HAPPY HALLOWEEN

Okay, they used patterns, but Shannon made the bat and Riley did the ghost and Jack-o-lantern almost all by themselves. Be safe and have fun tonight!

Weenie Evolution

Remember when I was a sarcastic little twit who had no problem saying what was on my mind? I had the impression that I was usually right - okay, always right, and if you didn't agree you were just crazy. And just to make sure you understood me, I wouldn't hesitate to let you know exactly where you're wrong in your thinking. (My husband is saying, "What do you mean, you used to be like that?")

Some days I reminisce about the way I used to be and wish that I still had the courage, confidence, and general disregard for people's feelings that once defined who I was. (I was an obnoxious bully, to tell the truth.) But, boy, when I was in a difficult situation my attitude sure did come in handy.

Those who know me best still deal with this side of my personality, but somewhere along the way, (was it Junior High or my child-rearing years?) I realized that I didn't have to be so snarky and sharp with everybody. Particularly with people that I barely knew. It began with a conscious effort to say only nice things and grew into a conscious effort to be open-minded and concerned about other people's feelings.

I still sometimes struggle with the opposing forces within me, one that wants to say, "That's a beautiful shirt you have on," and the one that says, "I would have loved that shirt... when I was eight." The more I know someone, the more likely they're going to get the curt (and honest) response out of me. And when I'm feeling insecure, sometimes the nastiness surfaces uncontrollably, like the time I told my new neighbor, "Wow! I love your hair! It's so different, you look so... so domesticated now!" (There's a reason I refer to myself as the Queen of Inappropriate Conversation.)

Anyhow, my point is, I used to say what was on my mind, but now I try to be as polite as possible, which is a very good thing, right? What I'm noticing, however, is that some people just need to hear it like it is, and hurt feelings just shouldn't enter into the equation. Especially when they, themselves, are clueless to the damage they've inflicted. (What the heck is Colleen referring to, you ask?)

I'm talking about my hairdresser. We'll call her Amber. For the last year or so, I've been paying big bucks while receiving mediocre service, BAD color, and uneven cuts from Amber. Twenty years ago, I would have thrown a fit after the first bad cut, demanded a refund and walked the heck out of the salon, never to return again. (Of course, twenty years ago, I had hair all the way down my back and had it trimmed once a year - impossible to screw it up!) Regardless, if that trim was not up to standard, I would have thrown a fit. If only I could do that today...

After the first bad experience with Amber, I chalked it up to a 'bad day,' and went on with my life. After the second bad experience, I paid Amber (handsome tip and all) without saying a word, then later I complained to a friend and swore 'never again.' Weenie.

For my next appointment, I called on Amber's day off and feigned an emergency, requesting anybody who happened to have an opening that day. No confrontation, no hurt feelings, and we all win, right? Wonder of wonders, the lady that did my emergency cut and color did a great job! (Sadly, though, she is also one of Amber's best friends. Argh, the dilemma!)

The last time I needed my hair done, I figured I'd do the same thing. I'd just call up the salon on Amber's day off and tell them I need a cut right away while sneaking in the name of the lady who handled my previous 'emergency.' It was a great plan and I didn't feel too bad about it. Until Amber answered the phone. Guess who did my hair that day? Yep, and it was not good.

So today, Amber's day off, I once again called the salon, and the lady answered the phone with, "Colleen, we were just talking about you, we haven't seen you in ages!" Crap, they have Caller ID! I thought to myself, "Well no kidding, you haven't seen me in ages. My roots are grown out so long that you can see them from a block away, and only because I didn't have the nerve to call and make an appointment with someone other than Amber."

What I said, however, was, "Who is this, is this Amber?" She assured me that she was someone else and asked if I was ready for another appointment. I froze. I panicked. I did what comes naturally when I become insecure. Instead of just requesting another hairdresser, I rambled on for four minutes, (my Caller ID can verify this.) "Amber is a great girl and all, but she really has been botching my hair lately." Inappropriate conversation soon followed. "Amber's coloring was so poor that I needed to have touch-ups the day after she just gave me touch-ups. Her cuts are uneven and what's wrong with her, anyways? Babble babble babble. I want to see that other lady. She knows what she's doing. Can you manage that without Amber finding out?"

Needless to say, I have an appointment on Wednesday, and I have been assured that Amber will not be in the building. I was also told that it was normal for people to switch hairdressers, it wouldn't be taken personally by anybody, and they were grateful I was at least still giving my money to the salon in question. Good deal, now lets see if I actually make it to the appointment after this ordeal. For some reason, I'm actually nervous and embarrassed.

Does anybody else have a hard time switching hairdressers, or am I just a great big weenie?

Enlightenment

I've had a few things brought to my attention as of late that you may not be aware of...

Ashes cause fires. This is the primary reason that one should not smoke.If that's not enough to sway you, smocking is also bad. Shannon mens it.
Riley drew up this one especially for his daddy. Notice the first stick figure flying through the windshield. At least with a seat belt, you only hit the roof.

Did you know that, even in an emergency, wiping with kleenex is a really bad idea? Shannon clued me in on this yesterday. The toilet is still plugged up.

My three little boys still love to snuggle with their mom. (The BEST!) If you get in the way of a snuggle session however, you WILL get kicked in the head by a sibling.

If you throw a Hot Wheel into a bowl of dry Fruity Pebbles, the cereal will take on the form of a nuclear explosion. Amazing. And difficult to clean up.

It may look like your husband is making the bed, but in all actuality, he is probably just trying to locate the TV remote.

1 - 2" of snow may fall tomorrow, and I still don't have a &*%$! snow blower.

Hungry

This evening Ken left me napping on the couch and went next door for a game of poker. (It's rainy, no hunting tonight.) The boys were playing pretty well together, I guess, because it didn't occur to Ken to wake me up.

Well, about an hour ago I woke up. I guess the kids didn't get enough dinner (cubed steak paprika, mashed potatoes, and salad - they hated it,) so the boys took it upon themselves to locate a late night snack.

They managed to annihilate an entire bag of snack-sized Snickers and a new box of Star Crunches in less than 1/2 an hour. On top of that, the boys weren't even smart enough to hide the evidence. Wrappers everywhere and chocolate all over my keyboard. When confronted, Shannon informed me that Corey ate it all by himself. Riiight.

Needless to say, I'm in a mood.

Nothing to Tell You. Unless...

Unless you have a serious interest in toilet troubles. Oh, you do? Okay.

Lately my toilets have been gross. Orangey slime buildup within three days of a scrubbing, and you don't want to know what they look like if you wait a week or two. Finally I sent Ken down to check out the water softener to see if it was even working. It was.

I've been hitting the toilets with a pumice bar and all types of toxic cleaners to no avail. The other night I picked up a couple of Iron Out tablets, thinking that might at least solve the orange problem. (The slime? I dunno.) Directions said to thoroughly clean the toilets, then drop a tablet in the back of the tank before it refills. I can handle that.

After scrubbing the first toilet, I lifted up the tank lid and surprise, there was the problem the whole time! About a quarter of an inch of clay-based silt lined the bottom of the tank and had ventured up the sides. For months this crap has been sitting there leeching into the toilet bowl with every flush. Wonderful.

I scrubbed one tank out by hand, and decided to save the others for later. I'm thinking a wet vac would be much more useful in this situation, and lucky for Ken, I bought him one for Christmas last year. It will be good to see him put it to use!

But the real mystery is how I managed to not notice the city workers flushing out the water system. After all, it's not something that's easily missed.

Funk and Bush

I am in a funk. Ken will be going to 2nd Shift in November and I don't know who hates it more, him or I. Probably him, but it's not too great for me, either.

I will have to quit playing volleyball, be the only parent full-time (unless I keep the kids up until midnight so their Dad can discipline and interact with them,) and I get to hang around at CCD for two hours each week rather than spend one-on-one time with my husband. You do not realize how much I am dreading this...

Knowing that my evenings are soon to be useless, Ken encouraged me to get out of the house tonight. I'd been wanting the see the movie W despite it's bad reviews, so Heather and I went to see it. Very strange, I must say.

The theater was over 3/4 full for the 8 PM show which really surprised us. Somehow Oliver Stone made this movie into a drama, rather than the comedy most people would expect, but there were plenty of chuckles throughout about 60% of the theater on a regular basis.

I know I giggled, especially in the scene where Bush was trying to have a serious conversation while eating a bologna sandwich, Cheetos, and a Dr. Pepper. You would have to see it to understand. Sadly, though, this storyline just did not have a happy ending... Bush is still the current president and all.

Anyhow, W was worth seeing if you like to watch Letterman's Great Moments in Presidential Speeches or clips of that nature. My sister Shannon would love to watch it and heckle away, I'm sure. And Kellie. And Dad. And Mom.

Well, gotta go watch SNL, the closest I can stand to get to political news coverage nowadays. Sarah Palin in on, after all.

Gone

What happened to the maps on my sidebar? Who took them and what did you do with them?

Honestly, I swear!

Change of Plans and Smudged Nails

I just found out that Ken has to work all weekend and now the in-laws aren't coming to visit. I am not a worthy person to visit on my own. (I wouldn't visit just me, either, so I can't blame them for opting out on this trip.) Like I told Papa, I can't get no love.

Once I realized that I didn't have to scour down the house in a mad rush for 8 hours to prepare for their imminent visit, I decided I'd paint my fingernails. (Nail Polish remover does NOT remove oil-based deck stain, by the way.) After applying my top coat to my best paint job ever, I realized that my only lighter was stuck in my back pocket of my way-too-tight-because-I'm-getting-fat jeans. What's a girl to do?

Of course I smudged half of my nails retrieving the lighter, so what the heck, I might as well go type on the computer, wet nails and all. It's not like typing is going to make them look any worse...

Little Things

1) Riley's tooth did come out. (See picture)
2) The boys came up with a solution for my empty wall in the living room. If only this picture could convey how much tape they used to adhere the poster... (See picture)

3) Corey is trying to go poo on the potty without assistance. Unfortunately, this is physically impossible when he has his braces on. Big messes have ensued.
4) The house is a catastrophe. I have 1 1/2 days before the in-laws show up to correct this problem.
5) Riley informed me this morning before school that I had a lot of laundry to do.
6) Corey's eye doctor said that we have to go back to patching up to three hours a day. Here we go again...
7) I have no groceries and no desire to go get any. I've been out of Coke for 19 hours already.
8) Ken thought he was going hunting after work tonight. See what happens when he thinks? (He was wrong.)
9) Ken will be getting paid for the overtime that he was initially denied. Sadly, we wont see it until the next pay period.
10) My batteries are dead in my camera. Again. It's supposed to rain the next few days so you'll never get to see my beautiful completed deck or the big rectangle of compacted dirt left behind when we got rid of the swing set.

Dad's Heart

Friday my dad (Old Irish) went in for a heart catheter test, a fairly routine procedure for him in the last few years. The test determined that my dad's heart was fine, but when they went to shock his heart back into rhythm, (also standard procedure,) his heart stopped and they had to call a code blue and perform CPR to resuscitate him. Luckily for him, Dad was oblivious to this entire chain of events as they occurred.

Unluckily for Mom, she heard the code over the PA and ran to my Dad's room and witnessed a portion of the lifesaving efforts before she was forced out of the area. Apparently it's not a pretty sight. On top of that, she was all alone while her world was crashing all around her (literally,) and she was unable to even dial a phone number for some time. Eventually she got ahold of Kellie's husband, who was able to spread the word and get Kellie en route to the hospital ASAP.

Needless to say, as the phone calls went out, various degrees of hysteria began growing among the daughters of Old Irish (or Lazarus, as Grandma now calls him - Dad is back from the dead, after all.) I was handling the news pretty well until my sister Shannon, with her uncanny sixth sense, informed me that while she was praying for Dad to pull out of this, she pointedly heard God say, "NO!"

Fortunately, after Shannon ignored the "No," and continued her prayers, she was able to do some serious convincing and Dad came back around. It took a while for Dad to understand what had happened, all he knew was that his chest was hurting a lot. The nurses weren't being very clear with him, referring to his 'event' or his 'chest procedure,' but finally it was put into terms he could understand - "They performed CPR on you because your heart stopped." Oh.

Once Dad was stabilized, they undertook one last procedure, which went much smoother than the heart cath. Dad was fitted with a handy dandy pacemaker. It's a well functioning device with quite the instruction manual, which both Dad and Kellie have already examined thoroughly. The pacemaker has been 'interrogated' a few times and apparently it is already telling the doctors exactly what they want to hear.

After getting the all-clear for the pacemaker procedure, I drove all night from Michigan to Nebraska because I was feeling a little left out. (Okay, I wanted visual proof that Dad was okay, and Mom has been through Hell lately and I had to see her, too.) By the time I got to the hospital on Saturday morning, Dad was looking and feeling pretty good, and the mood was much lighter, hence the jokes we're all telling about the events. Just don't ask about Dad's underwear.

Knowing Dad's desire to get the heck out of the hospital, the staff did a great job having him out the door before the first quarter of the Nebraska - Texas Tech game was over. Sadly, us girls didn't appreciate the punctuality of the staff at the Nebraska Heart Institute; as Dad was standing out front, we were shooting the breeze at the car and making him wait. A testament to Dad's patience, (hey, he's alive, he's not allowed to complain,) he took the delay in stride, and made it home safely.

Later today, the parents will be heading out for yet another funeral, (my moms Uncle, then his son, and now the Uncle's wife have all died over the course of the last three months,) and I will be heading back to Michigan. Hopefully Mom and I can both stay awake through our drives, and Dad can just keep that old heart a-pumpin' and stay alive a while longer...

Obscene Phone Call

I just had a crazy phone call that is the stuff of every woman's nightmares. Some sicko on the line, complete with heavy breathing and ominous whispering...

"Hello? Hello?" I answered.

"Puff, puff, garble garble," came back in a breathless whisper.

"Hell-o?" I said, a little louder.

More heavy breathing and some indecipherable comment.

My frustration mounting, I yelled, "What do you want?"

Amidst the panting a few urgent words became clear... "I... a big one. It was huge..."

Okay...

"...a buck, I think I got it! (insert heavy breathing) "...I don't know where it went, it's too dark... home late."

Oh. That's all.

"Call me when you find your way out of the woods." Click. (That was me hanging up on my husband.) Looks like I'll have to be the one putting the kids to bed tonight, after all.

Tooth Trouble

Riley's front tooth is just dangling, waiting for a good yank for it to be gone, and he refuses to let anybody pull it. Last night while I was at volleyball, Ken convinced him to run some dental floss around the tooth so that he could just yank the floss to extract it. Riley worked the floss under and around his tooth, but then refused to pull it.

When I arrived home, Riley was walking around with six inches of dental floss hanging out of his mouth. Ken explained what was going on, and it was all I could do not to just yank it out while Riley was yapping. Finally, I told Riley to get the floss out of his mouth and go to bed. Oops, one problem, the floss was stuck. It seriously was not coming out.

We tried everything short of just yanking out the floss and the tooth, but the floss refused to budge. I told Riley there was no other option but to just rip the whole mess out of his mouth, but he refused. He had a solution, and after about a minute, he had trimmed the floss down to about 1/2 an inch with a pair of scissors. Nice.

I grabbed some Oragel to numb his tooth, and then persuaded him to let me have a go at tooth removal. I don't like pulling teeth, by the way. Riley made me do three applications of Oragel before he felt he was sufficiently numb, and then gave me the go-ahead to yank out the tooth. Wouldn't you know, that bugger just refused to come out even though it's hanging out at a 45 degree angle?

Then I threw Riley an apple and told him to eat it and the tooth still held out. Nothing was working. Finally I sent him to bed, and this morning I sent Riley off to school with the dental floss and tooth dangling from his gums, along with one simple instruction. "When you're playing with your friends at recess today, encourage one of the stronger ones to punch you in the mouth. Then we don't have to worry about that tooth anymore." (It worked the last time his brother got him good in the kisser...)

Besides, didn't I mention that I really hate having to pull teeth?

I Have a Big Deck

Yes, the deck is huge (according to Riley.) We've done most of the staining, although we're only doing one coat this Fall, then we'll hit it good again in the Spring. Ken is once again having me stain all of the post's individually, which means the exiting ones will come down. He says it looks better that way (it does,) and that it's easier to stain (he is so wrong.)

A portion of the posts I will have to remove and stain one by one.

Deck. Deck.

A carpenter suggested that we lay the boards in this pattern rather than basically demolishing our old deck to make the boards stagger in the same direction. We are pretty happy with the results and it doesn't look like we threw an imported deck right next to an existing one.

Assuming we're not completely destitute by next spring, we'd like to get a larger patio set so that we can actually eat as a family out there. We will be able to fit a table, chairs and a grill on the deck for a change! An added bonus? The kids think the deck is an oversized fort and no longer whine about our soon-to-disappear playset (which was used twice this summer - I counted.)

Lights

It's Fall, which has become my favorite season of the year. (Actually, back-to-school time is my favorite season of the year, and that happens during the Fall. I hate the inconsistent, windy and cold Fall weather.) However, with Fall comes Halloween, one of my favorite holidays. At least until I have to make costumes, anyway.

It's been too cold to put my clearanced-out, end-of-the-season perennials into the ground (freeze warning tonight: 31 degrees,) so I decided to put out my Halloween decorations instead. I told a friend that I was going for the Tackiest Decorations on the Block Award, and if my really tacky things hadn't been destroyed in the (slight) breeze hours after I'd put them up, I would have won for sure.

Needless to say, my husband never gets around to putting up my holiday lights on the house, so I use stakes to put my lights on the ground. This actually looks pretty decent, but bad things can happen. I've had dogs chew up my lights, kids trip over my lights, and just last night, I drove right over my lights.

I had lined the driveway with purple lights, and I wasn't too sure if I liked them. They're pretty on the darkest nights, but dull at dusk. They also clash with the orange lights, which are sharp and bright. Well, my subconscious must have said to lose them, because as I pulled out of the driveway with a van full of kids, (we had to go Boo the neighbors - a weird little Michigan thing similar to May baskets,) I veered right over the purple lights and crushed 1/2 of the string into oblivion.

Ken was trying to direct me out of the driveway at the time, and he became very frustrated with me. (Construction work, toys, and his car were all major obstacles at the time.) After I realized what I did, Ken chewed me out for not following his instructions, which I hadn't been able to hear in the first place. (Four loud kids in a van, radio on, and windows up. Ken needs to come up with hand signals for, "Don't run over your lights!")

Upon reflection, though, I think Ken is trying to figure out how he can get me to run over the remaining orange lights, too. He's not a big fan of my holiday decorations, and certainly not a big fan of lights hovering over the ground. But even moreso, he's not a big fan of climbing on ladders and putting my lights where they belong - on the house.

Trashed

Shannon was sitting in the tub this morning as it filled, and when his brothers were climbing in, he yelled, "Look at that! Somebody cleaned the tub! There's no more dirt on the side, or on that wall!" He was pretty darned excited.

Needless to say, my full day of cleaning yesterday was sorely needed. I managed to knock out all but the basement, and the house looked really nice when I left for volleyball last night. Then I returned home...

The boys had knocked over my (freshly watered) plant all over the living room carpet, Club Crackers were trailed about throughout the kitchen and said living room, the bathroom sink was covered in dirt and water droplets, and Ken had tracked the landscaping dirt into the house (and left his muddy shoes in my kitchen.)

Really. Why do I clean?

After I returned from volleyball and pitched a royal fit, Ken then informs me that his brother is coming into town to visit, after all, and did I get the basement cleaned up? Those of you who know me could probably guess where the conversation went from there...

Of course I told Ken he'd better get to work cleaning the downstairs (bathroom, bedroom, playroom,) so his brother didn't think we were slobs, because I refused to do anymore work that was just going to get trashed when I turned around. Of course, Ken just looked at me and went back to whatever he was doing.

Well, today is the day brother-in-law shows up, and I'm getting ready to head downstairs and clean it all up. I should have time now that I've got the plant mess vacuumed up, the kitchen back into shape, and Ken's work shoes buried in the garage. I don't know exactly where those shoes landed after I threw them with all the strength I had in me, but I bet Ken will find them someday.