Sleeping With My Sisters

A funny thing happens when I get together with my sisters. Let me rephrase that – a LOT of funny things happen when I get together with my sisters. We had another one of our Super Sister Sleepovers recently and managed to laugh ourselves into a coma again and, I'm not ashamed to admit, we were in bed by 10.

Prior to bed time, however, we opened a bottle of ButterShots! If you've ever tasted butterscotch, I want you to imagine it as liquid candy cascading over ice.  

Of course we were laughing before we drank, and, knowing we had even more ButterShots, PLUS a whole bottle of Moscato (which we never touched) sitting in our hotel room, we drank only water and other safe drinks at dinner where, once again, we laughed throughout – mostly at my baby sister, Kathy. Kathy's nursing escapades are riotous, especially when she doesn't get enough sleep. I recount one of those experiences in my blog, Perils of a Night Shift Nurse. If you've ever been so tired you could barely stand up, you owe it to yourself to read that blog.

Lest you think I am ignoring my middle sister, Cindy, let me assure you that she appears in my blogs occasionally too. For instance, she shares my pain in The Day My Mom Made Cindy and Me Into Chia Pets. True story. I still cringe when I see Chia Pets.

I have previously written about our sleepovers in my embarrassing article about our 1st Super Sister Sleepover adventure (linked). The reason I am embarrassed by it is not because of anything that happened during the sleepover, but because I didn't notice when I published it that I wrote, "new," instead of "knew," in the second paragraph. Shame on me! I should "no" better! (Sorry. Sometimes I can't help myself – obviously.)

But back to our most current sleepover. We discovered something about each other during this sleepover – we all snore! Because I toss and turn all night, my sisters had graciously given me my own bed. Apparently shortly after I fell asleep, which to me seemed to take forever, I was snoring. But I recall before falling asleep that somebody else was snoring.

Anyway, at one point during the night – I didn't learn about these events until morning – Cindy thought Kathy was snoring and used a technique that Cindy used on her husband, Craig, to stop his snoring. She slammed her fists into the mattress repeatedly in an effort to get Kathy to stop snoring. Her method wasn't  working, however, because Kathy continued to snore, while Cindy got more and more agitated with each powerful slam!

Occasionally Cindy and Kathy would awaken and I would hear them giggle or argue (I couldn't tell the difference), but I couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, so I tried to fall back to sleep.

The following morning, when Kathy went to the washroom, Cindy told me that the giggling was about all the snoring that was going on. 

When Cindy went to the bathroom, Kathy wanted me to know about Cindy's sleeping problem – she twitched – a lot – and violently. As a matter of fact, the twitching was so bad, Kathy described the twitching as convulsive spasms. Having just heard from Cindy about her remedy for getting Kathy to stop snoring, I roared with laughter thinking about the violence Cindy used to punch the mattress and how concerned Nurse Kathy was about her sister's spasmodic twitchy medical problem.

The following morning, Mom met us for breakfast, where we all shared a meal and even more laughter. Next year we want to expand our Super Sister Sleepover to include our mom who never had a sister and my daughters, and maybe even the older female granddaughters. I'm buying all of us muzzles – or maybe mufflers.

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Gangnam Style – Wiza Style

This is how WE celebrate birthdays, Wiza Style!

And for those of you who would like to watch the original Gangnam Style video, please click the link.

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Remember That Play Spider? Don't Touch It!

Every Monday morning I drive to my youngest daughter's home to care for three of my grandchildren.

This morning, before I left my home, Brittney called to tell me that she may have to go to the doctor because her whole hand was hurt and swollen due to what she believed might be a spider bite.

Then, when I arrived at her home, she warned me, "You know that play spider the kids keep playing with?"

"Yeah."

"Don't touch it. It could be the real thing. We've found a couple of wolf spiders, and they look just like that one."

Great! So, here I am, on hyper-alert status, watching the floor and walls and leaping on Avery to make sure she doesn't put one in her mouth. I haven't seen one yet, and yes, I know they are not poisonous, but I've found a safe place for the kids.

Nolan, Avery, and Audrey in the tub

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True Incident of Adding Insult to Injury

I usually fall UP the stairs. I know. That makes no sense. I probably should have said that I usually TRIP up the stairs, but my mother always told me that generally people fall DOWN the stairs, indicating to me that because I tripped UP the stairs and never fell DOWN the stairs, I must be that one in a kabillion (my version of an infinite number, making my statistic impossible to prove) who falls UP the stairs.

Every day, on my way home from school, I had to climb three little stairs to get from the back step to the kitchen. I couldn't avoid those stairs, because my bedroom and – well – the entire rest of the house, excluding the basement – was also UP those three stairs. But every day I tripped up them. Every day. Without fail. And I would hear my mother laughing, "I know who's home." 

Taunting me. Relentlessly taunting me.

It got to the point where I would stand at the bottom of those three stairs and imagine myself leaping up all three of them at once, so as to avoid climbing them. And then, CRASH! That didn't work.

I concentrated on lifting one foot over the other, but nothing worked. I was convinced that some invisible poltergeist was grabbing my pant legs just as I lifted my foot – every time. I still have scars all the way up and down both of my legs from my numerous trips up the stairs.

And then yesterday, for possibly the fourth time in my life, I fell down the stairs. I remember clearly all three other times I fell down the stairs. Once, when I was in high school, I had convinced a dear friend of mine that I had found a short cut in D building to get to F building. The short cut turned out to be me sliding down the stairs butt first. The second time I fell down the stairs I was living in an apartment with two of my children. Once again, I slid down an entire floor of stairs and badly bruised my back.

The third time was when I was living in a different apartment. The manager had installed indoor plastic lining on the outdoor steps. One cold blustery day as I attempted to get to work, I noticed that the plastic corners of each step had curled upwards and that every step had become a ramp caked with ice. The railing too was caked with ice. I could have stayed home, but I had to get to work. (I'm very conscientious.)

As I grabbed onto the railing and carefully placed my foot on the step beneath me, my foot slid out from under me and I skated down the stairs one step at a time until I crash landed on the bottom step.

The fourth time occurred last night when I was at my daughter's apartment. I was there to watch her fiance's daughter, Myraiah, and was fortunate to also have for company two of my grandchildren (Travis and Wesley) and two of my great grandchildren (Ayla and Billy). As I descended the carpeted stairs, my pant leg slid between my sock and the stairs, and down I went, toe first.

See the results? 

I sat down on the steps and held onto my foot. And then, to my horror, I felt my toenail in my sock. I was afraid to remove my sock. Travis and Wesley ran around the apartment in search of bandages. I bravely removed my sock, only to discover that the nail polish itself, in one huge clump, had fallen into my sock. Myraiah wanted to keep it, but I told her we had to let it go. It was too painful a reminder of the horror I had just experienced.

To add insult to injury, Myraiah patted my stomach last night and nodded in a conspiratorial manner as if we both knew some BIG secret. As compassionately as she could possibly speak, she said, "You're going to have a baby, aren't you?"

This morning, her father, John, offered me a donut!!!!! A donut!!! Why? To feed my unborn baby (named Fat)!

I swear, as God as my witness, as soon as I can stand on my foot, I will destroy Fat!

My New Home?

She's not even my granddaughter yet and she is already amusing me. When my daughter, Lindsey, marries John, she will become stepmom to Myraiah. This past weekend I had her spend the night with her soon-to-be-cousins, Audrey, Kaden, Nolan, and Zac.

Myraiah stood in my dining room and announced, "I can't wait until you move into your new house."

I was perplexed. I wasn't even selling my home, but I asked, "What new home?"

"You know, the one with the upstairs, the downstairs, and a basement?" 

Now that I think about it, I think she was probably referring to my youngest daughter's dream home, which she might have heard us all discussing at one time, but when Myraiah mentioned MY new home, I had not thought about Brittney's next home.

"I'm not moving into a new house, Myraiah."

Myraiah looked around at my two towering book shelves, all the suitcases (from overnight grandchildren visitors), all the toys scattered throughout the dining room, living room, and family room (a mess she helped create), and decided, "Yeah, you have a lot of stuff. You should probably just stay here."

Good idea, Myraiah. If my home were any smaller, I wouldn't have had the pleasure (exhausting as it was) to have so many grandchildren spend the night with me this past weekend). 

Along without the photo of Myraiah trying to keep noodles on her fork, is a photo of five of my grandchildren sleeping (see if you can find all five of them – from left to right, Zac, Myraiah, Nolan, Audrey, and Kaden).

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How Long Have I Known You?

Nolan sat next to me at the table, his head cocked to one side as he looked at me. "How long have you known me?" he wanted to know. 

Before I could answer, he added, "I think I was three or four when I met you."

How could I hold back a laugh? I grabbed his little face and pulled it close, kissing his cheek. And then I hugged him. 

"I've known you your whole life, Nolan."

 The first time I saw Nolan, his dad was walking out of the delivery room carrying him toward me and Nolan's paternal grandmother and grandfather. I've been in love with this little guy since before he was born, and though he is only 5-years-old, I feel as if I have known him forever.

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Toddler Times

Amanda with her two boys, Billy and Colin

Mommy Breaks 18-Month-Old's Heart

Babies who haven't yet figured out that when Mommy or Daddy walks out of a room, parents won't disappear forever, have difficulty with abandonment issues. 

Here is what happened earlier this week when my great-grandson, Colin, who had previously been sitting on the couch with his mother (my granddaughter, Amanda), left the couch and walked away.

Mommy made the mistake of saying, "Bye!" and Colin had a meltdown, thinking his mommy was leaving him. Amanda said he acted as if she had broken his heart. 

Brings back so many memories of my own kids and other grandkids who react the same way until they understand that leaving for a few moments doesn't mean leaving forever.

And now a story about Colin's older brother, Billy:

3-Year Old Wants to Complain to Burger King Employee

When Amanda decided to take a ride to Burger King's drive-through to get some cinnamon rolls, 3-year-old Billy, who loves cinnamon rolls (so does his great-grandma) was excited. Knowing Billy, he was probably jumping up and down in his car seat in anticipation of the tasty treats. 

So you can imagine his disappointment at hearing that Burger King didn't have any cinnamon rolls made at that moment.

Here is the conversation between Amanda and Billy:

Amanda (to Billy): They don't have any cinnamon rolls.

Billy: Roll down the window.

Amanda: Why?

Billy (very upset): Because I want to talk to that lady about my cinnamon rolls!

Amanda didn't roll down his window. You just never know what Billy might say :)

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