Mother Nature vs. The Victory Family

So I may have mentioned a couple of times that perhaps we have angered Mother Nature. We must have because she hates us!


You may or may not have noticed that I have not posted anything for a few days. It's not that I don't have anything to say. In fact, today's post could have been titled "Wordy Wednesday."


Alas, the reason for my hiatus is that our internet service has been down.



BECAUSE OUR HOUSE WAS STRUCK BY LIGHTNING SATURDAY AFTERNOON!


I know! Can you believe it?!


No, this is not the actual picture, thanks for asking. I may have been too busy ( pathetically hypothetically cowering on the couch, with my thumb in my mouth during the actual storm) to be outside snapping photos for your viewing pleasure.


So sue me.


However, here is our story in pictures. With some explanation. Obviously.


Lightning strikes big tree fifteen feet from our house...








...shaving bark off tree and onto ground below...





...travels along roots toward the house spraying mud and muck all the way up the brick to the roof...



...continuing to the inside, explodes an outlet cover into shards...


...cracking the wall in two places...



...causing noxious "burning rubber" smell throughout downstairs, causing fear of fire in homeowners...


(If you are looking for a picture of the bad smell, it's not here.)


...killed both cars which had to be towed away...




That's pretty much it. I may or may not have covered my ears and screamed like a little girl when the strike hit and the room glowed blue. Just sayin'.


Thankfully there was no fire, the ringing in my ears went away, our family was unharmed, and we have insurance to cover the damages.


We have lived to go another round with Mother Nature. Bring it on, old lady!


God's on our side!

the eyes have it

As you know, both of our older kids wear glasses. Well, Jay made an appointment for one of them, Ryan, to get his eyes checked yesterday. While he was at work. Which meant I had to take EVERYBODY with me. Good times.


I took the kids skating with a group from church yesterday from 11:00 - 2:00, and the appointment was at 2:30. That should give us just enough time to get there, I thought. Luckily, Elijah napped in the stroller for the last hour we were at the skating rink, and I had a sippy cup and a snack.


Ready for baby? Check.


W has recently slacked off on nap taking, which if I might cry on your shoulder for just a moment, is breaking my heart. He needs a nap. I need a nap him to take a nap. Sadly, naps are few and far between anymore unless he just passes out or occasionally falls asleep in my lap, which is not all bad, because if Elijah is asleep, a nap on my lap lets me rest for a few minutes as well. But I digress.


Preschooler? It's a gamble, my friends. A gamble, at best.


The big kids? They know not to act all kinds of crazy in public. We will just have to step out on faith and put their learnin' to the test.


Anyway, we arrived on time, and the parking lot was FULL. Which honestly sent an anxiety-induced shiver down my spine. It's one thing to go somewhere with a gaggle of kids when it's virtually empty. It's quite another to squeeze into a place that usually has a minimum of chairs for people with appointments. I guess they aren't counting on patient and entourage. You guys with big families know what I mean. I just held my breath and went on in. I was handed the paperwork to fill out and found several chairs together so we could settle in. The big kids know they are supposed to help with the little ones, especially in public when I am the only adult accompanying them.


Emily found a book and some puzzles for W to play with before she started pouting and slumping out of her chair, absolutely dying of thirst. It must have been the dehydration that caused her to crumble into a heap on the floor and look longingly at the sippy cup.


The baby was pretty quiet in Ryan's lap while I filled out all the necessary papers, and then Ryan was called back, leaving Emily and me with the time bombs little boys.


W was being good. Almost too good. Working puzzles, even the alphabet one with my help, proudly calling out the letters he knew and putting them neatly away when he was finished. Yeah, something was definitely up.


Ryan emerged from "the back" and announced that he was ready to be fitted for contacts, which he has been wanting for a long time now, and new frames. Boys always need a back-up.


Aside: I naively thought he would have an exam, get a script for new lenses, and we'd be out of there to later select new frames, which can be a little time consuming.


O.K., I thought, while we're here, we can get it all taken care of. Ryan takes a seat while "Angie" fits him with the contact lenses. I felt I should be near when she let him do it himself in case he poked it in too hard and his eyeball should fall out. You know they would blame the mother if his eyeball rolled off the table or something.


In the meantime, Dr. Stasney, who can I just say is a total rock star, emerges and asks if anyone else needs to be checked while we're here. I quickly thought, Yes! Me! Pick me! I barely passed the DMV exam! Pick me! But knowing there is no way I can sit in a chair, read a chart, and say "better" or "worse" with any sort of accuracy with one eye on W while being mauled by a baby, it just ain't happenin' today, and I will once again drive home blind. So I offer Emily instead.


She instantly perks up, apparently not so thirsty after all, and heads to the back with Dr. Rockstar Stasney, and I, having produced another patient, now have more paperwork to fill out while I hold the baby, keep an eye on W who is growing a little bored with the puzzles, and make sure Ryan's eyeball is still in its proper socket.


I produce my license and an insurance card again because it's a new chart and proceed to scribble out her paperwork. I only hope they will remember in the future that her brother has a chart with identical information should they have trouble deciphering it.


Wyatt grows bored and antsy. Baby screeches with the sippy cup and without it. He's not happy being held, and I suddenly without warning turn in to those people who, you know, let their kids loose in public.


Aside #2 Before we had kids, we would sit in a restaurant or doctor's office (or anywhere in public) and watch parents who let their kids down or let them screech and think to our stupid selves how we will never do that and they should really do something about that screeching, and I'll admit with the older two we did a pretty good job maintaining order. I don't know what's happened to me. I try. The Lord knows I do, but we are engaged in some kind of midget warfare, and they are winning.


A nice lady dumps a puzzle on the floor near where Ryan is sitting so W can work it and Elijah can then steal pieces and make laps around the office with them, knowing W is not going to like it. Ohmyheavenlydays!


Ryan gets called to the back again to be checked with the contacts in, and I manage to get the little ones settled down a bit, when Emily comes out, eyes fully dilated, and now she's a little giddy and "soooo sleepy" that she just wants to lay her head on the table instead of being fitted for frames. I am thinking to myself, just pick something. Pink? Fine. Blue? Fine. Whatever you like...FINE.


Angie helps her select some cute little frames.


Ryan comes out from the back wearing a cool new pair of sunglasses that the doctor gave him, contacts in, frames selected and order placed. He's done.


Then Emily gets called. I feel I should go with her because I need to ask the doc a couple of questions. I look at Ryan to make sure he can handle the little ones for just a few minutes since the office has now cleared out quite a bit. He says yes with his mouth, but his sunglasses and tone say, "Hurry the heck up. Their timer is going off!"


I no sooner sit down in the chair in the exam room when I hear that familiar screech that says 'someone has taken something I want'. I scoot to the edge of the chair ready to run back down the hall when it suddenly stops. There it is again. I start to break out in a cold sweat. I need to finish talking to Dr. Rockstar. Then I hear what sounds like the little boys going at it. My heart is thumping out of my chest. Then silence. I quickly finish, say many, many thank-yous to the doc and head out to stop the melee.


I go to the desk to finish up, gush my apologies for the behavior of that crazy woman's my children, and try to get out of there.


But not before the nice receptionist leans up as if to whisper, "I was afraid he was going to hurt himself..." And I died. Right there in the office. "I looked up and saw him (and she puts her hands over her head) headed for the floor, and I was afraid he would get carpet burn, and we told him he probably shouldn't do that and...like that..."(and she points) And I died again. I looked over my shoulder to see him chair-diving. Diving off of the chairs onto the floor. With good distance. I mustered up my best "Don't make me keel you up in here" crazy-eyed look and pointed my finger and instantly turned into a crotchety old woman and shook my cane at him and through clenched teeth growled, "Nooooooooo!" He stopped momentarily and looked at me as if I had lost my mind. He was right.


I once again apologized. Profusely. And tried to exit the building quickly. Before they called security.


No kidding, Dr. Stasney and his staff are THE BEST! If you are in south Mississippi and you "cain't see" you must come see them. They blessed our family so much in outfitting our kids with what they needed. I think I will apologize again when I see him at church on Sunday. And I am bringing cookies to their office next week. By myself! And maybe a bottle of tranquilizers in case they have to endure another day like yesterday. They can pass them out with the clipboards. Or among the staff.


And if my husband ever schedules an appointment of this nature without it being his day off, I will poke his eyes out myself and then send him to Dr. Stasney with all the kids. Heh. That'll teach him.

leaving consciousness behind

I swear some days you can't win for losing. I woke up this morning and tiptoed out of my bedroom, leaving the little boys sleeping peacefully. I jumped in the shower, got dressed, cleaned the bathrooms, emptied all the trash cans, started a load of laundry and put all the dishes away...all before 8:15. It was looking to be a productive day.


Heh.


People began to wake up. Diapers were changed. Breakfast orders were placed. Husband and eldest son were escorted out the front door with garbage in hand. Our "normal" was in full swing.


Until.


I decided it was time to "reboot" the laundry. You know, where you swap stuff from the washer to the dryer and start a new load. No big deal usually, except as most of you know, the redneck laundromat is still in full swing, requiring the hose be placed out the door, blada blada blah blah. We won't get into that again.


For some reason that I still cannot recall, (mostly due to my name being called over and over again by short people like some sort of tribal chant, the clanging in my head every time my heart beats, and the residual ringing in my ears) I had opened the overhead cabinet in the laundry room to get...yeah, I don't know. I can't remember.


Anyway, something fell out of there, and as I bent down to get what had fallen out, the washer hose caught the bottom of the fully opened dryer door and began to close it, moving it right into the path of my oncoming head, my oncoming face, actually. My mouth to be exact. And WHAM! Instant busted lip!


I put my hand to my mouth to feel what I feared might be my newly loosened front teeth and to catch what surely would be a river of blood if it equalled the pain now reverberating in my mouth. Then I stood up. Right into the corner of the open overhead cabinet. BANG! Now I've surely cracked my head open!


Equally annoyed and grateful that Jay and Ryan are already gone, lest I have to deal with my injuries and people laughing at me, I make my way to the bathroom, one hand over my mouth, the other atop my now pulsing noggin to survey the damage.


Through somewhat blurred vision, and what feels like semi-consciousness, I surmise that thankfully my lip doesn't look nearly as bad as it feels, and I don't see or feel brain matter oozing from my scalp. Perhaps once the fog clears, I will be o.k. afterall.


But I'll tell you this. This is the last time I start my day by cleaning toilets.


It leads to fat lips and cracked coconuts.


That's no good at all.





Edited to Add: My husband calls promptly after reading the new post to tell me that he would not laugh at me before making sure I was o.k. Or wouldn't laugh at me if I was really hurt. Or something like that.

Interpretation: If I'm alright, then I can help him off the floor when he's done laughing.

where a kid can be a kid...heh

This summer, Thursdays have become "play dates" for some of the moms and kids at church. This past Thursday morning, we met at Chuck E. Cheese for a couple of hours. Since we had tokens left over from this party or that, I told the kids we would go and play for a while and then come home for lunch.


I'm not as big a cheap skate as you may think. You see, the last time we met there, I ordered pizza and drinks and had a terrible time getting them to stop playing long enough to eat a bite or two. Lesson learned. Besides, I wasn't hungry.


Anyway, W loves this place, and Emily can usually busy herself as long as the tokens are flowing freely. Elijah? He's another matter entirely. On our last visit, he sat happily in the stroller and watched the chaos from a safe distance. The entire time! He is the only one who ate enough pizza to call it lunch. And I actually carried on a grown-up conversation with some friends for more than thirty seconds. You can call that success, my friends.


I guess I felt a little guilty about his sitting for so long, although he was quite content, so this time I didn't even put the stroller in the van. I determined that I would be more attentive and participatory in this supposed fun that is Chuck E. Cheese.


Heh.


Elijah was completely overwhelmed. He stuck to me like static cling for the duration of our visit. He stood on his own feet for maybe five minutes of the hour-and-a-half that we were there. Good times.


"Wanna sit here and ride?"


"AAAAAHHHHH! NAH NAH NAH!"


"Wanna have your picture made?"


"EEEEKKKK! NAH NAH NAH!"


"Wanna ride Mama's hip?"


"Wheeeeee!"


I did manage to chat a little with some other moms while he was either on my lap or perched atop my hip clinging madly to my shirt. After an hour or so, I had enjoyed all the fun I could manage for one day and decided to round up W and Emily and try to escape leave.


W was riding the "roller coaster" so my new appendage and I stood beside him and waited for the ride to come to a complete stop. While standing there, a familiar though noxious odor, began to waft toward my nostrils. Assuming it was Elijah and since we were trying to leave, I just figured I would change him in the van before loading up.


I managed to wrangle W off the coaster, with the baby still on my hip, after threatening his very life calmly telling him that if he left nicely we would come back, but if he continued to scream at me, he would be old enough to work here before I would ever bring him back. And maybe holding a little tightly to his arm.


That aroma I mentioned was beginning to make my eyes water, so I knew we had to flee.


We managed to get past the lady at the door who checks the little stampy things on our arms. By the way, is this to make sure we don't take someone else's kids home? Puh-leez, she needs to make sure everybody takes their own kids home. I personally think they've got it all wrong. But she was very thorough, God love her.


We finally made it out the door and headed to the van for a diaper change.


"Elijah, do you have poops?"


manic back-and-forth shaking of the baby noggin


They lie you know. All of 'em. They can't be trusted.


We reached the van, and I checked him. He wasn't lying. It wasn't him. That could only mean one thing.


IT'S THE THREE-YEAR-OLD! Who is supposed to be potty-training!


AAARRRGH!


"Wyatt, did you poop in your pull-up?!"


"NO!!! I NOT!!!"


"Well, you stink! If you didn't poop in it, who did?!"


"Emma-wee!"


...counting to ten...by fives...


I laid him across the seat which by the way was not meant for diaper changes of any size child, let alone a sprawling three-year-old. Since some of you are not yet parents or have already done your doody duty in this area, I will try to spare you all the gory details. Let me just say...


KABOOM!


This kid exploded in his pull-up. And out of it. Up his back and into his shirt. So much for gravity. Anyway, I used EVERY wipe I had, and he had to ride home in just a diaper.


W expressed his indignation over the donning of the diaper by screaming things like...


"I NOT A BABY! I A BIG BOY!"


...for the entire ride home.


Jay happened to be home this day, and eyed me curiously with what appeared to be a slight smirk, as his son emerged from the van: sockless, shoeless, shirtless, pantless and teary-eyed with me hot on his trail instructing him to go straight to the tub. NOW!


"Have a good time?"


I'm pretty sure I lasered the look of death in his direction as I entered the house.


I can't help but think that this day has forever changed that little ditty they use on the commercials. At least for our family. You know the one...Chuck E. Cheese's, where a kid can be a kid!"


For us it was more like Howdy Doody time.


Just sayin'.

preschool prattle II

Having awakened a little ornery, the passing of time seemed only to shove W deeper into his peevish pit, and in an attempt to distract him from his cantankerousness, I employed an age-old parenting technique...guilt.

Me: Aww. You should be nice to Mama. I have an "owie."



looking skeptical...

W: Where?



pointing to my lip

Me: Right here.



W: On your wip?



Me: Yes.



looking thoughtfully at me and my yearly visitor...a fever blister

W: From yel-wing?



trying desperately to muffle the laugh I feel building in me...

Me: No, silly, I haven't been yelling. Today.



now looking very concerned

W: No, but I was.

same song, more verses

It cracks me up that you guys are still reading. And leaving comments. I thank you for your encouragement, but there is something so funny to me about watching the saga of someone de-cluttering. But you guys are the greatest, and I appreciate your letting me get this out of my system. On my blog. In public. In front of an audience. Weird. Just plain weird.


Maybe some of you are like my sister-in-law, self-described as a little OCD, who emailed me this morning to say how excited all this makes her. I just laughed out loud. Her house, with husband, three kids and pets is always clean and organized. I don't know quite how she does it, but she's awesome, and I love her!


Maybe I had a single, microscopic dormant OCD cell living somewhere inside me whose lifespan is nearing its end. Whatever the case, I suppose I should just shut up and be thankful that it "came alive" for a period of time.


Yeah, we're going with that.


Anyway, today's 'task' was to organize and purge the little ones' clothes. I have had my hands on EVERY.SINGLE.PIECE. They sure do have a lot of stuff! Don't get me wrong; I am ever so grateful for the hand-me-downs that people have passed on to us, but their stuff was everywhere!


As a bit of explanation, not that you care, (but maybe as a reminder to myself), in the house we rented before we moved, the kids' rooms were upstairs, but since Elijah slept in our room and we bathed the little ones downstairs, I had a drawer (or two) in my dresser that held their stuff. And then some of it was in my closet. And some actually in their room. Aaargh! This craziness continued to some degree after we moved. Until today.


Even though the little boys are sleeping in our room, Emily graciously allows their armoire and changing table to "live" in her room until we move ALL the boys upstairs. Hopefully before they are ready to move out on their own. Anyway, today all their clothes got purged and organized into one space, and I got my dresser back! There are still a few things hanging in my closet, which is huge, so they are not in the way.


That being said, here are our results from today. I forgot to take "before" pics. I'm thinking this is not a huge deal unless you actually enjoy watching paint dry, but here are the "afters." Again, this is more for me, but it feels great to know where everything is and to stand in one place to get it.


Yippee!


Elijah's clothes are in the armoire, complete with a stack of "to grow into" for next year.


















W's clothes are now stored in the changing table.















And here is the huge "stack-o-stuff" from this week waiting to be relocated to its new home.















WOOHOO!

"what the heck?" wednesday

I can't even discuss the craziness that has become this week's obsession.


I just dunno.


The wasted space under the stairs has become "toy central" and a makeshift library since everyone is sharing bedrooms. It's just too much.


Here's what we did today.


BEFORE...

















We relocated the bookshelf to Emily's ginormous closet which will keep the mini-marauder from pulling stuff off the shelf just for fun.


Also, we packed up some of the toys into a plastic bin to try and "rotate" them in and out. They don't play with it all anyway. This way, every few weeks they'll have something 'fresh' to play with.


Lastly, a BIG THANK YOU to my friend, Christie, for the dishpan storage idea. Love LOVE it! It's cheap and a good way to teach the little ones to actually put their things away instead of just flinging it all in the direction of the toy box. I took pictures and put them on the front so the little ones know what goes where.


AFTER...


















Next?!

tackle it tuesday...

...or more like Manic Monday. Again.


Yippee! Lucky you! You've just tuned in for another exciting installment of "The Victory's Have Too Much Crap Are Getting Rid of Stuff!"


Riveting, isn't it?


I don't know what's wrong with me. Really. I mean it. For those of you who know me well, you know this is not normal.


Maybe I've caught some dreaded disease and this is my subconscious making me tend to my own mess so someone else won't have to.


Oh I kid.


But this "sickness" is making me want it done. YESTERDAY. My poor kids didn't eat lunch until almost 3:00 today because I was not stopping until I was finished. I know. Sick.


I just don't know. And the posting of the pictures? Someone called it 'brave' but it's really more that I want to document my downward spiral into complete insanity. Besides, if everything should stay as is past the end of the week, well then, I will KNOW something is going on because that statement there has delusional written all over it!


*Note: We are a family of 6 living only in the downstairs portion of our house because the upstairs was completely unfinished when we moved in. That means 6 of us and all our stuff in two bedrooms. Are you understanding my predicament? The upstairs is coming along...


Maybe that's why I'm on a rampage to get stuff out of here that is not useful, that isn't needed or that I'm just plain tired of stepping over. (Spouse and children not included.)


That being said, today's 'project' was the master closet.


BEFORE...



















Most of this stuff has been 'living' just where it got plunked when we moved in.


AFTER...


























Stay tuned for more crazy.

manic, er, motivated monday

"Do you spend the first half of each year trying to keep up with resolutions or promises you made to yourself about how “this year will be different?” Then do you spend the second half of the year planning what you will begin doing next year to finally get everything under control? It’s a vicious cycle, isn’t it?

Well, we are here to challenge you—and ourselves—to put a stop to this vicious cycle. The last six months of 2008 starts this month. So are you ready to END ‘08 GREAT?"


The gals over at "Happy to be at Home" have issued this challenge, and my friend Alicia said she's in. Well, I'm in too, and it should not leave me at a loss for posts.


Heh.


Anyway, here's our first project...Emily's closet.


BEFORE...





















In her defense, this closet which is pretty big was the nearest "drop-off" point when we moved in a few months ago so lots of stuff that doesn't actually belong got dumped in there because of location and size. Nevertheless, as you can see, this is not acceptable. And li'l miss has certainly done her share to make this a danger zone.


Today. It has to be done TODAY. If it hairlips us all, it WILL.BE.DONE.TODAY.


Does anyone else do this?


I do this with my hair, too. Could I call ahead to schedule? Or make an appointment for my next cut or highlights while I'm actually there?


Well, yes, I suppose I could. But that would virtually eliminate the emergency hair call, and where's the fun in that?


*sigh*


Anyway, today was the day. Here are a few "AFTER" pics.


















Can I just say that I no longer break out in hives at the thought of going in there? Ahhh, I can breathe. And the added bonus? We packed up 4 large boxes (which we had just unpacked) and 1 large bag of usable clothes and toys to donate...which means all that stuff is leaving my house. YIPPEE!


Now tomorrow we'll tackle something else. Like what to do with all the toys W confiscated while we were organizing, saying things like, "Ohhh! I love Christmas! This is my favorite toy!" He's such a cute little LIAR. He had never laid eyes on that stuff. I wondered why he kept coming in to "help."


Whatever.


Tomorrow's another day.


And another mess to conquer.


Wish me luck, m'kay?

wordless wednesday

*Wyatt's birthday was a week-and-a-half ago. Yeah, I'm a slacker. And in denial.


Thanks to "Papa" Jim for all the video and editing!