Thankful

Thanksgiving is a time to be thankful. Thankful is something you should be all year, but this time of year it is stressed. I have many things to be thankful for.

Even if they are a pain in my ass.


I am thankful for...


Mount Laundry

Not a day goes by where I don't have one pile or another of clothes to wash. But every time I trip over one of those piles or leave a trail of socks behind me as I walk down to the laundry room, I am reminded of how thankful I am we are able to all have clothes on our backs. Or the floor.


Skyscrapers of dishes in the sink

Or on the counter. My daughter and I share the responsibility of washing said dishes. If I'm not complaining about the lasagna that burned to the pan and won't come off, then I'm bribing her to actually wash them at a reasonable hour. No matter how much whining and crying I do over those dishes, I am reminded of thankful I am we are able to fill plates with food each and every night.


Children

Whether they are fighting or laughing, I know that they always have and always will love one another. I can't imagine my life without them. It is truly a miracle that the husband and I let them live this long created such beautiful creatures.



Creaky floors and leaky pipes

It is no secret that I hate this house. So many memories have been made here, but most days, it still doesn't feel like a home. Just a house. But no matter how I feel about this house of ours, I am always thankful that we have a roof over our heads.


Alarm clocks

Not a day goes by when I don't want to chuck them into the wall. Yes I said them. This chic loves her sleep! But since one of those alarms is on my phone, which I also love, I resist the urge to throw things at the butt crack of noon dawn. Instead of throwing, I remind myself that hearing my alarms every morning remind me that I am alive. And I am very thankful for that.


Coffee

Do I really need to explain this one?!


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I am taking the remainder of this week off to enjoy a day of good food, followed by a long day of shopping. I hope everyone out there has a happy turkey day.


May you gobble til you wobble!

Can't You See?

I don't always understand those around me and the decisions they make, but I make it a point to learn, empathize, or hopefully begin to understand. Lately, I have run into more people that I care to count who can't seem to look past their noses. They assume I, and my loved ones, would do things the way they would. They assume that we will side with them and turn against flesh and blood. I do not understand those who can't see around themselves. No matter how hard I try, I don't think I ever will.


I will never understand my aunt's claims to be the victim. No matter what she says, she will never make me believe. She is not the victim. She is the controller. She is the one who drives people away. Playing victim to those too kind to tell her the truth will never be acceptable to me.


I will never understand those who think I can drop everything to cater to them. My family and I were invited to a wedding. My mother-in-law planned for months the outfits she would buy my children only to find out last minute they are not invited. Upon my mother-in-law's request, or demand depending on your point of view, we opted out of attending this wedding. Because of those I failed to mail back my RSVP. My MIL, who has been avoiding their calls out of hurt for a week, finally caved and picked up the phone. She explained to the bride's grandmother my family and I cannot go to the wedding because no one is available to watch our children. The grandmother asked if my mother could watch them for the night.

How lovely it would be to have my mother, or anyone, available at the drop of a hat so I can have a much needed night out with adults. But that is not my life and she shouldn't assume that it is.


I will never understand those who believe a charitable donation should only be given to a certain group of people.

My borough is small, yet at the elementary level, it is divided in two. My children's school tries every year to raise money for a local family in need. It is a game for the students. A game they greatly enjoy. And they are all made aware of what they are doing - helping those in need. The family we are helping this year lives on the other side of the borough. How crass of someone, a teacher, to say we should help a family on our side of the borough instead. To me, that is like saying we should only support troops overseas who come from our town.


Quite often I judge and I do so too fast. I keep those opinions to myself so I can open my ears, not my mouth. My judgements may be wrong, but I will never know unless I give the time to learn more about those around me. But no matter how hard I listen, some people I will never understand.

Tooth Fairy Mishap

For weeks, I was freaking out. All because of a tooth. A tooth that belonged to my 9 year old.

She told me almost every day that she had a loose tooth. Do 9 year olds still get loose teeth? It's been far too long since I was that age!

When did she last lose a tooth? Did I write it down somewhere? Which tooth was it? Do I need to call the dentist for her, even though I know her brother is the one who really needs to go?

Those were the questions running through my head on a nightly basis. Her tooth certainly didn't feel all that wiggly to me. I very well could have talked to friends with children her age or older. I also could have turned to the Google for answers. But, no. I chose to worry.


As it turns out, it is perfectly normal for a 9 year old to still lose teeth. I finally turned to the Google after she yanked her tooth out. I'm saying "yanked" because I swear it wasn't that loose! After Master Google calmed my nerves, round 2 of the freak out began. I, being the Tooth Fairy (shh!), needed money. It was not a good week for money. In this house, we happen to enjoy running water and lights to see what the hell we're doing. The weeks we decide it's better to not sit on the couch in the dark stinking to high heaven are also the weeks we happen to have little actual cash in our wallets. It was also after the kids' bedtime, which meant pajamas for me. I'm not the type of girl who wears her jammies out in public. A bank trip was out of the question.


The husband and I scrounged up a few bucks. Teeth aren't cheap these days! And then the waiting game began. My daughter would much rather read than go to sleep. But then her cough started. And then she needed a tissue. And then she needed to refill her water bottle. And then she needed a tissue. And then she needed to pee.

Good grief! Go the fuck to sleep! Tooth Fairy is tired!


Finally

11:30 pm

It is silent.

Except for the husband listening to his beloved Bears on the tv downstairs. go Packers


I tip toe to my daughter's room. I push the button on her lamp. The princesses do their dance as the light shuts off. Not so quietly I might add. I freeze and watch. She hasn't stirred. I click on the bathroom light so I can try to avoid the disaster on her bedroom floor. I tried, but was unsuccessful. Nor was I quiet!

I slip the envelope containing her tooth from her bookshelf. I quietly slip a few crisp bills between a soccer trophy and a Little Pet Shop creature. I slink out of her room, reach around the corner, and tap the switch in the bathroom.

"Mom?! Why did you turn off my light?"

Shit! Busted!

I hurdle over American Girl clothes and tap on her lamp. The princesses twirl once again as soft light fills her room. I freeze as I cross my fingers, hoping she rolls back over and drifts off.

She rolls over. I think I'm safe. It might also help that my daughter, at 9 years old, is blind as a bat without her glasses.


The following morning, she was so excited to have some money to add to her jar. I smiled, hoping she stops believing soon. It's easier that way I think.


Just not Santa. He IS real!

How to ruin a potential friendship

Attend, as well as host, a Tupperware party.


In mid-August, a girl from a bar my mom frequents was hosting a Tupperware party. We shall call this girl Tami. Not wanting to go alone, my mom invited me. I was quite excited because I wasn't sure if Tupperware even existed anymore.

The consultant, we shall call her Barbie, was a little too bubbly for my taste. But that doesn't mean we didn't enjoy ourselves. We saw some of the newest products, had some wicked good salsa, and my mom even "won" a necklace. Quotes because she didn't get to keep the necklace, but she could keep what was inside the mini container of a charm. Provided she host a party, of course.

At the end of the party, my mom and I filled out our order forms and chose a date for the party. Guess who got suckered into co-hosting said party? Ya, this girl. We chose a date in mid-September and were told by Barbie she would contact us when she returned from her training in Disney (oh-la-la). She was leaving the following day.

Two weeks pass and my mom and I are beginning to wonder where our products were and when we would hear from Barbie. I turned to the Tupperware website, which happens to be crap. I have an easier time contacting blog owners than someone from the Tupperware corporate office! But I did discover that products take 9 business days to ship. We should have had our products by then, but decided to give it a few more days.

Week three. We finally hear from Barbie, consultant extraordinaire. She says our party is all set up and ready to go. She would send one of us books and order forms within a few days so we could try to get outside orders. I inquired about our products. Our products were shipped directly to Tami because we opted out of the extra cost to have them shipped to us. That little $4.50 option was never explained to us.

This is where everything really started to go downhill.

My mom didn't get to the bar until later that week, when she was finally able to grab our products from Tami's car. Tami had been driving around with our stuff for almost 3 weeks by this point. She had our phone numbers, yet never called. She knew my mom's "friend", who goes there more than my mom, yet Tami never mentioned anything to him. Our books and order forms arrived the following week, 4 days before our party. Two books, order forms we couldn't read, and 4 days does not do well when trying to get outside orders, thankyouverymuch!

By now I was ready to cancel the party, but I sucked it up. If I would have known Barbie was going to talk for 4 damn hours at the party, I definitely would have canceled. We only had 5 people, and that's including my mom and I! She's lucky the party wasn't at my house or I surely would have kicked her out, products and all. Well, most of them.

We closed our party a week later. There were a few more bumps in the road, but not even a week after closing, our products arrived. Thank goodness this debacle was over!

Or so I thought.

Because my mom ordered stuff from Tami, she returned the favor. But instead of giving my mom her order, she gave it directly to Barbie. They're like BFFs or something. We only figured out Tami's order by process of elimination. Since my mom doesn't go to Tami's bar very often, she thought she would return the favor by driving around with her products in the car until she saw her.

Turns out Tami isn't a fan of this being done to her. Tami wants her special water pitcher. Tami has called Barbie, who has sent a text to my mom as well as calling me. We both explained that Tami will get her stuff. We're not sure when, but it will be by the end of the week. I really didn't want to wait a month for my new pitcher either. Karma. That's all I have to say.

And after all of this, Barbie didn't seem to understand why I don't want to be on her team as a consultant. We could all use a little extra money, but sorry honey. I'm not that desperate!




Because I know at least one girl from my party who sometimes reads this, thank you so much for helping me out by ordering and booking a party. I really hope your party goes over just as well as mine did, minus all the talking. But please don't be offended if I don't physically come. I'm not sure I can spend anymore time in the same room as Barbie!

Chore Jar

When I was growing up, I had a list of chores. Some were only done on the weekends, while others were nightly jobs. Now that my midgets are older, I would like them to start pitching in around the house.

This is easier said than done!

A few months ago I thought I lucked out with having someone else wash the dishes. For almost a week, my daughter happily sang songs while she washed. However, she quickly realized this would be a nightly occurrence. Months later, I still require her to wash the dishes, but it's not without a fight.

My boy is the same way. He will do chores, but it has to be on his terms. Most times, having him do chores is not without a fight. I do not like doing everything around the house on my own. I would like the midgets to help out and teach them about responsibility. While browsing Pinterest, I came across a chore jar. I had every intention of making the same jar as in the picture, but walking around the craft store, I came up with a new idea.


Materials:

Glass or plastic jar
Wide craft sticks - amount needed depends on the number of chores
2 Small bottles of paint
Markers (I used Sharpies)
Sponge paint brush

1. Using the sponge brush and one of your paint colors,
dab paint and cover the outside of the jar.

2. Using the second paint color, paint half of each craft stick

3. When all of the paint has dried, label your jar and craft sticks

4. Place your completed craft sticks in the jar

As of now I have 6 chores, but I am working on a list of others to add to the jar. Variety is the spice of life, after all!

My plan for this jar is simple. Each Saturday, my midgets will each choose 2 sticks from the jar. Those are their chores for the day. The husband and I have talked about giving the midgets some sort of allowance for their chores. Ever hopeful me, I'd like to think that a sense of accomplishment will be enough to motivate the midgets to want to do their chores every week. However, I think money is going to be the best motivator!

A little consideration please

We all know what happens when we assume. Perhaps I am being an ass in this situation, but that doesn't mean I'm not upset.

Months ago, before summer, my mother-in-law informed me of an upcoming wedding. The husband's cousin was getting married in November. I'm not too familiar with his side of the family, but had every intention of attending. A few years prior we also attending this girl's sister's wedding. Our son didn't join us because he was still a teeny baby, but his older sister was with us.

Now that both of our kids are older and able to go to such events, my MIL was quite excited to buy them new outfits. A new dress for our daughter and an actual suit for our son. I was looking forward to seeing my little boy in a suit and later watching him cut it up on the dance floor.

My MIL and this girl's mother are close and talk quite often. This wedding has been the topic of their conversations for quite some time.

September 11th was the day of the bridal shower. I thought it was tacky, but not my decision to make. I went with my MIL and my daughter. My MIL even bought the bride-to-be a gift specifically from my daughter. We talked of some hassles that went into setting up the bridal shower, as well as conversations about the wedding itself.

Two weeks ago I finally received one of the fanciest wedding invitations I have ever seen. While looking over the RSVP card, I became confused. There were 3 options of what to choose for our main dinner course. I wasn't sure what to do when it came to the kids. Were they expected to eat one of those 3 options, or would there be child friendly meals at the reception?

I held off on filling out the card until I talked to my MIL. I was getting the impression our kids weren't invited to this wedding. My MIL called the bride's mom and asked her what I should do. The response we got - she didn't think children were invited to the wedding (even though there are children in the bridal party).

In all of the conversations my MIL had with the bride's mother, you think "no children allowed" would have been mentioned.

This wedding is on a Friday, at 5pm. Who am I going to find to babysit my kids since everyone I know works? But before I could even worry about that, my MIL told us to not even bother going to the wedding.

I should have assumed that not everyone wants children at their wedding and reception. However, this bride should also have taken into consideration how difficult it can be to find a babysitter on a weekday afternoon.

I'm relieved to not have to attend this wedding, especially since our daughter's birthday is the following day. But I'm upset that this little detail of no kids wasn't mentioned earlier than a month before the wedding.

I miss my childhood

I miss my childhood.

The waxy smell of a freshly opened box of crayons. Any color was mine for the choosing.

Bright, cheery yellow

Calm, soothing blue

Make me giggle and smile like the girl I was pink.

I was free to color whatever I wanted, however I wanted. Trees don't always have green leaves when you are 5. Sometimes they can be purple. And, if I was so inclined, I could make the sun orange. It didn't matter if I colored out of the lines. Mom loved my pictures no matter what they looked like. Each and everyone was carefully hung on the fridge with one of Grandma's numerous chicken magnets.


I miss my childhood.

Cookies were baked with Grandma in the weeks leading to Christmas. Flour covered our shirts and the table. Red icing on my cheek from the itch I scratched. While Grandma turned to place the next batch in the oven, I would quietly grab a ball of dough from the next batch to be made.


I miss my childhood.

Endless days playing hide-n-seek or riding bikes from one friend's house to the next. Out all day until the street lights came on.

Countless winter days grumbling while mom bundled me up. Her efforts led to hours of sledding and snowman building. When all 3 layers of pants were wet and I could no longer feel my toes, Mom was always there with hot chocolate in hand.


I miss my childhood.

Crayons have been replaced by pens and keyboards. My work must be precise and I must always, always stay in the lines. Leaves are now green and the sun is always yellow. My work is no longer displayed on the fridge. Instead it is full of lists and reminders.


I miss my childhood.

In the weeks leading to Christmas, my children and I bake. We have icing and sprinkles and flour in our hair. But they must never, ever eat the dough. There are raw eggs in there and we don't want anyone sick. Although I do know they sneak tastes as I once did.


I miss my childhood.

It is too cold for me to go outside. I zip all the zippers and tie both of their scarves. They grumble as I fidget. Are your feet all the way in? Are you mittens on tight?

I watch my children build snow forts as I place one clean shirt onto the pile. They slide down our hill as I try to find a match for yet another sock. I must hurry and finish so I have time to make hot chocolate before they are too cold.


I miss my childhood.



This week’s Write on Edge prompt is to use the image above for your inspiration and begin your post with those words…”I miss my childhood…”

Word limit- 500
My count- 443

Constructive criticism always welcome

White knuckles

I must admit I had so much fun writing Friday's post, Time to Let Go. Reading all the link ups for Writing On Edge that day was also a blast. It's amazing how much meaning can fit into 140 characters.

I know I left those who visited hanging because I didn't explain what I was referring to. It was interesting reading what everyone guessed. Many guesses were for a child's first ride on a roller coaster. Since I am a coaster fanatic, that wasn't it. Only one person guessed correctly, and that was CDG from Move Over Mary Poppins.

There were also many guesses that my tweet post was a parenting metaphor. In a way, this was true. Those who guessed that make me want to write a completely different post about letting my children go as they grow, especially with today being their first day back at school (hallelujah!!). Perhaps I'll save that idea for another time.

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I don't remember having many fears as a young child. My mom always tells me the story of her and I going to the World's Fair in New Orleans when I was a few years old. My uncle, who happened to be afraid of heights, took me on the monstrous ferris wheel. Me bobbing around checking out all the sights from that height certainly didn't do anything to calm his nerves.

A few years later, this all changed. My mom met my dad and the three of us started doing things as a family. This included going to a local carnival. My dad loved to take me on the ferris wheel. From the carnival at my school, you could see my Grandma's house from the top. If him and I were lucky enough to get stopped at the very top, he would distract me by pointing out my Grandma's house. As I would look to find it, he would start to rock the car we were sitting in. I quickly grew to hate ferris wheels.

Now that I am grown with my own children, I love to take them to carnivals. However, I rarely take them on the ferris wheel unless I absolutely have to. I have had operators ask me if they need to stop the ride because my white knuckles gripping the safety bar match the color of my face.


Last week was the annual carnival at the church by our house. I took the kids up earlier in the week to check out the flea market and play a few games. Later in the week, the husband joined us. The kids wanted to ride the ferris wheel and he knows it's his job to go on that ride with them.

While we were there, we ran into my friend J, her kids, and another friend of theirs. The next 2 hours were spent watching our kids bebop between all the rides and games. Our boys, who are 5 and 6, kept asking to ride the ferris wheel. J feels the same way about that ride as I do, so we did everything we could to distract them. Finally we couldn't take anymore of their begging.

Our girls and another friend they ran into proclaimed they were riding that horrible ride together. J and I decided to let our boys ride with the other friend who was already in our group. He is older than our boys so we knew they would all be fine. It was us who were worried.

We watched our boys stand in line, proudly holding their little red tickets. As I watched them board the ride, I felt my heart jump into my throat. My knuckles turned white around the prizes I was holding as I watched them go up, up, all the way to the top. Our boys peered over the edge to try and find us below. I wanted to scream out "Sit down and hold on!"

Down, down they came and I realized it was time for me to let go.

My son is 6, but he is still the baby. As much as I miss the days when he (and his sister) crawled around the house, I know that I need to let them go and watch them grow.

Led Zeppelin, alive and touring?

Led Zeppelin - that's the band I went to see the other night. At least according to the Subway employee.

It has become a tradition to stop at a particular Subway for dinner when we head out to see a favorite band at our favorite concert venue. While waiting in line, a customer not from my party asked an employee if there was a concert that night. He was probably suspicious due to the higher than normal amount of traffic driving through Middle of Nowhere Town. The employee ever so nicely answered this man's question. There was a concert on this night in question and the band playing was Led Zeppelin.

Luckily me and my crew weren't quite as clueless and were able to avoid the disappointment at the ticket window once we arrived at the concert venue. Although we all like Led Zeppelin, the four of us were really looking forward to...




The husband and I went to watch Def Leppard last year and it's quite possible that it was one of the best shows I have ever seen. Not only do I love their music, but their stage show was fucking awesome!

A few months ago, when I heard the announcement that they were coming back, I begged and pleaded for the husband to buy tickets. When I mentioned the concert to my brother and sister-from-another-mister, drool spilled from their mouths as they asked to join us.

It would have been an awesome show without them, but those three people made the whole night that much better. I haven't laughed like that in a long time and my throat still hurts from all the talking, singing, and screaming.

I also need to thank my brother, again, for being so prompt in paying us back for his ticket. Because of him, I was able to purchase the t-shirt in the picture above. I also made another purchase, but it's only for the eyes of my husband. *wink, wink, nudge, nudge*


So if you ever want to go see one of the best concerts ever, I highly suggest Led Zeppelin, er Def Leppard!

Could this be it?

I stand on the sidewalk. I watch my kids weave around the picnic tables. The heavenly scent of burning wood and bar-b-que sauce from the smoker fills my nose. Then I hear it.

My phone.

My mom is calling. I know it's her without even looking. Those close to me are privileged enough to have their own unique ring tone. It never occurs to me that it is well before 5 o'clock and she is still at work. She may text, but she rarely makes cell phone calls from her office.

As I answer the phone and hear, "I'm calling to let you know...".

This is not good.

My mom was leaving work because an ambulance was on it's way to take my Grandma to the hospital. The Sister from my Grandma's building had called my mom, who was now relaying the situation to me. She was having chest pains. Again.

My Grandma has already had a heart attack, a stint, and open heart surgery. She is still an active woman and other than her heart, she is in general good health. But she is 87 years old.

She has always been a big part of my life. Although I am grown with my own family and we don't see each other as often, our relationship is still very close.

Outside of her heart attack, this was not the first time my Grandma experienced chest pains and trouble breathing. It scares the hell out of me whenever I get that phone call. The one where an ambulance is on it's way.

Could this be it?

Could this be the big one?

Will I once again lose someone who I hold so close to my heart?

How will I help my children understand the finality of death?

My daughter is a sensitive soul. News like that will absolutely devastate her. My son is 6 and while he has talked about death, I'm not sure he would fully understand. The pieces of my already broken heart will only shatter more when I see that same pain in my children's eyes.



This time my Grandma has been spared. Tests came back with positive news and she will be cleared to go home later today. But how many more of those phone calls will there be?

I am not ready, nor will I ever be.


update: My Grandma had another episode and is staying at the hospital another night so the doctors can figure out what is going on. I hate this!!

If I tell you

For the past few PYHOs, Shell has talked about judging others, something I know I am guilty of. I think everyone is guilty of this and if you say you don't judge, you're lying. The only difference is, some are respectful enough to keep their thoughts to themselves.

I am not an expert, nor do I claim to know all of the answers to much of anything, but I do know what I believe. I believe that many of us judge in order to make ourselves feel better about our shortcomings.


I started this blog so I would have a place away from family where I could write about my own fears and shortcomings. I don't want to talk about my kids over here, but I still do. My kids are my safety net. I may feel alone in the moment, but I know other parents have had those days where all you do is scream because your children refuse to listen.

My kids are not the only part of who I am. I have fears and doubts. I have had experiences that still haunt me to this day. I have my own beliefs that I do not express when they may differ from yours. I could write about all of that here. Yet I don't.

I am afraid of being judged.


If I tell you my kids have had cookies for dinner, will you tell me I am a bad parent?


If I tell you some days I would rather crawl back into bed than play with my kids, will you tell me I'm just trying to get some attention?


If I tell you about the night I almost lost my husband, will you chastise me for not trying to prevent it?


If I tell you I'm not sure if there is a God, will you turn and walk away, or preach to me to prove your beliefs?


If I tell you 2 men or 2 women should be granted the same rights as me and my husband, will you shake your head in disgust and tell me how wrong that lifestyle is?



I may mention these things, but fear holds me back from taking it further. I have never received a negative comment, but I fear if I write more about my feelings and beliefs, I will have one. Or many. Or maybe none at all - do you not care or did I scare you away?


I constantly worry about myself and my family. I stand firm in what I believe, except for religion.

I also wear my heart on my sleeve.

I worry, even when I don't have to

A night out with friends. I am ready to go. I wave to my kids as we drive away.

I wonder what they will do while we are gone.


From the passenger window I watch the fields pass by as we head down the highway.

I wonder if my son is still watching the bulldozers digging up Grandma's street.


We stop at Subway for dinner. Five dollar footlongs for all!

I wonder if my kids are eating their pizza. It's not from our usual pizza shop.


We arrive at the concert site and quickly open our beers. We chat as we watch those around us stumble to the ground.

I worry about what my kids are doing. Are they fighting? Did someone fall? They are quite clumsy.


We make our way in to hear a favorite singer. The music is loud as we sing along.

I worry my kids are watching too much tv. Did they choose a show not allowed in our home?


The music is over. We find our way back to the car. Traffic was light in the direction we chose. The back roads are dark, but they have an advantage.

I worry that my kids are still awake. It is much past their bedtime, and they don't like the dark.


From the passenger window I watch the fields pass by as we head down the highway. The fields that were once covered in sun are now peppered with the gentle glow of fireflies.

I worry about my kids, but I know they are safe. They are surrounded by family and I by my friends. We will always be there to keep each other safe.






*to answer the question as to what my kids chose to watch- let's just say my 5 year old now knows the theme song for Cops!*

I don't like to lose

Competitions

I love them.

During football and hockey seasons, one can find me on my couch, head to toe team colors, eyes glued to the tv, and possibly profanities escaping my mouth.

During soccer season for the kids one can find me as close to the field as I am allowed, maybe more. Camera in hand, cheering my kids on.

Even though I'm not always very good, I often like to compete with myself. After all, apps in the Android Market Place were meant for me right?
hello 3 versions of Angry Birds!

I've also been known to compete with the husband. Tennis. On the Wii. Because I suck at it in real life.


What I do not like to compete with is the husband's job.

We have been married for over 9 years and I have competed with his jobs since the beginning. The first of those jobs called for early mornings and late nights. Quite often I would fall asleep before he even came home. That job, while it may have sucked, was our life line. With a new baby, I could not work. I couldn't ask him to change something that we desperately needed.

With his current job, he is aways on call. Something breaks? Here comes the husband to swoop in and fix it. However it is rarely an easy fix. Computers rarely cooperate when you need them to. The office hours are thankfully closer to 9-5. Actually 7-4. Even if I didn't take him to and from work, he would almost always be home for dinner. However, work does not stay at work. His smart phone is his lifeline and his computer could pass for our third child. The husband often babysits programs to make sure they continue to work.

He loves his job and I am so glad for that. Finding a job you love with good pay is not always easy to attain. As happy as I am for him, I do not always love his job. If it comes down to dinner out with the family or fixing something for work, work always wins.

I understand he has to do what he has to do. This job gets our bills paid. We are finally at a point financially where we can buy ourselves things we want, but may not necessarily need. Many good things for the husband, as well as me and the kids, have come from this job. And I hope there will be more in the future.

But I don't like that I have to compete with the job.

And I don't like to lose.

Not in my bed!

I have a love-hate relationship with bugs.

To be honest, it's more like tolerate-hate.



I have come to terms that bugs will get into the house, no matter what you do to prevent that. Especially when you have kids who run in and out of the house all damn day! Flies and moths will be let in. For a while we had stink bugs. Thankfully not too many and thankfully the hose on my Dyson has a pretty good reach! Even spiders I have learned to accept. As long as the husband is home and can kill them for me!

What I don't like are the bugs that try to get personal. And by personal I mean the ones who think they can hitch hike their way in our house.


The other night I had stepped outside. I have a habit of leaving the back porch light on. We all know how light attracts bugs. Thankfully there are a few spiderwebs in the corners of the porch. This is the one and only place I like spiders - outside, eating bugs that have the potential t enter the house.

When I was ready to come back in and head to bed. I made sure the lights (in- and outside) were off and the back door securely closed and locked. I kicked my flip flops off under my computer chair, grabbed my phone, and headed upstairs. I set my pillows how I like them and smoothed out my blanket. I pulled the tie out of my forever ponytail and sat down to find something on tv to fall asleep to.

As I was sitting there, I felt something on my neck. I assumed it was my hair falling against my neck because it was now free of the forever ponytail. I shook my head ever so slightly hoping to speed up the process on my hair falling onto my neck. The crawling sensation was still there.

Thinking my head shake was a failed attempt, I reached my fingers up to my neck to run through my hair. Instead of my hair falling onto my shoulders, a bug fell onto my lap.

June bug
Very annoying and very stupid bugs!

Ew, ew, and just ew! Bugs are not on my very short list of one 6-foot tall blond men who can touch me in my own bed.

Thank goodness my son left his flip flops by the bed. Heaven forbid I have to smoosh something with my own shoe!

It is what it is and it's always there

Because I feel like something should go here before I jump right into what was a difficult post for me to write.....

From Shell - just a brief reminder that everyone linking is pouring their hearts out and we should all be respectful in our comments. ;)



Anxiety is a state of uneasiness or tension caused by apprehension of possible future misfortune, danger, etc; worry (via dictionary.com)


Anxiety is using a new recipe for dinner. Will they eat it? Is the recipe a keeper?


Anxiety is going out in public wearing clothes that fit, not baggy clothes you can hide in.


Anxiety is sending your accident prone son outside to play. It's only a matter of time before his bumps and bruises become true emergencies.


Anxiety is laying in bed listening to your daughter cough well into the night. Most illnesses trigger her asthma. It has been a long time since she has been admitted to the hospital. Will that other shoe finally drop?


Anxiety is getting in the car after the first big snow and hoping you can make it back home.


Anxiety is getting in the car to pick my husband up from work, knowing there will be traffic along the way. Will the cars behind me see that I am stopped or will I get hit again?


Anxiety is wondering where another child will fit. The husband has stated our two children are enough, yet he makes no effort to prevent a third from entering our lives. I am also partly to blame.


Anxiety is the lump in my throat, the rocks in my stomach, and the lack of words to express what I feel deep down inside.


Anxiety is thinking about what tomorrow will bring.


Anxiety is clicking publish.

Love hurts

Love is you, love is me

Love makes the world go 'round

Love is all you need

But sometimes those we love, don't love us back. Such is the case with me.


This past weekend was glorious! The sun was shining. The temperature was right where I like it - in the 80s, pushing 90. Sunday I went to a picnic and was able to wear a sundress. I love my sundresses and seize any opportunity to wear one.

Yesterday was the hottest day of our 4-day weekend. I jumped for joy when I realized I could wear my favorite tank - a blue and green tie-dye. Even though it was hot as hell, I spent the majority of the day outside. I loaded the midgets up and took them to Rita's, we walked around a cemetery, visited the graves of my Pap and my Dad, and eventually ended up at the park.

I love the sun! Especially after the past 2 months which have been more rain than anything else. Last night I learned that even though I adore the sun, it does not love me. Actually, I suppose I should give the sun some credit. It only loves parts of me.

You see, if you were to look up "white girl" in the dictionary, you would see a big ole picture of me. That teensy bit of Irish floating around in my blood? It shows in my skin color. You think I would be smart enough to apply liberal amounts of sunscreen, but my infatuation with the sun at the beginning of the season is so great, that all that other important stuff slips my mind.

My feet are doing a happy jig because they're nice and tan. However, the left side of my body is wishing that I wouldn't forget the important things, like SPF 50.

Anyone have some aloe I can borrow?

The games we played

I remember being very young, perhaps three or four. The light from my Grandma's small corner lamps bounced off the dark paneled walls. The folding card table was placed squarely in the room. Surrounding it were my Grandma, my mom, and various uncles and aunts. Their hands overflowing with cards, the table lined with rows of cards. They played games such as Pinochle and Canasta. Games with too many cards for my little hands to hold.

When it was my turn to play, we would play Go Fish and War. War was always my favorite because I was so good at winning!


As I grew older, cards continued to follow me through my life. Many nights I played Cribbage with my parents. I can almost hear my dad shuffling the cards. I can almost feel the soft, smooth wood of the board against my fingers. But the rules of the game have since slipped my mind.


When I was seven, I found my best friend. As we began to hang out more, I learned that her family loved to play cards as well. Her family could often be seen around their dining room table playing a game of Pinochle. It brought me back to the days of watching my own family play.

We could never quite figure out how to play the games the adults played, but her and I became quite good at playing 500 Rummy.


I will never forget a family vacation to a cabin in the woods when I was a young teenager. My best friend was allowed to join us and we were both so excited. The cabin was anything but small. The ceiling in the main room spanned 2 floors and the walls were lined with glass. My parents slept in the first floor bedroom with my younger brother, while her and I had free reign of the remaining four on the second floor. If we closed the door, we could talk and laugh into the wee hours of the night.

We would spend our time talking about friends and boys. While we talked, we always played a card game. We would play the fast-paced game of Spit, or the guessing game of Golf, and we always ended with 500 rummy.


One of those night in the cabin, that game of 500 turned into 1000, 1500, and on and on. We played until our eyes couldn't stay open for another second. We had heard noises in the woods. A loud bang, and a scream. Oh my goodness, what do we do? Waking my parents meant walking down the dark, narrow steps and through the tall open room. If there was a killer on the loose, surely he would see us through all of those windows. Quietly playing cards would surely make everything alright. And that's what we did. We finally fell asleep shortly before the sun woke up for the day.

To this day, my best friend and I get together as often as we can to play cards. We still play the same games. We still talk about friends and boys. We still laugh too loud.

I could tell you about playing Trouble as a child until we broke the popper. I could share a story about the time I agreed to play to long version of Monopoly with my dad, and it lasted a week.

I love games and I have played many in my life, but cards will always be what I turn to. They seem to bring out the best in the people who gather around them.

Shaken, not stirred

It was a horrible and scary incident. As backwards as it sounds, I am thankful that my kids were with me.

Friday we were taking are typical weekday afternoon drive to get the husband from work. On the way we have to pass through a mile long tunnel. I can't think of a time where there isn't traffic in this tunnel. And that was the case Friday afternoon.

The three of us were at a stop in the middle of the tunnel. Static coming from the radio while my boy was gabbing away. I heard the blare of a horn from behind. I glanced in the rear view mirror expecting to see a car switching lanes. Even though you aren't allowed to do this in these tunnels, people do it all the time. What I saw was a car a few hundred feet back, slowly creeping towards us. He mustn't have been paying attention and that resulted in the driver behind him laying on his horn.

I turned my eyes to the cars in front of us. Hopefully we would be moving again soon.

The movement that occurred was not the movement I expected. Mr. Hyundai behind us mustn't have been paying attention yet again. Thank goodness our car was there to stop him. Hard.

BOOM!!

BOOM!!


My head whacked off the head rest, which hurt like a son of a bitch. My girl's head must have done the same to her head rest. Screw the car, my girl was hurt! I threw open my door and practically ripped her door off. Her tears were falling hard and fast over her cheeks. Her screams were shrill and echoed through the tunnel. She was grabbing her head. I looked in her eyes, told her to move her head, and asked if she was ok. Once I realized she was more scared than anything else, I turned to face the asshole who hit me and was now walking towards me.

If the kids weren't in the car, I would have ripped him a new asshole. It took everything I had to not face him and say, "What the fuck?" Livid was too tame of a word to describe how I felt. I walked towards my bumper to examine the damage. Lucky for him, it's minimal. Just a few scratches. Also lucky for him that we are all ok. A little sore and very shaken up, but ok.

What I find funny (now, not at the time) is that my boy wasn't phased by any part of the accident. He was just fascinated by the new scratches on our Chevy red car.

Just a craft

Two years ago I began to look for another hobby.

For years, I painted. Monet's Water Lilies brought a sense of peace. Mona Lisa's smile made me giggle. At the Sistine Chapel I wanted to jump for joy and touch the top. As much as I admire these artists, I do not have one ounce of their talent. Give me a wood birdhouse, I can make a bright and cheery. Give me a wooden shield with the outline of a dragon and I can make it fierce and ferocious.

But I grew tired of painting. My house was so full of nick-knacks and I had no more room. I journeyed to the craft store and walked their aisles. The gentle touch of the baby yarns, pale pinks and faded yellows. The rough feel of the wool yarn, earthen shades. I was drawn in. This is what I wanted to do.

My first night I was quick to wrap the yarn around my pinky finger and weave it through the remaining three. The cool of the steel hook as it rested between my fingers. I made loops and pulled the yarn through. I could make a chain like none you have ever seen, but nothing can be made from a chain. Books, web pages, YouTube videos - I scoured through them for weeks. Finally the light came on.

In the past two years, there are many nights where I can be found on the couch, wrapped in my robe, surrounded by yarn. Project after project, my fingers continued their dance. But nothing was for me. Turtles and pirates for the kids. A blanket for a cousin's baby.

They said I was crafty, but I never believed. I was just happy to see the smile on their face when they opened their gift. Months went on and I found nothing to make. My kids begged for stuffed animals, but I ignored their pleas. Just more nick-knacks in my mind.

Last year for Mother's Day, I was surprised by a friend. Phantom of the Opera tickets were purchased for just her and I. I had the dress and I had the shoes, but I needed something more. Web pages and books I scoured once more. I soon found a shawl that would pop on my dress. I bookmarked the page and purchased the yarn. The next few weeks were full on chain 2, yarn over, double crochet, and skip 2. I ate, slept, and breathed my directions. I finally finished my shawl. Another project in the books and something to wear.

Prompt -"Tell the story (without any trivialization or modesty) of something in your life that you are proud of."

I remember when

I remember when I met my first love.

I was 3, may be 4 years old. That was the year I got my very first Cabbage Patch doll. She had dark skin and dark, curly hair. At least as curly as yarn can be. I didn't care what she looked like because she was mine. Eartha Kissy was her name.


I remember when I had my first heartbreak.

A year or so after I found my first love, I lost her. I was playing with her at the make shift pond inside our local mall. We loved to watch the fish swim around as we ran back and forth across the bridge together. As we were leaving the mall I realized that she was still playing on that bridge. My first love was gone. My heart was crushed.


I remember my first bounce back relationship.

The day after my heart broke I woke up and saw her. She was shiny and new. Standing proud in her box. She had hair the color of fire that stuck out from under her astronaut helmet. Her name escapes me, but she quickly filled the hole in my heart.


I remember when we first met.

I stood in my lawn, the new girl in town. You zipped up the street on your bike, trying to keep up with your big sister. We were quick to become friends and soon we were both zipping up the street on our bikes. Trying to keep up with each other.


I remember when those 2 wheels became 4.

It took much practice, but after a few months, I could make a K with a car and park close to the curb. Those 4 wheels were all I wanted to get where I needed. Twenty dollars in my pocket is all I required. A tank of gas, a pack of smokes, and sometimes a drink.


I remember a time when the little things were all that mattered.


I remember a time when it didn't take much to reach your destination.


My goodness, how things have changed.