Irony.

I take pills. Yes, you read that right, I take pills. I take small, yellowish, man-made chemicals which keep me from sliding into the darkness that tells me I'm worthless, I shouldn't live. The darkness that surrounds me, locking me into a cylindrical prison that makes me unable to see any light from anywhere. It makes me ugly and sad and mean. I can talk about it, because I accept it. I have accepted the fact that my body has some kind of chemical screw up that I cannot control on my own, and believe me I have tried. I remind myself of the drowning man calling on God to save him. He sends away a boat saying God will save me. He sends away a helicopter saying God will save me. When he dies and faces God, he says, but God I called on you to save me and God says, I sent you a boat and a helicopter. For me, taking them is not a lack of faith, but more like reaching out for that life vest.

BUT, I am getting away from the story here. IRONY. IRONIC. I went to the doc a few weeks ago and got a new Rx for my medicine. I wasn't in need of a new bottle then, so, I told the pharmacist I wanted to turn it in and fill it when needed. Apparently, this small request shorted-out, fried, and basically destroyed their entire system. PLEASE KEEP IN MIND, I take this medicine, partially, to keep me from short circuiting and going all road rage on innocent bystanders.

I called the refill center to get a refill. Of course this is an automated process. After typing umpteen-gillion numbers into my phone, the mechanical woman told me I had no refills. So, I called back and pushed the "To Talk To The Pharmacist" number and got voicemail. (It was friday afternoon) I left a message. Fast forward to Monday. The pharmacist called me back. Nope, sorry, not their problem, the mistake was made at the home-town pharmacist office and I would have to call there. Ok, great, I called. Receptionist in home-town pharmacy says, nope, sorry, mistake was made in the Dr.'s office, please call them. Ok, great, I called. Nurse says, yep, I see it, let me talk to the Dr. and I'll call you back. She did saying, its all taken care of, you can pick your Rx up at the pharmacy here. WHEW. Thank you. On my lunch hour (actually 30 minutes, but...oh nevermind) I drive across town to the clinic. The Rx drive thru window is closed for lunch. (?!) I park. I walk in. I sashay up to the pick up window and the receptionist is on the phone with a friend. No biggie, I am still sort of smiling at this point, but its getting harder. After a few minutes, she covers the mouthpiece and asks why I am there. I say, "to pick up a prescription." She sighs loudly, tells her friend, "I'll have to call you back" and looks at me and says...."You need to call the refill center."

I'll skip the details from there, but, and I am NOT exaggerating not even a little, I left there with a DOUBLE prescription. You fill in the blanks.

HA. Score one for the crazy people.

Snips, Snails, Puppy Dog Tails, Sugar, Spice, All Thats Nice

My kids are, of course, the most fantastic creatures on earth. They make me smile everyday. (Not an easy accomplishment if you listen to my husband!!)

Dillon is such a boy. His biggest thrill at 4th of July was to see if a sparkler would burn the dead worm in our front yard. He catches frogs, grasshoppers, lizards, and brings me "cool" rocks he finds in the drive way. He does his best to aggravate his sister to her breaking point, and then giggles like a mad man when she explodes. (He can generally stop short of causing her to be violent, but occasionally, I have to save his hiney)

Macy is growing up so fast, suspended between being a little girl and being a young lady. Some days she is all teenage attitude, complete with eye rolls and my mom is soooo embarassing deep sighs and door slams. Then there are the days she can be found locked up with her AG dolls playing dress up and making up stories for them. She is a dancer at heart but also a cowgirl. Horses are her passion, and normalcy to her is wearing her tutu one day while competing a ballet solo, to wearing jeans and boots the next and running barrels at a rodeo.

Both are straight A students. Both are gorgeous. They are required to call adults Mr. or Ms. (Ms. Ashley, Mr. Steve). I am grateful and amazed constantly with these two gifts. My most wonderful God, how great Thou art.

The gift of a smart mouth.

I have to begin this post with a little explanation. My dad is the hairiest human being I have ever met. Yes, he is mostly bald, but without a shirt the man looks like a walking deep pile rug. Neck, back, chest, I doubt sheep clippers could cut through that stuff. If you've ever seen pictures of Bigfoot sightings in SE Oklahoma, look closer, I am sure its just Benny without a shirt on.

Now, this morning when I dropped the kids off at Mom and Dads, Benny was outside, shirtless, working on his boat. My oh-so-charming ten year old says, "I didn't know we were going to the zoo." My seven year old shot back, "They have talking gorillas."

Good Morning PaPa. They really do love you!

What is "normal" anyway?

Yesterday I was driving down one of the main streets in our downtown area and I noticed that the windows of the downtown businesses are being painted for the annual Prison Rodeo, when it dawned on me how that scene might play out to someone new to this area. McAlester is home to Oklahoma's maximum security prison and death row, along with several minimum security areas. The rodeo is held each year with inmates from different facilities across OK participating. Each facility brings their own rodeo "team" and compete for bragging rights. For one weekend the general public is allowed "behind the walls" in the OSP arena to watch the events, which are, by the way, interspersed with real professional cowboys and traditional rodeo events, not just inmates. The rodeo isn't quite what it used to be (what is?) in this area. Gone is the parade and street dance with the prison band, but the Warden still holds his annual bar-b-que on the prison lawns and you can enter certain areas of the buildings to view the inmate art show. As I was driving back to work after lunch, it just struck me that having men in gray jumpsuits with the word INMATE written in caps across the back, standing on the sidewalks downtown wasn't a cause for alarm, but instead sort of a normal "oh its that time again, boy that snuck up on me" reaction. Certain inmates are allowed to paint rodeo event pictures on the windows of the storefronts during rodeo week celebrations.

It just made me wonder, if you were in my corner of the world today, what would be going through your mind as INMATES worked on the streets as the non-felons of the world passed by without even a second glance?

Do Not Dsterv!

Apparently Dillon wants to be left alone!