The Therapy Journals of the Fat-Headed Klingon Woman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

So Far, So Good! January 6, 2017

Hello, all!  Well, one week into 2017.  How’s it looking?  Things are ok in general, I think.  We got some rare winter weather here, which basically means the roads are like a skating rink after dark.  I was on my way home from work a minute ago, didn’t realize how slick it was, lost control and slammed sideways into a curb on the right side.  Scuffed both my rims pretty good, but if there was any tire damage I couldn’t tell it.  SIGH!!

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I’m pretty concerned for my children.  They decided it was a good day to go to the movies.  And when they got out of the movies they found it necessary to stop by Wal-Mart for a minute.  This is disconcerting.  I hope and pray Daughter S. doesn’t have any trouble driving.  If she kills her car she is going to be distraught.  Daughter J. already doesn’t have a car.  She ran her engine out of oil some time ago and has been riding the Mom Taxi ever since.  SIGH again!!

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So in my last post I talked about goals and projects for the new year.  You know, like everyone does.  I didn’t really outline any major plans at that time, but I thought I would share the ones that I came up with after I posted.  In 2017 I am working on the following:

1: Every day I am going to do some form of purposeful exercise, even if it’s tiny. It may be 20 pushups, or 50 leg lifts, or even just lying in the floor breathing from my abdomen with a heavy book on my stomach (a voice lessons thing).  Someday I may feel like doing something more substantial, but for right now that is all I can muster.

2: Every day I am going to drink at least a gallon of water.  I started that the day after Christmas and I have done well.  It definitely seemed to have a positive effect on my Weight Watchers efforts.  My inspiration was something like this:

daily-gallon-water-jug

3:  Every day I am going to take one item, no matter how large or small, from my garage to the trash.  I can’t tackle my garage all in one day.  It’s just a given.  Sometimes I come home from work on Saturday and feel like working on it, and I’ll open the garage door, start dragging things out into the driveway, attempting to sort and organize and cull… and after a few hours my energy disappears and all have done is rearrange the chairs on the Titanic, and I give up and shove it all back in and shut the door down.  So I figure if I take one thing out every single day of the year, by the end I will have made some real progress.  As a side note, I discovered it is super easy to donate things to the new Goodwill store we have here.  I’ve already unloaded one big bag of clothes in 2017 and it’s only the first week.  So I figure if I donate a bag or a box a week, along with the one item a day from garage to trash, I’m golden.  I’ll have a clean garage by this time next year.  I hope.

4:  I’m also going to try really hard to take better care of myself, health and beauty-wise. My mom has always been really good about that. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and put on her Oil of Olay or whatever, with the result that there was a particular smell to “Bedtime Mom” when she came in to tell us goodnight: Listerine and Moisturizer.  Unfortunately, I’ve never been one of those “nightly beauty ritual” girls.  Truthfully, there have been evenings I’ve slept in my stage makeup.  I know, it’s a horrible habit.  So I don’t wash my face every night, or put lotion on my dry cracky feet, or mani-pedi, or any of that stuff.  Half the time I don’t even brush my teeth before bed.  So this year I am going to work on all of that, right down to my toenails.

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All of this is on top of the continuing Weight Loss Saga, as well as the ever-present search for Love and Truth and Answers From The Cosmos, and also trying to learn everything I can from my theater stuff so I will be ready to direct in the next couple of seasons.  I don’t know what I want to direct; I just know I want to do it.  I believe I can.  I would really like to write something for our theatre to produce, and then direct it myself.  That would be the ultimate.  I just don’t have any good ideas yet.

*

For now, my most important goal is to not crash my car on my way to work in the morning.  And holding my breath until the kids get home from town.  Everybody be safe out there!

*

Until next time,

D.

P.S.  The kids just pulled in the driveway.  Whew!!!

 

 

Tomorrow Is the Anniversary of A Sad Story November 14, 2014

Filed under: Bad Luck,In Memoriam — DDKlingonGirl @ 10:47 am
Tags: , , ,

TRIGGER WARNING:  Pregnancy, pregnancy loss, pregnancy trauma

Hello all.  Just a little while ago, I stumbled across a Facebook page called WTH- What The HELLP?  It is devoted to a disease of pregnancy called HELLP syndrome that often occurs concurrently with pre-eclampsia.  There were many stories there on that page of women who had suffered from this syndrome in their pregnancies, and there was a place to submit your own story.  Well, as most people close to me know, I experienced this.  I had pre-eclampsia and HELLP with my first pregnancy in 1992.  It was a pretty traumatic event, and I am not sure I ever realized at the time how seriously ill I was.  Here is my story, mostly as I shared it with WTH:

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I was 20 years old and pregnant with my first child.  I was in nursing school full time and driving to campus and back, a 40 minute one-way drive every day.  I wasn’t married at the time, and although my fiancé was there, I was dealing with the stress related to being unmarried and pregnant, due to church things. (Believe it or not, our church building had actually caught on fire and burned, and as unreasonable as it sounds now, I was terribly upset because I thought the whole congregation was being punished because of me.)

*

I was approximately 23 or 24 weeks, and went in for a regular appointment with my doctor.  I knew I was extremely puffy and just generally felt unwell.  The night before, after church, I had sat out in the car and cried from sheer exhaustion and wished that I could be admitted to the hospital so I could rest.  At my appointment, I had all the markers.  My blood pressure was high and my urine showed significant protein.  They told me to go straight to the hospital, which was right across the street, because I needed to be admitted.

*

It was Monday night, Nov. 9.  I was admitted to the hospital and they continued trying to treat and monitor me.  I don’t think they started any IVs when I first got there.  I lay there in our small local hospital for a couple of days and started having upper gastric pain.  They kept asking me if it was gas.  Finally, I guess my local doctors decided they didn’t know what was going on with me, (or maybe they knew all along, but thought they could handle it) and they called a specialist in a larger teaching hospital about 100 miles away.  The specialist said, in effect, “Put her on an ambulance and get her up here, NOW.”  They started an IV of magnesium sulfate and sent me from Ardmore to Oklahoma City in an ambulance, and that was the first time I ever got any IVs. (It was also the occasion of several other firsts:  it was the first time I’d ridden in an ambulance, and I also got to experience the joy of trying to use a bedpan in a moving vehicle with a male attendant.  Just, you know, to throw some levity in there.  The mag sulfate IV induced a serious need to pee, and that was one of the few parts of this story that make me laugh a little.  The other part was that one of my anesthesiologists later strongly resembled Superman.)

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I don’t know how high my blood pressure was at the time, but I’m thinking my bottom number was at least 100 or 115.  I know that my mother, who rode up there with me in the front seat of the ambulance, claims she is positive hers was higher.  (As a side note, many years later I would understand her claim when I too, rode in the front seat of an ambulance to Oklahoma City with my daughter in the back, but that’s a story for another day.)

*

They admitted me to OU Children’s Hospital, and continued treating and monitoring.  They couldn’t find any good veins for IVs because I was so terribly swollen.  They were searching in the tops of my feet, if that gives any idea.  Also they considered starting a line in my neck.  I was incredibly thankful they didn’t have to do that. But the guy who was doing the searching was the guy I mentioned a moment ago who looked like Superman.  That was the only good part.

*

All this time, to the best of my knowledge and recollection, the baby was fine.  She was not as big as she should have been, but I don’t think they thought she had any other serious health problems.  If they did, I don’t remember them telling me.  Unfortunately, the illness and the years have erased a lot of the details.  They began doing all the tests, and I still had sky-high blood pressure, still had protein, still had upper gastric pain, and now they also knew I had HELLP.  They did a scratch test to determine clotting time, and a scratch that should have clotted within a minute took 22.  C-section was ruled out, and delivery was a must.  They gave me medicines to start contractions, tried to start readying my body to do something it wasn’t supposed to do for another 3-4 months.

*

At one point, they were trying to dilate my cervix using something I remember them calling “mechanical dilators” which they said would be painful so they gave me morphine or something.  I remember waking up from my medicated haze, legs in the stirrups, lifting my head, and there at the foot of my bed was practically an entire medical school class, observing this procedure because I was, at that time, an incredibly rare case.  I just closed my eyes and dropped my head back to the pillow and tried not to care.

*

I wasn’t making progress, and they decided they needed to rupture my membrane.  They had put monitors on me and on the baby, and I didn’t know at the time what they knew, that once I had my membrane ruptured, the cord, which was ahead of the baby, would probably become compressed as the fluid rushed out, and as she moved down toward the birth canal, and she would probably die.  They came in and turned the volume down on the monitors, but I didn’t know that was why until later. They had asked me if I wanted to be enrolled in a study they were doing with the use of surfactant, a substance premature babies don’t have yet in their lungs that makes them expand.  I gave them permission to use the baby and give her this surfactant if she was born with any attempt at breathing.

*

My poor mother had finally left the hospital to go shower and rest, and they called her back because they were taking me to delivery.  I couldn’t push.  I didn’t know what I was doing, didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like, and I was sick and exhausted and scared.  The nurse helped push down on my stomach and all I remember was that my mom’s surgical suit was white and the rest of them were blue, and her green eyes stood out.  I thought she looked like an angel.

*

It was November 15, 1992.  Finally they managed to pull the baby out, and I remember the doctor putting her face right in front of mine and saying, “Baby has no heart rate, no breathing effort.”  Ok, then.

*

They delivered the placenta, which I remember hurt worse than the baby. (Because it was actually bigger.)  Katrina DeAnne (Katie) was 11 inches long and weighed 13 ounces.  She seemed to have suffered some significant trauma during birth because her head was misshapen and squishy.  I think they told me she had some water on the brain or something.  They fixed me up and wheeled me back to my room, and here I was, holding this oddly colored, deceased baby.  I felt embarrassed.  I felt that people were looking at her and seeing her as scary or disturbing.  I didn’t hold her as long as I later wished I had, because I thought people would think it was weird to spend time holding a dead baby.  I wish now I’d been a little more sensible about that.

*

I stayed in the hospital a few more days, and I don’t remember any of my numbers- my blood pressure or my platelets or how fast they returned to normal.  I just had to go on with my life.  I had to quit nursing school because they won’t let you make up clinicals and I had missed some.  I finished the semester of my regular non-nursing school class and life went on. Well, sort of.  We had to go through the funeral and everything.  Some people might not have bothered, but it never occurred to me not to.  There was a dear lady who went to our church who actually owned a monument business and she gave us Katie’s headstone as a gift.  My cousin Gene was asked on the fly to lead everyone in singing ‘Jesus Loves Me’ and he never faltered.  It was a cold, cloudy day.  That much I remember.

This was not her actual casket spray but it looked very similar to this.  The real one was destroyed in our house fire in February 2009.

This was not her actual casket spray but it looked very similar to this. The real one was destroyed in our house fire in February 2009.

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I have since been pregnant twice.  The next time was with my twin girls, who were born healthy and perfect a year and two weeks to the day after I lost Katie.  Their baby brother was born in May of 2001, and he too was healthy and I had no serious problems with either pregnancy.  But my experience with Katie will always be in my mind.  Here is my one other post related to Katie, and how I spent what would have been her 18th birthday.

Thanks for reading!

Until next time,

D.

 

A Postcard From the Edge February 28, 2013

English: warning about stupidity

English: warning about stupidity (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Hello all.  This is probably not the first blog post I’ve written while seething with rage, and it’s not likely to be the last, either, but allow me to just say that stupidity…is painful.  Especially when it’s your own stupidity and you should have known better, but you were just blind to everything except what you wanted, and for that you got, well, screwed.  Yeah.  I’m there.  Online purchase from a scam website.  Obviously fake, but never even slowed down to notice until it was too late.  Funds lost, but fortunately not huge funds.  Now, however, I will have to cancel my debit card, get a new one, and go back through a dozen legitimate online payments that have my card linked and cancel it.  I am just so MAD at myself.  I really, really hate it when I do something stupid, especially when I should have known better.  There have just been way too many of those events in my life.  It’s like, when will I ever learn?!

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Ok, so I have to just go ahead and accept this.  Own it.  I did a stupid thing and it cost me, but thankfully it didn’t cost me much, at least thus far, except my pride and my view of myself as an intelligent human being.  That’s not a first, either.  My second marriage, and a couple of other emotional entanglements are on that list too.  But all the rage in the world, and all the kicking myself I could do will not undo the mistake or change the reality, so this will be the end of it.  Until I bring it up again the next time I get mad at myself for doing something else moronic.  Oh, and by the way, don’t order from websites selling box set DVDs of TV series.

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Until next time,

D.

 

Leftover Scars and Pioneer Skirts February 11, 2013

Plaid-Day-Dress 1845-55

Plaid-Day-Dress 1845-55 (Photo credit: AxelStorm)

Hello all.  You know, it never fails to amaze me how some things affect my mind and emotions.  I’ve read somewhere, and I’ve found it to be true, that our sense of smell is actually one of the strongest at associating memories.   Years ago when I worked at a fast food restaurant, I was working in the drive-through window one afternoon, and a car pulled up, the driver rolled the window down, and the scent from inside the car hit me.  Now I couldn’t have described the smell, I couldn’t have identified at all what the exact components of the scent were, but it was exactly, and I mean EXACTLY, like my grandmother’s car used to smell, and she had been killed in a car wreck years before that.  That smell hit me and I instantly burst into tears.  Hadn’t been feeling emotional before that, hadn’t been thinking about her at that moment or missing her or anything, but I instantaneously reacted to a scent.

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Fast forward to the other night when I got home from work.  I walked in the door, and the offspring were camped out in various poses all over the front room:  one slouched at the computer desk, one in the rocker recliner in full-on veg out mode, and one at the dining room table with her laptop, working on homework.  Nothing particularly unusual there; that’s pretty much how I always find them.  But the most distinctive feature of the scene was the HORRENDOUS ODOR!  It was the odor…of burned-ness.  Something had clearly been burned to a crisp in that house since I’d been in it last.  I sort of began to shriek.  “What have you guys been doing in here!?  Holy cow!  It smells awful!”  Well, it turns out that The Boy had tried to make a “grilled cheese” sandwich in the microwave.   Y’all, he had put it in there for five minutes…!  The sandwich burned so badly that it cracked the plate it was on, and almost affected the microwave turntable!  I had to ask why on earth hadn’t they opened some windows, some doors, chopped a hole in the wall, ANYTHING.  That’s when they informed me that they had, in fact, opened several windows and both the front and back doors, and it still smelled that bad!  I re-opened the kitchen window, but it didn’t do much good.   The next day, I tried to use the microwave and realized that the awful smell was going to come billowing out of there all over again every time I used it!  My mother had always said that heating a cup of vinegar for a couple of minutes would help remove smells from appliances, so I tried that.  It helped a little, but I am pretty sure I will still get re-bombed with that scent every time I use the microwave for at least a couple of weeks.  This normally would be a minor annoyance at best, but every time I smell that odor, I get a tense, tight feeling in my stomach, my head hurts, and I want to cry a little.  And THAT would be because the smell is so similar to when our house burned a few years ago.  In fact, it’s ironic that this whole thing came up when it did, because writing about this reminded me that the anniversary of that lousy event is actually coming up in about a week, and that a couple of days ago was the anniversary of the tornado that struck my hometown that same year.

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So anyway.  That’s the leftover scars part of today’s post.  A minor annoyance becomes a strong reminder of a trauma, thanks to our awesome scent-memory association!  The ‘pioneer skirts’ part comes from my efforts to find something to wear to church yesterday.  A few weeks ago I had worn this really long, thin, flowing skirt to church.  It was a pretty windy day, and at the time, I thought it would probably be much better if I had something to wear under it.  (Forgive me, Grandmothers, for I have sinned: I do not own a full-length slip.)  I was already out of the house before I remembered that I had another skirt of the same length, but different material and weight, that I could have worn under it as just an extra layer, kind of serving as a slip or a liner.  Which got me thinking about things like Little House on the Prairie, and petticoats, and how every once in a while, I just get in this weird mood where I want to start dressing like Ma Ingalls.  (Yeah, like the title of my last post, I’m just that weird.)  So yesterday, I did exactly that.  I wore one skirt under the other to the morning service, and I switched them for evening services!  It felt much better than wearing one alone, more weight and coverage, you might say.  Felt less likely to catch a stiff breeze and flash the world.  🙂  Don’t worry, I didn’t have a frilly high-neck blouse on top; I haven’t gotten that weird yet- I just wore a sweater that matched the colors.  I did, however, enjoy a brief period of twirling girly-ness in the middle of the dining room, spinning around and watching my skirts swirl.

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Does anyone else think the world today might be a slightly better place if all women could still feel beautiful and girly by watching their long skirts swirl, instead of having to squeeze into a pitiful excuse for a dress that barely covers their chest and butt and then ruining their feet, ankles, knees, and backs with sky-high heels, and then wonder why men don’t respect them?  Just me?  Ok, then.

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Until next time,

D.

 

All the Reasons I’m Thrilled With Life. Or Not. June 24, 2011

Functioning of the rack and pinion.

Image via Wikipedia

Hello all.  I regret to say that my plans for the next couple of entries have been somewhat derailed.  I had planned to share a day-by-day account of the Disney trip, straight out of my journal, some of which was actually written on the plane.  (all together now- Wooooww!)  Unfortunately, I haven’t had time.  I have a life, you know.  It’s a busy, busy little life.  I exercise.  I go to work.  I kill my car.  I serve cake at the weddings of young people who are goo-ily disgustingly yackingly in love.  I stay the night at my parents’ house when they’re not there because my house is being bug-bombed. 

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So yeah, those are definitely the things I have going on in my life at the moment.  Let’s start at the top.  I have continued going to TurboKick classes at TFP.  I have progressed to a tolerable level of uncoordination and I’m working on perfecting new moves.  I’m occasionally brave enough to do something called a triple-step, and also a burpee.  Or is it a Burpy?  Some exercise move where your hands go down, your butt goes down, and you jump your legs out behind you and back, and then jump up in the air when the music says “POWER!”  Except I don’t jump, because I can’t really get this body off the ground yet.  Or I’m scared to even try.  Or something. 

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The work thing is nothing new.  I am working at the same place.  The new opportunity I mentioned a few entries back, I haven’t heard anything new about yet.  I do know that I dread the next week or so of work, because we’ll be short-handed. 

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Which leads me to the next thing- serving cake.  A sweet girl I work with is getting married tomorrow.  We’re closing work early so we can all go.  I am the cake person.  I have to really watch my attitude, and as my beautiful baby sister advised, “Don’t barf on people’s happiness.”  I’m happy for the kid.  Everyone deserves to be happy.  The groom was a friend of my sister’s when they were in school.  In fact they went to prom together, as friends.  If my enthusiasm seems lukewarm, that’s because it is.  I’m a jealous old harpy.  People who are all lovey-dovey schloopy goopy make me want to yack. 

*

I skipped one, didn’t I.  My car.  The story of how I killed it.  Well, I was just trying to have fun with my kids.  Trying to do something together as a family besides sit on our butts in front of the tv and count our dying brain cells.  So I took them to the nearest beach, which is at a lake just outside of town.  I was trying to pick a place to park, and I drove off the edge of the paved area, and I didn’t notice, when making the choice to park there, that the drop-off was significantly deep.  I bottomed out and apparently I damaged my steering rack.  I didn’t know for sure I had done anything serious at first.  The car drove just fine.  I wasn’t having any problems with it until a few days ago (AFTER I had driven it all the way from Ardmore to Norman and back!) when I noticed it was way out of alignment, and then the steering suddenly started seizing up when I tried to make a left turn.  So I managed to get it to a shop today, and they said it was a bad steering rack, and that they’d have to order a part for it, and the part and labor and all would be over $500 to fix.  Now I’m trying to figure out what to do about it.  I can’t afford to fix it without help.  My mother might be able to help me, but I don’t know if she’ll be able to or not. 

*

Anyway, I’m mostly mad at myself for doing something so stupid.  I’m worried that we might have to cancel our cruise next year.  I’m wondering if God is telling me I’m not supposed to be going on the cruise.  The cost of repairs on the car is almost exactly the same amount it would have cost to get our passports.  I had been trying to decide whether to go ahead and get them or cruise without them.  The current rule is that they are not required for U.S. citizens taking a close-looped cruise (one that begins and ends in the same US port.)  But they are strongly recommended because if something happens that requires flying home from a foreign port, they ARE required for that.  Otherwise you’ll be delayed waiting for an emergency passport and permission to leave the country and enter the U.S.  by air. 

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ANYWAY!  We’re staying the night at my mother’s house, despite the fact that she’s out of town, because The Dictators (our cats, Hitler and Mussolini) have brought fleas into our house and I am being forced to get rid of them by bug-bombing.  So while we’re refugeeing from the Hot Shot Foggers, I’m also carless, and I have to work at 8am, and someone will have to pick me up and take me everywhere, and I am serving wedding cake at approximately 2:45 tomorrow, and I may be forced to stab my next year’s vacation plans in the heart with a sharpened rusty spoon.

*

Why shouldn’t I be totally thrilled with life?

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Until next time,

D.

 

Branson Weekend- Part 1 of 4 (or so) July 18, 2010

Filed under: Bad Luck,Family — DDKlingonGirl @ 10:25 pm
Tags: , , ,

 Hello all!  As promised, here’s what happened before, during, and after our little weekend excursion to Branson, MO.

Thursday evening, I got off work and got home about 6:00 p.m.  The kids had gotten their assigned tasks of washing and drying laundry, folding and packing, etc., about halfway finished.  I finished the rest of it, got all my own packing done, and after spending a surprisingly low-stress evening goofing off together in the living room, we all got in bed. 

Mom’s plan was to pick us up in the morning at the UNGODLY hour of 6:15.  Assuming she was quite serious about this plan, I informed the kids that they would be awakened in time to get dressed and be ready to throw their stuff in the van, leap in, and hit the road by 6:16 or so.  They did great.  I woke them up, they collected their stuff, and were standing outside by the mailbox, looking hopefully and excitedly down the street, watching for Grandma’s approach at approximately 6:10 a.m.

Well, you guessed it.  Grandma didn’t make it on time, as per usual.  I say this not at all in a mean way.  It’s just a fact.  The women in our family are incapable of getting anywhere on time.  If a Findley woman says she’ll be there at X, look for her at X-thirty! 

So finally they got here, and we loaded up and headed to my sister’s house to pick up my neice.  They too were waiting impatiently, and after her cargo of big blingy cheer bag the size of a bathtub, stuffed toys and portable DVD player were loaded, and Middle Sis had explained once again to Grandma that bedtime was at 8:30, Miss Neice was to eat healthy foods only, and take this medicine, this medicine, and this medicine…. and this vitamin, we were off.

We drove….. and drove…… and drove some more.  It was Hhhot!  This was due to the fact that the back air conditioner of the miniature ark- um, van, we were driving was NOT WORKING!  So finally when we decided that just the front air was not going to be enough, we gave up and opened all the windows.  So here we are, driving down the road, windows open, a toaster oven on wheels, a mobile sweatlodge with headlights, and a bad hair day waiting to happen. 

About the time we hit Joplin, the back air mysteriously starts working, and we roll up the windows as fast as we can and try to remain completely motionless thereafter, for fear of bumping and un-connecting whatever loose wire or connection caused our blessed relief from roasting like marshmallows!

Before the air had started working, we stopped at the World’s Biggest McDonalds, which is situated over and across the middle of the westbound lane of whatever highway it is that goes from Tulsa to Joplin to Branson.  We got the quickest food we could and jumped back in the van and scarfed it on the way, before it could get any hotter.  Dad was driving and I was riding co-pilot.  Daughter S. was sitting in the seat behind me, and she had to hold my hair to keep it from blowing in my face so I could eat my salad!

Finally we got to Branson.  Those hills going in were a trip, as usual.  No matter what poor vehicle you’re driving, it’s going to make a sound like it’s straining its guts out.  That much is a certainty.  And whatever you drive, you have to drive it as though it means absolutely nothing to you, and you would not so much as bat an eye if somebody happened to plow into you, because traffic in Branson is ABSOLUTELY INSANE!!!!  We’re talking bumper to bumper on the main strip, one of those places where you have to just nose out there and wait for somebody to just stop in the middle of the road and let you in. 

So the first night, we had to go to about three different places to check in to our rooms.  Mom and Dad were staying at a different property of the resort company than me and my kids were, and you had to check in at separate offices that were in completely different locations than either of the actual hotels.  We finally made it to Mom and Dad’s room, and the kids were hot and tired and all they wanted to do was swim.  So we went to the indoor pool of Mom’s condo and we all swam for a while.  (Dad sat in the hot tub.) 

Then Dad decided to get out and Mom got out with him and they went back to the room and then Mom went to go get groceries to fix supper.  We fixed spaghetti and we all ate like pigs.  It was insanely good, because this was about 8:00 at night and we had eaten lunch that day at like, noon!

Then Mom was going to take us to our room, but she thought we should first go check out Branson Landing.  I had no idea what this was, but it’s a little area down by some water where they have these pyrotechnic and water displays.  There are all kinds of lights and restaurants and that night they had a pretty good band playing some great cover songs down there by the water.  Mom let us climb out of the van while she went to park.  We had to use our cell phones to find each other, because there were people EVERYwhere!  We went down into this little amphitheatre type area, and stood there and listened to the music.  I could have listened forever, but The Boy started complaining that the music was hurting his ears and that his feet were tired and he wanted to leave.  And it was way past Miss Neice’s bedtime.  Mom went to go get the van, but at the time, we weren’t sure exactly what she was doing, so instead of following her, we just stood there and kept listening to the music.  Finally I couldn’t take The Boy’s nagging anymore, and we headed up out of the crowd to go find Mom.  

She was not a happy camper when she discovered Dad and Daughter J. were still down by the water, and was just about to go get them when they appeared out of the crowd.  We were all a little disgruntled at the time, but unfortunately we were about to be even less gruntled, because Mom got turned around trying to find our room.  She made loops and loops around the strip, couldn’t figure out how in the world she got from a parking lot on one side of the loop to a street on the other side, and finally stopped the van and refused to drive another inch.  Fortunately, the tiny little dead-end parking lot she’d ended up in was where we were supposed to be.  But Dad had to back up and drive The White Beast because Mom was so frustrated she got out and started walking!  The kids and I dragged all our stuff in, settled down, watched TV for a while, and finally went to sleep.  (To Be Continued…)

Until next time,

D.

 

So It’s Going to Be *That* Kind of Day, Is It? April 24, 2010

Filed under: Bad Luck,Whatever — DDKlingonGirl @ 10:45 am

Hello all.  You know, some days you’re just not sure it’s going to pay to get out of bed.  I walked out the door this morning on my way to work, and the first thing that met my eyes was my car.  Specifically the right rear tire, which is all of 3 days old, and which this morning was sagging sadly to the pavement.  I think to myself, “Seriously?  Flat tire already?”  So I call my dad and he brings his air bomb over and fills the tire.  He tells me I need to check it at lunch and if it’s flat again or getting low, I need to take it to the tire place and have them replace the valve stem.  Joy.

Then I get in the car, and the first thing I notice is that it seems a large flying creature approximately the size of a giant whooping crane and actively suffering from amoebic dysentery has relieved himself on my windshield.  Furthermore, this creature was apparently carrying a backpack with micro-nano-spy technology which allowed him to precisely pinpoint the spot on my window that would result in not one but both wipers smearing his deposit all over the place!

Anyway.  Things have calmed down since then.  I’m at work now, and it’s reasonably quiet.  I doubt I’ll be able to say the same for next week at work, because it appears one of my co-workers has decided to leave her less-than-wonderful husband and disappear off the radar.  She left her car and her cell phone at the police station and told the cops to call her husband and tell him to come get them and hasn’t been seen or heard from since, that I know of.  This was last night, apparently.  So my thoughts and prayers are with her and her young son.

Today is RMB’s birthday.  It’s also the birthday of one of my best friends.  So ironic.  They aren’t super fond of each other.

I blew my entire morning yesterday before work reading that new blog I found.  That girl is a nut!  She’s pretty funny, though. 

Well, I guess I’ll get to work for a while.  Might update this later if anything interesting happens. 

UPDATE:  Something happened.  My mother informed me today, on top of everything else, that my children’s father and his wife got in a fight and he left his wife and his job and has been crashing with a loser friend for a week or two.  So that means there will probably be no more child support for a while.  The last 6 or 7 months have been the longest he’s worked at one place in several years.  I really thought he was doing better and turning his life around and growing up.  Fabulous.  Oh well.  Same stuff, different day.

Until next time,

D.

 

 
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