Cole Wilson VerHoef

At long last and with maximum fanfare, Cole Wilson VerHoef arrived Wednesday, November 26, at 9:54am. Weighing 8 pounds, 5 ounces, and measuring 20 inches long, he is completely and thoroughly perfect. Jacey is doing very, very well, and she and Bryan couldn't be prouder. Hailey and Nathan are thrilled and although Connor isn't too sure about all this yet, he has been calling this sweet baby "Skipper" for months and months now, and is highly offended when anyone refers to him as "Cole," so he's already protective of this most welcome addition to the family.

We are SO blessed--it really is a new day!

Of garbage disposals, cigarette butts, and boy scouts...

Okay, so yes, the music does have significance and yes, the photograph above does too. I was going to photograph other areas of the house to demonstrate the effect my thesis has had on my housekeeping abilities for the last six months. And while it's true that I haven't a shred of dignity left, I did think that a shot of my bathroom, complete with overflowing trashcans, toothpaste encrusted mirrors, hairsprayed counters, and the outside wrapper from a feminine hygiene product static-electricitied to the wall, might be more than my gentle readers could take.

So instead, the photograph is what my "office" looks like today. You will be MOST happy to know that all ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY THREE pages of my thesis have been successfully printed twelve times and they are resting comfortably at Fayette Printing (except for the last thirteen maps and photographs that I will take to Howard tomorrow morning to be likewise printed and shuffled into the appropriate piles). I thought that inserting thirteen images into thirteen pages of a Word document wouldn't take long--figured I could whip that up in an hour or two last night. They're just pictures. No text. Just pictures with a small caption underneath. Silly me. Five hours later, the maps and photographs look lovely but no matter what I do, the page numbers are on the wrong side and each of the thirteen pages is labeled 107. Odd, isn't it, that after all those weeks of excrutiating writing and revising and revising and writing, all that stands between me and my diploma is a simple Microsoft Word function that refuses to cooperate. Go figure.

But it got me thinking. This is the kind of stress that tends to unhinge me. Not that I'm not already slightly unbalanced--it doesn't take much to drive me over the edge. But this kind of stress makes me do things that most college-educated people stopped doing when they were about 6 years old. An example or two to illustrate:

Some years ago, the following events all happened within just a few days of each other when I was experiencing unusually high stress levels. We had been in Georgia for a few years and things weren't going well professionally or financially for Randy and I and several of our children were beginning to sprout into teenagers and....well, if you've ever had, been, or known a teenager, you'll understand.

I was cleaning the kitchen one day and the garbage disposal jammed. Lost in thought, and being the good Navy wife I am, I fixed it myself, as I usually did. Reaching my hand in to remove the offending object, I quite deliberately turned the disposal back on while my hand was still stuck down the sink, holding the blades. Fortunately, we had a crap kitchen with a crap garbage disposal so my hand emerged with all five fingers reasonably intact.

It scared the snot out of me, but it apparently wasn't enough to force my brain to re-engage because just a day or two later, I drove to the gas station to fill up my vehicle. I went inside the station to pay for my gas and came back out to get in my white truck. When I opened the door, I noticed that there was blue carpeting where the red had been and that the floorboards were covered with cigarette butts. I actually GOT INTO THE TRUCK, wondering how my carpet had changed color and how those cigarette butts got there since I have never smoked in my life, when finally it dawned on me. This isn't my white truck. Not only was it NOT my white truck, I had not driven my white truck to the gas station--I had driven our BLUE station wagon to the gas station. Which means that from the time I placed the gas nozzle back in its cradle, walked 20 feet to the store, paid for my gas, and walked out, I had completely forgotten which vehicle I drove to the gas station in, in the first place. I am not making this up.

Finally, just a day or two later, I returned home from work one day very, very tired. I was wearing one of my favorite outfits that day, black skirt, sweater, and tights. I was a size 8 then (see picture below) and looked pretty decent in my black skirt, sweater, and tights. Anyway, when I got inside, I started to undress to get in my sweatpants and noticed that a truck had pulled up to the house. I remembered then that I had promised to help Benjamin's scout leader, Kevin Mackey, take the entire scout troup on a nature walk at the local elementary school. Well, I thought, I'm just too tired to do this today and I'm sure Kevin will understand. So I walked out of the house, up the driveway to the street, and stood there at the truck full of all those pre-teen boy scouts. It wasn't until I leaned my arms on the open window of the cab and looked down at my feet that it dawned on me that I didn't have a skirt on anymore. I had my sweater on, my tights, and a nice, black, lacy slip. No skirt. I looked at Kevin and said (brilliant deduction, here) "Kevin, I don't have a skirt on." To which he replied, "Well, I wasn't going to say anything..."

SO--on Tuesday, when this whole miserable ordeal is hopefully and finally over, wish me luck. I would really hate to show up at work without my pants or wearing my bra outside my shirt....

Stand by...

I had every intention today of creating a lovely slideshow of the costumes and other outfits my mother sewed over the years and then cap off this post with a picture of Randy in his famous Grande Conejo costume, along with the story behind it...

Unfortunately, I have the attention span of a 2 year old today and after tearing apart a number of rooms trying to find the right pictures, I finally decided this is a task for a calmer brain than I possess at present. So, at this point, the only two rooms in this house that aren't completely trashed are Megan's room (only because she is not currently living in it) and Annike's old room. The rest of the house looks like a "before" picture in one of the decorating magazines that are stacked knee high in my bathroom. (Oh, don't you dare snicker at that, you know you keep magazines in your bathroom too...)

SO--until I have finished my thesis and can finally reclaim what's left of my tattered life, you'll just have to settle for the promised picture of Bryan and Jacey on Halloween, 2003. I hope they don't mind that I've posted it here--Jacey looks adorable anyway and as for Bryan...well, he just needs to be glad I don't have a picture of him in the Spiderman costume that he's been brave enough to wear recently at the birthday parties of several of his nephews. Complete with tights....

As for the thesis--remember, we're not discussing this out loud lest a meteor should strike my laptop or a rabid squirrel attack my purse and make off with my thumb drive, but I am almost...sheesh, I can't even WRITE it, much less THINK it...I am almost nearly close to approximately more or less ready to be maybe terminado. That's as close as I can get to writing it--I'm reasonably certain neither my laptop nor my thumb drive speak Spanish...

By the way, did you know that the word "finished" means completed and ruined? Please continue to keep all fingers and toes crossed (prayers, lighting candles and other appropriate religious expressions are also welcome....;-)

Ghostbusters, Patsy, and Ghouls...oh MY!!

Okay, I admit it, I LOVE Halloween. Maybe it's the fond memories I have of scoring several pounds of candy in an old pillowcase while wandering all over Canoga Park with my chums as a child, or maybe it's the even fonder memories I have of Halloweens spent with my own children, but I just love Halloween! And now it's even BETTER, cause I get to watch my completely adorable grandchildren dress up and extort their share of candy from the extraordinarily kind people who live in their neighborhood. That's Hailey and Nathan in the picture above, by the way, since I know you couldn't guess just by looking at them. Where's Connor? Well, he had a costume malfunction and decided he'd rather be Spiderman than a medieval knight, so his picture will come later in this post.

SO, it was quite a shock when I called to check on my other completely adorable grandbaby, Hannah, only to find that her FATHER had decided to blow Halloween off this year. OH. MY. GOSH. This is mutiny. This is violating the prime directive. This is just plain un-VerHoef. While Jacey and I attempted to guilt him into purchasing a last minute costume (hell, a $1.00 set of fairy wings at the dollar store is better than nothing), I started thinking about some of the costumes I made for my children when they were little and we were broke. This one is one of my favorites:
This is Annike in 1980--is she just the cutest thing you have EVER seen, or what? Randy and I were starving students and, as you can see, baby number two (Bryan) was on the way so this costume consisted of her pink footed sleeper, two pink construction paper ears attached with pink yarn, and a wad of cotton balls glued to her bum. Perfect! She cleaned up on candy that night (most of which her father ate "just to be sure it wasn't poisoned.")

Later on, after Bryan and BJ's arrival, we had more disposable income, but we lived in Spain where Halloween was only celebrated in our little American enclave and not only was it tough to find costumes, by that time I sort of enjoyed the challenge of pulling together a costume from whatever we had lying around the house at the time. If the kids objected, I don't remember them verbalizing it. Anyway, this is Halloween 1987:

Aren't they too cute?!!! "Superman" ended up wearing his sister's red tights, his own underpants, shirt, and rain boots. A piece of red fabric pinned to his shirt served as an excellent cape. The "Ghostbuster" was every bit as easy--black rain boots, gray pants and shirt, hand-drawn logo stuck to his shirt with fusible webbing, and a "trap" fashioned from a Velveeta cheese box. It just doesn't get any better than this! They scored SIGNIFICANT candy that year. (and yes, Dad ate the requisite "just to be sure it isn't poisoned" amount, but by this time, the kids were wiser. They hid most of it.)

Now, lest you think that Halloween's just for little kids, here's a few more pictures to prove you wrong. The first is of darling Megan, somewhere around 2001, with her BFF Stephanie Snell, dressed in matching fairy costumes handcrafted by my mother (who, incidentally, sewed some of the most beautiful costumes you've ever seen).

And that was he-who-must-not-be-named, who actually let MY youngest grandbaby go costume-less this Halloween. I don't have a date for this picture, but it's a classic. He was in high school at the time (or maybe just after) and if you're a Monty Python fan, you should have recognized Patsy instantly....

Oh, and since this is an equal opportunity embarassment blog for ALL my children, I should let you know that I have an EXCELLENT picture of Bryan and Jacey on their way to a Halloween party somewhere around 2003, in their best "Spy Who Shagged Me" costumes. Let's take a vote, shall we, in your comments, as to whether or not I should add it to this collection.....hehehe...

Ain't Halloween grand??!!!!

Sleep. Drive. Work. Drive. Write. Repeat.

Couldn't resist a brief update today, and along with it, a tiny peek into my world. The post title says it all, but the picture at the top of the page might help explain. (Note the bed that hasn't been made since August) What you cannot see are the dishes piled up in the sink, the overflowing trash cans, the clean laundry that never gets folded--just dumped on various pieces of furniture throughout the house, and the stacks of unopened mail on every horizontal surface between my laptop and the garage door.

BUT...and this is top secret...I think I might actually be making progress!!! Shhh--don't repeat that out loud. This is very important. It's sort of like when you get an unexpected financial windfall--a raise or a tax refund--you must NEVER, EVER discuss it in front of a major appliance or the car. They can hear you. This is why they enter into suicide pacts with each other whenever you have extra money.

It's the same with my thesis. If I say that I'm making progress out loud, all the files on my laptop and thumb drive will spontaneously corrupt and little kilobytes will start dribbling from my USB ports and I'll have to start over. So this is just between you and me: I met with my thesis committee chairman today and she LIKED Chapter 1!!! Not "it's good, but..." or "it's coming along..." or any of the other kind remarks that I just know she makes so that I won't slip into that catatonic stare again or start sucking my thumb. She said "IT'S GOOD! I LIKE IT!" What this means is the light at the end of the tunnel might actually be light and not an express train to the nut house.

SO. Once again--keep all fingers and toes crossed for me...but do it quietly...I think my laptop is listening....

I am thankful for laughter...except when milk comes out of my nose...

I must say, the response to my last post was extremely gratifying!! Thank you one and all for your comments, your giggles, and your expressions of concern--they meant more than you can imagine! Unfortunately, it wasn't until the week after I wrote that post that things really went down the crapper. It has to do with both the thesis (which I spent four hours on and managed to revise five pages---I have 70 more to go, so you do the math...) AND the fact that I'm digitizing old family videos. This means I'm watching my life (when I had one) all over again and missing my sweetheart and my babies so much I can hardly breathe.

SO. When I went in to work on Tuesday, God must have had me in mind. On the breakroom table was this cartoon:

I could NOT stop laughing! I know it's a really dumb cartoon and not anywhere near the best that Gary Larson can produce, but it did the trick. So tonight, I've changed the blog title picture to one of my favorites. That's my grandbaby Connor, running through my backyard, trying hard to avoid getting pelted with giant marshmallows expertly fired from slingshots manned by his big brother and sister (AND his Mom and Dad--note the little white objects on the lawn behind him--more missed shots...) and having a blast!

THAT day was a really good day and truth be told, I have lots and lots of them. I just needed to put things in perspective.

Enjoy the music!

p.s. I did leave "Masochism Tango" in the playlist. After all, I've still got 70 pages of thesis to revise...

So near and yet so far...

Many of my lovely family and friends have followed my...shall we say...colorful progress toward securing my master's degree in history from the University of West Georgia. On the whole, the process has been a delight. I have loved every class, enjoyed every teacher, soaked up every experience, and performed every assignment required of me. My work has, apparently, been pretty decent. I don't like to brag, but I managed to pull off a perfect 4.0 GPA throughout my entire 36 hours (12 classes) of graduate coursework. The only thing standing between me and that coveted diploma is my thesis. It's just a paper. A 75+ page paper. A thoroughly researched, scholarly written, meticulously footnoted, professor-scrutinized, repeatedly revised, never ending PAIN IN THE ASS paper!

I am reminded of one of Randy's experiences in AOCS. When Gunny Buck wished to drive home a point to his hapless charges, he frequently did so with pushups. He would cheerfully announce that the squadron would be doing, say, 20 pushups. Heartened, the guys would drop down and get started. Just 20. No biggie. Gunny Buck would then begin the count: 1...2...3...3...3...3...3...3...3...3...3...4...5...6...6...6...6...6...6...6...6...6...6...6...6...6...well, you get the picture.

It also reminds me of giving birth to a first child. Somewhere in the 15th hour of labor, when your husband's loving encouragement just makes you want to run him over with the car, the thought begins to creep into the back of your consciousness....what if I'm the first woman to ever be in labor for a year? A decade? The rest of my life? Sure, it's never happened before, but what if it happens to ME?

This is the point I have reached with my thesis. This is the reason for the photo at the top of this blog (note the aspirin, kleenex, and CHOCOLATE). This is the reason for the particular song that's playing. This is the reason for the hammer in the "current pages of my thesis" graphic above. It somehow seems an appropriate symbol for this stage of the process. Imagine hitting your thumb with a hammer while driving a nail in place. Now imagine hitting it over and over and over and over and....well, you know what I mean. I've managed to cough up 60 pages of this interesting, little known story that I'm trying to tell. This is good. But it's not good enough. It needs revising. And revising. And revising. And revising....it's the process of turning this interesting, little known story into a valid addition to an already impressive body of historical knowledge that makes me want to slit my wrists with a spoon.

So, dear friends and family--keep all fingers and toes crossed that I'm up to the task. And if, by some miracle, I do manage to pull this thing out of my...head--and get it turned in in time for December graduation, be advised that I'm going to do something spectacular to pat myself on the back. This will NOT be a "dinner out and retail therapy" event--this is going to be a "check something off the bucket list" event.....Hawaii anyone???