Safe, but at what cost?

My oldest recently turned 10, but even when she was a toddler, I knew I didn't want to be a parent like my dad was. Don't get me wrong, my father was a great man and a great parent, but we definitely had our moments. One thing him and I disagreed on was a certain friend of mine. Her and I formed our bond in third grade. As high school approached, she had numerous piercings and watched shows like 90210 and Melrose Place. He deemed her a bad influence.

I never wanted to be a parent like that where I told my children who they could or couldn't be friends with. In light of recent events, I fear this may have to happen.

A few Fridays ago, GG's friend called asking her to join her at a high school football game. It had been a while since the two girls hung out so I helped GG bundle up, shoved a few bills in her pocket, and sent her on her way. Little Dude was upset he couldn't join the girls. It had been a long day and I just wasn't up for dealing with the noise of the game along with the chilly Fall weather. I didn't realize until later in the evening that this game was the last of the season.

Little did I know that our high school football team would win that last game and make it the playoffs. The following Friday, GG's friend called once again inviting her to the game. Once again I bundled her up, shoved a few bills in her pocket, and sent her on her way.

Immediately after I turned to Little Dude and told him to bundle up as we were going to the game as well. When Little Dude and I arrived at the stadium, I asked him to pick a seat. We would try to find his sister, but that didn't mean we would sit with her and her friend. It's a struggle for me, but I am trying to give my daughter more independence.

We spotted GG and her friend a few sections over. We made our way over to let her know we were there. As I sat down, I began to look for her friend's father. I assumed he had gone to the concession stand for treats or hot chocolate. Perhaps he even went up the hill behind the bleachers where you are allowed to smoke. As the first quarter of the game came to a close, the friend's father had yet to show.

This was when I made the realization that he had dropped the two then 9 year old girls at the stadium by themselves. This was also the time I began to freak out.

We have been to our high school's football games in the past. It is a very family friendly environment and being a small community, most people know each other. Regardless, "you never know who is out there" and "it only takes a second" kept running through my head. Especially when the girls went off the play with friends behind the end zone where it's not as well lit. I know our team won the game and I did see some of the big plays, but for the most part I was keeping an eye on the girls.


I know this family has been through a lot over the past few years. This friend and her sister lost their mom to cancer. It is now just the girls and their dad. But that doesn't make it right to let them have free reign to do as they please, without the supervision of a responsible adult.

Sadly, because of other things I hear these girls are permitted to do, I don't feel that talking to their dad would make much of a difference. Right now I feel my only option is to limit where my daughter is allowed to go with her friend. My daughter, at 10, still sees the world as a perfect place. Yes, she knows there are bad people out there, but she has yet to understand how serious and how devastating it can be to run into those people.


I only want to keep her safe, but I do not like some of the decisions I have to make to ensure that.

The meaning behind

We would stay to the left while walking up the stairwell, afraid they would fall on us. When the warmer weather, came they would gather in corners. Hundreds upon hundreds.

There are many things I learned while at my first college, but the meaning behind my first tattoo is one I will never forget.

Sophomore year. My roommate, she was a rebel. A rebel with tattoos. Wanting to add to her collection, she convinced a mutual friend and I we needed one, too. I scrounged up sixty dollars. A lot for a poor college girl. We drove to a shop in the middle of nowhere. All I could afford was a small tattoo. Flipping through the artist's portfolio, I saw a ladybug and it took me back to that stairwell, where hundreds gathered in the corners.





My ladybug has since faded, but the memories are strong. I have added to my collection. The ladybug wasn't alone in that stairwell, and it won't be alone on me.

My green dragon flying free. Somewhere I'd like to think that they do exist.



My flowers for my children, who continue to grow like weeds. Each flower represents the month of their birth.




Finally my flowers. A safe place for my ladybug to land. A reminder that I must continue to grow as I age.



My body is a temple. A temple to worship, protect, and decorate. I often wonder what will be next and what meaning it will hold.




Write a piece in which a tattoo figures prominently. Word count - 300. I have 246.
My apologies for the poor picture quality. It's not easy to take pictures of your own body!

Concrit welcome. As well as tattoo ideas!

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

Friends don't let friends...

Do each other's hair.

I recently read a blog post about bad hair. My hair is nothing short of a hot mess! I'm sure it wouldn't be so bad if I got a haircut more than once a year. Add that to this crushing heat and humidity and it's a nightmare. Even a ponytail doesn't help!

stupid baby fine curls that aren't long enough to be pulled back


Anyway, this blog post reminded me of a time I was stupid enough to let a friend fix my fair. I'm not sure if fix is the right word, but I'll stick with it for now. It's too damn hot to think straight!


I was in fifth grade I believe and sleeping over a best friend's house. It was your typical grade school girl sleepover. We watched a scary movie that made us want to stay up all night. Stupid Carrie! Since we couldn't sleep, she asked if she could do my hair. My hair was always long and I rarely did anything with it. I agreed. Even after she pulled out the hot rollers.

We turned on a lamp, not only so she could see but to most likely keep hands from punching through the floor. Again, thank you Carrie!

My friend sat in an arm chair and I on the floor between her legs. With a roller in one hand, my friend gently grabbed a piece of my hair and rolled it. And rolled it. And rolled it. She kept rolling until I could no longer feel my head. Damn those things hurt!

As those rollers were working their magic in my already wavy hair, we chatted about boys, our favorite band (NKOTB, thank you very much), and whatever happened to be the latest gossip among our class.


It was finally time to pull those suckers out of my hair (thank god!). After each one came out, I thought I heard a chuckle coming from her. I wrote it off as my mind playing tricks on me from watching the movie. After the last roller came out, my friend grabbed a pick and began to separate each curl. Her laughter grew louder as she continued to pick away at my hair. I finally asked for a mirror.


Have you ever watched a dog show? Random, I know, but bear with me.

Sometimes they have poodles in those shows. Of course each and every one of the dogs in those shows are groomed. I always thought the poodles looked the most ridiculous. Most of them were shaved, but only in certain places. The rest of their bodies had big poof balls of fur - at the tips of their tails, tips of their ears, around the mid-section (what the hell?!).

What my friend did to my hair put those dogs to shame. If I was in those dog shows with my new 'do, I would have won hands down in the grooming category. On either side of my head were giant dirty blond poof balls of hair. I looked like Princess Leia, but with poof balls, not braids.

This, my friends, is why I no longer let friends "fix' my hair.

Are they better next door?

Flip flops.

Black, brown, and navy. Cloth straps. The plastic ones hurt my toes.

From the first warm day of Spring all the way into Fall, those are what can be seen on my feet. They are my favorite shoes. The evidence can be seen in the white stripes that cross one of the few parts of my body that tans.


The soft grass tickles my toes. I am care free.

The sun beating down warms my feet and my heart.

The rain and the puddles make me slide and feel like a child.



When the skies turn gray and the air becomes cool, my flip flops are pushed to the back of the closet. I say farewell as I dig out my boots, buried under shoes I no longer wear but can't bear to part with. My boots, tight on my legs, make me feel safe and secure.


The beige ones glide over my feet and slide up my calves. I turn down the tops to show the world the soft fur. The tan ones hurt when I first put them on. I always forget to wear thinner socks. I rest my foot on the table that holds a tv while I pull the laces tight. I double knot them just to be safe and watch as the balls at the ends of those laces bob when I walk.

My black ones are a newer addition. They are meant for the snow, but are oh so sleek and shiny. I tuck my jeans in and lace them up tight. Are they "in" in the fashion world? I'm not sure, but I like to pretend. I'm one of the cool kids now.


I love all of my shoes in their own special way, but sometimes I'd like to toss them away. When my heart hurts and my temper boils, I wonder what it would be like in someone else's shoes.

Would they make me feel safe and secure, in a new and better way?

Would they give me the courage to say what needs said?

Would they make me feel happy when all I want to do is crawl under the covers and hide?


I am care free, safe, and secure with what I put on my feet. But sometimes I wonder. Are the shoes better from the closet next door?

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!

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?

L'eau minerale

Like sand through the hourglass. Or in my case, sand through the bottle.


This week's RemembeRED prompt is sand.




When I think of sand, of course I think of the beach. The hot, dry sand that creeps into your shoes as you trek across, trying to find the perfect spot to sit. Or the wet, sloppy sand that envelopes your toes as you walk the edge of the ocean. But the best sand is the sand that I most likely won't ever touch again.


It was the summer before my senior year of high school. The time had come for me and my friends to take our trip with the rest of the French club. We landed in Paris, a city that created many stories, but none of which relate to sand. From Paris we traveled southward to Nice.

Our teacher believed that my group of three was mature enough to travel the city alone. I'm not sure I agreed, but I surely wasn't going to argue. We had heard that nude beaches were a popular thing in that part of the world. Having never been to one, we just had to go. This is not a decision that should be made without proper planning. Some things you can never un-see.

As the three of us were walking towards the beach, chatting away, we decided to stop in a deli to buy bottles of water. The day was cool and cloudy, but those bottles would provide storage for sand as a souvenir. Again, we should have planned ahead of time. Carbonated water, tall and blue, were all we could find. It was not a pleasant experience attempting to guzzle that down.

We climbed the boulders to reach the sand. Standing atop, we gazed out at the view. Gray sand stretched to the left and right as far as we could see. The steel colored water lapped at the shore. There were only a few scarcely dressed people roaming the beach on that crisp summer day. Modesty is key when dressing in France. Just not at the beach.

Once across the small mountain reed, we removed our shoes. Our toes were not met by the hot, dry sand. Nor were they met by wet, slimy sand. The shells jabbed our toes while the gritty sand tore at our heels. We emptied our bottles, soothing our feet as we wondered how such sand would fit in our narrow topped bottles.

It was not the sandy beach we had expected, but knowing we might never stand there again, we had to take some of it home. We cupped our hands and slowly began to fill our bottles with sand and pebbles. When our loads reached the top of the long necks, we screwed on the tops as tight as we could.





That bottle rests on my dresser, hiding between jewelry and music boxes. The sand has settled and the dust has gathered on the lid. I often look at that bottle and smile. The stories of my trip come flooding back. Perhaps someday I can return to top off that bottle.

A Walk in the Rain

I walk through the grass.

So bright and so green.

The soft blades tickle my toes.

I look up to the sky. The foreboding clouds swirl all around.

Rain begins to fall. Slowly at first. Big fat wet drops. They land on my toes, on my hair.

I look up and smile and hope for a rainbow. But alas, there isn't one to be found.

I long for the colors of red, gold, and green, but for now I'll take the rain to wash away my stress.


The drops cease as quick as they began, leaving me cool and refreshed.

The sun peeks through the darkness leaving trails in the sky.

All that is left of the storm is the scent it leaves behind. The smell of the brown earthy dirt that is under my feet. I breathe in deep and let out a sigh as I continue my walk.

An unintentional stop

My flight home was due to leave at 8 in the morning. I didn't want to leave the happiest place on Earth, but it was time for me to come home.

I arrived at the airport at 6. After I checked my bags, I sat in the lobby watching the pinks and purples in the sky turn to shades of blue.

My flight had a layover in Atlanta, Georgia. From there it was a straight shot to Pittsburgh. My estimated time of arrival was shortly after noon. My best friend was picking me up from the airport. I had only been gone a week, but I couldn't' wait to see her.

Once I was safe on the ground in Georgia, I quickly figured out which gate I needed to go to. At the time I expected a 30 minute wait, but once I arrived at my gate I realized how wrong I was. The pilots who were supposed to take me home had decided that of all mornings, this would be the one when they chose to go on strike.

I had the option of purchasing a ticket for another airline, or waiting for my original airline to find me another flight. Having just spent all my money at the Magic Kingdom, I was unable to buy a ticket for a thousand dollars. I was forced to wait. While pacing up and down the short hallway it occurred to me that I had to inform my friend that she shouldn't meet me at our airport at noon. This was before cell phones, so I had to use a pay phone to call her. Remember those?

I should also inform you that this was before smoking was banned from inside buildings.

I entered the pay phone room. Three of the dingy cream colored walls were lined with phones. The fourth was made of glass with an opening no wider than your average door frame. Every single person on those phones were just as frustrated as me. What does a smoker do when frustrated? Light one up. There were no windows nor any kind of ventilation. It was all I could do not to gag. And I was a smoker.

After what felt like hours, but was really closer to one, a flight had been found for me. But it wouldn't take me home. Yet another layover was added to my adventure. A detour, you could say. To New York.

I was informed that once in New York, my layover would be a quick one. I would be home before I knew it. What no one realized was that Pittsburgh was experiencing a rainy and thunderous apocalypse. This meant more waiting, more pacing, more phone calls, and much begging for "Delayed" to switch to "Now boarding".

After 2 hours of waiting, I was finally on my way back home. My flight from Laguardia to Pittsburgh International was the shortest of the 3, yet the most frightening. I have never experienced turbulence before than, and I have no desire to experience it ever again. My head bounced off the window like a red rubber ball more times than I can count. Suitcases from the overheads were thrown to the ground. Once stepping off that plane at 6 pm, it took everything I had not to kiss the solid ground I was walking on.

That is one detour I hope to never have to do again.

This week's Red Writing Hood assignment is to write - fiction or non-fiction - about a time when you took a detour. Where had you intended to go and where did you end up?


Orlando to Atlanta to Pittsburgh, with an unintentional stop in New York. I would just like to point out that I have now been to not one, but two New York airports and have yet to see any other part of the city. Hopefully someday I can. But I think I'll drive.

Right out of the garden

It's long and green.

Too big for my tiny hands.


I carry it gently to the house.

Not too tight or the prickles will hurt.


My grandma washes it off in her kitchen sink.

She slices some for her salad. The rest is for me.


I carefully pick up a slice between two fingers. No longer prickly, I examine the outside skin. It's bright green, with spots of white. I see small flecks of brown. They must be from it's home back in the garden. Inside is pale green, almost white. I count the seeds and debate on eating them first. I love to make a ring, and those seeds are my favorite part.

I decide to take a bite. Working my way from the outside in, saving my favorite part for last. The dark green outside is chewy and almost sharp. If I don't chew it enough, pieces get stuck between my tiny teeth.

The taste is so hard to describe. It's like nothing else I love to eat. The pale green, almost white, is fresh, crisp, and just tastes healthy.


The green is gone and all that remains are the juicy, slimy seeds. I pop the whole center of the slice in my mouth. I know if I try to eat each seed individually, they will slide down my chin and onto the floor.

There's not a distinct taste to the seeds. Just juicy, fresh and clean.

I cannot compare the flavor of this food to any other, but for as long as I can remember, cucumbers have been my favorite. Especially right out of the garden.



The Red Dress Club


This week's prompt:
write about your favorite fresh fruit or vegetable.

Jules' List - for sale

FREE - YOU HAUL


For sale - Snow


Quantity taken must not be less than what is in my yard. You are more than welcome to take more. I'm sure the neighbors won't mind.

Most of the snow is crisp and white, like fresh pressed linens. Some of it even has the appearance of glitter, like your carpet when your kids are done "creating". I can not guarantee that there will not be brown, or even yellow snow in the mix. I would not attempt to eat the snow because of that.

The snow is just at the right consistency for making the best possible snowman. If you choose to take enough, you might even be able to top this guy...

Yes, this is an actual snowman
from my neighborhood.
See how much fun you could have?!

You must hurry if you want to take advantage of this incredible deal. We have greatly enjoyed the snow, but we are well aware that not everyone has the opportunity to make snow angels and throw snowballs.

This one time opportunity is only valid for 24 hours. After that time period has expired, this ad will be taken down and replaced with one for the mud that will soon consume what was my yard.



The children are optional. They are hard workers ad love to shovel snow. If interested, I can throw them in for $28 dollars. I need to pay off my Girl Scout cookies. Wait, better make that $40. The Thin Mints are looking kind of low and might need restocked.

If you are interested, please call 754 - FU2 -SNOW

Show Him the Way

It was early March. The year was 1998. I was halfway through my freshman year at college. I was in the midst of working my way through my pre-requisite classes while trying to discover who I was. While preparing for my next mundane class I received a phone call than would send me packing a suitcase rather than a book bag.

My Pap had been sick. His doctors were doing everything they could to fix him, but we all knew the situation was not a good one. This phone call from my tearful mother was that my Pap, her daddy, has passed away.


Over the years I have learned that the closer you are to someone, the more of a blur their funeral and the days leading up to it are. My memories of the funeral home are mashed together with the days at the funeral home when my own dad passed away. Both were sad events where I had to try and make conversation with family I hardly knew. But being the oldest of the cousins, much of my job was making sure the younger ones stayed out of the way.



My Pap's funeral itself is also a blur. I'm sure it was a beautiful ceremony, but I was hypnotized by the beauty of the images that surrounded me. The floor to ceiling gold wall behind the towering cross that hung above the altar. The ornate stained glass windows full of blues, golds, and greens. The round window above the main entrance was my favorite. It was full of more reds than the others. Even though the sun was not shining that day, they still glowed. From an early age, I always gazed at that window with a picture of the Rose Window from Notre Dame in my head. Many years later, seeing the Rose Window in person brought me back to that day early in March of 1998.


Leaving the church we proceeded to the cemetery. A cemetery I had also spent many days wondering through, reading tomb stones. Wondering what their stories were. My Pap's site was in the lower half of the cemetery, the original part that was over a hundred years old. His final resting place was towards the bottom of the hill.

Walking to my Pap's site I remember wishing for an umbrella. The sky was full of gray and gloomy clouds. A light rain was falling, almost as if the sky was crying with us. As the priest read his final prayer, the sun began to shine through a small opening in the clouds. The circle on the ground from the shining sun was soon full of small, brown birds. No one paid any mind to the sun or the birds. But me? They brought one of the biggest smiles to my young freckled face.

As a young girl I remember watching the birds at the bird feeder with my Pap through his kitchen window. We would pull out the bird books and try to figure out what each bird was.

This moment, while brief, was welcoming. Not only to me, but I think for my Pap.

I do not know if there is a God. This is a belief I struggle with. There have been many times in my life where I have wondered why a loving god would let such horrible things happen. There are also things I have seen that make me think there is a god. This day was one of those days. It very well may have been a coincidence, but I believe that the skies had opened up that gloomy day and sent the birds my Pap loved to show him the road to his next destination.

I miss my Pap each and every day, especially now that I have my own children. I'm sure he would have taken them out for ice cream as he did with me. He probably would have bought them another cone when they dropped the first one on the sidewalk, as I always did. When I reflect on that tear filled time of my life, I soon smile because the sun and the birds come rushing back to me.

Remembe (red): A Memoir Meme
by the Red Dress Club

This week's prompt:
Memory and Reflection

More than I intended

I'm sitting on the couch crocheting my daughter another hat. As I'm doing that I'm wracking my brain trying to come up with something to blog about.

I'm drawing a blank!

I blame the snow!

Why am I blaming the snow? The better question is why not! I don't like snow. I'm mad that it's accumulating outside. The driveway and porch have been shoveled. No sooner are my neighbors and I done with the driveway we share when it's covered again. Fuck!

The upside to all of this is a snow day. Friday was supposed to be a half day for the kids. We can't very well have a delay on a half day. There's no point going to school for an hour and 10 minutes, right? The husband is going in to work late and the only reason he is going is because he left his wallet at work. Dumbass!

I have no idea what time we're getting up. Chances are you may be reading this while I sleep. That makes me happy. I like me some sleep! And after we take the husband to work I'm shipping the kids outside in the snow. I also love me some peace and quiet!


Well, look at that! I did have something to say. All I really wanted to do was say this...



But lucky you! You got to hear yet another gripe about the snow.

Is it summer yet?

Can I handle 7 inches?

I am so glad that this week is almost over. It has been a rough one. I will say that if nothing else, I think I can officially say I am a skilled winter driver.

We really didn't get that much snow yesterday, but it hit at the worst possible time - when I had to get the husband from work. It's still stressful just thinking about that drive so perhaps I'll save that story for another day.

For now I am trying to focus on the positive side. My other blog, All You Need is Love, is being featured on SITS today. I thought this day would never come and I am so excited that it's now here!

I have people, mostly family, that don't know about this blog. At least I hope they don't. I'd like to keep it that way, so I can't promote this place over there. But I did toss a little shout out to myself in my featured post. Shameless, I know!

If you happen to be here because you caught that little blurb, welcome. If you're one of my friends, I'd love for you to check out my SITS post.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have 7 inches to go handle.



Snow! 7 inches of snow! Get your minds out of the gutter!

Gratitude. Or not

I was all prepared to write a gratitude post. But I'm not really sure I'm in the mood for it now.


If there's one thing I've learned it's that people, myself included, love to talk about the weather. This especially holds true when snow is involved. When it is snowing somewhere, I see all kinds of tweets and Facebook statuses about it. I am very thankful that my Facebook/Twitter friends talk about the snow. Why, you ask? Most of you live to the west of me. Your updates give me a heads up as to what's to come my way. I like being prepared.

Monday night I noticed a few updates about snow starting to fall or parents getting phone calls that school has already been cancelled. This led me to check out the forecast for me. Once my computer decides to cooperate and the Weather Channel's page loads, I see a bright orange message plastered on the top of the page.

That right there does not make me happy!

I clicked and it turns out that this possible storm could hit Tuesday, going into Wednesday and give us up to 6 inches of snow. Now compared to Snowmageddon of last February, 6 inches is nothing. It's when it could hit that could screw me. And probably will.

I do NOT want a repeat of this

So to all my Facebook and Twitter friends out there, thanks for the heads up. To Mother Nature, screw you! Just because I finally have snow boots does not mean I actually want to use them in the snow.

Magic Tricks

Thursdays? They suck. Words cannot express how much I hate Thursdays, so we'll just leave it as that days sucks big hairy donkey balls. If you want me to be more specific, I'll zone in on the first Thursday of each month. If this keeps up for another few months, I may end up in a padded room.

Let me break it down for you...

Noon- leave to pick up the husband
2pm - return from getting the husband
2:50- get boy from school
3:30 - get girl from school
4pm- take husband to work conference (on the other side of town, during rush hour!)
5:50- head to Girl Scouts
7:45- leave from Scouts to pick up the husband (on the other side of town, with snow covered roads!)
9pm- return home, finish homework, send midgets to bed


In those 9 hours I had two 20 minute blocks of time where I had to start the homework and try to find something that was dinner appropriate. Leftover pizza totally counts as nutritious, right?

And if running around like a chicken with my head cut off isn't amusing enough, I had to sit in a room for 90 minutes with 7 girls who have no clue how to STFU! I was taught to listen to and respect adults. Apparently parents don't teach their kids this anymore.


We were making our final drive home. My head was pounding from the incessant chatter from 7 girls, my stomach was eating itself I was so hungry, and I had to drive slow due to the snow. A little voice chimes in from the backseat. "Mom, when are we having dinner?"

If someone can teach me how to magically pull an extra hour or two out of my ass, please let me know.

Who Does This?!

Every Spring I bitch and moan because it's the time of year where one buys flowers.

Every Spring I bitch and moan about buying flowers because a green thumb I do not have.

I claim to anyone who will listen that I'm surprised the weeds are still alive in the front yard. I forget to water, I don't cover my flowers when the nights get chilly, but somehow they all survive. Sometimes they even thrive beyond any of my expectations. I know! It's shocking to me too!


Being a person who claims to not have a green thumb, what in the hell possessed me to buy a living plant? It's December January and as I type this, it is 32* outside. I'm not sure wees can survive this weather. I barely can!

Yet somehow a pretty pink prim rose is still keeping on.





This is what shows up in my house when a pretty little girl decides to get not pretty by throwing up all over the place! Did the flower make her better? Sure we can go with that. Now I suppose I should water the thing before it shrivels up and dies.




Wordful Wednesday by

and

Is Christmas really magical?

Christmas can be a magical time of year.

The houses all adorned with beautiful displays of lights. The radio stations play all of your favorite Christmas songs. If you're lucky and live in the right part of the country, you may just wake to freshly fallen snow on Christmas morning. Christmas is a time to spend with family, enjoying good company and good food.

This may all be true, but after the age of 10, Christmas really isn't all that magical. My house may have a beautiful tree



but getting to that point was almost not possible. I about pulled out all of my hair trying not to have the midgets break all of the ornaments. As you can tell by the lovely quality of the picture, even my camera was tired of trying to get in the mood.


The radio stations? I really do love hearing certain songs, but let's face it. Some Christmas songs are just down right weird. Like "Santa looks a lot like Daddy". I'll make sure the midgets listen to that song!


As for freshly fallen snow? I don't care how beautiful it looks. It sucks! When you're 30-some years old, it is no longer fun to bundle up and play in the snow. You want me to go sled riding with you? It's cold out there! Hell no! I'll watch you from the window of the nice warm dining room, thank you very much!

And after last year



I'm happy to never see snow again! Although Mother Nature apparently disagrees with me. Bitch!


I remember as a kid being so excited that Christmas was almost here. Looking at it from the end of a parent, it's not so exciting. The excitement inside those little bodies of my midgets is slowly killing me. Right now I will gladly let them watch tv or play on the computer all day if it means I can have some peace and quiet. The holiday break next week may very well be the end of me!

Did you notice I left out the part of what it's like to spend time with family as an adult? That was on purpose because we all realize what our families are like. Even if you think you have a great and perfect family, there's always 1 in there that screws everything up!

All I have to say is I may very well indulge in some beers when I'm at my aunt and uncle's house for Christmas Eve. I'm not a beer drinker, but all this "excitement" might lead me to do it.

Cats and the supernatural

Since my new toy hasn't come in the mail yet, I think I'll tell you about our cat.

Not ours
but close enough
Courtesy of Google

Approximately 6 or 7 years ago we noticed a black cat in our neighborhood. It seemed fairly nice and was drawn to our backyard. Mostly because the husband was a sucker and would give it all kinds of attention.

This cat appeared to be full grown, so we knew there was no way to domesticate it. Also, we had a baby is the house who was the product of a man with allergies. Being a new mom, I didn't need to add anything extra to my workload. So we just enjoyed it's company when it came to visit.

The cat was known to hang out in the neighbors yards as well, but like I said, it seemed to prefer ours. I should probably mention at this point that the husband thought it was a good idea to feed the cat. Lovely, right?

Days would go by with no sight of her. Him? We never really looked into that, so for the sake of the story, we'll say the cat was female. Then she would show up for some food and attention. We grew rather found of our cat and over time the kids enjoyed the extra company, too.

About a month ago, our cat had passed away. We knew she was getting up there in age and we knew the inevitable was bound to happen. As I said, she wasn't really our cat, but we did enjoy the company she brought.

In the few weeks after the cat had passed, I swore up and down that she was still there. At night I would hear noises as if something was walking on our back hill. The sound wasn't heavy enough to be a person or a large animal, like a deer. The logical side of me thought it was the leaves falling, since it was Fall. But the ghost lover side of me thought otherwise. I never felt threatened. I felt that, if this was the cat, maybe she wasn't ready to move on yet. Soon after, I stopped hearing the noises.


Last Saturday I was at my sister-from-another-mister's house for a get together with some friends. I got home rather late, but before I went to bed, I stepped outside for a bit. The first thing I noticed were tiny cat footprints in the newly fallen snow. The direction of the prints were towards the porch. I searched and could not find footprints anywhere else in the yard. I have seen other wild cats through the years. Maybe that was it, but I found it rather odd to not find any prints leaving the porch.

You can call me crazy for believing in all that ghost stuff, but I take comfort in the thought that our cat is still gracing us with her presence.