the odd i see

New Moon cradled in its impeccable story arc approximately one...

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 09:34:00 -0600

New Moon cradled in its impeccable story arc approximately one expression. And it was this one.

It wasn’t terrible, no. I was kinda impressed at how the music worked like a color code for emotion when paired with this astounding tribute to non-verbal communication. I mean, thanks to the film score I was immediately able to recognize the following moods: happiness, distress, arousal, ire, jocularity, horror, and moderate to heavy depression or elation.

If Music had two legs and could walk down a red carpet, I’d have a better idea of whom to thank for making New Moon the movie to see on the day after Thanksgiving.

Bx: “Could you try not to tell the wrong kid you love them...

Fri, 16 Oct 2009 08:54:43 -0500

Bx: “Could you try not to tell the wrong kid you love them today?”

Me: “Oh. That wasn’t you screaming ‘I love you mom!’ yesterday?”

Bx: “No, it wasn’t.”

Me: “Well, why weren’t you screaming that you loved me?”

Bx: “I said it once already.”

It starts young, people. Repeat after me: It’s okay to say “I love you” more than just the one time.

Happy Birthday Beaux

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 12:38:43 -0500

I’m dedicating today to my little boy, Beaux. Some of my FAVORITE pictures and moments.

This was Beaux’s first brush with death. I was eight months pregnant (yes, eight) and when the (probably rabid) chipmunk came and sat next to us, I couldn’t even open my eyes to witness our grizzly end.

Minutes old and beautiful. Six pounds and some-odd ounces (it’s been six years, y’all, give me a break!).

You don’t have to remind me that newborns are exhausting. I remember.

The longest year of my life. Kansas, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, this was taken in California, and then we were off to Canada. Exhaustion was my constant companion and Awkwardness was my best friend while I had to learn how to nurse stealthily in a 15 passenger van full of college boys. “Ummm, Beaux’s cranky and the beatboxing doesn’t work anymore so distraction is futile, can we pull over and crank some music to drown out the feeding noises? Thanks!” (You have to maintain a little dignity by using big words like “futile” sometimes.)

But, ohhhh the smiles!

They…

…make…

…everything…

…worthwhile! (And, this one will always be my personal favorite.)

He’s wild and rambunctious (like a boy SHOULD be, in my opinion).

He likes speed.

And living on the edge.

He gets in the way sometimes, but the x-rays we had to get after he was trampled at the basketball game that one time were AWESOME. Intriguing, yes? Don’t you just want to touch all those little bones? Do your fingers itch like mine do? I’ll settle for running my hands all over his face every chance I get.

When he’s tired, he’s TI-RED.

And he works as hard as he plays.

Thinks he’s bad to the bone.

Loves his daddy. Heck, he WALKED like his daddy when he hadn’t even earned the strut at a year old.

And he messes up my insides every time I turn my thoughts in his direction. He’s taught me about selflessness.

And about awesome underpants:

“Mom, what shirt should I wear to match my underwear?”

*sigh* “I don’t know. Something… Spiderman-y?”

“Ugh. No, I mean something BLACK? Or…”

“Oh. Something black, maybe?”

“That’s what I already said! Nevermind… I’ll find something on mine own.”

I love this kid. I’m so thankful for the chance to meet him and watch him grow, even if it does mean I have to find more fabric every year to keep him adequately and modestly covered. Forget about the fact that he’d prefer to spend every day of his life in underwear and little else.

Happy 6th, Beaux Bear! I love you with mine whole heart!

Crap-aaayyyyy diem! Have I been living under a rock? What a bit...

Tue, 15 Sep 2009 12:52:44 -0500

Crap-aaayyyyy diem!

Have I been living under a rock? What a bit of genius. When I’m having a crappy day, I generally seize it in the same way I seize upon a can of squirt cheese. When I still can’t get ahold of the thing, I’m gonna start asking myself, “What would Fonzie do?”

I bet it works every time. Better than squirt cheese? That I don’t know.

"delanie, where are your grandpa's keys?"

Mon, 14 Sep 2009 17:33:00 -0500

“I swear I put them on the Bible right inside his front door,” I respond with my hand at my forehead. Maybe if I compress all the information in my brain, I’ll be closer to finding the answer.

“Okay,” my Aunt Fran says, “We’ll look there, now that we can get to the keys on top of our fridge.”

“Oh!” I say, greatly relieved. “You made it into your house?” Maybe I hadn’t completely exiled them to the out-of-doors for the night.

“Yes. After we drilled the lock, we made it inside just fine.” She says sweetly.

I can tell she’s smiling, laughing more like, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. “Your Uncle Wayne says you did exactly what you were supposed to do. No one was getting in this house.”

At least no one without a drill, that is.

You can find a certain satisfaction in looking through a...

Sun, 13 Sep 2009 19:10:21 -0500

You can find a certain satisfaction in looking through a peephole from inside a dead-bolted door.

You see them, but they can’t see you. You there, with your canned soda and bare feet, hold all the power between your thumb and forefinger. Will you un-throw the bolt, or won’t you? They’ll never know, because they can’t see you. Unless you do, you know, un-throw the bolt…

There’s no satisfaction to be found in locking someone else out of their own home with their own deadbolt and now you’re more than an hour away and couldn’t help them if you drove back up to Stroud and gave it your best shot, or your best flying leap through that back bedroom window you remember leaving unlocked the night that it rained and you were trying to find out if the coyotes were cuddling up under the eaves and you decided it was really, really cool that they weren’t, but then you found out the roosters were and you decided that really, really stunk, so you quickly shut the window and realized you needed to use the restroom really, really bad and FORGOT TO FLIP THE LOCKS.

But, you did remember to flush.

We held a Twitter festival last night to benefit a charity...

Sat, 12 Sep 2009 15:52:19 -0500

We held a Twitter festival last night to benefit a charity called White Fields. A lot of people pitched in and made it a success! We were able to bring in over $2,000 and all of it will help provide equine therapy for severely abused or neglected boys in permanent custody of DHS in Oklahoma City.

Okay, here’s where I become one of “those” mothers. I’m proud of my little boy. Of the two of us, he is the one with the most patience (as is best, since I could try the patience of a freaking SAINT).

This was our promotion video for Twestival. I fed Beaux the lines and he tried them over and over until he found the verbiage that worked best for him. “I’m going to cut that in half!” he’d say, and proceed to word the thing better than I had done.

I gave birth to this. I wish I could take credit for his sweet little (patient) heart, but it’s all him.

Thank you baby doll!

Ahem… honey, I know you hate it when I call you “baby doll.” I just can’t help it.

Now, come here so I can pinch those cheeks. Wait! Where are you going in such a hurry? Well, hey, can you bring me a soda when you come back?

Don’t mind me. I’m just gonna have a little lie...

Thu, 10 Sep 2009 19:58:36 -0500

Don’t mind me. I’m just gonna have a little lie down. I’ll be up and at ‘em in no time.

Hey, while you’re there, could you rub my roots? I’ve been on them ALL DAY.

I was standing quite confidently. I do that sometimes - stand...

Thu, 10 Sep 2009 19:53:09 -0500

I was standing quite confidently. I do that sometimes - stand confidently.

Next thing I knew, this gate had me face down in the gravel where it proceeded to destroy every bit of my standing confidence by eating my foot. There was nothing I could do about it, and that’s what hurts the most. If I could, I would apply ice to my “do something about it” instead of my foot.

Gates should not weigh more than people. Or more than me, anyway.

shed - scrape out rooster poop

Wed, 09 Sep 2009 21:07:35 -0500

“This’s quite the list ya got goin’.”

The guy was here to fix my ISP thing-a-ma-jig, not to remark on my To Do’s for tomorrow. He doesn’t need to know about the broken vacuum, misplaced garage door opener, or the roosterS I accidentally locked in the shed overnight necessitating the doo doo scraping.

It’s okay. At least I still haven’t found the movie I lost on the way home tonight.

Oh, esophagus.

Do not lend me a movie, specifically this movie, because I might...

Wed, 09 Sep 2009 20:24:20 -0500

Do not lend me a movie, specifically this movie, because I might drop it from the side of the four wheeler on the ride from your house to mine and then get too scared to look for it when the coyotes come out and/or it starts lightning.

Dang. I was so ready for a good ballet fight.

the race

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 14:09:46 -0500

Every time I hear a car drive up to the house, it’s like a pistol’s been fired. I’m in a race to see who beats whom. Will they get to the door before I can reach my pants?

I haven’t lost yet, but there’s a first time for everything. I’m focused on one thing: do my underwear coordinate with my shirt? If so, and if I ever come in second place, I may be able to play it off like I meant it.

My affection for this guy is waning at an alarming rate. Really?...

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 10:03:00 -0500

My affection for this guy is waning at an alarming rate. Really? You must cock-a-doodle-doo every hour on the hour?

I’d have him for dinner except he’s just a teenager. I don’t think he’s even, you know, been on a date yet.

I’ll be patient…

Man, fried chicken sounds good!

“You are a Prewitt woman,” my aunt says to me as...

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 13:35:12 -0500

“You are a Prewitt woman,” my aunt says to me as I’m snotting uncontrollably over her dining table. “You are strong. You are a descendant of Belle Starr, for goodness sake!”

I grab a paper towel to scrape the slick off my face.

“We have crossed deserts and climbed mountains. And when someone gives us trouble? Well, we shoot ‘em.”

I learned two things: Paper towels hurt and I’ve temporarily misplaced my gunslinging hand.

Sure it smells good. But, do you know how many skunks had to DIE...

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 10:33:22 -0500

Sure it smells good. But, do you know how many skunks had to DIE in the making of this scent?

Yeah, right. Probably just the one.

Okay, try this: Do you know how hard it is to take a picture of a scent? It ain’t easy.

"keep making this chevy look good"

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 22:40:24 -0500

That’s what the guy in Prague told me when I drove the bajillion miles to fill up my uncle’s Chevy truck. I thought Sure, I’ll do that. And when I get back to the farm, I’m gonna make that old salt box look good too.

I took the salt box on a nice, slow rotation. It held me more snugly than it did when I was seven. Some things become more affectionate with age. I’m sure that old salt lick did more for me than I did for it.

On a personal odyssey this week. Drove back to my (sorta)...

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 21:33:03 -0500

On a personal odyssey this week. Drove back to my (sorta) starting place, and it welcomed me with open fields. I’m the bald one. The baby, not the old guy with wrinkles.