For Me For Once

No More Ads

2011-04-05T15:53:00.000-05:00

After several years of having the BlogHer ads on my side panel and complying with their specific rules about where and how and what to do with their ad panel, I decided to let it go. I stopped posting so they'd pull their ad, and I would likely not have been posting much anyway. But the rule is you have to post regularly to keep their ad panel up and running, and I haven't been, so they took it down, and I was ready to let it go. It's designed to generate income for the blogger, but for whatever reason it never earned me income. In fact, I'm pretty sure I got ONE $18 check in about 5 years' time. And I like having complete control back from my blog, frankly, and would be reticent to take on those kinds of ads again. And now I can review any product I want, if I want to, and nobody can tell me I can't. (That was another of their rules that I didn't like, but tolerated for long enough.)

Updates for Cathy:

Making cake truffles. Lots of them. Folks like them, I like making them. Considering incorporating, but we'll see. Strangely enough, folks want money for stuff like that, but the tradename I want is PERFECTO for me and I cannot wait to share it with you. My attorney is checking availability this week and we'll see what we'll see when we see.

My side still hurts. I've had every test, up to and including exploratory surgery, to figure out why. Still don't know why. I am in the process of a high-dose vitamin D treatment plan as I am drastically low, below normal healthy levels, so we'll see what that brings.

Today is my 8th wedding anniversary. Greg and I were married in our hometown, surrounded by our loved ones, EXACTLY 8 years ago. Actually, right now we were probably standing in the receiving line. Beautiful, beautiful day it was, in every way. Never been sorry. I love you Greg, in ways that I never knew existed. I hope the next year blows this past year out of the water for us, but I know even if it doesn't, we'll muddle through together, and I'll be glad you're by my side while we go. No road too long.

Jackson is four and a half, Samantha just turned seven. They are growing so very, very fast, and the days seem to fly by. They continue to amaze and delight me with who they are and who they are becoming, and I smile in my heart when they say "You're the best mom EVER!" (I even try to smile when Sam tells me "It must be AWESOME to have a mom like {insert another kids' mom's name here}..." Thanks, kid.) How I got so lucky to have two healthy, smart, fun, beautiful kids who also happen to usually think I hung the moon despite my many, many faults, I'll never know. But I'm not complaining.

I fell this morning in the shower, hit my left side on the tub going down. So, much sitting and little else is in my future for the next few days, as I'm pretty sure I cracked at least one rib. As in, I HEARD an audible "CRACK" when I hit the tub. Dear sweet baby jesus, this hurts!

I miss blogging and plan to return soon, and hope you'll return to reading. It's good for me, and I need more things that are good for me. Don't we all? Yes, we do.

Holiday Greetings

2010-12-21T02:11:00.000-06:00

Nothing particularly fancy, dear reader. Just me, telling you, from my heart, that I hope your holidays are joyous, peaceful and filled with love and family and all of your favorite things.

I'll be ending my 2010 by going under the knife, for an exploratory laparascopy, in hopes of finding what's been causing me pain for the better part of the year. Cross a finger or two, and send up a prayer for me, wouldja? I hope 2011 is as full of solutions and relief as 2010 was of pain and unanswered questions.

I need to sleep, and I need to finish up my baking. I'll do the former first and the latter tomorrow. Hopefully back to write more before the year gets away altogether.

So I'm Thinking

2010-11-16T08:30:00.000-06:00

And we all know how dangerous that can be.

I'm thinking of Aimee today. Not unusual, and today's thoughts are for no particular reason, just thinking of her. Actually not true. Some stuff on Facebook reminded me of her. That's all. So here's the thing. I still have moments, and you're going to think I'm crackers, where I think I should be able to shoot her an email, or pick up the phone and call her. There is still a small part in my brain that just simple re-fucking-fuses to believe/accept/process that she's really gone. And that sucks. Every time I have the realization all over again.

I'm thinking of cake truffles today. That's nothing new, I think of cake truffles every day. This week I'm doing fun fall/Thanksgiving ones, and they are going to be deelish and bee-u-teeful.

I'm thinking of my office. Unfortunately, it's gone the way of TRASHED again, and now requires another great paper movement.

I'm thinking that PBS's show "The Cat In The Hat", starring Martin Short as the cat, may have my new least-favorite songs E.V.E.R. "The thingamajigger is on its WAAAAY, go! go! go! go! on an adventure..." Wrist-slit-inducing, that one is...

I'm thinking I have the cutest kids ever. I have pics to prove it.

I'm thinking it's time to get Sam to school and get my but in gear around here today. And I'm thinking that this was a rather random, pointless blog entry. And I'm thinking that's OK. And I'm thinking I should stop typing now.

No Way It's November

2010-11-05T15:08:00.000-05:00

And yet, somehow it is.
The blog has gone by the wayside, and I undoubtedly write this mostly for myself. Earned.

So, some random tidbits from my life, as though anyone but me was still reading about my life here.

~ October blew by, with beautiful weather, and another craft show's worth of cake truffles sold (in 5 hours, thankyouverymuch). I rocked the craft show, baby. Believe it.

~ My side still hurts. It still sucks.

~ We've been battling stomach flu and head colds this week, and I'm tired as can be despite some pretty decent sleep.

~ My house needs help. Being sick all week does a real number on my housecleaning efforts. Everything's been Lysoled within an inch of its life but it's all still laying around.

~ I am sick to death of cooking meals. Seriously. Six years being home has driven me over the brink of giving a crap if I ever bake/broil/fry anything ever again. We could live on cereal and sandwiches forever if it was up to me.

~ After our FABULOUS {eyeroll} health insurance changed July 1 again (thanks Greg's employers), they raised our deductible another $1k mid-calendar year. Result: we owe $1300 for my colonoscopy that should have been covered as I'd already "met" my deductible as far as we knew. You know, the colonoscopy that told me nothing. The one that said I'm "normal".

~ I still have some of the best freaking friends and family in the world. Get used to hearing it.

~ My bestie Deb is coming in December to visit, and possibly wrangle a show with me. I have to keep myself from giggling all day long when I think about it, and sometimes I just can't stop myself.

~ Sadly, we said goodbye to my Granny in October. She lived her life loving God and witnessing the best she could, and we believe she has gone on to be with Him, and that He welcomed her with loving arms, and we rejoice in letting her go on to that reward. But it's hard to let her go, even though we really let her go a few years ago when Alzheimer's put its grip on her. We miss her and celebrate her and believe that she's watching down on us, and that she can feel our love, even from where she now rests.

~ I hope, as always, to blog more soon, but as always, make no promises. Peace.

Most Unlikely FUN Date Night -OR- How The Nighthawks Won Me, Too

2010-09-25T09:51:00.003-05:00

So, if you know me, you know that I'm no football junkie. I'm barely a football fan at all, frankly. I support "our Huskers" because my dad loved them growing up so it's kind of automatic; and my husband and his family love them, too, so I spend time yearly submerged in Husker Nation. But we don't get out and SEE games in person much. We're a "watch it on TV" set of fans, mostly.

In fact, I've only been to two live football games (other than high school and midget games, and really, those don't count) ever in my life, both Husker games: one as a kid with my mom and siblings, and it was SO fracking cold that I can't even tell you who they played, if we won, or any other pertinent information; and the other with Greg, 12 years ago, and I think "we" clobbered "them" thoroughly enough that Greg and I left before the 4th quarter to beat the traffic. Frankly, I was impressed almost-not-at-all BOTH times.

Greg always said I just didn't get it when it came to watching football live in the stadium. He was right, I didn't get it. I can take it or leave it at home on my own couch, so the idea of trekking long distances to sit on a hard seat, surrounded by potentially offensive strangers, for hours on end, to maybe watch "my" team get clobbered, lacked appeal.

So I told you all of that to tell you this: for his birthday, I bought Greg season tickets to see our newly-formed Omaha Nighthawks (one of the new teams who are part of the UFL) play some ball, live and in person. No stadium football here, this is regular outdoor pro football. And these guys are former- and just-barely-missed-out-on-NFL players. Guys like Ahman Green, Jeff Garcia, Jay Moore. Four home games will be played at the famous-and-soon-to-be-demolished Johnny Rosenblatt Stadium, home to my much-unbeloved-CWS. (OK, and so now that I've been there, I like Rosenblatt a lot, but I still loathe the CWS.)

For the sake of a date with my husband, and out of curiousity, I wanted to go to one game. And I sure as heck was not going to go to the COLD ones...so I wanted to go to the first game. Greg was happy to oblige. (I think. He didn't argue, anyway.)

So last night was the big night. Our incredible friends the R family took our kids for us, despite the ridiculously busy week or three they have going on at their house, and we LOVE them for that. I left them there at 3:30 and ran home to fetch my hubby, my Nighthawks shirt and my camera. By 4:30, we were getting off the interstate and heading down 13th Street. The entire area was already abuzz with pre-game activity, with tailgating and special events for those of us who'd bought season tickets. Concerts, food, beer garden, bounce houses (Shhhh, don't tell our kids), and cheap programs and free game posters, and all of that before we even went through the gate. There was an electricity that seemed unlikely for a team who had never played a game together as of yet, and it was clear early on that our fellow Nighthawks fans are the kinds of fans that only Nebraska can produce.

The gates opened and we filed in, excited to find our seats, to see the field (converted from a baseball field to a football field in a few shorts week) and get settled in. We quickly found that A) with a little help from my friends, I'm not too bad at picking season tickets, and that B) there really are no bad seats for football in Rosenblatt. By the time we sat down, we had about 90 minutes until game time. We spent it visiting, posting pics on Facebook and texting them to friends, and with about 40 minutes left to wait, I spotted two fellow 'Hawks fans eating a fabulously yummy and unhealthy plate of something I knew I had to have. We found out it was a "Fritos Pie"...and since we had 35 minutes 'til kick-off, we had plenty of time to go get one, right?

WOW. As we walked back up into the concourse, we saw how we would spend those 35 minutes. Now, the concourse which had dozens of people milling around in it when we arrived, held THOUSANDS. Belly-to-back, the hallways were packed, 12 - 15 people across, as far as the eye could see. We'd heard it was sold out, and this showed us that it was NO silly rumor.

We got back to our seats just as we heard them announcing "our" Nighthawks, and while I admit I was swept up in the moment, I still didn't know if I could "get it". We'd already been sitting/standing for two hours, and the game was just starting!

And so it did.

And then I got it.

Roaring fans, all dressed in black and silver, came to our feet and cheered for the Nighthawks, who took on Hartford, met the challenge they brought head-on, and in the end, handed them a loss in the final seconds. A victory for this new team, and a victory for this history-making UFL crowd, who were like old souls cheering for a team they'd loved for years. The sea of black and silver was almost as moving (and it's strange for me to say that, trust me) as the sea of red that all Huskers understand and love. I have never enjoyed three hours in an uncomfortable seat, surrounded by (a few) rowdy drunk people, eating junk food and screaming my head off, more.

I think the the Nighthawks and the UFL are in Omaha for the foreseeable future. And believe it or not, I think that's a good thing.

GO Nighthawks!

September Blew By!

2010-09-21T11:24:00.000-05:00

It's practically over, isn't it? Seems impossible. So, a quick update, and then onto business.

#1) Still have side pain. Still don't know why. Have had cameras stuck into places that were never meant to have cameras stuck into them. I am, in all official medical capacites, "normal". (Save my hiatus hernia and my gastritis which is being biopsied for H.Pylori. Good stuff.) Still hurt, but I'm normal. Dandy. I'm now considering hypnosis to learn to ignore pain, since it's apparently just random nerve pain that cannot be diagnosed or cured.

#2) Still in therapy with the BEST. THERAPIST. EVER. Seeing a chiro, he makes me smile with his magic hands. (Minds out of the gutters, please. The man is entirely professional and is doing me worlds of good.)

3) Jackson waffles between loving and hating preschool, and still goes anyway.

4) Samantha loves first grade, but hates getting up.

5) Greg is tired and probably depressed and feeling overwhelmed, and that sucks. On the up side, however, he has season tickets to see our new Omaha Nighthawks play. (Line forms here to be Greg's new bestie to get in on a game.)

6) Did my first craft show selling cake truffles, had very positive feedback, lots of "oohs" and "ahs" and lots of calling-card-taking. And a few sales, so that's nice, too. Other craft shows coming up, I am considering them. This one was a real bitch because I'd never done one before, so I had to build displays, figure out everything. Now that my feet are wet, I'm pondering diving back in a few more times.

7) I pinched a nerve in my back while detailing the inside of my vehicle this morning. I am trying to ignore it.

8) I have been a lousy blogger (and a fairly lousy housekeeper, as well, by the way, but that's another story) and need to get back on here more often.

9) I am likely starting a blog entirely devoted to my cake truffles. It will be separate from this one. If I want folks to buy cake truffles, I probably shouldn't show them what a potty mouth I am.

10) To you who still read and still check in despite this blogging dryspell, thank you.

I'm Tired

2010-08-30T22:55:00.000-05:00

Of what, you ask? Oh, well, let me break it down for you.

I am tired of, in no particular order:*

Waiting around to have the latest uncomfortable/invasive/gross test done.

Test results that are all "normal" despite having lived the most abnormal summer of my 37 years.

My side hurting.

My stomach hurting.

Anxiety leaving, showing no signs of coming back, until the very day I say I think I've left it behind; and then having the dirty bitch come back again.

Irregular cycles.

My hair falling out like it has someplace better to be.

Nobody on my "medical team" giving a shit that my hair is falling out at age 37.

Making my husband worry about me, and money, and what's coming next.

Being the reason that my kids' prayers include things like "Please, God, help Mommy to feel better RIGHT NOW."

Opening hospital bills.

Not having money to pay said hospital bills.

Sleeping on a heating pad.

Being told the preschool tuition assistance ("scholarship") that we don't qualify for is something I should be GLAD for, since I should also "be glad that my husband even HAS a job".

My best friend being dead. That could stop any fucking time now.

Being tired.

Being upset.

Being in limbo.

Wondering, before I ever open my eyes in the morning, how I'm going to feel once I get out of bed.

Thinking about, wondering about, talking about, dreaming about, and worrying about if we're doing the right tests, if I should find new/different doctors, if I should ignore and disregard the pain, how we're going to pay for anything, and what's going on inside my body at any given moment.

We are going on four months that this has been going on, and I'm not sure how much more I can take. I want my life back.

* I realize this is improper use of a colon. I don't care. I'm tired of punctuation, too.

Oh, The Times They Are A'Changin'...

2010-08-21T21:53:00.004-05:00

...and we're ready for it here at FMFO!

Jackson just turned four. Four. Seems impossible that he has been with us for that long, and yet I can't remember our life without him. He completed our family in a way I didn't know it needed until he came to be with us. He is starting 3-days-a-week preschool this year, and while he had several weeks this summer when he calmly and dispassionately insisted he'd rather wait and go next year, he did a 180 and is now enthusiastic about RFP and the wonderful new things it holds for him this year.

Samantha started 1st Grade this week. First. Flipping. Grade. Speaking of things that seem impossible. How can she be so big? So grown-up (and she is, people, so lovely and long-legged and big-girl looking), and and yet so much still wanting to be our little girl in many ways. Her teacher is a kindred spirit, and we are excited for her to spend this year with such an inspiring woman. But first grade is all new stuff, harder stuff, more "boring" stuff, as she calls it...but she is ready, and so are we.

Greg's company has been through some major pains this year, but fortunately some of them are now growing pains. He continues to be a vital part of his department, and is a valued part of the company as a whole. Some new stuff for him as well, including him now being an HVAC Journeyman licensed in two states, which sure looks nice on a resume, if nothing else, should the need for a resume ever arise. Not that he's looking. I'm just sayin'.

For me? Oh, many changes. After having to give up the season vendor spot at the farmer's market, I found out that I can, actually, do craft shows without a licensed kitchen as well, hallelu. So I'm doing a great craft show this fall, selling cake truffles, and I can't wait to see how it goes. More on that to come.

What else? Oh, well, thanks to this mystery illness that's been going on since May, I'm several sizes smaller, and able to wear clothes I would not have been able to wear since before I was Mrs. C. That's better than seven years, folks. While it's not how I wanted to lose weight, and while there are costs for that (like losing what feels like all my hair three months later from the sudden weight change), I'll take it. I offered God a deal, more than once: I said I'd take every pound back to not have to have lived this summer of tests, therapy and pain. I'd take the weight back if he'd give me a mulligan on this summer. He didn't take me up on it, so I guess I'll settle for shopping in the "regular" department instead. And no worries, I'm still plenty plump for my taste; no chance of me blowing away. I didn't lose THAT much weight.

So, without being too wordy (ha ha), and in case you haven't heard, I have had this pain on my right side since May. A myriad of other symptoms came and went, but I still have pain in my right side, four months later. And we still don't know why. I now have pain in my true stomach as well. I've been examined, palpated, x-rayed, ultrasounded, contrast-dyed, x-rayed again via IVP, C/T scanned, blood worked, urinalysissed (word? yes, it now, I think), HIDA scanned, PAP smeared - you name it, I've had it done. I am, in every way so far, "normal". Funny word, "normal". So the only area left to test, short of a laparascopic exploratory, is GI testing. Mmm. Butt Camera, coming up, I'll bet. I see the GI specialist on Monday. Can't hardly wait.

That's a lie. I'd love to wait. I'd love to wake up tomorrow with absolutely no pain, and not need to go see the GI doctor this week. I've begged for it. No dice so far. So on to the GI testing we go.

Because while all these other changes are happening in our lives, one thing that's not changing is that I have this pain, in my mid-right side, and it won't go away. I'm not dying, we've pretty much concluded that. But just because I'm not dying because of it doesn't mean I am living like I want to be living, as long as it's still there.

So the changes we are really hoping for haven't come yet. I'd like to lose a few more pounds, get my BMI down a few more points. I'd like to start exercising, still haven't managed to do that. I'd like to figure out how to slow down my kids' growing-up. I'd like to hear a doctor say "Cathy, we figured out what's causing this, and here's how we fix it." THAT would be a very welcome change.

August Update

2010-08-02T21:59:00.001-05:00

We camped at the zoo last night, Sam and I did, that is - with the Girl Scouts, had a fun time, but very little sleep. Ugh.

Jackson is sick, fever is broken now, but big D rages, on and cough is no fun. Greg's not feeling so hot either.

Sam starts school in two weeks. I am not looking forward to it. Jackson may or may not start after Labor Day, 3 days a week at RF.

I'm exhausted.

Oh, and still don't know what's wrong with me. IVP coming up this week. Fun stuff.

Only bright spot is that Mom is coming for a few days, bringing my nephew for a couple of them, hope to have a good time.

Except, oh...house is trashed, laundry behind, and the sick boy won't go to sleep so I can either get it done or go to bed so I can do it tomorrow.

This is NOT a chipper update. Sorry 'bout that.

Another Short

2010-07-15T19:42:00.002-05:00

Crown is done, mouth feels fine. Top tooth calmed down, we're leaving it for now until I at least pay off this root canal and find a new dentist. (Remind me to tell you THAT story sometime.)

Pain on right side continues, back to doctor today. Scheduled pelvic ultrasound for Monday. Meeting with new OB later this month. New pain med makes me rather nauseous. Hope to not need much of it, or I'll just have to suffer with ibuprofen and tylenol.

Work with therapist continues and is good. I like her and we talk easily. The short of THAT is that my brain needs to slow the heck down, I'm too smart for my own good, and Aimee's death is every bit as earth-shattering to my brain as I thought it would be.

Off to have a family snuggle.

Happy Independence Day from FMFO

2010-07-04T21:25:00.004-05:00

Hope your day was sunny and warm and filled with good food (hopefully including s'mores like we had - see below), good times (hopefully with people you love), and will end with good fireworks (hopefully done by professionals who know what they're doing, by the way...you know how I feel about that amateur, home-style fireworks shit...).

Happy Birthday America!

Oh Ovary...

2010-06-24T10:06:00.002-05:00

Yoo00000-hoooo! Can you hear me down there? I've got just one tiny, small, egg-sized question for you. Just one.

What the raging HELL is wrong with you?!?!?!?

It does NOT TAKE six days to drop an egg. This is ridonculous. Get it over with already. You're killin' me, Alice. You're goddamn-killin' me.

That is all.

*************************************

This concludes the TMI portion of FMFO for this week. Thank you for your patience.

The Short of It

2010-06-22T19:51:00.002-05:00

Teeth are jacked up. One trying to fight the crown, killing me, and to top it off, it had to be surprise root canal-ed today. Another is barking at me and may need the same treatment. Meanwhile I'm living on ibuprofen, because of that and because I have some really shitty pain on my right side, suspected ovarian pain but they tell me there is nothing there on every U/S in the last three years. Greg just went to fill the Darvocet scrip the dentist gave me that she was "almost sure I wouldn't need". Got news for her.

On the up side, I start with a therapist tomorrow who I am VERY excited about seeing and working with. Someday I'll explain all the crap that's been going on with me the last six weeks, but for now trust me when I say that it's been a long summer already, I need some new coping mechanisms, and I hope like hell that tomorrow is the start of finding them.

Love and smooches to you, my readers.

Best. Dad. Ever.

2010-06-20T09:46:00.003-05:00

You just are, honey. I don't know what to tell you. Move beyond thinking you're just an average dad.

For the way you love them, and me...for the way you play with them...for the way you lift up, and support, and encourage them...for all you do for them whether you feel like it or not...for the way you get down and play with them, and the way you snuggle them at night, and smooch them in the morning...for all those things and infinitely more, I am so grateful that you are their dad. So are they. Even when they say they "only want Mommy", know that they adore you as well, and love you deeply and passionately. And they're not alone.

Happy Father's Day, honey.

Monday Update

2010-06-01T13:39:00.002-05:00

Except it's not Monday, it's Tuesday. But it's MY Monday, OUR Monday collectively overall, so whatever. Go with it.

NOT doing the market. Wish I could, may do a few weeks later in the summer, but I couldn't make it work in my life right now, and it's not worth the stress.

My health has been wonky for weeks, and I am battling anxiety either because of it or in addition to it. Don't like it, not happy about it, but it's where I am, and it's day-by-day, and it's going to be OK.

I'm having another tooth crowned next week. Our dental insurance sucks my ass.

Aimee is still dead, and I still fucking hate it every day. Her baby would be about 13 months old now.

We had a GREAT weekend at the in-laws' this weekend, and I found myself missing home and wondering if I could ever go back to living there. Parts of me want to go RIGHT now and just be back home where everything is familiar and quiet and peaceful, where there are no gang shootings, and you can leave your water bottle outside the church to take your kids in and show them the new sanctuary and you KNOW it'll still be there when you come back out; and part of me knows that there are things I love about this city that will NEVER come to exist in our hometown. AND Greg's company keeps throwing money at him, and that makes it hard to think about going back to the "City of Shitty Wages and No Shopping".

Being sick for three weeks netted me a 12 pound loss. I would take every pound back to have those three weeks back and not have to go through that, but since I can't make that exchange, I'll take being down 12.

That is all. Stick around, I may have some good stuff coming soon enough. I say that a lot, don't I? Hmm.

Big New Scary Scary Good Stuff

2010-05-18T23:23:00.002-05:00

It's official.

I'm a season vendor at our new awesome local farmers market.

Selling cake truffles.

The market opens on Sunday, May 30th.

I am NOT ready, and am battling some health issues that are creating hurdles, but I'll jump them all, one at a time. I am excited, and scared, and proud, and overwhelmed...and I can't wait to see what happens.

Stay tuned, readers. I'm hoping to report all good news, and often.

I'm No Farm Girl...BUT...

2010-05-07T13:07:00.004-05:00

...it seems I may be spending my summer Sundays at the farmers market.

EEK!

I filed my application this morning to be a season vendor for a new, very cool farmers market opening soon here in the city.

Doing what, you ask?

Cake truffles, baby. Maybe cookie truffles and cake cookies, too.

I'm a little giddy over here, and trying not to get ahead of myself. I haven't even been accepted yet. That hasn't stopped me from shopping for a canopy today, my friend.

I was supposed to go to the early meeting last night regarding the new market. Due to scheduling problems, I wasn't able to, and had to attend the late meeting; at which I felt a REALLY great vibe, and met some REALLY great people who were excited FOR and WITH me. As my friend Sara says, sometimes the stars just line up for you.

Stay tuned, folks. I'm scared to death, but it's nice to be so excited about something that it's scary, isn't it?

To Me On My 37th Birthday

2010-05-05T14:38:00.003-05:00

Things to remember as you go into this next year of your life:

1. Gary is right. Don't bitch about getting older - it beats the alternative. Remember that there are people you love who will never see 37.

2. There is almost nothing you want to do in your life that you are not smart enough to accomplish. Smarts has never been your problem. You're not lacking in talent, either. What you need is more drive, more determination, and less lazy. John laid it out for you 18 years ago - top 3 in talent, bottom 3 in discipline.

3. Get your butt in gear. Apply that to pretty much everything. (see #2)

4. You have beautiful eyes. You always have. Take care of them.

5. You are lucky, lucky, lucky to have the husband that you have. Remember all the things you say you'd never put up with from a husband, and remember that with Greg, you don't have to put up with any of them because he doesn't do them. Appreciate all that he is, and remember to be kind to him "in the every day", and don't take out your bad moods on him just because he's closest...and cut yourself some slack as a wife while you're at it. The one thing we KNOW is that you are doing your best on most given days, and that's all you can do. Beating yourself up for what you're not doing is futile and stupid.

6. Most days I like who you are as a mom to Jack and Sam. Keep working on the things that you know aren't what you want in how you parent. And remember that they're just kids. Be kinder to them. And dang, stop yelling so much, even if they're pushing your buttons and you feel like you'll explode. No mother ever exploded from not yelling. You can't expect them to learn to control themselves if you can't control yourself. Remember what you tell them - you can make a good choice, no matter what ANYBODY else does.

7. Uh, I don't know how else to say this...get your chubby self BACK on the Beach. Seriously. I don't think we need to beat that dead horse any further - just do it.

8. Get back to meditating and start getting more sleep. Like, all the time.

9. Be more willing to join in, to sing along, and to take risks. Let go of some of those old scars and old baggage. They're weighing you down.

10. Don't give up, and don't let hurdles stop you. Jump them and get on with it.

11. Your peanut butter cake truffles are the freaking bomb.

12. You have some really, really kick-ass friends. Keep appreciating and loving them the best way you can. They deserve the best you can give them (as does your family, as do YOU, by the way...)

13. Never forget all you want to be and do, and keep your eye on the prize. Know that you are loved, you are cherished, and time spent doubting yourself and second-guessing yourself is wasted time. And we don't have that kind of time to waste, do we? Happy Birthday, lady.

Very First Sunday in the Merry, Merry Month of May

2010-05-02T10:31:00.004-05:00

Lots going on here this months, my lovelies. Seems May is always this way. I'm starting to think all of this beautiful weather is given to use to get us through these busy spring days.

Two high school graduations. One college graduation. Making 7 dozen cake truffles for one of them. Our annual kick-ass garage sale that first kicks MY ass in preparation. End of preschool activities. End of Kindergarten activities. Spring cleaning. Yard work. Garden-planting. Farmer's Markets. Dentist appointments.

More to come. Off to clean my kitchen.

To ABC, Broadcaster of LOST

2010-04-27T21:02:00.003-05:00

I hate you.

That is all.

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OK, that's not all. A re-run? REALLY? NOW?? Are you kidding me? And are you (the ABC powers-that-be) all sitting at home giggling to yourselves because you already know how it ends and we don't? HMMM? Are you?

Ya big jerks.

THAT is all.

Aren't They Supposed to Build Up a Tolerance???

2010-04-25T11:11:00.002-05:00

Seriously??? What, our THIRD round of pink eye in six months?!?!

Poor boy, his eye looks pretty sad and red. Yuck. Now I'm Lysoling like mad again and making everyone wash their hands every nine seconds. UGH.

Who Knew They Were THAT Good?

2010-04-15T14:45:00.004-05:00

So I'm really enjoying the cake truffles thing. Really, really. Even printed up some business cards because, well, folks are asking for them! The latest venture has been whipping some up and donating them to the bake sale taking place tonight at our son's preschool; it's part of the annual fundraiser night going on tonight. Fun stuff, yes?

I dropped them off this morning and got busy with my duties working on decorations. I left to go have balloon centerpieces made while some other moms stayed behind to put the students' art work up on the walls. They left about 10:30 and feel sure that all three plates of cake truffles were still there on the table with all the other goodies; on the table clearly marked Bake SALE.

I returned shortly after 11:00, balloons in-hand, and glanced at the bake sale table as I entered the room and noticed that...what...one...two...

What the...?

One of the plates of cake truffles seemed to be, uh, GONE.

I doubled checked with staff that nobody had bought them, and that no money had been left anywhere. That means someone just took them. Just thought to themselves "Hey, I'd like a cake truffle or twelve, and these are just sitting here, right? Surely it's fine if I just grab those and go, yes?"

That's a special kind of asshole right there, dear reader.

During that time of day, there are not really many parents in the building, it's mid-class time, so I was doubting someone had pre-bought them as a parent might do. There are, however, groups not affiliated with the preschool who use different rooms close to the gym. Today, there were a couple different groups of, in this case, snoopy, pudgy, old women...women who were, by the way, nosing around my cake truffles when I brought them in earlier in the day. REALLY nosing around.

So what does that leave us thinking? I'll tell you what: that some crazy old bat stole cake truffles from my kid's preschool. Wow. Just...wow.

Further proof that being in a church no more makes you a good person than sitting in a garage makes you a car.

I hope whoever stole them, immediately sat down and snarfed them all down...and discovered what happens when you eat the equivalent of about 3 pieces of cake with candy on them. Happy shitting, you freak.

Don't Call Them Balls

2010-04-08T12:28:00.012-05:00

OK, fine they are balls. But frankly, that word irks me in reference to anything other than an object to be thrown in a sporting event. It's just a vulgar word. BALLS. See? So do me a favor, and don't call them that, huh? I lovingly refer to these confectionary delights as...

Truffles.

Cake Truffles.

I did NOT invent them. Not even close. Let's be clear on that. There are MASTERS out there - true masters of the craft, significantly gifted people making perfect, perfect cake truffles that make you 'ooh' and 'aah', even if you're just seeing them online. Bakerella first inspired me and she is a cake truffle rockstar. Many others are doing great work with the art of cake and frosting dipped in more sugar. They make it look easy. And I love to see all of the different forms this fun little treat can take.

So. The point is...I also love making them myself. There's something really, really fun about forming cake and frosting into...well, you-know-what-shapes...and making something pretty that is also decadent, creamy and delicious. I've not mastered every aspect yet, and I'm still learning how to make them the best, and the easiest, while still getting great results. But I'm LOVING learning about them. Kind of a good thing, yes?

So. I love making them. People seem to like them, and like how they look as well. Where should that lead me? Would people pay me to make something I love? Would you? (This is the part where you comment and tell me what you think...but only if you're going to be nice. The budding confectionary artist inside me is very fragile. ;-) )

Hmmm. Lots to think about, I think.

So. Stick around, why don'tcha, and we'll just see where this takes me, won't we?

Rainbow Update

2010-03-26T13:29:00.003-05:00

Red: The color of my daughter's conjunctivita in her left eye, with the right soon to follow, surely(translation: we've got pink eye going on here, folks...yuck), but the drops will help soon. Poor baby girl.

Orange: The fruit of the week in my fruit bowl - when Aldi has a 5lb bag of GOOD oranges for $.99 (not per pound, but TOTAL), we're eating oranges. And loving Aldi. Have I mentioned that? Yeah, I do.

Yellow: The color of the daffodils that have peeked their way up through the earth in my back flowerbed. OK, they're not yellow yet, they're just stalks poking up, but they will be. And I giggled when I saw them.

Green: What color things are FINALLY starting to turn around here. And by Tuesday we'll be at 72, and then things will REALLY start to "green up". Bring on the spring!

Blue: The color of my kitchen curtains, that need to come down to be washed, along with everything else that needs a good spring cleaning. It's on the list. It's a long list.

Indigo: Gosh, do I have anything in my life that's indigo? Hmmm...The package of the Finneus and Ferb fruit snacks laying here on my counter is pretty close to indigo. That may be the best I can do today for indigo. (Hey, they can't all be brilliant little thoughts, can they?)

Violet: The darkest shade of the spring flowers that I carried down the aisle when I married my best friend on April 5, 2003. Seven years coming up, readers. More to come on that. But purple tones in general always make me think of our wedding day...and I smile.

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There. A rainbow of updates. Just makes you smile to see those colors together, doesn't it? Let's hope we all see some real ones soon!

Happy Spring, my lovelies!

There Be Leprechauns

2010-03-17T16:19:00.002-05:00

And ours left treasure and notes for my kids. Very serious business, this.

First, he turned the orange juice and the milk GREEN. Then he put a note on them that said "Green Drinks for you - BOO HOO!!"

Then he put notes in each of their rooms, taunting them with his presence and telling them to look sharp next year. Then he left them each a piece of treasure (a quarter).

It's St. Patrick's Day for certain. Happy kids 'round here this fine afternoon. AND the little guy brought the sunshine with him. THAT's better than a pot of gold. Almost.

Birthday In Absentia, Take Two

2010-03-10T11:31:00.005-06:00

Another special day going on here at FMFO. My sweet friend Aimee would have turned 32 today. But she won't. We lost her a year and a half ago, and this is the second birthday we've had to live through without her. So instead, we celebrate the short-but-wonderful life she had, but still grieve for the life she missed out on living. I was telling Greg last night that surely this milestone would be easier; that I would be able to only remember the good things and smile, and not need to weep with my head in my hands. I was wrong. The tears come easily, and the pangs of heartache are there, just as they have always been. And that's OK. She is still worth every tear, and the pain of losing her still stings inside of me.

But I found myself examining this morning (while on the phone with my awesome friend Sara) the reasons WHY it continues to be so hard, and why we who loved her best continue to struggle with letting go and moving above the sadness.

I think the bulk of it is this: this is not like losing a grandmother who lived her whole life, or even like losing someone young who takes their own life. It's not even like losing someone who was sick and was taken too soon but who had time to at least examine the possibility of dying. I am not discounting or devaluing those losses - I'm just saying they are different. Because Aimee's loss was sudden, confusing and unexplained (still is, largely) and I believe with every fiber of me that she fought with all her might to stay alive. I believe that she fought for her life, for her baby's life, and she lost. And that sucks. And I grieve that reality over and over, as many who loved her do, because it never makes any more sense, it never gets easier to accept, and it never leaves less of a hole in our lives when we revisit it again and again.

I wonder if she knew she was dying. I wonder if she was afraid. I wonder if she was screaming inside her head but couldn't get out more than the cry that came from her lips just before she was gone. I wonder lots of things about where and how she was in those final moments. And I grieve. Not even just for me, for Greg and our kids who will miss out on the beauty of Aimee in their lives as they grow. I grieve for Nik who had to live through it and watch it all happen in their own home, in their own bed. I grieve for her parents who lost their only child, their only grandchild, and their whole world all in one fell swoop. I grieve for their families. I grieve for Dar, and Jess and Jared, and all of her close friends in IA who know how keenly losing her cuts through every day life. I grieve for the friends who lost touch but who always thought there would be more time to catch up, as we all do. We always think there's more time, we tell ourselves that it's our nature to believe that. But the true nature is the nature of our bodies and our world, which all prove to us over and over that NONE of us is guaranteed more time. None of us have been promised tomorrow.

And I think that's her gift to us on this day, her birthday: a reminder. A reminder to say those words you haven't said, to whomever you need to say them. Pursue and become the person you want to be. Do that thing for someone that you've been meaning to do. Tell someone who matters that they matter. I know there are people who Aimee would have liked to have said "goodbye" to (or "eat a dick" to) before she went on and left this life. And I can hear her voice in my head, reminding me not to wait; to do it now, today. There are things she didn't get to do, and it honors her memory when we do those things.

And it's coming to me as I type that it also honors her memory to try our best to be happy while we're here. It's easy, comforting even, to get lost in the sorrow, to soak in it and let it surround us in a blanket of tears and self-pity for all we've lost. But what would Aimee give to be here today? And how would she want me to spend it? How would she want YOU to spend it? She would want us to laugh about all the fun, crazy, silly, hilarious shit we did while she was here. She would want us to eat a piece of cake, dammit, and enjoy every bite. She would want us to live. That much I do know. And Aimee was usually pretty good about getting what she wanted, so I'm guessing we're all better off just trying to do our best to do what she wants us to do.

I'll try if you'll try. Deal?

Happy Birthday, Aimee. There are no words, not for my lack of trying, to say how much you mean, how much you're missed, and how much we wish we could share this day with you. Love and hugs to heaven, my dear friend.

March 8th and Old Posts

2010-03-06T10:36:00.008-06:00

Big day coming up - on Monday, March 8th, we come upon my mother's 60th birthday! Not that she looks 60, or probably feels 60, but all points indicate that she is, in fact, turning 60. We are not talking about how old that makes ME.

In honor of Mom's big day (which we'll be celebrating tomorrow with friends and family), I give you...an old blog. Ha ha. No, really, this is a blog post I wrote a good while ago, after one of Mom's treasured visits to our home. I shared it with her recently, and thought that this weekend would be a good time to share it with you again in case you missed it back in 2007. While it is a tribute and somewhat a pre-memorial (forgive the slight morbidity of that), it's a celebration of who she is to us in this life. Enjoy!

Oh, and Happy, Happy Birthday, Mom - we all love you more than you'll ever know, and we thank God for you every day. Hope your day is perfect.

Post is HERE: I'll Miss Her Finger

(ETA: So...to be clear. Click on the "I'll Miss Her Finger" right ABOVE to read the actual POST about Mom. I'm feeling anal today, apparently. Yeah. Just click. Go! ;-) Thanks. )

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Things of Which to Remind Myself in March 2010

2010-03-01T08:00:00.001-06:00

I am writing this to myself in late August of 2009. It is set to publish now, in March of 2010. I may very well have forgotten about it by now. I also probably won't remember these specific things by now, which is why I'm writing them in August 2009. Call it my own personal little time machine - I'm heading off into the future to tell myself things that I need to remember later on.

So this is just between me, myself and I - but you might do well to heed the warnings I'm going to give myself if you have gardening aspirations for Summer 2010.

Cathy - it's spring now, and knowing you as only I do, you've undoubtedly thought about buying seeds (if you haven't bout them already) and starter sets, potting soil, etc. You are sure you want a garden, mostly because you are so sick of winter you could throw up and you just want to get out there and dig it up. After all, you tucked it away last fall, tilled in good stuff and covered it in mulch, put away cages and fencing. And I get that you think it's time to start thinking about the new garden to come. But stop and think. Think REALLY hard about whether or not you REALLY want a garden again this year. Really. Think it over. IF you decide to proceed anyway, remember these things:

1) Don't buy seeds. Nope, don't. Just. Don't. You know they don't grow for shit because you don't water them regularly enough, or you water them too much, whatever; and the kids don't keep their fingers out of them, and then the ones that DO grow, grow too fast and you don't get them in in time. Just buy transplants. It's cheaper in the long run. Fine, it's not, but do it anyway. Forget the seeds. Put them down. DOWN. I don't care if Menard's already had them out and they're on sale and they're organic and pretty and promise a hearty yield.

2) Four tomato plants is too many. Way too many. Unless you've purchased canning equipment by now, March of 2010 (which I doubt), you don't need dozens and dozens of tomatoes sitting on your counter. Ya just don't. TWO plants is the maximum you should plant. Maximum. I mean it. If they both die, it's just not meant to be.

3) Don't plant cucumbers. You and Greg like about 2 meals of cucumbers and then you're over them. And again, unless you've gotten a canner and the necessary accoutrements purchased, you're not making pickles any time soon. Get a few from the farmers' market in July and move on.

4) Don't plant onions. They don't grow well in this soil, you've tried several times.

5) Plant more green beans. Like two or three rows. They were nice last summer to get enough for a meal every week or so, but those are something we SHOULD grow lots of and freeze, because we actually, you know, EAT green beans all year 'round. They're not sexy, but now you know why Mom had rows and rows of them.

6) One squash hill. ONE. O-N-E. And it'll still be too much, unless it ends up like the weirdo moldy one. Then you're just screwed. But again - that's what farmers' markets are for.

7) Don't ever use black landscaping tarp in the garden again. The grass mulch you used last year worked just as well, didn't blow and whip all over (like the tarp did when the thieving little squirrels ripped it out of the ground), and is FREE.

8) The expensive, stinky rabbit repellent works best, so if you were smart enough to bring it in the house out of the garden shed (so that it hasn't frozen and been rendered useless over the winter), get ready to use it. Use it early, use it often. Just keep the dogs away from it, they love the stuff for some ungodly reason. It's made of rotten eggs and assholes, or some shit like that. Which might explain why the Great Poopeaters enjoy it.

9) Last year: tomatoes on the west end, vines on the east. This year: swap them.

10) Greg just reminded me of this one: NO RADISHES. I think Greg ate one. The rest ended up in the trash. I know they're a quick yield and that feels good, but seriously - skip 'em. Keep your eye on the prize.

11) The whole point of a garden is to save money on food. So in summary: don't buy more than you need, don't buy more than you'll use, don't plant stuff you don't love to eat and preserve; in short, keep it simple.

Happy Gardening, to me and everyone else. It's almost spring!

Girl Scout Cookies

2010-02-23T15:39:00.001-06:00

They're here.

That is all. Let munching commence. And delivery, of course. Delivery of yours, munching of ours. Not necessarily in that order.

Things I Can't Quite Get My Head Around

2010-02-14T22:43:00.002-06:00

1) Fancy Feast Appetizers. For CATS. Appetizers...for cats, people.

2) The "Space Station". What the frack are they DOING up there??

3) Why Facebook keeps jacking with their layout. It's like they LIVE to irritate the shit out of me every six weeks.

4) That it's been almost 20 years since I met my husband. TWENTY. YEARS. I wasn't even twenty years OLD when I met him.

5) How I spent 30 years of my life with two ovaries and never got pregnant, but once I was down to one ovary, I tried twice to get pregnant. Twice. As in, two months, two kids. (Not complaining here - marveling at my luck...or vigilant birth control...not sure which it is.)

6) Alzheimer's. Scariest, most confusing, upsetting disease E.V.E.R. Is Granny 'in there' someplace? Does she know and see what has happened to her in the last five years? Did she know she was slipping away as she was slipping away?

7) The Olympics. Again...what are they DOING? What do they solve? What is the POINT? And other than temporary economy in one locale and potential endorsement careers for a few athletes, what do they create? How they do they enhance the world? Fine, it's "just entertainment", but still. And how many kids could be fed with just what they spend in marketing and advertising for an event that everyone already knows about?

8) Nachos at the movies. I'm pretty sure it should be illegal to charge $6.25 for corn chips and cheese. I mean, it's good cheese and all, but damn.

9) American cities existing in 2010 with no curbside recycling program in place. Mind-boggling. Catch the frak up, people.

And the tenth, and most important thing I cannot often wrap my head around...

10) How much I adore my sweet little family, how strong the bond between the four of us is, and how I got so lucky to be blessed with the three of them in my life.

VD Update

2010-02-14T12:51:00.002-06:00

Happy VD! Ha ha, as though VD would make anyone happy. Such a fun pun for the holiday of love.

I haven't written for shit lately. I know. Not sure why.

I know one thing - I got rid of that stupid Cachtcha (sp?) thing, and almost immediately starting getting big stupid spam comments left on some old posts. That took care of that shit, I'm not dealing with that. Sorry to those who hate the stupid letters (which I hate too, I know your pain).

Oh, and my dog has Dogzheimer's. Just an FYI. He often freezes where he is and refuses to move for long periods of time, seemingly forgetting how to walk. His nails are freshly cut, so it's not that whole "hates to walk on hard floors with long nails" thing. It was just through the hallway at first, he'd stay in the bedrooms and stand at the doorways whimpering. But now this morning he sat on my tiny kitchen rug and refused to move off of it despite bribes for the longest time. Finally a chicken-chip temptation won him over. Poor ole boy.

Celebrating VD with the fam, heart-shaped pancakes and sausages, off to do a little shopping in this ROTTEN weather, and then home for some snuggling with the hubby later, with any luck.

Hope your loved onesa are extra sweet to you today.

Belated Updated

2010-02-05T14:38:00.002-06:00

It's been too long since I've posted, yes?

Sorry about that.

Uh, update here...snow. More fracking snow. This morning I spent an hour stranded on a residential street after I dropped Samantha off. Greg came and dug me out, bless his heart, and we promptly stopped and picked our girl back UP again, and brought her home, lest we be forced to suffer the same nightmare at 4:00 and force me to strangle someone in the street. It's a snow day here, no matter WHAT our school district thinks. I won't second-guess my instincts about THAT again.

In a related matter, we may be trading in the van for an SUV soon.

What else? Uh, back on the beach, doing fine, down about 12 since January. Nice. Only 1409 more to go. Ha ha. OK, not quite that much.

It's still snowing, did I mention that? Yeah, yeah, I suppose I did. Freakin' groundhog.

Been reading again lately, mostly King, but I picked up some books at the Dollar Tree and at Garden Ridge that look promising. Details to come if they're worth sharing. Or not. I'm pretty fickle about my blogs that are promised to come.

That is all. All is white and cold and fine as a fiddle. Aren't you glad I posted? Yeah, me too.

9:11 - A Time To Remember

2010-01-20T21:11:00.001-06:00

It sounds weird. I get that. I'm not pretending that everyone will believe me or understand or even care. But it's been going on now for over a year, and it is what it is.

The Friday night that we arrived in Iowa for Aimee's funeral, we went to Nik and Aimee's home after the wake. Wanting to change clothes, and in part wanting to, in some morbid way, to see where she had died in their bed, we asked where we could change. Nik led us down the hall, and into their room.

The room where she died. The bed where she lay when she breathed her last breath. We talked briefly about where she had been, about how she slumped over the edge of the bed, and about where the paramedics had been when they came in and took her away, just before she was pronounced dead at the hospital.

Nik left us to change and as we did, I knelt down by the bed, and laid my head where she had laid. Where she was last alive. Where she was last "Aimee". I could feel her all around me, and I struggled to breathe as the grief overtook me again, as it had so many times already that day. And yet strangely I was comforted by being there in her room, in her home, on her bed - where she had spent so many days gabbing with me on the phone; where she laid and sat while we talked about her future and talked about her baby, her career, and all that was to come for her in her life.

And as all of those thoughts, and memories, and heart-pains washed over me, I looked at the clock.

It said 9:11.

That's not a big deal. Or rather it wasn't a big deal at the time - "911" kind of sticks in everyone's head after the Twin Towers disaster, and I do have that weird number thing...the thing where I remember weird numbers for no apparent reason. That's not new.

But the next morning, as I readied myself for her funeral, and glanced at my clock on my phone, there it was.

9:11.

The next day, back at home, I saw it both times. Not 9:12, not 9:10, not 9:13.

9:11.

And I have seen it nearly every day since.

It's not as though I sit around waiting for the clock to turn over to 11 after the 9th hour. It's not even as though I sit and think of Aimee all day long (although there are days I do just that, even now). I'm not trying to see 9:11, or glancing repeatedly until I see it - I just look at the clock like anyone looks at their clocks, and more often than not, when it's that time of day, whether I'm thinking of it or not when I glance, 9:11 is when I look.

Nearly every day, and often twice a day, that time of day is when I glance at the clock. And I think of her. And I feel her close to me, like I did that night, and I feel her comforting me, and sending her love.

Often when I look at my clock and see those digits, something is going on in my life (hell, when ISN'T something going on in my life?). It's often something that I feel she is missing out on, or something I would have wanted to tell her about, or to share with her, or to ask for her perspective on. And when I see them during those times, those numbers remind me that she's not missing it, whatever it is - she's watching and loving and knowing from where she is.

I saw it last week as Jackson and I headed to his first day of preschool. She was so excited when Sam was starting in 2008 - she died the day before Sam's first day at the same preschool Jackson attended last week. In seeing it that day, I knew she was watching over him, as she watched over Samantha. I often see it at night, often when I've had a bad day, and I know she wishes she could be there, on the phone line, to listen to me bitch and moan...and I know if I want to, I can still bitch and moan to her, and though she can't answer with words, I believe that she hears me. And honestly, I know, usually, what she would have said, and those numbers remind me of that.

I could list so many instances of seeing that time on my clock, and being stopped cold and sent to a moment of remembrance, of missing her, and of knowing that I'll never stop missing her. It used to unnerve me a little bit, but now that it's been going on for well over a year, it's a comfort. I even smile now when I see it, and I often find myself saying "hi" to her; I stop, and remember her, and I know she's with me. Those moments give me clarity in my day, in whatever is going on at that time, and I can feel her hand in that. She has always done what she could to support me, to love me, and to be there for me, no matter what. Some things never change.

I love you, and I miss you, Aimee. More profoundly all the time, I miss you. Keep drawing me to that time of day, and keep giving me the reminder that while you're gone from our world, you'll always be here.

The Kids Are On A Roll Today

2010-01-12T12:16:00.004-06:00

{Lunch time, our house.}

Me: Are you done eating?

Jackson: Yep, I am done eedin'!

Me: Ok! So, let's -- hey, take your foot off the table, please.

Jackson: No.

Me: {moving closer and making eye contact} Jackson, it's not OK to tell me no when I ask you to do something you need to do. Do you understand?

Jackson: OK, Mommy. But I weewee DOOOOO want my foot up on 'da teebowl!

Me: Tough crackers, get it off of there.

Jackson: OK, Mommy. {removes foot} Mommy?

Me: Yes?

Jackson: What does 'no' mean?

Me: Well, you know, it means, no... {Jackson looks on, waiting for a real answer}... uh, OK. If I have...uh, a cookie and you say "Can I have that cookie?", and I say "No", what does that mean: that you CAN have the cookie, or that you CAN'T have it?

Jackson: Dat I CAN'T have dat cookie.

Me: Right! So you do know what 'no' means, honey!

Jackson: {after careful thought and now sporting a crinkled, lowered brow} But Mommy, I weewee DO want dat cookie!

Looking To The Future

2010-01-12T09:13:00.004-06:00

On the way to school this morning, we drove through our downtown area, and Samantha was reading business signs and asking questions.

Samantha: What's that one say, Mommy?

Me: It says "The M------ Bar".

Samantha: Mommy, could you take me to the M-------- Bar someday?"

Me: No, honey, bars are not places for kids.

Samantha: NO, Mommy, I mean SOMEDAY can you take me there!

Me: Oh, well...yes, OK, when you turn 21, I'll take you there and buy you a drink, how's that sound?

Samantha: OK...Mommy?

Me: Yes?

Samantha: Do they have lemonade there?

Me: (smiling) Yes, baby, I'll bet they do.

Samantha: Good!

If You Work In A Drive-Thru...

2010-01-05T22:01:00.005-06:00

...then this one is for you. You who ride the sliding glass window, rain or shine. You who sling burgers and tacos and gyros out the window, and who fill drinks and shakes and take money and hand out napkins. I'm talking...to you.

I've done your job. Greg and I have both done your job. For a good stretch of time during college, we worked drive-thru under the Golden Arches. And I get it. It's no sexy job. It's not what you aspire to do forever, and God bless your aspirations. (If you've already been doing it forever, sorry about that.) There are parts that suck. You go home smelling like your shoe soles are being melted by fry grease. And they are, so that makes sense. You wear a jacket that's been hanging in the drive-thru since who-knows-when. You talk to the right even at home because that's where your headset mic rests on your cheek. You put up with that guy in the kitchen who keeps hitting on you, and let's face it, he's not your type. You have to hear it from your manager when you forget your name tag. You clean up spills when the cup hits the edge of the window. You run outside for orders that get 'pulled'. And you, most importantly, wait on customers. You take their money. You give them their food. You hand them their drinks. And you're probably not entirely thrilled while you're there doing it, but by god you WILL get that car by summer, or you'll pay your own tuition so you can tell your dad to get bent, or you'll get enough money saved to backpack through Europe. Like I said, I get it. I really, really do.

And so you are there...in the drive-thru booth. Doing what drive-thru jockeys do. You run the drive-thru. I can appreciate and I understand the job you do. Really.

Oh, hey, while I've got you here, I've been meaning to tell you...you know what you don't do? You probably don't even know that you don't do it. Frankly, your generation is so full of entitlement and lack of courtesy (with exceptions, I'm certain, so chill out if this isn't you) that I'm really not surprised. But you don't do it. You don't.

Know what it is? Can you guess? Can you?

No?

I'm not shocked, frankly. Here. Let me give you an example. You see if you can tell what's missing:

Me (at the drive-thru, receiving my food): Okay, is that everything?

You (in the drive-thru window): Yep, that's it.

Me: Okay, then...thank you!

You: Yep! {Window shuts.}

Op! There it was. Did you catch it? Did you catch what you missed? NO? You can't surmise what I wanted you to do, what I'd guess your boss wanted you to do, that you didn't do? Let me clear it up for you. Listen closely. I know The Hills is probably on soon, or something, but bear with me.

I WANT YOU...TO SAY..."THANK YOU". And I want you to smile and mean it while you say it.

That's it. So simple. So easy. But you don't. And I want you to start.

THANK ME for spending money where you work. Why? Well, here's why: if I don't come, if collectively all the people you fail to thank don't come, you don't work. No workey=no money. No trip to Europe, no car, no off-flipping of Dad as you move out and pay your own way.

THANK ME for being polite and patient and for not being one of the assholes I know you encounter during your work day. I know those guys, I waited on them, and guess what - I thanked them too. Why? Once again, here's why: because it was my job. Just like it's yours. Which brings us to...

THANK ME because it's your JOB to thank me. Is it really? you ask. It really is. Check with your supervisor. There is NO company whose training does NOT include specific directions to thank the customer for their business, and for choosing you over your countless competitors. I might bet money on it. "Be sure to thank the customer!" It's in your training manual - check it out.

SERIOUSLY. Practice it. "THANK YOU." Go ahead, I'll wait.

Did you do it? See? Not so hard, is it? Try it in the mirror at home if you like. Still didn't do it? Go on, give it a whirl. I promise, your head won't fall off and your tongue won't snap off its roller. It's not hard - my generation and every generation before us were required to learn to say it before kindergarten ever rolled around, and we say it ANY time someone does something even marginally 'thankable'. (And I know it's not ALWAYS the young folks - some of you older folks who are stopping with the thank-you-ing just because your younger not-yet-drive-thru-lifers don't do it should be ashamed of yourselves; you know better. Set an example for cripes' sake.)

It's not just you burger folks, or you taco folks, or you sandwich folks. I've been not-thanked at every drive-thru type that I've visited in the last few months. I've been keeping track. Your track record is NOT GREAT, for any of you.

It's so simple, really. Just say it. Please? Please say "thank you" when I frequent your place of business; when I put money in the till from whence cometh your salary, if you catch my drift. Or I'll start complaining. Every time. And let's face it, your managers don't have time for it, and neither do I.

So just say "thank you".

Thank you. Have a nice day! (That's nice to hear once in a while, too. I'm just sayin'.)

Farewell 2009/Hello 2010

2010-01-05T21:56:00.002-06:00

That's really all there is to it, isn't there? Out with the old, in with the new. A year comes, then it goes, in what seems a blink. The lucky ones are still here at the end, and some leave along the course of its passing. This year was filled with ups and downs, and good and bad, and while I wouldn't say it's the best year ever, it certainly wasn't the worst. We rang in the new year about 9:30 our time, with kids and sparkling grape juice and a countdown on the microwave. Good times, good family...good life.

We can't ask for more than that, can we?*

Happy New Year, my sweet and faithful readers - 2010 has some amazing things in store, I am sure of that. Hope you'll stick around and see what it brings for me, and for all of us.

*Of course I can. I can ALWAYS ask for more. Wait til you read my next post. You'll get a prime example. Stay tuned.

White Christmas, Indeed

2009-12-25T19:51:00.004-06:00

If you're close to where we are, I hope you are snuggled in at home, safe and sound. This Christmas brought us the biggest storm in recent history, and we were forced to stay home and find new ways to celebrate the holiday. We wish you a Merry Christmas, and Happy (and less snowy) New Year!

It's a Good Thing I Didn't Order Life-Saving Medicine...

2009-12-11T14:14:00.003-06:00

...through the MAIL this week.

Monday.

That's the last day I got any mail whatsoever.

Wednesday.

That's the day it stopped snowing.

Friday.

That's today - the FOURTH day with NO mail in my mailbox.

And YES, I always get mail every day, with maybe one day out of 60 where we just genuinely have no mail. So it's not just a personal dry spell in mail. It's just a dry spell of mail carriers on my block, apparently.

Seems that whole "...Neither rain nor hail nor sleet nor snow ..." thing went out the window at some point, huh.

But hey, did you hear they are raising some of the postage rates again in January? So at least they're busy working on THAT. Not delivering MAIL, or anything, but hey, I saw their website. They are ON TOP of their next postage increase. Whew. Good to know.

Oh, and they were ALSO on top of telling the news, basically, that it's too yucky for their trucks and vans, and if you don't get your mail, that's just too darn bad, pretty much.

USPS: FAIL.

************************************

PS - While my street has been a mess, I'll confess, (inserted rhyme for you, no less...) the sidewalks have been clear since the day it stopped snowing. Our carriers walk to deliver. And I know it's cold, but dude...you're a MAIL CARRIER.

Clothestastrophe, Segment 3: Just Because You're At A Graduation Doesn't Mean You Know Anything

2009-12-11T12:49:00.002-06:00

...about anything, actually. But in this case, we're talking about clothes. And that lack of knowledge on one woman's part brings you another fabulous, fabulous clothestastrophe.

You're gonna love this one. Trust me.

We were standing outside an auditorium here in the Metro, the kids and I, waiting for Greg who was parking the van. When there, before me, was this fine lady, who showed up for this particular high school graduation dressed in her very best...uh...dress? If it has chains and strings of rhinestones actually built INTO the garment, is it still really a dress? Hmm. Not sure.

Anyway, let's don't get distracted. Black. Rhinestones. Chains. Chainmail-ish in appearance. Seriously. And the shoe she chose to compliment this certainly-dressy-if-entirely-ridiculous outfit?

Thongs, as we called them in my day. Flip-flops. But not just any flip-flop. Clear plastic high-heeled flop flops. The tops of them, and this is where I failed you in picture taking, were adorned with giant, 40 or so "carat" sized plastic rhinestones, with smaller sparkly stones down the sides of the strap over the tops of her feet. A truly Bedazzled piece of footwear.

I really can't describe it with any measure of clarity so you can grasp the "eww" factor. I managed to capture the essence of the dress very well, but you only truly appreciate it if you take my word for it on the shoes - and my word is "hideous".

You're just going to love it. At least I think you are. I hope you will. Without further ado...

It's Not Really HELPFUL If It Doesn't HELP

2009-12-10T14:03:00.006-06:00

I generally have little need to be in public, and am happy at home. I don't generally feel stuck here, and can go days without needing to go out running around in the world full of weirdos out there (present readers excluded, of course...mostly....) Again, to be clear: I am happy at home.

When I choose to be at home.

I did not choose to be at home this week.

Monday.

The last time I left my property was Mon-day. It is now Thursday.

But it stopped snowing more than a day ago, you guffaw at me. What the heck are you still doing at home?

Oh, well, let me just clear that up for you.

I get that we're not in the zip code that makes our streets a high priority. Clearly. They finally showed up after dark to start their first passes on our street. They're busy, whatever, I get it. I was just glad to see them come and get us OUT. They were there to help, right? Right.

Uh, yeah, not so much "right".

The city's "plow job" on our street did nothing more than cement my doom, and further exacerbate the state of being "snowed in" that's going on here at our happy little house.

Geez, Cathy, you say, are you EVER happy? They showed up, didn't they? They made not one, but TWO passes, didn't they?

Why yes, yes they did. They plowed the street twice. 2/3 of the street got a good going over. While they were on our street, they plowed a lot of snow.

Guess where they plowed it TO?

You guessed. My driveway, and aaaaallllll the way down my side of the street.

First pass = up the middle. Great if you don't live on our street, and are just passing through. Happy for you.

Second pass = north side of the street, to the curb. Good for Mr. I-Have-A-Plow-I-Won't-Use who lives across the street and all his neighbors on either side. Nice for you folks, isn't it?

Third pass = Oh, yeah. Sorry, there was no third pass. That didn't do much for those of us who live on what is apparently the WRONG side of the street. We are just SOL, aren't we? (Mom always told me that meant "Stuck on a Limb" as a kid when she would use it...Mom fibbed.)

See, here's where we screwed ourselves. We tried to be nice. Being the helpful, thoughtful citizens we are, we moved the usually-parked-on-the-street-pick-up into the driveway on Tuesday night so when Mr. Plow came through, he wouldn't have to go around the truck - he'd have a clear shot at getting us de-snowed clear up to our curb. What did that gain us? Oh, well I'd love to tell you. Wen they finally showed up to plow last night, they plowed it all so nicely...NOT to the curb, but rather to the 6-foot span of where we COULD park the truck ON the curb in order to get it back OUT of our driveway...if we could GET anything smaller than Greg's giant work van out of our driveway...which we can't.

SO: driveway has snow at the end which will surely stop my van from leaving. Our truck, however, would keep me from even getting out of my garage anyway. And there's no place to park the truck (IF we could somehow float it out of the driveway and park it down the street), unless we go half way down the hill, practically out of sight of our house (which we don't feel so hot about doing in our little neck of heaven), because WE tried to help the SNOW PLOW do his job. He did NOT return the favor, no matter what he thinks he did.

Look, before you comment about how I don't what it's like to do that job, and that I need to be patient, let me just say this: I'm sure it's a thankless job. I'm sure you've been working long hours all week. I'm sure it's exhausting and frustrating.

You know what else is exhausting and frustrating? BEING STUCK IN A HOUSE FOR FOUR DAYS WITH TWO LITTLE KIDS WHO WANT TO PLAY OUTSIDE IN SUB-ZERO TEMPERATURES, BUT WILL SETTLE FOR DRIVING THEIR MOTHER BATTY.

I'm just sayin'.

So, if you're a person out there with a snowplow and nothing to do*, know this: I will write you a check. Come to my house, plow out my driveway and the curb in front of my house, for REAL, and I will PAY YOU. JUST GET ME the HELL out of here.

*Unless you're the guy across the street. You can bite me - you and your stupid truck WITH THE WORKING PLOW on the front of it has been taunting me from your driveway every time it's snowed since 2005. Got news for you, chief - it would not kill you to hop your lazy butt up in the truck and clear our damn street. You could have had the whole thing done 24 hours ago and just been a good neighbor for once - hell, we probably would have been glad to pay you, you'd have made a small fortune from all of us. Apparently somebody told you if you help someone your head will fall off. It won't, by the way. Just so you know. Get bent.

Clothestastrophe, Segment 2: Socks Are Never Sexy

2009-12-04T12:21:00.005-06:00

I mean, they're socks. Just not sexy, even under ideal circumstances. But hey, we wear them, you wear them, all God's children wear them. But they are just not all that sexy.

Then again, there's "not sexy", and then there's "oh-so-very-not-not-not sexy". I had the, uh, opportunity to witness the latter this past spring. Sitting in McDonald's (shocking), when I saw it there across from me. It was coupled with, believe it or not, the ever-popular tennis shoes and capris.

You heard me.

I know, right? Could you ask for a better clothestastrophe? I think not. I just happened to have my camera on me that day, if only a cell camera.

You are most welcome.

December?!?!

2009-12-02T08:57:00.002-06:00

Really?? It's DECEMBER?? Where in the crap did THIS year go? It seems like I was just contemplating my 2009 "write it to myself in January and have it publish on NYE 09" post, which I never did, by the way, so don't wait around for THAT end-of-month. Guess I'll have to start contemplating one for 2010.

WHICH I am not elated to have to write, by the way. "2010", that is. Why? Well, if you're writing "12/2/09" on your checks, paperwork, whatever, and the next year's short version starts with another "0", you've got that one number's time when writing to remember that it's a new year. With "10" coming up, no such luck. LOTS of "1"s squeezed in behind "0"s coming up, I'd bet.

So, let's seeeeeeee, what completely random factoids can I share with you on this fine cold morning...

* I am considering making the cookie bark again this year. It was pretty poplular last year, and they have the colored holiday Oreos again, so we may crack out the Wilton's bark and get to melting here soon.

* My tree's been up since the Sunday before Thanksgiving. Sue me.

* I am not on the "beach" right now, but am spending much time pondering how to drag myself back up out of the waters of junk food and lethargy.

* My body is fundamentally displeased with NOT being on the "beach". It is sharing that with me on a regular and painful basis. Let's just leave it at that.

* A while back, the kids ran across "Astro Boy: The Series", from the 80's, on Netflix Instant View, and it's been a fixation ever since. Had they their druthers, they'd sit and watch him all. day. long. They do NOT have their druthers, by the way, but they do get to watch a few times a week. They are now also dying to know when they'll get to see the movies.

* I have exactly 2 gifts purchased for Christmas. Two.

* The cold we have anxiously been hoping would not come...is coming.

* I consider and ruminate on new blog topics regularly, and seldom get them down on paper before they disappear.

* I hope you'll check back on the off-chance that I happen to get one of them down on paper soon.

Clothestastrophe, Segment 1: Goin' Ta' Meetin' Clothes

2009-11-12T14:12:00.006-06:00

Look, I'm no pinnacle of fashion, never claimed to be. I don't set trends for what's a hot look, and I'm OK with that. And I'm certainly no label snob. I don't give a rip if you wear Levis or Luckys. I have no primary judgements in place about people who wear clothes from Walmart versus clothes from Express or American Eagle.

But I'm pretty sure I look like the Paris Hilton of the midwest compared to the spectacle I saw this week.

I attended a funeral, for a a friend's grandmother. We went "back home" for said funeral. Back home is a small town, and attending was lots of family, lots of close neighbors and friends; a big ole' bunch of down-home, good-hearted, hard-working folks. I say that with all seriousness and no sarcasm, and a respect for good people who live in good communities, much like the one I came from myself.

Most of them dressed fairly "normally" for the area - the men in dark suits, the women in dark dresses or printed blouses with dress slacks. No real trend-setting going on, but then again, that's not the focus for folks like that, and that's really, really OK. With me, and with them.

But there was this one guy. We'll call him "JimBob". That's not his real name. Not even close. In fact, "JimBob" would have BEEN a more fitting name than what his name really is. So to protect the man, and because it's more appropriate in my mind, he's JimBob.

JimBob knew it was important to dress his best for this fine woman's funeral. Yet somehow, he missed the boat on the way to finding a realization for the definition for "best".

Clearly he owns a suit. He was wearing the jacket, after all - a dark navy blue, very fancy suit jacket, with gold buttons down the front. Unfortunately, the pants either met an early demise, or he just didn't want to be tooooooo dressy...because he paired the jacket with clean, likely pressed, Wranglers. Possibly Dickies. But jeans, all the same. His feet donned black "shit kickers" as I'm guessing he calls them, but they were terribly clean. Surely his dress shit-kickers.

Under the suit jacket was a yellow oxford shirt. Top button, maybe the next down as well, unbuttoned. No tie. No need to dress it up toooo much, again.

The frosting on this clothing nightmare cake was his hat. A ten-gallon, you ask? A dressy cowboy hat, suitable at least in part for a funeral for such a dignified woman as this?

Noooo.

His green, somewhat worn, Pioneer seed corn ball cap (complete with a yellow "support our troops" ribbon pinned on the side) was apparently the perfect crowning piece for this ensemble.

So get a picture of that.

Black cowboy boots.
Blue jeans.
Yellow button-up shirt. Not buttoned.
No tie.
Navy blue suit jacket with gold buttons.
Green seed corn baseball cap.

I couldn't make this stuff up, folks. I wish so much that I'd have taken a picture so I could share with you the look in a more tangible way. I saw his brother there...he was in a suit. Apparently JimBob missed the family meeting about funeral garb. Poor JimBob.

So, am I normally this catty? No. You know that. (Shut up, Deb.) Was this look just too awesome and uh, original to let pass by without sharing it with you? Yes. Yes, it was.

I'm sure he's a good guy. A good ol' boy, who minds his folks to this day, works the land, takes care of what's his, and works his tail off year 'round. I would be a little sad if he somehow found this and put together that I was talking about him, because I'm sure he's clueless that he looked so painfully out of place in even a rather average, moderately fashioned group of people. That's why I would never tell him this even if I knew him. But maybe there's someone like him out there, who may read this.

So the moral of the story is this: It pays to go to town once in a while, folks. Get on out there. See what folks is wearin' these a'days. Nobody's askin' for y'all to spend a fortune on super-fancy big city slicker clothes, but y'all could consider wearin' a WHOLE suit when we're saying our goodbyes to a lady who was kind of an icon in our lil' old community. And t'weren't nobody never died from puttin' on a tie.

I thank ya kindly. Y'all have a good'n, alright?

Sunday Blog

2009-11-08T14:59:00.002-06:00

Just your basic generic catch-up blog around here again.

Driving about 2.5 hrs tomorrow to sing for at a dear, dear friend's grandmother's funeral - hugs to you, E, and I'll see you soon. Love you.

Raked leaves today. Kids had fun, grown-ups got mostly tired. Pics of kids in leaves to follow.

Eating crap. Hope to change that again soon.

Still need to give up soda. Stay tuned.

Still pondering changes in my life and trying to decide which ones are most important to tackle first.

Still behind on laundry.

Kids are fine, Greg and I are fine, dogs are fine.

Thank you for reading the most vanilla, no, unflavored blog post in the history of cyberspace. Please check back soon for something with any flavor whatsoever.

As We GO Into Halloweek

2009-10-26T22:32:00.003-05:00

Some updates from FMFO.

Item 1: Greg bought a used laptop off of CL. It has no battery so it has to be plugged in to use it. Which makes it more of a portable PC than a laptop. It also has about 2 megabytes of memory and almost that much RAM. That is only a slight minimization of the truth. And top that with the fact that when he updated the OS tonight he found out that the prick who sold it to him put on a pirated copy of said OS, and I'd say Greg got hosed on CL. We may issue a commemorative coin, it's our first truly rotten experience on CL that I can remember. Asshat. (The CL guy, not Greg.)

Item 2: Greg is not allowed to buy any more electronic crap for the rest of the year. It's not his first purchase of unneeded items this month, but I have shared with him that it should probably be his last. So sayeth she who pays the bills.

Item 3: Samantha is joining Girl Scouts, they start out as "Daisies". We attended the Halloween party tonight, big fun. She was a hit in her Cinderella costume, people loved her hair and some even thought it was a wig! So proud of my pretty girl, and that she is so well-adjusted in groups and feels confident and well-liked going into new situations. She'll do well in Scouts, and I'm glad she chose something that enriches her as a young lady who can go on to do anything.

Item 4: Girl Scouts eat too much crap at Halloween parties.

Item 5: This year is probably my favorite Halloween costumes for the kids in all their years. They are fracking adorable, and I love that they wanted to be Cinderella and the Prince, and that he loves to be "the prince of missy".

Item 6: Maybe it's just the wine talking, but Arbor Mist "Island Fruits Pinot Grigio" is, quite possibly, the best I've ever had. No joke. I'm a cheap wine kinda girl - I like my wine fruity, and with no hint of dryness, with no year on the bottle, and at $3.99 a bottle.

Item 7: There's a reason I never drink wine during the week. The dishes don't get done, and neither does the laundry, and I can't seem to find the ambition to care about what she's wearing to school tomorrow. There are clean clothes up there, that's what's important, right?

Item 8: It may not, in fact, be the wine, since this is the first night I can EVER remember drinking on a weeknight, and there are still nights when none of that other shit gets done anyway. Hmm. But for now, I'm blaming it on the wine.

Item 9: Halloween isn't even here yet, and we already have more "treats" than any family needs. Insanity.

Item 10: I have to sleep now. I should watch Biggest Loser from last week, still haven't watched it (and it wasn't on instant play on NBC when I tried), and the new one is on tonight. But I won't, most likely. Time to sleeeeeeep.

Good night all.

UPDATE from Item 7: The OTHER reason I do not drink during the week (or on the weekends, either, generally) is because I tend to ignore my alarms the next morning and make the whole household get up late. Whoops.

Old Words That Still Mean So Much

2009-10-20T13:49:00.003-05:00

When I attended Emporia State University in 1992, I found this. It moved me profoundly, and sent me into a period of self-examination that was unparalleled to that point in my life.

As I approach another point in my life where I need to examine myself in a real, true, and maybe painful way, I have had these words ringing in my head. I am sharing them with you because they, as my friend Cory used to say "...changed my life". Hope they are meaningful for you. I have more, the next one is one I wrote. That's to come. Don't miss it.

Life moves on, whether we act as cowards or heroes.
Life has no other discipline to impose, if we would but realize it,
than to accept life unquestioningly.
Everything we shut our eyes to,
everything we run away from,
everything we deny, denigrate or despise,
serves to defeat us in the end.
What seems nasty, painful, evil,
can become a source of beauty, joy, and strength
if faced with an open mind.
Every moment is a golden one
for him who has the vision to recognize it as such.”

- Henry Miller

Overhaul

2009-10-18T12:42:00.002-05:00

That's what I need. Physically, spiritually, mentally, organizationally (is that a word?), all of it. I'm due for a change, and I need to start outlining exactly what I want. I know how to do that, I think. It's just a matter of doing it.

The road is long, and the journey arduous, I already know that. I don't anticipate overnight change, and I don't expect perfection in the steps I want to take. What I do expect is what I expect from my kids when they undertake something - I expect 100% effort.

Lifelong change will take a lifetime. I get that. But I have to start somewhere and someplace. And it's time. Who I am, where I have been, and what I have done do NOT have to define the rest of my life. Change is choice. It's a hard truth to learn and live, but it's true.

Change really is rooted 100% in choice.

Stay tuned for the tearing down and rebuilding of, well...me.

Well, Adli Darned

2009-10-08T07:40:00.002-05:00

I really do know that Aldi is the best. grocery. store. E.V.E.R. Truly. No joke. Aldi rocks my socks. And in this sucktastic craphole economic climate (yes, that's the official term, thankyouverymuch), anywhere I can save a buck is always on my list of stops when I shop for the fam.

This week, Aldi outdid themselves. Or maybe I outdid myself, I'm not sure. Either way, the fact of the matter is this:

I bought 85% of my family's groceries for the week yesterday...for just over THIRTY-NINE BUCKS.

True story.

What did I get for under forty bucks? Well, lemme just tell you.

2 boxes fruit and grain bars - 1.89 each
2 boxes cereal - 1.49 and 1.89 each
2 boxes fiber bars - 1.99 each
1 bottle ketchup - 1.19
1 lg. can tomato juice - 1.19
2 bags egg noodles - .99 each
2 boxes whole wheat pasta - 1.09 each
2 large bags whole corn tortilla chips - .99 each
3lb bananas - .99 total (33 cents/lb)
1 32 oz cottage cheese - 1.89
1 32 oz plain ff yogurt - 1.59
1 box frozen waffles - 1.19
1 bag extra fine whole green beans - 1.49
1 bag California medley - .95
1 frozen orange juice concentrate - .99
1 20 oz tomatoes (4) - .79 TOTAL
1 5-lb bag yellow onion - .99
1 protein bar (snack for me) - .95
2 gallons milk - 1.69 each
1 12 pack diet soda - 2.39
2 heads lettuce - 1.09 each

I'm tempted to, in a few weeks, take this list and go buy this stuff at Walmart, or the grocery store. Not THAT tempted since I KNOW it would be more than $39 bucks, but I am all about showing the world how sweet Aldi is.

Haven't been to Aldi? Really? Hmmm. Clearly, you're either uninformed and don't know about Aldi, or you just don't like your money. Because there is no place in town that can beat their prices that I've found. They are the rockstars of saving money.

I should do Aldi commercials, I really should.

Questions? Thoughts? For more information about Aldi, visit them:

http://aldi.us/index_ENU_HTML.htm

http://aldi.us/us/html/company/3503_ENU_HTML.htm?WT.z_src=main

No Disco, Just Panic

2009-10-06T11:12:00.002-05:00

A few weekends ago, we had, well, a pretty typical weekend going on around here. Like to hear about it? Hear it goes.

By Sunday afternoon, there are still things to do around here, as usual, and we are busy doing them. Installing a new front door, we've about finished that (and to be clear, when I say "we", you know that means "Greg did most of it while I stood around watching"), and I am thinking about getting things ready for the week to come. No big thing.

In the morning my left foot feels rather sore, almost as if I had sprained it, which I find strange, but not entirely debilitating. As the afternoon goes on, at one point I notice that now my shoulder hurts the same way my foot did.

Odd.

A short while later, I get a little nervous, as the same kind of weird pain is now attacking my hip. On the same side as my foot and shoulder. All down my left side - acute, persistent pain.

I get more than a little nervous, frankly.

In retrospect, I remember having a pretty specific thought pattern, and the farther we get from that day, the more clearly I can remember it, ironically. I remember thinking Hmm. Pain all down my left side. Shit. What if I'm having a stroke or some shit?

Anyway, as I'm processing this thought, my head starts buzzing.

My ears start ringing.

My chest gets heavy, and I feel like I can't get a good breath, no matter how deeply I breathe in.

I am nauseous.

And dizzy. I can't stand up without feeling like I'm going to fall over.

I'm sure I'm going to faint.

Oh - and that I'm going to die.

Without exaggerating, at this point I am having an internal monologue in which I am telling myself, Oh my god - I am dying. I'm dying right here in front of my kids and my husband, right here on my fucking kitchen floor. This is it. I'm dying.

While this thought is racing through my head, there is another running along beside of it, having a conversation with it, and his name was Logic. The whole exchange takes just seconds, but feels like eternity:

Logic: Cathy, don't be stupid, you're not dying.
Cathy: Fuck too, I am DYING. Just like Aimee. OhmygodOhmygodOhmygod.

At this point, in the real world, I am crying now, panicking like never before, and asking Greg to get help. He is quite certain I have lost it, or (and he's trying to ignore this possibility) that I really am, as I assert, dying.

Logic: Cathy, you are not dying, people don't just die on their kitchen floor at 36.
Cathy: Really? Because they sure as fuck die at 30 in their own bed for no reason. I'm dying and if you are smart, you'll get our ass to a doctor, post-fucking haste.
Logic: Cathy, you are not dying. Wait...shortness of breath, panicking, feeling ill - you must be having a panic attack.
Cathy: Uh, hello? I don't have panic attacks.
Logic: Uh hello yourself - remember the day they put your claustrophobic self in an MRI tube? You're saying THAT was not a panic attack?
Cathy: Ok, fine sure I did have that one -but I know why that happened, that was because of the claustrophobia. Not because I just have panic attacks willy-nilly. Because I don't. Besides, there was no trigger here today even if I DID have panic attacks - which I don't. Nothing panic-attack-worthy. Jesus Christ, I really AM dying.

This back-and-forth business continues in my head all the way to the Urgent Care Center. I get in, and get checked out.

Blood pressure - normal.
Pulse - normal.
Temperature - normal.
OxSats - normal.
Pupil dilation - normal.
Respiration and heartbeat - normal.

"Everything looks really great, Mrs. C - why are you here? What is really going on?" the doctor questions. I assure him that nothing is really going on, except for the fact that I was sure ten minutes ago that I was DYING. D-Y-I-N-G. No abusive husband, no on-the-verge-of-foreclosure-money-stress, no deaths as of late, nothing. Just dying, thankyouverymuch.

He's nodding at me. Nodding, and listening. Sort of.

Look, I'm pretty perceptive, folks. I can tell when a guy is giving me the eye like he thinks I'm a whack job. I've gotten it before. And that's just the eye that Doogie Howser here is giving me. Logic taps me on the shoulder, smiles knowingly, and nudges me to speak. Begrudgingly, I do.

"I had a panic attack, didn't I?"

"Um, yes," he says. "I am almost positive that's what happened. There is just nothing wrong with your body right now, all of your numbers are perfect. It's like you walked out of a medical textbook on panic attacks and walked into my office."

So despite having no single specific trigger, and no history of spontaneous panic attacks, it seems that's what happened to me. Doogie sent me home with instructions to take it easy, see a doctor and have tests done to be sure there was nothing else going on, and to go to the Emergency Room if it happened again. I spent the rest of that day and the next feeling mostly like I'd been hit by a truck, and unsure of how this could be happening to me.

I saw my (new) general physician-slash-internist last week, and she, after running some tests and blood work, is convinced that Doogie was right. She said that stress is often cumulative, especially in our subconscious minds, and we can't always control how it deals with that stress. The last year has been stressful, as they all are, but Aimee's death (and the anniversary thereof) always weigh heavily on my mind, and the strange left-side pain apparently pushed my subconscious right over the edge.

She also said that, often, having medication on-hand that has fast effects on panic attacks, can keep them from reoccurring, without ever having to take a pill. (That subconscious mind is a kooky one, and clearly one that is easily aggravated, and easily placated.)

So that's what's I have now - medication I can take, should I ever start to feel that way again, that can help me get past it more quickly. I hope to never need it.

If you've never had a panic attack, believe me when I say it's nothing like you think it is. It's not just a feeling that you can dismiss. I was rather dismissive of panic attacks in general before September 20th. I was sure one who had them should just be able to suck it up and get over it, right? It's not real, right?

I have never been more wrong.

Take the feeling you have at the instant that someone startles you - I mean really makes you jump out of your skin. That very acute, gasp-inspiring moment where you jump out of your seat and shriek "UUUUUUUGGGGHHHHHH!!!"". Got that in your head? Can you feel that instant? In a panic attack, you have that feeling - over and over and over. You need to get somewhere, but don't know where. You feel sick but can't find a way to feel better. You are scared despite having nothing tangible in front of you to be scared of. And to top it off, you feel like you are going to die.

In short, it sucks. It sucks a lot. And at the risk of being melodramatic, I encourage you to, if you know someone who suffers from panic attacks, give them a hug and thank your lucky stars that you don't know what it's like.

Farmtown: Memoir of A Junkie

2009-10-03T08:00:00.000-05:00

I ignored them forever, all of those applications that I already know are time sucks on Facebook. But one day last week, for some unknown reason, I clicked. Not even sure why.

Let me just say this: if you do not have spare time in your day (or time you can allocate for something other than what it's intended), do not EVER...EVER...EVER click on "Farmtown" on Facebook. Just don't do it.

Certainly don't do it if you have things, like, say dishes to do. Or laundry. Or if you'd like to see daylight much. You know, like that.

Delightfully addictive, and fun in a simplistic and gratifying way, I was not surprised to whiz through the first 25 levels in 6 days. Some other players have told me that is, uh, fast for getting that far. I envisioned them turning to someone IRL and saying "This bitch cleared 25 levels in SIX DAYS!?!? Freakin' junkie."

They'd be juuuuuust about right. If I know me...and I do...I'll most likely level out in the next week or so. And it's a good thing because I have stuff to do around here that does not involve virtually harvesting corn or pineapples or blueberries, or plowing, or moving apple trees around until they resemble the perfect orchard, or lining my long dirt driveway with marigolds and crown-of-thorns, and carefully placing white fence around my yard. (But what can I say, my farm is sweeeeet. No joke. Strangers tell me it rocks. Go check it out for yourself. No, wait. DON'T. See paragraph 2.) Anyway, when I've gone as high as I can go, I'm sure the appeal will wear off.

Heck, I'll probably delete the application once I'm done, right? Surely that's what'll happen.

Hmm. Wonder if FarmVILLE is anything like Farmtown?

Conversation

2009-10-01T11:26:00.004-05:00

Jackson and I had just left the store, and walked to the van in the rain. The puddles made sure my sandals were a wet, sloppy mess in the short walk we took. We got in the van.

Me: Whoa! My shoes are WET! I'm going to take them off!

Jackson: Why you take your shoes (heard: suess) off, Mommy?

M: Because my feet are wet and they'll slide around in my shoes while I drive if I don't.

J: Oh. What shoes are, Mommy?

M: Jackson, you know what shoes are, they're what we wear on our feet to keep them safe.

J: Oh. What safe mean, Mommy?

M: Safe means that nothing bad can happen. If you wear your shoes, it keeps your feet safe so nothing bad happens to them.

J: {beat} ...

I have all dese colors in my hands. I color wif dem. I color lots of colors wif dem. And I color wif my FEET! Silly Jackson.

*****************************************

I couldn't make this stuff up, folks.

Tuesday Check-In

2009-09-15T09:33:00.002-05:00

Hey all, sorry I'm scarce again. Busy time of year. They all seem to be, don't they.

Kindergarten is progressing well, she loves it, and I'm joining the PTO this week. Hilarious, I know. Shut up.

We are battling a crappy cold this week around here, the lot of us. Not great.

Rest well, Patrick Swayze. You will be missed.

My mom is not feeling so hot, nasty bronchitis. Shoot a quick prayer up for her if you could.

My dad had rhinoplasty last week. He is also not feeling so hot, so shoot one up for him while you're at it.

I need to clean my house. I need to plan my meals. I need to get busy. But I wanted to say "hey". Hey!

Just a Random Fact For You...

2009-09-03T23:26:00.004-05:00

Fact: A good chat with an old friend can make you smile (and even laugh) so hard that your face hurts.

Thanks, Miss Z. Nice to reconnect and spend some time together (even in cyberspace). Let's do it face-to-face very soon. And get to transferring and uploading those videos, wouldja? I'm going to work on my tour pics soon, too.

525,600 Minutes

2009-09-02T10:05:00.005-05:00

No deep, strong, flowing words today. She's still gone. I still miss her. It still sucks.

What else is there to say?

http://aimee-bun ger.memory-of.com/About.aspx

Futuristic Writings

2009-08-31T23:17:00.003-05:00

I wrote it tonight, but it won't publish until March. I set it, and I'm sure I'll forget it. You can't read it until then, and I won't read it again until then. What's it about? You'll have to stick around until at least March to find out.

Ooo, suspenseful, yes? I know. Try to contain yourself.

Your Update For Wednesday

2009-08-26T09:21:00.006-05:00

Morning, lovelies. How about a quick update on completely random, and mostly pointless topics? Yes? Alrighty then.

~ It's raining like a biotch around here today. No complaints, I was just thinking I was going to need to water my garden (which I've only had to do twice since June, hallelujahpraisethelord), and Mother Nature provided again, bless her heart.

~ Jackson is obsessed with Sun Chips (Harvest Cheddar, obviously). He would literally sit and eat them all. day. long. I don't let him, obviously. If I did that, how would I eat Sun Chips all day long every time he's not looking? Right.

~ I found my avocado cream soup recipe after not having it for a few years. I'm so excited about it I almost cried when I found it. Seriously.

~ We have this Kindergarten thing down. She gets dropped off at precisely 8:43 each morning, rain or shine, and goes bouncing off into her school and escorts herself to class. Some days we're too early, though, and have to wait a few minutes to get in the drop-off line. I know, right? The only real confusion right now is that Jackson, who had his 3 year wellness visit on Day 3 of school, still wants to know if he can go see his pediatrician EVERY DAY when we drop off the girl.

~ A Thermos with Disney Princesses on it (and also the only BPA/PVC-free one on the shelf) will run you $13. No lie. For a fucking THERMOS. To put Spaghetti-os in. Would I kid you? Right. Anyway - $13 bucks. And if she doesn't lose it before Christmas it'll be a miracle.

~ TGPMo2009 is happening. No, it really is. I'm not kidding. I know. I know it was originally TGPM02008. I didn't want to say anything when I started a few days ago, but it's really true this time. I think this might even be the last day. As in, I may FINISH TGPMo2009...TODAY. Shut up, you say. Get out of town. Finished? You're never going to finish that shit, Cathy, get over yourself, you've been talking about it since Saint Swizzum's Day. Fine, think what you want, but I'm telling you, it's happening. I may take pictures when it's done.

~ I need to stop drinking pop...nothing else to that one, really, I just do. Not sure when the hell I WILL, but I NEED to.

~ If you haven't tried these yet, you need to get you some: Oroweat 100% Whole Wheat Sandwich Thins. Oy. SO good. And regardless of your particular food plan, these are for you. Counting calories? Only 100 per TWO pieces (one "roll"). Carbs? Good whole grain ones. Fiber? Lots. Taste - uh, super really yummy good. Replace pretty much ANY bread with this thin, almost pita-like bread, and you've got a meal that just got healthier - burgers, sandwiches, and we've even done hot dogs and grilled cheese. SO good - even the kids think so. And while originally I could only get them at Target and Bag-n-Save, Walmart is now carrying them, and at a MUCH lower price. It's seriously my favorite new food item of 2009. I don't see myself ever eating regular bread on a daily basis again.

~ My breakfast is now gone, and so it's time. Time to log off, and file, file, file. I've organized, sorted, pitched, recycled, alphabetized, you name it. Only the filing remains. Time to get after that, and get it done. So this list of random, pointless updates comes to an end. Lots of heavy-duty stuff coming up around here at FMFO, as I approach the anniversary of Aimee's death, and I do not look forward to it. But I am hoping to find a way to honor her and let her see and know that I have not forgotten her, that I haven't moved on, and that she is still with us in our every day life because we carry her in our hearts. Sigh. More on that to come. Have a great day, dear reader.

Oh, but seriously - go get some of those Sandwich Thins. You'll thank me.

You Ask, I Answer ~ OR ~ It Shouldn't Be THIS Hard to Pick Up My Kid

2009-08-19T15:30:00.000-05:00

I’m sitting in the van. I'm typing on my laptop (thanks again, dear!).

Waiting.

Time? Well, it’s 3:30 now. It was 3:15 when I arrived.

What’s that? When does she get OUT of school? Oh, 3:45. They walk them out by 3:48 or so.

So what were you doing getting there at 3:15, you ask? Fair question.

Well, that’s what time you have to be at BWE to pick up your kindergartner if you want to park in one of the FOUR parking spaces available for the kindergarten parents.

FOUR. 4. F-O-U-R. Yeah. Four.

Say again? Oh, now you want to know, How MANY kindergartners are there at BWE?

Oh, about 100. And let’s say that half of them get picked up by car. Just half. Might be more, might be a little less. But let’s say it’s half. So 50.

Assuming that there aren’t large quantities of multiples attending kindergarten this year at BWE, that means roughly FIFTY cars are vying for FOUR parking spaces.

FOUR. 4. F-O-U-R. Yeah. Four.

What do the other 46 parents get to do (many with toddlers/babies/preschoolers in tow), you ask?

Oh, well that's the best part. Those lucky folks get to park down the street, a LONG way down the narrow street, on crappy sidewalks, and they get to WALK, and come and stand in the school's yard and wait for their kids. In August - a little warm, but not such a big deal. In February? Oh, you can BET I’ll be here by 3:15, because there is NO WAY IN ROTTING HELL I am standing out there waiting in 2 feet of snow with a 3-year old.

And in case you wondered, I arrived at 3:15, the first kindergarten parent to arrive. But how long until the other spots were occupied? you ponder. By 3:25, the other three spots were filled. And the other parents who I'd seen parked there the last two days drove by me and shot me dirty looks for taking what they presumed are "their" parking spaces. I can only imagine what time those folks will show up tomorrow.

There has GOT TO BE a better solution. I have NO idea what it is, but I am flabbergasted that hundreds of parents participate, all year long, year after year, in this ugly, unmanageable, inconvenient, STUPID process for picking up kids every day, and NOBODY has thought to say “Hey, this is NOT a great plan. Can’t we do better?”

So for the record, I’m saying it now:

HEY. THIS IS NOT A GREAT PLAN. CAN’T WE DO BETTER?!?!?

I'm scheduling a meeting with the principal. I stopped in and tried to visit with him this morning, but apparently being neither friendly nor helpful are required to be a secretary at BWE, so I will call him directly and make an appointment.

This may be my new cause, folks. My new passion. That which I will make right before I die. I may also have to video tape it so you gain a true appreciation for what an absolute NIGHTMARE this pick-up procedure truly is.

3 Years Ago

2009-08-18T11:00:00.006-05:00

...right this second, I'm pretty sure I was comfortable. The epidural had set in, a perfect, perfect epidural, with leg control AND the complete absence of pain in the abdominal area. Only the allergy to the narcotic that made me itch from the boobs up was keeping it from being a perfect afternoon in the hospital (lol). I knew I wanted a nap, and lunch, and that I was excited to meet you, and I knew that all signs pointed to me getting to meet you that day (which I did, if only by 5 minutes). But there was so much I didn't know.

I couldn't see you then. So I didn't know that you'd have that little knob on your ear that I have, that your uncles both have. I didn't know you'd get my nose and Daddy's hair. I didn't know you'd have eyes as blue as pools; or that your laugh would give me goosebumps; or that you'd say things like "GET OUT FROM DIS TOWN!" instead of the common phrase of disbelief "Get outta town!" and send your father and I rolling with laughter. I didn't know your sister didn't have her best friend yet. I didn't know that I would find fat rolls completely lovable and endearing. I didn't know you would be kind, and gentle, and tender-hearted like your Daddy, and that you would say things like "You best Mom EVER, Mommy - I kiss you now." I didn't know how different, and how equally wonderful, it would be to raise you compared with raising your sister.

I didn't know how much I could love a little boy.

I didn't know my heart would ache with love and burst the second I saw you.

I didn't know our family wasn't complete until you came to be with us.

I know all of that now. And I'm so happy to know all of the things I know about you, and on your birthday, my sweet boy, I am more grateful than ever to have the rest of your life to learn so much more about you. I hope you have a perfect day today.

Momma loves you.

*Photo credit: http://www.sararogersphotography.com/

She's a Big Girl

2009-08-18T10:56:00.004-05:00

No question.

As You Go Off to Kindergarten

2009-08-16T21:21:00.005-05:00

Remember to use your listening ears, and to think before you answer back.
Be respectful, and honest, and stand up for yourself, no matter what anyone else says.
Keep your hands to yourself, and out of your mouth.
You are there to learn first, and to make friends and socialize second.
Choose your friends wisely. They can make a world of difference in your life.
You can make a good choice no matter what anybody else does.
When you hurt someone, say you’re sorry, even if it was an accident - and mean it.
Use your best manners, and take turns, and share.
Please eat good foods and drink enough milk and water.
Don’t forget to go to the restroom when you need to go. And wash your hands.
Be a good listener, a good learner, and a good student.
Don’t ever be afraid to ask for help.
Know that we will miss you every second you are gone...but that we are so proud of you for going out into the world to blossom and grow into the beautiful woman I know you will be someday. Today it’s just kindergarten, but that’s a first step to the rest of your life. And it’s a big step, but we know you’ll meet the challenge and come through like a champ.

Oh, and I know you are really excited, and we are too. But...it’s OK to be a little bit nervous, or even scared. I am a little bit scared, too - scared of how fast it‘s all going; scared of blinking twice and realizing you‘ve grown and gone; and a tiny bit scared of things that could happen while you're away from me, that you have no inkling are even a possiblity, as you sleep soundly in your bed right this second.

But more than anything I am proud of you, my love - so very, very proud of your kind heart, your sweet spirit, your beautiful sense of self, your sharp wit and your keen mind. You‘re going to light up the world, Samantha, and I am so blessed to get to watch it happen. August 17th is the first day, honey - the first day of the life you choose for yourself. And I know you’ll be spectacular.

Happy First Day of School, my sweet baby girl.

Momma loves you.

Four More Sleeps

2009-08-13T21:51:00.002-05:00

...until she starts school. Wow.

We met her teacher tonight, and got to see her classroom and the new play ground they just built. Very fun stuff! She was excited, and glad to meet Mrs P, her kindergarten teacher who seems very nice and seems to like the kids.

All good signs and good feelings about the whole thing. Let's hope this great vibe continues and we can have a great year of school.

Now if I could just convince Jackson that they really ARE NOT GOING TO LET HIM STAY with his sister, I'd be all set. He REALLY thinks he's ready for kindergarten. Really, really. Him no want to stay home wis Momma, him wants to go to sool wis MISSY!!!!

More on this later. Just found out my dad's in town tomorrow and stopping by, so I'd better pick up the house and get my butt to bed.

Seriously?

2009-08-10T23:57:00.005-05:00

So you're really going ahead with this dead thing, huh? Seriously?

Because I was sure it had to be a joke. A bad joke. A horrible, fucked up, scary, sad, not-even-kind-of-funny joke. Like, if someone had played this joke on you, you'd have said "Somebody gonna die..." in that funny voice. Ironic, yes? Yes.

So not a joke. I get that. I then hoped it was some weird, stupid, so-real-you-pinch-yourself-and-turn-on-the-TV-to-forget-it dream. It's been almost a year now, after all, and I keep hoping to wake up like it was some bad season of Dallas and realize that no one shot J.R., and that my best friend isn't gone.

But you are. You're still gone. And it still doesn't make any sense.

I can see now, as I look back at the time close to your death, that people were being sent into my life to hold me up after you were gone, and for that I am grateful. To God, to the powers that be, to whoever. People like Deb, who listened, cried and consoled as I sobbed and fell apart over the phone line; and Sara, who hugged a stranger who couldn't have needed it more and became a fast true friend. Without them I would not have survived the last year. And not just them, many of my loved ones swooped in and cared for me, and were (and are) the kinds of friends and family you'd have been proud of. And I am sure you are settled in now, resting in love and peace, and feeling full understanding of why what happened had to happen. I wish you could share that with me, because we are not so lucky down here.

I miss you. I still miss you. More all the time. There are moments when I ache for you. The wounds' scars, that begin to form over time, are so frighteningly thin and frail, and it only takes a moment on any given day to rip them wide open, and the tears come again. And again. And again. A picture. A funny quote. The Cleveland Browns. Seeing Copper. Walking by a Game Stop. A song you would have loved. Dane Cook. G.I. Joe. Eddie Murphy. The name Murphy, period. Ink cartridge exchange programs. Tampons in a Target bag. Someone's nose moving when they talk. Calla lilies. The rent. Facebook. Myspace. TV theme songs. Red fingernails over boobs. My kids. My dogs. My husband. My wedding. Baby Einstein. My kids' T-shirts. CDs you burned for me. 278 wedding snapshots that you scanned for me before I ever had a scanner to understand how much fucking TIME that must have taken. Y-Knot. Poodle Skirts. King's. MST3k. Marlboros. Bare Minerals. Green eye makeup. Curly hair. Sex caves. Ambien. Psoriasis. Tiny feet. Shoes. Oh, and that girl. The girl in the white car at the gas station the other day, who looked so much like you, no matter which way she turned, that I had to stop myself from running to the car to prove to myself that it wasn't you. (The dog on her lap that looked like Waldo, the dog you got your parents 2 weeks before you died, didn't help.)

All of it, it all leads back to you, kicks me in the gut, and sends me through the momentary disbelief that you are still...really...dead. So much of our lives we shared, for so many years, and you're not here to share anything with anymore.

There is still a hole. There will always be a hole, Aim. Always.

Just so you know...

2009-08-10T17:19:00.001-05:00

...I have NO clue what to make for supper.

That is all for today.

Sweet Escape

2009-08-08T17:06:00.002-05:00

Thanks, honey. And sorry, again, for being a royal asstard this morning. Ain't I a stinkah? Love you.

Unsettled

2009-08-08T11:25:00.003-05:00

That's the best word for today. Jackson's party is coming up,and for some reason I have neither the time, money, nor motivation to get anything done, planned, or figured out for it. I am burned out on big kids' parties that the guests of honor will not even remember. Why didn't I wait until they got bigger? All of you rolling your eyes and saying "DUH, Cathy!" can just shut it. I'm not on the mood, frankly. The fact is, I have to do this party, Jackson deserves this party as much as Samantha deserved a big 3-year-old party, and I'm not screwing him out of it just because I have a cob up my ass about doing the work. But it all makes me feel unsettled.

Greg is busiest this time of year, and while it's nice to have that level of financial means coming in, it means more time for me on my own with the kids, and less time for him and the kids (which seems to lower his thresh hold for their antics, for some reason, rather than raising it), and certainly less time for us. It also leaves me feeling disjointed from our marriage, and while that is not particularly dangerous because I believe in the longevity of our marriage, it makes for a weird vibe between us that I can't quite put my finger on. Or maybe he's just acting strangely and I'm not really ready to be real about that yet. (Greg...thoughts?) And it makes me feel unsettled.

I did some good meditation last night, (see previous blog), and while I feel relaxed as I'm doing it, I find that the morning after I am, possibly, more irritated than usual. Maybe stirring up stuff, yeah? Maybe not satisfied with where I'm getting in my meditation and that bugs me? Whatever the reason, it leaves me, you guessed it - unsettled.

Oh, and I have PMS. Me with PMS is "unsettled" personified. No joke. Unsettled.

Not even sure what the point is. Just that I'm, well...unsettled. I'm feeling unsettled about that. Vicious cycles much? Oy. I need to get a shower, and get my poop in a group around here. Not that it'll help, but it needs to be done.

I'm No Farm Girl

2009-08-08T00:25:00.003-05:00

I swear to god. My good friend Rayann lovingly called me that on FB recently, and if you look at my blog as of late, you'll swear she's right! Tomatoes, sweet corn picked out of a field, botany everywhere, garden pics - it's a really green thumb environment going on here this summer at FMFO.

But there's way more going on over here than just agriculture. I am Shredding - painfully, and with great effort and not great consistency, but Shredding all the same. Jillian Michaels is kicking my ass on a hopefully-soon-to-be regular basis. And I hope to see the results. Google "Jillian Michaels' 30-day Shred". The DVD's cheap, pick one up. Or watch it first on youtube. Seriously old-school workout here, folks - circuit training with strength, cardio and abs. I hope to make a real part of my regular life.

I am meditating. Nobody even knows that yet, you heard it here first. And I'm just starting, to be clear - it's not like I've been closet meditating for months now. And frankly, I still rather suck at it. It's kind of like trying not to giggle in church, or trying to be serious in the principal's office when "Relax...don't do it...when you wanna cum..." is playing on the radio in the background. Or trying to keep focused on a training segment that you know you'll need later in your job, but just can't seem to stay plugged in to. Yeah, it's like that. I know I feel better from the breathing techniques, and I am still searching for the best meditation guide (some sound like they are trying to put me to sleep, some DO put me to sleep, and some of them just plain sound like douche bags), but there are plenty to choose from online, so the search and the work is in progress, for sure. And I hope to be better for it before I'm an expert.

I am trying to get school options figured out. Metro is apparently not interested in taking on new students because I can't even get anyone there to call me. And who even knows what the hell I want to study anyway? Certainly not me. My heart draws me to psychology, but I'm not sure I have it in me to hear of heartache and pain all day, every day, and I'm not sure I will deal with the inevitable failures very well, either. Maybe pet therapy. I mean, really, only people with money even really buy into that stuff anyway, right? So the pay should be fairly nice. And let's face it, if I screw up, and Spot offs himself, or still chews up the furniture, or can't give up beggin strips and has to go to the puppy fat farm, it's a dog, dude. A DOG. How bad can I feel about not being able to tighten the bolts on a dog brain? Hmm?

Oookay, Cathy's a little tired now. Anyway...

So, school's a possibility. That's really the long and the short of that.

What I'd really love to do is get a fucking book written and published (I know, me and 125 million other talented writers, yes?). OR, and I know I've mentioned this, I'd love to dust off my children's book that's been in a file for ?? years now, and get someone to look at that. I feel less confident about it all the time, and I'm not even sure why. It's a perfectly nice story, with a perfectly sweet character, and I think it feels iffy because I know there are dozens and dozens of perfectly nice manuscripts just like mine that go in the trash at publishers daily.

More later. My batter on my laptop is dying. Yes, I have a laptop now. A brand spanking new one. I know, right? SO not a farm girl.

One Hundred Greenies

2009-08-06T14:05:00.005-05:00

That's the estimate. It's a rough estimate, I didn't count every single one. I don't think I could, the plants are so huge I'm not sure how I'll get in to pick them.

Not that I think that's really a genuine concern right now. They're never going to turn. Ever. E.V.E.R. They're just going to remain the biggest tomato plants in history, with the most beautiful big round lovely fruits ever, that will never, ever, ever turn red. Ever.

I had one. One that was rather small, but had a lovely red tinge, and soon looked ready to pick. So I finally picked it.

And stuck my fingers through the hidden, ROTTEN other side.

Nice.

Seriously, some horticulturalist needs to come study these plants. They are lovely. They have had their suckers removed. They should have been pruned more than they were, but frankly that has not affected production. I KNOW there's 100 tomatoes set on. Most of them are softball sized, and beautiful, beautiful fruits.

They're just green as the grass in June, that's all.

Don't believe me? Well, allow me to show you.

I have more. I can post them.

I WANT MY OWN TOMATOES OFF MY OWN VINES GODDAMMIT!!!!!!

Ok, tantrum over. I'm going to go check now, convinced that I'll see nothing different today than I saw yesterday. If by some miracle of God I happen to notice a change in the dozens and dozens of green spheres hanging out in my back yard, I'll letcha know.

But don't wait around for it.

UPDATE (2o minutes later):

Two. There are two that are beginning to turn. Oh, and I did a more specific count of one plant. I counted no less than 55 - on one plant. I have four. I am now hearing that old addage in my head "Be careful what you wish for...", because I lack the answer to the question "What in hell am I going to do with over 200 tomatoes?!?"

I hope to find out. But again, not banking on it.

Up to My Ears In Ears

2009-08-03T16:13:00.004-05:00

So Greg's grandpa told us the sweet corn was ready, and to come and "pick all we wanted". And so we did!

There's 13 bags here, folks.

Got it cleaned and husked...here was one bag's worth:

Blanch them...

After they cool, they come to the counter...

Where the trusty paring knife awaits...

Meanwhile the taste-testers are hard at work, and liking what they taste, I might add:

So we bag it, and freeze it,

and this winter we'll eat sweet, sweet corn (30 quarts in all), compliments of Grandpa's farm and our hard-working hands. Worth every second of work!

Busy, busy, busy!

2009-08-03T10:20:00.002-05:00

Yep. I know, not a valid excuse, but a true one, anyway. A FABULOUS trip to Minnesota to see dear friends, two birthday parties (and one to plan for our Jackson soon), play dates, summer fun, corn and cherries to pick and freeze, and on and on like that...all of it culminates into me not blogging for a few weeks now. I was unaware (as we all always seem to be) of how quickly the time had passed since I blogged last, until the fine ladies at BlogHer Ads emailed me this morning and gave the kind, patient version of "Hey, dumbass, post a blog already, wouldja?" Sorry girls, I'll get it in gear again soon, I promise!

So take this as my raincheck for future blogs of substance to come, very soon. Promise. I have a corn blog, a vacation blog, and a staycation blog all in the works. But right now I have a timer going off that tells me the next batch of corn is ready to take out of the boiling water. Never a dull moment.

Stay tuned.

It's Better To Have Been Skinny And Then Fat Than Never To Have Been Skinny At All

2009-07-11T11:19:00.008-05:00

Seriously.

I've thought about this a great deal as of late, this being "fat" thing. And let me just preface this by saying that no, I don't think I'm less valuable as a person because I'm overweight (or "obese" by half of one BMI point, as my Wii Balance Board tells me not-so-apologetically each morning); I don't hate me because I'm overweight, none of that. This is just about being the actual state of "fat". Bear with me.

As it says in my profile, I used to be skinny. Not that I ever was smart enough to have enjoyed being skinny; I constantly plagued myself with the idea that I was "fat", with my 28-inch waist and my 127 pounds on the scale. Meanwhile I was a SMOKING size 6-8, with a rack that could stop traffic, and a tight little butt that was attached to legs of which I should have been pretty darn proud. If Current Me could go back in time and share some facts with New Hotness Me, oh the things I would share with her. (First and foremost I would tell her and my friend Back-Then E to stop the joking about how "if I ever weigh 185 pounds I hope someone harpoons my huge whale ass". SO funny back then, as E can attest to...not so funny when it actually happened and there was no harpoon in sight.)

I am not skinny, frankly, anymore. Again, don't hate myself, don't loathe who I am, just don't enjoy being this overweight. Can I still fit on bus seats? Sure. Can I sit in a theatre seat without the armrests digging into my hips? No sweat. But that doesn't mean I'm at a healthy weight or that I feel comfortable with the body I currently have to show to the world.

And here's why. (This will sound like vanity, and frankly I don't really give a rat's ass.)

People who knew me back then know that I was thin and (mostly) pretty fit. People I meet now just see a pudgy girl.

I think I would rather face people who've known me since "the good old days", who may very well behind my back say "Damn, Cathy porked up, didn't she?", but who at least recognize that I wasn't always this way.

I want to wear a sign on my forehead...maybe even wear a sandwich board...whatever, something that does well to make sure that everyone knows I wasn't always the portly middle-aged mom they see before them.

I used to be 100% stretch mark-free. I used to wear string bikinis - and stop traffic at the lake. I used to have cleavage that was no joke, a body that loved fitted clothes and gave a nice silouhette in moonlight. There are folks out there who know that (some better than others - thank god my husband is one of them!) and who, when they think of me, possibly see the not-so-chubbo version of me.

I'm not even sure why I worry about the new folks in my life (who've never known me when my jean size only had one number in it), because nearly all of the friends I've gained since my "expansion" are some of the truest, most genuine, non-judgemental people on the planet. I do not have any delusions that any of them think less of me than they would if I was a size 8. So I know it's all in my head. It's intirely about me, and not at all about anyone else. My issue, my care, my concern. Check-aroonie-in-a-bananica.

But that doesn't make me like feeling like "The Fat Girl" any better.

I know I'll find a way to get there again. I haven't figured out a way, as of yet, to consistently do what I need to do, to combat my age, my damaged metabolism, and my love of all foods nasty. But I will. Don't you worry about that.

They're Growing Up...

2009-07-11T00:53:00.006-05:00

...and I hate it.

And I love it.

Each new step, each new skill, accomplishment and milestone causes a joy to well up in me that catches me off guard each time. My heart is so full and my spirit is kept alive and renewed by who they are, by who they are becoming, and by the love we share in this family.

When I check on them at night, they are so peaceful in their slumber. Jackson's breath is often so soft that I touch my cheek to his to feel that breath brush my nose as he exhales, and he smiles in his sleep when I turn and kiss him on that same cheek. Samantha lays heavy in her pillow, growing so long and lean even as she lies there, my big girl...but even in her sleep, she still reaches out to take my hand or feel my face in those quiet moments in the early morning.

In those moments, I ache to pick them up, snuggle them tight and feel their breath on me as I go to sleep. Someday, sooner than I think, they'll be "too big" to snuggle me, too big to come crawl in my bed, and I'll ache for these times to return.

But they won't. Time marches on, doesn't it? Whether we want it to or not. They grow, and they go, and I know I'll still be able to feel his soft breath on my face and her hand reaching for mine, long after they are older than I am now, long after they put their own babies to bed, and long after they lay me to rest.

And it's as it should be. It's not as though I wish them a life of perpetual toddler-hood. There is a wonderful, bright world out there for them to conquer, to drink in and experience, and I want that for them, truly. But for that to happen, my babies, my sweet, sweet babies, have to grow up.

And they ARE growing up.

And I love it.

And I hate it.

Pardon My French...

2009-07-09T13:58:00.002-05:00

...but WHAT in the merry-hairy flying FUCK is THIS?!?!?

Here it is three days ago (and it looked the same two days ago):

And now....

I am...I can't...what in the...

Seriously. I read that squash can get blossom end rot like tomatoes do, but that's usually darker and harder. This just looks like someone injected, like, oh, I don't know...liquid DEATH into the end of my lunch-to-come and is rotting it from the end.

I have an email in to Backyard Farmer. I hope they can help. I plucked that sucker out of there, hoping if it's a blight I can keep the whole plant from being worthless.

So that's the rotten news for the day around here.

Rotten. Get it? Yeah. I'm fucking hilarious, I know.

Why I Need Some Rabbit Repellent

2009-06-29T15:44:00.006-05:00

See those stumps? They're supposed to be bean plants (and sprouts).

Clearly the deal Greta (the younger of the two Wondermutts who will chase anything but rabbits) has worked out with the rabbits includes the perk of them getting to destroy my garden.

I'm trying repellent first. Then I move on to a pellet gun.

Be warned, rabbit.

Sexy New Hair and Other News Of Interest

2009-06-29T00:08:00.005-05:00

OK, so I was feeling frumpy. Hadn't gotten a cut in months, feeling chubby, ungroomed and slovenly. So I took several steps this weekend to remedy said frumpy feeling.

Pedicure. (my first ever)

Haircut. (from my awesome stylist who gave me a new look)

Cute new top. (on clearance at Younker's + a gift card = cute cheap lil' thang)

Tea paaahty. (OK, so it was for the 5 year old, but I got to stay and play)

Jillian Michael's 30-day Shred, Level 1. (kicked my chunky little butt, which she promised to do)

So now I've worked out, gotten a new cut, new toenails, had a fun weekend (including hearing Mrs M's fabulous hubby's band play last night at Village Pointe - so good, and one of our favorite summer traditions!) and pampered myself a bit. According to Greg, none of that did any good, as he claims I was a rotten biotch all day (not his exact words, but definitely his sentiment). Hmmm. Maybe some more pampering is in order. Sorry, dear. I'll try to do better. Promise.

Let's see, what else? Yeah, that's about it. Some random factoids for you:

~ The boy who did my pedicure had the same haircut I had just gotten before I went and saw him. I think it looks better on me. Then again, maybe it was the Asian hair with blond highlights that didn't look quite right.

~ The stuff in my garden is growing like weeds. As are the weeds IN my garden, by the way. If we don't get a dry morning one of these days so I can get out there and get the weeds yanked out of there, they are going to take over. We are eating radishes (as much as one can snack on radishes) and hope for more veggies soon.

~ Greg's slow spell at work is O-V-E-R. So is him spending much time at home with us, or getting enough rest to keep up with how hard he's working during the day. The checks are nice, but we sure miss having him around.

~ We are traveling next month. I am giddy at the very thought of it.

~ I still hate fireworks. I'm pretty sure we've discussed this. But this pretty much sums it up: Big fireworks displays for all to see and enjoy on the 4th, put on by professionals = exciting and fun and beautiful entertainment. (But still a potential risk of fire and/or explosion). Fireworks sold for personal use = Stupidest. Idea. Ever. SO many kids are injured every year, SO many people hate the noise and air pollution, and it's a gigantic waste of money and causes HUGE amounts of litter every year. SO dangerous - under what other circumstance would most let their children play with EXPLOSIVE MATERIALS!?! Kids are not qualified to set off explosives, and keep hurting themselves and others to prove it, so why we keep letting them do it is beyond me.

~ My new haircut = trendy and cute and rather hip, if I say so myself (although I'm pretty sure calling it those things negates its coolness, yes? Yeah, I thought so...), and it's all because I was definitely leaning towards the "brown football helmet" look and I think 36 is a little young for that, yes? Yes. So that, and my cute hip sister telling me that "short in back, longer in front is all the rage" led me to pursuing a new 'do.

It's 12:30 and both Greg and I are still up. Insanity. He's messing on the computer, and I am doing this. Much as I love you all, I have to close and sleep now. More to come this week, I hope. Have a wonderweek, all.

The Circle of Life

2009-06-18T08:33:00.003-05:00

Last summer, I broke my elbow. A radial head fracture, nondisplaced, thank goodness. Mom came to my rescue, driving down to spend the weekend, care for the house and kids, and I would not have survived those first few days without her.

And yesterday she decided to call in that favor. She fell at work and broke the same bone, and so now I go to care for her, gladly, with a keen understanding of uncomfortable she is right now, and how much having someone you love come and take care of you makes a gigantic difference.

So I send out an early Happy Father's Day to all, especially to my sweet, dear Greg - the kids are so very lucky to have you, as am I. There could have been no better father for my children than you. As we spend these next few days apart, know that I am with you in spirit, I miss you "like a child misses their blanket", and I can't wait to see you this weekend. Love you always.

To my readers, have a wonderful weekend. Gotta get this show on the road.

Seriously, Mr. Rogers Might Pay To Move Us Out

2009-06-13T22:54:00.011-05:00

I thought the ivy was a big deal, in principle, anyway.

As Ron White would say, I was WRONG.

Greg was out of town today. The neighborhood "art festival" was going on, just up the street. The kids and I, looking for some afternoon entertainment to pass the time while Daddy was away, hopped in the van, new summer shades donned, ready for some good fun!

Not wanting to haul two kids, a stroller AND two bags with me, I took my wallet with money/cards/checks/DL, and my camera, and my phone, and shoved them into the diaper bag. I stashed the now-nearly-empty purse under the table console between the driver's and passenger's seat.

We locked up, arrived on Maple Street, and saw the festival before us.

Ok, not so huge, but hey - face painting and hula hooping - that can't be bad, right?

So, face-painting it is - one Fairytopia and one Batman, please...

First Samantha...

Jackson waits patiently...

Ta-da! Beautiful, yes?

And then Jackson...

He is...Batman.

How cute are they?

I know, right?

Then on to some hula hooping fun....

Followed by some kettle corn and listening to some music. Our tummies were telling us it was almost supper time, so begrudgingly the kids came along towards the van, parked in a nearby public parking lot, facing the street leading right up to the festival. We had been there less than an hour, by the way. I noticed a sweet-looking elderly gentleman in a suit, in the same parking lot, with his car's hood up, and I made a mental note to go back and ask if I could call someone for him once I had the kids buckled in. Now that's a bad day, I thought to myself. (Ahh, sweet irony. How you love to hate me.)

I unlocked the doors of our van - Samantha entered the van first, from the back hatch which I had opened, and as she walked to the front of the van, she gasped in surprise, gave out a strange little squeal, and yelled to me, "MOMMY - what is that sparkly stuff on your seat?!!?"

What, indeed?

You know what it was. I knew what it was before I walked the long walk along the side of the van. More of the "sparkly stuff" was all over the pavement.

Fuck.

Driver's window - gone. Shattered in 132 gazillion pieces (but thank god for safety glass). And you surely know what was gone from between the seats - my nearly-empty purse. There was a belt-buckle scratch on the side panel, just below the window frame, from where they clearly dove in through the window to get their ill-gotten booty (or ill-booten gotty?....sorry, MASHism). And there was a big fat scratch next to the window where they clearly missed the first time they swung the crow-bar, or whatever they used to fuck up my van and my day.

In broad daylight, mid-afternoon, on a street being traveled by festival-goers, this little douche bag robbed me. ROBBED ME. The ivy is now entirely laughable, right?

As I exclaimed, with as much control as possible, that the van had been broken into and that my purse had been stolen, Samantha broke down and cried, afraid we couldn't get home because of the glass. I explained we would get home, that it would be OK, and to come to the back of the van and sit down while I called 9-1-1.

And so they did, and I did. I explained my particular emergency, which gained me the phone number where I was told I could call and leave a MESSAGE for the POLICE to file a police report, which they would only be doing over the PHONE, in the next 1 to 36 days, or some shit like that.

What? NO police on-scene? No checking the area, no looking for witnesses? Okee-day.

The emergency operator sounded about as thrilled with that procedure as I was. I did not shoot the messenger, and thanked him for his time.

So Johnny Crackhead wanted cash, yes? Clearly, since he took my purse, but left the two portable DVD players that were in a bag, open, right between the captains chairs. They left a camera. They left valuable iPod and phone chargers and cables. They left my stereo. Just wanted the cash, so they thought they'd just take the money and run. (Sorry, Steve Miller in your head all night now..."whoo-hoo-hoo"...)

Well, idn't that just too fucking bad for them. They shoulda taken the DVD players. Why? Oh, well, because as you know, I TOOK the good stuff with me. That $12 Walmart purse got them some chapstick, my favorite dollar-store lipstick (fuckers), my only perfume (fuckers again), a broken tie-tack of Greg's, a spare, unmarked key, my check register with no account numbers, checks, or deposit slips, some nail clippers, a tampon or two, and probably a couple of pens I liked (fuckers once more). For the life of me, I can't think of one valuable thing that was in that bag. Which I think is the funniest thing I've heard all week...unless you consider that despite their lack of gain, I still have to replace a window tomorrow.

I left a message for the police. I assume I'll hear back from them at some point, for all the good it will do.

Fortunately I had towel in my van, which I laid over the glass on my seat. After I confirmed there was no glass near the kids' seats, I got them buckled in, and then remembered our elderly car trouble victim in the next row, clearly visible from my van. I walked over, and asked if I could call someone for him. He smiled and explained that, "no, one'a 'dese rods was just a lil' bit hot but it's cooled off now" and he was "fi'n ta be on his way". I said I was glad for that, and just wanted to make sure he was alright. I wondered out loud if he had seen anything near my van. He looked puzzled as I explained what had happened. He said he'd been there half an hour and had seen nothing.

(That information strenthened my suspicion that Johnny Crackhead was watching the parking lot, looking for a woman leaving her car with no purse, and struck just after we left the area. Little creep.)

We left later in the evening, once Greg was back home, to grab some take-out, and vacuum out the glass at the car wash (not sticking all that glass in my vacuum, thankyouverymuch). While we were in a hurry to leave, somehow Jake got left inside and Greta got left outside.

Uh, lemme just tell you - Jake likes that scenario NOT. AT. ALL. He has separation anxiety (much of the reason we got Greta), and takes it out on the trash when he's left alone.

And so he did.

Yeah, because I didn't have enough stress, OR enough messes to clean up today.

Nice relaxing Saturday, huh? Makes you feel good about your day, though, doesn't it? You're welcome, dear reader. Anything for you.

Even Mr. Rogers Would Think This Neighborhood Sucks

2009-06-04T23:03:00.002-05:00

I bought some plants. 'Kay? I brought them home. I knew exactly what I bought:

1 clematis
2 phlox
1 coreopsis
1 dwarf bee balm
1 organic tomato plant
4 english ivy

I got them home and unloaded. I put them on the top of the retaining wall that lines our driveway. I left them there to enjoy the afternoon sun, intending to plant them in the evening.

Within an hour and a half, I stepped back outside to look at them again, and ponder location and other such decisions to be made about my new plants.

Clematis, so beautiful, love that purple color...maybe back fence, north end...coreopsis and bee balm, back bed under Jackson's window...phlox under the picture window up front...tomato plant in my Topsy Turvy that some awesome friends gave me...and those four ivy will go in the rock wall, three in the big wall, one in the sm--

Wait. One, two, three...

What the fuck? Where's the fourth ivy?

Yes, I'm sure there were four. Four. I bought four of them. I double-checked my receipt. One, two, three, four. I also remember double-checking the cart before I returned it at Menards.

I peek into the van's back window.

Nothing.

I check under the van, along the rock wall, high and low; I move ALL the other plants into a line in the lawn and count again; I look on the steps, the porch, the flower beds and everywhere else I've been since I got home.

Nothing.

Someone STOLE a 3x3 pot of english ivy? Seriously?

Some lame ass walked their loser self UP into my driveway, in BROAD daylight, snatched one of MY english ivy plants, and took off, undoubtedly giggling all the way.

Who does that?!?! Who steals a tiny, teeny little $1.50 plant? A kid? Maybe. Certainly an adult lacking the moral fiber to restrain themselves from petty larceny on a Thursday would at LEAST take the expensive plant, or at the VERY LEAST one of the big ones, yes? But what would a kid want with an ivy plant?

Here's what I hope. Wait, lemme ask this - do you know much about english ivy? Well, it's, uh, persistent. And hardy. And agressive. I hope Johnny Plant Stealer takes it home and plants it. In a bed with some really nice, delicate, small flowers that they spent a lot of money and time on.

And I hope the ivy grows its very best, like a good little ivy, and I hope it chokes out every stinking plant in every flower bed they own. I hope it climbs up their house and covers their windows, and climbs up their roof, and clogs up their chimney, and grows through their gutters and everywhere else it can think of to grow.

You want ivy? I hope you get it. You asshat.

I can't WAIT to move out of this neighborhood.

Creative Genius That Melts Your Heart

2009-06-03T11:03:00.003-05:00

S: Hey, Mom?

Me: Yeah?

S: Um, violets are red...wait...

Me: Do you mean "roses" are red?

S: Oh, yeah! OK...roses are red, violets are blue, every breath I take for you. {beams with pride at my gasp of joy}

Me: Oh, honey, that is SO beautiful! {melts into floor, taken down by the cuteness}

I can see by the look on her face that while she is pleased with herself, she has now realized she just promised to breathe only for me. Being the literal, smart, problem-solving-minded child that she is....

S: Oh, mom, wait...listen! Roses are red, violets are blue, every breath I take for you...and me.

That's my girl. It's nice to say you'll breathe for someone else, but you've gotta save some for yourself, too. Nice lesson, actually.

Can I Please Have "Here We Go Again" for $1000, Alex?

2009-05-31T23:07:00.011-05:00

Alex: Alright, here's the answer...

Cathy's buzzer: {bee-beep}

Alex: Yes, Cathy?

Cathy: What is "how Cathy feels as she scrapes her way back onto the Beach after a week of binging on cherry sours, pizza, Chinese food, chips, and sugar-coated fiber bars"?

Alex: That is absolutely right, Cathy...you dumb bitch. Now get back on the beach and quit eating crap already.

We'll be back after a word from our sponsor.

I Really Need Your Help

2009-05-29T22:01:00.005-05:00

If you've been reading my blog for a while, you know about William, who we lost about a year and a half ago. He was a dear sweet boy, the same age as mine, taken too soon and missed dearly to this day.

We've walked with William, and then in memory of William. This year, we once again walk in memory of him, and we will raise money for research to find a cure.

We need your help for that. If you'll be in Omaha on June 6, come walk with us. Love to see you.

But if not, think about donating to CureSearch and supporting our walk. I could give you a bunch of word salad about why you should, but you're no dummy. You know why you should. You know a cure has to come, and money can facilitate that reality faster than anything. It takes just a minute, and every single dollar helps.

Fine, I'll beg. PLEASE. PleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePlease
PleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePlease go and donate. OK?

Yes? Great. Knew I could count on you.

So - you can donate to the cause and support us as we walk in memory of William here: http://host.curesearch.org/site/TR/Walk/Milestones?px=1039121&pg=personal&fr_id=1240&et=y7SwxTMIPt9Punft3wmCxw..&s_tafId=5303

And, to learn more about sweet William, you can check out William's Caring Bridge site here:http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/williamschultz

Thanks for reading, and thanks for your support! :) :) :)

Things I Say To My Kids That Are Just As Relevant For Me (And You, Too, By The Way)

2009-05-26T09:06:00.005-05:00

Whining gets you nothing.
You can make a good choice no matter what anybody else does.
Be kind.
You can find a nicer way to say that.
You need to eat good foods to be healthy.
Just worry about you and stop worrying about what everyone else is doing.
When you're done with something, pick it up and put it where it goes.
You need to think before you open your mouth.
You can choose to be happy, or you can choose to be grumpy.
It's OK to be grumpy, but it's not OK to be grumpy at other people.
You don't need to have the TV on every minute of the day. Go find something to do.
Don't be disrespectful to your dad (or your mom, or your brother, or your sister).
You get back from the world what you put out there into it...and that's true of everything else, too.
Use your brain, please. It's good brain, I know it works, so please use it before you speak/act/do/choose.
I love you. You are important to so many people. The world is a better place because you are in it. Who you are, right now, just as you are, is awesome. Always, always remember that.

We're About To Be Overtaken

2009-05-14T17:30:00.002-05:00

...and someone has to stop it.

The grass is out of control, the dandelions are taking a strong hold, and the weeds are popping up by the minute. Spring has sprung up all over out there. If we don't get the garden tilled and in pretty soon, it'll be winter again already.

Time to get out there and fight the good fight. The good, dirty, sweaty, grass-staining fight. Trowel, rake and gloves in-hand ~ the battle begins.

If it doesn't pour on us. Which it might. Which will cancel the fight - we're no postal workers around here. Rain, hail, whatever, SHALL keep us from our appointed jobs.

So let's just hope it doesn't rain for a couple of hours, because it's a jungle out there.

Mothers I Love

2009-05-10T10:01:00.003-05:00

My little sis
My big sis
My she-can't-really-be-old-enough-to-be-a-mom-but-she-is-x2-now niece
My Granny
My Gram (RIP)
My MIL
My step-grandmother-in-law
My Grandma-in-Battle-Creek (now in Verdigre, but still)
Deb (my bosom friend who joins me in the waters of maternal insanity and then helps me drag myself ashore on a regular basis)
E (my dear friend since WAY before either of us dreamed of being moms)
Mrs M (my fellow garage sale pro and good friend)
All my BGA moms
All my BTBBC moms
All my BB2 moms
My next-door neighbor Jan (who loves my kids and dogs like her own)
Aimee (who was a mom for such a short time but no less a mom in my heart)
Rayann (who gave a special gift of motherhood to two kids and then gave them a sweet little sibling on top of it)
Suzi (from whom I gleaned many of the things I wanted to do/be when I became a mom)
Suzi's mom (who valued me and helped me grow up as a young, insecure searching soul)
Mrs C (who wrangles a house full of boys and one firecracker little girl, and does it with a smile)
Mrs. S (who feels much like a mother to me, but simultaneously is one of my dearest friends, ever since she taught me English back in high school a milleneum ago)

There are many others who I consider to be great moms and good people, but who are too numerous to list. No one was intentionally left off - know that if I know and love you, and you're a mom, you're on this list.

Bust most especially, I love MY mom. My dear, blessed mother, who gave me life, who gave me my family, who did her best, every day of her life, and did it all for Andrea, Jae, Crystal and for me. For all these things I can never repay you, can never thank you enough, and can never sufficiently convey what you mean, who you are, or how grateful I am to have called you "Mom" these 36 years.

36: Day One

2009-05-05T23:20:00.003-05:00

HUGE thanks to all who sent their best birthday wishes my way, by phone, mail, email, message boards and Facebook. I felt very loved and it was a nice way to spend my day, reading lots of good birthday wishes from great folks!

Tonight we went to dinner, did a little shopping, and now it's time to get some rest. At my age, I need it. Thanks again my lovelies. You made an old lady smile.

I Hope You Can't Catch Swine Flu From Handling Cash

2009-05-04T13:16:00.006-05:00

Because if you can, Mrs M and I are hosed, since we laid our hands on a CRAP load of it, from what I would estimate were HUNDREDS of people who came to our garage sale on Friday and Saturday.

Our garage sale, if I say so myself, was a ROUSING success. Believe me when I say that our profits FAR exceeded my expectations for the two-day event, and I could not be happier with how it turned out. HUGE thanks to Mrs M for hosting, for organizing your neighborhood's sale, and for all your hard work and effort.

Best parts:

1) I scheduled a truck from Salvation Army to pick up everything that was left after the sale, and I am told they came this morning and got it all (except for three things which they missed, darn it); so what I brought home was minimal. Like three boxes, and lots of empty totes. LOTS of them.

2) Running my ass off for a week getting everything ready and doing the actual sale also netted me a five pound weight loss for the week, despite eating mostly crap.

3) Our nursery furniture went to a young mom who was surely pregnant and who surely could not afford to spend a fortune, and that is JUST the kind of family I wanted it to go to.

4) My closets and storage areas are blissfully devoid of extra boxes - it would have been worth the effort just for that, even if I'd made half of what I made.

I'm itching to tell you what I made, because it seems almost unbelievable, but I am reticent to go posting numbers like that out in the scary weird world. Just take my word for it. And when you see me or talk to me, feel free to ask. I can't hardly contain myself so I'm sure I'll spill it to you.

It was the hardest weekend I've had in a while, but totally worth it, in more ways than one. There was more excitement here this week and I'll update you on that soon. Right now I have to go finish making pink play-doh for preschool.

Have a great Monday!

See, "Vagina" IS a Dirty Word If You Use It Right

2009-04-29T09:41:00.004-05:00

So I get these automated calls from a cell # that say "you could be losing money on your credit cards, press 1 to be connected to our reps to save you money, this is your last notice, or press 2 to be removed." I'm sure you've gotten them too.

I've pressed 2 over and over, so today I pressed 1.

Guy: Hello! I am so and so with credit services...

Me: Yeah, what do I have to do to get taken off your list? Because I've pressed 2 so many times my finger hurts.

Guy: You have to be more persistent, ma'am.

Me: Really? How would I do that?

Guy: Stick your phone up your vagina.

Me: REALLY? Why don't you let me talk to you supervisor about that recommendation?

Guy: {click}

After I first picked my jaw up off the floor, and then stopped convulsing with laughter, I Googled the number. It's a New Brunswick cell number, and there are lots of complaints about this number online, although mine was the first complaint I saw where anyone was asked to make sweet love to themselves with a piece of household electronic equipment. But clearly this is a scam, and not a legitimate offer of any kind, so just remember that when you get the call. Maybe you could beat them to the punch and tell them to stick THEIR phone someplace.

Consider yourself warned, then - if you get a cell phone call from 506-227-4564, it's so-and-so from New Brunswick telling you you that you have two choices: give up your credit card numbers and let them screw you, OR do it yourself with your Unidon cordless. Your choice.

Look, I Know You're New Here

2009-04-28T09:01:00.003-05:00

Well, not all that new - you've lived across the street for nearly a year now, George, but you've just recently moved in and brought your family (including your dog). And you seem like a nice guy overall.

But the dog is a problem. Actually the dog is not the problem. What you ALLOW the dog to do is the problem.

I'm sorry the house you bought from Brian doesn't have a fenced yard. It's no surprise, the back yard slopes about 70 degrees straight down. And I'm sorry you seem to have an aversion to tie-downs. Really, I am. And I'm sorry you don't seem to want to walk the dog. Seriously so sorry.

But if you don't stop letting your stupid dog run all over the neighborhood, including in my yard and up to my back fence, thereby sending my dogs into a frothy, barking fury at 7:30 in the morning, I'm going to start feeding him tainted meat when he comes over. I swear to god. Big, juicy chunks of tainted meat.

Sigh....

What?

OK, fine, I won't do that. (You people know me too well.)

I will, however, call the city and report your stupid dog as at-large. So TIE him up, LOCK him up, or bring your ass outside and WALK him on a leash. We have a fucking leash law here in the Big O, asshat, and if I have to follow it, then so do you.

Better yet, maybe I'll just let MY dogs come over and shit in YOUR yard and bark and wake YOU up.

I'm glad we had this little talk. It's nice to have a plan of action.

Monday Memorandum V 4.0

2009-04-27T08:49:00.002-05:00

Morning, all. It's Monday. It's relatively early here and I am still in the morning grumpy period of my day, so this will most likely be short and not-so-sweet.

Garage Sale
Mrs M and I are having one this week at their house, and we are busting our butts getting ready for it. My livingroom looks like my storage closet exploded in there...which it kind of did, in effect. I've been talking about the level of excess of clothing we have in this house, but only now is it coming into true focus. Dear sweet Mary we have a lot of clothes. After the sale either many residents of Omaha, OR Salvation Army, will have lots of clothes. Either way, we will not. I won't know what to do with all those storage totes. But I'll manage.

Beach Forecast
Occupation on the beach has been spotty at best the last week, but hoping to get more time under my belt this week. Weight is holding steady but not going down because, well, I'm not always on the beach, and we all know how that goes. That fried ice cream at ElMatador Saturday night did not do me ANY favors.

Fundraiser Fun
It really was, our cool little dinner last week at preschool. I totally rocked the snack walk, if I say so myself. Greg claims the line was clear out into the hallway. I'll take his word for it. But the kids had fun, and with any luck we raised a good chunk of money for Samantha's preschool Nature Center. And with any luck I'll remember next year to not sign up for so much crap in April.

Really, that's about it, folks. I will be consumed with garage sale stuff most of this week. Except for this morning - this morning I have GOT to clean my house, because holy MOLY it's trashed. I won't even TELL you how many days it's been since I've actually cleaned my kitchen. So I'll do that this morning in lieu of garage sale pricing, and get Samantha off to school and Jackson down for his nap, and then get back at it. Pretty exciting stuff this week, right? Yeah, I know.

Hope you have a great week and I hope to be back to blogging more soon!

If You Start Noticing Patches of Hair Falling Out Of Me Between Now and June, Here's Why

2009-04-17T18:11:00.004-05:00

Preschool fundraiser dinner - I'm chairing Decorations and Snack Walk
Preschool field trip
Birthday Party
Bridal Shower
Birthday
Birthday
Mother's Day
Birthday
Preschool Mother's Tea Day
Preschool End-of-the-Year Picnic
Garage Sale (two days plus prep)
Bake Dessert for Teachers
Make 8 batches pink play-doh for preschool
Baby shower
Wedding (Greg ushing)
Wedding (same day as the first)
Graduation
Graduation Party
Graduation
Graduation Party

Add to that the constant, never-ending chores like housework, laundry, raising kids, trying to get my garden in, yard work which starts about now, outdoor projects, Dad's books, Mom's book, paying bills, maintaining relationships and getting to sleep once in a while, and it's no wonder I'm considering taking up hermitism as a way of life. The good news is that Greg's work is so slow right now that he has all kinds of time to help me. Yeah, so that's not really good news, now, is it, since all of the things on my neato list up there require money in some way, shape or form. He keeps assuring me it's going to pick up soon. I am trusting that he's right.

I should note something. NOT trying to be an ass here. So grateful to be a part of so many people's lives, truly. So glad to be blessed with the bounty of opportunities to share in all of the grand pomp and circumstance that happens in the spring at weddings, graduations, and parties of all kinds. Not dismissing or wishing away any of it by any means.

Just wishing it wasn't all happening in the next 38 days!

And I know everyone's busy this time of year, this is not some new brand of suffering, I know that. So maybe we can all just commiserate together for a minute before we get back to being busy. I have cookies to make tonight, four loads of laundry just to get us so we all have things to wear and towels to use, a house to clean and kids to get to bed.

Uh, I should note, though - in June, I will be unavailable. For anything. Don't ask. Seriously, I'm hiding. I may unhook the phones and bolt all the doors shut, save the one that leads out back...so we can go play. And weed. And paint the foundation. And mow. And clean up dog poop. And...

It never stops, does it? Life truly IS what happens while you're busy making other plans.

Conversations That Show WHY Candy Is Not So Dandy

2009-04-16T16:37:00.007-05:00

As I was finishing up Candy Is Not So Dandy, Samantha and I had this little gem:

S: Mom, can we have these candy necklaces I found in your purse?

Me: No. I'm saving them for a trip to the store and you can have them as a special treat when you need something to keep you occupied in the store, OK? And get out of my purse.

S: But MOOOOOOM, why can't I have it NOOOOW?

Me: I just told you why. We'll have them at the store.

S: But other kids get to have them when they're NOT at the store!

Me: Samantha, you don't know what other kids get and what they don't get.

S: Mom, I KNOW what goes on in the world.

{Pause while I turn to LMAO and roll my eyes}

Me: Oh, you do? Guess what else goes on in the world? Some people's moms throw out ALL the Easter candy and don't give them ANY of it - since you are so hot on what goes on in the world, maybe you'd like to give that a try?

S: No.

Me: Then put back the candy necklaces and stay out of my purse.

***********************************************************

I always wondered what the big deal was - in my childhood, Mom so often told me, with great vigor, "Get OUT of my purse!" Now I get it. Once again...sorry, Mom.

Candy Is Not So Dandy

2009-04-16T12:05:00.014-05:00

So it's been established that I'm no nazi about my kids not having candy. I'm not opposed to them sampling the sweeter things in life, and I'm no health food freak who insists that sugar shall never touch my kids' lips. Let me just say THAT to begin. M'kay? 'Kay. So no "loosen up, it's only once a year and you're being a hard-ass" comments, alright?

But seriously, folks. NINE. NINE Easter baskets. They got NINE Easter baskets from family on Easter Sunday. This does NOT include the Easter baskets they placed carefully on the kitchen table Saturday night that the Easter Bunny kindly filled with some of their (and Mommy and Daddy's) favorite treats. So actually, it's ELEVEN.

Oh, but we can't forget the egg hunts. HuntS, that's what I said. Plural. As in...THREE. So add to those baskets, dozens and dozens of plastic eggs full of crap. Because SURELY the baskets didn't have ENOUGH sugar in them, right? Two dozen eggs a piece with more candy will fix that!

Now, remember that I have TWO children. If you distribute the baskets evenly between the members of the household (and none of us needs that, really) we could EACH have close to THREE ENTIRE EASTER BASKETS per person! Yes, I'm shouting - get over it. If you had all this crap in your house you'd be shouting, too.

Why? Or more accurately, how did they get nine Easter baskets, excluding the two they are SUPPOSED to get? Well, one grandma, and 2 of her sisters, each brought one for each kid. That's six. BIL and his wife brought each kid a bag of candy, as well (OK, not a traditional "basket" per se, but in the same spirit...don't get hung up in the semantics, here, people...). That's eight. And my dad had one basket for the entire family (hey, THERE'S a novel concept some OTHER people could try), so that makes nine. Nine baskets, with more kinds and flavors of candy than any fourteen childreen need, let alone just two.

But really, you may ask, how much candy could that be, really?

Oh.

You don't even KNOW.

But you will before we're done here. Stay with me on this.

Ask me how dedicated I am to you, dear reader. Ask me, go ahead.

Here's how dedicated I am - I not only photographed the sugar-filled booty, I also sorted and counted it. I know, right? Totally anal, but only done for your understanding of the real, true level of confectionery excess that darkens my kitchen counter.

Let's see...which first? The pictures, or the list? Hmm. Decisions, decisions. Let's start with the list, I think. I should note that the list includes items that may have been eaten by photographing time (again, don't get hung up on the little stuff, just trust me). OK, on with the list:

Laffy Taffy - 15
Crabby Patties - 4
Pop Rocks - 6
Rings/Necklaces - 4
Sweet Tarts/Sprees - 40
Bubble Gum - 36
Mini-Eggs - 76
Kisses - 66
Milk Creme Eggs - 10
Mini Twix - 8
Mini Candy Bars (Snickers, Milky Way, etc.) - 30
Mini Nerds - 4
Candy Bunnies - 7
Bubble Gum Eggs (12 pc pack) - 2
Paas Jellies (6 pc packs) - 8
Mini Peanut Butter Cups - 8
Peanut Butter Eggs - 6
Mini M&M (Packs) - 24
Milky Way Bunnies - 6
Pez (2 pack) - 2
Peeps (12 pc pack) - 2
Hard candies (packs) - 12
Carrot O' Robin Eggs - 1
Suckers - 2
Hollow big candies - 8
Fruit/applesauce - 8 (MIL gets credit for these)
Marshmallow eggs - 4
Also...assorted M&M's, jelly beans, candy corns, stickers, erasers, hackey sacs, football, bouncy balls, devotional CDs, and two outfits (for which Aunt P gets credit)

Yes, I'm serious. Yes, they REALLY got that much crap. Yes, it's too much. Yes, it's excessive and unnecessary and out of control.

What? It doesn't sound that bad? You don't think it's THAT much candy? Oh. Alright. Let me SHOW you just how much candy it is, while you keep in mind that it's intended for a 2-year old and a 5-year old who get to pick ONE or TWO pieces of candy per day when it's in the house.

I know, right?

What?

Not impressive enough? Doesn't give you the full feel of the volume we're talking about? Fine. Let's try an aerial view (I had to hold the camera at CEILING LEVEL to get it all in the frame, people...):

Still need more? Ok - close-ups, just for you:

As my niece would have once said, it's "totally redick". There is NO REASON for this. I mean, other than the life-long contest going on to see who can overindulge the little ones more - there is THAT reason. (I didn't say it wasn't a completely insane, ridiculous reason, did I?)

I've already sent a gallon-sized Ziploc bag with Greg to take to work for the office folks to devour. They may get another one. Or I may donate most of it, although I'm not sure to where - nobody really needs this crap.

Maybe you're a big fan of the candy. Maybe you're thinking "Why not just let the kids have it a little bit at a time?"

Oh, they'll get some, "a little bit at a time". But do you know how LONG it would take them to eat this much candy? Let's say I let them pick two candies a day. That's four a day, OK? Roughly, if we were to go that route, and NOT counting jelly beans, M&Ms, etc., they would have to have candy twice a day for 108 (that's ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHT DAYS) IN A ROW to get rid of it. Remember that those 12 packs of gum? That's 24 servings of gum, PLUS the 36 individual pieces of gum - just the damn gum could take more than two weeks!

So there is NO WAY ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH I am listening to candy begging for the next 108 days (that's three and a half MONTHS, folks). It's just not happening. We'll be half way to Halloween!

Sigh. So what's the lesson? The big picture, if you will? Here it is, in a candy-flavored nutshell: stop buying other people's kids candy. Seriously. The Easter Bunny does his job, you don't need to help. You know what you do, when you do that? You disappoint the kids, because they see all this crap, and then I have to be the bad guy and not let them eat it all. So do us all a favor - either get your own kids, remember how YOU'D have felt if someone sent all this crap home with you when YOU had kids, buy candy for yourself, or (and it's really what I recommend) simply decide that it's OK to just enjoy the holidays WITHOUT spending money on crap that nobody needs (and already has) anyway.

To All It May Concern

2009-04-11T22:38:00.003-05:00

To the asshole trying to merge in front of me at 12:45 this morning as I came home from B's house: you best put your foot in it if you're going to pull your stupid piece of shit car in front of my van on the interstate. You're an asshat. Move it or lose it.

To the complete morons who previously owned this house at some point: Why did you bury more than 100 bricks, laid out in a REALLY stupid pattern, three inches under the grass in my back yard? Was it a makeshift patio that you just let the grass and dirt take over? Are you just that stupid? I think yes. Yes, you are.

To the people in the world who decide who can or can't buy houses: PLEASE implement an IQ test. Soon. Every person who's ever owned this house before us lacks the basic intelligence to make ANY good decisions required of a homeowner. This buried brick bullshit is just Case-In-Point #2356 since 2005.

To the made-me-feel-skinny-moron on the Little Rascal in Target with the 300-pound 8 year old riding in front of you: Here's a tip. When you RAM INTO THE BACK OF SOMEONE while they are patiently waiting in line, and push them so hard that you propel them INTO the side of the conveyor belt, the polite thing to say is "I'm so sorry"... or "I apologize"... or even "Excuse me, I didn't mean to do that". Your the-lights-are-on-but-nobody's-home expression, which I saw when I turned to see who had tried to assissinate me by motorized shopping cart, saved you from the verbal lashing I had planned from the moment I felt my knees knocked out from under me. Clearly you are TOO STUPID to understand how to function in the world. Feel free to send someone else to do your shopping for Ho-ho's and National Enquirer next time.

To my husband: If I left the game on, at a continue point, it's because I hadn't cleared that level yet, and planned to return soon. Just so you know in the future. Cuz' I'm SURE you wouldn't just jack me on purpose so you can play YOUR game. Hope you got YOUR level cleared, though. Smooches. Oh, and you're welcome to get me back to where I was - that level sucks (which is WHY I left it on...but I think you knew that).

To Maidenform: THANK YOU for your new body shaper which I picked up tonight and would like to wear all day every day. It is all I have looked for in a lycra garment for years and years. The "flap" crotch should work fine when I have to pee, but I'll get back to you on how it works when I need to drop some friends off at the pool. I see me undressing myself in Aunt P's bathroom tomorrow, and trying not to hurt myself in the process, just to take a dump. Stay tuned.

To Facebook: Your "new" format sucks my ass (and that's no small task). Put it the fuck back. Or I'll go back to school and learn all about programming and build my own site based on your OLD format. I'll do it. Don't you make me go and get a life. Just put it back.

To my ILs: Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. We love you and we are grateful.

To my sister: Call Dad back. Please? Please. I'm begging you. You're killing me.

To the makers of Starburst: Why must you make jelly beans? Why? You seemingly like my ass nice and fat.

To myself: You also seemingly like my ass nice and fat. Put the fork down. Get back on the Beach before your huge whaleness of a body GETS BEACHED there for good. They'll bring in a helicopter and giant mesh straps, and try to haul your mass back out to sea, but it'll be too late. The Starburst Jelly Beans and the chicken nuggets with honey mustard sauce will have done their terrible work. And drink some water once in a while, for fuck's sake. Just because diet soda LISTS water as an ingredient doesn't mean it's a great substitute.

To you, my readers: Have a blessed weekend, and thanks for reading.

When I Say It's Trashed

2009-04-08T00:08:00.018-05:00

That's what I mean. Trashed.

OK, it's not generally totally trashed. There are many phases, but I like to keep it from getting unlivable all too often. But I wanted to show you, dear reader, just what it looks like when Cathy takes just 36 hours "off", even if only figuratively. Not absent in body, but partly in mind - choosing to ignore and disregard what needs to be done (on practically an hourly basis) in just one room, for just a little more than one day. See, I've been a little bit, uh...what's the word...bitchy. Irritated. Disconcerted. Annoyed. But that's another blog.

The effect of my Grumpfest is that the kitchen went to crap in a little more than one day. And that, in all its glory, is what I wanted to show you. So I give you, in color,

"What Happens When Cathy Spends 36 Hours In IGiveAFuckLand"

Nice, huh? It's not a huge picture (that's no accident, folks) but you can clearly see parts of most every meal and snack that the kids, Greg and I have eaten since yesterday. And the flowers we bought on Sunday night. And the mail. And the empty milk carton. And the dirty counters. And the sink full of dishes.

So Momma checked back in, got back on the horse, and got her proverbial poop back in a group.

Much better, I think. And it helps my mood a little to know tomorrow starts with, if nothing else, a clean kitchen.

Super Fantastic Ultra-Dorktastic

2009-04-04T20:47:00.004-05:00

So I'm not even sure if "dork" is the right word.

Maybe "goober" or "eccentric" would work better. And I concede that "funny" is every bit as accurate and I'm not saying this as a bad thing, or a reflection of love lost. I'm just sayin'.

I'm kind of a big dork.

{Aaaand a HUSH falls over the crowd.}

It's true. I am more self-aware than ever, here in the middle of my life, and I'm more able to see myself from outside myself all the time. And what I see, frankly, in many ways, is a dork. And not because I love video games, or the Muppets, or because I shop at Walmart, or because I wouldn't know a Coach bag from a Faded Glory bag, or because I think heels are the stupidest shoe ever invented. And I'm not saying that I'm not OK just the way I am. I'm just sayin'.

Ok, here's the deal. I know I have my funny moments, and I'm often the life of the party, causing laughter with my witty words. Right? Right. But sometimes, as I get older, I'm starting to get that people, while they laugh with me, are also laughing...maybe not "at", but certainly "towards" me. I have an aunt who I suspect I am very much like - she is always cracking jokes, making funny voices and faces, and everyone rolls when this aunt is around. But I also know we also sit around and say "She's really something else!" when she's NOT around. I suspect I've been lumped in the "somthing else" category, and rightfully so.

This is not an entirely new revelation - I've said for years that I'm not for everybody, and I get that. And I'm really OK with it, too. If everyone liked everyone and we all stood around adoring each other our whole lives, that'd just be weird. AND I get that there are people who really do love me just as I am, and find my humor and my conversation style perfectly lovely and endearing. I also get that my dorkness does not make me undeserving of love or friendship. That's not what this is about.

This is about me knowing I'm a big dork. That when I make funny statements, and use silly voices and outlandish facial expressions to make people laugh, it's conveying a certain style of dorkness. Not mad at me, don't dislike me because of it - I'm just coming to a real place of understanding this one thing about me. Just realizing the deep-inside wish to be a really, really cool lady who is super-chic and classy, who always says the right thing, and always gives off that sophisticated air, is probably just not ever going to be a reality in my life. I can totally fake it for short periods of time, but in the end, the Dork always re-emerges (bringing with her - yes, laughter and fun - but also some pretty dorktastic vibes along for the ride).

So what's our lesson here, people? I guess maybe it's that part of this journey is realizing WHO and WHAT we really are, and being able to embrace it, even if it's not what we wanted to be when we grew up. So fine, I'm a dork. Hey, man, I can say it - dork. Dorkdeedork dork. And I'm no less lovable because I of it (I don't think I am - at least not to the people who matter, anyway), and I have friends and family who love and respect me, despite my dorkish ways.

And most importantly, I hope that if my kids grow up to be dorks that they will have this revelation sooner than 35 years into their journeys. They'll be much happier once they figure it out. I think I am.

I Wonder If They Put Notebooks on Lanyards

2009-04-04T20:42:00.005-05:00

You know, a lanyard? (I love to say that with a northern accent, and follow it up with "Well ya, for corn's sake..." - don't ask me why.) A lanyard, in case you don't know, is that string that goes around your neck to hold your keys, name tag, whatever? Well, I need one with a notebook on it, so when I have all of these brilliant blog ideas and topics throughout my day I don't have to find someplace to right it down. I've lost at least three in the last two days. Rigoddamndiculous.

Holy Absent Batman

2009-04-02T23:38:00.004-05:00

So where the hell have I been? And is BlogHer Ads going to drop me for not updating on a regular basis? And why am I not writing more?

All good questions, people. All of them. Where to start? Well, all of last week the entire lot of us were busy fighting off the urge to crawl in bed and die, fighting off at least two different viruses which were painful and yucky to survive. So last week, that's where I was. Before that, not sure - too long ago. I know that after Aimee's birthday I didn't feel like writing much for a few days. There is a part of this blog that reminds me of her so much that being here is often difficult.

BlogHer Ads - I promise to do better. Please don't drop me. Pretty please?

I am not writing more because I am not making good use of my time. Is that clear enough? I am jacking around too much, staying up too late (and not to blog, unfortunately), and it needs to change. The garage sale is coming at me with blinding speed and I seem to have come to a stand-still in preparations for that. I am helping Dad on his books, which is arduous and difficult and slow-going. I am planning our garden. My house work is perpetually undone at some level, and catching up one part of it creates a deficit in some other area, and the tail-chasing continues.
TGPMo2009 is still in a holding pattern. If you could see me now, you'd see me rolling my fracking eyes about it.

So what else is new? Well, Greg's work is slow. Slooooowwwww. We are going to have to make some changes around here if things don't pick up soon. But he just won Employee of the Month...again. It's getting embarrassing for him, frankly - that's five times in less than five years. He also went to the dentist today, for which I think he is done being mad at me for - I made the appointment for him after much "discussion" about it. He seems to be one of the very rare people in the world who, quite literally, do not make tartar. One whose teeth do not calcify. The hygienist did NOT believe how long it's been since his last cleaning. Whatever. He gets all the breaks. No tartar, AND he gets to be married to me? Lu-cky.

The kids are very much into "art time" and love to draw, paste, and cut at the kitchen table, which is fun and exciting, but messy. They also love playing outside, and are enjoying occasional moments outside "on their own" - with Mommy or Daddy watching through the open kitchen windows, in the fenced yard. Big stuff around here.

I am still scratching and fighting to stay on the beach, and not always doing so well. Part of the snack I had tonight from Taco Bell rhymes with "fleecy trouble neat schlumito" - and it is NOT on the plan. Still have book ideas that I don't work on, still have craft ideas that I don't work on, and still suck at laundry.

Oh, and the preschool fundraiser event is coming up in a few weeks - I am chairing the snack walk, and decorations. AND I'm making dessert for the teachers' lunch for the month of April - the day before our garage sale starts. Something tells me they'll be getting one-pan brownies...or Wal-Mart bakery brownies.

I have several blog ideas in the works here, I promise, and will be doing my level best to finish them up and post them soon. Promise. Gotta go clean my kitchen - we are doubling the number of kids in our house for the day tomorrow, and I should at least START the day with a clean house. Hope your weekend is wonderful, folks!

Birthday

2009-03-10T21:11:00.001-05:00

Aimee...

I hope that where you are was perfect for you today - that they celebrated all you are, all you have meant to those of us who love and miss you, and that you could feel all the love we sent today as we endured your birthday without you.

Happy Birthday, my dear sweet friend. You are sorely missed, loved always, and never forgotten.

I love you.

Happy DST!

2009-03-08T12:57:00.003-05:00

Did you spring ahead, my lovelies? Give up that hour of sleep for an hour of sunshine? Or what would be sunshine if it wasn't 33 and raining?

I am glad for DST and they could leave it that way forever for all of me. My nephew informed me yesterday that the origins of DST have something to do with train schedules. He's kind of a genius so I don't doubt he's right, but I had never heard that. Oh, these youngins, they got all that fancy larnin' up ta their big schools.

Happy Sunday! (...and Happy Birthday to my mommy who celebrates her 30th 29th birthday today!)

And Now For Something Completely Different

2009-03-04T01:09:00.005-06:00

Digging around in my Analytics while I should be sleeping. Found some VERY interesting actual keywords used to find my blog by you kooky, yet faithful readers in the last two years or so. My favorites are as follows:

daughter in the mens bathroom at church pooping Uh, what?
how to get my wife to love me again kathy and bill This is weird because I dated a guy named Bill who later married a girl named Kathy, but not before he asked me to schtoop him one last time...gag. Ironically I would bet money that said Kathy by now does NOT love said Bill.
"fuck me in the butt and call me sally" OK most of the time I can see how the key words, at least some of them, got a person here. This is not one of those times.
are midol and mushrooms ok to take together Clearly she has bigger problems than PMS.
could you die from licking lysol Uh, I'm pretty sure you could, dumbass.
rash back arms itchy man -pregnant -female OK, none of those words even go together. What could they have been looking for, really?
tricking my sister into kissing my butt I have never done a blog on getting anyone to kiss anyone's butt. I don't think.
will i ever get to see cathy again? Why, yes - yes you will. Unless you have never seen me in the first place and don't know where I live. Then, maybe not, you know.

Also interesting to me are how many times people have searched for "cathy and greg" and "cathy's blog", and how many hits I got from "von maur shooting" and "velveeta" searches. The "we deserve it dividend" probably had the most, in its varied forms, but we are not discussing that today. Shut up, I didn't write the dumb thing, I just posted it; and I retracted it as soon as I did the math. And I said we're not talking about it.

I seriously need to go to bed. But you few random weird fuckers out there searching for some crazy stuff, who find me instead, you are welcome to root around and read whatever your nutzy little heart desires here at FMFO. My blog door is open, come on in.