Two out of Three Ain't Bad!

The kids and I wanted to get way from home for the day and celebrate Mother's day with something different. Mission accomplished. We went for a plane ride.

We got to the Aero Club right at 9 and were a bit surprised to see there was already a line. Which is how we ended up flying with "Captain Justin" instead of Col. McClintock, the Base Commander. We had to decide who would get to be "pilot" and although it was "my" day I let younger daughter get all the glory. She climbed into the cockpit, strapped in, put on the headset, and grabbed the yoke. Meanwhile Ashley was hyperventilating in the backseat. I decided it would be better to ride with the "chicken" than risk her attempting to escape while still on the run way.

Mid-flight Justin (very bravely---or foolishly!) let Haley fly. She grabbed the controls and did her level best to make her big sister barf. We climbed, we dipped, we twisted. Haley was laughing so hard she could barely hold on. Ashley had her eyes glued shut and both hands wrapped around the safety harness so tightly she literally gave herself blisters on her palms.

As we came in for a landing I'm pretty sure I heard Ashley muttering a quick "Our Father." As we pulled back up to the hanger Haley leaped out of the plane, just about tackled the pilot and begged to go AGAIN, AGAIN!! Ashley staggered out and said, "Thank GOD we're alive!"

Last week she wanted to be a fighter pilot. I think we can safely scratch that off her list. But then again, it wouldn't surprise me at all if her younger sister became just that...if fighter pilots can wear sparkly jumpsuits and glitter eyeshadow that is.

Is Mother's Day Over Yet?

Is it safe to come out yet? I feel like an endangered species evading capture by the ever so clever zoo keepers. The kids tried to wine and dine me and now that the fire department has left we can get on with the meal, I suppose.

I don't know why the neighbor panicked and called the fire department. I mean really, it's not like it's the first time black smoke and screams have poured out of my kitchen! You'd think they would be used to us by now.

Of course the kids meant well and to be fair I never specifically told them they couldn't attempt Shrimp Flambe, so how can I blame them? Plus, I do have other pans. Non that were $400 and guaranteed to last a lifetime, but still, we'll manage. (BTW pan manufacturer--I'll be reading the fine print a little closer next time! How can shrimp bonfire specifically negate the warranty???)

I do appreciate the thought. Honestly, it was very sweet for the kids to try and make dinner. But if I had thought they were going to get CREATIVE I would have been a little more nervous. Dang internet and you-tube! I guess in their step by step directions they must have done some editing. Because they sure didn't end up with 3 dozen shrimp burning in a fiery tribute to some pagan god. Now with the oil spill the chances of us getting more shrimp are about as good as the kids getting accepted to Le Cordon Bleu. I guess we'll have to take our chances with tuna and mercury poisoning.

Anyway, they poured me a glass of wine..,which after the shrimp I really did need. Too bad it was cooking sherry. Expired cooking sherry. Oh well, nothing the insurance company, gallons of Febreeze, 2 air filters, and some valium won't fix.

Detours

I am not known much for my fluffy sentimental side. Before both my mom and Hubs stroke out over that, let me clarify: it has been suggested that while God was handing out basic human emotions I was standing in the popcorn line. I have always been more of a "Shoebox" sort than a "Hallmark" type. But lest you think I am completely without feelings, twice lately eldest daughter has almost done me in. I mean in a good way, for a change.

The first time was when we were pulling into WalMart. I mention this to illustrate that is was just an ordinary day in the Redneck Riviera. Anyway, out of the blue she says, "Did you know Dad has 2 dog tags?"

My heart literally skipped a beat and as I tried not to dent my car by hitting a very large lady in very small spandex I managed to park the car before saying cautiously, "Yes, why do you mention it?"

Ashley shrugged and then said "It's a good thing because if he loses his boots, they'll know who they belong to." I immediately banished all the storming the beach at Normandy images that had invaded my mind and resumed breathing. Thank you God for not making me explain DNA typing or the real use of the dog tags today. Innocence preserved for one more day. It's one thing to know your Dad is in Afghanistan for 6 months. It's quite another to know what happens to the second dog tag.

The second time she brought a tear to my eye was yesterday night. On facebook she left this message for her Dad, "For my dad in the desert, I miss him a lot and love him. Please be careful dad this is your daughter."

She has been reading every military or historical book about WWII that she can get her hands on. We have made trips to the base to meet Special Forces Soldiers and toured buildings belonging to different groups. She has a basic understanding although in her eyes "real" wars ended years ago and now our military is sort of a giant search and rescue force. She appreciates what they do and recognizes the need for them to go and leave their families, but on the other hand she doesn't understand the concept of "River City" and why her Dad can't talk to her every day. While we continue to reassure her that we are praying for her Dad and ALL military members overseas, when you live in a military family you just don't have the same feeling about absences as other people do. Even at 12.

Welcome to my Party

Hello! Come In! Welcome to the party! Yes I have decided to host a party. This one doesn't involve new flavors of ice cream or funky new products though. No give a ways at all actually. It's EVEN BETTER. Drum roll please....it's a pity party! Cue the small violins!~

Before you ask Scotty for more speed to warp outta here, bear with me for just a tiny moment. I DESERVE A TINY FRIGGIN MOMENT, don't I? Hey, I warned ya it was a pity party.

I just got an email from Hubs that TOBY KEITH is doing a concert and meet and greet for them today. First of all, that is very cool of Toby and just one of the reasons I like the guy. I think it it so cool to actually support the troops. Not saying you support the troops (although that's better than the alternative) but actually giving of your time and talent and getting NOTHING in return. No media coverage, no glory, not even the price of tickets. We love ya, Toby!

Hubs, on the other hand, just racked up a bit higher tab. I am stuck here at home, raising the kids, selling the house, planning a move and dealing with constant no notice house showings while he is off playing in the sand and sun, listening to TOBY KEITH!

Where is the justice, I ask you? Does he have every Toby song on his ipod? Well, ok he does, but only because I put them in itunes! Does HE sing along at the top of his loud but completely off key voice whenever they come on the radio? Nooooooo. He suffers from Trace Adkins delusions, but I digress. The point is that he gets the mine and I get the shaft. (Notice the clever reference to things that get mined...like Hearts on Fire diamond earrings in a very gorgeous yet tasteful 1.5 carat platinum solitaire setting. Just as an example.)

Some day I may actually be glad that he got to meet Toby Keith. Some day. Not today so much.

Lighter Side

I had to list my freebies for the week:
4 bottles Dawn Hand Renewal Dish soap
7 bottles Nivea body wash
1 pound turkey bacon
1 bottle Hunt's Ketchup
1 Philadelphia cream cheese mini's
4 bottles Sobe life water
1 box microwave popcorn
1 packet oreo cookies
1 bag sunchips
$110 frozen food from Schwan's to host a party
4 razors (Gillette Venus spa)
6 bags kitten chow
1 tube toothpaste

I did not get a partridge in a pear tree, but there's always tomorrow. As always many thanks to Moneysavingmom for teaching me to coupon and Soli Deo Gloria for giving me the Grace to be humble enough to learn.

Life in the Fish Bowl

It seems to be a pattern that most of the house showings are early in the week. I guess since Mondays mostly stink anyway, this works quite well. Of course we get nothing done on those days, but at least our schedule is flexible. Who needs summer vacation anyway? Well, me, but that's another post.

The thing about a scheduled showing is that I get a little nutty. Little as in "little pregnant." Which does not mean I'm pregnant, just hugely cranky on those days. Trying to keep a house in "model home condition" while home schooling is like holding your breath under water. It works peachy... for about 10 seconds. Maybe a minute-- if you hyperventilate first.

So I run around trying to do all the "staging stuff" while they sit at the table and try not to move, or breathe, really. I am putting a final shine on the fixtures and floors, vacuuming my way out of rooms. Turning on all lights and making sure that the nervous cats haven't deposited stray hairballs anywhere. Believe it or not, hairballs DO NOT add to a house's value. I know, right? Strange. Anyway, they mostly watch me to see if today is the day they finally have to call for an exorcism.

Once the house is as clean as I can get it, I have to catch 2 cats who would really rather stay under my bed. King size--they know the exact dead center where only one child is small enough to wiggle in and grab them. Then we all hop in the car for an exciting 45 minute jaunt where we place bets to see if the cats will a. poop in their cage, b. get sick. or my personal favorite-c. all of the above. Since the places we can go with a crate of spewing cats is rather limited, mostly we just skulk around the neighborhood. I have a personal side bet to see how long we can keep this up before the neighborhood watch calls the cops. And won't that make for an educational event!

I have buried St. Joseph in the front yard (pretty sure my Baptist neighbors now believe I've joined a satanic cult) but an offer can't come soon enough. Please God, send me to Purgatory as you see fit, only just PLEASE HURRY and move someone to make an offer. I don't know how much longer I can stand the strain. I'm having to keep dark chocolate liquor stashed in the cabinet. But don't worry, it's purely medicinal. I only take a wee nip on showing days. Or if the day ends in "y," but really that's as far as I go, cause we all need limits right?

The good, the bad, and the way too freakin' young!

My eldest daughter just turned 12. This is such a scary age, filled with ever present rapids that we are shooting without a paddle or a life jacket. I really feel for people with kids in middle school. I don't know how you do it. At least we don't have to deal with the bullying, horrible hazing, and negative peer pressure that so many struggle with. And thank Heaven for that, 'cause it's rough enough as is.

She wants to be independent and grown up but of course, she isn't. She wants control but hasn't learned real self restraint yet. So basically we butt heads daily, she and I. Then again, either we have very similar personalities or very different---not really sure--but either way we've always struggled to some extent.

But I have succeeded in one area. Probably only one, but whatever. She trusts me and looks to me for guidance even if she doesn't like the answer. She doesn't look to her friends for personal guidance for what she should wear, or believe, or act. When she hears something fishy she runs it by me. So underneath her prickly, hormone ridden, temperamental outbursts she is still a sweet, innocent, modest Christian. She cares about people and wants to do what's right.

But she also wanted to start wearing make-up.

My first instinct was to stick to the Chapstick/clear lip gloss rule. I wanted to say she was too young and stick to that for another year or two. But for once I stopped and thought about it before blurting out an answer. I prayed. Then I prayed some more. When I didn't get the answer I wanted, I tried praying again, but nothing doing. Everything led me to say yes. Not that I'm going to let her parade around in blue eye shadow in skimpy outfits as a walking advertisement for perverts and pedophiles. Not on my watch. Or as Mammy would say, "not while I's got breath in my body!"

So why did I cave and buy an entire make up kit for my not even teenage daughter? Well, it was sort of Sun Tzuish warfare. Firstly, it meant that I would buy her stuff that wouldn't make her already delicate and breaking out face worse. As opposed to cheapo WalMart crap that would make her face explode in craters when she bought the stuff with her meager allowance. True, I could forbid her to buy it, but she's crafty and sooner or later it would sneak in, I suspect.

Plus, I could select products that would complement her skin tone and really BLEND so that although she gets to wear all of it, she doesn't LOOK like she's wearing much at all. Which is the whole point of make-up but that's another post.

But the biggest reason I caved is that she has never expressed the lest desire to be at all feminine. She hates pink, anything sparkly, girly, or cute. Not in an immature "that's for babies" way, but in a "I want to wear clothes from the boys' department" way. So when she announced that she wanted to wear make-up I was thrilled on some level.

So last night was her big debut. Concealer, foundation, eye shadow, blush, mascara, and lip stick. We practiced twice and then she put it all on and went to her friend's birthday party. Of course she paired it with a t-shirt and jeans but Rome wasn't built in a day, and at least for now she is excited and happy about some thing girly and she didn't look goofy so I was happy. Price of total Artistry make up kit and brush set? Megabucks. Seeing your daughter glowing with pride and thrilled with the way she looks? Priceless.