Visit My Message Board

Marn's Big Adventure

Harsh Betty's Party favors


E-mail Stephanie

Harried, Hurried and Hapless. That's how it goes.


Saturday, October 12, 2002

Good Blog

If it's a good blog day, I will come back to inspect my work.
Actually, I come back to see if it still seems as groovy as it was when I left it.

Usually, by then, I remember several things that I forgot to include - like today.

Remember a few days ago, when I said that my dreams havebeen on the verge of insanity?
I had the mother of all frustrating dreams last night.

I dreampt that I couldn't fall asleep ALL NIGHT LONG
I would lay there, tossing and turning, flipping and flopping but just couldn't find that peace that comes when you finally drift off.
I would lie there, looking at the clock and just watching the numbers flip.

I woke up this morning, and realized that I had NOT been awake all night like I presumed, but man it felt like it.

If this will be par for my course, I'm positive I will dream tonight that I have to pee, but am unable to get out of bed.
Good thing that my husband is sound asleep already, on HIS side of the bed.
Things could get soggy.


Counting Chickens

I've always wanted a few chickens and a llama.
It would complete the ambiance at our little "wanna-be" farm to see several feathered friends milling about the place, contented, fat and happy. I could have an alarm clock that would never need winding, and eggs, fresh from the hen. I even have the perfect place for them, all planned out. I could have something in my pasture with our sheep that would protect them, and be a unique addition to the menagerie I'm collecting.

There are several reasons my chicken/llama dream will never come to fruition. First and foremost is the fact that my entire family despises them. My husband threatened to eat immediately, any chicken that stayed long enough to roost. My oldest daughter is horrified of both species, walking a very wide path whenever a either is rumored to be in the vicinity, and my youngest just thinks they are completely vile.

Where is their spirit? Don't they see that you can't have a complete country living experience with out extra unnecessary livestock? I'm really beginning to think it's just another plot to drive me crazy. I'm not asking for the moon, you know. Farm chickens are like barn cats, everyone who has too many, is willing to give you as many as you can carry to take home. The look in their eyes, pleading with me to take them off their hands would have wizened the sensible...but not me. I still want those chickens, and if I could find a place that wanted to also add a llama to the deal, I would be elated.

I ask for them for Christmas, I even put them on my list for Mother's day. It's beginning to be a family joke, because I'm sure I will live, and die, without my requests, but it's still fun to ask, and watch their faces. Sometimes I'm sure they consider it a goal - to see how long they can deny me, before I cave in to defeat, or just go out and get some myself. so far, they are winning.

Last week, I received a sign.

No, it wasn't a burning bush, or a Remax listing. It was a 3:00 a.m. awakening to a scuttle in our driveway. I went out to investigate, and found, quite incredibly, a chicken. A single chicken, checking out the place. I don't know what brought him here or where he came from, or was headed to - but he's decided that this place is now home.

With my extensive background and tactical training in chickenology, a friend still had to point out that this chicken would not be the egg-laying type. I soon learned that most Roosters do not make habit of laying eggs. So I got the cart before the horse - It was meant to be. For now, he's making friends with our Ram. You know, the one that is plotting to kill me as I feed him someday. I must separate them before they can organize a strategic ground and air assault upon me one night during chores.

Recently, I've been staying up late, waiting for my llama and hens to fall from the sky. I know it's coming. Everyone says it will never happen, but I'm not the type to look a gift chicken in the mouth.

Friday, October 11, 2002


Damn Adults Anyway

I almost did it last night. I really did.
No, I'm not talking about spontaneous, reckless abandon with the husband - you all know better than that - and it isn't a blue moon anyway.

I nearly became that sports parent that everyone talks about.

You know the one.

While the details surrounding the events that nearly drove me to homicide are irrelevant, the point is that what we struggle against, is usually what defeats our spirit. Last night, mine was broken.

I know that sports contests aren't important in the big scheme of life. Who won what is completely forgettable from year to year. It is through these exercises though, that we as children learn where we "rank" amongst our peers. Parents too, find themselves being ranked and scored on how well little Jenny hits her 3-point shots or swings a bat.

It is so laughable, I find it embarrassing to even comment on the inferno it sets off in my heart. Take my daughter, who has started every game of the season, add to that a misunderstanding on the coaches part, and the result is that she was intentionally withdrawn, and set the bench the entire last game of the season. Of course I had no idea what was going on, and had to sit through the entire scene before getting caught up to speed.

Of course the misunderstanding has been completely resolved now - but that doesn't change the result of the coaches stupidity and arrogance. That demolition hit home hard after being blatantly ostracized.

Ahhhh the joys of cleaning up broken hearts and placing band-aids on those that might heal.

I was rooting for my daughter to just walk right up to her after the game and punch her coach hard in the nose.
(and/or anywhere else) Not that she or I would actually do anything of this sort, I just thought that the mental picture would soothe my impending desire to flog her personally.

She's a juvenile after all, and she could get out of it. Me, on the other hand would have to hope that the County Jail had a DSL connection, come on, get real folks.


Just Do It

Let's all Cavort!!!

Recently, I've been thinking.
Don't rush off for your fire extinguishers just yet though.

I realized that this entire time off work I've been semi-enjoying has been spent doing nothing but cavorting. I cringed at first - I mean if I gave it a label then I would have to admit I have a problem. Admitting it, so I hear is half the battle.

Coming out of the closet wasn't easy. believe me. Most grown-ups seriously frown on frivolity and frequent escapades of pure frolic.
But I'm out, and HEY - it feels good!

Wednesday, October 09, 2002


Sleep Tight

My sleeping subconscious has recently taken a new job. I would have to say that it's doing well, and making new friends because for the past few nights my mind has been a swirling, raging cinematic explosion.
I haven't been on any mind-altering drugs lately,{read EVER} nor taken any Nyquil which usually sets me up for some freaky dream sessions but the groove is on, baby - buy a ticket and come on in!

Two nights ago, I was thrown into a job situation with my High School boyfriend of 3 years, and his best friend. We lived in a common house together and did remodeling jobs for our clients. One of our newest clients, was my husband who seemed really tolerant that I was living with my boss and his friend. All he wanted was the carpet torn up in his TV room so he could paint the cement. This dream went on for what seemed like an eternity. I really believe that I could repair molding, add on an extra room if requested to do so today. What's really odd, is that my OLD boyfriend seems to have a special "featured guest status" in dreamland. Let's not go there right now.

Fortunately, last night, he must have had something else to do because he sure wasn't around to help me farm my Amish neighbors 5,000 acres by hand. See, the Amish Bishops had a meeting and decided to ask me to take on the project. (don't ask ME why )
I had to present myself to all the Amish folks in the churches district to get their approval. Soon, I had my own team of draft horses and a helper (Amos) to show me how it's done.
After harvesting 1 acre the entire first day, I secretly called my other English neighbors, with tractors and wagons and asked them to finish the project for me overnight. They did, and no one ever found out. I was then given my own covering.

Lets all take a minute now and give thanks that I'm neither a carpenter, nor Amish.
WAIT! I can hear my dear friend Rachel now, telling me that the carpenter reference, and the Amish reference is really a sign about my spirituality. I know Rach - I thought that too. Why God just doesn't hit me with a bolt of lightening and get it over with, I'll never know. He just continues to taunt me on a subconscious, sleepy basis.

============= (The line means new subject, since I'm to lazy to come up with a creative way to tie it all together)

The Seasonal Saga has begun.
I've been commissioned yet again, to draw Christmas exchange names for my extended family. Which means that very soon I will have to face the facts that I must begin shopping for a gift for someone I see once a year, just for sport. Not that I don't enjoy it, well, ok, I abhor it. Moot point.

This year should be an interesting exercise in creative financing. I've been trying to figure out how to purchase 27 gifts for others before we tend to our own family of four. My creative talents rank right up there with, well, no one. I can't cross stitch, knit, crochet or latch hook to save my life. I must rely on the powers of retail to complete my lists. I did have one creative idea, but it would never, EVER fly.

Why not buy people what they really need? Drawing from my opinions only, I could purchase duct tape for those whom I wish would keep their opinions to themselves. Xanax for those who get on my nerves and shirts that reach the waistband of pants for all the teenage girls I know. I could buy dish soap and vacuum bags for my husband, who I feel needs to become more connected with his domestic side. People could buy me slim fast, hair dye, and an iron for my expanding figure and my electric red, unmanageable curly hair. I'm sure I would get a few rolls of duct tape with anonymous tags myself.
We could call it "Dr. Phil's Christmas"
oooh - baby, I'm on a roll now.

Tuesday, October 08, 2002



I'm trying to convince myself that there isn't enough left of today to accomplish anything purposeful. I'm feeling kind of run down, but I know it's not because I've been too busy. More boredom than anything. I'm sick of doing the same things everyday. Housework is never EVER complete, and to make myself a slave to it makes no sense. (like I have anything else to do)

So, today will be a "day off" for doing whatever I want - when ever I want to.
hmmm..... looks like we could use some clean laundry....
tricky clothes, they fool me every time.

Monday, October 07, 2002



I forgot to talk about the letter.

Saturday night, the mail came in, via the husband who went out to practice his golf swing. Normally, the mail gets thrown directly at me - because I'm the account's manager here at Chateau De DeBolt. (I don't know a lick of French, in case it's not already apparent)

This time, it was different. My husband lingered and hovered over me until I tool a look-see through the pile of usual junk mail, bills and the like - until I came upon the letter.

It was addressed to me, and the return address was from the Elkhart County Personnel Division.
(Corrections Officer Test Results)
Ahhhhh - now I see why the sudden interest in the envelope.

I set it down on the desk, and proceeded to finish my game of Solitare - I was winning, dammitt!
Finally, he could take no more, and asked me to open it.

I did, and it read;

"Dear Mrs. DeBolt,
The jail officer selection test you took has been scored and tabulated. To be given consideration as a Jail Officer candidate, you needed to have scored a 70% or better on each of the three sections of the test." (looking bad, fellow readers, eh?)
"With your results above the 90th percentile, you have easily passed this first step in the selection process. Within a few weeks, you should be contacted by a representative from the Sheriff's Department who will instruct you on further processing."

Fear and anxiety overtake me, but it took smelling salts to revive my husband.
Looks like a shoot-out at the O.K. Corral isn't totally out of the question just yet.


I'm no Chicken

Lying in bed Saturday morning, somewhere between the "just fell asleep" and "trying to pretend I'm asleep", hoping not to jostle the
other half into a come-hither state of "Hey honey, gee....it's dark and the kids are upstairs............"
Sadie, our inside-dog barked.
Not just a single bark, but an "OH MY JEEZ, THERE'S SOMETHING OUT THERE!" bark. Which in turn, set off a string of amazing events.

Our other dog, Ranger jumped to full attention and joined the chorus. I flew out of bed, sailed across our hardwood flooring and bounced off the dresser in my startled/sleep fogged state. Weezie, our cat, became tangled in the covers as I tossed them off, and she clawed her way out, via my husband's back - and then he joined the howling symphony. (Until then, he hadn't heard a thing, but I think the pain grabbed his attention)

Sadie and I ran to the door, to assault the would-be attacker. Luckily, she thought to wear her fur, as I wasn't too keen on fashion sense when I bolted from bed wearing nothing but my t-shirt and some skivvies. Looking over my shoulder, expecting to see my husband in ranks with the soldiers, I realized he would wait in bed where it was warm until we called for another platoon.

Peering out the door, all looked fine. No vehicles, no lights - nothing. Not that I would expect an intruder to wear white and carry a spotlight, but it seemed okay to me.

Until I noticed the barn cats.

All lined up across the yard (there are 4 of them) they sat and intently stared at something in the vicinity of my husband's work truck. I could not see a thing from where I was, so I went to the back door to let Ranger AND Sadie out together.
I was remembering the Coyotes from last week, and we heard them again on Friday night. I knew that the two of them would be able to handle running whatever it was, off in a hurry. Especially since Ranger has a fondness for absolutely nothing, human or otherwise - unless it feeds him.

I opened the door, and they both bolted out - excited and barking. I watched, not knowing what to expect as they rounded the truck. I didn't think to grab one of the guns, just in case whatever they were going to chase decided to put up a fight, so I hoped it was all in our imagination anyway.

There was the sound of growls, yips and then SOMETHING came up and over the hood of the truck in my direction. Knowing that my dogs aren't that nimble, I had only a second to react. I flinched, and then realized that it was a chicken.

Yes, a chicken.
And he wasn't very happy to be interrupted in his cock-a-doodle-doings.
How it came to live at our house at 3:00 in the morning is beyond me, but as soon as the dogs returned from their mission I went back to bed, leaving the barn cats to entertain themselves with Mr. Chicken. In the morning it was gone, and no one came to the door to ask for barbecue sauce, So I presume it returned home, telling all it's friends about his late-night wrong turn and run in's with scantily clad women and aggressive canines. I guess chickens need adventures too.

Sunday, I took my oldest out to collect leaves for her Biology project. Lord only knows why they wait until the leaves are falling off the trees and in a miserable state of decay. My in-laws live in a woods. That was mistake #1. We went there to do the collecting. Immediately, I was thrust into a leaf collecting frenzy.

I had hoped to collect some of the more exotic samples of foliage, instead of the common and very usual Maple, Oak and Ash varieties. But my plan, however highbrow it was in in it's conception, soon hit the can. My MIL found all kinds of leaves, "This one is a Birch! (read Maple) This one is a Sycamore! (read Maple) This one is a polka-dotted, Lilly-livered, conifer! (read Maple again)." Although the search was interesting, and I did manage to covertly bag more than ONE type of leaf - most of it was spent wondering what she would call the Poison Ivy we were trudging through.

So, today, in a fit of Motherly love, I decided that I would try and identify some of the ones we didn't know. The internet has some great resources, but I'm a picture gal. As I opened some of the books to look at the leaves we'd pressed last night, my eyes started to water. No worries, as I'm prone to allergies and it must be a bad day outside - I thought to myself.

An hour later, I'm on my 35,000th sneeze, I'm wearing a bib for mucous control, my eyes have swollen closed to 1/28th their normal size and my head hurts.

Oh Gee - let me get the picture.....
That one is poison sumac.


This page is powered by Blogger.