What I love right now...

2 things I love right now are: The Office on Netflix and GIFs.

Michael's reaction to Toby coming back

 

 

I recently signed up for Netflix and so far, I love it. I love it because I can watch at home, at work, on my phone. I can now be a couch potato anywhere I go!! Its awesome.  My kids love it too because all their favorite shows and movies are accessible whenever and wherever and I love it because .... NO COMMERCIALS. I don't have to hear "Mommy, I want THAT toy" about every single kid commercial.

When I signed up, I found The Office. I have only seen a few minutes worth of it over the years that its been on, but never really got into it. I have heard people talking about how funny it is. So I thought I'd give it a try from Season 1, Episode 1 and now... I'm hooked. Its really very funny if you like sarcastic humor. The boss, Michael Scott is over the top. He is equally hilarious and frustrating. I'm on Season 4 now and I am routing for Jim and Pam so much. I just can't get enough of this show. Also, there are parts of Michael Scott that remind me an awful lot of my own boss. So I can relate with the frustrations.

What shows are you hooked on?



Broken

7 weeks ago, tomorrow, I underwent complete radial head replacement surgery (elbow). Two days prior, I was with my best friend and her son and my two kiddos at the roller skating rink. It was MLK day and the kiddos were out of school so we decided to take them to do something fun. You know what they say, "Its all fun and games until somebody gets hurt". Ya... that somebody was me.

I was skating along. Left my kids in the dust. (they were perfectly fine, skating along with friends and their Nina -godmother and my BFF). I can skate pretty well, but I have never really mastered the stopping thing. Yes, I know there's a stopper on the front of the skates. Yes, you just point your toe down and wha-la you stop. But... I was skating along, pretty fast when I was coming up to two girls at an alarming pace. I thought quickly and decided that my best bet was to just squeeze in between the two girls. There was plenty of room, or so I thought. Next thing I know, our skates had locked and while the girls kept going on, I flew face forward into the concrete floor, bracing myself with... my elbow. Slammed it down and was in immediate pain. I was scared, the music was all of the sudden blarring and no one was coming to my aide. Probably because people fall ALL the time so I'm sure whomever saw thought I'd get up in a second. Finally  two teenage girls that work at the rink came to help me. It hurt and I could not move and one look at my elbow told me something was broken. Little did I know it'd be much worse.

A trip to the ER (thank goodness the ER was less than 5 minutes away) with scared children in the backseat. I'm crying, in major, major, MAJOR pain. The ER doctor told me it was a clean break in the radius bone and I had to follow up the next day with an orthopedic doctor.

At the orthopedic's office they said my elbow was out of place and it needed to be minimize (put back in place) and that I had shattered the radial head pretty badly. They sent me to the ER again to have the elbow minimized. I was given some really great drugs that made me feel super happy and then I fell asleep so they could do the procedure. I remember saying "oh that hurts" but didn't feel anything. I woke up and the doctor tricked me saying "are you ready" I said "sure" and he said "just kidding, its already done". It was very weird as I was highly drugged. However, my elbow did not stay in place because the radial head was just too shattered. I needed surgery right away.

The surgeon said he would try to repair was was there before he opted to replace anything. Unfortunately it was "shattered beyond repair". So now I have this in my elbow:

Up until last week really, I was unable to do so much. Its crazy how much we use both arms! Opening a bottle of soda... nope (priorities people!). Folding laundry... nope. Hooking a bra.... nope. Putting my hair in a ponytail.... nope. Fixing my daughter's hair... nope. Cutting my food... nope. So much more that I just could not do. It was miserable really. However, I did manage to do a lot on my own as well. I mastered how to blow dry and flat iron my hair with one hand. I can still vacuum (thank goodness). I could still text - WHEW! Mostly I was just in pain a lot and at about the 2 week mark I was slowly knocking on the door of depression. I have some other family issues going on too (that I'd rather not discuss here, but nothing I can't handle just something I'm not looking forward to) so that didn't help either. My husband was really my rock. He is a rock star and took care of the dishes, the cooking, the laundry,the grocery shopping, the cleaning, and even attempted a time or two to put our daughter's hair in a ponytail. And of course everyone of use got sick at some point during the first two weeks after my surgery. 

Now that I'm almost 7 weeks out, I am feeling SO much better. Doing almost everything I used to all on my own, just without the use of my left arm for the most part. I can now type with both hands and hold light things with my left. I still need help opening some jars or bottles ("hey, kids... come help mommy" is heard far too often in our house), or folding the laundry. (I can do towels on my own and sometimes socks, but it takes me forever!) Last night we made spaghetti for dinner and I realized that I could not pour the pan of browned meat into the strainer in the sink. Hubby saved the day. 

Being stuck on the couch, healing, and letting other people do the things I normally do without a second thought has really chilled me out on a lot of things. I am typically the kind of person that doesn't let others help because "I can just do it better". I learned that everyone has their own way of doing things and so what if my husband can't fold a fitted sheet to save his life, its clean, "folded" and put away and I didn't have to lift a finger or strain myself in anyway to do it. 

This whole thing has also shown me what awesome character my children have. I don't mean to be that parent who thinks their kids can do no wrong (trust me, they can, they have and they will...) but it makes my heart melt that in a time like this they are so selfless. Never once did they complain about helping out. Never once did my sweet daughter complain about having to come to my aide to help me get dressed in the early days, or help me wrap my arm in a trash bag so I could shower. She was always willing to help. One evening I asked her to take some laundry out of the dryer. I left the room to come back to find her sitting in front of the TV folding the laundry that she just took out of the dryer. The child is 6. She amazes me. My son, 8, who normally has a hard time showing compassion has been SO thoughtful with me. Asking daddy to do things for him instead of me, knowing that I can't. (they both normally come to me for every.thing.) Being extra gentle when near me. Giving my arm gentle kisses. Helping me wrap my arm with the ace bandage. And best off all, applauding me when I could finally move my arm on my own. These kids. Amaze me. 

So while I am not 100% better, hardly... I still do not have full range of motion back, in fact I'm behind the curve a little... I know that I am not broken and I know that I am loved and I have seen the people I love in a new and different light and I respect them and cherish them so very much. 

Down yander

My grandmother was born and raised in Mississippi. And it showed. The way she spoke and the funny words and sayings she had. I used to wonder what language she was speaking when I was a child. She called a toilet a commode, she called margarine Oleo, and she'd ask me to go "fetch my glasses from down yander". "Down yander" always meant down the super long (at least it felt that way as a kid) hallway lined with family photos, to either her bedroom or the sewing room.
That sewing room was one of my favorite places as a kid. It smelled like her perfume, fresh fabric from Hancocks, and the faint smell of my grandfather's cigarette smoke. Even after he died and the house had been painted, you could still smell it on a damp day. Its the only time I've ever enjoyed the smell of cigarette smoke.
The sewing room was where my grandmother taught me to sew. Its the reason that I aced Home Economics in 9th grade. I sewed many things in that room. And I wore even more things that were sewn in there. I learned about ric rac and corduroy and lace collars. (It was the 80s!!) We made hideous sequin sweatshirts and shirts with buttons glued all over them (that was the 90s!). We read, quietly together. She would have her stack of Harlequin romance novels, and I had my pile of Babysitters Club books. Her Diet Coke would sit in a can cozy on the bookshelf next to the orange velour chair. Sometimes she would have curlers in her hair while we read in the morning, before we headed out for a day of shopping.
The back wall of the sewing room was covered in family photos. They hung over the couch that pulled out into a bed. They were pictures of me and my two cousins and my uncle and his wife and my parents. Some were new, some were old. And I loved ever single one of them. Over the sewing machine was a large picture of my grandmother's mother as a little girl and a picture of her parents. They were old. And they were a little creepy.
If it was quiet - which it usually was if the hum of the sewing machine wasn't going - you could hear the traffic on Loop 820. I loved that sound, especially at night.
There were two windows, one faced the front of the house, the other faced the neighbor's chain link fence. When the mailman came around in the afternoon, the dog next door would bark and my grandmother would say "old Beauregard's barking, time for the mail".
She sold that house in Fort Worth in 2003 or 2004. I remember walking thru it trying to soak in everything about it. The wood paneling, the faint smell of smoke, the huge pine trees that made creepy shadows thru the windows at night. But it wasn't those things that made that house so special to me. It was her. Her southern accent, her smell, her sternness, her inability to meet a stranger, her cooking, the fact that there was always, always, always a supply Blue Bell ice cream and Diet Coke in the refrigerator in the garage.
Last Christmas she passed away. And I miss her so very very much. I miss that when it was time to go, I'd give her a hug, her voice would waver as she said "love you babe" and she would fight back the tears. She was much to strong to cry and she thought she hid her emotions, but I could feel them.
I love you too Grandmother Bug. I miss you.

How I Feel

A few GIFs to show you how I feel about certain things in life... enjoy!

 

When my boss starts talking about baseball, or football,

 or his son, or his vacation plans

 

When I don't have a good comeback

 

 

How I must exercise after eating Thanksgiving dinner...

 

When my kids ask to play at the BK play area...

 

 

 

Trying to explain something complicated to my kids...

 

 

 

Trying on clothes that actually fit...

 

 

 

 

 

Ahh... I love gifs.

And I love Nice Girl Notes, to which I credit this post to. (that means I stole the idea!)

 









Red River 44

Thursday Morning, September 18th, 2012.... I dropped my kids off at a friends house. She watched them on Thursdays while I went to work. She told me about a helicopter crash in Iraq and my heart sank. My husband had been in Kuwait for a month. The night before I received an email that he would be on a flight that night to Iraq.
I drove to church and prayed. Prayed like I've never prayed in my entire life. And quite honestly it was a selfish prayer. Please. Don't let it be him. Please. Over and over and over.

Early afternoon came and my kids were home and down for their naps. The phone rang and it was a fellow Army wife. No names had been released yet. But she had found out the name of one of the guys who lost his life the night before. Sgt. Daniel Eshbaugh. My husband's best friend and the guy that my husband almost always, almost always, flew with. I screamed out like I had never done in my life and slammed the phone down. A life of grief and missery flashed before my eyes. A knock on my door was my next fear. And how would I tell my innocent little babies that daddy was not coming home.

My friends gathered around me. To hold my hand. To wait with me. I was waiting for the worst.  I was hoping for a miracle.

"No news is good news." ... Its a phrase military wives know all too well. I'd like to take that phrase and kick it where the sun doesn't shine. But they are words we live by, words we hang on to. And they are words that I  seem to have forgetten on September 18th, 2012. No news is good news.

The phone rang and I didn't want to answer. Something else I had forgotten in that moment. Bad news doesn't come through the phone lines, it comes up to your front door and into your house and slaps you across the face. But that day... that day I didn't have to face the bad news. My miracle happened. My prayers were answered. It wasn't him. The voice on the other end was an Army official who told me sternly but with some major compassion and a hint of assurance "No news is good news".

A few hours later, the phone rang and at the other end was my husbands voice. Alive. Alive and shattered after having just seen his best friend and 6 of other co-workers and brothers in arms go down in flames.

Each year when September comes (and other times through the year) I am reminded of how that day went. Of how that day DIDN'T go. Of how I got my happy ending and 7 families did not. I think of those long afternoon hours of dispair. I think of how that woman called me to tell me what she knew. Since then I have hated her. Hated her for what she did to me. She broke all the rules and I'll never know why. But its time to stop blaming her. I doubt she made the phone call knowing how I would react. I honestly just believe she didn't think at all. So its time to forgive her. And let it go. And honestly... had I not had those hours... maybe I wouldn't treasure what I have so much now. Maybe when times are bad, or boring, or normal, I wouldn't stop to think that my life couldn't have gone a different direction that afternoon. I am so grateful.

 

 

 

Red River 44, You are never forgotten.

Tball girl

We spent a majority of our weekend at the ballpark. Saturday from 10:30 to 3 and Sunday from 12:30 until 5:45. I have no clue how, as a parent and just sitting watching tball can tire you out SOOO much!! But it does!

Abby played 4 games and did really well. She is catching and throwing so much better! I absolutely LOVE the fact that when she goes up to bat, the other team is shocked that she can play just as well as the boys! Love it. She played catcher and centerfield mostly. She assisted in getting a few outs in centerfield. Her team won 1st place in the tournament. So fun.

I will tell you what is not so fun about tball though.... The competitiveness! It can get pretty hostile in the stands, letmetellyou. The kids play because its fun. The parents, well.. some of them take it WAY too dern seriously. Really..
Yesterday I had the pleasure of listening to a mom from the other team scream at the top of her lungs in a very Okie accent "GO PEANUT!!!" Apparently his nickname was Peanut, at least that's what I'm hoping. Well, when Peanut tagged my daughter out coming into home plate and then proceeded to push her to the ground to tag her out AGAIN (um.. once will do it kid) I had to walk away when the mom was telling her kid "That's okay, you didn't do anything wrong". Hmm.... Now I'm sure the kid didn't really have any malicious intent but the fact of the matter is, he did do something wrong. The coach should have been the one to quietly correct him, and nothing really needed to be said from the stands.
While checking to make sure she was okay in the dugout, a teammate came up to Abby and as sweet as he could possibly be said "I'm so sorry Abby, that was all my fault!! I got confused and didn't know when to run". Seriously, that kid has the kindest heart I've ever seen in a 6 yr old!
All-in-all another great weekend in the books.

9-11

The University of Oklahoma campus. Waiting in my car, listening to the radio. Confused about what they were talking about. Walked into the Michael F. Price college of business for my first class of the day. I had to walk passed the graduates lounge. A crowd was starting to form in the doorway. I hadn't planned on stopping, but the TV inside the lounge caught my eye. I heard a news anchor repeat "The World Trade Center in New York City has just been struck by an airplane". It was oddly quiet in the hall as more students gathered. The second plane struck. My stomach sank. We all knew this was no accident now. People began to murmur that we were surely going to war.
I walked to my class as it was about to start. The professor walked in and told us all to go home and stay there. I went home to my tiny apartment near campus. My eyes were glued to the TV. I cried. And cried. And cried.
I'm sure when I am old and gray (God willing) that this day will still be fresh in my mind and I will still shed tears. Tears of sorrow for the loss of so many innocent people. Tears of fear that there are people in this world capable of such madness. And tears of hope that one day we'll all be in the kingdom of heaven and we will sufer no more.

Where were you???