Thursday, January 22, 2009

Had to be Said

Dear Admiral Title,

Did you really think that calling the mortgage company 18 hours prior to the closing to get the payoff was a good idea? I mean really? And does your totally incompetent staff not understand that if the number they are calling isn't working, they could use that fancy-pants internets thingy to look it up?! Even my grandmother knows that you can find anything on the internets. Ask her, I dare you.

Since when do we drag our feet on sending in the payoff? Hmmm? Let's see, these people are trying to sell a house in the worst economy since the Great Depression AND they are buying a home in another state in 14 days. Should we send it in now? The answer is YES. Hell Yes, even. Oh, and did I mention that when you drag your feet on sending in said payoff it causes the seller to incur a $70.81 late fee. (Of which they are planning on taking out of your behind should you not find it in your heart to refund it.) Please don't forget the power of bad publicity. Cause I fully intend to use it should this situation not be fixed.

With all due respect, I would highly suggest you get off your asses and do the job you are way overpaid to do.

Oh, and I had nothing to do with the flaming bag of dog poo. Molly is a bit upset herself.


The Davis Family

Taylor, Bean & Whittaker, you're on notice. Just keep that in mind.

Monday, January 19, 2009

Bad (stuffed) Dog

The Big Dog has now brought on a whole new level of genius. He's got me reprimanding his stuffed animals. I'm not sure how I ended up here, but I'm pretty sure he's off somewhere snickering.

We're at a McDonald's birthday party for a friend's daughter. Big Dog decides to start playing siren. Sure, all the other kids are loud too, but his is a screechie kinda loud.

Me: Sweetie, it's a bit loud in here for you to be screeching.

Big Dog: Mommy, dat makes no sense. If it's woud, den I'm doing wite.

Me: Yes, I see your logic, but you're much too loud. Please stop with the siren.

Big Dog: But mommy, it's not me doing it. It's de toy puppy.

Me: Okay, well tell the toy puppy to stop it.


Me: Dude. I told you to stop with the siren. Why are you still doing it?!

Big Dog: No, you told de puppy. He's in time out now and he's stopped. Dat time it was me.

Any suggestions out there?!

Monday, January 12, 2009

Lessons Learned in Yankee Country

After Christmas, we ventured above the Mason-Dixon line to visit the in laws. Over the past nine years, I have assimilated into their culture quite well. I have managed to lessen my 'southern drawl' and find urgency in every event. However, I have come to terms with the fact that I will never acclimate to their winters. And that is fine.

This trip was quite a shocker. The day we arrived, it was 60 degrees! I, being the thoughtful southern girl I am, had packed only puffy coats and wool socks. Poor planning, yes, but if you had said it would actually be WARM, I would have laughed at you. The coldest I have ever been was in Ohio.

Two days was snowing. Yes, my friends, we woke to 4 inches of snow and a damn blizzard. (Okay, it was a blizzard by southern standards and a 'light dusting' according to the buckeyes.) Fortunately, I was prepared with my puffy coat and wool socks, but had somehow misplaced my long underwear in the move. Grrrr. (Again, damn movers.) I threw on every article of clothing I had packed plus my brother-in-law's flannel-lined pants and hit the snow. My little southern boys, whom we chose to call 'Bonitta' and 'Spurceann' the entire day, chose to ride in the heated golf cart rather than on the sled with their mother who had something to prove.

After all, one can only bitch about their nose freezing off for so long before someone calls you a 'big girl'. So I pulled up my big girl panties and hit the toboggan. (Which, by the way, is a HAT not a SLED. But this is apparently an argument for another day. -not to mention they definitely had the upper hand in the discussion since the damn sled actually said 'toboggan' on it.)

So, I hopped on the sled and hit the snow. And yes, we were being pulled by golf cart before you even ask. I will leave the rest to your imagination. But, the part no one mentioned is that while riding the 'toboggan' your cheeks will hang off the sides and freeze solid. (I refuse to consider that it might have just been my wide load that hangs off.) Never the less, it was numb and I was bitching while my little girlie boys were peering from the back window of the cart so toasty they had to remove their coats.


Five valuable lessons that I learned from this experience:

1. Never leave the warmth of the south without long underwear and a t-shirt.
2. When your ass cheeks freeze while riding a SLED, do not mention it as it will only draw attention to the size of your behind.
3. A frozen behind should not be placed directly in a 102 degree hot tub before thawing.
4. Do not try to carry on a conversation with a stranger in a waiting room. The assume you're nuts.
5. Do not thank said stranger for 'warming the seat for you' in the waiting room. They will still consider you nuts and do not care to hear your story about being from the south and how cold it is up here.

Friday, January 9, 2009

Is There A Doctor In the House?

I caved.

After complaining of stomach pain for four days I finally gave in and went to the doctor. (I had tried the local walk-in clinic on Christmas Eve and vowed to only return if someone takes me in whilst unconscious.) However, I had met this lovely woman at church who gave me her card and said she was a nurse practitioner in the next town.

Awesome! We all dream of having a special connection in the medical field, don't we? Someone, besides your grandmother, whom you can call at a moments notice and ask if that lump is cancer or a pimple. (It was always cancer at my house.)

So I dutifully grab the card and give the office a call. I explain that I had met her at church and she had given me her card (just in case she wasn't taking new patients and I had the golden ticket.) The receptionist confirmed my assumption when she said she would have to talk to Mrs. Doctor Lady and call me back. (I'm so in though cause I've got the card.)

She calls back and says that Mrs. Doctor Lady had no problem with it and would see me at 3:30.



I finally find the office; which is honestly some feat for the girl who is just now leaving home for the first time in her life. Walking up to the door, I find myself holding it open for several families. Grateful my hubby got off work early and I didn't have to bring my kids like those poor saps, I skip into the office. The lovely receptionist greets me without remembering that I had been the one on the phone that Willy Wonka had sent.

"What's the patient's name, please?"

"Amy Davis."

"How old is Amy?"

Well now there's a question one doesn't hear often at a doctor's office right there in front of God and everybody.


The look on her face was priceless. "OH, YOU'RE the patient...I'm sorry. Please have a seat and fill out this paperwork."

Odd greeting, but whatever, I'm just here to find out about my tummy. I don't care if the mom and kid in the waiting room know my age anyway. Not to mention they have Ice Age on the flat screen and a pretty fancy surround sound system! I'm now almost wishing my boys could enjoy this office, cause it's pretty sweet from a mommy perspective. I mean, if you gotta take your kids with you to the doctor, might as well have them entertained. Right?!

Then I get called back.

Maybe it was checking my weight on the giraffe scale that should have tipped me off, but alas, it was not. It was the teeny exam table of which my 36" legs hung off like an octopus laying on a paper-covered rock. That was the clincher for me. "Um, so. I guess you're like a pediatric nurse practitioner, huh?" I ask the woman who had so stealthy slipped me my pass.

"Yes, but I do work with young women too."

Shoot me now. Just put me out of my 'that paper gown ain't never gonna fit' misery.

Seriously, How Old Am I?!

We moved to NC three weeks ago. The first two weeks were consumed with boxes. Not that there aren't boxes still, but they aren't floating around the house like icebergs.

Feeling pretty good about our progress, I decided to join a gym. No, we can't afford it, BUT they have FREE CHILDCARE which at this stage in my life with only one friend in the area and no family, free childcare is a huge bonus. So we joined.

Here's the thing with the opportunity to have my kids playing with someone else for two hours at a gym. I tend to over do it. I haven't left them in there for the full two hours yet, but it's been close.

In that time, I've managed to work out my hips and thighs to the point of not being able to put one foot in front of another. Not to mention that 45 minutes of ab work will most certainly keep you from being able to sit up for about a week. And those are muscles that you can't exactly stretch out. So getting out of bed in the morning is pretty much an exercise in will power. (Which it always has been but NOW I have an excuse.) Every single day, I have laid there trying to decide if my hips were well enough to roll over on or if my abs would consider letting me use them just this once to get up. What ensues has been an internal battle with myself.

First, I don't want to get up anyway, so any excuse to lay in bed longer is welcomed. Not to mention that at 5 years of age, one would think that the eldest could surely feed himself and the littliest one without my assistance, right?!

But then again, the thought of bending over to clean up the floor full of cereal and milk is almost more than my abs can bare.

Damn the free child care.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Like the Tide, It Still Flows

I have always heard circumstances compared to 'the time and the tide' in that, it is inevitable and constant. There is no escape from either. These past few months, I have had to add grief to that list. It is expected as you know it is coming and unavoidable, but somehow it still manages to sneak up on you.

My mother passed on October 9th of this past year. It will be three months tomorrow. For years, I had imagined what it would feel like to loose her. Her health had been dramatically declining for some time now and we knew that she wouldn't last forever. We weren't given a time line such as those suffering from diseases are given. There was never a, "she's only got a few months left" conversation. It was always, "You have to stop trying to save her, Mrs. Davis. She's a product of years of bad decisions." Once I finally accepted it, life was a bit simpler. I knew she was going to be gone and it wouldn't be my fault, but I hadn't prepared myself for the grief.

Much like the time, it is always there. It lingers just below the surface and rears it's heartache at the most inopportune times. On occasion, I use it to measure the days, months and eventually I will measure the years since she's been gone. It will not stop to pay it's respect. No, this grief keeps on going. It ticks away much like Edgar Allen Poe's The Tell-Tale Heart. It tolls at me as I try to sleep, it gnaws at me while I sit in church, it uses it's partner, guilt, to eat away at so many happy moments. It will not quiet when I beg.

This grief has unimaginable depth. There is no bottom in this sea I float in. It will drown me if I let it. But I refuse. I paddle, just at the surface. Fighting with all I have to force it away, to keep it's tentacles from reaching my legs and pulling me under. I fight and will continue to fight for my family now. My children, my husband, my grandmother. They need me. I am their strength in all this. I cannot succumb to the grief.

Just when the times are good and I let my guard down, it rolls in. It is like the tide. I find myself building my castle in the sand, standing on my own independence just as it starts coming closer. I can measure it in each wave. I can see it creeping up. Closer and closer it comes. Each foamy wave creeping closer to my castle, forcing it's walls to weaken. I build my walls back as quickly as it eats away at them. Refusing to give in. Refusing to let this tide of grief take me with it. Eventually, my loss is inevitable. I recognize it in the grains of sand left on me as each wave retreats. I know it has left it's mark and my resistance is futile. Still refusing to give up, I retreat. I run to the dunes. My safety. My assurance that only on rare occasions will this tide reach me here. I am safe.

Until the next day.