Mrs. CPA

My favorite part of Easter

Blatantly STOLEN

I don't normally do Meme's because they make me think too hard, but I liked this one from Zoot and took it for my own nefarious purposes. You can do it too! *

The Meme of Us **

How long have you been together? *Since December 18, 1997. Which made this past December 10 YEARS. *

How long did you date? *As in how long before we were married? Forever. We didn't get married until April 2003. If you're an accountant and can't count like me, that's 6 years and a few months (I totally used my adding machine for that) *

How old is he? *He will be 32 this year.*

Who eats more? *He does. And he eats standing up. Especially when we get something out, he puts it on a place and can't take it to sit down until he takes a bite of it. Like it's going to disappear before he gets it to the table. *

Who said 'I love you' first? *I did. But he doesn't remember because he was totally shit faced drunk after his senior finals in May. He had just thrown up all over a friend's couch. And it was the first of several times I have had to clean up his vomit. '*Swoon**'* true love…* *
*Who is taller?* Me. By about 4 or 5 inches. *

Who is smarter? *I think we're pretty equally matched in the brain department. Now, how we choose to use that knowledge is completely different. His is all jumbled up with math, and engineering, how to build THINGS, how many times he's checked to see if the front door is locked and computer gunk. Mine is filled with whether black and navy blue go together, what the percentage is for the medical deduction on Schedule A, what states require a full copy of your consolidated federal return to be attached, how many pairs of shoes I have in the closet, and every Doctors appointment for the next three months. *

Who does the laundry? *He does. Dried clothes make my hands feel funny, and the only thing I ever really fold is sheets, because he's too short to get them high enough to fold effectively.*

Who does the dishes? *He does. Because I'm lazy and he likes them a certain way and I could really care less. I don't load the dishwasher all that often. Nor do I unload it. I have a good husband. Seriously. * *
*Who sleeps on the right side of the bed?*

Me. I switched when we moved to Arkansas. It think it had something to do with not having a lamp and using the closet light to read from and that was on the right side. * *
** *Who pays the bills?*

I know, I know, I'm a CPA, but he does it. I would get so wrapped up in all the other things we had going on, that I would forget how much money we had and end up spending too much and Tim would get mad, so I gave it all to him. That way, we aren't overdrawn, and I just get a bunch of cash at the beginning of the month and that's it. He has some complicated method of downloading transactions from the bank and this weird spreadsheet, but it's been working for us so far. *

Who mows the lawn? *Since we have had a yard to mow, starting in Birmingham, I have only done this once. He uses one of those reel mowers and it's hard to push, he likes it done a certain way, and I'm allergic to everything outside. So he does it. *

Who cooks dinner? *Me or we eat out, which I also go and get because he doesn't know how to order food. *

Who is more stubborn? *Since I'm the one who always seems to capitulate, I guess it would be him. But he's not stubborn about a lot of things. *

Who kissed who first? *I think that would be me. We were at a party and my friend Angela was trying to kiss him, and I grabbed her ear and pulled her off him. We've been inseparable ever since that party - Andy Parrish's winter final's blowout. A few days later he came and stayed at our house the rest of Christmas break. And we managed to carry on a long distance relationship for 2+ years. So, yes, I am a good kisser. *

Who asked who out? *See above question. There was no "asking." I jumped him. The end. *

Who proposed? *Him. While I was in my pajamas. He told me he was going to buy his first pool stick and came back with a ring. He told me he brought me something from the pool store and I thought it would be some dumb keychain or a sticker that made some pun about pool player's "sticks" or something. But it was an engagement ring. I was totally and completely surprised. *

Who is more sensitive? *Uh, neither of us really. I guess if I had to pick it would be me. Although any crying done at our son's birth or at our wedding was done by him. Not me. *

Who has more friends? *Him definitely. He's friends with everyone from the President of UAB and the man who started Delchamps grocery stores to the gas station guy and the lady who always takes his lunch order. It always infuriates me when we go through a drive through somewhere and he asks the order taker, "How are you?"

Go forth and Meme. I'd love to come and read your sappy love story.

Ya'll Tell Me if I'm Crazy

Last night, after I got home, and Tim got back from his run (!!) I decided to go out and get a haircut. I am really trying to let my hair grow out, but it needs to be all one length and the bottom layers get out of hand and the whole thing quickly starts looking like shit, and so I go and get it trimmed. If you've forgotten (and how could you, when I remind you every 12.6 seconds??), I'm going to be pregnant all summer and the thought of not being able to put my hair in a ponytail, no matter how disastrous, strikes fear in my heart and causes my temperature to rise a little bit. Also, I remember the low pigtails as the ultimate birthing/pushing hairstyle. No nasty rat in the back of your head, hair out of your face, and if you tried a regular ponytail, it would hurt the back of your head. Anyway, I'm trying to make my hair not look too bad and thought I'd go and get it trimmed at one of those walk in places because they really can't mess up my mop.

And I know what you're thinking, and, no, I didn't get a horrible haircut, that's not the point of the story.

When I got there, a few people were already waiting, and I pulled out my book and began to read, happy for the down time. A few minutes later a mother walked in with her small son who was carrying a Curious George doll. She approached the counter and asked how long the wait was and was told about 30-40 minutes. "Well, I don't know if you want an ADHD 2-year old running around for that long!" was her quick response. Then she proceeded to try and make the boy sit on the bench while she poured his McDonalds Apple Juice into a cup and handed him some french fries. Ordering him to do so. One of the stylists offered that there were toys at the end of the bench by the TV. The mother's response was, " He's ADHD, toys won't do any good!"

Then the little boy proceeded to act like a two-year-old. He didn't want to sit still; he wanted to play with the hair products on the wall. He wanted to lay on the bottom row and look at himself in the mirror. He wanted to lay down behind the shampoo bottles. And the mother got progressively more and more put out with him. She tired to make him sit on the bench and he didn't want to. If he dropped a french fry, she threw it out the door and said it was "Gone! Trash!" Then when he knocked something over she tried to hold him on her lap. And he screamed and kicked about it. She let him get a toy and he played with it for a few minutes but then the draw of the colorful hair care stuff was too much and he was right back over there.

The little boy had the most impish grin and would look at me occasionally and I would always offer a smile. The mother SPANKED HIM, once holding him by one arm and once with him face down on the bench after dragging him from the merchandise and two other times. My heart just broke. I almost got up and left. It wasn't the little boy, it was the MOTHER who was the problem. I seriously considered asking them to take my name off the list, and on my way out just saying, "Don't hit your kid."

I can't help but think about what this child is going to remember about his childhood. He mother automatically brands him with an ADHD label to strangers. Immediately taking the blame off her if he acts up. He'll constantly be saddled with that label and eventually he'll start to believe that he can't be anything but bad. She spanks him, in public, for BEING A KID.

Look, this is not some condemnation of all parents everywhere who spank their children. I know some people do it and feel very strongly about the effectiveness of using it as part of disciplining their children. But to have it used in such a nonchalant fashion, as a first resort to any minor infraction, just huts my heart and brings tears to my eyes.

Can a 2-year-old actually have this as a medical diagnosis? I'm not a big fan of the ADHD diagnosis anyway, but even then I don't think you can diagnose a two-year-old with ADHD.

Maybe she was having a bad day. Maybe I'm overly sensitive about kids these days. Maybe he really is a holy terror and needs to be constantly rode herd over. But I didn't see it in the hour I was there. And when he got in the chair to have his haircut, he acted very good. Sitting still and not wiggling. The stylist did not have to say one unkind word or reprimand to him the entire time.

So go ahead, blast me for being judgmental. Although I have to say I'm not being judgmental about how the child was acting, blaming the parents for his behavior. I was disgusted with the mother's behavior. To the point of almost getting up and leaving. But then I also thought that would validate her because she would think I was reacting to the little boy's behavior not her abhorrent actions. So I sat there in silence and offered that little boy the only encouragement I knew, a friendly smile.

Would you have done anything differently? Do you think I need to mind my own business? Or do you think I should have said something, done something? Because basically I was furious by the time I left.

Contains Some Stuff That is (Possibly) Important

Apparently, it has to be all or nothing around here. Two or three posts in one week, and then nothing. Not even the obligatory Valentine's Day post about whether I believe in the holiday or not and/or what were doing for it.

So, yes, I believe in Valentine's Day, Tim (for God sake people, I can't even remember my own name anymore, I'm tired of nicknames) got me a thoughtful gift of three small picture frames with pictures of my furry children and a large picture frame with a picture of Tim and Hudson (again, tired.) in it. I got him a new pair of blue jeans, a shirt and a matching shirt for Hudson. So he and his Daddy can be too cute for words, and possible made fun of on a regular basis or beat up on the playground. I told Tim they didn't have to wear them at the same time, but he said he WANTED to.

Tim was in the gift store, trying to find something for me, when the saleslady offered her assistance. She showed him an Alligator skin purse with a huge rhinestone clasp in the shape of a skull and crossbones. Is there ANYONE else in this world who would be a less appreciative recipient of that gift than me? Tim sort of laughed and told her it wasn't my style. Ha! He thinks I have a "style!"

For our lovely dinner I made a pork loin. One of those Hormel kind that are already seasoned, we love the peppercorn kind, I think it's the best, and my almost famous roasted potatoes, and wheat rolls. (Bonus points – everything was ready at the same time!) Which I could eat a whole bushel of. Tim did say how much he liked them and I told him that I would not be leaving the recipe for his next wife. He would have to forever pine for them. And for me.

Hudson has brought home some kind of pestilence from school, and Tim and I both have stopped up noses, and all the stuff that goes along with it. He can take something for it though, and I can not. Other than a healthy smear of vicks under my nose (sexay!) and some saline nose drops, I'm shit out of luck on the nose front. I seem to remember my nose being all crazy when I was pregnant with Hudson, and I could take Sudafed, but I think the first trimester rules have changed for some reason, so I suffer in (semi) silence.

I have made the trip down to Nan's for the past few weeks on Saturday afternoon and come home on Sunday afternoon adequately sated with a gas station corndog and burrito for breakfast, a full pocket from her paying me, and a very real appreciation for computers. Seriously, I bet none of you do many Schedule J's (income averaging for farmers) but those are a BITCH to do by hand. A computer could spit one out in 10 seconds, but at her house it takes an hour and a bunch of page flipping and swearing to refigure the tax liability for 2004-2007 again. And if the person had any qualified dividends – forget it – because you have to do that stupid qualified dividend worksheet for each year too, also by hand. And you have to do each Schedule J an average of 3 times. It's horrible.

I'm sort of tired of the Saturday trek, but I know she needs the help, this is her BUSINESS, and that 24 hours away from home is not going to kill me. I get to listen to a book in the car, and have an uninterrupted night of sleep. If you call getting up 4 times to pee, uninterrupted. I don't know if we're going to be able to continue this for the whole tax season, but it should be slowing down soon some and maybe I can skip a week. She's done a lot of stuff for me over the years, including driving up to my house when I was a teenager and got in trouble because my mother would call her, making sure I had Waffle House money in college, and purchasing my first "work" clothes, so I think I owe her a few weekends of my time.

I've made the reservations for Hudson's birthday party. We will be commencing on Chuck-E-Cheese on March 22nd. I know this is not his birthday weekend, but his Poppy will be out flying Fed-Ex packages all over the Midwest the previous weekend, and wouldn't be able to make it. So we are going to have it on Easter weekend. Birthday presents, a giant mouse, skee ball, dyed eggs, cake, candy, the Easter bunny and 5 children and 15 adults all jumbled in one weekend promises to make me (more) insane.

Today marks the first day I have worn some type of maternity item, in that I put on my crazy buckle on the side and weird zip up pants because the thought of putting on some of my regular pants this morning made me hyperventilate. The stomach is getting out of control. I was going to try and wait until the end of the moth, but apparently my body has other thoughts on the matter. I'm not going to be breaking out the full arsenal, but some things, you just have to go with it.

Tim is off today and has taken Hudson to the Children's museum for the morning. I am going to be meeting them for lunch at On the Border later. I ate lunch with Tim last Friday at some Chinese place, which was pretty good, except he made me wait too long before he was ready to go. He said "a few minutes" which to me means "somewhere between 1 and 15 minutes" and to him means, "before it gets dark." I finally had to call him again and tell him that his pregnant wife was about to go into convulsions if she did not get some real food soon and that he better drop what he was doing or she was going to eat without him.

I don't remember this overwhelming food urge, empty stomach making me gag, can't even mention the word "breakfast" when I'm seriously hungry without gagging deal with Hudson. I could still skip breakfast if I wanted to, and all that hooey about fasting before the gestational diabetes test was a walk in the park for me before. Now, if I don't have something to eat early, things do not go well. Unfortunately it means that I have been turning to the cafeteria all too often (every day) for breakfast because my usual Fiber One chocolate chip bar only lasts until about 10 am. And then I'm in pain until something actually opens for lunch. I need to get some yogurt or something, but that doesn't have quite the same ring to it as BACON.

Last night I was making our dinner of boiled shrimp and potatoes (the remainder of the bag from Valentines Day). While checking the potatoes to see if they were almost ready to have the shrimp dumped in on them, I managed to splash boiling water out onto myself, leaving two big red splotches on my stomach. Good parenting starts early! Splash boiling water on your child in utero to get a head start!

If you have to work like me, I hope it's a quiet day, and if you're at home enjoying your day off – **PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPBBBBBBBBBBBBBBTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!**

Maybe it Was Olive Garden?

Maybe it's the little alien. I am so tired, my eyes are all scratchy and red, and my head keeps traveling towards my desk as my eyes close. I can no longer form coherent thoughts. (On second thought, that may be a normal state of affairs.)

Since TP is in New Orleans until Friday I don't think I'll be going to bed too early tonight either. Do you think the daycare would notice if I didn't give Hud-Hud a bath tonight and just put him in the bed?

Everybody here is fine as far as the tornadoes go. We didn't have any severe weather, the lights went out for a minute when Hud-Hud was about to get in the bathtub, and he kept telling TP, "Daddy! Lights!" Thankfully they weren't off for long. I know there are a lot of people out there who didn't fare as well as we did, and their whole lives have been blown away with the wind. Please keep them in your prayers.

Hey, Good Lookin' What Ya Got Cookin'?

Everything looks good and on time, and happy and healthy.  You better stay in there kid.  I'm warning you...

Expected download date - September 17, 2008.  Hellllllllloooooooooo Tax deduction!

Conway Crimestopper

Did I ever tell you about the time that I (and my roommate) caught a robber? No? I didn't think I had.

In college I had two very good friends, Jessica & Angela. The Honors College had this AWESOME deal where they had specific dorms, wait, excuse me - residence halls, that were for Honors College students, where you shared a suite with someone else. No communal bathrooms, none of that four people squished into one room business. It was one of the selling points for this "Ivy league education at a bargain basement price" Right , Donna?

Anyway, in our freshman and sophomore years, Jessica, Angela & I had become very good friends, doing all kinds of stuff together, including the great water balloon fight of 1997, the rotten cheeseball incident of finals 96, and generally lovin' and leavin' 'em and becoming known as the wolfpack. (We were probably awful bitches to some people and if you find this looking for UCA Honors College Alumni, I'm really sorry if I wasn't nice to you. Except for Rebecca, ye of the no shoe wearing and standing on my PILLOW, not letting me smoke in my own room, eating my doughnuts and making me buy you pizza - with ham and pineapple, no less.)

So we always lived in the residence halls together. But our junior year there was a new new residence hall opened for us to live in and we decided that if we could, we would all live together. Glenda, the most marvelous secretary/assistant/minor deity who can move heaven and earth for a person, got us the super sweet apartment in the new place that they usually rented out to visitors for conferences or whatever. It had a kitchen with a stove, full size refrigerator and a microwave, a giant living room, a bedroom and a bathroom. And one closet. Jessica's mom worked for Wal-Mart and she was in China or South Korea at the time and had been for several years, and this was pretty much Jessica's only space that was hers. Angela and I both had homes to go back to, but after the end of the year, Jessica went to stay with her mom overseas the entire summer break. So imagine three girls, one of which has to keep all of her worldly possessions with her at all times, and all the related paraphernalia that goes along with the three of us in one small apartment. Computers, desks, televisions, CLOTHES, makeup, towels, bed sheets, books, posters, three beds, etc. That place was PACKED with stuff.

We had our ups and downs certainly, but it all seemed to work out, we enjoyed the kitchen immensely as did all of our friends, and we could fill up the fridge will all kinds of stuff and we even had a little pantry. I'm sure the other residents were not happy about that time we cooked up a big ol mess of shrimp, but at least it was the weekend.

At the end of each school year, you have to move all your stuff out, even if you are staying in the exact same room the next year. Since there would be full use of this residence hall the next year, not just the third floor, the use of the apartment was no longer an option and we decided that Jessica and I would live together and Angela would live with someone else. Each summer, we rented a storage building in town to keep all of our "dorm room" stuff in so that we didn't have to lug it all home. It was always the same place each year, and we split the cost and then let various people put other stuff in there as space permitted.

You are required to be out of your room 24 hours after your last final unless you ask for permission from your hall director. Normally this was just a formality; if you did any amount of studying and had any amount of material possessions, it would take you at least a day to sleep off the studying and a day to clean-up, pack your stuff and get out. Two days was probably a better estimate, unless your parents came and helped you, and ours didn't. Hall directors knew this and pretty much gave blanket yes's. We requested a longer time to move out, Friday afternoon to be exact, and for some reason we had a jackass of a hall director that year and he denied our request – AT 6 PM ON THURSDAY. There's a fee if you aren't out on time, so of course we stayed up half the night trying to get all of our crap together. (The next year, I went and complained to the director of housing about the fee we were being charged and she took it off our fee schedule, so we didn't even have to pay it. So – joke's on you KEVIN.) Angela had all of her stuff out, but Jessica and I didn't, and by the time we were almost finished, all that was left was a wooden desk chair and we were just too damn tired to make that one last trip to the storage building.

The next day was graduation and we had a couple of friends who were in the morning graduation, so we were all going to spend the night at Angela's house. Then we would head up to Conway the next morning, pick up that chair, go by and see Miss Elizabeth for a haircut for Jessica, then graduation and home, or to the airport in Jessica's case. We finally made it to Angela's after dark and Jessica and I took showers and fell onto the pallet Angela had made for us. Hair still wet, exhausted. We were going to see Miss Elizabeth after all.

The next morning, we got ourselves all ready and ran by our room and got the chair, put it in Jessica's Accord and took off for the storage building.

When we got there and turned down our aisle, there was a black Jeep Cherokee parked in the vicinity of our building. I said ,"Look Jessica, it's our neighbor!" As we got closer, she said, "No, Kelly, that's OUR stuff!"

I jumped out of the car and ran up to the open door and saw a man in our building. I asked him what he was doing. My first thought was that there was some problem with our rental and it had gotten lost or messed up and the storage building people were trying to take our stuff out, and I was PISSED. The man tried to tell us that some "white guy named Jimmy" had paid him $50 to get the stuff out of this building. Of all things, he tried to insinuate that we would have an ex-boyfriend who would hang out at a Laundromat and solicit people to go and clear out ex-girlfriends' storage building for kicks. That was the ultimate insult. It was probably our hair that led hime tp believe we were such ladies. I was getting madder and madder by the minute, so I decided to go and confront the management people. I stormed over to the office, where someone was supposed to live on site, to protect our prized possessions, but of course, no one was home.

The next thing I hear is an engine coming around the corner and I turn around and it's the black jeep. And I STEPPED IN FRONT OF THE ONCOMING VEHICLE TO STOP HIM. This was sheer brilliance, but I was determined to get to the bottom of this and I still didn't realize that this man was trying to rob us blind. I was really trying to believe his story, the gullible soul that I am. So, he actually stops, or this would be a pancake writing this. I guess stealing was ok on his moral compass, but running down an obviously irate, 6ft tall, crazy haired co-ed was too much. He tells me that he is going to go and talk to this "Jimmy" person and we can follow in our car, and I tell him I am going with him. I ACTUALLY OFFERED TO GET IN A ROBBER'S CAR. He must have taken pity on my stupid self and could not even deal with this any more and takes off. I am in sandals and a dress and start running after him down the street screaming and yelling.

And in rides the calvary. After I make it about 20 feet, a policeman pulls up to the stop sign at a cross street, and sees at me acting like Britany Spears on a bender. I didn't even give him a chance to ask me what was wrong, I started yelling that a man in a black and gold jeep cherokee is stealing all of our stuff and he went that way, pointing frantically. I have to give him some credit, he takes my word for it, turns on his lights, calls dispatch as he's making the corner, and takes off in hot pursuit.

I turn back to go see where Jessica is, and she says that while I was gone the guy told her he had some paperwork in his car, would she like to see it, and acts like he's going to get it and jumps in the car and takes off. She memorizes his license plate number because she doesn't know that I've seen the police. When more police show up, she says that she saw a bunch of the stuff in the car wasn't ours and then she saw bolt cutters, and knew he was lying, and he knew that she knew he was lying and took off. They advised us to go and get a new lock (always use one of those circle locks, Master locks are not any good for this.) which we do, and the onsite people are still not there. The police tell us we need to come down to the station; they've caught the guy. We need to identify our stuff, make a statement and then we can take our things back.

Now, we have been standing out in May heat for over an hour, chasing after robbers, and we look like stir-fried shit. Miss Elizabeth was going to fix it remember?

So we traipse off to the police station, just in time to see the paramedics rushing through the front door. The robber, who fled the vehicle when he realized he the gig was up and ran though a field and had to have a GUN DRAWN ON HIM, was having a seizure because of the exertion of running from the police. He was refusing medical treatment, too, like a dummy.

We wrote down our statements and examined all of the items. He took our TV, VCR, the fax machine, a box of dishes and a few other really odd things. He hadn't made it to the computers yet, and I guess the fact that the storage building was PACKED FULL was probably a deterrent.

Of course, there was no time for any grooming before graduation started after this debacle, so we figured we would get lost in the crowd and headed off to commencement. I looked up the incident in the Conway newspaper after we got back the following year and the police report didn't mention our heroic actions in saving everyone's old nintendo tapes from theft. It also didn't mention what happened to the robber, but I hope he spent some time in lock-up thinking about being caught be two giiiirrrrlllsss who didn't believe his bullshit story about Jimmy. And I hope he had nightmares about my hair.