Mom, can I say a bad word?

When Lucas and I were little, we were of course not allowed to say words that Momma and Daddy deemed "bad." We were pretty good about this most of the time. But there were times that we needed to say a word that we knew that we were not supposed to say. Most times we were quoting another person who did not have quite as clean a vocabulary or there were always the times we wanted to point out a "bad word" in a song. So from as far back as I can remember, Lucas or I would say, "Momma, can I say a bad word?" And she would usually grant us permission to say the word once to properly tell a story or to simply quote someone else. It became sort of part of our normal discourse. And there are still times that we say it - even now. Hard habit to break, I guess.


Well, I, too have many words that my children are not allowed to say. Now, at this point in their young lives these words are not really terribly bad words. They are just words that sound ugly and rude coming out of their sweet little mouths. On the scale of "bad words" they are quite tame.



A few examples:

They cannot say "hate" or "butt" or "stupid" or "shut up" or "loser."

And they cannot say that they do not like a person (mainly each other ;>)

And they cannot call people any hurtful names.


And because I have outlawed these words, we all try hard not to say them either. In fact, Mimi and Momma are bad to say "You shut up!" just playing with each other. They NEVER say it in anger or seriously. But my sweet, literal babies always correct them and say, "You shouldn't say that!" Now, I know that as adults we can say things that are not appropriate for children. And I am a firm believer that sometimes it is a "Do as I say not as I do" sort of thing. But I figure the words that sound ugly coming out of their mouths probably do not sound much better coming out of ours, so it can't hurt us to follow the same rules.


And I have never told them about Lucas or me asking Momma "Can I say a bad word?" But they have started saying that of me!



The first time was when I was in the hospital. Wait, did I tell you I had surgery? Well, I did. (ha!) Jessa said, "Momma, can I say a bad word?" And I said, "OK, just this once." And she said, "I just want to say that I hate it when you are sick." I told her that it was more than OK to feel that way! But I must admit, my heart stopped for a minute because I was thinking of the words that Lucas and I wanted to quote to mom in middle school, not the tamer list of forbidden words my kids currently have!


I am still not used to it. The other day, Jessa, who was suffering with a yucky, snotty cough, came in and sat down next to me. In between yucky coughs, she said, "*cough* Mom *cough* Can I *cough* say a *cough* bad word?" I took a deep breath and said, "I guess so." And she said, "Mom, *cough* I am tired of this *cough* stupid cough!" I smiled and said, "Me, too!"


About the time I get used to what they actually mean when they ask me "Can I say a bad word," my heart will stop because they will up the stakes and want to say an actual cuss word.

*GASP*

I'm growing up. . .

I am quite strange. I embrace this. I have so many hang-ups that my hang-ups have hang-ups. you know what I mean?? Like I can't stand for anyone to touch my pinky toe. I don't know why. I also cannot let the volume on anything be on the number 13. It's just the way I am. But food. Now that is where my true crazy lies.

We have this friend, Peggy. She started out as Mimi's friend. And over time, she has become family. We always say that she is really my mother because we have the same crazy food issues. And we both know that you can, in fact, not like a food - even if you have never tasted it. (although, with my children, I am a "do as I say, not as I do" kind of gal when it comes to trying new food. I am trying not to make them weird, too). Guacamole is like that. We both are positive that we do not like it. Period. And if either one of us is faced with a food that we are not sure about, we call each other to check before we eat it.

Peggy: Do we like Carrot Souffle?
Me: NO

Me: Do we like Zucchini Bread?
Peggy: Ewww, NO!

Peggy: Do we like lamb?
Me: Absolutely not!
It is a good system. It is nice to have someone out there who understands this level of crazy.

I also do not like seafood. None of it. The smell, the taste, the appearance. Nope. Not for me. Sometimes I fib and tell people I am allergic because I do not want them to do that whole, "You should taste this! You would love it! It is delicious!" thing on me. (And the allergy fib? Our little secret, OK? I don't want you to go blabbing and ruin my little game! )

I also cannot handle the discussion of anything bordering on gross while eating. My family has accepted this, and my whole life, dinner conversations have been adjusted accordingly. I also do not like it when people suggest that a certain food looks like something else. I used to love those little oranges that are sometimes on salad bars, Mandarin Oranges, I think they are called. Until one time I was eating them, and my dear husband dangled one over his mouth and said, "It's just like swallowing little goldfish, huh?" I have not eaten one since. Or my precious children. They call spaghetti noodles "worms." So since, well, they began talking, I always cook ruffles pasta to go with my spaghetti sauce. They call them worms the whole time we are eating, and I cannot handle it. I know. I am supposed to be a grown up, right? Oh, hush and let me eat my ruffles in peace, would you?

And I am totally a power of suggestion sort of person. Once I have been eating something that seems OK and then I find out what it was, I am disgusted. One time, these friends wanted me to taste Venison. And I was all uh, no, that is BAMBI. So I always refused. Then one night, they were all, have some "Cube Steak." And I truly did not like it AT ALL, but my Momma raised me to be polite. So when they asked me, I said it was good. Then they were all "You ate Bambi! You at Bambi!" And I never ate supper with them again! (Another reason that Peggy and I are so tight - my own grandmother played this same trick on her. Peggy doesn't eat "roast" at Mimi's anymore, either.)

And I do not enjoy going to a BBQ place that has pictures of smiling pigs all over the place. Duh. A PIG is not going to be happy and smiling at a rib joint.

The point is, I am very strange and somewhat immature in my food choice and food consumption. I could go on. . And there is no rhyme or reason to my weirdness.

But maybe I am changing - for the better. . .
I enjoy a good Chinese Buffet every now and then. But I would never eat there alone. I need David to tell me what things are OR if he does not know, they he is my official taster. Sometimes things aren't labeled OR are labeled wrong. Well, there was this thing that I tried at a place at Ft. Polk. I thought it was yummy even though I had no clue what was in it. So once I tried it, I always picked that whenever we were at a Chinese Buffet place.

It was cute. It sort of looked like a tasty flower. And it had a creamy cheesy stuffing in it. It was tasty. I sometimes ate 2 or even 3 of those babies. Did I know what they were? No. Did I ever question it? Well, initially I asked David, and he said he did not know. But they were good, so I quit wondering.

Well, Daddy, David, Jessa, Spencer, and I went to a Chinese Buffet. And lo and behold, there were my tasty, fried Chinese flowers!


Photo Courtesy Of: http://www.starportfoods.com/Menu_Concept.htm

Mmmm! But wait, what's this? The label above the container holding my beloved tasty morsels had the words "Crab Rangoon" written on it. WHAT?! CRAB?! That is seafood. But I don't eat seafood. I don't eat crab.

So my first instinct was to skip them. And I did. I went to the other areas. But I kept thinking about them. I even made several drive-bys and stared longingly at them. I got my rice. I stalked the flowers. I found a Spring Roll. I glanced at the flowers. And the more I thought about it, I finally decided that I was going to get them anyway. After all, I do like them. They are tasty. Maybe I can eat crab. Maybe I can overlook my "rules" and "issues" and "hang-ups." So I did. And I did not even call Peggy first. I just enjoyed the delicious edible flowers.

(I can eat them and enjoy them, but I don't have to call them crab, do I?)

Furry Friday - March 12

OK, people. I try to never play favorites, you know? Not with the children or the furries. I try hard, really I do. If I see Dunken, staring at me, beckoning me for some attention, I stop and love on him. Then I immediately look to see if Max noticed. Don't want him thinking I love Dunken more. There is nothing worse than Westie sibling rivalry. I know you know what I mean.

My kids are tuned into this as well. If I say that I am proud of what a good eater Jessa is at supper without IMMEDIATELY mentioning Spencer's chewing prowess, his face falls. Same with her. They both just need to HEAR that they rock and never worry that I think the other one rocks more.

BUT I have to focus this Furry Friday on Stewart again. Since I started this whole idea, Stewart has been discussed 3 times. Look, y'all, my furry children cannot read. So they will never know that I have been slightly unfair with face time, unless YOU blab. Please don't tell them, OK? If you run into Dunken or Max or even Abby or Cooper, just act naturally, OK? If you don't tell them, they may never know! And for heaven sakes, don't tell Stewart - we don't want him getting the big head.

Anyway, my Stew is having some trouble.

He spent all day yesterday at a new vet's office. He has been needing to go, so I finally took him. And when they weighed him, he was only 9 lbs. This is great except last year, he weighed 12 lbs, 11 oz. He had lost a little bit then, too, so before I went I called 2 vets to compile some weights for comparison. And that is a ton of weight loss for a kitty. So they ran all sorts of blood tests and kept him there all day trying to get him to tee-tee. (Oh by the way, he never did. He did IMMEDIATELY upon coming home, though, of course.) (AND, by the way even more, we have to try again Monday for a sample.) Today the new Vet called and said that we are 99% sure it is his Thyroid. This is what we were thinking and sort of hoping, as it is treatable. So now he will get to take medicine twice a day until probably forever. I am OK with that, too. I just want him happy and healthy, you know? And back up to his fighting weight, of course.

Bless his heart.

I just hate it when any of my babies are sick! Even the furry ones. I actually think they are harder to handle because they cannot tell you, "hey, lady, I don't feel good." That was the best thing about the kids learning to talk. They could TELL ME. Isn't that always the worst? You are worrying about your baby and trying to figure out what is wrong using a slow, frustrating trial and error method! I could never be like a scientist in a lab or anything. Of course, with our children we will do anything! But that testing things out until you trip over and fall backwards into a solution thing is for the birds. Or the fancy lab scientists or whatever. You get it.

So now, I am about to head up to my new second home, our Vet's office to get some drugs to help him. Whew!

OH. On a somewhat related note, I must tell you that this vet cracked me up. I had to fill out tons of papers on Stewart when I first got there since we were "new." And I kid you not, the first question on one of the forms was "Does you pet have any nicknames? If so, list." I was so tickled! I have never had to answer that before. I think it is so cool that they chose to include that. And I listed a bunch. I did not want the vet to think that we (1) do not really love our cat or (2) are not creative enough to come up with suitable nicknames.

For your entertainment,

enjoy this list of our cat's most commonly used nicknames:

Stew

Stew-a-lew

Disco Stew

Stewie

Stewart Alewart

Stew-cat

The usual

I have blogged a little before about our wild Wednesdays. We have a lot on our plates on Wednesdays. Of course, there is school for both babies. After I drop Spencer off, I usually go to church to get our classroom set up for Awana. It is quiet and I can think. And I get to have cool chats with the awesome custodians. After that, I usually have a few errands to run before time to get Spence.

Then I pick Spencer up at 11:30, it is a mad dash to get everything else done. I usually think of wonderful ideas to use for my kiddos at Awana in advance. But being the procrastinator that I am, I am always finishing things up once we get home from Spencer's school. I really do work well under pressure (even if you cannot tell that by looking at the mess that is my house after a Wednesday!).

Jessa gets home at 3:15. And then it gets nuts. See, I have to get the car loaded. Make sure everyone has a snack. Make sure no one falls asleep (we love quick after school naps, but they don't work on Wednesdays). Make Jessa get dressed for ballet and tap. Help Jessa take off said ballet leotard, tights, and skirt to potty, even though I already asked her 12 times BEFORE we put on the whole get-up. Get Jessa's Awana stuff packed up. Help Spencer find his socks. Help Spencer put on his socks. Help Spencer find his shoes. Watch him put them on the wrong feet and bite my tongue to keep from mentioning it. Get Spencer's Awana stuff packed up. Feed dogs (IF I have time since we are not home at "supper time."). Feed cat (also time permitting). Change my clothes to put on my super cool Cubbies shirt. Try to look presentable. Give up and grab a rubber band for the mane. Then out the door by 5.

We drop Jessa off at ballet and get her all situated. Then Spencer and I are off to church to get ready for Awana. See, all the last minute stuff I did was not ready at 9:00 when I was there to "set up," so there is still more to do! I then get to meet up with my awesome co-teacher for us to go over last minute plans.

Then I get to have fun and sing and run and laugh with my awesome Cubbies at Awana for an hour and fifteen minutes. After it is over, we clean up the room. I try to find my misbehaving childrens somewhere in the fellowship hall. Then I herd the kids out the door. I finally get both of them in the car, and we are on our way.

Are we headed home? Nope. Not yet. We have established a Wednesday routine. There is only one place to eat between church and home that does not require us to go out of our way. That place is Subway. Let me tell you, I love me some Subway. I was a Sandwich Artist in High School, so I feel sort of at home there. Well, talk about feeling at home, my kids think it is our second home now.

We go each week. We have made friends out of employees. I love it because when we pull into the parking lot, they start making our sandwiches. How cool! I have always wanted to be able to go into a restaurant and order "the usual." Here, we do not even have to order it and it is done! if one kid is sick, we still stop to get food to bring home. And they always ask where's the other kid? They are so sweet (and patient) with us. Sometimes Bay is with us. Sometimes David is with us. Sometimes even May is there. But the kids and I are almost always there. We are all 3 so tired that we are punchy by this point. The kids seriously think they own the place. They go to the bathrooms by themselves. They head straight to the fridge to pick out their milk. We have 414 of those cute little kids meal sacks floating around the house, the car, the backyard. And if we have a week off and miss going, the next week, the employees who are now our friends always want to know where we were and tell us we were missed.

It is so comforting to know that we are going to Subway each week. The kids sing the "Five Dollar Foot Long" song and love to say, "We are going to "Eat Fresh!" And we sit in our booth and have our supper. I did not have to cook. I will not have to clean up anything more than a few sandwich wrappers. And after the wild Wednesdays that we always have, that is the BEST.

And every week when it is time for us to head home, the kids tell everyone bye and thank you. And then our Subway buddies say, "See you next week!" And you know what, we probably will. And I love that.

Hey, Jealousy

No, I am not referring to a catchy ditty by the Gin Blossoms. I am referring to my husband. Go with me on this. I am going to establish a few foundational facts before I tell you how I came to this conclusion.

1. David is a bells and whistles kind of guy. He wants to newest, the best, the coolest. It is just his way. He always cannot wait to get the new Windows or a new iPod. Tech companies LOVE him.

2. We are Direct TV customers. It started in Louisiana. We were so far out in the sticks that we could not get cable. So we went with Direct TV. And we fell in love! We are very happy to be satellite customers now. AND it makes moving so much easier. Before we had to start over with a new cable company every time we moved. Now, we just transfer our service. Easy Peasy.

3. David loves to shower me with Pre-Deployment gifts. Before two separate deployments, he has gotten me 2 new vans. Yep. That is how he rolls. He loves to spoil me before he is forced to leave for extended periods of time. Before one deployment, he also got me my TiVo. I had always wanted one, and it was such a great gift. It was even the perfect gift because with him gone, I was a single parent for more than a year. My new TiVo was the only way I ever got to watch anything.

4. David, being the bells and whistles guy, thinks that HD TV is the coolest thing ever. EVER. I personally could care less. If I stare at the screen for a long time and compare it to another TV, I guess I can tell the difference. But it does not matter. Can I see what is going on? Yes. Can I hear what is going on? Yes. OK. I'm good. Do I need to see the individual blades of grass on the greens at Augusta National while watching the Masters? NO. But David. He needs this. He craves this. This HD thing is SUPER important to David.

5. Three of our four TVs are HD TVs.

6. We have HD boxes from Direct Tv.

7. My precious TiVo IS NOT HD.

8. Until recently, TiVo did not offer an HD machine that was compatible with Direct TV.

Now on to my story.

OK, people. I love my shows. I love keeping up with my TV friends like Rachel and Phoebe and Monica and Jeff Probst and Dr. Jack Shepherd and Bree and Lynnette and Susan. Good friends. And I almost never get to hang out with them when they actually come on. I set the Tivo about once a week, and I am covered. I love it. On my own schedule, Sheldon and Leonard are ready to make me laugh. And my TiVo loves me, too. He searches through hundreds of programs and says, "Hey, Dana, sorry to bother you, but I thought you might like this." Or, "Hey, dear Dana, want me to replay some of Lorelai and Rory's antics for you?" Isn't that thoughtful? There was once a Sex and the City about this very thing. Miranda was in love with her TiVo. So I am not the only one! (I am aware of the irony in pointing out that I am not alone in my TiVo obsession using a character from a TV show.)

And I love my remote. It makes that cool "bloop bloop" sound all the time. I love that sound! And I always catch up on my shows each night before bed. It is usually in the dark, so I have memorized the buttons. I can do everything with my remote even with my eyes closed. That is love. We are close. Tight.

Um, so my bells and whistles husband, informs me that the Direct TV compatible TiVo will be out soon. It went like this:

The new HD TiVo that will work with our Direct TV is coming out soon.

But I don't want a new TiVo.

It is better. It records in HD.

I don't care about HD.

It will be so great to be able to watch TiVoed shows in HD.

No it won't.

Oh, and D, there is this cool new remote.

What? A new remote?

Yeah, it is so fancy, it even has a keyboard that folds out for when you are searching for a show to record.
NO! No new remote. I like bloop, blooping through the alphabet.
Doesn't this all sound great?

No it most certainly does not sound great.

I cannot wait until we can buy this new Direct Tv TiVo. What?! Just like that! After years of faithful service, and after hours and hours of perfectly recorded programs, we are just going to get another one. Toss TiVo out the window? Put him out to pasture? Just like that?! Are you kidding? Will you trade me in for a new model, too? When will this obsession end? Why!? WHY?

D, are you OK? Why are you plugging your ears and rocking back and forth? Is being in the fetal position at your age even comfoetable?

MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB, LA, LA, LA, I'M NOT LISTENING!

And I think the new remote is the most crushing blow. I mean, my remote is so used, so loved that most of the buttons have the stuff worn off of them.

So I have come to the conclusion that my bells and whistles husband is just jealous. He cannot understand the relationship that we share. He is green with envy. He wants desperately to break us up. To separate us. I should have known when he started making fun of me for hand carrying the TiVo. I let the movers pack all the other electronic equipment, but I always keep TiVo with me. Every move. TiVo is with me. He feels threatened.

I mean, just look at TiVo, he is precious, no?

So now my bells and whistles and green with envy husband is trying to separate us, you know, eliminate the competition.

I haven't been able to break the news to TiVo. I am just hoping that if I convince the old to start recording some "How it's Made" or "Man Vs. Wild" or "Deadliest Catch" or something more manly than Ghost Whisperer or Desperate Housewives that might appease him. Soften him. Win him over.

If you'll excuse me, I am going to bloop bloop the thumbs up button on every show on TLC and Discovery.

Furry Friday (belated) - March 5

Things have been extra crazy around here for the Crazy Keys. We had a wonderful visit from May! She arrived on Friday, so we have been a little wrapped up, you know? And so that should explain my lateness on the Furry Friday Post. Do both of my readers forgive me? Thanks!

So this week there are no pictures to tell the story. My words will have to do.

I have mentioned before that Maxwell and Stewart do not get along. They are the cliché dog and cat. Seriously, cartoons could have been based on these two. I still do not fully get it, though. Max is so "undog" in so many ways. But this is the one thing he got. His instincts are honed. Cat = bad.

There are no pictures of the trauma and drama that surrounded last Monday with these two furry babies. I was shaking too hard to hold the camera.

Stewart has become too brazen for his own good. He does not see Max as a worthy adversary. He can usually outrun him, but most of the time Max is in his own world and does not notice the cat that is strutting through the room. But on Monday, Stewart was reminded of why we have a baby gate at the bottom of the stairs.

I did not see how it started, so I cannot tell you what triggered the madness. All I heard was the tell-tale bark of "Hunter Max" and some angry, guttural meows from Stewart. I went running toward the horrible sound. What I found was a fight underway in the laundry room. But not out in the open where I could see what was happening and try to stop it. Oh, no. Stewart had either started out behind the washer OR had retreated behind it when Max gave chase. Whatever the case, I was unaware that big, old Max could even fit back there. I guess anything is possible when you are properly motivated. So I can hear the scary noises coming out of my precious babies, but I could not see anything. I am standing there, helpless, terrified. I am trying to think. Do I our water on them? I have to get back there. So I pull a huge Lynda Carter-esque Wonder Woman move. I lifted the corner of the washing machine and pulled it away from the wall, thus creating a large enough space for me to see the fur flying. At the same time, Stewart who has some really smart moments, intertwined with his audaciousness, hurdled the white tornado of fur that was after him. He ran safely to his baby gate and escaped to his upstairs haven. Max, ever the pokey puppy had to back up his portly body to escape the tunnel behind the washing machine. I closed him in the laundry room while I searched for Stewart to make sure he was OK. He was. His paws were bloody, but it was not his blood.

I found a shell-shocked Maxie pacing the laundry room with his snout and nose covered in blood. I put him on the kitchen counter so I could rinse the blood out of his formerly white hair and check his eyes for damage. It was all flesh wounds, and he was alright. The kids were so upset and worried about Max. They started to call Stewart mean until I explained that Stew was simply defending himself. I stopped shaking about an hour after it was over. It was all too much. Lucky I do not have a weak heart. . .

So the effects of this tousle between 2 of my furries are far reaching. When I tried to put the washer back, without my adrenaline to aid me, I was unable to move it. That thing is heavy! But I did not think too much about it.

Fast forward to Saturday morning. I am preparing to get caught up on a whole weeks with of laundry. I had something soaking in the washer and before I started the first load, I set the cycle to spin to drain the soaking water. Guess what happened? Well, apparently I am like Bam-Bam Rubble, and I do not know my own strength. When I yanked the machine out to expose the scrappers, I also yanked (pardn the technical term here) the drain hose thingy out of the back of the washer. So, when I told it to drain, it did as it was told. Just all over the floor instead of out the hose thingy. What. A. Mess. Thankfully David was home to help me figure out what to do. We spent the morning cleaning up the mess after he reattached the end of the hose thingy to the back of the washer. Fun times. Oh, but he did move the machine back into place AND it is so close that neither pet can easily get back there now.

I am telling you; these animals sure are lucky I love them so much. . .

simple pleasures

Life can be hard. And stressful. Some days are even stressful AND hard at the same time. Sometimes you just need a little pick me up. And for me, chocolate usually fits that bill. Or any other "sweet treat," really. Or margaritas. But my kids are not allowed to drink margaritas and most drive-in windows do not have margaritas on the menu (except some places did have mixed drinks at drive-in windows when we were in Louisiana - gotta love no open container law. . .). Oh, and there is some rule about drinking alone or something that makes me think I should not fire up the blender and make myself a pitcher when I am the only adult home. You know? And then what if someone needs to go to the emergency room, and I am drunk. See the problem?

So I go back to "sweet treats." I love to get desserts from restaurants to go. Then I can eat it when I am at home in my jommies all ready for bed. It is always a good reward for being such a great wife and mother every day. You know, celebrating the little victories like, feeding everyone almost 3 times or remembering to buy toilet paper at the commissary or waking up in time to take a shower before taking Spencer to school or putting Jessa's library book in her backpack on library day. It is all about little victories, people.

There are also the "sweet treats" that you can swing by and pick up. These are great because they require no real work AND I can do it in my jommies. (In case you did not realize it, I really like to wear jommies, but I cannot bring myself to do it in public. . .) Like a blizzard. My friend Tara and I were addicted to them when we were at Ft. Lee. She would come and eat supper with us and almost always brought us a "Cool Treat" from our local DQ. But my all time favorite "sweet treat" from a drive-in window is the delicious, delectable Hershey's Sundae Pie from Burger King. AND the BEST thing about this love affair that I have with this pie is that nearly every military post in the whole world has a BK! Yep. When we were in Bamberg, Germany, David could make my day just by bringing me a Hershey's Pie. I am SO easy.

AND, guess what?! My babies L-O-V-E Hershey Pie! Jessa calls it "Hershey Pot Pie" which can conjure a somewhat disturbing image (think Rachel on Friends and her homemade English Trifle). Nothing can brighten their day more than us hopping in the car and heading to BK to pick up some Hershey Pie.

So this afternoon, after school, we ran some errands. And David is out of town (so rare, I know, right?), so I asked them what they wanted for supper. I said we could fix anything they wanted or go out, and they both wanted to go out. They both said, "BURGER KING!" Really, kids, Burger King? I said we could go anywhere they wanted OFF BASE. Chili's, Red Robin, Applebee's. . . They pick BK, about 1 mile from the house ON BASE. Whatever. I did say they could pick. . .

So we went in and had a lovely meal courtesy of the King.

And we brought home 3 Hershey's Sundae Pies.

And the three of us all ate them together.

The supreme "sweet treat."

We used the fancy plastic forks.

Family bonding at its BEST.

And we ate them right out of their cute little triangle boxes.

Simple Pleasures REALLY are Life's Treasures.

And it's like they always say:

The family that eats Hershey's Pie together,

STAYS together!

(or something like that. You get the idea, right?)