The pApER ToWEL EIFFEL ToWEr

These are what my posts really look like..I try to write them on the fly as the situation happens then go back and fix the typos later..Not tonight..Too lazy...

Daddy: You're not an artist yet pip. quit playin with the paper towels

me: Baby!! Don't squash her creativity..Shame on you

dADDY: yOU'RE OK WITH DOG HAIR ON ALL THE PAPER TOWELS?

ME: eH..IT'S OK..WHATEVAH..distraCTED TYPING...

dADDY: cONTINUE ON PIP..
.
pIP; yEAH DADDY, DON'T MESS WITH MY EIFFEL TOWER..

ME AND DADDY: HUH?

Dear Elliott

This is a tough post but well worth it. If you haven't seen this video on YouTube yet, grab a box of tissues and sit down. It's beautiful, touching, and heartbreaking.

It's called 99 Balloons.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=th6Njr-qkq0


Sidenote - I saw this on Oprah while I was in the waiting room at the radiologist office. By the time it was over, the entire room was sniffling, even the men. What a thing to lift my spirits before I have to get a mammogram. Ugh. I don't look like I'm gonna be 40 next year. Why do I have to start acting like it. Suck-ola..

Yeah, Cuz Falling Always Makes Me Feel Better

Thanks for the bloggy love, everyone. :-) So much more I could say but..thanks so much. I appreciate it more than you know.

The strangest thing happened today. I can't quite explain why...but it made me feel so much better.

I ate it in a pile of dirt. at church. in high wedgy heels. while carrying my daughter.

We park on a street behind our church so we don't have to deal with the after church parking lot chaos. The street is paved but either side is still full of tons of clumpy dirt.

After I got Pip out of her carseat, I shut the door and started walking. I stepped on a rock and started wobbling...and wobbling..and stumbling...

then I said..."$#@! %$#@!"...and fell into this strange pretzel like position...on my butt with my right leg folded under me and my left in a weird angle with my ankle bent.

I went straight down so Pip wasn't hurt. After a moment of shock, I started laughing and saying "ow! ow! ow!" Hunter saw it happen and started laughing.. Paul ran over to the my side, saw me and Pip in the dirt and started laughing. He took Pip from me then he and Hunter each took one of my hands and pulled me up.

Then Pip started laughing.."Mommy biffed it! Mommy ate it! hahahaha! She fell on her butt!"
Paul and Hunter could not stop laughing.

"This is going down in family lore!"
"Hahaha, you're never gonna live this down!"
"Haha, mommy has dirt all over her pants and her butt!"
"Look at her purse! Hahahahaha!"
"Mom, I can't believe you swore in front of us! AND AT CHURCH! Bahahaha!"

Giggling, I wiped off my butt, legs, and purse then limped to church...During the service, Paul looked down at my left foot and started snickering. I looked down. All my toes were covered in dirt. I smiled.

I didn't even wipe it off.

We laughed about it for the rest of the day. We are laughing about it right now actually.

My toes and my ankle still hurt.

Not Tonight..

Can't post what I was originally going to tonight. I'm having one of my moments where I can't breathe, move, or think straight.....and it has nothing to do with me being sick at the moment.

I just read a post on one of the blogs I love the most. I went over to Loralee's* blog looking forward, as usual, to her latest post. Instead, I chose to read two older posts that she had written about losing her baby boy, Matthew. She lost him, ironically, the same month and year that we lost Wrigley.

I almost didn't read either of them. I'm glad I did. It was powerful how she honored her son.

At the same time, it felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. Hard.

I haven't had the guts to write about my precious girl like that.

I can't even talk about her much. I want to. I really do. I just can't.

Some of my closest friends I've made since we've moved here 2 years ago don't even know about her. They've seen her picture in our house and wondered, I'm sure, but haven't asked. If they were to, I'd tell them but if they don't, I'm not volunteering anything. The fear of crumbling into a heap, drug to a couch and being told it's ok, it's ok..you were lucky to have had her..even for a little while..she's in a better place..

Those trigger words. I can't hear them. I know I've said them to others. I get it but still...they make it worse. Loralee understands that. Even though we've never met, I feel like I know her so well in this respect. My girlfriends who helped me through it all 5 years ago understand that.

I would love to write a beautiful tribute for Wrigley. For her father. brothers. sister. grandparents. aunt and uncle. She deserves it. I've been through so much the last 5 years learning the best I can how to cope...to survive...to accept...I should be able to.

I have Wrigley in my secret place in my heart where only her and I can go...Pain and sorrow aren't allowed there...only peace, happiness and love can live there. It's a place I can go when I'm calm, relaxed, and having a good day. When I am in control of my emotions. Maybe next time I visit her there, I'll ask her if she would mind if I wrote about her tiny but Godly made life.

Maybe I'll try...but not tonight..Tonight I'll do what I normally do. Hide under the covers and pretend the rest of the world isn't there.

*Take time to read Loralee's other posts as well. She's a hilarious, talented, highly spirited writer..

I'm Sick..Guess Who Made Me Sick..He Feels Guilty Though..Good.

My husband came back from being out of town last week and he brought me back a present. I didn't like it. It has caused me to sneeze, cough, dry heave and basically just feel like total crap. I was and still continue to be ungrateful for this present.

I can't really be too mad at him though. Well, I could....but I think he's actually feeling a little guilty about giving me this present.

When I crawled in bed last night at 8:00 to lamely and fruitlessly study my lines, he came in with this:

and this:


When I got out of bed to get a drink of water, I saw this:


I wonder what I'd get if he gave me pneumonia.

Go And Take A Nice Pee Robin..

There is one July 4th in my life that stands out above all others. It was the summer going into my senior year.

I was with my friends, Craig and Khrista. We started out at Craig's house doing, of all things, playing with a ouija board. Ugh. After that we played truth or dare. I admitted to peeing in the shower..Oh don't go all high and mighty on me. You know you've done it.

When it got late enough, we snuck onto this cool golf course that looked out over the city. Awesome. There we were in the dark watching fireworks over the city. Too cool. We did a bunch of other stupid stuff that night which is what actually made it one of the best 4th of Julys ever (that info will never reach the virtual pages of this blog) but I will stick to the point of my story..

As the night was winding down, Craig was driving back to his house so Khrista and I could grab our cars and head home. On the way I decided that I really really really had to pee. I begged Craig to stop somewhere so I could go. Being the freak that he was, he pulled into a mortuary parking lot and told me to go behind the dumpster.

Pissed as I was..haha, pun intended!...I climbed out of his car and ran behind the dumpster. Have I mentioned that I had (and still have) legs of steel? Most women girls squat and pee at some point in their lives when they are faced with a situation in which there is no bathroom available but more often than not, it doesn't work out well. Weak legs, no toilet paper, pee on their ankles. It's not pretty. Me? I am was a pro at it. Nary a drop on me. Some people pack heat, I packed strong legs and toilet paper.

I do my business and saunter back to the car. As I near, I see my friends laughing hysterically. Craig has tears running down his face. Huh? Waa?

I climb back in..What are you doofs laughing at, I ask.

"You..HAHAHAHAHA...lights...HAHAHAHAHA..shadow!...BAHAHAHAHA..peed!"

HUH?!?!

Craig kept his headlights on while I was piddling...and angled the car just right...

SO HE COULD CAST MY SQUATTING-BENT-OVER-PEEING-AND-WIPING-MY-BUTT SHADOW ON THE WALL BEHIND THE DUMPSTER...

Some things from high school you forget over the years. Other things?

Stay ingrained in your head FOREVER. Especially when the mortuary is near your childhood home and you drive by it every time you go home to visit.

I cannot think of that memory without laughing or smirking.

I wonder if I was the final memory of the newly departed in that mortuary..

What PMS Really Stands For..

Got this in my e-mail recently. Too true to ignore.

Things PMS stands for:

PASS MY SHOTGUN

PSYCHOTIC MOOD SWING

PERPETUAL MUNCHING SPREE

PUFFY MID-SECTION

PEOPLE MAKE me SICK

PROVIDE ME with SWEETS

PARDON MY SOBBING

PIMPLES MAY SURFACE

PASS MY SWEATS

PISSY MOOD SYNDROME

PACK MY STUFF

POTENTIAL MURDER SUSPECT