Crumb Snatcher #1 Speak

"Mom, what does gay mean?"
"I think it means very happy. What do you think it means?"
"Welllll, I think it has two meanings"
Big Shooter and I exchange glances and I ask the obvious, "Really? And what are the two meanings?'
"The first means happy. And the second...welll..." He is noticeably very uncomfortable.
"Go ahead Honey. What is the second one?"
After a few seconds he says, "It's like 3 or 4 s-words (shut-up) at the same time... If you say it, you better be ready for that person to be really, really mad at you."
"And how do you know the difference?"
"Well, they are spelled differently. The good, happy one is g-a-y. And the mean, cuss one is g-e-y."
His dad praised him by saying, "I know that was uncomfortable for you, but you made the right decision to tell us what you'd learned from others. We really appreciate your honesty." #1 basked under the praise and nodded a father/son understood salute towards Daddy.
I did not/dared not make direct eye contact with Big Shooter for the rest of the ride.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After receiving a sideways Momma look for a seriously silly comment Boy Child matter-of-factly stated, "I do have lots of common sense Mom...I just choose to ignore it."


Love Note to Big Shooter: I am so glad you are such a gay addition to this family.

Update on Big Shooter: We went to the GI today. He took some blood, gave him a prescription and as usual, we'll have to wait and see what the results say...

Update on Crumb #2: She also saw the doctor today. Her bones are perfectly aligned and healing nicely. She was very disappointed to find out she has to wear the bigger cast though for at least two more weeks. We reminded her it was her sympathy card and bought her some ice cream. She feels better now.

A bit of advice

I was recently looking at plants in a little family owned nursery. While I was perusing the greenhouse aisles I noticed one of the owners working in an area near me.
"How're you doing today Mrs. Greenhouse?" I politely inquired loudly because she is elderly and hard of hearing.
"I've been better," she quipped right back. "If it weren't for that old man I'm married to, I'd be great."
Since I wasn't quite expecting that answer I chuckled a little and was rewarded with an evil look.
"So sorry to hear that Mrs. Greenhouse. Is there anything I can do to help?" I know that was lame, but it was all I could think of when she was glaring at me from under her gigantic floppy sun hat.
"No, but thanks Sweetie." She seemed to softening up a bit when she said, "He's really not all that bad...most of the time."
Relieved to see her normal sweet little demeanor back I asked, "So how long have you and Mr. Greenhouse been married anyways?"
"66 years. And I'm 83. Got married instead of finishing school," she explained.
"Wow. That's incredible. I've only been married for 15 years. Do you have any advice after all those years?"
Without a pause she enlightened me with this, "Not really. Some days they are the light of your lives. Some days you just give in to make them happy. Some days you have to ignore them or you might just accidentally bash them in the head with the frying pan."
When I looked up at her she was smiling the biggest, most mischievous, gorgeous grin.
Then she winked at me, turned and began walking down the aisle her big hat flopping as she sauntered away.

I am smitten with her. I love that she has such a great sense of humor. I love that she feels she can say whatever comes to mind. I find myself wanting to go seek her out whenever I am cooking with a nice heavy frying pan.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: I promise never to accidentally bash you in the head with a frying pan...on purpose maybe, but never accidentally.

Thanks all for reading this little blog.

All three of you.

Crumb Snatcher #2 Speak

Over heard in a conversation with her brother:
"How many spars have I won? Well, let me think about that. Over my whole karate career I haven't lost one yet..."
Her karate career has been approximately 10ish weeks.

and

While in a conversation with me:
"I just love my sympathy card," referring to her neon pink cast with a loving glance. "It allows me to say things I normally wouldn't."

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Your daughter will treasure her Saturday Morning Manicures with you. You are doing all the good & right Daddy things to instill her with your love. My prayer is she finds someone just like you. "Are you listening God? I want her to marry her Daddy...just not in an Arkansas kinda way."

Drowned Rat a.k.a. FIL

The Beginning...



The Middle...



The End...

Now, before he starts whining about getting a little wet (insert very sarcastic snicker)...I did say to him beforehand, "Are you sure you want to go? ...you might get a little wet." In fact, while he was in line, I called him to suggest he leave his phone behind to stay dry.

I'd say that was a pretty fair warning.

Wouldn't you?

Love Note to my Big Shooter: I miss you. I really, really miss you and your company. Keep up the great strides in healing Big Guy. We can't wait until you're back to your normal self. Well, mostly normal self.

What?! It's not all about me?

See? See what I'm talkin' about? The previous post was suppose to be mostly about my little girl's plight. Instead it was all about me. How I handled it, or didn't handle it, how I felt, how I, I, I...
I didn't even say how she broke it.
Sorry Babycakes, Mommee is a Only-Child-Over-the-Top-Drama-Limelight-Whore. (Big Shooter thought that word was "over the top" itself. I asked him what other word described me in that situation...he didn't have one. Hmmm.)
Here's how she broke it:
While my sweet little one was walking my other sweet little one. He saw some deer and took off after them. Girl Child was convinced if she let go he'd keep running and we'd never see him again so she tried to keep up with him running up a bumpy, rocky hill. On her last step before reaching the smooth asphalt road she hit a rock and down she went.
Her knee is one big, nasty scab that is having a hard time healing b/c her mom is such a Good Mother and forgets it should probably stay dry for more than a few hours at a time. She had a big bruise under her left eye on her orbital bone. She had a cut lip. Her palms were pretty shredded and she broke both bones in her arm.
And did I mention she has a loser of a mom?
Thank God, literally, she has a Good Daddy.

A girl + her dog + a rock = a neon pink cast

Oh how she loves this dog!

He is her doll, her confidante, her companion, her friend and the cause of this..Kinda. In a round about way.

Our first morning at the lake with Grandpa Lyle (FIL) she and I were cuddling on the sofa watching the lake and reading. The BDP needed to go out and potty so out she went with him on a leash. The next thing I hear is her "Olliver Scream". When ever the beloved little beast some how manages to free himself of human control my Girl Child freaks. That is the only word I can use. You'd think she was having her toenails pulled off one by one when you hear it. I think she thinks he will just keep running and never look back. No matter how much try we cannot seem to make her understand he knows he's got it good and will never leave his Momma. Anyway, I being the oh so caring mother, slowly got up and went out on the deck to see what the problem was. She stopped screaming before I reached the door so when I stepped out there and didn't see anything I stood there and enjoyed the beauty for a minute or two before I realized I could still hear something. I couldn't place it. But it was not the Olliver Scream so I wasn't too concerned. After a few minutes the sound registered. Crying.

Oops.
I went to the front and found her standing in the driveway crying her little eyes out, blood dripping down her front. Now a normal woman would have been snapped right into Mommahood and dashed out to help her. Did I? Nope.

I don't think I'll ever even be in the running for the Last Place of Mother of the Year.

You see, she is my daughter through and through so I don't know if it's really that bad or Drama making all that racket.

My solution: Get her in the house, wake Daddy and let him decide. You know, he doesn't need any extra rest or stress-free living at this point of his life. He needs to get up at 6:30 AM to calm his offspring, clean-up and ascertain the injury. Right?

Poor guy. This is how my brain works when I know there is injury, skin trauma, blood involved. It just goes to mush. That's why I married him. He's awesome in emergencies.

While I sneak out of the room with the lame excuse of getting Band-Aids he takes a look see and pronounces a trip to the ER. Do I snap into Concerned Momma? Again, nope. Instead I ask, "Really? You think it's that bad?"

Good one Momma.

He nods and heads to get some clothes on.

He's transformed from Lone Kidney Man to Daddy instantly.

Boy Child and I get the car ready with pillows, blankets and ice packs and off they go into the sunrise...

Big Shooter calls a few hours later to tell me the news. "Yep, it's broke. Both bones. She needs to see an orthopedic surgeon in the next few days."

Mommahood? Nope.

I say, "Reeeally? A couple days? That will be Saturday and Sunday." Not, "Oh! I feel so horrible for her. Please let me speak to her so I can apologize for not being more loving and concerned." Nope. Worried about the weekend instead. Someone please remind me again why was I allowed to have these precious children?

Big Shooter is already on it. He informs me he already has an appointment with our pediatrician and they'll cast it there. Good Daddy. Bad Mommy.

He does find out though they don't cast breaks...they send you on to orthopedic surgeons. Which they did. After charging him for a visit.

Since they had several hours to kill between appointments he took her on a date. Lunch and a movie.

Good Daddy. Bad Mommy.

They had to set her bones while casting it. He was Good Daddy. Thank God cause I most definitely would have been Worse Mommy had I gone and tried to be Good Mommy to begin with.

They returned to the lake 11 hours and 50 minutes after they'd left.

My FIL told his son to "never do that to him again". He was referring to Big Shooter leaving him with me all the live long day. I am choosing to believe it was because I drove him crazy with my pacing and worried demeanor...

This is what Olliver and the rest of my family think of that...

Love Note to my Big Shooter: I am so very glad you are Mr. Safety. I am so glad you are always so calm. I am so glad you know what to do. I am so glad you are the Daddy.