Happy Halloween!

Well, it's that time of year again. I love me some Halloween. Not because of all evil spirits and stuff like that. Do you know what tomorrow is? That's right! November first!! And Miss Hope especially loves the upcoming season. All the decorations and rot like that. It makes me do a little wiggle in my chair just thinking about it.

Last night the SeaBees put on a haunted house for all to enjoy here on base. For those who don't know what the SeaBees are...they are by my defination the Construction Crew of the Navy. And they rock. Due to the nature of their professions, they have access to some seriously fun toys that can be utilized in a haunted house. We went early because they had things toned down for the little people. My son went through with no fear, staying up to four feet in front of us. His only hesitation was walking the path through the woods to get back to the paved path. A guy was sitting there with a mask on. Upon spotting him, Vitt stopped and held up both hands. The guy asked for a high five and Vitt thought it might not be a wise thing to do. A couple more guys came out of the woods to speak in a non-scary way. I told Vitt they were just guys. Masked Man took his mask off and grinned. Vitt then held both palms up, grinned, and said, "You just a guy." High fives were exchanged then.

The Edge wishes everyone out there a fun and safe time tonight if you do that kind of thing. We're dishing out Airhead candies. What's your candy of choice this evening?

Oh, and this is Roscoe, my first carved pumpkin. The smaller one in front is courtesy of Vitt. A cute project from school. I'm glad I took a picture last week. Roscoe has barely made it this far and I've kept him in the house! This is my effort to be all creative and artsy. I can see my mother cringing now.....

Twitches

I am out to do a study of human behavior. I know it's been a long time since my college days, but I'm sure my psych classes will come back to me when I get in the right frame of mind.

You see, Internets, I want to do a study of parents. A particular group of parents. Those who are raising teenagers. At the moment, I'm leaning towards those who are raising female teenagers. Of course, this is because Fred and I have the distinct joy of raising one at the present time.

Independence. During the teenage phase of life, I believe we all crave it with our very next breath. It is something we can almost taste, touch, even smell. Yet, we are contained by the parental units. These so called parental units seem to make it their full time job to hold us back. To repress us. This is, of course, my own personal take on the subject. I remember all too clearly feeling this when bumping my bruised butt through the teenage years. I remember in my Junior year (11th grade) looking up the word nonconformist. Oh man, was that not the coolest word ever? I wanted to be a nonconformist. I wanted to be my own person, not adhering to the rules society thrust upon us.

See? I was a loon in my own right. And Paige doesn't think I can relate.

How my parents survived me, then my brother five years later, I'll never know. I know now my mother has health issues. High blood pressure and bad nerves to name a couple. I'm wondering if maybe she got those gems of life from raising me. Because I can totally understand if she did.

Already I've been told I have borderline high blood pressure. Cutting out the salt has brought it down to safety levels once again. Okay, that's taken care of. Now that I have a two parent home where I don't have to fear the hubby going out to sea, I was absolutely sure the nerves would settle down and be just fine.

Then, she goes and misses the bus.

(insert loud sigh right about here)

A minor infraction, you're thinking? Well, it would be except every single morning I holler out the time to the child every few minutes. I tell her to get a move on and get her butt out to the bus. She screams back that she's not stupid, she can tell time, and "OMG, MAMA! WILL YOU JUST BACK OFF?!?!" This morning I decided to try a different approach. I needed to take a shower and get dressed before dressing The Boy for his trip to school. (I love school) She headed out the door and I didn't even check the time. I continued to dry my hair and next thing I know....she's back inside. Yeah, she missed the bus.

(insert another loud sigh right about here)

What is it going to take? Of course, it's not her fault. The bus came two minutes early. How stupid is that? How dare the bus driver deviate from Paige's tight schedule and cause such a disruption?

I called Big Daddy, who was already at work serving our country. I then decided that maybe it would be better to call that Carla Girl to see if she could help a sister out. She was kind and gracious enough to do so. The immediate problem was solved.

After she left, though, I found myself with almost a nervous twitch located in the head area. I know it's from the stress caused by a young woman with high anxiety and me with no nerve pills.

If you see me out and about, and you are fortunate (?) enough to be raising a teenage daughter? Don't mind me. I'm studying your behaviour to see if I'm the only parent going crazy, or if it is time to form some type of support group. That is all.

Notes to Self

Dear Self,



- Do NOT go to any more function thingys on base anymore. Because if you do? You'll get roped in to volunteering for something else. You are working with three different things now. That's enough. No more.



- Stop arguing with the thirteen year old about eyeliner. She's only practising to be a lawyer and your final word IS law. She'll realize it sooner or later. You really don't care if she thinks it's fair or not. She's not wearing it now and a thousand buckets of tears is not going to change that.



- Please don't make faces when the eight year old proclaims that she is almost a woman because she is wearing deodorant. And please refrain from passing out when she announces she has "armpit hair". Yes, she believes that, but the rest of us know that after inspecting, she's feeling blind.



- Make sure, Self, that when you are PMS'ing, you get all the month's built up frustrations out in that one day. It seems the family is able to immune itself to one day's worth of lunatic rantings and ravings. Use it to your advantage.



- Don't put off blogging all the cute or funny things being said around the Edge. You are old now and can not rely on the memory to be as sharp as it once was.



- Also remember to make the computer "broken" when oldest has weird symptoms. You will find your go*gle search history will be filled with many symptoms that will make you want to rush her to the E.R. straight into emergency surgery. Hope and pray that she will use her go*gle knowledge to become a doctor and make loads of money so that she can take care of her Mama in her old age.



-Tolerate the World Series with a smile. It is only once a year and the man DOES let you enjoy your most important shows before turning it there to settle in and watch. (I bout crapped when I saw that man using the chain saw on his foot on Grey's last night. I literally covered my eyes!)



- Listen to the man throw out stats on teams like an encyclopedia. It gives him pleasure. He knows deep down you don't give a flip. But, he likes reciting them. Let him, it won't hurt you.



- Admit to the Internets that when you went to the craft thingy yesterday on base, you carved your very first pumpkin. And did a right nice job of it. Don't admit to the Internets that you upset a few new wives with the fact that leaving the pumpkin outdoors all carved up might not be a good idea as we live in the South and the overly warm weather will rot it within days. Let them live in a dream and have pumpkin mush on their front steps next weekend. Some don't believe it until they experience it anyways.



Now, Self, go drink a few more cups of coffee. You got a long day ahead of you. There's the Fall Festival at Mak's school tonight. You then get to rush home so you can rush on over to your meeting where there will be no hubbies, no kids, and lots of good foods. Now THAT's what I'm talking about.

Busy Weekends Tend to Happen

Pardon the silence from the Edge the past few days. Fred's Dad came for a weekend visit and we've been busy since he got here around midnight Thursday night.

It had been exactly three years since we had seen Mr. C., and we were all excited about his arrival. Friday morning my son saw his "Poppies" for the first time in his memory. It wasn't love at first sight for my baby. Sure, he talked to Mr. C. on the phone all the time, but the real deal was sitting at his dining room table before he was even awake. The girls were a different story. Mak has always loved her Poppies and she's not afraid to let it be known. Paige gives her love a little more freely with her Pops, too. We sent the girls on to school and the boys went to bond over a round of golf. They came home mid-afternoon with my husband the day's champion.

We met that Carla and family out Friday evening to get some eating goodness. John was blown away when Mr. C. mentioned that his nephew was being scouted by Auburn. John is a HUGE Auburn fan and remembered seeing the name on the website as a potential. Cody (who is going to be our claim to the NFL one day) is being scouted by Vanderbilt, Harvard, Princeton.....and probably a few other names I can't remember right now. More on him at a later date.

Saturday found us heading to Saint Simon's Island to look around and eat some she-crab soup. The weather was beyond perfect and I took advantage by taking a lot of pictures. We hung out there for a long time before trekking back home to eat at Carla and John's. See, our lives on Saturday consist of this question: Which house will we be at? Hope and Fred's? Or Carla and John's? Our kids look forward to it and so do the adults. It's just our thing to do. Supper was amazing, as usual. Carla always comes through with her amazing cooking.

We relaxed for a while yesterday before Mr. C headed back home. Vitt showed off his bike riding skills and was tickled when Poppies borrowed Paige's bike. They raced around and laughed while I snapped pictures. Mr. C. said it had been around 15 years since he had last rode. Looked like he hasn't forgotten how to me.

Time came to head to the airport too quickly. Paige and I stayed behind while the younger ones tagged along. As Vitt watched Mr. C. through the plastic partition walk away, he told his Dad, "Awe. I miss Poppies."

I'm glad Fred got to see his Dad and spend some really good quality time with him. We had a good time and really enjoyed a weekend that went by entirely too fast. Hopefully, we'll see him sooner than three years!

P.S. I'm kinda braggy about the fact that I have a three year old who has been riding his bike without training wheels for a few months now. It blows me away when I see him whiz by on that tiny bike. He's not too good on stopping, but my neighbor has taught him how to "tuck and roll". He's a professional at that now.

Military Moment

Please pardon The Edge for a moment while we interrupt our regular programming to bring you a military moment.

I am pleased to announce that after months of nail biting and high anxiety and lots of instant message conversations (with a few phone calls thrown in) ...........


*drum roll, please*

The Domestic Diva and her divalicious family got orders to JAWJA! That means her handsome hubby will stationed on a boat out of my very own backyard!

Can I just say I'm excited beyond belief that I will get to spend time with this great family and see Sir Noah grow even cuter. (This might upset Mellie in Hawaii since she has always claimed dibs on him. You gotta share now, Mellie!)

I have already warned Em that she must allot herself at least ten pounds (or work out like crazy) since Carla cooks like a dream and is gracious enough to make a home made cheese cake at least once a month (give or take) that is guaranteed to knock your socks off. No lie. Her desserts give a person enough personal gratification (if you know what I mean), it ought to be illegal.

That being said, it may be a few months before Em and family get here, but we have so much to look forward to!

I can't wait.

Give Me a Spoon, Would Ya?

If you are blessed enough to have kids in your life, there are times when you would like to choke 'em....or beat 'em....or something like that. If you say you don't, then don't go telling people who do have kids because they will laugh in your face and call you a liar. ~shrugs~ I'm just saying.

But, there are moments when your child does something that just makes you want to hug 'em....kiss 'em...hold 'em close forever. You feel like you could literally eat them up.

My son wears me out more than he does anything. He's so busy and into every blessed thing he can find.

Today I needed a break and I let him take a bubble bath. Guaranteed to let me dry my hair and get one or two things done within a 10 ft. radius of the bathroom.

I heard him talking to himself and decided to listen in.

"Ho. Ho. Ho. I is Sant-ee Clause"

I peeked around the shower curtain to find this.

Give me a spoon, would ya?

To Adapt or Not to Adapt

My husband was in the military for 12 years when we first met. It was the pivotal point when an active duty member decides on making a career of the military, or getting out while the gettin' is good. We actually made the decision together as time progressed and we figured out we were gonna be together for the long haul. He wanted to do it and I supported his decision. Having a health plan for life seemed like a mighty fine idea at the time (and it still is!).

We've done a lot of talking about where he's been and the things he's seen. The things he has seen falls under places he's been....not any of that classified stuff. One thing he's always said is that no matter where you go, you need to adapt to the place where you are put. You are visiting, for the most part, on a long term basis (2-4 years). It's up to you to adapt to the part of the country you are in or the foreign place you've been assigned. I think this is good advice.

SO WHY DOESN'T EVERYONE ELSE DO THIS??

When he was stationed in Charleston, we would run into his students out in town. He would introduce me and they would have a small conversation. It almost never failed that whoever he was talking to would make the comment that they were ready to leave South Carolina. They hated South Carolina. South Carolina sucked.

Have you any idea how much that pissed me off? It took everything I had to NOT to tell these brats to go right then, pack their crap up and head on out. We don't want their yankee butts stinking up our beautiful state.

I would always smile sweetly and inform them in a "Scarlet O' Hara" sugared voice that I was born and raised in South Carolina and simply had no problem with it whatsoevah. Why, I just couldn't understand why on earth they would want to head up Nawth where people are just so rude and drive like loons. Anyone who knows me personally can vouch for the fact that when I get a pronounced accent going on...I'm usually pissed. It's not hard to tell. But, to the unknown, they get all confused looking at me trying to figure out why I'm smiling with my mouth and not my eyes. Then they get nervous a little bit. (This is my gift and I've honed it to perfection over the years.)

Now, this does not mean that I endorse the putting down of other parts of my great country. I know there are stereotypes and people have preconceived notions before they even arrive in a place. My point I was trying to make was this: It works both ways. If you put down my part of the country, I'm going to dig down a bit and find the stupidest thing to say about yours just so you realize how wrong you were to even open your mouth.

The wife of one of Fred's friends back in Charleston was the bane of my very existence. That girl drove me nuts. Her name was Kelly and I always referred to her as The Lovely Miss Kelly. Oh yeah, I was being very facetious because, 1. she wasn't lovely and 2. she thought very highly of herself. She proclaimed all the time how she hated the South. She needed skyscrapers! She needed hustle and bustle! And she simply HATED the word "ya'll". Her skin crawled every time she heard it. She was from Indiana. I finally looked at Fred one day and said..."Do not evah ask me to put my feet under her supper table. I will not do it. And does she not realize that had it not been for this town, that she hates, being one of the first cities in these United States, therefore establishing the start of this country that she lives in and her husband works for, then freaking Indiana would NOT be here today???"

*Clears throat and forces self to calm down*

I have been stewing for a couple of days over some of this. I called our base clinic the other day to make Makenna an appointment as she needed an immediate one due to her eye being irritated. We have all established that I am Southern by birth and the grace of the Lord above. I chose not to accompany my husband when he was stationed in Norfolk, Virginia because I was unsure of my abilities to adapt to a Northern like atmosphere. See? I knew I had limitations.

I was speaking with a nurse who was Lt. Somebody. She was okay. Not overly friendly, but I am used to that somewhat here as our base is a mixture of all races, places, and faces. She asked me something and I replied and somewhere in my reply I called her "honey". I don't even think about it. I AM SOUTHERN. We do stuff like that. It is not intended to degrade or insult. I do not approve of the word "babe". But Sugar? Honey? Sweetie? These words are staples of our language here.

She immediately said to me..."My name is not Honey. It is Lt. Somebody." And she kept right on going with whatever she was saying.

Oh, really. Is that right?

I promise on all that is Holy that if I hadn't needed to get my child in to see that doctor? I would have let loose on her.

So, I allowed the Inner Scarlet to emerge. I was cold, impersonal, and overly polite. With a pronounced Southern accent.

Don't get me wrong. I have no problem with Lt. Somebody having a problem with being called nice names. I really don't. But, realize where you are, Sugar. Realize that you are in These Southern United States. Realize that when you talk to someone on the phone and they have the Southern accent, that they have been raised differently from you. They are taught to say yes ma'am and might be inclined to call you a sweet name without thinking twice about it. They will talk to you as if they have known you for forevah. Realize they mean no harm or insult whatsoever. Go with the flow and ignore those things that irritate you because you understand that you are in a different land from your own.

It's like the fact that I do not expect sweet tea after I get past North Carolina. I know things are not as I am used to when venturing out of the Circle. And I've ventured out a few times. Why, I've even been as far as Chicago. Okay, I didn't leave O' Hare airport during the six hour layover, but I was there!!

I just had to put a thought or two out there because I'm sick and tired of stewing over it.

I guess I got some adapting to do my own self.

The Edge: South Carolina Edition

We headed home for a visit this past weekend. As always, it was too short. After sleeping a couple of nights on a pull out couch, it sometimes feels like too long, if you know what I mean.

Friday morning found me sitting on my parent's front porch shelling beans. I sat with my Mama and chatted about everything and nothing while the kids played all around the Plantation (that's what we call our piece of Southern property). This was actually a treat for me. I haven't shelled beans since I was a teen. We used to sit at my grandma's house and watch the traffic go by while going through bushels. I remember my Mama and Grandma's hands moving like lightening....shelling peas and beans so fast you could never keep up. I never got to that speed, but did my bowl or two. To me, it was like tasting a memory of something long ago that you didn't even realize you missed.

My husband was educated on picking off peanuts. My uncle brought a trailer full of peanuts still on the bushes. Let the record show that I hate picking off peanuts. I despise picking off peanuts. I remember being woke up early on Saturday mornings to go to a dew damp garden to pull up rows of bushes with peanuts dangling on the end. Nasty work. I would complain so much that finally my Dad would just bring them back and wake me up to help pick them off. Then the complaining would start again. I'm Miss Nice Nasty. I have never liked getting my hands dirty and peanut picking is dirty work. Once I got married and a home of my own, I informed them I would no longer pick off peanuts. Now, I've always been more than happy to eat them once they were all clean and boiled. I have stuck by this to this very day and have all intentions of continuing to until I die. My husband has never had the pleasure of picking off the peanuts, but he persevered because he has developed a fond taste for them. God Bless him because we brought home a small bucket for me to cook for our eating pleasure.

But, really and truly, all the excitement happened just as we were leaving to come back home to Jawja. We had everything packed up and was getting ready to load up the van when Fred decided to head to the back of the house to see if all was well before shutting up the place. I heard him say, "WHOA!" and come back into the living room.

I asked him what was wrong?

He replied, "There is a snake in our house."

Me: "Huh?"

Fred: "There is a snake in our HOUSE!!!"

Me: "Where?"

Fred: pointing down hallway "THERE! COME LOOK! HE'S RIGHT THERE!"

I walked over to where he was standing and sure enough there was a thin snake around three feet long at the end of the hallway. I immediately told my niece who was sitting on the couch with Mak to run get her Dad to help us with this problem.

Why did I do that?

In my momentary panic, I forgot that my brother is deathly afraid of snakes. Not too long ago, there was small snake that found it's way into his home. It peeked at my sister in law out of the hall closet when she opened it. She called my brother who then proceeded to get his pistol. Yes, his pistol. Real gun. Real bullets. He then shot at the snake. In his home. Missed the snake but hit a water pipe since hall closet was beside bathroom. Made quite a mess. They finally got the snake. It decided to come out of a drawer in the bathroom where Des was going to reach in for a comb or brush. Needless to say, every single hole was plugged in their home after that and they've had no more problems.

My brother comes into my home with a shovel and a pvc pipe. I'm still not clear on why he brought the pipe in. In the meantime, my husband had chased this creature into the bedroom behind a headboard. My brother was all for killing it right there. Bash it to death and all that rot. My husband said, "No! Not in the house! Give me one of those clothing containers out of the other bedroom." In the meantime, you've got three kids ages 8, 7, and 5 hanging out in the hallway wanting a piece of the action. The menfolk decided they did not need their supervision and sent them outside. Finally, the snake was caught in the container. My father met them outside and deemed it non poisonous and a common corn snake. They had recently cut a field near our home and the poor creature was evicted and was looking for his winter condo home. The Edge: South Carolina Edition was not to be his for the taking.

I gotta admit, I was ready to go then. Something about a snake in your home is enough to make you want to move or leave or fumigate or something! Our next mission when we can find an extra day is to go through and make sure we also plug up all the holes we can find. I can't say I'm looking forward to it. It'll probably take me a year or two not to jump at every shadow when I walk in my home there. And I'm old now. I don't need to be doing no unnecessary jumping.

That was our weekend. Exciting, huh?

Oh, and no offense to anyone, but coming home on the interstate? Makes me wonder how some people were able to get a driver's license. And just because you own a Mercedes or BMW does not entitle you to own the road and disregard all speeding laws. It only means you have no better way to spend your money and you have a high insurance payment. Personally? I'd rather own my pitiful mini-van, have decently priced insurance and spend my money elsewhere. But, that's just me.

Give Me What I Need

I've been sick for about three weeks now. It's only one of my twice yearly cases of bronchitis. I really thought I had it beat until I used some scented hand sanitizer this past Sunday and it messed my breathing all up again. I finally decided Monday afternoon that a visit to the doctor was in order.

Anyone who deals with our lovely military health plan down here knows it's a royal pain to get in to be seen sometimes. Thanks to my husband, I got to see someone yesterday. I don't what he said, but it worked and I'm not complaining.

I get to the exam room and in walks a new doctor. He sits down and asks me what's wrong.

I look him in the eye:

Me: I have been fighting bronchitis for about three weeks. I do believe I am now entertaining a sinus/respiratory infection. I need three things. I need asthma medication for my nebulizer, a Z-pack*, and some hycodan cough medicine so as to get sleep at night.

Doctor Dude: Uh, really? What leads you to think this?

Me: I have dealt with this problem for around five years and this combo is what works for me.

Doctor Dude: I see. What kind of cough medicine do you need again?

Me: Hycodan.

Doctor Dude: That's a narcotic! I can't write prescriptions for a narcotic! (This let me to believe he was a P.A. instead of a doctor- the uniforms can throw you off)

Me: Are you friends with someone who can?

That sealed the deal right there. He laughed and left to go write my prescriptions. He listened to my lungs and the wheezing therein and was surprised to see a pulse O2 of 97%.

Doctor Dude: You must be working like a train to get that much oxygen in. That's an awesome level for your lungs to sound like that.

Me: I am a Mother. I am a locomotive.

I ended up getting every thing I asked for. I shook his hand and told him it was great doing business with him and to have a wonderful day.

He told me I was the easiest patient he'd had all day and because of it, he even had time (at 3 p.m.) to finally eat some lunch.

I told him to appreciate older women who knew what they were talking about.

I am looking forward to feeling better by the end of the weekend. Which is good because we are heading to South Carolina for a small visit Thursday through Saturday. It's time to check on my Mama.

*Z-pack- the most wonderful 5 day antibiotic plan in the world. I love me some Z-pack.

Did I mention?

Did I mention that I passed Mentor Training for Compass Class? I sure did.

Did I mention that I participated as a Mentor last week for the first time?

Did I mention that the day I was to present, I was supposed to be the second presenter and due to conflict and miscommunication, I ended up being first? That meant I had no time to last minute study or get nervous.

Did I mention that when I got behind the podium, I started talking and realized I might do a better job if I had no shoes on my feet? (It worked, too!)

Did I mention that my part was to be approximately 60 minutes long and I went over only by four minutes?

Did I mention that five minutes into talking, I realized that studying does pay off and since I was comfortable with my information, I was no longer nervous?

Did I mention that I'm glad this only happens once a quarter because it can be time consuming and that's not all that cool to someone who is volunteering and has three kids?

Did I mention that Carla and I took a celebration trip to Tar*et Friday night (I had to get a birthday gift) and we freaked two kids out because Material Girl came on the radio and we blasted it and sang at the top of our lungs?

Did I mention that I will no longer ride at night with Carla because as we were driving down the interstate she happened to mention she has night blindness? That, and she can't talk while driving? This was confirmed when she jerked across three lanes of traffic so as not to miss our exit.

Did I mention I drove home because ...well, need you ask?

Did I mention that I now want a gas guzzling Chevy S.U.V. to drive of my very own?

Did I mention that because of all my volunteer goodness last week, I now have another obstacle course of mounds of laundry to get done?

Did I mention I need to go now because last I checked? The Magic Laundry Fairies don't work on Mondays.