March 2010 | Kelley's Break Room

Mushy Alert! Mushy Alert!

I never post on back to back days, but...I had to share that I have a new reader! My husband!! Yahoo!!! Chris has often given me a sideways look like the one you see to the right there when I say that I blog. That picture was taken in 1996. I have received it multiple times a year since. "What do you blog about? Do you talk about how you served Eggos to Austin & Landon yesterday, today and will tomorrow?" Although he has read some of the entries, I think he is still left wondering what it is that I do write about. I'm doing the same. Because he knows me like no other and sees the house when it is turned upside-down, it is a little different for him reading in "Kelley's Breakroom". As I reflect back over my posts since I started this blog just a couple of months ago, I realize that Chris was mentioned when I was talking about Pepto-Bismol. (Generic Pepto-Bismol ISN'T the same, Chris! We will talk about this when you get home) Isn't that nice??

Chris should be mentioned much more often. The thing is...he is the most sane thing in my life (most of the time). I am generally talking about nonsense! Anyway, he truly is my best friend! He can make me laugh so hard I can't breathe. He makes me laugh harder than I make him. He is a wonderful daddy to our boys. They LOVE when he gets home because he plays with them and makes them laugh, too. He is a human jungle gym! He truly is a treasure to have as a husband and a father. I would feel bad looking at this blog when I am in the nursing home someday and not seeing that my husband, the father of my children, was not mentioned more.

By that time, I may not remember anything, so it'll be nice to see his picture in this post. For me, it all comes down to the nursing home. I am spending a lifetime preparing for those dusty years. And, Chris, I know that picture isn't cropped right. But, right now, I don't give a crop. That was awful. I'll post the picture un-cropped and everyone will see why I cut myself out. I look like Medusa. Medusa's going on a helicopter ride.

Help me, help me, helpasdkjasdfjsdf....

Somebody please help me! "Help me, help me, help me, help me" (Landon's newest phrase), I beg you! I am cramming in Continuing Education hours by April 30th on-line. Two of the 20 hours I have to acquire have to do with ethics. Hoooooooonk-shooooooooo, zzzzzzzzzzzzzz... Oh! Goodness me! I flat fell asleep talking about it. Anyway, I am listening to this lady drone on about ethics and she really LOVES the /s/. She keeps saying "ressssssssssssourcSHessssss", "competenssssssssssssss", "ethicssssss", "dessssssssisions", "evidenssssssssssss", "thissssssss", "servisssssssseSHes", "grassssssssssssp", "ssssscopesssss", "clientsssssss" and "studiesssssss". I was trying to spell those somewhat phonetically, so get off your high horse about the misspelled words. She also loves the word "folksssssss". She is a big fan of an extra "sh" here and there. She says "yewsh" for "use" and "yearsh" for "years". I can hardly take it. It's like someone clawing the chalkboard. Ahhhh!!! Somebody trap that snake & toss it in the woods! I'd say cut it in half but I'd feel so violent. At least I am getting a good giggle (in between the terrible fits of holding my ears and singing "LALALALALALALALA" as loud as I can) from the typical presentation style. I presented a few times when working at MD Anderson and attended multiple conferences. Everyone approaches the podium after a flowery & generous speech from the moderator who is "absolutely DEEEElighted" to have that particular speaker grace the ballroom at the Ramada Inn, adjusts their lapel mic, tells everyone how "thrilled" she is to be there talking on a subject "near & dear to [her] heart" and further tries to break the ice with a silly little cartoon (usually Calvin & Hobbs). Please don't be misled. I'm not saying that little formula isn't dead-on and won't lead you straight to the top. I'm just saying...I like to giggle about it.

Okay, now let's get down to business. People, it's been brought to my attention several times (read: hundreds...okay, maybe more like 10-12) that people are stunned that the nonsense presented time and again in this blog was written by me. Look, people, I have not changed. That picture to the left proves I have always loved a good laugh. Would you just take a look at that wide smile?? I think the deal is that I am now revealing my insanity to more people. Writing has a way of doing that...at least mine does. It's not often that I enter a "Pampered Chef" party & say, "Hey now, you stop riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight there with your presentation about that thar apple slicer and listen to what's running through this head uh mine". I am so THANKFUL that no one knows what's actually going on in my head. I know we all can relate with that. I also realize that my ramblings may just lose some of you. If you feel that you are lost, just stand in one spot, yell loudly, one of my attendants will find you & help get you to where you really want to be...

When it comes to parties like "Pampered Chef" for me what's running through my head is usually just "Where are the snacks? Where are the snacks? Where are the snacks? Where are the snacks? Where are the snacks? I like snacks. I like snacks. I like snacks. Snacks are good. Snacks are good. Snacks are good. Snacks are crack. Snacks are crack. Snacks are crack. I'm having a snack attack, snack attack, snack attack, snaaaacccck uuuutakj;lekjr;aslkjdfasjf..". It's at this point that "my" voice turns robotic, the eyes pop out and bounce up & down on springs and smoke pours out of my ears.

I have been discovered. Everyone now knows that I sent my clone robot to the "Pampered Chef" party so that I could go chill at Barnes & Noble. (I know "it" girls would pick a spa, but I like the smell of books. I just pick an aisle, lean my nose against a stack of books and breathe in deep.) And, yes, my robot can eat food. Can't yours?? What also gave me away is that they didn't remember me being Chinese. The rumor had been going around that I might've been sending a robot to these shindigs. One time my robot apparently kept saying "Where are the votive candles? Where are the votive candles?" over and over, which girls in the neighborhood just found plain odd. She finally stopped when someone accidently bumped into her & set that hiccup in her wiring right again. I had set her budget for that party to $100 and the robot knew that the votive candles were surely the only thing in that price range. Turns out that robot bought 50 of those stinkin' squatty candles. Anyway, it is SO tricky trying to pulling this clone robot bit off! I first have to climb up into the attic, get my clone robot without my husband or kids seeing (they'd FREAK OUT!), flatten her down into the back seat so no one sees me & starts spreading the rumor that I have a twin (that used to happen when I would hang out with Lady Gaga due to our incredible likeness. It was a MESS of a story to have to clear up...), drive to the pretty house with the cheerful hostess & push the clone robot out. I then have to high-tail it to Barnes & Noble to get a fix of my two favorite smells: books & coffee. I am going to shove those springy eyes back into her sockets soon & then program her to clean this house up. Going to shopping parties is just a fraction of the tricks that clone-bot has up her sleeve!

Pssst...you are going to have yell a liiiiiiittle bit louder if you want my attendant to hear you. His hearing is a bit like mine. There you go, there you go... Good one! He's coming. Hold your horses.

Too cool for school

Alright, thanks for reading. Where is everyone? Well, now there's someone. I see you! Come on in and have a seat. Right here up front. Don't be shy. Okay, all of you file in here. Come on now! There have been some new readers that have joined us this week, class, and I want to say welcome. We do things a little different here, so I do not want to hear how your teacher was last year, 'mmmmmkay? We like to use Sharpies here instead of Number 2 pencils and you can never be line leader. No sulking about it or I'll make you beat the erasers. And, if you don't do that, it'll be two hits. Alright, now get out your books and turn... I'll admit it. I LOVED playing school and could really get after it today if I had a chalkboard, a big stack of Mead and if I knew no one was looking.

I feel like I have been going on some crazy tangents about bath stew & nutria at the park in past posts and have left my boys out in the freezin' cold. I will look back on this blog someday in the nursing home (surely every room will be equipped with the latest in technology) and wonder why I droned on about rats with orange teeth (Pick a new snack, rats! Cheetos are tearing your teeth up!) instead of hablando mas sobre mis hijos. I love to toss in a little Spanish here and there, muchachos.

My little dude is putting 2 words together now. Awwww.... He likes to say "help me, help me, help me, help me" when he is "stuck" somewhere. I also passed by him today and he said "Hi, Mommy" and gave me the sweetest smile. It melted my heart. There goes that melted heart visual again. I have got to quit that. My stomach can't take it. The other variation is "Bye-bye _____". "Bye-bye, bass" when he's done with is bath, "bye-bye, daddy" when Chris leaves for work, etc. I'm not sure

how he's going to spice up the first thing he says every morning, which is "eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat". For the life of me, I cannot figure out what it is that he is wanting to do...

Austin is still my precious little guy. He is a lot of fun to talk to everyday. He looooves to exaggerate about everything! He will literally follow you around a store and say that we "never get him anything". You "NEVAH" get me any "toe-weeze". You "ALWAYS" are mean "ever-day". You could open a closet so full of Star Wars figurines that when you open the door they literally pile on top of you so high that you are no longer able to be seen and he'll STILL ask, "Mom, when we go to the store, can we go by the flowers? The Star Wars guys are by the flowers". He's 5, so I'll cut him some slack. Not for long, though! I can't keep up this Star Wars buying craze for much longer. It's eating into our grocery bill. Really, it doesn't matter as I do not have room for bread or cereal anyway. That dang Millenium Falcon takes up so much space in the pantry. Oh, and rest assured, that cowboy shirt has a Darth Vader shirt underneath it.

Well, y'all...I could go on. I really could. But, I must pry my husband away from his video game so I can watch "Community". So, class you are excused. Please arrive early next time and quit asking to go to the bathroom.

Bath stew

Do you like my blog's new look? She kept begging and begging for plastic surgery. I told her she was too young and I wasn't going to pay for it. I told her she needed to get a job and I had "had it up to here" with her demanding ways. I gave in. I need to take a parenting class...again.

Can we please talk about baths now? Aren't baths kind of gross? For the first few minutes that you or your child is in the bath, fine. No harm there. As the water turns from scalding to lukewarm, there straight-up are some bacteria in there from which you need to escape. Get your butt outta there and protect yourself from yourself! ("You bettah check yosef befo you wreck yo-sehhhhhf..." Now, would you just excuse me? I am so sorry about that little Ice Cube (thanks, Sonny!) outburst [as I pat down my hair & straighten my shirt]). Last night I was determined I was going to finish the book Outlander and wasn't getting out of the bath until I did. People, I had the Sun Maid arrive in my bathroom. She had a really big red box and she was trying to stuff me inside it. I told her I thought that was ridiculous. She told me that raisins do not make good mothers and I was no longer of any use to my family. What does she know about raisin' raisins?? Those California Raisins

looked like they had a pretty good singing career to me. We all know that behind most successful people (or raisins) there are wonderful mothers. I couldn't think fast enough to tell that to SM. I just hate when that happens. Anyway, back to the bath talk...besides turning into a shriveled grape, you are just floating in dead skin stew. When your bath is no longer giving you second degree burns, you might as well be sitting in the middle of a huge porcelain pot (now that sounds a lot like a toilet, but please don't be steered in the wrong direction- I mean a cooking pot, for goodness sake). Somebody needs to stir you up and put you in a bowl. The thing that gets me through it all is the thought that a long time ago (and still in parts of the Appalachians), people took (and take) baths in the dang river. I mean...talking about stew. That's snake, fish, turtle, bug, salamander and frog stew in which those people washed (or wash) their locks. The baths in our whirlpool tub suddenly seem so pure. It's a good thing, because I am filthy after a day spent at the rodeo with my little dudes & I need to finish up War & Peace tonight. I'm on page 2.

I leave you with the Sun Maid's progression over the years starting with Lorraine there in 1915. Somebody take that nice lady's basket. She's 95 years old!

My Toy Story

I feel awful about it. I really do. All day long Austin asks me to play with him. So I do...for a few minutes at a time. I just can't figure out what to make my stinkin' army guy say. What in the world? I rotate "Please don't shoot", "Look, I think you've got jaundice", "Can we talk this over?" and "Pow, pow, pow!!!" and then I'm stuck with nothin'.

I try to think back to my time at home. I could play the heck out of Barbies, school and store. I don't think my parents were playing those things with me. I remember my sister, Lisa, and my cousin, Tara, in my imagination world, but not my parents. Now, don't get me started, don't even get me started (another Molly Shannon reference)...my parents are wonderful!! I am sure they DID play with me when Lisa was still waddling around in full diapers (so, not long ago). Still, none of this matters to Austin. He wants me to play with him and he cares not that there are dishes in the sink, clothes to be folded or showers to be had. If I sat there with my hair sticking in every direction in the dirtiest, rattiest clothes starving to death in the middle of a dirty clothes pile on fire but still kept playing firemen with him, he'd love every stinkin' minute of it (I love to use the word "stinkin'", so please stinkin' excuse me for that stinkin' word). Do not get me wrong.

I LOVE playing with my sons. I truly cherish the privilege of being their mother. The thing is, I don't want the "Hoarders" film crew showing up outside of my house. I see the kids on that show crying their eyes out because they can't have a bowl of cereal in their kitchen anymore. They can't find the table! I keep this image in the back of my mind when I am feeling guilty for pulling myself away from playing cars. I am trying to train Landon on what to say and do (besides knock Austin in the head with a light saber- we are NOT playing Star Wars right now, son!!) but he is such a light-weight! He is not keeping up with the program. I tell him, "Landon, when Austin says 'the house is on fire', you are supposed to say... AW! Landon! Come OOONNN! How are you supposed to take my place if your face is smashed into the carpet?!?!"

Are those handcuffs, MIST-OH??

See my "profile pic" to the left? Not of this post, but of my big, ol', ugleh blog page (I will get a blog face lift at some point. I know I keep switching the templates. I am siphoning pennies out of Austin's stash & almost have enough to give this blog's face a real good kick in the hind-end). Just wanted to clear it up that that is not me in big, black shoulder pads. That is also not me in a new mink fur coat. Lastly, that is NOT me peeking out of a tire swing. I cropped this picture of me with my boys. I didn't want my boys as part of my profile pic. I don't want to make them look partly responsible for the nonsense I put all up in this blog. I thought I'd include the precious little stinkers in this post, though. Also, just a quick request... I'm really curious if people are stopping in for a quick cup of coffee in my breakroom. If you don't mind, could you just write "I wuz here" in the comment section if you are reading this right now? You can remain anonymous, of course. Although it is not common for people to come into a breakroom to grab a donut with a bag over their head, it works here.

I got a total kick out of this guy's Starbucks ski cap. I droooooooove up (with my mind on my moneh & my moneh on my miiiiind) to the Starbucks window & saw this nice young man in his ski cap. When I first saw him, all I saw was that icon known the world over for expensive coffee. It was when he was getting my change that...my life changed. I told him to "FREEZE!" and "STOP RIGHT THERE!" because I needed his picture badly. I didn't get to go into a conversation about why he wanted handcuffs on his ski cap at work or why Starbucks felt it was okay to permanently decorate a work uniform with a symbol synonymous with crime. We were able to discuss, however, that his mother embroidered those silver shackles right onto his hat & that she had different styles up her sleeve. He works at the Starbucks at 2920 if you want to place an order.

I leave you with this...my son's most vile & vicious name for anyone who gets in his way. Okay, that would be me. I often get in his way. And, when I do, I tell you what...he let's me have it. He unleashes his fury & calls me...MIST-OH!!! I have discussed this with his Mother's Day Out teachers. Apparently, they often reprimand the little male squirts in there with "uh-uh, Mister" or "no-sireee, Mister" or "you better think again, Mister". Okay, I took the liberty of adding everything before "Mister". Anyway, anyone (okay, still me) that ruffles my dude's feathers gets to be called "mist-oh". When you've really crossed the line (okay, when I say he can't watch 5 Curious Georges back-to-back with a side of 4 Caillous and topped off with a white wine Dinosaur Train sauce), he belts out "MIST-OH, MIST-OH!". He really doesn't get ugly about it. It's more of a under-the-breath thing and it's cute...well, it was the first few times.

You got me on my knees, Layla

I am a MESS after watching a video about Layla Grace tonight, www.laylagrace.org. I know so many have heard of this precious 2-year-old girl who lost her life today to cancer. The video included a song by Steven Curtis Chapman which said "we know this is not the end"(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pcYRr1dk7wA). I can't wait for Layla's parents and sisters to see her again someday. The joy of that reunion will be unspeakable. Days will seem to wear on forever here on earth until that moment, but...in the span of time, it will be like a blink. Before you know it, we all won't be here anymore. I know that is morbid. These thoughts overwhelm me when I go to really old cemeteries. I took these pictures recently near the hill country. Like other old cemeteries, there were numerous tomb stones whose faces had worn off. No one knows who is buried there.

Even if you knew the name, it is unlikely anyone living knows anything unique, personal or special about that person. No one now knows how much money that person had in his or her bank account, how big their house was, how respected they were, etc. These thoughts can make you bitter, pessimistic, hardened... For me, because of my faith in Christ, it is humbling. It is a wonderful reminder. It makes you realize that the here & now is not all there is to life. It makes me set my eyes on something, someone higher. It makes me grateful for Jesus Christ, salvation, light, love, people, laughter, my husband, my sons, my family, my friends... Contemplating the meaning of life, of course, is nothing new. In Ecclesiastes 3, Solomon had many words to say about wisdom, life, death...and a time for everything:

1 There is a time for everything,

and a season for every activity under heaven:
2 a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
3 a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build, 4 a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
6 a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,

7 a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
8 a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
9 What does the worker gain from his toil? 10 I have seen the burden God has laid on men. 11 He has made everything beautiful in its time.
At this moment, these thoughts are coming to me because of Layla Grace. Thank you, sweet, beautiful girl. I hope I can meet you someday, too.

Wrinkles & Pomegranates

Well, I sure have missed y'all. Look at ya. Gettin' so big! What are they feeding y'all, huh? We should not let so much time pass between our veesits! Every time I think to blog, Landon spills something. The other thing that gets in my way are the clothes and the dishes and the closet that needs to be cleaned and A&E and cooking and...well, just look at me go, why don't ye? I am so sorry. I sometimes just get carried uh-waaaaaaaaay (the "aaaaaaa" has many pitch changes). If you didn't know already, I was in my "down home" talkin' mode. I love to talk like that. I love to talk in just about any voice that is not my own. I wish that Chris and the boys would just let me talk like that for hours. Hey, now you put that phone down. I don't need anybody with a cute jacket with buckles showin' up at my door, ya hear? I will tan your hide!

Okay, so now that we've gotten re-acquainted, let me ask you...do you think about being old and wrinkled as much as I do? I get teary-eyed just the other day thinking about Landon and Austin being really old. Because I've got such good math skillz, I realized that when they are really old (God willing!), I will be a dusty memory. I hope they are old when I am a dusty memory...because I could be wiped off the face of the earth when I am still young.

But, it's a guarantee that when they are in their eighties, I won't be around anymore to give them hugs, to make them laugh, to cook them waffles, to read them stories... They won't have a mother with them anymore. That is why I always pray that my sons will have good marriages, good friends, a good relationship with each other, and, above all, a relationship with Christ. I want their lives to be full of love when Chris & I are no longer around to show it to them. I want their lives to be full of light, laughter, meaningful conversations and tons of unselfish acts. I'm tearing up now. I have got move on now to talking about fruits & vegetables. This is just gettin' too stinkin' depressin'.

Do you ever think about your local HEB's produce section well after you have selected your Caesar salad bag and apples? Don't you know that fruits & vegetables are LIVING creatures, dang it?? They have peelings, I mean feelings, too! That was pretty bad... I am pret-teh sure that when the lights go down, the celery, lettuce, parsley & cilantro all jump out and allow the bananas, apples, potatotes and oranges to take a shower. All day long those bananas & friends are patiently waiting in their shower shoes with their towels & VO5 ready. They keep yelling that they'd like a turn in the shower, for cryin' out loud! The lettuce just flings her leafy hair from side to side flicking water droplets to and fro without a care in the world that others are waiting. The curly-leaf lettuce is especially vain. Someone has got to tell her that perms...are....so....out. The other one that is muttering under his breath is the bok choy. He's jealous of the apples getting all of the attention. The apples think they are sooooo super cool. The apples, oranges & bananas are definitely the popular kids of the bunch. The grapefruit and honeydew melon hang out and wish they'd get invited to be part of the "fruit salad" clique, but instead get invited to sit with the plantain, guava and pomegranate. Okay, the madness will stop here. I could SOOOOO go on with a ton of different scenarios, but you've to go. I saw you fidgeting and looking at your watch.