tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81679861640547803852024-02-24T19:51:57.077-05:00Stuffie's Stuffstuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.comBlogger254125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-83548708296999108402024-02-24T19:51:00.001-05:002024-02-24T19:51:07.487-05:003,703...<p> That is how long it has been. 3, 703 days since I have put any words to paper, articulated my thoughts, shared my heart. In that time, I have laughed, celebrated, cried, and been devastated. However, none of those days could have prepared me for my current stay of being. They say, eventually you will loose your parents and then you are the adult. Like, I won't have an adulterer adult to turn to. I won't have anyone in my head telling me to figure it out. All I will have is the desperation of trying to remember what a voice sounded like, the inflection, the tone, the lilt in your voice. Instead, it will be a memory. Right at the very moment, my heart is being squeezed, as if someone is trying to get the very last drop out. My mom is sick. My best friend, my mentor, the one who taught me how to cook, how to to "mom" properly, how to hang laundry on the line in the proper order, how to fold a fitted sheet (I can do that in my sleep).A skill, that has gone the way of the do-do bird.</p><p>Lung cancer. Are you happy universe? I said it. What stage? I don't know.What kind? I don't know that either. What I DO know (get ready for a plot twist) She has not 1, but 3 leaky heart valves. She's in stage 3 renal failure. She's 83. She was not able to have a PET scan b/c it would have destroyed her kidneys. That being said, how the hell is her body going to handle the poison of chemotherapy that will course through her body in order to heal her. I think if it were just a diagnosis of cancer I would be "ok" but when you add in all the "extras" it becomes almost too much. If I thought I could not breathe when dad was sick, and that was enough to break me, this will send me to my breaking point for sure.</p><p>I did something the other day, I went back and I reread some of my posts. I don't ever do that, because some of them hurt so much and it brings me right back to where I was, what I thought, what I felt and it is still as gut wrenching now as it was then. It's like the band-aid was re-applied only to be ripped off again. What made it harder, was the fact that she ALWAYS read my blog and left me comments so I knew that she was there, and that when I could do nothing, I could articulate rather accurately how we both felt even though she was too brave to let it show. I think I get my grit from her. No, strike that, I KNOW I get my grit from her. I guess now, when I put all these thoughts and feelings out in the universe, it's safe. I know they won't be read by her, because it's been so. damn. long. since I have written anything. But this one? Panic attack on going please. I am angry. I am scared to death. I am wanting to be hopeful, but remain realistic. </p><p>Mom remarried you know. After dad died. A really nice guy who takes care of her and looks after her. I am currently 50 and I have a step dad. Odd feeling, for sure. But, Super nice guy and I can only hope that every one gets a Howie of their own. He tells dad jokes, has the same ones in his set list. The kids love him. We love him. He takes care of her, makes sure she has what she needs and even things she doesn't need. He's thoughtful, and kind and generous. </p><p>I cannot imagine a world with out her in it. The fact that my brain is even considering this is crazy. Like What the hell. I would say fight. But the reality is, I am not sure what is a safe fight. What's fair. There are a few plot twists in all of this. She has an 8cm mass surrounding her adrenal gland and there is a 50/50 chance it's cancer too. They can't biopsy that adrenal gland bc she would either stroke out, have a heart attack, or die. She can't have it removed as she's not a candidate for major surgery. :/</p><p>There is so much more, more that makes my heart hurt. More that I just don't want to deal with. At some point, I know I will need to, but for now, I will save those thoughts for later.</p><p>Peace out, Girl Scout.</p>stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-65576466883264951512014-01-04T19:42:00.000-05:002014-01-04T19:42:34.719-05:00New Year, New Beginnings and a fresh start....Yes, that is all that it entails. I have take some time off from everything I used to do. The norm that once was my life has gone to the way side. 2014 is brand new, and full of promises. One of my resolutions this year was to get back into my blog, and to Petie. I have been asked from time to time for a new Petie story. He is alive and well. He's a little chubbier than he was, and a little crankier than he was. (I like to think he's maturing.)<br />
<br />
Mom has put a bid in on a home down the street from me and has put hers on the market. I have mixed emotions on that. I will love having her close, and the kids will be with her all the time I am certain. That place was where I spent a good deal of my child hood. Not the get in trouble every 10 minutes part of childhood, but the life altering, life changing moments part of my child hood. Some good, some, not so good, but all of them were had there, on that property. I lost my brother, on that property. I graduated high school on that property. I learned to drive and got engaged on that property. I said goodbye to my single life on that property. I brought my babies back to that property. My 12 year old finds peach there, at the same places I did. it's weird. I buried my dad at that property. So while most of it is good, there are some parts I will be glad to leave behind. I was once told not to regret the things in the past, they help shape you for who you are today. I agree with that.<br />
It's time to make a new start, and a new beginning with mom here with me.<br />
<br />
So, stay tuned, you haven't heard the last from me yet! :)<br />
<br />
Peace out, Girl Scout!stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-70024663481819136172012-12-09T18:20:00.000-05:002012-12-09T18:20:07.072-05:00What a difference a year makes...you know, I seldom look back at what I have written. Sure, I read the comments, but I usually don't look back. Partly because it hurts to much, partly because this is how I heal, and partly because well, I get to busy. Don't we all? Lots has happened since I blogged last. Some of it great. Some of it heart breaking. Some of it, well I will just tuck it away and look at it another day.<br />
Mom and dad came down to see our renovation/house addition this summer August I should think. We were not sure dad would be strong enough to make the 2 hour trip here, but he made it. he even climbed the stairs to see what the contractor did. He has always liked our town, and our place. It was cool last year showing him the plans for the addition. he liked seeing what we were planning on doing. After touring the place and playing with the new pup( who LOVED sitting on his foot) he said (and I quote) " you know, when this is all done, it's going to be one HELL of a shack." Probably the highest compliment our builder has ever been paid. That made me probably the happiest was hearing that. Part of me was sad that say too, because I knew he probably would not be coming down again to see our home. He was getting thinner, the cancer was winning, although he was still giving it hell, his body was getting weaker. Part of me thinks that he was just making sure that we were going to be settled in and OK if he went. Makes me sad to think about it.<br />
Last year at this time, we were making holiday plans. My niece had flown in the month before to have a thanksgiving with us. Dad ended up in the hosp last Christmas. So we did what we do best. We all rallied around him in his hospital room.we took pictures of us with him, him with my mother and my Aunt bless her heart turned one of the photos of dad and I into a pencil drawing. I will cherish it always. I baked him the butter cookies he loves and several others that i knew he always liked. I didn't make him gingerbread, which I have done for the past 9 or so years. I ran out of time, and unfortunately he was running out as well. Sigh. We went back to moms and made as merry as we could, to help mom, to help ourselves have some type of semblance of normal even though the one who loved seeing us all together was sorely missed. his chair that was vacant reminded me of Tiny Tim's spot at the table. broke my heart, but hey with enough cocktails you push through it and laugh along with everyone else. I think deep down I knew this would be our last Christmas with him. I had talked to my sister and wanted to do New year's eve with my parents like we used to when we were kids, but that didn't happen either. I think we had gotten a storm that day, but again another regret to add to my ever growing list. I called mom every other day to check on her, tried to sooth her as she cried the whole time being numb from the reality that I knew was going to happen to us sooner or later.<br />
We broke ground on our addition in May, and the summer was a whirl wind or business and planning. I swear if I never go into a home improvement store to look at things again it will be too soon. but that is a blog post for a whole 'nother day.<br />
We got the call at 2 a.m., September 11th, saying he was gone. He was no longer with us. I laid in bed for about 20 minutes letting it sink in. I couldn't wrap my head around it. I did laundry, I packed. I waited for 7a.m. for the kids to wake so we could load the car and leave. it's a blur really. I remember moving through the day in a slow motion/lightening fast speed kind of pace. Ever have that? it's weird, that's for sure.<br />
I went to the funeral home, to drop off some papers they needed while mom waited in the car, and when I went in, on the floor in a purple bag in front of the coffin was my dad. He has just come back from the crematorium. and I went to the bad and sat of the floor and held it in my lap as the tears slid. Here was my dad. all 6'4" of him reduced to nothing more than a small package, it was more than my heart could take. I know it was never meant for me to see that, but the funeral director had been called away suddenly and the care taker did not want to put him inside the coffin. I will never, ever forget feeling as lost as I did that moment. Who am I now with out him? Sure mom is still here and she is everything to me, but I felt as though my conviction was there in that purple bag.<br />
I will spare you reading about the pain I felt the day of the funeral. Like I said somethings are just to hard to look back on. I tried to be stoic. I tried to be strong. I broke. I couldn't breathe. I don't think I have ever held some one's hand ad hard as I held my mothers. willing her to be OK. willing myself to fill my lungs with air.<br />
days slid into one another. he was gone, the funeral was over, now it was time to start to heal. September gave was to October, and then to November, and now, well, it's December and I am finding myself at odds these days. I am trying to go through all the motions, and for the most part, it is working. My kids are beyond excited. I WANT to be excited, but I feel, blah. This was the time of year he liked a lot. he loved seeing the kids, and loved eating the cookies, and the food. Loved watching my kids run through the house and swipe small chocolates off the hutch that mom had placed out on dishes along with about 1,000 different cookies. The thought makes me smile.<br />
I find that more and more I miss him. I can;t pick up the phone and go "hey pops!" and hear back "Hey, whatcha' doin'?" or "Talk to your mudder" when he didn't feel like being social. Just once more. I can hear him in my head so that will have to do. Mom, well she's getting by as well. I think she's OK, but I also think there is alot she is shielding from me. It's hard to be married for 53 years and then alone.<br />
for the 3 of you that still read my blog- thanks for letting me vent.<br />
I will make ginger bread this year, for pops. they will get stale and go uneaten, but they will be for him., and for the soul I am trying so desperately hard to sooth. <br />
My first Christmas without him. it stings a bit. Hit me when I went shopping the other day. I was in a store that had all kinds of country stuff in it. Americana cutesy stuff in it. in the corner was a sign in blue (his favorite color) that said nothing more than "Amazing Grace" (his fav song) all twinkly and shiny and clearly, out of place. I saw it and it stopped me dead in my tracks and once again tears flowed down my cheeks. He as out there, and just needed to let me know that. I love you Pops. Always. forever.xoxoxo<br />
<br />stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-3805014002223693212012-05-21T21:40:00.000-04:002012-05-21T21:40:18.636-04:00This past weekendwas a blur. I mean like warp speed, hold on to your hat, Ethel, blur. Dad's PET scan was today. And well, let's just say that yours truly had a hard time processing all the information on Friday. Hubs called and asked me to go to Cape May. Those of you that know me, know that I am not a spur of the moment kind of girl. I am a make a list, cross check it not once, but twice to make sure everything is ok kind of girl. I have 3 kids and various pets to care for, not to mention my own sanity. People have said I **tend** to over think things. I think they are pulling my leg! Me, over think/analyse things? Pshaw, Surly they jest!<br />
Ok, so I succumb to hubs request. partly b/c he told the kids first. (dirty pool, old man, dirty pool). But not before I had talked to mom, and told her that I want to get dad to the shore. He LOVES the shore. The beach, the food, the sand, the food... so we decide that on one weekend we will do it. Now, it is a three hour ride from my house, and a 2 1/2 hr ride from my parents house to mine. that's (if I do the math correct) 5 1/2 hrs of car riding for him... That's a LOT. I want him to go before, well just before. I need one more moment with him in Cape May. One more walk on the beach. One more time to listen to the surf. Just one more moment. We are hopeful that June will do the trick. There is something about going to the shore. When we go to Cape May, we always stop at Ducky's produce, go to the beach and then have lunch at a local place called Mugs. I LOVE mugs. I have LOVED mugs since we started going there. Mugs is a salt of the earth, Cheers type bar, with (what else) mugs n the celing. they face a certain direction, and then when the soul passes, the mug gets turned the other way. I tried to buy a mug for Dad, but alas, they no longer sell them. :(<br />
Off we went to Diamond Beach, to fly a kite and watch the fishermen shore fish nothing more than horse shoe crabs. <br />
There is something about the shore. Maybe it's my Jersey roots, maybe it's the ocean, I am not sure. It was healing. To have my own thoughts drowned out by nothing more than the pounding surf. (It's what every over thinker needs). While hubby coraled the kiddos, I was left to my thoughts, where ever they may roam. I thought a lot. I thought about life, what it means. I thought about death and the implications. I saw weddings, which reminded me of new beginnings, and I was lots of baby bumps which reminded me of the hope for the future. None of those people were plagued with my thoughts. None of them seemed to share my heavy heart. So back to the beach I went to stand in the frigid (60 degree) water and listen to the gulls cry and the waves crash. My kids giggled and laughed and chased sand pipers and gulls. They made sand castes and dug up baby horse shoe crabs. They giggled. They ran. They splashed and oddly enough, they left me be, except for a random "run by hugging". (love those nutty kids)<br />
We left the beach and a piece of my heart with it on the beach. Will we be successful in taking dad back there? I hope so, but am not hopeful... I dread Thursday. I dread getting the results of his test back. I worry that I will not be strong enough to hear the news and that I will just succumb to all this emotion. (again, those of you that know me, know I am not overly emotional, especially in public. I am a fall apart by myself, when it is all over with type of girl) and my husband hugged me hard today and said " you know all you need to do is call, and I will be right there. You know that, right?" (If that is not enough to make me weep, I don't know what is.<br />
Sunday... I needed to go home to see dad. I needed to just put my hands on him, and see for myself. I needed to check on Mom, to make sure she was doing ok. so they had no idea that I was coming with the kids. I thought it a good idea to call when I was half way home, just to avoid any surprises. This is how the conversation went;<br />
Me: "Hey Pops! How are ya?"<br />
P: Eh, not so bad. What are you doing (he almost never asks what am I doing)<br />
M: Well pops, I thought I would have lunch with you and mom<br />
P: Well, come on then. <br />
<br />
His voice was so strong. It made my heart sing. Surely the Dr's are wrong, right?<br />
Wrong. I went home to see them both, and assessed the room. he looks tired, worn down, and just, old. He still has the same carismatic doll like aura, but he is fighting and you can see now, he is getting pretty beat up. Mom asked me if I had brought my camera, and I had forgotten it in my rush to get out the door. (see, had I been properly prepared and over thought it all, I would have had it)<br />
<br />
Kimberly comes skipping into the living room and asks for a piece of candy. (again, those of you that know me... My own sister calls me the candy nazi)<br />
I said no to her. Dad looked at me and said "why not? she doesn't have enough ass to make a poor man a bowl of soup, she can have candy"<br />
afy=ter lunch I tell him, in a whisper, because I am fighting back this lump that has risen in my throat. Dad has always had what I refer to as "wayne-isms" you know, that phrases that only a certain person can say and it makes total sense coming from them. I didn't know whether to laugh, or burst into tears. I chose to get up and walk into the other room, feigning the search for the third cat they say they have, but I can never find.<br />
It was a lovely day. Lunch with mom, and the kids. Visiting with dad....<br />
<br />
and mom, if your reading this, you never cease to amaze me with your strength, and some day, you'll have to tell me how you do it. I love you. Always. Forever.stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-62929551881637777862012-05-15T20:09:00.001-04:002012-05-15T20:09:08.297-04:00I.Can't. Breathe.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnjgLmrWEDKIRu8kAjV2dcUeuGkcGZo7uWfOa_BZEtAa_zCYuygQaetcE8DhcQ7rke4qTiDam5MZhFDwGYAt8iXkCxhOQ58h8azP6_fxrj7rqzg5bu51Gh8LPWIDMSUIkh-1uQQ_73py0/s1600/IMG_2128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnjgLmrWEDKIRu8kAjV2dcUeuGkcGZo7uWfOa_BZEtAa_zCYuygQaetcE8DhcQ7rke4qTiDam5MZhFDwGYAt8iXkCxhOQ58h8azP6_fxrj7rqzg5bu51Gh8LPWIDMSUIkh-1uQQ_73py0/s640/IMG_2128.JPG" width="426" /></a></div>
or so it feels. The rug has been pulled out from under my feet and I am not sure which way is up any more. Mom called me today and told me Dad had a Dr. appointment. his marker numbers went from 425 three weeks ago to 2550. Last week they were 1770, I thought they read the report wrong. I mean he was doing so well! What the hell??So this means either the tumor is growing or the cancer is spreading or both... I had to sit once she told me that because truly all the air left my lungs as I struggled to process this information. I had let my guard down, and started to relax a bit because he was doing great. he even went and tried his lawn tractor out. I mean LOOK at him! Look at her, that was taken at Easter, and then a few weeks later we took some more! He's thin, yes, but look at the color in his cheeks! He was doing so good!!!! He has a PET scan on Monday, and that will give us some results on Thursday and they can plan their attack. Pray my friends. Please. he's a good man. He deserves to beat this. He was excited to be doing so well. I am desperately afraid that he will give up now, that his numbers have gone so high in such a short amount of time.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghmlEuRpTxZz4vkYj5Pt9FslxioMy8GDV_sr2MFf-_NuY-n9D2aqNsFzYC7SP3UYqoJRKmfwfWsG8vbCF085FCviQ_MHP9XoIuT1Nb5ZMJsQ2uxRqOl_P2cvXdQJG771IaW5XId2ZEMBI/s1600/IMG_2133.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghmlEuRpTxZz4vkYj5Pt9FslxioMy8GDV_sr2MFf-_NuY-n9D2aqNsFzYC7SP3UYqoJRKmfwfWsG8vbCF085FCviQ_MHP9XoIuT1Nb5ZMJsQ2uxRqOl_P2cvXdQJG771IaW5XId2ZEMBI/s640/IMG_2133.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
I love you, Daddy. Please fight. And when you can't fight, lean on me, I'll be strong enough for the both of us.<br />
<br />
And Mom, I know you're out there being all stoic. it's ok to cry. I've got shoulders enough to hold all your tears. I can handle it. Don't try and hold them back, let them come. And when they do, feel my arms around you. You're not alone. You're in my heart, and in my prayers. I love you. Forever. Always. Xoxo.stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-73359620983992882222012-04-23T21:16:00.000-04:002012-04-23T21:17:02.266-04:00It's only 10 daystill my birthday, or so the counter on the side says. you know, so much has been going on, that I didn't even realize it. It feels like it is eons away. Let me bring you all up to speed...<br />first, Dad. Dad is doing great! He is continuing to respond to chemo, and we had a wonderful Easter with him and mom and the rest of the family. Here's the thing. (and with me, there's usually a thing) I have since my brother was killed, hated Easter. Loathed it. I would have been happy if I could have stayed in bed with the covers over my head. Seems like a completely irrational hatred for a seemingly harmless holiday. I can't exactly recall why I loathe it so much. Maybe it was because Scott used to help hide the eggs, and eat all the chocolate. (except mine, because I don't like regular chocolate, I like white. In fact, if chocolate were to disappear off the face of the earth, I would be totally fine with it.) But this year, Easter took on a whole new meaning. It was time to spend with my family, relishing in their company and chatter. Look forward to the pictures, the loudness that IS my family, and just being together in the comfortable solace of the dining room at mom's. That's where we all converge, once we have left the kitchen. <br />this Easter, the atmosphere was so much lighter, so much happier. (Much better than Christmas time, dad was not in the hosp. for one) I will post pictures because they came out so nice! :) <br />second, our loan is FINALLY closed. We have been trying to secure a loan to go up a story on our home, since December of 2010. YUP. 2010. After so many exusting factors we signed the papers last Friday and the construction is due to start May 7. (Happy late b day to me). So now all the "fun" starts- cleaning out closets, cleaning out everything in order to make way for the stairs, and then the roof coming off and all... Pray to all the rain Gods that they hold off for a while. It can pour all it wants after I am boxed in. The contractor says it should be finished by August. :) We were pickign out tubs and showers and vanities the other day. Man, that is tedious work. (Even more so with 3 kids in tow, who don't really care if the toilet is white vs bisque, if it is 14.5 inches or 16inches off the floor... egads. Who knew?? before and after pics will come along for that too... :) What fun!<br /><br />And finally I will share with you why the significance in the turn of events here. last year, I applied for a teaching job (Which I didn't get) dad got sick and our loan got turned down. Well right now, the loan is closed, dad is responding to treatment and well, I still need a job, but I feel like this will be my year! Crossing my fingers! My turn is coming, right?stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-53183510341016276692012-03-29T15:02:00.002-04:002012-03-29T16:55:03.050-04:00you know how one thingone everyday thing that we take for granted can change our lives, or at the very least, reduce us to tears?<div>Tuesday, running around in a midst of cheer practice, scouts, and getting dinner, someone left a message on my answering machine. Because I am just so anal retentive that I cannot possibly walk out of the house and leave that damn little red light blinking at me I hit the button before running some more with the kids. (who, by the way, were waiting patiently for me int he truck).</div><div>I hear my dad's voice on the other end, and my feet hit the floor. Several things race through my mind. 1. dad NEVER calls me. Ever. Period. 2. Damn, I think , what has happened to mom? (Again one of the only reasons dad would call.) Crap, crap, crap! OK, so now I seriously cannot let the message of "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Steph</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ne</span> it's dad. Call as soon as you get this" go. No one says call as soon as you get this, unless it's bad news, right? I pick up the phone and dial my folks' number. Dad answers the phone, his voice strong and sounding great. hey Pops, I say, what's up? His response to me:</div><div>"you know that cancer deal I got going on?" (It's always been a "deal" with him, when ever he was ill or sick) Sure pop, I say, what's wrong. "Wrong?" he says, Nothings wrong! My numbers went down! They are at 425." He called ME. He wanted to tell me HIS news. He didn't wait for mom to relay the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">message</span> as he has been doing this whole time. HE called. That means more to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">me than</span> if the Pope himself showed up on my front door to offer me his blessing.</div><div>I take a moment to try and wrap my head around what he has just said to me. Desperate to hear more, but knowing I have to get going I begrudgingly tell dad I have to go and I will call as soon as I am home again.</div><div>I go out to the truck where the kids are wondering what took me so long and Alex says "mom, what's wrong?" (I am sitting in the front seat, gripping the steering wheel, staring out the window) and I say "nothing, Buddy, Pops is getting better" All three of my kids start to yell "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">YAY</span>!!!" in the back seat. Tears just slide down my cheeks because I am happy to hear this news and yet so scared to be hopeful. I am proud to know he is fighting. Somewhere in there he found his resolve. he is fighting back and this time winning. I hope and pray that his numbers continue to go down and his good numbers go up. (Kidney function, which is a constant worry)</div><div>Mom, this is the best news I have been given in quite some time. It rivals your news when they told us you had put your own cancer in remission. I will remain ever vigilant that he may follow in your stead. Perhaps this is what he needed to hear to have some idea that he can fight and it ain't over till the fluffy lady sings. I love you both. More that I could ever articulate and would be lost with out you both. Losing one of you would be like cutting off my air supply... I am glad at the moment no one is going anywhere...</div><div><br /></div><div>This week, there is a mega millions jackpot... I believe I have some numbers to play. Dad's numbers.</div>stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-25806259953533498242012-03-14T20:20:00.003-04:002012-03-14T20:45:26.990-04:00Happy Birthday Daddy....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP3SPMmiAJBZo43KKa9haqhPw2mldv2clOpNt1QWoDF4ddgzGsvpAUPr1YzN2n6X0PE-25Rvhsd0fzjy4ehg30zuNadlBztw_rTDySyrPxSrwBOoxi-DqoNbKM6Y7a8mWl_e5NsYplfDE/s1600/IMG_2103.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP3SPMmiAJBZo43KKa9haqhPw2mldv2clOpNt1QWoDF4ddgzGsvpAUPr1YzN2n6X0PE-25Rvhsd0fzjy4ehg30zuNadlBztw_rTDySyrPxSrwBOoxi-DqoNbKM6Y7a8mWl_e5NsYplfDE/s320/IMG_2103.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719912296157531426" /></a>you know, not that long ago, in a galaxy not that far away.... I lived in a dream world where everything was all flowers and chirping birds. Then reality hit and hit hard. And now, I feel as if I am in some sureal state. Like I am still wandering around in a dream where nothing makes any sense.<div>What you see about, is a picture of my parents, taken not that long ago, on my dad's 73rd birthday. We gathered around to celebrate with him, because, well, that's how we roll. When the chips are down we rally 'round and pull in the mattresses, what ever it takes. We laugh, we cry, we eat, we drink, we carry on. it's what we do. it's how we cope. Mom threw dad a party, because well he deserves one for going through all this crap. and it is crap. I hate what he has to go through. I hate that it is sucking the life out of him. Or is it? What is it really doing to him? Slowly killing him, one blood cell at a time? </div><div>Not today, batman, not today.</div><div>Mom called me last night. We try and talk every day. Monday I called and talked to dad for 15 minutes. I had a phone call. PHONE CALL with a man who HATES being on the phone, for 15 minutes. Mom was out, joining weight watchers he said. (Go mom, you can do this!!) Both dad and I believe in you. ESPECIALLY dad. His voice perked up at the thought of you doing this. He loves you and wants you to be happy. I know this. I could hear it, in the way his voice just changed ever so slightly when he was speaking of you. He's proud to be married to you. anyhow, I digress- dad and I talked abotu the addition we're building, the banks (bastards that they are) and the contractor we chose. (dad approved) not that our contractor knows him well, but my dad likes him just the same. and how do I know he approved?? because he told me it was a "bit of alright". Ever since I was a little girl, when ever he would approve of something, he would say it was a "bit of alright". He said that to dana when he asked for my hand in marriage. He said that when we told him we were buying a house, having a baby (along with his favorite line, that I took something serious that was poked at me in fun)-only my dad.</div><div>anyhow, mom told me that his cancer markers went down. DOWN. by the grace of God, and perhaps by all the prayers he has been given on behalf of my dad, the markers went down. and not just a little bit. they went from 770 to 625. 625. I think I will play the lotto this weekend, and his marker numbers will be my numbers. they climbed at an alarming rate. they started at 1.8, then went to 2.4, then to 400, then to 450, 750 and then to 770. all with in a few weeks. Those were scary numbers to me, because I have NO idea what they mean. How high will they climb? How high can they climb? well now, it looks like they are coming down the chemo is working. My mind is still reeling from the facts.</div><div>they are clouded only by the fact that he has fallen a lot lately, and they do not know why. So they ordered a ct scan to see what if going on... In the words of Scarlet O' Hara, I will worry about that tomorrow. Today, I will bask in the news that the cancer n<span style="font-size: 100%; ">umbers are moving in a downward direction and all is right with the world.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">happy birthday Daddy. I love you. I am proud to be your daughter, and next year, when we celebrate, we'll have a huge party!! We're going big, baby!</span></div>stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-61330004303848768282012-01-13T17:21:00.002-05:002012-01-13T17:39:13.704-05:00time... time marches onand on, the world still turns people still get up and go to work, people live, life goes on. it is going on, although there are days when I want to stamp my feet at the complexity and unfairness of it all. An update (or 12) on dad...<div>Over Christmas he was int he hospital (again) for another transfusion, and a whole host of other issues (internal bleeding <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">amoung</span> others). He came home the Tuesday after Christmas. We went to see him in his room, and with all of us there laughing with him and joking with him it was almost as if he was home in his chair, not in the hosp, in that bed. My <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">neice</span> took a picture of the two of us, I am waiting for her to send it to me, because it is one that I will always hold close to me heart. (kind of in the same way that we compared bellies when I was 8 months pregnant with Alex) Christmas was bittersweet in the respect that most likely it will be our last one with him. I go to see him again this weekend, he is back int he hosp, with more internal bleeding (they are doing a test now to see if they can pin point the cause). What is hardest for me in all of this is the fact that I see him and on his good days, he just looks, well, bald. He doesn't look sick. On his bad days, well that tells another tale. That is the part I just cannot for the life of me, wrap my head around. He went to the hosp Wednesday in need of 4, yes 4 pints of blood. He was put in ICU. I told him he needs to knock this off, he will be getting frequent <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">flyer</span> miles... He laughed and said it was either that or put him on the pay roll... I hope he will be home tomorrow, but I don't realistically think it will happen. he is supposed to have a Ct and PET scan on Monday so we can see how much and to where the cancer has progressed. We know it has because his cancer markers went from 140 to 260. So time again is another factor. how much time do we have? I know we need to make the most of the moments we have left, but that very thought terrifies me. It terrifies me to think of mom with out dad. (kind of like peanut butter with no jelly) For 53 years they have been bickering at and loving each other. I just don't see it. I know it's coming, and I just want to stuff my head in the sand and pretend it isn't there, that time for once will stand still and not move forward. </div><div>Mom, well she's still being the strength, the root of all the force that is keeping the whole works going. I only hope I can be as strong as her someday. Sure she breaks down, sure she has bad days, but in that situation, who wouldn't??</div><div>I made a frame for my dad years ago, for his birthday with one of the rare pictures of the tow of us, and on that picture I wrote all the things that I have gained or learned from my dad- My convictions, my ideas of right and wrong, my ability to stand on my own two feet and stand my ground and most famously, my dimples. And as I looked at this picture of the two of us smiling cockeyed for my mom taking the picture, I stood in his room and the tears slid down my cheeks. I can't do this dad. I can't let you go. You ARE my strength. you ARE my convictions. You ARE my feet that I stand my ground with. With out you, I am just a silly girl. I love you. I will miss hearing "yeah me too" when I tell you that. all of you out in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">bloggy</span> land have no idea how lost I will be. I promised him the last time that I will take care of mom. because I know that will <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">make</span> him rest easy. He wants to make sure she is taken care of.</div><div>I am sorry that this makes no sense, I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">just</span> rambled on and on, this is the one place where I dont have to be strong and stoic.</div><div>I love you dad, forever. always.</div>stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-24747871875708374272011-11-17T19:34:00.003-05:002011-11-17T19:54:08.742-05:00I've decidedin all that has been going on as of late, and there has been a lot, that my life will now be divided into two time slots. Before dad got sick and after... well, after. there are many other things going on at the moment, like we're trying build a story on our house, and that in and of its self has been trying for us, and then dad became ill. No, not ill, but sick. because, when you're ill, you will get better. But he is sick. good and sick. He has gone through a lot since I blogged last. Some days good, some days not so good. They put tubes in his back to drain his kidneys, since they were not doing good with the chemo. He has had 5 blood transfusions in 4 weeks. In my opinion that is a lot, but apparently in the cancer world, depending on the cocktail you get it is rather normal.<div>I went to see him on Sunday this past week, because once again, he was in the hospital. He had not one, but 4 blood clots. That earned him a stay from Wed to Sunday. I call mom everyday for an update, and it breaks my heart to hear her so sad. Her voice is just flat, and I know this is tough on her. To make matters heavier on her heart, she had to have her dog put down 2 weeks ago, so there was nothing to greet her when she came home from the hosp., but an empty house. She fixed that by adopting 3 kitties from a shelter. (see, THAT'S where I get the crazy cat lady gene from) (Oh, and FYI, the <a href="http://www.christmascitycatclub.com/showflyer.aspx">cat show</a> in Dec 3 and 4) it is SUPER cool. The kitties are helping both of them I think.</div><div>On Sunday I went to the hosp to see him, and we were told that he was going to be able to go home. It was nice to be able to be home right after he got there, help him in the house and to his chair. As soon as hit butt hit the chair, the one cat jumped into his lap. It is something to keep them warm at night and something warm and fuzzy under their hands.</div><div>The general practitioner dr. ordered Hospice to come in. :( up where they live, hospice is ordered when the end is near, they do not have enough people for para care. They came to see him the other day along with home health, and he sent them away. He told them he didn't need them yet. The GP also told him (before his hosp stay) that he thinks dad has less than 6 months with us. My hope beyond all hope is that he is wrong. However my over analytical, reality stricken brain knows better. It keeps telling my heart the what's what, and what will be. I knwo in my head the end result, but I keep hoping.</div><div>the chemo Dr has pushed off chemo. (he was supposed to get it on the 15th) but since the blood clots, it was pushed off. He saw that Dr on Wed and we thought perhaps they would do it then, but alas, they did not. he goes back next week (wed) to see the chemo Dr again, and maybe then they will tell them whether or not they will do chemo again, or if they are going to stop it. He has had only two rounds, and many bumps along the way.</div><div>My wish for him, is that he not be in any pain. He has gone from telling me he's fine when I call to telling me he feels crappy, or he's in pain, or something else. I am glad that he no longer feels he has to hide it, I just don't want him to suffer. at all, for any reason, because I know he woudl not let that happen to any of us.</div><div>your continued thoughts and prayers are appreciated!</div><div>Xo.</div><div>S.</div>stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-81469224023618665562011-09-24T18:20:00.003-04:002011-11-17T19:22:01.547-05:00my dad, my thoughts, my broken heartI don't even know where to begin. A week ago, which also feels like a life time ago, my dad was diagnosed with small cell lung cancer. Lung cancer, which is in his lymphnodes, his hip, his lower stomach, and his adrenal glands. He has to get chemo 3 x a week, every 25 days, for 9 hours. 9 hours of poison coursing through his veins to kill off the abnormal cells, and hope like heck that good ones form. We were told (well mom was told and it filtered down to us) that he is only being given 75 percent of the chemo he needs because it will be to hard on his kidneys, and could quite possibly shut them down. (A theory which unfortunately proved true after only 2 days of chemo...) we're waiting (or I should say mom) to talk to the Dr's on Monday to see what the next plan of action is. As I type this I have just hit a wall . I cannot think of other things to say, and yet I have an ocean of things I want to say. Let me say this, the doctors said that if they treat him, he has 6 months to a year. if they don't he has so much less time. Less time? I can't remember when my dad was not around, and further more, I cannot imagine my life with out him in it. He has forever more, been my constant, when things were crazy, or scary, or just right. He was always there. He always knew what was going on with my college and masters and wanted to know what was on deck for me for that.<div>I tend to think about things a lot. I mean in the borderline over analyze part. I drove home today from seeing my dad and my mom, and on the way home I thought. And thought. And cried, and thought some more. I thought about what's going on right now. I thought about what will happen, I thought about what each of the members of my family mean to me, and to each other. I thought about how we're all coping (or not coping as the case may be) with the news that dad is terminal. Terminal. It means many things, and I don't like any of the meanings, especially those that are implied with the recent diagnosis. I have thought about words that sum up my dad, and many come to mind. Provider, protector, confidant, jokester, solid, dependable, and always there. Right, wrong or indifferent to our actions or moods, he was always there. Mom was the one who had to do 90 percent of the discipline while he was away. (still to this day, I don't know how she did it with 4 kids and didn't loose her mind). I have so many memories that I hold so close and near to me, and he know them as well but they need to be shared for those few of you who read the blog I ramble in on, and my drivel.</div><div>My mom is being so brave right now, dealing with all the doctors appointments, E.R. visits, medication pick ups, and dispensing, and the frustration when he is not doing what he is supposed to be doing. She is being brave enough fro all of us, even though I am sure she wants to fall apart. She delivers all the facts to us, making sure we understand it, and then she makes sure Dad has what he needs. I wish I were there for her every day to give her a hug, to hold her hand and to tell her I am just as scared as she is. But I am 2 1/2 hours away, so the best I have is a phone and a sympathetic ear. I am sorry mom, I wish I were closer to help you more. I wish I could shoulder half this burden with you, instead of having to watch you do it by yourself, it breaks my heart. I love you, and we'll get through this.</div><div>Denice... my chronic lopsided optimistic. I know this is hard that you are the only one there with mom and dad and close to them. I am sorry that you have to do this with mom, and I miss you too... I loved hanging out with you today, it made me feel almost like a kid again, that is until I started thinking again of why I was there. I wish I had your ability to not think about things. Oh how I wish I could turn off my over analytical brain, and let it just go blah... Make sure there's room in your bubble, I will bring my own squeegie.</div><div>My husbad is stoic. just taking it all in as the information is funneled to him through my choppy voice and tears. I love that you know what I need and that you just do it with out me even realizing that I need it done.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-15724586971061680762011-08-31T20:58:00.003-04:002011-08-31T21:13:42.206-04:00Empty nester??<div>Today was Ethan's first day of Kindergarten. The other two kids went on Monday, but a bad ear infection kept him home from his first two days...:( He was feeling better today, so he went. Yesterday as we were walking the kids home from school, he puts his little hand in mine, looks up at me and says "mom, are you going to keep me away from school for the rest of my LIFE?" "no, I say, it is only because you're sick." "Mom, really, I am not sick, my EAR is." The logic is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">dizzing</span>... although he did have a point, I did not tell him that his ear was in fact, a part of him and was making the whole part of the kid sick...Sigh.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>here comes this morning with an eager 5 year old anxious and more than ready for his very first day of school- to which he tells me, that it isn't his FIRST day of school, it's his third, "so let's just pretend it's my third day, o.k. mom?" At 1:00 I pack up my youngest, kiss his little cheek that smells of baby soap and peanut butter and send him off to school.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>I drive my truck away from the school and head to Target for a few things I needed. (or though I needed at least).</div><div>
<br /></div><div>This feeling is a first for me... Since 2001, I have always had a child (or three) tag along with me where ever I went. Going to the stores was a chore at times, because I was always amid a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">baragement</span> of "can I get this?" or "He's touching me" or "she's looking at me"... A simple trip to get laundry soap inevitably left me feeling frazzled. Thank goodness for the Starbucks that resides with in the Target store...</div><div>
<br /></div>Well here I was today, at 1:30 p.m., in Target, in the soap isle all by myself. It was AMAZING! I could think, I could choose which brand of soap I wanted. I swear the sky opened up and the angels sang. I mean I had 10 blissfully quiet moments in the isle by MY SELF! I could rifle through the coupons I had brought along, I could SMELL the soaps. I could have done a cartwheel in the isle if I chose. (<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">OK</span>, let's not get ridiculous, I would have ended up in a 6 foot tall brunette heap, I am not that coordinated...) ha ha.<div>
<br /></div><div>So in the end, I picked up a bottle of body wash, two Hershey bars and three packs of cascade that had 4 bricks each of those packets, and I paid a whopping .79! Yup. 79 cents. I was pretty happy with myself, since I scored some things I needed and spent so little. Now don't get me wrong, I am not one of those coupon crazy hoarders that you see on t.v., I am just a girl watching her pennies... every one of them! I will add in pictures later on, so you can see my babies first day of school and the soap I was able to think about all by my self for a few moments!!</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Peace out, girl scout!</div>stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-65677666067284214922011-08-16T12:59:00.003-04:002011-08-16T13:01:34.488-04:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB46Pdw3dFXHWeadu_VC4DlF0xkfSlAiEAG3oI2j8IV0LTUYDswGtHRFn_8vR7seB7munU7ZFd1klzwtKqAEZAEHxX2cgjK8vofeORfan_8LopKLVdrMhebMqrlk24hj3x3NORIDFiotI/s1600/IMG_1096.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB46Pdw3dFXHWeadu_VC4DlF0xkfSlAiEAG3oI2j8IV0LTUYDswGtHRFn_8vR7seB7munU7ZFd1klzwtKqAEZAEHxX2cgjK8vofeORfan_8LopKLVdrMhebMqrlk24hj3x3NORIDFiotI/s320/IMG_1096.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641500063615250930" /></a>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfXODcj0TC7InkskVCFiKfMHUjZoeEBKn_OKdIgxhU3gpr73F1w4AgHXDvB37GT5LUkFT1Abn7s_-hEL0n6em1qfOGNlAbmX-kmSqdYEMV46cCNiOW6thmM8jq21uVW17YuM5UnpWHrKQ/s1600/IMG_1095.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfXODcj0TC7InkskVCFiKfMHUjZoeEBKn_OKdIgxhU3gpr73F1w4AgHXDvB37GT5LUkFT1Abn7s_-hEL0n6em1qfOGNlAbmX-kmSqdYEMV46cCNiOW6thmM8jq21uVW17YuM5UnpWHrKQ/s320/IMG_1095.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641499940416247986" /></a>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYkKYGcQ8W7Mq6BsxI1AY25GH_Cy8HRw01YHdr5mQBb4CWeWj3Gh2XtlvkCc1spqrhQvTSckF7G2UqSjN8jPjI50PwvqFUDQT0n_6a4Af5IzbRtC19DaFUS6myaxnjO-9y3rqqVlG50mA/s1600/IMG_1094.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYkKYGcQ8W7Mq6BsxI1AY25GH_Cy8HRw01YHdr5mQBb4CWeWj3Gh2XtlvkCc1spqrhQvTSckF7G2UqSjN8jPjI50PwvqFUDQT0n_6a4Af5IzbRtC19DaFUS6myaxnjO-9y3rqqVlG50mA/s320/IMG_1094.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641499845827601602" /></a>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiza-xb5S05tRo3iOGEYVkjnENTUqRnimrRdz3xWhjJY6z3mMfuo6yniHRylWlDf9v8c6eCFZka5KcZxya90nmE7E_4W1MuCl_rKninv7NChv8oQAGFE_7_pdpUQQ9G-Y3n5Smc0iK7Mxc/s1600/IMG_1093.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiza-xb5S05tRo3iOGEYVkjnENTUqRnimrRdz3xWhjJY6z3mMfuo6yniHRylWlDf9v8c6eCFZka5KcZxya90nmE7E_4W1MuCl_rKninv7NChv8oQAGFE_7_pdpUQQ9G-Y3n5Smc0iK7Mxc/s320/IMG_1093.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641499755862824786" /></a>
<br />stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-18044436558129308122011-08-16T12:57:00.003-04:002011-08-16T12:59:14.241-04:00the band...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWYH_sJONqFO4OYJFz9Y1Nc-PYb6PPcGxisy5JDLB7f7Qa-dxMKGO_ePdy7TdAp-exfon4JDppwY1kUiG2Ef-l78GKLA6BZP1XC0vsjKoaA38XEDojhVhKM52JyI0hweWZFP0WtSHR41U/s1600/IMG_1092.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWYH_sJONqFO4OYJFz9Y1Nc-PYb6PPcGxisy5JDLB7f7Qa-dxMKGO_ePdy7TdAp-exfon4JDppwY1kUiG2Ef-l78GKLA6BZP1XC0vsjKoaA38XEDojhVhKM52JyI0hweWZFP0WtSHR41U/s320/IMG_1092.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641499201234053746" /></a>
<br />stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-87202854777783200712011-01-22T21:05:00.002-05:002011-01-22T21:31:43.622-05:00Petie is a<span class="Apple-style-span" >MOONLIGHTER!!!!</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >yup. Now, when you say moonlighter, I think of the back hills where someone has a moonshine stand.... however not the case here. let me explain, shall I?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >My next door neighbor called me today and said "I just want you to know I will be going to my daughters for a few days and will not be able to feed the cat." HUH?? Um, "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ok</span>," says I, "not a problem, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Petie</span> gets enough here. " "oh," says Mrs. G. "I was worried about him, because it is going to be so cold, I didn't want him to starve." (seriously, are talking about the same 14 lb stocky, belly goes from side to side cat here??)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >then she goes on to say "you know, I am really afraid of him." (who, P<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">etie</span>?? he is a bully to small <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">ish</span> critters and other cats but not to humans. well, except the vet, and you can read about that <a href="http://stuffiesstuff.blogspot.com/2008/11/petie-vet.html">here</a>) but if you're not a vet, I'd say odds are he will like you. "Why?" I ask, because no one I know is afraid of him. (although he is a bad ass.) "Well," she says, "when he comes in my house," "WAIT," I say, "he comes IN your house?" "Oh, all the time", she says, "most every afternoon, he howls at the back door and then runs through my house, up the stairs and onto my spare bed, where he will take a nap for 2-3 hours." I am dumbfounded at this point, total loss for words, and am trying to figure out that why, if she is afraid of him she lets him IN her house. "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Ok</span>, Mrs. G., why are you afraid of him?" (Now i HAVE to know, because I cannot figure out the whole scenario). "well," she says, "he will look at me and arch his back and jump a little bit." I start to laugh a little bit and I say to her, "when he arches his back, that means he wants a pet, that is his way of granting permission." "Oh, no..." says Mrs. G, "last time he did that, I put my hand out, and he tried to bite the leg of my pants, so I am really afraid of him. Some days it is a real battle to keep him out, he is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">persistent</span>." Oh boy.... so last week when it was super cold out, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Petie</span> didn't come home and I worried about him... guess now I know where to look!! Wonder if I need to petition the courts for joint custody????</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div>stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-23343823449294780152010-08-03T13:14:00.002-04:002010-08-03T13:33:47.936-04:00Random images from<div>lancaster... Some of them I just like. I cannot put my finger on it, but I just like them. Like this one. Train tracks. Simple. Been around for a long time. Hard working, never complaining and under appreciated train tracks.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK5Mr3Yo-OYCWU30dZ_Nk0T41P5OE6CjkyB1kFhWm5MZclIRFTlrkPtAL0AiWS4bhif29zA38w1-wUwungGXl8hO7YvwokScfsThsMYI3XsuQ6zdeB-2ZzWV3JPfr3hEqjYxajqiHHOak/s1600/IMG_7824.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK5Mr3Yo-OYCWU30dZ_Nk0T41P5OE6CjkyB1kFhWm5MZclIRFTlrkPtAL0AiWS4bhif29zA38w1-wUwungGXl8hO7YvwokScfsThsMYI3XsuQ6zdeB-2ZzWV3JPfr3hEqjYxajqiHHOak/s320/IMG_7824.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501235934817786594" /></a>and this guy. Have NO idea who he is, but now he's floating around on the internet. And lemme tell you, when he yelled "all aboard" the whole little town heard him. Whoda' thunk?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpdP2ej0sjGdpCmJ-_zR9yiRMVu1QEeoQ4uIYkD1U-ZUE-KaxkU0t1Xv8QzUMNRWYA0TwEqH5zgZ_jaUnjnhyphenhypheniOGHe4RvoanBSFCg9NVYquryhjedhpf-b-CyE-BliOFk1C62xJiJksFI/s1600/IMG_7807.JPG"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpdP2ej0sjGdpCmJ-_zR9yiRMVu1QEeoQ4uIYkD1U-ZUE-KaxkU0t1Xv8QzUMNRWYA0TwEqH5zgZ_jaUnjnhyphenhypheniOGHe4RvoanBSFCg9NVYquryhjedhpf-b-CyE-BliOFk1C62xJiJksFI/s320/IMG_7807.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501235693530211762" /></a><div>The water tower. I have been to this particular railroad I can't tell you how many times. Several to say the least. here it is, standing, just waiting. Anticipating the train that will be coming down the tracks for a refill.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkAv4Hx0YWrWRQMawUD3UARLDR8CnpnKLR1Sgm2yMJS-Oorv6kYns90CcQrPFZNehmdCibLRmR6K3Lgb9mylFHRyMqffk5d1Au5clKoc0ECHnpL31YQ0E6PHd2zMOvvxil2uAl67ttSrM/s1600/IMG_7760.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkAv4Hx0YWrWRQMawUD3UARLDR8CnpnKLR1Sgm2yMJS-Oorv6kYns90CcQrPFZNehmdCibLRmR6K3Lgb9mylFHRyMqffk5d1Au5clKoc0ECHnpL31YQ0E6PHd2zMOvvxil2uAl67ttSrM/s320/IMG_7760.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501235182707255954" /></a>An old broken down flat bed. Sad and majestic all at the same time. Who knows what these wheels have seen. How many hobo's have ridden in these cars??<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP-1OuiJmHCLyuTvLMUbrCf1bRGLLl0zvXfNpE50V08eHcLe9oUIrnEEMyZl8C3pwM5ebqGu4cyhPuiCHzVUpAkCLgVpx1FuCODFF9NpVpNJCmnmyqUuEMQ81JkaiCFrfBW4ykB7EwNUo/s1600/IMG_7737.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP-1OuiJmHCLyuTvLMUbrCf1bRGLLl0zvXfNpE50V08eHcLe9oUIrnEEMyZl8C3pwM5ebqGu4cyhPuiCHzVUpAkCLgVpx1FuCODFF9NpVpNJCmnmyqUuEMQ81JkaiCFrfBW4ykB7EwNUo/s320/IMG_7737.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501234976507818210" /></a>this little Amish boy, it was BLAZING hot outside. He was walking in the train yard on the macadam, with bare feet. Owwie. Seriously. I wanted to take this poor thing otu and buy him shoes!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO8RQYxFs3U5ypB5UxeBoyUdGkAU7RDn6ljNcHweOkedS5AMP_a6i3qLN4-miBdIwpZsOwD308bX94BYShXh8VMYc7eeqU7nmv-rbtzJg3VC5WejuOUN29N_ZbypULeXiaqbz_Pnd10Yg/s1600/IMG_7767.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO8RQYxFs3U5ypB5UxeBoyUdGkAU7RDn6ljNcHweOkedS5AMP_a6i3qLN4-miBdIwpZsOwD308bX94BYShXh8VMYc7eeqU7nmv-rbtzJg3VC5WejuOUN29N_ZbypULeXiaqbz_Pnd10Yg/s320/IMG_7767.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501234801745328770" /></a>The beauty queen.... She was less than thrilled to be going to a "smelly train yard". But, I found some flowers for her to sit by and all was good, until she found out we were not going back to the camp site immediately....<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_i1hycyi19uJvykPzU86yxE50c_Uglq0Kaa5axHNMj5kVZ8jg4gCYYscoCzfdEJ0OhFi6HhWLLZq-1zzofliW1OIg4sw3_MbhtTKUrNEauoAjAbjxEnqR13PnSYZCpBBgadbI2y7DssM/s1600/IMG_7748_1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_i1hycyi19uJvykPzU86yxE50c_Uglq0Kaa5axHNMj5kVZ8jg4gCYYscoCzfdEJ0OhFi6HhWLLZq-1zzofliW1OIg4sw3_MbhtTKUrNEauoAjAbjxEnqR13PnSYZCpBBgadbI2y7DssM/s320/IMG_7748_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501234456675287954" /></a>the boys... all teeth. the whole entire time. Ethan is holding a little green frog whose name is Roger,and he stays on his bed rails... He attaches himself to the oddest things sometimes. Pig was safely back at the camper...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7CXm53LKYjVPADjHzES39jVtyGrekfGMWpr3Fpb_-gGTPDMgXSeRAiUuHI1DZ5XFJwlxA1vjlZPYxmmGSbUFmlUxKsRs7gU43zR8XALMKZI-BwlgIoqkkcL3slaZkxVCIhQOI8olblqY/s1600/IMG_7741.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7CXm53LKYjVPADjHzES39jVtyGrekfGMWpr3Fpb_-gGTPDMgXSeRAiUuHI1DZ5XFJwlxA1vjlZPYxmmGSbUFmlUxKsRs7gU43zR8XALMKZI-BwlgIoqkkcL3slaZkxVCIhQOI8olblqY/s320/IMG_7741.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501234293862322274" /></a>The train. They just don't make things the way they used to, do they? <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEeRhYGJfam_pfCZgOys4p-m60oKS5wjHO8_GcAJVKGTNbUJ5-evd0xHMDzHCT2Fn1cC9i88PT4zhD63h5oO8g2ykKLoyeUu3akp6JZc__koqj5r_Eal-qapTL_XadGumIXGaqJHHfYx4/s1600/IMG_7792_1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEeRhYGJfam_pfCZgOys4p-m60oKS5wjHO8_GcAJVKGTNbUJ5-evd0xHMDzHCT2Fn1cC9i88PT4zhD63h5oO8g2ykKLoyeUu3akp6JZc__koqj5r_Eal-qapTL_XadGumIXGaqJHHfYx4/s320/IMG_7792_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501233829268099522" /></a></div>stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-65772149966350495202010-08-03T13:08:00.002-04:002010-08-03T13:12:55.574-04:00have you ever driven<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC5JCj8bKNeMnE1IhHXRsB89H0x2HRKyDPPle7uEGnGEpkVDkjjUzjSQl6OMNVZXmwOiqfB_jK_IlAWZqxPUsKSdGC826_XkUHXSV-r6EpPQccVUVucZxyi87CreMaZLokSV0pvhcjiaI/s1600/IMG_7640_1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC5JCj8bKNeMnE1IhHXRsB89H0x2HRKyDPPle7uEGnGEpkVDkjjUzjSQl6OMNVZXmwOiqfB_jK_IlAWZqxPUsKSdGC826_XkUHXSV-r6EpPQccVUVucZxyi87CreMaZLokSV0pvhcjiaI/s320/IMG_7640_1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501231855926059970" /></a>down the road and something caught your eye? I mean REALLY caught your eye, like it was just begging to tell you the history it's seen? We were in Lancaster a few weeks back, and I saw this. I was not really paying attention to my surroundings, we've been to Lancaster scads of times. And out of the corner of my eye, I caught this. I knew I just needed to go back and take the picture. I asked the hubs to stop and turn around. He loves me, he really does, because at the first opportunity he saw, he turned the truck around to go back to what I'd seen. <div>This picture speaks to me. it speaks VOLUMES. What is it saying? Not exactly sure, but it sure is speaking.</div>stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-59955769718348915072010-08-03T13:03:00.001-04:002010-08-03T13:05:43.349-04:00so much to share..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i65.photobucket.com/albums/h212/basketbrains/dragonfly-1-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 302px; height: 399px;" src="http://i65.photobucket.com/albums/h212/basketbrains/dragonfly-1-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />but first, something that just makes me smile when I see it.stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-15505090479603368012010-06-25T19:24:00.001-04:002010-06-25T20:19:31.162-04:00just a quick drive by...it's hot, and humid, and I am not in the mood to be witty, or even charming... lol<div>BUT, I did want to pass on the information, that I ACED my final. Yup. ACED it. 25/25! floored, but one more class down three more to go and I will be really edumacated.</div>stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-68003683589111744182010-06-22T22:32:00.010-04:002010-06-23T08:58:35.273-04:00been a while.<div>and boy howdy do I have stories to tell. LOTS of stories. Pee your pants stories. Some will contain pictures, some, well, you'll just have to rely on my recount (mis spellings and all) to relive my amusement. Story 1.</div><div><br /></div><div>remember that episode of Sinfield, where they played it backward? Well for this post to make the most amount of sense, start reading from the bottom up....</div><div><br /></div><div>I promised a story for you, with no pictures... My camera was unfortunately down stairs in my scrap room... Daisy, was on the cat tower. (you know, the 6ft tower in my living room???) anyhow, I looked at her, and she went all "Halloween" on me. Back arched, hairs on end, ears flat back, plastered to her head. WTH says I. I mean, kids are not around (they were playing in their rooms) and the one dog was outside. So, being the deductive person that I am, I followed her line of sight... to the basement door. Now, for those of you in bloggy land, that don't know, I have a kitty door in my basement door, b/c that is where all the kitty "business" gets taken care of. That, and it keeps the dog outta the cat box cafe. (ew.) Anyhow, I looks at the door, and what I see, is our Border Collie's head poked through the hole. She has NO idea what the hell she was looking at. Funnier yet was watching her spit and hop around when I opened the door to let the dog up...</div><div>Later that same day, Daisy saw a balloon floating in the kitchen. For what ever reason, she thought it was a good idea to "bat" it around. One bat+ Big bang = halloween kitty.... Daisy does halloween REALLY well!</div><div><br /></div><div>We have birds. 4 of them. here's the thing... we cover them every night, so they don't wake the house at the crack of dawn. (other wise, we'd have parakeet fricassee for dinner). Well, hubs took the cover off the birds, only to find this... She was NOT up there when I covered them up... Here's the funny part. Parakeets have to tilt their heads side ways to look at something above them... so what you cannot see are 4 little birds, heads contorted sideways to check out the "predator" on top. Daisy, we DO NOT eat family members. No Matter how tasty they might be...</div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimUyCPrkhbRee2micHkklNv1yDbLvbRGtTz2WLPpwmch0nT7qYX8MuPoVXc2AUMX7oYWwq3nG3DxAVScTlltAKDTGG76A0HmUeMJvbAAqjUM40WkA9Hd-YZfw3dr_lpH2kIXA1f8aDBm4/s1600/IMG_7516.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimUyCPrkhbRee2micHkklNv1yDbLvbRGtTz2WLPpwmch0nT7qYX8MuPoVXc2AUMX7oYWwq3nG3DxAVScTlltAKDTGG76A0HmUeMJvbAAqjUM40WkA9Hd-YZfw3dr_lpH2kIXA1f8aDBm4/s320/IMG_7516.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485795822435138514" /></a><br /><div>shit rolls down hill. Just sayin'.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi26uJp7mJ87DAMROlX2oTi2S0JCp7FDVsQOw6nrssu_qUb25dwb5TqaT0GCJ1JP2jajyDmRZd0M06eYxITziWxJ5_QKL15Y_7TcArB4JqZiYTvMWKzx9688254Lv1iMY6VHtYq18_dVb8/s1600/IMG_7530.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi26uJp7mJ87DAMROlX2oTi2S0JCp7FDVsQOw6nrssu_qUb25dwb5TqaT0GCJ1JP2jajyDmRZd0M06eYxITziWxJ5_QKL15Y_7TcArB4JqZiYTvMWKzx9688254Lv1iMY6VHtYq18_dVb8/s320/IMG_7530.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485795430979183954" /></a><br /><div>Oscar... dude, NOT smart. Do you know, it takes Petie 1.2 seconds to go from sound asleep to kick your ass mode? Yeah, Oscar found it out. I warned him. All that fuzz MUST be in his brains.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixakBXk6i9kincd8jw92RZkj3wiiPLE-PVjdRmFU78iqJLiJRKSLHf5V110KUMwfyjTmOTNw2wxIRnugVpH0alxQNXX4-9XRzNDIQqjrVFchfpO5n4mNnPt0ir3wmMHIYWERUiNJtwK_M/s1600/IMG_7529.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixakBXk6i9kincd8jw92RZkj3wiiPLE-PVjdRmFU78iqJLiJRKSLHf5V110KUMwfyjTmOTNw2wxIRnugVpH0alxQNXX4-9XRzNDIQqjrVFchfpO5n4mNnPt0ir3wmMHIYWERUiNJtwK_M/s320/IMG_7529.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485794724078738898" /></a><br /><div>The two contestants of wrestle mania IV that takes place on my bed each and every night. For you gambling folks, lay odds on the black one. She would put Jimmy SuperFly Schnooka to shame...</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5HvGCIrLFDmQ0lRGqk-deFMkjf-CAJry2o0fGlNODECyZQ9bF9FG2fuVGn8QLT3z4t-oCeoiQnO5t-zEYz5IU8go3oNebrJFm2voJTdnU-6l_kNQqae5BOnBfm1XN5HK4nYa17yiiIdA/s1600/IMG_7503.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5HvGCIrLFDmQ0lRGqk-deFMkjf-CAJry2o0fGlNODECyZQ9bF9FG2fuVGn8QLT3z4t-oCeoiQnO5t-zEYz5IU8go3oNebrJFm2voJTdnU-6l_kNQqae5BOnBfm1XN5HK4nYa17yiiIdA/s320/IMG_7503.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485793979356954818" /></a><br /><div>Daisy... good thing she's tiny. I spend time in my sanctuary. (also known as my scrap room) A place, where Petie has not gone. Sure, he comes to the basement, but it is only to snooze on the futon... daisy... she's in one of my paper cubes. She jumps in, turns around and scooches backward, until you go by. Then, she jumps out only to touch you with her paw. Now, when I leave my scrap room, i hit the lights, because I can walk through my basement, and there is no such thing as boogie men, right?? Lemme just say, that I can scream like a 6 year old REEEEALLLLLLy well... 'nuff said.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv1Q5AtH604ZZ92j3a96hOs_PQ5bLDUI0tqtNf5slrZFSR0uoMILafy7jmcg5mkONEodM_7qSMtFHWjXMFMD-3Xbojf33JvmFgYoHappIk39uU4wn7IsNTKeZmuQES4-Xwm1PqxQmHRtU/s1600/IMG_7549.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv1Q5AtH604ZZ92j3a96hOs_PQ5bLDUI0tqtNf5slrZFSR0uoMILafy7jmcg5mkONEodM_7qSMtFHWjXMFMD-3Xbojf33JvmFgYoHappIk39uU4wn7IsNTKeZmuQES4-Xwm1PqxQmHRtU/s320/IMG_7549.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485792579837632386" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>sorry, this.never.gets.old. EVER. Have a box on the floor? Petie will find a way through it, cat nip or no. This was one of his more lucid moments. No cat nip involved. Love him.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLyZN7fiT_zfReFYjatp8iUXmofS3jWt9_tKwzwCGPFdqDBSSPFUNVRdV-n_IVUi471idkz8G3JQLl23ZHbQxXqQWA5XuCCh9W-uPiFHsIC-ovWlCFZOBFZANkBFKvaK34GuY9UlGutdo/s1600/big+heads+and+playground+140.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLyZN7fiT_zfReFYjatp8iUXmofS3jWt9_tKwzwCGPFdqDBSSPFUNVRdV-n_IVUi471idkz8G3JQLl23ZHbQxXqQWA5XuCCh9W-uPiFHsIC-ovWlCFZOBFZANkBFKvaK34GuY9UlGutdo/s320/big+heads+and+playground+140.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485791982857574114" /></a>stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-54065704294230256052010-06-02T07:28:00.002-04:002010-06-02T07:36:12.330-04:00trying to come upwith something witty to say. What do I have? nada. I could tell you about taking the new kittens to the vet for their first check up. That would NOT be very exciting, because there was no need for Kevlar, like with Petie. The doc would pick them up, examine them, and then they would curl back up on my lap. B-O-R-I-N-G. I could tell you about Petie licking all his fur off again. Not exciting. I could tell you about Oscar and Felix hunting a fly in my bay window. (THAT was funny) I could tell you about Felix digging through the cat food and getting it all over the window. He has a favorite flavor of kibble and will eat ONLY that one piece... Makes a mess every time. I could tell you how Oscar and Felix (well Felix really) has grown so much he dwarfs Petie is size, but Petie will still kick his ass. Every time. And Felix will NEVER learn....<div>And a closing thought for this morning as I ponder something earth shattering to tell you about, is this. Have you ever seen a cat go bonkers for sparkly pom-poms?? Not the plain ol boring ones. The sparkley ones you used for holiday crafting, the ones the size of a quarter.... I found 20 of then UNDER my stove compliments of Felix and Oscar thankyouverymuch. ~sigh.</div>stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-78899317703186935462010-05-31T16:22:00.002-04:002010-05-31T16:33:10.750-04:00mom...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDBWe2QDyAKh269k0PoXbY3I2zcrr6cG4gZH2iFekmItNXHfU1OoqyL1fYMPoDHilBT7gLiEB22byUN45Tk5I6trrxEDDDl9noBqAyryCOBiJXWd3BLtVHm7tssIfzqkEYhey-8uiYaX8/s1600/IMG_7514.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDBWe2QDyAKh269k0PoXbY3I2zcrr6cG4gZH2iFekmItNXHfU1OoqyL1fYMPoDHilBT7gLiEB22byUN45Tk5I6trrxEDDDl9noBqAyryCOBiJXWd3BLtVHm7tssIfzqkEYhey-8uiYaX8/s320/IMG_7514.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477534914108345330" /></a><br />I hear this. I am in Kimberly's room, and I have just helped her into her **New** 2 piece bathing suit her daddy picked out for her. Now, If I were 46 lbs, I would look JUST as smashing in that suit. OK, no i wouldn't, since I am 6ft, I would look emaciated. It is a cute suit. Notice how I did NOT say bikini?? I do this for several reasons really. 1. she's 6. -I don't think she NEEDS a 2 piece suit.<div>2. she wants to cheer lead, because she will "look cute in the skirt" according to her. No doubt she will, however, I do not believe that is the reason one should cheer lead. (But since I am OLD, what do I know.)</div><div>yet I digress. The husband is going to take the kids into the pool today, so I can get a bit of laundry done, and sit around and pick my toes if I feel like it. (no seriously... I really DON'T pick my toes)</div><div>Anyhow, the boys are dressed, and waiting in the living room for their take-forever-to-get-ready sibling. Kimberly skips out of her room to show her brother the new suit that she has been in her room, in the mirror, twisting this was and that, to get different angled looks at her new suit. Sigh.</div><div>Alex comes storming up to me and says "MOM! MOM! did you SEE what Kimberly has on?? Don't you think she's a little YOUNG to be wearing THAT?? (to which he points at her new suit.)</div><div>With Alex on the scene, I don't think I will have to worry much about the boys... Kimberly, on the other hand, is the reason the grey hairs have been sprouting out of my head at an alarming rate....</div>stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-75626423766779662682010-03-01T21:56:00.002-05:002010-03-01T21:58:06.749-05:00i promised mom<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioRPhI6FR7dg4RbG8JyYc-mfl67UdnfGO5mX1cikO68gdIWd418_LC3wJ9YBw25PNfn9Ajv6qytkW0Hx7Vh3J-k9NgqLwpGz6qVQe9yDg20ws57Q49jWuGoQ-r0dL-PSapgc8IIvZpsTU/s1600-h/IMG_6902.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioRPhI6FR7dg4RbG8JyYc-mfl67UdnfGO5mX1cikO68gdIWd418_LC3wJ9YBw25PNfn9Ajv6qytkW0Hx7Vh3J-k9NgqLwpGz6qVQe9yDg20ws57Q49jWuGoQ-r0dL-PSapgc8IIvZpsTU/s320/IMG_6902.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443865305739808082" /></a><br />that I would post about the kids and their snow fort, built from the brick makers.<div>both boys had fun, and no boy was injured int he making of the fort....</div>stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-54828086827370292652010-03-01T21:37:00.005-05:002010-03-01T21:56:04.463-05:00how can 14lbs<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjENtNEvbfULtimurahLOzbTve0sz_9sm3PfVZcj3Zm57w-cKCPD_mOZORN0IAQTjUKPEs3Zpk51tEbNS-ZtOwjeg9KgPYQIK0Vv0QWeIrHJsBpdg7N87cAeOP7rCO1f1vqEMxMIqeqxTA/s1600-h/IMG_6921.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjENtNEvbfULtimurahLOzbTve0sz_9sm3PfVZcj3Zm57w-cKCPD_mOZORN0IAQTjUKPEs3Zpk51tEbNS-ZtOwjeg9KgPYQIK0Vv0QWeIrHJsBpdg7N87cAeOP7rCO1f1vqEMxMIqeqxTA/s320/IMG_6921.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443864250163293442" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix8YNOVKXmCRfn-1zIp4s4vdxxLN7HScfT-W19DdBNqKkY66N5zshZVJIse6Buz5YlfaRgXC6qX2WHIxG43Q42oXGuR9ae8kcoxEYp1EkA0E8Eh_37-sgCcmt1sV6AX6dIjaTfE9hcxJk/s1600-h/IMG_6707.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix8YNOVKXmCRfn-1zIp4s4vdxxLN7HScfT-W19DdBNqKkY66N5zshZVJIse6Buz5YlfaRgXC6qX2WHIxG43Q42oXGuR9ae8kcoxEYp1EkA0E8Eh_37-sgCcmt1sV6AX6dIjaTfE9hcxJk/s320/IMG_6707.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443863430245759298" /></a><br />of cat(s) sound like a herd of elephants from the Serengeti? Seriously. I mean when they were young, it was kinda funny. Now? damn. have you even had a cat collide into your shin (a rather bony one at that) going mach 12? I had a bruise for a WEEK! did I take a pic? NOOOOOO. seriously, explain that one to the doc... nope I just take pics that show you how sweet they are. Yup. Do I tell you about the bed hog sprawled across my bed at night, weasel I try and watch the T V show LOST. Have you ever SEEN Lost? It is flippin confusing enough, never mind concentrating on contorting so as not to disturb said sleeping weasel, lest your toes be under attack. AND those little buggers can do a 3 ft standing jump. You've seen those videos of a balloon being jumped on and all the air escaping and the end flailing about? Yeah, that was me at 1 a.m., after a marathon of Lost. So, you can see by the afore posted pictures, noting but cute fuzziness and love, right?<div>Lock your toes up!</div>stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8167986164054780385.post-63858755918235377432010-01-26T21:06:00.005-05:002010-01-26T21:24:02.343-05:00have you ever been<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW6JFi4i01dVkaxZ59PKiogne-Ja2F7GpZKlt5tFmShNRdz6v2VRPVDEx0fsaXERJCNal3BDRcD8WWBgQe81cN75vtPJ5tapM3j4bk-DPT722KxQZzAB3gIASru_oytvLwgbmkthYm0_k/s1600-h/IMG_6835.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW6JFi4i01dVkaxZ59PKiogne-Ja2F7GpZKlt5tFmShNRdz6v2VRPVDEx0fsaXERJCNal3BDRcD8WWBgQe81cN75vtPJ5tapM3j4bk-DPT722KxQZzAB3gIASru_oytvLwgbmkthYm0_k/s400/IMG_6835.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431238510636155746" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdjnWHJ9LTFwMUbtVRb_LHZnxNq3ovNErQSwkakY886wTueqk8PuwoGV5A4zxlygUsQ96Ywoh1j1rwGXVfI9jD26MN-RCU4KdFb_doH7Dmb3-y3f800ooHDkF7_1Wer9DJEu2gBa0zIJU/s1600-h/IMG_6830.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdjnWHJ9LTFwMUbtVRb_LHZnxNq3ovNErQSwkakY886wTueqk8PuwoGV5A4zxlygUsQ96Ywoh1j1rwGXVfI9jD26MN-RCU4KdFb_doH7Dmb3-y3f800ooHDkF7_1Wer9DJEu2gBa0zIJU/s400/IMG_6830.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431238106971299842" /></a><br />so proud, you thought your heart would burst? I mean, literally implode? Those of you that know me, know that I am not an overly emotional person. I don't usually cry at the drop of a hat. Ever.<br />this past weekend, however was an exception.<br />Alex raced in his first ever pine wood derby for Boy scouts. **sniff**<br />he has so much fun, it wasn't even funny. He was all dressed up in his class B I believe it is called uniform.<br />He went into the derby, not knowing what to expect. He won a 1st place ribbon, for most realistic looking car. He took second place in his division, for time. He will be doing to districts. he placed 5th overall!!! Holy moly!!!!!<br />i love him. I am so proud of him!stuffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12907204741233287276noreply@blogger.com5