Finally

I think I've figured out why I can't cook and it clearly is NOT my fault.

I had high hopes of mastering fine cuisine when I was young.

I told every mall Santa for years that I NEEDED an Easy Bake Oven. I circled one in every Sears catalog that I can remember.

BEHOLD!! The makings of a culinary genius!!

I dreamed of those tasty, tiny cakes that I would create, and of course eat.

Okay, full disclosure...I probably would have eaten the batter long before it made it to the cooking ability of that 40 watt light bulb but that's not the point.

The point is that Santa failed me and therefore I can barely boil water.

Then it happened! While strolling through Lowes. What?! Doesn't everyone window shop at home improvement stores?

I talked my husband into this....

Cozy! Yes?

Lets recap....plastic? Check!....light bulb? Check!

It's practically a grown up Easy Bake Oven! So there Santa Claus, I'll buy my own damn oven!

The last couple of days at our house have looked like this...

BREAKFAST!

And this...

DESSERT!! I'm practically the Cake Boss now!

And Thanksgiving may or may not look like this in a few days....

Dinner may be just a little late!

 Thank you Thomas Edison for inventing the light bulb and finally giving me the opportunity to cook like a pro!

Observations

Spending the day with Lily today was both amazing and exhausting, mostly amazing though.

And you can learn A LOT about life from a 2 year old.

Like, breakfast tastes a million times better when it's off someone elses plate.



Furniture shopping is infinitely more fun with a tiny person.

It only took Grandpa (or Papa as she might be calling him) 12 tries to get the car seat fastened. Good thing too cause Plan B was to strap her to the luggage rack on the top of the car. Kidding, kinda.

It's perfectly acceptable to break into dance in the middle of a furniture showroom if an appropriate song starts playing.

It takes Our Girl approximately 2.5 seconds to turn her blankie upside down to find the tag, stick it in her mouth, and suck on it.



When it's time to take a nap, just let it happen.

And NOBODY makes her Papa happy the way she does. When she looks at him, the look on his face is priceless. She pretty much has him wrapped around her small, syrup covered finger.



Faces

In my quest to become pretty, happy with my skin  have clear skin for the first time in my life (or since I was 12 anyway) I went to a dermatologist.

I started with the "this helps EVERYONE" washes.

Not only ineffective but stinky and it bleaches out colored towels :(

I considered a medication with evil, nasty, could be life changing side effects. Picked up the prescription, signed the appropriate "I will not sue you if blah, blah, blah happens" paperwork then promptly changed my mind and decided against the medication.

I've bought every OTC skin wash, cream, gel and soap available. The last was this one which didn't work either but had a very cool scrublet (I love that word) attached to the bottle.

My sister who has skin eleventy billion times nicer than mine goes to a different dermatologist and bought a whole skin clearing system. 

I'm not yet sure whether my skin is clearer (to be fair, I've only used it about a week) but I do know that it DRIES out every drop of moisture.

My face is starting to resemble....



Maybe not exactly like this. Minus the snout, teeth, beady eyes, tail, crazy sharp toe nails....okay maybe nothing like this but DRY!!!

I think an industrial strength moisturizer is in order. STAT!

Speaking of faces. I got a call from my kid's friend yesterday evening.

In one breath I heard OMGCHRISBROKEHISNOSESPLITHISEYEBROWANDISBLEEDINGALLOVERTHERECCENTER!

Translated...My kid was playing basketball at the rec center and collided with another player. He was BLEEDING.A.LOT!! What do you want us to do with him?

I met them at the Urgent Care Center and after being cleaned up (which happened  before I arrived..YAY!!) I found him with a towel on his chest. A red towel which I was informed was NOT red before he used it. I have seen less blood at a murder scene...on TV of course. We couldn't even throw it in the trash. It was BIO HAZARD!!!

It looked like this...

Four stitches and Boy Scout knots later he had a prescription for antibiotics, a tetanus shot and orders NOT to remove the stitches for 5 days. He also is gonna have a pretty cool scar.

I totally could have watched a YouTube video and sewed it up too.

After someone else cleaned up ALL.THE.BLOOD!!!

Bouncing Along on the Crazy Train

We've been playing the health insurance game this year. I'll take deducibles for $1000 Alex.

My, OMG I'm having a heart attack/stroke/some other equally scary episode BUT wait NO you're just having a freakin panic attack, ER visit in January set us up to meet our family deductible (which we hardly ever do) so now we are paying much less to have overdue doctor visits. It's a doctor visit free-for-all up in here!

It's been a couple of years since my last lady bits, leave no crevice unexplored visit. So I went....on my lunch hour. Cause nothing says it's lunch time like a doctor burying his arm to the elbow in your girly flower. Oh, and let's not forget the small talk that you're expected to banter during said violation. It's hard to chit chat when at any time the doctor could grab your tonsils and remove from them from your nether regions. The phrase "you can get dressed" never sounds sweeter than when it's announced after this put-it-off-as-long-as-you-can visit.

That was about 2 weeks ago. In our family, ignorance is bliss where medical junk is concerned.

This morning when I turned on my cell phone there was a message from Dr. Vajayjay's office. Oh crap! I stared at the phone with a deer caught in the head lights look while my brain processed the possible scenarios. I immediately called only to find out that the nurse wasn't in the office yet. How could she leave a message saying that my results were back and we need to discuss my options and then just go home FOR THE WHOLE NIGHT???

I may have called a couple (and by couple I mean 278949 times) BUT I did only leave one message (sounding surprisingly like I had my shit together). It took a WHOLE HALF HOUR after leaving the message that I finally reached her. In that 30 minutes my anxiety level shot from Oh, everything is fine to  OMG, if she says the word biopsy there will not be enough medication on this planet to keep me from losing my ever-lovin mind!

I once got a quick peek at my medical records at Dr. Awesome's office and saw that the diagnosis (listed right after hypochondria) is GAD. Which Dr. Google defines as Generalized Anxiety Disorder but in my mind it will always be GAH! As in, GAH when will she stop googling symptoms?!

Anyway, Dr. V's nurse just wanted to know if I thought I might have symptoms of blah, blah, blah (NOTHING that requires removing body parts or treatments that require nasty with a side of horrendous side effects). I confirmed that Dr. V and I had already discussed the possible symptoms and that he had written me a prescription that I have already taken and that my girly bits are as good as baby unicorn breath.

I am happy to report that EVERYONE in our household is well but these episode of Diagnosis Roulette suck!!

Reason #46545 That I am NOT Mother of the Year

I don't do sick! I especially don't do sick kids who are mine.

I know, I'm horrible. I feed them, love them, don't make them eat lima beans or brussel sprouts and I slip them $20.00 more times than I can count BUT a nurse I'M NOT.

Short term sick, I can fake my way through. But anything past .5 hours and I'm OVER IT.

How do people with medically fragile children do it? They must have magic powers or powerful medication (for them, not the sick child). Really, they deserve trophies, super hero capes and exotic vacations!

My oldest is having some stomach issues that required a short hospitalization earlier this month. Everyday for the last several weeks I have called him to ask how his tummy is feeling. My brain is thinking please say "I'm ready for an all you can eat buffet of extra hot chicken wings". So far that hasn't happened. He's staying with his father (which for the record, I HATE). Apparently he is a much more nurturing parent than I am. I'm figuring he can step up now cause God knows he was no where to be found during all the parent teacher conferences and trips to the mall for school clothes.

My youngest has migraines. I'm not a totally terrible mother, I give him migraine medicine when he has one BUT I also make him go to school. It should be noted that he throws up with his headaches and I still send him to school. Duh, there is a nurse at the school!

When he woke up with a headache this morning (only 4 days into the school year) I gave him medicine and sent him to catch his ride to school. It was about 6:45 this morning. By 7:25 the school was calling me to pick him up. I did. I didn't even make him walk home. Take that, ex-husband who thinks he's the perfect parent! When I got there, the nurse lectures me for sending my kid to school (on the 4th day) feeling like he was going to throw up. In my defense he didn't actually hurl at school. It's not like I sent him to a building full of thousands of kids with a raging case of  *insert nasty contagious disease here*. It was a freaking headache, which the medication would have stopped if given just an hour or so. She tells me I can bring him back when his headache is gone. Whatever!

I bet they're not gonna be so thrilled that I'm taking him out of school for 4 days to go on a cruise. A cruise which I demand NO ONE be sick on!

Ouch!

It's no surprise to anyone who knows me that I've had headaches F.O.R.E.V.E.R. Not just headaches but headaches! Stay in bed, in the dark, with the covers over my head and pop prescription medicine like Pez headaches.


Not such a big deal when I was single or newly married but throw a kid into the mix and I don't care how much it feels like your body is going to start hurling everything you ate since you were two years old, that kid has to eat. 


Kids are like super spies! I don't care how fine you tell them you are when they are 3 or 4 they smell weakness and POUNCE!


It didn't take me long to channel this ability and teach my 3 year old toddler to rub my forehead until the pain was bearable. His little hand would massage my forehead for a whole half  hour of cartoons without batting an eye. I think I had the only pre-kindergarten child on the planet that would stand in the door of my darkened bedroom and ask me if I had a headache. Whether I answered or not he would crawl up next to me and start rubbing my forehead. He saved me from scooping my brains out through my ears with a melon baller many times.


Fast forward 17ish years and he is the only person who can massage away a headache that is threatening to dislodge my eyes from their sockets and send them sailing across the room. And he still knows when I have a headache long before I ask him to rub my forehead.


The only times in my life that I didn't have headaches was both times I was pregnant. I think that's called the Michelle Duggar Headache Relief Plan. Not very practical for me. I'll just stay with the visits to Dr. Awesome and the forehead massages that my first born has perfected.

Organization 101

I bought a new purse!

Yes, again. And no, I didn't need it. Geeez, you think just like my husband.

It's big and beautiful and PLAID. I'm all about plaid. Or polka dots! Ooooh, or ruffles! Kinda sounds like I'm not picky huh? I totally am though. Unless it's on sale (and my new one was)...then I'm a little more forgiving of a not so perfect purse.

Anyway I thought this new one was perfect until I put all my junk in it and it swallowed my stuff like a giant black hole.  Turns out is too big.

Enter Amazon dot com. Do you know they have companies that make purse organizers?! It's a little purse that has LOTS of pockets and fits into a bigger bag with no pockets. Perfect solution, right?

My sweetie was not impressed. Apparently a $20.00 sale purse with an $18.00 organizer to make it work is not a good deal. Of course that's just his opinion which in my opinion doesn't mean a hill of beans (especially after I already bought both).

 Clearly, it's MUCH easier to find my important stuff. Stuff like Xanax and my Tide stain stick. Just don't ask me to find it fast.

Three Weeks

Three weeks ago today I watched as life support was discontinued and my sweet step dad slipped into Heaven. By the time we let his body go his soul had already been our guardian angel for two days.

Mostly I'm okay, we are okay. I have a pretty amazing family!

But then, standing in the checkout at Walmart a man in another check out puts his fishing tackle on the belt to pay for it and I feel the sting of tears that I know will refuse to stay behind my eyes.

They are rubber worms with hooks for God sakes! Hardly worth tears. But my fish-lovin' dad won't be buying any more damn rubber worms and that hurts. A LOT!

I tried to focus on the screaming kid beside us or the lady with the tattoo above her butt crack that said "In God We Trust". Anything but those fishing lures. I somehow managed a couple of errant tears but for the most part I didn't crumble at Walmart. Success, I guess.

When will fishing lures just be fishing lures and Sundays just be Sundays?

Heavy

My mood is heavy, my heart is heavy.

Like the clouds outside my window weighted with rain waiting to fall. No rumbles of thunder just gray, water filled fluff overhead. Bearing down, pushing so hard that it threatens to squeeze every breath from my chest.

I wish there was some place to go that took the heaviness away. Just for a while. Instead, I drag it with me filled with the weight of loss.

Even letting tears escape down my cheeks doesn't release the burden that my heart keeps firmly in it's grasp.

I'm ready for sunshine to peek through and remind me that this heaviness won't last forever. Or perhaps it will, but a gentle reminder that there will be moments that don't feel like I'm being swallowed by quicksand. Even tiny, fleeting moments. Just some chance to catch my breath.

Webster's definition of strong is "having or marked by great physical power".

My definition is "waking up everyday in grief and surviving".

I'll Be Missing Him

I woke up feeling the now too familiar heartache of loss just seconds after opening my eyes. What began as small cracks have opened into great, painful, open wounds on my heart. I stood in the shower letting my tears mingle with the hot water raining down on me. I begged God to let me understand why a man that was so gentle and loving could be taken so early in his life and with no warning. Aside from knowing that He made his death as easy on our family as He could I'm still searching for the why. There is no answer.

How can the man who made my mom so happy and who became a Dad to my sister and me be gone? He was here last week on this very day! And now I'm forced to accept that God called him home MUCH earlier than we were ready for.

I watched my mom use every ounce of strength to comfort others while enduring her own devastating heartbreak of losing her husband today. I watched her accept condolences from the many, many people who's lives were touched by the great man that was my Dad. He wasn't my father but he was my Dad in every sense of the word!

I heard the words "it gets easier" and "it won't always hurt this much" but blended with the tears and the heart ache, I'm  just not convinced. Life will go on but there will always be a gaping hole left in my heart by the missing piece that he took to Heaven with him.

I do thank God that he took him peacefully and with little or no pain and that he let him be my Dad for 25 years or so but I could have used another 25 years.

That still wouldn't be enough.

Mine

Seventeen hours in a car, covering 5 states is hard!

Traveling with a 14 year old who has a serious lack of attention span is equally as hard but just as he did as a baby, the car begins to move and he is asleep in seconds.

Several times I turned in my seat just to stare at his long and lanky body curled up on the seat. His eyelashes are so long (the kind of long that woman pay for extensions to get). His lips are full and pink. And a shadow of what will become facial hair much too soon is just starting to dance across his face.

Around his shoulders his baby blanket is wrapped loosely. A quilt with cars, buses, airplanes and trains on one side and primary colored dots on the other side. I started the quilt when my oldest son was 3, long before my second son was even a glimmer in my eye but I'm a little bit of a, okay a huge procrastinator. I carefully quilted each vehicle with tiny stitches over the next three years. What? I had a kid who demanded my undivided attention to watch him build legos. How was I supposed to quilt tiny stitches in between lego towers and " Hey mommy watch me. Watch ME. WATCH MEEEE."?

Anyway besides the tattered quilt he was also wrapped in a blanket with his future high schools name printed in huge letters in the center. It was a strange juxtaposition. The baby that he was and the young man that he is becoming. I may have shed a tear or two watching him sleep. Willing him not to hurry the years by but enjoy being somewhere between a child and an adult for as long as nature will allow.

It's frustrating to watch him struggle in school and elating to watch him bake a cake that turns out just as he imagined. It tickles me that he still loves his baby blanket and I secretly hope that he takes it on his honeymoon because it reminds him of me. I love that he likes to travel with us but I know that he won't always. I'm enjoying this summer trip with him.

It's fun watching him experience things that are just starting to stretch his wings. It reminds me that we are making memories that will always  be remembered and that he is mine and that I am lucky to be his mama.

Tsunami of TMI

This post has been bouncing around in my mind for a couple of months. Since I purchased this>> www.divacup.com. I've started and deleted, started and deleted.

Somewhere in my upbringing I misplaced the filter between my brain and my mouth (or fingers, in this case) and have been known to share TMI or let things slip out that shouldn't but this is my blog so here comes an avalanche of TMI.

***If girly stuff embarrasses you or icks you out, don't say I didn't warn you***

Like every woman knows, the story we get in the 5th grade about the joy of becoming a woman is CRAP! What it really boils down to is one week out of every month YOUR GUTS ARE GONNA FALL OUT of your delicate lady flower!! You're going to bloat up and you will kill and crawl over the body for a Hershey bar. And lest you think the other 3 weeks of the month are any better, prepare for mood swings that are capable of causing buildings to crumble and tears that choose random TV commercials and Hallmark cards to cause rivers of wetness to streak down your cheeks.  Yeah, I didn't read anything about that in the cute, little, pink print covered booklet that was handed to me in the 5th grade while all of us blushed with embarrassment.

Somehow, I don't think the story that the boys got in 5th grade was quite as misleading!

If you didn't click on the link up there heralding my latest purchase go ahead and Google the images of  "Diva Cup".....I'll wait.

Traumatized yet??

It's similar to a silicone Dixie Cup that is inserted into the vajayjay during a period to ummmm...collect what would be traditionally absorbed by a tampon. Quite the visual I know, I warned you.  Anyway, it can be left in for 8-10 hours and makes the dreaded monthly visitor a little more tolerable as you don't have to know the location of EVERY.SINGLE. ladies room in EVERY.SINGLE store/restaurant/gas station that you visit. I was a little hesitant at first but I read, oh, about 54985498 reviews and only found about 4 that didn't recommend it. Good odds, I thought. So I bought it, did I couple of trial runs (don't think too hard about that, it's kinda gross) and waited for Aunt Flo to visit.

She did. It worked. Until....I tried to coax the cup out of my girly bits. I reached and reached and reached. I'm fairly sure I was somewhere close to my sinus cavity but it was NOT THERE! Now besides learning that teachers in health classes are liars, I was pretty sure that I learned that there is no where to go up there and that there is only one way out.

I pushed full term babies out of my nether regions certainly I could dislodge a small silicone cup. But, NO! It was GONE! Common sense, though sometimes elusive to me, gave me firm awareness that this was NOT a problem that I could ask just anyone to help me with. And by all that is holy, no way was I going to any medical professional and admit ANYTHING was lost up in my lady bits.

That only left my husband, the one who promised to love, honor and cherish me until death do us part. I'm pretty sure that he promised to help me avoid any potentially embarrassing medical procedure to extract errant items from any body part too. I may have dreamt that part but anyhow, I knew I had to wait until he got home from work.

I pictured him laying in the bathtub, wearing a miner's helmet with the headlamp at full beam and a pair of freshly sterilized salad tongs and me standing over him with a foot on each side of the tub.  Kinda like when a car is up on the rack and the mechanic is standing under it to repair a broken part. Or one of those claw games where you snag a stuffed animal and it drops to the door to be retrieved.

As luck (and a little gravity) would have it, pacing like I was going to tell him I was pregnant instead of just admitting that I may have something stuck somewhere near my brain by way of my love cookie, I felt....well I'll just call it movement.  I'll spare you the details, yeah I know why start now but you can thank me later. I'll just say no salad tongs or crane claws were necessary to save the day.  I could have kept all this to myself and not looked quite so crazy but no, I shared it with my sweetie and all of you! Lucky you, huh?

I haven't lost it since and it really is one of the best things I've ever bought on the internet...except that one really cool sex toy...but that's a story for another day.

Juggling

I'm beginning to see my life as a circus. No, not because my house is filled with side show freaks, although if I find another chin hair I may be classified as a bearded lady. But because I'm becoming a world class juggler.

Juggling is hard. Keeping all the balls in the air takes practice. But imagine juggling fiery balls or razor sharp knives. Juggling relationships is akin to that.

If I were to lose my grip on a ball and it bounced around on the floor or rolled under the furniture to live forever with the dust bunny families that have taken up residency there, no harm done. Not maintaining perfect juggling of personalities or family members that I'm required to keep far enough apart that we live in relative harmony has far greater consequences. Beside my need for an early refill of Xanax or an emergency visit to Dr. Awesome. Tears are shed and things are said that can be far more painful than mis-juggling razor sharp knives.

There are conflicts in my family that if left without buffers could open into Grand Canyon sized chasms. I've pretty much made it my life's work to be responsible for keeping that from happening.

It's a challenging task and every now and then I unintentionally drop whatever I'm juggling at the time and people get hurt. Things get said that can't be pulled back before they cause a heart to hurt. Words that damage things that band aids can't fix.

This is my Big Top and I will stumble though being responsible to keep all the balls in the air until I just can't do it anymore or until someone loses a limb, then it's somebody elses turn to juggle.

Shopping

I *may* be addicted to shopping.

I'd like to say that I have the disposable income to support my love of buying but as I'm often reminded, I don't. As my mom pointed out while I was young, just because you have checks left in the box doesn't mean you can keep writing them. You know, back when people used to write checks instead of sliding a debit card. Credit cards on the other hand, well those stretch my love just a little farther. But shhhhh....that's a secret just between us.

I shop when I'm happy. I shop when I'm not so happy and I need a pick-me-up.

Shoes I'll never wear. Purses that I'll carry for a few short months before I'm again looking for a new one. Clothes I may never take the tags off of, gathering dust in my closet. Things I don't need but can't pass up.

But the tiniest clothes are by far my favorite purchases.The baby department has a magnetic pull that is as strong as if I were nothing but a giant paperclip.

I don't see my grandbabies nearly as often as I'd like to and I rarely buy things that I am drawn to for fear that they will be outgrown before they ever get to see them. Yet I still spend crazy amounts of time searching for the perfect little dress or the sweetest onesie. I even carry them around the store thinking how darling she'll look or questioning whether his tiny toes will have room to wiggle.

Before I put them down and wander out empty handed.

But yesterday something happened. A tiny heartbeat on an ultrasound monitor. A date in January with a new baby who will be shared with me.

A new mommy and daddy will be born.

Until then, let the shopping commence!

Family Tree, Bush, Weed...WHATEVER!

Nick has a project due at the end of the week. What this really means is that *I* have a project due at the end of the week.

A project with pictures. Family pictures.  Here lies the problem.

Yes, we have pictures. Boxes and hard drives full of pictures. Pictures that blend branches of my family tree, his fathers family tree and his step-father's (I HATE that term) family tree. I love that they are blended and random pictures are sprinkled into each others otherwise organized stacks of family memories.

But sorting and weeding these photos out to then affix them to a poster board in some order that makes sense is HARD!

Imagine...

Dear 7th grade teacher,

My mom was pregnant when she left my father. My Aunt was there when I was born but my father was no where to be found. Apparently, he didn't think it was important to be there when I was born.
So here is a picture of me and my mom and my aunt in the hospital.

When I was 5 months old my mom fell in love with the man who became my Daddy. They got married when I was 15 months old. My family tree sprouted a new branch and  I added 2 more grandparents and several aunts and uncles.
This picture is of me at their wedding.

Oh yeah, I have 3 sisters that my mom didn't give birth to and one brother who she did. My sister's have a different mom but I don't remember any time when they weren't my sisters so "step" sisters isn't a term I ever used.
So here's a picture of me with my sisters and brother (I already explained why we don't look alike right?)

When I was 5 years old or so, my birth father found his way back into my life. Yeah, he has brothers and family too but I don't have any pictures of them. Sorry!

Some of the leaves are missing from my family tree so I'm just going to leave those branches blank and some of the nuts fell off the tree (my mom says thankfully).Please don't take off any points from my project cause this isn't my fault.

Sincerely,
Nick B

See the problem? What 7th grader wants to go into class and discuss how intertwined the limbs of his family tree are and what parts are missing?

I'd really like to just scatter random family pictures on the board announce this is our family (messy as it looks) and call it a day.

My Window To The World

My husbands go-to Christmas gifts for me usually include filmy, never-left-on-for-more-than-two-minutes, lingerie. And bless his heart he really thinks that I look good in them. Even with his glasses on. I usually get bubble bath too. Cause mama LOVES her bubble baths. And for good measure some kitchen gadget that we probably needed for a while but found on sale at Christmas time. Practical and romantic, I think I'll keep him.

Anyway, two years ago he was struck by a bolt of genius and I found a laptop computer wrapped under the tree.Yes, the smaller box had lingerie, but I can't expect him to quit cold turkey. Well,  I didn't know it was genius at the time because honestly, I couldn't see that I'd ever have a need for a portable computer. Or any computer for that matter. Seemed like a pretty expensive way to play Solitaire, because really that all I knew how to do on our dinosaur of a desk top computer.

Fast forward to now, HOW DID I EVER LIVE WITHOUT MY LAPTOP WARMING, WELL MY LAP, FOR ALL THESE YEARS?  I can almost always be found sitting on my bed with my window to the world in my lap.

This 14 inch screen absolutely is my tiny connection to everything outside my four walls.

I read blogs (LOTS OF BLOGS) and I *may* pretend that these people that don't even know me are friends. Instant friends, who knew.

Facebook has become a staple, akin only to the importance of dark chocolate in my life. I've reconnected with high school friends. I've enmeshed myself into the lives of my family and their friends. Hi Carlee! I've had conversations with people I thought were long gone from my life just because they happened to by online at exactly the same time as me. If that's not fate then I don't know what it is.

Twitter and it's 140 character maximum amuse me and provide me with all the must need to know news like who got arrested. *cough* Nicolas Cage *cough* And which movies are worth seeing and which ones can wait til Redbox. You know IMPORTANT stuff.

And lastly, this blog. My corner of the internet. My sanity when my kids teacher calls me at work AGAIN. A place to share my opinion of things like, oh, my homeowners association. Who can SUCK IT because my quarterly dues are 2 weeks overdue!  The checks in the mail. And I can amuse my friends every now and then with my observations of mundane and boring things like getting a computer for Christmas 2 years ago.

Beth, this is the best I can do today for your "fix". Love Ya!

I Walked. I Know, I'm Surprised Too!

Needing a little stress relief I decided to take a walk. Just my music and me.  I should have taken a camera because this could have been a photo essay of EPIC proportions!

Oh, I should also mention that I also took with me an insulated cup with a built in straw ( a sippy cup of sorts) full of slushy alcoholic lemonade.

I learned:

• We have a REALLY big neighborhood with streets I didn't even know existed. You know how on a map, Washington DC is only about 6 inches from Florida? Yeah, that. I knew my house had to be around the next corner BUT IT WASN'T!

• It's HOT when you're walking 49864938 miles. I had sucked all the liquid out of my slushy about 2 blocks in and was cussing my damn insulated cup that refused to melt the ice into something that would travel up the straw.

• Geez, our neighborhood has A LOT of dogs. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. barked at me as I was walking by. I turned up my music and kept walking.  Oh, and stray cats BITE! They look like they're gonna be all friendly but NO! Luckily none broke the skin because I just know one probably had rabies!

• Which brings me to, just because you can't hear a car honking behind you ( because Elton John is singing Bennie and the Jets in your ear, loudly) DOESN'T mean it's not there. The drivers lips were moving when I looked up. I don't read lips but something tells me he wasn't being very nice.

• It's also apparently not appropriate to stand in front of someone elses house and breath deeply for several minutes because they are grilling steak that smelled like HEAVEN. I ran a little bit when the front door opened.

• If your garage door is open and there isn't enough room for daylight to shine through, I'm gonna assume you're a hoarder and might be calling TLC as we speak.

• A lot of cars in my neighborhood have parts held on with duct tape/ clear packing tape or some other non-auto adhesive.

• I also was briefly educated about the food chain. There was a hawk flying over head. Awwww, nature. Until I noticed a GIANT frog dangling from his talons (I learned that word from Napoleon Dynamite. Education at it's finest). At first I thought it was circling to pick my bones dry when I died of heat exhaustion and thirst. But no, it chose the frog over me so YEA!

• Finally, I'd like to tell my Home Owners Association to SUCK IT because our house does not have silk, plastic or wooden flowers "planted" in our yard. Nor do we have plastic chlorine tablet buckets posing as flower pots with weeds growing higher than the flowers. Our house is practically the Taj Mahal of our neighborhood compared to what I witnessed.

Next time I'm definitely taking a camera. And water!

Edited because I also remembered that I should always put money in my pocket when I walk because I passed the ice cream truck twice!

Faith

I think most people do things without really knowing why they do them.

I've never been really religious. Sure I have faith and God knows it has gotten me through the darkest times of my life. But I'm not sure that that faith is Catholicism as much as just accepting and trusting that somewhere there is someone responsible for and bigger than everything.

I pray for things that sometimes don't happen, which in hindsight is perfect because I wouldn't have met and married my sweetie if the prayers I said at the time had been granted. Or maybe they were granted the way I meant them but not the way I voiced them in my head. The prayers I've said in recent years (the most important of my life) have been granted exactly as I asked for them. I pray in the bathtub (What? God doesn't care where I'm talking to him from) or in the car but never in a church.

I spent many Sunday mornings with my Grandma and Grandpa at church but it was more to be with them than because I wanted to go to church. We could have been sitting at a McDonald instead of church and I probably would have felt the same way. Maybe whatever faith I do have came to me on those Sundays?

I have a crucifix in my living room that was a gift from my Grandparents and one in our bedroom that was given to us after the death of my father-in-law. I look at them often but not so much as a religious beacon but as part of the memories that mean so much to me.

My oldest son has taken to wearing a rosary as a necklace. It's a beautiful rosary but it kinda bothers me that it's worn as a piece of jewelry than prayed to as it is intended. I don't even know how to say the rosary so why it bothers me I'm not sure. Yeah, I could google it and I'm sure there is some person on YouTube that will explain how to say the prayers associated with the rosary but in my mind it wouldn't make God anymore likely to hear me than if I was sitting at the kitchen table talking to Him.

He hears me anyway.

Together

I listen as he breathes evenly and slips into sleep. Cherishing every night that we share the same bed.

I watch the rise and fall of his chest. Sometimes placing my hand gently on him just to feel his heart beat.

I breathe in his scent and thank God that He allowed him to drop into my life when I least expected it but when it was perfectly timed.

Thirteen years ago today we entwined our lives and hearts together. Marrying not only each other but our children. Blending them together so that his became mine and mine became his. Our children. Our lives together.

No lavish wedding (been there, done that). Just us, a small group of  family and friends and the knowledge that we had each found the person that made both of us better. Hoping to grow it into the makings of a great love story. And we have.

I've learned so much about myself in the years since we both decided to enter our second marriages on April 1, 1998. We've shared our hopes and dreams. Our fears and the challenges of our pasts. 

Promises made to each other that our hands will always find the others as we walk side by side. Facing whatever the future holds.

Often he holds my head above water when I feel as though I am unable to do it myself. When I'm unsure of when the blues will move away enough to let me breathe and not feel as though I'm suffocating. He makes me feel safe and holds me without saying a word.

I never question that our commitment to each other is forever and that we will grow old together.

Happy Anniversary Sweetie!

Here's Looking At You Kid

Apparently my ability to dress myself is questionable.

This morning I chose to wear a filmy, peach colored, cotton top with lace accents and short sleeves with jeans. Cute and work appropriate for casual Friday.

Despite my ability to fully fill any cup size, I also have some cute bras. This morning I selected a white one with a lavender ribbon trim on the top of each side. A safe choice, I thought.

I looked in the mirror before I left for work. It was early and the room was kinda dark-ish. I didn't see any errant dryer sheets or random sock attached to me by static so I thought it safe to declare myself suitable to leave for work.

Later this morning as I was washing my hands in front of the mirror in the restroom, I looked up and  my eyes I saw this-

Hello, lavender trim.

My brain however saw this-

Hello boobs with brows!

For the first time ever I was extremely glad that very little jiggling was going on in there because waggling brows over my boobs could have traumatized me for life.

I spent the rest of the day sweating in my long sleeve cardigan sweater. Pulled tightly closed every time I left my desk.

Note to self: Stop dressing in the dark! Oh, and buy more nude bras.

Mirrors

I think I'm glad that I didn't give birth to any girls. It's easier to hide a not so great body image from boys. I would feel terribly guilty if I caused a daughter to have a less than amazing body image because of the way I see myself.

When I look in the mirror, all I see is what I wish desperately that I could change.

Clear skin where there isn't any. A peaches and cream complexion that was never mine.

Rolls where there should be curves. Baby weight that is 14 plus years old. I'm beginning to think maybe it's not baby weight after all.

Appropriate curves that I've been waiting to develop since I was about 12 years old. I'm pretty sure it's too late to think the boob fairy will be visiting me now.

I could go on and on.

I bought a bikini the other day. It took more than a little prodding from my sweetie. I was looking for a bathing suit that covered as much as possible with enough spandex  to securely fasten EVERYTHING in place. I tried his choice on and he liked it so I bought it.

What I really want is to see in the mirror the image that my sweetie sees when he looks at me. I'm really glad that love is blind because he keeps me from running to the closest plastic surgeon and mortgaging my house to make the me that he sees.

Boys

When I gave birth to my oldest son all I could think was please let me remember to feed him. I had a hamster and several fish that didn't fare so well on my ability to remember that they needed to eat.

When he was 6 years old I figured I was getting pretty good at keeping him alive I should have another one. After all I only had to feed them for 18 years. Little did I know, feeding them would be the easy part. And I don' t have any idea why I was delusional enough to think that at 18 years old someone flips a magic switch and they no longer need to eat.

I'm not patting myself on the back just yet but it's worth noting that neither of them starved to death (despite my inability to boil water or cook anything outside of the microwave).

Today I went to yet another parent/teacher conference for Nick. As he and I wound our way through a jungle of teenagers to the safety of the guidance office we passed a boy with his tongue so far down a girls throat that he must have been trying to lick her liver. I wanted to pull them apart and demand their parents phone numbers so that I could enlighten them on the self, sex education class that was going at the bottom of the stairs after school.  Except that could have been my kid.

A few years ago I had a friend who's son graduated from high school and moved into a college dorm. Her biggest concern was that he would fall asleep with his contacts in and she wouldn't be there to wake him up and remind him to take them out before he went to bed. That seemed silly. Except now Chris is looking at apartments with friends and all I can think is who's going to check on him while he's sleeping and make sure he is still breathing. I spent a lot of years making sure I kept him alive and now he could just stop breathing and I wouldn't know it!

I don't expect anyone to understand why I check on my 14 and 20 year old sons every night (sometimes several times) to see if they're breathing, but any time I wake up at night I do. I'd say that being a mother takes away all rationale but I think it's just me.

Raising kids is HARD!

Much harder than keeping goldfish or hamsters alive.

Wanna Watch TV At My House?

I have a TV. A really nice BIG SCREEN in HD. It's great for episodes of Glee in all it's glory and occasionally a marathon of Toddlers and Tiaras. I have a DVR to catch every important episode of all my TLC channel favorites (I hardly ever miss an episode of 19 Kids and Counting, I have priorities people). Except that the screen is BLACK. Oh, and it doesn't have any sound. Pretty much, it won't turn on. But it looks really nice sitting on our semi-dusty, especially for that size TV, table with the couches strategically place for optimum viewing.

Good news! We bought the extended warranty.

Except that the part that we might need (they haven't actually sent anyone out to look at it) is on back order. For how long, we asked. The minion that works for God knows what company tells us "we're not really sure". It's been ordered but the company can't send it because it's on back order. Straight from the script that is sitting in front of her (probably in some third world country). Okay, not really she was in some call center in South Dakota where all her scripts are carefully slid into plastic sleeves for easy reference. Dead end.

We bought the TV at Target so in a futile attempt to keep my head from spinning around like the scene from The Exorcist my sweetie calls them. I know they wouldn't be able to offer any more assistance but I wanted him to call someone else. ANY ONE ELSE WHO DIDN'T HAVE A SCRIPT IN FRONT OF THEM! He's a smart man. When my eyes are flashing from green to black he doesn't generally question my craziness.

The Target lady says they have 3 or 4 days (REALLY, WHICH IS IT??) to determine when the part will be available. In his genius, he says, or what? She says or to get us a new TV. I had him remind her that we missed the Super Bowl (not really, we didn't watch it and we have other TV's). Also that Glee is on tonight, which is much more important than the Super Bowl and that I am being force to watch it on a 32 inch TV. Which is today's equivalent of a 12 inch black and white of 20 years ago! I gotta say she almost mustered up some sympathy. Maybe she is a Gleek too.

So, I guess for the next few days I'll live like a caveman and watch my other TV. But if nothing happens by the time Glee is on again, HEADS WILL ROLL!

His Mom

Nine years ago today heaven gained an angel.

Her husband called her Doe. My sweetie called her mom.

I waited too long to tell her thank you for raising the man that completes me.

She loved her children fiercely. When she learned that my sweetie and I planned to get married only 10 months after we met she wasn't crazy about the idea. After all, I had two young sons. She knew he would accept my boys as his own and help me raise them because that is the kind of man that she raised him to be. I know not long after we got married and maybe to some degree before, my boys and I became part of her family. She only wanted her son to be happy and I think she knew he was.

She had some quirks. She grew up in a large family and tended to hold on to the values that she was raised with. Her freezer may have held food that was more than a little past it's prime. Her living room furniture may have been encased in plastic to save them from wear (except that no one ever sat on them). She scrimped and saved and made due with what she had. Generally buying only what was needed. Except for her beautiful rings which her granddaughters now wear and keep close to their hearts.

She married her soul mate and he adored her. He lived less fully after she lost her battle with breast cancer. Her children are the best parts of her. Not only did I gain my own soul mate but also have friends and family in his siblings and their spouses. How do you thank someone for that? She gave me priceless gifts and didn't even know it.

Thanks Mom. So loved and so missed!

IV's Suck

No, really they do! 5 vials of blood came out of that tiny tube! But not before Nurse Jennifer tried twice to get the IV started in my other arm. I thanked her profusely for not fishing around for a vein. She kindly found another nurse who said "Oh, here's a good vein. In your right HAND!" It didn't really hurt unless I moved my hand or wrist. Did I mention I'm right-handed? So, yeah, it hurt.

I only visit the Emergency Room about every 10 years or so. Last time I went for chest pain and shortness of breath. Luckily it turned out that it was a panic attack and I was discharged after only a few hours. Scared me to death though.

Since then, I've had too many panic attacks to count. I know what they feel like and I know how to calm myself down and avoid any unneeded hospital visits.

About half way to work this morning at 7:00 or so my heart started to pound and I couldn't catch my breath. My left arm went numb and I debated whether to turn around and go home, pull over and call 911 or drive to the hospital around the corner from work. I chose the hospital. I found my way into the Emergency Room and managed to fill out most of their paperwork (which was no small feat since I was shaking and couldn't remember my own zip code). I called my sweetie and was whisked back to a room.

After my arms became pin cushions I had an EKG. I didn't mind practically exposing my boobs to have the electrodes attached but then they had to put them on each of my calves (calfs? not cows, legs). I may not have shaved my legs in a week two or three weeks. The poor tech almost had to part the hair to put on the electrodes. EMBARRASSING!

Every cell in those 5 vials of blood screamed NORMAL. EKG screamed NORMAL. Chest xray? Also normal. The final diagnosis was "STRESS REACTION". Which translates to there is nothing wrong with you, you hypochondriac or Panic Attack. The doctor mumbled something about not ignoring these kinds of symptoms since they could be something significant "as we age". She didn't mean WE, she meant ME. I wanted to slap her (with the hand that didn't have the IV in it).

I would appreciate if my panic attacks could be a little more consistent with the symptoms because my arm going numb was NOT expected.

My sweetie soothed my pin cushioned arms and panic-y brain by taking me shopping. Yeah for retail therapy! I bought these:

Anti-bacterial!!

Nothing soothes a hypochondriac like 5 bottles of antibacterial soap!

Going Shopping

This *may* have been witnessed by a friend of a friend. Or it *may* have been witnessed by me.

If you're my mom it was definately a friend of a friend, or a neighbors friend but DEFINATELY was NOT me.

For the sake of saving some people from embarassement please read "grocery store" as grocery store. For everyone else read ''grocery store" as adult store. K?

Two people, who may have been me and my sweetie were strolling through the adult store grocery store. Perusing the canned goods and such.

Oh, and for the sake of this story, this particular store had the produce section in the back behind closed doors. AND people had to pay to spend time choosing their produce.

Anyway, out of the produce department came this 30-ish year old guy, looking more than a little disheveled. He began to complain to the cashier that he didn't get  his full amount of time that he paid for to carefully hand select his produce. Apparently he was shorted 10 seconds of time. 10 SECONDS! His voice was unnaturally high as he explained to the less than caring cashier that he was only seconds from choosing the perfect melons and the produce employee told him his time was up and he had to move on. His language got a little more colorful and he was adamant that he NEEDED that last 10 seconds.

I'm not exactly sure how the produce department works at this particular grocery store but 10 seconds doesn't sound like a big deal. Unless, the perfectly hand selected fruit is only 9 seconds from your grasp.

I was completely grossed out and I got a case of the giggles right there in the store. Giggling in the grocery store with other shoppers around is frowned upon so we quickly made our exit.

I hope I never see that guy in the local Walmart!

Boing

There are things bouncing around in my brain, not unlike ping pong balls in an empty shoe box. They rattle loudly when I'm alone and quietly nag at me in the darkness of night time.

New Years resolutions that didn't quite make it to the second week of January.

Fear that I'm a hypocrite if I give my honest and solicited opinion on a situation. I know the situations are different but the outcomes will be very much the same.

Disappointment that I don't have the patience for people that I would like to have.

Anger that I try desperately to tame so as not to hurt people with words that aren't retractable.

Cravings for time that I just feel peaceful.

Sometimes I can pretend they are not there. But like shadows that are always present just a brief glance at a random moment and I am acutely aware of their presence. I want to shove all this noise in my mind into a tiny, sound proof corner and for a few seconds just feel relief.

Randomness

I got a phone call today. It tore at my heart leaving it shredded and bloody. The sound of being shell-shocked is rarely hidden very well. I had no words. As much as I wanted to say the cliche phrases like everything happens for a reason and it will be okay, I just couldn't because sometimes there aren't any words that make the hurt go away.

My new 10 hour days are KILLING me. Yeah, I like having Mondays off but going to work in the dark at 6:30 in the morning and driving home  in the dark at 6:30 PM is getting old really quickly. A half hour for dinner and a quick bath and its time for bed. Lather, rinse, repeat. I'm running out of time everyday to just live. I'm giving this schedule a chance to grow on me for another few weeks but if its not all rainbows and unicorns all the time by then I'm going back to working normal hours like everyone else.

I have the option of wearing scrubs to work now. And I am loving it! Let me tell you why. It has nothing to do with the fact that they are comfortable. They totally are though! It has everything to do with I fit in a medium instead of a large. A large was too big! Silly, since no one but me knows what size I'm wearing but I CAN BUY A MEDIUM IN CLOTHING! Oh, and it's like going to work in my jammies. How could I go wrong with that??

I miss my Christmas tree. It was the most magnificent Christmas tree EVER (I say that every year, so just go with it) and I miss it fancying up my living room. Now it just looks boring!

My solution to having no heat in my car is to put a heating pad on my lap. That's not weird right? I only need heat a couple weeks a year so I'm saving myself the 400.00 or so dollars that it would cost to fix it and adding it to my vacation fund.

Cause I am totally going on a cruise for vacation this year! That is so worth driving around with a heating pad on my lap!