~ Oklahoma

Oooooooklahoma where the wind comes sweeping down the plains.....

Tomorrow morning I’m leaving the dry, desert heat of California for the sticky, humid, breath stealing, suck the air right out of you heat of Oklahoma. I’m not sure which one is worse. Seeing as how I like to actually be able to breathe when I step out into the sunshine, I vote for Oklahoma being the worst.

Oklahoma City is the place of my birth. It’s where I started school, formed friendships, had my first crush and grew to dislike those awkward teenage years. I didn’t move to Omaha until my senior year of high school and yet Omaha is home to me. Oklahoma is where my mom is, and the saying goes that ‘home is where your mom is’ so in a sense, Oklahoma is also home.

Oklahoma is where my fondest memories of my aunt Joyce are; it’s also where both she and my dad are buried. It’s where my sister and my niece live, it’s where my cousins and my uncle are, friends from my childhood and memories good and bad that are often made during the years we grow up. It’s where I went to grade school and where I fumbled through the awkward years of junior high. While Oklahoma is where I was raised, Nebraska is where I ‘grew up.’

While living in Omaha, I’d drive to Oklahoma City every summer to spend time with my mom and my sister. It wasn’t until I had barely reached the Oklahoma City limit signs that the memories would wash over me like warm water. I’d crest the hill on the interstate and literally sigh out loud at the scene before me. There’s nothing like going home to the place of your birth.

I haven’t been home for two years and I miss it. I miss the red dirt that is always caked on the bottom bricks of every home you pass. I miss how that same red dirt clings to the bottom of every car that you see driving down the road. I miss hanging out and laughing with my sister. I miss my niece, miss seeing the beautiful, unique young woman she’s becoming. I miss Sonic Drive-Ins. Yes, we had them in Omaha but getting a Cherry Limeade just wasn’t the same.

I have to add that my personal motto is, "Oklahoma born and bred, but I still bleed Nebraska red." However, when I do go home to Oklahoma, I'm a Sooner again, if only for a little while.

Tomorrow night, as my plane touches the tarmac at Will Rogers Int’l Airport, I’m sure I’ll sigh and tell myself that it’s good to be home, even if only for a few days.

~ Ya Ya's ~ Part Two

Not long after I started working at Papillion La Vista High School, a group of us quickly bonded and formed an allegiance that friendship can so often bring.

At the beginning, we shared many commonalities; first and foremost, we were mothers. We were wives, we were daughters, we were sisters and we were aunts. We soon began getting together to share our birthdays over dinners and drinks. We’d laugh out loud, we’d bitch about our husbands, and we’d vent about our inlaws. Over the years, we celebrated triumphs of our own and those of our children, the graduations of our children, and the marriage of one child. We watched each others children grow into mature, responsible adults. Together, we mourned loss of life, loss of friendship and the loss of a union.

We shared sadness, joy, and our families. We were there for each other during sickness or during times of trouble. Through it all, we stayed strong and we stayed true to each other.

When I found out that KJ and I were moving to California, these were the friends that I most dreaded having to tell. I wasn’t ready to shed the tears that I knew would come. After seeing them on a daily basis for 13 years, I wasn’t ready to leave them. I didn’t want them to face each day without me. I wasn’t ready to miss them and miss them I would.

I have so many memories of these beautiful women. The games we worked, the dinners we went to, the laughter and the tears. The parties, the gatherings, the shopping. The breaks in Mary’s office and the Scooter runs. Working Parent/Teacher conferences and Student Registration.

These women are more than just my friends. They’re my heart. They’re my sisters. They’re my Ya Ya’s ~

Mary, Nancy, Nadine & Gem (not pictured) . . . thank you for the gift of your friendship that has kept me sane and grounded all these years.

I love you ~

~ Ya Ya's ~ Part One

Ya Yas’s: A group of three or more women whose hearts and souls are joined together by laughter and tears shared through the glorious journey of life.

I was out one afternoon, strolling through SteinMart and saw this on a pillow. My thoughts immediately went to a wonderful group of women who I’ve been fortunate enough to have in my life for a various number of years. I actually have two groups of Ya Ya’s in my life ~ the Pipettes and my girls from school. And yes, I'm blessed.

The Pipettes ~ I met this fabulous group of women for the first time about 10 years ago at a meeting in Florida that the kids and I got to go with KJ to. Because the kids were with us, I didn’t actually get to spend a significant amount of time with these women but over the years, I’ve come to love them, adore them, appreciate them and respect them.

Over the years, we’ve stayed a pretty tight knit bunch. It’s gone from seeing them to twice a year to talking on the phone, emailing, texting, etc. Sometimes, if it wasn’t for a few of these women (Debi & Terry), I don’t know what I would’ve done.

My most favorite memory with these women is the year we all went to Hawaii. KJ and I made a family vacation out of it and brought the kids along and next to the family vacation to England, it’s one of our most memorable family vacations.

Let me just set the scene for Hawaii and the birth of the “Pipettes” ~

Before this trip, we were in Oklahoma City for a board meeting. Some of us were at the bar next door to our hotel, the guys on one end of the table, the girls on the other. Pretty soon, as it usually does when we’re all together, the wine started to flow. We start talking about the Hawaii trip and how we should do something really fun. Now, you have to remember, the wine was flowing freely. Debra all of a sudden came up with the idea that the wives of the board members should be the entertainment at the big dinner.

Next thing we know, we all have CD’s with music on them and we’re all listening and singing the songs at the top of our lungs, trying to memorize the words to the songs.

We roped Lynsay into helping us once we got to Hawaii. Bless her heart ~ she was such a good sport. Can you imagine her, the dancer, trying to shape 6 grown women into some kind of dancing form in a couple of afternoons? All of this was supposed to done without the knowledge of our husbands but we couldn’t really keep it a secret. The only husband who didn’t know was Ed and God, the look on his face was priceless.

There we were, dancing to the tune of “Leader of The Pack.” We let everyone know that Gloria Gaynor wasn’t the only one who could “survive” and like Aretha Franklin, we stood up there and demanded “Respect.” The Pipettes were born.

These women have touched my heart and my soul. They have proven time and time again the true meaning of friendship.

These women ~ my Pipettes, my Ya Ya’s.

Debi, Terry, Debra, Karen, BK and Patti~ thank you for being you and for your unconditional love and support that you’ve always given me.

I love you ~

~ What Is A Hero?

The definition of hero on Dictionary.com says this:

1.a man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities.

2. a person who, in the opinion of others, has heroic qualities or has performed a heroic act and is regarded as a model or ideal

Growing up, I’m sure we all had ‘heroes’ of our own. There were the comic book heroes, the silver screen heroes or the heroes we read about in books.

While I agree with the definition of what a hero is, my own definition runs more along the lines with something Christopher Reeve once said. He said, “A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.”

That, to me, is how I’d describe my sister.

My parents adopted her when I was 10 years old and definitely not at the age where I wanted a baby sister. Like the rest of us, she was born with what I call a slight malfunction. Hers had something to do with her kidneys that caused her to be on antibiotics for years until she was old enough for surgery. Because of that, her pain tolerance has always been high while I, on the other hand, have always been a weenie in the pain department.

Shes’s the youngest which meant she was spoiled. When she came home from the hospital after her surgery, she came home to a brand new bedroom suit, complete with a canopy bed. Fortunately, I got one, too. When she was little, she’d pull this little Fisher Price shoe house behind her, telling everyone to pet her puppy. One Sunday morning, after pulling her 'puppy' through the house, my dad went out and bought her a real puppy. On vacations, we’d all fight over who got to hold her. To my brothers and I, she was a living, breathing doll.

I remember the special times that she and I spent together when we were growing up. I’d take her to Worlds of Fun in Kansas City, out for ice cream, or shopping at the mall. For some reason, she idolized me and I admit that I wasn’t always the best big sister. My excuse was the fact that I was 10 years older than her, I had my own life and didn’t always have the time for her when she was growing up.

When my dad died, she was 12, a month shy of turning 13 and I had just gotten married. I didn’t spend the amount of time with her that I should have after his death and, admittedly, I was to absorbed in my own life and grieving the loss of my dad in my own way.

She’s now the single mother of a 15 year old girl who is growing into an amazing and unique young woman. Being a parent is hard enough when there are two of you; I can’t imagine how hard it is when you’re raising a child on your own.

She works hard to make sure that my niece has everything she needs, often going without something for herself and I can say that Ash is well-balanced, smart and knows exactly what she wants.

A hero isn ‘t always the guy on the big white horse who rushes in to save the day. More often than not, our heroes are just ordinary people .... a doctor who sits with a patient after giving a heartbreaking prognosis, a teacher who stays after school giving extra time to help a student pass a class.

Sometimes, our heroes are part of our own family. In this case, she's a single mom who does what needs to be done to give her daughter a good life.

My hero? Her name is Toni and she's my sister.

~ San Diego

One of the nice things about living where we live, we can get in the car and in a couple of hours we can be at the beach, San Diego, Pasadena or even Disney.

This week, KJ is in San Diego for a convention so we decided to drive out there on Friday morning to meet Paul and Jona for the weekend. We left home about 10am and the drive wasn’t really all that bad. We didn’t hit any major traffic jams, no accidents that shut the freeway down for miles and no freeway closings because someone was filming a movie. Yes, we’ve actually experienced that before!

We got to San Diego and had lunch with Ed Morrison (one of the Pipette husbands) and met up with Paul and Jona after lunch. We hit the Gaslamp district where Jona and I did some shopping and Kenny and Paul did some drinking. We caught up with the guys at a place called Dick’s Last Resort. If you’ve never been there, it’s a place where all the waitstaff and bartenders are total smartasses (on purpose). Here’s the website if you’ve never been ~ (http://sandiego.dickslastresort.com). We first went to Dick’s in Chicago with the kids and had a blast; this one was just as much fun. There was a waiter there dressed in a really tight black shirt, really short black shorts, pointy ankle black boots, a mask (like Zorro) and a cape. On the back of his cape, it said, “Gay Zorro” ~ See? I kid you not.

We sat at the bar drinking Bloody Mary’s and laughed as our bartender continually harassed Paul. Eventually, the friends we were having dinner with arrived and we had drinks (and shots) with them. The six of us eventually left the bar but only because we had dinner reservations at 8pm at a restaurant called “Top of The Market”, which was on the harbor

On Saturday we got up and headed to Seaport Village for lunch and shopping. Seaport Village is this great shopping mecca right there at the marina with restaurants scattered about. Shopping tends to make a girl hungry so Jona and I hit Ben & Jerry's while we were there.

Jona and I found these great glasses but the guys weren’t all that crazy about them. I don’t know why, I thought we looked really hot!

That afternoon, we went on a San Diego Harbor Excursion tour. It was a 2 hour tour of the harbor that took us past the U. S. Navy surface fleet, the Coronado Bay Bridge, shipyards, Shelter Island, Point Loma, the Submarine Base, the Naval Air Station and the Cabrillo National Monument. It was a lot of fun; the harbor was full of these great sailboats, fishing boats and sea life. After the tour, we headed to Old Town San Diego for dinner. We ended up at a Mexican restaurant called Cafe Coyote y Cantina. Great food and fabulous margaritas. We ended up walking around after dinner because we ate so much and finally headed back to the hotel about 10ish.

At 6am Sunday morning, KJ and I were on our way home. KJ dropped me off, showered and changed and then he headed right back for his convention. What a guy, huh? Taking me out there for a fun weekend, driving me home and then going back so he can work.

Wait a minute.....convention and work in the same sentence? hmmm . . . .

~ It's Been HOW Long?

It's been just over a year since we made the move out west. God, that sounds so Little House On The Prairie...lol.

It's been a year and I'm still getting used to living here. To me, California is an entity in itself. It should be its own country. As of July, 2008, the population in the state of California was 36,756,666. Where do all these people live??

After a year, I still can't figure out what the big draw is. The economy sucks. The people aren't all that friendly. Everything costs more. There are earthquakes. The temps hit triple digits in the summer. Sure, it’s a dry heat but hot is hot. To drive on the Interstate, in order to keep up you have to drive at least 90. Some might say that’s not a problem for me but to be honest, out here, that scares me to death. During the months of October thru April, we have what they call ‘the season.’ Old people from all over the United States gather here to escape the cold from where they normally live. By December, I want to stand on the street corner and tell them all to go home. Going to the DMV is like visiting Hell. Not that I’ve ever visited hell....lol. I think that whenever a mean person dies in California, the DMV is their purgatory. No one is nice there. It took me 3 days just to get plates for my car and on the 3rd day, I went home in tears and told Kenny I was packing my stuff and going home. I now never have to go to the DMV again.

On the upside, the beach is only a few hours away. The weather is easy to get used to, especially during the winter; the temps rarely dip below 60. I despise the cold and I can easily suffer through a few months of extreme heat in order to never have to feel the cold clear to my bones again. I can wear flip-flops year round. I have a pool in my backyard. This makes suffering through the extreme heat more bearable. I’m always tan. I have the Santa Rosa mountains behind my house. Standing in my family room and looking out at this breathtaking view almost makes it worth while. If I miss the snow, I can drive up to the mountains and get my fill. It rarely rains. We don’t have tornados but I’m not sure which I’d rather have....earthquakes or tornados. KJ and I take day trips on the weekend to explore . . . San Diego, Huntington Beach, Venice Beach, Laguna....the good places are just a few hours away.

Like any big move, the lists of pros and cons can go on and on. The biggest negatives? I miss my kids. I miss my nieces. I miss my friends. I miss my family. The good thing is that everyone that I miss is only a phone call or text message away. I text message with Lynsay, Kristin and Erin all the time. I talk to Lyns at least once a day and Ryan at least once a week. I hear from my friends via email. I know that if I get lonely, all I have to do is pick up the phone and my friends will be there. Without that, I’d be going street rat crazy.

I don’t love it but I don’t hate it, either. I think that with anything, it takes time to get used to change. I’m wondering.....how much time do I get?

~ Murphy

Murphy is a one year old Papillon that I’ve had for almost 11 months.

After we moved out here and KJ started traveling, I was home alone. No biggie except for the fact that “alone” meant I was the only living, breathing person in the development. So, I was ALONE! And, it’s dark out here; no streetlights at all and I heard every single noise.

I approached KJ one evening with the idea of a dog. I had a list of pros and cons and admittedly, the list of cons was so much longer than the list of pros. However, I was lonesome and in the end, the list of cons was overlooked and I was on the hunt for a puppy.

I searched and searched and eventually found a Papillon breeder in Corona, which is about 2 hours from where we live. I was in constant contact with the breeder and finally made an appointment to drive to Corona to see the puppy. The puppy was 4 months old already (not exactly what I was looking for) but he was adorable. Lucky for me I had the forsight to bring “just in case” puppy supplies because when we drove out of Corona, I had the puppy on my lap.

He slept all the way home and I thought, wow, what a good puppy. After the first couple of weeks, I was convinced that Murphy had in some way been abused before we got him. He was skittish, wouldn’t come anywhere near us and every time I lifted my hand to pet him, he cowered, acting as if he half expected me to hit him. My heart broke for him.

Now, my family knows my history with puppies. All of you remember Sam, right? We had only had Sam a week when the kids and I came home from school one day and the kids went rushing out to play with him. When they were done playing, they put him back in the back yard on his lead and went on their merry way. A few minutes later, I went out to get him (I wanted him in the house with me, not tied up in the back yard).

I remember standing on the deck looking for him and calling for him but Sam wasn’t anywhere. I started walking down the stairs of the deck and stepped on his lead. I found Sam hanging from the stairs of the deck. The first thought I had was, “OMG, if this dog dies, KJ is gonna KILL me!!” The next thing I know, I’m giving mouth to mouth to a dog before rushing him to the vet. It wasn’t until much later, after I had Sam home, wrapped in a blanket and curled up on the couch with me that I realized what I had done. I had basically swapped spit with a dog! But after that incident, Sam was my dog. He may have been Kenny and Ryan’s hunting dog, but he was my dog and when it came time to put him down, it was me holding his head in my lap as the vet put him to sleep.

Less than a week after we got Murphy, KJ was out of town and it was a rare moment for Murphy and I; he was actually laying on the couch . . . next to me. My cell phone rang so I got up to answer it, not thinking that Murphy would move. Well, he did more than just move. He somehow got to the top of the back of the couch and then . . . he jumped.

We have tile floors . . . .

Murphy broke his right front leg in two places. During this whole ordeal, I discovered that the people of Palm Springs treat their dogs like children. Some might argue and say they’re treated better than some children and I tend to agree with that. Every year there's a dog parade on El Paseo for dogs and their owners. The dogs are dressed in costumes (sometimes the dogs and their owners match) and they ride around in golf carts. At the end of this fiasco, we had spent close to $2000 for Murhpy and his broken leg.

On the upside, Murphy no longer shied away from me. He started following me wherever I went. Even now, I can’t leave the room without hearing the pitter patter of Murphy feet behind me. He’s fiercely loyal and has dubbed himself as my protector. After almost year, he’s just now warming up to Kenny but he’ll still bark if he thinks Kenny is getting too close to me.

Whenever we leave town, Murphy goes to the kennel. When I picked him up after being in Omaha for Lynsay’s birthday, Stella (the woman who runs the kennel) told me that Murphy needs puppy socialization classes!

Some might say he’s spoiled. Me? I say he’s loved.