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Well, I have been taken to task by my itty, bitty, baby brother.  Calling him that made him furious, years and years ago.  I am thinking now, it’s just dandy. Anyway, yesterday was his birthday and I didn’t even mention it.  I DID remember and called him and all that, but, reporting on the U.P. just seemed to be foremost in my thoughts because, I suppose, I felt like I needed to explain, partially, why I hadn’t been keeping up with this blog.  Not that a U.P. is more significant than his birthday, or even an S.P., but over here in this household you just get caught up in all the excitement of the bowel movements.  You understand.  Sure you do. YESTERDAY, baby brother, Cam, turned 37 years old.  I go back and forth between thinking my teenagers are aging me faster and then I think it’s gotta be him.  He will catch up someday, but for now he’s eight years younger. I remember when he was born, and that’s saying a lot because I have very few memories of childhood.  I was roused in the middle of the night and taken to my auntie-poo’s house to stay while Mither and Pop trailed off to the hospital.  I don’t remember visiting in the hospital, but I’m sure I did.  This was back in the day when a 3 day maternity stay was the norm.    When he finally came home I LOVED that baby with an intensity I assumed only a mother could feel.  He was MINE.  I wanted to do everything for him.  Well, almost everything.  I remember him as a toddler so well.  He was adorable.  I took him everywhere I could with me.  We were living in Lafayette, La. and the subdivision we lived in had a local 7-11 store several blocks away.  My friends and I would walk down there regularly.  I dearly loved pulling my little brother behind me in a wagon outfitted with pillows and a blanket if it was cold.  In the store, I always bought him some candy and then we’d set out towards home.  We took baths together and had tons of fun in the bathtub.  I am sure we splashed an entire ocean of water on the floor. Any time he got into trouble and was being punished or scolded, I cried longer and harder than he did.  He called me “Ya-Ya”, and if he was being put in a time out in his room he’d sit in there and call for me until I convinced our mom to let me go in to see him. And then one day, it happened.  He soured for me.  He was no longer The Golden Boy.   I believe he was 4 and I remember telling my mom that “He is SO spoiled!”.  And the funny thing is that I had absolutely NO idea how he got that way.  Mom says he still worshiped me and I just didn’t think any of what he did was acceptable anymore and he was acting like a baby.  He was 4 and he needed to grow up. The problem, I can see as I look back, was not that he was 4 but I was 12 and about to be a teenager.  (Oh Lord, thank you for giving my parents a stalwart nature more suited to an adventurous pioneer and, consequently, the ability to let me live.)  Oops, was I praying?  Er, yeah, sorry ’bout that.  The mention of the word “teenager” frequently brings on an involuntary fervent prayer response.

A few days old.  Fat ass weighed 9 lbs. at birth…

His second Halloween… hard to tell if his cheeks are full of candy or….  No.  He’s just fat.

Playing with a puppy at our grandmother’s house.

Looking adorable in the backyard at our house.

Here he is with “Baby”, his constant companion.

And a scarecrow for his third Halloween.

Four years old and for the LONGEST time that hat never left his head.  He even wore it to school everyday in Kindergarten.   He’s snaggletoothed here because I ACCIDENTALLY kicked his tooth out.

Loved playing anything outside.

Four or Five years old and was already interested in music.  He now plays a guitar quite well.

Special thanks go to our dear Mither who scanned and sent these pictures after digging through thousands and getting all mired down in “Oooooh LOOK!…AWWWW, he’s soo CUTE!  OH, I’d forgotten all about that!  Look at how sweet!…”

Ever since Henrietta has been back from the hospital after the fall she had over 3 1/2 years ago, she has, from time to time…entertained night visitors.  No.  She is not running a brothel. (I would be getting a cut of the proceeds.)  She sees people very vividly at night.  Occasionally, they answer her when she speaks to them, usually yes or no answers to her questions.  There are usually groups of people gathered and most often children are there, too.  The children are playing with one another sometimes and the women are usually older.  The men are sometimes short and sometimes very, very tall.  She can never see the face of the really tall man, as he is over in the corner and it is too dark to see him.  She tells me about these vivid…sights and what all she says to them and if she gets any answers, (she sleeps without her hearing aid, so she can’t hear the answers unless she puts it in).  She can describe in minute detail what they are wearing and the expressions on their faces.  It always ends when she gets annoyed that they won’t leave and she turns on the lamp on her nightstand.  Poof.  No one there.

At this point I’d like to point out that our house is about 20 years old and no one has ever died here, with the exception of the FIL, Marcos a couple of years ago.  He could hardly bring all those other people here as he was fairly unsociable and I find it hard to believe he has changed that much since he died.  Plus, I am assuming H would recognize her husband among the crowd in there.

What do you think?  Keep in mind she is completely sane and has absolutely no cognitive problems at all, with the possible exception of believing herself to be the center of the universe.

I really am interested in what anyone might have to say about this.

Well, after several phone calls during the night with questions of some urgency about where to turn or what exit, I got the final one at 4:15 AM saying, “We’re here!”  I have talked to them several times since and Mither, also.  They are SO EXCITED.  Just a few moments ago I got a call from them saying they are all going to Greenwood to eat lunch at the little Greenwood General Store/Gas Station/Eatin’ Spot.  I have been there to eat with my parents before and it is an extremely quaint little, old store/restaurant that makes the best homemade hamburgers I have ever tasted.  Also, the best fried catfish.  It was interesting reading up on the little town in the info in the link.  I believe it said the last census count  was 76 back in 2003.  However, since the town was settled back in the 1870’s it has had as many as 300 residents.  Just a thriving metropolis. Hee, hee…

It has poured buckets and buckets of rain all day and everything is good and soaked and I feel that there is very little chance that anything could catch on fire from fireworks tonight.  So I guess this is good.  John is at work, so we will just “celebrate” separately, for now.  Tomorrow he’s off and SIL will stay here for a bit with H and we will brave the hordes and go…somewhere.

I will leave you with some images from Nana and Pop’s house… because I feel like everybody should be able to go to such a neat, wonderful place and I wish I could take you all.

Here is Ricochet.  He has wandered up onto the back porch again.  Silly thing likes to look in the windows.  He really should have been named “Tom”, as in “Peeping”.

View of the pond from the back porch during a really good blanket of snow this past winter.

Just a few hours old colt, during the same snow.

John is working late tonight and Henrietta wanted to be fed something that no one else will eat.  Done.  I am not a very big supper eater.  Kes is 18 years old and just read me the riot act about not getting supper done early enough to suit her.  I looked at her blankly and said, “Supper?”  To which she grabbed her purse and stormed out muttering something about going to get something to eat.  Clearly, she is steamed at ME.  I think this is unfair.  This is just me sawing away in a frenzied manner cutting the apron strings a bit. PLUS there is always the chance that she will think that if she’s not going to stick around and eat any food I may or may not produce, then maybe she shouldn’t accept any money for her college education….  Yeah, right.

Poor H.  She woke up early this morning due to her foley cathater failing during the night.  She was swamped in urine.  Wet gown, soaked diaper, wet chux, wet sheets.  It was all very bad.  She kept apologizing to me the whole time I was cleaning her up.  It is very hard to listen to someone apologize through chattering teeth for something they had absolutely no control over.  Anyway, the nurse showed up and we finally got her re-catherized.  Which is a HUGE pain in the arse hoo-hoo.  She has fistulas.  I swear, she is like swiss cheese up inside there.  I have helped with every catheter change and there are many prayers recited at each one, by H, the nurses, and me.  There are only a select few nurses that are considered experienced enough to get it done right and those are now the only ones that are ever sent out.  It takes over an hour to find the “sweet spot” and get urine back.  She is a nervous wreck all this time cause even small things stress her out and this is major thing on her scale.   So when they are done she is wiped out.  But, in the end, we got pee back in the tube and there was much rejoicing.

Man.  How sad is that commentary on my life?  HAHAHA.

I will post again later today.

I finally put up the new tie rack that my pop made and Mither and Auntie-Poo brought with them when they came to visit last week. No more ties on the floor! I can’t wait until John gets home and sees! Now he owes me-big time!

Behold! The Wall O’ Ties.

First, (and most importantly), Cecilia seems to have…recuperated. Apparently she reads my blog and while she obviously doesn’t have very good taste in literature, she makes up for it in coffee brewing skills. It must have scared her to see how unhappy I was with her performance of late and that I was considering tossing her and getting a new one to be named Roberta. She did not stop immediately after I posted that one about her, yet she immediately began to behave better. I am happy to say she has not had to be restarted in a few days now. I realize that by posting this I have not only tempted fate, I have, I am sure, challenged Cecilia and she will feel compelled to misbehave again. But it won’t last. Not when there is Roberta standing in the wings just waiting to step in…

Secondly. (Oh! Let me warn you, I have been reduced to discussing the weather here.) It finally rained and we might get some more this weekend. WOOHOO!

Thirdly, I have been taking antibiotics since Sunday. Is it a bad sign that my snot is still yellow? I don’t think it should be. I am feeling much better, but I get the feeling that when I finish this amoxicilian (sp?) it will all come right back. I am taking it religiously and correctly, too. JUST TELL ME NOW…AM I GONNA DIE WITH THE SNOT NOSE!?

Fourthly, my older daughter, Kes is at her college orientation this morning with John. (John now has the virus I had that gave me this wonderful sinus infection.) I wanted to go, too, but alas, no one to stay with H. It continues tomorrow and I will get my turn then. I have heard from John a few times since they got there and Kes once. John updated me on what they were telling the parents about the importance of the kids networking and asking questions and joining clubs, etc. In other words, Make the most out of the college experience. They stressed that a 4.0 GPA won’t be worth much if that is all they can say about their college work. Building a resume starts on day one of school. Yadda, yadda, yadda. OK. Point well taken. Now how do we beat this into her little head without causing severe visible bruising? She is pathologically shy. Stating that pains me no small amount as this surely means that I brought someone else’s baby home from the hospital. No. She is not her father’s either. And Jeez, she looks just like us. What are the odds….

John told me they parted the herd of parents and students pretty much right off with the parents going one way and students another. They had crossed paths a few times and waved or sat together. I hung up with him and in about 3 or 4 minutes Kes called and I told her I had talked to her father and she started asking where he was. As if I should know. She then went to the other line and talked to John and came back and told me he was lost because he strayed from the parent herd “so he could talk to you”. Gawd! I’m not even there and everything is my fault! So this means that the whole going to college thing does NOT guarantee she is grown out of that phase. I am beginning to think the gazillions of dollars this whole college thing is going to cost MAY not be worth it if I can’t be guaranteed I won’t be the designated bad-guy for EVERY SINGLE CATASTROPHE. MAJOR OR MINOR.

Hopefully, by now a parent wrangler has found him and roped him back in. My fondest hope at this point is that there is a P.A. system and they will say something like…”ATTENTION: COULD KESSA (insert last name here), PLEASE RAISE YOUR HAND, WE FOUND YOUR FATHER AND HAVE BROUGHT HIM BACK TO THE HERD.

My fault, indeed.

Stay tuned! Tomorrow is “FECAL FRIDAY!”, where there will be lots of fun and prizes! oh joy.

Well, Mither and Auntie-Poo departed for the long haul home, today. They will be driving north to the Ft. Worth area. We had a lovely time and H was really fairly well behaved. She hasn’t said anything resembling accusations that we were all table-dancing, man-chasing, liquor-swilling, ho’s. I am proud of her.

The house is a wreck. There is no other way to describe it. The combination of me being sick for days before the company came so it wasn’t EVEN in shape when they got here, and then spending the rest of the time frolicking and whatnot, has left it in shambles. (You know how it is once you get started dancing on tables it’s hard to stop). Now we have marauding dust bunnies, piles of dirty clothes that could take your breath away, and a state of general chaos that makes Bosnia look like a sanctuary. Now, don’t think that my dear Mither and Auntie-Poo are the direct cause of this catastrophe. No. They are more the indirect cause. Because since they have been here I have done absolutely nothing in the way of domesticity. I now pay.

In more depressing news, our beloved coffee pot, (I have named her Cecila), is trying hard to get across the point that she needs to be… put down. I know it sounds harsh but, really, she isn’t producing coffee anymore and therefore it is hard to justify her existence at this point. When filled to the top with water for a fresh, aromatic pot of delicious, life sustaining coffee, she “makes about 4 cups and quits. There is always about 6 cups of water left in the reservoir that won’t “make” until it’s been restarted two or three times.

She is only two years old and cost $130.00. This is just soooo wrong. Can you hear me, people?

Please pray for Cecilia. I will surely cry when she goes.

Cecilia

Last night Keelan was having trouble getting reception on her cell phone, (imagine apocalypse, cue scary music, dim lights), so she instinctively avoided the land line and fled outdoors to find a signal. Teenager.

Anyway, she is standing on the porch talking to a friend and she reaches down to pet the cat that she notices out of the corner of her eye while it is eating it’s food. Imagine her delight when she hears a hiss and she looks down to see what’s up and right before her hand touches “it”, she shrieks, hangs up and comes to get me to see this:

I was doing my usual update of the reads and got sucked in completely engrossed in The New Girl’s latest installment of CRAZY MOFO NEIGHBOR. I had tears running down my cheeks by the time I was finished reading it. Truly funny. Go and see it!