Scrapbooking, Interruptions, & Cheap Therapy
Okay, since the latest solar flare in our house, I’ve made a few happy changes:
one thing is that I am giving myself a little time each day (it varies) to work on my scrapbooking. The first several days it was just the drudgery of sorting through everything & getting it reorganized after taking it all to our friend’s house to work on the birthday album for her husband. Now that it’s pretty well sorted and I know what I’m missing 
I can move ahead to work on actual pages. **Kinda fun that I found 3 albums (empty) that I didn’t realize I have! Woo Hoo! I can get some stuff done with those!***
This morning I saw that I had started 4 pages for the quickie album for 1998. Yeah, I know…9 years ago. I’m that far behind. sigh.
Back to the good news — so I threw them together real quickly and gave myself permission to make them “good enough” rather than Magazine Worthy. 
I ended up having to drive the tool truck to the ranch — which was a pain in a lot of parts of my body because it is so stinkin’ sensitive about the clutch — and I missed a few hours at home. Bummer.
Once I DID get back, we had lunch and I started the next round of chores. DaughterNumberTwo left for work, the boys arrived, and after we’d had a bit of a chat, I retreated to my room to put up the scrapbooking stuff that was on my bed. I realized that I had a handful/stack of photos that were actually sorted into the correct events, so I pulled out my POWER LAYOUT box.
(hear the drumroll?)
It’s basically a pizza box filled with cardstock in the same size as 12X12 pages. There are probably 50 sheets in there.
So I went through the pictures & took how many ever would fit on a page and placed them atop one sheet of cardstock — then I got the next how many ever pictures and did the same. I ended up getting the entire stack of photos sorted by page.
Hooray!
I came to the kitchen to rummage through the fridge and see what was growing fur — because what WASN’T growing fur was going to be Leftovers for tonight! CELEBRATE GOOD TIMES!
After I forewarned the majority of the family that it was Leftovers Night, (and they gagged and left the room) I went back to my little haven of paper! I thought, “Well, it won’t take too long to take a sheet of printed paper for the background…” (coz these are just “good enough” and not MAGAZINE WORTHY) so I went through the sorted photos once again & put a fairly decently corresponding piece of paper in with it. That went well — and SonNumberThree:Who-is-in-love took that as the golden opportunity to share from the depths of his soul. “Isn’t she still supposed to be grounded?” “Why are you letting her get away with that?” “Do you think I can go spend the weekend with ***The Sweet One’s Extended Family Who Live In Another State***?”
After that moving discussion I realized I had plenty of time to sort through die-cuts and ribbon to accent each page. “What do you think about me having my own motorcycle?” “Do you think my muscles are getting bigger?” “Don’t you think ***The Sweet One*** is amazing?” “I promise I won’t run off to marry her unless you guys are really, really bugging me!”
When SonNumberThree’s voice gave out, I quit. All I have to do now is to adhere everything to the pages…(which can be done when another kid needs to share their life revelations with me)…
but when it comes to journaling, I’m waiting until the house is EMPTY!
Crazy old Lady, living in a log cabin filled with cats, books, and classical music…
I never thought I’d want to have kids. God grinned.
I planned on being the crazy old lady who lived in a log cabin in Colorado, the famous author whose house was filled with cats, musty books, and plenty of classical music — maybe some Jazz & Blues thrown in to spice things up. It sounded like a plan! God shook His head and rolled His eyes.
Hormones hit. Nobody mentioned hormones. Nobody prepared me for what they’d do to my plan. I ended up married, living in a house with no running water, and wondering why birth control pills kept making me vomit. Every day — for an entire year. That was especially not fun when there’s no indoor toilet. I went to the doctor. He said I was 3 months pregnant. I thought they were birth CONTROL pills. The doctor said they don’t work for everyone.
Less than 2 years later, I was divorced, living in an apartment with my NumberOneSon, some parakeets, a couple of puppies, a lot of books, and music ranging from Classical to kids’. Close enough. I smiled. I liked having my little buddy. We called ourselves the Two Musketeers.
A couple of more years passed and I met a man who greatly annoyed me. I had no choice but to marry him. He needed to suffer. I had to move the pets outside, due to his allergies. I kept NumberOneSon inside….but we would occasionally sneak in some wildlife. (baby skunks, a coyote pup, a catfish, etc.)
Knowing how untrustworthy birth control pills are, we began using other methods of keeping life simple. For every ‘method’, I had a child. The last — most effective form of birth control — resulted in twins. God laughed.
I’m learning that when God wants something, He will get it. He is not a slave to statistics. He is not hindered by science. He is also fully aware that when He gets what HE wants, I’ll be deliriously happy, too.
Who’da thunk it?
You puke, you die!
I have to start this out with a little history…
I’ve always had a bit of a weak stomach. I can deal with blood, guts, feces, etc. from animals — but not from people. Don’t know why, just always been that way.
When BrotherBoy was hospitalized for liver failure, he managed to ooze, shoot, excrete, blast, emit, torpedo all sorts of solids, liquids, and gasses from his body. It was pretty rugged. When he was going through the D.T.’s, not only were we dealing with physical filth, we also had to deal with an enormous amount of emotional and spiritual filth. One day in particular, he cursed at me for nearly 3 hours straight. Nanny & Daughters 1 & 2 left crying on more than one occasion.
I guess you could say we were in the beginning stages of our own version of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It was one of the most taxing events of our lives. We four females prayed, laughed, cried, and did whatever it took to survive the ordeal. Most of our antics were caught on the hospital surveillance cameras, but we’re happy to have supplied them with a few grins, too.
At one point BrotherBoy died — with all of us at his side – watching the transition. Because the DNR was not signed, the hospital staff removed us from the room and began to work on him. We were in the hospital over a month — a very hellish roller coaster of a month! We were blessed with the most compassionate and helpful hospital staff, but it was still a very traumatic time for us all.
Over and over again we prepared for BrotherBoy to die — sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t. After a while we were too exhausted to whip up much excitement when, once again, the death proclamation was issued. That’s why, after he was out and about, I probably sounded a bit calloused when people questioned me about his condition. “Yeah, he was supposed to die, but he won’t stay dead. Yeah, they say he’s terminal, but he’s not listening.”
We were told to go to the VA Medical Center to get BrotherBoy’s initial tests. Eazy breezy, back home for a good afternoon together. Daughter 2 called to say we needed to report to the VA’s ER in another town. Why? Blood tests reveal BrotherBoy could die at any moment.
I went to the bathroom door and knocked, BrotherBoy sounded ticked, “What do you want?” “Are you dead?”, I asked. After some cursing under his breath he said, “No, why?” “Well, because I have to take you to the ER, you could die at any moment.” “WHAT? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”, he yells. “Nope, serious as a heart attack — no, wait, that’s what they say you’re gonna have any second now.”
After some colorful discussion, BrotherBoy agreed to go to the ER. There, we learned how to play a new game. It’s called, “Sit and Wait, and maybe you’ll die….or maybe you’ll just wish you did.” We dusted off the cobwebs when they called BrotherBoy’s name and he went through another round of being poked and prodded. BrotherBoy was not amused. BrotherBoy began to say bad things to the staff. BrotherBoy told them he was not going back into another hospital when he just got out. BrotherBoy walked out — and, seeing the mood he was in, I stayed back several paces. <He had attempted to give me flying lessons while he was hospitalized — flying out the window of his room and down about 5 floors. I preferred to skip those lessons.>
The next morning BrotherBoy was scheduled for a visit with the VA Medical Center again. The doctor he saw berated us for leaving the ER the night before, refused to treat BrotherBoy, and made several unnecessary comments. Needless to say, BrotherBoy was furious.
It took a few days before BrotherBoy relented and went back to the ER for further testing. (All the while, I’m getting phone calls from hospital staff telling me I should force BrotherBoy to go. I remind them that I am no spring chicken — and BrotherBoy is a Marine with extensive training in extermination.) At the ER, he is once again poked and prodded. They threaten, beg, guilt-trip, and scold to try to coax him to stay overnight. BrotherBoy refuses quite heartily. Nurse Practitioner begins to tell me that BrotherBoy could die on the way home. I can’t help but grin. I’m sorry, it’s tacky, but I’ve heard it so many times — and have actually seen him do it — but BrotherBoy is like the Energizer Bunny: He keeps going and going and going! Nurse Practitioner tries to enlighten me as to the seriousness of the situation. I explain that I truly do understand, that I’ve seen him die already, that I’ve heard it all before — and that after a month of very little sleep, I’m just not that hyped up about it. Nurse Practitioner tries again to impress me with the gravity of it all. I shake my head and smile. BrotherBoy is grinning at me. He likes watching them go after ME.
Finally, I relent, “Okay, he might die at any second. Exactly how will he die? I mean — will he flip flop around a while — or will he puke or what?” BrotherBoy is laughing at me now, “Why do you want to know?” he asks. I reply, “Because we’re in my van today — -and if you’re gonna puke, you’re sitting in the back seat — This is NOT a two-for-one deal! If you’re just gonna grab your heart and flop around, you can die up front.” BrotherBoy is roaring with laughter, Nurse Practitioner is speechless.
It takes her a while to regain her composure.
Hey, I’m just being realistic. If he started puking, I’d start swerving — and we’d both wind up dead.
Nurse Practitioner says he probably won’t puke, he can ride up front. BrotherBoy’s grin gets even bigger.
He can get away with anything!
The Mother of All Clotheslines
We’ve lived in this house over 18 years. With a multitude of children comes a multitude of laundry. I asked for a clothesline to be put up. It didn’t happen. I went to the dollar store, purchased the line, and began tying it from tree to tree and back to my porch. When people aren’t expecting clotheslines to be there, they sometimes encounter them during motorcycle rides through the backyard. They usually aren’t happy about it, but those who see it take place remember it vividly and quite humorously for years!
When each clothesline would rot away, I’d buy new line and come up with a slightly different route to hang it. At some points it would be low enough that the dogs would think they needed to attack and kill every towel within reach. I did the best I could do, all the while asking for a ‘real’ clothesline.
A couple of years ago, someone built a beautiful log cabin on the way to my mom’s house. DH & I called about it to find out who did the building and what it would run for something similar. Every time we drove by it, we slowed down to enjoy the beauty of it’s construction. One day, as we were driving by, I screamed. (You’ll notice that’s commonplace for me.) There was a big beautiful clothesline, painted the same green as the roof on the cabin! DH cringed and said he wished he’d taken another route.
After a recent clash of the Titan Egos (me & DH), he and the boys began working furiously in the barn. I could hear and smell welding in progress! The post hole digger was hooked up to the back of the tractor and concrete was mixed. What to my wondering eyes should appear, but THE MOTHER OF ALL CLOTHESLINES!
This thing is huge. The pipe is as wide as a dessert plate. I’m not kiddin’! The lines are plastic-coated cable. It can hold EIGHT big loads of laundry. Yes, I said 8 — the number of New Beginnings! It is the Behemoth of all clotheslines! It looks like a clothesline on steroids. It is so huge that it screams for attention. I’m wondering what color to paint it….I mean, after all, why go for a bland, boring silver when this mammoth sucker could stay put in a tornado? I’m thinkin’ it needs a color as big and bold as it is!
Right after they got the concrete poured, poles set right, rings for the wires welded on, and the wires attached, it began to rain. It rained. And rained. And rained. And rained. And rained. And rained. And rained. And rained. In the two weeks TMOAC (The Mother Of All Clotheslines) has been in place, I’ve been able to use it 2 — count ‘em — two days.
It’s okay. When the sun stays out, my electric bill will go down by 1/3 — because I’ll be using TMOAC!!!!
Milestones & Fire alarms
My youngest daughter’s graduation from high school was last month. While I was sidetracked with extended family, my daughter planned the graduation ceremony, refreshments and gifts for the guests, and the concert to follow. I was so proud of her efforts that I decided to help out by ironing her graduation robe. I used a lower temperature just to be safe. The first sleeve looked perfect, so I placed the iron down on the other sleeve — and when I pulled, the fabric came with it. Not just a little — a huge CHUNK! I screamed and danced a little angry jig while my family looked on in amusement.
My daughter kept telling me it was okay, she didn’t have to wear the robe, she could find something else. I rushed to the phone to call around and see if any local churches had black choir robes they’d loan out. While I was making calls, my dear husband came to the rescue.
Call it a Jeff Foxworthy Graduation. Dear Husband took musicians duct tape and repaired the gaping wound in daughter’s graduation gown. Yes, I did say duct tape. Dear Husband looks at me and says, “We may be rednecks, but we are high class rednecks — this duct tape costs $20 per roll!” The musicians duct tape is a dark charcoal color, that blends in well with the graduation gown. To the untrained eye, it is hardly noticeable. Yee haw!
So I considered that my flub for the day. That was it. I was done. The rest of the day would be smooth sailing.
Right…..
We went to the church youth building to decorate. Dear Husband brought some flowers and other necessities, friends brought refreshments and more decorations, and we had a good morning and afternoon of work. I noticed that the young man who was also in the graduation was trying to work on singeing the edge of a sign that was to be placed on his display board. His mother called with instructions for him to go pick up a few more items, so he left the sign, along with the lighter, on a table. I just wanted to help….
I took it outside so I wouldn’t set off the smoke detectors. (Previous experience) I began to carefully singe the edges of the sign to give it an aged look. Suddenly a gust of wind caused the flames to engulf the sign. I began furiously attempting to puff out the flames, but it kept burnin’, burnin’, burnin’ — so I rushed inside and turned on the sink water full blast. About half the sign was gone — the other half blurred.
I made a new sign for him, didn’t attempt to singe the edges.
See, the sad thing is, I’m a bit of a pyromaniac at heart. I’ve often joked that I treat dear husband like a god: providing him with burnt offerings each evening. My kids gave me the sign for my kitchen that reads: Dinner is ready when the smoke alarm goes off.
I intentionally did not cook for daughter’s graduation. I tried to avoid burning anything, I really did.
Some days it just don’t pay to chew through the restraints….
Skinny-Dippin’ at VBS
Well, it had to happen sooner or later! Every year at VBS, we have one day of water fun for all the kids. We have water balloons, Slip-n-Slides, a big slide, and even our local fire department shows up to hose off all the kids! This year however, one of our youngest participants got overly enthusiastic and decided to leave his swimming trunks behind. In the midst of probably 60-70 kids, he wasn’t spotted immediately — but none of the other kids noticed or cared! I’m thinkin’ he de-pants himself right before he went down the big slide, but a worker found his trunks and helped him regain a more modest outlook on life.
Nothin’ like a few good mules in the mornin’
Had a nightmare: I was dreaming that our band concert and two other big events were the same week as VBS. I was SOOOO stressed as I realized how overbooked we were — and I woke up with this horrible feeling of dread. (I do have 2 other things scheduled the same week as VBS, but no band concert. Not sure how that got in my dreams…)
That prompted a trip to the porcelain throne room. (Thought I’d better clarify which throne room lest you think I was mature enough to take a nightmare to the Throne room of the LORD first.)
As I was arising from my duties, I heard the dogs barking rather strangely. I pulled back the blinds to yell at them to shut up and I saw a group of long-eared equines in my yard. I hollered, “Stay right there, little mulies and I’ll be out to get you!”
I guess they were not familiar with being called “little mulies” so they didn’t respond as I instructed.
I alerted the family — pretty much all of whom thought I was needing to have my glasses checked again — but the sounds of car horns honking as they drove by our house made them realize SOMETHING was amiss — so they, too, scampered around to get dressed. We all hurried outside to introduce ourselves to our bunny-eared guests.
I sidetracked the dogs with generous helpings of dogfood while the kids opened up fencing to put our guests in a safe place. Our horses were curious but not very polite about the intrustion. Once we penned them up, we used our deductive reasoning skills to figure out where they came from. We knew we’d have to follow the clues. We found one pile of clues on the road headed east….but no other clue piles could be found….so our guests are still here.
I’m wondering if last night’s storm caused some tree limbs to go down, allowing these mules to escape. We’ve visited with our neighbors but haven’t come up with anything. Sadly, they’re not very talkative — and I adore the sound of braying! It always makes me smile!
I looked over at hubby and the kids and said, “We always have so much fun, don’t we?” They all groaned and walked away. Sheesh….no sense of adventure.
