Happy New Year! Buy My Book!

It's probably no secret that 2013 wasn't my favorite year.  In fact, it was my least favorite of all of my years thus far (except for my sister's wedding, that was a whole lot of fun).  It only seemed appropriate that Kyler puked on the carpet, the linoleum, in the toilet and all over his sister on the last day of the year.  I, too, would like to barf all over the past 365 days (well, minus on Mae because she really wasn't pleased by it).

But alas, it's no longer 2013.  With all of the terrible lessons and heartaches of the past year, I'm moving into 2014 filled with goals, happiness, motivation, and a bunch of other words that end with 'ment' and 'ness'.  This is going to be a good year even if I have to force it.  And just to ensure that the year starts out on the right foot, I pre-planned a great event for this very first day of the year:

MY BOOK IS PUBLISHED!  MY BOOK IS PUBLISHED!  MY BOOK IS PUBLISHED!  SEE:

And you can order it right on my page by clicking the PayPal link in the upper right-hand corner.  OR you can send me a check (comment with your email address and I can send you my address).  OR you can order here:

https://www.createspace.com/4576947

I am set to receive the books on January 14th, which seems an eternity away as I will sit here for the next thirteen days worried about grammatical errors, because proofreading the book 643 times maybe wasn't quite enough.  Or what if I wrote something that came out wrong and everybody decides to hate me.  Or what if Kenny finally reads the book and realizes that sometimes I am laughing at him, rather than with him, like I so often promise him I'm doing.  

Putting all of that aside, I am ecstatically, excitedly, eccentrically looking so forward to this year and figuring out how to self-promote myself.  And yes, I have already started in on book number two.  And my very first 'Meet the Author' book signing will be held on Saturday, February 1st at the Wymore Library from 9am - 11am.  I'm pretty darn happy about that.  So without further ado, please order away!  But more importantly, I hope everybody has a fantastic year, with just enough bad to appreciate the good and just enough sad to put your whole self into every hug, smile, conversation and laugh.

Cross One Off Of The Bucket List!

DONE.

And if you think that was way too fast, just know that most of the book was already written and not just within my blog.  I had an equal amount of stories set aside just in case I ever found the time to put the book together.  Thank goodness for unemployment.

When the kids returned from school yesterday and saw that the book was completed, they both got really excited and told me they were going to read it.  I was really nervous.  They don't usually read anything that I write.  So I was happily relieved when Mae kept laughing and saying, "I remember that!"  Then, the best compliment of all was, "I REALLY like the way you describe us.  It fits perfect."  And then, THEN...I wouldn't have even believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, but KENNY read part of it!!!  He NEVER reads my blog.  Like, EVER.  A few pages in, he looked at me and said, "This is actually good.  I want to keep reading and I never want to keep reading."  I nearly fainted.

Now the unfortunate news: I'm pretty sure that writing and editing and reading and re-reading the final version at least six times was the easy part.  I've been reading online pretty much anything I can find that I think my help me get published.  I even ordered a book off of amazon titled "How to Publish a Book."  Yes, I see the irony.  So for now, I'll be sending my completed manuscript off to a whole bunch of places and hoping to hear back from them (but from what I'm reading, that will take at least six to twelve months.)  In the mean time, I suppose it's never too early to get started on Book #2!

Time to write my heart out.

Please be patient with me as I try to write a book.  A lot of it will come from what is already written in this blog, but I also want to put in a bunch of new stuff.  Since there's only so much in me, this means that the blogs will be few and far between.

You are getting very sweepy.

Last night, as Mae and I were working on her family tree assignment and chatting away, I cautiously asked her the loaded question, "So, have you thought about what you want for Christmas?"  I braced myself for a long list of toys that I've never heard of but instead, Mae shot up onto her knees from her previous tummy position and radiance beamed throughout her entire being as she excitedly said, "I want a broom, Steve!"  For reasons unbeknownst to me, she sometimes calls me Steve, but that didn't bug me nearly as much as the fact that she wanted a broom for Christmas.  I said, "Really?  A broom?  Because you know we already have one of those, right?"  She corrected me, "No, YOU have one.  I don't.  Sometimes when you're sweeping, I wanna sweep, too.  We could work together, you know."  Oh...kay?  I told her that if she was a really good girl and went and took a bath now, that maybe Santa-Mom could swing a broom for her.  She did as she was told.  About five minutes later, I heard the running water come to a halt and Mae yelled, "MOM?!"  I yelled back, "YEAH?" and she replied, "I WANT A DUST PAN, TOO!"  Oh, my. 

Handy Mandy. (Get it?)

The first half of the day was spent working out in the muddy rain, renewing the dog's outdoor pen into a suitable living area for them to thrive in from now on.  And this time, I mean it!  Big dogs should just not be indoors.  I suppose there are exceptions, but big dogs who share a home with three cats and like to swim in the pond and jump in the mud puddles should definitely NOT be indoors.  Maybe it's not that bad.  Maybe I just annoy easily. Or maybe it was my upbringing, Dad constantly teaching me that dogs are good animals and dogs are fun animals but only, only, ONLY if they stay out of the house.  You just get used to things, you know?  And don't worry, they have a whole shed with two doghouses and their very own blankies inside.  They're not exactly 'roughing it'. 

 Next up: cooking lasagna and fixing the toilet that hasn't flushed properly in nearly a year.  But those two tasks are very separate, I want you to know.  And next next up:  redoing Mae's bedroom floor.  And probably Kyler's, too, because sometimes I think that life actually should be fair.  Nearly every carpet in our house was disgustingly dirty when we moved in, then add the five animals and two children and one Kenny and...one by one, I will be putting in new flooring.  I might even let Kenny help me.  I might even let him do most of the work while I idly stand nearby and supervise.

In the realization that I am actually sitting here watching daytime television in between paragraphs, I am getting away from this computer, this television and this entire living room.  I have a toilet to fix!

Why I quit my job. Again.

Life has taken another very swift turn, which I would have updated last week except my blog did not want me posting anything, apparently.  So let's catch you up: I came home on a Thursday night after a very long day of work to find Kenny excitedly standing at the front door.  I asked him what was up and he said, "I got a call for a job interview today."  This was good news, as he had been looking for work, so I asked when the interview was.  "It was today."  Based on his non-stop smile and inability to stand still, I assumed it went well, so I asked about pay and start date.  It doesn't seem appropriate to list his pay here, but it is better than mine.  "I start tomorrow."  He then told me how we would be working the exact same hours, including Saturdays.  Immediately panicked, I asked who will put the kids on the bus, retrieve them from the bus and get them to basketball games and wrestling meets on Saturdays.  This is when Kenny got really excited and said, "Quit your job!"  When the kids heard this, they both did a victory dance.  (I think they miss me).  After a very long family discussion, we decided that it only makes sense that I quit my job and find something with different hours.  I liked working for the post office.  I did.  But I would be lying if I said I was looking forward to working in the winter snow, sleet and downright cold.  And last Tuesday, when the hail was pouring down, I honestly called Kenny at work and when he couldn't talk, I deemed it an emergency.  I told him, "You need to know that I am thankful to not be working right now."  I was serious as serious could be.  

So for the past week, I have been cleaning insanely to make up for the six months that Kenny "cleaned".  Organization is once again becoming the method of our household and the calendar now has reminders on it, thus getting the children to all of their never-ending and very important scheduled events on time.  The fridge is stalked and the plants are returning to the land of the living, rather than the brink of death that Kenny has had them skating across since May.  All animals now have been updated on shots, with one going in this very Thursday to be spayed.  The car is in the shop and the Jeep is going next.  As you can see, I have much to keep me busy.

On the night of the day that we decided I would be quitting my job, we laid in bed and I talked about all of the things I would miss and the equal amount of things I wouldn't miss about my job.  I couldn't write it before because I could lose my job, but seriously, if you get bit by a dog while working for the post office, they will fire you because it is "preventable".  So I "didn't" get bit by two dogs.  This is something that I am looking very forward to: not getting bit.  But something I will miss is the exercise.  So I lay there and tell Kenny, "I'm so glad I don't have to deal with dogs anymore.  But I hope I don't get fat."  Kenny, being the loving husband he is, simply patted my knee and said, "Oh, honey.  I hope you don't get fat, too."  This prompted the carrying-in of the treadmill the very next day.  Yes, the same treadmill that I hauled out to the garage just one month ago because, "I don't need THIS anymore!"  So we hauled it in and I plugged it into the nearest outlet to ensure that it worked and...nothing.  I pressed every button on the thing and...still nothing.  So Kenny let out a good grunt and got out his tools.  This is when Adam (his brother) showed up and together, they decided they could fix my treadmill.  After a few choice curse words, with Adam sitting on the belt of the treadmill (the one you walk on, not the one that runs it), Kenny decided to press the power button to see if it was working yet.  Of course, he did this with no warning, so when the belt began twirling at full speed, Adam went flying off of it at full speed.  Highlight of our night!  So now I am back to daily running.  I didn't even realize how much I had missed it!

So that's that.  I'm currently kind of looking for a job.  I say 'kind of' because there is still so much to do around here that I am just not in a huge hurry.  I've missed being with the kids all of the time.  I've missed their sporting events.  I've even missed helping them with their homework.  So for today, I shall clean and cook and Mae has an exciting family tree to work on.  But soon, I will be finding a new job.  

The Secret Garden of Spacey Dinosaurs.

Mae secretly planted a garden one day when nobody was looking.  She used the pumpkin and watermelon seeds she got from 4H.  Three days ago, upon seeing that there was a 'freeze warning' for the night, Kenny notified Mae that if she was going to pick one of her watermelons, she'd better do it now.  Her and Kyler both ran immediately out to the garden and together decided that one particular watermelon was large enough to pick.  Here it is:

After this photo was snapped, Mae gently set the watermelon on the island in the kitchen and grabbed a cutting board and knife.  She then used her 'presentation hands' and announced, "Now, we're going to see what it tastes like to eat a watermelon grown with no chemicals or wal mart in it."  I cut the melon in half and it wasn't as bright red as the ones you buy at the store so we were all a little leery.  I picked up a fork and plucked a small piece out of the melon.  I cautiously stuck it into my mouth and...it was beyond delicious.  We took turns each trying a bite, then everybody grabbed a fork and instead of calmly slicing the watermelon and partitioning it out like a normal family would do, we all pulled a stool up and just dug right into the two halves on the counter in front of us.  Barbarians!  It was just too good to wait.  

In other happenings (and since I particularly feel like uploading photos), here's a great one of Kenny making fun of me.  I have a long history of spacing off.  Boring movies, football games and lectures are the top three things that set off this spaciness.  Oddly enough, Kenny loves boring movies, football and giving lectures.  And according to him, this is EXACTLY what I look like when I fall under one of these spells:

And we can't leave Kyler out.  He had quite a day today.  Kenny took him (and only him) to a dinosaur exhibit.  He was in dinosaur heaven.  It's pretty much all he's talked about ever since.  Wait, actually, it's one-hundred percent all he's talked about (so much that it may have sent me into bug-eyed space-stare a time or two already).  Fortunately, I told Kenny several times to take lots of pictures and he actually listened, which allows me now to share my new favorite picture:

He just looks so oddly natural.  

And now to break the unfortunate news to you:  It is almost Monday.  That being said, it is nearly nine o'clock and I have a good book and a comfy bed waiting for me so I wish everybody a happy and funny week.  

Under the hood.

Aside from last Saturday (brrrr...), the weather has proven to be perfect for delivering mail.  And on these ever so perfect days, people are very likely to leave their houses to chat with their mail carrier.  This most usually makes me happy, but sometimes our conversations turn out to be not so pleasant.  The following story is one in which I was able to turn the chatter around to my own liking.

A man is outside working on his truck.  I put the mail in his box and greet him with a, "Hello!"  He steps away from his truck and asks, "Hey, what ya' got under your hood?"  I look at him as if he's just said something absurd (hasn't he?) and I ask, "Excuse me?"  He points to my mail truck and asks, "What kind o' engine you got in there?"  And this is the moment where he expects me to shrink about ten sizes smaller.  He obviously asked me this question because I am a girl and girls don't typically know about engines.  And he is right about that...I have no idea about anything 'under the hood', nor do I care to know.  But I wasn't about to spend the rest of my day kicking myself for saying something stupid so I held my head high and said very matter-of-factly, "All of our postal trucks have recycled lawnmower engines in them.  Saves the post office money."  He looked stunned.  He stuttered something inaudible and then said, "Holy shit, really?"  I flashed a smile and said, "Nope.  I've never even tried to open the hood" and then I walked away as quickly as possible before he could ask me anything else I don't know.  So take that.

Dog vs. Man

I enter a nice apartment building for the very first time and there are six mailboxes on the west wall.  This is the fanciest apartment building I have delivered in and I immediately wonder about the people who live here. The six mailboxes are all opened with one skeleton key, but when I put my key in, the left side is jammed.  I stay calm and try again.  And again.  And again.  And pretty soon I'm not so calm.  I hit the mailboxes multiple times and then pull as hard as I can over and over, making quite a racket.  In the middle of it all, a door at the top of the stairs opens and an old man pops his head out to look at me.  I figure I've upset him, but instead he just laughs wildly.  I ask him, "Does this happen often?" and he tells me, "Never, actually."  He climbs down the stairs in his bare feet and says, "Let me try.  I'm an expert."  I ask, "An expert locksmith?"  And he whispers, "No, I used to be a mailman."  He takes the key and I figure that of course, the mailboxes will open up with no problem now, leaving me to look unable to handle my own job, but...nope.  He hit the mailboxes multiple times and tried pulling them open in exactly the same fashion as I did, which made me laugh, but eventually, he was able to shimmy the boxes open.  He looks at me and says, "See?  An expert!"  

As I deliver the mail, he climbs back up the steps.  He sits down, crosses his left leg over his right, then leans back onto his hands and begins small talk.  We chat up quite the storm and as I begin toward the door, he tells me, "You're going the wrong way."  He's right.  I tell him that he's the most helpful person that I've run into on this day and thank him.  He makes me promise that next time I deliver there, I must either knock on his door and announce my arrival, or at least make a huge racket with the mailboxes again.  

I was in the apartment building for less than five minutes, but it completely made up for the six hours of confusion and frustration that I endured before walking in there.  It's amazing how people can do that...just flip my mood around by doing nothing less than acknowledging my existence...well, and fixing all of my immediate problems and making me laugh.  This is pretty much the exact opposite of what I felt three blocks earlier when a dog tied to a swing set was able to move the swing set all the way across the yard in an effort to maul me.  (Though I am thankful that he was tied up with a durable chain instead of something he could easily break).  

Tomorrow is a new day!

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.