The first couple of weeks in the little house has brought about MANY stories. From an incident on a step ladder, to a robber's cell phone ringing outside my house. Today I will tell the story of the step ladder.
When we moved into the house there was a two step step ladder already in the house. I'm not really sure where it came from or who left it, but it became very helpful in my move. I used it to put stuff in the kid's closet (singular- one closet), I used it to put things in cabinets- it was my go to to reach anything high. Eventually I got everything put up and I folded the ladder away. After being in the house for about a week I decided I needed my Keurig from the top of my kitchen cabinets (and of course Chris was at work). I had put it up there because I had read somewhere the K-cups aren't BPA free and would give you cancer..blah blah blah. But the dang thing is so convenient and I was having a moment of weakness and in need of quick coffee- especially after moving a 1600 square foot house into a 900 square foot house. That alone can test anybody's inner strength and sanity. So I popped open that handy little ladder I had found and began climbing. First step- good. Second step- not so much. That dang ladder scissor opened so fast and bent me into an L going down the cabinet. Along the way I hit my neck directly on the curve of the counter top and was literally gasping for air. I have never in my life been hit that hard in my throat. So what do I do? It's 8:00 in the morning- who would be awake, who would be awake?! My dad, my neighbor. He is an early riser and is ALWAYS up by 8:00. Call him. No answer. Really?! In my head I was going to die right there, left for my boys to find when they realized Mommy had been gone a little too long. I start playing horrible scenarios in my head. Ok, ok who was the next on my in case of emergency call list- my mom. Ring. Ring. Ring. You've reached the voicemail box of…. Shoot! Yep, I was going to die right then and there gasping for air like a fish out of water. I didn't want to have to do it, but I was left with no other option…..I called Chris at the fire station. Squalling and balling. As I'm squalling and gasping for air at the same time Chris asked what in the world has happened. I informed him there has been a horrible accident and I've really hurt myself and I might not make it. He informs me that I'm talking so that's a good sign that I probably won't die. He talked me through the hysteria and back to sanity. After I came back down to planet Earth and realized my airway wasn't going to swell shut I had to go investigate the little ladder situation. Any ladder I have ever been on just pops open and locks on its own, not this one. After you pop it open there is a latch you have to actually latch in order for it to not scissor open once you get to the second step. Dumbest ladder concept EVER! Somebody should be punched in the face for that one. The ladder now resides in my Daddy's shed. It was about two seconds from going to the dump, until my Dad rescued it (he's a hoarder). When I woke up the next morning I had zero voice and googled trauma to the neck with loss of voice. Good ole Google informed me I needed to seek immediate medical care- a little late for that. I decided if I was still hoarse by the end of the day I'd go to a Quick Care. Luckily, my voice returned that afternoon and I avoided the doctor. The ladder and I have split ways, but it has taught me to never expect anything out of a ladder. Now I do four point safety inspections before I get on any ladder.
Sunday, March 27, 2016
Monday, March 21, 2016
The story of the Little House
As with everything, there is a story to the little house. Wayyyyy back in the day, many, many moons ago my grandfather was in search of a pad and a piece of land. PawPaw, as I called him, was an oil man. Where the black gold went Paw went, which brought him to B-town. He found a few acres and a/THE little house for a reasonable price, and went for it. My grandparents lived in the little house while they built their current home. In order to keep my mom around, my grandpa gave her a couple of acres on the other side of the little house, and that is where my childhood home was built. From left to right goes: my parents' house, the little house, and my grandparents' house. We call this the compound. The little house has housed MANY relatives; my grandparents, my Uncle Ray, my great-grandmother Grannie Willie, and my sister Candy (who liked it so much she came back to stay a second time!). I swore I would never, under any circumstance, live in the little house. Well guess where I am……the freaking little house.
During most of my childhood, my Grannie Willie lived in the little house, and I pestered the ever loving crap out of her. My friends and I would play behind her house at night, up to no good. She would yell at us to go back home and we would take off running, just to come back five minutes later and do it all over again. She favored my cousin Tiffany. Tiffany would spend countless hours at her house cracking pecans, shelling peas, and crocheting with her. I was too busy for all that jazz. I was very mischievous as a child (imagine that) and shelling peas was not on my top ten list- right there along with cracking pecans and crocheting. So instead, I just irritated the piss out of her. And for that, I think she haunts the little house.
During my sisters first round in the little house I house/dog sat for her while she was on vacation. At the time Chris and I were dating and I roped him into staying with me. Mind you, I had never lived on my own, so I wasn't too terribly keen on staying solo. As we were getting ready to lay our sweet little heads down the light came back on. I had turned it off at the actual switch, not the pull cord. So I figured maybe there's a short or something (I know nothing about electrical stuff). I decided maybe I just needed to turn it off at the pull cord. Pull the cord, light comes back on. In my head I think "Ok, now this is getting a little weird." Give the cord a good, strong pull again, lay down, and once again blinding brightness. By this point I am completely creeped out, and Chris is just trying to play cool. Grannie Willie had decided to pay a visit to her favorite (wink, wink) great-granddaughter. Her gesture did not go unnoticed, I packed my bags and trekked back across the yard to my parents' house. Never to stay in the little house again….until now. And boy did Grannie Willie come in with a bang the first couple of weeks!
During most of my childhood, my Grannie Willie lived in the little house, and I pestered the ever loving crap out of her. My friends and I would play behind her house at night, up to no good. She would yell at us to go back home and we would take off running, just to come back five minutes later and do it all over again. She favored my cousin Tiffany. Tiffany would spend countless hours at her house cracking pecans, shelling peas, and crocheting with her. I was too busy for all that jazz. I was very mischievous as a child (imagine that) and shelling peas was not on my top ten list- right there along with cracking pecans and crocheting. So instead, I just irritated the piss out of her. And for that, I think she haunts the little house.
During my sisters first round in the little house I house/dog sat for her while she was on vacation. At the time Chris and I were dating and I roped him into staying with me. Mind you, I had never lived on my own, so I wasn't too terribly keen on staying solo. As we were getting ready to lay our sweet little heads down the light came back on. I had turned it off at the actual switch, not the pull cord. So I figured maybe there's a short or something (I know nothing about electrical stuff). I decided maybe I just needed to turn it off at the pull cord. Pull the cord, light comes back on. In my head I think "Ok, now this is getting a little weird." Give the cord a good, strong pull again, lay down, and once again blinding brightness. By this point I am completely creeped out, and Chris is just trying to play cool. Grannie Willie had decided to pay a visit to her favorite (wink, wink) great-granddaughter. Her gesture did not go unnoticed, I packed my bags and trekked back across the yard to my parents' house. Never to stay in the little house again….until now. And boy did Grannie Willie come in with a bang the first couple of weeks!
The Little House
My very favorite part….I've always wanted a red door. So the first thing I did after we moved in was paint the door red.
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Back to the basics
Going from a 1600 square foot house to a 900 square foot house is a HUGE change- we're talking losing SEVEN HUNDRED square feet. Almost cutting my house in half! It really put a lot of things in perspective. You really don't realize how much stuff you have until you try to squeeze it into a house with technically one closet, one bathroom, one bedroom the size of a closet, and a kitchen comparable to the size of your old master BATHROOM. Sounds absolutely miserable right? Oh forgot to mention, the outdoor "wash" shed that houses my washer and dryer. Yeah, I have to go outside to wash clothes. Sounds absolutely miserable, right? Actually it is far from that.
How much stuff in our life is just "fluff?" Do I really need thirty purses? Oh I shudder thinking of how much money was spent on those babies. Those sweet, sweet, expensive babies. And to think at one time I lived for buying purses. Birthday: purse. Anniversary: purse. Easter: purse. Presidents Day: purse. Do I really need twenty pairs of heels that I never wear? The humor to be had if I tried walking in those ole pre baby having heels today. Who needs fifty t-shirts? Over half of those t-shirts I only wore once. I did keep the good ole Girls State shirt- going fifteen years strong. It's really eye opening when you realize what you don't really need.
Now I'm fixing to get really absurd---- a dishwasher. Do you really need a dishwasher? Let me go ahead and tell you, you don't. Speaking from the girl who hand washes EVERY night. It really isn't bad. Do you know how many memories I have at my parents house as a little girl washing dishes for chore money? I loved washing dishes as a kid! L-O-V-E-D it. Why shouldn't I love it all over again? Why shouldn't I get my kids excited about washing dishes? If there is one thing in life I hate it is putting a three day load of dishes up from the dishwasher. Hate it with a passion. Well now I don't have to worry about that. Put up a couple of cups, a few plates, and silverware and I'm done. Besides, that dishwasher made me a little OCD. Having to "reset" it every time after Chris loaded it. All the plates to the left, all the bowls to the right, cups up top..wonk wonk wonk.
One of the only parts of my old house I miss is that huge, roomy, sink into King size bed. I miss being able to have everybody piled up into the bed, comfortably, for a cuddle session. We still have our cuddle sessions now, it's just a wee bit tighter.
Now when I step foot in Target I am constantly thinking, do I really, like really really NEED that. And the majority of the time my answer is no. Don't get me wrong, there is absolutely nothing wrong with having things, but in the end it's not those things that will bring you true happiness. Jumping back to my childhood I can remember maybe three toys I got for Christmas over my whole childhood, but oh the memories I have of my parent's house. (That's why if they ever have the crazy ideal to sale it, I will buy it.) I remember breaking the globes to my mother's living room light and blaming it on the train that went by, I remember riding bikes, I remember playing on the swing set all day long, I remember playing in the mud behind my parent's house as a teenager, I remember all the sleepovers, I remember almost catching my parent's living room on fire by lighting the fireplace, I remember swimming until dark, I remember prank calling people way into the night, and the list goes on and on.
I have always had the mentality, no matter how big of a house you have, you will always fill it up with stuff. But in the end, it's not the "stuff" that matters, it's the memories that are stored in the walls of that house, and I hope my kids will hold tight to the memories made in this little house.
How much stuff in our life is just "fluff?" Do I really need thirty purses? Oh I shudder thinking of how much money was spent on those babies. Those sweet, sweet, expensive babies. And to think at one time I lived for buying purses. Birthday: purse. Anniversary: purse. Easter: purse. Presidents Day: purse. Do I really need twenty pairs of heels that I never wear? The humor to be had if I tried walking in those ole pre baby having heels today. Who needs fifty t-shirts? Over half of those t-shirts I only wore once. I did keep the good ole Girls State shirt- going fifteen years strong. It's really eye opening when you realize what you don't really need.
Now I'm fixing to get really absurd---- a dishwasher. Do you really need a dishwasher? Let me go ahead and tell you, you don't. Speaking from the girl who hand washes EVERY night. It really isn't bad. Do you know how many memories I have at my parents house as a little girl washing dishes for chore money? I loved washing dishes as a kid! L-O-V-E-D it. Why shouldn't I love it all over again? Why shouldn't I get my kids excited about washing dishes? If there is one thing in life I hate it is putting a three day load of dishes up from the dishwasher. Hate it with a passion. Well now I don't have to worry about that. Put up a couple of cups, a few plates, and silverware and I'm done. Besides, that dishwasher made me a little OCD. Having to "reset" it every time after Chris loaded it. All the plates to the left, all the bowls to the right, cups up top..wonk wonk wonk.
One of the only parts of my old house I miss is that huge, roomy, sink into King size bed. I miss being able to have everybody piled up into the bed, comfortably, for a cuddle session. We still have our cuddle sessions now, it's just a wee bit tighter.
Now when I step foot in Target I am constantly thinking, do I really, like really really NEED that. And the majority of the time my answer is no. Don't get me wrong, there is absolutely nothing wrong with having things, but in the end it's not those things that will bring you true happiness. Jumping back to my childhood I can remember maybe three toys I got for Christmas over my whole childhood, but oh the memories I have of my parent's house. (That's why if they ever have the crazy ideal to sale it, I will buy it.) I remember breaking the globes to my mother's living room light and blaming it on the train that went by, I remember riding bikes, I remember playing on the swing set all day long, I remember playing in the mud behind my parent's house as a teenager, I remember all the sleepovers, I remember almost catching my parent's living room on fire by lighting the fireplace, I remember swimming until dark, I remember prank calling people way into the night, and the list goes on and on.
I have always had the mentality, no matter how big of a house you have, you will always fill it up with stuff. But in the end, it's not the "stuff" that matters, it's the memories that are stored in the walls of that house, and I hope my kids will hold tight to the memories made in this little house.
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Three very long, very busy years….
I am officially off my three year blogging hiatus. Life got really crazy, REALLY fast, and blogging became more overwhelming than fun- so I took a little break. Not to mention the two year old and newborn I was wrestling with daily. So much has happened in three years! Ethan started preschool, Evan started walking…and talking, Chris started a semi new profession (outside of being a fireman), I became an aunt again. And lots more in between all of that.
Flash forward to today: what is going on in the life of the E's you ask? Ethan started t-ball and is loving it. His Poppy and Daddy are the coach. I'm pretty sure his Poppy was initially more excited than him. He's officially a Cub. He goes to school three days a week and has grown up SO much! And to think I had m-a-j-o-r anxiety about that decision. Next year he will step it up to five days a week (kind of sad). I feel like I'm paying to be robbed of time with him- did I mention it's only three hours a day? lol. #mommyissues They are only this little for so long. Evan, my sweet little Evie. Don't let his nickname fool you. He is a wild man, who is 100% fearless of any and everything. His alter ego name is Chuck Norris. Evan has busted his chin wide open on a bar, been squashed like a bug under a forty pound mirror, and cracked his head on a coffee table- and still keeps being a daredevil. He is the all time master of the "stank eye." Evan thinks his brother hangs the moon, and his brother is pretty fond of him in return. Evan wants so bad to be big enough to do everything Ethan does, including playing baseball and soccer, and truth be told he could hold his own. He's tough as nails. Evan will also be going to school five days a week come August, and I have a very sneaky suspicion there will be a very hot mess mama dropping them BOTH off that first day and possibly that whole first week. Evan has been my partner in crime on the days Ethan goes to school. I'll miss that…. a lot. Evan is working on potty training- and we are slowly getting there. The whole potty training business has to be done before he starts school, may the force be with us.
Chris and I made a very important decision not long after Evan was born - no more babies for the Mo's! We parents cannot be outnumbered. Chris had the big V- and that alone is a story in itself. So unless the big man upstairs has a sense of humor, we will have no more little Chris juniors running around.
The house Chris and I had our babies in (not literally) is officially on the market. Sad face. I LOVED that house and it holds so many amazing, unforgettable memories. Just thinking about what all has gone on in that house makes my eyes swell up with tears. Gosh those were some amazing years! Why are we selling? Our dream has always been to build a forever home- a home our kids will bring their kids to- and we finally found a lot that was a decent size in a good area and we bought it. In between selling and building we will live in my deceased great grandmother's 100 something year old house- which is haunted by her, Grannie Willie. We will live there for about two years so we can save a little bit of money to put down on the house. The nickname of my great grandmother's old house is the "little house." One guess as to why…..yeah it's 900 square feet with one bathroom. Good times, real good times. All my little ducklings will literally be right up under me.
Now that I have caught everybody up it's time to get back to blogging! Stay tuned…..
Flash forward to today: what is going on in the life of the E's you ask? Ethan started t-ball and is loving it. His Poppy and Daddy are the coach. I'm pretty sure his Poppy was initially more excited than him. He's officially a Cub. He goes to school three days a week and has grown up SO much! And to think I had m-a-j-o-r anxiety about that decision. Next year he will step it up to five days a week (kind of sad). I feel like I'm paying to be robbed of time with him- did I mention it's only three hours a day? lol. #mommyissues They are only this little for so long. Evan, my sweet little Evie. Don't let his nickname fool you. He is a wild man, who is 100% fearless of any and everything. His alter ego name is Chuck Norris. Evan has busted his chin wide open on a bar, been squashed like a bug under a forty pound mirror, and cracked his head on a coffee table- and still keeps being a daredevil. He is the all time master of the "stank eye." Evan thinks his brother hangs the moon, and his brother is pretty fond of him in return. Evan wants so bad to be big enough to do everything Ethan does, including playing baseball and soccer, and truth be told he could hold his own. He's tough as nails. Evan will also be going to school five days a week come August, and I have a very sneaky suspicion there will be a very hot mess mama dropping them BOTH off that first day and possibly that whole first week. Evan has been my partner in crime on the days Ethan goes to school. I'll miss that…. a lot. Evan is working on potty training- and we are slowly getting there. The whole potty training business has to be done before he starts school, may the force be with us.
Chris and I made a very important decision not long after Evan was born - no more babies for the Mo's! We parents cannot be outnumbered. Chris had the big V- and that alone is a story in itself. So unless the big man upstairs has a sense of humor, we will have no more little Chris juniors running around.
The house Chris and I had our babies in (not literally) is officially on the market. Sad face. I LOVED that house and it holds so many amazing, unforgettable memories. Just thinking about what all has gone on in that house makes my eyes swell up with tears. Gosh those were some amazing years! Why are we selling? Our dream has always been to build a forever home- a home our kids will bring their kids to- and we finally found a lot that was a decent size in a good area and we bought it. In between selling and building we will live in my deceased great grandmother's 100 something year old house- which is haunted by her, Grannie Willie. We will live there for about two years so we can save a little bit of money to put down on the house. The nickname of my great grandmother's old house is the "little house." One guess as to why…..yeah it's 900 square feet with one bathroom. Good times, real good times. All my little ducklings will literally be right up under me.
Now that I have caught everybody up it's time to get back to blogging! Stay tuned…..
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