Poor Sis

Yesterday, my phone rang and I ignored it because I was busy. Stupid thing to do, but it was my mom and she calls like 8 times a day to chit-chat. About 5 minutes later, I listened to the message she left and heard her telling me that my little sister had a seizure at school and they were on their way to the hospital in an ambulance. Well, I felt like an ASS for not answering the phone, but jumped in my vehicle and headed up to meet them.
It was pretty bad. She fell out of her chair and face-planted right in the floor - bruised her forehad and chin and her poor little nose was swollen. She bit her tongue, too, when she hit and hurt it pretty bad. According to her teacher, it lasted about five minutes. An alarming amount of time. She wet herself. Not the ideal thing for an 8th grader, but the principle assured Meg that noone was going to make fun of her - the other children are very worried.
I don't have any experience with anyone having seizures, so let me tell you, I am VERY frustrated with the fact that noone can tell us anything. The hospital took blood tests and ran a cat scan and said they couldn't find any reason for the seizure. It may happen again but may not. How's that for vague?
So, anyone have any experience in this area? I'm doing research but I usually find a lot more comfort in personal experiences than I do in textbook reading.

Update

I feel sort of bad now for screaming about my husband. He just brought me a cup of Mug Rootbeer as what I can only imagine was a peace offering. Weird but nice.

I WILL have my kitchen!

Had a great weekend. Friday, ya know, we had the bad storms and we didn't get electricity back until Saturday afternoon at our house (it had thankfully come back on at work Friday morning). I ended up taking a load of furniture down to Eureka Springs without make-up (or a shower). That part was awful. Moving the furniture into my friend's new store was so much fun, though. Plus the shopping, visiting and food that day were out of this world.

Sunday we planted my garden. Hubby and Pea Pie were real troopers as I laid the garden out and gave out instructions. (Which was kind of funny since I have no idea what I'm doing). This is my first garden, so wish me luck. If everything survives, we should be enjoying tomatoes, carrots, jalapenos, anaheim peppers, spinich, lettuce, radishes, eggplant, squash, canteloupe, sweet corn, watermelon, pumpkins, cucumbers and onions. (crossing fingers). My younger step daughter got me a candle and a very sweet card. It's the first time she's ever given me anything (first year she's had a job and her own money). What a great surprise!!

Now, on to the kitchen...
My husband and I live in a trailer house. The reason that we do is because 9 years ago, we bought 34 acres, had to dig a well, run electricity, put in a septic system - the whole nine yards and we did not want to go into a ton of debt (considering the current economy, I would say that was a great choice). Now we are at a point where we are ready to start building and GUESS WHAT?! We can't agree on a plan. We agree on what the outside should look like, we agree that we want wrap around porches and he has conceded to the fact that I want 2-stories. The big deal breaker seems to be the kitchen - I want a big...make that HUGE one. He doesn't. My big question to him not wanting one is WHAT THE HELL DOES HE CARE? It's not like he cooks. Or uses the kitchen in any way unless he is washing out the calf bottles. Then, this morning, in midst of a fairly heated discussion about my kitchen size he says this... "You never use the kitchen anyway." Huh?!! I LOVE to cook! Does he think I go in the bathroom and do it? Where does he think the food he eats comes from? I can tolerate almost anything, but people who just say ridiculous crap when they get angry or to make their stupid point even when it's not true just really piss me off.

EEEK!

Severe storms and a tornado in my neck of the woods this morning. 11:45 and we just now got electricity. Lots of clean up and catch up, so I'll see you all on Monday!

I'm not well equipped for adulthood.

You know, adulthood is not what I thought it would be. I thought that when I hit my mid thirties I would be this really together person who knew what to do in any situation. Where does that idea come from? Is it to do with people always telling you as a child to wait until you're an adult and then you will understand? I think it would be more honest to say wait until you're an adult and then you can let on like you understand.
Seriously, I thought that one day, when I worked my butt off (turns out that doesn't literally happen either) and got a great job running a company, I would just be so together and "with it." Apparently I put on a great show because everyone seems to think I've got it down pat. Friends are calling me asking advice about their job or their company. I say (with sage wisdom in my voice) whatever pops into my head. They thank me. We hang up. I spend the next five minutes wondering why the hell they would ask me ANYTHING, let alone business advice.
So, I wonder. Will my whole life be like this? Do elderly people still wonder when they are going to get it together? Am I the only one who feels this way?
It's ponderous I tell ya...

Why I would be the perfect woman for an affair:

I was looking in my rearview mirror today at lunch and realized I would be the perfect woman to have an affair with.
I'm 34 (a woman is in her sexual prime at this age, you know?) and I have almost as much gray hair as I do brunette. What does that mean, you ask? It means that I could totally get nekked in some dude's car or home, leave a hair (women are always on tv screaming they found another woman's hair somewhere) and the chances his wife would think he was having an affair versus the chances his wife would think he was helping out a sweet old lady are even!

At the Buttcrack of Dawn...

I got up this morning and managed to grab a towel and head for the bathroom and the shower I so desperately needed in order to wake up. As I was walking by the front door, this is the scene I witnessed: (hey, sorry about the poor pic quality, but I took this with hubby's phone while trying to tip-toe around and not disturb the scene)



WHAT...THE...HELL...!?? Seriously! Is she just totally dominating my red healer or what? What would possess one dog (with 34 acres to call home, mind you) to choose to sit on top of another?! Poor Roscoe is either whipped or a really heavy sleeper.

Impossible Mom-In-Law in the making.

Well, here we are again. Cinco DeMayo. Many of you don't know that Cinco DeMayo actually translates into "Pea Pie's Birthday." The boy was born on the 5th day of the week, the 5th month, the 5th day of the month AND the 95th year of the century. Methinks 5 is his number.
This is his last birthday before he starts high school. I'm completely emotionally scarred on the one hand and completely excited to watch him grow on the other.

Here's what nearly gave me a heart attack, though. Last night we were driving down the road and he was telling me how hubby had let him drive all the way from our house to pick me up at art class (all county and country roads - I take class at my teacher's house). and THEN:

Sidenote: in Missouri (maybe everywhere, I don't know) you can get your drivers permit when you turn 15, but you HAVE to have it for at least 6 months before you can get your license... On with the story:

Pea Pie: My girlfriend finally got her drivers permit.
Me: Oh that's good...Wait, is she 15? (Looking at hubby like a deer in the headlights and noticing that he's looking pretty pleased with boy).
Pea Pie: Yeah, she's 15. This is the 3rd time she's taken the test.
Me: Wow, how often do they...Wait..How old IS she!?
Pea Pie: She'll be 16 in November.
Me: !!!!!!!!!!

Forgive me if I'm completely incoherent today, but I canNOT wrap my head around this one. Part of me is trying to be calm, the other part is screaming "She'll spoil him faster than mayonaise left out on a summer day!!!!"
OH LAWD HELP ME!!

Why Mirrors are Necessary

I can't believe I am telling this story. It's horribly embarrassing, but since none of you really know me personally, what the heck:

I saw a picture this morning that reminded me of something I did my 7th grade year. In a fit of boredom one day and after having seen my older cousin's really cool Senior pictures, I decided I would put on my cheerleading uniform, put my saxaphone across the handlebars of my 4-wheeler and then have my mom take pictures of me sitting on said 4-wheeler. She did it, too. Looking back, it's no doubt that she did it with the idea that she could one day use these pictures to embarrass me to no ever-living end. She doesn't read this blog and I can only hope...nay...pray that she never finds those things.

I saved this picture for the last part of this post for two reasons: 1. So you can see why it reminded me of my weird jr. high photo session. 2. Because it's so dang funny you will probably forget my weird jr. high photo session: Also, I am wondering, does this man have a mirror ANYWHERE in his house?

Bunny Shmag...

Having a bunny is interesting, hilarious, patience-building and fun. Last night I came home to find that the bun had escaped it's cage (which is, until this evening when my cage gets delivered, actually a big laundry basket). We haven't been able to catch it since, but it runs into and out of the basket by jumping up on picture boxes my son put there for stairs. Very intelligent. A co-worker suggested I get a large butterfly net until little NinnyMuggins gets easier to catch. But his/her/it's cage comes tonight, so maybe I can lure it in there and quietly close the door...

Having a bunny seems to be affecting my husband, too. Behold the genius conversation we had last evening:

Hubby (singing): Little Bunny Foo Foo Hopping through the forest, picking up the field mice and bopping them on the head.

Me: Why would he do that?
Hubby: What?
Me: Why would the rabbit bop field mice on the head?
Hubby: I don't know, he was just playing
Me: Well, it's not very nice.

There are so many things wrong with that converstion, I hardly know where to begin.
1. My 6'1", 220 pound hillbilly husband singing Little Bunny Foo-Foo
2. Same husband not only answering my stupid question, but defending Bunny Foo-Foo by making up the fact that he was "just playing."
3. Me taking the motherly approach and wanting Bunny Foo-Foo to play nicely...

I've said it a hundred times: If there was someone outside our window listening to half the conversations that go on in our house, they would have us committed.