I Took Me A Nap, And I May Just Take Me Another

Today I got off work early to go visit a specialist my boss refers to as "the Lungologist."

He's a card, that boss-'o-mine. A real card.

And he's really tired of all the coughing and hacking and wheezing still coming from my office, so he was glad to send me on my merry way. The verdict from said Lungologist was much the same as from the Primary Care doc.

Apparently he saw his shadow when he walked into the exam room and I have to go back in 6 weeks. After downing yet another round of antibiotics (stronger) and steroids (for a longer period of time) and breathing treatments (still). Lung function is down (surprise!) and there seems to be obstruction due to inflammation in my airways along with wheezing and hacking and coughing. Oh, and draining. Let's not forget the draining.

And then there are more little fun things down the road that we'll get into later.

All the medication has made it hard for me to sleep at night without taking even more medication, so I'm a little more tired than usual during the day. However, when I got home today both Little Man and Sweetie Pie were there! It's been a while since I'd seen them, so I was glad to be able to spend some time snuggling. Especially with Sweetie Pie, who is now a whole two months old. She and I snuggled up in the big brown chair, and she promptly fell asleep.

And so, wanting her to feel right at home, I did the same thing. With her right in my arms. I don't know about her, but I got a good thirty minute nap in right there before I left to go to my other job, and it made a world of difference.

Speaking of the other job, I got a chance to see a couple of movies this past week. Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium is a great little film for the kiddoes. It will spark all kinds of imagination in them. While the ending is kind of a letdown in that it's predictable and doesn't really go anywhere, I would say your elementary aged children would love it.

On the other hand, Fred Claus is more of a rip-a-tradition-apart-in-order-to-build-it-back-up and make-everyone-feel-good movie. It doesn't have bad language, but the moral lessons aren't really that great. It's kind of a trashy sentimental movie that I wouldn't pay to take the kids to see.

I've been working at the other job a lot this week on a special project that should bring in some much-needed holiday cash, but it certainly is taking a toll. Late nights, Dad cooking dinner, etc. It's a good thing this project is over after this week.

And with that, I'm calling it a night...or early morning...and turning in. G'night all!

I Find Myself In Need Of Assistance, And YOU Can Help

Yes, YOU.

We're having an Office Decorating Party on December 3rd, known around these parts as The Hanging of The Green. No, it isn't The Hanging of The Greens, because we aren't tacking spinach or collards to the wall - we're celebrating Christmas.

So here's the deal: I need catagories. I need prizes (gag gifts, preferably, that go along with the catagories). I need the whole kit and caboodle yesterday.

HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So Now That I've Blown It, I Can Go Back To Normal, Right?

I don't know how I did it, but I missed Day Twenty-Four.

All of it.

I actually think I slept through a good deal of it.

I remember going to bed around 9 p.m. because I just couldn't hold my eyes open any longer, but that's about all I remember. Oh, and having an extremely hard time staying awake all day yesterday.

Suffice it to say the GOOD cough syrup is history. I have to go back to work tomorrow, and I can't be falling asleep at my desk. Or anywhere else for that matter.

So for tonight the laundry and bed will have to suffice. After all, it isn't as if I didn't get eight or fifteen hours of sleep a night almost the entire time I was on vacation, even if half of that time was spent wheezing and coughing. I mean, there's only so much sleeping a girl can do. I'm hoping I'm about at my limit.

I KNOW I'm at the limit of how much football I can endure in one week. And I'm about to throw the television over a precipice of some sort due to extreme exposure to any and every game played being watched by the male counterparts in my family the past four days.

Oh, and GO M.U.! Way to win it, guys!

And with all that excitement, I'm off to bed.

Day Twenty-Three - Part B - Laughter Does The Heart Good

Younger (although not by much) Sister, knowing my Love of the Pun, sent me this by email today:

Question: What do you call a reindeer with no eyes?

Answer: I have no-eye deer.

No, it doesn't take much to make me laugh. And this one had me laughing until I coughed up yet another lung, but it was worth it.

Feel free to share this among the rest of the Interwebbians with my blessing.

Carry on.

Day Twenty-Three - Someone Wake Me When It's Time For Pie

Tonight I am going to the movies.

Once again I have the privilege of working for the company who sees fit to employ me in a pseudo-job I love to do, so I will go and do that job for them. And I will not only do that job, but I will sit and enjoy the benefit of watching the entire movie I missed out on last week.

You know, the one that caused me to get a ticket. The one that I still haven't taken care of, but I really will very soon.

Because hey, LOOKIE HERE!!! I AM POSTING BEFORE MIDNIGHT!!!

It is indeed a wonder unto itself.

Another wonder: I went to both Thanksgiving celebrations yesterday, both my mom's and the one I foisted off on the nephew. The ER Creep may have had the bedside manner of a goat, but he gave me some REALLY GOOD cough syrup. And while I did not cough much, I did have a hard time staying awake. And while I did have a hard time staying awake, apparently I am quite adept at sleep-eating.

And napping in between.

Because nothing says "Thank You, Heavenly Father, for all your blessings this past year!" like a drugged-up, comatose woman who is shoving multitudes of starches down her gullet between snores. Nope, nothing indeed.

I do hope y'all had just a wonderful Thanksgiving with family and friends, and that you got enough leftovers to enjoy for the coming week. For now, I'm off to gaze at the big screen without falling asleep. Then I'm driving home at a leisurely pace, free from the pressure of posting before the witching hour.

Take care and enjoy your evening!

Day Twenty-Two - We Are Thankful

O Lord we thank Thee for this food

For every blessing, every good

For earthly sustenance and love

Bestowed on us from heaven above

Be present at our table, Lord

Be here and everywhere adored

Thy children bless and grant that we

May feast in paradise with thee

Praise God from Whom all blessings flow

Praise Him all creatures here below

Praise Him above, ye heavenly host

Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen.

Day Twenty-One - Part B, In Which I Am NOT Hospitalized

Thanksgiving is tomorrow. The celebration will be at my nephew's home.

My hallway remains unpapered. Funny, for some strange reason I actually thought I might get it done this vacation. Silly me.

I went back to the Friendly Physician today, and we decided it was best to stick my behind in the hospital for 24 hours or so. The coughing and the hacking and the wheezing and the general inability to breathe was wearing me down. The antibiotics and steriods didn't seem to be doing their job, and I've been, for the most part, miserable. The short stay would allow them to hang a constant IV drip of steroids and antibiotics, as well as supply me with some oxygen to ease the work my lungs are having to do now. I'd also get a chest x-ray, some bloodwork done, and a hefty dose of cough syrup.

I was all for it.

My doc said she'd call the hospital and make the arrangements. All I needed to do was go home, pack a few things and show up to be admitted. So that's exactly what I did.

Only that's not exactly how it went.

When I got to the hospital it was after normal admitting hours since I had a late appointment with my doctor. I went to the ER desk and told them I was there to be admitted, only to be met by a blank stare.

"We don't have any orders from your doctor."

"Well, did my doctor call the ER doctor, perhaps?"

"No, we have no record of that."

"Well, could you call my doctor and verify that I'm supposed to be here? The wrong hospital might have been called..."

"You'll have to be seen by the ER doctor, and he'll call your doctor if he feels it's necessary."

Great.

In the meantime, I'm coughing and hacking and having a gay old time. I fill out the paperwork, go and sit in the waiting room, and am called by the triage nurse. She takes the temp, blood pressure, etc. and hands me a mask to wear so that I won't infect anyone else. Except I've been on antibiotics for three days and I'm not supposed to be contagious. Only she doesn't know that, so I just put on the mask and wear it without a fight. I'm too tired.

Half an hour later I get called back to the ER. I explain all over again to the doctor that I was supposed to have been admitted, and if he'll just call my doctor to verify the whole thing I can get settled in my room and we'll all be happier.

No dice.

He listens to my heart and lungs, poo-poos the idea about bloodwork, says I do need a chest x-ray but I most certainly do NOT need to be admitted.

Apparently MY doctor is a jackass, according to him. Of course. But he won't bother to call to actually see what the plan of action was supposed to be, because he has his own ideas.

I'm given a chest x-ray (clear) and a breathing treatment (something I've been doing at home anyway). He gives me more oral steroids and a different cough syrup, tells me to keep taking the antibiotics I'm on now, then sends me on my way.

So I'm back home.

I still feel like the gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe, and I'm still having problems breathing. I probably won't go to the Thanksgiving celebration at the nephew's house tomorrow, because (1) even if I'm supposedly not contagious I don't want to risk it, and (2) I really don't feel up to it unless the Mighty Medicine Man's Great White Magic works some real wonders.

Yeah, I'm more than a little ticked. And tired. Very, very tired.

The thankful part? I can sleep in a t-shirt tonight instead of jammies, in my own bed. I can get up and go to the bathroom without dragging an IV along with me. I can eat real food instead of hospital slop. I don't have to wake up when someone comes in every half hour to take my vitals. I have my family, my dog, my computer, and a really good doctor - no matter what the ER creep thinks.

And believe it or not, I'm thankful for all of it, ER creep included.

Because in case I didn't tell you, he was easy on the eyes. Very easy.

And that more than made up for his bedside manner.

Heh heh heh.....

Day Twenty-One - Michael Bubblegum Smith He Ain't Anymore

I know I'm old.

No need to rub it in. I feel it every day.

But there's someone I know who never ages. He still looks and sounds just as good today as he did over twenty-five years ago when I first saw him in concert with Amy Grant. He's still got that boyish grin, and he's still got that talent.

Oh. My. Word. The talent. It's enough to make a grown woman swoon.

Now, I know what you're thinking. You remember the mullet days with the music videos high atop a mountain, arms spread wide, nonchalantly wearing a long-sleeved shirt rolled up at the sleeves with some kind of vest, tight jeans and boots.

Ladies and Gentlemen, this is not the man of today.

This man has matured. This man has found there is more to music than a good breeze running through your hair while you're wearing reject clothing from the 80's.

A moment of silence, please, for the 80's.

And so, this now mature Christ-following musician who has given the world untold ways to praise the King, now has a gift for bloggers.



Just click on the picture above to get your copy of his Christmas album. It's one I know you'll enjoy. I plan on taking mine to work to have the receptionist play it at the front desk for the people who visit, and for the enjoyment of the rest of the building. I'm sure it will be that good.

So make haste! Go get yours. RIGHT NOW!

UPDATE: I understand there were only 150 of these available,

and they're all spoken for now. If you missed out, I'm sorry!

Day Twenty - A Song For the Afflicted To Lighten The Mood

With apologies to the muscial Oliver! I present my own version, which will only serve to entertain those of you with respiratory limitations:

(To the tune of "Oom-Pah-Pah")

There's a little ditty

They're wheezin' in the city,

Especially when they're coughin'

Up their last good lung.

If you've got albuterol,

Your feelings'll be mutual

And this'll be exactly what you will want sung:

In-ha-ler! In-ha-ler!

That's how it goes,

Pred-ni-sone! Pred-ni-sone!

Ev'ryone knows:

An-ti-bi-ot-ics too, don't you suppose?

When they wheeze, cough, cough, cough, cough!

Day Nineteen - A Month Without A Trip To The Doctor Would Be Like A Month Without...A Trip To The Doctor

So here's the deal.

While most of time I try to be sweetness and light and sometimes insightful and thought-provoking, today I'm just plain mad. And I'm sharing it with the blogging world as we know it.

I'm truly tired of this. I have been in the doctor's office on average at least once a month since I turned the ripe old age of 50. It isn't because I haven't been taking care of myself. It isn't because I've gone off on some wild binge and been eating all kinds of sugar and drinking pop or doing drugs and alcohol. It isn't because I haven't been taking the medicine I'm supposed to take. The only thing I HAVEN'T been doing is exercising and watching my weight.

That's it. That's all. Period.

Not that I COULD exercise even if I really wanted to. Because every time I get the urge, I seem to come down with this stupid stuff that the doctor today called "the next best thing to pneumonia." I get it when it gets hot. I get it when the weather changes. I get it in the Fall. I get it in the Spring. I get it in the Winter and in the Summer. I can't stop coughing, I wheeze down deep in my lungs, my head feels like the top is about to pop off after every coughing fit, I run a fever and I have no energy whatsoever.

None.

With a hallway to get wallpapered and thirty people coming over for dinner Thursday night.

Today I got two shots and three prescriptions, with orders to rest and take care of myself. So I'll be speaking to Hubster about a change of venue for the Thanksgiving feast this year. I can't do it the way I feel today. I just can't. I'm going to try to foist it off on my sister-in-law instead, and hope that she takes pity on me.

Because I'm sure enough pitying myself right now. I'm even disgusting ME with All The Whining.

So here's the bright side of things - the "I'm Thankful" part.

I am thankful that I had vacation time coming so that I didn't have to miss work for this stuff. I'm thankful I have family to pick up the slack for me when I don't feel well. I'm thankful I have insurance to cover the myriad of trips to the doctor and the medicine I need. I'm thankful I have a hallway to wallpaper, because so many people don't even have homes. I'm thankful for the food we have to put on the table this Thanksgiving, wherever we hold our feast, and for those who surround us as we eat. I'm thankful for those who have been there in the past and what they've meant to us.

And I'm thankful for friends. Friends who can let an old lady spout off once in a while without thinking she's too much of an old curmudgeon.

God does bless us even in trials, eh? It's a good thing to remember.

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.

Day Eighteen - The Plague vs Dr. Feelgood

Did I mention that The Boy has had a bout with bronchitis here lately?

He coughed up a storm, ran a fever off and on, and was just generally miserable. He's recovering nicely now, and only coughs occasionally. We can actually be near him without him spreading The Affliction now, which is nice.

Yeah, really nice.

Except that BEFORE he got to this point, he was kind enough to share The Affliction with - you guessed it - ME. Because of that, I am now in the coughing-my-head-off-until-my-stomach-hurts-and-I-am-laid-low-with-the-stabbing-pains-in-my-head-from-lack-of-oxygen-because-I'm-coughing-so-hard stage.

And it is Oh, So Very Fun.

Especially when I'm in the middle of a theater trying to do my pseudo-job. The people, they love to have me there to listen to as an accompaniment to their viewing pleasure. The viewing pleasure for which they paid $9.00 or more American.

Oh yes, they do.

So it was with great trepidation that I approached the theater last night. I'd been coughing my proverbial head off most of the day, and actually put off going until later than I normally do for that very reason.

I managed to sit through most of Dan In Real Life without attracting too much attention to myself. Mostly because I sit in a seat at the very back of that auditorium right next to the door where I can make my escape should the coughing fits overtake me. It was good.

I then did the job part of the evening on the movie Love In The Time Of Cholera, and beat feet out of the auditorium before the movie started. After that I went to Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium, and found the auditorium to be completely empty. (After all, it was 10:45 p.m. when it started, and it really is more of a family film.) I coughed my heart out.

Literally.

When I got home after the Great Adventure, I downed some of The Boy's cough syrup to try to stem All The Coughing.

It didn't work.

So after about an hour and a half I downed some more.

It still didn't work.

I was hacking up both lungs, and it was 3 a.m. There was no way I was going to sleep. Hubster got up to leave for work, and noted that I'd already become quite a night owl early into this vacation. I coughed at him.

Along about 4:30 a.m., after another dose of the cough syrup, I finally went to bed. Thankfully, I was finally able to sleep under the influence of untold amounts of codeine.

God Bless codeine.

However, I am back at it today, and with much gusto. Methinks a trip to the physician whose lifestyle I seem to be financing this year is in my future. And then there's Thanksgiving for thirty at my home on Thursday, with all that entails.

For right now, I'm going to try to go back to bed and listen to soothing, non-cough inducing music. I'll read, I'll drink plenty of fluids, I'll rest.

And tomorrow I'll go see Dr. Feelgood.

Day Seventeen - In Which I Go To Prison For Posting On My Blog

Well, almost.

This is how it went....

I have this psuedo-job at the movie theater fifteen minutes away from home. It entails me watching the first fifteen minutes of whatever movie they assign me and reporting on the trailers and ads. One of the side benefits of this is that the managers of the theater consider me to be a psuedo-employee, and so they allow me to watch any movies I want to watch while I'm working.

Tonight I saw Dan In Real Life for the third or fifth time, and I started to watch Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium. I say started to watch it because I knew full well that I wouldn't be able to watch the whole thing. You see, the show started at 10:45 p.m., and I had to be home before midnight to post on Ye Olde Blog to be sure the rules of NaBloPoMo were followed.

Because after all, I only had about twenty three and a half hours to post before then, and we all know how hard it is to come up with a post in only twenty three and a half hours. Give or take a few minutes.

Ahem.

I had it timed down to the last second. I left the show twenty minutes before midnight, stopped in the bathroom for a quick pitstop, and made my way out the door after bidding the guys at the front desk goodnight.

It was then I found I'd left my keys in the bathroom. At the far end of the theater.

I had to bang on the door to get them to let me back in, and I walked VERY fast to retrieve the wanton keys. I rushed back out the door and to my car.

Tick tock, tick tock....

The timing was all off now. I'd really have to hurry to get home in time. I got on the highway and sped down it, doing just over the speed limit. Ten minutes to go.

Tick tock, tick tock....

I got off on my exit. The speed limit was 45 MPH, so I slowed down. Six minutes to go.

Tick tock, tick tock....

I decided to call my daughter and have her post something for me just in case I couldn't make it in time. While I was on the phone I really didn't pay attention to anything other than the time.
Two minutes to midnight.

Tick tock, tick tock....

And then I saw them.

The bright flashing lights we all know and love. Those wonderful Protectors of the Peace. The Brave in Blue.

I was nailed.

I pulled into a bank parking lot and parked. The officer pulled up behind me and came up to my window.

"Ma'am, did you realize you were doing 58 in a 40 back there?"

Gulp. Uh, no. Really I didn't. My mind was kind of on...um...other things. I apologized and told him I really had no idea how fast I was going. I handed him my driver's license.

"Do you have your proof of insurance with you?"

Immediately I start digging through my glove compartment. Let's see....old socks, stuffed toys, the manual to the car...no, no proof of insurance in sight. I apologized to the officer again.

"Have you had any tickets in the last 3-5 years?"

Now, that's a sore subject. I can't really remember how long ago it's been, but there was a streak I had there when I was getting tickets fairly regularly. Even went to jail once for one of them....but that's another story. I told him I couldn't remember.

He said if he could he'd just write me the ticket for no proof of insurance and let the speeding ticket go. Unless, of course, he found I was some sort of derelict driver, and then he'd have to write the speeding ticket. I thanked him and he went back to his car.

It bothered me that I couldn't produce my proof of insurance. I KNEW I had it somewhere. Sure enough, when I looked in my wallet there it was!

So, when the Very Nice Policeman came back to the car, I asked him, "If, hypothetically, a person was being given a ticket for not having proof of insurance and then hypothetically FOUND her proof of insurance, which would be more expensive? The speeding ticket she would get in its place, or the ticket for no proof of insurance? Hypothetically speaking, that is."

The officer laughed and said the speeding ticket would certainly run much more. At that point I carefully placed my insurance card back into my purse along with my driver's license and said, "Well then, it's a good thing I couldn't find mine, huh?"

The officer laughed loudly and said, "Ma'am, I like the way you think!" He then commended me on my good driving record (whew!) and handed me the ticket. He told me all I had to do was take my proof of insurance by the police station and the ticket would be no more...no fine, no record. He then told me if I'd "found" my proof of insurance, the speeding ticket would have cost over $118.00.

I blessed him repeatedly and was even going to offer to bear his children. Then I figured out I was way too old and lacked the necessary parts for that, so I just blessed him some more.

And I drove like the old lady I am all the way home.

Day Sixteen - I'll Fly Away

Today at 7:12 p.m. I officially became one of the few, the proud, THE VACATIONING!

For one solid week, actually TEN WHOLE DAYS, I will be the same as unemployed. Except that, you know, I'll be getting paid and all. And I'll have a job to go back to. And they can call me at any time with any problem that may arise for any reason, and I'll probably check my email and do a few things that need doing while I'm gone and stuff.

But hey, other than that? I'M FREE AS A BIRD!!

Well, other than the fact that I have to cook Thanksgiving dinner for thirty people on Thursday. And get the hallway that I've been procrastinating doing a wallpaper job on for the past eleventy gazillion months wallpapered before they all come. And then there's the shopping and the chopping and the baking and the mixing and the boiling and the chilling and the stuffing and the mashing and the ....well, you get the idea.

But other than that? I'M FLYING FREE!!!

And, um, the house? It kind of has to be majorly cleaned before All The People rain down upon it Thursday evening. Majorly. And there's, like, this laundry pile that dates back to sometime before the birth of Christ that I have to deal with at some point. Honestly, there are some really STINKIN' togas at the bottom of that pile...I know there are....

I'm thinking my wings are beginning to be a bit clipped.

The sheets on the beds need changing. My roots are a good two inches out. (Let's all say it together now...."UGH!!!") The dog even needs to be groomed. Hubster and The Boy both need haircuts, and I could use a pedicure. The blinds all need a good scrub, and there are cobwebs in the rafters.

I do believe my feathers are molting.

I'm thinking by the time I get back to work I'll be kissing the desk I left, vowing never to leave it again.

Well, at least until December.

Day Fifteen - The Countdown Has Begun At Vacation Central

Oh yes...

Vacation is only hours away. I can feel it in my bones.

My weary, dog-tired bones.

Tomorrow I will spend the day doing five days worth of work in order to leave my desk in some semblance of order. People have been handed out their assignments for when I am gone, and everything should run like clockwork.

I see many cappucinos in my future.

I'll check back in on a daily basis. After all, this IS NaBloPoMo, and we must abide by the rules.

Until tomorrow, then.

Day Fourteen - #2 - Pics From Last Friday

Day Fourteen - The Turkey Was Certainly Not All That Was Stuffed, or Pardon Me While I Snore

Ugh.

That's about the only coherent syllable I am able to offer up even now, almost ten hours after The Feast of All Feasts took place at work today.

Oh. My. Word.

I have never seen so much food in all my life. We had four of the large, long, industrial-sized tables loaded down with salads, vegetables, stuffings, casseroles, pies, cakes, cookies, brownies and the inevitable turkey, with another table just for the breads and two more tables just for drinks.

It was indeed a sight to behold.

Approximately 85 people showed up to consume what turned out to be enough food for 150. Thankfully, we have another couple of days left in the week and a couple of very large coolers to store all the leftovers in. We'll be suffering from the effects of triptophan until next week.

I for one was so stinkin' tired after the whole shebang was over that I could only sit and groan. Finally I told my boss I was leaving early due to exhaustion, and I went home and took a nap. Seriously, putting one of these shindigs on is a LOT of work!

So, for tonight this little piggy is going to bed. And you can huff and puff all you want, but I doubt I'll hear it.

Because I'll be blowin' the house down from the inside out.

Day Thirteen - My Culinary Expertise Is Topped Only By My Good Looks

Tomorrow is the annual Thanksgiving Potluck at work.

Once a year everyone brings in their favorite side dishes and desserts, and the upper echelon provides the turkey to feed the masses. We're planning on about 85 people all told.

Side dishes usually range from the store-bought cookies to the homemade squash casserole to the loaf of Price Chopper bread to the hand-chopped cranberry salad. You just never know what's going to be there.

My dish of choice never changes. Every year I laboriously go to the grocery store and purchase TEN WHOLE BOXES of the store brand of cornbread stuffing, along with an aluminum pan. Long about eleven-thirty or so, I begin the strenuous task of emptying ALL THOSE BOXES into the pan.

Whew. I have to rest a minute just thinking about it.

Then, after throwing the boxes away, I have to dig one of them back out of the trash in order to read the directions. In years past the directions have stated that I need boiling water in order to complete this culinary masterpiece, so I drag out a pan and BOIL WATER.

Then I decide I've worked really hard and am in need of M&Ms, so I visit the snack machine next to the break room. In case you're wondering, it takes three king-sized bags of M&Ms to get a pan of water to boil.

The directions also say to add butter or margarine to the pan, but being as I am a totally health-conscious type of person (not to mention cheap), I usually leave it out so that it will be a low-fat version and thereby add to the overall health and well-being of the general working population. I just pretend it's there instead.

By now the water is boiling pretty well, so I turn it off and add the required amount (whatever that is) to the pan along with the unboxed contents and the pretend butter.

Are you getting all this?

Then, taking a big spoon, I stir it all together. And then I put it in the oven for a while to give it that browned, crispy, hey-I-made-it-from-scratch look that we all know and love. I mean, if it didn't come out of a bird or anything.

Ouila! Side dish complete, and it's something no one else ever brings. Then again, there could be a reason for that.

I'm thinking of starting a cooking blog, and this could be the first recipe! Whadya think? Hmm?

OK, I won't quit my day job. At least they feed me there.

Day Twelve - An Ode To My Bed

There once was a lady named Singer

Whose day was such a humdinger

She wrote on her blog

Although in a fog

The last thing to do was to linger.

Her feet and her arms and her head

Gave impressions she'd have to be led

Away up the stairs

For her only cares

Were how fast she could get in her bed.

And so Gentle Reader of mine

Do not think me so very unkind

If I should rush off

Please don't sit and scoff

It's my bed that I'm hoping to find.

Day Eleven - If At First You Don't Succeed, Try Out, Try Out Again

When we left The Girl yesterday she was despondent over not making the volleyball club team.

And then there's today....

Today The Girl tried out for another club, who just happened to be having tryouts on Sunday afternoon.

She made it!

Day Ten - The Queen of Courts

The Girl loves to play volleyball. Make no mistake about that.

Last year she tried out and won a spot on the Freshman team. She played hard and loved every minute of it. After the season was over she went to "open gym" and did conditioning exercises in readiness for this year.

The coach asked her to play on a league he was coaching, and she thought she was in like flint for the JV squad come this year.

But things don't always work out the way you think they should.

She got the idea in her head that the coach thought she wasn't playing well. It was all she could think of, and it affected her play in a mighty way. She was hesitant, she was depressed, she felt like an outsider. And so, even though she jumped through all the hoops she didn't play as well as she could. She took on a defeatist attitude.

And that's what did her in. She didn't make the team.

The attitude she had made her not even want to try to attempt any other sport, but the tennis team needed extra players and the tennis coach asked her to try out. Before the season was over she was playing JV.

She'd never played tennis before.

By the end of the season she'd won Most Improved Player, and the coach told us she was a shoe-in for Varsity next year. The only problem was that the tennis and volleyball seasons ran at the same time, so she'd have to make up her mind which one she wanted to play.

Having a heart for volleyball, she decided to try out for a club team in order to get court time and enhance her skills for tryouts next year. So we went to tryouts today. She played her heart out for two hours, hitting, jumping, setting, serving and scrimmaging. There were fifty-two girls trying out for eighteen spots. Chances weren't good to begin with, and she was rusty.

She didn't make either team.

So now she has a choice to make. Settle for her limitations and play great tennis? Work on her own and improve her volleyball skills, to try out again and maybe fail? Quit altogether?

I think we can safely rule out the third option. The Girl is not a quitter. But I have to wonder how many more times she'll take trying and failing on the chance that she might NOT fail. As her mother, I want her to succeed...for herself, not for me. I want her to be able to stand on her own, but at the same time I want to tell her which to choose. Even though I'd be wrong.

But I won't.

Part of growing up is learning to make choices on your own. Learning to either accept your limitations or working to overcome them. Learning how to overcome disappointment, pick yourself up and try again. Those are hard lessons to learn. They're even harder to sit back and watch your child learn, because as a parent you want to protect them from all of that. But if they're protected too much, they'll never grow.

So I'll let her make her own choices and support her along the way. I want her to fly on her own. I want her to grow up, but not away.

And I'll let her know she'll always be the Queen of the Home Court.

Day Nine - It's Been Such A Wonderful Day I Almost Forgot To Post

Really, it was a wonderful day.

I slept late, went to Panera for breakfast and to do my lesson(s) for my Monday group, then headed out to take some pics, spend some time outdoors in the glorious day, pray, and have some alone time with God. Hubster and I went to the grocery store for salad bar salads for a late lunch, and I did my part-time pseudo-job this evening. I spent the rest of the evening watching episodes of The Office that I'd missed on my computer.

I could really get used to this.

Unfortunately, it's now 11:58 p.m. and I really need to get this posted in order to follow the rules of NaBloPoMo or I'd go into greater detail.

Let's just say it was a wondermous day!

Day Eight - My Eyes Won't See The Glory Much Longer Tonight

I have the day off tomorrow.

One whole, glorious day.

One day when I can get up late, go out to breakfast, take a walk, read a book, write a blog post, pray, and rejoice in the goodness God has bestowed upon me.

No kids. No pressures. No plans.

Say it with me now:

aaaaaahhhhhh.....

So this post will be short and sweet. I'm going to bed to relax under the warm, cozy, snuggly covers until I decide to wake up tomorrow.

Nitey night!

Day Seven - Brew Who Who?

My addiction to caffeine is a thing of record.

I have no excuse. I have no other argument, I have no other plea.

I am guilty.

And so it was that I reacted with great fear and trepidation upon finding that our source, our supplier, our CAFFEINE PUSHER was going out of business because they'd been bought by another company. And this company was not going to supply me with the daily fix I, and so many others like me, need to provide services to those in need without losing our collective minds or swinging from the rafters.

We are nothing if not a mentally stable lot.

But we know not to mess with someone who hasn't had their first cuppa joe for the day. The results just aren't pretty. Not pretty at all.

So, the search is on.

Today we had a tasting party at breaktime which consisted of doughnuts, cookies, and liquid mud. Bitter liquid mud. But hey, they were right in the ball park when it came to price....

Next Wednesday we'll have another tasting party with another company. This one has a sales rep that "lives and breathes the business" and promises the best service, the best prices, the best coffee in town, blahblahblahblahblah. We'll see what he can come up with when push comes to shove. I mean, we're no amateurs here. We've done this before.

Then there's the poor guy who's going to try to sell the liquid coffee and fake milk in a machine that makes cappucinos, lattes, etc. Although he's sweet, I'm just not feelin' it. After all, he doesn't carry the K-Cups for the Keurig machine, so he really might as well not bother.


We've become such coffee snobs. But in my business, especially at this time of year, coffee is the gasoline that keeps our motors running. We have too much to do to be dragging, and we'll take advantage of any artificial means necessary (and legal) to keep us going.

Anybody know a good dealer? 'Cause I'm lookin' to score some primo stuff...

Day Six - It's A Sad, Sad Day When This Is All I Have To Write About

In a fit of thrifty-headedness this past week, I must admit to making a severe mistake.

I am not a name-brand kinda gal. I buy the cheap stuff because almost always it ends up that the cheap, no-name stuff is just as good as the higher-priced animal. At least when it comes to most grocery items.

However, being as I am ALWAYS one to admit my faults and apologize first for any and all mistakes and misleading (COUGHCOUGHCOUGHCOUGH) I must say this:

DO NOT BUY THE "BEST CHOICE" BRAND OF CHOCOLATE CHIPS.

Ever.

Because they aren't. The best choice, that is. Unless you like chocolate-flavored wax, and then they're just wondermous beyond all get out.

However, if you're planning to make chocolate chip cookies or maybe even just snack on some dark chocolate goodness? Run far, far away from this "brand" - and I use that term ever so loosely.

Get thee instead back to the tried and true Nestle's chocolate chips!

I actually had this mental picture of me coming back to the family homestead, covered in the chocolate-flavored wax product that masquerades as chocolate chips, with my mother rushing out to greet me.

"Give this girl a bath!" she says. "Bake some REAL chocolate chip cookies! Spare no expense! Call Omar the Tentmaker to sew her some new clothes! The prodigal daughter has returned to the Nestle home!"

Only in the original story in my head, Mom was a giant chocolate chip and I was returning home to the HUGE yellow Nestle bag. But, you know, that sounded kind of strange so I decided to change it. To something...um...you could really BELIEVE and all.

I may have to have the elders of the church lay hands on me and annoint me with oil for this mental affliction I seem to have.

But it had better be name-brand oil.

Day Five - Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?

It's just a shade after 10 p.m. according to the clock on the wall, and I feel as though I've been hit over the head with a cob.

Part of it is because after the good, long snooze I had yesterday I stayed up until close to 2 ayem in the morning checking to see what y'all were doing, what was on Woot.com, playing a crossword puzzle online...you know, the important things in life.

The other part is the change in time that hit this past weekend. I abhor the changing time. I want my time to be the same all year long, thank you very much. I don't want to worry about whether or not to set the clocks ahead or back an hour, and I surely despise when we lose an hour.

I'm telling you, it's enough to drive a sane woman nuts. And me, too.

I used to rebel. (Hmmmm.....fancy that, ME rebelling! How very odd.)

I refused to change my clocks when all the Springing and Falling took place. I decided I would continue to live on whatever time it was at the time, and have my own little war against The Man who was trying to Hold Me Down by telling ME what time it was.

Right on, brother.

However, after finding myself either an hour early or an hour late for most appointments I had and getting myself thoroughly confused as to what time it REALLY was on any given day at any given time, I gave up on that pursuit.

The Establishment won again.

Nowadays I find myself not changing the clocks due to sheer laziness. Even Flower Children grow up and become politicians. You can't be a rebel forever.

So I will head off to bed now, knowing I will awaken before the alarm...at least for the next few days.

Because my internal clock really doesn't know what time it is.

Day Four - Rip Van Winkle Has Overtaken My Body

It's a sad, sad thing.

Apparently I have Rip-Van-Winkle-itis. A bad case. And I have passed the gene on to my daughter.

There used to be a time when I could lie down for an afternoon nap and sleep for a couple of hours. I'd awake feeling refreshed and relaxed, then go to bed with no problems that night.

Not so any longer.

My naps have become marathons. A simple snooze nowadays can very easily extend itself into a full night's sleep...and then some. I have been known to lie down for a nap at 3:30 p.m. and awaken at 7:30 a.m. the next day.

It's happening more and more frequently. And it's really starting to tick Hubster off.

Today, DD went to sleep around 3:00 p.m. in our bed. I finished the daily crossword puzzle, then went upstairs for a little snooze myself. After rolling her over to her father's side of the bed, I climbed in and the ZZZZZfest began in earnest.

At 8:30 p.m. Hubster burst into the room, asking if we were planning to sleep the night through, or if we were going to grace the rest of the family with our presence at all. Not a pleasant way to wake up.

He just does not understand how anyone can sleep the way we do. It has me baffled as well. All I know is that I'm tired. I don't put a timer on my naps, but I told Hubster I'd start setting an alarm if that would make him feel better.

DD on the other hand is still in bed...but at least she switched to her own room.

Me? As soon as I finish this post I'm looking to get a little shut-eye. It's been a long day.

Day Three - The Head Of The Bull Don't Fall Far From The Tree Of Stubborn

You may remember this girl.

She's my daughter.

My lovely, athletic, sixteen-year-old daughter.

My lovely, athletic, stubborn-as-a-bull's-horn, sixteen-year-old daughter.

And I couldn't love her more.

Today, as I came in the house from stimulating, butt-numbing conversation with my friend HeyJules, I was met with my lovely, athletic, stubborn-as-a-bull's-horn daughter, The Boy, and Psuedo-Daughter. All of them were in the office area watching a DVD on my computer.

MY computer.

Not that I'm overly possessive of MY computer or anything.

Ahem.

But that's a story for a different post.

At any rate, the Three Musketeers were there, watching a movie, bundled up in quilts and looking all cozy. Now, bear in mind LASAABHSYO Daughter had been told she needed to do two, count 'em, two things. One was the dishes, since it's her week. The other was the final mowing of the expanse of weeds we laughingly call a yard.

I didn't expect much. All I wanted was for her to have the dishes done by the time I got home. After all, I made pancake batter for her this morning so that she could cook chocolate-chip pancakes on her own, as I didn't have time due to the Rushing About In Preparation and all. I felt the least she could do was clean up after herself.

Apparently I thought wrong.

Not only did I think wrong, but upon my return to the familial abode, I found that the aforementioned daughter was apparently starving and expected me to make her lunch.

RIGHT NOW.

ExCUSE me???

"Well, it's Saturday. You never fix my lunch during the week, so this is the least you can do. And I want chicken nuggets and fries, and you'll have to go to the store to get them because we're all out. So make it snappy, because I'm hungry."

EXCUSE ME???

At this point I informed my daughter and the rest of the crew of the abundance of food products available just a few short steps away in a room they might not be familiar with....THE KITCHEN. I also suggested they take advantage of said edibles if they were hungry.

Dear Daughter replied she didn't WANT any of that stuff. She wanted CHICKEN NUGGETS AND FRIES. (implied whine)

At this point I pulled the Ace from my pocket.

"Well, if you want chicken nuggets and fries, you are welcome to take my debit card, drive to the grocery store and pick them up, bring them back, and I will be glad to prepare them for you, just as soon as you get the kitchen cleaned up."

A brilliant move on my part, I must say. Here's why: (1) DD hates to use my debit card. She's always afraid someone will ask if she's really the person she purports to be by using the card, and it scares her to death. (2) She doesn't want to actually have to GET DRESSED at the tender hour of NOON on a Saturday just to go to the store, (C) She'd have to use HER OWN GAS, (3) It would take an Act of God (or grounding) to get the kitchen cleaned before dinnertime.

She kept whining and hounding, and I kept repeating the above. Ladies and Gentlemen, it was a veritable battle of the wills.

It almost brought a tear to my eye, because that bullheaded, stubborn girl comes by it so very naturally.

The fruit doesn't fall far from THAT tree.

Oh, and instead of going to the store? She took the other Musketeers with her and went to Applebee's for lunch in her own car with her own gas on her own dime.

Guess she showed ME, huh?

Day Two - Cawfee Tawk With Mrs. Numb Buns

My good friend HeyJules and I will meet bright and early (well, early for ME anyway) tomorrow morning at Panera for our monthly God-Talk and All Around Catch Up Girl Chat.

It could very well be the best idea one or both of us ever came up with ever in our whole live-long lives.

During these chats, which started about eleventy hundred months ago, we have bared our souls, healed some wounds, asked some hard questions, come up with some of the answers, and focused on how it all revolves around God and what He wants out of these old beat up women we've become.

Oh, OK. ONE old beat up woman and the other middle aged, still fairly hot and with it chick.

I'll let you figure out which one is which.

And the funny thing is, I hardly ever look at my watch. I judge the time we've spent together by how numb my behind gets. It's usually pretty accurate. After about two hours I know it's time to get up and get the blood circulating again, or risk not being able to walk out to the car. Not only can I no longer feel my buns, but I usually have to hold my legs together really tight to keep from peeing my pants because I've sat for so long not wanting to miss anything.

That's just how good the conversation is. I think you'll agree that's a pretty accurate test.

The time, it flies by. The coffee, it is so very good. The talk, it is better.

My husband, being of the male gender and all, has a very hard time wrapping his mind around all of this. He cannot understand what on earth we can talk about for two solid hours every time we meet. After all, we see each other at a Bible study on Monday nights, and we both attend the same church. Isn't that enough?

Like I said, he's a man. Men just don't get it.

So tomorrow morning I will get up out of my nice, warm bed. I will take a shower, but I will NOT wear makeup. I will join my friend for God-honoring talk...for a time of solving the problems of the world...for a cuppa cawfee.

But this time I think we'll get the PADDED seats.

Day One - The Ancient Sideshow Comes To Town

Welcome to my bloggy world.

For the next month you'll be subjected to the daily writings of a madwoman on a descent into her own personal writing oblivion.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

As for today, Fair Reader, I bring you a tale that will scare the living daylights out of you. Because, you see, I am....(menacing music) dun dun DUNNNNNNNNN.........

OLD.

And with age, I have found several things that are beginning to scare the daylights out of ME.

The first is my failing memory. Mom always said I had the memory of an elephant, and that really used to be the case. I could remember names and dates and places and what I wore and what the band played and who the members of the band were and what they wore and what time we left and ... But here lately the brain cells seem to be misfiring.

Heck, they don't even seem to be loaded half the time.

Take today, for instance. I had to go around the office to take a one-question survey. It entailed me speaking with every person in the building face-to-face. Now, I've been working in this building for four years. I know everyone there by name. Really I do. But for some odd and strange reason when I went up to them to ask the question, although I knew I knew who they were, I could not come up with a name for half of them to save my immortal soul. This from the woman who used to tease her husband unmercifully because he could never remember anyone's name.

Uh, would someone please pass the crow?

In addition, I find that if I don't write things down they also end up in Never Never Land. Appointments, things to do, things to buy, etc. tend to fall by the wayside. Even words I once loved and could come up with at the drop of a hat elude my atrophied mind.

It's enough to make me crazier than I normally am.

And then there's the hair.

Oh yes, the hair.

Today, as I have become used to doing every couple of months, I had to yank a great, long WHISKER out of my FACE. This time it was half an inch long.

Let me say that again for emphasis:

IT WAS HALF AN INCH LONG.

And black. And not one person was kind enough to say, "Hey, didja know you have a HUGE HAIR growing out of your FACE??? Don'tcha think you oughta PLUCK it or use some NAIR or maybe even SHAVE or something?"

Not one.

My faith in humanity is lessened by degrees of great proportion.

I mean, if I had half a roll of toilet paper clinging to my shoe, wouldn't you tell me? If I had a thread from my unravelling underwear climbing over my waistband and down my pant leg, would you not take pity on me?

I know. It's because I'm old. And old people are supposed to grow hair in odd places, right?

Just call me the Bearded Lady......and you are?