I'm just fine and other assorted lies

Night time habits

2011-11-27T23:10:00.005-06:00

My lovely house I lived in had 2 bedrooms. One upstairs that belonged to my parents. One down stairs..that was mine. It had 2, deep windows & blue flower wall paper. I don't remember being scared to be alone at the other end of the house. But I was uneasy about my room. It was always freezing cold despite the fact that the wall was...kid you not....3 feet thick. It always had a breeze swirling though it & the light didn't seem right. And...I hated the blue wallpaper cause if you stared at it long enough you could see faces in it!

My bedroom was later converted to a very small dining room once the upper level was complete. We used the room 3 times out of the year. Thanksgiving, Christmas & Easter. Other then that, we hated being in there. Can you see the deep set window...yeah....3 feet thick walls...awesome! Note the haircut....why mother, WHYYY????

One night, during the winter as I was fast sleep snug in my bed....my blanket was tugged.
Tug, tug.
Tug, tug.
I remember being really angry that my parents were waking me up. Soon I was woken up by the freezing cold. My blanket had been completely removed from my bed....and I couldn't find it. All I remember was being so angry. Years later my parents told me that in the dead of night, they were awoken to their little 6 year old standing at the end of their bed yelling at them. "Where's my blanket?! I'm cold! Why did you wake me!"

My Mom thinking I was sleep walking...trotted me back down the dark stairs, walked down the long hallway to my room & plopped into bed. Apparently I cried & spit 6 year old venom at my haggard mother. "I want my blanket!" Once I was in bed....my mother started to get mad at me....my blanket was no where to be found. She turned on my lights to find it. It wasn't under my bed or in my closet. She become steamed thinking I was messing w/ her. Up the stairs she went to grab my Dad to talk some sense into me. Fumbling down the the dark stairs my father grumbled. No blanket = hysterical brat. My Dad was now on the hunt for my cozy blanket. He looked in the bathroom, in the den, kitchen then finally he clicked on the light in the living room.

There was my queen sized thick yummy blanket, laid out perfectly in the middle of the living room floor.

Sorry for the bad copy. Here is part of the living room. There are the stairs in the background, THEE closet door under the stairs & the hallway entry behind us. The floor in front of my friend & I is where blankie ended up.Do you like my sexy fine perm?

At first my parents were mad at me...then...they thought about it. Did I truly drag my blanket out into the living room, dragging it over the huge yellow couch only to splay it neatly on the floor...then to wind up screaming at my parents in my shrill little voice in the dead of night?

That night after they brought me upstairs to sleep on their floor my mother & father decided they would work on the upstairs bedrooms the next day so they could move me out of that room as fast as they could....of course it would take them about 2 more years to make it sleep able.

And for 2 years....it become custom every now & again for me to wake up in the dead of the night & feel that tug..then sliddddd of my blanket. It become my cue to get up, go potty then hunt for my wandering blanket. It would hide in the den, kitchen, crumpled on the yellow couch, laid out in the living room or hallway.

This is another picture of that great yellow couch of 70's sassiness! I just can't get enough of it! I wish I had it today...it's just breath taking! carry on...

I would drag it back down the hallway & plop back into bed. I would grumble a little thinking it was my Dad playing a joke on me. Then I would complain to him the next day about his blanket joke & how it bugged me....I never caught the panicked look in his eye...only the nervous laugh of him lying to me..."sorry kiddo...I just can't help it."

My room with a hazy presence.

Childs play

2011-11-06T21:56:00.004-06:00

"I really need you to stop it. I'm having a long day. No one can play with me, Moms shopping, my Dad is working in the yard, my brother is a jerk & I'm bored."

"No really...you need to stop scaring me, that's not nice. I'm going to be mad at you if you don't stop."

I often found myself having conversations like this in my house off Pleasant Grove Rd. One day I was just...not having it. Life was unfair! I couldn't play with my friend, my stupid brother was visiting & I was stuck...at home...AGGGHH! So hard to be a child!

I stormed down stairs after my doofus brother kicked me out of the bathroom. Hey, it had good acoustics & I needed to perfect Barbara Streisand's Queen Bee...just...because! Whatever fart face! Stomp, stomp, stomp...down the stairs. Flinging myself down onto the yellow couch I seethed & pouted & lamented.

"Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeek." The closet door behind me slowly opened a crack. It never took much to have it creeeeek. You turn the knob...creeeeeek. A slight pull....... creeeeeek. The sound of the door was horrible. No matter how much my Dad WD40-ed it....it would always creeeeek! The door was a heavy solid wood door with an old glass knob. It was to a closet that was tucked under the stairs. Pretty cool hiding place.

Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek open...creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek close.
"creeeeeeeeeeek"            Stop it!
'Creeeeeeeeeeek"           I said STOP!
"Creeeeeeeeeek"            FRED! AGGGHHHH!

I started to joke to my Dad about the ghost in the house. He'd laugh & never take me seriously. He told me as he ruffled my permed hair "Oh...it's just Old Fred. Just say Hi & he'll leave you alone. He's just lonely."    He did a fine job about teasing me...but I knew he was just messing around like Dad's do. Little did I know...the poor guy was doing his best not to tell his daughter "yeah kid....seriously, this house is jacked up! He's watching you. Run kid RUNNN!"

"Creeeeeeeeek" ALRIGHT! I'll play with you but the door has got to stop!

I heard my smelly brother stomping around upstairs yelling for me. Something about his toothbrush...that I may or may not have rubbed on top of his nasty B.O. stick.

Sensing my own doom at the hands of my cracked out bro I dove into the closet. The closet went all the way back under the stairs. The space above my head just got smaller & smaller as I crawled under my Moms fur coats. I finally wedged myself deep in the bowels of my cave. As my brother pounded down the stairs grumbling, I watched the light fade as Fred closed the door. "creeeeeeeeeeeeeek."

"Hey brat...you think I'm stupid! I could hear the damn door all the way upstairs! I know you are in there! Come out or I'll go in after you!"

Gah! I hate my brother! I covered my self w/ winter shoes & scarves stored for the winter season & waited. Doing my best not to laugh & cry.

"Fine! I'm coming in!"

Try as he might....my brother could not open the door. I could here him struggle & hit the door w/ his fist. The old 50 lb door didn't budge.

"Hey twerp, the doors stuck. You'll be in there all day by yourself! Dad's out side & he'll never hear you scream. Have fun punk, I'm out of here!"

Exit poop head brother.

I laid under the shoes, in the pitch black slightly panicked. All I could think about was how was I going to pee? I had no problem hanging out in the closet, but to pee? yeah...this would be a problem!

No sooner had I thought that...the door clicked and

Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek

A little sliver of sunlight peeped in through the door.

I crawled out from under the tangle of hanging coats & out through the door.

My brother no where to be seen, my 9 year old life spared.

"Thanks Fred! That was fun! I'll see you later!"

Out of the house I ran, to play with my ducks.

And somewhere in the house, I knew Fred would be waiting for me to come back & play.

Things that go bump in the night

2011-10-30T23:09:00.001-05:00

I was 6 when my mom happened to drive by an old barn in a little town & fell in love with it.

She drove home & told my Dad to buy it.

And so he did, because he loved her.

We left our custom built house down a winding lane a few hop, skips & jumps from a river and moved to

"Podunkville"

Population: 4,000

The house was built in the 1860. First as a barn that housed pigs. Then it was converted to a cheese shop in the 1880's, then converted into a house early 1900. There was a bigger barn for cows that was razed. That became a beautiful sunken garden.

When we bought the house in the 80's it was falling apart. It had only 2 bedrooms. One bedroom (mine) was on the first floor. My parents bedroom was the only room upstairs. You walked up the stairs & to the right was their bedroom. To the left was a locked door to...well....the upper half of the barn.

This what was behind door #2! A very large, open, dusty unfinished room. My Dad eventually built a laundry room, bathroom (with a lovely sunken tub) small office & a large master bedroom. The roof was so high he even was able to install a pull down latter that led up to more storage.

My Dad worked on the house making it, at first safe & livable. Then finally he made it perfect. We then after living there for 7 years moved... after all that hard work.

I loved the house. It had about an acre or 2 of land. It had an old horse barn for a garage. I could play in a little forest, climb apple trees, catch frogs in the creek or pick flowers in the prairie section. I had a rabbit, ducks, a dog & gerbil.There was always something to do.

I grew up with just my parents. It was nice, just me, my mom & Dad.....and

something..or someone.......else.

When we bought the house....it wasn't empty. It came with peeling wallpaper, a deadly furnace, leaking roof, rotting carpet & a ghost.

My parents never, EVER said anything to me. But I found out years later we were not alone. They had experienced things too. My mom said the first night we slept in the house she felt it. The haunting. I remember it too...but I was so young...it must have been all in my head........

The house was cold that night. The furnace didn't work. Our furniture hadn't arrived, so we slept on the living room floor in sleeping bags. The house was infested with mice so I got a kick watching them scurry around the baseboards. My Mom...not so much. Between the whimpers of my scared dog & the sound of the old barn moaning, I barely slept that night. Coyotes cried somewhere in the fields & the shadow that floated on the ceiling fascinated me. There was a blue hue to the room. (I remember asking Mom were the light came from. She said it was a blue moon that night. Well, let me just say...that moon wasn't blue. So I don't know what kind of hog wash she was telling me.) The shadow was in a shape of a man. Sometimes it would hover above us...sometimes he would dart. I enjoyed watching him....figuring at first, it was my Dad shuffling around. But my Dad was asleep, snoring on my left, my Mom on my right. I remember being confused at the man shadow & a bit uncomfortable. By morning I was fine & happy to explore. My Mom, I found out later knew...she made a grave mistake buying the house.

The fireplace was massive & was able to heat the rooms upstairs through vents. My dog Tasha always by my side. This was the room we slepted in the first night.

I was never afraid of the house or the barn where my Dad like to tinker. My dad loved his little garage/barn. There he placed all his tools. He was always working on something. Handing me nails, hammer & wood I would work along side of him making airplanes. But the garage was also the favorite place for.... Him. Apparently my Dad was well acquainted with Him...who he named Fred. (we named everything Fred. The garter snake's in our garden, Fred. The wounded birds I would find & feed, Freds. The brown bunnies dotting our yard, Fred) Fred was notorious for messing w/ my Dads tools. My Dad would yell at me because I would move tools as he turned to grab something...but I never moved the tools. After awhile my Dad realised...it was never me. He thought he was going mad. He became more aware of me...being out in the yard & his tools...disappearing right under his nose. Most of the time they just moved around the table. He would turn & the tool would be gone...only to find it under a cloth or another tool. (My Dad was scared of losing his mind he even went to a Dr. to see if he has dementia. He did not) One day one of his prized tool went missing. He looked under benches, in his tool box, on the floor. The tool was gone. Vanished.

A few days go by & still no tool. He couldn't finish a job without it. He got a hint one day as to where his tool might be. He heard footsteps above his head. He heard these steps all the time. But when you live in the country, raccoons are as big a medium sized dogs. They were always in our attics...garage & house. My Dad often had to cage or shot these very pissy, nasty things. This day...he pulled up a chair & listend. Really listened. "Stomp, Stomp, Stomp." His hair on his neck stood straight. Those were not raccoon feet. Those were feet w/ boots on. He yelled up to the ceiling "Hey...I have a gun! You have a choice, you come down now & I let you walk off the property alive or I go up there & fill you with lead!"

Silence.

"Stomp....Stomp...Stomp"...... Silence.

My Dad got the latter & his hat w/ a light attached to it...& his shotgun. Up the latter he rose. He slid off the ceiling panel & climbed up into the dark attic of the old horse barn. Poor guy was sick & nerves. He really didn't want a gun in his face & he didn't want a racoon to jump on his face either. But he was sure a hobo was up there. As he climbed up...he saw nothing. No escape route, no hobo, no raccoons. Nothing. Just wood beams, barn dust and

His prized tool propped up against the wall.

My Dad flung himself out of the ceiling, Crashed down the latter & ran out of the garage. He thought he was having a heart attack. He laid down on a patchy piece of grass to calm down.

It had been confirmed in his mind...we...were not alone.

summer of recovery

2011-09-12T21:27:00.002-05:00

Did you hear that?

That was the super sonic sound of summer whizzing by.

It's amazing how fast time has gone now that I can walk upright, without digging my fingers into my bum muscle just so it can relax a little to move.
.

My life went horribly slow as I moved my body...left foot step, fingers digging into right butt muscle, push in & up...drag. step...drag, step....drag....on &and on. Worsening week after agonizing week.

All that pain, fear, hopelessness...gone!

Just a slice, trim & scrap of the Dr.s knife...I am healed.

For this I truly praise God....& all the intelligent people who worked on my pathetic spine. What a wonder medical science is!
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I praise God that I finally pulled my head out of my arse & dropped the tomfoolery nonsense of chiropractic, happy thoughts, bad exercises by people who got their learn'n at "quackery iz us" & herbs. Yeah, yeah....that crap has helped people....but sorry kids....it did not one drop of good for me the 6 months I lived through agony. In fact...I believe it made things worse. And THAT has become my proof that witchery brews are a sham. Glad it works for you...but for me...I learned the hard way.
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I saw Dr. Sparkles 2 weeks after surgery & when she saw me walking she squawked out "Look at how well you move! Oh sweetie...I wish you could have come to see me sooner. You wouldn't have to have gone through all that pain & heartache."
.

She's right...I could have avoided all that pain. I could have avoided that pain that caused me to question if suicide would be the answer. I could have avoided the pain that made me willing to have nerves slashed, bones broken, muscles torn to become paralysed & placed in a wheelchair...just so I could live a "normal" life. I could have avoided the fear my pain caused my family & friends. I could have avoided the pain that made me take steps back towards Jesus Christ & my Heavenly father.
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Sure I could have avoided a whole lot of heart ache.
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But the growth it forced me to endure was pretty neato....and I wouldn't trade that for the world!

DISCLAIMER: I never, NEVER, NeVeR want to have THAT level of pain EVER again in my life. I get ghost pains once in awhile & it sends me into shock. I realise I have PTSS. Great...another thing I have to pretend doesn't exist!
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Looking back I can see I did survive. My family survived. I learned some hard lessons in life. I did every thing I could to "fix" myself. ...and in the end...after all that could have been done by myself...I reached out to a pro & got me some much needed pampering....by a surgeon!
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God lead me kicking & screaming to what needed to happen. I can imagine him gently but firmly dragging me as I arch my back & screech to where I needed to go. Like a good parent that says..."listen, you won't like this, but trust me...I know what I'm doing."
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And of course, he was right. And for once...it was nice to be the kid instead of the parent!
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So goodbye summer! Goodbye pain! Goodbye wee-wee pads! I got a new back... back! My spine, habits, movements are forever altered....but by golly.....I'm BACK BABY!

A sad post of loss & heartache. Families can be together forever.

2011-07-31T16:45:00.007-05:00

My heart has been put through the cheese grater. My head pounds & my tummy tumbles. I have a hard time typing because my fingers are jello. Tears threaten to explode from my face at any moment. I feel drained, angry, tired & broken.

These things I feel are all from a little soul that I never knew. At first I felt guilty....almost feel....like I'm barging in on a grief that can't be shared.

When someone dies we are told life goes on. We will see that person in the hereafter. Our souls do not parish at death. But what happens when that person never got to have their first breath? We never get to see their personality. How tall they grow. Never get to see them progress through life. What happens when there can be no comfort because we never got to know who that soul becomes? How does one process that?

Tragedy come faster & faster these days. I blame it on age. The older we get the more things we see. The more people we come to know, the more heartache we share.

A sadness I can not even begin to fathom blanketed a friend today. Her child was born full term, quiet & still. A child that I like to say, took years in the making.

There really are no words. Nothing I say or do will lighten her sorrow. All her friends stand in stunned silence. All we can do is stand behind this invisible line & watch her walk through what will be the most hellish years of her life. Each one of us wish we could take a tiny piece of her sorrow & tuck it safely away in our own hearts. Maybe then, the pain will lessen.

We know, her pain will be all hers. We can grieve, moan, rage, pray & wish. But in the end, she is alone in that piercing, soul drenching pain.

She will sit alone with her wounds...in a silent car...a new car seat will be empty. She will pass a car with laughing teens in it. And her only thought will be

"How can YOUR life go on....when my world has stopped spinning?"

Any women who has children....can picture this vividly in her mind. We are all linked. Whether we push out our babies or they are pulled out or cut out...or even picked up for the first time at an adoption agency...we all can weirdly feel a tiny bit of her agony. This particle we feel...is so deep and black. We feel just a particle...she feels it completely. Lord heal her.

Lord heal her.

The Lord Jesus Christ will be the only one...who can heal her.

We can help. Food will be made & delivered. Her house will be cleaned. Her children will be played with. We will pray with her & hold her hands. We will say to her..."tell me about your son. Was he bald? How much did he weight? What is his name?"

But at night, when all is quite. When her belly aches & her head stuffed with "should haves". The only thing I hope is whispered into her brain are the words.

"Be still and know that I am God."

I hope, in the silence, right before she drifts off to sleep...the Lord speaks to her the words..."He is here, safe & happy. He fell asleep right in the crook of my neck. You did good Momma. Please know I will hold him & rock him & care for him until you come home."

There is joy when the one you loves dies. For they are home...safe & happy after a long day out in the world. It's the ones that get left behind that we grieve for. It's sad, painful, maddening & empty. We don't want to be left behind. We don't want to be left alone...without the ones we love so much. When the black cloud of grief comes, our lungs collapse, are eyes sting & our ears ring.....through the bleakness of it all...... the only words I feel are:

Be still and know I am God.

Reeco Suave

2011-07-17T22:01:00.001-05:00

Sitting up on the gurney I look around my room trying to figure out how to get off this thing. I have to go to the bathroom before the surgery...because I do NOT want to float any air biscuits while on the table.....on my stomach...tush in the air!

To make things worse....Mr. Reeco/Dr. Sparkles assistant walks in.

He's...kind of cute...in a really weird, stalker, Jersey Shores kind of way. "Hi, I'm Reeco, Dr Sparkle's assistant...let me mark your back."

Let me paint a picture for you....

Reeco is tall, young, thin..."awwww yeahhhh!"
Olive skin......"aahhhhhh"
He has jet black hair..."talk to me Jen!".....which is perfectly qwaft...."grrrr baby!"...into a shiny,huge back swept tidel wave off his head...."ummm, ok...I can work w/ that, big-ness"

His eyes are, how do I put this...stoned looking..."CHECK PLEASE!"

Then his voice is like a soft, cooing dove.......well more like the coo of a SURFER DUDE...."End scene! Sorry buddy, you lost me at "like.....I'm gonna...... mark,..... like...your back..mkayyyyy?" Dude.....don't say M'KAY...it's creepy!

Mr Reeco smells divine as he hunches over me & pulls aside my gown to place a black mark on my back. And I don't know quite how I feel. I think I'll just go to my safe place....again.

He marks me, then floats out of my room.

My husband asks me..."Ummm did a homeless, stoned man just mark your back w/ a Sharpie? That was weird."

Oh yeah...this just keeps getting better!

And I'm off!

2011-07-11T07:55:00.000-05:00

5am. I'm at the surgery center....trying not to shake. Trying to believe this will fix me. Trying to believe this will bring back...me.

I get called back into my room. My husband has to wait while they "get me checked in."

Seriously people...he's my husband. He's seen me more then naked. Why can't he come back? I try not to punch someone...well I can't punch anyone because they are so nice.

I get naked, step into my gown. I realise I have to poop. Awww geez...really?!

They hand me lederhosen to squeeze on my legs. Grrr baby! I can't bend over to put them on or even sit onto the gurney. I start to panic...I can't get onto the BED! They are going to have to operate w/ me standing up!!

I just stand there as the old nurse keeps asking me to get into the bed. Why can't I ask for help? Why now? Oh yeah...because the nurse is like 80 years old & I'm afraid I will break her hip if I use her as an elevater!

Before she starts to believe I am stupid........I finally open my mouth & ask for help. The 80 year old nurse nearly shot-puts me into the bed. I think she actually threw me on her shoulder & hucked me into it...can't quiet remember because I went to my safe place as she did it.

Now time for the Squeezie Mc Squeezes a-lot hosen. "Sweetie, put these on."

Ummm, I can't. I need help.

So 2 nurses pull up my tube socks. The older nurse pats my feet & walks out.

So far so good! I am positioned painfully in bed, wearing a gown that's not mine, socks that look sexy fine...and...I have to POOP!

This is going to be a GREAT DAY!

A goat is less stubborn

2011-06-08T19:00:00.015-05:00

I sat on a hot morning in a waiting room. Waiting....for the neurosurgeon to see me. Waiting for over an hour.

I had the conversation I would have w/ her in my head down pat.

Dr. "I suggest we cut you open. Because that's what Dr.s do....we cut. We don't care...we cut. It won't help you at all, but I really need to pay off this 24 carat diamond ring....ya know what I'm say'n?!!"

Me: "Gee thanks Doc. But everyone tells me you are out for $$. And besides...you are right....surgery won't help. How do I know? Well....I Goggled it. So I would just appreciate it if you prescribed me physical therapy. I mean....I'm doing everything right. At this point in my life I know more than PT's do. But I think I could really benefit from PT...because I goggled it....& I'm a recovering crunchy freak."

I soon get called back to a very cold (as in "this place could use a dash of color" cold) very...medical room. And

Wait some moreeeeee.

I sit going over my cue cards. "no surgery, no surgery...no think you....just PT please."

Finally, in breezes my new sparkly Dr.....wearing a diamond as big as the largest bruise on my leg (thanks to the chiropractor...just thought I would share that sexy picture w/ you....cuz I CAN!)

She is very nice, but I view her as the "The Man." One not to be trusted. I had years of grooming to view medical people with question. My poor Mom trusted a Dr who pretty much killed her....for his ineffectiveness & his blase' treatment of the growing tumor in her breast. Luckily she found a great, sweet, gifted Dr who was able to prolong her life. But the damage had been done. "Daughter dear, NEVER trust a Dr. Always investigate, get 2nd 3rd, 4th options. Push for proper treatments. Always question. Never lay yourself down on the alter of a Dr." Andddddddd cue neurosis!

Dr. Sparkly poked my foot. Had me counter presser her hand. Tapped my hip.

"That's IT?! You tap my foot & that's it for diagnosis?!!! I don't think I like you much. Scam artist!".........don't worry...I didn't say my thoughts out loud...I wanted too...but I refrained.

Then she had me waddle down to show me the x-rays. She praised my great spine & how "juicy" all my discs looked. But then showed me the "sad" little disc that was collapsed on one side & "oozing" out onto my sciatic nerve. As she sat in a chair opposite of me she asked me to place my good leg on her knee. My leg straightened a little. She said that was normal for the good leg to start to stiffen up. Next was my bad leg. I couldn't even place it on her knee. She had to do it for me. I couldn't even point my knee cap up. My leg just sat crooked on her leg. She tried to gently straighten it. It was totally useless. The pain was so bad I punched her in the face......well...no I didn't....I restrained myself. My stupid leg had atrophied in the bent position.

Then this evil Dr. said...as she rubbed my foot. "Oh you poor thing. This is real bad. You have suffered too long. I'm sorry you hurt so much. But we can fix this. Don't worry!" And she carefully placed my foot down onto the floor & helped me up.

I did my cough & sniff...."stupid allergies routine" to hide my threatening tears as she walked me back to the room. DANG IT....why did she have to be so NICE?!

Of course the first thing out of her mouth was "Sweetie, we can make you pain free in a few days. Just a small, quick SURGERY. We just go in & clean the bulging disc material off the nerve & that's it! You'll be able to get up & walk like you haven't walked for 6 months out of the surgery center. So how about tomorrow?"

And you know what my crunchy little heart said. "Surgery? But everyone...& I say NO!"

And what came out of my mouth. "HELZ YEAH, Do it NOW....NOW"

Lucky I couldn't do it the next day. The nurse talked me out of it because I had to close on our new house that day. Whatever. I was totally for it! Yeah baby! Spine surgery & house closing!

What happened to me?!!! Who was this person? What about a 2nd option?! What would Google think?!

So surgery was scheduled for the next week.

I went back to my friends house & my crunch chastised me. "Stupid GIRL! You caved!"

I questioned what I had done. Maybe I could cancel the evil surgery in a few days. Better yet...have my husband do it for me! Yeah...that's what I would do! I didn't need the surgery. I could work it out myself.

4 days after that, I laid on my belly to do my back exercises and then I froze...up on my forearms...belly on the floor. Cobra pose top be exact.

My body became paralysed with pain. Searing pain ripped through my body. I couldn't go fully on the floor because the wave of agony was shocking. I screamed & screamed for my son to help. But could he hear me? OH NOOOOOOO cuz he was watching tv in the other room!

So I cried once again, in my friends house, on her floor. Just me myself & the devil. I finally got my son to get the bottle of Tramadol (which as my Dr friend said is a "Jr High joke, not a real pain killer"....greattttttt) I popped 2 pills & then rolled the bottle far enough away for me to reach it....cuz I would down the whole bottle.

I was sweating from being stuck. Did I mentioned..I was in THIS POSE?!! DID I?!!!

Finally after an hour, I was able to lower my upper body onto the floor...in a funky weird position. My husband came home & tried to move me. But this pain was NOTHING like the last time. This pain was worse. I begged God to make me go unconscious. I was face down, eating carpet, begging God not to leave me. I saw no way out of the pain. Finally after 3 hours on the floor my husband was able to move me...as I screamed..... onto a futon mattress on the floor. I was in hell, but at least I was on my side on a futon. I stayed laying on my left side....for 14 hours. Every once in a while I would try to move, but I couldn't. Peeing in granny pads had become the norm. But paralysed for 14 hours was not norm!

At 9am the next day I was able to stand after struggling to get up for 20 minutes. As I shuffled to the bathroom is agony....I remembered the conversation I had w/ God telling Him he would need to physically guide me..... blared loudly in my head.

Point....taken.

God had for sure, physically stopped, dropped & rolled me into what I need to do.

"That's IT! Stop this non sense! Get thee to Dr Sparkles & get surgery for the love of Me!"

I would get surgery next week. I would yell & rage at my father on the phone as he said not to get surgery. I would not read anything anymore about spine surgery on the Google. I would gladly pop Vicoden to get me through the week. I would not feel bad about this! I would gladly pay for Dr Sparkles 24 carat diamond ring!

God had spoken & I finally would listened!

Surgery...here I come...pleasepleaseplease work.

Piss and wind

2011-05-31T21:41:00.008-05:00

2 weeks ago, my world changed.
2 weeks ago I could not get out of my van without whimpering & burning with pain.
2 weeks ago I walked out of the surgery unit, without pain.

6 months...everyday...pain. Not one day of relief came to me. Sure I had good days, but always with pain. Around 5 months I told God.

"God....I don't do well with "listening to the still small voice." I have a real bad connection down here. It ain't for the lack of trying. It's just me I suppose. So I need you to throw me a bone. I really need you to phycially guide me to what I need to do next. If I need to do Chiropractic treatments everyday for a year I will. Acupuncture? Massage? Drug treatment? Surgery? Standing on my head in a pool? I'll do it. But I can't hear ya down here so just do what you have to do to get me the treatment that will heal me."

I asked this knowing full well the trouble I would be borrowing. I did not ask this lightly. I was ready to accept to be physically taken where I needed to be.

I am shocked I survived.

A day after talking to God, the pain left. And what replaced it was indescribable. White hot burning agony....yeah...that about sums it up.

I could no longer sit, stand or lay w/o extreme constant pain.

A week later I got stuck in my friends bed...my Friend's bed...not even my own. Ohhhh no...I had to be paralyzed...on my friends guest bed.....and I had to pee.

I usually could lay down to relax, but this day was different. I could not move. Not to roll over. Not to sit up. Not even to move my legs. Not to push myself up. I was completely paralyzed. And if I tried to move the pain would shoot through me so bad I wanted to vomit. I started to sweat & moan for God to kill me. I couldn't even touch my skin. My whole leg was on fire. It felt like a charlie horse...through my enter leg...that lasted for 4 hours. There was no letting up on the pain. All I could do was lye on my side, in my friends bed, alone. My husband went shopping 3 hours into this little personal hell. As he left he asked if he should buy me pads. At first I said no...through clenched teeth. Surely this hell would pass. But then I recognized pride & I changed my mind. I would need pee pads.

He left & I cried. He was gone for over an hour. I would try to calm myself & tell myself just to relax. Slowly I would try to sit up. The pain would rip through me & I would stuff a pair of socks in my mouth to stifle the screams.

Soon I couldn't deny it. I had to pee. Not only pee...but piss...a lot. Even if my husband was with me, he would not be able to move me. I needed the pee pads...I needed them NOW! I start to panic. Then I beg. "please, please, pleaseeeeeee, not on my friends bed." Over & over I begged Jesus. After a half an hour of begging.....my bladder began to loosen & give up it's fight. On the small dresser by my head was a bunch of clean socks I never got to put away. (If you are confused as to why I am in my friends guest bed w/ my laundry....be confused no more! We were staying with our friends while we waited to close on our new house. We had sold ours & now had to wait. We were at our friends house for 3 weeks. They are saints!)

I bundled all the socks together to form a pad (see, all my years of being crunchy paid off!) I Then...painfully...jammed them in my pants....stupid leg was so painful to move. I barked out "Throw me a bone here God! If you are not going to help me hold my piss at least help me move this damn leg so I can protect MY FRIENDS BED!" Soon...I began to laugh. Hard. I can't believe...I'm doing this. Between the hysterical fits of laughter....I pissed....on a pad made of socks......in my friends guest bed.

5 minutes later, my husband walks in...with the pads. I don't know whether to be humiliated or angry or relieved. Did God....really just ignore my pee pleads?! It wasn't a crazy request God!

My saint of a husband helps me out. I then relax...& wait.

Finally.... painfully, but steadily, my husband is able to pull me up off the bed. I feel like I have been hit by a bus. Grumbling, I drag my paralyzed leg to the bathroom. Plopping myself down onto my throne..I wait & murmur. I'm still mad at God. Mad, angry, humiliated. I just pee'd on myself. Yeah...thanks for noth'n God!

Then I pee.

& pee.

& pee.

Let me just tell you.....I pee'd like a frat boy after an all night bender. I pee'd so much I could have read the last book in the Harry Potter series. I think I even took a nap while peeing. How the heck it didn't come out while I was laying on the bed is beyond me.

I sat dazed..on the pot. (I really hope you are visualising this.) Maybe God did help me out. Walking back to the bed I was scared of what I would see. My husband said it was dry.

Ummm what? I just empty a pint of piss on that mattress, are you sure?

It's dry as a bone.

I made him smell it. He didn't want to. SMELL IT! Smell it NOW! (he did) Then I smelled it. I almost called my friend down to smell it.....but I didn't...cuz that would be weird.

I'll be damned. The bed was dry. It smelled fine. Some how I managed to pee a lung out, but not have it get on the mattress.

I guess God did hear my prayers.

I later apologised to Him for ragging at Him. Then I recognized I had a serious problem.

God had psychically placed me where I now needed to go. Soon he placed my down on the door step of a neurosurgeon. She would be the one that was an answer to a prayer.

But first...I had to second guess....& again God physically told me were to go.

And this time....would be more hellish then the last.

That girl

2011-05-16T21:46:00.002-05:00

I am the type of girl who....

Didn't wear tampons till I was 15 cuz my Mom told me I would get TSS & die.

Didn't like to take pain medication like Tylenol or Ibuprofen in the 80's because Mom said I would be poisoned & die

Had 4 babies...3 of them drug free.

Uses a neti pot...Sick invention that sometimes work...but always makes a mess & gags me.

Eats raw garlic when I feel a cold coming on...then my farts & sweat smell like garlic...sexyyyy.

Used FAM (Fertility Awareness Method) for birth control successfully for 9 years cuz you know, BC is of the devil & makes me cranky & moody.

Goes to the Chiropractor when my back is wonky.

Has breastfed for a total of 73 months.

Used cloth diapers.

Does/did yoga.

Thinks positive thinking can ease pain.

Exercise will make all your aches & pains go away.

Sniffs eucalyptus oil when I get a sinus infection.

Ahhh, yep...that's me! Crunchy girl!

Oh how young & stupid I was. Yeah crunch worked...when I had no real problems! I was the girl telling people that if they put their mind to it they could achieve a healthy drug free birth, pain free nursing, a healthy body & mind, & goop free sinus.

To all those people....I was YOUNG & STUPID.....forgive me!

Now at the ripe o' age of 38...I have learned my lesson. Drugs are good! Sometimes positive thinking can't change your health!

Uggg, I'm the girl who judged harshly those trollops that got an IUD shoved up into their lady parts. For SHAME! Putting a foreign object into ones cavity! Insanity!

Yeah....then I went into peri menopause & bled buckets for 10 days a month. Oh yeah...I battle mental illness that didn't go away w/ yoga & positive thinking...so the thought of having another spawn had me day dreaming of how I was going to kill myself.

I was the girl who"humfpt" when young moms wanted nothing to do w/ a drug free birth. Why would they want to deny their baby the gift of a drug free birth? (note to reader....I had that thought for less then a year....cuz then I started actually WORKING with birthing moms. And birth %&$#ing hurts!) Then I got pregnant w/ my 4th & my body broke down. That birth was 25 hours long & very VERY painful.

Rolled my eyes at the fear mongers who said that we should fear the flu. "the sky is falling! Get a flu shot or go see your Dr!" Fevers are good, they help your body kill off the infections. Raw garlic & large doses of vit C will take care of things.

Then I got walking pneumonia (thought it was just the flu), cracked my ribs from coughing for 3 months. Then finally crawled into prompt care screaming "give me drugs, DRUGS!" I could hear the Dr. reading my nose culture in the hallway. He actually said "holy S&%$, this ain't the flu!" This no named Dr, who I grew up to think didn't care (Some Dr's are evil, but not all) held my shoulders, looked into my eyes, told me I was very sick & I must take these drugs. If I don't get better in 24 hours I had to go straight to the ER. Pneumonia can kill quickly. I remember the fear in his face. Then I remember nothing for a few hours as I convulsed in pain & fever....reeking of garlic. Hearing my husband say it smelled like death in our bedroom.

10 hours later I came back to earth. The drugs working their magic. Me realising what I fool I was for nearly killing myself.

That was the day the crunch....got punched in the face.

I now have a herniated disc, spinal stenosis & severe sciatica......Let me just say, all those years of "baby wearing" shot my back to hell. Dang babies! They look cute but deep down inside they only live to destroy & maim!

For almost 6 moths I have done "physical therapy" at home. I did back exercises twice a day. I sleep on my side now ...which I HATE. I breath deeply & meditate. I even saw a chiro. ...who worked on me for about a month & saw me worsen...then promptly told me "Maybe it's time to try an MRI & drugs."

My pain has worsened so much I now take Vicoden. Yeah...me...the chick who does acupressure on myself for headaches instead of popping pills. A month ago I had to leave my job. I never walk off a job. But 2 hours into cleaning I started to panic from the pain. The pain making me want to vomit. Soon my leg wouldn't move. I found myself on the marble bathroom floor trying not to scream out from the devil grip on my leg.

And so that's my life. Caught somewhere between face down on my friends carpet shaking in agony, sweating, howling to God to kill me & pissing myself in my bed because once I lay down I can no longer move. (don't worry, I use real, old lady "oops I crapped my pants" pee pads.....I don't crochet my own!)

But fear not! I am on my way into surgery! With a Mayo (& not the kind you spread on bread) trained Dr!

A real Dr!
A Dr. with drugs! (For SHAME!)
A Dr. with tools (Rub some garlic on your arse!)
A Dr. who can slice into my spine! (But that's not the way nature intended!)
A Dr. who will bill me an arm & a leg...& I won't care! (positive thoughts are free!)

Oh yes my friends...this girl has gone

MAINSTREAM!

I'm kick'n the crunch to the curb & embracing Doctor MAGIC!

Next....I will shop at the MALL instead of Goodwill!

So my friends, I will return after my evil surgery to report how it worked. Wish me luck. Sprinkle me with fairy dust. Dance around The Burning Man. Howl at the moon. Or....just pray for me. And if anyone needs some cloth menstrual pads or a neti pot....come on over. I'll trade those things for Vicoden!

Float

2011-04-03T17:32:00.013-05:00

For this brief moment this ol' questioning skeptic has felt peace, calm, joy & faith.

I'm just going to sit here & enjoy it. I'm going to silence my rambling mind. I'm sure soon, this feeling will blow away as a tissue in the wind. I have spent so long questioning & analyzing all the feeling & thoughts that jump into my head. "Oh, well that's just how the brain works. God is not involved. The Holy Ghost is not involved. The Man in the Moon is not involved. I just heard something that feels nice...like a nice song. It means nothing, or does it? Is it my brain firing off neurons or is it truly the spirit speaking to me?"

Then I just keep tumbling down the rabbit hole. Questioning & judging & doubting & analyzing....round & round my mind goes.....It has become draining....this bullet train my sick brain has put me on.

But for now I will allow myself to say...I felt the Holy Spirit. I'm not going to question right now but just enjoy it. Let it float me away to a place that has been lost to me for so long.

Blessings? Where?!

2011-03-08T22:03:00.013-06:00

Blessings....sighhhhhhhhh.

For the most part I see them all around....kind of...if I'm in a decent mood.

But then I get pissy.

My eyes are crap.

My house won't sell.

The laundry breeds.

The car is in the shop...again..

My leg hair is getting thicker.

Don't even ask about the neck, chin & lip hair.

My back is whack.

Whine. Whine. Whine.

I must say...it's hard to see through blinding pain day after day. Pain makes me cranky. Pain makes me impatient. Pain makes me madder then a cat on fire.

Since I stopped working out...which was the single most stupid thing I have done in a long time.... I gave up...so has my back. For 4 months I have had Sciatica...every...dang-nab-it day.....four months.

Did you hear me? 4 months

So what sciatica is..is basically a mashed nerve that shoots pain from my arse straight down into my foot. At it's worse, the pain literally cripples me...at the least...it makes me want to chop my leg off. Really, I have thought...Just whack it off! But then...with my luck, I would probably have phantom pain & then I would just end up eating a bullet.

Yes, I have seen a back cracker. It was relaxing....but the thought of paying this man thousands of $ to crack my back & squeeze my butt (yeah...I totally get felt up...most enjoyable part !) takes any relaxing thoughts & beats them w/ a baseball bat. Plus...there is no proof that after I spend 1,000 of $$ it will work.

Yes, I work out...well more like grab my arse as I moan in pain as I try to move my body... in a way to ease the pain. If I work out 3 times a day, the pain can be bearable.

Yes, I hop myself up on Ibuprofen. But I find I need to up my dose every time just to be able to breath...so that's not working.

Yes, I have considered ingesting medical Mary Jane...Hey, it's an herb of the earth & it's safer then Vicodin or Oxycontin....but then again I am not a hippie & it's not legal in my state...whatever.

Yes, I eat lots of chocolate.

Sigh...what's a girl to do? Live like this forever? Holy crap I'm only 37! I can't bend over to put on my socks w/o pissing my pants from the pain!

So one day I talked to my religious leader. I call him The Man. Not as in "Sock to The Man, man..he sucks!" More like..."Golly he's the nicest Man in the world, man." I talk about my religious mind screws & he gives me hugs & candy. Pretty sweet deal. One day I was talking to The Man with my husband. As I sat in his office I asked...NAY Demanded he help my husband give me a blessing to relieve my pain.

So yeah...I am in that much pain. Anyone who knows me, knows I cock my eyebrow at spiritual healing stuff.

The Man & my husband agreed to give me some healing. Now do I believe that people can be healed by "laying on of hands"? Well, I have never seen the evidence, but I like to believe in the possibility. I am a pretty harsh critic when it comes to spiritual stuff.

But I trusted these guys & I thought..I need this or the LEG IS COMING OFF!

So what happens during a blessing is simple. The Man puts a drop of anointed Virgin Olive Oil on my head. Then resting his hands on my head he says my full name & "anoints" me with the oil. Then his hands are lifted for a second. Next, 4 hands are now placed on my head as the husband seals the anointing. The man sealing the anointing then says a non scripted prayer. He speaks as he is moved to & I sit there....all the while the hands of his friend rests on top of his.

I sit there with 4 warm hands on my head.

Big, man hands.

The words my husband speaks are simple & sweet. No revelation is spoken. No speaking in tongues. No lightning is shooting through my head. Just plain & simple words.

And I relish it.

I am struck by how lucky I am to have these hands perched on top of my head.

I am lucky to have these men in my life who are sweet & kind & funny.

I am lucky to know, if I ever suffer from pain of body, mind or spirit...there is always to safe place for me to land.

I am lucky that these men believe in God more then I do.

I am lucky they take my ranting with a grain of salt & a grain of fear.

I am lucky that these men help guide me when I am blinded.

I am lucky that I feel their love.

How many gals really know that the men in their lives love them?

That Sunday I got up from the chair after the blessing. My butt muscle seized like it always does....just to let me know my nerve is still damaged....but this time the only thing I was focused on was the faces of 2 really great guys. Just men. Just dudes, fellas, gents. No God stood before me. No kings. No rulers. Just 2 guys who loved me.

I really didn't care if I was healed or not. I cared more about the love these fellas pumped through my brain. I cared more that they believed.

Funny thing though. The next day I feel ill. Ya know the type... every-time-your-heart-pumps-the-blood-pounds-so-loud-in-your-head-you-want-to-scream ill. Then fever, shivering ill. Yeah. I know, RIGHT! After I just got a freak'n blessing! Not funny God! But as I broke down in tears about my sinus revolt & weeping that I can be sick AND have butt pain...the pain...went away. So for 2 days I was really sick. Sinus head pounding sick. But my back? Barely a throb. I didn't hobble to the bathroom. I could roll over in bed w/o out Lamaze breathing. I could sit w/o a knife in my back. I could stand up straight.

When my sinus pain went away...my butt/leg/foot pain came roaring back.

So my blessing? Well, I have chronic, searing, life altering back/butt/leg pain. Maybe w/ therapy & other treatments I will be able to get a handle on it. But the blessing is

I'm not alone.

And I happened to be surrounded by really, truly, lovely, funny, kind men. Men who take my kids out to hockey games. Men who can take a joke. Men who let me sing rock songs w/ them. Men who sit by me in the movies & offer me popcorn. Men who high 5 my daughters.

Men who who are not afraid to show me or my famliy love & feed me candy....

even when I swear, spit venom, dance like a wounded chicken....while clutching my butt for the world to see.

Letters

2011-01-27T21:03:00.000-06:00

Seeing my Dad reclining on the couch fighting sleep makes me smile. There is work that needs to be done, so I sneak off into the front room. I can feel the blood pump through my veins. I become startled at how slow it is. I blink & I am face down into the blue carpet...drooling.

How long have I been laying here?

I find I can't get up to my feet. I'm on my hands & knees panting. I realize my time is running out. I am not frightened at all. I am very excited. My head is about to explode with joy, but my body doesn't respond.

I hear my Dad ask me when will my family return home from shopping. I try to respond in a way that won't frighten my Dad. In the strongest voice I can muster, I crock out "Soon, Dad..soon." He is pleased with my response & goes back to his couch induced sleep.

I am calm & happy as my body starts to break down. My letters to my family have been written. The clothes I will wear have been set out. The only thing I worry about is their pain. I did my best to explain in my letters how excited I was & how happy I will be with my new adventure. The letters would help them cope. I have done all that I can do to prepare them for my death.

I blink once more...& again I am face down in the dark blue carpet. I feel the wave of death getting deeper. My belly is excited. It jumps with wild abandon...just like it did the time I went down those crazy water slides at the park. I can't contain my happiness. My eyes close as I start to descend down that eternal water slid.

"CAW-CAW!"

What the heck?!

"CAW-CAW!!"

Opening one eye I see a jet black crow by the side of my face. I ask her what she wants...I'm kind of busy dying here.

"What about the notes to your friends?"

CRAP! My friends! Oh no! They need notes too. I roll to my back as the crow moves to stand on my toes....her feet a fleshy and cold. The words I have in my head refuse to move to my mouth. I need help...but my lips are starting to numb. The great bird cocks her head, understanding my plea. Her beady black eye moves slightly off to the left, I follow her gaze & find my child's crayon laying on the floor. It takes every once of strength I have to grab at it. With the crayon held in my weak grip, I frantically start to write my love notes to my friends.

My pulse slows & my breathing comes in short bursts. I start to panic as the names of my friends leak out of my brain. So many names. Men & women I love. Stupid lack of oxygen is giving me death brain farts. I see each friend as clear as day...but their names have escape me.

Scribbling on bits of paper I find scattered on the floor, the crows start to gather. One by one, they swoop gracefully down to the floor. They hop & chatter. excited. joyful. I tell them to wait. Waitttt. The crows start to caw at me, begging me to play with them.

"Give it a rest! I'm trying to write here!"

A crow hops on my chest & ask me why I panic.

"If you haven't noticed I'm dying here & I have to write these notes to my friends. They need to know how much I love them. They have to know how unique they are. They have to know how much I admire them. So stop the Caw-Caw pow wow & let me write!"

The crows scatter & watch...still cawing to themselves...I am now unnerved...those dang crows...never can take direction.

By now the names of the friends escape me...I am left to address them by nick names. The Hugger, The Crafter, The Nurturer, The Fiesty, The Saint, The Mother, The Bishop, The Giggler, The Beadmaker, The Musicman, The Dreamer, The Godfather, The Writer, The Classic...name after name. Paper flies. My crayon turns to dust. A crow drops another crayon onto my belly. My writing become weak squiggles as my life drains into the carpet.

Soon the paper runs out. I try to write on my clothes but it won't hold the words.

"But my friends...they have to know."

My crow scoots a black marker towards me. It bumps my pinkie. I look at her. "But I'm dead."

Not yet...your not done...we'll wait.

The panic leaves me. With all the strength I can muster, I remove my clothes. I continue to write my love notes to my friends on my flesh. Words of encouragement, love, humor soon begin to blacken out my skin.

I finish my quest. The crows gather all my paper notes & begin to cover my body. I sweep them up w/ my arms & I am amazed by all the notes I have. The paper is warm & soft. I close my eyes.

"I'm ready to play now."

My crow friends dance and hop. Their caws lift me up & away.

"Caw-Caw_Caw-Caw"

Beep-Beep-Caw-Peep-Caw-Beep

I awake to the weird chorus of the alarm clock & a pack of cackling black crows perched on the tree outside of my window. By the hazy light coming through the crack in my window blind I know it will be another gloomy January day.

Pushing up from my pillow I notice that I had been drooling...so...gross.

This...... is my morning.

What...the...Heck. Seriously?

These dreams are nutty!

My friend "The Nurturer" will have a hay day dissecting my weird a$$ dream. She thinks dreams holds the key to our lives. The can unlock our pain, joys,sorrows & fears. We just need to learn how to interpret them.

I, "The Skeptic" thinks it's a bunch of flaky crap...although...fun flaky crap.

I sit on the edge of my bed listening to the sounds of the wise crows. I think about how I have been seeing them a lot lately, sitting in trees.... picking at the neighbors garbage bags. Most people don't like crows. But I do. Black crows are one of the smartest birds out there in bird land. The best part of the crow....their personality. They are jokers. They will dive bomb other birds...even birds LARGER then them....just so they will be chased. They play tag...TAG! Who doesn't love tag?!

I get 2 distinct massages out of my dream. (The Nurture would be proud I'm putting so much effort into this dream crap) The first message;

Tell my friends & family how much I love them. Be more open with my admiration & love for them.

Second message...and the most important one;

Stop drinking chocolate milk before bed.

Sexy fine mental issues

2011-01-02T19:36:00.001-06:00

I have issues.

Raised by older parents, partying with older people...it messed me up as a girl. I spent most of my youth shopping at women's' stores. I couldn't stand stores like the hip Fashion Bug or the "teen" isles at JC Penny's. Oh no! I shopped at The Silhouette, a swanky little store for OLD LADIES! (Think Clearwater Creek...but a bit fancier)

I didn't realise I had a problem until my Aunt came out to visit me (which...she never did before...it totally freaked me out!) after my mom died. My Dad & my Aunt drag me out to the mall to go shopping for new school clothes since mom was no longer shopping with the living. I go into my favorite store & go hog wild! I come out with soft, green dress pants, a cream turtle neck & a matching green sweater w/ cream colored leaves on it. It was beautiful....for a 50 year old!

Here's a little detour. Ya'll know by now...I love pictures! Enjoy this small picture gallery dedicated to my love of turtlenecks pared w/ sweaters. I wore them all the time....yes, I even wore sweaters in the summer.

Rocking my blue knit sweater at my 15th. birthday.

I'm 15. I'm cranky. I hated how I looked. Notice my bangs. My mom was horrified that I sat for our Christmas picture with "greasy spikes for bangs.". And I....didn't care.

Sexy Freshman sweater combo

Still 15...not as cranky. Here's Dad & I on spring break after Mom died. Notice...the sweater. We went to the Virgin Islands...& I wore a sweater. I even wore it over my bathing suit....did I mention we went to the very hot Virgin Islands? Those were the days I didn't sweat.

18....wearing my fathers turtleneck & sweater. Cuz nothing says awesome then a retro mans sweater......and sausage roll bangs.

This has concluded my pictorial stroll through my sweater years...carry on.

I was confident as I strolled out of the dressing room! My Aunt gasped. She thought I was joking. She argued & argued with me that the clothing I wore was...get this...not appropriate for a 15 year old girl. I looked like a 35 year old soccer mom. Of course that was the look I was going for, but she still refused to buy it for me. So we were at a stand still...either I buy the funky teen crap or nothing. I voted nothing & walked out of the store.

My Aunt & Dad argue about me...the problem child. How dare you wear a sweater young lady! Slut it up for Heavens sake! Be a un respectable teenager for once in your life!

My Dad finally stood up for me & said if I feel comfortable in a sweater set then so be it. He went back & bought the outfit for me...as my Aunt wrung her hands.

So this old lady grew up. I now can wear what I want. And I do...oh yes, I do! First & foremost...it has to be comfortable. I have SIDs....... Sensory Integration Dysfunction so comfort is a must, not a want. SID basically means if it feels weird...I'm off all day & can't function.

Some times I can't sleep cuz my tum tum hurts.... because I'm having a bloated day & my waistband is killing me. So I strip off the offending tight undies. OHHH YEAHHHH my husband says...then he cries silently as I put back on my baggy sleep pants sans the tighter then heck undies.

I can't move...honestly move.... if my waist band is too tight, my butt is squeezed, my thighs are squeezed (let's stop here & give thanks for stretchy jeans! Oh my heck what a Godsend! remember when you would have to warm up your thick jeans? Auuggg, I shutter at the thought!) my bra is off center a millimeter, my socks have bumps in it, my neck is squeezed or my armpits restrained. Oh my goodness I'm a child!

So I now walk around town in this......

O' my plum, velveteen sweat suit! How I love thee! You are like butter! & your waistband doesn't make me fart!

While I'm at home I need my house shoes. I have 2 pair...1 for summer & these...

for winter. (Note my winter thermals. RAWWWRRRRR) My shoes help me get through the day. When I can't find them I cry "MY SHOES! WHERE'S MY SHOES!!! I...CAN'T......FUNCTION!" "Shoes? SHOooOOooES?" (like...my shoes will answer me...I need meds!) Then I flap my hands as if I'm shaking off the dish washing water. I frantically pace, I moan & kvetch all the while flapping my hands until I find them.

My husband screaming "KIDS! Find your mothers shoes! FIND THEM!"
The house is in a panic. "For all the love that is holy...Find your mothers Dang SHOES!"

I find my comfortable, loved shoes & sigh.

My husband then cries a little.

I hope I never get too fug-tagualr with my wardrobe. I rely on friends that say "Seriously Jen? That won't do." I have a husband who is not afarid...no...he is afraid...but he does tell me when something might look...."off."

I hope as I get older I can continue to merge fashion with comfort. Lets face it....life is too short to have your butt get flossed everyday. I don't want to be the women who smells like mothballs as I wear my velveteen track suits. BUT...I do want the be the women who wears velveteen track suits....good luck peeling those babies out of my cold, clammy hands!

But I have confidence in my future. Really, I'm already out in public with plum sweat pants....I can't regress anymore....... can I?

Age isn't a number

2010-12-08T09:37:00.010-06:00

It's an attitude. yadda,yadda, yaddaaaaaaa

I'm pretty dang old for being so young. 37 to be exact. Yeah, that's right...I said 37. Ain't no shame in a lady revealing her age! (cue mother choking on dirt as she rolls in her grave!) I grew up around old people. My parents were considered "very old" when they had me. Of course that was in the 70's & any women over 35 having babies were considered geratric...no...really.

And back in the day a lady NEVER revealed her true age. For SHAME! Oh no...a true lady would do the honorable thing and LIE. Lie about her age. Since I was surrounded by "old" people I saw a lot of this. I heard my mom lie many times. I learned early on not to correct her about her age in front of people......I never knew a stare could burn your skin!

Random old person: "Why Gail, you are too funny! Your skin looks great! How old are you now?"

Mom: "Oh you are so sweet, why I just turned 37." says the 45 year old

Little Jenny: "Mom! You're not 37 you're fortyyyyyyyy....."

Mom: cue death stare

Little Jenny "AAhhhhhhhh, my skin! It's on fireeeeee"

I always got a kick out of these obviously OLD women lying about their age. Even as a kid I could tell they were lying! After attending one swinging old folks party, I commented to my mom how horrible Billy Jean looked for being 35. My mom said Billy was really 54.

It was then I swore to myself that I would end this archaic law of age lying! For Billy Jean looked like a train wreak as a 35 year old women but she looked great for 54. I felt embarrassed for her. Did she really think telling people she was 35 would make them magically see her as 35? No, of course not! It made people walk away saying "wow! She looks like sh%$! for her age!"

But here is my dilemma.....I'm 37...and only getting older.
I have bad circulation (I'm a slow bleeder...which pisses off tecs trying to take my blood...I hate pissing off people who stick needles in my arm) so I am always cold.
I'm so cold, I wear thermal undies.
My back is trashed.
My bladder threatens to detach itself from me & bounce down the highway,
I have to cross my legs every time I laugh, sneeze, cough or run...in fear the bladder jiggles it's self free....I really don't need that thing skittering across the floor. "Hey, did someone lose a bladder? I have a bladder in aisle 5, lost bladder is aisle 5!"
My eyesight is shot to hades,
Things pop & creek when I move.
I fart at random times...which always catches me off guard.
...did I mention I'm only 37? Great Scott! How will I functions at 65?

Even though my body ages...I still feel like I am 15. Gawky & weird...out of place. I randomly say really stupid & disturbing things. I sometimes I snort when I laugh. I like stupid humor (The World Vs. Scott Pilgrim is a must see! Theatrical genius!) I jump up & down when I'm excited...well more like jiggle up & down...I don't want to give bladder an excuse for bailing early.

In short...I am a immature 37 year old women.

Most of the time I embrace it. I try to think of myself as a slightly less hairy Robin Williams. Why Robin you ask? Well lets just say one night long ago, at a hot party at my friends house. I...a 17 year old weirdo did NOT play spin the bottle...I turned on HBO & watched Robin....all by myself. And I had a very good time by myself. So much fun that my cries were heard down stairs by the party people that they rushed upstairs to rescue me from the bear trap I obviously got my foot clamped into. There they found me on all fours , tears streaming out of my eyes, trying desperately to breath....yes, he was THAT funny! Very bad & very funny. So I admire the heck out of him....I like...totally understand Robin Williams....well I don't understand the binge drinking faze he had....or the coke fueled rages...or the melt downs....or the mental problems....oh heck, the man made me laugh, that's all that counts!

Hopefully.... I can fully embrace my lame, immature self, because pretty soon I'll truly be old. And let's face it...which is cooler? To have Grandma scour at her grandchildren & say things like "Damn kids these days! Be useful & get Grandma her scriptures & Metamucil float."

or

"Hey kids, Wanna have a farting contest?"

I think I'm going to have to go with the farting Grandma.

Which reminds me....I got to have a Fiber One bar cuz you can't have a healthy enough colon!

There are.... days

2010-11-15T20:43:00.000-06:00

Many days I walk , teetering on a thin rail hovering over vast dark water. One foot in front of the other, I am aware of the blackness that churns beneath me. Often times I feel her blackness caress my foot. When she slowly rises to meet me, I shake her off. But there are times, she snakes herself slowing around... up my body. The blackness is smooth and warm. An old friend begging me to let her in. There are days I refuse her, but I blink & she has silently slithered into my veins without invitation. She settles in my belly, warm, comfortable, destructive. She blinds me & holds me captive. She confuses me with her familiar warmth and her screaming cold. How can 2 polar opposites exist in one body? How can this pain be so heartbreaking beautiful?

There are days she sneaks silently up behind me. I can't feel her lurk. Wordlessly she descends upon me. Wrapping her steel arms around my waist. Embedding her nails into my skin. Tangling her fingers into my hair. One moment I am happy & chatting with friends, then next moment she has me in a death grip flinging me backwards. Opening up the ground & encasing me in thick mud. I hate when she does that. You brat, here I was minding my own business & you yank me out of the scene. That's not fair! But she just hold me tighter. Squeezing the air out of my lungs & soon I forget we are fighting.

The days she eases into me are the days I can fight her. Resist her pull. I shake my head free of her lies. I breath in truth. I fight an internal struggle. Some days I emerge bloody & triumphant. Some days...I lose. I hold up my hands & surrender. I sink down with her. I allow her to hold me down under the black water. I can see the life swirl around me. Can anyone see me down here?

Have you ever made friends with your enemies? Have you ever been so terrified of them you develop the utmost respect for them? Have you ever bowed to their power? If you can't fight them, join them? There are days...I join my enemy. I allow her to weave her fingers in between mine. Her darkness shrouds me. We go down together. I am miserable and mindless. My own words eat into my head. Devour my spirit. Like any bad drug I want it to relieve it's hold on me, yet it's all I know. Some days, I'm afraid for it to leave me. Afraid she will leave me, that's how wickedly clever she is. She kills me & I don't want her to leave. How's that for a sick relationship?

No prayer, no Dr., no friend, no lover, no God can pull her from me. I have trying all these "solutions." I have screamed, I have kicked, I have raged, I have prayed on bloody knees & with a destroyed heart....and nothing. Nothing will take her from me. Try as I might, I can not rid her.

So now, she walks with me. She is all around. Under my feet, in the corner of my brain, on my breath. She is me & I am her. The fear I have of her... still lingers. She is deadly. She can destroy. She can not be trusted. But then again....I can not be trusted. I watch her out of the corner of my eye. I hold her close. I weave my fingers between hers....& I hold my enemy tight. When she takes me under that warm black water.... I wait her out. The moment she loses her grip, I push myself up for a gulp of air. I find the hand of that friend, that lover, that God & I allow them to pull me completely from the watery grave.

There are days I fight myself & I win. But there are days....there...are..... days.

Please read with the lights off

2010-10-31T23:59:00.004-05:00

Come on in kids & I'll tell you a tale. A tale of things that go bump in the night & ghostly whispers that rattle your insides.

MMMuuuaaahhhhhh!

First I must tell you , I don't believe in ghosts....kind of...sort off...well sometimes I do. I strongly believe that our brains are the one freaking us out most of the time.

Most of the time

I can explain "scary things" away...just like I have the ability to explain "spiritual things" away. (That's not such a good thing when one struggles to hold on to The Religion.)

Ghosts may or may not exist. I have seen, felt & heard things that to the average emotional train wreck could be viewed as "unexplainable ghostly activity." All those times...I have been able to use my very black/white thinking to dig deeper & figure out what is really happening. My brain/overactive imagination...on scare mode, was usually the culprit.

There have only been 2 time in my life that I could not explain away what has happen to me. 2 times that I have felt my blood turn to ice & my body scream from every crevice. 2 times I have felt...shear, blinding, terror.................

This story is an account of one of those times. Do you dare to read further?

Love Affair

Anyone who know me, knows I love, adore, devour old houses. I was 6 when I moved into a sturdy, stone barn built in 1850. I soon fell in love with the wonder of old homes, thanks to our stone barn in Poedunkville.

When I was 14, my friends & I went to my towns 4th. of July fest. The focal of the festival was an old, run down, dilapidated house. The food, beer tents & carnival rides were set up on her sprawling grounds. I was instantly in love with her. I begged my friend to take a tour, but they were much more interested in the Whirlly Gig. So I wanderer over to the front door & was let in. For 2 hours I stayed in the house. Peppering the chagrined older women with questions. I adored the musty, moldy smell of the place. She had once been grand. The largest, modern house in the county. She slowly, over time lost her crown. She was abused, burned, vacated, flooded, infested. And now....she sat. Just a handful of volunteers who loved her.

Mr. Doles office. Main floor

Mr. Doles bedroom. 2nd. floor

I told them that I would volunteer. Eye brows raised. Necks craned for the nearest knowledgeable person. "Can a kid be on our team? She's a bit young." The answer I received was "Honey, we'll take all the help we can get!"

So for the next 6 summers I worked the house during our Lake Side fest. Preparations would take weeks to clean & prepare the house. Our little group of volunteers had virtually no money, no city support & hardly any neighborly support. Some even argued for years to tear her down. (I would have strapped myself to her grand staircase before I let anyone touch her.)

J.J. & I taking a much needed break at the foot of the grand staircase.

My friend & I were the youngest people on the team. We were a rag tag bunch. A handful of powerful older women, a few of their aged husbands. There was Bob...who never spoke, just rocked back & forth on his feet & mumbled. Bob came hand in hand with Tim. A wirey 20 something year old man. Both Bob & Tim were mentally impaired. But that didn't matter to anyone. They work as hard as anyone else & loved the house just as much as we did.

J.J., Tim & I modeling on top of a very cool, very vintage Tin Lizzie. J.J. & I are dressed in real, honest to goodness flapper dresses circa 1927.

Tim was constantly scurrying around the house. I would catch him smoking cigarettes & I would yell at him...chase him out of the house. He gave me gum & took me on adventures around the house. Once he swear he saw something hanging in the burnt rafters on the 3rd floor. The third floor was quite...desolate. It had five rooms. One of the rooms was to unsafe to go into. The floors couldn't hold the weight of a field mouse. Next to that was a small room that use to lead up to the tower/turret at the very tippy top of the house. But the tower burned in a fire, so only the stair room with steps leading to now where was all that remained. There was an old work room. A chapel for the family, and a maids chamber. Years ago the part that held the large maid chamber burned. Behind the locked servants door, was half a room, no window, dark & singed for the decade old fire. Tim & I grab flash lights & headed into the black as tar room. I shined a flash light as 90 lb. Tim shimmied up the rafters to find...........an old cloth. Nothing special. Nothing cool. Just some old tattered cloth. We laughed as we tumbled out of the room covered in dust & old ash. Slapping each other on the back, teasing each other for thinking we found some treasure.

I tell you that because I was never afraid of the house. I rummaged around in pitch black burnt rooms. I would sneak into the house at night just to sit in the windows looking at the lake.

One of the many window seats. I would sit in the turret tower on the 3rd floor on my breaks during the fair. Successfully freaking out the people the people below. The "girl in the window" routine actually got people to buy tickets. They hoped to catch a glimpse of "the ghost in the window."

I worked alone in the vast mansion while the crew went to lunch and I never felt threaten or scared. On the contrary, I felt safe.

The Jen's bringing the glam to the dusty mansion.

I was 20 the last year I worked there. My life would soon pull me away from the house. I felt it was time to go. I had so many great time at the Dole. I cherished my memories there. I was excited to move on but terribly sad to leave my old friend behind. Her days were beginning to be numbered. I was afraid she would soon be deemed to unsafe to show to the public. I wished I had millions to donate. But all I had was my hands. All I could do is scrap her floors & place worn decorations around the house one last time.

The summer night was warm & thick. There was only one air condition unit in the house. And that was in a front porch turned dressing room/ staff lunch room. The rest of the house dripped with humidity. 7 people including my friend J.J were down on the main level working away. Cleaning, making posters for the fair & pulling out the decorations. J.J & I were hunched over a poster when one for the volunteer's, stooped with age cried out "If I have to climb those damn stairs one more time I will shot somebody! Auuggg, I need the dried flowers from the 3rd floor. I will pay anyone one great sums of $$ if they skitter up there & get those flowers." No one moved...we all just giggled. "You...Jenny! You are a full century younger then me, get your backside up there!"

I gladly went for her.

Up the grand staircase I went. Standing at the top of the 2 nd floor, the summer sun set made the ceilings explode with reds and yellows. Oh how I loved this place. I made my way over to the next stair case. Up, up, up to the 3rd floor I rose. I see the dried flowers sitting on the old work table in the butler/work room. The light from the windows illuminate the dust that swirls around in the air. Grabbing a wooden bucket, I plop the dead, dusty flowers into it. As I walk back to descend the staircase all I could think was "I really need to buy some new flowers cuz these are gross"

The menacing staircase leading up to the 3rd. floor.

What happens next...last for only 4 seconds at the most. But the memory has lasted a life time.

In my left hand I hold the bucket. My right rests lightly on the mahogany handrail. It's smooth and graceful under my fingers. I begin to descend the stairs.

One step.

I am hit with a swoosh of freezing cold air. It startles me, because the house is swimming in summer soup.

Next step, my foot hovers over the next step.

THWACK!

I am thunked on the back which such force it knocks the air from my lungs. I was hit...internally.... square on my back. My ribs felt like they buckled.

The force of the hit sends me falling down the stairs.

The bucket of flowers sail through the air. Bang! bang! Bang! Down the steep stairs it tumbles. Flowers for the dead fly through the air. I can feel my lips turn blue, it's so cold.

I close my eye & tell myself to go limp. The best was to survive the next 14 step is to just go...dead limp.

Eye squeezed tight, I fall. I wonder if my face will be the first thing to hit the stairs. "go limp, golimpgolimpgolimp" Do I die today?

Warmth.

Warmth on my chest.

Another thump, but this time it's stabilizing, not harsh. My chest is warm.

I open my eyes as both my feet plant firmly, with a thud.....5 curved steps down from where I first took flight.

I stand, upright, firmly rooted....5..... freak'n........ steps down. Cold air swirls around my back, but my chest...was warm. As if someones hand their hands on my chest.....................Holy mother of bat droppings!

All I hear is my breath , ragged like I had run a mile race. I pant & pant. With in 4 seconds I was happily making my way down a steep curve staircase that I have gone up & down on 15,000 times before to being violently internally pushed, then gently stopped. What the Hell's Bells was that for?!

I'm mad & horrified at the same time.

The blood pounds in my ears. I clutch at my breast trying to feel the invisible hand that held me. The house is sweaty again. The cold gust has dissipated. All is normal.

Then

I run like hell down the rest of the stairs. All I hear behind me is POP! POP! POP! I say out loud, "It's the old wood popping up as my foot leave the stair. Does it all the time.... not scared notscarednotSCARED"

But there ain't no way I'm looking back! I grab the buckets & the clump of flowers & run down the next stair case. The old stairs POPPING up behind me.

Safe on the main floor I stand...sucking in musty air. Shaking. Confused. I gather myself cuz the last thing I wanted to do was tumble into the front room all 'damsel in distress" mode. I back myself up against a wall....watching the staircase. Calming my heart rate. I am soothed by the chit chat behind me. I try to explain to myself what just happened. But I can't think. I don't want to remember. I just want to get out.

5 minutes. 10 minutes. Who knows how long I stand there collecting myself. When I finally turn the corner I see J.J. legs crossed chatting with an older man. Everyone is smiling. I am calm. I am safe. I walk into the room. I place my misshapen wooden bucket on a table & go back to my poster. Head down, I breath.....I breath. I am safe.

The old lady sees me. "took you long enou...oh my gawd! Are you ok? You are white as a sheet! It's as if you saw a ghost!"

That night I walked out of the mansion, I didn't look back. I just hoped on my bike & rode home in the dark.

I still love old houses. I still to this day can not figure out what happened on that 3rd floor stair case. I still don't know if I believe in ghost. But one thing is for sure......Houses are

alive!

As for the Dole Mansion.....well, follow the link to find out what has happened to her.
http://www.lakesidelegacy.org/dole-mansion.html

Bury the Disturbed - 7

2010-10-26T22:45:00.002-05:00

I feel naked with my newly cut hair. Dressed in a snappy brown suit.

My feet ached. My head felt swollen.

I stood,

walked,

avoided,

sat in corners.

I smiled & hugged & assured everyone that "yes, the man in the pink shirt is my mothers son. Yes, my Dad is fine...(dumb fluckers....my mothers dead...seriously? Don't ask if I or Dad are FINE as we stand next to our DEAD mothers/wife open coffin you stink'n jello for brains! GAH!)

6 hours I stood, in a sweltering funeral parlor at my mothers viewing. People who long ago left my mothers life filtered in & out to view the train wreck & say crap like "I always admire your mother." Big fatty fat, fat Liar, you dropped her as a friend once you found out she had cancer of the breast. Afraid "it" would rub off on you. Heaven forbid she should bump your elbow & have all your hair fall out in clumps!

"She looks lovely" Really? Whatever...she is wearing PURPLE eye shadow...it don't go well w/ death pallor GRAY.

"God needed her." Soooo a 15 year old girl didn't? Wow...your God is one greedy, needy man. I have decided I don't like him much.

"The good die young" Ok, I won't even start to to explain to your simple mind how disturbing that is...move along you nut case!

I remember all disturbing comments, looks & sighs of that day in slow motion. Slowwwww moOoOo...standing..wearing pantie hose...in a funeral parlor...on a summer day set on broil. (Just to warn you...parlors have a weird smell. Add that weird smell to a 96 degree, humid day & you get....steamed death...delishhhh.)

Even though that day was Disturbing...there was so bright, funny, shining moments I cling to.

Laughter.

My balm.

The first laughter relief came from a family friend named Mike & his collage age daughter. Mike, taking my hand & dragging me to the far back wall of the parlor...away from the corpse that stole my Mothers happy form. I was deeply aware of him taking me from that view & setting me up at the back. I loved him that moment. Then he did something that took my breath away. He said.

"What the HELLS with all these DAM$ FLIES? Their everywhere! It's not good for business! Flies in a funeral parlor says DEATH."

And for the next 15 minutes Mike, his daughter & I laughed & cackled at the jokes we traded (mostly at the visitors expense...the fake friend ones) Mike held my arm, his daughter touching me on the back....bringing me back to life.

Lovely Mike died a few months after that day. Heart attack at 48. The thought of his wife & daughters standing at his wake made me ill.

Second laughter rescue was sweet & giggly. The kind you get as you see your crush walk through the school cafeteria......as you bash into a pillar (No joke) watching him catching a glimpse of you....walking face first into said pillar.

Oh sweet mercy...The Boy. The Boy...at...... my moms FUNERAL...oh man this SUCKS! Does my breath smell? My hair feels weird! What do I say to The Boy? "Hello Boy...you remember my mom?" Do I do a ventriloquist trick? Throw my voice? "Well hello there sonny! Nice to see you again? Please excuse me if I just lay here."

The mere sight of The Boy makes my knee caps explode. I want to push him out the door horrified that he has to see...this. Death. Yet, wanting to cling to him & bury my nose in his collar & beg him to take me fishing, biking, reading...take me anywhere, but here!

I giggle like a school girl....because...... I am one....as he stands by me. "Hi Jenny."

Holy crap, he said my NAME.

"Hi Boy" giggle. "Sorry your mom dragged you here. I know this is weird." giggle

"I'm sorry about your mom. I wasn't dragged here by the way...Mom let me drive."

"Wow...you are so cool. Such a big boy driving."

"I know...you're jealous."

Here is were I catch a whiff of his deodorant mixed with boy...& I lose consciousness for a moment.

"Do you need anything? Gum? A gun? Sleeping aids? My moms a wreck...I have to drive her home now...she's going to embarrasses us by crying. See you later?"

"Thanks Boy"

He waves Goodbye to me.

Where am I?

I'm floating.

Oh mY HeCK! I was hitting on The Boy at my moms VIEWING! I am sick!

The rest of the viewing I stand, feet swelling in my heels & a goofy smile on my face.

Third and last laughter happens toward the end of the viewing. Before I see them...I feel them. I am startled by the sensation. The voice is clear. "they came for you."

I twirl around & face the parlor doorway....waiting. I feel them first....then I see it. The neon glow on the wall facing the parlor wall. The white wall become saturated by pink then yellow...orange. Oh how I love them....my friends...they come for me....SWEET Mother of PINE NUTS! My friends...coming off the camping trip...to see my dead mother! Crappy Pants! I'm embarrassed. I'm so tired of people looking at her this way. No more! I'm done & fling off my shoes & bolt for the parlor doorway. Like a good comedy I collide into 6 very sunburned, very stinky, very tired girls & their mothers. I push them away from the doorway. I do not allow them in. I want to bask in their Day-Glo shirts, their short shorts & their camp fire perfume. . We hug & hug & burst out laughing at the sight of them. They beg my forgiveness. They all decided to come straight to the viewing after driving 3 hours back from camp. What 15-16 year old girl decides to leave camp early, smelly & ratty haired...to a funeral? Girls who didn't give a rats tush for themselves. Girls who would do anything for me.

I am in love. I am surrounded by love. I pick chunks of woodland creatures out of their hair. They give me back rubs & tease me about my suit. They strain to see my mothers body...through the parlor doorway. I don't let them in. They understand.

They hand me candy.

Oh so loved!

Standing at her grave for her service I saw The Boy far in the distance. Later that night he came to my door. While my family, Grandma, Aunts, Uncles chatted in the back ground after a long day of dealing w/ death. He sat close, knee to knee with me as we ate Kentucky Fried Chicken. occasionally bumping shoulders with me as we told jokes & gossiped. We drank New York Seltzer ....blueberry. He touched the tips of my fingers every so often. & I thanked the Lord above for my happy distraction. He stayed with me...until everyone left for their hotel rooms at 12 am. To this day, I don't think he knew how much that meant to me. How much that saved me. A young boy who I know felt terribly uncomfortable in this situation he was in, still stayed. He forgot himself & he helped a friend.

My sunburned friends called & called. Not to say sorry, but to invite me out. Movies, shopping, parties. They held my hands walking down the halls of school my sophomore year. We traded clothes & we shared make-up. They asked if it made me sad when they talked about their moms. They pretended not to notice how my eyes welled up as they spoke of their moms. They didn't avoid the word "mom." I wanted to hear that word...because all the adults around me refused to say it. Afraid they would upset my little girl psyche.

Most of the adults avoided me...or wanted to stuff me into school therapy...yeah that didn't work out to well. Adults were afraid of me...except my cranky band teacher. After my mother died, my Dad bought me an electric bass. He dropped me off at school in the summer so my band teacher could give me private lessons. The day I sat down w/ my sunburst colored bass, Mr. Keyes asks me how my summer was going.

"My mom died 2 weeks ago."

Silence......"No one told me. I'm so sorry......wow....that's really...... sh%tty......"

Then

Mr. Keyes & I laugh at the absurdity of it all. He hugs me for a second, around my neck with his lumber Jack arm...his signature move...nearly snapping my clavicle.

"Wow kid....If you ever need just to hang out...you come to me. If your day gets too hard to handle I can get you out of class. But if you do come here to escape, you must escape w/ your bass & practice. No weenies or free rides allowed...ok kid? Well...let's do this. Ok, the string are just like your upright bass....."

And so....my life went on.

My mother died at 51 from pneumonia complications after her body was eaten by bone cancer brought on by breast cancer. My father was 50. I was 15.

Summer after my freshman year. My moms death left me with a hole in my little heart. But my mom never left me to struggle on alone. She was a crafty smart women. I have no doubt it was she who whispered into my sunbaked friends heads..."bypass showering & go to her." Mike...make her laugh." "Dear Boy, just swallow the oddness & sit with her" "Mr. Keyes...don't let her slack off & DON'T treat her with kidd gloves."

My mom might have left us too soon, but she made sure she stuffed that hole with friends, hope, music and experiences that would sop up the oozing pain. How relieved she must have felt when friends and adults tucked me under their wings. How giddy she felt when anyone looked at her daughter & asked......

"Hey, do you want to talk about your mom?"

And I wonder how she must feel when I remember her with stories.

People do not die for us immediately, but remain bathed in a sort of aura of life

which bears no relation to true immortality but through which they continue to

occupy our thoughts in the same way as when they were alive

It is as though they were traveling abroad - Marcel Proust

I laugh in your Disturbed face - Part 6

2010-10-10T22:01:00.011-05:00

Mom's dead...check.

Dogs feed..... check.

Got Dad standing upright...check.

Next order of business on the day of my mothers death...call...my...friends.

Let me just say....having to call your buddies to tell them "Hey, my Moms been promoted to Subterranean Truffle Inspector" Is...not...cool. It's uncomfortable & weird. But it had to be done. For I was all geared up to go camping w/ some girlfriends in the Dells. But now I couldn't go....oh nooo, Mom had to awake to life immortal & leave me to tend to death crap. Uggg so unfair!

My friends were good friends, who knew my mom had cancer. So it wouldn't be a surprise to them that she died...right? Ummmmm, wellll.

Deep breath.
Exhale.
Pick up phone.
Dial Noel.
Tell her I can't go camping.

"Hello?"

"Hey Noel, listen...I can't go camping this weekend."

"What? But we always go camping? Why can't you go?"

Crappppppp. The words didn't want to form. How can I tell her this...oh geez is she going to cry? I can't take this!

"Well.....ummmmm...Iiiiii."

"Jen, are you ok?"

I don't quite know what happened. It was devastating. It was horrifying. And it was down right hilarious. I...started...to...giggle...then laugh....hard. I paniced! Here I was calling my friend to tell her my mom died & I'm LAUGHING?!

"Noel, "giggle" I... "breath innn" It's Mom..."Bawwwwhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!" (Insert laugh here. Uncontrollable laughing... so hard that I can't breath & tears are running down my face) She DIED today..."HEheheheheheheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee"

"Oh my Gowd Jen...are you...LAUGHING?!"

Panicked, I try to make it sound like I'm crying, but it comes out as a weird meowing sound.

"You are laughing...what the hell is wrong with you?! Your moms dead?! Is this some sort of joke?!"

Poor Noel was so upset. She starts to cry on the phone over the devastating news that her friends mother is worm food & I am laughing so hard I swear I hear a rib pop. I lie & tell her it's hard to talk & could she please pass the word on to our friends.

Oh to laugh. Such a beautiful cathartic thing. I was so...tired of CRYING. The laughter took me by surprise I must admit. It felt so good, but so wrong!

The next few days were a whirl wind. Calls were put out to family. Dad & I trudged off to buy a coffin (very expensive & very PINK...really Dad? Really?) Write an Obit. Order a head stone. Talk to the church. Call her work. Pick out her clothes. (I dressed her in a horrible school marm outfit. It was dark blue w/ tiny bunches of flowers on it....my Mom will kill me for that) Call the funeral director about 5 times trying to get things right.

Calls you never want to have to make....here is a sample.

"Hello funeral director guy. Yeah it's me again...Jenny. Yeah...um you told me to pick out clothes for moms viewing. Yeah...ummm...do I need to pick out ...underpants?"

Yes......really...I did make that call. And if you are wondering, mom went commando. Well, the director said I didn't need to bring undies...or shoes...or stockings if I didn't want to. (But I do need to pick out a bra...ummm...ok) Her feet wouldn't show...& he had underthings already there. Or DID he? I didn't have much faith in the man because...well remember back ....this is the same man who probably looked at my mom after her death makeover & ok'ed it. Her wig was on BACKWARDS & she had on PURPLE eye makeup on. 2 words for you...... GAR-ISH. "Good job Fred. Your make up application is like art. You have successfully turned this poor 51 year old women who's body was ravished by cancer into a painted whore. It's beautiful work Fred. Brings a tear to my eye."

I really hope Mom wasn't commando...but I did think about it...all...day...long. Her...in her PINK casket....quite possibly pantie-less. Easy breezy.

I laugh to myself over the thought. Soon tears stream down my face. My belly hurts from trying to stuff my gut busting laughter into my bowels . Shoulder shake. Eyes squint. Tears, Tears.

Beautiful laughter.

Whispers float around me.

"Poor Dear, she's so shook up. So hard to lose a mother."

Thank the Lord these women think I'm crying. If they only knew...if they only knew.

Mom approves panty humor...no really, she does.

Would this face lie about panty humor? I don't think so.

Bobby, I should be disturbed - Part 5

2010-10-03T20:54:00.009-05:00

House.

Empty.

Shell.

Drained.

Home again with no mother. Mom's dogs whimper at the door when Mom doesn't follow behind us. I see their little scruffy feet scratch the garage door. "Mom's dead & she ain't coming back you stupid mutts"

The bitterness begins...and will never quite leave me. Soon the dogs give up on their scratching & then....lay down in front of the garage door, their stinky muzzles resting on their paws. There they would stay for weeks at a time. They never again whimpered, I swear they understood my words..."she's dead." Watching their dejected little faces, my heart broke for them. My heart broke for my moms loyal dogs. The thought made me giggle.

I find my father standing frozen, staring out our patio door. Such a beautiful, bright summer day. We are stuck. At a stand still. Stale. Upended. What the hell do we do now? Do we eat? Make phone calls? Put on lipstick? How does one go about their life when a loved one dies?

So there we were, a tragic little family. 2 mangy mutts slumped by the door, Dad in a trance, looking at nothing and me, wind blown hair I hadn't brushed for 8 hours (which for a girl is a rare thing) 15 years old going on 35.

We stand for minutes, hours, days...not breathing. Finally Dad drifts off upstairs to change & I am left alone. I find myself pushing the button on the stereo. Afraid I will hear my Dad weep at any moment, I push my ear up against the speaker to quiet the voices in my head. "got to call friends, cancel trip, make dinner, do laundry, call funeral hometakeshowermakebedfeedthedogstrynottothrowup" thoughts racing, racing.

I flop on the couch listening to the car SALE! SALE! SALE! commercial & all I can think is "car man, you suck, my moms' dead"

I stew.

I seethe.

Then....it happens. A song comes on I have never heard before.

"Dooo do do doOooOOOooooOOoooO. OooooOOOooooooo. OooooooOOO."

I sit on the couch & yell to dad. "Dad! Get down here! Listen to this!"

My dad soon appears behind me.

"Listen Dad."

"Here's a little song I wrote

You might want to sing it note for note

Don't worry, be happy

In every life we have some trouble

but when you worry you make it double

Don't worry, be happy"

Next thing I know, my grief stricken father is snapping his fingers & dancing. We both are hypnotised by our new found friend Bobby McFerrin. We laugh at the hilarity of it all. Dad grabs my hands, we dance & laugh.

Before we know it, our song has ended, leaving us giggling & sacked out on the couch. Dad insists mom sent us the song & I don't doubt him. Bobby McFerrin has left our souls humming & our minds clear. After we recover from our improv song & dance routine, we gather up our new found strength & battle on to our next morbid activities....all while humming "Don't worry, be happy."

The Disturbing death - Part 4

2010-08-22T21:00:00.003-05:00

My ears are buzzing. I hate when my ears buzz. That usually means I'm having a panic attack. I do my best to step out of the elevator into my new truth. My foot hits the tile and for some reason it feels like Jello.

Oh crap...I swear if I pass out 0n this tile floor in front of my dead mothers hospital room I will punch someone in the face!

I breath and recover what little stability I have left. The buzzing in my ears stop & now my head is filled with weird moan man cries coming from my father behind me. I'm too numb to turn to him & pretend I care. We both stand there dumbstruck. Slow motion in front of me 3 nurses leave my mothers room....weeping. A 4th. nurse pushes the crash cart out of Moms room. All 4 nurses look up to see us....then they promptly drop their heads & scurry by us.

Moms Dr. sees us from the the nurses station that he is sitting at. He jumps to his feet & runs to us. Runs. I step out of his way as he flings himself at my father. Both men begin to cry & hug & cry & hug.

All I want to do is take a nap...cuz this day sucks.

"I'm sorry, we did everything we could. Do you want to see her?" Dr Shapiro asks dad & I. Of course my dad says yes & starts to take my hand.

"No." is the only word that come out of my mouth. Dad tries to pull me along but I stand firm. "No way in hell am I going in that room." My Dad looks hurt. He doesn't want to leave me alone out here in the hall.

"Mom doesn't want me to see her that way."

Finally understanding he drops my hand and walks to my dead mothers room with Dr. S & a nurse holding him upright.

I am alone in the hall. I can see the nurses trying to look busy with tears in their eyes. Down the hall 2 cancer patients peek their heads out their doors to catch a glimpse of the train wreck. For a moment I hate them...intruding on my pain. But then I notice the nurse that makes her way over to them & hugs them both. The patients are crying. Are they crying because they are staring at their future?

Out of one of the rooms pops a women. "Oh dear Lord no." Is all I can think. The women moves closer. The buzzing returns. Run, my head screams, RUN! My brain has already high tailed it out of the hallway & down into the staircase. My brain didn't have the common decency to take my body with it. Closer & closer. The women descends. The ears.... buzzing. I can't handle this. Of all the people who want to comfort me...why did it have to be her?!

She is dressed all in black. Her tiny feet glide over the shiny tile. My dread turns to calm as I realize...she is laughing. The kind of laugh a women does as she sees an old friend. In a blink the tiny women is hugging me. "You must be Jennyyyyyy! I'm so happy to met youuuuuu! You are so cute! Gail said you were so cuteee. Look at you! Gail talked about you all the time!"

Half of my brain loved this old women instantly...praise the Lord she is the only one not weeping & being all depressing like. The other half of me wants to run screaming...because I can't handle tiny Catholic nuns hugging me. Nuns scare me. Nuns are dower & cold...well they are in movies. But here under my chin is Sister Iatearainbowforbreakfast. She squeezes me and pats me & hugs me & holds my hand. She says pretty things like "Oh my...your mother was such a naughty girl! She would sneak into patient rooms & tell them jokes. She had naughty jokes. Oh I loved her. Everyone loved her. She was so funnyyyyy!"

The little nun continues to coo over me while my father & I are brought back to a little office. There I sit with my dad, Mom's Dr. & Little Nun. I am in the room but all I see is Little Nun. I hear her chat to me softly about Mom's death. She is interpreting the big words the Dr. is saying to my Dad into little, easy words I can understand.

Mom's heart stopped. And that's what killed her. It just plume tuckered out.

Dr. & my Dad started to discuss autopsy & looking into why her heart stopped. Finding out what truly killed her that sunny July day.

My Little Nun echoed the exact words I was thinking. Quietly she whispered to me. "Oh for heavens sake. The cancer ran it's course. Hearts stop. Death comes to all of us. Goodness gracious...this isn't a crime scene. Gail died of cancer. Leave the poor girl alone. No sense in opening her up."

Her spunk that day made me what to become a nun. She, holding my hand, leaning close to my ear. Tiny little women getting all worked up over an autopsy. Soon I giggle.

Then I snort.

She snorts.

Full, gut busting laughs tumble out of us.

"Let's get out of here & let the men talk." She says through clenched teeth trying not to laugh.

Up on my feet she pulls me towards the door of the office. Soon I am free. Little Nun & I stand at the nurses desk with her arm around my waist. Nurses causally gather around us. Little Nun proudly tells them who I am.

"This is Jenny. Gail's daughter."

Tears tumble out. Hugs are given. Soon the sound of laughter wafts down the hall of the cancer wing. The stories begin.

"That Gail....always giving us trouble! She was the big joker of the floor. She was so naughty & so lovely. Did I ever tell you about the time she played a joke on nurse Jackson? Well......"

The disturbing Goodbye- Part 3

2010-08-01T07:55:00.005-05:00

My mom had been in & out of hospitals for 5 years. Mainly for infection or pneumonia. Twice the hospital told us she would be dead within 12 hours. That was a surreal situation when I had to dress from head to toe in sterile dressings just to be by mom's side. Then trying to figure out how to say goodbye to her...because you know...she was going to croak some time in the night. Very strange, very stressful. But she always deified her Dr.s orders to die...which I appreciated.

That warm July night was no different then the other casual visits we had with her. Although this time the cancer had seeped into her bone. Another infection, another weekend in the hospital. (my mom timed her hospital stays very well. She would push herself through the week, then go in on the weekend. She didn't want to miss work....hows that for commitment?!)

I remember watching Mom eat her dinner on a tray. She always gave me her jello or pudding....which made me feel guilty. "Ma...you're dying of cancer...eat the damn pudding" She knew how much I liked it...even though I tried desperately to convince her I didn't. Staring at your mothers pudding, salivating doesn't help the lie that you hate pudding.

After her dinner we settled in to watch some movie with Charles Bronson...who my Mom adored. I never got the attraction....the dude had a mustache. But it made us feel better when mom was up & able to drool over Mr. Bronson & his very violent films. I remember sitting on the left side of her bed. My hair was snarled from driving with the windows open. I was self conscious but too embarrassed to ask my mom for a hair brush. My dad was just as disturbed at the rat nest on my head as I was. Mom just beamed & told him "aww let her have her hair the way she wants it. All the kids have the messy look." I looked at her like she was crazy. Again, did she not know me?! I was grateful for her beaming at me, as she tried to rearrange the mop behind my ears. I knew the foof annoyed her, but thought it was sweet that she was allowing me to "grow up".........then I was disturbed. Wait.....mom is not annoyed by my friz factory? That's odd.

8pm. rolled around & it was time to go. We had spent the last half an hour laughing hysterically at my dad's impression of his rival...Mr. Bronson. We got up to leave with lungs that hurt from laughing & gave mom a big hug. Hug, Hug, pat, pat.

"Love you mom"

"Love you too"

"Goodnight Gail, Good night Mom."

"Goodbye"

Goodbye

Goodbye....my mother never uttered those words. It was always Goodnight...never Goodbye. She said it right as my Dad & I walked through her door & turned right towards the elevator. The moment she said it Dad & I paused...then resumed walking. Maybe I was the only one who thought her Goodbye was weird. We stepped into the elevator....and as the door closed my Dad looks at me. "She said Goodbye."

"Yeah...should we go back?"

"I'm sure it was nothing. She'll be fine......."

The warm feeling in my lungs from all the laughing dispersed. I was left feeling hollow & fidgety.

The morning was bright & warm. Dad was off to work & I was home alone. 9:30am the phone rings.......& I know. The women on the other end of the line is calm but firm. "You & your father need to get to the hospital right now."

"What's wrong w/ mom?"

"You need to come now"

"What's WRONG with MOM?!" Now I'm mad for being treated like a child.

"I'm sorry I can't tell you over the phone, you just need to come."

"That's crap & you know it. My Dad is working I may not be able to reach him for another 8 hours & you won't tell me she's dead?"

"You need to come now."

By some miracle I was able to reach my dad on his cell (you know the kind...big, bulky & connected w/ a curly wire to the battery, receiver holder thingy. The "cell phone" stayed in my Dad's truck cuz you know....it was a MONSTER.)

I blink & my Dad is home. Speeding to get to the hospital my mind is on 1 thing....I will miss the Wisconsin Dells camping trip with my girlfriends. Crap...now I need to tell then my moms dead...that sucks.

I blink again Dad & I are standing in the elevator....how did I get here?

The door slides open.

The next week will happen in slow motion. From this new beginning I see every face, every event clearly. I want it to blink by, but I am tortured by the slow motion show in front of my eyes.

The Disturbed Make Over- Part 2

2010-07-22T06:39:00.006-05:00

"Look at you. You look so professional. Is that a new suit? It looks great....what's the special occasion?"

Silence

I heard her question....but my mind was in a tunnel. My brain was fuzzy. My feet heavy. But her question "what's the special occasion?" Had me barreling out off the tunnel...backwards...into reality.

There I sat. Propped up in a salon chain getting my hair "cut". I of course, didn't want it cut. But there I was at the Strictly Yours salon....the salon my Dad dropped me off in while he ran around doing errands.

What's the special occasion rang in my head. Then the realization....HE DIDN'T TELL THEM! Great SNOT...My Dad dropped me off at Mom's salon....& didn't TELL them?! That buttwipe! He left me here to ruin this woman's day. I battled the desire to lie & go on as if nothing was wrong. But I couldn't lie. Not to Moms salon buddies.

"What's the special occasion?"

"Today is my moms wake."

Blank look

"Mom died 2 days ago."

I watched this women's face in the mirror. I could see the statement hit her. It started in her eyes. Eyebrows edged up, redness seeps in. It flowed into her month, then slowly drifted down into her hands. Scissors drop. Hand comes to mouth. Left hand grips my shoulder...not in comfort but in desperately trying to support her body. She can't breath. Tears stream down her face.

"Gail?"

"I'm so sorry. She loved this place. I'm so so sorry." This would be the first time I would comfort someone else over the news of my mothers death. I hated the shock & sadness. I never wanted to be comforted...but I did have an intense urge to comfort others. I guess it took my mind off the reality of my life. It made me feel useful. Made me feel sane.

The stylist went to look for the manager as I sat in the chair feeling eyes burn into the back of my head. Women at the nail cabana (Strictly Yours was strictly tacky but absolutely fabulous. It was decked out in a tropical paradise. Cabanas, thatched roofs, creepy flamingo statues. They even served margaritas.) craning their heads behind them trying not to disturb the liquid cement on their nails. I watched in the mirror the reactions. Word spread that Mom is "no longer eligible for the census" 1 by 1 I watch from the mirror their reaction. Crumbled faces. Hands to mouth. Head bowed. Shoulder shake. I destroyed their day. I caused that cry.

Then.........The Pity look. Gosh I hated The Pity look.

I soon found myself clawing at my salon bib. I had to leave. I had to get this thing off me because.....the manager is heading my way. Get it off, get it OFF! Dang it...no Velcro, stupid snaps held it together. The manager glides closer. NOOOOO, I can't handle pity! Help me creepy flamingo statue in the corner! No No No! I knew what was next....pity with a side of comfort. Arrgggg! I just wanted to run.

But no.

The manager fills up the mirror. I am trapped....with half my hair cut. Notthepitynotthepitynotthepity..............

Hands rest on my shoulders. Here it comes.

"Let's finish your hair & get you on your way. I'm so sorry your mom died. She was a great lady. She was funny. I knew she had cancer but she never showed the pain. She talked about you all the time."

I looked up & realised the manager was smiling. She was easy...breezy. She was telling me about mom. I liked it.

"Now, what I want to know is ....how the hell did you end up here on the day of your moms wake?"

She used the word hell....& I loved her at this moment.

So I began my story.

Mom loved to pamper herself. Mani's/ pedi/scalp treatments/nails...you name it...she did it. She often dragged me to her salon to get her nails done. (getting your nails done...is just a way to handicap a woman. Women with nails say stupid things like "they are jewels not tools." They have a funny way of holding their hands up...like their nails are always wet. They don't garden or pick their noses. They fall down a flight of stairs & break their hips...but first thing they look at is their fake nails...to make sure they are intact) I sat in the cabana reading fashion magazines & hating myself (stupid magazines) I hated the smell of the place but I always got a kick out of my mom. You'd think she was someone famous as she breezed into the salon. Everyone would turn & shout her name. "So happy to see youuuuuu" It was erie...because...well remember the show "Cheers" Yeah, this was the chick version of Cheers.

My mom always made my Dad swear, SWEAR that after she was gone he would bring me to the salon to get pampered. It was his solemn duty to get his daughter made over & made up. I always protested. I hate paint on my nails...it makes me feel claustrophobic. Mom didn't back down on this one. My Dad had 2 jobs to do....get me to the salon & buy my sanitary napkins whenever I needed them....without acting weird about it.

Well my Dad took the words "when I'm gone" Seriously. So...Mom went to meet the reaper & Dad...hustled me off to the salon. I really think my mom had him sign a contract in blood. College? Whatever! Life skills? Pish Posh! Traveling the world? Overrated! You MUST get this girl to the salon! Her future depends on it!

My hair is cut. My bib is off. The salon manager & I laugh & laugh & laugh.

"I'm sorry, but that is so awful it's funny!"

Oh it felt good to laugh. It felt great to make someone laugh.

Soon enough Dad comes back to pick me up. Women flood around him hugging him & talking in quite voices....as the manager & I roar with laughter.

They refuse to take his money. I get hugs & The Pity look from Mom's buddies. Eyes are rimmed red. My heart swells with love for these women. I now realised why mom loved it here. In the salon they cooed & laughed with her. They rubbed her feet & styled her wigs. They gave her margaritas & made her feel normal. Whole. Feminine.

As I turned to leave the manager grabbed my arm. "Take care Sweetie. Come back to see us. Oh...would you mind if I tell the ladies in here what you told me about your make over?"

I see the women of Strictly Yours. Clients, nail techs, stylists take their places....heartsick. Crestfallen. Heavy thoughts will rule their sunny July day.

"Yes, please! I don't mind."

Yes please, one last memory of Mom...make them laugh in her honor.

The Disturbed series- Part 1

2010-07-18T19:39:00.008-05:00

The high school "therapist" was manly looking....to put it nicely. I remember watching her lips move under her mustache & thinking..."If her mom insisted on bleaching that hairy monster at age 10...like mine had, maybe she would have grown up to CARE."

There I sat. 15 year old girl forced by the school to endure this joke called "counseling" Oh no...they could not have a young lady who's mom just bought the farm running around the High School willy nilly. This girl needs help....and the great school of South was going to give it to me, whether I wanted it or not.

I was pissed when my Dad tenderly broached the subject of the school wanting to counsel me. "Maybe you can talk about Mom? It will be good for you." So said the man who much rather drown his sorrows at bars every night instead of actually talking to a professional. "piiiishh"...men

So there I sat, awkwardly across from this professional who professed she would guide me through this difficult time. She would be there for me...a safe place to fall. I could open up about my Mom's death. "Just release all the pain" she said in a sullen, mono-toned voice.

Open up. I wanted to do that. I didn't want to burden my friends. I figured I might as well use this free counselor to my advantage. She's a professional. She will...guide me.

"How does this work?" I was hesitant but relieved to unload.

"Just start by telling me about your mom...or how you feel about her death." Dr. Ihatemyjob Counselor sighed

"O.K."

"well"

"They stapled my moms eye lids closed."

"umm, what?"

"yeah...STAPLED. I could see the staples. I know dead people sometimes have reflexes & their little dead eyes spring open so they have to glue them closed. But really? Stapled? They didn't even have the talent to cover the staples. Like...glue on some eyelashes man. Cover that up!"

"Well....I see. How did that make you feel?"

"Like....mad. Don't EVEN get me started about the fact that they painted her eyelids purple. My dead mom looked like a hooker that was trying to hard!"

"Well.....I see. So let's now talk about your future. Where do you want to go to college."

"College? Ummm, I'm only 15. I...don't... want to go to college. Do we have to talk about this now. College stresses me out. I'm only a sophomore."

"Well dear, It's never to early to start thinking about college. I have your grades right here. Lets talk about college"

And that my friends....was all the counseling I got about my moms death.

She died this month 22 years ago. I have written down little tid bits about my moms death in my little pink journal. But never have I dived head first in the story of her death. So I figured I have a blog....might as well reveal how disturbed I really am.

Hey, don't you judge me! You would have never had to deal with this if Dr. Counselor Hack had done her job!

So sit back kids and enjoy....my twisted teen hood. It will be fun...no really!

Bikini gets revenge

2010-06-27T21:34:00.004-05:00

The summer began to fade & with that, my fear of the bikini waned. Soon it would be all over. I had a plan to rid myself of the awful bikini of shame once and for all. My plan was simple....I planned....to out grow that hideous thing, never to be able to fit in it again! Next summer I would be 13. A real, live TEENAGER! I was sure, once that magical number hit, I would become a hard nosed, say what I want, defiant teenager. (That of course...never happened...but lets not tell my 12 year old self that quite yet!) I would finally be able to say to my mom "NO Women! I shall not wear what you pick out for me! I shall wear what I want, when I want it!"

That summer, I had only worn the bikini of tackiness once. I could see the end of the tunnel! I was almost freeeeee!

That was...until I got.... THE INVITE!

Freak'n A man! I was invited to a 4H pool party. Yes.... I was in 4H. When you moved to the country it's mandatory that every kid joins either the FFA or the 4H. If this didn't happen, red necks pull up in their rusted out Ford & hauled your butt back to the city..."where ya belonged ya country wanna bez!"! My folks worked in "the city" to begin with. We didn't have a lot of friends in Hicksville...so off to 4H I went. I did it to save the family name. Kids are always the sacrificial lamb!

So now I had to attend an end of summer party with my little troop & their chain smoking, gossipy mothers....in my bikini.

So my Classy Mom & I showed up at this house. I am wearing shorts & a Tee clutching my bag of shame. My mother wears her pleated pants & a sweater....with pearls.

We walk into the house & say our hellos. I was then told by my 4H Pool Mom to "Go get dressed & go swimming honey!" So I trudged up to a pink bedroom & changed. I wrapped my towel around me tight like a straight jacket, hoping if I squeezed hard enough..... I would pass out.... & die..... & then not have to go swimming.

I tried to hide in the house. Standing by my moms side, doing my best to work on my telepathy skills. "mom...if..you...love...me...you'll..take...me...home" She never heard me. My friends found me & dragged me outside. All the girls are in their bathing suits (ALL 1 piece thank you very much!) I start to feel embarrassed as the bikini knit is burning into my flesh. But I push down the anxiety & decide to roll with it. " Who cares" I tell myself. This will be the last run of the bikini. After to day I'm done. And life will go on.

Soon I got comfortable chasing my friends in & out of the house killing time while the hot dogs cooked. Then up the deck latter we go. We all hold hands & jump into the ice cold water. Underwater I feel the grip of the girls hands & for a moment I feel OK. "Hey, these girls will still hold my hand even though I'm wearing this tragic thing!" Up to the survive I rise. I gulp in air as I push back my hair & rub my eyes which now STING! Great Craw Fish! My eyes are burning! I rub & rub, momentary blinded. Soon....a sound...comes from the direction of the deck. A deep voice...must be a Dad.

Trying to focus as the chemical bath seers my eye balls. There on the deck..... A dad? Vision become cleared. But now there was no missing them as they rose up on to the deck slugging each other & flexing their tiny chests. Sweet river of mercy. Boys. Half naked. At my stupid, hick 4H pool party. Half naked, punching each other. Half naked on the deck. Half...naked.

No one bothered to tell me Miss Pool had 2 brothers who came with 2 friends. Great Crackinflabbin! What the funk was I to do now?! I was TRAPPED! I had to swim...with BOYS looking at my bikini!

I wanted...to ...dieeeeee.

The wind howled on the prairie that day. It was freezing cold. Cold as my soul....& butt! I scrambled out of the pool into my towel as fast as I could. I NEEDED to check on the hot dogs! NOW! I couldn't breath. I was embarrassed & freezing cold. Soon help was on the way....lunch was served. Ahhh no more swimming. I was safe in my towel tent. Everyone races out of the pool & we all jam in together at the picnic table. Warn hot dogs before us.

But now parents head inside to eat...because it's SO cold! We all chatter & vibrate. So.....cold....in our wet bathing suits. The girls get a bright idea to put on their shirts over their suits. But soon the wet from their suit soak the shirt & they are back to being hypothermic. I decide I will be the smart one! I run up to the pink bedroom to change clothes. But just as I begin to change, my mother walks in to the room to see if I am ok. I tell her I'm done swimming. But she tells me I have 2 more hours of swimming. Oh...yeah.... So I decide to then just strip off my wet top & put on my shirt. Then I just have to put on the wet, cold top instead of the whole kitten caboodle when I get back in to swim! Brilliant! So off goes my top & on goes my long black shirt. I wrap my towel around my waist & sulk down to the party.

We stuff ourselves with hot dogs, making fun of the wimpy parents sitting in the warm house drinking their coffee in front of the huge glass bay window. We laugh & laugh. The BOYS Laugh with us. Teasing & heckling us girls. We revel in the attention. Next thing I know all of us kids are running & jumping & throwing hot dog buns & screaming & falling all over ourselves with fun. I'm full & happy. The sun warms my black shirt just right. We realise we only have a half an hour left to swim. So we throw caution to the wind & decide to take one last swim in the freezing water.

Running across the yard the boys rip off their shirts, scamper up the the deck & try to break each others necks as they jump in the pool. One by one the girls march up the deck, strip off their shirts & jump in. Screaming as they hit the water. I...am the last one up. Running to the edge of the pool. I don't want to jump in, it's so cold. But the kids beg. If they did it, I had to do it. So I throw of my towel & peel off my long, black shirt. I swing the shirt over my head, just like they do in those strip shows (where I learned about strip shows I will never know) The shirt flies behind me & I stand there for a second dreading that cold water. As I contemplate if I realllyyy want to get my now comfortably warmed body wet, a cold hand shoots out of the water, and grips my my ankle. I feel myself being pulled into the water. I hear yelling behind me. Slow motion... I am dragged into the water. The realization hits me....in slow motion.

I never put back on my bikini top.

Underwater I stay. I can hear nothing above me. No muffled voices. No laughter. Nothing. They saw me I think. No really?! I did ...a ...STRIP...tease! In front of BOYS! In front of PARENTS! I can see what the parents see....my bare back, swinging my shirt over my head giving the boys the show of my one breast! Damn that city girl!

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG!!!!

My lungs run out of air. I stay at the bottom of the pool with my eyes burning. I cry & cry & cry as fast & as hard as I can for the 21.5 seconds I am underwater. My poor mother! OH BIKINI OF SHAME how you mock me! My mom will be so mad at me. What am I going to do?

Well..........After I become faint from the lack of oxygen. I swallowed what dignity I had & stood up. Luckily one of the DAD'S (Sweet Jesuit PRIEST...could it get any worse?) threw my shirt toward me. I pulled it right on & hopped out of the water pushing past the dad. I see my poor, heart broken mother race towards me. Her face drawn tight. Her eyes rimed with red. Oh no! My mother will never survive this shame I brought on the family name. She wraps a dry towel around me & hustles me to the house. Where parents sneer at me...the slut.... as I get pushed up the stairs to the pink room. The door closes. My mom starts to cry.

Cry.

Cry because SHE IS LAUGHING SO HARD!

Are you serious?! She desperately covers her mouth with her hands trying to stay the gut busting guffaws. Tears streaming down her face. She can't breath she is laughing so hard. She tries to talk but what comes out are little crying, meowing sounds. Oh for the LOVE OF PETE!

I try not to laugh. I want to punch something. My mom is trying to be a saintly mother by dressing her humiliated naked daughter... as she laughed. Compassion mixed with bone cracking laughter. That...is my life.

My mom & I left the party in a hurry. She continued to laugh for hours. I ended up laughing too. Thankful she wasn't mad at me. Thankful that it was so funny that it turned out not to be a big deal. So I bared my one tiny breast for all to see....life happens....right? No big deal? The Good Lord didn't kill me like I had asked that day ....but he did bless us with moving to a new town shortly after that. Talk about a blessing! Can you imagine my fate if I would have stayed in Hickville....to attend Jr. High? Or High School?! I dare not even entertain that thought.

I did return to 4H for a few more months. No one said a word about "the incident." But they did feel it was necessary to take away my job.

I was the 4H entertainment councilor.

Bikini of shame

2010-06-13T22:27:00.005-05:00

I was looking forward to our Florida vacation. I was 12. I was a kid. I was developing....1...breast...at a time. I was lanky & bony & clumsy & buck toothed & had a perm.

I was excited to flee the 1 stop light, backwater farm town for the warm sands of Florida.

I was excited....until my mother brought home.....THE BIKINI.

What possessed my mother to buy me THAT bikini? Have ya seen it? Brown, KNIT. What time period was brown knit bikinis in fashion? It certainly wasn't in the 1980's! Did she hate me? Did she get a kick out of it when I tried it on? Did she stifle a giggle as I desperately tried to maneuver the knit out of my bum cheeks without looking stupid? Did she not know me at ALL?

At first I thought it was a joke. A twisted, mean joke. But she was serious. "You'll look so cute & so grown up!" I wished it was a joke....because the feeling I got as I tried it on & as she beamed with pride..... was a feeling of piercing, bottomless, haunting, therapy inducing humiliation.

The BIKINI of SHAME was like I said many times before...a brown stripped, knitted monstrosity. The top had to be tied around the neck & back. The bottoms were held together by ties on the side. Ties that more then once came lose. They loosened to a point that when I came out of the water (in the sparkling pool you see in the background)....my bottom came off. My BOTTOM....CAME....OFF. Sweet Jiggly BEETLE! THE SHAME! But luckily for me the motel we were staying at in sunny Florida was a dump...that no one stayed at. So even though I came out of the water bare a$$ed, my mother was the only 1 to see it. "You are so cute!" (I think she wasn't right in the head...really)

I did survive Florida.

I survived...the Bikini.

Back at home in farm country I felt I was safe. There was no pools in Farm Town...only a private rock quarry that my Dad took me to once in awhile to go fishing & swimming. (really don't know how I survived swimming in...a rock quarry that, at its shallowest point was 20 ft. deep!) I could jump in the water with my clothes on. I didn't need no stink'n bikini!

But then...my luck ran out.

I was invited to a swim party for my 4H group.

My mother made me wear...The Bikini.

To a swim party....with BOYS.

The Lord never did kill me...no matter how hard I asked him to.

I need to go to my safe place now. Once I have my therapist on speed dial...I shall return with the rest of

THE BIKINI OF SHAME.

Stick a fork in me

2010-05-21T06:25:00.003-05:00

I'm done!

I like to blame my bad days on the actual days. "Curse you Monday! You are rainy!" Grrr!! "Dang nab it Wednesday, you are so humpy!" Grrrrr!

I hate to place the blame on me or the kids or the dog or the husband...it always have to be the days.

Thursday...oh Thursday. Why you have to be....as the kids like to say...hate'n? I just feel like I'm banging my head against the wall....& the red spot is getting bigger. I have issues with my kids. That's the nice thing to say. The real story is at sometimes, some kids are WACK! And I...am done. I can't fix it. I can't fix them, I can't even fix breakfast anymore. Oh man I need a fix!

I have a kid I try to discipline & try to have their back at the same time. Yeah....that's a great combo! Well I had their back about something. We went over this nit picky crap their teacher was pulling. Got the whole story. Then proceeded to write a little note to her. I ended the note with a question. "Why do you have a 2x4 shoved in a place it shouldn't be?" No...I wish. I'm sassy...I ain't THAT sassy...only in my dreams! But I was stupid & ended the note with a question, so of course she calls me.

Uggg. I hate when teachers call. She explains her side of the story to me as I sit in silence. I didn't defend my child. Don't worry, it wasn't anything we needed to fix, it was just they were being "charged cash" for not turning in a form I had to sign....even though they still had 5 days before it HAD to be turned in. Yeah....little water torture techniques they hon in school.... is boring HOLES in my head!

So anyway, I didn't ask her questions. I just let her talk. Whatever, I just wanted to get back on FB. I had better things to do then listen to spin. After I got off the phone I was mad at myself. "Self....you didn't even ask her probing questions? Never defended the kid & say "give back their cash you meany mean head!" Oh no...I just said "ok, thanks for calling."

LOSER.

Oh but wait.

A few minutes later we discuss things w/ the Daddy & low & behold....my kid...LIED. Bold faced, straight up lied about what happened. (That was a slip on their part....opps, the cat I was beating in the bag, just stumbled out!") He never was charged $$. That happened to other kids. When we were discussing the stupid note to the teacher...the kid approved it & off it went.

Kid lied.

And I'm the fool. I can't do this. And to think...it only gets worse. Great...can't wait.

So I have decided my kids will be better off without me. Oh sure, they will cry for about 2.7 minutes, but life will go on & they will be fine. FINE! Because if I stay here any longer...they will NOT be fine. So moms, if you feel like you need to get away...come on over. The crazy train will be pulling out of the station & heading out to....hummmmm where can we go? Where do mom's go when they run away? Hawaii? Bourbon Street? Fuji? St. Louis? The bar down by the tracks? My van...locked...parked down the street where they can't find me?

Ah screw it...I can't even run away correctly! Who allowed me to be a mother anyway?

Mother issues

2010-05-12T10:55:00.010-05:00

Happy Belated Mother's Day! Ahhh Mother's. Some are good, some are bad. Some are happy, some are sad. My Mother ....well she was a classy lady who taught me how to stand up straight, eat my peas & most importantly of all...she taught me how to take a good picture!

My mom was...how shall I put this....HOT. As a child I would break into her stash of pictures & stare in wonder at her black & white world. I loved the dress, the hair styles, the really high waisted pants her brother would wear. I became to despise the tacky day-glow ugly around me. I relished dressing in a manner that was more elegant & civilized. Uggg, the 80's...I was SO not into the fashion! Gag me with a spoon! In my mothers pictures I saw beauty & refinement.

Some would say I have Mother Issues....nooooo REALLY? And believe me...it's not because I had to pick out what dress my dead mother would have to wear in her pink casket....oh no. It had more to do with the image I had to life up to. Did I mention my mom was HOT?

How HOT was she?

She was so HOT she had no idea she was hot.

She was so HOT, even when she was 50 she got slapped on the bum walking down the street!

She was so HOT she was a model.

My Mother was a model....how could I compete?! ( her modeling career lasted one magazine article & one newspaper picture, but STILL!)

So excuse me if I have mother issues. After you see my proof, you will understand me better. And hopefully feel sorry enough for me to take me out for Sushi so I can wipe my tears with a napkin covered in Wasabi paste!

Mother, you are loved....even if you were HOT!

Here is my darling mom as the coveted "Yellow Pages Girl". Work that lawnmower! I remember my mom & I laughing so hard at this picture. I love the awkwardly bent finger. She said that finger pose was a doozy! I think she got paid 50 cents.

Here is a portfolio picture. She hated this picture. Why? Cuz she was "fat". I was shocked when I heard that. Look at her! Girl got some meat on her....& it's prime rib! My Dad & I thought she was perfect. Just goes to show you girls had issues with their body image that go wayyyy back.

AWWWWWW YEAHHHHH! Hey! Stop ogling my mother! Who can rock a plunging, orange jumpsuit? My mom, that's who! I swear she dressed that way just to piss off her mother....who can't even look at the camera. Awesome!

I love this photo! My 12 year old mom at the Boardwalk with her beloved father. She's so cute! Her red hair plopped on her little head! Her little bathing top! Her huge bathing bottoms that look like granny panties! Love, love it! Now if you would please direct your gaze to her "popped" knee. She how she pops it out across her other knee. That is her secret to a good pose. She learned early how to arrange her body. So next time you feel a little self conscience about your picture being taken....do the sassy "knee pop" you can't go wrong!

I....am not...knee popping. See the difference? 12 year old mom...knee pop=cute. Me...12 years old....sans knee pop=tragic. Don't let this happen to you. I know you all love the macrame bikini & you can't get enough of that eye sore. Well not to fear little campers....my next blog installment will be "The great & horrible & sad & scarring experience of the Bikini of death!!!!" Where I shall tell you all about my bikini shame. Stay tuned!

One word...stunning. This little hot tamale is my mom....at 17 years old. Yeah...I know. P.S...I still have those earrings w/ matching glass necklace. Be jealous.

Would you like to see me at 17?

Wait for it.

Waitttttt for it.

GOOD Heavens! Agggg! WHY? WHYYYYY? Do you SEE why I have issues? DO YOU?!

Lets' cleanse our eyeball pallet & end on a good note....& not a note that will be burned into your nightmares. Shake it off...shake it off!

You need not worry. My mother's lessons have paid off. I "knee pop" when I am unsure about how I look right before that picture is snapped. I fake confidence because it forces my shoulders back. I push my boobs out when I walk, because she said it will make me walk taller. That...was hard "Mom! I feel lewd! This is obscene! I feel stupid!" (Note to self...when your boobs point down to your navel...don't push out your almost 40 year old boobs.....lest you end up sticking your tummy out. Just pretend they are up where they were when you where 17....so...soooo long ago) But sure enough...she was right. In fact....she was right about everything she told me. So thanks mom for all the good advice. You...were right.

The Cherry Tree

2010-04-10T19:46:00.011-05:00

The static in the air entered my finger tips & settled itself in my bowels. It wrapped it's buzzing tentacles around my lungs & slowly squeezed. "Whats wrong now?" I mumbled.

The static was a constant in my life. I don't remember the day it entered me, but I did recognise it began to swell bigger & take over my body around the time I was 8 years old. Maybe that was the age I became aware that I was different from the other kids. I was slow in school. I struggled under the weight of the demands. I became aware that OTHER people knew I was different. I had my first panic attack when I was 10...4th grade (remind me to tell you all of the hell I endured durning that time...it was awesome) I was also 10 when my mom was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer (aggressive as in "Dr. was a sh%$head & didn't recognise that the HUGE lump in my moms breast was cancer." Another story for another time...just as awesome)

But there was the static. That day....me being a few months shy of 12 years old, it hummed so loud I clapped my hands over my ears. I became detached from the ground & I couldn't feel my steps, even though they were heavy as I paced my room. I felt "off" all day. It had been a sunny, happy day. Why now? What's...wrong?

Mom picked me up from the sitters after work. I could feel her...drain me...as she looked at me & smiled "how was your day Honey?" Static begins to now build in my throat. "fine, mom." But all I can think is...let me go...I can't breath.

I run when I get home. Sometimes I can run from it...the static trailing behind me. I run to the creek. I run to the garden field, the house, the driveway, the sunken garden. My Dad is home...I breath. He smells like heavy equipment oil. I love that smell. But he even...drains me. The static returns w/ thud as I stop. We collide. Damn it...what's wrong?

Moms says "Sweetie, come to my room after your father changes clothes. I need to tell you something. Ok? Ok Baby"

Slam, slam, slam....my heart pounds against my chest. My arm pits shake. I taste acid. I'm in my room. I don't remember how I got there. I'm on my knees in front of my window. I focus on the cherry tree. Pink & soft. God is in my wild cherry tree.

Does God live? I did not know. As my Mom became sick...then sicker...& really super duper sick, I didn't pray. But then I felt, well maybe I should give this thing a shot. I offered up a thanks to whoever would listen. Thanks for the good days with my mom. Thanks for my dog & gerbil. I remember feeling stupid kneeling & praying.

Soon, I became more comfortable talking to God. It did bother me that I didn't know where God was. I had friends & family of different religions. Everyone told me what, where & who God was. At first I felt I was praying all wrong. Trying to conform to what other people believed. Finally out of frustration...... I turned to the cherry tree. That was where my God lived. Forever in a wild blooming cherry tree.

Comfortable with my idea of God, I look at the tree & begin to talk. To this day, I will never forget the time God talked to me. Never forget the day that we made a deal. The day he gave me mercy. And mercy for my mother.

"God, somethings wrong cuz it won't let go of me today. It's really bad. Can you help me?"

I stay on my knees, happy to be hypnotised by the swaying tree.

Hours, days, months go by. (I'm 11.5 years old....5 minutes is a life time!)

The static drains out my bare toes & melts into my light green carpet. For the first time today, I can breath.

"Ah, there you are God. You are there right? Am I talking to a tree? I don't care if I am. I feel better."

And then.

I feel it. As plain as day. I understand what is happening. I feel the future. And for some reason, I'm not shock. (again... 11.5 yrs old. faith of a child)

Silence broken by my mother "Jenny, can you come to my room now, we're ready!" Yeah Mom, give me a sec!

"Oh gosh, yeah, THAT'S what is wrong! Ok...I got to make this quick. Ummmmm, gosh. Let me think."

God lets me think

"GOT IT! Ok...I need your help. Ok God, I know what's happening. Did you tell me? If you did, thanks...if not....then I'm psychic...cool. Ok, a few weeks ago Mom went to the Dr. to find out if her cancer had gone to her bones. Do you remember? If it went to her bones she would die...like soon. I bet you anything she just heard back from them. Did they call? When did Mom find out? Anywho. i know what they told her. I feel it.

They told her it's bad. It's in the bone. She will be dying soon.

Here's where you come in ok? I know they told her it's in the bone. Let them say it's in the bone BUT let it not be true. Even though they will all believe she has bone cancer...let it not be true. Let it be a mistake. Ok?"

I'm still in front of the window, but I have been pacing. Scheming with God who's in my cherry tree excites me! As I happily pace. I feel...

"ok."

"Thanks God, your the best. But now can you help me to act sad, cuz I just might burst out & tell my mom & that might ruin everything!"

So off I go down the hall to my parents room. I open their door & find them solemn. Sitting side by side on the bed. My heart hurts for her. But I can't tell her my plan.

She tells me to sit by her. I feel like I'm in a after school special. It's all so cheesy. I just about laugh at loud at the absurdity of it all. I play into it. I relax. I try to will my warmth & strength into my mother as she readies to tell me a painful truth...which I know to be a mistake.

Without tears or even so much as a quivering lip she says words no mother should ever have to speak to her child.

"Jenny, it's in my bones, the cancer. They have given me 6 months at the most. I won't be here for Christmas."

We talked for a bit about how hateful bone cancer was. Then I hopped off her bed & walked to my room. I did my best to look crushed, but I had a big smile on my face. I got to my window & did a high five by myself. God & I did it! All would be well.

For about 1 year after that day on her bed, my Mother endured more cancer hell. WE endured cancer hell.

Then

She got slightly better. Tests were taken. Then the words.

"We are so sorry Gail. We don't know what happened. We must have read your x-rays wrong. All the coughing you did all those years cracked your ribs. (my mom coughed non stop for 5 years. I think it had something to do w/ the cancer/meds/illness/arthritis. ) We must have read those healed cracks as bone cancer. You don't have bone cancer. You'll live."

She lived 1 year without cancer.

When the year ended, her cancer returned.

Life went on. The months went by. 1, 2 years? It became a blur of living. Some days were heart breaking, others were filled with fun & happiness.

She died on a beautiful windy July day. And on that day, I physically felt the static rise from the bottom of my feet, wander up through my body, stopping at my shoulders. I felt it crouch down hard, then in an instant it sprang from me. The crushing weight I had carried all those years left me. I still suffer from anxiety, but not like the heart wrenching, bone crushing, vomit inducing static I had before. I am grateful I had it, because if I never would have felt it, I never would have appreciated it leaving me.

One day in spring, when the wild cherry tree was in full bloom, God granted a young girl her wish. "Make it be a mistake. Work with me on this one God. Please?" He granted her a glimpse into the future. He allowed her to have a bit of control of her careening, plummeting life. He even allowed her mom to have a breather from the cancer. That day was a gift for me and a tragedy for my mom. I hope now God has let her in on our little plan! I hope she can forgive me for not including her. I do regret that. It would have been nice to share it with her. I hope she won't spank me for being so...well...childish when I see her again.

God gave me that gift freely. I just simple asked. It was very sweet of Him. And the only thing I felt he asked for in return, was to etch this experience on my soul.

To my God in the cherry tree, I have etched it. Forgive me for allowing the dust of my life to settle into the deep cracks. I will remember.

Drink the Kool-Aid

2010-03-08T10:01:00.002-06:00

I did something that makes me uncomfortable. I defended The Religion. It made me uncomfortable because...at the end of the day I don't know everything. I ain't a scriptorian (I much rather eat my own eyeballs then read the scriptures) I have bad spelling. I ramble. I swear. I get a blank look in my eye when people ask me about The Religion. (trust me...blank look is better then seeing red. DO NOT ask me ANYTHING about ANYTHING when I am on a bender...I will strip your flesh off with my teeth & eat your soul...just warning you now)

I think everyone feels uncomfortable when they are asked to defend something they don't understand. But dang nab it...don't you dare talk smack about crap you know nothing about. I may not know much....but I know more then you, you little bigoted worm (judge much? I sure do!)

I use to read a forum about mothers & all the great crap mothers do...whatever. It did help me out for awhile. I helped me with questions like "Do I use fleece or wool to catch my babies flaming poo. Did I really kill my Daylilies because I ignored them & didn't talk to them all winter?" Ya know, crunchy stuff that I use to be into....then I had 4 kids & crunchy went straight to Hades along w/ my sanity. Anywayyyyyy, I hardly read the site anymore because it just ain't my thang. I grew up & moved on. But sometimes when I'm bored (idle hands make for the devils workshop) I'll read it. They have a religion forum which always cracked me up. They are the type of people who would believe in Fairies but would call a Christian a freak of nature & a murder...fun stuff.

Well My Religion peeps no longer post in this forum, because people HATE us. Yes, even crunchy, tree hugg'n, cloth diaper wear'n, baby sqirt'n out people...hate some religions. So, my peeps fled. But then I saw it....a post...a question about The Religion. I read it......It made my blood boil, my head pop & my teeth grind.

I will be very controlled when I say this...deep breath.......

You stupid mother falkers. Really? Reallyyyyyy. You know nothing about The Religion. If you are going to bash it...at least get your dang nab it fact straight you lint lickers! Why do people feel the need to speak about things they know NOTHING about? As I was reading this crap, I felt like the goofy girl in the corner that people were talking about....I can HEAR YOU!

I waited.

& waited.

& waited.

Not one of my "cult" followers spoke up. & I know they were there. Just shaking their heads saying "well, it's a lost cause. They never believe us. I can't defend The Religion as well as they can tear it apart."

So...I snapped. I posted. The weird girl that you have been speaking for & speaking about... that was stuck in the corner...came out...guns blazing.

I knew as I posted, I could possibly ridiculed. Or they would discover I was a fraud who has the IQ of a sloth. I knew I couldn't compete. But by golly, I will say what I believe, what I hope to be true. I will defend my friends, I will speak up the best, with the little information I got rattling around in my brain. I will lay it at your feet. Then I will walk away....knowing it will be trashed. But at least I spoke up....even though it hurt my brain.

I hate Mondays.

Is it something in the water?

2010-01-08T09:11:00.017-06:00

Do you ever look around at the young girls in your neighborhood/school/church & say to yourself "What the Hades?! These girls are cute...really cute! What happened between 1985 & 2010?"

These girls will look back 20 years at their school pictures & say "Hey, I was cute in my black H & M shirt & my shiny hair."

They won't be saying things like...

What the heck was my mom thinking?! WHY the boy hair cut? That really damaged me. Mother "It's a pixie cut." Me "Good Goober women...It's a BOY cut...have you no shame?"

What was I thinking?! This awesome sweater/tight/headband/really freakishly long bang (I have a long forehead...so shoot me...no really, shoot me) look was my first attempt to dress my 8th. grade self up for my first dance. I actually went back to my old school in the country, 30 minutes away to see everyone I left behind 2 years before. P.S. the dance sucked...but I did love those white rectangle earrings.

Did I really get upstaged by a dog? Note the curl/bowl like haircut. And to the right...is a little blue bow clip stuck into that hot mess. Oh & that purvey dog...belonged to my parents purvey friends. The dude was always trying to kiss me & show me crude,nude pictures. Good times! And yes, that is the dogs tongue permanently hanging out the side of his mouth...just like his owner. The look on my face...."Purvey friend wants to hug me...so I'll hold this dog which hates him allll night long." Note my eyes...I kid you not, I was trying to silently communicate with my Mom. "Your friend is grossssss!"

Sweet Jesuit preist....There...are

....no....words.

I'm.....sorry. I was...blinded...by pity for that poor, deeply embarrassed 12 year old. Let me explain. My mother bought me that monstrosity. She thought I looked great (really mom?) It is a hideous...brown....knit.....bicini.

Sweet mercy...I'm having flash backs...excuse me for a second.

This picture was taken on a terrible trip to Florida. Dear Florida, I am sorry my mother inflicted such pain on your sunny state. This is proof of what I thought the whole time.

My saint of a mother was butt drunk out of her MIND and she had no SHAME!

This bikini lasted only for 1 more outing. I'll have to tell you all about it in graphic detail one day. But until then....look upon me with pity. Look at my still developing awkward body. For the love of all that's holy....I have ONE boob! I have ONE! Not 2, ONE!

I....Just....I.........

So young girls of the 21 century. You are cute. You will never have to go through the pain your mothers had to endure growing up....& that makes you a weak generation. So WAAAAAAAAA, you had a bad hair day......LOOK AT ME you spoiled brats. Look & pray to the one that made you that your mothers sacrifice so you didn't have to!

Now I will go to the best web site ever....To purge my bikini from my mind & look upon others who had the misfortune of living in the 20th century. Seriously, if you want to pee your pants & feel better about your family photos...please visit http://awkwardfamilyphoto.com/

You will not be disappointed....unlike I was...with my one boob!

The Dr. is in!

2009-12-29T20:12:00.015-06:00

My friends & I joke about "going to my happy place" whenever we get anxious or sad or overwhelmed. How many of us say that but don't do it?

As you now know, I am riddled with issues. Yes, it is official. I have a paper stating such. And I also have a therapist. (Jealous? You should be!) My issues have calmed down tremendously since I got older. I no longer vomit in public when I'm nervous or have anxiety attacks....much (My first attack was in 4th grade...in front of my class..as my teacher screamed "I can't teach you, you are so damn stupid....kid you not!)

I am learning how to rethink. I'm trying to make new pathways in my brain so I can have more options then just careening down the tortured, twisted path I normally tread. But to do that...I must be submersed in Cognitive Behavioural Therapy ( a psycho therapeutic approach that aims to solved problems concerning dysfunctional emotions, behaviors & cognitions through a goal oriented systematic procedure......get it? )

One thing my fairy dust sprinkling therapist (yes...she does have a waned!) has taught me is how to ease anxiety by going to my happy place. It's very simple. At first it feels stupid....really stupid. But the more you practice...the more it works. So lets get going to your happy place!

Think about something calm that you enjoy doing. For me, it's wandering in nature. For you it might be sewing, swimming, singing, jogging, playing an instrument, sumo wrestling.

What do you see around you?

What do you smell?

What do you taste?

What do you hear?

What do you feel?

You have just invoked all 5 senses. Your brain is trying to make new pathways in healthy thinking. After you have imagined all of this, pick a word. This word needs to be something that is not used often. If it's a common word, 1 of 2 things will happen. The word will lose all meaning or you will suddenly find yourself in a meditative, drooling, relaxed state when someone says the word to you. "Hey Jane! Cute puppy you got there." relaxed word.... puppy...suddenly calm & warm as dog drags you chasing after a squirrel....what would your neighbors think?!

Now you go through your meditations say the word over & over again. (yeah, yeah...it sounds stupid, just keep at it) Over time you have trained your mind to relax. In times that you can't sit, relax & daydream about your happy place...all you have to do is say the word. And like Pavlov dog, your brain will associate warms fuzzies with that word.

Now, be gone, I'm off to my happy place!

You cut me. You cut me deep

2009-12-19T11:27:00.007-06:00

Winter has arrived. Christmas looms around the corner. Snow is itching to fall. I do my best to show my kids I enjoy this time of year...which is a big fat lie. But there is one thing I enjoy....cooking & baking. And even a cold scrooge as me, can't deny the happiness that baking cookies bring this time of year. How many people say "Aww geezzz, it was a nightmare...mother baking cookies into the night. The smell of chocolate wafting through the air. The anticipation of waiting to "test" the chewy warm treats....aggggg what a horrible memory! I could just puke!!!" I mean really? Can you go wrong with the memory of mother baking tasty treats? Really? Realllyyyy? And if for some reason that is a bad memory...well then....there are some other issues involved here. Anyway, on to the subject at hand...cookies.

I began a dinner conversation with a question (doing my best to embrace the season & make cookie memories for my kids) "Darling children, what is your favorite cookie I can make you this time of year? Wouldn't it be Jim Dandy if we got together & made your most loved cookie?"

Children. "Oh yes mother dear that would be neat-o!"

As the children thought long & hard about their most beloved cookie, I smiled at myself. Happy that I could give them a wonderful cookie memory.

My 10 year old son said "OOhhh, I know! My favorite are those cookies w/ all the colors...ummm, you know with the shapes.

"Spritzes that my mother use to make? (I was excited! He loved MY mommies cookies that I try to recreate each year)

"No, not those...ummm, they are round."

Macaroons?

Good O' chocolate chip?

Ginger snaps?

Snicker doodles?

Peanut butter?

Minty delights?

"No....Ya know the one's that come in the package w/ the pictures inside of them"

You mean these.............

Ya....let THAT sink in.

The children erupt with "oh yes! I love those! So much fun!"

And I shot daggers out of my eyes as a piece of me died.

Let me explain myself. First, I have issues. Second, I grew up w/ a mother that baked from scratch. I never had canned veggies (I love canned greened beans..because my mother poo-pooed them!) My mother never lowered herself to make boxed Mac & Cheese (which I couldn't get enough of when my kids were little...because my mother poo-pooed mac & crap) My mother was a cooking Goddess & I have wonderful memories of her cooking. (there was a time she lite her eyebrows on fire cooking her famous spaghetti sauce....but that's a story for another day)

So for me.....cooking is my thang. One thing I think I do well is bake. I scream at my kids. I swear like a sailor. I lock myself in my room & throw temper tantrums. I fart & dart. I am self deprecating...But by golly I can cook dang nabIT!

So here I was, being out shined by a package of crappy, tasteless, pre made cookies (cookies I made ONCE YEARS ago because my M-I-L left them...I felt too guilty to throw them away. And yes I cried when I baked them.)

So what did I do? I bought them the cookies. I cringed & cried on the inside. Then I let my older son cook those cookies all by himself when my husband & I went on a date.

When all was said & done I heard my mom say to me. "It's not about what you make, It's about the memories of the joy you had baking & caring for your family. It's about letting your kids have a say in what they like & not shaming them. It's about a boy taking his first steps into the world of warm ovens, happy tummies & the feeling of accomplishment"

"But mom...those cookies are of the devil! They are tasteless & gross!"

"I know Sweetie. Just do your best to grin & bare it. Grin & bare it."

So I took my moms advice. The cookies were eaten while I was away (I didn't have to witness the monstrosity of it all) My son enjoyed baking them. Clean up was a cinch. & the best part...

My son said..."yeah, they don't taste that great like I remembered them. They were pretty tasteless. My favorite cookies is the minty delights."

My spirit & my ghost of a mother high fived.. Our job here was done.

Thanksgiving crab legs

2009-11-19T21:15:00.003-06:00

I don't like holidays...much. I am one of those cranky women who wouldn't put up a Christmas tree if I didn't have to. And...I have to because I have children. This year I'm tempted to not make a move for the Christmas decoration box & see what happens. Will my husband bring out the box if I don't ask him? Will my children shrivel up & die with out a stupid fake tree? Things to ponder.
I lost my love for the holidays after my mom died...& once I grew up & realised I have to be the one that does all the work! Gone are the days of Mom making cookies while Dad swears like a sailor trying to untangle the $%&%$ strands Christmas tree lights. Then stringing the $%#& lights on the $%H&# tree. I loved watching that all play out. In my little childhood mind I would wonder why my Dad, year after year climbed up on our roof. (this wasn't ANY roof, this was a BARN roof, yes, I was raised in a barn) stapled on the ginormous colored light bulbs, swearing the whole time. Then climb back down only to grumble "never to do THAT again!" "Screw next year, I'm not doing it." Then only to repeat the scenario the next year & the next year & the next year. Why, I wondered did he do it?

Then my mom died & the lights didn't go up. He did it all for her.

After Mom died, the first holidays were the worst & the kindest. For Thanksgiving my Dad was too sad to cook. OK...real reason...my Dad didn't know how to cook. Oh, he could cook hamburgers & pancakes, but that was about it. So for our first Thanksgiving we had our turkey dinner at.... a restaurant. I could have DIED! I felt terrible that WE were taking people away from their families just to serve us. I begged my Dad to just stay home, but he refused. It was too depressing to stay home & slaughter a Thanksgiving meal & eat it while looking at that empty chair. So off to a little restaurant called Coleman's we went. There were only 4 people there. An older couple and Dad & I. I...was...mortified!
But that Thanksgiving will be forever burned in my mind as one of the best. That Thanksgiving, Coleman's served all you can eat....King Snow Crab legs. Aaaaahhhh, they were the best crab legs I ever had! We didn't even know they were not serving turkey. We welcomed the changed menu. We ate till we nearly burst. The mood of the restaurant was quiet & slow at first. The owner (who we knew)was there, helping out in the kitchen & came out to check on his patrons. When he saw us he started to cry. He was a big man named Brett Coleman. I felt terrible when people were upset for us. I just wanted to cheer them up. So, that's what Dad & I did. We made them laugh. The older couple joined in on the fun too. Soon our little group was laughing till we had tears in our eyes. We were covered in butter & bits of crab legs. We stayed for hours, grateful to feel normal & happy & well fed. Grateful for the slaps on the backs & the endless supply of crab legs....hot delicious crab legggssssss. The cooks & the waitress & the owner taking turns coming out to sit w/ us. We felt care for. We WERE cared for.
After our meals, the older couple took turns hugging me. The owner & Dad got into a huge fight because Brett wanted the meal on the house. Dad would have NON of that! Back & forth they went yelling. It was pretty funny. Brett refused to give Dad the check so Dad left a HUGE tip for the waitress & the cook. Both men walked away like they had won the "fight."
A few years after that, Dad & I went out for an early New Years dinner. We always had fun together (well at least I did with him, I'm sure there were days he wanted to strangle his brooding daughter) We sat eating our dinner having a gay o' time when my Dad spotted a man, sitting at a table with his young children. We recognised "the look." The look of faked happiness for the sake of your kids on the mans face. My Dad said "He must have lost her." Divorce, death...we didn't know. The man lost her. So my Dad did the only thing he could do, he secretly paid for the family's dinner.
The holidays are hard for so many people. But I am grateful for those who serve. Whether it's stuffing stocking for our troops or serving crab legs to those who lost loved ones. People who serve can make a big impression on a sad person. I will always remember Brett Coleman & his crab legs. Maybe that sad father will remember his meal was paid for & life can throw you gentle mercies when you lest expect it. I am grateful for children who just want to have a good time. Who propel us to do things we may not want to, but are good for us. Who love the smell of turkey burning & can hear the sweet sounds of their mother swearing in the kitchen. I even have to smile inside as my husband says the same thing my mother use to tell me.

"Stay away from your mother kids...she's putting up the lights!"

Brought to you by Abreva

2009-11-04T09:07:00.007-06:00

I am sitting at my computer that has been parked at the kitchen table for 5 days. Cords splayed unceremoniously on the floor, draped over chairs & piled up in the corner. There are 6 people in my family. We have a small kitchen. Computer do-dads in the small kitchen with 6 people (don't forget the dog!) makes me very, very nervous.

I have a TV in my bedroom (the shame!) a TV in the front room. Half an entertainment hutch in my hall way. A plethora of pillows, wires in a huge Aldis bag(wires form every electrical device known to man!). A de-humidifier. A hulking string bass nestled next to my bed....well you get the picture. Crap everywhere!

5 days ago our basement flooded. We live in a bi-level so our basement ain't just a basement, it's the play room, entertainment room, office, under stair storage, bathroom & laundry room.

So yeahhhhhhhhh, when THAT floor gets covered w/ 4 inches of water, it does some damage! It's amazing how 4 inches of water can destroy so much.

I would like to load my pictures onto my post, but I can't figure out how, now that the computer is in bits. Printer over there, Disk drive back up thingy over here. That plug in I need...wait...where is that thing?

Through all of this I had to take care of myself. I have managed to shower once in these 5 days. (I think today is the day I spoil myself & add some water to my hair...maybe rub my shampoo bar over it once or twice) I have been eating chocolate all day long, starting at 7:30 am. I took a 2 hour nap yesterday, on the couch, with the sun bathing my body, my eyes covered by my eye mask....heavenly! I threw caution to the wind & didn't add my sunblocking lip balm. So this morning I woke up to a cold sore thanks to the sun...or the pounds of chocolate I have been eating...or the stress....whatever.

Even though the weekend was a bit stressful, I realize how lucky I am. It sounds trite but I have friends. Really good friends that bring over food, "beer", Dove chocolates, Yankee smelly tarts heaters thingy. Friends that took my not so clean JUST LAUNDERED laundry (that I left in baskets, on the basement floor "headdesk") & did my laundry, underwear & all! Friends who took my kids so my husband & I could stand around saying "ummm, where do we begin?"

Thank God for good friends, neighbors & church peeps. My house is slowly getting put back together. My life is getting use to the upheaval. My kids are back to annoying each other. Crisis mode is over. It's all coming together. I take deep breaths & let the relaxing energy wash over me.

Oh yeah, My daughter has been home with the flu for 3 days.

Pass the chocolate & the Abreva.

Feeding the needy

2009-10-20T12:45:00.004-05:00

3 girls dressed in vintage 1920 flapper dresses, sitting on a bench. Feet furiously pushing, pushing the petals to an old pump piano. Girls singing at the top of there lungs as the pump piano wheezes & hums My Rag Time Gal. Singing and singing till the fair lights come on & the old mansion shuts down for the evening.

Laughter.

What you see are children, raising a motherless child.

Brandy, Brenda, Jenny, Diane, Mindy, Drew, Noel, Jen. Names that go on and on. Were these children aware of their impact? Teenagers who stepped up to take me in when my mother died, as a father mourned.

They held me accountable to my actions. They ran along side of me as I fled from my earthy worries. They grab hold of my shoulders & spoke fiercely into my brain. Focusing me onto my path I needed to take. Holding down my grief, they scooped it out with their hands only to have me face it, then helped me bade it goodbye.

Encouraging me to do difficult things. Yelling at me when I got down on myself. Pushing me onto the stage when I couldn't breath. And holding my hand as I screamed into the dark.

We give children too little respect. While adults hemmed & hawed about my grades, college plans & how much sleep I got. Teenagers filled my soul with friendship and life. Pushed me back onto my own 2 feet. Held me up while I wobbled precariously on the edge of childhood and adulthood. Madness & sanity.

I was raised by a pack of giggly, wild, intelligent, strong, carefree & loving group of misfit teens. Teens who crushed me with their protective arms. Teens who allowed me to borrow their breath, their happiness, their strength.

I am the lucky one.

Well that's just great.

2009-10-08T16:09:00.004-05:00

I got a response back from Social Security about my brother.

Social Security has not been notified of his death. Technically, by their standards, he is still alive...or rather his SS # is.

Wanna hear something funny? When you request a persons SS # they will give it to you for a small fee. Butttt, if that person is not listed as deceased, The Privacy Act of 1974 states (5 U.S.C 552a(b))

(I'm only going to type out part because it's redundant & I'm lazy) "The Privacy Act of 1974 restricts disclosure of the information you requested. We do not disclose to the public personal information from our record about living individuals right to privacy."

Sounds good right? Well then why did they GIVE me my brothers SS #?!!!!! Yes, you read that right! They gave me his NUMBER (It's the same number I had all these years. It was a # on his college forms. Those were the good old days when they used a persons SS# on everything. From college papers to driver licences!) They just broke their own Privacy Act!

And that my friends, is why the Government can be stupid. Oh, how did I get this delicate information you ask? "You must have jumped through hoops to get his #! You are amazing!" Well, I am amazing...but I did not have to jump through hoops. All I had to do was type on a piece of paper his name, birth date, father's & mother's name of the person I was search for. Oh, & $29. And for the low price of $29 I got myself an unused SS#! Wow.......My trust in the governments ability to keep me safe & healthy is one more flush down the toilet....morons.

So for now my dopey brother is still lost. Is he alive? I doubt it. His low life, drunk of a father never bothered to notify SS, that's all.

I guess I have to pick through all the states to search for his death certificate. That can take 100's of dollars & lots o' time. But I'll do it..maybe...if I'm in a good mood.

Remember kids...the government is our friend & is the smartest friend we have! I love you government...I want to be just as smart as you when I grow up!

His name was Brian

2009-09-18T11:28:00.014-05:00

Brian was born to a popular, playboy city kid and a kind, wounded girl. He had red hair & freckles the moment he was born. He was a brilliant child. IQ through the roof.

He watched his father beat his quiet mother. He saw the parties, the drinking, the fights. He ran with his mother. He saw the blood splattered apartment his mother had rented. All of her clothes shredded, belongings broken, every window smashed & his bleeding father sprawled on the white carpet. He watched as his mother did the unthinkable. She got a lawyer and won an annulment, the car, the furniture, the dog, the restraining order...in the 60's. My mother slowly shed her wounded childhood heart and become a women to be reckoned with. She put her foot down, slammed the door & made a new life for herself. But she was punished, by her mother, her society and her church. The Catholic church excommunicated her for leaving her abusive husband. Her husband....he finally walked away from her, never to see punishment in this lifetime.

My brother was about 9 when mom ran. Mom married a nice man, who took Brian on ski trips, camping, fishing & canoeing. He taught him how to fix cars and anything with a motor. Brian was safe. But he never healed for everything he witnessed.

A boy & his beloved dog

Brian with the "new" guy on his wedding day.

Brian, his freckles & his blue eyes.

At 15, his sister was born. I must have thrown him off greatly, because at 15 he became a drug addict. It started with a cigarette his friend offered him. Then a beer from the friend's father. Soon after..pot. 15, Fifteen.

Me & my brother who, on this day became my Godfather.

My parents tried everything, well everything you could do for an addict in the 70's & 80's. But in the end nothing helped. My brother traveled the world...selling drugs. He was a pusher, a pimp, a felon, a thief, a user. He was the guy who would sell drugs to your children. A brilliant mind wasted.

My exhausted mother & my "high" brother at Thanksgiving dinner.

He finally left our lives for good when I was about 10. I breathed a sign of relief. My mother just sighed. I cringed when I received his gifts to me. Cards that said "be good." Clothes, jewelry, flowers. The gifts came for my birthday or Christmas. My mother, never received a thing, not even a word from her son. I hated him because I knew what he was doing. He was slowly killing our mom.

Brother & sister

My mother was a strong, feisty, fun, kind, loyal women. She never showed weakness. She tried not to cry over Brian. The closest she got was when he was stabbed in the gut after a failed drug deal. He lay dying in a New York hospital. Mom cried, not because he nearly died, but because he healed & walked out to sell more drugs. He left her sitting by his hospital bed alone. The tears she swallowed soon settled over her heart. She never again allowed them to flow, so they festered in her breast till it rotted with cancer. Her left breast carved off her body was a reminder of how powerful a wounded heart can be. All that remained was twisted, black, burned flesh that she tended to day in and day out for months. Tending the hurt Brian had left her. Mom lived with her cancer for 5 years. I watched everything. I saw the flesh. I saw the infections & the rot she would get. I watched as her hair fell out, then her fingernails. I heard her vomit violently after chemo, only to apply fresh lipstick & march out the door & go to work. I listen to the years of hacking she did. An uncontrolled cough that would break her ribs. My brother remained silent. Knowing she was dying & never getting clean enough to care.

At 15...Fifteen... I buried my mom. At 15 my brother slithered back to attend her funeral. I hated him. I hated he was in our house. My father made him cut off all his stingy red hair. He took him to get his teeth clean. He handed me a wad of cash to take my stupid 30 year old brother shopping for respectable clothes. I watched as my brother twitched & fidgeted. He couldn't walk without looking behind him, waiting for someone to stab him in the back. At 15 I knew a jonesing drug addict when I saw one. I hated him. My mother was dead & I was hauling his pathetic ass around Crystal Point Mall. He said crap like "I'm clean. I went to rehab. I'm getting better." Liar. "I love you. I'm sorry I left you." Liar. "I'm sorry I never wrote mom, I love you, forgive me." Liar. He could barley try on shoes he was shaking so hard. He jumped every time a salesmen talked to him. Liar, I hate you.

At mom's funeral, my clean, suited brother stood by my dad's side. He wore a light pink shirt and a light colored suit. I refused to stand near Brian. I refused to be his sister. I had a friend say that he was cute. I told her "His nose cartilage has rotted away by all the blow he did. Oh yeah, thanks for coming to my moms funeral, so nice to see you."

Brain followed me everywhere. Outside to breath...Brian. Sitting on the steps...Brian. Bathroom...Brian. He creeped me out. I over heard my dad tell him "stop hovering around your sister. She doesn't trust you. If you bother her, I will kill you." I smiled at that last line. After the funeral my dad thought it would be fun to take a road trip to visit his sister in Minnesota. Grief makes people do weird things! I sat in the back of the car as Brian & his stepfather drove in silence...the whole way. One night at the hotel, I decided I needed to away from the men folk, so off to the pool I went. Swimming in the pool....Brian. Diving board...Brian. Ahhh hot tub....what the Hades?!....Brian. I bolted out of the hot tub & ran off to find a place to hide. Me, being oh so smart hid in the....sauna .........Brian. Brian in a bathing suit, awkward me in a bathing suit. Door shut...sauna. I felt the bile rise in my throat. He had me trapped. A drug addict had me trapped! I stayed calm as he sat next to me. I scooted away. He started to cry. He told me he knew he messed up. He knew I would never trust him. I asked him why he did it. Drugs. Leaving mom. He started to retell his story. "I watched my father beat my quite mother. I saw the parties, the drinking, the fights. I ran with my mother. I saw the blood splattered apartment my mother had rented. All of her clothes shredded, belongings broken, every window smashed & my bleeding father sprawled on the white carpet."

"It's still not an excuse, but it was too much." "I was too weak." "Mom...mom...mom suffered terribly. I saw it all. Somethings to horrible to repeat.""I'm so sorry.""I missed you.""You are my only family." Cold air rushed in as my dad slammed open the door. My dad, standing there in his short swim suit growled, "Get away from her...now" My brother towered over him as he walked out. My brother hide his tears from dad. My brother disappeared when we got home from our trip. He left saying he was going to get better. Make his life better for mom. But he knew, as we did, it was too late.

The awkward trio in MN. "Smile everyone! Mom's dead & you are standing in front of a lovely lighthouse. Ain't vacations fun?!"

His father called one day out of the blue. I knew immediately as my father said "John" with disdain & dripping with hate. My dads face never changed as John told him what happened. I didn't have to hear John to know. They found Brian alone, dead of a heroin overdose. All he had left of the $300 worth of clothes, shoes & toiletries my dad bought for him was a duffel bag, a pair of socks and a worn picture of me. A picture of me.

My dad & I didn't shed a tear. All my father could say was "at least he waited to die after your mother."

I don't remember when or where he died. I know I was still in high school. I continued my life just trying to survive my teen years. I didn't have time to think about a brother that deserted us. But all these years later I search for him. Sometimes I imagined he was alive...hiding somewhere from the drug lords that owned him. But I doubt a 5o something druggie is smart enough or healthy enough to survive this long.

When I joined the church I heard about how families can be together forever. I didn't want Brian to be apart of my family. All the agony he caused our mom....it caused me to hate him. I put the thought about doing his "work" into the back of my mind. I got married & moved on with my life. I forgot about Brian. Until one night my husband & I had a dream...each. It was of my brother, in white..... "please, I'm sorry." He actually looked happy. Dang nab it...now I had to find him! Besides, I realised, if I don't do it, no one will. I am his only family. I asked my Dad if he remembered Brian's death info. He didn't. So the search began.

Years ago we didn't have the Internet yet. I couldn't just pop on the computer & find all the info I needed. So I had to go the old fashion route of working with a genealogist and then writing 3 stated for his death records. My searches came up empty. But now, I got smart (I really don't know what took me so long!) I finally realised I could contact Social Security to have them search for his SS number & hopefully it will tell me when & where he died. So here I sit. Waiting for the paper to tell me his info.

I don't know if I really believe in "the work." It's a sweet but impossible, confusing thought. The best I can do is offer up this olive branch. Offer him a new life. Remeber him as a child. Think of him as a brother he wanted to be. Do the work & HOPE that in the end...it is true. And in the end I will see my mother and brother healed...together.

Teen angst

2009-09-10T08:49:00.006-05:00

I have entered a new faze in my life....mother of a teenager. So far...a few hours into it, it has been going well. I'm not weepy or sad. I'm excited for my baby. I think I'm a little more excited for him then he is. He enters into this new world with hesitancy & a bit of fear. I, on the other hand embrace this change as exciting & thrilling. I am giddy for him...is that weird?

On Sunday I was trying to think of something symbolic for him. A little turning of age ritual for a boy turning into a teenager. I offered to get his ear pierced or get a tattoo...he promptly turned me down. So I settled for a picture scavenger hunt. For me a scavenger hunt is symbolic of a child turning into a teen. The game itself is childish. The lure of gifts is a selfish childish desire. Then there is the Thrill of the Hunt!! The actual hunt takes brain power & perseverance. A trait learned from experience & age.......ok, you do know I pulled that out of my butt. Sounded good for a second didn't it?!

For the scavenger hunt I will take pictures of hiding places. Each place will have a little treat. Markers (permanent markers...only a teen would get permanent markers! No more washables for him! ), Gum, Nerf bullets, candy. For the candy, I went to a little candy shop downtown. I picked 6 different candies & put 13 pieces of each candy in bags. The store owner got a good chuckle of me counting out 13 tiny little balls of mini midget jaw breakers. Stupids balls kept rolling off the scoop.

I then will take pictures of hiding places. (praise to the digital camera!) My neighbors sand box, undercarriage of the van, the school garden, the library. Oh, yes, I'm going to make this kid work for his treats! Hopefully he will be able to get thought the hunt in good time, because then it's off to dinner. At the end of dinner the waitress will hand him his last clue, a picture of home. A kitchen table with his gifts resting on it, a homemade chocolate cake.

My baby is 13. A true teenager. No longer a child, not an adult...but yet...he's a little of both. He stands on the line, teetering. Dear Lord, help me to keep him upright. Help me to steady him. Let's us all enjoy his ride together.

Awwwww crap...now I'm a little weepy, sheesh!

Slob

2009-08-04T13:49:00.004-05:00

What has happened to me? I use to have energy (ok, not really, but I did have more then I have now!) I use to care. I really don't care anymore. This picture proves it. I got a smudge of chocolate on my shirt. Didn't want it to stain. So at least I treated it..........& proceeded to leave my shirt on because I really could not be bothered by picking out a new shirt.

Brilliant

Oh, & to make matters worse, before I stained sticked it....I licked the chocolate stain. Yes, my friends...I ate something..... off....my...shirt.

Kill me now

Facts of life

2009-07-16T10:06:00.008-05:00

"Mommy, where do dust bunnies come from?"

"Well Sweetie, dust bunnies come from a very special place. They nestle tight & safe inside a protective layer of soft downy fur. Then they wiggggggle out slowly. It gets so hot, they want to be free & float in the air just like the bunnies before them. When conditions are justtttt right, like right after I mop the floor or when your Grandparents are just about to visit, they spring joyfully from their comfy home. They float & fly. Swirling & whirling on the current of cool air conditioned breeze. For a moment they are soooo happy to be free. They flutter onto the fans, into the potato salad,to top of the fridge & into my nose. Then after all that hard work...they rest. They gently, gently droop & sway onto the awaiting floor. Some bunnies only rest for awhile. They get bored of laying around. They want to float free again. They are sad they are on the floor or stuck to the greasy oven. They get desperate. Once they get desperate...they become rabid. They cling to black dress pants, they sneak into my cosmetic basket. I find them confused & floating in the toilet. I even find them hiding in the van. Poor little things. If we don't step in to cull their numbers they will rise up & slaughter us as we sleep. Then they will take over the world & we would become their food supply...& we don't want that do we Sweetie. So then...this is hard to hear. We have to put them to rest. We must gather them together & send them Elsewhere. yes....Elsewhere. We gently suck them up with my new cool toy. The Swiffer Sweeper Vac (que music, AaahhhaaAAHHhhHHHH) The vacuum is their portal to Elsewhere. It doesn't hurt them, but they are now tired but happy to go to Hel.....Elsewhere.

Sleep well little one, Don't let the dust bunnies bite....or float up your nose, get into your brain & then suck the life juices out of you.

My dog proudly displaying her fur of death & carnage after a good brushing. Dog fur dust bunnies are of the devillllllll.

My mother would be proud?

2009-06-22T21:09:00.013-05:00

I grew up as an only child. Raised in a barn, (built in 1850, converted into cheese factory, then house...kid you not) by 2 great parents. They taught me wonderful things. My Dad taught me how to sit reallll still & feed birds, squirrels & chipmunks out of my hands. He taught me how to hit a nail just right so it felt like it melted into wood. My Mom taught me how to stand up for myself. A lesson that wasn't mastered (well...still trying to master that one) for a few decades. She taught me how to be witty, cook & clean.

Cleaning....the art of housekeeping. She taught me the shortcuts, tips of the trade & reasons to keep a clean house. Saturdays where "cleaning day." Since my Mom & Dad worked full time, Saturday was get-things-done-or-else-day. I didn't mind it too much. I enjoyed tiding up my space. As I grew, I loved cleaning my little world before my friends came over. Even as a teen, if there was some friends meeting at my house, I would spend my time cleaning every thing in sight. I blossomed in a clean house...who doesn't?! Clutter brings hostility, rage & depression. I feel it especially now as I get older. A clean house is a heavenly house.

Fast forward....2009. I am a hostile, rage filled, depressed women. I ain't 10 anymore. I hate cleaning my freak'n house! I only clean when friends threaten to come over. I do still have a faint rush in my veins "oooo, my friend is coming over, I can CLEAN!" Then I start to clean....anddd.... the wonder lust is OVER. I stuff crap in closets, tubs, ovens, cabinets. I spritz Bath & Body Works gag-me-with- apple-blossom-tree-scent to mask the fart smell wafting through my living room. I run around flushing toilets because thanks to a 5th. grade teacher, my sons don't flush toilets. "If it's yellow, let it mellow, If it's brown flush it down" (Thanks Mr. Walker...you obviously don't have kids at home!) Here's a new one kids...."if you shat in the toilet, flush it damn it!" Have you ever experience that first humid not quite hot so you don't turn on the air conditioner day? You walk into your house after a long day of running & smell....outhouse? Yeahhhhhh..... MY house...everyday!

So every spring I try to be like Mom & spring clean.

I take one look at the fan & my allergies start up. Yum, dust. How do I fix it? I flip the switch so it spins the opposite direction & watch the greasy dust balls plummet into my kids 5 hour old cereal bowls still filled w/ mushy cereal bits. Hey, that's what a garbage disposal is for! I don't wipe them down. I just make sure the fans are always on. Can't tell how dirty they are if they are spinning!

Behold the banister. That is just the first layer of dirt I wiped off. I scrapped the rest with a wool pad & a knife. I thought the wood was stained dark black/brown. Yeahhhh no.

I have some glare, but if you look past it you can see the difference of clean/dirty. Can you see it? What...in a child's chemical makeup compels them to draggggg their dirty, greasy hands along the walls? Seriously, can we not invent a drug that makes them stop that habit? I now know why our Victorian ancestors put up chair rails! I would like to market my new invention. Chair Rails encrusted w/ shards of glass. That should do the trick!

Isn't it cute? A fuzzy, wuzzy, dust worm. This little bast#$% appeared 2 days after I dust moped. TWO DAYS! Kill me now please.

Problem....dust covered....no...greasy dust covered fake flowers gracing my kitchen shelf.

Solution....greasy dust covered fake flowers gracing my garbage can.

Please mother forgive me!

The never ending road

2009-06-16T09:42:00.008-05:00

Hi, my name is Jennifer & my crises of faith crashed into me in 1996. Thanks for having me...pass the cookies please.

In 1996 I had my first squishy, pink, widdle shnoopy baby. He was sweet & happy. I was bitter & lost. I plunged into post partum depression that didn't lift for 10 months. With the help of a lovely therapist (that I would eventually run into at a Le Leche League meetings & counsel her with breastfeeding) I clawed my way out of darkness & began my new journey down a strange, unfamiliar road.

I battled with Heavenly Father after the birth of my son. Knock down, dragged out fights. I yelled, I cursed, I spit, I stomped. I basically threw a huge adult temper tantrum...at God. Yeah, real mature! I was truly as a "little child." I arched my back, kicking & screaming as Father held me. I screamed "I hate you." Then would beg for forgiveness after the storm was over. (sounds familiar to anyone that has a 3 year old!)

Did I push Faith out the door or did she jump out the window to escape my childish antics? I'm sure a little of both. But one thing was sure...Faith was gone.

So I lived a new normal. I made my own rules. For starters...I would have babies on my own terms, in my own time. That was a huge healer for me. I didn't ask God when I should have them...I just planned them to come when I wanted (& crossed my fingers that my method of birth control/baby panning would work...& it did! I used F.A.M. for 9 years with great success!) The next 3 babies were a pleasure. I avoided PPD & actually loved my post partum experiences! (well the 4th baby gave me a run for my money, but that's a different story for another time) I was even able to enjoy some nice, happy spiritual feelings. Faith peeked her head in now & again. I must admit....most of the time I ignored her. I can hold a grudge for a very longgggg time!

The year is now 2009. 12 years after my crises. I have come out the other end different. I am less paranoid "Gods watchinggggggg". Less superstitious. "If I don't pray, something bad will happen to me." Less holier then thou "well if she only did what the Lord wanted, then she would not have this trial." (yeah, I'm an idiot....but we've ALL pulled that crap!) Less to trust people in authority "If Brother Cool said it, then it MUST be true!" These are all good things. I wish I would have worked these issues out in a different, less painful way, but what is done is done. And in the end, I am grateful.

So what about Faith? Religion? I am on a never ending road. I can't hop off of it. I will go where it leads me. I will take detours. I will do my darnedest to enjoy the freak'n journey! I will explore the scenery, the people, the ideas. & experience. I will never say never (never thought I would end up here!) I will get hurt. I will feel pain. I will be disappointed. I will question. I will have fun. I will feel love. I will love.

I don't have the answers...never had. And for once in my life, that's fine with me! I'm just put'n one foot in front of another. Religion is a crutch for weak people. And I am weak. Not ashamed to admit that some days I would like to beat The Religion with the damn crutch because I am so frustrated with it. I have a love/hate relationship w/ The Religion. But we are like a dysfunctional couple who can't live with, can't live without each other. One day that might change, but for now its all I got.

A scripture I always loved was "Faith is a hope in things that are not seen, which are true."

I will steal part of it for my new mantra FAITH IS A HOPE.

Beginning of Broken Faith

2009-05-28T15:36:00.010-05:00

Once...I asked myself.."self, how does one know when one is (or should be)done pooping out kids?" This question comes up a lot with women my age. More so I believe, with women my age & faith. Women of faith have that Sword of Damocles precariously swing over their head "multiply & replenish...oh yeah, God is watchinggg youuuuuu.!" Women without strong sense of faith...well...they don't. I have friends on both sides of the fence. My friends without strong faith have a pretty healthy attitude of when they should & shouldn't get pregnant. They get pregnant when they want too, not because they feel they have to (God is watchingggg) I'm not saying they have a better life. I am saying they don't freak themselves out about Big Guy in the sky watching them.

My first baby was a "leap of faith" baby. I waited a year (much to the chagrin of my fellow church mates..."you're not pregnant YET?" Every...damn...Sunday...I was asked! ) before I even thought about getting knocked up. My year was up & then I had to really think about it. One Sunday I looked at all the cute babies in church & said "I think I could do this...I don't want to but it has been a year & I have been told I should start pop'n these kiddos out if I want to be a good girl." I thought God would help me out. I was not in it alone. He would help me. So, full of fear & excitement...I tossed my BC pill in the garbage.

1/2 hour later.... I dug it out of the garbage & swallowed it.

Next day...again with great prayer & faith I popped that pill out of its little hole & symbolically dropped it in the toilet. No going back now! Time to work on baby making.
I stood over the toilet & thought "Oh HELL No! I am so not ready or wanting to do this!" Next thing I knew I was on my knees plunging my hand into the (clean;)) toilet water. Scooping up my little pill...I watched it dissolve in my hand. I considered slurping up the pill water that was pooled in my hand...but then I though how disgusted Big Guy in the sky would be. So, on my knees I let my little pill water go...& I cried.

I had faith. He would take care of me. I was doing the right thing. So for 9 months becoming pregnant became my obsession. I cried when the test come up negative. I looked forward every month to the thought of "this could be it!" I had faith...such great convert faith. 9 months after trying, I become pregnant.

I was never the same after that. For better & unfortunately for much worse. I had my leap of faith baby. He was tiny & sweet. I had my baby & I have never known such darkness. I felt God leave me. I truly was alone. Faith left. It has never returned to the vigor I had before. I did everything I thought God wanted me to do..& faith left. It just snuck out some time between me screaming my baby out. It just left me. It didn't even say goodbye.

Me, fresh from the oven Wee One & my fake smile that would improve with time, but still be fake.

I'm not taking it ANYMORE!

2009-05-05T09:24:00.004-05:00

That's it! I'm done! I'm taking matters into my own hands! How DARE you step onto my property to peddle your scams, sell your crap & annoy my nice spring day! Yeah right you're "working."! This type of "job" is no better then dancing around a pole...well that's not true. I do have respect for pole dancers because they actually have a talent. But not you! You want to sell, scam or convert me? Well then...Pull up your pants, wash your hair, Don't flick your nasty cigarette butt into my yard, stand up straight and respect my 'NO" and move away from my damn door! Oh...and get a nice job...you know, the kind that is actually legit. Wal-mart is always hiring. Oh...would that not work for you? Oh...I see...you want freedom in your job. You want to be free to suck on a smoke all day long. You don't want a dress code, you have the "right" to wear your pants around you ankles...because your BVD's are encrusted with diamonds & you want to show off how fly you are. (By the way Dillweed, sagging started in the U.S. prison system thanks to ill fitting pants...& since no belts are permitted, inmates had to walk around with sagging pants...wow....great style choice moron! Your penal system style screams "I'm a serious businessman." You so smart)

Get a job. Any job will do. Make sure that job keeps you off my doorstep. Just hop back into the white van with out of state licence plates & drive away. This gal is done with you & your cronies. I will write that licence plate down. I will be calling the police. I will not hold my dog back. I will slam the door in your face. Because I have the "right" to be an ass.

Woo be unto you if you can't read. Because Momma just might be sagg'n her pants in women's lock up after I get done w/ you.

This is my finished sign. I'm pissed that I had to put one up. Each summer the "solicitors" get worse. Each summer I become more scared. Last summer I spent my time diving into my house when I saw "them" coming. I'm over it. I put up a sign. If you can't read it..because you dropped out of grade school...sorry...I have no pity for you. Plenty of programs out there to help you. Get off my door step & attend a class. For the rest of the buttheads...you can read. You are rude & nasty to still ring my doorbell. So I will now throw all that nastiness back at you. My house, my rules.

Other sign options were.

Oh HELL NO!

I know how to use it & it rhymes with RUN!

It's a good day to be mauled

No! No! and ummm...... NO!

My dog was a rabid infected pit bull in her past life.

Beware of cooped up, rage filled, kitten kicking, PMSing Lady of the house, willing to cage fight.

Get your ass off my door step before I shot it off! Have a nice day:)

Real Moms of Genius

2009-05-04T08:11:00.002-05:00

Real Moms of Genius

I’m Just Fine… Presents: Real Moms of Genius

(Real moms of genius)

Today we salute you, Mrs. Keeper of the Sacred Mom-Bag.

(Mrs. Keeper of the Sacred Mom-Bag)

Only you can defy the laws of time and space by cramming 15 metric tons of “stuff” into a bag no larger than a standard carryon.

(Would you like a forklift for that bag?)

Packed with more tissues, wet-wipes, gum wrappers, receipts, hairbrushes, half used chapsticksss, baggies and smooootz than a convenience store before Memorial day weekend.

(where is the bottom?)

Conventional wisdom tells you to simplify, but when was the last time life was simple and you didn’t need a half eaten lollipop or band-aid, or Kleenex, a two day old cookie, or an invitation to an Avon Party?

(Do you have any mint gum?)

While the world is falling apart around you, small children are screaming, your husband is rocking in a corner you simply reach into the depths of your Sack by Syndy and pull out the solution to everything.

(Why is it so dark in there?)

So crack open an ice-cold IBC Root Beer, Oh wielder of the Mom-Bag because the world is a safer place when the bag is in your hands, and out of ours…

(Is there anybody trapped in there?)

No mans land

2009-05-03T21:09:00.008-05:00

Ahhh, the purse. It's a catch all, a nurses station, snack shop, make up counter, bill holder, Diaper Genie, & money eater (I know I had a $5. It...must..be in...here..somewhere.)

This is my purse.. It started out as a diaper bag. But...I'm a mom w/ 4 kids, I will be lugging around a purse as big as my head until my kids move out! Then I'll become a Grandma. Then I will have "the Grandma" purse. Which is even bigger then "the mom" purse!

This bag makes me happy. I've had it for about 2-3 years ish. I had a friend from church whip up this beauty. Check her out. She is very talented! http://www.sacksbysyndy.com/ Anyway I don't plan to give up my bag anytime soon. For a moment I thought about having a new one made. But I fear my first bag would feel bad. I can't do that to my bag!

I remember my Mom's bags. They were always made out of leather & they were HEAVY! I hated when she asked me to hold it. I'd rip my arm socket out every time she plopped it on my shoulder! Her bag was...scary. You'd never dive into her purse w/o asking. Foraging around in a women's purse uninvited is as bad as sticking your hand in her pant pocket...ya just don't do it w/o asking!

My Mom's purse always had horrible smootz at the bottom. Ack! I could never turn down a stick of gum she offered me, because she would think I was in one of "those moods" again. Then she would spend the next 20 minutes telling me to wipe that look off my face. So, when she offered a stick of horrible minty gum (Ackkk!) I took it. To this day I can't stand minty gum! Mom's minty gum would always come w/ the extra flavor of tobacco. I'd spend a good 10 minutes picking off the bits of cigarette tobacco that some how got smashed into the wrapped piece of gum. Tobacco was in her wallet, coin purse, hairbrush, lipstick case & tissues. (ever try blowing your honker into a tobacco smelling tissue?..not...pleasant!) Don't EVEN get me started on the sugar free candies coated w/ tobacco. Now THAT was truly offencive!

My son hates going into my purse. He was scarred once when he needed a tissue in church. I like to fold tissues & place them in a little snack baggie. So he reached in & pulled out a baggie. Opened it up & pulled out ....a panty liner ( I like to keep a few extra panry liners in baggies too....just in case! Those baggies are up there w/ the invention of the light bulb!) He will NOT go into my purse! Even for a tissue as his nose runs down his face. I tell him there is candy in there...but he ain't budging! Diving into my purse is like diving into a jet black pond in the middle of the night...after you read 1o,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

So here's to you o' purse of greatness! Yes, sometimes we tire of lugging you around from park to park. We look upon men w/ a tad bit of jealousy as they strap on a wallet & go. But in the end...we, purse sling'n ladies of power will always be the ones who come swooping to the rescue! We are the ones that the lost & hopeless seek out (do you have a map?) We will give freely of our bag-waress (do you have a wet wipe?) We will feed (mmmm, cheese stick!) & cloth (do you have a pad?) our friends & family.

We hold the world in our bags. The WORLD! But you must remember, With great power, comes great responsibility. Use your bags for good not evil. Keep those bags clean & tobacco free. Or you just may have kids in therapy (or the ER) for years to come.

When I clean out my bag...

am I the only one who asks myself "Why do I have a cheese stick in my purse & how long has it been there?"

Satan's preferred bodily fluid...vomit

2009-04-21T15:32:00.005-05:00

The Purple juice letting happened on a Thursday. Juice every where, but by the grace of OxiClean...most of the stains were removed.

The pitcher of "DEVIL JUICE" was still in the fridge in the morning. Friday morning. I was too mad at it to serve the rest for dinner....so it laid in wait for me...knowing I would summons it. Now I will say, I heard my thoughts-Holy Ghost-Intuition-Murphy's Law-Fairie voices (whatever you want to call it) say to me

"Throw out the juice...do it now."

But me being frugal, stubborn & irritated that my head was talking to itself...did not throw away the juice. It was brand new juice. I can't just dump a pitcher full of juice down the drain...what a waste!

My bad.

I should have listen.

But Nay...I didn't.

& I was punished!!!

Mid morning, Friday...in the mist of kids running around my house screaming (they had no school that day & every vagabond was in my house) My 3 year old daughter asked for a cup of juice.

"Don't DO IT!'

Shut up voice...go yell at these kids in my house to GET OUT because I'm too tired.

I pour my daughter a cup of juice, she drinks it, puts the cup on the table & goes on her merry way....into the basement...where there is new carpet. 4 minutes later I here "ummmmm, Mrs. M.....your kid just barfed every where...& it's PURPLE."

DANG NAB IT!

Sure enough as I head out of my bedroom I hear my charming trucker of a daughter upchuck on my stairs. As I enter the hallway, I see her...in slow motion...run down the hall towards the bathroom. She projectile vomits all over the floor & wall. Purple grape juice vomit everywhere. Now remember, she is RUNNING down the hall (with wood flooring) as she vomits.....she then runs through the vomit, slips & slides through the trail of vomit, ending up belly first....in vomit. She essentially covers her whole body with....vomit. Like how a dog rolls around in a dead, smelly carcass of a dead smelly animal....yeah...it was great.

I scoop her up & plop her in the bathroom to have her refuse to puke in the nice clean toilet, so I bent her over the bath tub to let lose another torrent of vomit...all over the bath toys.

I shiver when I think of the wake of torment she left all over the house.

At this time..all the dang nab it kids & their friends want lunch. I....b.l.e.w. my lid.

"YOU... DON'T leave this bathroom."!
"YOU!... You want food...get..it..yourself...or...go...home.!"
"YOU!... Get your own food or go to his house to eat his food!"
"All of you...don't...come...near...the...vomit. Don't talk about the vomit. Don't look at the vomit. No more TALKING!"

A neighborhood boys asks. "what can I do for you?"

I say "ya can shot me in the head." (probably not the most grown up thing to say to a 11 year old.)

Neighborhood boy "You're funny Mrs. M. No really. Let me help you. I'll feed all the kids."
So crazy, loud, most of the time annoying neighborhood boy wrangles all the kids. Helps with my sons to make lunch. Then herds everyone outside...to leave me with peace...& vomit..& a crying 3 year old bent over the bathtub.

At that moment I felt relief. I felt even..dare I say it..loved. My daughter needed me. The crazy neighborhood kid respected me enough to help. And my sons entertained their other sister so I could clean.

AND clean I did. I even calmed down enough when neighborhood kid came back in the house & asked if he could clean the vomit...(because he knew how) I was able to tell him "I can do it Sweetie..thanks for helping with the kids."

So if you hear that still small voice to throw away the juice...DO IT. Take the neighborhood kid up on his offer to help. And take the bath toys out of the bathtub...just in case. The fight with the purple grape juice ended after I threw it out. Although my battle with vomit waged on...for 3 more days.

Lesson learned...no more purple grape juice!

Satans preferred drink...grape juice.

2009-04-13T21:55:00.006-05:00

It started as a small spot. My eyes went right to it. A small PURPLE drop...on my couch. 100% PURPLE grape juice. Terror struck my bones as my eyes were drawn to another splotch on the couch pillow...Then to the horizontal blinds....then to the floor...then to the coffee table legs.....Sweet Mother of Colonel Munster!

The kids...with sippy cups...running free in my house. What horrors have they unleashed? I found the culprits down stairs, playing with cars, dinosaurs & Polly Pockets...their sippy cups lay on the carpet. Calmly I told them sippy cups must remain upstairs. They pretended not to hear me & I walked away with the blood pounding in my head.

Upstairs...more carnage. 100% PURPLE grape juice trailed down the hall. The juice was splattered up my door. "How the he$$ did that happened?" I studied the door & imagined the CSI team reenacting how the juice was flung & at what velocity. My room....juice splashed up the wall, closet door & on my bed spread. Little sprays of juice...as if some one had stabbed a chicken as it flew around the room.

Not done....

My daughter's bedroom...on the blankets, the clump of cloths on the floor, pillow case & the bed skirt (really, the bed skirt? How did that happen?!)

Holding back tears I stomped through the house dropping all kinds of F bombs & muttering under my breath all sorts of words that would make my merchant marine father quite proud. Only to pull the mask of composure over my face when a stray 2 year old wandered upstairs to get a snack

I set to work cleaning the offending stains. Much to my relief... most of the juice can out. All thanks to praying, swearing, cursing, cold water, hydrogen peroxide, spray in wash, more swearing & Oxyclean. The walls & doors are permanently stained...but as long as I don't look at them, I can't see the stains!

At lunch I made a point not to serve the kidlets 100% PURPLE grape juice or put anything in sippy cups. The juice was safe in the fridge, where it could harm no more...or could it?

Note to self....when you hear a little voice in your head saying "Hey.....heyyyyy, throw away the juice! Pour it down the drain...do it nowwwwwww"

Don't ignore it

You will regret it

BADLY

Listen to the voice!

But that's a story for another day.

I hate school free days!

2009-04-09T11:17:00.006-05:00

I'm hiding again. Huddled in the basement w/ the computer trying not to scream. I'm not good at this thing called motherhood. I'm not good at being the helpful neighbor.

Ya know, you grow up thinking you'll be this way or that. I'll be patient. I'll be caring. I'll be a great leader. But then I grew up. I became none of those things. What I became was a girl, raging in the basement at the fact that the neighbor kid is eating all my food & there is not enough room in the freak'n kitchen for 7 people to get their lunch ready!

My husband & I always said that we wanted OUR house to be the neighborhood hang out. We wanted to keep an eye on the kids. We wanted to be involved in the neighborhood.

But now....I want all the kids OUT!

They eat my food because their parents don't feed them. They make so much noise I fear the rest of the neighborhood hates me. I feel like I'm being pushed out of my own house! I can't even get to the fridge to feed my OWN kids!

I'm not like this all the time. But summer comes & I pray for the chance to move far out into the country...where no one can run through my house & eat all my food!

So whats a mom to do? I crave solitude. i thrive on calm & silence (note to self, you want quiet...don't pop out 4 kids!) But I also know that I'm suppose to be welcoming & supportive to the neighborhood.....I'm just tired of being the ONLY one! So I set up rules. No kids Tuesday & Thursday. Use walky talkies to keep in touch when you play around the neighborhood. 2 quite hours happen everyday. Don't go into this house or that house, they like to watch porn. Be mindful of the neighbors. Don't scream at the top of your lungs till your eyes bleed. Don't do this, Do that...bla, bla bla.

But some days...rules break down. I break down. 2 many kids. 2 dirty of a house. 2 many neighbors that don't give a crap about their kids. No place to hide.

I can't wait till next school season!

Dirty blood, baited breath & asking ...."Does this kidney make me look fat?"

2009-03-19T08:33:00.005-05:00

On Monday, a mother of 2 boys tumbled down a bunny slope somewhere in Canada. After her tumble she bounced up & walked back to her room, shooing away any help, probably embarrassed of the tumble. By Monday night just a few hours after her fall, her brain was dead, her body carefully kept alive by beeping machines, pumping her blood & pushing air into her lungs.

This wife,mother of 2 boys, brilliant actress Natasha Richardson was flown into New York to die with family crushing around her. Wednesday she was declared officially dead.

Yesterday a mother died.

Yesterday, my great friend of 19 years received a call..."we found a kidney for you."

Yesterday, hopefully my great friend had a bright, shiny, healthy kidney tucked into her body. A kidney that was donated by someone who just recently died. Someone who was loved, someone who's death crushed the joy out of friends and family. I'd like to think Mrs. Natasha Richardson gave her kidney to my friend. My friend is all drama, flair & kindness. Natasha Richardson's kidney would be quite at home in my friend!

Of course we may never know who gave my friend her new kidney. I doubt it was Natasha Richardson. I don't even know if she was a organ donor. But someone was. I hope that persons family get a sliver of pride & happiness knowing the death of their loved one is not in vain. As rehearsed as it sounds...the truth is...a piece of their loved one lives on in a vibrant, funny, intense, passionate, faithful, friendly, kick-ass women. Someone who will treat their new kidney with kindness. Someone who might even give a pet name to their new little organ. I hate that people have to die, to give others life. But I will be eternally grateful to those who choose organ donation.

I sit here now with baited breath. Waiting to hear how the surgery went. Waiting to hear if the kidney was really put into her. Once, a few years ago, she got "the call". Rushed her into surgery, cut her open & the Dr. mistakenly thought she had cancerous growths on the site & didn't put in the kidney. Yeah...that sucked! But now....right now she might be drugged up with a new kidney. I can only hope & wait.

Hopefully my friend will have a kidney that decides to stay awhile. Then she can ask me (after her body swells to a nice plump from all the steroids she will have to take for the rest of her life) "Does this kidney make my ass look fat?"
Hopefully I can say "It sure does make it look phat! You wear that kidney well my friend."

Bite my crunch!

2009-03-02T21:02:00.008-06:00

A few weeks ago I experienced a rude drive-by-shout-out. Ya know, a drive-by...when someone walks past you saying something stupid to you. They then keep on walking because they don't have the balls to "argue" their point.

Let me set the scene. I was in Wal-Mart shopping for paper products for a dance/ chili cook off event. I have been planning parties for large groups of people for 4 years now. I know what works & I know what doesn't work. Paper plates....don't work. Styrofoam plates...do work. Imagine this. A room filled with up to 180 people. Most of these people are children. Now, place a paper plate filled w/ food into the hands of these 180 people & see what happens. Can you see it? Food plopping to the ground. I have seen it, I have cleaned it & I have cried over it. So for my budget, Styrofoam plates & bowls always win. My budget doesn't allow me to buy 20 tough paper plates for the price of 200 Styrofoam plates.

So know you know me & my thinking system. When people are butt holes & do a drive-by-shout-outs, they don't know the person or what their thinking process is. That's why drive-bys are the product of rude morons who couldn't think their way out of a Styrofoam cup!

So I'm minding my own business, filling my cart w/ things I will need. 200 spoons, 200 cups, 200 Styrofoam bowls"humm should I get the small plates or big? Hummm well if...."

"YA KNOW PAPER IS BETTER FOR THE ENVIRONMENT! YOU SHOULDN'T BUY STYROFOAM. EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT!"

I looked up to see mister butt hole & his goggling eyed girlfriend speeding away sneering at me over their shoulder. So I LOUDLY replied "Hey honey, when YOU feed 200 people & YOU clean up after 200 people, YOU would realise that Styrofoam works way better the paper. Oh & like I would take environment advice for a dude who shops at

WAL-MART!"

Idiot!

What I really wanted to say, but didn't have time to was.

"Hey jack smack, You don't want to mess w/ my crunch, because I will out crunch you. So ya wanna play this game do ya?

Well, did you know that my family of 6 probably produces less trash then you & your girlfriend combine. We put one, 35 gallon garbage pail out every week....did I mentioned I have 6 in my family...you do know how to count right? Or did you learn for liberal puppets about "how to save the Earth" & we all know they come from the school of " do what I say, not as I do"

I garden & freeze my produce.

I shop at Goodwill & donate to Goodwill. I also have a clothing circle for my kids cloths. My friends pass clothing back & forth to each other like kids pass colds.

I compost

I recycle

I breastfed all 4 of my kids.

I cloth diapered 2 of those kids.

I used homemade cloth wipes to wipe their baby butts.

I home birthed 2 of those kids. Not much waste from that. one small garbage bag of trash was all that was left..unlike a hospital birth that produces huge amounts of waste from 1 birth.

I used cloth pads...yeah, ya heard me. Top THAT you jerk. Oh I see your girlfriend getting wobbly, "What honey, you can't handle the thought of washing out pads? But think of all that landfill you generate each year by your products because your too scared of get'n down & natural. You probably don't want to know what I did with the soak water...that's too much for the widdle nature girl to handle."

Listen, I love the environment. I have been recycling ever since I was a teen. In fact I DRIVE my recycling to drop spots because my town doesn't pick it up. I can't stand Al Gore, I can't stand talking heads, I can't stand liberal, family hating freaks, I can't stand dudes who shout out to me in WAL-MART that I should not buy Styrofoam!

Funny thing is...I don't really care what you do. If your recycle, fine. If you bottle feed, fine. If you hate Goodwill, fine. If you throw out mounds of garbage, fine. God has given us this Earth to care for. We are doing a so-so job at it.(Try living in New York circa 1880. You want filth & pollution...please honey, 2009 we are living in the cleanest environment ever...learn some history...ooo I forgot, liberals don't teach real history) But I do feel we will only get better at reducing waste, clean energy (sorry, there is no such thing) supporting local farmers. Down sizing our frivolous spending. etc, etc.

Do one one thing that will help your environment & then do one even better.

Help those around you. Be kind to those around you. We spend so much time telling people what to do for the Earth we have lost the importance of people & good manners. So drive-by-fool, your momma would be ashamed of you. Don't be rude to me or others & maybe, just maybe I won't put you in your place in front of your girlfriend.

Now go wipe your ass that I just handed to you with a cloth wipe!

Strange dinner conversation

2009-02-23T21:03:00.004-06:00

This conversation happened a few nights ago in our house. Yes, we sometimes bribe our 3 year old to eat. The older kids get threats, but the 3 year old...bribes all the way!

"Sweety, if you don't eat your dinner you can't have a bite of snake."

Sweety "I wantttt snakeeeee!"

"you have to eat first, no dinner, no snake."

Sweety "I wanttt snakeeeee!"

"Eating the snake with no dinner in your tummy, will make your tummy hurt."

Sweety "I want a bite of snakeeee!"

Eat your dinner or NO SNAKE.

"ok, I eat dinner. Eat snake?"

Sweety gets her snake

Shanty Town fun

2009-02-14T13:43:00.004-06:00

Let me just say....my dishwasher is lovely! Oh happy day when my beloved dishwasher was installed! Everything went fine & dandy. No dirt or plumber crack was left behind. Mister Dishwasher Man even took away my old, broken down dishwasher (hopefully it went to a chop shop so some parts could be salvaged & sold...can't stand the fact that it was unceremoniously dumped in the landfill!)

Not only did I receive my new dishwasher...but something else was given to me. Something so grand & so special I almost hug Mister Dishwasher Man when he offered it to me. Behold....................

THE BOX

My son playing video games from the safety of THE BOX

The girls sleeping in THE BOX

Decorating her new digs.

This is why childhood is great. You can get pleasure from the simplest things in life....& then you can fight over it with your siblings until your wicked mother puts THE BOX in time out!

9 weeks

2009-02-03T11:51:00.003-06:00

9 weeks.....Nine weeks....IX weeks. I am nueve weeks..........

without a blasted dishwasher! But as we speak, a strange man is standing in my kitchen (grunting...& not the good grunting, the "sh&% this ain't working" grunting!) installing my new, better be working dishwasher.

He just came down to ask me if I was sold a water line....um...no I was sold a dishwasher & you better make it work or I will bust a cap. Do NOT mess with me! 9 freak'n weeks hand washing dishes for a family of 6 has made me a very violent person. I hand washed Christmas plates for goodness sakes. MAKE IT WORK! MAKE IT WORK NOW!

I'm a girl who likes the slow life. I fought against things like computeres & CD players for years. I was horrified when my dad bought me a CD player when I was 16. Aghasted at modern technology! I would not have that garbage in my house! Note...I was 16, no children & living with my Dad...who was never home. I ran the dishwasher once a week...no joke! I have learned that I really like having a 21 century home. I don't need a dishwasher...I just proved that these last 9 weeks. But dang it, I WANT it!

Some women would have the ability to take it as it comes, to enjoy the steady work & the quiet (my kids scattered when I did the dishes) Yeah...those women are rare, annoying & luckily few in between! But in the end, when it was necessary, I was able to stand at my sink & clean. Plunging my rubberized hands into scalding, soapy water. Scrapping the remains of the day away. Breathing in the lemony soap & thinking of women before me leaning over their sink & doing the same things for their family.

Ah yes, it was magical. For nine weeks I picked up a old time routine, revisited the past & I must admit......

I HATED EVERY DAMN MINUTE OF IT!
Uggg! That dishwasher better working mister or I will hunt you down & scrub you in my sink of nightmares!

Ol' timing it!

Do you like my glorified dish drying rack? At least it was good for something!

FINE! Geez!

2009-01-18T22:10:00.000-06:00

All right, "sigh.........." I'll do a New Years Resolution.

So I thought about it. I want to improve myself dramatically by the time I'm 40. I recognize I have to put some work into it. 4 years (& 2 months) years will speed by. I will pull up my big girl panties & I will make a resolution!

Here it goes......small steps to a better life. My resolution for the year 2009 will be.....

To USE & EAT what I buy! TA-DA AAA!

My freak'n mushrooms went bad again. Sadly, that is the 4th. package that I allowed to rot in the fridge. I have no excuse except laziness. Well NO MORE! No more wasted food! It's a new day, a new year & I'm am one step closer to becoming a new women. & this new women says "mushrooms, you will be eaten!" No more tasty waste! I will STOP needlessly feeding my composter!

2009! Time to dine!

Your positive sound bite of the day

2008-12-31T12:07:00.010-06:00

Well Christmas is over & its the new year. Time to analyze my life, make resolutions & over come bad habits....or not.

I don't do new year resolutions. I am smart enough to watch everyone fail miserably with their new found enthusiasm to do the impossible!

I actually am on the 5 year plan. I try to think about what I would like to be like at 40 years old. Then I HOPE some pixie dust falls on me & presto, 40 years old...I'm wiser, Bit#$er, stronger & happier.

5 years.....I got 5 years to fail. Or 5 years to succeed. I figured if I fail after 5 years....I really won't care because I'll forget what my goal was. If I succeed, well...then....I'll be taking myself out to dinner!

So stay away from New Years Resolutions...nothing good ever comes from them.

Of little things

2008-12-15T21:23:00.005-06:00

Sometimes all it takes are tiny moments to break the rain clouds up & smear a little sunshine into a really bad day.

So is it weird to be really, really happy that my good friend Brandy is buried a few paces away from my mom's grave? As the funeral caravan drove to the grave site that snappy cold day weeks ago, my heart thumped out of my chest as I drove past mom's grave & realised Brandy would be nestled close by! It actually made me SMILE.

My mood was lifted by this little token of sweetness. I felt lighter as I walked to Brandy's grave to huddle with the rest of the mourners. Brandy's sister saw me & rushed over to me. Her words were quick & to the point. She was trying not to cry & needed to rush back to her mother. "I found this in Brandy's apartment. It's totally you! Brandy would want you to have it." She placed something into my gloved hand & rushed off to stand with her parents.

I slowly open my mitted paw and saw this beautiful pill box. I was speechless. I heard something rattle around inside the box & attempted to open it....with my gloved hands....in a blustery mid-west wind storm. Did I mentioned I had mittens on? I was too excited to remove my gloves (& it was too freak'n cold!) So I struggled with the tiny latch. I went to pop it open, but my gloves proved too clumsy & up, up, UP flipped the little pill box. I saw it in slow motion flip into the air over & over again with me batting at it like a frenzied cat. I stumbled forward chasing after this thing, trying to control it. All the while....I'm laughing hysterically to myself. For all I could see was Brandy clutching her side, grabbing her knee laughing with me. I finally wrestle the box from the invisible wintry winds with a "gotcha YA!"

I looked up after my tango with the crazed pill box to find a very tall man giggling at me. I was glad to ease his mourning...kind of.

Clutching the pill box as if it was a Mexican jumping bean, I removed one glove to pry open the latch. Inside the box was a matching necklace. Removing my other glove, I poised to put on the necklace. Looking up, the tall man nodded to me silently asking me if he could help. But by that time, the necklace was on & it was time to begin the burial.

The tall man noticed my new necklace & was grateful (I'm sure) I was done stumbling around like a drunken fool. He gave me the thumbs up and cocked his head to have me join him. So I squeezed myself next to him with my knees banging against each other from the cold. Soon other people crowed around me. Smiling, we knowingly crushed each other to try to keep warm. There we stood. My cheek against an elbow, a woman's hair blowing in my face, shoulders, legs, backs all touching. Grounding us. Holding down our grief. Teeth clattered so loud that we soon found ourselves stifling our GIGGLES.

The winter wind nor the circumstances did not erase my new found smile. Standing cocooned by the crowd, wind whipped & freezing.... I smiled a toothy inappropriate smile (for a funeral!) as I picture my mother holding Brandy hand as they howl together in laughter.

The no good, bad, sad stinky reunion

2008-12-09T11:53:00.004-06:00

I was surprised by the sound of the wail that came from my gut. It vibrated out of my bowels & stung my ears. For a moment I didn't realise the horrible sound was coming from my own lips.

My friends wake & funeral was surreal, painful, funny, touching & just plain awful. When I walked into the the parlor with my Dad, I saw my dear friend & her parents. I did screech and clap my hands at the sight of her. We both did the happy dance at the sight of one another. We forgot, for a moment what this reunion was for. As I walked over to her, our giggles turned to sobs. Our faces mimicked the horror in each others faces. By the time I reached her, we were both in full blown wailing mode. I clung to her little body & moan over & over again "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" Soon her father joined us & wrapped us both in his lanky arms & he cried into the top of my head. Her mom clung to my waist. We were a pathetic, weepy, wailing burrito of sorrow. Brandy would have rolled her eyes at the theatrics!

The crying settled & we peeled ourselves off of each other. Her sister took my hand & turned me toward Brandy, "go on & say Hi."

I don't remember walking up to her casket, but the next thing I knew I was awkwardly hunched over her casket (damn kneeling pew in my way) clutching a lock of her black hair & patting her shoulder. I'm sure my Dad was thinking I was going to climb in with her! I was shocked at how good she looked. She looked like she was sleeping. Her make up just right (well the coral lipstick did her no justice. She doesn't wear coral lipstick! Arrggg, I squashed the urge to pull out my own lipstick. Really....coral?) My 35 year old rational brain drained out of my ears & all that was left was my 8 year old self, shacking her shoulder & patting her face trying to wake her up.

I finally manged to have some decorum & lower my knees to the pew in front. Still confused, I rub her, thinking that would wake her up. Her mother wailing " her little friend from school, her little friend." made me cry more. After a few minutes of talking to Brandy, I regained my earthy self & remembered that she is gone. She is just a pretty shell that once housed her noble, sweet, smart & fierce spirit. Poor Brandy, her lock of hair soaked with so many tears.

I stayed 4 hours with the family that night. Drained of all joy, I watched over Brandy & her family.

The day of the burial was brutally cold. The drive to the burial grounds was quiet & reflective. Kindness was shown. To the man who accidentally pulled out in front of the caravan then quickly pulled over, mouthing sorry & waving. The construction worker who removed his hat & stopped traffic in an intersection to wave us through. To the friends & strangers who linked arms walking to the site. People united in grief rubbing backs, holding hands & offering a sad smile. Death makes us remember we are all in this life together. No matter who we are or what we are. Life is short, we need to care & tend to one anther. Lift each others burdens & make our presence known to each other.
I don't want to live with anymore regrets. I don't want friends to slip through the cracks, promptings to go unheard, jaded thoughts, lazy intentions. I don't want to endure to the end, but rejoice to the end.

Dearest Brandy, thank you for your friendship. I'm sorry you had to go so soon. You are healthy. You are happy. You are well taken care of. Those who you unwilling left behind are the one's who I feel sorry for. We will do our best to live a life that is noble, kind & happy. Then one day, I hope to see you again. You'll squeeze my neck & this time your hair will be soaked with tears of happiness, not sorrow.

Too soon, too soon

2008-11-19T08:43:00.005-06:00

Today I am going back to my hometown to visit a friend. I stand in front of my closet, staring at all the Goodwill clothes I have hanging up. Trying to pick out the perfect outfit to wear. Should I wear the pink sweater or the black? Decisions, decisions.

I have known Brandy since Jr. High. We were in band, choir, theater together. Her sister & I were inseparable in High School. We did lots of awesome things together like plays, prom, dances. We grew up together and in time we shared education,weddings, & friendship. For my wedding, the sisters gave me a "honeymoon box" filled with treats, sparkling cider, boxers for my soon to be lover & a beautiful, elegant nightie. They were so excited to have me see this nightie that before the reception they ripped open the box to show off their perfect GIFT. We squealed in delight as Brandy held up the long, cream colored "dress" from the box. They say they knew it was me when they saw it. They know me very well.

The SISTERS were a year apart & loved each other fiercely. Brandy being older, she reminded me of a wise old owl (she'd kill me for saying that!) Sitting high above the tree, silently watching. Offering advice, breaking lose once & awhile. Only to return to her perch, watching. She could be quiet & still. Sweet. She would say my name in a breathless, childlike voice. but she was anything but childish. For if a friend or sister was in need, she'd swoop down & rip the offenders throat out with her talons & screech until everyone knew she'd come after them. Do not mess with this quiet girl! She will take you down in one graceful swoop!

As I stand here, perusing my collection of "designer" duds, I smile at my memories of her. Her hair I loved (she hated it!) The lessons on Korean etiquette & catch phrases (I still remember a few!) Sitting on her bed & talking about boys. BOYS! How we pledged to remain virgins until marriage, we even had a pop top on our key chains to prove we were virginal! The days & nights we spent at her parents restaurant, where her Mom made an Italian beef sandwich just they way I liked it. Mrs. O sad for me when my mom died, insisting that they will take care of me...which she did by feeding me! Her Mom made my first sushi & insisted I eat tomato's, "More tomato's! Give you big boobies ahhh. look at Brandy, she likessss tomato's! " Mommmmmm! "Her sister, don't like tomatoes, no boobies." Motherrrrr! They laughed at me when I wanted to try Kimchi. A very pickled, HOT salady thingy. I gained respect that day in the O household when I was able to eat 2 bites without chocking! "You good girl! I like you. You want more tomato? You need bigger boobies." Thank you Mrs. O.

These 2 girls were there for me as my mom died. When I was boy friendless, struggling with classes. Through bad hair days & really bad hair days! They both were very smart. The kind of smart that got them into prestigious schools. Brandy had the kind of smarts that should have intimidated me. But she was Brandy, the girl who was every ones friend. Never boasting, never proud. Always sweet & funny & patient.

I will visit my friend today. I'll have to remember to not screech with joy when I see her sister & parents. I'll have to hold myself back from twirling Brandy's hair. I will put my face right next to hers, trying not to giggle or breath as I wait for her to wake up. She was as bad with mornings as I was. Staring at her usually woke her up, then when she did wake up, she'd beat you with a pillow till she knocked your teeth out!

I'll visit my friend today, tucked in her casket. Her sister might as well be bleeding from the right side of her body that has just been ripped away. Her parents glazed & weary. Her Mom won't speak.

How do I do this? I can't view her like this. I remember her, running towards me, arms up over her head, squealing my name with her sing song voice as she wraps her arms around my neck & put her head on my shoulder. I'll remember the chirps & moans that vibrated out of her thoat. Her eye rolls at her mother. Her devotion to her sister. Her respect for her parents. I'll stand with my close friend and her parents as we BLEED.

Today I get to visit my friend.

Killer

2008-11-17T21:34:00.004-06:00

I'm not much into chain mail, hoaxes, stories from unknown sources and other assorted email inbox crap. I like to hear real stories from real people. So on that note, I begin.

I have a friend. Yes, she is real, she is not made up in my mind (shocking, I know!) She is the neatest person. She is a wife, mom, a college student & overall swell lady. She is beautiful, sassy, & knows how to accessorise. She also works at a maximum security prison. (well, technically, she is in an internship. She shadows professionals as they council the inmates) She LOVES working there. She says she feels safe & respected. Since she 'works" with the counselors, the inmates treat her well. She is viewed as someone who "helps" not hurts the inmates. So for the most part, inmates will talk to her about politics, prison closings, food and how beautiful her breasts are.........hey man, it's still prison! What did you expect? A teddy bear tea party?!

This is an essay she got at the prison. She does not know who wrote it. It is handed out to all the guys who take the Lifestyles Redirection course that she has been helping with. Now I pass it on to you. So now you have heard this unknown author story from a friend-of-a-chick-who-writes-a-blog. You can then pass it down & it can become a story from a 3rd-party-once-removed-cousin-of-the-carwash-guy.

How to raise a killer without really trying.

Have you ever thought about raising a killer son? No? While it does take some effort and a little like, it's actually not that difficult to do. Just in case you would like to try, the following guidelines will help you get started.

First of all, to keep your son from becoming a wimp, he must learn the rules of the masculine code. If he cries, acts scared or is sensitive, act disgusted and shame him immediately by calling him a weakling, a sissy or a wimp. No matter what's going on inside of him, he should always appear tough, cool and in control. To accomplish this, teach him the masculine poker face that hides fear, hurt, sadness, anger, excitement and even joy. As he learns these and other manly qualities, it's also important that you never let him feel like he's good enough. Shame and humiliate your son every chance you get. Criticize him until he believes he'll never get it right. Poor self-esteem and a sense of shame are qualities that always seem to be part of a young killer's personality, so don't neglect them.

While shame and low self-esteem are an important part of a young killer's makeup, they are just not enough. Lots of parents shame and humiliate their kids, and while their sons end up miserable, they never kill anybody. But if you add the right kind of discipline and punishment to the mix, the odds are much greater that you may have a young killer on your hands. This brings us to the four main ingredients that serve as the very foundation of a killer's personality: hatred, rage, fear and powerlessness. Now don't be intimidated by the sheer magnitude of having to create all this in your son. It's really not that hard.

Here's how it works. Whenever you feel anger, rage or frustration for any reason, take it out on your son. Scream at him, hit him, whip him or jerk him around when you are out of control with anger. When you hurt and terrorize him with this kind of punishment, you accomplish all four goals at once. Your rage will terrify him because his brain believes you're mad enough to actually kill him. Because you are unpredictable and so much bigger than him, he will feel powerless. And enduring so much physical and emotional pain at the hands of the father he needs to trust will certainly produce some inner rage in the boy. Finally, a boy who is whipped and shamed enough will develop hatred for himself and others. But don't ever let him get away with expressing hatred or anger toward you. If he does, punish him swiftly and surely. Then let him know that he has no reason to be angry at you because it is him and his shameful behaviors and attitudes that drive you into a rage. Work hard to convince him that you're a loving and concerned parent and you're punishing him for his own good because you love him. This way, maybe your son won't grow up to be one of those people who blame their parents for their own misery.

Speaking of blame, it's a great idea for your kid to start out learning how to blame others for the fear and hatred you have stirred in his soul. He can begin by taking out his aggressive, hateful feelings against a puppy, kitten or a smaller kid. This early behavior is a sign that he's on the right track. Then, if you play your cards right, you can have him graduate to blaming and attacking Blacks, women, Jews and others different from him. He'll also learn, by watching you, to abuse the people in his life who displease or disappoint him. Finally, if your son ever wants to talk to you for some reason, don't listen to him. Treat whatever he says with disrespect. Either ignore him or say something that will shut him up. A good example of this might be, 'Where in the hell did you get and idea like that?' Or 'Don't bother me right now, can't you see I'm reading the paper?' 'What's wrong with you anyway? Are you really that stupid?' This way he'll feel invisible, not worth your time, and like he doesn't belong in your world. This can be good because angry, hostile kids who feel worthless and invisible can be pushed into violence if they think it can make them feel important or visible.

Of course, I'm not serious about raising a killer kid. Unfortunately too many young boys are raised so that their angry, aggressive sides are encouraged while their tender, vulnerable sides are discouraged. It's time the mainstream of our society realized that most of the violent kids are not generated by the Internet, television, movies or video games; they come from violent or emotionally destructive families.

Think about it.
How many times have I ignored my child? Rolled my eyes, been annoyed by their crying, let them hear me while I raged about something? We all have done it....in some form or another. Are we raising killers? I hope not.

This is as positive as I get!

2008-11-10T10:41:00.004-06:00

Fall. I use to like it, now it just brings me down. As a child I would love fall because it was all about leaf piles my Dad would make for me, sweaters, cider, crisp nights & comfort food. Now, as a jaded adult, all I see is "WINTER IS COMING, TIME TO GET REALLY DEPRESSED". I HATE being an adult, Jeez Louis, where has my inner child gone? How can I regain my love for all things fall? Only one thing to do...look to my children.

Open my eyes & really see the world around me. Thankfully, I have a camera to take pictures that I can look to when I'm under a pile of snow.

When in doubt, exercise! Scale a tower of hay.

Petting a fuzzy creature makes everyone happy.

Or blog about how much I hate cold feet, winter morning mucus, non-stop runny noses & shaving in a bathroom that has a temperature that hovers just above 30 degrees.

I'll do my best to be positive....ok...no I won't. Who am I kidding?! Cold sucks. Must remember fuzzy bunnies, fuzzy bunnies, fuzzy bunniessssss.

Enjoy the remainder of fall, because it will be over before you know it!

Because I can

2008-11-04T21:01:00.005-06:00

I hate politics. Politicians are nothing but a bunch of liars & con men. There, I said it! Politics scared me. They scared me so much that I avoided the polling place for years! How many years you ask? Well, the first time I voted I was...."deep breath, donning flame proof jacket" 31, Thirty One, 3-1 years old. Yup, you heard right. I was 31 when I voted for the very first time!

I told my friend how much voting scared me & confessed to her that I was a loser who didn't vote. She didn't beat me, or slash the tires on my car. She told me step, by easy step, on how, what,where,when of voting (thanks J!) I found out that it really isn't that hard. All I had to do was speak up & get help. Imagine that!

So here I sit, 4 years later...voting. For me it was hard because I didn't like either candidate, but I studied up the best I could & then took a leap of faith & voted for who I thought would not do the worst job.

This voting season I feel worried about our country. I worry that the crapper is right around the corner. I worry, like everyone else worries. That's OK, that means I care for my country. Lately I feel like my vote doesn't count. I won't be heard. I don't matter. But then I remember who I am & my rights. We all worry, we all think our voice won't be heard. But our mothers before us would not agree with that. Our mothers before us will smile knowing that we daughters are worried, but we did the best we could do. We voted, because we can, because we should.

Undecided

2008-10-21T10:14:00.006-05:00

So yaaaahhhhhh, I'm totally bang'n my head against the wall with this election. I am officially undecided. Some days (well most days) I feel like no matter what I do, nothing matters. This country is going to hell in a hand basket, so what's the point. Should I vote for dumb or dumber or throw away my vote in protest. . I mean realllyyyy... these 2 goons are the BEST we got?! How scary is that?!

Being as confused & beat down as I was, I decided to spend a beautiful, sunny fall day at the lovely Sugar Grove. They had a rock'n fall festival shaking up the prairie. Nature... Gods chill pill to us all. I enjoyed the wonder of the land. I left my troubled mind in my mini van. I just came to be. Not think, just be. Be apart of a little slice of prairie heaven. Fall is such a beautiful time. I looked around & a tear came to my eye as I smelled the campfire smoke, heard the children's sequels of joy. Every where around me was a harvest of beauty. Pumpkins, Red trees, apple cider, John McCain, blue grass music, birds...wait....John McCain? What the he#$?!

DUDE! Stop stalking me! Dam it! Can't I get away for just a freak'n minute! All I wanted was a little time away from the reality. Can't I enjoy Fall without the candidates following me? Arrggggg! Go AWAY! Yea, I know the election is right around the corner! Yes, you want my vote..but really? Really! Its important bla, de bla, bla BLAAAAAA! Everyone says "oh, just a few more weeks & all this election coverage will be over & we can get back to our normal routines." Ummmm earth to R'tard......after this election...there will be no such thing as "getting back to normal."
Mark my words, after this election this country will be more divided then it has been in a long time. Di-vid-edd-dd. That's not good. There will be an Us against Them mentality that will only heighten as time goes by.

I tried to ask Mr. McCain how he will unite the country. He just told me George Washington had really bad teeth. I asked him how he would protect our country. He showed me his gun.

I tried to have him talk to me about his politics, he just got all shifty eyed & panicky. I then got really frustrated that he wouldn't answer my questions. He just rattled on about "cow knees", Small Pox's & Hippo Ivory. Needless to say, John was not going to answer my questions. Its not that I would believe him anyway. I wouldn't believe Obama either if he showed up in buckskins & flannel.

The frustration was too much to handle. My beautiful Fall day was ruined..RUINED (stomp, stomp, stomp!) There was only one thing to do...I beat myself in the head with these until I went numb.

Although, maybe it was the tazer I was shot w/ that numbed me...or the tranquilizer I was given in the jail cell. Either way, I'm calm now.

Can someone post my bail please?

I just want to thank Mister McCain look alike. He really was sweet & did a great job teaching us about what a frontier man needed as he wanders the land. I do love history & I'm a sucker for a man in buck skins. Please, don't be discouraged that you look a little like McCain. You, my friend are way smarter & cuter then he.

The Nap aka "Bury my head in the sand."

2008-10-16T15:33:00.005-05:00

Life has gotten me down or rather, life is nucking futs! Let me explain. Everyday my little, "special" brain is bombarded by messages. Like a constant, annoying drip of water...messages eat away at me. You'd think a drop of water here or there wouldn't hurt. Not so! Drops of water have been known to soak through precious memories, destroy under the cabinet contents, rust pipes, drive a sleeping camper nuts, overflow a sink, drops of water have been used to torture people! Drops of water over time can corrupt, destroy & maim. My poor brain has said ENOUGH! I am done! I am truly sick (my throat is starting to hurt) & tired (I dream of sleep even when I am sleeping!) of these messages, drip, drip, drip, drip! I should do this & that. Vote yes or no, good or bad, black or white or grey, up or down, gay or straight, dog or cat, atheist or religion, hot or cold, stupid or smart, milk or juice, run or hide, meat or veggies....ARRRGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!

No more. No more. I need to think for myself. And the way I need to do this is turn off the damn t.v, computer, radio, burn the newspaper, magazines & newsletters. Quiet. I need quiet from the world. I want to scream "shut the f up!" from my roof top (although that would confirm to my neighbors I'm nuts. I'd hate to see that happen!) Just...be...quiet. Life is filled with so much background noise I can't think straight!

So I combat this crappy noise with my one great super power....NAP. Almost everyday I take a nap w/ my daughter. She & I curl up in bed with a good book ( a book I've read over & over again Oye!) I wrap her up in her blanket, She sucks her nap time paci (yeah, she's 3, shut up!) She tangles her fingers in my hair. We sleep.

Here in Sleep, politicians can't yell at me, schools can't beg me for money, special interest groups can't con me. Here in Sleep I bury my head in the sand. I save myself from the drops of water that slowly eat away at my brain & heart & soul. Some say I'm lazy, Some shake their finger at me & say "you have a duty to keep up on world events", some are disappointed in me. To that I say. "You all want your voice to be heard, I understand that. I want to be heard too, but no one can hear me over this constant din of noise y'all have created. So I raise my voice & raise it & raise it, until I then discover... I have no voice left. I have screamed so long & so hard that over time I have become muted. This was your plan the whole time. To silence me. To over power me with your screeching "here me now, but I don't have to listen to you." demands. My voice is resting. Its not totally gone. One day, I will be back to quietly push my causes. Silently ...I will kick your a$$."

Until that time, I nap with my daughter. Her fingers tangled in my hair. I go to a better place inside of myself. A quiet place of understanding. A place I can hear my OWN thoughts. I recharge & reclaim. I sleep.

Warning, you will be drugged, raped, killed, raised from the dead. Have a nice day!

2008-10-07T08:47:00.006-05:00

Women! There are bad men waiting for you to walk out of your house, car, shopping mall, gas station, strip joint, school so they can drug, rape, stab, gas, kidnap, kill you. You must be warned! Please go home & wrap yourself in a bubble wrap blanket, call the cops & cower in the corner!

Can someone please tell me what year it is. 1999? 1899? 2001? Oh....wait....I think it's 2008. Yep, it's 2008. In 1992 the World-Wide Web was released by CERN. So children, the Internet has been in the homes for 16 YEARS. SIXTEEN YEARS!!!! Around that time the email was created for use in the home (actually Email is much older than the Internet. It was never invented; it evolved from very simple beginnings & by 1974 there were hundreds of military users of email) If the Internet & email have been around for all those years....pray tell, why people still send me hoax's, lies, stories & false warnings?! Seriously, why does this happen? If you are a new Internet user, I'll cut ya some slack. But there is no excuse for well seasoned Internet-ers to be forwarding, pasting, linking me to stupid stories.

Now don't get me wrong, 90% of the time, I actually like getting those silly emails with undisclosed addressed attached to them. Because I take it upon myself to actually do the leg work to find out what is true & what is false. If the story is true I say "wow, that's neat!" & promptly move on with my life. If it is false (which 99.9% of the time it is) I then will hit REPLY ALL & school ya' ll on the history of superstitions, tall tails & outright lies!

Now, I NEVER forward a story if it is not true. I always check my facts first. That's what a good detective does (Nancy Drew to the rescue!) Checking facts can be daunting, I know. But if you want to save the world, you have to put a little elbow grease into it. So now you ask "Oh, Wise one, how can I check my facts & rid the world of heinous, bogus email chains, forward warnings, stories & other assorted crap?" Have no fear young one, I shall take you step by step through the rigorous work of fact checking.

#1 Go to the bathroom & get a snack...this can take awhile.
#2 Turn on your computer
#3 Now comes the hard part...type in http://www.snopes.com/ in your search engine. If you don't know what a search engine is, then you need to step away from the computer & take a computer class at your local pre-school!
#4 Really hard part now...ready? Type in the main words to the story into the little box that says SEARCH. The Pink, Fluffy Bunny Gasser or Toenail Clipping Clipper or Boob Pinching Escaped Zoo Turtle...you get the picture. If I have lost you, see #3.
#5 Sit & wait 1.4 seconds for the program to do all the work for you.
#6 As you wait 1.4 seconds feel free to take a bite of your snack.
#7 Wipe hands, you don't want crumbs gumming up your computer keys.
#8 Now find the story that matched the email you got.
#9 READ IT.

Congratulations, you just graduated from Corn Fed Girl's school for computer fact finding! This fact checking can take any where from 10 seconds to 5 minute depending how fast your computer works. Isn't 5 minutes of your time worth it? Now you can either enjoy the safety tip or you can call out all your friends who just proved they are too lazy to fact check or are fear mongers! Awesome!

Isn't this "Internet" thing neat?! You can learn so much & it's pretty easy to do. So pass on the wisdom, stop the irrational fear & enjoy your day! Oh yeah, If your wondering how I got so smart about the history of the Internet, you need to know I was born w/ a gift. A gift of Internet searching. Really, you should try it. You can learn about anything on this thing. Great invention! I give it a thumbs up!

One more rant. Do you notice that most of the Internet hoax's are aimed towards women? We love women as victims don't we?! Think about that for a minute. Tell me why you think that is. I have my own theories, but I'm tired of listening to the voice in my head.

Well, I'm off to enjoy my day. I'll probably go shopping w/ my high back work boots on (no Achilles slashing for me!) Gloves ( wouldn't want to touch that poisoned paper!), gas mask (I don't want to smell free perfume samples thank you very much!),Glasses (I'd hate to get squirted in the eye by a fake flower filled w/ death poison). I'll ride my bike so no one can hide in my back seat as I take that suspicious paper off my windshield. But wait...then I'll be targeted by a man who can't put his groceries in his trunk. Aw geezzz, I better bring my knife so I can cut my ties as I'm stuffed into that trunk. Oh forget it! I'm staying home! But I won't answer the door or the phone or open the window or flush the toilet or eat that coffee cake my neighbor gave me or breath.

The Fix

2008-10-04T20:03:00.007-05:00

It was a good day for a fix. Sun was shining, a soft breeze-a-blow'n. Very fine day indeed. I had heard about the "product" through the grapevine. Peeps told me it was good, it was life giving, soul stretching. I was hesitant to partake. I didn't want to get addicted especially in this financial climate. I knew I could get hooked fast. Then I would need it. All.. the.. time. I envisioned my pocket book drained,my children crying, begging me to stop.

I told myself I wouldn't let "it" have power over me. I would rule my addictions, the addictions would not rule me! But still, I had to have a taste. Test my boundaries, push my limits. Live on the edge.

As I walked up to the pick up point, the smell in the air smacked me in the face. I could hear the wind tell me to turn back, I would not be strong enough. I sucked that smell into my brain & pushed through the crowd. "I can do this" I chanted in my head. I refused to listen to that wind. Wind don't got not'n on me!

As I walked, I saw "her". The Pusher. I locked eyes w/ the beast. Oh yes, she was a beast! I could see the danger lurking under her soft, light brown hair, round brown eyes, & soft shoulders. She didn't fool me! She looked sweet almost saintly on the outside, but I knew on the inside...... she was a cold, blackened spirit. We stood facing each other. Our eyes never blinking. I wasn't scared "Bring it beeyach!"

She offered me samples...thinking she could lure me into her twisted world. Her big eyes blinking innocently (or blinking because of the flies of death zipping around her head!) "I can do this...live on the edge Baby!" I sang in my head as I reached for her poison.

I will have you know, I sampled.... oh yes...I sampled. I took again & again. My veins screamed for mercy but her poison was too much for me. The wind mocked me! My head screamed! I was out of my mind, crazed... CRAZED! I grabbed 3 baggies & a brick of the stuff. My body was now in control, my mind was lost. Soon, my Pusher had drained my pocket book. I lost. I lost the battle.

Days are now spent w/ me crouched in a corner w/ my fingers picking out the devil candy from the baggie. I dream of the stuff. I hear it talk to me, begging me to let it relieve my aches & pains. The curds of hell squeaking in my teeth, melting on my tongue, seeping into my blood. I am lost.

The "Pusher"

Her eyes can't hide the Beast inside!

She recruits her minions young. This one is only a week old. Sick.

My down fall. Natural Cheddar Cheese (won 1st. place in the state fair, Pure evil) Bacon Horseradish Garlic Cheddar, Tomato Basil Garlic & Smoked Gouda

Yeah, sure, Devil Cow sure looks cute on that label. She's still a DEVIL COW! Curse you Ropp Jersey Cheese Makers! You hooked another soul! Even my children are hooked! Good Gourd people...CHILDREN?!!!!!

The "I'm so grateful" post

2008-09-28T18:53:00.007-05:00

It's Sunday, yeah, raaa. So now is the perfect time to blog about all my many blessings.

First I must tell you, I am a realist. My thoughts are realistic, not pessimistic. All those sunny, happy, positive people say I'm opposite from them. That I'm a "pessimist". They are wrong & they can all blow their sing-songy optimism out their back side. I'm sure they are all happy to know that even I, "the realist" will take a moment out of my Sunday to think of something wayyyyy positive to write. The reality is we are going to hell in a hand basket. Oh wait....positive.....grateful.....not reality. OK lets try again.

My grateful thought for this day is...................I am grateful that the windows were closed today as I yelled at my darling children.

The neighbors behind me are lovely people. Both parents are highly educated. The Dad works as a professor at the local college. They have 2 children. I never hear them...ever. They speak softly & kindly all the time. My house on the other hand is so loud you'd think we were on fire everyday. We both usually have our windows open. I am horrified when I walk my dog or go out to the weedy patch I like to call a garden & I hear EVERYTHING. My family doesn't have to be yelling for the sound to travel outside. Many times at night, I shut some of the windows & it hits me..."how loud did I yell today & were the neighbors home?" (pretty sad that I have to ask myself HOW many times did I yell instead of DID I yell today)

Yep, Hell is a knock'n.

Neo Speaks Politics!

2008-09-25T08:16:00.000-05:00

Neo is pissed! He is sick & tired of stupid politicians doing stupid things! His little furry brain will explode.

Neo was torn about who to vote for in November...now he is not. Neo speaks! If he votes for Obama...we are screwed. If he votes for McCain...we are screwed. We're screwed.

This concludes Neo Speaks Politics for today. Neo is going to now bury his head in his wood shavings.