No, I will NOT KEEP CALM!

We did this picture as a joke but it's all too real.

AT&T has a series of commercials now that highly agitate me, most commercials do but this sequence of commercials are especially disturbing. I realize that these are actors playing a role, they are not a real family (hopefully) and they are "over"acting because that is what the role requires. Good for them, they have a job but, if I ever see the mom in these ads I will most likely punch her. Just like I occasionally exaggerate some of my stories a tad to give them a bit more punch, commercials do the same.

If you've watched the Olympics you've seen these ads. The family loses their Internet connection and then they instantaneously lose their collective minds, the parents are as immature and irascible as the kids. They go through various preposterous scenarios the longer their Internet connection is broken. In one ad they are peeping on their neighbors watching cat videos, one the family stares blindly while one of them "plays" the piano, in one the dad is actually lying on the floor overwrought about this dreadful loss of "life" in their family. I find myself wanting to scream at the TV, "Get off the floor you despicable man and be a better role model for your bratty kids!" They are worrying about the wrong connection.

Amelia and I were out to eat one day when I saw an adorable little girl, probably around a year old with her mom and grandfather. The mom and grandfather were staring at their phones while the little girl sat there in her high chair entertaining herself. It was heartbreaking. What were they missing? Sweet smiles, goofy faces? Time flies, in a year she will have her own device to stare at and all connection between them will be lost.

Keep Calm, Your Childhood Is Gone

My mom is gone, or at least the mom that I knew, the one that was my friend and my foundation. She recognizes me although sometimes calls me by another name but she can no longer carry on a conversation. She does have good days but mostly when I'm with her we simply sit. The temptation is great to grab my phone instead of "being" with her but that is disrespectful. I have been guilty of doing this on occasion but usually, I catch myself and stop. I don't know how long I have with her (or anyone for that matter) and I don't want my last memories to be me playing Candy Crush.

Keep Calm, Your Parent Is Gone

The most recent in the series of ads the family is finally sitting together and a new "character" the grandfather appears. Mom (the one I want to punch in the face) asks her dad to tell them stories because he apparently is a great storyteller. As he begins a story Mom interrupts him to tell him to move on to the next story. We don't know at this point (hopefully the resolution follows in the next ad) why he has to skip to the next story, are they not appropriate or are they uninteresting in this "connected" world? You cold-hearted wretch of a mother, you have your family around you, your dad in front of you and your insolence on display before your kids. Hopefully, your Internet connection restores quickly and you can break this family "connection" that you clearly want to avoid. I would joyously surrender my Internet to have my dad return to us and I would listen attentively to every story he told even if I knew each of them from many tellings.

Keep Calm Your Family Is Gone

Write Me Up!

I've often wondered what it would be like if I was born in a different time. It's impossible to know but here are a few possibilities.

The Bible
Moses, sorry to bother you but some of the girls and I have been talking and we're wondering about all this wandering (I wonder as I wander) and how much longer we are required to do this. We've been wandering so long I've named the rocks - there's Hudson, Dwayne, Crocodile, and my favorite, Fraggle. Don't get me wrong, we were totally impressed with the parting of the Red Sea, I bet people will be talking about that 50 years from now but is it possible you misunderstood this wandering thing? Any chance of renegotiating? I'm sorry we were so horrible but we thought you'd died when you left for so long on the mount, that golden calf was a really bad idea but those of us left didn't worship it. If we promise to be good could we stop wandering? Is there any way we can prove our worthiness?

Noah -  Are you sure about the termites and the beavers?

The Scarlet Letter

What's Hester doing up there? Methinks yond embroidery work is most wondrous.

Didst thee not heareth?

Nay, I didst not heareth Nellie.  I hath been darning socks all damn day.  Methinks Paul frolics without his shoes. Hast thou seen that gent frolicking? Doth thee thinketh the lady Hester wouldst darn these socks, the lady doeth such valorous work. Yond A looks wonderful. Prithee wherefore the mistress is on displayeth.

The lady committed adultery.

Damnation! Nay the horror!

Holdeth thy tongue Mistress Patricia!

Doth thee knoweth who is't the lady's been with?  Paul best not be doing yond kind of frolicking or that gent's going to receiveth a darning needle where the lamp shineth not.

The lady hast not named her lover.

Verily? Good for her, I wonder if it beest that new hottie of a minster?

Mistress Patricia, thee shall rotteth in Hell.

Thee knoweth thee were bethinking the same thing thee fusty biddy.

It's probably best I was born when I was...things might not have gone so well for me, especially if I had been in Salem in 1692, just a small change from the actual year (1962) I wast born!

Doctor's note: Avoid gymnastics activities due to concussion

I changed my major 4 times in college. I started in Business, ugh, boring and too much math. I'm not sure I remember major 2 and 3, I think Sociology and Social Work too depressing, then I ended up in Education. I liked sports and I liked to read so I chose Physical Education with a minor in English with the assumption that I would teach and also become a big time coach, probably football. American football. Possibly basketball - I imagine I would have been in the NBA by now coaching Dirk had I stuck it out.

However, that's not how it worked out. When you're majoring in PE you are required to take PE classes. Weird. I took soccer, basketball, volleyball, and other stuff - don't remember what else. I do remember having to take gymnastics. Yup. Gym-freakin-nastics. The instructor had a name like Barbie (for real that was her first name) Barnes, Brown, Barnett. I don't remember the last name but she looked like a Barbie B...I called her something else that also started with a B but that's not important. Part of the problem was that I had a huge crush on my Kinesiology professor and she was dating him, the other problem was that she wanted me to do gymnastics while in her stupid gymnastics class. What a cloosterfooken that was. So, I'm on the balance beam, the real balance beam, not a beam on the floor but the real one, just like in the Olympics. I'm on the beam, I have no idea even how I got up on the damn thing and next thing I know, I'm not on the beam anymore. Barbie's in my face asking me how I'm doing. Barbie, I just fell 30 feet off of that 1/2"  beam, how do you think I'm doing? It's possible it wasn't 30 feet tall and it's also possible it was wider than 1/2" but at the time it felt like it was tall and narrow. I ended up dropping the class that semester (had to retake it though) because I had a concussion and had to suspend my gymnastics activities for a while - suspending gymnastic activities was not something I ever thought I would hear.

Funny, I never had to teach gymnastics. Of course, after my student teaching debacle I never had to teach anything. I did my student teaching at a high school my last semester of college. It was then that I discovered I don't even like kids. The very first unit I "taught" was weight lifting. I weighed 105 soaking wet and I was teaching football boys weight lifting which should have been the beginning of my incredible coaching career but was not. I broke my thumb the first week when I dropped one of the weights directly on my thumb, my right thumb. I'm right handed. My supervising teacher was a coach, basketball coach and I might have seen him twice the entire semester. He would send one of the boys out with the attendance book and I would send it back in to him when I was finished. The person that I am now would NEVER stand for that kind of nonsense but I was too afraid to say anything to him. Even if I hadn't had a bad experience I never would have taught. I can't for the life of me imagine why I ever thought I would teach, I guess I chose that degree because underwater basket weaving wasn't an option. Of course, I would have probably cut myself while I was underwater weaving baskets, bled, and gotten eaten by a shark so that wouldn't have worked out either.

Mischief, Swarm, Pits, and Rhumba OH MY!

The following is an absolutely true story (depending on who you talk to.)

Several months ago Princess Willa and I heard a disturbance in the bathroom (not farts this time.) We cautiously entered the bathroom and were met with squeaking and rustling sounds. Mice. We had mice.

I called Paul.

We have mice, you need to come home and get them.
I can't come home now, I have a meeting in 10 minutes.
Your life is a series of meetings, they won't notice if you miss one.
Yes, they will.
Oh my gosh, they're rabid mice!
How do you know that?
Because they are talking to each other and one of them said she had a fever and she's not sure why she's drooling so much. You need to come home and get them.
I can't come home now, I have a meeting in 9 minutes and you don't know how to talk to mice.
Tell them you're sick, foam at the mouth a little when you tell them, and I'm not talking to them, I'm listening to them.
I'm not going to foam at the mouth and I'm not coming home.
Oh my gosh, there are rats too!
How do you know?
I just heard the mice welcome the rats, the rats asked how the food was here and the mice told them it was good and plenty - just like the candy.  The mice also told them the cat was lazy and wouldn't bother them but the man of the house was a real stud and they needed to stay clear of him. You need to come home and get all of them. They are all here with their extended families. There are thousands of them! You really need to get home and get them.
I can't come home now, I have a meeting in 8 minutes.
OH NO!
What's wrong now?
It's Uncle Lester, a snake ate him! Uncle Lester was a HUGE rat (I heard his wife nag him about his weight and his diabeetus (say that like Wilford Brimley when you read it) and a snake ate him! We have mice, rats, and snakes now will you come home and get them?
I can't come home now, I have a meeting in 7 minutes.
I hear rattles, it's a rattlesnake. There are several rattlesnakes, it's a rhumba of rattlesnakes!
A rhumba of rattlesnakes?
Yes, I googled it, a crapload of rattlesnakes is called a rhumba. Other snakes (which are also down there I might add) are called den, bed, pit, or nest. So we have rhumbas and pits. You need to come home and get them.
I can't come home now, I have a meeting in 6 minutes.
But we have mischief under the house.
Mischief?
Yeah, a group of mice are called family (ginormous family, like Sly and the Family Stone kinda family), horde, nest, or mischief. I like mischief. Rats are called pack (pack rats?) horde, swarm, or mischief. In summary we have mischief, swarm, pits and rhumba under the house. You need to come home and get them.
I can't come home now, I have a meeting in 5 minutes. Do you think you might be exaggerating a tad?
You've know me for a hundred years, I never exaggerate. I hope we're all still alive when you get home. I can't let the dogs outside because there is a rout of coyotes in the back yard. You need to come home and get them.
You seem to have a lot of time to Google all these terms, I think  you're probably safe. I can't come home now, I have a meeting in 4 minutes.
OK, I hope the  lions, tigers, and bears are gone before you get home.

Sure he's smart but...

He really is smart even though he has perfected the "stunned" look.

My husband Paul is a very intelligent man, until it comes to me. Well, he was obviously brilliant when he married me but he has a vulnerable side where I'm concerned. At least 4 times a year I do something insanely stupid where our finances are concerned. Here's a typical phone conversation:

P: "Have you seen any mail from Bank of America?"

Me: "No, we don't have an account there so if I did see something I would probably shred it."

P:"We had our mortgage with them."

Me: "Oh, we paid that off though."

P: "Yes, but after paying it off they send us the title for the house so we need it."

Me: "Oh."

P: "Can you look for it?"

Me: "Now?"

P: "Now would be good."

Me: "I'm watching Ellen right now."

P: "Don't you think finding this document might be more important than watching Ellen?"

Me: "Is that a trick question?"

P: "No, let me know if you find it."

He has a beautiful smile and look at that twinkle in his eye!

2 hours later

P: "Did you find it?"

Me: "No."

P: "Why didn't you call and tell me?"

Me: "You said to let you know if I found it, I didn't so I didn't call."

P: "Ah, OK. Did you find any bills while you were looking at all the piles of mail?"

Me: "Uh...I was looking for the other thing, there might have been bills."

P: "Do you think you should look for them?

Me: "OK. I guess this isn't a trick question either."

1 hour later

P: "Did you find any bills that need to be paid?"

Me: "Yes."

P: "Did you pay them?"

Me: "Uhm...love ya, bye!"

And sometimes he makes mountains out of minuscule molehills.

When you love someone you want them to look their best so naturally if I see something that can easily be fixed I fix it. One day when we were sitting in the car I noticed a gnarly hair sticking out of his ear. I lovingly and gently plucked it from his ear and he cried like a little girl. Well, when I think about it we might have already been driving on the highway at about 75 miles per hour and extracting a hair from his ear might have been a tad surprising.

Looking dapper here - keeping his ear hairs under control helps.

Then there's the allegation that I tried to run over him with the car. Obviously this is an unsubstantiated claim, it's a matter of he said, she said and there were no corroborating witnesses. Granted, I'm not sure exactly how the car ended up in reverse but I tapped him ever so gently and he smiled at me so obviously he was fine. To hear him tell it you would think I hit him with a German Panzer, his mom ran over his dad's foot and he didn't complain. Well, he might have complained a bit. I guess they're both a little soft.

Engagement picture - so young!

A little older

I'm broken. At age 39 I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis, Fibromyalgia, and Sjogrens Syndrome. I've suffered with depression for a long time but the RA intensified it. At the time of the diagnosis Paul and I had been married for 13 years. On August 27, 1988 Paul promised to love me in sickness and in health and he's fulfilled that vow even though there's been more sickness than health. He is a man of faith, 'What would Jesus Do' is not a catchphrase to him, it's how he lives his life EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Paul filling in at the pulpit for Community Christian Church

There is a "Love Your Spouse" challenge going around on Facebook where you are supposed to post a picture of you and your spouse for 7 days to show your love. There isn't a single picture (or 7) I could post that could embody the faith and love he exhibits. I'm a lucky woman, I married an amazing man. I wish I could come up with a picture to display it.

FARTS

I hate to be startled. I'm not talking about the kind of startled where you wake up on your birthday and are startled by the fact that you're another year older and you haven't done all the things you had planned to do by this stage in your life. For example: climbing Everest, swimming the English channel, flying solo over the Atlantic, getting all the way through Moulin Rouge so you can try to understand what all the fuss is about. Thankfully you realize that you never wanted to do any of those things and you're relieved momentarily until you grasp the fact that you're another year older and you still haven't cleaned out the junk room (it didn't used to be called the junk room, before it was a bedroom) and then you are completely overcome with the realization that there are actually 3 junk rooms. You also have never finished an entire New York Times Sunday crossword, lost weight, or cleaned any of the other rooms. At this point you've passed startled, you're stunned, astonished, even terrified. I mean terrified like seeing a clown kind of terrified (every time Cameron on 'Modern Family' dresses up as a clown I have to hold someones hand to get through it.) Anyway, I really hate being startled and I will go from  mildly pleasant to raging beast if you startle me on purpose.

On our honeymoon (for our ADP friends we stayed in room 401) one night I was stricken with a bad case of the hiccups. The lights were out and we were trying to sleep. Suddenly, Paul screams and I levitate off the bed so high that I nearly broke my nose on the ceiling. I ran for the phone to see if there was a lawyer with late hours so I could immediately divorce this fiend that I thought would always be good to me. Yes, it cured the hiccups but I stayed awake the rest of the night with a bread knife in my hand just in case the demon shrieked again.

The demon now frightens me by farting frequently. Deafening, startling farts. At night while on the verge of sleep and this happens:

I jump out of bed wondering if it's the emergency air sirens warning of a tornado or maybe a Zombie Apocalypse. Nope, Paul farted.  Five minutes later when my heart rate returns to normal sinus rhythm he's snoring, obviously feeling much better after that booming breaking of wind. Startles me. I hate to be startled, especially by flatulence. I'm giving some thought to upgrading from the butter knife, that boy will be sounding like the Bee Gees some day if he keeps this up.

Ever eaten Beanitos? They're tasty, they have protein, fiber, they're free of GMO's, artificial flavors and colors, corn, MSG, gluten...on and on. As the name suggests, they're made from beans, radioactive beans. Beanito farts are toxic. One day, Amelia and I went to the grocery store and I Beanito farted as we were pulling in to the parking lot. We both were gasping for air so I rolled the windows down to air out the car (the leather was peeling under my butt.) I rolled the windows back up while we were in the store. It was a hot Texas day, 30 minutes later when we opened the car doors we were struck by a putrid, Beanito, level 5, defcon fart, 2 birds on a nearby wire dropped dead and the lady next to us called 911 to report a gas leak. When I explained to her it was a fermented Beanito fart she also asked for the police. Beware the Beanito fart, they don't have a warning label on the bag but consider yourself forewarned.

At this point of the story I'm going to change the names to protect the guilty perpetrators of fart crimes. One late night as our family was checking in to a hotel, one family member, I'll call her Celeste, elevator farted. She thought she'd left it outside the elevator but it followed her anyway. An elevator fart removes all breathable oxygen. Fortunately, the hotel only had 3 floors so we all survived relatively unscathed even though the memory (like a Beanito fart) lingers.

I have a friend I'll call Elizabeth that never allowed her husband Kevin to poot around her (poot is her word for fart.) I don't know if that's still the case, they've been married over 30 years, have 3 kids that have probably pooted a lot so she's probably loosened the poot rules by now. She's also the friend that sings 'Trailers for Rent' in the bathroom when she's drunk, and waves at you under the stalls, or thinks it's you when it's really the waitress. But that's a whole 'nother story!!!!