~ Baby's Parts ~

Of the many things that I have written about in my blog it has become apparent to me that there is a reoccurring theme. The topic matter almost always seems to fall somewhere between procreation, poop, and private parts. Somewhere in here you will find zippers, and mortgages, and even a bit about decor. Thus is the story of parenting. (or is it just my parenting?)
None the less, and keeping with the theme, I would like to share a recent tale about my daughter and her keen observations.
I have been caring for an infant in my home for about three weeks now. He is a boy baby, about eight weeks old. My daughter has taken to sharing me quite nicely and seems to really enjoy the opportunity to participate in meeting the needs of another. In our house she is the youngest and most needy of any of us. "High Maintenance", I call her.
Really, she is a sweetheart but the constant "why" "how" "what" etc. that follows every answer you give her could only be out done by the consistent requesting of things. "I need a drink", "Play the princess game", "I'm hungry", "I have to go potty"....... oh and the best of these requests rings through the house like a fog horn of need....... "SOMEBODY WIPE MY BUTT."
So we have both been enjoying her having a new role as the second neediest body in the house.
I made sure from day one to include her in as much "caring" for the baby as I possibly could. She enjoys fetching blankets, covering him up, singing him songs, holding his bottle (sometimes), and shaking random items to entertain him. I believe the little guy quite likes her.
Almost every time I have changed him she has been eager to get the diaper and stand right along side talking me up the whole time. We've been over a lot of information. "Babies don't talk, do they?" "why not?" "Babies don't eat food do they?" "how come?" "My babies are not real, they just toys right?" "but why?" "Some babies have booby and some babies have bottles, right?" "why?" and so forth.
The other day we were going through this routine and my daughter says to me, "Babies have those kinds of parts and we have these kinds." She stands there patting her bum region.
It occurs to me she has recognized that this boy baby has a penis and she has deducted that since she does not, it must be a "baby" thing.
Now I did not go deep enough into it that I questioned just what she thought happened to all our baby parts as we got older, but I assumed she thought they just fell off or something.
"No Honey," I say smiling, "this is a boy baby and he has a penis. Girls do not have penises, not even when they're babies."
I watch the wheels turning and brace myself for the rolling ride of "why" "how" "who" what?!?"
"Well..... well, what kind of butt do I have?"
"You have a vagina. All girls have a vagina. Boys are the only ones with penises."
I begin to think she gets it as she lists every person in her small world and what kind of parts would be associated with them.
"Brother has a peanut?"
"yes"
"but you have a bah-gina?"
"yes"
"Daddy has a peanut? and Auntie has a bah-gina?
"Yes, that's right. It is vah-gina and penis though."
She accepts these answers and the conversation seems to have gone well. There are no more mentions that morning of any one's parts...... UNTIL, brother gets home from school.
"Naynin you have a peanut and I have a bah-gina!"
"Yes, I know", he responds sounding less then thrilled. Her enthusiasm does nothing toward getting him excited about the new found information.
A little later her brother's playmate comes over. She lives across the street. She is a cute girl, 13, and the boy and her seem to have a good "buddy" type friendship. (though I believe he secretly has a bit of a crush on her.) In the door the girl comes, maybe five steps, and out blurts my daughter, "You have a bah-gina and Naynin has a peanut!", again quite pleased with herself for informing both of them of this important information.
All I can say is neither of them could not have been one shade redder. I do not think the toddler understood the drastically sudden change in conversation.
Later that evening....... Her Aunt gets here, "What do you have?" my adorable daughter asks her.
"I don't have anything." My sister affirms as she looks at me puzzled whilst searching for the right answer. If you are the parent of a toddler you know how this works. The toddler speaks and you tell people what they said, want, or mean. So I tell her. "She wants to know which parts you have, you know, the parts. Just go on and tell her and get it over with."
God love that Auntie, she obliged, "I have a vagina, just like you."
For days now the topic has not come up again. I think she has taken her inventory, has detailed notes, and someday at our funeral services she will give a grand eulogy that the line, "She was a great woman. She had a vagina." will be included.
Last night her father and her were lying in our bed eating ice cream and watching television. (one of her favorite things to do with dad) The computer laid open on the bed long enough that the screen saver came on. Our screen saver is just a slide show of all our pictures uploaded and saved to a folder. Among these pictures are photos of last summer's trip up north. As a photo from that trip covered the screen the little princess declared, "Daddy! That is a picture of me and Naynin! We were up in Vagina!"
I hear hysteria from the bedroom. My husband comes out and says, "What have you been teaching the girl!?!"
On one hand I give her props. After all she remembered that we had gone to Virginia and had it not been for vagina on the brain, she probably would have stated it quite correctly. I have since tried to straighten her out on this, Virginia/vagina, but she only says vagina, and then says, "Whats that one place called again?"

(As an update, Lil'T has turned the big 3 this passed Tuesday. Her and I share the great luck of having been born on Friday the 13ths, as does her grandfather. Both her brother and father were born on 7ths!)

~ That Witty DNA ~

Some days I wonder if the art of sarcasm and the gift of wit is genetic. My son is not always the most witty thing to grace the planet but occasionally he drops a one liner that leaves me doubting my previous deductions that he may have suffered brain damage from all those times I rough housed with him as a toddler. My daughter on the other hand seems to have simply known the craft of smart-assed humor since before she could speak.
The other day Lil' T approached the coffee table in a very, "just passing by" kind of way. Spying my cup of water she promptly snatched it up swallowing it's contents. She then slammed the cup to the table top, herself stunned by her strength, and the power of the hallow "CLOP" the plastic cup met the table.

"Mommy,"
"yes?"
"I drank your water gone."
"You drank my water......all gone!?"
"yep."

At this point I pleaded to her softer sided by popping out my lower lip and turning my voice as pitiful and small as I could.

"I wanted that water. I was thirsty."
She reaches out her hand and strokes my face ever so sweetly and compassionately.
"Its okay mommy, you can just get some more."

As adorable as she was being, as caring and remorseful, I simply could not fight the urge to carry on. Push her just a little more into a pit of utter regret. Of course I knew she knew how much I was faking it..... but it was kinda cute how tender she was being. I think I may have pushed it too far.

"I can not believe you drank my water."
(pouting lip and sniffles)
"its okay mom."
"but, but, that was my water."

She crosses her arms, sighs, looks right at me and says, "Well its not your water anymore!! Its in my tummy now!" And fed up, she walked away.

A moment in time where it occurred to me if this is 2 then 12 ought to be fantastic!
(in case you missed it, that was sarcasm)

~MIA~

Where the hell have I been?
In the world of no internet.
Trying very hard to get this fixed.
Give me no more then one more month.
I miss writing!!!!
I miss reading!!!

P.S. has anyone been feeding the fish? I went to drop some food in and I watched as teeth gnashed, fishy lips foamed, and I damn near lost a digit! I had no idea goldfish could growl.

~ Updated Life Story ~

Just checking in with you all. I have to keep this short. I appreciate all the inquiries into myself and my family. It is so good to know some of you out there return here looking for new posts.
We are in the new house now and I love it!
I am not as buried under boxes as I was, but still there is much to do!
I need to get to an organized enough place so that the tree and decor of the season can go up.
Soon I will be there.
When things are more settled, and this period has past, I will return to posting regularly..... and I can hardly wait! I have been hashing out an idea for a relative blog to compliment this one. I am excited about it as well. I will share more about that when I get back to having time to blog at this site.
Hope I do not lose too many of you loyal readers in this transitional time.
Much love and respect to you all, family and friends~
dawn

"i'll be back"

~ A Reason To Give Thanks ~

Being Thanksgiving I figured there would be many bloggers out there taking the time to write a little down in respect of the traditions. I thought I would share a story of gratefulness in its raw form. So, in the spirit of being thankful I offer to you, 'A Reason To Give Thanks'.
Last Thanksgiving the house was packed with traveling relatives, local family, and friends whom wanted to share the holiday together. As it happens the children were as excited as the grown ups, just a tad more rowdy. One child (who shall remain nameless so as not to get on his bad side) was wrestling around with another boy just after dinner. The two were taking turns rolling on the floor and the boy was, for the most part, losing the struggle. There were bouts of laughter and squeals of pain, but no one cried for mercy. That is, until......
Now this was not public knowledge initially, just a secret kept by the boy (and perhaps his parents), but the boy despised underwear. He spent everyday as they say "free balling" and was soon to learn of one great benefit of underwear.
After the ruckus had gone on for a bit the boy had left the match and ducked down behind a chair. At first he was giggling and grimacing. Changing a bit between the two. His uncle, noticing him, had to ask, "What the hell are you doing?"
The boy laughed. Then the boy grimaced. He squeaked a bit. Then laughed. The uncle continued, "Are you ok? What are you up to back there?"
Eventually the boy came out from behind the chair, and when he did, it was obvious he was laughing much less then grimacing.
The boy rolled over to his side and curled into the fetal position. Everyone was looking, but only able to guess what may have just happened. Was he hit in the groin? Did he eat too much and now is cramping for it?
"Whats wrong!?" his mother asked him.
The boy did not answer.
"You know what? I tell you all the time not to horse around, this is why."
"No mom........."
I suspect, knowing now what had happened, a boy of his age did not relish the idea of announcing to a house full of on lookers what had just occurred.
Finally he got this out, "I am stuck in my zipper."
"Ok ok," the mother instructed, "go into the bathroom and lets have a look."
The boy slowly rose from the floor and even more cautiously walked to the bathroom. The door closed and the rest of us waited to hear a detailed report. The men in the room all shuttered and said in agreement, "Not good."
They were gone to the bathroom for some time when the door finally opened and only the mother exited. She came into the great room and said, "Its bad, it is really caught up in there. The zipper will not go up or down, he screams out when I try to touch it. I have no clue!"
Then she was back off to the bathroom.
There was a lot of laughing going on now in the house, not so much in the bathroom, but in the rest of the house.
She returned again to the main room briefly, grabbed a pair of scissors from the knife block and amidst a room of "Ewww"s and "Ohhhhh"s and even a few, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?!?" She returned without response to the bathroom. The door closed behind her. There was a unifying look of terror on the men's faces.
While there was a healthy amount of concern for the boy's parts, there was a lot of comedy to be enjoyed as well. The women laughed and made jokes, the men made jokes and told the women they had no right to make jokes, "You all do not even know!"
When the mother returned this time from the bathroom the amused, impatient crowd beckoned, "Well... did you get it?"
"I thought if I cut away all of his pants, the top and bottom of the zipper, the zipper itself would simply pull apart. He is now standing in there with nothing on from the waste down except the remainders of the zipper dangling from his.... um.... manhood."
More laughter from the crowd.
A relative male agreed to go in and take a look.
We heard a bit of laughter from the bathroom after he entered, and we could hear him trying to get the boy to see the humor in the situation. At this point however, the boy was reluctant to find it funny. They were in there some time, presumably fighting the hungry zipper, when another male relative agreed to go in to trouble shoot the situation. The two returned from the bathroom, grouped for a small huddle, rummaged a tool box, and returned to the bathroom armed with two pair of pliers.
At this point it has been more than an hour of trying to free the boy from the metal teeth which threaten his being. From all testimony coming from the bathroom it was getting serious in there and the boy was growing more afraid and more uncomfortable.
The discussion amongst the rest of the house had turned to many different suggestions at a remedy. One male was quoted as saying, "There is only one way to get him free and that is to grab hold firmly on the zipper and zip it down."
The mother chimed in, "I do not think you understand just how much skin is caught up in that zipper!" She was trying to remain serious, but the laughter she was swallowing crawled it's way out.
"It is a good damn thing he is not easily embarrassed because once he is freed and the urgency of the situation has gone, all the common person would think of is themselves standing there entangled in a zipper, half naked and desperate for rescue. " Now choking to get the words out over her guffaw.
Eventually the three came from the bathroom. The zipper was in the one grown up's hand, the needle nose in another, and the boy held out a toothbrush scarred with teethmarks for all to see.
"Would you look at this," the boy started, "this is what I kept in my mouth while one grabbed the fabric and the other the zipper with their pliers and just said, 'Bite down this is gonna hurt you more then us.' It worked!!"
It was hard to ob stain from making jokes for the remainder of the night. Admittedly it was mostly the females in the house taking cracks, though the men certainly dropped some great one liners. It was the men though who insisted the women simply could not appreciate the true trauma involved in zipper disasters. As a woman I never realized what a hazard zippers are to you men. How frightening it must be to get dressed every morning. The inventor of the button fly was most likely a man, or a concerned mother.
So, you see, there is a little boy out there this Thanksgiving that has much to be thankful for. Vienna sausages will not be on the menu this year. I have heard he has changed his ways and now wears underwear religiously. I can not say if this has kept him safe from further incident, but I am quite confident he is extremely cautious when zippers are nearby.

~ Another Day, Another Challenge ~

Because I haven't been able to write too much (not at all) lately, I shall make this a little run down of life in the wild. Where to start?
I suppose I could start with my last post 'Peaches and Green'. If you read that post you read the part where I affirmed with confidence that in no way would my land lady be able to say, "Its too dark." Well.... she saw the new paint AND she says she likes it, BUT she also says, "The fireplace room is a bit too dark. If you guys can live with it then its all good." I suspect she must know I have a blog or something, read the post, then decided to show me what I think I know I do not know at all. Too dark? The green is far darker and she loves it. All well , she doesn't hate it AND we CAN live with it, so it is indeed "all good."
We have almost finished the painting over there. Soon we will be able to begin moving house, something I am trying not to feel overwhelmed by. I do so hate moving. If moving goes anything like how preparing to move is going, it may be a long, long, complicated and frustrating process.
Yesterday we were at the house working when we heard Lil'T screaming from outside. She was out there with Hi-C and a couple of kids from the block. The screams were the kind that get a mother's attention. Not the kind that make you mumble, "Oh what the hell now!?" More like the kind that make you think, "Oh my god!" As you run out to see whats happened. She was hurt, or scared, or both. These were not the screams of frustration over not getting what she wanted or over being teased to the point of explosion. (Hi-C is good at that, as I have previously mentioned) As her brother carried her up to the front porch he was saying, "I think she was stung by a wasp!" This is to be Lil'T's first encounter of the closest kind with insects of the stinging variety. I grab her up, attempt to comfort her, and begin looking over her limbs for a sting mark. "Where does it hurt T?" "Wright here," she points to her toe. I looked and looked and could not find the actual sting mark. I, trying to lighten the mood, explain to her, "This is something that happens to the best of us. We all have been stung. Your brother was stung in his eye once." That made her laugh through her tears. What is it with toddlers being so easily amused by the thought/sight of someone else in pain? Anyone who says, "OW!" Gets her giggle.
Not being able to find the sting I asked her brother if he was certain she was stung or perhaps the wasp just landed on her. Lately it has happened that if a mosquito should even think about going in for a landing on the child's body she screams as though a pack of ravenous wolves are circling in for the kill. If one actually makes a landing, begins to bite, the shrill that comes from her is enough to make you believe you might find her engulfed in flames. Nope, there she sat, looking at the little bugger sinking in his needle for a sip, paralyzed with fear and freaking out like some animal had just ripped off a limb. Knowing this about her it did seem possible that the wasp only walked over her toes or maybe even just buzzed by her, leaving the other children (and me) to believe that she MUST have been stung.
I asked T, "Did the wasp bite you or did he just land on you?" "Um he just scweered me." After a sigh of relief I relaxed with the idea that it was all a big scare. False alarm. I looked one last time at her foot....AND..... It was beginning to swell like a marshmallow in a microwave. Good grief she was stung! I find the sting mark hidden between her plumping toes. After a little vinegar, an ice pack, and a few hours, the swelling redness subsided.
The upside of all this is that the kids met other kids in the neighborhood. The little girl was so sweet to Lil'T, she was the one who ran home to get the vinegar on her own idea, then stayed sitting with T as she iced her foot. I now know that Lil'T is not allergic to stings, also that she is quite a trooper. Subsequently, we did not get much painted that afternoon.
The day before the wasp incident my parents had offered to keep T so that we could work without interruption. We did in fact get a lot done that day. However, when I asked my mom if everything went alright she said, "Yeah except for the little poopy footprints she left all over the bathroom floor." UHG! She has been doing really well with the potty thing. I had neglected to send extra clothes in case of an accident. In my defense, it has been a while since there has been an accident. I did however feel like, um.... poop, that mom had to deal with the mess. She has raised four children, two of which are twins, so I am sure she took it all in stride. The vision of poopy footprints is kind of reminiscent of that poem about footprints in the sand, only grosser, and without a religious overtone.
Poor kid, its been a rough couple of days for her I guess. Her grandmother, whom loves her "too" much, still took her out to the beach to take a walk through the displays of sand castles. They hold an annual sand castle and sculpture contest at the local beach here. I think Lil'T very much enjoyed it even though she had to make the trip in a diaper.
(I would like to share with you that right now Lil' Pooper is dancing around naked, munching gold fish crackers, and singing through her packed cheeks, "I poopy on the potty, I poopy on the potty" I swear mom, usually she does.)
While Lil'T made a mess at mom's Hi-C made a mess of his own at the new house. While I was inside painting I happened to look out the window to see him picking up clumps of black dirt, throwing them into the air, and karate chopping them into little pieces which rained down upon his head and body. Pounding on the window I yell, "WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?!?" I know piles of dirt are virtually irresistible to boys, but I did tell him to stay in our yard. Guess what.... that pile of dirt was in the neighbor's backyard! It so happens they are digging for a pool. Needless to say, when he came into the house he was positively covered in black. His face looked as though it had been painted for war, his hands as though he was a veteran coal miner, and his feet as though they had never seen a drop of water nor a bar of soap in their lives. The house has no soap, no wash clothes, no nothing. Just paint, rollers, brushes and that sort of thing. I had him wash best he could with water, but it wasn't enough, in fact it made it a little worse. He was told to sit on the porch for a bit until we were able to clean up the paint to go. He moped, complained, and asked repeatedly if he could get up.
THE BOY IS 12!! Is this normal? I knew better when I was a child to ask for anything, shoot to even speak at all, after I had gotten into trouble. He even asked me on the way home if we got there in enough time before bed would he be able to play video games. "ARE YOU FRIGGIN KIDDING ME!?! The only thing you are doing when we get home is taking a shower, washing your hair like three times, and getting ready for bed." I guess I need to be scarier or something cause its all too obvious, he ain't afraid.
Off tomorrow evening to do a little more work over there. This is a short week for the boy with school out for the holiday. (pray for me) I am very much looking forward to a nice Thanksgiving Dinner and have no reason to expect anything less. My father is a fabulous cook and impresses us every year. My brother will be coming with his family, his children and mine are close in age. Our land lady-to-be told me she has no family here to spend the holiday with, so I did the natural thing, and invited her to dinner. I am fairly, almost completely confident my family will not frighten her...... too much. We are fun people with interesting children, and did I mention..... awesome food? I suspect she will have a wonderful time. (then again, maybe I shouldn't put that assertion in type.)

~ Peaches and Green ~

I fear this shall be a fairly uninteresting post and for that, I ask your forgiveness in advance.
I have not been able to keep up posting regularly as things have been busy, busy, busy. (besides the searching for the treasure buried somewhere in my air vent) We are preparing to move to the new house. We hope to be moved by the first week of December.
Its a HUGE house. Way bigger than the one we are in now. This is a bonus for several reasons. For one the kid's rooms are too small and too close to ours for any of our liking. After moving into our current house there were many things (after thoughts) that I wanted to slap myself in the forehead for not having thought of. I recommend any first time home shoppers out there, especially those with kids, to seriously consider the beauty and convenience of a split plan. If I could afford it, I think my kids might have their own residence next door. Would be nice to have them living in their own messes and to have their plastic drag car racing events out of the living area. Yes indeed, the extra space, bigger bedrooms to contain their crap, and their bedrooms more than a spit's distance away is sure going to be nice. Another bonus worth mention is the fact that the overall cost of keeping a roof over all of us, plastic drag cars and all, is going to be far more reasonable. I have to admit I hated throwing my money away on rent in the past, but now, having made friends and enemies with the mortgage corp..... well, maybe a landlord isn't so bad.
The landlord, actually she's a lady, seems very kind and relaxed. She is super with the idea of us making it our home. We are signing a long term lease and she intends on us being as comfortable there as we were in our own home. She knows how things have panned out for us, and while I do not want anyone's pity, I note the fact that she is compassionate to our situation. In her kindness she agreed to purchase all the things we think we need to make the house feel more like our home. Number one on this list was paint. The house is a bit drab, the paint years old and dingy, and mostly white or off white. I have always wanted to experiment with color on walls. What better way then to do this in someone else's house? Now do not get me wrong, I am not trying to do anything intentionally out of hand, but I did take some risks with the color choices. I chose a crisp white semi gloss for all the trim, base boards, and door casings. The formal dining has a beautiful chair rail detail with bead board to the floor. All of this is also painted white. There are two family rooms. One has a huge fireplace.....wait, correction.... there is a HUGE bit of brick framing in the littlest fireplace hearth I have ever seen. This brick has all been previously painted white, so we are repainting it white to clean it up a bit. I have no idea whats up with all the brick. To try to give you an idea, the brick runs floor to ceiling (about 12') and it also runs about 8' wide. The opening for the hearth itself is maybe 2' wide and 1 and a half foot tall. It really is odd. BUT its a fireplace, and I love fire. I mean, not like a pyro loves fire, more like the ambiance and the smell.
Anyhow...... the other two colors I chose (and the land lady approved) was a dusty green called 'Meadow' on the paint card from the hardware store, and a light creamy peachish titled 'Ginger Peach'. I was going for contrast. I wanted the fireplace to be a defined area, as well as the formal dining that sits between the two family rooms.
We put the Ginger Peach up first in the fire place room. The best description I have for you of this color is Sherbert. It is far oranger than I had hoped or imagined and seems to glow as if plugged in when the light hits it just right. It is very "cheery" in a mental health facility kind of way. I convinced myself it wasn't that bad and certainly warmed the place up and caused the fireplace to "pop" as they say.
Tonight we added the green. The dining and kitchen are both completely green, while the front family room (without the fireplace) has only one green accent wall to tie the overall greatroom area together. The green is a very dusty kinda gray green. When the light is not directly on it it seems to carry a blue hue. I love this color. This color is just what I had hoped and imagined. I am trying to make believe the peach color hasn't obstructed its beauty.
There are two walls where these colors directly meet. One corner bends away while the other fold in. If you can make sense of that. The one where the colors run away from each other does not seem to be too bad. The one were the join together makes me CRAZY! Maybe I can get a planted palm or something for that corner.
I will say this, being my first adventure in coloring walls (drastically coloring walls) it is not all and all bad. The place does appear newer and character enriched. The land lady has not seen it yet, I do hope shes good with it. Like I said, she approved my choices. In fact, running out to buy the paint I tried to make a last ditch change of the peach to a more tannish tone. She disagreed with my second pick saying it would make the room too dark when combined with the green. There is no doubt in my mind, when she walks in the door, she will not find it too dark!
Perhaps once we get all our furnishings in and art on the walls......
I have never much been a lover of neon, pastel, or pink/peach hues. I shall try to consider it my visual prosac and hope it betters my overall daily mood.

~ Cash Deposit ~

This past Friday Hi-C came home with a physical exam form and the hopes that we could get it completed in time for Monday's Cross Country tryouts. I was involved in track myself in junior high, so I think it a fine idea. So far he has only been involved with a bowling league, and for the past five years he has only improved, holding a high game of 222. If you do not bowl, I can tell you this, that is indeed a decent high game score. I suck at bowling, I despise bowling alleys (though I am getting a little warmer to them now) thus the idea of going to track meets and being outside to watch him compete is something I look forward to. The only concern I had was that of the physical exam form. Bringing it home on a Friday to have it completed before Monday had me worried that finding a doctor to do the exam over the weekend might be tricky. As luck would have it, I located a local walk-in clinic with a fair price on these exams and hours that included both Saturday and Sunday. We made plans to visit them on Sunday.

Things seemed to be looking up and working out. I was relieved to know I could get things taken care of and secure his chances for tryouts. This seems very important to him and his recent report card with the 4.0 GPA only furthered my wish to make sure he got his chance to participate. Sunday rolled around and we were up early preparing for our day. After showers, clothes, and the hustle of rushing around, dressing the toddler twice, and finding things like keys and my cell phone, we were ready to head out. Daddy grabbed his wallet to hand me the cash he had pulled out on Friday to pay for the exam and other weekendly needs. He opened the wallet, rustled around inside, then exclaimed, "Where the hell is it!?!?"
There was a sinking feeling that washed over me. I knew what he was referring to and I knew it was gone, but I asked anyhow.


"Where is what?"

"The money!?! There are four singles in here! I know I had the forty-seven set aside for the exam, and I had also pulled out about another three hundred for the weekend. I have spent some on gas and whatnot, but that leaves at least two hundred and fifty bucks MIA!"

"How the hell!?!? How could you lose that much? Where was your wallet? Have you had it with you the whole time? Could you have dropped it out of your wallet the last time you paid for gas?"

We were both getting flustered and the clock was clicking away the seconds until the clinic was to stop taking walk ins. The stressometer was climbing to a level of near bust. We ran through all the potential possibilities of the misplaced money. Was it in the van? Is it in one of his pants pockets? Did he drop it? Did he stuff it so far into the wallet that its hiding crumbled somewhere in its creases? (yes, this is a normal sized wallet, but we were getting desperate) Every thought we had seemed improvable since Dave is usually not careless with cash in this way. He looked in all these places anyhow, but knew that he would not have put the cash anywhere but in his wallet. In fact, this is the first time I can ever think of that money has simply disappeared.

"Do you remember the last time you saw it in your wallet?"

"Yes, the last time I took money out to pay for something. It was there, I know it was there."

"Dave, not that I want to be a bitch right now, BUT... How in the hell could you be so careless!?!?" What is in the account that I can pull to pay for the physical?"

"We paid everything on Friday. All the utilities, the credit cards, and I made some purchases for work supplies. Until all those transactions clear I do not think we should post another on the card."

We have done the over draft thing before. The simplest of with drawls turn into a HUGE penalty fee. For each over draft we are charged $30.00 buckaroos. Thats a hit we can not stomach right now. We basically live pay check to paycheck at this point trying to keep up with the bills and putting money aside for the move. We also have to keep money together to hire an attorney to deal with the foreclosure issue. (you can read about that in my other post http://gulfcoastmommy.blogspot.com/2007/10/knock-at-door.html)
Yep, money is tight and finances are ugly. This could not be a worse time to have money go missing. We resign to figuring out a back up plan so that the most important thing right now, Hi-C's physical, can be completed in time. I tell Dave that I will call my dad and ask him for a loan on the physical amount and Monday (or whenever the money is found) we will pay him back. At this point it is approaching 1 o'clock and the clinic is closing at 2. I call dad, of course he is willing to help. I knew he would. Thank god for family, especially the understanding, patient kind. I frantically gather the children saying, "Let's go, now, now, come on." In my frenzy I almost missed what it was Hi-C was saying to me.

"Mom! Mom! Wait!"
(he had overheard what I was saying to his grandpa about the missing money, and until then, he had no clue that there was a dilemma)
"Mom, I saw Lil'T this morning, I busted her with Dad's wallet. When I got up and walked out to the living room and she was there at the coffee table thumbing through it. I took the wallet away and put it on the nightstand by your bed. When I came back down the hall she was sitting there at the intake vent (the AC intake) and trying to feed a 1 dollar bill into the slot. I took the dollar away and put it into the wallet."

"OH MY GOD!!!!"

We both scramble to the vent and drop to the floor to get a better look. There trapped between the filter and the grate I can see a 20$ bill and several singles.

"OH MY GOD!!! GET A SCREWDRIVER QUICK!"
I excitedly remove the screws and the grate and low and behold inside the wall, lying amongst the dust bunnies and darkness, MONEY!
Sweet Jesus there is a God. I recovered, now get this, exactly $47.00. The exact amount of the physical!! We pile in the car and rush to the clinic. The whole way there I was drilling Lil'T.
"Honey, now this is very important, where is the rest of the money you took out of the wallet?"

"I put in the hole."

"Did you put money anywhere else?"

"In the hole."

I wasn't getting through. Either she doesn't remember, or all the money she intentionally took, she put in the vent. I decided to let it rest and when we got home I would make up a fun game of "treasure hunt" and offer extra "canday" as a reward to anyone finding the rest of the missing money.
Once at the clinic I called Dave and told him what was discovered and where. He says to me, "What on earth was she doing, playing vending machine?"

At that point I did not particularly care what her thought pattern was, just that we had made it to the clinic on time with money in hand. I hate to borrow money. I never do it if I can help it, and there was great relief knowing I could call my father back and tell him, "Nevermind, we got it covered."
We made it to the clinic within just 20 minutes of close, Hi-C got his physical. He is in perfect health despite the stress of living in this family. We went home and searched for the rest of the money, but to no avail. Lil'T seems to know nothing about it, and Dave suspects the larger bills were folded together and probably were dropped in her pillaging of the wallet. It has crossed my mind, since we have looked every place we can think, that perhaps the money has taken a trip to the underworld down the commode. God I hope not.
We shall continue looking for the money, but the truth is, if it isn't recovered, the most important thing has been taken care of. Hi-C arrived at tryouts today, physical in hand.
The AC vent is an interesting choice for a savings account. Guaranteed service charges and penalty fees free. I have to say that making a with drawl on such a savings account is a bit of a pain in the ass. I still can not get the image out of my mind. There she sat, carefully smoothing out each bill and slipping it in through the slots. I wonder if she sat dumbfounded as to why there was no canday coming out.

So, let this be a lesson to Daddy. Put the friggin wallet up!! Up high. I still hold out hope the rest of the cash will be found, it has got to be in the house somewhere. Oh, and I should mention, I did apologize to Dave for scolding him and assuming he had lost the money. While he did, in someways, hold responsibility for being careless with the money.... who would have ever imagined the little turd daughter would rob us blind as we slept!?

~ Fortune Cookies Make Bad Pets ~

This shall be short and sweet.
Anyone notice anything different about me? Nope, not the hair. No, its not a new shirt. I did lose weight recently, but thats not it. I am not wearing contacts or new glasses... Not exactly.
I do have a new found perspective on things around here. I finally have my hands on a computer where I can actually see my blog the way the rest of you do. The thing is, my other computer had no view of any colors! Not only does my blog look all kinds of colorful and new, but the rest of yours do as well!! How cool is that? Now that I can actually take a look at my page, I have made some minor changes. Prior to now I was basically winging it and had no idea all the options available to me through customizing. I thought it was all too complicated and I too computer illiterate to figure it out.
YAY! I am not the dumbie! It was computer who was stoopid. (how often can we say that in life!?!) Get this, did you guys know that when logged in you can actually see these little tool icons and click them directly to edit your page!? Why didn't anyone tell me about this stuff!?! Geez
I made changes to the text color and some other minor adjustments. I am hoping I have done alright with this, and certainly do not wish to block out any readers by making my page a headache to read. Do take a peek at what I have done with the place and let me know if it is still comfortable. Obviously I can not make everyone happy, but here in my world (most times) the majority rules. If many of you say I have made some difficult rearrangements, then I shall heed your words.
Also, the fortune cookie proved to be a bad pet. Yeah, he entertained me for a while, but lets face it he was a down right know it all. He learned not one new trick the entire time I owned him and his constant speculations about my future were beginning to piss me off. In the end it was his inability to be house broken, continuously leaving a mess of dusty crumbs on my floor. I ate him, and replaced him with fish. I am hoping to never actually have to feed the fish, since I know some of you wonderful folks are animal lovers. I figured you could just do that for me, meanwhile I will simply sit back and enjoy them! I have named the orange one Wilson, feel free to name the rest.
Thank you all for your feedback~
d

~ Why God Made Little Sisters ~

I was thrilled to find out that my second child was to be a little girl. I was hopefully awaiting her birth and praying the ultrasound technician had not mistaken a small wee-wee as a girl part. I was thrilled for two reasons. One, because my son was a son and I wanted to have one of each. To clarify, I of course would have been more than pleased with either or sex, but the idea of one of each just seemed complete. Two, I myself have a big brother and I believe it is something all little girls should have if the universe allows. Among the many benefits of a big brother; a protector, a teacher, a friend, and a tormentor sure to make your skin tough. There is another great benefit, that of the entertainer. My brother was a particularly (and still is) funny guy. He could make me laugh as hard as he could make me cry. He had worked very hard over the years at finding creative ways of both humoring me and teasing me, which subsequently, humored himself. As things do in life, what goes around comes around, and I have a bit of a story about him. I think I shall share it now. Hell, it will not be the first time I have told the story, nor will it be the last. After all, what did God make little sisters for?

My brother liked to try to convince me he had super powers. He insisted he could do no handed cartwheels and such circus like feats. To a 7 year old this was incredibly impressive. However, whenever I asked him to show me he would simply reply, "I can only do them when I want to and right now, I don't want to." This type of charade must have gone on for the better part of a year. As summer rolled around I had mastered the common swing set trick known as the 'Penny Drop'. In case you have no idea what a Penny drop is (where the hell did you grow up anyways?) I will try to explain. When doing a Penny Drop you throw your legs over a bar, (any bar, a monkey bar, swing set bar, etc) and grasp hold with the bend of your knees. Your knee pits, if you will. Once in position you use your body weight and supreme muscle control to begin swinging forward and back. After gaining enough momentum, on the up swing, you release your legs and flip mid air half way, so that you land with your feet on the ground. It sounds tricky I know. I was a tricky kid.

I demonstrated to my brother my newly mastered talent. Needing to be one up and to prove in no way could I do anything he could not, he declared, "So, I can do that!" This was, as they say, his final words. I dared him to try. I carefully removed the swings from their hooks to free up the top bar, and welcomed him to the task. Without hesitation or second thought he grabbed hold the bar, flipped upside down, and threw his legs over.
"Now swing!" I directed him.
He got the momentum up good. I thought he was going to do it. Just as he hit the up swing he released his legs and went for the flip. Before either of us knew what had happened, his underwear and too short 70's shorts (you know the ones with the white trim) became hooked on the hook where the swing chain was to go. He was dangling there like a piece of hung meat, swaying just slightly in the sunshine. In this position he was helpless to correct himself and his body drooped as if he were being held up by a disgruntled giant 4ft from the earth. Just swinging there by his backside, folded in half, arms and legs stretched toward the ground.

I fell to the grass in hysterics. He screamed at me for help. Every time he struggled to free himself I could hear the sound of his Fruit of the Looms giving way. I looked up to the swing set through my watery, laugh soaked, squinted eyes, I could see he was not having fun. This only made me laugh harder. He kicked and he fought with the hook, but his underwear were the prize, and the hook was the winner. After a little time I decided to help. Standing beneath him and reaching as high as I could with all my strength, I pushed.
"Get me down!"
"I'm trying you're too heavy!"
"I am serious Dawn get me down or I am telling!!"
"I can't!!"
Back to the ground I rolled laughing harder than ever now. Who was he going to tell? He isn't doing much as long as he is held up there by his ass. Finally, only after the cloth had ripped enough to free him up, he reached up to the bar with his hands. As he tried to regain his balance he pulled a leg over the bar. One leg almost to the ground, the other on its way over the bar now. That last leg over somehow managed to get caught up by the sock onto the nut which held the hook in place, leaving him hopping on one leg spread so far he looked like a ballerina with rubber limbs. It must of hurt! I laughed. He hopped several times before the white tube sock unraveled (you know the kind, colored bands at the top which you pulled to just below your knee).

He was completely pissed off now, embarrassed too. He stormed off to the back door as I looked after him walking away, a mile long thread trailing from his sock and one complete side of his underwear and shorts were gone, completely shred. His cheek was bare to the world and the remainders of his chewed undies danced down his one leg as he walked.
Back into a riot of laughter. I somehow managed to get up and run behind him, hot on his back, into the house. (I couldn't not follow him. This was the moment I had waited my whole long childhood for)

When we entered the house our mother was standing there. She turned ever so casually, took one look at my brother, and said, "Damn it! Those were new underwear!"
Not, "what the hell happened?" not "Oh my god, are you ok?" No, just a verbal reprimand for trashing his new undies. This was the icing on the cake. It was back to the floor for me. I wanted to tell my mom right then what had happened, to tell her the sweetly humiliating story, but the laughter was simply too much. My stomach ached like no other.

So as a little sister, living up to her duties, I have shared this story with anyone and everyone who will listen. I have told this story to his guy friends. I have laughed through this story to his girlfriends. All through high school and still today on holidays when the family all gathers in one place, I tell this story.
This is what little sisters are for. For cherishing and tormenting. For remembering those things you wish to forget. For being in the right place at the right time. God made little sisters to keep you off your toes and in your place, dangling from the hooks of halirity.

I can only hope my children have such fond memories of their childhood together.