A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes

If You're Reading This

It means Blogger scheduler worked because I am no where near this blog.

It's a Small World is probably ringing in my ears and we're desperately seeking rodents--not to exterminate them, but in hopes of getting autographs.

The oldest is joining us. I will have new pictures to post of him since most of the ones I've been using are 1-2 years old.

Life is good.

Question for you today:

This Face Book phenomenon.

Great way to reconnect.

Have you had requests from
people in your past that
you don't necessarily want to reconnect with?
OR
Have you had people "friend request" you
that makes the spouse uneasy?
OR
Has someone popped into your spouse's
group of "friends" that you'd rather not have there?

Just curious.

I'm Not a Doctor But...

Ok, I did the doctor appointment.

It wasn't quite as relaxing as we had all hoped-- in fact, I thought I might have a heart attack just trying to get there.
Oh, and Monday's appointment was cancelled because it was the ONLY time my hairdresser could get me in for a cut before my trip
Self:"Hmm, do I see the doctor about increasing dizzy spells or get my hair cut?"
Reasoning Self: "Well you could, but say he fixes dizzy spells and you go to Disney World with bad hair... Get the hair cut and that way, when you faint, at least you'll look good".
Me: "Yes, Monday sounds fine, I'll take that hair appointment, thank you".

So, luckily, the doctor had a different appointment for Thursday. Today. Still had four kids in tow. But first had to pick one of them up from his stay at a sleepover.
From there, the SatNav had this crazy idea to take me to the military base via London which was NOT in the same direction so I ignored her and went back towards my house.

20 minutes into the drive, I came upon a roundabout and MY EXIT was closed.

Something you should know about England's road works. There's "Diversion" signs, but after they divert you off a road, they don't really care what happens to you.

Once I was bouncing along this little dirt road I had the option of going up on two wheels to get past an oncoming car or make everyone behind me back up. The guy behind me backed up but then did this crazy thing of pulling to the opposite side to get in a little pull-out area. Now the oncoming car could go nowhere and I couldn't get past her.

Finally, I got back in the direction I should be going, never ONCE seeing any other directional signs for the diversion.

I reached my appointment exactly on time. Whew!
But I forgot my ID in the car.

The hubby came and took the four kids.

The doctor took me seriously and sent me off to have a few pints of blood removed.

Only,

my body doesn't give up blood to just anybody who wants to poke needles in me.
I tried to tell them, but they never listen.
You'd think they'd get it that I have birthed 5 children, I've had a little blood work done in my lifetime.
But they wouldn't listen and were determined to use my right arm.

Finally, Obnoxious Lab Dude gave up and called in Lab Chick.
Failed. Several times. Left arm or right arm, the body was closed up tight.
At least she was nice.

I watched a baby have blood drawn, also a woman pregnant with twins, a woman wearing an Angels and Airwaves shirt so I talked Blink with her (she didn't want to talk either, wanted to keep her eyes closed and forget where she was) and a five year-old boy who was having NOTHING to do with a needle. All came in after me and all said good bye when they left.

Lab Chick called in new Nice Lab Dude who offered to do the draw if we were forced to go into the hand.
Then Super Lab Chick came. She had an accent I couldn't understand, but eventually I realized she was asking if I had had "Sgt. So and So" try to poke me yet as she gave up after a few tries.

I look like a pin cushion.

I didn't read any magazines and still don't know any more than I did when I went in.

Other than my blood pressure was normal--which is actually high for me--and a heart rate of 200 (yeah, that was messed up), I am a healthy (hopefully menopausal) woman.

Oh, they took blood for a pregnancy test too...


that might have affected the pulse rate, but not mine. The Hubby, who had "the" surgery almost 3 years ago, looked a little green around the gills when I told him about that test.

If I Were a Hamster, I'd Probably Get Further

Wanted to finish watching a movie, but a whim to make cookies struck.


Paused movie with subtitles for the fortieth time in 2 weeks.

On the way towards the bathroom to wash hands, J2 shouts, "Mom, come look! It's disgusting!"
Smart me waited for an exact description before bothering to head out.

It's a dead rabbit that used to be in the pond. It had been fished out with one of the Swing Ball paddles.
Instructions given to child to wash paddle immediately while I disposed of dead rabbit.

That reminded me that the tent had been left up too long and should be moved to save the grass.
Upon moving the tent, we discovered ants too numerable to count. And their eggs.

Something had to be done about the ants.

Ants sorted, the tarp the tent had been on was holding a bit of water.
Slid the tent off, only to discover the sleeping bags inside were making it too heavy.
Took them out.
Discovered they were wet.
Moved bags to laundry line.
Put tent in a sunny spot to air out.

Time to make cookies!
Washed hands, pulled out first four ingredients.

Dangit. Sugar has lumps.
Put sugars into kitchen aide and turned it on while I fetched the rest of the ingredients.
Not working.
I picked out the bigger lumps.
Miss Ky has made a poo.

Change the poo, wash my hands.
Miss Ky wants to blow bubbles.
Hand her one of the party favor bubbles we have in the pantry.
Tell her to put on shoes and go outside but she wants to wear her "coconut" (polka dot) shoes and they need to be tied.
My hands are clean.

I convince her to wear her wellies. She can't find them.
I instruct her to wear a pair of her brother's shoes and set her just outside the kitchen door with her bubbles.

A brother wants to join her.
Grab second bottle of bubbles.
Distracted, I know I need to pull the lever on the kitchen aide to lift the bowl, but instead hit the "on" switch and watch my fingers wrap into the whisk.

That was close! Nothing broken and not much pain.

Miss Ky comes in for another bottle of bubbles.
A different brother wants one too.
Miss Ky drops her bottle all over the floor.

Clean bubbles off of the tile floor.
Wash hands.

All ingredients now in the mixer, my thumb hurts.
I realize It's bleeding,
off to get a Hello Kitty band aid.

Miss Ky falls down and wants a bandaid.


I think I may cancel a doctor's appointment scheduled for Monday.
I was hoping he could tell me why I am so tired all of the time,
but I think I just figured it out on my own.

On second thought, maybe I'll keep that appointment.
At least there I might be able to read a whole magazine.

The Deep Questions of Life

Confession time:

I don't iron my sheets. Ever. I know, there goes my perfect woman image I've worked so hard to develop out here.

In fact, there's a very good chance that my sheets will go into a heap onto the sofa for the day while I finish up the other laundry and then get put onto the bed, in all their wrinkled glory, just before I'm ready to crawl into them. Hopefully they'll escape Miss Ky's Cheetos handprints and endless farting competitions that occur in that room.

I didn't even know that people actually ironed sheets until recently.

Unless your spouse is (becoming increasingly) OCD (like mine), chances are he/she just doesn't care. So why? Do you have a lot of guests come to your room? Snobs that secretly twitter to other friends, "You'll never believe what I am looking at right this very minute!"

The same people fold underwear.

I can kind of understand (if I reeeeally stretch) where you'd want pressed sheets at the end of a long day,
but could someone please enlighten me on the importance of having perfectly folded underpants?

Maybe you know something I don't.

Like maybe there's a safety report somewhere stating that homes with folded underpants burn slower than homes with undies shoved in askew among equally abused socks-- maybe the compactness of the drawer suffocates flames?

Or maybe there's a medical thesis trying to prove wrinkled granny panties cause vericose veins?

Seriously, do you fold or toss? Who taught you to do it? Why?

I'm just thinking there's more important things to do with the 2.15 minutes I gain by throwing my undies all willy nilly into a drawer, like picking chewing gum out of a certain toddler's hair. Or wiping urine off the toilet seat so that I don't sit in it...again.

I might even be able to whip out a post about nothing.

You never know.

A Book I Can't Tell You About

I love when you put a book down,
and return to it to look up specific passages a few minutes later.
And when having a conversation the next day with friends,
have to bite your tongue
to keep from discussing twists, plots
or the ending.

and referring to characters like
the good friends they became to me while I read.

I just finished a book like that.
My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult.

Here I am, NOT talking about it
because no one talked to me
before I read it
which is probably why the book is haunting me
in everything I do.

And you know what really stinks?
When the Hubby came home from Iraq,
he was under the (false) impression
that I didn't have a large enough book stack
next to our bed,
so he brought more home.

When I finished "My Sister's..."
I felt like I was betraying
the memory
of the book,
the characters,
whatever
and couldn't begin another one.

I'd really like to explain it,
but I'm trying to not tell you about this book I just read.

What's With the Newel Post?

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

I have to admit, I set you up for failure (Blogger is losing it right now or I'd link you to the post named "The End of Leave"). Only a twisted, puzzle-solving mind (that knew the answer beforehand) could have guessed the significance of the newel post. I'm sorry. I suck.

I was impressed that Willow Tree actually put Google onto it (Google did NOT fail you, friend).
June Freaking Cleaver (love her blog name) was sitting on the answer when she said, "I knew the quote..."

Hints actually IN the post?:
"OK, NO ONE in my family would even get that. They actually did things with their lives rather than sit in trees and read books all day"
and
"One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other."

Other clues were more for people who have followed me for the two years I've blogged or who know me in real life.
I'm a voracious reader.
I have favourites that I read (and watch) over and over.
I have loved a proud (but misunderstood) man for years...

The (anti-climatic) answer:

in a minute.

First, you must have the background of the photo.

We travel a little haphazardly. We kind of pick a destination and then let our guide books lead the way. With Betty (our sat nav), the possibilities of taking detours are endless.
After cramming in two weeks' worth of sights in two days, we were trying to make it home by a decent hour. I poured over the three books sitting in my lap, wondering what we might have left behind when I realized that we had left the Winchester area.

Winchester?! Chawton is by Winchester!!

I got excited and started trying to determine exactly where we were and how much back-tracking I could lead my husband through without him catching on. He's a good sport when it comes to spoiling me and knowing how much this site would mean, he pulled over and we set the coordinates.
It was only 30 minutes before we were pulling by a red brick house as Betty declared, "You have reached your destination".
I sure had and I almost got out of the car while it was still moving.

I rushed into the door, glimpsing the sign that stated, "Closing at 5.30. Last entrance 4.30"
My hands were slapping against my sides looking for my camera bag or my phone-- something that might tell me the time. Stepping into the doorway, I understood the looks I was getting from behind the desk instantly.
I spoke first,
"Have I made it too late? Is it still possible to come in?"

Wording the question, "Are you closed?" or letting her tell me they were closed first, would've sealed my fate. As it was, I held my breath and hoped my sincerity was obvious. THIS WAS IMPORTANT TO ME.
Her demeanor changed, "Well, are you all here?" I slowly looked behind me...

I answered that it was only me-- that I was alone--no way was I waiting for the clan and maybe missing the opportunity entirely.
She went on, "the last entrance WAS half four, but if you've come a long way..."

This is where I discovered that the nice me will be trampled by the wicked me in an instant if it's important enough--I had already thrown my family in front of the proverbial bus, what's an additional lie?

"I have! I've come from the U.S.!"

"I could tell," she smiled and took the seven pounds from my trembling hand.

Another couple stepped in and she abruptly told them that the place was closed but she was only letting me in because I had traveled all the way from the United States.

"That's where we're from" they exclaimed despairingly.

I felt pretty small... for about 30 seconds as I headed in.
(ok, I really did feel bad and wanted to offer pictures or whatever, but it sounded so stupid so I didn't).

It was the fastest tour I have ever done. I photographed anything that required reading and just tried to absorb what I was seeing. There was SO much more to see than I ever expected.



The wooden floors creaked under my rushing steps. Old portraits watched me glide from room to room.
In minutes I had the place to myself to capture (people-free) every angle.

Descending the stairs,
my hand slipped down the smooth handrail. It came to rest on the newel post and
for a time-stopping moment,

I looked at my hand and realized
that the great Jane Austen once slid her hand along this very place. Her hand once rested where mine now was.
It was one of those moments I will never forget.

Note: Please try to restrain yourselves from pointing out that this entire banister could have been replaced since she was writing Pride and Prejudice in this very house and just let me be blissfully exist in my dream state.

JANE AUSTEN's House (and a ruthless American)

August 2009

When Lightening Strikes

A loud CRACK ripped through the sky. It woke me instantly, even though I had only gone to sleep an hour before-- after a grueling 24 hours of hard work.

That's a little misleading. Not all 24 hours were grueling, there were moments when I sucked on hard candy while watching Prince (formerly known as a symbol) gyrate himself through a music video. There were other times when I concentrated on not vomiting on my mother. You couldn't really call those moments grueling, but they were emotionally difficult at least.

I looked around and discovered I was alone.
7am on a stormy saturday-- the day that would change my life forever and there's not a soul in sight.
I did what any respectable, self-centered person would do and picked up the phone.

"Why aren't you here?"

"Why are you awake already?"

"Are you coming soon?"

"J, I was up with you all night, I'll be in after I get some sleep".

There really was no rush, I was to stay in that hospital bed for two more days.
Fully awake with a thousand thoughts running through my head (and nearly as many stitches in the opposite end to allow me to wander off), I stared out at that thunderstorm and thought about all of the times in my past that I would rush to a window to watch one roll by--time of day was no exception.

The unspoken rule (when I was growing up)
between my mother and I:
Whoever wakes up first to a thunderstorm must wake the other.
In Arizona, rain storms are rare except during monsoon season which
we would greet every year with joy.

As the rain pelted the window I imagined there couldn't be a better day for the birth of my first child.
It was like God was saying, "I know your fears, but everything is going to be Ok".

21 years later, I still believe it.

Happy Birthday, J1!
You're officially legal...
too bad that means so little for us, huh? ;-)







P/S I love you
and I can't wait to see you in three weeks!

The End of Leave

When personnel return from work away from home, they are given a little leave time to reintegrate with the peeps they left behind.
Unfortunately, most people don't understand that there is a lot of adjusting to be done, so during my husband's 14 "free" days, we were bombarded with other people's expectations.

This past weekend as we were fielding phone calls and demands on our time, we looked at each other and said, "Enough".
We loaded the car, contacted a hotel (not easy to find a place during school holidays-- everyone books months in advance) and set off.
* and I actually did receive one "wrist slapping" call on my mobile from someone who thought I neglected church duties by taking off with my family, but that's for another post--or not.

We headed here:


I wanted to call everyone I know to say, "Can you believe this?! I am standing at Stonehenge!" "I am standing at the place where Hardy's Tess is arrested for murdering her husband!" (Ok, NO ONE in my family would even get that. They actually did things with their lives rather than sit in trees and read books all day).
We checked into our room and were very pleased with how clean and comfortable they were, but the tummies were growling.

We had a wonderful meal in a pub called The Boot Inn -- a place that serves dishes too big for even super hungry people to finish.

Oh, and in case you're under the impression that England is the home of bland, tasteless food-- think again. Everything from Indian to Chinese (and more) can become "Take away" as well as the more traditional meals of Bangers and mash, Yorkshire puddings, and fish and chips.

This gargantuan dish was Miss Ky's child-size serving of Spaghetti Carbonara.

The next morning after a traditional English Breakfast,
(heart attack on a plate, most things are fried--I love this country)
we left with one goal in mind (and had hopes, but no concrete plans, of reaching a second destination):

BEACH.
And it was beautifully sunny.

Take note people, THIS day was our summer and if you were in the wrong part of the country, you missed it.

We caught a Punch and Judy Show...



that the Hubby enjoyed very much.



After a full day of swimming in the sea and trying to keep sand off of our blankets (I have no idea why I do that),
we jumped in the car to reach the second destination.

Lulworth Cove.

On the way, we saw a castle and were very tempted to stop for the jousting show, but I did have my heart set on taking a picture of Durdle Door.

Kiddos at Durdle Door

You have to work to get there...




but the views are worth it. I didn't feel so bad clutching my heart as I climbed the hill when kids were laying down all around me.

I'm sitting here smirking as realization hits,
I've just done the 2009 equivalent of inviting you over to suffer through our 1950's vacation slide show.

Yikes.

Yes, there's more (we're only into day two!), but I need to go into the kitchen to make us up some snacks if we're going to sit in front of the screen all day....but first,

I did touch this:

and if ANYONE can guess correctly what significance it holds in my photo library, there may be some chocolate in it for you...

"One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other."

I love summer holiday.