew from it. Pandemonium broke loose, there was some screaming involved, jumping up and down and some crying. Mom, that dear woman, was there in an instant. She slung the hose over to the other side of the tub. But by then the goldfish side was filled to the very top with hot sudsy water, mom must have been doing whites. My brother babbled incoherently and mom and I peered into the tub. She took her hands and gently scooped suds out of the way. We saw the first goldfish, floating on it's side with it's eyes bugged out, "Is it dead mom?"
"I'm afraid so, honey."
"What about mine?" The first dead one immediately became my brothers, he was in a state of shock and I took full advantage of it.
"There it is, it's dead too."
We buried our beloved carnival goldfish in the backyard and made crosses out of sticks for their grave sites. To this day when we speak of it, the goldfish incident, we bow our heads slightly and have a moment of silence. The horror of that day will stay with us forever.

It's Too Bad You're a Diabetic

I spent most of the morning deciding on a hiding place for my heart shaped box of chocolates. It seems that after all these years of dumping time and money into my children, I'm starting to see a profit. Boy #2 presented me with a Valentine's Day gift. "For me?"
"Happy Valentine's Day mom. I got to go to work, love you."
"I have to hide this from your father and the other ones."
The husband shuffled out of bed while I was in the shower, before I found a hiding place though. "Where'd you get the chocolate?" he yells into the bathroom.
"My thoughtful son."
"Which one is that?"
"Number 2."
"Oh that's right, I told him to pick it up for me and give it to you."
"Uh huh, it's too bad you're a diabetic, cause I'd have shared them with you."
One lie deserves an other.
I've done 4 or 5 months of diabetic hard time, so I'm not unsympathetic. I had gestational diabetes with Boy #3 and that was near Easter. Chocolate bunnies would sneer at me, "Gestational diabetes, that's got to suck."
"I couldn't eat chocolate when I was pregnant with you and yet, I still love you." I tell Boy #3. "And that's why you're so skinny, you know that right?"
A couple of days a go the husband asked if he had to buy me a Valentine's Day present. My response, "Just being married to you is present enough babe." It's the little white lies we've told each other over the past 23 years that has kept our marriage so strong.

Are You Sss....Sss....Stupid or Somepin?

After screwing up my blog template yesterday and then today I leaned over in my car to turn down the stereo because I thought I smelled something and I wanted to, I don't know, get a better wiff with the music turned down? I decided I should start eating more fish. I mean it's the middle of the week, I should have a head full of active brain cells. Papercages suggested vodka, more vodka, but alcohol enhances stupidity and I've done somepin stupid two days in a row. I still have to straighten out my blog template.
Actually the blog looks like it did before the last time I screwed it up, this might take me a week or so, it needed updating anyway.

I Promised Myself I Wouldn't Cry

I tried to change my blog template and clicked the wrong button. I may be starting over. Right now I am remaining calm but at some point I might cry out in frustration and ask for help. If only I can have that click back. &%@$!!

Luckily There Was Vodka

Maybe it was a little bit of poor planning or maybe we were just in a state of dumbstruck confusion, but putting a bunch of diabetics in a room for 5 hours with no food wasn't a good idea. That's something funeral directors probably don't think about when planning a weekend of mourning. It's a shame too because they had everything else covered, we had kleenex out the wazoo. Now don't get me wrong there were danish and brownies downstairs, but it was downstairs and the constant stream of "paying their last respects" people were upstairs and food wasn't allowed upstairs.
The husband was the first to feel the effects, because he's in diabetic denial and ignores early warning signs. By the time we got to the house he was shaking like a leaf, one brother-in-law was chasing him around with a roll of glucose tablets and our niece with orange juice. I, on the other hand, couldn't help but notice the case of booze someone sent over. Now that's a wonderful idea. We had sub-sandwiches, rigatoni, pizza, cakes, fried chicken and Jo-Jo's and even a crock pot of Elk Stew, but dropping off a case of booze, now that's thinking. So I made myself a vodka and orange juice while the husband fought off a diabetic coma.

Those two evenings we celebrated Becky's life and the way she touched ours. We laughed, we cried, we reminisced, we gave insulin shots and we drank too much. Our dear sister will be missed. And I do appreciate the well wishes from everyone.

No one went into a diabetic coma, the husband helped himself to 2 big bowls of Elk Stew. I'm a little bit worried he's going to ask for the recipe, he really liked it. I've never seen Elk in the grocery store. Pretty sure it's wild game and needs to be hunted. I don't even know what an Elk looks like, is it like a big deer?

I'll be back

I'm leaving a quick post and hope to be back posting after the weekend. The husband sister passed away Tuesday night. Needless to say we have been pre-occupied. Once I get everybody to the church on time, with ironed cleaned suits and no dog hair on them, I'll be back.

The Adventure That Is WalMart

For those of you who have never experienced a "big snow" like we Northerner's just experienced, I thought I'd paint you a picture. Imagine a parking lot if you will, say WalMart. When a foot of snow dumps on an area like a parking lot, it's only logical that the establishment plows the snow away to avoid chaos. There has been some plowing in that parking lot, I'll give them that, but not a whole hell of a lot. When every other car you see has spinning tires, some more plowing should be done. This is how I felt as I drove into WalMarts parking lot, there are other stores in that shopping area, but I'm just blaming it on WalMart.
I drove my four-wheel drive SUV into the parking lot,
"What the &%$@? Don't they know what a &$@$*%# plow is for? Are they total A$$&$@%'s?"
That's how I sound when I'm in my car by myself! It's a great stress reliever, to swear like a drunken sailor.
After my profanity laced outburst, I laughed a little laugh. I have four wheel drive, what the hell do I care. Four wheel drive vehicles make you cocky. So already I'm cocky and self assured, a dangerous combination when it's the end of the week and so few precious brain cells are active. I got the brain cells, it's just that at the end of the week, starting my lazy weekends, I put some of them to sleep. Why clutter your head with rational thoughts when it's not really necessary? Well I'll tell you why. Because shopping carts don't have four wheel drive. Cocky and self assurance went out the window while I pulled my shopping cart inch by inch through the un-plowed, snow covered, adventure that is WalMart.