There's 2 for Every 1

Bullying.  It's a constant worry of mine.  I don't ever want my kids to be on the receiving end of a bully.  Obviously I don't want my kids to be the bully either.

My daughter has had an issue in the past with a girl in the past.  The girl pulled away my daughter's friend and told my daughter she couldn't play with them.  Yes, my girl was hurt by this, but at the same time, she was able to move on.  I hate the term "popular", but at times it seems to fit.  If someone doesn't want to play with GG she finds another friend to play with.  And quick.  Older, younger, green, purple, boy girl - it doesn't matter.


Earlier this week, there were Talent Show auditions for the fourth and fifth graders at my kids' school.  I'm not sure why elementary kids need to "try out" for a talent show, but that's another story for another day.

This same day, I had a Macaroni Kid event to work at a local restaurant.  Since there is construction everywhere I turn, I wanted to make sure we left by a certain time to avoid being late.  Very unprofessional.

As we were waiting for my daughter to perform her dance routine with a friend, I asked when they were scheduled to go on.  I was told last.  Glancing at the clock, I asked GG to ask if she could perform a tad earlier in the line up.  She confidently walked into the gym to ask the teachers in charge.  When she returned to the hallway, I saw it.  Proof that for every 1 bully, there are at least 2 good kids.

GG walked out into the hallway, head down, and was instantly surrounded by every kid in the hallway.  Most were in fifth grade.  Some were in sixth grade, there helping younger siblings.  I didn't recognize any of those kids as her friends or siblings of her friends, but there they were, comforting my daughter.

GG said the teachers wouldn't listen to her.  She misunderstood me and thought we had to leave "right now". She wasn't going to be able to try out for the show.  I reassured her we still had plenty of time.  As I explained this, one boy explained that he plays an instrument.  Dance routines always try out before instruments.  Another girl, I believe from the middle school, came up and hugged my daughter.

Lately I have seen more and more kids being disrespectful to their friends as well as their parents.  I have seen kids clearly misbehaving in front of their parents, who do nothing to correct the poor behavior.  This group of kids, showing support and encouragement to a younger girl, made me forget all about that.  There were no parents around to encourage them to show their support.  There were no kids laughing or pointing at my daughter for crying.  There was no sense of competition that they would do better than a girl who was upset.  These kids were just there.  They were there for my daughter.

I wish I could personally thank all of those parents and let them know that there kid is proof that good kids far outnumber the bad.

I understand, but stop

If nothing else, I have learned that after school pick-up is a great place to gather blogging material. And since I'm too nice of a person to actually say "Shut the fuck up" to some one's face, I turn to this lovely blog.

Dear mother of my daughter's friend,

I understand your frustrations. I went through the same thing last school year with my daughter. I know that you are not exaggerating when you say it took hours to rid your own daughter's hair of lice. And then you had to do the same with your 2 other children, also in school. It's a long process. It's gross. I understand where you are coming from. But I have to draw the line somewhere.

Yesterday you informed me that 2 of your 3 had lice again. Perhaps you didn't get it all on the first round or maybe the child your got it from wasn't properly treated. I'll never know. Marching up to me and saying you are not bringing your kids back to this "fucking school" until "every child has been fucking checked"- that is where I draw the line. There's frustrated (rightfully so) and inappropriate.

I guess you didn't notice that most of the elementary kids were running past you as you were dropping F-bombs left and right. Other parents waiting for their kids could also hear you. Not only could a child run home and drop the F-bomb for their parents, but you may very well have started a panic. Parents panicked and unnecessarily treated their kids earlier in the year. Hearing your rant is going to make this possible panic all that much worse.

I'm frustrated as well, and trust me, there will be hell raised if one of my children come home with lice, but right now, I am not the person you need to go off on. For the sake of avoiding mass hysteria, I really hope you take my advice and talk to the proper people, ie. not me. The principal, the school board, the superintendent, I don't care. Just not me.

Sincerely,

The mom of your daughter's friend who is fucking sick of bugs in the school, but can't do much beyond keeping them away from her own kids.

Check out Shell at Things I Can't Say for more info

Sticky Situation

I took the past week or so off from blogging. With the kids being home, it was family time. And really, who has time to read let alone post when kids are running circles around them?

Well, that and my computer died and I haven't quite adjusted to typing on my daughter's. Going from a netbook to a desktop is more of an adjustment than you would first think.

I had every intention of writing a few posts last week. Those plans got pushed back to Saturday evening while waiting for the ball to drop. Vodka got in the way of that ever happening, which pushed my writing back to Monday. My plans for Monday evening were to meet up with some lovely ladies for a nice dinner and discuss my new job. When I came home, I planned on putting to "paper" what ha been floating around in my head. And then it happened.

The text no mother wants to get. Especially a mother who went through hell and high water to get her son a toy he really wanted for Christmas - a Leappad.

I was munching on some fried calamari while waiting for my Mahi Mahi to come when I decided to check my phone. With my son having a cold, I was waiting for a text from the husband asking where the cold medicine was. I noticed that my husband had call AND left a message. Assuming someone must be really sick, but not being able to hear him talk in the restaurant, I sent a text asking "What's up?" The response I got?

"Leap pad is damned near ruined"

Hoping the husband was just blowing things out of proportion, I naturally asked why. Gum was the answer to that question.

What the hell could my boy possibly do with gum to ruin an electronic device was beyond me, and quite frankly I wasn't sure I wanted to know details. Over the next few minutes I learned that Gojo had got most of the gum off the device. That led me to believe it was ON the LeapPad and not IN it. Thank goodness!

At this point I assumed things were taken care as best as they could be and I would deal with it more when I got back home. I thought I would end the conversation with "As long as [the LeapPad] still works. Take all gum from them asap." Apparently our conversation was not over. How do I know this? Because I then learned that the gum that was stuck on my boy's face and chest WOULD NOT COME OFF!!

What the hell kind of gum was this?!

Needless to say, my son is banned from using his LeapPad until further notice and neither child is allowed to have gum for a very, very long time. I'm including my daughter in the gum banning because for all I know, she was somehow involved. Just because a 10 year old should know better does not mean they always make the right choices.

It's never a dull moment in this house, but that's not to say I didn't learn something from all of this.

1. Hide any and all electronics when I am going out for the night.

2. Hide all gum and any candy that resembles gum.

3. Vegetable oil does wonders for removing gum from plastic.

I hope your Christmas break was better than mine. I do have many happy moments from our break. I promise to share them once I find and remove all gum from this house.

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.

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.

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!

Mean girls

I worked in the child care field for many years, with numerous age groups. While the job can be extremely frustrating, it did not lessen my love for children. As it is with my own 2 children, I will always love them. But that doesn't mean I always have to like them.

Over the years I have learned that children, who are such little beings, can be mean. Very mean. Especially girls. This is something we are currently dealing with in my house.


My daughter is a little social butterfly. She will play with anyone and everyone. She has always been that way. Over the past year or so I have noticed cliques forming within her classmates. I knew it was a matter of time, but I had hoped she would be the girl that everyone likes. The girl who can float from clique to clique without upsetting anyone.

My hopes are nothing more that hope, slowing fading away.

Two girls that my daughter has played with for years are suddenly ignoring her, at least when the two girls in question are together. My daughter asks to be on their team for one activity or another. She asks to play with them at recess. Every time she asks, some excuse is made to not include her, if they don't completely ignore her all together.


At the tender age of 9, I've already had a talk with my daughter about what a real friend is. Still believing she can be friends with everyone, I know this will take some time to sink in. Because it will take time, I know there will be more heartaches.

I need my girl to understand that she is special. She is a good person with a big heart. Others who pick and choose when they can be friends are not worth her time. I don't care if she is the most popular girl in school. I don't care if she becomes head cheerleader. What I do care about is making sure she surrounds herself with true friends. Girls, and maybe boys, someday, who treat her right. Friends who aren't afraid to say they are her friend. Friends who will stick with her through thick and thin. Friends who will listen to her secrets and keep them close to their hearts.

Mean girls are a part of life's lessons. I know this is only the beginning. I hope my daughter realizes sooner rather than later that she can rise above that. She has good friends. True friends. She is too good of a person to be ignored.

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!

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.

Jealousy

Jealousy is an ugly thing. It can also be a crushing thing. It crushes your spirit. It elicits fear. It can make you think ugly thoughts about people.

There is no one particular person that I am jealous of at the moment, but my husband keeps coming to mind. His professional career is really starting to take off. I am so unbelievably proud of him and I will continue to support him every step of the way, but I have to wonder. Why can't that be me?

I want my name to be out there. I want to be known for what I do. I want people to come to me for advice and direction.

I am a mom. I am very proud to be a mom and I love my children dearly. If someone has a parenting question, I will do my best to answer them. But there is more to me than just a mom.

Part of my feelings stem from blogging. You get what you give and while I am making an effort to give, I do have a life outside the computer. Those who are well known around the blogosphere and other social network sites have put a lot of time into getting their name out there. I respect that and they should be proud. I am trying to follow suit, but it is not easy. And I am not a patient person. Patience is a virtue I have yet to learn.

Blogging is not the only aspect of my life that brings out the jealous side of me. I am a crafter. Mostly crochet. I put a lot of work into what I create. A Lot! Someday I would love to be successful at selling what I create. I could go the Etsy route, but that can be a pain in the ass. I make things, I pay to post pictures of my creations, I promote, and wait. If nothing happens, I pay and promote again. I know it's not expensive, but how many time do I have to post before to really starts to feel like I'm losing money and it's no longer worth the effort?


When people ask what I do, I want to say something other than a SAHM. I am very thankful that I am able to be a SAHM, but I also want something that is just me. Something that I can showcase to the world and hope to get more than a "Good job" before they walk away.


I realize this sounds like just another woe is me post, and I suppose that it is. But I do have a plan. I am going to carve out some time for just me.

My midgets start back at school next week (thank god!). I have some major work to do on organizing this house (help!). Some of my time will also be spent volunteering at the school (wine, please?). In between that, I am going to get crafty and find a way to promote myself. I know it will take time, and I need to constantly remind myself of that, but I am going to find a way to make a go of this crafting thing that I am so passionate about.

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!

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.

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!*

Rockin' with my knight in shining armor

Mommyfriend Lori and Tina from Life Without Pink have teamed up to create Project Marriage- an interactive love movement designed to get back to the simple joys of marriage and the love that brought you there.

This month's challenge was to not only have a date night, but to avoid talking about the kids while on your date. The date part was easy. My sister-from-another-mister, the husband, and I had been planning out last Wednesday night since May, when Kid Rock announced he was coming to town. At first I was worried about not talking about the kids. It's something I love to do. But once the alcohol entered the picture, the kids were the furthest thing from our minds!




Sheryl Crow was also touring with Kid Rock, but we weren't interested in her. We chose to empty our cooler of tasty beverages while she played her show. We talked about things going on in our lives now as well as things from the past.

While we were talking, we realized that alcohol can be an ugly thing. When Mike's Hard anything claims to have a punch, the advertisers aren't kidding. Mike kicked my ass! But just when I thought I had it bad, we noticed a couple making their way to the venue. The girl was up against it! She could barely stand let alone walk. Security quickly swooped in to check on her, followed by the police. Once they showed up, her man bolted! Glad I wasn't her on so many levels!


Once Sheryl had played a good number of songs, we decided we should make our way in. We found a spot on the lawn where we had a good view and could be easily found if any of us had to leave for a drink or bathroom break.

Before we knew it, Journey was being played. Once we heard "born and raised in South Detroit", we knew the show was about to start. The next few hours were full of screaming, singing, and dancing. I'm honestly surprised any of us had a voice by the end of the night. Especially after Bawitdaba. Flames were flying on the stage and Kid Rock revealed all of his sexiness by taking off his shirt.


By the final song, Born Free, I realized that the three of us had sobered up for the most part, but that wasn't the case for other people there. I was trying to get a video of that last song because the pyrotechnics were just awesome. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a man. He was so nicely waiting for me to finish before walking in front of me.

When I lowered my phone, he came over to talk to me. I don't remember much of what he said because it was loud, but I did mange to catch "computer", "face page", and "tree house". This was when the husband swooped in to make him move.

The guy began to shake my husband's hand as more gibberish spewed from his mouth. He obviously had no interest in leaving us alone. Since he refused to listen to my husband telling him to move along, the husband knocked his beer out of his hand and pushed him away. Thank goodness for my knight in shining armor because that was the one and only time of the night where the cops were no where to be seen!


Minus a few bumps in the road, which are par for the course, the night was amazing. Just like with the 2 previous times I've seen Kid Rock, his show was exhilarating. Seeing him with 2 of my favorite people made it so much better. I can't wait until our next concert experience in August.


I would like to point out that my friend also has a child. We all managed to make it through the night without talking about any of our kids. Until we got back to my mom's house and found my son sleeping under her boyfriend's feet!

The trip where I left my mark

School trips. We all go on them. I know I certainly did!

I could share about my many adventures through France and Italy. I did give a sneak peak here after all. Even though that trip may turn out to be a once in a lifetime adventure, there is one school trip that will forever stand out in my mind.

Washington D.C.


Midway through high school, my Computer Arts teacher put together a little trip for his 50 or so students. Looking back I have no idea how our trip to D.C. related to the class, but I won't complain. It was one of the first trips the husband (then boyfriend) and I took together.


We visited all of the popular tourist attraction.

Outside and inside the Capitol Building

We rubbed our fingers over the names on the Vietnam Wall, desperately wishing someone had thought to bring paper.


We toured the Holocaust Museum. Tears fell from our eyes as we walked the bridge over hundreds of tiny shoes. All from children who were taken too soon. We read stories and letters of love that was not permitted to bloom. Our tears echoed as they hit the cold, grey floor.


We drove our tour bus through Arlington National Cemetery.

A silent prayer was said for John F. Kennedy and we stood at attention before the Unknown soldier. The sky was filled with gray. Sadness was all around.

Not all of our time in our country's capitol was spent in mourning.

Every time I go through a metal detector, my memories of the White House come flooding back. My friend set them off numerous times. We assumed it was her earrings. After all, she had more metal than skin in her ears. Turns out it the under wire in her bra!

As we circled the Smithsonian, but never went in, we watched gray squirrels dart to and fro. If we bent down ever so slowly, one would run and eat crumbs from our hands.

Our very last day we stopped at the zoo. A zoo always makes me feel like a child, no matter what city I'm in. I vaguely remember there were Pandas, which we didn't have at our zoo back home. I also remember losing my lunch by those Pandas. And probably by a few other exhibits as well. I thought it was the rain from Arlington that made me sick. After all, didn't our mothers say you'll get sick if you go out in the rain?

Even though that trip was one I would never forget, I was as happy as a sick person could be to get back on the bus and go home. Most of the students slept in the big comfy seats on the ride back north. My friends and I sat in the back, rehashing our trip. Except for one who was hiding in the bathroom. I can only imagine what he was doing in there. I'm not sure I'll ever know because I made him get out. The last words I heard said to me from that trip were "Hey, you just puked on my shoe!".


My family and I have plans to return to D.C. in August. The husband and I are quite anxious to return. We know our kids will always remember it. Let's just hope no one gets their shoes puked on!





I would like to point out that our teacher rocked then and he rocks now. Have you ever heard of the country band, The Stickers? My former teacher is their drummer!

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.

Those were the days. Maybe?

Liz at a belle, a bean, & a chicago dog is doing a meme of sorts. We all remember how incredibly awesome we looked in high school - crazy clothes, wild hair. Ya, good times!

I love sharing old pictures because sometimes they're good for a laugh. I had to get in touch with a friend of mine. She is the queen of all picture circa the high school days. Also? My mom can't seem to find my actual senior pictures. I even went through her boxes of old pictures myself. If I didn't know any better, I'd say my brother is loved more than me. Thanks, mom! (love you)



I would love to lie and tell you that this is my senior prom picture because I think it's a great picture. Other than the "hold you date just so" pose, of course.

But my actual senior prom photo is this....

We looked so thrilled, don't we? And yes, that is a tie-dye shirt my boyfriend (now husband) has on under his jacket. It wouldn't have looked so bad if he wore a tie that didn't have some nature scene on it. Owls, I think.

I'm still not sure why, but I was hell bent on wearing one of my mom's old dresses. I loved the color. I loved the way it felt on me. What I did not love was how I stood out compared to my friend's dresses!

No one told me short was the *the* style in '97!

Before you start wondering what kind of crazy looking hotel our dance was in, we were on a boat.


I went through a lot of different looks in those four years. My freshman year started with crazy patterns accompanied by sky-high ponytails held in place with a scrunchie and teased bangs.

The middle years were full of ponytails held back with the first thing I could grab in the morning, rock hard bangs curled under, only covering half of my forehead, and clothes any color that resembled black.

In my senior year, my mom jumped for joy when I slashed her grocery bill by abandoning hair spray. But the black clothing? That stayed with me for many more years.

My year book picture.

Looking at some of these pictures, I'm not sure if I miss how I looked in those days or not.