10 Ways to Have a Better Vacation Than Greg

My brother-in-law Greg was on vacation last week. Unfortunately it ended with pancreatitis and a seriously messed up gall bladder. It ended with a couple of trips to the hospital and surgery.

It was not a fun week, so I decided to help him out by suggesting better ways he could have spent his time. So here are 10 ways to have a better vacation than Greg.

10.  Get a full body wax followed by an alcohol rub.

  9.  French braid a porcupine.

  8.  Take a nap on a mound of fire ants.

  7.  Tie a live chicken around your neck all week.

  6.  Swim with sharks- with a live chicken around your neck.

  5.  Mistake Super Glue for eye drops.
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  4.  Get super glued to Wal Mart toliet.

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(I hope you guys didn't seriously expect a picture for this one!)

3.  Be this guy on any given day.

2. Carpool with Sasquatch
(video)

1. Throw up every day until your pancreas swells until you have your gall bladder removed.
(Oh wait! That's just what Greg did!)


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Oh, the Mama

Mom: "Hey, you know that Baby Doll Goo Goo?"

Me: "Huh? Oh wait, do you mean Honey Boo Boo?"
       

Mom: "Yeah, that's her."

We started laughing and never finished the conversation.

(Side note: I've never seen the Honey Boo Boo show.)

Can I Get an Interpreter?

The following is an overheard conversation between my parents.

Mama: (tongue tied while telling Daddy about a TV show she had seen advertised) It's called "Stars Earn Traps"

Daddy: Stars in a Crack?

Mama: No, not "Stars on Crack," it's "Stars Earn Stripes"

Daddy: Stars and Stripes? Huh? I don't know what you're talking about.

I don't know which one is Abbot and which one is Costello, but they make me laugh.


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Oops I Did it Again

Apparently my pinky toe is made of glass. I brushed it against the edge of a braided rug, and it snapped into. Again.

This is the seventh time, in seven years, my little toe has broken. The first time was so bad that my roommate almost threw up when she saw it. It. was. gross. (Skip the next few paragraphs if you have a weak stomach and don't want your lunch on your keyboard.)

I caught my little piggy on the strap of a duffle that was sticking out from under my bed. It made a cracking noise like when you pop your fingers. (Yes I pop my knuckles- don't judge.) I thought I had dislocated the toe. That had happened a time or two before, and I would roll my foot onto its side and move the toe back into place. Only it didn't slide back into place. 

I'm sure I turned grey. I know I wasn't breathing.

When I looked down, my little toe was flopped off to the side- perpendicular to my foot. Rolling my foot over the toe rocketed pain through my foot, up my leg, and out of the top of my head like lightening. I'm pretty sure there was a hole in my bedroom ceiling.

I managed to hop downstairs to ask if we had any medical tape in the house. My roommate didn't believe me when I told her what it was for. She stated that she hadn't heard me scream and asked how I knew it was broken. I pointed down and said, "Because that isn't natural." She leaned around her desk to look and almost barfed. To her credit, I hadn't made a sound when it happened.

We didn't have any cloth tape, so I used masking tape. It didn't really matter what I used because the toe was so swollen that I couldn't get it to set. And before anyone asks, no I didn't have any training to do this. However I can promise- you know when the bone is set and when it isn't. 

It wasn't until my lunch break the next day that I was able to get to a drugstore for the tape I needed. I sat in my car and pulled the toe up until it was set in the proper position. Once that happened the pain decreased by 50%. It still hurt like a donkey to walk on it, but the pain needle had been holding steady on a Godzilla level to that point.

Ten months later it snapped again just as bad. It has never been the same since. Now if you look at it too long it will break out of spite. I'd cut it off if it that wouldn't ruin all future sandal seasons. I actually have a pair of Born loafers that are one size too big that I keep for when my toe breaks. That's just sad.

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Tisket Tasket- I Need More Baskets

I’m really good at organizing. The trouble is that I don’t always do it. It must be my right brain being a bully and taking over. I love my right brain, but this is what happens if she is let out of the barn for too long.

messy shelf #1

messy shelf #2

I've purposefully not shown you the bottom of either shelf. One of them is blockaded by canvases and other projects in process. There was no need to be that transparent.

Unfortunately my right brain needs to live in harmony with my left brain. LeftBrain wants to come out and play too.

I’m pleased that God chose to put creative thoughts in my head. I’m equally pleased that He blessed me with the ability to tap into the “dark side” that is usually reserved for accountants, engineers, and pilots. Not that I’m claiming to be that smart. (But secretly I am claiming that!)

I can be precise and meticulous when needed. And I can be organized! I actually like being organized. I’m not the typical creative, scrambled, tangled mess- unless you’re talking about the pictures above. Being organized gives me the most freedom to be creative.

So don’t try to put me in a box. (I’d just freak out and ruin your box.)

My problem is that the motivation to organize is usually thwarted by the manipulative right brain. Thankfully this only happens in my private life. Little Miss Creative Thinker is kept on a leash for work purposes.

I will begin to arrange and classify items, but I inevitably run across something that inspires me. And since inspiration is shy, you must act on it (or record it) immediately. Unfortunately inspiration #1 leads to inspiration #17 and so on.

You get the picture. I mean literally. Go look at the pictures above.

This needs to be fixed. Soon. Now to find some umption for my gumption to get started. 

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Mama-isms

My mama has a sweet southern accent. She doesn't always include her L's and R's. Her words don't have any sharp edges, but rather they are rounded off and easily dropped off her tongue and gently floated to your ears. If you combine that with her tendency to make up words, you will have delightful conversations with an adorable, little, funny woman. 

Last night she was telling me about something that was quite confining, and she said, "Wouldn't that make you feel claustahphobic?"

I was grinning as I replied, "Mom, there's no such word as claus-tah-phobic." 

Without blinking, she nodded with a huge smile and said, "I know, but wouldn't it make you feel that way?"

Oh my she makes me smile!

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What's Hiding in Your Closet?

Look what I found hiding on the floor at the back of my mom's pantry. I thought it deserved a place of honor on the window sill with the other plants. Froggy seems happy with the company.

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There's No Hope for Me

Have you ever wondered what you will be like as a senior citizen? For most people it is as simple as looking at their parents. Many don't want to admit the truth, but they know it's coming. Some are actually able to break the cycle, but only if they possess great strength and discipline.


I'm not that strong. I. Am. Doomed.


In fact, I've pretty much given up. When I am with my parents it is routine for me to utter, "There's no hope for me." At first it was a joke, but now it has become my mantra. Sometimes I don't realize I'm saying it.  


It's just a matter of time before words like watermelom, cantelopem, and chester drawers become common place. CASE IN POINT- there was no hesitation when I typed those words, and my eyes rolled when the wavy red line popped up underneath.


Here's a real "kicker" of a habit I just noticed that I've picked from my daddy. (Ugh. I cannot believe I am admitting this.) When my father wants to get out of his recliner he gives a kick-start by raising one leg and kicking down to propel himself up. A few days ago I was lying on my bed with my legs danging off the side, and I kick-started my way to a sitting position. (Typed with gritted teeth.)


There are other symptoms as well. I like to stick my face out of the front door to test the weather like my mom. I also like to dance around as I do simple things around the house- just like Mama.


The knock-out blow to my transformation came over the weekend when I realized that I had burned/cut my hands/fingers every week for the last three weeks. In case you don't remember that little nugget of family history, you can read it here.  At least it wasn't one of my frumbs.


Now I can do without burning and cutting myself, and I realize the need to work on my abs (no more kick-starts!), but it isn't all bad. I like to stick my face out the door to test the weather. I like seeing the day for myself. And dancing around while cooking and cleaning? We should all be doing that! 


There's also the generosity I see in action through my mama that is worthy of imitation. And what about the work ethic of an 82 year-old who still works 40 hours and plays 18-36 holes of golf a week? (Okay, he's not actually 82 until the 23rd of this month... still!)


So there's no hope for me.


And I kind of like it.

Conversations With My Mother

Background information:
*  My mother can't hear
*  My mother cuts or burns her hands/fingers at least once a week
*  My mother makes up words (sometimes by accident)


Last week...
Me: "What did you use to press that down?"
Mom: "I used my frumbs."
Me: "Your frumbs?"
Mom: "I said thumbs!"
Me: "Uh, no you didn't."
(We both laughed until I had to use an inhaler.)

Today...
Mom: "Durn. I burned my finger."
Me: "Of course you did."

A little while later...
Me: "How's your frumb?"
Mom: "Is it ringing?" As she races to find her phone.

SOOO Overdue

It seems like decades since I’ve visited my blog. It isn’t that I don’t have things happening in my life. I do have stuff from time to time but I still don’t have internet access at home. I KNOW! I’m officially the last person on planet Earth without internet service.

So let’s play a little catch-up.

• I recently had a job interview in which I was asked to sketch the building I had just entered to determine my attention to detail. I thought it was awful, but it was enough to satisfy the requestors.

• I love any time I get to spend with my kids! Recently Caitie and I had another Continuation Day. A CD is an extension of her birthday last Spring. We decided that we couldn’t possibly do everything we wanted to do in one weekend, so we would pick up with a CD from time to time. The best thing is that CDs are limitless.
• I’m substitute teaching again and really enjoy Pre-K and 5th grade. The Pre-Ks absorb what they are taught, and I have so much fun playing with them. The 5th graders are fun and tend to behave when I promise to bring squiggle doodles for them. (My squiggle doodles have evolved into some pretty cool designs if I do say so myself.)
• I recently lost out on a temp job when I blew the interview. Would anyone like to guess what the losing factor was? It was when the interviewer asked me how well I would respond to being cussed out on a regular basis by salesmen I would be supporting. I replied that I didn’t take too kindly to being cussed out. After the interview, the placement agency that had arranged the appointment asked me if it would bother me if there was a lot of cussing going on around me. I explained that I didn’t think it was professional to drop F-bombs in the office. Additionally, it is personally offensive to me for certain words to be use as curses (JC and GD). I told the agency that I had explained this to the HR representative when he asked me this on two separate occasions. (It must be a prolific problem if he brought it up to me twice and to the agency once.) The agency told me that the HR rep said he wasn’t sure if I would be a great fit, but I was still in the running. The agency told me they would get back to me by the end of the workday with the final word. I didn’t hold my breath, and it was a good thing because the agency never called.
• I am recovering from my 586,942,378,295th case of bronchitis and sinusitis. Honestly, I can’t even remember the last time I had the flu, old school or the new, panic-stricken swine variety. I just don’t get the flu. I ALWAYS get infections. Thank you asthma! I’m now in the disgusting phase of coughing up the infection. Seriously, there are some things I don’t want to see coming out of my body, and thick, yellow clots of rancid infection (yeah, I went there) is on the top 10 list. And as much as I want the infection out of my body, expelling it through my mouth is beyond disgusting. (So how many readers do I have left?)
  
  That said, I have a cough that is beyond my size. I’ve often said that I have the cough of a Green Bay Packer. It’s true. Once in science class at OBU, I was coughing so hard that the professor turned from the chalkboard and asked the football player next to me if he needed a drink of water. Jeff was a friend of mine and started laughing. He told the teacher it was me, not him, making the noise. The prof said, “Do you really expect me to believe that sound is coming out of Miss Woodruff?” When I began coughing again the teacher’s eyes got big, and he asked me if I needed to go see the nurse. Jeff asked why I got special treatment. The teacher said, “Because that isn’t natural. That sound shouldn’t be coming out of a 98lb girl.”
  
  Well my weight may have changed, but my cough hasn’t. In fact, I’ve tried over 20 different OTC cough remedies with no success. A prescription for a narcotic cough suppressant is the only thing that can touch my cough, and I’m not a big fan of being knocked out by narcotic juice. However, I will take that over bleeding lungs any day.
  
  Last week I was barking like a sea lion, and my mom told me that she had bought a great OTC cough medicine. She said it really worked. Of course I was skeptical and reminded her of my OTC history. She urged me to try it, and I finally gave in.
  
  Now I’m not going to give the name of the cough suppressant, but I’ve come to refer to it as Satan’s Kool-Aid. This has to be the nastiest stuff I’ve ever ingested. And the best part - the manufacturers know how bad it is. The packaging includes the phrases, “It tastes awful. And it works.” In fact, they've put that on the box more than once!
  
  So I poured a carefully measured dose and knocked it back. The moment it hit my throat I doubled over with instant nausea. There was a deep burn running the entire length of my esophagus and into my stomach. All I could do was moan, “Ugh, ugh, ugh” over and over.
  
  Those of you who know me know that I have an extremely high threshold for pain, but I have ZERO tolerance for nausea.
  
  There was an odd moment of revelation that occurred during this ordeal. For the first time in 11 months, I was thrilled to have the nerve damage that resulted from my wisdom teeth surgery. The right half of my tongue has a constant tingling sensation and is approximately 85% numb. Added to that is the fact I am unable to taste anything on the right side of my mouth. This was a blessing I never expected. I simply cannot imagine how much worse this could have been.
  
  I finally straightened up and made my way down the hall to confront my mother. With tears in my eyes, I stood in front of her trying to speak. When I was able to get words out I told her that she was a bad mommy, and I didn’t like her much at the moment. She stared at me as I was holding my stomach and asked what was wrong. When I explained she started laughing. LAUGHING! When I told her that my lip was burning she almost fell off the bed.
  
  I told her that what I had swallowed tasted like Vick’s Salve schnapps. She started laughing harder. I asked if she had ever use this “medicine,” and she admitted she had not. She asked me if it was working, and I told her that the very second it passed my mouth I lost all desire to cough. Mom seemed to think this was worth the cost. I think it was because my body was in shock.
  
  And while the “cough mixture” (as it is called) did stop my cough, it only lasted for 15 minutes. I’m sure it is a great remedy for the general public, but it just doesn’t cut it for a Green Bay Packer.
  
  And the two things I learned from this trial?
  1. This stuff will be served like sweet tea in H**L.
  2. I have a bad mommy.
  
  

Radioactive Monkeys

There comes a time in your adult life when you think you know the history of your immediate family. After this week I will no longer presume to know all there is to know about my parents. Not that I thought they were without depth. I just had no idea of what lay lurking below the surface.

I expected for there to be many challenges when I moved home, into my parents house. However it has gone surprisingly well, and I'm going to walk away with a few gems - like radioactive monkeys.

A few days ago my mom, dad, and I were sitting with the newspaper talking about a fatal car crash reported in Friday's edition. My sister had told us of the accident the day before after she passed it by on her way to town.

(We interrupt this post for the following Public Service Announcement. The only person killed in the three car accident was not wearing her seatbelt. The two survivors were strapped in with belts intact. Please wear your seatbelt - EVERYTIME.)

This discussion evolved into accidents my parents had been in or had witnessed. It brought back a familiar story of my mom's accident with a drunk driver at the age of 14. My mom's neck was broken, and she had to wear a partial body cast and neck brace for a year. Mama said she had to go through many X-rays and mused about having so many, wondering how much radiation she had been subjected too.

At this point in the story Daddy looked over and said, "You couldn't have had as much as I did when I was driving a truck hauling those monkeys."

I just stared at him with an expression of "Huh?" on my face. I didn't even know what questions to ask for explanation. Thankfully I didn't have to.

Daddy told the story of how he had been driving a truck and had been on the road for about three weeks and wanted to head home. He asked his dispatcher for a load that would take him home. The dispatcher replied, "There is a medical testing facility where you can go get a load of dead monkeys. You can pick up a load of monkeys and take it by the house before you deliver it."

I sat listening with the same expression on my face.

Daddy continued saying that he did not believe his dispatcher. He knew there was a load at the testing facility that would take him home, but he didn't know what it would be. When he pulled up to the gate the security guard asked what he was picking up. Daddy said he laughed and said, "I'm here to pick up a load of dead monkeys, ha ha." The guard replied, "Don't laugh son, we got 'em here."

The monkeys were involved in radiation testing. When they died there were put into drums that were filled with water and frozen.

My expression had changed to disgusted horror. I didn't think the story could get any worse. Such a naive little one I am.

So Daddy hauled a truck full of dead, radioactive monkeys... home! Yes sir, he pulled his semi right up in front of the house and parked it for the night.

I couldn't believe my ears! "You parked it in front of our house? Are you serious?"

Daddy just laughed and said, "Nobody knew what was inside and they were frozen."

That wasn't the point!

Daddy went on to explain that he continued to haul radioactive material after that. This led to another story of a mishap on one trip. Daddy and his co-driver were at their delivery point going through a scan when a leak was discovered. Their clothes were taken and they were put through a chemical shower. The tractor-trailer was also cleaned. Daddy said that he was told his truck would be confiscated if it didn't pass re-inspection. When he asked what would happen to the truck, he was told it would be buried in the ground with the rest of the radioactive material, and the government would buy his company a new truck. Burial wasn't necessary.

By now, I am sitting with my head cocked to one side completely dumbfounded. I asked when all this took place. I wanted to know if I had been born during this time. Mama laughed and said, "No, you were born a few years before this happened." Then she smirked and added, "Do you think that could explain what happened with Mary?"

I was laughing so hard I was struggling for breath. My mama is funny! I couldn't wait to tell my little sister what was said! She would never believe I wasn't the one to say it.

Oh my. I have laughed so much since I've been home. I still don't have a job and I'm flat broke but I am so, so rich.