Thursday, October 26, 2006

Didgeri-doo Dah Didgeri-ay

Hear Thee, Hear Thee…

Once upon a time, like Tuesday, the Hendrick Family visited the realm of Plantersville and had a jolly ole’ time at the Texas Renaissance Festival

"What?" thou sayeth?

Pray thee don't tell me the Parent Hendricks betraveled their sweet, innocent offspring to that festival of filth! They should be made to walk the plank...or be thrown head first hither into the murky mote, or deep, dark, dreadful dungeon filled with dung and dirt...or put into these things for which the name eludes me-ith.

Everyone cease from jousting to conclusions.

Yes, normally the Renaissance Festival is full of bountiful, barely hidden bosoms and course, yet clever conversation…but alas, that was not the case when we went.

It was School Days…the rated "wee", booze and bosom-free Renaissance Festival.

We loaded up our flock and gallivanted off to find the festivities.

Thankfully the joviality was only 45 minutes from here.

45 minutes is why we went.

If we are in a car for 46 minutes or more with my four children, I start looking for an eject button…for them, or me.

Our next car is going to have one of those.

Or maybe just a button, that when you push it, the seat of the screaming child turns upside down for a moment.

That would shush them...I'm sure of it.

Aaron will have the flip-o-matic switch installed on my seat because I am just as grumpy in the car as my children, which is, I’m sure, why they are grumpy.

I don’t do well with nothing to do.

There is NOTHING to clean in the front seat of a car.

Reading is difficult since Hayden never stops talking to me, even though a perfectly good father is in the vehicle to which he could speak.

Aaron tries to be kind and say, "What Hayden" and answers him for me every once in a while, but Hayden politely says, "I'm talking to mom, dad."

Danny never stops repeating what Hayden is saying and Ashton never stops dropping his cars or saying, “What’s that noise?” or shouting, "BIG's verde." He only likes to reference his colors in Spanish these days.

It unnerves me to accomplish nothing but mere travel while traveling.

Sitting there not multi-tasking is highly wearing on me.

You can’t change me. I’m sorry. It’s who I am.

But…enough of that…back to our merry roundabout.

We left bright and early…so early that when I called Jenn to tell her we were on our way to pick up her double jogging stroller, I also had to tell her all the sights I was beholding.

College Station has rush hour traffic.

It was precious.

I was fully dressed.

I had reached my required caffeine intake quota for the morning.

It was a weekday.

To this she said, “And you have ALL your kids?”

Very funny.

We grabbed the double jogging stroller, McDonald's breakfast (fashizzle!) and were on our way to all things unicorned and medieval.

By the way, who in their right mind JOGS…

AND pushes two children in front of them?

That sounds like some kind of medieval torture, so we are not off task, people.

We pull up to the middle of nowhere and all of a sudden, there’s a castle.

I love castles AND nowhere.

We get out…we’re all so excited.

I think I say, “I’m so excited” about 50 times on the way to Plantersville and then 50 more times between the car and the castle entry.

We walk in and the first thing Hayden sees is the medieval equivalent to a kiosk…

I’m sure it’s called a mykioskermen in medievalian.

The mykioskermen is FULL of wooden swords of all shapes, sizes and prices.

I thought he was going to faint.

Of course he had to have one (Aaron's pocket anticipated this.)

He picked one out.

A kind fair lady tried to knight him.

It was nice of her, but really…she didn’t know that when you are four and someone hands you a cool sword, you’re not interested in being knighted…you just want to whack something…or someone.

Hayden wasn’t interested in being a knight at all. He picked a pirate sword because he wanted to be a pirate.

She tried to knight him…Hayden saw her coming at him with her dubbing sword so he yanked out his pirate sword and attacked her. Yep.

It was terrifying yet so understandable.

He simply had to hit something.

She and her sword coming right at him were asking for it.

Here's the picture right before I realized Hayden was NOT stopping his attack...and that this sweet lady had no knowledge of the inner-workings of a sword-holding four year old's muddy mind. I had to lower the camera and say, ""...and then made him apologize.

We walked about three steps and then he practically maimed an unsuspecting dragon seller.

At this point, Aaron had “the talk” with him…one we repeated the entire day…and today…and I’m sure for many, many more days.

The first thing we did was go to School of Sword.

Hayden got picked to go out into the arena for sword lessons in front of a big crowd.

He always gets picked when someone asks for volunteers.

I think it’s his hair.

He goes out there…and of course, he was not nearly as interested in the sword lessons as he was his own sword moves he had learned during the short walk there...and making everyone laugh at him.

SEVERAL times, one of the assistant sword teachers had to make his way over to Hayden and give him private lessons. Apparently, taking your sword, sticking it in the sand and slinging the sand on the other “students” is NOT one of the maneuvers they wanted the kids to master that day.

Anon, we left there, found a sweet swing and swung in it. Aaron is building one of these in our back yard. What fun.

We watched a funny mud show.

Hayden kept screaming, “I want in the mud. I want in the mud.”

Since we were on the front row, Anson asked cautiously, "Do you think this is going to get on us?"

How is it possible to be raising antonyms?

When the man dove into the mud head first, Hayden says, “I want to stick my head in the mud.”

When the man ate mud, Hayden finally said, “Gross.”

Anson was my sweet Anson all day...

Just looking...watching...asking questions.

Perfectly happy to just be with friends...

And look at the “collectibles.”

He was constantly comparison-shopping.

Really. I think he’s 50. So cute.

He paid $5 to win a dragon statue.

It's these things that bring him great pleasure.

Small things DO NOT bring his father or Hayden much pleasure.

Near death is the only thing that satisfies the two of them.
Aaron and Hayden both wanted to bungee.

When I saw the sign out front of the bungee station, I wasn’t sure I could let them do this in good faith.

Hayden weighed in at 38 pounds with all his heavy winter clothes on and shoes.

As for the mental health part...I stayed way back, so no one would try to make me take an oath.

Aaron was like Spider Man.

He really is very good at this sort of odd thing.

If Aaron ever loses his job, because he will probably join the circus.

I’m not joking.

That’s exactly what would happen.

Hayden had no fear. None.

He loved it. He looked like he does this sort of thing every day.

I looked through all the pictures, and even though this height should not be allowed for a four year old whose mental soundness is constantly in question, I could find NOT ONE picture of him with a trace of fear on his face. Not one!

I’ll lose sleep over this.

We saw jugglers.

Aaron bought me a princess hat.

As soon as I put it on and turned around, my sweet little boys said, “You look beautiful, mom.”

Yes…boys are the best.

However, I took the compliment and started walking fast...compliments from boys usually come in two parts. The first part is great like...

"You look so cool mom."

Then the second part soon follows...

Anson once looked at me when I debuted my new tall, black boots I had wanted FOREVER and said..."You look so cool mom."

I said, "I do?"

Then he said, "Yes! You look like a Power Ranger!"


The second part is the whammy.

Hayden once looked up at me wearing this beautiful crocheted over-throw and said...

"You are so beautiful, mom."

The way he said it almost made tears well up in my eyes.

Then came the hammer...

He said, with such admiration..."You look just like Spider Man."

I've learned to take part one of the compliments and then quickly run away.

We ate Turkey legs like Vikings.

Ashton pulled an Ashton.

This means…

The child sat in a stroller for practically the entire day, completely content…happy…sweet…and then, we passed the horses that kids were riding.

He goes crazy. He cries. He kicks.

He simply must ride the horse…and we know, that when this normally docile child goes berserk…it’s something he must have…he simply must.

Those times happen about twice a year…and we let him win.

It’s his reward for being the easiest best baby ever.

He got off the horse, got back into his stroller…clapped for a second, talked about “dat horsy” and then went back to being perfect.
They are all so odd.

We walked around and fair-theed-well all day long.

The weather was beautiful.

My children were precious.

We loved walking into a mystical world of what once was, that still had ATM machines and clean bathrooms.

Aaron got a didgeridoo. He really did.

It sounds sort of like a whale talking, or a barge horn...but who cares what it does...the thing is called a didgeridoo.


I want to use it like this…when I walk into a room and find that one of my children has duck-taped his brother to the wall, instead of saying, “What did you do?” I’m going to say, “Did-ger-i-doo?”

So fun. Bring on the tape.

Finally, our day of merriment was over.

It had to end, as all good days and stories do.

They were closing.

Hayden cried all the way to the car.

I think he really believes those lords and ladies live there…with the mazes, the mud pits, the elephants, the capes, the jousting, the mykioskermens of swords…

It’s just another community 45 minutes away…and his mean parents won’t move him there.

I’m sure he thinks we’re the crazy ones.

Will he ever forgive us for not letting him be a gypsy?

When we were loading up, I asked the boys what their favorite parts of the day were.

Anson said, “The food and the Dragon Game.”

Ashton said, “Da Horsies.”

Danny said, “Horsies” because that’s what Ashton said.

Hayden just kept crying…and then said, “When I bounced in the air.”

Then he went back to crying.

We had not even made it out of the parking lot when this happened:

It was a great day.

Aaron's favorite part was being Spider Man and his didgeridoo.

He said it again! Didgeridoo. Didgeridoo.

My favorite part was my princess crown, the vines and that on the way home, I could not think of one thing I would do, if I were in charge of the Renaissance Festival to make it better.

It left me with nothing to think about on the way home.

So, I counted cars.

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Rub it Down, Yo!

Yes, I…

Heather Hendrick…

Wife of Aaron Hendrick, Worship Minister

Mother of four children...

Took a group of women to Stripper Class.
It was great fun.

Simmer down and take my word for it...
I learned tonight that it’s IMPOSSIBLE to look like a stripper if you’re laughing your butt off and snorting.

Really. No one worry.

So, I started getting ready at 6 p.m. tonight.

Aaron says, "What time is your class?"

I say, "It's at 7:45."

He says, a little confused, "Then, what are you doing?"

I say, "Are you kidding? It's going to take TIME to turn myself into a gangsta. gosh."

He left me alone to make my costume.

Hayden helped me.

I came out of my "workshop" and said, "Aaron, where is a bandana?"

You should have seen him.

I thought this was a perfectly reasonable question to ask. Don't people have bandanas?

It wasn't like I said, "Where do we keep the embalming fluid?"

He says, "I don't have a bandana."

Then I realized...

I haven't seen Aaron wear a bandana since he played tennis our senior year of high school.

His look was warranted.

It was a little unreasonable of me to think he should still possess his read bandana from 1995.

I laughed just thinking of a reason why my husband, present day, would ever put on a bandana.

What was I going to do?

I started the whole bandana craze.

I have imagined myself hip-hopping for weeks now, and in my made-up scenario, I was ALWAYS wearing a bandana. I imagined mine had rhinestones, with my name written on the front...but I was fine if that part did not come into reality.

But no bandana at all?

This could not be.

I could not roll to Body Jam minus a bandana.

Then I remembered...


Hayden has a Spider Man bandana he wears with his Rainbow Man costume.

Hayden saved the day.

I said, "Hayden, can I borrow your Spider Man bandana?"

He was so excited. He went RUNNING through the house to find it.

I put it on and he smiled so big at me.

He adored his mother in his Spider Man bandana.

It was like we were connected...forever...I could tell he knew, for sure...his mother gets him.

I do. I really do.

I changed outfits three times, and with the help of Aaron, finally felt like a real ghetto thug.

I'm sure Aaron has never been more proud.

I practically hip-hopped out the door I was so excited.
I wanted to wear my camo shirt, Kirby, but it did NOT go with my super hero headpiece.

I also wanted wrist bands like the girl in the picture, but the closest thing Hayden had were red, pharaoh arm bands with big plastic jewels glued to them. I'm sorry, but no...

Pharaoh armbands SO do not go with Spider Man bandanas.

Even I know that.

Hayden doesn't, but I do.

Darrin's Dance Grooves, here I come.

Word to Darrin's mother.

We get to class...the music starts pumpin'...yes, I said pumpin.'

It was wild.

We had to roll our and groove...all with attitude.

We did things like rub it down and shake our rears so hard and so fast, I thought mine was going to break loose, shoot through the glass and knock over a power lifter in the next room.

I literally went through an entire conversation in my head, trying to figure out what I would say exactly when I went to retrieve my unattached rear from the weightlifting area.

I was imagining all those serious men in there, with their muscles and their weights...and my broken boody hitting one of them on the head and then landing on the padded floor.

I never nailed down exactly what I would say, because we were dipping low and then exploding, but I knew I would for sure say, "I'm sorry about my butt" when I went to pick it up.

The class was really hard.

We were sweating.

I was overflowing with perspiration and home girls were shaking what their momma made em'. No joke. They all did so great!

I saw that lots of us improvised a bit...or lots of bits, if we're talking about me.

If you've ever seen a goat jump...that's what I looked like when our class took to the air.

It was great.

I will be practicing at home.

Especially the hip hop arms. I want to perfect that move.

When I reach for things, like a sippy cup, I'm going to use the hip hop arms.

Hip hop is going to become a way of life in the Hendrick house.

Why walk when you can MAMBA, twist and slice?

Why simply bend over to pick up Legos when I can duck, roll and ignite?

My hips hurt.

My stomach hurts.

When we first started, I felt so flexible. I felt all my million muscles moving individually.

I felt like Brittney Spears...if Brittney Spears ever had reason to wear a Spider Man bandana...

But, about 20 minutes into it, my whole body froze and gangsta'd up on me.

All my muscles formed a team and decided they had had it with hip hop.

My whole torso got lock jaw...or lock torso and decided it would only move as one unit.

I looked like I was adding "The Robot" into the hip hop swing.

I wish we had videoed the whole thing.

You would snort just watching us homedogs.

McKaycee the Cool Girl Drummer

"Whoopty Whoop Whitney"

"Chillin' KC"


"Lil' Krunk Kat"

"Jumpin J Train"

"Kickin' C"


You should have come!

Next relationship week, we're taking the belly dancing class.

Are you in?

Groove On Update

Oh Ladies….

Tonight we get Faunky.

I can’t wait.

The class is in College Station from 7:45-8:45.

The following fly girls will be performing:

Lil’ Krunk Kat
Kathryn Berilla

Kickin’ C
Cindy Freeman

McKaycee the Cool Girl Drummer
Performing as herself

Heather Hendrick

Fly Funky Li (pronounced Lee)
Lisa Smith

Jammin’ J Train
Jenn Bacak

Katie Fuller

Oh Ashley…come on…we want to laugh with you….are you in?

Now here is some good news:

I actually made a phone call today…I know, don’t faint…

Gold’s Gym said that ANYONE could come to the class tonight if they pay $10.

So if you have been in the depths of despair because you don’t go to Gold’s Gym, but you want to groove with all us goof balls, then for $10 you can cry no more.

For those of you who can, I would LOVE to run over to Starbucks after class, grab some decaf, wearing my new glasses and chat.

I know most of you can’t, but if anyone can, Aaron has agreed to watch the boys until I get my Hiphopotamus self home.

Besides…it’s relationship week.

What a relationship we will all build with each other tonight!

Who bets SOMEONE laughs so hard they leak some tee-tee?

Then, we can report to our church that our group peed on ourselves for a relationship building exercise.

They will be so proud of us!

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Smart on my Face

I got new glasses today!

They are cool.

I feel smart…like my glasses make me know things...

Things about fractions and time zones…

It's unbelievable how something as simple as plastic propped on my ear tips can transform me into a scholar.

You people who wear glasses every day like it's no big deal, like they aren't exciting are now amazing to me.

How do you do it?

I can't imagine getting through the next few days with out pointing out to everyone that I have glasses.

I have glasses!

I felt so smartsy I wrote a new chapter today in my book.

I get to wear them for three days, all day.

This experiment will tell me if I need to wear them every day for the rest of my life.

Think of it! I could have super smart powers the rest of my life!

If my headaches get worse…I am supposed to only use my smart makers when I read.

If the beat goes on...on out of my head…

I get to wear cool glasses forever AND not have as many headaches!

Those who know me…

What will I do?

This is a riddle.

Only people with glasses may be able to solve it.

Three days.


That's one of the elements in a fairy tale.

I'll be living in a beautiful enchanted fairy tale, wearing brilliance on my nose for three days.

Saturday, October 14, 2006

The Claw Picked My Name

They called my name!

I won something.

I as in I, the person whose name has never been called.

Just typing that makes me smile and lift my arms in triumph.

I NEVER win anything.


Never ever never.


One time, when I was in Jr. High, our school had this yearlong raffle.


Yearlong is one word. Who knew.

You got raffle tickets for lots of “good student” kind of things.

You got a ticket for every A you made.

You got a ticket for every book you read and took a computer test over.

You got a ticket for every mile you jogged.

You got a ticket for every bean burrito you ate.

Not really, but you should have.

Being the disgustingly over-achiever I was, I got a red ticket for all my straight A’s.

I read until my eyes crossed.

I perfected the art of walking, but your coach thinks you’re jogging.

This is one of my most prized accomplishments.

It’s a gift.

It’s a talent.

It takes great skill and self-discipline…and practice at home in front of a full-length mirror.

Every six weeks, I practically had to carry my raffle tickets in a wagon I had so many.

I didn't carry them in a wagon because I didn't really have THAT many, (although I did have a lot...really) and because no one should pull a wagon behind them in Jr. High. You would SO get shoved for that.

And yet…every six weeks, I would watch our vice-principal, Mr. Adair, on our black and white classroom television, draw out 10 names of the grand prize winners of things like Pizza Hut Personal Pan Pizzas for lunch instead of bean burritos, a bike, a bag with a butterfly…and NEVER…never…never ever, ever, never…not once…in real life…did I win!

All year.

I never won.

A single thing.

I had not one personal pan.

The butterfly bag went to some girl who stapled her fingers for fun.

The bike went to a boy who I was positive could not even write an A, much less make one.

The injustice was intolerable!

Since Jr. High, my luck has not improved.

If the only element in the competition is luck…I’m a loser.

Every single time.

I never even hope anymore.

I stopped daydreaming that I’ve won at the end of 8th grade.

I just have faced the facts…hands hate my name written on paper.

They hate me.

They never want to touch me.

My name on paper immediately turns into a flounder and buries itself under the sand of the other names.

Brown bags eat my name so it can’t be drawn.

Maybe it’s the way I fold my name.

I’ve tried all different types of creases to no avail.

I've tried all kinds of handwriting and prayer.

Something funky went on today.

There was a cosmic turn of events at Tanglewood Park today at around 2.

There I was, surrounded by lots of people I don’t even know and chicken strips…

When it happened.

The tide turned.

The old has gone.

The new has come.

This is the age of I win things.

I can feel it.

I won a $30 gift certificate to Wal-Mart.


My name got called.

My name.

Out loud.

And I did not imagine it.

It really happened.

In reality.

People saw it.

I have witnesses (MELODI!!).

I think I levitated.

Anyone who knows me, even halfway, knows that someone would have to pay me $30 to go to Wal-Mart, but that isn’t the point here, people who know me.

The point is I won something.

I…as in me…the raffle ticket reject.

$30 to Wal-Mart.

I wouldn’t have cared if I had only won the envelope that cradled the gift certificate.

I may never spend it.

I may frame it.

I may make cupcakes and sing Happy You Won Something to Me. Happy You Won Something to Me. Happy You Won Something Dear Heather Hendrick (and they really called my name, and people saw) Happy You Won Something to You.

October 14.

Mark it down as the day I forgave Mr. Adair's black and white hand.

Monday, October 09, 2006

Ding Ding Ding Ding Da Da Ding Ding

Who will admit, besides me, that at least some piece of you actually considered buying Darrin’s Dance Grooves?

Who wanted to hip-hop? Huh?

Who actually bought it? Double Huh?

Believe me, I barely resisted the infomercials, especially during my weak points when I would be up in the middle of the night, feeding a baby while I was looking up at the TV…and then looking down thinking, "Why is Mrs. Doubtfire sitting here in her fat suit nursing my baby?"

Oh! I was wearing Mrs. Doubfire's fat suit...and it wasn't a suit...oh no...

It was just flabby me.

Those infomercials were awesome…even at 3:30 a.m. They made me want to stand up with my nursing newborn, gather up my flab and pump up the jam.

Pump it up on the living room floor.

I wanted a place to stay…Hey…get your boody on the floor tonight.

Make my day.

Exercise AND be a fly girl?

What could be more fun?

For those of you Gold’s Gymers, this dream can become a reality.

Now I sound like an infomercial.

But Fashizzle dough…

We’re going together, as a group to BODY JAM.

Body Jam.

Are you feelin’ it?

BODYJAM is the cardio workout where you are free to enjoy the sensation of dance. An addictive fusion of the latest dance styles and hottest new sounds puts the emphasis as much on having fun as breaking a sweat. Funky instructors teach you to move with attitude through this 55-minute class.

I got that straight off the Gold’s Gym website.

Who’s in?

I said we’re going as a group…but right now, it’s just me and McKaycee the Cool Girl Drummer.

I don't think two people count as an offical group.

But I do think that McKaycee the Cool Girl Drummer already sounds like she's a fly girl.

It’s just not fair.

I need a fly girl name.

Everyone who goes gets a fly girl name.

How fun!

Here are the times and dates when we can get jiggy at the gym:

Wednesday, October 11 from 7:45-8:45 in CS
Monday, October 16 from 7-8 p.m. in CS

Who’s in?

Who’s going to be super fly?

Who’s going to wear a bandana?

Kirby you can’t go because the song says, "Get your boody on the floor tonight, make my day" NOT "Birth your baby on the floor tonight, no stinkin' way".

But you can be a part of this, Kirby. We may need some fashion research a sap.

What do we wear?

Should bandanas be worn just on our heads, or maybe around our knees, or are bandanas out?

And what about backwards hats? Visors?

Gold chains?

Overalls? Backwards overalls?

I heard Hip Hop Can Make ya Jump. Jump.

Banana Fanna Make Ya Jump. Jump.

Who’s getting a new nickname?

If they play Ice Ice Baby while we’re there, I swear, I’m going to the front of the class and doing a dance solo.

I'm going to look like this girl...

Well...this girl if she were on psychotropic meds.

Saturday, October 07, 2006

For Larra

Garage sales and the act of going to them have to be one of the oddest American institutions I’ve ever encountered. They are right up there with cranberry sauce.

Today was my second time to participate in one of these deal-finding adventures.

Before a year ago, garage sales and the people that frequented them were as much a mystery to me as unicorns. For all I knew, garages and their guests were nothing but fantasy…things that filled storybooks and Shelly Duval’s Fairy Tale Theater.

I had heard about these garages full of crutches and cookware covered with bright circular stickers, and the people who get up in the dark on Saturday mornings and buy those brightly stickered items.

Garage sales and garage sale goers were kind of like the tooth fairy. They did their “business” while I slept. I was blissfully oblivious to their comings and goings.

The first time I went and actually witnessed these caves full of mason jars and Thigh Masters and the fast walking, completely focused mythological creatures that surrounded them, I was too in shock to actually buy much.

My prize that day was a gigantic plastic grasshopper that became Hayden’s favorite toy for a month. Even in my early morning-I feel like I am on Diagon Alley-sort of stupor, I knew that huge grasshopper was a must-have for my Hayden.

I insisted that Ashley and Jenn take me to one of the garages whose ad said, “Handmade Walking Sticks.”

Handmade walking sticks!

Hot Dog! I had to see them. I just had to.

I know they wanted to make me get out by myself and then leave me...but they didn't.

I always wondered why anyone would want to go and ruin a perfectly good Saturday by waking up so early to go possibly find and then possibly buy stuff that may or may not even be there.

Sleep All Morning vs. POSSIBLE deals?

Come on…that’s not even a fair fight. We would have to host this brawl in a basement somewhere, with thug music blaring, and chicken wings flapping. Someone would have to be holding a handful of money…wear a wife beater shirt…oh…and we’d HAVE to have one of those creepy lights that hang from the ceiling and swings.

It would be a bloody death for “Possible Deals.” But I’d be sleeping while it happened, so who cares.

Now that I have children who wake up at 7 a.m. no matter if we put them in the bed at 6 a.m….the contestants have changed.

"Sleep One More Hour" vs. POSSIBLE Deals?

"Possible Deals" now has a fighting chance.

Now that I’ve walked through this enchanted forest twice, here’s what I think about this mystical event:

1. I think going to garage sales is a lot of work.

You have to buy a newspaper…I almost quit at that point in the process.

Then, since there are about 923 of these driveways full of dung on any given weekend, you have to have a strategy.

A strategy!

You have to have a plan! A plan!

You have to have a map.

A map!

It was so overwhelming; I just handed the paper to Kirby Friday night and ate some cake.

Come to find out, what we really needed was a Charlie. Since Kirby has one, he looked up the addresses on Map Quest and then being the genius he is, Photoshopped the map pieces together to give us a very handy piece of paper, with red stars, numbered and everything.

To go garage saling we had to outsource and employ the use of Photoshop.

Trash browsing just does not seem like a sport for amateurs.

You might need a degree for this.

Speaking of trashy…

Kirby emails me the night before our big morning outing and says, “I’m rolling out of bed at 6:30 in the morning…throwing on a t-shirt and shorts and heading your way…I said a t-shirt…pregnant woman wearing a t-shirt=trashy. You better not look cute tomorrow.”

On the count of three, let’s all roll our eyes together.

I knew that my Kirby could not look trashy if she hired someone to help her.

She drives up with her cute little pregnant belly, her curly hair wisped up, her freckles showing and her tiny King Louis tube purse hanging from her wrist.

I might as well have been deal digging with Demi Moore.

Oh…and you have to take cash to the Realm of All Things Worn Out.

I know. I really said cash.

I practically had to look that word up in ol’ Webster.

Cash? What is that? Who has cash? Cash is like SOOOOOO VHS.

2. Some streets are just too long.

When Robert Earl King sings, “The road goes on forever and the garage sales never end,” I SWEAR he is talking about Carter Creek.

Long roads make me sad.

Poor Barak and Carter Creek…they are like Old Maids…they go on forever and forever and never get to change their names.

I think we could have driven to Kansas and passed a Carter Creek and it actually be the same road that ends up by JJ’s snow cones in Bryan.

3. You can’t call a couple tables out on your side walk a garage sale. You just can’t!

Look…I’m perfectly ok with getting up early and excavating through u-haul boxes of sports bras…I don’t mind the piles or the digging…or there not even being anything I want after I’m finished climbing out from under a mountain of mom jeans.

All I’m saying is there should be PILES of poo.

There should be stacks of Steven King books and old records. There should be Rubbermaids brimming over with hot wheels and easy readers. All the garage sales I imagined had piles and piles of piles.

Today, there were no mountains, or piles or stacks or lumps of ANYTHING.

Not one heap.

My favorite part of the day was the man sitting out in a lawn chair who had pants hanging from trees in his yard.

Yes…jeans were hanging from trees...IN COPPERFIELD. Staci! What are you going to do?

His neighbors down the street were having a garage sale.

We could just see how his morning must have played out…he was walking out to get his paper unaware of the tooth fairy convention right down the street…but that’s when he noticed the garage…the stuff…Rupunzel…then he probably said, “Honey…hurry…get me some pants…get all my pants…let’s hang them in our trees so people will stop and buy them.”

We drove by him S L O W L Y so we could soak in the magic.

4. Lingerie should NOT be sold out of a garage.

Never has a sentence made me want to gag more than the one I just typed.

I mean what? What? What is someone thinking? Who wants that? Who?

All the ranting aside, here were the perks of the morning:

I drank two bowls of coffee in thirty minutes before leaving my house…a personal record…and did NOT stop talking to Kirby until we ate something two hours later.

The “something” that we ate was from McDonalds!

Is there anything better than McDonald’s breakfast?

McDonald’s breakfast has always ranked right up there with unicorns, centaurs and bats…I’ve eaten McDonald’s breakfast so few times, I’ve often wondered, between occurrences if McMuffins were something I dreamed up.

McDonald’s breakfast is a thing only people who get up and get dressed and do things before 10 a.m. get to enjoy. I’ve probably only had McDonald’s breakfast 12 times in my whole life.
And EVERY SINGLE TIME I’ve been out, dressed and driving around before 10, I stop and get it…are you making the connection…yep…I’m a loser.

I used to never be out during McDonald’s tiny time frame of breakfast making because I was SLEEPING…but after kids, I’m certainly not sleeping at that time…but I still can’t seem to get us all dressed, drink all the coffee I need, and all my kids get their morning poop over and done with before 10. It’s just impossible.

So, I savored every cheesy bite of my baconed biscuit.

Did you know, inside a McDonald's in the morning, the big menu above the cash registers has a HUGE breakfast menu on's all breakfast...and then they CRANK a crank and ta-dah...the lunch menu is there. Wow. Who knew there was a whole new breakfast decor in McDonalds during the time that I'm still sleeping, or walking around slowly, wiping hinney's at my house! Wow!

Kirby bought a bike for cheap…and RODE it…she pumped Asher inutero before she bought the bike! It was fantastic. She should have WON the bike.

I got some work out pants and a bright red Joe’s Crab Shack T-Shirt that I love.

Anson got a puzzle for free and sat in the back seat, completely trying to make sense of free enterprise in the US. I think he’s almost got it all figured out. He was appalled that someone would pay $20 for a newspaper ad and then have nothing to sell. He said, “I think these people should be fired.” He’s so right.

I found Hayden some brand-new black converse that have FIRE on the sides. He looks so cool and wants us to call him Fire Hayden when he wears them…we’ve obliged. He told me later today that he really wants to be called Hayden Asher Hendrick Fire Shoes Rock. Of course, we can call him that. We’re flexible around here.

And the big find of the morning…

I got a poodle skirt! A red poodle skirt with a poofed-up poodle on it!

In case we have a sock hop, I’ll be set.

In case we rent Back to the Future, and I want to wear my skirt while we watch it…I can.

And, poodle is one of my favorite words.

Poodle, poodle, poodle.

I spent more at McDonalds than at all the garage sales combined.

Poodles, pants hanging from trees, fire shoes, and watching Kirby pump her unbirthed son on a bike…oh yes…

There will DEFINITELY be a third magical visit to the Realm of I’m Not Sure It’s Worth It.

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Life or Death Situation

During the “what the monkey-junk is going on around here” power outage Tuesday night, my adorable DVR was unable to record Gilmore Girls.

Come to find out, DVR’s need electricity to behave properly.

Come to find out, I need electricity to behave properly as well.

I am simply not cut out for camping, even if I’m camping at my own house.

I love electricity.

Love it.

I would become Mrs. Electricity tomorrow at a well-lit wedding where we would have a laser light show and a fondue fountain of lightening, with Ben Franklin officiating.

When the lights went out in Hendrickville, it happened right in the middle of Brandon praying at HOPE Group. Talk about the prayers of the righteous being powerful and effective.

We are never letting him pray again at our house.

So, when the power went out, were we prepared in the Hendrick House?


Danny became invisible.

The other kids could not figure out what was going on.

I thought it must be Armageddon.

All we had was a tiger flashlight that roared when in use and an entire crate of glow sticks.

Complete darkness did not scare my kids…oh no…it made them HYPER. Being hyper and unable to see…bad combination.

Having hyper kids and not being able to see to find my spanking spoons…even worse combination.

Those boys knew they had the advantage and took it. They already outnumber us around here, and they can smell weakness from miles away.

We found some Halloween candles, but all the kids thought we must be having a birthday party, so they kept blowing them out.


I’m not meant to live or parent in non-electricitied conditions.

During the time when Bryan/College Station thought it was a third world country...

It was hot.

It was dark.

It was hot.

It kept getting hotter.

However, we lived...and Bryan College Station eventually remembered it was not Malawi.

But the aftershock of this catastrophe is…my DVR only recorded the last half of Gilmore Girls.
I'm going to need counseling after a disaster of this sort.

My show!

My only show.

My show that I’m supposed to tape for myself to watch and giggle…and then record on a tape for Wendy to watch and giggle later…and then she makes me brownies for doing that…it’s a perfect life full of electricity and DVR and funny women and terrific writing and then BROWNIES.


My electricity is back on, but MY LIFE will not have fully recovered unless SOMEONE out there taped Gilmore Girls…all of it…all 60 marvelous minutes of it…or even just the first 30 minutes of it...I will learn to splice if I have to...and then that someone will let me borrow those make-me-laugh women so I can sit and love them and love eating brownies.

Please help me.