It's Funny What Hearing Keith Whitley Can Do...

I am no longer in my minivan, but lying on a painted iron bed pushed into the corner of a tiny bedroom, fitted with a faded set of clown sheets and cleverly stationed between the two windows, between which flows a sweet breeze that made the 100 degree weather with 90% humidity bearable. To my right is a large pasture that houses "Peanut", the old nag of a horse that belongs to the landlord and to my left lies my sister, sleeping peacefully like I am supposed to be doing. As usual, Julie is doing what's expected and I can't seem to slow down long enough for napping. My freshly washed hair is still damp since it's way too hot for a hairdryer (and my dad doesn't have one anyway) and fans out on my pillow. A tired electric fan blows lazy air and every 10 seconds it oscillation rewards me with an extra burst of coolness, if you dare call it that. The sounds coming from the kitchen are somewhat faint, but I can definitely make them out. My dad is frying something on the stove and Keith Whitley is playing on the AM radio that I can see setting on the window sill. My mind is anticipating the Saturday night supper which will consist of roundsteak and gravy (my dad's own recipe), fried okra, butter beans and an ice cold slice of the reddest, ripest tomato you have ever seen. Tomato slices are a summer staple and accompany every meal from June til September. My dad's sweetheart will come over to eat and afterwards I'll get to sit in her lap while we watch "Hee-Haw" and "Knight Rider" and her perfume will smell wonderful. I'll grow drowsy to the sounds of Dolly Parton and the Statler Brothers but I will fight to stay up as late as my sister. When bedtime does roll around, my dad will say "Time to hit the sack" and we will go back to the old iron bed, where daddy will tell us the story of the frog and his broom. After the lights are out, my sister and I "play pretend" which usually means I make up some scenario...we're the Ingalls family trapped in a blizzard, we're explorers on a boat at sea, we're camping out in the wilderness...and then Julie will fall asleep and I will be left alone, telling myself delicious stories. Once I hear my dad walk his sweetie to her car and the porch light goes out, I finally give in to slumber, swaying to the rhythm of the cicada's song.

What a Weekend!

Its a lovely Friday night...swimming with the family, grilling chicken kabobs on the deck, my little boy laughing on the porch swing...blueberry vomit spews everywhere, and its all downhill from there. Although there was no head spinning involved, it was definitely horror movie material. Why is it that when a child throws up, there is always more to come out than went in? I mean, blueberries and a cup of yogurt from 4 hours earlier and suddenly we need a Haz-Mat team to clean off our back porch. Okay, I know I am being overly dramatic and disgusting here, but isn't it fun? Anyway, my little sweetie was okay, just a mess.

Saturday at noon...my daughter's second soccer practice of the season (really the first since the real first was rained out), cleets, shin guards, size 3 ball, 4 boys, 2 girls, "Hustle, Hustle"...vomit. Yes, it was Hallie's turn. Poor thing, she was so excited about the new season, not to mention her back-to-school carnival was that afternoon and we obviously couldn't go. What did we do instead? Some family cuddle time on the couch while we watched Shrek for the millionth time. That's okay...I am just glad they got better so soon. At least we were all well enough to go to church on Sunday. Randy had written a soundtrack for a drama presentation and I really wanted to hear it. For those of you who don't know, my husband is an extremely talented musician and he plays keyboard, and sometimes the drums (which I love to see him do *wink*) at our church. I'll have to share some of his music soon. It'll blow you away. Can you tell I kind of like him ;) ?

Okay, gotta go. Here's a picture of Hallie pre-vomit. Didn't she look cute?