* * *
Late last week I was in the bottom of a "holler" with a snake, a lot of briars and a creek. My boots are brown boys' steel toed work boots with neon pink hawaiian print laces. They are waterproof which came in very handy that day. I was standing in a creek wondering how I could have let myself get so out of shape and marveling at how going DOWN the hill could possibly be worse than going up. My boots are also high topped and I appreciated that as I was standing next to a small ankle height little rock cave and wondered what was in there that could be coming out to get me at any moment.
On top of that I was late to an appointment and when I got to the top of the hill (about 400 feet straight up) I wanted to lie down on the deck of the cabin and die, but my clients were there and I thought it would be unprofessional. The Mrs noticed I was bleeding down my arm and insisted she take me into the house to dress my wound. Honestly, it wasn't that bad.
I went to my next appointment with leaves in my hair, a scabby arm and those little fuzzy hitchhikers that stick to your clothes. I look like I'd been rolled down the hill by angry Ozark elves.
And this is not even the humiliating part of the story.
* * *
My youngest son turns three today. I'm the mother of a three year old and a six year old. My mother wants me to have a girl. I have declined, but sometimes wonder what I'm missing.
I'm way too tired to have three kids.
* * *
Yesterday my oldest son came running into the house bawling his head off because a little boy next door threw a rock and hit him in the back of the head, allegedly on purpose. Sure enough, there was a big knot on the back of his head.
I got my shoes on and went out the door and as soon as the little kid saw me he got a terrified look on his face and high-tailed it to his house and went inside. As I was sitting there debating how I should handle the whole matter, a man with sideways feet came walking down my driveway asking me if I would take a survey for the Census Bureau. He had an official looking badge and everything. I hope it wasn't fake. If it was fake then some freakish stalker knows I'm Scotch-Irish by birth. Of course, you can pretty much figure that out by looking at me.
The good news is he kept me from causing a ruckus next door. I'm still trying to figure out how to handle that situation. My mother's response was her standard answer which is "nip it in the bud."
* * *
Last week a person I have known for many years happened to be in the parking lot at my office when I arrived. She was waiting for someone and they were leaving one car at my office while they shared a ride to a nearby town. We chatted for a moment and just before she left she did a whirl around with her arms out saying, "By the way, do you notice anything different?"
Well, there I was on the spot. I gave her a thorough looking over, but frankly, didn't have a clue as to what could possibly be different. I said, "Gosh, tell me, I'm sorry I don't know."
She says, "I've lost 40 pounds!"
So, I have no idea how I can possibly not notice 40 missing pounds. Although, I think the reason I didn't notice is because they left her and got on me somehow. Or maybe it's just because she's deceptively pear-shaped and it's hard to notice weightloss on that type of person.
File that one under "Awkward". Or maybe "Really, Really Awkward."
* * *
About two minutes ago I had a long conversation with Julius about the difference between Little Bo Peep and Mary. The basic jist after a very long analysis is that Mary is a much better shepherdess than Bo Peep. Right after that conversation he claimed he can read people's minds from Arkansas to California and to the east all the way to the Washington Monument. I hope not, because Christmas is coming up and that will just piss me off.
* * *
Rob and I just had our ninth anniversary. I refer this as our "contract renewal period". I decided to go ahead and renew him for another year.
If you're a person who has a problem with committment, try this method. It's not too hard to be married for a year. We've been married for a year nine times now. In a row.