That's what I meant to say.

I am enjoying writing this blog more than I thought I would. It's refreshing, and I feel like I am on a playground in the side my left brain. (I think that is the creative side.)

Well tonight I was telling my girls about my toilet blog from earlier today. On the way home from rehearsal tonight, BigB read it out loud. She read errors and all. I was horrified! There were extra words. There were subject-verb agreement errors. There were missing words. It was horrific. The worst part of this: I proof read, re-read and edited several times, but I did not catch these glaring errors.

I've known for a long time that I cannot proof read what I write. I have a tendency to read what I meant to say, not the words that are actually on the page (or the screen). This is a very frustrating problem, because there is not always someone there to proof read. As silly as it is, I am a better self-proofer with a piece of paper than on the computer screen. I have no logical explanation for this.

So, if you read my blog, and notice an extra word, or a missing word, or something just doesn't make sense, let me know. It's okay. I'll let you know what I meant to say.

Toilets

OK, folks this edition of Blue Toilet Water is actually about toilets.

This topic is on my mind because of how my day started. Like most normal people, when I wake up in the morning after sleeping 6 or 7 hours, one of the first stops is a bathroom. In my house, I have 2.5 to choose from, and the choice is determined by occupancy, and location relative to the coffee. Generally, the need for coffee is more pressing... TMI....

This morning, barely awake, and without the proper infusion of caffeine into my system, after I had taken care of all the necessities, I run had to screaming through the house searching for a plunger. Injuries occurred. There was an obstacle course of laundry baskets, doorways, bipolar dogs attacking, and such to navigate. And I didn't have on my glasses.

Mind you , I was not the culprit of the need for the plunger. I was the victim.

Anyway... toilets. In it's infinite wisdom, the federal government (or someone equally as brilliant, like Barrak Obama's 2nd cousin, Paula Abduhla ) decided that toilets should use as little as water as possible when flushed. This is a great concept. I am all for saving the earth, conservation of water, and other natural resources, and tree hugging, as long as we are reasonable about it. Reasonable, in my mind, means that the toilet flushes consistently when used properly. Here is where the problem comes in.

Because of water saving mandate, it is necessary to keep a plunger readily available in our house. Some think that saving water = saving money. I disagree. I think the medical expenses incurred as I almost kill myself rushing through the house screaming "WHERE IS THE PLUNGER?!?!? THE TOILET IS GOING TO OVER FLOW!!!" is much more expensive than the cost of water.

Now, if you are easily grossed out, just close this window and come back later.

I warned you.

OK... still reading....Here ya go.

Simple concept: Small people = small poops. Large people = large poops. It's not rocket science. I have large people in my house. It's genetics. It's just the way it is. So, we've had to institute a one for two wipe rule. One flush for every two wipes. If you feel the need to wipe a third time, you have two choices: 1.reach behind you and flush first, or 2. make sure the plunger is close by. In my opinion, this is unreasonable because if you don't follow this rule toilet does not flush properly. The third wipe does you in. The problem is, that the three wipe toilet clog is not obvious. The 3 wiper finishes their business, and goes along their merry way. It's the next visitor to the porcelain bowl that gets the gift. That is what happened to me this morning.

I have a simple solution. Can't there be a dial on the toilet? Kind of like the knob for the hot water? The further you turn it (to a certain point), the more water flows through the pipe. My toilet knob would have setting Number 1 and setting Number 2. Simple, huh? Turn the knob to Number 2 for number 2? Or maybe there should be three knob settings.

Anyway, it frustrates me to no end that I have to have a daily evaluation of poop, and that I have to have conversations with my family about the toilet, and that it is important to always know the location of the plunger. Just give more water, on demand, please. It's really ok.

Oh, and I want Paula Abduhla to pay for a pedicure. I stubbed my toe, and my polish is chipped. See, water conservation is going to cost me a fortune.

Shamed by the Billy Goat. And Cobbler.

I have been shamed. I am hanging my head.

A little Billy Goat said I had neglected my blog. I thought I had done pretty well - something every couple of days. Hmph! Heck, I even wrote a whole blog on my iPhone. THAT takes dedication. So, to hear that the vast majority readership feels I’ve neglected my blog… Shamed.

So I am blogging. Tonight's blog is about cooking. Cobbler, specifically. The first question: What is the proper spelling? Cobbler or cobler? My spellchecker thinks that there are two b's, so I am going with that.

I am not much of a cook. It is on my "to do" list as something I'll work on when I have time on my hands. (IE: When the kids are all grown). I have a whole cabinet full of cookbooks, most of them family hand-me-downs and such. I also have a whole "book" of recipes that I've written down, clipped from magazines, looked up on the internet, etc. Sadly, I've never even tried to make anything from most of the cookbooks, or my “that looks good” collection. Oh -- I do have Julia Childs cookbook. I bought it for myself.

The point of this is that, me, making homemade anything, is blog worthy. A serious accomplishment. If it turns out well, I shout it from the roof tops. And take pictures. :)

My sister-in-law is a cook. She makes things she sees on TV, and Paula Dean recipes, and always has something fabulous. Her husband is a great cook, too. On father’s day, said SIL make these two cobblers that were to die for. One peach and one blueberry. I asked for the recipe, and could not believe how easy it was. I made it tonight. Prep time 3 minutes. Cook time about 40 minutes.Mine wasn't as good as hers, but it was still very good. I bought vanilla ice cream to go with it.

Mmmm! Drool away!

Music Lessons and Answering Questions

Today was a music lesson kind of day. A good day.

BigB had her second real voice lesson, and in my untrained unknowing ear, I heard something. A change. There is something to the saying "sing like nobody is listening". When B sings in the shower, she forgets anyone else can hear. Her voice is full, and rich, and there is some power to it. I heard some of that today in the lesson. I'm not sure if it's 'right', but I like it.

MOjo had her first flute lesson today. I think she was a little overwhelmed. She was probably given more to accomplish in one week than she accomplished in band all of last year. This is a real test for her.

In both lessons, the girls were asked questions. Questions that I had to BITE MY TONGUE not to answer for them. GRRR. Questions I thought they should have been able to answer without thinking. There were loooonnngggg pauses. ARGH!

Hydroplaning, Rooster Tails & Near Death Experiences.

My adventure this past weekend had some interesting events.

This weekend adventure came up when I agreed to drive my niece at least half way back from Mobile to Knoxville. I was happy to do it. Her (and her brothers) annual visit is the highlight of the summer for my girls. Half way is somewhere close to Atlanta.

Well, TMan and I were planning a trip to the Ikea in Atlanta to shop for his apartment needs. We were planning this trip for sometime in July, closer to the date he needed the goods, but trips are expensive, so after some quick finagling, we rescheduled our trip to kill two birds with one stone.

So after my niece had visited for a week of swimming, softball and creating movies and other fun things that girls do, Little Lou and I took off toward Auburn to meet up with TMan. We made a quick vehicle switch and loaded into my truck, which is now TMan's main modus tranportus, and headed out of Auburn with the TMan driving. Just after we got on I85 North, the weather turned nasty. REALLY nasty. The winds grabbed the sides of the truck like sail. Lightning was popping everywhere. Rain came in sheets. TMan was driving two handed and white knuckled. I didn't even give him too much grief when ugly words slipped from his lips. He apologized momentarily.

After a few minutes, the winds had calmed, and the rain was fairly intense, but manageable. We were in the far left lane of 3 lanes, driving below the speed limit, but still, pretty fast. We had two lanes of traffic to the right, and a 3.5 - 4 ft. high concrete barrier wall to the left. I'm not sure how to describe the sensation, but I instantly knew we were hydroplaning. The whole "feel" of the road changed. We went from rolling, to floating. In the same instant, a solid wall of water came from the other side of the barrier. It was like the ultimate rooster tail from my water skiing days. Obviously a vehicle on the other side of the barrier had hid the same patch of poorly draining interstate, and their tires had sprayed the water OVER the barrier. It was a solid sheet that completely hid the view of everything in front of us.

The whole thing lasted 3 or 4 seconds, and I have to say, TMan handled it brilliantly, as shown by the fact that we are all still alive. We did not hit the wall, or the other traffic. I am not sure what I would have done.

It was scary. That was the beginning of the adventure.

My truck.

I am riding in my truck. I love my truck. I am up off the ground. The height and angle of the seats fit my tall self. I feel comfortable, like I am wearing a favorite old sweatshirt on a slightly nippy day.

You see, several months ago I gave up my truck in favor of the more gas efficient Hyundai Sonata. Tman and I switched vehicles because he drives about 50 mines a week. I drive 300ish. The Sonat gets 22 or 23 mpg. The truck gets 12 or 13. It made financial sense. But sadly, it doesnt make personality sense.

So, I am enjoying being a passenger in my truck. I now have to go be the navigator and check the weather. We are in some yucky stuff and the wind is blowing us around like this big ol truck is a sail.

Sick.

I hate to get sick, because when the Momma is sick, it really doesn't count. She still coordinates the carpool bus, takes care of things, goes to work, does her volunteer duties, talks to doctors who call and mess up the one good thing that happened this week......... In other words, Momma gets do all the same stuff, except all while blowing her brains out through her nose and pulling a 10,000 pound weight filled with snot and whatever the gritty stuff that is currently residing in my throat is.

On top of that, I have plans for the weekend. I am supposed to drive (with one niece in tow) to Auburn tomorrow, meet up with TMan - after he takes a 4pm final for his mini-term class -- drive to north of Atlanta, meet my brother and his significant other and return my niece to him, spend the night with long time friends, and then power shop 400,000,000 square feet of Ikea on Saturday. Sick is no where on that agenda. Then drive back home Saturday night. (I was going to stay in Auburn, and come home Sunday morning, but I am getting cold vibes on that one.)

So blog followers, I may be absent for a few days. Either because gravity got a hold on that sickness weight and sucked me 6 feet under, or because I am busy and out of town. Either way, I hope I have blog material when I return!

PS: I did get two shots in the hiney at the doctors office. Hopefully one shot was hydrogen to counteract the weight. The doctors name was Hindenburg.

PSPS: I figured out I cannot blog on my iPhone. Safari (the Apple browser) will not let me into the "body" of the blog on my phone. I resorted to typing in notes, and copy/pasting, which actually worked, sort of. I may have to look into blogging by email, for posting Emergency Wally World entertainment opportunities, and such. Idea's, bloggers?

PSPSPS: What are you supposed to do if you want to add more than one postscript to a letter, blog, or other written communication? PSS? PSPS? PS AGAIN?

Hello, is anyone out there?

I was just checking my blog stats and found I have some interesting views.














Twelve, from Germany? Really? Who are you, my German friend? Please use the comment section to say hello!

All the others - the UK, India, Japan, the Netherlands and Ukraine, I imagine you landed here by accident. Even so, say hello.

So, I sure my boring blog about my problems and life and occasional attempts at humor will never be a highly followed blog, it's nice to know who might be lurking.

Blog Name Update

In a prior blog, I listed my "blog names" for people I know (Click here if you are not my one and only blog reader and are interested). I described one certain someone like this:

??? - There is one young lady who I really think the world of. She boosted my ego in huge ways. She listed me as one of her favorite athletes on FB and other people "liked" me, too... I guess you could say she kind of started a fan club for me. How cool is that? I've been trying to come up with a special name that is reflective of her many qualities, talents and traits. It might have something to do with a hobbit. Or opera. Or piano. Or essays. Or possibly moose adoration. The possibilities are endless.

Well, just an update on her blog name. I STILL DON"T HAVE ONE! I thought I was close, but then, my idea fizzled out. So, I am still working on it. It has to be unique, and symbolic, and have some underlying meaning that will make it extra special.

I am not sure I put this much thought into naming my children.

One day, it's gonna slap me in the face. I can't wait.

These are a few of my favorite things...

A friend posted a blog about her favorite smells and included a comment that some were 'universal'. She liked smells like rust, and paper. Who likes that?? I'll give her credit for being unique. :).

Well I am going to copy her and list some of MY favorite smells. I'd bet a nickel they are more universal than my friends rust and paper.

I love the smell of chocolate chip cookies baking. My mouth starts watering, and I am reaching for the milk before they are cool enough to touch.

I love the smell of clean. I like lemon Mr. Clean, and most other all purpose cleaners that have the word rain or mountain in the scent name. Plain soap, like ivory, is also a really good smell.

The smell of a just bathed, lotioned and powdered baby might be one of the sweetest smells in the world. I guess that goes along with clean. I hope that Johnson & Johnson baby wash is still around when I have grandchildren.

Gardenias are wonderful. I have four mammoth bushes in my yard. When they bloom I can smell them without even opening the windows or doors.

Freshly bleached sheets, towels and unmentionables. The best is when they've been line dried on a mild, breezy spring day. (notice a theme? )

The smell (and sounds) of a country breakfast cooking. Sausage, bacon, gravy, eggs, sliced tomatoes, biscuits slathered in butter, with sweet clover honey or sorghum molasses.

No one under 30 will no what I am talking about, but I loved the smell of the ink on copies made with the old Xerox machines they had in schools in the 70's and 80's. The ink had kind of a blue tint, and the smell was kind of like that of magic markers.

I love, love, love the smell of freshly ground coffee. And bread baking.

I love the smell of spring rain.

The smell of sweet feed we used to have for the horses. It was sticky and dark and I really thought I might enjoy eating it. I also loved the smell of freshly cut alfalfa hay.

There are more. But these came to mind first. I think it they all beat the smell of rust. ;)

Happy Fathers Day, Mom.

I am a statistic. My parents divorced before I started preschool, and my dad was absent the vast majority of my life, and when he was present, there was drama, turmoil, and hurt. Lots of hurt.

And then there's mom. Mom took care of things. Mom is who held it all together for us, supported us, and even covered for our dad. She played sports in the backyard, taught us to drive and how to mow the yard, and dished out rewards and punishments, just to name a few of her many parenting jobs. Because she mostly played both roles -- that of the mom and the dad -- I generally get her a "fathers day" card.

This year is the first year my Dad's physically been gone from this earth. There are many fathers day past that I didn't talk to my dad, probably because I had no idea where in the world he was. But this fathers day, he was heavily on my mind. Maybe that's why this year I didn't give my mom her father's day card. Not because she didn't deserve the acknowledgement, but because this year I was coming to terms with what would never happen --that my dad would never earn one of those cushy Hallmark cards that talked about how he'd been there throughout the years. His years were up, and I got very few, if any of them.

It is with this in mind that I tell people that fathering is not about DNA. It's not even that much about gender. It's about being there. It's about guiding. It's about love, and respect, and stability. It's about being genuine, and good. I am fortunate that I had a few people in my life that filled this role at various times; times when I needed some male guidance, or just a role model. Most of those folks are not in my life today, but I thank them all the same, and wish them happy fathers day.

So, if you happen upon a kid who's a little screwed up, and you've got something to give, please share. It might make a difference you cannot imagine.

And, happy fathers day, Mom. You are my hero.

Target Practice

I shot a handgun today. This is a big deal. This is only the 2nd time in my life I've done so.

You should understand that I have an almost irrational fear of guns, especially handguns. Here are some of the reasons it's irrational:

• It's irrational because I truly believe in our American right to bear arms.
• It's irrational, because, I've was raised, at least partially, in the country. Shotguns were a part of daily life, but they were for the boys. I was never taught how to handle the guns, a and, actually to this day, I've never shot a shotgun. My brother and cousin practiced shooting the shotguns by taking target practice at the snapping turtles in the pond on the farm. They received guns as gifts. My grandfather carried a shotgun in the trunk of his car at all times. The shells were in the glove box.

And here is the reason it is rational:

• I have, one time in my life, been a situation where a gun was used to threaten. I am not talking about being a witness to a robbery, or seeing something at a distance. I am talking about being in the room with a family member who had gone off the deep end, and who threatened to hurt themselves and other family members. Eventually, I ended up hiding in the closet of my bedroom until the danger, and fear passed. I was 13.

So, today, I had this opportunity to present itself. If you had asked me when I woke up this morning if I'd be shooting a gun today, I'd have laughed at you. But today, when the opportunity presented itself, I felt no fear. I felt the need to conquer. I needed to move from fear to healthy respect.

Over all, I think I did pretty well. The range was fairly short, but when we doubled the distance, I still did well. I was told not to "bulls eye" but to cluster. I was surprised by how tired I felt after 30 rounds. My shoulders hurt, and my aim definitely deteriorated with each clip. I shot a total of 50 rounds. I enjoyed it.

So, today I shot a handgun. I am not heading downtown to get my carry permit, yet, but I crossed a bridge. I feel good about it.

Wrestling

I am an open book, too the point that it might be a bad thing. I will tell most anybody about problems, and every deep dark secret. I also share joy. I think my openess scares a lot of people off. Maybe it comes across as needy. It's just that somehow I learned early in life that keeping things in, especially secrets, is a damaging, dangerous thing. No one told me this, it just sort of happened intrinsically. Maybe it was because secrets were kept from me, and in the end, that was hurtful.

Well, I have some things on my mind, and I really want to get them out in the open. They are family things, and I admit, I both want and need some support. I need some friends who will listen as I wrestle with these issues. I need some folks who will tell me if they think I am on the wrong side. I am not afraid off being wrong, and I smart enough to know that I look at the world through only one set of eyes, and sometimes my vision is askew.

What I am wrestling with is that by virtue of the fact that I am dealing with "family" things, it's not just me. There are others involved who want to keep things private, and by their definition, private means talking to no one. To try to honor this, I have taken the professional route, and took the problems to a family counselor at church. The "family" did not participate, and in fact, the family was initially not invited to participate. I went for me. The couselor said that the privacy thing is being pushed so far, that it's control, not confidentiality. By not letting others see what is going on, and making sure there is no else can offer an opinion, or perspective, it's easy for one person to claim they are always in the right.

I guess by writing this, I am opening a door that I am not sure should be open. I know I haven't given specifics, but I also know it aint hard to figure out. I am to the point that I might have to put others wishes aside, and take control.

So I am wrestling. Not only with the issues at hand, but with how to get them out in the open while still being respectful and considerate.

Dear Lord, please give me OCD. Just a little bit, though.

I am a slob. My house is a disaster. I don't want it to be, it's just that there seems to be so many things that are so much more important than cleaning. Like sitting in my PJ's watching Netflix. Or running my kids here there and yonder. Or volunteering for my favorite community choir. Or having conversations by text message. Or - gasp - working.

I know I should be careful what I wish for, but I do wish I was just a little bit OCD about the cleanliness of my house. It's not that I don't care, I do, and I would die of embarrassment if you knocked on my door unexpectedly. The problem is that I don't care enough to do anything about it. I want to care enough to do something about it, and maintain it.

In my younger years, I had PMOCCD (pre-menstrual obsessive compulsive cleaning disorder.) I'd like to have it back, please. Along with boobs that don't sag, the elasticity in my skin, my speedy metabolism and fewer cellulite dimples. Oh, and brown hair. In the PMOCCD years, once a month, I'd go on a cleaning spree. It came like clockwork, and I "HAD" to do it. PMS makes some people feel like they're down, or have lost control. My way of taking control was cleaning, and putting my house in order. Now, I just eat chocolate and post blogs.

So, I'd really like some dose of something that would make me care. I am perpetuating this anti-cleaning mentality with my children. Cleaning is what ALWAYS gets put aside, and they are beginning to feel that Disney Channel shows are more important than cleaning the bathroom. After all the show goes off in 30 minutes, and the fungi in the bathroom will still be there.

Also, I know a messy, dirty house is a reflection on me. No one walks into the family house, and thinks, wow "INSERT HUSBAND/FATHER NAME HERE" is such a bad housekeeper. The state of the house - the decor', the cleanliness, the "feel" is a reflection on the lady of the house. A good wife manages the home and family well. Well, if you come to my house, you get the feel of a pack of rats at a garbage dump. You sometimes get the smell, too.

I joke about wanting a cleaning or laundry fairy on my social sites sometimes, and have been slapped in the face with comments like "that's why you have children". My children are busier than ME! We are not a stay at home family, so they are not there to "do".

So, Lord, will you please give me just a little bit of OCD? The house is in trouble!

Disappointment

I really want to write about something that I can put a twist on. Something that will make you laugh. Something that will be fun. But I cannot. I am disappointed. I am disappointed in people. Some people I think the world of have let me, or others down. It makes me sad.

I hear the word righteous in church a lot. It's in the Bible, and is often used to describe Biblical Characters. It's used to describe people of good standing in the church. I used to think that only a true saint could be righteous. I hear it in movies, and in slang, and it's obviously a good thing to be righteous. I thought righteousness and being Christian go hand in hand.

So, I wondered, maybe I expect everyone to be righteous. Maybe I expect more out of this human race than I should. Maybe I expect everyone to be righteous.

But, then, I looked up the word.

1. (of a person or conduct) Morally right or justifiable; virtuous.

2. Perfectly wonderful; fine and genuine.

Even the Urban dictionary has a definition of righteous:

Containing the best possible attributable qualities.

Synonyms of righteous are things like good, honest, fair, and right.

The word has nothing to do with religion, or faith. It has everything to do with the way we treat one another. Is it too much to ask people to be "morally right"? Is it too much to expect people to be "fine and genuine"? I know those are only parts of the definition, but is it such a stretch?

I know that everyone makes mistakes. Often mistakes are misguided choices -- bad decisions made without all the information, or made out for the wrong reason. These are truly mistakes, and those who made them are "morally right" and "fine and genuine". They are just mistakes, and they make me sad, but they don't disappoint me.

My disappointment today comes from the realization that some people I care about may not be "morally right". Morally right, to me, is defined by your interaction with the rest of the world, and how your decisions affect others. Hopefully, decisions are for the better, in some form or fashion.

Decisions made out of selfishness can never be morally right. They can never be "fine and genuine". But there can be many times where being "fine and genuine" also results in personal improvement. Both in circumstance and in mind.

And, so today, I am struggling with disappointment. With the fact that values have been compromised, or were maybe never there to begin with, and I've been too blind to see it. Or maybe that I've been hoodwinked.

Either way, I am disappointed, and my perception of the world is changed forever.

Saturday afternoon blahs....

Here I am again... accomplishing nothing. The day is gone, and I have done nothing. I am wishing I had done more. Wishing I thought doing more would make any difference. It's all just wheel spinning. Like being stuck in mud. No matter how much or how little gas I give, I go nowhere.

Is it horrible to wish everyone would go away for a day or two? I cannot remember the last time I was home alone. It seems that everyone gets a day to themselves except me. For the last 7 months, MightyMO has had a weekday off -- a day that there was no one else around. I know he worked on Saturday's, but somehow I think, in terms of productiveness, a whole day to yourself is somehow worth 3 days with a house full of people who need direction, instruction, and who like to eat, but have not been turned loose to use the stove.

The list of things I need to do is LONG. Very long. And I am whining about it, and not doing it. I can blame tiredness from our recent trip, I can blame needing down time from mental exhaustion, I can blame lots of things. But the fact is that somewhere my productiveness went right out the window. I think it's because completion of the list somehow no longer makes me feel happy. It's not enough.

I also have these cyclical sleep issues, and right now, my body is craving a day/night reversal. I am MUCH better at night. But since work, and family and other issues necessitate that I stay on on a "normal" schedule, I am kind of stuck. It seems like most everything that needs to be done in the house requires use of the kitchen, and MightyMO wants no activity there after his 9pm bedtime. (Our bedroom is right off the kitchen.) This is one reason that I usually sleep in the guest room. He cannot tolerate me coming to bed later than him. It disrupts his sleep.

So, another day, down the tubes. Nothing accomplished. When will I get myself back?

Blog material.

You would think after going on a 4 day trip to "the happiest place on earth" with 40 other people, I'd have lots of material for this blog. Sadly, I don't. I'll hit the highlights.

1. I can count to 41. Many times.
   
2. I can pick 12 people (and sometimes 13) out of a crowd of 4.2 billion. I learned it's much easier when they wear matching shirts.
   
3. I love chickenandcow lady's brownies.
   
4. I like thrill rides They are my favorite.
5. Lines can be fun.
   
6. It's hot in June. Very hot.
7. Tweenish girls are silly.
8. Bottled water sometimes makes me more thirsty.
   
9. Deodorant is an effective way to treat (and probably prevent) chaffing.
10. Frozen lemonade is the bomb.
11. Spray tans may not be the best thing for me.
12. Standing next to a street pole does not automatically make me look like a streetwalker.

I think that's it for now.

For the love of happy.

I have a problem. It haunts me and it sometimes makes me a little crazy. I like to make everyone happy. It is an impossibility, and I know that. I am not sure what made me that way, but I am always trying to find the path of least resistance. Some people call it diplomacy. I am beginning to think it should be called delusional.

On recent group choir trip, I lost it a couple of times. "It" being my diplomacy. In a heartbeat, I went from even keeled, straight to irrational. I'm sure lack of sleep and fatigue and physical exhaustion played into it. I owe the choir czar an apology, not for why I lost it, but for the way I handled it - more like a 4 year old having a tantrum than an adult that could totally justify why I felt some things were unfair, and the fact that I was personally insulted by the way some things were communicated. In the end, the "issues" that I lost it over are immaterial -- it all worked out. It's the why's and how's that I have issue with. I plan to address it.

Now, that being said.... I had a lot to do with planning the trip for the group, via a travel agency, and there is soooo much I could have done better. I learned a lot. I left too many decisions to be made "on the fly", and it's hard to communicate with a large group that is spread out. More than that, there is soooo much that the people who got paid to plan the trip could have pointed out and helped me address. So, once again, life has taught me a lesson.

Overall the trip was fun. I think everyone had fun. There were no problems that created safety issues. All kids were in good shape at all times. We had a two full days of full "group" stuff, and two full days of time for small groups to go in different directions. I think it was a nice balance.

I love this choir group. I will continue to try to diplomatically do what is best for the group. Even when it is delusional.

A long day...

It has been a long day. I am mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted.

A friend had a baby yesterday. A beautiful baby boy. I was supposed to go visit today, but before my day got good and started, I got a text from my friend that the baby was having seizures, and they moved him to USA in the NICU. Scary, scary stuff for anyone, but for a new mother to be separated from their baby... I cannot imagine. She was left waiting in the hospital while her husband stayed with the baby for all the tests. Waiting for results, waiting to know, at least a little bit, what her life would be beyond today. I waited with her. That is the least a friend can do, right? That, and pray, which I did a lot of today. I even put out a prayer warrior request, but I didn't use names. It's not my place.

Tests were run. Blood work, x-rays, MRIs. The first round of news is that the baby had a stroke either during or just after delivery. The stroke created a issues on one side of the brain (left), which resulted in seizures affecting the other (right). The baby was started on anti-seizure medications, and there have been no seizures since.

More tests will be run, and there will be more news. But what an emotionally exhausting day. And I am not the mom, or the dad. Just a friend. All I did was wait. I cannot imagine being in their position. Having the joy of a new baby overshadowed by fear and worry. Four words that change everything, like a light switch being flipped: "there is a problem".

After I left the hospital, on the way back to my office, I stopped by my moms and hugged my girls. And I thanked God for them. And in the meantime, I completely forgot about an appointment I had scheduled for BigB. And I have several things that were on my LIST for today that have to be done tomorrow.

But tonight, thankfulness prevails.

The people of Wally World

I shop at Wally World, sometimes. If I have to visit a "super" store, I'd much rather visit the Super Red Bullseye Store, which I find to be cleaner, better organized, and have higher quality merchandise. Sadly, item-for-item it is also more expensive than the WallyWorld across the street, so I don't one-stop-shop. (Wasn't that the purpose of these super stores? To save time? So in one stop you can drop your car off for an oil change, balance and rotation, all while you shop for new drawers - the kind for you body, and the kind you PUT the ones for your body in - get your eyes examined, have your nails and hair done, buy nails and hair, get your glamor shot taken, and order a birthday cake, get your groceries, purchase a pet goldfish and its all needed supplies, stop for a fried fish and okra dinner in the deli, then you can pick up your Ali diet pills in the pharmacy. By the way, say a prayer it's not fried goldfish.) If I had my druthers, I'd one-stop-shop at Super Red Bullseye Store, but it is financially irresponsible. I go to Super Red Bullseye Store for "things" - linens, housewares, and some clothing items (especially for the girls). I shop at WallyWorld for groceries. Groceries are things like toothpaste, sunscreen, laundry and dishwasher detergents, cereal, cream of mushroom soup, and bacon. I'll buy ground beef at Wally World, but no other beef. If I am in the mood to buy a roast, or splurge for a steak, it's back to Super Red Bullseye Store or Wind Dicksy.

This running all over town does not save me any time, but I cannot justify paying $3.78 for a bottle of Heinz Ketchup at Super Red Bullseye Store, knowing I can get the exact same bottle of ketchup from Wally World for $2.98.

Now, sometimes, if I just need one or two things, I will go for the "one-stop-shop". I put a value on my time, and I know it's not saving me one red cent in cash or frustration to drive my hiney across the street to get Catchup for $.80 cheaper.

Besides lower prices, WallyWorld has one redeeming quality that is typically missing at Super Red Bullseye Store: Entertainment Value. No matter what time of day or night you visit the Wally World, you are likely to be entertained by merely watching some psychopathetic person. (Note: psychopathetic is word I created. It will be in Webster's soon, so you should use it in routine conversation. You will be ahead of the game.) When my son was 14 and 15, his Friday night outing was trips to Wally World with friends. I suspect they instigated some of the entertainment, but none the less, they had plenty of willing subjects. Since I am not speedy with my camera, I am borrowing some photos from others entertainment enriched outings.

Enjoy!

I personally have never forgotten to put a shirt on before I went to Walmart to pick out a home phone (or anything for that matter), but then again I’m weird.

For EAB:

La Schwinn, an opera being performed in the in the sporting goods section of WallyWorld. The soprano is amazing.

I suspect, that occasionally I am the leading lady in the entertainment. For example, when searching for drawers. True confessions: I am a cotton lady. Nothing too fancy, but not Granny Panties either. I like Hanes. They hold up best and come in packages of 6 or 10 pairs for a and didn't cost more than my first car. Now, it seems that every time I decide it's time to buy a package of drawers, the style I want is available in EVERY OTHER DANG SIZE KNOWN TO MAN, except the size I need. And then, there is the frustration of a completely different sizing system for drawers than for pants and skirts. Whose brilliant idea was that??? If I wear a size 10 pants (I WISH!), why can't I wear a size 10 drawers? That would make sense, so the manufacturers don't do it that way. A size 10 pants/skirt size equates to a size 6 or 7 in drawers.

This is where the entertainment comes in, when I stand in the WallyWorld store, and have a conversation with the drawers. They talk back, and sometimes they laugh at me. I laugh right back at them. Psychopathetic.

And don't get me started on bathing suits or bras.

So, head out to WallyWorld when you want the best prices on your groceries, and a show thrown for good measure. The people will not disappoint you.