Smelling Purple

For several years, Mams would complain about a 'funny smell' in her house. First, she thought it was their detergent, so she changed brands five times. Then, she told me she thought it was Pap's aftershave, so she threw it out. In fact, she went through his entire medicine cabinet and threw out anything that had an odor. Still, the 'funny smell' remained. She would ask me if I could smell it when I came to visit and I would roll my eyes try not to roll my eyes, and tell her I didn't smell anything. It was true; there was no funny smell. As a last straw, she attempted to convince Paps that the 'funny smell' was coming from their 30-year-old heat pump. To appease her, he went out and serviced the entire thing. He cleaned the coils, replaced the return vent filters, and touched up on every surface. Yet the 'funny smell' remained. All this 'funny smell' business finally came to a head when she came to visit me. Being six hours away from home was sure to cure her of this nonsense.

But it didn't. The smell followed her.

At this point, I'm trying to convince her to talk to her doctor about it. After all, NO.ONE.BUT.HER. could smell the 'funny smell'. After days of quizzing her on a discription of the smell, she finally said, "It smells like the color purple, okay?! I smell purple and I HATE PURPLE."

Lavender? No.

Grape? No.

Purple. The smell was purple and it was highly offensive to my olfactory-sensitive 87-year-old grandmother.

We were never able to determine the origin of the 'purple smell', but after Mams passed in November, I too began smelling a 'funny smell'. I mentioned it to Captain once or twice; I told My Beesh about it too. No one had any clue what I was smelling. When I developed The Death Cold on New Year's Eve, I attributed my 'funny smell' to the cold. But the cold went away and left a sinus infection in it's wake. The infection! That MUST be the origin of the 'funny smell'!

But now I'm healed. Finished all my antibiotics like I always do because I was hoping they would kill the 'funny smell'; yet it lingers. So I did what any rational person with a 'funny smell' would do. I turned to Google and it saved my life! and it told me to go see an ENT. I typically don't listen to Google, but when it started throwing around words like 'tumor', I heeded it's warning.

This is the CT of my sinuses:

That's a good lookin' skull, huh?! Okay, ignore that part, but look at the picture in the upper left corner. See the black spot on the left side of my nose? That's air. That's good. The right side doesn't have any hole, thus no air. To me, that seems like a not-so-big-deal, but to an ENT, it's apparently HUGE.

"Mrs. Davis, we really need to go in there an clean this out. As in, SOON. You have a nasty infection brewing in your sinus cavity," he tells me with all seriousness.

"Ummmm, I just finished ten days of antibiotics for a sinus infection and I feel much better, thankyouvermuch," I explained.

"Yes, but for an infection like this one, ten days isn't nearly enough time. Your insurance company is a pack of assholes will not authorize this procedure unless you've been on antibiotics for at least 21 days with a steroid inhaler, so we need to try that route first. Honestly, I don't know if it will work, but we have to try," he tells me with his doctor voice.

"So, you're telling me that after 21 days of the same antibiotic I just took for the past TEN DAYS, I may not be cured and will STILL need surgery?! Sigh. As long as it gets rid of the purple smell," I accidentally admitted.

With a quizzical look, he says, "Yes, the purple smell is literally in your head, but you should just tell people that you have sinus trouble..."

Obviously, he doesn't know about my blog.

DingoDog

First, let me say that Dorkfish has officially been renamed. He's now Captain America. My Beesh gave him the nickname and not only does it fit him perfectly, but he's finally stopped fighting it and has embraced the new title and has let it go to his head.

So, this morning, I am helping Bonus get caught up on an entire week of classwork and homework because he was out sick with RSV and bronchitis. Not only is he just as ADD as I am, *SHINY*, but he's not at all motivated to excel in school. Third grade has been very rough on him and we are currently seeking help. But I digress...

While I'm trying not to pull my hair out to help my wonderful son with is work, Captain is upstairs in the attic shuffling through old photos. I am feverishly googling "how to find the area of a trapezoid" while Bonus is drawing pictures of me trying to figure out his math:

If you need clarification, I am on the left with my arms in an exasperated posture and a question mark in my thought bubble. Bonus is on the right, scratching his head and thinking, "What's wrong with her?" Obviously, we both agree that it is time for a tutor...

Just as we are finally getting somewhere and almost finished with the TWELVE math problems that have taken us TWO HOURS TO COMPLETE, Captain saunters over to the table with a handful of photos to distract us distract us. Deep in the stack, we came across this one:

 This picture was taken in 1998 when Captain was touring the country in a 30-foot RV, flying hot-air balloons in a different city every weekend, advertising for GM Goodwrench. I had flown down to Mississippi to meet him at a rally in Natchez. This afternoon, he was launching the balloon on the banks of the Mississippi when this dog strolled up. He wasn't scared of the balloons, nor any of us. I began bugging the Captain to let me take him to his house since the address was on his collar, but he was too busy launching a hot-air balloon on a river to pay attention. Pfffft. Naturally, I did what any rational person would do with a stray dog. I put him in the truck and named him DingoDog. He seemed to like the name AND the Captain's Ray Ban's.*snicker*

DingoDog went on the hour-long chase with me, sitting in the passenger seat with his tongue hung out the window and a big smile on his face. We got waves from every car we passed and odd looks from the other chase crews since we didn't have a dog prior to the launch.

Once Captain landed, DingoDog happily ran over to the balloon to greet him and celebrate his successful landing. The Captain was less than pleased that I had brought this four-legged crew chief along for the chase. Honestly, this should have been his first warning that Idon'tlistenever. However, he did agree to my pleas for a photo opp, with him being the Captain and all...

Obviously, he is just as pleased that I found a sidekick... (notreally. That's his 'smileforthecameraeventhoughnothingishappy' smile.) I've learned it well over the past 12 years.

After we packed up, DingoDog happily hopped back in the RV and we headed back to his neck of the woods. Sadly, his family wasn't home to hear of his adventures, but we left a note. He trotted back into his yard and seemed to smile at us in gratitude as we pulled away.

DingoDog, the original yard gnome adventure.

100 Days, A Day Early

So, a lot of really bad/sad/depressing/jumpoffacliff things have happened around here lately and writing has honestly been the verylastthing I could imagine doing. Sadly, my photography has become second to last. Sigh.

However, just to let you all know that I'm not only still alive, but still screwing up my children, I give you my morning:

Bonus has been running a fever since Monday. I finally took him to the doctor yesterday and he has RSV, bronchitis and possibly walking pneumonia. Add to it that I pulled a muscle in my neck and spent two days unable to use my left arm and you have A.DAMN.GOOD.TIME. So this morning when Deuce came in my bedroom to ask if it was today or tomorrow that he was supposed to dress up for the 100th day of school, I went with my gut.

"It's probably today, buddy," I grumbled from under the sheets.

Since I am such an organized person, I didn't have a clue pulled out my day planner and helped him dress as a 100-year-old man. He wore his brother's plaid pj pants, pulled up to his nipples, a striped shirt, plaid tie, tucked into his pants of course, argyle socks and black dress shoes. I even coated his face in waterproof mascara for a beard. (That whole 'waterproof' part becomes important later. It's called foreshadowing people.)

We spent the entire morning learning phrases like, "Back in my day" and "You little whippersnapper." He swaggered to the bus stop with a 'hitch in his giddyup' and bragged to one of my neighbors about his plaid tie. It was a beautiful thing. I even posted that adorable picture on facebook.

Then my phone rang. It was Sheshe.

"Dude, my daughter said their 100th day is tomorrow," she said with uncertainty in her voice. "Are you SURE it's today?!"

"Of course I'm sure. The sheet that I threw out as soon as it came in the house saved on my cork board said the 24th," I explained in all confidence.

Then I called the school... "Mrs. Davis, we will just have him come to the office when he gets off the bus."

I threw the sick kid in the car and rushed to the school with clothes and makeup remover. When I got there, the poor kid was in the office, peering through the window in his little old man suit and his permanent beard. Let me tell you, waterproof mascara REALLY WORKS PEOPLE. I scrubbed his face for ten minutes straight and he STILL had black specks!

Once I had him dressed appropriately, he smirked and said, "Listen, if you keep this up, you'll never get rid of me. No one wants a damaged kid."

True dat, you little whippersnapper...

True Art

Today, Bonus' third grade class went on a field trip to the state art museum. Sheshe had warned me that this was the 'enlightening' excursion for the kids as they had a bunch of naked statues. Fully prepared for the discussion of his trip, I began quizzing him right off the bus.

"So, how was your field trip, Bonus?!"

"Meh. It kinda sucked. There were just a bunch of weird paintings," he explained, emotionless. Naturally, I pressed. Because I am 12.

"Yeah? What else did they have there? Were there any Picasso's? Monet's?"

"Ummmm. I dunno. There were a bunch of weird statues of naked people. So that sucked."

Feeling accomplished that we had moved past the 'experience' and he wasn't scarred, we moved on to homework and dinner. After dinner, he began singing a song that one of the kids in his class taught him. Apparently, "Little Johnny" has been listening to his parent's Beastie Boys music and has memorized the.entire.Paul.Revere.song. Fortunatly, my little sponges have soaked it up, verse by verse and even had the rests in the appropriate places. Honestly, I don't mind the Beastie Boys. We jam their music most of the time in the Tahoe. Well, as long as respectible adults aren't riding along... But the lyrics to this song and the inflection they were using over certain words had me a little worried.

When Bonus realized we knew the song and "Little Johnny" hadn't made it up after all, he began begging us to play it for him. Naturally, we said no, because we can't find the CD because we are good, upstanding parents who don't let their kids listen to that sort of foul language. Ahem.

Annoyed that we had chosen now to act like parents, Bonus went to bed pouting. When confronted on his attitude, he snarked back, "Listen, I spent the day staring at cavemen with GIGANTIC boulders for BALLS. You think THAT SONG is going to mess me up?!"

I had to leave the room.

A Brief Pause

Did I tell you I shot over 2,200 pictures while on vacation to Wyoming? Well, I did. This is exactly why I am spending hours on pinterest trying to figure out how to refinish a dresser for the boys room feverishly processing photos for your reading enjoyment...

Honestly, pinterest is truly the biggest time sink I have ever experienced. I didn't think it could be worse than facebook, but if you are someone who strives to be crafty, pinterest is your kryptonite. justsoyouknow.

Yesterday, while looking at pictures of puppies on pinterest while processing photos, I called my friend, Jae, for a SAVE ME FROM PINTEREST moment. "Jae. I need your help. I am stuck on pinterest trying to figure out how to refinish an old dresser for the boys room. I haven't eaten, showered or fed the dogs. I did, however, get the kids on the bus so I am calling that a win."

"I can't help you right now. I am busy taking a quiz on how much I know about Mexico. Good news, I ranked as a citizen."

THIS is why we stay at home, people. For your entertainment. And to keep the craft stores in business.

Photos coming soon!

But probably just the before and after of the dresser. Sigh.

So, here's a buffalo as a teaser:

Yellowstone Vacation Part One: Chevy Chase has nothing on the Davis Family

When Dorkfish and I got married onehundredyearsago in 2001, we loaded up our truck with all our camping gear and headed out West. For two weeks, we traveled from Knoxville, Tennessee to Oregon for a friend's wedding. We backpacked into to remote areas, camped beside beautiful lakes, bathed alongside fly fisherman in the middle of rivers and I even got my first bout of food poisoning at Dorkfish's favorite pizza joint. Out of those two weeks, I think we spent five nights sleeping in hotels. It was quite the adventure, to say the least.

So when he mentioned to me that he wanted to take the boys out West, I was completely supportive. Aslongastherewerebeds. He decided the only way to get our gear out to Wyoming was to drive it. Seeing as how this isnt my first rodeo with kids, I refused. Putting those two crackers in a car for three days would most certainly ruin the trip for everyone involved. Since Dorkfish hangs on my every word and is always in agreement with everything I say, he found the cheapest flights into Denver and agreed to the at-least-four-nights-in-a-hotel rule I had inacted.

Giddy with mountain air and not having anyone to talk to for 35 hours, Dorkfish picked us up in Denver on Saturday. I don't think he stopped talking for the next two hours. In fact, he was still recounting the flatness that is Kansas when we arrived at our first campsite for the trip. Apparently, the 'old haunts' as he remembered them had gained popularity. Driving around in circles, close to sunset, with two tired children and a hangry wife is NOT how one wants to start a vacation, justsoyouknow... Finally, losing all patience with the search, I grabbed my iSimple and Siri found us a lovely campsite in Laramie, Wyoming. The staff at the Hilton was completely understanding when we laid our picnic out in their lobby. I will have to say, the boys were completely disappointed that the color on the TV was so poor. Deuce even announced, "Camping sucks!" and we hadn't even been on vacation for 24 hours. (I may have laughed a little too loudly at that statement, judging by Dorkfish's newly-developed twitch.)

The next morning, we did the nostalgic drive around his alma mater where Deuce noticed that his dad's tattoo was EVERYWHERE! Bonus then decided that he would love to attend the University of Wyoming as long as he didn't have to get a tattoo. I wisely chose to leave that one alone... I think everyone who reads this blog understands that we reallocated their college funds for therapy years ago.

Our first night of vacation behind us, we piled in the car and headed West toward Yellowstone. The six-hour trek to our first real campsite seemed to take forever. The boys, restless to see a bear already, were throwing out the "Is this our camping spot?!?!" at every gas stop. The only wildlife we had seen so far were some antelope; none of which were playing, and I was getting just as antsy as the kids. Suddenly, we spotted a moose trotting through a creek! Dorkfish chased him with the Tahoe so I could get a truck-window picture, all tourist-style. That's how you roll out West...

Finally arriving at our camp ground, at 9,000 feet, Dorkfish set up the tent while the boys tore everything apart and I tested the bear spray. Wearesohelpful. The wind, which had been blowing nonstop all day, seemed to have picked up as soon as we set up camp in the woods. Listening to the trees creak and watching our tent blow over had me a little less worried about getting eaten by a bear, I will admit, but when the huge tree fell 20 yards from our tent, I grabbed my phone for the nearest Camp Hilton. Dorkfish, refusing to be deterred from his rustic adventure, carried the tent to a less wooded site and insisted wearecampingdammit. We spent the entire night listening for fallen trees and bears, but we managed to survive and the boys loved it. I will admit, the lack of coffee the next morning did have me a little on edge. Fortunately, Bonus stopped me from grabbing the bear spray when some hapless camper walked by with a steamy cup in his hand. He probably saved that guy's life...

Next up: Yellowstone and the Old Fathful pipe discovery!

Deuce's Mother's Day Gift Guide

Deuce and I are out front watering plants this morning when I informed him that tomorrow is Mother's Day.

Looking up at me with a concerned look he says, "Oh, really?! Dang, we need to get you something then."

Patting him on the head I say, "Yes, sweetie. You better get something good too," and keep watering the plants.



Obviously putting some hard thinking into this, he says, "But not a boob cup."







Puzzled, I look down and him, shut the hose off and say, "Dude. What in the world is a boob cup?!"

Straight-faced and dead serious, Deuce looks up at me and says, "When we were in Florida, Bonus and I found a coffee cup with boobs on it. He said it was a joke but I don't think you would like a boob cup."

Boob cups. The gift that keeps on giving, apparently.

But, no, they are not funny.