The Chin

Mae wrote a story and read it aloud to her class.  The theme of the story was supposed to be: A time I got a scar.  Mae's story was titled: The Chin.  So, she read her story yesterday.  After school, I asked if her class liked it.  She said yes.  I asked if they laughed.  She said, "No...why would they laugh?"  I didn't have the heart to tell her that that's what Kenny and I did for a very long time when we read it.  This was a true story that took place over three years ago.  Mae smashed her face into the corner of the stereo and put a big rip in her chin.  We lived in Wymore at the time, and it just so happened that on that very day, they had discontinued emergency services due to some sort of quarrel within the department.  Therefore, when Kenny dialed 911, he was told that it would take them approximately thirty minutes to get to our house.  I thought he was overreacting anyway (Kenny isn't exactly calm in emergency situations), so I grabbed the phone from him and told them that we could drive our daughter to the hospital ourselves.  So that's what we did.  But the way that Mae worded this in her story is what got us laughing.  Here it is:  I broke my chin open.  Dad picked up the phone and called 911 but they weren't open that day so Mom and Dad had to drive me to the hospital.  I'm curious as to what her teacher thought of that line.  I'm also a little enraged at how Mae painted me compared to Kenny in her story.  I was barely in it at all, while 'Dad' saw blood running down my neck, 'Dad' called 911, 'Dad' drove me to the hospital, etc.  She failed to mention that when 'Dad' saw the blood running down her neck, he literally hurled her through the air at me, squealing, "Blood!  It's real blood!  OhmyGod, OhmyGod, OhmyGod!"  And then he ran in big circles for nearly a whole minute yelling, "Where's the phone?!!!" Meanwhile, MOM calmly took Mae into the bathroom, cleaned her up and told her that it wasn't nearly as bad as it looked and as soon as Dad can gather his composure, we would drive to the hospital and everything would be fine.  And it was, thanks to MOM!  I think I'll write my own story, titled The Chin: The True Story.  

But only a Crayola, none of that Rose Art crap...

I dreamed that I had a pounding headache (probably sleeping with my head butted up against the wall again...) and I asked Kenny for some Advil.  He explained that we were out of Advil..."but here, this works just as well.  Eat it."  He handed me a non-wrappered crayon.  (Still dreaming, remember).  Without much thought, I ate the crayon.  I did.  Immediately after, I woke up.  Reminiscing on the dream I'd just had, I decided that it meant that I trust my husband that much.  That's a whole lot of trust.  As I sat there in awe, Kenny rolled over and looked at me.  I monotonously said, "I'd eat a crayon for you," still in shock and a little confused.  But his response was not at all what I was looking for.  Kenny didn't give me multiple hugs and kisses, nor did he praise me.  He also didn't thank me for putting so much trust into him.  Instead, he simply replied, "That's disgusting," and rolled back over for more sleep.  We haven't spoken a word about it since.  I've thought maybe I should explain to him why I'd eat a crayon for him, but I think it might be best if we just sit this one out.

On work: I once watched an episode of Oprah that was dedicated to weight-loss.  The weight-loss "expert" explained that she likes to look at pounds lost in terms of butter, because basically, our fat is quite similar to butter.  So every time you lose a pound, you lose four sticks of butter.  I am happy to report that since starting my job, I have lost sixty sticks of butter.  Kenny keeps commenting on different muscles that are becoming defined on me.  Typically, I take these comments as insults because I'm not sure exactly what he's saying, but then when he explains (always with an eye roll) something like, "Your deltoid is your shoulder muscle," I perk up and flex in front of the mirror.

The Bigley's are doing quite wonderful.  The little Bigley's are bringing home nearly all A's on their school work and Kyler's trumpet is starting to sound like something similar to (but not quite like) music.  Hope all is well with my wonderful readers!

Kyler learned how to make a new noise today.

It's here.  Fifth grade band.  Kyler chose a shiny new trumpet tonite and eagerly took it out of the case when we got home.  He began "playing" said trumpet immediately.  As he did, Kenny came flying out of the bathroom asking, "What's wrong with the dog?!  Is he hurt?!  WHAT HAPPENED?!"  I had to explain to him that the dog was fine and the noise he was hearing was music.  Kind of.  (But quite honestly, that is exactly what I would expect a dying dog to sound like).  While staring at Kyler, Kenny slowly sat down on the couch and told him that maybe he should wait to practice until his teacher gives him some sort of instruction on how to play.  Kyler replaced the trumpet into the case and said with a nod, "Tomorrow, then."  

Flashback:  In my own fifth grade year, I was sitting on the edge of my bed practicing my newly-acquired saxophone.  After a few minutes, my door flow open and there stood my mom.  She calmly asked, while pulling her own hair out and punching the wall, "Will.  You.  Please.  STOP.  PLAYING.  THAAAAT!!!?"  And then she walked out of the room.  I was secretly happy about this demand because I was honestly hurting my own ears.  I didn't want to tell her that I wanted to quit band already so this ear-splitting sound that I was able to create was really quite beneficial to me.  I quit band the very next week.  My mom sped to the music store to return my saxophone before I changed my mind.  

But here's the thing.  Kenny and I have always made sure that our children know that quitting is not an option.  At least not right away.  We always say, "Give it a year."  We make sure they know before starting any new project or sporting event that we expect them to work on it for an entire year before they are allowed to quit.  And after an entire year of any and everything the kids have ever wanted to do, they've pretty much always continued on for many years.  And Kyler seems more than ready to tackle this mastering of the trumpet.  He said that his teacher told him to practice for one hour each week, but he plans on practicing an hour per DAY.  So all of this 'Don't quit', 'Don't give up', 'You can be whatever you want to be' advice that we've prided our parenting on has come back to bite us.  

And next year: double that order.

Day 90. Almost.

Tomorrow is my ninetieth work day at the post office.  This means that 1. It will be much more difficult for them to fire me if they so wish and 2. I will get a uniform allowance.  I realized today that after this many days of working, I finally walk to the correct side of the mail truck to enter it now.  Unfortunately, I now walk to the incorrect side of the Jeep or car when I'm not working.  I have even gone as far as hopping into the passenger seat, buckling my safety belt and getting utterly confused when I tried to put the key in the ignition and realized there was not even a steering wheel there.  And then I looked out the window to see Kenny standing there laughing at me.  Laugh it up, husband.  But I am watching you.  

Another thing I've done (but only once):  On my drive home from work, on a gravel road, a mailbox flag was up.  Without thinking, I pulled over to retrieve the mail.  It didn't take long to realize that I was on the wrong side of the vehicle.  Okay, in the wrong vehicle altogether.  And not on the clock.  I quickly pulled away, hoping that nobody saw me.  

And that's it for work stories.  But here's a great I-Finally-Got-A-Saturday-Off story.  We got my sister married.  We sure did.  It was the most fun I've had on a Saturday this whole year.  I gave a speech without making a huge ass of myself (I think) and though I must have drank at least thirty beers, I woke up the next morning hangover-free.  I love my sister.  I love weddings.  And from here on out, we will share an anniversary.  And Mae was quite happy that so many people showed up for her birthday.  I could tell you how much fun she had, but instead, I'll just let this photo tell you:

Cake face = a good time.  That's just that.  And beyond that, she got to dance for hours with glowing bracelets around her ankles, the lemonade was bottomless and the cousins were plentiful.  

The next day, Mae took her birthday earnings on a shopping trip.  She has been wanting a chair for quite some time now.  But not just any chair.  A chair made of bungee cords.  It.  Is.  Awesome.  She has already said, more than once, "I should have bought two chairs because EVERYBODY'S sitting in it and I never get to!"  We all want chairs made out of bungee cords now.  It's like sitting on a trampoline sized perfectly to fit your ass.  If you don't believe me, stop everything you're doing right now and run to the nearest Target to try one out.  You will not regret it.  

My farewell words for today are: If you like your mail carrier, turn your sprinkler on.  If you REALLY like your mail carrier, leave a cold bottle of water in your mailbox for them.  In case you haven't noticed, it is HOT outside.  

When it rains, it pours. At least on Thursdays.

Last Thursday, it rained.  No, not rained...it poured.  But it was okay at first because I was prepared.  For the duration of the twenty-minute morning downpour, I had put on rubber shoe coverings, a raincoat and a baseball cap.  I ran from porch to porch when the rain died briefly so that I felt like I was still working.  At the end of it, I was drenched from my waist to my ankles, but nothing I couldn't live with.  

Fast-forward to early afternoon.  I'd just finished eating lunch and I was sitting in my truck and shivering.  I was cold (in August!).  The sun came out and I drew in a deep breath and decided right then and there that the afternoon was going to be much better than the morning.  After stripping myself of my rain gear (because the sun was now out, remember?) I hopped out of my truck, grabbed my load of mail and took off, determined to walk fast enough to warm up.  And I did just that.  When I was as far away from my mail truck as possible and my attitude was really taking a turn for the best, I saw three large raindrops fall onto the pavement in front of me.  And in the very next second, it was pouring again and the wind was blowing.  

I ran to the nearest house but there was no covered porch.  In fact, there were no covered porches on the entire block.  There was, however, a small overhang above the front door and I quickly learned that if I butted myself up against the door, very little rain was reaching me.  For the next minute, I watched the streets begin to flood and rain started hitting me sideways from the wind.  Just as I was feeling thankful that there were no cars in the driveway, a loud knock startled me from behind.  I turned around to see a man holding both hands to his chest and mouthing, "You. Scared. Me!"  He cracked the door open and I apologized profusely and handed him his mail.  I asked if it would be okay if I just stayed there until the rain died down and he said that would be fine.  He wished me good luck and shut the door.  Thirty seconds later, another knock.  I turned around and he cracked the door open, this time to say, "Just checked the radar and looks like this should pass quickly.  Hang in there!"  He gave me a thumbs-up before shutting the door again.  This is when I looked across the street and noticed a man standing in his open garage and staring at me.  He had both hands on his hips and when he noticed me noticing him, he slowly extended his left arm to press the button which shut the garage door.  He replaced his left hand onto his hip and watched me as the door shut right in front of him.  So there I stood, windy rain whipping me in the face and I was laughing hysterically at just how strange the world is (or mostly, the people), and I decided it screw it and I just went walking in the rain. And that was that.  It took two full days before my shoes dried completely.

And yesterday:  In the neighborhood where everybody calls me sweetie and hon, I was happily eating the heads off of my gummy bears on my lunch break, not a worry in the world, when I scanned the neighborhood.  This has become habit.  I do it everywhere.  We were trained to "look ahead".  We look for unleashed dogs, construction work being done; pretty much anything that might slow us down or get in our way.  So I do this everywhere now.  Even on my lunch break.  And in this lunchtime scan, I noticed a woman sitting on her front porch, just staring at me.  Except not staring, glaring.  I had no idea why.  I looked behind me, thinking maybe she was just looking at something else and I was mistaken, but all I could see was an empty street and a lonely tree.  I moved my head back and forth and her eyes were following me.  And that look, it was terrible.  I'm not foolish enough to drive into a neighborhood, park my truck and eat lunch before delivering the mail.  That would just be selfish.  So she already had her mail and I even remembered exactly what I delivered: no bills and nothing with a name that wasn't familiar.  I knew it was right.  So why was she staring at me like this?  And then I decided that I knew how to fix this problem.  I buckled my seat belt, started my truck and drove exactly one block north and re-parked to finish my lunch.  I was fine knowing she could glare at the back of my truck, but please don't watch me eat my gummy bears.  That's just getting too personal.  

A week without the interwebs.

Our internet quit working for no reason a whole week ago.  Well, I guess there was a reason and that reason was the modem (the one I just bought).  So today, the new modem came in the mail and we are once again in sync with the world.  But here's what you missed in the life of Bigley over the past eight days:

-At Valentino's on Tuesday nights, kids eat free.  Last Tuesday, we were seated at our table and the waitress asked the children, "And how old are you kids?"  Kyler replied, "Ten."  Mae said, "Eight."  And Kenny, the most excited kid of all, beamed, "Thirty-three!"  He just loves food and tends to lose his composure when surrounded by it.

-For the first and second times in the life of postal me, garage doors opened right next to me to reveal empty garages.  Both times, the doors were opened via remote by people just coming home.  The first woman apologized profusely for scaring me.  But the second, a man, laughed for an inappropriately long time while pointing and saying, "You should have seen your face!!!"  Yeah, very funny.  And in my own defense, I only jumped away so quickly because I was worried that a car would soon be backing out right over me, thus turning me into a pancake.

-I brought donuts home for the kids to surprise them after Kenny told me they'd been good little boogers all day.  Kyler immediately began searching for "his" donut.  I asked what he meant by "his" donut and he said, "You know, the ones I like?  With barbarian cream?"  

-We have a new family member: Lucky the kitten.  The kids saved her from drowning in our yard during last Monday's monsoon.  Actually, they saved five, but mama kitty took all but one back the next night.  So Lucky no longer has to battle the outdoor weather or predators.  Instead, she is ruling the house with her constant meowing and need for food.  She is pretty much exactly like a human baby, except smaller and more hairy.  Mae is constantly complaining of the cat scratching her in the "elbowpit."  And this tiny little kitten has all of the other animals wrapped around her little finger, except for Sadie-kitty, who is still trying to decide the most precise way to swallow a kitten whole.  I'm certain of it.  

And today's heavy mail has completely exhausted me so I am off to happy, dreamy sleep-time now.

The Usual Girl.

There's an old man on the route I've been working since I started my job who, until recently, did not seem to like me at all.  On day one, I happily said, "Hello!" And with a scornful look, he asked, "Where's the usual girl?"  I replied, "Are you calling me unusual?" but he didn't seem to get it so I continued, "...she's on a different route today."  He crossed his arms and said, "Hmm."  

And that's all, for months.  Every day, he'd stand outside and cross his arms and not say a word, no matter how many times I greeted him or commented on the weather.  He'd just stand there and stare, obviously still wondering Where's the usual girl?  Then finally, FINALLY, last week he must have decided that exactly enough time has passed that I am now the usual girl, because when I said my hello to him, I was shocked to hear him reply, "Hi, how are you?"  A greeting and a question all at once was almost too much to swallow so I might have stuttered a bit with my response, but we did embark on a most wonderful conversation.  And now that I'm the usual girl, he talks to me every day.  Every.  Day.  In fact, I can't get him to shut up.  More in fact, I'm kind of wishing that I could go back to being the unusual girl.  This is a good example of being careful what you wish for.  

A Good Remembory.

I'm merrily cleaning the house when I find something that makes me even happier: one of Kyler's memories.  Seriously.  Kyler leaves his memories strewn about the house and it's the one thing that he never gets in trouble for 'not putting away'.  To ease your confusion, I shall explain further.  When something happens that Kyler doesn't want to forget, he jots it down on whatever he can find.  (Kind of like this blog, but way more chaotic and way less organized).  It's not uncommon for me to run across a wrinkled-up hamburger wrapper that says, "Mae farted on November 13th so loud that we both laughed until we cried."  And I'm not the only one who finds these random memories.  I've heard many roars of laughter coming out of Kyler himself when he unexpectedly finds his own memories.  He then reads them very loudly, we all have a good laugh, and he hides said memory away for another day.  I've wanted to do the same thing, just because it's fun and puts everybody in a good mood upon finding one, but it's kind of Kyler's 'thing' and I don't want to intrude on that.  And is it okay (I hope it's okay) that it makes me so incredibly proud that he does this?  Any way that my children can find to spread happiness in this world (or at least in this house) makes me feel like I'm doing something kind of right.  I just love them so much.

Life is an adventure. Unless you do the exact same thing every day.

When I trained for my job, they warned us about multiple ways we could have accidents, all terrifying.  We were shown a whole slew of photos of overturned mail trucks, some with the horrendous word 'fatal' written on them.  We were warned, of course, about dogs and how to spot the telltale signs that a dog is going to bite you.  We were educated on heat exhaustion and heat stroke, as well as how to avoid it.  And last, but not least, we were warned of slip/trip hazards.  Just one twisted ankle means I have no job.  Here are a few things they didn't warn us about:

-Trees can move when you're looking at the mail.  So can parked vehicles.
-Tree branches can take the sunglasses right off of your face, as well as pull your hair and leave you unable to walk any further.
-Little kids will tell their mother on you if you give the mail to their older sibling.
-Crazy old ladies will slam the door in your face, lock it, then look out the window and say, "Have a wonderful day!"
-People will offer you beer.  Nicer people will offer you water.
-You will see your friends drive by and wave at them, then realize it's not them at all.  (Amanda E., I hope you're reading this...I have waved at you at least twenty times, but it's never actually been you)!

And that's all I can think of right now.  This was a great week.  I learned a lot of new area and met a lot of new (some crazy, some not) people.  There are some stories that I don't dare tell, just in case anybody reading this might know who I'm writing about, but just know that this is a very bizarre world that we live in.  Only ten weeks in and I have been speechless more times than I can count.  Every day is a true adventure.  Out of the blue the other day, Kenny said, "You could probably get your job back at Nelnet if you tried."  Um...no thanks.  Every day was exactly the same and that's just no way to live. And now that my feet are no longer aching and the heat doesn't seem to bug me, I sometimes feel like I'm just taking a really long walk and observing the world around me.  Just yesterday, a hilarious man was in his yard, watering his garden.  He saw me and sang in an operatic tone (like seriously, SANG), "You're here!  You're here!  You're finally heeeeeere!!!"  And then he sang about watering his lawn and then he sang about droughts.  I told him, "I'm sure it will rain right after you're done watering."  He turned his hose on me but couldn't reach, as I was already walking into the street.  He yelled after me, "I hope it pours and soaks your ass!"  I laughed, then immediately felt three raindrops and it wasn't so funny anymore.  I looked back at the man, who was looking at the sky and saying, "No waaaay!" but then I never felt anymore raindrops.  Still, funny shit.

And in case you're not my friend on facebook, here is an updated photo of Jakobi's garden:

Everything's growing.  I've never been able to grow anything, but it's all blooming and I am just amazed.  I try not to think about how many days until his due date (twenty-two) and I try not to worry about how I will feel on that actual day, but at the very least, I am thankful that it falls on a Sunday because I just can't imagine toting mail with tears falling down my face.  BUT...when I really think about this, I feel that Jakobi is responsible for all of my recent life changes.  Especially my job and my great outlook on life.  I am no longer 'eating for two', but instead 'living for two'.  If he can't be here with me, then darn it, I'm going to be happy and adventurous enough for the both of us!  There is good in every bad thing that happens.  There really, really is.  You've only got to realize it.  And I'll leave you with that thought.  Happy Weekend!

Loooooooooong day.

One person calls in sick, and we're all in for it.  Everything got flipped sideways and upside down and  I ended up delivering mail to my 9am'ers at 6pm.  It caused mass confusion for people and dogs alike.  Do I try to bite her in the early evening?  And the people must have felt sorry for me because they sure were nice to me.  But work is over now and I have once again heeded the advice of a fellow co-worker: "DON'T DIE...or they'll fire you."  So far, so good.

So today I went to a whole lot of new places.  New people, new mailboxes.  There were at least three houses that I stood outside of, looking dumbfounded, unable to find the mailbox.  One ended up being right behind me and the owner just couldn't help but laugh when I asked where he keeps his mailbox.  At another residence, I was admiring a large dog statue (you have no idea how many statues I've nearly sprayed...they sure do sneak up on me).  This particular statue was HUGE and I kept thinking to myself that I've never, in real life, seen a dog quite THAT big.  Just then, the statue turned its head, looked right into my eyes and in a flash, jumped off of the porch and came charging at me, barking and growling.  I had just enough time to run backwards and he had only so much chain before he was run-choked.  Later in the day, another very large dog actually took the mail right out of my hand and brought it to his person.  I can't even get my husband to do that!!!

And now, since I've already eaten, I shall drink and be merry!

What the best me did today.

I find myself constantly surrounded by this strange air; a feeling; a moment suspended in time.  Like I am everywhere.  No, not everywhere, but every time.  I am six and fifteen and thirty.  I can have a sword fight with fallen tree limbs and attend very important meetings in the same day.  Everybody that I have loved, then lost, is still here, somehow around me and always, always reminding me to think of them and remember everything.  I know it's all of this free time I have to just think and think and think until I get too tired to think, but then I still do it anyway because I don't know how not to.  So I go through my entire life; every memory I've ever had, front to back, then back to front and sometimes just all jumbled up.  I can suddenly remember people that I've forgotten existed.  

I delivered mail to the house where I broke my wrist and learned to roller skate and one day, Jared broke out the window on accident and we laughed forever.  The house is a different color but the sidewalk is the same.  So is the tree.  And the mailbox.  And it makes me really confused how some things can be so unchanged after sixteen whole years while others I wouldn't even recognize.  Did life move on or didn't it?  Are we living in order or will we someday get to go back and visit the times we miss the most?  When I finish writing, I go back and edit, fixing all of my errors and rewording things to my liking.  It's unfortunate to realize I can't do that with my life.  But I CAN be the best me every day.  

And my spotlight moment of today was this:  A woman walks her two dogs every day.  I'd estimate that she is about fifty years old, but she has the mind of a child and talks like one, which is probably what drew me to her in the first place.  I have this strong sense of protection, as if she needs me there even though it's obvious that she is making it through this world just fine without me.  Anyway, today, I met up with her on the sidewalk just after the nine o'clock downpour.  We were both soaking wet and so was her dog.  She looked sad so I tried to cheer her up by wringing out my hair.  She then told me why she only had one dog.  "My black boy dog, him died.  Him was shot up by a needle and I couldn't watch."  She got teary-eyed and so did I.  We talked for a couple of minutes, which is more than I normally allow myself, but I certainly wasn't just going to walk away from a conversation like that on a glum day like today.  I didn't make her laugh hysterically or change her entire life with my sympathy, but I listened to her and that is what made me the best me today.  People just need to be listened to.  So that's that.  My advice: LISTEN.  And if you have something to say but don't want to be an annoying tell-all, just start a blog like me.   

Today, I melted.

Assuming that I deliver the mail in a timely and professional manner each day (I do), I have approximately seven hours to walk around and daydream.  Since the temperature reached ninety-nine degrees today (and in case you didn't know, those fancy-looking trucks we drive around do NOT have air conditioning, so go ahead and add another ten degrees), I mostly daydreamed about ice cubes and swimming pools.  I'm pretty sure I even hallucinated a couple of breezes.  I was offered a cold bottle of water by one lady, just after a man told me to help myself to his sprinkler any time.  I'm not sure if he meant for drinking or running through, but just to be safe, I'll probably do both next time it's this hot out.  And in the midst of this horribly heated day, while sweat was pouring down my face and my back, I just kept thinking I'm so glad I don't work for Nelnet anymore. I always figured that when the weather becomes unbearable, I would have regrets.  I honestly and absolutely do not.  

Just last weekend, I finally found time to clear my old desk off.  It felt so good to throw away my giant book of procedures that I dug it right back out of the trash, announced, "I'M THROWING AWAY THESE PROCEDURES THAT I'LL NEVER EVER EVER HAVE TO USE AGAIN!!!" and promptly threw them away a second time, even though all in attendance (Kyler, Mae and Kenny) were sitting in the kitchen and witnessed the first throw-away.  It felt like when you dive off of the diving board into the swimming pool and plummet deeper than you anticipated, then frantically swim to the top because you are all out of breath and fearing for your life.  Throwing that book of procedures away was like getting that first big breath of life-saving air.  I might be making it sound more dramatic than it really was, but I just want you to understand how relieved I am to be working like a dog instead of a leach.  Dogs are much happier.  Or at least I think so because I've never seen a leach smile.  

And since I've mentioned swimming pools twice, I'll go ahead and say that we did go swimming today.  I met Kenny, kids and nephews at the pool when I got off of work.  I showed up during pool break.  Standing in the hot sun, Kenny immediately began quite the bitch session to me about how hot it is and how he just needs to jump back into the pool.  I said nothing but might have given him a look.  He quickly quit complaining and asked cautiously, "How was your day at work?" and then, "Here, let me put some sunblock on you."  

Fast-forwarding (or as three year old Kyler would say, "Front-forwarding) to the here and now, Mae's cat was laying on the back of the couch, fast asleep.  It fell from the couch-back directly onto my head...and didn't even wake up.  I gently lifted it back onto the couch and it still didn't wake up.  This is exactly how I plan to sleep tonite.  Good night, friends.

Me, meet me. And me, this is me.

Now that it's happened twice, I feel comfortable enough to write about it.  The first time it happened, I was extremely exhausted and thought that I had just found myself mirrored in some sort of paralleled world.  I don't have the right words to explain it...just one of those weird things like deja vu.  But when it happened again and I was fully rested and aware (and there was a witness so any ideas that I might be crazy are unfounded) I realized that it was real. So here it is: there is another me.  At the stoplight on 70th and Pioneers Boulevard on a Sunday afternoon, I was turning left and so was I.  Seriously, my Jeep was facing a Jeep from the opposite direction and there I was, face to face with somebody who looked exactly like me and drives the same vehicle.  The first time also happened at a stoplight, but I was right next to me that time.  This time, Kenny was with me.  As I stared myself in the eyes in complete shock, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Kenny was looking from me to her and back again.  I quietly asked him, so as not to shake the moment up too much, "Is that me?"  Kenny answered back with a near yell, "OH MY GOD SHE LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE YOU!!!!"  He then apologized and said, "I know that people don't like to hear that somebody looks like them."  It's usually true.  Every time I've ever said that somebody looks like somebody else, they take it as a complete insult, like I am the only me, you asshole.  But this was so completely different.  Maybe because I noticed it first.  Or maybe because I wanted to hang out with this girl that looked just like me.  I found that I wanted to know more about her.  How much of me is she?  Is she allergic to Ibuprofen?  Does she like to play Twister when she gets drunk? And where did she get those dangling earrings from, because I used to have some almost exactly like them but I lost one and I miss them.  And then I really started wondering...how many times have other people thought she was me?  Because honestly, people are always telling me that they waved at me and I didn't wave back, or maybe they even honked their horn and jumped up and down.  I've always just written it off as senility because if you've ever met my mother, well, let's just say that the spacey apple doesn't fall far from the dazed tree.  But now I'm thinking that all of those people that have ever waved or honked at me were really just waving or honking at Other Me.  And Other Me probably thinks that you people are all just crazy, constantly causing an uproar and calling her the wrong name.  Poor other me.  Now I feel bad for her.  Or me.  Or...here goes this confusing paralleled world thing again.

Horse-deers.

Yesterday morning, both kids were at sleepovers.  I was moping through the house at six o'clock in the morning, not yet ready for the day and still wishing I was in bed.  The dogs decided to wake me right up by both running to the front window and letting out a series of growls, barks and howls.  I, too, ran to the front window and saw four deer.  Very, very large deer.  But then I rubbed my eyes awake and realized they were not deer, but instead horses.  The neighbor's horses.  They were headed for the back yard so I turned toward the back door.  When I slid the door open, I could hear somebody talking.  There is an eight-foot fence that separates our neighbor's yard from ours and after listening for a few seconds, I could tell that my neighbor was talking on the phone.  And here is the very first thing I eavesdropped on:  "They're just gone!  I don't have any idea where they're at!  FOUR!  FOUR horses have just vanished!!"  And from where I stood, hearing what he was saying and seeing the four horses standing directly on the other side of the fence, calmly grazing and having no idea they might be doing anything wrong, I had to take a long moment to laugh before I woke Kenny up.  After explaining the situation and opening the back door for Kenny to listen to the neighbor, who continued freaking out over his lost horses, Kenny also had a great laugh.  Then, he pulled on his shoes and chased the horses home.  

Work was good, but short.  Low mail volume = I go home early.  The one dog that I have sprayed tried fooling me by getting a haircut but here's something I learned last week:  Most (most) little dogs get seriously terrified if I simply bark back at them.  It works best if I bark like them and even better if I flail my arms.  I accidentally did this without realizing one dog's owner was sitting on his front porch, but to my relief, he thought it was hilarious when his dog tried running away from me and tripped over his own leash.  

Tomorrow is a no-work day and I just can't wait to take the kids to the fireworks stand and then spend the day blowing things up and eating grilled food.  Yay for independence!!!

Funyuns and suntans.

I passed by a small group of strangers and overheard a woman say, "Hey, that's the girl that lost the little guy and planted the garden for him."  Another woman chimed in, "Oh yeah!  I read her blog!" How strange to know that people I've never met have read my most personal thoughts and feelings, but pretty darn cool, too.  And as far as my thoughts on Jakobi go, I still miss him every single moment of every single day.  The garden is growing in leaps and bounds, though unfortunately that also means the weeds and I have had exactly no time to work on it lately.  I'm hoping that in the next week, I can get out there and pull weeds and take an updated photo.  Kenny found a garden decoration of a cow that jumps over a moon when the wind blows, but it seemed way too sad for me; a nursery rhyme I will never get to recite to my son, so instead I opted for the moon that rises over the sun.  Seems more fitting anyway.  

Work is wonderful.  I have had a most spectacular week.  I'd like to give you a snapshot from my mind.  I wish I could carry a camera with me at all times to show you some of the things that I get to see, but I suppose a mail carrier snapping photos of random people might cause quite an uproar with the post office, so you'll have to settle for my detailed description instead.  Here goes.  Yesterday morning, I was glumly walking through the rain and carrying my soggy stack of mail.  I looked toward the street and saw the most amazing sight.  An elderly man was riding his bike right down the middle of the street (don't worry, it's not a busy street at all).  He had his right arm extended and his face toward the sky, eyes closed, just taking in the rain with a huge smile on his face.  I can only speculate on what might have been going through his mind and I'll leave that part to your own imagination.  After taking in a deep breath, he opened his eyes, looked directly at me and said, "It's a BEAUTIFUL morning!"  And suddenly, it was.  It's awe-inspiring when a single person can, in one moment, make you step back and take in the 'little things' in life.  There is so much to be thankful for.  

In our home life, our house is a mess and our children are happy, so all is well.  Kenny has started buying the groceries (another duty I am glad to be relieved of), which means that we have enough Funyuns and Lucky Charms to last a lifetime.  He continues to "cook" (grill) nearly every day and he has discovered the joy of having a pool pass, which can be readily seen at any given moment by the tan lines he is quickly accumulating.  If you know Kenny at all, you know how big this is.  Typical Kenny can blind you with his ghost-white legs.  You'd almost not even recognize him now.  So far, every time he's brought the kids to the pool, he's said, "One hour, MAYBE two."  And then five or six hours later, they finally return home completely exhausted.  

Off to another wonderful day of work I go!  (Seriously, no sarcasm, I still love my job so far...).  Here's wishing everybody happiness and, well, more happiness.