Kick the Can

Sitting here by the light of the screen, I find myself wondering about where I am, where I am going, and how on Earth did I even get here.  With so much to be thankful for, it feels selfish to want, well, anything. Still, I wish I would get off my booty and finish one of the many writing projects I have on the table. I swear, I spend more time wondering why I can't seem to get motivated than anything else. No the best use of time, but I am an excellent procrastinator. 

I am now armed with a very motivated business and spiritual partner. Perhaps his motivation will rub off on me. Perhaps he'll kick me in the tuchis. Ah, I can only hope.  There is so much on the horizon, I am thrilled to be at the foothills of potential greatness.  

We are all susceptible to demotivating bouts of self-doubt.  But none of us will ever get anywhere if we don't take that first step, however small.  So perhaps I shall pick up the book I didn't finish writing...yet. Then again, that great idea for the next book is shaping up nicely. Still, the first time the writing bug bite me, it drew blood. My passion for my initial writing project runs deep. Perhaps I'll baby that one, slowly molding it into what it was always meant to be. I just need a boost every now and again. Don't we all. 

So I shall call my ever-so-positive partner and maybe he'll give me a good swift kick. After all, I have to get off of it in order to be kicked in it. 

Never give up on what's in your heart my friends. It's there for a reason. 

 

Hello From the Outside

     Well, it sure has been awhile. There is always something to rip me away from the internet.  There is also so many wonderfully mind-numbing places to troll online that it makes work nearly impossible. I mean really. Insomnia at 3 a.m. is much better served by online word games or trolling dust pics from ancient friends on facebook. Of course the latter comes with risk of accidentally "liking" a six year old post or pic in the wee hours of the morning.  Because nothing says loser like trolling a semi-strangers old pics and getting all nostalgic in your sleep-deprived stuper. 
     I have been busy on all fronts.  I have also found a renewed love of writing. I have hundreds of poems up under the the name PrttyBrd.  I pop up all over the place.  Peruse and leave comments good or bad, they are always welcome. In a weird and wonderful turn of events. I got published in a book entitled Stories of Music.  Yes, I am now a paid writer. So I am doing a jig. There are so many projects in the works. I am working on two books of my own. One book is a poetry book that I believe will appeal to even the most ardent hater of poetry. Yep, it is a book of 10w poems. The other book is a novel.  That's the one that makes me nervous, because i see it perfectly in all its thrilling splendor. Then, I take pen to paper and it isn't quite as colorful.  Lol, I never expected it to be easy. However, I never expected to feel like I am incapable of forming a coherent sentence either. 
     I have a business partner and we are on our way in an awesome endeavor of artistic beauty. I will be posting links to his books, our pages, and soon my book (s) as well. 
     So, wish me luck. I plan on keeping you all posted.  Hopefully, there are some of you left :) 

The Creature From the Depths of Hell

The following is a synopsis of my day in anxiety or AAAAHHHHHHH

Lol, so as I'm sitting at this blank screen yesterday morning trying to write that infernal bio, I hear ominous noises coming from my fireplace. I thought, bird. But a bird cannot get into the fireplace from the outside, so, no. I happen to mention the sound to everyone I came in contact with on the computer and phone yesterday, because it FREAKED ME OUT. It got louder and eventually moved away from the chimney into the side cabinets, scurrying the twelve foot span behind the fireplace in seconds. I barricaded each cabinet door with logs and winced at the scratching sounds of a desperate animal. I would have been happy to investigate, had people not mentioned rat or bat. I can live with bird or squirrel. Anyway, can you say xanax? Couldn't concentrate, refused to succumb to the magic pills and tried, without any degree of success, to maintain composure. I mean, how can I keep the kids calm if I'm not calm. so, I thought I was doing pretty good, attributing my stress to trying write. Haha! I had them fooled! Until...the youngest said, "I want to see the squirrel", and the boys went straight to the cabinet. Before they could reach for the log of safety, I screached at the to get away from that cabinet. cover blown. They were hysterical, so glad they found me amusing (hmmf).

Fast forward to about 4:30 ish. I believe I told you I have arthritis, nothing major, just a pain in the everything. Yesterday it was 40 degrees after being 80 for two days. My hands were in full rebellion. Keep in mind, I was absolutely stressed from this creature from the depths of hell in my walls, behind my fireplace, and trying to beat itself out of my barricaded cabinets. I swear, say rat to me and I about pee my pants. They are almost as bad as frogs. (remind me to tell you that lovely story) But I digress. I'm sitting at the computer, the boys are playing in front of the fireplace tracking the hell sounds with joyous laughter. And I reach for the phone, a simple enough act. I grasp it, but my hands didn't work. I couldn't even feel it. It slipped out of my hand, knocked over my glass of soda onto my keyboard, myself and the floor. Upon reaching its final destination, the phone shattered in a very loud and unexpected ruckus, to which the boys screamed and startled the creature who tried frantically to escape through every surface he could find.

That was it. I was an emotional mess. The kids were nuts with the creature flitting about my walls, I was trying desperately to save my keyboard, while my oldest attempted to clean the pieces of phone and reassemble it. I was so overwhelmed by the unexpected loss of hand function that I couldn't care less that the demon in my fireplace was banging hard enough to jiggle the log of safety, and I walked away from it all.

After I was calm, after everyone was home, and was ready for bed. Come to find out the creature was in fact a bird. The cutest little bluebird with pink breast. The kind that is almost electric blue in the sun. A rare find here, and my favorite to happen upon. I was heartbroken. He was so exhausted. He was not broken, thank goodness. And when we put him outside he flew. I will assume to safety. Poor little thing. Had I trusted my instincts in morning, we both would have had a much less stressful day. That's what I get for listening to people whose sole purpose in life is to laugh as I freak out. Thanks guys, appreciate the love. ugh.

I am now nice and calm, so that's a good thing.

Mother's Day 2013

Having four kiddies ages 15,9,7, and 3.5 makes life interesting, to say the least.

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My 7yr old made these lovely cards for Mother's Day. While I love the artwork, I couldn't help but notice these are very unhappy hearts indeed.  The tears on the foil embossed card I found especially moving.  So I asked him, "Honey, why are the hearts so very sad?"  He responded quite matter-of-factly with, "because they got shot with an arrow", and after a second to ponder whether or not I could understand why that would make the hearts cry, he continued, "and that's gotta hurt".  Very true my dear, it would definitely hurt to be shot with an arrow.  Then he looked at me with his head tilted in thought, "but how else are you supposed to catch it so you can give it to someone else?"  

I just love how his mind works.  In a greater existential sense of things, yes you risk pain to love someone and have them love you in return.  How else are you supposed to give your heart to someone else?

I Have Returned

Okay, now that my bun is now 3.5 and my house is as settled as it is ever going to get I will attempt to be back on here on a regular basis.  Not sure if you've missed me, but boy have I missed you...story of my life.

 

I'm Grown and Still as Dorky as Ever

There comes a time when, as an adult, you realize that you will never grow up.  After all, when you reach my nameless age, if you're still as dorky as ever this must just be who you are.  I take immense pleasure in embarrassing my kids in public.  I love to sing, though I have no talent.  Unfortunately for them, I don't have much shame either.  I'm all about hugs and kisses and will threaten public displays of affection to bend my oldest to my will.  Hahaha, I am not heartless.  However, as a teenager, it is way to expensive to bribe them into good behavior.  I have found that just the threat of public humiliation works better and best of all, It's FREE.  Of course, my kids must test me incessantly.  I assure you, they have learned their lesson as I sang crappy impromptu opera at the mall one Saturday afternoon. It took maybe ten seconds to embarrass them into submission. *insert evil laugh here*

Oh the moments of joy

Okay, so my first grader comes home all happy as usual.  I go through his folder and find a very neatly written list of rules.  As I read them, he proceeds to tell me how everyone in his class had to come up with rules for behavior.  Apparently, the class had been unruly for awhile.  So, they all had to write down the rules that the students came up with.  There were the usual; "raise your hand", "wait your turn",  "no kicking", "no name calling", etc.  Then I come to one that made me take pause.  I asked my son, though I really didn't have to, "which one did you come up with".  Apparently, just as I thought, his was number fourteen.  His rule, which is now on everyone's rule list being read by everyone's parents, states...wait for it..."Do not say ASS to the teacher".  Hmmmmm.  I'm so proud, hahahaha.  Now, he is "that" kid and we are "those" parents.  Ahhh the joy.

Redemption Revisited

It has been a very long time since I have posted on my little mini-drama.  In that time, I have found a way to become close to and alienated from my little crush.  My crush that took no time to grow into a friendship.  It has become something I cherish, we both do.  All caught up and still drawn together, we have laughed and cried and laughed until we cried.  I would like to think that my little blue-eyed angel will be a part of our lives forever.  Unfortunately, life is never truly that easy.  There is a lot between us.  Friends for life, for now it seems that way anyway.  It has been a roller coaster at times trying to drudge through what could have been to get to a place that is settled firmly in the here and now.  If I never go on fb again, I will always be thankful that it did what we could never seem to do in real life, bring us together.  It's a means to an end I suppose.  A way that the story has come full circle...almost.

I do exist

It has been a long time since I've posted here.  I apologize for my absence.  Life has a way of swishing you around like a washing machine.  Up, down, and sideways.  I'll try to update, in a series of short posts, the jist of  what's been going on.  Quick update, I've been ill.  In and out of doctor's, hospitals, and nightmares.  All is well.  I am fine and healing and hopefully on my way to a much better existence in my own body. Family is well for the most part.  Kiddies have been troopers and Hubby, well, he's hubby.  Gotta love him, he does try.

Judging by Their Worst Day

It started out to be such a good weekend morning.  The oldest spent the night at a friends house.  The five and six year-olds were laughing and playing quietly in their room, and the baby was eating happily in his highchair.  On went the peppy cleaning music and I moved another load of laundry.  Everything was moving along wonderfully, peacefully.  As I entered the boys' room to put their clothes away, I was faced with the aftermath of a tornado, or so it seemed.  There were broken plastic hangers strewn about.  The contents of their closet was behind their dresser.  Every toy they owned was piled in the middle of their floor, and the telltale snack wrappers, from their booty dug up from the pantry, were stuffed between their beds and the wall.  It was like they were pint-sized drunken rock stars trashing a hotel room, right down to a five inch hole in their wall.  How on Earth did they do that in stealth mode?  How do you wrap your mind around that.  it makes no sense.  It defies reason.  So much for peaceful.

Except for putting their closet back together, I made them clean the entire thing.  It took four hours before it was spotless, four hours of yelling and screaming and crying and carrying on, four hours of time-outs and everything else under the sun.  It was four hours, but I refused to let them off the hook.  Then when the oldest came home, apparently after not sleeping for two nights, I got attitude for reminding him he had chores.  I had to wake him up three times and he the nerve to ask me what my problem was and why can't I just leave him alone.  Really?  There was no respect to be had that day and there was none given.

However, this is not about our imperfect front.  This is not about our lack of patience or understanding.  This is not about good parenting vs. bad parenting.  As parents, we tend to judge our skills based on our children's worst day.  Tantrums, backtalk, screaming fits that pluck that last nerve all serve as proof of our own ineptitude.  When our wits' end is frayed, that is when we should be proud of ourselves for not returning our little angel-butts (1/2 angels and 1/2 pains in the butt) to whence they came.  Of course we love our children.  Of course it is their job to test boundaries, and it is ours to hold fast and teach them.  Our actions will give them the tools they'll need to navigate their own paths through life.  It's easy enough to say that in writing.  Life, however, is made up of lessons that are hard to live.

I've read plenty of books, articles, and blogs by both the "professionals" and regular parents like me.  I have come to realize that people, in general, are vain.  There are so many people trying to offer help or advice on how to be the best parent you can be.  Obviously it is easier to tell someone what they should do or how they should treat and discipline their children.  Unfortunately, most of these people put forth their best days effort.  Best case scenarios only make us normal, everyday people feel even less deserving of their little gifts from God.  Even though, in real life, I have yet to meet a parent who doesn't give kudos to their kids for all the good and blame themselves for all the bad.  Whether its bad choices, bad behavior, bad grades or an embarrassing lack of table manners if it isn't good, it is our fault.  After all, we are the examples.  We are the ones teaching them.  They had to learn it from somewhere, right?

No, they are little people that are easily influenced.  Fun, is good.  They will learn that there are consequences for their actions by acting and reaping the consequences.  So each act of willful independence, each shirking of the rules is just them learning.  It is harder on us as parents than it is on them.  We should not judge ourselves by their worst day.  We should take pride in all they do right.  We should do our best and do it with love.  No one can ask for more.  Every day they grow into their own person.  Every now and then, they will test us one to many times and we may lose our minds just a little.  You are normal.  I am normal.  Perfectly well behaved children in all circumstances, not so much. 

I am grateful that chaotic days like this are few and far between.  So, from one sometimes overwhelmed parent to all the others out there.  Even whey they are tornadoes, you are a good parent.  Even when they do the opposite of what you have taught them, you are a good parent.  Even when you look at them and their disasters and want to run screaming in the other direction, you are a good parent.  We all need a little help sometimes.  We all need a break.  Even when those options are not available, and we are not at our best....we are still good parents.

Though the rewards won't come until they are grown, productive members of society, rest assured that generations of parents have and will continue to have those days that make us question what God was thinking giving us kids.  Then there are the rest of the days that are filled with silly songs and magic kisses.  That is what we hold onto when they are plucking that last nerve. 

Grasshoppers: Birth of a Phobia

I have a ridiculous fear of frogs.  It is insane how mortified I get.  As a child I loved them.  I even grew tadpoles and caught babies by the canal.  I was fine, until one day I saw a toad that completely filled the dog food bowl.  We had a German Shepard, and he had a very big bowl.  After that, I stopped with the frogs.  It went unnoticed for years.  Until one day, my kid brother saw me stop short while walking along the path to our front door.  There was a tree frog on the leaf I had to walk by.  I had only stopped for a second and then continued on into the house.

Well, little did I know that kid brothers are EVIL.  Yeah, I said it.  He took a bucket and played outside while I was relaxing in front of the T.V.  As usual, my mother turned the television off and demanded that we either go outside to play or clean our rooms.  Is that even a real choice?  I mean, c'mon who cleans when it's only one of the available options, but I digress.  So, of course, my sister and I went outside.  I barely got past the drive when I got bombarded with tree frogs of all sizes.  Big ones and babies both green and white varieties.  I don't know where my brother got so many frogs, I can't imagine they were only from our yard, we barely had any plants.  yet, there they were being pegged at me one at a time.  From that day forward, I have had some weird frog phobia.

Perhaps it's that when I see a frog, I am transported back in time to that very day, to that very moment.  The moment where one highly unlucky frog landed with its leg in my mouth and I tasted frog foot.  Perhaps it's that I could not trust my own family to not take advantage of a little fear.  I can't say for sure, maybe it is all that and more.  All I know is that the very sight of a frog makes my blood run cold and turns me into a screaming, blithering idiot who is lucky to not wet herself in her hysteria over a two inch flippin' froggy.

I tell you this story, because years from now I will look back on today, as I see my 5 year old develop his own phobias from scratch with a little help from all those who love him, and know just where it began.   Where we live there is some mutant grasshopper thing that grows to be roughly about 4" from tip to tail.  That is a low estimate.  I've seen them bigger.  Anyway there was one about 3" long on our stack of bags of mulch.  I told my oldest to pick it up and feed it to the chickens.  He flipped out and said, "no".  Then my 6year old looked at it and tried to get it to move by poking it.  It didn't budge.  Then out comes our 5 yr old.  Of course, he wanted to see it too.  So he takes a look at it and turns to walk away.  Hubby, their dad, picks it up to show the boys that it doesn't bite and is not scary.  Then he pretended to throw it ad my 5 year old.  Unfortunately, the grasshopper didn't realize he was supposed to stay put on hubbies hand.  He pretend to fling his hand in the direction of the child.  The grasshopper took off and jumped right on the edge of his shirtsleeve.  As soon as the boy noticed it was on him, he went spastic.  he screamed bloody murder.  He couldn't have been any louder if he were being stabbed in the gut.  He flails shamelessly, and jumps and wriggles wildly.  He almost runs headfirst into the van.

Now, he is scared to go outside for fear that the giant grasshoppers will eat him alive.  it's ridiculous.  His big brothers just perpetuate the fear, and hubby can't stop laughing long enough to tell him anything, much less how dinner was.  Today, was the birth of a phobia.  I feel so bad for the kid.

Insomnia Sucks

Sitting here before dawn by the ethereal glow of cyberspace, I can't help but wonder WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME.  Seriously, I don't sleep.  If there are three solid hours to be had, that is considered success.  The human body was not meant to function  efficiently on such low recuperation time.  Oh, and a severe lack of sleep apparently turns one into a cranky, paranoid beast.

Still, I'm drawn to the almost blinding glow of these stark white pages.  My vision blurring in exhaustion, my back aching from this crappy chair, and my mind racing from the influx of crazy facebook dwellers...I am still here.  It used to be that I could stumble a bit (love that site btw) and it would numb my mind enough to let the call of slumber be heard.  Now, however, my head is spinning so fast that I can't even be bothered pushing that  little green and blue circle that stares at me from the tom of my computer.  The more I learn about the lives of those that my path in life has left behind, the more I worry about the people I once loved.  The more I worry about those people, whom I haven't spoken with in 15-20 years, the more I am sick to my stomach because I can't figure out why they matter at all.  I don't know them anymore.  Do I want to?  Perhaps it's true that once you love someone, you love them for life.  At least in my case, I can't think of one person that was ever important to me that I would turn away to this day.  I still care.  I will always care.  It is highly inconvenient, especially when they take stupid chances on stupid things and I'm not yet in a position to tell them off about things.

So I sit hit here by the glow of the screen and my mind races through reasons why I let this effect my life.  Why can't I just separate things? Seriously, why do I care? Why do I care that I care?  I have lost my mind.  I left it on my pillow where it hopes to gain the strength to return to my racing mind. I shall let it rest and do without for the time being.  I don't think anyone has noticed yet.  How sad is that?

A Bit of Redemption, Part 2

Where was I?  Oh yes dreading the moment in hopeful anticipation of who the heck knows what.  Okay, enough of this.  Short version:  Early in the chat there was an exchange that went something like this (unfortunately, facebook doesn't archive chats and erases them periodically):
Me:  It's like you would go out of your way to push my buttons and then laugh when I would get annoyed
Him: Really? I can't imagine why I would've done that, except that guys tend to pick on the ones they like
Me: Really?
Him: Oh, like you didn't know.
Me: I had no idea, honest.  Wish I had.
Him: Why?
Me: I had it bad, I must say.
Him: I never knew.  That could've been great.

At this point, I think I lost my mind.  I was transported into that innocent school girl, running memory slides in fast-forward.  These memories came complete with emotion and nerves and ridiculousness.  It's embarrassing really.  Anyway. 
That whole time he liked me, which was unexpected.  The hoping and wishing and thinking, "well, maybe", all that time wasted and for what?  So, two and half hours of chatting later, and I'm all giddy.  It's the next morning and I'm all giddy.  I feel like an idiot and I'm all giddy.  It's funny how a little hindsight changes your view on so many things.

So, I still am not a fan of facebook and the stalking spies that it creates.  However, My self esteem has been elevated.  That always seems to happen when a cute boy likes you, even if it is twenty years later.  It's a wonderful feeling to feel wanted and remembered.  It's always great to be remembered.  So now, my neurosis has plunged me into the question of why does it matter.  High School was not such a fun place, neither was adolescence.  Yet it forges profound connections in the brain.  Visceral responses to thoughts of what never was.  It's confounding.  It's freaking me out is what it is.  Hubby, thinks it's funny.  He also thinks I'm a dorky kind of gal.  He knows me well, that one.

So, maybe facebook isn't so bad after all.  Until it annoys me again. 

A Bit of Redemption, Part 1

Hey look, it's a second post in as many days.  See, miracles do happen.  I needed an update of sorts, of neurotic sorts.  In my Facebook email notification hell, there was a ray of sunshine.  Okay, a few.  First, while perusing pictures of my non-friends friends, I came across someone I used to know.  I met this person when I was eleven and we were friends through high school, until the military called and left me there alone for my last two years.  Perhaps alone isn't the right word, but it was definitely a much more lonely place.  Anyway, there he was a blip in a list of friends that had nothing to do with me.  So, like everyone else, I sent a friend request, because, after all, isn't that what facebook is for, seeking friends in the most obscure corners of the universe?  That was yesterday.  Today, people hopped on and offline and some requested the fake friendship that the site offers, and others accepted mine.  Whatever.

However, while speaking to my sister this morning I happened to mention that out of all the people that have been searched, sought, found, and ignored he was the one person I would really like to hear from.  Then, wouldn't you know, like magic this afternoon he accepted my friend request, and instantly hopped on my wall with the line "It's been a long time, how have you been".  How innocent right.  After a quick two sentence update he chatted me up.  We were on their for about ten or so minutes.  No biggie.  Then he asked me if we could chat later and set a time.  We had a date to chat.  I had never had a date to chat, a cyber-date if you will.  Then paranoid me goes all obsessive and thinks that it isn't that, it's just catching up.  The thing is, it didn't feel like catching up.  Maybe I didn't want it to be just catching up.  Maybe, he thinks I'm someone else, and why the hell am I getting so ridiculous.  It was bad people.  So I call my sister and tell her and she's all nervous for me.  Why am I so nervous you ask?  It's a long and boring story.  Here is the short version.

New quiet kid.  Loud talky girl.  Girl really likes boy.  Boy hangs out with girl, kind of.  They argue fairly often, he was bothersome, but so darned cute. Skinny blond kid with the face of an angel and a bit of hell in his eye, he had a deep voice with a hint of a drawl and it didn't suit him.  It was the voice of a man.  They end the year in an argument and he goes to high school, leaving her behind for another year.  When in band camp (yes it's a real thing and it didn't resemble American Pie in the slightest) the summer before freshman year, there he was. A nod and a wave and nothing more.  She ignores it, heart a little broken.  Maybe they really aren't friends anymore.  Apparently, being awkward and neurotic are innate to my nature.  By the time school starts, they're back to that flirty not flirty thing that kids do.  The kind of flirting that in their own mind is embarrassingly and painfully obvious, and to the rest of the world is clearly visible; but they dared not believe the possibility. What if they were wrong, oh the humiliation of the dreaded rejection.  Anyway, he pushed her buttons for fun, she gets annoyed that he can push her buttons at all.  Through the years of this non-relationship, she remained clueless as did he.  They lived in the hope of one day.  School continued, each with their own lives, relishing the overlap and stolen glances, thinking, "if only" and never realizing the truth.  Through other crushes and heartbreaks, through family drama that always accompanies growing up, and through the sheer nightmare that is high school, a smile never ceased to brighten her day.  They were friends, blind to what could have been.  Then one day, he was gone.

Until yesterday that is.  So, back to this chat thing.  Usually I am not a fan of instant messaging.  It's annoying, and gets in the way of whatever I'm trying to do.  So, of course, I barely have time to feed, bathe, and sleep the kiddies because facebook kind of sucks that way.  People that I have really missed, some friends and some family, are quick to chat.  Which is great since no one picks up a phone anymore.  But between the other friend that I haven't seen in seven years, and my sister-in-law which I haven't spoken to in three, well, there wasn't much time to get things done.  You don't want that first contact to be "hey, how are ya, gotta run".  Well, maybe you do, but it seems so rude. So by the time I was done with my sister-in-law, who I knew when the above drama began in middle school by the way.  It was time for the date, the much anticipated, in a sick to my stomach dreadful kind of way, non date. 

The fact that I was all eager is a bit disturbing, just so you know.

So I caved, Sucka

It has been years since my first invitation to join Facebook.  I have ignored them all.  My email gets a steady influx of requests from my actual friends to join the site.  It is understandable, they want easy access to keep up with things.  Oh how things escalate.  First, after years and years, they finally bully me onto Myspace.  Then, that gets passe'.   So I have a Myspace page that I haven't visited in months.  Then I get talked into twitter.  I'm not on there that often, but it's easy enough to keep open while I'm online, so I use it fairly regularly. I find it almost laughable how I'll tweet about my naked chickens, and everyone reads it.  How is that any kind of news?  Anyway, EVERYONE seems to do the Facebook thing, even my hubby.  Personally, I like being incognito in cyberspace.  Unfortunately, they make you put a real name down to sign up.  I suppose I could have faked my name, but then that would defeat the purpose wouldn't it?

So, after lunch, I received four invitations to Facebook.  I figured, what the hay.  So I lumbered through the process and changed most everything to private.  I may be on there, but you must be one of the privileged few to see my stupidity.  Now, in addition to the close friends that I would love to communicate with regularly, I have been searched out by those I barely remember.  Okay, that's not quite true.  Perhaps it is by those who I never think about.  However, I have spent the afternoon reliving high school hell, and I can't help but wonder if this is going to be the continued Facebook experience.  I know many people thoroughly enjoy this phenomenon, but I am NOT one of them.  Is it interesting to see where they are now? Sure for like a second, but once they are a "friend" they are tapped into your life.  I mean, your actual life.  If I were to put info on there about my sick kids, then everyone would know.  If I say, "Bored and hungry, mmmm pie", then people I barely knew twenty years ago....OK scratch that, ten years ago, haha, will know that I want pie.  Then my neurotic mind will go through how fat that makes me sound, because it's not like I will EVER post a picture of myself on the internet.  So, my word choice will be scrutinized for clues as to what this present-day me looks like.  Yes, I am aware that I am a bit paranoid and seemingly narcissistic.  Why else would I truly believe that people would be so obsessed by the nonsense that will be on my wall?  Which, by the way, is way too in depth to be open that way.  It's one thing to let me and the intended party see my notes and comments, but no one cares what I had for dinner or that it gave me hellacious gas.  The few that may care, well, now all their "friends" will now that they have a creepy gassy friend that is not at all lady-like.  That's how it will seem anyway.

All I know is, on my end, I'm not interested in what my "friends" say to their other friends.  I do not care in the slightest about their postings, as they do not affect me.  Now, one day I am sure I will spend hours trying to figure out all the settings and make my wall as bare as possible, Not.  Who has the patience for that much tweaking?  So now, I have a bunch of people that I perhaps used to know in another life, looking at postings to and from my family who I barely get a chance to keep up with.  How are my twisted inside jokes worth fifteen seconds in the life of someone I kind of used to know. More importantly, how is their stupid nonsense worth my fifteen seconds, which grows into two hours at 2 a.m.  Oh, did I mention the inordinate amount of time it takes to weed through and inevitably delete all the messages and notifications that are automatically emailed to you.  It would be fine if it only sent the emails about the people that I care about, but no, it is for everyone who is a "Facebook friend" and most of them are not friends at all.  Unfortunately, I don't plan to be on there often enough to not need the email alerts.  It will probably be the only thing that makes me check the page.  I can't believe I got bullied into this nonsense.  Everyone seems so happy to have found me there.  It's so sad.  I'm such a sucker.  It's almost like they just don't want to suffer alone, they had to drag me their with them.  They say misery loves company, well I'm there now.

I swear it's addictive and not at all productive and makes people anonymously nosy.  After all, I could spend days checking up on people that were once, however briefly, a part of my life.  They would have no idea that I stalk them on the internet.  Not that I do, mind you, but I could.  And if I could, then they could.  Perhaps, it is that very possibility that is freaking me out right about now.  There could be people watching me online, queue creepy music.  I thought, innocently enough, that why would people be bothered looking me up.  Apparently, it's what people do.  It is things like this that cut into our outdoor activities and cause our sedentary asses to grow fat and wide.  For the love of God people, turn the electronic devices off and go outside.  Have a picnic, ride your bike or play with your kids.  Just leave my browbeaten Facebook behind alone.  You're scaring me back into oblivion and it's only been a few hours.

Week One

School has begun.  The supply lists have been completed and the teachers have been met.  Unexpectedly, my pre-k four year old gets to go for the entire day instead of the usual three hours.  Woo Hoo, Woo Hoo, Woo Hoo!  I thought I would be sad to see him go to school like a big boy.  I was sad for the first one, no so much for the second since he had not been home alone and the two always fought (still do).  However, the four year old was the baby until last year.  He's been stuck to me since day one.  When his brother had to have surgery over the summer, I sent him and the oldest to Gramma's house.  It was difficult.  We both got over it.  He was not home a day when I found out that he would be going to school full-time.  Even that short amount of time was enough to realize that I had grown accustomed to quasi-quiet.  Screaming-tornado children are in direct conflict with my sanity. 

On the first day of school, 4 days ago, he was so excited and loved to be there and I was thrilled for him.  He's not allowed to ride the bus in the program, so I take him to school in the morning.  Usually, I'm not a morning person, but this forces me to be dressed and presentable before 8 a.m.  When I got home on Monday, it was unbelievably quiet with just me and the baby.  He's such a good baby, only cries when dirty or hungry.  I could not believe how much I got done before lunch.  I had to stop just to try to pace myself.  God forbid I get too much done, Hubby might expect me to do it everyday.  Sorry, that's just not going to happen. I even got to spend time with a friend of mine I haven't had a chance to see in months.  I used to think it was a hassle carting around my first child.  He was an only child for six years.  I took him everywhere with me.  Then came the next one, and the next one after than came a year later.  Now, there are four that I cart around with me everywhere.  It makes life...interesting, to say the least.  So, the past few days, of me and one very quiet child,  have been phenomenal.  I get enough accomplished during the day that I'm no longer rushed when they get home from school.  They are bathed early with clothes picked out for tomorrow.  Dinner is finished and they've eaten with enough time left over to relax before bedtime.  If I can keep this up, this year will be fabulous.


Then again, it is only the first week of school

Wasted Summer

With my son getting the "all-clear" after his surgery and two more away with Gramma, the reality of school starting in less than three weeks has me a bit panicked.  I'm feeling like I did back in High School when August rolled around and I could only reflect on a wasted Summer.  As I look around, I see nothing has gotten done.  Nothing was sorted through or put away, not one thing.  So, I sit here reflecting, once again, on a wasted Summer.

This was a Summer of worrying, which as we all know does not do anyone any good.  This was also a Summer of spending time alone with the one son who never had me to himself.  I suppose it wasn't really wasted at all.

Missing and No Action

When did the "to do list" become yesterday's leftovers.  I have been crossing items off of my list for days.  Literally, I do something and cross it off the list.  Yet, nothing is done.  There is no task completed.  Two weeks have passed since I sent two of my boys to Puerto Rico with family.  Usually, I'd be doing cartwheels and dancing semi-naked in my living room.  Actual naked dancing is reserved for special occasions and bribery.  Yet, this time, the ones that remain did so out of necessity.  One had surgery.  There is no dancing for surgery.  The other is still weaning, or so I tell myself.  Now, missing two and concerned for another, and being chewed to pieces by the last, that is where I am.  I am a worrying chew toy who feels incomplete in a house that is too quiet for comfort.  Who knew that the six year old could play by himself so well and so silently, without getting into trouble.  

So here I am.  I am unfocused and foggy.  Work has become a chore and hobbies just more things unable to be completed.  The joy I derived from my poems have been tainted by the past and thus avoided for a few days.  I sit here, guilty, and a little sad, and seemingly lost in the big picture.  Though, when I call my boys and hear the shrieks of the latest tantrum in the background, I do feel better and thankful for the quiet that surrounds me for now. 

Who Needs a Budget Anyway?

I used to be fairly good at math.  Really, I was.  I was never a mathematician, but even now I can still do Algebra.  I can also figure out a tip in about five seconds, and I'm pretty good at sales math too.  What's sales math, you ask.  Well it is just as it sounds.  If a pair of shoes was originally 62.99 and now it is on clearance for 75% off, but you also have a coupon for an extra 10% off, well I can do that math right there while holding the shoes and no calculator.  Obviously, without the motivation of new impractical footwear, I still am no mathematician.  Like I said, I used to be good at math.  Recently, it has been increasingly difficult to keep a budget of any kind. 

Hubby used to physically hand me his receipts every day and expect me to run and balance the checkbook at that very moment. Hahaha, did he not know me at all?  Just to be perfectly clear I have never been, I am not now, nor will I ever be that kinda gal.  It goes along with things like I am much better at folding laundry than putting it away, and I'll clean the house but you clean the van, and I'll keep those stupid cats fed and watered but I will not scoop the poop.   If I made it all my responsibility along with having to keep the kids  and everyone fed, healthy, and peaceful, then I would have a gaping bleeding ulcer instead of just mind-splitting migraines.  So, over time we developed a simple system.  He would put his receipts in an envelope and at the end of the week I would balance the checkbook.  This would work out great until he would bring me receipts that were weeks old and then, well, let's just say it wasn't good.  Recently, I decided to forgo checks wherever possible.  This works out great for me as I am in control of the actual checkbook.  I blurt out spending guidelines periodically as needed, depending on who has to see what doctor when, and how many co-pays we will need per given pay-period.  This is not tough stuff, tedious yes, difficult not at all. 

This routine worked for a long time, sort of.  Unfortunately, Hubby seems to be having some momentary lapses with increasing frequency.  I no longer get receipts.  This doesn't bother me as I check our account almost daily this time of year to keep things running smoothly.  Now, apparently, he is having some doubts concerning my grocery shopping abilities.  He won't come out and just say things.  Nope, he just kind of does things.  

Two days ago I called him on his way home from work to ask him if he could stop by the store.  He said I had to have a list that was no more than four items long.  Really? Fine.  His reasoning was that since he couldn't write it down, it was all he could remember.  Fine. I didn't mention that I actually emailed him a list of seven items fifteen minutes prior and was really calling to see if he got it.  After all he's fused with that Blackberry and could have just checked it once he got to the store. But since he wants four, I chose the necessities; toilet paper, milk, salt, and bread.  

This is where things went a little wonky.  See, on a whim I said "oh, if you remember, I would really like something carbonated".  That made five things, one of which was very vague.  I should have just asked for a Coke, or a Sprite, or anything in particular.  My kids tell me I'm a "coke addict" (this causes stares and sideways glances when blurted out in public, yay me).  It doesn't take much to know that Coke is my favorite soda, then Sprite Zero, followed by Sunkist.  The man knows this very well.  He replied, "anything? and that is more than four items".  Then it started. 

It takes a good forty-five minutes to get home in rush hour.  I called him ten minutes after he was to leave work.  We were on the phone until he got to the store down the street.  Yeah, I wasn't the one driving and talking and he refused to stop talking and hanging up would just have lead to more talking, which is usually my thing, but no (how's that for a run on sentence.)  Our conversation went like this:

Hubby:  "Anything?"

Me:  "No, not anything. You know what I like pick something".

Hubby:  "Does beer count as carbonated?"

Me:  "Really? No, and I didn't ask for beer.  You know I don't like beer"

Hubby:  "Mountain Dew is carbonated". (I think he threw that in there because of my nephew, please see previous post for further explanation)

Me: "What? Ew, no.  You know I don't drink that either. Look, don't bring me any nasty crap that you know I won't drink just because it's carbonated".

Hubby:  "But you said 'something', and Mount Dew is a something.  How about Dr. Pepper?"

Me: sarcastically sweet,  "I'm sorry, but it seems that I might have confused you.  Let me rephrase. Please Darling, if you remember, could you pick up a bottle of Coke"?

Hubby:  "Well, that's different.  That time you were specific.  So, if I bring home Coke Zero-

Me: exasperated, "No, Coke Zero is not Coke, Diet Coke is not Coke, Cherry Coke is not coke and Grape Fanta is NOT Coke.

 

Hubby: laughing, "it's okay Honey, all you had to do was say you wanted a Coke in the first place"

Me:  "Now I need two packs of wine coolers too, and I've already emailed you another list that has both the coke and the coolers on it, and before you ask, each bottle does not count as a separate item, and no I don't want one of every flavor.  I would like one strawberry pack and on screwdriver pack.  If they do not have one or the other please call me from the aisle while looking at the wine coolers and I will tell you if they have something I like.  Please do not, I repeat, do not under any circumstances choose a flavor of wine cooler for me that is not on that list"

Hubby:  "Are you mad at me"?

Huh?  I should have just told him that I emailed the list in the first place.  Perhaps I should mention that it had been a particularly trying day and I was a bit testy to begin with.  A coke would have made it all better.  I wasn't so lucky.  Just so you know, I wasn't yelling at the poor man, I just wanted to smack him a little silly is all.

When Hubby got home, he brought in the wine coolers and came to me with one cold and already opened. Okay, I know wine coolers are lame by way of alcohol, but if I steal away for five minutes to drink one in peace while hiding from my kiddies and my apparently very annoying husband, then I am invariably in a better mood due to the peace not the coolers, which means that I can tolerate my beloveds once again.  While I hid in a dark hole praying that no one would find me for those precious moments, Hubby brought in the rest of the items and was kind enough to put them away.  That was his way of saying, "Sorry, my bad", when he saw that I was really irritated, as evidenced by my glaring look, my rolling eyeballs, and my silence.

The man, in a very misguided effort to appease his angered queen (What? I could be a queen), thought he would save me from having to go shopping for a few more days.  He bought a lot of stuff.  Unfortunately, most of it was stuff that I don't usually buy, especially in the summer when the kids are prone to snacking all day.  I opened the pantry to find every space on every shelf filled with whatever was on sale two for one.  I'm all for a sale, but...can you say MIGRAINE?  In his defense, he did buy a weeks worth of meats.  Unfortunately, he bought four boxes of frozen waffles, ice cream, and eight packages of frozen mashed potatoes.  I have never bought frozen mashed potatoes as I am very particular about my mashed potatoes and nothing tastes like homemade.  So, now we are overflowing in freezer food and sugary snacks, and I still have to go to the store tomorrow because we need some vegetables so our kids don't turn into little tater tots.

All I can do is say, "Thank You", and point out all the good things he bought.  For if I would show anything but gratitude, he would never go shopping for me again and I just can't have that now can I?  I suppose it will be Cocoa Pebbles, and Fruit Loops for breakfast for awhile, interspersed with toaster waffles.  At least I can sleep for an extra half hour with not having to cook in the morning.  Needless to say, I don't have that particular receipt yet, but my shopping budget was just shot out the window.  I don't think I will be getting those shoes after all and we need new lawnmower blades that the store is ordering for him.  Gee Hon, thanks for telling me before you ordered them.  I hope we have a wine cooler left...

"Dew" Kids, Veggie What?, and Family Fun

On my to visit my family I pondered how the next generation has grown, and is growing.  I thought of my niece, the first of my parents grandchildren.  She has always been amazing and headstrong.  Unfortunately, the strong will of hers tends to ride the the crest of the waves that accompany the teen years.  At eighteen, she knows everything and can't be told anything.  Her story will be written by her hand.  She has the same sweet heart at her core, but finding her way back to herself will probably be a bumpy ride, even for a great kid, oops...woman, like herself.  Now that she has graduated, and is under her own control instead of the perceived iron thumb of her Mom, life will teach her its lessons and we will be their to watch her rise and pick her up if she should stumble.

My nephew, who recently turned vegetarian bordering on vegan, well, that boy needs some help.  I can understand wanting to be healthy.  I can understand not wanting to assist the progression of animal cruelty by buying the products made with animals in less than ideal conditions.  I had to bring him a bunch of eggs from my wonderful free range chickens.  I had to pack them so they wouldn't get jostled around on a five hour road trip.  I was happy to do it.  After all, he was so excited to get these eggs, and I'd do it again.  Gladly.

Yet, after I get the cruelty of commercially grown egg layers speech, the boy eats all kinds of cheese.  Cheese that, potentially, comes from cows that are held in similar cramped and cruel conditions, and he drinks milk without a second thought.  So, through this, I realized a few things.  First, I apparently am an all or nothing kind of gal.  If I'm so against cruelty to animals (I do not condone animal cruelty in any way) that I boycott one item, then I would have to boycott anything associated with it even remotely.  I could not go veggie, I would have to go vegan.  I pointed out the flaws in his theory and he just rolled his eyes and stormed off.  I doubt he'll give it a second thought.  In his eyes, I'm just another silly grown up.  Then again, he could decide that he can give it all up and go back to meat, or my sister could kill me in my sleep for turning him vegan and thus make living with him unbearable.

I love you Sis, please don't duct tape me to a chair blindfolded and force me to eat tofurkey and soy ice cream.  (I am on my knees, hands clasped together and begging for a lighter sentence)

Did I mention that I love you sis?

Then again, this is the same manchild who thinks he's grown.  He is almost seventeen.  He is in full rebellion of authority.  He still loves ME, therefore I must not be an authority figure.  Hmmm, I just realized that I fall into that category of adult that he thinks is docile and useless, not so sure I like that very much.  Well, at least he still talks to me.  What more could I ask for?  Oh, I know!  I could ask for the boy to get clue.

My dear, sweet little nephew, who thinks he's a man.  Has apparently lost all of his marbles.  Wait, how many marbles did he have to start with?  I suppose it doesn't matter, as he still has none now.  To be full of hormones and charisma, the world is his oyster.  Unfortunately, he is high on clams.  Yes, by clams I mean the girlie kind.  My little baby nephew, the one once known as Bubba because he was so chunky and cute, the one who wanted nothing more than to suckle until he practically started kindergaten, has grown into a HO.  Not a wanna be ho, nope, a full on slutty girls calling him in the middle of the night kind of ho, girls screaming his name at his sisters graduation kind of...HO (imagine that last one sung in the 80's 'Hey, Ho, Hey Ho' style).  Oh, he's so proud, the silly boy.

As Hubby and I are taking my sister and niece out for a celebratory dinner, I learned a little something that was disturbing, hysterically funny, and oh so sad all at the same time.  Did you know that Mountain Dew has spermicidal side effects as do skinny jeans?  Apparently, one day as my dear nephew got into the car with his friend and my sister, he had the world's largest Mountain Dew in hand.  When asked why on earth he would get such a gargantuan Mountain Dew, my sister was regaled with this knowledge quite enthusiastically.  Just to be clear, MOUNTAIN DEW AND SKINNY JEANS IS NOT, I REPEAT NOT BIRTH CONTROL!!!

Wait a second...okay.  Sorry, I had to stop laughing.  What on Earth is that?!  Do teenagers today actually believe this nonsense?  Well, in his defense, if he would keep it zipped up in his skinny jeans, well, that would be birth control.  Oh, on the flip side, Dr. Pepper is suppose boost sperm count.  Yeah, fertility by soft drink...someone was very, very high to think this mess up.  I wonder if the high rate of teen pregnancy correlates to this street knowledge of how the body works?  Hmmm...My guess is that years ago some stupid kid really liked Dr. Pepper, and really, really liked sex.  Since, he could only afford either a six pack of Dr. Pepper or a three pack of condoms, decided that his thirst was stronger than his need for a piece.  He must have underestimated his lack of will power.  Anyway, nine months and six kids later, he deduced that his virility was due to the fact he drank so much Dr. Pepper.  At the same moment, one of his friends realized that all he drank was Mountain Dew and he didn't have any kids.  The word spread like wildfire.  Who needs condoms when you can "Do the Dew".  What they failed to realize is that the other kid, the Dew kid, couldn't get piece if he paid for it.  So, was it the Mountain Dew or his virginity that kept him from being a teen Daddy?  Hmmmmm?  Anyway, this theory grew into street fact and years later, there's my nephew, in his skinny jeans with his ginormous Mountain Dew.


Don't worry folks, Hubby and I got him a box of condoms with spermicidal lubricant.  Yeah, now, he can blame it on the Mountain Dew if he wants to.  I can rest easy knowing that STD's and the next generation of "Dew kids" has been prevented, at least in our family.  Unfortunately, I will never look at skinny jeans the same way again.  He wears them, I laugh in his face.  I'm still laughing at the thought.  I'll still be laughing in twenty years when he's married and has kids.  He can always count on me to bring this story up when I meet his girlfriends (if he ever thinks enough of them to bring them home...HO), or when I see his regular friends, or to all of my friends and apparently the whole world.

I put this in cyberspace as a Public Service Announcement.