Letters to my boys

I've never been able to keep up with my sons' baby books, granted one of them is only 6 months old, so I came up with another way to cherish their childhood moments. A friend of mine got in on an "at home business" that is similar to the candles and makeup pyramids. This one, however, was all about family traditions. One particular product really stood out that I had to have. It's called "Letters to my dear sweet child" that is used like a memory box. You write a letter every year to your child, you can add pictures or mementos, and you keep them in this box until their 21st birthday. Twenty one days before they turn 21 you send them a letter every day then on their birthday you give them the letter for that year with the memory box. It's a really neat idea if you can (1) remember to write the letter, and (2) can write. Considering I write everyday, and I'm much better at expressing their childhood memories on paper than trying to squeeze it all in a baby book that only goes up to their first year, I'd say this will do perfectly. Now that we have two boys, my husband wants in on the letters to express how different it is raising a 10 year old compared to a 1 year old and what they will each go through that is similar and different at those ages. It's been really fun so far and I'm looking forward to seeing their faces when they are older as they read about themselves.

Why are you talking to me?

Ever meet a person that finds out something about you and assumes that's the only thing you do? I know one of those people. This person is a coworker who comes to my door every day at work, and I mean EVERY DAY, with a new quote, bumper sticker, joke, story, or picture about the military. Yes, I served in the Marine Corps. Yes, I'm very proud of my time on active duty. Yes, I enjoy the occasional chat about the military. But don't assume that I care to share personal details of that time, especially if I don't tell you about my current personal life! The absolute worst thing this person has asked, and he's not the only idiot to ask,is whether or not I've ever shot someone.

My first reaction was, "Ever heard of friendly fire?" I thought better of it, and replied, "I'm not at liberty to answer that question." The real answer? How the hell should I know?! I was a radio operator. Any one of those coordinates I called in could have been for the demise of an enemy. Do I care? I care enough not to think about it. I have a family and life as a civilian for a reason. That should be answer enough.

On a side note: technically I have 'shot' someone, just not in the service and it wasn't fatal. My brother, God love him, was the type of boy that loved all kinds of weapons growing up. He had an arsenal of BB Guns, knives, throwing stars, you name it. One day we were rough-housing with my sister, and I grabbed the BB gun from him as she put him in a head lock. He and I were usually the close ones, but that day he had made me mad so I enlisted the help of my older sister. He laughed saying the safety was on so I pulled the trigger. The safety was not on, and the BB hit him smack dab in the middle of his forehead! Ha! Okay, it wasn't funny at the time, especially when our mom came home and got after us with the belt (yes, were disciplined as children unlike today's brats). It's funny as hell now when we all get together and joke about our childhood adventures. So in future conversations with people who are dumb enough to ask such a question...my answer will be yes. Yes I have shot someone. With that answer I shouldn't have to elaborate.

The Female Woman Dr.

It's that time of the year. I had my 6 month post partum check-up today. During the "female woman doctor" visit, my cell phone started beeping. This was to let me know I had a new text message. I ignored it, then BEEP BEEP BEEP it goes again a minute later! My Dr. looked up at me (hence I was lying back with my feet in the stirrups--not the fun horsey kind!) and asked, "Do you need to get that?" "No," I said and apologized for not turning my cell phone off. BEEP BEEP BEEP, again. What the..! So after ignoring the beeps and the following reminder tone (a loud version of a choochoo train!) the Dr. finishes up and I get dressed. We go over my BC method and I apologize for not turning my cell phone off again.

I get out to my Jeep and look at my phone...it's my husband. Nice. So I send him this text..."I'M AT THE VAGINA DR.! WAIT!" He got the picture. Then a few minutes later I get this text, "Well, how did your appointment go?" Are you kidding me?? He left himself wide open on that one. "South". Needless to say I followed up with a phone call to him once I got back to work. All went well and I'm still pushing for a hysterectomy or tying them suckers in a knot; I'm very happy with my two boys, but don't think I can handle another one any time soon!

The point of this rant is to push the issue, as is a dear friend of mine (LL), GET YOUR BOOBIES CHECKED! And get your annual OB/GYN appointment done. It's important that women are aware at all ages. Cancer does not discriminate, and there are too many 'female' problems that we tend to overlook. Take care of yourselves.

Attack of the Garage Door

Today is tough in my writing world. I'm without the use of my left middle finger, the "D" finger on my keyboard and all other keys that my middle finger clicks. You see, I was attacked this morning.
It happened something like this: Here I am, rushing out of the house to get my 3rd grader to school for the last day before summer break begins. Mind you, I have my 5-1/2 month old son in the back of the Jeep as well. I pull out of the garage, hit the button on the remote to close it, and nothing. I remembered the issue we had with it over the weekend not closing properly and did a quick check of the sensors. No green lights were lit and I didn't have time to mess with it. So, I yanked the chord to release it from the motor and went to shut it manually when...OUCH! Sonofa&*^%$! My left middle finger got caught in between the panels and SMASH! It flattened my finger from behind the top knuckle to the tip of my fingernail. Blood immediately started spurting--more like gushing--from under my nail. At least it was releasing the pressure so I didn't rush to the ER. My oldest son tried to come to my rescue but was grossed out at the sight of the blood and reclused back into the Jeep. I wrapped my whole hand in a wet dishtowel and drove my manual 5 speed to my son's school. He was late. My 5 month old, thank God, was being an absolute doll during the whole chaos.
I get home and I'm having to do everything one-handed as the bleeding still has not stopped. My baby boy is grabbing at me as I'm trying to get him out of his carseat and what does he get hold of...yep, again OUCH! I fianlly get changed into my work clothes, jeans--which were a pain to button, and flip-flops--as I gave up after the jeans and couldn't tie my sneakers. I threw on a baseball hat--Yankees, of course, and off we went again. Work was hilarious as most of my job is done on a computer. Needless to say I was not very productive today. In the time it took me to type this blog post I would have normally written 4-5 pages of my book. So thanks to my garage door and my impatience, my deadline for my book just died. I'm having to reschedule a few dates, but in the end my "pen" will still be mightier than my "sword".

Hurricane Season...the drinkin' kind

Hurricane season starts the first of June and doesn't end until November 30th for all of us here on the east coast. Other states have regular seasons such as Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter. Not in Florida. Nope, here we have two seasons, Hurricane and Hot. In the event we have a cold spell (anything under 75 degrees) you will see a bunch of tan Floridians walking around in sweatshirts, shorts, and flip-flops. The cold never lasts more than a few weeks so we don't count it as an actual season.

Originating from Louisiana, I know a thing or two about "hot" and "hurricanes". My idea of both comes in the form of a season--a drinking and eating kind of season. Hot is for food, and Hurricane is my favorite alcoholic beverage. In recent years I have had the pleasure of treating my fellow Floridians to a few dishes and some good drinks, but never a real Hurricane pary like we use to have back home. No, I'm afraid no one does the Hurricanes like they do back in Louisiana. So while we may have a few storms touch the coast or blaze a trail across Central Florida, it's just not the same without the original Hurricane.