Series: A Week of What Not To Do - Monday

I'm kicking off my new series "A Week of What Not To Do"!

This will be especially helpful advice of things you should never, ever do! I know that you should not ever do these things because I am stupid enough to have done them and I am going to share them in hopes that you will learn a thing or two. (Do not try these at home)

The Home Spa Day~Item Not To Do Number One

Many years back, I decided I wanted to really pamper myself. I was about nineteen or twenty or so, in college and living at home this particular year.

I really wanted to improve my image, I guess. I didn't have money to even think about going to a real spa so I decided to make one...at home! Why not?

I looked in the mirror, made a few ideas in my head of what I had wanted to change and decided to tackle them right away.

First thing to go were my "Brook Shields on steroids" eyebrows. Now most of you that know me now are seeing me without my "Shields" brows. Actually, I can't even call them signature Brook Shields eyebrows because even when hers were large and bushy, they still looked really good compared to mine!

In fact, in high school, my best friends would ask me to do my caterpillar impression. This was a truly unique talent I had. I would take a piece of paper and hold it up just underneath my eyebrows so it looked like my eyebrows were two caterpillars standing on the paper.

Then, I would raise and lower my eyebrows at different intervals to make it look like two fury, bushy large black caterpillars were walking across the paper.

What a fabulous thing to be remembered by.

I thought it was time to put the caterpillars on a diet and really slim them down.

I grabbed the tweezers and pulled one single eyebrow out. Instantly, my eyes watered, and it stung so bad! I even actually had a pinpoint size dot of blood. The root of that eyebrow left a small hole where it had been.

I looked at the hundreds upon hundreds of eyebrows I had left to pluck and I couldn't' imagine doing it. On top of the pain, it would take forever!

There had to be better way........hmmmmm.....

Then, I got the best idea EVER!

NAIR!! Surely if it could take leg hair off without pain, what's a few eyebrows right?

So, I used a guide on how to shape your eyebrow and drew the lines on my forehead for a template.

Then I took a Q tip and ever-so-carefully applied the Nair to my skin making sure to stay in the lines. Voila!

Then I read the bottle of how long to leave it on and sat patiently on the toilet seat. I noticed about half of the way through that it was really starting to burn a little. I figured that was a good sign, that meant it was working.

The burning continued and I was very impatient for the time to come when I could wipe it off.

Now since my eyebrow hair seemed so much thicker than leg hair, I thought I should leave it on just a minute or two longer for good measure. We didn't want any stragglers.

The timer went off! I was so glad to start washing the stuff off. It was really hurting.

I took some toilet paper to wipe away the hair like the instructions said.

As I wiped away, I noticed quite a bit of hair. In fact, I could save it and start knitting sweaters for third world countries with it. Good, I thought. It worked like charm. The hair disintegrated. Most of it anyway.

Then I rinsed the rest of the Nair and hair off my face.

When I looked in the mirror, I noticed that where I had applied the Nair was so dark red it was almost purple. It hurt to the touch.

I put some moisturizer on went for an ice pack.

After a couple hours, the purple was darkening and hardening.

By the time I woke up the next morning, I had fully formed, very thick SCABS around my eyebrows where the Nair was applied.

Apparently, the skin around your eyes is the thinnest most delicate skin on your body and not a match for a bottle of chemicals!

I got to walk around for a good couple of weeks looking like a total freak! I couldn't even come up with a good-sounding lie about what to happened me.

I got used to people's jerk-back reaction when they honed in on my face.

It was humiliating. Take note, follow the directions on the bottle and don't home remedy.

Tomorrow, we talk teeth whitening!!!

Oh P.S. Y'all, the following item was found today behind the couch. Luckily, its location was identified before it had morphed into fruit leather and bred fruit flies!!!

Banana Exibit D

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Vole Tales 2

Story #2
Now that we know what vole are, and now that we know that across from my yard is a large empty field, enter a new character; the hawk.

Yes, the hawk. Quite frequently, hawk and very large fowl circle the vicinity looking for prey. One morning we looked out the window and perched on the neighbor's roof was a beautiful golden eagle.

(We also sat and watched a bald eagle eat a whole deer carcass! Yes, a real bald eagle!)

One fine summer day, we were playing out in the yard. We were enjoying the beautiful sunny day. A grand hawk had been circling the field all day. We watched it fly so gracefully and swoop and swerve all afternoon.

"Hey Erika, a vole!" Tye proclaimed.

Low and behold, there was a live vole in window well three.

The kids and I knew the routine. Get the shovel, get the box for transportation, load the vole, lift the vole, insert vole in box and release in field. It was standard procedure.

Erika got the box, and Tye got the shovel. And I always sat back and watched until said rodent was detained and safely enclosed in the box.

Enter new character; Dad.

Dad came quickly to action and took the shovel from Tye. Everything was in place, Erika was with the box waiting for just the right moment when the shovel came out of the well. She crouched down in position and waited.

Dad slowly loaded the vole and lifted it up. At the moment we all thought he would plop the vole into the box, he took a step back instead, pivoted slightly, and flung the vole as hard as he could up, up over the fence, out of our yard, and at least thirty feet in the air towards the street. All the while, three voices yelled,"Ahhhhhhhhhh" in horror.

The vole twisted and turned. Its arms flailed. It skidded into the road landing on its back and was thrashing about in the street.

"Dad!!!" the kids both cried.

We were is shock at what we just witnessed.

I scolded this new character; the dad, and demanded to know how he was going to end its miser and asked why he decided to horrify (new word) our small children.

"You'll see..." said dad.

The kids were very upset at watching the vole flip and flop. I sent them inside the house and told them I would be right in.

"Let's get the first aid kit Erika!" Tye said as they sprang into action.

Shortly after they left, the hawk emerged. It circled a couple times over the field then zoomed in on the thrashing vole, made its descent, swooped down low and pick up the vole in its clinched claws.

I stared at Dad. I was amazed. Somehow, he was not surprised.

It was like National Geographic in our own backyard!

I was not going to tell the kids who were inside looking for the first aid kit.

It was not long after that the kids came back outside. They stood in amazement. Tye's mouth hung open and Erika's head cocked as they both saw that the vole was...gone!

My head dropped in sadness. I though they had put two and two together and realized the hawk had taken the vole.

"Tye! Look! It lived and ran back to its family in the field!" Erika announced.

I threw a look of disapproval to my husband who was propped up on the murder weapon and laughing quietly.

Aww, the innocence of childhood.

You know...if my kids ever figure out how to read and catch on to this blog, I am going to be in a heap of trouble!!!

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Vole Tales

Story #1-
I bet most of you are wondering what a vole is. I did too before I moved to a remote village just west of Salt Lake City.

Well, a vole is a rodent that looks much like a mouse. However, when you are looking at it, you notice it carries some unmouse-like (I just made up a word) characteristics. For example, its fur is bushier and seems a little more full and coarser than mouse fur. Also, it eyes are different and more puppy dog looking. It tends to run a little bigger than your typical mouse too.





Now, I know you are going, "Awwww.... how cute!"

"The vole" is commonly found stuck in our window wells. Sometimes we catch them before death, sometimes after. At their last attempt to get into my house, they chew through the screens and make big holes.

They also dig tunnels under your lawn that erodes away and kills the grass just above it in a snakelike pattern. They are a nuisance. I have also heard of them going after people in an angry fashion when being retrieved from the window wells.

Anyway....

Late this summer, I was on my way up to my room to take a bath. I heard Tye and Erika announcing that there was a vole in the window well....alive.

Since my husband works round the clock, Tye has developed some serious man-skills.

"Don't worry mom, I got it." he said to me as he went for the shovel to lift it out.

In the past, we have put them in a box and taken them up the street to let them go in the field. So, I imagined that is what he would do.

I ran my bath and got in. I was just relaxing and sinking in when I heard some commotion coming from downstairs.

It didn't sound emergent so I decided to continue to relax which is what I was doing when the kids barged in the bathroom.

"Mom!" Tye said as he hovered over me holding a white towel. I looked up.

There was something in the towel.

"Mom, help us!" he yelled.

Erika sobbed.

I sat up just enough to peer up and over into the towel.

Wrapped carefully in the towel, was a very wet, half-dead looking vole. Its eyes were close, its mouth open and was gasping for little vole breaths.

"What in the heck?" I demanded

Tye responded as quickly as he could, "It's not my fault! Erika wanted to bring it in the house for a pet. I told her that you said they were dirty and had diseases so...she gave it a bath in the kitchen sink and now, look, it's dying!"

"I just used warm water and soap like what you tell me kills germs on my hands mama" Erika said.

The kids were clearly distraught. I could handle cuts, stitches, broken bones, anything but something dying really got to me, vole or otherwise.

I jumped out of the tub and threw on the first thing I saw. My hair was dripping. I began to panic. I was not going to touch the thing so I grabbed Erika's fabric covered polka dot decorative hatbox (which I loved) and put the vole inside.

As we rushed down the stairs Erika was sobbing and cried,"I killed her. I killer Lolly Elizabeth GoodGirl Jordan!"

This was lovely, we had already named, loved and killed a pet. How long was I in that tub?

I made the kids stay in the house and I told them that I was taking the vole to the neighbors house and she would get it to the vet as soon as possible. My neighbor responded quickly and acted like she drove off with the towel wrapped vole as I snuck around the side of her house with it.

The vole was still gasping for breath and it upset me very much to watch. I feel bad when I kill a fly. I knew I had to do something to end its suffering.

I laid the hatbox on the grass, ran to the hose, turned it on, and threw it in the hatbox. It started to fill up with water. Soon the water filled up over the vole, or, excuse me, over Lolly.

I fell to my knees and sobbed. I cried so hard I could hardly breath. I was devastated. I was terrible. I just...ended a ...life! It was almost more than I could take. I laid next to it in the grass crying when I heard somebody... burst out in the most hideous laughter ever! I turned around, my neighbor and her husband were laughing out of their minds.

They walked me to the patio furniture to have a seat and debrief me of my traumatic experience. All the while they were snickering and laughing at me. It was just a vole.

I pulled myself together, wiped the mascara off from under my eyes and walked back to my house to cheerfully report that Lolly made it to the vet and was resuscitated and doing fine. She would be staying there until they could acclimate her back into the wild with her family where she would live happily ever after.

The End.

Stay tuned next week for more Vole Tales...

http://www.talkingpets.org/?mid=29455913

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Attitude of Gratitude

Since it has been three days, I have to blog tonight. If I don't, I'll have to change from the "Almost" Daily Blog to the "Occasional"Blog. I'm just not ready to do that.

I know most of my blogs are a comic relief for me; a way of letting go of the frustration in life. Adding humor always does that for me.

Today, I am somber. Today, I am grateful. Today, I have been reflecting. This is typical for me on this day. Tomorrow we go in for my son's annual tests and check up on his heart.

I won't sleep much tonight. This is the day I beg and plead with God. I pray that tomorrow when I go to bed, I will get some sleep and my heart can rest...at least until next year.

He is in his room right now just next to mine. I can hear him humming a happy little tune as he is getting ready for bed. I am grateful he is oblivious to all of this. I am grateful this is my burden right now and not his.

Eight years ago, I had just given birth to my first child.

I wasn't ready to be a mom yet. This decision to start a family was pretty much made for us. I admit, I could have pushed a lot harder in that delivery room but I needed the time. And, I guess so did Tye. His shoulders got stuck, the doctor panicked and it took about six people all pulling together and an act of God to get him out without having to break his collar bones.

He was precious but I have never been able to call him my "little boy" weighing in at 10 pounds. My husband reveled in his giant football-playing son. Almost big enough already to play pee wee league.

Shortly after his birth, a physician came into the room to talk to me. He explained that there was something wrong with my baby's heart. When they released us from the hospital we could go home for one night but we needed to go to the Children's Hospital for tests that next morning.

This was something I was not prepared to hear. I spent the day to myself. Everything around me seemed a blur. I didn't want this for my son. I was scared of what it might bring.

I decided to go down to the nursery. I saw my husband and a nurse in the back of the room dressing my baby. As I approached, another nurse came from behind me to talk to my baby's nurse.

"Janet, what do I need to do with these stillborn pictures?" she asked.

My steps froze and my heart with it. As sad as I felt right now, it was nowhere near that poor mother in the room next to mine. I got to take my baby home and hold him. He was still breathing and living. My outlook changed, I instantly felt gratitude for what I had and learned to accept it no matter what.

When we arrived at the Children's hospital, we were treated so well. I was told that I could not feed him in case he needed to be sedated for any of his tests.
After a few hours, they changed their mind when my milk came in and I was about to pop and I looked like a leaky fire hydrant.

It was a long, long day. Finally we got to meet with the man that would tell me what was wrong.

He explained that his valve didn't work right, and nicely drew some pictures. Then he asked if we had any questions.

"Is he going to be able to play football?" my husband asked.

"Oh my gosh! Is he going to live?" I interjected.

I was assured that he would live and that his condition was at worst moderate. We would eventually have to do surgery but we would not know when that would be.

Yet somehow it was always lingering in the back of my mind, there was always a weight on my shoulders; this fear that I could not shake.

I couldn't imagine them taking a saw to his perfect little chest and cutting him open but my mind imagined it for me.

Each time I bathed him and washed him, I washed over the invisible scars that were already there in my mind. I tried to toughen up and prepare myself for this.

All they knew was it was not going to be right now. Each time we come in, we will evaluate and see if it is time for surgery. This would require a valve replacement. And depending on how well the outcome, would decide how long he would get to live. Yet nobody could give me any kind of guess to what that might be and we would pray that technology advances faster than his deteriorating valve.

We learned when he was three that he got his heart from his grandpa who was diagnosed with the same thing that year and died in surgery.

And each time, we found no news was very good news. Until two years ago.

He had for some reason had a larger than normal increase in deterioration and the valve was leaking more than before.

They suspected if it kept up at the same rate, that at the next years' check, we should prepare for surgery.

And faster than I wanted, that check up came. So we faced it head on with our faith in God and many prayers as our only guiding hope.

During his last test, the technician did something unusual. He left the test and returned with the physician. The physician reviewed what was happening on the Doppler and on the screen. He seemed anxious, intent. He lifted Tye from the exam table and sat him upright. He took his stethoscope and listened. He quickly asked the technician to turn off the machine so could hear better.

He listed intently again. He then opened the curtain and asked the nurses in the other room to not talk. He listened again. Then he left.

I was beginning to get nervous. He returned a minute later with a chart and read through quickly and set it down.

Then, he listened again.

Finally, he sat down in the chair next to the table and set down the chart. And then he just stared at us for a second before he spoke.

"I don't know what to tell you. Looking at his history, each time he comes in he deteriorates a certain percent each year. Since looking at the increase from last year, I anticipated another significant increase. However, it has somehow stabilized for now and barely progressed at all. But what I find more interesting, is the fact that every time he comes in, we can literally hear the leaking in his valve through the stethoscope. And...I can't hear anything. In fact, I can't give you a scientific reason why that has happened. I will be changing his condition from moderate to mild and.....I am going to let him play baseball. But that's it, nothing else, only baseball."

This was amazing to me. We picked up our things and left. Tye held my hand as we walked to our car. And he skipped through the parking lot.

When he looked up at me he noticed that I was crying. I couldn't hide it any longer. He stopped.

"Mom, why are you crying? Cause I got a bad heart like Grandpa? he asked me.

"No honey. I'm crying because I am so happy!" I said.

"You are? You're happy cause the doctor told me I get to play baseball and maybe even do karate one day?"

I just nodded my head.

"Me too." he said and he continued to skip to the car.

I can't always expect a miracle. I would think that one per lifetime is enough. And though it still progresses toward the inevitable, knowing that we bought a little time, made me feel better.

Most of the time I am complaining about my kids being naughty or ratting them out for something they do. But the counter to that, is that without comparison, they bring me far more joy and happiness than I ever thought possible! And thinking about even one day without them, brings a downpour of rain.

I'm still not ready for motherhood. That's obvious by my terrible parenting methods and oversights. But, I am working on it. And to those of you not ready for motherhood either, guess what? You never will be! It's a hands-on training. Baptism by fire. The hardest and by far most rewarding and wonderful thing you will ever do.

So once again, we face tomorrow. I can only hope that we will be skipping to the car again when we leave.

I can hope.

Update on February 6th:
First of all, I am overwhelmed by my good friends and family. I have had lots of emails asking for an update. I would like to be able to say that we received good news today but that was not the case. Although, things could always be worse, so I still count my blessings.

He has been moved back to moderate status, his valve is leaking more and his aorta is weakening. So we are moving more rapidly towards surgery but still not sure when. We are just trying to get the most mileage we can from it first.

I was surprised when the doctor said he wanted to monitor him a little more closely and he was concerned for the significant increase in deterioration.

We knew it was inevitable. I am hoping to continue to prolong repair as long as necessary.

Once they put a valve in, it usually lasts a max of 20 years before it needs to be replaced. But subsequent valves replacements never take as well as the first and most doctors will only allow two.

Thank you for all of your love and support.


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Never Cry Wolf

Last fall, I was down in the kitchen making dinner and talking on the phone. My kids had decided to take a bath together-whatever right? If it keeps them quiet and out of my hair…anything goes.

All of a sudden I hear screaming from upstairs. Both of them were screaming! I couldn’t understand what was going on.

So with all of my might, I ran up the stairs as fast as I could to see what was going on. There were blood-curdling screams coming from my bathroom.

Huddled together, clutching each other for dear life were Tye and Erika as far from the edge of the tub as possible. They were screaming and very frightened as they look right into the bathtub water.

“Get it! Get it” they yelled.

“What? What is going on?” I demanded. They seemed to ignore me and continued to panic.

I looked down into the bathtub water where their eyes were fixed expecting to find the world’s largest spider or something terrifying.

I had to focus for a minute. There was something in the water but it was unidentifiable. I couldn’t make out what it was.

“Oh my gosh!” I screamed

“Is that poop?” I yelled. “IS IT POOP, I said!?” I demanded but they continued to scream and panic and hold each other hysterically.

I grabbed the biggest wad of toilet paper the world has ever known and bent down to nab the floating log of poop. I was furious that I even had to do this; they were so old enough to know better.

I hesitated slightly as I reached for the poop, closed my eyes, crinkled my eyes and lunged in for the kill.

“Mom, don’t worry, it’s not real poop. It’s a brownie that we made to look like poop.” Tye said.

“Yeah, we are just pretending it's killer poop and wanted you to rescue us.”

What? What?

This was not funny at all. I was not happy about the game of “cry wolf” or should we say “cry poop” but when I had to clean brownie pieces and walnuts out of the jets in my bathtub, I was fuming mad!


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Confessions of Motherhood

So, a few years back, summer was on the horizon. Tye was four years. We spent many an afternoon out in the yard playing trucks or getting wet in the sprinkler. I knew this was the year that he would figure out what the ice cream truck was. And we had the most persistent ice cream man ever!

I heard the off-pitch eerie minor version of "Fur Elise" several times a day.

I so dreaded the tantrums that would soon approach as he begged for money to buy ice cream. I could just see it happening.

I didn't think it would be so bad if I was one of those people that always kept cash in her purse. I did not. I used my debit card for every purchase. And although I was not sure, I suspected the ice cream would not be able to run my card.

I sat on the front steps reading a book while Tye and Erika played in the lush green grass in our yard.

Then, I heard it! Here it was. Coming around the corner was ...the ice cream man!

Without much thought, and in all of my desperation I said,"Tye, come here!"

He quickly ran to me.

I pulled him close and looked him in the eye.

"Do you hear that sound?" I asked.

He nodded his head; his eyes were large.

"What is it?" I asked him.

He shook his head.

"That's the ice cream truck."

His little eyes lit up.

"Do you know who drives the ice cream truck?" I said.

"The DEVIL...and when you hear it coming you better get inside the house and hide!"

He ran in the house as quickly as his chubby little four-year-old legs could carry him.

Now, I know this sounds terrible. I was stretched to the max with a job and two kids and a traveling non-existent husband. I was only attempting to make my life a little easier, that's all.

I had forgotten all about this until when last year, a new babysitter was tending the kids just for the day one summer.

When I picked them up I asked how they did.

The babysitter replied, "They did really well, but...I have never seen two kids more afraid of the ice cream man, of all things!"

I dreaded the next few words that were coming out of her mouth.

"Really?" I asked. "That's weird" I said.

"Yes it is. In fact, they told me that you said the devil himself drives the ice cream truck. Isn't that silly?" she asked.

We both just laughed.

"I don't know where they would get an idea like that." I responded.

Isn't life crazy....?

Did it teach me a lesson? No, I don't think so.

How do I know?l

Well just a couple of months ago, I was doing Erika's hair. Out of nowhere, she let out this whiny cry and said, "I am never going to get married and be a mother!"

"Why Erika?" I asked sadly.

"Cause I don't want to grow eyes in the back of my head. Then it will hurt every time I brush my hair." She cried.

Okay, maybe I need to be a little more cautious.

Now, don't you dare sit and judge me! You know you too pull these tricks now and then. The only difference is that I am brave (or dumb) enough to confess.....



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Bounty Hunters and Mercenaries

As part of my requirements into the nursing program, I had a list of things to accomplish before I could be accepted. I had a drug test, lots of immunizations, a t.b. skin test, and two background checks. One check had to be completed at the F.B.I. Headquarters and required me to go to the Bureau of Criminal Investigations for finger-printing first.

While at the B.C.I., Erika and I stood in line waiting for our turn to pay at the booth then called back to be fingerprinted.

This was also the place you had to go to apply for a concealed weapons permit and anything to do with criminal investigations. It was a very interesting place.

In one corner was a man in faded out jeans, very worn-in boots covered with mud, an old button down shirt and a rugged felt cowboy hat that had the ring of sweat around the brim. His skin was sun scorched, his face was wrinkled. He looked like he just set foot out of a real western movie. He was leaning up against the wall with the back of his heel perched up on the wall too.

Sitting just a few chairs to his left was a man that I am very confident and sure is a mercenary of some kind. He was very shady. He had a scowl on his face and his brow was permanently furrowed.

A rather large man sat just across from him. He had bleached blond matted looking hair in a mullet-style hair cut. He had a tee shirt that he had cut the sleeves off himself, kind of like the kind Cooter wore on the Dukes of Hazard. I swear it was Dog the Bounty Hunter.

After three days of dragging poor Erika around completing tasks for nursing school, she was very quiet. She sat in each waiting room so patiently and without complaint. However, this time she was very observant.

"Mom" she said wryly as she shook her head in disapproval. "I don't think some of these people will make very good nurses." she contorted.

"I think you are right Erika." I replied. "Indeed you are right..."


Now, people...you know I am reeling you in and getting you comfortable before I start talking about the stuff that is really going to freak you out! Mwahahahahahah...




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