Why I'm an indoor sort of girl.

We're finally having some Fall-like weather around here. It's only 72 today! Where I'm from, 72 is shorts-wearing, let's swim in the ocean kind of weather. Here, people are having fires in their wood stoves and fire places and wearing winter jackets.

Anyway, I decided to get some fresh air and take a look at what I actually have growing around my house. At some point, someone put a lot of thought into the landscaping, so I figured I'd find some interesting things. And oh, did I.

First I met this guy:

He's pretty cute, and he eats the bugs so I like him.

But then I saw these...


...and I nearly peed my pants. The mass at the top is a dead Brown Widow Spider. Those bottom three spike-covered balls are her egg sacs. Bajillions of POISONOUS spiders are incubating on my front porch. I should go out there and do something to get rid of them, but all I can think to do is set them on fire. If you know me, then you know that would be a recipe for disaster. You know that the whole house would be engulfed in flames within minutes.

So, I'll leave it for Will.

After I stopped crying about the spiders, I headed to the other corner of the house--far away from the arachnids of death.

There I discovered these:



They sure do look like blueberries...



...but I'm just not sure. I grew up picking wild blueberries on the "mountain" behind my grandparent's house in Maine, but it's been so long. And I'm so paranoid. I know if I ate one it would turn out to be even more toxic than the incubating nightmares on the porch.

Can any of you tell just by looking?

I think I'll just leave them on the bush, blueberries or not. I already have blueberry induced PTSD. It involved Ben and his diaper. We'll leave it at that--it's a story for another post.

So, anyway, I've had my fill of the great Georgia outdoors. I'm happy to stay inside forever.

I've told Will that I'm good with moving to Alaska. No bugs, and maybe I could see Russia from my house, too.

Nebraska

So, you may have heard about a little loophole in the Nebraska Safe Haven law on the news lately.

Safe Haven laws were created to allow a parent to abandon a newborn at a hospital or fire department or police station without legal repercussions. Nebraska failed to add an age limit for abandoned children, and has received several older kids--even teens--lately.

Hence, Nebraska has become my gossamer thread of hope on bad days. On days when I just don't think I can take anymore back talking, anymore lying, anymore fighting, anymore crying, anymore poop where it doesn't belong, anymore pee soaked sheets, anymore peanut butter on the couch, I remind myself that if it ever gets really bad--really really bad--there's always Nebraska. It's just a road trip away.

But today I read that they are quickly working out a change to the law to remedy their oversight. Sigh. So, I guess I'm back to these guys:


Ben once told me that he hated us and wanted a new family. Well, he's said it a lot more than once, actually, but the particular time I'm referring to I had had it. I simply said, "Fine. I'll find you one."

Awhile later I called him in and showed him that picture (it's one I randomly found by Googling "mean elderly couple"). I told him they were Bob and Myrtle Gummerson and they were going to be his new family. I told him they wouldn't give him a bedtime or make a lot of rules, but he would be required to help change their diapers and count out their pills.

Somehow I managed to do this with a straight face and he totally believed me. He quickly decided that he might be better off with us for awhile.

Goodbye day dreams of one way trips to the Corn Belt, hello threats of Bob and Myrtle...

Challenge accepted.

I have been challenged.

Many of you have probably heard of Nie Nie (Stephanie Nielson). She and her husband are a young, gorgeous couple with 4 young, gorgeous kids in Arizona. On August 16th, she and her husband were in a private plane crash. The flight instructor died and the Nielsons were both severly burned. Stephanie was burned over 70% of her body (including her face) and only has a 50% chance of survival at this point.

Stephanie's sister Courtney has been keeping a blog, CJane Run, and recently posted this about Stephanie.

Inspired by Nie Nie, my friend Harmony posted this on her blog.

Now, it's all well and good for Harmony. She's tall and thin and pretty and has great hair and cute shoes. Me--well, let's just say that I become paralyzed with fear and mortification when it comes to pictures of myself. I hate them.

But, I never back down from a challenge unless it involves heights or spiders.

So, here are some actual pictures of me with the kids yesterday.

And yes, this is the BAD hair cut, 4 months out.

She never said I couldn't have fun with it...

Autumn Watch 2008

It's Sunday, October 19th in lovely Grovetown, Georgia.

I'm still waiting for Fall to show up.



Back yard: still lush and green.



Air conditioner: Still occasionally kicking on to keep us at 75.


Sigh.

I've heard rumors that someday Autumn will come.

P.S. Fellow Lost fans: Doesn't my AC unit look like it was made for a Dharma station?



Orchid station Dharma logo


CREEPY.....

Tommy and Gina? Livin' in the suburbs, driving a minivan.

So, I was driving along today, listening to the radio, and Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me" came on. Like any good child of the 80's, I cranked it up and sang along and maybe even did a little head banging at the stop light. Shut up--you do it, too.

Then Journey's "Faithfully" came on. Sweet! More singing ensued. Next up? Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer." This is a WICKED AWESOME radio station!

Then they broke for commercials and station identification.

"You're listening to Eagle 102. Augusta's home for classic rock."

Classic rock? Classic? Classic?!?!

No no no no no no!!! Classic rock is what my parents listen to. Classic rock is The Doors. The Rolling Stones. The Eagles. The Beatles. Fleetwood Mac.

Classic rock is not anything that was popular once I reached child bearing age.

Because that would make me OLD. And if you totally understood who I was talking about in the title, then it makes you old too. Totally.

Want to hear something else that'll make you cry? Cyndi Lauper is pushing 60. No, seriously. Sixty.

Here, enjoy a trip back to your youth. I'm going to go take some Geritol and put on an adult diaper.





I totally heard you singing along.

An open letter, to whom it may concern.

Dear Georgians,

Let me start by saying that you have a beautiful state here. And thanks for not minding too much that Yankee military types like us move in, bringing our crazy northern/western ways. It's much appreciated.

I do have one teensy, tiny request, though.

Do you think it might be possible to start using your blinker? You know, when you're driving and you plan to turn left or right? Or say, changing lanes?

You see, I'd really like to not hit you with my van. That's my goal every time I get behind the wheel--don't hit anyone and don't get hit by anyone. It's simple really, but I can't do it alone. I need your help.

The next time you're driving and you decide to make a turn or change lanes, I want you to put the beer down and place your right hand on the steering wheel. Then I want you to take your left hand and feel for a lever sticking out of the left side of the steering wheel.

Find it?

O.K. Now if you're going to go left, push it down. If you're going to go right, push it up.

Lights will blink and there will be a clock-like clicking noise: DO NOT BE ALARMED. Those things are normal when the blinker is employed.

Congratulations. You have just used your blinker!


Sincerely,

~Brandi


P.S. For the love of Pete could you stop doing this?

Round Two

Why can't the kids all just get sick at the same time? I'd much rather have one week that's a complete barf-fest and be done with it than have it drag on and on as one kid gets better and the next one gets sick.

Apparently it's now Amelia's turn.

Mommy...

Wait a second. I don't feel so good...



Oh the pain...



The agony...



I'm just going to rest right here for awhile.



One sick toddler + one night = 3 loads of laundry