Monday, November 30, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
The year was 2006. It was late August. I was in a mad rush to get the house whipped into shape for Emma's 6th birthday party. We had tons of food, an inflatable princess castle bounce house, and her entire first grade class was invited. It was the day before her party. I was a cleaning banshee. The house was pretty much spotless inside, so I slipped out the front door to pull weeds in the flowerbed while 3 year old Luke was watching "Dora the Explorer."
I wasn't outside long before the August heat started getting to me. I guess it must've roasted my brain, because I forgot to lock the deadbolt on the front door when I came in. (I NEVER do that. NEVER!) I showered and dressed, then Luke and I headed over to the elementary school to pick up Emma. We were excitedly chattering about her party and preparing to go buy some Capri Suns for the shindig when my cell phone rang.
It was our security system people calling to tell me that our alarm was going off. The lady told me that our front door seemed to be ajar. It hit me at that moment that I had not locked it. It wasn't a particularly breezy day, but I convinced myself that the door must have blown open. She asked me if I would like for the police to come check out the premises. I told her that I thought that might be a good idea, since I really wasn't confident in my theory at all.
I raced home at breakneck speed. I was shocked when I saw a truck parked right in front of the house. Instead of pulling into the cul-de-sac to wait for the policeman (like a logical person would've done), I pulled up the driveway and blocked the truck in. In my mind, there was no way these people were leaving my house with Emma's birthday presents and whatever other spoils they'd found in my house.
Again, defying all logic and reason, I told the kids to stay in the car--I WAS GOING IN. (Don't ask me why. To this day, I still don't know what was going through my head.) I rolled the windows down a little for ventilation, took my garage remote off the visor, palmed my cell phone, and locked the doors. (I don't know if I thought I could do some James Bond roll-under-the-garage-door-move if they chased me or what. I was not firing on all cylinders at that point.)
As I stepped through the front door into the foyer, I spied two men walking across the upstairs balcony. One of the men was young and muscle-bound and the other was old and arthritic. I remember having the conscious thought, "I think I can take the old one."
I screamed at the top of my lungs, "What are you doing in my house???" As they tried to answer and come down the stairs, I yelled, "Don't move!" I ran to the control panel for the alarm and punched in the code with trembling hands. I ran back and faced them down and yelled again in my meanest (quivering) voice, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?"
The younger of the two started down the stairs. I pointed my phone at him and shrieked, "Don't move!" He stoppped and asked if this wasn't the Reese residence. I shout-said, "No, it's not. [Voice cracking] Why are you in my house!?!?"
Turns out these guys were carpet installers. They had the wrong address (no kidding) by a long shot. When they arrived, they rang the doorbell. When there was no answer, they called Mr. Reese at work and asked if they could get in to measure for the carpet in the master bedroom. He told them to go on in--the front door was unlocked and the alarm wasn't on. So when they went in and the alarm sounded, they tried to call the homeowner back, but he didn't answer. So they went on in to do their measuring. This is where I came in.
Admittedly, they were really apologetic about the whole thing. It took me quite a while to get back to a place of rational thought. When the policeman FINALLY arrived, he questioned them and sent them on their way. Then he turned his attention to me.
I received quite a chewing out about how I could've been hurt or worse if they had been actual bad guys and how I should've waited on him to get there. (Get there faster next time, buddy!)
Happy 1 year blog anniversary to me! Who's bringing the cake?
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Most kids color and draw for fun.
Monday, November 16, 2009
There I was, just sitting in the recliner, talking to my Mom on the phone. It had been a good Saturday morning so far. I'd made cinnamon rolls for breakfast, and I was OWNING the laundry.
Oh, yes. It was a good day.
Until IT happened.
Like an asteroid had come crashing through my roof, I was struck directly on the top of my head. I leapt from the chair, demanding answers as to what had just occurred, all the while trying not to pass out from the blinding pain. Just as the unbidden tears began streaming down my cheeks, a little voice belonging to Luke came from above.
"I dropped a golf ball."
After bidding a hasty and tearful farewell to my Mom, I collapsed in a pile of tears, snot, and cold sweat on the sofa (out of range from the upstairs balcony, in case a golf club was coming next). I cried out for" ice, ice, please, for the love of all things good and holy, ice!" Jason brought a bag of spinach, I think. For all the life of me, all I could think was "Eww, something was next to the garlic bread in the freezer. Blecch." He switched out the hard-frozen spinach for a bag of English peas, since it conformed to my head better.
As he brought me the peas, Jason asked if he could look at where I'd been hit. As I gingerly removed the peas (and threatened his life if he touched my head), he asked, "Where is it--oh! I can see it."
It was just like in cartoons. Jerry hits Tom with the hammer. Large lump instantly appears.
After the crisis was over, Jason marveled at all of the crazy factors that had aligned just so to make this happen: Luke dropped the golf ball at just the precise spot, so that it went through the balcony rails, (and as I figure it, got up to 947 miles per hour) and landed directly on my skull.
So, if the headaches go away, I am going to write a few posts this week about other freaky things that have happened to me. My one-year blogging anniversary is this Wednesday, so it seems like a good enough way to celebrate.
Do you have a flying projectile to the head story to share? If so, I want to hear it!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
It is hard for me to believe that it has been 11 years since I said "yes."
I just knew that that ring and I were going to end up in the bottom of Venice's Grand Canal when Jason got down on one knee in that gondola.
We got engaged on November 12. 12's are special to us now for these reasons:
1. Jason's b'day is February 12.
2. We got engaged November 12.
3. We got married on June 12.
4. Luke was born on our 4th anniversary--June 12, 2009.
5. We do not plan to have 12 kids.
Happy 12th, Jason!
Sunday, November 08, 2009
(Editor's note: I am honored to have a guest blogger today! My dear husband, Jason (who rarely even READS my blog), agreed to do a post for me. I hope you enjoy it!)
This is my son, Luke, in whom I am well pleased:Standing in front of Denny Chimes, Luke had already trekked across most of Tuscaloosa. During breakfast at Jack’s earlier in the day, I told Luke that he is "my buddy." He responded by telling me that I am the “best Daddy.” God has blessed me with a wonderful son!This is the story of our Gameday Adventure.
Luke and I parked downtown and began the trek to the stadium to meet up with Uncle Joel and Christopher. We strolled along Bryant Drive from downtown. (Yes, I am one of those cheapskate people who park downtown to avoid paying for parking.) Unexpectedly, Luke and I stumble upon LSU fans in Tuscaloosa!?! Who do they think they are? However, after watching them for a few moments, I noticed that they do have a sense of humor: I thought labeling LSU fans as “corndogs” was supposed to be an insult. Somebody forgot to tell “Captain Corndog” (pictured with corndog helmet, in the middle). Also, I guess someone forgot to mention the open container law as well.
My admiration of their sense of humor quickly ceased when I noticed they had a fuzzy elephant on a string in the middle of the road. Reluctant Bama fans were driving over the elephant, much to the amusement of these LSU fans. Chuckle it up, corndogs!
After seeing the LSU fans, my pride in Alabama peaked as I thought, “Wow, glad we're not crazy like those LSU fans!” Until...
I am not sure if the “A” stood for Alabama or Ambiguous. Either way, the strange-ometer was soaring off the charts at this point.
I briefly thought about having Luke take a picture with them. I am glad I decided to move on. Between the LSU corndogs and Bama-maniacs, I realized that this was no place for my son.
After walking up from downtown Tuscaloosa to the Quad and back to the stadium, then up the spiral “stairway to Heaven”, I was very worried I had worn out my poor six year-old-Luke. He looked tired as we took our seats. He studied the program we purchased going in the stadium. (Luke knows the scores of all the games.) I kept asking him if he needed to take a short nap before the game began. He refused. I thought, “Oh boy, I have really pushed him too hard.”
However, it did not take long before Luke was up from his seat. Like his Mommy, Luke is not really into the pre-game festivities. He was just saving up his energy for the main event. Once the game started, Luke was totally into the game, as you can see here from his stare.
“Go AL-A-BAM-AH!” screamed Luke during the whole game. He was emulating his Uncle Joel, who understands his role as a fan is to be yelling loudly. Joel believes that he is literally yelling into the opposing quarterback’s ear. He is a cheerleader of surrounding fans. Spurred on by Joel's ruckus, a boy next to us took his seat cushion and banged it against the metal bleacher, resulting in a sound like someone banging metal garbage can lids together. Apparently, all this racket results in delay of game, illegal procedure, and useless timeouts for Bama’s opponents.
From our seats at the top of the east upper deck, I am not sure that the sound can travel the “miles” to the stadium's surface. To put this into perspective, to get to our seats, we climbed the stairs and passed above the nosebleed section.
Whether or not this noise changed the game, I cannot be sure. However, it did create a ringing sound in both of my ears. As I covered my ears and became upset with Bama’s quarterback for missing wide-open receivers, Luke kept cheering. For me, the racket was a nuisance from being able to concentrate on the game; for those around me, it was music to their ears. Joel exclaimed, “This must be the loudest game ever for Bryant-Denny Stadium!”
For Luke, this showed his true college and family allegiance. Uncle Joel was proud of his nephew.
Luke would not stop even after I warned him of severe throat pain. His mission for being at the game was to yell and cheer. Maybe I could take a lesson in what a real fan is from my son.
(Editor's note: I told Luke the night before the game that I needed for him to cheer really loudly for the team to help them win. The boy follows instructions better than I thought he did!)