My Mother, the Criminal

Mom took Natalie and me to the Brad Paisley concert Friday night. It was awesome and spectacular and wonderful. The problem is, I found out JUST how much of a renegade my mother really is.

If you know her, this is going to shock you. The information I'm about to share will leave you reeling. Don't read further if you have been lulled into believing she's a quiet country girl, always doing the right thing.

I guess it started when we stopped at Hi Boy for a bite to eat. Mom told stories of walking there with my Dad when they were dating. She seemed so sweet. We got back in the car and asked, "Will this car ding at me if I don't buckle?" I told her it wouldn't and she said, "Good!" It was at this time that I realized she was spiraling out of control in her life of crime.

At the Sprint Center, they didn't look through her purse very closely. If so, I would have had to call Dad for bail. We sat down in our seats an hour in advance of the show and started chatting. She reaches into her purse and pulled out a pen. Proud of it, she says, "Look, it's a laser pointer!" or something to that effect.

Laser pointers are against the rules at concerts. I told her as much, and she acted innocent, like she didn't know. Whatever, Mom. I'm hip to your lifestyle now. She obediently put it away, though, so I thought we were OK.

I thought wrong.

As she put the pen-of-evil away, she pulled out something else. "I got this on Daily Steals, too!" she announced proudly...as she whipped out a knife. WTH, mother? I had to make her put the purse away, before the semi automatic weapon was pulled out. The weapon that I'm SURE she had in there somewhere.

Before we go back, I'll have to ask her to go to this page, and click on the very last question.

*sigh*

Happy Mother's Day

Dear Mom,

Thanks. Thanks for taking good care of us during our childhood. Thanks for putting up with us. Thanks for not killing us for our attitudes and nonsense. Look! We baked you a cake!

OK, maybe that was a long time ago. Still, we DID it, right? That was back in the days of getting off the bus in winter, opening the back door, and seeing a baby (calf, puppy, skunk) animal starting it's life. The days when you made hot chocolate for us to have at the bus stop, because it was cold. (PS, what's up with that halter top? I WORE that? Wow.)

Back when you let me have parties. When 6 or more of my friends would descend upon our house, and eat everything in sight while watching shows that you MUST have hated. Yet you allowed it, and baked special treats for us. I remember watching Purple Rain while eating homemade carmel corn with a dozen people in our little living room.

I love you. I think you were/are an AWESOME mom! Jim and I made you a grandma too soon, but that wasn't enough for me. I decided that you should be a GREAT grandma! (maybe that was Brett's decision, but whatever.)

Here's to you. Here's to the cow milking, horse riding, child raising, family feeding, animal lover that I call "Mom." Here's to you.

And here's to every pot of potato soup that you've ever made for me:

I've learned to love them all. Mmmmm, potato soup. My favorite.

Oh. Sorry. I got caught up in the moment.

The point is, I LOVE YOU, MOM!

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

Love,

Rachel

Hello?

Is this thing on?

Yeah, I've disappeared from here, and I'm sorry. Yeah, YOU'RE happy, but I'm sorry.

It's not my fault that I've been gone. It's the fault of Rube Goldberg (who IS that?) Monica's project is all-consuming. She's doing the bulk of it, but we're trying to help all we can, since her TEAM is her. The other girl is grounded, so she can't work on it. I know, WTH? It's what we have to deal with, so we're dealing.

Anyway, that's my excuse. I can't blog. I'm busy. (or tired, or whatever.) Here is a picture from Sunday's truck race:

Here it is, taken by a track employee. You're treated AWESOME at Kansas Speedway. It's Kevin, Natalie, Me, Collin (son of work friend) and Monica.

See, even my fabulous photography has suffered. Or it looks like it always did. Whatever.

Sadie

I've been quite sad all day. Was Sadie my favorite dog? No. Hawkeye is. Was Sadie an awesome companion to me when we visited Mom? No. She only wanted to be around me if I had the Frisbee. Was I Sadie's favorite person in my family? No. That'd be Kevin.

Mom got Sadie because Dad didn't know how to deal with Mandy dying, which caused great tears from Mom. Men can't handle women crying. They think they have to "fix" it, so Dad fixed it the only way he knew. He got another dog for Mom.

Mom wasn't ready for another dog, and I'm not sure she was terribly pleased with Sadie at first, although I could be wrong. I think she learned to deal with Sadie, and it wasn't long before they were best friends.

Dad works 2nd shift, and Sadie was Mom's buddy while he was gone. Sadie loved Mom more than life. Sadie played frisbee, but quit when Mom wanted her to. Mom enjoyed time at her cabin, and Sadie went with her, barking at frogs, snakes, and other wildlife. This was the subject of many videos, shared on Mom's blog.

Sadie isn't why I'm sad. Sure, I liked that dog. I liked her a lot. I hurt for Mom. I hurt because my mother lost her best (non human) friend. I hurt because I know that she's home alone tonight, missing her dog. I hurt because it's too soon after Blue's passing.

I've cried a lot today. I've thought about what I'd think if this happened to Hawkeye. I've thought about how innocent it seems to throw a bone to the dog when eating BBQ. I've thought about how much Mom's heart is breaking. I've thought. And I've cried. I've cried off and on all day.

I love you Mom. I love you, and I know that stopping by or sending an email or calling you wouldn't help. You're like me, and you need your space. I hope that you find comfort in the kind words from friends...I've seen a gazillion of them on Facebook. You have friends, and you can cry.

Nobody will make you get another dog. You sit home, and you cry. Cry all you want. It's what we do. We're women. I'll be crying, too. I love you, Mom. I'll miss you, Sadie.

WTH?

Call me OCD. Whatever. Once I notice something that bothers me, I can't let it go. Seriously, it eats at me.

Driving down Blue Ridge Cutoff from work, I noticed something, and it's killing me. It's the spelling used on street signs.

Exhibit A: 59th street is just that...59th. Lower case "t," lower case "h."

Exhibit B: 55th street (only 4 blocks away) is upper case "T," upper case "H." That's right, it says 55TH.

Exhibit C: This one takes the cake. I want to yell. I want to scream. I want to ask who DID this! "WHY DID YOU DO THIS???" Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you....63rd street:

Or should I say 63Rd street. WTH?

The difference between boys and girls

I put this on facebook, but Mom suggested I blog it. I guess there may be people out there who don't understand the difference between boys and girls. I'll help you out here. Having raised both, I'm sure I know the difference.

Kevin states it this way: Boys take crime and pestilence out into the world; Girls bring it right home to daddy. I know that boys will kick each other's butt, breaking lamps in the process, and then they're off and playing...they're over it. Girls will say "you look fat in that" and then not speak for 72 days.

I have pictures, though, that will explain further. We had a BBQ here yesterday afternoon. Lots of fun with friends and family. I had a blast, and it seemed that everyone else did, too. At one point, a game of catch turned into a football game. Boys vs. Girls seemed to be what was happening. When you're actually playing football, you have to huddle and decide on the plan.

Here is the boys huddle.

See? It's all business. "You run a lateral while I rush the linebacker and you go for the TD, OK?" I'm not sure what is really said in a huddle, but it has to be something like that. Anyway, they're all business. From 21 year old Brett, to almost 15 year old Cole, to 5 year old Griffen...they're all serious about this game. Like their very lives depend on the outcome.

And then, there's the girl's huddle. It's a bit different. It looks like this:

They're over there saying things like this: "Do you like these shoes?" "Dude, they're awesome!" "Seriously, did you see that guy at the homecoming game, he was H.O.T." and "OMG, I *so* love your pants!"

Not a word about football, not a word about strategy, and I'm not even sure they knew they were PLAYING football. The guys huddled, so the girls got together. They got together, and they fellowshipped. They were happy about the huddle. They liked it WAY better than the actual game.

Seriously? Look at this:

Business on the left, girl talk on the right. It's the way of the world.

Get used to it. Oh, and do these jeans make me look fat? Wait. Don't answer that. I ate a lot of BBQ last night.

Vision and Special Friends

So, today was the day. Eye doctor day. Once a year, when my Flex spending money is renewed, we go spend close to half of it at the eye doctor. We're a blind family. Kevin, Monica, and I all wear contacts, and keep glasses around for evenings and times when we can't wear the contacts. Natalie was border line last year, and needs glasses this year. Monica has an astigmatism and needs 4 gazillion dollar contacts AND glasses.

Yeah, we pay a LOT to see. Kevin is going with mono vision this year...one lens for close up, the other for distance. We'll see how that works. Most people do fine with it. Monica had one eye get worse, and the other better. Kevin's vision didn't change. My eyes got worse. Both eyes. One was pretty significant, so I put in the new contacts before leaving the office. IT'S A MIRACLE! I CAN SEE!

Anywho, we can see again, and my flex money is nearly half gone. Next year, we'll do it again. It's OK, though. Kevin and I both have flirty crushes there. We don't have the crush, but there is an employee that has a crush on him, and another with a crush on me. That's flattering, right?

Umm, no.

Kevin's "special friend" is named Daniel, and my "special friend" is named Michelle. *sigh* Oh well. At 41, we all need someone to want us. I'll take it. Well, not really, but...you know what I mean! Love you, Michelle. See you next year!

Oh wait, we still have to go pick up our glasses when they come in. *sigh*