We're probably on the Mississippi Most Wanted list by now...

Sort of like a debriefing after a dangerous and harrowing mission - which these past couple of weeks have totally been.... um, here's the news.  And you may need a snack to get through it.  Y'all, would anyone like to dress up as me for Halloween and take my place for just a day?  I'll pay you a million dollars.  In Monopoly money.  

First, my benefits battle update, as many of you have already heard, ... I lost this round with the City of Dallas, and tried to handle it as gracefully and graciously as possible given my super sized level of discomfort and disagreement with the outcome.  But I am nothing if not a lady, so I expressed myself through letter writing to every City Council person, may or may not have called them all big babies, and invited them for another round of back and forth for the next budget year.  It's already on my calendar.  

And seriously, Fox 4 news was outside my door before I even got home from work last Friday - which isn't my best look if you know what I'm talking about - but when opportunity knocks for publicity of a cause, Girl's gotta act fast.  So I invited them in, asked them not to film my pile of trash and recycling by the back door - or my awful burn that won't heal on my left hand and looks like a disease, took the sweaty pony tail holder outta the hair... and prayed to Jesus that his words would win over my own.  And a big thank you God for good editing, as I heard it turned out sounding not totally bitter and angry.   But next time I want to change clothes first.  

But the reporter's question that I keep going over again and again in my mind is this one..... If the City Manager has already made it clear that no change, if any, will be retroactive - meaning, even if I were to ever affect a change in any form ...  and that there's a good chance I'll still be sitting in the sad chair with no promise of ever getting up  - then why do I care?  And God help us all as we, on so many levels every. dang. day. have to answer that question in this selfish culture we now call our own.  If it won't help us, then why should we care?  Because y'all, it's just the right thing to do.  Simple as that.  And as I told the reporter, even if it never helps me - which please please please -  I'm begging for it to help me - this pathetic issue will most certainly affect another unsuspecting widow at some point and if I can do anything to stop that from happening, sign me up.  

And on the home front.... Rita the Dog is still old.  And her arthritis looks a whole lot like my Zumba hip after a long day's work - but I am proud to announce that, unlike Rita, I can absolutely potty all by myself and do not require any assistance with form or function.  She does, however, and in the middle of a very arthritic night  - recently sat in her own poop.  This blog has now reached an all time low with this story and I am sorry.  And Kid 2, trying to save us all from what he knows would make the situation even worse should he wake me to help - cleaned her up outside the best he could, cleaned the floors as best he could, and then tried to mask the smell with coffee grounds.  But not the open the coffee and sit it nearby in the stinky room sort of air freshener, but the how about I pour the grounds all over the hard wood floors method.  

And I woke up the next morning wondering if he took the coffee pot into his room and left it on all night.... but sadly, no.  But I applaud him for his 2am creativity, questionable as it may have been.  And I continue to tell each of the boys to prepare for the day when I will not be here to handle, help or fix life for them... and this was a small step in that direction - if you turn your head just a little to the left, squint your eyes, and look at it with a hopeful eye.  


Y'all, true story:  I've only dreamed of Fireman Dave twice in all these months.  The first time was nice.  Till it wasn't.  But it felt so real.   And last week I dreamed that I called what I am thinking may or may not have been Heaven?  And Fireman Dave was working the switchboard and answered.  And I swear it was his real voice that I haven't been able to conjure up no matter how hard I've tried in all this time... and know what he said?  ...

He told me I had the wrong time for the party.  Seriously, hold my purse, y'all.  I'm goin' in.  

And I told him he was completely wrong about that - mostly about the party part ... as this life here?  It aint no party, my friend, and you better quit while you're ahead.  He heeded my dream advice, knowing me well enough to trust my words as full truth..... and he was gone.  Again.  

I moved a few things into his closet this weekend.  Left all of his stuff right where it is, so my dresses are gonna totally smell like fire station, but that's not a terrible thing.  Reminds me of love, and home and all the good stuff.   I doubt he'll mind.  

And then I took these new pics for the blog.. which I will only show here because this page is mine and I want the world to know that I really do have good hair.  




I took my hair down at the gym the other day, actually brushed it, and a lady just about exclaimed full joy about it.  I was perplexed, but remembered that most people just see me sweaty and never have any clue that I don't always look like the bride of Frankenstein. Maybe that's not the best way to catch a new man, but  .... it worked the first time.  

And then we went to Mississippi.... Oh, Jackson, Mississippi, how I am learning to love you... and I look at real estate listings on every visit - thinking maybe a big ol' move will just remove all the mess here in Dallas.  But then I wake up and remember that I still have some stuff to wrap up here.... and hopefully time will help me figure out the next step.    Or someone smarter, wiser and more level headed than I please just tell me what to do.  I'm listening. 





And I shared a picture or two on Facebook because everyone always likes to see the Walters not looking sad.  But you know and I know that every single picture tells another story... and I'm just the girl to share it.  It was a short, fast trip, telling everyone that I think we spent more time driving than we did awake in Mississippi.  We just went for the football game and for me to get a little hug from Kid 1, maybe the cute coach while I'm at it, and then back early the next morning.  It almost killed me. 

I actually think it fun when my car gives me messages and tells me to keep my hands on the wheel.  And sometimes it even invites me out for a mid-drive coffee break.  But trust that I needed a whole lot more than caffeine by the time that trip finally ended.  Ask the boys.  Ask the friend who witnessed my mom meltdown moment.  By the time we arrived in Jackson, after 6+ hours of listening to Kids 2 & 3 randomly break into British accents, call each other fat, and talk about how one or the other always dresses like an old man, well, Mama had just about had it.  Add some enclosed car boy smells, jumping on hotel beds and driver's exhastion and it was what it was.    And when each boy wore the opposing team's colors - on purpose - I walked to the stadium and imposed a mom restraining order against them until further notice.  Do not look at me, Do not talk to me.  Do not make a sound if you are within 50 feet of me.  Do not act like you know me or that I know you.   Caring and loving mother stuff like that.  They disappeared for a bit, showed up again later  - both wearing newly purchased and proper team colors from the campus bookstore.  They chose the most expensive ones.  

Kid 2 acted like an arse for about 80% of the game.  Kid 3 equalled that amount if not exceeding it.  And I almost lost my mind at the man sitting behind me in the stands who had the whistle of death at a constant 2 minute interval.  Worse than labor - and I've labored and birthed 3 times so definitely an expert.  It was pretty much a weapon of war -  and by that point I had consumed diet coke and pseudoephedrine in unrecommended doses for a headache that could've made me violent had there not been witnesses.  And then I cried, considered alcohol and gave up on motherhood for the 1000th time.  And I thought how dysfunctional this family has become minus our center.  Minus our person that could calm the beast and bring out the best in us all.  Y'all, that's what's really happening in these pictures.  Yes.  I love them.  I loved being there.  I loved hugging my kid for the first time in weeks.  But I feel the difference.  And that... I'm not sure will ever be the way it was.  

But always, ... if I just give it enough time,  finally eat something to go along with my headache remedy overdose, and watch  my boys in action.... I'll remember why I love them enough to try one more time.  The following story is for your eyes only... please do not report the Walters to the police or the credit card company.  Thank you and God bless.

We stayed in a local Jackson hotel - let's go with classic -  possibly,  legendary.  Think back to the old family vacations of your youth when you'd pull the station wagon up the Holiday Inn, get out, wonder if the pool would be clean or green, go into your floral bedspread/ generic over the bed landscape painting room, and fight over who gets to use the bathroom first.  Yep.  That was our hotel.  It practically sits on campus and so easily walkable to the stadium so we chose adventure and convenience over the Hilton.  Dear Hilton, I still love you.  

 The old wall unit air conditioner wasn't quite winning against the Mississippi heat that night, so we called the desk and asked for a different room.   However, not knowing our innate and oh-so-natural sneaky streak, they gave us new keys to the room across the hall - but didn't take the old ones.  So when deciding the sleeping arrangements between 3 giant boys plus one very agitated mom and only  two double beds as resources, Kids 1 and 2 decided to go for the hot room and hope no one noticed.  Y'all, someone noticed - when at approximately 7AM the housekeeper went into the reportedly empty room to find one totally naked football player and a shocked accomplice in his boxers.  And within seconds as my and Kid 3's door sounded like it was being broken into by the Jackson Strangler, I wandered to the door in the dark to find my angels running from the law and trying to pull up their pants.  I now know that the Walters boys can get out of a burning building or any other host of  unpleasant situations without stress or warning.  I am very proud.  

And when the front desk called to investigate, Kid 3 took charge of that one and may or may not have caused even more suspicion over our family's character.  End of story?  We went down to the basement, exited the back door into the parking lot and made our great escape without being spotted by the front desk.  

We're probably on the Mississippi Most Wanted list by now... but only if the housekeeper can identify a naked 19 year old and his boxer shorted brother.  

post script: Y'all, this week I am asking for your prayers and encouragement.  I don't do that a lot, but this time, yes.  Please.  I've had a few dark days of late.  None blog worthy, as there's not much more to it than that.  But I'm stepping out on courage to ask, and faith that it will be delivered.  

Love to you,  Kristi

  1. Thanks for the laughs, and you got it! Prayers always!!

    ReplyDelete

Love your comments. Leave Your comments.

Designed by FlexyCreatives