Birds of a Feather...

So one way you can get involved in your kid's classroom (aka figure out which kids your kid will NOT be having playdates with...) is to go on a class field trip.

So when sign ups rolled out for my kid's field trips you better believe this Mama was on it.

You see, we are at a new school and I am starting over with learning the kiddos (and mamas) here in Nashville.

Speaking of which, I don't know if it's old age...or I am just that slow. But it is HARD to learn new people when you have been at another school for almost 10 years. I mean I can meet Sarah Jane's (they alllll have two names here...) mama on Tuesday at drop off and by pick up I am like...what's that kid's name and is that her Mama? Or did I meet her last week at the 6th grade social? Or is she the chick from flag football? Or is she the one who also moved to the school this year? Who am I? What am I dong? Is it Wednesday? Or is today Thursday? What is going onnnnnn!?!

Anyhoo, back to the field trip. So signups were posted and I jumped on it and managed to secure a spot on the first grade field trip to go bird banding.

Now, two things. Signing up for a field trip is similar to the Walmarts on thanksgiving night...ya gotta be quick to get the good stuff. And, what the heck is bird banding anyway!?! I mean we are in Music City...so does this mean we are going to see the Eagles!?! I mean who doesn't love a little Hotel California?!

Needless to say the school bus did not drop us off to see the Eagles. It dropped us off at the local park. And we were greeted by a realllllll friendly lady who informed the teacher that the parents needed to STAY OFF their cell phones on the field trip. I mean who is this lady!?! Does she not know that we cannot go a whole field trip without checking the Facebook...I mean without taking a picture of our kid?! Or instagramming little Johnny with his friend, Sarah Jane!?! I mean if we don't take a picture it didn't happen, right?!!

So after securing my spot at the back of the line (where I could safely check my social media without getting caught) our group headed to the bird capturing station. I have no idea if that it is really what this area was called, but it sounds official so we will call it that.

When we arrive, this little lady, probably my grandma's age, tells us she is gonna go see if she can catch a bird for our demonstration...

Of course I'm like, yeah right lady. You are just gonna go catch a bird... Like that's a realllll easy task.

She comes back five minutes later.

With a bird.

In a little pouch.

Like it was nothing.

Of course at this point I have to get out my illegal device and record the moment.

I mean this grandma like lady just went out and captured a little bird in her little pouch.

Who does that!?!

Anyway the little grandma lady has friends and they all gather around and proceed to handle said bird, check it's feathers, weigh it, tell us where it migrated from, tell us it's gender....all the while said bird is shrieking and carrying on like someone has snatched it out of it's natural habitat and put it into a little pouch.

They complete their demonstration by putting a little band (ahhhhhh, so that's what this is all about) around it's ankle, recording it's info and then they set it free....I have all ideas this bird went to warn the others about the grandma lady carrying the pouch...

Next up we moved to a station with some (very nicely) preserved dead birds. Think mounted deer on the wall. Only it's birds. Laying on tables. Where the children could see them...but not touch them. Yeah right. Someone hand me the hand sanitizer.

Our "nice" little tour guide lady tells all about the birds. Then takes questions from the audience...aka 1st graders. First up, little Johnny.

Yes little Johnny?

My dad shoots birds. He doesn't want them pooping all over the place.

Way to go little Johnny. Dad would be so proud!

Out of the mouths of babes....

Finally, we concluded our adventure by examining bird feathers with magnifying glasses. Again, first graders.

So each kiddo gets a magnifying glass to examine their bird feathers.

The "nice" guide lady wants each child to describe their feather.

We get some really good answers like:
-it's a feather!
-it came from a bird!
-I like feathers!
-Her feather is bigger than my feather! (*said in whining voice)
-My mom said we don't touch feathers because they carry staphylococcus. (note to self: have Jack copy off this kid...she seems smart)

As my eyes start to glaze over from all of the children's wonderful answers I spot something...little Johnny sitting off to the side angling his magnifying glass ever so carefully as to start as a small brush fire with a pile of sticks. (note to self: we will not be having any playdates with little Johnny)

And just as quickly as it started. Or not. The field trip fun has come to an end.

Needless to say all in all the bird banding field trip was a success and it really was interesting. Still trying to figure out how grandma captured that little bird in her little pouch...

Guess we'll never know...


**and just in case you were still thinking about Hotel California and the Eagles

MOOVIN' AND GROOVIN'

So we moved. 

To Nashville.

All 6 of you that read my blog may know that...

But there are STILL people that don't.

And I can't fault them.

You see, my hubby is super private. And SUPER anti-social media. He's clearly the smarter one.

So I couldn't really send out an all points bulletin to announce our departure from Lexington. The ONLY home I have ever known...

So instead, we left in the night...disappearing into the darkness. 

Not really. 

We left around 4pm on a sunny Sunday afternoon. With just the clothes on our back...

Not really.

Welllll, actually that part is pretty true. We took the our clothes, a few necessities, and not much else. 

It was sort of like a glorified camping adventure. 

We had clothes, some air mattresses and a few camping chairs...

We may or may not still have camping chairs.

But we do have beds now!

Livin' it up! Whoop!

I have to say, I was questioning our decision up until the 11th hour. By the 12th hour I was asleep.

But it has been SUCH. A. BLESSING.

So many things we had prayed for and about have been answered. Our kids are adjusting. Well, sort of adjusting...we have to set the alarm an hour earlier so I'll be honest....that blows. 

Momma has found the Krogers, The Marshall's, and EVEN the Walmarts. By the way, my friends here don't understand the Walmarts. We were at lunch the first week and I said something about Walmart. Do you know what one of them said!?! 
"You know we have Target!?!" 

Now don't be knockin the Walmarts new friends...they have things. Things momma needs. But I have discovered that there is such a thing as the GOOD Walmart here...and YES, they have Tarjay too. Several of them. I can hear the dollar bills flying out my wallet now...

So anyhoo, I just wanted to do a quick check-in and see how all 6 of you fine readers were doing...and let you know what is going on in our little world...

I'm hoping to get back into this whole blogging thing. So stay tuned for some more riveting news coming soon! Or just a rant about the Waze app taking me to the BAD Walmart. Waze and I are actually BFF's now. Most days.

My Tractor is Most Definitely NOT Sexy...

So I mentioned last week that my Mom was out of town.

She has had a rough few months and was on a much deserved trip to the beach.

Well me, being the best daughter. 
Clearly the most loving, caring, compassionate, thoughtful...you get the picture...decided to do her a little favor and mow the grass.

You see, Nana has a big yard and mowing it is quite the task.

This is no push lawn mower job.  

This is the real deal, riding mower type job.

On the real deal, John Deere itself. 

Now, mind you I don't normally mow grass.

Push or riding mower.

It's not that I don't want to, but I have never learned. And my husband delights in the fact he can put on his headphones, take off his shirt, and most importantly escape the children for several glorious hours while we gallivants up and down the yard on our mower. We have five acres so it is quite the "mini vacation".

So last Thursday I think to myself, "Self. You are gonna mow Mom's grass. And you are gonna have a glorious time."

I know you are probably thinking...who has a good time mowing the grass?!?!

Well, stick with me...here was my vision:

Me, cruisin on the mower. 
Wearing my tank top, working on my tan.
Ice cold McDonald's sweet tea (in a styrofoam cup of course) in the cupholder.
The local sports radio show on my headphones (I was pumping myself up for our potential win over FL--which we SHOULD HAVE won by the way!!)
Kids at school. 
Just me and God's glorious creation.

So I hop on the mower and get ready to fire her up.
Somewhat surprisingly I get it started fairly quickly.
Then it dawns on me I will have to reverse out of the garage.

Hmmmmm.

Now how does this thing reverse???

Well, I did what any red blooded American would do and I turned that sucker off--honestly, this is when I learned that when you are no longer sitting on the seat the mower turns itself off.
Well, isn't that convenient.
Anyhoo, I "gingerly" pushed that thing right out of the garage. With my bare hands.

So much for not breaking a sweat.

Somehow I got it started again and was ready to roll.

I drove her back to the backyard where I had decided to start my little mowing expedition.

I went back and forth a few times, thinking this is the good life...when I realized the mower wasn't actually cutting the grass. 
I was just cruising. 
Which is all sorts of fun for my five year-old (and honestly I was enjoying it myself). 
But I did come to actually CUT the grass.

So I hopped off to investigate. (cue mower turning itself off)

In the meantime I texted my brother-in-law and mentioned I was mowing mom's grass and I had a few tiny questions. 
Main one being...how to actually mow.

Bless his heart, he called me and pointed out all the necessary steps to mow the grass.
(I'm sure he was dying on the other side. Especially when I mentioned I had also not figured out how to reverse. I mean how often was I gonna have to reverse anyway?!?! Isn't it just back and forth?!?)

Well, after getting off the phone and feeling confident in my grass cutting abilities I went to fire her up.

Nothing.

Tried again.

Nothing.

And again. 

And one more time for good measure.

It's at this point I realize my mowing dreams may be on the freeway to Nowhere-ville.

Hmmmmm....

Tried it one more time.

Nothing.

**I'm also fairly certain it was at this point the neighbors that were home were wondering why the mower had gone from running, to sounding like a dying cow, to sputtering, to nothing. 

Now, I was not about to give up on all my hopes and dreams.

So I decided to sit back and evaluate the situation. 

And I was sweating. 

So I went inside sipped on my tea and briefly contemplated leaving the mower right there in the middle of the yard. I could text my BIL and ask him to come by after work and at least put the mower away for me.

But winners don't quit.

So I went back out and I noticed that when I turned the key the lights also did not come on.

I remembered my step-dad having a battery jumper thing (no formal names here folks....if you've read this far that should be apparent).

I grabbed the battery jumper and lifted the 'ol hood. 

Now this is when I decided that mowing was much more dangerous than I had anticipated.

There is the whole red/black +/- thing....and the whole thing about not touching this, grounding that, sparks, etc...

I had come this far though. I could not give up.

Thank goodness it was fairly self-explanatory and I put the + to the + and the - to the -...crossed my fingers and said my best Hail Mary.

Sure enough after letting it charge for a few minutes I got it started.

It was like I'd won an Oscar.

I was so proud.

So I hopped off to unhook everything.

And it quit.

Oh yeah....that stupid seat.

Hmmmm.....

I fired it up again and decided I better let it run a few minutes...in the hopes that when I stopped it and unhooked the battery thingy it would start back for me.

Well, hallelujah the grass mowing gods showed favor on me and I unhooked it, hopped back on and fired that puppy right up!!

I was feeling pretty darn good about myself.

And I was only slightly sweating at this point.

And my radio show was over.

And my sweet tea had turned into a watery version of what it once was.

But I got the mower started. 
And the blade down.
And I was actually MOWING.

Granted, I am fairly certain if you were in a plane above it looked like crop circles. 

But I did it.

And I was so glad I could help.

Insert me in to this picture. Mowing expert now. Call me for all your lawn care needs!

**Side note...mowing is not like cruising up and down relaxing as you go. 
Note to self, next time: support bra. 
And my phone only bounced out twice. 
I managed to not mow it over. 
But if you follow me at all on Facebook you'll know I should have.

Dog Sitting

I'm sure all three of you are concerned by the title of this post.

I mean after all my last post involving a dog didn't end so great. No worries though. Happy endings here. (in more ways than one...ha)

So this week we have a little visitor at the 'ol homestead.

His name is Beau...and he belongs to Nana. Nana is gallivanting about the east coast while we tend to little "Beau-see-fuss" as we call him. 
(Don't worry Nana, it is all under control...)

However, it is apparent he misses her. 

A bunch.

Like so much he has resorted to some very naughty behavior...

Case in point:

Last night I was considering moving to a foreign country....er, watching the debate, and I hear Carter hollering rather urgently for me.

She and Jack were in her room getting their daily dose of screen time watching Netflix... Which reminds me, I am NOT one of those "screen time" Moms....so if your kids are coming over, just know we will be watching some TV in some form or fashion. I believe my children are excellent students because the little glowing screen has spent so many quality hours with them. No judging. 

Anyhoo, I headed to her room to see what all the commotion was about and it turns out she was upset that Beau was "scratching" (aka having "relations" with) her favorite blanket.

I quickly ushered him out of her room and told them to go back to watching their show. Nothing to see here kids...

**Noting to myself, MUST. WASH. THAT. BLANKET.

Well, not an hour later Will and Jack were on the couch watching the latest episode of something or other. And once again the natives are hollering for me. "Moooooooooom!!!!"

(By the way, are you sensing a  pattern here? Again. No judging. Excellent students remember. 
Forget ABCMouse or whatever that program is.....just send them to my house where they can watch endless hours of TV and come out on top. Winning.)

Once again I walk in to hear Jack telling Will, "Don't worry, he's just "scratching" your blanket."

**MUST. WASH. THAT. BLANKET. TOO.

Clearly Beau is distraught his owner has left him and he is self-soothing. 

If little Beau keeps this up he may end up in a rubbermaid tote too.

I kid, I kid.

I promise Mom.

He's fine.

For now.

Maybe I should leave the TV on for him when I leave?

Beau. Who clearly lacks self-control.

Rear View Mirrors

The last few years have been tough on our family.

We have lost both my father in law and my step dad.

Both to cancer.

Cancer sucks.

I pray they find a cure for it in my children's lifetime... 

You know when you lose someone close to you there are always things to be sorted out and given away.

Well we were blessed when my father in law passed away to be given a few of his vehicles.

I know a few sounds like so many. 

You'd have to know him though... I could do so many posts on him. He was a wonderful man.

It's funny because the vehicles we received all had one thing missing.

The rear view mirror.

This truly cracks me up because I am picturing my father in law prying the mirrors off these vehicles.

Now mind you these aren't small cars that one could back up easily without the use of a rear view. They are all large cars. Two large SUV's and a conversion van (aka the creeper van).

I was talking to my husband the other day because we had work done on one of the vehicles and one of the things we had done was to put the mirror back on. 
(We love you Granpappy but we must be able to see behind us in order to reverse the car!)

I told my husband there is some sort of metaphor here...

(Although we both agreed he probably just didn't want them there. That was so him.
Again...I could do so many posts on him.)

My father in law was a super successful businessman and I wonder if he had all these removed because he knew he had come from nothing but didn't want to look back at the past. 
At the struggles and difficulties it took to get him where he was.

We don't get to where we are without struggles. 
And sometimes when we reach that point of "success" whatever that may be we don't want to reflect back. 
We just want to relish in the glory.

Or one big issue that I sometimes struggle with myself is remembering I am not who I used to be.

I am a new person.

And I am constantly growing and changing.

And even though my past made me what I am today, it is NOT WHO I am today.

So I don't want to look back and live in the past.

I want to look straight ahead. Keep moving forward. Keep pushing myself to be the wife, the mother, the friend God designed me to be.

It reminds me of this verse:

This means that anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun! 2 Corinthians 5:17 NLT

So thank you Granpappy for this reminder to not get caught staring in the rear view mirror of life. 

(*unless of course you are on Nicholasville Road. By all means, PLEASE use the rear view. Safety first people. ;))

Granpappy's 1996 Tahoe. 100,000 miles. And NO rear view mirror.

Of Mice And Men...or Women...Specifically Me.

So, as many of you know I had a car accident in early July. 
Unfortunately it was Me-0, Airbag-1
I had a splint put on my arm, followed by surgery and another splint. 

Well, during this time I had many many many well wishers and I received many many cards, magazines, and treats! (shoutout to those folks....thank you!)

I pretty much spent the first two weeks post-accident in a Percocet coma. 

If I saw you, chances are I don't remember...it was much like my early college years all over again. 

So anyhoo, I kept my little stash of goodies right there in the bed beside me. 
Like I said....there was lots of Percocet and I didn't want to stumble around (apparently in college I wasn't worried about stumbling around). 

On one particular night I was having an awful time sleeping, I had taken all necessary meds to numb the pain but I could NOT get comfortable. 

After tossing and turning I had finally gotten to the almost coma state....where you are almost asleep, you can feel it, but there is some little part of your brain that has not been shut down yet.

Well that little "not shut down part of my brain" heard a rustling sound. Like a wrapper. At first I was almost too sleepy to care. But it kept going.

I heard it again.

Crackle, crackle.

Rustle, rustle. 

WHAT IS THAT NOISE!?!?

Well, I rolled over to see.....and lo and behold there was a mouse in my bed.

Yes, a mouse.

In. My. Bed.

Beside me.

A MOUSE!

Trying to break into my Twizzlers!!
(sidenote: who knew mice liked Twizzlers!?!?)

I immediately grabbed a small pillow and tried to swat at the mouse.

Who then proceeded to scamper away behind my bed.

I frantically stumbled out of the room to find Jeff who had resorted to sleeping on the couch (due to my candy takeover in the bed).

I screamed, "THERE WAS A MOUSE IN THE BED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

He looked at me bleary eyed and mumbled, "What?!?! A mouse in the bed?? Are you sure?!?"

I am fairly certain he thought it was the Percocet talking. 

Needless to say I was not happy about this little creature trying to snuggle up with me, but thankfully due to the Percocet it wasn't all that hard to fall back asleep.

(This was after having Jeff set approximately 27 mouse traps around our house. Actually it was more like 12. I think. The details are blurry....)

Well, wouldn't you know I dreamed all night that the stupid mouse was sneaking up in my bed, stealing the "stuffing" out of my splint to make himself a home behind my bed.

Needless to say we never caught the mouse.

And I threw the Twizzlers away. 

Stupid mouse.

Saying Hello Again....And Goodbye To An Old Friend

Hello...

Hello...

Is this thing on???

I'm back. 

I'm sure all three readers are excited. Try and brace yourself for some thrilling, captivating, awesome, never heard before reads. 

Or perhaps prepare for me to bore you to tears. 

Either way, I have decided to fire up the 'ol blog again. Which means I've jumped back on Facebook. Sort of. That's a whole other story. The hiatus continues there. At least for now. I am just using it to shamelessly plug my blog. And hopefully go from three readers to five. Or maybe just four. Or maybe at this point I have even lost the three of you that started at the beginning.

Anyhoo, how do you recap 2 1/2 years of your life into one blog post. 
And not lose all three readers? Easy.
You don't.

So I'll just start right where we are. Or at least where we were last February.

Now, I must say, this is the point where if you are a PETA person or if you can't laugh in the face of tragedy you may want to look away. I write this post because I choose to look at the face of tragedy/sadness and laugh. In fact I look at a lot of things and choose to laugh. Which can sometimes lead to trouble...

So about three weeks ago I was home with my three small children. Who by the way are now 4, 7, and 9. And daddy was out of town. Don't things seem to ALWAYS happen when daddy is out of town? Why is that?!!

I had just come down from putting the youngest to bed and I noticed our 15 year-old Pomeranian, Bailey, sitting by her water bowl. I looked and there was plenty of water so I figured she was just there to fend off the imaginary dogs who may steal her precious H2O. 

I went around the corner to brush my oldest two teeth and prepare them to hit the sack. It was a Sunday night and the school week was on the horizon. (at least that's what I told myself....the forecast said otherwise)

As I began to brush my daughter's teeth I heard a faint halfway barking coming from Bailey. Now, she is 15 and she does sometimes bark at imaginary people/dogs/things but this sounded different. So I went and did what any normal pet owner would do and told her to knock it off.

As I rounded the corner though, I could tell something was not right. Not right at all. 
Poor Bailey was laid on her side and was giving me her "last I love yous" in dog language. 

I quickly ushered my oldest two into my bedroom and then knelt down beside little Bailey as she took her last little doggy breath before heading to the rainbow bridge in the sky.

Now. 
I understand this is sad. 
And believe me, after the fact I grieved. We all did. Bailey had been with us 15 years. Jeff and I got her only a few months after we had started dating. So I am not making light of the situation...

But.

What do you with a dog body on your kitchen floor?
At 10 PM on a Sunday night.
When your husband is out of town.
And you are expecting 15 inches of snow the next day.

After frantically calling 1,001 friends. Texting 974 more. It finally dawned on me to call the vet.

The vet and I agreed that with temperatures headed south of Siberia and a truckload of snow headed our way that outside would be the best option. 
Thankfully the good people at Rubbermaid make a sturdy tote that is just the right thing for this sort of predicament. 

And that is when my driveway became a makeshift morgue for the family dog.

I will add that I tossed and turned that night when I went to bed. 
I kept second guessing my dog nursing skills and wondered if perhaps I had jumped the gun and Bailey wasn't gone. That I had stuck our poor 'ol dog outside and she was in fact very much alive. 
I blame seeing Pet Cemetery in the third grade for this. 

I would be lying if I said I didn't go out to the tote the next morning just to make sure. And I'd also be lying if I didn't say I was slightly terrified I was going to open it and she was going to be gone. (Cue scary movie music) 
But all was right with the universe and she was in fact right where I'd left her. With the addition of 15 billion inches of snow surrounding the tote. (Great timing by the way Mother Nature). 

Now, I do have to add, my husband is even more sensitive than I. Well...he's actually a lot more sensitive than I. So I had to make sure said dog was gone before he returned home two days later. 
Funny thing is the 15 billion inches of snow that came caused the entire metropolis to shut down. Which meant the vet was closed. 
So the Orberson morgue stayed open one more day. 
Luckily my dad came to the rescue the next day and the vet agreed to meet him at his office (two days later if you're following along at home) so that Jeff wouldn't be traumatized when pulling into our driveway Tuesday night greeted by the little blue Rubbermaid tote. 

We are still waiting on the ground to thaw so Bailey can have a proper burial. And of course we miss her terribly. But she gave us a good 15 years of life and for that we are thankful.

RIP Bailey January 2000-February 2015