You can't fix stupid.
Perception is reality.
Life goes on.
Sometimes you surprise yourself.
Time heals all wounds.
4 out of 5 of these, I believe in. That last one, I think it's a little far-fetched. I think maybe it should be more like: Time helps all wounds scab over, making them tender to the touch but managable, rather than extremely excruciating. :)
Today I have been pondering something that happened to me recently, in which I had all 5 of these common statements come together to create a little epiphany tornado.
Let's start with the 4th one, because I like that one!
Sometimes you really do surprise yourself. I was able to have a conversation with someone that I haven't spoken to in years. I have avoided this confrontation because I had to, for my own mental health. I distanced myself because it was the right thing to do for me. However, in this instance, I was unable to avoid it and had to face it head on. A year ago, this would have caused a chain reaction of emotions that would have resulted in horrible nightmares, leaving me drenched in sweat and tears running down my face when I woke up.
This time, though, I found myself handling it without getting all ape-shit crazy. Instead, I was calm and rational. There was no blood-shed, no hair-pulling, no eye-clawing.....and no nightmares as a result. I couldn't believe how calm I stayed. I expected the norm: shaking, sweaty hands. Nervous belly with accompanying diarrhea (TMI, I know, but hey, I'm an honest kinda girl). Oh, and don't forget that weird thing your lips do when you get super nervous and get some kind of twitchy, lip convulsion thing...
Yup. I expected all of that, and maybe even some "I can't do this anymore" tears....but , whataya know??? None of it! YAAAAAAY, me!!!
Though I was caught off guard, not prepared and completely surprised by the situation, I was actually able to take a step back and view it from a completely objective standpoint AS it unfolded. 'Hmmm,' I thought, 'I've come a long way.'
After it was over, I was able to go about my business. I was a little 'off' for the rest of the day, I'll admit. I'm a planner, a list-maker, a 'gotta be mentally prepared in advance' kinda girl. So, this willy-nilly, thrown right in like a surprise party kinda thing is really not my style. But, in the grand scheme of things, I was pretty impressed with the way it went down. I never went into the 'Emergency: Don't Mess With Me or I Will Scratch Your Eyes Out' mode. That, my friends, is a victory!
I was nervous as I went to bed. I thought it would be the first of many nights of nightmares, sweating pits and damp pillows. But, alas, I woke up this morning without a single bad dream! Woohoooooooo!!!!!!!
Today, as I reflect on yesterday's drama, I realize that the first three statements above are, indeed, true. You can't fix stupid. Crazy people do not just 'get better,' Sometimes they just change up their game. They evolve in their craziness to new levels, and those around for the show have to come to terms with that fact and arm yourself accordingly. LOL
Perception really is reality. In the end, it doesn't matter much exactly how you intended something to come across. It matters how people perceive it. So be careful, think before you speak or act, and if you screw it up....be prepared to pay the price.
And, truly, life does go on. If you aren't careful, it will go on without you. Sometimes, you have to make a conscious effort to get back up, dust yourself off and get back on the train before you lose your seat.
Finally, there's that last one. Time heals all wounds. Like I said, I think that one is a little vague. I'm not sure time heals the entire wound. Those wounds leave scars; evidence of where you have been, how far you have come. They are like a roadmap of your life, and each one tells a story; kind of like stamps in a passport. To say that time heals them implies that you are left looking untouched. 'Time' is not a plastic surgeon. It cannot erase the marks left behind from your wound. And we shouldn't want it to.
Like the stretchmarks left on the belly of a loving mother, they tell our tales of love, loss, sacrifice and grace. When we look at them, we remember where we have been. Without acknowledging where we have been, we cannot embrace how far we have come. And without that, what do you have?
A bunch of days that didn't count......
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Coffee....It's a Food Group, Dammit!
Good Thursday Morning, peeps!
I'm soaking up some beautiful breezy morning from the ole porch swing, coffee by my side, before I have to do real work. Oh, and the weather man says it's gonna be something ridiculous like 109 degrees today....so I'm gonna spend a little time outside before it begins to feel like Satan is standing on my lawn.
Sitting here, coffee by my side, it occurs to me that something is wrong in the world. Yesterday, I had a quick conversation with a chick my age who casually made a comment that turned my universe upside down. I actually felt my ear hairs begin to spasm, the left corner of my lip began to do an Elvis twitch, and I think I experienced what I have heard refered to as anal puckering. What she said sent chills down my spine, and they were multiplyin....it was electrifyin....
She said...............................................
(gasp)
'Where is Starbucks, again?'
And then, the worst profanity that ever slipped out of a woman's lips in the history of the world........
'I DON'T DRINK COFFEE.'
I looked at her as though I just watched her take a bump from Charlie Sheen. I could not compute the words coming out of her freshly lipsticked lips. I saw them moving, but it was as though I were in a dream where time slowed down and I knew there must be words exiting her face, but they all came out like Japanese. Surely I was misunderstanding, or maybe my internal translater was defective and what she actually said was "I need a new transmission." Yeah, that must have been it.
'What the Hell do you mean you don't drink coffee?' I replied sharply! 'You are a mother. You have to drink coffee.'
This sent me into a tailspin, and I am nearly positive that I will need counseling in the future to assist me in overcoming the mental anquish that will surely torment me for years to come.
All of this got me thinking that I need to push for legislation to actually modify the food group pyramid. I am thinking of speaking with Michelle Obama about this. She is all gung-ho about food, farming and repairing the youth....surely SHE drinks coffee.
Actually, I think now they have changed the pyramid to a plate. I guess it's easier for all the little fat kids who eat suckers for breakfast to understand a plate than a pyramid. It looks like this:
My proposition would simply push to add coffee as a food group. It is full of antioxidants. It stimulates the production of cortisone and adrenaline, two stimulating hormones.
Finally, the most compelling argument of all:
A May 2012 study by the New England Journal of Medicine found that, during the course of their study, coffee drinkers "who drank at least two or three cups a day were about 10 percent or 15 percent less likely to die for any reason during the 13 years of the study.
Why, you ask? Probably because coffee is NECESSARY for maintaining a civil attitude toward morons. It is a pre-requisite for mothers, as it allows us to not choke someone to death for leaving the stool out in the middle of the floor in the dark that we proceed to stumble over and nearly kill ourselves. It assists us in having enough composure to simply practice deep breathing in a dark closet for a few minutes instead of walking to the garage, getting in the car and driving away. This is typically frowned upon by most police municipalities and I believe is called 'Child Endangerment'....which they tend to advise against.
Therefore, people, coffee saves lives! I mean, the damn New England Journal of Freakin Medicine said so.
Come on, Mrs. Obama. Get your crap together. Hear the words comin out of my mouth....or fingertips in this case, but now we're just splitting hairs. I propose that we modify the food group triangle, pyramid, plate or whatever else we choose to transform it into. Per my research, I believe it should be relatively easy to impliment. See diagram below:
Coffee saves lives.
I am nearly confident it has played a direct role in the salvation of the other humans residing in my own home on more than one occassion. It can be served with breakfast, lunch or dinner. In some cases, it can be a substitute for a meal. For some of us, it does this a lot. It is a diuretic, which is helpful for those who retain water. It is a laxative, which helps all of the stopped up people of the world.
Think of the joy that would overflow if everyone who is constipated could suddenly poop! This could be a trickle down effect. Road rage would decrease. People with a stick up their butts may actually NOT have them up there anymore. This means more pleasant transactions at the DMV.
OMG. I could be on to something! I think I may win a Nobel Peace Prize for this. I'm thinking WORLD PEACE, people.
I can hear it now.....all the disgruntled people of the world---joining hands, and singing Kumbaya!
Damn. I'm good.
I saved the freakin world this morning. What did YOU do?
Monday, June 25, 2012
P-L-A-Y...The Newest 4-letter Word
It's 8:30am on a Monday. It's summertime. For about an hour now, I've been planted on my white wicker porch swing, contemplating our conversation today. Cup of coffee by my side, I'm soaking up the morning before the Missouri humidity sets in. 5 has been riding his battery operated Jeep through the yard. Round and round the house he goes, stopping occasionally to pluck a dandelion. His stuffed dog is strapped in the passenger seat, a pair of roller skates are in the cargo area in the back. He giggles as he rides over the bumps, reminding his puppy to hold on tight. Meanwhile, 10 is inside. A blossoming foodie, she is whipping up a batch of french toast with homemade peach syrup for she and 5. It's not unusual for her to come out with a towel over her shoulder, notepad in hand, taking 'orders.' When she is feeling really fancy, she prepares a hand-written menu.
As I look over my right shoulder, I catch a glimpse of 5 sitting out in the field, still in his jammies, his back to me. He is focused intently on whatever it is he is fabricating out of a blade of grass and a weed, no doubt. Our rottweiler mix paces back and forth, keeping watch as a car passes.
It has just occurred to me that as I type, the song "I Miss Mayberry" is playing as I listen to the local country station through my laptop.
Sometimes it feels like this world
Is spinning faster
Than it did in the old days
So naturally, we have more
Natural disasters
From the strain of a fast pace
Sunday was a day of rest
Now it's one more day for progress
And we can't slow down 'cause
More is best
It's all an endless process
We don't live in Mayberry for sure. But by today's standards, I think we are as close as we can be without living amongst the Amish.
I heard this morning that for the first time in over 50 years, dolls have been replaced as the #1 ranking toy on little girls wish lists. Guess what they are wishing for now? Video games. Yep. That's right.
I'll never forget the first time I realized how differently my kids live than many others. 10 was in about 2nd grade, and a friend of hers climbed up into our car to say hello after school. A chunky little guy, his shorts always went well past his knees like capri pants in order to fit him in the waist. A really sweet kid, he was being raised in a home with a housekeeper who made fresh cookies daily. His mom would come to school each day with a 'snack' she had picked up from a local restaurant for the 5 minute ride home. He climbed his short little legs up into my car and promptly announced that he wanted to come home with us and play sometime. Before I could even respond, he began hammering me with questions. We never got past the first one before he opted to decline a visit to my house after all. "What kind of video games do you have at your house?" he asked as he wabbled on the running board of my SUV, holding on to the mirror in an attempt to steady himself. The look on his face was priceless as I responded "None," and he looked at me as though I were speaking gibberish. "No Wii? No Playstation? What do your kids DOOOOO at home?" I'm nearly positive his colon twisted in a knot at that very moment. The mere thought of 'playing' left him constipated and confused. That was the end of that. He never asked to come to my house again. Play??? You want me to......P-L-A-Y? Whaaaaaat?
Call me crazy, but I have this weird belief that kids should actually play. Like, play, play. Pretend, use their imaginations, play. Play house, play school, play secret agents. Listen to the radio, read a book. Do something. Not sit on a beanbag chair in the air conditioning and pretend you are a carjacker as you give yourself premature carpal tunnel syndrome from holding a controller for 12 hours straight.
10 and 5 don't have video games. Well, I take that back. They have a joystick that plugs into the tv that plays Pacman. Once every couple months they get a wild hair to pull that thing out and play it for a while. They don't have iPods, iPads, iPhones or anything else that starts with an i. They do not get on the internet. They are not allowed to play with my iPhone, and there are no games or children's apps on it. They both have a cd player in their rooms, but no televisions. That is about as technologically advanced as my kids will be allowed to get. Never will they be told to 'Go to your room and put on a movie and get ready for bed.' Nope, sorry. You don't need to watch a movie to unwind for bed. Go take a shower. Wash the dirt out from between your toes from playing outside in flip flops. Wash off the watermelon juice that has run from your wrist down to your elbow and formed a line as sticky as an ant trap. Then, if we have time, maybe we can read a short book before we say our prayers and go to bed. That is our night time routine, and I don't plan on changing it.
5 is known to leave miscellaneous tools and random batteries and screws all over my house like Hansel and Gretel's trail of bread crumbs. 10 has been known to read 5 different books simulataneously; a feat that leaves me a little baffled. While some may view us as being behind the times, I'm okay with it. I can promise you that when our children go out into the Big Bad World of Reality, they will thrive and prosper. While their classmates fight for computer programmer positions, 10 and 5 will likely be running their own businesses like bakeries and engineering firms.
How in the world will this generation survive in the world with no worldly experience? I realize computers are a large part of our future, but there is no way there will be enough jobs for the millions of children who's idea of 'work' is using their thumbs on game controllers and cell phones. There will only be so many positions for web design, computer networking and gamer crap.
What the Hell are the rest of them going to do? It's already painfully obvious that young adults are not thrilled about manual labor. If you don't believe me, come work with me next time I run an ad for a laborer. After speaking to approximately 200 applicants who believed themselves 'ready, willing and able to work'...I got 3 resumes. Three. T-H-R-E-E. Tres.
One was handwritten on a note-sized piece of paper in a woman's handwriting. One misspelled his name on the resume when compared to the spelling on the envelope. Only the third actually had one on file and was able to form complete sentences. Many of the callers actually admitted that they only inquired about the opening so that they could list it as an attempt at employment and continue to collect their unemployment. This is our future. Let me just tell ya, I'm super excited about where THIS is gonna go. NOT!
My only hope is that 10 and 5 can be extremely self-sufficient. That way they won't have to rely on any employees to actually work with them in their business adventures. Lord knows that by the time they reach adulthood, there will be NO ONE willing to actually work for a living.
Apparently, we had better start hoping that one of those little turds can use their gaming experience to create a world like The Jetsons PRONTO! That way the only individuals that will be expected to do manual work will be Rosie the Robot, and our children won't have to change their ways in order to prepare for adulthood.
Otherwise, I think we are screwed.
As I look over my right shoulder, I catch a glimpse of 5 sitting out in the field, still in his jammies, his back to me. He is focused intently on whatever it is he is fabricating out of a blade of grass and a weed, no doubt. Our rottweiler mix paces back and forth, keeping watch as a car passes.
It has just occurred to me that as I type, the song "I Miss Mayberry" is playing as I listen to the local country station through my laptop.
Sometimes it feels like this world
Is spinning faster
Than it did in the old days
So naturally, we have more
Natural disasters
From the strain of a fast pace
Sunday was a day of rest
Now it's one more day for progress
And we can't slow down 'cause
More is best
It's all an endless process
We don't live in Mayberry for sure. But by today's standards, I think we are as close as we can be without living amongst the Amish.
I heard this morning that for the first time in over 50 years, dolls have been replaced as the #1 ranking toy on little girls wish lists. Guess what they are wishing for now? Video games. Yep. That's right.
I'll never forget the first time I realized how differently my kids live than many others. 10 was in about 2nd grade, and a friend of hers climbed up into our car to say hello after school. A chunky little guy, his shorts always went well past his knees like capri pants in order to fit him in the waist. A really sweet kid, he was being raised in a home with a housekeeper who made fresh cookies daily. His mom would come to school each day with a 'snack' she had picked up from a local restaurant for the 5 minute ride home. He climbed his short little legs up into my car and promptly announced that he wanted to come home with us and play sometime. Before I could even respond, he began hammering me with questions. We never got past the first one before he opted to decline a visit to my house after all. "What kind of video games do you have at your house?" he asked as he wabbled on the running board of my SUV, holding on to the mirror in an attempt to steady himself. The look on his face was priceless as I responded "None," and he looked at me as though I were speaking gibberish. "No Wii? No Playstation? What do your kids DOOOOO at home?" I'm nearly positive his colon twisted in a knot at that very moment. The mere thought of 'playing' left him constipated and confused. That was the end of that. He never asked to come to my house again. Play??? You want me to......P-L-A-Y? Whaaaaaat?
Call me crazy, but I have this weird belief that kids should actually play. Like, play, play. Pretend, use their imaginations, play. Play house, play school, play secret agents. Listen to the radio, read a book. Do something. Not sit on a beanbag chair in the air conditioning and pretend you are a carjacker as you give yourself premature carpal tunnel syndrome from holding a controller for 12 hours straight.
10 and 5 don't have video games. Well, I take that back. They have a joystick that plugs into the tv that plays Pacman. Once every couple months they get a wild hair to pull that thing out and play it for a while. They don't have iPods, iPads, iPhones or anything else that starts with an i. They do not get on the internet. They are not allowed to play with my iPhone, and there are no games or children's apps on it. They both have a cd player in their rooms, but no televisions. That is about as technologically advanced as my kids will be allowed to get. Never will they be told to 'Go to your room and put on a movie and get ready for bed.' Nope, sorry. You don't need to watch a movie to unwind for bed. Go take a shower. Wash the dirt out from between your toes from playing outside in flip flops. Wash off the watermelon juice that has run from your wrist down to your elbow and formed a line as sticky as an ant trap. Then, if we have time, maybe we can read a short book before we say our prayers and go to bed. That is our night time routine, and I don't plan on changing it.
5 is known to leave miscellaneous tools and random batteries and screws all over my house like Hansel and Gretel's trail of bread crumbs. 10 has been known to read 5 different books simulataneously; a feat that leaves me a little baffled. While some may view us as being behind the times, I'm okay with it. I can promise you that when our children go out into the Big Bad World of Reality, they will thrive and prosper. While their classmates fight for computer programmer positions, 10 and 5 will likely be running their own businesses like bakeries and engineering firms.
How in the world will this generation survive in the world with no worldly experience? I realize computers are a large part of our future, but there is no way there will be enough jobs for the millions of children who's idea of 'work' is using their thumbs on game controllers and cell phones. There will only be so many positions for web design, computer networking and gamer crap.
What the Hell are the rest of them going to do? It's already painfully obvious that young adults are not thrilled about manual labor. If you don't believe me, come work with me next time I run an ad for a laborer. After speaking to approximately 200 applicants who believed themselves 'ready, willing and able to work'...I got 3 resumes. Three. T-H-R-E-E. Tres.
One was handwritten on a note-sized piece of paper in a woman's handwriting. One misspelled his name on the resume when compared to the spelling on the envelope. Only the third actually had one on file and was able to form complete sentences. Many of the callers actually admitted that they only inquired about the opening so that they could list it as an attempt at employment and continue to collect their unemployment. This is our future. Let me just tell ya, I'm super excited about where THIS is gonna go. NOT!
My only hope is that 10 and 5 can be extremely self-sufficient. That way they won't have to rely on any employees to actually work with them in their business adventures. Lord knows that by the time they reach adulthood, there will be NO ONE willing to actually work for a living.
Apparently, we had better start hoping that one of those little turds can use their gaming experience to create a world like The Jetsons PRONTO! That way the only individuals that will be expected to do manual work will be Rosie the Robot, and our children won't have to change their ways in order to prepare for adulthood.
Otherwise, I think we are screwed.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Miss Jackson If You're Nasty.....
I have a confession to make.
I recently had an epiphany while watching The Ofrah Show. Yep. You read that right. Ofrah strikes again.
Confession #1 I don't care what you think, I likes me some Oprah. I think we have a lot in common, and if Gayle hadn't have beaten me to it, I'm pretty sure I could have been her right-hand-BFF. I like that she isn't afraid to say what she thinks. I like that she isn't afraid to be Christian on TV. Secretly, sometimes I pretend that I, too, am rich beyond my wildest dreams and want for nothing. What? You don't do that?
So, I will admit that on this occasion, I only watched because I couldn't find anything else on TV, and was looking to just veg out in front of the tv one night after getting the kids to bed.
I skeptically turned on her interview with 50 Cent, or as I now like to call him, Fitty. After spending this 60 minutes minus all of the commercials that I fast forwarded through (thank you DVR, you are the most fabulous invention EVAAAR!), which equated to approximately 38 minutes in real life.....
I discovered that I may actually be Fitty's long lost, super white, slightly younger twin sister!!!!!!
Yes, you read that right. I know, I know, you didn't even know he HAD a slightly younger twin sister. But, IT'S MEEEEEE!!!!! I mean, I even was a choir nerd in school! Coincidence? Me thinks not!
Here's the deal. I went into this thinking he was just another rapper who talks about killing people and doing drugs. You know, like Snoop Dogg only handsome instead of super skinny, cracked out and wearing ponytails that only a 5 year old little girl playing double dutch should wear. Anyhoo, I hadn't ever honestly given Fitty the time of day. He is a good looking guy, I'll give him that. Other than that, didn't know much about him.
About 10 minutes into the interview, it occurred to me that he isn't anything like the Fitty I thought I knew. Who knew he was intelligent, well-spoken and Christian? Not this girl, I can promise ya that! Raised by his grandma, he is not allowed to curse in her house. He rubs her feet and paints her toenails for her because her feet swell. His favorite snacks, which she keeps on hand at all times for when he drops in unexpectedly? Cheese and crackers and cranberry juice. You're smiling, aren't you? Admit it.
He explained that there are two people within him: Curtis Jackson and 50 Cent. When Ofrah asked him about his lyrics and why he portrays himself in such a way as Fitty that is so unlike the Curtis that she was interviewing, he made a really poignant point. I was shocked. I was actually LEARNING something. He said he didn't understand why an actor can play a murderer or rapist and everyone boasts about their ability to really take on their character. But, as a musician, you can do the same thing and take on a role through your music, but people assume that that is who YOU are...
Hmmm, I thought. Never really thought about that.
And then, he started talking about his regrets. About how while he had been a drug dealer, he hadn't actually DONE drugs. He simply used them as his way to survive and thrive in his neighborhood. How he wished he hadn't chosen that as his path, but that he didn't know any better then. But, as a whole, he couldn't really regret it, because it made him who he was.
I could relate to that. Though I can't say I would jump up and down and shout "Pick Me, Pick Me" like Donkey in Shrek if God asked for volunteers to have another sick child..... I wouldn't change my past. I wouldn't ever change my experience with Ty, or the painful journey that brought me here today. All of that pain, all of that perserverence, made me who I am today. I wouldn't wanna re-live it, but I wouldn't want to change it either. I'm very conscious of where I have been, because it makes me appreciate where I am. Essentially, that's what Fitty had to say about his past, too. Hmmmm......I was starting to actually LIKE this guy.
And then he said it. The thing that actually made me rewind and listen to it again. (again, thanks DVR. You rock) He was talking about his relationship with God. He said if there was one thing he has learned, it's that you should EITHER WORRY, OR PRAY. But don't do both. What message does that send to God????
Holy crap. What did he just say? I rewound and listened again. Yup, I heard it right. I couldn't believe it. I had an Oprah Ah-Hah moment with Fitty! I am a big pray-er. I'm also a big worry wart. While I fully believe in God's plan and His ability to handle things, I often worry that His plan and my plan may not be the same....and then I just get all caught up in worry. I'm a worrier, it's what I do.
When my brotha from anotha motha, Curtis Jackson, said this about either worrying or praying, but don't do both, it just hit me. I couldn't believe he said it. I couldn't believe it fell out of HIS face. I just learned something from Fitty Cent!
I had no idea he and I had so much in common. He said things about his faith and his relationship with God that I swear to you could have come straight from MY mouth. I'm actually working on a rough draft of matching tattoos that the two of us can get. I'm thinking a little heart with each other's names, on our upper arms. You know, sort of like the Best Friends necklaces from back in the day? Yeah, I'm confident he will TOTALLY be in when I send him the sketch. We will probably go together to get them so we can make sure they match. We'll have coffee together, maybe lunch. He's not gonna believe how much we have in common. I'm thinking of even buying his cd. You know, so I can make sure I'm up on it before we hang out. That way it won't be weird if they are playing it in the tattoo parlor while we are there. A sister should know her brother's lyrics. I'm sure he is gonna want me in the front row at his concerts now.
So...I'm checking on changing my name. Jennifer Jackson has a nice ring to it. It's possible. I could have that skin disorder like Michael Jackson. Oh, SOB, we even have the same last name! It's TOTALLY possible. I am just pale. OMG, it's all making sense! I mean, I'm sorry, but Paris Jackson doesn't look anything like Michael Jackson and she is HIS kid....so, I'm just sayin!
From now on, I'd prefer to be called Jennifer Jackson, or in the words of Janet.....
Miss Jackson if you're nasty!
I'll remember you all when I'm famous. Really, I will.
So, there you have it kids. My lesson of the week, learned from my long lost brother:
Either worry or pray. But don't do both. :)
I tooooootally see the resemblence now that I know. Don't you????????
I recently had an epiphany while watching The Ofrah Show. Yep. You read that right. Ofrah strikes again.
Confession #1 I don't care what you think, I likes me some Oprah. I think we have a lot in common, and if Gayle hadn't have beaten me to it, I'm pretty sure I could have been her right-hand-BFF. I like that she isn't afraid to say what she thinks. I like that she isn't afraid to be Christian on TV. Secretly, sometimes I pretend that I, too, am rich beyond my wildest dreams and want for nothing. What? You don't do that?
So, I will admit that on this occasion, I only watched because I couldn't find anything else on TV, and was looking to just veg out in front of the tv one night after getting the kids to bed.
I skeptically turned on her interview with 50 Cent, or as I now like to call him, Fitty. After spending this 60 minutes minus all of the commercials that I fast forwarded through (thank you DVR, you are the most fabulous invention EVAAAR!), which equated to approximately 38 minutes in real life.....
I discovered that I may actually be Fitty's long lost, super white, slightly younger twin sister!!!!!!
Yes, you read that right. I know, I know, you didn't even know he HAD a slightly younger twin sister. But, IT'S MEEEEEE!!!!! I mean, I even was a choir nerd in school! Coincidence? Me thinks not!
Here's the deal. I went into this thinking he was just another rapper who talks about killing people and doing drugs. You know, like Snoop Dogg only handsome instead of super skinny, cracked out and wearing ponytails that only a 5 year old little girl playing double dutch should wear. Anyhoo, I hadn't ever honestly given Fitty the time of day. He is a good looking guy, I'll give him that. Other than that, didn't know much about him.
About 10 minutes into the interview, it occurred to me that he isn't anything like the Fitty I thought I knew. Who knew he was intelligent, well-spoken and Christian? Not this girl, I can promise ya that! Raised by his grandma, he is not allowed to curse in her house. He rubs her feet and paints her toenails for her because her feet swell. His favorite snacks, which she keeps on hand at all times for when he drops in unexpectedly? Cheese and crackers and cranberry juice. You're smiling, aren't you? Admit it.
He explained that there are two people within him: Curtis Jackson and 50 Cent. When Ofrah asked him about his lyrics and why he portrays himself in such a way as Fitty that is so unlike the Curtis that she was interviewing, he made a really poignant point. I was shocked. I was actually LEARNING something. He said he didn't understand why an actor can play a murderer or rapist and everyone boasts about their ability to really take on their character. But, as a musician, you can do the same thing and take on a role through your music, but people assume that that is who YOU are...
Hmmm, I thought. Never really thought about that.
And then, he started talking about his regrets. About how while he had been a drug dealer, he hadn't actually DONE drugs. He simply used them as his way to survive and thrive in his neighborhood. How he wished he hadn't chosen that as his path, but that he didn't know any better then. But, as a whole, he couldn't really regret it, because it made him who he was.
I could relate to that. Though I can't say I would jump up and down and shout "Pick Me, Pick Me" like Donkey in Shrek if God asked for volunteers to have another sick child..... I wouldn't change my past. I wouldn't ever change my experience with Ty, or the painful journey that brought me here today. All of that pain, all of that perserverence, made me who I am today. I wouldn't wanna re-live it, but I wouldn't want to change it either. I'm very conscious of where I have been, because it makes me appreciate where I am. Essentially, that's what Fitty had to say about his past, too. Hmmmm......I was starting to actually LIKE this guy.
And then he said it. The thing that actually made me rewind and listen to it again. (again, thanks DVR. You rock) He was talking about his relationship with God. He said if there was one thing he has learned, it's that you should EITHER WORRY, OR PRAY. But don't do both. What message does that send to God????
Holy crap. What did he just say? I rewound and listened again. Yup, I heard it right. I couldn't believe it. I had an Oprah Ah-Hah moment with Fitty! I am a big pray-er. I'm also a big worry wart. While I fully believe in God's plan and His ability to handle things, I often worry that His plan and my plan may not be the same....and then I just get all caught up in worry. I'm a worrier, it's what I do.
When my brotha from anotha motha, Curtis Jackson, said this about either worrying or praying, but don't do both, it just hit me. I couldn't believe he said it. I couldn't believe it fell out of HIS face. I just learned something from Fitty Cent!
I had no idea he and I had so much in common. He said things about his faith and his relationship with God that I swear to you could have come straight from MY mouth. I'm actually working on a rough draft of matching tattoos that the two of us can get. I'm thinking a little heart with each other's names, on our upper arms. You know, sort of like the Best Friends necklaces from back in the day? Yeah, I'm confident he will TOTALLY be in when I send him the sketch. We will probably go together to get them so we can make sure they match. We'll have coffee together, maybe lunch. He's not gonna believe how much we have in common. I'm thinking of even buying his cd. You know, so I can make sure I'm up on it before we hang out. That way it won't be weird if they are playing it in the tattoo parlor while we are there. A sister should know her brother's lyrics. I'm sure he is gonna want me in the front row at his concerts now.
So...I'm checking on changing my name. Jennifer Jackson has a nice ring to it. It's possible. I could have that skin disorder like Michael Jackson. Oh, SOB, we even have the same last name! It's TOTALLY possible. I am just pale. OMG, it's all making sense! I mean, I'm sorry, but Paris Jackson doesn't look anything like Michael Jackson and she is HIS kid....so, I'm just sayin!
From now on, I'd prefer to be called Jennifer Jackson, or in the words of Janet.....
Miss Jackson if you're nasty!
I'll remember you all when I'm famous. Really, I will.
So, there you have it kids. My lesson of the week, learned from my long lost brother:
Either worry or pray. But don't do both. :)
I tooooootally see the resemblence now that I know. Don't you????????
The Noise from Hell's Bowels in the Self-Check Out Lane
Have you ever stopped to ponder what things your kids will choose to download to their hard drive as their "Childhood Memories?" How does the body pick and choose which stuff will be selected, and then how exactly does it work with the whole "remembering it fondly like a kid instead of how bad it really sucked like the grown-ups do" phenomenon?
I often wonder, as my family and I muddle through our daily lives, which crap my kids will sit around and recall someday. I can just see them, sitting around the Thanksgiving table one day as adults, pondering all the things that mom did that screwed us up royally without her even realizing it!
Seriously, did you ever take the time to think about this? It's freakin scary, I tell ya! You know how you can recall certain parts of your childhood with great clarity, and other things that your siblings/family tell you have been completely erased? Aunt Mildred asks, "Do you remember how you used to come to my house and we would make lemonade from scratch and paint each other's nails?" But somehow all you can remember is that when you went to her house, you were scared out of your ever-lovin mind by the creepy painting of a clown that hung on the wall going up the steps that had eyes that seemed to follow you?
Yeah....someday, that's gonna be OUR KIDS doing that! So, which 2 1/2 second comment that we make to them, like "stop arguing before I lock you in the basement" will they choose to burn to memory? (I'm kidding, relax. Everyone knows there's too much stuff in the basement that they would find to play with....that could never serve as an appropriate punishment!)
As I sit and think about this, I think of all the little bitty crap that happens throughout the course of a typical summer day. During school, they aren't home as much, so there is less chance of the occurrence of permenently detremental memories. But, seriously, in the summer? Oy vey!
Especially this summer. They have argued and bickered so much (a new thing for them) that they are getting in trouble a lot! Knowing my luck, they will store yesterday's threat as their most prominent childhood memory of mom, even though it only happened once (so far, and there can be no promises here people).
It went something like this:
Me: You guys are arguing way too much. I can't take it anymore. I am so tired of constantly having to referee the two of you about ridiculous things, I absolutely refuse to do it today. I will NOT spend my entire summer doing this.
Kids: No words. Just innocent stares. Big eyeballs, batting eyelashes....They both immediately go into "Puss In Boots" mode when he tries to get Shrek to let him go along with he and Donkey on their whirlwind adventure.
Me: I'm serious guys. I can't do it anymore. I refuse. And I shouldn't have to. You guys are lucky to have siblings....so stop acting like animals and fighting. I swear, you would fight over a pile of dog poop in the yard!
Kids: I've lost them now. They are now both rolled onto their backs laughing, knees drawn to chest. It's over. I went too far with the dog poop scenario....though I swear that some days it's true.
Me: Here's the new policy. I will NOT spend the entire day saying the same thing over and over again. Therefore, you will get ONE warning when you start bickering. After that, there will be no more. Guess what the second warning is? Guess! It's a spanking. No more playing around. No more second chances. One warning, then POW!
Kids: Ha! Reeled them suckers back in now. They ain't thinkin about dog poop anymore!
I can hear the wheels turning in their little heads...."Is she really gonna spank us? Like, seriously? Totally? OMG..."
Me: Does everyone get it? Do you hear me? Are you picking up what I am putting down? Are you smelling what I'm cooking? (okay, I got carried away here. I may or may not have asked ALL of those questions...)
Kids: 'Uh huh.' Then the negotiations begin between the two of them. Secret handshakes, pinky swears, chest bumps, double pits to chesty...they were on a mission to syncronize their watches and make dang sure they were NOT going to incur any spankings today. No way, Jose..
Best Behavior?? CHECK!
Me: And, by the way, you'll both get a spanking. You are BOTH fighting with each other. You are both bickering endlessly with each other. It makes me not want to be around you. Who in their right mind would want to spend all day with two kids who fight over who almost touched who, who looked at who wrong, and who had the direct intention of touching the other's bedroom door knob? (even though, mind you, said bedroom inhabitant was IN said bedroom with the door closed, and to the best of my knowledge, does not have x-ray vision....however can still say, without a reasonable doubt, that a 'touching of my door knob, after the note on my door clearly says Do Not Disturb'....was about to occur)
Kids: Aye, aye, Captain. We got it. We can rock this out. Best Kids On Earth???? You got it!
And that is how our day began. I should have threatened them with public floggings a long time ago. Walking into Dierbergs, there was a flutter as we crossed the street. Something was amuck. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I felt a tingle in my ears. Was there a...could there be a .....was it possible that there could be..........................................................
the THOUGHT of a possible altercation right there in the crosswalk? Was I going to get my chance to make good on my promise right there in front of God and everybody?
Secretly I was really hoping NOT, because I genuinely have great kids. Neither of them ever need strict discipline, truly. This bickering thing is new for us this summer, and I can only assume that it is because 5 is nearly 6, and 10 is going into 5th grade and thinks her poo doesn't stink. Therefore, the age gap is narrowing and they are beginning to get on each other's nerves. My kids are truly amazing, they are well-behaved, respectful good kids. Which is why this entire epidemic has thrown me for a loop and caused me to be in need of counseling soon. I am not accustomed to feeling like I need to throw down on someone by Wednesday!
So, back to the crosswalk. I tightened my grip on 5's hand, peered at the two of them through my peripheral vision and clenched my teeth before squeeking out the following :
"This is your one warning. What comes next?"
5 let out a sigh of disdain. I could just hear his little inner voice saying "Damn. She didn't forget!"
'Spanking,' he replied, with as much umph as a helium balloon as it hits the floor after being popped.
"That's right," I said. "And it can happen right here in the store if you guys want. Now THAT would be embarassing, wouldn't it?"
That was the end of that. If there is one thing that can be said about our family discipline policy, it's that if we say we are going to do something, we do. We are not a household of empty threats. Which is part of the reason our kids are well-behaved. When they were very young, we didn't let them push us around. We didn't sit on the couch and repeatedly say "Don't do that....don't do that....don't do that...." Therefore, they know that if I say I will swat em one in the store, I will. Now, I've NEVER had to do this. My kids aren't THOOOOOOOSE kids.
Thankfully, we got through the store without incident. They were acting like MY kids again, hooray!!! Hallelooooyer!
We made it to the self-check out lane without bloodshed. We landed our cart and pressed the button on the screen to continue. And then it happened. It was so terrible that I felt the blood come up from my toes, travel past my knees, and like a bullet train it all entered my head and the steam began to build.....
OOOOOOOOO
MMMMMMMM
GGGGGGGGGGGG
WHAT is that terrible, God-awful noise?????????????
It sounded like a human fire engine. Or maybe a cat being skinned alive. Possibly a natural breech child birth...happening right there in aisle 4!
Dear Lord, what iiiiiiisssss that? And then it surfaced. What once was shrouded in mystery suddenly became clear. It was THAT kid. THE kid. The one that makes my tubes tie spontaneously without the need for a laproscopic procedure.
The rocket-ship shaped shopping cart came around the corner on two wheels. Unfortunately, it didn't topple over and create a scene that I could have appreciated. It was clear to me that mom either traveled with her own tube of petroleum jelly, or had stopped in the butter aisle and had greased these two kids up in order to squeeze them both into the cockpit of this rocket ship, as they had to be 6 and 7 years old. Their knees were up in the steering wheels, legs and arms touching each other....they were like little sardines in there.
At first glance, mom was an attractive lady. Then I saw that she obviously was mentally unstable, or perhaps hearing impaired. The noise that escaped her daughter's face made me want to dive off of the self check out stand and leap on top of her like Hulk Hogan coming off of the ropes in WWF. That little brat opened her mouth and that firetruck noise came out again. She was slapping her brother in the face, scratching him and just begging to be smacked upside her head. What was mom doing? NOTHING! They continued to call each other names, hit each other and throw things at each other, and somehow through it all that little hag continued to make that noise. The noise that made me want to shove a sock down to her aorta in order to stop it from ever escaping again. It was so loud that I swear I saw the bullet-proof glass in the front of the store flex. The shopping bags began to whip around like a tornado was coming through, and people's coupons were torn from their hands. She shrieked that noise continuously as people at the other end of the check-out lanes began to look over their shoulders. Dogs in the street stopped and put their paws over their ears. Old ladies with hearing aids turned them off....
Her mother continued to ignore her, her brother continued to push her buttons, and she herself continued to smack him with both hands in the face. And the noise remained.
I began to practice deep breathing techniques and when that didn't work, I actually contemplating just leaving the rest of my groceries in the cart and simply running out of the store. I fought back the temptation to walk right up to this woman and ask her what in the HELL could possibly make her think that this was appropriate parenting. I didn't, though. Somehow I mustered enough self-control to finish my transaction. Thankfully Satan and her brood left just moments before we did, and took with them the noise that bubbled up from Hell's bowels.
As the cashier offered my kids a sticker, I could tell she was drafting her letter of resignation in her head. I looked down at my kids as we pushed our cart through the double-doors to freedom and thought, "Damn, I have good kids!"
So, thank you, God, for giving me the near-death experience in the self-check out lane. Actually, it was more like a nearly-went-to-prison-for-beating-a-stranger's-child-experience....but nonetheless, it worked. I realized that even on their worst days, my kids are approximately 1000 times better than THAT girl. And that's something to be thankful for!
I often wonder, as my family and I muddle through our daily lives, which crap my kids will sit around and recall someday. I can just see them, sitting around the Thanksgiving table one day as adults, pondering all the things that mom did that screwed us up royally without her even realizing it!
Seriously, did you ever take the time to think about this? It's freakin scary, I tell ya! You know how you can recall certain parts of your childhood with great clarity, and other things that your siblings/family tell you have been completely erased? Aunt Mildred asks, "Do you remember how you used to come to my house and we would make lemonade from scratch and paint each other's nails?" But somehow all you can remember is that when you went to her house, you were scared out of your ever-lovin mind by the creepy painting of a clown that hung on the wall going up the steps that had eyes that seemed to follow you?
Yeah....someday, that's gonna be OUR KIDS doing that! So, which 2 1/2 second comment that we make to them, like "stop arguing before I lock you in the basement" will they choose to burn to memory? (I'm kidding, relax. Everyone knows there's too much stuff in the basement that they would find to play with....that could never serve as an appropriate punishment!)
As I sit and think about this, I think of all the little bitty crap that happens throughout the course of a typical summer day. During school, they aren't home as much, so there is less chance of the occurrence of permenently detremental memories. But, seriously, in the summer? Oy vey!
Especially this summer. They have argued and bickered so much (a new thing for them) that they are getting in trouble a lot! Knowing my luck, they will store yesterday's threat as their most prominent childhood memory of mom, even though it only happened once (so far, and there can be no promises here people).
It went something like this:
Me: You guys are arguing way too much. I can't take it anymore. I am so tired of constantly having to referee the two of you about ridiculous things, I absolutely refuse to do it today. I will NOT spend my entire summer doing this.
Kids: No words. Just innocent stares. Big eyeballs, batting eyelashes....They both immediately go into "Puss In Boots" mode when he tries to get Shrek to let him go along with he and Donkey on their whirlwind adventure.
Me: I'm serious guys. I can't do it anymore. I refuse. And I shouldn't have to. You guys are lucky to have siblings....so stop acting like animals and fighting. I swear, you would fight over a pile of dog poop in the yard!
Kids: I've lost them now. They are now both rolled onto their backs laughing, knees drawn to chest. It's over. I went too far with the dog poop scenario....though I swear that some days it's true.
Me: Here's the new policy. I will NOT spend the entire day saying the same thing over and over again. Therefore, you will get ONE warning when you start bickering. After that, there will be no more. Guess what the second warning is? Guess! It's a spanking. No more playing around. No more second chances. One warning, then POW!
Kids: Ha! Reeled them suckers back in now. They ain't thinkin about dog poop anymore!
I can hear the wheels turning in their little heads...."Is she really gonna spank us? Like, seriously? Totally? OMG..."
Me: Does everyone get it? Do you hear me? Are you picking up what I am putting down? Are you smelling what I'm cooking? (okay, I got carried away here. I may or may not have asked ALL of those questions...)
Kids: 'Uh huh.' Then the negotiations begin between the two of them. Secret handshakes, pinky swears, chest bumps, double pits to chesty...they were on a mission to syncronize their watches and make dang sure they were NOT going to incur any spankings today. No way, Jose..
Best Behavior?? CHECK!
Me: And, by the way, you'll both get a spanking. You are BOTH fighting with each other. You are both bickering endlessly with each other. It makes me not want to be around you. Who in their right mind would want to spend all day with two kids who fight over who almost touched who, who looked at who wrong, and who had the direct intention of touching the other's bedroom door knob? (even though, mind you, said bedroom inhabitant was IN said bedroom with the door closed, and to the best of my knowledge, does not have x-ray vision....however can still say, without a reasonable doubt, that a 'touching of my door knob, after the note on my door clearly says Do Not Disturb'....was about to occur)
Kids: Aye, aye, Captain. We got it. We can rock this out. Best Kids On Earth???? You got it!
And that is how our day began. I should have threatened them with public floggings a long time ago. Walking into Dierbergs, there was a flutter as we crossed the street. Something was amuck. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I felt a tingle in my ears. Was there a...could there be a .....was it possible that there could be..........................................................
the THOUGHT of a possible altercation right there in the crosswalk? Was I going to get my chance to make good on my promise right there in front of God and everybody?
Secretly I was really hoping NOT, because I genuinely have great kids. Neither of them ever need strict discipline, truly. This bickering thing is new for us this summer, and I can only assume that it is because 5 is nearly 6, and 10 is going into 5th grade and thinks her poo doesn't stink. Therefore, the age gap is narrowing and they are beginning to get on each other's nerves. My kids are truly amazing, they are well-behaved, respectful good kids. Which is why this entire epidemic has thrown me for a loop and caused me to be in need of counseling soon. I am not accustomed to feeling like I need to throw down on someone by Wednesday!
So, back to the crosswalk. I tightened my grip on 5's hand, peered at the two of them through my peripheral vision and clenched my teeth before squeeking out the following :
"This is your one warning. What comes next?"
5 let out a sigh of disdain. I could just hear his little inner voice saying "Damn. She didn't forget!"
'Spanking,' he replied, with as much umph as a helium balloon as it hits the floor after being popped.
"That's right," I said. "And it can happen right here in the store if you guys want. Now THAT would be embarassing, wouldn't it?"
That was the end of that. If there is one thing that can be said about our family discipline policy, it's that if we say we are going to do something, we do. We are not a household of empty threats. Which is part of the reason our kids are well-behaved. When they were very young, we didn't let them push us around. We didn't sit on the couch and repeatedly say "Don't do that....don't do that....don't do that...." Therefore, they know that if I say I will swat em one in the store, I will. Now, I've NEVER had to do this. My kids aren't THOOOOOOOSE kids.
Thankfully, we got through the store without incident. They were acting like MY kids again, hooray!!! Hallelooooyer!
We made it to the self-check out lane without bloodshed. We landed our cart and pressed the button on the screen to continue. And then it happened. It was so terrible that I felt the blood come up from my toes, travel past my knees, and like a bullet train it all entered my head and the steam began to build.....
OOOOOOOOO
MMMMMMMM
GGGGGGGGGGGG
WHAT is that terrible, God-awful noise?????????????
It sounded like a human fire engine. Or maybe a cat being skinned alive. Possibly a natural breech child birth...happening right there in aisle 4!
Dear Lord, what iiiiiiisssss that? And then it surfaced. What once was shrouded in mystery suddenly became clear. It was THAT kid. THE kid. The one that makes my tubes tie spontaneously without the need for a laproscopic procedure.
The rocket-ship shaped shopping cart came around the corner on two wheels. Unfortunately, it didn't topple over and create a scene that I could have appreciated. It was clear to me that mom either traveled with her own tube of petroleum jelly, or had stopped in the butter aisle and had greased these two kids up in order to squeeze them both into the cockpit of this rocket ship, as they had to be 6 and 7 years old. Their knees were up in the steering wheels, legs and arms touching each other....they were like little sardines in there.
At first glance, mom was an attractive lady. Then I saw that she obviously was mentally unstable, or perhaps hearing impaired. The noise that escaped her daughter's face made me want to dive off of the self check out stand and leap on top of her like Hulk Hogan coming off of the ropes in WWF. That little brat opened her mouth and that firetruck noise came out again. She was slapping her brother in the face, scratching him and just begging to be smacked upside her head. What was mom doing? NOTHING! They continued to call each other names, hit each other and throw things at each other, and somehow through it all that little hag continued to make that noise. The noise that made me want to shove a sock down to her aorta in order to stop it from ever escaping again. It was so loud that I swear I saw the bullet-proof glass in the front of the store flex. The shopping bags began to whip around like a tornado was coming through, and people's coupons were torn from their hands. She shrieked that noise continuously as people at the other end of the check-out lanes began to look over their shoulders. Dogs in the street stopped and put their paws over their ears. Old ladies with hearing aids turned them off....
Her mother continued to ignore her, her brother continued to push her buttons, and she herself continued to smack him with both hands in the face. And the noise remained.
I began to practice deep breathing techniques and when that didn't work, I actually contemplating just leaving the rest of my groceries in the cart and simply running out of the store. I fought back the temptation to walk right up to this woman and ask her what in the HELL could possibly make her think that this was appropriate parenting. I didn't, though. Somehow I mustered enough self-control to finish my transaction. Thankfully Satan and her brood left just moments before we did, and took with them the noise that bubbled up from Hell's bowels.
As the cashier offered my kids a sticker, I could tell she was drafting her letter of resignation in her head. I looked down at my kids as we pushed our cart through the double-doors to freedom and thought, "Damn, I have good kids!"
So, thank you, God, for giving me the near-death experience in the self-check out lane. Actually, it was more like a nearly-went-to-prison-for-beating-a-stranger's-child-experience....but nonetheless, it worked. I realized that even on their worst days, my kids are approximately 1000 times better than THAT girl. And that's something to be thankful for!
Monday, June 18, 2012
Grandmas Are Angels with Aqua Net
Mushy alert!!!
Today, I am on and off with the tears as I think about my sweet grandma. I figured that nearly all of you could relate to the feeling of love and acceptance that comes along with most grandmas, and the pain that comes with losing one. I had an amazing dream about her last night. I'm positive it was her, letting me know she was all settled in in Heaven, and I decided that since she decided to pencil me in to HER busy schedule, I would do the same for her!
She was filled with kindness, never judged anyone, and was a wonderful Christian role-model. She could be a real spit-fire, and if provoked, could really be a rascal! Like many grandmas, she had soft skin, gentle hands, and always had a can of Aqua Net in the bathroom! She died very suddenly in February, just a couple days after Valentine's Day.
She was widowed in her early 40's, and never, ever gave the time of day to another man. She had been a stay at home mother until that point, so she took factory jobs to make a living once my grandpa passed away. She worked hard, never complaining...a novel concept in today's society for sure!
She didn't have much, but was always generous with what she did have. She was so patient with us as kids, though I am sure we were noisy, messy and sometimes drove her crazy. Each summer, my cousin and I would stay with her for a week or two and go to Vacation Bible School at her church. She spoiled us with ice cream, movies, parks and lunch at the diner. She let us do things our parents wouldn't have, like watch scary movies, stay up late, and even bought the tiny single-serve cereal boxes...something my mom said was a COMPLETE waste of money!
I used to put so much thought into the wardrobe I would bring to grandma's for our VBS time. I packed my favorite skirts, my best shirts...who in the world was I trying to impress? I was a pre-teen, so I was probably trying to impress everyone! LOL
She would let me use her curling iron to fix my hair, and of course, I would use her Aqua Net so it would hold. Oh, if only there were photograph evidence of what I actually looked like when I left that house!
She never got worked up about things. If we forgot our toothbrushes, we just brushed our teeth with our finger and her toothpaste for the week, no big deal. We bounced many a blow-up bouncy horse up and down her hall, hid Easter eggs inside the house when it rained, decorated lopsided Christmas trees with handmade ornaments, and rocked many a Cabbage Patch Kid to sleep there in that house...and she never got aggravated with us.
She loved us unconditionally, despite our faults. She was always supportive, always filled with love, and never asked for anything in return. She was the definition of grace.
Last night I had a dream about her that was so real, I woke up with tears running down my cheeks. She and I were having a conversation, and I was crying. She laughed at me and said, "I don't know why you are crying. I'm fine!" I continued to explain to her that she had died so suddenly, and that I really missed her and still couldn't believe she was gone. I kissed her and hugged her, making the most of my time; all the while, she just giggled and seemed so calm and happy. The softness of her cheek as I hugged her was so real, I can still feel it as I recall the dream. I had a chance to tell her all the things I wanted to tell her; all the things I thought she needed to know. I told her how much I loved her and missed her, how grateful I was for her. She reassured me that she was fine, happy and doing well.
I know it was her. I KNOW it was. What a beautiful way to find reassurance from a loved one.
Everyone needs reassurance once in a while. Even me. Don't ever doubt yourself when you think you've had an encounter with a deceased loved one. They can find some pretty crafty ways to say hello! It's just their little gift to you, and God's way of letting you know that the distance between here and 'there' is really much shorter than we think.
Love you, grandma!
Friday, June 15, 2012
Hoarders: Children's Edition
Am I the only one that is noticed there is nothing on television anymore that is actually entertaining? After a long day of the real world, I look forward to getting my kids to bed, putting my feet up on the couch, grabbing a bowl of popcorn and watching a little mindless television. I admit it, I'm a typical American in this way.
So why is it that I am struggling to find something to actually WATCH? I like 2 Broke Girls. I enjoy The Big Bang Theory and Last Man Standing. Two and a Half Men? Funny (well, admittedly it was funnier with Charlie, but it's still okay). I love, love, LOVE Drop Dead Diva and Justified...other than that, nothing to ever watch. Note that none of the above are reality shows. They are ficticious. I like that. I live in the real world all day, every day, 365 days a year. I have no interest in watching other people live their lives. I have my own chaos, my own occassional drama. I don't need your THEIR drama too.
However, I had an epiphany yesterday. I think I have tapped into an unused source in the reality tv world. It happened when my 5 year old blurted something out that made me shake my head, and it occurred to me how often this happens. I got the last stick of lip balm out of a 2-pack and handed it to him. What he said next made me nuts. "Can I have the box?"
OMG, dude, no....you cannot have the box. This box measures maybe 1"x2 1/2". It's maybe 1/2" tall. What in the world is he gonna do with this box? I can tell you the answer. It's gonna go in the floor with the other boxes, random tags, bread ties from the produce department at the grocery store, which he twists into animals while going thru the store, then proceeds to bring them home and drop them in the floor in his room. At any given time, you can find $1.25 in change, a watch battery, an acorn, a long piece of thread, fishing line, 5 screws, 3 cards from Candy Land, at least one large washer, tiny rubber tires from monster trucks, 2 pieces of used tape that have been applied and removed so many times they are no longer sticky, and 4-7 small legos in this kid's floor. He loves keys. He loves washers, nuts and bolts from his uncle's garage. He especially loves any small box he can put some of his miscellaneous pieces and parts in. He nearly levatated above the ground the day he came home with a small matchbox filled with tiny washers from the garage.
Yep, my kid is a hoarder.
In his defense, he does use most of these items at least once before leaving them to be a trip hazard in his own home. He manufactured a 'mobile home' for his small puppy dog this week using a playdough box, scissors and 4 wheels he scavenged off of something. Right now, as we speak, he is using wheels he found in a cabinet and a piece of foam core to fabricate a hand-crafted skate board for his stuffed animals. He ran out of screws, and I noticed him using the missiles from his Finn McMissile car to affix the wheels to the foam core. He's clever, you gotta give him props. But I swear I'll be doing good to get 5 years out of my new frontload washer with all the crazy stuff that comes thru in this kid's pockets!
While I'm making confessions, my 10 year old has issues herself. She is more of a "I may use that someday" hoarder; while 5 is an "I'm gonna build something super awesome with that" hoarder. 10 will actually seriously salvage any piece of ribbon, string from a package, bow from a gift, tissue paper, itty bitty scrap of fabric, miniscule piece of pretty paper or microscopic remnant of anything 'fancy.' Then, one day while she is at school, I come in and spend the entire day cleaning her room. There, I find things shoved into the the depths of her closet, like 4 mismatched socks, scraps of fabric the size of a nickel and shredded toilet paper intended to create a fluffy place for a tiny eraser in the shape of a panda to nest himself. I spend 10 minutes getting all of the tiny strands of thread from her carpet from all of her sewing adventures, and throw away 4 of the little paper cars from Steak n Shake that they give with a kid's meal...you HAVE to keep those in case a stuffed animal needs wheels. Let's not be stupid about this!
They are crafty. I don't mind that. But why, oh why, do I have to continually pick this stuff up and throw it away? And how, oh how, does it find it's way back? It's like Toy Story, when Buzz and Woody get left at the gas station and have to find their way back home. I throw this crap away, I swear I do. Is it possible I am hallucinating? Maybe I dream I am throwing it away, and really I'm not?
My vacuum cleaner could tell a few stories, let me just tell you. It's sucked up more than it's fair share of things it probably shouldn't have, simply because at some point I just give up and decide it's either gonna suck it up or blow up!
Some day, 5 will be a rich entrepreneur, who has developed something fantastically unique that everyone simply MUST have. It will probably be made out of something ridiculously simple, and everyone will think "Why didn't I think of that?"
10 will have an organic bakery, which she is already writing down recipes for. She will probably use all of her craftiness to make each item a work of art, with hand-crafted wrappers and pretty things to adorn them.
Someday. And when they do, mom will be right there to root them on. I'm already preparing for how I will welcome them into their new adventures in adulthood.
When they turn their heads, I am gonna sprinkle random tiny objects all over THEIR floors and simply walk away. I will leave sticky handprints all over their windows, crumbs on their tables and soap squirted all over the sink in the bathroom. I will overflow the trash can with tiny snot-rockets of toilet paper, insist on using 5 different drinking cups each day, leaving all of them on the table at the same time, and never scoot my chair in when I get up from the table.
And finally, for the piece de resistance, I am determined to learn to pee all over the seat in the bathroom, too.
My kids are hoarders. But they are cute. They are slobs. But they are sweet. Someday I'll be sad that this phase is over. And then the fun will begin all over again!
Paybacks, my friends. All in due time.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Holy Cow! Are Those FAKE???????
You know what I hate? Fake people.
Ahhhhh yes, fake people. We all know them. When I say this, I mean those people who play like they are something that they are not, with the hope that no one will ever uncover that they are really just full of hoo-hoo. There are a lot of these fakers...
They play up their importance at their job to those who do not work with them, simply because no one will ever know if they are full of crap when they say they are nearing a promotion to a corner office with a view. Girl, no one is up in that elevator when she is really just the 'gopher' juggling 5 cups of coffee in a 4-cup holder and lookin like Monica Lewinski using a Shout stick to get the schmootz off her shirt (which she picked up off of the floor this morning and fluffed in the dryer to remove Monday's stench and wore it again). Stop tellin me how important you are at work, would ya? It doesn't impress me. I don't need to hear how much you are loved. I would be more impressed if you showed just a smidge of that love being directed toward others. Without expectation of reward. THEN, I'll be impressed.
When in a crowd, they excel at speaking with an authoratative voice and slightly louder than the others in the crowd to imply importance or wealth. Truth be told, she is just a damned big mouth who learned that trick when she was a kid. She talked over the top of all of the other kids on the playground because she was a big fat bossy butt, and still is. Maybe she has daddy issues or something, I don't know. Either way, back that ass up and talk at a reasonable volume, would ya?
They flaunt items they have purchased recently, offer to lend others cash, or constantly boast about a new home, new car, adoption of a child, whatever the case may be. They realize there is an invisible 'line in the sand' that most will not cross by asking such questions as "How much did that set you back?" Therefore, they imply wealth by talking about purchases, which leads others to believe that they must have an unending supply of money, knowing full well that no one will ever know the wiser because only THEY see their bank statements. 9 times out of 10, they are in debt up to their butt holes. AND, not paying their bills in order to afford such luxury items. But, you know, we leave that crap out when we are talking about how many passengers our new SUV holds, or how rolling the hills are on our new property, or what exclusive concert we just purchased tickets to. How about instead, we do something like give something to someone who is truly needy? WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE...AT ALL...Now THAT would knock my socks off. If I knew that you did it. Which I shouldn't....because you shouldn't tell anyone because then that would be bragging. But still....IMPRESSIVE!
I'm not sure if you have noticed, but I am a really honest person. I'm not perfect, and I don't have unlimited wealth. Yes, I have a big hog of an SUV...it is paid off...and I'm happy about that because it had a stupid high payment on it that I apparently only signed the paperwork on because I had inadvertently smoked crack prior to arriving at the dealership. I have a super cool playground in my back yard. I got it for $1. Seriously. I'm not even playing up in here, I wouldn't lie to you. It was Craigslist, they were desperate,it was covered in graffiti, and it was winter. 14 hours of disassembling a commercial playground in the snow and ice= big score once your hands have thawed out and summer comes. It also equals a grumpy husband, btw, just in case you were wondering. It had a giant, um, well...um, man-part spraypainted on the top of it. As well as a bunch of profanity. SO much that i couldn't let my daughter look at it or get near it until it was cleaned. She could spy the uh, man-part from the house. I told her it was a butterfly. A super wierd shaped butterfly....
THAT is how I scored that deal. I can't afford that kind of playground in real life...I just play that kind of person on tv. lol
I just find it to be better to always be who I am, not pretend to be who I wish I was. I'm too scatter-brained to attempt to keep up with what stories I told to whom, what they said in response, and plan what I should say next. I'm doing good to remember if I put deodorant on in the morning, let's be honest.
I do my best to be a good person. Sometimes I fart it up royally. In the end, though, I think I do okay. Call me crazy, but I have this moral obligation to be good because, if for no other reason, I know God is watching. No matter how long I wait, He doesn't seem to have any plans of offering a Free Day from that anytime soon. Rats.
I say it like I mean it, I don't pretend to be something I'm not. Well, that's not true. I do have a confession to make. I'm not a natural blonde. THERE, I said it! :)
Other than that, I'm pretty much an open book. I told you yesterday what size pants and bra I wear, what more do you want from me? I wear a size 9 shoe. I don't like my arms, I need a tummy tuck, and I am addicted to popcorn.
So, I hate to keep quoting Dr Suess here, but seriously people, they are words to live by!
Ahhhhh yes, fake people. We all know them. When I say this, I mean those people who play like they are something that they are not, with the hope that no one will ever uncover that they are really just full of hoo-hoo. There are a lot of these fakers...
They play up their importance at their job to those who do not work with them, simply because no one will ever know if they are full of crap when they say they are nearing a promotion to a corner office with a view. Girl, no one is up in that elevator when she is really just the 'gopher' juggling 5 cups of coffee in a 4-cup holder and lookin like Monica Lewinski using a Shout stick to get the schmootz off her shirt (which she picked up off of the floor this morning and fluffed in the dryer to remove Monday's stench and wore it again). Stop tellin me how important you are at work, would ya? It doesn't impress me. I don't need to hear how much you are loved. I would be more impressed if you showed just a smidge of that love being directed toward others. Without expectation of reward. THEN, I'll be impressed.
When in a crowd, they excel at speaking with an authoratative voice and slightly louder than the others in the crowd to imply importance or wealth. Truth be told, she is just a damned big mouth who learned that trick when she was a kid. She talked over the top of all of the other kids on the playground because she was a big fat bossy butt, and still is. Maybe she has daddy issues or something, I don't know. Either way, back that ass up and talk at a reasonable volume, would ya?
They flaunt items they have purchased recently, offer to lend others cash, or constantly boast about a new home, new car, adoption of a child, whatever the case may be. They realize there is an invisible 'line in the sand' that most will not cross by asking such questions as "How much did that set you back?" Therefore, they imply wealth by talking about purchases, which leads others to believe that they must have an unending supply of money, knowing full well that no one will ever know the wiser because only THEY see their bank statements. 9 times out of 10, they are in debt up to their butt holes. AND, not paying their bills in order to afford such luxury items. But, you know, we leave that crap out when we are talking about how many passengers our new SUV holds, or how rolling the hills are on our new property, or what exclusive concert we just purchased tickets to. How about instead, we do something like give something to someone who is truly needy? WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE...AT ALL...Now THAT would knock my socks off. If I knew that you did it. Which I shouldn't....because you shouldn't tell anyone because then that would be bragging. But still....IMPRESSIVE!
I'm not sure if you have noticed, but I am a really honest person. I'm not perfect, and I don't have unlimited wealth. Yes, I have a big hog of an SUV...it is paid off...and I'm happy about that because it had a stupid high payment on it that I apparently only signed the paperwork on because I had inadvertently smoked crack prior to arriving at the dealership. I have a super cool playground in my back yard. I got it for $1. Seriously. I'm not even playing up in here, I wouldn't lie to you. It was Craigslist, they were desperate,it was covered in graffiti, and it was winter. 14 hours of disassembling a commercial playground in the snow and ice= big score once your hands have thawed out and summer comes. It also equals a grumpy husband, btw, just in case you were wondering. It had a giant, um, well...um, man-part spraypainted on the top of it. As well as a bunch of profanity. SO much that i couldn't let my daughter look at it or get near it until it was cleaned. She could spy the uh, man-part from the house. I told her it was a butterfly. A super wierd shaped butterfly....
THAT is how I scored that deal. I can't afford that kind of playground in real life...I just play that kind of person on tv. lol
I just find it to be better to always be who I am, not pretend to be who I wish I was. I'm too scatter-brained to attempt to keep up with what stories I told to whom, what they said in response, and plan what I should say next. I'm doing good to remember if I put deodorant on in the morning, let's be honest.
I do my best to be a good person. Sometimes I fart it up royally. In the end, though, I think I do okay. Call me crazy, but I have this moral obligation to be good because, if for no other reason, I know God is watching. No matter how long I wait, He doesn't seem to have any plans of offering a Free Day from that anytime soon. Rats.
I say it like I mean it, I don't pretend to be something I'm not. Well, that's not true. I do have a confession to make. I'm not a natural blonde. THERE, I said it! :)
Other than that, I'm pretty much an open book. I told you yesterday what size pants and bra I wear, what more do you want from me? I wear a size 9 shoe. I don't like my arms, I need a tummy tuck, and I am addicted to popcorn.
So, I hate to keep quoting Dr Suess here, but seriously people, they are words to live by!
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Call Em What They Are...Size L for Long
GOOOOOOD MOOOOOORNING!
It's early. I'm tired. I should clarify...it's not all that early NOW. It was early when my husband kept flipping and flopping and woke me up. I have coffee now, and it's in a mug that looks like this:
So, things are looking up. I'm not playing with you. This mug was given to me Sunday by my long time friend, Trish. Does she know me, or does she know me? It is, indeed, a very big ass mug!
This morning in all of my delusions resulting from lack of caffeine, I began thinking about something. Something I think we all need to talk about today. Something that I think is very important.
Before this conversation commences, we must first clear the room of any inappropriate viewers. Much like the 'health talk' we all had with our school nurses in about 4th or 5th grade...this conversation is reserved for those of us who have girl parts.
Boys, please go down the hall and wait there for the gym teacher to talk to you about unexpected hair and strange feelings about the teacher who wears too much perfume. We will signal you when you can return.
Now. In honor of our talk today, I have changed the colors of our blog to represent a certain retailer in which those of us who have estrogen may shop. It's a pretty store, with awnings over the windows and lots of fun colored items for us to root through with approximately 47 other women at any given time. They place all of these pretty, rainbow colored items in bins, and beneath them are drawers marked with sizes. Mysteriously, looking in said drawers with said sizes does not actually mean you will FIND that size in that drawer...it's just to humor you and imply that they have organized the chaos behind their doors. Give it up. You ain't gonna find your size in there. Not in under 60 minutes anyway.
Equally as mysterious is the actual size of the articles in that store. Or, to raise the bar one while we are talking about mysterious, is the IQ of some of the girls that work in said store. Sure, she walks around with a measuring tape around her neck and she wears a nametag...but ask her a question and you may or may not get an accurate answer..(stop it. If you work there and are actually helpful and kind...I'm not talking about YOU)
I have told you before that I love zumba. Zumba helped me lose the 20 lbs I had been carrying for years. Silly me, I went up into the ole VS thinking I was going to shop there. The only time I had ever purchased anything there was with a gift card from a dear friend. I was 7 or 8 months pregnant, and bought size XL underwear there. (remember this, there's a quiz later)
So I go to the mall and walk in there feeling pretty good. I am currently a size 6 in pants. (remember this too). I am rooting through the piles of undies looking for something that doesn't say "Call Me" or "All Nighter" or "Skanky Hooker" on the butt or crotch; a true feat in itself. I also have this thing about an article of clothing intended to cover my butt actually covering my butt. Therefore, I was skipping the bins that included things that looked like a slingshot.
As I am looking, my blood pressure is rising because I have limited my options so significantly by expecting them to actually have undies that a mother of younger children should wear. I'm sorry, I don't want to worry about my daughter seeing "Party Girl" across my ass if she walks into my room as I get dressed for church. Call me nuts.
So, the meausuring tape guru comes up and asks if she can help me. She looks me over, and proclaims that she thinks I am going to need a size Large. Let's back up, shall we? I nearly took this hooker down in that rack of discheveled skank-wear. So, if I was, oooooh, 40 lbs heavier and 8 mos pregnant wearing an XL....Logic would tell us that if I am now a size 6, I should not need a Large, should I? I worked my ass off to get into that store feeling somewhat ready to tackle those bins. I'm gonna take a size Large and wrap it around your neck until you wind up in the floor.
She was probably 22. She had no kids. She had no clue. Needless to say, I didn't buy anything. Not even the ones that said 'Your Girlfriend Says Hi'
This leads me to the next thing. How many of you are big chested? Now, show of hands, how many of you wear a bra whose size ends in DD? I have news for you. You are NOT a DD. You have a DD because that's as big as the bras go in that stupid store. Therefore, a girl with Mt Everest on her chest is gonna be given a DD. Are they gonna pass up a sale? Nope!
Look down there right now. Do it! Is the center of your bra touching your person at this time? Can you slide at least one Hot Wheel between the center of your bra and your skin? You can, can't you? Does the back band of your bra all but strangle you as it rides up your back?
YOUR BRA DOES NOT FIT!
Stop shopping in that place unless their crap actually fits you! I say this because I know how it changed my life when I went to Nordstrom and got a real bra fitting. I was walking around in a 38DD (this was in my heavier day). Guess what. That's not what I wore. I wore a 36FF. Uh huh. Like, FFFFFFFFFudgecicles.....that's a big difference. Once I got those things hoisted up where they went, it was amazing how much better my clothes fit. I felt like I had gone on a diet there in that dressing room! And the girls at Nordstrom, or a specialty store, or Lane Bryant even? Yeah, they are nice. They aren't usually 22, and they don't look at you down their noses, either.
I have a whole stack now of $60-$80 boulder holders that I can no longer wear. The cups on those suckers are large enough to be work as hats by conjoined twins in the winter. I mentioned this to 3 of my big chested friends, because I hate to think that they are going to waste. Each of them replied to me that they thought they would be too big for them. OMG. They all think they wear a DD....They each look like they are smuggling bald men's heads in their shirts, and they think they wear a DD. Lord have mercy.
I replied to them that I am wearing a DDD as we speak. Suddenly they gave me the VS measuring tape girl look....Looked me up, looked me down, raised eyebrows, cocked head sideways and said "Huh?"
These girls. I tell ya. Stop looking at the pretty store with it's summer colors and blow up dogs for bait and full line of clothing that says "Pink" on it. Find something that fits you. You will feel so good. Stop letting Bambi make you feel like crap about yourself just to say that you have something from that store.
If you like that store. If that stuff fits you....rock on with your bad self. Good for you. But stop conforming to their sizes, which results in a bad fit and makes you look like you have front boobs, back boobs and side boobs. I promise you, you will find a waist you didn't know you had underneath those suckers if you will just get them up where they go.
Granted, you may feel like you are wearing a life-preserver when you first get them up there. It took a little getting used to.
Promise me you will try. PINKY PROMISE RIGHT HERE! Stop wearing that D or DD. PLEASE!
Man do I feel better! I see you in the store. I know those girls can look better. Hold em proud. We have been through a ridiculous amount of trials and tribulations with those things...we owe them, dammit!
It doesn't matter what they look like behind closed doors. Once you get em hoisted up there and put clothes on, they look GOOD! So they are lopsided. So they didn't fair so well through the childbirth and nursing thing. You don't need a $10,000 boob job. You need a $60 bra. Stand on your head if you have to to get em locked and loaded. Bend over, jump up and down, lay on the bed, lube em up, whatever it takes. Most of us have had kids. We have lost weight, found weight...Sure, they ain't what they used to be. Maybe they should truthfully be called Size 34 L for Long. :)
But that's ok. It's like wrestling a hog. You're gonna sweat. You may fall down. You're gonna be be exhausted and But once you get em into the pin where they belong, you'll feel so good!
You'll be glad you did.
Now THIS would be an Olympic sport we could get into. We could call ourselves the Loooong Wranglers.
It's early. I'm tired. I should clarify...it's not all that early NOW. It was early when my husband kept flipping and flopping and woke me up. I have coffee now, and it's in a mug that looks like this:
So, things are looking up. I'm not playing with you. This mug was given to me Sunday by my long time friend, Trish. Does she know me, or does she know me? It is, indeed, a very big ass mug!
This morning in all of my delusions resulting from lack of caffeine, I began thinking about something. Something I think we all need to talk about today. Something that I think is very important.
Before this conversation commences, we must first clear the room of any inappropriate viewers. Much like the 'health talk' we all had with our school nurses in about 4th or 5th grade...this conversation is reserved for those of us who have girl parts.
Boys, please go down the hall and wait there for the gym teacher to talk to you about unexpected hair and strange feelings about the teacher who wears too much perfume. We will signal you when you can return.
Now. In honor of our talk today, I have changed the colors of our blog to represent a certain retailer in which those of us who have estrogen may shop. It's a pretty store, with awnings over the windows and lots of fun colored items for us to root through with approximately 47 other women at any given time. They place all of these pretty, rainbow colored items in bins, and beneath them are drawers marked with sizes. Mysteriously, looking in said drawers with said sizes does not actually mean you will FIND that size in that drawer...it's just to humor you and imply that they have organized the chaos behind their doors. Give it up. You ain't gonna find your size in there. Not in under 60 minutes anyway.
Equally as mysterious is the actual size of the articles in that store. Or, to raise the bar one while we are talking about mysterious, is the IQ of some of the girls that work in said store. Sure, she walks around with a measuring tape around her neck and she wears a nametag...but ask her a question and you may or may not get an accurate answer..(stop it. If you work there and are actually helpful and kind...I'm not talking about YOU)
I have told you before that I love zumba. Zumba helped me lose the 20 lbs I had been carrying for years. Silly me, I went up into the ole VS thinking I was going to shop there. The only time I had ever purchased anything there was with a gift card from a dear friend. I was 7 or 8 months pregnant, and bought size XL underwear there. (remember this, there's a quiz later)
So I go to the mall and walk in there feeling pretty good. I am currently a size 6 in pants. (remember this too). I am rooting through the piles of undies looking for something that doesn't say "Call Me" or "All Nighter" or "Skanky Hooker" on the butt or crotch; a true feat in itself. I also have this thing about an article of clothing intended to cover my butt actually covering my butt. Therefore, I was skipping the bins that included things that looked like a slingshot.
As I am looking, my blood pressure is rising because I have limited my options so significantly by expecting them to actually have undies that a mother of younger children should wear. I'm sorry, I don't want to worry about my daughter seeing "Party Girl" across my ass if she walks into my room as I get dressed for church. Call me nuts.
So, the meausuring tape guru comes up and asks if she can help me. She looks me over, and proclaims that she thinks I am going to need a size Large. Let's back up, shall we? I nearly took this hooker down in that rack of discheveled skank-wear. So, if I was, oooooh, 40 lbs heavier and 8 mos pregnant wearing an XL....Logic would tell us that if I am now a size 6, I should not need a Large, should I? I worked my ass off to get into that store feeling somewhat ready to tackle those bins. I'm gonna take a size Large and wrap it around your neck until you wind up in the floor.
She was probably 22. She had no kids. She had no clue. Needless to say, I didn't buy anything. Not even the ones that said 'Your Girlfriend Says Hi'
This leads me to the next thing. How many of you are big chested? Now, show of hands, how many of you wear a bra whose size ends in DD? I have news for you. You are NOT a DD. You have a DD because that's as big as the bras go in that stupid store. Therefore, a girl with Mt Everest on her chest is gonna be given a DD. Are they gonna pass up a sale? Nope!
Look down there right now. Do it! Is the center of your bra touching your person at this time? Can you slide at least one Hot Wheel between the center of your bra and your skin? You can, can't you? Does the back band of your bra all but strangle you as it rides up your back?
YOUR BRA DOES NOT FIT!
Stop shopping in that place unless their crap actually fits you! I say this because I know how it changed my life when I went to Nordstrom and got a real bra fitting. I was walking around in a 38DD (this was in my heavier day). Guess what. That's not what I wore. I wore a 36FF. Uh huh. Like, FFFFFFFFFudgecicles.....that's a big difference. Once I got those things hoisted up where they went, it was amazing how much better my clothes fit. I felt like I had gone on a diet there in that dressing room! And the girls at Nordstrom, or a specialty store, or Lane Bryant even? Yeah, they are nice. They aren't usually 22, and they don't look at you down their noses, either.
I have a whole stack now of $60-$80 boulder holders that I can no longer wear. The cups on those suckers are large enough to be work as hats by conjoined twins in the winter. I mentioned this to 3 of my big chested friends, because I hate to think that they are going to waste. Each of them replied to me that they thought they would be too big for them. OMG. They all think they wear a DD....They each look like they are smuggling bald men's heads in their shirts, and they think they wear a DD. Lord have mercy.
I replied to them that I am wearing a DDD as we speak. Suddenly they gave me the VS measuring tape girl look....Looked me up, looked me down, raised eyebrows, cocked head sideways and said "Huh?"
These girls. I tell ya. Stop looking at the pretty store with it's summer colors and blow up dogs for bait and full line of clothing that says "Pink" on it. Find something that fits you. You will feel so good. Stop letting Bambi make you feel like crap about yourself just to say that you have something from that store.
If you like that store. If that stuff fits you....rock on with your bad self. Good for you. But stop conforming to their sizes, which results in a bad fit and makes you look like you have front boobs, back boobs and side boobs. I promise you, you will find a waist you didn't know you had underneath those suckers if you will just get them up where they go.
Granted, you may feel like you are wearing a life-preserver when you first get them up there. It took a little getting used to.
Promise me you will try. PINKY PROMISE RIGHT HERE! Stop wearing that D or DD. PLEASE!
Man do I feel better! I see you in the store. I know those girls can look better. Hold em proud. We have been through a ridiculous amount of trials and tribulations with those things...we owe them, dammit!
It doesn't matter what they look like behind closed doors. Once you get em hoisted up there and put clothes on, they look GOOD! So they are lopsided. So they didn't fair so well through the childbirth and nursing thing. You don't need a $10,000 boob job. You need a $60 bra. Stand on your head if you have to to get em locked and loaded. Bend over, jump up and down, lay on the bed, lube em up, whatever it takes. Most of us have had kids. We have lost weight, found weight...Sure, they ain't what they used to be. Maybe they should truthfully be called Size 34 L for Long. :)
But that's ok. It's like wrestling a hog. You're gonna sweat. You may fall down. You're gonna be be exhausted and But once you get em into the pin where they belong, you'll feel so good!
You'll be glad you did.
Now THIS would be an Olympic sport we could get into. We could call ourselves the Loooong Wranglers.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Without Laughter, Life is Just a Big Ole Pile of BS Some Days
Okee dokee, kids. It's evening time, critters have been fed, dishes are done and I'm in my comfy clothes in my favorite seat in the house. What better time to sit you down and have 'The Talk' with you...
Preface:
Much like that talk that your parents had with you when you were a kid, this is going to be uncomfortable for both of us. The contents of this conversation are to stay here, between us, much like what happens in Vegas.
It has come to my attention that the manner in which I communicate with you is sometimes surprising to newcomers. Therefore, I feel we need to go over it one more time, so that everyone in the class, both new and returning friends, will understand.
Let's have....
THE TALK:
Now, on our very first coffee date, I explained to you that I was here to be myself. I warned you that some of our conversations may get a little wild, a little hairy, a little, um, embarassing. Let's start over with a little 'Get to Know Each Other' talk to make ourselves more comfortable, shall we?
The following are excerpts from our very first chat. I am re-posting them for our new friends. If you have already read this once, either re-read it or skip to the end and hush your mouth! :)
I'm a 35 year old mother of 3. I am a good Christian girl who finds herself plagued by a smart ass sense of humor that sometimes catches people off guard.
God is my BFF(Brief Disclaimer: Though God is my BFF, I have a sometimes wicked sense of humor. Thoughts and statements made within this blog may be offensive to some. If you fall into that category, I apologize. Wait, no I don't. I am who I am. Either put on your big girl panties and laugh along with me, or don't read it. I promise I will do my best to keep you entertained, but if you have your pissy pants on and can't laugh with me, go read the obituaries.)
-I enjoy people watching
Yep. You guessed it. Sometimes this blog may be painfully similar to a People of Walmart photo album. I can't deny it. Stay tuned.
I would like to add that I have worked my entire working career in fields dominated by men. I feel I cannot possibly be held accountable for the occasional 4-letter word that slips out of my mouth (or my fingertips), as I have been submerged in testosterone laden water for too many years, and it has slowly seeped into my pores. I don't cuss in front of my kids. I never cussed in front of my grandma. But, dangit, sometimes a girl just needs to drop a 4-letter word to get it out of her system! This is MY place to be me. Not the me that my kids need me to be. Not the me that my husband needs me to be...and not the me that my work needs me to be. The REAL me. Once in a while, that hag is embarassing!
So come on in, pull up a big ole oversized chair and an enormous cup of coffee and chat with me. If some of the things I say make you wince a little, read through your fingers till it's over. Shout 'la la la la la la la' super loud with your fingers in your ears to drown out the noise. Or....and I'm just throwing this out there.....simmer down and let your hurr down, gurll! Relax, and just laugh. It's okay, no one is watching.
Preface:
Much like that talk that your parents had with you when you were a kid, this is going to be uncomfortable for both of us. The contents of this conversation are to stay here, between us, much like what happens in Vegas.
It has come to my attention that the manner in which I communicate with you is sometimes surprising to newcomers. Therefore, I feel we need to go over it one more time, so that everyone in the class, both new and returning friends, will understand.
Let's have....
THE TALK:
Now, on our very first coffee date, I explained to you that I was here to be myself. I warned you that some of our conversations may get a little wild, a little hairy, a little, um, embarassing. Let's start over with a little 'Get to Know Each Other' talk to make ourselves more comfortable, shall we?
The following are excerpts from our very first chat. I am re-posting them for our new friends. If you have already read this once, either re-read it or skip to the end and hush your mouth! :)
I'm a 35 year old mother of 3. I am a good Christian girl who finds herself plagued by a smart ass sense of humor that sometimes catches people off guard.
God is my BFF(Brief Disclaimer: Though God is my BFF, I have a sometimes wicked sense of humor. Thoughts and statements made within this blog may be offensive to some. If you fall into that category, I apologize. Wait, no I don't. I am who I am. Either put on your big girl panties and laugh along with me, or don't read it. I promise I will do my best to keep you entertained, but if you have your pissy pants on and can't laugh with me, go read the obituaries.)
-I enjoy people watching
Yep. You guessed it. Sometimes this blog may be painfully similar to a People of Walmart photo album. I can't deny it. Stay tuned.
I would like to add that I have worked my entire working career in fields dominated by men. I feel I cannot possibly be held accountable for the occasional 4-letter word that slips out of my mouth (or my fingertips), as I have been submerged in testosterone laden water for too many years, and it has slowly seeped into my pores. I don't cuss in front of my kids. I never cussed in front of my grandma. But, dangit, sometimes a girl just needs to drop a 4-letter word to get it out of her system! This is MY place to be me. Not the me that my kids need me to be. Not the me that my husband needs me to be...and not the me that my work needs me to be. The REAL me. Once in a while, that hag is embarassing!
So come on in, pull up a big ole oversized chair and an enormous cup of coffee and chat with me. If some of the things I say make you wince a little, read through your fingers till it's over. Shout 'la la la la la la la' super loud with your fingers in your ears to drown out the noise. Or....and I'm just throwing this out there.....simmer down and let your hurr down, gurll! Relax, and just laugh. It's okay, no one is watching.
Remember, without laughter, life is just a big ole pile of BS some days.
Hello Russia, Germany, Malaysia and Slovenia...My New Peeps!
Holy Cow!
So, through blogger, I am able to track the traffic on the blog. I can see how many of you view the blog each day, who has subscribed (not enough of you, might I add), and even what part of the world people view the blog from.
I had been noticing there the blog had been viewed a few times from Germany. Knowing that my good friend, Jilbere, is from Germany and has family visiting that area, I assumed perhaps this accounted for that traffic.
Today, however, I learned something super interesting! Here is the traffic pattern I found:
United States 736 views
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Russia 6 views
|
Germany 1 view
|
Malaysia 1 view
|
Slovenia 1 view
Holy crappers, I thought! These numbers reflect the views of my blog for the month of June thus far. Russia, 6? Really? I am not aware of knowing anyone who resides in Russia...HOW COOL!
Malaysia? Same thing, that is just really, really cool to me. And then, there is Slovenia. Now, I don't mean to sound like an idiot here, but I don't even know where Slovenia is. How do they know where to find ME?
So, this is my shout out to you, Russia, Germany, Malaysia and Slovenia!!! HELLLLLOOOOOO!!!! I don't know who you are, but thank you for visiting! Drop me a line. Leave me a comment. Tell me how you found me here in little old Missouri in the middle of the United States!
Hope you are enjoying my random thoughts and sometimes irrational thinking. And, by the way, I felt as though I should do a little research on Slovenia. I learned that it borders Croatia, Austria and Italy, that their capital is Ljubljana, which looks like someone drew a bunch of letters out of a bag and put them together.
However, after reading further and looking at some photos, I'm thinking I like Slovenia. I mean, look at this. What's not to like:
So, HI, SLOVENIA!! I'm looking forward to bragging that I have a friend in Slovenia when I go to the store later. :) I'm thinking I should come visit. Just one stipulation...do you like coffee in Slovenia? That could be detrimental to my mental health if I do not consume enough coffee. But, if that's a bond you and I can share, then I think I should come say hello!
So, don't just come by and then sneak off without saying hello! Leave me a comment and let's get to know each other, shall we?
And....Just so you know, I learned over the weekend that my book, "Sit Down, Shut Up and Let Go" made it's way to the Hot New Releases list on Amazon.com for motivational books on Kindle.
That blew my socks off. Thank you all for buying, reading, and spreading the word. And, Russia, Germany, Malaysia and Slovenia....I'm pretty sure they can ship to YOU, too! :)
Thank you all for your support and love.
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Pissy Pants and Puppets
You know when those things happen in life that you just can't explain? Come on...you know what I'm talking about. They are all the things that make you go, "Whaaaaaat?" The things that make you float on a cloud, the things that make you scratch your head, the things that make your head swirl.
Those things happen every day. For some, they are referred to as 'coincidence,' or what I will refer to as the C word. I call it the C word, much like I say the F word....because it's a bad word! There is no such thing as coincidence, people. The sooner you get that thru your fat skull, the fuller your life will be.
I suppose if you do not believe in God, then it is hard to give him credit where credit is due. But, I know most of you can at least acknowledge that He is real...so what's up with not cutting The Guy a little slack and giving him props?
For example:
You're preparing for work on a Monday morning, and just before you stomp out the door you spill coffee on your shirt. DAMN! Go back in, change your shirt, piss and moan about changing your shirt....Back down the steps, out the door to the car. Slam car door hostily because you are now officially late. Lord knows you don't allow an additional 30 seconds in your morning routine to allow for such errors and mishaps.
Truth be told, you should have changed your pants, too. Not because you spilled coffee on them, but because they are now pissy, and people at work will be talking. "What's that smell? Do you smell pissy pants?"
Now on the road and blasting the radio trying to drown out the sound of the bitching in your head about how you cannot believe you would have such bad luck, and of COURSE this would only happen to YOU....
You see traffic has come to a stop ahead. "Just fricken great!" you say so loud that the people in the car behind you can hear. This, of course, triggers your pissy pants to become soiled yet again. You sit, elbow bent on window ledge of door, head in hand, smacking stearing wheel, COMPLETELY pissed off that you are now going to be even later.
You continue to piss and moan as you come to a crawl, and begin to fiddle in your purse to find your phone so that you can call work. As you creep closer, you see that there is a vehicle accident, and that it must have just happened.
NOW is the Oprah Ah-Hah moment, people. NOW is where it is all supposed to come together for you. You spilled your coffee so that you would be late. You had to be late to avoid being IN the accident. Another 4 or 5 minutes,and that would have been you.
But do you see it? Nope. You're too busy being pissed off.
Nothing happens by chance. Somehow, God manages to work the strings on your arms and legs like a puppeteer with perfect skill and grace; all the while hearing the prayers of a mother who's child is starving in Guatemala, and those of a 4 year old boy who is scared of a possible monster in his closet in Australia, and rocks a father and daughter in His arms, allowing them to feel His heartbeat pound on their cheek, as they grieve their wife/mother who just died of cancer minutes ago.
He's got this. All of it. Acknowledge it. Say Thank You! Tell someone. Spread the word. He doesn't ask for much. Give Him props anyway. It'll pay off. You watch!
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Crusty Boogers and a Nancy Drew Ninja
I am just gonna throw this out there.
You can choose to catch it, or (in the words of Mater,) to not to.
It has become remarkably clear to me that even the best kids in the world bicker and fight with each other when they are related by blood. It's almost as though there is a chromosome that lights up like a glow stick when they are within 5 feet of one another, and this chromosome thrusts them into the throws of some horrific battle in which they have to one up each other.
My kids are super good kids. No, I'm being serious dammit, stop it! People compliment my kids all the time on their kindness, their manners, their ability to not be absolutely freaking annoying while conscious and alert. Yet, with all of their fabulosity and magnificentaciousness...they STILL drive each other fricken nuts sometimes.
I get that they are over 4 years apart, so there is a bit of a gap. I get that my 10 year old daughter is (as vomit comes up my throat and my nostrils begin to burn) nearing the pre-teen phase, and may possibly(though I cannot confirm or deny with absolute certainty for fear that she will kill me in my sleep) get a little testy for reasons that appear to be completely unfounded. I also understand that boys and girls cannot possibly play together for extended periods of time without their respective estrogen and testosterone getting pissed off at each other, which could result in an explosion not unlike a Pepsi bottle volcano when left in a hot car in July in Missouri.
I get it. I'm not stupid (shut up....)
But I am continually riddled by the way they can sometimes solve the mysteries of the world with complete cooperation and the skills of a stealthy ninja. Then turn right around and piss and moan at each other because 10 is disgusted that 5 has boogers in his nose, and 5 (judging by the look on his face) wants to tell her to eat shit and die...but cannot because in our house, stupid is a bad word.
Why is it worth an absolute melt down that, though I requested that you hand me that pillow from across the room, and you did....now that it is time to tidy up for five freaking minutes before mom's head spins around and she spits pea soup.....Upon time to tidy up time, I think YOU should put the damn pillow back that I requested that you hand me because, technically speaking, YOU are the sorry bastard that handed it to me when I asked!
These are the things that I wonder. They are small, and sometimes they make me laugh till I have to stop and cross my legs for a minute (LOL if you totally get that comment, by the way)...But they are the things that make me go 'Hmmmmm......'
As I chat with you, they are donning homemade spy gear, climbing UP a tunnel slide that was clearly designed with the intention of only going DOWN with the use of a broken dog leash, a paperclip and some fishing line. I'm nearly positive they are devising a plan to take over the free world. I think 10 has been reading too much Nancy Drew, and 5 may have watched Backyardigans one too many times....
Five minutes ago, they were straight up fighting over two dead AA batteries in the junk drawer and a purple paper clip that just may have special powers. Three minutes before that, 10 almost choked 5 out for refusing to pick up toy fruit that he left lay in the middle of the kitchen floor. Why? Because I told him 3 times to put it away, and he didn't. When I announced that I would straight up throw it away if he did not pick it up that instant, he simply smirked and said, "That's okay. It's not mine anyway...it's HERS."
Kids are wierd. They are funny. They are sometimes slightly illogical, irrational and, I have learned, it doesn't matter how many times you tell them that they are blessed to HAVE a sibling at all..they think you clearly, Ah Mah Gawd, totally don't even, like, understand, like, how totally hard it is to like live with MY sibling.
You gotta love it. I'm a lucky girl. I was given a second chance at motherhood...one that included healthy kids who want to occasionally beat the snot out of each other. That's okay though. Those same kids also leave each other notes on their bedroom doors that say things like (in 5 year old handwriting, spelled phonetically) "I love you. You are the best sissy ever"
Note: 5 just asked that I open two frozen yogurt tubes so he could surprise 10 with them by asking her to reel them up into their tower with their spy gadget fetching device. When I fell in love with him all over again and attempted to kiss him, all googly eyed at his sweetness, he promptly removed his chewed gum from his mouth and attempted to put it into mine because he simply did not know what else to do with it so that he could eat his yogurt tube. Now doesn't that make a girl's heart go pitter-patter?
Who could ask for more?
.JPG)
You can choose to catch it, or (in the words of Mater,) to not to.
It has become remarkably clear to me that even the best kids in the world bicker and fight with each other when they are related by blood. It's almost as though there is a chromosome that lights up like a glow stick when they are within 5 feet of one another, and this chromosome thrusts them into the throws of some horrific battle in which they have to one up each other.
My kids are super good kids. No, I'm being serious dammit, stop it! People compliment my kids all the time on their kindness, their manners, their ability to not be absolutely freaking annoying while conscious and alert. Yet, with all of their fabulosity and magnificentaciousness...they STILL drive each other fricken nuts sometimes.
I get that they are over 4 years apart, so there is a bit of a gap. I get that my 10 year old daughter is (as vomit comes up my throat and my nostrils begin to burn) nearing the pre-teen phase, and may possibly(though I cannot confirm or deny with absolute certainty for fear that she will kill me in my sleep) get a little testy for reasons that appear to be completely unfounded. I also understand that boys and girls cannot possibly play together for extended periods of time without their respective estrogen and testosterone getting pissed off at each other, which could result in an explosion not unlike a Pepsi bottle volcano when left in a hot car in July in Missouri.
I get it. I'm not stupid (shut up....)
But I am continually riddled by the way they can sometimes solve the mysteries of the world with complete cooperation and the skills of a stealthy ninja. Then turn right around and piss and moan at each other because 10 is disgusted that 5 has boogers in his nose, and 5 (judging by the look on his face) wants to tell her to eat shit and die...but cannot because in our house, stupid is a bad word.
Why is it worth an absolute melt down that, though I requested that you hand me that pillow from across the room, and you did....now that it is time to tidy up for five freaking minutes before mom's head spins around and she spits pea soup.....Upon time to tidy up time, I think YOU should put the damn pillow back that I requested that you hand me because, technically speaking, YOU are the sorry bastard that handed it to me when I asked!
These are the things that I wonder. They are small, and sometimes they make me laugh till I have to stop and cross my legs for a minute (LOL if you totally get that comment, by the way)...But they are the things that make me go 'Hmmmmm......'
As I chat with you, they are donning homemade spy gear, climbing UP a tunnel slide that was clearly designed with the intention of only going DOWN with the use of a broken dog leash, a paperclip and some fishing line. I'm nearly positive they are devising a plan to take over the free world. I think 10 has been reading too much Nancy Drew, and 5 may have watched Backyardigans one too many times....
Five minutes ago, they were straight up fighting over two dead AA batteries in the junk drawer and a purple paper clip that just may have special powers. Three minutes before that, 10 almost choked 5 out for refusing to pick up toy fruit that he left lay in the middle of the kitchen floor. Why? Because I told him 3 times to put it away, and he didn't. When I announced that I would straight up throw it away if he did not pick it up that instant, he simply smirked and said, "That's okay. It's not mine anyway...it's HERS."
Kids are wierd. They are funny. They are sometimes slightly illogical, irrational and, I have learned, it doesn't matter how many times you tell them that they are blessed to HAVE a sibling at all..they think you clearly, Ah Mah Gawd, totally don't even, like, understand, like, how totally hard it is to like live with MY sibling.
You gotta love it. I'm a lucky girl. I was given a second chance at motherhood...one that included healthy kids who want to occasionally beat the snot out of each other. That's okay though. Those same kids also leave each other notes on their bedroom doors that say things like (in 5 year old handwriting, spelled phonetically) "I love you. You are the best sissy ever"
Note: 5 just asked that I open two frozen yogurt tubes so he could surprise 10 with them by asking her to reel them up into their tower with their spy gadget fetching device. When I fell in love with him all over again and attempted to kiss him, all googly eyed at his sweetness, he promptly removed his chewed gum from his mouth and attempted to put it into mine because he simply did not know what else to do with it so that he could eat his yogurt tube. Now doesn't that make a girl's heart go pitter-patter?
Who could ask for more?
.JPG)
(I'm still waiting for the royalty checks to roll in from my kids secretly posing for this picture)
The Kids Are Out of School....Where's My Flask?
GOOD MORNING, KIDS!!!
It's a beautiful breezy morning here, and I am sitting on my patio watching my palm tree blow in the breeze as I talk to you. (No...I don't live in Florida. Get real. I'm in pitiful Missouri, and the palm tree is in a pot. Let's just be honest, I'm pretending I'm on a beach somewhere!)
The week has been filled with ups and downs, as I'm sure yours has too. My kids are crazy, cracked out on summer and getting directly into the groove of driving each other flipping crazy. They remind me of that commercial where the little brother holds his finger out right next to his sister, so close you could barely slide a piece of paper between her arm and his fingertip, while announcing "I'm not touching you....."
Yep, that's been my house. I tried to just buzz thru the grocery store to grab a couple of things yesterday. Seriously, just a couple. It was like taking a dog into the store and expecting it NOT to sniff every stranger's butt as you passed. I swear to you I think my two kids multiplied to about 10 as we entered, and each of those ten turned into octopusses with their long gangly arms touching everything as we all but jogged through the aisles.
"Ooooh, what's this? Can we get it? What is it though? And can we get it? What did you say it is again? A bag of scewers? Oh, can we get them? What are they for? I could use them to build something. Can we get them?"
It's heck having a kid that is genetically related to MacGuyver, I swear to you. He is always fabricating a device out of something, and mysteriously, the grocery store ALWAYS has EXACTLY what he has secretly needed to complete his mission. Perhaps he is on a government contract and is unable to divulge such details to me because they have my house wired. That would make it more worthwhile to take him to the store. He is 5...I would HAVE to know if he had a bank account opened for direct deposit from the President, right?
Speaking of accounts...Oy! My 10 year old daughter decided that, while I stood ATTEMPTING to talk to the teller at the bank, actually IN the bank (which I hardly ever do), it would be a great time to express to me her strong and overwhelming desire to open a savings account. To which, she adds, that daddy concurs that it is a brilliant idea. I gave her the "Girl, you must have smoked crack when I wasn't looking" look, and told her it takes WAY too long, I am lacking the patience for such an escapade, and then followed that up with the "Back up off of my before someone gets hurt" look. You know, just for clarification of my intent.
She then proceeded to ask the teller how long it would take to open an account, and the teller hangs me with an invisible noose by responding, "Oh, probably 5 minutes." Fabulous. All the while, my 5 year old apparently is not only part octopus, but is also part tree-climbing monkey who is dying for me to lift him up so that he can see what the drive-thru looks like from the inside of the bank. To distract them, I sent them over to the area (right next to me, relax) where the safe-deposit boxes are. They examined the big vault door, all the tiny shiny silver boxes that lined the walls, and wondered why in the world there was a glass door between them and that world of intrigue and wonder. It bought me enough time to finish my transaction so we could bust out of that joint.
WHY did she want a bank account you ask? Because she didn't like having so much change in her piggy bank. Uh huh, you read that right. LOL, the rationale of kids. She said, "If I take it to the bank, it will be turned into cash. Then I won't have so much change. I hate change. And I don't want to have to roll it."
OMG. I tried not to laugh. So, guess what we ended up doing the next morning? Uh huh. I was confronted with a 3' tall purple crayon bank, which weighed about 20 lbs I swear..and girlfriend thought I was gonna walk up in the bank carrying said enormous purple crayon....and get her a savings account!
I transferred the miscellaneous pennies and dimes into a shopping bag, which wasn't much better because I probably looked like a bag lady, but at least it wasn't a giant crayon. We dumped the change into the machine in the bank lobby and you would have thought we were at the carnival. Those two kids watched that machine like an episode of Scooby Doo, counting along with it as it displayed her balance.
After what seemed like an hour, it was done counting her 3700 pennies, and we went to the teller to cash it out. Pretty painless so far. Until we got to the personal banker to actually open the account. I had planned on using a lady that I knew, but she was on vacation. I would up with someone I had never met, who proceeded to try to sell me her car in the parking lot, a lottery ticket from the depths of her wallet, and a stick of gum that had been washed in her jeans pocket. Or at least that's how it felt.
Apparently she couldn't pick up on the sense of urgency I was sending her telepathically. She seriously could have had this done in a matter of minutes. Instead, she drilled me about opening up a savings account for myself. Then she quizzed me about something else. All the while, my 5 year old is eyeballing this pinpad on her desk and dying to press the buttons on it, which, knowing my luck, would sound some kind of alarm and put the damn bank on lockdown. I had visions of bars dropping in front of all of the exits, and a SWAT team flying into the parking lot. Come on lady, you are fricken killin me up in here.
She then proceeds to drill me about setting up all of my bills for direct debit. I said, "No thanks. I'm good." Then, she has the freakin nerve to say, what about your car payment and mortgage? I answered, with a vein bulging in my temple, "Nope. It's paid off." (meaning my car). She actually had the cahoonas to respond, "Even your mortgage?" I looked at her like I was going to rip her trachea out with my bear hands, and said, "No. Not my mortgage." I swear to you, I'm not kidding, she then asked me, "well, who is your morgage with???"
O
M
G
No you did not! Apparently this woman has absolutely NO womanly instinct when danger is present. Could she not see that I was just about the come the hell unglued right there in the bank lobby? Meanwhile, my 5 year old is ready to self destruct, we have been in here for seriously like 45 minutes to open a freaking savings account, and my 10 year old is glowing at the thought of holding that checkbook in her freshly polished hands and is wanting to tell this lady her life story and all about how she acquired this money. She also thought it was an appropriate time to quiz me on why she has a social security card, what it means, how I got it, and why she couldn't carry it in her own wallet. Which, I may add, she manufactured out of pink zebra printed duct tape this week. I'm not even playing with you.
I finally escaped the place after almost an hour. Seriously. That lady has no idea how narrowly she escaped a nasty demise. She even wrapped up by presenting my daughter with one of her business cards in case I changed my mind about letting her get commission on talking me into having my mortgage paid directly out of my account. Had I not had my kids with me, there's a distinct possibility I would have jumped her in the parking lot later that evening. I was tempted to go all ninja on her ass, but I didn't. I knew God was watching. Dangit!
I swear, if I could just get Him to turn His head once in a while, put His fingers in His ears and give me like 5 minutes that He would never hold against me and completely wipe out of the hard drive of His "Bad Shit You Did While On Earth" logging system.....
I could work fast. I know I could!
So that was just a small tidbit of my week. And I have really well-behaved kids. I cannot even imagine how much Baileys some people put in their coffee in the morning...you know, those people you see in the store with the screamin damn kids that make you want to walk right up to their shopping cart and ask, "Did you need ME to beat that kid for you? Cuz I will...."
:)
So, do me a favor. If you drive past the bank and see it surrounded by The Fuzz, and they have weapons drawn and are wearing their vests...
That can only mean one thing. My daughter has asked me to take her BACK to the bank and try to withdraw some loot from her ever-so cherished account....and things went terribly wrong.
If you could then pllease start working on getting together some bail money, I would appreciate it.
It's a beautiful breezy morning here, and I am sitting on my patio watching my palm tree blow in the breeze as I talk to you. (No...I don't live in Florida. Get real. I'm in pitiful Missouri, and the palm tree is in a pot. Let's just be honest, I'm pretending I'm on a beach somewhere!)
The week has been filled with ups and downs, as I'm sure yours has too. My kids are crazy, cracked out on summer and getting directly into the groove of driving each other flipping crazy. They remind me of that commercial where the little brother holds his finger out right next to his sister, so close you could barely slide a piece of paper between her arm and his fingertip, while announcing "I'm not touching you....."
Yep, that's been my house. I tried to just buzz thru the grocery store to grab a couple of things yesterday. Seriously, just a couple. It was like taking a dog into the store and expecting it NOT to sniff every stranger's butt as you passed. I swear to you I think my two kids multiplied to about 10 as we entered, and each of those ten turned into octopusses with their long gangly arms touching everything as we all but jogged through the aisles.
"Ooooh, what's this? Can we get it? What is it though? And can we get it? What did you say it is again? A bag of scewers? Oh, can we get them? What are they for? I could use them to build something. Can we get them?"
It's heck having a kid that is genetically related to MacGuyver, I swear to you. He is always fabricating a device out of something, and mysteriously, the grocery store ALWAYS has EXACTLY what he has secretly needed to complete his mission. Perhaps he is on a government contract and is unable to divulge such details to me because they have my house wired. That would make it more worthwhile to take him to the store. He is 5...I would HAVE to know if he had a bank account opened for direct deposit from the President, right?
Speaking of accounts...Oy! My 10 year old daughter decided that, while I stood ATTEMPTING to talk to the teller at the bank, actually IN the bank (which I hardly ever do), it would be a great time to express to me her strong and overwhelming desire to open a savings account. To which, she adds, that daddy concurs that it is a brilliant idea. I gave her the "Girl, you must have smoked crack when I wasn't looking" look, and told her it takes WAY too long, I am lacking the patience for such an escapade, and then followed that up with the "Back up off of my before someone gets hurt" look. You know, just for clarification of my intent.
She then proceeded to ask the teller how long it would take to open an account, and the teller hangs me with an invisible noose by responding, "Oh, probably 5 minutes." Fabulous. All the while, my 5 year old apparently is not only part octopus, but is also part tree-climbing monkey who is dying for me to lift him up so that he can see what the drive-thru looks like from the inside of the bank. To distract them, I sent them over to the area (right next to me, relax) where the safe-deposit boxes are. They examined the big vault door, all the tiny shiny silver boxes that lined the walls, and wondered why in the world there was a glass door between them and that world of intrigue and wonder. It bought me enough time to finish my transaction so we could bust out of that joint.
WHY did she want a bank account you ask? Because she didn't like having so much change in her piggy bank. Uh huh, you read that right. LOL, the rationale of kids. She said, "If I take it to the bank, it will be turned into cash. Then I won't have so much change. I hate change. And I don't want to have to roll it."
OMG. I tried not to laugh. So, guess what we ended up doing the next morning? Uh huh. I was confronted with a 3' tall purple crayon bank, which weighed about 20 lbs I swear..and girlfriend thought I was gonna walk up in the bank carrying said enormous purple crayon....and get her a savings account!
I transferred the miscellaneous pennies and dimes into a shopping bag, which wasn't much better because I probably looked like a bag lady, but at least it wasn't a giant crayon. We dumped the change into the machine in the bank lobby and you would have thought we were at the carnival. Those two kids watched that machine like an episode of Scooby Doo, counting along with it as it displayed her balance.
After what seemed like an hour, it was done counting her 3700 pennies, and we went to the teller to cash it out. Pretty painless so far. Until we got to the personal banker to actually open the account. I had planned on using a lady that I knew, but she was on vacation. I would up with someone I had never met, who proceeded to try to sell me her car in the parking lot, a lottery ticket from the depths of her wallet, and a stick of gum that had been washed in her jeans pocket. Or at least that's how it felt.
Apparently she couldn't pick up on the sense of urgency I was sending her telepathically. She seriously could have had this done in a matter of minutes. Instead, she drilled me about opening up a savings account for myself. Then she quizzed me about something else. All the while, my 5 year old is eyeballing this pinpad on her desk and dying to press the buttons on it, which, knowing my luck, would sound some kind of alarm and put the damn bank on lockdown. I had visions of bars dropping in front of all of the exits, and a SWAT team flying into the parking lot. Come on lady, you are fricken killin me up in here.
She then proceeds to drill me about setting up all of my bills for direct debit. I said, "No thanks. I'm good." Then, she has the freakin nerve to say, what about your car payment and mortgage? I answered, with a vein bulging in my temple, "Nope. It's paid off." (meaning my car). She actually had the cahoonas to respond, "Even your mortgage?" I looked at her like I was going to rip her trachea out with my bear hands, and said, "No. Not my mortgage." I swear to you, I'm not kidding, she then asked me, "well, who is your morgage with???"
O
M
G
No you did not! Apparently this woman has absolutely NO womanly instinct when danger is present. Could she not see that I was just about the come the hell unglued right there in the bank lobby? Meanwhile, my 5 year old is ready to self destruct, we have been in here for seriously like 45 minutes to open a freaking savings account, and my 10 year old is glowing at the thought of holding that checkbook in her freshly polished hands and is wanting to tell this lady her life story and all about how she acquired this money. She also thought it was an appropriate time to quiz me on why she has a social security card, what it means, how I got it, and why she couldn't carry it in her own wallet. Which, I may add, she manufactured out of pink zebra printed duct tape this week. I'm not even playing with you.
I finally escaped the place after almost an hour. Seriously. That lady has no idea how narrowly she escaped a nasty demise. She even wrapped up by presenting my daughter with one of her business cards in case I changed my mind about letting her get commission on talking me into having my mortgage paid directly out of my account. Had I not had my kids with me, there's a distinct possibility I would have jumped her in the parking lot later that evening. I was tempted to go all ninja on her ass, but I didn't. I knew God was watching. Dangit!
I swear, if I could just get Him to turn His head once in a while, put His fingers in His ears and give me like 5 minutes that He would never hold against me and completely wipe out of the hard drive of His "Bad Shit You Did While On Earth" logging system.....
I could work fast. I know I could!
So that was just a small tidbit of my week. And I have really well-behaved kids. I cannot even imagine how much Baileys some people put in their coffee in the morning...you know, those people you see in the store with the screamin damn kids that make you want to walk right up to their shopping cart and ask, "Did you need ME to beat that kid for you? Cuz I will...."
:)
So, do me a favor. If you drive past the bank and see it surrounded by The Fuzz, and they have weapons drawn and are wearing their vests...
That can only mean one thing. My daughter has asked me to take her BACK to the bank and try to withdraw some loot from her ever-so cherished account....and things went terribly wrong.
If you could then pllease start working on getting together some bail money, I would appreciate it.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
What they call, SPILLING OF THE BEANS!
Some of you know that I lost my oldest son, Ty,
in 2001. He was my first child, born
when I was 24 years old. Much to my
surprise, he had Down Syndrome, and many heart defects as a result. I was floored when I learned he had Downs. I
thought that was only for old moms with dried up eggs, right? Not for me.
I fell in love with him behind the glass walls
that were our room at St Louis Children’s Hospital. Like a spectacle at the zoo, we resided there
behind that glass as our lives unfolded.
I lost myself there; somewhere
amidst the sanitizers, beeps, alarms and my own melted body (I gained 60
pounds. It was ugly!) and weakened
spirit.
Ty died suddenly after a routine cardiac
catheterization, one day before my 25th birthday. It was just supposed to be an outpatient
procedure, but it turned out to be the worst day of my life. I
walked out of that hospital in shock, wondering how I could ever live without
him. It seemed as though I had just
gotten used to our new ‘normal’. Now, in
a flash, it was gone.
It only took a few days for the miracles to
begin, as Ty sent me the first sign that he was always by my side: A butterfly.
It was that day that my life changed forever, as I began to feel God’s
presence by my side through my grief. He
allowed me the chance to ‘speak’ to Ty again, to feel him there with me, to
know that I wasn’t alone.
Soon after, words began to flow through my head
like water from a faucet. I found myself
writing through my grief, and found it to be exactly what I needed to heal. Over the course of 10 years, I have found
myself again. I have found my sense of
humor, my relationship with God, and I have almost
found my waist again…LOL
It was a long journey, a tough journey, but one
I wouldn’t trade for anything.
I can now look over my shoulder and see just
where I have been. I can appreciate it
for all that it is, all that it has done for me, and all that I am because of
it. It has made me a person I am proud
to be. It gave me a lot of gray hair,
sure. But, I roll with it, and count on
my good friend Amy to just keep making me blonder to cover it! LOL
It has taken me 10 years, lots of tissues, and
probably shaved a few years off of my life…
But I have FINALLY published a book about my
journey! I promise you it isn’t all
death and destruction. It’s as
light-hearted as it can be, and is actually humorous, believe it or
not. It’s not all sadness, and it’s not
all preaching. It’s just me, being ME,
and telling my story.
It’s not just for people who have lost a
child. I truly believe that everyone has
times in their life that bring them to their knees. Sometimes, it’s not that event that is most
important. It’s making the conscious
decision to either get back up and keep going or just stay on the ground and
die.
So, here’s the scoop. The book is called:
"Sit Down, Shut Up and Let Go!"
A Guide To Losing Control
One mother's humorous memoir of
the adventures of LIFE.
Making it through unthinkable loss, undeniable
miracles,
and arriving at unimaginable
wholeness.
It is available at the following online
retailers:
Westbowpress.com
Barnesandnoble.com
Amazon.com
I literally just got my first shipment of books
yesterday. They are HOT off the
press! Public appearances and book
signings are in the works. I will be posting
links to an official facebook page, twitter page, blog and website very
soon.
Want an autographed copy? Hit me up!
Got some ideas on marketing, appearances, etc? Well, don’t be an idea hog! TELL ME!
What a weight that has been lifted. It’s like a diet for my brain!
Love you guys.
Thanks for coming along on my journey…It’s scary inside of my head
sometimes. I’m glad you are brave enough
to stick around! Grab a cup of coffee and this book, and let's snuggle! HAAAAAAHAAAAAHAAAAA!
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