Murray-isms; the Latest

Oh, the things that must go on in a child's mind.  Sometimes Craig and I are so flabbergasted at his speech that we don't know how to respond.  Here are a few of latest comments from Murray:

"Dad!  I tooted.  Excuse me!"

"Mama, NO THANK YOU I DO NOT WANT TO DO THAT AGAIN!" (this was after an underwater dunk at swimming lessons.

Murray was gobbling pistachios as if it were his last meal.  Craig asked, "Murray, does Linsay feed you at her house (daycare)?"  To which he replied, "She feed me all day long, Dad". 

"Mom, where the train?"  "It's pulling freight cars to other places to drop off supplies, I replied."  OH, out west to Grandpa Doug?"

"Mama, I do NOT love the hiccups."

When we were at open skate yesterday, he adamantly declared "I LOVE TO SKATE MAMA"!  The background of this story lies in the fact that I couldn't find my figure skates, so I rented some, plus I was a bit rusty and Uncle Jon worked with the boys since Craig was out of commission and I just plain stink.

There are so many more funny tidbits, but it would take me a very long time to write them all.  I do think, that for posterity, it's important to have these things recorded somewhere.

Don't forget to let the kid in you come out once in a while.


My late Mom always taught me to learn from my mistakes.  So tonight, I share a poem that I try to live by daily.  Of  course, there are times when I fail and times when I completely fall off the map.  But imagine this:  since I can remember, through oh, don't know,a LOT of moves, the following has always been a steadfast staple hanging faithfully in my mother's kitchen cabinet.  The paper is yellow and frail, but these words will remain in m soul.  Enjoy.
After a while you learn the difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul.
And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning and company doesn't mean security.
And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts and presents aren't promises.
And you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes ahead;
 with the spirit of  a man, or the grace of a woman, and not the grief of a child.
And you begin to learn to build all your roads on today; because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans, and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.,
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul; instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure, you really are strong, and you really do have worth. 
And you learn, and you learn, with every goodbye you learn.
---Author unknown

Get Out of My Driveway!

I was slowly backing out of my driveway, checking the mirrors, when I suddenly felt and heard a loud crunch.  Keep in mind, I was Still.  In.  My.  Own.  Driveway.  Anyway, I heard shouting so I got out of the truck to assess the situation.  I was afraid someone was injured, but what I encountered was an extremely livid young man calling me the nastiest names you can think of, and screaming that I should bleepity-bleep learn how to drive and yelling that he was going to sell his car today.  After he was finished ranting at me, he yelled at me to move forward (again in my own driveway) because he didn't have any traction.  I would like to point out that our driveway (which we share with our neighbors) is as clean as driveways can get in this weather.  Also, his car was not damaged, but my license plate was torn off.  The point is, if he wouldn't have been driving too fast for the conditions, this wouldn't have happened.

I was immediately on defense, and mad as hell.  Who does he think he is, speeding into MY driveway?  I understand turning around in someones driveway, but please, please, refrain from name-calling and shouting at me. Not to mention, you really should make sure that there isn't a car parked or backing up.  I was completely in my space, and not on or even near the street. 

Perhaps this is truly my fault and if so, I'm sorry.  I offered to give him my insurance information three times, but he refused;  "Too much hassle and not worth it", he said.

The funny thing is, when Craig came out of the house (brace and all), the guy calmed down and was quite pleasant, which makes me even more angry.  You have to wonder what his opinion of women is, but then again, he made it obvious.  It turns out that he's a friend of our neighbors across the street. 

His moral of the story is "check your* &^%$#@ mirrors.  My moral of the story is to be pleasant and discuss the situation in an appropriate manner.  And get the heck out of my driveway.
I woke up this morning to warm breath in my face and a voice that asked, "Mama, do you have to go to work AGAIN?"  After I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes (it was only 5:45 a.m.) I replied, "Yes, Murray, I do have to go to work today."  With tears in his eyes, a pout on his lips, he asked, "But why, Mama?"  "I have to go to work so that I can make money to buy food and clothes and do fun things, I said."  With that, he cheered right up, took me by the hand and exclaimed, "Get in the shower, Mom, time to get to work."  Craig was outside the door laughing; who better to tell me to go to work than a 3-year-old?

It's been a busy week, but isn't it always?  I love it.  I love being busy, feeling productive, and even the challenges.  But the best part, despite the crazy, is appreciating the peace and quiet once in a while. 

Happy weekend!  May you find a few moments to find some "you" time.  And I hope you can enjoy it by the fire place with a good book.

A Night With Emily

Please pop over to Peace Garden Mama for an adventure that we shared.  She writes about our magical evening so eloquently; I didn't feel I could do it justice here.  Trust me, this is a must-read.


Craig attended his first physical therapy appointment this morning and came home with a list of stretches to do twice daily.  The plan is to stretch the muscles around the broken vertebrae, and then next week, begin strengthening (hopefully) those muscles.  The next CT Scan is scheduled for February 9, at which time we hope to be done with doctors and therapists and get back to normal.  He is allowed to take his brace off for one hour/day, increasing time every other day.  Slow and steady wins the race.

There are some positive outcomes (as with anything negative that happens) to Craig's injury.  Since Craig broke his back, I've learned how to jump-start a car (Peace Garden Mama and I accomplished this as a team, more to come on that story), I'm navigating the icy roads like a pro, today I ran the snow blower, and tonight I have to fill in as fry cook helping the Sons of the American Legion.  I like this feeling of independence.  I'm ready for more!

Today I:

Woke up with Murray at five a.m., coaxed him back to sleep between Rudy, Craig and I; slept until eight a.m.; went to my manicure appointment; took Murray to swimming lessons, dunked him five times; visited with Jon and Troy and Craig; repeatedly demanded/pleaded that both boys go to sleep; had a fabulous afternoon/evening with family, held a baby for a long time; left dinner and dropped off a sleeping Murray; had another dinner with a dear friend; learned how to open the hood of our truck; jump started a vehicle with the help of said dear friend (no men involved), felt extremely empowered; cleaned up the garbage that the hounds got into while we were gone; fed said hounds cat food because I forgot to buy dog food; brushed dogs, and now, I think, I shall sleep.  And that is just a tidbit of my Saturday.  Insert yawn and snoring here.  God Bless~

But I Have To Use The Facilities - The RugRat Story

Please note:  I wrote this post on the very evening of the event, but neglected to tell the story until now. 

Here we go again.  I sincerely hope I can relate the following story so that you'll find it as funny as the four of us involved did.

The "Rugrats We Love!" and Craig and I were on our way home from Wahpeton, ND to Fargo this afternoon.  We had attended a funeral, for a very dear man and we were all feeling pretty blue.  Several miles out of town, Mrs. Rugrat exclaimed that she needed a bathroom - soon.  If you are unfamiliar with I-29, there are virtually no stops between the two cities (and if there were, we had already passed them).  Tom Tom told us that the town of Colfax, ND was three miles ahead, so we decided to stop, thinking there MUST be a bathroom in a cafe, or bar, or something.  Mr. Rugrat exited the interstate and by this time Mrs. Rugrat was about to burst.  We passed the school, found a closed gas station, a closed bar, and a closed cafe.  Finally, Mrs. Rugrat begged Mr. Rugrat to pull into the town's Post Office.  She was that desperate.  The Post Master wouldn't let her use the facilities, but told her to go across the street to the school.  Mrs. Rugrat came running out the door, sprinting, literally, between two men who were visiting in the parking lot and headed into the school.  The three of us were laughing so hard at this point that we could hardly breathe.  Mr. Rugrat pulled into the school parking lot and while we waited, we imagined many scenarios.  Would she be arrested?  Get detention?  Would someone call her mom?

Fortunately, Mrs. Rugrat came back, relieved and with no consequences.  The best parts of the story?  Apparently, bathroom emergencies happen often in the town of Colfax, so the Post Master sends people across the street to the school often to use the facilities.  Also, when Mrs. Rugrat encountered the two men talking in the street, one of them yelled, "You just passing through?" and she replied, "YES, I HAVE TO GO PEE!"

Some Junior High boys directed Mrs. Rugrat to the restroom (after she told them to "hurry up, I have to pee!) so all is well that ends well. 

I'm thinking that we need to road trip with the Rugrat's more often.  Next time, for a happy occasion, and next time, we'll limit Mrs. Rugrat's liquids.

I know that this story would be even more funny if one of the Rugrat's posted it, but indeed, you get my version.

Thanks guys, for making a sad day a little better. I'm really glad you had a full bladder, Mrs. Rugrat.  I'm sure Bill is laughing up there.

Rose Colored Glasses, Part II, Or Is It Part III?

Apparently I should have my glasses adjusted.  All things considered, well. . .read on.

Due to recent security breaches in the Internet world (the latest one lists your income and maps your home), I've decided to take some precautions.  My Facebook page and this blog will no longer contain contact information, location, or anything else that should remain private.  I was too brave and trusting (go figure) and have realized that for the security of my family, I will now be a bit more guarded.

On to new adventures.  Despite a 13-hour day in my new role as Director of Annual Giving, I'm happy.  I'm exhausted, yes, but it's a fulfilled tired.  Our phone-a-thon had a super run tonight, even though we only had five callers.  I'm challenged, but am also able to find my niche in this new position.

When I called home after supper tonight, Murray cried when I explained that I wouldn't be home until after his bed time, but I assured him that I would give him a kiss while he slept.  I could just picture the crocodile tears streaming down his face.  When I hung up the phone, I burst into tears too.  We will all get used to this change, just as we have adjusted to other changes.  Who keeps moving the damn cheese?  But change is good and so is embracing each moment, one at a time; even if those moments aren't perfect. 

Which. They. Have. Not. Been. Perfect.  But you know what?  Nothing is ever the way it seems and we all perceive situations differently.    Rose colored glasses or not, I am, always have been, and always will be, an optimist.  If my heart gets broken, well, at least it didn't get me down when I needed to fight.  Maybe that makes me unrealistic and unwilling to face the truth, but when all is said is done, "this too, shall pass".  The other thing?  I respect the realistic point of view, but I'm just not capable of facing it until I've done everything I can to make sure that all is well.  G - I hope you are reading and I hope you know how very much I love and respect you.  We'll talk soon. 

That said, good night, and "Be At Peace".


Please note:  If you have a weak stomach, stop reading now.  I'm only posting this for posterity.

I'm cold, I'm freezing, I'm tired, I'm exhausted.  But I'm grateful.  Make that blessed, grateful, and happy.  We have a roof over our heads, good health, and a sweet-three-year old to love and many family and friends.  And of course, the dogs and cat. But I wasn't so pleased with the latter yesterday morning.

We were dressed and ready to go to church (for a baptism that Craig was one of two Godfathers).  As I was finishing my own preparations for the big day, I asked Murray to put his boots and coat on.  He did so and a couple of minutes later, he came to me saying, "something stinks, mama.  Pee-Yew."  The smell hit me before I could look.  What I discovered was Murray covered in (for lack of a better word) poop.  Craig came running (well, not running, exactly, but moving as fast as a broken back will allow) after I began to gag, and together we realized that one of our animals had been sick and had an accident.  In Murray's coat.  And in his boot.  We stripped Murray down, but by this time Craig was late for baptism, so he called the other Godfather to pick him up.  In the mean time, I ran around begging our feces-covered little man not to touch anything, while looking for fresh clothes, coat, shoes, and washing my hands every 30 seconds or so.  I couldn't find one of his tennis shoes (Rudy hides shoes), so I was frantically shoving his feet into last years' way-too-small shoes.  That didn't work, so I was forced to clean the dirty boot, spray it with Febreeze and finally, we headed to church.

The baptism and Mass were absolutely beautiful and we made it in time.  I was afraid that our fellow parishioner's would smell the boot, but no one complained, and many giggled when Murray burst into song with the choir. 

Due to the weather, one of the Godmothers was unable to travel, so Murray filled in carrying the gifts; poopy boot and all.  He was really quite proud. 

Everything turned out in the end, and we had a beautiful day with family and friends celebrating Ava's baptism.

Moral of the story?  Don't forget to make sure that the cat has access to his litter box.  Oh, and always hang up your coat, even if you think it's in a safe place.