Archive for the ‘ Kessa ’ Category

The Funky Chicken


So it’s Saturday morning and Kes comes in and drags me out of bed to go do a little shopping with her.

“OK”, I says, “Let’s go.”

So I hop up and while she gets dressed I am in a little quandary since I can’t find anything to wear that fits. You see, I’ve lost weight. A good deal of it, as a matter of fact. So have Kessa and Keelan. We’ve all been on the diet train.

I put on a sleeveless white blouse and walked into the living room and stepped into the stairwell.



“Come look at this and tell me what you think.”

“In a minute! I’m getting dressed.”

So Keelan has wandered in and looks at me and says, “Why? What’s the matter with it?”

I extended my arms and asked if the hanging armholes looked ridiculous.She shrugs halfheartedly as her sister enters the room and Keelan says,  “What are you going to be doing that would require you to put your arms out like that?”

I immediately reply that there may or may not be an occasion during our shopping trip where the need to do The Funky Chicken occurs.

Kes’s head snapped around like a homing device and her eyes zeroed in on me.

“Mom, let me make this perfectly clear… We will NOT be doing The Funky Chicken at ANY TIME TODAY.”

At some point in the day, on the way to the car, I had a pair of reading glasses perched on top of my head, (I mean how else am I going to read price tags?), and I was taking a pair of sunglasses out of my purse to apply to my eyeballs, having completely forgotten the reading glasses up there.

Kessa pipes up, “Mom, you’ve got too many pairs of glasses on at one time… one’s the limit.

I told her that I always wear two pairs when I’m going to do The Funky Chicken and she came to a complete stop in the parking lot.


I think this leaves the chance open for another day and if I keep my mouth shut and don’t remind her that it’s even a possibility… Well, I could very well be seen doing The Funky Chicken in the parking lot of Target near you. Or maybe even far away. The priceless thing won’t be me doing it, but the look on the young lady’s face with me.



First off, I actually did repaint both bathrooms. OK, right that only took a couple of days and Mither was down here helping. BUT, both bathrooms were in such disrepair I had to house a lot of peace corps people in order to carry out the make over. Yeah. That’ll be a good deal of my excuse right there. Cause I couldn’t just kick them out as soon as they painted my bathrooms! I mean what kind of jerk would do that? They were going to deploy to…. Bosnia in a week, so I let all of them hang here until time to leave.

How many? Oh.

Uuuuh, lets say 30. Yeah, that sounds good.

Are you having a hard time swallowing this?

What I need here is a touch of evidence. Here are some bathroom pics!

Behold, BEFORE! Go ahead, click on it and make it BIG!

Master bathroom 80's wallpaper BEFORE the paint job. NOW you see why The Peace Corps was needed.


Now stop that! I know you can control your gag reflex better than that! You’re being a sissy! Only a few of those Peace Corps folks tossed their cookies. And there were 45 of them staying here, remember!

Allrightythen, moving right along. I’m guessing you are  now wanting some eye relief. Let’s try showing some improvement, but not quite done.

This is the loverly Kessa. She was a tad upset with me cause she didn't have any make up on. I know... I can be decked out to the nines and sporting a tiara and not come close to looking like that.

SEE! Isn’t it a beautiful shade of blue/teal or whatever it is? Talk about “lighten and brighten”! That’s what we did!

Here's the mess aaaaall over the counter. There is so much mess you probably can't even see the Peace Corps workers in there doing their thing.

Here's Mither bent over painting the wall behind the counter. I realize you can't see that much of her, (go with me, here), but she's peeking out between that bucket of joint compound and blue plastic cup of paint.

Here's a close up of my new shower curtain. I got it for six bucks at a garage sale and so the bathroom color was picked around it. SCORE!

This is a really great shot except that the paint is so totally NOT that color. I really did have a hard time getting pics that represent the shade of blue/aqua/turquoise/greenishblue...

See what I mean? The paint in the potty room is the exact same as the paint in the rest of the bathroom. However, I can point out here that the far wall in the potty room does look more like the actual color. I don't know why it makes it such a baby blue in the foreground.


Here we are, still needing bath mats down and towels, but doesn’t it look fresh? You have no idea how much brighter it is in there!

Doesn't this long piece of ribbon look pretty with my shower curtain? I wish I could figure out something to do with it in here.

It's hard to stand where I can get a good shot. Here is a look at the mirrored side, so you can see the reflection of the other.

Now, this has been so long and I have taken so much time to do it that the girls bathroom, upstairs, is going to have to be another post… I have to go… I am a volunteer firefighter and there is a raging skyscraper fire in downtown Houston that I am going to be airlifted to. Yeah. That’s it.


You know. I have several friends, some of them extremely close, who have male children that are wonderful, sweet, mature for their age, able to show emotion, completely functional people that are not emotionally or psychologically stunted.

And then there are the others.

I am admitting to something here that is very hard for me. I am biased and prejudiced and probably not a decent human being. But, hey, I’ve still never had any hate mail and am waiting for it before my chest can swell up with pride and I can feel like a real blog writer!

I am prejudiced by sex.

No. This isn’t a “sexual” post. It is a sex post. Ok, that still sounds a bit creepy. Let’s try this again.

My whole life I have been around people with nice little girls and horrid little boys.

OK that’s not really true. Most of the people I have known have had it that way. I have to admit that there have been those that had very nice, sweet, well behaved, human little boys. But they were in the minority.

Not that they didn’t exist! And I am not by any far stretch of the imagination trying to say that all boys are vulgar, violent, hateful loudmouths who will do anything to draw attention to themselves…

Some of them just seem that way at times, and it throws the others in the fire.

Really, the problem is clearly MINE. We wanted girls both times. We got girls both times and I think we ended up feeling superior for obvious reasons. Not so much because we trumped the “dealer”. (Two out of two… Woo-Hoo!) But because we went into this whole thing with preconceptions about the differences between boys and girls. (I still feel bad about that.)

I remember telling John and the doctor that I really wanted to know what sex the baby was because we wanted a girl and if it was a boy we needed time to get to want him as much as we already did a gitl. And we would have, too. There would definitely have been no sad faces in that delivery room if the thing had popped out with a penis.

But we were forewarned and happily anticipating our first and second daughter.

Now comes the part that you are going to suspect is fiction more than fact.

I swear, I am telling the God’s honest truth.

Those two were the most perfect babies and toddlers that you have ever come across.

There is 17 1/2 months difference in their ages and they were thick as thieves in their early years. One did not ever do anything without the other and they constantly looked out for the other as well.

They have grown apart during Jr. High and High School, but are starting to pull back together again just as destiny dictates. They’ll be fast friends  before long and best friends for life.

I say so.

But that doesn’t make them the perfect children to raise, does it?

I swear, I am not lying, neither one of them ever had a “terrible two tantrum”, or three or anything else for that matter.

I never had to wrestle them to get them to take medicine. Even when tiny babies. I just put the foul tasting stuff into a medicine giver with a nipple on it and they made horrible faces while sucking it down. (I know, you’re wondering about intelligence here… turns out to be above average! Surprised me, too!)

They were so obedient that it made me stop and take stock and pray over and over that God wouldn’t second guess what he had given us and make it hard. Because it wasn’t. They did everything I told them to as if it was not comprehensible not to. It simply didn’t occur to them to test the system.

I feel so horrible for new mothers, or even mother’s of older children who are having a really hard time and I can’t even imagine what they’re going through.

I swear mine were perfect. I would do the entire thing again in a heartbeat.

Yes, I know the nursing every three hours was a pain and all that, but it didn’t last forever. Just a little blip in my lifetime and hers as well. Plus, I can’t say it wasn’t enjoyable. That’s the one time that I could see my daughters looking up at me knowing it’s only me that can do this for them. And it was so good to feel so connected.

They were cuddly and sweet and loved hugging and kissing. This is something that boys, in general just don’t do. (Note the “in general”, I DO know that there are those penis bearing types out there that are loving in this way, but I still feel they are very much in the minority.)

They never put anything in their mouths that did not belong. I swear, they didn’t try to eat everything in sight that would fit into their mouths. Only food that was put into a plate in front of them. They were clearly much smarter than other kids their ages in that they could identify FOOD. They had teething rings and what not and got through all that unhappy crap really early. Like, I’m not kidding you, between 5 and 12 months.

They didn’t pick up anything and attempt to make a weapon out of it. There was not beating or hitting.


There was no screaming or yelling. They didn’t spend the majority of their time attempting to be so obnoxious that there was no way to not to notice them.

As a matter of fact they were so confident in themselves there was never any reason for them to scream.

They just calmly said what was on their mind and trusted that the world would see their insight or questions for what it was.

Heh. I like to think, “From the mouths of babes”, was coined after them.

It SO wasn’t.

I believe Jesus said it, though I can’t think why. Or what book it’s in… Oh well.

So does it make me a horrible person to feel like, just in general, girls are so superior to boys?

I am writing this while John is asleep beside me and baby is between us at the foot of the bed. She is making funny little grunting and sighing noises in her sleep. I wonder if she is dreaming of a hamburger? Every now and then she begins to run in her sleep… wonder if the burger is making her chase it?

Henritta is dragging me down, man…

Hello everybody. I am, (yes, once again), apologizing for my absence. I am needing a note from my mother at this point and even she is miffed that I still haven’t gotten around to posting all the fabulous pictures of Christmas at her house.

Hey, it’s just a little over a week until February and I don’t like to rush things.

Every time I think about sitting down and posting I start off with something funny in my mind and it turns all maudlin in my head before I can get it out. And I don’t think it’s because the Lexapro isn’t doing the job it once was. 😉

Let’s do a rundown, shall we?

Henrietta is still convinced that Gilbert, (the older daughter’s longtime boyfriend), is the devil and frequently can be overheard muttering things about diablo and then using his name under her breath. Yesterday she told John that I was trying to give her drugs that Gilbert supplied me with that were illegal. (Mucinex DM)  She also started crying a few days ago and telling John that she just KNOWS that Gilbert is bringing drugs over here and “shooting” them into him, (John). He had been to the doctor and they had taken blood and so he had a cotton ball taped to the inside of his elbow. I guess I should be proud that she thinks that we only deal with the kind of pushers that use an alcohol pad and then a sterile cotton ball and band-aid after the shooting up. We be classy like that.

She is also convinced that I am a horrible person because I won’t let her go to the hospital. She has been sick with the same virus that has worked it’s way through the rest of the family and lingered in the chests and throats and sinus cavities of each of us for two to three weeks each.  She is convinced she is dying because she has a hacky little cough that bothers her a few times an hour.

I coughed like I had TB for three weeks and and had a rattle in my chest like a maraca.  On a couple of the days when it was at it’s worst I stayed in bed because there were other people here that could take care of her. I heard that woman say to John, “What’s the matter with her now?” John was obviously aggravated with her when he told her I was sick, (as if she didn’t know), and she didn’t say anything else about it. But now, she is telling me that she wants to go to the hospital because she is coughing. When I tell her it’s just a virus she says, “How do you know?”, and telling her that everyone else has had the same thing and the same symptoms does not help.  “Oh, Krissa… you don’t know!”  She asked me to call a friend of mine that’s a nurse that lives about 20 minutes away and have her come and listen to her chest and tell her what she’s got. (As if that would settle it.) I told her no, there was no way. She said, “Well, she could take my temperature!”. I told her over and over she has no fever. She started telling me I didn’t know what I was talking about. I RAISED TWO CHILDREN. LIKE, I REALLY DON’T KNOW HOW TO TELL IF SOMEONE HAS FEVER!

I got the damn thermometer and took her temp. Normal. So she let that drop.  But she started crying because she wanted to go to the hospital. No amount of assurance that the hospital wouldn’t take her would do. She won’t believe it. I explained that the insurance wouldn’t cover her admittance to the hospital for a cough. She just looked away and shook her head like a small child being defiant.

But, she gave up on the waterworks.

In other news…

John is not doing well at all and I am desperately hoping we can find a new way to attack his heart problems with a new pulmonary doctor and when we see him I am going to ask him if he can recommend a new cardiologist.  He has been sick and barely able to function at least 50% of the time since he got out of the hospital. They are not doing anything different. Same drugs, same course of action. (None.)  He hasn’t been to see the pulmonologist since he got out of the hospital because we found out the hard way that he doesn’t accept our insurance. But he is having such a hard time breathing now that we both think we have to do something new. So he will be going to see him on February 2nd.

Meanwhile his present cardiologist is saying that he should maybe consider “another line of work”, that maybe he just can’t do this anymore. As if there are  all these jobs out there waiting for him to just pick one. I think John is wondering if he can do it too.  I am frightened of the future and all the terribly unsure aspects of our lives.


Kessa made a small batch of hash browns the other day for her breakfast along with an egg, ham and cheese sandwich between two slices of perfectly toasted bread. She then walked over and set the plate down on a small occasional table between two chairs in our living room and, (for some totally unknown reason), went down the hall to my bedroom to talk to me for a few minutes. Leaving the sandwich innocently sitting there. On the plate. On the table. Between the two chairs.

Moments later she and I emerged from the bedroom and she exclaimed, “Baby!”  I wondered why since Baby was no where to be seen.

Neither was her sandwich.

Baby was rather shy for another couple of hours, the guilty little shit.

How low will I go? Nobody knows…

Friday, John and I went to JC Penny and I took a gander at the clearance rack.  I walked into the place with a $10.00 off coupon.  I walked out with two really cute new pairs of jeans that cost me a total of $11.21.  AND they’re a size smaller than the ones I’ve been wearing!  “What size, Krissa?”  I’ll tell you.  One more size down and I’ve hit my goal!  Woo-hoo!  How’s that for specific? 😉

I put on one pair of them and wore them yesterday and Keelan remarked that they don’t make me look like I have an, ahem, “old lady butt”.  I considered this statement carefully and decided to let her live after all put it in the compliment category.

Both pairs of jeans are low rise, and while I don’t wear the “Mom Jeans” that  Stacy and Clinton on What Not To Wear are constantly lecturing people about, they are a good deal lower than I’m accustomed to.  I finally went in and put on a belt because every time I stood up I felt like I was losing them by an inch or so.

Then, Sunday,  Kes and I were running into Kohl’s.  Upon getting out of the child’s car, (actually climbing up out of her car, which is what you do with a Mustang…), grabbing the “waist” of the jeans and hauling them up, while pulling my shirt down and noticing Kes staring at me, I turned around so she could see my back and said, “So can you see any butt crack?”

She pinked up a bit, glanced nervously around and said, “NO MOM!”.  While deftly giving the ubiquitous eye roll.  She then had the grace to grin at me and comment that I need to “…get some tight strapless tops today.”.

I told her that I am wearing practically butt crack pants so she can just score one for her team and leave well enough alone.

Free toes, everybody!