...We Would Have No Luck At All

This post is actually the second part to my previous post "If It Weren't For Bad Luck", in which I began the story of our downward spiral ever since we've moved to this North Raleigh town. The previous post took place in the Spring. When Summer arrived, the elevator dropped again.

Hubsy became very ill and returned to the "franchise clinic" for a diagnosis of Pneumonia. "Here's some meds, and don't work for a few days". Of course, this time he didn't stay out for long. Hubsy is a trooper and if he can walk, he'll run.

Oh, and in case you've forgotten, throughout the last six months I have continued to suffer through all of my Bipolar symptoms. That hasn't stopped. I wasn't suddenly cured just because there were more important things going on. Although I did go through a very heavy depressive cycle, I've mostly remained in a mixed state, with an increasing number of panic attacks, and the return of debilitating agoraphobia. But hold your horses. Let's not get too far into that here, because no doubt there will be a separate post about that later, on my personal page.

The elevator stabilized in July, and we began desperately trying to pry those doors apart. Hubsy was able to land temporary jobs for The Punkin and The Boy as Marketing Assistants for his own boss. They were out there, sign spinning, during some of the hottest days of the year! Then he helped me land the job as their Social Media Manager. I created a blog for them. I created new profiles and social pages, as their previous ones had been hi-jacked by prior disgruntled employees. I made frequent posts on their behalf and even took my own photos for their use. After a few weeks, Punkin left the property to pursue another job opportunity, but The Boy stayed on, spinning signs and acting as an office assistant, and Hubs picked up some overtime.

Yes, the Summer blessed us with the ability to catch up on all of the bills, and we even bought a used washer and dryer! You see, for the four months prior, we had been sneaking around, doing laundry at apartment communities because we couldn't afford the laundromat, and occasionally doing a few loads of "bathtub laundry". We bought school clothes for The Princess, since she was outgrowing everything; and a few new pieces for my closet, since everything was outgrowing me!

By the end of August, the extra income was fading away, but little did we know that the elevator was gearing up for another drop. I won't go into detail, for the sake of others, but let's just say that a couple of employees grew balls the size of Rocky Mountain Boulders... Management suddenly went deaf, dumb, and blind... and the office politics was thicker than the nation's capital. Having to travel out of town for the death of a family member in September was almost a welcomed escape. If only Punkin and I hadn't brought back a viral souvenir that had us both laid up for a month! I recovered, Punkin did not.

The end of October witnessed the slow death of our refrigerator/freezer. Two visits from the tech and new parts installed couldn't save it. Of course, this had to occur right after a visit to the grocery store. We lost about $200 worth of meat, dairy, and questionable items. You know, when in doubt, throw it out. We could not be reimbursed by management, or renter's insurance. 

So, early November had Hubsy and Punkin both traveling to see our family doctor. Punkin got meds and is recovering nicely. My dear Hubsy... not so much.

If It Weren't For Bad Luck...

When last we met, I was gushing about our wonderful new house. We were feeling "top floor" at the time, but it turns out that our move was more like stepping into an elevator, from the "top floor", only to find that it is swinging precariously from a single frayed wire. Occasionally the box unexpectedly plummets, just a few floors at a time. 

Two days after our big move, The Boy's motor scooter was stolen from our driveway. Although it was recovered by the police only one street over, it had been totaled, and the carburetor was missing. (Phoey on you, Thieves, because the carburetor was already busted!). Needless to say, the scooter was not insured, as it is not required by our state.

Within two weeks of settling in, I had to rescue my daughter from a dime sized ceiling spider. When the little bugger unexpectedly took the upper hand, I freaked out and fell backward off of the ladder. Luckily I landed firmly on my right foot ... which promptly twisted to the side and snapped in the middle. Being that we already have a nice stack of unpaid medical bills in the filing cabinet, I did not go to the doctor. I also did not get a chance to rest and heal, as my lovely children misinterpreted the event as vacation. They practically celebrated the temporary reprieve from all of their chores, which includes keeping the pets alive, and never gave thought to picking up my slack. My foot is now permanently damaged, and I sometimes fall into a limp. Oh well, such is life. I actually found myself grateful for the life experience.

Just about two weeks after my own accident, Hubsy's back went out, which it has done about twice a year for fifteen years, as the result of a car accident. It's almost quite routine; his back goes into spasms and stiffens, he goes to the doctor, "Here's some meds, don't work for a few days.", and it's done. This time was a little bit different. As we have not yet found a new local family doctor, Hubsy went to the "franchise clinic" located less than a mile from our home, at three times the copay of our family doctor (and of course another bill that comes later). This doctor was amazed that no other doctor had thought to X-Ray his spine since we completed the whole joke of a court case fifteen years ago. So, off to the specialist (at twice the copay) for an MRI, which reveals that he has a severely herniated disk. "Here's some meds, and don't work for a few days." Hubsy returns to the specialist to begin a treatment regimen that may, or may not, rid him of pain. With the assurance that insurance would cover it, he took the first shot. Come to find out, even with insurance, the treatments are $300 a pop. "Thank you, Doctor, it's been nice knowing you. I'll be expecting your bill." 

For a while, the proverbial elevator seemed to stabilize. Even though Punkin and I were no longer babysitting, my son had given up his job to relocate with us, and Hubs had missed a bit of work, we managed to keep the lights on, the water flowing. and the rent paid (among other bills of course), even if everything was either a month behind, or at least a few weeks late. Then again, we were pretty hungry. I dropped two sizes trying to make sure that the kids weren't hurting.

Thank the Universe for friendly neighbors who bring fresh laid eggs, and those who bring fresh garden veggies, and Aunts who surprise us with school supply money. And don't forget, it was throughout this time that we were able to enjoy and appreciate all of the things that I had listed in my previous post, The House That Keeps On Giving. We thought "maybe, the elevator will remain stable, And maybe we could pry open the doors. And then maybe we could find the up-escalator, or at least a set of stairs.

The Hunt For A New Home

My little circus is now residing under a brand new Big Top.

With Hubsy's new property being twenty some miles away, we finally made the decision to relocate (flee from the hood).  We'd been talking about it for the past year, but this time we made the firm decision to do it, and to do it now.  

No really, I mean now... now... RIGHT NOW!  (If you're not familiar with what I am referring to, please see #6 of this post about my Bipolar "mood personalities").

It took me two days to find this house.  I mean, it wasn't hidden under a rock somewhere.  But even if it had been hidden in the farthest back boondocks of the internet, I would've found it.  We were destined to find it; we just didn't know it yet.

It was the second listing in the search results that met my housing criteria, but I wasn't particularly pleased with the curb appeal in the photo, so I moved on.  No biggie.  I wasn't going to jump on the very first, or second house I found, you know.

I must have looked at fifty houses over the course of two days, in various areas surrounding our targeted town, but nothing really jumped out at me.  I didn't think I was being picky, but we had a did have a certain criteria in mind.  Okay, so our "criteria" was really nothing more than a hopeful list of dreams... what would we have, if we could have anything?

1.  I really want each of my kids to have their own room.  First of all, I am sooo done with the fighting and the drama over who snores or talks in their sleep, who won't turn down the music late at night, and who really made that mess.  Besides, these girls need a place to freely express their very different personalities.  A comfort zone, a safe zone, a no-fly zone.  The teenager doesn't want to stare down Dave Coulier and Taylor Swift in the conscious hours that are the darkness of her emo-punk existence.

2.  It has to be a house.  No more duplex, and certainly no apartment.  No more sharing a wall, backyard, or driveway with anyone who will not be equally as considerate of noise and decorum, and have at least an equal amount of common sense.

3.  And if it's going to be a house, it sure would be nice to have a bit of a yard.  As a family, we love spending time outdoors, but we're also kind of homebodies, so we need a private space of our own.  And a place for the dog to roam freely.  And I've wanted a vegetable garden forever.  Yeah, we need a yard.

4.  Our new home must be just a hop and a skip from Hubsy's new workplace.  No more gas guzzling, time consuming jumps back and forth.

5.  And lastly, we need a stunning price.  One of the benefits of this move has got to be that it benefits our bottom line.  We need to save money.    

So, back to the top of the list, and back to that second house.  The one that had a stunning price, a separate bedroom for each kid, a quarter acre of land, a mere mile from Hubsy's workplace.  Well this time, I decided to view it on Google map... and I should have known never to judge a book by it's cover. It was an adorable, little country house with a huge corner lot yard, everything on my wish list ... and a terribly ugly front porch. Uh, I think I can deal with that.  Oh yes, the Universe has led me to this house.

It took nearly a week of email tag, scheduling and rescheduling, to get an appointment for viewing. By the time the agent and I got our calendars synchronized, there was another interested party sniffing around.  As much as I wanted the house, I was already becoming annoyed with it, but the sudden competition spurred a sense of conquest.  We jumped on it, signed the lease, and moved in. Oh how I wish it had been as easy as it sounds.  But that's another story.

Home School is Like Playing School

When I was a little girl, I loved to play school with my neighborhood friends, or my cousin, or my little sister.  We went all out with it too... paper, pencils, and a long pointing stick for tapping at math problems on the large rolling chalkboard.  Some of us fifth and sixth graders would save old workbooks and collect extra handouts throughout the year, so that we could play some serious school with the kinder-kids over the summer break.  We would even make up permission slips for parents to sign, so that we could take the tots on a "field trip" to the local playground, or on a picnic.

As my grade levels increased, what we once referred to as "playing school", was relabeled "tutoring".  And of course, as the years marched on and my own kiddies came along, it was again renamed to "helping with the homework".

Now, in my middle age, there's a new term for it.  Home School.  And it is some serious $h!t.  I actually filed papers with the state of North Carolina, who in turn legalized my school with a registration number.  My home is now the SNB Academy, and has an enrollment of one ninth grade student.  I get to download and print lesson plans, or pre-made worksheets on any subjects I choose.  In fact, I even get to choose the subjects; the entire curriculum, for that matter.  Even though the state regulations are few, I am attempting to follow as closely as I can to the manner of our local high school, in their "block scheduling".  Each semester carries only four classes, but each class must have 130-150 hours of instruction.

Every day that we conduct some sort of educational activity, I make a mark in the attendance log.  I teach three to four subjects a day, for extended periods.  In fact, Punkin and I skipped English altogether yesterday, because we had an extended four hour Civics lesson.  We're only doing about three hours a week of P.E. (at the gym), but that's because I'm waiting for warmer weather.  Spring means hiking and paddle boating.  Summer mean swimming.  It's all counts for credit.

Credit opportunities seem to be everywhere.  When a friend of ours recently offered my girls horseback riding lessons, the first thing I did was figure out how I could turn them into a course credit.  It has since become the Equine Sciences course.  Whenever we go out to the farm, my student will rack up time with the animals.  She'll have care and grooming lessons from the owner, she'll get behavioral studies from learning to ride, and she can shadow the vet on regular checkups.  On days when we're not at the farm, we're watching Discovery Channel and National Geographic videos on the evolution and history of the modern horse.  We're printing and studying skeletal, digestion and reproduction charts and photos. 

And that's how it's done.  Home schooling has turned out to be easier than I expected, and we're getting so much more out of it, than public school.  By teaching to her, on her level, in the best manner for her learning abilities, we're finding a level of productivity that she's rarely experienced before.  Not only that, but her levels of anxiety, and impulsiveness are down.  She's helping out more around the house, and ... well, she's maturing.  We should have done this years ago.

           

Mama Becomes A Home School Teacher

Ladies and Gentlemen,

The Ringmaster's Family Circus is proud to present

a stunt that has never before been attempted under this big top!

Keep your eyes on the center ring

to see the amazing metamorphosis of

The Ringmaster Mama,

from family manager to home school administrator.

Watch closely

as The Ringmaster attempts to

wrestle and wrangle,

constrain and control

the wild and willful

Punkin!

Armed with nothing more than

my own wits

and every available technology,

I will take her from

Disobedient, Disrespectful, Disinterested,

(and "dis" close to becoming a ward of the Dept of Juvenile Justice)

to

Motivated, Educated, and Inspired.

Make sure you've got your popcorn,

and prepare to be dazzled!

A Mother's Mantra

Becoming a parent is not an obligation, but a personal choice, that comes with great responsibility, and rights that are justly deserved.  I have chosen to bring four new human beings into existence, and so:

I have a responsibility to the world, to make sure that the people I have brought into it are worth the space they take, and the resources they consume.  I have a responsibility to make sure that they are pleasant enough people, with whom the world doesn't mind sharing the space.  I need to instill in them, a sense of reciprocation, so that they are inspired to give back a little of what they take from the world, to keep it whole for those that come up behind them.  I owe the world my very best effort to create people who are:

-- good and sincere friends, who will never hesitate to lend a listening ear, offer a supportive shoulder, and accentuate the good times when they roll.
-- solid citizens who will respect their nation's history, live within their means, and the boundaries of the law, while understanding and enjoying their rights, and exercising their own responsibility to keep those rights in tact.
-- hard working employees, who understand the value of their education, or their sweat, and know it's worth, in trade for a dollar.
-- loyal and respectful spouses, who are trusting and worthy of the same, who will cherish their blessings and honor their commitments.

From the moment they take their first breath of life, I will do my very best to:

-- educate them at every turn, through words and experience, and lead them by example.
-- see to their health and well being; physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
-- provide them a safe, loving, and supportive home to act as a solid foundation, on which to build their own lives.
-- protect them from the dangers that I can, and support them through the disappointments and heartbreaks from which I cannot protect them.

Above all else, I will dedicate all that I have, without sacrificing all that I am.  They will learn to love and respect themselves, as well as the world, by watching me do for myself all that I do for them.

If I do all that I am able, as a human being, I have the right to be accepted, respected, and valued by others.  I have the right to be honored by society as a whole, regardless of whether or not I have a college degree, or a financially rewarding career.  And I have the right to rest, because a mother's work is never done.

Mama's Monday Morning Gripe

It's Monday, again.  I hate Monday.

When I was a kid, Monday was Mom's big cleaning day, and I'm still getting over it.  Bad memories of feather dusters, scrub brushes, and buckets of sudsy water.  They keep me up at night.  Mostly Sunday nights.  Man, old habits never die, do they?  Since the common areas of the house are cleaned and straightened throughout the week, Monday has become my habitual cleaning day.  Well, bathrooms and laundry anyway.  I'm developing a new habit, though.  Instead of disinfecting the bathrooms on Monday, I've been accidentally cleaning the kitchen.  It's totally an accident.  

You see, my circus clowns are oblivious to their surroundings, and their bathroom habits are downright disgusting.  Hubsy shaves and the whiskers cling in a circle around the sink, glued on by dried shaving cream, or soap.  The counter or floor is often dotted with the sprinkling of various facial and body powders.  The downstairs wash room has seen feces on the wall, boogers on the table, and a dead roach that no one would touch for days! 

The bathroom designated for my offspring consistently looks like an episode of Hoarders.  There is a small collection of empty shampoo, conditioner, and body wash bottles in the shower.  There are empty cardboard paper rolls, rolling around on the floor.  The contents of the wastebasket have been spilling out for over for a week, and they just keep piling more stuff on top.  At least they knew enough to use clean towels, which have been draped across the shower curtain rod, although two or three of the old ones are dangling stiffly from the towel bar.  Still. 

So, bathrooms, and the cleaning and disinfecting of them is definitely my main Monday Morning Gripe.  On the up side, laundry day has become an institution, however.  Come Monday... Come rain, come shine, come hell, or high water, by God, that laundry will be done (on earth as it is in Heaven).  In fact, when I spent a day babysitting a friend's toddlers, I took my loads along!  It was laundry day, dammit!  Luckily, my loads have diminished since I gave the high command for the girls to start being responsible for their own clean clothes.  The Boy has been doing his own for years.  The time I save by not doing their laundry, can now be spent reminding and nagging them to do it.  It's brilliant.

Waiting On The Woman Who Runs The Show

Earlier this year, I found out that The Hubs and The Boy take bets on how long it will take me to get ready for a family outing.  Whether it's our week long vacation, a trip to the zoo, a hike in the woods, a picnic in the park, or a day at the beach.  They bet on how late I will be, past the projected departure time.

That's okay, I have a good defense.  I'm the Mom.  Not only do I have to prepare myself for the day, I have to prepare for the day itself.  While each member of the family only seems to think about themselves : washing, dressing, eating ..."Okay, let's go!".  I have to think about what the events of the day may require of us... all five of us.

First there's the morning routine:
1) Have Punkin and Princess taken their daily medications?
2) Are they dressed appropriately for the occasion?
3) Have they made their beds and straightened their room?
4) Have they eaten breakfast?

Then we pack (depending on our destination):
1)  The camera and some extra batteries.
2)  Sunblock for the before, and skin lotions for the after (when applicable).
3)  Insect repellent, hand sanitizer, and wet wipes.
4)  Bathing suits, towels, and a change of clothes.
5)  Electronics;  mp3 players, cellphones, handheld gaming devices, Kindles, and all associated chargers.
6)  Have I chosen a geocache or two to hit while we're out?  Print the map and clue sheet.
7)  Pain medications for the old folks, and allergy meds for whoever may be in need.
8)  The cooler, lunch, and snacks.
9)  Accessories; hats, sunglasses, purses.
10)  A short list of things to pick up on the way out; gas, ice, snacks, bottled water.
  
Before we even think about leaving, I must prepare the house:
1)  No dirty dishes left in the sink.  I certainly don't want to come home achy and tired from a full day of activity, to be confronted by kitchen duties.
2)  Take out the trash, (especially if we plan to be gone for more than a day).
3)  Be sure that the pets have ample food and water.
4)  Take the dog out for a good long 'relieving'.

Oh yeah... I forgot about myself.  Am I ready to go?
Be the sure that the kids have something to occupy themselves with in the car, and finally...
Does anybody have to use the bathroom?

So go ahead, Gentlemen, place your bets.  We may be a half hour behind schedule, but you're guaranteed to have a good time today, because The Mama was prepared.

Is it just me, or are your outings this hectic, too?    

Ten Things That Have Me Growing Old Grumpily

Like most other women my age, I am struggling with the process of growing older.  Of course, I do the best I can with what I have to work with, but sometimes, I sure wish I had a little more to work with.  These are my top ten complaints about the ticking of the clock.


1)  Sad Eyes:  When my children were young, I would read to them every night before bed.  We read One Fish Two Fish, Hop on Pop, and other old favorites.  Now that we're all quite a bit older, they have begun reading to me.  We read the directions on the back of the Tylenol bottle, the list of ingredients on the sides of food packages, the cooking suggestions on the pork roast, and so on.

2)  Fifty Shades of Gray:  The gray in my temples refuses to be covered by any coloring kit, even the ones made for "stubborn grays", but I don't mind.  I like my gray temples.  They make me feel distinguished, and I feel like I've earned every one of them.  But the grays that are showing up... ummm... elsewhere... are really starting to bother me.  These are the ones that nobody wants to say that they've earned.

3)  Say Whaaa?:  It has become a running joke in my family, and even I laugh along, but this hearing loss is quite a nuisance.  Aside from the constant ringing in my ears, I 'm bothered by the thought that there may be birds that I can't hear singing.  Or little nuances in the music that I may be missing.  And there isn't a conversation that goes by without me having to ask "what?" about seven times.  Damn you, 1984 Boombox on my shoulder!

4)  Filling in the Blanks:  When roasting a chicken from the scratchiest of scratch, there's no such thing as overplucking the bird.  But when it comes to eyebrows, overplucking is definitely an issue.  After so many years, they just don't grow back.  And the ones that do are like bristles from the brush I use to clean the back yard grill.  So now, in order to keep from looking as if I'm in a constant state of surprise, I've had to buddy up with my eyebrow pencil.  But at least I'm not the like the neighbor I knew as a child, who shaved her eyebrows and then used her pencil to purposefully create the overplucked constant state of surprise look.

5)  Tanning The Hyde:  Yes, in my younger years, I lathered up with oil and laid my body out to bake.  And of course, as a lover of the outdoors (and of spending time in the sun), I have suffered several serious burns.  Although I count myself as pretty darn lucky that I haven't developed any sort of skin cancer (as of yet), I am forced to live my life behind the mask of sun damage.  Dark spots, and an uneven skin tone that keep me covered in Cover Girl.

6)  The Flibber Flab:  I've always heard that those last ten pounds are the hardest to lose, but it's not the weight that bugs me the most.  No, that would have to be the lack of muscle tone.  I said my final farewells to the flat tummy, and the firm triceps long ago, but do they have to add insult to injury by jiggling so darn much?

7)  Tennis Balls in Tube Socks:  I heard this description from a stand up comic, years before I could relate.  Okay, it is a bit of an exaggeration, but believe me, there's no need to thump the melons... I can tell you that they're not as firm as they use to be.

8)  Combination Skin:  No, I'm not talking about that dreaded T-zone, that oil field that sits smack dab in the middle of a dry facial Sahara.  I'm talking about having one foot on either side of the timeline.  Like the commercial says "You've got your mother's wrinkles, and your teenager's acne, simultaneously".  But the hormonal roller coaster doesn't end there, it whisks me right into the next number...

9)  Out of Season:  The hormonal change... It may be a roller coaster, but it's certainly no joy ride.  So many changes are taking place.  Like when the bedroom morphs into a sauna somewhere around the witching hour, and you find yourself pouring ice cubes down your nightgown.  First you laugh about it, then you bitch about it, then you cry about it.  Geeez.  It's a lot like being pregnant... in July!

10)  Cramming For Finals:  I'm a bit unnerved by all the new exams that come with age.  Three years ago, the doctor threw me for a loop, and threw an EKG into the lineup of my yearly physical.  And then early this year, I experienced my first "mammal-o-gram".  How can my body be deteriorating, while my mind is still rockin' out, and crushing on hot college dudes?            


If you can relate to me, on any one of these points... or have a new one to add to the list ... please leave a comment, and share your indignity with the rest of us, so that we don't feel so alone.


 

Spoiled Teenager Dreads A One Mile Walk

I sent Punkin to the store this morning to pick up some laundry detergent and kitty litter.  It was a necessity, as today is Monday, and Mondays have always (since I was a kid), been the laundry and housecleaning day.  Hubsy and I were just at the store yesterday, picking up fare for family meals, and a few other staples, but I didn't realize how low we were on these items. 

I made sure to send her first thing in the morning, before the heat index had a chance to climb to a dangerous level.  This particular grocery store is one mile, at the most, away from our home.  She certainly doesn't mind walking that far with a group of friends, or to meet up with a group of friends... to get a soda, or some makeup... or just to get away from home for a while.  Although, when she has to go at my request, for household items... OMG, you would think I just cuffed her to a chain gang.  Her "terrible ordeal" has just been posted to Facebook, and so I have chosen Blogger, as my forum of choice, to respond.

Laura Ingalls walked at least three miles to and from school every day... come rain, snow, or sweltering heat... with wild boars, bears, wolves, snakes, and bobcats.  There are children in Africa who would walk three times that distance for the opportunity to learn reading, writing, and math.  They hold out the hope that, if they survived the lions, crocs, or being abducted or raped and mutilated by guerrilla fighters, they might someday be able to move their families out of poverty.  It's the same story in some far eastern countries.  They also walk miles away from home to sell farmed goods at a street market.  Then, they'll walk miles again to find work in a factory that pays less than one would make in America simply by selling a pint of blood.

It's not as if I asked her to walk to the polluted, crocodile infested river, to beat our laundry against a rock.  All I needed was a pre-made, plastic packaged stainfighting detergent, so that I could have a machine do all the work.  It's not as if I asked her to hunt me down some small mammal that we might skin and stew up for some much needed calories.  All I needed was a box of absorbent and pretty scented sand, so that our pampered pet can do her business (indoors!), and not have to worry about a predator hunting her down.

Hmmm, I was writing this to make a point about how spoiled American teenagers are... but now... Man, even I feel so spoiled.

The Best Dog Ever Saved Me From A Snakebite

My six and a half year old shepherd/collie puppy-love is an accidental superhero. She didn't valiantly and knowingly put herself between me and the danger. It was just a matter of poor manners on her part, pushing past me on the porch to be the first one out. But if it hadn't been her, it would have been me. So, accidental or not, she is my superhero.

Hubsy and I had been sitting on the back porch, enjoying the cool and lovely evening, when he brought to my attention the fact that Puppy-Girl hadn't been taken out that afternoon, since Punkin hadn't been home to do it. Recognizing the word "out" she jumped up and coaxed me toward the front door. Hubsy followed a step or two behind. Knowing where we live, and accepting the dangers, I had gotten into the habit of looking down onto and all around the welcome mat. Like a good little girl, I look left and then right before crossing the porch. But not this time. I don't know what it was that had me so distracted, but instead of my usual precautions, I opened the door and stepped blindly down.  I didn't even think to look around, I just kept stepping to the edge of the three step porch.

That's when my dog, excited and quite pushy, slid right past my leg and headed down the single step onto the sidewalk, where just two feet in front of me sat a monstrous demon serpent, coiled and lying in wait.  Okay so it was a twelve inch baby copperhead, but don't let it's age deceive you.  The babies can be far more dangerous than their elders.  A bite from a youngster is a crap shoot.  They have little control over their venom at that age and he could either give you just a taste, or dump the whole load, if he envenomates you at all.

Even when I saw Brandi leaning over to investigate it, I couldn't tell it was a snake at all.  It was eight thirty, and the daylight was fading.  The earthy beige and brownish grey patterns on it's back blended into the pebbly concrete of the sidewalk.  He was coiled, and small, so out of the corner of my eye, I thought it was a leaf.  You must imagine the next part in slow motion in order to appreciate how it happened in my brain.

He cocked his head back in the typical S formation.  Seeing this minuscule movement, my primal mind knew that it was a serpent, a full ten seconds before my conscious mind could comprehend it.  His head then bolted forward toward Brandi's curious snout, and latched on.  Again, in slow motion, Brandi shook her head and flipped the snake briefly into the air.  Now it is ten seconds later, and my mind has caught up to itself.  "It's a snake!" I screamed, and tried to jump back into the doorway, only to crash into Hubsy, as he was stepping out.  He grabbed a shovel and hunted it down a few feet away.  While he chopped and sliced and poked it with the shovel, Brandi did that cute little thing when she uses her paws to rub her nose.  It wasn't so cute this time.  It was a sign that had indeed been bitten.  But after the initial rub, she bounced right back, and ran around in the driveway.  She continued on, into the grass to do her ... thing.  While she sniffed around the yard, Hubs and I examined the bloody corpse, and confirmed the species.  Then we all went back inside.


I immediately began researching the effects of a copperhead snake bite on dogs.  Good news... only 3% of dogs bitten by copperheads are fatally poisoned.  That's a pretty low number.  But I took note of the symptoms, from mild to severe, and read several personal stories of pets that have recovered from their wounds.  I learned that most vets don't carry antivenin in stock, because it's so rarely needed, and so very expensive.  So, we made the decision to wait it out at home, but would consult our neighbor, who is a vet, if needed.  But thus far, nothing was needed.  Brandi seemed fine, and we thought perhaps it was a dry bite after all.  Yup, that's what we thought because we didn't realize that the symptoms take about a half hour to show.  I went back and read that later.   


It started with the squinting.  Princess pointed it out.  Brandi often squints when you turn on the light first thing in the morning, and when she's really tired, but now I know that she also squints when she's in a lot of pain.  Placing my hand firmly on her back, I could feel her trembling.  Then came the seeping and bleeding from the bite wound at the bottom edge of her nose.  And her snout began to swell.  A few hours later, her snout has swollen to nearly three times it's original size.  She looked like a different dog, and even though it wasn't funny... it was kinda funny.  The girls and I laid down by her side, and whispered softly, as we caressed her back and head.  I waited a while and watched for the onset of further symptoms: excessive panting, vomiting, incontinence, and temporary paralysis.  As of midnight, only a couple of "panting spells" occurred, and only when she got up to follow me somewhere.  What a sweetie... still trying to follow me around even when suffering.

Protection

Hubs and I eventually went to bed, but the girls slept in the living room to keep watch over Puppy-Girl.  It was a tough sleep that night, my mind fearing the worst, yet hoping and trusting that everything was going to be okay.  Needless to say, we took turns sneaking downstairs in the weee hours, to check on our babies... mostly the furry one.  By the break of day, she was showing signs of recovery.  Up and moving about with far less squinting, and occasionally chasing after a beloved toy.  Although the wound continued to seep and bleed throughout the night, it was now scabbing over.  The second day, after the bite, saw reduced swelling and further physical activity.  Unlike myself, she showed no fear of returning to the great outdoors.  I, on the other hand, required two containers of "Snake-Away" scattered in the garden, behind the bushes, along the driveway and the edge of the porch, and down the path on the side of the house.  It smells like moth balls.  Yes, my whole neighborhood now smells like Great Grandma's house, but I'm sure that everyone will thank me for it... maybe... someday.     

Interesting Facts About Copperheads

Hubsy Spoke Those Four Little Words

Actions speak louder than words, it's true, but sometimes the words can make all the difference. 

Hubsy recently spoke those words.  Four little words that I honestly didn't think I would ever hear.  There was once a time when I knew for certain that he felt that way, so much so that the words didn't even matter.  

But that seems like such a long time ago.  And I know that in our seventeen year relationship, there have been times when I knew for certain that he felt the exact opposite.  In fact, it wasn't that long ago that I was sure he was going to just throw his hands up and walk away, an angry, bitter and broken man.  

But he stuck it out.  Maybe it was my convincing, or maybe it was just because that's who he is.  A real trooper.  A non-quitter.  A man who would suck it up, and continue to go through the motions, regardless of his misery, and the inner turmoil that he tries so hard to hide, even if it was corroding his soul.  He stuck it out because he had responsibilities that he would never walk away from, and he always puts the happiness of others before his own.  Because that's who he is.

But something changed.  I don't know what exactly it is, and I don't need to.  All I need is to see that smile, and know that he's no longer carrying such a heavy burden.  The darkness has lifted, and the air is lighter, much easier to breathe.  I only pray that it continues, and that within a few years time I may get to hear him say those four little words again.  

I think, for a woman who truly loves her man, there can be precious little that tops hearing him say "I love my job!"

The Texas Gal Writes About The Ringmaster

Ladies and Gentlemen, let me draw your attention to the blogwriter in the center ring!  She's a stay at home mom, raising two little rodeo clowns, deep in the heart of Texas.  She raises ornamental poultry, among various other domesticated creatures, including a country husband.  She's also the writer of the mom-blog "Mommy's Personal Space".  I've given her the key to the bigtop today, to show off her writing skills to my own readers, and... well, just to show her off!  She's my eldest baby!

________________________________ 

Taking The Show On The Road 





by Crystal Burton

(Mommy's Personal Space)



Running a household and raising children take so much time, effort, and creativity. The Family Ringmaster chose well with that title—at times “the circus” is the only way to describe it. It may be years on down the road, but one day the children will grow up and move out of the house and start families of their own.

It is at that time when the Ringmaster must bring down the tent. When the main attractions decide to part with the circus and become their own Ringmasters, putting on their own shows. The Punkin and The Princess will have their hands full with the maintenance and upkeep that comes with any circus, and they will have new found appreciations for their own Ringmaster mama. The Boy, while perhaps not standing in the limelight as Ringmaster, will surely be running the show with the lights and cameras and technical details to the circus he becomes a part of.

What will happen then with our beloved Ringmaster? The show must go on... and go on, it shall! Just imagine where she might end up if she were to take her then circus-of-two on the road...

If you follow your Ringmaster's other blogs, you know that she is very much interested in Genealogy. Her grandmother wrote many journals documenting her research of the family trees, tracing back to Charlemagne, early Caesars, Lord Baltimore, and many other amazing historical figures. This captivated the Ringmaster so much that she started a blog to document her own findings, not only of her family but also of her husband's. (The Genealogy Junky). Seeing all of these amazing familial links on a computer screen or in a book is fascinating as it is, but with the free time (and spare change) that grown children leaving home has to offer, this opens the possibility for the Ringmaster and her Hubsy to visit all of these historical sites, not just the more well-known battlefields but anywhere an ancestor lived or died.

Maybe they would start by traveling up and down the eastern seaboard, revisiting the historical sites that her grandmother took her to when she was younger. And not even limiting themselves to only her family history, they could go to New Haven, Connecticut and see where Hubsy's ancestors lived! Then they would travel out of the country, to the Philippines, to see where Ringmaster's great uncle John Hall Owings, Jr served in the Battle of Bataan in World War II. Perhaps they would even go to Genoa, in northern Italy, to see where her Hubsy's ancestors lived just before they came to America. (I will gladly go along with them on that one, since I too have ancestors, and possibly even living relatives, in Italy.)

The traveling doesn't even have to stop there. I remember a time, years ago, when your Ringmaster was also a novelist, working on a story set in the olden times of Celtic Anglo-Saxon England. The few pages I had read of her work-in-progress left me waiting impatiently for the next chapter, and sadly it never came. Some things just have to be put aside for a while, but with the chance to actually visit the lands her book describes, she may just be inspired to continue her writing. (Once again I would gladly go along on that trip to see such beautiful countryside. Not even Texas could compare to England, from the pictures I've seen.) Just imagine, though, reading a book and seeing the Ringmaster on the back cover!

This is only what I would imagine the Ringmaster might do. Perhaps she will discover a new hobby? We can only wait till the tent comes down to find out, and that is still many years in the future. If I'm lucky, maybe she'll travel to Texas and stay out here with me. I'm sure I could bribe her with a few cows, or farming plots...

Where Is Mom On The Periodic Table of Elements?

There are some things in this world that just don't mix, or don't mix well.  For instance, one should never attempt to operate a text messaging device and a motor vehicle at the same time.  While these things are fine on their own, they simply do not go together without risk of great bodily injury or death.

Some things can not even be put within close proximity to one another without risk:  gasoline and an open flame, or Jennifer and Angelina.  Again, while fine on their own, the combination of these substances may result in bodily injury. 

And then there are things that normally will not bond, without the addition of an emulsifier.  We know these things to be oil with water, and fathers with teenage daughters, (as well as siblings).  In the kitchen, an egg or stick of butter will help the particles of oil and water to blend together nicely.  In the case of father and daughter (or siblings), the appropriate emulsifier is commonly known as Mom.

As one of the strongest elements in the known universe, Mom can withstand great pressures (when handled properly), and has a high tolerance for stress, motion, and heat.  Mom is capable of producing large amounts of self sustaining energy, and is able to recharge through simple means (like a hot shower, a favorite television show, and/or chocolate).

However, as an emulsifier, Mom should not be overused in this capacity.  Over-reliance will cause Mom to degrade and become unstable, resulting in outbursts, withdrawal, and resentment.  To avoid these occurances, it is recommended that the other ingrediants learn the arts of conversation, empathy, respect, retreat, and restart.

This concludes our science lesson for today.  Please refer to your notes, as you may be quizzed in the future.

Warning:  do not expose Mom to low temperatures or loud noises.

A Busy Christmas Eve Eve

First thought:  I need a new calendar.  2011 is coming to an end rather quickly.  I already have appointments set for the new year, but I have no next year's calendar on which to solidify them.  If I had a 2012 calendar, then I could rid my bulletin board of all the loose appointment cards that clutter it up.  And speaking of days of the week, The Boy has neglected to keep track of them since he began working.  Yesterday was trash day, and the truck passed us by, without a bin at my curb.  How in the world are we going to fit all the Christmas Day trash in the bin, on top of all of last week's daily refuse, while we wait for next Thursday's truck?!

Okay, enough complaining about the future and the past... let's move on to the present.  Today is Christmas Eve Eve, the busiest day of the year.  The carpet needed a good vacuum, so that it could be shampoo'ed.  I had to shampoo it because Kitty decided to use it as a litter box, because she was thrown off by the baking soda that I sprinkled in her real litter box.  (Whew! Who knew that run on sentences are just as tiring when typed as they are when spoken).  While shampooing, I noticed that my brush heads were not rotating.  So I proceeded to take the machine apart, with the intent to fix it.  However, all that really happened was that I stared at all the mechanisms that I know nothing about, before putting it all back together again.  So the machine will spit water, and suck it up, but will not scrub the fibers, which really irks the OCD side of me.  I'll give you one guess as to who will be shopping for a new carpet shampooer when the tax refund comes in next year.

Since Christmas Eve is the day we choose to enjoy our big holiday meal, today will be spent baking pies, breads, and cookies for dessert ... chopping and slicing carrots, celery, cheese and pickles for the snack tray ... and vacuuming, straightening, and deodorizing the house.  It's 12:30 pm... I'm on my second pot of coffee, and I haven't yet showered and dressed for the day.  I've had to re-vacuum the hallway, as my daughter stepped in the flour that I spilled on the floor, and left white footprints on the carpet.  I still have to season the turkey for roasting tomorrow, and cover the table with cloths and festive candles. While waiting for the oven timer to buzz, I'm blogging to you.  Busy busy busy. 

So what is the moral of this story, kids?  Appreciate your Mama, 'cause holidays don't just happen, they are created by the Wonderful Wizard of Ma's.  And don't you dare peek behind the curtain... all you'll find is a tired old woman, with bedhead, in pajamas and a pumpkin splattered apron, pulling all the strings!

Merry Christmas!          

Time Traveling Through Genealogy

I confess...

It's been quite some time since I've written a post, here, or on any one of my other blogs.  I haven't been Tweeting, and my face has hardly appeared on the "Book of Faces".  I can't even begin to tell you how many afternoon episodes of Law and Order I have missed.  Although, I have kept up with the laundry, and have thoroughly cleansed the bathrooms and kitchen, I must admit that several items in my home are blanketed in a layer of dust.

Yesterday, at the suggestion of my Punkin, it occurred to me to wonder if any of you have been wondering if I've fallen off the face of the planet.  Well, the truth is, I have, sort of.  I have fallen out of the present day, and have spent the past month wandering through the misty fogs of several other time periods.  I started my journey in the recent decades of Connecticut, and Virginia.  I followed a few trails leading into Georgia, Maryland, and New York.  I spent the nineteenth century dazed and confused in the little villages of County Cork, Ireland, and currently, I have found myself in 15th century England.

How have I managed to achieve these adventures without leaving my desk chair?  By immersing myself in online family ancestry research.  As I know I've mentioned before, my paternal grandmother had spent decades of her life tracing our family bloodlines, and discovering such gems as former American president, George Washington, several royal houses of Europe (Kings of England, Scotland, France, and Portugal), Charlemagne, and even Julius Caesar.  She's put together eight (or nine) volumes, for family reference, of lineage charts, copies of her documentation, and certificates of lineage from National and Worldwide Historical Societies.  As much as everyone in the family is impressed with her findings, I seem to be the only one who literally has to hold on to something heavy to keep myself from floating away to seventh Heaven, or dangerously attempting back flips, over it. 

So, I have become the next generation's amateur genealogist.  At this moment I have my hands full of several projects.  I'm putting together a volume of lineage for my Hubsy's maternal line.  I am reworking my grandmothers charts, and I'm tracing my maternal grandmother's line.  I recently assisted my best friend in building her lineage chart, and The Boy has asked me to trace his father's lines as well.  Whew!  I know, it's a lot, and yes, I burn myself out, some days, but I am in love with this work!  Several people have expressed to me that I should do this for a living, and I couldn't think of anything I'd love more, but I wouldn't even know where to start... except...

...Maybe if any of my readers would be interested, or know someone who might be interested, in having a little genealogy research done... drop me a line, and we'll try to work something out.

Ten Reasons Why I Couldn't Create A Ten List

Here are the ten reasons why I didn't have time to write a decent top ten list this week.  I've received such wonderful comments on my past lists, that I feel rather guilty about letting ya'll down today, but the last seven days have just ran me ragged.  Never fear... for I have several other top tens in the works, that I will be refining for future publication!  In the meantime, let me explain why I've been a Top Ten slacker this past week.

1)  An epic battle with the insurance company over my youngest daughter's medication.  A growth hormone that was prescribed by her endocrinologist, to accelerate her slow growth patterns, brought on by Turner's Syndrome.  A medication that she's been taking for about three years now, without issue.  Suddenly, bureaucracy, red tape, and the run around are rampant.

2)  A spin off of number one ... the denial of my teen daughter's ADHD therapy, by previously mentioned insurance company.  Therapy that they have approved for nearly five years.  Oddly enough, as I receive denial letters, the therapist reports that she has already received payment.  Someone somewhere needs to get their ducks lined up in that proverbial row.

3)  Insurance Confusion, Part Three.  Yes, it appears to be an epic trilogy, as the insurance czar also denies select psychiatric visits, which are necessary to monitor my daughter's progress on her ADHD medications.  These three occurances have had me filling out forms, faxing, phoning, and emailing all week! 

4)  Injury number 247.  Take one thirteen year old girl, with long, lean legs, and a fondness for risky physical activity... add one cup each of ADHD, hypochondria, a craving for attention, and a hatred of school.  Mix well, and in the end, you get a phone call from the school nurse outlining the latest gym class accident... an overextended knee.  Although she is fine, it had to be monitored since two years ago, that same knee had been dislocated by (what is known as) the Karate Class Incident.

5)  Happy Birthday!  Take that same thirteen year old girl, and add one full rotation of the earth around the sun!  Voila... a fourteen year old girl!

6)  Cleaning.  Yes, it's the time of year to organize closets, cabinets, and drawers ... dust the unreachables... wash and/or deodorize upholstery, and other fabrics... and so on.  I'll get to that stuff eventually.  But this past week has mostly been spent on returning the house to it's original state.  The state it was in before my husband spent two weeks at home, recovering from a back injury.  Two weeks spent on the couch watching instant Netflix movies, and catching up on DVR'd television shows, surrounded by various pharmaceuticals, ice packs and heating pads.  Aside from the muscle spasms, and nerve pain, it was a nice home based vacation, blessing us with that rare time spent alone together.

 

7)  A good book.  I have a limited time to read this 627 page biographical retrospective before it has to go back to the library.  I don't want to have to renew it, because I recently acquired several other books that I can't wait to dive into.  So, please excuse me, if some of the time I would normally spend writing, is temporarily devoted to reading.

8)  The runaround.  No, not the kind that I've been getting from the insurance company, but the typical kind.  Pharmacies, grocery shopping, doctors appointments, carpooling hubby to and from work so I could have the car during the day, department store shopping for birthday preparation, and a visit to the doctor's office to fill out paperwork for the insurance appeal.

9)  Blogging.  Although I wasn't able to finish my intended top ten list in time for today's publication, I did make headway in the draft I'm preparing for next week.  I also prepared a recent posting for Ringmaster, and my other major blog (FascinationEarth).  I made the rounds to my favorite family and nature blogs, and made a few Twitter Tweets, and Facebook updates. 

10)  Sleep.  Aaaah, sweet slumber.  C'mon, Moms, you now what I'm talking about.

My House And Our Love/Hate Relationship

Please take note of my sarcasm when I say "as much as I adore apartment living", we've relocated to a duplex in a local neighborhood.  As with any new home, it takes some getting used to, but there are some things about this house that just aren't ever going to make it to my good side. But there are good things about it, too.  How about a Ten List detailing my love/hate relationship with this domicile?

#1... I love that my little cottage-feeling rental house backs up against a county-protected lake that is naturally protected by a small forest. I love being encased by tall pines, strong oaks and various other species of trees. However, I hate that both my porch and my yard are completely shaded by low leafy branches and high full crowns, making impossible for me to cultivate any type of edible garden.

#2... I cannot stress enough how grateful I am for my life in the woods. Feathered friends come to socialize at my feeders, and butterflies fly by, throughout the day. I marvel at the occasional doe, and even the random raccoon that graces the property. However, the constant threat of copperheads and cottonmouths sends shivers down my spine, and keeps me in state of anxiety when my children play outside.

#3... I love that the house was built into a hill, which raises my back deck about fifteen feet off the ground, giving me a deeper view into the woods. After a heavy rain, I watch the rising creek (about fifty feet away), rush to empty into the marsh, which drains into the lake. However, I hate that the back yard sits at the bottom of the hill, catching all that rain and turning it into the natural marsh's evil twin.

#4... All of the doors and windows in my home are accented in a beautifully stained oak trim. The window panes themselves are encased in the same stained oak frames. It really brings a country feel to the decor, which I just love. However, I'm pretty sure that these are the original doors and windows that came with the house when it was first built, and they are everything but energy efficient.

#5... I love that my teenage son has a space to call his own, in this three bedroom house. In our prior residence, my hubs and I had the master, and my two little girls shared a room. My son was confined to the "sun room" (a tiny den surrounded by windows), separated from the rest of the house by a curtain hanging from the wide open archway. However, now that he has his own room, I can't get him to come out of it!

#6... I finally have a whole separate room, under the stairs, just for the washer and dryer, and I love it! It's actually quite a spacious little alcove, and perfect for storing away a few extra things. Okay, a LOT of extra things. What I hate, is that the dryer vents are clogged, forcing me to vent the dryer into the house. A wonderful little perk in the heart of the winter. I can turn down the heat, and let the dryer take the chill out of the air. However, no matter the season, I have to keep the laundry room door wide open, or the humidity builds up and causes the decorative "popcorn" plaster to fall from the ceiling.

#7... For the first time since my childhood, I live in a two story residence. Our more private areas, the bedrooms, are on the second floor, well away from the daily living space. It really makes those rooms feel more personal, more sacred. However, I hate that I'm now spending less time in my personal space. In my apartment, my bedroom was just five feet from the living room, and I could easily make a hasty retreat from the kids, several times a day, if I had to. Just for a few minutes, but they would be my few minutes. Mine. Mine. Mine. Now, my retreat just feels too far away.

#8... Being that I live less than five miles from the NC State University campus, I expected there to be a lot of college students on my street, like there were in the apartment complex. But I just love that we are surrounded by families, with children. My kids have lots of friends, and the streets are always full of bicycles, scooters, jump ropes, and laughter. However, I hate that all the kids in this neighborhood leave their empty water bottles, juice boxes, and ice cream wrappers on my porch. I am constantly having to wrangle my broom, rake, and sometimes potted plants away from them. And they ring my doorbell six times a second. I'm not kidding, the "ding-dong" is repeated so often it becomes a discernible beat... you can dance to it.

#9... I have a fireplace that is rather large and rustic, and I love it. It is surrounded on all sides by earthy toned flagstone, and topped by a large natural wood mantel, that looks much like an old railroad tie. What I hate about this living room centerpiece is that it is so large. I have one whole wall that is almost unusable. There's hardly room for chairs around it, or tables on either side. Due to limited space in the room, I did have to put some furnishings around it, and now that side of the room looks a bit crowded, which takes away from the idea of the fireplace being a focal point.

#10... I love that my house is rental. I don't want a bank loan, and I don't want the taxes. I don't want to pay for a new roof, or new plumbing. I don't want home owner's insurance, and neighborhood association fees. But I hate that my house is a rental. I want new carpeting. I want to build out a bigger pantry. I want to do something about that soggy back yard. But I can't, because I'm a renter.