a 100 grand kinda day

Last year about this time I had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Today was NOT one of those days.

First, I was walking downtown last weekend and saw a woman I recognized from somewhere - and I couldn't place her to save my life. I knew I encountered her on a regular basis, and I wracked my brain trying to envision her in all my regular places. I never could figure it out, and it bugged me for DAYS. This morning I stopped for coffee and THERE she was behind the counter.

Second, I dreamed that Mayah started talking all in one day, and at the end of the dream she said, "I wuv you, M.E." For real, Kacey texted later to say that she had made the "I Love You" sign to Mayah and she had made it right back. Clearly brilliance runs in the family.

Third, daughter-face (the aforementioned Kacey) said, "Hey, guess what?" So I sarcastically responded with, "You're pregnant?" Turns out Kacey was told she is "an invaluable member of their [work] team", they are going to alleviate some of her work load via an intern, AND they are giving her a raise! Color me proud.

Fourth, Kevie-poo scored a 97 on his statistics test!

Fifth, ever since leaving for college, Kevin has referred to himself in the third person when sending me more than one-word texts. "Your son is tired." "Your son made an A on his first big test." "Your son is playing on the Ultimate Frisbee team." "Your son needs cleats." (To which I responded, "My son needs a job.") Well, today he texted, "Your son has a job." Yippee! So, as promised, his mommy will be sending him a care package tomorrow replete with goodies and a new phone. (The speaker is broken on his.) When I asked if he had any special "junk food requests" he replied, "the kind of stuff that takes 2 years off your life." Hot Fudge Sundae Pop-Tarts it is.

Sixth and finally, I started a "traffic counter" on my blog in May of 2009. Today it rolled over 100,000. One. Hundred. Thousand. Must be time for an oil change.

easy as 1, 2, 3

I have spent a small fortune on hotel rooms this summer . . . BUT, what with all the mini-toiletries, I have saved approximately $1.28 on shampoo and conditioner, so that's something.

I stayed up LATE Sunday night. When somebody asked me today what time I went to bed, I responded "2 amish". Haha. Looked like a couple of Mennonite churchgoers, which made me laugh.

Along those lines, last month I saw five Amish women sitting in Starbuck's drinking coffee . . . 'cause nothing screams "I am a simple woman" quite like a $3.85 grande caramel macchiato.

I was trying on the most gorgeous pair of brown leather ankle boots when it dawned on me . . . women's shoe sizes begin at 4 and go to 12 and progress by HALF SIZES??? Can somebody please tell me what's wrong with consecutive Arabic numerals? 1, 2, 3, and so on? I mean, whose stupid idea was this to require us to use decimals when purchasing footwear? Probably the same dude who established a mile would measure 5,280 feet, or a pound would contain 16 ounces. Or maybe it was the genius who decided to say "numeral" instead of "numberal". Then I overheard a conversation between a mom and a preschooler who was kicking the angled shoe-mirror at the end of the aisle, and I knew. "Bailey, stop kicking the mirror. Bailey, I mean it. Stop it. Do you want me to spank you? I'm going to count to three, Bailey . . . one . . . two . . . two-and-a-half . . ." Oh, the insanity.

yabba dabba to do list

So here's the thing with bad habits: they're BAD.

I know, right?

So when I made a list of 27 things I need to improve about myself (24 of them being bogus, of course, because how could there POSSIBLY be 27 things wrong with ME?), I didn't really take into account how I was going to prioritize these 27 things over the next 27 months. I mean it SOUNDS good to say I'm going to tackle one thing a month so the 50-something me will be a better version of the 40-something me, but it's another thing altogether (in unison: "It's another thing") to decide which vice gets the grip each month.

July was easy. I needed to NOT spend any extra money, what with all the upcoming travel and tuition, plus it afforded me the maternal opportunity to provide home-cooked meals for Kevie-poo before I sent him off to the collegiate world. And the benefits have been lasting. I have "brown bagged" my lunch WAY more than normal, which means fewer things are getting green and fuzzy in my fridge. It also means I'm eating more fruit. Good stuff. Especially mango.

August, while not easy, was essential. I wish I liked water. Those of you who have blog-journeyed with me over the past few years KNOW how much I dislike the liquid blah. It's ridiculous, I know, but I hate it. However, I forced myself to get at LEAST 64 ounces each and every day, and some days I got as many as 96. I have developed a GOOD habit of downing a full glass every morning before I leave the house and another every night before bed. (I know you're thinking it, so I'll just go ahead and say it: Yes, I often have to pee in the middle of the night.) Still, I'm getting 24-32 ounces a day more than I was before August, so success has been achieved.

Now here we are in September and I find myself staring at this "fix-it" list of 25 remaining undesirables. The logical step would be to prioritize them and begin with the most important. But which is most important: Wearing my seatbelt or not texting while driving? Exercising regularly or eating healthier? Recycling or getting more sleep?

Yes, I know, YOU, being the amazingly disciplined person that you are, would just fix all these problems NOW. But I know myself well enough to know I would become overwhelmed with too many changes to my schedule, too many new things to focus on, too many actions to be conscious of all at once, and I would give up and just eat a cookie and watch a movie. So I trudge on, fixing one thing at a time, until I achieve the perfect me. Which, really, isn't so far-fetched now, is it? I mean, I already have great hair, and I can kick most of your butts at Scrabble, so how much more could there be before I achieve perfection?

So . . . the bad-habit-of-choice-to-break for the month of September is: (drum roll, please) Take my vitamins. WHAT??? THAT WASN'T EVEN ON THE LIST OF "MOST ESSENTIALS"!? I know, but here's the logic: 1) I'm already in the kitchen every morning and every night drinking that extra glass of water, so taking my vitamins will reinforce the water practice 2) My supplements (assorted ones for various things) help me sleep better, give me more energy, keep me less emotional, etc. preparing me to work on the rest of my bad habits list and 3) well, there is no "3", but two points didn't seem sufficient to convince you.

I'm off to the store now to buy some gummy Flintstones.

By the way, I'm feeling good about October's goal: Stopping the car with my feet.

matriculating and monosyllabic

My son is doing GREAT after his first week of college. How do I know? Because he communicates with me via daily numerous, concise texts. He's been so good at it, I've hardly noticed he's gone.

ME: We came home a different direction than we drove down yesterday.

KEV: Quicker?

ME: Considerably. Maybe 40 miles total, and mostly 4-lane.

KEV: Cool.

ME: Whatcha doing tonight?

KEV: Sleeping.

ME: The a/c went out on the van on the way home last night.

KEV: Serioiusly?

ME: Yep. We've got a hole in the condenser. Going to cost me $500.

KEV: Bummer

ME: Everybody at Reidland missed you this morning.

KEV: Duh.

ME: Whatcha doing this fine Monday night?

KEV: Homework.

ME: How was your second day of college?

KEV: Long.

ME: How were your classes?

KEV: Good

ME: So how was Pickle Ball?

KEV: Cancelled

ME: How's the drinking water at Harding?

KEV: Filtered

ME: The FOG (his softball team) is losing!

KEV: Tuesday?

ME: Yep, tournament finals, and they are getting pummeled.

KEV: Dang.

ME: This is ugly. They're gonna lose.

KEV: FOG!!!

ME: They've pulled back to tie it up!

KEV: Awesome!

ME: They're behind again 8-12 after the 6th inning.

KEV: FOG!!!

ME: They lost. The other team just couldn't miss tonight.

KEV: Dang.

ME: Did you change your online login information to Harding's website?

KEV: No

ME: I can't get on to pay tuition. Do I have the information right?

KEV: Yep

ME: Well, their system is having issues. It won't accept the bank's routing number and they don't take VISA.

KEV: Great.

ME: Hey, sometime over the weekend I want to hear about your first week.

KEV: Sure

ME: What did you do on your lovely Saturday off?

KEV: Laundry

ME: What are your plans for tonight??

KEV: B DUB

ME: Oh my goodness. Seven days and you have to have hot wings and big screen ballgames. *BDUB is boy language for Buffalo Wild Wings.

KEV: :p

ME: Text your mommy!!!

KEV: Why?

ME: Cause she misses you and wants to hear about stuff!

KEV: Why?

ME: Cause she loves you and misses you!!!

KEV: Why?

ME: You're a pain.

KEV: Yep. :)

And, really, what else do I need to know?

the reason we stopped here . . .

I've been doing an outSTANDing job of drinking lots of water. Really, quite proud of myself. However, when traveling, as in the 5 hour drive Thursday to take my son to college and the 5 hour drive Friday to return home, the frequent and necessary stops caused by the excessive H2O intake turned the 5-hour drive into a 5:45 drive.

At one point, after crossing my legs for so long I could no longer feel my toes, we made a pee stop at an Arkansas "Speed and Seed" (Gas AND Farm Supplies). At $3.39 a gallon, we decided to go ahead and gas up Eddie van Honda. When I looked into the rear-view mirror, I couldn't help but laugh. Clearly, I stopped in the right place.

time to cut the cord already

"That teenager grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was a grown-up man. He left home and got a house across town. But sometimes on dark nights the mother got into her car and drove across town. If all the lights in her son's house were out, she opened his bedroom window, crawled across the floor, and looked up over the side of his bed. If that great big man was really asleep she picked him up and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while she rocked him she sang:

I'll love you forever,
I'll like scratch you for always,
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be."

(Those of you who know me, get the humor here. Creepiest children's book EVER. But I do hope Harding University has accessible ladders near the dorm so I can climb into Kevie-poo's room when he gets homesick for his mommy, and scratch his hairy man legs. I'm just sayin'.)

The "cutting the cord" blog post is coming soon. . . as soon as I can manage it without uncontrollable weeping. :)

Bad Habits - 26 and counting down

Okay, so last month's "not eating out" challenge went pretty well. Not perfectly, mind you, as friends brought me Chik-fil-A for lunch one day, and since there was the accompanying Polynesian sauce, consumption occurred. There was also an additional lunch date with the lovely Kayla, one of our teenage girls who was my slave-for-a-day and it would have been rude to release my slave and send her home without a Kirchhoff's Gyro and some Bubble Tea. But overall, I took my lunch to work every day for a month and I cooked. Not a lot, but enough that my son got Chicken Enchiladas and Seafood Nachos and seemed content.

This month . . . well, this month started crazy and hasn't slowed for one second. In the last 9 days I have: run errands for my friends who left for Africa, had a slumber party for Emily and Titus, drove these same friends to Chicago, toured Chicago for 3 days: Navy Pier, Shedd Aquarium, Bubba Gump's, the 'Bean', the Shakespeare Theater, Gino's Pizza, and took Kevin to see the Smurfs Blue Man Group. Packed, unpacked, went to Cohen's FIRST birthday party, ordered Kevin's textbooks (university bookstore price $515, Half.com price $230) completed all his financial stuff for school, had a 3-hour doula meeting, attended the Back-to-School Bash with our teens, church, work, bills, watched all the videos Kacey sent of Mayah being cute, and finally managed to wash the sheets on my bed a week past due, all while not scratching a nasty case of poison ivy AND juggling 11 games of Words with Friends on my iPod (which led to meeting a new friend and fellow-nerd, Bernie from British Columbia, who is wordy and witty and beats me more than I beat him. But that's a blog topic for another day.)

Anyhoo . . . this puts me 9 days late beginning a new month of self-improvement. And since I didn't start improving myself on time, I don't see the point in starting now. Who needs a better me anyway?

Just kidding.

Month 26 is (drum roll. You will be SO shocked by this one): WATER. As in drinking it. Lots of it. On a daily basis. Apparently people do this and it's supposedly good for you. So, I start tomorrow and will hope this one sticks permanently. Haha. Yeah, right.

goodbye summer blog header . . .

steph and nonsense

AS A KID, WERE YOU A LEGO BUILDER?
Nah, but I faithfully stacked up the napkin rings on the table after every Thanksgiving dinner
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF "REALITY TV"?
RE diculous
DO YOU CHEW ON YOUR STRAWS?
No, but I chew on pen caps, which is why I'm a fan of "clicky" pens with no caps
DO YOU SING IN THE SHOWER?
Yes, but my sheet music gets wet
ANY SECRET TALENTS?
Word Games. But that’s not really a secret.
WHAT'S YOUR IDEAL VACATION SPOT?
Scotland. Italy. Morocco. Australia. North to Alaska.
HAVE YOU EATEN SUSHI LATELY?
Well, Mike just had a birthday so . . . MMMM
DO YOU GIVE A DARN ABOUT THE OZONE?
Of course, but does it really give a darn about me?
HOW MANY LICKS DOES IT TAKE TO GET TO THE CENTER OF A TOOTSIE POP?
28 . . . more if you have a small tongue
CAN YOU SING THE ALPHABET BACKWARDS?
Yep. Learned how from Big Bird when I was a wee little lass.
HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ON AN AIRPLANE?
16 times, I think. Pretty sure it wasn't the same plane.
ARE SPEEDOS HOT?
Only when they are fresh out of the dryer.
WHAT'S YOUR STAND ON HUNTING?
Don’t shoot me, I won’t shoot you
WHAT ARE YOU ALLERGIC TO?
Chlorine, cats (mildly), and something that blooms around here in the spring.
WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU SAID, "I LOVE YOU"
To whom? You? "I love you." There. Just now.
DO YOU CRY AT WEDDINGS?
Depends . . . are they showing "The Notebook" during the reception?
HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR EGGS?
Scrambled in some chicken fried rice, and eaten right before SUSHI!
WHERE DOES THE OTHER SOCK END UP?
In my drawer-full of imaginary puppet friends. But I have no idea how they got there.
WHAT TIME IS IT?
Where are you?
DO YOU HAVE A NICKNAME?
My mom calls me "George". Seriously. My daughter calls me "madre" and "Mawmy". My son calls me "WOMAN!" My niece and nephew (and now Titus) call me "Stephie". People I don't know call me, "Hey you!"
IS SANTA CLAUS REAL?
Yeah, just don’t tell my kids . . . he never brought them anything.
CRUNCHY OR CREAMY PEANUT BUTTER?
Cheese
HAVE YOU EVER RIDDEN IN AN AMBULANCE?
Not for fun
HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU BRUSHED YOUR TEETH TODAY?
So far, once more than I've flossed
ARE YOU WEARING SOCKS?
Yeah, but they came out of the "imaginary puppet friends" drawer and the button eyes are rubbing blisters on my toes.
HAVE YOU EVER HITCH HIKED?
Not without my Guide to the Galaxy!
ARE YOU PSYCHIC?
Am I psychic? Is that what you're thinking? I don't think so.
DO YOU PLAY ANY INSTRUMENTS?
Piano/keyboard, clarinet, tenor sax, and air cymbals everytime I hear the Star Spangled Banner.
DO YOU LIKE CAMPING?
Yep. But only if we pitch our tent inside the Hyatt Place.
DO U SNORT WHEN U LAUGH?
Occasionally. But very ladylike snorts.
DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC?
Sure. I hear that Dwight Howard guy in Orlando is pretty darn good.
CAN YOU MOONWALK?
Are you kidding? I can’t even bob my head.
WHAT'S THE MOST ANNOYING TV COMMERCIAL?
Pudding Face
DO YOU WEAR NAILPOLISH?
Most of the time, but usually just on my fingernails and toenails.

short labor, short labor story

Gabriella . . . the name does NOT fit this athletic, talkative, very intense young woman. But her nickname, Gabby, does. :)

Gabby called to inform me that she woke up in a puddle. She was 10 days past due date, so her water breaking was great news! No labor yet, so I took my time and arrived to their house a couple of hours later to find she was beginning to have some mild contractions.

We went for a walk, but with a heat index of 102, twenty minutes was all she wanted to do. We went inside and bounced on the birthing ball and talked about life and watched contractions go from 'easy and 6 minutes apart' to 'intense and 4 1/2 minutes apart' in just a couple of hours. Based on my experience, I knew it was time to transfer, and she readily agreed, so we loaded up in my van and drove the 25 minutes to the hospital.

We enjoyed talking along the way, noting that they still didn't have a carseat OR a name picked out for this child and laughing at the fact that they maybe the worst procrastinators ever.

When we got to the hospital, Gabby said, "Steph, we talked the whole way here." We did! Oh. We did. She never stopped once to breathe through a contraction because she never had a contraction. Darn.

She had already heard about my last client's "long birth, long birth story" and was more than happy when I suggested we walk around outside and get labor progressing again before we checked in and had to deal with IV's and monitors. So we walked. And sweated. Just as our bodies were about to change state from solids to liquids, Gabby announced, "Let's go to Wal-Mart!" DO WHAT??? "Seriously," she said. "We can walk around in the cool, we can get a carseat, and I'm pretty sure Wal-Mart won't hook me up to a fetal monitor." Well, she makes a good point. So off we went.

After a few minutes of walking around Wally World, her contractions picked up nicely, and by the time we checked out, people were pointing and staring and offering assistance. :)

Back at the hospital, we walked the lobby and courtyard for another half hour until Gabby felt she really wanted to check in. We got a room, determined she was 8+ cm dilated, and no sooner did they check her than transition hit hard and fast. She got into a squatting position up on the bed between her hubby and me, using our shoulders for support, and laughed at herself for looking and sounding like an Olympic weightlifter with a beer belly. (I'm telling you, this girl was a riot!)

After 30 minutes of transition came 30 minutes of pushing, and her 7# 15oz little boy was in her arms all wide-eyed and happy.

THAT'S how to have a baby. :)

long labor, long labor story

Martha's birth was . . . well . . . SLOW. This, however, was NOT Martha's fault.

Martha has a blood disorder that causes her to clot when she shouldn't. So for the last part of her pregnancy she was on blood thinners and bedrest.

Because of the meds, laboring at home would not have been the responsible option for her. Also because of the meds, going past her due date would also have not been a responsible option, as blood thinners cause premature placental degeneration.

When the due date neared, rather than go the risky pitocin route, Martha opted to have her membranes stripped, which worked like a charm to get labor going. She called me at noon from the hospital with contractions at 5 minutes apart, so I hurried straight there. These five-minutes-apart contractions, however, were VERY mild, very short and very unproductive. No problem, it's early labor. Once they get a good 30-minute reading on the fetal monitor, (hospital policy), we'll get up and walk and move things along.

Theoretically.

It was the "good 30-minute reading on the fetal monitor" that will forever be the overriding memory of this labor, as the monitor just did NOT work for Martha. The monitor itself was fine. Martha, herself, also fine. But the combination of the two did not work. And every 4 to 8 minutes every hour for hours, the nurse would come in . . . "KNOCK KNOCK! It's not working!" (Tap the machine, check the paper) RIP RIP (velcro straps being jerked off Martha's belly) Reposition the probe, press hard, and FLIP FLIP (tighten the velcro straps). Okay, so this might not seem like a big deal, but when it's happening 8 to 12 times an hour it gets highly annoying. Not to mention the fact that it NEVER worked. I don't think the monitor ever picked up the baby's heart rate for more than 3 consecutive contractions. And because of THIS, they wouldn't let her get up to walk. And because she couldn't get up and move, labor wasn't progressing.

Personal Rant: The baby could have been in distress and who would know? I know the GOAL of the monitor is to determine that, but it WASN'T WORKING. And if she HAD been in distress, it would have been SO much better to have labor progressing faster to get her born sooner. Policies, like rules, are made to be broken. Common sense is a lovely thing. (Stepping down off soapbox now.)

Finally, after about 6 hours and only 2 cm of progress, we talked them into giving us a half hour to go outside. No sooner was Martha up and going than contractions started coming steadier, longer, harder. YES! But we promised to be back to the room after 30, so we were, and they strapped her back up, and contractions slowed and lessened. Not to help matters, the monitor was showing delayed decelerations in the baby's heart rate (a potential sign she is not getting all the oxygen she needs). At this stressful news, labor basically CEASED. After nearly an hour with no contractions, I was becoming concerned that Martha was going to be the first notch on my C-section belt, and I didn't want this for her, and I KNEW she didn't want it for herself. So, I suggested she go back to the ONE thing that seemed to work for her. It's a little something that, well, when done right is something you don't talk about publicly, but when done clinically is almost funny. Trust me, it's TMI. Besides, if I used the words "nipple" and "stimulation", I would have to raise the MPAA rating on my blog.

Speaking of funny, Daniel (Martha's husband) was great. Supportive, helpful and entertaining. Everything I write about here, he was part of, so don't take the lack of his name to mean he wasn't front and center. He kept trying to get Martha to "visualize her cervix opening like a flower reaching for the sun" and as he encouraged this, he did a little interpretive dance. Definitely worth the admission price.

Still, contractions remained weak, the monitor unstable, and by midnight she was still only 5 cm dilated. Any other area hospital would have been prepping her for a C-section by now, so I am at least thankful for a very patient midwife who was content to let us labor on, slow as it may have been.

At 1 a.m. the midwife broke her water (at Martha's request) and then after a while: transition. HARD transition. I got her onto her knees and we moaned through them. At this point, Martha is EXHAUSTED, but let me just say, she was SUCH a trouper, and the BEST breather of any laboring mom I've worked with. She has now been in labor for 15+ hours, but she is determined.

From Martha's blog: "Stephanie was there to tell me I was so close. I remember asking her “what if I’m not?” But, she told me I was -- that I was in transition and it wouldn’t last much longer. Having her tell me this was such a great comfort and motivator. I was able to focus on each contraction as it came, hoping each one would bring me closer to the end. I was in such pain. However, guess what? The monitors weren’t picking up any contractions, so the nurses were in there the WHOLE time I was in transition moving around the sensors, pressing on my uterus. I must confess, I have never fought back the urge to lash out at someone as much as I had to then – I was so tired of them messing with me! They continued to try to get my contractions to appear on the monitor right up until I was pushing."

If you want to know the rest of Martha's birth in detail, click on her link at the top. She's a great writer and detailed it beautifully. Finally, at 4:43 a.m. her daughter was born. Perfect. Healthy. GORGEOUS. All babies are pretty, but this one especially so. (Oh, that is SUCH a lie. Most babies look like goopy versions of Alien. This clip is rated R for graphic ickiness.)

I'd like to say there is a moral to this birth story, but there isn't. It solidifies for me what I already know: 1) Labor at home for as long as possible. Unfortunately for Martha, that just wasn't an option, and 2) Stay up and moving. Let gravity be your friend. Again, for poor Martha and the evil monitor, not an option.

You know what, there is a moral after all: Educate yourself. Decide what's right for you. Then hold your ground. That's what Martha did. Even though NOTHING about her birth went as she expected, she still stayed determined to have a natural birth. Her daughter will never have to wonder if her mom has her best interest at heart. She's already proved that.

PipeBusters (episode 4) on the Reality Channel

(episode 4 is intended to be the finale of the series . . . don't read it first.)

After the drama of yesterday's 'Bad Hair Day' we wonder how much more they can take? How much more? As the day begins, Stephanie washes her hair in the sink with the pitcher of tepid water. However, water which seems tepid for brushing one's teeth feels like glacier water to the scalp, giving new meaning to the term "Brain Freeze" (cue Foreigner's "Cold As Ice"). The cold-water-washing allows for adequate blow-drying and ample hair volume, narrowly averting a tragic second Bad Hair Day.

COMMERCIAL BREAK

Meanwhile, back at the chemical plant, the cowboy takes off early and heads to the chiropractor for his aching back. After that, a stop at Shop-a-Rama for the plumbing part. After that, it's back under the crawl space. Only this time, it's from the vent at the front of the house - which, although nearer the leak, is a MUCH smaller, much shallower vent - causing the cowboy crucial claustrophobic hesitation. He enters the darkness head-first, knowing the tight turnaround may totally prevent re-exit through the same vent. Once under, he calls for Stephanie. He needs her to go outside and make the counter-clockwise turn to discern the exact location of the leak. She searches her closet for the right pair of "going out to the meter" shoes and makes the 100-ft trek out to the yard. She turns it on. (cue "Twist & Shout") No sooner does she get it on than he wants her to turn it back off! Oh, the frustration and confusion! Then he wants her to wait. WAIT? Outside? She doesn't have on "waiting" shoes, she has on "going to the meter shoes". What to do? What. To. Do??? Lucky for Stephanie, the "GTTM" shoes also double as appropriate weed-pulling shoes, so she decides to take the shoes off and sit barefoot on the front porch and wait.

Under the house, the cowboy-turned-plumber is commenting - loudly - on how tight the vent was to crawl into, and how Stephanie may have to help him get back out. She comments that he is not to worry. She is certain that if his middle is too round to fit, and he has to remain wedged there for several days like Winnie-the-Pooh in Rabbit's hole, she will be certain to visit every day and sing "Rumbly in my Tumbly" to him. The thought of being wedged in the vent was not at all humorous to the cowboy - not at all - and he stated, in no uncertain terms, if he were to be "caught in a tight spot", she had better do all she can, including calling the National Guard to get him out. Several minutes, and few Disney songs later, the cowboy proclaims . . .

COMMERCIAL BREAK

The cowboy proclaims, 'TURN THE WATER ON!' and she does, and there is water, and it is good. (cue "Hallelujah Chorus") The cowboy begins the army crawl back to the vent. He tosses out the tools first then births himself from under the house - WILL HE MAKE IT? Head facedown, one shoulder, then the other, then the rest sliding out easily. Whew! That was close! But the job is completed. The leak has been stopped for now. At least the one under the house . . . the running toilet and dripping shower are a different story (cue "Shower the People" by James Taylor). Yes, the leaky shower faucet is a very different story. A lengthy story. A story appropriate for next season on PipeBusters on the Reality Channel.

Thanks for joining us.

PipeBusters (episode 3) on the Reality Channel

As we left off last time, the cowboy-turned-plumber had given up the claustrophic chore of crawling beneath the concrete to conquer the catastrophe. "TOMORROW" is now today, and soon all will be well. Or will it?

COMMERCIAL BREAK (because now that you are more hooked by our tragedy, we can advertise earlier in the show, knowing you will stay tuned for more.)

Stephanie begins her day as usual, up at the crack of 8 or 8:15. She meanders to the bathroom, turns the bathtub faucet to run her water, and then remembers: NO water. No hot morning bath. She turns on the curling iron and brushes her teeth from a 1/2 gallon pitcher of lukewarm water. Lukewarm water and toothpaste first thing in the morning. Gag. NO ONE SHOULD HAVE TO LIVE LIKE THIS!!! UGH! AND, to make matters worse, one of the vanity lights is blown, leaving her face only three-quarters lit. She brushes through her hair and begins to curl. Hmmm. Something is not right. Something is quite wrong. Flat hair, the nasty by-product of sleeping on semi-damp hair the night before. She curls more. And more. Spraying as she goes. But, despite her best efforts, her hair WILL be flat today. And she has to go out in public. Where there are people. And they will SEE her flat hair (cue melodramatic music).

COMMERCIAL BREAK FOR BUMP-ITS

Back home in the evening, Stephanie begins dinner . . . watermelon, watercress salad with water chestnuts . . . she is sensing a theme. The cowboy arrives some minutes later, walking like a decaying cast member of Zombieland. He hurts. All over. Neck, back, knee. "Bad day," he comments, "aching all over. Swelling. Pain." "It might be a tumor," Stephanie comments sarcastically. "It's not a tumor," the cowboy groans. He is in no shape to do the plumbing repairs. No shape at all. There will be no running water again tonight. Once again they make the counter-clockwise rotation so showering can commence.

COMMERCIAL BREAK

Another day without water. The laundry is piling up. The dishwasher is loaded. The weeds in the landscaping however, are growing just fine. Will a hot shower ease the cowboy's aches and pains? Will he be able to complete this job with one MORE tomorrow? After all, tomorrow is another day. Stephanie raises her fist to the sky, "With God as my witness, I'll never have flat hair AGAIN!"

Tune in next time for the season finale of PipeBusters on the Reality Channel.

PipeBusters (episode 2) on the Reality Channel

subtitled: "A water break? Water is for cowards. Water makes you weak." Coach Boone, Remember the Titans


(cue Nintendo music from Mario) In our last episode, the water had to be meticulously shut off at the water meter in the ground, where hopefully a mama snapping turtle had not claimed it as her nesting ground as has been the case in a previous year. Using only a T-wrench and a stiff clockwise ('righty tighty, lefty loosey'') turn, Kevin left the residence water-free and, hopefully, leak-free for several hours.

At 6 p.m., with Kevin now perilously on the winding highway that crosses the Jack's Fork river in Missouri on his way to camp, both Stephanie and the cowboy return from their respective days' work to the measly gallon of water in the two pitchers. Two measly pitchers. For two adults. One of whom actually DRINKS water. How will they manage??? The claustrophobic cowboy knows he must brave the darkness that is the crawlspace under the house. (This would be a great time to run a local plumber's commercial, alas, it is not commercial time yet.)

Removing the vent cover on the back side of the house, the cowboy-turned-amateur-plumber-because-heaven-forbid-we-pay-someone-to-do-a-job-today-that-he-can-do-himself-for-free-not-counting-supplies-over-a-period-of-several-days 'army crawls' into the damp darkness. Once he is securely wedged under the center of the house, he begins to bang and groan and saw. Stephanie chooses this moment to share important information with him by yelling through the floor in the kitchen. "GREGORY. You ARE aware that we have a skunk under the house again, aren't you???" Yeah. Pepe le Pew has been making his presence known for several consecutive evenings, only the cowboy has not been around to witness said smellevents (cue Looney Tunes music). Stephanie felt it was critical to add to his stress at this juncture in the process. From the deep recesses under the floor, we hear the cowboy holler, "NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!" What if the skunk decides to investigate? What would happen if the cowboy got a face full of eau de skunk?

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Back under the house, lying in a puddle of mud, stressed about the potential threat of a skunk bombing and attempting to repair the leak, the cowboy seals what he is certain is the culprit. All is quiet in the house. The hissing has ceased. The leak is repaired. Angels begin singing. Then suddenly a whooshing sound and the cowboy's under-the-house-muffled-exclamatory "SON OF A . . .!!!!!!!!!! "

UNSCHEDULED COMMERCIAL BREAK

Stop the choir! The rejoicing was woefully premature, and the repair only served to stress the line further toward the front of the house, cause a full-on rupture of the pipe. A full-on rupture. Of the water pipe. Water is now pouring, yea even gushing from the line, flooding the crawlspace with ounces of water per minute. The cowboy exits quickly and determines his work for the night is over. Over. He will not be completing the repair this evening. Not. Be. Completing. The. Repair. Darkness is setting in, the part he needs is inaccessible until Shop-a-Rama opens again tomorrow, and he is fed up and covered with muddy goo. Disgusting muddy goo. He announces: "Shower now. Take up some more water. Then shut it back off. I'll fix it TOMORROW." (cue optimistic song from the musical "Annie"). More water is stored in various kitchen containers. Emergency showers are taken. Legs are not shaved (and this is NOT November! The cowboy is risking serious stubble-burn if he has set his sights on snuggling at bedtime.) Moaning and groaning and moving like a man who is nearly 50, he showers, eats his dinner, and dozes off for the night. Will he get it fixed tomorrow? Will Shop-a-Rama have the needed parts? Will the cowboy be stabbed to death in his sleep by leg hair?

Tune in next time for episode 3 of Pipebusters on the Reality Channel.

PipeBusters on the Reality Channel

3:00 ET, 2:00 CST

On the pilot episode of PipeBusters, we find Stephanie rising early and making her way to the kitchen. She hears a noise. An odd noise. An ominous sound. An ominous hissing sound. (cue hissing noise) She lurks around quietly, trying to discern the location and cause. Snake? If so, Stephanie and her family could be in danger. Grave danger. Freon leak? If so, Stephanie and her mangoes could be in danger. Grave danger. Just then, in another room of the house, Kevin starts the water for his shower. Instantly, the threatening hissing noise is silenced. Almost simultaneously, Stephanie's phone beeps. A text. Who could it be from? WHO??? (cue suspenseful music)

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The synchronized stoppage of the strange hissing sound in sync with her son's shower and the incoming text is an awfully big coincidence. (Of course, everyone knows, there are no big coincidences or small coincidences, only coincidences.) Still, she grabs her glowing purple cell, eager to discover who, WHO, has texted at this wee hour of 6:45 a.m.??? It's the cowboy, who left for work just after discovering the hissing noise. Text: Wrench on garage freezer. Turn water off at meter. Leak under house.

There is a leak under the house. A leak. A water leak. Under the house. What to do? WHAT TO DO? (cue William-Shatner-deliberate-pause reading style). The cowboy says turn it off. TURN. IT. OFF. But Kevin is in the shower, preparing to leave for camp in 42 minutes (cue ticking clock sound). Camp! In forty-two minutes! This could be the last decent shower he has for days! And Stephanie has yet to bathe. And it is imperative that she leave for work in 3 hours. Three hours! Not to mention vital laundry to finish - whites AND darks. And teeth to be brushed - 56 between the two of them, as Stephanie's wisdom teeth have been removed and Kevin's have yet to make an appearance. They need the water. NEED the water. (cue suspenseful music, pt.2)

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There is a water leak under the house. A potentially disastrous water leak. The water must be turned off, and fast before the crawl space becomes an ocean (cue John Williams' brilliant music from "Jaws"). Yet Stephanie and Kevin need the water to finish getting ready. Stephanie urges Kevin to shower quickly, "Rinse and go, boy, RINSE. AND. GO!" Once out of the shower, Stephanie begins a load of laundry, doing the unthinkable: mixing essential colors with whites in the same load. Now the cowboy's tighty whiteys are in danger of turning pink. PINK. (cue "Get the Party Started") There is not a single western shirt in his closet that goes with pink underpants. Not one. If this happens, he will not be happy. Not be happy at all. But drastic times call for drastic measures. Now Stephanie brushes her teeth while the washer fills, then runs her own bath. Kevin brushes HIS teeth, fills 2 pitchers, and the laundry finishes spinning only moments after Stephanie's legs are shaved, and DONE! And in record time - only 28 minutes from text to wrench twist and the water is OFF!

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Stephanie and Kevin are ready in record time, and the water is off, stopping both the leak and the hissing sound (which, of course, are one and the same, but still). Two half-gallon pitchers of water have been filled, giving them enough clean drinking water for 24 hours. Twenty-four hours. Only one day. After that, who knows? What will happen to them? Will they call a plumber? Will they make it a do-it-yourself project? Will they die from dehydration?

Tune in next time for episode 2 of PipeBusters on the Reality Channel.