So ... you know about the cowboy ghost that lives in my house, right? No? Then go here if you want to read more about him.
Anyway ... I think he has followed me to our house at the lake.
So, there I was, just lying in my bed watching a re-run of the Deadliest Catch (Time Bandits - WOO HOO - love that show!) snacking on a bag of Twizzlers, and the door to my bedroom, that was slightly ajar, suddenly closes on its own *creek, creek, ... click*. I SWEAR!
The cowboy ghost (I have gotten to where I call him "Cowboy" - it totally works!) has been flirting with me for many years. If he has followed me to the lake, decided he is finally going to start smooching on me ... he'd better use those invisible hands to lock that door!!
It was about this time, fourteen years ago, that we bought our house.
My mother and I had been out driving, drove by this house with a For Sale sign on it - I called my realtor and asked him to meet us quickly at the house to show it to me. By 6:00 p.m. that evening we had made an offer on the house, contingent on the sale of our other house. One month later, we were moving in.
That afternoon, when my realtor rushed over to show me the house, I entered the property and didn't even have to go inside the house - I knew I wanted to buy it. It had a huge 1 acre yard that was entirely fenced in and I knew this would be the perfect home for our family. My twins were 2 years old at the time.
So ... we bought it and moved in and have lived here ever since.
I have since realized that this is not the house of my dreams, but it has become the house my children have grown up in and it is our home. I think we will live in this house for the rest of our lives.
There are many special things about our house - but, not necessarily special to the naked eye. One of those things is ...
the cowboy ghost ...
that lives in the upstairs hallway leading to our bedrooms.
YES - a ghost!
I had seen the ghost many times, after we first moved in. I would be sitting in our little den area down by our kitchen and every so often - about 2 times a month - I would catch a glimpse of the ghost in the upstairs hallway.
I was always surprised and startled.
I was always confused.
I woud ALWAYS get up and go inspect the hallway and the bathroom - trying desperately to explain what I had seen.
The ghost would move from right to left. From my daughters' bedroom, across the hallway and then into the bathroom - a tall, dark shadow. That's the only time I ever saw him and that's all he ever did - move across the hallway from right to left. I never saw him go back again and I never saw him anywhere else in the house.
I was, however, the only one that ever saw the ghost and I never mentioned that I had seen him to anyone - not even my husband. That is, not until ...
One evening, my mother made the comment, "Did you know that there's a ghost in your upstairs hallway?"
I, of course, perked up to this statement. I did not offer my experiences - I requested that she tell me what she had seen.
She said, "He's tall and he wears black. He wears a hat and a trench coat and boots. He moves across the hallway, from the girls' room over to the bathroom."
She thought she was telling me something I didn't know. I said, "I know - I've seen him too," and went on to explain that she had perfectly described the ghost I had seen many times before.
My mother and I sat there and could not believe that we had, in fact, confirmed our sightings - without even realizing or trying. It was spectacular.
I have gone on to tell people about the ghost, but don't encourage the talk around my smaller children, as when they pick up on the idea, it sort of scares them.
About 8 years after we bought the house, we added on a new master bedroom. We also tore down some walls in our kitchen and den area and renovated our kitchen/dining room/living room area. Since that renovation, and redesigning our den, we no longer have the seating arranged in such a way that you can sit at the bottom of the stairs and look up. Because of this, I have not sighted the ghost in a long time - at least not in the hallway.
When we added the master bedroom and then moved in - I began to sense that the ghost was in our room.
There have been many nights when I will sense that there is someone sitting (I can feel the movement) at the foot of my bed. When this happens, I will bolt up in my bed, expecting to see a cat or one of my children.
There never is.
I am not afraid of our ghost, as he has never done anything other than wander. I believe he is a lost cowboy.
The neighborhood I live in is an area where Indians lived. The name of our neighborhood is named after these Indians. There are caves near our house that have been said to have drawings - left behind by those Indians.
Like I said, I am not afraid. He's a lost cowboy and I am perfectly content letting him live in the upstairs hallway of our house. I'm even okay with him sitting at the foot of my bed watching me sleep.
But ... if he decides to move again - if he gets it in his head to crawl in bed next to me ... he needs to leave his trench coat thrown across the chair and his boots on the floor.
I guess he can leave the hat on.
I'm a sucker for cowboy hats.
(I wrote this post for Suz, over at Busy Bee - she wanted to hear the story.)
If we go on a trip, I generally pick out a bunch of clothes and shoes and purses and sunglasses and makeup and jewelry ... and, if everything I pick out of my closet and drawers will FIT in my suitcases - then it goes with me.
I don't take the time to decide which 12 outfits will suit me best and which pairs of shoes will go exactly with which outfit - I just take as many as I can FIT in my suitcase and I am good to go.
I figure ... I will be happier to have some choices.
Not to be restricted to wear some ol' somthin' that is not quite right or does not fit the mood I might be in.
Nope.
PACK IT ALL - THAT IS MY MOTTO!!! IF IT FITS - IT GETS TO GO!
Nobody I know agrees with this sort of travel preparation.
My family and friends - all - think it is ridiculous and love to make fun of my over-packing tendencies.
That's okay - it doesn't bother me.
Much.
Well ...
It bothers me a little.
All the making fun.
So ...
Just imagine how happy I was ...
How thrilled ...
How proud ...
When ...
While I was packing for an upcoming vacation that my husband and I will be taking ...
Alexis - sitting on the floor nearby - watching me ever so diligently - observing - digesting lots of useful travel tips and information - LEARNING THE RITUAL ...
She sees that I am having difficulty zippering my suitcase shut.
She does not yell across the room, "Why do you need to take so much stuff?"
She does not yell across the room, "Maybe you are taking way too much stuff!"
She does not yell across the room, "Maybe you need to take some of that stuff out of there?"
Nooooooooo ....
This girl, after my own heart ...
This girl that has paid such close attention and learnt the rules and tactics and techniques passed down from her ever so intelligent and resourceful mommy ...
This six year old girl ...
She yells across the room ...
"DO YOU WANT ME TO SIT ON IT? I CAN SIT ON IT FOR YOU SO EVERYTHING WILL FIT!"
On the upside ... I looked over into my sweet girl's face and said, "Yes. You. Can! Get your little butt over here and sit on it," and she did. I was so proud - it brought tears to my eyes (*tee hee*)
I am really not the type of person that enjoys being the center of attention.
I'm not!
I'm not comfortable in the middle of a crowd.
I'm seldom the life of the party.
I avoid center stage as much as I can.
But ...
Even with these shy tendencies ...
Even with this desire to steer clear of the limelight ...
Even with this fear of drawing too much attention ...
I will sometimes ...
Go to church ...
Wearin' ...
A pair of shoes that SCREAM ...
LOOK. AT. ME!
I am a sparkly pair of shoes ...
I am gaudy ...
And glittery ...
And ...
I am ...
The exact perfect pair of shoes ...
For ...
A Queen ...
Or ...
A Movie Star ...
Or ...
A SHOW-OFF!
I am a beautiful pair of shoes ...
That ...
Should be worn with ...
A SPARKLY TIARA!!
On the upside ... I don't own a tiara. IfI did own a tiara, I would definitely be inclined to wear it with these jewel-covered shoes. It's a good thing I don't own a tiara. I'd definitely be getting way more attention with a tiara on my head ... sittin' in the front pew at church ... than I am truly com-fort-able re-ceiv-in' !
During a trip to Wal-Mart recently, my mother came along.
It was her and I and Alexis and Little Billy.
We made our way through the store, finding Birthday gifts - finding shoes for Alexis - finding cleaning supplies - finding some food.
After a while, the group of us ended up in the ladies clothing department - me with my buggy looking at t-shirts and my mother with hers near the swim wear.
I was not so far away that I missed this conversation.
My mother - talking to herself - talking to me - talking to who? - I'm not sure - she says, "A bikini. I'd like to wear a bikini again one day - before I die."
I look over and I smile (*she's obviously delusional - been on Jenny Craig for a couple of months - thinks she's taken off 30 years, I guess - along with those 30 lbs. - tee hee*)
My son, sitting on the ground - waiting for this ladies-department-browsing-to-come-to-an-end-soon - hears this bizarre comment made by his 70 year old grandmother.
I look over and notice him glance up at her and say, "Whhaa-t?"
My mother repeats this nonsense and laughs.
My son giggles almost uncontrollably and says, "I think you need to forget that idea," hoping his grandmother takes his advise seriously.
I look over at my mother - my 70 year old mother - and she has a look on her face like she is seriously insulted.
Then, my son says, "I think that would scar me for life," and he puts his face in his hands and rubs his eyes, like he's trying to rub the image off of the back side of his eyelids.
I look over at my mother and smile (*she's obviously delusional - been on Jenny Craig for a couple of months - thinks she's taken off 30 years, I guess - along with those 30 lbs - tee hee*).
On the upside ... She was serious. I know her well enough to know that - she was serious. I will do everything I can, to try to talk her out of such a mistake - but, I likely will not be successful. I can only hope that when it happens that Little Billy is not around - it could very possibly ... scar him for life. Me too - for that matter (tee hee)!
In my kitchen, behind my flour canister - lives the tiniest little spider. I know he lives there. I see him most everyday. I don't like spiders, but he doesn't bother anyone and so I let him be.
Every now and then, when I am out in my yard ... I will see a snake. I see way more snakes than I really want to see ... but, mostly they don't bother me. I watch them closely to make sure they are slithering away from me and not towards me - but, I pretty much deal with these snakes.
When I go out into our garage, occasionally, I will come across a tiny scorpion. Now ... these are those Texas scorpions - the type that will sting you and it hurts - but they won't kill you. Still ... I run for the biggest shoe I can find, return to where the scorpion was seen - search him out and SQUASH it until it is good and DEAD!
Now ... if I am walking into my kitchen or bathroom or ANYWHERE ... and I come across a ROACH - one of those HUGE TexasROACHES (water bugs, they call them) - a chill runs across the back of my neck and tickles up my skull in such a way that it feels like my hair is standing straight up in the air. I will stumble backwards or sideways or spring up from the floor towards the ceiling - nearly crawling out of my skin - to back away from the ROACH! I will never find a shoe fast enough to SQUASH the thing, but I will try ... and when I return to where it was last seen ... and it is gone, I will feel as though the nasty creature is crawling on me, in all my cupboards, beneath all our sheets and inside my shoes ... until it is seen again and I can KILL it!!
I hate MICE about as much as I hate ROACHES!
I don't see them often - thank goodness!
Sometimes, I do ...
One day recently, I was sitting at my desk.
I look up.
Standing by the door in my room is Little Billy, Alexis and my niece.
They are besides themselves with excitement.
"Close your eyes," Alexis screeches.
I do.
"You can open them now," my son says, and is now standing very close to my body.
My eyes fly open, I fly back, my chair nearly tips me on the floor - I make every attempt possible to crawl out of my skin, but can not do it, I SCREAM, "What is it ? What is it?!?"
"It's a mouse," he whispers, and he has it pinched between his fingers - standing way to close to me - RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF MY BEDROOM!!!!
I made every effort to calm myself.
"TAKE. THE. MOUSE. OUT. OF. THIS. HOUSE!" I say this loudly, but calmly - very aware that if I startle the boy that he might very well drop the creature - it will scamper away - never to be seen again.
Little Billy - pinching the mouse between his fingers - holding the mouse way out in front of his body - walks down the stairs, through the kitchen, out the back door and into the yard. When he returned into the house he explained that one of the cats had captured the mouse and they all SAVED it before the cat could eat it up - YIPPIE!!
I instructed all of these mouse-saving-kids to WASH THEIR HANDS AND PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE ... NEVER DO THAT AGAIN - EVER!
A short while later ... while I was standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes, I look over and see Little Billy heading out the back door with a fistful of Girl Scout cookies in one hand. In his other hand he has something I can not see. I say, "What do you have?"
He flings open the sliding door, looks in my direction, he says, "Cookies for me," and he crams one into his mouth. He then holds out his other hand and says, "And, a piece of cheese for the mouse," and then he is gone.
On the upside ... I don't know if he was able to find the mouse again - I only saw him run off into the woods behind our house - a pile of melting Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies in one hand, for himself, and a slice of American cheese, still in the wrapper ... FOR THE MOUSE, in the other! I couldn't help but smile. Isn't he the cutest thing? I thought, and then ... my smile turned quickly to a frown. I began to imagine him back in the woods feeding that MOUSE a melted Girl Scout Thin Mint cookie - instead of the cheese. That would mean - you know - the mouse would then follow the boy back home - you know ... If you give a mouse one Girl Scout Cookie ... then he'll want ... ANOTHER GIRL SCOUT COOKIE! (*sigh like a fat mother addicted herself to delicious Girl Scout cookies*)
I'm going to have to SQUASH that mouse - if I find him anywhere near my Girl Scout cookies - I AM!
So ... the other day ... when our yellow cat - Garfield - came home - CASTRATED ... I could not have been more pleased!
With Garfield, we open the door - let him in to eat and sleep and then let him out when he wants out and he wanders around at night and comes back when he pleases. Sometimes ... he is gone for several days at a time.
Apparently ... over the course of the past several weeks, he has been, not only, going in and out of our house to sleep and eat - but in and out of someone else's house as well - because ... his other family decided to have poor Garfield - FIXED!
Like I said ... I could not have been more pleased!
I can now cross that worry off of my to-do list - YIPPIE!
Along with the shots - as I have to assume his other family probably got those for him as well - took care of all of it while he was in for the snip-snip operation.
My kids were not at all pleased.
They were quite distressed.
"He's our cat," they all screamed, upon hearing (and seeing) the news. "We need to get a collar and put a tag on it that says 'This is Garfield and he HAS A HOME - SEND HIM BACK HOME.'" They were not happy - at all.
I tried to explain to these kids that this was a good thing - how the other family was there to also take care of him if he wandered by and all - how the other family could be the one to continue to take care of the veterinary bills - all good!
But, they didn't want to hear any of it.
On the upside ... We honestly believed that he had come back - trying to maybe get away from the other family that had done this to him, but ... he's gone again. And ... just for the record - when he comes back again - and he will - I AM NOT BUYING THAT CAT A COLLAR! This is the pefect arrangement as far as I am concerned.
I usually walk around my house in a pair of white socks.
In the summer I walk around bare-footed, and that includes when I am outside - sometimes I slip on a pair of rubber flip-flops.
I go to the grocery store.
I go to the dollar store.
Occasionally, I go shopping at discount stores like Marshalls, Big Lots, Ross, Target or Wal-Mart.
I go to PTA meetings and sometimes volunteer at my childrens' schools.
I go to an occasional movie or out to dinner with my family.
I go to church.
I go to the lake.
I go on the occasional vacation.
WHERE DO I POSSIBLY THINK ....... I WILL EVER WEAR ALL OF THESE SHOES?
I don't actually know how many shoes I have, but .... these aren't even all of them. There are probably another 40 pairs you can't even see in these picutres.
Now ... if you were to ask me - "Do you like to buy shoes - are you a SHOE NUT?" I would say, "No, not really." And it would be true. I don't gravitate to shoes or search out shoes. I buy shoes - OBVIOUSLY - but shoes are not my fetish (believe it or not).
I do not have any clue how I have accumulated all of these shoes - someone that is not necessarily a SHOE NUT!
IMAGINE IF I REALLY WAS A SHOE NUT!!
On the upside ... You know those people that hoard cats - you know - have 50 or 100 cats all living in their house? I guess I'm like that. Luckily there are no "Shoe Police" going to come to my house and box up and take all these shoes from me - you never know - I might need these shoes. I DO need these shoes - else, why would I have all these shoes? (*shrinks back into her dark closet like a creepy shoe hoarder*).
The woman - what sounds like a soft, computer generated voice - says, "Do you have a - deer in your pool?"
My mind says, Well that's odd, but my mouth answers, "Why yes we do," in response to this survey question, because ... WE DID HAVE A DEER IN OUR POOL!
I say, "Who is this?" and my friend - we'll call her Fifi - says, "It's me - Fifi." I laugh out loud.
I explain that I found it strange - that a survey company would be calling my house - asking this odd question - but, I could have sworn when I heard her voice that it sounded so smooth - so strangely computer-like. I told her I half expected her to continue by asking, "What do you plan on doing about that?" or some other question, in a very survey-like manner.
We could not stop laughing.
Yes ... there was a deer in our pool!
Poor thing ... wandered into our yard and I guess - fell into the pool and drowned. It did have two of it's legs pretty scratched or chewed up - some coyote could have gotten to it and in trying to escape, it fell into the pool and died. We really don't know.
When my children brought the dead deer to my attention and all 5 of us were standing around the pool looking at the poor thing, my son asked, "How are you going to get it out?"
I, of course, said, "I. Am. Not. The. One. Getting. The. Deer. Out. Of. The. Pool," to my curious son. I went on to explain, "Daddy will handle it when he gets home."
My son looked surprised and looked at me and said, "Daddy?" like that would be impossible. Like he was imagining that we would call someone - the people that did this sort of thing - the people that would come to our house to get the deer out of the pool.
I laughed and said, "Yes, Daddy. It is definitely a "boy's" job."
"How will he do it?"
Walking away, back towards the house, I said, "I don't know. I guess he'll just get a rope and lasso it - pull it out. He's a Texas boy - he'll know what to do."
My son, still standing beside the pool, staring at the poor dead deer said, "I can't wait to see this."
On the upside ... He did. He lassoed it. Put it in a wheelbarrow, wheeled it across the road, took it into the woods - and dumped it. I guess that's how they handle this sort of thing - Texas boys. My son was right by his daddy's side - learning the ropes..
My laptop was in front of me, my TV was on ... I had a bag of GHIRARDELLI chocolates in my lap.
I opened the bag slowly and reached my hand inside.
I pulled out a chocolate square and was thinking, I can't wait to eat this chocolate. This chocolate is going to be simply delicious - I can't wait to eat this chocolate. Yum, yum, yum, yum, yum ......
When, suddenly ---- at that very same moment that I was about to tear the shiney wrapper from my chocolate square, on the TV ----- came a GHIRARDELLI commercial!
What are the odds of that?
It was wild and crazy and I can now mark it down as one of those weird little moments in my life.
I know ... not really so phenomenal, but it was a moment.
I haven't honestly had too many of those sorts of weird moments in my life - not that stand out - you know.
Once ... my sister and I were shopping together. We walked up to the cash register to check out and she began to talk to the cashier about how I had this whole basket full of stuff, but that somehow, my bill would end up being far less than hers - because I am such a frugal shopper, yada, yada, yada. When the cashier rang up my sister's bill, she stood in front of me with her bagged goods and waited for my stuff to be rung up. When the cashier hit the total button on her register - OUR BILLS WERE EXACTLY THE SAME TOTAL!!!
Another - weird moment - but not earth-shattering or life changing by any stretch of the imagination.
When I was pregnant with my twins - on the morning that I was to go to the doctor (at 4 months) for a sonogram, my husband and I went first to meet with our accountant in her office. I made the statement to our accountant, "If I am right - that I am going to have twins - then we will have two additional deductions on our taxes next year." When we left the accountant's office, I called my mother and asked her to meet us at the doctor's office. I had a feeling that she would want to be there - when the technician was going to announce that she was going to be the grandmother of twins. My mother came. When I was lying on the table in that dark room, my mother stood by my side and rambled on and on to the technician that everyone was always teasing me that I was so big and wouldn't it be really crazy if Kellan were going to have twins and ... just about that time, the technician moved her scanner over my belly, looked my mother in the face and said, "Well ... there are two babies." My mother cried.
Now ... that was a CRAZY moment and ... a LIFE CHANGING moment!
One of the most fabulous and thrilling LIFE CHANGING moments of my life!
Life is definitely like a bag of GHIRARDELLI chocolates ..... each little bit is a moment wrapped in a splendid shiney wrapper and the treat inside has the possibility of being .... SIMPLY DELICIOUS!
Happy Valentine's Day to my sweet children - to my darling husband - to my wonderful family and friends. I love you all very much!
And ... Happy Valentine's Day to all my blogging friends. Our journey together has been just like a piece of chocolate - simply delightful!!
I was sitting at my vanity in my underwear, putting in my contacts, curling my hair and putting on my make-up.
I was there for a bit, not totally enjoying the view of my semi-naked figure in the mirror, but just had to divert my eyes so I could get the business done - I had to be at Alexis' school in 30 minutes.
I finished my primping, put away my curling iron, hairspray and make-up and stood up.
This is when the real horror hit me.
It wasn't the view in the mirror in front of me - while that is always quite shocking - especially early in the morning - it was ... when I looked down at my legs.
I have had these legs for a lot of years.
I have relied on these legs. I have depended on these legs. I have shown much respect for these legs ... for many, many years.
It's like - I am the CEO of a Fortune 500 Company (*my life*) and when I have a job that needs to be done and I search out the most valuable person on the team, the most dependable, the most experienced - the best - and then I choose you (*my legs*) to do that job ... it's like that! They are my go-to-guys - I always choose them first. I've been very partial and ... very partial.
So ... WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO MY LEGS?
They still do the job - they walk me where I need to go - that's good. They still fill the pants okay - I have lots of pants and they are doing a great job there. They don't complain that they don't get shaved as often as they did in my youth - that's a plus. They still hang onto my feet and stay attached to my aging hips - that's a relief.
But ...
THE SKIN IS DROOPING - ON MY LEGS!
Not on my chest, so much. Not on my arms, so much. Not anywhere, so much ... but on the upper parts of my legs - just above my knees - DROOPY SKIN - like the hyde is sliding ... or something.
I could not stand there in my bathroom, bent at the waist, staring at this pitiful sight any longer - I had to get to my daughter's school. All I could do was shake my head in disappointment.
On the upside ... Someone obviously came into my Fortune 500 Company and strutted off with my once beautiful, youthful looking legs and left me with DROOPY replacements. I'm not happy that Personnel failed to notify me of this change - but, as long as these old-lady legs continue to get my DROOPY BUTT to all the places I need to go - I guess I'll have to appreciate them - but ..... I. Am. Not. Happy. About. It!
"Mom - You're the most entertaining woman on the face of the earth," my son announced one afternoon after we pulled away from the Dairy Queen restaurant.
This statement said to me - after I had screamed, "GIVE ME THE RANCH DRESSING! GET IT! GO ON - GO GET IT AND GIVE. IT. TO. ME. NOW!" to the very rude DQ employee at the drive-thru window that made the minor mis-calculation of P.R.O.V.O.K.I.N.G me!
Me ... the one in the van that had been driving for an hour and doesn't particularly like this particular DQ myself, but went anyways, because my van full of 5 hungry and grumpy kids begged me to.
Me ... the one with the van full of 5 hungry and grumpy kids that had already been forced to wait 10 minutes before anyone even took our order at the order menu!
Me ... the one with the van full of 5 hungry and grumpy kids that waited another 20 minutes before our order was ready and was given only 3 onion rings - not 8 or 10 - but 3 - in my order, and I just let it go.
Me ... the one with the van full of 5 hungry and grumpy kids that was told that the nasty, slow DQ was now out of ketchup packages!
Me ... the one that agreed to take the packets of ranch dressing and honey mustard dressing in the place of ketchup and then was given just 1 pack of each - for a van full of 5 hungry and grumpy kids with lots of french fries and chicken strips!
Me ... the one that asked - very nicely - for 3 more packages of ranch dressing and was told - by a very rude and nasty-uniform-wearin'-girl that stood inside that little window, with her hands on her hips - that I'd have to pay for the additional packages of ranch dressing!
Me ... the one that could not believe her ears!
So ... I, very calmly, took a deep breath, leaned as far out of my window as I could (if I could have climbing through her little window without totally humiliating myself and my kids - I would have), looked the DQ girl right in her face and screamed, as loudly as I could possibly scream ... "GIVE ME THE RANCH DRESSING! GET IT! GO ON - GO GET IT AND GIVE. IT. TO. ME. NOW!"
She shut her mouth.
She lowered her hands from her hips.
She handed me the 3 additional packages of ranch dressing.
I drove away.
On the upside ... In the back seat of my van were 5 shocked children - but they had their DQ food and their replacement con-di-ments! I had my 3 onion rings and a nasty DQ Hunger Buster - that I promptly threw into the trash. And, to my son, all I had to say was ... "I'm so happy to entertain you!"
(My husband - who was in his truck right behind me in the DQ line, called me on my phone and said, "What's up? What happened? What's going on? I could hear you - you know." I explained to him that I had it all under control - they were out of ketchup - I took care of it. I'm pretty sure he also finds me quite entertaining and ... was very glad he was not in the van with us).
(I did tell all the kids, in a very calm voice, "Don't ever yell at anyone like that - ever! You never know what they might do.")
(Note: No offense to anyone who loves DQ, works for DQ, owns a DQ - I am not against DQ - just this particular one).
Okay ... it wasn't actually a real heart attack, but I did have my husband call 911 because I thought I was having one.
He called.
They showed up at our house at 2:30 a.m. - pulled up into our driveway.
There was a fire truck with lights flashing. There was a police patrol car with lights flashing. There was an ambulance with lights flashing.
They rushed into my house.
Two (*uniformed*) police officers. Two (*uniformed*) firemen. Two (*uniformed*) paramedics with medical bags full of supplies and monitors - in tow.
I was having a "heart attack", but had enough sense about me to put on some shoes and gather my things and go downstairs. I was sitting on a chair in my living room. I had on my very ugly pink pajamas (top and pants) and my tennis shoes. I had a jacket and my purse by my side.
I was ready to be taken to the hospital.
They crowded around me - the six professionals. They said:
"What's up?" "What's going on?" "What's happening?" "How do you feel?" "Where does it hurt?" "Tell us what happened." "Lift up your shirt."
I said, "W-w-wwhat?" into the face of the one.
The one.
The good looking one.
The very, very, very, very - good looking one, now kneeling down in front of me (Me - the crazy woman in the very ugly pink pajamas with the Keds tennis shoes on her feet, bed-head hair, make-up smeared under her eyes, glasses sliding down her nose - Me, the one that did think to put on a bra under her ugly pajamas - but neglected to imagine that THE GOOD LOOKING ONE would ever see the thing!).
I lifted my shirt and turned my eyes towards the ceiling (to avoid seeing THE GOOD LOOKING ONE turn to stone and then to ashes ... from resting his eyes upon the horrid sight beneath my ugly pink shirt).
But, he didn't turn to stone.
Somehow - he survived.
And ... so did I.
No heart attack - according to the monitors.
THE GOOD LOOKING ONE said:
"Maybe an anxiety attack." "Maybe stress." "Everything looks good." "Good blood pressure." "Oxygen at 100%." "Can't find anything wrong." "We can still take you in, if you want." "It's up to you." "Calls us if you need anything." "Take care."
He was extremely nice. And ... so easy on the eyes.
They packed up their things.
My husband walked them out.
They turned off their flashing lights.
They backed out of our driveway.
I hung up my coat.
I turned off the lights.
I went upstairs and threw my Keds back into the closet.
And went back to bed.
On the upside ... The next time I have a "heart attack" - I'll be sure to dig through my drawers - find a lacy bra. I know I must have one - somewhere!
If you are lucky enough to find yourself in a winter wonderland, such as the beautiful state of Utah ...
You MUST make time to play in the snow ...
Build yourself a giant snowman and ...
Lie down, spread your wings and ... become an angel.
You might even get creative (like Aaron and Matt) and make a lovely heart sculpture.
You could spray it with colored water so as to make the heart a beautiful pink.
From the road, people would see your glorious giant heart sculpture in your yard and it might bring a smile to their faces - especially your Mormon neighbors.
It might make them proud to have you as their neighbor - that you would make such a beautiful symbol of love for all the neighborhood to see.
But ...
Be very careful.
Until the frozen heart melts in the Spring ...
Do not invite your Mormon neighbor up to your front porch.
Because ...
From your front stoop ...
Your beautiful heart sculpture ...
Does not ...
Look like a heart at all ...
And ..
Your lovely Mormon neighbor might be appalled!
They might even cover their eyes and scream ...
"Dear Lord ... That nasty woman needs to take her head out of the snow, stand up and put her clothes -- back -- on!"
*Kellan throws her head back and laughs like a bad Southern Baptist that obviously has too much time on her hands and her mind in a south Texas gutter - tee hee*
I am at my daughter's elementary school, walking with my sweet little Alexis and her classmates towards the library. I am not going to stay, but I promise her that I will walk with her and then I have to leave to go run some errands.
We are walking along.
We are chatting.
I am in a good mood and holding my tiny girl's hand.
She is happy I am with her and I am oh so happy to accommodate her wishes.
We are about to enter the library, Alexis smiling a big ol' smile, me smiling right back at her, when ... one of her little friends, from another class, rushes across the hallway and runs up along side of us, looks straight into my sweet little daughter's happy face and says, "Is that your Grandma?"
Alexis says nothing.
I, however, bend over (at my ancient old-lady waist), look the little-six-year-old-monster-child in front of me, right in her face and say, as nicely as my senile mind can muster, "No Sweetie, I am her mother," through a forced smile and clinched jaw -- the jaw that supports my saggy jowls that are connected to my wrinkled face with the bloodshot eyes that are surrounded by deep dark scars where the crows have stomped their nasty little feet and the face with the parched, pale lips that really want to utter something far more sarcastic and way more mean ... but don't, because my sweet little daughter has no idea - THAT I AM CERTAINLY OLD ENOUGH TO BE HER G.R.A.N.D.M.O.T.H.E.R!!!
On the upside ... I hobbled on out of there and managed to make it all the way to my car without any help from anyone, went about the rest of the afternoon successfully completing all of my scheduled errands and made it home just in time to meet my sweet little daughter as she got off her bus ... and ... I never fell once and broke my hip!
We went to eat at a little pizza place near our house.
I was sitting at a large table with my family and some friends. Alexis and my niece were sharing a small table near ours - just having a good ol' time eating their pizza and talking.
A while into our lunch, me very content and enjoying my pizza and grown-up conversation, the two little girls came over and stood beside my chair and my niece says, "Me and Alexis have lots of stuff in common," and she smiles.
I look down into their sweet little faces and say, "Is that right? Like what? What do you have in common?"
She then says, looking down at her clothes, "We both have jeans on. We both have a pink shirt on. We both have flip flops on. We both are eating pizza. We both have our hair in ponytails. We both have ice in our drinks," and she goes on and on - for about another 5 or 6 more things they have in common.
I smile and say, "Yep, that's a bunch of stuff you two have in common," and I turn my attention back to the conversation going on at my table and figure they have gone on their way.
But then I hear, "And we are both missing our front teeth, and we both are in 1st grade, and we are both in the same class ..."
I turn slowly to see the two of them still standing by my chair. (*Aunt Kellan's brain begins to turn to mush while she tries very hard to keep her eyes from rolling back into her head*).
"O-Kay," I say, in a tone that she knows well to mean "That is enough of that".
And she then sighs and says, "And ... we both live in houses, we are both six years old, we both eat food, we ..." and I stand up from my seat, put my hand on their identical little backs and guide them gently back totheir little table - AWAY FROM WHERE I AM SEATED!
On the upside ... Yep, yep, yep ... just like two little jabber-mouthed peas in a pod. She'd have gone on forever - FOREVER - if I'd have let her! What do they think I am - a SOUNDING BOARD FOR EVERY SINGLE THOUGHT THAT POPS INTO THEIR BUSY LITTLE BRAINS?
I am at my daughter's first grade Christmas party. I'm standing near the food table enjoying the delicious treats and chatting a bit with my sister-in-law (my niece and Alexis are in the same class).
I am standing with my back to the door and I am watching the kids play games, handing out slices of pizza to all the happy first graders, shoving apple wedges into my mouth and then I glance over at my sister-in-law and I suddenly see her eyes become fixed on something and a strange smile settles on her face. I turn around.
It is him.
He sticks his head into the classroom.
The classroom filled with way-to-many loud six year old children and their Christmas-sweater-wearin'-mothers, way too loud Christmas tunes coming from the stereo in the corner, way too much chatter going on about Santa this and Holiday that and waaaayyy too many pieces of apple being shoved into my big mouth .... just long enough to wave a hand at his darling daughter .... AND .... to once again allow all of us motherly-types to gaze upon his MIGHTY FINE GOOD LOOKING FACE ... one last time.
After smiling at him, I turn back to my sister-in-law (*that really should wipe the drool off of her lower lip with a holiday napkin, by the way*) and I look her right in the eyes.
She says, only mouthing the words, "He is sooooo good looking," and I nearly had to throw my arms around her to hold her up from falling to the ground or from melting into a pathetic puddle beneath the table.
I mouthed back, "Yes. He. Is," shoved yet more apples into my mouth and then turned back to get one last look at him - before he disappeared into the hallway.
I looked back into the room of rowdy children and loud music and there I saw - 10 mothers - all standing up perfectly straight, none paying attention to the party around them ... with their eyes focused on the door just behind me and big ol' goofy smiles on all of their faces.
He was gone - but there they stood - like hypnotized school girls ... gazing after him in hopes of catching just one - more - glimpse.
On the upside ... He will be around for at least 4 more years - we have many opportunities to see him again. We are only looking - you see - all of us motherly-types. He is married and so are we. We don't wanthim. We. Just. Want. To. Look. At. Him. - A. Lot!
Garfield is our yellow cat. Boo is our black cat. And Snape (name from Harry Potter) is our tabby cat.
Snape is not quite right.
We're not sure if he's just messin' with us or if there's something not right with his brain.
He, like the other two cats, is an outdoor cat that comes inside when he wants affection, food and a cozy place to hang out for the day.
Every single day that this cat comes into the house, he climbs the stairs, goes into Alexis' room, grabs this bear off of her bed and drags it through the house. I find him with this bear all the time and I pick the bear up and take it back upstairs to Alexis' room, only to find that he has gone back and gotten it again an hour later.
Look how big the bear is - it's about as big as he is.
Does he believe he has killed this bear and he's dragging it off to eat it?
Does he think this bear is his baby and he is taking it along to teach it some cat stuff?
Does he want to date this bear?
What is he doing dragging this bear around the house? He's not a dog. He's not even a normal cat. I think he thinks he's a bear and he thinks this is his little bear brother (*Come on, come on, come on ... let's go play*).
On the upside ... The other cats just watch this bizarre behavior from a distance. I imagine they are probably thinking, "I wish he would just stop doin' that - he's makin' a fool of himself. It's obvious ... she's just not that into him."
One of my friends told me a story this past summer and I found it hysterical. I make her repeat this story to everyone. It goes like this:
Her neighbor (a man) has this son that likes animals and as so they have cats, dogs, a mouse, some birds, lizards and a squirrel.
The man tells the story that one day late last fall, he went out onto their patio to find the squirrel in his cage - dead. He said he looked at the pitiful creature and all he could think about was how disappointed his little son would be to find his squirrel had died. So ... he pulled the limp rodent from the cage and began to perform CPR by pushing on his little chest and blowing air into its mouth. Suddenly ... the squirrel came to life. The man was very proud and happy he had saved his son's pet.
A few days later ... he went out to his patio to check on the animals and again found the squirrel lying lifeless in his cage and so he quickly pulled the animal out and performed CPR. Once again, he revived the animal and was very pleased with himself.
The third time this happened, a few days later, he said ... "It finally occurred to me that I was bringing the squirrel ... every three days or so ... out of hibernation." He was then - not so proud.
This is the story of my life. Everyday I go along trying to breathe life into myself and my family. And every three days or so, I realize that I am simply bringing a squirrel out of hibernation. Well ... not a squirrel, really ... but sometimes it sure feels like that.
On the upside ... Okay ... sorry about the ridiculous picture - I couldn't resist!!
(You should have seen Alexis when she first saw this ridiculous squirrel. She said, "What's that - pointing at the you-know-whats," and I said, "They are his, you know, his little ... nuts." She was sitting on my bed with me and she threw herself back on the pillow and began to laugh so hard (a real laugh) and it made me ... throw myself back on my pillow and ... laugh and laugh and laugh. It was so funny. I don't know if she ever realized what those things really are, but she found it all very, very funny - as did I. I'm such a good mother.
I am at Alexis' gymnastics class. My mother and I are sitting in the waiting area that is in this little room behind these wall-to-wall windows where you can see the kids in the gym. The chairs are all lined up in rows about 10 chairs to a row, about 6-7 rows deep. We are sitting, our legs crossed, just watching Alexis in the gym.
Then the CRAZINESS begins.
These two boys (whose mother is MIA) begin to chase each other all around this very crowded room. They run, they race, they yell loudly. They squeeze in front of my mother and I, and run on down the isle. My mother grunts.
Then ... they did it AGAIN! Even louder, even faster ... right over our feet and purses. My mother grunts andhuffs.
And ... AGAIN! They run past us, squealing loudly, arms flapping, spit flying, squeezing through and trampling our feet. My mother wants to say something - badly - (I want my mother to say something) but ... she just mumbles and then huffs and then grunts.
I just move my legs.
I do look around the room - wait patiently for the mother of these unruly children to save us - wait for some mom voice to say, "Get. Over. Here. Now!" It never comes - no voice.
So, I get up and go to another room, near the front desk and front door (leaving my mother behind). I find a seat and get out my laptop.
Now ... there are 4 boys - screaming, sliding on their knees in the lobby, racing their small cars on the floor and banging them loudly into the walls, climbing on the chairs and jumping off. Four, loud boys ... about ages 8 down to 3 years old. All cute ... but very loud. The littlest one kept screaming, I mean SCREAMING, "Ethan. ETHAN. ETHAN, I NEED YOU TO LISTEN TO ME!" While Ethan - totally ignored him and just kept running his Hot Wheels car across the window next to me (SKREEEEETTTCCHHHH!!!)
I gaze on this MADNESS, laptop on my lap ... and watch ... and wait ... in complete astonishment. In my head I am thinking (WHERE. IS. YOUR. MOTHER?). I stay quiet.
Finally ... the girl (about 18 years old) behind the front desk, says, "Boys, BOYS, BOYS, BOYS - You are going to have to keep it down," and then turns and goes back behind her desk.
Two of the boys sat down and the older of the two got this very fearful look on his face. The little one sat next to him and followed what his brother was doing - nothing, but sitting, at this point. Ethan and his loud little brother, remained rowdy even after the 18 year old reprimanded them once again.
Mind you, I am sitting ... with my laptop on my lap and only looking up at this CRAZY MADNESS every so often - hoping soon it will all disappear. I am minding my own business.
Suddenly ... she appears.
The mother.
A mother.
She sees her two boys sitting quietly in the chairs close to me and she says, "Why are you sitting down (I swear!) - Did they make you sit down?" and she looks at me. She means me ... I know she means me ... but I do not look up - I am minding my own business!
Her son just grunts something inaudible - he is embarrassed that he had been reprimanded by the 18 year old girl. The mother begins to pace a bit and ... I fully expect her to address me at any moment. I am fully prepared to ... raise my hand and point at the 18 year old girl ... but I never have too.
The CRAZY mother - gathered up her CRAZY kids - and left. I could hear her drilling her boy as they walked out the door, "Did they tell you to sit down? Did they?" and her annoyingly LOUD voice then faded ... into the darkness of the night. Along with her CRAZY boys!
Shortly after she left ... MIA mother #2 showed up and casually rounded up her hooligans, Ethan and baby brother ... and slipped into the darkness as well.
The 18 year old girl, stood up, leaned over the desk, looked at me and rolled her eyes and smiled. I just shook my head.
On the upside ... It's a good thing my mother bit her tongue - she would have never won that fight (these were two really BIG women)!!
![Denis Gagnon Spring/Summer 2013 [Men/Women]](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ku6YvFq6pIE/UOQdf3pImrI/AAAAAAAAUSI/Ndqo7_hQQRM/s1600-rw/denisgagnonss13mcqc28.jpg)