No Animals Allowed

Things not allowed on my bed:

*Dogs named Jack

*Boys named Jon

And I made both of them leave, AFTER I took this picture.

Old Tweeter

Was going through old Tweets tonight when I found this one about taking our beloved gnome, Cotton Cuddlesworth IV on vacation with us:

Jon on Cuddlesworth's trip readiness: "He's probably looking foward to seeing the lady gnomes on the beach."


So that made me laugh pretty hard. But like my family always says...I'm easily amused.

Runner up Jon quote from Twitter (for now, because this list could get long if I continue):

"April, I know my presidents and vice presidents and brothers of presidents." Jon, when asked if he knew who Ted Kennedy is.

Photos of the Day

Krystal is days away from delivering. She goes to the doctor on Thursday and if they don't do anything then...Saturday is the magic date for induction.



She is surprisingly calm. I guess that happens. I have a hunch I'd be a hot mess though. So yay her!

My Jon.



Just because.

Random Musings

I went in Babies R Us for the first time in years last night. And I instantly realized why I will not be having children for several years now...I've got terribly expensive taste. I mean I've known this about myself for sometime now (for all of my saving money pep talks), but it was bad. I love the $500 Maclaren and Peg Perego strollers. The $60 hotslings. The Dr. Brown bottles. The Britax carseats. The $450 cribs. The boppy pillows and the bumbo chairs. I loved it all.

It was bad.

The friend I'm buying this stuff for has known me for years. She's very relaxed, doesn't need much of anything, doesn't get into trends and things. And she says I'm very high maintenance.

She might be right.

So let it be said, I can't afford to procreate. I'm not entirely sure I can afford to attend this baby shower to be honest.

So that's what I'm doing this weekend, a little more shopping, going to the shower. And hopefully taking a nap. I'm not a huge sleeper, but this was such a busy week in terms of classes that I feel like I deserve a few hours of rest.

Then maybe I'll make the cupcakes on the cover of this:



Which was waiting for me in the mailbox this morning. Mmm...I love the smell of FREE in the morning. Smells like money! ha

And I'll continue to upload pictures like this one:



I don't know where I found this goober at, but how do you like his BLUE STEEL? I think he's watched Zoolander a few too many times recently.

P.S. Chihuahua,



I want another one.

I'm like the Mama Duggar of the dog world.

Vacation Vlog

Cassie's latest post made me remember a video blog from vacation that I'd never uploaded. They are both rather pointless, but pointless is interesting sometimes, isn't it? haha

Things of note:

-Jon's voice has gotten SO MUCH DEEPER since June. Oh my Lord. I hadn't realized. He sounds so young here. He was also agitated with me at the beginning of this video, we'd been arguing about my driving skills, no joke.
-Treading water is a common threat around these parts. Our Dad takes on this hilarious captain persona when we're near water.
-They call me GPS, it's a bit of an insult. They do it because I'm always confident about directions, even when I shouldn't be.


Vacation 08--Trip to Jerry's Part One from apsies on Vimeo.


Vacation 08--Trip to Jerry's Part Two from apsies on Vimeo.

This year I really want to remember to take more little videos like this. I think they are a hoot to look back on.

Anybody want to buy me a Flip? I think I need one of those.

Ugh! I've been kissed by a dog! I have dog germs! Get hot water! Get some disinfectant! Get some Iodine!

Here's my tip of the day:

If it's ever cold and snowy and generally miserable, and you've been out shopping all day so you are at your wit's end. But! You want something homemade-tasting that doesn't cost a zillion dollars, nor take up a tremendous amount of time, then here is what you do.

Buy 2 cans of chicken broth, one rotisserie chicken from the deli ($3.50 at Walmart where I was yesterday picking up a prescription!), and a small box of bisquick. Bring the chicken broth to boil in a small pot on the stove, shred up some of the chicken breast from the rotisserie bird and add to the broth, with some of the skin (for flavor!). Then as it's boiling drop in dumplings you made from the recipe on the package of bisquick, cook as directed. When the dumplings are finished cooking sprinkle with salt, pepper and paprika.

I don't know how great this was for me health-wise. But omg, did it ever hit the spot. And my mother was genius to point out the rotisserie bird idea, which was a total timesaver over having to cook one myself. (and cheaper!)



Remember that whole Jon's-growing-his-hair-out experiment? Yeah, finally over. We tied him to a kitchen chair last night and buzzed it. I'm only half kidding about that.



And finally, I just thought this was hilarious. Mom got home late Friday night, starving and willing to eat just about anything, so I got her something from Sonic. She was so hungry, yet also in the middle of telling a story to my Dad that she broke her own no-food-in-the-living-room rule and ate in there. But this is what happens when you attempt to have food in the living room:



They stayed like that, silent, until she finished.

Movin' On Up to the Eastside

Hey, who wants to talk about my neighbors?

*Pick me, pick me!*

Alright so last I left off on the neighbor story I recall telling you all about the new people renting the house next door. The preacher who did live there moved on from his MW church to a mega church in Louisville, where he and his menagerie of children are now living near campus. Anyways, the new couple he found through said megachurch had sold their house and needed a rental until the one they are building is finished. Which...voila....is how they are here.

So, I mentioned they are loaded.

Well let me tell you this. I simply did not emphasize that enough. Let me clarify:

They are LOADED, LOADED, LOADED. Like building a $600,000 home in a former Home-o-rama subdivision loaded.

Now the whole thing was odd to me from the get go. And since I'm both an expert spyer and google-er I was determined to get to the bottom of things. Say what you will about me, but I'm nothing if not determined.

First I sent in the operatives:



The one on the left talks a lot and the one on the right is cute. And the same age as the new neighbor's children. So, you know...perfect.

Initial contact with new neighbors was sketchy. Despite murmers that the new couple were building a very large house I was somewhat dumbfounded when Operative #1 (the talkative one) reported back that according to Neighbor Wife, Neighbor Husband was a youth pastor.

Now, my cousin Tommy got himself a seminary school education a few years back. And surprise, surprise, he works as a youth minister at a fairly large sized Christian church nearby. While he provides for his family and they certainly do not do without by any means, they could not afford such an expensive home.

So I had my doubts. Neighbor Husband: Youth pastor or Colombian Drug Lord masquerading as Youth Pastor?

Really, was all in the air at this point.

The next phase of the mission was all up to Operative #2 (the cute and appropriately aged one). His goal: integrate seamlessly into Neighbor Kids' circle.

Reports flooded in about the neighbor kids. But it took several weeks to pin down an exact last name. 2 weekends ago I became fairly confident in both pronunciation and spelling of their last name.

Which is how I found not just their names, but that Neighbor Husband is a lot more than a modest youth pastor. Maybe he started out as one. Perhaps that's how he broke into the biz. But a simple google search led me to a TON of info about Neighbor Husband. Who happens to be a high ranking bigwig in the K*Y*B*A*P*T. something or other.

And then I nailed the subdivision down through two happenings: 1) we somehow ended up behind their car one evening on the way home from the store and saw them turning into it and 2) Operative #2 reported back that Neighbor Kids has talked about that specific neighborhood and the details of the house they are going to be living in.

With details like that is was easy to pinpoint the price point of the house.

And once I did that my jaw dropped to the floor, where it's been for the last several days.

Now I grew up in a VERY modest tract home filled neighborhood. Every house was the same, all the parents did the same things: factories, construction....McDonalds. You get the gist. Where I live now? A bit bigger, the houses are all different, BUT STILL MODEST. So this is new, this living next to well off people thing.

But alas, the conclusion is still the same as it was weeks ago: I should have gone to seminary school.

;)

(this entire post was tongue in cheek, please don't be offended by my obvious objectification of A) the rich and B) the religious. I know not all preachers are rich and not all rich people are preachers. I also know I've never felt any calling to attend seminary school. Oh well.)

How I Spent My Day

My Dad has one of these, and because he has one of those every 2 1/2 months he has to go downtown to Frazier Rehab to get it emptied and refilled. Because my Dad is disabled, because he sometimes doesn't think as well as he should or remember things like he used to (from years of overuse of pain medication and loss of oxygen during his major heart attack) I usually accompany him on these visits. I fill out paperwork, help him answer questions and handle setting up the valet parking for the car.

And I freaking hate every minute of it.

What taking our Dad to the doctor looks like: A Photo Essay








(note the spot on my upper lip. that's my new 'skin cancer', at least I firmly believe it might be skin cancer. i'll get back to you, the dermatologist won't see me for another month)







Yep.

Fun stuff.

Best Friends

The vet I take my dogs to once told me that the day a lab stops being a puppy is the day he dies. These dogs just never grow out of that fun loving, goofy, neurotic puppy thing. I guess that's part of the reason so many of them end up in shelters, surrendered for being 'too much trouble'.

While my Jack is very much still a puppy at heart, his age is beginning to show. He's eating senior food, in the mornings his hips are slow to help him up, and his hearing is at best mediocre.

But he'll still try stupid tricks for the pleasure of a bite of hamburger. Anything for his boy.



This dog is so attached to my brother it's sometimes hard to believe. We call him the mother hen of the family, because the moment he loses sight of Jonathan he begins to whimper and pace the floor. And he doesn't stop until Jon is safely home, and in his sight again.

Jack turns 8 years old on election day and sometimes I look back on the years and wonder where the time has gone.



I meet kids sometimes who have never had a pet. There is this notion that children should have some sense of responsibility before owning an animal. But I scoff at the thought. No matter how much it will hurt in the end (and it will), Jon grew up with his best bud. Dogs are loyal by nature, and this one has been one of the best.

It's the economy, stupid

You know what I never do?

Get pictures printed. Like ever. And for someone who takes such an insane amount I always find that a little odd. I have boxes of photos from the early 90s and a handful of everything from the last few years. But hey, I can send you a link to my Flickr account!

So anyways, my point is, I don't print pictures often. But I can't resist when someone is offering to send me 50 for FREE and not charge shipping!

Behold: http://www.shutterfly.com/landing/viewSignin.sfly?fid=6a6a5734ebd8a0ad

Create a Shutterfly account, ANOTHER one if you already have one. Upload some photos and pick out 50 to get printed. They'll ship them for free and not charge a penny.

And next time you see me ask me to show you some recent pictures, I'll actually have copies of some.

Tonight is the first Presidential Debate. I hope you are all being good citizens and staying home tonight to watch. Or getting together with friends to watch. Or something. Because who says debate watching can't be fun? Presidential Debate Drinking Game

Although given the criteria, you might want to go ahead out to stock up on a lot of alcohol now.

---------------------------------------------------------

Personal news: I'm doing fine. I'm nervous and anxious about a dozen things going on in life right now. But since that's normal I figure I'm doing okay.

My Dad wanted to sell one of his trucks and the boat he never uses so I introduced him to Craigslist today. He's still talking about how easy it was to list them. I'm trying to do my part to introduce him to the internet. Although it might be back firing since he now wants me to 'pull up that ebay thing' all the time for him. Too cute.

Jon in 3 efforts still has zero deer or turkey. But I've heard rumors they are going out this evening. At this rate I'm thinking of gluing some feathers to a Butterball and letting him shoot it in the backyard. He might not appreciate that idea though.

Have a wonderful weekend and don't get too wasted watching the debate tonight. Or get too wasted, we'll blame it on the economy.

FYI

IMDB now offers a selection of movies and tv shows, full length viewing, on their website FOR FREE.

You all know me, I'm ALL about the free.

I hope this counts as the Christmas present you are expecting from me.

http://www.imdb.com/features/video/

Really, I put so much thought into this gift.

Trust.

P.S. My Dad and brother are going hunting this weekend for deer and/or turkey. Which is weird. My Dad hasn't hunted deer in nearly 20 years. Jon has only ever hunted squirrel. But, as mentioned, Jon is into archery now. He would very much like to compete with the girl next door (who is also hunting this weekend with her Dad) and try and bag a deer before her.

Yes, he is competitive.

So, they are hunting.

Which means I'm taking my mother antiquing and greenhouse/nursery browsing. I'm so excited. Because I don't think you are ever too old to enjoy stealing time with your mother from your sibling.

P.P.S. Anyone got a good wild turkey recipe? I'm NOT eating deer.

The one which is pointless

Despite the underbite, Jill is adorable.



Most days she can be found chasing sunspots around the house.


Seriously though. So smoosh.


In other news, Jon had a little 'bow' incident this evening. He and his friend from next door like to shoot their bows together. Jon had already shot a few times today and was, by his own admission, a little tired and a little lax. A nice SMACK later and he's left icing this spot on his arm. I imagine it will be a nasty little bruise tomorrow.

But ever the man that he is he didn't cry in front of the girl. Despite her insistence that it must have hurt enough to do so.


Boys....

My first class of the day is taught by a professor who commutes back and forth from the Louisville area each Tuesday and Thursday. I should have have considered she might not be there today and gambled on sleeping in a little later.

Alas, I did not. A decision I'm still cursing 12 hours later.

Lately my biggest dream is to curl up in my bed and nap for several hours. Yet, every day I think of other stuff to do rather than nap.

Does anyone else have this problem? I want so much to be a napper, but the truth is, when it comes down to it they always seem like such a waste of time to me.

I know. I have such problems. ;)

Photo of the Day (Update my Life Edition)

Jon's 'I'm growing out my hair project' is finally out of that awkward growing out stage and kind of cute. He was a curly headed 3 year old, 10 years later...it's back.



The yard in front of the house was dug up today for a new water line. I'm already tired of the heavy machinery running. But the pile of rock and dirt is impressive.



My quilt blocks went from this:



To this:



And finally, when will cats ever learn they aren't as small as they think they are?



I'm not sure. But the hissing and biting that occurred while trying to free her from this mess will forever haunt my dreams.

Personal Politics

When my brother was 5 years old I called him my little Alex P. Keaton. I know I've shared this story before, but it begs repeating. He was quite the young Republican and it DROVE ME BATTY. His little blonde freckled self would walk around taunting his big sister with his love of George W. Bush. I was younger, less mature about the nature of 5 year olds, but my Mom would reassure me. Don't egg him on she'd say, he just knows it bothers you. Eventually I gave up. Like my Mom told me to. My Jon was a little Alex P. Keaton. I'd accepted it.

Years passed, elections came and went. And throughout Gore, and Kerry my little brother showed little interest in politics. I put little thought into his disinterest. At least he wasn't walking around like a miniature Bush-o-phile anymore. Pick your battles, you know?

But something happened during this past primary season. A woman named Hillary and a man named Barack decided to run for President. A woman who is married to an actual President, a man with a funny name and a message of hope. I could see a change. I could see the wheels of motion that had affected me at the same age begin to turn in my brother's head.

He watched the debates. He asked about policy. About the issues. He began to inform himself through newspapers and 24 hour media sources. This Alex P. Keaton began to shed his Reagan Democrat clothes and shift into a young George Stephanopoulos.

It is easy to assume my parents (lifelong Democrats they are) would have influenced our views on politics. But trust me when I say they have not. My father couldn't care less what political party anyone belongs to, so long as you can ignore the reactionary tic he still has whenever anyone mentions the words 'Reagan' and 'union' in his presence. My mother might care, but she'd never admit it out loud.

My brother's closest friends are the girls who live next door to us. They have been raised to think a vote for the Democratic Party is a signed, sealed and delivered invitation to Hell. I'm not kidding. So it came as no surprise to my brother when they mentioned they want McCain to win in November. Nor was it a surprise when they asked him who he would vote for if he could.

And this is the moment that made putting up with my 5 year old Alex P. Keaton all worth it. Proud, not that he is is a Democrat, but that he is making informed decisions all for himself at the ripe old age of 13. Proud that in moments like these, he reminds me of myself.

Jon turned to the oldest girl, as they lobbed a volleyball back and forth over an old clothesline, and repeated a line from Barack Obama's New Hampshire Concession Speech:

It was a creed written into the founding documents that declared the
destiny of a nation.

Yes we can.

He got the line from watching this video on YouTube, a video I'm sure everyone has seen at this point.

The youth of this country often gets a bad rap. But sometimes, trust me, you can be so surprised by their knowledge, their thirst for the future, their hope. And it's those moments that send chills up your spine and lift the hairs on the back of your neck.

The hope of a nation in the face of a 13 year old.

Yes we can.

Overheard

Jon has a bit of an obsession with Cool Ranch Doritos. And by 'bit' I mean if given the chance he would consume a bag of them per day, maybe more. Earlier I told him he needed to 'back away from the chip bag', he agreed. So he went into the kitchen where I promptly heard doors opening and closing. Strange doors. So I asked.

A: You didn't put those into the dryer, did you?

J: No. Why would I do that?

A: Well...

J: *long pause* I put 'em in the washer.

Yes, because that was a much better option apparently.

My Not So Little Brother

They warned me this would happen. For years and years. One day he'll be bigger than you. And now, it's happening. Pretty soon he might tower over me. And it makes me more than a little sad. My little peep is growing up. *sniff sniff*

Scenes from a Saturday

*I did the sewing on the quilt block by hand and by myself. Needless to say, lots of patting myself on the back has gone on this evening.
*Happy Birthday Dad & Madonna.
*The cake was strawberry, not my fave but my Dad is a big fan.
*My brother thinks he wants to grow his hair out and find out at what length it becomes curly. The ends are curling as of recent, but the rest is still thick and fro like. I'm none to pleased, but somebody has to document this ridiculousness.

Photo of the Day

I came home today and this evening we sat out in the backyard, soaking up the shade and a warm breeze. It was lovely. At some point Jon grabbed a leftover corn on the cob from our KFC dinner and brought it outside to eat. I, of course, grabbed my camera hoping for some nice "corn cob eatin' pictures".

Notice anything wrong with this picture?




No? Here, let me help:

I didn't notice until I uploaded them to my computer tonight. But seriously, I wonder if he's trying to tell me something about all my picture taking?

I told you that story to tell you this one: A Continuation

When my Dad was 8 years old he had a cap gun that he loved to no end. According to my grandmother he spent all of his waking hours that fateful summer playing with the cap gun. I don't know, I guess it was 1966 and not much else was going on or something, either way, times were tight and that was his latest toy. Also, in 1966 we were not worried too much about child safety because said cap gun actually shot out a little "cap". Don't most of today's cap guns just make a little poof?

Anyways.

In 1966, my grandmother had a bit of a menagerie of birds. Come to think of it, they had a menagerie of animals. Several dogs, several birds, and a Caymen Alligator. The poor Caymen would meet a tragic fate at the hands of my father, but that's a later story. On this particular day, my young dad had his sights set on one thing and one thing only: my grandmother's beloved canary.

There are two versions of this story that circulate through family lore. It really depends on who you choose to believe.

The version by my own Dad goes a little something like this:

I was just sitting there in the living room, watching Captain Kangaroo on TV when Mom's canary flew to perch on the top of the television set. I accidentally shot my cap gun in the general direction of the bird and she fell over, dead.

I think it generally goes without saying, I don't believe this version of the story, ONE BIT.

The second version of this story goes a little something like this: as transcribed from my Aunt B,

Your father was a mean little boy. I mean, really mean. He would guard our front yard and not let people walk on the sidewalk in front of our house. Mean, okay? Mama loved that canary. She would let it free to fly around the living room and he would perch on her finger if she whistled. Your father, as you can imagine was quite jealous of Mama and the bird. Did I mention he was mean? 'Cause he was also jealous of anything that might love Mama too. So, he took one look at that bird that day and killed it...on the spot. It's a wonder he isn't a serial killer now.

That's the version I believe. Because you take one look at these pictures and try to deny that my father was a mean kid:



So yesterday when Jon managed to kill a bird while it was innocently eating in a retreat I created with my own two hands, I knew I finally had my equivalent bird story. Especially when Jon denied aiming at the bird that he killed, "it just flew in the way of my shot" he said.

Right.

And Dad just accidentally killed the canary on his TV set.

The One in Which He Kills a Bird

As fate would have it the biggest threat to my bird retreat has not been my cats. Despite their many attempts, neither one of them has been able to get the big kill. Hell, they can't even manage to kill a butterfly they chase in the yard.

As fate would have it the biggest threat to my bird retreat has been my own brother.

Yes, you read that right.

All weekend long Jon has been out in the backyard playing around with his various BB gun things (I say things because they are different then your average Red Ryder, yet I don't know exactly what they are), while I laid on the back patio working up a good sunburn in prep for Florida. I kept telling him to be careful, to not shoot at the bird retreat. Yet, over and over he disobeyed my directions. I guess it all has to do with that being 13 thing again, no longer is his sister's word good enough.

I knew that at some point, whether he wanted it to happen or not, there was bound to be tragedy. Especially after finding pellet holes in EVERY SINGLE CONTAINER full of plants in that retreat.

I just didn't realize how right I would be.

(THE FOLLOWING IMAGE IS ONE OF TWO THINGS: DISTURBING, OR HILARIOUS. I CAN'T SAY FOR CERTAIN WHICH KIND OF PERSON YOU ALL ARE, SO JUST CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED:)



Now, for three solid days now I've been taking St. John's Wort supplements. Sometime last week I began my monthly two weeks of emotional hell and after a particularly bad day of screaming, crying and general hysterics I concluded that perhaps I was dealing with more than just PMS here.

I won't deny. With the help of Dr. Google I diagnosed myself with PMDD. It just makes sense. And let's face it, in terms of a condition like that, all my doctor would be doing is guessing too. So I saved us all the trouble.

Except PMDD is usually helped with the assistance of a few friends I like to call Mr. Pro and Mrs. Zac.

I'm not much for the antidepressants. If you take them and you like them and they work and you want to braid their hair, more power to you.

I just am not at a stage in life where I feel ready to submit myself to such a scary drug with such scary side effects. My Dad just got off of a year of Cym*balta and that was a scary withdrawal process and for the first time in a year he is just now active again.

So, I'm just not there.

I did, however, do a little research to find something that might help me in my hellish little mood situation. Something that wasn't copious amounts of booze.

Am also not ready to be an alcoholic. See, I'm non-discriminatory!

St. John's Wort. That was my answer.

And in three days time I can honestly say I'm beginning to see a difference.

How, you say?

Well, the old April would have cried after her brother killed a precious little bird. She'd have cried and told him "I told you so" and then been mad for a while. It would have been a real spectacle.

St. John's Wort-April COULD NOT STOP LAUGHING. It was seriously the funniest crap ever. From the moment he opened the door with that look of dread on his face, to watching him preside over its last little feather flop, to the moment St. John's Wort-April said, "hang on, let me get my camera."

Later on my father asked me why I felt the need to take a picture of the dead bird my brother had killed. And I gave him the honest answer, "So I can have it for every Christmas party and family gathering from here until eternity."

And I meant it.