Tunica

...is the Indian word for "Place Where White People Lose Money."

Dan and I spent the weekend in Tunica for an AFLAC Awards Banquet. I've never been to Tunica before and I doubt I'll ever go again unless the company is paying for it. Not that we had a bad time. On the contrary. I graded papers for the entire car ride so that I wouldn't have to worry about anything once we arrived so we could just relax and unwind. It was wonderful to get away and just spend time together without two little kids talking our ears off and hearing video game sound effects in the back ground constantly.

Except, wait. We DID have video game sound effects in the background--at the casino. The lights, sounds, and smoke just about drove me crazy. I'm just not a casino kind of girl. Luckily we didn't gamble any more than the casino bucks they gave us because, quite frankly, I suck at gambling. No, really. I couldn't even figure out the quarter slots. I would've done better just to flush my ten dollar coupon directly down the toilet and avoided the smoky, desperation-scented air in the casino. All that fake glamor and glitz is just not for me.

The free food, however, was very much my speed. Holy cow, did I ever ruin my diet this weekend. I could've spent five hours at the dessert table alone. We ate like kings. Well, kings with high cholesterol and hypertension, but still. Dan won $60 at the AFLAC Luck of the Draw game, and then another $11 at the slot machines. I enjoyed my free glass of wine and promptly lost my $10 free card in the stupid slots, prompting me to enjoy a second free glass of wine.

On the way back to Tennessee, we stopped at Outback for a (nearly) free lunch because we had a gift card. All in all we had a great (mostly) free weekend, didn't lose any of our own money, and are desperately UNready to go back to work tomorrow.

Thanks, mom, for watching the boys and the dog.

Our Little Celebrities

Our little super star got his picture in the paper yesterday. People at school were asking for his autograph. :-) He was pretty excited to see himself in the paper, but he was a little embarrassed by all the attention.


Not to be outdone by his little brother, Twelve got his picture in the paper this week too--online, not print. So here's a picture of Twelve at his middle school chorus Veteran's Day concert. He's the one on the front row directly between the two microphones. In this one he's the third kid from the right. Doesn't he look delighted to be there??

He's...So Very Twelve.

Pleurisy? Seriously?

Okay, so I figured out why I've been having trouble running. My legs didn't hurt at all, but I kept feeling like there was an elephant sitting on my chest. Well, as it turns out, there was. And his name is pleurisy.

I've been having sharp, shooting pains in my right side for about a week now--ever since I started trying to be a runner. See, I TOLD YOU running would be the death of me!

Last night the pain radiated to my shoulder blades and hurt every time I took a breath. As you can imagine, it was pretty hard to sing while unable to breathe last night. Late last night my left, lower back started to hurt too. I couldn't find a comfortable position, no matter how I moved. It felt like a fish hook was pulling my chest every time I breathed. I took two Aleve and didn't get any relief at all. My sister in law is in town and she's a nurse at the Cleveland Clinic. She said my symptoms sounded like pleurisy and encouraged (read: forced) me to go to the ER today. Good thing I had the sense enough to marry a man with a genius for a sister. I haven't had any other respiratory symptoms, so I thought she was crazy. I thought it sounded like a gallbladder attack. Boy, was I wrong.

After an ultrasound, an EKG, chest X-rays, an IV, blood tests, urine tests, and a thorough exam, the ER doctor said I have pleurisy. "Really?" I said. "Isn't that something old people get?"

He just looked at me. Pointedly.

I said, "Right. I'm 40. Got it."

They gave me an anti-inflammatory in my IV and a prescription for steroids and sent me home with instructions not to run for a few days.

Well, gee. That'll be a hardship, but I'll try my best to follow doctor's orders.

Super Star

Nine years ago on this date the world became a better place because Aaron Brewer was introduced into it. This child is one of the most amazing people I've ever met, of any age, and I'm supremely honored that God allows us to be his parents every day.

Tonight, rather than have a birthday party, Aaron volunteered to sing at a Sumner County Humane Society fundraiser called Puttin' on the Dog. Dan and I sang too, but Aaron was the true super star of the evening. I sang Etta James's "At Last" and Patsy Cline's "Crazy," then I joined Dan to harmonize on a few Beatles' songs. Dan sang one original song, "Until the Evening Rolls Around," several Beatles' songs, and Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here."

Super Star Aaron sang Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours" and Paul McCartney's "Calico Skies." He was absolutely amazing. Not only did he sing with absolute confidence--not a nervous bone in his body--he actually talked and introduced each song. What a showman! You'd think his last name was Osmond or Jackson. I'd show you a video my mom took, but there was a Red Hat lady right in front of her who kept moving her feathers into the picture. After the show, everyone came up to tell him what a great job he did. A lady from the local newspaper took his picture and got his information, so maybe it'll be in the paper this week.

Mom's friend's husband gave Aaron a ten dollar "tip," making this his first paying gig. As we walked around looking at all the silent auction stuff, another lady came up, gushing, to tell Aaron what a good job he did. She said something like, "I sure would like to hear you sing again sometime." In classic Aaron form, he responded with, "Well, I'll be singing in the Nannie Berry talent show this spring. Maybe you could come see me then." Love. That. Kid. I felt like telling her to check his website for his tour dates. Tickets available at Ticketmaster.

Not to be outdone in the great kid department, Ryan opted to stay home because, even though he also has a great voice too, he is very TWELVE and does not want to sing in front of a bunch of strangers. He stayed home with Dan's sister, Cathy, who is in town for the weekend. Together they decorated the house with signs and stuffed animals (Ryan said they were party animals), and threw him a surprise party when we got home. He included a secret code with instructions directing Aaron to come upstairs to the party.

They baked him a cake and decorated it with his name and some psychedelic, tie-dye-looking sugar crystals. Yes, I caved and had some cake. Hey, it's not every day my boy turns nine!

I have the two best boys in the whole world. This will be my last year to have a single-digit-aged child. Gosh, I wish I could freeze time and keep them this age forever, but then I wouldn't get to see the fantastic teens and men they're going to be.

In Case You Were Wondering...

I still hate running. Just thought you should know that hasn't changed. I went out with the pretty young things again on Monday after school and gave up after one short lap. I've come to the realization that I'm old. Plus, I felt like there was an elephant sitting on my chest this week, which certainly curtails any running that I might've struggled with even with healthy lungs.

I ran about half a mile with the dog once I got home Monday night, but I was breathing so hard that I was worried one of my elderly neighbors would hear me and come racing out with her oxygen and her walker to help me get back home. I ran again Tuesday morning, just under half a mile, but I did not enjoy it. Not even a little bit.

Another PYT at school who kinda sorta wants to exercise but doesn't want to run or break a sweat or have to work very hard is going to be my "running buddy." I put it in quotes because that's what we're calling each other even though we're both pretty certain that there will be no actual running taking place.

I might have found my perfect "running buddy" after all.

End of an Era

This was a bittersweet Halloween for the Brewer Boys and their mom. For the first time in about seven or eight years, we didn't have ready-made plans for Halloween. This was the first time we looked at each other and said, "What do we want to do for Halloween?"

Because, see, up to this point we've always gone trick-or-treating with the Gafford Girls across the street. The moms are BFFs, so the kids are destined to play together. Luckily, the five kids all like each other, so it works for us. In previous years, we always waited until it got dark, walked across the street, and started out together stocking up on enough sugar to keep a dentist in business for life. There was no discussion, no "are we on for 10/31?," no question. It was a given that we'd go door-to-door with them.

Last year, since Halloween was on Friday, we drove from H'ville back down to Smyrna (where we still owned a house) and continued the tradition. This year we sold our house in May, so we knew things would be different. Sure, we could've driven back to Smyrna and continued the tradition, but Dan and I decided the kids needed to do something with their friends up here. We just didn't know what.

Ryan decided that he's too old for trick-or-treating, so he didn't even buy a costume this year. He wore an old alien mask with black sweats just long enough for his free kids' meal. We went to Zaxby's for free kids' meals, even though Ryan is technically two years too old for their kids' meals. But since the child doesn't eat and I'm on a diet, we managed to split his kids' meal with a couple of fries left over.



Lily dressed up as Pocahontas--for about five minutes, until she started chewing the costume off and looking up at me with a completely humiliated expression on her face, and periodically glancing at the window as if to say, "I sincerely hope the cat can't see me in this, because if she can, I've completely lost all street cred as a big dog." Aaron declared his costume "the best one ever" and enjoyed wearing it at every possible opportunity all week long. He was Optimus Prime.











Then we went to the Brassell's house because, as a paranormal investigator, this is Denise's penultimate national holiday. Their front yard is the coolest Halloween celebration I've ever seen. Plus, they were celebrating their grandbaby's first birthday (naturally it's on Halloween), so they had even more decorations up than normal.

Then, because he's too old for this business now, Ryan stayed home with his dad to hand out candy. Problem is, there are NO trick-or-treaters in our neighborhood. None. A few houses sat there with their lights on, looking all bright and hopeful, but there were no little goblins running around. Despite the fact that Dan bought four bags of candy, we didn't even bother turning our porch lights on. It was just too sad to hope that someone would show up. The big boys stayed in the man cave and played Wii games while Aaron and I set out on our journey.

We drove over to the neighborhood across the street from our school. It's like our old neighborhood: self-contained, lots of kids, houses close together for maximum candy collecting. The biggest difference between this one and our old neighborhood? These houses are built around a pond with a fountain in the middle, have sidewalks everywhere, and start at about half a million dollars. Minor difference, really.

So Aaron and I walked from house to house, alone, just the two of us saying "trick-or-treat" in a very lukewarm voice. We ran into a few kids that I know from school, but Aaron didn't see anybody he knows. He enjoyed himself, but I was very lonely. No Grace to talk to, no girls chattering, no Ryan to fuss at to get out of the middle of the road. Sigh. After a couple of streets, Aaron decided that he was cold and ready to go home. I couldn't help but think, "I missed going to a grown-up party and bonfire for this?"

Next year I'll have to plan ahead of time to have Aaron meet up with some of his friends. Ryan will probably be at some kind of middle school party. Or maybe he'll still be sitting in the basement playing video games--his default position, no matter what the occasion.

No matter what we do from here on out, I'll always remember this Halloween as the end of an era.

Running...

...and other medieval forms of torture.

I ran Friday.

For my friends in Smyrna who know me best, I'm giving you a minute to pick yourselves up off the floor, get a tissue to dry the laughing tears from your eyes, and let your breathing return to normal before you start reading again. Better? Okay. Let's continue.

I ran Friday.

Okay, Smyrna girls. That's enough laughing. Pull yourselves together now. There are other people trying to read this.

So I ran. I know I've always said that there's no way I'd run unless there was a big dog chasing me. Well, this big dog is named Kathleen and I was chasing her, trying to keep up. See, I was foolish enough to mention that I'd reached a plateau in the Biggest Loser contest at work. For the past four weeks, I've only lost half a pound a week. I've only been dieting and not exercising because I've been so busy. Kathleen was trying to organize a group of teachers to participate in a "Fun Run" after school several days a week. I commented that there was nothing at all "fun" about running. She encouraged me to give it a try before I passed judgment. I called her a crazy fool, and it went downhill from there.

Long story short, she said that the more people we got to participate, the more likely each of us would be to find a running partner on her own level--someone to match pace with us and keep us company while the others sped off toward the Boston marathon. Since I'm one of the oldest teachers on our faculty, I knew this would not be the case for me. The assisted living facility is a little further down the street--that's the only place I'd find a running buddy. But, I brought some workout clothes to school on Friday and prayed for rain all day. Naturally, the rain didn't come until later, ruining my kids' Trunk or Treat, but not early enough to ruin my run.

I bravely set out with the skinny, 20-something teachers and immediately realized my mistake: I'd forgotten a sports bra. The main reason I hate to run is because of the bouncing. Not that I have much to bounce, but it's damned uncomfortable anyway. I hung back and tried to set a comfortable pace. I realized at once that I'd found my running budding: my teaching partner's nine-year-old daughter who was panting, whining, and asking if we could stop now. I fit right in with my gasping, moaning, and begging. We were soul mates.

At least until we completed the first loop around the neighborhood and the girl's mom took pity on her and allowed her to stop there. Not so with me. Those young, thin beeyotches made me keep going, although they did slow down when I reminded them that we'd had a class party about an hour before and, unless they wanted to see some of the "Swamp Water" punch I'd drunk making a return trip, they'd better slow the frick down. They walked a little while to let the punch settle in my stomach, then took off running again. I politely told them all to F-off while dragging behind them, trying not to hurl in the neighbor's yards. I have students who live on those streets, so I didn't want it to get back to school on Monday that Mrs. Brewer blew Halloween Party chunks in their front yard.

Cut to the chase (which is what I did--chase the other teachers) all the way back to the school. I mapped the distance we ran on mapmyrun.com: 2.87 miles. I survived, but just barely. The other teachers all congratulated me on not fainting, stroking out, or barfing in the bushes, and I sweetly told them all to F-off again. No really, they told me I did a great job of keeping up with them, especially considering that I have no running experience whatsoever, other than being old enough to have powered my first car with my feet, Flintstone-style. They all told me not to give up, that it'll get easier each time I run, especially if I don't drink a gallon of Swamp Juice and eat a plate of M&Ms and Pigs in a Blanket right beforehand.

Oh, did I fail to mention the candy and Blanketed Piggies? Yeah, that's the real reason I ran. So I could eat a little junk food at the Fall Party. I tell you, the sacrifices I make for nitrates and sugar.

I might try running again--when those yummy piggies fly.