White Elephants and Corn Dogs

This holiday season is celebrated by many people in many different ways.  Our home celebrates the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ at this time and when our children were small we also enjoyed the fun and anticipation of the Christmas Eve tradition of Santa Claus paying our home a visit as well.

Ray and I have been married 25 years and during this time have experienced years of abundance and some lean times.  This year for us, as I believe for many others will be a lean year.  I find that it is the lean years that I enjoy the most, because it brings out the creativity in everyone.

About three years back we decided that for the Martin family gathering at Ray's parents house, everyone from Ray's grandmother all the way down to Bobby's youngest daughter who was around four at the time, we would have a white elephant gift exchange with absolutely no money allowed to be spent.  Even if it meant you had to wrap it in newspaper, keep it to a zero budget.

While others fought crowds at the mall and department stores, our family was plotting and planning on what would be the "perfect" item to "re-gift" for the family Christmas celebration.  It was the first time I had seen my children giddy with anticipation over who would receive the gift they had carefully selected versus the usual expectation over what they themselves would be receiving.

I will never forget Ray's dad Chuck opening the gift my youngest daughter Abby had carefully wrapped and placed under the tree.  The look on his face was priceless when he held up, then carefully placed upon his head, a red and white paper Varsity hat, while asking in a cadence we all recognized at once, "Whaddaya Have?! Whaddaya Have?!"

This past Wednesday night marked the beginning of the holiday gift giving season for us.   Abby, my youngest, had a Christmas party to attend with her youth group at church.  It was a white elephant gift exchange.  Abby asked if I would scrounge something up for her to wrap, so I did.  True to Abby fashion she waited until we were within 5 minutes of the church before turning to me and saying, "Mom, my gift is a little on the practical side, I kinda wanted it to be funny."  I glanced over at her and said, "Funny, good grief girl why didn't you say so!  I was holding back 'cause I thought I would embarrass you."

We then whipped the truck into the Quik Trip where we purchased a nice fresh corn dog which we proceeded to cover in the wrapper from the rejected gift and trucked it on to the church house.

While it was not the only odd gift by far, it was the only warm one, and listening to the youth leaders wife voice her concern over what might actually be wrapped up in the "warm" gift made it worth the last minute switcheroo.

This year shall prove to be doubly exciting since my side of the family has now adopted the tradition as well and I look forward to the craziness that a White Elephant Christmas brings!

© 2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

MWF On A Roadtrip

On a recent road trip to Orlando with some friends it came to their attention that I was not lying when I said that I have a paper fetish and will pick up most free papers/advertisements and pay for the cheaper ones that catch my eye in local publication boxes.

Case in point; I'm not sure exactly where we were,  but at a rest stop there was a whole stand of  boxes, one in which the Florida Singles Entertainer was being sold.  How could I NOT buy it?  It was a long drive, I needed entertaining.

What could I have possibly learned?  Oh Lawd!  Here goes:

1.  The FSE does NOT edit your singles ad.  Have someone with an education read your article before sending it in to be published.  Then again, this might help in the weeding out process for possible suitors/suitees.   i.e:  SDWF (Ft. St. Lucie, FL)  "People tells me I'm cute, sweet, kind, smart and have a sense of humor, you can be the judge....I am seeking my real soul mate....30-38 of age.  He must have a child of his own..."

I'm not sure why she underlined the words "real soul mate" in her ad unless sometime in the past she was lured in to a relationship by a fake soul mate.   The fact that "people tells" her about her being cute and smart did not take away from the fact that her perfect man had to bring "a child of his own" to the romantic deal table.  Apparently she is unwilling to share, so folks when it comes to the chillins, it is BYOK.  Then again her friends didn't "tells" anything about her being unselfish now did they?

2.  I noticed that many of the ads ended with these words:  "No Inmates" Ya think???!!!!!!!   I had no idea that the penal system was a steady source of respondees to the singles ads!  Then again, the FSE does carry this heading on their ads page: "Florida Singles ~ Penpals & Singles.   I have to believe they are looking for a pen pal being as actual dating could prove difficult when on lockdown.

3.  Some of the singles are similar to Jaguars  but have no label so I shall call them Saber Tooth Tigresses ("Jaguars - A woman in her 70’s interested in dating or hooking up with younger men")  ie: SWWF (Oneonta, NY)  "DOB    12-22-26.....looking for  a SWM  58 to 80 years old...no bad habits and have a nice car..." Really?  NO bad habits?  I have to believe by the time someone is 80, they're gonna have a bad habit or two.

4.  There were some that I feel truly believed they were going to find love and others who ran on the perverted side, but at least they were upfront about it:  "49 Year Old Man seeks one or two women, prefer beauty, large bust and redheads.  Call me XXX-XXX-XXXX Stephen" and  "Divorced Mexican Man (Dallas, TX) 44, 5'8", slim, childless, blue-collar...broad-minded sexually.  Seek uninhibited, broad-minded sexually woman.  Any race, age under 5' 5". Very bold advertising for pairs of women.  As for the Mexican dude, all wild chicks taller than him need not apply.....

5.  The abbreviations used stumped me at times.  One of of which took days for us to figure out but we laughed when we realized how simple it was LTR.....Long Term Relationship.  I think I shall put out a Singles Ad Abbreviation Guide, be on the lookout for the handy pocket pal for singles :   SAAG  a handy reference for those looking for love from the comfort of their own home.

Folks, this paper had them all, young, old, short and tall.  I admire the specific way in which each went into detail as to what they were looking for and I  laughed as I thought how in the end what they were not putting into their ads  are what is really the most important for that special someone they are seeking to share their lives with.   Love me when I'm unlovable, be honest with me but not cruel, be kind to me as that will solicit a much better response than tit for tat(we all have our bad days), my children are a part of me and are part of the deal, looks fade, but it is important to me for you to attempt to look your best,  and above all NO INMATES.

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

Don't Lose Your Head

On Thursday, September 16th it was reported in the news that in Athens the "Greek police charged two U.S. tourists with desecrating the dead" after six human skulls were found in their carry on baggage at the Athens International airport.

The skulls were found when their luggage was scanned during a stop-over in Athens while they were on their way back home to the United States.  "The coroner confirmed they were human skulls."

The two tourists said they had purchased the skulls at a souvenir shop on the island of Mykonos and "believed they were fake".  Officials have released the two "pending trial".

Well, if that doesn't kill the souvenir sales for the island, I don't know what will!  One of my first thoughts was, these two must really do it up big for Halloween....six skulls!  I wonder if it was an impulse buy?  There they are perusing the gift shop and stumble upon a Bin-O-Skulls.  Look Honey!  We should have a Halloween Party!!!  At least that's what I hope was going through their minds.

Perhaps they are the crafty sort and were gonna make Christmas gifts out of  'em.  Don't scoff!  I was on a trip last week and found this little decorative piece for the table. My first thought was; "It would funny if I owned a restaurant and put these on all the tables!"

I know I would put one by the inspection score from the local Health Department.  I'm not kidding, I would do it, ask anyone that knows me....

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

Domestic Goddess

I have found when you give a creative title to most things you can turn the ordinary in extraordinary.  It is a way to take a mundane position and make it sound like something that not only pays well but is interesting to boot!  For instance Sanitation Engineer vs Garbage Man, which would you rather be?

So here I am, previously employed office worker (sounds better than laid off) working behind the scenes on some promotion work, and missing her blog and all the stories that have gone untold as each day has flown by.  I should be thrilled at the opportunity to catch up on my laundry but for some reason the role of housewife has never really been something that I've done well.

I admire and envy those ladies that are able to give their all, and run their households like a well oiled machine, you know them, the Domestic Goddesses of the world.   They are perfect in every way.  Not only do they run their households like a well oiled machine, they do it with seemingly little effort.  I am certain they are Stepford Wives!

I love my family, but while the DG has her family off to school with a hot breakfast in their tummy, I am shouting words of encouragement from my bed much like Charlie Buckets grandparents from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.   Ice cream sandwich for breakfast?   Sure, why not?!  It's got eggs and milk in there somewhere.

The Goddess zips around in her stylish shoes and upper scale costume jewelry with perfectly manicured nails doing her wash and cleaning her home, while I am letting the day get away from me by enjoying just a few minutes out on the front porch amongst the trumpet vines and  hummingbirds.    Before you know it, Abby is getting off the bus and coming up the driveway.  There I am, in my pj's, notebook in hand while I capture my thoughts on paper, and my teeth feel like they're wearing sweaters because I have yet to brush them.   Gross  I know, but it is what it is.

I have friends that are  Domestic Goddesses, while I am more of a Domestic Misfit.  The housework gets done, but if your gonna drop by unannounced it is truly at your own risk....if you need tolerably tidy please at least let me know you are at the top of my street so I can do the white tornado.  Now it's nothing like those shows where people are nasty mind you, just stuff like a mountain of clean laundry begging to be put away on the dining room table.

This week Ray and I have spent a fantastic time with some friends at their vacation spot.  It has been a much needed escape from reality, and lucky for us extremely low budget.

While crossing the state line from Georgia to Florida I was once again reminded of my failings as a housewife as I noticed the spanish moss dripping from the trees and made a mental note to clean the ceiling fans when I got back home.....

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

In Shape

Recently I was onstage doing stand-up comedy for my Comedy 101  graduation, afterward, while watching the video, I noted the following:

1.  My sister is excellent at videoing from a regular camera with the video feature!

2.  The camera does not add ten pounds, it's more like twenty-five (either that or I am a heifer).

I was so careful when choosing what I was going to wear that night,  yet after viewing the video I was not pleased with the look.  I've known for some time that I have gotten out of shape, I just didn't realize I had become a shape!  Apparently I have become a pear.   Come to think of it, I think I have always been a pear, I just wasn't so ripe as I am now!  =)

I don't even like pears,  I wonder if I stand on my head if I can shift the fat and balance out my top half.........Mooooooo

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

Ahem, Gourmet?

I was shopping in the local Sam's Club this week and came across a pallet of Ricos Nacho Cheddar Cheese Sauce. While that in and of itself is really nothing to go on about the description on the label made me do a double-take.

The product claims that this is Nacho ordinary cheddar cheese sauce, but in fact Gourmet!   Really, Gourmet?  Is that Spanish for something?

According to Webster, Gourmet is an adjective used to describe "high-quality or exotic ingredients and skilled preparation".  I have to believe that if this was truly the case, wouldn't the packaging be much nicer than it's current cardboard container that is very similar to a Crisco can?

Now don't get me wrong, I like nacho's as well as the next fellow, but I find it a stretch to describe this sauce as gastronomo as our Spanish speaking friends would  put it.  Perhaps it's the added topping of sliced jalapenos that brings the dish to a higher level?  Not too sure..........

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

Seeing Red

This morning I read where Zachary Goelman wrote an article that was published in New York (Reuters) this week.  It seems that "Women in the United States, England, Germany and China said they found men pictured wearing red, or framed in red, more sexually attractive than in other colors, the research published in the Journal of Experimental Psychology showed."

Realllllllly.  It went on to say that the author of the experiment, Andrew Elliot,  said "red was thought to be a sexy color for women only".   In talking with my girl friends they say that their husbands prefer it when they wear red nail polish and lipstick but that's about as far as it went.  In fact they said that the only time their husbands took note of what they were wearing was when they were wearing nothing at all.

Now I must admit, while Mr. Elliot's research consisted of seven experiments that were divided into two parts with between 20 and 57 people, I only asked two different friends.  Perhaps I should have asked three more just to eliminate any doubt.  Somehow I feel that nudity over the color red will win popularity contests with men every time.  Then again, it would make sense for the color red to be "a sexy color for women only" because if a woman is nekkid, lipstick and nail polish would still remain!

Personally, I think the results  in Mr. Elliot's study were flawed, you wanna know why?  But of course you do!  It turns out that the women that participated in the experiment were shown pictures of men aged 19 to 22 either wearing red or were framed in red.  19 to 22!  What were the age of the women giving the opinions? Where they pre, post or currently menopausal?  What exactly were they wearing that was red? Boxers or Briefs?

I say we get some middle aged men out there and dress them in red.  Keep it consistent, put em all in Santa Suits.  Who doesn't like Santa?  (Well, Jimmy H. doesn't but that's neither here nor there.)  We can use color blind women as a control group, reckon it will work?

The biggest question of all is this; Who funded this research?  I need their number!  Perhaps I could finally get some answers about Spam and who out there is purchasing it to the point that they now have 10 varieties? (only 7 are carried in my local Walmart, but my research has shown 10 actually exist)  I  love Spam, so it would be a labor of love to do the research and get that report out to the public.

Another thing that just came to mind; The color red is also associated with the "red light district" or "Ho's" and Santa says Ho,Ho, Ho.  Coincidence?  I don't think so.......

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

A Woman Like Me

The following was posted on the side of my facebook page the other day:

Annette,
more than 838 men near Douglasville want to meet a woman like you.

My first thought when seeing this was "What exactly is a woman like me?"  You mean to tell me that more than 838 men (near Douglasville) want to meet a married, middle aged, mother of two?  They're not setting the bar very high now are they?

I also noticed, the 3 lucky guys selected to have their pictures posted alongside this supposedly titillating ad looked like a bunch of serial killers.   In my opinion, it would do the online dating sites good to take a lesson from the auto trader and send out a photographer to snap a picture of you to post, otherwise, look what you end up with.  It's no wonder they are marketing their wares to the married gals.  Maybe they assume we are in a rut and are desperately looking for a good time.

A woman like me huh,  that would lead me to believe they are looking for someone that can cook, clean, do their wash, raise their unruly youngins and balance a budget!  That must be it, there's no other explanation.........

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

Hand Stamps and Fake Tattoos

Every day that passes confirms the fact that my children are as beautiful and as different as two snowflakes.
Alex,  is always reaching for that one thing that is just out of her grasp, and not giving anyone peace until she obtains it.  She exhausts herself many times chasing things only to find they're not all they're cracked up to be.  I am proud of  how she is learning from these experiences and starting to make wiser choices in her life.

Abby, well, she's perched on the top of a flag pole and watches as the world parades past her.  She reaches out and plucks up the interesting, funny or weird things to examine a little more closely.  I get aggravated sometimes as she can be immature and silly and then I realize, no she's not!  She is acting like an old fashioned twelve year old.

You know, the kind that grew up in the seventies. Now don't get me wrong, she shaves her legs and likes the cell phone she bought with her birthday money (especially since our family plan has unlimited texting) but she still thinks that running around in the yard at dusk to gather up a jar full of lightening bugs to let loose in her room when she goes to bed is time well spent.  I am glad she is still satisfied with being a kid and not rushing to grow up.

When it comes to fashion, Alex always knew exactly what she liked and didn't like.  I can remember taking her shopping and at three years old she would "test" the skirts by pulling them out to see how far they stretched.  The best ones stretched way out and were good for twirling.  If it didn't twirl, it wasn't for my girl!.  To this day Alex still knows exactly what she likes and cannot be talked into or out of anything.


On the other hand, we have Abby.   Who, when she was younger, seemed to get most of her fashion tips from Punky Brewster, who apparently was dressing a lot like many gang members of today.   After awhile she then leaned more toward a Pippi Longstocking style of dress and has slowly but surely morphed into her own Abby Style.

Abby style would mean you will have on comfortable clothing, that matches mind you, and your hair in some sort of an "up do".  When she was in the 3rd grade, I thought her penchant for this particular hair style was because she didn't like having her hair fall into her face all the time.   I soon realized it was because she couldn't get the rats nest of tangles brushed out of her hair and she would just twist it up and secure it with a rubber band to hide the mess.

By the time 5th grade rolled around she decided it was better to learn to get the tangles out because sooner or later I was gonna get ahold of it and nobody is happy when mom has to brush a weeks worth of tangles out of  your hair.

Abby will also be sporting some sort of temporary tattoo, ink stamp or perhaps some stick on jewels.  So, if you see her with a diamond stud on her nose, or a big sunshine tattoo over her belly button, well one is secured by a magnet and the other will come off with rubbing alcohol.

I am going to come out with my own line of fake tattoos for adults.  I love tattoos and would have one today if I could only decide exactly what to get.  Let's face it, I can't even settle on a hair style/color for very long, can you see me with a tattoo forever emblazoned on my bod?

I  have decided with my current state of indecision, there must be many folks out there that feel the same way.  So, I will have "Temp Tatts" for the undecided of the world and open up shop next door to a real Tattoo place.  That way once you are really ready, and have given that tattoo a test run, you can then go next door for the real deal.  No buyers remorse there!  I'll be sure and make an announcement when I open up shop.  Temp Tatts, coming to a location nearby soon.....

As it stands, I go through the day with whatever "tattoo" or hand stamp Abby has put on my hand or arm while I am driving down the road or when I'm totally distracted by the computer.  Sunday when I reached down to get something out of my purse I noticed a dolphin stamped on my hand.  I wonder if my fellow worshipers wondered what club I frequented the night before that stamped your hand with that as you entered......

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

Racetrac

Abby, our 12 year old,  had very few requests for this summer; swim, get a FreeFill cup, swim.  That's it.  Doesn't sound like a whole lot until you are greeted every morning before you've had your coffee by a kid wearing a  swimsuit with a pair of goggles in hand wanting to know if there will be an opportunity to swim that day.  Abby loves the water and if she passes up an invitation to swim, she is nigh unto death.

Do any of you have the "FreeFill Cup" from Racetrac?  Well, times a wastin', you better get a move on if you're gonna take advantage of this great deal!

You make a small investment of $6.99 and you'll get free refills of fountain drinks, lemonade or Icee's till Labor Day.  The ad says until August sometime, but the offer has been extended till Labor Day.  We each got one, so now no one looks for punch-buggies, we're all scanning the horizon for a Racetrac.

Wednesday of this week she got her FreeFill cup, now I am greeted every morning by a kid, in a bathing suit with goggles in one hand and a FreeFill cup in the other wanting to know if we can get an Icee and go swimming.......

Now A Word From Our Sponsors

We have lived in our home for 20 years come the 31st of this month.  During this entire time we have had cable television in our home.  What am I saying, we have had cable TV the entire 25 years we have been married.

I personally  can take or leave the TV, give me a radio or cd player.  Ray, he LOVES the TV, from the time he wakes up till after he falls asleep the TV is on.  We have TVs everywhere except in the bathroom and the inside of the fridge.  If we could afford it I am sure one would be in at least one of those places too.

When I was growing up television offered very few viewing choices; channels 2,5,11, 36 and 46.  Those were the only channels available.  On our TV and you turned a dial to change the channel.  It was a color television, but some of the shows like I love Lucy or The Three Stooges were still in black and white.

I remember a time when rabbit ears and tin foil was used to get better reception.  Vice grips were used as a quick fix when the dial broke and the first remote control in my parents home was any financially dependent child within hearing range.

In our home the remote control is a very important item.  Ray would rather walk a hundred miles looking for a lost remote than 3 feet to change the channel, from what I understand this is something other husbands do as well.  I don't care if other husbands do it, that is crazy!

My parents did not get a VCR or cable television until after I got married and moved out of their house in 1985.  For many years I wondered what that was all about, I figure it had to be for one of two reasons; 1) They were finally able to afford it  because 2 of their three children were finally out of the house.  2)  They were trying to make us think that having our own place were we could have cable TV and stay out all night if we wanted was way better than living at home with the folks.  This was very wise on their part.

Things were different growing up at Ray's house, they had cable TV there,  and he was used to a bunch of channels,  around 20 or so of them.  Remember the brown box with the black buttons that  you used to change the channel with?  That's what they had.  He even had a TV in his bedroom!  I should have realized then what I was up against.

This past week Comcast finished "going digital" in our area so now the "Basic Cable" we had subscribed to all these years was no longer gonna cut it as this digital change cut Ray's channels back from around 50 or so to 35.  Yes friends, the world as we know it had come to an end.

The funny thing is I noticed it before the rest of them because I get up the earliest.   I just kept the grim news to myself, I wanted to see their reaction and hated to spoil the surprise.  I ended up leaving the house pretty early so I missed out on their initial response, but my phone started ringing off the hook when they all woke up (Mom is indispensable in our home.  They never confer with one another, they just call me.  I believe that is their way of cutting out the middle man),  you would have thought I forgot to pay the electric bill and they were in the dark.


As of today, Ray has obtained and installed all the proper equipment and all is right with the world once again.  In fact, things are even better, we have "around 300 channels"!!!!  Whoopee......I have said it before and I will say it again, you can only watch one at the time.

The channel that has captured their attention?  Boomerang.  Ray and Abby have spent the afternoon watching reruns of Huckleberry Hound, Yogi Bear and the Jetsons and they were thrilled when they realized they would be able to see Two Stupid Dogs.   I expect Nielsen Media Research will be in touch with us any minute now......

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

Down Five

A week ago Sunday,  we got in from evening church services late,  around 9 pm,  and  I noticed my pond needed to be topped off.  I go and put the hose into the stream bed and turn the water on.  While walking away,  I make a mental note to be sure an turn the water off in about 10 minutes.  In the past we used to lose a lot of water on a daily basis because there was a tremendous amount that splashed off the rocks at the top of the waterfall, thankfully that is corrected now.

I love that pond, I have blogged about it before and even published pictures of it recently when I told the story about CC eating the little fishy that I was trying to save from being bullied by the bigger fish.  Yep, I really enjoy the pond.

Around 2 am I woke up to use the bathroom and while sitting on the toilet, half asleep, I realize the annoying sound I was hearing was actually the sound of running water.  I cock my head to the side trying to determine if it's the cheap flapper in the tank of the toilet I am actually sitting on that's leaking water and needs replacing, or if it's the toilet in the other bathroom.

That is when it hits me like a ton of bricks, that's the water hose I hear! Ahhhhhhggggghhhhh!!!!!!!  I practically trip over my own drawers in my haste to get outside as fast as I can to get the hose turned off.  Many thoughts race through my mind while I'm frantically punching the disarm code into the alarm; number one being that I was thankful that at least my memory didn't fail me right then, and I remembered to disarm the alarm.

The last thing I needed was for law enforcement to be dispatched because I had tripped the alarm and there was not a handset to be found  to let them know it was operator error and not an intruder.  We have teenagers in the house and they find it necessary to remove all phones from their charging stations never to be returned.  I don't even know why we have a house phone, we never have enough juice in the handsets for them to do much more than ring annoyingly.  You can't answer them, they go dead the minute you answer them.

I realize that it is highly possible that I had washed my fish completely out of the pond in the overflow of water pouring over the edge, and into the yard.  I was probably gonna step on one in my mad dash to the spigot and end up sliding on it like a banana peel down to the bottom of the yard, break a hip, and lay there till morning because no one can hear me yelling for help.  Maybe I should have tripped the alarm, at least the cops would find me.

Thankfully, I am able to make my way through the yard without incident and get the hose turned off.  I decide that whatever fate has befallen the fish can wait until daylight for me to witness and I trudge back through the yard and go back to bed.  After resetting the security system and sliding back between the sheets Ray turns over and says; "You leave the hose on?"  I grunt in affirmative, and go back to sleep.

When morning came, all four of my remaining fish were belly up in the pond.  Ray comes out onto the porch with his coffee and looks down at me while I'm fishing them out and placing them into a plastic bag and mentions his surprise at they're being dead.  I mumble that I'm pretty sure I drowned them.
I know, how do you drown a fish?  Well, in my pea brain, I felt like the continuous rush of water spilling down on them might have been too much for their poor little gills to handle and they might have been oxygen deprived, and therefore drowned.

Ronnie, a friend of ours, chose at that moment to call on Ray's cell and Ray told him my theory, a little sarcastically I might add.   Ronnie said it was more likely that they were poisoned with the large amount of chlorine going into the pond.  He's probably right, but I still like the look on peoples faces when  I say I drowned my fish.

It was a Monday when I scooped their lifeless bodies out of the pond, and since the garbage man doesn't come until Thursday, I decided to put them in the freezer until the night before, so they wouldn't be stinking up the can outside before trash day.  Well, once again I forgot.
When Abby went into the freezer today to scrounge something up for breakfast, she found my fish instead of Eggo's.  Sigh.....I wonder if I am suffering from dementia?  People will think so if they come to my house and find dead Koi in the freezer!

It may not sound like it, but I AM sad that I killed my fish.  I'm just busy trying to wrap my brain around the fact that Josi has been on a mission to hatch a chick or eleven and the floor of the cage is littered with eggs, eight of which she is currently sitting on.  We have a dog that acts like a porcupine and all you have to do is look at her hard and hair shoots out of her body at an alarming rate.  I still can't figure out why she isn't completely bald at this point.  We have a sugar glider that is really cute, but I am constantly fretting over whether or not she is getting enough calcium.  How did I end up with all these critters?

Abby, forever on the lookout for an opportunity to add to the menagerie was thrilled when Trina called the house yesterday to tell us that she only had two kittens left and we had "better act now" if we didn't want to miss out on the opportunity to have one for our very own.  I told her if a kitten showed up over here I was pretty sure I was gonna end up in divorce court.

Abby was in total disagreement when I told her that the last thing we needed around here was one more animal.  She said; "We are down five since you killed the fish so we got plenty of room."  Lawd, "Down Five"!  I can't wait till she has kids of her own, I'm gonna take them to the pound to adopt a pet every year for their birthday.....

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

Touching Bottom

Although there's no fear as I'm floating around, I admit I feel best with two feet on the ground.

The water is slapping the side of my float, I doze and pretend it is really a boat.

Fingertips wet from the dip in the swell,  doing best to ignore what creatures underneath dwell
.
The sun, it is blazing, the top of me's hot.  My bottom snuggled into the water is not.

My eyes crack open the tiniest bit.  Can I still see the land, am I castaway yet?

I shift myself forward, to dip my big toe.   Is that the bottom?  Crap!  Where did it go?

The shifting sand bottom, it matters not.  Whatever touched my foot, well, that matters a lot!

Me thinks I shall paddle a bit closer to shore, where my feet touch the bottom and there's people galore.

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

Safe S-E-X

Today I read an article about a school committee in Provincetown  Massachusetts, that unanimously adopted a condom distribution policy for the elementary school and high school.   It is part of their "safe sex education."

OK, where to begin......First, I would like to point out the folks in Massachusetts must not have middle school because they left that group completely out of their policy.  I'm guessing they are part of the high school.  Either way, in my opinion sex education begins at home and  starts a whole lot sooner than most folks think it does.  Having to actually teach them safety in regards to sex makes me sad, but it is what it is.

I will never forget the time when Alex was somewhere between two and three, we had apparently forgotten to lock our bedroom door and in the midst of the throes of passion I feel two eyes upon me, and it was not the cat.

I look over to my left and find myself staring straight at  Alex, chin propped up in the palms of her hands watching us with wide eyed interest.  She says in a  sweet, little voice; "Hi mommy, what you doing?"  I look up at Ray, who at this point is looming over me with a look on his face akin to a deer caught in the headlights, and say "I don't know, what we doing Ray?"

I believe this is where the "Ask your momma.  Ask your daddy" scenario originates in every household, your kid walks in on you while your having sex.  Now, we don't tell our children that's what we're doing, nooooo God forbid they should find that out!  Eventually, they do put two and two together though.

Kids for the first six or seven years of their lives are typically given the run around whenever they walk in on their parents "napping" in the middle of the day or "showering" together.  Once, one of the kids in children's church informed the entire class, when asked what their plans were for after church; "We always go home to eat lunch and then my mom and dad take off their shirts and wrestle while we are supposed to take a nap."

We as parents tend to steer our kids line of vision away from dogs going at it in the yard, and we hope they don't ask how fluffy got all those cute kittens in her tummy.  My kids have seen the frogs outside fill the kiddie pool to the brim with eggs and witnessed the resulting plague of frogs.  They have seen "Nacho riding Josie like a dirt bike" as Ray so eloquently puts it, but to this day,  neither of them has ever asked either of us those words dreaded by parents the world over; " Where do babies come from?"

Ray say's it's because I have told them so many whoppers over the years they wouldn't believe me anyway.  I always thought I would be well prepared because the truth is so fantastic, what better tale to tell!   I have been robbed!  Let's face it, they know where they come from, from the mommy's tummy, duh!  Isn't it lucky that I got to tell them how they got in there?  The question is,  do they know it can kill them?

When I was coming up, one of the worst things that could happen to a girl in school was to get pregnant out of "wedlock".  (Wedlock? That never sounded appealing, who thought that term up?)  These days kids go to school and exchange sexual favors like silly bands and label it "friends with benefits".

We have television shows that in my opinion remove the stigma from promiscuity or teenage pregnancy.  What do I mean?  How many of you were shocked and speechless the first time you saw that first plane fly into the twin towers on 9/11?  Ok, how many of you were still speechless three days later after you had seen it countless times?  You became numb to it all didn't you.

Shows on TV like The Girls Next Door, 16 and Pregnant or A Baby Story de-sensetise us  from the fact that sex  has come out from behind closed doors and is no longer something shared by a man and a woman joined in holy matrimony.  I want my girls to know that sex is not a game to be played with multiple partners, having a baby when your a teen is a big freaking deal and will make your dreams in life harder to achieve.  It's good that they see that love between a man and a woman is a wonderful thing and is best shared when your in a committed relationship, and as a result of sex in the relationship children will be born.  But I think that with the showing of this on television day in and day out, it takes away from what a true miracle  the birth of a child really is.

All in all, don't be afraid to talk to your kids.  Give em the facts jack, don't be afraid of filling their heads with ideas, they have plenty of  friends that will do that for you.  Truth is power, and this kind of truth can save their lives, so bite the bullet and have a talk with them. Don't assume they already know.

My youngest, Abby, is going to be 12 in seven days.  She is already getting boobs, knows all about "periods" and I'm pretty sure if there are any questions regarding sex she will be glad to answer them for me.  I'm kidding, she and I have had "the talk".  If  I ever bring the subject up, she turns red and gets all embarrassed.  I'm glad! I prefer her just the way she is, sweet and goofy, with a bottomless pit for a stomach that has currently discovered the delicacy of bacon covered with Redi Whip.  I hope she stays that way a little while longer.

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

The Color of My Parachute

In my never ending search for the leg up in life I have been led down many a path.  Today, I decided to investigate the website:  www.govbenefits.gov

This site allows you to take a questionnaire that uses your responses to multiple choice questions to determine what government grants, benefits, or programs you may qualify for.   Around question number 50,  I began to wonder if there was some sort of hidden camera logging my reaction to what I was being asked.

At first the questions were what I would categorize as typical; birth date, marital status, number in household, highest grade achieved.  Then, they began to delve further into topics I hadn't even realized there might be a grant or program for.  For example:  At one point I was asked if I was a victim of torture.  Well, I AM a parent of two girls, that does count, right?

Also, if I was suffering from any "military sexual trauma" there was some sort of program that I just might qualify for.  I have to admit that produced a kaleidoscope of images in my mind while trying to figure out just what MST was.

I happen to be someone that believes our military deserve every benefit, freebie, grant, handshake, hand pat, leg up, free ticket, or discount available out there in the USA.  I also do not understand why they, their spouses or minor children pay for anything. They have already committed their lives to their country, I believe that is payment enough for the rest of their lives.

Other questions wanted to know if I had fallen victim to any areas that had been declared a natural disaster or if I was the surviving spouse of anyone that had lost their lives in 9/11.    If I was a coal miner there was apparently a niche I fit into as well.  I'm guessing after this year, there will be questions regarding my falling victim to BP's little disaster in the Gulf.

I answered all their questions with complete honestly and thirty minutes later was given a list of programs that I just might qualify for.  All I needed to do was go onto each of their websites and fill out yet another questionnaire or application to determine eligibility.  All in all, I got exactly what I expected, a habit trail of websites to venture out on.  These sites were actually local government programs such as TANF and are great programs for those in need.  I just think it was a whole lot like going out the front door to get to the barn.

Why did I waste my time?  Well, so that I could provide you all with my slightly askew opinion on one of the sights that many of those "free money" authors are giving you in exchange for the dollars you are earning  by the sweat of your brow.....or via unemployment if you are amongst the almost 12% in our area.

I think I will continue to check out these million sellers and report back to you on whether or not they are worth your gold or are instead,  fools gold.Perhaps I can get enough folks to pay for  a subscription and I will develop a newsletter that will publish results of checking out all these places for you.  If you hear of something that sounds too good to be true, more than likely it is, but shoot it over to me, I will check it out for ya! (cheeseinmyhair@bellsouth.net)

In the meanwhile, I think I'm  gonna go back and answer those questions again and choose some of the more obscure answers and see just what else the government might have available to me.   Mmmmm,  I probably should be  determining exactly what color my parachute is.....honestly, I am more concerned with the functionality of my parachute over the color, currently, it seems to be dragging behind me, whilst the suspension lines are getting caught up in all manner of debris.

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

Vermin Coiffure

My claim to fame at our previous church was my hair.   For years I wore it long, usually slightly longer than shoulder length.  Those that have known me for a very long time know that my natural hair color is dark brown.  Natural.....perhaps Original would be a better way to put it.

I found that after having my children, I still liked wearing  my hair long, but it was becoming a nuisance.  It seems that while holding a sick infant in your lap, if the child is vomiting into your cupped hands, you need to grow two more arms in order to have enough hands to hold back your hair or your hands won't be the only thing that needs washing.  Who'da ever thunk it?  Vomit in your hair and it wasn't because you overindulged on cocktails!  Who signed me up for that?!

I learned many lessons from my girls, and your better off putting your hair up in a ponytail was one of them.  Don't get me wrong, the spewing didn't last forever, but my desire to have flowing locks  ended when they kept getting caught up in the closures of disposable diapers or crusty with boogers.  All in all,  it was just better to wear it up or in my case cut it short.

Something else I learned, if at all possible, while your children are toddlers, it is best to wear a shirt that can be tucked in.  You may not always have a tissue handy, but a shirt tail will do in a pinch.  You just tuck it back in and no one is the wiser.  Wait, now I'm chasing rabbit's.  What was it I was talking about? Oh, yeah, hair.

At the same church that labeled me the girl with a thousand hairstyles, I met one of the best friends a girl could ever have, my friend and partner in crime, Trina P.    Many an adventure has began on the top of my head and she has been there right behind me, poised over the chair ready to give her opinion, encourage, or nix any idea that I may come up with in regards to what to do with the hair on my head.  You find yourself a good friend that can also did your hair, well, you have yourself something special!

This past Tuesday, Trina was kind enough to trim my hair for me.  She was very patient as always since I had mentioned the previous week that I might want a perm...might.   She will tell you that translates into I am bored with my hair and while everyone else thinks it looks great that is not good enough because I don't think it looks great.  Ya'll should really pray for her, cause I imagine she is gonna need some of the vertebrae in her neck replaced after all these years of shaking her head at me.

I felt that since I am currently in the market for gainful employment, it would be best if I was, well, looking my best.  That is why I got my hair trimmed.  Today, while attending yet another class at the unemployment office, I noticed something on the ground ahead of me as I approached the sidewalk leading into the building.  At first I thought it was a necklace made from a piece of leather.  Uh, no.  It was a rat tail.

Now, I don't mean the tail end of an actual rat like Templeton from Charlotte's Web.  I'm talking about the hairstyle that was popular in the 80's.  Apparently someone decided that before entering the unemployment office they should rethink their hairstyle as well, and do their very best to tidy up a bit .  I guess whoever it was, found it beneath themselves to pursue  a career in trash collection considering their total disregard for the available trash receptacles and instead chose to litter.

Don't get me wrong, I, of all people, believe in freedom of expression, especially when it comes to your hairstyle.  I myself have sported every hair color normally found in nature and a couple only found in a bag of skittles, so I'm no goody two shoes about it.  I just don't understand why they just threw there on the ground instead of in the trash.  Perhaps they knew I would be walking by and wouldn't be able to resist blogging about it?

Either way people, if your gonna try and do a little personal grooming in the parking lot of an establishment, let's limit it to clipping your nails and clearing any bat's outta the cave.  If you feel the need to go hacking away at your rat tail or mullet, for crying out loud, throw it in the trash!

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

Fun House Mirrors

I have a full length mirror on the wall in my master bathroom.  I cannot decide why it is really there because lately I feel like what was once a help in determining whether or not I should actually leave the house in what I had on, is now there just to mock me.

This morning, I am all but certain someone snuck into my house in the middle of the night and replaced it with one of those fun-house mirrors from the circus.  It's either that or my current exercise plan of 1 sit up a day is not working out for me.  I was really trying not to overexert myself cause lawd knows the last thing I need is a pulled muscle, so every morning upon arising I do 1/2 of my sit-up, and every evening the other half as I lay back down.

Surprisingly, it's not really creating much of an impact, I now have that dreaded "pear shape"  going on.  I wonder if it might be that the mirror is coming loose from the top, and it's now just reflecting my image from a different angle now?  Uh, yea, I should be so lucky!

About three years ago I went to a personal trainer for 24 sessions of instruction on the use of weights and cardio in order to get physically fit.  Her name was Donna and she was awesome!  Sadly, I ended up going back to work full-time and my 5 am workouts no longer fit into my schedule.

I now still weigh the same, it is just that now my muscles have grown as soft as my willpower and I no longer am as compact as I once was.  I thought that I would keep an Iron Woman diary during those sessions so I thought I would share Day 1 from that very first workout:

Iron Woman Diary ~ Day 1
Today was day 1 in my quest for physical fitness.  My goal is to go from J-ello Butt to J-Lo Butt.  Is it possible to do this in 24 sessions?  We shall see.


The personal trainer that I have selected to help me reach my goal is Donna, I shall lovingly refer to her as the Muscle Nazi from here on out.  What little I have been around her I have enjoyed very much!  She is so knowledgeable and so very encouraging, I am confident that I will be a changed person by the end of the summer…..either that or a complete cripple, only time will tell.


Today we worked on my legs and I think my upper body.  She told me when I got there what we would be working on but once we got started I just concentrated on what she was saying and getting my sea legs.  I don’t know if any of you have ever worked your bodies out in quite this manner, but once you fatigue your muscles to a certain extent, they start to feel really “watery” and you find yourself walking to your next set of equipment with a gait somewhat akin to Groucho Marx, you know, when he would do that sort of walking lunge around the room.  He would take incredibly long steps and his knee’s would almost be touching the ground with each step he took.  I am sure mine looked like more of a drunken version of his but that is the best way I can describe it.


Once I left the gym and headed toward my truck in the parking lot, which took slightly longer that the trip into the building because my thigh muscles felt like jelly and I was mentally kicking myself for parking so far away (third space from the door), and I then realized that I was in a four wheel drive vehicle and I was going to have to climb up into the cab of the truck.  It may as well have been Mount Everest.  I thought I was going to need a grappling hook to throw up in there to help me get inside and mind you this vehicle doesn’t even have a lift kit!!


After the short drive home I opened the door and forgot that I had just spend the last hour torturing my legs and when I stepped out of the cab my legs just gave out and I fell to the ground.  It was so funny I just rolled over on my back and laughed.   After I forced myself up I staggered to the carport door and gathered enough strength to lift my legs the six inches necessary to clear the threshold.


I have to say it has been a comedy of errors ever since.  I have done my best to keep moving so that I don’t completely rust over but it seems to be a losing battle.  Tomorrow I am sure will be very interesting.  I hope I don’t have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, my screams as I try to lift myself from the bed might scare my family.


Peace Out!

It seems that I never got further than documenting Day 1, I  confess it was because those first two weeks I wasn't able to move around very well much less sit and type!  This morning I have resolved to go back to implementing the techniques that Donna so carefully trained me in and soon I hope to meet my goal of fitting back into those clothes that now my youngest daughter has been pilfering from my closet.  Will it happen?  Well it did once before, so I am forever hopeful.   Here's to the battle of the bulge!

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

Blackened Bacon

The other day Ray was telling about how a guy he knew had this unique way of cooking bacon that kept it from curling up. It turns out this guy would put a plate down on top of the bacon in the pan and that pressed it down flat while it cooked and not only kept it from shrinking it also kept grease from splattering all over the place.

I decided to try it out, lawd knows I hate the grease splatter, as far as the bacon curling up, that wasn't really a deal breaker for me. I didn't have any plates that fit down inside my iron skillet, in fact I was curious about this particular detail as I can't imagine how he maneuvered that around while cooking. I decided to use a pot lid from a set of enamel pots that fit inside my skillet perfectly. My fork also fit nicely into the thingy you use to lift the lid so I didn't have to worry about burning myself.

It turned out that my bacon strips were still so long that they curled up around the edges of the pot lid, so no perfectly flat bacon here. The first batch turned out burnt to a crisp in the middle and raw on the edges. I got interested in reading my email (that's code for getting on facebook) a few short feet away from the stove and lost track of time, so I burnt the bacon.

The next batch, I cut the strips in half and had another go at it. Burnt again as I was a slow learner that day and didn't give the stove my full attention. Apparently my "lid it and forget it" technique was clearly not the way to go! Yep, I was still trying to fb and cook at the same time.

Third batch I realized that if I just listened closely, I could tell when the bacon was getting close because as it turns out bacon stops making a frying sound when it's on the verge of turning to charcoal. Better yet, use the same rules as microwave popcorn and when the popping sounds get slower, you better get your butt over to the stove and turn the bacon over.

All in all breakfast turned out OK. There was nary a kitchen fire, even though I neglected the frying pan the majority of the time. I have to admit though, the thick sliced bacon I purchased, turned out to be the same texture as Streak-O-Lean due to the lack of attention during the cooking process. That brings back memories, who else loves eating the rind from that salty treat? Mmmmmm, streak-0-lean, I need to add that to the grocery list!

Hiding Candy From Babies

Today I was on a mission to get some long overdue de-cluttering done in the front part of the house.  I began in the laundry room and discovered the exhaust pipe or whatever you want to call it that runs from the dryer to the outside vent has come loose yet AGAIN and there is lint everywhere.  If something ever generates a spark in there the laundry room is gonna light up like a Christmas tree.  You will see a black cloud of smoke for miles generated from the 10,000 pieces of plastic "silver" (as my grandmother used to call it) stored in there along with my many left over paper plates from various events.

It was during the throwing out of the 15 different plastic cake takers that have nary a lid that fits, that I discovered the wrapper of a Now and Later package with one lonely candy, hanging in the wrapper like a loose tooth, lying over in the corner of the laundry room.  This sweet find was partially concealed by a dust hippo, created from the endless supply of lint blowing wildly about every time a load of laundry spun dry.

Oh Goody!  Something sweet!  I blew the dust off my treat while doing the Snoopy Dance around the broom I was using to drag socks out from behind the  washer.  How do miscellaneous articles of clothing get back there anyway?  I know I'm not the one that is tossing unmentionables willy nilly into the washer at such a pace that they are getting flung behind the appliance.  What exactly is going on when I'm not there to monitor the goings on in the laundry room.  Inquiring minds want to know.

While weeding through the endless supply of crap that for some reason has taken up residence in the laundry room I decide that this is the perfect place to hide stuff, namely sweet stuff, from the kids!  I could shove a fistful of Smarties in a tube sock and hang them from a nail behind the washer.  One things for sure, the kids are not going to look for them there.

Don't judge, I know you all hide stuff from your kids, what grownup doesn't?  My kids have slowly but surely found all my other hiding places so I think this new place will fit the bill nicely.  Although, I'm thinking chocolate will not hold up very well to the heat generated by the dryer so I need to get Ray crack-a-lacking on that clothesline he's supposed to put up for me.....

What? Schools Out!

Uhhgggg.  Summer break is upon us and boy am I not prepared.  I am not ready for my seven hours of solitude during which I work out whatever I have planned for the day to end, just like that, in a puff of smoke.  Usually I am better prepared, and the entire last week of school is treated as my last hurrah during which I do my housework, lunch with friends, roam the local bookstore, and sip my coffee uninterrupted, well mostly uninterrupted on the front porch.  I really am pitiful, I never would have made it as a homeschooling mother.

This year, during the last week of school my time was spent doing all the things that take place for the graduating seniors.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not begrudging my senior her last week of high school and all the functions that we, as parents get to share with them, I'm whining about the fact that I didn't do my annual shoveling out of Abby's room before she was out of school for the summer.  This task is best done while she is not on the premises.

I'm bellyaching about the fact that now I will have to acclimate myself to people being in the house with me again during the day.   I'm sad about the disappearing of the wonderful silence where there are no TV's playing.   Gone will be the joy of having all phone extensions remaining on the hook to charge and being ready and available when you need them, or the satisfaction of  once  a room is cleaned,  it remaining that way until the other residents of this nut house arrive home at the end of the day.  Pitiful isn't it?

My days will now shift to include the kids out on the porch in the mornings with me, I wouldn't give anything for the conversations that have been had out there or all the ones to come.  I have found the best conversations with the girls happen either out on that porch or on drives in the car.  I look forward to the topics this summer will bring.

Alex has a job lined up so that should get her out of the house.  Instead of her wanting us to fund her activities, I look forward to her enjoying the feeling of  a job well done and the reward of financial independence as a result of it.

All I need to do now is figure out how to keep Abby occupied.  I wonder if I can employ the same tactics my own mother used on us?  You know, send her out to play and dare her to even think about coming in and dirtying the house.   I think I even remember my mom locking the screen door to keep us from slamming it, or was it to keep us out of her hair?

That could backfire on me since Abby is my adventuresome one.  A little while back, when she had a friend over to spend the night, I looked out the window in time to see her and her guest putting on helmet's as they climbed a tree to test out the zip line they had rigged up.  I better just suck it up instead and crack the whip in the picking up after oneself department.
Well, tomorrow is the first day of the rest of summer vacation, so wish

Pickle Juice and Mailboxes

It seems lately that I have been having a very hard time getting up in the mornings.  I have to believe it's because I have been going to bed so late, sometimes as late as 1 or 2 in the morning.  What's keeping me up?  Oh, any number of things.  Lately, excitement over a writing contest I am entering, but also everyday junk wants to do a tap dance on my mind when I am trying to settle down as well.

Last night I went  to bed after 1 am and with it being  the same weekend that I  "sprung forward" for daylights savings time, I should have known the chances of a mishap occurring would be better than average.    Ray got up and took off for Alabama to finish up working on a job there, I got up, sipped my coffee and shuffled around the house givin' myself the old pep talk;  "It's gonna be a great day!  Boy O' Boy, it won't get dark early tonight (yawn), Yay, three more days till the weekend." 

That is when I do the totally idiotic.  I sit down to the computer to "check my email", that totally translates to lookin' on fb.  Next thing I know it is 7:00 and I haven't even showered yet!  Thankfully I did have the wherewithal to get Abby up at her regular time so she is clippin' right along.   Me? Not so much.  I go from laid back to full speed ahead in 60 seconds flat.  I  jump in the shower, get dressed and make sure that we water and feed all the animals, then head toward the  door with no time to spare.

As I grab up my bag I notice that Abby has some sort of project she is holding in her hands.  I ask her, "Whatcha got there?"  She tells me that it is a pickle.  A pickle?  "Well, put it in a baggie, why do you have it on a paperplate?"  That's when she tells me that she has sliced this pickle up so that she can easily share it with her friend as they wait in the bus room, a/k/a the lunchroom, at school.  (We go through a lot of pickles around here and buy them in gallon jars. They are the large pickles that you see for sell at concession stands.)  I told her that she was going to drip juice on herself, she needed to put that in a plastic bag.  She says  "No, it will be fine, I will be careful with it."  I give her the you've been warned look and we head out the door.
We pile in the truck, I double check the time, 7:55, yep it's close, but we will be just fine and we head off for the school.  We get no further than the top of the street and I hear a sharp intake of breath from Abby.  I didn't even have to look to know what that was about.  I glance over at her, sure enough, pickle juice everywhere in her lap.  Either that or she peed her pants.  I don't say a word and she says "it's fine just keep going."  With that said, she proceeds to stretch her T-Shirt down to show me how effectively she can disguise her wardrobe malfunction.

I was too mad for words, but in my mind I'm saying "Satan will be strappin' on ice skates before I let you go to school with pickle juice all over you!"  With that I slammed my truck into reverse and boiled the tires all the way back down to my house.  At least I had my head on straight enough to make sure that I was on the opposite side of the street so that I would not collide with anyone heading out of the subdivision.   Let me say this, your head is never on straight if your mad enough to chew nails and spit rivets.  I slowed down enough so that I could haul buggy backwards up my driveway, or so I thought....

I stop short of my driveway by about a foot and a half and instead of continuing straight up the driveway as planned, I slam right into the mailbox.  This does little to improve my mood.  I pull forward halfway expecting to find that the mailbox is somehow embedded into my tailgate (wouldn't that just be the icing on the cake) or hung on my bumper and I will have to add insult to injury by having to get out and manhandle the stupid thing out of the clutches of the truck body.  Thankfully that did not happen.  I pull forward and it just leans way over and looks an awful lot  like the town drunk three sheets to the wind.

That didn't stop me for long, up the driveway I go at a pretty good clip, I lost steam right before I could do any damage to Alex's car parked under the carport.   I look at Abby and tell her she had better make it fast because I was not going to be late for work.  She jumped out of the truck like a scared rabbit.
I still don't know how she did it but she had changed pants and was  out of the house and back in the truck all buckled up before I could even find a song on the radio that I wanted to listen to.  I guarantee you she got her pants out of the dirty clothes hamper cause there is no way she could have found anything to wear that fast.  I am almost positive, but well past the point of caring.

Do I regret my little display?  Yeah.....well no, not really, ok yes I regret it.  I hate that I nailed the mailbox with my truck.  I'm not too happy that I will now have to buff the white paint out off of the tailgate.  I am eternally grateful that the mailbox was there and that the good Lord stopped me from being stupid one foot over as I would have ended up backing my truck into a culvert a good three foot below street level.
Who knows, maybe she will do what I suggest next time, then again maybe not.  I think I should have just let her go to school with pickle juice pee stain on her clothes......

Sit Ubu, Sit!

Today, riding home from Champ's Clock Shop, we passed by Coursey Lake.  Well, what was left of it anyways.  Back last year when we had the flood, the dam broke and the lakes just emptied out.  It was a pitiful sight, I hated to see it like that.  One of my favorite stories about Ray is centered around that lake.  I never really tell ya'll too many stories about ol' RayRay so strap yourselves in, this is a good'un.

Back in 1990 Ray and I sold the double wide we had been living in for the past 4 years and moved in with his parents while we saved up a down payment on a house.  If we had been smart we would have been saving all along instead of playing  so much, but then I wouldn't have some of these  stories to tell you now would I?
Either way, we moved in with Pat and Chuck to save money, and actually ended up living there about a year.  We had not been on our own so long that moving back in with parents was intolerable, but we had been gone long enough that we came to appreciate the privacy we no longer had.

Ray and I got in the habit of spending quite a bit of time outside the house and one day he came home from work and asked me if I wanted to go fishing with him over at Coursey Lake.  Well, he didn't have to ask me twice, he coulda said we were going to the dump to shoot rats and I would have been game!  So we gather up poles, tackle box and Ubu, our german shepherd and off we go.  Ubu, used to go with us everywhere, even Walmart.  She never went inside, but she would sit out in the truck and anxiously await our return.

So, here we go, off to drown some worms, 'cept we didn't use worms, not real ones anyway.  Ray was very excited that day because he was going to get the opportunity to use a lure he had just bought, to the tune of $5.   Now a days $5 won't even pay for a lipstick from the grocery store, back then to my little pea brain it seemed like a luxury since we were supposed to be saving up for a down payment. Now this lure I have to admit sure was pretty, just not $5 dollars worth of pretty.  It was about 4 inches long and had 3 treble hooks on it.  (The better to hook the little fishies with my dear.)  But I still wasn't impressed.

We arrive at our destination,   Ray schleps his chiffarobe sized tackle box over to where he planned to set up our temporary fish camp and proceeds to tie this baby onto his line.  He then finds what he is sure is going to be a sweet spot in the lake and makes that first cast.  Nothing.  Throw, reel, throw, reel, and we make our way slowly around the perimeter of the lower lake.  Around cast 6 Ray throws a particularly beautiful cast that lands his lure right in the center of a tree stump protruding from the murky depths of the lake.  He tugs and then starts muttering to himself, tugs, cusses a little bit, then gives a big ol' yank.  Yep, that snapped the line and there sat his lure on top of the stump winking at us like leprechaun sitting on a pot of gold.

Luckily, a sweet little old man was fishing from a john boat, he saw our dilemma and went on over and plucked that lure right up and handed it over to Ray.  I told him that he might want to think about trying a little something different this go round since the fish didn't find his lure no where near as appetizing as he thought they should.  He gave me one of those "Hush Woman" looks and went to tying it back on his pole.

Here we go again, and in the same spot I might add.  Throw, reel, throw, reel.  Oooops, danged if that sucker didn't get snagged on that stump AGAIN.  What are the chances?! ( Since this was the same guy that had sprained an ankle and  broken both wrists at the same time while  racing motorcross two summers before, I have to believe better than average.)  Here goes the muttering and yanking AGAIN.  Line breaks, AGAIN, sweet little man fetches lure, AGAIN.  You seeing a pattern here folks?

Ray thanks the man (AGAIN) and I ask him if he was gonna be a slow learner and tie that thing on one more time, because if he was planning that he may as well hand it to me so I could pitch in the middle of the lake and be done with it.  (I think that's the secret to the success of our marriage, me being so helpful.)  He just gave me a dirty look and says c'mon let's go around this way some and I will put this away and find something else to throw for awhile.

Thank gawwwd.  If he had tied that back on I was going to have to rethink pro-creating with this fella, there was no way I was going to bring a passel of slow learners into the world.  How does the saying go?  Life is hard, it's even harder if your stupid.  Anyway, big strong, smart man lays that high dollar play pretty on top of the tackle box and opens one of the little drawers on the front to find himself something else to throw.  Now y'all think I'm exaggerating when I say this deal was a chiffarobe, I'm not!  It stood about 20  inches high and was around 18 inches long and maybe 10 inches deep.  There was a drawer or two on the front at the bottom and when you opened the top a shelf lifted out and you could throw all manner of crap down inside of it.  It was quite the production.

Now Ubu, I bet yall forgot she was with us on this little adventure didn't you?  Well, she was hanging around pretty close this whole time.  The minute Ray laid that lure on top of the tackle box, she went over to check it out.  Next thing I know she has snuffed one of the treble hooks clean up her nose, it just hanging right there hooked to the edge.  Bwahhgghhh, gives me the shivers telling the story.

The dog yelps, I yelp and Ray drops his fishing pole when he sees what the dog has hung on her nose.  He then decides the best thing to do is straddle her and I think he is planning to see if he can work the hook off the edge of her nostril.  You see upon closer examination it is just barely hanging there on the edge, but hooked there nonetheless.

So here is Ray, straddling Ubu's neck, they are both facing me and Ray is kinda crouched down and has the dogs head right where he wants it.  He presses his thighs together a little to try and immobilize her since he has decided, unbeknownst to me or the dog, to literally snatch the lure out.

I have to tell you, he didn't get the chance.  He applied pressure to her neck with his legs, she panicked and yanked her herself out from between his legs backwards and successfully snatched the lure out of her own nose and sunk it into his thigh all in one fell swoop.  If I'm lying I'm dying!!!

Ubu ran over to the edge of the lake which was about 6 feet away, got a quick drink and was like a new dog.  Ray on the other hand was still kinda crouched over with a weird look on his face.  He then says, "I need you to help me, this thing is hooked in my leg".  Uh oh.  For real?  It's not just hooked on your jeans?  Then he starts to get all huffy and says yes, I'm sure, it's hooked in  my leg!  Well, okkkk, wotcha need me to do?  He starts to straighten up and that is when we both realize that when he got hooked he was crouched low over the dogs neck and the hooks were through his jeans and sunk into his flesh and had pinned the fabric in place all bunched up in a crouched position.  Weren't we in a pickle!

Ray says take the pliers and see if you can work the hook out of me.  So picture this, I'm on the ground, on my knees facing Ray's crotch, he is bent at the waist with one hand on top of my head to help him balance, because his knees are bent much the same way they were when he was straddling the dog.  I don't even want to know what the sweet little man was thinking out on the john boat in the middle of the lake.  (You know he had to of seen us, it's not a thought, it's a feeling).

I then realize, it's futile.  I can't see the hook for all the fabric bunched up around it.  That's when I suggest he take his pants off as far as he can so I can see if I can do anything from the inside of the pant leg.  Ray says nope, can't do that, see if I have anything we can cut these jeans with.  Cut your jeans!  No way buddy, there ain't nobody out here but me, you, the dog and that little old man; wave to the man, I ain't cutting a hole in these jeans.

Well, I have to tell you he wasn't making any sense.  I said Ray, I'm not cutting these jeans, take the blasted things off.  He said, nope, can't do it.  Well for heavens sake why NOT?!  That is when he says; "Cause I'm not wearing any drawers."  Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather.  I recover a split second later and fall over laughing.  Ray gets tickled too and he gingerly makes his way to the ground and we have a good laugh.  I think by that time the little old man has decided that is indeed not a tackle box, but a cooler full of beer and we are knee walkin' drunk.

I finally dig a rusty old knife out of the bottom of that monstrosity and cut his pants leg open so he can straighten up.  We snip the other two treble hooks off the lure and make our way back around to the truck and head to the house were we proceed to do a little Granny Clampett doctoring on his leg.

Well folks, all's well that ends well.  Now, don't forget, before you leave the house, always make sure you have on clean underwear, especially if you’re going fishing!

Chapstick and Vicks

Well folks, tomorrow is officially Annettepalooza.  Tomorrow's palooza  marks the 15th Anniversary of my 30th birthday, that's 45 in actual Annette years.  It has flown by so quickly I hope I am able to pace myself these next 45!  I love my birthday and the countdown to my special day is my claim to fame among my friends.  I have made many new friends this year and have gone really easy on them in regards to the countdown, if they only knew!  I have been known to schedule a daily email that goes out to remind a select few  how many shopping days are left till the blessed event.  It is of course a joke and in no way meant as a serious hint to purchase!

Wow, 45!  I wonder what 45 is supposed to feel like?  If it is true that you are as old as you feel, well then most days I feel like I'm in my 20's with a few days of 70 or so sprinkled in.  Things are sure different than when my parents were my age.  When my mom was 45, I had already been married for 2 years.  My kids are still in public school.  I have always heard that having kids in the house keeps you young, I don't know if I would quite put it that way, but it keeps you that's for sure!  For one, it keeps you on alert because I learned the hard way that seemingly ordinary things are not always, well, ordinary.

Case in point; my children have the uncanny ability to make crap magically appear out of nowhere when they are in my truck being chauffeured around and they then leave it in there upon exiting the vehicle.   I went from one such drop off point directly to the store.  Before I went in the store I grabbed the chap stick that Alex left behind and used it quickly, without the aid of a mirror, cause us moms are good that way,  then I ran into the store for a quick purchase.   I began to notice that I was getting a lot of stares while in the store and the cashiers comment on how I looked festive went way over my head.  I get back in my truck and take a quick glance in the mirror and that's when I notice that my lips are covered in silver glitter.  Well, that explained the looks!  I have certainly learned to double check before I use any seemingly innocent beauty product of the girls.

I am now at the place where I am more comfortable in my own skin than I have ever been in my life, while at the same time I feel like my body has staged a coup against me.  While trying to thread a needle the other day I noticed that I could see the eye of the needle and I could see the end of the thread but I couldn't marry the two up, very frustrating.  I actually considered putting on some 3-D glasses since wearing contacts and squinting one eye shut wasn't working for me.

I have now swapped places with Ray when it comes to who is too hot and who is freezing, who'da thunk it.  The smell of Vicks Vapo Rub I now find comforting instead of smelly when I'm not feeling up to par and I have traded in my birth control pills for 81 mg of aspirin coated with Calcium.  Before when trying to decide if I wanted to go out and do something with friends I took into consideration is it a work night, how much will it set me back money wise.  Now I ask myself, can I wear my lounging clothes if I go?  Will a line to the bathroom at this event be longer than a 15 minute wait?  Is this being aired on TV, can we watch it from home? Is there a chance I could break a bone?

Yes, my way of thinking has definitely changed as I have gotten older, I wonder what I will be like at 80!