Maybe get a Blister on your Little Finger

So this part of a song has been playing in my head all day . . .

Maybe get a blister on your little finger,
Maybe get a blister on your thumb.

I think the song is called Money for Nothing, I'm not real good at remembering the name of songs or the artists who play them.

The reason I've been hearing the song in my head is that I managed to get a little blister on index finger today in an unusual way. In fact, it took me a while to realize I had a blister there.

While cleaning my bathroom today, which includes a walk-in shower, I went through three cans of pump cleaner.

Yep, you guessed. I rubbed a blister on my pump finger. And did I get money for nothing? No, I got nothing for hard work. LOL

I'm not very happy!

When my 21 year old daughter was about two, she had this annoying -- but adorable -- habbit. When she didn't get her way she'd stand with her arms crossed in front of her chest and tap one foot while saying, "I am not very happy!"

Believe me, the site left me torn between rolling in the floor laughting and locking her in the closet until she outgrew that stage.

Truth be told, she hasn't changed much.

She is more capable of seeing to her own needs and manipulating circumstances to please her. She's cute, energetic, and outgoing. Things seldom don't go her way, but when they don't you can see the ghost of 'I'm not very happy' overshadowing her grown self. She mopes, complains, and refuses to give in to anyone else, making her displeasure known. Most of us do, in one way or another.

The last few days have been out of the norm for me. I've felt sort of blah. Everyone gets the blahs, but it really worries me as I've been fighting a bad case of depression for the last five years. That's the first thing I think of, my pills aren't working.

But then I realized that I've had Will to myself all weekend while Steve was out hunting. Have been restricted in movement nad entertainment options due to finances. Steve didn't make it home until after nine last night. Will hasn't slept a full night in the last two nights due to growing pains. It's raining and gloomy today. None of which have anything to do with me personally.

At the revelation a sense of peace settled upon me. It's okay to feel blah, I'm not depressed. I'm just not very happy!

What's Your Name?

I am the worlds worst about remembering names. Seriously. I've tried repeating new names over and over again, it doesn't work. I've tried everything anyone has ever suggested, it doesn't work.

The only thing that has come remotely close to helping me is to find some sort of association to link the name to.

For instance, I use to have this proofer that worked for me named Raven. I worked with this woman for almost two years on a day-to-day biases and it took me six months to get her name correct every time I talked to her. After stumbling over it, I tried associated her name with a 'bird'.

As I walked up to her, my mind would start a dialog that sounded like this:

Bird. Blue Jay. No, maybe just Jay. No. Red Bird. No idiot, it's a Cardinal. No. Hawk. She's not a guy. Grackle. (mental snort) No.

She told me she was named after birds in a Shakespeare poem. So I tried that. Only I'm not very well read in classical pose.

Shakespeare? Crows? Or, was that Steven King? Didn't he write a story about crows? Wait, didn't she say the bird was a scavenger? Buzzard?

After several more wasted months in trying other associations, I finally landed on black bird. Yes, I had to go through a couple of birds, but I always ended up on Raven fast enough to seem like I remembered her name.

Age hasn't improved my ability to recall names, just my ability to associate text with them.

Paul's daughter I remember as Lilly-Pad, her name is Lilly. As my children are named after plants that was an easy association for me.

Jessy's youngest two boys (age 2 and 4) gave me a HARD time until I associated them with ice cream (Ben and Jerry's) their names are Benjamin and Jeremiah.

Just something about the way my brain is wired. So don't feel slighted should I not remember you name next time we meet, it's not personal. I just haven't had a chance to associate you with something yet.

Or, maybe I just don't like you and didn't want to waste my time.

A visit with the Sister-in-Law, Sans the Sister-in-Law

Early last week Steve let me know he'd be out of town Friday afternoon through Sunday. I thought it would be a great chance to run to Brady for Will and I. He could play with his much beloved cousins (Ben and Jerimiah) and I could deliver some stuff to Missy, my sister-in-law, that I had gathered for her.

I like Missy.

I know that seems simple, especiallys since I don't really "dislike" many people. Both the women married to my brothers and the women married to my brother-in-laws are all pretty special women, in their own ways. There are aspects of their personality or lives that click with me. But I'd have to say that Missy feels the closest of them all.

I'm sure it's a combination of many things. We are both native Texans. She's been married to my brother for over twenty years. We grew up in the same area and financial situations. Our first round of children were the same age together. Besides, she's a genuinely nice person. In the last five years, Missy's given birth to two boys, lost two children, had a brother injured and paralized for life, lost her father, had to spear head a law suit to help support her brother, and spent the better part of four years having to give one of her sons shots weekly and run him to the hospital for stays 5-6 times a year due to an immunity issue he finally outgrew.

She's also lived the closest to my crazy mother and taken more than her fair share of shit for the privledge. Through it all, she's remained a strong, loving woman that is still a joy to be around.

I was really looking forward to seeing her one-on-one and just visiting. Not that I dind't want to see my brother. But every time I've gone to visit Jessy, it hasn't worked out that I've actually spent any time with him. He's always got friends around, is working, heads off with the guys, or is drinking heavily (which is fun to watch but not much visiting gets done).

Will and I drive up at their place about 10:30 Saturday morning to find that Missy has taken a much needed and well deserved day off. Her and her daughter, Breanna, snuck off to Fort Worth for the day. Momentarily, I was like, what a waste of a trip.

But Jessy, and all three of his sons were at the house. No other company. He didn't run off and leave me. He wasn't drinking. We sit out in the front yard and watched the kids play. We rode bikes in the road with the boys. We watched them play games in the living room. He bought us lunch at a local BBQ place where the boys could run and play on the patio without disturbing anyone.

As I relaxed and fell into the grove of the day, I really enjoyed it. It was peaceful, relaxing, there was no pressure at all. We actually talked. Not about anything huge, just life.

While I drove to Brady expecting a visit with my siser-in-law, I got an unexpected gift in her absense. A visit with my brother.

How the Hell Would I know?

Those of you who know me, know I'm a native born and raised Texan. Which, yes, I guess does mean I have pre-mature age spots, spent to many years with large hair, and use to think chewing gum was sexy.

But most of all, it means I have a drrraaaawwwwllll. I was practically born with one. I spent most of my formative years in a town that's population boasted a little over 2,000 -- and no, I didn't forget a zero. You've heard the expression, a town so small you can walk across it . . . it was.

I never noticed that people spoke oddly, or that I myself, spoke oddly. We all sounded the same. When I moved out and started a family I moved about 30 miles away to a huge town of just over 5,000. There were a few non-Texans that had migrated down, but for the most part everyone still sounded like me.

It wasn't until I was 28 and moved to Kerrville that people begin to make fun of the way I talked. Oh, it was all in fun. They thought it sounded so cute. People would drag co-workers over to my desk and ask me to say something. I worked in the Editorial department and one of my responsibilities was to validate information on the maps and atlases we produced. I hated it. Every time I'd call anyone outside of Texas, I'd either get the same laughing reaction or the person would get pissed because they couldn't understand me.

It got worse when I moved to Austin and went to work for a professional organization, in the editorial department again. My ex-boss was the worse. I'd hear her on the phone telling her friends in New York about my latest mispronunciation or localism. Her favorite was "fixen". She'd ask me if something was done and I'd tell her I was just fixen to do that. She'd laugh until she had to cross her legs or sit down. I no longer say that.

Steve's younger brother, Greg, married a woman from Germany. When Steve's maternal grandmother made the trip down to Texas to meet both Greg's and Steve's new wives she expressed concern before hand about being able to understand the native German. After the visit, her son-in-law asked her if she had any trouble understanding Stephanie and she said, "No. Her I understood. It was Misty I had trouble understanding."

When my girls were young, they were around TONS of cousins, aunts, uncles, grand parents. They were exposed to all kinds of dialects and ways of speaking. They never had a problem.

Then there was Will . . .

It's pretty much just Will and I at home. I understand him and he doesn't sound to bad to me. A little off, but he's a kid. So we show up at the Open House at his school last week and his teacher takes us aside to warn us that at the upcoming parent conference we need to discuss the issues Will is having speaking clearly. She had invited a counselor in to observe him and they would be giving us some exercises and things to help him counter this issue.

She made the comment that I was probably so use to being around him that I didn't always correct him when he spoke incorrectly.

"No," I responded. "I don't ever correct him."

She laughed. But I don't think she understood. It wasn't that I didn't want to, or was slacking off. I didn't know he had an issue. How the hell am I suppose to know what he should sound like?

As long as I understood what he was saying, I figured that was good enough.

Looking back over my life . . . maybe not.

Bad Hair Day

Last night I was in such a rush after my shower that I pinned my hair up without even combing it and forgot about it. I took it down right before bed and slept on it wet.

When I got up this morning, my very straight and moderatly long hair was krinked, bent, and fuzzy. It was undoubtfully the worst hair day I've had in years.

Oddly, I didn't feel the urge to call OneBigStick, nor the annoying commentor who wanted to make it a four way.

Maybe tomorrow.

A Leap Forward, a Leap Back

A few months ago I bit the bullet and purchased Will a Leapster handheld console, it was the outgoing model and I purchased it on sale for $35. While the Leapster it's self is not amazingly expensive, the games are. Each game starts out around $30 and slowly sinks in price as new one's come out. But you can't buy any of them for less than about $15 -- and that is online, then you pay shipping.

What I love about the Leapster is that all the games are teaching based software; and age specific. I buy games for Will's age that allow him to learn his ABCs, numbers, shapes, matching, and create different type of art. And they come in the 'hot' charactes of the day: Scooby Doo, Lightening McQueen, Monsters, etc.

Being the penny pincher I am, I religiously search my local classified online for any games on sale. I managed to buy three of them for a total of $15. Then I found out one HEB Plus further south was clearancing out some games for $10 each and I made a trip down there to pick up a few. I also bought some on sale at Target for $20 each. As you can see, even penny pinching, the money adds up.

But the time that Will spends on them, off and on, is worth it.

So, today I purchased a large lot of Leap Pad books and cassettes, which is different than the Leapster -- but made by the same company. The Leap Pad has a place where a book lays open on it and it has a pen that you point and it reads the story, or words, outloud. It has a few activities, but overall it requires more supervision and is less fun. My sister-in-law wanted me to keep my eyes open for any books that I could for her boys, age 2 and 4.

The batch today was 25 books and casettes for $50 -- that's $2 a set. Even at thrift store prices, I've been paying closer to $5 a set. So I spent 2 hours in the car and drove over 100 miles round trip to pick them up.

When I got home and seperated them out, I picked out a couple to add to Will's collection. Then I matched up the rest. I was not happy to find that five books had no cassettes and five cassettes didn't match their books. So really, I only bought 20 books. Then I found out that two of the matching one's were missing other things -- cards. So, really I only bought 18 sets. But there were three books that were exact duplicates of three other books. So, I only bought 15 unique sets. Really then, I paid an average of $3.33. Oh, and don't forget the gas. But I figure I'm still under $5 each.

Just as I'm posting the non-matching cartridges and books on freecycle for anyone who wants them, Will walks by. "Hey, that goes to my Leapster."

Looking where he's pointing, I tell him, "No. Those don't match anything. So, I am giving them away."

"They go to my leapster," he insists. "Look, they have a bump on them." They sure as hell do. Looking over the cartridges closer, three of the five are leapster cartridges. Two of them are actually cartridges I had wanted to purchase but had been unable to find for less than $30 each. And I was about to give them away.

So it was a great day for Leap products, until Will's Leapster quit working this evening.