Not like I couldn’t blog before. I mean, technically, for the past few weeks I couldn’t blog very easily because my laptop went toes up. But all of the months and months before that? I just wasn’t finding the time.
I’m not sure exactly what I was so busy doing, other than, you know, spending unhealthy amounts of time on Pinterest and spray painting all kinds of crap because, “Look! Somebody pinned a picture of spray painted crap and it looks so pretty!”
On the upside, I started frequenting our local Good Will to find the requisite crap, and I discovered that our local Good Will frequently has brand new, tags-still-on clothing. Actually, a couple of weeks ago, I found a not-brand-new-but-in-excellent-condition, metallic bronze, dressy, leather jacket. For nine-ish dollars. In my size. I so bought it. And then I wore it to church and got a fragillion compliments and, of course, verbally vomited to anyone who admired it that, “Oh my gosh! I got it at Good Will for $9.99! Can you believe that?” Because, yeah, I’m classy that way.
Anyway, I’m saving money by buying crap to spray paint. That’s what I keep telling the husband, anyway.
Now I remember why I don’t blog any more. I thought I had a few quiet minutes just now to write something mildly worthwhile and then *BAM*! My two oldest daughters came into the room where I am because they wanted me to settle an argument about whether or not spikes can be made out of wood or if they are always made of metal. True story. They are still debating.
Personally, I think sharp pointy things made out of wood are stakes, not spikes (according to A~, Dictionary.com agrees with me, thereby proving her contention that spikes are always metal). L~ does not agree. I am afraid to ask how this argument even started and feel the sudden need to lock my bedroom door at night.
So now that I have a new laptop (AGAIN!) (this one had better last longer than two years like the previous two laptops) (one of which was supposedly top of the line, and one of which wasn’t) I have all kinds of plans. To wit: I want to start blogging here again, at least for the winter months when I can’t easily spray paint crap; I want to start working on a novel I’ve been working on in my head for a long time – not in a NaNoWriMo kind of sprint, but in a real “I’m an actual writer” kind of way; the kids and I want to start a new blog all about our new (fourth) dog.
First: don’t ask me about my novel yet. That will just freak me out. I’ve had a bunch of book ideas over the years that I’ve never done anything with, but this one . . . this one is sticking with me. I know my track record. I don’t deserve anyone’s interest. Yet. Until I get deep into it, I’m just a stay-at-home mom wannabe.
Second: yes, we got a fourth dog because we are obviously beyond-belief bonkers. We’re starting a blog for him so that his previous family can keep up on his adventures while they serve a church mission in Guam. Plus? He’s great to photograph and has a lot of personality. It will be fun to write from his perspective. Oh, yes! The dog will be “writing” the blog. It isn’t up and running yet. Not. At. All. But should you decide you just can’t not follow a blog about a shorkie who will undoubtedly encounter Blue Barb at some point, add http://skipperthebard.wordpress.com to your Google Reader account. Or, you know, whatever reader it is you use.
Okie dokie. Aside from all of that, I’ve been out of the blogging world for so long that I don’t even know what else to say. I do need to catch up on all the blogs I haven’t read for months and months (that would be *cough* *cough* pretty much everybody’s), so be, like, SUPER patient with me if I don’t comment on your blog until sometime around November.
Oooo! Ooo! Ooo! Oooooo! It’s been, I think, six months or so since my last migraine! The Dr. told me to toy with my estrogen dosage to see if that helped. He thought I needed more than he had me on. I thought I needed less, as in none. After months of “toying” I just quit using it, and *poof* the migraines went away. So the progesterone was helping, but not enough to always overcome the estrogen that two separate doctors thought I needed. Moral of the story: work with your Dr. but listen to your gut.
Sorry, just seemed like an important update (you know, in case I don’t get back here for a while).
Tewt the Newt hopes to “see” you all again.
I’m sure you’re getting tired of me posting about my horse drama, so today I’m going to talk about some of my kids instead.
It occurs to me: I never actually wrote a post about the last horse drama, you know, before Saturday’s. I meant to post about it under the title I Screamed Like a Girl, but I never did. I only mentioned it on Facebook (which has made some annoying changes recently, no?) and Blue Barb alluded to it on Twitter. So, anyway, just to bring you up to speed, you know, before I talk about my kids instead, here is the Facebook nutshell of that incident (reason #589,671 to just say no when your kid/s ask for a horse):
Today the little horse got spooked while I was riding him and he took off at a full, uncontrollable gallop straight for the deep side of our pond. My life flashed before my eyes, and I’m left thinking, “There’s a movie nobody would pay to see.”
Oct. 21, 2009
All right, on to the little people in my life. Today was the primary program in our branch and, as the primary president, I was pretty invested in the whole thing. For my non-LDS readers, this means the primary children (ages 3-11) did a program for the whole church service. I must say, the kids did an awesome job. They just really, really pulled it off. It was great (though I admit part of me really wanted to coach a few of them on Punctuation and How to Use It When Reading Aloud). But, you know, leave it to my Midge to just be the highlight of the whole program (well, except for the lone child who actually memorized his part and shocked and amazed everyone with his flawless delivery – he was probably the real highlight, whereas Midge was, of course, the comic relief).
She bee-bopped up to the microphone, her white-blond hair bouncing as she went, and read her first part:
“Organize yourselves; prepare every needful thing; and establish a house, even a house of prayer, a house of fasting, a house of faith, a house of learning, a house of glory, a house of order, a house of dog . . . umm . . . I mean God.”
I LOST it. This was a problem since I was sitting right up front so the children could see me and follow my lead when it was time to sing. My secretary, who was sitting next to me to hold up little signs to prompt the kids to sing louder and stuff like that also lost it. And we all know what happens when two people sitting next to each other lose it – you can’t get it back. Except? Somehow we did.
Moving on . . .
You may or may not remember past posts about how my children react, or not, when they catch me and the husband kissing. The girls seem oblivious, as does the Quinn, but the Tank Boy? The last time he walked in on us sucking face he was hurt and confused and thought it all meant I love his dad more than I love him.
But then there was Friday. McH came home from work, the kids were all in the dinning room playing a game, so we were, you know, saying hello in the family room. And then we heard it:
“Heh heh. Heh heh heh. Hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee!”
I looked over my husband’s shoulder to see Tank Boy watching us from the kitchen with this wacky big grin that all but obliterated his eyes from his face. Then he ran down the stairs to the basement, giggling as he went.
Finally. A child with a normal reaction: laugh and flee, laugh and flee.
“This is progress,” I whispered into my husband’s ear, “This is good progress.” And indeed, it is.
Speaking of progress, Quinn seems to be adding new words to his vocabulary every day. Again, finally! Now if we can just make some headway in the enunciation arena . . . But my favorite development? Is the way he says “yes.”
Actually, he doesn’t say “yes” anymore. We were so elated when he finally started saying yes that it would be sad he no longer says it, except? He has replaced it by throwing his arms in the air touch-down style and enthusing, “Yay!!!” while jumping in the air. It’s as if he’s saying, “You’ve finally figured out what I’ve been saying for the last 10 mintues!” except he says it even if you immediately figure out what it is he wants.
So see? There is life outside of dealing with freaked out horses.
And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the Newt says hello.
Because I forget that readers come and readers go, I also forget that not everybody will know the background behind Blue Barb. So, please read
Then, if you are so inclined, go to the categories box toward the bottom of my right-hand column and select Blue Barb from the drop-down menu. There you should be able to catch up on all of her antics.
I actually wrote a Blue Barb novel for NaNoWriMo in 2007, but I haven’t looked at it since. I think I need to pull it out and do some editing, rewriting, and finishing up. It had my oldest two rolling on the floor laughing when they were reading it, so maybe it would actually be marketable. If I finish it. I don’t know.
At any rate, intellectual property rights and all that, so don’t go stealing my Blue Barb. Or I’ll let her out to hunt you down. Along with a team of rabid lawyers.
Not that I think any of my regular readers would do something that heinous. But you folks who stumble across my blog looking for the lyrics to the c00ter/cooler slushing/sloshing/slashing in the bed/back of my/your truck song, and then leave obscene comments about how Ashton Shepherd’s cooler (only not cooler, if you know what I’m saying) can slush/slosh in the back of your truck any time? Well, I don’t trust you as much.
And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the Newt can’t find the pond.
And I am not the only one.
Yes, in addition to her newfound interest in cage fighting, last summer Blue Barb also took up spear fishing. I suppose I could be nice and go chop a hole so she could ice fish, but you know what they say, “No good deed goes unpunished,” and with Barb around we live in fear of that.
How are Blue Barb and Phullabaloney Fill, and why haven’t they been on the blog lately?
Honestly, how they are doing is rather subjective, don’t you think? Especially considering the parties involved?
But still, there is a bit to be said on the subject. Mr. Fill, for instance. He has been feeling somewhat dejected, rejected, nay, unemployed.
Having always fancied himself to be some kind of landed gentry bloke, he was quite happy when he first heard we would be moving hearth and home out to . . . well . . . land. Actually, he was downright giddy. He didn’t even swear for about a week solid. When we actually got him here he liked nothing more than to stroll around the “grounds” and utter British-sounding exclamations of joy.
At one point I caught him online doing landscape research. You see, we don’t have a hedge maze.
But it wasn’t long before he became sullen, and the salty language resumed. Land is nice, you see, but it isn’t a purpose. It isn’t a raison d’etre. With his uncannily accurate ability to predict things not being called upon for several weeks in a row, he became depressed. Depressed to the point that he even stopped walking off maze paths in the lawn.
Blue Barb, on the other hand, has mostly remained scarce. We have not complained, naturally.
She did come out, of course, to do her celebrity endorsement for United Airlines, but other than that she seems to have mostly been pouting in corners. She could care less about the land or the move, but I think she was a bit put out that her endorsement did not garner her the international acclaim and recognition she feels she so richly deserves. As much as I try to avoid her, I have been keeping a closer eye on her whereabouts, lest she try to venture out and join forces with Chucky. It just wouldn’t be right. She would only be using him for his celebrity.
Anyway, in a stroke of brilliance inspired by ten and a half years of being a parent, I told Mr. Fill and Barb to just go outside and play. See? Brilliant.
Not so much.
Is it so humiliating to have to go break up a cage fight between two play things.
After explaining to them the difference between tomatoes and cages and fighting and cages, they left my garden to find some new diversion. Or so I thought. As it turns out, they only moved their operation to a somewhat more appropriate venue:
I wonder if we should up our homeowners’ insurance?
And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the Newt says to place your bets now.