Because I'm still overwhelmed

 

The accident was the right in the middle of a very turbulent time.

Blogging is my therapy.  It’s hard not to share details with you my friends.

We’ve been living in a pressure cooker for well over a year now.  While I try hard not to let my deafness create any type of “victim” label, I am exhausted by the emotional toll of someone using my disability to bully me.

 

There, I said it.

And legally it can’t be considered slander or unfair criticism because it’s true.

I thought bullying was a school-age problem.  Not something I’d face as an adult from someone in authority.  And not in a way that targets the fact that I cannot hear.

I’m the first person to champion the rights of someone who has a disability.  The first to try to work it out with communication.  And the last to give up.

Except that I’m spent.  I’ve never been on the receiving end of this kind of long-term attack.

 

 

Sorry, I’m having trouble finding the funny today.

So I thought I’d link you up with some things that make me smile:

 

Happy Coming Home Day Kona!

(Yes, that’s what you call it when you don’t know your horse’s birthday :)

This girl has a will to live that is beyond amazing.

Remember this?

It’s been three years – and much fattening up from that first day we got her.

We love you sweet girl!

 

~

And while reading Beth’s blog – this guest post on marriage lessons was totally snort-worthy.

(“When he said, “All I ever really needed to know I learned from Star Trek,” he was serious.”)

So I followed the link over, and found a little gem at The 4th Frog Blog.  Hope it makes you smile too:

 

I couldn’t help but grin right around the 2:50 mark…

Comfort

The call came in the morning.

Are you guys alright?

Yes, why?

Where’s your car?

What?

Where’s your car?

In the parking lot, why?

 

A few driveways down from our property, an accident scene.

A mangled vehicle the same color and size as mine.

A 17-year old driving her little sister to school.

 

I know what t-boning someone at 50 miles per hour feels like.

But not being on the receiving end.

 

Since she’d only just pulled into the main road from her home, her parents heard the impact and ran to the scene.

 

She was gone.

 

Her little sister was strapped in with a broken arm.  I can only imagine what went through their minds as they worked to help her while reeling with the realization that it was too late for their eldest.

 

 

As the morning went by, pieces began to filter in.

Her dad is the pastor of the church in front of the parsonage they lived in.

Our family and neighbors are longtime attendees of the church.

She was well-loved and finally got to meet the Jesus she served.

No one knows why she pulled out in front of the cargo van.

 

All day, the news haunted me.

It didn’t help that the road was closed when I drove home… the vehicles still in place.

I was waved through the roadblock since our driveway was yards from the scene.

And it really truly did look like my vehicle.

Again and again, I felt such sadness for the father that didn’t know he was hugging his daughter for the last time.

~

 

I had no idea.

None.

Three men entered the office and I was alone in the lobby.

Can I help you?

His eyes were rimmed in red.  He attempted to return my smile.

He haltingly spoke, barely above a whisper.

He turned a small red cell phone over and over again in his hands.

My daughter

was in a fatality accident

yesterday

 

A sudden weight crushed the wind from my lungs.

 

The state troopers…

they said to bring her cell phone in.

 

As he rubbed the phone with his thumb and looked down at it.

My voice wouldn’t work.

His eyes filled and matched my own tears.

Oh God.  What do you say?

This is the man who found his girls.  His little one is hurt.  And his oldest isn’t coming home.

 

I cannot wrap my mind around his grief.

And I don’t understand how he came to wander into our office.

But he did.

And I saw the fresh emotion written on his tired face as he did what was asked of him while cradling that precious little link to her.  His friends smiled sadly at me as my mind reeled.

I had nothing.  I looked at this broken man and my heart broke.  His grief wasn’t on a newspaper page, it was right in front of me, running down his cheeks.

And all I could think of:

Praise be to … the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.    2 Corinthians 1: 3

 

I felt utterly hopeless in the face of his sorrow -the only thing I could do was to pray.  Pray for that comfort.

 

Hug your kids.  Even if they’re asleep right now.

Tell them how amazing they are and that only God loves them more than you do.

And read that favorite book to them for the fourteenth time.

 

Grateful

True Story Tuesday - Hop To It

No way… truly?  It’s Tuesday already and time for some True Story Tuesday linky love!

 

Super easy to join in for some tales of the crazy, hilarious, amazing, miraculous, outrageous and (mostly) true things that have happened to you!

Just add the True Story Tuesday button to your post (copy and paste the text below the button on the right sidebar), come back and add your permalink (the www address you get when you click on your post title), and we’ll be around for some comment love!

 

This week brought to you by Rachel.  And a few million of her little friends:

 

HOP TO IT

It was somewhere around age nine.  Far past the age of any possible residual tomboyishness.  Soundly into the era of prissiness and all things befitting a junior member of royalty (snort).

I cannot show you an actual picture of this nine-year-old priss, because my mother still claims that the short haircut I sported looked cute.  But my school picture looked eerily like Davy Jones that year…

(Don’t hate – you wish you looked like a Monkees cast member too).

Our vacation that year consisted of visiting family in Idaho.  It was right at the height of a certain craze:

(If you don’t remember this, please do not rub your age in my face… my wrinkles are mocking me).

A car full of parents and cousins and a grandma  - all headed to a nearby store to view the awesomeness that was The Cabbage Patch Kids.

Little did we know what the afternoon held…

(JAWS themesong)

 

Before we knew it, the sky began to grow darker.  And darker.  And suddenly that “darker” took shape.

Things began bouncing off my grandmother’s sedan.  It looked as if it were raining outside, but it was hard to make anything out.

The roads became slicker, the surroundings became blurred.

In a heartstopping moment, we realized that we were smack dab in the middle of a history-making moment.

See, that “rain”???

 

 

It is hard, even now, to explain the sheer mass of the volume that fell from the sky.  These pictures don’t do justice to just how dark the sky turned.  And how you suddenly felt surrounded.

It littered the roads in a solid mass.

 

We made our way slowly through the crawling traffic… everyone staring agape through their smeared windows.

 

We parked and tentatively opened the doors.

We were met with an immediate hail – the weather beating down on  us, bouncing off of us, jumping all around us.

 

We ran to the store and took cover under an awning.  Yet it danced around our feet… smashed under each step we took.

What was it?  Why a grasshopper storm.

Of course.

 

       

 

~

Got a family legend or a story that qualifies as amazing, outrageous, and true?  Maybe you’ve already got it written?  Just paste the True Story Tuesday code in your post and link it right back up!  Can’t wait to read your stories!

 

(And yes… it was a nightmare to clean our hair.  And no, I didn’t get a Cabbage Patch Kid for Christmas.  Snap)

~

p.s. If you get a chance, head on over to Art’s Chili Pepper where I’m guest posting today! :)

~

Monday Motherhood Moment

 

How’d ya like that?  Just a quick little cheesy title?  All because this little photostory couldn’t wait until Friday to be told…

See, Itty Bit discovered a bungee cord.

And found all sorts of places to hook it up on the quad.

 

Ahh, what a joy to capture his discovery.

 

Hee hee!  I love that expression of astonishment at cause vs. effect!

 

Don’t mess with this kid.

 

Uh-oh.  This is the “I’m about to get in trouble” look.

 

Umm honey?  I think you’re pulling that too far.

 

That’s good enough.

 

Honey???  That thing is gonna snap.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

 

 Ouch.

I thought y'all needed a laugh!!!!!

Mr. Daddy here:

My cousin sent me this e-mail, and I thought about y'all almost immediately. *snicker*

This is mostly for our gal readership cause I thought you just might could use it.....ROFL

Rach in:  I am cringing already - girls, MR. DADDY WROTE THIS...

But our few guy readers could probably use the laugh....BBBWWWAAAAHHHHHAAAAA!!!!!!!!

Summer Classes for Women at THE ADULT LEARNING CENTER

REGISTRATION MUST BE COMPLETED
By Sat. Oct 2, 2010

NOTE: DUE TO THE COMPLEXITY AND DIFFICULTY LEVEL OF THEIR CONTENTS, CLASS SIZES WILL BE LIMITED TO 8 PARTICIPANTS MAXIMUM.

Class 1
Up in Winter, Down in Summer - How to Adjust a Thermostat
Step by Step, with Slide Presentation.
Meets 4 weeks, Monday and Wednesday for 2 hrs
beginning at 7:00 PM..

Class 2
Which Takes More Energy - Putting the Toilet Seat Down, or Whining About It for 3 Hours?
Round Table Discussion.
Meets 2 weeks, Saturday 12:00 for 2 hours..

Class 3
Is It Possible To Drive Past a Walmart Without Stopping?
Group Debate.
Meets 4 weeks, Saturday 10:00 PM for 2 hours.

Class 4
Fundamental Differences Between a Purse and a Suitcase
Pictures and Explanatory Graphics.
Meets Saturdays at 2:00 PM for 3 weeks.

Class 5
Curling Irons--Can They Levitate and Fly Into The Bathroom Cabinet?
Examples on Video.
Meets 4 weeks, Tuesday and Thursday for 2 hours beginning At 7:00 PM

Class 6
How to Ask Questions During Commercials and Be Quiet During the Program
Help Line Support and Support Groups.
Meets 4 Weeks, Friday and Sunday 7:00 PM

Class 7
Can a Bath Be Taken Without 14 Different Kinds of Soaps and Shampoos?
Open Forum.
Monday at 8:00 PM, 2 hours.

Class 8
Health Watch--They Make Medicine for PMS - USE IT!
Three nights; Monday, Wednesday, Friday at 7:00 PM for 2 hours.

Class 9
I Was Wrong and He Was Right!--Real Life Testimonials.
Tuesdays at 6:00 PM Location to be determined.

Class 10
How to Parallel Park In Less Than 20 Minutes Without an Insurance Claim.
Driving Simulations.
4 weeks, Saturday's noon, 2 hours.

Class 11
Learning to Live--How to Apply Brakes Without Throwing Passengers Through the Windshield .
Tuesdays at 7:00 PM, location to be determined


Class 12
How to Shop by Yourself.
Meets 4 weeks, Tuesday and Thursday for 2 hours beginning at 7:00 PM.

Upon completion of ANY of the above courses, diplomas will be issued to the survivors.

Send this to all your guy friends for the best chuckle of their day...

And to all your gal friends who have a sense of humor!

I hope this last line is enough to save my A@@!!!!!!

just saying......

Letters of Intent - Another Target Tale

A relief to see Friday finally here… along with Letters of Intent from King Julien!

 

To my warm blogging friends -

Seriously, I cannot take much more of those “it’s sooooo hot, where is fall?” posts.

It poured BUCKETS here today guys.  BUCKETS.

So y’all (*cough* Heather) should just be happy you get to enjoy shorts weather for a wee bit longer, right??? :)

 

Signed,

Drowning

 

~

 

Dear Itty Bit -

I know you’re in this say anything random phase.

And Daddy thought it was hilarious when he gave you a piece of toast and you promptly dug in and declared,

“Mmmm!  Tastes like chicken!”

 

I mean, your redneck daddy was nearly in tears by the time he recounted it to me.

But lets try to be more careful with some of our choices, k?  You know why.

Love,

The Momma Who Loves Your Silliness

~

 

Dear Lady at Target -

Lord Knows I canot shop at Target without it somehow being blogworthy… but you could have just laughed and gone on your merry way.

After waiting a long, long, LoOoNg while for you to scoot yourself and your cart out from the middle of the aisle (Thank You Itty Bit for your use of manners by brightly calling, “EXCUUUUUUSE MEEEEEE”), I went directly to my favorite:

Yes folks, that’s a Tahitian Vanilla candle.  But you know you can’t enter the candle aisle with a 4-year old (or a 40-year old for that matter), and not stop and smell a couple or twenty, right?

When I obligingly stuck a scented goodie under Itty Bit’s nose, that say anything random mood struck again…

“Mommy, that smells like CHEEEEEEESE!”

you could have just chuckled and walked away.

But Itty Bit suddenly startled and looked at you.  You were doubled over gasping.

And when you caught your breath, you had the consummate wisdom to loudly guffaw and announce to anyone within a fourteen aisle radius:

“OH MY GAAAAWD!  Did he just say that smells like S#&%  ?!?!?!  HA ha Ha hA!!!”

 

My poor kid looked at you like you were out of your mind.

I looked at you like you were out of your mind.

As nicely as I could muster, I replied,

“No.  Because he didn’t know that word.”

 

And somehow you thought it was even funnier that you’d just taught him.

 

Signed,

We Don’t Talk Like That At Our House

~

Join Julie for more letters – hit up her button above!

Thank You Very Much - Calorie Edition

Thank you for all the sweet comments on the last post.  I always knew you were a bunch of caring friends, but the comments reaffirmed that.  That last we knew of the injured boy:

He regained consciousness and was finally able to say his name (“my name is Kyle, I think”), but could remember nothing of the fall.  He had obviously hit his head in two places and when Mr. Daddy went to help secure him on the backboard, he complained of chest pain.  They were unable to locate his parents, but in true small-town form, people began calling:

Hey, that’s Ricky’s boy!

Ricky from the valley?

No – Ricky, Tommy’s brother.  You know, the boys who played on the state team that year.

Oh, the ‘90 season – the ones who look like twins.

No, those are the Wilson boys.  The ‘92 season… they played with Charlie’s kids.

Charlie from the mill?

Yeah.

Hey, you mean the one who lives over by the creek?  The last house before the bend where Johnny shot that 6x6 bull last year?

Yeah!

Ohhhh!  This is Big Joe’s grandson – I went to school with Big Joe’s sister.  She was a year behind me.  Red hair?

Anybody got Big Joe’s number?

 

…and on and on.

And in a twist that makes me feel comfortable to know that these people care: the fire department responders were the same ones who showed up to the scene of my accident.  Yeah, the same dudes who asked if I knew my name.  If I knew where I was.  If I knew that man who was standing outside the ambulance.

Yes, he’s my husband.

We’re sorry ma’am (loud guffaws).

Rach, don’t mind them, I went to high school with ‘em.

Nothing like a small town, I tell ya.

Thanks for your prayers guys!

 

~

 

Now onto our weekly free therapy session with KMama!

 

I present for your drooling pleasure:

To the high school kid who works at the Kroger’s bakery:

When I asked if you had anymore Tuxedo Cake, Thank You Very Much for telling me you did.

Not a problem, except that you then told me you didn’t know how to slice it and couldn’t sell it to me.

 

HUH?

I did not admit to you, but am now admitting to the entire internet (Thank You Very Much), that I drove out of my way from Redneckville to get me some of this insane yumminess!

See, I’d spent Thursday through Sunday within the confines of my home due to a lovely head cold that Itty Bit decided to be generous with, Thank You Very Much.

When I broke quarantine to get some medicine at the store, I drove a half hour to your place of employment because I figured Tuxedo Cake would fix what ails me, Thank You Very Much.

When you pointed me toward some Tiramisu Cake, I realized you just didn’t get it.

For sending me home without that particular brand of medicine, Thank You Very Much.

 

~

To Self:  Thank You Very Much for not making a scene at the store and resigning yourself to the massive slice of Tiramisu cake.

To Self:  The kid can open the refrigerator door.

 

To Itty Bit:  *sobbing hysterically*

I guess I didn’t really want it anyway.  Thank You Very Much.

 

(p.s. don’t give me that “who me?!?” look – the Lightning McQueen spoon was a dead giveaway)

 

Go click on the Thank You Very Much button for more gratefulness this week! :)

My man

Itty Bit finally graduated to a residual snotty nose without a cough, so we headed to soccer circus practice.

May I present for your viewing pleasure, a momentous occasion:  Itty Bit following directions!!!

There’s a cute little directions following boy on the far left, in case you didn’t catch it right off…

Of course, he managed to get busted for using Cutie Left as a snare drum within that same time frame, but still… progress people, progress! :)

 

I got temporarily distracted by the adorableness that is my granddaughter, Cindy Lou Hoo:

(Which totally reminds me of this one… couldn’t you just kiss that nose all.day.long?)

And captured the little munchkin talking Grandpa into heading for the swings:

The next thing I knew, people were running.  Yelling.  On their cell phones.

Within 60 seconds, flashing lights.

 

Big Brother.  Followed by his Dad.

In bewilderment, I watched my husband swiftly drop Cindy Lou Hoo with us and stride to an approaching aid car.  He emerged with medical gear and hauled to his destination.

Soccer practice skid to a halt as a team of 4-year olds stared in wide eyes at the ambulance.

 

Remember the quarry?

Surrounded by irresistibly climbable rock walls.

And a 12-year old who did a face-plant down onto them.

 

His friends came running toward the park.

“He fell!  He’s bleeding from his ear!  He’s sleeping!”

 

Eleventy eons later, Big Brother emerged covered in dirt.

He had climbed the rocks and wedged himself as Mr. Daddy carefully loaded the child onto a backboard.

Now conscious, he was disoriented and altered.  He didn’t know his name or where he was and had suffered obvious head trauma and potential chest injuries.

All I could do was pray.

 

Can I tell you that there’s a special kind of pride in watching your man charge into trouble like he can fix anything in the world?

I’ll leave it for future posts – stories of how he has been the first responder on the scene and played point even after the “official” help gets there.  How it calmed my panicked mind to see his face come into view from the smoking wreck of my driver’s seat.  How he rescued kids in a submerged car and held a dying accident victim.

As goofy as we get around here… I am grateful, so grateful for my capable and selfless man.

As you wish.

True Story Tuesday - I ate WHAT????

Hey y'all - it's that time again!







True Story Tuesday is upon us and we're hunting for some other crazy, hilarious, amazing, outrageous and (mostly) true stories to join up! It's super easy! Maybe you've already written a post that perfectly qualifies!

Just copy and paste the code beneath the TST button on the right sidebar somewhere into your post so people can find their way back to the link list, then come back and hook up your post address at the bottom for some comment love! (How's that for a run-on sentence?)

This week is brought to you by the ineffable Mr. Daddy and his hunting buddies. You've been warned.

I ate WHAT????

Several years ago, along about this time of year. I and my brother, (Brush Ape) and one of our good friends (Ridge Runner) were off chasing the wily Wapiti...


Big surprise, eh?!!!!

And just for the record, before you get all stink eye on me. I have moved up into a more politically correct form of being....


While back then we referred to it as "killing the big one", or "culling the herd", I have evolved into a kinder and gentler person...


We now term it as "harvesting the game". While still accomplishing the same end, I can now hold my head up in genteel company, firmly clasping my tea cup twixt thumb and forefinger with pinky slightly raised and gently extended, and discuss the merits of harvesting the herd...


Granted, my idea of refined company would probably be more in line with the gang at the old Cheers bar, but I should at least get some recognition for trying...


Just saying.....


And speaking of the gang at the Cheers bar, Cliffie gave one of the best reasons for the need of harvesting the herd while supporting the benefits of a brew or two....


It goes something like this:

One night at Cheers, Cliff Calvin explained the" Buffalo Theory" to his buddy Norm:

"Well, ya see, Norm, it's like this. A herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo. And when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members! In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Excessive intake of alcohol, as we know, kills brain cells. But naturally, it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine! That's why you always feel smarter after a few beers.."

But I digress, Brush Ape, Ridge Runner and myself were out trying to harvest a bull elk...

We had located one in the early evening, but being in moderate elk country (meaning nearly vertical) we unanimously agreed that we needed to come back early the next morning, (early meaning a long time before breakfast)....

We were up and hiking by 4:00 A.M. and at the crack of dawn were set up.

We bugled at it like an enraged jealous suitor, which achieved only an enraged rebuttal and the scarring up of a few tree. We tried lulling it with the s#xiest cow talk that we could muster between us, replete with raging s#xual attractant (yes elk estrus) sprayed on scent pads.

We spared no hold, gave it our all only to be fouled by the tricks of nature and shifting winds.

So we hiked drug our sorry butts back out of the woods at about 11:00...

Needless to say the couple of granola bars in my pack had pretty much run their course, and my bellybutton was bouncing off my backbone. And I am pretty certain sure that I could of polished off the south end of a north bound skunk.

Brush Ape and Ridge Runner were in no better shape, and the only thing on our mind was getting back to camp and getting some chow...

We piled into the rig and started the several mile trek back, Ridge Runner and myself being in the front of his quad cab Toyota heard some rustling around in the back...

Seems as if Brush Ape had discovered a partial bag of Mothers Chocolate Chip Cookies...

No amount of cajoling or threatening could induce him to share, and all the while he was complaining about them being soggy. When he was done he wadded up the bag and threw it at me.  In desperation, I straightened it out to look for that last crumb... when I spied a very neat hole chewed in the bottom corner...


And as there had been an over-infestation of field mice that year and we had been battling them in camp the whole time, I quickly deduced the reason for the neat little hole. And upon closer inspection I spied some little black spots the were definitely NOT pepper....


I was like: DUDE you just ate cookies with mice PEE ALL OVER THEM!!!!!!


Ridge Runner and I were laughing so hard that our sides were hurting.


And Brush Ape was not so interested in breakfast anymore.


~


You've got those kind of family legends too, right? Just link up below and we'll be around to laugh or commiserate with you!

I Heart Faces - Smirk

Saddling up for this week's iheartfaces challenge!

This week’s theme is SMIRK!

 

You'd think that being married to Mr. Daddy would give me lots of photos to choose from, right?

When you think of smirk, it’s gotta be the EYEBROW, right?  I mean, just one.  Lifted at the perfect angle, with a slight hint of a smile curling at the lips.

And all the better if you know what they’re smirking about, right?

In this particular shot, my mister got goofy with some Lightning McQueen party favors.  Decided to see how tough he could look as a "pierced” dude.  I mean, wouldn’t you be scared of him in a dark alley?  (Yes, all this at a 3-year old’s birthday party.  The man can find amusement anywhere).

You gotta love a guy with that kind of confidence!

And those farmer-tanned guns?  Don’t tell him I swooned over this photo ;)

 

Please click on the iheartfaces button above for some hilarious smirks!  (What a great theme you guys!)

Sunday Pictures: The Difference A Generation Makes

So we’re home sick.  Itty Bit missed his first soccer game, mommy is out of commission, and both grandmas are duking it out too.

In an effort to at least do *something* (other than cough and sniffle) while stuck at home, I raided my picture files to free up some memory.  Which means that this click-happy chick deleted 2,300 photos in one afternoon.  EEK!

I stumbled across these… which sure illustrated the difference between Mommies and Grandmas.

UNFAIR.

 

See, the kiddo was being uber-cute… though the same could not be said for my Queen of the Wispies hair day (see why I might feel sorry for the Locks of Love recipient… here’s your public apology).

 

So I figured he might be content to smile for a few eyes-open shots with Mommy since Grandma was armed with the camera.

Let’s sit in the back of the truck and try a few shots:

Shoe in front of the face, nice touch.

 

Silly face with double eyebrows… sweet

 

Even better… “not gonna smile”

 

Fake smile that looks like Mommy is hurting you.  *sigh*

 

The famous “underbite and throw yourself backwards” pose…

 

Giving up!

     

 

Hey Mom, gimme the camera for a few seconds and let me try, k?

And instead of smiles being a problem, it’s mommy trying to figure out her prime lens.

 

See, told you there was a difference between Mommies and Grandmas!  Gotta love ‘em.

 

Happy Sunday and stay healthy!