Part Alligator

First Date

2012-02-02T17:31:00.001-08:00

Sixteen years ago tonight, Steve and I had our first date. He picked me up in a grey/maroon truck and took me to a Chinese restaurant.

I remember exactly what I wore (and how long it took me to pick it out).

I don't remember what I ate, but I remember much of the conversation. We haven't eaten in a Chinese restaurant since that the conversation doesn't come back to me.

I remember the ride home. Hard is it is to believe, it was very cold and we had to wait for the truck to warm up so we could defrost the windows.

I remember feeling like the most beautiful woman in the world, at least to Steve.

I also remember the butterflies in my stomach - afraid I'd say the wrong thing, afraid I wouldn't.

Last night, I asked Steve if he ever expected, that night, that we'd be together sixteen years later and he said no. He didn't expect there to be a second date.

But I knew. (I just didn't expect Will and Linden to show up along the way.)

Tonight was spent bathing and bouncing a fussy baby, helping Will with homework, fixing and eating dinner. By the time seven came around, the entire family was worn out and on the way to bed. I got a hug and kiss as I headed to the nursery with Linden. Some might not have considered it a fitting celebration, but it was exactly right for us.

And then you die...

2012-01-23T18:53:00.001-08:00

The last month of my pregnancy with Linden, I knew that I wouldn't live to raise him. It was an 'odd' knowing. Nothing I've ever experienced before. I ran through scenarios in my head; what would happen to Steve if I died, could he handle raising a newborn and Will, what would happen to my kids, etc.

The last week of my pregnancy, I cried every night, thinking it was the last days I'd get to spend with Will and Steve.

I never told anyone of my fears. They made no sense to me, how would they to anyone else. Women rarely die during childbirth any more and there wasn't anything wrong with me, but that I was old.

My best friend was at the hospital with me several hours the morning I was admitted, and she came back after Linden was born. When we were alone in the room, she confessed to having horrible dreams that I died while giving birth. I shared the fears I'd been living with.

We laughed. We cried. Then, we thanked God I was still alive and we were both obviously idiots.

I never really gave it another thought, until now.

Tomorrow I am having a small procedure performed in my doctors office with local anesthesia. An hour and a half tops and I'll be home with few side effects. If everything goes right. They made me watch this fifteen minute film outlining all the things that can go wrong.

All day I've found myself once again feeling like I'm saying good bye to my children. Sucking up every moment and holding dear ever expression ... like it will be my last.

And this time, I know I'm being an idiot in advance.

But that doesn't stop the fear. However, knowing where the fear comes from - that helps.

First off, I've had a lot of death in my family in the last five years: a first cousin, a close uncle, a sister, and my mother. There has been a lot of death in Steve's family since we've been together. Death has become way to familiar with me.

Second, a lot of close friends and neighbors have come down with cancer over the last few years. They are still fighting it, still winning. But knowing of their, sometimes daily, battle to live makes death closer and more real some how.

And lastly, I think aging makes you more aware of the fact that at the end of every life, you die. Just doesn't make those birthdays quite as appealing as they use to be.

What a deal!

2012-01-22T18:27:00.000-08:00

For the business I run from home, I use several large outdated printers. I picked them up, and their backups, off craigslist for next to nothing because of their age. While all the printers I use originally sold in the thousands, I didn't pay more than a couple hundred for them. Naturally, they require inks, specialty paper, etc. The good news there is that since they are so old, I can usually scout out a good deal on the supplies I need on an auction site. And, occasionally, I get lucky and just stumble across a stockpile on craigslist.

HP Color LaserJet 4050N

I have one of these printers I use on a daily bases and one that I keep as a back up for when the other dies on me. Because it happens.

I have to replace the Drum Kit (new from HP $350), the Transfer Kit (new from HP $270), and the Fuser Kit (new from HP $190) once a year on average. The printer uses four toners, that new from HP, run about $80 each - and I go through 6-8 of them a year. Luckily, it takes standard paper.

HP DesignJet 600 - 36" Plotter

I also have one of these in operation and a back up. They use two standard HP ink cartridges that run about $35 each. I have to purchase paper on 36-inch rolls, and locally I would pay about $25 a roll. I go through 2 cartridges a year and 20+ rolls of paper.

Bargain Hunter Extraordinaire

Luckily for me, I never buy anything direct from the manufacture...or I would have already been out of business.

Over the four or so years I've had these printers in service, I've averaged the following prices on my expendables:

HP 4550N (Drum $70, Transfer Kit $50, Fuser $40, Toners $20).
HP 600 (Cartridges $10, roll of paper $10)

Lucky Shit

Since I had to install a new drum and transfer kit last week, I decided to start searching for new ones to keep on hand. I always start my search on my local craigslist. I was shocked to find an add listing a sister printer (the HP 4500) for sale with the following unopened HP items: 2 drums, a transfer kit, a fuser kit, and four toners -- all for only $50.

Now, I need another printer like I need a whole in my head. However, for that price, I figured I could stop off and donate it to Goodwill on my way home from picking it up. When I noticed the ad was dated the first of December I was positive it was already sold, but I inquired about the lot anyway.

A gentleman responded the next day saying he still had every thing and asking what I was interested in. I explained that I didn't actually need the printer, but I'd take it. I really wanted the printer accessories.

His response, was that if I didn't want the printer he'd sell me the other things for only $25. I made arrangements to pick them up; and I did.

Frigging damn luck saved me $1,475 off HP prices ($285 off "Misty" prices).

Yep, I'm a lucky shit.

Nightmares are made of these

2012-01-18T19:31:00.001-08:00

A few weeks ago, I was laying in bed with Linden and Will watching cartoons. Will hands me the remote and it slips out of my hand and hits Linden on the head. Naturally, he cried. I felt horrible. Will laughed.

The next day, we were all back on the bed watching cartoons again. Linden was sleeping peacefully, until he started whining. His bottom lipped quivered and the saddest little noises were coming out of his mouth. Will asked what was wrong and I said maybe Linden was having a nightmare.

Will asked what kind of nightmares babies had. I was stumped. "Getting left by their mother. Not having food when they want it. Having a wet diaper." I had no idea what baby nightmares might be.

Will responded, "Maybe he's dreaming about you hitting him in the head with the remote again." Could be.

I took Linden to the doctor today and he got three shots. For the next 10 hours he whimpered, pouted, cried, shivered - was just generally upset. Each time he'd fall to sleep he'd wake himself up screaming. Bad dreams: and it didn't take a genius to figure out what they were about.

As I lay in bed with my heart-broken baby today, I thought about the origin of nightmares, possible phobias. Really, Linden didn't know that a remote hit him. Or, that I dropped it. As far as he was concerned something dropped from the sky and hit him in the head. Now that is scary.

What about today? Definitely no idea that shots are good for you. Nor does he have the ability to understand what happened. All he knows is that his clothes were taken off, his diaper stripped, then he was placed on a cold metal table (to be weighted and measured) and a stranger held him down and poked him several times.

Yep, I can see what type of fears can be seated in a persons mind; formed before they are old enough to comprehend the circumstances in which the experience took place. Just the pain.

Makes me look back at fears I've outgrown over the years and ponder their true origins.

My "classified" friend

2012-01-12T18:39:00.000-08:00

It's been about eighteen months since the last time I posted in the personal section of my local craigslist.

I found myself in the not uncommon position of being friendless. (I'm not counting my BFF, she's more like a sister.) But, after five years of being an at-home mom, I no longer had friends from work. No relatives lived close enough to hang out with. And the few mothers I met were not interested, or able, to get out of the house and do things together. So I tried posting for a friend in the local craiglist under the platonic section.

The first person that responded emailed me four or five times but never came through with an actual time to meet. I re-posted. The second person that responded was a stay-at-home mom close to my own age and we met at Ihop for coffee one evening. Her name was Leticia.

Leticia is a Civil Engineer who stopped working to stay home with two girls. Like me, it wasn't a natural environment for her. She was looking for someone to meet for coffee in the evenings, some adult conversation. She's also an avid writer and is always learning new things. We hit it off immediately.

We met at Ihop every week for four months, then started meeting at each others house. Family members were introduced. We've been to their daughters birthday party, and they've attended two of Will's.

Every month during my pregnancy, Leticia would buy me a large box of diapers in different sizes. I'd show up for coffee, and they would be sitting there. Like it was no big thing. Then towards the end of my pregnancy she told me that she would watch Linden one afternoon every week after he was born.

I'll admit I didn't expect her to go through with it. I had several friends, neighbors, and acquaintances say similar things during my pregnancy. (Take a wild guess on how many have watched Linden?)

Yep, just Leticia.

Each time she's watched him, Linden has cried nearly the entire time shes had him, but she doesn't let it phase her. She's calm about the entire thing and just keeps offering. The earth moves a little bit each time she so calmly says, "So, same time next week?"

I don't think she realizes what an amazing gift she's giving me. And I've not been very successful at expressing my gratitude ... she just pushes my thanks aside.

Well, I might have found her in the classified section, but when it comes to friendship ... I'd have to classify her as a true friend. And a blessing.

George and the Lamp

2012-01-11T19:16:00.001-08:00

Today a relative of mine lost her baby. She wasn't very far along, and the circumstances for having a child were not perfect ... she isn't married and doesn't have a job. And while there will, no doubt, be people who think it was probably for the best, I'm not one of them.

I've lost three children in my life time, and every single one of them hurt. When I lost the first, I was only eighteen (I was married and I did have a job). The pregnancy had not been confirmed since I didn't have the funds to seek medical attention. But I knew. And when things started going wrong I was heart broke. However, the type of support I received was more of the it's-for-the-best variety.

"You're really to young to be a mom anyway."

"God knows best."

"There was probably something wrong with it."

"You'll have more kids."

I kept my sorrow to myself, as that seemed to be what was expected of me. I was told not to name it, think about it, or talk about it. Supposedly, I would get over the loss faster that way.

I was much older, and wiser when I lost my last child. I was also further along; 13 weeks. The doctor's had been monitoring my numbers twice a week for three weeks and the numbers were doubling the way they were suppose to. Steve and I didn't tell anyone until we passed the 12th week - the first trimester. I went to church every Sunday praying it would be a viable pregnancy. In secret, Steve and I picked out names and I crocheted little hats and booties.

We wouldn't know the sex for another six weeks, but we decided to call our baby George if it was a boy. Besides being Steve's grandfather's name, we both remembered the old cartoon where the little girl says, "I'm gonna love him and hug him, and squeeze him, and call him George."

After we were in the clear we shared out good news with the families.

A week later, George died.

My father-in-law suggested I consider planting a tree in remembrance. The more I thought about the idea, the more it felt right; something to represent the loss of a life. Something that says, "he mattered", "he's missed" - even if it was only by me.

But a tree? A living plant? Both my daughters can tell you my thumb tends to run more to black than green. I knew I wouldn't be able to handle it if a tree I planted for George ended up dying ... and the odds were good it would.

In the days following George's loss, Steve and I walked many malls and stores. I couldn't stand being at home. I couldn't stand being alone. While out, I kept my eye open for something that might represent the life that had been extinguished way to early. Something to commemorate the weeks of hope and love we secretly shared with our child. I had no idea what I was looking for, or even if I would find anything.

During one of our trips I found myself drawn to a floor lamp and we ended up purchasing it. I liked the fact it would provide light and warmth. I could picture myself curled up in a chair beneath it for years to come. I also liked the idea that no one but me would ever know that the floor lamp in my bedroom was all I had left of George.

It's been nearly ten years since we lost George and I still have the lamp. There's not a week that goes by that I don't use or look at the lamp and have a brief memory of the time I spent carrying him. But it no longer hurts and I'm glad that he still lives in my thoughts in a positive way.

If I had one thing to share with other mother's when they loose a child before it's born, it would be this ...

They deserve to be remembered.

I don't want to see you again!

2012-01-07T19:23:00.001-08:00

The Back Story

It is very hard for me to let my children go; to silently sit by as they leave. It hurt when Bonnet moved out of the house eight years ago, even though she still lived relatively close by. But I cried off and on for months while I adjusted to her absence in my life.

Over the next few years I became more accustomed to our new relationship. Still my daughter, still much loved, but only in my company once a week or so. A level of comfort was achieved and there was no sadness at the end of our visits.

Then she moved to Colorado. I'm lucky if I get to see her once or twice a year now; and it hurts. I've adjusted to her absence on a day-to-day bases. But when I do visit with her, the leave-taking is devastating. When the last visit ended, I couldn't even drive her to the airport I was so upset. Hell, I didn't even let her get out of the house before I was crying like a baby -- and I know what a baby cries like!

With Tori, it's been a little easier. I'd already been through one child leaving, and oddly, that made Tori's move to San Marcos easier. Still sad. I helped her pack her stuff and hauled it to the dormitory for her. And for the four years she attended college I would see her 3-4 times a month. She'd visit, I'd drive over for lunch, etc.

The Issue

Tori is moving to San Angelo, about four hours away, for a job. It is definitely closer than Colorado (which for some odd reason EVERYONE feels the need to point out), but realistically, I don't expect to see her often. I don't even make it to Brady, my home town, which is only two hours away but once or twice a year. I'm planning on driving down for a visit every 4-6 weeks, but there is a part of me that expects there will always be something getting in the way of those visits.

This Week

This is Tori's last week in town, she leaves tomorrow.

Monday: I had lunch with her, our goodbye meal. I cried off-and-on all last weekend just thinking about her being gone. Monday was sad and I tried very hard not to share my unhappiness, but I cried all the way home from San Marcos.

Tuesday: Tori had testing in Austin and when she called me with the results we decided on an impromptu lunch. The boys and I met her for lunch and it was bitter sweet. Once again I was swamped with the knowledge this would be the last time I'd see her before she left town. The last time the three children would have lunch. I pondered how little she'd be involved in Linden's life. I battled sadness and tears that afternoon.

Thursday: Lew, my father-in-law, calls to let me know he and his wife, Dona, are taking Tori to lunch on Friday and wants to know if I can make it. Of coarse I can. But I spend the rest of the evening thinking about how sad it's going to be to see her.

Friday: Tori stops by and we ride over to lunch together. After lunch we do a few errands and stop back by the house. By the time she leaves I'm crying so hard I can't even tell her goodbye. I don't tell her anything ... trying to keep it together and not make it harder for her. The rest of my day is shot.

Saturday: At a family get-to-gather, Lew hands me a coat for Tori. She's leaving Sunday, but it would be a shorter drive for her to drop by our house to pick it up, as opposed to driving out to Lew's. I don't need glasses to see the writing on the wall, her stopping by on her way out of town would devastate me.

The Happy Ending

As it happens, my brother will be visiting tomorrow and he will be heading right back to where Tori will be. So I called Tori and asked her if it would be okay if I just gave the coat to Jessy and she could pick it up for him.

"Yes!" she replied, sounding incredibly relieved.
"That would be perfect.
I've already said bye to you like four times this week!"

I laughed.
"Yeah, I don't want to see you again either!"

Oddly, for the first time all week, I can smile about her departure.

You're Perfect

2011-11-05T19:01:00.001-07:00

Steve had to work this morning, so he was up and in the shower by 6 am. Shortly after he left the bedroom, Will came in feeling a little sick at his tummy.

I snuggled him up on Papa's side of the bed and got him some medicine.

When Steve came out of the bathroom, Will just laid there quietly and watched his Papa. Steve put on a long sleeve shirt and smoothed it down.

"You look good, Papa," Will said. For once, his voice quite and sincere. (That honest emotion you seldom hear from children as they age.)

"No." Steve puffed out his tummy in exaggeration. "Papa is fat!"

"No," Will replied quietly, "You're perfect."

Still Pregnant

2011-11-03T11:12:00.001-07:00

I am exactly 11 days away from my official due date, November 14th. Most women would be happy to be so close to the end of their pregnancy. Me, I'm pissed.

Due to my age, 45, I've been told repeatedly by every doctor I've seen that I could expect to deliver 3-4 weeks prior to my due date.

So, that's what I planned for. I've had everything finished and ready for use for almost three weeks now. And, as we were expecting to deliver early, we haven't gone anywhere or made any plans that couldn't be dropped at a moments notice.

Today my doctor informed me that it will "most likely be a full week" before we have to worry about labor. What the hell?

She proceeded to explain that apparently, internally, I have the body of a much younger woman. Great! And no one noticed this before now?

Besides, what 45 year old woman wouldn't rather have the external body of a much younger woman?

On Your Mark ...

2011-10-22T19:50:00.000-07:00

If there has been one consistent thing through out my unexpected pregnancy, it has been how hard I've tried to maintain a peaceful and stress-free life. Knowing the odds of a 45 year old woman carrying a child to term are horrendous, Steve and I have done everything possible to lighten my load and keep me and Linden as calm as possible.

Well, things are about to get interesting. Luckily, for Linden, his birth is basically the whistle that will start the race to the end of 2011.

(1) On Your Mark ...
Linden is due the 14th of November. And as shocking as it is to all of us concerned, he has technically made it to 'full-term' - as of Sunday night.

(2) Get Set ...
I haven't seen my side of the family since mom's death, so we are planning on driving up to see them for Thanksgiving. Thank God I won't be expected to do anything, but I'll still have a new baby on a road trip.

(3) Go!
Will's 7th birthday is December 2. Especially since Linden will have just officially entered our lives, it is important I don't 'short' Will this year. So we're talking party with friends, cake, presents. Work!

(4) and Go!
Bonnet and B'ella are coming to visit and see Tori's graduation. They'll probably show up around the 11th or 12th of December. I love them to death and miss them all the time, so I am super excited they are going to make it down. However, we will have to plan a family Christmas while they are here - not that I'd miss it for the world.

(5) and Go!
Tori's graduation is the 16th of December and afterward we are throwing an informal party in my back yard. I'm happy to be able to do anything to help celebrate Tori's graduation. I'm very proud of her and feel that I've helped her very little the last four years. The party will be nothing fancy, but it still means my yard and house need to be company cleaned. While I've managed to clear most of the clutter from the house, you don't want to know what the yard looks like. Work!

(6) and Go Again!
Then there is Christmas. I can already tell you I don't feel like putting up a tree, but for Will, the effort will be made. But then there is the meal, presents, Christmas eve, cards, etc.

A minimum of six engagements/events in a six-week period may not seem overwhelming to most people, but it does to me. And there is not a single event I would miss. It just majorly bites that they all happen at the same time.

Bonnet and Tori have both offered to help prepare the house for company. And just being surrounded by so much family and love will go a long way to smoothing the bumps I encounter as this amazing year says it's good byes.

The Nightmare

2011-10-20T17:57:00.000-07:00

Will woke me up at 3:00 am Wednesday morning. He'd had a bad dream and was afraid. I calmed him down and got him back in bed. The next morning, while driving to the sonogram with Tori, I asked him what it was about. He asked if he could please not tell me.

I figured he didn't want to talk in front of Tori and I let it go. I even forgot about it.

Then he woke me again this morning. Another nightmare. I got him back to sleep. When Steve and I were putting him to bed, I asked what his nightmare was about and again he asked if he could please not tell me. We tried to let him know how sharing your fears with others can make them less scary. He didn't budge. Finally, Steve volunteered to leave the room and I got Will to talk.

First, he made me try to guess what his fear was. I covered all the normal things: school, teachers, bullies, animals, heights, falling, monsters, etc. Everything I could think of, to no avail.

He eventually come clean. He whispers really quietly, "A red and a green color are at war with me."

"Crayons?" I asked, stupefied.

"Yeah, they are at war with me."

He then proceeds to tell me how they attach him, chase him, and generally bully him. Two crayons. I'm kind of proud at how quickly I bounced back with a solution though.

"Crayons melt," I informed him. "You can fight them out in the sun and they'll melt. Blow them with a hair dryer. Shoot them with a flame thrower. Tie them to a light bulb and turn it on."

My mind was churning trying to find the right thing to say. But then I notice the emerging smile and relaxing facial muscles.

Oh yeah, them crayons are in for it now!

Will's Story

2011-10-19T19:49:00.001-07:00

Will brought home a story he wrote last week.

What he actually wrote:

I win to a ws wot and I at pesgu.
and der waz moosit.
and I tllt fue juox.

Lucky for us, he could still read his own story.

What he read to us:

I went to a restaurant and I ate spaghetti.
And there was music.
And I told funny jokes.

Steve said it's apparent that Will has more than a little German in him.

My Give-a-Damn is Busted

2011-10-15T15:56:00.001-07:00

Over the last few years, I have had several occasions come up where I was truly shocked at how unaffected I was by them.

From simple things like Will falling and skinning his knee while Steve and I watch him ride his bike. Steve jumps up and runs over to check on him and I sit in the chair and sip my drink. If I'm out watching Will ride by myself and he falls down, I yell, "Get out of the middle of the road," and wait for him to come to me. Yet, at the time it's happening, I remember when I jumped and ran for the girls when something similar happened.

I can say, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the change in reaction is not due to a lack of affection. I love all my children. I'm just not the same person now that I was when my girls were little.

There have been many other instances over the last few years: my waning (read nonexistent) interest in holidays, lack of participation in Will's school events (I attend what I have to, but don't ask me to do any more than that), determination not to sign Will up for after school activities, etc.

Another big instance of a lack of interest arrived when Lew and Dona returned from their latest trip to ND. They brought back a cradle that Steve made out of Mesquite and I fashioned linens for before Will was born. Steve sent it up to Dave years ago for his son, and now Dave has returned it.

The cradle means something significant to both Steve and Dave. And it should, I guess. Counting Linden, every male Marquardt from Lew's side of the family will have slept in the cradle. Besides that, it was made by Steve, and Tori burned a longhorn in both sides of it. Hell, I even made the linens.

So, was I excited to have it back? No. All I can think about is that I had already purchased a cradle, disinfected it, purchased linens for it and washed them, and have it made up and in place for the baby. I also happen to have a bassinet in the living room and a crib in the nursery. Now I have another bed to clean up and I have to figure where the hell they are all going to go. I can't even get rid of the other cradle as it is nearly twice the size of the one Steve made. I don't think Will slept in the homemade cradle but about 6 weeks.

As I work on the crib, I keep wondering about my lack of enthusiasm. Not just about the crib, but about a lot of things. I don't think it's my age, as Steve and I are the same age and he still gives a damn about many things I've lost interest in.

I'm wondering if it has more to do with the years I've already been a parent. After 20 years of jumping and running for each bump and scrape, diving head-first into school activities, and really trying to impress your children with holidays--

Maybe I'm just worn out.

Or again, maybe my give-a-damn really is busted.

The New Family Dynamics

2011-05-04T10:06:00.000-07:00

Until Will started school, he only knew about traditional families. Which, when I think about it, is pretty amazing. But all his relatives have been in steady relationships since he's been alive. No divorces or breakups. No separations.

Once he started riding the bus, we began to associate more with the other families of like-age children in our area.

Ethan, who is in Will's class room, lives with his mom and step-father. He spends every other weekend with his dad.

Gabriel lives with his mom, and sees his dad some evenings and every other weekend.

And the other two families are traditional.

I never really thought about how this might impact Will or his thinking until a few weeks ago. We were outside laying in the hammock watching baby squirrels play in a near-by tree. There was only one adult squirrel visible and Will decided it was the "mommy". When I asked him why it couldn't be the daddy, his response was...

"Because, it's not the daddy's weekend."

The Shocking Things Kids Say

2011-05-03T10:47:00.000-07:00

You get use to your young children saying things that shock you. However, as they grow, it happens less and less. But it does happen.

Since I've shared the news about their new siblings with the girls they have both managed to say something that totally shocked me into silence. First, you have to understand that the upcoming Marquardt - currently called Panda, as we have no idea it's sex yet - was not planned, anticipated, or really wanted. (Don't go getting on your high horse. How would you feel finding out you were starting all over from scratch at 45?)

Tori

We were riding back from lunch and she says the following just totally out of the blue . . .

"I wish you had waited a few years.
Then we could have had our babies together."

"Wouldn't that have been fun?"

Bonnet

I received the following text from Bonnet this morning.

"So, I was talking to one of my coworkers
about you being pregnant.
She had a great point...
Ur new kid will get all the
rockstar handicap parking."

The Casual Hook Up

2011-03-05T19:51:00.001-08:00

I've been going out dancing with a group of friends for a few months now. There a bunch of fun women about my age. One of them is married, but most of them are single and looking. I have no problem with this. Most everyone takes their own vehicle, so they can leave when they want to - with, or without, more company than they showed up with. (But, it's never happened.)

Last night we met up at a favorite hang out of ours and I invited a friend of mine that's never been out with us before. Since we live on the opposite side of town from the club, we carpooled.

She's single, young, cute. A single, young, and relatively cute guy came over about an hour into our night and just camped out next to her. About 15 minutes before we were scheduled to leave she asks if I'd mind giving him a ride - to her house.

I've never been the one-night stand type of person and I was totally flabbergasted (maybe because I am old enough to use flabbergasted in a sentence).

Even so, this probably would not have made it onto my blog except for part of a conversation I overheard on the ride home.

The young man is sitting in the back seat talking to my friend who is riding in the front. And suddenly, he leans forwards and asks, "Hey, if you're not doing anything tomorrow, you want to go on a date?"

My friend turn around and says, "You didn't want to -"

"Oh, no. Tonight is good," he immediately assured her. "I just wanted to know if you wanted to go on a date tomorrow."

I hate to show my age . . . but shouldn't the date have come first?

Bad "Body Image" Week

2011-02-13T19:25:00.001-08:00

To say the last few days have been hard on my self-perceived body image, would be an understatement. It's been almost a year since I started working on getting myself back into shape. In that time I've lost over 50 pounds and dropped from a pants size 20 to a size 11. I've joined a gym and started building back muscles. I've been trying to take care of my skin. All in all, I'd say I was happy with my progress.

I like to think that if I never dropped another pound or went down another size I could be content to stay as I am right now.

Well, that was the way I felt Thursday.

Saggy Boobs

Thursday night Will was sick and I kept him home from school on Friday. He was whiny and followed me every where I went; including into the bathroom when I took my bath. I haven't let him see me without clothing for years, but he didn't want to be alone. It didn't take long before I realized the 'real' reason women quit letting their children see them naked.

He hadn't been in there but a few minutes when he just flat out says, "Mom, you have long boobies." I ignored him. Hoping that by not making a big deal out of what he'd said, it would just slide by.

A few minutes later, "Really Mom, you have long boobies." I asked him if he wanted to leave the bathroom and he replied "No". "Then don't talk about my boobies," I told him. "But Mom, they are really long."

Later that evening, I told Steve about it. And my loving husband has made a point to refer to my long boobies every chance he gets. He thinks it's hilarious.

Old Thin Women

Steve and I went dancing at a new place Friday night and I was surprised that about 70% of the clientele was over the age of 60. As the night passed, I begin to notice that all the old women were thinner than I was, wore smaller sizes, and had waists (mine hasn't made a reappearance yet). Not only did hanging around so many people older than me make me feel old, but fat at well.

No Hips

Tonight I attended my first belly-dancing class. I was comforted, upon arrival, to see over half the class was my age or older. Most all of them about the same size I was, or larger. The teacher lined us up in front of the mirror and started right in.

The first things we did was exercise our hips. Right in the middle of her discussion on what to do she looked at me and said that some of this might be more difficult for me since I had such small hips.

Every time anything having to do with hips was mentioned, and it came up often over the next hour, she made a point of addressing me in front of the entire class with ideas or suggestions for people with small hips. Every time the male student made a comment about abdominal muscles, differences in stance, etc. (as it applied to male dancers), the instructor would comment then turn to me, "You need to be aware of this as well, as you might have this same issue since your hips are so narrow."

At the end of class she talked about our practicing at home in front of mirrors and how we could touch certain muscles to make sure we were doing everything correctly, because every one has a different body style and not all moves will be totally visible on some bodies...and she was looking at me.

The Conclusion

Last week I was happy with my body. I knew I needed to work on my abdominal area, but I've started some exercises that target that area and really hoped my belly-dancing class would help. It was all good.

This week, I have saggy boobs, no hips, and I'm an old fat woman.

Loss of Self

2011-02-11T13:25:00.001-08:00

Outside of a major trauma, people don't tend to loose themselves all at once. It generally happens without notice. A compromise here, looking the other way there, not returning the item in the bottom of the basket that got overlooked during check out.

When we are young, and most of our boundaries and ideas are set, they are set in stone. Actually, they are set in black and white. It is only as we live that different shades of gray become obvious.

Today, for the first time, I knowingly face the loss of a piece of self. Tomorrow, a friend of mine is doing something I whole-heatedly do not approve of. Something that is repugnant to me. I have not spoken up against it, as it is not illegal, and I know it is not a decision she has come to lightly. I know she needs my support. I am one of the few people she has mentioned this to, and I need to honor that trust by helping her through this.

But a few minutes ago, it got worse. At least for me. She asked if I would drive her to her appointment and pick her up later. Now I am no longer an impartial observer that kept quite, I'm an actual participant in the action.

Yes, I could have said no. But what good is my support if it's only verbal?

I'll do it. It's just two rides. An hour out of my day. And I know it wouldn't be safe for her to drive herself home.

She is my friend, and I love her. Regardless.

I'm just a little saddened tonight over the smearing of another black line in my soul.

The Good, Bad, Good Day

2011-01-14T22:11:00.000-08:00

I was very excited about today, my first day back to work in almost six weeks. I've missed it: the drive which clears my head, dressing up, learning new things, the sense of accomplishment when something is finished, the fellowship. It was a beautiful morning and the traffic was light. Arriving early, I took a walk around the neighborhood before I went in.

Every thing went smoothly at work. I finished project after project, visited with the boss and other employees, played with the dog. I also got a delayed Christmas card that had a nice bonus in it - score!

I was excited about our night time plans too. Tonight is date night, and we have a double date planned with my BFF and her hubby. Dinner at a little bar and pub in San Marcos followed by bowling. Tori is watching Will for us for the night.

By the time I left work, it was drizzling just a little. Enough to make the roads wet, but not wash away the oil and gas deposits. While traveling down a four lane, divided road at the posted 45 MPH, the light in front of me turned yellow. The car in front of me, which was almost under the light, slammed into their breaks and I had to hit mine hard if I wanted any chance of not rear-ending them.

My tires hit a slick spot and I lost control. There were cars to the right of me, in front of me and behind me. When my tires regained traction for just a second, I jerked the wheel toward the median. And I hit the curb surrounding it hard. The curb was at least eight inches tall and the impact shook the entire frame of my vehicle. Fortunately, as soon as my tires were off the slick road I was able to regain control. I drove back off the median and pulled up behind the nervous driver at the red light.

When I got home I was so shook up that I walked up the hill in the rain to meet Will's school bus and didn't drive the rest of the day. While at home, I found out my BBFs hubby was sick and they weren't going to be able to go out with us. And for some unexplained reason, my cell phone just quit working.

I had recently purchased a new plan and phone, and just hadn't gotten around to moving over my contacts. So I did that this afternoon. When Steve got home we decided to just take Will and Tori to dinner and bowling with us. We even invited her boyfriend, Ray.

It was great! The food was amazing. The kids and I split a three way desert tray that had cheesecake, brownie with ice cream, and carrot cake on it. Will was well behaved. Everyone bowled better than normal. And we all got home safe.

In the end, it was a good, bad, good day.

Clubbing at 44

2011-01-09T19:26:00.000-08:00

As a woman that has spent most of her life married, I really have had little opportunity to go clubbing. Every decade or so, my sisters (together or separately) would drag me from my rut and take me dancing or to a bar. The last time was before Will, over seven years ago. Jennie and I went to Polyesters and spent the night parting with a lesbian couple - one of which slipped me her number as we were leaving. (Hey, at my age, getting hit on by ANYONE is note worthy.)

So, I went out last night. And not only did I go clubbing, I went with someone I've only met a few times and don't know that well. After about twenty changes of clothes and two near-fatal anxiety attacks I drove off for my evening of fun and frolicking.

It wasn't exactly what I was expecting; both better and worse.

The Good

The new friend was easy to hang out with and very accommodating. And I enjoyed the upbeat music and the band - which was really surprising as it was The Space Rockers (shown above). The beer was cheap, and she bought me my first round. I got to watch grown men dressed in spandex hop up and down all night. And I had more butts, boobs, and hands rubbed against me in four hours than I've had in my entire life combined.

The Bad
We stood all night. Each time my friend had to light up, we had to go out in the rain. She isn't much of a talker. No one approached us or talked to us all night. And, I was nearly double the age of the average person there.

Would I do it again? Hell yeah! Just at different bars. (Do they have an oldies bar in Austin?)

Cleaning out the Head

2011-01-02T19:40:00.001-08:00

I went for a brisk walk outside this evening and was amazed at how much it relaxed me . . . and how my mind wandered. Due to weather, and Will's presence the last few weeks, I have been walking on a treadmill at the gym after dark - and it's just not the same.

In a gym there is music with a fast beat playing constantly. There are no less than 20 televisions, all on different channels. And the people; I could watch them all day. So, while the time passes fast, and I get my work out, the walk doesn't clear my head the way a walk outside does.

And apparently it needs cleaning, if the thoughts that popped up today are any indication.

First, I thought about how a friend of mine got engaged New Years Eve next to a bomb fire. Which led me to thinking about . . .

How she bared her boobs to us women on a dare, also at the bomb fire. Which led me to thinking about . . .

How another party guest showed us girls her new Victoria's Secret bra while we were in the house. Which led me to thinking about . . .

How a different party quest showed us her implants and suggested we squeeze them - she paid extra for the soft kind. Which led me to thinking about . . .

How women over 40 seem to have no issue baring them selves above the waist when surrounded by other women of the same age. (And this isn't the only party I've been to where boobs were flashed.) Which led me to thinking about . . .

How at our age we've all been through so much; birth, nursing, doctors, motherhood. It's amazing we have any modesty at all. Or, maybe it's that the upper body has simply ceased to be 'dirty' to us. It's just a part of the body; like utters on a milk cow. Which led me to thinking about . . .

An episode of American Dad I watched with Steve the other night where a mother cow in the field was shooing her calf away, encouraging him to go out on his own. And how the 'dad' was using this example to demonstrate how a mother should let her children go. Which led me to thinking about . . .

What an ass he was. But then I remembered, in this episode he actually got a vasectomy without telling his wife. Then he lied and they 'tried' to make a baby for months before she found out. Which led me to wondering . . .

If Steve was hiding anything from me. Which led me to thinking about . . .

How Steve 'felt' the need to carry a gun around with him all day on Friday - like something bad was going to happen. Which led me to thinking about . . .

Steve's sanity . . .

About this time, I realize my walk was over. I walked two miles and officially 'cleared my head' as the case might be. And when I looked back at the crap that had been stored there, I came to the conclusion that I should clear it out more often.

The Trailer Hitch

2011-01-01T13:20:00.001-08:00

My 'big' gift this Christmas was a home-made trailer hitch for my Mitsubishi Montero. Unlike many useful presents I've received in the past (i.e., guns, fishing poles, etc.), this one I actually asked for. And I'm terribly excited to have it.

I'm a big craigslistser, as you probably know, and there are always things being given away for free if you can come get them NOW. Since Steve not only has the only truck in the family, but also the only hitch, I miss out on a lot.

I also am in the middle of the huge task of cleaning, organizing, and hauling off stuff from our house, yard, and attic. It is possible, I am the only woman in the Austin area that wishes she had a trailer so she could make a run to the metal recyclers.

With the purchase of a small pop-up trailer recently, I have yet another reason to use a hitch. To get away.

All this being said, I am very happy with my present. But when people ask what I got for Christmas and I tell them, everyone laughs.

Until last night. New Years Eve I spent with a bunch of small-town native Texans that LOVED my new hitch and thought it was an awesome present. We even had a demonstration of it's towing capacities when I got stuck in the mud and had to be winched out.

Yep, I love my hitch.

(And my new friends aren't bad either.)

The Smell of Burning Fat

2010-12-28T19:51:00.001-08:00

Ten years ago, a group of co-workers and I started monitoring our weight loss together while all doing some variation of the Atkins diet. We walked together during our breaks and once a week we met at the gym and weighed in. During this time I learned about Ketosis.

Ketosis is when your body burns stored fat for energy; and what an amazing concept. If you use more calories then you put into your body it is forced to burn stored fat to compensate. How great is that?

I did learn that you have to watch yourself while in this state. Your body can actually start burning muscle if you aren't careful. But the one thing I thought I'd never forget is the smell.

Most of the stored fat is utilized when burned to energize your body and mind, but not all of it. The non-used portion is excreted through your breath and in your urine. So you end up with stinky, to REALLY stinky, breath and pee.

The strange thing is that I did forgot.

Then, some ten years later, I start smelling something funny when I go to the bathroom. (It smells like brussel spouts boiling.) As a woman, the first thing I think of is that I'm having female issues. So I buy a test to check for that. Nope, all is fine. But the smell is still there and worse. Maybe a urine infection? I buy several bottles of cranberry juice (which coincidentally have a lot of calories per servings) and by the time I finish them off the odor is gone. Problem solved.

Until a week later when it's back. That's when it dawns on me; by body is in a state of Ketosis. With my added weight training I am burning a lot more energy than I have been, but still maintaining a low calorie diet - most of the time. So my bad breath, and funny smelling pee, come and go.

And I'm okay with that because now I know it's just the smell of burning fat.

Burn, baby! Burn!

The Fat Guy at the Dollar Store

2010-12-21T21:05:00.001-08:00

I am one of those women who never has fantasies about other men - not in my entire life. I don't see a hot-looking guy and start imaging how he'd feel or what he'd look like with a few less clothes on. Just doesn't happen.

So I found myself more than a little shocked this evening when I had an immediate knee jerk reaction to the overweight cashier at my local dollar store. As soon as I looked in his kind, but tired and overwhelmed, eyes I had this flash of cuddling up with him in bed. Nothing dirty. Just a comfy bed and us wrapped in each others arms.

I was so aghast that I stopped the thought there. Not only do I not fantasize about men, but this is the last man in the world I would be attracted to. He was older than I am, a good 100 pounds overweight, and way to nice for me. (Sorry, but it's true.)

As I visited with my friend over coffee later, I continued to be puzzled by my attraction to the chubby checker. And that is when I realized I wasn't...attracted that is.

When I went back over the moment before the vision of us in bed, I realize that he looked very nice. Worn out. Needy. He had very sad eyes. The poor guy looked like he needed to go to bed and/or get a hug.

As my BFF likes to say, I have a very visual thought process. Everything I think, or others say, colors pictures in my head. It just so happened that it painted me hugging the sad teddy-bear looking man while he was in bed.

This I can deal with.

Postal Poo

2010-11-01T19:14:00.001-07:00

I could not find a photo that would do this post justice, so I just found one that would serve fair warning to all that the following is literally about poo, shit, feces matter.

Last week, while at work, I was shocked, alarmed, and amused by a customer complaint my boss received. As we all work very close together, we can overhear everything said on the phone . . . and it doesn't take much effort to decipher what the other party is saying in return.

We had a customer call us absolutely furious with the state her package was received in. Apparently, the envelope had been ripped during transit and then shit on. Well, sort of "on" and "in", as the fecal material was runny and had managed to get inside as well. Then the nasty mess was placed inside a clear bag and delivered to her.

It took ten to fifteen minutes for our boss to get the customer to calm down enough that she could even reassure her the package had not left our shipping department in that condition. No postal service in the US would accept such a package. Once we got her to admit that was most likely true, my boss promised to pursue the issue and find out what had happened, as well as offer the customer a 25% discount for the trauma of dealing with the shit.

The customer sent photos of the package. My boss tracked down the postal station that would have delivered the package and nearly lost her temper trying to get them to acknowledge they delivered it. They would NEVER deliver a package in that shape. Since we had a tracking number and their department scanned it prior to delivery, they agreed to contact the carrier who entered the bar code.

When they called us back, it was to state that the package had already been damaged and contained when the carrier received it. She just delivered.

My boss was aghast, as was the Post Master. This is a bio-hazard. It should have never been delivered.

At the end of the day we were all left stunned. The package left our postal station in perfect order, but arrived at the destination postal station torn, covered in poo, and in a clear envelope.

Begs the question; Who pooed on the package?

You just can't make shit like this up.

Online Dating: Take Two

2010-10-26T14:31:00.000-07:00

You may remember that a few months ago I set out to find new female friends I could do things with. As I haven't been in the work force for almost six years (and do not belong to any political, religious, or parenting groups) I found myself extremely lonely and in need of a larger social structure.

Coming from a large family that lived in a small town most of my life, I've never had to deliberate set out to make friends - mine grew up with me. So as time went by and I moved from place to place the only friendships I maintained were those I made at my current place of work - which majorly sucked when I no longer had a place of employment.

I utilized craigslist personal listing to make new connections. There is actually a platonic section; though all the posts are not necessarily platonic.

The problem is that the majority of women looking for girl friends (in a non-sexual way) are in their twenties. And I don't want to hang out with someone who feels like one of my kids. The first two 40-something women I tried to hook up with ended up more talk than action and we never even met face-to-face.

My third attempt was Leticia. We've been meeting every Tuesday night for months. She's a stay-at-home mom that would rather be working, an engineer by trade. She writes short stories and has two children. We've graduated to having coffee in her house and I've met her family. I even get little girl hugs when they head to bed. We're both sort of cautious; but I see our relationship slowly evolving.

However, I still find myself without that one "social" friend. Someone that I can go play pool with, watch a movie, grab dinner out.

Out of boredom I checked craigslist again and was shocked to see a woman near my age (cause, is anyone really THAT old?) looking for someone to hang with. She works part-time and has a seventeen year old daughter. SCORE!

We're meeting for dinner tomorrow night. I'll let you know how it goes.

Oktoberbreast

2010-10-13T19:30:00.001-07:00

Some of you may be aware that I've been working for an online costume shop the last few months. I find the job diverse in responsibilities and highly entertaining . . . . never more so, than today.

I was unpacking a new shipment of costumes when I stumbled across Mr. Oktoberbreast shown above. After verifying what we received, we go ahead and package each costume in a shipping bag with a custom label at the top telling what it is. If a costume has something that can be damaged easily during shipment, then we have to measure it for a box.

So I pull out the first Mr. Oktoberbreast - I can't stop saying that, and start laughing. The dress and wig are folded neatly in a bag like most of the costumes I've unpacked. The shocker is the 'breast' part of the costume. Maybe you'll understand better if I show you a different photo.

Right on top of my package are these huge, very hard, fake breasts that are a pretty realistic color. They also have huge nipple-colored nozzles from which beer flows. After I get over the shock, and amusement - wondering what kind of man would wear a costume like this, I realize the package might need to ship in a box.

I push down on the breasts and they are very hard. Worried about the spigots, I try to turn them. I bend them. I pull on them. This is about where my sick sense of humor strikes and I just break out in belly laughs.

My boss, who is a woman about four years younger than I am, asks what's up. So I wipe my eyes and hold up a costume so she can see the issue. I ask if she thinks I'll need a box.

"Are the breasts hard?"

When I catch my breath, I answer in the positive. Then lay the costume, boobs facing up, on a box so she can reach it. She walks over and grabs both boobs at the same time and squeezes them. Then she tries to turn the spigots. Bends them. Pulls on them. By this time, I'm laughing so hard the other workers are gathering around to see what is going on. Oddly, they found it pretty hilarious too.

"I don't know," my boss finally replied.
"You'll have to ask Ed."

Ed is her husband and the shipping guru. So I trek out of the building and into the warehouse carrying Mr. Oktoberbreast - but not touching him inappropriately. I ask Ed about the need for a box. He takes the costume and lays it on the table. Then he squeezes the boobs - both at the same time, and boy he has big hands. Then he tries to turn the spigots. Bends them. Pulls on them.

The outcome? I had to tape two layers of bubble wrap over each nipple of every Mr. Oktoberbreast costume. What can I say, at some point, every girl needs a little extra support.

Issues of Weight

2010-09-22T19:16:00.000-07:00

Weight has been on my mind lately, in many aspects.

First, I am constantly impressed and motivated by my best friend and her weight loss efforts. In the years I've known, and cared, for Charlene, she has lost over 100 pounds. Fifteen of that in the last three weeks. She recently converted to a near vegetarian diet and is looking and feeling better every single time I see her. She has more energy, a glowing complexion, and the most positive attitude imaginable.

I met Charlene for a late breakfast today and we ended up discussing our clothing issues. The issue is they're all to big. They've been to big for months. I can't get clothes to fit me fast enough before they hang on me like sacks. The funny thing was that during our conversations we both kept stumbling over the phrase "growing out of". All our lives we've been "growing out of clothes". Now we're . . . what? I can think of several different words or phrases for getting to large for your clothing, but I can't think of one for getting to small for your clothing. Weird, hu?

And last, but not least, is that fact that my 'life changing' eating trends are now habits. I haven't had to count calories, research a restaurants menu's nutritional value on line, or fight huge cravings for a hamburger in months. I pay less attention to what I'm eating - because I just automatically make better choices, I work out less due to an increasingly busy schedule, and I am still loosing weight.

I was pretty excited to step on my scales this morning and see I had dropped another 20 pounds. Since May of this year, I've lost a total of 40 pounds. Oh, I'm still about fifteen pounds from my goal and the weight is slower to come off the closer you get to your target. Overall, I'm pretty happy with my issue of weight. (But let's not discuss baggy skin.)

Light at the End of the Tunnel

2010-09-17T19:17:00.000-07:00

I sit at my computer with the week behind me and experience the greatest sense of accomplishment. I didn't do anything extraordinary, nothing most women don't do on any given week. However, I had lost all belief that I would ever be able to function at full capacity again. And I'm doing it.

Steve was out of town Tuesday, Wednesday, and most of Thursday. He came home around 6 PM and was out of town again this morning. He will not be back until Sunday evening. And his absence is one of the main contributors to my feeling of euphoria, because, I never would have realized what I could accomplish on my own if he'd been around.

I worked four days this week. Each of those days I had to get up at 5:45 to get Will out to the bus, fix breakfast, pack lunches, and leave the house by 7:00 to drive into work. When I returned home, I had less than an hour before Will's bus showed up. In the evening, Will and I would go out to the park or go shopping. We'd eat out. Come home just in time to get him bathed and in bed. Then I'd spend 3-4 hours on the computer finishing up my online class.

Big deal, right? I worked part time, took care of my kid, and did an online class. The amazing part is that I did it without loosing my cool, getting the shakes, or sinking into depression. I felt great all week.

Now, I did stumble across at least one major issue. I can not deal with the entire 'fix a meal' thing in the evenings when it is just Will and I. He requires too much attention after a day at school and my nerves can't handle the constant interruptions while trying to work on something. But as long as I put us in a situation where I can give him the attention he needs, we do fine.

I even watched the neighbors boys a few minutes today. I took them all riding in the trailer on the lawn mower as I mowed the grass in the front yard and then out to Sonic for ice cream.

Tonight, I clearly see the light at the end of the tunnel, and for the first time in years, I don't think it's a train.

Walmart Wine

2010-09-09T20:20:00.000-07:00

I've had several occurrences in the last week that have really taken me back - back to what I'm not sure.

First, there was my attendance at the World Championship Goat Cook off this last weekend. And while the word "world" in the title may make it seem more important, it was really just a little hick festival held in my home town. It's huge to those that live in the area. The rest of the world? Not so much.

It's three days of heavy beer drinking, gorging on food cooked on a bbq pit, loud (and opposing) music played in every tent, and oppresive heat. So basically, you have a bunch of old red neck boys in stained t-shirts that haven't taken a bath in days. Everyone is covered in sweat, dust, and smells like bbq smoke.

I'm not going to lie to you, it's fun. But it's a shock to my system after living in Austin all year. But as my Aunt Cindy says, you get enough alcohol in me and the hillbilly comes out. And I'm always shocked when it does. Buried deep in side (or maybe not so deep) is still the small town girl with the hick accent.

Besides the cookoff, other things have come up this week to remind me of my roots.

I was having coffee with my friend, Leticia, on Tuesday night and she told me a story that made me laugh so hard I almost fell off my chair. Her husband was born and raised in New York city. The closest he's ever lived to 'country' is the subdivision where they reside in Buda. When she took him to meet her family in Del Rio he was ASTOUNDED when the first thing he saw at her folks place was a bunch of men pulling a live (and kicking) goat out of the trunk of a car. Apparently the family had a huge old car, no truck, and a farm. That part of the story didn't seem off to me at all. I grew up like that. It was his reaction that killed me.

"But, but, they have a goat..."
"In the car! A live goat."
"It could get hurt!"
"What are they doing with a goat in the car?"
Did I forget to mention he's a vegetarian.

Then tonight, I finished off a nice bottle of sweet red wine and Steve poured me a glass from some wine I have sitting on the counter. I take a drink and shudder. I've been trying out different reds the last few months and not all of them are worth drinking; which I shared with Steve.

"You know, I think I'm going to have to stop buying wine at Walmart . . ."

That was as far as I got. Steve started laughing so hard I was afraid he was going to choke on his beer. I guess my raising was shining through again, 'cause I don't see anything wrong with buying wine at Walmart . . . if you can find one that tastes decent.

Apparently, others agree with Steve though. Here is a list David Letterman put up regarding Walmart wines:

10. “When Kmart Wine Just Won’t Do”
9. “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Wine”
8. “Show Your Friends How Little You Care”
7. “Kills Germs on Contact”
6. “Recommended by 4 Out of 5 Drifters!”
5. “Crack Open a Can Today!”
4. “Fresh From the Vineyards of Aisle 6″
3. “Here’s to Making Bail!”
2. “Feeling Down After Being Thrown Out by Britney?”
1. “Goes Great With a 20-Dollar Hooker”

Breaking the Code

2010-08-14T20:49:00.001-07:00

Starbucks and I have a unique relationship.

IN THE BEGINNING

For years I've managed to pretend they didn't exist and they were fine with that. I'm only an occasional coffee drinker these days. If I drink six cups of coffee a week it would surprise me, and it's always decaf.

My aversion to Starbucks, at first, had to do with price. $5 for a cup of coffee . . . really? (I'm about to show my age here, but it had to happen sooner or later.) I waited tables off and on for most of my twenties and I still remember selling a cup of coffee for forty nine cents. Even today, I can go to a dozen places and get free refills for hours (and tons of cream) for less than $2. And I never cared for those fancy coffees. Just give me a plain old coffee with something to make it sweet and some cream-like substance.

The few times I did grace the doorway of a Starbucks it was usually with co-workers. I found the menu so confusing that I usually just ordered whatever the last person had. As I've aged I've come to appreciate tastes more, the small nuances of roasted bean, the weight, the acidity.

THE MIDDLE

My friend, Charlene, took me to Starbucks a few months back and ordered me a carmel coffee drink that was OUT OF THIS world. I didn't begrudge paying $5 for it at all. The place was empty, so I didn't feel rushed or pressured. But as I've become more conscious of each calorie I consume, I've come to realize that what tasted like heaven was actually a concoction from hell. And while I enjoyed it very much - bad things always taste good - I also realized that the hidden nuances of the coffee were good on their own. So I've made a few additional trips to Starbucks over the last few months. Alone. By my self.

THE END

The first time I pulled up to the driveway - thinking, for some reason, that it would be less embarrassing to talk to a microphone than to a real person - I was once again overwhelmed by their menu.

Nothing was as it should be. There are no small, medium, or large. You can order a Short, Tall, Grande, or Venti. Then there are words like; Mocha, Latte, Machiato, Con Panna, Americano, Cappucino, Frapachino, etc. There are options on flavors - vanilla, carmel, cinnamon, dolce, and so on -, options on milk - non-fat, 2%, whole, soy -, and almost everything can come cold, as well as hot, and it doesn't always say.

No where on the damn menu does it actually say, "Coffee" or "Decaf".

After making the poor girl wait for several minutes while I wildly searched for 'coffee', I finally just told her what I really wanted.

"I just want a cup of decaf with some soy milk and artificial sweetener in it."

She gave me a drink I really enjoyed, that cost me $5. I went back a week later and said the same thing, only this time I left with an iced version that I didn't like nearly as much. And it still cost me $5 - which is a lot of money if you don't like what you leave with.

After discussing my failed attempt to remember what the girl had given me the first time, Steve reminded me it was a Latte.

So, tonight I drove up and ordered a "Grande Decaf Latte with Soy and two NutraSweets." I got what I wanted and enjoyed ever sip of it.

If you're having trouble cracking Starbucks code, you might want to check out this website I found after I figured out what I wanted: http://www.quicksilverweb.net/sbucks/sbcharts.htm

A Mix What?

2010-08-12T19:59:00.000-07:00

I've always loved music of all kinds. In fact, it's probably easier to say what I don't like than what I do. I don't care for hard-core rapping, heavy metal, or techno. Last month, Steve installed a new stereo in my SUV and I've spent a lot of time listing to a CD the girls burned for me five or six years ago. I have truly enjoyed the mix of light rap, country, alternative, and blues.

(Naturally, Steve hates it. Every time he gets in the vehicle and it's playing he makes a noise like it's literally hurting his ears and quickly turns it off.)

The last couple of days I've come to appreciate the time put into creating the CD; picking out the songs, the variety of genres included, the order of assembly, and the cost and time to burn it. It's even clearly marked, "Mom's Mix CD." All of which make it even more special when I listen to it.

Someone going to so much trouble for me reminded me of my first steady boy friend, from my teens - and yes, I can remember that far back. He use to make me mix cassette tapes that included all of our favorite songs, or songs that 'said' something to one of the other of us.

So in my youth I received mix tapes. In my daughter's youth they received mix CDs. What will my son, Will, put together for his girlfriend in another ten years? A mix download for her cell phone? A mix DVD of photos/videos put to music?

A mix . . . what?

The Other Side

2010-08-07T20:11:00.000-07:00

I went to a swimming party with a friend today and it was an eye opening experience. The party was held at an apartment swimming pool, and hosted by a 44 year old friend of my friends. A single woman.

There ended up being seven women and one man that attended. One woman looked to be in her late 30s, one was most likely in her early sixties, and the rest of us ranged between 44-54. The man appeared to be in his mid-fifties. Everyone, with the exception of the sixty year old, was overweight and flabby.

Other than my friend and myself, they were all single. I think everyone there had been married at least once.

So there we were in all of our bathing suit glory - which wasn't very glorified. We ended up next to the area of the pool that hosted the volley ball match. A group of about fifteen young men - all under 25 - played ball the entire time we were there. And the entire time, all the women at our party drooled over them.

I have trouble drooling over anything young enough to be my own child, so I was more than a little freaked out about this. And as I listed to the conversation among our group, I became more freaked out.

This group gets together at a different swimming pool every two weeks all summer long and has parties. They were all desperately seeking someone. In fact, one woman had to leave early for a first-date with someone she met online - something she's been doing a lot of according to the rest of the women.

Everyone drink too much, tried too hard, laughed too much - often at nothing.

The longer I was there, the more desperate and sad they all seemed. And I think the thing that bothered me most is the knowledge that in their shoes, I wouldn't even be as well off as they are. At least they have each other to hang out with a couple of times a month. At least they still get out of their house and interact with others - even if they are young enough to be their children. At least they are still trying.

I've often heard how hard it becomes to find someone to spend your life with after you hit your forties. The people I met today showed me a side of that difficulty I never thought about; the isolation.

I can't say I had a bad time. The company made me feel good in my bathing suit. I got to listen to some really old music. I watched a 55 year old woman give a 22 year old guy a boobie-shot. I had free alcohol and snacks.

It wasn't the best time I've ever had, nor the worse.

What it was, was a look at life on the other side of the coin. I was really glad to get home to husband, every mature inch of him.

Shed Those Clothes

2010-07-21T19:41:00.000-07:00

Spending the better part of five days in a car will leave you lots of time to think . . . about everything. And once you've thought about all the normal stuff, your mind really begins to wonder.

Today I found myself embedded deeply in thought solely from a verse in a song on the radio. Oddly, I don't even recall the song, artist, or the exact lyrics that started my little thought process. It was about a woman being hurt in a relationship and then being afraid to love again.

My initial thought was, "Who hasn't?" (Keep in mind, this isn't my third marriage because it's my lucky number.)

Then I started thinking about how differently we love the first time we commit. How freely we give of ourselves before we realize we can, and probably will be, hurt. In truth, it's like we're standing there naked and vulnerable; offering all. Expecting all in return.

And each time we try again, we are a little less open. A little less naked and vulnerable. A little more clothed.

I know for a fact that even with my husband of fourteen years I am not as open or free with my emotions as I was the first time I ever fell in love. I don't know that I can be. Too much experience, too many walls.

As the thought developed, I realized that actually it's not just in love that we don protective gear. It's in all relationships we have; with our children, our co-workers, friends, siblings, parents, etc. In a sense, we are truly born naked and open and gear ourselves more and more as we grow and experience life.

It's natural.

It's also sad. Yes, we are more protected. Yes, we are less likely to get hurt. But what about that unbridled passion of giving your all? How long has it been since you felt that . . . offered that?

So I challenge you to join me. Pick a day, a 24-hour period, and strip. Shed those clothes, those layers.

Forget every bad thing your co-worker ever said about you.
Overlook every slight from your neighbor.
Pretend your siblings were never mean.
Erase all ill feelings toward your boss, or your job.
Image this is your first date, ever.
Act as if you've never been hurt.
Pretend your perfect.

For one day, smile and be happy. Look forward to everything you do. Tease. Flirt. Share unconditional love and support. Enthusiastically great each adventure, each person.

Join me for one day of skinny dipping.

The Trip

2010-07-21T19:21:00.000-07:00

As you can see, I made it safely to CO to spend time with Bonnet and my new grand daughter, B'ella. I also made it safely home.

I owe the success of the trip to my friend, Bill. He is the person that suggested I drink Monster energy drinks to keep me awake during the long days of driving. Prior to this trip, I have never been able to drive longer than 2-3 hours without falling asleep at the wheel. I had no such issues the entire trip there or back. In fact, I was wide awake and everything was extremely clear and vivid.

How liberating.

For the first time in my life, I can truly look forward to taking road trips anywhere I want to go -- given enough funds for gas and hotel rooms. (All the more reason to look for a job when Will goes to school next month.)

The trip was amazing. My nine days with Bonnet and B'ella were priceless. I remember my mother telling me when Bonnet was born that she had no idea she would love a grandchild (on sight) as much as a child she had carried for nine months. I now know exactly what she was talking about.

The opportunity to see Bonnet as a mother brought tears to my eyes. Her obvious love and devotion for B'ella -- precious. I wanted to just wrap them both in my arms and protect them from growing-up and learning to raise a child -- neither of which can be done without mistakes and a few hard knocks.

I'm so glad I made the trip. So glad I had the time with my girls. I'm even glad I took Will along and that we spent some time sight seeing on the return trip.

All I have to say in closing is that none of you are safe. I have wheels (and monsters) and I know how to use them.

Changes

2010-07-06T20:42:00.000-07:00

I've always been a person that doesn't handle change well. I like living in my routine and slowing graduating to new phases of life. In my experience, giant changes proceed difficult times. Lost job, new baby, moving into a new house, adjusting to marriage. Not that all of those things are bad, just difficult.

In fact, most 'major changes' take the average person six months to adjust to. During that time they are more emotional, stressed, and prone to physical ailments. If you are more prone to stress or depression than normal, they are harder than that to bounce back from.

I remember the first time I flew on a plane. I was 34, on my way up the corporate ladder. I was flown to CO for a weeks worth of classes. I cried when the plane took off, scared of facing this new experience on my own. Afraid of being away from my family and home. (And, I'm afraid of heights - that didn't help.) Each additional time I've flown since has become easier. No poor stranger has had to hold my hand on takeoff since the first time.

Now I'm facing another first. Another change. And it's scary too, thought mentally I realize it shouldn't be. I'm going on my first cross-country trip alone. I've driven to Tyler, to Midland, to Ft. Worth by myself. I've never driven out of Texas on my own. Will and I are leaving Thursday morning and hope to be in CO by Friday evening.

Sure, this sounds like a totally doable thing to most people. My issue is that I seriously can't drive for more than 2-3 hours max at a time, then I start falling asleep. So, my plan is to drive until I need to stop and . . . well, stop. Oddly, it's not the thought of the driving that's bothering me. Yes, it will take me much longer than it should. But I'll have Will with me and I don't expect he'll be griping about lots of pit stops.

What's bothering me is that I've never done it before. I've never driven across states on my own. Never had to find and check into a hotel by myself. Never had to worry about how far to the next gas station or if I'd make it to another town before dark - cause believe me, no one wants me on the highway after dark.

While sharing this irrational fear with a friend over coffee tonight, Latisha said that doing 'new' things actually becomes harder to adjust to as we get older. When young, everything is new. As we get older, there are less new things to do and when we stumble across one, it rocks our world.

At least in my case, I think she's right.

So if you have any good secrets for staying awake on trips, or ideas of good stopping places on the trip to CO, be sure to share.

Oh, and here is the reason for my trip; Briella (B'ella) Riddles. Born today around 3:00 p.m. At birth, she was 7.3 pounds and 18-3/4 inches long. Not a great photo, but the first one her Grammy got to see.

Crazy Uncle Steve

2010-07-02T05:52:00.000-07:00

My sister, Byjo, and her two children showed up for a visit yesterday. They are going to be spending a few days with us and we're very excited.

Byjo has two children, Payton who is seven and Sam who is five. Sam is actually only three weeks older than Will.

Jody, Byjo's husband, gets along well with Steve and we use to really enjoy seeing the entire family on a more regular biases.

An hour or so after Steve got home last night, Sam walks up to him and asks him a question. To be honest, I never found out what the question was because the very calm way he addresses Steve (and what he called him) was so funny.

"Hu, Crazy Uncle Steve, can . . . "

Hum, wonder where he got the idea that was Steve's official name? Gotta watch how you refer to people in your children's hearing or they will tell on you every time.

When Steve Dies

2010-06-28T19:55:00.000-07:00

My best friend, Charlene, and I have had many conversations about what we'll do when our husbands die. Usually it revolves around things are husbands don't enjoy now: crowds, travel, certain type of arts. We've talked about having small houses next to each other in a cooler climate. We've talked about taking cruises together. About never having to 'plan' another meal. And yes, about never having to do someone else's laundry again. LOL

It's not that we don't love our husbands, it's just human nature. Our jest on living without them in our lives. Which, is a very good possibility.

I was recently telling a male friend of mine about our plans. But I shared the fact that it finally dawned on me that we, Charlene and I, would be pretty frigging old when our spouses would die. Sort of takes all the fun out of making plans.

Bill's response was that we'd just sit around and complain about the stuff we 'would' have done if they'd just died off sooner. I laughed until my side hurt . . . he's right.

Tonight, I told Steve about mine and Charlene's plans to live next to each other after his and Christian's death. He surprised, and delighted, me by telling me he already had plans for after my death. LOL

Him and his best bud, Vicky, are retiring to her 700 aches and putting up homes at opposite sides of the land. They'll meet for Sunday brunch each week. Sort of wimpy plans if you ask me, but he'll go before I do, so I'll let him dream his wimpy plans.

Velcro Rollers

2010-06-27T21:02:00.001-07:00

As any women with terminally straight hair can tell you, there is little more dear to us than an easy, cheap, and non-harmful way to curl our hair.

Most curling methods involve heat in some form or another and tend to dry out your hair over time. My stylest, last week, recommended I try the Velcro rollers that are so popular now. One reason is that they come in very large sizes; great for adding body to long locks. Another reason was the curl tends to hold longer than a heat generated curl. Living in a place as hot and humid as Texas, most heat generated curls melt away before lunch.

I did question her about the length of time it might take to dry, as my hair takes hours to dry after a shower. She assured me that she uses the curlers and has no problems with them.

I purchased several sets of curlers. While my hair is baby fine and therefore doesn't look overly thick, there is a shit load of it. (Yeah, I did go there.) It always takes twice as many curlers as anyone expects.

I took a shower about 7:30 this evening and immediately put my hair up, using a total of 18 curlers. Three hours later I took them out so my hair can dry before I go to bed, which is still two hours away. My hair is less than 1/2 way through it's drying process.

One more item to add to my freecycle pile in the corner.

Too bad, it sounded like a great idea.

The Price of "K"

2010-06-26T04:17:00.000-07:00

I have an old cell phone that I purchase minutes for on a need-to biases. I've had the phone for three or four years, but not many people know I have it, or the number.

I purchased it as a tool to keep in touch with my girls after they left home. Both of them had cell phones and would text, or answer texts, even when you couldn't locate them near a land-line.

Being in a generation of people unaccustomed to texting, there was a giant learning curve, on my end, to even understand half of the messages I received. But over the years I've come to understand, and/or developed the ability to at least guess, what different acronyms stand for. But there is one abbreviation that just kills me: 'k'.

I remember the first time Tori responded to a text with 'k'. I felt jipped.

"What," I responded,
"I'm not even important enough to deserve an 'o'?"

"k".

What the hell kind of text is that to send?

It bothered me when I would receive a text that contained that one letter. I'm not even sure why. The feeling of negligence, as though someone was walking away and flipping their hand at you as they did so? The impatience displayed by lacking the time or energy to type in a 'k'? The cost of receiving a text that was no longer split into words . . . but contained only a single letter?

Who the hell knows. It just bothered me.

And like most things, over time, it ceased to bother me. In fact, I send at least two to three emails a week that contain only 'k'.

I just hope I'm not irritating someone else.

A Resume?

2010-06-23T21:04:00.000-07:00

I had the most beautiful resume you can imagine . . . six years ago. Working at a publishing firm, I had access to free editorial staff to help tweak it. I also reviewed hundreds of resumes each year so if I ever saw something that impressed me, I'd add it to mine. It really was a work of art. And now it's gone.

A few weeks back I decided to apply for a job I came across and initiated a search for my resume. We've changed computers at least twice since I was laid off, so I was not to surprised it wasn't located on our current desktop. I pulled every CD and diskette we've stored over the last fourteen years out and went through every one of them looking for my resume with no luck.

Knowing I had to at least have a paper copy of it somewhere, I took the search to an entire new level. Every drawer, file, stack of papers in the house was sorted through. Then I went into the attic and spent days going through every box a single page at a time. Still no luck.

Then I got creative and contacted the last place I worked to see if they had a copy on file. A new company bought them out and they have no employee files dating back that far. Ba Hum Bug!

I contacted the Workforce Commission to see if they had a copy of it - I was on unemployment insurance for six months after getting laid off. No luck there either.

All out of options, I have to start from scratch. And truthfully, that might be a good thing. Publishing positions are rare and I don't expect to be applying for any, so a more generic resume might be better.

In working on my new resume, the biggest obstacle has been how to present the skills I've used the last few years while building and maintaining my small business. How do you break down the hundreds of small choirs into generic words that apply to the masses? (I've never noticed before, but the majority of the masses is 'asses'? LOL)

Here is what I have so far, let me know what you think.

Designed and maintained small commercial website.
Generated graphic products and cover art utilizing Corel Draw, Adobe Acrobat, and Adobe Photoshop.
Laid out detailed instructions with four-color photos in Office 07.
Process orders and shipped electronic and print products.
Ensure customer satisfaction.
Perform full accounting cycle.

Coffee With a Stranger

2010-06-22T21:09:00.001-07:00

After deciding, a few weeks back, that much of my unhappiness in life stemmed from loneliness, I've made an attempt to find new friends. I'm more direct and likely to start conversations with people I don't know. I'm trying really hard to be more cheerful and outgoing all the time; to see the positives in life.

But the big thing I've done is post several ads on local networking sites looking for a coffee drinking partner, or two. I posted only in the platonic section and asked for only female responses. The responses have been few and not very encouraging.

My first responder came across very strong; maybe a little strong. But we talked on the phone for over twenty minutes and set up a date (a few days later) to meet. The evening of the date, we had a storm that took down electricity in our area and she called to say she might still be able to make it, but she'd call me right back. I waited an hour before calling her. She didn't sound like she meant to contact me. We agreed to try again later, she never called/emailed me. Didn't respond to my emails.

The second woman and I exchanged at least ten emails and once again made plans to meet a few days later. As the time approached I tried to verify it with her, she never returned my emails. Never heard from her again.

Today, I got an email from Leticia, stating she too was a stay-at-home mom and could use a break. We agreed to meet up tonight. And we did.

It was a little awkward at first, after all, we are strangers. But she was smart, funny, and fun to hang out with. She has two girls, age four and seven. She is a civil engineer and finds being a full time stay-at-home mom stifling, as I do.

We exchanged basic information. Enjoyed our drinks. All and all, I don't think it could have gone better.

I'll keep you updated.

Mosquito Ambush

2010-06-20T19:39:00.000-07:00

After my walk this evening, I went out to water the garden before taking a shower. Bad move. I've noticed that the hotter I am from working out the more attractive mosquitoes find me.

I was outside less than half an hour and come in with close to 50 mosquito bites on my legs alone. And that was with me constantly slapping at them and washing them off with the hose. I also got two ant bites. Throw in the sweltering heat and I have to say gardening is loosing its appeal quickly.

I have a new batch of garlic oil that has been aging for two or three weeks. Looks like tomorrow I will have to mow the grass down and spray the back yard heavily. I hope they enjoyed their Misty Du Jour, tomorrow they'll be dining on the neighbors.

The Bribe

2010-06-19T20:57:00.000-07:00

Everyone bribes their kids: to do their homework, clean their rooms, and be nice to annoying relatives. Sure, you can call it rewarding good behavior or an 'allowance'. The truth is, it's just a bribe. It works. And I for one, don't argue with proven systems - well, once I've tried them out for myself.

Something everyone might not do though is bribe themselves, mostly because people just go out and get what they want. Whether you can buy it right now or you have to save for it; you just get it. No bribe necessary.

My major malfunction in this area is that I never want to spend 'real' money on myself. I'll nickle and dime you to death, and Steve can testify to this. But I am incapable of going out and spending hundreds on myself with out it eating away at me with guilt. And it's not because I'm a stay-at-home mom. I was the same way when I brought home the bacon.

So, when I see something I really want - and it rarely happens - I find a nearly impossible goal and make myself a deal. If I can reach this goal then I can have the whatever. I've been doing this my entire life, unbeknownst to anyone, and it works great.

In my new health kick the last few months I have managed to loose over 20 pounds. I'm very excited about it since it's not been a diet per say but more about learning what to eat, what to avoid, and what a serving size is (and it ain't Super Sized). So for the first time in my life I'm looking at actually keeping the weight down and probably continuing to drop more. If I don't self destruct along the way.

I chose a weight that is still 35 pounds lower than where I currently stand. The weight will be harder to loose as I get closer to the milestone I picked. The longer it takes to reach the additional 35 pound weight loss the more the chance I'll just give it up and go with the flow. After all, how long can I keep Steve from bringing in cookies, pies, or cakes . . . and avoid them when he does?

So if, dare I say when, I loose an additional 35 pounds, I am going to . . . what? I've been thinking about this for weeks, trying to come up with the perfect bribe. Something worth fighting for. The only thing I could think of was another tattoo. I love mine and I'd probably like another. The issue there isn't so much the money as overcoming Steve's objections. Mr. "That would make a nice lampshade", doesn't like tattoos.

Then, today, we stopped at Allen's Boots in Austin and I fell in love with an entire line of cowboy boots: The Old Gringo. They are fun, flirty, bright, outgoing. They are everything BUT the boots your dad use to wear. I can't say I have a set that I'm more crazy about than the others, I'd wear them all. And wouldn't you know it, the cheapest sets run about $350 - more than I would ever spend on something for myself. Or would I?

Yep! A pair of Old Gringo cowgirl boots has officially slipped into the vacant slot as my reward for loosing an additional 35 pounds. I have no idea how long it will take me, so I'm not lusting over any one pair in particular. But I spent hours today on line drooling . . . and I took an extra long walk.

When I Grow Up

2010-06-18T20:10:00.000-07:00

I've always been impressed with people who know early in life exactly what they want to do as adults. Whether that is become a doctor, a stay-at-home mom, work on cars, or fly planes. It's even more awe inspiring when you see these people take every right step in getting where they need to be. When you see them reach their goals and how fulfilled they are.

Of coarse, I hate them a little too. Okay, a lot.

How is it that one person can know from childhood exactly what they are destined to become and the child sitting next to them ever day in school has no clue. Has no clue in elementary school. No clue in Junior High or High School. Hell, how many people go off to college with no clue of what they want to be when they graduate?

I'm a no-clue person. I've always joked that I wanted to be a writer. And if there was a great sign in my life, it was that of writing. I wrote poems, novels, songs, short stories; all through school. I like to blame a lack of encouragement (or even freaking expectation) for my failure to pursue a dream. But maybe it was simply the lack of a dream.

After Becky, my sister, committed suicide a few years back I decided life was to short for "when I grow ups", so in the month of November I wrote an entire novel. Then I spent over a year working on it. At best, I'd say it's half way ready to be shown to a publisher. And I haven't touched it in six months.

My living sister (and yes, that is really how she comes up in conversation), Byjo, says that I have a fear of success. She swears that I seem to blindly go through life stumbling over great opportunities, or making my own, then as soon as it starts looking like it's going to take off I sabotage it. But, according to her, one day I will succeed despite myself. We'll see.

Even thought I love writing, any type of writing feels the need to create for me. The instructions I produce and sell on my website, the blogs I post here. I consider it all writing and it does feel natural. Comfortable. But I still wouldn't swear it was what I was meant to be when I grew up.

Will tells me on a daily biases that he wants to be a fireman and a doctor. He's been saying the same thing for over a year - which is a long time to a five year old. I'm left to wonder if he'll want to be an astronaut, race car driver, scientist, etc, as the years pass. Or, will he grow up and be a fireman and a doctor?

Then I think back to my child hood and realize even as a child I had no dreams. Part of it was that life was just tough. I did well to concentrate on making it day-to-day. Part of it was also that my parents, teachers, and relatives had no expectation that I'd grow up and be anything.

I prefer to think I just missed the big sign. The one-way arrow on the flashing neon billboard, pointing out Misty's destiny.

The good news is I'm not a quitter and I'm not dead. I'll figure it out. In the mean time, I'm still pissed at all of you that caught a glimpse at your signs in childhood.

Conflicting Parenting Styles?

2010-06-12T18:58:00.000-07:00

When the girls came to live with Steve and I on a full-time bases, the adjustment was rocky for all of us. It wasn't the finance or space issue. Not the rescheduling to make sure someone was available as needed. It was that the girls had grown up to a certain parenting style; one employed by not only myself, but their father and grandparents. Steve's parenting style was at the opposite end of the pole. Conflict was going to happen and did, often.

The resulting strife nearly tore Steve and I apart and definitely damaged his relationship with the girls. My thought at the time was that they were mainly raised, they were use to a certain way of dealing with authority figures. It worked. They were not bad girls. They worked hard in school. Besides, Steve had never been a parent . . . so I figured it was just something he didn't understand.

When we talked of having a child together, I realized I would have to back up off my "this is our way" and allow Steve's child to be raised more as Steve saw fit. And I have. (Although, I doubt he thinks so.)

For five and a half years I have been the main parental figure in Will's life. I do the best I can. With my background and experiences, my main goal is to see that he enjoys childhood. I set guidelines (though not as many as Steve thinks he needs), and when I think Will needs it, I discipline him (just not as often as his dad would like).

A lot of things Will does, I see -- as a parent of multiple children -- as stages of growth and development. Yes, they are irritating, but if you just hang on for a few months they grow out of them.

Today, Steve and I didn't do too well as parents. Steve spent all day laying into Will for one thing after another - constantly. And his voice would raise each time. I left the room twice because I did not want to physically be a part of the conversation. And I want to point out that in each instance I totally understood why Steve was irate with Will. I just think you need to pick your battles. If you fight ever scrimmage, your kid will either never listen to you or you'll get so blinded by the trees in your way you'll miss the forest fire until it's to late.

After Will was in bed, Steve and I talked. He things I don't discipline Will, that I allow him to walk all over me. That hurt - as much I am sure, as what I told him.

I left him in bed and came to the computer, feeling doomed. Will is only five. How are we going to make a relationship, with this type of growing strain, last through his teenage years?

Searching the Internet for answers (and God, don't you love that you can do that?), I found that there are four basic types of parenting styles, and as you would expect, Steve and I have different ones.

The type of parent Steve is often results in well trained little soldier type children. They follow directions, do well in school, find a job. BUT, they are not happy, don't deal with with people, and are prone to depression - sounds a lot like my loving husband.

The type of parent I am often results in happy children with less depression, but no appreciation for authority figures or desire to exceed at anything. (Boy, I loved reading that.)

The surprisingly good news is that having conflicting parenting styles can actually be very beneficial for a child. They grow up feeling loved and supported, regardless of their behavior or accomplishments, but doing well in education and with choosing and sticking to a career.

But the parents have to learn to compromise. To never over step each other at the time of discipline. To discuss things outside of their children's hearing range.

Good for the child, hard on the parents.

Flax Whaaaat?

2010-06-06T20:19:00.000-07:00

When you use the same grocery store for years you know where everything is located. Well, until you start eating things you've never eaten before. (Or, ever heard of.)

With my determination to improve my health and establish better eating habbits for Will, I've done a lot of research on the type of things we should include in our diet.

Side Note: I hate that word - diet. In this instance it was used to mean the food we partake of, not a restrictive way to loose a few pounds that will be back next month.

For the first time in my life the change in eating habits isn't about reducing so much as changing the quality of my life and the lives of my family. I'm learning to make smart choices and say 'no' to things I'll regret half an hour later. It's also a change I plan on making permanent. There is no goal-weight or event that I'm working towards.

I've been scouring the Internet for healthy recipes and information on eating better. I also purchased a new cookbook based upon the same concept. After spending hours determining this weeks menus and preparing a shopping list, Will and I were off to HEB.

Not only was our list long, but it was filled with things I've never purchased before. Things like flax seed. After my research I knew how good it was for me and I knew how to use it in my meals and snacks. What I didn't know was where the hell to find it; or even what it looked like.

I figured it was a seed, right? So I expected to find it with the baking stuff. Nope. Then I checked with snacks. Nope. I finally located it with the healthy bars - I still think that was an odd place for it. Then to top it off, you can't buy a small bag/box of flaxseed to try out. It only comes in 'choke-an-elephant' size and cost me nearly $10. I just hope I can choke it down.

Will and I spent almost two hours walking, rewalking, and rewalking a store I thought I knew by heart. I now know where egg beaters, soy milk, Kashi cereal, plain yogurt, turkey bacon, crepes, and melba toast(just to name a few things I've never purchased before today) are kept. And they weren't always in logical locations.

I also figured out that if your buying nearly every vegetable and fruit in produce, instead of the head of lettuce and token tomato, you really should save that department for last.

We walked the entire store a minimum of four times trying to find everything on my list. And asking for help? Useless. They had no better idea than I did where (or what) I was looking for.

I came home so exhausted I didn't take my walk to night.

All I can do now, is hope it was worth it.

Priceless

2010-06-06T04:28:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a great day!

It started with Will and I making Steve homemade strawberry pancakes and sausage and taking it to him in bed. Then Will and I went for a walk.

My best friend, Charlene, picked me up about eleven and we stopped by a new coffee shop. Then we hit Micheal's. They were having a great sale on children's activities sets and I stocked up for the summer. We had lunch at Soup or Salad and for the first time in weeks I ate until I was full - and still felt good about my choices. Then we hit a school supply store and half price books.

Took Will to Mc Donald's to play in the afternoon as it was over 100 degrees outside. Had a simple dinner and then had friends over for cards, drinks, and snacks. We had a blast.

I'd have to say it was one of the best days I've had in years.

Nothing exceptional happened. I didn't meet any celebrities. Won no money.

Just a pleasant day with people that matter to me. Priceless.

"Not brown, Momma."

2010-06-04T20:29:00.000-07:00

I debated publishing this post as I hate to be seen as prejudice against any race. I grew up experiencing prejudice of many natures: That of being illegitimate in a time when it wasn't acceptable, of being from a family with a bad reputation, of having a mixed race family before that became the norm, of being poor.

While life was tough as a child, as an adult I can thank all the experiences and prejudice I faced for my complete and open nature to almost anything. I care not one whit about your race, religion, native language, sexual preference (unless it involves minors), or political calling.

However, this last year with Will in a prominently Hispanic school has tested my beliefs. Will was the only non-Hispanic child in his class. One of only ten non-Hispanic children in their entire pre-k program of over 160 children.

Most of the family notes were sent home in Spanish. Most of the time they would include a version in English, but you could tell it wasn't translated by a native English speaker. Sometimes an English version wasn't even offered. There were programs and classes offered that were only in Spanish. Now, each time it happened, a note was attached saying that if enough parents requested the class in English they would offer it. As there were only ten of us, it never happened.

Every time Steve and I attended a school party or function, no one spoke to us. Most of the parents would sit aside from us and speak in Spanish. Often, the teacher would join them. It is impossible to list the many ways in which we were slighted and left out through out the school year, but it was significant.

The only draw back I've noticed on Will's part is that a few months ago he started speaking Spanish. Only, not really. He just breaks out in weird noises like, "Sato mayi keppa toldo sepa." Then he translates it for me. He must just hear it a lot.

This afternoon I was tanning in the back yard while Will rested in his room. He came out and found me and asked what I was doing. "I'm trying to get a tan," I respond. To his 'why' I replied, "So I can be brown instead of white."

"No, Momma!" he cried, becoming very upset. "Please stay white. Don't turn brown, Momma."

It took me nearly half an hour to calm him down. Through out the entire afternoon and evening he'd randomly repeat his request that I stay white and not become brown.

Breaks my heart.

My First On-Line Date

2010-06-01T19:50:00.001-07:00

I am very excited. Tomorrow night at nine, I will meet a complete stranger I hooked up with online at IHOP for coffee and a chance to get to know each other. She (and yes it's a female) called tonight and we talked for twenty minutes. We have a ton of things in common.

We're hoping to hit it off well enough to spend some time together every week; with and without our children.

Several weeks ago, it dawned on me exactly how isolated I had become over the years and I decided to do something about it. First, I looked for free classes or lessons in my area I might be interested in. Didn't find anything. Then I looked for groups that were near by that I could join. Nothing that interested me. (Well, some of the were interesting. Just not for me.)

Then I peaked in the platonic section of our local craigslist. It was a disappointment too. Every ad I looked at was about sex or hooking up. However, reading them became addictive - the shit some people will say. LOL

I finally posted my own ad and I was extremely descriptive in what I wanted.

I'm an overweight,
stay-at-home mom that just needs
to get out of the house.

Would love to find local female in same boat
who'd like to meet up for coffee
a night or two a week.

And I included my age and location. Three days later I got a response. After a few emails, she called. Tomorrow night, coffee at IHOP.

Oh, what should I wear?

The Mirror at Mom's House

2010-05-31T18:53:00.001-07:00

I noticed an odd phenomenon about five years after I moved out of my mother's home. Each time I would return for a visit and happen to walk by a mirror, I was always pleased with my reflection. This was odd because I am never pleased with my reflection in any other mirrors - or any photos taken for that matter.

At first I just thought I looked nice that day. Maybe I wore makeup or had on a nice shirt. It took nearly twenty years, two husbands, three children, and ten houses later to realize that it didn't matter. I could have been working in cut-offs in her garden all day; covered in mud and sweaty. No makeup. My hair not fixed. And I still liked what I looked like in mom's mirror.

That was when I realized what I saw when I looked in mom's mirror was the choices I'd made since leaving home. The temptations I'd bypassed. The principles I lived by. How far I'd gone to improve my life and the life of my children. When I looked in mom's mirror I saw the inner me. And, I like me.

I guess when all is said in done, only at our mother's house do we truly feel judged upon what's on the inside.

It's been nearly four years since the last time I looked in the mirror at mom's house. I miss it.

Yesterday, I had an Apple Turnover

2010-05-30T20:05:00.001-07:00

I've eaten flavored yogurt all of my adult life. More times than not, the low fat variety. I'll eat them off-and-on for months and then not at all for the next year or so. Then I'd be back on them. They are good for me, low in fat and calories, and cheap and easy (something my husband accuses me of occasionally). What's not to like?

Since my last yogurt feast, my favorite brand, Yoplait, has come up with some great new varieties. For months I've been watching one commercial after another from their Outsmart Temptation ad series. The flavors sounded to good to be true: Apple Turnover, Banana Cream Pie, Boston Cream Pie, Key Lime Pie, Pineapple Upside Down Cake, Raspberry Cheesecake, Red Velvet Cake, White Chocolate Covered Strawberries. The list goes on and on.

So I've been counting calories for the last few weeks and have once again returned to my old friend yogurt. I excitedly loaded my basket with every delicious sounding option my store carried. And each day I eagerly tried a new decadent desert. I've made it through all the flavors and have drawn the following conclusion.

None of the flavors stand out as awesome or amazing. In fact, they taste a lot like the fruit flavors. It tastes like they took Pineapple Yogurt and renamed it Pineapple Upside Down Cake. Banana became Banana Cream Pie, and so on. It makes sense. Who wants to eat something that sounds like a fruit (which you can have on ANY diet) when you can eat something that sounds like desert (which you can NEVER have without guilt).

Overall, it taste pretty much the same.

Oh, I'll keep buying them - as opposed to their appropriately named fruit counterparts. I like the idea of telling someone,

"My diet?
Well, yesterday I had an Apple Turnover."

Mine Enemy: Sleep

2010-05-29T19:18:00.001-07:00

I can't remember a time in my life when sleep came easy.

As a child with a bad family life, you were your most vulnerable at night. I'd lay awake listening to every shift of the house, every squeak of the floorboard. Straining hard enough I could hear family members breathing two or three rooms away. Hear the dogs outside scratching. Each car as it slowly drove past.

When the children came, none of them slept well. No eight hour sleep patterns for my babies until they were well over a year old.

As a classic Type A personality, I've always gone for the stressful job. Worked where there was no way my responsibilities could be completed on time. And I asked for more.

But even over the last few years, with no job (per say) and William old enough to sleep most nights, I still don't sleep. I manage, on average, 4-6 hours of sleep in a 24-hour period. Always have. And it's beginning to look like I always will.

I manage to function, but it's not healthy. A lack of sleep cuts down on my natural serotonin levels; making it easier to become blue or depressed. A lack of sleep makes it harder to loose weight, gives you bags under your eyes, and leaves you fatigued all day.

The flip side of my problem is that I fall asleep at the drop of a hat in certain circumstances. Like in a car. Take me for a ride in a car and I'll be asleep in half an hour. If I'm driving, two hours max. When I drove up to see Paul for his birthday recently, I had to stop an hour in and pull over for a few minutes shut eye.

I don't even try to go to sleep until about one in the morning, knowing I'll just lay there if I do. And sometimes I still lay there. I toss all night long, though a little less in my new bed. I change positions constantly. Half the time I'll get back out of bed during the night. I'm usually up by six (by alarm when Will goes to school), or by seven thirty when left on my own.

I use to take pills to help me sleep but stopped when I was expecting Will. I've never gotten back on them because Will still needs me some nights. I also can't hear everything that goes on in the house if I take pills.

I fear that until Will is old enough to defend himself, I'll just have to live with mine enemy - sleep.

The Morning in Hell

2010-05-28T11:58:00.000-07:00

If you've been keeping up with my blog this year, you know I'm not real pleased with Will's school. They are disorganized, don't involve parents in what they should, and send home fund-raising items several times a month - just to name a few of my pet peaves.

First, I was sick all night. Probably didn't sleep more than two hours. It was hard to wake up and since I had to be at Will's school by 8:00, I couldn't go back to sleep. Ready in plenty of time, I went to pick up my camera in the computer room and it wasn't there. I spent way to long looking for it and couldn't find it. Stopping at Walmart for a throw-away camera put me at school just in time to see Will's group walk out of the building and into the fenced in area.

I had to park right by the fence as I was late. Then I had to walk almost two blocks to the main office to get a visitor badge. While there were only three people in line in front of me, it took thirteen minutes to get through - yes, I counted them.

Then I walked two blocks to get back to where I started - just the opposite side of the fence. I was suprised to see an information booth set up for parents. I stopped by to see if they could help me locate where Will's class was - there were literally thousands of children on the field. They couldn't. They didn't even know what they had on the table; some sort of print out. But they didn't know what it was and if it was theirs or to be handed out. I was told to look for a group of small children in -- "What color was your son wearing today? Oh, green. Yeah, just look for a group of small children in green."

As it turned out they were at the furtherest corner you could find; about two blocks through sweaty bodies, 90 degree tempertures, and no shade.

When I finally reached him I was impressed with the smooth operation of the events. The coach was in charge and they were at drawn lanes doing several events. There are six classes of pre-k children and each class was in it's own lane. The first event I watched was hurdles. The coach would signal about every 30 seconds and the next batch would run off and jump the hurdles. It was cute.

The next race was the chicken throw. The coach had a bucket of plucked colored chickens that were about twelve inches long. Each child was suppose to throw their chicken as far as possible, run up to it, and throw it again until they passed the end. This didn't work quite as well with the 30 second batch thing as some children took four or five minutes to complete the course. You had children getting hit by flying chickens all over the place. It was funny.

When that was completed, and it only took about twenty minutes, things went to hell in a handbasket.

They walked us all over to the opposite side of the field only to realize we were early, so then we walked all the way to near my car and allowed the kids to play at the playscape. When it was time, we went back across the field to the pitching events. Only, there was no coach and no one to organize it. None of the teachers even had an idea of what the events were suppose to be.

Eventually they lined all the kids up in 12 lines and just gave them whatever assorted balls were laying around; crocket, backetball, football, baseball. But no one took charge of the event and timing. So you had children throwing balls (some very hard) constantly and others running in the middle of the meyham to retrieve their throws. Every parent on the sideline was wincing and complaining.

Fifteen minutes later we take the kids to their classrooms for a snack. I helped those at the table with Will open their packages and drinks. After the break, we were lead all the way through the school and out the opposite side to the bouncy houses. The teachers instructed the children to remove their shoes, leave on their socks, and then climb in. Of corse, they had to walk through about twenty-five feet of burs and stickers to get there. They were only allowed to bounce about three minutes when someone realized there was a mix up on the schedule and we weren't supose to be there. I helped pull stickers and burs off of four different pairs of socks and put shoes on small sweaty feet. Then we walked through the entire school and back out the other side to play on the playground again.

We were told due to the mixup the children would play on the playground for an hour, then participate in a tug-of-way. At this point, it's 97 outside. There is still no shade and I've had it. I tell Will bye, and head out.

As I walked through the school, and back to my car, I checked how many photos I'd taken to see if I should drop off the camera on the way home. I took nine. And if I remember correctly, one of those was an accidental photo of the hot cracked ground.

I'm a 65

2010-05-23T18:13:00.001-07:00

It's official, I'm in love with my sleep number bed.

Steve and I paid almost $2,000 five years ago for a special mattress set that was going to last a while. We both have back issues and trouble sleeping, so it seemed like a sound investment. From the DAY it was delivered it was a nightmare. Since it was purchased at a furniture store and not at a mattress store, they would not take it back. We were stuck.

Five days ago Steve picked up a king size sleep number bed and brought it home. It has two separate mattresses so we can each set our own comfort level. (He's a 100.) It also comes with a zipped in pillow top that is about four inches thick.

I put it up the next morning and we have slept in it for four nights now. It took me a few days to settle on a number, but I knew the first night it was going to work out. I just needed to tweak it.

We kept our old bed on hand until we were sure we were keeping the sleep number bed. We're sure. The old bed was hauled to San Marcos and donated to Tori.

I know a lot of people are either totally for or against a sleep number bed. I love the ability to have different settings per person. It's cut down on how often I roll over or reposition myself at night. Made a significant difference in how loud and often Steve snores (and probably myself as well). And, I no longer wake up with aching joints.

I really have only noticed two cons; 1) it sits really low to the floor, and 2) if your numbers are significantly different you need to keep rigorous activity to one side only - don't ask.

Open Marriages

2010-05-21T19:56:00.001-07:00

Steve and I were watching House this evening and the episode revolved around two different married couples who had open marriages. It disturbed me so much that I could hardly watch the show. In both marriages shown, one person wanted to play the field and their spouse agreed because they loved them and didn't want to loose them. When one wife decided she couldn't do it, her husband lied to her about it and continued to carry on his affair.

I just don't get it. How can you possibly have the trust and respect necessary to create a strong relationship in an open marriage? When I was searching for a photo to accompany this blog I was shocked at how many couples online are admitting to open marriages. I did find one site that came closer to helping me understand the concept. Basically they said there are two different type of people. (A)Those who go into a marriage with the concept it is until death and is a bond that shouldn't be broken - those who would never consider an open marriage. (B) Those that enter a marriage as a business transaction to gain security, ranking, or releave loneliness.

Consider me an A.

As we watched the show this evening, I couldn't help but wonder how the original conversation progressed when having an open marriage was brought up. Do you pick days that you can screw around? Should you notify each other first? If you have kids, do you swap out weekends when Mommy or Daddy get to go out alone? What's the procedure when you return from a romp? Do you head directly to the shower? Do you shower before you come home and act like nothing happened? Do you hop in bed with your spouse and go for round 2 (or 3)?

As a tie in to this issue, I've been searching for a group nearby that I can join to meet new people. Some place where I can alleviate some of the loneliness that has haunted me for the last five years. I'm also thinking of volunteering, but that comes with it's own issues. Mainly time constraints and Will.

When I did a search for lonely mothers in Austin in Yahoo Groups. I found at least ten groups for lonely mothers to hook up with men on the side. When I searched for lonely married people in Austin I found just as many groups for spouse swaps. Each group had hundreds, if not thousands, of members. I did find 3 groups for women who found being at home very lonely and isolated - just what I was looking for. All of them were inactive and had been for years.

It's a sad statement on today's society that a lonely married woman can find places to commit adultery, but no companionship.

Oddly, if you search for companionship you get a bunch of pet groups.

Go figure.

You Get What You Pay For

2010-05-20T18:38:00.001-07:00

Will has hard to manage hair. There are three hard to control cow licks. Two towards the back which mandate the hair on top of his head remain long. And one toward the front that won't allow things to lay flat. Add to the fact his hair is baby fine and straight as a board and it's all kinds of fun finding someone to cut his hair.

I've tried doing it myself. I've tried barbers. I even tried the cheap walk-in places. I finally found one place that consistently does a good job, for $13.95. Not bad really. But as I cut Steve's hair myself, and my hair only gets cut twice a year, paying to get Will's hair cut every 6 weeks seems obscene. So I put it off each time as long as possible.

Apparently, I put it off to long.

Steve made some comment about Will's hair being to long last night and I was like, "Yeah. I need to get it cut." After I put Will in bed for the night, Steve asks for some scissors. I give him my heavy duty sewing scissors. Then, a man who has NEVER cut hair, took those bulky scissors, a sleepy 5-year old, and went into the bathroom to trim the hair out of his eyes.

As you can see from the photo above he did achieve his goal, there is no hair in Will's eyes. Nor, will there be for 2-3 months. I'm hoping it grows back out to normal before he starts his new school next fall. LOL

It's not that it's a bad haircut, and let me tell you it is much worse than the photo shows - he cut half the hair of both sideburns as well. It's that as I child I had those same bangs all through elementary. We even had a name for them; Norma Bangs. Named after an eighty year old woman that wore her bangs about an inch long.

I told Steve that he was not allowed near my son with a pair of scissors ever again.

I've had this same talk with all of my children in the past . . . just never one of my husbands.

No. No. Bad Daddy!

Blue Night

2010-05-18T19:49:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling a little blue tonight.

Sad.

Disappointed in myself.

Due consideration was given as to whether I should even blog about my state of mind. I do not want to freak anyone out. Don't want my husband to start thinking he's doing anything wrong; that I'm unhappy.

One of the ironic things about ongoing battles with depression is that when you are doing okay, you have to constantly reassure those that love you that you are happy, content.

I've spent the last few days coming to terms with where I am in my life and as Tori use to say when she was three, "I am not very happy!"

When I see people doing really well in different careers I've always allowed myself some slack. They didn't have the obstacles I had, the set backs. They didn't marry early. Didn't have children so young. Didn't, didn't, didn't . . .

I reconnected recently with my best friend from my teen years. He started the same place I did. Had the same family issues. Had to do everything the hard way. And you know what, he made it. He has an amazing job doing something he loved doing back them, working with planes. There were no short cuts for him. It took years (and years) of hard work, training, and climbing the ladder to get where he is today.

I've vaguely been aware of my sister-in-law going back to college - sorry Nan, if it doesn't have to do with my kids, it's vague in my world. But it didn't really impact me until this week when she was posting photos of her graduation on facebook that she's finished. I've been saying for years I am to old to go to college now. (I'm pretty sure Nan is older than I am.)

Tonight I've come to the conclusion that where I started from, and my age, are not what's been holding me back. They are not the reasons I've never made more of myself. They've just been my crutches.

Which leaves me looking at the culprit in the reflection of my monitor.

There's no excuse. I have not accomplished the things I wanted to be because of my own actions. My own weaknesses. My own fears.

I think that realization deserves a few tears.

And tomorrow, a kick in the ass.

Thirteen Years Equals . . .

2010-05-17T14:37:00.001-07:00

Today, Steve and I have been married thirteen years.

I've spent part of the day, like most married couples who remember their anniversary, thinking over the years we've spent together. The good times, and the bad.

But the real shocker for me came when I realized this is the longest relationship I've ever had - outside of the family I was born into. Even my marriage to the girls father only lasted ten years. Holy crap! I've been married thirteen years.

Then I started thinking of things as they relate to numbers.

During our marriage, Steve and I have:

Held eight jobs

Opened two businesses

Welcomed nine new children into our family

Participated in the raising of three children

Buried eight loved ones

Had two people close to us diagnosed with cancer

And, lived in three different homes.

And according to the Internet, in the last thirteen years, Steve and I together have consumed.

4,160 pounds of sugar

6,500 pounds of meat

Best of all, thirteen years equals 4,745 days that I've had someone to share my life with. The good and the bad.

The Rabbitless Fair

2010-05-16T19:17:00.000-07:00

Saturday was my youngest brother, Paul's, birthday. My sister and I met up in Killeen and took him to lunch. The three of us had such a good time we were in no hurry to part ways.

That was when Paul suggested we attend the Rabbit Fair that was going on in a nearby town. He'd seen signs around, but never been to the fair. We all jumped (or slowly waddled) to his vehicle and headed out. Once we got within five miles of the fair the traffic was stop and go. It literally took us half an hour to make that last five miles.

We passed the time by joking about what the Rabbit Fair would entail. Would it be like the Goat Cookoff where we all grew up? No real goats per say - just goat to eat, goat crafts, etc. Would there be rabbit to eat? Would someone be selling lucky rabbits feet? (By the way, has the validity of their luckiness ever been questioned by anyone but me? They weren't very lucky for the rabbit.)

Or, would there be rabbits every where. Maybe a rabbit race? Maybe a fenced off area with greased rabbits for kids to try to grab? Maybe we could all buy fake rabbit ears to wear or take our photo behind a cut out of faceless rabbits.

When we finally paid for admission and made our way to the fair it was confusing. There was the standard carnival - I'm pretty sure it was the EXACT carnival that was in Austin for the rodeo a few weeks back. There was food; but all normal; hotdogs, funnel cake, cotton candy. There were crafts boothes, but they were so generic they could have been at any fair.

I finally spied the chamber of commerce booth and asked the attendant if there were any rabbits anywhere.

"Well, not at the fair.
There are a few over at the exhibit hall.
Just exit the park and cross the main road."

We did, and there were a dozen rabbits in tiny cages for sale. Unaffiliated, of coarse, with the Rabbit Fair.

Going To Seed

2010-05-14T18:43:00.000-07:00

Twenty-four hours ago, this was the most beautiful rose I'd ever seen in my life. Several times I caught myself just standing near the arrangement entralled.

Steve brought the dozen rose buds for Mother's day and they were gorgeous then. Pale yellow with a light pink blush on the tips of each petal. Each day that passed they would open more and more. And I enjoyed them. But yesterday . . .

There was just something magical about them. Maybe it was the knowledge their days were numbered. Or, the fact they were open as wide as possible - no mystery or fault lay hidden.

Today, their gone.

I couldn't help but be reminded of one of my favorite quotes from Calendar Girls, a movie that came out in 2003.

"The flowers of Yorkshire
are like the women of Yorkshire.
Every stage of their growth has its own beauty,
but the last phase is always the most glorious.

Then very quickly they all go to seed."

The Bug

2010-05-13T21:25:00.001-07:00

It's been a tough week for me.

Having Will sick seriously depleted the time I had to spend on sewing or filling orders. And every time I would try to work on either, he'd climb into my lap and demand attention. Sometimes with in 2-3 minutes of when I started a new project. He just wanted me to sit and hold him.

On Tuesday I stumbled across an ad for part-time employment from home formatting documents. Nothing would work out better for me. But a resume and portfolio are required to apply. I've spent 2-3 hours each night since trying to find any copy of my resume; which I haven't had to use in over six years. I checked the contents of boxes of CDs, diskettes, and backups. No go. Today I started taking boxes out of the attic and searching for an old hard copy. No go.

I finally managed to finish Bella's crib set last night; only two weeks later than I had planned. When I went to pack it up for shipping I turned the dust ruffle (which I bought) over and noticed half the ties are torn loose. I took it out of the box to fix and will send her the rest of the items.

I've also meant to mail Bonnet the first baby dress she ever wore, nearly 24 years ago. I have it in a sealed plastic bag in the attic. After months of forgetting it, I found it tonight and brought it down to send her for Bella. I took it out of the bag and all the elastic had disintegrated. I'll have to repair it before it's of any use.

Our mail person comes between 2-4 in the afternoon. Yesterday, with Will in school for the first day this week, I spent hours preparing packages to ship and put in our mail box. I walked out at 11:00 and he'd already been by. So I had to drive into town to the PO to drop them off as they're prestamped with the date they ship.

Oh, I know. None of it is big shit. I'm not dying, being tortured, or covered in millions of paper cuts (and then dipped in alcohol). It's all small stuff. But my world is small.

They say that some days you are the windshield and some days you are the bug.

This week I've been the bug.

Harris Lester Collins

2010-05-12T21:24:00.000-07:00

This isn't so much an actual post on my blog as a place to store my photo of my biological father. This is the only photo I have of him, and it's a scanned image my half-brother, Harris' son, sent me via email years ago.

I thought it was lost forever, but found it tonight while sorting a bunch of old diskettes out.

I'm not sure at what point the photo was taken. Immediately following boot camp Harris shipped off to Vietnam and died three months later.

I've already lived twice the life span of my father.

Tonight, that brings tears to my eyes.

Photos of Unknown Origin

2010-05-12T20:35:00.001-07:00

The summer after Steve and I got married, nearly 13 years ago, we took the girls and drove up North to visit family for vacation. The girls and I had never been out of Texas and the three weeks we spent driving up to North Dakota and then over to Montana before heading home were memorable. In more than one way.

I bought both girls cheap little cameras and all three of us snapped photos like crazy the entire time we were on the road. When we got home we had 26 rolls of film to develop - yes, this was before digital cameras. After picking up the photos, we set down and went through them, reliving every moment. Except for the four or five photos right smack in the middle of a roll that none of us were there for.

All those strange photos were of a small Mexican family sitting next to the pool at a hotel. Two girls and one rather young, small-boned, male. And the man was grinning to beat all and holding a frilly pink parasol.

We can only assume the camera was left on a table near the pool, then remembered later - after it had been violated.

And until today, that was my one experience with photos of unknown origins. When I went to download some photos this evening I was a little surprised to find eighteen different photos of Darth Vader among them.

At least this time I have a pretty good idea who the culprit is.

Noisy Eagle

2010-05-11T19:03:00.001-07:00

As the eldest of five siblings and mother of three children, you'd think I'd seen it all by now. Will, my five year old, continues to surprise and amaze me.

From the time he started sitting traps in the yard for cats at the age of three, he's been headed at full-speed from one unimaginable adventure to another.

He's been home with me the last two days as he's been running a low grade fever. While he was suppose to be watching a movie in his room he found one of the soft-pellet guns him and his dad shoot, located a container of metal bebes, and loaded the gun. I wouldn't have known about it, but he came out to ask how to release the safety.

I explained that all guns that shoot ammunition of any sort can only be used when he's with his Papa. "Just wait for Papa to get home," I suggest.

He's quite for a moment, an intense look of concentration on his face and then he says, "Why don't you go lay down in your room and read a book Momma?" He gives me a little shove. Subtle he is not.

"No. You are not going to shoot that gun without your Papa."

"I'm not going to shoot the gun," he promises, with all the panache of a veteran liar. "I'm just going outside to play."

"William, if I catch you shooting that gun I am going to spank you."

"I'm not going to shoot the gun. I'm just going outside to play." He's outside for less than three minutes. Then he's back for the next round.

"Why don't you put on some of those ear covers so you can't hear loud noises," he asks me. I know exactly what's he's talking about; headphones for shooting.

"I am not putting on headphones. I do not need them. And you are not shooting that gun."

"I'm not going to shoot the gun."

"Then why do I need to wear head phones?" Again the intense look of concentration.

"An Eagle might fly out of the sky and . . . "

Motherless Day

2010-05-09T12:13:00.000-07:00

Most of the people I know don't really have anyone to celebrate Mother's day with this year. Their mother has passed away, has mentally left the building, or lives to far away to visit. Lot's of people don't even have fond memories of their Mother's. To those of us, today can be a day where we are found lacking or alone.

Don't let it get you down. Enjoy and celebrate that someone (even it if wasn't you) grew up with a loving mother. That your neighbor, partner, friend is having lunch with their mom today. Enjoy that fact your very existence allowed you to impact other's lives, to have children of your own.

Enjoy the day for the spirit of all that mothering stands for; being loved unconditionally, supported, held, nurtured.

If nothing else, you can be thankful someone elected to give birth to you. I am.

A Mother's Day Letter

2010-05-08T20:26:00.000-07:00

As Mother’s Day approaches I wanted to let you know that you are in my thoughts every day. That everything you’ve taught me, everything I’ve learned from watching you, is an ingrained part of who I am.

I want to thank you for teaching me to play hopscotch. For showing me how to make mud pies and jump on a trampoline. For taking me walking in the rain and jumping in the middle of the largest puddle you could find. For rolling around in the leaves and snow like it was the most fun you’d ever had.

Thank you for introducing me to new music, books, and movies; for enriching my vocabulary on a daily basis.

I appreciate the time you put in without complaint as I learned to clean house, wash laundry, and prepare mostly eatable meals.

You inspire me. Make me feel like there is nothing I can’t reach for and accomplish. You make me strong.

You’ve taught me the importance of sacrifice, of looking out for others, of unconditional love.

I look forward to learning much more from you.

Love, Mom

Fat Percentage

2010-05-07T20:38:00.001-07:00

Years, and years, and years ago -- practically another life ago -- I was training to run a marathon. Prior to each run, a different speaker would talk to the group about health related issues: stretching, good fitting clothing to run in, shoes that fit, watching what you eat, etc.

One comment made by an instructor has stayed with me ever since. In fact, I think about it every time I walk into a restaurant.

Basically, the guy said you could always tell if a restaurant was a good choice for the health or weight conscious by checking out the other customers. The higher the percentage of obese people to healthy people; the worse the restaurant choice.

I find that, at least in Austin, it holds pretty damn true.

A fine example was tonight. Steve and I went out to dinner without Will this evening and decided to eat at a restaurant we haven't been to in years, Cherry Creek Cafe. When we walked in there were six or so tables filled. All with overweight people. By the time we left another three to four tables had filled - there were at least 30 customers besides us. There was only two people who were not obese, and one of them was about nine.

But the food was great.

The Suitcase

2010-05-06T08:54:00.001-07:00

There is an episode of Everyone Loves Raymond where Debra, Raymond's wife, leaves a suitcase on the stairs for weeks after they return from a vacation. The reason she leaves it there is because Raymond always just brings the luggage into the house and drops it off somewhere, expecting her to unpack and put it up.

I laughed so hard through the entire episode I could hardly breath. Raymond knew what was going on and he refused to be the first to "break". Everyone who visited the house - grandparents, siblings, neighbors - would ask about the luggage that would just not go away.

It struck me as funny because I've done the same thing, with one exception. Steve never knew I was leaving it out for him to deal with. He's clueless when it comes to subtle (and not-so-subtle) hints.

My dearly beloved husband has this one flaw that makes me want to choke him; he never puts anything up. It's bad enough I day dream about being a "nagging wife". I know if I mentioned it every time, if I harped on it, he'd do it. The problem is that type of action is totally against my personality. I'm not a harper - and somehow I feel weak just admitting it.

So every time Steve goes on a trip, fishing, out to the skeet range, etc., he brings home whatever and plops it in the nearest clear spot. He and Will went camping last weekend. He came in about lunch on Sunday and dragged an ice chest, suitcase, and gun case into the house. I finally dumped out the ice chest contents on Tuesday when they began to smell.

This morning Steve went to the kitchen, where his suitcase is still located, and opened it to dig out some boots. But he left the suitcase there. I hauled it into the laundry room and washed everything in it - how am I suppose to know what's clean? I'm not smelling anything that man owns.

I also went ahead and put up his gun today, too. Just like I put up the fishing poles and tackle box from the last fishing trip that he left in my car for weeks.

You would think after picking up from behind him for fourteen years it wouldn't still bother me. Yet, every time I finally give in and put up his stuff, I feel like I lost again.

The Uni-Bra

2010-05-04T19:34:00.001-07:00

I recently bought some very nice Victoria Secret bras that I love. They are comfortable, fit well, and give me cleavage to die for.

However, the second or third time I wore one, I noticed something odd.

The bra pushes from the sides in, as well as from the bottom up - which is what gives me great cleavage. However, it leaves me no boobs on the side.

I look a lot like the photo above (if she was a mid-40s, overweight, brunette) when I wear the new bras. Like I have a uni-boob with a crease.

Roasted Potatoes With Rosemary

2010-05-02T20:22:00.001-07:00

I have two flower beds in my back yard that surround the base of a tree. Stacked rocks forms the walls, which are about 12 inches deep. In one of these flower beds I have a small rosemary plant that was a cutting from Dona's rosemary bush.

As a general rule of thumb, rosemary loves to grow in Texas. Most people I know with rosemary bushes are overwhelmed within a year or two. Not so with mine. Most of the problem is a lack of direct sun light.

After three years my rosemary bush was only about the size of two gallons of milk. As I wanted it to surround the entire tree I started taking cuttings and reseeding them last year. I now have four small rosemary bushes, all healthy and growing.

Several months ago I gave Will some potatoes that had gone to seed and told him he could plant them outside if he wanted to. He planted them in my rosemary flowerbed. I didn't worry about it, I expected they would die from neglect.

Not so. The potato bushes are larger than my rosemary and seem quite happy. The other day I was out watering and I kind of smiled thinking that all I really needed was some oil and a really hot day and I'd have roasted potatoes with rosemary - my favorite.

Then a laugh broke out.

Not an hour before I had sprayed the plants down with a solution of 99% water/1% canola oil for bugs.

Just need a nice hot day now.

Will's Room

2010-05-01T19:19:00.000-07:00

My family went camping this weekend and I took the opportunity to tackle Will's room. One of the reoccuring issues with his room is how much junk/toys he has. And that's my fault. So I feel some responsibility to clean it out every now and then.

Today I spent six and a half hours of my "free" day working on a room that is about 10x10 in size. I gave away four huge trash bags of toys, books, and puzzels. I filled our large out door trash can, removed a shelf unit, and utilized the closet, dresser and built in shelves better. I also mopped, twice.

This isn't the first time I've had to work this hard to clean his room and I fear it won't be the last. Since I know it won't last, I have to enjoy it while I can.

Three Great Memories

2010-05-01T11:14:00.000-07:00

It's sad that as we age the easist memories to maintain are those of the bad or stressful times. The times we were hurt, physically or emotionally. Today I recall three seperate really great memories of my childhood that all originate with my mother.

May Day
Growing up as Jehova's Witnesses (JWs) we didn't celebrate any holidays. As you can imagine, this was very hard on us kids, especially once we were in school. Mom located a holiday that the JWs didn't spefically preach against, May Day.

Each May Day, she would order small baskets of flowers from our local florist for me to hand out to my best friends. There were always three or four of them. As a child, it felt wonderful to have an acceptable method of showing how much I cared for my friends. Even though it wasn't a celebrated holiday, it made me feel more like I fit in.

As an adult I can appreciate the expense and trouble she went through each year without complaint or thanks.

The Last Day You'll Ever Be...

Another celebration we particiapted in was celebrating the last day we'd ever be an age. Mom hated not being able to celebrate our birth, so she celebrated the day before. It started out with just a small present. A few years later, cake was added. To this day I feel the last day someone is an age is as important as the first day of their new year.

Dance Lessons

Mom loved music and dancing when she was young. Having given birth to me just a week after her eighteenth birthday, she was still quite young and into music. I can distinctly recall her teaching me how to do the locomotion, the twist, and many other dances that age me. This type of music always brings back feelings of happiness and continentment.

Thanks mom.

Mulch Ado About Nothing

2010-04-29T19:35:00.000-07:00

Will and I decided to plant a garden this year. The soil in our area is horrible and we have very little non-shady area to work with, so we elected to go with raised beds. Will and I (read as me doing all the work and trying to occupy a 5-year old and not get either of us injured) build three large wooden gardens and four smaller ones. That was the easy part.

When it was time to get soil, that was another ball game. We live in the country, sort of. Defiantly to far away for delivery to be cheap. Steve was also working 12-hour days seven days a week, so his truck wasn't an option. I spent two weeks calling around and getting prices on soil and delivery fees.

Steve finally was able to let me have the truck on a Saturday. So, Friday, Will and I (see earlier note) added wooden sides to our small trailer to increase the amount of garden soil/mulch we could carry. Steve took off and drove us out to load it up. We ended up with four square yards of soil.

The day we purchased the soil I filled two of the larger garden areas. The next day two more. The rest the following. I'd like to interject here the fact that the soil was wet and heavy and had to be shoveled with a pitch fork into a wheelbarrow with a fast leak. We are talking really fast; I had less than 30 minutes before I had to air up the tire again. Believe me, you do not want to get caught with your tire down.

It rained just as I finished filling my garden beds and I had a few days off. Then I filled up three small flower beds in the back yard. The following day a HUGE flower bed the length of half my house. Then it rained.

This week, we managed to hook up the lawn trailer to the riding lawn mower and use it to haul dirt. I used the remaining dirt to level out the worse dips in the back yard.

Nothing earth shaking, I just moved dirt. But for a middle age woman who is a little fluffy, and a lot inactive, looking at that empty trailer and realizing that, by my self, I shoveled out and transported four cubic yards of mulch was priceless.

Well, it actually cost $65. But who's counting.

Toilet-Free Front Yard

2010-04-28T19:35:00.001-07:00

Will and I were in the process of moving a toilet from our driveway to the backyard when Steve got home from work on Tuesday. He helped. I asked earlier in the week if I could give it away, but he wants to replace the one in our bathroom with this one when we redo the bathroom. So I'm stuck with a toilet sitting outside until then.

My new philosophy on junk in the yard is that it's okay as long as it's behind the wooden privacy fence. No one needs to know we have a toilet sitting outside but us - and our closes friends, relatives, and the neighbors.

Today was the first day I've been able to drive up to my house and not see a toilet in a long time. Maybe a year or more. Oddly, - well, at least odd to most people - this is not the first toilet to occupy real estate in my driveway since I've lived in this house. I'd go so far as to say that there have been at least five toilets, most at different times, greeting company as they arrived.

When Steve did handyman work full-time, he did a lot of bathroom remodels and he always ended up carrying off the old fixtures. He'd unload things in the driveway and when I got tired of looking at them I would haul them into the back yard. When he made a trip to the dump he'd haul everything off or I'd freecycle it.

Will and I have been steadily cleaning out our driveway and either throwing away junk or moving it behind the fence. You can actually drive all the way to the garage doors now. If the garage was clean you could park a car inside it.

Yep, life is good.

The Latest Experiment

2010-04-27T08:58:00.001-07:00

I am always trying something new; a new pattern, a new theory, a new way to accomplish something. Today, I set in motion a new experiment. I made my own Mesquite Barrier and applied it to the back yard.

If you've never heard of Mesquito Barrier, it is an expensive liquid you can order to spray on your yard. It is basically a high concentration of garlic in liquid form. You mix the garlic with a teaspoon of liquid soap and then use a water sprayer to coat your entire yard.

The liquid soap is so that if any of the spray lands in standing water, and there are mosquito larva in it, they will be coated and unable to fly - thus die.

We paid almost $60 for a bottle several years ago. It works, basically. While advertised to work for up to 3 months . . . that is only if it does rain much - ours lasted about a month. So we never did it again.

However, when researching alternate methods of keeping mosquitoes away from the house I found that you can sit bowls of apple cider vinegar around a perimeter prior to an outside party and it will keep the mosquitoes away.

Then, earlier this week I was spraying my vegetable for bugs with a mixture of water and a little canola oil to rid them of bugs.

So . . .

I mixed 1/2 a gallon of apple cider vinegar, 1/3 a cup of canola oil, and a half a table spoon of dish soap into a sprayer and filled the remaining portion of the 2-gallons with water. Then I sprayed the back yard. The fences, back of the house, porch, broken down cars and lawnmowers, wood pile, play equipment, grass, trees, etc. Everything. I actually ended up having to make two more containers to cover the entire back yard.

I figure by tonight I should be able to tell if it impacts the mosquito population. In two to three days I should know if it is going to make Will sick or cause him to break out. And by the end of the week I'll know if it kills the grass.

What fun!

I Don't Remember That

2010-04-25T18:54:00.001-07:00

Today was Steve's birthday and it started fine, at least I thought it did. We gave him presents and lazed around the house until noon. We met Tori and Steve's folks for lunch at a steak house and came back home for home-made German Chocolate cake.

Where things got weird was when I started to tell Steve's parents about our new plans regarding handling the upcoming birth of my grand baby. You have to understand first off that I have been very worried about how I'd get to CO, who would watch Will, how the finances would be arranged, etc.

The main problem is that I can not drive more than about 3 hours without falling asleep, so there is no way I can drive myself to CO. If I go alone, I have to fly. Since there is no real telling when a baby will come, I can't purchase my ticket in advance. I'll have to pay the highest premium. If I fly in, then I'll have to rent a car. I also can't stay with Bonnet as she is now living with the ex, so I'll have to get a hotel room for the 3-5 days I was hoping to stay. And if all of this wasn't enough to worry about, what am I going to do with Will?

I talked, weeks ago, to a sister-in-law who volunteered to watch Will. Keep him for a solid week. Sounded good. But when we were down there recently, he wouldn't even spend a single night at her house while we were in town. I realized he's never stayed the night away from us. And for the first time to be in a strange town for an entire week - not going to work.

I'm also majorly concerned about funds. I expect to have to pay $1,000 for my tickets as they are going to be last minute. If I save my business funds from now until then, I'll nearly have enough to purchase my ticket. Then I'm going to have to use family funds, or Steve's credit card, to rent a car and pay for an hotel. Not to mention eat. And I still have no idea on what to do with Will.

So I'm talking to Steve about all of this last week, I think it was Wednesday night. As I was talking it all out, telling him the same things I've just shared with you, a solution comes to me.

If Steve takes off work and goes with me,
we can drive.
I don't have to find anyone
to watch Will.
We can make the trip on what
airfare would cost me.
Steve and Will can
have a vacation and do fun things
while I stay with Bonnet.

So, I suggest it.

We can manage to take only part of a week off depending on when we get the call. So part of a week and a weekend; 5 days. Even with a day to drive up there a day to drive back, that leaves us with three days to see the grand baby and the sights.

We talk about it a while and Steve finally says, "Let's try that."

I can't begin to tell you how relieved I was. After literally months of worrying about how I'd get up to see Bonnet and my granddaughter, everything seem to be coming together. Plus, we haven't taken a vacation in years. It will be nice to get out of Texas. All of us together. And Will can meet his niece and visit Bonnet.

It's perfect. And that's exactly what I tell my best friend at breakfast the next day. It's all settled. It's wonderful. Life is good.

So back to today. I start to share our new vacation plans with the in-laws and before I even get a complete sentence out of my mouth Steve breaks in . . .

"I don't remember that."

At first I thought he was joking. That would be so like Steve. So I smile at him and tell him to quit joking.

"No. I'm serious. We never talked about this."

Then the men start talking about how women ASSUME a discussion means an agreement . . . yada yada yada.

I was livid!

Everyone has the right to not remember a conversation. You do not ever have the right to state the conversation didn't take place because you can't remember it - that would mean I was lying. Nor do you have the right to put the blame on the shoulders of an entire sex. And I told them so.

Unfortunately, the rest of Steve's birthday wasn't as peaceful.

We were both upset for our own reasons and did our best to avoid any confrontations or discuss the elephant in the room.

I feel really bad this happened on Steve's birthday and I hate the strain it caused. We probably didn't speak to each other for five minutes the rest of the day and I got no good-night kiss or hug.

I feel really alone tonight and further away from seeing my grandbaby then ever.

The Snake is Back

2010-04-23T19:46:00.001-07:00

A few months ago, Steve went to help my brother Paul move into a new apartment. Besides reducing from a house to an apartment, Paul was having to get rid of a lot of his ex's stuff at the same time. Steve brought home the snake statue shown above. Paul, the man with good taste, was throwing it away.

Why, you ask yourself, other than an obvious lack of taste, would my husband bring home such an interesting piece of yard art? Because he thought it would go well with our other yard art, an alligator.

Normally, this alligator lives in the greenery near our front door and has been known to scare the s_ _ t out of people. It scared our neighbor at least the first twelve times he came over after we purchased it. Yes, even the alligator is kind of tacky - I really wouldn't expect to see it on the White House lawn. But it's fun.

The snake, howere, I hated on site. But I said nothing. Who knows, cheap statues crack easily . . . especially when bumped with lawn mowers driven by blind wives.

The very next day a friend of ours from down the road stopped by and he LOVED the snake. He wanted it. Seriously, he literally asked for it. You'll be proud to know I didn't send it home with him. But when Steve came home I made sure to mention how taken Rex was with the snake. Steve grabbed a few beers and the snake and headed up to Rex's.

That was at least a month or so ago.

On the way from taking the trash out the other morning I nearly pissed myself as I come around the corner to find a coiled snake ready to strike. No, it didn't scare me. I just have to find another no-class friend of Steve's to talk into taking the snake home. Oh, and make sure their wives are more accommodating.

Of coarse, if that doesn't work out, I will be doing a lot of mowing this summer.

Black Hawk, CO

2010-04-22T12:32:00.000-07:00

I overnighted an employment application and resume to the City of Black Hawk, CO for Steve on Wednesday. I'm still in shock.

I had no real idea he was going to apply for the job until the night before. I have a vague recollection of him mentioning the job, but had sensed no intent on his part to actually follow through.

Now I'm freaking out. What if they call to interview him? What if they offer him the job? What is we move there? What if . . .

I looked up the city online and it's a casino town. In fact, it's darn hard to find anything about the city that doesn't have to do with casinos. Casinos are not my favorite thing. I'm also really worried about the cost of living in CO. If Steve gets the job, he'll be making more than he makes here . . . but will that compensate for the increase in the cost of living?

I'm also a little bummed because Steve and I have talked for almost a decade about stepping out of the fast lane. Moving to a small town with a lower income bracket and escaping some of the pressure we've been under. This seems a wrong turn for that dream. But, this opportunity would come complete with health benefits and a retirement plan I'm sure. Something our "dream" doesn't have.

Pro's? I'd be closer to the new grandbaby coming this summer. We'd actually get to experience winter. Steve would be out of Texas. We'd have health insurance. Steve would be in a job that wasn't as dangerous as his current one is.

Con's? I'd miss Tori and my friend, Charlene. I'd experience winter - and probably hate it. I'd be out of Texas. I might have to get a job outside the house to help meet finances. We'd have to sell our house and move immediately.

Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm overthinking it. He hasn't even been called in for an interview yet. It's just scarry.

Montero Wedgie

2010-04-20T21:28:00.001-07:00

Over the last month, with temperatures rising in Texas, I've began to encounter a real issue with exiting my Mitsubishi Montero. My shorts snag.

I'm short and the climb into the Montero is a little steep. The easiest way to exit is to basically slide from the seat until my feet hit the ground. However, there is this one seat adjustment handle that sticks out just far enough to catch the left leg of loose-legged shorts.

Not only does it leave me momentarily dangling in this air, I'm left feeling like the girl in the photo above.

I guess I'll have to train myself to exit the vehicle some other way, or wear pants this summer. Because I'm starting to pick parking spots for their lack of visibility.

Toothless and Alergic

2010-04-19T17:59:00.000-07:00

My husband and I took our five-year-old, Will, to see How to Train a Dragon this afternoon. It was a cute story; animated of coarse. The setting was a remote island in the past that housed Vikings whose main job was to slay dragons.

The hero was a weak, thin, unappreciated boy that wasn't anything like everyone else on the island. He ends up befriending an injured dragon and eventually leading the entire village to a better understanding of dragons, thereby stopping a century long feud.

It was a good animated movie and we'll buy it first chance we get. But what I was left thinking about on the way home was the change that seems to be occuring in children's movies.

There have always been weak people that become strong, evil that turn good, ugly that become beautiful. But lately I've noticed that animated movies are trying to address more important, and seldom portrayed, aspects of human nature.

Toothless, the star dragon in the movie, was injured by a trap and lost a wing. He could no longer fly. The boy made several wings for him and together they were able to fly in the sky. Clearly showing that Toothless was no less without his wing; no less fast, scary, or helpful. The hero treated him no differently. They were just friends.

To take it one step further, towards the end of the movie there is a huge battle in which the hero loses his foot. He wakes up missing (oddly enough) the same foot as his dragon is missing a wing. Now him and Toothless, and their mechanical pieces, can fly threw the sky together.

Oh, and the allergy reference? The hero's love interest in the animated movie Cloudy with a Side of Meatballs has a deathly peanut allergy and suffers an episode during the movie.

My best friend's son is highly allergic to peanuts and her online allergy-support group were ecstatic about the movie. For the first EVER a character in a child's movie was portrayed with serious allergies. What a great way to let children whose entire life is ruled by their allergies know they are not alone as well as show children without alergies the consequences for others.

I'm sure all the support groups for children with amputees are buzzing about Toothless.

And I feel like the world I live in is just a tiny bit better tonight.

And Cigarette Butts

2010-04-16T12:27:00.001-07:00

I'm always looking for ways to encourage Will to go walking with me in the neighborhood. A few months back I did it by taking along a plastic bag and picking up trash as we walked. It was amazing the types of things we found along side the road. Glasses, wrappers, bottles, a ten dollar bill, and tons of cigarette butts.

Will loved to shout, "Cigarette butt!" each time he saw one.

Another thing Will loves is the wildflowers that are covering the country side in Central Texas right now. In particular, he loves the blue bonnets.

We were leaving a store this morning and he was going on and on about the beautiful flowers. I commented on his fondness for the flowers.

"I love bluebonnets," he said.
"And cigarette butts."

A "Good" Book

2010-04-12T19:01:00.000-07:00

I don't know how many of you know this, but I only attended high school for about six weeks. I was having a lot of health and family problems at the time. You can't exactly say I ran away from home at fifteen, because my mother helped me pack and drove me out of town. She dropped me off with my dearly beloved aunt, who was only three years older than I was.

After that life was all about work. I lied about my age and got my first job, then my second, then my third. I manage to help with my share of the rent and purchase progressively better vehicles. At 17, I studied and passed my GED. Over the years I've taken a few college courses, and received a 'diploma' in computerized accounting from a commercial college.

I have never considered myself a stupid or unintelligent person. However, there has always been this barrier between what others learned and what I did. Oddly, it seems to revolve around books.

It's odd because my one true addiction is reading. However, I don't read what you might consider good books. Many times in my life I've actually had people refer to my book preferences as "trash" or "smut". My daughters call them porn - and sometimes they are not far from right. :)

I have always read romance of one sort or another. I spend a few years emerged in a sub genre and tire myself out; so I try another one. I've read historical, modern, Christan, suspense, paranormal, and erotica. All within the genre Romance. I can easily read a 300 page book every day - and no, there are no pictures and the type is normal size.

But what I've never read were the books everyone else was forced to read in high school and college. I've never heard them discussed or debated what they meant. And other than Steve's family, I don't tend to hang around a lot of people who are highly educated. Regardless, it is amazing how often a references is made to a book or play while I'm with a group of people and everyone gets it; except me.

I was honestly thinking of making a list of books I should have read and trying to read one a month or something. Just to catch up. Well, I was considering it until this last weekend.

My younger daughter is in her third year at university and called me Friday night near tears. Before I go any further, I have to tell you that she HATES reading. It's not even that she hates it as much as it is really hard for her. She can read for an hour and only get through 8-10 pages. She's been this way all of her life and this has been one of her toughest challenges in school. While told months ago a book report would be due this week, she didn't bother buying one of the books she had to choose from. Her room mate took the same class last semester and just purchased the condensed version to write his essay off of. He made an A.

With time getting shorter and shorter, she went online to buy the condensed version to find out none of the books she could choose from were available. A desperate search throughout town yielded not a single copy of any of the actual books. I told her to call the bookstores in Austin and if she found a copy I would pick it up for her. She found one. I picked it up. It was almost 300 pages so I offered to read it for her and email her a summary from which she could write her essay. I tried to read it all day Saturday and Sunday. I was up until 2:00 AM trying to read it. It was a fascinating documentary on slavery in America. But it wasn't a story. There was no flow. There was information, after fact, topped by conjecture. I found out quickly I could not read while the TV was on. While Will was awake.

I reread the first page of the Preface six times before I felt like I had actually read it. By the time I went to bed Sunday night I had only finished 28 pages! There was no WAY I would finish the book in time. And now I was worried about retaining enough of the information to be able to consolidate it. But I didn't want to let my daughter down, so I went on line and paid $15.95 for a large essay written by someone else. One she could adapt to fit her needs. And I only feel a little bad about doing it.

What really bothers me is the loss of my dream to read "good" books that I missed by skipping the traditional high school and college experience. For after my battle last weekend I'm pretty sure it's a no-go for me.

Unless they have condensed versions.

Three Things

2010-04-10T19:33:00.001-07:00

I watched this movie years ago called City Slickers. It was a comedy where three men plagued with mid-life crisis's join a modern-day roundup to help them find answers. Jack Palance plays Curly; the old weathered cowhand in charge of the roundup.

Jack dies during the trip. But before he does, he gives the character Billy Crystal plays (Mitch) hell, for everything. He also tries to help out the floundering man by telling him that life is all about one thing . . . just one thing. Unfortunately, he never tells Mitch what it is. So through the entire movie Mitch it trying to figure out the one reason for life.

The ONLY reason I bring this up is that tonight I saw a commercial for Olive Garden. It reminded me of the movie.

"What three things bring families together?"

Sure, in the commercial the response is, "Bread, Soup, and Salad."

What is funny is that when asked, "What three things bring families together," my immediate thought was:

"Funerals, birthdays, and holidays."

Some Body's Shoes

2010-04-10T19:16:00.001-07:00

Will is at that stage in childhood where he is attempting to pass the blame, only it's really hard to do when you are the only child around.

He'll be helping me with the dishes and suddenly pass gas in a loud and obnoxious way.

"Will! Did you just fart?"

A stupid question to be sure, but an automatic one. His reply?

"No. Papa did it."

If Steve was home I might be willing to consider it, but he's not. Will doesn't just choose his father as his patsy. He has blamed things on Rocky and Bullwinkle (our dogs), Mr. Scott (our neighbor), and assorted stuffed animals.

Apparently everyone he knows is responsible for wearing his clothes, moving his shoes, tracking in dirt, farting and burping, dropping things, pushing things off shelves, and making a general mess of my house.

I try not to make a big deal out of it when he attempts to pass blame. I know it's just part of the developmental process. Sometimes I joke with him; letting him know I don't believe him. Sometimes I point out why it couldn't have been _____ who did something - it's really hard to believe even Steve could fart so loud that we'd hear him from twenty miles away.

Apparently he's listening.

We stopped by Burger King for lunch last week and after getting our food went into the play area. There was only one other family in the room. A mom and two small children, all sitting at a table and eating. Will kicked off his shoes and put them in the cubbie before heading to the entrance of the playscape.

I'm pulling everything off the tray and sitting the table when I hear:

"Someone left their shoes over here.
Shoes go in the cubbie."

Sure enough, I look over and Will is pointing out the correct location for shoe storage to the mom of two. He's a stickler for others following the rules.

The mom replies. "They're not ours."

Will looks at her like she's lying and shrugs his shoulder. With a sigh, he turns to crawl back into the playscape.

"Well, they're some body's shoes."

The Garage Door

2010-04-07T20:14:00.000-07:00

Our house was built in the mid eighties and is beginning to show it's age. One of the most irritating issues is our garage doors. Most of the time they do not close all the way. As a result, we are always getting visitors in the garage. Frogs, snakes, birds, frogs, mice, etc.

Last year there was this one bird that kept trying to nest in the garage. Two of the windows had broken out of one of the doors and Steve ended up stapling up plastic to keep it out. Well, it - or another one like it -- didn't give up.

Over the last month, I've surprised a bird in the garage several times. When we left town this weekend we made sure the garage doors were completely closed. We were gone two days.

The evening we got back I went into the garage and heard a weak chirping noise.

Chirp . . . chirp . . . chirp.

A nest with a baby bird was somewhere in our garage and we'd locked the mother out all weekend. Steve wanted to just leave the doors closed and let the little bird die. I couldn't. It's a baby.

So Steve went back into the garage and opened the door a few inches.

The next day I was in and out of the garage all day as I worked on the driveway. As I headed into the house at the end of the night I made sure to close all the doors. A few hours later I didn't even have to go in the garage to hear the baby bird complaining - in a much healthier chirp.

Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!

I went in and opened the door a few inches.

I know why having a bird in your garage is bad. But in our garage it will stay until something (besides me or Steve) kills it or it flies away.

We really need some decent garage doors.

Cussing at the Cemetary

2010-04-04T21:21:00.001-07:00

While in Brady this weekend I stopped by Becky's grave and took her some new flowers. I try to do this each time I'm in the area. Some times I stay and sit a while. Some times I talk to her. This weekend I just cleaned up around her site and swapped out flowers. I wasn't there very long and there wouldn't be much to say, well, except for the cussing.

It was a beautiful day and the cemetery was packed. There were no less than fifteen cars sprinkled throughout the area. A family in their Easter best was just a few grave sites over from Becky's resting place. They presented the perfect scene for a movie; two parents (opposite sex), two children - a boy and a girl, all dressed up. They were quite and polite. Respectful.

I reached down to pull out the old flowers and came away with several stickers stuck into my hand. They were hard, dried out stickers just like the ones in the photo. When I was a child, mom use to call them devil heads. In un-landscaped areas of Texas they are very prevalent. As a child, our punishment often included spending so many minutes or hours pulling up devil head stickers from our lot. Needless to say, I'm not fond of them.

They didn't appear to be growing around Becky's headstone, but there were weeks overtaking the area so after removing the faded flowers I reached down to pull up some weeds and drew back a hand covered in more stickers. "Shit!" Wising up, I pulled out my small knife and used it to ply up the weeds, cussing the entire time. I ended up with seven stickers and one cactus spine - it was hiding under the weeds too.

I could almost feel Becky's presence as I dug up the weeds; laughing in the background. "Bitch!" She would have got the biggest kick out of me digging through stickers.

Perhaps it was that moment of recall, that feeling of closeness, that made this weekends brief visit to her grave more painful than the last three of four. Leaving me with a slight smile and tears in my eyes.

In the Looney Bin, Again

2010-04-04T20:35:00.001-07:00

I found out today that Mom is back in a state operated mental institution, aka, the loony bin. While some people grow up without ever having to visit a mental institution, none of them are related to me. My mother has been in and out of mental spas all of my life and I'm in my mid forties.

In the early years she'd admit herself when she needed help. Then it progressed to the point her counselors or doctors would have her committed. Then to the point her family would have to force her to the emergency room and sign papers to have her admitted against her wishes. You haven't lived until you sign the dotted line admitting your parent to the loony bin. (The visits are way fun too.)

Sure, the first time or two - or two dozen depending on your level or optimism - you are thinking 'this is good for her'. She's going to get a chance to deal with her issues, get her medication taken care of, and things will get better. There isn't a one of us that believe that any longer.

Her decline in mental heath over the last few years has been shocking. Even to me. A common phrase that pops up when anyone visits her is, "there's no one home". She will sit and visit with her children like they're door to door sales men and she's lonely. She doesn't remember who we are, who we're married to, if we have/had jobs, or ask about our children. There is no connection at all.

A few months back she started imagining visits that didn't happen. She called my nephew and wanted to know why he didn't bother saying goodbye before he left. Going so far as to have a fit and hang up on him when he denied sneaking into the house and spending the night with her, in her bed. She wouldn't talk to him for weeks for lying about it and trying to make her feel crazy.

Apparently that was the beginning of the latest slide into delusion. She called my brother last week demanding he call her doctor (at the loony bin where she'd been for three weeks) and admit him and his family had come to visit the day before. They weren't going to release her until she could prove that he'd stopped by - which would be hard to do as he'd been in Austin with me the entire day.

As soon as she hung up, he did call the doctor and let him know no one in the family had been up to see her the day before. The doctor knew. He also knew there really were no people living in mom's non-existent attic and that no grandchildren actually slept under the cushions of her couch.

I don't feel shocked, nor saddened. Just resigned and very thankful for those who help me hang on to my own sanity.

My Kind of Crazy

2010-04-04T19:56:00.000-07:00

My name is Misty Marquardt and my mother is crazy.

Oh, wait ... this isn't SSMI (Support for Siblings of the Mentally Insane)? Oh well. Just in case you weren't aware of it, my mother is crazy. Loco. Insane. Out of her head. Off her rocker. Missing the top branches in the mental wellness tree. Shy of a full load. Around the bend ... and the next one after that.

I worried for years that I'd wake up one morning and be crazy. Well, crazier. Like mom. Everyone always says that no matter what you do, you will eventually turn into your parents. Well, that's okay if you have the normal stuff to look forward to: weight gain, receding hair line, a uni-brow.

It's not so okay when you have insanity to look forward to.

I remember the year that I quit worrying about the sizing of straight jackes. It was the year I turned thirty four. With my mother being just eighteen years older than I am, I realized that by the time she was thirty four I had been sixteen. She'd already been WAY crazy for years by then and I wasn't showing any signs of that type of insanity. Go me!

So, the real reason behind this post ...

I was having lunch with my friend the other day and I was explaining about this weird habit I have that drives me bonkers. I explained the most recent display of said issue.

Bonnet told me she needed a crib set for her daughter. I wanted to make one like I remember seeing in a book I use to have.

I can't find the book. I spend a week trying to track down or locate a copy of the book with no luck; driving to three different book stores and spending hours online searching.

I decide I can reprodcue the crib set without the book so I spend another week surfing the web for photos of similar crib sets. When I finally locate one, I realize how expensive it is going to be to purchase the material to make one. I could easily spend $150 or more on material and then have to spend a week or two making it.

Deciding to give my self some slack, I look on the local craigslist and find a cute set for $35. I send Bonnet a link and ask if that is okay. That's fine by her, so I buy it.

I hate it. It's got bunnies on it. How did I not notice it had bunnies before I bought it. Maybe if I take one side of the bumper pad and change it to a solid color I'll like it better. Then I can use the old fabric to make a matching curtain. So I spend four days taking the pad apart carefully.

I also buy fabric for the back of the pad and enough to make three matching sheets and complete a curtain; spending $25-$30.

While in a thrift store I find a bumper pad I fell in LOVE with for $4. So I buy it. I get home and the dust ruffle from the other set sort of goes with it. But the blanket doesn't. Well, I can just make a new quilt that matches.

Another trip to the store and I've spent $35 on fabric to make a quilt out of and a matching window topper.

Since I no longer need the taken apart bumper pad or matching quilt I am going to sell them in a garage sale that my sister-in-law is having over the weekend. So I spend three hours putting the bumper pad back together. By this point I have also come to the conclusion the ruffle really doesn't match with the new fabric I purchased to make a quilt out of, so I'll sell it to.

I end up selling the crib set for $5 at a sale. After 3-4 weeks of time, energy, and several trips to the store for supplies, I've managed to spend a minimum of $100 on a crib set I haven't even started yet.

Sadly, this isn't the first time I've taken this convoluted path to reach a destination. My entire past is littered with detours and wrong turns that would drive a person to drink. It is just something about the way I'm wired, the way I work.

After I tell my friend about my issue she just smiles at me and says,
"It's just your kind of crazy."

She was also raised by an insain mother. As she pointed out, while we may not end up with our mother's insanity, we all end up crazy.

Oddly, I feel much more at peace with my slip into insanity now.

The Cow Next Door

2010-04-01T19:52:00.001-07:00

A few days ago Will and I were headed out to the car when he noticed some flowers had popped up in our front yard. They've been studying gardening, plants, and pollination for a few weeks and he is extremely interested in all plants at the moment.

While buckling him in his car seat we discussed cross-pollination and the need for butterflies; something he'd just learned.

As we pulled out of the drive and drove in front of the house he said:

"Hey, the flowers go in the neighbors yard too.
Maybe the cow planted them."

Since we had just been discussing cross-pollination I thought maybe he'd seen a cow in a trailer or something and thought it had been responsible for the flowers. So I asked him what cow.

"The one that lives next door."

We don't have anyone near us with cows, and I tell him so.

"The girl that lives next to us. Papa and I call her a cow."

[[Important side note: Steve and a neighbor have an ongoing hate/hate relationship. It's complicated - involving dogs, barking, a messy yard, and two strong personalities.]]

I immediately let Will know that our neighbor is not a cow and that is a bad thing to call a person. He's confused.

"But she's a girl cow like a cowboy."

I can see where in his mind that might be what he thought Steve meant when he called her a cow. I just explained that calling someone a cow was like calling them fat or ugly.

The next day I heard him tell his Papa, "Mama and I don't call people cows, it's mean."

Steve took it to heart and has made an attempt to no longer call her cow. Thought to be honest, I'm not sure her new nickname is any better: The neighbor formally known as cow.

Fat Ass

2010-03-29T19:53:00.000-07:00

This evening, a truth I've been avoiding was cemented: I have a fat ass. Oh, I have a lot of big things. But I have the horrible feeling I will discover just how "big" one by one.

While hugging Steve, he patted my rather large 'rear feature' and I reached back to slap his hand. Only I slapped my own ass. I had no idea how far around it was to his hand. No clue the territory had undergone such development in the last few years.

After shooting Steve a withering glance for his, "Did you like it?" comment after I told him what I'd done, I left the room in deep thought.

I was recalling how seven years ago I had a real problem when bowling of attempting to swing around what I thought were my HUGE hips. I just knew I was going to slam the bowling ball right into them. The girls and Steve use to laugh at me. They finally broke me of the habit.

A few months ago when we went bowling, I slammed the bowling ball into my hip so hard it bruised it. I left there laughing at the irony; but still unaware of the true scope of the problem.

Consider me aware.

A Box of Naked Chicken

2010-03-19T20:12:00.000-07:00

I'm a big fan of skinless, boneless, fatless chicken. It's not that I'm overly health conscious. I just don't like to be reminded I'm eating animals; it takes all the enjoyment out of my meal. Needless to say, I'm the only one in my house that feels that way.

Both men in house love to eat things off bones, tear through skin, and chew on fat. Just call them Fred and Bam Bam.

Will is going through a growth spurt at the moment and eating two to three times what he normally does. He also gets cravings when going through one. I believe that most cravings, other than for sugar or carbs, are probably your bodies way of telling you what you need.

While returning a movie this evening, Will and I passed Bill Miller's Bar-B-Q. While we are not fans of their bar-b-q, we do like their fried chicken. Well, Steve and I like their chicken. Will just likes the crust on their chicken.

And you guessed it, Will wanted chicken.

We went home with a ten piece box of chicken, all white. Steve wasn't home yet and Will was starving. I peeled the skin off of three breast pieces and put it on a plate for Will. You don't even want to know how gross it looked. I ate two of the breast for supper. But Will asked for seconds, and a few more pieces of chicken got stripped. Then he asked for thirds. By the time he was full the entire box of chicken was naked.

I had to giggle as I closed the box the last time, imagining Steve's expression when he opened it later.

"Ha, Ha, Fred! No skin for you!"

The Carnival

2010-03-17T20:07:00.000-07:00

Charlene talked Will and I into going to the Austin Rodeo with her and Charlie today. There were all kinds of exhibits and shows to see. However, once the boys found carnival rides in their size, it was all over.

We spend a ridiculous amount of money, got severly sunburned, and came home with cramps in our leg muscels. Well, this mom did anyway.

The boys had a great time.

Pulling out Hair

2010-03-15T20:34:00.000-07:00

After weeks of inputting receipts for my business, contacting companies for forms that have disappeared, and proofing all our information, I was ready to actually "start" the taxes.

The first hurdle, software. Every year we have either been sent a CD in the mail or our dearly beloved father has purchased a copy for us. I really had no clue what tax preparation software cost. Sure, it's not to bad if you are filing a simple return. But if you require the ability to file a Schedule C, it skyrockets. I was looking at $70-$100. So I decided to look some more.

My friend, Charlene, suggested I try the free link off the IRS site for the software I wanted. Oddly, while on the H&R website, it practically said that if you needed the more in depth software you had to pay. By simply going through the IRS, I was able to use the same software for free. Go figure; oh wait, I am.

I created an account and quickly began to input data. Every once and a while I would have to run gather more information. In the past, our files were automatically input from the previous year, cutting down on repetitive entries. Not so now. During one of these searches, I timed out on the web site.

Attempting to log back in, I was told my password was invalid. I don't know if I keyed it in wrong or what. Clicking on the "I'm a dumb ass and forgot my password" button I went through the motions of getting a new password. What email address is assigned to your account? Mine, of coarse. What are the last five numbers in your social? I actually knew the answer to that one too. Go, me! Well, right up until I received the following message, "We do not understand your response."

Welcome to the club.

I tried reentering the information several times. I tried pasting in the information. I checked my verification email to ensure I was entering the right information. I shut down the program and brought it back up. I shut down the Internet and brought it back up. I rebooted the machine. Nothing worked. I searched for a service email address. They didn't have one.

I called the 800 number, but you can only get help during business hours. To bad they didn't say that online or while you were strolling through the ten rounds of "press this button."

So I called them first thing this morning. A great guy answered quickly and walked me through the process. Then he asked me for the same information I had entered. That's when things got funky. He told me he could not help me with the software because the information I had given him did not match the information on the account.

How the hell is that possible? I made the account. It is directed to my email address. I entered all the information. Hell, the security questions were even ones I'd picked out. Then I remembered it was a joint return.

I logged back on and entered Steve's social security number and was immediately allowed to reset the password.

Does this seem odd to anyone else?

Boycotting Hastings

2010-03-15T20:20:00.000-07:00

I have a brother-in-law that has very strong beliefs regarding commerce. I don't know if he still does or not, but, at one time he carried a list of companies and manufactures in his wallet that he refused to do business with.

I'm not that dedicated. Definitely not that well informed.

I'm just pissed.

The Hastings bookstore in San Marcos is one of those places I stop in when visiting Tori. I'm there an average of 3-5 times a month. In the last year alone, I've probably spent well over $300 there. I've been shopping there for over three years. I know most of the employees by site and many of them know Will by name - of coarse, that probably has something to do with me having to yell, "Will, stop that!" all the time.

A few weeks back I was in and purchased a t-shirt for Steve. It was a St. Patty day shirt that said, "Pinch me and I'll punch you in the nose." Of coarse, it was all black - not a bit of green in site. Needless to say, it fit Steve to a "T".

Through a series of non-important maneuvers, I ended up loosing the receipt. Since the t-shirt was a gift I took off the tags. That evening I was showing it to Steve when I noticed a hole in the fabric. It was obviously a manufacture issue. No biggie, I'll take it back.

Now, while it is true I had no idea what their return policy was, I had seen a woman exchange an item without tags or a receipt just the week before. So I didn't give it another thought.

When I showed up in Hastings and explained the situation, a manager was called. It was one of the people I generally see in the store and I explained the situation. She told me point blank, "Without tags or a receipt we can not offer a refund, exchange, or credit your account."

I showed her the damage, stressing how obvious it was a manufactures flaw. After a few minutes, I just had it. I told her to keep the damn t-shirt, it wasn't going to do me any good and I left the store.

On the way out, Will was begging for some candy. I told him, loud enough the manager could hear, "We're not buying anything from this store again."

And that's when it hit me.

I don't have to.

Unreasonable Reasoning

2010-03-10T19:56:00.001-08:00

I came to a weird conclusion today. Really, more of a realization.

It became clear that anytime I deliberately avoid doing something I need to, I avoid doing everything.

In my subconscious, it works this way . . .

A)I need to work on my taxes, it should be a number 1 priority
PLUS
B)Working on my writing, cleaning house, cleaning the yard, working on new patterns are all less important than doing the taxes
EQUALS
C)If I do NOT work on taxes, I shouldn't do anything else.

Yeah, I never said my reasoning was, well, reasonable.

What?

2010-03-09T20:34:00.000-08:00

Just a couple of things that made me stop and think the last few days.

Eagle Nest Doctor
My home phone is supplied through my Internet connection. Recently, the service I use has added free emails of your voice messages. Which for me is a great thing; I don't like checking voice mails.

However, I have to admit to being very confused the first few that I read . . . at least at the beginning. The first three emails I received started like this:

"Ms. DeMarko Court..."
"Mess Tea Mark Art..."
"Ms. Teige Marfort..."

I don't know why I was surprised. Steve's GPS unit I bought him for his birthday doesn't pronounce DR. as drive, but as Doctor.

Who's Stalking You?
I made the mistake of signing up for Classmates.com sometime in the last year. I am constantly getting emails that encourage me to find out who's looking up my profile - among other things. And while I don't care enough to check it out, I have to admit to some curiosity.

Today a facebook friend of mine suggested I sign up for a program that will tell you who is "stalking" your facebook page. I can see how that would be interesting. However, I have to wonder how un-popular you would feel to find out no one was?

Senior Moment

2010-03-07T19:04:00.000-08:00

This weekend, my best friend, Charleen, and I spent scrapbooking. We are fortunate enough to be able to leave family and responsibilities behind two to three times a year and escape for a weekend of creativity, food we don't cook ourselves, female-type humor, chick flicks, and alcohol.

At breakfast this morning I found exactly what I wanted to eat, only it was on the Seniors Menu. All I wanted was eggs, hash browns, toast, and bacon. The same breakfast I grew up eating when I went out as a younger person - which apparently was a LONG time ago. I figured I would order it, and if the waiter give me a hard time I'd ask him to just create the same meal option and charge me whatever he wanted as the Senior Menu was for people over 55 and was discounted.

He didn't even blink an eye.

Charlene gave me hell about it. I just shrugged my shoulders and ate my breakfast.

It was really good and I saved twenty percent. What's not to like about that?

I Wish I Loved Momma Lots

2010-03-05T19:17:00.001-08:00

Twice in the last week Will has found a dandeline ripe to be blown. He will trample through yards that aren't are own to reach one. And every time he find one he runs back to stand next to me and makes his wish.

Last year I tried to explain the process of making a wish before attempting to blow off all the petals with one breath. He didn't grasp it real well. He always makes the same wish and he will huff and puff (sometimes even slap it around on a tree or the road) until all the petals are free. His wish?

"I wish I loved Momma lots."

Fortunately, I know what he means. But it strikes me not only as cute but quite hilarous.

You see, about two years ago Steve convinced Will that he (his Papa) was number one and that Will could only love one person enough to be number one.

Each day as Will winds down, he climbs on my lap for loves. He cuddles up against me and I'll pet him. Give him kisses. At some point I'll whisper, "I love you.

And my only son will whisper back, "I love Papa more."

Norris said . . .

2010-03-01T18:15:00.000-08:00

Norris is the girls grandfather, my ex-husbands father. He is a very quite man with little to say, ever.

When I first met Norris he was already married to his second wife, Ella. Ella, love her heart, never shut up. Which left me wondering if he was quite by nature or self-defense.

During the ten years I was married to their son, a common expression out of Ella's mouth was, "Norris said . . ." Everyone who knew the couple had to fight from laughting. Really? Norris said?

Ella used Norris as an instrument to make the words she was about to utter more important.

"Honey, you know I would never complain about what you wear.
But, Norris said you should dress up more when you come to work."

There is no way in HELL that man could have carried less about what I wore, or any of the other thousands of topics he supposedly commented on over the years. It was just Ella. Just their relationship.

Since Ella's death in January, I've been worried about Norris. His only child lives in CO. He's been all wrapped up in carring for Ella the last few years. No real friends. No job. No one to listen to constantly.

While in Brady this weekend I felt his loss deeper than I have since Ella's death.

I had to wonder if Norris would ever say anything again.