Construction Update

Remember my ceiling problem in my kitchen? I thought you might like a little update.

So my sweetie started digging into the disgusting mess that used to be boards beneath our shower. After he slowly and carefully chipped out a huge square, he repaired the liner pan with this special rubber stuff that looks like the thera-bands I got from my physical therapist last year only bigger. He had to carefully glue everything in place with this horrible stinky glue that sent us all to the great outdoors while we aired out the house.

Then after several more layers and some Gorilla glue and some wood, he sent the Drama Queen to Home Depot for the drywall. It was my assignment to clean up the area with the vacuum and remove the incredibly awesome letters Teach had installed as a gift for me. (I'm hoping she has a little more vinyl so we can replace them after everything is repainted.)


After I got down from the ladder and tossed the crumpled pile of vinyl into the wastebasket, I pulled out the shop vac and started vacuuming the floor. This project had created quite a mess! My sweetie had thought to cover the couch that was down a step in the family room, but since our hardwood floors are in need of refinishing next month, he didn't bother to use a drop-cloth.

I found several little splotches of glue on the floor right below where the light used to be. They were difficult to clean up, until I thought to rub a little Vaseline into them. The trouble is, I didn't quite get all of them, because the next time I crossed the room to turn off the shop vac, my feet tried to stick to the floor.

I took a paper towel and wiped off the sticky mess and assumed problem solved. Then I spread out the drop cloth and moved on to other things.My sweetie spent a couple more hours up on the ladder before he finally quit for the night. Since I had already put up my post, I followed him upstairs.

As I got ready for bed, I suddenly remembered those dirty sticky socks and I grabbed a clean pair. The first sock pulled off easily, but not the second one. It was stuck to my foot in three places!

My sweetie was watching Smokey and the Bandit that is until he heard my whines of frustration. He rolled over to my side of the bed. "What's wrong?" I carefully started picking at the first splotch of glue. "My socks are glued to my feet!" I was remembering that "I Love Lucy" episode where she accidentally glued a fake beard to her face. She had to have a special remover.

After examining my foot, my sweetie recommended acetone, then left me to my own devices.

It took me about 15 minutes to finally scrape off the sock and another 15 to calm down. Other than a small piece of skin, there was no permanent damage except to my psyche...maybe it's because I'm a bit claustrophobic, but I like to be able to take things off whenever I want to...without a chisel.

Snakes, Part 2

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Yesterday I told you about the horrible first job out of college I ever had. It does have a Part 2.

It wasn't long before the mama snake had little baby snakes appearing around the office. Some of the guys thought it was funny to chase them around and I saw one slither past my desk one morning while three engineers chased it with a stick. It was only about a foot long, but it was obviously still a snake.

One guy knew that they terrified me and he enjoyed torturing me. He took one of those little snakes and actually tied it around his hat...it's little head and bulging eyes right above the brim, kind of what you imagine somebody from ancient Egypt wearing right before they were placed in a tomb. Yeah, that's right where I wanted him to go...

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And when it wasn't the snakes, it was the mice. There were all kinds of engineers and technicians working there. One of the guys had big heavy work boots that he wore down to the site but he took them off when he was in his office. One day he slipped his foot in to find a mouse had taken up residence while the boots were unoccupied.

Since this was a government-run installation, it was full of inefficiencies. One day the head of the writing department pulled me into his office. I had finally been given a computer and I was working hard. He proceeded to inform me that if I didn't slow down and take a little more time on my documents, he would have to fire me...I was making his guys look bad!

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When I mentioned this to one of the secretaries, she asked me if I'd seen the soft chair that was set up inside the women's restroom. Yes, I had seen it. "Well," she commented, no one would notice if you disappeared for an hour or so every morning." Then she smiled. Come to think of it, I had seen several people snoozing away during working hours. There were only a few women, so there was no trouble reserving a little time for myself.

I was never happier in any workplace than the day I walked away from that job for the last time! Now, almost 24 years later, it almost seems like one of those nightmares that you can't believe you actually survived. After that, no matter how bad my boss or how tedious the work, I'm just grateful.

The Drama Queen

The Drama Queen wasn’t always a Drama Queen. She was born on a sunny summer day in 1989. As a wee one, she was incredibly shy! She didn’t like strangers or ham & bean soup (even though her babysitter insisted that she did!). She started kindergarten 2 weeks before her 5th birthday. She was so small! We were worried for her, but we knew she was smart and more than ready for school.

She was a skinny little thing and she was known to pop her elbow out of the socket by hanging on the monkey bars although anything athletic wasn’t really her style. Oh, she played soccer and softball, volleyball and basketball, but mostly to please her mom, not because she loved them. She even had her stint in dance lessons, but they weren’t really her thing either.

She loved learning and reading! My sweetie still thinks it’s absolutely hilarious that once he had to ground her from reading for not cleaning her room. She was shy and sweet in elementary school, always winning the citizenship and honors awards. She has an incredible mind (she gets it from her dad, not me) that soaks up everything. Then she can spit out random, useless facts at just the appropriate moment. I don’t think she ever forgets anything.


When she was in 6th grade, she had a huge turning point in her life. The sixth graders always put on a Shakespeare play as part of their curriculum, and that particular year they had chosen the Taming of the Shrew. The Drama Queen was so excited! She loved Shakespeare and had already memorized several long speeches. She could even do the English accent (not required for the audition, but extremely cool anyway).

High School Play - a lead role

She was terrified during the audition, but her teacher could see that she had something special (besides a mom who could sew her a costume). She was chosen to be Kate, the Shrew. She worked hard perfecting her lines and the delivery, and when I finally saw it altogether on stage (with her amazing costume, of course) it was hard to believe that this was my shy little girl. She had finally discovered something that she could be passionate about.

After that first performance, we signed her up for some local theater classes, then she auditioned for some community theater. She had a role in Oliver, played part of the ensemble for Jane Eyre and My Fair Lady, but my favorite role is one you have probably never heard of…a Halloween musical where she played the wicked witch lead in Annabelle Broom, the Unhappy Witch.

She had several opportunities in high school with some other leading roles; then she was off to college. She chose SUU because of their proximity to the Shakespearean Festival. She auditioned for a couple of plays there, but the competition is so intense that she was never selected for a part. She was the director of a one-act play as part of her teaching degree. She completed a secondary ed degree, double majoring in theater and English. She was gone for nearly four years and now she is back home getting ready to do her student teaching at a local junior high school.

She is an amazing person! We love having her around and giving her a chance to get to know some of her little siblings better. It’s so fun to watch a movie or play with her because she laughs right out loud. She knows how to be a good audience because she has spent time in front of one. I’ve been looking and I’ve found a place for her to audition this weekend for a community production of Little Women. I can hardly wait to see her on stage again. In the meantime, she can just be center stage at our house when she celebrates her 22nd birthday today. Happy birthday, Drama Queen. You’ve filled our lives with love and laughter. Love, Mom

My Dad

My dad came up for dinner tonight to celebrate Fathers’ Day with us. It wasn’t until he asked me if I blogged today that I realized I had missed a huge opportunity…It was easy to write about my mom for Mothers’ Day and even my MIL and Grandma. It’s a little harder to write about my dad. As a kid, Dad and I had our moments. I was not an obedient child, but I was a straight shooter. I said what I thought and usually he didn’t like it. I used to think that meant he didn’t like me, but now that I’m raising kids of my own, I can see the world a little differently. 

Dad and Sport

 Dad was a teacher by trade, but with 8 kids to feed, he had to find other ways to bring in a few extra dollars. I’ve told you before that he had a farm and I was raised with the chickens, cows, and sheep. He also taught drivers’ ed, and that kept him running for at least a couple of hours after school every day. Then he was the game announcer for many of our high school sports. He also drove the Bookmobile every summer. I think my dad was just so overwhelmed with the every day effort of taking care of all of us that he didn’t have time to watch our ballgames or read us stories. Even when he would finally quit working for the day, he was exhausted and just needed a few minutes to unwind. 

The best thing that ever happened to my dad (at least in my opinion, he would probably tell you something else), was when he became a grandpa. After he retired, he finally had the time to play with the grandkids, bring them tootsie rolls, and read stories. I love watching my dad interact with my little ones. He loves them all equally and he is always willing to hold a sleeping babe or attend a concert or dance recital. 

Dad and my grandma and the grandkids (26) and great-grandkids (2) summer of 2007

Dad and Taco

 He is 75 years old and still actively involved in community service. As a commander in the Legion Auxiliary, he has a fancy uniform with white gloves that he wears to funerals where he is in charge of the men as they issue the 21-gun salutes for veterans. He is a proud member of the Kawanis and I’m pretty sure he is the president-elect, meaning he will serve as president of his chapter next year. He works at the temple on Saturdays and the Family History Library on Fridays. 

One of my favorite memories of my dad happened about 6 or 7 years ago. My mom was very sick and she had to be on daily dialysis so the two of them had moved into Utah County. They lived with my little sis for a while, then Mom moved into a care center so she could have full time nursing help. Dad spent as much time as he could with her and she would have good days and bad days. On one of those good days, we celebrated someone’s birthday party at a park in Lindon. 

The Dog Walker’s latest obsession was softball, so he dragged all of our equipment out to the van. I told him I didn’t know how many people would be interested in playing, but he could bring the stuff along and we would see. Mom was feeling pretty good that day and she sat and watched us all play ball for over an hour. Dad played baseball and basketball in college, but we were surprised and delighted when he picked up a bat and agreed to hit. It was the first of many family softball games that included Dad while Mom cheered him on. I miss those days. The family parties are not the same without Mom. It will be five years tomorrow since she passed away. Dad still mourns her loss, but he has somehow found a way to keep on living a family-oriented productive life without her. 

Dad and Mom surrounded by grandkids at Taco's first birthday.

I know he reads my blog every day, so just for him…Thanks for being such a good grandpa for my kids, for putting up with them when they jump on you, begging for tootsie rolls and stories. Thanks for bringing fruit snacks and macaroni and cheese. Thanks for sharing your life with us; we love it when you are here. Thanks for putting up with me during my growing up years. Thanks for food and clothes, dentist and doctor visits. 

Thanks for adding $5.00 to my bank account every year on my birthday even though I usually just begged you to give me the money. Thanks for forgiveness. Thanks for letting us borrow your truck to bring the Drama Queen home from school…the new tires and tank of gas did not go unappreciated. Thanks for reading my newspaper and raving about dinner even when it’s just leftovers. Thanks for bringing up my dumpsters and for vacuuming my floor and getting Curly and Scout to help. You are an amazing person and a great example for my kids. Thanks for being my dad! I love you.

Stop the Merry-go-round!

Every year our little city has a celebration called CountryFest. It attempts to mimic those old-fashioned town days we remember as kids where we had fireworks and games at the park, a softball tournament and a parade. Unfortunately, like everything else it has become more of a street fair with dozens of booths all lined up to take your money. I’m not complaining about those people, I understand that they need to make a living, in fact, a very dear friend Becky O'Keefe at Twisted Spiders mostly supports her family selling beaded spiders in booths just like that every weekend. 

More pictures here on Facebook!

But the kids always have a hand out, hoping quarters and dollars just might fall into it. I’ve gotten smarter about these situations and now I simply leave my purse at home and tuck a twenty in my pocket. If we spend it, it’s generally on kettle corn or cinnamon almonds that can treat the whole family. 

So a few years back we took the kids to CountryFest. I’m pretty sure it was the summer I was pregnant with Curly, so my sweetie found me a spot on the grass to watch the entertainment on the stage and then he offered to walk the booths with the kids. As usual, they begged for anything and everything. The Dog Walker in particular kept pointing at the carnival rides and pestering him for money. Now any of you who have attended one of these events knows that the carnival rides are ridiculously expensive…these were $3.00 per ride! That meant even one ride times six kids (who were old enough to really enjoy the rides) was nearly my whole twenty. 

After about half an hour, my sweetie joined me on the blanket with a warm bag of kettle corn. The kids all plopped down around us, digging into the popcorn with greedy hands. 

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 "Where’s the Dog Walker?" I asked worriedly. My sweetie settled himself more comfortably on the grass. "I gave him some money so he could go on the rides," he said. "What?!" I was annoyed. That wasn’t really fair to the other kids and I was not in the mood to explain why the Dog Walker got preferential treatment. 
"It’s OK," he explained confidently, "I already talked to everybody else. They all wanted popcorn." 

I looked around at their contented faces, happily munching and enjoying the entertainment on the stage. After a moment I shrugged my shoulders, grabbed some popcorn for myself, and settled back to watch the show. About 20 minutes later I saw the Dog Walker staggering across the lawn. He stopped first at one garbage can, then about 20 feet later at another. My sweetie choked on his Diet Pepsi. "I guess it worked," he chuckled. I was totally mystified. 

The Dog Walker had finally reached us and flopped down on the blanket next to me. I glanced at his pale face, "Are you OK?" I reached a hand to touch his forehead. He was sweating and cold and clammy at the same time. "You were right, Dad," he managed. "Those rides just make you sick!" My sweetie hid a smile. "How many times did you ride it?" he asked innocently. The Dog Walker coughed into his hand. "Just twice…" I looked at him incredulously. "Why did you ride it twice if it made you sick?" "Well, Dad gave me enough money for two tickets." I gave my sweetie a look. I couldn’t believe he was messing with the Autistic kid. "Why don’t you go over to the restroom and wash up a little," I suggested. "Maybe it will make you feel better." 

As he stumbled off in the direction of the restrooms, I confronted his tormenter. "You are so mean!" I accused. He chuckled, "Best six bucks I ever spent." I was still annoyed. "What do you mean?" He lounged back in the grass and glanced toward the restroom. "He’ll never ask to ride a carnival ride again." And you know what? He was right. Just for proof, I asked the Dog Walker to help me with a couple of details on this story and the first thing he said was, "I hate carnival rides!"

Camping

In 2008 when the Dog Walker was fourteen, he was all excited about finishing his merit badges to earn his Eagle Scout award. It takes 21 badges to earn the Eagle and some of them are required. One of the hardest is Camping. Camping was one of the original 57 badges created in 1911, and to earn it a scout has to spend 20 days and 20 nights camping either with his troop or his family. 

Family campout 2010

We started keeping track when the Dog Walker was an 11-year-old scout. For each trip he would either take pictures and log the dates or draw pictures of what they did while they were camping. He got five days each for his 12 and 13-year-old scout camps, so that gave him a pretty good jump. Fathers and sons times three years, plus several family camping trips and he was at 19. We were excited about this, knowing that with the May Fathers and sons camp he would be at the required 20. That same weekend we made an appointment with the counselor and showed up on his doorstep with all the requirements. 

Dog Walker

The Dog Walker proudly presented all of his pages and dates to the counselor (who also happened to be his scout leader). Everything was perfect except for one thing…we didn’t have enough campouts. "But we counted so carefully," I protested. Our very patient scout leader pointed to each individual camp and ticked up the numbers. When he got to the second scout camp, instead of assigning it multiple days, he only counted it as one! Apparently you only get the full number of nights the first time you go to scout camp. The Dog Walker was devastated. 

We headed back home and my brain was churning. Once again, I was seven months pregnant with Curly and not excited about the prospects of doing any camping. Unfortunately, there weren’t many other options for us. So we pulled out the calendar and planned a trip to a nearby campsite for the first weekend in June. It seemed pretty silly to haul all of our stuff 20 miles down the road just so we could sleep in a tent, but that’s exactly what we did. 

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Willow Park was a huge flat area with some trees, a playground, and lots of mosquitoes. We pitched the tent in the center of all of them. There weren’t many other people around that particular evening and we found out later that it is because they chose that day to spray the area with pesticides. Somebody came around and warned us to stay in our tent between 5 and 6 in the morning…. 

Anyway, we camped as close to the nearest restroom as possible, but I had been getting up four or five times every night and even that 300 feet to the restroom seemed impossible. I slept in my clothes with my shoes at the ready. I spent several minutes in fervent prayer, asking for intervention so that I would be able to make it through the night even though I hadn’t been able to for several months. As I drifted off, one last trip down the road seemed like a grand idea. 

The next thing I knew, the sun was up and it was morning. My bladder was definitely urging me to get up and quickly, but the kids were already stirring and it was time to start breakfast. I am so grateful for these small and simple things that remind me that even the seemingly impossible can be accomplished if you believe in the power of prayer. 

Just in Time

It was the summer of 2003. Bossy had just moved home after graduating with her Associates Degree from Snow College. The Gym Rat was between his junior and senior years of high school, and I was facing the pending birth of my ninth child. Our local high school offered summer college classes and other than books, the classes were free.

We’ve told our kids pretty much from the day they were born that we were not planning to pay for their college education although we were hoping and expecting that they would all want one. That made it up to them to figure out a way to get through school without being consumed by debt. We encouraged them to get all the college credits they could before they graduated from the public school system since those classes were mostly free. So the Gym Rat signed up for what they call Ed Net classes. He and the neighbor girl who lived a couple of doors down the street were carpooling several miles to another high school in our district that taught some classes they both needed. Two days a week, he rushed out of the house, picked her up in his little blue Neon and together they would head off to school and arrive at class just in time.

June slid by quickly and Sport was born right on schedule. Life whirled around me as I slid into the new baby stupor. Most of the kids were working and playing, just enjoying summer. My sweetie had a job where he could work home some, so he was around, making sure all was well. One morning, when Sport was about ten days old, the phone rang.

Since I had many calls and well-wishers, I had the cordless phone nearby. "Hello?" I questioned. "This is LDS hospital," the caller began, "We are Lifeflighting your son to our emergency room. Could you please meet us there?" As if through a fog, my brain refused to work. "What?" I had just delivered Sport at that hospital so I thought maybe there was some confusion. "My son is ten days old…" I hesitated when the caller started again, "Your son was in an accident and was unconscious. He is alive and we are LifeFlighting him now. Could you or your husband meet us there?"

The wheels in my brain were starting to spin. Fortunately, my sweetie happened to be home. We quickly gathered up Sport and a diaper bag and climbed in the car. It had been six years since I had received a similar call about my little Princess and her helicopter ride. I guess you could say that my response had something to do with age or experience, but my reaction was completely different. I knew from the phone call that he was alive, and during the 30-minute drive, I tried to prepare myself mentally for what might come next. My sweetie and I discussed the possibility of paralysis or brain-damage, but the physical agony I experienced with the Princess was not there. I had come to the realization that God would choose the path that was best for me and as long as I trusted Him, everything would be OK.

We didn’t know what to expect as we pushed our way through the emergency room doors. The Gym Rat was the only person being treated; his friend down the street had been transported in an ambulance to a hospital a little closer to home (her injuries were minor). I rushed to his side and he reached for my hand. His own was streaked with blood and he had vomit in his hair. One shoe was missing and his pants had been split completely up the side for easy access to all the machines and monitors that were currently hooked up to him. A doctor approached and for a moment time seemed to stand still. "He’s one lucky young man," he said. We waited expectantly. "He’s fine…absolutely fine." My hands started to shake; a typical reaction for me as the adrenaline drains away. The Gym Rat held onto one and smiled. "Yeah," he said. "The worst part was the helicopter ride…it made me sick."

It turned out that he pulled into an intersection when a car came speeding up and over the hill and slammed right into the driver’s side. The impact knocked him out when the airbags failed to deploy, and one of his size 14 shoes was still on the gas pedal. The car raced across a field and stopped abruptly several feet from the side of a house. He was bruised and sore, but grateful to be alive. This is why each and every day of my life I pray for safety and trust that God will keep me and mine on the right path. It sure worked for the Gym Rat. He stopped just in time.

Don't Drive Stupid

I got a text from the Drama Queen about 4:30 today. "…they’re having an awesome drunk driving demo in the Smith’s parking lot. You guys should come. There’ll be helicopters and everything." Well, who could resist a text like that? Not me…and apparently not Bossy either. We both pulled in at the same time. 

They were still setting up as we strolled across the parking lot. There were various police cars and a trailer with what looked like two carnival cars on it. They had a couple of tables with the proverbial literature and free pens. A woman in a Zero Fatalities shirt was handing out string backpacks and an occasional t-shirt (Princess got one!). I guess she looked like a prospective driver. (I can’t believe it’s only a few more months!) 

 As we rounded the tables I saw the cars. They were placed strategically in the parking lot so they looked like they were in an actual accident. Both were covered with broken glass as if they were simply waiting for a tow truck. We wandered around and the kids took their turn in the "carnival ride." It really simulated what a 5-mph crash would feel like. I think Scout and Taco were the most surprised as they jostled in the seats. 

 Back at the crash site they were preparing for the big event, and by the time we walked back over, the victims were in place. There were five real teenagers involved in the "accident." We happened to know one of them and that made it even more personal. One girl was lying on the ground, covered in fake blood. A boy appeared to have been thrown through the windshield. The driver of that car was sitting behind the wheel. She also had a passenger in the backseat. The boy in the other car was supposed to be stuck behind the wheel of his car. 

As we stood about 20 feet away, the sirens suddenly went off and the ambulance raced to the scene. A paramedic vehicle followed right behind. Curly was terrified and I pulled him up into my arms. Gamer reached for him and put him up on his shoulders. I placed a protective arm around Scout and reached for Sport’s hand. Bossy made similar moves with her kids. The paramedics jumped from their vehicles and began attending to the "victims." Cars along the road bunched up, with drivers craning their necks to see what was going on. Never in my life had I been so close to that kind of action! Even though I knew it was all pretend, tears crowded my eyes as they threw a sheet over the girl on the ground and then another one over the boy on the hood of the car. 

 A policeman pulled out the female driver and administered the sobriety test. She failed miserably and was eventually handcuffed and placed in a squad car. A couple of paramedics used the "jaws of life" to rip the doors off the car and extricate the driver of the second vehicle. Suddenly a woman ran from the crowd as if she were the mother of one of the victims. It was terrifying to watch her break down, realizing that this kind of accident could have involved my kids. 

Suddenly we heard the LifeFlight helicopter. It circled once and then landed right there in the parking lot. The wind threw small rocks at us because we were so close. We huddled with the kids until the blades stopped chopping. The paramedics loaded one of the victims onto a back-board, and wheeled him to the helicopter. The winds picked up again as it quickly took off. We just stood there, looking at each other. Some random grandma gave Sport a hug. I was stunned at my own reaction. It brought back imagined images of my own little Princess being loaded into a helicopter just like that one. It also brought up another image of Gym Rat who took a similar ride. I’ll tell you that story tomorrow. 

**Editor's Note:  Silly Mom, she wasn't even around when Princess was loaded onto LifeFlight. (Mom said: That doesn't mean I haven't seen that scene a thousand times in my head.) I remember it clearly.  As the helicopter landed it blew all the fresh snow from the rooftops and lawns onto the street.  A man-made blizzard.  I remember watching the perfect whiteness fall and knowing that everything was going to be okay.  And then the bright red helicopter jolted me back to reality and I saw tiny Princess looking like a doll on the adult-sized board.  Even knowing today was a staged training and demonstration I had a large lump in my throat watching that teen loaded into the helicopter.  I am glad I have several years before my boys learn to drive.

Thank you Smith's, local law enforcement, MADD, SLCO Health Department, Utah Highway Patrol, and the city council for putting on a great event! 

Just One More

I’ve told you before how my sweetie has this thing for trees…(just like kids) he always thinks there’s room for one more. With the kids that’s been no problem, but with the trees, well, we’ve had a few issues. First we had the pear trees. There were two of them, and they we skinny little spindly things that each produced about 8 pears every season. They were also very needy and after about 4 seasons, they both died a premature death during a particularly cold winter. 

Random photo of Scout and Curly (but it's cute, don't you think?)

Then there was the peach tree. It was amazing! It grew quickly and produced huge delicious peaches nearly every year. Sadly, that’s what did it in. One season the peaches were so numerous and so heavy that the whole tree cracked right down the middle. We pulled it out the next spring. The apple trees were next. The one in the backyard became blighted and died the same winter as the pear trees. We had four beautiful columnar apple trees that threw their harvest onto the neighbor’s driveway. He was all too happy to help us pull them out a couple of years ago. 

Redbud pic credit

Just lately we have another problem. About ten years ago my sweetie planted a beautiful redbud in a raised flowerbed on the corner of the driveway. What were we thinking!? Now that we have five drivers living in the house not counting Grandpa, parking is at a premium. Our garage is full of bikes, Power Wheels, camping gear, and the Drama Queen’s stuff, so it is no help at all. It was finally time to pull out the redbud. 

We had actually talked about this event several years ago and my sweetie vetoed the idea. Then last summer when Grandpa moved in, my sweetie relented and I vetoed the idea. But this time the only one trying to chain herself to the tree was the Prima Donna. (I think she was really just looking for an excuse to get out of her chores…although she swears that isn’t true!) 


So early one Saturday morning, my sweetie and the Dog Walker dragged out the chainsaws and left us a five-foot high stump. It was truly an eyesore! After a couple of weeks of bad weather, they eventually got back to the task. With shovels and the pickaxe, they chopped and stabbed at the huge roots growing from the bottom of the stump. 

After three or four days of back-breaking labor and quite a few blisters, they tied a strap around the trunk. They attached the other end to our rust-colored 70 Chev pickup and proceeded to pull. The strap broke immediately! They decided to dig for a couple more days. A kind neighbor drove by and took pity on them. He offered his huge truck and a real chain, so on Monday morning, he came over. Sadly, even his big truck was no match for those stubborn roots. 

More chopping and digging, and a visit from Blue Stakes later, and they were ready for another pull. Our wonderful neighbor returned (thanks, Lee!), and this time we had success! The tree lay on its side like a defeated giant. I felt a twinge of sadness, remembering it’s beautiful red leaves and the baby birds we all watched grow up and leave their nest last summer. We couldn’t even park our big van beneath the tree because we were afraid it would jiggle the nest and cause the little ones to fall before they were ready to fly. I guess we’ll just have to plant a new tree. After all, there’s always room for one more.

**Editor's Note:  I can't believe she told about the death of the trees without telling about the tree-bush.  I guess I will have to mention that as one to tell later. And FYI if you have a small tree (less than 8 feet in diameter) some cities will come out and move it to a park if you call and offer to donate it.  The city came out and inspected the redbud last year and decided that the tree was beautiful but unfortunately too large to get the uprooting equipment around it. 

Also if you are a google feed reader stop by and enter our June give away.  You could win a Parade-Survival kit check out the Give Away tab for details.

The Tangled Web

Last night I was ready for bed at 11:30 which is kind of a record for me, but I hadn’t been feeling well the night before so I was a bit sleep-deprived. I promised my sweetie that I would finish my blog and head to bed as quickly as possible. Besides, this thing with Sport’s arm had me really stressed and worried (I took him to the doc, btw and she put him on oral antibiotics. The swelling is now 10 inches long and 6 ½ inches wide. If the swelling isn’t down by tomorrow it will be another trip to Primary’s). I had just finished reading my last bloggy friend post, gathered the baby, and turned to head upstairs. That’s when the Prima Donna showed up. But she didn’t look much like a Prima Donna. She looked like something from an 80s monster flick. "Mom," she whined. "Can you help me with this?" She had wrapped the entire front part of her hair around a curling iron brush! The handle and the cord swung loosely toward the floor, but most of the bristles were totally wrapped in her long brown locks.

"What did you do?" My voice raised a little too high for the late hour, but I was exhausted and my patience was wearing thin. "I just wanted to see how this curling iron worked," she stated matter-of-factly. I reached for the rod. It was cold. "Did you even plug it in?" I asked. "No, I was going to figure out how to wrap it first," she said. I rolled my eyes and began tugging at her hair. The hair barely moved. This was not going to be an easy task. I handed the baby off to the Dog Walker and began tugging with a vengeance. This was so not fair! It was my night to get to bed before midnight.

Fifteen minutes later the hair had budged very little. "How did this get so bad?" I wanted to scream in frustration. "Well," she said, "When I couldn’t get it right out, I tried to brush it out…I think that made it worse," she trailed off. "Ya’ think?!" I was ready to get out the scissors, so I sent her over to have the Drama Queen give it a try. Less than five minutes later she was back. The Drama Queen suggested baby oil and some scissors.

Good riddance!

The Prima Donna had an even sillier suggestion, "Do you think if we plug it in it might help?" "Yeah," I answered sarcastically, "Then I’ll burn my fingers trying to do an impossible task." After another 20 minutes, I reached for the scissors. I know I’m the meanest mom on earth, but I started snipping. "You’re cutting my hair?" she wailed. I didn’t answer right away, because I thought she deserved to suffer a little. I was actually snipping all the little black balls from the ends of the curling iron brush. I was thinking that without them I might be able to slide the hair down and off the end.

"Do you think maybe a bobby pin would help?" questioned the Prima Donna hopefully. The Drama Queen was watching and offered, "Yeah, then you’d just have a bobby pin stuck too!" I snipped a few more balls. "You aren’t cutting my hair, are you?" Prima Donna asked accusingly. "How do you know?" I snipped some more. "’Cause little black balls are falling all over me," she said. I tugged harder. After a total of 72 minutes, I finally slid the last of the hair from the end of the devastated curling iron. As I dangled its sad and broken body over the garbage can, I bid it a grateful farewell.

It took the Prima Donna another 20 minutes to comb out the rat’s nest (littered with little black balls) that it left in her hair. She sent me a picture text just before I turned off my light. I glanced at the clock…1:00 AM. My sweetie would be unhappy. Oh the tangled web we weave…well, somebody did something with a tangled web...I'm just too tired to know who!