Boys Will Be Boys Even When They're 43

It has been a while since I wrote about something funny. Today I am choosing to laugh because otherwise Steven might stay in the dog house for a long time. So, here goes…

We all got ready and were off to the mall. Steven backed the car up in our turning spot and instead of just pulling out as normal; he felt the need to do some fishtailing. Too bad for him, AND MY CAR, that he lost control and went over our bank into a few saplings. Scared the kids and made momma just a wee bit hot under the collar as he sat and laughed. Thankfully, the Venza is a pretty cool car and backed right out but when I made him get out and check for damage he was a little less giggly as he reported there was now paint missing from the bumper.

Like a kid, he tried to say, “I didn’t mean to do it. It was an accident” HA! I said, “That’s like Bill Clinton saying it was an accident he soiled Monica’s dress. Meanwhile, we all know Mr. Clinton was up to something he shouldn’t have been!”

So, the Venza now has some paint missing and I have a story to tell. I told Steven at lunch that this was going to make it to the blog. He said, “I thought we’d just keep this between you and me.” HAHAHA

Happy day folks! Laugh as often as you can!

Welcome 2014

Missed half of Easter
Losing this fight
Can’t seem to see
Any light
The weight on my heart is heavy
It pulls me down
My will is fading
Need solid ground
The kids are so happy
I just want to share
Experience the peace
Breath the same air

I wrote the above in April. The next 7 or 8 months, I battled the worst period of Major Depression Disorder I have had to date. I have lived with depression on and off for years. People often don’t know how to take me. I hide a lot of it with humor and sometimes I just withdrawal. This period was filled with not only the depression but near crippling anxiety. In years past, I have worked with my doctor to figure out the best treatment. This year though, we had trouble figuring out what would be best and it got bad, very bad.

Thankfully, I have a great husband, mom, and friends that held my hand both figuratively and literally while I fought to keep my soul above water. There were times that were very dark. I was scared. I was referred by my doctor to a specialist and with her help I have found a combination of medicine that is working. I’m not 100% but I am so much better than I was.

I know that the fight against depression will be a battle until the day I die. It comes honestly through genetics on both sides of my family. I’ve kept quiet except for close friends but feel that sharing might help others who are going through the same thing. I encourage you to reach out and get help. Don’t let shame prevent you from finding a treatment that works for you. Depression is as much of an illness as cancer. It is not something you can “get over” or “move past”. It is a chemical imbalance that needs repaired through medical treatment.

So, here is to a better 2014. I pray for peace, laughter, joy, and continued healing.

I couldn’t make this up!

We live in the country and Gabe enjoys the luxury of being able to pee outside. He’s even been known to put his shoes on and go outside to pee… just because. Some might frown upon this activity but a boy’s “gotta” do what a boy’s “gotta” do… or at least that’s what I am told by my husband.

Well today, my little boy took things a few dozen steps further. Now, I know what you are thinking and thankfully, no, he didn’t poo outside. It’s even better than that.

Grace and Gabe were playing down in our unfinished basement while Steven and I were upstairs watching the Steeler’s game. The kids came upstairs giggling and Gabe proudly announced, “I peed in the litter box.” Yep, you read right. My jaw dropped and Steven simply started yelling, “NOOOOOOOO. You are not allowed to pee in the litter box!!!” There are certain phrases you don’t ever expect to have to say and I am sure, “You are not allowed to pee in the litter box” is one we never expected to utter.

Somehow Gabe thought he could point the finger at his sister. It was all her fault. Of course Grace was completely innocent and had absolutely not encouraged him (really? – HAHAHA). As the chaos of this fine Schrecengost conversation ensued, I have to admit, while Steven is being the tough cop and doing the yelling, I am on the couch laughing so hard it hurts. I mean, how did we get here? Gabe is Gabe but what kid doesn’t understand that a cat litter box is for a cat and not for a little boy? But, then again, it’s Gabe and with him I should know to expect the unexpected and laugh when I can because his world is special and he sees things through the eyes of an ornery little boy!

The Boob in the Bra Section

I am not a shopper. I do it when I have to and I do it quickly. I like to get in and out.

Today, there was a need. I was down to two bras both of which were thread barren. As much as I hate to shop, I especially hate to shop for bras. Bra shopping sucks because you can’t buy one bra one size and another bra in the EXACT same size and expect it to fit. It doesn’t work like that. On top of that, they have to throw letters AND numbers into the mix. It’s like doing algebra in a dressing room. 34B + 44D = boy does this SUCK!

So, today, I finally broke down and did it. I went bra shopping. I didn’t have much time nor much patience so I just went to Fashion Bug in the big town of Indiana, PA. Whoohoo… kill me now.

Steven dropped me off and I went in, found 6 different bras all the same size as my current bra and headed to the dressing room. I love dressing room mirrors. What’s not to love? Where else can you get that up close and personal with your best features? NOT

I proceeded to try on all six bras. One had more padding then I have boob and I have plenty of boob. One bra had a lovely fabric that was constantly wrinkled – a lovely look. One gave the uni-boob look – a personal favorite. And two made me know what sausage stuffed in casing feels like. The last one, the one that fit and helped the sisters look like decent boobies (and not their true elongated selves) of course was the most expensive.

Again, remember, I hate to shop. So, once I find something that fits, I buy it – in multiples. There was a twist though. While I was in the dressing room I heard a lady trying on outfits in the room next door. She would try on an outfit and then go out seeking approval of her shopping mate. When I stepped out of the dressing room I found out that her shopping mate was her husband and he had plopped down onto a chair right outside of the dressing room – right in front of the ONLY section of bras that actually fit.

Perhaps it takes a real man to sit in the underwear section of Fashion Bug but in my opinion it takes a douche bag idiot not to realize how annoying that is. As I stood there looking stupefied, the sales associate approached and asked if she could help. I explained my dilemma in a whisper, “I need a few more of these bras and that “gentleman” is sitting right in front of them.” She was great and volunteered to look for some but in the middle got pulled away by another customer.

I decided that I would be tough and dive right in. I stood between the bras and his chair and guarantee my butt was only about 4 inches from his face. He asked, “Do you need me to move?” And, instead of saying what I really was thinking… “OF COURSE YOU FREAK – GET OUT OF MY WAY!!!”… I did the next best thing, “No, you’re fine.” UGGGGGG Who raised me to be such a push over? At that point, I was just so annoyed that he didn’t have enough common sense to just get up that I just kept looking, losing my embarrassment and held the gallon size boobie holders in various colors right in his face!

Sigh… many dollars later I left the store and met Steven who was where any normal man would be… waiting in his truck listening to sports radio!

There's Something about Mary!

Last night we had friends over for a swim and the kids had a blast. When they left my kids got out of the pool and started into the house. Our standard practice, given that we live in the sticks, is to have Gabe strip down and dry in the yard. We then throw his suit over the clothes line and go inside. I had already gone in the house and had started to do some work on my laptop when Grace came in crying. She was upset because Gabe was crying. You see, his pee-bug was stuck in his suit. What? I know. How is that possible? I continued to work assuming it was no big deal and then five minutes later realized Steven and Gabe were still working on the situation.

Gabe’s suit had the typical mesh liner. The trunks were a few years old but still seemed to fit. Unfortunately, what we didn’t know was there must have been a small hole in the mesh and the mesh part was apparently a little snug. His pee-bug skin was stuck in that hole and when I say stuck… I MEAN STUCK! Poor Gabe was freaking out. He was scared and in some amount of pain.

Of course I first thought of the iconic scene in “Something about Mary” when Ben Stiller’s character zipped his wiener up in his pants. I forced my laughter down as my poor guy was in quite a bit of distress.

Steven had cut much of the shorts away and Gabe was left with a patch still stuck. As I tried to calm his hysteria, he asked, “Momma has this ever happened to you?” (Seriously, how do you not laugh?) I said, “Well, I don’t have those same parts but I have had my finger caught in cloth before and was able to get it out.” I also told him about a movie I had watched where a guy had gotten his pickle caught in a zipper. Gabe asked, “Why didn’t they just unzip it?” I explained that they had tried but it didn’t work.

About an hour later… an hour filled with screaming and tears… we were able to get the mesh off of the pee-bug. Thankfully there was no damage and once it was removed, he was just fine. After he walked away and I knew he was ok, I laughed until I about cried!

Life with Gabe is never boring!

The Best Place in the Whole World

My Grandma and Grandpap Rugg lived just one mile down the road from us. Except for an occasional vacation or stay at band camp, there was hardly ever a few days that passed without a visit to their home. Looking back the house was tiny but as a kid it never felt that way. It was a sanctuary, a place to celebrate and often the place to which we escaped.

I was 4 years old the first time I spent the night there. I can vividly remember being asked if I wanted to stay and then chickening out at the last minute only to realize at 10:00 at night that all I needed in the whole world was to be at Grandmas. My mom gave in and drove me down. From that night on, I knew Grandma’s was a special place.

The house was a simple story and a half that sat on a stone basement in front of their barn and small farm. The exterior was red siding and the first floor had a built in front porch, an eat in kitchen, living room, bathroom, and my Grandma’s bedroom. My Grandpap slept in one of the two rooms upstairs.

Each room of the house was filled with a collection of miss-matched furniture and my Grandma’s treasures highlighted by her huge collection of bird figurines.

The front porch was typically too cluttered to use for anything but a catch all of everything. From the porch you stepped through a sliding glass door into the kitchen. You were welcomed by my Grandma’s parakeets hanging in their cage singing a welcoming tune.

The kitchen table too was typically a catch all often stacked with old mail, my Grandpap’s pipe supplies, the milk straining bucket and cloth, a butter dish, bread bags and several other goodies. My Grandpap sat at the head of the table facing the sliding glass door. My Grandma always sat to his right where she could look out at the front of the house and watch her birds dine at one of the three or four bird feeders. Behind the table was a stand for the coffee pot an essential staple of my Grandma’s kitchen.

Grandma’s kitchen housed only two built in cabinets. One cabinet held the sink and one was mounted to the wall above for a few of her dishes, glasses and coffee cups. There were two stoves in the kitchen, both gas. One worked and the other collected an assortment of clutter. Grandma’s dishes, food, and kitchen tools were housed in several freestanding white metal cabinets. In them you would find mismatched glasses and plates well worn with each day’s wash and tender care.

It was normal to find my Grandma in the kitchen. She prepared three meals a day for my Pap. When I was younger, I can remember her baking her own bread and huge Sunday dinners of chicken and noodles made from scratch with the chicken often being raised on the farm. People loved my Grandma’s noodles. They were thick and doughy made from her hands to perfection.

The kitchen always smelled like heaven, or at least what I hope heaven smells like. It was a combination of fresh frying bacon, coffee, warm bread, pancakes and my Grandpap’s Prince Albert pipe tobacco smoke. Often an individual scent will bring back the memories but it was the combination of all that really was Grandma’s house. Today, I would pay a million dollars to be able to smell that perfect combination and even more to have just one more day in that house with Grandma and Pap.

The One with the Toy-Yoda

I have been car shopping and have been talking about getting a Toyota. Grace had the brocure and asked which one I was getting. Gabe said, "Mom is getting me a Toyota. "I laughed and said, "I thought I was getting the new car." He said, "You said you were getting me a Toyota from Star Wars." I laughed and said, "Yes Gabe. I will get you a Toy Yoda from Star Wars.