SOCS – Three Fours, Fours are the Best

For my next post I will ponder for/fore/four.

For is for so much. Can’t hardly communicate without for. For instance, I love to shout, “For me?!?” Yes. for sure. When given something wonderful, often this is something yummy, hm? I light up and ask, “For me?!?” and this is followed by “Thank you!” and “How delightful!” for receiving yummies is fortunate business.

FORE! is an important word.

Four is my favorite. I dunno why. Always has been. Like yellow. Four is yellow, of course, and it smells like bananas and feels like pencils. I dunno. You’re either like that or you aren’t.

Four parts of plants and four moon phases. Four seasons are best. Four halves of toast with jam. Four kids are good for me. Two sets, two times. Big uns and wee ones but also two in the middle, because who should bear that middle child burden alone? Ours paired off in opposites, too — one older, one younger. Sassy worshiped Bubba and Moo belonged to Sissy. Plenty of photos of that. Most recently March, still paired up that way. Maybe birth order, maybe temperament, maybe resemblance. Dunno. Four is perfect. Four pets are good for me, too. Three cats and a dog. I thought it could be a hundred cats and a dog, and two goats, and six chickens, and a goldfish, but it turns out three cats and a dog are ideal.

For now, that is all I have to say about for, fore, and four.


Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘for/fore/four’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Friday Thyme Has Come Again

I hate thyme, remember? When I posted that, I found out a lot of my regular readers like thyme.  Sickos!  Right, we’re all deeply flawed and yet perfect as we are.

If you didn’t remember I hated thyme, now you know I still do, right?

Set that aside.

A few weeks ago, there was a panic at work when “a huge spider” was spotted in the basement. It was, I quote, “a huge spider”.

Our basement is creepy af. It is. I’m not particularly creeped out by basements. I spent three years sleeping in one. So dark. So cool. However, I understand that if one doesn’t care for basements, generally, overall, then our office’s basement is particularly creepy. When the property was first acquired, the basement housed old iron beds with blood-stained mattresses from prior questionable medical practices. It now stores files and things you’d expect to find in a basement, like the mop bucket, tools, and old window screens.

It’s also got a kitchenette. It’s not as fancy as the upstairs kitchenette, but it has one. That’s where we store the beverages. We are heavily dependent on soda. Mostly diet soda, I suppose because we eat candy like we are six and every day is Halloween. Some days I don’t eat candy. Because there’s pastry. Or ice cream. Or cookies. Or cake. Seriously.

Office Assistant generally buys the treats. She works 10+ hours and consumes only black coffee, water, and an apple. She tries to help us junkies by setting out naturally sweet items or lightly sweetened nuts and we eat those, too, BUT WE WANT THE CANDY!

She says things like, “I’m going to Rome for two weeks,” and my first thought is not oh how nice or bring me some door photos, it’s OMFG we’re going to run out of candy! We had some serious deadlines in the last two weeks. I thought we were running out of candy, but Receptionist found the other half of the two-ton bag, Phew!

Anyway, back to the basement — Receptionist has the task of collecting beverages from downstairs and stocking the upstairs, which is when she saw “a huge spider” and informed the boss, who said she’d have Office Assistant ring the bug guy. It was just the three of us during the spider conversation, and I was the only one who hadn’t experienced some sort of heinous spider attack. I certainly did not mention that I did not share their feelings about spiders. I’ll kill a spider in my house if it frightens the kids or looks like it’s sizin me up. If it’s a big’un and I can see its eyes and it’s all “This my bathmat, Bitch!” I’ll kill it. I carry the baby ones out of my house, like, “Here, live in the garden, be happy, do happy spider things! Wheeeeeee!” One huge spider in the basement won’t keep me from the soda unless the spider is some Aragog-lookin thing.

Yesterday, the bug guy came. And he sprayed and sprayed and sprayed and the entire office stunk of THYME OIL. Prolly still does, fml.

Happy Friday Everyone!



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#ThursdayDoors — Hotel Letters

So that hotel The Mister swept me off to a few weeks ago, it had some gorgeous doors. Seriously gorgeous — Federal, marble, stone pediment, lots of architectural interest. I didn’t photograph any of that, because Hilton made sure to obscure it with a bright blue sorta awning breezeway type thing. I dunno. On the way home, I checked the pamphlet for bulletin points marked

  • Inconveniences
    (but did not find it)

See the edges? Marble.

The lobby was stunning. Use your imagination. Can you tell what this hotel usta be?


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I feel like the stairway shot is a huge clue.

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If you guessed “bank” you may collect one gold star.

The Letterboxes Tho.



#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To find other doors of interest or to share your own, click the link.

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A Piece of Daydream

Wanna go to the beach?


Beaches are fantastic.
In my daydream world, I live in a small stone cottage on the edge of a dense forest and within walking distance to the sea. Daydream worlds are totally awesome for introverts because we can’t invite other people. We can put you there, like a living prop, but you can’t come. I take The Mister all the time. Look how he stretches out before me. See how the light falls on his shoulders? He smirks as I approach him. I can smell the sea.

In real life, I live in a bungalow on a wooded lot at the edge of the interstate and within walking distance of Walgreens. In real life, my husband looks just like that, and even better, looks at me like that, but I smell … is that wet dog?

Right. So real beach.
Let’s go!

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it’s pretty, and it’s got a crane for Dan

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breezy, beautiful blues

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bird blends in. hi, bird.

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no idea. took a pic, tho.

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i am hat. hat is me.

One morning at the beach, we swam near a family of dolphins while pelicans fished around us. That was majestic. Totally never happens at my house.

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Friday, 2:38am

Up reading blogs at 2am. Gah. Don’t get me wrong you guys, I love reading you, but I would rather be asleep. I’ve been so tired all week. I was cold and achy and took to my bed early and I was sleeping and then I woke up all hot. Well it wasn’t me. One of these people, whoever hates me the most, put the thermostat on 72. 72! Ugh. So hot. With a hotter cat nuzzling my feet.

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Not that cat. It was the white one, actually.

Not wanting to wake The Mister with the shining light and clickety-clack of my laptop, I came to my living room to write this and there is some loud and obnoxious thing Bubba watches on my tv. We all have our own thing. His is where the people watch other people play video games. Young people love that stuff. It makes me feel a little violent. I won’t be able to type long. I keep fighting the urge to scream SHUT THE FUCK UP! at the people who cannot hear me. Bubba, like his daddy, sleeps heavy, but I dunno that he could sleep through my yelling that six feet from his face.

My head is full of complaints on Thursday. Not right, is it?

One of my granny bowls, Pyrex, shattered on my gorgeous and terrible kitchen floor. Sassy set it to dry not far from the edge of the counter, Moo climbed said counter to put dishes away, Bubba leaned on the same counter — SMASHO! Bubba got a bunch of tiny cuts on top of one of his giant man feet and I swept it all up because it happened before my husband got home, even though cleaning up glass is his job. Bubba will heal and I still have another granny bowl just like the one that shattered. I hate my kitchen floor. Pyrex. Shattered. Damn.

I tried Noodles & Company today. I had never had it and was excited when Receptionist said she was ordering and would go pick it up. It was icky. I ate the mushrooms out of it and brought the rest home for my dog. She liked it fine.

All it does is rain.

Here’s the thing: When The Mister and I took our overnight date à l’hotel? Certain moments excluded, we watched The Weather Channel the entire time. Tis true. We watched The Weather Channel exclusively. Actively at times. Mindlessly at others. At the time, we laughed about morphing into our parents and growing older, but like, we didn’t turn it off. We marveled at the low temps and high rainfall all over our side of the country. We had intense conversations about flooding. And so, this week, as we had storms, tornadoes, outages and everything wet, we could discuss it properly, as older people do.
“Well, we knew it was coming.”
“Yes, in from Oklahoma.”
“Yes. They did say.”

We haven’t driven by the creek lately. We should do that this weekend. Maybe take the kids and comment on how high the creek is so they will know how to grow old properly. Maybe talk about tributaries and turtles…

Here are some things that haven’t floated away…

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They also haven’t been weeded for some time…

I don’t know how happy I’ll be in four hours. Hopefully my next sleeping session is cool and hard. Maybe Friday will have significantly superior highlights. I’m grateful to leave the living room at 3am, I’ll say that much.

Happy Friday Everyone!


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Friday Fun Flag Day

It’s Friday and I’m tryna get back into my bloggertine, so it’s Friday and it’s happy!

The other day, The Mister and I were textscussing whether we thought we could have a lil getaway for our anniversary at the end of the summer. Y’all know how ooey-gooey, lovey-dovey gross we get in August. Anyway, we debated a bit about weekend before or after and whether I can get a long weekend and he put in for a four-day and we grew giddy, lots of heart emojis…

Maybe we were a wee bit impatient.
August is a ways off.
There are numerous kids in our house.

Good gravy, this is a weird summer.

Sassy is lifeguarding, which means she’s in various stages of wet, red, euphoric, chilled to the bone, and exhausted. She keeps that whistle in her mouth like it’s a ming-ming (pacifier) and since she basically yells all day — but like nice yelling, like “Sir! I’m sorry, Sir, those are indoor towels!” and “Sweetie, please don’t drown the other children!” she’s significantly louder than she had been, which was, well, we just have one quiet kid. Unless he drinks.

Moo alternates between ambitious socializing and hermitting, but having not been apart from her sister in such a way, ever before in her life, has become a bit … needy.

Extra kids are here now and again.

*taps fingers*
Have I mentioned Mottern One has landed his big city job and temporarily resides here in our tiny bungalow that we bought partially because it will be perfect later when we have an emp — ? You’d think “bungalow” in itself would make it clear, but I don’t want you to think we have a big California bungalow. No, I need you to know there are only 1500 square feet here and now we have lost our dining room to the command center, our entryway stores luggage and ginormous man-shoes and our sofa isn’t a desirable sleeping spot, (I can’t imagine why!) so there’s an air mattress and then another monitor almost the size of our tv in here and did I mention it’s only temporary? Have I mentioned we have temporarily lived with other people in transitional times? My karma is super shiny clean. And I tell you what, we temporarily have a ‘babysitter’. OKAY?

The Mister booked us a room downtown tonight.
A sweet escape.

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If ever two people needed to sit in silence with a cocktail…
In a clean and tidy room…

Yeah. We gotta go.

Happy Friday Everyone!



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#ThursdayDoors — Open, Easy Breezy


I’m not sayin these are the best looking doors in Florida, although I’m a big fan of aqua, I’m just sayin this threshold might be the best feeeeeeling one in Florida.


doorfie included

These are the doors to Junkanoo restaurant, where before you even get to the front porch, the salty sea air whooshes by as though you are walking into another dimension WHERE YOU ARE NOT HOT.  The other side of this restaurant is open, open, open to the shore and it is easy breezy. Wind tunnel style, it blows your hair back, blows your clothes away from your body, blows a smile onto your face. Well, my face. I love the feeling of wind, at least above freezing. So before we even ordered cocktails or looked at the menu, I loved this place.

The food was delicious.

Still, I think the fresh sea air and the view were even more delicious than the delicious food.


#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To find other doors of interest or to share your own, click the link.

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I did not die or fall off where the sidewalk ends. I did have an excess of busy and tired, and I went on vacation and then I returned to busyness, though less.

Mottern One held down the fort, Central Command.

I’m happy to tell you that I wasn’t near as sick on this trip as I usta be. My anxiety and my vertigo did not win. I was a little wobbly when we stopped one time, but I was generally okay. I drove through traffics, alongside semis and barrels and barriers and I was okay. Not once did I have to pray for solace or remind myself to breathe. Not once did I consider squinting my eyes shut and driving off a mountainside to make it stop.


I don’t hate the drive like The Mister does. He hates it. He is destination oriented and I am journey oriented. On my own, road trips with my kids were adventures, and took twice as long, but were more fun, cause stop and smell the kudzu or whatever.

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Sergeant Mottern makes travel serious and shit. I am happy to say, he showed great restraint on this trip.

Vacation was HOT. It just be’d hot all the time. Just hot. People ask, “How was vacation?”

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Moo never complained of hot, and Sassy even commented one morning it was chilly outside (71F/21C). The Mister handles it better than I do physiologically, but he hates the hot, too. Hot. All the time, hot.

The best spot in my mother’s house is the standing-room-only one over the air vent.

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Yes, Vent. Do it to me. Mmm.

My parents have this sorta oasis of shade. They live out there like the zerds. It’s a screen-y, blind-y, artsy, porch-type thing, with beautiful landscaping. Papa had me sittin in his spot there, where the fan blew on me constantly, but I still dripped with sweat all the whole time I was outdoors.

SO my mother made me margaritas.

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My mommy loves me. And that’s why I went to south Florida on vacation.

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Fortunate Weakling is Fortunate

So Friday night, I began coughing.  I took all my allergy meds and reasoned that perhaps they’re worse right now and I need to move to daily treatment. I didn’t sleep well. I coughed a lot and spent from about early Saturday from the bed to the bathroom to the bed again. I slept until about 10 and upon rising, felt poorly. Because, I thought, I had not slept well. I thought perhaps some exhaustion, some dehydration…

The Mister turned on the air conditioning and I almost froze to death (!!!) so I went out on the porch to warm my bones. (!!!)

Not being one to let feeling poorly stop me, I set out to work in my yard. Just one strip. Just a lil.
That went faster than expected, so I did a few more sections.  It was 88 degrees outside and I never did sweat. If you know me but at all, this was not a good sign.

Yeah. So a fever, chills, a sore throat — well it was only sore when I breathed — a wretched cough, some nausea, body aches… three days of that crap. Weekend plans? What? The coughing was the worst. Even now, it’s enough to stop me in my tracks, enough that people ask me, “Are you okay?” but over the weekend, it was body-wracking, muscle-spasm-ing, rib-cracking pulmonary violence.

Zero stars, would not recommend. Or, if you’re being annoyingly positive — Top Notch Virus, splendid in its replication.

I am not good at being sick. All I do is worry about what’s causing the sick and how long I’ll be sick. It’s bad for my anxiety. Bigtime.

I was a sick kid. Lots of pink penicillin and yellow sippy cups. In rebellion, I tried the “rub some dirt on it” method when I left home and this did not work out for me. It just didn’t. We don’t need to get into it. My mother was never wrong in taking me to the doctor, I simply wanted to live more freely, with less intervention, without all the special. I would make my own decisions, see? It was all very YOLO and shit. And I learned the hard way.

No doctor has ever said to me, about me, “It will run its course. Hydrate and rest.”
Doctors have said that to me about my children, but not about me. On the other hand, I have had many doctors tell me I waited too long, blah blah blah, take these horse pills, let’s re-evaluate in 90 days, we’ll be performing emergency surgery, blah blah blah.

I’ve gotten better about choosing to go, choosing to surrender. I’ve heard that’s more important as we age. I am not going to say I’m good at it. Yet. I still err on the side of ‘it’ll pass’. This one is passing.

I’m a weakling. Without modern medicine, I’da done died twenty times over. I’m freakin fortunate regardless. I may fall ill a lot, but I’m a speedy healer. Practice makes perfect!

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A Tiny Tale of Tuesday

The Mister is cooking dinner, which gives me time to blog without ‘missing’ anything. Well, he’s frying bacon and his eggs, cause that is so time-consuming, while cooking scrambled eggs and toast takes all of five whoppin minutes.

I don’t have much in the way of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) but I don’t like to miss out on my people. My friend Lola always laughs when anyone uses the phrase “my people,” but it’s like, the best phrase. Everyone has “their peoples” hm?
Introvert me, I’m very supportive of everyone else’s FOMO. yeah, you should totally go do that, but i can’t, i have to stay home and catch up on blogland.

Sassy is watching some supernatural show. I can’t keep them straight. They all watch them. Different ones. Young pretty people in nearly constant crises because leprechauns are preying on dogs so the werewolves are uniting to usurp the banshee queen who is bringing demons up from the underworld before the unicorn loses its virginity at midnight on the annual vampire’s ball and the amulet/sword/chalice is lost to humankind forever. I made up those plot lines, but trust me, I am not exaggerating. If I look up, out of context, they look ridiculous. They’re always fighting, fucking, or dramatically pausing. High drama. So addictive.


Clearly, I don’t judge them. I, too, enjoy make-believe and their shows give me time to read and write here without actually experiencing FOMO.

Moo is performing. Her concert, she said, “Is lame. Don’t come.” One of the songs, we saw at competition, is the same word over and over ad nauseam and just when you think it’s ending, it starts again, and then again, and then when you’ve given up thinking it will end, one more time. It’s lovely musically, for about 20 measures, then you start mentally making your grocery list. If you want to listen to something while you watch paint dry, I’d recommend it with four stars.

The weather, while nice today, has generally been shit. Like overall, groan-worthy.

In contrast to that, work has generally been good. Like overall, pleasantly productive. All last week was good, too. Within the next month, four of us will take vacation, overlapping here and there. I do not know what that will be like, but I am hopeful since things are feeling more efficient than they were a month ago. Also, if we don’t vacation, we may spontaneously combust or suffer a mental break and start watering the mail and answering the plants, mk?

Oh look, dinner!


Off I go. — I’ll eat while I try to catch up, but I can’t type AND eat, not with these hands.

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