West Texas Mama

I lay here in multi-splendored glory, pondering those things that make a marriage work.  This past week has been a prime example of many of the concepts that I believe make it work:  support, willingness to be used, allowing your OCD to be aggravated by new toys. In less positive news, my in-laws were in a very scary accident as they left their hometown.  It would seem a youngster with a rather large truck with a reinforced bumper (extremely common in our neck of the woods) failed to yield the right-of-way as he rushed to his destination point.  Fortunately, my father-in-law saw him coming and was able to minimize the t-bone impact, but it left my in-laws very bumped, bruised, and bloody and with an unexpected trip to the ER.  They were released and continue to recover, and will eventually be alright, but understandably the family was scrambling as we worked out a plan to take care of everything. My very minor role was to drive to a town about 45 minutes awa...

Lately I have felt much older than my actual age.  Life can sometimes be hard.  Stress takes it's toll.  Things happen.  Years pile on. This is apparently not how El Hubbo has felt.  Living in a world where one is youthful and exuberant with rainbows and lollipops is what he prefers. I may have remedied that with a big ol' dose of reality. Our dinner conversation: Me:  "Hey, the other day when I picked up the kids I saw you had a new welder delivered.  I saw the sub come out and try to figure out what he needed to do." Him:  "What?  Oh yeah!  Who did you see?" Me:  "It looked like one of the coaches.  Maybe an older or middle-aged coach?" Him:  "Oh, yeah - no, he's not that old." Me:  "Well at least middle-aged." Him:  "No, he's about my age." Me;  (Looking at him quizzically) "Well, you are aware you are in your late forties?  That is middle-aged." Realization dawned on him. ...

Brenda is tired.  Brenda is cranky.  Brenda has spend the day referring to herself in third person.  Brenda is in sore need of a vacation.  Technically, Brenda will soon take some days off for "vacation" but that "vacation" will require her to ride herd on her children and her father.  If you are a follower of this blog, you understand that this "vacation" is no "vacation" at all, no how, no way, no sir! My children have recently transitioned to being able to stay at home and see to themselves periodically.  Today I got up for work, wrote out a list of chores, posted them on the fridge, woke up the boy-child to let him know I was leaving, and then eased myself out the door. 8:30 a.m.: Phone call 1 - "Mom, Emma won't wake up!"  "Why are you waking her up?  Haven't you learned it is best to let her sleep as long as possible so that she won't bother you?"  "Yeah, well, what about putting the dogs outside?...

I cannot make this stuff up.  When I say my life is here to entertain others, I really mean it. Tonight I was exhausted.  I have three stacks of projects on my desk that I literally broke out a ruler and measured today.  Each stack measured approximately 6 inches.  That is 18 inches of projects that everyone involved believes should be my first priority.  EIGHTEEN INCHES.  This does not even include emails, walk-in traffic/questions, etc.  I shouldn't complain as I have a good job, of which I generally enjoy the associated tasks, but GOODNESS, EIGHTEEN INCHES! I finally called it quits and decided to pray that it wouldn't multiply overnight.  I'm convinced there is a secret project breeding program and my office has been designated as an ideal habitat for such activity. I rushed home to meet someone who planned to try to convince me to buy Cosco knives.  I ran (ok, limped hurriedly) around the house trying to "fake clean" it to the poin...

My father.  The infamous Oso.  The Bear. Just as when one is dealing with his spirit animal, one should always proceed with caution with my paternal parental unit.  Not everyone is ready for his wit and charm, but doctors in particular seem to struggle with quite how to deal with the man. In Oso's not-so-humble opinion doctors are by-and-large "quacks".  The many years of medical training they have is bunk, and they have no idea what they are talking about.  He has stretched the patience of more than one member of the AMA, leading one to proclaim my father "the most non-compliant patient I have ever seen."  And, this particular doctor used to be a prison doctor!  That statement actually exists in a medical chart.  It also happen to provide my father with a peculiar point-of-pride.  In his mind, this meant he won. With mom's passing, I have inherited the dubious honor of accompanying my father to the more important doctor visits.  W...

The time has come where I feel I must force myself to get back in the saddle.  Back to writing.  Back to giving you a window into mi vida loca.  I know I have been gone awhile, if you follow my facebook page, I promised I would come back as soon as my humor did.  The last several months have not been kind, and I feel I owe those of you who haven't known me well a bit of an explanation. My mother became very sick unexpectedly.  None of us were fully prepared for the fact that we would lose her, and despite a brutally fought battle, lose her we did.  Our hearts have been broken while we've tried to figure out what to do, as she has always been the one with the master family plan. I've spent so much time since her passing the first weekend of this year just trying to keep all the pieces of the puzzle of my life, which now includes helping my father adjust to taking care of himself, that I have failed to see any sunshine.  My laugh has been hollow and...

Tonight, Emma and I were subjected to a debate.....currently ongoing......on the highly important subject of the proper way to kill a zombie. This debate included authoritative citations of The Walking Dead and the Internet.  Each method that could be analyzed have been thoroughly examined.  Hammers, shotguns, 18-wheelers, 16-wheelers (I haven't figured that one out yet).  The topic evolved (although the debaters may not have) to the subject of Zombie firemen.  (I couldn't follow the train of thought, but somehow we slid right into that station.) One debater became very animated and attempted to act out the proper methodology.   A brief agreement was reached that mom's "look" could probably kill one outright.  (I may or may not have been giving that look to the two zombies debating this subject.)  Emma decided that in the case of the zombie apocalypse, we'd leave these two yahoos and she'd take shelter with mom. Neither debater appreciated my obs...