Mommy and Me.

I'm living with a juvenile delinquent.

I AM NOT talking about the AG. I am talking about Remi. We have been at Nonie and Poppie's house for a week now, and things are getting out of control.

She rides to school every morning with Poppie, to drop off Mallory. She rides in the front seat. With Poppie. And no carseat. As in a la' Brittany.

She returns from her "front seat ride of death" every morning with an 64oz. Icee that she has absolutely no desire to drink, but only torture me with. I am not allowed to drink it. Only clean it. Which I do. I clean Cherry Icee off of every thing in the house for the next 45 minutes.

She spends her afternoons sitting in someones lap - be it Nonie or Mallory or Uncle Donald or Granny or Brandon or Meridith or Aunt Melba - and will oftentimes ask for "Cuppy" which they race to fill, or "snack" which they not only go and get but offer to FEED TO HER. Which she eagerly accepts.

In the evenings she resides in Poppie's recliner to watch Tigger or "Yardgans" or "Thnow White" which he allows her to do while he sits in the hardback wooden chair over to the side and watches one of these three movies for the 80th time.

Finally, today, I had had enough. I felt it was best for Remi and momma to go off on their own.
Explore the world.
Get back in touch with each other.

No one to spoil her, coddle her or fulfill her every wish.

Just momma. Plain, ol', stick in the mud, momma.

I took her to the park and slid down the slides with her. I didn't help her climb the bars. I didn't fawn over her when she fell. I took her to McDonald's and I made her get apples instead of fries. Juice instead of straight-up Coca Cola. When she refused to eat her burger - she didn't get to play. And so she ate. For the first time in a week, she ate her food.

Ladies and gentlemen, MOMMA IS BACK IN TOWN.

Then I brought her home. And we played with her toys. And I made her share. And I made her be patient. And then I put her down for a nap. There was no whaling and gnashing of teeth. She smiled at me. Told me she loved me. And laid down for 3 1/2 hours.

Man, I'm good.

And when she woke up - my Remi was back. She had forgotten who her best friend was.
I just had to remind her.

Later tonight as we sat down for dinner she came to the table in her new nightgown. It looks like something Queen Elizabeth would wear to sleep in. (Except that it wasn't flannel and I imagine that she is pretty icy in ye ole' boudoir.) But it was pink and frilly and certainly fit for a princess. And I have to admit, as I watched her picking up her carrots and blowing on them with the daintiest of hands, and watched her brush her hair out of her face and looked at those blue eyes in that princess gown, well, I could see what all the fuss was about.

And although everyone who saw her in it fawned over her and fussed over her and fed her cake - LITERALLY FED HER CAKE, SHE DOESN'T HAVE TO LIFT A FINGER - who do you think it was she wanted to tuck her in? Kiss her goodnight? Show her boo-boo to for the millionth time? Or hear a "bwible stoy" from?

You guessed it.

Ladies and gentlemen, I'll be here all week.

14.

Okay, so I looked up some really interesting facts about the number 14. Are you ready? Here goes...

* According to the Indians, fourteen Manous control the world in successive and equal reigns, during the great cycle of the Maha Kalpa or Day of Brahma, having 4320000000 solar years.

* A Cuboctahedron is an Archimedean Solid with 14 Faces. It has eight triangles and six squares.

I know. Right? I could care less, too.

Here's another interesting fact about 14. I've been married 14 years today. Yep, that's 13 1/2 years longer than my parents thought he would stick around, considering the mouth on me!

Here are some more interesting facts about the last 14...

1. The first time I ever laid eyes on the AG was in our Freshman orientation at college. He got up in the middle and walked to the bathroom and I remember thinking, "Oh man, if all the guys here wear parachute pants this is gonna be one long, lonely year."

2. The AG quickly became one of my best friends and so I did him a favor - and fixed him up with a girl on my Dorm hall. She was blond. And a cheerleader. And just his type. He stood her up one night to take me out instead.

3. When she found out he stood her up to take ME out she was furious! I told her not to worry about it, to 'look at her and look at me.' "Now honestly, do you really think he would choose me over you?" She actually AGREED with me. She then asked me to tape record him talking about her;to find out what he really thought. And I actually agreed to do it.

4. He took me to dinner and Christmas shopping at the Galleria. I had more fun with him then I had ever had with any girl/guy friend in my entire life.

5. Later that night I set the tape to record, placed it at the top of my opened purse, lay said purse on table, and began to record our conversation. I asked him about her, but he said he didn't want to talk about her (actually he said, "____? I have nothing to say about her. She's got a great car. I love to drive it. That's the extent of it."). Then he told me that he had asked me out to tell me something. He told me he had never had a girl become such a wonderful friend. And that at some point I had become his best friend. Then he told me that he thought he loved me.

6. The tape was still rolling.

7. It was the finest words I had ever heard come out of a mouth in my life. I cried. And told him that I thought I loved him too. He asked to hold my hand. And I said, "yes." And a few minutes later he had to wipe his hand on his jeans because my hand was sweating so much.

8. When I walked in my dorm room that night she was sitting there, waiting for me, with ALL of the cheerleading squad. She held her hand out for the tape.

9. I gladly handed it over. In fact, I think I pushed 'play.'

10. She called him and told him everything.

11. He was furious. He came storming over to my dorm room, picked me up, put me in his car, asked for the tape, threw it out the window and backed over it three times.

12. Then he laughed and said, "I have a feeling you are gonna be a whole lot to put up with. Am I right?"

13. I said "You have no idea."

14. We would give our right arms to still have that tape.

I love you. With all my heart.

Melissa

Sex and The City: The Menopausal Years

Okay, let me just go on record as saying, I have never seen one episode of Sex And The City. (In fact, is it Sex IN The City or Sex AND The City? Whatever.) Not one.

Because once this girl, who shall remain nameless, besides you wouldn't know her anyway, was all, "Uh, Melissa, you tottaaalllly have to watch Sex and the City. I mean, seriously. You're like the only person alive who doesn't watch it. Wake up and smell the Jimmy Choo's."

It really wasn't that hateful, but it was just catty enough that I made up my mind right then and there to never watch a single episode. Not even when TBS started to run the edited versions every night at 10. I have to change the channel. Even if there is nothing else on. Have to. I see that girl in my mind. And. must. change. channel.

And I'm calling her "catty?"

But I haven't lived under a rock - so I know the movie came out this summer. And I even know their names are Carrie, Samantha, Robin and Deedee. Right?

Until now.

Enter: Melissa, Meridith, Melba and Annette.




I like to call it Sex and the Country, but that sounds crude. So I'm goin' with Sex And the City: The Menopausal Years. Why Menopausal? Well, when your aunt takes an automatic fan into the theatre so she can blow herself throughout the movie, well, you know you're in for one wild night.

Granted Meridith and I aren't menopausal. But we were P.M.Sy, so I reckon that to be "same thing - different generation."

Annette and I (that's my mom and I - but I'm stickin' with first names cuz it sounds waaayyy cooler. I mean with names like "Annette" and "Melba" - what can be cooler than that?) strolled up to pick up Meridith and Melba (that's Meridith and her mom - but again, let's stick with names not relation) round about 7PM. We chose to go to the early showing so that we wouldn't get in to late since I needed to do a load of wash and Melba had to throw the paper route.

Soooooo Sex and the City.

We then pull up to the Cinemark 12 to see - what else - Momma Mia. Because what does Carrie and her Monola Blahnik's have on Pierce Brosnan trying, desperately, to sing?

I wouldn't give the movie 4 stars or anything, but I highly suggest you see it with a group of women singers. There's nothing like singing The Winner Takes It All in 4-part harmony. Which we did. And loudly. We sounded like the First Baptist Women's Choir cuttin' loose in there. At one point we threw in some hand motions and my aunt Melba even "took over the low alto," her words not mine.

Let's see Samantha and DeeDee try their hand at that.

I suppose my favorite part of the movie had nothing to do with Meryl or Pierce or even Colin Firth...but the fact that Melba got her finger caught in her battery powered fan and it sliced part of her nail. That was worth the price of admission. I assure you.

Afterwards we went for drinks. Like they do on the show. Only they order Cosmo's and we ordered Milkshakes. And they worry about what alcohol is doing to their thighs, and we, clearly, don't care.

I had a great time, I have to say.
Yes, we were home by 10:14 PM.
And yes, we were giddy on dairy. (Which we thoroughly discussed since Melba has been wheezing lately in her chest brought on after immediate consumption of all dairy products, which we all advised her to stay off considering all the trouble she's already having with her glaucoma and high blood pressure. Which Annette fully understands due to some recent meds she's been put on; not to mention her trouble with liver spots all of a sudden.)

Did someone say "PAR-TAY???"

But there's nothing like a wild and crazy girls night with four women you love. Who can take 4-part harmony set to 80's disco music and make even the Sex and The City girls blush.

Buddy + Nicolle = 4/Ever.

If I were to give you a recap of the things I've done since arriving this weekend, much of it would revolve around food.

I felt the need to share that. As if this were some kind of "group therapy" or something. Which it isn't. Cause if it were...you people are not exactly doing a bang-up job on my mental "healthiness."

Yesterday after church I went to have Mexican food with my family cause I didn't want to hurt their feelings.

And then immediately left there and went to a fish fry at my best friends house, because again, I didn't want to hurt their feelings.

And then last night my cousin brought pizza to the house and I think someone said, "Melissa, you can't play Phase 10 and not eat pizza." And then I was like, "Oh yeah, I forgot about that rule." And so...you guessed it...I didn't want to hurt their feelings.

By the time all was said and done the Attorney General and I had feasted over 3,000 times on food from over 87 continents (I don't know if there even are 87 continents, but as you can see, I'm trying to drive a point home.) And I have to say...even over the Tex-Mex, and the pizza, and the Blue Bell and the Shipley's donuts - THE SHARK WON.

Yeah, you heard me right. Hands down. Grilled shark is where it's at. Grilled shark is supposedly a lean fish, very healthy, so I paired it with some fried hushpuppies, french fries and fried Mahi-Mahi. Because I believe in living a long life and watching your children grow up is completely over-rated.

Buddy and Nicolle had us over for this Fish Fry Frenzy and we had a great time. Now, let me tell you a little about B and N.

Their little story goes like this...

Nicolle has been my best friend since we were 7. I wish I had 80 friends just like her, but friends like her a few and far between. I could spend every minute with her and never get tired of talking or laughing. If it were -3 below zero outside and snowing but I really really needed her shirt - she would take it right off and hand it to me. That's just how she is.

Of course, let's not go overboard, I mean, she can't cook worth a dime. She's late everywhere she goes. She refuses to be dramatic or "over the top" about anything - even when I really, really need her to be. And still to this day whenever she goes underwater and comes back up, something is always hanging from her nose. Always. I've never seen anything like it. It's kind of a fascinating medical thing, I think.

Buddy and I lived together for 3 years when I was younger. (I got your attention now, don't I?) We really did, though. It wasn't anything romantic, though let's be honest, he probably desired that in a BIG way...but since I was, like, 12, and pretty much learning how to wear deoderent it really never went anywhere.

Buddy lived with my parents and I for a good portion of my teen years. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that one day he would marry my best friend. I mean, we used to sneak into his room and go through his underwear drawer and GROSS OUT at his choice in prints. Ahhh...good times.

But Buddy moved away and got married.

And Nicolle moved away and got married.

But then Buddy moved back home with a broken heart.

Right about the time that Nicolle moved back home with a broken heart.

And somehow, those two found each other, after all those years apart, after broken marriages and broken hearts...and now they look about as happy as two people could.

Sure between the two of them there are two broken marriages - but that makes their recent vows even all the more precious.

And sure between them are SEVEN children - but that just makes their home one of much laughter and hysterical chaos.

And I couldn't be happier. For either of them. Oh, their wedding was something. As I stood there, beside my best friend and "brother" I thought about how when Nicolle and I were 13 and we would gross out when he wouldn't put the seat down...or his immense amount of body hair...or roll our eyes at every new blond he would bring home...and now there he stood, holding her hand, making her promises, loving her kiddos as his own. It was sweet. Very sweet.

And there's nothing I like better than celebrating the love between a man and woman over an 18 pound Fry Daddy.

My Granny, My dog, and My Big, Fat, Texas Hair.

I'm in Texas.

Boy howdy, am I ever in Texas.

Yesterday afternoon it rained, and as I looked out the window I saw steam literally rising from the street. Which I realize is not necessarily something to blog about, but it was a really personal moment between me and my hair. It screamed "Don't take me out there! Whatever you do!Don't take me out there!" And so I didn't. I kept my big, fat, Texas hair, firmly inside the air conditioned house.

We held each other for a moment...it was precious.

Some things have happened since arriving in Texas. Let's discuss them, shall we?

Last Christmas my mom bought my dad a Golden Retriever. This gift was thought about forever, prayed about forever, and saved up for forever. My dad's best dog, Judge, died after 15 years and so buying him another one came with much thought. But on Christmas morning my dad opened up Truman. And let me tell ya, things have never been the same since.

Truman is bad.

Truman is hyper.

Truman is adorable.

Truman is all puppy.

And now Truman is missing.

Missing for a whole week now and my dad is heartbroken. We have searched high and low, driven down every back road and gone up and knocked on every door that appears to have been apprehended from right off the set of "Deliverance" - and still, no Truman.

But that is what happens when your dog is young, and virile, and he longs to move from boyhood to manhood. (You catchin' what I'm layin' down?) Truman was...let's just say, a LOVER not a fighter. And we think he ran away...to, well, fall in love, let's just say...aaannnnnndddd I shall stop now.

And Remi? She's devastated. Because now when the trash can is found pulled over on the kitchen floor we don't beat the dog. So her feelings are, we have to find him - AND FAST!

Here we are out looking for him the other day, to no avail.



I think this video goes to show that at the end of the day, no matter how devastated you are about your Poppie's dog, a girl eventually just needs a moment away from the cameras. It's a hard life.

Also on our list of things to do in Texas? Celebrate my Granny's birthday at Cotton Patch. That's right, I said, Cotton Patch. Doesn't that just sound sophisticated? Oh, yes indeedy, it was.

I feasted on FRIED catfish. And FRIED okra. And french FRIES. (I should be dead by now. Obviously, God has more work for me to do. I digress...)

All 20 of us sat around a table and watched my Granny open her birthday presents. This is the moment during the party where she opens up a box, BUT DOES NOT PULL THE GIFT OUT OF THE BOX, and then proceeds to say, "It will never fit me."

I kid you not. I bought her a top (light blue, no pattern, no design, 100% cotton, must go with blue stretch pants and white tennis shoes, thank you) and she did not even remove it from it's folded position and yet said, "This'll be too small."

But who cares, I was with The Fam. And happy to be there, I might add. And I believe underneath their gruff exterior they love having me home, too. Even though when they asked how long I'm in for and I said "a couple weeks," they all moaned and said things like "Dear Lord" and "what in the world for?" But I felt the love. I truly did.

And besides, they can gripe all they want...their day on this here blog is comin' up.

Oh, you can bet it is.

Persecution.

Okay, I’ll admit it. I’ve been off my game.

I have.

I spent Monday running my Random Integer Generator numbers. Well, that right there is living proof that a person has nothing to write about when they use an entire day’s post to award TWO people two USED books. Sheesh, what is wrong with me?

Then I wrote to you about my phone. MY PHONE, PEOPLE! You deserve better than that.

And let’s not forget the drivel I tried to force down you on Wednesday. Even my personal friend and Pastor – whom I have always been under the assumption was supposed to encourage and edify his sheep with things like, “Melissa, your talents are so vast and plenty that you may very well change humankind. Come, let us reason together how you, alone, can revolutionize society,” yeah, right – even he told me, “Who cares if you haven’t ever seen Saving Private Ryan, or whatever it is. Nobody cares about that kind of stuff. It’s been kinda boring this week.”

Dear Pastor, my offering will be late this week.

* Note: I have seen Saving Private Ryan. It’s The Green Mile I haven’t seen. So, HA!

So after I hang up the phone from this persecuting pastor I asked the only real man I can trust. You know him, say it with me now...The Attorney General.

“Oh man…it’s been bad this week. Real bad. You gotta come up with some different stuff.”

“Come up with?”

What? I write about my life. If it ain’t perplexing to you – do something about it.
Take me somewhere.
Buy me something.
Get me out of the house.
Take me to a restaurant.
A movie.
Something!

As I write this, I am in the car on the way to visit my family in Texas.

And you thought next week was gonna be boring. I think not.

I’m gonna bring it to you, TEXAS STYLE. Which sounds really fancy and all, but really just means I plan on using my camera and video camera to post things about my family that are both entertaining - and mortifying.

My apologies for this week. Good times are ahead folks. Good times.

My Lovelies, Juanita. Juanita, My Lovelies.

This, is Juanita.

Juanita Collins.

And as the saying goes...."She's real...and she's spec.tac.ular."

So forgive me for not being able to properly download an audio message for you all. But I trust that if you've come this far with me, you won't leave me hangin'. Download the message Juanita left on my phone for me the other day. She would be heartbroken if you didn't.

She thinks she is a superstar being on the Stretch Marks blog....lordy, she needs to get out more.

Juanita Collins 1.wav

Seriously, quit whining. It's gonna take you 25 seconds to do it.

So get on with your bad self.

Get Ready. This is Heavy Stuff.

I have . . .

1. Never seen The Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles or Pretty In Pink.

2. Never seen one single episode of What Not To Wear.

3. Finally watched Dirty Dancing. About a year ago. It was an edited for T.V., Friday night version. (Did I miss anything good and juicy?)

4. Memorized every word to Through The Fire by Kanye West

"I drink a Boost for breakfast, an Ensure for dizzurt.

Somebody ordered pancakes. I just sipped the syzzurp.

That right there could drive a sane man bizzerk.

Not to worry Mr.H 2 the the Izzo's back to wizzerk..."

and yet still cannot remember my Pin number at any given moment in my life.

5. Always wanted to learn how to dance. I mean really dance. Pop and Lock kinda stuff. (But I once took clogging when I was 15 - with my cousin Meridith - and while I could kick up some dust on the song Highway 101 Blues, it was rather embarrassing and I soon quit.)

6. Joined Weight Watchers 14 times during my life. FOURTEEN TIMES! At one point I think they hung a picture of me in their World Headquarters.

7. Decided that if I were to be on Death Row and given my last meal - it would have to be sushi. This decision has come after agonizing over this question for many years. As you can see, I have a lot going on.

8. Never seen Ghost.

9. Never seen one episode of Miami Vice, The A-Team or ALF. But do know every single word to every episode of my beloved Golden Girls.

10. Never cared a hoot about cars. If you tell me you drive a Mercedes or a Plymouth I will not know the difference until I see it. I base my opinions on cars by the pretty color that they are. Just ask the AG. I once pointed out three cars I liked...one was a Kia, one was a Tauras and one was a Jaguar. But they were all Chocolate-Syrup Brown. (Oh, and I come up with the color names myself.)

11. Never been a big fan of naming your kids of places you've been or vacationed or lived. Like Dallas, Dakota, Ireland, Paris, Carolina or Pittsburgh.

12. Recently paid $12 at the cleaners for them to sew on a button on a pair of $8 shorts.

13. No idea how to upload the message I recieved on my phone. I got it on to my computer, but now have no way of knowing how to upload an audio file into Blogger. It says it will let me - oh it says a lot of things to me. But oh sweet Blogger, you makamecrazy. It's a shame really. It would have been hailed as one of my greatest achievments. Sniff. Sniff.

These are some pretty astounding revelations, are they not? I know. It will be hard to carry on with your day.

It's a Sprint Mogul. I, However, Am Not.

Hey y'all, look! This is my new phone.

Isn't it fancy?

I love it.

Okay, love is a strong word. But I do like it. A lot. I suppose I could use the word love if there were just a few tweaks that I could figure out.

For instance...

I would like to be able to dial a phone number on it. But unfortunately the numbers are so little that I had to pull my car over just to type in seven numbers. And even then I had to type them in using the little magic pen that comes with it because apparently your fingers have to be the size of a 4 month old, and, well, mine aren't.

I would like to be able to answer a call when it comes in. This would be handy, I'm not gonna lie. Not that I have important phone calls coming in every minute of the day - but I would like to be able to answer it should my cousin Meridith call with the all important information of what goes in to making Super Cheesy Garlic Bread. (Other than the obvious, of course.)

Texting would be nice. I had finally figured out how to text on my old phone. But on this new super-hero phone? Nyet. I thought I had finally figured it out the other day and sent a "test text" to the AG. But instead of opening up a text message he opened up a voice recording and heard me saying, "Stupid phone. I oughta throw you out the...Remi, do not take your diaper off again. Remi, DO NOT! Remi! Okay, I guess it's fine to leave it off for a few minutes. A girls gotta have some freedom."

Receiving texts? Forget it. Meridith texted me the key ingredient to Super Cheesy Garlic Bread and I didn't get it. MAYO! Do you have any idea how important a text is with just the word "Mayo" on it? The world would be a lot sweeter place if we all received text messages that simply said - Mayo. At least mine was. But alas, it is not to be.

And then lastly...

I would like to be able to turn it on. And off. I mean, I know it goes on and off, because at the start of every day I say, "Honey, can you turn my phone on?" and at the end of every day I say, "Honey, can you turn my phone off?" And he does. But he's a brainiac and he knows lots of useless knowledge - like how to turn things on and off. Nerd.

By the way, if anyone out there knows how to do this next task I would really like some help: I have a message that someone special left me on my phone. I would like to share it with all of you.

But. I. Don't. Know. How.
Shocker, huh?

Anyone know how to take a voice recording and transfer it to my computer so that I can upload it, embarrass her to death, yet provide unlimited enjoyment for all of you? Anyone? Anyone?

There may be something wonderful in it for you if you can walk me through it.
I doubt it.
But there might be.
Okay, there's not.
But still...

Only you'll have to email me your instructions cuz I still don't know how to check my voicemail. Unless the AG is home. And he presses the buttons. Nerd.

Ladies and Gentlemen, We Have A Winner!

I know you never thought this was going to happen, did you?


I told you all that I had a book to give away and so you all threw caution to the wind and left me a comment...and lo and behold, I let you down. I got sidetracked. I procrastinated. It's my fault. I will admit this.


But my intentions were good, honest.


My intent was to go buy another book just so that I would have THREE to give away, but then I remembered that I was poor and so I gave up on that dream.

I intended on selecting the winners as soon as I recieved Trish's book in the mail - since she was kind enough to give her book as a sacrifice for your reading enjoyment. But then she put in a whole pan of her chocolate chip brownie thingeys cuz she looooooves me. And well, that got me sidetracked for quite some time.


And then my intent was to VIDEO myself, with the aide of Remi and the AG, drawing names out of a hat and posting said video here. But then I remembered that at this moment in my life I look like Fred Murtz when he put on all that weight between seasons 5 and 6...and so that dream bit the bullet.


And then I intended to actually post the winners earlier last week, but I took some Percoset and instead called the Middle TN Electric Company and asked them when their next blood drive was, so again...no go.


But all is well now. I am back in RARE form, as my mom would say, and I have two winners. And let me just go on record as saying that I chose these winners with the help of the Accounting firm of Earnst and Young. Okay, I'm lying. Actually I chose them by using Random.org, which was quite nice and convenient and keeps y'all from egging my house if you don't get chosen.

RANDOM.ORG - Integer Generator: "Random Integer Generator"
Here are your random numbers:
12
24
Timestamp: 2008-08-18 03:20:59 UTC"

However, it was a little hard to do considering some of you left messages that you had already read the book, therefore you didn't want to be considered. So then I had to count past your name and go to the next person in line.


And then I would get to the next person in line and be like, "uh...no. I don't agree with how she wears her hair," so then I would have to count down past that person...and pretty soon it was just exhausting.


Okay, I'll stop. That's all lies. All lies.


Actually, the Attorney General helped me count down the list to make sure I was right. And let me tell you something, if the Attoreny General does a back-check you can rest assured. Rest. Assured. You hear me? Ain't nothin' gettin' past him. Nada. He is MR. RULE FOLLOWER to the nth degree. So if you have a problem with the outcome...take it up with him.


Egg his house.


Oh, uh...wait.


So Wags and Tabi shoot me an email and let me know your address, cuz ladies this book is coming your way. Just remember the rules:

1. Read the book.
2. Apply the lesson.
3. Sign the book.
4. Share the love.

Till tomorrow, my lovelies.

I.

I AM ...wondering what it would be like to be Micheal Phelps and be told, "You must consume between 8,000 to 10,000 calories a day. No exceptions." And I'm wondering why my water aerobics instructor never instructed me to do that during those five days in a row that I did water aerobics.

I WANT... Deanna Smith Havard, who has been reading my blog, to leave me an email message so I will know how to get in touch with her! Otherwise, I will not be able to reconnect with the one person who tried to help me make cheerleader by telling me, "Oh my God - you would be an incredible base for our pyramid." HI!! Email me!! Please!

I HAVE ... never officially gotten over the clown scene in Poltergeist. Nor forgiven the mom who let a bunch of 12 year olds watch it at a sleep over.

I WISH I COULD ... go under water without holding my nose.

I HATE ... having to "keep the conversation going" with someone. Hold your own. Speak up. Have a personality. Sheesh.

I FEAR ... ever being without The Attorney General.

I HEAR ... people say I'm hard to figure out. I'm not.

I SEARCH ... for ways to save money at the grocery store. But I'm not really pleased with any of the experts suggestions. So I stick with my plan; buy what I want and buy twice as much as I need.

I DON'T THINK ... I will ever get tired of chili-dogs or game nights with my friends and family.

I REGRET ... that I didn't use better wisdom in certain relationships. That I didn't listen to my heart when it was screaming at me. Man, I regret that.

I LOVE ... driving with the windows down. In the Fall. On a Sunday afternoon. With a Sonic drink in my hand. With my husband.

I ACHE FOR ... my mom and dad to move here.

I ALWAYS CRY ... when I've hurt someone I love. Always. And then I get really, really sick to my stomach.

I AM NOT ... weak. At all.

I DANCE ... whenever I am forced at gunpoint (which believe it or not, has never happened.) Or whenever I hear the song, "Footloose."

I SING ... at the drop of a hat. When I'm asked. When I'm not asked. In my car. To my baby. To my husband. You name it.

I NEVER ... go a day without worrying or obsessing about something. Not ever. Not a day.

I RARELY ... like doing anything one-on-one with someone (lunch, shopping, road trip, etc.) It makes me very nervous.

I CRY WHEN I WATCH ... those Johnson and Johnson commercials that say, "A baby changes everything."

I AM NOT ALWAYS ... sure that I won't end up on the mission field.

I HATE THAT ... I never tried out for the Mickey Mouse Club when I was 10.

I'M CONFUSED ABOUT ... people who: live in RV's, work at a carnivals, don't eat meat, live off the land, and jog.

I NEED ... to stretch my neck out a whole lot more. Take more risks. Have no fear of failure. Get busy.

I SHOULD ... remind you that you are more than welcome to steal this from me and do it on your blog. After all, I did. (And though I can't remember who I stole it from - I "thank you" nonetheless.)

The Attorney General: 1972-2008

No, I haven't killed him. I do, however, have a call into our life insurance agent. THEN I will kill him.

At least I'm laying it out here for the world to see. That way no one has to do one of those special 2 hour Dateline: Mystery shows on me. I'm going ahead and confessing. I'm going to kill the man.

If you have no idea what I'm talking about then you haven't read yesterday's post. Go ahead. I'll give you a moment.

Yeah, right?

I thought I'd have your support after that.

Trust me, if the man hadn't been an absolute doll these last few days he'd be dead already. But until he hires someone else to rub Icy Hot on my neck, bring me chocolate milk when I whine, and turn off CSI when I'm trying to eat, then he's the only game in town.

Things are good around here. Thank you all for your prayers. I am up and feeling better today than I thought I would. I even did laundry. And y'all - I don't do laundry when I'm living high on the hog, so what'swupwiththat?

Pain medicine.

You guessed it. There is nothing - absolutely nothing that a little Percoset won't fix. In fact, in the course of this one short day here's what I did, thanks to that special little pill:

• I did laundry.


• I chased Remi around the kitchen table 428 times.


• I had a long conversation with some little green men in my room about the environment and if Britney Spears is really getting healthy.


• I watched an Alfred Hitchcock movie.


• I took a nap and woke up in the middle of it and screamed at a fly stuck in my windowsill. (No fly was ever found in my windowsill, by my husband.)


• I cried myself into another nap.


• I laughed myself awake.


• I searched itunes until I found Bobby Brown's "My Prerogative" and listened to it and waxed nostalgic about junior high and how I wish I could go back and do it differently.


• I cleaned in between my washer and dryer.


• I counted to 300 - backwards.


• I tried to convince my husband to start smoking a pipe.


• I tried on 14 pairs of old jogging pants.


• I had a dream that a man was chasing me and he had flies stuck in his teeth.


• I asked my husband to teach me how to do Morse Code.


• I found this picture of George Clooney riding his bike, on the internet. That may very well be me and I just don't remember it.

So all in all, it was a good day.

I shall be off of the Percoset by tomorrow. I just feel it's best.

My Cafeteria Lady.

Well, here is the woman I love, in all her glory.

While you were praying for her today as she went in to surgery, I was asking for a second helping of mashed potatoes.

She did not laugh.

She is doing good though. Since she is in there snoring I thought I would post for her. This will either be a good thing or a very very bad thing.

Pray for me,

The Attorney General

P.S. I never got my second helping of potatoes.

She's A Brick House.

This is Remi at 9AM. She asked for her cuppy like this,

"CUP! EEEEEEE! Right. Now. Uh,oh."

Yeah, uh,oh.

This is Remi at 1PM. She doesn't want to take a nap.

So she takes mama on an around the house whirl-wind tour.

Mama doesn't like whirl-wind tours. Or running around the house.

Mama does, however, love naps.

This is Remi at 5:30 PM. Remi is being very very mean to the dogs.

When disciplined she replies with, "Daddy, please no talk to me."

This is Remi at 7:32 PM. I told her to get out from behind the entertainment center.

She told me she was "sick and tired" of me.

For those of you who are not keeping up. Remi is 2.

We're Taking Reservations for Next Weekend.

So this weekend was really something. Really, it was.

On Friday we flew to Costa Rica just to have coffee with some friends. We had a fine time and promised to do it all again real soon. We lied. We were bored. I mean, Costa Rica? Seriously? Who does the Costa anymore?

On Saturday we spent the afternoon with Micheal Phelps. He had just won the gold and so we bought him some noodles and some shorts that sit a tad bit higher.

Okay, even I can't keep this up.

Here was our weekend. Don't be jealous.

FRIDAY:

Had chili-dogs for dinner.

Watched the Opening Ceremonies and tried to figure our budget out so that we could go to Beijing. Looks like it's gonna happen in 2024. Fingers crossed. It's gonna be great!

Called the doctor for a prescription for my new friend, Bladder Infection. Lovely.

Told Remi the story of Daniel in the Lion's Den revealing the insurmountable fact that lions can, in fact, eat us. Dear Ann Landers, what was I thinking?

SATURDAY:

Had chili-dogs for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Hung out outside the bathroom door thanks to my new friend, Bladder Infection.

Watched the Olympics.

Answered the question, "Mama, a lion can eat you. Can a lion eat you?" 874 TIMES.

SUNDAY:

Finished up Bladder Infection medicine and had them call something in for a head cold.

Re-read the book of Job.

Watched the Olympics while eating a brownie. Found the irony in this very sad.

Doctored a bite I got when Remi was pretending to be a lion.


So how was yours?
It wasn't this good, was it?
Don't forget - envy kills.

Don't Laugh At Me. Laugh With Me.

At some point, you just have to laugh.

I go into the doctor's office yesterday...and yes, it was full of pregnant women, and yes, all they had to read were Pregnancy magazines, and yes, the lady behind the desk accidentally asked me when I was due...

And yes, it stunk.

And yes, it was a horrible appointment, and yes, I'll have to have a surgery, and yes, this makes me sad...

And yes, I don't wanna.

But in the midst of all that. I laughed. I really did. Because let's be honest - at some point you have to! At some point it gets so absolutely absurd and heavy that you just have to laugh. And I did. I got a good chuckle out of a Readers Digest that I found, all wrinkled up, and two years old, that someone had stuck under a pamphlet on Menococcal Meningitis...just for me.

And so, my lovelies, here is the chuckle I got yesterday. It sums up my day perfectly.

(In fact, when I got out of the doctor I called my mom and this joke was the first thing I told her. We laughed together and she agreed that, yes, this pretty much sums it up.)

So when you leave me a comment today. Leave me a joke. The best you've ever heard. I could use it.

We all could.

The doctor walks into the office with the test results in his hand. "Well, Mr. Smith, I got your test results back. Would you like the good news or the bad news first?"

"Uh, I guess the good news," Mr. Smith replies.

"Well, the good news is you're about to have a disease named after you."

Tightly, I Hold Her.

The setting isn't really anything spectacular, but I'll set it up for you anyway.

Remi has just woken up from her nap and has decided there is nowhere else in the entire house that she would rather sit than with me. And not just in my lap, mind you, but in my ARMS. Snuggled up next to me, with both of my arms draped tightly around her. Her head leaning back against my chest.

I sit here trying to paint this picture for you by typing it with one hand. It isn't easy. She mainly pretends not to notice, though every once in a while she will grunt out of frustration and reach over and grab my hand, pull it once again perfectly, around her. And I think to myself, "well, who can argue with that?"

And so, tightly, I hold her.

Harder and harder she presses her tiny head into my chest; by doing this she is wanting both to...

a.) make sure I know she's there...

b.) and to lay claim to Momma as her territory. No daddy had better try to approach and ruin this moment.

And I have to say, I wholeheartedly agree.

And I watch her big, blue eyes. Those eyes that I prayed would stay blue even though everyone told me, "they'll change. They always do." But I prayed they would stay the color of her daddies, because if she couldn't have his DNA I wanted her to at least be fortunate enough to have his eyes, both their depth and their color. Their transparency and their mystery. And so blue - they stayed. Amen.

And now they blink in tempo with a big, blue bear named Balloo. And she watches intently this dancing bear. But never long enough to forget I'm there. To sneak a peak out of the corner of her eye to make sure I'm still staring at her.

She needn't worry.

And I lean my face down to smell her hair. To kiss her. And she doesn't budge. Nor complain. Nor move. In fact, unless I'm imagining it, she leans in to it.

And I think back to the first time we bathed her. And how our house was so cold and quiet as we worked feverishly at this new task. Freezing cold, in fact. Because that's how it had been for so many years. We didn't know to make it warm for her, and pretty soon she began to shiver. And so we pulled her out of her bath and wrapped her up tightly, and pulled a brand new nightgown, all pink and precious, over her head. And then fought over who got to hold her.

I won.

But as her daddy leaned in to her, smelt her head and kissed her, he said so perfectly, "She smells like a blessing."

And she did.

And she does.

Oh, it's a different blessing now. It doesn't smell so much like baby as it does trouble. It smells less like lavender and more like mischief. Less like tender more like tough. Less like kid gloves and more like, what is that, ketchup?

But a blessing nonetheless. Not one little bit less.

I retreat to this memory because retreat is what I do best. For I know in a few short hours I will be laying, once again, on that cold metal table. Hearing words that still fall like lead teardrops. Beside a man who hurts just as much as I do. Although he's a man, and apparently people don't think they do, but I know different. They do. At least, he does.

And so I prepare myself during precious moment I am in, for that very un-precious moment a few hours from now. On that cold metal table. And I prepare myself to pull him down close to me, lean up off the table and whisper in his ear, "She smells like a blessing."

And he will know exactly what I'm talking about. What I'm referring to.

And with that he will go, as I did, back to that moment in time when God proved more than faithful. When His gift far outweighed any service or sacrifice that we had ever made to Him. When He restored to our home "what the locusts had eaten." (Joel 2:25)

Which can be quite nice when you think how lonely you can feel in a room full of strangers. Who are now staring at your heartbreak on a screen. And searching your face for your feelings. And handing you Kleenex when they find them. And scheduling on their books when they can remove your hope. Ah, yes. Quite lonely.

But I am not there yet. No. I am in this moment...and in this moment she leans in closer. Harder now. And I wonder if it is really her at all. Or the God I love, in her. Using her. To love on me. To rescue me. To remind me.

And I thank Him, just the same, for her. For Him. For all of this.

There's A New Sherriff In Town.

I wasn't sure what to title today's post as it could have been titled a myriad of things. Yes, I used the word myriad. I'm educated like that.

It could have been:

What the Crap Is Wrong With My Child?

Potty Chairs are for Losers.

or...

I'm Going to Sue Walt Disney. Who's With Me?

But I hate to use the word "crap" in my blog. It's just tasteless, ya know. So I thought better of that one.

I also hated to point out that potty chairs are for losers since so many of my friend's kids use them. But I gotta tell ya, I'm pretty much on the cutting edge of things and so I think it's safe to say DIAPERS are coming back in, y'all. No kidding. Very soon potty chairs will be out - and diapers will be making a come back.

So why would I want to spend all that time potty training when I can just keep the kid in diapers? It's gonna be awfully awkward for those parents when they have to tell their kids, "Yes, I know you did all this hard work but Miss Melissa is right. Potty chairs are for losers. And you don't want to be a loser do you? No. You don't. So take off those big girl panties, put on these Nemo diapers and start peeing on yourself. NOW!"

Man, that's gonna be hard for so many of y'all.

Not for me, though. Nope. Not for me.

Cause you see, my child won't pee on the potty. Just won't do it. Oh, we tried it. Yes, we did. We tried it lots and lots and lots of times. In fact, what we tried yesterday we shall never discuss with anyone.

You hear me?

Never.

With anyone.

Because it's embarrassing.

But let's just say mommy is down to her last nerve. After this nerve, there are no more nerves left on poor mommy. So mommy did something yesterday that even daddy couldn't believe. Even poor daddy walked in the house after a long, hard day drinking coffee with people and was astonished at what he saw. But not Remi. Remi loved every minute of mommy making a big, fat fool of herself. Remi ate it up. With a spoon.

And now mommy is going to have to hire someone to "talk to" for one hour a week for the next couple of weeks.

And yet, after all that, when the big moment finally came and it was time to sit on the throne and reap the reward of her labor - my child FLIPPED OUT! I don't capitalize out of drama, but out of necessity.

She flipped.

She freaked.

She became stiff as a board.

Screamed and cried till her eyes swelled shut.

Sweated herself down.

And ran around the house screaming, "No Mommy. Monsters! Monsters! Potty scares me! There's monsters in there! No Mommy! Pleeeaassseee Mommy!"

Then ran screaming and crying to the couch. And peed all over it.

Huh?

Darn that stinkin' Walt Disney with their dressing up Monsters and giving them the voices of silly little Billy Crystal with his wide-eyed innocence. Or John Goodman with his everyman/gentle giantness. Darn them!!

And darn me for letting her watch it 24 times in a row so mommy and daddy can have some grown-up talk.

See where it's gotten me? Now she won't pee.

And where has she learned to be fearful like that? Certainly, not me. I'm not afraid of monsters. How childish. Like I have to look all through the house when I get home for monsters? Yeah, right.

Now serial killers, maybe. But that's a different story. Because those are real. And I feel the definite possibility that if one was to be on the loose that he would most definitely find my home and claim me as his own. So yeah, serial killers. Oh, and that hockey masked guy from the Halloween movies. Oh, and that man who used to narrate the old show "Unsolved Mysteries." AARGH! When he would talk I would wet myself. So yeah, sometimes I check my house for him. Or for Big Kenny of the country music group, Big & Rich. He is extremely dis-setteling to me in his big, tall, hats and I do, on occasion, have nightmares about him.

But other than that - she must get her fear from her father.

Either way, the situation has to be rectified. So, we have put away Monsters, Inc. which has been met with much wailing and gnashing of teeth. And we have compensated with - you guessed it - BUYING HER SOMETHING.

Oh yeah...we made a fast trip to the Disney Store.

Because isn't that how every parent tries to compensate?

Yep, the company I wanted to sue just yesterday I now find myself handing my credit card to. Why? So she has someone protecting her at night when Mommy is too busy hiding in her closet from the shadowy likeness of Big Kenny.

Please, people, tell me I'm not alone. Aren't you scared of anything?

Oh, and if you leave a post that says...

"I'm not scared of anything Melissa. I own the Big & Rich CD. And my child has been using the potty since 20 months old,"

it shall be deleted at the blog owners request.

25 Things

Did you ever see the Seinfeld episode where Jerry is forced to make recordings of movies and sell them on the black market?

Really? It's a good one.

Anyway, the point is this. I am not one to steal things. Like, well, and I hate to admit this, but my father. Who once offered the movie Stealth to my husband so he could watch it on DVD.

Stealth had been out in the theatres ONE WEEK.

My dad had been given a BLACK MARKET movie.

MY DAD! BLACK MARKET!


This is the same man who once told me that whenever he thought back to my teenage years the only thing he would remember was that I cheated on a typing test.

A typing test!

How is cheating on a typing test even possible?

Plus, his remark was a little overdramatic. I know this because years later I asked him, "Dad, what do you remember most about my teenage years" to which he replied, "The time I let you and your college CO-HORTS take my Volvo out for a spin and you ended up using my [big, honkin' 1989] cellular phone to call The Arsenio Hall show."

He's right.
We did.
15 times in a row.

Point being...I don't steal. I give credit where credit is due.

Sometimes.

And if I like the person.

So over at Spence Smith's blog I noticed that he once listed 25 things that inspire him. Now, I'm not Spence, so believe you me, our lists are completely different. For instance, he wrote that one thing that inspires him is "the feeling I get after a good run."

Whereas that would more likely make my "25 Things That Make Me Want to Lay Down On The Interstate and Pray for Sure Death" list.

But, to each his own.

So here is my list. Don't laugh! In fact, if you're gonna do that - then getcher own durn list. We're not supposed to make fun of what inspires people.

Unless it's Spence.

And it involves physical activity.

Cuz that's just weird. So here goes...

25 Things That Inspire Me...

1. A baby...in a diaper...with a popsickle....in the summertime.

2. A Fall cookout with friends. Involving chili cheese dogs and s'mores. And lots and lots of laughter.

3. Big Sexy Hairspray. Okay, let's be honest....just really big hair, in general.

4. A round table. With a board game in the middle. And Meridith, Brandon, David, Melba, Donald, My mom, my dad and me in each chair.

5. Looking at my house around dusk after a long day of yard work....done by the Attorney General, of course.

6. A hot day and an in-ground swimming pool.

7. Pictures. Of people I love. And people I miss.

8. A nice hotel. And some really good room service.

9. A hearty laugh. At someone else's expense.

10. A good cheese enchilada.

11. Singing praise and worship.

12. When the Attorney General gets that little gleam in his eye, which usually means he's up to something.

13. Anything, absolutely anything, that makes me laugh.

14. Sitting around with friends and discussing the Lord...the good, the bad, the difficult.

15. People that challenge me. (I abhor people who tell me what they think I want to hear.)

16. People who understand that today might not be a good day to challenge me. And instead, tell me what they think I want to hear.

17. Seeing someone do what they were created to do. And watching them flourish in it.

18. A very quiet place where I can get away and write. (I'm still looking for that place...if any of you have any ideas I'd be happy to hear them.)

19. A bowl of cookie dough. And a great, big spoon.

20. Journaling.

21. When Remi tells me "Don't cry mama" and pulls my head down on to her shoulder. (Let me go on record as saying I am not a basketcase. I am simply "faking it" for the attention.)

22. Crawling into a bed with clean sheets.

23. Finding myself in place where God is the only thing I have. I learn the most from these times. They. Are. Invaluable.

24. A really good book.

25. A "Radke".

(Before you think this is something deep and sentimental about my husband, it's really not. The Radke is a sandwich that he created years ago and I looooovvveee it.

Yep, a sandwich.)

Sure, there were a few I didn't add. But I was afraid you all might think I was trivial. I mean, I wanted to add my favorite show of all time, Seinfeld, as well as re-runs of The Love Boat. But it was a toss-up between those and the depth that is "big Texas hair."

And if you know me at all - you know big hair will always win out.

I'm curious as to what inspires you. Just to see what we have in common and all...

Is it me?

Do I inspire you?

It is me, isn't it?

See? We have something in common already.

Okay, your turn. I'm headed to your blog to see what inspires you. (Make sure you spell Stretch Marks correctly. cough. cough.)

Peggy and Me and Pitt and Jolie.

Oh, please. Don't act like you ain't gonna buy it.

Apparently a couple of weeks ago some little known couple, I think their names are Brent and Ashley, gave birth to twins.

Big deal.

I know a lady who's cat, Peggy, got pregnant like 30 times, and I don't remember anybody selling pictures of that for a 14 million dollar fee.

Apparently though, these kids are different.

Apparently they have a pretty good chance of being spectacularly gorgeous.

And apparently Bob and Amanda are spectacularly wealthy.

And apparently there are like 14 nannies standing by to help out. (I don't know that for a fact. So I hope Amanda doesn't leave me a comment correcting me...cuz I hear she's a big fan of Stretch Marks.)

But still I say, big deal.

Peggy The Cat was part calico - part barn cat, so she was kind of pretty, although she had that one malfunctioning teet that hung down longer than all the others.

And considering Peggy lived in a barn and ate rats for dinner I'm not guessing she was very well-off.

And no, there were no nannies standing by ready to help Peggy the Cat with her litter of 17. Although there was a snake and a 17 pound rat that kept a pretty close eye on them. IfyouknowwhatImean.

But I digress.

So, Bert and Angel are a good-looking couple. Of this, I think we can agree. But let's take a look at something, shall we? Take a look at that picture again. Look closely now...

Is that a nightgown she's wearing?

And not just any nightgown, but one of those JCPenney style gowns that you can find me in any night of the week between the hours of 6pm and 10am? Granted, mine looks a little different. It's blue. With little white flowers on it. And it reeks of fajitas. (Please believe me when I say, I don't know why. I have washed it one million times.)

Oh, and when I wear it I tend to pull my hair back in bobby pins all over my head and wear a seaweed mask on my T-zone. But other than those few differences I think it's safe to say, due to the JCPenney nightgown, we look eerily similar.

It's the Attorney General who's the problem. He doesn't look ANYTHING like Bart. NOTHING! And I'll be honest, sometimes I feel like he's holding me back.

Sooooo...all this to say, you know you're gonna go and buy that magazine. You know you are. Your curiosity won't let you pass the check-out line and not purchase it. I am. I readily admit it. If you see me in Publix - you shall see it in my buggy - and you are free to ridicule me and point and stare and roll your eyes. And wonder why I would spend my money on that instead of something healthy and green to eat.

But hey! I'm just trying to help them build an orphanage in Jaggempet, India or Tampa Bay - I'm not sure what they really said. So pretty much it's just me doing my part of making this world a better place.

Besides, let me go on record as saying that if the AG and I were on the cover of that magazine, with me in my JCPenney nightgown, the title "Introducing the Twins..." would take on a whole new meaning.

And that, my friends, would bring in some dough.