battle of the white trash clans (also known as: when I pray the tourists will stay home next time)

My kids have half-days all this week due to parent/teacher conferences (OH GOODY was my first reaction), but we made the most of it by heading to the beach. The past couple of days have been unseasonably warm. And not just warm, but HOT. Lovely, gloriously, freakishly hot. I'm talking at least 80 degrees today.

So I'm enjoying the beach, sitting under the umbrella, rubbing my feet in the sand . I look up to see a large group of people practically setting up camp on the beach. These were an unsavory-looking group - chock full of mullets, tattoos, wife-beater tank tops, black levis and Motley Crue t-shirts (yes, black levis on the beach - go figure?). I watched in amusement as it took four of them to put up their umbrella. With ghetto-blaster rocking (didn't know anyone even had ghetto-blasters anymore), they were all set. Pretty soon, out came the case of beer.

Which they consumed in all of ten minutes.

Thankfully, one couple was able to stop making out long enough to make a beer run.

Well, wouldn't you know it - here comes another group. They looked so much like the first ones, you would have thought they were related/inbred cousins. And with the beach practically deserted, they wisely, and ever-so-thoughtfully, chose to set their blankets up about 10 feet from the first group.

Only the second group wasn't so keen on the beer drinking (which is actually illegal at this beach). They also didn't like the loud metal music blasting from the stereo (shocker - I would have thought it was right up their alley). Not too politely, the one with the most tattoos asked them to turn their music down.

Just in time for beer-run couple to return with more beer. Upon which, they were not so thrilled that the Metallica was being turned down. They responded by playing the music so loud that even the seagulls drowned themselves just to make it stop.

This led to a hilarious back-and-forth name calling/stuff struttin'/chain smoking/beer drinking/'you-talkin'-to me?' power struggle between the rival clans.

The battle came to a close when the park ranger pulled up and came down on them for the liquor. I was hoping for a Jerry Springer-style battle in which they pulled hair, shouted obscenities, and lifted up their shirts to show off the goods.

Maybe next time.

last week's lessons (a little delayed)...

• When Josh says he's sick, HE'S TRULY SICK.
• When Josh is sick, he probably should not drive himself to the doctor.
• Josh + a 105-degree fever + an ER visit = ONE BAD WEEK.
• Friends who will sit with you all night in the ER are friends to keep around forever.
• Little League Opening Day ceremonies, in which they announce all 400 players individually by name, will take HOURS. Skipping this event next year would not be such a bad thing.
• Girl scout cookies are of the devil and will taunt me with their yummy, satanic deliciousness.
• When the cable box goes haywire and works only in black-and-white, the children will assume this is how I watched t.v. as a little girl.
• The children will need to be educated that I am a YOUNG mom and was privileged to enjoy color t.v., computers, and not riding to school on a dinosaur when I was their age.
• The cable company will not see the black-and-white viewing as the emergency we feel it is, and will take days to send someone out to fix it.
• Shopping is the best therapy for a rough week.
• Favorite thing this week: Seeing a movie all by myself and LOVING it.

sicker than sick

Well, it's been a crazy 24 hours.

For those of you who haven't heard, my Josh is one sick puppy. Wednesday night he came home from work and was feverish, felt terrible, and had a RAW sore throat.

Thursday morning he woke up, still was feverish, still felt terrible. He made himself a doctor's appointment and told me he was fine enough to drive himself there.

I believed him.

When I hadn't heard from him after his appointment, I called his cell phone to see how it was going. He babbled pretty incoherently and managed to get out, "Come get me." So Hannah and I race to the clinic to pick him up. We find him curled up in a ball, asleep on the exam table, while the doctor is trying to wake him up and give him medication and instructions. He told me that Josh was hallucinating in the office due to his high fever, he had been throwing up, and was pretty out of it. The doctor said it was most likely strep and sent us on our way with an antibiotic.

By about six o'clock last night, he had a fever of 105. He would not wake up very well, was spouting off with all kinds of gibberish (again, the hallucinations). I force-fed him some Motrin and called for a blessing. He didn't even budge when the home teachers came over. Didn't get out of bed, didn't respond, didn't even open his eyes. By this point, I was starting to get a little worried, so I paged the doctor on-call. He told me to take Josh to the emergency room (standard doctor answer when they can't/don't want to deal with you and your sickness after their workday is done). I was still a little doubtful - and not wanting to spend six hours in the ER unnecessarily - so I called my good friend, Vicki, who just happens to be an ER nurse. She came over, took one look at Josh, and calmly told me, "If we can't get him down the stairs, we're going to call the medics. He needs to be seen now."

Luckily, we were able to load him into the car ourselves, and I called another friend to come stay with my kids. Dear, sweet Vicki called ahead to the ER (WHICH WAS ABSOLUTELY PACKED WITH PEOPLE) and when we got there, they had a bed, an IV, and a doctor waiting for us. She stayed with me the entire time (even though it was her night off - she had already worked a full day) and she took great care of us. I am confident that without Vicki, we would have waited about two hours just to get seen; she had us in a room faster than we could blink.

They ran a battery of tests on Josh (blood work, chest x-ray, and lumbar puncture to check for meningitis) - all of which thankfully came back negative. They pumped him full of IV fluid, as well as some IV antibiotics, and some pain medication to help with his throat. It was a little scary, and watching them do the lumbar puncture nearly made me pass out (quite literally - had to go sit in the hall with my head in between my knees until it passed), but otherwise it went okay. Got home at about one o'clock in the morning, so we're pretty tired today.

He is doing so much better though - the fever is down and I am trying to push the liquids so he doesn't get dehydrated again. They think it's just a really severe case of a strep infection that just ravaged his body. Thank heavens it's not something worse.

We are on the mend.

Thanks to all who called with concern. We love that you care.

20 questions

I get so inundated with questions from the little Hannah around here, that I decided to pull out a notebook and pen to document the crazy things that come flying out of her mouth in a given day. Here is a list of questions said to me in the last 24 hours by Hannah:

Is it time for breakfast?

What does 'insane' mean?

Mommy, am I hilarious?

Why do you have to cut burritos with a knife?

Why do the boys like such dangerous things?

Do I have school today?

Can I have a nickname that's not silly?

What did you just eat?

Can you turn on Noggin?

Do you like peppers?

Why does Chase worry about me?

Can you get me a drink QUICK? Cause my mouth is all spaghettio-ish.

When can I get a baby sister?

Can I dance at my wedding?

Will I be cute when I'm all growned up?

Can I have a snack?

Why didn't you open this new box of rice krispies, you silly?

Can you play with me?

What's for dinner?

Will you give me a kiss and a hug?

As you can see, never a dull moment around here.

Never a quiet one, either.

Dear Me,

Dear Me in 1990 (junior year of high school):

You are at probably the lowest point of your entire life. You cannot see past the next week, let alone the next year. This has been a bad year for you. Your friends have not been there like you thought they would. You have had your heart broken into a thousand pieces and you don't see much of value when you look in the mirror. Trust me when I tell you, you will make it, and come out stronger on the other side. You will one day laugh that you dated boys named Skip, Kolby, and Mike. You will see that you were MUCH too good for them.

You will go on to college and have many more opportunities for growth. Your character will be tested and your integrity called into question. Have the courage to stand up for yourself. Don't be afraid of confrontation - especially when defending what you know to be right. These years will also be one of great freedom. You will thoroughly love not having a curfew and being on your own for the first time. It is here that you will discover the joy of running. Keep that up, for it will be a source of great happiness for you. You, my dear, will even one day run a marathon.

You will make a few poor choices in the boys that you like during this time. It will seem like the end of the world when they break your heart. Trust me when I tell you that it will be short-lived, for you will find your soul mate shortly into your second year of college.

This will be a man that you will fall hard and fast for. The first time you see him, something inside you will whisper, "Hello, old friend." Your brief courtship will be enough for you to know that he's the one - the one you want to spend eternity with. Your logic will argue against this, but you won't listen to it (thankfully). You will marry this man VERY EARLY on a warm day in March, and begin your life together. In the beginning, you will be oh, so poor. You will be the textbook definition of "starving students," but you will never feel anything lacking in your rich life. You will work at jobs you hate so that your beloved can get through school. He will repay that in spades by working hard enough so you can quit work and stay home when you have your kids.

Yes, you will have children with this man - and find yourself more in love with him than you thought possible. At times, these children will sap every ounce of your strength, but when you tuck them in at night and watch these angels sleeping, you will find a renewal of that strength. The baby years will go by so fast - please don't wish them away. You will always laugh - and stand in wonder that you still find this man funny after 13 years together. You will move cross country - more times than I'd like to admit to you - but it will be the

best

thing for you. You will be forced out of your comfort zone, and learn to get over your fear of the unknown. You will become an expert at making new friends - something you never thought possible.

Now listen up, this is the most important thing I've got to say to you. YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. You don't believe it; you never have. You will not be 110 pounds. EVER. But you will come to feel at home in your own skin, I promise you that. You will one day look in the mirror and not hate what you see. Oh, and please, for the love of god, stop perming your hair. You will figure that one out, but far later than you wish. You will always cringe a little when looking at your wedding photos. They would have been so much prettier had you not gotten that one, last perm. In fact, you will hate it so much that you will get your hair straightened on your honeymoon and never perm it again.

So make the most of this year, know that there are so many great things up ahead for you. It's hard when you can't see past tomorrow, but I promise, tomorrow it only gets better.

Love,

You in 2007

the homework blues

I hate homework time. I should love it more, I know, but it's my least favorite time of day. I don't mind spending time with my darlings - teaching, nurturing, and generally building their vast stores of knowledge. But those things tend to happen best at the park when you find a butterfly cocoon, or the aquarium when they've discovered just how cool jellyfish are. Not at the kitchen table when they're hungry, they're tired, and all they want to do is sit down and watch themselves a little SpongeBob Squarepants.

It became such a chore this year, that I was forced to invent the "Homework is a Treat" jar. Yes, in that respect, I have become my mother. We roll a dice, and whatever number is the highest becomes the number of M&Ms everyone gets. The M&Ms are only given out upon successful completion of homework time. If there is complaining, whining, or poor effort - I get to take back some of their M&Ms. Since some days we roll only a two, these chocolate candies have become precious commodities not to be lost. We had to institute "homework" for Hannah simply as a means to keep her from tormenting the boys. She used to bounce around the table - almost always munching on some sort of messy, salty snack - singing the princess songs at the top of her lungs. IT DROVE THE BOYS CRAZY. So now we fill a yellow legal pad with rows of letters and words for her to copy, which has seemed to help.

Today is particularly challenging because Chase stayed home sick from school. I suppose that technically excludes him from homework, but his jumping on the couch tells me the antibiotic has kicked in and he could participate. Upon being informed of this, he returns to his prior death-like trance on the couch. "I'M JUST TOO SICK, MOM. REALLY."

Yeah, right.

Hannah has now finished her pages, which she loudly brags about and tosses in the face of McKay - who still sits chained to the table (figuratively, of course). He gets mad and returns fire in the form of verbal insults, which prompts her deliver a sideways strike to his cheek with her hand. This then results in his crying, and her promising all sorts of servitude if he won't tell Mom - which he recognizes as a great bargaining chip and begins a negotiation.

All this while I'm struggling to come up with an idea for dinner other than McDonalds, sort through the mail, not eat my way through a bag of Oreos, and somehow manage to tidy up the house in a vain attempt to appear in control when Josh comes home tonight.

I'm not.

And it looks like Oreos for dinner for me. Maybe for us all.