Celebrate the Small Things ~ On the Road to Contentment

Last week I met a new to me blogger, VikLit of Scribblings of an Aspiring Author through DL Hammon's Blog Blitz. I'd seen her weekly “Celebrate the Small Things” blog hop all over the place, and now found the founder!  I'm joining in, because it fits so well with my word of the year focus on CONTENTMENT.  

This week I'm celebrating the work I've done on straightening out our finances. We've done Financial Peace University TWICE, yet it seems that every few years we need to do a re-set and basically kick ourselves in the rear and start behaving responsibly with our money. Lots of unplanned expenses lately (which if you've been reading Life is Good even for a little while you're familiar with them...I let it all hang out ;-) 

I'm happy to say we've found some great software that's really helping. It's called YNAB which is You Need A Budget. Yes, yes we do. So far we're liking the 34 (what's up with 34?) day free trial very much and will most likely buy it.

I'm also celebrating some victories in my continual battle with my body image. Some of you know my history (anorexia – there, said it out loud again – and every time I do it gets easier).  I don't like being this size. I struggle constantly with food. 

Alcoholics “get” to just quit drinking. Not saying that's easy AT ALL. My point though is that we can't quit food cold turkey. Well, we can, been there done that and that's the problem...Food is constantly there as a source of stress. My success is that I'm feeling good about my weight for the first time in a long time.  

Maybe the weird combination of meds keeping me breathing is helping me in some way. All I know is that I'm wearing jeans that haven't fit me since 2010. I wasn't going to say anything to anyone, but hey, it's celebration day, so there you go. (To read more about me and this topic here.)

I'm also celebrating my wonderful kids and all they've done for me lately. They have really stepped up and done all their chores and most of mine, and mostly cheerfully. 

Yesterday The Transporter had a very difficult job to do to get his mother to her friend's new apartment. Elevators out of order...four flights of stairs for asthma girl not a possibility...but he (and Mr. Maintenance) found a way to get me up there! (I know you're going to be wondering...we got let into the residents parking garage and drove up to her floor, well as close as we could get anyway and that was enough.) He did all that while carrying a vase of flowers. 

OYT is going on his first overnight youth retreat this weekend which is a huge step for a shy guy and I'm so proud of him.

What are you celebrating this week? Since it's an ongoing, weekly hop, you can join too! Or just leave me your celebration in the comments so I can cheer with you!

~Tina

How to Make a Winter Emergency Kit

“How can anyone who is wrong 75% of the time still have a job?” That's the joke going around about Colorado weather forecasters. Coloradans, at least the well-seasoned ones, know that you need to be ready for rapid, unusual changes in weather.

I'm not talking about the mostly predictable summer afternoon thunderstorm, or the to be expected snow at very high altitudes. I'm talking about a normal day when you think you've got it covered because you're just running for take-out and you'll be fine.

My boys learned the hard way that maybe mom's “crazy” Colorado Winter Emergency Kit in the back of her station wagon isn't so crazy after all.

I do understand a bit about how it might not seem legit. It's not organized. I did leave it there all summer out of laziness. But it does contain:

sweat-pants

sweatshirts

extra winter coats

extra gloves, scarves, hats

unopened water bottles

boots (though with the way the boys feet grew, I need to replace those)

jumper cables

small tool kit

flashlight

extra batteries

car phone charger

down comforter

fleece blankets

towels

puke container (from a hospital, totally legit)

and:

a pee bucket.

Why the pee bucket? I mean, if you're stranded, go pee in the woods, or between the open doors to your car. You don't need a pee bucket. Yes, you do, and I speak from experience.

I got stuck in a snowstorm on I-25 (THE main highway in CO, it runs N-S through the whole state and beyond) in 1992. This was before I had a cell phone. The how and why isn't part of this story (but may be another blog post, cuz well, the Indians took care of me and all, that's pretty postable). I kept thinking, “Surely they know we're all stuck here and will send plows and tow-trucks and fix this awful mess.” Nope. The hours went by. I really, really had to pee. It was dark, and at that point, I didn't really care who saw me.

Had I left my car though, I would immediately have become soaked and I didn't have a coat (because I never wear one, I'm too hot). So then I'd get back into my car and have to somehow dry off. Or shiver all night. I did NOT have an emergency kit at that time. But you can see how most of the items in my list come from what happened that night and what I wished I'd had.

Which brings me back to the beginning. My boys set out to get take-out, and as they're going out the door, I say, “OYT, don't you want to change out of your shorts? And take a coat?”

“No, I'll be fine. I'm just riding in the car. It's not like I need your stupid emergency kit.” Famous last words.

The Engineer and I are starting to get worried because the boys are so late. And won't answer their phones. About an hour later, they stagger in the door. Human popsicles. No winter coats, OYT in his shorts. It's about 20 out.

Come to find out, The Transporter's throttle control sensor had finally called it quits, and they'd walked about ¾ of a mile home.

“Mom, I kinda wish we'd had your stuff with us.”

~Tina

The Transporter Got a Promotion

The Transporter has been promoted. He just got his driver's license yesterday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I don't know who is more excited, the boy who drove himself to school this morning, or the mom who now not only has a Transporter, but also an errand man at her beck and call.

How did I manage to convince a 16 year-old to be willing to drop what he's doing (say, holding an XBOX controller at a friend's house) and for example, go pick up his brother from robotics club? Simple. Money.

He has to pay for his insurance, but we'll buy his gas if he'll be our go-to guy. I'm so excited to hand him a grocery list and my debit card and continue writing. Or whatever, but I'm thinking I've just gained oodles more writing time. Maybe Worlds Colliding (my sci-fi/thriller WIP) will get some more words added!

Or I'll be able to be able to spend more time returning visits. I give myself a B- for my current rate, but of course I'd like an A+. Over-achiever and all that stuff. The possibilities are endless.

He'd had grand plans for his first evening of having a license. These plans included, “Bye Mom, I'll be home later.” Instead he opted for, “I'm going take OYT to Game Force. I think he'd like to be along the first time I get to use my license.” So as it ended up, it was still pretty much “see you later” only he took his brother to dinner and bought himself a new ice scraper, and one for me since all of mine seem to vanish. They had a great time, and as their mother, I couldn't have been more thrilled that he chose his brother for his first adventure. That's the kind of thing OYT will remember and cherish forever.

Personally, I will always remember sitting with The Engineer at the kitchen table which overlooks the street, watching him drive away, actually excited to go to school.  We're holding hands, and both of us are a bit misty. It's was a good thing. Life is Good.

~Tina

Good Enough For Walmart

You've seen this video, right? If you don't have the 6:45 to laugh your butt off, cringe, and gape in wonder at the wide world of weird out there, then let me sum up. She has taken pictures of actual Walmart shoppers dressed in their...finest attire. Kinda scary actually.

Anyway, here's how I got the sweetest compliment EVER from The Transporter.

I had taken a nap and my new ultra short hair looked a bit weird. I was wearing my uniform: jeans and a t-shirt, Danskos. I was pretty sure the rest was fine, because it better be since that's what I wear. Like all the time.

I was concerned about the hair. I'm still in the experimenting with different looks stage because it's a really GREAT cut and I can do at least 6 different things that look really different. So I decide to ask The Transporter. Teenagers know when their parents are embarrassing.

“Mom, you're going to W A L M A R T. You could wear ANYTHING.”

“But I'm meeting Dad to help him pick out his new glasses. I'm don't want to embarrass him.”

“Mom, you could come to my school and meet all my friends looking like that.”

I think that's the ultimate compliment from a teenager.

What's the best compliment you've gotten?

~Tina

Squirrelmageddon?

I don't know if it's happening in other parts of the country, but in our neighborhood, it's Squirrelmageddon. I am NOT making this up and I'm not the only one who noticed.

At first I thought I was over-reacting and making it up and the only one who noticed. Driving out of my neighborhood, I drive on my street and one more, and then I'm on fairly main streets. On each street, a squirrel will dart out. And keep running. Right in front of my car, almost daring me to hit it.

Now, I'm not an on purpose squirrel-hitting sort of girl. Of course, I won't swerve, or slow down, or otherwise endanger the occupants of my vehicle, so that squirrel better be fast, or turn around, or he might get hit. Usually they do that frantic combination of all of those and somehow manage to avoid my wheels, though there have been many times they went under my car, but emerged unscathed on the other side.

Nowadays though, they're not doing that. They're on some sort of mission. Maybe they're running from squirrel-zombies only they can see. Maybe they ARE squirrel-zombies and that's why they just run, knowing they're already dead, so why would getting hit by a car matter?

But so often? Nine out of ten times I pass two squirrels in two blocks. It's worse out on the main streets. Squirrel road kill everywhere. Seriously. A massive increase in dead carcasses littering the landscape. Maybe they got hit. Maybe the zombie-squirrels killed them, sucked out their edible parts, and left the pancake behind. I don't know. But I was wondering about my sanity, about the possibility of a true Squirrelmageddon, but hadn't said a word to ANYONE. (For obvious reasons.)

Then one day The Transporter was transporting me (because that's what he does) and says to me, out of the blue:

“So Mom, have you noticed the Squirrelmageddon?”

“What do you mean?” (acting casual, digging for info)

“I mean, there are like at least twice as many squirrels running around, and they're not stopping, and there are dead ones everywhere. What's up with that?”

“Well, I have no idea, but YES, I've noticed but I thought I was, you know, a little crazy.

“Well, yeah, you are, but not about the squirrels.”

So we've been counting. And debating causes. Meanwhile, I'm wondering if you've noticed anything odd about the squirrels in your neighborhood. Do tell.

~Tina

P.S No actual squirrels were harmed in the making of this post.

P.P.S There is the possibility that I've been watching too much Walking Dead. But that doesn't change the fact that in my town, it's Squirrelmageddon.

The Rule of 16's

It was a good thing that my mom had her sister visiting when I was born. Apparently I was a very difficult, colicky baby, and having my 16 year old aunt there really helped my mom. I'm talking about Amazing Aunt Risky there, in a country (Sweden for you new folks, and thanks for following!) where she didn't speak the language. What she could do was give me her patented knuckle treatment – no, she didn't harm me, I sucked on her knuckles since my mother was determined to stick to a “once every four hours” feeding schedule. It seems I cried the last two hours. Fast forward.

That colicky, cranky, screaming baby is now sixteen. Amazing Aunt Risky's first child, GorgeousGirl is born. I get to watch her, soothe her, hold her, tickle her arm and spoil her every Friday until we moved to Colorado. Fast forward.

I lost touch with GG since moving to CO when I was 18 and she 2, but then when SHE'S 16 (beginning to catch on to the title here?) my son, The Transporter, is born. She flies out for his baby dedication with our mutual grandma Vivian. We've hardly seen each other in the past 14 years, but we hit it off immediately (again) and she bonds, holds, cuddles with and soothes the newborn little Transporter. Do you see where this is going? You might recall that The Transporter is 16...

GG just had her first child, an ADORABLE baby boy just his week. 

                     Proud Papa, the Marine

GG, of course looking Gorgeous, with 3 day old "Froggy"

The rule of 16 continues to apply. Let me sum up:

** Aunt Risky was 16 when her niece (as in me) was born.

** I was 16 when her daughter (GG) was born.

** GG was 16 when my son was born.

** My son IS sixteen and GG's son was just born.

The Transporter, holding a baby for the very first time!

Take that all you math doubters!

Is The Transporter going to have to wait until he's 32 to have a child? Time will tell.

~Tina

Friday Fragments

I'm joining a new Friday group called Friday Fragments, which are bits and pieces that are too short for their own post, but too good to never see the light of day. Link up at Unknown Mami (who is hosting for the summer instead of Half-Past Kissin' Time.)  I found this group through DoreenMcGettigan, an A-Zer.

Frag One:

I DON'T HAVE CANCER. I think that's worth shouting. All my biopsies came back negative. Two and a half weeks is a long time to contemplate one's fate. I have some other stuff to deal with that I won't bore you with, but they are going to be dealt with using some new meds that I hope will do the trick. I want to be back to life and leave these debilitating symptoms behind. But it's Friday, the weekend is ahead and I DON'T HAVE CANCER.

Frag Two:

My boys have been wonderful to me. I think they've been mighty worried, but they've gladly picked up the slack on chores and brought me stuff while I lay in bed, fighting the battle against my rebellious digestive system.

Frag Three:

The Transporter is becoming quite the mechanic. His first car, a vintage 1991 Volvo 240, standard transmission, red, needs a lot of love. What do you expect for a car whose new tires alone are worth what we paid for it? He fixed it. It wouldn't start when we bought it (yes, I know that's crazy, but if you have The Engineer, who has worked on Volvos for 20 years, and The Swede, who worked FOR Volvo and ON Volvos his entire adult life, then there's some knowledge floating around and so far there hasn't been anything they haven't been able to fix on our “fleet”) Red now starts, and The Transporter grinned at the compliment about "becoming quite the mechanic" from his Morfar (that would be The Swede – mother's father). 

He won't own this car until he earns those last three contracted A's, but having it sitting in the driveway, ready to go, is what I think will be the final motivation to get him moving academically. 

Meanwhile, we celebrate that we don't live in a covenanted community. I know just what they'd say about our four old Volvos, our ginormous van, and our camper, all parked on our property...

Interviewed! and a Bonus! Embarrassing Story du Jour

Good morning! I'm a being interviewed today at Curiosity Quills with Nicole of The Madlab Post!  I'm very excited to be asked, and especially with Nicole.  You remember her from the Monday Movie Meme I used to do, you know, on Mondays.

Before you head over there though, which I would so much appreciate, here's another one of my embarrassing/funny/Tina-is-such-a-klutz story to entertain you before you go...

I have to get a tetanus shot today because The Transporter cleaned his room, which of course I'm not against. AT ALL. ((The cleaning, not the tetanus, in case you were wondering.)  I might have mentioned that for a while (like four years...) he's been doing the typical teenage boy thing where all the clothes are on the floor and only he knows which are clean and which are dirty...so we finally got him dressers he likes. He worked all day and his room is now neat. However, he was tired while doing the dishes, and broke a wine glass into smithereens. Best break ever. I usually break them into maybe three pieces, but we're talking big strapping teen boy who looks like a man and has man hands and that thing was SHATTERED.

“Mom, will you get me a dustpan?”

Of course. He's been sweeping and dusting and wiping and cleaning and organizing AND put the broom and dust pan back. Here's where the klutzy part comes, but you know how I like a good build-up...

In the garage, all our gardening tools have holes drilled into the top of the handle and hang on hooks. The dustpan is supposed to be clipped to the broom. It is not. I start looking around on the floor for it, but some of these tools hang very close to the ground. Like the pitch fork for example. Can you see it coming? Pitch fork comes off wall, lands on my forearm, producing a stab wound that The Engineer has to bring a ROLL of paper towels to get me to a sink. It bleeds a long time. I never, ever do medical stuff in an off-hand sissy way. When I hurt myself, I do it RIGHT. Like OYT (Our Youngest Teen) says, I'm a medical apocalypse. Pretty good quote.

So here I am today with neosporin, a huge 2x4 band-aid, a very, very sore arm where the offending instrument of torture bruised my bone, facing a tetanus shot.

I was hoping to NOT have to get one. Kindly asked lovely office manager, with whom I've become good friends with my twice a week since August visits ;-) when my last one was. “We don't have any on record for you.” Yikes. I've been with the same practice 21 years...

Feel free to laugh. If you'd like more embarrassing stories, I have a search box, and there are lots of them. Start with the word "embarrassing" or "doctor" or some such appropriate word...

Have you ever hurt yourself in such a stupid way? Do you have a pitchfork? Have you ever wanted to use said pitchfork for a purpose it was not intended, say to threaten a child? Strike that. I'd never do such a thing...after all, he did clean his room.

~Tina