Britany's Blog

Writing at the speed of life

The Rest of the Story

Yesterday, I wrote about a Totally Blogworthy Event.  Today, I will tell you “The rest [dramatic pause] of the story”.

This morning, hubs took oldest child to school which meant the minivan sat in the garage most of the day.  Late this morning, I had a reason to walk into the garage and immediately, I noticed some things out of place.  Strange.  I had this weird feeling that something wasn’t right when [insert loud, scary scream] I see the animal, now known as the brownish-grayish cat, staring at me from atop the shelves off to my right.  Yes, you read that right – that darn cat spent the night in our garage!

The good news?  We probably don’t have a mouse problem anymore.

The bad news?  Now we have a cat problem.

I (once again) opened the garage door so the cat could escape then darted inside to figure out what to do.  I tried looking up the phone number for our new neighbors but alas, they only listed an email address.  What’s a frantic person to do? Email her of course.  But then, it dawns on me – not everybody lives and breathes by that “ding!” on the computer that says “You’ve got mail!”  That MAY just be me.  Maybe.

Next on my list of things to try – pick up the cat and carry it over to the new neighbor’s home.  I figured, what better way to meet the new neighbor than to show up with her missing cat? All I had to do was catch it, which shouldn’t be a problem since it seemed to like us, or at least our garage.

The cat had now sauntered out of the garage and was wandering around toward the yard.  I got as close as I dared than spoke to the cat.  I did, after all, grow up on a farm.  I like to think I am something of a cat whisperer.  Yeah right.  That ugly mass of gray fur hissed at me and then headed straight for me.  I couldn’t tell what it’s intentions were, exactly – UNTIL IT TRIED TO BITE ME!!!  Then I was pretty sure it was hostile.

At this point, I may or may not have stood straight up and tried to kick the ungrateful thing, yelling “GO HOME” and pointing toward the alley.  It was undaunted.  It wanted back into my garage.

There was only one thing to do – I had to go tell the neighbors.  So with a barefooted 3 year old on my hip and middle child in tow, I headed across the field to meet the neighbors.  Neighbor, along with their dog (NAMED BEVO), answered the door.  She was worried sick about the cat.  She was up all night worrying about her.  The cat had never been outside before.  (I assured her the cat spent the night inside our warm and comfy garage.)  She wanted to go after the cat, but the new baby was asleep upstairs, and her little girl was watching TV.  I offered to stay with the kids while she went, and she was very happy to go.  So she locked BEVO in the bedroom and took off across the field.

I wasn’t there long enough to take pictures with my cellphone, but I totally wish I had.  Her house was BEAUTIFUL!!!  Stunning.  And – here’s the shocker – clean.  I mean, they just moved in like a month or so ago – and then HAD A BABY – and there was no clutter anywhere.  There were not even any dirty dishes present on the kitchen counter.  What kind of crazy mixed up place is this? I wondered.  That’s about how long I had to contemplate, since immediately after arriving at this stranger’s home, my 3 year old declared he needed to go potty.  I figured he just wanted to snoop around her house but I also figured that between that and wetting all over her brand new couches, a little snooping was in order.

While youngest child was in the bathroom, the baby woke up.  Funny thing was that I could hear him on the baby monitor but had no earthly idea where he was.

I tried asking the little girl but all she knew was “Baby crying.  Baby crying.”  Yeah, kid, I got that.

I tried to imagine which would be worse – the neighbor coming home to find me wandering aimlessly around her house or coming home to me sitting on the couch, listening to the baby on the monitor.  I decided to at least try to appear attentive.  I went up the stairs and there he was, the most beautiful baby I have ever laid eyes on, lying in the most beautiful crib I have ever seen.  In a fabulous house.  With no clutter.  Yeah, I’m not jealous or anything.

So down I came with the baby in my arms when I saw my youngest, pants and underwear down around his ankles, waddling back from the bathroom.  Having faced this scenario before, I was actually able to lean over and help him pull up his pants without ever putting the baby down.  We were just snapping up when new neighbor got home, kitty in arms.  She was ever so grateful and as I wanted to leave her with those warm fuzzy feelings about us, I exited quickly, yelling back over my shoulder something about how beautiful their house was blah blah blah.

She actually wrote me a really nice email tonight.  I believe we made a new friend today.

That is, assuming her cat didn’t eat any of that rat poison in our garage.

Totally Blogworthy Event

A few days ago, I saw this nasty rat run out of the garage so I called the pest control guy to come eliminate the problem.  He came yesterday morning and made me feel much better by telling me I do not appear to have any in the attics or the house – just the garage.  Whew!

Yesterday afternoon, I went to get our oldest child from school in the pouring rain and when I came home, opened and closed the garage door quickly since the temperature was dropping.  We all paraded into the house and didn’t leave again for several hours.  All I can figure is that it was when we got home from picking him up that the animal got in the garage.

So when Daddy called and asked if we wanted to eat dinner at Double Dave’s we were IN!  The boys paraded out into the garage (as normal).  The scene is still clearly in my mind.  Middle child was standing by the car, oldest was by the door to the house and youngest was standing on the stool by the button to the garage door, just about to open it (waiting on my permission).  The door to the house was open and middle said, in a normal-sounding voice “Mommy, look – an animal!”  All I could see was gray fur.  And the size?  Bigger than a rodent.  Then it turned and I saw a long tail.  Oldest said “It’s a cat!” and that’s when I said, probably not as calmly as I should have “EVERYONE GET INSIDE!  NOW!  MIDDLE CHILD, GET OVER HERE NOW!”

The boys ran into the house while I slammed the door, then thought twice and cracked the door open just enough to press the garage door opener.  I figured that the animal would run out.  Beyond that?  No plan.  So I called Hubs.  His answer?  Get the PLASTIC SWORD off the island and check out the garage.  Great.  I’m now headed out into the garage to face what could potentially be one of the ROUS’s (for those of you who haven’t seen The Princess Bride, shame on you!  Also, that stands for Rodents of Unusual Size).

As I beat around the garage with my plastic sword, nothing emerged so I was cautiously optimistic.  I got the boys into the car quickly, then wheeled out into the alley, shutting the garage door as we left.  At this point, oldest child yells “WATCH OUT MOMMY THERE ARE PEOPLE BACK HERE.”  As if my nerves weren’t already frazzled enough.

After slamming on the brakes and losing all 18 tubes of lipstick when my purse fell over, I saw a man and his little girl at the other end of the alley.  ‘I dumped my purse out for this? ‘ was my first thought.  My second was ‘Maybe they’re out looking for their missing gray cat, the one that’s been in my garage the last few hours.’ Hey, at least I got there, okay?!!

I rolled down my window and watched the look of astonishment on the man’s face as I described the incident in my garage.

Since I’m not great at using quotation marks, here’s the gist of the conversation:

Yes, it was their cat!  He was out looking for it, as a matter of fact!  Well, actually it was his wife’s cat, and you shouldn’t let your kids too close to it because it is, in fact, a pretty unfriendly cat.  Thank you and I’ll walk down the alley toward your house and look for it.

In retrospect, I should have given him my phone number.  Or perhaps my name.  But I was too busy telling this total stranger about how I thought his gray cat was a ROUS.  No, I didn’t really use the acronym but I did in fact tell him that I thought his cat was a large rat.  He didn’t laugh.  But then again, he appeared to be a Longhorn.  Which totally explains everything. (Sorry Cathy – couldn’t pass it up!)



My Dad was such an amazing man. He was, in so many way, the focal point around which our whole family existed.

Dad had a very dry sense of humor. He liked to try to make people laugh without letting anyone else in on the joke. At the dinner table, he would wink at me or wiggle his nose or other things that only I could see. When I would start laughing, it was almost always at inappropriate times, which made the rest of our family look at me like I was crazy. I didn’t care – it was a private joke between me and Dad.

He also loved to make me laugh when I was trying to talk to him about something rather serious. It was like he was entertaining himself. I would get angry with him about it, but he didn’t care – he had his own way of dealing with life and no one could change his mind.

I believe, looking back, a lot of what made my Dad who he was, happened in 1961. He had just graduated from Texas A&M in 1960 and was serving his year in the Army Reserves when his youngest brother, Jamie, became very sick. Jamie was diagnosed with Acute Leukemia, according to his death certificate, and only lived six weeks from onset to death. He died on June 17, 1961, in a hospital in San Antonio.

He was only ten years old.

I never knew who James Gregory Beever was until I was an adult. His name was spoken – it was whispered. His picture hung on the wall at my grandparents’ house, along with the other three boys, but we didn’t discuss him. I was always told that it was too hard for my grandmother, so we were simply told that Dad had another brother who died very young. When I was old enough to ask adult questions, my parents explained it to me, but it wasn’t until the past few months that I actually learned the details from his death certificate. I wish I had asked my Dad more questions about Jamie, but that opportunity, like so many things, died with him on January 8, 2021.

I think I’m feeling nostalgic today because tomorrow is Father’s Day. This will be our first Father’s Day without Dad, and I didn’t even realize it until my husband mentioned it to me yesterday. I always called Dad on Father’s Day but other than that, we didn’t make a big deal about it. Even that call was sometimes difficult for me since, as the years went by, it became more difficult for my dad to talk on the phone. I also didn’t talk to him enough to really know what to say on those calls.

I wish I had asked him more questions. I wish I had learned more about him. I wish I had known him better.

Now, all I have left are pictures and whatever newspaper articles and stories I can dredge up from relatives or the internet.


At least those things can be replicated in some way. They are all that’s left of him now.

And that’s what hurts the most.

Put On Your Quarantine Pants!

Put On Your Quarantine Pants!

What is it about suddenly having time that makes me think I can do anything? And I do mean anything. For instance, I’ve started making my own homemade yogurt (BLECH!) as well as Amish Friendship Bread.

So far, I’ve thrown away more starter than I’ve used to make bread. I just can’t seem to get it all straight…like, is this day 6 or 7? Is this the day I feed it? Or is this the day I stir it? It’s all very confusing. Of course, I don’t think it would be nearly so difficult if I didn’t start THREE at the same time…as in, three separate jars of starter.  Why?  Because I went online to buy the jar recommended by the person on the Amish Bread site and thought, “If one is good, wouldn’t three be even better?” 

The answer is no.  No, three jars is unnecessary.  Three starters in three jars is ridiculous.  Three is not better when one is more than I can handle.  Come take a look in my freezer and you’ll see. I’ve frozen approximately ELEVENTY THOUSAND bags of starter!!!

But this isn’t a story about how I had so much starter last Saturday that I decided to make FOUR LOAVES of Friendship Bread. Because that day was TERRIBLE. No, this story is about my pants. 

Sometime around the start of the quarantine, I was very stressed. I didn’t handle it well, the way things were changing every day, and so I bought clothes. Lots of clothes. Like, four new pairs of jeans and three new shirts and even a new pair of tennis shoes, even though I already have two perfectly fine pairs. 


But even though I sent one pair of shoes back, I liked the pants.  One pair, in particular, was really cute. I wore them twice before the rip that was created by the manufacturer, well, it ripped more. Only instead of horizontally, it took off vertically. It looked really stupid. In other words, the fashionable people who wash their new blue jeans with rocks until they look worn, then cut them intentionally, would know that mine accidentally ripped and think I was…gauche.  I guess that’s what I’m saying.


So what’s a girl to do? I wasn’t sure, so I set the pants aside for oh, a month or four. Until I decided it was silly not to just sew up the rip. How much worse could they look?

(FYI, never ask that question.)

(Also, if you’ve ever read the book, “If You Give A Mouse A Cookie,” you will probably see what’s coming.)


So what do I do when my new jeans have an unintended rip that needs to be repaired? Well, first, I think about whether or not I should just stitch it by hand. I could do that since I’ve done a lot of hand-stitching in my life, but blue jean material is thick and I knew it would hurt to push the needle through the cloth. So sewing machine it is!


Next, I have to find my sewing machine. Easy enough – it’s in the guest bedroom closet. Only that’s now Brad’s home office. So there was a long delay while I tried to decide A) where to put the sewing machine and B) when to get it so it doesn’t bother Brad.


During that delay, which lasted at least a month, I rediscovered Pinterest. And for reasons I can’t quite recall, began searching up pictures of under-the-stairs closets, and how people have used them. As I searching Pinterest, I came across an article in which someone turned part of their under-the-stairs closet into a sewing closet! Hurrah! I have the solution to my problem!


When I approached Brad with my idea, he remembered a cheap little shelving unit we had in the attic from when we were first married! I think it was a hand-me-down from my sister, but I’m not certain. Whatever the case, it was the perfect size for the space – just wide enough and deep enough to give me space to sew and still be able to fit a chair.


I delayed again after that because I still hadn’t figured out when to get my sewing machine, plus I was worried that there wouldn’t be enough light. Then, one day, I mentioned to Brad that I needed my machine and he went immediately and carried it into the closet! On Sunday the last two pieces fell into place as I went to put a tower fan I had bought Brad for Father’s Day in his home office and saw there was a lamp in the way. It took me a little while to put two and two together, but I eventually realized where I could put the lamp, and it turns out it’s perfect next to my machine and VERY bright! Then I was in our media room and noticed a little desk chair set back against the back wall. We have six recliners in that room, so I grabbed the chair and put it in my closet. (Of course, as soon as Samuel learned what I had done, he told me that was his favorite place to sit and watch his brothers play video games.)


Finally, my sewing closet was ready, so today, when I got sick of working on our budget, I decided to sew up my jeans in my new space! 

As I sat feeling very industrious and smart stitching up my pants, I had all sorts of glorious thoughts about starting my own sewing business! Or taking in clothes that people need repaired! Or creating something with my sewing machine that no one had ever seen before!  

And then I took my pants off the machine and realized all I had really done was create for myself a pair of quarantine jeans that will never see the outside of our house. 


(I might have over-estimated my ability to sew.)


Which is fine, since I rarely see the outside of our house, either.