Confession Number 17: I Drooled

The family and I are having a mini vacation in Hot Springs this weekend.  Dustin and his folks love Hot Springs because of the great horse racing at Oaklawn.  I love Hot Springs because of Bath House Row.  This is the second time I've been to Hot Springs, and I've never had the courage to actually take a bath on Bath House Row, but I do love me a good massage. 

Most of you know that I'm pretty cheap.  I practically squeak when I walk.  I'm not crazy about spending tons of money on one thing.  I especially hate spending more for something just because of where I am at the time.  I'm going to be honest...massages in Hot Springs aren't cheap.  It isn't known as the spa capitol of the world for nothing.  Today, however, I decided to splurge.  It has been almost two years since my last massage and I was yearning for that oil, the crazy Native American music that is supposed to relax you, and feeling the tension leave my shoulders.  I spent days researching the spas on Bath House Row, mostly dreaming of a whole day of relaxation.  After much deliberation, I settled on Quapaw Baths, the newest bath on The Row.  Dustin talked me into getting the hot stone massage.  One I had been wanting for a long time, but wouldn't pay the extra $15.  Creak, squeak, creak.  Yep.  I know.  That cheapness is something I need to work on. 

Here was the text I sent Dustin when I was finished....  "Oh. My. Holy. Heck."  I've had good massages before.  Great massages.  But, nothing like this one.  Here is where my confession comes in.  I drooled.  Yep.  I did.  I was laying there, on my belly with my face in the thingy.  You know, the thingy that holds your face and has a hole in it so you can still breathe while your muscles get worked over by a girl who looks like she would blow away if someone turned on the ceiling fan?  The thingy that leaves funny C shaped lines on your face?  Okay, good.  You know the thingy.  Well, here is what is running through my head this morning while relaxing in the thingy:

Oh, this is gooooood. 
Oh, really good.
Oops.  I think my mouth is open.  I better shut it.
(Open my eyes)
Crap.  Too late. 
(I watch as a long string of drool falls to the floor and puddles)
I just drooled on the floor.  Whoops.
I'm really glad that didn't land on her foot.
That would have been REALLY embarassing.
Whew!  Okay, back to relaxing.  With my mouth closed this time.

Yep.  That's the sign of a good massage.  A puddle of drool on the floor. 

Confession Number 16: I Miss 8:30

I love my husband.  A LOT.  He's loving and practical.  He's uplifting and quirky (in a good way).  He's a great provider for our family and the best father to our child I could ever ask for.  I ran across this picture recently when looking through pics of the Christmas Eve snowstorm. 

I love it!  It is raw and soft at the same time.  It shows how focused he is and how he is just a big kid at heart.  He pegged our 16-year-old nephew in the back with that snowball just seconds after I took this picture. 

Unfortunately, Joe showed Dustin who was stronger and faster.  Bad idea for a not too far from 30-year-old to try to show up a 16-year-old who lifts weights and works out everyday.

I miss alot of things from our "Piedmont Life", or the way things were before the move.  I sometimes spend so much time dwelling on what we left behind, that I don't focus on what a wonderful life we have made for ourselves here in Grove.  There is one thing that I miss, though, and I think we are going to have to figure out a way to get it back.  8:30.  You are probably asking yourself what in the world I am talking about.  "Has Charla lost her mind?"  Well, yes, I have, but in this case 8:30 was Kennedy's bedtime during the school year. Now that she doesn't have to wake up at 6:45 in the morning to go to Ms. Marcie's house, we have gotten in the habit of letting Kennedy stay up later and later.  Last night, for example, it was 10:00 before she found herself dreaming of Prince Charming and glass slippers. 

So what does Kennedy's bedtime have to do with my wonderful husband?  Well, I miss seeing him by himself after 8:30.  No, no, no, I'm not talking about THAT!  Get your mind out of the gutter.  I just miss time with him.  In the past,we may have spent the 2 hours of Kennedy free time picking up the house or cleaning the kitchen, or even working, but some nights we spent it getting caught up on each other or laying on the couch together watching a favorite TV show.  I miss that.  A lot.  Sometimes I'm just so spent by the end of the day, that all I want to do is have a little of adult conversation with my partner on this wild and crazy ride we call life.  So, I'm making a goal, in a effort to improve my outlook and my marriage (which isn't too shabby, anyway), to get 8:30 back.  It's going to be difficult, and it may have to wait until next week since we are having a mini vacation with the in-laws this weekend, but I'm going to try.  I'll find you 8:30, I promise!

Confession Number 15: I'm Not The Prince

I know each of your are shocked by my confession today. You totally thought I was the male heir to the British Empire, didn't you? Sorry to let you down. I'm no Prince Charles, even though I wouldn't mind spending some time gazing at those sons of his for awhile. I know you had thoughts of grandeur of me being a handsome, young prince, similar to the one in Cinderella.

What? Oh. You didn't? Hmmm. Well, maybe it's just Kennedy. You see, she keeps running up hysterically stating (in the cutest little voice, I might add), "my slipper! I've lost my slipper!". Then she runs to her room, only to return with one of her dress up shoes and announces, "I have the other one". After a couple of times with her getting frustrated because I wasn't doing it right, I figured out that I was supposed to bend down and help put her shoe on, asking if it fits. She then nods her head, hands clasped in front of her, and dances away. Only to return five minutes later saying, "my slipper! I've lost my slipper!".

Ah, yes, the repetition in a 2-year-old's life. Last night Dustin was talking with his mom on the phone and during a five minute span, Kennedy and I played out this scene three times. I have to say, I'm getting really tired of playing the role of the Prince. Maybe if the role came with some perks. Like a housekeeper? Or a laundry doer? Maybe just a cabana boy? I could really put on a good show, then. I'd much rather be the Princess. She just gets to dance around and be happy. Unfortunately for me, I think that role is already spoken for in our house...

Confession Number Fourteen: She Went Commando

"Too Late". The two worst words a potty training mother can hear when she's out and about. It means there is a mess to be cleaned up, clothes to be changed and a quick exit to be made. A few days ago Dustin uttered these words to me during a trip out to "Kennedy's new house". I will share with you the rather humerous story parents of any toddler can appreciate. WARNING: This post involves poop. Proceed at your own risk.



Potty training is really going well for us. Other than the night of this accident, we haven't had any issues in weeks. Maybe this is why it didn't cross our minds to grab Kennedy's bag one night last week when we made a quick trip out to check the progress on our house. Once we scaled Dustin's perfectly laid out bridge across the mud, we all went our own directions looking at the new work that had been completed. We had stairs, parts of a roof and could see how high our ceilings were going to be. Dustin and I were deep in conversation and Kennedy was busy running around. Nothing new here. She always runs around like a wild banshee when we go to the building site.


After being there for about 10 minutes, though, I noticed she had stopped running and had assumed "The Potty Stance". Yes, moms, you know what I'm talking about. Knees turned in toward each other, slightly bent, hands grabbing herself. Fear grasps my heart. We are in the middle of a construction site. Do I teach my 2 year old how to squat in the backyard? Do we dare the porta potty in the front? Can we make it down to the Johnson's house before it's too late? "Kennedy, do you need to go potty?" She shakes her head no, while giving me a blank stare. Enter Dustin.


D: "Uh oh, too late"
Me: "Ok, well, at least it's just pee"
D: "Uh........not so much"


Great. No need to get my panties all in a bunch. What is done is done. Dustin picked her up and carefully worked his way back across the bridge he made, making comments as time went on. "Oh, Kennedy, you stink". He's having to carry her at such a weird angle, she can't utter a response. My momma bear kicks in, "don't be mean, she can't help it. It's bad enough she went in her pants, don't make her feel worse." Little did I know what would be slipping from my very lips a few minutes later.


Thinking this was a typical Kennedy poop, I slip down her pants in the back hoping to easy rid ourselves of the problem with a few Kleenex I found under the seat (remember, we didn't have her bag). Dustin could throw it in the porta potty and we'd head home for a quick bath. Ummm, no. It was....bad. Use your imagination. Bad. We had no new panties (the old ones were destined for the trash), we had no wipees, we had no water. I had a handful of Kleenex. Have you ever tried to wipe poop off of a little squirming bottom with Kleenex? Not easy. Her panties were full, her pants were dirty and I was working with 6 Kleenex and a rag we had thrown in just in case we needed to wipe the mud off of our feet.

K: "Kennedy poop"
Me: "Yes, yes you did"
K: "Owie momma, ow. Hurt Kennedy's bottom"
Me: "I know baby. Sorry. Momma's trying to get the poop off your bottom"
K: "I have poop on my bottom?"
Me: "Yes. On your bottom, on your pants, on the seat of the car. Yes, honey, you have poop."
K: "Oh, Kennedy poo poo, yay!!!"

We hid in shame from the walker who went by, hoping they didn't want to meet the new people who had poop on their hands. I halfway mentioned going up to a new neighbor's house to ask for help. I know them on a friendly basis, but Dustin doesn't and he simply refused. I don't think he wanted our first time to talk to them in a neighborly way to go something like, "Hi Katie, Kennedy sh*t her pants. Could we please introduce her toxins to your house and use some wipes and maybe borrow a spare pull up or a pair of Atala's pants?"

Long story short, after a failed attempt to clean her bottom and her pants, I put her pants back on her. They only had a little bit of poop left on them, and her bottom wasn't completely clean, so what difference did it make, right? Any other mom would do the same thing. Right? Come on now, I need some reassurance from you all out there. We buckled her into her car seat, threw the yuckiness into the bed of the truck and took off toward home. Dustin offered to drop me off at Wal-Mart so I could buy a few things for dinner, go bathe the nasty girl, then come pick me up. Perfect. I cruised into Wal-Mart and reached into my purse to find my list and pulled out a small package of wipees. Perfect.

Confession Number Thirteen: I'm Getting Excited

This post is written by reader request. Here ya go, Trav. If you are interested in knowing about something in our lives, just leave it in the comments section and I'll do my best to fulfill your heart's desire.

I go through ups and downs. A few nights ago I was in the smack middle of a down. I had spent a few too many days cooped up in this little apartment. I talked to Dustin and told him it was time to have what my momma would call a "come to Jesus" meeting with our builder. I was tired of having the majority of our stuff in storage. I was tired not having space for the stuff we do have here. I was tired of not having a more than a 1000 sq ft. to hide from Kennedy. I was just tired. And cranky. Remember, I really am a complainer. Dustin listed very nicely and promised me he would talk with the builder and see where we were.

The next day was beautiful. Clear and sunny and cold, but because it was so pretty, it felt warm. So KJ and I met Dustin for lunch. About 15 minutes after he had left he called asking if I had driven out to the building site. As a matter of fact, I was just pulling into the neighborhood. He continued with, "well, you need to quit complaining and don't be surprised when you drive by". You see, our builder, the wonderful man, was just in the bank catching Dustin up on all of the progress we were making this week. I sheepishly drove by noticing the workers just returning from lunch. Yep, we may have just eaten lunch, but I had a big crow for dessert. As a matter of fact, those poor men were working in 27 degree weather, with a windchill in the teens, the day before. I was so unexpecting, I didn't even have my camera with me to catch some action shots, but here is how our building process has gone. We started with this....

and turned it into this....

but thanks to this.....and this....

and this....it took a really long time to get here....

Yes, those were 3 different snow storms. Did I mention that I am really over the snow? If I wanted this much snow, I would move north. Oh wait, I did that. Hmmm, okay, I would have moved FURTHER north. Fortunately, the weather has been on our side lately. Last week we were here... I know that is a terrible pic. Sorry. I'm too lazy to edit today. And as of last night, we were here...

We have walls, and parts of a roof and stairs! It really is exciting. We are getting to a point where even snow won't stand in our way. Just give us 2 more weeks Mother Nature, please? We are also getting to the fun part of being able to pick out our finishing touches. I just met with the builder yesterday on our brick and stone. I'd like to say I had a "Come to Jesus" meeting with him, but I didn't need to. Jay rocks my socks! How's that for a change of heart in just a few days?

My Relationship with Cheese, Part 2

If you read my earlier post, you know I am in the middle of a love/hate realtionship with cheese. Not the yellow stuff you grate on top of casseroles. I just love that. Not even the gooey stuff that comes out of a box that melts so well. I even love that. No, this is Kennedy Cheese...

After a wonderful day spent with my sisters and their kids, I came to a couple of conclussions. The first is that cheese must run in the family....

Her cousin Justus does it.

Her cousin Madelyn does it.

The second conclusion is that it doesn't look like she'll outgrow it anytime soon. Madelyn will be 13 in a few weeks. Sigh. Oh well. I guess I better get used to it.

Confession Number Twelve: I May Have Lost My Card

My Sooner card that is. "Gooner" card if you listen to Dustin, but who wants to do that??

If you know me at all, you know that I suffer from a collegiate form of bipolar disorder. I have been known to wear crimson one day and orange the next. My illness wasn't too terrible until I started spending football season in Stillwater with my hubby, instead of in Norman with my mom. I've spent the last three years so confused I don't even know what shirt to pull out of the closet. However, when it comes to bedlam, I'm ALWAYS wearing crimson. ALWAYS. Until Saturday.

You see, Saturday was bedlam for women's basketball. I absolutely love watching a good basketball game. A few years ago a fellow Brayite, Megan Byford was recruited to play for the Cowgirls. Wearing orange may have come more difficult for her family since her dad was an offensive lineman for the Sooners in the early 80's. Over the past few years, I have worn my crimson and cream to women's bedlam, while being totally neutral as to the winner because of the "Megan Factor". Sunday, however, was Megan's last bedlam. Match that with fact that I have only watched two OU women's basketball games this season, and it was the perfect storm. I did it. I switched to the dark side. I wore orange. On bedlam day. A picture of the phenomenon does exist, but it is on Dustin's phone and isn't appropriate to post here. It's rated PG-13, and I'm all about protecting the kids on this site. I joined the sisters and their kids in Stillwater for a fun bedlam day. At least I wasn't the only one in turmoil about their wardrobe. Remember the confused young man on my Cotton Bowl post? Well, yesterday, that confused boy was my nephew, Justus.

He wears crimson.

And now orange. He couldn't decide, so he kept taking his OU hoodie on and off. At least I made a decision to totally and completely cheer for the Cowgirls. Everyone had a great time yesterday. Thanks to her Daddy, Kennedy is turning into a Cowgirl through and through. She even showed Aunt Kitrena how to make pistols...

So, I have a husband who is a die hard Cowboy and a daughter who says "Go Pokes" in the cutest little voice ever. Could this be the "change" most of our friends have been wanting me to make for a long time? Nay. I think when I pack my suitcase for the Big XII Tourney it will still be just as confused as ever.