911 - What's Your Emergency?

Paul took Hampton to the duck pond this afternoon to feed the ducks some expired in December sourdough, Carter is taking a nap, and I'm eating peanut butter pretzels. And writing ... for two days in a row which is holy cow in the street shocking.

But since I'm on the subject of shocking things ... I was nursing the baby last Thursday morning when Hampton disappeared into my bathroom, reached up on the counter, and chugged (in sixty seconds time) ... my entire bottle of eye makeup remover. The back of the bottle states: call emergency assistance or poison control immediately if consumed ... and seeing as Hampton's reaction was a little on the violent side (coughing, gagging, throwing up) ... we went with 911. Of course, by the time he had hacked it all up, he was fine. The remover was non-toxic and the poison control lady (who got on three-way with the 911 operator and myself) said it was like drinking a giant bottle of soap.

So Hampton was good to go ... I, on the other hand, needed a valium, oxygen mask, and three week stay at the hospital.

Meltdowns, The Pelvis, & Blessings

So yesterday ... kicked my rear end. My child woke up from his afternoon nap in the moodiest, testiest, most two-year-old of all ... states. I was trying to cook dinner for another family who just welcomed their first baby into the world, while my firstborn laid at my feet crying and pulling my yoga pants down to my ankles ... all while my second to-be-born had very recently become the cause of what I thought was going to be the very end of my pelvis. Side note: who knew a pelvis could hurt like this? It is insane that a pelvis can hurt like this, but let me tell you, it can.

Anyway, my child continued into meltdown mode and I continued with many a come to Jesus meeting with him. After disciplining him for throwing inanimate objects, I told him I loved him and to say he was sorry, for which he always does (with big crocodile tears falling from his cheeks) ... and then five minutes later it happened again. And then again. Again. You get the picture... and so goes parenting a toddler. Consistency, I am told, is key, but listen, at some point in all of this you could have found me rocking back and forth in a corner holding myself (holding my pelvis more likely) and contemplating drink and drug. But WHATEVER MAN ain't nobody got time for that ... so Hampton went into his high chair for dinner. And that's when I nearly lost my mind. That's when ... to what should my wandering eyes should appear, but a dinner plate of beans and rice ... being hurled through the air.

Fast forward to two minutes later when Paul calls. He heard sobs for about 35 seconds before he said, "I'll be home in five minutes." He was on his way home anyway, but geez, what grace. He took that boy on a long walk while I finished dinner (and sobbing) and then I went to drop off dinner to our friends (by myself which might as well have been a trip to the Carribean) and then I texted an SOS to my fellow villagers who are also in the trenches and I laughed all the way home. Because here's what I know for sure: my friends get it. They are transparent, vulnerable, haven't got it all figured out either ... moms. And their stories about their days with their own kids eased my burden until I was nearly crying again (this time from laughing).

And today ... I'm four weeks away from my due date. Other than being up half the night from my pelvis (again ... who knew??), I feel good. Tired, but good. Hampton and I went to my grandmother's this morning and while I rocked on her front porch, she and Hampton took a neighborhood nature walk (he loves walks with my grandmother, but who wouldn't? she stops to smell the roses, lets him play with every stick and pine cone he comes across, points out birds ... she's the best). This afternoon Mark and Kasey arrive for the weekend and tonight Paul and I are going to the Kristian Stanfill "Take it All" concert at our church (Louie Giglio too) ... and Lord knows I need some Jesus in my life. Thankful that no matter how bad our yesterdays, as my mom always told me while I was growing up, tomorrow is another day. And this one has been a blessing.

Just Done

In an effort to get it all out, I will say this: I'm very pregnant, babysitting a dog (mom and dad's while they are on vacation) who likes to wake me up ALL hours of the night (it was 4 a.m. this morning and then I was up for good), I have a very active and busy and into everything toddler who loves to eat dog food and dump out the dog's water. Add all of this together with a toddler who got up too early this morning and a dog who (upon being let out) decided to sort through the trash I set outside my door last night and a toddler who then decided to eat + dump dog's food/water on self once fully dressed for a dr.'s appointment we had to be early to ... and then got two shots at the dr.'s office and escaped from my arms and ran down the halls of the dr.'s office .... And I'm done. Just done.

When baby goes to sleep, you will find me eating chocolate ice cream on the couch and watching Dancing with the Stars and that's it. I need mind numbing activities and I need to eat my feelings. As I type this .... said toddler is hanging onto my back (he climbed up into the chair behind me) and is pulling my shoulders back and forth all while yelling, "ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" in both of my ears.

Thanks for listening fellow parents in the trenches ... sometimes it helps to know you're not alone ;)

A Little Bit Of Everything

I used to be really intentional about writing, but that was before motherhood hit and my brain did something strange, and on some days (a lot of days actually) it's just hard to find the words. The words are there, but so is the wildness of everything else spinning around and maybe I'm just too tired to find the words? Regardless, I'm trying. I write for therapy and for memories and to look back and say to myself, look how far you've come (and thank you God I've come this far) ... so onward and upward. Beach pictures and summer activities will get uploaded at some point, until then, here we go.

The last several weeks have (in a nutshell) looked kind of like this: I read the book Far Outside the Ordinary by Prissy Elrod. My friend Rian texted me and said that I would love it (it is a memoir after all) and next thing I knew, she had mailed it right to my doorstep. Friends that mail books are some of the best kinds of friends. And she was correct ... I loved the book and if I told you why I really loved the book it would give away the very best part, so that just leaves you to read it for yourself. But I recommend that you do, for sure. We have had loads of swim dates ... and had our last splash pad play group of summer this morning. On days we don't have swim dates, my grandmother and cousins meet us at my parents' pool and we swim for hours and eat popcorn and blueberries and Hampton squirts everyone with the hose and tries to throw rocks in when he thinks no one is looking. In other Hampton news, he has become the proud new owner of his first backyard fort (which he loves beyond words), and just several weeks shy of his 18 month birthday, has started to throw tantrums -- complete with high pitched wails and body going limp flailing. I'm nearly 25 weeks pregnant (baby is the size of a cantaloupe!) and feeling like I'm 45 weeks pregnant, so these, my friends, are fun times. In the last week our dryer went out, air conditioning went out, and toilet sprang a leak ... and Paul's grandfather passed away, so in the course of 48 hours we dropped him off at the Gainesville airport and he traveled to Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi and Tennessee, flew out of Memphis and we picked him up in Orlando. While he was gone, Hampton and I walked in from a swim date and a 4 foot long snake was (you CANNOT make this stuff up) dangling from my blinds in my kitchen. Long story short, the snake had come in the day before when my back door was left open (yes, it crept about for 24 hours before it was discovered---shudder) ... dad caught it (it bit him on the spot) ... Hampton's life was made as all he could say over and again was SssssssSSS ... and I very nearly went into preterm labor. So that was fun. This week I'm trying to shake the cold that Hampton had last week ... and have also started writing e-devotions for our church (daily devotionals via email) - the first one which came out today!

August already feels kind of blurry because I can feel fall ramping up all around me. Next on the reading list is Wild by Cheryl Strayed which my book club will be discussing in September.

Sprained

I had a full agenda planned for Saturday and my first stop was a friend’s house. She was running the St. Jude half marathon for the very first time and I know all too well what that feels like in the end (the physical part – the elation part sinks in more slowly), so I wanted to leave a little treat on her doorstep. If you run 13.1 miles, you deserve some happy.

As I turned around on her porch I stepped out with my left foot – rather confidently – and there was nothing. No brick or concrete, just plain old air. That was problem #1. I rolled my ankle completely under and flew forward … down some steps, onto the concrete. Head first. I tried to break the fall with my hands and arms in an attempt to guard my stomach which left me … alone, crumpled on a friend’s sidewalk, swollen, very pregnant and bleeding. I knew early on that there was a high probability that my next move would be passing out. Call it will power or motherhood, but I knew that any random passerby who surveyed this scene while driving by would certainly call an ambulance or a morgue … and so I knew I had to get to my car. The second problem? The pain radiating through my body. So I did want any mangled woman would do in that instant … I began to army crawl on my arms through aforementioned friend’s front yard in order to get to car and cell phone.  

When I finally got to the car I had no way of getting in, so I just sat there and looked at it. And then … I crawled into my car.

Thirty minutes later I was sitting in the ER. And it was the shortest wait of my life. They hear pregnant and fall and mangled looking and off you go. The nurse couldn’t find the doppler and finally emerged with (I swear) a 1968 edition. She looked at me and said, “Don’t worry if we can’t find the heartbeat, ma’am … this thing is ancient.”

I wanted to unkindly tell her that I had just mastered flying off of a porch on the first day of my third trimester, and I was not supposed to worry if there was no heartbeat?? I wanted to grab someone’s neck, but I bit my tongue instead. What was more blood at that point?

Thankfully, baby’s heartbeat was found quickly and all was well. I sighed a thousand sighs of relief in that second.

I was released and told I had a severe sprain and to rest, ice, compress and elevate. Everything I already knew from my spring semester class of HOSA in the seventh grade. The missing link here would be the drugs. Tylenol can only do so much. I spent the weekend on the couch (aside from my detour Sunday night to dinner with my huge boot on and shopping in Target … in a motorized cart) dreaming of drugs.

Today I saw the orthopedic surgeon … who gave the official diagnosis of a level 3 sprain (i.e. the worst sprain scenario). He told me that because I couldn’t have drugs and because of the level of pain I was experiencing … to try not to walk very much. At least I got good practice in on Saturday with the army crawl. He said that I would be in the boot contraption until January. And then he signed off on something I didn’t think I would see until at least the age of 85 …

I now have my very own handicapped parking permit.

If I had a twitter account: #thesearethedaysofmylife

Period Books

I love my book club. We just finished up Kristin Hannah’s Homefront, and we are now getting started on Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Foer. Members are married and non-married, kids and no kids, twenties, thirties and forties. Themes {and mix cd’s, grin} are optional, dessert is mandatory. Lots of different perspectives, lots of fun.

At our initial meeting, we learned that Shannon prefers books based in present time … if the novel is set during World War II, for example, she’s not really a fan. Fast forward to this month when we had two new members join … and as we were discussing what book we would like to read next, Shannon was saying that she was trying to get over the fact that she doesn’t read period books {a statement that was met with some pretty blank and wondering stares from our newest members} … until it was quickly clarified that “period books” are books set in a different era … not the ones you received alongside the sample-sized Teen Spirit and big, fat maxi from health class at the age of ten {seriously though … puberty … eeh! does that one little word not make you want to crawl into a corner and stick your entire fist down your throat?}.

~

The joys of the book club. We laugh until we cry.

Chapter 9 - Leg Shaving

It is no surprise to anyone reading this that I harbor within a strong, lifelong aversion to change. Unless, of course, you note seasons of my life such as: chapter 9 – leg shaving. A season in which I coined the term long before our sitting president as a change we could believe in. I begged and pleaded my mother for the entirety of my fifth grade year to, please, for the love of pre-teens everywhere, let. me. shave. my. legs.

This type of change was not only for the betterment of myself, but others – and completely {in the mind of a ten year old}, warranted. I grew up in Florida and wore shorts all the time. Sitting in a carline after school each day surrounded by friends Martha Jane and Frances who have glistening, lotioned-up, smooth legs saddled up indian-style against … your own blonde-haired, hairy legs … is enough to make you want to wear sweats in the heat of August. And this is a statement. Especially considering the sweats my mom bought me in the fifth grade were red, with a lone cow grazing in a meadow of flowers on the front. I believe fashion savvy first graders can get away with red cow sweats, but I assure you … fifth graders cannot. For a fifth grader it’s the 5-7-9 and Claire’s … or bust.

I digress. What I am really trying to say here is that when the daughter that I do not have right now, but one day might … asks me at the tender age of seven if she can shave her legs, I fear I will {out of some deep down, subconscious leg shaving beggar mentality} say, YES! And here’s a sharp razor….I know you don’t even know your times tables and I barely trust you with a table knife to cut your chicken tenders in half, but take the razor!!

My mom knows that I love her more than life. I know that she was only trying to save me from growing up too quickly. Bless her heart, she knew that I would grow to detest this daily grind of leg shaving … which, ahem, I do. But in my humble, not-a-parent-yet opinion {which is code for: I will eat these words on a sterling silver platter someday}, for the love of pre-teens everywhere, just hand over the razor. If the kid ends up gouging flesh and ends up in stitches … at least she wasn’t forced to sit an entire academic year of her youth with the hairiest, maybe scariest, legs of the whole carline.

That is, of course, when the red cow sweats weren’t covering them up :)

$1, Enough Said

Soo, I spent the morning co-hosting a garage sale with Liss and Jess {so fun, we laughed until we cried all morning long} and managed a net profit of {prepare yourselves for the magnitude, people}: $1 {after we cut out the lunch we bought + supplies for signs + stickers, etc.}. To quote Elissa, "it was an epic failure financially ... and we'll keep our day jobs."

When I called my parents after this whale of a sale to tell them the status, youngest was home for the weekend and answered ... okay, does anyone remember that scene in Father of the Bride when the assistant gives George Banks the cost for the wedding over the phone? He says something like, it's 250 a head and George thinks he says 150 a head and almost has a heart attack, and then he says no, no it's 250 a head ... well, when I told Michael what I made at the sale he started laughing hysterically and said, $11??! And then my mom is overheard in the background saying, "WHAT?! $11?

...and then I say, no, no ... one. dollar.

You can't make this kind of awesome-ness up, friends. Ten years worth of junk {college + post-college}, a Friday night spent pricing all of the criz-ap, a 5 a.m. wake-up call, a man who upon inspecting my husband's history books from college offers PB membership in a Memphis Historical Society on. the. spot. And a $1 profit to boot?

Good times :)

The afternoon was spent cleaning, watching football, listening to Carole King's Tapestry on repeat and burning down my cider candle. Sweet therapy.

In other news ... we are making dinner for fourteen tomorrow night, and I have everything nailed down but the dessert ... it's going to be pumpkin or apple something because it's that time of year, but not sure what?? Back to the cookbooks and back issues of Southern Living and pinterest I go ...

... heading to the Windy City on Tuesday morning, and absolutely, it's my favorite time of year to be in Chicago. Looking forward to grabbing deep dish at Giordano's and hanging at one of my all-time favorite stores for fun things, P.O.S.H.

Get Pin

Sassy called on Saturday and said, "What are you doing?" My reply, "pinning." She says, "Oh yes, I need to get on that too ... lots of thank you's to write." Me, "Huh?" And then I realize she thinks that I meant, penning. Clearly, she doesn't know about my new drug.

Are you on pinterest yet? If you're more of a rational person you should probably stay away. I used to think of myself as semi-rational, but that was before I broke down and joined and started pinning with crack-like obsession and compulsion. It took me a day or so to get the hang of it, but sisters, I have folders for nearly every area of my life now.

Love it.

Tuesday State Of Mind

I think time with friends is about as essential as a drink of water on mile 9 of a half-marathon. Last December I was at mile 9 when the lady {at the aid station} quietly said to me as I showed up panting and nearly deaf and blind from the sheer thrill of it all … “we just ran out of water”. If you want to see lunatic Heather, half-crazed Heather … just quietly tell her as she approaches a hill (which at this point in the race might as well have been Mt. Rainier), and is coming up on mile 10 of running her little ole feet off, that there is no more water. See how quickly I digress?

Back to initial subject. Sometimes all you need is a little girlfriend time, and snap, the world is suddenly just as it should be. I’ve had a lot of it in the past week and it just does wonders for the heart & soul.

To rave about today: Empire State of Mind (Jay Z & Alicia Keys). It’s no secret that I can get down to a good rap … and this one is a 2010 favorite. It came on just the other day and the only place I wanted to be was New York, New York. I think it’s the new anthem of Yankees everywhere. Should be, anyway.

Also … I’m into making salads these days. Everything else just feels heavy and hot in the summer. Favorite salad of the moment is as follows: romaine + sliced strawberries + sliced avocadoes + diced cucumbers from the farmer’s market {this is very important, they’re extra tasty and crisp} + a sprinkle of bleu cheese {get the more expensive kind, two words: worth it} + raspberry & hazelnut vinaigrette. Sometimes we add grilled or rotisserie chicken. I dream about having this for dinner every single night {poor lover of meat & potatoes, Paul Bruce}.

It's A Wonder

I needed a break tonight. Sometimes the ordinary routine blows, so I came up with a new one. Paul went to his parent’s for dinner and I didn’t have much of an appetite, so I stayed home. I usually run, but wasn’t really in the mood for that either so I ventured off to the library where I got Julia’s My Life in France and Ruth R’s Comfort me with Apples. Bio and memoir, true to form.

Over the last few weeks, two actually, I have started drinking eight 8 ounces of water during the course of my 9 to 5 day. I have a cup that holds 16 oz, so I just work myself through four of those babies and consider myself golden. In the days of old I would only drink if a.) I was working out or b.) if I was reallllly thirsty (i.e. probably already dehydrated) … Anyway, only two weeks in, and I’m not sure (just yet) of all the health benefits of this water drinking … though I am fairly certain something good is bound to come of this. What I do know for sure: I am seeing a lot of our receptionist each day … about 24 times as I go back and forth from the bathroom outside the lobby area. I was embarrassed the first week and humored the next. Now we just look at each other knowingly and laugh. Like … really?? AGAIN??!

Has anyone heard of the wonder bar? If you haven’t … no sweat … it’s only a bar of soap. It’s actually smaller than a normal size hotel soap, but travels well in the carry-on (a plus in the department of business travel) and is supposed to last for 3-4 months. I’m told by Erika and AJE that it makes your face feel soft … maybe even like a baby’s behind? I’ll admit … I'm feeling like giving it a try. Does anyone else use the wonder??

Road Trip, Bruce Style

It would be Bruce style to pull out of tropical paradise

with the windows rolled down for the nine hour trip home ...

and not be able to roll the driver's side window back up

{it seems the window motor decided to die on us, perfect timing}

... Paul Bruce said there would be no rain, we would be fine ... but

I disagreed. We got the window 3/4 of the way up and wedged it ...

and then rigged the opening closed with painters tape and a trash

bag. Awesome.

...about 15 minutes later it began to rain. This was also about

the time that the plastic trash bag began to sound like

firecrackers. Who knew 70 mph in a jeep with a trash

bag hanging half way out the window

could evoke memories of the 4th of July? Not. Me.

About the time we got to Luverne, Alabama {always take

the scenic route} quoted as "friendliest city in the South and

home of the world's largest peanut boilin'" the wedge went

to pot and the window fell all the way down ... we had put the

trash bag back to use because the monsoon was epic, but

the above was all that was left post wedge going to pot ...

...naturally, we were in the friendliest city and borrowed

pliers and some duct tape from the owner of the

general store {as shown above} ... the store even had

a hot dog window, and the owner made us lunch.

God bless Alabama...

...back on the road with our duct taped and wedged

window and this is what we see coming our way...

more dark, luminous clouds ...

...this is also about the time the window freak show un-wedges

itself and falls down again. Insert pleasant words and hurricane

gale winds coming through along I-65...

...oh yes, and dead stop traffic ... what could be more fun

than 5 more hours on an interstate with a wide open window,

non-moving traffic and rain pouring through? Paul made good

use of the beach towels. I made a joke that it was a great thing

we had gone to the beach and not the mountains because we had

plenty of towels on hand. He didn't laugh.

...and this is the tale of the nine-hour never ending drive

back to Memphis. Our life never ceases to amaze me.

I'll Pass On The Golden Ticket, Thanks

Okay. The commercial on t.v. right now with the Willy Wonka song playing in the background gives me the CREEPS! Paul and I about tackle each other trying to grab the remote to change the channel every time we hear the first words out of ole Wonka’s mouth. My childhood scars are very few, but I count this movie as one of them. Second runner up goes to that flying monkey scene in Wizard of Oz. It’s almost as quiverish (don’t check Webster’s for the definition, I’m pretty sure I just made that word up) as the Oompa weirdoes.

Almost.

I Hate The Flu

Here’s the first disclaimer: I stink at being sick. If you happen to enjoy it, you may want to rethink reading the following. Here's the second disclaimer: When I was growing up "hate" was a bad word, therefore, we didn't say it often. To this day, I only use it to describe something that I just, well, for lack of better words ... hate.

Dudes. Not three months after bout 1 with the flu from hell, it has returned {just the stomach this time…as if this mere fact lessens the blow} with a fiery vengeance. I am exhausted. I am sick of the throw up. It doesn’t smell good, feel good or look good.

And my husband, God bless him … he’s tired of the 1 a.m. wailing and the running to the bathroom and the lights flashing in his eyes at 3 a.m. because where in the sam hill is a heating pad when you need it? Not to mention the general groaning and I’m dying statements that I have been known to make … on occasion.

Here’s the rather simple truth: I stink at being sick. I am not one of those who suck it up and bear and grin it. And the sad part is that I boldly make this proclamation like you all have no idea. But, before I chase this rabbit any further and you all disown me for writing Alexander-esque terrible, horrible, no good, very bad sickling tales ……….

Here’s to warmer weather, bluer skies, sundresses, flip flops, sunshine and happiness, and for the love of Peter, Paul & Mary … NO MORE SICK DAYS!

A Snuggler To Call My Own

Dear Monday thru Friday, I am so over you. Currently thanking my lucky stars it’s the weekend. It’s supposed to rain tomorrow, but no fear, my fabulous cousin in Nashville mailed me a little treat today … a leopard snuggie with my very own pink monogram. If it rains, snuggie and I will sit on the couch and be a-okay {please see Exhibit A photo}. I mean, do you have one? Heaven, people, heaven. I do, however, think Paul was embarrassed when I ripped the snuggie from the packaging earlier and started squealing in delight.

I think he thinks I’ll be wearing the leopard snuggie out the door to get the mail tomorrow morning. Which, you should know … I’m completely fine with … and actually … might do. Wink.

Happiest weekend to you ~

The Back Stroke

So. Just as the husband was telling me he was ice master {and the back wheels of the jeep were heading in an entirely different direction than the front wheels as we are rounding corners} we came upon “the hill.”

We got about ¾ of the way up the hill ... and then it was like we were doing the back stroke, but in a moving vehicle. Yes. Let me just say this: Florida Girl could have gone into cardiac arrest. It was a real possibility, people.

Paul was gunning it up the hill and we were going nowhere. We did, however, {on our descent down the hill} almost take out two mailboxes, a boy on a bicycle {and WHO bicycles in the dark around said hill on ICE?} and a car parked in the street ... before we made it to the bottom … and then we exited the neighborhood a much safer route {i.e. less hill}.

Ahh, nothing like a little Saturday night freak out. Approximately 17 years taken off of my life with that one.

My Kind Of Reward

Tomorrow the Hallmark store in the mall {adjacent to my office building} is going out of business and everything is marked down A LOT. On my lunch break I scored $25 worth of cute cards all for the price of $2. I love when that happens. My favorite cards to buy are “fresh ink” – do you know the ones? They always have the cutest wording and hip design.

To reward myself for the $2 card-fest I bought a cherry icee. I haven’t had one since I was seven. The icee was my mother’s bribe to get me through the k-mart in my younger years, as in “… if you’re really good we can get an icee before we check-out.”

And now I’m sitting in Corporate America looking very much like my seven year old self … bright red lips, teeth and all.

Fresh Out

The big situation this season was the Santa apron. I saw the apron in early December via a friend of a friend's dinner party photographs ... and it was love at first sight. It was red with ruffles, a teeny black Santa-esque belt and white fur around the neckline. There are few things these days that "I just have to have' ... but this took the cake. Only problem was that I had no idea where the apron originated.

Twas the week before Christmas and I saw an ad with the famed apron ... location: Pier 1. Once in Florida I started the search. Out in Ocala ... out in Tallahassee ... I called my brother at work and asked him to call the Pier 1 in Gainesville ... a few minutes later I got a call from him, "Fresh out of the Santa aprons, sister. If you have any other bizarre requests, feel free to give me a call..." I called Loren to check the scene in Memphis ... they were out in every store. They were also out in Birmingham, Atlanta and Nashville {oh - and online}.

Good grief.

I may have missed out on the Santa apron forever, but next New Year's Eve ... I will be wearing these sparklies. And the best part ... is that I have an entire year to locate them.

Gas Lake, Mississippi

My mom has spent the last 30 years of her life trying to tame the untamable. My dad, my hero. The alligator-wrestling, has a rattlesnake in the back of his truck, knows the woods inside and out, would eat bar-b-que for breakfast lunch and dinner … dad. We like to joke that dad doesn’t know “maps” … if you put him in the middle of Manhattan, he’d be lost – maybe forever. If, however, you told him to find the red flag in the middle of a 2,000 acre forest, he’d find it … and then he’d tell you, “it was six trees to the left, near the pond, right under the bear hanging out of the tree.”

Just. like. that.

But I digress. Back to the taming. My mother has tried, but to no avail. You’ve heard the adage, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks … well, in their case, you couldn’t teach a young one. But, I dare say, not for lack of trying on my mother’s part.

Saturday night, we are on the 3-hour trip home from the gator game {down at Mississippi State} and we stopped for gas. I stay in the car {half asleep}, Paul goes to buy a mountain dew since he’s driving {and it’s already 11 p.m.}, and mom goes to get a bottled water. This leaves dad to pump the gas.

A few minutes later both mom and Paul are back in the car with me, and dad is still pumping gas {mind you, we’re in a car here not a semi truck}. Paul has the driver’s side door open and I hear him say, “Dad – what are you doing???” And that’s when I hear it. Something to the equivalent of Niagra Falls. A whooshing sound coming from the back of the car.

The back story is that dad was staring off at the next pump watching these three girls who were laughing hysterically. I’m not sure he got the picture that they were most likely laughing at him. Because back at the ranch, the pump has gone to pot. Usually, when the gas tank is full, the nozzle automatically shuts off. Well, as dad is in outer space, the gas is pouring out of the tank … as in, if someone had lit a match, we would have been burnt toast.

My mom jumps out of the car to survey the damage {i.e. gas lake} and says something to the effect of, “this is insanity!!” Dad gets back in the car, soaked from the splattering gasoline, and calls it a night…after half laughing that we could be leaving in a blaze of glory. Which, really and truly, could have been the case.

Five miles later after every other passenger was getting high on gas fumes … we pulled off on a country road and made him take his clothes off to be put in the trunk.

I tell you this, nothing says redneck quite like a midnight drive through Mississippi with your dad in the passenger seat wearing nothing but his boxers when it’s 35 degrees outside.

Just sayin’.

Weekend Highs & Lows

I ran five miles yesterday. The actual run was not so bad, it was the aftermath. I couldn’t figure out if it just flat wore me out or if I was too dehydrated [we’ll come back to this…]. Regardless – it was another mile down, another check mark on the countdown to marathon calendar, etc. Celebrating the victories.

We drove to Mississippi State for the game yesterday afternoon and it was a blast. Paul and I sat in the student section with Loren, and were surrounded by cocktail dresses, cowbells and Chi Omega’s :) Just a taste of how Southerner’s do football.

It was a night game, and so we loaded up late for the drive back. About 30 minutes into the trip I noticed that I wasn’t feeling so great. About 10 minutes later I started sweating and feeling cold all at the same time … there are low points in everyone’s life … one of mine happened close to midnight after we pulled into a gas station. With my in-law’s in the backseat and my husband in the driver’s seat, my limp body could be seen hanging halfway out of the car door. It seems that the earlier feelings [post-5 miler] of sickness had nothing to do with dehydration. Therefore, new low point? Being on a road trip when the {violent} stomach flu strikes.

Today was spent in my bed. Orange gatorade is my new best friend.