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.

Etiquette

I have been blogging for a while now. Coming up on 2 years this summer. I am by no means a big time blogger, nor do I necessarily want to be. I would love to get tons and tons of comments on every single post, but if that were to happen, there's no way I would have the time to respond to everyone. If I can't interact with commenters, than what's the point?

Even though I don't want to be a superstar blogger, it is nice to get my name out there. Doing guest posts and being featured on other's blogs is a great way to do this.

I've only been featured on someone else's blog a few times, but each time the process was relatively the same. Whether I added myself to a waiting list, such as with SITS, or a friend gave me the honors, the author always sent me an email. This email told me when my day would be and asked for something in return. It might have been a few links to posts or they might have asked me to write a new post they would publish on their blog.

Recently, I was featured on another blog. The process was completely different and quite frankly I wasn't happy about it. I won't list who featured me. As far as I can tell, no one was being deceitful and nothing was infringed upon. It's more being mad and not wanting to cause unnecessary drama. But I still want to get this off my chest.

I received an email that my day was coming up, but the button for the host's blog was not on my blog. It was an oversight on my part and I added it. I emailed this person to let them know and I was told my blog would be put back into the shuffle.

That was the last I heard. I assumed I would receive another email saying when my day was and maybe even asking for a post or links. Perhaps I was naive. Last week, when scrolling through my list of to-reads, I was pleasantly surprised to see it was my day. Immediately I clicked over to see the post about me.

Credit was given to me with a link back to my blog, but as I continued to read, the angrier I became. The post was the very first post I wrote. Not all of it, maybe 3/4 of it. This is not the post I would have chosen. It says nothing about who I am or what my blog is about. But what really got me were the names used in that post. They are not the names I use now in that blog. If the host actually read my blog, this fact would have been known.


Before you even ask, no I have not said anything yet to the author. I was extremely upset with this, but I have learned the it is better for me to step away and calm down before I open my mouth. I might think I get my point across, but it ends up reflecting poorly on me.

Now that I have calmed down, I'm concerned that if I do contact this person, I will sound like an ungrateful bitch.

For those of you have had guest posters, or even if you haven't, was this incident kosher? Not much attention was drawn to this post (to my knowledge). Should I say something, or just let it go?

Don't blame Mickey D

Saturday afternoon I started off watching a hockey game. It was going anyway but mine, so I decided it was time to change the channel. I am a loyal hockey fan, but I just can't watch my boys get annihilated.

After flipping through the 842 channels, I finally settled on the Travel Channel. One of those food countdown shows was on and I love those. This one in particular was the 101 Chowdown Countdown. I watched 2 episodes and caught numbers 80 through 41. What I took away from that 2 hours is that McDonald's cannot be blamed for the huge rise of obesity in this country. Don't get me wrong, it plays a role, but after this show, that role appears smaller than I first thought.

I love food, and if you read my post from Friday, you'd understand from my admittance of a guilty pleasure. As much as I love food, the amount and types of food on this show were sickening. Let me indulge you in what the Travel Channel thinks are some of the greatest foods in this country of ours.


Chicken fried steak

I love chicken fried steak. Honestly, I love many southern foods, but this is one of my favorites. What amazed me about the steak at this particular restaurant (forgive me, I can't remember the name) was that the small portion spilled over the sides of an average dinner plate. That's a lot of chicken fried steak! As if something fried isn't bad enough, we all know that chicken fried steak isn't complete without the cream gravy. Your arteries are sure to love you after that meal!


Burritos

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Except for maybe the sour cream, ingredients inside a burrito aren't all that bad for you. However, when your burrito is 18 inches long and weighs 5 pounds, then it might be bad for you! The Burritozilla can be found at Iguanas.








Chicken fried bacon

Yes you read that right. I love bacon, but this has absolutely no appeal to me what so ever. If this is what you want from the menu, you might as well save yourself a step and eat the grease right out of the fryer! If you'd prefer the bacon over grease, you can find it at Frank Sodolak's Country Inn in Texas.





Fat Daddy


I'm adding this item to my list because in my 32 years, I have never seen anything like it. This "sandwich" is served at Munchies 4:20 cafe. I really think you need to be high to want to eat this monstrosity! You name it, it's on there! The restaurant boasts that this sandwich has everything from the menu on it. There are burger patties, 20+ slices of cheese. french fries, chicken fingers and mozzarella sticks just to name a few items.







Every time I watch one of these countdown shows, it answers all my questions about obesity. Almost every restaurant owner featured seems to have the same philosophy - the bigger, the better. Apparently, the greasier the better, too.

Two become one

Prompt #1~ "write a formal complaint letter to your deepest, darkest fear."

It's not exactly formal, but than again, neither am I!

If you have any advice on escaping my fear, please let me know.









To whom it may concern,


Do I really need to call you out by name? I didn't think so. We need to talk. I have some issues with you and I've realized that I need to get you out of my life.

I hide from you. I pretend you're not there. But no matter what I do, you always end up right next to me. I'm starting to feel like a prisoner in my own home. That almost scares me more than you do.

The hold you have on me is so constricting. Every night, all I want to do is sit on the couch and relax. I want to be able to enjoy Hines dancing the night away. I want to be able to watch my boys catch some crab. I'd love to find out what's going to happen to Meredith and Callie, but you keep interrupting me.

Right there in my face. Take me, enjoy me - I swear I can hear you scream. If I continue to give in, I fear that I may become you. Together, forever, in a downward spiral.


Please chocolate chip cookies, stay out of my house!


Sincerely,

Saying good-bye

Dear world,

I am writing this while I can still form a coherent thought. If you are reading this, there's a good chance that I am already gone.

I thought I could make, but as it turns out, I tried to hard and in the end, I failed. It was just too much for me to handle.

I would like to apologize ahead of time if I start to ramble. I think it is probably due to the overload of caffeine I consumed instead of beer. Sadly, It may be starting to wear off and I am slipping into a coma.

The reason I must say good-bye is because my eyes are bigger than my stomach. For dinner Monday night I made this kick ass taco soup/dip. There's always plenty leftover and I was more than happy to finish it off for lunch the following day. I'm not sure if that was my best idea, but it felt right at the time. I laid down for a bit and that seemed to help.

Later last night it was time to eat some of my awesome steak and potato soup. Again my eyes deceived me. The soup itself was not the issue, it was the bread. Beer bread to be more specific. Except we were out of beer, which is probably a good thing. I used the next best thing - Pepsi. This bread is quite tasty, but it can also serve another purpose. If thrown at someone, it could very well knock them out. Now imagine what that weight does to your stomach.

I can slowly feel myself slipping into a coma. This is not a good thing, which is why I feel now is the time to say my good-byes.


This post, along with the author, will self-destruct 30 seconds after reading.



ps. If you want the recipes, let me know. But don't say I didn't warn you about the coma that will follow!

What is you favorite color?

Since you were first able to communicate with us your likes and dislikes, your favorite color has been one that is bright and cheery, like the sun. When asked you will still give the same answer. However, when I look at what you've been through and some of your favorite things, it leads me to wonder. I think you actually have two favorite colors.

I should have known that this fiery color would have been one of your favorites. It has always been a part of you.

Your first Christmas, at the ripe old age of 6 months, you were often refereed to as the little Dutch boy. Your cheeks were bright and rosy. You sometimes reminded me of a clown when you showed your toothless grin.

As the months progressed, this color truly became a part of you. Your legs became flushed and hot to the touch from the evil grip of eczema. The multitude of lotions and creams we used to soothe your chubby legs looked like snow atop a scarlet field. The fire soon faded and we have been able to keep eczema at bay.


Other things throughout the years have led me to believe that you have more than one favorite color.

You used to love Elmo. So much so that I bought you not one, but three extra special ones. Your favorite was the Elmo who sang the hokey pokey. Not the one dressed like a chicken.

The color of your favorite jacket with the monster truck is not that of a lemon. It shines like a fire truck.

Your favorite blanket is covered with Spider Man. The only thing possibly golden about him is his personality.

When the decision of what flavor of Kool-aid I should make is yours to make, you choose cherry or tropical punch. Not lemonade, as one would suspect by the color of it's envelope.

You might claim that yellow is your favorite color, and has been for years, but is it your only favorite color?



Prompt~ Give me a memory of the color red. Do not write the word 'red' but use words that engender the color red when you hear them.

Concrit always welcome

What to be when I grow up

Ever since I was a little girl, I knew I wanted to be a teacher.

Quite often you would find my in the living room. My Cabbage Patch Dolls were lined up along the couch, with a few stuffed animals in between. I would pull the piano bench the the middle of the floor in front of the couch. This was my desk. I would teach my students to count, color, and sing. Those years of piano lessons did come in handy at times.


When I was a senior in high school, I began to look at colleges. I wanted to live on campus, but still close enough to come home on weekends should I choose. I found a school 2 hours away. I was still able to come home, but I was far enough away to have some freedom. That freedom eventually got the best of me. My grades begin to slip and after 2 years I realized that I was a little too far from home. I moved back home and transferred to a college in the city, 15 minutes away.

My grades continued to improve and I was moving into my education classes. I loved my classes and my professors. I made some new friends and discovered some old ones went to that same school as well. In my last year at this school, I started second guessing my major of Elementary Education. Psychology classes were some of my required classes, and I excelled in those. I began to contemplate changing to Child Psychology as my major. Or at the very least, adding it as a minor.

What held me back from making the switch was timing. I was already in my last year. If I switched, it would be taking a step backwards. Grants and loans also came into play. I wasn't sure if I could get anymore assistance if I went to school longer than I already had at this point.

While the wheels were turning in my head, someone else finally made my decision for me. My boyfriend, now husband, and I found out we were expecting. There was no way I could go to school and care for a newborn. I won't deny that I tried. I started my student teaching, but it just wasn't working out. I took a few months off and when I returned to school, I took a few classes to accrue the credits I needed to graduate.


This was 9 years ago. I have had various jobs with kids, and today I am a stay-at-home mom. I am happy where I am, but sometimes I still wonder, what if.

Occasionally I will hear a commercial for a school or see an ad. Sometimes I think about going back for some sort of psychology degree. But then I see a sign that proves I am where I need to be.



If you saw this picture next to an ad explaining you can get your social worker degree in as little as a year, would you choose this school?



Obviously this child is upset. Having a degree in social work would mean you could hopefully help this child to smile, not cry.



This picture? The itch to go back to school has been scratched, thank you very much! If I want to see a psycho child, I'll rent the Exorcist, k?

What no one told me

I think it's safe to say that as parents, we usually don't know what the hell we're doing. The upside to this is there is always someone to turn to. A friend, a doctor, the blogging community.

What I've to realize as an adult is that I usually don't know what the hell I'm doing either. No one tells us where our lives will lead and no one tells us what to expect as we journey through adulthood.

I think that everyone should receive some sort of manual when they turn 18. This manual would contain things like helpful hints on finding a job, creating a life with the one you love, and how to handle any sticky situation that may come your way.

This manual should also contain a few chapters on what to expect through your life.

Things such as....


When you are in your 30s, your face will revert back to that of a 13 year old. I do not enjoy standing in the same aisle at the grocery store with a pimply 8th grader trying to decide which facial cleanser will work best.

*an over-indulgence of Cadbury Eggs may or may have not led to this trip to the grocery store*


When you are in your 30s you will dye your hair out of necessity rather than for pleasure. As a college freshmen, spending a night with the girls changing the color of your hair was so much fun. As a 30-ish mom of 2, dying your hair to now cover the gray? Not so fun!

*alcohol may or may not be involved in either of these situations*


When you are in your 30s, not every video game is meant for you. Just Dance 2 may not be the best choice for you to play. Unless walking without pain the next day doesn't bother you. While I admit that it is so much fun to play, my knees just aren't what they used to be. Door and floors should creak. Not me and my knee.

*would it help to involve alcohol in this as well?*


Today I have to go the library to get more tax forms. Perhaps while I'm there I should see if there is a manual for what to expect in the next 10 years.

Stolen

Prompt: Someone has stolen something from you (or your character). Something of tremendous value. What will you do to get it back?

This is a fictional story, but sadly for some, it can all too real.

Concrit is always welcome.

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

Her blond curls hang down, slightly covering her rosy cheeks. Barbie dolls and My Little Ponies strewn about the room, while Dora plays on the tv behind her. She makes her Ponies talk while her Barbies enjoy their afternoon tea. Dora has saved the day yet again and she joins Dora in her celebration.

We did it! We did it!

As she sings along with Dora, she hears a door slam down the hall. She quickly stops singing and begins to listen. At first there is silence. She hopes she shut her damn mouth just in time. But then she hears it.


Clunk

Clunk


His boots hit the wooden floor. Slow, but not steady. Maybe he won't come in. She shut her damn mouth.

Louder and louder the sound grows.


Clunk

Clunk


She runs for her corner behind the closet door. A tear hangs in the corner of her eye. She begins to shake as she hears his heavy boots hit the wooden floor.


Clunk

Clunk


The louder the sound, the more she shakes. She tries to stop the tears. Daddy says she's not a damn baby anymore. As she hides her head between her knees, she can feel her tears slip down her legs.

He enters the room with a bang as he slams his Budweiser on the top of her dresser.


"I was loud daddy. I'm sorry. I'll be quiet now."


He looks down on her with his bloodshot eyes as he takes a swig of his beer. First one foot. Then the other.


Clunk

Clunk


Closer and closer he comes. "I work all day. When I come home, all I can hear is your damn mouth."


"I'm sorry, daddy. I can turn Dora off. I won't sing anymore." She sniffles as she pleads.


"Shut your damn mouth and quit crying. Only babies cry. You're not a damn baby"


"I'm sorry, daddy. Please. I'm sorry. I'm a big girl. No daddy, please. I'm a big girl."


He stumbles closer to her. Budweiser now covers her Ponies and Barbies. As he gets closer, she can smell the sourness of his breath.

She knows she is not a damn baby, but the tears start to flow.


"I'm sorry", she sobs. "I promise to be good."


Her sobs become muffled. His face now as red as his eyes. The tears in her eyes are soon replaced with fear as she begins to see what he is taking from her.



Her blond curls hang down, slightly covering her rosy cheeks. Barbie dolls and My Little Ponies strewn about the room. She sits quietly on her bed with a tear in her eye. She hears her daddy mumble, as he slowly clunks away. The damn baby is finally quiet.


"Please daddy, I'm sorry. I promise to be good if I can just have my life back."

The struggle to desire

The other day while sitting at a red light, I turned to look at you. Your long blond hair and your baby blues - they took me back to when we first met.

We were merely children. High school sophomores. Even though I was young, I knew. You were the one I was meant to be with. Marriage and children certainly weren't n my mind at the age of 16, but that is what happened.

Looking back on our life together, it hasn't always been easy. We have both worked hard to get where we are today. There is a chance of great things happening in our future. We deserve it and I really hope things go the way we want.

As excited as I am, I am also saddened by the things that may not come.


I've talked about it before and it's an issue I still struggle with. Babies. Their soft skin, powdery smell, and tiny toes. Being pregnant were some of the best months of my life. Except for swollen feet. I could do without that again.

When I see and hear about friends who are expecting, I am overjoyed for them. But I also feel a little pang of jealousy in the pit of my stomach. If you are one of those friends, please don't take this as me raining on your parade. That is not my intention, but knowing this is most likely something I will not experience again sometimes hurts.

Having children is something I knew I always wanted. From a biological standpoint, that is what a woman is supposed to do - have babies. Being told you can't, especially for a woman who doesn't always like to hear no, can be difficult.


This is not about my husband squashing my dreams. I agree with his reasoning and I am happy with my life. Our children are growing more independent and we have a mostly well established schedule. Adding a baby would mean rearranging schedules, buying car seats and all the equipment they need, and pack a bag for where ever we go. I love babies, but do I really want to start over again? I'm not sure if I do.

But that doesn't mean the desire to hold another baby of my own doesn't creep in sometimes.

Beauty comes with a price

I'm not exactly sure who set the standards for us women. Maybe it was a man. Maybe it was the media. Probably a little of both. Whoever it was, sometimes I want to punch them in their face.

Instead of being accepted for who we are, we must subject ourselves to torture. Sometimes we dress to impress only to make ourselves feel good, and we should feel good about ourselves. Other times it's to impress someone else.

I've been doing some thinking about the things us women do to make ourselves beautiful. Almost everything on my list comes with a price. That price is pain.


Let's start with shaving our legs. Don't tell me it's not painful. Have you ever had razor burn? Just as you turn in the shower to rinse the remaining shaving cream from your legs, you are met with the fires of hell from your toes to your hips. And don't tell me lotion makes it all better because it doesn't! And even if you are lucky enough to avoid the burn, the hot water will hit that one spot behind your knee where you cut yourself. Every. Single. Time. That also burns like hell!






Speaking of hair, let's move to our eyebrows. Tweezers were invented by the devil himself. Don't try to tell me that after plucking on a regular basis it doesn't hurt as much because that's lie. And have you ever plucked a chunk of skin instead of that one stray hair? You might as well just poke your eye out at that point!



And while we're on the subject of hair, who in the hell invented wax and thought it was a good thing to use on any part of a woman's body?! If you have never waxed, now is not the time to start. Recently I thought I would experiment with this whole waxing thing. Quite frankly, plucking and shaving is time consuming and I am not a patient girl. I didn't really process the fact that any part of a woman's body that can be waxed contains some pretty sensitive skin. After I pulled that stupid waxed piece of plastic off, I made the connection pretty fast. It hurt like a bitch! I'm really surprised the paramedics weren't knocking on my door because my neighbors heard me screaming.


Now these annoyances are typically things that we do every day, or at the very least a few times a week. Shaving our legs in the winter is optional (right?). Any kind of facial hair? It's gotta go!

Other annoyances aren't every day occurrences. At least not for me. Things such as dressing up. If you work outside of the home and have to dress up everyday, god bless you. I don't think I could do it. I've yet to find a dressy outfit that's comfortable.


Pantyhose would be one of those things. I try to avoid them like the plague. That little red dress that you love so much? I don't care if you're big or little, tall or short, it never feels quite right. Even though you look like a MILF!



Last but not least, we can't forget about those awesome black, strappy shoes with the 4-inch, could poke someone's eye out heel.


Within an hour of putting those sexy things on, your toes will be begging for mercy. Assuming you don't fall on your ass before that!


We are all beautiful and sexy ladies. I have no problems with doing things to enhance that beauty, but sometimes I wonder if pajama pants and unibrows are the way to go.