joeyfullystated

Welcome, Snow

Posted on December 6, 2013 by joey

Our first real snow of the season came with a Winter Storm Advisory last night. Until now, not much of the snow had “stuck,” and what had stuck melted too quickly. Apparently, in the wee hours, an icy mixture fell from the sky, but from standing on the porch this morning, I only see a beautiful blanket of snow. I’m relieved I don’t need to drive anywhere.

We’re on a two-hour delay from school.
Personally, I’d rather have a foot of snow and a snow day, and I’m sure the girls would, too.
Maybe another time, when it’s not quite as cold. It’s 24 feels like 16: I think that windchill will bite when we’re playing outside this afternoon.
But some homemade hot cocoa will only taste that much more delicious after that, won’t it?

In the meantime, it’s a perfect day to light some candles and write some more cards.

I hope all of you are staying cozy today, too.

Posted in Personally | Tagged EvDaDaDec, happiness, nature, snow | 6 Comments

December Fifth

Posted on December 5, 2013 by joey

Today is The Mister’s birthday.

I will always remember this day, but not just for his birthday.

It’s strange the things that stay in our minds.

Fifteen years ago today, I was standing on Viv’s porch, in Urbana, Illinois, having a cigarette and talking to The Mister on the phone. It was hours before HME’s bridal shower, and it was a record high temperature.
It was in the low 60’s and I stood, barefoot on concrete, in a tank top and khakis.

The sun was warm on my skin, the ground was damp, melted snow dotted the landscape, and I was, in that moment, for so many reasons, incredibly happy.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged EvDaDaDec, happiness, HME, The Mister, Viv | 3 Comments

A Decade of Moo

Posted on December 4, 2013 by joey

Moo hit the double digits today.
When asked what kind of cake she wanted, she said, “PANCAKES!”

We had pancakes. She had hers with chocolate chips, bananas, strawberries, bacon, sausage, whipped cream, chocolate sauce and maple syrup.
I did not have pancakes. I couldn’t even watch her eat them.

For those of you who haven’t always read me, Moo is our youngest child, and she’s the best/worst child ever. Basically, she’s the only one of our kids who is really, really good at being a child. She’s so childish. Her second grade teacher said, “She is just what you want a child to be: A child who enjoys her childhood.”

She’s only fourteen months behind her sister, because two methods of birth control and nursing weren’t enough to stop her from entering the world!
I actually know the date, the time, location, and position that created Moo, because people with two kids and a baby don’t have a lot of alone time.

My MIL had been nagging me that I was pregnant. She was just sure I was pregnant. She was all, “Your face is different. I can see it in your face. And you’re so tired. And this morning, you ate cold meat. And you have heartburn all the time.”
And I was all indignant, and tired of her annoying me about what could not possibly be. Afterall, it took us years to conceive.
So, on my way to pick up The Mister, I decided I would stop by the clinic and take a test. I would shove the results in her face and tell her to Shut Up.

But that’s not how it went.
The nurse asked me if I planned to keep the baby.
“THE BABY?!? WHAT BABY?!? WHAT?!?”

I went into a form of shock.
Have you ever noticed that in the movies, couples who are unexpectedly expecting say, “This isn’t possible?” Yeah, you know what? It’s a cliche for a reason. I know, because that’s exactly what I said.
I laughed and cried at the same time.
I was completely trite.

Surprise pregnancy was a surprise.

I picked my husband up from work. I was in quite a state, crying and giggling, “We’re having a baby. Another baby.”
He smirked, broke into a smile, and laughed.

It took some time for the shock to settle.

Ten years of Moo is a lot. It’s like twenty years with other children. She started with colic and quickly moved to climbing everything. She has been, by far, the most mischievous.

She’s got everyone snowed.
I read her first report card to her siblings, “Pleasure to have in class. Helpful, kind, cooperative,” the other three children asked, IN UNISON, “Why can’t she be like that at home?”
We don’t know that child.
We see her in public sometimes…

Of course, she’s delightful. So long as she hasn’t lost anything, doesn’t need anything, and well, when she’s asleep — we just love her to bits!

She’s too bright. She has too much energy. She’s too funny. She’s too cute. She’s too passionate.

It’s like God shoved all of our intensity into this tiny little person. She speaks her mind, she shoots from the hip, she takes no shit. She has her daddy’s temper and her mama’s tongue.

She’s a nightmare.

She’s perfect.

I always say she’s the best surprise I ever got.

Posted in Personally | Tagged EvDaDaDec, happiness, home, kids, MIL, Moo, pregnancy, The Mister | 10 Comments

Oh What a Night!

Posted on December 3, 2013 by joey

This is the story of The Night Before Thanksgiving 2005.
When I tell this story, I can see people squirming with disbelief.

My big kids were with other family, and my husband was away at Ft. Knox, so I have no adult witnesses.

While reading this story, it would serve you well to remember that truth is stranger than fiction.

First of all, you should know that Sassy, my Giantesse, was a size 5/6 on her third birthday, and therefore, she didn’t sleep in a crib, but rather on a toddler bed next to her baby sister’s crib.
(Her baby sister, in contrast, could have slept in a crib until about eight years of age, but that’s irrelevant, isn’t it?)

So it came as a bit of a surprise, but not too much, when at two in the morning, I awoke to the sound of shenanigans in the bathroom.
I found Sassy standing atop the step-stool at the vanity, cracking eggs into the sink.
Seriously.
She’d planned to make some “cambled eggs,” which is why she had been whisking them with a hairbrush.
I cleaned up and took her to my bed.
“We crack eggs in a bowl. In the kitchen. In the MORNING.”

At four in the morning, I heard a clattering, thundering catastrophe in the laundry room, so I went to investigate. I was scared to death. I slipped my phone into my robe and took The Mister’s baseball bat.

Nothing could prepare me for the sight.

A raccoon had squeezed through my dryer vent, shredded it quite a bit, landed on the shelf above the dryer, which knocked over the cat food container. Kitty kibble everywhere. Raccoon in my laundry room. My cat was strutting, growling, and hissing, encircling the raccoon like prey. Her fur was puffed up, her tail twice its size.

I should have worn shoes.

I put the baseball bat on the dryer, and climbed up beside it. For awhile, I just couldn’t function. There on the dryer, my eyes wide with fear, I developed a plan. I would run upstairs, get the broom, open the door, and chase that raccoon right out the door. Or, if I failed, I would call Animal Control.
I ran upstairs as fast as I could and fetched the broom.

A new calamity arose. Along the wall between the stairs and the kitchen, I heard scratching and some screechy, whiny noises. Thumping. The battle was following me!

~~I didn’t want to be attacked by the raccoon~~ To keep the animals out of the kitchen, I closed the Dutch door. Alright, I slammed the Dutch door and screamed a little. When my cat got to the landing, I climbed up on that Dutch door, my foot propped up by the stove, I lunged my torso into the landing and opened the back door. I was amazing!

But my cat was SuperCat, and she chased that raccoon out of the house.

By the time I had the cat food all cleaned up, she’d begun to scratch at the door.

I do not know if she killed the raccoon, but she had been known to kill birds, mice, possums, and even a chicken hawk.
She was a fierce hunter.

Needless to say, I was exhausted at Thanksgiving dinner the following day.

Posted in Personally, Random Musings | Tagged cats, EvDaDaDec, home, kids, nature, panic attack, raccoons, Sassy, sleep, The Mister | 10 Comments

But…The Noodles…

Posted on December 2, 2013 by joey

I presume y’all had a lovely Thanksgiving?
If you’re not American, I presume you had a lovely Thursday?

I was up ’til two on Thursday morning, because I’d forgotten it takes longer for rolls to rise up north.

Lemme just say, my Thanksgiving was wonderful. Sometimes it’s just nice to be “home.” This was one of those times.
The dreaded turkey breasts were, in fact, the breast portions of actual birds, and not some contrived, congealed pressed meat. Sassy named them Charleston and Clarissa. They were tender and moist.
MIL made many of my favorite MIL foods; homemade stuffing, frozen cranberry salad, green bean casserole, and turkey noodles. Oh My Gawd, The Noodles!

I’ve eaten a bowl of those turkey noodles every day since, and it saddens me to say, they’re all gone now.

They may or may not be the reason these sweat pants are so comfy today.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged EvDaDaDec, food, home, MIL | 7 Comments

EvDaDaDec

Posted on December 2, 2013 by joey

I failed massively at NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) in November. Total word count? Less than 4k. Looking back, those words may or may not be clever enough to point to a plot.
But! I love a good redemption story, so I’m giving EvDaDaDec (EveryDamnDayDecember) a chance.

I found out about this challenge through my bloggity blog friend, Linda.

She referred to her inspiration from treatment of visions.

So there are two new blogs you can read every damn day in December. And mine, don’t forget mine!
This will serve as my December first post, because I am late, on account of all the excuses I don’t have time to make up. Like how I need to post another blog tonight…

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged EvDaDaDec | 12 Comments

I’m Not 29 Forever

Posted on November 26, 2013 by joey

I’m 40 today.
Forty.Years.Old.
I’m vintage, heh.

This is what 40 looks like.
Me, today.

That’s 40 without surgical or chemical intervention. No anti-aging products, none of whatever they tell you will make you look twenty, none of that. I’m not airbrushed, and there’s no filter. I have never whitened my teeth. The only make-up in that photo is some mascara. I hadn’t even put on my lip gloss yet.

I have a line in the center of my forehead. It’s a hard-earned line, from giving people “the look” for most of my life. I own it. It’s mine.
I’ve also got burgeoning marionette lines. I think because I am a happy human, who smiles and laughs often.
It doesn’t bother me.
When I am 80, I will look back at this photo and see a young woman who is standing before her husband, ready to head to Starbucks for a special birthday cuppa. I will smile fondly.

I’m telling you this because thanks to everyone having procedures and the media’s obsession with youth, I have absolutely no idea what 40, 50, 60, 70, 80 or 90 actually looks like anymore. I refuse to believe that age renders beauty obsolete.

How does 40 feel? Meh.
I’m still me.
Over the last decade, I’ve noticed the increase in pedicures and gray hairs, the thinning of my eyebrows, the sag of my breasts, the overall looseness in my skin, and the freckling. Oh, the freckling. The veins in my hands are more prominent. I’ve developed visible pores on the left side of my nose.
And?
I should care because?

The list of things I can accomplish in one day is still quite long, but it’s not as long as it was at 20.
I’m NOT 20 anymore.

Honestly, I was never good at being 20.
Old soul.
Wise beyond my years.
Blah, blah, blah.

But, in the last decade, I’ve noticed that people pay more attention to me when I speak. I derive a great deal more pleasure from being taken seriously than I ever did from looking good in a bikini. I traded up. I’ve got forty years of memories and wisdom, and when I’m just too tired to cross another accomplishment off my list, I can get upset about it, or I can accept it.
I accept it.
Eventually, I plan to accept nodding off while sitting up, lines all over my face, a full head of unruly white hair, paper-thin skin that jiggles with my every move, liver spots, yellow ridged nails, grandchildren who play with my wattle, and breasts like tube socks…

So yes, I will gladly bear the title of 40, because that’s exactly how many years I’ve been given, and y’all know how I feel about gratitude.

*falls into the sofa, pulls afghan over her lap, pets her cat, slips her glasses on, takes a sip of coffee, and begins quilting*

Posted in Personally, Random Musings | Tagged aging, starbucks | 28 Comments

Name the Meat and Drink the Wine

Posted on November 22, 2013 by joey

When I was a very small child, maybe three or four years old, I saw new piglets for the first time. They were all cute, soft, and warm. I had to grab up each and every one to hold and pet. I picked a favorite, and I wanted to name him.

“His name is Sunday Dinner.”
That’s when my young mind made the connection that meat is the result of animal death.

I’m okay with that.

At our house, I’ve never had newly-born piglets to show my kids, but they’ve been educated about these matters.
Consequently, around age five, Sassy started to name every bird we eat. I presume she only names the birds because, well, they’re bought nearly whole, and they look like what they are, as opposed to sausage or steak.
Every bird that goes into my oven has been named.
Moo copied her, so sometimes Moo names the birds, too.

The other night, while we ate twin hens named Liv and Maddie, Sassy brought up that she gets to name the Thanksgiving turkey this year, because Moo did it last year. I told her we’re having Thanksgiving at Mamaw’s, so she’ll need to tell Mamaw it’s her turn to name the turkey.

Sassy called Mamaw, who did not understand a lick of what she was talking about, so The Mister had to take the phone and explain.
“I don’t know, Mama…Because it helps them understand where their food comes from…It puts value on the animal…No, I guess it doesn’t make sense…You don’t need to understand it…It’s a tradition, Mama.”

And that’s how we found out that for Thanksgiving, we’re not having a bird. MIL is just baking two turkey breasts.

Having not had Thanksgiving dinner with the whole family since 2006, I was very much looking forward to a lovely holiday meal at Mamaw’s giant table. I asked for this.

As it turns out, Drew and the boys can’t come BECAUSE FUCKING PEOPLE FUCKING SHOP ON FUCKING THANKSGIVING DAY, we’re having turkey breasts instead of a bird, and Hello! it’s Mamaw’s house, so there will be no wine!

Until I get home. Oh, until I get home.

No, my Thanksgiving is not ruined. I’ve far too much to be thankful for. But oh the w(h)ine.

Posted in Personally | Tagged Drew, MIL, Moo, Sassy, Thanksgiving, The Mister, wine | 16 Comments

Will Work for Work

Posted on November 20, 2013 by joey

I’ve been working and looking for work for over a month now. Initially, the resume. Oh good grief, lapse in employment! Thank tacos I filled that time with volunteer positions, because being a stay-home parent isn’t enough for a resume, no matter how fabulous you are.

drew made this for me

Focused parenting and wifery don’t pay monetarily, but they pay a fortune in emotional benefits. There is no place to list emotional benefits on the resume template…

Freelance writing and editing does pay, but it can’t promise to give you steady work. Maybe you work like crazy for two weeks and then nothing comes in for another two weeks. That’s where I’m at. Picking up freelance gigs, hoping they don’t overlap, wishing they didn’t die off for weeks at a time.

I need to work at home. The Mister will go back to school in January, and anyone who’s gone to school knows that college classes are not scheduled for the convenience of Joeys.

Like most bloggers, plenty of affiliate marketers follow my blog, and plenty of them promise me that I will be living The High Life and blogging from the Bahamas in no time. They don’t know I aspire to a simple, quiet, fulfilling life, and if they read my blog, they’d know I do not like tropical places at all.
Also, I know plenty of people who do enjoy The High Life, and not one of them earns their living in affiliate marketing.

I do know people who’ve made a fortune in various pyramid schemes. They are salespeople. I am not. I’m all like, “Yeah, no, I don’t want 36 rolls of inferior toilet paper delivered to my door every month, either.”
I can sell you on some stuff I love. Those things are pretty limited to food and beverage items. Ooh! and comfy cotton clothes!

work-at-home, pants optional

There are tons of scams for work-at-home positions: email collection, envelope stuffing, that sorta thing.

There are a fair amount of jobs which require you to be one of those people who telephones strangers. This work seems steady, but denigrating to one’s soul.
Worse than those jobs, are the ones where the strangers call you, and you have a dedicated phone line for providing customer service.

Along the same lines, there are even more jobs for phone sex operators. I’ve had phone sex for free, and I liked it, so you’d think that would be a good job, but it turns out, the callers are not necessarily my husband, and they may like things that make me go Ew.
Also, I’m not sure I can have phone sex when my kids are home on vacation, since I can’t even have a decent chat with my mother without those people carryin on and interrupting me. I’m guessing a large portion of phone sex clients do not entertain fantasies wherein I am their Baby Mama.

Hey? Is there a food porn line?

Since I was trained as a teacher, I have serious ethical dilemmas with writing academic papers for students. I realize some people need that, but my teacher head still thinks that’s cheating. And let’s face it, there are enough graduates who cannot construct a sentence or spell a fourth-grade word. I wouldn’t want to enable more of those people.

More people need proofreaders and editors. I know this, because I read more than I sleep.

Sometimes I want to contact employers.
Dear Sir:
I see you are seeking a writer who specializes in B2B and SQL, but I think you might consider opening a position for an office proofreader, resulting in the elimination of words such as “innergrated” and “relatoinship” in your ads.

The errors are everywhere. I mean, we all make mistakes, no one is infallible, but my daily life as a reader is akin to spelling and grammar torture.

Hey, is there a grammar porn line?

I recently visited a blog which featured a donation button. It read, “Buy me a beer!” Mine would read, “Grad school is eleven grand a semester, yo!”
I’ve never donated to a blog. I don’t view my blog as a charity or a service. I’ve only ever clicked those donate buttons for charities.
A donation button would not fulfill my interest in work, and there is no place for that on the resume, although I would certainly enjoy a free beer now and again.

I may, when I reach my bloggaversary, set up my own domain and use advertising to collect any income available, but I don’t count that as actual work.
Then when people ask me what I do, would I say, “I collect pennies per click?” No.

Notably, I see how other people have jobs.
Now, I’m not saying I’m qualified to be Mayor of Toronto, but there are plenty of well-employed idiots, aren’t there?

Let’s hope some of these preliminary nibbles turn into bites, hmm?

Posted in Personally | Tagged blog, grad school, home, jobs, kids, lifestyle, SAHM, The Mister, work-at-home | 17 Comments

On Tornadoes

Posted on November 19, 2013 by joey

We had tornadoes Sunday. We get plenty of tornadoes in Indiana. The weatherman stated that there is no season for tornadoes here, because in Indiana, there’s been a tornado spotted in each month of the year. Even if there are more in the Spring, it can happen any time.

Sunday, we had 26.

http://indianapublicmedia.org/news/national-weather-service-23-tornadoes-indiana-sunday-58780/

Having grown up here, my relationship with tornadoes is basic. There is nothing I can do to stop a tornado. They’re rather indiscriminate. Taking refuge in a more secure location is an act of hope. If a tornado hits my home, I’m going to die. I figure it’ll be quick. If a tornado hits things around me, I might live, if I am enclosed by an interior space.

I do miss having a basement.
On Sunday, we climbed into the linen closet, which was not the most fun we’ve ever had. There were six storm cells around us, and the wind registered at 80mph at Lucas Oil Stadium, less than ten miles from our house, so I did my motherly duty and took the people to the closet for a bit.

In Georgia, tornado warnings were rare, but our interior space was a rather large storage room that allotted us space to play board games inside it.
When The Mister is home, I take the children to the safe space. He seems to think that in my absence, they would just go there without him, and maybe they would, but I don’t think they’d allow me to hang out on the front porch while they hunker down in the closet all by themselves.
I’ve never had the luxury of not taking the children to the safe place. Fortunately, I’m very good at hiding fear. For me, tornadoes got nothin on deployments or dangerously fevered children.

The children never panicked as much in Georgia tornadoes as they do here. Even in Georgia, we had tornadoes and hurricanes. Gah.

Sassy at age four: Do they have nornadoes here?
Me: Yes, but not very often. A tornado hasn’t touched down here in over 100 years.
Sassy: Did you see the nornado, Mama?
Me: No, I wasn’t alive a hundred years ago.
Maybe it was her innocence, but it was not a bad conversation, as we walked to school, swinging our clasped hands.

Sassy at age 11: What’s Daddy doing?
Me: Working.
Sassy: Do they have a basement there?
Me: I’m sure. It’s a very large building.
Sassy: If there are tornadoes there, will he still come home?
Me: There probably won’t be tornadoes there.
Sassy: Will they tell him if there’s a tornado?
Me: Yes, Dear. But tornadoes don’t like to hang around tall buildings. They do seem to prefer flat land.
Sassy: Shouldn’t the animals be in here with us?
Me: Trust me, if there’s anything scary outside, they will all voluntarily come in here.

From the closet, we called my in-laws, who sat in their living room, surrounded by windows. This alarmed the girls. I said, “Psh, if y’all weren’t here, I’d be in the living room, too. They don’t have kids. And they’ve lived through more tornadoes than you’ve lived through days.”

Then I told stories of all the tornadoes I’ve seen, heard, and obviously lived through. Tornadoes are beautiful, like most natural phenomenon. They sound like freight trains or jets. If you see one, it’s actually hard to stop looking at it, because it’s truly awesome.

But deadly. Gotta respect the tornado.

We had some limbs come down. The back 40 flooded.
*claims personal victory*

My heart aches for all those who cannot claim the same outcome.
Every. time.

But let’s keep it light, hm?