Drink the Kool-Aid

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?

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.

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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!"

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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!

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

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

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

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

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.