Anecdotes, Antidotes, and Anodes

Continuing to Celebrate a Birthday

Obviously, the previous post was one from last year, so here is an updated version of:
Happy Birthday, Brooke.

Amazing how many talents my daughter possesses that I never knew she had. . .

Just amazing !

Little Miss P performed in a Bite Size Broadway production. 

She was all smiles complete with a missing tooth . . . or maybe incomplete.

That other front tooth hung there by a thread . . .for several days !

Nothing shy about this one grabbing for that microphone.

Just makes a Gammy proud to see her holding that bouquet of flowers like a baseball bat.

One word:  Precious

One word:  Ornery As All Get Out !

No matter how many times I watch kids open gifts . . .

. . . it seems that they would always rather . . .

. . . play with the bags, boxes, and bows rather that the actual gifts.

When you wear sunglasses, no one notices how dirty your face is.

Double celebration:  New Year's Eve and Ninth Wedding Anniversary

I was so excited to be the baby-sitter on New Year's Eve. 
Mom and Dad left about 5:00  and were home at 9:30 ! 
Acting just like an old married couple !

One more family pose.

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart. 

Happy Birthday to My Youngest

Do you remember where you were thirty-one years ago today ?

I certainly do !

Before we commence with the 2,547 photos of my youngest that have been posted below, here is the link from last year's birthday post. 

Birthday Post 2010

For an OFFICIAL birthday post from several years ago, here is that link:

Travel Down Memory Lane with These Photos

If you are planning to peruse the links above and hang out here to scroll through the pictures that follow, may I suggest taking the time to grab a cup of coffee or tea or hot chocolate spiked with Peppermint Schnapps or whatever floats your boat.  You will be here for awhile.

These photos are in no particular order.  For any of you with OCD, and feel the need to put them in order, knock yourself out.

OK, so the first one is in order.

During my pregnancy, I experienced heartburn from Day One to about Day One-Hundred-Thirty.
(She was over due about three weeks !)
An old Indian lady explained to me. "Baby will be born with lots of hair. "
She was right !

She was precious . . .yes she was !

In the mornings, when her dad and I were getting ready for work, we enlisted the help of her big sister, complete with pink sponge rollers.

This photograph conjures up memories of "The Princess and the Pea Eraser."

 

We also enlisted the help of big sister to put her to sleep at night.

 

The Summer of '81 ~ Red Hill Road

 

Granddad loved his girls . . .

. . . as evidenced by the smile on his face.

Grandpa loved them, too.

 

Christmas at Grandma and Grandpa's with the cousins.

 

Christmas at Grandmama Wheeler's.

 

Grandma and Grandpa Winters

Explaining to Santa that she is three.

 

Some photos need no caption.

 

A cute little Halloween punkin'

 

Nana and Melissa

 

 

She loved her . . .

dress that came from . . .

Austria. (Yes, that's Tyler.)

 

Birthday celebration with Melissa and Landra

 

Fun at Leenie and Dexie's with Leslie, Sue, and Christi

 

All Smiles !

 

Grandmother and Granddad

Haskell, Oklahoma

 

If you notice an onery look on her face in any of the photos, that because she was is.

 

Easter at Grandmama's

 

 

Another Easter at Grandmama's

 

A common place to sit

 

 

Another Easter at Grandmama's

 

Blurry but Cute

 

Still blurry . . . but the plant behind me provides a nice flying nun look.

 

The usual "corner" for photo ops

 

Probably another Easter photo

 

 

512 NW "B" Street . . .

 

. . . a favorite place to be.

 

The red cannas

 

 

She adored her big sister . . . still does.

 

Wayne, Leigh Anne, Michael, James . . . and Brookie

 

Posing for Grandmother

 

Waiting for the parade . . . Grandma has Brooke in the background . . . Aunt Joy is there, too.
Ashley, Sean, Sis, and Grandmother . . .

Leah joins them.

Some of these just don't need explanations . . .

Leenie and Dexie

 

Please note: 
Big sis is putting decorations ON the tree . . .
Little MIss Pris is removing them.

 

Another Easter photo

 

Mam-maw and Pap-paw Smith

 

I wish we knew where that green wooden frog high chair is . . . see it in the background ?

 

Yes, she had a black eye for her first Christmas. 
It could have happened when she climbed the shelves of the refrigerator, fell off the door of the dishwasher . . . (Sean is in the background.)

 

With Dad and Cousin Lissa
(Dad looks like he was attacked by Paul Bunyan while caught in a wind tunnel.)

 

 

A bountiful harvest . . . she planted watermelon seeds in the front yard. 
They grew, covering the entire front yard. . . ALL summer. 
It was quite the talk of the neighborhood.
We couldn't mow because of all the watermelon vines.
It looked like a scene out of Jumanji.

 

Possibly another Easter outfit OR dressing up with Nana

 

Record low temperature of minus two . . .
she wanted to go outside and play . . .
so she dressed herself and was headed out the door when this photo was snapped.

 

One of her favorite places to be. 

 

Her big sis couldn't have been prouder . . .
neither could Mommy, Grandmother Smith, or Grandmama Wheeler.

Grandmother and Granddad usually stopped by before church every Sunday.

 

All of the above photos were taken before the birthday girl, sometimes known as SwampSpawn, went to school.  Below, is one photo when she was a few years older . . .with big sis.

 

The following photos were taken at Christmas this past year . . .

What is a daughter ?

A daughter is a day brightener and a heart warmer. She is a bundle of firsts that excite and delight, giggles that come from deep inside and are always contagious.  She is everything wonderful and precious and a mother's love for her knows no bounds. A daughter is a treasure and the cause of sleeplessness. She is a gift of love.  She is a little girl who grows up to be a friend, a partner, a mother's closest ally, an extension of herself.  A daughter is a miracle that never ceases to be miraculous . . .full of beauty and forever beautiful . . . loving and caring and truly amazing.  A daughter is one of the most beautiful gifts this World has to give.   She may outgrow your lap, but she will never outgrow your heart.

What is a daughter ? 

She is the happy memories of the past, the joyful moments of the present, and the hope and promise of the future. 

Am I a proud Mommy ?

You betcha, I am !

 

She is a contributing member of society with a full-time job, a devoted wife, a loving-caring Mother of two . . . and in her free time, she has gone back to school, and this May, will have completed a Master's Degree.

Am I a proud Mother ?

You betcha, I am !

There are, of course, many many stories that come to mind, so while my mind can still remember them, here are just a few:

Our friend and doctor, Herbert Rowland called Brookie his little grubber.

One reason is because she was responsible for eating all the weather stripping off our doors.  The good doc said, "A little roughage never hurt anyone. "

Then there was the time when I could tell she had something in her mouth, so like any good mother, I reached in with my fore finger and pulled out a black bug.  A LIVE black bug !  We discusssed possibly discontinuing our contract with Orkin since we had an in-house bug eater. 

Then there was the time her grubber-instincts sent us to the emergency room.  She got-a-hold-of a bottle of Selsun Blue.  How much she drank, no one knows.  This was during the era of Syrup of Ipecac. Lawerence Welk would have welcomed having her sit behind the orchestra because she blew bubbles out her mouth and nose for an extended period of time.

Then there was the time I was unloading laundry from the dryer, and I accidentally tried to knock my funny bone off my arm.  If you've ever done this, you know how very painful this can be.  I dropped the S-bomb and as I turned to sit on the floor to regain consciousness, there stood my two-year-old.  She had no problem repeating that word . . .over and over and over again.  A few hours later, my parents arrived.  The doorbell rang and as I opened the door, Brookie greeted them with, "Mommy said shit-shit-shit."

Then there was the time she wanted in her sister's bedroom.  It was a rule at our house that a closed door must be knocked upon.  She loved more than anything to be in her sister's room.  I heard this little knock-knock-knock on LA's door and her sister asked, "Who is it ?"  Brookie replied, "It's yu-aah Muth-ah."

Then there was the time it was a typical morning with everyone trying to get ready, eat breakfast, find back packs. . . you know the drill !  As I picked up a towel in the bathroom, noticing a glob of black something or other drop out of it, I heard a scream from the kitchen, "M-o-o-o-o-m-m-m-m-m-m !" The kind of scream that makes a Mother's hair stand straight up on the back of her neck.  Brookie had instructed her older sister to, "Feel right here."  Right here was where her bangs used to to be.  She had taken some very sharp shears, laid them flat on her head, and whacked-whacked-whacked-off her bangs.  This was prompted by a conversation she had heard between LA and me that she didn't want bangs anymore and planned to "grow them out."  Brookie, wanting to be just like her sister, speeded up the process, and did away with her bangs in three whacks with the scissors.  The glob of black that fell out of the towel was her bangs.

Then there was the time we were making brownies.  Brookie was about four.  The teacher in me was always ready for that teachable  moment, so we proceeded with step-by-step instructions.  She was instructed to "grease the bottom of the pan." 
She took a handful. . .
a h-a-n-d-f-u-l. . .
I said a H-A-N-D-F-U-L 
of Crisco and greased the BOTTOM of the pan. 
Not the "inside" bottom of the pan.  The "outside" bottom of the pan.

I won't mention that she was a biter.
No, I won't do that.

I could go on and on and on . . .

. . . but I won't.

I just finish with this . . .

Am I a proud Mommy ?

You betcha I am !

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There are those of you who are here for the first time.
Please feel free to click on that little word, "COMMENTS" at the bottom of this post to read and/or leave a birthday wish for Brookie.

 

Tebowing in Georgia

While perusing through all the photos taken since before Christmas, this one seemed to be appropriate for the upcoming game between Denver and New England.

Our son-in-law, who just recently returned home from Iraq for the FOURTH time, watches Hair-wee 'Tebowing,' while Char-wee looks for more gifts under the tree.

By the way, Ben was awarded The Bronze Star while serving our great country.

My Grandson is a Super Hero !

Having been on the road for more than three weeks,  home for almost twenty-four hours, on a plane heading to LAX to visit family in California, and then finally home . . . has not afforded me any time what-so-evah to peruse through all the 100's of photos taken during that time.

Looking at this many photos sometimes causes my eyes to cRosS. 

But, I try to always be aware of my reaction when I look at a photo for the first time.

Some make me go a-h-h-h-h.

Some make me go c-r-a-a-a-p . . . wish they had been in focus.

Some make me teary-eyed.

Some make me s-m-i-i-i-i-le.

And.

Then.

Some.

Make.

Me.

Laugh.

Hysterically !

Surely someone out there can come up with an appropriate caption for this one.

Sharing a Suitcase with HansMan

Someday I will learn how to pack . . . just before a trip, I will take certain items of clothing OUT of the suitcase and put other certain items of clothing IN the suitcase, then once arriving to our destination will realize what was taken OUT  was  needed and was put IN is not needed. 

This is especially true when we fly and have the fifty pound limit.  My suitcase weighs fifteen pounds empty !  (I have found some very lightweight, inexpensive cheap luggage and will tell you what it is if you're interested in a later post.)

So, when we arrived home from our SIX-THOUSAND-plus road trip and HansMan announced we would be flying to California the next day and that we would be SHARING a suitcase, my head began to spin in first in one direction and then in the other.

For those of you who have read here long enough probably know the difference in how the two of us operate.  ie.  I make list after list after list and he flies by the seat of his pants.  That is a simplified version of:

I am anal-retentive-obsessive-compulsive.  Not to mention being a bit of a control freak...and somewhat of a worrier who stresses-out-quite-often.

He is happy-go-lucky-live-in-the-moment, never anticipating much of anything,  and then dealing with whatever happens at the time.

Note to self:   STOP IT !

Fast forward to twenty-four hours before the California trip. 

I have very neatly folded each piece of my clothing, organized each of those pieces of clothing into 'outfits' complete with accessories and carefully laid them in my half of the suitcase.  (In the order I will be needing them.

1.  PJ's on top
2.  Outfit for second day next
3.  PJ's for second night next
4. You get the picture ?

All my toiletries, makeup, hair products...including hair dryer and flat iron, meds, and other essentials are organized into separate zipped travel bags. 

Fast forward to THREE hours before heading to the airport . . .

HansMan has showered.

He has decided to go to the office and yells this to me as I am in the shower,  and that I will need to finish packing, load the suitcase, drive to the office, pick him up, and then head to the airport.

No problem.

When I emerge from the shower, I notice that the suitcase I spoke of earlier looks as though it has imploded.

Upon closer inspection, I notice many, many, many loose items such as deodorant, toothpaste, toothbrush, Advil . . . are sprinkled throughout shorts, sandals, shirts, underwear . . .   Some of his items have even made their  way onto my neatly organized half of the suitcase.

OK. And so when I say Advil, I don't mean the bottle.  I mean actual Advil capsules are sprinkled in and among the crevasses of  his clothing.  Wrinkled clothing, I might add.

Fast forward to FIVE  minutes before departing the house . . .

Kneeling on the lid of the suitcase, it is zipped  shut and is carried downstairs kicked downstairs.

Driving to the office, doing a mental checklist of everything that has so carefully been packed  (my half),  I'm fretting over what I might have forgotten.

Fast forward to several hours after arriving to our destination . . .

Feeling a little twinge of a headache, the search through my zippered bag containing carefully thought out travel items does not reveal a bottle of Advil, Tylenol, or any other type of pill drug that might alleviate the subtle pounding in my left temple.

The conversation goes like this:

Him:  What are you looking for ?

Me:  Something for my headache.

Him:  Is it a migraine ?

Me:  No.  Not yet.

Him:  Do you need an Advil, or something ?

Me:  Yes.

He pulls a wrinkled shirt from his half of the suicase.  Several Advil capsules fall to the floor.  He picks a couple of them up and hands them to me.

Him:  Here you go.  Someday you'll learn how to pack.

Me:  (Insert expletive here !)

 

 

 

Travelogue. . . continued

Traveling with HansMan and three Boxers can be somewhat, u-m-m-m-m, how shall I say, STRESSFUL ?

Most of the miles are quite enjoyable, but there are those miles, such as when I act as navigator and he acts as driver, that become almost unbearable.  

Like the miles when we are looking for a La Quinta in Slidell, Louisiana.  At night.  (That's supposed to be next door to Sam's Club.)

Part of the problem is with me. (I know that statement surprises you.)  I have no, none, not any visual-spatial intelligence.  When using a GPS gadget, I don't use the map, I use the "LIST." 

The rest of the problem is with HansMan.  He doesn't pay any attention to signs along the way, and for the most part, he doesn't pay any attention to me.

So, when we passed Exit 50 for the La Quinta, well, that was BOTH our faults.  We were so absorbed in listening to the "Steve Jobs" story blaring through our speakers, neither of us noticed.

That blunder took us a few miles down the road until we noticed we were east of the 'red flag' on the GPS map.  At that point, I turned up the volume on the "audible" GPS, and the lady in the box was squawking, "recalculating."

After speaking with Pam, the desk clerk at La Quinta, she advised us to program in the address for  Sam's Club.  This is because the motel had just opened, and its address on Holiday Road wouldn't be recognized by the GPS.  She further noted that if we typed in La Quinta on the GPS, a flag would pop up in a residential area that was "Holiday Drive"  So, that if we typed in Sam's Club address, we would end up at the motel, as it was next door. 

I explained this to HansMan as we backtracked to Exit 50 off the Interstate.  Well, at least I TRIED to explain it to him.

As we took the exit and looped around to the south, the lady in the GPS said very plainly, "Destination is on the RIGHT !"

I very plainly said, "Turn right." 

He very plainly asked, "Why ?"

Me:  Because the motel is over there.  (It was a bit off the main road, nestled out of sight, on an access road called Holiday.)

Him:  No, you typed in  the address for Sam's in the GPS.

Me:  I know, but La Quinta is next door to Sam's.

Him:  Did you SEE Sam's ?  (As he kept driving.)

Me:  No, but I saw a Walmart sign.

Lady in Box:  Recalculating.  Recalculating.  Do a U-Turn.

After several "exchanges," I realized it was going to do no good to tell him one more time, he was headed in the wrong direction.  That the La Quinta was, 'back there.'

This is where he took over the job of navigator and programmed  La Quinta into his iPhone and proceeded to show me the flag on Holiday Drive and also the location of another La Quinta, which was probably our motel.

This is where I stopped talking.  For a few minutes.

We drove for about ten minutes in the opposite direction of where our cozy hotel room was waiting for us.   Then we drove about five more minutes before he pulled into the entrance of a La Quinta.

Him:  Where's the confirmation number for the hotel ?

I handed him my phone with the number and he marched into the motel lobby.

About three minutes later, he marched back to the van, and proclaimed, "Wrong La Quinta."

He looked at his iPhone again, pointed to the other red flag on Holiday Drive and said, "This is where our motel is."

I very nicely said, "Our motel is not on the GPS yet because it's new.  There is a Holiday Drive and Holiday Road.  That red flag is in a residential area."

Him:  How do YOU know ?

Me: Because Pam, the desk clerk at the La Quinta where we have our reservation, told me.  And, I told you that about thirty minutes ago.  She said to program in Sam's address and we would end up there.

Him:  Did you SEE a Sam's ?

Me:  No, but you were driving so fast, I didn't have a chance.  There were a lot of business along that access road.  I did see the sign for Walmart and that usually means a Sam's is close by.  Does that count ?

Him:  Snort

He continued driving in the opposite direction for almost ten more minutes before he stopped, dead center in the middle of the road, and said, "We're here."

Me:  We're where ?

Him:  This is the address on Holiday Drive that the GPS flagged as La Quinta.

We were sitting in front of a nicely decorated home in the middle of a residential area, just as Pam had said would happen if we followed the directions on our GPS.  

By now, the dogs were up and letting us know they needed a pit stop.  I pointed this out to him.

He proclaimed, "I'm not stopping."

I once again programmed Sam's address into the talking-GPS, and the lady in the box started squawking directions which took us in the direction from whence we came.

June Bug started making that funny sound which means, you better stop now !

He pulled into a C-Store, I opened the door, and June Bug barely made it out of the van.  While I proceeded to walk the other two dogs, he once again called Pam at La Quinta.

The conversation was pretty much like the first one, but for some reason, HansMan just couldn't accept the fact that the La Quinta was next door to Sam's. 

Once I loaded all the dogs back into the van, we started our search again.

The audible GPS was directing us to head straight west, so why were we in the left turn lane, headed to New Orleans ?

By the way, he's still on the phone with Pam and she heard me yell, "Don't turn here !"

He was able to pull out of that lane and continue west as the dogs were flung from their seats and most of the contents of the van shifted to the right.

As we continued on this road, the same road we were on thirty-five minutes earlier, I proclaimed, "Look, Big Ben . . . Parliament."  (If you've not watched the Chevy Chase Vacation movies, this will make no sense to you.)

Once again, the lady in the box, announced, "Destination on LEFT."

But because it was a new development, there were many one-way access roads and by the time he realized where he needed to turn, we had passed it and were headed back to the Interstate.  The one we had been on about forty minutes ago. 

So, we went under it and made a left turn from the wrong lane.  The guy in the lane next to us used his horn and sign language to let us know.

All this time, the lady in the box is still squawking, "Recalculating."

We made another left turn into a Starbucks, which was thankfully closed as we exited through its drive-in window lane, going the wrong way. 

We went under the Interstate. The one we had been on about forty-five minutes ago.

The lady in the box is now announcing, as she had earlier, "Destination is on the RIGHT."

Much to my surprise, HansMan followed her directions, and made a right-turn. 

We meandered along this access road and much to his surprise, arrived at our destination, The La Quinta almost an hour later.

He never did see the Sam's and will probably to this day, never admit that our motel was next door to it.

My only regret is that on our goose-chase, we didn't pull into one of those "Daiquiris-To-Go" places.  I understand they are quite potent, and a little rum might have helped.

Moral to this Story:  (You create your own.)