Facts of life

"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?

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

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

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!

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

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

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?"