Remember to breathe

I think the most exciting thing I've done in the past few weeks is to get my flu shot.  I felt like I should be standing in a huge auditorium, wearing my uniform, and standing in line with others from my work place, waiting to get a mandatory flu shot.

I hated flu shots.

Well, the shot itself isn't that bad, really.  It doesn't hurt at all.  No big deal.  No, I hated that it was mandatory.

I also hated mandatory meetings.

Something about me hates being told I must do a thing.  I feel like, "No, I don't!  Dang it!"  But then I have this very strong rule following personality, so I end up doing things like getting flu shots.

Now I can do it if I want to do it, so I do.  I'm older, I have a compromised immune system, and I'm prone to infections.  I don't want the flu.  I need the pneumonia shot, too, but the pharmacy here in the town of 10 people didn't have it available when I got the flu shot.

Erma and Ambrose and Jethro got theirs, too.  We got actual thank you cards from the pharmacy. Erma and Ambrose have theirs on the refrigerator.

So.

I don't have a lot on my mind today, other than some pretty heavy thoughts that I don't want to share here.

No, it's not that I'm suicidal or truly very depressed, but I worry about my family.

I've been out of the Air Force for many, many years, but I miss it so much sometimes.  I think Jethro misses the Army a lot, too, at times.  Some people that come into contact with me, especially, are so condescending.  I will think, "I was in charge of millions of dollars worth of equipment, and was the supervisor over 14 airmen.  I trained tons of people when I was the training NCO at various bases I was assigned to.  I've raised 4 kids by myself, and I know how to run a household.  I know how to pay a bill."

I keep quiet, though.

I will stand up for my kids, but it takes a lot to make me actually stand up for myself sometimes.  I wonder why that is...  Heck, sometimes I get angry when one of my kids says something mean to another, and one tattles and then I feel like I have to deal with the crap going on.  But if they said something about me, I would probably just cry, or tell Erma about it.

And complain a lot, until it was out of my system.

I'm going to be Erma's advocate in the labor and delivery area.  "Don't you put that epidural in her back, dang it!"  She figures I've gone through 4 kids with no pain killers, no epidurals, and she watched one of her friends deliver very quickly with nothing.  To be honest, I wanted pain killers, because darn it, that labor stuff hurts!  However, all of my labors went so fast that I was already past the time for pain killers by the time they said, "Do you need something for the pain?  Oh, oops!  You're at 8 centimeters!  Too late!  It's almost time to push!"

I hope Erma goes that fast, too.

It's much, much better and faster without an epidural.

So anyway, I'm rambling.

It's what I do best!

I really want that Dragon software, that is the speech to text program a lot of people use. It's really good, I've read.  My hands get so sore and swollen, that sometimes I can't type at all.  There are times, guys, that I can't lift up my blankets.  My hands hurt too much.  It's muscle pain, not in the fingers or joints.  My muscles hurt so badly!  It used to happen maybe once a month, so I thought maybe, just maybe, it was somehow connected to the female innard parts I still have left inside me.  Like, something with my cycle, except that my uterus is gone, so it's not really like a cycle.  Anyway, that's the technical side of things, I suppose.  Innards, I am sure, is a word most surgeons use all the time.

Now, though, the pain happens more, and my hands swell up and stay swollen longer than they used to.  Even now, my hands are falling asleep as I type.  Changing positions doesn't help.  I drop things all the time.  I've gone through more coffee cups than you can imagine.  Good thing I bought them at the thrift store, huh?

Speaking of that, our favorite thrift store up and closed!!!  We were so disappointed.  I don't understand how it happened, though I can imagine the new manager ran it into the ground.  She was not very good, I can tell you that.

I need to find another, closer one.  There is a Habitat for Humanity resale store here, which is cool.

I don't think they have clothes or coffee cups there, though.

About a year ago, Jethro bought me a rocking chair at the thrift store.  It has a back that is something like woven bamboo, and several kids couldn't resist putting their fingers into the holes, and now the bamboo is torn.  I just cut out a piece of cardboard to fit the back, and I want to cover it with a pillow that I'm making from material that was Mom's.  However, I don't know how to work her old sewing machines, my hands hurt too much to sew with needle, and though I have stitch witchery, I don't have an iron!  So, for now, I just have a broken rocker, but I'm using it anyway, dang it.

It's really kind of funny... in the box of material I have, there are three pieces of cloth that match my rocker's seat, which is made of oranges, browns, and tans.  It's almost like a gift from Mom.  "Here, honey!  These match  your chair!"  I can almost hear her.  In the box, too, were two baby dresses and a couple baby boy outfits.  Those were like a gift to Erma.  If she has a girl, she can use those dresses, if she has a boy, then he can use them, too, though that'd be weird.  Hee hee!

No, perhaps Jethro will have a boy.  Anyway, the clothes were a neat item to find.

A present from Grandma to the kids, you know?

Yes, I talk about her here a lot, I know.  I hate that others have moved on and seem to have forgotten about her.  Logically, I know that's not true.  But heartwise?  Well, I still hurt.  I still miss her, terribly.  I can't move on.  Not yet.  I don't want to forget her.  I have her pictures all around me.  In front of me on the desk, on my shelves, and on my bulletin board.  I don't talk to her or anything, but I do think about her, and wish she were still here.

She'd have come when I had pneumonia.  She'd have gone to my brother, who just spent six days in the hospital.  She'd have written to Lampshade, called my oldest nephew, and sewed baby clothes for Erma.  She loved us so and she showed it.

A part of me died when she died.

A part of me still wants to wail with the pain inside.

I deal with it by silliness and laughter.

Plus, I figure if I suddenly started wailing, I'd probably scare Ambrose and it would make Erma slap me and call the loony bin to have me admitted.

Dads love in completely different ways than Moms love, I know.  So it's hard to lose a mom who loved me so much.  I also know that death is a part of us, a part of life, really, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.  Even if I don't accept it, it doesn't mean that it won't happen, even to me.

People say things like, "You'll be fine.  Time heals the wounds.  You have to go on.  I understand how you feel."  It doesn't help, not at all.  Time isn't healing me.  Oh, I don't cry as often as I did when she first died, but I do cry.  I touch something that she touched, and I cry.  I touch one of her books, that still has her bookmark in place, and I cry.  I remember her in her hospital bed, and I remember her in her casket, and I cry.

I like to keep this journal rather light-hearted, but sometimes I simply can't do that.  It's a journal.  I share it with all of you, but it's still a journal of my thoughts and feelings.  Sometimes, my thoughts and feelings are sad.

It's how it is.

In other news, I made some fruit salad today.  You take bananas, grapes, blueberries, and strawberries, and mix them together with a box of instant vanilla pudding.  Ambrose got the sugar free, fat free kind of pudding, and I'm not sure it's working correctly.  It's supposed to help mix with the juices of the fruit as they sit in the fridge, but this pudding mostly stuck to the fruit.  It tastes good, but it's not what it's supposed to be.

Hey, what is, right?  Nothing is what it's supposed to be, is it?

Oh, my gosh, my tooth hurts!

I just bit on something, forgetting about a cavity, and OUCH!

Well, I'm going to watch some television or read something, maybe both.

Go in peace, be warm and filled.

"Oh, my GOD!!! It's a bobcat!!!"

And if you don't know the story behind that title, then never you mind.  It has nothing to do with me or me shouting that out while watching some cows angrily chasing some animal away from their calves as we, I mean, some other family, drove through South Dakota.  And it has nothing to do with my kids saying slowly, as if I, I mean, some other mother, had the intelligence of a really dumb garden snail,

 "Uh, Mom?  That's a fox."

Looked like a damn bobcat to me.  I mean, to that other mom who isn't me.

Anyway, it's been months since I've posted.

I've been busy.  And depressed.  Busy being depressed.  In pain.  Tired.  You know, the normal stuff.

I have a new doctor because I'm staying with Erma now, and because mine up and left.  Just... up and left.  Like he did before.  Rumor has it that he was arrested and the DEA is investigating, which may or may not be true.  I would say it's probably not true, but it makes a good story, so I'm going to spread the rumor.  Email me if you want his name and his facebook page.  Tee hee!

My new doctor was rather gruff and to the point when I met him.  However, Jethro sees him, too, and thought he was friendly and very nice.  I'm not sure we saw the same doctor, to be honest.  I did see one at the beginning of the month, who chomped his gum the entire time I was talking, who was arrogant and wouldn't listen to me, and so, I dropped him.  I asked for another doctor in that same clinic.  Not too long after, I got a phone call.  Because I saw one doctor and didn't like him, I can't see ANY doctor in that clinic.  Yes.  You read that right.  A doctor can fire a person for no good reason.  Person, patient, you know what I mean.  If I went in chomping gum and he didn't like me, he could fire me.  Send me packing.  He can put codes on my medical records that show other doctors that I'm a pain in the butt, or a drug seeker, or just.. whatever he wants.  They make up codes all the time.  F.O.S.? On your records or your x-rays?  It means "Full of Shit."

Shrugs.

So, I had to find a different doctor, in this town of 12 people.

I did.

So, there you go.

That's what I've been doing.  Doctor shopping in the non-drug seeking kind of way, and unpacking some boxes, and washing tons of clothing that smell suspiciously of, well, of cat urine.  Not everything does, mind you, but some of the clothes Saige and I had did smell pretty rank.

Three capfuls of Tide, hot water, and a healthy capful of some generic fabric softener, and the clothes now smell pretty good.  There are a couple of our towels I'm not so sure about, so I'll send them through the wash again.  If they don't smell good after that, then out they go!

Hey, it's all about the honesty here.

Don't tell me you've never had a cat.

And I know for a fact I'm not the only person in the world who had an idiot cat pee on the stove.  That always smelled soooo good when you didn't know your idiot cat peed on your stove, so you turned it on, and the sweet smell of disgusting cat urine began wafting through your house.

I was using sarcasm when I said it smelled good, in case you were confused.  I kind of changed from sarcastic to brutally honest there, in one fell swoop.

So, Dr. Lampshade is in jail, and he was NOT released yesterday.  Saige and I were there, and both of us wanted to jump for joy and yell out, "YES!!" While dancing the sailor's hornpipe and and pumping our fists into the air, but we felt that the judge might not approve of us doing that, so we quietly grinned at each other.

Plus, Saige doesn't know how to do the sailor's hornpipe.

I do.  Yes.

I'm lying.

Saige knows, but I don't.

Anyway...

So, Lamp stole something from me, and because he stole a bunch of other somethings, the last something made me FURIOUS, so I called the police.  They busted him and he got a court date.  He missed his court date, so they threw him in jail.  Through all of this, he also has a felony domestic abuse case going on.  He violated his probation on that.  More than once.  This is a guy who really doesn't care.  He's not had a lot of consequences, and now, now, my friends, he is having them tossed at him like bullets at a, at a, at.. a really bad guy in a police shoot out thing.

The judge was looking through the papers while the public defender tried to get Lamp out of jail.  The judge listened, looked through the papers again, said, "What'll that teach him??  I have all I need, right here."  Then he reduced Lamp's bond, asked him if he could pay it to get out, Lamp said, "Probably not."  And the judge said, "Back to jail."  You see, Lamp has learned to manipulate some of these judges.  At one time, he had been drunk or beat up or both, and he had horrible facial injuries and a concussion, so he looked punch drunk and as if someone had hit his face with a concrete eagle statue.  Which is what happened.

He was in a wheel chair.  The judge took one look, and merrily dismissed his first probation violation.

Obviously, he was being picked on and beat up, and that's why he missed seeing his officer.  She didn't think to ask WHEN the injuries occurred, and when his probation visit was supposed to take place.

I always want to talk to the judges, and to the attorney.  "Hey, dudes," I would say, because, you know, my taxes pay for their jobs, so I feel close to them, except I think judges might be elected.... huh.  I'm not homeschooling anymore, so I forgot a lot of stuff I probably should know..  where was I?  Oh.  "DUDES!!!  If you let this kid out, you are signing his death warrant.  If I bail him out" and my rule is, 'If you get arrested, too bad, so sad.  You will rot there.'  I got that from my mom.  She told me the same thing, so I managed to never get arrested, because I believed her.  Wait, where was I?  Oh, yes, "If I bail him out, dudes, it's the same thing.  He will either die of an overdose, alcohol poisoning, or someone will kill him over drugs."

It's how it is.  At least in jail he's put on weight, he's eating, he's working, and reading, and hanging out with thugs...  still, he looks good.  However, since they reduced his bond, here's how our phone calls go.

"Will you bond me out, Mom?  Huh? Please?  Get me out!"
"Lamp, I don't have the money."
"When you get some money?  Please?  Please?  Please?  What about on the 26th?"

Sigh.

He'd be going from jail to the streets.

Either one isn't good.

I'd almost rather he were in prison than on the streets, simply because I'd know where he was, and he'd be sober.  At least, I assume he'd be sober, until he got in good with Bubba and Frank, the convicts who make a living selling and trading drugs for sex.  I watch those prison shows! I know how it is.

Okay, I don't know how it is.

But I still feel he'd be better off in prison than on the streets.

As a mom, you never think you will say something like that when you're holding your newborn child or pushing him on the swings or reading him stories.  I suppose Dads don't think of their babies ending up in prison, either.

Speaking of dads, it's been seven years now that Ob died.

Seven years.

2 1/2 since my mom died.  I still miss my mom terribly.  I found the journal I kept when she was on hospice, and while reading it, tears were pouring down my cheeks.  All those feelings came rushing back to me.  Erma and I talked about her to Ambrose, because he never got to meet her, and we want people we love to know how special she was to us.  I am glad I kept that journal, even if it makes me cry, because it reminds me of things I've forgotten, and in places, it even makes me smile through my tears.

For example, she was hallucinating, and she'd see my dad, then a younger version of him would come through.  She found that very interesting and rather amusing.  She'd know it wasn't real.  As time went on, though, she'd become a bit confused.  One time she asked if I were patting her bottom, and I was nowhere near her bottom.  No one was near her bottom.  Another time she thought my sister, Emmie, was standing over her with a tray of food in her teeth.

My sister doesn't ever carry trays in her teeth.

That I know of, anyway.

She thought my brothers were on the porch, when they were unable to come.  One time she thought I was Erma, and thought Lampshade was my brother, Tardan, which wasn't very flattering to either Lamp or myself.  Heee!!!!

I was telling Jethro last night that Grandma was so interested in the whole death process, but one time she said sadly that she was learning so much, but she'd have no one to share it with.  Jethro chuckled and said, "Leave it to Grandma to keep learning, even at a time like that!"

I even wrote about my dad's new wife, coming to the house to help my mom out.  She wasn't my dad's wife then, of course.  That would be weird, for a guy who isn't inclined to have more than one wife at a time.

I wrote about the funny things Mom said, and how we'd laugh together with my sisters and Erma, even through the tough times.

I wrote about how one hospice nurse said she could feel our love in the house.

I wrote about some really bad experiences I noticed with one of the.. well, I better not say.  I don't want to upset anyone.

But someone was not very nice.

I was furious, but there's not much you can do, even as an adult, when you are in your parents' home, and you have been taught to respect others and it's just not the time to slap a bitch.

I am going to do Nanowrimo again this year.  Ambrose is signed up for it, too.  I think he's cheating because he's been writing and has a book about writing.  You are not supposed to start yet, dang it!!  Okay, I have my novel in my mind, and it's the same one I've been writing since I was 20.  It's improved since then, I know, due to my own life experiences (20 year olds really do not know everything, trust me) and writing practice through the years.

Erma is pregnant, and she's doing all right.  She does have some nausea and vomiting, and car rides make her sick, but other than that, she's doing well.  She is due on April 9th, right between her birthday, her Aunt JR's birthday, and Jethro's birthday.

Saige is staying with Jethro as a live-in nanny for the kids who call him Daddy.  They call me Gramma Cinny.  These are the children of his girlfriend, Macrame, of course, not some random kids I never wrote about before.  You remember Hope and Justice, right?  If not, then go back and read some previous entries.  They are there somewhere.

I know they are in the pictures of the Lumberjack wedding.

And that is all for now.  Life is made up of slow moments, I've found.  It's dishes and laundry and running errands, and in between all the mundane things, a few things might happen that are note worthy, but most of the time, things are a bit, well, boring around here.

Oh, we don't have the cats here, and need to find homes for Dos and Imp.  They are both spayed, and they had their shots.  I couldn't find their records, though, so I'm not sure when they are due again.  If someone takes them, I will pay for their shots.  Or just take Dos.  That would be good, too, because Dos is Saige's cat, and we couldn't bring her to either home.

I do have Fuzz Dawg and BDG here, though, and those are the ones that really matter to me.  While I loved the cats, urine and all, I LOVE Fuzz and BDG.  They are doing well here, and I'm so glad.  I would like to purchase one of those wireless fences that gives the dog a little shock, but right now, that's an expensive purchase, so they go outside on a tie out. They've learned to go to these doors, though, so that's good, when they want out.

Binnie Boo is here, too, as Erma's dog.  She and Fuzz hate each other with a rare passion that culminates in vicious fights, so Binnie will run into her kennel a lot of times when she sees Fuzz.  She will also growl menacingly at BDG and/or Fuzz Dawg if she has food in her dish.  Both BDG and Fuzz will steal food, so who can blame Binnie for growling and carrying on?

Okay, that's it.

Go in peace, be warm and filled.

You My Fave-it!

Having fake grandkids around really, really does my heart good.  Oh, they are normal little girls who can be really really bad sometimes, but it sure brings a smile to my face when they come running towards my truck, huge grins on their faces, arms extended, and both of them yelling, "GRAMMA CINNY!!  GRAMMA CINNY!!!"  as I park in their driveway.

I'd bought Jethro a little gift at the Dollar Tree Store, where we'd picked up the gifts for Britney, so I was taking it to his house to give to him.  I also have a package of Pull-Ups here that I found on the huge discount/everything is on sale table at Kroger and picked up for Justice.  Of course, I forget those every time I see Jethro or Macrame.  But I took him his present, got my hugs from the girls, listened to their chattered and admired their new squid hats, and then Justice, the cuddle bug, said, "Pit me up!" and she held her hands to me.

I picked her up, and she curled her arms and legs around me, and put her head on my shoulder, saying, "You my fave-it!" to me.

How can any heart stand up to something like that??  Everything just melts when you hear a little one say, "You are my favorite."  Awwww!!!

I always say things to the girls like, "You are my very favorite Hope in the whole wide world!"  Or, "You are my favorite 2 year old!"  I let them both know that I love them equally, and they are both my favorites.

I also love it love it LOVE IT when I get a letter from my very favorite, Anna.  I don't get to see her nearly enough, but she sends us pictures and letters, and sometimes we get a phone call from her. I miss this kid like crazy, people.  I see the pictures her mom sends or posts with Anna playing soccer, and I can remember her learning how to run, and the funny way she moved her arms as she chugged along.  I see her writing, and remember her "painting" the porch with water and a paintbrush.  When she lost her first tooth, I remember when she was a toothless little squishy baby, and how cute she looked with her teeth as they came in.

One tough little soccer goalie!

Anna is the one in green with gray sweats, closest to the ball.

The older, crazy acting, weird woman who was stalking Dr. Lampshade until she realized he was bad news, called Saige's phone late last night.  Apparently she found a lot of Wii games were missing, as well as some other items.  She knew Lamp stole them, because someone had told her that Lamp stole her stuff, but she hadn't noticed these games and items were gone.  I don't know what she's going to do.

He got my phone number, and yesterday he called me to remind me it was Brit's birthday.  I told him that we'd seen her and taken her some gifts, and that yes, we had to go through all the security to get to her.   He thought it was bogus that we could see her, and he, as her husband, could not, and I just agreed with him.  I was thinking, though, that if he'd behaved while he'd been there while she was in the SICU, and he'd actually been a husband instead of a little boy, he probably could go visit her.

But he burned those bridges that he needed to cross, and now, too bad, so sad.

He's going to end up in prison, the way he's going.  I think he needs hardcore rehab, not prison, but what he's doing to get drugs is illegal and punishable by prison time, or jail time.

It is so hard to love a son so much that you would do almost anything for him, and realize that what you are doing to try to help is simply wrong for this kid of yours.  It is enabling him to continue in what he's doing, and it's hurting, not helping.  That is hard, hard, to understand and come to terms with.  It's hard seeing the boy that was underneath the man he's become, and realizing that I am not the one to get that boy back.  I can't do it.  He needs real help, not just a sandwich and a glass of water from Mommy.

It hurts.

So having a little one grab me in a big bear hug and say softly, "You my fave-it," is something that helps my heart heal.

Yesterday Saige and I didn't go to any fireworks show.  Jethro had picked up a lot of firecrackers and smoky things and exploding things when he was in Missouri, and so he handed Saige a few items to mess with at our house.  Nothing big or illegal, just some popping and smoking type fireworks, and a few sparklers.

When I was about 6 years old, our neighbors had some sparklers, and they asked my mom if I could play with one.  Mom said that I could, and I was thrilled to hold this sparkling piece of metal.  I remember they told me to whirl it around, and I obeyed, watching the beautiful sparks against the dark sky.  It felt, and looked, magical.  I didn't realize that I was holding something that burned at over 2,000 degrees, and I'm sure mom didn't either, or I would never have had that moment of fun.  Mom was very safety conscious with us, and we couldn't eat things like hard candy in the car, we wore seat belts and special kid seat belts even when it wasn't a law.  "Cross arms!" she'd say, as she closed the car doors, and we'd cross our arms over our chest so we wouldn't get our fingers slammed in the door.  She didn't coddle us, though, and she did let us run and play in mud and creeks and in the woods, but in the car, especially, she wanted us as safe as possible.

She'd lost her favorite cousin, Gary, who'd been like a brother to her, when his car was demolished by a drunk driver.  The drunk man in the other car got off without so much as a cut, but Gary was killed.

I'm sure that's why she felt as she did, and why she wanted us to stay safe.

She was extremely anti-alcohol, which, I'm sad to say, made some of us desperately want to try it.

Wow, I went way off topic here.  What the heck??  Who is supposed to be keeping an eye on me and stopping me from doing this, hmm?  You're not doing a good job, let me tell you.  

Where was I?

Oh, the fourth of July.

I think Saige and I had fun, even if we didn't go to a fireworks show.  She is terrified of those party popper things, which makes me laugh. You know, those plastic bottles that have a string you pull at one end, and there's a little bang as strings and confetti come out the bottle top.  Saige does NOT like those.  I was nice and didn't point mine at her.

She put those party streamers and some toilet paper up in the tree.  We lit some of those silly black snakes.  When the black pellet started to expand into the "snake", Saige said, "Are they supposed to look like poop?"  Well, uh, yes.  But they didn't  sell well advertised as, "Poop Pellets."

The kids have always loved those snappers.  Unfortunately, our dogs and the cats hate those snappers.  They aren't very loud at all, but that snapping pop scares the pets, poor things.

But sparklers are pretty cool.. er.. hot

I remember one fourth of July where I showed up at my best friend's apartment.  My boyfriend had decided not to pick me up, or call, or anything, so I went to her place.  My brothers and their friends had made up this rather silly, slightly foul song, and I was singing it to her, while we drank some beer and shot off bottle rockets.  I never laughed so hard as I did when my friend suddenly spouted off a verse of her own to the song, and it was hysterical.  Let me tell you, the words she came up with were hysterical even without beer. Or bottle rockets.  She definitely cheered me up, and I said a wonderful, sparkly goodbye as the bottle rocket I had shot straight into a tree instead of going into the air like it was supposed to.  

Maybe you had to be there.

But it was funny.

I just found this friend again through the wonder that is Facebook.  I wonder if she remembers that day the way I do.

Saige and I had a silly string war, too.  You can't tell by the photo, but I won that war, fair and square, only I cheated.  Hee hee!  While she was out merrily tossing toilet paper into the tree, I was lying in wait for her, my silly string can in hand, ready to spray.  

She shrieked like a little girl when that first blast of cold yicky smelling string hit her in the head.

I actually draped myself in the silly string for the benefit of this photo.  

Honest.

Ask Saige.

I won.

We both busted up laughing, though, as we sprayed that nasty stuff at each other.  I even wished we had more!

You can run

But you can't hide

I hope Jethro and his family had a nice time lighting off all the fireworks he had.  The girls were so excited when I got there, and then Jethro was so excited to show me everything he had.

I took Lamp to his appointment with the psychiatrist, who wanted to see me.  I made the mistake, apparently it was a mistake, anyway, of telling the doc that Lamp stole my Zune.  I told Lampshade he was very lucky I even took him to the appointment, and that I hadn't wanted to go in to see the doc in the first place.  He's lucky I didn't say more!  

And get this...

I took Lamp to the place he's staying.

It's a nice apartment complex.  He plays basketball, has central air, video games, a washer and dryer, and no rent to pay, plus plenty of food. Yeah, I think my kicking him out to have him hit rock bottom has really worked well, don't you?   Hopefully, his friends will start to tire of having him around, and some time soon, he'll find himself without a friendly couch to sleep on.

That might sound hateful of me, but it's the only way, I truly believe, that an addict can start to heal.  Hit rock bottom, with no support so he or she can use, and then go on to rehab and learn to live without drugs.

Watch Intervention if you don't believe me.

I told the psychiatrist that Lamp was headed for prison if he weren't careful.  Lamp thinks he can get out of it.  I'm not sure how, exactly, but he was turning over different scenarios in his mind and talking aloud as he worked through them.  Mostly I was ignoring him.  

Anyway, that is it for now.  Go in peace, be warmed and filled, stay out of the heat, and stay out of jail!

Happy Day of Independence!

Well, happy Independence Day for those American readers of mine.  I do realize that other countries have different days of independence than we have.

A few years ago, okay, many years ago now, we were in Germany, and the base put on a fireworks show.  My husband and I, along with our kids, went to see this show.  We all sat down in the bleachers provided, and were teasing our British friends, asking if they were even allowed to celebrate this day with us.   Suddenly, there was an announcement over the P.A. system, and we were told to move across the field to the other set of bleachers, so we wouldn't  be hit by flying embers.

The show began, fireworks were shot into the air, and the wind shifted suddenly.  We were being bombarded with glowing embers, pieces of fireworks, and ashes.  Of course, we found it hysterical, not because we were being burned alive, which we weren't, as most of the embers went out before they hit us, but because they'd made us move before the show started.  Had we been left alone, we wouldn't have gone home with blackened faces, smelling like smoke and gunpowder.

It was fun, though, and a very memorable Fourth of July!

Sometimes I wish Ob were still alive, so I could say, "Remember that 4th of July in Germany where we were getting hit by falling fireworks and yelling out, 'INCOMING! as they fell towards us?'"

So today is Britney's 21st birthday.  Saige and I ran out to the Dollar Store yesterday afternoon, and purchased quite a few gifts for her.  Saige is really good at picking out gifts for others, and puts a lot of thought into what she picks out.  Me?  Well, in all honesty, I spent most of my time picking out a case for my cell phone.  Hey!  It took quite a lot of thought to be able to find one that fit my phone and that looked good enough for my standards.  Okay. I have no standards.  But while Saige was picking out girly nail polish and art supplies, I was putting my phone in various cell phone holders.

I did pick out some adorable flip flop shaped erasers for Britney, and I picked out the colored pencils.

Saige picked out everything else.

We came home, where Saige wrapped all the gifts.  At one point she looked around, surrounded by gifts as she sat on the floor, and she said, "Well, I am a bit overwhelmed!"

Still, she did a great job. She wrapped quite a few of the presents, and we'd picked out a couple gift bags for the rest.  We loaded up the truck with the gifts, and a huge bouquet of balloons.  We wanted to try to make Britney smile, at least, for a moment.

Have  you ever tried to drive for an hour with a bouquet of balloons bouncing around behind you, blocking your rear view?  If not, may I suggest you don't try it?  Not unless you have a helper in the seat beside you, so when you screech, "I can't see!!"  The helper can try to push the helium balloons downwards, so you can see, if just for a brief moment.

We got to the hospital, and then drove forward a few blocks to the Dairy Queen, to buy an ice cream cake.  (Britney had requested one)  We wanted to get one that would allow us to put her name, or to put something like, "Happy 21st 4th of July!" but alas, all the cakes were already covered.  We found one that had a tie-dyed design on top, and it said "Happy Birthday".  It was white with green frosting trimming around the top of the cake.

We drove back to the hospital after we bought the cake.  This is a large complex, you see, and you have to park in a parking garage.  We found a place to park, and then we had to figure out how we were going to carry all the gifts, the balloons, and the cake up to Brit's room.

And!

The handles broke on one of the gift bags.

I don't know how we did it, but we did it.  Saige had to do most of the work, because with my muscle issues and tendency to drop things, I can't carry too much.

The balloon bouquet covered everything we could think of:  The 4th of July, Happy Birthday, Princess (Which is the theme Saige came up with to make Brit smile.  She's more the, well, vampire type than a princess), favorite colors of Black and Red, and Get Well Soon.

Still, she put on her blow up crown right away, as we came into the room and visited with her and with her dad.

Princess Britney and her Dad

He refused to put on his crown.  

There are just so many lines some men won't cross.

Erma and Ambrose showed up to say "Happy Birthday", which was nice.  Ambrose?  He willingly put on his crown. In fact, he wore it all the rest of the evening, and even into Taco Bell, where we met up after the birthday celebration.

We did a lot of laughing, which was awesome, considering the circumstances.  But laughter heals the bones, and in Brit's case, I hope it helped heal the spine, too.

She's been in a tremendous amount of pain in her legs, which the doctors say is good.  That means her spine is healing.  Slowly, but it is healing.  

Saige decorated the room.  There's the Happy Birthday banner on the wall behind the bed, and she decorated the door with streamers. You can't see that.  She didn't put a lot of thought or time into decorating because, as she said, the nurses would probably pull the decorations down anyway.

So Britney received art paper, paints, crayons, coloring books, colored pencils, erasers, and anything else we could think of that was artsy.  Saige picked out some foam frames and some foam stickers, as well as glitter glue, so Britney could make some cool picture frames.  She got the girly stuff, like nail polish, nail polish remover, facial towels, baby wipes, and some of those cute little towels you put in water and they get bigger.  Anything we could think of, like I said earlier, that might be fun and make her smile, as well as give her stuff to do, is what we brought her.

I think she liked her gifts.  Sadly, she found out about the death of one of her hamsters right before Erma and Ambrose arrived, which was rough, and then she was in so much pain right as we were leaving that I felt badly for her.  It's hard to see anyone in that much pain.  

I bought Jethro a present at the Dollar Store, but he is not answering his phone.  Hmmpht. I might just keep it for myself.

Oh, in case you were wondering, I did find a case for my cell phone.  

Gotta love the Dollar Store.

So, what are our plans for tonight?  Apparently, according to Saige, she and I are having a silly string war, and then she's going to decorate the tree out front with the leftover birthday streamer.  I'm not sure what that has to do with the Independence of our nation, but hey, I'm all for Silly String.  You can't beat that for a fun time!  

We saw quite a few fireworks as we drove home, as it was pretty late by the time we took off to head back to our town.  We could see several shows going on at the same time, and the skies were filled with dark, scary storm clouds, AND with bright, happy, sparkly fireworks.  

Saige said she thought she preferred seeing the fireworks from the moving vehicle, rather than sitting there in a large group of people, oohing and aahing.   

One more thing.  We bought some of those birthday, oh, what are they called?  You know, you blow them and the paper part unfurls?  They don't make any noise, really.  Well, whatever they are called, BDG is absolutely TERRIFIED of them.  Terrified.  Saige blew on one, not even facing him, and he came unglued.  That silly dog was barking his panicked, scared bark, and then he leapt on to the couch, right on top of me, and attempted to somehow meld his body with mine.  It was not a pleasant sensation, as he is one big old dawg.  I told Saige to stop doing that, but then, it was so funny, she did it again. And again, BDG panicked, and burrowed against me.  

We cannot figure out why he was so scared.  Fuzz Dawg, the dog who is afraid of singing, didn't bat an eye.  In fact, I think she was bored by the noise maker that made no noise, and she fell asleep.   

I finally got BDG off of me, and he laid down on the floor beside the couch, wanting protection in case that scary thing came back to bother him.  

That was our day.

Hope you have a great holiday today.  

Go in peace, be warm (but not too warm in this weather!), and filled. 

The Only Thing We Did That Night, to Fill Our Hearts With Cheer..

Was scrape the ice cubes off the corpse and put them in our beer!

Mom used to sing that song, remember, siblings of mine?  The Night That Paddy Murphy Died, I think, is the song. I sang it to my kids, and now I walk around and sing it to the dogs.  They are not impressed, and to be honest, my singing makes Fuzz Dawg anxious, especially if I go to a falsetto voice.  Poor Fuzz Dawg will come running towards me, concern in her eyes, and she'll paw at me in distress, and nuzzle me, and generally try to get me to show her that I'm okay, not howling in pain.

"Are you okay?  I heard howling.  Were you singing?  Huh?  Ooh!  Can I go outside with you?"

"I was singing!  'Oh the cow kicked Nelly in the belly in the barn..'"

Speaking of anxious dogs, last night the fireworks were going off around us, and Fuzz was running around the living room, peering out the windows, and barking hysterically with each loud boom and crack.  She was very upset.  Last year both dogs were terrified, but this year, BDG, the Big Dumb Golden, just kind of laid around on the floor, not paying a lot of attention to the scary noises.  Usually at this time of year that big old dog becomes a lap dog, and when the fireworks start going off, he climbs into my lap, begging for protection from the scariness.

They're not like this at all with thunderstorms, so they know the difference.

Today Saige and I are planning to take a trip to see Britney in the hospital.  We're going to take her a few gifts and we'll pick up an ice cream cake or something for her birthday, which is the 4th.  Right now Saige is sleeping since she's turned into a party animal--party all night, sleep all day--so I'll let her rest and then wake her up when we have to go get the stuff and put gas in the truck and take off.

"I wasn't singing, but I am a party animal!  Rawr."

Okay, in all honesty, I'm pretty sure that Saige isn't partying in the way, say, her big brother Dr. Lampshade would party.  She's actually really allergic to smoke, especially to marijuana smoke.  But it is strange to realize that she's no longer a little kid, and that she has friends and she goes to parties.  ARGH!  Stop growing up, Saige!!

You know she's going to be all defiant and she's going to keep growing up.

Rotten kid.

So, it's insanely hot outside.  The animals mostly just lie around the house, trying to stay cool.  A couple of them spend a lot of time near the potty, not to use it, of course, but to get a drink of water from it. They do that even when their water bowls are filled with nice cool water and ice cubes.  

We've found homes for most of the kittens. We still have P Bear here, who is the most relaxed, gooey cat I've ever known.  By gooey I mean that she just turns to a boneless, floppy kitten when she's sleeping or being petted.

One of the rescued kittens from the ugliest litter on record in the entire history of the world got a new, forever home a few days ago.  I'm glad.  We called her Lola, but her new name is Zoe.  Her sister, Bella, needs a new home soon, because I'm becoming attached to her.  She attached herself to P Bear, it seems, and they spend a lot of time sleeping and playing together.

This photo shows P Bear in the middle, cuddling with Bella and Lola.

I had to laugh yesterday, when Saige and I came home from running some errands and picking up a few groceries.  Why did I have to laugh, you ask?  Yes, I hear you asking.  Well, because of this, first of all:  

Which made me quip, "Sometimes you want a salad, but sometimes, you just want to eat the lettuce seeds."  I'm not sure which animal took a bite out of this seed packet, but I have my suspicions.

The other reason I had to laugh was because I have determined that when you put a bag of groceries in your dresser drawer, you have either turned into your mother, or you are tired and distracted and should just go take a nap.  

Not that I put a bag of groceries in my dresser drawer.

Ahem.

Okay, I am done rambling and carrying on.  Go in peace, be warm and filled.  Have fun this weekend, and be careful!