It's like my second job, but without a paycheck.

Because pretty much all I have to talk about these days is tee ball, shuttling the kid to tee ball, who made tee ball all-stars and why we even *have* tee ball all-stars when we don't "officially" keep score, or how insane work is right now, I'm going to bring up something that has been on my mind for a while and still confuses me.

Namely: why my husband still attempts to initiate sex with me in the morning when he knows that A) I don't like it and B) I am *always* running late to get out of bed, shower, get the kid up and get everyone where they need to be on time.  Well, at least reasonably on time...give or take 15 minutes.  (Sidebar: I swear they've started keeping a "tardy note tab" on my kid at school and I'm sure she's going to have to like, make up hours in kindergarten d-hall where they'll make her sit and think about what a bad parent I am for not being able to get my kid to school on time or make her write pages of multiplication tables like my principal did when I was in elementary school.  Except that may have not happened until I actually learned my multiplication tables....hmmm....  Anyway, I'm pretty sure the school secretary hates me.)

Back to the topic at hand....Ronnie's actually come up with a fairly convincing argument, which is pretty much, besides locking the child out of the house (and really, how obvious is *that*), there's just no other time of day that works.  We all get home from work, school, ball practice in the evening, have dinner, do bath time and watch some TV or read books (okay, mostly TV...don't judge me) and then we all crash.  Well, except for the "I'm never going to sleep again and you can't make me" kid that we created.  But Ronnie and I? Totally out.  Exhausted.  Done.

So it's kinda rare for us to get the opportunity in the evening or at night.

Which leaves the morning. 

Bleh. 

You know what I do in the morning? Get up, shower, drink coffee, get ready, get the kid up, get her ready, load the car and go to work.  You know what I don't do in the morning? Talk.

Ever.  Well, at least until I've had one cup of coffee.  And then only if it's something really important like, "I think the house is on fire".  Other than that? Not so much a morning person.

So if we don't get a date night soon? I may have to resort to getting up early to have coffee and brush my teeth before he busts his move. 

Jeez...my mom wasn't kidding when she said marriage took WORK.

Redneck GPS

The other day my husband and I were driving to a crawfish boil at a person’s house that we don’t know very well. (Sidebar: Okay, that sounded weird. In our defense, he’s one of those “friend of a friend” type people. We don’t make a habit of gate-crashing all crawfish boils in the surrounding area. Although, now that I think about it, what a fantastic idea! Hmmm...must consider all angles on this one....)

Anyway, so we’re driving to a town that’s about 45 minutes away and having to navigate the streets of suburbia…which for two rednecks is like driving through a bowl of spaghetti. I can find my way somewhere using only county roads that may or may not be paved quicker than I can navigate my way out of Carriage Ridge of the Hills Subdivision (or whatever lame name is given to neighborhoods that generally do not house any carriages, ridges or hills whatsoever).

Enter the oh-so-handy GPS.

Seriously, I. Love. Her.

But Ronnie? Hates her with a passion.

• In 200 yards, turn right.  Then, bear left.
• In 150 yards, turn right.  Then, bear left.
• In 100 yards, turn right.  Then, bear left.
• In 50 yards, turn right.  Then, bear left.
• Turn right.  Then, bear left.

And he’s all, “No shit Sherlock.” And I go, "Well if you don't like her, we can change her voice to a dude.  Hey, my mom's is Australian! We could change to her an Australian dude! Or maybe there's a British guy or a an Irish brogue guy....niiiice...".

And then he’s like, “Why can’t she just give you normal directions like a normal person? Like, ‘Hey, you’re going to turn right up here, but stay in the left lane'”.

Thus was born my idea….Redneck GPS. (Think "Larry the Cable Guy" voice.)

"So you’re gone go past where Bubba got his truck stuck and round the curve by Ol’ Man Jones’ place and then you’ll see this big ol’ bull in the pasture. Don’t worry…he’ll be there…he’s always there cuz Ol’ Man Jones don’t let him in with his cows till night time. Turn right."

 "After you turn right, look for one a’ them big bass mailboxes, that’s where SherryLynn lives since she moved out of her momma’s place after her momma ran off with the preacher from the Trustin' Love Fellowship and stolt all her money from workin’ down at the Dixie Mart. Turn left right past that."

"Go about 2 miles as the crow flies and that dirt road you see on your left with the dead catfish heads on it? That’s my brother Jim Bob’s place where them crawfish are boilin’. "

And now I know exactly where I’m at.

So two plus two is five?

Things that don’t quite add up:


-A bottle of Dasani water out of the machine in the breakroom at work costs $1.25. A bottle of Dasani water in the cafeteria costs $1.00. Really? Is the Dasani out of the machine better? Or do I get a discount since I walked farther to get the cafeteria water?

-If I drive to the DMV, my truck registration costs $80.00. If I mail it, it costs $81.00. Is someone getting paid $1.00 to open the envelope at the DMV? Can I get *that* job?

-If I pay my water bill over the phone, they charge me a 2% credit card fee. If I mail it, no fee. So lemme get this straight…if I get you my money faster, it costs more? But if I take longer to get my money to you, it’s cheaper? Hmmm…thinking I’ll just hold on to it for a while, then.

-Gasoline at the Shell station near my house costs $3.52 a gallon. Gasoline at the Shell station 2 miles up the highway costs $3.60 a gallon. Did they just not get the memo from Shell that gas went down a bit? Hello?!? Isn’t there some sort of “gas station owner website” with this type of pertinent information on it?

-If I am completely caught up or ahead at work (yeah, right), my boss has assured me there are other places I can go help out with people who are not caught up or need assistance. However, if I am struggling to meet deadlines, she has also assured me there is support out there to help me stay on track. Sooooo….work harder and then do more work or work less and then get help? I don’t get it.

I think we should start seeing other people. It's not you....it's me.

I have a love/hate relationship with my car.

Seriously. She’s kind of a bitch. But then I can’t help but love her. It’s almost to the point of being abusive. Just when I get fed up, she does something nice that reels me back in.

I spend $84.00 to fill her up? She responds with plenty of room for the kids, the luggage and the dog for our road trip to Louisiana. And then she sweetens the deal with the built-in DVD player.

Dammit.

Now I kinda like her again.

I can’t resist her feminine wiles. Is this what it feels like to be a dude?

And just when I feel like we’ve turned the corner and are on our way to healthy relationship full of mutual respect for one another? The stupid gas light comes on. “Fuel Level Low”.

Oh, hell no.

Check washer fluid? Change your oil? Buckle my seatbelt? Rear hatch ajar?

What the hell is wrong with you, Lolita? What? Am I not good enough for you anymore? You know what? If you think you can do better, then why don’t you just go out there and see! I keep you (sort of) clean, dig the crusty French fries out from under your seats, make sure the sweaty tee-ball equipment doesn’t stay in you overnight and program your radio stations to nothing but cool music! But, no, really, go ahead…maybe you’ll find someone who will condition your leather and vacuum your carpets. Seriously…be my guest.

Oh what was that? You have a cool front-end replacement bumper with kick-ass KC lights? 4-wheel drive? A towing package?

*sigh*

I picked the wrong year to get involved with a Tahoe.

A Rastafarian proctologist walks into a bar...

Boy...those dudes who work at The Washington Post have been busy lately.  Glad I don't work there, because apparently they're expected to, you know, work.

The Washington Post has published the winning submissions to its yearly contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words.  (As with the previous Washington Post post, I have no idea if this is legitimate and I don't care enough to investigate, so if you're burning with the need to know, call The Washington Post and find out.  But they probably won't answer because they're super-busy with all their word contests and stuff.  All I know is, don't believe everything you read in an email, because I'm still waiting on my $700,000 from the King of Narobi and Her Majesty's Royal Bank of Bankdom.)
And the winners are: (maybe...then again, maybe there was not even a contest.  Either way, these are fun.)

1. Coffee, n.. The person upon whom one coughs.

2. Flabbergasted, adj. Appalled by discovering how much weight one has gained.

3. Abdicate, v. To give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.

4. Esplanade, v. To attempt an explanation while drunk.

5. Willy-nilly, adj. Impotent.

6. Negligent, adj. Absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown.

7. Lymph, v.. To walk with a lisp.

8. Gargoyle, n. Olive-flavored mouthwash.

9. Flatulence, n. Emergency vehicle that picks up someone who has been run over by a steamroller.

10. Balderdash, n. A rapidly receding hairline.


11. Testicle, n. A humorous question on an exam.


12. Rectitude, n. The formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.


13. Pokemon, n. A Rastafarian proctologist.


14. Oyster, n. A person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.

15. Frisbeetarianism, n. The belief that, after death, the soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.

16. Circumvent, n. An opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish men.

No, not "crawdads" or "crayfish"...CRAWFISH!

So....it's spring.  The weather is beautiful, the flowers are blooming, the trees finally have green on them again and it gets dark later.  All good things.  We've certainly done our share of enjoying the beautiful weather and working in the yard.  The kids are playing ball, the bluebonnets are coming out in Central Texas...I love spring!

But the best thing about the spring in the south: Crawfish Season.

We have already been to one crawfish boil and have another one on the agenda this weekend.  Then, the "Grandaddy of them all..." (ours) is in May.

I love crawfish.  More than that? I love the whole idea of a crawfish boil.  Stand around, drink beer, talk to friends and then eat a shitload of food? That is so my scene.

My husband (who is a Texas boy) cooks them...my Louisiana family taught him how it's done...but, of course, Texans always gotta do things with their own "special touch".

Cajun Boiled Crawfish

*As cooked by a Texan

What you will need:

1 sack crawfish
3-4 onions
1 lg. canister Crab/Shrimp Boil
6 lemons halved
1 lb. salt
Cayenne pepper to taste
1 5 lb. bag red potatoes
1 bag miniature corn on the cob
1 case of beer

What to do:
-Open a beer to check for freshness and temperature
-Fill large pot with water and Crab/Shrimp Boil
-Drink a couple of beers while waiting for water to boil
-Pour salt on crawfish in water to purge the crawfish
-Get another beer and head back over to the pot
-Add lemons and onions
-Drink another beer while flavors “gel”
-Add potatoes
-Have a couple of beers while greeting guests
-Add corn and crawfish
-Change into funny crawfish pants, crazy hat and high school football t-shirt
-Drink more beer while handing out Mardi Gras beads to guests
-Dump crawfish into ice chest and cover with ice to make peeling easier
-Drink more beer
-Re-hash the last play of the “big game” in high school
-Move crawfish onto large table and sprinkle with Cayenne
-Drink beer while eating crawfish and giving a “crawfish eating lesson” to all the “sissy” neighbors who’ve never had it before
-Try to convince neighbor you don’t think he’s a sissy, and bum beer off him because your case is gone and you've been "working".

Sometimes, there truly are no words.

I make my living with words. No, not blogging (still haven't heard from that publisher who thinks I can make money doing this….dammit!)…like my real, *actual* living…like with a steady paycheck and everything.

So I'm a word nerd…I like writing, I like learning new words and most importantly, I like to make sure I choose the correct words to describe a situation or feeling.

That's why this was so hard.

The 6-year-old princess started kindergarten this year and she was SO EXCITED! I mean, the early bedtime and early wake-up time was an adjustment for all of us, but things pretty much went smoothly (read about her first day here) until Thanksgiving. Honestly? I was not shocked. I loved school so I guess I'd just assumed she would, too.

And it appeared that she did. She talked about school at home, mentioned specific friends on the playground, etc.

Thanksgiving break was great…family, turkey, the usual. Then? *It* started.

And that's just the thing….I don't even know what *IT* is! I can't put a name to *it*, but I can describe it very well.

She hated school. 

She cried in the mornings. She cried most of the day at school. She cried at parent pick-up. She cried at home in the evenings.

Our lives became hell.

My beautiful, independent, out-spoken, smiley-faced girl who had attended daycare since she was 16 months old was scared of school? How is that possible?

What had happened? Was someone bullying her? Did someone hurt her or say something mean to her? Was she having difficulty learning the material? Was she not getting along with her teacher? WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON WITH MY KID????

No one had answers. No one knew anything. No one had suggestions on how to help her other than take her to the pediatrician and see about anti-anxiety meds.

Really? Anti-anxiety meds for my 6-year-old?

I don’t think so.

Ronnie and I were clueless. Our parents and older siblings with children of their own were clueless. Our pediatrician assured us she would work through it in time and that structure and routine was the way to go. Stick to the schedule, ride out the storm.

But we couldn’t. Because her fearfulness was literally eating a hole through our hearts. Four weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas…I wasn’t sure she was going to make it. I actually let her stay home one day because she was so upset about going.

So over the holidays we talked. And we cried. And we vented our frustration and helplessness to one another.  And we worried about our beautiful little girl and tried to make sure she knew how loved and cherished she was.

And we decided to change schools. The team of staff at her new school was concerned and called me after the first two days of her crying at school. We met, we talked, I cried…and they assured me that she would be loved and supported through this difficult time (whatever the cause).

And finally. FINALLY. (I’m almost afraid to say it out loud…)

I think we’re on the other side of it.

She’s learning, she’s growing, she’s smiling and she’s happy.

And I can finally breathe again.