Note to self...

Pink electric guitars and amps are not good gift ideas for eight year old girls.

Pink is a sweet and cute and girly color. I have always loved pink (cause, you know, I am sweet and cute and girly) (cough cough).

Well I am here to tell ya that the pink, it ain't always sweet.

Sometimes it is loud and obnoxious and reminds you of Gene Simmons.


Calgon take me away. Translation: somebody pour me a drink.


(or buy me some earplugs)

The Blahs

I keep trying to write a post but everything keeps coming out whiny and reads something like this:

I am really worried about Lauren's brain tumor coming back...blah blah blah...my brother is being a turd and stressing my mom out...blah blah blah...I miss my sister....blah blah blah....I am worried about Tre...blah blah blah...I feel like a terrible mother for waiting this long to take Lauren back to her endo...blah blah blah...At least my sex life is great...blah blah blah...Wait, how did that get in there?....blah blah blah...I hope I am not coming down with Turrets...blah blah blah...

But I don't want to write about that stuff. I want my blog to be light and fun, not sad and depressing. So instead of writing a post I will just share a picture of my adorable little bunny Brooklyn.

I almost fainted...

when I saw this...

This is the receipt from Lauren's doctor's appointment yesterday. See the part that is circled in red? The part that says $1148.00? That was our total. They don't take insurance. I'm sure you can see why I almost fell out on the floor. I would have too, but I was afraid of what the cost of throwing my unconscious body out into the hall would be.

Cost of dumb blonde removal: $899.00.

It was the fear of extra charges that kept me on my feet. Well, that and the anticipation of driving through Dallas traffic at five o'clock. Cause I was really looking forward to that, let me tell ya.

Of course I don't really mind the money. Lauren is worth every penny. The doctor is the one that helped with her brain tumor (pituitary actually) before. He is very thorough and very good. We really like him. He isn't sure what is going on with Lauren right now so he ran LOTS of tests. He is guessing that her tumor is back and that she has cushings. We aren't sure about that yet though.

Would you guys do me another favor? Pray that God gives Lauren's doctor's the wisdom to find out exactly what is wrong and how to treat it. I promise I won't ask you to pray again (for at least five minutes).

Down on the farm...

I saw my little brother yesterday. I wish I could say I stopped by his apartment or ran into him at the Piggly Wiggly, but the truth is I drove to a state mental institution to see him. He has had an extremely hard time dealing with Shanna's death, we all have, but in the midst of his hard time he decided to take over fifty xanax in addition to some other medication. He says he wasn't trying to kill himself, that he just wanted to go to sleep and forget everything.

You say potato, I say suicide attempt.

Really it doesn't matter if he was deliberately trying to hurt himself or not, the end result was the same. He needed help and now he is getting it. I am just praying that he will have an open mind and will listen to what the doctors and therapists are saying. More importantly, I am praying that he will reconnect with God. I certainly couldn't' have made it through Shanna's death without His help.

Growing up is hard. I know I am already the ripe old age of 34, but it doesn't seem like all that long ago that I was living at home with Chad and Shanna. We had our whole lives ahead of us and I wouldn't have dreamed in a million years that things would turn out the way they have.

Chad is three years younger than I am. He is handsome, charming and very, very smart. I am no dummy, but compared to him I am the village idiot. I think it's his high IQ that makes it hard for him to deal with things like death. He just can't make that mind of his slow down long enough to allow him to sleep. That led to him taking more and more pills. He just wanted some peace. Unfortunately, he went about it in the wrong way. He thinks we are all judging him and blaming him, but we aren't. At least, I'm not and my parents aren't (I haven't talked to anyone else, but I feel certain they aren't judging him either). We just all want him to get better.

The first thing that struck me as I drove into the mental health complex was how BIG it is. I drove past building after building after building. Chad told me there were 100 people on the floor he was on. Each building is several floors tall. That's thousands of people that must be there...all of them hurting and crying out for help. It is truly heartbreaking.

I think it's a faction of the world that is ignored and abandoned for the most part. When someone is in the hospital with a broken leg or heart surgery we go by and visit, send flowers, and make phone calls to try to cheer them up. When someone goes to a mental hospital what do we do? I am guessing pretty much nothing. I was the only visitor there for over a hundred patients. That's kinda sad. People who are hurting emotionally/mentally really need us even more than someone who has a physical health problem.

I know this sounds preachy (and I am preaching to myself here), but love is a powerful, powerful thing. I would dare to say that knowing you are loved and supported will help people suffering emotionally more than anything else. I say I was preaching to myself because I didn't really want to go to visit Chad the first time I went (I've been three times now). I mean, I wanted to see him, but I was apprehensive about going to a mental hospital. The media has portrayed it as a scary place where people are mistreated, but it wasn't like that at all. All the employees I met were very nice and Chad says they've treated him very well.

I even met a few other patients. There was this one girl named Ashley that kept shuffling closer and closer to me all the while saying in a sing songy little voice, "Oh you're so pretty. You're soooo pretty. Ohhh pretty, pretty, pretty."

Clearly she doesn't belong in a mental institution. In fact she seemed very perceptive to me. : )

Of course the fact that she was trying to touch my face while she told me how pretty I am was a little but unsettling, but it was really good for my ego.

I am thinking about visiting her every week.

Okay, all joking aside, I hope you'll join me in praying not only for my little brother, but for all the people suffering from depression, anxiety and mental illness. I can't begin to imagine how much they are suffering and know that many of them feel like that must do their suffering silently to avoid being judged.

My new goal? To be less judging and more loving.

My trashcan hates me

It's true. The trashcan in my classroom hates me. No matter what I am throwing away it won't go in. The water bottles bounce in and back out. Wads of papers bounce off the rim. Diet Coke cans accidentally hit students in the head.

Oh I kid. When I hit students in the head it is never an accident.

I KID, I KID!

Now I know you are thinking that it is most likely my terrible aim and lack of athletic ability that keeps my shots from falling in, but it's more than that I tell you...it is!

Today I threw a lid at the trash and it bounced out. One of the students said, "I don't know why you keep throwing stuff at that can. You never make it." I was almost offended when I realized he was right. So we did an experiment and I threw bottles, paper, almonds...and several other things to try and break my trashcan hex.

That's when it happened. I threw an almond at the trash can and it landed perfect balanced on the RIM of the can. It didn't fall in and it didn't fall off. It just rested there, as if it belonged. I couldn't believe my eyes. I mean I can get THAT close and it won't fall in?

That's just wrong.

So I took pictures to show you just how much my trashcan hates me.

Here is a bird's eye view of my trashcan (including my lunch...see the banana down there? It was yummy). If you look closely you will see the almond resting on the edge. I didn't put it there! I just threw the almond and that's where it landed.

And here is a close-up of my almond.

See??? The can hates me. It refuses to catch anything I throw at it! It's a curse. Or a trash conspiracy.

Come to think of it I think my softball glove was cursed too.

Question...

Is 'foiled again' really a saying? Or did I make that up? I have a quirky habit of mixing up words or just making up my own if I feel like it. I got that habit from my dad.

Quirky is a genetic trait (in case you didn't know).

So I was sitting in class while some students were testing and my last post popped into my brain. Specifically the line where I said, "Dang. Foiled again."

Then I tried to actually figure out what 'foiled again' meant. Which caused me to picture myself all wrapped up in foil. Not that I'd know what that looks like. Well, okay... once after watching Fried Green Tomatoes I did wrap myself up in saran wrap for Dave, but that is totally different. It is also totally too much information isn't it?

But since we are on the subject let me just discourage you from trying that because if your husband happens to be running late, let me tell ya, it's ain't pretty. In fact, it's just plain sweaty. Which as I just mentioned, ain't pretty.

Alrighty then.

Back to the question. Is 'foiled again' actually a saying? When I say it I picture that bad guy Snidely from Dudely Do Right twirling his moustache in an evil manner. Is there a non-evil way to twirl a moustache? I think not.

Okay. I have to get back to work. Now that you all see what I do when the children are in music class you might be afraid for the educational standards of our school. Well, fear not dear readers, for I am the only goober on the staff.

You can breathe easy now (unless you wrap yourself in saran wrap cause then it's almost impossible to take a deep breath).

Now that's what I call devotion

It seems like every time I turn around lately Brookie is sick. If I had a nickel for each time she's thrown up over the last six weeks, well, I'd be buying another can of Lysol with it (lemon scented) (the BIG can).

The last time she was sick she couldn't even keep Tylenol down. Since she had a pretty high temp she was feeling extra puny. I sat by her and held a cool washcloth to her head while I stroked her hair and talked about anything I could think of to take her mind off being sick.

Things like the time my Aunt Martha was chasing my mom across the backyard (with what sounds like murder on her mind) when they ran upon a fishing line Dadpa had strung across the yard. Mom saw it and went under it. Aunt Martha didn't see it and ran full speed ahead and managed to hook herself right in her nose. That story always brings about much chuckling (from everyone but me because I love my Aunt Martha too much to ever laugh at her pain) (hi Aunt Martha!!) (Muah!).

I also told her about the time Big Mama's daughter actually got to go see Hanna Montana backstage because her mom's blog was so popular that they gave her tickets free tickets. Brookie thought that was the coolest thing ever. As I told her about it her eyes got bigger and bigger and bigger.

And I told her about the time my dad told us that scientists had finally perfected a hand that could operate on it's own, without a brain or even an arm. He talked about all the great things that hands like that would be able to help us do in this world. He then told us that unfortunately the hand was mysteriously missing and that he hoped they found it soon. We were quite enthralled by the story, but soon forgot about it and went back to playing Atari (yes, I'm old. Shut up). Later that night, when it was pitch black outside (we lived way out in the country) we heard something at the window in my brother's room where we all sat still playing Atari (hey, that Pong was addictive!). When we looked out the window we saw a white hand crawling up the screen!!!! Oh my goodness...we were scared half to death! We ran to mom's room and told her that we'd found the missing hand and that it was on the house! Then we asked where dad was...we wanted to tell him. She didn't know. Instead of figuring out that HE was the one outside the window wearing a white glove (and pantyhose on his head) we assumed the hand had killed our dad! Finally, we figured out the truth and Dad laughed so hard it's a wonder he didn't wet his pants.

After telling these and several other stories I took Brookie's temperature again and found that it was still rising (and she was still throwing up). I knew it was time for drastic measures.

A suppository.

Brookie was not at all keen on the plan. When I explained where it went she started shaking her head and she held her butt cheeks together with her hands. I knew this was not going to be easy. We ended up having to hold her down and force it in, only to find that she has the amazing ability to shoot things out of her rear. I'd put it in and she'd shoot it out. Seriously, it was astounding (and infuriating). Finally, I gave up and put her back in bed. The last thing she said to me before falling asleep was, "And don't blog about this!!"

Dang. Foiled again.

The next morning she was feeling better and kept down some toast. While eating breakfast she looked at me and said, "Mom, I've been thinking and if it will help get me Hannah Montana tickets then you can blog about my bobo shooting out medicine."

Hannah, if you're reading this, THAT is a true fan. She not only has up your posters, watches your shows, sings your songs and wears your clothes...she is willing to humiliate herself in front of tens and twelves of my blog readers just to have a shot at seeing you in concert. If that doesn't make her your number one fan, I don't know what does...

Okay, maybe it makes her your number two fan (hee hee, get it...number two???....I crack myself up...oh gosh, I said CRACK...I'm on a roll).

Although I must say that it would take a hook up my nose, a mutant hand on my window AND something bigger than a suppository shoved up my bottom to make me go to one of those concerts.

No offense.

If I had only known...

Last week after attending a Hawk Nelson concert I jokingly said my next purchase would be earplugs...or at least I thought I was joking. Apparently I wasn't. Cause being a big fan of deafness I decided to go to another concert. Only this time instead of sitting on the eighth row like some school girl pansy (no offense to any of the school girls out there...I think pansies are lovely) I sat on the second row...the second row on the FLOOR...mere inches from speakers almost as tall as I am.

I like to call them the speakers of deaf.

Eh? What's that you say? You think I'm cupid? Well that's a weird thing to say....Ohhh...you think I'm stupid. Sorry, I couldn't hear a word you were typing. You'll have to type louder now that I am deaf and all.


I went to the concert with Lauren and Jill and we knew we were in trouble when we saw that they were selling earplugs. Yes, that's right. They were selling earplugs at a concert.

Earplugs. At a concert. A concert by it's very design is meant to be heard. And they were selling earplugs. Am I the only one that finds that odd??


Anyway, we talked about moving to seats farther back, but how often do you get to be that close to one of your all time favorite bands?? And let me tell you something interpeeps...I do love me some Newsboys. And since I do love them we stayed on the second row, bought our earplugs and braced ourselves for the worst.


Then we didn't wear them. Do you know why we didn't wear them? Cause we are no pansy school girls, that's why. We rocked out with the row of college girls bouncing next to Jill all night. And we screamed. LOUDLY.

Okay. I screamed loudly, but Jill winced a lot so she was joining me in her own special way.

Know what else? We had the best time ever. EVER. It was such a good concert. From the first song of the opening act, Article One, to the last song played by Newsboys. Rush of Fools was there too and they are totally awesome. New Worldson was there as well and they had a really interesting sound and put on a really good show. And know who else was there?

God.


Oh yes interpeeps, you read that right. God came to that concert and I am sure everyone there felt His presence. It's been a long time since I was able to stand in a room with thousands of people all worshiping God together. Strangers worshiping side by side without fear or shame, but with unabashed joy. I almost forgot how good that felt. It's like a crumb fell from the table of Heaven and we all had us a sample and I don't mind telling you that it was finger lickin' good.

So was the music. If you ever want to see an unbelievably good Christian concert I would encourage you to go to a Newsboys concert. I have to say it was the best concert I've ever been to. (Please forgive me Harry Connick, Jr. You know I love you and I will forever itch to throw my panties at you when I see you, but I have to say these boys put on a better concert. Don't hate me).


When they first come out they enter one at a time behind a screens like this...

And it was SO cool. And then these confetti machines shot out confetti way up into the air and strobe lights came on. We were right under the confetti blower thingies and it looked like this...



And they had an awesome backdrop that looked like this (forgive my lousy phone pictures)...




OH! And the coolest thing ever is when the drummer is doing his drum solo and his pedestal starts to rise and THEN...it tilts ALL THE WAY FORWARD and spins and he keeps playing! That was so cool. Here he is when he first starts tilting....

And then after the concert Lauren met some band members from Article One. They are really, really nice and very talented. Plus the lead singer is quite worthy of having panties thrown at him himself (sorry Harry!)...









Now if you'll excuse me, I just heard a commercial for hearing aides. I better go call.


Or did they say cheering maids? Could have been hand grenades...or maybe tinted shades...

Please pass the grace

On my first day back at work after my sister Shanna died a co-worker told me that the pain I felt would never, ever go away. She said it had been ten years since her father died and she still hurt just as bad today as she did on the day he died. At the time I really thought that was a terrible thing to say. I remember standing in my classroom after our conversation and praying that she was wrong.

She wasn't.

The initial shock is gone. The initial feeling of anger and denial is gone. The initial fog of confusion and loss is gone. The pain however is still there. I don't think it will ever go away. Losing someone close to you changes you...or it has changed me. It's like something deep inside me has shifted and I will never feel 'normal' again. Oh I have learned to go about my day as if nothing is wrong. I have learned to smile when people say things that should make me happy and laugh when they say things that are funny. And I do feel happiness sometimes...it's just that I feel sadness at the same time. Whatever emotion that tries to fill my heart has to fight for room next to the sadness there. My sadness is a stingy thing, it really doesn't want to let any other emotions in.

The sadness brings with it a weight. The weight is right on my heart, a very real feeling of pressure inside my chest that does not ever ease up. It is there when I eat. It is there when I teach. It is there when I watch T.V. or read a book. It's there when I lay down to sleep at night and it's there when I wake each morning. It's just there all the time. It's a heavy thing, this weight. It is so heavy that the burden of carrying it around hour after hour plum tuckers me out. By the end of a long day of teaching and acting like nothing is wrong I am exhausted. I come home and I just want to lay down and let myself cry. Of course I can't. My girls are so sensitive and Dave just wants everything to be normal. They depend on me for so much...for everything really. It is my job to keep things going around here and falling apart just isn't on the schedule.

It seems like there should be something I can do or say to make this better. I wish I could figure out what it is. I don't wish that for myself. I wish it for my mom and dad...for John and Tre...for everyone that feels this terrible sadness that won't let go. Somehow knowing they feel this way too hurts way more than feeling this way myself. I just want everything to go back to the way it was before.

I want Shanna back.

It always comes down to that thought. I want her back. Each time I think that I mentally slap myself and remind myself that I am being selfish. She suffered long enough. She is whole and healthy now. I really am thankful for that.

I am convinced that she isn't sad and missing us. I think that our time on Earth is but a blink in the span of time that is eternity. To her it will seem like mere moments from the time she arrives to the time when we join her and we will all be together again the way a family should be. Unfortunately to me each hour seems like a day...each week like a month...the past month has definately felt like a year...an awful, awful year. All I know to do is to pray for grace.

Grace to make it through each day without breaking down. Grace to be the mother, wife, daughter, aunt, sister and sister-in-law that I need to be. Grace to be the teacher my students need me to be. Grace to live my life serving God and making Him proud to call me His child.

Grace...all I need is a little grace.

My next purchase will be earplugs

It has recently come to my attention that I am old. Now don't ask me when this happened because I have no idea. I am as shocked as you are! I was just going through life, minding my own business, feeling footloose and fancy free and then WHAM!...out of the clear blue I am old.



I am always the last to know.


I guess I was well on my way to becoming the next Aunt Vi. I don't think anyone ever told that woman that she was old and she went through life acting like a perpetual 21 year old on spring break. For example, there was the time my cousin Tim took her to a Ranger's game and halfway through the game she stands up, pulls her top up and flashes the stadium her bare boobage. She had to be about 90 years old at the time. Tim said her boobs were hanging down to her belly button, but she didn't care. She just gave them a shake, sat back down and calmly said, "I've always wanted to do that."

Luckily, I was saved from becoming the next grandma flasher by stumbling upon a civic center FULL of loud and rowdy teens who were more than happy to point out my ancientness to me. Well I didn't exactly stumble...I drove there on purpose to take Lauren and her friends to see this band:







Yes, you read correctly. I drove a suburban full of teens to see this PUNK BAND in concert ON PURPOSE. Apparently I am not only old, but I am stupid as well.

Once again, I am always the last to know.

The first clue pointing toward the fact that I am old was my reaction to the pierced lips of the band members. Instead of saying, 'Oh my gosh that is so freakin' awesome!' all I could say was, "Ouch. That had to hurt" and then I wondered how they ate corn on the cob.

Clearly I am no party animal (and if I were I'd be like a party tortoise).


Then there is the fact that I was wishing I had some stylish ear muffs to help block out the extreme LOUDNESS before the first song was over. And when the strobe lights came on instead of screaming hysterically with all the girls around me all I wanted to do was go pull the lead singer by the ear and tell him that strobe lights can cause seizures in people in epilepsy and then lecture him on being a responsible entertainer (if there is such a thing).I won't even get started on the smoke and the 'mosh pit' atmosphere created by the teen boys around us.

The craziness, it did abound. I am pretty sure I was the only one there over the age of 18. I am surprised they let me inside the front doors, but they did. In reality we all had a pretty good time. I actually like the punk (christian) band we went to see, it was just the volume that I had a problem with. I think that will be my last rock concert for a while.


But is anyone up for a Ranger's game? There is something I've always wanted to do...