Big city turn me loose and set me free

Howdy, howdy, howdy.

Friends, I hope you are doing well. I know I am. Well, I think I am. Actually, I’m not sure but I feel like I should be doing well so I probably am. Last Friday was the last day of the 2012 legislative session and it came just in the nick of time. Literally. By the last week, I was wearing flip flops and alternating between muumuus and maternity jeans (Yeah, jeans. At my job. At the Capitol.). I just didn’t have much choice and I almost fell asleep like five times in my spot outside the House chamber. I am practicing for when I become a sargeant in 47 years.

Anyhoo, since that chaos is now over with, I am operating from home a lot more which is just better for everyone. Except I’m exhausted from catching up on all the things I literally swept under the rug during session. Seriously, don’t ever look under my rugs February through May, okay? My main project, goal and focus in life (besides having a kid in 2.5 months) is getting my house unannexed from OKC.

“Unannexed?” you ask. “Yes, unannexed,” I answer. Is that even actually a word? I’m not sure. Spell-check doesn’t really think so. But I bet you can figure out what it means. So, Spencer and I made a rookie home buyer mistake and kind of bought a house that is not actually in the town that we thought it was in. I know. We wanted something out in the country, on a few acres but still within driving distance of our jobs in OKC. So, we found this little place called “Newalla.” It is, like, really far from the city, y’all. I mean, it takes 15 minutes to get to I-35 or 15 minutes to get to Shawnee going the other direction. We have a 74 zip code rather than a 73 one. We are in McCloud school district. Soooo, not being from the city, we assumed we were outside it’s evil grasp in Newalla. Well, all it took was one afternoon of shooting some semi-automatic military-style rifles and here come the poe-poes. The OKC poe-poes. They were very polite (which is always pleasant, considering the fact that a rude cop usually ends up with me being threatened and told to stop yelling) as they informed us that since we are inside the city limits, we really shouldn’t be practicing for the zombie apocalypse in our yard. Whaaaaa?!

So, of course, I do some extensive researching (aka, Googling) and learn that OKC had this huge power grab back in the 50′s and 60′s because they wanted to be humongous. And also cause they are jerks. And also because apparently, people around here aren’t radical enough and they don’t know that sometimes you gotta fight for your right. Now, having learned this, I have set about trying to find out how to get unannexed. Unfortunately, I have thus far been unsuccessful in figuring out how to do that. My best guess is that I would have to get all the neighbors riled up. But then what? I can’t figure out what’s in it for OKC. I know everyone says taxes. But, honestly, there are just one or maybe two gas stations. There is a little cluster of businesses at an intersection a few miles east of here, but the lady at the feed store told me the sales tax was only 4% there. Which led me to believe they were not in OKC city limits. But then I found out the city limits go all the way to Pottawatomie Co. So, I’m just confused.

The next question is, what’s in it for us? Why would my neighbors not be with me on this? Well, we get trash service. Seriously, that’s it. And it’s $30/month which I think is a rip-off anyway. And my neighbors have horses. Do you have to get a permit for that? What about leash laws? What about bow-hunting (trust me, there is hunting going on, I’m just not sure how.)? How about fires? I’m pretty sure we aren’t allowed to burn anything but since all the neighbors do it, I’m guessing that’s why they haven’t turned us in on that one.

What I really want is to either have our own little township of Newalla or get annexed by McCloud. Harrah is closer but I guess if we are in McCloud school district, I can go with that. I was thinking we might have more luck if we could entice a neighboring town with our wonderful tax dollars and get them on board rather than trying to go it alone. As you might imagine, I know some people who know about this kind of stuff. They pretty much think I’m dumb and it’s never going to happen. But maybe it could. Then, I wouldn’t have to worry that Spencer is going to want to move again in a couple of years. And I could shoot a deer. I mean, really, it’s going to be OKC’s fault when I have to try to spear one and it’s walking around all speared and probably getting an infection and that just won’t be good PR for them, now will it?!

Okay, I have rambled on long enough. If anyone has any advice or suggestions for me, PLEASE SHARE. I am an idiot at this. I have no idea what I’m doing. But, I really think I should look into it and even if it might take years, it might be worth it. Okay, go!

This is what we call “defeat.”

Want to see something funny? This is my garden.

That’s all. Have a nice day.

Face Break

I’m taking a break from Facebook. I almost said I was quitting but then I remembered how sometimes I need it to get ahold of someone and, let’s be honest, I’m having a kid and will probably want to show his picture to the world. Unless he’s ugly. Then I might just keep them to myself until he gets cuter.

I decided to take a breather from FB for several reasons. For one thing, it makes me feel hateful toward people whom I actually like in real life. You know what I mean. Some people just come across differently on FB than they do in real life. You have different categories of annoying Facebookers. I’ll list mine.

1. The Braggers. These people use the word “blessed” A LOT. These are usually women. Amazingly, their men are handsome, strong, virile and rich. Oh, and he sends flowers every day. Sometimes twice a day. Their kids are the cutest, sweetest, most well-behaved darlings you could ever hope to meet. Nothing has ever gone wrong in their lives. Mainly because they are perfect. Everything they do is their “calling.”  And they post 12 pics per week that they took of themselves-usually in their car, with or without sunglasses.

2. Next we have the insecure people who are trying to assure everyone else of how awesome they are. For gals, this usually means that they constantly complain about getting hit on too much.These ladies also like to post lots of pics that they take of themselves, but these tend to look sluttier. For guys, they like to complain about their jobs but at the same time throw in that they are making a crap ton of money.

3. The next category is the bitter complainers. The bitter complainers often give the impression that their moms may have breast fed them too long. Everything is negative. Whining on Facebook apparently helps.

4. The sick ones. These are not the people with chronic diseases. Unless hypochondria is a disease. Every status they have is a complaint about their poor health. I get the impression that these people have gotten attention in the past from being “sick.” It makes me want to go lay on the interstate.

7. The political experts. These people have probably never even voted (I hope), but they have an opinion on a wide variety of policy issues of which they have no actual knowledge. They get most of their news from The Huffington Post or Rush Limbaugh.

8. The religious braggers. I don’t mean all the religious people. I am one of those. I mean the ones who obviously post non-stop about their religion in order to convince everyone of how saintly they are even though you know they are having sex with a married man.These are also the ones who ask for prayer  every time they take their cat to the groomer.

9. The comedians. These people may or may not be funny to you but they find themselves to be hilarious. They probably spend too much time trying to think of funny statuses in order to get attention from their friends. I don’t actually have a problem with these people (that would be the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn’t it?) but I imagine it’s probably annoying to some.

10. The over-sharers. These people can’t tell the difference between their FB status and their diary. Moms of toddlers often fit into this category for some reason. Most of us don’t want to know about little Billy’s first poo-poo in the big boy potty. That’s when you should just text your mama.

I’m sure I forgot lots of others but I just did this off the top of my head. So, if  you have some good categories of Facebookers, let’s hear ‘em.

Besides the fact that I was starting to become homicidal, there were some other reasons to back off the ‘book. For instance, why do I care so much about what someone I met once six years ago ate for lunch? I mean, really, I should not be this obsessed with other people’s lives. Next, I realized that I was thinking way too much about FB status updates. I mean, I could have 547 updates per day if I posted everything that I think about posting. It’s pathetic. It’s like I have forgotten how to keep a thought to myself (If, in fact, that’s a skill I ever possessed). In addition, I don’t think I can handle all the uninformed loudmouths spouting off their political views for the next six months until we get to the election. Finally, there’s the question of addiction. Was I addicted to FB? Can someone be addicted to FB? Um, yeah, they can. I figured that out by the meth-addict-like withdrawal symptoms I have been experiencing the last two days. I don’t believe in being addicted to anything. I think it’s a bad idea to let something outside yourself control your behavior. And, sad as it is, FB was, at times, controlling my behavior.

Interestingly enough, I decided to do this little life challenge on Sunday night and on Tuesday morning I heard a radio show doing a survey on how to tell if you’re addicted to FB. Trust me, you probably are if you have it on your phone. I think I have decided the mobile app is the pathway to addiction.

Anyway, I’ll let ya know how it goes. I feel pretty sure I’ll stay off for a couple weeks but then I will probably want to look at pics from my sister’s wedding. Have you ever felt the need to cut back on social media? What were your reasons?

Day-Bean

That’s how I pronounce the name of the little boy whom I sponsor through Compassion International. It’s spelled Deyvin and he’s from Nicaragua and so I’m pretty sure Day-Bean is the correct pronunciation. The reality is, I will probably never know the correct way to say his name because I will probably never meet him or even talk to him on the phone. Probably. But, it could happen.

Compassion does organize trips for sponsors to visit their sponsored children. It’s expensive and I don’t really feel like I have a strong urge to go right now, anyway. But sometimes I think about how little six-year-old Deyvin might feel after 13 years of exchanging letters with me when he’s 18 and graduating if I were there to congratulate him. Or, maybe he’ll invite me to his wedding. Or, maybe he’ll come to the U.S. for grad school and he’ll decide to go to OSU to learn about agriculture to take back to his country. And we will go to a football game together and discuss whether futbol or football is better. Or, maybe not.

But, I sure do enjoy sharing letters with this little guy. Have you ever gotten a letter from a six year old? How about one from a different country? They ask hilarious questions like, “What is your yard like?” and “How many animals are living in your home?” It cracks me up and usually makes me cry, too. Because Deyvin tells me things about his humble home that make me ashamed of the nonsense I waste money on. And he always asks for prayers that he and his family will stay healthy. I imagine it must mean big trouble for someone to fall ill where Deyvin lives.

The reason I decided to write about this is that when people hear about Deyvin or see his drawings on my fridge, they usually ask why I decided to sponsor a kid in Nicaragua when there are kids right here in Oklahoma who need help. This happened again recently and so it’s been on my mind. I just wanted to share what led me to sponsor Deyvin because it’s something that has come up several times and I don’t think I have answered well in the past.

1. Numero uno is that I don’t think a kid in Oklahoma is any more deserving of help than a kid anywhere else. This is a point of confusion between me and those who say we should “take care of our own first.” I just don’t see why that should be the case. I know that there are children in Oklahoma who go to bed hungry every night, but to me, a hungry kid is a hungry kid is a hungry kid.

2. I think children in Oklahoma are more likely to have access to help and opportunities to help themselves as they grow up than kids in third-world countries. There are just more programs through the government, public schools (I know that kind of counts as government  but I wanted to make a distinction) and private charity organizations here than there are there. And if these kids are actually making it to school, then they can at least get free breakfast and lunch. I know that because I did.

3. Kids in Oklahoma have a much better chance of being exposed to the gospel of Jesus Christ than kids in some of these other countries.

4. I think it has the potential to make such a difference not only for the sponsored child, but for that child’s entire community. If you can educate and feed a child and then potentially help them find work when they are old enough, you may make a leader out of them. Imagine living somewhere where many (even a majority?) are hungry, uneducated and unemployed. Yet you have managed to become fed, educated and employed. You could have a huge impact on those around you.

5. I did some research about which organization I wanted to use. I eventually chose Compassion because it is a program that focuses on developing the whole child-physically, mentally and spiritually. The kids learn about Jesus as well as regular school subjects. It’s not just a meal. It’s a health program and an education.

6.  I’m pretty sure it’s legit. More than one person has suggested to me that this could all be a scam and there’s some fat guy getting rich off poor suckers like me. Maybe so. To me, that’s not a reason (or a good excuse) not to try. But, I’m not a total idiot. Like I said, I did do my research and their reported administrative costs are comparatively low. In addition, I have read accounts of lots of different, unrelated people who have worked with Compassion or gone to visit their sponsored child. So, I’m comfortable with that aspect of it.

7. I prayed before hand that I would sponsor the child God wanted me to sponsor. Then, I let Compassion pick him for me. With Compassion, you can either pick who you want to sponsor, give them some basic criteria or just give them free rein to assign you whomever they want.

Now, I’ve said all that simply to explain how I came to be Deyvin’s sponsor. I’m not telling anyone else what their contribution to the world should be. I will, however, be so bold as to say that it should be something. I’m also not saying it to sound like I think I’m Mother Teresa here. I send one kid a miniscule amount of money every month and maybe a little extra for birthdays and Christmas. Trust me, I’m not impressed with myself.

““Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.

² “So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. ³ But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, ⁴ so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”-Matthew 6:1-4

So, yeah. I wasn’t sure if I should even write this or not because of that verse. But, I know that I don’t talk about it to impress others. I just want people to hear my experience because they might want to do the same thing. That’s they way I became interested-through other people’s stories. Or, maybe it will help them think of something different. Also, I thought it would be a good topic to have a conversation about since people do wonder why it’s Day-Bean from Nicaragua and not Devin from Del City.

Let me know if you have a difference of opinion. I’m interested in what you think about this. Even if it’s different from what I think. Probably.

Don’t hate me because I’m fancy

Well. I am really moving up in the world. I don’t know if you have heard, but I’m now driving a vehicle whose model falls within the 21st century. I know. Try to remain calm. Spencer and I have been watching the ‘ole CL (that’s Craigslist) for deals on a more momish car for me. I was actually really shocked by the number of people who felt the need to counsel me on not driving my kid around in Black Betty. Or Midnight Thunder. Or whatever other absurd name I’m calling the Honda on any given day. I mean, I know I do some goofy unorthodox things, but really. I know that a car seat can’t fit in that thing. And a car seat plus Smokey’s big butt is just out of the question. So, yesterday we bought this beaut.

Okay, not this exact one. I don't have a lake at my house to park in front of at sunset.

Yes, it’s 12 years old but it only has 118K miles and guess what…it’s paid for, Baby! That’s right, we are pretty sure we have seen the last of our car loan days. At least, that’s the plan. And that’s a plan that feels pretty dang good.

In other news related to being fancy, I have just learned of a great betrayal. Apparently, Little Miss Reba is (or was?) an anti-gun activist. Um, yeah. Let that soak in for a minute. Yes, she is the one who sang about killing her brother’s unfaithful wife in “The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia.” I think the exact line was “His cheatin’ wife never left town/And that’s one body that’ll never be found/Ya see, little sister don’t miss when she aims her gun…” Also, she’s from Oklahoma. Plus, she was in Annie Get Your Gun.

That gun was pretty handy when those underground worm beasts came after you in "Tremors," huh?

So, it came as quite a shock when my pal Drew, who has tickets to see her soon, told me that he heard a nasty little rumor. We did some googling and found multiple stories about when she traded concert tickets for turned-in guns. Granted, this was in 1994 but I don’t care. I’m droppin’ her like a bad habit (I’m sure she cares). Not cool, Reba, not cool. I’m not even one of those people who thinks you have to agree with an artist on everything in order to enjoy their music (hello, Whitney Houston?). But this. This is more than I can take.

Fatty, Fatty 2 x 4

I have just had one of the worst days I’ve had in a really, really long time. In fact, I’m actually laying in bed sobbing as I type. I thought maybe I’d feel better if I told the whole Internet my problems. I don’t know why. Anyway, before you panic, I should say that no one has died, been diagnosed with a disease, been injured or even had a cramp (That I know of. It is kind of doubtful that anyone would alert me if they had a cramp, I guess.) No, my problem is nothing so terrible, even though it really does feel bad.

Here’s how my doctors appointment went today:

Me: “How much weight have I gained?”
Nurse: “Do you promise not to freak out if I tell you?”
(Obviously, nothing more needed to be said after this but for some reason we carried on.)
Me: “No. How much?”
Nurse: “Well, it really doesn’t matter. You’re beautiful! Isn’t she beautiful (to Spencer)?”
Me: “Thanks, but yes, it does matter. I need to know if it’s too much. Is it too much? I don’t know how much is okay.”
Nurse: “Alright, but really don’t worry about it. Sometimes you gain a lot in the beginning and then it evens out. Okay, now remember, you’re beautiful. Don’t freak out.”

And then she told me. And I freaked out. But only inside my head. The thing is, I have a scale so I already knew that I had gained 18lbs since my first visit. The bad part is that about 15 of it has been within about six weeks or so. I just didn’t realize that was enough to make a nurse basically have a panic attack when she had to break the news to me.

I’m humiliated. I’m embarrassed because it seems like I must just sit on the couch and eat Cheetos all day. The nurse even said “Just try to take a walk now and then.” Seriously? Because I’ve been getting up at 5:30am to workout. Not walk. Workout. No, not every day because sometimes I’m just exhausted. And no, I haven’t eaten perfectly but honestly, I don’t eat any more than I always do.

I just can’t stand this pressure of constantly having to bust my butt and analyze each bite that goes in my mouth. You would think with as much as I worry about my weight, I would get to be skinny once in my life. I was so scared to get pregnant because I knew this would happen. I knew it would just be out of control and I’d get fat again.

I did not, however, realize that once again seeing the number on the scale I saw three years ago when I started trying to lose weight would destroy me like this. All I can think about is how hard I worked- I worked SO hard
- and how it’s going to be even harder this time to get it off and I don’t know how long it will take and I’m terrified.

And I’m sorry that I’m a jerk because I have a healthy baby inside me but I’m worried that everyone thinks I’m fat. Especially Spencer.

I just wish the nurse wouldn’t have had a melt down and I wish my Dr. wasn’t busy with an emergency c-section and he could have calmly told me what to do.

I know it’s fine and all I can do is try to be healthy and never drink a Coke or eat anything that tastes good again. It’s just so hard. And so unfair. And I guess that’s just life.

I’ll let you know how the next appointment goes. The plan is to not gain one ounce by that appointment and actually, if I lost some water weight between now and then that would really help.

It would also help if everyone could just feel sorry for me and say a prayer for my fat butt.

Master of the outdoors

Well, in between stalking legislators (I don’t know if it really counts as “in between” if you are currently sitting outside an office waiting on someone to come out) I thought I’d take a moment to brag about my farming prowess (now there’re two words I bet you’ve never seen together before). Anyway, I went a bit nuts and planted a huge garden that I will never be able to keep up with and some other junk randomly in pots and the yard. Some of that junk included two blackberry bushes. I even got two different varieties in case one didn’t do well. My darling, handsome and strong husband dug the holes for me and we plopped those babies in the dirt. I may or may not have said a little prayer over them. I really like blackberry cobbler. Anyway, so I was out there loving on them yesterday and I noticed something strange. There was a bush nearby, which I did not plant, with the EXACT same flowers as my blackberries. Yep, you guessed it, I planted two little old blackberry bushes right in the midst of basically a blackberry forest. Which, I have to say, these low to the ground, long viney bushes look nothing like the huge beast of a bush I remember at my grandparents house when I was a kid. So, yeah. We should be able to have a cobbler. I’ll post a picture of our whole garden once I get the Bermuda grass out so you won’t judge me. Hahaha just kidding. I’m never going to get the grass out. Have a good Monday, everybody! And just remember, never plant blackberries where blackberries already are. There’s a lesson in there. Coulda spent the money on blueberries. Here’s a pic of my little plant with the native plants in the background.

The last week of my life of not being a mom who knows what gender her child is

Don’t you love how succinct and concise my titles are? Next Friday we get to find out if I’m going to be a mother or father. Er, well, you know what I mean.

This is all becoming pretty real to me at this point. Honestly, I have had such an easy pregnancy so far that I haven’t really felt pregnant. Just like I ate too many Frito chili pies. With a LOT of cheese. And while I’m super-excited about this baby, I haven’t really felt connected to it. It’s just hard for me to imagine if I don’t know whether to picture a boy or girl. When I try to picture myself holding a baby, instead of a baby, I just see a sweet potato or something equally disturbing.

So, I really expect all that to change in a week. I mean, we will actually have to start considering names instead of saying things like, “How about Thunderbird? I like it. T-bird Brown. Sounds good.”

At this point, you may be one of those incredibly strong and patient people who says, “Why not just wait until the baby’s born to find out the sex?” Well, to that I say: “Because that’s in August. Which is five months away.” Yeah, I could never stand the suspense.

I went to Target today and saw a lady struggling to get a baby and toddler into a wet cart (it rained today) and thought to myself just how much I need to cherish my trips to the store without any little leeches stuck to my sides. Then I saw another lady trying to push a cart and feed her kid something that looked suspiciously like barf. Then I had a panic attack and curled into the fetal position and cried for nine hours. Not really, but it just made me realize how easy my life is right now. And I highly suspect that after next Friday, my mind will become singularly obsessed with the little alien in my belly. So, I have decided to enjoy my last week of carefree, selfish life. I think I’ll celebrate with a drink. Nice soothing cup of green tea, anyone? (OMG who am I? Someone please help me!)

Home sweeet home

Hola, friends and random internet people! Please don’t mistake that exclamation point for energy. I actually might be on my death bed. My bosses and hubby agreed that I should stay home today so I thought with me sleeping until three pm and all, I could at least write a blog post. I’m not really dying, but my throat really is on fire. So, if you could feel sorry for me, that would be excellent. Now, on to something else.

Spencer and I closed on our first home on Jan 31st. Since then we have been carrying boxes, unpacking boxes, stacking boxes in the front room and having lots of fun buying things likes deep freezes and chain saws.

We are thinking of just using this whole room for trash. Forever.

So, here’s the scoop on the new place. It’s a double-wide trailer (which makes us feel somewhat fancy since we have both spent our fair share of time living in single wides.) Every time I say “double-wide” I have to also mention “Double Wide Blues” by Todd Snider. If you don’t know it, go listen. If you love it, we are probably BFFs. If not, there’s not much hope for our relationship to move forward.

Anyhoo, we bought a place on five wooded acres east of OKC in the thriving metropolis of Newalla. There are deer everywhere. You can stand in the back yard and hear them walking around in the trees. Well, either that or Big Foot. Either way, it’s pretty sweet. You might wonder if Smokey Joe is enjoying all the room to run and play.

Yes, he’s spent a lot of  time frolicking. NOT.

The previous owners left a trampoline which I was really excited about because Spencer has never seen my awesome back hand-spring (which can only be performed on a trampoline) but the tarp is torn. JERKS. They also left a cement mixer. So, yeah.

I got a garden spot tilled up and I’ll be farming before ya know it! At least until I get bored.

I get to get kitties soon. I’m getting two. They shall be called “Biscuit” and “Gravy.”  I just have to find them. When I was a kid, all you had to do was go to Wal-Mart and someone would be out front with a litter but times have changed and I don’t know where to get a free kitten these days.

I’m also getting chickens and possibly guineas. And possibly a turkey and possibly a peacock and some ducks. I don’t know. The feathery possibilities are endless. I just have to wait for Spencer to fix the chicken coop. There was an old metal building that I was going to use but Mr. Perfect didn’t think it was good enough so he tore it down. And it’s definitely not good enough now. Because it’s a pile of rusty metal now. So, when it is fixed and when spring has for sure sprung (because I just don’t think I want to repeat that time where I was brooding baby chicks in my bathtub), we are gonna get all chickened up.

And then. Oh, and then. The blogs will be hilarious.

This blog is having an identity crisis

Well, I guess I might as well get it over with. My first post about my kid. Oh, you hadn’t heard? Yep, I’m gonna pop one out in August. Here’s its first pic.

It looks just like me!!

We are pretty excited and for those of you who know about legislative session, yes, I did plan my pregnancy around it. It has been pointed out to me that now I will inevitably become a mommy blogger. Heaven help me. If this is, in fact, true, I hope I will only blog about gross/embarrassing/funny things. Because, really, I know that no one is going to care how perfect I think my kid is. So, this blog is a bit confused right now. I’m sure it will straighten itself out.

So, since this is my first baby and people may not yet realize who I am, I have some things to share and some warnings to issue. First of all, I’m planning a natural birth. I’ve always planned this and the more I read about it, the more I realize it’s what I want to do. The next person to tell me I’m crazy is going to get slapped. You loved your epidural and couldn’t have survived without it? Good for you. Glad it was available to you. It’s just not my style and I don’t want to see you make a face about it. Now, secondly, (and really, everyone should take this advice for every conversation they have with a pregnant person) nobody wants to hear your delivery room horror stories. Especially not pregnant people, okay? Okay. Thirdly, if you have encouraging stories, everyone wants to hear those. Especially pregnant people. Also, if any of my pals out there have any experience with Hypno-birthing or the Bradley Method, please feel free to share.

Alright! We’re gonna have a kid! Yes, this does mean no club specials or Keystone Light for like a really long time but people keep telling me it will be worth it.

In other news, we just bought a house so as soon as I’m not exhausted from working like a rented mule, I will take a picture and share with you some information about our double-wide dream. Here’s one thing: it came with a trampoline. Heck yes.