When a horsefly gets in your house...

do you:

A) Grab a swatter and your son's size 14 shoe?

B) Take the newspaper (like you'd grab it from the stand), open the door, and fan/scare the horsefly toward the outside?

C) Nothing, because your dog found it first and has been chasing it for 2 hours, and she's teaching her new sibling dog to chase it, as well?

One dog just came from the back of the house and another from the kitchen, and they flushed it back towards me. Lucy actually caught it once and had it on the ground. She pawed at it and it took off again. This thing is huge. They've stopped for water 3 times.

She finds spiders and snakes for me, too. If I come in a room and see her sitting and staring off in space, I know we have a bug to deal with.

Does anyone else have a dog where you can say, "Where's the bug?" and she'll go looking for one?

Horsefly update:  The dogs successfully cornered the horsefly into a light sconce, one of the ones that is hard to change bulbs for, as the new "environmentally friendly" (cough cough mercury filled and hazardous to clean up) just barely fit.  The fly is now stuck and can't figure out how to get out.

I don't know whether to try to get it out or let my dogs still sit right under it and watch the light, listening for the really loud buzz of the horsefly as it pings in its limited space beneath that monstrous bulb and the flare of the sconce. 

It's sad when my best entertainment of the day comes from a horsefly and two dogs.

The Wedding Gum

My sister got married yesterday. She booked the air force base chapel, so we had to be in and out in two hours. They're very strict about this. It took about 45 minutes just to get her dressed. Has anyone else heard of spraying crinolines with hairspray to get them to poof more? It works.

So, the photographer called for the bride, and the bridesmaids were going to be next. My daughter was a bridesmaid, so I went to track down my sons, who volunteered to do a backup video. My mom came rushing up as the photographer called for the mother of the bride. She said, "Take this," and stuck a glob of Trident on the tip of my finger.

I couldn't find a trash can. I made it to the annex and went to what the chapel called a "cry room," thinking that when babies cry, the first thing you do is check the diaper, right?

No trash can. The cry room works 50/50. My niece was happy. My nephew wasn't.

My brother-in-law caught me as I came out of the cry room. "You're on. Go go go!"

"I have gum!" I said. "I can't find the trash!"

"Give it here," he said, and he took the gum.

Here's the thing: It wasn't my mom's gum.

Oh, no.

The BRIDE gave up the gum because, hey, weddings are a lot like school - no gum. She gave it to her twin, who got called up while - get this - trying to find a trash can, because she was the maid of honor. So, she gave the gum to Mom, who made it halfway down the aisle before being called up (big church), and gave the gum to me.

When my brother and I got into the picture, he said, "Somebody make a joke."

I told him about the gum. Nobody else had realized the gum had traveled so far. Turned out my brother-in-law found the trash can and the baby changing station in the bathroom, which were a long way away from the annex and chapel.

Birthday, 7:20 a.m.

Me: Justin, go get Katie up.
Justin: Okay.
(Boom boom boom - up stairs - boom boom boom - down stairs)
Justin: She's in a great mood.
Me: Cool.
Justin: That's called sarcasm.
Me: Uh oh, what did she do?
Justin: She threatened to throw pieces of a broken drawer at me.
Me: Wow. She let you live? That means she loves you.
Justin: Love hurts.

So far, so good. I made RJ run out and get me a cake, a 24-case of Diet Coke (yeah, I'm one of THOSE people), and some laundry soap as soon as the clock hit midnight. I also have tons and tons of wire coming for my viking weave schtuff.

Me: (Discussing Katie's morning madness again) I sometimes take Smeagol up with me and toss him at her.
Justin: (Unintelligible).

He exited, stage backward. A few minutes later:

Justin: That made her a lot happier.
Me: That's wonderful!
Justin: That's sarcasm again, Mom.

Apparently, this was Katie's schpiel:
Katie: You were just up here 4 minutes ago what do you want now I don't want to see you.
Justin: I brought up the kitty. See?
(Tosses Smeagol on her bed).

(Katie gets up, stomps over, he runs, and she slams the door).

I expect to see her soon. Too soon.

Out from under the rock to fuss about healthcare

I, the medical transcriptionist extraordinaire, wish to fuss.

This is the 5th nerve conduction test I've typed up this week for patients who are all 80 or older. The ages are 80, 80, 85, 86, and 90. These patients, all but one, insist they're too old to have surgery, but the one 80-year-old patient's parents both lived until their mid 90s and her only medicines are as needed for arthritis. She wants to have carpal tunnel releases done so she can keep knitting and crocheting. That, to me, is a perfectly valid reason. I'd go crazy without my crafting after two months.

For the others, however, who are not going to have surgery: All of the four had very distinct symptoms of carpal tunnel syndrome. In other words, they need to shake out their hands if they sleep on them wrong. All had thenar wasting. All had decreased sensation in the median nerve distribution. All had the thumb, index finger, and middle finger affected. Hello, carpal tunnel syndrome.

Again, they insisted that they did not want anything done for the condition.

So, why did their physicians get the testing done?

Not only did they have nerve conduction testing done, but they also went with the extra step of an EMG, looking for evidence of cord compression, radiculopathy, etc.

Hello...if they weren't going to have carpal tunnel releases done, a relatively common and safe procedure, why waste the extra money for another more extensive surgery that they're not going to have done, either?

I tried to do a quick check about the cost of nerve testing and EMG testing, one side or both. Minimum figure for the nerve testing alone, both sides, was $800. Add it up, just for this week. This is a very regular occurrence.

If all the physical exam findings are there, for goodness' sake, just give the patients the wrist splints and send them home! If all this crap is just for documentation purposes...

Makes me want to scream.

Lions! No tigers or bears...yet...oh my.

Yeah, so I didn't do any dishes today.

I used too much TLS as the coating for the black one. He's for a bracelet and you can see the ribbon already attached to the "normal" one. I'm wearing them for a test run. The TLS softened all the rough edges while allowing the shape to come through. All in all, I'm very, very pleased. That is wire mixed in with the black/silver. I'm not sure I like it, but we'll see.

'Memba Bartles & Jaymes?

Every time I type a letter for this doc, I think of these guys:



She says, "Thank you for your kind referral and continued support."

I'm such a loser

After a long night, this just tickles me no end:

"She is referred to me
by Dr. McKee
for evaluation of her knee."

Help me.

How did I miss this???

Obviously, this would have been more effective before 12/25, but better late than never.

Say What? the next edition

New "Things I Never Thought I'd Hear"

Hey, Mom. I'm playing basketball like a Samurai Warrior [would]!

And the gaming systems aren't even in use.

Reading Counts

Ah, the versatile black bean. Beans? Check. Chips? Check. Salsa? Check.

Beans from the can? Bland, of course. A pinch of cumin, a touch of curry, and a few barely there shakes of chipotle. Tried and true.

Combine with salsa and a tiny bit of sour cream, put on top of chips.

Sit down and re-listen to a crazy sport medicine doctor and...

start crying from the extra spicy flavor.

I did not see the label for my salsa. It's the normal salsa jar in shape and size and color...the label is green...

I don't know which miserable, sneaky, no-good nimrod child o' mine put the flamin' hot Vesuvius style salsa in my shopping cart and then in my pantry but I will take no quarter. I'll just breathe on them when it's time to wake them up in the morning.

Emphasized with the Z-snap.

Yikes. Nimrods 6. Mom 17,200.

*********

Let's go Nimrods 7 and Mom 17,200. It's now two hours later and my lips are STILL numb. I don't know about my tongue, but it feels a lot smoother, as if my papillae have been removed by cautery.

Gah.

I graduated 20 flippin' years ago.

So, I'm doing the Facebook thing. Meh. I officially feel like I'm trying NOT to act my age...even more so than usual.

So, I've got the flu (thank you, son). I can't keep my mind on what I'm supposed to do (the bone marrow transplant guru at Sitemann). So what do I do?

I find my high school class on Facebook.

It's nice to know (or pathetic to realize) that I still have the same criterion of friendship (whom will I snobbishly invite to be my friend?) now as I did then.

Did they ride in my 1964 T-bird? Would I still allow them to ride in it now (if I still had it)?

I contacted three people.

Yeah, I don't want to be my friend either, but I'm kinda stuck with me.

Funny. I missed the reunion this summer, and it doesn't bother me a bit. There are a few people I'd like to contact but they, too, wouldn't be disappointed that they missed the reunion and that is probably why they're not listed on the high school Facebook page.

I have a feeling that Facebook is the greatest stalking tool EVER.

I HAVE BEEN CONFIRMED AS SOMEONE'S FRIEND.

This is better than my "You've got mail!" phase.
What I learned today: If a child fails Cereal Box Opening 101, it is asinine to assume that he's ready for Kibbles-N-Bits 201. This lack of readiness leads to Advanced Dustpan Use 307 and Anger Management at a postgraduate level that is bundled in the DSM-IV psychoanalysis course

Fame

I'm a wife of 19 years.

I'm a mother of 18 years with three children total.

I write.

I sculpt.

Now...guess what my sole claim to fame is?

I'll tell you: If you go to Google and type in "african soft furred rats," my site is the #1 hit.

I did always wanted to be recognized for my authorship skills...

I've been under a polymer clay rock...

Here's what I've been up to lately.





















Using a wide variety of YouTube vids, I managed to concoct my own recipe for a humanoid head. Notices that their a bit elven. One's mostly put together and I've built the armature for the other.



















Fun stuff, polymer clay. Addictive as heck.

Worse, by comparison?

The only thing worse than having a tape where the doctor's voice is clear as crystal but there is a jackhammer noise in the background covering it alllll up...is the chicken-scratch writing he uses to fill in the blanks you left him.

Then he faxes it. On a yard-sale special. Running out of ink.

I just had to laugh...or I'd cry. I think I might be able to fill in two of the blanks out of, oh, 20 or so. Miracles 'R Us. That's me.

I wonder if he'd notice if I filled in every blank using Mad Libs for inspiration.

"Crohn's disease and FUZZY crypt abscesses with inflammation, enteritis, and colitis in the past. DARK BURGERS. She had a flare-up with active ileocolitis, where she actually needed surgery. She also was told to start SNOWING, but she did not want to because SNOT. She now continues to have about one to two bowel movements a day, which are liquid and BLUE. There is no blood. The patient has lower abdominal pain, which COVERS stool HIGHWAY GYN surgery, CUCUMBER diagnosis."

Criminy.

*NOUNS, ADJECTIVES, ETC. BY KITKAT. No lie. I shot her IM to give me random stuff.

This is how you chap my hide...

Make me relisten to a doctor stumble over a sentence for the 10th time, only to realize the doctor is saying, "He talks in somewhat of a mumble."

...and the crater on my desk from where my forehead has smacked it so often is now deep enough to serve salsa.

Hear ye, hear ye!

I have updated the SapphireTigress.com. Go. Laugh at my creative ineptitude.

If you do anything...if you ever read anything I've ever written, read this:

The Trouble With Trebuchets

I looked through my site, making sure all the links worked, and I had to reread it. I think it's probably the best thing I've ever written.

Have a good weekend, all.

Things I never dreamt I'd say...or hear!

Ah, yes. More for you - click "say what?" in the tags for more.

Overheard in my house in the last few days:

1. I'm taking my Monster and fleeing (child up too early, dad's in a towel, Monster energy drink in hand).

2. You can't be hungry! You just ate your own barf! (to the cat, who, if overfed, loses his lunch because he eats like a bunny needs to proliferate).

3. A girl's breasts are where she keeps her eggs, right? (from the mouth of a very uninformed now educated child).

Something that came out of my mouth:

"What exactly is squirrel-tapping?" This in response to my son's accident with a baseball at school.

Ta-Da!

My Granola Bars

My Granola Bars - The big batch

This is designed in a big batch because of the mix-and-match factor. I used two large round pizza pans, lined with aluminum foil for ease. These freeze well in single-serve sandwich baggies, perfect for a kid to grab and put in their backpack for lunch or a snack. Moist and delicious, these can be made custom to your taste. You control the fiber content and nutritional content. I haven't been able to mess these up yet!

*6 cups rolled oats - not instant
*2¼ cups packed brown sugar
*1½ cups wheat germ (or oat bran or a bit of flax or all three)
*2¼ teaspoons ground cinnamon
*3 cups flour (whole wheat or oat bran or your preference, all or in combo)
*2¼ cups dried fruit or nuts or a few chocolate chips (Be creative! Dried berries, apple and raisin, apricots and walnuts, just straight dried blueberries or what you like!)
*2¼ teaspoons salt
*1½ cups honey
*3 eggs or equivalent in egg substitute, beaten
*1½ cups vegetable oil OR 1 cup applesauce and ½ cup of oil
*6 teaspoons vanilla extract

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Use cooking spray to lubricate the foil already lining the pans or plain cookie sheet. Two circular pizza pans or regular cookie sheets work well, or use two 9 x 13 baking pans or dishes, but check frequently after 30 minutes in the oven to get the correct cooking length for you.

2. In a very large bowl (I use the big plastic fruit bowls from Wal-Mart), mix together the oats, brown sugar, wheat germ, cinnamon, flour, fruit/nuts, and salt. In a separate bowl, beat together the honey, egg, oil and/or applesauce, and vanilla. (Tip: Put the honey in right after the oil using the same measuring cup, and it doesn't stick as badly). Get a heavy-duty spoon and mix it all together.

3. Divide the batter between the two pans. Use the cooking spray to coat your hands and spread until evenly distributed.

4. Bake for 35 minutes in the preheated oven until the bars turn golden at the edges. If you do not use foil, cut into bars while they are warm, or they will be tough to cut. If you use foil, wait until cooled, pull from the pan using the foil, and break apart into pieces or use a knife to cut them into bars. If freezing, a sandwich baggie in the microwave for just less than a minute will put them to an edible state.

Uncle Herschel's Bayonet

The day I helped pick out what I wanted from Pop's basement was full of surprises. Pop loves his tools; where one wrench existed, there were at least five "just in case" ones. X-Acto knives. Screwdrivers. Vice grips. Scissors. Swiss army knives, one actually purchased in Switzerland, which came home with me.

My Uncle John presided over the offerings; I asked him, right away, if there was anything I could not have.

"You can take anything but Uncle Herschel's bayonet."

Huh?

Pop apparently had this piece of WWII history in his basement, since his brother Herschel's death. I suppose it's not something you think of when you're displaying your genius for your grandkids to remember you by.

"May I see it?"

"I think it's on that shelf over there," my uncle replied.

I found it under a cigar box full of bolts. I picked it up reverently. Over time, the carbine darkened, but the bayonet itself held its edge remarkably well. I called Adonis over for his purview. I showed him where it attached to the rifle, and explained its use.

I looked hesitantly at my uncle. "Did it get used?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Uncle Herschel never talked about the war."

I handed it back. That sounded too much like a "yes" to me.

You see, my idea of war was the surgical war first fought in the first Desert Storm. Impersonal. Precise.

The bayonet? It brought the wars of our past uncomfortably near.

In World War II, 446,000 American soldiers lost their lives. The overwhelming majority were foot soldiers, who used these up-close-and-personal weapons. They attached to guns about 45 inches in length.

In the forest, out in the cold, in a jungle, or in a pit dug for protection. The attack launches in waves. Ammo is low; it's hand-to-hand fighting.

I have trouble watching violent movies. With today's amazing computer rendering, special effects, and other props, it's too darn real. Full Metal Jacket now looks like a ketchup fight compared to some of the newer movies available.

Don't shoot until you see the whites of their eyes.

But the ammo is gone.

I suppose a long arm reach was something to thank God for. Pushing through the lines, trying to take the hill, trying to fight your way through to safety?

No wonder Uncle Herschel never wanted to talk about it.

Perhaps America reaches its long arms and sticks it's nose into international business but, you know what? Unlike European war veterans, they left war-torn countries and nobody drove past battlefields on their way back home. Nobody, with the exception of those stationed in Hawaii, really had to contend with a constant reminder of what they did to serve their country. America acts proactively, and we don't have to fight on our own soil. I looked up the numbers for civilian WWII casualties. About 41 million in civilian deaths. Japanese civilian deaths, even with Hiroshima and Nagasaki, totaled 580,000.

Staggering.

So, with a burst of American pride, I'd like to point out to all of those Europeans who look down their noses at us, that after you get up and brush your somewhat crooked teeth, put contacts in you brown eyes, and brush your brown locks, please note that you will go outside and wave casually to your neighbor instead of proclaiming "Heil Hitler" and goose stepping to the nearest transport, while patting the head of the child of your neighbor who has Down's Syndrome.

My Uncle Herschel wouldn't talk about it, but he fought, with a bayonet, to secure your freedom. He, a gentle man of respectable roots, put his life on his line to keep his country safe, and kept a lot of people for being a poster child, a "perfect specimen," for Hitler and his cronies. Given Hitler's obsession with the master race, do you really think he would've stopped with Europe? Come on, Asian features just don't match up with his idea of the master race, so you think he would've stopped there? Look at the numbers for the "imperfect" Soviet army, a blend of some 180 nationalities, from Caucasian to Mongol, who lost over 13% of their population, an overwhelming 23 MILLION people, both soldiers and civilians.

To my Great Uncle Herschel, WWII soldier, to my father, C-130 pilot and logistics specialist, and to my brother, F-18 pilot, thank you for serving an American military who thinks ahead and keeps the war from hitting to close to home. I don't want another 9/11.

Thanks to all our men and women in military service. May you come home.

Today's Random

Is it so wrong to want a cattle prod to make life easier when it's time to get the kids up for school?