"Saturday."

Today is Wednesday, but it's my Saturday.  I woke up at 6am, helped the kids prepare for school, then dropped them off at the school bus.  As I was driving back down the driveway, I wondered what husband had planned for the day.  I remembered back to last week, when I had four days off in a row and I was so excited about them, only to find out that I was to be Kenny's personal wheelbarrow bitch.  I hauled nearly thirty loads of dirt, followed by twenty loads of rocks.  Knowing that the walkway wasn't yet complete, I prepared myself for the worst.

After an entire pot of coffee, we headed outside.  Fortunately, the walkway was very near completion so all I had to do was haul bricks and bags of sand.  We were done by two o'clock and settled down on the couch for an hour of relaxation before we headed to retrieve the kids from school.

Kenny quickly swiped the remote from my hand and turned the channel to football, but not just any football: re-runs.  And not just any re-runs: re-runs that he's already seen, because sometimes football just isn't boring enough for him on the first go-round.  As is his habit (though I've never figured out why), he immediately began narrating the game to me, pausing it and occasionally turning it on slow-motion for effect.  I displayed my very best yawns and sighs and eventually resorted to nodding off, all of which were completely ignored by him.  At my point of desperation (three minutes in), I dramatically collapsed onto the floor in hopes that he would recognize my need for attention.  This is exactly when the announcer said something about a 'cornerback' and I laughed at the way he said 'quarterback'.  BIG mistake.  Apparently, those are actually two different positions, so this only encouraged Kenny to explain the positions of football to me for the 864th time.  Still on the floor, I threw myself into a series of violent convulsions so loudly that each time I paused, I could hear such things as, "Oh, let me rewind that, you HAVE to see that play again"...and..."Did you see that catch?  DID YOU SEE THAT CATCH?!!!"  I finally gave up and took a short nap right there on the floor.

Later in the day, after we'd picked the kids up from school, I decided to pay Kenny back via reverse psychology.  Here's the thing...I could ask him, "Honey, will you do the dishes?" and the answer would be a stern NO.  Or I could say, "Honey, if you do the dishes, I'll let you watch endless football until your dying day and never complain about it" and the answer would still be NO.  Or I could say, "Do you want to cook or do the dishes?" and the answer would be, "Dishes."  It's the strangest thing and I have no idea how it works, but I have found some sort of loophole in his brain's protocol that allows me to allocate this one chore to him that is almost his least favorite thing to do in the whole world...next to cooking.

So the house is clean, we're all fed and bathed and tomorrow is "Sunday."  While I would like to do Sunday activities, like drive really slowly down country roads with no destination or watch movies or do nothing at all, Kenny thinks we should build a bench to put next to the new walkway.  Maybe if I start convulsing in the middle of Menard's, he'll get the point.  But probably. it will just remind him of today's football and he'll try explaining the difference between cornerback and quarterback to me again.

Where have I been?

I haven't blogged in such a long time and all I can do is put both hands in the air and say, "I dunno why."  I suppose that after the book, I just didn't feel like broadcasting my life for everybody to read.  But now I do.  So I'll fill you in:

My last blog put me at the beginning of my job with Exmark, which will always be a time in my life that I cherish.  I met the best people there.  I had the most fun there.  I learned to be me and anybody who worked there at the same time as I did can agree on one thing:  we laughed every single day.  But as much fun as I was having, this was never meant to be my career.  It was exactly what the first day's paperwork outlined: a temporary job.

The jump from factory worker to emergency medical dispatcher was a pretty big one.  You probably have no idea what being a 911 dispatcher actually entails.  I didn't.  We don't just answer emergency calls.  We answer ALL calls.  1300 of them every day.  If somebody wants to complain, we listen.  If somebody feels scared, we help them.  If somebody needs a phone number, we look it up.  No matter how complex or simple the problem is, we figure out how to solve it.  And we help save lives.  And we keep track of every officer in the city and county.  I can't explain all of the work that this actually entails, but please trust me that it is a very long and grueling process to learn.  I am 1.5 months into a year-long (at least) training program.  I have left work crying once (so far).  They said this will happen multiple times.  There is no doubt in my mind that I'm going to be awesome at this job someday, but for now it's just that: some day.

Reading that back, it sounds terrible.  I still laugh every day.  Just today, a nurse and a cop both laughed at me on separate calls, both sensing that I'm new and have only small clues as to what I'm doing.  The nurse told me, "In a year, you'll know my voice." and the cop told me, "Stick with it, you have a good sense of humor."  And...AND...I get to do ride-alongs with cops.  And yes, it's even more fun than it sounds.  I'm certain that I can't say what happened on my first ride-along, but it was definitely a welcomed break from answering phone calls.

Enough about work, let's talk about Bigley's.  Kenny has settled back into his stay-at-home-Dad role seamlessly.  We both absolutely love it.  He has embarked on a number of home improvement projects while also brushing up on his geometry and spelling skills.  I will not lie...I am NOT good at disciplining my children.  Kenny, on the other hand, holds lifelong respect of all children within minutes of meeting them.  I simply don't know how he does it, but I certainly am more than willing to step aside as our children mutate from sweet little innocents into tweens and, even scarier, teenagers.  Kenny carries the ability to keep them in line while I could very likely swelter into a world of denial and looking the other way, huh?  What?  I know it's very likely that this is my biggest personal downfall but may I introduce to you the glory of marriage: my weaknesses are Kenny's strengths, and vice versa.  He brings the discipline, I bring the fun.  He cooks, I clean.  He loves, I...wait, no, I love, too.  You've gotta double up on the good stuff!

Kyler is in sixth grade.  SIXTH.  GRADE.  He continues to play the trumpet and sail through school with all A's like it's no big deal at all.  He is trading in wrestling for basketball this year and we've been spending much time at the library because there are just so few places that everybody loves being...but who doesn't love the library?

Mae is in fifth grade.  This is only slightly less dramatic than SIXTH.  GRADE.  She has just started playing the saxophone and I can't even believe the awful sounds that she can make with that giant piece of metal.  Did it sound that bad when I played it at her age?  Did my mom ever want me to practice in the garage or maybe even a different state?  Thanks to Kyler and his trumpet, I know that this is just a phase and that in no time, beautiful music will be streaming throughout our house...but these first couple of weeks are nearly enough to make me pop a tent in the back yard.  Mae is also sailing through school work, overly upset with any paper she brings home that doesn't say 100% on it.

In case you're reading this and thinking it looks like a brag blog, here's some real and true stuff that has recently happened:  1) The cat puked all over the clean dishes this morning  2) I forgot that Kenny's putting in a new walkway and removed the stairs from the front porch, thus causing me to walk right off of it this morning in the dark (I'm okay) and  3) there is an opossum stuck in our trash barrel.  Again.  Kenny says to just leave him there until there's enough trash for him to climb out.  I don't care who knows it...I like knowing that I can walk to check the mail without crossing paths with that ugly-looking thing (I'm a terrible person).

And now I'm holding my right hand in the air and solemnly promising to blog more than once every six months.  I mean it.  As always, thanks for reading.  :)

Love the world you're in.

I am happily humbled by the amount of book orders I have received, and furthermore, thank you for all of the compliments.  You guys are nothing short of amazing.  You sure do know how to make a girl feel like it's okay to write my life out.

As for this year: I still haven't figured out what I want to be when I 'grow up'.  I am currently working at a factory, building lawnmowers, and while this started as simply proving a point (Kenny didn't think I could handle factory work), the truth is, I am having more fun than I have ever had at a job.  Sure, I'm working my ass off (literally), but I am singing and dancing and even when I make a mistake, there are plenty of people to laugh with me and say, "I've done that at least twenty times..."

What I'm trying to say is that even though I may not have my life figured out, I am just in love with the whole world.  I love working so hard that my ribs hurt.  I love laughing so hard that my tummy aches.  I especially love the tornado of personalities all in one place.  I don't see people as just people; I see them as colors.  So you might walk into this factory and see red and black, because those are the colors of the lawnmowers.  But if you're me, you see red and black and then every other color bouncing all over the place because of all of the personalities that just cannot be contained.  Everybody has a story and they really do want to be heard if only you take a couple of minutes to get them talking.  I love learning people's lives.  I love that smiles are contagious (I made sixteen people smile today).  I really, really love the explosion of emotion that can be extracted from each and every person if you hit just the right subject.

So...go find emotions.  They're everywhere.

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.