Bumper Sticker of the Day
Never do anything you wouldn't want to explain to the paramedics.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Monday, February 19, 2007
What I Hate about February
- Valentines Day. This is merely a made-up holiday presented to us by Hallmark so they can make a lot of money off men who don't want to tick off their girlfriends/wives/mothers. Poor saps.
- President's Day. This holiday annoys me. Why do 2 presidents have to share one holiday? If they're important enough for me to not get mail, then they're important enough to each get their own day. The only good thing about combining them is that my children only get 1 day off from school. Whatever happened to going to school 5 days a week, anyway?
- Groundhog Day. Now this holiday I like. It spurned an excellent movie. And yet, poor Phil only gets mentioned on the national news. He at least deserves a party.
- Black History Month. Is there a reason we can only celebrate black history in February? Why not all year long? Plus, I get tired of the commercials.
- It's cold. Not 10-feet-of-snow, kids-go-to-school-all-summer-because-of-snow-days, New York cold, but I have to wear long sleeves. And a jacket. At the same time.
- It's spelled funny. I don't like that. It irritates me.
- It doesn't live up to it's full potential. Why only 28 days? Even when it goes all out, there's only 29 days. All that does is manage to screw up the calendar for the rest of the year. And how are Leap Year babies supposed to celebrate their birthdays, anyway? Someone didn't think this through thoroughly.
What I Like about February
- It's almost over.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
SuperHubby Returns
After a really stinky week, SuperHubby has finally returned home and I can blog once more. For the 2 people who don't know, SH had a little brain surgery last Sunday (#13 for those keeping track at home) and - because nothing is ever dull in the Fitzgerald house - FrogBoy managed to come down with a virus about 24 hours later. What does all that mean? Glad you asked. What is meant was, that while SH did absolutely great with this particular surgery and was sent home on Wednesday, he didn't actually get to come "home" - he had to go to his mom's house because it was too dangerous at our house with all the germs. Will the fun never cease?
So I spent the past week driving back and forth to the Smurf's house, but only after she drove to my house to babysit FrogBoy. (Oh - Froggie also missed 2 days of school in there. Crazy.) By Saturday I was ready for a 10 hour nap. However, I got the house disinfected and SH has now come home - much to everyone's delight.
So we're all where we should be - and I hope that means I'll be able to blog some more. I'm almost afraid to log off - blogger seems to hate me these days - and I have issues every time I try to log on to my account. But I've got a lot to say (nothing new there) and I hope to post more later.
After a really stinky week, SuperHubby has finally returned home and I can blog once more. For the 2 people who don't know, SH had a little brain surgery last Sunday (#13 for those keeping track at home) and - because nothing is ever dull in the Fitzgerald house - FrogBoy managed to come down with a virus about 24 hours later. What does all that mean? Glad you asked. What is meant was, that while SH did absolutely great with this particular surgery and was sent home on Wednesday, he didn't actually get to come "home" - he had to go to his mom's house because it was too dangerous at our house with all the germs. Will the fun never cease?
So I spent the past week driving back and forth to the Smurf's house, but only after she drove to my house to babysit FrogBoy. (Oh - Froggie also missed 2 days of school in there. Crazy.) By Saturday I was ready for a 10 hour nap. However, I got the house disinfected and SH has now come home - much to everyone's delight.
So we're all where we should be - and I hope that means I'll be able to blog some more. I'm almost afraid to log off - blogger seems to hate me these days - and I have issues every time I try to log on to my account. But I've got a lot to say (nothing new there) and I hope to post more later.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Back to Blog World
So it's been a couple of days since I last blogged. Actually, a little over a month. A lot has happened since my last idiotic rant.
Last time I posted it was 2006. We have since moved into 2007, which has pretty much been stinking it up all year. My grandmother has been in the hospital for most of December and January - including brain surgery last week (see - SH isn't the only one who knows how to get attention in our family). The suppository died - and was resurrected - twice. Rocky Balboa came out in theaters - and we managed to miss it completely...and you know it won't be as good on video. And I managed to lose a diamond out of the ring my boyfried gave me for Christmas. (yes, the BF is SH)
A couple of good things have happened too -
My blog spawned 2 new blogs. Okay, maybe spawned is a bit much - but my brother and sister-in-law both have started blogging - and they are pretty good. Of course, I can't read more than a line or 2 from the Professor without being completely confused - but he seems to have a geek-following anyway.
I had a really good day a couple of weeks ago where total strangers came up to me in the grocery store and complimented me on my hair and my purse. Two different people. Same day. It was a gold star day. But I couldn't blog about it.
Blogger was having issues. Apparently, they ran out of room, and decided to change over to beta. Now I say that like I know what it means, but I don't. All that was required of me was to make the switch. But I couldn't figure it out. And when I did, the mysterious "they" told me I was giving them the wrong password. But I wasn't. It's the password I used to sign in every time I blogged. I spent a couple of weeks just trying to figure out my mess. And that really stunk, because I had a lot of stuff to say during those weeks.
So that's where I've been and what's been going on in my little world. Plan to hear a lot from me in the next few days/weeks/months - I still have a lot to say. (and right now my family is thinking "right, so what else is new?"
So it's been a couple of days since I last blogged. Actually, a little over a month. A lot has happened since my last idiotic rant.
Last time I posted it was 2006. We have since moved into 2007, which has pretty much been stinking it up all year. My grandmother has been in the hospital for most of December and January - including brain surgery last week (see - SH isn't the only one who knows how to get attention in our family). The suppository died - and was resurrected - twice. Rocky Balboa came out in theaters - and we managed to miss it completely...and you know it won't be as good on video. And I managed to lose a diamond out of the ring my boyfried gave me for Christmas. (yes, the BF is SH)
A couple of good things have happened too -
My blog spawned 2 new blogs. Okay, maybe spawned is a bit much - but my brother and sister-in-law both have started blogging - and they are pretty good. Of course, I can't read more than a line or 2 from the Professor without being completely confused - but he seems to have a geek-following anyway.
I had a really good day a couple of weeks ago where total strangers came up to me in the grocery store and complimented me on my hair and my purse. Two different people. Same day. It was a gold star day. But I couldn't blog about it.
Blogger was having issues. Apparently, they ran out of room, and decided to change over to beta. Now I say that like I know what it means, but I don't. All that was required of me was to make the switch. But I couldn't figure it out. And when I did, the mysterious "they" told me I was giving them the wrong password. But I wasn't. It's the password I used to sign in every time I blogged. I spent a couple of weeks just trying to figure out my mess. And that really stunk, because I had a lot of stuff to say during those weeks.
So that's where I've been and what's been going on in my little world. Plan to hear a lot from me in the next few days/weeks/months - I still have a lot to say. (and right now my family is thinking "right, so what else is new?"
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
You Go, Grandma!
Some time ago, I ran across an article about a 60+ year old woman who had just given birth to her first child. My first thought, of course, was EWWW. Upon reading further, I was slightly inspired by this woman's stick-to-it-iveness, since she'd been dealing with infertility for over 30 years and had finally realized her dream of having a baby. Then I went right back to EWWW.
Further reflection about this grandma's current situation caused me to wonder. How is it, when most people your age are sitting around, complaining about their aches and pains, making sure they get to the cafeteria early so they can be first in line and get the "good" desserts, that you decide you want to have a BABY. How do you decide that changing your own diaper isn't enough, and you want to change someone else's at the same time? Maybe it's easier - you can buy baby food in bulk. But it seems like an awful lot of work for a person who just a few short months ago woke up in the morning simply to see if AARP wrote today.
Most people this woman's age flatulate in public and blame it on someone else. No need with a baby - you blame the smell on them. Completely inappropriate comments made to unsuspecting waitresses are written off because you're surely out of your mind - after all, you just had a baby. At your age.
My biggest problem with the whole having-a-baby-when-you're-old-enough-to-be-its-grandparent is that this baby will probably be in middle school when you die. And on top of that, how can you honestly expect to keep track of the little rugrats if you manage to stay alive? You can't sneak up on them when they hear your bones creaking a mile away. And if you can't figure out how to use the internet or a cell phone, forget secret conversations with teachers that blow your kids minds.
Still, to this woman, I say "Right on!" You wanted a baby, and you stuck with it for more than 30 years until you had one. Forget all the children you could have adopted in that time that needed a mom. You did it your way.
Some time ago, I ran across an article about a 60+ year old woman who had just given birth to her first child. My first thought, of course, was EWWW. Upon reading further, I was slightly inspired by this woman's stick-to-it-iveness, since she'd been dealing with infertility for over 30 years and had finally realized her dream of having a baby. Then I went right back to EWWW.
Further reflection about this grandma's current situation caused me to wonder. How is it, when most people your age are sitting around, complaining about their aches and pains, making sure they get to the cafeteria early so they can be first in line and get the "good" desserts, that you decide you want to have a BABY. How do you decide that changing your own diaper isn't enough, and you want to change someone else's at the same time? Maybe it's easier - you can buy baby food in bulk. But it seems like an awful lot of work for a person who just a few short months ago woke up in the morning simply to see if AARP wrote today.
Most people this woman's age flatulate in public and blame it on someone else. No need with a baby - you blame the smell on them. Completely inappropriate comments made to unsuspecting waitresses are written off because you're surely out of your mind - after all, you just had a baby. At your age.
My biggest problem with the whole having-a-baby-when-you're-old-enough-to-be-its-grandparent is that this baby will probably be in middle school when you die. And on top of that, how can you honestly expect to keep track of the little rugrats if you manage to stay alive? You can't sneak up on them when they hear your bones creaking a mile away. And if you can't figure out how to use the internet or a cell phone, forget secret conversations with teachers that blow your kids minds.
Still, to this woman, I say "Right on!" You wanted a baby, and you stuck with it for more than 30 years until you had one. Forget all the children you could have adopted in that time that needed a mom. You did it your way.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Precious Children
(sung to the tune of that old gospel favorite, Precious Memories)
(to my friends at DSS - this is a JOKE)
Precious children, how they linger
Will they ever leave our home?
Lord, we love them
But we'd love to miss them
Why won't they leave us alone?
Precious children, always in my business
They're so nosey I could scream
Asking this and asking that
Even though they don't give a crap
It's no wonder I'm so mean.
Oh, these noisy children, what's with these noisy children
Why are they all ganging up on me?
Man, I'd like to shake them
But there's laws against that
Prison ain't the place I want to be.
Precious children,
They can make me say nasty words
I sure love my children
And I wouldn't trade them
Even if they are gigantic turds.
(sung to the tune of that old gospel favorite, Precious Memories)
(to my friends at DSS - this is a JOKE)
Precious children, how they linger
Will they ever leave our home?
Lord, we love them
But we'd love to miss them
Why won't they leave us alone?
Precious children, always in my business
They're so nosey I could scream
Asking this and asking that
Even though they don't give a crap
It's no wonder I'm so mean.
Oh, these noisy children, what's with these noisy children
Why are they all ganging up on me?
Man, I'd like to shake them
But there's laws against that
Prison ain't the place I want to be.
Precious children,
They can make me say nasty words
I sure love my children
And I wouldn't trade them
Even if they are gigantic turds.
Monday, November 20, 2006
That's What Friends Are For
So a couple of weekend's ago, I took a little road trip - alone - to Greenville to see my very best friend. We've been friends since high school, when my brother felt compelled to set me up to meet someone he worked with so I wouldn't start a new high school without knowing anyone. I don't care what anyone says, that's just sweet (especially when you factor in a teenage boy).
So we've been friends forever. We are oddly alike, and just as oddly very different. Friendship is great that way. I love how God works all that out so people just gel together.
And my friend was 22 months pregnant, and really wanted me to come, so I went to see her. I don't particularly like to ride for more than 30 minutes, so driving it was quite the challenge. I changed my mind and backed out at least a dozen times. It got to the point that SuperHubby finally just said I should let him know that morning if I was leaving town or not. On top of that, I had to drive ALONE - and I don't like doing anything alone. But, she's my friend, she wanted me there, so I went. And when I got there, I was reminded why you do these things for your freinds.
I got up super-early on a Saturday morning and drove almost 4 hours to meet her a gas station. Apparently it's pretty hard to find her house and she didn't want me to drive around for hours. Nice. So I pull up and she's not there. I figured I could fill up the car and save myself the trouble of doing it the next morning. So I get out and start pumping, wind blowing and air frankly a little chillier than in Charleston. And she pulls up. I go over to her car, lean in to say hi, and the first thing she says to me, before "hey, how was your trip," before anything, is "Wow, your hair looks great."
Now honestly - that goes without saying - but how cool is it of her to mention that before anything else? It's no wonder she's my best friend.
She had her baby last week. Didn't name her after me, even though I campaigned pretty diligently - but she's a beautiful baby, and she's healthy. Compliment me on my hair or name your baby after me? They both speak my love language.
So a couple of weekend's ago, I took a little road trip - alone - to Greenville to see my very best friend. We've been friends since high school, when my brother felt compelled to set me up to meet someone he worked with so I wouldn't start a new high school without knowing anyone. I don't care what anyone says, that's just sweet (especially when you factor in a teenage boy).
So we've been friends forever. We are oddly alike, and just as oddly very different. Friendship is great that way. I love how God works all that out so people just gel together.
And my friend was 22 months pregnant, and really wanted me to come, so I went to see her. I don't particularly like to ride for more than 30 minutes, so driving it was quite the challenge. I changed my mind and backed out at least a dozen times. It got to the point that SuperHubby finally just said I should let him know that morning if I was leaving town or not. On top of that, I had to drive ALONE - and I don't like doing anything alone. But, she's my friend, she wanted me there, so I went. And when I got there, I was reminded why you do these things for your freinds.
I got up super-early on a Saturday morning and drove almost 4 hours to meet her a gas station. Apparently it's pretty hard to find her house and she didn't want me to drive around for hours. Nice. So I pull up and she's not there. I figured I could fill up the car and save myself the trouble of doing it the next morning. So I get out and start pumping, wind blowing and air frankly a little chillier than in Charleston. And she pulls up. I go over to her car, lean in to say hi, and the first thing she says to me, before "hey, how was your trip," before anything, is "Wow, your hair looks great."
Now honestly - that goes without saying - but how cool is it of her to mention that before anything else? It's no wonder she's my best friend.
She had her baby last week. Didn't name her after me, even though I campaigned pretty diligently - but she's a beautiful baby, and she's healthy. Compliment me on my hair or name your baby after me? They both speak my love language.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Color Me Irritated
This will come as a shock to people who know me, because I'm such a happy, friendly person, but lately several things have really gotten under my skin. It's not like I'm sitting around looking for stupid, mind you - it just seems to be so prevalent these days.
For example, the PlayStation 3 craze. Being a normal person, I don't understand all the hype about a video gaming system anyway. Being the mother of 2 sons, I realize they find something oddly satisfying and enjoyable about video games, but I can't for the life of me figure it out. Wasn't Atari cool enough? I still love those games. But the people at Sony have gone too far. They have limited releases of the PS3 systems, or whatever the current machine is, so they can create a frenzy for a gadget that will be outdated in a year anyway. Grown men sleep outdoors, in the freezing cold, to purchase a system - some for their own, sad life, but some so they can sell them on eBay for 3 times what they paid. So now the children - and the nerds - who really want them can't get them because the price is so inflated. A 24-hour Wal-Mart in Connecticut closed down because of fighting - and one guy got shot. Over a TOY.
Another thing that's on my nerves this week is Christmas. Now, as I stated last year, I absolutely love Christmas and all things related to it. I do not, however, love them in October. Which is when most of the stores around here felt compelled to start with the Christmas decorations. Frankly, I was okay with it then - because it meant the stupid Halloween decorations that had been up since August were finally replaced with something nice. BUT - and here's where I draw the line - we have completely forgotten Thanksgiving!
Last weekend, while I was finishing my Christmas shopping (hate me if you will - you're just jealous), I realized that every store I was in was playing Christmas music. I guess that's okay, but a couple of songs aren't what get me in the holiday spirit. It's more than that, right? Then, just yesterday, my radio station dubbed themselves "Charleston's Christmas Station." On the one hand, nicely done - because everyone else seems to be trying so hard to be politically correct that I'm surprised they didn't go with "Charleston's Holiday Station - Maybe." But they are steadfast and continue to rock out the Christmas tunes every year - including songs that are 100% I Love Jesus. So I like that. Just not before Thanksgiving.
I guess it's because Thanksgiving is happening so early this year. It's still relatively hot here - for most normal people - and the tree lots are popping up everywhere. Of course, in 4 days people will be strapping them to the tops of their Hummers and driving the 2 blocks to their house to have the help (translation: kids) get it in the house. Whatever happened to going to a tree farm and cutting down your own tree?
I love Thanksgiving - it's a perfect holiday because (1) you get good food, (2) you spend time with the relatives, but not as much, and (3) you don't have to worry about the gift exchange. Yet. Everyone else in America seems to think Thanksgiving is just a day for bad football. Go, Lions.
One final word about things that are ticking me off this week: People, if you can't drive a big truck/van/whatever, DON'T buy it! Regardless of how cool the truck, you look like a jerk when you can't park it and are driving straight down the middle of the road.
There. I've spread my holiday cheer. Have yourself a Happy Little Thanksgiving.
This will come as a shock to people who know me, because I'm such a happy, friendly person, but lately several things have really gotten under my skin. It's not like I'm sitting around looking for stupid, mind you - it just seems to be so prevalent these days.
For example, the PlayStation 3 craze. Being a normal person, I don't understand all the hype about a video gaming system anyway. Being the mother of 2 sons, I realize they find something oddly satisfying and enjoyable about video games, but I can't for the life of me figure it out. Wasn't Atari cool enough? I still love those games. But the people at Sony have gone too far. They have limited releases of the PS3 systems, or whatever the current machine is, so they can create a frenzy for a gadget that will be outdated in a year anyway. Grown men sleep outdoors, in the freezing cold, to purchase a system - some for their own, sad life, but some so they can sell them on eBay for 3 times what they paid. So now the children - and the nerds - who really want them can't get them because the price is so inflated. A 24-hour Wal-Mart in Connecticut closed down because of fighting - and one guy got shot. Over a TOY.
Another thing that's on my nerves this week is Christmas. Now, as I stated last year, I absolutely love Christmas and all things related to it. I do not, however, love them in October. Which is when most of the stores around here felt compelled to start with the Christmas decorations. Frankly, I was okay with it then - because it meant the stupid Halloween decorations that had been up since August were finally replaced with something nice. BUT - and here's where I draw the line - we have completely forgotten Thanksgiving!
Last weekend, while I was finishing my Christmas shopping (hate me if you will - you're just jealous), I realized that every store I was in was playing Christmas music. I guess that's okay, but a couple of songs aren't what get me in the holiday spirit. It's more than that, right? Then, just yesterday, my radio station dubbed themselves "Charleston's Christmas Station." On the one hand, nicely done - because everyone else seems to be trying so hard to be politically correct that I'm surprised they didn't go with "Charleston's Holiday Station - Maybe." But they are steadfast and continue to rock out the Christmas tunes every year - including songs that are 100% I Love Jesus. So I like that. Just not before Thanksgiving.
I guess it's because Thanksgiving is happening so early this year. It's still relatively hot here - for most normal people - and the tree lots are popping up everywhere. Of course, in 4 days people will be strapping them to the tops of their Hummers and driving the 2 blocks to their house to have the help (translation: kids) get it in the house. Whatever happened to going to a tree farm and cutting down your own tree?
I love Thanksgiving - it's a perfect holiday because (1) you get good food, (2) you spend time with the relatives, but not as much, and (3) you don't have to worry about the gift exchange. Yet. Everyone else in America seems to think Thanksgiving is just a day for bad football. Go, Lions.
One final word about things that are ticking me off this week: People, if you can't drive a big truck/van/whatever, DON'T buy it! Regardless of how cool the truck, you look like a jerk when you can't park it and are driving straight down the middle of the road.
There. I've spread my holiday cheer. Have yourself a Happy Little Thanksgiving.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Monday, October 30, 2006
Can You Hear Me Now?
I have sad news for the many suppository lovers out there. The old girl has been stripped of her identity. That's right, last week SuperHubby took her out and got her a new muffler and some belts. She's as quiet as a Catholic during their first Seacoast worship experience.
Turns out the suppoistory was embarrassing the boys as much as she was embarrassing me. Let's face it, when the elementary school principal turns to check out the monstrous noise coming in the parking lot every day, and it turns out that it's YOU every day, well...the cheeks grow a little rosy. Move down the road to pick up the middle schooler, and everyone looks at you like you've lost your mind because you're driving that thing, and the cheeks are deep red before we make it home.
So the great news is, I actually have a fairly nice van now that it doesn't make so much noise. At least she feels pretty (she's still a suppository, but she thinks she's gorgeous, and that's what really matters, right?). You can tell by the way she drives - she's proud. And we love her.
For those who long for suppository stories, never fear. The gas cap still doesn't come off without at least 2 people giving an assist. The cassette player doesn't work, and frankly, it has a cassette player. The back door doesn't lock unless you beg it, and the windows go down 100% of the time but only up 75% of the time. Choose your times wisely.
There will still be days when I want to shoot the suppository. Today, I like her. A little.
I have sad news for the many suppository lovers out there. The old girl has been stripped of her identity. That's right, last week SuperHubby took her out and got her a new muffler and some belts. She's as quiet as a Catholic during their first Seacoast worship experience.
Turns out the suppoistory was embarrassing the boys as much as she was embarrassing me. Let's face it, when the elementary school principal turns to check out the monstrous noise coming in the parking lot every day, and it turns out that it's YOU every day, well...the cheeks grow a little rosy. Move down the road to pick up the middle schooler, and everyone looks at you like you've lost your mind because you're driving that thing, and the cheeks are deep red before we make it home.
So the great news is, I actually have a fairly nice van now that it doesn't make so much noise. At least she feels pretty (she's still a suppository, but she thinks she's gorgeous, and that's what really matters, right?). You can tell by the way she drives - she's proud. And we love her.
For those who long for suppository stories, never fear. The gas cap still doesn't come off without at least 2 people giving an assist. The cassette player doesn't work, and frankly, it has a cassette player. The back door doesn't lock unless you beg it, and the windows go down 100% of the time but only up 75% of the time. Choose your times wisely.
There will still be days when I want to shoot the suppository. Today, I like her. A little.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Best Week Ever
VH1 has a fantastic show called "Best Week Ever." If you need to know which contestant spit on another equally charming young lady on Flavor of Love, just watch Best Week Ever. If you want to see David Hasselhoff's new "Jump in My Car" video, watch Best Week Ever. And if you need to know the lyrics to the latest Weird Al Yankovic tune, Best Week Ever baby.
This show is great because they spend a full 30 minutes being completely rude and overwhelmingly sarcastic about the stupid things celebrities - and non-celebrities - have done in the past week. Now that's my kind of current events show.
The Fitzgerald clan is not having the Best Week Ever. We are moving in 2 days. This means we are packing up our lives in boxes and realizing what we own is actually ALL yardsale material. It's been a rather depressing week.
We've learned a few things along the way. For one, SuperHubby has a completely different theory on packing than I do. My theory is wait until the last minute, pack a few boxes, move them to the new house, unpack, repeat. SH isn't quite with me on this one. He started packing 2 weeks ago. And he started with our food. Interesting way to make me diet.
I noticed last night that I not only have a purse fetish and a daytimer fetish, but I am strangely addicted to rubbermaid storage boxes. Ohmigoodness. Our garage looks like aisle 17 of Wal-Mart.
I honestly believe that our possessions are multiplying while we're at work. And they're not even multiplying into good stuff. If I hear "And WHY did you save this again?" one more time, SuperHubby's mouth may get packing taped shut. Of course, it's hard to argue when he's holding up a infant rocking chair with only 1 arm - last used when FrogBoy was 4 and got his head stuck and SH had to saw the arm off so we could get to church. Ah, memories.
So we're having an interesting week. We're moving, life will (hopefully) be easier, and we're making our way to debt-free living (yahoo!). I can't wait until it's over.
VH1 has a fantastic show called "Best Week Ever." If you need to know which contestant spit on another equally charming young lady on Flavor of Love, just watch Best Week Ever. If you want to see David Hasselhoff's new "Jump in My Car" video, watch Best Week Ever. And if you need to know the lyrics to the latest Weird Al Yankovic tune, Best Week Ever baby.
This show is great because they spend a full 30 minutes being completely rude and overwhelmingly sarcastic about the stupid things celebrities - and non-celebrities - have done in the past week. Now that's my kind of current events show.
The Fitzgerald clan is not having the Best Week Ever. We are moving in 2 days. This means we are packing up our lives in boxes and realizing what we own is actually ALL yardsale material. It's been a rather depressing week.
We've learned a few things along the way. For one, SuperHubby has a completely different theory on packing than I do. My theory is wait until the last minute, pack a few boxes, move them to the new house, unpack, repeat. SH isn't quite with me on this one. He started packing 2 weeks ago. And he started with our food. Interesting way to make me diet.
I noticed last night that I not only have a purse fetish and a daytimer fetish, but I am strangely addicted to rubbermaid storage boxes. Ohmigoodness. Our garage looks like aisle 17 of Wal-Mart.
I honestly believe that our possessions are multiplying while we're at work. And they're not even multiplying into good stuff. If I hear "And WHY did you save this again?" one more time, SuperHubby's mouth may get packing taped shut. Of course, it's hard to argue when he's holding up a infant rocking chair with only 1 arm - last used when FrogBoy was 4 and got his head stuck and SH had to saw the arm off so we could get to church. Ah, memories.
So we're having an interesting week. We're moving, life will (hopefully) be easier, and we're making our way to debt-free living (yahoo!). I can't wait until it's over.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
How to Know If You Have an Ugly Baby
Helpful Hint: If you're offended by the title of this blog, stop reading now. Your baby is ugly - and you already know it.
Now I know what the 4 people still reading are thinking: All babies are cute. This is simply not true. This is a lie perpetuated by the parents of ugly babies.
I started thinking about this a while back, when I saw Shawn's baby at church. She is by far the prettiest baby I have seen (other than my own baby pictures, but that really goes without saying). But looking at her, I realized something: a lot of parents are under the mistaken sense that their baby is adorable. And there are some funky looking little kiddos out there.
Let me help just a bit. You know your baby is ugly when people often make the following comments:
Helpful Hint: If you're offended by the title of this blog, stop reading now. Your baby is ugly - and you already know it.
Now I know what the 4 people still reading are thinking: All babies are cute. This is simply not true. This is a lie perpetuated by the parents of ugly babies.
I started thinking about this a while back, when I saw Shawn's baby at church. She is by far the prettiest baby I have seen (other than my own baby pictures, but that really goes without saying). But looking at her, I realized something: a lot of parents are under the mistaken sense that their baby is adorable. And there are some funky looking little kiddos out there.
Let me help just a bit. You know your baby is ugly when people often make the following comments:
- "He looks just like you!" (this is simply a way of not commenting on the child's looks)
- "He's so cute!" (sounds innocent enough, but your baby is a girl)
- "Wow, she sure has a lot of hair!"
- "Would you look at him?!"
- "How about that!"
- "Is she always this good?" (variation: "Is she a good sleeper?" - they don't care, they just don't want to be put on the spot about the kid's looks)
- "Aw, what a sweetheart." (another tricky one - but trust me)
Then there are the people who won't talk directly to the parents, but carry on an entire conversation with a 10-day old baby. This is a huge indication that they can't even make eye contact with you because you have created something so grotesque they don't quite know what to say.
One of my babies was ugly. The pediatrician's office referred to him as "The Ethiopian Baby." In front of me. It happens. Sometimes the beautiful people have ugly babies. The encouraging news is that they generally outgrow the funk and turn out pretty cute.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Church 101
I have been waffling back and forth about this particular blog, not wanting to write something that might offend someone. Then I realized I don't actually care if people are offended, since the only way one might be offended by what I have to say is if they are the ones causing the problems to begin with. So, here I offer a few tips for handling church the proper way, for those who apparently don't know:
I have been waffling back and forth about this particular blog, not wanting to write something that might offend someone. Then I realized I don't actually care if people are offended, since the only way one might be offended by what I have to say is if they are the ones causing the problems to begin with. So, here I offer a few tips for handling church the proper way, for those who apparently don't know:
- If you can't keep up with everyone else when we're asked to read aloud, stop. If you're more than 2 words off, and the people around you are prone to seizures, you're asking for trouble.
- Do not feel compelled to answer rhetorical questions. That's why they're rhetorical.
- If you have a child in the nursery, memorize your child's ID number before service. Then you don't have to mumble "What's our number again?!" every time a number flashes on the screen.
- Make your dinner plans before service. Or after. Anytime other than during the message is good, actually.
- Don't try to guess what the speaker is going to say next. At least not audibly. It's only a fun little game for you; to everyone around you, it's just annoying.
- Don't comment "Oh, I love this song!" during worship. It's not a concert.
- Finally, but most importantly, when the worship leader instructs everyone to greet the people sitting around them, they do not in any way mean me. This is a common misconception. In my world, this phrase is loosely translated as, "Kiss SuperHubby, don't make eye contact with anyone and sit down as fast as you possibly can, without speaking to or shaking hands with anyone you don't know."
I hope this will be helpful to some of the newbies who have recently taken to sitting near me at church. It's not that I don't like you. I don't like anyone.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Special Deliveries
A couple of my closest friends are expecting babies, and both are having little girls. They both already have adorable little boys, and I'm thrilled God is expanding their families in this way. I'm also very happy that I have boys.
However, the birth of these 2 little ones is causing me great distress. I have to buy baby gifts. And I'm never quite sure what to do when it's a girl. I understand boys. Not so much girls. That would be why God gave me boys. He's smart like that.
When I buy baby stuff, I'm all into frogs and trucks and footballs and dinosaurs. I am not into butterflies and ballerinas and hair bows and Barbies. The thought makes my skin crawl.
My brother has a daughter (also known as my niece). She is absolutely adorable and I totally enjoying hanging out with her. She's my favorite niece (I have 4 others, but she's definitely the coolest). Even so, my head starts spinning with all the girl stuff after about 5 minutes. I'm just not getting it.
It's not easy finding gifts for baby girls that aren't full of ruffles and lace and flowers and all that nonsense. Try finding something with a frog on it - it doesn't exist (trust me - I've looked). You can't even give a non-clothing gift because you just don't know with little girls; they're always looking to throw you a curveball. With boys, if you can't find an outfit, you give the parents a football - for later.
I guess I could get these girls-to-be a couple of really nice purses. Right now that's all I can come up with.
A couple of my closest friends are expecting babies, and both are having little girls. They both already have adorable little boys, and I'm thrilled God is expanding their families in this way. I'm also very happy that I have boys.
However, the birth of these 2 little ones is causing me great distress. I have to buy baby gifts. And I'm never quite sure what to do when it's a girl. I understand boys. Not so much girls. That would be why God gave me boys. He's smart like that.
When I buy baby stuff, I'm all into frogs and trucks and footballs and dinosaurs. I am not into butterflies and ballerinas and hair bows and Barbies. The thought makes my skin crawl.
My brother has a daughter (also known as my niece). She is absolutely adorable and I totally enjoying hanging out with her. She's my favorite niece (I have 4 others, but she's definitely the coolest). Even so, my head starts spinning with all the girl stuff after about 5 minutes. I'm just not getting it.
It's not easy finding gifts for baby girls that aren't full of ruffles and lace and flowers and all that nonsense. Try finding something with a frog on it - it doesn't exist (trust me - I've looked). You can't even give a non-clothing gift because you just don't know with little girls; they're always looking to throw you a curveball. With boys, if you can't find an outfit, you give the parents a football - for later.
I guess I could get these girls-to-be a couple of really nice purses. Right now that's all I can come up with.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
On Target
Things have begun to go back to normal in the Fitzgerald household. Normal, right. SuperHubby has been home for over a week, his stitches have been removed and he's thinking the final shunt revision may have done the trick. I'm back to fighting for a good school for Spanky to attend in August and dealing with the FrogMan being the FrogMan. Normal.
Which means my efforts can return to important issues, like answering some very deep questions. Why do huge men always have itty bitty little dogs? Why has there never been a Hurricane Lori? Who would invent jalapeno liverwurst? More importantly, who would eat it?
I've also had the occasion to reflect on my favorite shopping venue: Target. I haven't been able to spend a lot of time there in the past month, so I've been just conjuring images of the store to hold me over. And I have some observations:
Things have begun to go back to normal in the Fitzgerald household. Normal, right. SuperHubby has been home for over a week, his stitches have been removed and he's thinking the final shunt revision may have done the trick. I'm back to fighting for a good school for Spanky to attend in August and dealing with the FrogMan being the FrogMan. Normal.
Which means my efforts can return to important issues, like answering some very deep questions. Why do huge men always have itty bitty little dogs? Why has there never been a Hurricane Lori? Who would invent jalapeno liverwurst? More importantly, who would eat it?
I've also had the occasion to reflect on my favorite shopping venue: Target. I haven't been able to spend a lot of time there in the past month, so I've been just conjuring images of the store to hold me over. And I have some observations:
- If you buy clothes at Target, you don't have to apologize or make excuses. They have cool clothes. You always feel like you have to qualify your purchase with "it was on sale" when you buy clothes at the Other Places.
- Target is, in essence, a really nice Wal-Mart or K-Mart. But they were terribly clever. They left out the Mart. Takes them to a whole new level of tasteful.
- Target has a really good marketing campaign. It's just a little red and white circle. Very easy. Very catchy. You know when you see it that it means Target. And it's on all their Target products. Go to Wal-Mart and see if you can find their Wal-Mart products. I doubt it. That's because they try to give everything a cleverly ripped off name of the original product (Dr. Thunder, anyone?). I'd much rather just know I'm getting the store brand of trash bags and not have to think that hard.
- Target has interesting incentives for their employees. I'm still up in the air about this one. The last few times I was in Target, I heard employee radios sound off with the manager reminding the staff that a "secret shopper" would be in the store that particular day, and they could win $50 if they treat said secret shopper well. I personally don't want the employees to have to be bribed to treat me nicely while I shop there. Actually, I don't want them to talk to me at all. But it works. Target employees will stalk you while you're in the store, even if it is only so they make an extra $50 that week.
- You can buy anything at Target - but it has to be nice. Daytimers? Yes, but only the really good ones. Bedding? Absolutely - the same as you'd find at Belk. You're going to find nice stuff, just not a huge selection. Which is a good thing for someone like me.
Target doesn't pretend to be something it's not - they just do it much better than the rest of the pack. Lately I've noticed another trend: fast food establishments that have their entire employee handbook on the wall next to the phone, hidden from their customers inside the building, but completely visible to the folks in the drive thru. Hello - I never walk in. Do I really want to know that they only reason they're smiling and saying "my pleasure" is because there's a note on the wall reminding them to say it? Even if they really mean it, it just sounds fake. But that's another topic for another day.
Friday, June 30, 2006
The Waiting Game
So I've been spending quite a bit of my free time lately in hospital waiting rooms. This has led me to discover that I am a people watcher. And people's habits are nasty. And funny.
SuperHubby went back for more surgery this week. Some tidbits I've noticed along the way:
So I've been spending quite a bit of my free time lately in hospital waiting rooms. This has led me to discover that I am a people watcher. And people's habits are nasty. And funny.
SuperHubby went back for more surgery this week. Some tidbits I've noticed along the way:
- There IS such a thing as an external wedgie. It is not attractive. It's actually worse than the more common internal wedgie, because this one's out there for everyone to see. And you can't dig it out, because that's nasty. But if you're fat (like MUSC Guy) it's really obvious, so you really SHOULD dig it out. What a conundrum.
- The "no food in waiting area" signs to not apply to the people sitting directly under them. Apparently.
- You can eavesdrop on deaf people if you know sign language. This is really actually pretty cool. If you eavesdrop on hearing people, you have to pretend like you're not doing it. Deaf people are so caught up in signing that they don't notice. And you don't have to whisper when you tell your neighbor what they're talking about.
- People will wear ANYTHING to the hospital. Now I'm all for comfort. Most days I've sported jeans, tees and flips. And fabulous hair. But one lady was there in - no kidding - pink gardening shoes with white socks, pink flannel pajama pants with candy canes all over them and a white tee shirt. I don't care if you're going in for surgery or not, at least try to dress like you're not 3.
- People come to the hospital like they're going on vacation. I saw more rolling luggage there than my last trip to the airport. It was nuts. SuperHubby comes in with the clothes on his back; I carry them out in a little hospital-issue plastic baggie. What could you possibly be packing for if you're having surgery?
- The length of "the doctor/nurse will be with you in just a minute" depends on whether you're the doctor/nurse or the patient/patient's wife.
- No matter how many different things I bring to amuse myself, I will sit with my arms crossed and a blank stare for the entire time I'm in the waiting room. This is commonly referred to as Lori's Don't-Talk-To-Me Look. Those who have seen it know it well.
- All waiting rooms should be equipped with recliners.
- The quality of the cafeteria food actually increases with the length of time you're at the hospital and have to partake of its offerings. At least it seems like it does. Anyway, they only serve 3 different meals, all made with the same ingredients. Nothing like a little variety while you're waiting.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Sick...and Tired
WARNING: There is a very good chance there will be whining in this blog. I would apolgize for it, but I am not in the least bit sorry. The only thing worse than no apology is an insincere one.
Last week (not this past week, the one prior to that) was a really BAD week. Maybe not the worst week ever, but it definitely rated up there.
It actually started while we were on our annual family vacation, which is a blast. I'd tell you all about it, but you'd just be jealous, so I'll save that for another day. Anyway, while we there, SuperHubby started feeling a little under the weather. Nasty, actually.
So a couple of days after we get home, I actually convince him to go to the doctor. This sounds way less impressive than it really is. SH normally doesn't go to the doctor unless a limb has just fallen off. Or he's having trouble with his shunt. Right.
So he spends the day at the emergency room. Nothing. They tell him he's great, good, go on home. I realize these are doctors, but he knows his body and I know his symptoms, and we both knew there was something going on. We had some tension in Fitzgerald house that weekend.
By Sunday I had him back in the ER. He was admitted. Fast forward to the end of the week, and SH has been to the ER twice, has had his shunt tapped twice, had one spinal tap, 2 brain surgeries, and 15 staples in his head (not including the various scans, etc. done on him during his 6 day jaunt at MUSC).
So it's been a stinky week. Still, I was reminded how wonderful our friends and family are. My aunt took my children so often that she could have petitioned to legally adopt them. My brother called every day - sometimes more than once - from Spartanburg, where he was one of the leaders at his church camp. One of my co-workers made me a lasagna (her surgery meal for us - which I haven't had in a long time - and although I love it, would prefer never to eat it again!). A group of co-workers pooled their resources and gave me gas money, etc. for the week. My babysitter picked up the boys after VBS and took them home, then waited until my aunt showed up to get them - the night before he was leaving for Kenya! My aunt and uncle even cut my grass. Incredible stuff from the people who love us - and all have their own lives to get on with at the same time!!
So SuperHubby is sick ... and I'm tired. (I know, cry me a river Lori, you're tired...but SH had his head opened up several times last week. What am I complaining about?)
Friday we went back to MUSC for the lovely post-op visit. Those are never fun: that's when they take out the staples. However, with some concerns we were having, and then the doctor had the same ones, we ended up spending the majority of the day there with SH having more scans, tests, etc. We go back tomorrow -- realizing that we could be looking at more surgery.
God is faithful, but my heart aches for SuperHubby.
WARNING: There is a very good chance there will be whining in this blog. I would apolgize for it, but I am not in the least bit sorry. The only thing worse than no apology is an insincere one.
Last week (not this past week, the one prior to that) was a really BAD week. Maybe not the worst week ever, but it definitely rated up there.
It actually started while we were on our annual family vacation, which is a blast. I'd tell you all about it, but you'd just be jealous, so I'll save that for another day. Anyway, while we there, SuperHubby started feeling a little under the weather. Nasty, actually.
So a couple of days after we get home, I actually convince him to go to the doctor. This sounds way less impressive than it really is. SH normally doesn't go to the doctor unless a limb has just fallen off. Or he's having trouble with his shunt. Right.
So he spends the day at the emergency room. Nothing. They tell him he's great, good, go on home. I realize these are doctors, but he knows his body and I know his symptoms, and we both knew there was something going on. We had some tension in Fitzgerald house that weekend.
By Sunday I had him back in the ER. He was admitted. Fast forward to the end of the week, and SH has been to the ER twice, has had his shunt tapped twice, had one spinal tap, 2 brain surgeries, and 15 staples in his head (not including the various scans, etc. done on him during his 6 day jaunt at MUSC).
So it's been a stinky week. Still, I was reminded how wonderful our friends and family are. My aunt took my children so often that she could have petitioned to legally adopt them. My brother called every day - sometimes more than once - from Spartanburg, where he was one of the leaders at his church camp. One of my co-workers made me a lasagna (her surgery meal for us - which I haven't had in a long time - and although I love it, would prefer never to eat it again!). A group of co-workers pooled their resources and gave me gas money, etc. for the week. My babysitter picked up the boys after VBS and took them home, then waited until my aunt showed up to get them - the night before he was leaving for Kenya! My aunt and uncle even cut my grass. Incredible stuff from the people who love us - and all have their own lives to get on with at the same time!!
So SuperHubby is sick ... and I'm tired. (I know, cry me a river Lori, you're tired...but SH had his head opened up several times last week. What am I complaining about?)
Friday we went back to MUSC for the lovely post-op visit. Those are never fun: that's when they take out the staples. However, with some concerns we were having, and then the doctor had the same ones, we ended up spending the majority of the day there with SH having more scans, tests, etc. We go back tomorrow -- realizing that we could be looking at more surgery.
God is faithful, but my heart aches for SuperHubby.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Someday
I love lists. To-do lists, weekly lists, long-term goal lists, what to pack for vacation lists...More work goes into my lists than the actual jobs they detail. I love bulleted lists, boxes to check off, items to scratch through ... and then re-writing the entire list, because who really wants a list that isn't neat and tidy?
I've created a new list for myself. Not a weekly or even a daily list, not a long-term goals list or a list of names for future pets or a list of body parts that can be pierced. This is my "To Do Before I Die" list. It's a really great list.
I love lists. To-do lists, weekly lists, long-term goal lists, what to pack for vacation lists...More work goes into my lists than the actual jobs they detail. I love bulleted lists, boxes to check off, items to scratch through ... and then re-writing the entire list, because who really wants a list that isn't neat and tidy?
I've created a new list for myself. Not a weekly or even a daily list, not a long-term goals list or a list of names for future pets or a list of body parts that can be pierced. This is my "To Do Before I Die" list. It's a really great list.
- I'd like to learn to play one song on the piano. This could be challenging, as I am not at all musically gifted. I can sing any lyric to any song written since 1980, but nobody wants to listen. When I was a little girl, I wanted piano lessons. My parents agreed but said I would have to put the piano in my room. I declined their invitation. I still regret it.
- I'd like to learn to drive a stick shift. Not because I think it would be fun, but because I think it's a good skill to have. Maybe.
- I'd like to own a car that I actually pick out and buy. I'm not talking new, and I'm certainly not talking expensive. But I'm not talking Suppository.
- I want to be involved in finding a cause and a cure for autism.
- I'd like to have feet pretty enough for sandals. I wear flips now, but I shouldn't be allowed to...my feet are just that ugly. But I would like pretty feet. I didn't say everything on this list was possible.
- I'd like to learn to cook one full meal (not spaghetti). This is another challenge, as I don't enjoy cooking and don't have much talent in the kitchen department. This is not a desire for myself; it's more for SuperHubby. Plus, it would be great if I needed it. If your children have ever told you, on day 3 of your husband being in the hospital, "Mommy, can we have a different flavor pop tart today?" - it may be time to learn. (yes, this really happened)
- I want to take my children to Disney. And maybe Legoland.
- I'd like to be half as smart as I am organized.
- I'd like to become a good housekeeper (moving up from "good enough").
- I want to ride a horse. Apparently I rode a horse when I was about 2 or 3, although I have no recollection of it, but we have pictures. I am wearing a hideous cowgirl outfit, which perfectly matches the ones my brother and 5 cousins are wearing. Complete with hats. Even the horse felt sorry for us.
- I'd like to ride in an airplane without being (a) completely terrified, (b) heavily medicated, or (c) dead.
- I want to lead a small group. I have the plan. I need the guts.
- I'd like to not turn a thousand shades of red whenever spoken to, looked at or breathed on.
- I want to learn American Sign Language.
- I'd like to teach someone something important - although I'm not quite sure what.
- I want to have really cool glasses. The kind where people stop on the street and say, "Wow, what a trendsetter. That chick is wearing some groovy glasses."
- I want to write a book.
- I'd like to be a foster parent.
- I'd like to have the occasion to wear my tiara. FrogBoy gave it to me for Mother's Day. It is heart-shaped and has jewels that light up (blinking) at the touch of a button.
- I'd like to go swimming. In a pool. I haven't done that since 1994, the year I became pregnant with Spanky. I decided I was fat, then I was fat, then I had a baby and was paranoid, then I got pregnant (and fat) again, and I stayed fat. But I love to swim.
- I'd like to live in a house with 2 toilets, a screened porch and a laundry room that's located somewhere other than the garage.
- I want to be the best wife to SuperHubby and mom to Spanky and FrogBoy that I can be.
I also have a dream on my list ... That all women will experience at least one fantastic hair day and own one fabulous purse. Everyone deserves that.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
History
I've been spending a considerable amount of time on the road lately. Burning up the highway, as they say. I don't normally get much time to myself, since I'm generally shuffling small people to places I would never choose to go if it weren't for said munchkins. So any alone time in the car that isn't spent on the cell is spent deep in thought. Luckily, I make a lot of calls.
However, I've realized in the past couple of weeks that history is a wonderful thing. Not ancient history, like Greeks and Romans and other people who don't speak English, or even current history, like the kind my brother talks about 24/7 because (1) it's his job, and (2) he's weird, and he actually enjoys that kind of junk. No, I'm talking personal history.
Never fear, I have examples. Mother's Day, 2006. My brother and I and our respective families are dining out to celebrate the day. Our waiter approaches the table and states: "My name is Lucas." I look at my brother. He looks at me. We both sport the Salley grin and I say, "I wonder if he lives on the second floor." We both erupt in laughter. I almost soiled myself. (Lucas the Waiter did not find my musing quite so a-musing). Now I ask, how many people could you do that with if you didn't share a history?
Okay, more examples. I have realized recently that my brother and his wife and me and SuperHubby have reached a milestone. It took a few years because they got married before we did, but now the 4 of us have been in each other's lives longer than not. Did you get that?? To me, that is an incredible thing, especially since we're all incredibly young and hot. Point being, we can say "Oh, Dad's just being Dad" or "You know how Mom is" and everyone understands. No explanation necessary. The history is there.
Friend history is just as fabulous. You know, the first few years after allowing someone into your inner circle, you constantly have to repeat stories and remind them why you say or do the things you do. You're forever saying, "Larry, my brother" or "Larry, my uncle" or "Larry, my dad" -- okay, maybe just in my family. But after a few years, the friends are elevated to the point where there's no need to go into detail. They know the family junk. They know the personal junk. And they still like you.
History is cool. The looks that relay a message, which lead to hysteria. The thoughts of a loved one that result in silence, followed by a pile of stories and more laughter. Reminders of good times and bad times, all ending in laughs and smiles and thanks to God. History always ends in happiness and thanksgiving. History is cool.
I've been spending a considerable amount of time on the road lately. Burning up the highway, as they say. I don't normally get much time to myself, since I'm generally shuffling small people to places I would never choose to go if it weren't for said munchkins. So any alone time in the car that isn't spent on the cell is spent deep in thought. Luckily, I make a lot of calls.
However, I've realized in the past couple of weeks that history is a wonderful thing. Not ancient history, like Greeks and Romans and other people who don't speak English, or even current history, like the kind my brother talks about 24/7 because (1) it's his job, and (2) he's weird, and he actually enjoys that kind of junk. No, I'm talking personal history.
Never fear, I have examples. Mother's Day, 2006. My brother and I and our respective families are dining out to celebrate the day. Our waiter approaches the table and states: "My name is Lucas." I look at my brother. He looks at me. We both sport the Salley grin and I say, "I wonder if he lives on the second floor." We both erupt in laughter. I almost soiled myself. (Lucas the Waiter did not find my musing quite so a-musing). Now I ask, how many people could you do that with if you didn't share a history?
Okay, more examples. I have realized recently that my brother and his wife and me and SuperHubby have reached a milestone. It took a few years because they got married before we did, but now the 4 of us have been in each other's lives longer than not. Did you get that?? To me, that is an incredible thing, especially since we're all incredibly young and hot. Point being, we can say "Oh, Dad's just being Dad" or "You know how Mom is" and everyone understands. No explanation necessary. The history is there.
Friend history is just as fabulous. You know, the first few years after allowing someone into your inner circle, you constantly have to repeat stories and remind them why you say or do the things you do. You're forever saying, "Larry, my brother" or "Larry, my uncle" or "Larry, my dad" -- okay, maybe just in my family. But after a few years, the friends are elevated to the point where there's no need to go into detail. They know the family junk. They know the personal junk. And they still like you.
History is cool. The looks that relay a message, which lead to hysteria. The thoughts of a loved one that result in silence, followed by a pile of stories and more laughter. Reminders of good times and bad times, all ending in laughs and smiles and thanks to God. History always ends in happiness and thanksgiving. History is cool.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)