It's Raining Pee

Nine pairs of panties? Check. A week of complete dedication? Check. Toddler willingness? Check. I was armed and ready to tackle the potty training monster for the third and final time. Looking back at my eager and fearless attitude, only a few days ago, I can't help but smile at that young, naive girl and her dreams. Okay, maybe just naive. Has it really been so long that I have forgotten the frustrations and setbacks of potty training?? Apparently so.

My ammo pack…

One critical item I neglected to factor in was our still-not-completely-housebroken puppy. Paris is much better than she was at "going" outside. But her little bladder is so teeny that she has to "go" all the freaking time. Enter Jossilyn into that picture. She wants to use the potty chair. She desires to do the right thing. However, her thimble-sized bladder she apparently inherited from her mother is not always able to comply with Jossilyn's wish to "hold it".

Therefore, I suddenly find myself side-stepping puddles at every turn. There are puddles on the carpet, puddles on the wood, puddles on the tile, puddles on the couch(!)… It's so out of control, I don't know who's nose to rub in what! How does one determine the puddle culprit? Is there a method? If Jossilyn had a tail, it would be neatly tucked betwixt her legs, just as Paris' is. They both cower and run from me when my nice and dry foot suddenly submerges is a warm, freshly made pool. Are they conspiring against me? I'm beginning to wonder.


I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!

Somebody Grab the Marshmallows!

On a whim, James decided to pack up and spend a four-day weekend with his close friend, Roger, in Ruidoso, New Mexico. It sounded fine to me - I'm still trying to even things up since my trip to London in February. I think, in hindsight, that checking mountain conditions first might have been prudent.

James' friend lives in Alto, just a few minutes from Ruidoso. Upon arrival, James was shocked to find that there was an out-of-control forest fire burning just miles from his friend's house. (?!?) He texted me this picture just hours after he arrived…

That's not sunlight on the left side of the picture. Those are flames. Hot, giant, leaping flames. This morning they had to quickly throw a few things in the car and evacuate. The fire is raging and zero percent contained as of now. James left his beloved truck behind, and I don't mind telling you he's fretting a bit about that. We're keeping our fingers crossed that the wind is favorable tonight and tomorrow so he can get back up to Alto to get his truck. Hopefully, it won't be too crispy.

I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!

Part of the Picture

Two posts in one day??? I must be on glue. Kidding. I just had something pop into my head and I thought I would share. Even though I am abstaining from FB, I still read it. I'm not strong enough to just quit and I don't think that addiction qualifies for a 12-step program. Yet.

Anyway, as I was perusing FB today, I saw that my niece had posted a picture of herself with the caption "makeup is a girl's best friend". Now, my niece is supermodel beautiful with a supermodel figure and a heart to match. Lord knows she does not need makeup. BUT… we are Texan girls and even I don't get the mail without my lips and lashes. That got me to thinking…

Now that I have a daughter, what image do I want to project to her? What do I want her to emulate? Don't get me wrong, I will definitely be teaching her the beauty tricks of the trade. After all, we are  females. But at the same time, I want her to be confident in her own skin. I want her to feel beautiful at all times because of who she is, not because of her abilities with Bare Essentials. That is something I have struggled with my whole life. 

Most people know I was a victim of childhood bullying. That experience changed the face of my self esteem for the rest of my life. It has taken me into my 30s to fully appreciate who I am and what I have to offer. It was a long, hard-fought battle.

My niece's FB post reminded me that sometimes we girls tend to hide behind the makeup. It becomes a mask or a crutch that allows us to step outside of our comfort zone based on false confidence. That confidence should stem from the beauty inside and be complimented by the makeup - not replaced by it.

My hope for my daughter is that she will be strong and confident enough to be judged on her heart and not worry what image her physical image is projecting. I did a little experiment to illustrate that.

In the first frame, you see me fully adorned in makeup. In the second frame, you see me raw and vulnerable wearing nothing but moisturizer. Each frame is a part of me, but not the whole me.

In this next photo, you see that the above was actually one image, split into two. This illustrates how it takes all of that combined to complete me. The "real" me is complimented by the makeup, but it is still me in the picture. I didn't change; only my reflection did. Beauty is only skin deep. Makeup makes us more aesthetically pleasing, but it doesn't change who we really are. I hope my daughter always feels as beautiful in her second frame as she is in her first. I hope the rest of you do, as well.

I'm adding this last photo just to prove to you readers that I did not walk around all day with only half my face made up. That would just be stupid. =)

I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!

Back to the Basics

I have decided to take a break from Facebook, which has inadvertently replaced my blog in the world of updates. Facebook is so instantaneous. It reaches hundreds instantly with the click of a button. It's also public. And permanent. Things said or done on such a public, open forum cannot be undone. Often, hurtful things are said. I think I like the anonymity of my blog. I don't know who views or reads it. No one hits a "like" button, so for all I know I am talking to myself. But that's okay, too. Writing this is cathartic for me and it helps to organize my thoughts on paper. I need some zen right now, anyway.

It's been a crazy few weeks. It's also been a hard few weeks. My beautiful, vibrant cousin just lost her first baby to Trisomy 13. This has devastated the whole family. It has brought back anew the overwhelming emotions and memories of losing my own child. I only hope that through this terrible bond we now share, that I can offer her some words of comfort. Pray for us.

On a positive note, we got a puppy! There are conflicting stories as to how this puppy came to be a member of our family, but MY version (not my hubby's) is the truth. The kids were hungry and, as usual, they voted for McDonald's. As we were pulling out of the McDonald's parking lot, having satiated our appetites, we noticed a clean cut young man selling lab puppies out of his truck. The kids promptly commenced to begging for me to stop so they could see the pups. My instincts told me to drive. Fast. But then I caught the eye of a pretty little female black lab pup and couldn't help but be drawn to her. I pulled over. It couldn't hurt to look. Right? After all, I had been saying for years that our next dog was going to be small. As in microscopic.

I pulled over and got out to snuggle the little black pup with dark brown eyes and a very wet tongue. She was precious. Beyond precious. I took her over to the car so the kids could see her. Naturally, they loved her and the begging to keep her commenced. I spoke with the seller who turned out to be a local pastor and was very nice. I told him thank you for indulging us, but there was no way I was getting another big dog - especially a lab puppy. Labs. Chew. Everything. Our three year old Scooby is a delight to own now, but it took three full years for him to calm down. I thought about how old I will be in three years. Heck no. We do not need another lab puppy.

I drove off, puppyless and quite proud of myself. What self control I had shown! The kids started yelling their reminders that I had promised to "run it by Daddy", knowing full well that James would instantly strike down the idea of another dog. I called him from the car. Now, I am blessed to have one of those fancy schmancy cars that is equipped with a built-in blue tooth and carries the call through the car. This a fantastic option… unless you are discussing a new puppy and the call is on speaker for all children to hear.

I called James. He asked if the dog was a lab. It is. He asked if the dog was AKC registered. It was. (Uh-oh. This conversation was not going as it had in my head.) He asked if the kids wanted it. They did. To that, my sweet husband, the one who is supposed to be our voice of reason and talk me out of all the spontaneous knuckle-headed ideas I get, replied, "Sure! Get the dog! Just write a check."

Just write a check??? What the heck just happened here?

Crap.

I turned around and looked at the kids who were screaming with excitement. I looked at their faces and said, "I guess we're getting a dog." With that we turned around and drove back to that sweet little black puppy. In somewhat of a daze, I handed the pastor a $400 check and drove away - with the dog - from what has to be the world's most expensive trip to McDonald's.

So, without further ado, meet Paris (with her big brother, Scooby)!!

Mama Said There'd be Days Like This

This week has been no fun. I have spent the whole week sick. My house is a nuclear disaster. We're fresh out of food. And clean laundry. And I don't care. I've had a killer cold which decided to morph into a killer sinus infection. Oh. Joy. That being said, I decided to load up my little devil child… uh… er… Jossilyn and her very sweet incomprehensibly obnoxious temper and drag her with me to the doctor.

As a tried and true Texan girl (since I was eleven months old), I never NEVER leave the house without lips and lashes. If the mascara and lipstick aren't happenin’, I don't even get the mail. I learned today that exceptions can and will be made on short notice, but one is wise not to point out my transgression. Bad things will happen. Very bad things.

While I was throwing on an old comfy Tri Delta sweatshirt (Jossilyn was fascinated with the "trigles" on my shirt), old comfy jeans (sensing a theme yet?) and old comfy shoes, I let Scooby out to pee. He seemed to sense my mood and got the heck out of dodge. Over an hour later, I realized he still hadn't come home, so I reluctantly headed outside to find him. It’s raining. It’s 40 degrees. I have a fever and a very bad dog.

Twenty minutes(!) of laryngitis-laden screaming-for-Scooby later, I'm soaked, freezing, coughing, fevering and still no sign of my very bad dog. I decided it was time to load Joss in the car and drive around with my shotgun looking for him. Kidding. Sort of.

I headed back to the house to find a hysterical little 21-month-old frantically turning the door knob on the inside. I try the door. Yep. It's locked. She managed to figure out the dead bolt for the first. time. ever. Lucky, lucky me.

So there I stood, wet, cold, sick, exhausted, no dog, no coat, no cell phone, no keys, and locked out. My only chance of rapid entry back into the house lies with a hysterical, hazel-eyed, curly-headed one-year-old blond. I don't like my odds.

Another 20 minutes go by with me on one side of the door, Jossilyn on the other, and the conversation sounded like this:

Me: (screaming through the door) Turn the lock, Jossi! No, not the door knob, the lock. Up here. See the pretty lock? Turn it. TURN IT!!

Joss: (crying, red-faced and snot-nosed) I can't do it, Mommy. I stuck. I can't do it.

(Repeat. Again. And again. And again.…)

I give up and consider my options. It's 10:30 am. I can either call the fire dept. and let them break a window. I can pay a locksmith $100. I can break my own window. I can find a neighbor who’s home. Yep. I like that one the best. Sort of. Did I mention that it's raining, 40 degrees outside and I'm sick???

Just then a very VERY bad dog comes bounding home from down the street. I trudge through the soggy, muddy ground to shut his butt in the dog run where he immediately commences to barking. Loudly. Continuously. I now hate this dog. Kidding. Sort of.

I ran, yes ran, the 1/4 mile to the nearest neighbor who’s home and bang on her door, all the while Jossilyn is running loose, free, and uncontrolled in my house. My neighbor, Kate, comes to the door to find me soaking wet, shivering, covered in mud, and sick as a dog. I've only met the poor woman once before. I ask to use her phone, explain what happened and try to stomp the 10 layers of mud from my weather-inappropriate shoes before tromping through her brand. new. house… as in finished being built two weeks ago.

I called James (who’s 30 minutes away) and begged him to come home because my baby locked me out, thanked the neighbor and ran home. Have I mentioned that it’s raining, 40 degrees outside, I'm sick and don't have a coat??

When I got home, Jossilyn was near frantic. I tried to sing Twinkle Twinkle to her, but I have laryngitis and Scooby is barking at warp speed, so that didn't really go so well. Suddenly, Jossilyn spied my cell phone on the table. I literally watched her eyes change as it suddenly occurred to her that "Mommy can't get to me. I’m unstoppable!” I’ve never seen the human brain connect synapses quite so fast before. It was a scientific marvel.

She made a beeline for my cell phone. I could see that James was calling it, so I'm trying in my sweetest Jossilyn voice to say, “Swipe your finger, Jossilyn. Say hi to Daddy! Swipe your finger.” Uh huh. Sure. She just smiles at me and deletes my CNN app. Lovely. I needed a plan to get her away from the phone and off the very high kitchen chairs.

I brilliantly decided to head for the door that leads into the game room. It worked. She followed me. Assessing her new surroundings, she quickly decided the most fun thing in the room is my iMac. She commences to pounding on the keyboard, hitting who knows what, while I'm screaming from outside the door, “NO TOUCH, Jossilyn! Do you want a spanking?? NO TOUCH!!” She was clearly concerned by my threats because she turned and waved at me saying, “I pay (play), Mommy! See me pay? Fun, Mommy! FUN!”

Crap.

I ran back to the kitchen window. She followed me once again, but this time decided that it would be cool to scoot her high chair across the kitchen floor for a little look-see at what's on the counter tops. She found M&Ms. A whole bowl of ’em. Now she’s smiling and waving saying, “Mmmmm!! Choc choc!! Yummy, Mommy! It’s good choc choc!”

I must have looked a fool out there screaming, “No touch!! Bad girl! No choc choc!” I don't think I mentioned before that it’s raining and 40 degrees outside and I've been out there an HOUR!!!

James did finally arrive home and I did finally get back inside. Jossilyn was quite proud of herself. I debated for a few minutes on whether I should still head for the doctor or drown my sorrows in a margarita. I opted for the doctor who gave an oh-so-pleasant shot in my backside and a script for pills the size of a small cat.

I'm going to bed now to forget this day ever happened and if you call me tomorrow before, oh… say… noon… I will hunt you down like a dog. Just sayin’.


I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!

Just a Test

Okay, so I downloaded the Blogger app and I'm thinking that having mobile blogging access will increase the amount of blogging. (This is purely theoretical, of course, but one can hope…) Anyway, this is a test to see if it works. I'll leave you with a picture, though, so you're time reading this isn't completely wasted. =)


We recently caught this fugly critter in our critter trap. I don't much care for possums, but he's still a juvenile, albeit an angry one, so we let him go a few miles up the road.

 

I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!

Our Darkest Hour

With the 10 year anniversary of the September 11 attacks just a couple days away, I have been glued to television coverage of that fateful day, listening to account after account of survivor stories, tales of heroism and immense loss. I do not often allow myself to revisit that morning in my mind. The television images are still raw in my mind and the cavalcade of emotions I felt as I watched people die come flooding back with such force, I can still physically feel the pain.

I often think about how quickly the day is approaching that I will have to sit down with my children and explain to them that there are people out there so evil and full of blind hatred that they are willing to kill 3,000 innocent people whom they don't know and did nothing wrong. How will I find the words to gently convey the horror of that day so as not to frighten them, but to ensure a true understanding in this young generation so that history does not repeat itself.

And then, there is my personal story, which they have never heard. We all have one. We know where we were, what we were wearing, whom we were with; we remember every minute of that morning down the finest detail. I will share my story with you now.

Like so many others that beautiful Tuesday morning, I drove into work with the Kidd Kraddick 106.1 morning show blaring from my radio. Still a newlywed, I had kissed my husband goodbye early that morning as he caught an American Airlines flight bound for a Boston business trip. I can't remember what our parting words to each other were, but I'd like to think it was I love you. They might have been our last spoken words to each other.

When I arrived at my desk, I pulled up CNN.com, as was my custom, to quickly get caught up on the day's news prior to starting my projects. The top headline was something along the lines of "Possible Plane Strikes World Trade Center" with a photo of that first, gaping hole in the side of 1 World Trade Center. I distinctly remember my first thought being, "Wow! Somebody's in trouble!"

A few minutes went by and then the phone started ringing as my family members called to make sure I had seen the news. I was without a television at my disposal, so my sister called and held the receiver up to her TV while I put the phone on speaker as my coworkers gathered around to listen. It was then that the second plane hit 2 World Trade Center. I remember with stark clarity the exact second it sunk in that we were under attack. And the realization that my husband was on a plane.

From that moment forward, it was a whirlwind of information, corrections to information, statistics, probabilities and fear. Such a great, paralyzing fear like none I had ever experienced before. I listened in panic to the announcers mistakenly report that our military had shot down an American Airlines flight over Shanksville, PA. I was gripped with terror that my husband may have been on one of those four doomed flights. None of us knew what was next, who was next, where was next… we were completely helpless.

For four hours I was unsure if my husband was dead or alive. Every imaginable scenario played out in my mind. Would I be a widow at 26? Would my husband be alive but horribly injured? How will I break this news to his mother? Who will break this news to me? It was torturous.

After a bit, I left work and drove to a friend's house to await word from James. Finally, that phonecall came and I heard his voice on the other line. He had no idea what had happened. His flight had been rerouted to Cincinnati when the Eastern Seaboard was shutdown and to prevent panic, the passengers were not told why. I listened to him cry as I told him about New York, the Pentagon and Pennsylvania. This evil that had been forced on us that day was so overpowering, tears flowed freely from even the strongest of men. My husband was no exception.

A few days later, as I reflected on the aftermath of the attacks and watched the continuous coverage of the recovery effort, I penned new lyrics to three of the verses to the Christian song "There's Somebody Out There." I'm not sure who originally recorded the song or wrote the original lyrics. I'm no Celine Dion, but below is a video tribute I put together with photos taken from the internet set to my version of There's Somebody Out There. May God give all of you peace this weekend as you reflect on your own story and memories of 9.11.01.

I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!