I Still Love Him

Early in our marriage, Chuck & I loved nothing more than taking in a good movie, both at the theater & on the couch. Remember those days? Those days before one of those movie nights led to a romp & a child and then another and another & pretty soon, you can't remember the last movie you saw that wasn't released by Pixar & featured the voice of Tom Hanks? Well, Chuck still likes a good movie now & then, but you know me, I'm up mopping the floor or doing laundry or making sure our bedsheets have perfect hospital corners. Or stressing over the budget. Or Facebooking. Or needlepointing while watching The Kardashians.

So the other night he rents The Book of Eli with Denzel Washington. As usual, he asks if I want to watch. And nothing against my dear husband, but after the illness that ran rampant through our house, I don't particularly want to be within 5 feet of any of these people, unless, of course, I'm doing what's on MY agenda. I try to convince him to watch tomorrow and come to bed but NOOOO. Apparently Denzel has something I don't. So I retreat to our room. Alone. To read magazines and listen to Gary Allan on my iPod. I even make a couple last minute attempts to text him --- "R u surrre you don't want to come to bed?" I even paraphrased a Gary Allan song & said, "I'm wearing nothin' but an iPod and a smile...." But DAMN, that boy loves a good Denzel flick. Suffice it to say, I should have just watched the movie. And this, in a roundabout way, is why.

When I was very young, my grandma worked as a nurse for the town doctor. He was a doctor from the days of old, where it cost $10 for a shot and if he had samples of medicine on hand, he just gave them to you. He LOVED the show M*A*S*H & loved to talk about it the morning after it aired. My grandma gave me a piece of good advice that, had I remembered the other night, I would have taken. She said, "Oh, Lord, honey, when he asks if you've seen M*A*S*H, say yes if you don't want to hear all about it!" I SHOULD HAVE LISTENED. Or at least applied the advice later in life.

Have you heard my husband tell a story? I love him more than life but his voice inflection NEVER changes. This is surprising actually, because in high school, he was in both the junior & senior plays & even won the Drama Award for his brilliant portrayal of hillbilly, Patoukah Lindsey. He can be "get-down-on-the-floor-hold-your-stomach-and-roll" funny. Except when he's telling you about a show he's seen. And then Ben Stein's got nothin' on him. "Bueller?? Bueller??"

He started by telling me I should have stayed up & watched it & right there I missed my chance to say, "You know what? I have seen that! I was confused." So he starts at the beginning. He doesn't describe the opening credits & soundtrack but only because it must have slipped his mind. Apparently this movie is about a man, a Bible & a journey, in a nutshell. An endless journey.... At one point, I wanted to raise my finger in the air & say, "Excuse me, but how old is Denzel at the end of this journey? Does he still have his hearing? Is he suffering from ED yet?" It goes on & on and I suddenly feel like I'm stuck at the 1988 Democratic Convention having to endure Bill Clinton's nominating speech for Michael Dukakis. Normally, my friends will tell you I have an uncanny ability to wait --- for a table, in line for flu shots for two freaking hours, for a delayed flight, for a child I'm photographing to co-operate (unless it's mine).....really anything. My college roommate even once said, "You're so patient at stoplights." Waiting usually does not get to me. Unless I'm having to endure hearing someone talk & act like I'm interested. Then the self-centeredness in me takes over and I start to seize. Ok, not quite but uuugggh! He's still going.........Denzel kills a gang of bikers and then they fall through a trap door and run out of fuel and somehow wind up in San Francisco at Alcatraz & no matter how many times I say, "How did it END?" he just keeps going. I realize that if had made a game of it & taken a drink of beer each time he uttered the word "Denzel" I would be passed out & no longer care. But it was over breakfast & I was having MILK.

I DID SURVIVE. And I think Denzel did too but I honestly can't remember. I just know that last night I came in from taking 4 boys (age 8-11) to see Jeff Kinney, of Diary of a Wimpy Kid fame & I walked in and plopped down on the loveseat with Chuck & a preview came on tv for a NEW movie starring Denzel Washington & I almost bolted out the door, drove back downtown & got back in line to see Jeff Kinney with 500 other kids.

Halloween HELL

Halloween was for us, the start of a week of HELL. Now don't go preaching to me or trying to get me to put things in perspective with tales of death & terminal diagnosis & mass foreclosures. YOU WEREN'T HERE. It was bad.

The ball got rolling the night before Halloween when Chuck and I went to our neighborhood block party. I was in a good mood, fresh off of 2 hours of gazing at Gary Allan in concert the previous night & we threw caution to the wind & decided to do something the boys have begged us to do for years --- dress up. I was a chick from the late 60's/early 70's (no one could agree) & after ditching the hippie wig I bought him, Chuck went as Francisco, the Chilean Miner. The night was fun. Until we got home & Chuck decided he had been run over by a train and oh, God, the misery and the inability to EVEN TALK because his throat hurt so bad and an earache and please LORD, don't let this be the Apalachicola nightmare all over again....And for Christ's sake, honey, you do realize you WEREN'T actually in the mine for 69 days, right? So on Monday I forced him to the doctor and he was treated for strep. Although painful, that's what you want, right? Because even though, yes, there are deadly strains, generally a couple doses of Amoxicillin and you're back among the living. Quick. Easy. Get on with your life. NEVER at the Buttry home. And I say that because early Monday morning at oh, say 2:30, Chuck yells to me on the sofa, where I have taken refuge from his giant nasal cavity & says, "Wyatt threw up in the bathroom." Sure enough. Never IN the toilet. Ever. Lots of Lysol, 409, bleach and a roll or two of paper towels later, that's cleaned up & he's back in bed. (Not Chuck - he never LEFT the bed.) My hopes of the cause being too much Halloween candy are dashed when he gets up and is sick a few more times in the night. No school for him. 24 hours and he'll be fine, right? NEVER at the Buttry home. He spikes a fever, cries that his eyes are hurting and running and that his throat hurts too. Strep test - POSITIVE. But that's easy, cause all he needs is Amoxicillin, right? Apparently so. In a day we were able to pronounce him cured. AAAhhhhh, so glad things are back to normal. But that nighttime cough Brooks is exhibiting is making me a little scared to let my guard down.

With good reason, OF COURSE. Because by the next morning, he sounds like a stranded seal & his eyes are swollen to near slits. Back to the doctor - strep test POSITIVE. He stays home and luckily he and his sister are out of school Thursday and Friday for teacher meetings. We can all rest and GET WELL, RIGHT? Wyatt goes back on Thursday, as he goes to private school & they aren't out like public. About 3:00 p.m., as I'm leaving the carpool at Wyatt's school, I get a call from Ryder, our daughter, who is watching Brooks. "WHERE ARE YOU? DAD'S PUKING!!!!" Confused, I'm all like, "Honey, Dad's in Hot Springs at the AEF convention." She responds with, "UH, right now he's in the bathroom really sick and I'm taking Brooks and heading for Baker Park!" Now since his claim to fame in college was that he once threw up on the CEILING and could wake neighbors two houses down, all that is going through my mind is "Fuck my life. This is unreal. What in God's name have I done to deserve this???" Sorry, I apologize (not really) but that's what went through my mind. I tend to his needs, God help me and think, "Well, tonight the kids and I are going to a fundraiser at Panera Bread so we'll leave him to get this out of his system and I'll go have a nice chicken salad sandwich!" So eventually Ryder, her poor friend, Lizzie, who can now be added to the 'list of people traumatized by hearing Chuck puke' (which is growing mighty long, I might add), and Brooks return from the park and I head for the bank, my last necessary errand, 'cause we all know I have great luck when I go to the bank drive-thru, right? I start the car, shut the door and Brooks RUNS out to the car and says, "I think I'm gonna be sick." And all I could say was, "You have GOT to be shitting me. Head for the bathroom." And somewhere at that point I think I cried, I know I yelled & I'm pretty sure I prayed. And do not lecture me about the order of those three. YOU WEREN'T HERE.

We didn't go to Panera Bread. I never even ate dinner that night because when you all but have a target on your head that you're next in the execution line, why waste good bread, right? Ryder got the hell out of Dodge and left with her friend and honestly, we saw her less than 15 minutes total between Thursday and Sunday. And I didn't blame her in the least. I just said, "Have a good time, check in with a text now and then & call if you need money funneled to you", which she did. Basically the same thing her dad tells me when I go shopping in Dallas.

My house stunk, my kids were cranky, I was a total neurotic bitch and my husband was all of the above PLUS dramatic because if you think there ain't no dramatic person like a sick man, I give you a man who was the only son in his family & had a mom who doted on him. SHOOT ME NOW. Oh, and there was Ryder's suffering too - "I'm at the mall!" "We're at Fantastic China!" "I got the cutest earrings!" "Is Dad still pukin'?" "Did he get paid?" "We're at Buffalo Wild Wings and oh, I'm spending the night at Skylar's! See ya'!" Oh, to be a teen again. I adore her. She is me at 15. Except I was dating her dad by then.

So far, so good. The women in the family have proven their strength & I know I'm going to wish I hadn't said that, as far as karma goes. The men in the family are better but please tell me I've paid for whatever I did for a long, long time. Please.

Bank Drive-Thrus - The Perfect Place To Needlepoint!

At least if you bank in Little Rock. Good Lord, people. Seriously. I may never drive through a bank again. In fact, I may start stowing all my money in a boot box underneath our bed. (Before you hatch a plan to break in, know that my balance is currently $89.43 & that's hardly worth a prison term & Chuck injuring you with a bat.) But apparently, folks, I was not meant to USE DRIVE-THRU SERVICES. EVER.

A couple weeks ago I pulled up to the bank to withdraw some cash from Chuck's account so he could finance my leisurely lunch with a girlfriend while he sat on a 4-hour conference call bored out of his mind, eating a Budget Gourmet. After all, that's why he works. Should have been quick. Minute or two MAX. I sat there. And sat there. And played with my phone (What did we used to do? Oh, right, organize our cassette carrying cases!) Finally, I said, "Is there a problem????" My mind immediately went back to the day our bank encoded the first four digits of our account #, instead of the check amount and our account was overdrawn $5000. I remember calling Chuck, saying "Do you have a girlfriend & what on EARTH did you buy her?" I digress. Anyway, that little experience has never left me and reasserts itself from time to time when the teller is taking forever, like today, and talking furiously with her co-workers and they're all coming over to help her as though she's a doctor who just spotted an extra kidney on my x-ray. "Well, sort of," she says. "'Da pen 'sploded in da tube and I'm trying to clean it up. It's all OVER da place!!! Specially your license!" So after an attempt to clean up my driver's license and get me the cash, she returns it (still completely covered in ink, so much so, that I could pass myself off for Tommy Lee of Motley Crue, should the need to do that ever arise) and I head for my lunch date. No big deal. Payback for the time I got all the way to Target and realized I had brought the bank's drive-thru tube with me..... That was experience #1.

Experience #2 happened Thursday night when I went to make a deposit in Chuck's account. Yes, Chuck is smart enough to have an account that I can't access easily, which is why we have a house and cars and a kid in private school. Otherwise, we'd just have a lot of cool shit ordered off the internet and we'd eat vienna sausages nightly. (The problem that the non-joint account presents will be evident later in this diatribe.) I pull up to the lane and there are three lanes, all with the bright green OPEN sign. So, since there are three cars each at two of them, I pull up to the third, which is empty. My first clue should have been the man in the pick-up truck in lane #1, who had completely shut his engine off. People, if you need to shut your engine off for a transaction, walk your ass inside and take care of things, please. It's one of Noelle's rules of life & you should OBEY. The first teller is completely occupied depositing this man's stack of checks that go back to July, at least. In lane #2, we have a woman, very made up and giving the impression of wealth but also projecting major unhappiness. At first, I'm not sure if it's with the teller or life in general but after many exchanges back and forth (that I can hear because I have rolled my window down in order to do so), I discern that perhaps her spouse has cut her off from all accounts. This is not going to be settled in a drive-thru & likely not for months in a court of law, but I feel like giving her the name of an attorney friend and asking her to get the hell out of the line. I finally get my turn and by now, let me say that I have listened to the first FIVE songs on Gary Allan's "Get Off On The Pain" CD. The irony of the title is not lost on me. I send my check through and NO KIDDING, I listen to THREE more songs before the teller comes on and says, "Do you know this Ryder Buttry, whose check you're depositing?" I explain that she's my daughter, under 18 and I cash her checks often. He eyes me suspiciously & tells me I have to sign her name under mine and he'll do it. Tube comes, I sign and after TWO more songs later (10 total, if you're keeping count), I get my receipt and head back home where my husband is waiting, having made it back from Memphis, TN before I made it back from a bank 7 blocks away. (Granted he had a head start.)

Experience #3 presented itself last night. Unless you're the type of person sitting home watching your dvd's of "The Dukes of Hazzard-Season 1", you probably know that Little Rock's new Anthropologie store opened yesterday. I had made plans to be there when the doors opened & meet up, once again, with my new friend, Megan. Time was of the essence! If I didn't get there at 10:00, SOMETHING might be out of stock by the time I arrived & I would have to live knowing that I didn't see EVERYTHING in that store. But first I needed cash because in addition to the need for Anthropologie stuff, I was almost completely out of gas. No problem. There's an Arvest on the way. That will be quick. What was I thinking? I pull up to the drive thru & put my money in the tube, along with a check & send it through. And I wait. Seems the account I'm withdrawing from is the one that Chuck has had the tuition, house and car payment withdrawn from so there's not much left in it. I need to access the other one because that's where the money is. Except it's the one that only has his name on it, which has never been a problem because we just transfer from it online and it doesn't know me from him, thank God. UNTIL NOW. Soooo, I tell the lady I'll be back and I drive across the street to the Shell station and gas up my truck with Chuck's credit card (because that's why he works, remember?), all the while accessing the Arvest app on my iPhone to transfer money. Back to the bank, I go. Except now they're busy, no doubt because Anthropologie is opening in TEN minutes and everyone is withdrawing cash. So I pick the one lane open, which is NOT the lane I had before. And this lane has one of those pneumatic tube systems, like our grocery store pharmacy, where you don't exactly put your stuff in a tube but in this open space and it closes and sucks it into the bank lobby. Or in my case, into oblivion. The teller comes over the speaker and says, "Maam, did you send it?" "Yes," I reply. "Are you SURE?" she says. "Positive, ma'am. The tube is closed & it made a giant sucking noise." The only reply I get is an "Ohhh." Then multiple tellers congregate around her tube like those people who congregate around the televisions in Wal-Mart when something big happens on the news. None of them appear to have a grasp on the situation.

Another lady comes over the speaker and says, "We're sorry, ma'am but your check and driver's license are somewhere up there," and she gestures toward the ceiling of the drive-thru lane & has a hopeful look in her eye like I might just say, "dag nabbit" and drive away peacefully. "Well," I say, "Someone's going to need to coax it down, I guess, because I need both cash & my license. And NOW I can't go to another bank branch because I don't have my license." And I wanted to add, "And do you realize Anthropologie opens in THREE minutes????" I sit and sit and finally do my needlepoint that I grab every time I leave the house just for situations like this. (I wasn't a boy Scout but my dad was an Eagle Scout so I guess the predisposition to "be prepared" passed to me genetically.) No amount of button pushing or tapping on the large receiving tube or negotiating with the rogue driver's license seems to be working so she asks me to come inside and she'll cash my check, "Even though you don't have your license". Really??? I DON'T HAVE IT BECAUSE IT'S STUCK IN THE INTRICATE PNEUMATIC TUBE SYSTEM OF YOUR LOVELY, ARCHITECTURALLY-ATTRACTIVE BANK BRANCH!

So, I go inside, get my cash and leave for Anthropologie, which is now OPEN, people. RIGHT? WRONG! I tell her I transferred $800, via phone app, to the account I was withdrawing from and she says "No. The balance is still the same." I ask if iPhone transfers are automatic. "Yes," she says. I even bring up the transaction on my iPhone and show her and she thinks I didn't hit "submit" the final time, which is entirely possible, as I was also pumping gas at the time. "Let's just call your husband and get him to ok it over the phone," the teller says. At this point, I'm getting a little irritated, partly because Anthropologie is now open & Megan is buying everything in the store before I can get there & partly because the teller is named Persiffany & I'm thinking that can't be good in this situation. Or in any situation. Also, I'm thinking that Chuck may not take kindly to being interrupted in his meeting so that I can SHOP. But the situation is dire so I call. And he doesn't answer. And I text, and he doesn't respond. And I look at Persiffany & she knows this is the final look Ted Kaczynski had in his eye before he headed for the post office the last time.

So she calls in another teller, who appears to be a management level higher and is very apologetic and says, "Why don't I just take the money out of the other account and your husband can call me today & authorize the transfer & there won't be any fees?" Voila! But wait a minute......without my license, I have to drive the speed limit & obey traffic laws & I can't write any checks from my account that has only $90 in it & I'll be up shit creek if I'm carded trying to buy some Pabst Blue Ribbon, which I now NEED, after all this? What if I need an emergency MRI? I.D. REQUIRED, ma'am! "Oh, yeah," the teller says, "we'll have to call someone in to retrieve your license and we'll call you when it's done." I really have no other option, other than offering to crawl up in the tube and wind up like that kid who got stuck in the toy claw machine, so I head to Anthropologie, CAREFULLY obeying the speed limit & not running any red lights, though I'm tempted, because, you know, Megan is buying IT ALL.

At 3:00, as I was headed to pick up my son at school, the teller calls and says my ID has been talked down and will be waiting at their branch for me. I now have it back & made it through the day, not only without getting any speeding tickets, but also just in time to stop at the liquor store for some Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Move Over, Kathy Smith!

Actually, I think Kathy Smith DID move over and Jillian Michaels swooped in for the kill. But not in a bad way. She rocks and I'd kill for that body she has. Unfortunately, I'm lacking the fortitude to do exactly what she says, so... I've compromised. And it worked. Or seems to be working. I don't have her body by any means, but I AM losing weight.

A month or two before school dismissed for summer, I decided that, by God, I would sport a two-piece before summer's end. So, after seeing a photo of myself that someone else had taken & been kind enough to tag me with on Facebook, I stared in disbelief & made a conscious effort to change my lifestyle. My goal in the beginning was to lose 38 pounds. Lots of people said, "You don't need to lose THIRTY-EIGHT pounds!" But those people hadn't seen my naked ass exit the shower in the morning. Chuck & I decided to have a contest & see who could lose the most by opening day of the pool. I won. And here's how, after many, many requests from people who have noticed my thinner self, I accomplished what is, to date, my 24-pound weight loss. I'm not quite to my 38-pound goal yet, but I did end the summer soaking up the rays in not one but two different bikinis. Now I only have 14 lbs. to go! And my ass looks better than Chuck's exiting the shower.

My weight loss has taken place between April & September, by the way. That comes out to a pound a week. And I hope you didn't come here expecting an easy gimmick or a potion I drank or that I had some form of liposuction. In my opinion, there is ONE way to lose weight - eat less, eat healthier & increase your physical activity. Here's the plan that's worked for me:

1. EXERCISE: As baseball player John Kruk once famously said, "I ain't an athlete, lady. I play baseball." Well, I'm not an athlete either (though I do love baseball!) but I did get off my rear. My favorite physical activities are exercising my fingers with needlepoint projects & lifting a camera. But I initially joined a small gym and began running a mile on the treadmill a few times a week and doing the circuit of weight machines they had. I also walked some at night with a couple girlfriends. Eventually, I realized I could run outside and it was more enjoyable for me. I could lift free weights at home, which I had actually done before in a college class & thoroughly enjoyed. So, now I have abandoned the gym and I run in my neighborhood (still only a few miles a week) and do exercises at home with a weight bar and an 8 lb. toning ball. You don't have to become a 5K or marathon runner to lose weight & you can even walk if you prefer. BUT YOU HAVE TO DO IT. And KEEP doing it.

2. FOOD: I despise diet plans that tell you that you can eat what you want and still lose weight. Yes, you can still enjoy your favorite meals and snacks occasionally, but you HAVE to change the way you are eating in order to drop pounds. It's that simple. It was especially hard for me because, like my daughter now, I had always been able to eat whatever I wanted & gain nothing. That was, until I had my third child. I always saw large people & said, "Did they not see that coming?? I would NOTICE I was getting fat and put an end to that!" Then one day my husband's grandmother was kind enough to point out how "I was really a puttin' it on" & I took notice. I changed my eating habits in the following ways:

a) I decreased my daily donut intake - I would eat an average of 1-2 a day for breakfast. Now I might have a couple a week. Unless I'm in Dexter, MO near Faye's Bakery & then all bets are off. Thankfully, I'm not there too often.

b) I decreased my daily Coke intake - I went from drinking it constantly throughout the day & late into the night to having 1-2 a day (my goal is to stop eventually) & replacing the other ones with water and juice and the occasional French Berry Lemonade from Fresh Market (yummmm).

c) I decreased my butter consumption - Butter was my cocaine. My Jack Daniel's. My vice & comfort food. Feeling down? Bake a pan of rolls! Why not? I had to have it with almost everything I ate and if the meal didn't call for butter, I would add bread so that I had a reason to eat butter. (I used to eat it out of the tub as a child.) I can't do that anymore. I still eat some, but not as often and I sometimes replace it with olive oil. And this one is really, really hard for me.

d) I began skipping appetizers, pre-meal salads and cut back on bread.

e) I completely stopped late night snacking. This was a HUGE weakness for me as I would sit up late editing photos and trying to stay awake, all the while having one hand in a bag of yellow Lay's and a Coke in the other. Or a Snickers bar. Or in my worst, darkest days, a couple of candy bars. It's really a wonder I was not HUGE. And it's not surprising that my keyboard was a mess.

f) When I cook now, I change ingredients to low or no-fat when possible. I also STOP EATING WHEN I'M FULL. This is one of the biggest ones for me. You do NOT have to clean that plate, people. If you're hungry later, have a few carrot sticks or a handful of nuts.

g) My snacks have changed drastically from greasy chips, 3 Musketeers, Snickers, Pringles, donuts, cupcakes, M & M's, etc. My snacks are now almonds/pecans, fruit, olives, apple slices (not dipped in anything), low-fat crackers, chips/salsa (in moderation). It's not as fun, but I don't want to be fat. Simple as that. Jillian Michael's book "Making The Cut" is a great resource for snack ideas based on your metabolic type.

h) A few other lifestyle changes: I rarely eat fast food now. And if I have a burger, well, then, no fries. I park as far out as possible and get in a few extra steps of exercise when I'm shopping. If I think I'm hungry for a snack, I'll wait 15 minutes. Often I forget what I wanted & never even have one. And, I don't drink alcohol. Maybe two drinks a year if I'm on vacation. That's it.

i) At the risk of not disclosing everything, my final words are that I take 10mg of Prozac daily to deal with life in general and it seems to curb my appetite a bit. I think it's only fair that I mention that. Some people say it has the opposite effect. Guess I'm lucky. I also had a hysterectomy in June (still have ovaries) & it's been the best thing I've ever done. No more monthly bloating and soooo much more energy. I didn't do it to lose weight, obviously, but I think it's played a small part.

j) I take no drugs or supplements or anything from health food stores or the EZ Mart counter. No Hydroxycut or ANYTHING like that. And you shouldn't either.

Once I lost several pounds, I was really motivated to keep going. Seeing photos of my thinner self were really encouraging too. If you need to find weight bar/ball exercises, just use Google or check out Jillian's books. Or buy a simple book on weight training. Magazines like SHAPE & Women's Health feature exercises monthly. Resources are endless. Start slow. Progress steadily. Don't give up. But get off your ass. No one ever lost weight cramming food in their mouth while lounging on the couch watching Desperate Housewives re-runs.

My Cup Runneth Over....

I was fortunate, as a child, to be surrounded by adults who were pretty good at pointing out that I had a lot to be thankful for. They weren't annoying or pushy about it, like I am with my kids, but they managed to get that point across. My grandma used to tell me, rather ironically, that my cup runneth over, as she would always be quick to point out that hers was "always upside down". So when I get caught up in thinking of things that I want, I like to sometimes pause & think of all that I have. One of my favorite bloggers, Karen Walrond, of Chookooloonks listed 100 things she was thankful for & I thought it seemed like a cool challenge to take on, so I did it too.

100 Things I Have To Be Thankful For:

(no particular order!)

1. Chuck, Ryder, Wyatt & Brooks

2. Baseball - doesn't matter if Brooks is playing or Pujols is playing, I love the game!

3. Chuck's ability to make me laugh in almost any situation.

4. My clients - every year you guys just get better & better!

5. My Canon 5D

6. Highway 30-A - complete paradise on the gulf coast of Florida

7. My neighbors - one of many reasons we're still on Waverly. They're the best.

8. Sonic Happy Hour

9. My mom's "positive-to-a-fault" spirit

10. Apple - for giving me my iMac & iPhone

11. Ryder's quick wit - though it can get her in trouble!

12. My parents, for never telling me I "couldn't" do something.

13. Bill Bryson, Dave Barry, George Carlin, Chris Rock & Ellen....(I guess that's actually 5 things!)

14. Wyatt's teacher - for having a way with my son that just kicks ass - she "gets" him

15. BC Power

16. My Sauconys

17. Don't laugh. The Prizm & all it represents to me. Simplicity & not keeping up with the Joneses.

18. My Suburban. Shut your ______ mouth if you don't like it. With three kids & a business to run, it's a lifesaver. You can criticize me when you're living off the land & riding a bicycle to your job.

19. Fried cheese

20. Dr. G & Mystery Diagnosis - for giving me a whole new list of things to worry that I might die of....

21. Humor in all forms - it can get me through anything

22. Gladware - seriously, what did our forefathers use?

23. ALL of my photos - and that is 1000's upon 1000's.

24. Flickr - endless inspiration

25. Twitter & the nuts I follow - They make me smile many, many times each day.

26. All Free & Clear detergent - Without this you would constantly see me digging at my crotch so you should put it on your list and be thankful too.

27. Ryder's amazing taste & style, which did NOT come from me.

28. Fiji water - it's better than any other water & don't tell me it's not!

29. Wyatt's gentle nature

30. Pizza Hut - for seeing that we are fed when Chuck travels

31. Hugs from Brooks when I least expect them

32. Fried pickles - Kimberly Brown, you created a monster!

33. Downtown Little Rock - endless shooting locations & tons of inspiration

34. Coach Tim (soccer)

35. Facebook

36. Books - soooo many books & Little Rock's great library system

37. Amusement & water parks

38. 70's & 80's tv re-runs

39. Long johns from Faye's Bakery

40. The Sugar Shak in Rosemary Beach, FL

41. Vanilla pancakes from Great Southern in Seaside, FL

42. Magazines - at least the ones that are left!

43. Art fairs

44. Spaghetti & meatballs, preferably made by my dad's wife, Debbie

45. Red, my dad's dog

46. That someone saw a need for Photoshop!

47. Blogs that inspire

48. The Flying Fish restaurant

49. Martha - I'm thankful for her in many ways.....

50. Albert Pike Recreation Area

51. Brooks' athletic prowess, especially with a baseball!

52. Overgrown fields, bright walls, abandoned buildings

53. Wyatt's curly hair

54. Blue Gulf waters

55. My patio - I swear I'm using it more in 2010

56. Target!

57. Presbyterian Disaster Assistance - These folks are doing great things every day.

58. Tory Burch, Kate Spade & Trina Turk - creative geniuses

59. New journals to begin

60. Fairhope, AL

61. Nancy Drew mysteries

62. Ryder's indomitable spirit

63. My recipe collection - though I don't use it as often as I should

64. My daughter's wonderful circle of friends

65. Light - need it @ home and love it for work!

66. My collection of vintage Christmas ornaments

67. That people are willing to be soldiers, firefighters & policemen & risk their lives for me

68. My vintage restaurant postcard collection

69. REAL Christmas trees

70. Cupcakes

71. Olives

72. Bazzill orange peel textured cardstock

73. Pajama pants

74. My memory foam pillow

75. That I am lucky enough to not have to work full-time

76. Hot baths

77. My Tempur-Pedic mattress

78. My Dad, for having the courage & faith to let me make a lot of decisions myself. I didn't realize how much courage that took until I had my own kids!

79. Free movie bonuses @ Blockbuster, especially when you aren't expecting them

80. That I'm not shopping on Black Friday

81. The little 1950's ranch house that we call home

82. That Chuck has a flexible schedule & can help when I need him

83. Birthday cakes

84. True crime tv

85. Quilts - especially the one I always try to steal from my mother

86. Mare

87. Karl Rove - I just threw that one in there to make you cringe

88. Heroes like Captain Sullenberger, who renew our faith in mankind....

89. People like Dooce, who inspire others to be themselves & be REAL

90. That my kids are all very creative, in different ways.

91. That I've never had to face a real tragedy in my almost 40 years...

92. That Chuck has never lost his job (nor, for that matter, have I!)

93. Chances to re-connect with old friends....

94. All my thread, floss, canvas and needlework stuff. It's my sanity many days....

95. My neighborhood pool & the friends it's brought into my life.

96. My friend Janis, for showing me what true strength is.

97. Gulf breezes - I don't get to be near them as often as I would like but I love them when I do!

98. Entrepreneurs who change the world - and by this I'm referring to the mobile donut truck in Alys Beach, among other things!

99. Tony LaRussa

100. Simon Cowell - surely you didn't think I'd forget him.

Ahhh, the joys of the end of summer.....

In the summertime, I live for the pool.  It's where I hang.  I usually start out with a book in my bag, planning to relax & catch up on some mystery or memoir that has eluded me during the school year & nine times out of ten, I find myself caught up in girl talk with my posse of fellow pool-lovers & the book never gets cracked.  Usually gets WET, but rarely is it cracked!  I should say this is how I live every summer BEFORE we go on vacation.  AFTER vacation, the forces come together & completely conspire to rob me of my daily dose of Vitamin D, girl talk, concession-stand food & the occasional icy plunge.  This year I daresay I have been ONCE since we returned from Florida on the 12th of July.  The boys just do not want to go.  "It's hot!" "None of our friends are there!" "We just want to stay home!" Ryder still seems to be on board but can go by herself, hook up with friends, and leave me in the dust.  We've seriously entered that stage, at once welcome & dreaded,  of her just not needing us as much as she once did.  So I find myself sitting at home a lot these days, not wanting to drag the boys out in public & corral them in stores, not wanting to listen to them complain about the heat & not wanting to exert the energy it takes to plan outings that are free, cheap & actually have a remote chance of trumping a heated game of Wii baseball or an old episode of Drake & Josh.  The upside to all of this is that I actually seem to be accomplishing some things at home that I've been needing to for some time now.  A massive unloading at Goodwill is in the cards sometime soon.  And my e-bay auction list grows daily.  You may just find Chuck on there soon.  But then who would do the housework?

Every stinkin' year, I say, "We're going to save enough that we can take a mini-vacation right before school starts." Sort of a last-ditch effort to stave off the end-of-summer blues. Then we download the school supply list and I realize that instead of paying for hotel rooms, breakfasts at IHOP, & amusement park admissions,  I will be purchasing 45 glue sticks, 350 markers, 11 pair of scissors & a $150 calculator, not to mention haircuts, shoes & the ever-necessary new backpack.  I could begin photographing weddings again & work all of it in financially but then I would sacrifice my sanity, so the "August mini-vacation" remains an elusive dream. Someday, folks.  Someday.  I can almost hear your sobs....

Speaking of school, registration is today.  School registration is one of my pet peeves.  First of all, I think we're all adults here & a simple "fill this out IF you have not moved or had any major life changes IN THE LAST TWO AND A HALF MONTHS, for God's sake!" would do.  Seriously, folks, is it necessary to have to go fill out the same paperwork EVERY SINGLE YEAR???  Listen:  My doctors have not changed.  My dentist has not changed.  My hospital of preference, should my child become mangled in music class, has not changed.  My address has not changed SINCE 1997!  My marital status has not changed.  My emergency contact has not changed.  Get it???  Can't I just call up there and say, "Yo, the Buttry's are comin' back. Check the box."?  

But if we didn't check in, we couldn't purchase t-shirts or yearbooks or planners or hoodies or PTA memberships or all the other stuff that causes Chuck to look in the checkbook every year & say, "Our kids ARE in public school, aren't they?  I thought that was free."  And when would we get our gift wrap packets to raise money for the school?  Now, I sell the gift wrap each year & my kids get to ride in the limo & I completely understand that we need money to plant flowers and put in playground equipment & pay for an art teacher & a Spanish teacher.  I'm GOOD WITH THAT.  But last year, when the children came home with packets to SELL FREAKING COFFEE after we had sold gift wrap and raised money for this charity and that & had the fall fling fundraiser & were preparing for the Jubilee fundraiser, I nearly hit the roof.  No, my dear children, no matter what two-dollar-plastic-or-stuffed-piece-of-crap you are going to win for selling this, I am not going to hit up the friends & relatives again.  Actually, I'm shocked that they haven't ridden us out of town on a rail already!  I'm convinced that when my Dad kicks the bucket, his inheritance to me is going to be 1850 rolls of giftwrap purchased just so his grandkids could ride in a limousine.  Maybe I can sell it on e-bay and take that August mini-vacation??

So I'll end this bitchy epistle by stating the the only joy of the end of summer is seeing their little backs (with new backpacks!) walking up Waverly to their school & knowing that if we can just get through the next 9 months, at least the July mega-vacation awaits!

Saga of the Latest Stone....

I realize that I, in a moment of unrestrained ambition, started this new blog with the intention of posting creative projects, photo tips, & some occasional witty repartee about this comical life I live.  I, unfortunately, forgot that summer was approaching & it would be approximately three months before I could wipe my ass without a knock on the bathroom door, let alone sit down and CREATE something.  In fact, all of my blog followers have forsaken me, but in their defense, how can one follow something that isn’t moving?

 My summer had been rolling right along at a rather rapid but enjoyable pace, with a vacation to Florida & lazy days spent lounging by the pool with girlfriends.  Then we got back from Florida & my kids decided they didn’t like the pool anymore & things started going downhill. Fast.  Rock bottom was reached last Thursday morning at approximately 8:30 a.m. CST.  The night before I had been unable to sleep for most of the night.  No pain of any kind, just restless & constantly going to pee only to find when I get there that, “Silly me, I guess I didn’t need to pee after all.”  That was my first red flag.

 As Chuck left for work, I had a twinge of pain in my lower left “flank”, the technical word for the part of your back that directly coincides with your left kidney. Second red flag.  For some reason, I dismissed it & sent him on his merry way.  For about 15 minutes, that is.  It was then that I was struck with that indescribable feeling that can BEST be described as someone grabbing your kidney with vise grips and squeezing as HARD as possible all the while enthusiastically dancing the macarena.  Yep, time to proudly announce the arrival of kidney stone #7. 

 I called Chuck & summoned him immediately back to the castle where he found me as close to upside down as I could get, on the couch, writhing in pain.  I had already called my mom & summoned her so she could babysit & the boys’ trauma could end right there, without them being dragged to the ER.  Wyatt was already sure I was on my way out of this world & I would have been ok with that, at the time.  For those of you who have heard that there’s nothing like a kidney stone,  let me tell you – THERE’S NOTHING LIKE IT.

 Off we go, me reclined in the front seat of the Suburban, feet braced against the windshield, as Chuck drove 10 freaking miles an hour.  That was 10, not 100.  TEN.  I kid you not, my neighbor could have gotten me there faster on his Gator.  As we pulled up to a RED light at Mississippi, behind another truck, Chuck said in his calm, lilting voice, “I wonder WHY in the world that guy turned left on a RED light?” to which I replied, “Probably because his wife is passing a f*%$#!g kidney stone in the seat beside him!” and he stepped on it and ran it too.  Now, in his defense, I realize that it probably only seemed that he was driving slow, but by the time we reached the fifth RED stoplight at Evergreen Street, Chuck & I were both feeling like this was the first phase of Obama’s healthcare plan and he was determined to show me what I deserved for casting a vote for that Palin bitch.  “I’ll show you what being denied healthcare feels like, you Republican nit-wit.”  But I digress…we eventually made it.

 Made it to the hospital parking lot anyway.  The drive-thru emergency entrance & covered canopy IS BEING COMPLETELY REDONE (no doubt using stimulus money) because it apparently isn’t up to par or isn’t working right or the owner of the construction company’s brother is on the hospital board.  Dust, Visqueen, jackhammers galore… No chance for “just drive through & kick me out so I can get hooked up to narcotics while you park.”  No sirreee.  We got the last parking space in outpatient parking and I WALKED TO THE ER about a distance of half a block.  Fun.  At this point I’m just happy it’s within sight,  kinda like an oasis in the desert.

 MUCH to my relief, even though the parking lot we used was completely full, the emergency room had one lone woman, in worse shape than me, fighting early labor.  We got checked in and hurried through the standard questions like, “On a scale of one to ten, how bad is your pain?” to which you want to say “Let me tie your penis in a sailor’s knot & you tell me…” “Has your address changed?” Not since the third stone, ten years ago! “Here are your rights & responsibilities as a patient…”  OK, how ‘bout we make a deal? You give me drugs NOW & I’ll be nice and say great things about you!  How will that work? Somewhere about this time, as I am, I kid you not, lying down in a regular chair with my feet straight up in the air, clutching my back, my sweet husband looks down at me and says, “My wrist is killing me.  I wonder if they could check for carpal tunnel.”  And what COULD have transpired at that moment is the best argument the liberals have against concealed weapons, in a nutshell.

 We finished the technicalities & they told us to sit in the waiting room and they would call me back soon.  Thank you Lord, for the genius who put COUCHES in the waiting room so people in agony can lie down & writhe instead of chairs with hard metal arms, like I might want to sit patiently and peruse the latest issue of US magazine while a “renal calculi” of 2.5mm is making it’s way down my 2mm ureter.  Being the only one in the room, besides Chuck, I chose to lie down and again, raise my legs in the air.  I cannot tell you why that helps, but in this case it provided an ounce of relief, which was worth more per ounce, at that moment, than gold.  Chuck looked down and informed me that the entire crotch of my pajama pants was a gaping hole so I laid my legs across him & at that very moment, and I PROMISE you I am not making this up for comic effect, Chuck, my dear husband of 15 years, decided to PLUCK A LEG HAIR OUT RIGHT ABOVE MY ANKLE. I was incredulous.  I mean, what does one say in that situation? “If I survive this, I swear, I’m tweezing your scrotum!?!” Or rather, what CAN one say, in a public setting without fearing arrest?  He PLUCKED a hair out of my leg as I was passing a kidney stone…….it leaves one speechless. And they wonder why we tell “man” jokes?

I finally got back to a bed in the actual ER & it's bed #6, which I know well, because last time I was in that room, I had to be rushed to surgery to have a stone removed with what they call “the basket”.  Hoping that’s not an omen, I settle in & I am (remarkably) attended to in a wonderfully-efficient fashion.  First the nurse came in, a protocol I was very familiar with, to feel me out and see if I’m just there smuggling in a vial of chicken blood to contaminate my urine & try to score a “fix”. When you’ve had seven stones and been to that very ER for the last four, two of which required surgery, it’s pretty easy to prove yourself credible.  The doctor comes in, followed, soon after,  by a little lady whose name I forgot, but who reminded me of Butterfly McQueen.  She tried to whisk me off to the CT scan but the nurses stopped her & asked me if I would like to have drugs now or when I returned from the CT room.  I told them that I had WANTED them at the intersection of Cantrell and Mississippi so I would rather have them NOW, if that wasn’t too much trouble. At this point, I’m thinking that nothing can be worse than the stone, so who cares about an IV insertion?  As they started to do my IV,  I suddenly realized why there were TWO nurses.  Because the one inserting the needle in my arm was A STUDENT!  I thought I was in for a nightmare when the older nurse said, “No! Not there! Down a little!”  But to the student’s credit, she hit the spot & I was soon medicated to my satisfaction.  I was then taken for the CT scan, where I learned that I not only had a 2.5 mm one stuck in my ureter but two others, 6mm and 3mm, just waiting, like Seabiscuit, to come out of the gate.  I was then rolled back to the ER by a jolly little man that reminded me of Sherman Hemsley, though at this point, I suppose it could have been the narcotics at work.

 While I was in the CT room, a morbidly obese man who was alternately puking and panicking was moved into the “room” next to me.  I say this in quotes because when the wall separating you is nothing but a sheet, “room” seems like a misnomer. (At least I wasn’t on a gurney in the hospital corridor next to a man handcuffed to an ambulance stretcher like I was with stone #6.  Don’t think I haven’t lived, folks.) The puking man’s devoted but pure-dee country wife was trying to talk him through his circumstances, but I truly felt like Billy Bob Thornton might pop his head in the curtain & ask if I would like to be an extra in Slingblade 2. There were not enough drugs to deal with the pain of listening to that couple & I began to pray the doctors would just let me go home & tough it out there.

 Eventually, they told me the 2.5mm stone should pass on it’s own and the other two could attempt to pass anytime OR could stay inside me for 30 years or more.  (Imagine how big that 6mm one will be in like, oh say, 2025?)  And, by the way, the doctor said, “that 6mm one is REALLY GOING TO HURT if it attempts to pass.” Thanks for preparing me, because I’m kinda enjoying the 2.5mm one & the 3mm one should be a PIECE OF CAKE!  Then he gave me the standard instructions: call your urologist & go home and ingest a few 5-gallon buckets of fluid & oh, here’s a little megaphone-shaped thing for you to pee in & look for the stone.  At that moment, the older nurse came in with a wheelchair.  You should know this: I don’t do wheelchairs.  I do Demerol when I have a stone, but not wheelchairs. She INSISTED on the wheelchair (policy, I know) & I thought, “Well, it’s only out to the curb where Chuck will pick me up.” But I forgot the construction.  So I was wheeled, much to my chagrin, ALL THE WAY down the walkway, across the road and across the parking lot to my car.  I survived.  Both the wheelchair ride & the stone.  And Chuck plucking the hair out of my leg.  Hopefully that wheelchair ride won’t be published in US magazine.

 There’s a little more to the story but I will skip that part and tell you, in short, that the 2.5mm one passed.  I will also answer the questions that are bound to be asked because I get them every time.  No, they don’t know what causes mine.  No, they can’t give you something to dissolve them.  Seems like there should be a formula as simple as “stain-dissolving Oxi-clean” that you could just swallow & be done with it, but it apparently is not that simple.  It is true that some people just seem to form them much more easily than others and are certainly more prone to them. I’m also apparently blessed with “small ureters” & a stone that might pass painlessly in some, does not in me. Can’t they just “zap ‘em”? Well, the zapper is officially called EWSL (extracorporeal shock-wave lithotripsy) & the stones have to be big enough that they can’t be passed on their own.  It is not painless. All EWSL does is break them up so they’re able to pass with all the pain and agony that I just went through.  So only special cases can be “zapped”.  The 6mm stone that has yet to get stuck may be a candidate when the time arises.  I’ll be sure to let you know!  Stay tuned for the adventures of stone #8.