Leg Cramposaurus

November 27, 2016

This is a continuing saga from the Golden birthday post of yesterday.

The night of the party, I assumed I would sleep well after cooking 27 million street tacos, three large pans of creamy chicken enchiladas and cutting 75 pieces of chocolate cake. But no. Realization hit… more like burned… that this agony may be more than a muscle cramp in my thigh. There was no possible sleeping position that didn’t produce pain. For three nights I sat in my green birthday chair in my room praying to fall into unconsciousness.

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One of those three nights, I had forgotten my earplugs and once again I assumed I would be able to sleep without them because that was a less pain-filled decision then walking across the room to get the earplugs. Wrong again. I love earplugs. The end.

Still, on Monday, DAY #4, I assumed the pain would eventually go away. Nada. On Tuesday morning, firmly poised in my green birthday chair after a fitful night of cat naps, I phoned the doctor’s office for an immediate appointment.

My son delivered me to the physician’s office at 9:00 a.m. As you may have anticipated, I was not looking my best with possibly 15 hours of sleep in four days. In my experience, the worse you look going to the doctor, the better your chances are of getting action and results. The nurse practitioner acted like this was so ordinary… a thigh cramp… no big deal… “It’s your sciatic nerve. We will give you pain meds and also steroids to reduce the swelling.” Again, I assumed I would be down and out for a few more day.

Two minimal hours later, I was singing the praises of modern medicine and was relatively pain free for the first time in five days. I love meds. The end.

The end of my expressions of love. Not the end of the story.

Two days later, at the family Thanksgiving dinner table, someone suggested that we go around the table and spew forth our thankfulness. I started. I yelled, “I am thankful for drugs!” And it was true from the depths of my being. My soul sang of unquenchable passion for pain medication. My new love.

I assumed I was home free in the pain area. Then the inevitable struck… the other result of taking pain medication…. my belly and bowels full of three days of food not wanting to leave me without a painful, tear-filled fight. I cursed the meds I had previously been in love with just shy of two days ago. I cursed modern medicine. How come they can’t invent non-constipating pain pills??? What’s so hard about that? No pun intended. I cursed the non-plush toilet paper. I cursed the cold, hard toilet seat.

My son-in-law is in med school currently and was visiting for Thanksgiving, so quite naturally I inquired why pain medicine also causes bowel issues. My youngest son chimed in, “Are you asking for a friend?” Mr. Med School explained the corresponding effects and I replied, “I’ll let her know.”

Like the clouds parting after a storm, glee hit my soul when I remembered stool softeners. (I apologize if you are eating, or were eating while reading.) (I probably should have put a gross-out, middle-aged warning on this post.) (Sorry!) To my sheer delight I found a jar of expired stool softeners in the medicine cabinet. Glory be! I believe I heard angels singing as I tossed back three of those little red and white glistening darlings.

You guessed it. The next morning I was singing the praises of modern medicine again. Call me fickle, or delusional, or temperamental, or easily swayed, but this is my story and I’m sticking to it. True love. Pain free true love.

I assume I am not the only one on Earth to have gone through these conflicting emotions with modern medicine. My sincerest hope is that this post will allow a pain-free existence to someone else on the planet currently cursing modern medicine, and rough toilet paper and chilly toilet seats.

 

Golden Birthday

November 26, 2016

A week before Thanksgiving, I was awaken in the dark of the night by a muscle cramp in my right buttocks and thigh. Not like the swimmer’s toe cramp you can just pull out of. Serious stabbing pain that made sleeping scarce. This was not fun. I like fun.

What could have brought this on, you ask? Quite possibly my almost 18-year-old son asking me if he could invite “some” friends over for his golden birthday party that he was planning while I was sitting on the beach in Maui. He would be 18 on the 18th… GOLDEN! His plan was that I would be home to cook for the party, of course. Being the nice mom, I said, “Sure! Invite some friends over.”

Next, said 18-year-old texted me to let me know he made me an administrator on a facebook event for this party for which I was cooking. That didn’t phase me until I clicked on to see why the party needed an event page on facebook. HE HAD INVITED 150 FRIENDS … while I was sitting on the beach in Maui. “Some” does not equal 150 in my mind.

As friends would respond that they couldn’t come, I would go on and type in “Good!” My hope was to scare off the kids that don’t know me well.

It went down like this: Wednesday – arrive home early in the morning from 17 days in Maui. Thursday – shop like a crazy woman. Thursday night 3:27 a.m. – leg cramps. Friday – party with 150 invites.

Thankfully only 75 of the guests showed up. There was much laughter, ping-pong, loud music, gold light-up shoes, streamers, Mexican food, a DJ, chocolate cake, line dancing on the dead grass in the backyard and 58 water bottles were opened and sampled. (Now being used to water my plants.) I am pretty sure the front and rear doors of the house were open wide from 6:00 to 10:00 p.m.

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The birthday boy with his cousin, Whitney. So much happy! The golden shoes for the golden birthday really need a picture of their own. Sadly, they were not switched to the on position for this photo.

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Here you go. Not only do they light up… they strobe! BAM! Golden birthday success!

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More on the massive cramp tomorrow. I promise.

Brave Bun Debacle

November 25, 2016

2016 Thanksgiving was a tad out of the ordinary for our family for several very good reasons. 1. Our married daughter and her husband were coming home from Oklahoma for the first time in FOUR YEARS! If that ain’t a grand reason to mix things up, I don’t know what is? 2. Our niece is staying a little more than an hour away from our house and isn’t able to come home to be with family. Obviously it was necessary to squeeze in a visit on Turkey Day. And 3. The grand bun baking adventure really turned into an undertaking this year!

In years gone by, my motherly duty is to wake up semi-early and start the bun baking process so thousands of people can be blessed by yeasty white rolls of goodness on the national day of thankfulness. Perfection! This year, as previously mentioned, our morning was consumed by a ½ day trip. So buns moved to Thanksgiving Day Eve. Unfortunately, that Wednesday our kids flew in and the day turned into a driving exploit of sorts. Unfortunately, I found myself in the grocery store at 9:30 p.m. trying to locate the blasted little fast rising yeast packages. Can you already feel the tension rising? Get it?

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Frustrated and exhausted, I announced to my husband and all the other late night shoppers in the baking aisle, “That’s it. I’m not baking buns. I’m too worn out. Let’s buy buns.” Dutifully, my sweet husband followed me over to the bakery section and we stood speechless looking at the pathetic selection of sub-par store baked buns and rolls. They were puny. They were wrinkly. They were squished. They were covered in flour. They tasted dry…. I could sense it. With the savory memory of my yummy buns on the tip of my tongue, I announced, “That’s it. I’m baking buns. These are disgusting! Let’s buy yeast.” Rick mumbled, “Well, I wasn’t going to say it!”

At the late hour, I did request help from my beloved husband, who has never in his life participated in bun making. Willingly he agreed to come to my aid, not knowing what he was getting himself into!

If you know nothing about baking yeast buns, can I just tell you that it is a time consuming, yet wonderfully delicious process. It goes something like this: gather ingredients. Mix dry ingredients. Mix wet ingredients with very warm, but not exactly hot, water, so as to activate the yeast, but not burn its little eyes out. Combine ingredients and stir goop until a soft ball forms. This sounds so easy, but it is deceptive. Then let rise 15 minutes. Punch down. Let rise 15 minutes. Punch down. Let rise for 20 minutes. Shape into buns. Let rise 30-60 minutes. Bake 15 minutes.

Our freshly-turned-18-year-old son also joined in the process. If you could have heard them…. offering ME suggestions and baking tips. Oh my stars. One of them specializes in burnt grilled cheese sandwiches and the other one can only make waffles and mac-n-cheese. Not exactly chefs-in-the-making.

“It’s too sticky. It needs more flour.” Um, no. Keep stirring.

“This is done.” Um, no. Scrape the bowl and keep stirring.

“This is impossible to pick up and flip.” Um, no. I’ve done it for 20 years.

“I can punch down without flour on my fist.” Um…. go ahead and try, Mr. Martha Stewart.

“I can just roll them in a ball.” Um, no. Watch and learn the technique from the bun forming master.

“Just put a pan on each shelf of the oven at the same time.” Um, no. The bottom ones will burn.

“Are they done yet?” Um, no. Please stand by.

It was 1:30 a.m. when the last of the 120 not-really-cooled-off buns went into storage bags.  We fell blissfully into our beds with visions of floured buns dancing in our heads.

Thanksgiving 2016 was saved! Thank you, Rick and Keeve, my knights in floury armor.

Please see BUN RECIPE if you feel the need to have your own joy-filled bun baking extravaganza.

Still a California Girl

November 15, 2016

Last time I visited my sister on Maui, the kids would do their schooling in the morning then I would excitedly announce right after lunch, “Let’s go to the beach!” because we were in Maui. DUH! Why would you sit in the house, even if you live here? Several faces turned and looked at me as if I had horns coming out of my head then uttered ridiculous comments such as, “Now?” and “Why?” and “It’s too late” and my personal favorite: the glance to the clock and then the look of confusion on their faces.

It was 1:00 in the afternoon. Warm weather. White sand. Waves rolling just two blocks away. I did not understand the problem. At all. We had an afternoon stretching out in front of us with NOTHING to do. WHY AREN’T WE GOING TO THE BEACH!?!?

“Well, it’s kind of late in the day.” Um, no. It’s 1:00.

“It gets windy in the afternoon.” Um, yes. And doesn’t that feel good breaking up the warm air?

“We usually go early in the morning.” Um, that hasn’t happened since I arrived a week ago. So let’s go now!

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Fast forward to today. Nora, the Hawaiian Colombian princess, and I sat on Wailea Beach with the afternoon sand blasting our faces. It was a tad windy. Okay, more like gusting to 57 knots, whatever that means. Prayers were being sent heavenward that our orange beach umbrella wouldn’t do a Mary Poppins and fly away. After all the spaces between my teeth were filled with sand, we made the decision to pack up after only 45 minutes on the beautiful white sand beach.

As we drove away, I started thinking about my senior year of high school when I spent every Wednesday on the beach in Santa Cruz, California with my friend Kendle. We would drive over 17 after my only class and be on the beach by 10:30 a.m. The Maui mentality probably would have worked back then because we would lie under our beach towels until the fog burned off. It was freezing, but we could say we went to the beach every week… all year long.

Maybe this is why I find afternoons perfect for beach time? Maybe it’s because every time we get to the Maui beaches in the afternoon there are other people there? I am not the only one who thinks afternoons are perfect for lazy beach sitting.

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Today’s beach adventure was saved when we drove past Wailea to Mekena State Park, home to Big Beach. Although there were clouds, the wind was mild. The waves were relatively calm and the beach was, well, BIG. We spent the afternoon staring at the water and the sand and the insides of our eyelids.

My new mantra is ANY TIME IS BEACH TIME! Come on, people, this ain’t the main land.

Lahaina Drivel from Yours Truly

November 11, 2016

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Maui is an island paradise. Beauty captured in every direction is astounding. The mountains and valleys just a mile or two away are incredibly green and rugged. The lush farmland is also astonishing, especially near Lahaina as it is known for little rain and hot days.

However much greenery and lush landscape eye candy there is, unfortunately there are hazards to casual sleeping-in-mornings and lazy island times. They are known as the roosters of Maui. They are even referred to as feral chickens. Previous to this island adventure, I had only heard of feral cats. You would think with the food prices here, free chicken walking around would be less common than they are. But no. They are everywhere.

There is one happy rooster who lives somewhere near my sister’s house where we are staying. Even with my earplugs in I can hear him each morning strutting his stuff and cock-a-doodle-doing to his little heart’s content.

Still being half on AZ time, I am awake each morning before 7:00. Those who know me, know how unusual this is, but sadly it is true. As I laid in bed these past mornings listening to the bird brained alarm clock, I decided to time the crows… you know, just to see if I was exaggerating the frequency of Mr. Fog Horn Leg Horn‘s clucks. He proudly announces morning’s arrival every 8 to 21 seconds. Seriously. Over and over and over and over. For HOURS.

I started dreaming of where I could purchase a gun on the island, or at least a sling shot.

Then this morning, the crowing sounded like he was sitting on the headboard of my bed! I grabbed the camera and went outside to capture the beast for posterity. It was our first encounter of each other. To my dismay, he would not come out of the shade… but oh was he a pretty bird! Opalescent green breast feathers, royal blue hues in his tail, deep red and bright orange neck feathers all mixed together in a glorious display of pageantry. Irritatingly loud pageantry.

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Made me want to go eat at Chick-fil-A! Or Kentucky Fried Chicken! Or Church’s Fried Chicken! Or even a McChicken with a side of chicken nuggets at McDonalds!

Pray for me. I didn’t realize I had anger issues to this degree!  LOL!

THE Souvenir of Choice

November 6, 2016

My sweet girl has a challenge spending money. I do not share this challenge with her. At all. I do not really even understand how anyone can suffer from this. But over the past six years I have seen that the struggle is REAL!

Nora suffers from pre-buyers remorse. She will pick out a craft kit, or a shirt, or a bag of chips that she wants more than life itself. She will carry it around the store for an hour talking about how much she needs this item in her life and how it is her most favoritist in the whole galaxy. Then right before she is to lay it on the counter to pay for it, she decides to NOT buy it and sets it down. (I apologize to those who have “put it back where it goes” OCD issues.)

Being the loving, kind and compassionate parents that we are, we have forced her to buy these items more than once with her own money. It is not large sums. Nothing over $5, trying to show her that it is okay to purchase stuff. Kindheartedly we are helping her over this stumbling block in her life…. we hope.

Once in Justice (the animal-print-glitter-bling-bling palace of the universe) she had $75 in gift cards and $25 cash in her wallet. We spent more than an hour and a half in that teenie-bopper haven trying on every blinkin’ thing she could find, while her dad made dance videos to the store music on snapchat to the amusement of myself and all the other mothers and daughters. Nora picked out several shirts, a dress, a skirt and some shorts. When it was all added up at the cash register, the total came to $78.35. SEE THE PROBLEM?!?!?

Nora started figuring out what to put back to get it under $75 so she wouldn’t have to spend any cash. The glitter and bling *may have* gotten to my husband at some point because he grabbed her wallet and pulled out $4 and threw it on the counter. It was a bit dramatic for him, in my opinion. Nora’s brown eyeballs about fell out of her head. I’m not sure if this was a healthy way to teach our daughter that spending is okay, but that is how it went down and we are all still alive.

Fast forward to this week in Maui where she has been diligently searching for the souvenir to beat all souvenirs for herself. She has admired purple t-shirts, capri sweats pants that say MAUI down the leg, brown plastic slippers, magnets in the shape of Maui, calendars full of beautiful Hawaiian scenery, pineapple scented soap, rings with silver turtles, even coconut shells with candles in them. But with pre-buyers remorse, nothing had been purchased until today… day #7 on the island.

I still can’t figure out why the wooden pocket knife was the winning prize, but there was no pre- or post-buyers remorse! Nora showed it to me in the store and I was thinking she was buying it for one of her brothers or her dad. Nope. When I asked who it was for and she happily answered, “Me!” I did one of those mom-you-are-embarassing-me loud bursts of laughter that involuntarily slip out of my lips. Ooops.

I found it hilarious that my 13-year-old daughter who loves make up and painting her nails would be sucked in by a knife! A KNIFE! For Pete’s sake and all that is holy.

She is THRILLED with her wooden sided, engraved, Hawaiian Islands pocket knife. Makes me giggle just thinking of how perfect she thinks it is! And she paid $7 without beating an eyelash!

Pushy parent progress is being made!

 

Family Vacation Extravaganza!

November 5, 2016

My baby sister called me a year ago to tell me some thrilling news but her voice didn’t hold the excitement I felt it should have. A couple from their church invited my sister and her pastor husband (whose rapper name is Big Sexy but that’s not part of this story) on a two week cruise in the Mediterranean with 3-day stops in Venice and Paris. A DREAM vacation! I am pretty sure I was WAY more excited than she was about the cruise! I have taught Renaissance history… there are about 27 million places, buildings and works of art that I would kill to see. Well, maybe not kill, but close. Maim. Yeah. Maim.

My baby sister lamented, “I don’t think we should go because then we couldn’t come home to Arizona for Christmas next year.” I laughed loudly in her ear. A three week trip to Europe or Christmas with the cousins??? Seemed like a no-brainer to me. I felt like asking, “Are you dumb?” but I’m the nice sister, so I refrained. Then I remembered that we were going to Canada for Christmas and wouldn’t even be in Arizona. That encouraged her just a tad to consider the magnificent adventure at her finger tips.

The fervor had not returned in her voice. Still sounding forlorn she asked, “What would we do with the kids for three weeks?” HELLO!? You live in Maui. I WILL COME! Hence yesterday’s blog about Hana, the beach chair, returning joy and cat barf. So they went.

Knowing that we would be staying in my sister’s home, which is the parsonage twelve steps away from the church they pastor, (which consequently used to be the offices for a sugar cane plantation 50 or so years ago) I began to have visions of our own Crosby Family Vacation Extravaganza!  Whooo HOooooo! With some cousins thrown in! Party like it’s 1999.

Mr. Wallet and I discussed the opportunity and we enthusiastically presented it to the kids one night at dinner. Here is how it went down:

Me: (Can’t stop smiling!) Your Auntie and Uncle are going on a trip next November and have asked us to go over and take care of your cousins for two weeks. So we are all going to go and have a blast in Maui together!

(No one cheered.) (Maybe they didn’t hear me?)

Our 17 year old son: I don’t want to go. It is my last state band competition for high school.

(Again, I am weighing the alternatives: band or Maui?) (No brainer.)

Me: We could go the last two weeks so you could do the state competition and then go.

Our 17 year old son: I don’t want to go then either. That would mean I would have to have my 18th birthday in Maui.

(And the problem is?????) (I am pretty sure my mouth was hanging open.) (Well, that just saved us $600!)

Our 19 year old son: Yeah, I don’t want to go either. It would be hard for me to get my jobs covered and I’m driving bus for the homeless on Sundays.

(Since when did ministry come before self indulgence?) (KIDDING!) (Another $600 saved!)

The 12 year old Colombian princess: Do I get to go? 

(Didn’t I say FAMILY vacation?)

YES!!!! Her eyes lit up and a smile spread across her face. That’s my girl.

THEN a few months into the planning, Mr. Wallet counted his vacation days and decided he was going to save another $600 and stay home. What the heck? How can all these men be related to me? I live for vacations! My sons had free food, lodging and flights to Maui but turned them down. I just don’t get it. I am pretty sure when they are 40 they will regret the foolish decisions of their youth.

You guessed it… GIRLS TRIP! Nora and I are having a blast! She hasn’t flown on a BIG plane since she came to America six years ago, so of course she had to tell me all about them…. trays that come down out of the seat for your table… tiny bathrooms… free nuts! So many things to look forward to!

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Oh, you know I’m posting pictures of facebook, snapchat and instagram and tagging my sons. BEST GIRLS TRIP EVER!

I have Returned, Dear Reader

November 4, 2016

Currently I am labouring (Wow! My Canadian is showing through!) as a missionary for the Lord watching my sister’s kids. My sister and her husband are pastors on a remote island and needed assistance with childcare so they could take some much needed time off. I am here to help. That’s what sisters are for! A helping hand in time of need. Sacrificing time away from my family so they could have a break from ministry. We all know ministry would be great if it weren’t for the people! (That was sarcasm, in case you thought it was truth from God’s word. No.) It’s a tough gig, but someone had to step up.

Okay, truthfully, I am in Maui for 17 days… but I AM watching my sister’s kids, who are 13 and 17. So basically they watch themselves. I am just here to say things like, “Did you use soap during your one minute shower?” and “Can someone please feed the dog.” and “Do you have a library card? NO? Put on your shoes. We’re going to get you a library card.” And I did bring my little Colombian princess who simply looks like a Hawaiian princess when we are on the island. So my homeschooling duties are not flailing. Fear not!

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While lounging in my Costco beach chair that doubles as a backpack, on Koki Beach just east of Hana, I sat evaluating my life. You know, what makes me happy, sad, enthusiastic, disappointed, energized, productive. I fondly remembered you, my dear reader, and realized I deeply missed our one sided correspondence.

When I got home, I looked at my blog…. TWO AND A HALF MONTHS I have been missing in action. Sadness seeped in. I was caught up in the daily grind, not doing what I love… writing! I have missed putting my spiritual gift of sarcasm out there for all the world to see. God made me to laugh and bring laughter to others (and for a few other things) and I have missed not being here. So, today, on the island of Maui, in the city of Lahaina, at 8:08 p.m. Hawaiian Standard Time, I do solemnly swear that I will no longer neglect my blog and you, my faithful reader.

You need to laugh just like I do. You need to hear the ridiculous stories of what happens to me and my family… just as badly as I need to write them. And you need a break from the hum-drum of existence to belly laugh and feel God’s joy in your soul.

With all that said, our drive on the road to Hana was very eventful as any 27 mile stretch could be with 27 u-turns and 27 single-lane bridges. The highlights for the teens who were with me (not MY highlights, okay!) were (1.) the cat barfing at Haipua’ena Falls, (2.) the elderly gentleman who followed us on several stops who was sporting the brightest tie-dyed shirt I have ever laid eyes on, (3.) Jake “using” the bushes at Puohokamoa Falls, and (4.) the tourist van that followed us all day called Temptations Tours (with an apple logo!) See? This IS a tough gig! I told you so! A cat barfing…. seriously? And it was the first stop… but it was discussed at length the whole rest of the day.

Come home, sister! Come home!

Laughing in the Midst of Purgatory, Part 2

August 31, 2016

Please read the previous post if you haven’t already.

The next day, after much laughter and hilarity and swearing on the phone, (I never say crappy out loud! I only spell it!) I realized that all my personal and family and business files are still on the email account to which I no longer have access. There is SO MUCH on there… medical info, log-ins for my different sites, copies of proposals, correspondence with publishers, disability info for our girl, all the info about changing the ESA law….. I NEED TO GET IT BACK!

My sister-in-law, Jennie, is a mastermind at computery affairs and let me in on the fact that everything that was ever on the internet is still out there in space and can be retrieved. IF YOU KNOW HOW! She then proved it to me by finding pages that I thought were lost for all eternity, saving me hours of brain power and typing time! It gave me hope.

Cox was contacted again. This time it was a nine minute hold time, but if my files can be retrieved it will be worth nine years of my time! Nice lady number two took my call. She asked me to verify my account with the phone number used to open the account. GREAT! I asked how many tries I get. She sort of chuckled and asked how many I need. I replied, “Three.” She obliged and try number three was the slam dunk. She shoots! She scores! The correct number was the house phone that has been shut off for five or six years. (Please remember that this account was only opened three years ago!) (Insert profuse eye roll.)

I explained that my account was shut down just last week, but I need access to the files. She searched her script …. and competently found section 127 where it read, “If the customer needs files from a closed account, send them to a tier two operator.” So off I went, transferring …  probably to India.

NO! It can’t be! Another person whose first language is English! It’s my lucky day! I should go buy a lottery ticket… except for we don’t gamble with the money the Lord has entrusted to us. Let’s move on. Nothing to see here, folks.

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Once again, I lamented about my files in the inaccessible account. My newfound friend’s fingers were making a racket fiddling with her keyboard and I was put on “hopeful” hold numerous times. While she was digging for an answer, or my files, or playing Solitaire for all I knew, I decided to ask questions. Because that’s what homeschool moms do. We ask questions. ALL.DAY.LONG.

“Does Cox offer email accounts that aren’t attached to internet service?”

“Well, yes we do,” she claimed baffling me, “but only in certain markets. But you are in Phoenix and that market does have them still.” Well, glory be!

Through my mind went these random thoughts:

I don’t want to pay back $110 for my files! But I will.

What was that other birdbrain talking about… no emails without internet… GAH!

Do I even keep this account if I can get it back? They could close it again without telling me.

Is she simply acting like she’s trying to help me so I feel helped?

Eventually, the soft-spoken woman explained that this was beyond her capabilities and she would need to notify her supervisor who would call me back to answer my questions and find my files. Good. She asked for the best number to reach me. BAM!

Being an optimist, I believed her. It’s now been 24 hours with no return call. They probably called the dead house phone number, then sent a follow-up letter to Oklahoma.

Remembering more and more information that is stored in those missing files, my stomach began to roil in agitation. “Dear God, please let me get to my files,” was my last prayer uttered before heading upstairs to bed. Worn out and frustrated, I thought how could this get any worse?

Then out of nowhere, ZING! A blasted scorpion sunk its stinger in the side of my foot right by my little baby toe. SERIOUSLY!?! I’m not even joking.

People who don’t live in Arizona think a scorpion sting is the kiss of death. It’s not. Unless you weigh under 20 pounds. I don’t. I have been stung three or four times, so I quickly swallowed some ibuprofen, dabbed peppermint oil on the sting, and went to lie still in bed. You don’t want to pump the venom through your veins with activity. Today it is tender but I didn’t lose any sleep over the sting… or my files… thank the good Lord!

(Notice I refrained from mentioning that my husband owns and operates a pesticide business…. remind you of the cobbler whose children have no shoes? He does spray the house regularly, I simply find it ironic!)