Me, my MIL Natalie, Tiff, her mama Lydia, niece Katie, Trish, and Cathy. (2 SIL’s were out of town)

I complain an awful lot about living in Alligatoralley, Florida. But, I have to say, a great big huge bonus to living here, is Fiddledaddy’s family. I am blessed to be close to my MIL, and 5 sisters. They are actually sisters-in-law, but, to me, they are my sisters. I heart every one of them.

Last weekend, I attended a baby shower for one such SIL. She will most likely be the last of all of us to give birth. Knock wood. Crossing my eyes. And praying for menopause.

Trish hosted at her house. We had a “tea” party. No children allowed. And believe me, my girls tried to hide themselves in my pockets to attend. I searched the car thoroughly for stowaways. When they were over at Aunt Trish’s earlier in the week, and caught sight of the delicate tea cups, and CANDY BARS, MOM, SHE GOT CANDY BARS.

Well. They are my offspring. You can’t blame them.

But the candy bars? Not so much for public consumption, but rather for a cruel party game.

I sat around the table with women that I know very very well. And laughed until I nearly needed to change clothes. There was food. And tea. And games. Let it be known that we’re all rather competitive during games. Especially the MIL. She’s not above cheating. I’m just sayin’.

I gave it my all during each and every party game. The drawing of the baby on a paper plate poised on top of my head, plus other games that involved thinking and paper and pen. But, since there were no cocktails offered, my game playing was seriously hampered.

Finally, Trish introduced a game that I would most certainly excel at. We had to determine the maker of 5 different candy bars. Without the aid of a wrapper.

AT LAST! BRING ON THE CHOCOLATE. If I can’t have a cocktail, at least give me some chocolate. It’s the sporting thing to do.  And believe me, I know my way around a candy bar.

She presented us with a platter of 5 baby diapers. Fresh out of the microwave. With a candy bar contained therein.

You get the picture.

We were to pass the diapers around, and using our keen sense of smell and taste, write down the correct guess.

I opened the first diaper and began with the dry heaves and gagging. I tried people, I really did. I sniffed. And even tasted one. Or two, as it were. But all the choking and reflux were a deterrent. I got not ONE of them right.

My niece, the skinny nurse with no children, got them all right. I’m so happy for her.

I could barely go back to the feeding trough for my 5th helping of food. But, I forced myself.

And as a parting gift? Trish gave each of us a Godiva Chocolate Bar. I accepted it reluctantly and shoved it into my purse. “You know, you’ve ruined my love of all things chocolate,” I glared at her.

Because I’m not one to be ungrateful for a gift candy bar, the wrapper now lays empty at the bottom of my purse.

Any other favorite baby shower games? Not that I’m planning one, mind you.

I just watched this gal address the National Republican Convention. I’ll bet her mama is certainly proud of her. She rocks. And that’s about as vocally political as I’ll get on my blog.

That’s how much I love my new and improved bedroom.

I feel so peaceful in here. Especially when I close the door and stick my fingers in my ears. It is clean and there is no clutter. I just function so much better in a clutter free zone. Imagine what I could accomplish if I did this with my whole house.

Oh dear. This could become a Home Improvement blog. No more talk of poop, menstruation or PMS? What would that be like?

Anyhoo. Here it is. The finished product. Next up: the Master Bath. And I’ve already picked out my peel and stick tile for the Family Room. I actually could go into a life of crime, since my recent overuse of the product “Goo Gone” to rid my fingers of unwanted stickiness. I have now have no fingerprints. If you need to be reminded of my mug shot, go here. If you dare.

Oh, and feeding, cleaning, and homeschooling the children. Whatever.

Which is why my blog has been woefully neglected. Well. That, and wordpress wouldn’t let me write a post in visual mode. I could only use html. Which means I may as well have been typing with my feet, while blindfolded. And medicated. But, Fiddledaddy fixed whatever the problem was, and I’m back in business.

Back to the home improvement saga.

It is finished. At midnight Monday night, Fiddledaddy and I popped a dozen or so Tylenol, and called it a day. On Tuesday, I put the room back together. But, without the clutter and dust bunnies. And moldy carpeting.

It is stunning. If I do say so myself. At the risk of turning Fiddledeedee into a Home Improvement blog, (and frankly, that would be a mistake. I couldn’t take the pressure. And Martha Stewart doesn’t need the competition), I am posting pictures.

Please note, my gifts do not lie in photography.

This is the slab of concrete. I did indeed consider staining it. However, the cracks were a little distracting. I tried to sell Fiddledaddy on the idea, telling him it would give our home a French flair. He wasn’t buying. Good call.

This is me, hard at work. I’ve actually just glued my hands together. Fortunately, I was able to work with my feet. If you know me, you know that I can actually peel a banana with my feet.

I’m thinking of putting Fiddledaddy to work in the kitchen more often. But, I will be retiring this particular rolling pin.

The last blankety blank piece that we had to cut. And re-cut. At midnight. The cuss jar may or may not have exploded from the weight. I’ll never tell.

Allrightythen. I’ll post the finished product tomorrow. Because I want to take a picture during the day. So you can actually see the floor. And not just a flash reflecting in the window.

C’MON, IT AIN’T ROCKET SCIENCE.

After many hours, two broken nails, and a bottle and a half of Extra Strength Tylenol, IT IS ROCKET SCIENCE, PEOPLE. Who knew?

I’ll have pictures to post tomorrow, to be sure. But, right now, I’m about to wrestle Fiddledaddy for control of the ice pack. And I’m not above a punch to the throat, to get my way. Don’t mess with me. I’m just sayin’.

I hadn’t thought of that scenario. Canoeing down to Publix for toilet paper and tampons, sure, I’d thought of that. But not the frogs.

I thanked her profusely for the reminder.

If you’ll recall, I devoted an entire category on my blog to my fear and loathing of the frog population. A population that has been gunning for me for the last year or so.

Yesterday, I hopped in the van to run errands. And as I pulled away, a frog landed on the windshield. Nearly causing me to have a Depends moment. We stared at each other, beady eye to beady eye. He wasn’t budging. He was determined to stick there, obstructing my view.

So, I did what anyone who respects life, even that of a frog, would do. I turned on the windshield wipers. With a windshield wiper washer chaser.

Worked like a charm.

I’d like to tell you that I really feel for the wildlife that have been affected by the flooding.

I’d like to.

My SIL called me last week, after the waters began to recede. She said that as she was driving, she saw a fish flopping around on the road.

I still can’t get that visual out of my head. And I also haven’t been able to cook fish for dinner, either.

Then, I heard on the news that an alligator was spotted walking (slithering, crawling, whatever) down the middle of a residential street. Not far from my house.

Allrightythen.

Last Monday, I attended a meeting for our homeschool group. As I was leaving, I glanced over at the small water reserve, next to the church.

Four eyes stared at us from just atop the water. We must have looked tasty, because they raised their heads up and simultaneously licked their scaly lips.

Alligators. Two of ‘em.

Check please.

Somehow, I fear that the frogs will be the least of my worries.

Which just goes to show that I should always be careful what I post.

As I was whining about last week, our area of the globe received a record 25 inches of rain when Tropical Storm Fay paid us a visit. What I didn’t tell you was that Fiddledaddy was out of town during the whole ordeal, earning us some money so that I could continue to live in the style to which I have become accustomed.

One morning, I was on the phone with him conveying that if that area of town here in upper Armpit, Florida (an area I’ve had my wandering eye on as a desirous location in which to relocate) were to not experience flood conditions, I would take it as a sign that we should live there.

Thirty minutes later I saw on the new that the desirous location was now lakefront property. With houseboats.

I took it as a sign to appreciate my nice safe and dry neighborhood. Despite the homeowner’s association.

And then a while later I was padding through the master suite of our humble abode. “Why are my feet wet?” The realization struck me after I left the room and began rummaging though the pantry for something cookie in nature.

I’m nothing, if not quick.

In horror, I rushed back into the master suite and began flinging furniture aside to rip back the carpeting. Sure enough, the carpet, padding, and concrete were soaked.

Trish brought over her Shop Vac so that I could begin the drying out process. My 3 year old son, lover of anything vacuum shaped, nearly had a spasm when he saw the Shop Vac.

OH MOMMY! THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!

He was mesmerized as he hung over the baby gate, while I labored to rid the carpet of the mold breeding rainwater. And we all know, where there’s mold, there’s certain death.

I did the best job I could do, and turned on all the industrial sized fans I could find. Which really just moved the stink around. And gave me a rather frazzled appearance.

When Fiddledaddy returned home that night, he assessed the situation, and began ripping up carpet and padding. Like a man possessed.

Well. We’ve been talking about replacing the carpeting for about 112 years. But I tell you, my plans for new flooring have changed dramatically in the last week. We are not going to sink a bunch of money into flooring.

Sink would be the operative word.

We had a building inspector come to take a look at our situation. He said that the water probably entered through a loose electrical outlet outside. And the cracks we found in the floor are not indicative of my personal fear that we built our house ON TOP OF A SINK HOLE.

Which is awfully excellent news.

We have a good deal of work ahead of us. And by us, I mean Fiddledaddy. We’re going to replace all of the carpeting and cheap linoleum ourselves. Room by room. And we are probably going to go the nicer “peel and stick” route. I took a picture of what we picked out for the master suite, er, um, concrete slab.

So, if you have any sage advice as to the installation of “peel and stick” flooring, please share it with me. Or Fiddledaddy.

I would imagine it’s much like my old Lee Press On Nails. Which were quite lovely if you stood across the room and squinted.

This may be the reason Fiddledaddy will be barring me from assisting in the floor installation. Well. That and the fact that I would probably glue myself to the floor.

Which would get me out of housework for a few days.

MY MASTER PLAN. (insert maniacal laughter)

(Oh, my friends. It’s good to be back. I feel better already.)

I’m fine. Really. The house is in disarray, but we’re one of the really lucky ones. Very minimal damage, and I’ll save that for a “real” post this week.

I think most of my silence has stemmed from a rather severe case of melancholia. I just made that up. It sounds so much more glamorous than d-e-p-r-e-s-s-i-o-n.

There’s no good reason. At all. I’m very blessed, because we’re all healthy. And together. Which is why I’m embarrassed to even say anything. But, I know y’all go through this too. And the stupid thing is, that when we feel backed into a sad corner, we just hide. I know I do. The last thing I do is reach out and talk to someone about it.

So, I’m talking. Which is step one toward pulling myself up by my bootstraps. I’ll have more to say later. Probably much more. Just warning you.

For now, I wanted to let you know that I’m okiedokie. And thank you for being there.

My sister-in-law, Sue, sent this to me this morning. I thought it was beautiful and wanted to share it with you.

Just Stay

(author unknown)

A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside.

‘Your son is here,’ she said to the old man.

She had to repeat the words several times before the patient’s eyes opened.

Heavily sedated because of the pain of his heart attack, he dimly saw the young uniformed Marine standing outside the oxygen tent. He reached out his hand. The Marine wrapped his toughened fingers around the old man’s limp ones, squeezing a message of love and encouragement.

The nurse brought a chair so that the Marine could sit beside the bed. All through the night the young Marine sat there in the poorly lighted ward, holding the old man’s hand and offering him words of love and strength. Occasionally, the nurse suggested that the Marine move away and rest awhile.

He refused. Whenever the nurse came into the ward, the Marine was oblivious of her and of the night noises of the hospital - the clanking of the oxygen tank, the laughter of the night staff members exchanging greetings, the cries and moans of the other patients.

Now and then she heard him say a few gentle words. The dying man said nothing, only held tightly to his son all through the night.

Along towards dawn, the old man died. The Marine released the now lifeless hand he had been holding and went to tell the nurse. While she did what she had to do, h e waited.

Finally, she returned. She started to offer words of sympathy, but the Marine interrupted her.

‘Who was that man?’ he asked.

The nurse was startled, ‘He was your father,’ she answered.

‘No, he wasn’t,’ the Marine replied. ‘I never saw him before in my life.’

‘Then why didn’t you say something when I took you to him?’

‘I knew right away there had been a mistake,

but I also knew he needed his son, and his
son just wasn’t here.

When I realized that he was too sick to tell

whether or not I was his son,

knowing how much he needed me, I stayed.’

The next time someone needs you … just be there. Stay.

]]> http://fiddledeedee.net/2008/08/27/the-fiddle-report/feed/ http://fiddledeedee.net/2008/08/25/plate-spinning/ http://fiddledeedee.net/2008/08/25/plate-spinning/#comments Mon, 25 Aug 2008 18:20:51 +0000 Fiddledeedee http://fiddledeedee.net/?p=866 I think this is the longest I’ve gone without saying anything on my blog. I have plenty to say, mind you, but no time to jot down my meaningless thoughts. Tropical Storm Fay did indeed leave us with water damage, so my house is in disarray. Worse disarray than usual. But we were very very lucky. It coulda’ been much worse. While I’m spinning an entire plate service, I thought I’d trot out something from the archives.

In the words of that famous Cal-ee-fornia Governator, “I’ll be back.”

Planning Ahead

(originally posted August, 2007)

“Always wear clean underdrawers,” my Mom would always tell me. “In case you’re ever in an accident.” Followed closely by “Put a dime in the toe of your pantyhose should you need to call home. From a bad part of town. And don’t have your purse.” And yes, I did keep a dime in the toe of my pantyhose, but no, I never had to resort to ruining a good pair of Leggs to retrieve it in a hurry.

My mother taught me that preparedness was key. If you’re thinking ahead, mentally prepare for the worse case scenario. That way, you’re never caught off guard, and in all likelihood, the situation is never as bad as you imagined it.

In other words, it coulda’ been worse.

However, this has often put me in the situation of allowing my thoughts to immediately go to the dark side. For example, if I cannot get in touch with a loved one, I’m quite certain that it’s because some horrific accident has befallen them.

Unwittingly, I must have passed this way of thinking down to my oldest daughter. The same daughter that we’ve dubbed “Melancholy Molly.” Yesterday we made our weekly pilgrimage to the library. We loaded up our cart with all manner of 29 readers, a video on Amphibians, Pocahontas, and a book about “The Incredibles” for Jensen, since he appears to have superhero type powers of amazing strength. But, as we were preparing to check out, Emme let it be known that she wasn’t finished with her book selections. She simply had to find some books written in Braille. Not about Braille, but written in Braille. Because she is teaching herself how to read in Braille in case, you know, she is suddenly stricken with unexplained blindness.

A couple of weeks ago, she wanted me to buy her a wheelchair so that she could get use to motoring around in it, should she ever lose the use of her legs. She commandeered Jensen’s high chair, and fashioned it into a makeshift wheelchair, when she realized that I wasn’t going to honor her request.

And then today, the girls were watching “Pocahontas”. During the portion of the movie where Pocahontas is talking to her Dad about how much she misses her mother, Emme called to me in the kitchen, “MOM, is Pocahontas’ mother dead?” I answered, “If it’s a Disney movie, then yes, you can be sure the mother is dead.”

Long pause for reflection.

With a slightly shaky voice, Emme added, “Mom, that’s terrible. If you were dead I’d really miss you.” I leaned over the kitchen counter to see where this was going. The conversation between the two sisters took a rather macabre turn. “Who would do the cooking?” Cailey asked her sister. “Well, me I guess,” replied Emme, who had already begun mentally preparing the menu.

Cailey looked up at me with a sad expression, “Mom, I would cry for a couple of days. Maybe longer.”

“I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE, PEOPLE. I’M STILL IN THE ROOM.”

They continued to mull over various household tasks that would need special attention.

Like the laundry.

Which reminded me that I needed to check to make certain that everyone has clean underdrawers.

My mother would be so proud.

The winner of the one year online subscription to the Big IQ Kids bundle is #27, Jean.

Woohoo!

I can’t say enough good things about this on-line program. It’s a great addition to your homeschool curriculum, or added practice for school kids as well. Don’t forget, a years subscription for the whole enchilada (Spelling Time, Big Math Time, Big States Time, and Big Vocabulary Time) is a special price for my readers of $59.99.

Regular price for the bundle is $99.99. But, you have until August 28th, to take advantage of the special. Just use “dis59” as the key code to get the price of $59.99.

Also, if you just want Spelling Time, the price is $39.99 for the year.

Have a wonderful (and dry) weekend!