Oh Heel No!

4:14 AM: Wake and exit bed stubbing pinky toe. Why the fluck is it always the little toe. Fall back onto the bed and weep until BS rolls over.

4:30 AM: Hobble to kitchen, bathroom, shower. Pack. Dry hair. Put on make up.

5:15 AM: Say good bye to BS and print boarding pass.

5:17 AM: Leave Daffy a note and lunch money, a reminder for his yearbook sales, and Math test.

5:23 AM: Walk into garage to grab an ice cold diet coke. See BS standing there and scream at the top of my lungs my clutching my chest and tossing abovereferenced diet coke into the air. A series of "what the...." occurs.

5:30 AM: Great, now my toe is broken and my blood pressure is through the roof and I haven't even left the house.

Insert hour of getting Kidlet up, charging BS's battery, tossing in load of laundry, feeding dogs, and racing to the airport.

7:30 AM: Plenty of time, 45 minutes until take off and security line is short. Wait, what? No elite boarding? Wait, no business traveler's in this line vs. those who insist there IS less than four ounces of toothpaste in the 10 ounce tube on the other line?

At this point there is a woman in front of me with four children. Now, I don't have a problem with children. Really. But when you're trying to cram "orange drink" down their throats IN line while talking on your cell phone please don't get pissed when the agent makes your kids throw out their drinks and you say, "Was that shit free, y'all. No. That's what I thought. Why you be throwing that shit out?"

By the grace of God a new line opens and I'm second in line. After stripping down I look up to find that the only person in front of me has a hip replacement AND oxygen. FanfluckingTastic. No I don't have a problem with hip replacements and oxygen. Really. But have your card out to show the nice man so Minnie can make her muthaflucking flight.

After jamming my broken little toe back into my cute shoes I make my way towards the people-movers. (You know what I'm talking about, WALK LEFT, STAND RIGHT... ) And who, might you ask, would be walking just in front of me? That's right, the orange drink hoarder who almost slipped by me because now she had her hair piece on.

As I was about to step onto the belt one of her kids tripped. I lunged forward so that he didn't bash his face into the plexi glass and grabbed his arm. When I did, the belt ripped my heel off my shoe. "Fuck" I said.

She turned around and actually said, "Don't you see there is kids up in here?"

I refused to dignify and made the 50-yard dash for the BrooksBrother's at the next freaking terminal. I arrived out of breath. They were closed. Now my little toe was THROBBING. I mean it. I briefly considered stealing one of those modified golf carts, but decided I could run faster.

I stopped at the gift shop and paid $30USD for the single most ugly thinks I've ever put on my feet. $30!

I made it to the gate while they were paging me by name for a final boarding call. I limped down the asile and climbed over my seat-mate, who I later learned was from Arkansas. He spent the next 15 minutes talking about his failed gastric bypass surgery and his subsequent complications leading to some very serious bowel issues as a result of having the surgery performed in Mex-E-Co.

I reached into my purse and grabbed an anti-inflammatory pill. My toe was starting to look like a cocktail frank. Really. Six seconds after swallowing the pill with my spit I realized that I had NOT taken an anti-inflammatory, but rather BS's back medication. I spent the next half hour trying not to drool, looking like an extra in a drug awareness film. I decided my only effective option was to ply my dime-sized bladder with coffee and diet cokes. That provided me three opportunities to climb over my gastric-bypass-failing buddy for the hour and fifty minute flight. Really.

When I landed I made tracks to baggage claim. Before I descended the escalators my driver was already calling.

"Tony, I broke my shoe, I'm wearing very Texas-y flip flops and we need to hit a store before you drop me off at the office."

And like magic, he found a mall and parked in the fire lane and I had new shoes 23 minutes after landing.

It's almost lunch time, and I think the pain pill wore off. No I'm just Rocky Mountain high. Hopefully the day improves. If it doesn't, at least I can laugh at myself.

The Forgotten Child

Upon leaving Daffy's football game last night (we won!) BS and I decided to call Daisy to see how her's was. (She is a cheerleader for GhettoU.) Just as he was reaching to his waist to grab his phone, it rang.

"It's Daisy now," he said as he answered the phone.

It took all of 5 seconds for me to realize it was NOT all good in the hood.

"Calm down BabyGirl. What is it?"

"Okay, let me start trying to get someone on the phone. Stay right where you are, we're heading your way now.... Well I know that... Daisy, you're going to have to calm down and give me a minute to work on it...."

After he disconnected from her he turned to face me while driving. He was sheet white.

"Daisy is at the school by herself. One coach stayed with her, but isn't real comfortable since it's 11:30 at night."

"Where is BM?"

We start speed dialing. I called BM. Nothing. I called BM'sHusband. Nothing. I called their house. Nothing. BS called BM. Nothing. BS called BM'sHusband. Nothing. BS called their house and step brother answered. He was under the impression that they were at the school waiting for Daisy.

"Ain't they there?"

Hello Captain Obvious.

At that point BS called Daisy back and let her know we were on our way, and to let her coach know. (I was also uttering silent prayers for safety. Less you think I kid, there is a metal detector at every door in that school district, including elementary. They have a drug sniffing dog ON CAMPUS. There is child-care provided for JR. HIGH mothers....) This hood, my friends is not where you want your kid at nearly midnight, in the dark.

That's when Daisy passed the embarrassed, scared part and was as hot as her hair. FLAMING!

"I don't EVEN know what she's doing! This is BAD."

Keep it even, Minnie...

"Look maybe they're having car trouble?" I offered.

"He fixes cars (for a living.)"

"Well they may have just gotten hung up," I got nothing....

"So they can't answer their phones?"

This went back and forth for an other five minutes. All the while we're still an HOUR away from her school.

Thank goodness Daisy had another call coming in. She returned to the line to let BS know that BM and BM'sHusband were on the way. I stayed on the phone with her until BM arrived. (I could hear her tires squealing as she pulled into the parking lot.)

I told Daisy to have a good night and to call me tomorrow. BS said he loved her and we heard her open BM's car door.

Then there were screams. Loud, pissed off, pms-ing teenager screams.

We hung up, texted her good night, and starting driving home. That's when I nearly lost my mind. It was a combination of fear (little girl standing in the ghetto with a coach that's scared to be there,) anger (who, WHO forgets their baby?) adrenalin (Daffy played one of his best games ever, and I have to punch BM in the neck.)

I started to laugh. I don't mean chuckle or giggle. I mean an full blown maniacal-institutionalize-me-now laugh. Without prompting, BS joined me. As I wiped the tears from my cheeks I was able to get out a few words, "What are YOU laughing at?" I asked BS.

"Ohhh. That is one pissed off little girl. BM is about to get her ass handed to her," he managed to choke out. (Keep in mind we were both still cackling like hyenas)

"No," gasp, spew, spit, wipe tears "Daisy has PMS and Lord help BM is there isn't a freaking pizza roll in that house." I gagged.

And that's what we did last night. You?

The Post That Time Forgot...

Most of the "seasoned" readers of this blog know that I bake every Thursday for Daffy's football team. Some of you may even remember that last year that I suckered Winnie offered to participate in the tradition. Because it's possible that all the Lovelies reading today don't hang on my every word, I'll let you catch up here.

Shortly after that post I received a number of questions, via e-mail about the cookie baking process and Winnie's thoughts as a new comer. Because I pride myself on being the the epitome of efficiency, I'm just getting around to answering them. Just shy of a year later.

She agreed to answer your questions, so without further verbacious interruption from me....
Winnie's answers are in blue, and as usual, my comments in green.

1.) How many cookies do you make?- Sandy, UT
Too effing many
We usually make between 18-21 dozen on any given Thursday. Winnie gets the short end of the stick, as the ColorGuard girls don't eat near as many cookies as the offensive line.

2.) How did she talk you into this?-Noel'sMom, TX
She was living with me. I had no choice
The reality is Winnie lives, sleeps, and breaths culinary goodness. (Actually she'd rather die than microwave popcorn. It's for the chillrin')

3.) What do your Husbands do while you're baking? Your kids?-Skyler, AZ
Husbands-sit on their asses and drink
Kids-sit on their asses and steal cookies when they can
To be honest Skyler, I'm not a fan of two-part questions, but I'll let this slide. This is 99.3% true of the 2008-2009 school year, this year there seems to be a change in momentum. BS is working more, thereby cutting into his ability to partake in a cocktail during the cookie-making.
The kids usually have practice late on cookie night, so by the time they walk in the door, we're just about done boxing them up and have enough time to let them know there will be no dinner.

4.) How expensive is it?- FrugleMum-UK
Cookies- cheap
Alcohol-$9,000
I'd estimate $15-$25 per week. I buy flour, sugar, and oats in 25 pound bags, that helps.

5. ) Are you going to do it all season?- MP, Paris
What and miss all the wonderful entertainment?
She'll miss this next year.

6.) What should every parent know that is thinking about doing this?-4Boyz, NY
Make bargains, (hopefully fulfilling ones) with your kids. Or see #4
Assuming that I had feelings, I'd suggest that long before we're ready, our kids will be on their own. Anything that WE can do to be sure they felt loved and supported while in our charge is a necessity.

So thank you for your patience. I can assure you that I'd have posted earlier, but in my defense, it took Winnie almost 4 hours to answer these questions (after I waited 350 days to e-mail them to her.)

If you have any other questions for Winnie, or about making cookies, or raising other women's children, feel free to leave a comment or e-mail me. (minniesue at gmail dot com.)

Anxiety

Anxiety is a psychological and physiological ... These components combine to create an unpleasant feeling that is typically associated with uneasiness, fear, or worry.

Anxiety is a generalized mood condition that occurs without an identifiable triggering stimulus. As such, it is distinguished from fear, which occurs in the presence of an observed threat.

There is more, but really, I think the trigger is shit like this...

"How DID Y'All Meet?" Part XXII

For the first twenty-one posts...

I went through the day in a fog. I straightened the house, folded the laundry, weeded the flower beds, and waved to the neighbors.

I greeted the realtor with as much excitement as a death row inmate ordering his last meal.

"Well Shug, y'all must be so excited to get back to all those Yankees."

Indeed. I guess that's what I needed. Everyone kept saying that I'd be "home" soon. I'd be with family. I'd no longer have to wonder who all y'all were if y'all were you ALL. I could go back to putting my groceries away instead of "up." There'd be pizza, bagels, theatre.

None of it made sense and I just needed to get through the rest of the day. I was flying back home in the morning to begin my house hunt.




BS called as the realtor was leaving and I let the phone go to voicemail. I needed to let my brain decay. I needed to understand what was happening, because truthfully, I didn't have a clue.


I turned on the faucet to fill the tub and walked around the house to be sure the doors were locked. When I returned I sunk into the small swimming pool that F*ckF*ce insisted we have in the master bath. It was the only time I was glad we had it.




I let the jets pound my neck and back and said silent prayers for clarity and guidance.


With a towel twisted on my head and my robe on I couldn't help but laugh at the image I saw. I was wearing a short, ratty terry robe that I'd had since college; not the monogrammed, lush one with my "new initials" on it. I was wearing a perfectly broken in pair of flip flops from my life guarding days that had seen better days. I walked into the kitchen and made myself a spinach omelet and a tossed salad. That's the last meal I ever made in that kitchen.


When I was done, I called BS back. I left him a voicemail and retreated to the bathroom to take the towel off my nearly dry hair. When I did the doorbell rang.


I opened the door wearing above mentioned robe and flip flops.


"Uh. I'm sorry Minnie. I saw where I missed your call and I was already on my way here. I'll just let you get some drawers on an..."


"Dude, apparently we've been naked together before and I'm too tired to run into my bedroom. Come on in and have a seat, I'll be right back."


He blushed.


A lot.


I went into my bedroom and threw on some clothes. When I returned, in a tattered pair of yoga pants and a tee he was standing in the kitchen looking out to the lake.



"That's the view. Right there. That is why I built this house. I wanted to stand in my kitchen and look out the windows or doors and see water."




"Are Y'all rich ?"




"What?"


"Well I opened one wrong drawer last time I was here and there was a wad of cash sittin' there. And this kitchen, and this house..."


"Don't forget to address my million dollar wardrobe," I added while pulling at my yoga pants.



"I'm just wondering if that's why you stay."


"You're probably one of the most honest people I know. Thank you for that. Really. And no, we're not rich. And no, I haven't stayed because of money, we've been married less than a year. "




"Do you love him?"




"I thought so," it was the most honest answer I had. I really thought so. I also was not too sure that I should be trusting my judgement at the point since the man I love sent me for a ride down the stairs.




"You're honest too," (back off kids. He's all mine.)




"Well geesch. You sure do know how to talk to a girl," I half giggled. "We need to figure out this whole naked picture thing though."


"I'm sure my wife is just blowing smoke," he offered.


"I'll bet your wrong," I told him.

Friday Night Fights...

BM came to Daffy's game Friday night. After each game the player's and cheerleader's parents line the track between the field and the field house.

As BM was walking by I called over to her to let her know that the place we were standing was the best place for her to catch Daffy.

(Now I can't recall if I shared with you all or not that BM had back surgery a few weeks ago? If I did, ignore. If I didn't... she did.) She walked over to the track and I asked her how her back was feeling since the surgery. She responded in exactly the way you or I would have. She pulled her shirt up, pushed down the back of her jeans and showed me the incision.

About this time the Kidlet was walking off the field and I looked up just in time to see him watching the whole scene. Pure humor kids. Really.

I'll leave you with this gem, and ask you to note that the kid in black that my Baby jacked up, he's 6'7" 280 pounds. I may have tinkled in my pants watching this and hearing the thud in the bleachers. It's crazy and helpless enough when you Kidlet is sick or hurt, to pay money to see it happen may just never register in my world.

Here's to Next Week

May it come in easier, and with less...

BS gets sick.

Daffy gets sick.

Puppy2 gets sick.

Both Bosses leave Country.

Crackberry goes down.

Concert I was looking forward to is rained out.

I stripped the spiral on my corkscrew.

I texted P and Jax and let them know that having a sick Husband is AWESOME.

I threatened to crawl through Winnie's doggie door to avoid my family and their ilk.

Heids has the worst week ever.

Okay. I'm done now.

Fred and Sam...

Or a Tale of Two Witches.


My Mom has a best girlfriend. A girlfriend that goes back to grade school, high school, and college, weddings, babies, and grandchildren. There isn't much in this life that they haven't done together. Including raising their daughters.


While our Moms are only a few months apart, (here is where you should note that if my AuntCat were to tell the story, it is of major significance to note that my Mom is three months OLDER than AuntCat.) SamIAm and I are nearly 12 years apart. She is the final product, with four older brothers.


She was born the night of the Halloween Dance my first year in Junior High. We all squealed with delight as the phone rang to confirm that she was, in fact, a girl. (Hey, after all those rough draftsboys...)


When AuntCat was satisfied that I was not the world's worst driver, she became my co-pilot. When I came home from college for breaks, she's one of the first people I'd see. At my bridal shower she helped do and plan as much as anyone else. At my wedding she read. She was one of the first family member to meet Daffy and Daisy.


Last year was her freshman year of college and I watched her approach it like everything else she's ever done. She laughed, found the fun, maintained realistic expectations, and realized that she should in fact move to the Lone Star herself.


Now here is where it starts to get shitty. Because if she drops out of her well-known, East coast school to move down South, this is totally going to be my fault. BIG TIME.


Please don't misunderstand, Lovelies, there is NOTHING I'd like more than to have my co-pilot back. Frankly I think her attitude and personality jives more in my current geography than hers. I think she'd excel in an environment like this.


What ever she decides, and whenever she decides to do it, she has my full and total support. However, if I can't post for a year because she dropped out of college and move to Baghdad on the Bayou and my Mom and my Aunt broke my fingers, one by one, you'll understand, wont you?

A Post Labor Day Relating to Labor Post

A normal series of e-mails between my Boss and I.


Boss forwards me an e-mail whereby someone is asking him to do something he doesn't want to do:


"I think you should handled this since they're your buddies."


Minnie reads e-mail and actually READS the attachment:


"See, I’d love to, but if you read the letter it clearly states, “…we need an Officer of your company to become the New…” and since you wouldn’t give me the title of Defender of all that it Good,TM* I’m exempt. "


I lean back in my chair and silently congratulate myself on my clever point while nourishing my brain with yet another dove chocolate square. When my e-mail "dings" to alert me of an incoming message...


"Congratulation on your new title."


I'll give him this round, only because I've got a doozie next week.



*Several years ago after a three days of entertaining customers and bankers the Big Boss and Boss and I sat in a hotel bar and tried to come up with a title for me. Six bottles of wine later I asked to be the Defender of all that is Good. They gave it to me, but I can only put it on the set of business cards that we give to our established relationships.

In Which My Heart Stops...

Because his grades... And his driving... Don't forget the GF... I needed one more thing to make my guts twist every time he leaves the house...

Know this my Kidlet, one day (many, many, many years from now) you too, will parent someone. You will love someone more than yourself.

And when the phone rings past midnight and that child isn't home; your heart will stop.

Every time they pull out of the driveway, you'll utter a silent prayer for their safe return.

When you hear them coughing during the night, you'll get up at 3:30 and start working because you'll know you'll be missing time at the office later to take them to the doctor.

And a million other things that I can't think of in my exhausted, medicated brain, so for now, please just wear a helmet. Please?

Both Sides of My Mouth

The irony of this post is not to be lost on those readers who have been around long enough to know my relationship(s) or lack thereof with my in-laws. Those of you new to TWS may find some supporting documentation here.

Daisy shared with BS last weekend that she was going to spend the Labor Day weekend with MawMaw (my MIL,) who lives about an hour and 45 minutes from us, and a bit over two hours from BM's house. She was going to get there via her Step Father.

Keeping in mind that I speak to my MIL every 3-5 days, I thought it was odd that I hadn't heard from her this week. At all. I called her earlier in the week to see how she made out at one of her appointments I knew she'd had scheduled. She didn't return my call. This is not normal behavior her. At all.

Tuesday night my FIL called. This is even more bizarre. He doesn't answer the phone at their house when it's five feet from him, much less pick it up and dial out. I spoke to him for a few minutes, and passed the phone to BS. When they were done I asked BS if he's spoken to his Mother before getting off the phone with his Father. He hadn't.

Now Lovelies, you'd think by this point BS would learn to NOT bet me... But the adage regarding one's ability to not learn is thriving at Casa d' Minnie.

"I'll bet you BM is going to your Mom's with Daisy."

Shock and Aw...

"Mom would roll over first," he declared adamantly.

"Listen, I could care less. I went to her freaking wedding for shits sake, I'm just telling you that's what I think," I reasoned.

"Why on Earth would she?" he wondered.

"Your Mom told Daisy that there are alot of things that she wanted the grand kids to look at and decide if they wanted any of them. BM isn't missing a chance to take something for nothing."

He looked exasperated, "You're off base."

"When is the last time you talked to your Mom?"

"I don't know. You talk to her all the time."

"She hasn't returned my call in almost a week."

This continued for a solid minute more wherein I determined that I was right and he was wrong. Secure in his ability to "...know my Mom..." the man made a bet with me.

As I laid on the couch last night cramming chips into my mouth we were discussing our weekend plans with Daffy. We were interrupted by his cell phone ringing. He was giving driving directions to someone. I didn't know who he was speaking with wink, wink but I knew those directions. That's how one would arrive at the home of MIL and FIL.

Daffy ended the call with, "Tell MawMaw hi and I lover her."

I snuggled further into the couch's corner so that I could get a look at BM's expression as he realized that he'd lost yet another bet to me...

It was BM. She was just confirming the new exit. Because, you know, she, Daisy, and her other daughter are going to MawMaw's on Friday.

And so I say this.... I think it's fantastic for MIL and BM to maintain an open line of communication and hopefully an amicable relationship. Those of you who don't know me in real life, please know that I mean this with one hundred per cent sincerity. But I can't stand a liar. Even by omission.