Making Decisions

Well, there's nothing like a good round of cathartic decision-making to scare the bejeezus out of you. I am constantly reevaluating my current educational path and decided to give it another hard think. I realized that my current path was challenging only from a time-constraint perspective and had the major fault of potentially being less effective than I knew I could be if I chose my next path which I can only refer to as the "I told you so" path.

You see, plan A was to end up with my Nurse Practitioner's license and Paramedics license and retreat to my small town (and a couple other interests) that need my help and expertise. I realized, though that the NP track was going to take me longer and have fewer opportunities for financial aid and less independence than, say, PA school. Never mind that my primary spiritual advisor told me to go to PA school three years ago. I mean, really, what does he know?! Uncannily, he really does seem to hear quite a lot and had I listened to him I'd be done with it all now and have my clinic open and growing.

So, here I am three years late and it's the faster, cheaper option. So here I go. I have to take the MCAT again (mine's got to be too old)and see what else I lack course-wise and where I have options to go. It's not that drastic of a change, but will implement med-school-like conditions around my house for about two or so years and one holy-hell-of-a-commute. Yuck. Thank goodness for family. I hope my kids forgive me for the absence, but as a parent in need of options for paying for things long-term, I gotta get some things going here. Perhaps when they're eight and eleven they'll forgive me for having my head crammed in a book for most of their early childhood years. Love those kids. Or I would just get a job at the grocery store. Ok, no, too boring, but you get my drift. Gosh I hope my mind continues to work...

Waitin' for things to gel...
Scat

25 Really Good Reasons To Sleep In A Tree

OK, it has come to my attention that some of you need some **help** making the distinction between followers, readers, commenters, and lurkers. Truthfully, though it appears that only two of you have the spinal column to do all of the above (I <3 you both. You are brave souls and/or very bored), I am glad for all of you and am going to start answering the many questions I have been receiving via email. So, here goes: followers are the most hallowed of beings. They have the brass ones to actually publicly follow my ridiculous attempt at writing. Those little square things at the left of the screen (both of them--ha!) are my "followers" They follow, read, and comment regularly and I return the favor--you should read them!!!

Many of you choose to remain anonymous to the world. I guess I understand why and I respect that, but I shall lovingly refer to you as the "lurkettes" regardless of gender. There. Now you have a group and can know that you exist together in my email. So...now to answer some of your questions.

First..."Do I have any favorite recipes from other blogs?"

I am answering this for one reason. I'm not a recipe kind of girl. I cook and I cook very well, but it's always my own recipe. This recipe is distinct for it's true awfulness and the fact that it's the only recipe I can remember from a blog in recent days. It's a cocktail recipe called Tojaadots, I believe: juice box (whatever's available), tonic water, and coconut rum. Mix and I suppose add to efficacy rather than taste because efficacy is the only reason you would drink such a thing. With that concoction you can write stimulating stuff like this. Merriwether may never follow this rag ever again.

CORRECTION: Actually, the Tojaadot is a mixture of tequila, orange juice, and a dash of Tabasco sauce. The drink box/coconut rum/soda water was an earlier attempt at intoxification...which ended poorly. Tojaadots are, therefore infinitely more desireable treat than death-by-juice-box (my name for it).

Second... "Have you really ever slept in a tree?"

Yes. And I mean IN the tree. Not a tree house or a swing or anything like that. This is going to stir up a lot more questions, so I'll start you off S-L-O-W-L-Y.

25 Really Good Reasons To Sleep In A Tree

1. 2000 sq.ft. house with 7 family members (two octogenarians--one deaf, two in their sixties--one deaf, me, one seven-yr-old--deaf, and one four-yr-old). The deaf thing makes you LOOOONG for piece and quiet and a place where you don't have to make yourself known vocally, facially, AND with the correct combination of hand signals. Contrary to popular opinion, deaf people are not that quiet.

2. Entropy.

3. Not enough ________. This is different for everyone and changes by the day for me.

4. The sound of "Momma, I need you!" "For what?" "For sumpin." "Tell me what!" "For SUM-PIN!!! (growling voice)"

5. The "What the bleep am I supposed to do with this??!!" face my mute seven-yr-old can make. He does NOT need to learn to speak, but I am cooperating with his teachers.

6. Computers that make phone calls.

7. Computers.

8. Microsoft. I digress, but you get the point.

9. The desire for silence like you only get during those blessed moments when the power goes out.

10. Because trees have no forwarding addresses.

11. Because no matter what, the twit from Medco (our prescription drug plan) can never find me in my tree because there is NO PHONE THERE. And, I never pick the same tree. Warning: if you pick the same tree, someone will find you and bring you the cursed cordless phone. This same warning applies to tents. Never pitch your tent in the same spot if you want to stay unavailable! He won't get out of the recliner to eat, but my 83-yr-old grandpa will hike out into the woods on chemo days to give you the dang phone! Ugh. Because phone calls are important. Especially if they come from Jack, the talking computer.

12. Because the tree is not really that much more uncomfortable than my grandma's 1960's-era stuffed, stuffed, and re-stuffed sofa.

13. Because my mother is going through menopause AND withdrawing from her psych meds and sleeping in a tree is infinitely more comfortable than sleeping in prison after committing homicide whether it's justifiable or not. Maybe.

14. Trees do not have diapers. They do not shout dinner orders from the living room like a short-order cafe or have the nerve to mouth off at you. They do not come home from school calling you "butthead."

15. They do not possess volume knobs, or depending on how you look at it, are always "OFF."

16. From a tree, you can see the mushroom cloud that was your house when the occupants realize their network connectivity is nil and the network sys-admin is sleeping in a tree.

17. From a tree, you can see just about anything. Sunrises, storms, sunsets, airplanes, birds, etc.

18. Trees smell good.

19. Very few people climb a tree together, look at one another, and one starts of with, "I was taking another look at zone one where we were comparing the Smackover porosity with known wells..." or "Have you taken a look at the latest confidentiality agreement for Walkup County?" Don't get me wrong. I LIVE TO WRITE LEGAL DOCUMENTS!!!!! I SHOULD BE A LAWYER!

I would sooner tattoo "SHARK" on my forehead.

20. Lawyers. :)

21. Doctors. The M.D. type. The type that write off your grandpa's cancer cause he's "just too old." Even though he's one of the world's leading geophysicists. Never mind him. He has nothing further to add.

22. Well, someday I'll really share this one with you...maybe.

23. Psych professors who tell their students, correction, student in public in a classroom that he needs to be on drugs. P-R-O-F-E-S-S-I-O-N-A-L. My fellow student (M.A. in Psychology and LPC about passed out). We are both qualified to teach this class, but are having to repeat it given the distance between our first degrees and our current schooling. Bugger.

24. Global warming--and other Democratic BS. Hahahahahaha. Sorry. That had to be done. Consider it a parting shot to my one politically-minded reader. But you HAVE to worry about quotes like "We won't know what this bill means until we pass it." That's Nancy Pelosi on health care people. If I were a Dem, I'd be afraid. As a republican I'm terrified. And amused. But, alas, still pursuing a career in health care...

25. Last, but not least, UPS. Not USPS, but UPS. I have undertaken the monumental task of clearly marking my home--even though it's the ONLY home on this street on the south side--so that they can unmistakeably see the numbers from the road and DARN if they can't find it with two hands and a flashlight.

Enough for one day, go have a Tojaadot...

Scat

Every Kid Needs a Tent

Let's just say this is my contribution to the No Child Left Behind laws. Every kid needs a tent. Pretty much every kid I come in contact with gets some form of a tent built for them because, let's face it, life is more exciting in a tent. I used to have a two-man tent in my office for Squib to play in, but I took it down. This rudimentary bed tent strung across some chairs does just fine. It cheered him up and he told me it was like having an adventure.

That makes it worth the effort,

Scat

A Great Way To Start The Day

I know, it's a cruel thing to photograph your son when he's bowing to the porcelain goddess, but I just couldn't help myself. He spent most of the morning in there after he barfed his way from the living room, through the hall, into the entryway, and finally into the bathroom.

He's so d*** cute even when puking his guts out. I could never manage that.

I did manage to comment that this can happen to you when you're not sick, but have had too much to drink. He replied, "I am never drinking anything EVER!" Good object lesson.

Now, he's watching Elmo with his legs wrapped around a little plastic trashcan. Just a tiny bit paranoid? Who knows. Elmo is enough to induce nausea in me anytime.

This could be a long day.

Scat

How Many Front Teeth Can One Kid Have?

And the answer is four!

Rather than lose his two front baby teeth, Beanstalk merely retained his and grew his permanent front teeth right behind them. He's taken on the look of a shark. It's bizarre. It isn't the only thing he's done out of order or out of the ordinary, but it's one of the stranger things I've witnessed. He looks sort of like a human shark.

Well, he did. Today, one of the baby teeth just came out in a cube of ham...ick. And then he bled like a stuck pig. I'm talking bleeding like a fountain of blood was pouring out of his mouth. Gross.

I have tried to get a pic of this phenomenon, but I can't get him to keep his mouth open long enough to even see teeth...just smirk. Lots of smirk.

And now there are three...

One down, one to go...

Scat

Beanstalk's Moment

I find I write less about Beanstalk not because less is going on with him, but because he is a seemingly low-key household member if you were to look at him in comparison. He is only learning to talk, so he still exists, amongst all us talkers, in his own thought world and only recently has been punctuating our conversations with "Hey!" or "Hi!" followed at a measured interval by "How are you?" or "I'm fine!" followed at a planned interval by "How are you?" They're almost sung like music at a perfect tone and interval, but always slightly askew because they aren't fit into a neat little interval of conversation that he perceived by all the messages of glances, inhales, exhales and pauses that you and I are so very attuned to. They are a song he's memorized the words to and is only now beginning to understand the way his music fits into the music of the world around him. You see, he's autistic among other things. It's like there's a whole other layer of being that he exists in. A way he's found to exist among non-autistic beings and still enjoy their culture.

Simple activities become major experiences and moments of learning such as this party favor:

And lest you think his actions are random and he isn't really thinking about much, here's what happened when I gave him camera lessons. He

figured out how to use it in two shots. I told him to pick something interesting and snap a picture.

This was the picture:

The neighbor girl's butt. Hmmm. I thought it was just the first thing he saw when he looked around. Nope. I turned him around 180 degrees and let him go. Here's the shot:

Much better, I must add, but note that in a room full

of people he found the same girl. Well, her butt. What's so funny is that he picks where we sit and we always sit near her. She's real nice and likes to play with him and she'll even watch a movie on occasion (by movie, I mean an Andre Rieu video on Strauss or an Andrea Bocelli concert, so this is a major thing for her to do)...he does talk to her, which is funny 'cause he doesn't talk much to anyone. He's 7, so I refuse to give any import to the butt shot, but I'm not writing it off completely. He would NEVER go around to her front side to take the pic, though.

He got five musicals for Christmas...he was in seventh heaven!

But he didn't want to see the devil in the red suit (Santa). Here is the Seventh Geneva Talks on Santa held yearly on this very spot. Results? Honey Bear can attend as Beanstalk's defense and no actual contact with the man in the red suit must be made. Beanstalk was as adamant as an autistic seven-year-old could be. I guaranteed the upholding of all the rules.

So, here we are "NEAR" Santa. I think Santa touched him, but it was out of my control!

Finally, untouched, he could hibernate with first High School Musical, then High School Musical II. Next are the Sound of Music and Singing in the Rain!

Beanstalk's World!

Building Things and Growing Up

Building Things...
Scats are builders by nature. Clanpaw built this house we all live in as well as the house they lived in previously. When Attrition was little, Mom and Dad used to scavenge the dumpster behind Wal-Mart for broken electronics. They'd give them to Attrition and he'd fix them. Attrition always had cherry electronics (not jealous). When Squib got his first tool set, the first thing he did was disassemble the door knob (every Scat disassembles before they assemble--ugh).

Me? I build, too. Mostly lab equipment at first, but I just recently built this:

His name is Ren (and yes, there is a Stimpy for those of you who were still MTV devotees in the late eighties/early nineties). This is Ren's 1000 Watt power supply. Overkill, but the powers that be wanted higher wattage, so they got it. Here are more of Ren's guts:

He's "smart" so-to-speak and has LOTS of storage in his two 1T RAID drives (which are arrayed--THANK GOD FOR THAT! I'm tired of watching my workstation collapse and drag my data down with it! Despite the odd, tangled mess that are his insides, he's slick and my current fave of the two workstations. I was pretty proud after I finally got him together. Every single solitary piece was ordered separately and had to be installed and configured. Took me an entire day, but I LEARNED! Yay!

Not all our building/repair projects are so successful. The first collaboration between Attrition and myself was rather disastrous if you want to know the truth. He was driving an Isuzu trooper at the time and it needed a brake job. Soooo...we decided we were smart and could just get our hands on the book at the local O-Reilly's and fix them ourselves. And that is precisely what we did. The job

required bleeding the brake lines and though I cannot be sure, I think something went wrong during the process of replacing the brake fluid.

About twenty minutes after he left my driveway, he called to say that both rear wheels caught fire on the way to his house. Fortunately, he had a fire extinguisher in the car (it was a wedding gift) and was able to put out the fires. He limped it home (around the block) and had it towed and repaired, if I remember correctly.

I'd love to tell you that deterred us from repairing our own cars, but, well, no it hasn't. I think the next attempt will be tie-rods on my van. Wish us luck. Here's hoping the front wheels don't fall off after we try this...

Beanstalk is not much of a builder, but he's a definite appreciator of great architecture. And, like his mother he has a fascination with fountains. Who could blame him for that?

Squib is always building something. Yesterday it was an apartment complex:

He came up with it on his own. Then I asked where I was going to live and he came up with this:

This is my "retirement condo." Just don't ask me where he got that phrase. I certainly never taught him that. However, if he wants to build me a condo when I reach retirement age (which is probably when they bury me) I'll be glad to take it!

Growing Up

Watching your kids grow up can be awesome, hysterically funny, frustrating, and sometimes downright annihilating. Beanstalk lost his first tooth on Thanksgiving Day and I was reminded of all the pain that dang tooth caused him in the first place and almost cried. I'm sorta attached to those teeth. But the real hoot today goes, as usual, to SqB.

We only have showers, no bathtubs. So, I usually drag him in the shower with me 'cause he's too big for the sink and trying to bathe him from the sidelines is pointless. This morning, he looks at me very seriously and says: "Mommy? You don't got a wee-wee. But you gots TWO of THOSE (he points)!!" I'm thinking it's time for him to shower with his grandpa.

Who are these kids and where did they come from?
Scat

The Best Things In Life

Yup, they're free!

OK, well, mostly free...

For starters, that little sliver of a crescent moon we had last night was gorgeous. Squib has become very interested in the moon lately and I seem to have caught his wonder and awe that there's a ball of rock orbiting our lovely planet. I'm starting to really enjoy looking at the moon again and even though it was just a sliver last night, you could still see varying colors in the reflected light.

I love the way Beanstalk sings along with all the music he hears! When the song ends, he throws his hands in the air and cries "Yay, yay, yay!" His grin breaks wide across his face and his extra-long stick-like arms wave around like crazy. He has no reservations. If he's happy about the music he'll respond whether he's in church, at playgroup, or at home watching a DVD. Total abandon.

Nothing beats that feeling I get when Squib totes his blanket over to where I'm sitting and says, "Momma, I want to sit in you lap." And he crawls up in my lap and nestles in and pulls his blanket up over the both of us and smooths it out and we sit and talk, read, or watch a DVD and talk about the movie. He can't just sit through a movie. He has to discuss whatever Thomas the Tank Engine or Handy Manny or Bob the Builder is doing and WHY??

Beanstalk loves to be a part of the game when any sport is being played. His varying disabilities keep him from actually playing, but he absolutely loves sitting on the sidelines cheering (for both teams) even though he'd rather be laying flat on his back on the fifty yard line watching the ball being passed over him...you've never enjoyed watching a live game until you've watched one with Beanstalk.

Every night, Squib has a little ritual we have to go through at bedtime. I have to give kisses to all his little animals, etc. I sing to him, we say a little prayer, and then the most sacred part of all: three kisses. Not for him, but for me. He HAS to kiss me on the cheek, then my forehead, and then on my other cheek. If, for whatever reason, we don't do the kisses a very teary-eyed boy will come find me after a few minutes. I didn't teach him to do it. It was totally his idea. And I hope he keeps it up for years and years. Baby kisses keep me going (and yes, he will always be my baby!).

Exploring. Squib has the exploring bug that, I guess, comes with being a Scat. We all love to explore. Little towns, big towns, trails, hotels, churches, hospitals, caves you name it. The world, come to think of it. If there are three ways to get somewhere, we know about it. Wandering off in no particular direction is oddly alluring and in many ways comforting. It makes the world seem approachable and familiar. Now that I have children I can't believe how very far my parents used to let me wander the hills and valleys where we lived!! But I'm glad they did it. I felt free. I feel free. And tackling the world is just that much less disconcerting.

Last, and probably least, are the creature comforts....things that seem to make my days enjoyable and put a smile on my face...

...cherry Dr. Pepper (over ice w/straw).

...my fave pair of blue jeans.

...Sunday lunch at the Hop with my brother, Attrition.

...listening to loud music via my iPhone/headphones while I work.

...rockin' out with Attrition drums and me singing my head off on Sunday a.m.'s Heck I even like it when we "try somethin'" and the wheels come off...

...cool fall weather that makes outdoor activities pleasant.

...watching movies.

...reading books (which I like to do WAY more than watch movies).

...and last, but not least, writing.

Enjoy!

Scat

And Away We Go...

I seems these days we are always in the throes of some medical disaster: Hernias, Tetrasomy18p, Failure to Thrive, Fragile Bones, Profound Deafness (from birth), abnormally shaped Kidneys, bilateral Club Foot, Crohns Disease, Fibromyalgia, Migraines, Seisure, Diastolic Heart Disease, deafness (both Clanpaw's cancer, Baba's cancer, my mother's mixed "whatever", my Crohns disease, oldest son's Tetrasomy 18p, and now: Neurofibromatosis I in my younger son.

You may be asking what radioisotope I swallowed as a youngster, but as my chromosomes are normal in count(46 xx), (Beanstalk's are 47 xy, though) it's more likely I have damaged egg cells which originate from my mother (very long genetic discussion), but nevertheless, there's obviously something wrong and we are right back in the thick of it. Now, we'll be looking at everyone's Chromosome 17 for a few genes that seem to be giving my youngest a bit of trouble.

Yet another (possibly) de novo genetic disorder has struck the Scat family. Unbelievable.

So far, though, all Texas Childrens' Hospital is getting is an earful and an eyeful of Squib! And boy, is he full of it! We've been to the dermatology clinic (all over the clinic)...he met the criteria for NF I and we now have a bevy of tests ahead of us. And, boy, did he have a bevy of tests for them! NF2 and Schwannomitosis would not be good things, either, but we've got to test for everything.

Squib made it very clear from the start: "We came to play!!!" And there you have the resilient attitude of my little guy. This little inset of SqB shows him smiling and playing in his crib two days after open heart surgery (at three month). So, if you're gonna talk about your bouncer-backers Squib needs to be at the top of your list! We started off in our little exam room sitting by each other. Sqb in his gown me in my street clothes. Then the inspection began. The light switch...on...off...on...off...on...off...on...off...ad nauseum. He messed with the blood pressure cuff, but turned a little pale when I offered to take his blood pressure (bad memories I guess).

Then the shredding began...yes...paper everywhere...which led to an exploration of the trash can. That whole trash-can thing went over REAL well with SqB's dad (my ex). He's a little, ummm, particular when it comes to trash.

He did NOT like the gown. I explained that it was to protect his privacy and he gave me one long "to heck with that!" look and tore it off. So by the time the dermatologist came around (with her flashing duck) to count spots and look at freckles he was streaking about and having a gay old time.

Me? I was not so carefree, because I was drowned in phone numbers and extensions of doctors that I needed to make secondary appointments with etc, etc, etc. I felt buried and overwhelmed at first but now it's just like doing a job with my son at stake. Minor detail...ha ha ha. Only NOT so ha ha.

Then the day became beautiful. We decided to forego all the traffic for a little play time. We ate spaghetti and meatballs and pizza in the Clinical Care Center with Andy (my ex) and played on the sky bridge between the CCC and Texas Children's Hospital West Building. Hide and go seek in a large temporarily abandoned medical building can be fun!!! We toured the fish tanks and played all over the equipment on the varying waiting areas of the CCC. And, in general explored the place as much as we could.

And BOY, do we ever like exploring! That loosened me up a lot and there are a lot of artistic things (cows on parade--who da thunk it), trains, playgrounds fountains, and beautiful gardens to see. If you happen to be there for any amount of time, such things bring hope and believe me (having lived there off and on for a few years) there are people there who need lots and lots of hope.

 Squib and I both like fountains, so I'm thinking of a riding/hiking route to take us past a lot of the gardens and fountains in the Texas Medical Center area for our next prolonged trip with a ride on the Metro rail so that SqB could get his jollies for having ridden on a "real" train.

The wee one was so wiped out that he never made it to Minute Maid park from 288 and MacGregor before he was seriously crashed out in his car seat and snoring to boot!

Thus begins our weekly pilgrimage to the Texas Medical Center. Ugh....but at least there are cool things to look at!

Gaining Some Perspective

Scat

This Day Just Stinks...

And it stinks big time.

Squib and I got home from the week in Houston proper at about ten this morning to a very quiet house. He strode through the door with his usual bravado and paused in the doorway with his chest puffed out and declared "I'm here!" "Here" had at least four syllables in it. I get the biggest kick out of that. It's like he's Tarzan or something and is about five seconds away from pounding his chest and letting loose a primordial yell. All male, that one.

Just Buddy and Mimi were here. Hogging the recliners, I might add.

I am all conferenced out, sick and tired of working with the Arkansas Oil and Gas Commission's database, and the spreadsheet that ate New York City (this thing is huge) has been giving me fits. Most of the week I've been in mourning for the days when I really feel like I'm doing something like pouring, mixing, weighing, distilling, titrating, etc. Number crunching IS important but I don't exactly find it satisfying. RocketDog (my laptop) has been giving himself his own things to do and really seems to think that my iTunes needs to be opened every five minutes, so he obviously has some sort of problem I have to track down.

But, so far the day had not TRULY reeked. Yet

Papa and Baba returned from Sadler Clinic and we all sat down to lunch (spaghetti with Buddy's homemade sauce and green beans--yummy). Over lunch, the real suckage began.

Both grands had been to their respective docs. Both grands have now been diagnosed with cancer. Papa has prostate cancer which has metastasized to the pelvic bone (NOT bone cancer he says despite the word "bone" that follows the word "pelvic"). Baba has breast cancer.

This sucks. No two ways about it. And, unlike most Scats, I have not inherited the ability to make jokes about it or appreciate the jokes they make about it. They're alert, articulate, agile people who could pass for mid-sixties/early seventies though they're in their early eighties and still capable of enjoying life with no hindrances. The one exception is that my grandfather is rather hard-of-hearing. Big deal.

He still does all the yard work because he likes it--DO NOT get in his way. The geophysical work he does with Dad and I is a hobby. She still runs all the errands and goes to the gym because she likes it--and don't you dare try stopping her, either. They read incessantly, teach, visit with their friends, take lots of walks, love to watch movies, and generally enjoy life. So, no, I am not ready to joke about their death (which I don't exactly see coming yet regardless of the news). It seems off-color and premature.

But listen to their grisly jokes is exactly what I had to do as they fielded the calls this afternoon. I couldn't even work because I was getting data in the wrong fields and was just generally unable to pay attention--and getting downright weepy (odd for me).

So I played with my new toy from one of my favorite places: http://thinkgeek.com It's a Quadrilla (you have GOT to try one of these!). Kudos to them for making an awesome, creative, wooden toy for all ages. It's for Beanstalk, but I had to "test" it :) Just to be safe. Now I "need" some of the add-on sets. And I'm using the word "need" here! Not just your average marble track-building set. It's a remarkable testament to the Quadrilla that it was sufficiently distracting on this particular day.

Squib woke from an awesome nap and we tried to play chutes and ladders, but we never landed on any ladders and kept hitting all the chutes. That sucked, too, and I lost interest almost before he did. I asked him if he wanted to try a different game and he said "I really don't think so, Mom." 'nuff said.

So here we are...being vegetables and watching Bob the Builder. We WOULD be in the kitchen eating dinner, but there's thunder outside. That's four-yr.-old logic for you. He asked if this was a hurricane because he "donna wunna tate a baff wike dat." He's referring to the well-water bucket bath I gave him before the propane stove was fixed during IKE. To be fair, I took one, too, but I agree that it belongs in the fifth circle of hell. Dang, that was cold. It's been a year and he still mentions it at least every other week. So, we're both obviously thinking happy thoughts right now.

He also wants to know if I can make the thunder go away...yeah...Mommy, goddess of thunder. Riiiight.

Scat

A Nice End to the Day

Today, oops, yesterday really turned out to be a very nice day. It was not without its humorous moments, sarcasm, and sheer bizarre qualities, but all totaled, very nice.

I was so right about Squib and his sense of timing with regard to company. He has the child's knack for turning on the cute. He did a bang-up job of being not only cute, but fun, intelligent, and down-right endearing. [Gave everyone (and I mean everyone) a kiss and a hug before bed. I almost barfed. He'd make a great politician at this point.]

Our friends arrived from Oklahoma about 4:30 and by then Squib was so jacked up he was jumping up and down and screaming "Dhey Hewe!" and charging the door. He and Buddy made it to the door before SqB remembered that he really didn't know Sharon and Robert and his shyness kicked in. It was like a dog hitting the end of his chain. He jerked up short and played shy for a while. Clung to me like a piece of lint until we got to the Mexican restaurant.

We sat around talking for a bit before we headed out to the mystery restaurant. None of us had ever been there, but it "has bench seating" so it qualified as a "westauwant."

The restaurant was surprisingly good...which for this no-pizza town is amazing. SqB ordered a corn dog he never ate, belched during the blessing, but that was pretty normal. Little did I know they were also the purveyor of "Scooby Snacks" which for you deprived children is the fave of Scooby Doo. Michael saw Scooby Doo for the first time recently and by the door of the restaurant they had one of those candy machines that dispenses little handfuls of candy for a quarter. These were shaped like bones....hence, "Scooby Snacks." I thought he'd lost his mind when he started claiming that they sold them, but I should know better by now than to contradict him. Ever. So, he actually had a random quarter and made his very first purchase of anything. Scooby Snacks.

Apparently Robert had done something right during the evening because Robert got a Scooby Snack. Not me.

When we returned from the restaurant, some friends of my grandparents from out of town had stopped by and after moving in some chairs, we had quite a gathering.

Sharon brought in some cupcakes and we had a surprise, impromptu birthday party for Mom followed closely by a mind-numbing discussion of health care. Sometimes your mind is just not capable of discussing health care. Dad and I admittedly regressed into our chairs with our iPhones. He was playing Spider Solitaire and I was busy throwing my body off five-story buildings in Assassin's Creed. Seemed an appropriate commentary on health care at the time. SqB was busy with his new Black and Decker toy tool set. He took the door knob off the office door earlier today, so anything short of that must be an improvement, yes?

Health care discussion ran off the second set of guests and SqB went to bed, though not without calling me "Stupidhead" and reaping the consequences. Parenting can really reek at times. The rest of us drifted, discussed the best way to drive to Austin from here (which is probably not to drive there at all), and decided to break it up until breakfast....

...which is in another five hours. And you got it. Here I sit in the recliner.

This chair was purchased seven and a half years ago by myself and my first husband just prior to Beanstalk's birth. I was thinking of rocking babies and comfort in the last days of pregnancy and NOT that it might become my bunk when said babies took over my living quarters.

Would definitely have gone with the leather had I known that. And the massaging thingies.

But I thank God every night that the silly thing swivels or I'd have to stare at the glare from the safety light that is just sticking up in the middle of a piece of land I affectionately call the Grassy Knoll. It used to be a pond and that light had a purpose. Now? Well, let's just say I have prayed for it's demise during two hurricanes to no avail.

Such is life...

Scat

Various and Sundry

No one thing is leaping out at me today except for the singularly unique nature of my family and our current living situation.

This first segment is called "How to Build Confusing Houses."

For as long as I can remember, Papa (gpa) has been building his own houses. I'm not talking about extensive remodeling--that's child's play. I'm talking from the piers up. The last house was rather elaborate and, yes, took somewhere around eleven (so double that number) years to complete what with all the adding on.

Elaborate doesn't mean fancy...it generally means as mathematically and physically difficult to construct as possible.

For example: A bridge was needed to cross a gully to the land he owned on the other side. Bridges can be rather simple, right? Right. But would a geophysicist really pick a simple design?

Not this one.

He built a suspension bridge. And for added difficulty, he built it alone. At the ripe old age of 78.

Fast forward to present day. The current design for the common areas is like a donut of sorts. A square one. The north arm of the loop is the entry-way with a desk no one uses, storage (mostly unused), and an area simply designed for the phone near as I can tell. The West arm of the loop is the living room, the South is the dining area, and the East is the kitchen.

There is NO HOLE in this donut. Instead, there is this multi-purpose structure that has two functions. FIRST.....it's the pantry (East), shelf (North), entertainment center (West), and china cabinet (South).

SECOND....it is designed to keep us all chasing each other in circles around it because we can't see through it or over it. If we were the kind of people to hold still and agree on a meeting place this donut hole would be fine, but NO!!!! We're go-getters. Can't find anyone? Then you're just NOT GOING FAST ENOUGH!!!!! So far today, Buddy and Michael chased each other around in circles several times and Buddy and Papa did the same as well. It was all I could do to get Papa 0to stand still so Buddy could find him!!!!!!

And now "Little Snippets of Conversation."

Do you ever wonder what people might think if all they heard was one sentence taken out of context from your day?

Today's snippets?

"Put the knife on the table before you crawl up there!" (me to Squib)

"God, I need a screwdriver." (the tool, not the drink, though the drink might help)

"I'm gonna watch Mommy shower!" (Squib...what can I say, he's male.)

And, finally, "The Spreadsheet and Play-doh Update."

After four hours, Buddy is STILL trying to fix the mangled spreadsheet from yesterday's ordeal. Yes, even with all his help, it still came out, well, inoperable.

As for the lump (about the size of a baseball) of Play-doh, well, it's still AWOL.

"And now," cried Max, "Let the wild rumpus start!!!!!!"

Scat

Efficiency Living When You Love Books, Work at Home, and Teach From Home

I have 12 foot ceilings...perhaps they're ten, but nevertheless, they are bare in my portion of our little dwelling. 10 foot ceilings and an irregularly seven-sided room. The seven walls are a trick, but easily adapted to. What I would NOT give, though, for the top three feet of all the wall space to be COVERED with bookshelves!!! I could easily put my things up there and then Squib wouldn't have to concern himself with what he can and cannot touch and/or play with. Instead, we use a recovered plywood bookshelf that's ugly as sin, but does the trick.

I'm really thankful for digital books, but there really is something about being buried in that paper-smell while your imagination zooms to other times, lives, realities, and wealths of information. I have pared my library down to the essentials that I MUST keep on hand because I have 12 foot ceilings...perhaps they're ten, but nevertheless, they are bare in my portion of our little dwelling. 10 foot ceilings and an irregularly seven-sided room. The seven walls are a trick, but easily adapted to. What I would NOT give, though, for the top three feet of all the wall space to be COVERED with bookshelves!!! I could easily put my things up there and then Squib wouldn't have to concern himself with what he can and cannot touch and/or play with. Instead, we use a recovered plywood bookshelf that's ugly as sin, but does the trick. Every one's library speaks for itself. I know, too, what my friends keep, and I try not to keep what they have if I can manage to turn loose of them. Pam, the librarian, is usually pretty good about keeping what I give her in circulation 'cause I tend to go non-linear when my books aren't there for the finding. I forgave her my "Genes V" text on general principle. I have managed to pare my books down to fit Michael's entire collection on the shelf and then mine are on the rest of the shelf and in key places around the room. Here's our measly shelf and the speakers for my iPhone so we have a little stereo and audiobook action going on in our little room.

Of course you see the briefcase(s) and the green chair...that's the office :) Nope, not joking....my personal office :) I have another large one, but this is where I go to not be bothered unless its' a rugrat...they have free rights to interrupt me at will. The beds are folded in like you would a bunk bed with the trundle sticking out from under the top twin at a 90 degree angle and Squib sleeps on the bottom short section and I sleep on the top full-length twin. It doesn't seem like it, but he has quite a bit of floor space to play in. All of his toys are stored on the shelf, in plastic storage boxes in our "hall closet," in his small wagon that parks under the bed or in the big wagon that lives in the hall.

Armoires are absolutely the most wonderful things if you buy the right kind...some shelves, some drawers, some hanging...aaaaahhhh I love my armoire and as a plus the only trinkets from my "big house" days are on top of the armoire where they can't be bothered by little fingers. It also gives you more covered storage for "stuff" that you need but can't seem to place.

And, yes, my piano is in the closet. Our photographs are on top and the clothes are in the side pocket areas of the closet. There was a rod that was supposed to stretch all the way across, but I vetoed that in lieu of musical pursuits. We carved a niche of a closet out of some wasted space in the hallway instead.

So here we are! Mom and kiddo living, working, learning, and having fun in a 12 x 12 space. Hard to keep everything straightened up? Absolutely! Need a shopping spree from the Container store? Yep!! Lacking in that simple, minimalist calm? Definitely! But we're happy!!! And we're close! Squib and I loooooove that. Well, ok, sometimes we don't.

We'd be right at home in New York in a tiny walk-up. Heck, if we can finish the floors in our little room here and maybe paint the walls some optimistic color, we may never leave.....OK, not really. So here I go to put up my messes from yesterday to keep this place habitable and hoping a 4yr old won't bring it all down in a single second.....riiiiiiiiight.

What a Disaster! Wait....It's Just My Life!

Maybe I do need to become one of those survivalist types. My house is quickly becoming a disaster area that I cannot recover from.

Kiddos come and go. I switch sleeping areas. Attrition comes and goes every weekend. Sometimes I go with him to his home for psychological time out. I work full time. When kids are here, I mommy full time and work full time while they sleep.

Everything eventually gets done, just not at a consistent pace. It's more like fits and starts and lobs and lurches.

Tonight I have a meeting for a new not-for-profit organization and we're in the early stages of incorporation so this afternoon I'll be consumed by work on the company's bylaws and other parts of the articles of incorporation. I'm super excited about the company and will devote an entry to it eventually, but for now it is one of many things that stands between me and the tidiness of my home.

The thing about my life is that it is full of things I love doing. I love hanging out with Squib and watching the Rescuers six times while we build killer train routes, create disastrous ten-car pile-ups, and roll anything and everything down our home-made ramp. I love it when he says, "I want to sit in YOU lap!." I hate it when he gets in trouble 'cause I'm now the adult, but that's usually dealt with shortly and we move on through our day. I love to see him during his nap when it looks like he's been dropped from space into his bed. A napping little boy always looks so much younger and more innocent...hard not to sneak in and smother them with kisses.

I love my writing. Blogs, diaries, memoirs...all of it. I love to put down the stories of my life and the questions I have in writing. I like documenting my family's goings on. I like writing letters and keeping them for posterity. I like writing about important personal occurrences and how I felt and how they change me. All of it. I even enjoy editing these writings so that I become a better writer!

I love singing. Singing truly is a passion that comes from my heart because I just open my mouth and let 'er rip. When it's with the praise team at church, there's lots of rehearsal and attention to lyrics, proper breathing, pitch, breathing, and things like actually using those stomach muscles I work on so hard at the gym. And, in the end, it's about praise. I'm a Christian. So, praising the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are important to me. They are essential to me.

And there is much more....my work (the actual work for money), hiking, family, friends, and reading.

So, I ask you...how do YOU do it? How do you do life and keep the disaster at bay? I seem to always be on the losing end of that battle...hmmmm.....

Scat

In Which We Do Not Walk On the Floor

We have the most awesome housekeeper in the world. She goes to great lengths to work around everyone so that their normal everyday lives aren't interrupted (when we have a "normal, everday life" I'll be the first to know, right??!?).

I know, you laugh. Go ahead!

It's laughable.

Mostly the "normal" part. Then the fact that any normal activity might be repeated. Even more laughable.

Actually, whats laughable is that after 25 years of working with my grandparents and now here, she doesn't consider that SHE might be the most normal part of our normal routine!! She gives me a wealth of advice about the boys and about my life. She loves me and I hope that she knows I love her. What I love most about her is her laughter. And there is much to laugh about here.

My now 4-yr-old lives in absolute terror of the vacuum cleaner. Which, when Beulah comes, leads to an absolute terror of the floor.

All of it.

So, go into your living room, get comfy for the afternoon with your young kiddos. Gloat in your momentary freedom from daft seismic projects and enjoy one recliner while SqB bounces all over the other. Then, in comes Beaulah and the 4-yr-old levitates. In the chair, but levitates as you can see his brain working over the ENTIRE next four hours and all the problems presented by the running of the vacuum and the consequential off-limits nature of the floor.

His current solution is death by Thomas the Tank Engine. This could last another hour-and-a-half. Does this require my conscience (in any form...the hamster wheel one mostly, not the moral one)? When are they going to make flesh-toned iPod earphones for the masses...I have new downloads I could be listening to! I can tell by looking at him when he needs me. Don't even get me started on how this affects our toilet training adventures.

Is it just me or is it coincident that ALL the remaining adults (including one who is on oxygen and lives largely as an invalid) have vacated the premises? Is the floor truly THAT scary?

This again does not speak so highly of me and the tete-e-tete that exists at times between Squash Blossom and I.

5:00 pm.

Four hours since our little conference began here in the living room. The worst is yet to come...the attack on the living room floor itself in which we do not walk on the floor, but we definitely exit.

The exit strategy is never planned, but always, ALWAYS, executed with Scat STYLE!

Livin' Large

Scat...

Mommy? Come Here for a Minute...

Spoken in that soft like toddler voice that is the one statement you just almost can't ignore....notice I said almost. He started off the day calling me "stupid head" and he doesn't know it now, but he's very thankful for this stomach flu he's suddenly developed or I'd have...well, you know...warmed his tail a bit.

But, truly, the stomach part of him started being VERY uncute and I have spent the afternoon drugging, cleaning up, and swabbing my pukey 4 year old pet. And yes, we use Motrin and sometimes alternate with Tylenol for all my super-green organic friends who prefer suffering and more natural treatments to my stone aged methods of medicine (tomato, tomato uh potato, potato--wow, they look the same there, wow...) and every once-in-a-while I got in a serious cuddle!!!

It was glorious. Especially when he said "Momma I onwy wunna way in YOU wap!" We'll repair his grammar/syntax/Squibesian dialect later. He's welcome in ME lap any time.

He said no to pictures while he was "wookeen wike dis!" Then he rolled his eyes at me like I should already know.......duh! That's my little Prince. Love that kid so....

Random Scribbles

This blog is a pile of random drivel.

There. You've been warned. I've been bombarded with so very many things to write about that I couldn't possibly get to them. That many of them have moved me so strongly is amazing because I've felt like a flat tire lately. There are things, though, that can fuel your ire no matter what your interest or energy level happens to be.

At last writing, I had a new dog. He was very handsome....nicely trimmed little pup with a ripping sense of humor, but a bad sense of timing. Well, I have it on good authority that he is now a chicken. When last we spoke, all I got was a "Bock, bock, chiiiiii--cken!" several times over. Actually it was more like, "Bot, bot, chichin!" So you have to figure out if he means the bird or the kitchen. Seems Squib is having a livestock identity crisis. Apparently Ex Mr. Scat is NOT impressed by the appearance of SqB the chicken as the appearance of said chicken struck mid-repast at a local restaurant whereupon the chicken began "bocking" loudly while standing in his side of the booth until he soiled his diapers which he then announced at the top of his lungs to the awaiting crowd. That is definitely MY son. I say that only because that's something Attrition would have done as a child. You know uncle-nephew similarities.

As of this moment, I am on day two of a self-imposed semi-vacation. Self imposed is self explanatory. But this is not a true vacation. All I did was refuse T Corp. work yesterday and today. That's right! I did NO "work" on Saturday or Sunday!!! But I am exhausted!!!!

Yesterday, Beanstalk and I went to our standard playgroup. No one there is quite into his flavor of music yet. Maybe never. Andre Rieu and Solti directing Beethoven with Perihana on piano. This is just as Greek to me sometimes as it is to everyone else...except Beanstalk. He's WAY into it. He did get distracted by a little karaoke High School Musical action going on amongst some of the girls and let me tell you...the kid may not be able to form all his words correctly, but he can wail! Sort of odd, though, my seven-year-old BOY hooked on High School Musical. Eh, he's hooked on everything musical, so I'm not going to get crazy about it. He's quite the Wii karaoke fan and that was the first karaoke "game" he encountered. Go figure. There were way too many kids there yesterday and we were going stir crazy. Fortunately, we got to spend a good long time outside! Beanstalk heads straight for the trees past the basketball course waving his arms and shrieking. My kind of kid. We dragged branches and sticks about, ran around in circles, chased each other back and forth, forth and back. We had a little first aid experience when he decided to pull out his g-button (just to feel totally free, I think) and I had to replace it but we were right back out in a jiff. And OMG! The weather was beautiful!!!! Why we weren't outside the entire time I don't know.

I managed a nap yesterday because the chicken was deep in a coma when I returned home. Thank God for small favors.

Last night, I was at an initial meeting for a new not-for-profit organization several friends and I are beginning...more about that MUCH later 'cause there's too much to it to go into at this point and it's too soon. Suffice it to say that we're pretty excited about what we're up to.

Attrition was here when I got home last night...that brought on a Doctor Who fest that lasted until, well, I woke at 12:30 am and realized I'd been dozing. An early 6 a.m. wake-up this morning has left me completely drained and we have been busy enough doing this and that to keep me from napping. Several hours of rehearsal drained what energy Booger and I had left. We formatted the file server (OK, that's work, darn!) and did some prep work there. Watched more Doctor Who.....and now...well, I've gotta chat I'd like to have and am trying to think up ways to stay awake for it!!!!

I even ate a pizza!

Scat

P.S. Because they SO fuel my ire, those things that inflame my thoughts have conveniently been saved for another time. You're welcome.

Thursday...the moth in the toilet...

I just have to say that there is NOTHING in this world like a good night's sleep.

Or, in my case, a good morning's sleep. I made it to the sack at about 12:45 am and was out like a light...only to awaken at 5 am with Squib. After the standard bathroom trip, milk, reassurances that he's ok to play alone 10 feet from my door, I was back in bed soaking up the sleep. Bed gravity was strong today and I must be living right because the remaining Scats gave him breakfast and his bath and let me sleep! I am very grateful!

Once I realized they had taken over, I set up the necessary sound barrier (iPod) to isolate myself from the wandering hoards. There was a clothing stampede somewhere around 8 am, but yours truly made it to 10 am!!!! Unheard of!

Then the cat fights began.

I'm still convinced SqB is a girl despite the obvious package. An adolescent or pre-teen girl, at that. Drama, drama, drama. And when he started chucking heavy objects at myself AND my laptop, OOOOOOOOO did I feel like duct-taping him to the time-out chair. Forever. Instead, I started confiscating every thrown object and am now the proud owner of over 50% of all his toys (yes I know this is my option at any time, but they're his things, I don't renege on gifts).

Lunch went down smoothly today...no more knife-throwing and a lot less vegetable eating which is odd because the veggies were rather tame (no turnip greens--gag me). And at the end of the meal, psycho tot looks at me and says, "Wut time id it, Momma?" I give the usual expected answer, "I don't know, honey, what time is it (it's becoming like a knock knock joke or something)?" To which my tot replies for the second day in a row:

"It's nap time!"

There was actual glee in his voice. There is hope for me yet!!!!!!! Wahoo! I practically levitated as we gathered the appropriate sleeping implements (sippy cup, Blue dog, Thomas, Annie, and Clarabel), parked his shoes in the correct spot (his idea), spread his blanket out (another tot preference), kissed everything--and I do mean everything, sang, and he gave me SIX kisses!!! Count 'em! Six! WOW! And off to sleep he went.

Ever since then, I've been looking for my Squash Blossom 'cause some other kid came out of that room at 3 pm. This perky, 4yo look-alike has been sitting in my lap, helping clean up for the housekeeper who comes each Thursday, hasn't freaked out in two hours, made it to the bank and the store and back without a melt-down, and is happily playing while I work and occasionally add a paragraph to my blog.

The rest of the evening went calmly as well. No usual ground-zero freak-out when the vacuum turned on. No non-linear apoplexy over menu choices on his movie. No outbursts regarding dinner. I put him right back where I found him after his nap so that the person who actually took my son can return him and take theirs back. Poor dears may never make it back :D.

The only REALLY disturbing part of the day is the peppered moth that has taken up residence in the office toilet. It doesn't spook easily and it doesn't announce itself, so upon doing my business, I FELT A FLUTTER!!!!!!!

Yes, I leapt into the air high enough to take residence in the rafters. So did the moth or he'd be dead. I was ready to smash him into oblivion where he belongs!

Since then I've gotten a little green and try to announce myself and poke at him a little, but he (and he really must be a man) must really like it in there (yes, in the bowl) 'cause he DOES NOT want to move at all! I hate to break it to him (no he doesn't deserve a name and I refuse to anthropomorphize about this), but he just cannot live there no matter how many littler insects he's picking off. Don't care. Parts of me are private--especially to moths! My strategy is to set him free after dark some time so he can see the world outside the bowl and hopefully take up residence in a little less risque part of...somewhere...

Death to skanky bugs,

Scat

Wednesday...Quit Throwing Knives Around!!!

Wednesday at the Scat household.

Hump Day. And I really do wonder where that term originates from. 'nough on that.

By as early as 8:30 this morning the arguments were already breaking out....Squib and Mimi were arguing about exactly how and where a toddler should be when he is being dried off and dressed. I am happy to report that she won via sheer force of will and muscle. Buddy was kinda like me, ducking under the bullets of "wheuhr my sots?!" and "I wan dis, no dat, no dis, no dat!" Step through to the kitchen and Papa was being stared down to the bone by Baba who was waving a turquoise piece of paper at him and emphasizing very heavily that "this time she REALLY wanted him to send in the warranty information and NOT LOSE IT!" That she's about three inches taller than him commands a lot of presence when she chooses to use that. (BTW, he NEVER sent this in and the fridge made an epic fail not three days after the warranty lapsed. Which is probably why he has me do "this" now...whatever "this" happens to be.)

Okay, I'm checking horoscopes now and planning my escape to the office.

Which isn't such a huge elopement because the office is at the end of the driveway. And I got things squared away there and by the time I went back in to see if SqB had done away with the human race, everyone had retreated to their corners and were all quietly stewing in their own juices.

Things are tense, though. So I checked the weather and the phase of the moon before I got to work on the workstation that I single-handedly cratered the night before. I had managed to get it back to where I was at 9:30 pm last night by 12:30 am the night before, but that's a three hour loss and I'm feelin' it. Am I going to mention it? Not amongst this lot!

This morning was a repeat of yesterday, almost ("ohmost" is Squib's favorite word). He, I think, is suffering from terminal PMS. No, I am not stupid. Yes, I know that stands for pre-menstrual syndrome. And terminal refers to death. I mean what I say...the child can't make a decision and commit to it for more than one second. The second, no the millisecond, I start one movie, he wants to watch another....I'd still be there switching movies (which he can do himself but has decided I'm "just bettuh add it."). I stopped that business after our third choice and now NO ONE is watching ANYTHING. You'd think I'd killed him with all the animated and repentant weeping and gnashing of teeth.

"Oh momma, Oh momma. dust fwow me in da twash."

(That last line is his most recent quip).

My Aunt Fanny. Bite me kid. Bring it on. I brought you into this world and I sure will take away your "memote" and your "wovies," too! GO and READ a BOOK. If you've got a problem with that, call CPS! Tell them I'm teaching you to read and I need to go to jail! Music is next, so they'll need reinforcements...that's right! There will be singing and dancing and maybe a craft. Holy cow!

The drama continued through lunch and seemed to always center around the knives people kept handing him. Squib is four. He can learn to use a butter knife or any other kind of knife, but the absolute key is SUPERVISION! And, on the whole, he doesn't really use them (yet), so once the knife-throwing begins there is NO reason to give the knife back to him and I really have no compunction to feel badly for the person who rearms my son when they know for a fact he is in a knife-throwing mood. It was bad today. Like a little chimpanzee at the lunch table and finally Baba could take it no longer and screamed:

"QUIT THROWING KNIVES AROUND!"

I would have added a good solid expletive to the end, but my child was present and I'm controlling myself. Instead I just ducked the out-going knife which (butter-loaded) hit her square in the pants. I stifled myself and made a REALLY feeble try at disciplining young Knife-Thrower. I think I said something like "It's not nice to throw knives AT people" which sparked a lot of questions about what you COULD throw knives at.....Scorpions are definitely at the top of the Knife 'Em List.

Then, as if in a dream, SqB pops up and says "Momma, wut time id it?"

NAP TIME!!!!!! And off he went. See? Mood swings. Definitely PMS!

It was a really short nap. Need I say more?

I was rudely interrupted while trying to make a pit stop in the front bathroom because, "You need to hurry up and help me with the TB NOW, Momma. NOW!" Can't you see I'm bare-a@@ to the wind here? Obviously not, because he waltzed right in to hand me toilet paper, shove me off the stool and flush while pushing me out the door. GEEZ! Like we're saving the world every time we turn on the DVD player!? Glad I was finished doing my business!

Which brings me to another topic...the video babysitter. Yes, I have a confession to make. The TV? Yes, it pretty much runs from the time Squib gets up to the time he goes to bed with few exceptions. Now, we don't have cable or mainstream TV. He may only watch DVDs that we select and purchase for him. So that's only a slight advantage over the completely committed TV-sitter, but he's really always doing something else, too....trains, cars, coloring, spelling, reading (which he insists on doing from one of my novels and does turn off the TV for = scary), and most recently writing. And he sorta "minds the farm."

He's the social director. Knows where everyone is. Greets everyone as they come and go. Gets the low down on the incoming purchases and outgoing shipments. Goes to the mailbox with Buddy. Helps dole things out and distributes TP and mail to their rightful owners (Does TP have an "owner?" Apparently it does. It is always kept in...balance). He'll even gladly tell you when it is you should make your bed--though he neglects to mention this to me :) He knows where his bread gets buttered. Sort of. Well, he at least knows who will feed him "real" Doritos.

But all is not gloom, doom, and arguments around here. I will admit to you, my ether audience, that there are friends and loved ones that make my existence quite wonderful! My weekend with Attrition here was great as usual. I had an awesome dinner with friends Sunday evening. I am actively messaging with a couple friends that keep my heart full and my mind fresh. They challenge me to be a better friend, mom, or whatever-I-am.

Both Squash Blossom and Beanstalk have their great moments, too--more often than not. I love that Squib insists on "fwee (3) kisses" each time we part ( nap, bedtime, Sunday School, going to dad's, moving three feet to the left) one on each cheek and one on the forehead. Beanstalk is growing by leaps and bounds and his love for me is abundant. Full body hugs from Beanstalk are a little hard 'cause he's just gettin' heavier, but I'm gonna give and receive until I just cain't walk no more! My quiver is full so-to-speak and though there are areas that are empty, the emptiness is not so noticeable some of the time because other things overflow and fill it. I can see the day when the holes are full and I believe God will make good on His promises to me. It's so awesome to be loved.

Love covers a multitude of sins,

Scat

Blog to Survive...a Monday in the Life of the Scats.

I don’t really need a jungle urban or otherwise. I have an office full of men. And, though we have more computers and accompanying paraphernalia than we could all use at one time, this is truly the wilderness. Workstations, laptops, file servers, speakers, printers, plotters, drafting tables…you name it, we’ve probably got it. Then there are all the disks…..blank, written on, music, movies, drivers. Documents, well logs, maps of every sort imaginable. Somewhere under all this paper is even a queen sized bed!!!

But what are the two wise men guffawing over this a.m? Microsoft “find and replace.” God himself only knows what sordid thing they have learned to do, but HEY!, it’s keeping them busy. There is a lot of merit to keeping Buddy and PaPa busy. Believe me.

Baba left about an hour ago to apply for a job. Yes, she’s 83…I know that. But the Senior Citizen’s Center has asked her to come out of retirement and teach exercise classes again. She agreed and so had to go officially apply. Not to be outdone, she decided to fall outside the Center when returning to her car. Came home with a giant goose egg on the back of her head and a gouge out of it. I just got finished mopping up the back of her head and cleaning the wound.

Got to LOVE Mondays!

Back to the office where the two wise men are hollering unintelligible strings of numbers back and forth (this usually means an upcoming mapping session). And here I sit, blogging to survive the insanity and staring at seismic on the computer wondering where the rest of the day will take us…hang on…keep reading!

The joy of starting a business is that there is never a finish. You are always starting it. So all those neat little goals that you have of finishing thus-and-such-a-task on thus-a-such-a-day and then feeling relieved or maybe just mildly happy no longer appeal to you as goals. They’re merely points at which you recognized just how much MORE you have to get done. I have been slaving for some time over a particular task, we’ll call it “A,” and finally announced not minutes ago that I had finished it. Not even a “yeah!” There was just one resounding immediate question to tamp down any feeling of accomplishment I could ever have had: “So, what else is left on project B that you could get done today?”

Wumph. Task A immediately scrapped as important in lieu of tasks B-infinity. YOU CAN NEVER DO ENOUGH! It makes accomplishment feel like a failure. Why on earth did I even mention it? Such a silly girl. Perhaps I should have held off on the whole thing and gone to Facebook and played on my much-neglected farm. What I SHOULD have done is put on my boots and hauled off into the woods. I’m still itchy enough to have a healthy respect (ok, paranoia) for what’s out there, though.

So, here I sit admittedly stewing in my own juices and thoroughly hating this particularly 3D seismic survey with an unbelievable passion.

So I took a nap!!!! It was lovely and then my ex called. Which was fine, just no longer the person I want to wake up to. Great news, though, Squash Blossom is coming home early! Tonight rather than Thursday. Apparently the ex Mr. Scat doesn’t relish the thought of waiting until Thursday to relinquish SqB. Ha! Gotta love that. He said (and I love to quote) “He won’t have had a nap, it’ll be late, and he’ll be pissy, but I'll get ‘im there.”

Just guessing that Sqb’s dad is a WEE BIT tired….hee hee. He couldn’t even be sarcastic about it. And for once I didn’t get the litany of days off from him. He’s wearing down. It’s getting to him. The four-year-old drama king has worked his magic and is trampling the earth in one wide swath from Radiator Springs on south to his dad’s house. Ha!

Poor widdle four-year-old. More power to him!!!!! That kid will own the world one day! It thrills my soul to hear his little matter-of-fact voice and authoritative manner cut through the day like a hot knife through butter. The little dictator will be with us for some time and I just love it. Every day you not only get to prepare and participate in everything he does, but you get the blow-by-blow afterward because he just loves to rehash the events THAT MUCH. And he doesn’t really breathe when he does this.

“Momma (huff) I loved breakfast because I really like cheerios and I got to (huff) have two whole bowls!!!!!! of them and then ONE piece of toast with butter and jelly and Papa fixed (huff) it for me and I ate-ed it on my stool at the counter and now I’m watching my favorite movie (not listed here because he has at least 20 favorites) and playing (huff) trains wanna come see? oh and I’m poopy.”

Gotta love that. Especially that last sentence.

Don’t even get me started on toilet training. Beanstalk is well on the way to toilet training. He pretty much is, he just gets interested in the day and it’s events. Typical stuff, but really he’s trained. SqB believes that toilet training is a diabolical terrorists’ plan to rob him of his very life. We have the regular toilet, the little ring to put on the regular toilet, a step stool, AND a little toddler-sized potty that even plays music when you do your thing—though I have not personally tested that one.

We’ve bribed him with candy, parties, toys, big-boy underwear, privileges, etc. He goes in the bathroom when we all go to see how it’s done. He loves to flush….but that is now something he must sit on the potty to get to do, so he could care less now. When he goes in his diaper he has to get his own diaper and wipes and rash cream and bring it to me. He’s also learned how to dispose of his own nuclear waste and all he has left to learn is how to wipe his own bottom and he’d be self-sufficient in the diaper department.
 

That’s just ludicrous! So I’ve quit asking him if he needs to go, or if he wants to sit on the potty ‘cause I already know the answer….. “N-O!”

I’ve backed down to my original theory. His high school girlfriend will eventually find out and relay the message to him that diapers on a 15 or 16 year old are very “uncool.” Grammi has told him unequivocally that he’s got to learn to change his own pants ‘cause she’s too tired of it. I’m all in there for that method as well. I just don’t want to be the one doing the changing. But I’d be SUPER happy if I didn’t have to pay for the diapers any more!!!!

And if you have any doubts that Squib arrived in rare form, well, doubt no more!! He fell asleep about five minutes into the trip and then woke straight up (it's his signature move) as he hit my driveway wanting something that was left at the ex's house. A sticker book this time. So he was non-linear by the time I made it out the door to the car. Poor little guy. Just beside himself. He let me hold him, but he was NOT to be consoled. Once ex left, we fit SqB into our regular routine and there he is, now in the bed talking to his stuffed Blue and flopping about and I expect that his day (and consequently mine) will end here in about 5 min.

Not mine, really, because, ya now, I lead a really exciting life (HA!), but when he sleeps, so does my last responsibility for the day and I can exhale and take it all in.

A Bang-Up Day!

Scat