Dreaming What Ifs...

This is My Life

While reading Nikki's account of her bad day I was reminded of another day; the morning I was released from the hospital with the Caboose.

The day he was born, I was asked by the doctor.  "I can release you Thursday evening or Friday morning."  Jammin's school class was taking a fieldtrip to the Oregon zoo on Thursday (the day before school was out for summer).  Dave was chaperoning. 

Without hesitation I told the doctor "Friday morning."  Thursday was shaping up to be a crazy day.  So, Dave and I made a plan.  He would drop Jammin' off at school Friday morning, take Buttercup for her stitches removal at the ER, and then ride the elevator up to my room.  We'd check out of the hospital and pick up Jammin' from his last day of school (early dismissal).  Then, we'd bring our brand new baby home.

Friday morning, I expected Dave and Buttercup to show up around 9am.  I was showered, dressed, ready to leave.  I just had to wait for the pediatrician to give the Caboose his final check and release. 

The door opened at 9:30am and my whole family stumbled into the hospital room; Rag-tagged, dirty, tired, the worse for wear.   They looked like refugees.  Dave's hair was standing up on end.

"What happened?"  I asked.  My whole famiy had fallen apart without me there at home. 

"Jammin's sick". And to make the point across, I watched my son run across the room and vomit into the hospital sink.

Then my husband left with Buttercup for the ER to remove the stitches.  I watched them leave, her ratty hair in need of a wash and dirty little legs exposed by crop pants.  I cringed with embarrassment. 

Then the pediatrician walked in to give the Caboose his final check.  As he looked over my newborn baby, Jammin' continued to puke into the sink. 

I stood there, looking from one son to the other from puke to baby poop, feeling a little overwhelmed.  I didn't know whether to cry or rejoice.  THIS IS MY LIFE.

Super Solution Saves Cents and Sanity

This is the first thing I saw Sunday morning when I ambled down the hallway:

 One of the red wine bottles had exploded during the night.  The spot was just damp which meant the bottle had exploded EARLY in the night.  That red wine had been sitting there for an undetermined number of hours.  (Dave and I had watched Dark Knight the previous evening.  That wine could have popped during any of the Joker's mad explosions schemes and we wouldn't have heard a thing).

I started to hyperventilate.  This was not in my game plan for the day....and I am not a good stain removing person.  I just don't have the patience or fortitude for this type of cleaning. 

So, I did what any sensible person would do.  GOOGLE.

And I found Strat's Place which lead me to THIS PAGE.

Even though Dave was not feeling well, I forced him out the door to purchase Hydrogen Peroxide.  (we normally have a bottle stored in the fridge, but not this morning.  I don't remember running out).

THE SOLUTION -
1/2 bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide (79 cents/ bottle = ~40 cents)
A small squeeze of Dawn dish soap ( $5/bottle = ~ 10 cents worth at the most)

I soaked a rag in the solution and then rubbed at the stain - It was magic.  The stain just wiped away.

For roughly 50 cents my carpet came out looking BEAUTIFUL.  Forget the red wine, the seltzer, the salt - use this solution for red wine.  AMAZING. 

I did use my carpet cleaner (steamer) afterwards with a little hot water to remove any of the soap residue left behind.  (plus, my carpets were looking pretty dingy before hand so needed a good cleaning).

I suspect OxyClean may have acted similarly but this solution is WAY cheaper and in this economy - we need all the help we can get.

Next time I get a chance, I'm going to try this solution on an old coffee stain hidden under a chair.  I'll let you all know if that works too.

 

Feeling Exposed

I finally signed up for Facebook after a few blogging friends "forced" me.  And then, an old college buddy e-mailed with excitement and fervor.  "Join!"  She cried, "We'll be able to keep in touch so much easier that way."

Not that the occasional e-mail and Christmas card wasn't keeping in touch before. 

I signed on, added friends and some family.  But, I became uneasy.  I found myself looking over my shoulder.  My neck hairs kept standing on end and I'd shiver occasionally. 

I couldn't figure out why FB made me feel so exposed.  Neither Plurk nor Blogging had this effect.  Was it because I had put my whole real name out there?  No, most of my blogging friends already knew my last name. 

And then it dawned on me.  FB is too damn nosy.  I don't like that I can't make one simple move on FB without everyone else knowing about it.  Make friends with Seski the Sasquatch and all my other friends get to know.  Make one simple little comment to a downloaded video and EVERYONE reads about it. 

On Plurk, if I decide to Friend or Fan a person - no one else needs to know.  It isn't made general news to the public.  On FB, I have to hear about who made friends with who and that just seems like too much to me.  It creeps me out a little.  Friends of friends (people I don't personally know) are finding out things I do and say and that unnerves me.       

It makes me feel exposed.  I know - there are different privacy settings.  I have them set to only "my friends" - but I think my name still goes out when anyone friends me or vice-versa.  And my comments are definitely not private.

And then the weirdest thing happened today.  I received a Facebook message from some high school friend of my husband's.  She was letting me know about his 25th class reunion coming up this summer.  WTF?!?  How did she even know I was married to him?  I've never met the woman.  When I told Dave, it took him about 5 seconds to remember who she was. 

I told Dave I was a bit freaked out that she found him through me on FB.  He reminded me how unique our last name was and that anyone in Facebook with our last name was a relative - so it was easy to deduce. 

I nicely told him to get his "own damn Facebook account."

Dave nicely retorted back that he was never getting on that "crazy thing" and if they wanted to get a hold of him, he had e-mail and a phone.            

I am now kind of feeling the same way.

Trapped

"I can't wait to go to Disneyland."  He tells me, a huge smile on his face.  "I have such talent and can't wait to touch children with it."

I smile and nod my head, but think to myself, You won't be touching my children, mother effer.

"Kids LOVE when I talk like Donald."  He turns towards Buttercup and speaks to her in Duck-ese.  She reacts exactly how he wants and I grimace inside.  She hi-fives him and laughs. 

"See?"  he says, "Kids love Donald.  And no-one is doing his voice these days.  When I go there and do his voice, then Disney can make cartoons starring Donald, and make movies with old values."

I smile and nod my head, but wonder if I should tell him about Mickey's Clubhouse on the Disney Channel.  Someone already voices Donald.  "Well, I hope that works out for you."

"Oh, it will.  I'm very positive things will happen for me."  He smiles and turns to go.  My relief is short lived.  "Just picture it, Donald and Friends.  A whole new series of cartoons and movies all based on Donald.  You know, he will get into trouble and all sorts of messes, but his friends will help him out.  These new shows will teach the old values kids need these days, instead of all that shoot-em-out cartoons they show now."

I smile and nod my head, but think about all those "shoot-em-out" cartoons.  Where are they?  Am I missing them?  Maybe they are hidden amongst the Doras, Diegos, Handy Mandys, Phineas & Ferbs, and Mighty Bs.  There are values there, if one chooses to look.

"Yup, I'm headed in the right direction."  He continues.  "You can't believe by looking at me that I'm going to be fifty in one month.  My friends can't believe it.  They all think I'm closer to thirty."

I think he acts more like a dumbass fourteen year old.  I try not to be harsh.  It's the drugs and alcohol that have mushed his brain.  When I was pregnant, our neighbor, this man's father, allowed him to move in after the last DUI lost him a drivers license and a job. 

His father told us the move was temporary.  "Only for 3-4 months until he can get back on his feet."  After ten months, I don't see any signs of moving on.  His father swears there is no drinking.  He does ride a bike everywhere;  Relief for those families of five on the road.

"Yeah, I love kids.  I don't know if I will ever have any of my own."  He sighs sadly and looks at Buttercup.  My hackles rise and I grit my teeth. 

"Well,"  I hedge, "We've got to go in and put the Caboose down for his nap."  I move toward the house in an effort to rid him from my yard.

He turns and quacks, "Bye, Bye, Buttercup."  She laughs and runs towards him to high-five again.  Her innocence and trust clearly evident across her face. 

Inside I seethe and think Mother Effer, you will NOT touch my daughter.  I do not like the attention.

We make it inside and I watch him from the window.  He hangs out in his father's driveway, puttering with his bicycle.  Occasionally he disappears from view into the garage.   

The backyard grass is too wet.  Chalking and riding bikes in our driveway is no longer an option.  I feel trapped.

150 years and going strong

HAPPY BIRTHDAY OREGON

Someone else shares this same birthday -  Seski, apparently still living large.

Notes from the Road

We drove North on Valentine's Day to see Lucy at the Pacific Science Center. 

She was a lot shorter than I imagined.  Her bones were fragile and delicate.  She was barely taller than Buttercup, quite a bit shorter than Jammin'.  There were no cameras allowed inside, although I wouldn't have gotten a good shot anyway due to the lighting and two extremely bored children (and one baby who was quite good until the very end!)

We did visit the Butterfly exhibit and quickly learned Jammin' suffers from Lepidophobia.  I blame Spongebob.  Thus, our visit was short.  The Caboose enjoyed watching the fluttering beauties while his brother had to be carried out by daddy. 

Click HERE to watch the whole Spongebob episode to understand why.

There was a cool display of the world's largest beetles.  Fortunately, they were all dead.  The jar of hissing cockroaches, however, were not.  Neither were some cool stick insects.  I'm glad they were behind glass and not in a "walk-through" exhibit.  I might have had the same reaction as Jammin'.

But, my most favorite part?  Seeing all my favorite sites along the way:

 

Fun Monday - Feet Wear What?

Gattina wants to know what we wear on our feet while hanging out inside.

Plain. Old. Boring. White. Socks. (plus anything floating around on the wood floor, which could be dog hair, cheerios, stickers, dirt, dried grass, birdseed, ripped paper, raisins, fruit loops, banana chips, cat hair, crayon shavings, dried baby spit-up, lollipop stick, small pebbles, sand-paper, or anything else random depending on the day or if the floor has been swept.)   

Free Dog to Any Food-Free Home

One 12 year old scrounging Black Labrador Retriever whose greedy nose has crossed the line a final time.   

He breaks little girls hearts by sneaking into their cherished Valentine Day packages (which were high on the table) and eating every single chocolate and candy lollipop brought home from school - and ripping apart some of the cards during the process.  And doing so all underneath the nose of both the little girl AND her mommy (who thought he was acting a little funny but just figured his arthritis was acting up and that was why he was slinking back to the bedroom). 

The same dog who about Ruined Christmas.

I could write a book about this dog.  A book with just lists of everything he has eaten or gotten into at some point in his life.  A dog whose sneaky nature has reached critical mass.  A dog who is about to be sequestered to the sunroom behind a locked door for the rest of his natural life.

A Word on Babysitting

Boyd is a sweet child.  He listens, obeys the rules, and plays well with Buttercup.  But, he brings a whole new energy to this house.  I. AM. EXHAUSTED. 

I count down the hours until it is time for him to leave.  The two kids entertain themselves, for the most part, but being he is not my child, I feel the need for vigilance and keep my eyes on the two. 

The rain and cold has kept us inside.  When the Caboose naps, I plan quiet artsy-type games away from the bedroom.  I do not need a cranky baby on top of boundless energy. 

When 3pm arrives and Boyd is out our door, Buttercup turns to me and says words she has never uttered before.  "I'm tired, mom."

Me too.

Fun Monday - Distinguishing Features

Pamela asked us to tell what defines our town.  What distinguishing feature makes the town what it is.

Immediately, three things popped into my head when I thought about my town.  There is the Paper Mill, the River, and this feature which I decided was much more prominent, especially considering I see them every single day.  I live rural, which means it is much more prevalent to me than any thing else.

  THE GRASS FIELDS

I live in The Grass Seed Capital of the World.  Yes, you heard that correctly. (I wish I had one of those sound-effect amplifiers to really hit the point across - gra-aa-ss See-eed Caa-pi-taa-aal of the Wo-o-o-rld)

Chances are, the grass growing in your backyard was grown right here near my little town.  Heck, you might have recently bought some fescue seed that was grown right across the street from me! 

I watch the seasons change through the fields.  Right now, the grass is just starting to come out of its winter slumber.  Some of the fields are being plowed.  Spring is an amazingly green time.  Every field has a slightly different color of grass seed....some are brilliant emerald while others are a darker-almost bluish shade.  (sadly, I don't have a picture of the spring colors).

Summer turns the fields brown, as the grass seed is harvested and the remaining stalks are turned into hay.   This is when playful dust devils turn dry grass into fanciful creatures.

As Autumn approaches some farmers burn the remaining grass stubble and weeds causing miles and miles of dark billowing clouds.  Fortunately for me, the grass fields near me are perennial so I don't breathe any smoke up close. 

However, during the early Fall months, I do watch scores of migrant workers, with heavy tanks on their backs, spot-kill weeding in the fields.  Little flags appear afterward, dotting the field in different formations and colors.  I've always wanted to know what they mean.  I'm assuming it has to do with the weed kill.

Other farmers use a different approach to weed kill, otherwise known as sheep.  Whether to rest a field or take the grass down naturally, many of the farms around here rent out their sheep (or rent the fields for the sheep).  I see sheep come and go from place to place.  (of course, only in the FENCED fields).

Having large open grass fields brings in other wildlife too.  There are TONS of hawks around here.  While driving down the country highway, during the summer time Kestrel's line the telephone wires.  Plenty of Red-tailed hawks, sharp-shinned hawks, and Rough-legged hawks fly the skies.  Not to mention some turkey vultures and Great blue herons, all out catching rabbits, and mice.  (oh, and I should mention the coyotes).  And during the winter months, the Canadian goose (in all its forms and disguises) arrives in great flocks to pester the farmer and rip out seedlings from the fields.

Yes, grass seed.  This town lives and breathes grass.