Baby, You're A Firework!

Another example of me being the brakes--FIREWORKS! Bok! Bok! Bok! I own my chicken-iness like a badge of honor. I keep my fingers and toes and sit WAY back behind the lines to "Oooh" and "Aaahhh" (usually by myself).

This has always been the case. When we were little, Daddy would give us each a few dollars to purchase our crackling, sparkling, popping booty. Gayla and James II would purchase the very cool "big fireworks" while I would buy $2 in sparklers and pocket the rest of my dinero...I mean really, you used to be able to buy 48 sparklers with $2 and how many flaming sticks of death can a girl really handle in one night (T.W.S.S). I did try to light ten at one time back then, five in each hand to make Pom-Poms. Rah-Rah, Sis, Boom, OWWWWWW! Stop, drop them and run away crying! I'm a bigger weenie than Spanky-dog!

Nevertheless, I married a firework addict and his little mini-me a few years ago, making New Years Eve and 4th of July fireworks a staple like bread and milk. With the burn ban in effect in every town around us, I laid down some law:

1. Everyone wears shoes and socks (NO FLIP FLOPS).
2. All hair longer than your ears is tied back.
3. No more than two people around the staging area (I called it the kitchen).
4. Don't lean your face over the firework being lit.
5. Make sure the lawn and roof are watered down.
6. Keep the running water hose nearby.

All wishes were complied with without a grumble. MyChad even went a step further and set up a line of chairs out of the line of fire. He added a mister and three fans. It made the heat quite bearable. However, I must be a magnet for debris because, much like last year, I was pelted with burning shrapnel more than once. I called it a night soon after and forced myself not to nag them from the safety of the house.

I laughed yesterday when the ABC reporter so seriously called fireworks, "the most hallowed of Independence Day traditions." I don't know about fireworks being holy, venerated and sacred, but I would agree that they are tradition. It was nice to see our 14-year-old, too-cool-for-the-rents daughter laughing and spending quality time with her daddy instead of curled up around her cell phone or laptop. I did my best to keep my nagging to a minimum, only yelling, "THERE ARE TOO MANY COOKS IN THE KITCHEN!" three (more like five) times.

Coming up: Darby asked if she could have a blog...hmmmmmm???

I carry myGayla everywhere I go

Watching silly movies makes me cry but reminds me of the important things.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Poet: e.e. cummings 
Poem: i carry your heart with me 

GOOD GRIEF...Most Likely to Bring Their Mothers Great Shame Is More Like It!

There is very little that is real about reality television when the market is over-saturated with the REAL HOUSEWIVES OF SURVIVING FAT CAMP DATING MISHAPS (my ode to Don't be a Menace to Society While Drinking your Juice in the Hood). I can actually spot the production formula pretty easily these days...just ask Chad how many times I tell him what is about to happen! Now BRAVO (more like BOOOOOO!) has announced its newest Soirée into the true-life. They are calling it Most Eligible Dallas.

This newest mother's worst nightmare focuses on the dating scene in "Big-D"... the dating scene if you're young, rich and living on someone else's dime. See the Hollywood Reporter's description as mine just kept coming out catty (watch the official video!). I can almost predict how they will shame their mothers and their hometown. Where's the reality of dating in Dallas in any of their lives? It's only been a few years, but I don't remember any of those characters showing up at nickel beer night or the dinner theater.

Let me ride my brakes here a sec and ask my fellow Texans about their travels outside of our great state. What's the first question people ask when they find out you're from Texas? It used to be, "How many cows/oil rigs/acres does your family own?" (Thank you J.R. Ewing!). There was once someone who inquired about the plural of "y'all" to which I responded, "I don't know! All y'all?" What new cliché will this endeavor bring upon our heads? Isn't it bad enough our "hipster" Governor "tweeters" and does the GWB head bobble dance when he speaks? Doesn't the world think we are shallow, ignorant and back-woods enough? Never in my life did I think it would be better to tell people I am from the Arkansas side of Texarkana!

No! Stop That!

In the last post, I acknowledged my self-loathing. I am aware of it. I know where it began. I know why I do it. Now, let's look at changing it.

I will say, "No! Stop that!" Then I will encourage myself like I would a friend who needed me to tell them to keep going, keep trying. I acknowledge that I am trying to change. I will focus on what I do well. I will forgive myself. I will state things in the affirmative...this could be comical.

NOT: I am fat and lazy.
RATHER: I like myself with a little padding and without an agenda. (EAEANT! Try again)
TA-DA!: I have been successful losing weight in the past, and I can do it again. I will get up and go for a walk.

Today I am in OSHA training. Not a lot to blog about. Maybe tomorrow will be more interesting. Today's positive thought...I WAS A GOOD TEACHER.

I'm Not Very Good At Keeping Promises...

...especially in the five minutes it takes to fall asleep and especially when it comes to not beating myself up on the inside.

Self loathing is something everyone struggles with at some point or other. It's easier for me to love everyone else than myself...always has been. I do my most self damage from the moment I click off the lamp until my body takes mercy on my mind and drifts off to dreamland. Last night's inner dialog:

"Did you set the alarm for 6 so you would get up and walk? Look at it to be sure...lazy. You're never going to change anything, are you? You should get back up and put away the laundry that your husband washed for you. He also cooked your favorite dinner and took the girls to Hobby Lobby. When are you going to quit feeling sorry for yourself and get back into life? Your sister would be so disappointed in you. You always let everybody down..." ZZZZ

Sounds pretty bad when I write it all down. Sometimes it goes on so long and gets so ugly I start counting backwards from 100 by sevens to keep my hatefulness at bay. The only good news in this is that I HAVE stopped doing the same thing to my image in the morning...don't want to send me to work with a complex or anything. Geesh!

MySarah told me last week I have to find one thing I love about myself and focus on that. I have it picked but when there's so much more of me than that one thing, the balance is lost. FOCUS! FOCUS! FOCUS! Hocus Pocus! You've shed 30+ years of self-loathing and are self-loving! Ah to dream...

How to Stop Self Hatred:
1. Be aware of it (check).
2. Find out where the negative self-talk originated (we won't go here in a public forum, but, yes, I know where this began).
3. Acknowledge the pay-offs (makes it easier to explain the outside if I can break down the inside).
4. Take conscience steps to stop the negative talk (to be continued).

This is Probably Going to Upset a Few...

What if there were 1,138 laws that benefitted and provided rights and privileges for anyone who didn't have blue eyes? What if more than 85% of the 50 United States didn't recognize your human right to marry the one you love because you have blue eyes? What if only 11.7 million people wore their blue eyes with pride in a sea of 311 million brown and green eyes? What if countless men and women wore colored contacts to hide their beautiful blue eyes?

Personally, my world is better for the men and women in it with blue eyes. They are my brothers and sisters by choice and by heart. I love them with all my being and would give them anything they asked. However, my love will not correct the atrocious wrongs inflicted by this country because of their blue eyes.

CHEERS, New York! Welcome to the modern world. I salute you from my home deep in the dark ages. I titled this "This is Probably Going to Upset a Few..." And I really don't give a flip! We are all God's children, and He loves us, everyone...just the way we are!

NOTE: I was excused from jury duty most likely because I am a child of postal carriers! :-D

Don't Laugh...I WILL Say "Duty"...Several Times

"There is no more valuable work that the average citizen can perform in support of our Government than the full and honest discharge of jury duty" (HANDBOOK FOR TRIAL JURORS SERVING IN THE UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURTS. Published by the Administrative Office of the United States Courts, Washington, D.C. 20544).

YEP! I'm a big dork...I read the nine-page Juror Handbook this morning in lieu of my big day in court tomorrow. I'm prepared to be selected because in my mind it's 99.99% possible I will be chosen to perform my civic duty. My support is as follows:

In 2010, I received the first jury duty summons from the Eastern Texas U.S. District Court. I completed the questionnaire online and waited for my day to be called. Following directions, I called the toll-free number the night before only to find out that I was not needed. Insert sad emoticon...

In March of this year, DING! I was summoned again. I completed the online registry again and waited for my day in court. During my wait, I lost my best friend and sister. I was still "honest and intelligent... [and had] integrity," but I was too distraught to have "good judgment" (pg. 9). One call to the court, one message left, one call returned okaying my excuse, two automated voicemails telling me to appear, one more message left to the court seeking clarification, and one return call that I was excused later, and my civic duty was done. OR SO I THOUGHT!

Two weeks after sister's memorial service, Hubby Dearest came to me with a sheepish look and head hung low. He had intercepted the newest jury summons on Friday and hidden it until Sunday to give me a relaxed weekend. Sweet Man! "No freaking way!" I screamed. Wash, rinse, repeat...except this time, the automated information line called the week before to tell me my services were not needed due to court being cancelled. Alright! Once again with feeling..."Whew!" (Not really, I have always wondered what it would be like to sit on a jury...always called, never selected).

LUCKY ME! Two weeks ago, the neighbors could hear me. "YOU'VE. GOT. TO. BE. KIDDING. ME!" Yep, I had received another jury summons. Chad laughed uncomfortably. Wash, Rinse, Repeat. Beginning last Thursday, I started receiving the call from the automated information line stating that I should appear tomorrow (Tuesday, June 28) for jury duty. Then it called me again on Friday and Saturday. I am almost sure I'll get a call today. I think I am going to get selected for sure this time!

THE DOOTY OF THE DUTY: I have to wear a dress/pant suit (I only own one...please, DEAR LORD, let it fit!). The case could go until July 6 (did I mention I only own ONE suit!). You're not allowed any electronic entertainment to keep you occupied while you wait (guess I'll take a book...paper and ALL!). I have to miss work for however long it takes (at least they pay $44/day and mileage but that's still not as much as I make at work).

Oh, OTIS! I was wrong?!?

This one is for my girls, Skylar-Bear and Darby-Doo! Mark the calendar, Mrs. Jaimee was "WRONG!"

Last summer, Chad and I took Darby and Skylar to Bull Shoals for vacation (I might have mentioned this before, but hang on!). Because it was freaking AUGUST and because we had free rooms with ChadTravelPoints, we decided to stay in a hotel in Mountain Home and drive to our points of interest each day. Hotel name slips my addled brain at the moment but they gave us Otis Spunkmeyer muffins every morning and freshly baked Otis cookies every evening at 6 p.m. on the dot!

At each morning and evening meeting with our dear friend, Otis, the girls would say his name reverently, and I would respond, "Poor Otis...Otis Spunkmeyer. Poor, poor Otis! As a child on the playground, I bet he was picked on mercilessly for his name. Oh Otis! But he would grow up to show them all...wahahaaha! Cookies and muffins to you!"

Then, as if he were following us, Skylar spotted this sign in the descending elevator of the caverns we visited on our last day. Because the elevator was wall-to-wall tourist elbows, she pointed and whispered, "OTIS!"
I wriggled my camera up and got the shot! (See how much muffins and cookies can make you weigh...tsk...tsk...he was pudgy too...sniff)

All year long "Otis!" has been our love call among us gals. Therefore, I just had to make sure we took him along for this year's vacation. Darby and I swung by Sam's Club on our way out of town and bought the giant muffin package...this seems to be the only place we can find the little darlings.

HERE'S where I was wrong...according to Wikipedia, "Despite common belief, the name Otis Spunkmeyer is not actually referring to any person. The name was a whimsical creation of the then 12-year-old daughter of the company's founder." Not. Real. So. Distraught. Confused. Disappointed.

I really wish I would learn to leave well enough alone and not research the biography of every stinkin' person that interests me. I blame Helen Keller and reading her biography when I was in the third grade.

Metal Rooster Obsessed!

PHOTO SOURCE

Every little break I get today, I am like a woman un-done about finding a five-foot-tall recycled metal rooster. My pal Val (check out her fabulous blog) posted about "The Bloggess" (I am guessing Blog Goddess???) this morning. I was not only falling out of my chair with tears and laughter, I was bound and determined I NEEDED to find myself such a treasure!

Obsession, at least in my world, is the result of a few factors. First, an indescribable and painful urge to WANT to change something and it not be within my ability to do so. Second, it's a "slow news day," and I am obviously not occupied in another endeavor. Third, I have access to a computer and the internet. TA-DA! Perfect recipe for an obsession.

Today the obsession meal began with an appetizer of waking up from a nightmare of dreams unfulfilled and objects of affection stolen from me.
Double measure of sadness was set to ruin me for the rest of the day at 7 a.m. However, like the morning coffee and newspaper routine of a hokier time, I had to check out my buddy's blog and found the little nugget of joy I spoke of in the first paragraph. Because it made me laugh uproariously, I was set upon the mission of finding a five-foot-tall recycled metal rooster. NO. SUCH. LUCK. (I wonder if my brother could make me one...hmmm)

Do I really NEED it? NO. Do I really really WANT it? Probably NO on that too. That's an obsession for you. So now that I have been writing this entry all day (a little here, a little there as time permits), I think I will take a look at what I really need to be researching...grief counseling, Weight Watchers, and a stop smoking plan that works.

William Starling is a Darling!

Three months ago amid the greatest heartbreak of our lives, William Starling plopped himself right smack in the middle of my heart. His birth brought us all great joy, and he is one of the sweetest babies you will ever meet.

Last week, I tried to teach him to put his feet in his mouth...and to scratch his ears with his toes. Papa kept saying, "Aunt J-Me, he's not supposed to bend like that." I say porque no? I taught his big brother to do it, it makes his tummy feel better, and it's so dang cute!

Right now, William Boy (sounds like Wimbaly when James III says it) doesn't do much. However, he seems amicable to me assisting him in learning the running man and giving him kisses (watch out for baby sugars!). He's also very ticklish, but he gets annoyed and starts wailing if you do it too much. He prefers you to walk with him, but his Mama and Pa say, "NO!" So I learned to sit with him on my shoulder. Together, he and I proved I could eat an entire meal with him there...wish I was right-handed when my arm got tired and I needed to switch shoulders.

Today I find myself wondering about all he'll see and do. I do this a lot with his big brother too. When you have such a sweet, smart and crafty Mama and loving, ingenious, and handy Pa, the future could be anything! I love hearing about their newest "firsts" and can't wait to see what is in their futures. Wish I was around more to experience them first hand.