I’m not gonna lie, it made my whole night. I laughed pretty hard through the rest of my shift. Honestly, it still makes me giggle every time I think about it. Sixteenish years of humor fodder. Poor Mike. Hehehehehe!

As per usual in my life, karma. You’d think that by now I would have learned to not find other’s misfortune or quirks funny, and then laugh and tease them about it. Not so, my friend. Not so at all. 

Tonight it was my four year old Oakie’s turn to sleep at Mimi’s and we celebrated with grilled tuna sandwiches. My sweet baby stood next to me at the end of the couch to tell me that her belly was hurting, and posession spewed down my back. I have to say she has pretty good aim for standing straight up. She hit that tiny space between my back and the back of the couch like a pro! It was like being doused by a fire hose. It just kept coming out and coming out. She felt so bad about it too, poor little muffin.

Thank heavens for Killer who picked tuna vomit out of my hair, and for the cleaned up the couch. Oak was in good hands while I went to change, Killer even got her a cold cloth for her head.

Serves me right for laughing at with? Mike for all these years.

Sky High Bangs and Shoulder Pads

 I graduated from high school in 1989. Yup. I’m THAT old. I was a BIG hair band groupie with hair to match. Seriously, I could not stand my hair up high enough, lol. (This  was befor I dyed it purple and wore a fake nose ring. Can you even imagine? HA!) Ah….. to only be that cool again. My whole life was stretched out in front of me, and I had absolutely no idea what that meant. Looking back, on one hand I wish that I had done things differently, but on the other, I wouldn’t be where I am and who I am if I had made different choices in my life. And hey, I wouldn’t have you here with me!

In the big hair days, shoulder pads were also a thing. EVERYTHING had shoulder pads in it. If you were lucky, they also matched the piece of clothing that they were attached to. ***Remember this part*** for later reference: Shoulder pads were usually ovalish in shape, and would cup slightly to fit over your shoulder.

One my favorite things to wear at that time was an oversized, light pink sweater. This particular sweater happened to have shoulder pads that velcroed in so they could be removed for washing. I wore the heck out of that thing. I wore it so much that the velcro wasn’t super sticky any more. Toss in a pair of jeans that I had to lie down in to button, and my day was complete!

At this point in my naive life, I was embarrassed by everything. If I tripped over a crack in the sidewalk, or stumbled over a word while talking I was absolutely mortified. I’m not sure I’ve really outgrown that to be honest. I’m still embarrassed about not going on a date when I was 16 because haunted houses freaked me out so bad, lol. He was a nice kid. I should have just gone. Silly, right? I can’t remember if I brushed my hair this morning, but I can remember every stupid thing I’ve said in the last 50 years. 

One day, I had stopped at the grocery store. As I was paying at the cash register, I felt something brush against my side and then felt a soft plop onto the top of my foot. My shoulder pad had fallen out on my sweater. Surrounded by people in the check out line, I look down and here is this pale pink, oval, cupped shaped piece of horror. Remember this from earlier? Yeah. It also looked like padding from other bits of women’s under clothing. The earth did not open up and swallow me as I was hoping. Did I bend down to pick it up? OH NO. Nope. I just kicked it under the check stand and left at a very brisk walk, with face flaming, and the tops on my ears on fire. I just KNOW that every single person in that near vacinity had seen it lying there on the floor. It took me several months before I could go back in that store, lol. 

Pfft. My life. 

My dad had fixed approximately 5000 cars. My brothers all fixed cars, obviously it runs in my blood. Naturally, I drove over to Kmart to get what I needed to fix the light.

I ran into the store dodging giant rain puddles, and was out in a flash! Back out into the rain storm of the century I went with my tiny little bag containing a single, solitary, miniscule, doll sized light bulb. While the rain ran down my face, I fought to breathe without sniffing rain drops into my nostrils and I popped the hood and went to work. By this time, the puddles had turned into a small lake. For what seemed like hours I tried to pry the plastic shield off the light. It wouldn’t come off! I then turned my effort to the back of the light from the inside of the engine compartment. It was dark, so I knelt down in the midst of the rain lake so I could see it better. Still no  luck. People ran in the store around me and back out to their cars. Nothing to see here folks, just me mechanicing in the rain. On my knees. With a pink screw driver. Nothing worked. I could NOT get that thing apart.

Once hypothermia set in and I was shaking too hard to continue, I took myself home. Defeated. I would have to turn in my little pink tool box.

The next morning, I explaing to my Pop what had happened. To my utter shock, he looked at me for the longest time with absolutely no expression. That is, until he burst out laughing. Not a little tiny giggle, not a snort, a full on belly laugh. Apparently the whole headlight had to be changed. Not the light bulb.

Sigh. Only me.

Jumpin Tracks.

Hold on to your hats my friends, because I’m about to drop a truth. Are you ready? Here it goes.

I have not always been the iltelligent, kind, well behaved, and delusional person that you all know and love, lol. There have been several times in my life that I have made terrible decisions. Like the time I wore a mini skirt and a purple jacket to my cousin Jennifer’s wedding. I’m really sorry about that Jennifer… And that one time when I dyed my hair purple and wore a fake nose ring. Isn’t it funny how when you’re a teenager, stuff sounds like a much better idea than it does when you’re old? Honestly tho, if I thought I could get away with it, I still would dye my hair purple, and rat it till it was sky high! Aqua net…. I miss you.

This story, however, is not about my hair. Only a very dumb decision on my part that almost got me in a crap ton of trouble. And in case you’re wondering…. I never told a soul.

One day , when I was leaving my job as a dishwasher at a nursing home, my momma’s car wouldn’t start. It was super annoying to the then 16 year old me. I called my dad to see if he could come and fix it so that I could go home. (My dad was a mechanic, by the way.) He came right away and popped the hood to take a look. 

“Nikole….. why is the battery over here,” he asked, as he moved it over to the gaping battery sized hole on the other side of the engine, and reconnected the cables.

Of course I had no idea why the battery was on the wrong side of the car…. Thankfully my pop loved me and just let it go. I’m a terrible child. Sorry Pop.

Here’s what I did: I jumped the tracks. 

The next town over was pretty rural at the time. There were plenty of back roads and farms. One such road had a train track that crossed it, and the crossing was pretty steep on each side of said tracks. I totally started about a block down from the crossing, and pushed that gas pedal all the way to the floor. I hit that ramp leading to the tracks like a stunt driver, and sailed in the air for miles until the front end of the car hit the other side. It was exhilarating…. and scary. Also, apparently the car found it to be a moving experience, and vomited it’s very own battery, lol. Thankfully, none of my friends blabbed or died. A little whiplash was totally worth it…. 

You’ll be happy to know, that I never did it again. But, oh, how one time I flew!

Not to be out done…… a few days later, while fixing some dairy farm things, somthing transpired that left an impression for sure. My dad was bent over holding something  for my grandpa. My Grandpa swung the rubber mallet in his hand to whack whatever my dad was holding, and….. you guessed it. He caught my poor pop right in the forehead.

Karma, man. It’ll get you every time.

The Beef.

Ah…. siblings. Such a blessing. You don’t get to pick them, and you’re stuck with them. You can’t stand them and love them to death all at once. It’s totally fine if you bash a sib, but no one else better say a thing, or throwing hands and some stink eye might be called for. My kiddos are no different. It’s a little frustrating as a parent however.

If you ask my kids about this incident, you’re gonna get three different answers. Thus the Beef.

Here’s what I have put together…… Once upon a time Mike and I had gone away from the house, and left the three of them home together. Alone. Honestly, I should have known better, lol.

Someone (I’m pretty sure I can guess which child it was, and yes they argue about it), thought that it would be super fun to send the youngest one down the stairs in a laundry basket.  It’s also a contentious discussion when it’s told that she whole heartily agreed, and thought it was a great idea.

In my head the whole thing looks a little like an olympic event…. Mal in the laundry basket with a death grip on the sides of the basket (and no helmet, cause why would that be a good idea)…. Killer cackling evilly, and Morgan with her crazy eyes on and her tongue out to the side in concentration…… swooshing the basket back and forth like its the beginning of a luge run. Now, our stairs are fairly steep, and end in a wall and the front door about three feet from the bottom, you know this isn’t gonna end good.

With no warning at all Mal is shoved forward, and down the stairs she goes…. hurtling faster than the speed of sound. In a blind panic, she flails out an arm and grabs onto the hand railing. One of the supports for the handrail snapped in half! Luckily it slowed her rapid decent and she reached the bottom with no major injuries. The handrail wasn’t so lucky. It’s still a little wobbly, so don’t count on it for help if you fall down the stairs.

It gives me flashbacks of the worm incident.

Somedays I think it’s rather miraculous that we have survived siblingness.

Now I’ll just sit back and wait for the texts to start rolling in…. lol.

Our kitchen was a lovely, happy shade of yellow. Our house must have been built when people were much shorter, because the formica counter tops were super low. The floor sported a horrendous carpet in a beautiful yellow, orange, green, and brown pattern. I might have napped on that floor in the summer time, right under the swamp cooler.

The table sat across from the sink where the wall wasn’t straight across. There was an area that jutted out about 18 inches or so (this was my spot), and then continued down about 4 feet to the corner. I spent a lot of time sitting on the chair in my little corner contemplating the now cold food on my dinner plate. The colder it got, the bigger it got. Like HOURS and DAYS at a time I sat on that chair staring. Isn’t it funny how your time changes when you’re an adult? I could accomplish so much more if my days were that long again!

If we didn’t have a lot of money, I never knew it. I thought that everyone ate the same food as us. My Momma canned veggies and fruit. She made jams and jellies. She made bread. The neraest McDonalds was 2 towns away. Door Dash was just a dream, lol. OOPS… I derailed myself …. back to the pickles….

One day I discovered something magical and yet terrifying all at once in my little corner. Where the wall jutted out, there was a little door. When I peeked inside, it was black as could be. It was (what I know now) a coal shoot! It led to the room in the basement where our furnace was. I avoided that room as much as possible. It was dark and weird noises came out of there. But…. when no one was looking…. it made a great hidey hole for unwanted food particles. You just had to open and shut it really quick so that the monsters in the furnace room couldn’t grab you and pull you in.

No one knew that I had been feeding the monsters in the furnace, until one day, years and years later, when my Momma’s extensive Peach Nehi stash started  leaking. We had to move the metal shelving under the magic door…. it was the petrified pickles that gave me away. I was the only one in the house that gagged over my Momma’s sweet pickles. Dang my picky taste buds anyway….

Now for the KaRmA part….. please see the post about Morgan making my dad eat nasty cheese, lol.

Love letters in my shower.

Have you ever had a period of time in your life where every single thing went wrong? Like for months at a time?  After you cry for a minute, it starts to get a little bit rediculous, and then you just start laughing?

Welcome to my life.

We’ve had a lot of crap lately… In the span of a week my washer broke, my car wouldn’t start, and then my dryer broke. This morning even my pencil sharpener wouldn’t work and all I could do was laugh.

And why not the freakin pencil sharpener for heaven’s sake?

When life turns sideways what are the options? You can either sit down on the floor in a heap and cry, laugh till it hurts, or look for the blessings in the midst of the poop. I usually end up doing things in that exact order.

I am super blessed because I have people around me that to their misfortune, have taken on the responsibility of being in charge of me, lol. My brother and nephew found me a fantastic refurbished washer, picked it up, installed it for me, and hauled off the old one. They also came to my rescue and my nephew fixed my car. Both HUGE issues!!!  I’m so very grateful. The dryer is my project…. Google and YouTube are amazing tools. I also fixed my shop vac on my own! Go me!

Family is number ONE for me. I try to do all the things for them, and let them know how extraordinary they are every day. I have no idea where I would be without them. I literally would go to bed and not get out, I would have no reason to. They make me nuts, but I love them.

Thus, the love letter post. When things start to bring me down, two little arms wrap around me, hug me tight, and when I tell him that I love him he replies “me too”.  He left me the sweetest note, written in bath crayon on my shower wall. If I could frame it, I most certainly would. Thanks Bug, for filling my bucket.

I LOVE my kids…. love love love the heck out of them. These babies though, they keep me going. Lan talks to me every night, and that Oakie… they have my whole heart.

Being a Mimi is the best. 1000% would highly reccommend!

Every day is an adventure with my boy. We have some pretty awesome conversations, that usually remind me that I’m not the smartest person in my family. Car rides are my favorite.

One of my favorite talks lately has been the one about how we need to be nice to all people. It doesn’t matter what makes us different from others, kindness is is most important. We don’t have to be best friends with everyone, but we can always be kind. The world would be pretty boring if we were all the same!

Thus came the topic of Vegans. We both agreed that we like meat too much to become one, but we can respect the views of others.

Discrimination is not ok.

Rest well my vegan friends… you’re safe with us.

Stinky people and people with bad teeth are also welcome. 

(That might have been my favorite part, lol. Papa would have gotten a good kick outta it.)

Cancer Lessons REALLY Stink.

I’ve been MIA for a bit…. my life has been on hold, and then tossed into a blender of sadness, blessings, anger, and crap all at once. My sweetheart left. He graduated this life and left without me. He passed away. He died. I am lost.

I’m left with a life that is foreign to me. I’m a widow. That one took me a while to come to terms with. In the eyes of the world I’m a single woman….. in my heart I’m married…. I dunno what to do with that. 

Cancer isn’t new to me…. If I had to count on my fingers how many people close to me have had to battle stinkin’ cancer, I wouldn’t have enough hands. I really, really hate it. My heart literally aches for those still fighting. Air feels heavy in my chest just thinking about it.

Our cancer journey has taught me a few things, and I thought I would share them. It was a strange, long, terrible journey that had the most beautiful moments. Those are what I hold on to the tightest. Those are what I choose to remember when the other memories creep in.

One of the things that surprised both Mike and I, was that we spent a lot of time trying to help others deal with his cancer. People came to visit to make us feel better, and most of the time we would end up trying to help them accept what was going on and let them leave with the thought that everything would be ok. We had an amazing support system. We were so loved and looked after…. more so than we deserved. I think it was much easier for me to be in my shoes, because I could actually do something…. Others wanted to help so badly, but really, there wasn’t much they could do.

I learned from one of Mike’s sweet friends, Miss Kim, who passed away a few months before Mike did, about the term “sit with me”. Sit with me didn’t really mean sit right next to me and talk my ear off. It literally means just sit with me. Just sit in the room and be with me. Mike wanted us there with him. Sitting in the same room, or next to him when he sat on the edge of the bed. No expectations, no conversation…. just sitting. Just being. Just loving.

Cancer has taught me to be kinder. To be more aware of others, and to think before I make an assumption. You would never have known what was going on in our home if you saw me at the grocery store. You would never have known that my sweetheart could no longer eat, and that I was desperately trying to get to Wendys to get him a chocolate frosty because it sounded good when I accidentally pulled out in front of you in my car. I really was very sorry when you honked at me and made a rude gesture, the tears in my eyes made it hard for me to see. You would never have understood when my kid’s school work didn’t get turned in on time, it was because we had spent the day getting a chemo treatment and we were emotionally ruined and scared…. a math assignment was not at the top of the list. You honestly NEVER know what people are going through. Maybe keep that little thought in your back pocket. Please, just be kind.

It taught me to be understanding and forgiving. The C word is something that not everyone can handle. The people that were here for us, genuinely loved Mike. They loved our family and had the capacity to be in our journey. There are people who empathically take on the pain and fear every time they even think about it.  Some could not handle it, and that’s ok. It’s really ok. Prayers and good thoughts were our lifeline.

The strangest thing that I learned was that it’s a common thing for close family members to suffer from similar side effects as the one going through treatment. If Mike had a headache, one of us would also have one. When his stomach was hurting and he was doubled over in pain, you can bet someone else was also suffering from a pain in the same spot. Constipated? Yup, that too. So weird, but very real.

Cancer is not pretty. It’s not fun. It’s not something a person would willingly volunteer for. Its painful, it’s exhausting, it’s scary. It’s a lot of testing, and blood draws. Vomit and poop. It’s financially draining, and emotionally dibilitating. It’s physically exhausting… you’re being poisoned by the treatments to kill cancer cells. You try to do all the things, and continue to live as normal as you can…. You do your best to still be the husband, father, and papa that you always were… and it breaks your soul in to pieces when you can’t.

Caring for a person with cancer is excruciating. It’s exhausting for the caregiver too. I was in a constant brain fog for months. BUT…. I wouldn’t change the taking care of Mike for anything. Every doctor appointment, treatment, surgery, hospital stay, etc. we did together. WE had cancer. Our family had Cancer. Yes Mike was the one carrying it, but because we loved him so much, we all had it.

Caring for him and loving him, holding him and going through it all was almost a sacred experience for me. In the end, it was still he and I. Our children were sleeping. It was Mike and I. It was just how it was supposed to be. I wish I could tell you that it was peaceful…. it wasn’t. I try not to remember the last moments, but it creeps in when I’m least expecting it, and I shove it away with good thoughts and memories the best that I can. Sometimes it works.

Life still goes ahead, and we are doing our best to find peace and joy. Our family is at all the different stages of grief at the same time. Sometimes we laugh, sometimes we cry, and some times we can’t stand each other. Some days we are all in a different stage and they’re not compatible at all, but we’re a family. Mike made sure it would be an eternal family, so we will struggle through this life together, knowing we’re stuck with each other. Most days we will be glad it is so, lol. It will be ok. It WILL be ok. It simply has to be.

Thank YOU. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to all who sent up a prayer, good vibe, or a good thought for Mike and our family. Thank you to all the framily who cared for, and continue to care for us….. you know who you are. Thank you to the one who called me daily, sometimes more, to check on us and was always the first one I called….  the first to jump in when I needed you… God has surely blessed me with you, and I’m sorry for you that you get to be my brother, lol. I love you all. I’m so blessed and grateful.

Thank you for your patience and understanding when I just couldn’t function. I’m trying. I’ll be back to work soon. Hopefully I’ll have some new stuff to offer, and be looking for the opportunity to give back some of what we have been blessed with.

xox

Nikki

  One such activity took place around Valentine’s Day. This particular activity was a combined activity with the boys…. Boys and Girls aged 12-18. Our service was to make paper hearts, add uplifting messages, and “heart attack” the front doors of people who maybe needed a little extra love.

The rules were:

Stay with your group

Sneak quitely to the door

Tape the hearts on the door

Ring the doorbell

 RUN!!!!!

Some of us didn’t understand all of those rules, lol. The very last door that our group was to visit, was in the bottom floor of an apartment building. The entrance was almost a triangle shape, narrow at the opening, and wider at where there were two doors that lead into the homes there.

Girls are  very giggly at that age. Throw some boys into the mix and the giggles are instant. And LOUD! Here’s what happened.

I lead the way in to the enterance and started quietly taping the hearts to the door. Behind me trailed the kids…. a whole bunch of kids. Giggly kids. They forgot the quiet rule.

We heard the lock inside the door wiggle, and those kids scattered! It was like watching a herd of deer run away. They were hopping over bushes, and each other, and there I stood. Frozen. They had left me! Abandoned!

The door creaked open, and out pops the head of the cutest little boy. He was probably around 6. What did he see? Me, and only me. A strange old lady on his doorstep. All I could do was shhhhhhhhh at him, and point at the door. I waddled away as fast as I could.

He’s most likely traumatized for life.

It’s a danged good thing that I loved those rotten kids so much!!!!

(Don’t tell them that if I had the opportunity to go back to that night, to that time with THOSE kids and those leaders, I’d do it  again in a heartbeat. I sure miss them)

 Spiders and Nikki eating LLamas.

I don’t think that I’ve ever had a real fear of spiders. For the most part, if they leave me alone I can do the same. I remember one time a spider started making a web on our front porch, and my mom made us leave it there so that she could watch it spin its magic. That web was gigantic!

My middle brother had tarantulas as I was growing up. They didn’t ever chase me through the house or anything. I feel like we were pretty chill for house mates.

My youngest older brother, (we will refer to him as “Schmlair”), however, feels quite differently. To this day, I still get a kick out of the fact that “Schmlair” is more afraid of spiders than I am.

If he sees a spider in his house, he sprays it with hairspray to paralyze it, and then sucks it up in the vaccuum. Hehehehehe….

My kids have never been big bug people either. Maggie (Morgan) would come completely unspun over any kind of bug, and she would stand in her room and scream until I came to squash any creepy crawly.

When Mike and I got married, we lived in Missouri for about a year and a half. Maggie was around 9 when we took a family trip down to Branson for a little vacation. I always get so excited to go on any kind of trip, and totally remember that I’m an idiot as soon as we start to pack the car, lol. It never goes smoothly and I always vow to never do it again.

While on our vacay, we stopped at a little drive through zoo. In the office/store there, they had a baby orangutan. It was the cutest thing I had ever seen in my whole life! Morgan got a few snacks and a slushie, because, well, we are snacky snack people and it was the only time she was quiet, lol. Driving through the park, our faces pressed against the windows, my sweet little girl let out a blood curdling screech! She climbed up onto the arm rest between the seats in the second row and managed to fling a stream of slushie from the ceiling in the back seat to the front, right down the middle of the front window, and down the dash where it ended in a puddle between the front seats. I spun around to see her in hysterics, pointing at the back of my seat. She was terrified. Tears were streaming down her cheeks! Somehow, a daddy long legs spider had gotten into the car, and caused the whole crap disaster. A daddy long legs. SMH. I have to tell you, it made me a little cranky. I gave her a piece of my mind as I took care of that stinkin spider and cleaned up the drippy mess caused by the erupting volcano slushie.

 Mike continued to drive through the park as I fumed and scrubbed. He’s a little like a kid…. if it’s quiet its not a good sign. I should have been suspicious. He sweetly pointed in the direction of my window, and said, “Look at that!”

I turned to see what sort of fantastic beast had caught his eye,and came face to face with a man eating monster! “Somehow” my window had gotten rolled down without me noticing, and this mad, rabid, crazy eyed, drooling and snarling beast had stuck it’s ginormous head in the window! It was in the car! It tried to eat my face off! It was the llama from H-E-double hockey sticks, and I looked like lunch. I almost died. I for sure needed a change of pants and a difibrillator. Mike needed a good smacking on the back because his eyes were watering and he was wheezing. Apparently stressful and life threatening situations cause a weird reaction in him. It gives him a bad case of the giggles, the poor guy. It’s a completely inappropriate reaction.

The llama story is one of my Nikson’s favorite stories. He’s the sweetest boy, and is 100% a Hardy. He made up a song for me once….. “Mimi wuvs a wwama….. Mimi married a wwama…..”

I don’t stand a chance around here.

I believe we may have discussed why my Momma didn’t take out her teeth when others were around a time or two before, so I’ll make this quick. Aside from being self conscious, my middle brother had threatened to steal them and freeze them in a glass of water. She left those suckers in her mouth all the time (unless she was brushing them or glueing them in of course). She even made special arrangements with our friend the mortician to be buried with her teeth in her mouth so that Bart couldn’t get them. He was shorted 1 wisdom tooth, and never let my Momma forget it, lol.

One of my most vivid memories of my maternal grandfather was this: We were sitting in church, and I was minding my own business. I most likely was eating a piece of sunkist gummy candy that my grandpa kept in his suit jacket pocket. Sometimes they were a little chewy….. they could have been in that pocket for a little while, but they were sure yummy so I ate them anyway. Anywho, my Grandpa was trying to get his attention by fluttering one of his hands at me. When I looked up into his eyes, he flipped out his top denture at me and then flipped it right back in his mouth. I was flabbergasted. I had no idea that he posessed such a talent!!!

My dad once pulled one of Morgan’s teeth in his woodshop, and it got lost in the saw dust. We had to leave the tooth fairy a letter for that one.

This brings us to what happened a few days ago. My poor Morgan was horrified, but I think my Grandpa and Bart would be extraordinarily proud of what transpired. Morgan’s significant other has an Uncle Jim, (not to be confused with my dad, who was also known as Uncle Jim). Tanner’s Uncle Jim, I have heard, is a very nice man. Apparently he had just purchased himself some new chompers. He didn’t know the “don’t take your teeth out around a Hardy” rule yet. My sweet grandbabies hatched a plan to pull a prank on Uncle Jim. According to Landyn, it was all her idea and Tanner’s nephew did all the thiefing of the teeth. The teeth were hidden under the couch.I did not get a good chuckle or a chortle out of it at all.

I did not laugh. I did not laugh when Morgan was scolding them and I could hear it through the phone, causing her to have to try not to giggle.  I dunno if I should high five them for it, or agree that it was super naughty.

One day, I’ll tell you all about how my co-worker’s dog ate his teeth.

I almost died….. AGAIN!!!!

(But it’s ok, cause he loves me)

Friends. See the photo? That’s what stage 4 cancer looks like at our house.

That guy? He’s my hero.

I took this photo a few days ago.

Mike fixed the brakes on my car. For almost two weeks, he could barely get out of bed.

Here’s my PSA, AKA soap box moment.

If you find someone that loves you more than themselves, you better grab onto them and NEVER EVER let go.

If they are sick, but still do hard things because they love you,   HANG ON tight.

If your person worries about you when they can barely get out of bed, KEEP them.

If  your significant other does everything they can possibly do to make sure that your family will be together for eternity, HONOR them.

But mostly, LOVE back them with everything that you have. You just never know what tomorrow will bring.

Love like that is pretty rare these days, and I can honestly say that I’ve never questioned that he loves me…..

EXCEPT…….. that he almost killed me that same day. Well, maybe just seriously maimed me. Ok, just gave me whiplash and  some back pain, lol. Apparently when you change the brakes on a car, its customary to take said car for a drive to test it out. NO ONE told me however, that the slamming on of the brakes without notifying your passenger was a thing.  I’m hardly petite, and that is a lot of force when a body is still being propelled forward but the dashboard has come to a complete stop. You know, Science.

Also, on a side note…. when you have on biking short type things that are slick under your dress…. your dress won’t move, but your backside will be slicker than snot. Thank heavens that even though I threw up my money maker hand (the one I draw with) to catch myself, nothing was broken or embedded in the glove box. You have to look for the good things and be grateful.

I didn’t have a regular job when I was a kid… labor laws you know. My Momma worked part time at a fabric shop, so she wasn’t always home. If I wanted to go to the movies, I had to scrounge up my own money. Kids are very resourceful. You check the couch cushions…. the washer… and you look in your brother’s rooms because they just empty their pockets all over the floor. “Shmret” was always my first go -to. 

Once when I wanted to go to the movie with my friend, I went on a hunt. I found the whole $1.50! WHOOP! I high tailed it down the street with my pockets jingling and so heavy that I had to hold up my pants. I stood in line and when it was my turn, I reached in and started pulling out handfulls of pennies. I piled them infront of the man in the ticket booth. I was SO excited!  The man, on the other hand, was not. He looked at the pile of pennies, and then looked at me in total disgust. Apparently 150 pennies was way too much counting at 7 pm.

With a deep sigh, he said “DON’T YOU EVER COME BACK IF YOU’RE GOING TO DO THIS AGAIN”. 

I don’t remember what movie it was, so it must have been a good one. I did however do my best to find some nickles and dimes the next time I went to the Sticky Shoe. I was an obedient child.

Attack of the Birds.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a fear of birds. Sure, they’re cute, and I would TOTALLY throw them a french fry, but do I want them near my body?? NO!

My sweet Grandma loved her birds. She had cockatiels that had free roaming privileges in her house. They hated me and their little beady bird eyes gave me the woogies. They flapped their creepy wings around and scattered bird seeds and poop. They also swooped down and pecked at my head and tried to scratch out my eyeballs…. well…. maybe not. That coulda been in my not regular dreams….

But still….

Utah’s state bird is the seagull. Those squawky poopers are everywhere. Sure they saved the pioneers crops fron the crickets, but I feel like they should be around the sea and not in the middle of the desert.

If you have a picnic outside, you are taking your life and eye health into your own hands. In grade school we would be allowed to take our lunch outside to eat in the grass, and they would come in swarms. Now you know why the throwing of french fries was mentioned above. It may have been counter productive to feed them, but it literally saved my life more than once.

It ended with me half catching it in the net and it flew out the front door into a massive wind storm outside. We were saved.

Things like this only happen to me, lol.

Stinkin’ birds.

While a little dismayed that I wasn’t gifted with the Ferarri version of the Inchworm, and was instead gifted with the Geo Metro version, I still gave it my best ride. I rode it up and down the sidewalk until it was dingy and faded. My little legs shoulda looked like Hulk Hogan’s massive thigh muscles.

One day, a genius at my house (not me by the way), decided that I should ride that worm down the stairs INSIDE the house. I was lured to the back stairs, helped into the saddle, and told to hang on tight! My brothers cheered me on!  A little shove to the back and down I went at a high rate of speed,  my blonde curls like a banner flying behind me…… until…. the wall got in the way.  The cement stairway went down about 10 steps, and then made a turn to the left where it went down 10 more. While I managed to stay seated for the first half of my ride, I was bucked off and thrown down the other half in a flailing heap.

 I don’t remember anything at all afterwards. I’m sure that I probably started to cry and there was some sort of a bribe offered from Cooper’s gas station to get me to stop so my Momma wouldn’t hear me.

Brothers. They’re a menace.

A Pontoon Boat Malfunction.

My dad was my hero. He could build and fix ALL the things! He had big thick hands that were rough and always black from grease. There were always cars, motorcycles, and parts all over our yard. He not only fixed our vehicles, but everyone else’s too! 

I remember laying in bed at night and listening to him tinker around outside, and watching the blue lights flicker on the walls while he was welding. 

Once he decided to build a pontoon boat. It was going to be SO fantastic! Our family could go out on the lake and fish, and and do all the fun things you can do out on the water. We were gonna make the BEST memories.

My dad worked for weeks on the boat. It was finally done, and ready to pull out of the garage! Yay!!!!! Until…… it was too big to come out of the garage. He had built it inside the garage, and the opening was smaller than the boat. Such defeat. My poor Pop.

He ended up cutting it in half to get it out of the garage, and the pontoons became lawn ornaments.

On the bright side, they made excellent rocket ships! I rode those things to space over and over again. I’m so grateful that I had the chance to use my imagination as a kid! 

Occasionally my momma would gift me with a giant sheet of black plastic. We would go out just before the water reached the back of the house, and use stakes to nail that stuff to the ground…. instant Slip ‘N Slide!!!!! It worked extra good if you squirted a little dish soap on it.

It was simple times like that, when my parent’s thoughtfulness always created the best memories. I had the BEST childhood.

The year of many concussions.

Sometimes a memory really explains your current predicament. I’ve often wondered where the disconnect in my brain came from, and I finally figured it out. Let me explain.

If you attened Greenwood Elementary in the 70’s you might just get a mental picture of what I’m about to tell you, and if not, I’ll do my best to paint it for you.

Between the kinder hallway and the first / second grade hallway was an open patio. Each hallway had a door leading to the patio that was directly across from the other one. On the west end of the patio, there was a partial roof, and under that roof there were some benches and a locked cubicle of some sort. It was rumored that the naughty kids were chained up in there. 

To get to the playground, you had to go through the patio and out the opening on the south west end.

Under the patio there were 2 square posts that helped hold up the wooden roof. The posts were painted a lovely shade of blue. I remember that color vividly, (see illustration).

One day I was eagerly running down the hallway with my bestie, side by side, and we burst out the first grade door in a rush to get to the swing set. My little {then} skinny legs were pumping as fast as they could, and my bestie and I laughed and laughed….. until….. I turned around at the very last minute and ran face first into one of the posts. I landed flat on my back and saw all the magnificence of the sparkling universe behind my eyelids. I had concussed my very own self.  Here’s the kicker my friend….. I did the same exact thing again that same year. Same post. Another concussion. My poor mother.

Here’s my advice for you…. Watch where you’re going for Pete’s sake. Also. If your grandfather is hosing down the concrete patio and tells you not to run because the cement is slick when it’s wet, you should listen. Concussion number 3. Just thinking about the thud echoing inside my melon makes me wanna hurl.

We camped with our family, extended family, and friends several times a year. It wasn’t unusual to have up to ten trailers in our favorite spot. My grandparents and my Great Aunt Bernadine and Uncle Jared were our company on this particular camp out, as well as families with younger kids. We always had a good time, and found endless things to do. Boredom was accepted and encouraged. Sitting for hours in a folding camp chair talking was just how it was done. I miss that too. It also lead to some mischeif. I’m not sure if I’m glad I wasn’t a part of that, or downright proud of those who were because this one was EPIC.

Someone came up with the bright idea of taping black plastic over the windows of Aunt Bernadine and Uncle Jared’s trailer windows in the middle of the night. Not just one or two windows… but ALL the windows. I’m not sure how they managed to sleep through the mayhem outside their trailer, but they were a little on the gray haired side of life.

The next morning led to a LOT of soft laughter and speculation. How long till they woke up and noticed? We all tip-toed around camp waiting. And waiting. And we waited some more. Breakfast time came and went without any activity. NOTHING! So we watched and waited some more. It seemed like half the day was gone before they emerged from darkness inside that trailer house, lol. They would wake up and peek out the window, to see that night was still surrounding them, and go back to sleep! They had no idea that they missed the most important meal of the day, and that they had been the recipients of one of the GREATEST camp pranks in camping history. This one, for sure deserves an award and high fives all around.

Don’t drink the soda.

My Maternal Grandfather sailed on a ship from England to The United States in 1929. He was 16 years old. When I was growing up, my Grandpa had been in the US for a long time. He’d lost some of his English accent, but not all of it. You could stop at “HArby’s” for lunch, and you were forbidden to eat bananas while camping because the “hoders” would attract mosquitos.  His last name was “Ellewell”, ’cause he would leave off the H.

He really liked chocolate covered raisins, and would hand them out one at a time. Literally. He would give you one raisin, lol. Cherry chocolates were shared in the same fashion. He LOVED real butter, and would regularly fill my mother’s purse with butter pats when we would go out to eat. 

My Grandpa had a crazy sense of humor. He had a small tin of itching powder that aided in the torment of those he loved. He would call for a ride home from work, and run through town to get home before you made it back. He cheated at cards, because he “couldn’t” straighten out his fingers, so you never knew for sure if he was sticking up one finger or four, lol. He was super proud of the apple tree that grew right between our back yards, and got really mad at me when I picked the ONLY apple on the tree. I had to buy him a box of apples as an apology. He cracked open at least a hundred thousand walnuts and stored them in jars, and he crocheted at least that many blankets for his family and friends. He used to sneak through our backyards and come in our house for snacks, because my Grandma “never fed him”. The poor guy, he was starving, lol.

We used to have family get-togethers on the patio behind my grandparent’s house. On more than one occasion, several family members would take the pull wagon down the block to the gas station, and bring back fountain sodas for everyone. After everyone left, grandpa would gather up all the soda, pour the leftovers into a cup, and store it in the fridge on the patio. I’m not really sure how that tasted, but he didn’t seem to mind it.

I love that I can see so much of him in my brothers. If they pick on you, you know that you’re loved. He left a pretty awesome legacy.

I should also say that I am very aware that I’m not so memorable, that whatever I do or say is the utmost important thing in the world to anyone else. In fact, I doubt that the stuff I pack around in my shame box is even remembered by the people that I was interacting with at the time.

Isn’t it funny, that we can forgive others without any hesitation, but when it comes to ourselves it’s impossible? I’m pretty sure it’s implanted in my DNA, so that I am constantly reminded to be kind.

Now you know, if we have a conversation anytime soon, I’ll be mulling it over for the next 52 years. I’ll probably cringe a bit on the replay, and be grateful for those that speak to me again after that. A little grace and a short memory on your part would be much appreciated.

They locked me up.

I am the youngest child of 5. My sister is the oldest by 14 years, and the next one older than me has 7 more years of experience. By the time I was born, my 3 brothers had had plenty of time to hone their torturous ways, and fill their list of devious plans to inflict on their sweet baby sister.

My dad was a talented wood worker. He made a toybox that held a lot of stuff.  It also worked really good for a holding cell if the toys were removed, a sister stuffed in, and you sat on the lid. I wonder if this is why I don’t like being in confined spaces…..

Our house was built in 1922. It had lovely woodwork, and and long green and gold shag carpeting in the living room. It had a cozy fireplace, and awesome large heat vents where I’d blow dry my hair in the winter. It also had old door knobs that could be removed. Once the door was shut, unless you had a rat-tailed yellow comb, you were stuck. It’s a good thing it had plenty of windows…. I coulda died from sensory deprivation in there. 

In my bedroom, I had a funky closet. It was up off the floor by probably 3 feet, so more of a cupboard than a closet I guess. If I wanted to hang anything up in it, I had to hang stuff up on the door and climb up into the closet. The door had a little latch that you would have to turn to lock. It also had NO LIGHT in it. Once I “accidentally” got locked in there. The only way I had to get any help was to write an urgent message on the back of my Frankenstein poster with a brown marker that I found in there, and slip it out from under the door. Those 3 B’s of mine were sure mischevious little buggars! I learned a lot of survival tactics from my co-habitation with them.

Honestly, I wasn’t really gonna make her eat it, she had just really pushed my buttons that day. A little while later I noticed that the cheese was missing. My dad was also missing. You see, BYU was playing, and we didn’t have cable TV at the time, so he had gone over to my grandparent’s house to watch the game. NO ONE bothered him during a game. Not EVER. Well, except for Terrance who used to stand directly in front of the TV, but that’s a story for another day.

After several hours, my Pop came back home, exhausted and stressed from watching his team suffer a loss. He was sad and mopey. Poor guy. His heart was broken. 

I hated to ask, but I had to know…. “Dad, do you know what happened to the cheese that was on the table?”

“Yes, it tasted terrible,” he said.

“You ate it????? Why would you eat it?”

“Morgan told me to,” he said.

Moral of the story….. If Maggie gives you cheese that looks a little funky, just say no.

Once  Twice I lost my underwear.

When I was a little girl, I lived around the corner from my grandparents. In fact, our back yards were connected. It worked out great for me when I needed some cookies or 1 chocolate covered raisin. IYKYK. In front of their house there was a small concrete ditch, where the irrigation water would gurgle and splash on certain days. The ditch was maybe 12 inches wide and 15 inches deep. Friends…. my backside used to fit in that ditch. Of course I was probably 6 years old or so, but hey, tiny hineys only last for so long so it counts.

One day when the water was running down the ditch, I was itching to get in. My momma said no….. She DID have reason to tell me no. When I was in the hospital once, my room mate had gotten swept under a driveway bridge and was stuck in the water for a bit. It was enough to scare the socks offa any Momma.

Anywho…. My bestie Nathan and I were sitting with our feet in the water, and having a good old time. That water just gurgled its happy little way through my ear holes, and whispered sweet nothings to my rebel heart.  Nathan was a good boy and was not gonna get his clothes wet, but me, I had a plan! It made complete sense that if I took off my undles (in private of course, ’cause I wasn’t THAT sort of a rebel), my Momma wouldn’t know I’d been in the water.  Dry undies = No ditch water! I sneaked up onto my grandparent’s porch, dropped my undies, hiked my shorts back up, and proceeded to create my own water park. If you sat in the ditch, the force of the water behind your back would shoot you down the ditch to the next off-shoot irrigation ditch. It was like heaven. Well… except for the scrapes on the backside from the rough concrete, but SO worth it!!! I almost got away with it too… but I forgot to put my undies back on. My grandma found ’em on her porch. Now that I look back, I see why my Grandpa nicknamed me “Troubles”. He musta seen it coming.

The second time I lost my undies was not the same. When Mike and I got married, we rented a small UHaul trailer to drive all Morgan’s and my possessions to Missouri. Bless Mike’s heart, he packed that sucker as tight as he could. You couldn’t have fit a puff of breath in that thing when he closed and locked the door. We also filled the back of a suburban. All this stuff was necessary for our comfort. Upon our arrival and unpacking, we discovered that… I had ZERO underwear. I hadn’t packed it. Bless my Momma, she found all my undies and mailed them to me.  It wasn’t the only time that she LITERALLY saved my butt, lol.

 This morning was no exception. He headed downstairs before the light of dawn even woke up, and as per usual, he was followed by his puppy pack.  Grabbing a handfull of pistachios, he headed to the door and let the fur kids out, grabbed some puppy treats to be prepared for the return of the fuzzies, and leaned against the sliding door enjoying the crisp winter air. Munching away, he tossed back his snacks a few at a time. Sometimes the pups have to inspect the entire yard for strangers, so it takes a minute. He tossed in the last of what he had in his hand, and immediatley sensed something wasn’t quite right…. Yup. He was munching on the dog treats. Just as an FYI, he said that the crunchy dog bones he ate once are better than the soft treats. At least he didn’t swallow them, he spat them out all over the patio.

For more information on “Weird things Mike has eaten”, be sure to ask him about the live minnows and earth worms he ate. And to think…. I kissed him after that. 

Gray hairs and Maggots.

Today is my oldest baby’s birthday! Happy Birthday to the biggest contributor to my gray hair collection. Morgan, AKA Maggie (the nickname she gave herself when she started to talk), AKA Crabby Wah Wah (thanks Uncle Bret), AKA Chicklette (thanks Mammy), AKA Smelly old Goat (thanks Mike), AKA Magpie (because I used to have to pay her to be quiet in the car… this girl was a talker), AKA MAGGOT (thanks to the little boy that lived across the street), was born 29 years ago today. Its 100% accurate to say I haven’t been the same since. It’s just been 1 “adventure” after another. I feel as though I should apologize for the fact that she was my guinea pig kid, but karma…. I promise I got alllllll of the fall out from the trial and error right back, lol.

The very day we left the hospital after her birth, we went to the mall to buy her a dress for church. (HOW did I think this was a good plan??? HELLO???? GERMS!!!!) Her middle name is my Momma’s, and she was spoiled with all of the time she got to spend with my parents. She’s still rotten, lol.

Let’s reflect on some of the highlights of her life, shall we?

(This is a shortened list, I may need to blackmail her with some more stuff at a later date.)

1. One day at preschool she reached over and hacked off a chunk of hair from the girl sitting next to her. 

2. She ate an entire container of blueberry cream cheese and hid it under my mom and dad’s bed.

3. She once vomited in my mouth while having our picture taken. This was not related to the cream cheese incident.

4. She told the entire group at a meeting (at my BRAND NEW job) that I didn’t wear any underwear unless they were green.

5. She drove my dad’s bronco over the sign that belonged to the business next door…. she was about 5.

6. She ate bean burritos from Del Taco almost every morning before school for probably 2 years straight.

7. She cut her hair with nail clippers. I mean, that’s some dedication, but the 8 inches of hair we had to cut off to fix it made me a little sad.

8. She and Pepper, (my dad’s dog,) used to jump on the trampoline together… that was pretty cute…

9. She thought that when we moved to Kansas City, that we were moving to another country.

10. She got sent home from early elementary school one day for fighting, and my poor Pop had to go have a meeting with the principal because I was at work.

I’m pretty grateful that I get to be her momma, gray hairs and all….. 

It’s completely exhausting and wonderful at the same time.

Happy Birthday Magpie, I love you!

User error…… We were out of gas. The last thing I wanted the car to do was come to a full stop. If I had to push the car to the gas station, it made sense that I should exit the vehicle while it was still rolling down the street, right? It seems that me falling out of the car is a reoccurring issue, only this time, it was on purpose.

I told my friend what I was gonna do, she was to steer the car (now that I look back this was probably not a good plan as the brake was on the other side of the car and she was the passenger….), and I was gonna push the car to our final destination. GOOD plan dingbat! I swung open the door, and stepped out only to lose my footing immediately. I held onto the door, (yup, this is twice I have done this same thing) , and the steering wheel, and I got dragged down the street. Here’s the worst part. I had on pants that had an elastic waist band. It was probably one of the only times in my life that my wide hips and chubby buns were useful, lol. Thankfully, those hips held my pants up on one side so I didn’t  moon the entire world.

I finally let go, and luckliy I didn’t get run over by my own car. I yelled at my friend to not stop the car!!!! Concerned from my sudden disapperance , she had leaned all the way over and was pushing the brake with her hand.

In the end, the car stopped and the gas station that we were going to was closed. I didn’t get a “Big Chill” soda, just a lovely case of road rash from my waist to my knee.

Honestly. It’s a wonder that I survived my own self.

I birthed a Killer.

I feel like this may need a slight explanation…. when I say a “Killer” I don’t actually mean a killer of people, places or things.

My Drewbie was gifted a name at birth…. Mikella, or Kella. Mike has a southern accent, and voice to texts from him are always fun to decipher. “Kella” translated in to “Killer”, and it has stuck. It’s a bit of a paradox, because Drew has the BIGGEST heart on the planet, and wouldn’t hurt a fly. Well, maybe a fly. Especially if it was buzzing around some of Mike’s famous BBQ….. but I digress.

Have you read the post about the time I swallowed a BB and almost died? No? Long story short, I swallowed a BB when I was really little and my sweet Momma told me I was gonna blow up. For a whole day. ( I NEVER did it again, that’s for sure ). Lesson learned.

I’m pretty sure I have some sort of childhood trauma from almost dying…. AGAIN. It WAS something I was fairly good at……

I’m a terrible parent.

Let me tell you what I did once to my sweet butter lovin baby, Killer. (Thank heavens for the punctuation in that sentence, am I right????). One day….. one really not so long ago day…. I had another one of my great ideas. I’m so ashamed and embarrassed. Sorta. It was kinda funny. Sadly, I’m still a little proud of this one… I told my Killer that they had a metal plate in their head. Yep. A metal plate. For WEEKS. I didn’t even laugh, except for on the inside. My other kids and Mike also went along with this story.

I said, “PLEASE Drew Killer, don’t get too close to the microwave, because when it’s on, you’re gonna wet your pants.” 

I betrayed the faith that my Killer had in me, because they believed me. I feel terrible, and then when I get over it, I feel pretty darned awesome. I crack myself up. Passing on childhood trauma to my own kiddos should probably not be so much fun.

Sorry ’bout that Killer. I love you a whole bunch. 

My four year old little self was so excited to share my POV (point of view) with my momma on dinos, and was’t paying attention to what I was doing. Instead of grabbing the window crank, I grabbed the door handle and pulled. Bless my Momma, she tried to hold on to me. I remember her holding on to my left arm, holding onto the door with my right arm, and running trying to keep up. My arm slipped from her grip, and I landed in the road in a heap. I don’t remember much after that until I was in the ambulance…. I couldn’t see my Momma, she was in the front with the driver. They were cutting my new birthday clothes to assess my injuries. That’s all I remember. I don’t remember much of the time after either…. just snippets.

I ended up with two broken legs, and my right hip and my pelvis were also broken. My lower half was held together by pins and screws. If I remember right, I spent 2 weeks in the hospital in traction before they sent me home in a body cast, that went from just below my armpits down to my toes. I remember getting Cream O’ Wheat for breakfast every morning in the hospital,  and getting in trouble with the nurses because I slept with my blankie wrapped aroud my head but thats about it. When I came home, I had to lay down on the back seat in the car. My parents had borrowed a lounger from my grandparent’s patio, and put it in the living room for me to sleep.  It was lime green with yellow flowers on it. I learned how to lay on the floor and flip myself over to drag myself across the floor, using handfulls of shag carpeting to pull myself forward. I remember going for a ride in the car, and standing between my Momma’s knees in the front. I remember Brother Facer coming every day to read to me. I spent about a month in that cast, untill they cut it off. We kept it for a LONG time. I finally threw it away when I got married. I didn’t ever ask my Momma much about what happened, because it would make her cry.

In the end, I learned to walk all over again. I do remember the first time I was able to skip…. I was so happy! Isn’t the human body amazing? Kids heal so fast, and they handle things so much better than us as adults. I have very few effects from my accident, which I am very grateful for. I’m so glad I’m still here to tell all of my crap disaster memories!

Self Inflicted Haircuts.

It all started with a nap and some chewing gum.

When I was 4 or 5, my momma sent me to bed to take a nap. Somewhere in my nappy nap session, some drool happened and the gum I had in my mouth got tangled in my ponytail. In an obvoius panic (because gum was a no-no), I grabbed some scissors and hacked off the evidence and hid it under the bed that I shared with my sister. I also cut up my sister’s brand new yellow and lime green striped sheets. My momma didn’t notice what I had done until we were in the car, driving my brother around to deliver newspapers. Poor Momma, she was so beside herself with grief. My beautiful long hair lay in ruins… stuck in a Juicy Friut gob in the darkness of the underbed.

You’d think that would have taught me a lesson for sure!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

By now we all know that my intelligence and decision making skills are questionable.

When I was in Jr. High, my seminary class (this is a religious class for teenagers) was chosen to be in a video clip for our church! It was all so exciting! I got up early, washed my hair and put on a full face of make-up (because at that age, it’s as necessary as oxygen you know). It was all going well, until….. I had the BEST idea!

I decided that, for some reason unknown to even my own self, I need to cut the sides of my long hair off…. essentially, I was going to give myself a mullet. Boy, did I ever give myself a mullet. Instead of cutting the hair on the outside of my fingers, I cut it off between my fingers and the side of my head. I ended up having to have an emergency hair intervention, and ended up with a VERY short pixie cut.

My poor Momma. I caused her a lot of heart ache, and I’m super sorry about it.

Karma though….. karma has a way of bringing all that back around to roost.

Thanks to my Morgan, for allowing me to experience the panic of a Mom who finds piles of hair in the underbed too.

Apparently in Taiwan, it’s really humid. Also apparently, humidity causes you to lose nails on your toes. Ew. Feet. Schmret, with his love for my mother, kept all of these lost body parts in a jar, and brought them home to my mother…. like the spoils of war, or something like that. Jr. High aged me thought this was just nasty. Old aged me feels a little barfy, “Ew-ey”, and so sorry for my poor Momma. This led to the tradition of  her being given many more questionable gifts.

Barney ( He’s the middle brother who we have discussed in earlier posts ),  discovered when having his wisdom teeth extracted that he only had three of said teeth.  He gave Momma all sorts of grief for shorting him of the 4th tooth. I’m sure when she looked over the “create your middle child” menu, she thought this was a good plan. In repayment, he took his teeth home, drilled a hole in each one, dipped them in shellac, and placed them on a charm bracelet. He was quite proud of his gift.

My sweet nephew (we will call him Shmake, because he is Schmret’s son) swallowed a nickel. My Momma was gifted this nickel, once it made it’s appearance and was cleaned up. She was sweetly given a band-aid with a scab stuck to it from Schmake’s sweet sister, Schmally.  It’s a good thing that normal people didn’t get to view or know about this collection.

Electric Shock and Mustard Sandwiches.

Today is my Momma’s birthday. In honor of her, I thought I’d share some facts.

My Momma LOVED Elvis, Russian tea cake cookies (see recipe), lunch dates for Mexican food with my Grandma and Aunt, she hated the color blue, and also really LOVED Christmas. Her hair didn’t always look like the picture I drew. For a long time, it was white and fluffy….. kinda like cotton candy. Our sweet Kate always did her hair for her. Sometimes it was blue, sometimes it was kinda pink, sometimes it was a little purple, it just depended on what rinse Kate had left over that week. It was like a party every time she came home, lol. Mostly though, she just loved us.

Our house was built wayyyy before I was born. The kitchen cabinets were for short people, and the counter top wasn’t very high.

 Our Basset Hound, Sadie, had no trouble getting to the butter dish or fresh baked bread by standing on her hind legs, (Once she ate a whole pan of chili, and looked like she’d swallowed a basketball. She was sooooo sick,lol). The wiring was also old. My brothers, (Did I mention that their names all start with the letter B? My grandpa could never remember which one was which when they were little, and called them blah, blah, and blah),  figured out that if they touched the sink, and touched my mom while she was using the mixmaster, it would shock her. Bless her, when she saw them sidling up to her, she knew it was coming. She’d close her eyes and grit her teeth, and wait.

The bathroom door knob, when the door was shut, happened to be right by my bedroom door knob when the door was open. The light switch for the bathroom was outside the bathroom in the hallway. I can not tell you how often the boys tied the door knobs together and turned the light off while she was in the bathroom. She finally hid an emergency kit in there. She kept a book, a flashlight, and snacks in there at all times. When my parents updated the bathroom, years later, the light switch was one of the first things that changed, lol.

Once while camping, my brother “Barney” offered to make my momma a bologna sandwich. I think she was so happy that he wanted to do something kind for her, that she said sweetly, “Yes please”. She probably should have know that this was gonna not turn out as she was hoping. A few minutes later, out came my brother with a big grin on his face holding a paper plate for my momma. There was no bologna on her sandwich….. just some mustard and her glasses. We never did get all the mustard out oth the crevices in those glasses.

I hope, that someday, I can be half the person that my momma was. She was truly the best.

Happy heavenly birthday Momma. I love and miss you every day.

Unfortunately for Mike, (but luckily for me), my sweetheart did not close the lid of said trash can before attempting to wheel it back to it’s spot. As he was pushing it along infront of him, tipped back at a slight angle, he stepped on the lid of the can….. in slow motion I watched that can and Mike propell forward while the offending lid and his feet stood still in the very same spot. I don’t have an actual photo, so I did my best to recreate the spectacle that I saw with my own two eyes, just for you.

After the shock wore off, and I quit crying (not because I was laughing, I swear they were tears of worry), I ran out to offer my assistance.  As you can see, he had gone head first in to the trash can, and completely belly flopped inside. In typical Mike fashion, once again, he is missing the top of his head in a memory “photo”.

Brain buckets and Embarrassment.

When Drew and Mallori were in Junior High and Elementary, respectively, they were in the same school building. We would spend a good 45 minutes waiting in the Pick Up line after school. 

Mike had always threatened to go in to the school and get them himself. His outfit in this proposed situation was overalls, no shirt, and a speedo. The buttons at the waist of said overalls would be undone, so the speedo would be on full display. He was gonna let that redneck banner fly high, for everyone to see. This brought on wails of , “NO!”, and “Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!”, and “I would rather die!”, and my favorite, “MOOOOOOOOM, why is he even like this?”

Ah I miss the sounds of pre-pubecent whining. Not, lol!

When I graduated from high school, I got to go visit my brother in California for a few weeks. My mother, bless her heart, got into my suitcase before I left. The legs on my underwear were sewn shut. There were things stuffed in my pocket, and the pockets were sewn shut. She had sewn things together…. like a sock to my shirt sleeve. The opposite shirt sleeve to my pants leg. When I pulled out one item, they all came out like some weird flag like banner. The best worst thing she did, was to take a tuck in the side of my brand new bra. She could stitch a tuck so that it was practically invisible. No matter how hard I adjusted and tugged at it, it would not fit around me! Finally I got disgusted with myself, and decided to wear my other one. A few days later, I finally figured it out, lol. It’s always good to know your mother loves you.

When the girls in my church turn 12, they get to go to girl’s camp. The first year Drew went to camp, I helped her pack, (insert evil cackle here). As you can see in the picture, I stuffed weird things in her pockets and sewed them shut. I stitched her socks together, and her sleeves shut. I DID do something nice, however, and just did a giant running stitch. She had a diaper stuck in her shoe. Ah…. it felt good to torture my own child in a similar manner. 

I think I made Lucille and Pat particularly proud of me that day.

When pigs fly.

My grandfather was a dairy farmer. My dad grew up farming. Looking back, I’m pretty sure that my dad wanted us to have responsibilities, and to learn to work hard.

On my grandfather’s property we had a HUGE garden. I hated that thing. I hated sitting in the dirt and weeding the vegetables. It’s funny that now I would LOVE to have a little garden spot of my own.

In one corner of this plot of land, we raised pigs. They were super stinky, but dang it, they were so cute! They were my friends. Suzie was my best friend, and I loved that old sow.

One day, my dad “sold” Suzie. I was heart broken. I bet you probably know where this is going……

A few weeks later during dinner, my brother (as I don’t want to out him on the internet, I will change his name) Barney, (that’s what I called him when I was little, because I couldn’t say his name), uttered some of the most foul, disturbing words that I have ever heard to this very day. He said….. are you ready for this? He said, outloud, “Please pass Suzie.”

The whole world tilted to the right and snapped back with a vengance. The dining table swam before my very eyes. The pork chop that I had just shoved in to my cake-hole tasted of betrayal, and grew 10 times larger.

My life was forever changed. No more pork roast, chops, or side pork. Not EVER. The smell will make me gag on a good day, While pregnant, actually made me hurl my entire insides out into a trash can.

Fast forward to this current day. I can eat ham and bacon if I don’t think about it too much. I have been known to eat some pulled pork and boneless ribs if smoked by my sweetheart….  But never, not ever, pork roast.

This is me sending out a big ‘ole shout out, and stink eye to “Barney”, for passing down the traditional oinking and snorting during family festivities. 

It’s a representation of something that I did right. Of a blessing that is undeniably sweet.

That, my wonderful friend, is love. My sweet grandbaby, happily filled with a chocolatey snacky snack, gave me a hug and left that little treasure on my nice, white, tee. And do you know what? I didn’t even care.

Hookahs and Prostitution

One of my children, I will not name any names (but her name rhymes with Schmallory), came home from school one day full of excitement. At school they had been learning about the history of the United States. They studied all about the beginning of this fine country, and the people behind the laws that formed the foundation of her beloved homeland.

Eyes twinkling with excitement, she word vomited everything she had learned. She gushed forth fact after fact, impressing me with the fount of knowledge stored in her cranium. At last, she ended her tiraid by gifting me with the information she knew about the Prostitution of the United States.

Wait……. What?

 After a moment of pure panic, and wondering what the heck they were teaching my 7th grader at school, I finally regained my senses.

Do you mean, the Constitution of the United States?????

She also read the word HOOKAH on this sign one day, while out on the town, ( Okay, okay, we were ordering some tacos).

Just close your eyes and imagine that word being whispered near your ear in a Bostonian accent.

Uh-huh. You heard that didn’t you? My sweet, innocent, sheltered daughter, actually thought that that they were selling ladies of the evening along with coffee and vapors.

An accidental head-rush

Dear Friends and family….I have a story to tell (Because if I don’t tell it one of my kids will and it’ll be worse for me.) Today I became the entertainment at Draper Days. Today is the day that my dignity died. I also have a possible concussion.
I woke up this morning excited for the day! I put on my awesome skinny pants… super cute sandals adorned with red roses… my hair was perfect…. I even put on make up! I was feeling pretty good. We headed off to a festival in a town near by for a BBQ competition. It was gonna be the best day!!! (We will not discuss the fact that it’s 900*)
We purchased our tickets to sample the BBQ from each of the competitors. SUPER good stuff by the way. Mike was chatting with all the pitmasters and having himself a good old time. 

I wandered away and sat on a fence in the shade. Pretty soon Drew followed and sat beside me, and Malli was right behind her. Kinda like a momma duck and her ducklings
Lets discuss Malli for a sec… she’s 12, and almost 6 feet tall. The girl does not sit gracefully, her knees buckle and she drops. Falls 42 feet. EVERY.TIME. She dropped on the fence.
The fence cracked.
Yeah.
The bolt sheered off and the rail we were perched on dropped to the ground.
Drew  jumped up and saved herself, and Malli and I tipped over backwards. It all happened in slow motion too. I am pretty sure I heard a faint “Timber” coming from my right side.
Did I mention the 90* drop off behind us and the ditch??? Yeah, there was that. I started sliding upside down, head first in to the ditch!!! 
Thank heavens for all the pokey weeds and trees that we landed in. I held onto that stuff for dear life to keep from taking a swim in said ditch. (please see the illustration)
Special thanks to all of the spectators who offered support and help as I lay on my back with my legs in the air, head in the ditch, and laughing so hard that I couldn’t move. You’re welcome people 
If you missed the show, you may have possibly noticed the lady walking to her car with weeds and dirt and grass all over the back of her shirt, and the tall girl limping beside her. That was me.
I have no plans on a repeat performance. You just can’t make this stuff up.
Happy Saturday!

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Momma.

I sure miss her.

When my momma got sick with cancer, she fought her hardest. She wanted to be here with her family. In true Pat fashion, she left this world having purchased Mothers Day gifts for us that year, and left them with my angel aunt to disperse. She made sure my father had new pants for her funeral. She wrote her own obituary. She even talked to our family friend Shawn, that would take care of her for us after her death. She wanted to be buried with her teeth, so that Bart couldn’t get them ( He always threatened to put them in a glass of water in the freezer. )

I’m grateful that I will see her again. She’s saving me a seat, I just know it. That’s what Eternal families do.

#GiveThanks

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And then I met Mike. I thought I could cook…. Most of my work experience up to that time was in food service in one form or another. Well…. not so my friends. Mike really does cook. He cooks and puts his whole heart in to it. He even makes keto taste good. If he loves you, he feeds you.

Food nourishes our bodies, and fuels us to do amazing things. It comforts us when we are sick, especially when it’s given to us by those around us that care. It reminds us of generations that were here before us. It brings up memories of the “good times” in our lives.

I’m grateful that through practice and determination, we can take a seedling of talent that Heavenly Father gives us, and turn it in to something to share. While I may wish that I could paint a magnificent painting, or sketch out a realistic scene, I’m grateful for what I CAN do. I have been blessed to be able to share my scribbles with so many. Each little illustration is a piece of that once tender little heart. Those illustrations have helped to teach little ones to count, wash their hands, and to NOT wear their face masks like underwear, lol. They have been able to teach little ones about Jesus and a Heavenly Father that loves them.

I’m thankful for those who have believed in me, and who have helped me along my journey.

Now…. I have a little something for you. It’s called “Star of Wonder”. You can grab it in my Teachers Pay Teachers shop. A little gift from my heart, to your hands. Just download, print, and break out your crayons. I hope that you love it.

Christmas.

The picture on the left was taken in our living room, green shag carpet and all. Santa was in MY house. The picture on the left was taken about 35 years ago. The picture on the right was taken just a few years ago. If you look really close, the Santa on the right is in some of the pictures on the wall behind the tree. I love them both, and I’m so grateful for the giving spirit flows through the generations of the man in the red suit!

That tree!!!! The angel on the top…. She’s mine. My momma made her. She also made a lot of the ornaments, and wrapped all those gifts. The house would smell like pine, and the fire burning in the fire place warmed that room. The popping of the wood, and the shadows cast by the flames was comforting. It was home.

My momma LOVED Christmas. I always loved Christmas too. My favorite memories of Christmas revolve around the time I spent with her. Decorating, wrapping, shopping, and making. If only I could go back for just a day…. Sadly, the house is gone now, and memories are all that are left.

The last few years have been a little different. My kids are older. The stress of buying gifts and doing all the things has been a lot. I worry. I stress. I work, all.the.time. I miss my momma, and it makes Christmas hard. Digging out the decorations is a nightmare, and then I have to just put them back. And now…. Corona.

This year, Christmas will be whatever it is. The season will come and go without seeing the faces our extended family members and friends. The number of hugs and Merry Christmas wishes will be fewer. The feeling of community and celebration, for the most part, will be put off for another time. But maybe…. Just maybe… Christmas will have a deeper meaning this year. Maybe the ‘rona was sent to force us to slow down. To take time. To make time. To be grateful. To remember and be remembered.

Christmas began with the gift of a tiny baby boy unto the world, and all that would inhabit it. It was a gift given in pure love. It was given with hope and faith in those inhabitants would keep that giving spirit alive, and always remember Him. My hope for this Christmas season is that we embrace that spirit, and give more of ourselves. Maybe a little less “things” and a little more you and me, with a little more love, kindness, and hope sprinkled on top.

If for some reason you don’t hear from me tomorrow, please send help. I’ll be in my garage trying to unearth my tree, lol. Santa and my momma would want me to drag that puppy out.

After that, my heart sprouted several more pairs of legs. My Landyn was next. This girl…. She has more energy than anyone I have ever seen. She sings. She dances. She twirls. She’s like a pinball…. Everywhere at once. She’s the loviest girl ever. She just NEEDS all the hugs.

Michael Bret followed, and he was a gift. I cuddled and loved him as much as I could while we had him. He is a beautiful, happy little boy. He is SO loved.

The caboose at this time is Oaklyn. Her birth was a little traumatic, and I’m not sure it’s something I will ever get over. BUT, this baby…. She is the peace and calm and sweetness that I didn’t know I needed. Her little four toothed smile is everything.

A quick explanation of the term “Pocket Treat”. I don’t have a cookie jar like my grandmother. What started out as a treat to take home with you that will fit in your actual pocket, has morphed in to something bigger. (It has been known to turn in to a LARGE zip lock bag full at times. Each.) There have also been a few times where I was ill prepared, and said treat was a cup of instant noodles, soup, or mac & cheese. Those “Treats” are building blocks, of a sort. They are blocks of memories for my babies. One day, they will be a symbol of my love for them. Just like those sugar wafers.

My poor mom…. I recognize that look on her face. That’s her “why did I leave my wooden spoon at home” face. There is a high possibility that one of the boys had touched the kitchen sink and then touched her while she was using the mix master. Instant electric shock. On purpose. She might also have been stuck in the bathroom for a while that day because somebody tied the door shut. She started hiding a flash light and treats in there, because the light switch was outside the door. My brothers were always causing a ruckus… not me though, I was sweet. Angelic almost. I was by far the favorite. Except for that one day when I swallowed a BB and she told me I was gonna blow up. The.Whole.Day.

My sister. I really should apologize for the day that I was supposed to be napping and cut up her new yellow and green striped sheets. That was also the day that I cut off my long curly ponytail, just below the hair elastic. Oh, and that one day when I stole a balloon from the dime store, and she had to take me back and pay for it. Sorry ‘bout that Nanny. I’m pretty sure this was taken after she kicked Bart down the stairs and broke her toe…. Also, thanks for letting me take your first born to show and tell in the third grade.

Bret… When I was in grade school, he told me he was 12 feet tall. I was super proud. I told ALL the lunch ladies. After that, they all thought I was really special. It was probably around this time that he started calling me Agnes, ‘cause it made me cry. A little while ago he called me by my real name, and I’m not gonna lie, it actually hurt my feelings. I need to apologize to him too, for laughing at him that one Sunday. You see, his truck engine caught on fire and he split the seat out of his church pants (not the plaid ones he’s sporting here though) when he ran to get the hose. It was not funny at all. Nope.

And then, there’s Bart. He doesn’t do social media, so I can blab all I want, and he will never know. Thank heavens he ditched that blue suit. Bart is the reason I can’t eat pork, and the smell of a pork roast makes me wanna hurl. He started the tradition of oinking at the dinner table to see how long it would take before I quit eating. Poor Suzie. She was a good pig, and a good friend. (Thanks nephews, for carrying on THAT torture.) He is the only person I ever saw swallow gasoline, and bury pet crickets under a rock. None of them had names, just a colored dot. Their tiny caskets were painted the same color. I really am glad that he never put cold ham and silly string in the foot of my bed under the covers, like he did to my mom. I dodged that bullet.

Blair is the last of the blessings in this picture. He never would let me color in his Dudley Do Right coloring book. I’m still a little upset about that. I think I earned that right. I never did tell my parents about the time he was standing on the back of my big wheel, caused me to flip a wheelie, and bounced my head off the sidewalk. Or about when he’d snoop for Christmas gifts, and then tell me what I saw. He did save my life once though. One day when we were home alone and I stuck a bobby pin in the light socket. I almost burned myself alive. Thanks BG. Sorry bout the PTSD from that.

I’m grateful for eternal families. I might be laughing because there’s nothing they can do about it.

Mikella, AKA Kella, Killer (southern accents sometimes translate weirdly in voice to text, but we kept it anyway ‘cause it was funny ), Little Muck Muck ( Uncle Bret ), and Drew ( purposely picked, and it fits because this one ALWAYS has a paper and pencil ). My little butter lovin, happy dancing, shiny cheeked baby. When my dad was ill with cancer, she was 5 or six. She asked to have her long beautiful hair cut, so she could donate it to make my dad a wig. Animals follow this one, just like they do her dad. She has a huge heart, and a passion for anything art related. She makes me stretch and grow in unexpected ways.

Mallori, AKA Malli, Malice (Southern accent again), Little Agnes (thanks Uncle Bret ), and Mallitree (She grew up tall, while I just grew round, lol). She also earned the name Legs, because if I need something, she is the first one to run and get it for me. I’m pretty sure she was sent here to mother me. She follows along behind me and fixes stuff. She LOVES all babies, and is a miracle worker with hair. She has her whole life planned out, and knows what she is going to do to make it happen. I still haven’t figured that out in my own life, so I’m a little awestruck by that. She is a fixer and a fluffer, and loves all things sparkly and pretty.

I’m grateful that they always go along with my crazy. They forgive me for my mistakes, and they love me anyway, even when I don’t deserve it.

Heavenly Father so loved the world that he sent His only begotten son to atone for our ill choices, dumb mistakes, and short comings. I’m so grateful for that, because I have left a trail of all of those behind me in my life. As I have gotten older, I have realized the importance of trying. I know I’ll not be perfect in this life, (most likely not in any other either, ‘cause I’m a bit of a hot mess), and I hope that if I have ever offended, caused hurt, or said something super dumb (‘cause I’m really good at that) to any of you, that you will find it in your heart to forgive me. You just might forget about it before I do, lol. Thanks Jesus, I owe you one.

Thanks all, who have taken time to read my grateful posts. If you are friends with me here, it means that at one time, in real life, or through the internet, our lives have touched. I’m grateful. If Heavenly Father looked at the world and thought that it needed one of each of us, then that makes us all pretty freakin awesome. BIG hugs from a social distance!

Xox

Me