Seven Minutes

I posted this yesterday on a different blog (one that has been created just for "family stuff" that doesn't actually have anything on it yet.)

I have seven minutes. Seven minutes until I have to drag my sorry butt out to the lobby of my office building and sit through another uneventful staff meeting. According to my strenghtsfinder profile, meetings are NOT my thing. I have always known that, I just thought it was a flaw. Now I know it has been a strength all along.

I have seven minutes to avoid another report.

Seven minutes to feel the fatigue settle into my body.

Six minutes to wonder if the snow is ever going to start falling or are the weather men just another source of disappointment as they spew forth their false prophecies.

Six minutes to wish I was at home in front of my fire place actually finishing the Christmas cards I attempted to make, but are not getting in the mail. At least not this year.

Six minutes to remember how tired I am. The last eight weeks have been long, and intense, and draining. I am just as tired as my students are, and I am looking forward to a break.

Five minutes. Five minutes to wonder about my life, my future, my present. Five minutes to ponder that an hour of my life is about to be totally wasted and I will NEVER get it back. NEVER!

Four minutes. Wow the time is going by so fast. What can a person really do in four minutes anyway? One should never take the small minutes for granted. It is after all in the blink on an eye that everything has the potential to change. What would some people do for just for more minutes?

Three minutes. I suppose I should run the spell check and post this blog before it forever gets lost in my blog archive. You know that ones I started to write, but are still sitting there waiting for me to have a few spare minutes to finish. Hmmmm, maybe . ..

Two minutes. The time is ticking way. I guess I'll have to face the music. The lobby calls. Duty calls . . . ..

One minute. .

Thankful Thoughts

THINGS TO BE THANKFUL FOR

Frosty mornings . . .

Sunshine . . .

A fantastic fireplace . . .

A fresh cup of coffee with peppermint creamer in a gorgeous garnet red cup . . .

Peanut Butter and Bananna's for breakfast . . .

Children who can make their own breakfast . . .

Sleeping past 5:40am . . . .

Heated mattress pads . . .

Hot showers . . .

Intoxicating aroma of bath gel . . .

Food in the pantry . . .

A job . . .

A pay check . . . .

Great friends, old and new . . . .

A supportive husband . . .

Beautiful, thoughful, helpful children . . .

An active, full of life, son . . .

Daughters who are willing, and capable of helping make our part of Thanksgiving dinner . . .

Friends who are willing to host Thanksgiving dinner . . .

That the Star Merc had six cans of yams left at 8:35pm last night . . .

That the Star Merc had bathrooms that were not scary beyond all belief . . .

Cats that are at times (usually at times I want to be asleep) more entertaining than T.V. . . .

A home I can call my own . . .

A car that starts every morning when I turn the key . . .

Life and Love . . .

Double Digits

Myranda turns ten today. Since she is the middle child, and is often lost between the demands of her older and younger siblings, I thought I would get a head start on announcing her birthday to the world!

As I write I am a little blurry eyed from the long weekend of birthday fun. Especially the lack of sleep that comes from hosting her first big sleep over party. I think I was only awakened a couple of times from my deep slumber by the four pre-teens laughing endlessly as they were working off an ice cream sundae buzz until 3:00am.

Myranda is an amazing child, actually person. I think I can honestly say she is like no other. I think she wins the prize for being the family member who was born furthest from her family roots in Oregon. She made herself into this world in Decatur, IL. Half the country away from where she now lives.

She loves animals. It was mostly for her sake that we now have two fur balls running around our house. She is really, really, smart (but she usually keeps this a well-hidden weapon in her secret arsenal). It is not usually her quick whit and unarming intellectual conversation that will capture your attention. It is more like the seemingly unrelated, off the wall comment that comes a full five minutes after the end of that particular conversation was over. I refer back to the secret arsenal. She just wanted to make sure her quick whit did not come at you so fast it knocked you on your rear.

She is amazingly kind, helpful, and full of life and laughter. Happy Ten Years Little Miss.


**Photo background compliments of what we on the "other side of the fence" call professional landscape artists (courtesy of home owner association fees). We LOVE them. They make the desert look real purdy. This photo was taken in front of one of the subdivision entrances down the road from our house.

Today I Was Lazy

Well sort off. I guess about as lazy as I get. I cancelled my whole afternoon and came home and took a nap. I have a little cold. It isn't a really bad one, just enough to be annoying really. I felt a little worse than I did yesterday, but not to the point of misery yet. Right now it is at the "as long as I don't move I feel fine" stage. If I move, well that is a whole other story.

Anyway . . . I was in my office this morning thinking to myself (something I do A LOT of), self I don't feel really good. Oh, look. I rushed to the office and my first two client's cancelled. I have a ton of billing to do, reports to write, evaluations to proof read, classes to prepare for, classes to teach, papers to grade, a child's birthday party to prepare for, and Thanksgiving next week. I am sure your head is spinning by now, just as mine was this morning. I can swear that my head was not spinning from the lousy side effects of cold medicine. Anyhow after I finished my long mental "to do list" I thought to myself; I am going home. I am tired, I have a lot to do, and no chances to get any extra rest in the next 48 hours and I need some sleep. So I did. I left right then. Well, actually I left after I called all my clients, after I caught up to yesterday on my billing, after I printed a report to proof, and after I met with my supervisor. Then I did it. I left work early, went home, and took a nap. I was awakened by the cheerful and puzzled sound of my son's voice saying "mom!?" That is the puzzled sound of a child who is not used to his mother being home before he is.



See, I told you I was lazy today.

This Is What I Do

In the process of teaching a class on personality theories over the last four weeks I have come to understand the secret behind by blog blocks. I do not have a creative mind, or an imaginative mind, or an expressive mind. It is a struggle for me to create something from nothing. My mind uses the past as a reference for making current and future decisions. Not that I am stuck or fixated in the past, but previous experience is my compass. Show me how it has been done before or how how someone else has done it. Once I have a picture of what has been before I can take it recreate it, improve it, and make it my own. I have an analytical mind. I THINK about stuff all the time. Creative thought drains my energy. It is exhausting, frustrating, and often leaves me feeling incompetent and well a little . . .bored. Do not despair for me those two or three of you who actually read this blog, and do have a brain that relishes being creative. While I may not be creative, I am INVENTIVE and I really get of a lot of satisfaction of taking things from the past and reinventing them. So here are a few things I have learned over the last four weeks.

I am an introvert. I love being around one or two people at a time, but groups, large crowds, and parties are exhausting. I do not require a lot of stimulation. Therefore, I understand that I CANNOT truly focus on more than one thing at a time. A space of my own is a MUST for studying and class preparation. I have to be away from all the distractions (laundry, dishes, talking children, chatty husband) or I will have to read the same paragraph ten times. But in preparing that place for myself I can take an old kitchen table and use it for a desk, without feeling like the office has invaded my bedroom. And, I saved lots of money by not buying a pre-fabed, put it together yourself, and don't you dare ever move it, desk from Wal-Mart.

I am a thinking person. I analyze the situation and operate from the facts, but I don't need to over analyze a situation. For me it is easy to see how one can take something from the past and change it and make it something with a new, useful purpose. Like taking a perfectly good $50 kitchen table that was too big to fulfill its desired purpose as a desk, and turn it into a very practical, yet beautiful coffee table. Not only did I use my superior analytical skills to solve the missing coffee table dilemma, but I also solved the, "how in the heck do you get a coffee table to not look like a bench next to a seven foot couch problem." Ta-Dah! Problem solved.

I am a sensible person which means I use a lot of common sense and practical solutions that have clear and concrete answers. Thus I know from past experience that when one's brain is foggy because they are trying to read or write class notes at 10:00pm there is a sure fire way to lift the brain fog and restore stimulation to the drained brain waves.

I am a person who relies on sound judgement. I plan details (I have to have all the details together before I can make a plan). I naturally rely on routine and goals to reduce stress and anxiety.

Which is why I am SO glad the keys on the computer keyboard never change. At least I can rely on them when nothing else works. With their steadfast presence I can tolerate testy computer software, human error, or graphics that will not download when I want them to, and interfere with my carefully thought out plan, making it feel more like I am always making it up as I go along. Which I am not because my personality profile says I most definitely DO NOT DO THAT~ And we all know that personality profiles place you in a well defined, unbendable, unchangeable box that defines exactly how and who you are and they are NEVER, NEVER wrong.

One Soft Spot

It has been a long time since we have had any four legged types running around our family. Not that our children have not begged, pleaded, promised endlessly to feed, water, and care for any and every need a critter might need in order to soften the hard heart of their parents. There are lots of really great reasons why we have avoided animals in our home. The main reason, as my husband so kindly puts it: THEY POO!

As our hearts are not made of stone (contrary to the opinion of the three young one we share our home with) we have seemed to find a true soft spot. . . . .

This is Lucky. His personality is as black and white as his spots. I call him ferocious. When he is not looking super cute totally conked out he is running around chasing anything that will move.

This is Sam. I call him recluse. He is Lucky's big brother. Rumor has it the boys' momma is quite popular in Garden City. All the boys just LOVE her. Sam is very laid back and loves to find a dark spot to hide away and take a long, long nap.

At least when he is awake he likes to be helpful. Myranda has been complaining about how heavy her book bag is to carry to school. That's Sam always ready to lend a helping paw.

Sometimes Life is Stormy

One of the sometimes great things about living where I live in Idaho is that I can see the storms roll in from the west. There are no mountains to obstruct the view of the billowing dark gray rain clouds as they impede on an otherwise sunny skyline. Not only can I observe the storm coming, but I can also see the storm leave as it passes over my house and continues its journey to torment those in the eastern part of the valley. These storms happen all year long. In the winter and fall they move slowly and appear to linger; in the spring and summer they build intensely and move quickly.

Because if how my house sits, I can't always see these storms make their way towards me unless I am outside. From the inside of my home, all is well, and the weather seems beautiful. The sun is shining in the windows, and there are no clouds overhead. I don't realize what is happening in the world around me until I get ready to leave my house. One day last fall I pulled my car out of the garage, with it's concealing blind spot, to come face to face with what was happening in the world outside. As I looked ahead through the window of my car, what was coming was in stark contrast to what I thought was. I remember thinking to myself that those dark clouds had forgotten to check in with Scott Dorval or Rick Lance the local news channel meteorologists, for they had assured us that the rain and cooler temperatures would not be here until the next day.

I had this brief fleeting thought before I started driving towards those black clouds; these types of storms happen every day in life. Sometimes you can see the storm coming and are prepared, and other times it comes out of nowhere. I remember wondering if those clouds represented any meaning for myself that day. I wondered if there were any storms brewing in my life? Was what I thought was happening going to turn out to be much, much different? Usually, most of us can weather whatever storms come our way; those we know about and those we don't. Sometimes we can push through some really big ones, only to find ourselves overwhelmed and flooded by what seems like a small one. Sometimes we have what appears to be endless sunny skies with no worries, and the storms make us angry or resentful, because we really like the sunny skies. There are days that I welcome the darkness, the wind, and the rain because I know something better is on the other side, and other times when I would just rather not. I feel too tired, too battered to withstand even one more rain drop.

Some people feel abandoned or singled out when rough weather hits their life. They feel like the God of heaven and earth has singled them out, that he derives some great sense of sadistic satisfaction from watching their anguish and suffering. They ask unanswerable questions such as "why?" or "how could God turn his back on me like this?" This makes sense to me; I can see why they would ask these questions. For me, I learned a long time ago that there is never a satisfactory question to why. Nor has God ever turned his back on my . .not that it hasn't happened the other way a time or two. I have learned that no matter what . . .my job is to remain faithful through the storm, because He is there no matter what. He sees me, He hears me, and He understands. Life is life. It comes with some beautiful days, it comes with some dangerous days, it comes with some very stormy days. What a beautiful mess.

Boy, Oh Boy!!

Close the door. "So how have things been this week? Blah, blah, blah. "Oh, okay." Well lets take a look at what we can do to work on that . . . .my phone rings . . . I ignore it because it is not the home phone number, Mike's number, or our friend's number who has the kids, or the school's number. Listen for the buzz that tells me there is a voice mail. Nothing. Okay, not an emergency. On with the session. Yadda, yadda, talk, talk, talk, . . . .knock on the door. Hmmm? Don't they know I am already in session? I open the door, Mary says, "Sorry to interrupt but Stacie is on the phone. Micah split his head open at school. Melanie thinks-O Crap!


Melanie: Hey Stacie . .what's up?

Staice: I have Micah at my house. The school called. He and another boy ran into each other on the playground. Micah has a nice wound on his eyebrow. I think he may need stitches again (again meaning he just had stitches on the opposite eyebrow six months ago.


Melanie: Oh great! Okay, I'm on my way. I should be there in twenty minutes or so. . .

Melanie grabs her stuff, cleans off her desk (I know, I know you're thinking why take the time to clean off your desk just get out of there). There is a really good explanation. Everything is confidential, other people use my office, and I have a reputation to uphold for crying out loud!!!


So Melanie gets in car and speeds off making the twenty minute drive from where I work to where I live. Internal dialogue: Why do I have to work so far away? Why isn't there’s something closer to where we live? What if it is really bad and this delay makes it worse? Is he in a lot of pain? Is he crying a lot? Then the mommy guilt starts to creep in . . .I hate working, I hate being unavailable to my kids every possible minute that they might just need me. I don't like the commute . . .Is this all worth it. Mike and I were just talking about this last night. We both have a twenty minute commute. What if something serious happens? We can't afford to pay our Aflac benefits anymore. It would be nice if you could quite your job and go back to school (speaking of Mike), but we can't afford to pay for insurance without your income. Darn golden handcuffs anyway!


Melanie arrives at Stacie's house and assesses the damage. Micah seems to be okay. He is hanging out with a bag of ice and a towel on his forhead. He shows me his wound. Yep! That laceration is going to require a surgical intervention. Let's go bud!

On the way, Micah tells me the whole story. He was chasing the bad guy and it was sunny out so he had his sun glasses on (Don Johnson style cop chase I guess). He hit the other kids head and feel to the ground. When he fell, his face hit the ground and his sunglasses cut his eye lid. So, I am officially putting all parents on alert! Running with sunglasses on is just as dangerous as running with scissors! I bet your mother never warned you about that. Where was the warning label!!!! You heard it here first!

Micah: "Do I have to go to the doctor?" "I don't want to go to the doctor."

Mom: "Yes, we have to have the doctor take a look at that cut." At which point Micah starts to cry.

Micah:" But I don't want to go to the doctor, it will hurt."

Mom: "I know bud, I am soooo sorry."

Micah (who has stopped crying at this point . ."Do you think I'll get another feel better bear?" Referencing the last trip to the ER.

Mom: "Probably. Hard to say. I am sure they will have something."

Internal Dialogue: We just got the bill from the ER for Mikayla's sprained finger. I really don't want to go the ER because they charge you $300 bucks just to walk through the fancy guarded front door. Wait! St. Luke's just opened an Urgent Care! It’s just down the road. Do they do stitches at an Urgent Care? Let's see 20% of $900 is . . . . too much! I don’t want to pay for another ER trip. Urgent Care it is.

Micah: "Mom we just past the Dr." (ER where last stitches were given). He RECOGNIZES the place!

Mom: "I know, we are going to a different doctor . . . ." drives past St. Al's and goes straight to St. Luke's.


We find the Urgent Care, check in and are seen. Yep. It is confirmed we will need stitches. The nurse puts some "magic medicine" on a piece of gauze and co-ban it around his forehead. Micah now looks like he is ready for his cameo on The Karate Kid. Mom gets out the little round mirror in my purse so he can see himself. He laughs. That is a good sign. The doctor comes in and I guess the magic medicine didn't work all of it's magic because she started cleaning that wound and Micah protested. Not too much, but I could tell it hurt. More magic medicine . . .and wait . .and wait . . .Good thing mom brought her computer. He played Maternational while he waited. Then more cleaning . .still hurts (I guess the magic decided not to show up after all). Micah had to have a shot to numb the area . . .seven stitches later we were good to go. I forgot to mention that last time Micah had stitches it was 11:30 at night and he slept through most of it. This time he was wide awake! I think this one will store away in the memory bank!

We walk out of the Urgent Care about an hour after we got there. No feel better bear, but he is armed with four "Cars" stickers. Initially he decorated his arms with the stickers, but now he proudly displays them on his booster seat.

Micah gets home and rests on the couch. His injury is lovingly covered by a professionally placed band-aid. He doesn't even have a black eye!

This is the injury revealed the next morning after fifteen minutes of trying to get the professionally placed bandaid off of his swollen, bruised eye. I know people who use wax to remove unwanted eye-brow hair. I am thinking a bandaid with strong adhesive will net the same results!

This is Micah's attempt at looking sad and pathetic! He does a pretty good job.


Micah has officially expereinced more trips to the ER and more medical procedures than our entire family combined. This is his third. I guess it is true . . . he's all boy.

No Words

I have longingly gazed into the eyes of my blog and decided it has been sorely neglected. So I thought I would attend to this forlorn space.


I find that I actually do a lot of writing. Not the exciting, nostalgic, ahh isn't that cute kind of writing. No, I write page after page after page of someone else's life story. I am a reluctant historian. I write about all kinds of things trying to fit a person's life story on two or three pages, or in a four inch square box, depends on the actual document. I write about where a person is in life, how they got there, and my brilliant plan for getting them as far away from where they are as they can possibly get. A lot of it is written in boring technical counseling terms . .Client shared blah, blah, blah, counselor assessed yadda, yadda, yadda, Counselor and client explored this and that an the other thing. The words themselves are generally boring, vague, and uninteresting. You see it is to the client's benefit that enough is written about their hard work to justify a third party paying for their time with me, but vague enough that if anyone ever decided they wanted a peek into that person's world via a court ordered subpoena there would be no information that could potentially be harmful. All day, every day I produce document after document filled with words that mean nothing, yet at the same time everything. I would say on an average day I write the equivalent of a three page paper. On those lucky days when I am writing endless reports outlining someones background, their goals for treatment, and/or the results of their tedious hours of psychological testing I probably increase my production to twenty or thirty pages a week. I am in a constant battle to find just the right words to accurately describe both what I have been told directly, and what I observe for myself. The task becomes so much more challenging because most of what I observe lies in what is NOT said, what is NOT reported, and is usually not physically VISIBLE. I have to make the unconscious, conscious. I have to find the invisible elephant in the room that NOBODY wants to talk about, sometimes not even me. I have to guess, hypothesize, discern, read between the lines. Then find the right words to describe it all.

I feel a great burden when I am forced (and I mean FORCED) to write all of this every day. How does a person put this all on paper? How does one accurately, respectively, honestly tell the story of another's life? How does one chronicle the struggle of one who realizes that they are mentally well enough to know they are mentally unwell yet the truth is they are powerless to make themselves truly be the person they so desperately want to be. How does one document that despair? How does one do justice to the pain of parental abandonment, the violation of intimate space, the tremendous guilt of past mistakes, the darkness of the soul, the grief of psychological torture inflicted by one who was supposed to love, not destroy. What does one say that gives any weight to this human experience?

Sometimes there is hope to write about. Progress made, goals achieved. The human spirit that has triumphed. One would think it would be easier to write about achievements and conquered demons. Yet the words escape me. To capture the strength, the light of the soul which now shines a little brighter, the triumph of overcoming. Those things just can't be fully expressed in phrases like . . .client is making steady progress towards goals this week. When all I really want to say it that against all odds the wonderful, beautiful, courageous person beat all the odds by finding it possible to put one foot in front of the other and free fall off the edge of the highest ledge of the Grand Canyon in the hopes of a promise that they would be better off taking such a desperate step.

So tonight, for this day, these words are for all those courageous, brave souls who entrust me every week to write their history. I regret that there are not words enough to reflect your deepest despairs, your quest for healing, and your willingness to face your worst enemy, yourself, in hopes of overcoming victoriously. I hope my meager words do you justice.

It's All Over

The summer has officially come to an end here in Idaho. We sent the summer off with a bang, well actually a splash. We spent one of the hottest days of the summer at the water park, sliding, floating, sucking in way too much chemical water, and in general having a blast! On Monday, the kids picked out their favorite new outfits, packed up their new back packs with a small fortune in school supplies, and headed to their individual places of education. We have reached a milestone in our family. All three of our children have embarked on their own individual quest for knowledge.

Micah started Kindergarten. Much to his dismay he has discovered that kindergarten is a five day adventure. Yes, Micah you have to go to school every day now! "Oh, okay", he says with head hung and shoulders slumped in great disappointment. I am excited for him. Really I am, but also a little sad. He is after all the baby. I am entitled to feel sad, nostalgic and any of those other sappy feelings I reserve for only very special occasions. In nine months he will change from being read his bedtimes stories, to reading his bedtime stories to his parents. He will learn how to count really high, add numbers together, take numbers apart, and write whole sentences! He will see the world around him in a whole new way. He came home yesterday with a picture of himself and at the bottom he wrote, "I am a thinker!" It is true . .he comes from a long line of thinkers and he still loves the question why. He will start his journey from being a little man to being a big man!

Myranda has started fifth grade. She seems to have a great teacher. By the end of this year she will be introduced to the concepts of algebra, make her first public speech, write her own reports, and continue to out read her entire class. She will learn hard lessons like how to be personally responsible for her own education, how to navigate the raging sea of pre-adolescent girl stuff. She will also learn what it means to move from a child to a young lady (or so I hope). She will likely give up her baby dolls and barbies for 'tween CD's, hair gel, and dreams of being the lead singer in a girl band. She will discover that while her mother understands mood swings and irritability, her room is the only place these traits will be tolerated. In nine months she will emerge from the familiarity of grade school ready to face the uncertainty of middle school.

Mikayla has moved up the middle school ladder one notch. She appears to feel very comfortable in her new found status as a seventh grader. She LOVES school. Every day this weeks when asked how school went she has said "awesome." This year she gets to move from concrete to abstract math (aka pre-algebra), she will utilize her natural musical talent to increase her proficiency on the flute, and she will learn important life skills like how to play golf, ping pong, and tennis (thus the class appropriately entitled "life skills". She will delve into the great writers and stories of the past, and learn about the complexities of biology. In nine short months from now she will have finally made the transition from pre-teen to full fledged card carrying teenager! I believe she will exit this school year with a head full of knowledge, a heart full of love, and more confident in herself then ever. She is an amazing kid!

So it has begun, yet I must mention that after four long, heard grueling days of education our weary students apparently are in need of an extended break. Their first no school day is FRIDAY!!! Whatever. I must add that the girls who attend public school have Friday off. Micah who attends private school, must endure one extra day of knowledge gathering.

Life on the Other Side!

This is my fifth, yes I said FIFTH attempt to sit down and write something. I started to write about a very fun adventure our family took to Lake Cascade last weekend. After an hour of trying to figure out how to put the stupid pictures on the page, I have up. I will have to save pictures for another time and space where I don't have so much to do. Probably when the kids go back to school in a couple of weeks. Maybe then I will regain my sanity and any stray brain cells. This particular blog is in fact another attempt to avoid the thing I hate most about my job: case notes. So I thought I would just do an in general kinds of update for those who care to know. If you don't well, I suppose there is way more fascinating stuff out there for you somewhere in blogsphere.

So, like I said. Last week, on Thursday,we drove all the way around Lake Cascade. I am not sure exactly how big this lake is. Larger than either Cottage Grove or Dorena Lake, I am sure. I think it is at least fifteen miles long, half of which is nothing more than a gravel road. Found that out the hard way. Who knew that the sign on the road that said "restricted travel" really meant: "Hey city boy you're 'bout to put that fancy four wheel drive to the test!" Actually the road wasn't too bad in some spots, but it did lead to an extra hour in the suburban than we were were expecting. Not too fun for Mr. "I'm bored" in the back seat. We found a couple of nice beaches and ate, swam, and explored. Myranda thought she struck it rich when she saw the gold flecks floating in the lake. She actually did see a penny in the water. Micah discovered that plastic 4x4's do indeed float even when water logged. Mikayla's dressed up as a pirate for the day (her current obsession).

On Friday, we spent the morning hunting down Micah's birthday present. We were looking for some kind of portable gaming system, but since we have never used let alone purchased said system we were a little bit out of our league. We started with pawn shops to see if we could find a good deal. We found lots of good deals, if you are into guns, swords, and other interesting weapons. Okay, as every good hunter knows a cell phone is an invaluable piece of equipment. As our allotted time without Micah was coming to an end, Mike decided to call the list of pawn shops he had on his list. It was a bust . .nothing . .no one had anything like what we were looking for. But, hey! Melanie has a great idea! What about that add on Craigslist. It sounded like a good idea. Oh crap! We didn't bring the number. Now comes the tricky part. You see, we actually still use our mobile phones as well, . . .um . . PHONES! So on the side of the road in the "scary" part of Nampa Melanie does a crash coarse on browsing the Internet on a cell phone. Success! Phone call made, merchandise in question still available, now to find location. Southwest Boise! That's only thirty minutes and a lot of traffic from where we are. But wait! Redemption. There is a Dutch Bros. on the way home. Yes! We will sacrifice the gold fuel in the tank to make the trek. Item secured.

Saturday was Micah's birthday (see pics on Myspace). We started the day with a french toast and strawberry brunch. Brunch only because the birthday boys father dragged his sorry self down the stairs at that time. Well he WAS on vacation. I guess I"ll give him a breakthis time. Then we spent the afternoon at Chuck E. Cheese with all the golden tokens, soda, and cupcakes a little boy could want. Then home to open family presents.

I don't recall what happened Sunday. I know we went to church, but beyond that my memory fails me.

Monday through Wednesday are work days for me. I work insanely long hours so I can have four days off in a week to be with my kids during the summer. Those three days go something like . .get up at the crack of dawn, drink coffee, shower get dressed, and drive to the office. At the office it is: how many people am I seeing this week? You scheduled how many new clients? Are the roofers ever going to lunch? What makes less noise a manual or pneumatic hammer? I haven't done billing sheets in how long? How many case notes do I need to type? Oh treatment plans are due this week? WHO wants to talk to me? Do I have to take that phone call? Welfare is doing their audit when (read: failed audit means loss of job?) Make phone call to Health and Welfare to report some horrific act being carried out on a young child so they can again do NOTHING! Console said child's parent on the phone in my best, "I have done all I can do voice," and go home.

Thursday was the dentist. I'll spare you the boring details. Back to school shopping, Dollar Tree Shopko, Costco, Winco, and Walmart!

Friday attempt to cook ahead a few meals, watch friends children, supervise play date with Micah's friend, buy stuff a birthday party, small group/friends 40th birthday party!

Saturday, finish decorating Mikayla's room, laundry,another birthday party

Sunday . . .well today I attempted to return the curtains that I have ordered and returned three times now. If I didn't love the curtains I would have given up. I feel sorry for Mike because he has to keep track of all the debits/credits that have now been made.

So now that I have totally avoided typing my case notes, I am exhausted. I think I need to go get some sleep. I don't think this week will be any less hectic.

All In A Day's Work

Okay . .I guess if my baby brother can find the energy and creative juices to blog, then I have no excuse. I mean . . .really who wants to be outdone by their younger sibling. I have sat down at my well used computer key board many a time and wondered to myself what I have to say that would be of interest to anyone, anywhere. So it comes down to this, does it. The age old motivator of sibling rivalry!

So here I sit again. Wondering what to say. And wondering, and wondering some more. So since I am in the middle of moving and trying to make my just purchased house ready to move into I thought I would talk about that! WhooHoo now that is excitement. Let me tell ya!

Week One~
We started out the week very hopeful that we could somehow magically remove the stale smell of pet urine from the house via fresh air and every one's favorite smell helper Febreeze. Joy we felt all around as the smell was barely detectable after the windows had been open and a brisk, but warm breeze had been blowing through the window for a good three hours. Hope! You mean I might not have to dig deep to buy new carpet after all? Then the defeat. The oder returned from where it came from later that night after all the windows were closed up. Bummer!

Plan B.

Our good friend Ross has cleaned all kinds of things (seeing as he used to work for a cleaning company to pay his way through college) and felt like a good cleaning would do the trick. Afterall, her barely smelled anything when he came over earlier in the day (that would have been when all the windows were open and the smell was just out getting some fresh air!). He thought he would mix up a magic potion that was sure to chase the stale urine from the depths of my otherwise perfectly good carpet. My wonderful friend spent 12 hours trying to save my carpet from an everlasting life in the local place where the nice men in the blue trucks take my garbage every week. He cleaned, he sprayed, he even boiled the water! Then in a move beyond all boundaries known to friends, he got down on his hands and knees and did a sniff test. Alas, his efforts were futile. The stench of what we now bitterly refer to as "free range pets" refused to release its odoriferous self from the fibers it was so loving placed in.

Plan C.
Maybe it is just in the carpet and pad, and we can replace the pad and clean the carpet again. I made the mistake of pulling up a corner of the carpet (whilst my other good friends who make wonderful foremen) begged me not to release the monster laying underneath the carpet and just let it be. I couldn't do it. I could still smell something and I had to know how bad it really was. I really wish I wouldn't have done that. I started pulling, and each section of carpet released from the floor a tidal wave of stench from the carpet, the pad, and the floor underneath. It was clear to me that we would need to progress toward the next plan. Wizzer (which is what we have un-affectionately named the free range pet) had won the battle. Upon closer inspection it appears he/she/it had a bladder problem because the thing had successfully marked every inch of carpet available to him/her/it.

Plan D.
Buy primer, paint floor, repeat, buy new carpet.