LIST

1. My dog runs like a Spring Buck. He may have some identity issues.

This is Bruce aka Devil Dog with a fine set of antlers

2. Heads up to well-meaning people: if all it took to cure nasty prolonged pregnancy nausea was saltine crackers and flat coke don’t you think I would have stuck with it?



3. Don’t tell me I look good when I tell you I feel like crap. I don’t know if it’s a compliment or a back-handed way to tell me that I must not really feel as bad as I say. Either way, leave it off.



4. My child likes to “fake sleep in the backseat” so she’ll get a free ride into the AC. Smart kid. She’ll go far in the world of politics. Vote Simi in the 2050 election, she’ll blow you away with her foreign policy.

Simi Loo

5. My husband started a blog. It’s way less caustic than mine. You might like it. It will completely cement your belief in opposites attract. www.benthankful.wordpress.com



6. Pregnancy is a lot like puberty, allow me to explain:



Weird things happen super fast and you aren’t sure if you are happy about it. And, what’s worse, other people notice and stare. It makes me very self-conscious.



Same rule applies as puberty: LOOK ME IN THE EYE and don’t steal a glance, you creep. No, you can’t touch.



7. Dear Facebook Users,



You sound to good to be true. Everything goes so well in your world?! What am I doing wrong that I have bad days and you never do?



What’s up with that,



E



8. Dear Rosetta Stone Epanol (Spain),



Let’s run away together. I think we can make this work.



Quiero mi Espanol.



E



9. I feel a lot like Snow Bear (aka Beelzebub bunny) because I ate way toooo much chocolate cake for Eagle’s birthday. I fear I am getting the dreaded Snow Bear Triple, triple chins that is.

Snow Bear in her slimmer days

10. My eldest turned 10 on Wednesday. How can that be? I whined about it to the poor lady behind me in the Target check out line. I strategically waited until all her items were on the conveyor belt and she couldn’t get away from me.



11. My eldest is fairly certain he is Davy Crockett reincarnated. This isn’t good for my psyche.

Eagle in 15 years

Send help.



Over and out.

I've never wanted a beer more in my life than I do right now

Let me catch you up on my past 3 months of life on the edge of my couch…..




barf.



Dear HCG,



I hate you. I hope you rot in hell. We will never be friends. You try to ruin my life every time. Nice try, you almost got me.



Sincerely pissed off (sorry Grandma I know you hate that word),



Me



So it is good news: more children. The baggage: feeling like poo for 4 months. It’s really hard to like someone who makes your life miserable. But I felt this way about my first 2 and it turned out alright.



In other news,



1. My husband (I call him other names right now too) is in Africa saving the continent from financial ruin.



2. I can’t get this song out of my head.

3. It’s nearly the 4th of July, my all time favorite holiday. It meets all my requirements for a rocking good time: (1) blazing hot (2) it is appropriate to wear a bikini (3) massive explosives



Happy quatro de Julio have a beer for me….

What am i talking about

Here’s whats going on in my world:

1. My eldest has ruined his life’s contentment with this book:

This piece of literature has provoked the desperate desire of:

a buckskin suit

a birch bark canoe

a falcon named Frightful and an overwhelming desire to leave home. I am doubting my love of literacy for children.



And, have you any idea what a buckskin suit would run you? Of course not, you are normal well-adjusted, non-homeshooling parent. But in case you are curious eBay is asking a scandalously large sum. I (the Vegan) am considering encouraging a homeschool summer unit study entitled, “How To Make Your Own Homemade Bambi Suit” or a different unit study called, “Things Grandpa Bought Me On Our Trip West This Summer” instead.



2. The leaves are on the trees and the temps are above 60. I am a happy girl.



3. Confession: I have a cat I call, “My Husband” or “Life-Partner” mostly because it irritates my children. My son’s friend is threatening to make a coonskin cap out of My Husband’s hide. I’m not impressed.

4. I am blogging as a form of procrastination (can’t tell can you?). The laundry pile (aka Mt. Johnson) is single-handedly trying to take me down.

A plethora of nonsense

We started running an all-inclusive resort for horses on vacation at the Johnson Ranch about 2 weeks ago. Think: Club Med complete with over indulging, flirting with the opposite sex and lack of respect for the resort management. Because that’s exactly what we've got going on over here.



It came to a head last night when the horses evidently had an unplanned, unapproved mixer in the pasture. I prefer to run a strict no girl/boy contact facility. I’m catholic like that. The horses (read: rebellious teens) disregarded my no-mixer wishes and were probably smoking in the bathroom too. As with most mixers there was extensive damage to the property that conveys a disrespect of the resort management (that’s me). This morning I spent 2 hours cleaning up after the hung over crowd of ungrateful equine. Which is not how I expected to spend my Tuesday morning.



Now lets talk dermatology. Last week my friends, Tanya and Alex, told me a story about a guy with a massive zit-like mound on his cheek. (it’s really strange the matters that friends are willing to discuss) I’ll have you know I day dreamed about the possibility of popping a monster like that (I should have been a dermatologist). Be careful what you wish for because now I have my very own zit-mountain. I’ll tell you right now the story of the zit is much more thrilling if you are not the subject of the zit story.



Changing subjects



I've been homeschooling for 36 hours straight. With sleep and snack breaks. I don’t know why….nothing else to do really and the kids dig it. My husband expressed his concern for my mental health and gently prodded me to leave the compound (That’s what I am calling our house now. I plan on wearing denim jumpers, braids and read only from the KJV of the bible for the rest of my days. I may even encourage Mr. Johnson to take on a sister-wife).



I gave in to Mr. Johnson’s advice and left the property sans skirt or braids or sister-wife. The outside world is really nice. Who knew? And when did I become my mother? No offense mom you are awesome.



One more thing. My dad is retiring from his 30+ year career as a biologist and my children have been begging for his taxidermy-ed critters that once adorned his office and made countless trips to public schools to educate children. The lot includes a fox with a blank stare and a ripped ear (who is a lot like the Mona Lisa. Everywhere you turn it appears the fox follows your gaze. Very unsettling at 2am on my way to the bathroom), 2 hummingbirds, a barn owl complete with pray in talon, a wood duck, and my personal favorite and woodchuck standing on it’s back legs with 2 tiny t-rex like forelimbs.



Now here is where this story get’s weird…..really, really, really weird. I won’t be offended if you don’t read more of this post. It might be best for your sake and mine.



Listen up brave soul:



My dear friend Melissa gave me a great* idea. She told me to take Simi’s baby teeth and attach them to my new taxidermist home decor. So all the critters would have a creepy grin to go with the glass stares. I like it. I really like it.



*Great is used as a completely subjective term here.



Why?



I don’t know. We are homeschoolers and by definition very strange.



But I thought it was a classic idea…. I should apologize to my dad now. Sorry I am desecrating your beautiful specimens. I love you.

Classy, huh?

Come see me

Come see me at:  Southern Star Elizabeth . I miss you.

See me here

Visit my new blog at WordPress HERE. I think you'll like it

Elizabeth

moving my blog

I'm moving  here .

So if you'd like to read more SouthernStarElizabeth more come on over!

Laters,

Elizabeth

ON my mind

On my mind today:

I really, really would like to try the Brazilian blow out on my hair.

I feel the urge to shank a little punk attending VBS. I already had a heart to heart with him and threatened him but he's the type that needs to be met in a dark alley and I'm just the girl to take him down. PARENTAL CALL TO ACTION: please train your children or I will! This is my theme song when I think of unruly children:


Maybe, just maybe, I am too much discipline and not enough compassion. "Is it possible", ask myself? I don't hear anyone complaining but that might be because they are afraid of my wrath. Who can say? Please advise.

My mom  is way awesome. She's beautiful, patient, funny, wonderful and always agrees with me. I am lucky.

My dad is totally awesome. Really, he's the best parent any child could ask for and he's better than any grandpa on the planet. I should nominate him for the Father or the Year award. I think I shall. I'm already drafting my nomination letter.

I am mourning the loss of my eight year old....He's now 9 and that number disturbs my soul. Half of his life under my roof is over. A good cry is in order bawwwww.wwwww..wwwwww sniff sniff

My children turn into superheroes with high fructose corn syrup. I get a good chuckle watching the other moms gasp and clasp their chest when my kids come into the play room at Chick-Fil-A.

We are unsocialized homeschoolers......insert evil laugh here.

Keith Monday, the weatherman for Channel 9 Eyewitness News has a crush on me.

But it could be he was staring my direction because he wanted me to control my tornado-crazed children.

Who can say, really?

I took great joy watching Devil Dog figure out his new invisible fence line after weeks of him taking advantage of my Christian Patience.
What are you thinking about today?

To Whom is may concern:

Dear Facebook:
    This relationship isn't working for me. I don't like anything about you. You bring me to a dangerous place of wrath. So I'm kicking you to the curb. Don't worry you'll find some other sucker to take my place soon. CBS news tell me you'll have a half billion users by the end of the week. Here's the inside scoop in case you didn't know: they're all just using you.

Dear Car Window Silhouettes:

     You are a hopeless show-off. I don't care if you have 48 children and superior fertility. When I went to elementary school they called this sort of behaviour "bragging". What's your excuse?

Dear La Lorenzo MD Pathology Consultants,

I appreciate your prompt medical billing. Seeing as it's been 91 days since my hospital stay and I received your bill this afternoon for 175.00.

Your check is in the mail.

HA HA

Dear 100 degree heat:

My armpits smell like 2 day old roadkill thanks to you.

Dear High School Nemesis:

Thank you for gaining 20 pounds since high school. I see that 13 years has not dulled your mean-streak or abrasive personality.

See you never,

Your high school 'buddy'

Dear Self:

What the hell is wrong with you? It's been 13 years let the bitterness go.

Dear Sprint:

I just want my phone fixed. I am not tying to rip you off. Well, in the beginning I wasn't, now I am.

Game on.

Dear Starbucks Lady:

Thanks for the advice on the tattoo's with my morning caffeine. I'd never considered those options.

Dear Gay Waiter at PF Chang's:

YOU'RE NOT GAY.

Even though you say you are. I think it a ruse to get numbers.

 Well played.

Dear Babies of the World:

Quit looking at me, smiling, laughing, or doing anything adorable. If possible please force your mother into another check-out lane at Target. Or even better, start throwing temper tantrums, puking in public, screaming and fighting with your siblings. Then I'll get snapped back to reality.

Dear Biological Clock:

Shut up. I know what you want, and I can't do anything about it.

Dear Fellow Homeschooling Moms:

 I just look bad compared to you.

You over achievers.

Dear Statistics:

You make me sick. I am tried on of being on the wrong side. Especially this one:

<2.5 112 42 38%

(if you don't know what this one means...ask)

Dear Freaky Dreams:

Desta Hughes (old high school friend) and Seth Meyers (from SNL) will never be together no matter how much my subconscious tried to tell me they are. And no they don't have a really cute 2 year old and no we didn't go to their mansion for drinks.

Dear Dryer:

Due to your low performance, napping on the job, and trying my Christian patience.

I'm letting you go.

No, I'm not giving you a recommendation.

Dear Son:

That compliment you gave me (the one about me looking like my high school nemesis)  wasn't really a compliment. But I love you too much to be picky about it.

Dear Backache:

Thank you for my fantastic attitude, full range of motion, and superior level of comfort.

I hate you.

Wolverine in Yellow Lab clothing

When I went to pick up Devil Dog after his surgery I told the receptionist my name and she asked for my animals' name.

"Bruce, he's the yellow terror"

"Okay, honey, just wait here and I'll be back with Bruce" she says to me in her sweetest southern drawl after I had filled out the appropriate paper work.

The children and I wait in the waiting room. It wasn't long before we hear metal cages being rattled then something that sounded like a skuffle and then the harsh sound of metal slamming shut. I can't be certain but I think I heard a muffled curse word spoken with a southern accent. Moments later the southern belle receptionist reappears through the door and says,

"Oh honey, he's just a wee bit nervous after today's excitement. I think he'd like to see you first." I don't remember her eyes being quite that large or the beads of sweat on her upper lip when I last saw her 35 seconds ago.

"Yeah, he's not nervous that's just him." I say bluntly

I follow her into the recovery kennel. My children ask to come.

"No, kiddos if Brucey-Baby is in a mood I don't want you guys to be in a tight spot" in my most sweet southern-momma voice which was code for "the dog is the devil incarnate and I have a feeling that he's gonna try to take down this here sweet receptionist when I get him out of his detention cell. I'd hate for your sensitive eyes to see this amount of carnage" But I didn't use that harsh verbiage as not to scare my new receptionist friend. My children got me spot on and laughed, "Yeah, this is gonna be good." they say in unison as they crane their necks around the corner to get a front row look at the fight.

Out of the corner of my eye I see they are whispering. I think they are taking side bets. Jake makes the hand gesture for "5" and Simi shakes her head and returns with the "10" gesture. Are they talking money, stitches, or people needed to subdue DevilDog. I don't bother asking.....what good can come of it?

The receptionist leads the way down the corridor. I can hear him before I can see him.

Rattling cage door, growling, snarling, and then strange silence. I've come to know that silence with Bruce is deadly. Silence is not good with this dog. It means he's gonna do some nasty s*&$@ to somebody.

Then he sees me behind her.

He sits down and wags his tail and licks my hands. I open the door and he curls up in my lap wanting me to pick him up. Silly 50lb dog.

"Oh my sweet little poopsie were you acting naughty, you little stinker. Oh I missed your face buddy, awwww, did they treat you well today? I say to Bruce just to make the receptionist (who was standing behind the metal door protecting herself from the gila monster who was sitting on my lap) feel inadequate.

My children are laughing. Jake yells down the corridor, "Guess he didn't like that lady too much."

"Oh that's nice, he just wanted to see somebody he knew. I've never seen a dog be so unfriendly after being so heavily sedated" says the southern belle

I thank her and take Bruce out to the car with his pain meds and stack of post-op instructions.

As Devil-dog is taking a whizz on the electric fence I read his surgery notes.

"***CAUTION***" is highlighted and triple starred on the top of the report "***MUZZLE****"

Interesting.....something tells me Brucey Baby was a bit of a pill today. I'll check YouTube just to be sure.

Monday night fun

Johnson Family Fun

Monday nights are the stuff.

Nice git-up, huh. Cheap Target bathing suit and expensive cowgirl' boots. Priorities.

FYI  - in Simi's world: rain storm = bathing suit.

"This is my shot Mister.

Get your own paparazzi."

"Mom lets make funny faces together"

"Holy Nanny, your tongue is RED Mommy."

"Yes, Peach, that's what happens after drinking a strawberry Daiquiri"

Boys can't be bothered with taking 10,000 photos of funny faces. They are much too cerebral for that.

My little grand master.

The game was intense and when the game gets intense Mom gets to make one move. Any move. I don't know a darn about chess thus it's usually a fatal move for one of the opponents. Tonight it was to Eagle's benefit because I can't tell the difference between a queen and knight.

Devil Dog. After I told him what was going to happen to some personal parts he holds dear the next morning.

"oohf, that doesn't sound good."

I would like to marry this camera.

Yes Mom

Normally, I say 'no' or "do you have the money to buy it?" or "If you still want it in 2 weeks we'll come back" to my children when they make their requests. Mostly because their sense of fun and fashion are more expensive than Damn Ramsey budget will allow.

But my husband is gone and can't stop me.

The natives are restless.

And I like having a little fun every decade or so.

The kids and I loaded up in the car in route to the closest indoor shopping mall. It's only 98 degrees with 1000% humidity so playing outside has a certain risk attached to it.

My kids laid eyes upon the huge indoor bungee Jump-O-Rama.

Oh happy day.

"Mom, can we please? I've always wanted to do that but the lines are always so long and there is ABSOLUTLY no one in line. Can we, Can we, Can we?"

Sure.

"What? Really?"

After the joy of jumping 30 feet into the air for 10 minutes and squeals of delight that could be heard from the food court we were off to the cowboy store.

I love the west. I googled "Wyoming ranches for sale" this morning.

75 results. I figured at least one can be mine someday I should start planning my wardrobe around it. (That last bit is a joke, I don't plan wardrobes, but my mom LOVES to so I threw that bit in there for her. Love you, Mom)

The kids picked out some new kicks.

Which they insist on wearing with athletic shorts.

Classy.

"Mom, can we get pretzels with mustard and lemon-aid while we watch the fish feeding at Bass Pro?" With big grins and cowboy boots upon their feet.

Sure.

"Oh mom, look at those Carmel apples. Have you ever had one?"

Yes, would you like one?

"Really? Can we?"

Sure.

"Mom you've never said yes this many times in a row before."

Once every 9 years the planets align and my wallet opens.

Come home

This post started out just the pic of Mr. Johnson and me. But since y'all don't love him and miss him like I do I included the other two pics of our recent beach trip to keep your interest. I knew I missed him but not until this moment do I want him home NOW!!!

I know this because:

I am  looking for any excuse to post photos of him

Eating Wheat Thins for breakfast and for pretty much every meal since he's been gone

I've counted the hours until I see his face again.

De-Worming

One of the oh so many joys of living on a farm is de-worming. Horses, sheep, donkeys, cows, cats, dogs, goat....you name it (if it's been domesticated) I've dewormed it.

It's really glamorous, I know you wish you were me. There's so much to love about squirting 4 ounces of white paste down the gullet of an animal who doesn't want it there.

Most de-worming days are uneventful. However, when the stars align all hades breaks loose and every 4 legged creature has a death wish for me when they see me strolling across the pasture with a giant white tube. Today was that day.

I started with the smallest creature: 7lb. cat named Blazey. She looked the most docile and I can handle 7lbs. of crazy. At least I thought I could. She went spastic crazy. Claws out, crazy eyes, neck stiff, fur raised, spitting mad. She looked, in short, like a cat horror flick.

The other cats saw her display of evil and thought  "hey, I should try that too"  .

And they did. But they weigh A LOT more than 7 pounds. For instance, we have a cat, appropriately named Piggy Sue who hasn't left her post on top of the feed bags in 8 months. She makes a trip from the feed bags to the cat food and back about 11 times a day. It's no more than a 3 foot walk.

She's enormous....seriously huge. She looks like a baby hippopotamus.

Thinking her weight problem would be a hindrance to her agility and displeasure in the de-worming process since she loved to eat, I eyed her as an easy target. I was wrong. I held her in the crook of my arm and she new what was coming. She got to spitting, clawing, and cussing and I couldn't take it. She schooled me and I have the claw marks to prove it.

After these two dainty, lovely creatures I still had 5 more cats to attend to. None of them had a better attitude.

On to the horses who outweigh me by 1000 pounds but in most ways are much receptive to care than pesky felines. Not today.

Our resident Thoroughbred, PI (I haven't decided what these initials stand for. Private Inspector, Police Inquiry, 3.14159265, Polish Invasion, Post Intelligence, Pony Inferior.......),  has held a long standing commitment to making my life hell for more than 3 years. He has deadly morning flatulence which I am convinced he holds until I pass behind him and then lets it rip, he poops in the barn ALL THE TIME and pees in the hay every chance he gets, he gets about 14 gallons of sweet feed a day but chooses to eat it one pellet at a time, and my least favorite PI characteristic: he hates de-worming like I hate snot suckers (more than just a little).

He's consistent.

I left the tube out of his line of sight and slipped the halter over his head and attached the lead rope to a support post in the barn. He could sense what was coming his way and lashed out. Bucking, rearing, ears laid back, kicking and sitting down before I even brought the tube out of it's hiding spot. I got the job done after 30 minutes and some one's head (not mine) was made immobile.

I'm wiped out and the kids aren't even out of bed yet.

I'm considering drinking my breakfast at Starbucks.

What I thought about today

Things that have crossed my mind today:

1. Body odor. I should consider reversing my deodorant prohibition during the months of July and August. For the good of the nation.

2. Habanero almonds. I will eat about 10 pounds this week.

3. Steel Magnolias. My mascara is on my shirt.

4. Sore ankle. Devil Dog thought it would be a good idea to bear his teeth and growl at my first born.....bad, bad, bad idea Bruce. I'll let you use your imagination on why my ankle is sore. Hint: it has something to do with my dog's nasty disposition.

5. Vegetarianism. I have to think more about it........but I really want to buy and run a cattle farm in Montana (I'd be happy with Wyoming too) and I don't think I could do that being a veggie.

6. Parenting. It's hard as hoo-hoos right now. I'd rather pop in a few thousand Tom and Jerry movies and not deal with it. But I will. Because I have a vision for my children and nasty attitudes, laziness, and sassy-ness are not included in my vision.

7. Being sad. Ugg, I don't wanna. Because will I ever be happy if I start being sad? I more comfortable with mad.

8. Mr. Johnson is the best thing ever. Even better than owning a ranch in Montana (or Wyoming). I miss him....already.
       8a. Bed time. I don't wanna. Unless Mr. Johnson is here keeping the bed warm...and he's not because he's out of town.

chow....I gotta go to bed so I can get up at the crack of an ungodly hour to feed a few entitled horses.

Character

I am pissed at two specific members of the youth population. However, these are not unique youth, they are your everyday variety of wanna-be thug with equal parts attitude, disdain and entitlement. It all went down like this.

The kids and I were eating watermelon and lasagna talking about our day around the dinner table. Laughing and agreeing on the best and worst parts of our day when the dust of a darkly-tinted white coup caught my attention mostly because of the high rate of speed it achieved coming down my driveway. I watch with some curiosity as the driver took the curve in our circle drive at approximately 38 miles an hour. I expected Richard Petty to walk up to my door and try to sell me some Goody Power.

Instead of Richard Petty, two scrawny half dressed male teenagers I had never before laid eyes upon exited the vehicle and approached the pasture fence as the car and driver exited the property as quickly as she had arrived. My first thought: Bruce will get them.  Not so, Bruce was much too intently feasting his eyes upon our lasagna to get his butt of the porch and investigate.

Sorry animal. Geesh, if one's gift is to be "mean as hell" shouldn't that gift be used at all times?

Since my guard dog fell down on the job I was up to bat.

The kids and I put on our shoes and walked down to the barn to investigate. The youth spotted me and proceeded to walk away further into the pasture without acknowledging my presence.

"Good afternoon, Gentlemen. I don't believe we've met."

grunts coming from the direction of the youth. Something about knowing someone who has a horse here and then more mumbles and failed eye contact as he sipped from his Big Gulp Slushy.

Let me take a moment to set the scene.

     Youth one: Shirtless, jeans clinging to his lower thighs, bleached blonde hair, and 7 body piercing (2 of these were nipple piercings) that I counted. His underwear were blue-pinstriped and I am absolutely FURIOUS that I now know this intimate detail of a perfect stranger all the while holding a Big Gulp Slushy.
     Youth two: Fully clothed with 5 known piercings and a hint of a bicep tattoo.

My sweet, innocent children and their equally modest young friend were standing about 2 feet behind me witnessing the whole scene.

"I am Elizabeth and I own this barn. Since you are not a boarder here or with a boarder you can not be with the horses in the pastures for liability reasons. Feel free to wait in this area, gesturing with my hands, to wait for your escort to come back."

Dumb looks.....Do they speak English I wonder? I consider translating into Ebonics.

''And young man pull your pants up. My children are here as well as myself and have no interest in your underwear."

Young man eyes me (or maybe that's just how his face looks).

I stare at him not moving my position until I see his his right is making progress to release his slushy and raise his trousers 18 inches to his waist.  Why must I parent other people's children? I ask myself. Where is public decency and respect of persons?

Reluctantly, after a few long awkward moments young man pulls his britches up but has to hold them there as they are 15 sizes too large for his frame. I imagine the young man is sizing me up. I mean business. I've clean up cat crap with more character that this creep and he can sense it.

I politely go about my business moving horses and feeding. My children are snickering. They think it's funny that mommy is such a hard-ass to perfect strangers.

As I round the corner with a young colt that requires more attention than I am willing to give my new young guests I notice that youth #1 has let his britches fall and is standing about 5 feet from my impressionable children. Did I mention that this young person has about 16 pounds of metal hanging from his face and nipples?

"Young man, I was serious about your pants. If you can not keep your pants in the vicinity of your navel, leave. I do not appreciate your style and I can not lead my children to believe that this is acceptable dress, you are not a role model for my children."

More snickers from the peanut gallery behind me.

Youth #2 thinks this a good time to pipe up and enter the conversation for the first time. What he says surprises me.

"Yeah man you need a belt. Just hold your pants up until B gets back." Yes ma'am we understand, we will leave and wait for our ride by the road."

There were several more yes ma'am's and I understands. I don't really care. Just get your punk self out of my face.

Apparently, youth #2 had a mother who cared at some point. She had done a wonderful job instilling maternal fear into her spawn that is until she let her son hang out with this riffraff. I believe he sensed a moment was coming and it wasn't going to be pretty and he was right. He seized the opportunity to save his friends' neck from my surprisingly strong death grip around his neck.

His friend should really thank him.

Somehow I don't think that will happen.

My children and I went about our business feeding, watering, grooming and riding our horses. We talked about character, respect, and morals. About what is in your brain is reflected though your dress, attitude and the way other perceive you. I also mentioned that if any one of them came home with a nipple ring or any other disgusting metal adornment I would let Bruce the Devil Dog rip it from their flesh with his teeth.

They liked the thought of that for these two young men.

Mothers and fathers of America, when did it become okay to raise such unimpressive youth? When did Nickelodeon and MTV become acceptable parenting? What happened to:
hard work
respect
humbleness
eye contact
gratefulness
thankfulness
determination
honesty
persistence
cleanliness
helpfulness
loyal
trustworthiness
bravery
reverence
and clothing that covers all required areas of the anatomy.

****Side note**** where are these teens getting their clothing? Surely none of them are employed by a respectable corporation as no employer who wishes to turn an income would hire these children with 15 pounds and metal in their face and buttocks exposed to the elements. So are mom and dad buying kids this attire?

If we don't do the dirty job of parenting the world will and the world isn't nearly as nice about it as mommy.

I'm living proof.

Daydream

This baby bird wasn't ready to fly the coop. He/she stayed around for an hour or so and then flew off with his/her mom and dad.

Goodbye June 28th....I CAN wait a year to see you again.

Relief comes in all forms. At the end of this stressful day it looks like this:

1. Dinner. Shannon bringing me, no lie, the BEST meal of my entire life. It was perfect, yummy, wholesome and wonderful. Thank you Shannon. Your chocolate cake makes the world a better place.

2. Cipro. I can pee without pain again. Back pain, fever, chills, and fatigue still around ....but feeling better.

3. Sarah Price aka Perfect Playmate. My son is happy, excited, laughing, and having fun......those things haven't happened recently for him.

4. 7:36pm. The sun is low, my family is happy, healthy and under one roof.

I am grateful. It's been a long day.

Room #8

Today started out like most others. A date with Bruce (aka Devil Dog) at the park at 5:45 for our morning stroll.

When I got home my husband was leaning on the kitchen counter staring into the distance. "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure"

"I've had chest pains since I woke this morning....a lot of pains" 

"What?" "Really?" secretly thinking...."Oh God not now"

We head to the hospital after he makes a few arrangements and my mom comes over to entertain two wholly unentertainable children.

Not much to say in the car. Just don't wreck, pay attention.

As the triage nurse shows us to Mr. Johnson's room she passes 20 unoccupied rooms.....TWENTY. At the end of a long hallway, the very last door, that room has many memories for me. Hard memories that I wish I could forget. "Oh please Lord, don't let us go into that room.....not now, not ever. I want to forget" I pray. As the room gets closer my mind begs my feet not to enter the room, I get nauseous, I don't want to be here. Is there any other room? Please not this one. Sweating, shaking, and fear. Has anything happened in this room that isn't sad? It's just a bad omen. Every cell in me pleads not to go in.

It's been 4 months today.

That room, the one I'd rather forget or better yet never experienced, is the room we are placed. As we enter the room the wall mounted TV was tuned to the soccer match. All I could hear was the blaring white noise of the horns and think my soul feels a lot like that right now.

It was weird to watch Mr. Johnson on the bed. It's my bed. The last place I was before it all fell apart. I remember every detail. The worried look on Mr. Johnson's face then is the same look upon my face now. The pink puke cups on the counter, and curtain that couldn't shield me from reality. It was all there. It looked so sterile. I thought about all the people who've had their lives altered in this room. Now my life would be altered in this very room again. Why here? Why not down the hall?

Mr. Johnson is stoic. I try but my eyes rim with hot tears. "Don't loose it now. Wait until I get home....not now" I plead with myself. Why didn't I wear waterproof mascara today? I saw it in the make-up stash and remember thinking, "Huh, it's been a while since I've worn that maybe I should throw it out."

I try to watch the soccer game. Mr. Johnson looks so different in a hospital gown. So vulnerable. So frail. I hate it. Should I talk? Does he want me to talk? I'm so nervous.

The cardiac nurse comes in to do some sort of an X-ray and asks me to wait outside the room. I stand in the hall and look at all the rooms full of people who may not receive good news today. Maybe today they will receive the worst news of their whole life today in this hospital just feet away from me, tucked away out of sight behind huge metal doors. I want to hug them and cry.

A nurse with blood collecting tools comes up and stands next to me in the hall. She is polite and friendly and makes chit chat. She asks me to stand further away from Mr. Johnson's room because of the radiation given off by the X-ray machine. "Your young" she says to me, "you'll want to protect those ovaries because you'll have some beautiful children someday." I start to cry and said "I wish that were true" but didn't let her see my face.

"Do you think we were put in this room for a reason?" he asks me when I come back in.

I don't know.

While we wait for results our friends and our pastor with his wife come in. Just having them there was comforting. Maybe the world won't spin out of control if other people are with us. Abby, the preacher's wife starts to cry when she's talking to me. My eyes rim again. I can't fall apart not here, not now.

The doctor enters the room. He's smiling and walks in briskly. My doctors didn't. They talked in low tones and slowly with no smile upon their faces. Being the bearer of bad news changes people. Thankfully, all of Mr. Johnson's tests came back normal. It was only stress. Some people do leave this room with good news I suppose. I am eternally thankful.

They pray for us. David (our friend) prays for "a cure for our broken-hearts" I love him. Mr. Johnson starts to cry after the prayer. I can't hold it together anymore. I sit on the bed with the intention of comforting him. I know how lonely that bed is. It's horrible. I sit with him with my head buried in his neck and arms stretched over his shoulders. Feeling him so close to me. I love him more than I love myself. I cry, and cry and cry and can't stop. "I need water proof mascara", I think. My body heaves and trembles. I can't stop and I don't want to stop. This room is horrible. I am cry for my husband and for me. He comforts me. Stokes my hair and then holds my head until I can breath on my own without him helping me.

He's perfect. I remember holding him when I was in that bed 4 months ago trying to comfort him. I wish we weren't here now doing this again. I wish I was stronger right now.


We gather our things and leave with good news. As we walked out I didn't even look back on the room that has altered our lives. I wonder if we'll ever see that room again and what news we'll hear in it.