Careful What You Say...

I was in a store with my Little One the other day.

She decided she wanted to ride in the basket, instead of walking...fine.

Then I turned around and she was standing UP in the cart, holding on to the sides and rocking it!

(*gasp*)
'You better sit down young lady---if that cart tips over you will kill yourself!', I said.

(we were in an aisle with a ton of glass things...all I could imagine was the cart tipping over, her crashing in to a vase, falling to the floor amidst shards of glass...lacerations...blood...oh my GOD!)

She sat down really quickly and had this ashen look on her face...

I told her I was sorry I got upset, but that she had scared me...and I gave her a hug and a kiss.

And she said:

'I'm sorry Momma...I don't want to die before Santa comes!'

(then we both started laughing! hahaha!)

WHEW!

Had to post...Pregnancy Pictures.

What are people thinking? Seriously...especially the nude couple ones---ICK!
(hahaha!)
http://pregnantchicken.squarespace.com/pregnant-chicken-blog/2010/12/10/awkward-pregnancy-photos.html

~Swimming with Fishes~

All things...

once thought

could...

would...

'be'

... done...

and

then...that.

Now

....nothing.

Broken glass scatters

across the floor

... barefoot.

Sacrificing her soles...

to get there.

He...

... turns away.

Crossing the line...

Once...

and again

...to swim

with a fish...

from a past dead sea.

Hooked...

Lied...

Sank her.

Washes up...

but is never clean.

Sun dries

...a heart dies.

Gasping...grasping...

Dead cold eyes.

The gull is picking his soul clean.



'I'm not afraid to die...'Big Betty' will be there.'

Driving around with a kindergartener in the back seat always lends itself to 'interesting' conversations.
Today, out of the blue, Little One asked me 'how did your dad die, momma?'
After taking some deep cleansing breaths....
I told her 'He died in a war...trying to help people be safe...'
'What did he do?' she asked....
Again...deep cleansing breath...

'My dad, your Grandfather, was an officer in the Navy...his job was to protect our country and also to help other people who needed to be saved from the bad guys....'
(Long silence from the back seat....)
'...but how did he die?'....
'He was hurt really badly...he had a BIG 'ow-ie'...' I explained.
'I love my Grandfather...I want to see him.'
I told her 'someday you will...'
'When I go to Heaven, momma?'
'Yes...when you go to Heaven....a LONG time from now.'
(Long silence from the back seat....)
'Momma...are you scared to die?'
'No...',I told her,'...because I hope to see my dad again...and you know who else is in Heaven?'
'Who?' she asked...

'Zeusy Boy...' (our dog)...
'AND!' she chimed in,' BIG BETTY!' ('Big Betty' was our hamster)
(hahahaha---thank God for comic relief!)
'I'm not afraid to die either Momma...cuz, I'll get to see my Grandfather....and BIG BETTY!'

My 'alarm clock' weighs 8 pounds...

My cat, Sylvia, weighs 8 pounds...maybe.
This morning at 3 a.m. she started 'waking' me up...
I heard her jump down from my dresser---(which of course is her new 'favorite' place to sleep)---sounding like a 500 pound gorilla falling out of a tree.
She must have  been wearing her tap shoes because every step she took sounded like 'tip....tap....tip....tap...' on her luxurious stroll to the bathroom.
Next I hear 'CRUNCH...dig,dig...CRUNCH'...(she was having a snack.)
Sylvia must have poor eyesight, because whenever she gets ready to drink her water, she tips the bowl to make the water move so she can see it.
Sounds a bit like a cap gun going off...makes my heart practically jump out of my throat.
I was still in that 'I'm-asleep-don't-ruin-it-for-me-now' haze....(hoping to go back to a really good dream I was having...)
3:45 a.m....she jumps back on my dresser, sliding out in to perfume bottles, the mirror, my change jar....
I opened one eye, waiting to hear glass breaking...nothing. I could see her silhouette in the shadowy darkness, standing there like a puma on the hunt...and she was looking at me like, 'What...?'
She waited until I was just about back to sleep, and started the 'morning grooming' session.
Lick, nibble, slurp....chew, chew...lick...lick...all the while bumping in to my Grandmother's marble based,  red glass, lamp (my favorite since I was a kid).
I could hear my beloved lamp scooching closer and closer to the edge of the dresser...the thumping of the shade against Sylvia's head as she washed her foot.
I got up and moved the lamp. (she, of course swatted me as I did so...)
Back to bed...again...I am thinking I have 2 hours before I have to really be awake...and now I can't go back to sleep.
Sylvia must have sensed this as she leaped across the room from the dresser, and landed on my bed like a trapeze artist landing on the net below.
I have a big bed.
There is plenty of room for me and an 8 pound cat.
Sylvia, with great fanfare, curls up on my PILLOW with her face right next to mine...breathing little cat breaths on me...(lovely.)
I scooted her off my pillow...which apparently did not suit her.
She came back with a vengeance...purring like a lawn mower...this time walking on my side as though she is practicing her tightrope act...her claws ever so slightly digging in to my skin.
I gingerly picked her up and put her on the other side of the bed....
....and again, the purring lawnmower started advancing across the  'battlefield'.
Changing her tactics, she headed for my feet...(I knew where this was going.)
She must have thought my feet were cold as she spread her warm furry little body across them...still purring...but now digging her claws in to my ankles.
She felt like a hot water bottle with thorns.
I was awake...and NOT happy. It was 4:25...a.m.
I picked her up off my feet, and put her on the floor...she 'huffed' at me...ears back, tail swishing around furiously.
She gave me about 20 minutes...and then Sylvia started scratching the door with her nails, and 'mewing' in her baby cat voice. I knew my dog Roxy would hear her, and soon be waiting on the other side of the door...'puff barking' and wanting to get to that 'squirrel' I keep in my room.
I let her out and she did her commando run---low to the ground, stealthy---down the stairs to the front door....
I got the locks undone and got her outside just as Roxy rounded the corner...
Sylvia, once again, cheating 'death' to escape in to the night.
(It is now 6 a.m....and I am on my 3rd cup of coffee...)

If The Shoe Fits...(I Guess.)

I LOVE shoes as much as the next gal...but, as a 'mom', my strappy stilettos are gathering dust (in their pretty boxes) on the top shelf of my closet. I miss you snake skin pumps with the patent leather kick ass heels...and you too my superhigh suede boots with the pointiest toes ever...

I wear flipflops pretty much 3/4 of the year now...my worn in comfy cowboy boots or Danskos when the weather gets chilly...(and I do have some leopard galoshes for yard work...HOT!)

Basically my footwear must remain relatively waterproof, barf proof, able to be wiped down, stepped on---repeatedly...and,yet, give me the 'gazelle' like sprinting capabilities one might need, say, if a child were to fall off a piece of playground equipment...and you need to break a land speed record to get there to 'catch'.

(all you Mommas know what I'm sayin'!)

Anyway...I do still like to browse really pretty/funky/groovy shoes and boots.

Here are some shoes I can pass on...I mean...REALLY?

Iris Schieferstein 'Hoof Heels'

"This German artist uses dead animals in her work...if taxidermied, wearable hooves are your style, these have your name on them!"
OK, as a Costume Designer, I can see how these could come in handy for some shows...but can you imagine the Vegan uproar that would ensue---what chaos! Fainting, throwing scripts...the stomping out of the studio...just not worth it.

So did you know that UGGS and Jimmy Choo have collaborated?

(NO? *gasp* Like...OMG!)

How 'FABOO!'

Actually I have dubbed these the 'U-Choo' boot. Just like cockroaches...UGGS will NOT go away. Don't they look like knock offs that have been 'BeDazzled'?

(and YES, kids, Mommy STILL wants a BeDazzler for Christmas---hint-hint!)

...and the kicker, yall...they sell for $795.00
(Oh you KNOW I'll get black AND brown!)

 

Since we are on the subject of 'price points'....these little 'Uggs-meets-Easter bunny booties'

by Louis Vuitton...???

Oh darlin', these babies will set ya back $2080.00.
(I am NOT joking!)

Equally as amazing---on a WHOLE different level are the booties I like to call 'who-notices-your-bad-dye-job-when-you-wear-these-shoes'...

OK,OK! ...I know this is a 'statement shoe'...

...but what, exactly, is the statement? Goat Herders Anonymous?

Or are these the orthopedic shoes that all the River Dancers have to wear after being on the road with Michael Flattley too long...???

Next we have a leopard/fish lace up...that I actually think are pretty cool---and my kids would HATE it when I wore these 'surf and turf' wonders to pick them up at school...or..sported them to a soccer game...yeah...(mmmWHUHUHUh!)

Ahhh... a girl can dream...but for now...I'll stick with my comfy red boots!

'Have you seen this child?...'

Had my first 'milk carton moment' today...
(Little One is fine, by the way...)
So, here's how it happened...
Little One was late to school this morning because she had a check up at the Doc's...
Walked her in to the front office...following protocol of the public school system, I handed all the necessary paperwork to the office secretary...signed her in to school---on the computer....
(Little One was thrilled that the 'pink slip' matched her outfit perfectly...)
Then there was a moment of awkwardness...
I wanted to walk her to her classroom that is about 300 miles from the front office to make sure she got there OK---(she has only been at this kindergarten for about 8 days now)...being cautious because God knows I would die if anything happened to her betwixt points A and B.
The office lady kind of poo-pooed me as being an overly emotional/way too cautious/psycho hover mother 'new parent'...and asked Little One if she knew where her classroom was...
(they encourage independence for the 5 year olds.)
Of course my big girl nodded 'yes'...and looked at me...
(as office lady was looking at me like, '...see?')
SO...
against my gut feeling, and trying to 'go' with the 'flow'...I let her go.
I...let my 'big girl' go....
I watched her wave to me through the glass doors....her skinny little legs walking toward her classroom....
(all the while thinking '...no. This is not right.')
Then thinking to myself,'OK...she is fine...stop over reacting...she's fine...she will be fine...'
45 minutes after I was home...my cell rings.
It is the Principal from her school.
She was doing all the obligatory intros, and had Little One's teacher on speaker phone...and was it ok if they put ME on speaker phone----
(All I can think of is 'what the HELL is going on! WHAT! WHAT!!!!)
Turns out, Little One never made it to her classroom....she LEFT out a side door and went on the playground!
Thank you God for the teacher who saw her and took her in to her class...
She was not scared....just said 'I got lost'.
Needless to say...with my heart in my throat...she was fine.
(...but what if she had wandered in to Lynn road? What if she had happened across someone who wanted her to 'see the puppies I found'...)
Hopefully, after this, the school will take seriously a mother's intuition...or at least take 10 minutes out of all the paperwork on their desk, and WALK a child to their class!

11 Facts of Life (by Bill Gates)

(I am posting this for my kids---and any of you 'grown-ups' out there who need a kick in the rear! Peace. Kat~)

."Rule 1: Life is not fair - get used to it!

Rule 2: The world doesn't care about your self-esteem. The world will expect you to accomplish something BEFORE you feel good about yourself.

Rule 3: You will NOT make $60,000 a year right out of high school. You won't be a vice-president with a car phone until you earn both.

Rule 4: If you think your teacher is tough, wait till you get a boss.

Rule 5: Flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity. Your Grandparents had a different word for burger flipping: they called it opportunity.

Rule 6: If you mess up, it's not your parents' fault, so don't whine about your mistakes, learn from them.

Rule 7: Before you were born, your parents weren't as boring as they are now. They got that way from paying your bills, cleaning your clothes and listening to you talk about how cool you thought you were. So before you save the rain forest from the parasites of your parent's generation, try delousing the closet in your own room.

Rule 8: Your school may have done away with winners and losers, but life HAS NOT. In some schools, they have abolished failing grades and they'll give you as MANY TIMES as you want to get the right answer. This doesn't bear the slightest resemblance to ANYTHING in real life.

Rule 9: Life is not divided into semesters. You don't get summers off and very few employers are interested in helping you FIND YOURSELF. Do that on your own time.

Rule 10: Television is NOT real life. In real life people actually have to leave the coffee shop and go to jobs.

Rule 11: Be nice to nerds. Chances are you'll end up working for one."

Fairy Stone Park

I took my son 'Bobby' and my Little One to Fairy Stone Park today...

Little One and I were chatting before she went to bed last night and she was 'so excited' to find some Fairy Stones...

'Are they all blue and sparkly?' she asked...

'Well, not really...they are beautiful, but they are usually muddy and very small'....I told her.

'Oh...' she said...kinda disappointed.

Then I realized, really, her whole life is like a Disney  film...

'Fairy'=Tinker Bell, the Fairy Dust, and little pixies with unusual body proportions...

My son and I just 'went with it'...as they say.

He asked her if she was 'gonna look for Fairies at the Park?'

'YES!...and if I find Tinker Bell, I will put her in the jar with my silly bands...but I will take out the silly bands so she has room to fly around!'...

Oh my sweet little imaginative 'fairy' girl!

(You are all Love...sprinkled with Pixie dust!)

First Day of School

(I heard this on the radio this morning...reminds me of Little One....although she is not riding the bus...but still...)
I Trust You'll Treat Her Well

By Dan Valentine

Dear World,

I bequeath to you today one little girl in a crispy dress with two blue eyes and a happy laugh that ripples all day long and a flash of light blond hair that bounces in the sun when she runs. I trust you'll treat her well.

She's slipping out of the backyard of my heart this morning and skipping off down the street to her first day of school. And never again will she be completely mine. Prim and proud she'll wave her young and independent hand this morning and say "Goodbye" and walk with little lady steps to the schoolhouse.

Now she'll learn to stand in lines and wait by the alphabet for her name to be called. She'll learn to tune her ears for the sounds of school-bells and deadlines and she'll learn to giggle and gossip and look at the ceiling in a disinterested way when the little boy 'cross the aisle sticks out his tongue at her. And, now she'll learn to be jealous. And now she'll learn how it is to feel hurt inside.

And now she'll learn how not to cry.

No longer will she have time to sit on the front porch steps on a summer day and watch an ant scurry across the crack in the sidewalk. Nor will she have time to pop out of bed with the dawn and kiss lilac blooms in the morning dew. No, now she'll worry about those important things like grades and which dress to wear and whose best friend is whose. And the magic of books and learning will replace the magic of her blocks and dolls.

And now she'll find new heroes.

For five full years now I've been her sage and Santa Claus and pal and playmate and father and friend. Now she'll learn to share her worship with her teachers which is only right.

But, no longer will I be the smartest, greatest man in the whole world. Today when that school bell rings for the first time she'll learn what it means to be a member of the group with all its privileges and its disadvantages too.

She'll learn in time that proper young ladies do not laugh out loud or kiss dogs or keep frogs in pickle jars in bedrooms or even watch ants scurry across cracks in sidewalks in the summer.

Today she'll learn for the first time that all who smile at her are not her friends. And I'll stand on the front porch and watch her start out on the long, lonely journey to becoming a woman.

So, world, I bequeath to you today one little girl in a crispy dress with two blue eyes and a happy laugh that ripples all day long…and a flash of light blond hair that bounces in the sun when she runs.

I trust you'll treat her well. .

Words to LIVE by....

"To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children...to leave the world a better place...to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded."
Ralph Waldo Emerson

My UN-Love Affair with Math.

My oldest daughter needed some Algebra review over the summer...
As I printed out worksheets for her...I got that old icky feeling again.
Math and I are not good friends...we are hardly even acquaintances anymore.
It all started with Addition in first grade...which was fine...
I love apples, pears, and oranges....and I can add them together, subtract them...I am comfortable with fruit salad.
Then the Multiplication Tables came into the room---and blew me away.
Remember those 'timed multiplication table tests'?
(aka: 'Instant Anxiety attack for a 9 year old...cloaked in that stupid piece of paper.')
I would get sick to my stomach, my head would ache, and the 'tick-tocking' of that stupid stop watch! OH MY GOD!
(I would have rather burned my coveted Wacky Packages than do that test.)
Then, the ultimate 'gut grabber' was the smacking down of the pencils as everyone else finished...scooching their chairs back as I sweated through the third of four columns to still be finished...Mrs. Mack would call 'time'...and it was like a slow mo action shot from a film...'NNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO'!!!!
I did (finally) learn my multiplication tables after getting really tired of adding up 7+7+7+7+7+7+7...etc.
Fractions were friendly to me because I could visualize the apples, pears and oranges divided in sections---though I don't know that all my fruity doodles were all that appreciated on my tests.
Decimals sucked.
Long Division was friendly.
My kids learned some kind of weird division in school, and I gave up trying to help them with homework.
(Bring on the Creative Writing, or a Pilgrim Village built from Popsicle sticks! I'm the 'Diorama Diva!)
I gave up a Study hall in 9th grade so I could sit through 2 simultaneous bells of Algebra with Mr. Rullman---King of the Levi flat front corduroys.
He even dragged my desk (with me sitting in it) to the board one day when I did not understand something----(THANKS for THAT Rodney!)
Oh, yes...and then there was Geometry with Mr. Everheart...a guy that no one was ever sure if he was not high...or something.
(And thank you Julio for making the 'bong noises' in to your canned Coke during class...you smelled like pot, and the giggling did not help my fleeting concentration.)
I always miraculously 'forgot' my notebook, or geometry book...and would ask to be excused so I could 'go to my locker'....(and flirt with the senior boys on the way back....okok! I admit it!)
*Note: another way to get 'excused' from his class would be to clutch my purse, and ask to go to the Ladies room...you know...'female emergencies' totally freak out male teachers! hahaha!
So all my shenanigans earned me a spot in Summer School at First Colonial HS...aka: Surfer-Boys-A-Go-Go'...geometry was easier there...and I passed the class.
(Although, that was the summer Chris Hearn slammed his 1978 Bronco (with a lift) into my Chevette...and I subsequently slammed my head in to the steering wheel---2 reconstructive septum surgeries later, I am OK...thanks.)
I took Algebra 2---twice...my Junior and Senior years...nice.
(and thank you to all my Physics tutors who helped me graduate---my payback was all the awesome illustrations I did for you of the dead pig in Biology---so, we are even!)
I actually made it through 6 years of college without taking Math!
(I did have to take Biology for 'Non-Science Majors' my Senior year---and thank you to the professor who passed me---I still love you.Glad we had that talk, and you thought I was 'charming'.)
I can say this, though.
I graduated with a BFA in Fashion Design...and I can measure the heck outta some fabric...fractions and all.
I can also tell you how many yards you need to reupholster a sofa...
(20 yrds. depending on the repeat)

'What I did on Summer Vacation...'

July 2010, I took my 12 year old son and my oldest daughter (for her 15th birthday present) to see Train and John Mayer.
It was my son's first concert...my daughter's second.
(I took her to see The Jonas Brothers/Demi Lavatto a few years back...I know! The things we endure for our kids, right?)
The show was at an outdoor amphitheatre.
Of course, it had not rained here in central North Carolina in, oh, say, 45 days---and it POURED that day!!!
My daughter hijacked my uber cool North Face jacket, and I wore the 'nerdy mom raincoat'---again, sacrificing my evaporating 'coolness' so my girl would feel good.
When we first got to the concert venue,of course there was a huge mass of people...my girl stuck close by as we navigated the long lines to get in.
Once we cleared the gates, she was walking quickly ahead of me by a good six paces...occasionally looking back---a juxtaposition of teenage 'independence' and her fear of being 'abducted'.
(yes, I am one of the moms that tells her kids to stick close to me in crowds 'because someone could steal you and I'll never see you again'...so far, I have not lost any of my three kids!)
My son always sticks close to me, so, he was not a worry.
He was, however, embarrassed that I took off my flipflops and was walking barefoot in the wet grass...'MOM! Put your shoes back on!'...I explained to him it was no big deal---and would he rather me wipe out walking down the hill? (haha!)...plus, the grass felt really good on my feet.
It was a warm summer rain as we rocked out to Train...one of the hazards of 'lawn seats' I'm afraid...we were soaked!
My son and I enjoyed 'people watching'....
...and as with everything, it turned in to a 'learning experience' the later it got, and the more 'happy' the people around us got...
Nothing like some sloppy drunk girl hanging off her boyfriend and pawing at his crotch to start a conversation about 'how NOT to act at a concert'...geez.
(My 15 year old and her friends were giggling and their eyes were as big as saucers...I was embarrassed for the drunk/pawing girl...she looked like an idiot.)
Once it got dark, John Mayer started playing...and suddenly, the air was quite 'fragrant'...
(again, another 'learning experience' that I was glad to be there to explain...!!!)
I am open and honest with my kids, and like to address things head on...so, we covered 'PDA' and 'over indulgence' issues. (check that off the 'awkward things I need to talk to my kids about' list!)
BOTH my kids were absolutely HORR-I-FIED that I was actually dancing to the music...and 'OMG'---SINGING!
My son was just irritated, and my daughter kept looking back at me (from 10 yrds. away) giving me the 'stink eye', eye roll and mouthing the word 'STOP!'...She's got talent, yes, she does...to be able to do all THREE at ONCE! (I'm so proud.)
It almost became a game of 'freeze dance' because I would stop every time she turned around...haha! Seriously, I wish my kids would not feel so 'boxed in'...and just let go and dance! (I mean, no one could look as idiotic as 'drunk/pawing girl'!)
...and I was not doing freaky hippy stuff, ending with 'jazz hands' like the dude beside me...(now, THAT was embarrassing!)
All in all, we had a really good time, and laughed a LOT---which is the point! I am hoping my kids enjoyed the concert---and the free 'public education'...haha!
'Life is not about waiting
for the storm to pass...
It's about learning to Dance in the Rain!'

Cotton is Cotton, yall.

I was listening to the View this morning---midst all the packing boxes and my entertaining of Little One...
They did a segment on ways to 'save' on clothing costs.
(Hasselbeck, with her glossy stiff lips and $400 shoes had her typical 'I think I smell something foul, here' look on her face...but I digress.)
OK. So the big 'secret' was shopping at TJMaxx and Marshall's...
'These shorts would cost $160.00 in a department store, we got them just for $19.99 at TJMaxx!'
(Big ooo's and ahhh's from the audience...)
Seriously?
Who pays $160 for a pair of shorts?
Maybe it's my way of thinking. (Even if I was swimming in cash, I would not spend that.)
I am a Fashion/Costume Designer by degree/trade.
I have studied textiles, tailoring...I can sew. I know what the cost is to produce a garment vs the mark up from retailers...I can spot a well made garment from a mile away. I can also tell you what the fiber content is by touching the fabric...(yes, I am a 'toucher'.)
Cotton is Cotton, yall.
A $4.00 Tshirt is a $4.00 Tshirt...slap a spiffy label on it and suddenly that T is now $45.00. (my case and point is the whole Abercrombie hype...or whatever your 'label' is. My oldest daughter would save up her babysitting money to buy tissue weight cotton tees...on sale...for $25.00. My 'guestimate' is that shirt cost $2.00 to make---overseas---and the companies are making a killing with the mark up. Even the 'label' is marked up. It is a 3 inch piece of printed ribbon---costing maybe 10 cents...and lest we not forget, the treatment of workers in overseas factories, fair trade, the outsourcing of American textile jobs---but that discussion is for another day.)
I have seen people, first hand, who will wear something that looks like 'poo' on them...and brag '...and it's Armani'...(you still look like 'poo', darlin---just sayin'.)
Granted, I will buy a garment if it is made well, and of good quality fabric (I do believe in 'investment pieces')...but never at full retail prices...
I guess...maybe...my point is...you are what you wear...and I'd rather be 100% cotton and fairly made---and purchased. (wait...that sounded bad! hahaha!)

The Apology from 'A Fish Called Wanda'...

(One never knows when these words will come in quite handy....)

"I am...really, really sorry. I take it back unreservedly.
...I do.
I offer a complete and utter retraction...The imputation was totally without basis in fact...and was in no way fair comment and was motivated purely by malice...
...and I deeply regret any distress that my comments may have caused you....or your family... and I hereby undertake not to repeat any such slander...at any time...in the future."

(Of course...it must be said with a British accent...with....the appropriate pauses!)

Honor the Fallen

~~This Memorial Day~~
MAY GOD BLESS THIS AIRLINE CAPTAIN:

He writes: My lead flight attendant came to me and said, "We have an H.R. on this flight." (H.R. stands for human remains.) "Are they military?" I asked.

'Yes', she said.
'Is there an escort?' I asked.
'Yes, I already assigned him a seat'.
'Would you please tell him to come to the flight deck. You can board him early," I said..

A short while later, a young army sergeant entered the flight deck. He was the image of the perfectly dressed soldier. He introduced himself and I asked him about his soldier. The escorts of these fallen soldiers talk about them as if they are still alive and still with us.

'My soldier is on his way back to Virginia,' he said. He proceeded to answer my questions, but offered no words.

I asked him if there was anything I could do for him and he said no. I told him that he had the toughest job in the military and that I appreciated the work that he does for the families of our fallen soldiers. The first officer and I got up out of our seats to shake his hand. He left the flight deck to find his seat.

We completed our preflight checks, pushed back and performed an uneventful departure. About 30 minutes into our flight I received a call from the lead flight attendant in the cabin. 'I just found out the family of the soldier we are carrying, is on board', she said. She then proceeded to tell me that the father, mother, wife and 2-year old daughter were escorting their son, husband, and father home. The family was upset because they were unable to see the container that the soldier was in before we left. We were on our way to a major hub at which the family was going to wait four hours for the connecting flight home to Virginia .

The father of the soldier told the flight attendant that knowing his son was below him in the cargo compartment and being unable to see him was too much for him and the family to bear. He had asked the flight attendant if there was anything that could be done to allow them to see him upon our arrival. The family wanted to be outside by the cargo door to watch the soldier being taken off the airplane.. I could hear the desperation in the flight attendants voice when she asked me if there was anything I could do.. 'I'm on it', I said. I told her that I would get back to her.

Airborne communication with my company normally occurs in the form of e-mail like messages. I decided to bypass this system and contact my flight dispatcher directly on a secondary radio. There is a radio operator in the operations control center who connects you to the telephone of the dispatcher. I was in direct contact with the dispatcher.. I explained the situation I had on board with the family and what it was the family wanted. He said he understood and that he would get back to me.

Two hours went by and I had not heard from the dispatcher. We were going to get busy soon and I needed to know what to tell the family. I sent a text message asking for an update. I saved the return message from the dispatcher and the following is the text:

'Captain, sorry it has taken so long to get back to you. There is policy on this now and I had to check on a few things. Upon your arrival a dedicated escort team will meet the aircraft. The team will escort the family to the ramp and plane side. A van will be used to load the remains with a secondary van for the family. The family will be taken to their departure area and escorted into the terminal where the remains can be seen on the ramp. It is a private area for the family only. When the connecting aircraft arrives, the family will be escorted onto the ramp and plane side to watch the remains being loaded for the final leg home. Captain, most of us here in flight control are veterans. Please pass our condolences on to the family. Thanks.'

I sent a message back telling flight control thanks for a good job. I printed out the message and gave it to the lead flight attendant to pass on to the father. The lead flight attendant was very thankful and told me, 'You have no idea how much this will mean to them.'

Things started getting busy for the descent, approach and landing. After landing, we cleared the runway and taxied to the ramp area. The ramp is huge with 15 gates on either side of the alleyway. It is always a busy area with aircraft maneuvering every which way to enter and exit. When we entered the ramp and checked in with the ramp controller, we were told that all traffic was being held for us.

'There is a team in place to meet the aircraft', we were told. It looked like it was all coming together, then I realized that once we turned the seat belt sign off, everyone would stand up at once and delay the family from getting off the airplane. As we approached our gate, I asked the copilot to tell the ramp controller we were going to stop short of the gate to make an announcement to the passengers. He did that and the ramp controller said, 'Take your time.'

I stopped the aircraft and set the parking brake. I pushed the public address button and said, 'Ladies and gentleman, this is your Captain speaking I have stopped short of our gate to make a special announcement. We have a passenger on board who deserves our honor and respect. His Name is Private XXXXXX, a soldier who recently lost his life. Private XXXXXX is under your feet in the cargo hold. Escorting him today is Army Sergeant XXXXXXX. Also, on board are his father, mother, wife, and daughter. Your entire flight crew is asking for all passengers to remain in their seats to allow the family to exit the aircraft first. Thank you.'

We continued the turn to the gate, came to a stop and started our shutdown procedures. A couple of minutes later I opened the cockpit door. I found the two forward flight attendants crying, something you just do not see. I was told that after we came to a stop, every passenger on the aircraft stayed in their seats, waiting for the family to exit the aircraft.

When the family got up and gathered their things, a passenger slowly started to clap his hands. Moments later more passengers joined in and soon the entire aircraft was clapping. Words of 'God Bless You', I'm sorry, thank you, be proud, and other kind words were uttered to the family as they made their way down the aisle and out of the airplane. They were escorted down to the ramp to finally be with their loved one.

Many of the passengers disembarking thanked me for the announcement I had made. They were just words, I told them, I could say them over and over again, but nothing I say will bring back that brave soldier.

I respectfully ask that all of you reflect on this event and the sacrifices that millions of our men and women have made to ensure our freedom and safety in these United States of AMERICA .

Foot note:
As a Viet Nam Veteran I can only think of all the veterans including the ones that rode below the deck on their way home and how they were treated. When I read things like this I am proud that our country has not turned their backs on our soldiers returning from the various war zones today and give them the respect they so deserve.

I know every one who has served their country who reads this will have tears in their eyes, including me.

Prayer chain for our Military... Don't break it!

Please send this on after a short prayer.. Prayer for our soldiers Don't break it!

Prayer:
'Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they protect us. Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need. Amen..'

Prayer Request: When you receive this, please stop for a moment and say a prayer for our troops around the world.

'I got mine...go get your own...LOSER!'

I am tired of the attitude...the 'holier than thou' raised eyebrows...the nonexistent compassion for those who really need help with health care costs.
These people who are fortunate enough to HAVE affordable health insurance looking down their noses at those of us who don't...through no fault of our own.
We are all uninsured ticking time bombs walking around...having been laid off a good paying job that had benefits...praying to God we don't get something terminal, break a limb, or get hurt in an accident.

'everyone can get health care! Those people who want reform want a handout from the government...tsk. tsk....' the suburban housewife says on her way to play tennis with her gal pals, and eat chicken salad by the pool afterwards.
'those people just want socialized medicine---that ain't American...' says the redneck in his American flag shirt, chewin his Skoal, leanin against is uber truck---'ain't she purrty?'
'ohhhh...you don't have insurance?' says the perky receptionist with a pseudo caring look,'I'll be right back...' As she disappears behind door # 1...reappearing from door #2...hands me my medicaid card between two of her really nicely manicured fake nails...says 'we don't take Medicaid patients.'
(ok...that was all very stereotypical...and I know I will tick somebody off...however, I fall in to their stereotype of 'losers who want to mooch off the system'.)

My point: My child is SICK!
I just want help for her---right NOW!

(and for the record: No...I do NOT want a handout...and I believe in doing my part, paying my fair share...and helping others whenever I can.)

Yesterday I called the 'caregiver' listed on Mia's medicaid card...
Turns out they won't see her because 'her files were transferred to another practice, so, she would be considered a new patient'...
(she has been seeing them since she was born, and I had to transfer her when my H got laid off because they would not see her without insurance.)
I called the place her records were transferred to...got her an appointment today. (yay!)
We arrive on time...my baby is feverish, coughing and obviously not feeling well.
I go and check in...
'ummm....we can't take this Medicaid card because we are not listed as the primary practice...'
(HUH?)
I ask how long it takes to get the switch done---a phone call? Fax? 15 minutes?
'...Thirty days...'
Oh my GOD! I could start out on foot---WALK there, carrying my sick child--- and get it done faster than that!
They suggested I go to an Urgent Care place 'because their out of pocket expense will be less...'
OK.
I pack sick child back in to car...drive across town to Urgent Care place...
I presented the Medicaid card, checked in---again---and we go sit and wait...for an HOUR.
We finally get back to see the Doc...and wait another 30 minutes....
Doc spends 5 minutes with her...writes a script for antibiotics---(well, DUH! No surprise.)
We wait some MORE for the paperwork to process...and I get the bill...
'ok...you owe $317 for todays visit...'
(WHAAAATTTT?)
I rarely 'go off'...but I did...stealing myself not to pass out...while sick baby is whithering some more...
Long rant short: I paid $20 and told them to bill me the rest....and I got all the names and numbers of anyone and everyone I could call, email, etc...fighting back tears of total frustration.
At this point, we had been at this for 3 hours...and sick baby was getting worse.
I got her meds...carrying her the whole time through the pharmacy...finally arrive home where my little girl literally passed out on the sofa...I barely managed to get the meds in her before she was asleep like a log.
I go in to 'squeaky wheel mode'...
As I am preparing myself for an afternoon of phone calls and being put on hold...my phone rings.
It's the office manager at the Urgent Care...sheepishly apologizing...it was a 'clerical' error.
Turns out, since they knew I had Medicaid for my daughter, they could not charge me anymore than what Medicaid would be...
Seriously?
There went 3 hours of my life I will never get back...
However,the better news is my little girl is resting...and I may just go take a nap myself. I am pooped!

For All the MOMS...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


"Before I was a Mom,
I never tripped over toys
or forgot words to a lullaby.
I didn't worry whether or not
my plants were poisonous.
I never thought about immunizations.

Before I was a Mom,
I had never been puked on.
Pooped on.
Chewed on.
Peed on.
I had complete control of my mind
and my thoughts.
I slept all night.

Before I was a Mom,
I never held down a screaming child
so doctors could do tests.
Or give shots.
I never looked into teary eyes and cried.
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.
I never sat up late hours at night
watching a baby sleep.

Before I was a Mom,
I never held a sleeping baby just because
I didn't want to put her down.
I never felt my heart break into a million pieces
when I couldn't stop the hurt.
I never knew that something so small
could affect my life so much.
I never knew that I could love someone so much.
I never knew I would love being a Mom.


Before I was a Mom,
I didn't know the feeling of
having my heart outside my body..
I didn't know how special it could feel
to feed a hungry baby.
I didn't know that bond
between a mother and her child.
I didn't know that something so small
could make me feel so important and happy.

Before I was a Mom,
I had never gotten up in the middle of the night
every 10 minutes to make sure all was okay.
I had never known the warmth,
the joy,
the love,
the heartache,
the wonderment
or the satisfaction of being a Mom.
I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much,
before I was a Mom...

May you always be overwhelmed by the Grace of God rather than by the
cares of life..."

It's My Garden...

I have been through 2 husbands already....call it bad luck...or fate.
Whatever...
The one thing I have always felt the most sad about, when these marriages ended, were my gardens....and having to leave them.
When I was with 'X1' I built an awesome garden in our yard...it is what kept me sane.
When all else crumbled around me...my garden fed me and kept me alive.
I taught my small children (at the time) how to identify weeds....transplant good flowers...and learn the value of making things grow under your care.
I had to leave that garden.
I had spent 7 years building a perennial heaven. Built a pergola with wisteria vines...sweet blossoms making the air fragrant on warm spring nights. I used to sit under those vines with my now 15 yr. old in my lap...and we would look at the twinkle lights I had infused in the greenery....and make up stories about lovely fairies and happy things.
I remember trying to transplant vintage peonies and other amazing plants to my newest garden out of state...
Some of them lived...but some did not make the trip.
When I moved where I am now---some 8 years ago, I had great hopes...and thought this would be my 'last' garden to build.
I worked my fanny off turning over soil...conditioning the native clay in to something that would love and accept what I had to plant and grow....
Turns out...this is NOT my last garden...and now I have an 'X2'...
Life has a strange way of twisting and turning.
I always thought that at this stage of my life I would have a well established garden---and life.
I am now looking at putting my house on the market...just as my hydrangeas have established themselves. Just as the irises I took from the woods, have finally come in to their own....just as I thought everything was going to be OK.
I am sad to leave my garden. I am sad that yet another 'marriage' has failed.
However...I do know this.
I will grow where I am planted next...and so will my garden...eventually.

The code! The CODE? Ummmm....

It was a gloriously dazzling morning Friday last...the birds were chirping, the sun was glistening...I had had that first cup of black tar (aka: my kinda coffee)...
I went skipping (not really) to the back door to let my lovely Roxy dog outside to tend to her morning 'duties' and her never ending squirrel patrol.
As I opened the door---all heck broke loose.
WHOOOOP! WHHOOOOP!
(Oh...SH*T! I had forgotten to turn off the security system!)
I scrambled as best I could, in my '(F)Uggs'----Fake Uggs---and luscious pink furry bathrobe, to the punch pad thingy for the alarm.
(It was lit up all green and flashing for me.)
The code? WHAT was the freakin' CODE to turn off the system???!!!
Automatically I dial in my ATM card pin number...the alarm was still going...and no money came out of the wall---DARNIT!
WHOOOOP! WHOOOOP! WHOOOOP!
(holy cow I am going to wake the neighbors!)
I dial in what I THINK is the code---and tah-dah! Grace under pressure wins again!
(and none of my 3 kids woke up!...which then worried me because they could sleep through gunfire if they had slept through THAT alarm!)
I went in to the kitchen to reheat my tar/coffee...and the phone rings.
It was the security company calling to see if everything was ok, if I was who I said I was...and (get this!) 'yes,ma'am...could you please tell me the secret password for your system?...'
Ummm. Secret password? WHAT secret password...????
With some hints from the kind customer service guy...I got it...sort of.
(He said, 'well, what you said is a form of the word, so, that's OK...')
About 45 minutes later...as I am doing the 'get-your-shoes-on-you-have-to-go-to-school' dance with my 5 year old....there is a knock on the door.
TWO cop cars are parked in front of my home...TWO!
I went outside to speak with the kind officers with there crispy uniforms...and guns.
Doing my best June Cleaver, southern belle, eyelash batting...I explained what had happened while letting out the dog...
They still wanted to see my ID.
(Super! Now all the neighbors were wondering why TWO cops are at my door...)
So,apparently, I checked out alright for them...I was me...and then?
They liked my landscaping and perennials so much, we had a nice little chat about pesticide-free gardening!
(Who knew!)
At least THEY did not ask me for a code word...

What IS in a name?

My kids have as new stepsister with an 'unusual' name...so, I had to post this...(This was written, by me, in February of 2009.)
A friend of mine recently introduced me to his dog 'Lucky'...
( a potential 'friend' for my' babe of a foxy beagle mix',Roxy---although she has not approved him on her 'Dogbook')
Lucky's name got me to thinkin'---(yes, I do that a lot...but then, I can find the humor in just about everything...it's bad!)
Whenever you name a dog, cat or child---you need to first see how it will play out when you call them from across the yard....
Apparently, when I adopted Zeus...our beloved 125 pound SPCA special husky/Akita/border collie mix...I was, clearly, not thinking in such a manner. He was black and white, one blue eye, one soulful brown eye, big husky plume tail...and he had a white streak---which looked like lightening---right down the middle of his big dog forehead.
Lightening...powerful...hmmm. AH! Yes! 'ZEUS' King of the gods...PERFECT!
(and then down the road I could adopt another dog and call him 'APOLLO'...wait. Aren't those the names of Magnum PI's dogs? I miss Tom....)
Not that 'Zeus' was not a perfect name for the perfect dog---aka: 'Zeusy boy', 'Juice', 'Big Dog' and 'Trailer Dog'( when he licked the utensils in the dishwasher)...as well as the shared names of many dogs: 'Get down!' and 'No No Bad Dog!'
The problem came with the greeting: 'Hey ZEUS!'...which sounds just like 'Jesus' in Spanish...and living where I do, with a large Spanish speaking population...I was apparently calling on the Almighty One like an evangelical on a Sunday morning...
'Zeus' also sounds like 'YOU'...as in 'Zeus! COME!'...this leads to many sheepish explanations to neighbors walking by thinking perhaps you have Turrets (sp) syndrome...'hi...uh, sorry...I wasn't calling to you...I was..uh...calling our dog...Have a great day---your lawn is beautiful! Do you fertilize?"
Some dogs don't ever get an 'official' name.
My dad's fraternity in college had a house dog named 'Dammit'...Maybe his name was 'Earl'...and they just shortened it because 'Dammit' always preceded the 'Earl' part?
('Dammit Earl! Give me back that can!')
Anyway, the dog was actually in the Fraternity picture line up---had his own studio portrait next to all the Delts---so, he was very well thought of despite his unfortunate nickname.
People who name cats have to be careful as well...when 'Captain Sweet Cheeks' escapes the confines of the home, no one wants to be outside making kissy noises and saying--out loud---'Captain Sweeeeeetcheeeeks...come on boy!' followed by more kissy noises...the neighbors will be putting you on the 'freak list' because Jesus and 'Captain Sweet Cheeks' are living in your home!
This can also lead to much consternation, and confusion, in a marriage, as some men inevitably think THEY are 'Captain Sweet Cheeks'...
I believe there should be a rule for naming pets...they should have FULL names.
We have 'Roxy Von Bacheler' aka: 'Roxy the Foxy Beagle mix'...our cat 'Sylvia Wallace Bacheler'. (Wallace is my maiden name... but in catspeak it really means Sylvia...'slayer of all mice/ninja kitty/tail chasing bird whisperer'...Bacheler.) I have also had a lab named 'Sir Brewster of the Highlands'...beloved cats 'Jesse of the James'....aka: 'Juice Toes' and 'Prince Charles of Richelieu'. Then there was 'Signore Luca di Pavoratti' aka: 'Cow Kitty'. We have also had a hamster: 'Mr. Snuggles'...(poor Mr. Suggles...my mother in law held him so tight his eyes were popped out...he was never right after that.)
...it's all about respect really. Honor your pets and they will honor you---except the cats...they live by their own rules.
I love names that have a meaning...take into account anything French: Jolie, Joie,Vivian...Indian names a la 'Dances with Wolves'...Tutanka...etc. Maybe you have run across such names...
Children, like pets, cannot escape the name game either.
They are at the mercy of their parents/captors.
I have actually heard of a girl whose name is Candi (with an 'i'---probably w/ a smiley face or heart on top of the 'i') CANE! Candi Cane? Seriously? Why would a parent do this to a child? It inevitably set her up for crude prepubescent joking...
Same thing with people who are named 'Bob Roberts'. What? Couldn't think of anything else, mom and dad? Robert Roberts? Well, I guess there is a little less guessing in the 'first name last, last name first' scenerio. (and I mean no disrespect to any 'Bob Roberts', 'Tom Thomas', 'Pete Peters' people out there, or their parents!)
Of course this leads to my thoughts on people whose last names really ARE a first name: Thomas, Jackson, James...so, do they name them a LAST name for the FIRST name? (Ex: Smith Thomas, Jones Jackson, Clayton James...) This is confusing for everyone---especially the roll-takers. I'm just sayin'....
For offspring, in particular, the last name is a big deciding factor...no you don't want to name your son 'Richard Johnson'...or for a girl who comes from the well connected 'Butte' clan...'Fanny Butte'...no good. They will suffer the same fate as Candi Cane.
I am also amused by parents who name their kids after fruits, inanimate objects, seasons,or months of the year.'Apple'...'Stone'---which is actually pretty cool...'Summer' or 'May'---whose birthday is in December...(again, no disrespect to anyone with those names!)
Flower names have always been around---'Violet', 'Rose','Daisy'...however, I do think 'Viola' and 'Petunia' may be pushing it...although they should all remain in the running for pet names...
Human names and pet names do cross over well...as well as 'verb names'...'Chase', 'Skip', 'Jett'
(---which if I had had a boy this last time, was the name I had picked out...mainly because he would have been an athlete, for sure, and it sounds great on a loudspeaker: "Touchdown! Jett Bacheler!'...which, then, would have landed him a job in sportscasting..."This is Jett Bacheler reporting from the Yankees training camp. Back to you in the studio.")
AND, by the way, we can all thank the breeders who came up with the name 'Shiitzu'...gave us all an excuse to say a naughty word when we were little! C'mon, you know you did it too!You got the same thrill---just as my son did when he spelled 'association' in spelling review---
'A-S-S...(snicker snicker)..o...c-i-a-t-i-o-n.' hahaha!
OK. So back to 'Lucky'....
It's a great name! Perfect for this dog! Adopted. Loved. Healthy.= Lucky!
Here is what I was thinking about...
This is the set up:
My friend and his wife are at the grocery store, in the check out line...chatting while the cashier rings them up...(friend and wife are actually talking about picking the dog up at the vet.)
'Sweetie, are you going to go pick up the kids?'
'Yeah sure...after I go get Lucky...' (cashier looks up....thinking, 'that rat talkin' about gettin some strange with his wife standin' right here...')
'How long will that take...???'...(cashier looks down thinks,'Lord Jesus...she doesnt MIND?..buncha heathens.')
'I think about an hour---she said he'd be ready for me when I get there...shouldn't take too long.'
(cashier gives them both condescending, dirty look...Stares holes in their foreheads with her eyes.)
hahhah!
See! You have to be careful when naming pets and kids!...or have quick explainations handy!!!
...and yes, my married name used to be 'Mrs. Bacheler'...oh the irony...!!!

When life was 'easy'...

The Summer of 1978...I was 13.
Our house was in the North End of Virginia Beach...the 'real' beach...one block from the ocean.
The only other homes around us were huge old beach cottages---family owned for generations, little bungalow houses with screened in porches...nothing more than 2 stories high...
every driveway was either compacted sand and oyster shells or gravel.
We never wore shoes...the soles of our feet were like leather.
We had one window unit for air conditioning in the dining room/kitchen---no one had central air then...and your floor fan was your friend.
I used to sleep with my window open...late at night I could hear the ocean, after the traffic died down on Atlantic Avenue.
The birds and I usually woke up around 9am...watched a bit of happy Days and Leave It To Beaver re-runs...eating my bowl of Special K (with whole milk), drinking my OJ, and having a cake donut.
The back door was open, and the cat hung out on the screened porch.
Our loud next door neighbors began a chorus of yelling back and forth---you always knew what they were doing...like it or not.
Mom was a teacher and had the summers off...she always slept in.
My job was to get my summer math and reading comprehension workbook pages done, and checked, and then I could go to the beach.(I went to a private school...the homework was never 'done'.)
I called the surf report every morning. Then I'd call my friends...
Getting ready to go to the beach was as easy as putting on my bikini---we all wore them---a huge tshirt as a cover up, flip flops (the kind you got at the drugstore), grabbing my towel off the line outside, fetching my Morey Boogie Board 360 B.E.(leaning against the outdoor shower)...and I was off.
I'd get to the beach,throw down my board, towel, and put on sunscreen---there were only 2 kinds...Sundowner is the one I remember bc it was the first waterproof one. If you put it on after you got wet, it made these white 'snot balls' all over you....you got Desitin on your nose and cheeks if they started to burn.
None of us were allowed to go in to the ocean until a 'grown up' showed up---and I can tell you, on the days that the waves were killer, it was just the glimpse of the top of my mom's head coming over the dune that sent me sprinting in to the water.
My girlfriends usually showed up shortly after...my best friend rode a bright yellow mo-ped all the way from Bay Colony...we were all jealous that she had a 'ped'. My other galpals would show up eventually...we were a hot little crew!
We did not care about boys---at least I did not...especially if Pete Smith's surf shop had reported the waves as 'head high, glassy and definitely ride-able'...we all rode together...chicks and dudes.
The street next to ours always had a better break, so we would all inadvertently 'drift' over there....
Our moms would get up out of their low slung beach chairs and wave us back over like the guys at the airport tarmac.
Begrudgingly, we would ride a wave in and walk back down the beach.
If we were really lucky, at low tide, there'd be a sand bar= better waves...and the chance to paddle out farther than our mom's voices could yell for us to come in.
If there were jellies in the water, we'd put Vaseline on our legs and arms...which would make your board slippery...so, you'd have to dig down and get some sand to put on your board as to not slide off when you dropped in on a wave.
The coolest thing that ever happened to me:
One day my friend Margaret and I both took the same wave...as we both stood up on our boards, a dolphin(porpoise) surfaced between us!
This big black shiny sea creature was riding with us...I will never forget the look on M's face! I was (am) a 'goofy foot'=right foot forward, and she surfed 'normal', so we were facing each other on the wave---we both screamed in awe!
'WHOOOA! DUDE! DID YOU SEE THAT???!!!!'
It was very cool.
After about 4 hours of endless rides, we would all go up to my house for PBJ's, onion dip and Pringles, Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls, Tea...and some Hot Tamales candy to carry on the walk back over the dune. Calories meant nothing---we ate whatever we felt like---nothing was safe!
(When you stay in the water 8+ hours a day, you burn it all off.)
Back then, we had to stay out of the water for 1/2 hour after we ate lunch---bc we 'would cramp up in the water and drown'...I think it was so the mom's could relax a little longer.
During that 'rest time' we'd put on some Hawaiian Tropic Deep Tanning oil---brown bottle...spf 0...I can still smell the coconuts!
When we were given the 'all clear'---after constant nagging---we'd be back in the water...
By the afternoon, most days, we'd all be wearing our Tshirts in the water bc of the rib/stomach rash our boards had given us---putting sand on the board, though practical, eventually rips you up! (Wish we'd had 'rash guards' then!)
By around 4pm, we'd all be wearing down.
When we breathed in really deep, our chests hurt from slamming over waves. Our lips were all shriveled from the salt water...not to mention the dried salt in our hair and eyebrows...stings. The inside of our mouths tasted like sushi---yuck!
We were 'done'.
The hardest part of the day was trudging back over the dune...boards and towels in tow. The one block walk home was an eternity. The sun would be starting to go down, so it beamed you one last time in the face.
Finally arriving home, I'd hose down my board, lean it against the wall, and take my own outdoor shower(in my swimsuit bc we did not have an enclosure)...with cold water. When friends were there, mom made me take my shower second so my guest would get the warmer water...
(We did not get hot water outside until I was like 16.)
Grabbing a towel off the line and wrapping myself up, I'd then do an act, only to be rivaled by Houdini himself. The bikini was off and slung on the line so the lawn mower guys would not run over it...
Dressed in my Pete Smith's Surf shop shirt, and my OP shorts...my day was done....
I miss those days.
Going to the beach now---with 3 kids and all their stuff---equates itself to strategic war planning.
(And now I wear a 'tankini', ginormous hat, and spf 1000.)
However, you will catch me out in the water...teaching my kids to ride...
...and waving them back in!

A (1st) Baby Story...

It is said, and widely known, that pregnancy and childbirth are the greatest 'joys' of a woman's life...every mom has similar stories...but here is mine...the first of THREE.
(I am mainly writing this in case of the onset of early Alzheimer's)
I was a bit freaked out when I found out I was pregnant with 'Baby #1'...
What a cruel joke that my body was actually gonna have to do what it was designed to do---and reproduce! Don't get me wrong---I was psyched!...and scared out of my wits...no more 'tomboy' for 40 weeks, at least.
The ultimate first 'cruel joke' was the 'pregnancy test'...seriously.
Peeing on a stick? huh? Now you boys have extreme control over your 'urine flow'...I know this bc my son has demonstrated his 'pen(is)manship' in the snow---impressive! However, back in 1994, those things were NOT what they are today...let us leave it at that. It came out 'positive'...or at least it had two lines on it...which according to the directions meant 'pregnant'...
I told my cat, Jesse, first bc a.) he was right there and b.)my husband (now X) was out partying with friends...I told him when he got home...(he said '...cool.' and went straight to bed...by himself I might add.)
I went to my OB/GYN doc soon after the lovely 'stick test' just to double check.
...and was relieved that in fact, no, they don't do a 'kill-the-rabbit' test any more!...Instead they do an 'ultrasound'...cool! I thought...a little gel on my tummy, and I'll see the baby...uh. NO! My doc whips out this wand-like thing---that hummed like Darth Vaders lightstick...YIKES! Turns out you don't get the 'fun' (non-invasive) ultra sound until later...
I was 'ill' for the next 22 weeks.
We lived in a duplex with a shared vent system at the time. My neighbor liked to cook onions and liver late at night...enough said. BLLLEEECCHHHK!
For some reason, the only thing that made me actually 'hurl' was grape juice---still can't drink it.
(wine? yes I can...)
So then I hit the 'cute pregnant' weeks....aw, how cute!
A basketball stomach and 'full luscious' bosoms...eeewah. Don't get me wrong...as an artist and illustrator I can appreciate a beautiful 'decollete'...but not with the expanding stomach to match.For the first time in my life I had cleavage...to me it was like having two ginormous water balloons strapped to my chest...they were heavy and jiggly...again, I say 'eeewaahhh!'
My body was out of my control...
I was gaining weight hand over fist. I craved homemade onion dip (the kind you make with soup mix) and chocolate milkshakes.
I did find out what I was having---a girl! Cool! I knew what to do with a girl...
I remember telling my then sister-in-law that I was having a girl...and she said,'I hate you.'...and she meant it! (She has 4 boys...karma?Of course, poor thing, only has one ovary...bless her heart.)
That was pretty much the end of our 'friendship.'
After the 'cute pregnant' stage I realized that my fingers were turning into sausages and my face was swolt up like a bad bloat from Chinese food...my lips were so big, I could hardly form words toward the end...again, I say,'attractive'!
(No wonder the song 'Brick House' was in a continuous loop in my head...)
I wore my running shoes from the time I got up in the morning until I went to bed...hoping that some sort of foot binding would keep my feet in check...plus, it was hard to tie my shoes!
Fast forward to July 13th, 1995...
It had been 100 degrees plus that week...and it did not help with my bloated orca-ness...
Mom came up to see the 'King and I' at Mill Mt. Theatre with me...my baby shower was the next night...
All during the performance I sat in the aisle...or rather laid down in the aisle bc I was so uncomfortable...we got home later...and my water broke! (HOLY CRAP!)
I was not due for 4 more weeks!
My (X) husband got home from a night out with the boys (wearing a sombrero I must add) at 2 a.m...
I had been laboring for 3 hours.When I told him it was 'go time'...he swayed and said...'cool.'
I was trying to figure out how the heck to time contractions...all that info from birthing classes? Out the window.
My X went and took a nice hot shower...'to wake up'.
As the steam tumbled from the bathroom, I was doubled over in pain watching the timing device.
X exited his 'invigorating' shower,and he casually got fully dressed---including shoes and baseball hat---and got in the bed and ...went to sleep...!!!!
(If only I could have shot poison darts from my eyes...)
So, I labored all night by myself...mom was a nervous wreck and I could not focus with her in the room...my cats kept me company, and 'chirpy purred' when I was going through contractions.
Finally around 630 a.m., I could not take it any more... I called my doc (my back door neighbor) and he said 'come on in'...and started giggling...???
I roused the sleeping 'prince' and he stumbled to the car...I lumbered down the 27 steps, of our house on a hill, to the car...by myself thank you...and we were off.
X added, quite comically,as we got on the road, that 'wow...I'm still drunk!'...and all I could think of was 'oh great...DUI on the way to the hospital...' PERFECT! He drove in the wrong direction in to the hospital driveway and dropped me off...I registered...and said 'gimme all the drugs you have for pain, and keep'em comin'!' (I was already a 'nurses favorite'...) I am HILARIOUS under stress!
They wheeled me up to my room...gave me a 'sexy little cotton number' gown to put on and said,'we'll be back'...I felt really really really alone.
However I did not have time to think about it bc...here came another lovely contraction...breathe breathe breathe....
I waited and waited and thought and thought and thought.
Geez. I hope I don't have to have a Csection---saw the video on Discovery Channel...I did not want my innards flopped up on my stomach, sewn back together, and then stuffed back in my body like a turkey on Thanksgiving...ah...food...I had not eaten anything since lunch the day before...I was hungry...the woozy kind of hungry. The 'I will kill for food' kind of hungry.
My labor nurse finally arrived with tubes, machines,needles, IV's...everything but a Mariacci Band---which would have been a nice touch at this point.
Eventually, my X made it to the room---oh joy.
He was thrilled to find out that the chair tilted back and made a bed...and he laid down and took a nap.
My doc---who I adored (X Navy fighter pilot--what's not to love?) came to see me later in the a.m....I could do this...he was there!
The next couple hours were filled with measuring, monitoring, and breathing...and wishing I could eat some food...
During the 'down time' my X went to the cafeteria and ate...and even brought a bag o doritos, and a cup of coffee, back to the room...I made him go out in the hall to eat and drink---'dragon lady' (me) was hungry and thirsty!
The nurse, a sweetheart and my companion, checked me...which for you guys out there, the only way I could describe it to you...(bc you guys don't have 'cha-cha's)' is like having someone shove a softball up your 'pooper shooter'(ok? Nuff said)
I finally got to the point where I could not take the pain anymore.
I am very stoic about pain, and have a high thresh hold---but I was about to pass out.
(People who give birth w/out pain meds are masochistic.)
Finally, the Anesthesiologist (sp?) (aka: Dr. 'I'm late for my golf weekend') showed up and (hurriedly and painfully) administered the epidural---I now know what it feels like to have an ice pick stabbed in to your spinal column.
My X collapsed on the floor and almost fainted during the procedure. Nice.
I rested...and waited...and could not feel my legs...seriously thought of getting a tattoo...Why not? I would not feel it, and it would have been a great diversion...2 birds, one stone and all.
Cute nurse recommended pitosin(sp) to 'get the party started'...once the drug was administered my body said,'oh hell yeah! let's do this!'....
Funny, the nurse had to fetch the X out in the hall...and then in came Dr. JetFighterPilotHeroOBGYN
(cue Indiana Jones Music.)
They wheeled in the 'french fry light' bassinet---it looks like the thing at Mickey D's that warms the fries---a couple more nurses, big spotlights, and a big HUGE mirror!...????
I asked them what that was for, and they said 'so you can watch the birth'...ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
No thanks!...they wheeled that thing outta there like a monkey on roller skates...FAST!
I started pushing---the best part of that was when I got to 'rest' and breathe the oxygen....aaahhhhh.
ok...ready...PUSH...everyone was counting to 10....and I was getting the giggles! It was so ridiculous!
I made everyone stop counting...thanks. I can count to 10.
Plus the coffee/dorito breath from the X was KILLING me...
He did attempt to go see what was going on 'below' and I about ripped his arm outta socket...'HERE! HERE! HERE! At my HEAD!!!!'
I know some people are all in to watching the head come out...but not me...and certainly not anyone but a doc or nurse...I have a vivid imagination...and the visual was just too much...really.
Turns out girl baby's cord was around her neck...tense moments as Dr. Wonderful cut it off her neck...then she finally came out...and was not making any noise...Dr. Wonderful put his hand on mine and said, 'it's ok...she's ok...'
They suctioned her throat out and she FINALLY finally cried---relief to say the least. She was 4 weeks early and Doc. Wonderful had said from the 'git go' that she may have breathing problems...
But she was fine...all 6 lbs. 14 oz. of her beautifulness. So after 15 hours of labor,Courtney Virginia Breakell was finally here....
Then I thought: NOW what?
She was the first newborn I had ever held...I knew nothing...I felt like the girl in Gone With the Wind" 'Miss Scawlett! Miss Scawlett---I dont know nothin about birthin no babies!!!!'
(I had to slap myself!)
A couple hours after Courtney was born, my X went to my baby shower--- and she and I were alone...really alone...no one came to see us...and the nurses were 'busy'....
ummmmmmmm. yeah.
Meanwhile, at my baby shower, everyone was partying it up! My X sister in law and her friends even opened ALL---yup ALL---of the baby gifts!
Back at the hospital, Courtney and I were just 'hangin' out...they brought me food from the cafeteria...meat loaf, gravy, instant mashed potatoes, and collards. I almost hurled at the smell. I survived off pudding cups and jello---and cranberry juice.
Plus, for some reason, maintenance decided they needed to switch out the phone and reinstall wiring at midnight...???
This hillbilly, mountain freak, nurse would not coach me on the whole 'feeding' issue with this new baby...she kept saying,'aw, huunney, it shoold come natchrully too yooo...'
(well, guess what Gertrude? I am clueless! I am not a frickin' dog!)
I also had never changed a diaper...I know!
(But given the school I went to, I never had time to baby sit...so, again, I knew NOTHING!)
...Obviously I figured things out because Courtney and I made it through the next hours, days, months... 13 years...and my 'baby' will be 14 this summer!!!!...'OMG'!!!!
So that's 'Baby #1'...stay tuned for the tale of 'Baby#2'...aka: 'Brick' the 9 pounder...oh yeeeaaahhh!

Fashion 'Fox Paws'

Today I was at work...madly changing mannequins, steaming garments, fluffing, and schmootzing the windows...sweating my fanny off carrying around 50-60 lb bustforms and hoisting them on to shelves above my head.
In walks this woman with a bag...
Since I was obviously busy, she says:
'Pardon me...do you have any denim that matches this jacket?'
She produces a mildly attractive denim jacket with embroidery on it...and she wants 'denim jeans to match'...aka: the 'denim jumpsuit'.
What? Is it 1982 again?
Putting on my 'stage smile', I guided her in the direction of a sales associate...trying with all my might NOT to roll my eyes.
I know I am not a fashion maven in my daily wardrobe of jeans, a fleece, and my Danskos...but come ON!
Get with it people!
NO NO NO. You do not, and I repeat, do NOT wear matching denim head to toe.
I used to live in the mountains of southwest Virginia...and the uniform there was the acid wash denims (circa 1983) and the darker wash denim jacket...BLUH!
(Not to mention the really bad curly perms,Jersey Mall bangs, hot pink lipstick, and fake nails...'hot'!)
Throw in a pair of neon pink pumps and watch my head explode.
I am a fashion designer by degree, and a stylist by trade.
Please stop trying to 'match' denim...or 'match' anything for that matter.
If ya want to look like a grown up 'Giranimal'....go to Talbots.
(No offense Talbot's.)