Tdap smack

My 12 year old has to get the Tdap shot. Right in the rooster. At least that's what I am telling him because it is really fun to watch him squirm.

"Am I gonna have to pull down my pants?" he asks uncomfortably.
"Yessiree. To the ankles, my boy."  Mean, I know.

So I called to get an appointment. Because we are in between insurances now, I wanted to know how much it was going to cost me.

"Well, some doctors, if they know you are self-pay will give you the free shot and charge you the $12 administration fee. While others will give you the regular shot which costs $35 plus a $35 administration fee," she explained.

Huh?

I understand the name brand shot costing more. That's just common sense

"Why in the world does it cost more to administer the name brand shot than it does the generic?"  I am pretty sure the same nurse will be administering whatever shot I choose. She will be walking the same distance from the medicine cabinet to our room. You can count on them giving the same standard circle band-aid that they give for every shot. It's pretty basic. Pretty much aim and shoot, right?

Of course I would go with the cheaper shot...right? But then I got to thinking...maybe there is something special that makes the second shot worth the extra $60 that they aren't telling us about.

 Like, maybe it turns your skin green for a few hours. But that wouldn't make sense because the shot is in the rump and who are you gonna show. "Hey, Best Friend! I got this really cool shot. It changes my skin green. Wanna see?"

No. Not worth the extra money.

Well, maybe it is a stronger dose. So strong that you are guaranteed not to get sick for 2 years. But what doctor's office would do that? Hello! They would lose money. And with my family, lots of it. Yeah, not good for business. I doubt they would offer that.

Maybe they give you a drink of water after the shot? A $60 cup of water? What? They do that all the time in the hospital after you have a baby. "You want some apple juice with ice? No problem. A binkie for your baby? Sure. An extra blanket, no problem." Yeah, no problem until you see the bill.

So pretty much it was a no brainer. We are getting the $12 shot.

Right in the gooser!

Hooking up with Jen Matlock's ABC Thursday...the letter T. 

**Reminder: Tomorrow is "I Learned It From My Kids" hook up. If you wanna link a post to mine, you will have the opportunity. 

An Afghan with a bark!

I think our neighbor hated us. Growing up, we had a neighbor who, for whatever reason, seemed to hate us He would do mean things just to be mean. Like shoot me in the leg with his BB gun while I was jumping on my trampoline.

Or like the time we went on vacation and he broke glass all over the porch hoping our dog would cut his feet. This is the same guy who raided my 13th birthday party (See here.) The same guy who rode his bike on our trampoline and totally ripped it.

Yes, he was not the ideal neighbor.

One of the other things he would do was train his dogs to go to the bathroom in our yard. This wasn't as big of a deal when it was his little poodle. Annoying, but not a big deal. She was female and our dog, Spike, hat the hots for her so he didn't mind. 

Not until Beethoven.

Beethoven was a huge male Afghan dog that looked like this:













He was tall and he was scary. And Spike did mind when this huge camel looking animal came into his territory and began marking it. Needless to say there were many dog fights between Beethoven and Spike. And many times, this hating neighbor, would call his friends over to watch as he would release Beethoven into our yard. (No, his name was not Michael Vick.)

I guess in my mind Beethoven hated all things Lee. And I was a Lee. 

Beethoven lived between me and my best friend. If I wanted to go to her house there were two options. I could just walk up the street, passing by Beethoven's house, or I could go through the alley which was longer. Most times, I would choose the longer route.

At night, however, the back alley was not an option. I had to pass by Beethoven. There was no choice.

I would call my parents and tell them I was coming home. Then I would make my friend walk me halfway. Then I would run, as fast and as quiet as I could, on the other side of the street. I would almost be home, mere steps away,  when Beethoven would let out a loud bark. And no matter how many times I ran past, even knowing it was going to happen, that bark would scare the living daylights out of me. Every. Single. Time.

 Yes. Beethoven was definitely something I was terrified of as a kid.

What about you? What scared you when you were little?


 I'm a late linker to Jen Matlock's ABC Thursday.

You've got to try these.

Okay, so a group of my friends here get together every month and share a themed recipe. This month was pumpkin. My mind naturally goes to sweet things, like these Whoopie Pies that my friend made:















I thought about pumpkin bread and pumpkin rolls, pumpkin pie and pumpkin cheesecake. But I wanted to try something new.  Different.

So I found this recipe for Pumpkin Chili.


















I wasn't sure how it was going to taste. Let me tell you, it was so good. Rich with flavor....not too much pumpkin taste, just enough. Definitely will become a yearly thing. Maybe our Halloween night traditional meal.

What about you? Any good pumpkin/Autumn recipes?

Joining Jen Matlock's ABC/Autumn Thursday.

Q...Q...Qi is a word??

Alright. I need some serious help.

No, literally.

I have never been a Scrabble player. I have never claimed to like the game. We've talked about my limited vocabulary. Now imagine me having to spell words I don't use...just don't. It's not pretty.

Then my friend mentioned that she plays "Words With Friends"...and I became curious. So I bought the app. And guess what. It's kinda fun.

Don't get me wrong. I am not good. No, really. I am not. Every once in a while I will get lucky and get 23 points. But I have not won a game yet. The first game she went easy on me. The second game....not so much.

I have been playing with strangers, hoping to gain an edge.

It's not helping.

My "Game Over" board is full of "Blahdy-Blah-Blah beat you." and "Hippity Hop beat you." and "Even My Neighbor's Dog beat you."

Will playing this game make me smarter? Will I ever really use these words that I am googling, which may or may not be cheating. I don't want to know.

Have you ever used the word Qi? or Yeuky? or Oxim?

Yeah, me either. But it is fun.

Wanna play?


Linking up with ABC Thursday. The letter is Q. Google it.

What is that smell?

I smell.

No, I don't mean that I stink...although you would have disagreed with me if you stood next to me in the grocery line this morning after my rigorous Zumba workout. Yeah, I did smell.

What I mean is that I have a sensitive nose. If there is a good smell or a bad smell...it will be smelled. I love to smell my hair when I am bored; my hands when they are lotioned, my clothes when they are clean. I dread walking into my house and smelling my unpotty trained child's diaper that wasn't taken all the way outside, the burnt toast from this morning and the overall Rufus smell that constantly fills the air.  

But if you think my nose is bad, my son's is worse. He really smells.

He has always had a sensitive nose. This kid would never wash his pillowcase if he has his way because then it doesn't smell like...well...his night head sweat.

I knew he was going to be a sniffer at a very young age. Two to be exact.

He wouldn't shake hands with people when he was little because he didn't want to smell like them. If friends put one of his toys in their mouth he wouldn't play with it again. Ever. I remember cuddling him close to me and giving him a kiss on the cheek. He wiped it off with his hand, then lifted that hand to his nose and took a long whiff.

Yup. Natural born sniffer.

I am not quite sure how the two of us are going to survive these stinky, p-u-berty years....

Any suggestions??



Linking up with Jen Matlock's ABC Thursdays.

By the way, tomorrow is my recipe group here. We are making foods made with Citrus...lemons, limes, oranges. If you have any you want to share, LMK and I can linky it up on Friday.

Maimed...since birth????

Why have I never noticed this before?

One of my eyes is smaller than the other. Not the eye ball part. But the eyelid of my left eye isn't as big as my right eyelid. I am not sure that it has always been this way. It could have been. But I haven't noticed it until the other day.

Now I see it All. The. Time.

You see, I sit in front of a picture of myself for 6 hours a day. Not because I want to stare at myself and pick apart all my imperfections. As fun as that sounds, that is not the reason. I am a "Video Relay Interpreter" which means I relay calls from Deaf individuals. I can see them on a TV. They can see me. I then place calls for them and interpret.

Yes. It is quite an amazing thing...

...minus the staring at myself in between calls and on long holds. It was during one of these moments that I noticed my little eye.

I asked Hubs if it has always been this way. He was no help. He hadn't really noticed. He still couldn't tell a big difference. What? It is obvious!! Left small, right big!

I am tempted to call up old flames to see if they remember the lopsidedness of the top half of my face. Is this something I should have checked out. But then who wants to be told by their doctor, "You are a freak of nature. Let's run some tests." or "It's just a birth defect."

Defect? Friends, have you noticed this about me before? Did you have to think twice about being my friend? Does it now scare you? You know, to say you know me?

Love the lady with the crooked lids.

Do you have any of these....er...imperfections?


Linking up with ABC Thursday

Sit. Speak. Roll over. Oh, and Lick!

My two year old calls me "Nice Doggy."

Isn't he so sweet??

You see, the other day I decided to play with him. I do that sometimes. Play with my kids.

He was the owner and I was the doggy. I panted. I barked. I whined a little. I got on all fours and chased a stick. I sat and went "night-night". I did not mark any of my own furniture. I thought that may be taking things a little too far.

It was a sweet game. One that only lasted about 20 minutes. But he loved it.

How do I know this? He only asks me to play it 100 times a day.

He will come up to me and say, "Mommy. You good doggy. Otay?" Then he will put his hands on my cheeks and rub them. "You a good doggy. Yes. You a good doggy. Otay."

What else can a good doggy do other than lick the sweet fella on the cheek.

Woof!

Participating in ABC Thursday and Mama Workshop.

I may have overreacted

Have you ever been hormonal? I don't mean the normal, monthly run-or-the-mill hormonal. I'm talking stand-back-she-is-gonna-blow hormonal.

I have.

Normally I am an easy going, go with the flow type gal. I don't really freak out much, though my kids would disagree. If anything, I cry a little more around that time of the month. But in general, I'm pretty predictable.

Unless I've just had a baby. Then all bets are off.

The sad part is that it usually spills out all over my mother-in-law. Not because I don't love my mother-in-law, because I do. Dearly. It's because my mom comes right after the baby is born when I am still on the just-had-a-baby emotional high. And then Hubs' mom comes during the emotional crash and burn.

So sorry, Mom!

The worst time, though, was with my first. You know how you are with your first. You want to do everything. You want to hold them when they cry. You want to change their cute yellow poop. You want to bath them. I was no different.

Well, the day before my mom left, I woke up in the middle of the night shivering. I couldn't get warm. It was obvious to my mom that I had a fever. At that point, nothing was obvious to me other than I was really, really tired and in pain all over and couldn't stop shaking.

Come to find out I had a UTI. Those are fun.

Well, now everyone was worrying and trying to take care of me: having me rest, taking the baby whenever he cried, etc. But I didn't want to sleep. I wanted to be the mom, not the invalid. Yes, I would have given an arm and a leg and quite possibly one of my children to be bedridden with my last. Young and naive was I.

The more his mom helped, the more resentful I became. He'd cry, she would pick him up. Grrrrr. I would nurse him, she would burp him. Grrrrr. She would rock him to sleep, I would watch. Grrrr Grrr Grrrrr! (See, irrational.)

One evening, Hubs and his mom were getting ready to go shopping (Hubs loves to shop...girl!) and I was lying down on a bed in the living room with Kobe cuddled up close to me. My mother-in-law offered to put Kobe in the crib so that I could sleep without worrying about rolling over on him.

I was so upset. Mostly inside myself. I really am a wimp when it comes to conflict. But I wrapped my arms around my baby and snapped back, "We are fine. He is fine. We are going to be fine. Just go."

The minute they walked out the door I cried. And then cried some more. Then I pouted. Aaand cried some more. I did eventually move him because I was so tired and didn't want to kill him in my sleep.

Looking back, it was such a blessing to have her there at that time. Looking back, I can't believe that she still loves me, regardless of my post partum problems.

Thank goodness there were no hot flashes.

Have you ever gone hormonal on someone?


Linking up with ABC Thursday and Writer's Workshop.

Freaked out...just a little.

I was in a tornado once. Kind of. Okay, okay. So it was a dirt devil.

No, not the vacuum.

Some people call it a whirlwind, but I think dirt devil sounds a lot more scary. And I need it to sound frightening so that I don't sound like such a wimp when I tell you the story.

Before the story you need to understand a little bit about the players/characters. My older sister was/is tough. She broke a boy's nose playing tackle football once. She was a tomboy, through and through. She once asked my dad if he was glad that she was almost a boy? See, tough.

Next character, Me: I was...well...less than a tomboy. I was more...wimpy? Weak. Sensitive. Scaredy-cat. A cry baby. One summer my sisters gave us all nicknames and mine was Pale Face. Yes, in our family we were builders of each others self esteem.Needless to say, I was un-mysister.

Now for the story.

When I was about 13 years old, my sister and I were walking home from soccer practice. We were on the All Star team together. She had talent. I was her sister. Pretty much the story of my life. But whatever.

We were walking home and it was a little windy. We were talking about something. I looked up ahead and there it was. The devil. Spinning, picking up dirt and momentum as it circled towards us. I think there was also an empty potato chip bag and candy wrapper of some sort whirling around in there. I think that is called debris.

It was headed straight at us. There was everywhere to run and nowhere to run all at the same time. The only crevice to jump into was the sink hole that I had heard about when I was in elementary school and I remember being told that if you jump in there you will never come out.

Sink hole...not an option.

It was getting closer. What was I going to do? Yes, I know the twister wasn't strong enough to do anything but blow dirt in my eyes and rat my hair a little. But the whole idea that it was strong enough to pick up anything was scary to me.

So I did what any other scaredy cat would have done. I sought protection. Behind my sister. I told her to save me. Yes, I really did. And being the wonderful protector sister that she was, she did. She stood in front of me and took the blow.

Literally.

Yes, this is a letter F post inspired by Jen Matlock. F is for freaking out, funnel upside down and family sacrifices. See.

Eureka!

It fits now. It actually fits. I haven't fit into it since we lived in this house. Not since we lived in this state, to be honest with you.

My kids didn't think I could do it. They doubted I would stick to my plan to make it happen. Hubs is my rock. Without him, it wouldn't have happened.

It hasn't fit since we lived in Arizona which is more that 5 years. I was sure that this day would never come. But come it did. 

On Saturday afternoon I was finally able to fit into my garage, while sitting in my car.

You see, for years and years we have only used our garage as a storage unit in which to store Christmas decorations, camping equipment that we rarely use,  food storage...just in case, boxes and boxes and boxes of clothes to hand down. We found toys that were supposed to be donated years  months ago, clothes that I was saving for the return of Skinny Me. She's not coming back anytime soon....I miss her.

We found my Christmas wrapping paper obsession, books that are worth keeping, books that weren't worth keeping. Every I.D. card that Hubs has ever owned. Socks.

I found pictures. Oh, I was so happy to find them. Pictures from high school. Pictures from college. Pictures from my mission...yay! from my mission. Pictures from my engagement and wedding. Pictures of my kids. Pictures of my life!!

We found junk that my kids labeled treasure. Treasures that have become junk. We found it all.

But best of all, after six hours of hard labor, we found our garage. And yes, we can actually park one of our cars in it. My kids are so excited. I am so excited. We are all so excited.

We are easily amused.

It fits!!! 


Brought to you by Jen Matlock's letter E.

You might want to rethink that one....

Discretion: the good judgment and sensitivity needed to avoid embarrassing or upsetting others

This is something we try to teach my children.

"We don't toot at the table."
"Goosing your uncle's rear end, not acceptable."
 "I don't care if you can see your classmate's crack. You shouldn't yell it to her from across the room."

I got a letter last week explaining that my 5th grader would be watching the movie. You know the one. "Your body is changing and let's talk about it...in front of all your friends and peers. Oh yeah, and here is a little package of goodies to go along with it. Please silence your cell phones now." Yes, that's the one. Wednesday night was parent preview night. You bet I signed up. Best sequel evah!

Now, you should understand that we are pretty straight forward with our kids about their anatomy, their sexuality and making appropriate choices. We use the real words. We aren't embarrassed and we tell them that they shouldn't be either.

So when my eldest came home from school Wednesday and declared, "Tonight is puberty night!!!" I busted up laughing. I think if he really understood what he was proclaiming to his family...I mean really understood, he would have been mortified.

Discretion.

We're working on it.


Brought to you by Jen Matlock's letter D.

If it wasn't for the CHEESE

I once liked this guy....

He would look for me after class.

He would ask me to dinner.

He invited me to watch basketball game at his house. Who cares that I don't really like basketball. At all. Least favorite sport to watch....okay, not totally true. Wrestling is number one. Basketball is a close second.

Then I invited him to dinner at my house. My sister and I made enchiladas. They were so good! Way better than basketball. He took one bite and proceeded to rave about how great it was. He took another bite, this time leaving a dangling string of cheese on his chin. My sister busted out laughing so much that she had to leave.

I noticed her, then the cheesy chin and then tried, unsuccessfully, to suck in my cheeks and not laugh. I would have said something to him immediately, but my sister had made it extremely awkward to do so. I eventually told him that he had a dangler.

He got real quiet after that.

He didn't call me after that. He didn't look for me in the halls. He didn't invite me to his place.

I guess not everyone likes enchiladas.



Linking up with Jen's ABC Thursday and MamaKat's Writer's Workshop.

X-cuse me for sleeping

In wanting to participate in Mama Kat's writer's workshop, I made the mistake of asking Hubs what were some of the things I did that made him crazy.

I could only think of two possible things that bugged him. I am that good of a wife. Cough...cough...ahem.

He made me a list. A list. Meaning more than one.  Brutal honesty, I tell ya.

Two of the things I expected.

First, I tend to leave a trail of messiness when I cook. He likes it better if I clean-as-I-go. But I don't do that. I know this drives him crazy, but I think he should just enjoy the treat and to heck with the mess.

I know it drives him crazy when I invite family to come stay with us without telling him. In my defense, I don't always invite them. They just come. That's what families do. Or at least that is what my family does. Also in my defense, I really honestly do forget these things. I would tell him if I remembered.

I knew these bugged him.

But it was the thing that was on the top of the list that made my eyes pop out and my jaw hit the floor.

"It makes me crazy when you lie on the bed doing nothing."

Huh? When do I ever lie on the bed doing nothing? Oh that's right. I think most people call that sleeping. Something that I do far too little of. I seriously couldn't believe he said that. I am not a Hubs basher, and Hubs is usually really great. And he has never voluntarily shared this annoyance with me.

But really?

I am a mother of 5 young children. That in itself is a full time job. Add to that that I work from 5pm-midnight 5 nights a week. I come home, change and settle into bed by 1am. On a good night I get 6 hours of sleep. However, with 5 children there aren't many good nights.  Most nights I get 5 hours of totally interrupted sleep.

Hubs, on a really bad night gets 6 hours. Most nights he gets 8+.

I'm totally not complaining. If I tell him I need a nap, he is always obliging. I get a nap probably 2 days a week. All this time I thought he was being so nice. Come to find out it makes him crazy.

Me sleeping makes him crazy?

I should never have asked. Ignorance is bliss.

Xcuse me while I go lie on the bed and do nothing.

Also joining Jen's X week of ABC Thursdays.

Whirlwind

A lot can happen in two weeks.

Wet dish towels can begin to stink and grow things. Don't ask how I know this...I just do.
A person can gain a few (5) pounds. Again, don't ask.
A government can be overthrown. Egypt.
A couple can meet, date and become engaged.

Yes. That can happen. It happened to me and Hubs.

Let me start by saying, Hubs and I first met while we were both missionaries for our church. We served in the same area and were both serving among the Deaf so we got to know each other. On a totally platonic level. We served together for 4 months. So technically I knew him before our second meeting.

I had learned a lot about him on the mission.

He was a hard worker. One of the best missionaries I had met. He was strong in his faith, meaning he truly believed what he taught and lived what he believed. . He was always so positive and fun. Just an all around great guy. We were friends.

Hubs went home to his family. Two months later I went home and headed off to BYU. About five months later, he arrived in Provo searching for a wife.

He found me.

He showed up at my apartment on Mother's Day. I hadn't seen him for 6 months so it was nice to chat for a bit and see how he was doing. I would be lying if I told you I didn't get butterflies. On the mission I didn't really pay attention to how cute he was. But on this day, you can bet I was looking.

We got together the next day to hike "Y" mountain. It was a lot of fun. He says on that day he knew he was going to marry me. Me, not so much. But we hung out almost every day after that.

I didn't really know that he liked me. He was a new deafie in the area. He knew me. I knew him. I could sign. I just figured I was his hangout. I liked him, no doubt, but I didn't know if he felt the same. Then one night he told me of his intentions. I liked those intentions.

Two weeks later we were engaged. Two months later we were married. 12 1/2 years later we are still together and loving it!

Some people call it a whirlwind. Some call it a love story. I call it us.

A lot can happen in two weeks.


Linking up with Jen Matlock and Mama Kat! Check 'em out.

My husband is VERY Hot

Master Cleanse.

That is what it is called.

Hubs is doing the Master Cleanse. What, exactly, is this Master Cleanse. I wish it meant that I could take the kids for a day and when I came back, my house would be squeaky clean.

I am not that lucky.

The Master Cleanse involves drinking a nasty looking concoction for 10 days. What exactly is this funk that he is putting into his body every morning for the next two weeks?

2TBS lemon juice
2 TBS maple syrup
1/10 tsp cayenne pepper
8 oz water

That will clean you out.

The first day Hubs tried it, he misunderstood exactly what was meant by 1/10 tsp cayenne pepper. He thought it meant 1-10 tsp. So the first day he put in a whole teaspoon of cayenne pepper.

He couldn't believe how hot it was. But, if it was going to clean his insides, he could handle.

On day two, he put in 1 1/2 teaspoon and I think I saw fire shooting out his eyeballs and heard fire alarms going off inside his head. After he was able to catch his breath, I asked what had happened. And he explained.

I got out our 1/8tsp and told him that 1/10 was less than that.

I always knew Hubs was hot.

I guess I never  knew just how hot.


Swing by Jen Matlock's ABC Thursday for more V posts.