A Morning in the Life and Luxury of a Cat

Wake up. Stretch. Roll over onto human's head.

Purr freely.

Get pushed away by human.

Rub head on human's nose.

Wait for human to open eyes and get up.

Follow human, no wait, try to beat human to kitchen and nearly trip her along the way.

Food. Where's the food?

Eat.

Eat.

Eat.

Scratch at door to get to potty box.

Scratch until human is annoyed.

Go in potty box and stink up the garage.

Scratch at door to get back in because it stinks in the garage.

Clean self. A lot.

Climb on couch with little girl who loves me.

Purr freely.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Roughing It

Our family just returned from a short camping trip.


Let's have a little refresher, shall we? Me and Camping. Like Seinfeld and Newman. Hillary and Obama. Plaid and Stripes. However, Me and my family's happiness? Like Scarlett and Rhett. Peanut butter and chocolate. Diet Coke and blogging.

Moms do things for their kids that they normally would not do for any other cute, little people wearing Old Navy t-shirts. So I decided to go along with Hubs' plan to camp at a local campsite.

Hubs is camping purist. If he had his way, we would be off in the Adirondacks miles from civilization or a Wal-mart, sleeping in a shelter made from sticks and leaves and foraging for food. You know, Survivor Man.

But he is not a cute little person wearing an Old Navy t-shirt.

So instead of freezing and starving to death in the woods we camped in a tent with a fire pit and proper restroom facilities within walking distance. To be honest, this campground was a little too modern and convenient, even for my taste. I think Hubs was trying to be careful not to scare me away completely from camping on our first outing. He even Googled for campsites with clean restrooms.

God love him. Because really, a man who understands my need for low bacteria count is the man for me.

The tent sites were adjacent to the RV site. Over the 18 or so hours we were there, we learned a lot about RV's and RV'ers.

For one, there is a huge need to keep the RV clean. We frequently observed RV'ers hosing down their vehicles. I suppose if I were constantly on the rode or parked adjacent to a complete stranger dumping things out of their camper, I'd want to be hosed down , too.

Secondly, in order to own an RV, one must be at least 65 and have a very small dog. I think it is on the RV application just below the line which says "I understand I am about to spend my entire life's savings on a gas-guzzling vehicle with poorly constructed laminate kitchen cabinets and a shower just big enough for my very small dog."

Another thing I noticed about the RV Culture is that a really good RV is named something that normally starts with a "C" but they cleverly start with a "K" instead. For example, "Kozy," "Kamping," and "Komfort" were all popular phrases found on freshly hosed retirement funds on wheels.

When we arrived, I (of course) had to check out the bathrooms. Taped on the Women's Restroom door was a flyer which advertised a "Potluck Dinner In The Gazebo" the following day. As soon as I returned to the campsite I informed hubs. We know how he loves a good potluck. Ahem.

Later on I was in the restroom using the facilities and a lady was in there also using the facilities. She then left without washing her hands. I thought to myself, "I hope she's not bringing the potato salad."

But, I'll bet her RV is sparkling clean.

We left before the potluck party, but it doesn't really matter. We weren't invited anyway. While on a walk yesterday morning I saw flyers on most of the RV's, inviting the owner to attend. We didn't get one; we're "Tent People."

Klassy.

Not necessarily a product endorsement

Well, I wore my new make-up today and while I did like the look and feel of it, I pretty much look exactly the same as I did yesterday.



Only a day older.



However, Miss Tracy did her wonderful works on my hair and after two hours of sitting in the salon chair, head in the sink, under the dryer and back in the chair again, I am Totally Blonde and Sun-In free.



Basically, if you witnessed me committing a crime yesterday and I was in a line-up today, you would say, "It was that lady there, but yesterday she had really terrible roots and streaks of gray. Other than that she looks exactly the same..."

"...only a day older."

Call me the girl in the Ferrari

On a quest to change my beauty regimen (which means that I will start one), I decided to watch Christie Brinkley this morning on Rachael Ray. I saw the promo yesterday and it promised that Christie would share all of her beauty secrets.

So I tuned in today to discover the fountain of youth and as it turns out it flows from a Cover Girl foundation bottle.

Boy, I didn't see that one coming.

Still, I decided to watch the segment anyway and Christie shared that her beauty secret was a new Cover Girl product claimed to take "5 years" off of your appearance.

Hey, that's not much, but I'll take what I can get.

She also demonstrated on some poor girl how to apply Sun In to root growth. Bless that girl's heart. She had roots and Sun In color. Somebody should give her a hug. Christie's demo looked so easy and I have to say this information would have been very helpful to me back in 1987 when I went to prom in a red ruffle dress and orange hair.

Thanks, Christie for being so timely.

Plus, we all know that Christie's flawless blonde highlights are from a spray bottle of lemon-scented, heat-activated peroxide. Ahem...

Later today I was at Target and decided I'd give Christie's advice a try even if she is paid millions to give it. I bought some new foundation, concealer and a compact. Based on experience, I am paying someone to do my highlights. Sorry, Sun In. We had a wonderful relationship in the 80's but it's over. It's not you; It's me. Okay. It's you.

In the morning I plan to wear all of my new drug store beauty products and instantly look at least 5 years younger.

I hope I don't get pulled over for speeding. I can hear the officer now..."I'm sorry, M'am. I will have to give you a ticket for having a fake ID because the woman in this photo is much, much older than you."

Or something like that.

I really hope that these promises of youthful radiance do hold true. Most of the time when a beauty product claims to turn back time it just takes me back to when I was 13 years old and plagued with acne.

We'll have to wait and see.

Thirteen or thirty-two? I'll let you know in the morning.

I love the smell of sulphur in the morning.

Colorful, whimsical Easter eggs are a special blessing each year. The permanent dye. The overpriced (even at a buck) decorating kit. The family bonds of egg decor will last a lifetime.

Precious.

The only thing that surpasses these priceless memories is the stench of boiled eggs that hits me in the face every time I open the refrigerator door.

Ahhh. The glorious smells of Spring.

An Egg-cellent Point

Happy Easter, y'all! I don't know about you, but it is only 2:00 and I am already tired.

I got up a little early this morning to put my chicken in the crock pot. We are having chicken and dressing for our Easter dinner. I realize that it is a little outside the traditional realm of ham, but I figure, hey, the chicken will go with all the eggs.

Thankfully, hubs made the cornbread for me yesterday while I was out taking our daughter to a birthday party. He boiled eggs for us, too. So now I am just waiting on the dressing to bake, the fordhook lima beans to get tender, and the corn, well it can just simmer.

Did you notice that menu? Starch. It does a body good.

This morning in Sunday School I had some precious children. Between gluing and having snack, we talked about the real reason we celebrate Easter. At one point, I used the Resurrection Eggs to demonstrate the story. (If you aren't familiar, you should try these. They are a wonderful teaching tool.)

Each egg holds something significant inside that helps tell the Easter story. For example, you start out with the donkey that Jesus rode on as He entered Jerusalem.

I asked, "Who rode the donkey?"

"A cowboy!!", a little boy said.

"No, Jesus rode the donkey," I said without giggling.

I came to the egg that holds the cloth napkin and explained that Jesus was wrapped in cloth when they buried Him.

"We have those at my house," one little girl said.

I continued the story showing the cross, the crown of thorns, and so on.

When I got to the very last egg, it was empty, symbolizing the empty tomb.

I asked them, "Why would this egg be empty?"

One little boy proudly proclaimed,"Because He egg-xited."

"You're right," I said,"He did."

And, praise God for that!

Happy Resurrection Day, friends!

Butterflies and Rainbows

If you have already seen this movie, you know where the title of this post came from. I won't spoil it for the rest of you, but it was one of my favorite lines in the whole movie.

Yesterday, my daughter and I went with our friends, S. and her daughter to see Horton. S. and I are good friends and our daughters are good friends. We all go to church together but rarely get to spend any quality time doing "friend stuff."

The girls sat in the row just in front of us. They thought it was so cool and grown-up to sit away from their moms. Sniff. Sniff. They are getting so big. One day they won't need us anymore. Or at least they'll think so.

We went to the movie after eating way too much CiCi's pizza. (I'll speak for myself.) So much pizza that my daughter didn't get popcorn and I didn't even get snowcaps. That's a lotta pizza.

Throughout the movie, we all laughed. A lot. We could hear our girls' giggles. They could hear their moms' giggles.

After the movie was over, my daughter said,"I heard you laugh, Mommy."

It really touched my heart in kind of a silly way. She heard her Mommy laugh and it made her smile. I hope she can always hear her Mommy laugh. I hope I can always hear her laugh. Even if she is sitting one row or 10 rows ahead of me.

And they will still need us, S.

Someone has to buy the tickets and the pizza! :>)

He Knew

That night, He knew. He knew what was going to happen. In the quiet of the evening, in a garden among friends, He knew.

He could have left. After all, when He asked them to pray with Him, they fell asleep. No one would have known where or when He escaped that night as His friends rested peacefully, completely naive to what lay ahead.

But, He knew.

He talked to The Father so intensely that His blood fell from His brow. The sins of the world pressed upon Him.

He had always known.

Before the creation of the Earth, He knew. Along with The Father and The Holy Spirit, He planned it all. He knew when Adam was formed from the dust what Adam would do that would require Him to be The Sacrifice for all.

Then the night had come. That Night. The night when they would come to take Him and He would offer Himself, willingly and lovingly for all the world.

He did it all because He knew.

He knew that one day I would be unable to pay for my own unrighteousness. Unable to do anything, say anything, give anything that would erase and cleanse my sin. He knew that I would need Him. He knew that I would choose Him.

He knew that others would ask Him into their hearts to live with Him forever. He knew that many would reject Him. Yet, He still waited that night when He could have called a thousand angels to take Him away.

He stayed.

He wept.

He suffered.

He died to rise again.

All because He knew.

How to keep your dignity and your what-nots.

There is one thing for sure I can say about my husband. He is forever committed to me. At least, until I become incapacitated.

Last night we were grazing on Peanut Butter Patties and Lemonades and the conversation turned to family health history. This led us down the path of possibilities of me having a stroke when we are old and no longer useful to society.

He said,"Oh, greaaat."

Now, let me interject here for you new readers and say that my husband's sarcasm surpasses my own and that most of what he says is utter nonsense.

Except for when he says he will do the dishes.

Anyway, I told him that maybe he would be lucky and that I would just go quickly. Then he wouldn't have to take care of me or put me in a home.

He then advised me,"When I do put you in a home, I am not moving a whole bunch of stuff."

(This is how we show our love for each other. We are sick and twisted. I know. People who know us well who have observed these conversations are usually laughing at this point.)

"Well," I said, "I am not giving you Power of Attorney because then you will still have to come visit me in the home when you need me to sign something."

"Sheeeesh," he uttered.

So, I hope you all will learn from this. If you think you will end up in a home when you are old and your husband and kids won't come see you, keep your mind intact and your faculties in order.

And most of all, don't give up hope or your Power of Attorney.

She's gonna wash that cucumber melon right outta her hair.

There is so some seriously good writing going on out there today.

On behalf of all of us with green tea-scented locks, thank you, Roxanne.

Thank you.

She has mastered good hair, but we could work on tactfulness.

Today in the car, on the way home from school-

While looking in the visor mirror and fiddling with my hair, I said,"Boy, Mommy needs a hair cut."

"You don't need a hair cut."

"Awwww, thank you."

"You just need to brush it."

(Note to self- Call Miss Tracy first thing in the morning.)

Sigh...

The Beavers Are Back

Well, the truth is they probably never left.

Our contract ran out with Mr. Edwards and now we are on our own. Best we can tell, there are two beavers left in the pond. Two very smart, very rude beavers.

They take stuff without asking and everything!

We've ordered some humane traps but my neighbor said that beavers can become "trap wise." She should know.

After all of her lovely tropical plants were stolen she became the neighborhood expert on beavers. In fact, people come from all over to see her as she sits in her back yard wearing one of those OhWiseOne capes, sitting in front of a small fire with her trusty dog by her side, passing out ice cream sandwiches instead of a peace pipe (she doesn't smoke) and mumbling things like, "Don't... plant... banana... trees.... Ommmmm....."

Or something like that.

Anyway, my husband cut down some shrubs and unwanted brush between our yard and the pond thereby making unobstructed access to his garden. The beavers are loving it. They have tunneled, chopped, chewed, gnawed and clawed their way onto the bank of the pond and into our yard.

They really need to work on their manners. However, their digestive systems must be in top condition. Lack of dietary fiber is not a problem.

Now, if only we could get them to eat all of the newly grown Spring weeds instead. I think we should hire a Beaver Whisperer.

"Ommmmmmm..."

In celebration of St. Patrick himself

This afternoon, I was on a mission to rid the country of all its snakes. I thought I'd start with the back yard.

Daughter told me that she and the neighbor saw a snake on our dock. It was "all black", so she said. I assumed it was probably a harmless king snake.

Later, when she shared the story with her Daddy, it went something like this...

"We saw a snake. It was shaking its tail and hissing at Ms. R. It didn't bite her, though."

EEEEEEKKK!

I informed her that these details she failed to give earlier were vitally important.

So I went out on the dock with my big shovel and searched, bent on killing me a varmint.

When I saw it, it was curled up, shaking its tail and slithering its disgusting snake tongue at me. Yuck. I walked carefully behind it and just as it slinked down between the dock's boards, I jabbed it with the shovel.

It lived. But right now it is taking a powerful dose of reptile extra strength Tylenol for that nasty shovel injury.

When hubs came outside with me, the snake was poking his head between the boards. We still couldn't finish it off. Hubs is convinced it isn't a water moccasin, but me? I ain't so sure...

It looked an awful lot like the snake I killed last summer but it was so hard to tell.

Tomorrow, I plan to make a positive ID.

I know that tomorrow is Sunday and there is probably some commandment against killing snakes on The Lord's Day, but a girl can't rest with a could-be poisonous snake slithering somewhere in her yard.

Hey, Scarecrow. Call me Mrs. King.

While everyone else was at Target buying plastic Easter grass and Peeps, I was at the Sheriff's Department getting fingerprinted.

A volunteer job I signed up for requires a routine background check. Yesterday, I was handed a fingerprinting card and directions. Once I found my way to the Sheriff's office, I took a seat. (OK, I didn't actually take a seat; that may be mistaken for stealing. Technically, I borrowed a seat.)

So, anyway, I borrowed a seat and waited across from a man who was heavily tattooed. Normally, this would make me feel uneasy, but there were very strong men who were armed in the next room. With badges and stuff.

Within a few minutes, they called me back and I explained that I needed to be fingerprinted. I put my purse down on the counter and handed the officer my envelope.

"Is this for a concealed weapons permit?" he questioned.

"Do I look like I need a concealed weapons permit?" I asked in bewilderment.

"No, but most of the time those people have the same kind of envelope and they put it on the counter face down the way you did," he explained.

Um....kay.

The officer started the fingerprinting process. (It's digital now! CoooWel!!)

Then, trying to be the considerate person that my Mama would have me be, I picked up my purse to get it out of the way and put it on my shoulder.

"You can leave your purse there, M'am. It is safe behind that plate of bullet proof glass."

We were not off to a good start. Can ya tell? I politely said I was only trying to move it out of the way and then placed it to the side.

I stood there with the officer holding my hand, carefully rolling each finger to get a copy of my prints.

"What do you do for a living?" he asked.

"I'm a Stay-At-Home Mom," I answered.

"Your prints are very faint. You use too many cleaning products. They are destroying your fingerprints. We see this in people who are doctors, nurses, people who clean for a living, wash their hands a lot, or do masonry work," the officer explained.

Me doing masonry work. Snort.

The kind and armed officer continued to roll my fingers again and again and again...

After completing the very faint and hard to read fingerprint card, he had to attach an addendum explaining that I was a "difficult" person to print and to "contact the Sheriff's office" if there were any questions about my background check.

So, now I am in need (obviously) of a concealed weapons permit so that I can carry a piece in my black and white toile purse that is in the way but perfectly safe behind the window of bullet proof glass, and I have burned my fingerprints nearly off with Clorox bleach and goodness knows what else I have used to scrub the commodes in my house.

Just your average day.

Tomorrow, I get my new identity.

WFMW: Clever Storage

Guess what is in here.

Laundry? Nope.

Shoes!

We take our shoes off at the door and sometimes the entrance looks like Payless during the BOGO sale. A big ole mess. My smart neighbor has two of these baskets in her home for her family's shoes- one at the front door and one near the garage entrance.

I found this basket at a close-out store for $25.00! The round shape doesn't scream "laundry" and the handles make it look a little more interesting.

Any basket with a lid will do.

Go see Shannon for more tips today.

Cool New Blog Design

Y'all have to go over to Linda's to see her new blog design.

Watch the coffee cup.

A-MAZING!

I'll have mine strong with lots of cream, please.

Dian Fossey: The Lost Chapter

Funny how you can have absolutely no desire whatsoever to do anything outdoorsy and then your family goes to Africa to see large, endangered animals and you still have absolutely no desire whatsoever to do anything outdoorsy.

However, I have learned a few things and I didn't even have to break a sweat.

I've learned that, no matter what shade of LL Bean blouse you wear, you must always follow the Official Gorilla Trekking Guidebook while in the mist.

The official guidelines for observing gorillas include, but are not limited to the following:

1. Maintain a distance of at least 15 feet from the gorillas.

2. Do not make direct eye contact or attempt to take pictures while gorilla is looking at you.

3. If you need to, um, relieve yourself, ask a guide to dig a hole for you with his Panga Machete. (I'm not making this stuff up, people.) After you have finished, be sure to fill the hole.

My in-laws were following all (or most) of the rules, keeping their voices down, moving slowly, as they observed a family of gorillas. My father-in-law saw a silverback and decided to add to his collection of wildlife photos. He sat quietly and took this picture.

*Photo copyrighted, provided courtesy of a very brave tourist in the mist

Just as he snapped the photo, the guide said, "He is going to charge."

My father-in-law, instead of assuming a submissive stance, just sat there, frozen. (Which, to his credit, is like the bravest thing ever because I totally would have cried like a baby.)

The silverback charged and turned in another direction just before reaching my father-in-law.

Please, rest easy.

No gorilla or tourist were harmed in the making of this photo. Most importantly, no LL Bean khaki cargo pants were soiled, torn or otherwise harmed in the making of this photo, thereby avoiding any need to follow Number 3 of the Official Gorilla Trekking Guidebook.

Let's face it. Sometimes you don't have time to ask your guide to dig a hole for you with his Panga.

It was just a feeling.

Something about the situation just wasn't right.

I was walking to my car in Wal-mart's parking lot today after church. Just as I was about to load my trunk, a large family got out of their truck. I only caught a glimpse of him in the corner of my eye, but something made me uneasy.

When I saw her, I was almost certain.

In less than a minute, I watched them walk away from the truck, his truck. He walked ahead of them. Her head hung down timidly. Her daughters and her sons looked down as they walked behind him.

A wave of fear and helplessness went through me.

Right there in Wal-mart's parking lot, I started to pray. I put the trunk's lid down and watched as this family walked slowly behind a man who scared me. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but he shook his finger at the woman (his wife?) and she continued to lower her head. All of them did.

Then they were gone, out of sight, into the store. I felt helpless, but what could I do? I really didn't see anything. I didn't even hear anything. It was just a feeling.

And thus, I write this post in hopes that someone out there will be helped. If you have just a feeling about a woman or child who may be being abused, visit this site to learn the warning signs.

If you are being abused, get help.

If you believe your computer activity is being watched, be careful in your search. Go to a friend's house or to a pay phone and call this number for help: 1-800-799-SAFE.

You don't deserve it. No one does.

Wanted in 50 States and a Few Territories

What's your blog wanted for? Hat tip to Shannon for the link.

this-aint-new-york.blogspot.com

WANTED FOR THE COLD-BLOODED FORCE-FEEDING of a GAUDY BUCKET OF LARD

$3100

What's Your Blog Wanted For?

Beause they just may have visited more continents than Meryl Streep.

So, y'all know that my in-laws went to Africa to see The Big Five.

Turns out, they saw all of them. Plus some.

For me, you know, the adventurous one, ahem, I would rather observe The Big Five from a distance, as in looking at their photos.

I have a story I am just itching to share about a silverback Gorilla once I have permission... hint, hint.

In the meantime, I wanted to inform you that my mother-in-law was not attacked by the tsetse fly for wearing her favorite LL Bean cream color blouse. Whew.

Before their trip we talked about what animals they may see. Of course, this clip from Seinfeld came to mind. No surprise there. All of life's experiences remind me of Seinfeld. (Even though the dingo lives on another continent.)

Enjoy!

Are you smarter than a Third Grader?

During a cookie transaction yesterday, one of our sweet Girl Scouts offered change to a customer. I gently corrected her math.

The customer not-so-gently corrected MY math and then informed me that I got an "F" in math for the day.

Granted, it was very, very early and I had not had my coffee.

Later on...

The same very smart third grade Girl Scout offered change to another customer after calculating in her head. The other troop leader (her mom) whispered another amount in her ear.

The customer gently corrected HER math.

It seems that we Troop Leaders need to review the "How To Count Change" patch.

Or maybe we're just tired.

;>)

WFMW: Backwards Edition, Skin Care for the Elderly. OK, Not yet.

OK, if you are under the age of 35, just look away.

For the rest of you, I ask this.

What kind of skin care products are you using to maintain a youthful glow? I accept wrinkles, but I don't want to be one of those people in the box on "Ten Years Younger."

Any tips?

Thanks!

Visit Shannon for more Backwards WFMW. (It's fun!)

Life Imitates Blogging

My in-laws have a new phrase around their house. Whenever they are hungry or just frustrated...er something like that, they say,"Where's Miss Melanie? We want snack."

It all started from this post.

Here are a few blog-related thoughts for me-

I think of Sophie's Mama whenever I hear about a fish camp or a fish fry.

I cannot look at an eyelash curler without thinking about Big Mama.

Once, I actually found a rock in my dryer. You guessed it.

I think about Linda whenever I cook ham.

What about you? Is there anything you say or do around your house that all started from someone's blog?

A Pulled Pork Update

Well, today was wonderful. I am so proud of my husband. It was a nice time of celebration with family.

In grand Southern tradition, we had plenty of food. Heaven help the person who runs out of food at a party. (Right now, my grandmother is smiling down on us, even though there was a least one gallon of unsweetened tea served.)

Anyone want some brisket and a side of beans? My freezer would be much obliged.

Love you, hubs! ;>)

BBQ, bologna, and hairspray

Before I post a thing, let me just say that I just checked my site meter and it warms my heart that someone out there found my blog while doing a Google for bologna cup.

Give me a minute.

Okay, I'm fine now.

Today is kind of a big day for hubs at work. There will be some special recognition that is work-related and some stuff like that. That's about all I can say here.

So anyway, because of THE KIND OF A BIG THING THAT I CAN'T SHARE WITH THE INTERNET, there has been a lot of planning and preparation like who will be there, what will be said, what kind of food to have, and of course, what I am going to wear!

Fortunately, I have the best friend from fashion heaven who understands not only style, but grace and figure flaws-namely mine. I found an outfit on Friday and it is ironed and ready to go. My daughter already had an outfit, although she protested when I told her she could not wear flip-flops or her cowgirl boots.

So, on the what-t0-wear list, we are officially checked off.

As for the food, we went with BBQ. It is a casual lunch and you just can't go more casual than BBQ, except for maybe bologna cup. But, there could be up to 50 people there and the thought of me scooping that many ice cream scoops of mashed potatoes then having to melt all that cheese, well.

Plus, BBQ smells good. The aroma of pulled pork and beef brisket will catch a current from the A/C duct and beckon people to the room. We won't even have to make an announcement on the intercom.

So now all I have to do this morning is get myself ready. My daughter is halfway there- she rolled her hair on sponge rollers last night "special for Daddy."

And can I just stop here and take another minute because the thought of my daughter understanding that Important Event = Need For Good Hair. OH, people. No Mother's Day card could touch my heart more.

She has asked me for the last 30 minutes if she could go ahead and get dressed even though we don't have to be there for 3 hours. No matter, she's got good hair and she needs accessories to go with it.

All of this being said, I need to go now and work on my own hair because mine requires a lot more work than sponge rollers and a little hairspray.

Plus, I am not nearly as cute as my daughter.

Your average Saturday...

Wake up to daughter giggling with her Daddy.

Shuffle to kitchen and realize OUT OF MILK which means NO COFFEE.

Get ready and head to basketball game.

Stop by McDonald's for a large coffee, 3 creams.

Cheer heart out.

Return home, change.

Go to birthday party.

Go to grocery store. GET MILK.

Return home.

Laugh with family visiting.

Cook dinner.

Eat dinner.

Let husband clean kitchen.

Laugh some more with family visiting.

Make a pot of coffee.

Coffee in hand, with milk... ahhh....

Blogging.