Tigerlilly's 3 Ring Circus

No more LINGERIE!

2011-08-10T15:50:00.000-07:00

I started a new job ('temporary full time') as a visual merchandiser at a large department store....

My task this week is to paint walls and trim in the 'Intimate Apparel' department.
For 3 days I have been scurrying up and down a 10 foot ladder...'buns of steel'!....painting.
For 3 days I have been the invisible chick up near the dusty ceiling----listening and observing.
It has been HILARIOUS!

Needless to say, I have not only 'researched' all the different shapes, styles, and sizes of 'berzeers'...I have also listened to women (and men) discuss their 'preferences'.

---Older Southern women still buy the Playtex 18 hour bras---the ones that come in a BOX....always WHITE....screaming 'white ass white'....as in 'BLEACH the crap outta them' WHITE.
Those big honkin' polyester wonders with the bullet shape and an under wire from hell...and the hook in the back that rivals a corset.
Those puppies ain't goin' NO WHERE!
And if there is an emergency, it can be used as some sort of hammock...or...distress flag...something!
(I will NEVER buy my bras-in-a-box! Just sayin'.)

---I feel sorry for the men who are dragged in to the department with their wives.
(Who takes their husband BRA SHOPPING? REALLY????)
The men wistfully looking at the pretty lacy (itchy) 'just for show' bras and matching undies....they go in to a sort of trance...until the woman starts bitchin' about how she 'never pays more than a coupla dollars for a bra...'
(and she buys her undies in a six pack...white, high wasted, 'granny panties' no doubt.)
'Function' absolutely outweighs 'Form'...poor guys....as they skulk off, heads lowered, looking at their feet....wondering what is on TV tonight.

---Then their is the 'bride'....buying for her 'trouseau'....aka: 'Honeymoon Stuff'.
Now , THAT is ALL 'Form' and NO 'Function'....enough padding and push-upness to be a flotation device....and, oh yay! the THONGS to MATCH!
WOOOHOOOO!
(all those 'pretties' will be shoved to the back of her drawer when she finds out she's pregnant....and then, once the baby comes....SHE will look wistfully at them....hahaha! Oh shut up. I've 'been there'.)

---the next subject of 'wonder' is the bra with the ginormous implants stitched in to them.
Those suckers weigh about 5 lbs. each!
(I only know this because I've had to move them...)
I like to call these:'False Advertising'...
Kinda like a dude stuffin' a sock in his britches...the 'truth' WILL come 'out'....eventually!
(I'm sure there is a great reason someone would sport 5 pounds of 'gel' strapped on to their chest....right?)

---Bras come in all shapes and sizes...as do women.
The 'strapless' version has always intrigued me.
They NEVER stay up...no wonder the engineering department designs them...seriously! They DO!
You've got 'load', 'angle' and 'torque'...very complicated....
Much like designing a suspension bridge.
Saw one today that was a 38 GG...

(I'll give you a moment.)

In the fashion industry, we call that the 38 'Good GOD!'
THAT is magical! THAT is a 'whole lotta woman'....
(Yes, I had to restrain myself from putting one on my huge skull and trying it out as a HAT!)

---There are some bras that are just a whisper of lace...no pads....very sheer. Nothin to 'em.
These are the 'how do ya like my new boobs?' bras...
Hey if you, or he, bought 'em...show those babies off!
(And donate the 'instant implant' ones!---a good tax write off, and always nice to 'give to charity.')

---the final observation is the teenager who picks out brightly colored/crazy patterned undergarments...
...and hides them in a wad so no one will see what she is trying on....
All I can say is, 'Girl...get ya some nude tones so there is no psychedelic party showin' through your white shirts!
(I'm a mom...I know these things!)

By Friday, I will be done painting...and outta there. No more lingerie stories...
It's been real...ummm....educational and interesting!

Friday afternoon I am helping set up a huge Bridal show....I hope I don't get hives.
(I've been married/divorced twice...)
hahaha!

'Hurts like the dickens!'

2011-05-03T16:01:00.000-07:00

Little One found a horse fly dead on the sidewalk today...I told her:
'If they bite you, it hurts like the dickens!'
(I use this 'expression' a lot.)
She asked me...'Momma what does 'dickens' mean?'....
Ummmm....
here ya go!
" Do you know where the phrase hurts like the dickens comes from?"

"Let’s focus in on dickens as the important word here, since there are lots of different expressions with it in, such as what the dickens, where the dickens, the dickens you are!, and the dickens you say!

It goes back a lot further than Charles Dickens, though it does seem to have been borrowed from the English surname, most likely sometime in the sixteenth century or before. (The surname itself probably derives from Dickin or Dickon, familiar diminutive forms of Dick.) It was — and still is, though people hardly know it any more — a euphemism for the Devil. It’s very much in the same style as deuce, as in old oaths like what the deuce! which contains another name for the Devil."

The first person known to use it was that great recorder of Elizabethan expressions, William Shakespeare, in The Merry Wives of Windsor: “FORD: Where had you this pretty weathercock? MRS PAGE: I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my husband had him of”. That pun relied on the audience knowing that Dickens was a personal name and that what the dickens was a mild oath which called on the Devil."

(Thank you Google for once again, solving the riddle of Life's questions...hahaha!)

The 'Muthah' is...GONE!

2011-03-29T17:19:00.000-07:00

If you grew up in 'Vah Beach' when I did...I have some HORRIBLE news.
The Jewish Mother---aka: 'Thah Muhthah'---has been torn down...

(take a moment...bow your head...it's OK...I feel ya....)

I remember going to 'The Muhthah', way back when, as a mere 5th grader(I think)---when it was only one small, 'shot-gun' style, restaurant...NY style deli...
(The neon purple lights in the window gave it an awesome glow).
Yeah---they had plastic plants...an awesome deli case...and the BEST hot pastrami on rye sandwich in town...complete with macaroni salad and a dill pickle.
...they also had cheesecake...(which at the time I was so not 'in' to.---foolish child I was!)

The Jewish Mother was the first place that all the 'moms' would let us 'Beach Girls' go and eat without being chaperoned...
(Margaret L., Caroline P., Virginia S., and me...the Boogie Board Surfin' QUEENS!)
The booths had those bouncy naugahide seats....that left you sitting lower than the table.
We were Smokin HOT in our Pete Smith's Surf Shop T's, OP corduroy shorts---and later in our Alligator shirts with safety pins through the Reptile...because we were so 'punk'...and wedge flip flops, no doubt!

We then all 'graduated to boys who wore original Vans and surfed'....(Hello Gray!)

In High School...we took our 'dates' there...we were so damn 'edgy'...educating all those land-lubbers to 'Life at the BEACH'!
Remember movies at Lynnhaven Cinema...and then a hot fudge brownie at the 'Muhthah'???...
(Home by 11pm!)
(ahhhh---Syer and Dotalo---yeah you do! hahaha!)
I had my first 'legal' beer there when I turned 18---with 'LOOCH' and 'Hammy'...
(there is a pic somewhere around her...)

In my College years (aka: Madonna wannabe)...

several 'break ups' happened on the hallowed grounds of the 'Jew Moo'...
(sorry Frank R....mom said you were too 'old' for me...)
Throughout the last 30 years...The Jewish Mother has always held a special place in my heart---and 'history'.
Now she is gone.
'Sad' does not even begin to 'cover it'.
(And let me tell you...if they tear down the 'Pocahontas Pancake House'---there WILL be a revolt!)

Letting Go.

2011-03-24T06:41:00.000-07:00

"To Let Go does not mean to stop caring;

it means I can't do it for someone else.

To Let Go is not to cut myself off,

it is the realization I can't control another.

...

To Let Go is not to enable,

but to allow learning from natural consequences.

To Let Go is to admit powerlessness,

which means the outcome is not in my hands.

To Let Go is not to try to change or blame another,

it is to make the most of myself.

To Let Go is not to care for,

but to care about.

To Let Go is not to fix,

but to be supportive.

To Let Go is not to judge,

but to allow another to be a human being.

To Let Go is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcomes,

but to allow others to affect their destinies.

To Let Go is not to be protective,

it is to permit another to face reality.

To Let Go is not to deny,

but to accept.

To Let Go is not to nag, scold, or argue,

but instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.

To Let Go is not to adjust everything to my desires,

but to take each day as it comes, and cherish myself in it.

To Let Go is not to criticize and regulate anybody,

but to try to become what I dream I can be.

To Let Go is not to regret the past,

but to grow and live for the future.

To Let Go is to fear less,

and love more."

(I did not write this....found it as a 'quote'...good stuff to remember.)

I love my dog....I love my dog....

2011-03-05T16:05:00.000-08:00

Today was a typical Spring Saturday for me...

I spent at least five hours working on my yard...cleaning out the beds...recutting the borders...raking...using my leaf blower...even had a dead dogwood taken down---which I, myself, hauled to the back yard...
(isn't 'log tossing' a sport? I think it should be, if not.)

As the sun was setting over 'yon', I was gathering my tools, ready to go in...I noticed my dog, Roxy, standing on the wood pile.
(She loves the 'vantage point' on TOP of the wood pile as she surveys her domain.)

~Some background on Roxy the Foxxy Beagle: She is a rescued beagle mix, aka: 'buffet hound'. She keeps the moles in check in the yard, and is NOT afraid to stick her FULL head down in to any hole she has dug...snorting...coming out all muddy and smiling.~

I saw that Roxy was very gingerly pulling something out of the wood pile...daintily with her front teeth.
She then turned around slowly---like a kid who THINKS you are NOT watching them as they steal the last cookie off the plate---and she went galloping off across the yard.

I thought she had a stick...but I walked after her to make sure.
(Yes, I walked...I was tired and had been sporting my saucy leopard galoshes all day---with my jeans tucked IN to them because I was cleaning out snake habitats...my 15 year old fashionista daughter just rolled her eyes at me.)

As I finally reached her, Roxy looked at me sideways, keeping her head down...hands across 'whatever' she had.
(If she could whistle, should would have.)

That's when I realized...ICK...she had a mouse.
Poor 'Mrs. Tittlemouse' had already lost her ears, and feet, and Roxy was eating the tail like it was a piece of tasty licorice.

'ROXY THAT IS SO GROSS!' I told her...she did not care.
She picked up her mouse and trotted to a leaf pile...nestled in, and continued with her 'treat'.

I thought about getting it away from her...yes, I did.
However, knowing that she loves the 'I-have-something-gross-in-my-mouth-and-you-can't-catch-me' game...I just let her be.

I went back to gathering my tools...all the while imagining what Roxy was thinking.

'Hmmm...I enjoy the 'al dente' feel of the ears and feet....the tail...a bit chewy...but OK. Oh, look! A surprise inside---a burst of freshness...delightful!'

(After a few minutes, I noticed my enchanting hound rolling on her back on top of 'Mrs. Tittlemouse'...or....what was left of her...)

'Ahh...yes. If...I...could...just...squeeze out this...last...bit...here...I can create my own enjoyable scent...to share with my mom....and---if all goes well tonight---by the morning time? FRESH rawhide!...I am a GENIUS!'
Yeah.
I left her outside for a bit....
It figures that I, as an artist and thrifty gal in general, would have a creative dog.
I love my dog....I love my dog...I love my dog....

9 Pounds of LOVE:The story of my son's birth...(hahah!)

2011-02-25T17:09:00.000-08:00

(*DISCLAIMER*---In the interest of Motherhood, and the fact that embarrassing your kids makes them STRONGER...I submit this amusing birth story.)

My son will turn 13 tomorrow.
I cannot believe it. My favorite (and only son---soon to be the 'perfect man') is growing up....
But, alas, my beautiful boy...I must share how you arrived in my world...(Oh, stop. You will thank me later!)
The whole time I was pregnant with my 'boy-child' was a different experience than being pregnant with 'girl-child#1'....
I craved salty stuff...I would knock you DOWN to get to the home made onion dip and Ruffles with Ridges...and I was running after 'Girl Child #1' (GC1) who was a two-year-old...beautiful,wild and a 'biter'....not to mention 'potty training'. Yeah!
Since my son was the second inhibitor of my 'womb', he had plenty of room to stretch out and grow...I swear he stayed in a 'pike position' much of the time with his foot squarely planted on my rib cage.
(Yes...he actually BROKE my ribs, and created a wonderful freakish look to my ribcage...hence, the end of my bikini wearing days.)
I also had an 'ingroinal hernia'---that was 'fun'---'good times'...(but you were worth it, my love!)
My 'freakishly large belly' invited the general public to comment on my girth.
'Are you havin' twins? No way you are only having ONE baby'...
Oh. Thank you kind STRANGER...(at least I knew I had a BABY in my belly...and I was not just FAT like YOU!...hahaha!)
Moving along....
The night before I was to be induced---so my son would not be a 'leap year baby', I was chastised on the phone by a wicked woman who thought I had 'dissed' her grown up/screw up of a son...NICE!
Seriously?...did she know I was having a BABY the next day? Priorities....PRIORITIES!
I had been sleeping in the baby nursery for weeks because of my 'bulk'...peaceful, and the kitties slept on either side to make sure I was OK...(quite frankly, they were preferred company!)
Long about 4a.m....I started feeling 'funky'...(any mommas out there, know what I mean...)
My H, at the time, luckily had not gone out with the boys that night---(as he had the night I went in to labor with GC1) and drove me to hospital at 6:30a.m.
It was all business when I checked in...got to put on that sexy hospital gown, and got hooked up to monitors...anti-pain drugs galore!
Guess WHAT! I was in labor! (Imagine THAT!)
My doc---who I LOVED---came in...and GIGGLED at me!...(Love him as I did...I still wanted to throw something at him! hahah!)
So, the waiting started....
...and went on and on....
I knew I was getting ready to pump out 'a big baby'---(yes, thank you nurses for letting me know that! DUH!)
15 hours of labor...epidural...pitosin...GAME ON!
My son's heart rate dropped drastically and there was a flurry of C-section preparedness going on...
Good GOD! Everyone was throwing on scrubs/masks/gloves...shit!
Things were dinging/binging/ringing...I was freaking out...
'You need to lay on your side!'
(OK, people! I am numb from the waist down! LITTLE HELP!)
My son's heart rate stabilized and everyone chilled out....
...more waiting...and 'checking'...(any Mommas know how much FUN that is!---GEEZ!)
Time---FINALLY!---to push!
Seriously...so ungraceful/unladylike when a nurse and H (now X1) hold your feet so you can 'push and count to 10'...
HOLY MOTHER OF GOD...his head was out!
And, then...'1-2-3-4-5-...!'
My Doc...(and I kid you NOT) put his FOOT on the table to pull Boy Child's shoulders out!
(and with that...my lower...non-active---half was hanging off the table!)
Again: 'Lil HELP here people!'...and they shoved me back on to the bed/table...
And...my BEAUTIFUL son was born---screamin' his head off! (He was pissed off because he was cold...he hates being cold to this day!)
Happy! SOOOOO HAPPY!
(and yeah---he weighed in at 8lbs. 15oz's...and he pee-ed on the way out (sorry, hon, but you did.)...so, I claim him as my '9lbs. of LOVE!)
My doc held him by the foot like a chicken and flopped him in to the 'french fry lights' bassinet...
He was OK...he was PERFECT!

Funny thing: My Doc and X1 held him and had a pic taken before I even got to hold him! I was like: 'Hellooooo----I did all the work here!...Gimme my SON!'
The nurses nicknamed him 'sumo'...his pediatrician later nicknamed him 'Brick'...MY BOY!
I nicknamed him 'Monkey Boy' because he snuggled up around my neck for the next 5 months and stayed there!...sweet...easy going...beautiful.
I love you, my son...you are the best 'man' in my life...God help the girl who wants to marry you someday...(She's got some high standards from 'yo momma' to live up to...I'm not letting you go to just anyone!)
and, PS: Hope I did not embarrass you too much! xoxoxoxMomma~

Evolve Studio

2011-02-14T16:22:00.000-08:00

As a photog myself, I can highly recommend Evolve Studio.
Kim has 'shot' several of my friends families...newborns and group shots...all are beautiful...all are works of ART.
Here is the Link to her site:
http://www.evolvestudiophoto.com/
She is here locally in Raleighwood...GOOD STUFF yall!

My Future Fighter Pilot...

2011-02-04T07:41:00.000-08:00

I am the mother of two really awesome girls ages 16 and 6... my girls (and my son) can do anything they set their minds to---whatever it is...I never want them to hold back. 'No fear'.
GO FOR IT!
I believe that physical, and mental, 'toughness' is learned through experience...and also having a parent willing to let a child make 'mistakes', take (reasonable) risks and encourage them to 'see what's out there'...
My 'Little One' is one 'tough cookie.'
She's not afraid to climb higher, get dirty/sweaty...handles bugs, worms and frogs--no problem!
She is super strong and can run really fast---(something she is pretty proud of!) Even when she wipes out and gets banged up...she NEVER cries...and always jumps right up and says: 'I'm OK!' She is really brave.
I call her my 'Little Fighter Pilot'. I really can see her flying jets...some day.
Yesterday she had her first encounter with a boy bully.
She (as usual) was running with the 'big boys' after school...climbing on playground equipment...jumping off the top...running fast and playing hard. No worries...and a lot of laughter.
Her good friend 'D' is a really sweet boy who is pals with Little One...he ran over to me and said my girl was 'beewing booweed by some big boyees'...from where I was, she looked OK...but she was really still...staring down this bigger kid...fists clenched...eyes locked on her target....(I think I even saw little steam puffs coming out her nose---but it was cold...so...)
The closer I got, I realized she was REALLY upset---which is unusual.(She usually just gets 'pissed off' when she hurts herself.)
Then I saw her eyes...one little tear coming down her cheek...(uh oh.)
She turned on her heel away from the boy bully...fists still clenched by her side...spine straight as an arrow...head held high...and walked my way. The boy bully fled the scene...
As soon as she saw he was gone, she let me hug her...and she crumbled into my arms and sobbed...
'He pulled my feet when I was up high on the equipment...then he pulled my coat and I fell on the ground...I hurt my leg.' (Obviously nothing was broken/sprained/twisted...but it scared her to death.)
Of course I said all the 'Mommy things' you say to your child when she is hurt...my little brave girl!
She 'got over it' on the ride home...but the 'residue' was still in her thoughts...I could see some 'deep thinking' going on in the back seat...
'Are you my little fighter pilot?' I asked her...
She smiled and said 'YEAH Momma!'
(all I can say 'boy bully'...you bettah watch out! SHE'S BACK!)
hhhahahah!

Careful What You Say...

2010-12-23T14:58:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-12-14T05:25:00.000-08:00

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~

2010-12-13T04:52:00.000-08:00

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.'

2010-10-06T16:00:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-09-21T03:38:00.000-07:00

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.)

2010-09-13T21:03:00.000-07:00

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?...'

2010-09-10T18:20:00.000-07:00

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)

2010-09-06T15:58:00.000-07:00

(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

2010-08-30T19:28:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-25T04:27:00.000-07:00

(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....

2010-08-15T18:07:00.000-07:00

"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.

2010-08-07T10:59:00.000-07:00

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...'

2010-07-17T23:44:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-07-06T08:57:00.000-07:00

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'...

2010-06-10T14:49:00.001-07:00

(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

2010-05-27T05:21:00.000-07:00

~~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!'

2010-05-25T10:24:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-05-07T07:14:00.000-07:00

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

"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...

2010-05-02T18:31:00.000-07:00

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....

2010-04-18T00:11:00.000-07:00

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?

2010-03-03T16:14:00.000-08:00

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'...

2010-03-03T15:55:00.000-08:00

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...

2010-02-26T16:38:00.000-08:00

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'

2010-02-24T15:43:00.000-08:00

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.)

My Apologies...

2010-02-10T15:02:00.000-08:00

I am writing to all yall who are my 'friends' on Facebook.
I am apologizing for my frequent,and yes, possibly, annoying, continuous 'status updates'...and my YouTube music benders...and my NY Times article posts....and all my causes...which I wave flags and banners for.
But maybe...just maybe, I can get you to see where I am coming from....
I am home...a lot...caring for a 5 year old, fabulously, fantastic, highly active---and motivated---chatty and creative child.
I adore her!
However, there are no 'grown ups' in my home right now....so, 'grown up' conversations are limited to sparse phone calls and emails.
...and yes, I do have a lot of out of town friends who I keep in touch with on Facebook.(This is what happens when one goes to 3 different colleges---including studying in Paris France---and has lived in 5 different cities in 20 years.)
(Bear (bare?) with me here...)
I update my status so much because I am tired of talking to myself. Seriously.
And the dog is NO help---and my cat...???? Well, enough said.
My kids---all 3 of them---think my talking to myself is funny...not 'weird' funny...just funny.
I throw out a thought on 'FB' thinking, there has got to be another mom, or whomever, out there...thinking the same thing...or at least there to 'chime in'...
So again, thank you to my FB pals who tolerate me...and to all yall that think I am 'over the top'...go ahead and adjust your 'privacy settings'....
(but then again, the ones who have already done this won't get this message...hmmm. Maybe I should actually send REAL notes through 'snail mail'?)
Hahahaha!....(Nahhh.)

'What she got herself in to...'

2010-01-16T20:34:00.000-08:00

How well do you know your neighbors?
How about your close friends?

Behind the closed doors, and happy appearances, of many households, Domestic Violence raises it's ugly head and spreads it's venom.
Rich, poor, middle class, white, green, black,educated, non-educated...it does not discriminate.
Maybe you do not think so, but it IS everywhere...and it DOES effect everyone.
Spurred on by alcohol abuse, alcoholism, or depression...it knocks everyone involved off their axis.
It may start as a slimy verbal assault, or physical bullying.
It slithers in and contaminates the ears of the children in the room...
It wraps itself into a coil of passive aggressive behavior and emotional neglect.
It breaks hearts,crushes dreams...and shatters homes.
It spreads fear and anguish...it smothers Love.
No child should witness a man raise a violent hand to a woman---ever.
No child should ever hear verbal abuse.
It is unacceptable. It is illegal.
It is the 'deal breaker.'
Many may think 'domestic violence' means a man punching a woman's lights out...or slamming her against the wall rendering her unconscious. All those films where the man says,'I'm gonna kill you Louise if you ever tell any one about this!'...(cut to scene where she flees the house with the baby,the clothes on her back, and she lights his car on fire for good measure.)
Another misconception about 'DV' is that the woman 'got herself in to that mess'.
'Yup. Always knew that Earl was nuts...she musta made him real mad.'
SERIOUSLY?
I don't think any woman marries a man and says, 'gee, I hope he hits me on a regular basis, threatens me,treats me like a captive, and calls me 'f*cking stupid' in front of our kids!'
I live in a state where in the past few years there have been many more heinous DV acts towards women.Instead of just divorcing the wife,and moving on, the husband felt the need to take it one step further.
One pregnant woman was killed in her home---while her two year old slept in the other room. Another mother suddenly 'disappeared',her house 'mysteriously' caught on fire...and they found her body in a field later. One woman went for a morning jog, never returned, and her body was discovered at an abandoned construction site.
All were killed by their husbands.
Friends and families of these women---from 'well-to-do' neighborhoods---were shocked.
Yes. Domestic Violence is everywhere.
Many women live in homes, and stay where they are, out of denial.
'I am educated...professional...I have kids!'
Maybe so...but DV is a 'disease' in our world that does NOT discriminate.
If you yourself are stuck in a 'situation', or you know someone who is, there ARE actions to be taken...Help is out there.
First of all,talk to your/their friends.
Document everything. Take pictures.Journal.
Have a plan...even if you/they never think it will happen to YOU/THEM---have a plan.
(Why not keep a change of clothes in your car---you never know when a kid's gonna hurl on you---right?)
If you/they do have to flee...find a safe place to be.
(It is advisable to leave a note, or contact the spouse, letting them know you/they are safe and have the children---otherwise, you/they could be accused of kidnapping.)
Call the police immediately when you/they have arrived at the 'safe place'---a report must be filed as soon as possible.
(No, do not wait until morning...do it NOW.)
Hopefully you can have someone with you, if you have kids, because you will have to talk to an officer...and that is scary for them to see. Having a friend there creates a good diversion.
Contact an attorney as soon as possible.
Follow their advice to the 'T'.
(Many victims of DV are in denial---'I can handle this', 'it will get better','I'll give it one more shot'...sometimes a great friend just needs to take action and control!)
If you/they are advised to file a Domestic Violence Restraining order---DO IT!
(You/they could end up as one of the women in a ditch...and then where would your/their kids be?)
A friend who recently went through this, was lucky enough to have her attorney's help with the filing.
However, if you/they do this alone, don't be afraid to ask questions.
In DV cases, there are people available to help....and explain what will happen next.

I am thankful that my friend, and her kids and pets, are now safe...and she has hope...she is not afraid anymore. She is 'alive' again...

'That's Not My...Name.'

2010-01-01T17:32:00.000-08:00

(Love that song by the Ting-Tings.)
I do love my 'given' name.
Powerful.
Historic.
Mine.
'Katherine'---means 'pure' in Greek.(My family is Greek.)
Also,my mom was reading the book 'Katherine' when I was born. I was almost 'Shannon'...and 'Zerelda'...'Cartina' was in the mix as well.
My middle name is the name of a great grandfather...and a famous TV show.
My last name? Well, let's just say, when 'Braveheart' came out...I was very very proud of the family clan. ('I AM WILLIAM WALLACE!')By God, we even have our own plaid!
And also, I am the last of the Wallace clan in my family.(So,there.)
I did pass the name on in my daughter....so all is not lost.
I have been married twice, and (unwillingly)assumed my spouses names.
The first was impossible to spell, and was confused with 'Breakwell'...'Breaknell'...'Brickle'...'Bricknell'...'Brickell' (as in 'Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians'.)etc. Not only did I have to spell my FIRST name (all the time)...but my last as well.
I 'wisely' chose my second husband because his name started with a 'B'...and I would not have to change my monogram stationary.
However, his name has caused much consternation, as I have had to spell it continuously.
My first name: Katherine.
How many different ways can one spell a single name?
'Katherine'...with a 'K'...and, no, it does not pass my gaze every time I see Listerine...Katherine...nice.
My grandmother had a charm made for her bracelet that said 'Kate' when I was first born.
'Kate' does not bother me...as in : 'Kiss me, Kate.'
BUT...I hate it when people call me 'Kathy'...that's not my name. It's Katherine...and people are a bit 'stand-off-ish' when I correct them.
I am Katherine Wallace. I always WILL be Katherine Wallace.
Six years of Design School...a lifetime of achievements...3 kids...I AM Katherine Wallace! (And, my social security card says so as well!---I have never changed it.)
Next time around...I will hyphenate.
(Just sayin.)

Men In Line Buying Flowers at the Grocery...

2009-12-31T14:56:00.000-08:00

I always get a bit of a chuckle when I see a man in line at the grocery, with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He's standing there in his sweats, or business suit, head down, maybe slightly embarrassed?
I wonder.
What did he do?
What is he trying to make up for?
Too many late nights at the office while his wife handles 2 kids under the age of 4, while 'baking' yet another heir to the throne in her belly?
Maybe it's their anniversary...and she insists on red roses every year.
Perhaps he forgot her birthday, and is trying to make it up to her?
Maybe he hopes to 'get some' by bringing her a single red rose?
Did she just give birth? (That is a no-brainer, boys. Ya bring her flowers ASAP!)
I love flowers.
I have been a floral designer, and perennial gardener, for, (good Lord), 20 years.
Wedding bouquets, mantle pieces, floral wreaths....centerpieces. Landscape design...etc.
Flowers are alive...they are intricate sculptures of God's imagination...and if they are fragrant? Ahhh...all the better.
Flowers are selfless. They have sacrificed their lives to bring joy.
Flowers bring joy. They can't help it.
When someone is given flowers, watch their face light up.
Maybe their eyes will tear up...
(Guys, score big points and send them to her at work where she has an audience.)
All the same, flowers bring joy.
If I were a man, I would bring flowers to my gal all the time...
It wouldn't matter what day, or occasion, it was. Second Tuesday of every month? Whatever.
I would never let the ones in the vase fade away before bringing in replacements.
Flowers bring life in to any home.
I am actually not picky about flowers.
My favorites are anything that looks like they were picked from a meadow....and anything fragrant.
Gardenias (Heaven Scent...and sent from God), Star Gazer Lilies...Casa Blancas...daisies (though not fragrant) are just plain happy flowers to look at!
I am not a fan of the roses.
Being a gardener, roses are too high maintenance...and they die off quickly.
Give me some good 'ol hydrangea blossoms, some lavender,phlox, daisies, and a lily to add fragrance...delightful.
Boys, make your gal happy, and bring her flowers 'just because'....it is the foundation of love.
Don't wait for a 'special occasion'...everyday is special...and so is she.
(Just sayin'.)

It's been lovely, but....

2009-12-17T21:41:00.000-08:00

I really have to SCREAM now!

I was recently hired by a national retail store to be a Visual Merchandiser...something I am MORE than qualified to be.
I don't make 'squat' as far as cash on the barrel head, but I love to Merchandise, and I do love my mannequins.
The 'Company' has recently made cut-backs.
So, I am delegated to the sales floor. Yuck.
I do enjoy helping people get themselves 'together'....however, as a Designer, it grates my nerves when someone holds up a pair of black pants and says: 'what goes with this?' (seriously?)
Tonight I worked 7 hours...on my feet, running my ass off because they have cut back on floor staff.
Whatever. I am working because I have to pay bills...not because it is 'fun' and I can buy clothes at a discount. OK?
But tonight, people were kinda patronizing to me....and it ticked me off.
I want to make a button to wear at work that says:
'I have a Bachelor Of Fine Arts in Fashion Design. I went to school for 6 years. I studied in Paris at Parson's School of Design. No, this is NOT my first choice of jobs right now. I have my own Jewelry Design Company, and THAT is what I want to be doing right now. However, my husband was laid off his job in August...and I HAVE to work this retail job so I can pay bills, pay child support to my Xhusband who makes over $100,000 a year. And to top it off, I have no health insurance. I am not here working this 'menial job' because it is my 'passion'...I am here because if my 5 year old gets sick, we have to pay out-of-pocket.Somehow, I have to put food on the table. And, guess what? I'd rather be at home putting my 5 year old to bed, and snuggling up with her, than folding down 500 articles of clothing, or digging through boxes to find your petite medium turtleneck!'
However, I don't think that would 'fly' with company policy.
I am more than thankful for my 'job'....however, I really wish people would see us 'retail sales people'...as PEOPLE.
Next time you are in a store, please be nice to the person helping you. Everyone has a story...and everyone deserves kindness.

My Christmas Memories (before I forget.)

2009-12-13T05:29:00.000-08:00

(Again, yall, this is a post for my 3 kids...before I forget, or get hit by a bus.)

Christmas seems to always bring out the 'crazy' in all families. If your family has a Norman Rockwell Christmas, and yall are still speaking after New Year's Eve---well, then congratulations!
However,my family--whom I adore---puts a little crazy (the good kind) in to Christmas and the Holidays.
Ever since I was a baby, my mom and I have flown to Lexington Kentucky for the Holidays. It was the once-a-year sojourn back to her home town of Versailles....(pronounced 'Ver-SAILS', not the French version.)
I was always so excited to fly.
In the early days, it was a non-stop flight from Norfolk to Lexington---full of sailors going home for Christmas. I always got to have hot chocolate, and it always burned my tongue.(but it was still a big deal!)
When we arrived at the Lexington airport,we actually had to walk across the tarmac to the airport building. Mom's hair would blow all around, and she'd get flustered. My grandfather and grandmother (dad's parents) were there to greet us. I was always ecstatic to see Jay C.---he wore a dark overcoat, a fedora, and smelled like cigars. He had big bushy eyebrows, and a wonderful smile and laugh.
We would gather our luggage while Jay C. went and got his boat of a vehicle, and pulled around to pick us up. I remember it always being so cold outside!...and I wished and wished for snow---since I lived by a beach, and hardly saw snow.
Driving to my other Grandmother's house (mom's mom) was a beautiful ride...Keeneland, horses, and beautiful horse farms.
When we drove in to Versailles, it was picture perfect, movie set, small town magic. Everyone had Christmas lights either in the windows, or on the lawns. There are a lot of beautiful old historic huge houses that would be formally decorated...magnolia wreaths, and white candles in the windows...but I always liked the colored lights---and if they flashed? Even better!
For years, we went to mom's childhood home---a really beautiful, two story, white house on Montgomery Avenue.She had a screened in front porch, complete with a swing. I loved it there. They had stairs! (we lived in a one story at the time.)It was the coolest house...My grandmother Virginia was the best. She always looked so pretty, and was so glad to see us. She always had dinner ready for us all when we arrived...I loved her broccoli casserole...which for me, at the time, was astonishing!
She always had scented candles going. Her home was always very warm, and smelled like fresh baked goods, turkey and cinnamon. Everyone smoked---indoors---back then. So, to me, the smell of cigar/cigarette smoke was comforting...still is.
After a good dinner, I would color in my coloring books, half way listen to the grown ups talking, and play with her white cat.
Christmas Eve, my mom would go to midnight Mass and I was forbidden to go downstairs.
(It was a long night!)
(When I got old enough to go to 'late church', my mom always insisted I 'dress to the 9's'...that meant a skirt, sweater, stockings and pumps---do you know how cold it is at Midnight in Versailles? I always wanted to wear pants, but was not allowed. I was quite envious of the people in church who got to dress warmly!It took 2 days for my feet to thaw out.)
I remember Christmas mornings as a little girl...I had to wait for Jay C. and Peggy to arrive before I could go downstairs to see what Santa brought me. I remember looking out the window watching for them---for what seemed like forever! Then, they would pull up, honk the horn, and I would fly downstairs to greet them...looking sideways to see if Santa really had come! (The 'Big Man' never let me down!)
After we opened presents, and had some breakfast---mine being the little Morton heated cinnamon donuts and apple juice---we would head to Danville to see the rest of the Family---'the Greeks'.
I was always in the back of Grandmother's Buick with my new favorite doll...my mom would drive. My Grandmother would smoke, with the window slightly cracked, and my mom would complain about the smell...ha! ha!
In the early days we went to my Uncle George's restaurant, The Town House.
It had red carpeting, and Country hams hanging from the ceiling of the entryway...
My family knows how to celebrate. All my cousins, and uncles, and aunts were there...all the people I had not seen in a year. We ate Greek soup...and had a blast.
I used to play with my cousins Barry and Mike.
Barry was really funny, and Mike picked on me...(yes, you did Mike...do not deny it---I have pictures of you trying to kill me in the snow!)
Later we switched the celebration to my Uncle Bill and Aunt Ethel's home---a super cool Victorian...I remember Uncle George had a movie camera with the brightest light on it. I am sure we all look like we are staring at the sun in the films.
I thought my girl cousins, who were older, were so pretty with their straight hair, frosty eyeshadow, and cool clothes.
We would go visit Aunt Carty's house---the best Aunt ever.She loved Christmas. She was so full of joy.She was always laughing about something! Her home was Christmas decoration central---and where I got my fondness for all things sparkly and magical. I remember one year she had a white Christmas tree with blue lights...and it spun! So cool! (I will have one, one of these days!)
Carty was also an amazing cook---her fudge was to die for. She,(like all of my family), was huge animal lover, and had herds of stray cats that she fed out her back door.
We all always ended up at Uncle George and Aunt Theresa's home.
One of the funniest memories ever, was when my cousin Mike put 'loads' in Carty and Grandmother's cigarettes. ('loads' for any who do not know, are like small fire crackers you can hide in the end of a cigarette...when it is lit, the end explodes like a cartoon.)We were all sitting around having a grand time, when 'BLAM!' Carty and Grandmother's cigarettes exploded. The looks on their faces were priceless...I thought everyone was going to pass out from laughing so hard...Carty and Grandmother went after Mike...it was hilarious....
(funny thing is, the next morning, when my Grandmother woke up, and lit up her morning cigarette...BLAM! She was cussing Mike, and all the animals in the house ducked for cover!)
My birthday is three days after Christmas, so we always celebrated in Kentucky. The celebrations were always modest, but fun!
And of course, at an early age, I learned how to shop after Christmas sales with mom.We always had a really good time, and ate lunch at a restaurant. I love the malls at Christmas---again because of the decorations....and people are not nuts in a pre-Christmas rush.
These are just a few of the many memories, kids...there are many many more.
I am not able to go back to Kentucky right now because I have three kids of my own...and we 'stay put' on Christmas.
However, I do miss my family this time of year...especially.
As crazy as all the travelling, and schlepping was, it was the best.

How Did We Survive Childhood?

2009-11-09T04:17:00.000-08:00

We should all be dead---seriously.
I was born in the mid 60's,and am amazed that I, or any of my buddies, made it out alive.
Today's emotionally, and physically, bubblewrapped, 'helicoptered' kids have no idea what we 'went through' growing up...
Our playground equipment was metal...steel.
It froze your fingers off in the winter, and scalded your legs in the summer. I can still feel the blisters, and smell the metallic residue, it left on our hands. We were allowed to climb to the top of everything, and swing from it. If you fell off, you landed on compacted dirt...not 14" deep mulch or spongy rubber chips.The only goal was to NOT land in the mud puddle under the swings...or at the end of the slide.
We played on rusted out teeter-totters, and climbed trees.
We built forts...real ones constructed from found plywood, sticks and brush.
When I went over to a friends house, we played outside...the whole day.
(You were allowed to come inside---briefly for triage---if you were obviously bleeding.)
We were allowed to come in for bathroom breaks, and lunch...and that's pretty much it.
We rode on bikes that were way too big for us---sometimes with someone on the handle bars. And helmets?---nah. Why would we need helmets? We were not playing football...
We played outside barefoot...we had splinters in our feet from the dock, and we occasionally got stung by bees.
My friends and I had free range of the neighborhood.
We actually had to keep ourselves occupied!
We jumped on other people's trampolines---with no safety nets or pads around them. We 'double bounced' people.
There was a rope swing that went out over Crystal Lake that we were all quite fond of...although, in the winter we did get in trouble for swinging out over the water.
We obeyed and respected all grown ups. We followed directions. We listened.
If someone's mom made you a liver sandwich for lunch---you ate it, and said 'thank you'. None of us had food allergies...we ate peanut butter, drank whole milk, and ate food that had real fat in it...and we all hated raisins and broccoli.
We ate raw cookie dough!
We used soap and water to wash our hands...we actually had to sit at the table to eat.
We usually ended up with some kind of scrape,or skinned up knees, from rollerskating(on 4 wheels strapped to your sneakers), skateboarding (again with no helmets) or playing tag on cement.
The only 'time out' was to get a wet paper towel (handed out to you from the back door) to clean off scraped knees or elbows---the objective was to get outta there before a mom came at you with the Bactine spray, or Iodine.
We listened to the radio and played cassette tapes...we thought it was super cool when the 'boom box' came out.
We danced, and sang out loud---all of us!
The phone was attached to the wall---and you had to actually dial the number. We had to ask permission to use it...no one had an answering machine...you were either there...or not.
And the biggie? Only 3---yes three---television stations!*gasp*
(Oh, it was just 'miserable'!)
The one really good thing?
We did not have to walk 6 miles barefoot in the snow to get to school---like our parents did.

The Disappearance of Thanksgiving

2009-10-31T10:03:00.000-07:00

Hey? Where did Thanksgiving go?
Over the years, have yall noticed that Thanksgiving has become a stepping stone to Christmas? We go from Halloween decorations being put out in July, to Christmas 'stuff' being put on display before Halloween...Thanksgiving is slowly becoming a 'non-event' in our society. It is like a dance that must be done, and instead of staying on tempo, it is switched to 'double time' to just get through it---and on to Christmas.
As a Visual Merchandiser, I have seen Christmas arrive earlier and earlier...as early as 'company directives' coming in September, and pre-season 'sales' being pushed out in late October.
This makes me sad for Thanksgiving...a real celebration of Thanks...for the basic 'gifts' of life: health, family, peace, love and friendships.

Thanksgiving is actually my favorite celebrated holiday.

(Yes, I love Christmas...fond memories abound.The season of 'good will'...the celebration of Jesus being born...caroles...cookies...and sweet snuggles under the tree at night...all that.(plus my birthday is 3 days later---mark your calenders.)

However,Thanksgiving is the most heart felt 'holiday' for me. It's not about the 'stuff' but the 'gifts' we receive from this life, and living it. The memories of family here now, and those who have left this life.

When I was little, mom and I always went to Thanksgiving at a family friend's home after my dad was killed in '68.(The posted picture is my first Thanksgiving...laughing with my dad.)
Every year was the same from the time I was 3 until I was in college.I could always count on a day of wearing church clothes, tights, and my 'noisy shoes'---I hated dresses then...dry turkey, unrecognizable side dishes---which I now crave, and Mrs. MacConachie's Trifle...which had sherry in it and I thought I was big stuff eating 'grown up' dessert! It was very formal. Classical music, starched linens, real china.(Although I do remember a break in the formality one year, when their son tried to open a jar of those little tiny pickles, and somehow they flew all over the kitchen...it was spectacular!)
I learned the proper silverware usage at a young age...and to sit up straight and keep my elbows off the table...I got in trouble one year because I took off my black patent Mary Janes under the table...(they had hardwood floors, and I was big in to 'skating' in my tights.)
I am thank-filled for their generosity, love, and teaching me how to be a 'lady'.

In college, mom and I started going to another family gathering at another friend's home.(The MacConachie's no longer had the big dinner since they were getting older and their kids had families.)
This was always more laid back. (I could wear a skirt.)The kids there were more my age, and we watched TV and ate snack foods before 'dinner'.It was buffet style, and not so many forks to navigate...and yeah, they drank beer and watched football after the meal. The 'menfolk' would retire to comfortable chairs, kick off their shoes, and let the 'turkey coma' set in. The gals would clean up the meal, trade dirty jokes and nonsense stories in the kitchen---and laugh a lot.
I am thank-filled for the relaxed spirit of that family, and the opportunity to be a part of their family celebration.
My first marriage was a return to the formal Thanksgivings again...but I was 27, and I could drink wine. (just sayin') They had 'staff' to cook and clean up...it was a wee bit pretentious I must say. My fondest memories of those days, were when I would hang out in the kitchen the 'staff'(the beloved Mary Anne), and my father-in-law,'Big Stan'. He was the epitome of giving, and love. He was a big,burly man, with a booming voice and a generous heart...sitting at the kitchen counter on his tall stool,drinking his Jack Daniels (on the rocks with a whisper of water---I know, because I was his 'best cocktail waitress') He and I would sneak hors d'oeuvres (sp?) off the trays before they were 'served'...we would laugh at the dog, trade limericks, and just enjoy being together.
I am thank-filled for those times with him, my babies, and Mary Anne.
My second husband's family is a mix of both casualness, and pretense. We usually spend the day on the beach daring each other to get in to the freezing ocean, and building the season's last sand castles. The guys drink beer and watch football all day. Then we have a 'formal' sit down meal around 3...(ok, why do people have Thanksgiving meals at weird times? I vote for lunch or dinner!)It is a good mix of everything and I am thank-filled for nice in laws, and for learning when there are too many Chiefs in the kitchen, and not enough Indians.
I hope my kids will always have fond memories, and give thanks for the things in life that cannot be bought---but are shared and given as love, generosity, compassion, grace, and humility. Family.
I am not one to ever forecast in to the future because I believe one needs to 'be here now'.
However, I cannot help dreaming of a day, sitting at my table with my 3 kids, and their kids and spouses...eating a meal that I cooked, holding one of my grandchildren in my arms,giving thanks for all the blessings of my life---and yeah....we will be wearing jeans, and eating at a real dinner time....

'Clear Butterfly Wings...'

2009-10-22T14:36:00.000-07:00

My daughter, who is almost 5, has 'clear butterfly wings'...yes, it's true. She told me so.
And she is 'going to sneak out of the house when everyone is asleep and go to Maddy's house and teach her how to fly...'(she said that whole run-on sentence without taking a breath.)
I asked her if I could have some wings too because it sounded like fun.
She said,'...sure mom...I will give them to you when you are asleep.' (nodding very matter-of-factly.)
Well. OK then!
Be it known, as well, that 'macaroni and cheese keeps the wings clear...chicken nuggets turn them yellow.'
(I love my girl!)

Letting Go...for Good.

2009-10-17T03:31:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went to pick up my son in the little town I lived in with my first husband.
We stopped by my old house. My X had cleared out the attic, and 'there were things' of mine that he 'found.'...and I was 'welcome to look through them'. (Gee, thanks!)
When my son and I pulled in to the driveway...and I got that old, familiar, nerve wracking, nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach.
My old house...built in 1928.
MY house. The house that had seen my newborn babies come home, gave us shelter....watched them grow.The house I had lovingly landscaped for 7 years, helped renovate, designed and installed my kitchen and checker board tile floor...My kitchen, where I had cooked many a home made meal from scratch. The trees I had planted in the yard were now 20 feet tall. My precious gardens were overgrown from neglect...another casualty of divorce.
This house had seen much happiness, but more sorrow.
I was startled by it's emptiness when I walked through the door for the first time in 8 years.It was cold...musty. Left behind. My house had always been warm, smelled good, and seemed so big to me when I lived there with my kids. My son, who was standing next to me, was not 3 years old anymore---and almost as tall as I am now.
Maybe that was it. We had all 'grown'.
I got to task with looking through boxes....dusty, broken down boxes...with my handwriting on them...'JB Baby Clothes: 6-12 months'...'C's special dresses Newborn-6 months'...stuffed animals...toys..things I wanted my kids to have for their kids.

I am a 'saver'...some say 'pack rat'...I prefer 'family historian'.

Looking through the boxes and bags was like a time warp. My sons train set he got for Christmas when he was 3.(I can still see him clearly with his red flannel robe and footy pajamas,little boy 'just out of bed' hair, making train noises.) My daughters ragged out, and dearly loved, dolls in various states of 'undress'(Why do barbies always end up half naked with only one shoe?)...her little dresses, and baby sleepers.Books I read to them in the rocking chair before they went to sleep in my arms...I could still smell the baby shampoo on their clean, warm,little heads. It was overwhelming.
I was both sad and happy remembering.
I have one of those weird brains that remembers everything---usually trivial things to an outsider. Each saved stuffed animal, book, or piece of clothing had a special memory to me. A story.My son seemed to take comfort in my memories of the good times.
Eventually, he and I carried the boxes down the 28 stairs to the driveway---(I know it is 28 steps because my mom would remind me every time she visited.)
We walked through the house one more time before leaving. I said my 'goodbyes' to the house out loud. I hope she was listening.I thanked her for being good to me and my kids.
My home was alive when I lived there...with laughter, noise, and kids...not to mention 3 cats and a dog. This house was not my home anymore...and not my kids home. It was still, quiet...asleep.
A new family has bought my old house.They will be only the fourth family to live there in 81 years...81 years! I hope they will bring her back to life.
So,yesterday,finally, I let go of my house for good. No more 'what if's'....no more regrets, or wishing things had gone differently.
Letting go, for 'good'...for better...moving forward. It felt ok...closure.
Some times it is good to let go...I am a slow learner...and I will always have the stories to share with my kids---and their kids.That cannot be taken away, or lost.
I am learning to make room for 'the here', and 'the now'...and the future.
No more dark sadness.
Just light...and love.

Yeah. I love professional HOCKEY!

2009-10-16T04:28:00.000-07:00

Before I moved to Hurricanes Country, I was never a fan of hockey.
My idea of hockey was the 'I Love Lucy' version, where Ricky and Fred go to a game, smoke cigars, yell at the refs, and get in fights with fellow fans. Hockey was barbaric. Hockey was 'gross'.
All that changed when the 'Canes made it to the playoffs in 2001...(I think that was the year.)
I actually had the time to watch the games as I was sequestered in a hotel every Tuesday night during my divorce--so my X could come stay in my house one night a week with my kids...(totally nuts, invasion of my privacy...a whole other story--but I digress.)
I was drawn to the quick pace of the games, and the physicality.(I wanted to body check some people too!) Hockey is like lacrosse, football, and track all rolled in to one. I am still amazed that the players can manipulate a hockey stick, chase a tiny puck, and evade death...all on ice skates! With ginormous pads, helmets and gloves...and some do not even have face masks on their helmets!
(Have you ever felt a hockey puck? Can you imagine one hitting your face at 100mph?)
These guys are tough---and may I add, very cute out of uniform.
OK, yes, the reason I love hockey is not only the sport itself, but also the cute boys. (There. I said it.)
I have a total crush on team captain Rod Brind'amore...'my Roddy'.
Reading his physical stats is enough to make a girl weak in the knees. He has a banged up 'hockey face'---scars, broken nose...beautiful! And, from the interviews I have seen, a really good person. I really want him to teach me how to skate backwards---it's on my 'bucket list.' (my kids totally make fun of me...but being the 'mature' adult, I just let that roll off my back.)
The energy of a hockey game is contagious. If you are lucky enough to sit near the glass, you will be amazed. My son and I sat close to the ice last year. It was awesome! We could hear the skates cutting the ice, the audible grunts during body checks and some of the 'colorful' conversation on the ice.
It's a party---it's LOUD! The energy is infectious! We always leave a game 'pumped up'.
(Plus, for you boys out there, the Canes Dancers are pretty cute as well.)
So, before you judge me because I love hockey---go see a game! You will be hooked too! LET'S GO HURRICANES!

Germ Warfare

2009-10-12T03:37:00.000-07:00

With all the stuff flying around the media recently regarding swine flu and various other germy type illnesses it got me thinking about germ warfare.
(No, not the type where some freak drops the small pox on Minnesota, and suddenly there is a pandemic...)
I mean, my own personal war against germs.
Sometimes people get carried away.
My mom is a certified germaphobe...and I say this lovingly. She is the type now, that won't let me---her own daughter---take a bite of something she is eating without first cutting whatever it is away from what she is eating....and good Lord, I would never think of using her fork! There is a guttural sound of disgust that she emits when my kids drop something on her super clean floor, and then they eat it anyway. Her mantra is 'did you wash your hands?' (which I understand...because people in general just do not.)Luckily my 5 year old is a big hand washer...another excuse for her to say,'I can do it MYSELF'...my older kids, 11 and 14, still have to be reminded---and I still have to say,'if I smell your hands right now, will they smell like soap?' Of course this does backfire at times as they shove their hands in my face to prove a point!
I guess I never really thought much about it before I had kids.
The first baby drops her pacifier, and that one cannot be used again until it has been boiled in scalding water, air dried and sealed with some hermetic device. The second child drops a pacifier and you may rub it on your jeans, pick off some dog hairs, and then it's good to go. The third child drops a pacifier, and you might blow on it...and back in it goes.
Being in public with a new baby is always fun.
Why do people who you do not know, and do not ask if they can, want to touch newborns faces and hands...hello? New human here, building immune system---do NOT touch the baby...please. People! Do NOT touch the baby! (as you smile sweetly through gnashing teeth.)A friend of mine even had a woman---she did not know---stick her FINGER in the baby's mouth to see his teeth---now that would have deserved a roundhouse kick to that woman's head from me!
I guess my germaphobia does come out in a public restroom though.
I travel with my kids a lot...so, there are 'pitstops' on the road. I can tell you all the clean restrooms along my routes.Even still, I use my elbow to turn on/off the water, and I am teaching the girls the craft of 'hovering' and flushing with your foot.(I can also open doors with my foot---years of dance training.)My mantra with little people in luscious places like that is 'DON'T touch ANYTHING!' which draws snickers from stalls nearby...and yes, I have used the facilities holding a crawling age baby and hovering...what mom has not? Port-a-johns at public events are a lot of fun with children as well. Not only are they 'cozy', and smell delightful, but my kids are always afraid they will fall in to 'that hole'...(actually, so am I. Can you imagine?)For occasions like these it is best to just fumigate them with Lysol spray and dunk them in antibacterial gel...it is alcohol based, so, the kids do dry pretty quickly.
I am teaching my kids to cough in to their elbows...Dracula style...and to sneeze the same way. I get squirrelly when I see a kid at preschool with green snails hanging outta their nose. I can spot a fevery kid a mile away---and do not think that I don't know that that 'allergy' is really pink eye!
Preschool is a playground for the germs, however I can't send my child to school in a little hazmat suit. I mean really, it would severely impede her movement on the playground...and all the kids would want to try on the respirator for sure.Kids lick, bite, chew on everything, and each other. One must accept this and pray that no kid came to school with a case of flu.
After having food poisoning on more than one occasion, I am wary of food that I personally have not prepared or have seen being prepared. I have been a waitress...I know what goes on in the kitchen...and may I remind everyone, it is in your best interest to treat your wait staff kindly.
'Pot luck' dinners are hard for me now. If I know everyone who prepared the food, then I can call them the next day and see if they were hurling all night as well from 'Aunt Ginny's famous chicken salad'...and no, I do not buy stuff at bake sales outside of grocery stores.Some people seem to have cast iron stomachs and are not effected by anything. I can look at mayonnaise based potato salad sitting in the sun, and get ill...a trait I hope my kids do not get from me.
So far, so good this season...we have not started the cycle of illness. One kid gets sick, then after passing it on to the second, feels better while child three starts getting symptoms...then child one gets well, child two is really sick, and child three is going down hill. Then child one gets sick again, child two is better...you get my point. ('Who's on First'.)
I am just keeping my freshly washed fingers crossed that we survive another season, illness free...and that my germ warfare does not send me over the edge...and I won't let you use my fork...!!!

Learning To Trust 'Girls' Again...(maybe)

2009-10-08T04:01:00.001-07:00

Raising girls is scary....period.

I have 2...one is 14 and the other turns 5 in December.
My 4 year old is a 'pistol'! She is the embodiment of joy.
I watch her on the playground with her other girl friends...
I cringe when they all do not get along. My heart sings when they do.They are such a juxtaposition of wide open innocence and inborn modesty and femininity. They love bugs and baby dolls equally right now.

My 14 year old rocks!
She is beautiful...with a Spirit to match. She is an athlete, and seems to have a lot of good friends....so far. She is not one of the 'mean' girls---thank God. Beneath the eye rolls and the 'gosh MOM!'---she digs me. She and I have a really open and honest relationship. She knows she can talk with me about anything...I hope she never forgets that!
Neither of my girls are 'girly girls'...but I have raised them that way.
Don't get me wrong.
We have our share of princess wands, baby dolls, and lipgloss around the house....and they both enjoy smelling nice.
However, they can both hold their own when playing rough with the boys, or sprinting to a soccer ball...no doubt! When they fall...they get up. The do not linger over the dirt on their knees. They move forward. No worries. (Yet.)
I was never a 'girly-girl'.
I guess I was a 'tomboy'...building forts in the dunes, playing tag football or riding waves.
My 'girlfriends' surfed and played lacrosse. Over the years my 'girls' were in musicals with me (some of those boys were 'girlfriends' too),in the design studio with me at all hours, and, even later in life, were not 'tickled pink' over birth and breast feeding either.
My 'girls' were independent thinkers,spoke their mind, a bit edgy, feminine---to a point--and not scared of a dare or getting dirty.
I did not join a sorority in college because auditions for the musical 'Peter Pan' were the same week as 'Rush' at ECU....(which actually turned out in my favor as I made the cast and became good friends with Sandy Bullock---but I digress.)
I have always had friends who were girls...no, we did not hug, and say,'love you, boooo!'....and we NEVER jumped up and down squealing and clapping when we saw each other.

When I lived in Atlanta, after college, I became 'one of the boys'...I was the token chick who hung with about 10 guys...cute ones, mind you....as in all-American, UNC Lacrosse player cute boys. 'We' were a pack. I was the 'wing man' for a lot of them---checkin' out chicks in the ladies room to see if they were 'worthy'...
Of course, I, personally, never had a date.
Well, I take that back. I had 10 dates (when we all went out) but none were interested in ME...although they were fiercely protective. All the 'girly girls' who wanted to date 'my dates' were always ridiculously jealous that I was always around. It was hilarious how many 'sucked up' to me, to get to my 'guys'. Whatever.
Thus began my mistrust of all 'girly girls'.
When I got married, the first time, my (now X) husband told me 'I love you because you're NOT like all the girls in this town'...and I was cool with that.(hahah!)
The girls there were 'girly girls'...ex-sorority sistahs(the squealy jumping clapping kind), Junior League-ers(who chatted about birth stories at meetings instead of getting their hands dirty with something notable like helping homeless mothers),social climbers(hanging with the 'right' people and keeping up with the 'Jones's was key). Back stabbers. The kind of women who only have sex with their husbands to get a new piece of 'bling' or a kitchen remodel.
(Hey, I know how harsh that sounds, but it was reality in the tiny town I lived in.)
The 'girly girls' all circled the wagons around my X when we were going through the divorce. (I was an 'imported wife', they were all married to other wealthy hometown boys---their social standing was at stake, by God! and what is more important than that? Certainly not truth and the well being of my small kids.)
They all testified against me...purgering themselves...and I lost my young children.
(Apparently, while I was staying home taking care of my 2 little ones---and even theirs at times---I was 'doing drugs, drinking, and not concerned for the welfare of her children because she is so narcissistic, and has a skewed perception of reality'...Man, I must have REALLY been 'wasted' because I don't remember any of that!...if you really know me, that should give you a giggle.)
My very very best friend even turned against me...5 years of close friendship---'poof', gone because she 'did not want to upset' her husband who was my X's childhood friend...??? Really?
My trust in women flew right out of the window, and up came my very high stone wall.
When I moved to where I live now, I was very wary of making friends with women.
Slowly, but surely...my wall started coming down. My new sister in law is actually nice to me...and I have neighbor women whom I adore.
My new 'girlfriends' here have helped me develop trust again...I watch our girls play together. We talk about real social issues, as well as the latest funny stories about our families...I am so grateful that I have had a second chance to learn to trust 'girls' again...hopefully this will last a long time!
(But, sorry yall, I still won't jump up and down, squealing and clapping when I see them!)

Love and Tenderness

2009-10-05T15:44:00.000-07:00

The other day I was waiting in the line at the grocery....blindly perusing the latest headlines of the tabloids.
I noticed an older couple in line ahead of me.
He was quite dashing and had a white beard... a beautiful 'old world' profile. His kind eyes were gazing upon his wife with such love and admiration---it took my breath away.
She was a petite, 'well put together' beauty. You could tell when she was younger, she must have been a 'knock out'.They both easily had to be in their late 80's.
I know I was staring...and I tried not to...but they were so beautiful together...and SO in love! He kept leaning in to talk to her---he was very tall. She would gently touch his hand as they spoke, looking up at him. He tenderly put his arm around her with such pride...and protection.
She was his...and he was hers.
I wondered how long they had been married. I wanted to know their story. They both had foreign accents...maybe French? I knew they had made it through the journey of life together...and were there, now, as each other's soul mates. There was such mutual tenderness and respect.
When I left the store, I noticed them in the parking lot. She was gently putting the groceries in the back seat...he was holding the door open for her...his hand on her back.
He then shuffled around to the other side of the car, opened her door for her, held her hand, and helped her in to her seat...How many times had he done this for his beautiful girl?
He walked around, and got in to his seat. As he started the car, I saw her lean over and kiss him.

'Baby you can drive my car...'

2009-10-03T16:39:00.000-07:00

Today was a big day!
I finally got a new (to me) car...a 2007 Pacifica...Navy blue---(GO NAVY!)
It was weird and refreshing all at once to drive a car that actually had a working gas gauge, a driver's seat that did not lean to the left...and did not smell like foul milk. I have a 'grown up' car.
My 'new' car is 'mac daddy'...to me at least. Granted, my mother owns it, and bought it...so, once again,at 43, I am driving 'my mom's car'...visions of being 16 again dance in my head. But, whatever...it will get me from point A to B in leather wrapped style.(I did not want leather seats because they make me hot, and my legs stick to the leather when wearing shorts...plus when you move around it sounds like you are passing gas...but I will deal with that!)
I miss my 10 year old Blazer though.
I have always had a love affair with my cars. My first car was a VW Golf...ah, college in a city, parallel parking expertise, and all the fun that college life entailed...
When my first daughter was born, I traded that one in for a smokin hot Teal Ford Taurus wagon...then, when my son was 18 months old I got my Blazer.
I loved my truck! Living in the mountains, on the top of a very steep hill, my 'Blaze' could handle ice, snow and all the slippery leaves. I could throw mulch in the back, transport a muddy slobbery dog, and still feel good about it. Men admired my 4 wheelin' style, and I NEVER got stuck in the mud...plus, being a tomboy, I always wanted a 'TRUUUCCKKK' anyway.
My X father in law---one of the kindest, most wonderful men ever to grace this earth---bought it flat out for me. He wanted me to be safe---I was transporting precious cargo! (me,(he adored me) and his 2 grandchildren!)
In my divorce settlement with his son, I had to chunk out $11,000 to my X for it. My father in law had passed on by then, and I KNOW he was twirling in his grave knowing I had had to repay his gift to me...
Anyway...my Blaze and I went through a lot together in 10 years.
Moving to a new city,picking up and dropping off my kids, being 'hit and runned'...but I always took comfort in it's safety and durability. It was indestructible. Liberal bumper stickers, surfing stickers, Navy stickers, Moms Rule! stickers...Save the Bay...you name it. It was my rolling testimonial that we all needed to get it together!
This summer I had a radiator leak, and the engine flat out cooked on me.(I hate to think that the really deep puddles I drove through to create a huge wake may have contributed to the leak...but it was fun!)
I was driving home from the beach,with 2 of 3 kids, and it just started steaming...I pulled off and put more coolant in. A homeless guy helped me out, and I gave him $20 for his help. My son was like, 'MOM! I can't believe you just GAVE him $20!'...hey, he was down on his luck, a really nice person...and perhaps an angel in disguise. I hope I set an example for my son...he still talks about 'the homeless guy you gave $20 to'...
We got a little further down the road, and the engine got hot again...and just went. I was on I-95,it was getting dark, and was NOT going to pull off there! (They would have found our dead bodies in Missouri in a shallow grave...95 is notoriously dangerous, and with 2 gorgeous blonde children, I was NOT going to advertise to the next 'Bundy' that we needed aide!)
So we rolled in to the 'Oasis' Travel Park.(Yes, I sang, 'midnight at the oasis...send you camels to bed...')
We did not make it all the way in...so, my son, who is 11, had to sit in the drivers seat and steer while I pushed my truck. I was putting all I had in to it, and the car was NOT budging...my son had forgotten to take his foot off the brake. (Thanks, dude!) Two men came and helped me push it...checked the engine...and went,'ahhh'...(not a good 'ahhh'.)
'Yer injun eeus cooked, ma'am.'
Huh?
'It ain't gonna do nuttin for ya, eeits deeuhd.'
Oh, SWELL! I was about an hour from home, in the dark, 2 kids...S#^%!T!
Called AAA...and they sent a tow...I was relieved when the guy got there...and really enjoyed 'Derby's' Satan tattoo on his neck. He was cool though...and we waited for my H to get there to pick us up. I think my kids ate 4 donuts each---but at that time, I did not care...'here! look at the sparkly object! No we are not in peril, do not freak out...we are fine!'
Nothing says togetherness like being a one car family. It is like being 16 again---'hey, can I take the car? I gotta go to bank and the store...'

3 months later I have a new handsome Navy man in my life...my 'mac daddy'...
I wonder what will transpire over this next 10 year relationship?
A Navy man never let's his girl down...right?

(Now, I did have a '59 Edsel...Ed. He was a knock out...but that is another story...)

Living with 'The Dead'

2009-10-01T04:11:00.000-07:00

The summer of '87, I moved off campus to a house on Biltmore street.
A dingy little brown 1940's style bungalow, behind the Tri-Pigs...oops, I mean Tri-Sigs...sorority house. (Sorry, but they were little rich girls with really bad attitudes.)
My house mates included:
Sue, (a psych major...who was a huge fan of the Grateful Dead...Mother Earth type of girl,drove the VW van and seriously looked like a younger, prettier, Janice Joplin.)Marty,(an art history major/violin player, who looked very straight-laced, but was a lot of fun.Marty used the enclosed back porch for her 'room' as a decoy so her parents would not find out she was sleeping with her boyfriend... she was NOT a 'Dead Head'.)
Annie,(an art major,willowy and pale, big huge Dead Head.)
...and then there was me,(advertising design major, wholesome, innocent,extremely studious, and solely dedicated to summer school...(hahha)...and NOT a Dead Head.)
Don't get me wrong...I was a hippy chick with the flowy skirts and the wild long hair...and I wore patchouli...but I was more of an artsy-gypsy-hippy...and I never ever did the drugs. (THAT I am serious about.) I never dropped acid, or any of that stuff, because I was so afraid someday one of my kids would have a ear growing in the wrong place...or something horrid! Never did 'ecstasy' because it apparently messes with your spinal fluid---I was a dancer...hello! I needed my back to function properly.(I did make some yummy cheap sangria though.)
I also disliked the Dead. *gasp*! I liked the percussion jams because they were fun to dance to...but Jerry's voice was like nails on a chalk board to me. (sorry to degrade St. Jerry...)
All 4 of us were there for Summer School, so people were in and out of our front door continuously...and then, Marty would be practicing her violin, Annie would be weaving anklets in her spare time, and Earth Mother Sue...well, I'm not really sure what she was working on back in her room.
I was taking a painting studio class and a dance class...so, I was in my studio a lot....I never knew what or who I would find at our little house.
My boyfriend at the time, was in a band...he played rhythm guitar and was soooo cool.The rest of the band consisted of a drummer, a smelly german singer, and a guy named Tracy, who played bass.
Tracy was hilarious. He was super smart, and extremely talented---but not motivated in the least. He was working the summer at Burger King, and would come over to the house to practice with the band in his BK outfit. He was the first person I ever saw smoke a cigarette without holding it, and play guitar at the same time...I was fascinated by this.
Tracy and another Dead Head girl, who lived across the street, drove totally buck naked back from DC to Greenville...(I KNOW!)...and could not stop laughing about the truckers reactions.
I had a pet miniature rabbit at the time, named Winfield, and he LOVED Tracy...he would sit on Tracy's shoulder and let him walk around. (Winfield was killed by someone who fed him drugs when I was away that summer in San Francisco. Nice.)
One morning after a long evening downtown with the boyfriends band, I woke up and almost tripped over...Jesus? It was the Lord, laid out on my floor...and look, he brought apostles...and fair maidens! (Sue had invited some people back to the house.)
They ate our food and left around 3pm.
We never knew who--or what--Sue would bring back from her latest Dead Show. Mainly fellow Dead followers who apparently had not showered in years...hence they would decide they would shower off the lovely sludge in our one shower...and again, would eat all of our food and leave.
(I think this may have been when my affair with Clorox started.)
We had Indecision stay at our house...but those guys were cool. Shep, the lead singer from Awareness Art Ensemble was a staple in the menagerie. He was the first rhasta dude I ever got to know. He was really really great---and he smelled like incense...I was fascinated by his dreadlocks.
My boyfriend's family lived in Richmond, so, when the food supply got low, we'd go to his parent's house for the weekend. His mom was an angel and sent us back with food, and canned goods.(I only had $75/month to eat off of, so this was a blessing!)
Our neighbors across the street raided our pantry as well. This guy named Shane would always eat my cereal, and drink all the milk. I finally had to have an 'intervention'...and he stopped.(Which led to his frog gigging, and the BBQ-ed frog legs he would cook on the sidewalk.)
Annie's cat had kittens that summer, and my boyfriend adopted a dog named 'Ripple'...we had fish...and a rabbit---(until he was murdered.)
All in all it was a pretty good summer. It definitely opened my eyes to some things---good, and bad.

That Fall, my mom made me move back to the dorm.

'Before I Get Hit By A Bus...'

2009-09-29T08:47:00.000-07:00

I was thinking last night about how unpredictable life can be.
You just never know what will happen in the next moment...will I be hit by a bus? Shot with a poison dart? Slip on the floor and konk my head on the counter? Who knows?
Then I started thinking, and remembering things that I want to make sure I tell my kids. Stuff about life, dating,marriage, babies, memories I have of them that still make me smile---and laugh.
So, I am starting this series of Notes for my kids.
I don't want to forget anything about them...and I want them to have references for later---when my alzheimer's kicks into full gear...
Here I go:
You 3 are the best things that have ever---ever---happened to me. Being your mom has been the coolest experience ever! I hope I make you as proud as I am of you. You 3 have beautiful souls, hearts and minds...use them for the greater good.
I will always be here for you no matter what...don't ever be afraid to ask me anything...your momma has done a LOT of living...and seen a LOT of things. Good stuff, and really bad stuff. You cannot shock me---trust that!
You 2 girls know how I feel about boys.
I pray you do not make the same mistakes I have made.
When someone shows you who they are---believe them the first time.
Sometimes being too forgiving can be a problem.
Listen to your gut...it will never fail you.
If a guy ever hits you, or knocks you to the floor---LEAVE.
(Then,call me and come over for a chat...and a drink.)
Words can be just as abusive...and hurt just as bad---LEAVE.
You will 'fall' in love many many times...and your heart will break just as many times. You will live. There will ALWAYS be that one that got away...but trust me, there are so many people in this world who will fit in to yours---right around the corner!
Searching for 'Mr. Right', instead of 'Mr. Right Now', is worth the wait.
There is no such thing as 'one true love'...(unless you become nuns.)
When you finally DO find the 'one'...have him come over. I have a few questions for him...after I finish his back ground check. He will need to bring proof of citizenship, current medical records, and the results from his AIDS and genetic testings. This is required. (Don't laugh!)
People are never really who they say they are...and I don't want you to find this out 6 months in to your marriage.(Been there, done that.)
...and for YOU, my son...in regards to girls.
Treat all females with respect.
Be kind.
Never---NEVER---lie to a woman...she will find out, and 'the wrath of the woman scorned' is not something you want to experience.
I am raising you to be a southern gentleman.You will have lovely table manners...you will NEVER chew with your mouth open.
You will be able to cook, and do your own laundry.(chicks totally dig that.)
I know it sounds 'icky' right now, but girls like flowers, kisses and good long hugs.
Of course, all the girls you go out with will, as well, go through rigorous interviews and background checks.
I'm not letting you go to just anyone. She must be as golden as you are to me!
For all 3 of my kids: You deserve the BEST.
The best life, loves, meaningful work---and I mean that.
If you want to become a female jet fighter pilot? I support you.
If you want to join the circus? Great! (I am coming to.)
You can be whatever will make you truly truly happy...
(I will put my foot down on the knife juggling or becoming a stripper...however, they do make good money in the high class joints. I may reconsider. NO!)

I will let you chew on this Note for a while...as I ponder what else I can tell you.
(and don't forget, I have your naked baby pictures...and I am not afraid to use them! hahaha!)
I love you!
Momma~ xoxoxox

9/25/93: A Comedy of Errors...

2009-09-17T15:00:00.000-07:00

This coming September 25th, I would have been married to my X for 16 years...
(Granted the story of WHY he became my X is a whole 'nother post...)

Every wedding has it's kinks and moments...but here are mine from that long forgotten cloudy day in September.

I arrived in VB on Wednesday before the wedding. I had my awesome gal pal W come in and run interference with the mother/mother-in-law. She was amazing---and kept me sane.
My mom had not seen my dress until then...she 'liked' it.
(I had done all of my wedding shopping by myself since I lived 5 hours away at the time. I even had my wedding portraits done alone...had them re-done...doing my own hair and make-up---which is posted))
My grandmother, who had passed away that July, had bought my dress for me. It was the most expensive dress I will ever wear for only 8 total hours...and will never wear again. I loved it though! Very 'old school', off the shoulder...aka: Jackie O-ish.
I made my own veil and 'head piece', and had decorated my own shoes...thrifty? Yes!
Thursday night before the wedding, my best childhood friend, V, had a dinner at her parents house for me...kind of a delayed bachelorette party since all my friends were from out of town. As everyone arrived, I thought,'Man, my girls can dress!'...Turns out the order of the evening was to come dressed as ME...V had gone to China Town in NYC and bought this hideous curly wig, that smelled. My other friends had every stage of my 'fashionista' self on display from my DeadHead days to the college days when I only wore black...and ALL had on frosty purple lipstick---which had been my signature color. It was cool, and embarrassing, all at the same time.
After the dinner, we went to my friend A's house on 61st street and met up with the 'boys'...ironically, an inmate had escaped in to the state forest and a helicopter, with spotlights, kept us company most of the night.
That's when my stomach started going nuts...uh-oh.
The next day was the rehearsal dinner and Bridesmaids luncheon.
The luncheon was lovely---given by my mom's good friends...but I was sick as a dog!
In all the photos I am as pale as my creamy silk jacket...and my bridesmaids all have that 'oh shit' fake smile on.
We all went and got our hair done at a salon...I had mine straightened and put in a chignon...very French...very Moi...and I had that 'killer' red dress...oh man. My red dress rocked the world...(too bad I will never wear it again...I was so sick, I lost at least 5 lbs. in two days!I was 'skinny skinny'!)
The wedding rehearsal was kind of weird. All of my X's groomsmen (all 12) were drunk. They had played golf all day...yeah.
I had planned to walk down the aisle alone because my dad (who was killed in Vietnam in '68) could not be there. Well. That backfired. I started sobbing about half way down the aisle and had to leave the building.(I have ALWAYS missed him---but at that point...I REALLY missed him.)
So, my X and I decided he would walk me down the aisle...we went through the 'dress rehearsal' and headed to the PA Country Club for the rehearsal dinner.
I had stopped hurling by then, and the vodka soda(with lots of limes) kept me going...mainly the coldness of it and the smell of the limes.
After an emotional dinner, with people telling stories about my dad---great, I started crying again---there was an 'after party' around the pool for 'the young people' (This is a southern thing so the grown ups can either go home and go to bed, or break out the good scotch without having to share.)
During the party, I called the Hotel I was staying in with my Maid of Honor that night...and they said my room 'had been cancelled'...WHAT!??!!!
My MOH and I left directly and went to the Hotel. I told them, 'Hello. I am the BRIDE...and about 65 people are staying at this Hotel...you HAVE to find me a room!'
Turns out they had a 'suite that just became available---and it has a hot tub!'----good for them because I would have ripped their eyes out if nothing was available...or slept in the lobby.
I started getting ill again, and my MOH put me in the suite and left....she re-emerged at 3am.(She was dating this totally hot guy at the time, and I totally understood that they needed to, um, spend some time together.)
Meanwhile, I had been hurling...and...oh yeah....popping Imodium now! *gasp*
(I KNOW!)
I stayed in the hot tub until 6 a.m. while my MOH slept...(wench).
We called a pharmacy and got the lovely sugary red anti-nausea liquid stuff for me so I could make it to the 'brunch' the day of the wedding.
It was a lovely brunch---don't get me wrong...but again, if you look at the pictures, all my gals have that 'oh shit!' fake smile...and I look like I am about to faint! Yes, I was...and yes, I was that ill!
3pm, September 25, 1993...game time...
My mom's friend B was our 'wedding nazi'---meaning she was the wedding coordinator...everything was timed to the minute.
My X's groomsmen were hurling in the woods outside the church I found out later...they stayed up later than we did enjoying contraband scotch.
I was hurling in the girls room...and trying to get dressed. I don't think I have ever appreciated ice cubes so much as I did then. I started popping cheez-itz, altoids, and chewing ice...so lovely!
The Bridesmaids bouquets arrived all rich and colorful like an English cutting garden...and there was this freakin MOUND of white roses, freesia, ivy thing---a la Princess Dianna---that I had specifically said I did NOT want for my bouquet. Well, guess what. I was out-voted...and I stared at this 40 lb. freaking Rose Parade float I was supposed to carry...really?
It was time to get dressed.
I hoisted the gown on...of course after one last bathroom pit stop...popping more Imodium, and drinking anti nausea medication like it was a martini.It was weird getting dressed in front of a 'crowd'---I am not an exhibitionist...and I had to leave the room.
My girls were awesome...and they looked great---as good as they could look in those lovely off the shoulder dark purple dresses...and I envied their flowers.
The photog showed up...took some pics, and we were off to the Church.
I stood outside the Vestibule...where I had been Confirmed...trying to soak it all in...kinda in 'la-la land'...I could still run, I thought...but mom had told me the 'reception is paid for...NO backing out now...'
(oh shit.) I felt like I was going to hurl again and hoisted my Rose Float up to my nose...smelled a gardenia...and calmed down.
(WAIT!...my head screamed... I don't think I want to do this!)
Then all eyes were on me in the back of the Church...my X took my arm...the music started...(I was glad I had brought a lovely brown paper towel from the girls room...my biggest fear was hurling at the altar!)
Before I knew it, I was at the altar with the minister and all these smiling faces...and I was trying to focus...not cry...and definitely not get sick.
--this is when the 'if I knew then what I know now' phrase seems appropriate.--
(*side note to my kids: I DID love your father when I married him---or rather what I thought I knew of him.*)
I made it though the ceremony...and out of the Church...straight to the girls room---again.
(Question: Any of yall tried to use the girls room in a wedding dress---with petticoats, no less???)
We all met back in the church for pictures afterwards...
The wedding photog was a crime scene/autopsy photog during the week---weddings were his weekend gig. Whenever he tried to take a pic, he would stand on a chair, and his lights would fall over...or he would. Nice.
The Groomsmen were patronizing and rowdy. My girls maintained their composure---and class.
My bro-in-law drove us to the Oceana Naval Base Officers Club for the reception...we rode in 'the White Shadow'---my beloved father-in-laws car...I rolled the windows down for some fresh air.
The reception was really lovely...mom spared no expense, and the food was amazing. I loved that we were on a Navy base and on the ocean.(Again, I missed my dad.)
However, the Jet-Jockeys were next door in the Officers Bar....so, besides the eye candy, I thought maybe my girls would meet someone!
The traditional dances and photographs(by the autopsy guy) ensued...we danced, sang, and my X drank...a lot. All of my extended family were there.
We had a reception line---which I highly recommend. I said hello to everyone...I hope!(Note to self: when the girls get married, designate a 'lipstick/powder person...or build pockets in to dress)
Time to go...
I went back in to the Officers Quarters with my girls, and my mom...and got out of my dress and in to my 'going away suit'---another Southern thing....my girls put my shoes on because I was so ill!
Rice in my face and an amazing vintage car to drive us away---Thank you's to mom...goodbyes to my friends...'
And we were off....
Champagne bucket in the back with us...My X drank the whole bottle himself...I ate the ice. We stopped at my mom's house and I left her a thank you note (after I got sick---again---in her bathroom)...and we were off to Norfolk to spend the night in wedded 'bliss'...and get on our flight to St. Martin the next morning...(or so I thought.)

Every bride has a mystical idea of her wedding night. I had bought this amazing ice blue gown---a la 1940's movie star---to 'present myself' in....hahahah!
Turns out...My X was smoking a cigarette in the bed, holding a bourbon drink in the other hand ---and the PHONE was crooked against his ear connected to the Hospitality Suite at the Hotel at the Beach...!!!! He had PASSED OUT.
Nice. I hung up the phone---after a few choice words with his frat brothers on the other end...put his cigarette out...put his drink on the table...and...changed in to my Tshirt and socks.
I then proceeded to eat the heck out of the reception food that had been sent with us. We slept in separate beds...Romantic, eh?
The next morning, 'Einstein' realized that he had misread the itinerary....as we left the Hotel...our flight to St. Martin flew over our heads.
How fun it was to see all of the guests catching their flights that afternoon at Norfolk International....
We finally made it to St. Martin...which in itself is 'a whole 'nother story!'
Again, I say...A Comedy Of Errors....
(Stay tuned for 'The Honeymoon')

Dear Roxy....

2009-09-10T16:47:00.000-07:00

...When we adopted you in August of 2008, they told us you were 'a year to a year and a half old'.
Come to find out today----you were only FIVE months old.(yes, I finally read ALL your papers.)
Someone 'surrendered' you to the pound at a mere 4 months old! How could they?
I know you were the prettiest puppy...they must have had to move away....However, the scar on your nose, still remains a mystery.
Sweet sweet Roxanne Von Bacheler.
I must apologize to you.
For all the things you chewed up....and I was so angry with you.
For the time I even thought about adopting you out to another family because 'surely an 18 month old would NOT destroy my furniture'.
But, alas, you were but a 'wee lass'.
We love you Rox. With your pretty eyeliner, sweet ways, and your occasional 'badness'...I now understand. And I forgive you, my love!
Let's start over...shall we?
xoxox Your Momma 'Dog',
Kat~

My Apologies....

2009-09-03T17:44:00.000-07:00

I realize that bad behavior trickles down....
So, for any of my gal pals who are having difficulties with their kids...I offer you my sincerest apologies...and here's how it all started.
I told my 14 and 11 year old children to STOP calling each other 'fat' as a cut-down.
The fighting continued throughout the summer, and they adopted the loving names to call each other:'muffin top'....and 'man boobs'.
Nice. Yeah, I know.
So I told them NOT to say that in front of their 4 yr. old sister---because knowing how things go, she'd get mad at a boy in her class and call him 'man boobs'.
And, that's just WRONG.
So then, my 4 yr.old spent a day with her 6 yr. old cousin...who taught her all kinds of surly and unlady-like things.
First: it is NOT funny when you poot and announce it to everyone. NO. It is NOT.
Second: the clinching of the fists, and the stomping off has GOT to stop. It's disrespectful...and by the way: when a grown up tells you to do something...DO IT---do NOT throw attitude around. You are 4!
Third: we do NOT say 'nanneeenanneeeboobooo'. Period. It is disrespectful, and unladylike.
Fourth: yes, you, my 4 yr. old, WILL wear a seat belt...you WILL sit in a carseat and you WILL wear a bike helmet---I don't CARE that your 6yr.old cousin is not required to.
Fifth: you will NOT tease your younger friends and act like you are the 'sh#t'...you have to follow the same rules she does!
So,my gals, when your child comes home and pinches the baby....because my 4 yr. old was a 'pill' and her big brother/sister were being horrible to each other and inevitably started the chain reaction---which has affected your kids...I apologize!

I Met An Exotic Dancer Today In Target...

2009-08-13T16:03:00.000-07:00

I was standing in the line at Target. M was about to melt down, and I was thinking---'get me outta here!'
The girl in front of me (petite, mousy, wearing librarian glasses...looked like a nerdy Jewish girl I knew in High School) was buying funky nail polish colors, extreme make-up colors, and a make up trunk---by 'trunk', I mean a metal, opens to 50drawers, make-up TRUNK.
I commented on how cool her nail colors were...and how that was a 'mac-daddy make-up case'...
She said, 'yeah, I am always looking for something different...and my make-up bag ripped the other night.'
'Oh, really?' I say,'I used to do professional theatre and was always jealous of the girls with the trunks like that...'
She said,'Yeah! I know! I was always thinking what the heck? Why do the girls I work with need a trunk?...then I realized I needed a trunk for all my different looks...'
'So, are you a dancer?' I asked...
'Yes, I am'....she said.
'Wow! What kind of dance do you do?' I asked, thinking she is part of a ballet company or something---she is so tiny!
She looks down, pauses and sheepishly says, 'I am an exotic dancer...'
'Really?' I say, concealing my...ummm...amazement.
I asked her 'how did you get in to that?'...because I am obnoxiously chatty....
She said she used to work at PetCo, and she went swimming one day with a friend who was a waitress at 'The Foxxy Lady' here in Raleigh....and the girl said she should consider dancing...and she did!
'It's not 'me'...it's a persona...' she said.
(I nod in agreement...as a performer, I understand.)
'I would never ask my real life friends to come watch me, and I would never invite any of the girls I work with in to my private life...'
'Cool, I get it...' I say.
She went on to tell me she works in Raleigh, Durham, and Wilmington....
She said she likes to 'change up' her looks because when she is 'gone for a week at a time, they miss me...'
Of course, vicariously, I am seeing myself at some high class strip bar wearing a brunette wig and hot white platform hooker pumps....and I start laughing at myself---I could never do that----well, at least not after having 3 kids...but I could bartend...and be a bouncer, sort of!
Anyway, we said our good-byes, and off she went.
M and I walked out to the parking lot, and damn if she wasn't pulling out in a brand new Honda Accord...with plates that said 'Miss Prissy'...
'Exotic Dancing' apparently pays well.
Then I got to thinkin'....NAAAHHHH!
(hahahaha!)

The Luna Moth

2009-08-05T05:22:00.000-07:00

Last night my family and I had the absolute thrill of seeing a Luna Moth.
I say 'thrill' because I can only recall seeing one three times in my life.
The first time I was at Camp Alleghany, about age 13...it was on the side of the tennis shed.
The second time, it was on our front porch light fixture. I remember getting my kids, then about 5 and 3 to come out and see it...I was 34.
Last night was the third sighting...
I made my husband, son and daughter come and see.
The Luna Moth is one of the most beautiful creations I have ever seen. It has a fluffy white body, and it's antennae look like small ferns. The wings are very large, and delicate...with 'eyes' on them....and the color of the Luna is the most magical green.
A friend told me this morning, that in some cultures, it is considered a 'good omen' to see one...I hope that is true!
According to my personal time span between sightings, I should be in my 50's the next time I am lucky enough to see one.
I wonder what I will be doing then?

Our Night at the ER...(Happy 14th, NaNa!)

2009-07-18T07:21:00.000-07:00

The day started out great!
NaNa was 14 on the 14th---Bastille Day! Viva la France! Viva la NaNa!
(my 3 kids have all been born on holidays....Bastille Day, Pearl Harbor Day, and Leap Year, but, I digress.)
We finished our Day Camps, picked up Mia and Mimi D and headed to the Mall to do some birthday shopping and eat dinner...simple, yet festive!
We shopped a bit, and then went to enjoy a meal at Max and Erma's...everyone was excited for the special gourmet cupcakes waiting for us at Mimi's house later!
Our meal was good, the kids got along, everything was great.
Mimi went to the ladies room while we waited for the check...20 minutes went by...no Mimi.
I went to go check on her, jokingly saying,'I'll go make sure she hasn't passed out or something'...telling the 3 kids to wait at the table.
Holy COW!
She was ill in the bathroom...and I mean, ILL....and dizzy and about to pass out!
(for a brief second I imagined myself a psychic.)
Over the next 45 minutes, things got worse.
I got the kids out strolling--trolling---the Mall, so I could help my mom.
Have you ever been in that weird place...wondering if you should call 911? I was there.
I got Mall Security, and we decided to call in the paramedics...mom was mortified---and I knew she would kill me later....but for now, she needed more help than I could give her.
I am sure the customers wondered 'what the heck' when the gurney came rolling in all jangling with equipment, paramedics, oxygen tanks....good Lord!
(and no, no hottie EMS guys....but the man and woman were pleasant enough.)
By this point my mom was so dizzy, and kinda out of it, so she was 'non-combative'...(I only say this because later, CJ---the girl EMT---told us the call before that she had had to duck for cover and restrain a patient.)
This moment may be one of the only ones in which I am glad my teenager has a cell phone....we were calling and texting each other the whole time with updates...
So, they wheel mom out of the back of the restaurant, and I go find my kids...they were on the verge of a little tiny freak out...but this 'is going to be an exciting adventure...and we get to follow an ambulance---COOL! Right?'
Yeah!
The Mall Security guy---who was 7 feet tall, and had on a Hello Kitty' bandaid---was really nice...(and he was a Tarheel fan.)He waited with us while the ambulance got started up. Hey! And a guy on one of those 2 wheeled things---a la Paul Blart Mall Cop---whizzed by...the kids were thrilled.
NaNa was texting up a storm,and the kids in the back were 'maintaining'.
We finally arrive at the NGeneral Hospital Emergency Room.
I had to park in a sketchy ER parking lot...telling my kids 'move quickly and stick close to me---and DON'T touch anything!'
Ohhhhh. The joys of an ER waiting room...with 3 kids. I told them they better NOT have to pee because they were NOT using this restroom! Thank God for the vending machines as I broke all the rules and let them have 'brown sodas' and Doritos...
Mom had been checked in to a room in the back....triage I guess.
It was around 9pm.
I sat with my kids for a bit...assuring the kids 'MiMi has a bad tummy ache, but she will be ok...' I snuck a few Doritos and pillaged the Dr. Peppers...again, breaking my own food rules.
There were police officers everywhere.
I was not scared...really---but my vivid imagination was contemplating a drive by shooter or two women breaking in to a knife fight over a man...and then there was the guy looking at dirty pics on his cell phone with the oozing wound on his hand...now THAT scared me.
I called my friend Mary after I got my wits back together. I needed someone to be with my kids so I could go back and check on mom. ('Oozing Wound Guy' was freaking me out.)
It was dark out now...and the 'unusuals' were emerging.
My kids eyes were like saucers watching a cussing, drunk, homeless lady being rolled out on to the street...then there was the charming 'lady' who was asking around,'hey...you got a cigarette?' in her low gravelly voice...
I told my kids to 'stay small and quiet...' Mia piped in,'like a mouse, momma?'...(YES!).
Somehow I can never get her to sing her 'Jesus Song' from Bible School when I ask, but she decided now was a good time...and she was really 'giving it her all'.
So then my giggles started.
I hate it! Whenever I get super stressed, I start giggling...I get the giggles at 'inappropriate' times...after a car wreck, injury, church, funerals, court...I can't stop.It was handy now though, because then my kids started to laugh---wondering why---but still we were all 'cheery'...if anything, we looked like we were waiting for the 'special van' from the asylum to come get us...
Mary arrived---thank you Jesus---and I got to go back to see mom.
(oh, but not before a charming picture badge was made for me, and THEN the nice policeman---wearing rubber gloves--- let me through the locked door...I wondered if I could have some rubber gloves...or a jumpsuit?)
Poor mom was in bad shape.
She was hooked up to an IV...nausea meds dripping in. She was shivering and I got her more blankets. I took off her jewelry for her, and found a nifty ziplock Specimen bag to stow it all in...
Gee, and lucky for us, 'Big Brother' was blaring on the tv...and no one could find the remote---or reach the off button. Seriously?
(I was amazed at how 'blasse' the ER nurses were. I know they are over worked and underpaid, but this was my mom...ok? I was glad I was there to be a 'patient advocate' for her....but I digress.)
My daughter was texting me from the waiting room...'I am tired....when can we go'....etc., etc....Mary was an angel and took my kids back to her house---she has 3kids also...probably had nothing else to do but to bring 3 more home...ha!
It was 10pm.
Mom's blood work FINALLY came back---everything normal. 'Gastroenteritis...'
I had this affliction a month before my first wedding....was hospitalized for 3 days...it ain't pretty.(although it is a great way to lose 10 lbs in 3 days.)
Well, I thought, at least they will keep her over night to hydrate her, and watch her.
No.
(WHAT?)
No...the nurse said they'd 'release her in a few hours'...
(again, WHAT?)
Mom could not even sit up without getting ill...and I was going to be driving her 30 minutes back to her house at the Beach...and how the heck was I going to get her in to the house, up stairs...she was so weak! Mom did suggest bringing lots of beach towels and garbage bags...lovely.
(Maybe Mia would sing me the 'Jesus Song'.)
CJ ,the EMT, came and checked on mom...she was really sweet.
There was a ruckus in the hall and lots of police and detective looking guys...I pulled the privacy curtain...one of the policemen said, 'One more arrest this week and I get a toaster oven'...I saw dirty feet roll by on a gurney.
Mary brought the kids back to me at the ER...and thankfully waited and watched us load up in to my truck.
(Turns out, there had been a stabbing in that very parking lot an hour before....wonder if it was over a man? See! I was not far off, huh?)
It was 11pm.
...and we headed back to mom's. I was going to 'get the kids settled'--ha!---and turn around and go get mom from the ER. (My 14 year old would be in charge of holding down the fort.)The kids were jacked up on Doritos and Dr. Pepper...and all were thrilled to be up past bedtime.
1130-ish, I got everyone in bed---not asleep---but 'in' bed.
I was so tired I could not even form sentences correctly...and I was calling my kids by each other's names, pets names, 'you---boychild', etc.!
Then the phone rang---it was Mom!
She said the Doc was keeping her over night because she was so dizzy...and I did not have to drive back (the 30 minutes)to Norfolk and get her....
(pipe in Mormon Tabernacle Chior singing,'Aaaaalllleeeelllluuuuuuuu-YAAH!')
Holy COW!
Wow...I finally got to exhale...then everything was replaying in my head...as I hosed myself down with antibacterial gel.
Mom came home the next morning---thanks to her friend Lou for driving, and stocking the freezer with Jell-o, Ginger Ale and Pediasure popsicles!
I took Mia to my Altered Books Camp with me, and my kids went on to Day Camps...

Never a dull moment, yall. Ever.

How To 'Shop' Rodeo Drive

2009-07-06T06:39:00.000-07:00

You may think I am crazy---but this is how my friend and I 'shopped' Rodeo Drive, had a blast---and we did not, in the least, feel intimidated.
About 12 years ago I was out in Hollywood visiting my actress girlfriend who is 'in the business'. Her temporary digs were right behind the Mann's Chinese Theatre. Her husband is a 'camera guy' in major motion pictures, and TV as well...(he also stands on his head to get rid of a cold---but that is another story.)
Nina and I had a blast doing all the touristy things around 'the Wood'...some people even recognized her on the street.
Remember 'Dawson's Creek'? She played Katie Holmes' big sister in that show!...(I met Katie---she was really beautiful and sweet...and blew me away when she asked Nina for a cigarette...again, another story.)
After spending a few days hiking past Madonna's house, going up to the Observatory, checking out hand prints outside of Mann's, riding bikes at the beach,walking Hollywood Blvd looking for hookers, we decided to go in to Beverly Hills.
Wow. I mean really...wow.
As a designer I was salivating over the store windows....and over the amazingly plastified women walking down the street. Nina and I played the 'guess what kinda work she's had done' game...aka: 'Fake or Real'.
Now, here is how we survived the 'intimadators' aka: sales people---
Being that both Nina and I are good actors, we assumed the roles of bored wealthy housewives....and dove in. Gucci, Prada, Harry Winston, Hermes,Givenchy, Chanel,etc.etc.etc!
I watched the sales people cringe and look around when we walked through the doors...(I was wondering if they were secretly calling security.)
We were not dressed like bums or anything, but we were not 'to the 9's' as the 'ladies' we passed on the street.
As we perused the racks, or cases, we maintained a dialogue about such things as my 'husband's' estate in Monaco', and how 'he hated the new Jaguar he bought and tried to give it to me, but I did not want it because it was silver and did not impress me', and how 'our new Belgian nanny was NOT working out', and how 'I thought she was having an affair with my stable boy'...and how Nina 'really needed to come by some weekend because the guest house is always open for her'---and we 'had just renovated the pool'....
We were subtle about it...mainly just quiet conversation amongst friends...but it was hilarious to watch the sales people...they became more interested in 'helping' us as we went on....
I remember picking up an amazingly gorgeous Hermes bag---a '5 mortgage payments' one...and saying to Nina,'I like this...but I already have one similar that I got in Cannes.'
I don't know if the sales people really believed us...but it was fun to play act...and neither the looney bin van, nor a police car, ever pulled up the street to take us away.
I mean, really. Everything out there is fake, made up, or an illusion in some sort of way....right?
We had a great time...'shopping Rodeo'...and laughing our heads off!

Wave Rider Turned 'Equestrian'...

2009-07-04T06:39:00.000-07:00

I have always loved horses.
I started riding when I was about 5...on and off for years.
I was never the obsessed girl who could only think of her horse, and collected the plastic ponies...but I loved horses, and riding.
My mom and I used to go up to Camp Carysbrook, when I was about 5, with the Cumisky family....they had 6 kids and ran the camp in the summers. I wore my riding hat from the time I got up in the morning, until I was forced to take it off to sleep.
It was a good look with my cutoff shorts, 'peace' tshirt, and tennis shoes. It made my head sweat, but I did not care...I was cool. Everyone knew I rode---because I wore the hat...all the time. Yeah.
When I was 12, I was lucky enough to go to Camp Alleghany...and I got to ride---for real! I remember having to leave during the Blue/Grey Team 'sing off'...and hike up the hill to the stables for class.
There was a creepy part, on that path through the woods, just after you passed the Dining Hall, and before you could see the Stables---and we used to run through there like bats outta hell.
My ensemble' was a bit different this go 'round...
We had to wear jeans,riding boots...and the famous riding hat. My black velvet riding hat was more like a huge mixing bowl with a strap to hold it on to my huge head.(we all have big heads in my family...it's a curse.)
My rubber riding boots came up to my knees...offered no real protection to my feet, and were hot as heck! Plus, after class, I had to get someone to help me get them off because they were much like a 'chinese finger torture' when removed alone. (Thank you counselor Trudy for letting me use your butt to get them off!)
I weighed all of 90 lbs that summer, and they gave me the biggest horse: Tonic Water, aka: 'TW'...he was HUGE...and stubborn...and lazy.I always had to use the steps to get up on him...I think the Counselors had pity on me the first day when I had to repeatedly hoist my leg up, like a Rockette, to reach the stirrup.
TW and I had a love/hate relationship.
One day, after a good ride, while I was giving him his water, he casually stepped on to my foot....and leaned. I could NOT get him off my foot! and thanks to the chinese torture/no protection boots, my foot was being crushed. I put my whole 90 lb. self in to trying to get him off...he never even raised his head...instead, he eyeballed me from the side and kept slurping his water. (I think he was smiling...really. I do.)
I imagine, to the observer, this had to have been hilarious to see...like a cricket trying to move a sleeping dog.
I have never been a 'girl-girl' and I was not going to cry...but wow, did my foot hurt! Finally a friend came and practically body slammed him from the side and he moved his hoof over 6 inches like, 'oh, sorry, was I standing on you?'
Then the ultimate insult, TW raises his head out of the water...big spitty horse water dripping off his face...and sneezed on me.Horse snot. Nice.
I still loved my horse.
I learned how to groom him, braid his mane and tail, and muck his stall. I could saddle and bridle him by myself...I was in Heaven.
At the Camp Horse Show I got 1st place---and a fat blue ribbon---in Showmanship. TW was gorgeous! However, I think I got first place because I actually got him to trot while I ran next to him....everyone was laughing and cheering when I got his lazy ass to trot...I was practically sprinting next to him because his stride was 4 times mine! I loved my horse.
Another day, I volunteered to go to the lower pasture and bridle up the horses and bring them all the way--- through camp---back to the stable. No saddles, just a bridle.I was proud that the riding teachers thought I could do this...next stop, the Kentucky Derby?
I got in to the field with TW...lazily chewing on his grass...and he did that sideways look at me. He would NOT raise his head so I could get his bridle on.I had the bridle over my shoulder, struggling to get his big fat head up and get the bit in his mouth before he went back to his snacking. TW had a bad habit of thrusting his bit forward, with his tongue, so it was not placed properly---it would end up on the top gums of his front teeth, not back behind his back teeth. He was good at faking me out....(this will come in to play momentarily.)
My Counselor flung me up on his back---he was still eating...and I jerked his head up, got him under my control...and we were all off. We had about 6 or 7 horses...some on leads, others being ridden. We started through the Camp...getting close to the tennis courts. A 'cease fire' was called for all tennis balls as to not spook any of the horses. I felt super cool because none of my friends from home rode, and there I was, bare back, like I was riding in the Rose Parade...waving. Yeah.
Then...somebody (idiot!) yelled at another girl on a horse...the horse she was leading got loose, and started to take off.
Suddenly, TW, Mr. Lazy Ass, decided he was at Church Hill Downs and the gates had just opened...Oh crap! I thought. No saddle, no stirrups...just the reins.
(This was one of those moments you 'never forget'.)
I was pulling back on TW's reins...to no avail...he took off at a full hand gallop after the loose horse...who luckily was headed up the path to the stables.
I was holding on for dear life as tree branches were smacking me in the head.(Thank goodness I had my black velvet mixing bowl on my head!)
I assumed the 'jockey position' and put my head down next to TW's neck. Still trying to rein in my idiot 'thinks he's a derby contender' horse.
I can still hear Cooper Dawson---who ran the camp---yelling 'SLOW DOWN!
All I was thinking was 'please don't trip on the rocks TW!'...then for a brief---and I mean brief---second, I felt like Liz Taylor in 'International Velvet'.
When we reached the stables, TW came to a dead stop almost throwing me over his head. I slid off his head and hit the ground on my feet.
And I did, I am sorry to say, cry...and I punched him in the neck out of frustration and adrenaline overload! (which, coming from a 90 pounder, did not faze him as he walked over to get water.)
I know my instructors were freaking out as they rode up...
Turns out, TW had thrust his bit out...so as I was pulling him back, I was pulling on his front teeth and gums...and that had to be uncomfortable...then I felt bad.
I finally calmed down...enough to stand with TW while he got some water...yup. He was looking sideways at me...I moved my foot away from him. He continued to slurp his water---(a sound I love!)and when he raised his head, he did not drop spit all over me, or sneeze.
I led him to his stall, closed the gate, and hung up his bridle in the tack room.
I went back to see him before I walked back down the hill. He came over and put his head up so I could reach him. I scratched him between his eyes and rubbed the top of his velvety nose. He sighed...and did that horse 'coo'...not a neigh, but like a human would say 'ahhhh.'
We were friends again...and I loved my horse.

Leave A Message!

2009-06-28T10:36:00.000-07:00

I never answer my home phone.
That is why I have an 'answering' machine....'Please leave a message...BEEEEEEP.'
(Note: One acception to my rule is if I hear my kids voices...THEN I answer.)
I quit answering my phone when I was going through my divorce---almost 8 years ago---mainly because the phone calls were NEVER good ones. (That, and the fact my X's voice gives me hives.)
I also feel like my home is my sanctuary---if I don't want to talk, I don't have to.
Some other family members of mine, feel quite differently.
It actually pisses them off that I do not answer the phone!
They truly believe, like Pavlov's dogs hearing the bell, that the phone must be answered---no matter what you are doing....
Changing a diaper, making dinner, in the bathroom, throwing up, sleeping, watching a movie, playing with your kids,your hair is on fire, etc. NOT an excuse to ignore the phone. ('What is WRONG with you? You never answer the phone!!!!')
These same people will stop dead in their tracks, in the middle of a face to face conversation, to go scurry off and answer their cell phone, as well.
Wonder if they ever think about what it says to the person with whom you are within actual breathing distance of, that that tingaling-ing, or groovy melody, coming from their purse could be more important than the 'right here, right now'.
Seriously.
I mean, I understand if you are on a transplant waiting list, and they will call you when the new heart arrives---but I think they give out beepers for that...
We have become a society of common courtesy morons controlled by that damn ringer/beeper/vibrating phone!
When I see a mom picking up her kids from school, and she is talking on her cell the whole time, I seriously have the urge to grab the phone out of her hands, break it in half, and stomp it to bits.
....what is she saying to her kid?
'Sorry honey, mommy has to talk to Bipsy about our tennis match tomorrow....'
(Again, my apologies if she were discussing the heart transplant.)
So, I usually do not answer my cell either---but it has caller ID...my home phone does not.
So all yall that get pissed off because I don't answer my phone? I am not ignoring, or shunning you...no, I am not 'mad'...I am busy.
Leave a message...I'll get back to you when I finish what I am doing 'here and now'.

A Typical Summer Day 1978....

2009-06-25T13:39:00.000-07:00

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 inadvertantly '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!

It scares me when he says he's 'straightening up'...

2009-04-28T07:18:00.000-07:00

I went out of town for 4 days this past week, and my husband was left alone to bask in the glory of an empty house.
The only, ONLY, thing I asked him to 'please do', was to mow the grass...watch ESPN, hang out, burp, scratch yerself, fart out loud, whatever...but please mow the lawn.
I called each day to check in...as all good wives do.
The day before I came home we were 'chatting' and he said,'yeah...I fixed Mia's chair (the one he broke to get her out of when she got stuck)...and I have been straightening up...'
Ohhhhh crap.
My husbands idea of 'straightening up' is to get a garbage bag, and anything HE thinks is non-essential, he throws away...
(I almost hurled.)
Yes, when I got home, the house was amazingly 'straightened up'...scarily so.
Being the wise woman that I am, I decided to check the huge trash can outside---I am glad I did.
Amongst the garbage, here are a few of the items I found/retrieved:
--my Book of Common Prayer that I got when I was confirmed...the one with the program from when I went and saw Desmond Tutu speak...yes, it is tattered because it has been used!
--the rock, that sits on my dresser, from my father's grave site...(!!!!)
--ALL, and I mean ALL, of Mia's stickers...sticker books as well...
--one of Roxy's favorite chew toys...
--my antivirus software, and update software, for my computer...
---the flower box from Mia's doll house...
--my Target reciepts for things for my big kids...
--an empty box of checks...including the 'please check to see if this information is correct' note with all the account numbers, his full name and address...(hello? ID theft?)
--an application to one of my craft shows...
--various books, etc.
...yeeeaaaaahhhh.
No. I did not flip out and go all high pitched bitch on him.
I remained quite calm actually.
I think NOW, he understands that 'thou shalt NOT throw my stuff away'...
I am currently working on training him to clean toilets, mop floors, wipe down countertops, learning the power of bleach/Windex...as well as how to scrub out a fishy pan he cooked in and left on the stove for 3 days...(oh, that funky funky smell!)
I have given up on the dishwasher training....
....and, no, the grass did NOT get mowed.
Men...gotta love em! 'Bless his heart', he meant well.

Oprah and Sex...

2009-04-16T16:09:00.000-07:00

Titillating title, eh?
But seriously.
O has had a coupla shows on lately regarding sex, 'the talk', 'sexting',the 'M' word---('your daughters should learn to pleasure themselves...')
OMG!
I have a 14 yr. old and a 4 yr.old daughter...and an 11 year old son.
It was hard enough when I got pregnant with the 4 yr.old to 'explain', as the then 10 yr. old asked,'How did the baby get in there?'...she was so grossed out, and I was kinda embarrassed....but we got through it. I did not use technical terms...I talked about his 'deal', mommas 'chacha'...eggs, those things called sperm...and 'we LOVE each other and THAT is the ONLY reason to connect the deal and the chacha!'...
I know! I totally blew it...but, now I am faced with a gorgeous 14 yr old being pursued by boys...and she is going to High School next year with boys who are 4 years older...and wiser.
I hope she will make smart choices...and I guess the only thing I can do is maintain an open, non-judgemental, communication hub for her. I think I am more scared than she is...but all it takes is for me to hear about 'The Blow Job Club'...and run screaming from the room!
When I was 14, I was a total brace-faced nerd! All we wanted to do was skateboard, surf...and MAYBE play ghost in the graveyard at night at a sleepover...now they have cell phones (with cameras), texting, sexting, and all that!
'If ya like it then ya better put a ring on it'....
Would it be illegal if I crushed up birth control pills in her cereal each morning? Better yet, as soon as I know she has a 'BF' I am giving her those Pills so 'her skin will be clear.'
I am so not ready for this! But I shall remain cool...and calm! (HA.)

Tax Day 2009

2009-04-15T04:05:00.000-07:00

My H and I made the effort to get our taxes done early...so we could get some money back to pay off the new roof we had to have put on the house....and come to find out, the checks are being 'delayed' because of the bad economy....c'mon people!

The 'Joys' of Pregnancy and Childbirth: Baby #1

2009-04-13T13:17:00.000-07:00

It is said, and widely known, that pregnacy and childbirth are the greatest 'joys' of a woman's life...every mom has similiar 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 'decollette'...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...kharma?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 continuos 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 masocistic.)
Finally, the Anestheisiolgist (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' basinet---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, maintainance 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!

'MOMMY!...I had a little accident!!!'

2009-04-13T13:10:00.000-07:00

OK, nothing makes your adreneline spike like this phrase yelled from another room...(well, that and 'MOMMY! I am bleeding on the new sofa' or 'I threw up on your bed'.....)
so...
Me: '...what kind of accident sweetie?
Her: '...ummm. It's just tinkle...(pause)...and just a lil poop...'
Me: ' WHERE IS THE DOG?' (Heart rate shoots up imagining the dog...bleckkk!)
Her: ' she is right here....I took my pants off.'
Me: ' WHERE ARE YOUR PANTS????'
Her: '...um....in daddy's room...' (The Mancave)
Me: (flying down the stairs waiting to see Roxy enjoying a 'snack'...trying not to gag.)
I find said pants in 'Mancave'...no underwear....OMG!
....I stare down the dog, she looks at me like, 'Wuh-it?'
...still no underwear...Mia running around bottomless...Roxy close behind...literally...
FOUND UNDERWEAR...in the washer...and lets just say, I threw the Princess Belle ones out...(which is a bummer bc they had glitter on them...a favorite!)
Now Mia is making a sport of running around 'free and unfettered' with dog just HOPING she will stop....I 'tackle' child to the ground, careful not to get my sweater dirty...clean up...new undies, new pants...much like roping a calf---(and I do hold my arms in the air and yell 'TIME' when I am done.)
The dog is still pissed at me....

Roxy's 'date' with Parson...

2009-04-09T05:07:00.000-07:00

Roxy the Foxy Beagle had a date with Parson the Jack Russell...she was not impressed with his 'gift'.

TARHEELS WIN...and so do I...

2009-04-07T06:04:00.000-07:00

Thank you Jesus..the Heels are the National Champs!
Perhaps my life will return to normal again???
Any time there is a Carolina game on...our home goes in to 'lock down'. My husband 'prepares for the game'...wears the same clothes he had on the last time they won, sits in the exact same spot on the sofa, turns certain lights on/off...the dog cannot go out or come back in. None of us are allowed in the 'man cave'. Mentally, he goes in to a frowny trance.
Most times I just take the kids and go somewhere...the park, shopping,front yard...
If we come back home before the game is over, and the Heels start doing poorly, it is CLEARLY our fault for upsetting the balance of the karma.
Before I married my husband 6 years ago, I had never heard of this phenomena...and I did not know about the power MY husband held over the team. Shall I say I am in awe?
HA! I enjoy teasing him...it's my job!
The Heels victory is bittersweet for me. I am glad they won and 'it' is over---and I have my husband back...but life is cruel. The Master's is on this weekend. ugh.

Please let the Heels win tonight...

2009-04-06T18:33:00.000-07:00

so the slamming doors, kharma induced supersticions STOP!

I don't want to be 'the perfect mom'!...I want a shower!

2009-04-06T04:51:00.000-07:00

There has been so much in recent media-dom regarding 'how to be a perfect mom'....'ways to find time for yourself'...'guides to destress your busy life'...
I don't want to be the 'perfect' mom! I'd just like an uninterrupted, longer than 3 minute, shower.I laugh at the ads for the foaming bath washes...obviously, their kids are not at home.
Until there truly is a 30 hour day...my 'time to myself' involves folding laundry after everyone else has gone to bed...and watching Craig Ferguson.I may be actually 'losing it' because Windexing down my countertops gives me joy.
In many ways, living in a constant state of 'mom stress' keeps me going...much like being in a combat zone...the adrenaline rush is much the same when you hear a 'clunk' on the floor (that sounded like a cantaloupe hitting pavement)---the quiet hush for the inhale...(wait for it...)and the piercing screams...the bloody lip, or bumped head pushes you in to 'triage' mode...
'I NEED A PAPER TOWEL, SOME ICE... AND PINK BUNNY---STAT!!!'
Thing is, I don't have those disposable gowns to catch the blood...or red sauce...or whatever. That is why I enjoy the all black wardrobe...or at least a funky patterned shirt...hides stains better...'mommy-flage'.
No. I cannot do it all...and quite honestly, I don't care!
What I DO care about is that my kids sleep well, eat SOMETHING that is not white, yellow, or sugary...wear clean clothes, and bathe. I care that they become nice people, and compassionate grown ups...and love animals...maybe learn to garden by watching me...
Gotta go...the dog is eating a red marker on the burber rug...
'I NEED A WET PAPER TOWEL, SOME 'SHOUT'...AND THE BITTER APPLE SPRAY---STAT!!!'
(fade to black)

Mia said...(observation)

2009-04-04T18:02:00.000-07:00

I am giving Mia her bath bc Daddy has to watch the UNC game...
Anyway...
Mia has a floaty boat in the tub...
I say,'...that's the 'S.S. Mia'...'
and she says, 'no...momma, it's the Friendship...get it? Friend Ship...'
Little Miss Sense of Humor!

Dead Mole Lollipops and Black Widows...

2009-04-04T16:01:00.000-07:00

So today, besides moving plants around the yard AND having a garage sale...I decided to clean out the garage...I mean REALLY clean it out!I moved stuff away from the walls that has not been touched in 6 years...oy!
Beside the usual leaves, crud and spider webs...it was like a treasure hunt of 'gee, what died here?'
I moved stuff away from one wall...acorn shells....mouse droppings...animal fur...ANIMAL FUR?OMG!
It was the remains of a dead mouse...gray fur and bones...geez!
(wow! Sylvia has been workin hard!)
I start to sweep said bones and fur away....and out pops the BIGGEST FRICKIN Black Widow SPIDER I have EVER ever seen!!!!
I HATE spiders! I can handle snakes, mice, moles...but NOT spiders!
After my initial FREAK out...(no, I did not scream like a girl.)...I took my shoe OFF----yes, bc she coulda run up my leg, pounced on my face and sucked my eyeballs out---and SQUISHED the livin' crap outta her.
Not once but 3 times...she was the size of a frickin GRAPE---with the guts to match!Then I did the 'heebie geebie' dance...and swept her remains away....BLEEECCCKKKK!Needless to say, the dead mole I found later was a 'piece of cake'...or rather, looked like some sick kind of carnivore lollipop...actually quite interesting....you could see the bone structure and it's teeth....
It did get 'airborne' though when I took it to the trash---daggone wind!

Mia said...(observation)

2009-04-01T04:43:00.000-07:00

we were strolling to the park yesterday and Mia said,
'Momma....wouldn't it be cool if it snowed purple snow?'

That would be very cool!

If I went on strike...for real.

2009-03-27T13:50:00.000-07:00

Not that I can or will, but I can fantasize...I love my family, and my life...but a girl can dream...and laugh!Here's how it would go, yall:
In the middle of the night,(3a.m.-ish) when the dog starts barking, you, my love, can get out of the nice warm bed---bumping around in the darkness like Helen Keller--- and let her out....wait for her to do her business, and hope she does not start howling at the rabbits.
Oh...she stepped in poo? Go find a 'dog towel'(in garage)...re-kennel dog, or she will eat the furniture.
When the baby needs to be nursed(every 3 hours)---pony up dude! Enjoy.
And when there's the inevitable 'blow out diaper' and you can't find any wipes, deal with it.
(this only applies when there is an infant in the house, obviously we are past that point.)
When the toddler has a night terror and cannot be consoled, you get to sleep in the twin bed with her---have fun getting punched in the face, having your hair pulled,and kicked in the gut because she's a restless sleeper.
Hopefully she will remain asleep and not wake up and try to stick her finger in your eye, or up your nose.
You will learn to live with the back pain, and crick in your neck--I suggest Motrin.
When the baby has a crusty, snotty---resembling green snails--- nose, use your own sleeve to wipe it off---it is not a biohazard.
(Fever? Thermometers are for amatuers...put your cheek on her head.You'll know.)
No, your coffee will not be ready when you get up in the morning...make it yourself.
While you are waiting and waiting for it to brew, jump on those dishes in the sink....(the dishwasher is that big shiny thing to the right)...
...feed, and get water for, the dog...let her out again.
Kids...wake yourselves up, find your own clothes, socks and shoes...I have no idea where you left them.
Breakfast? Hmm let's see...I think it's in the kitchen? And when you make your own school lunches, all carbs does not count as healthy.
...and don't forget your homework, class project, and permission slips.
Your soccer uniform, cleats, schin guards and socks are probably still in a muddy sweaty pile in your room---along with your damp bath towel...I'd start there looking for them.
(No, I still don't know where your shoes are.)
After your coffee, remember, you can only use the restroom with an audience....all the time.(or, if you lock the door---which I highly recommend---be ready to see how many little race cars can zoom under the door....be prepared to shoot them back through.)
Forget about that relaxing steamy morning shower...unless you need an audience as well.
(Again, I suggest locking the door...unless you are really ready for the inevitable anatomy question and answer period...which will most definitely be 'shared' with people at the market.)
If you would like 25 minutes, put in a DVD...can't find the Strawberry Shortcake video to occupy said audience...hmmm...try Sponge Bob.
The continuous knocking on the door should not alarm you...she probably is not wearing pants and has had 'a accident!'...or put shampoo on the dog and dusted the dog with powder.
Maybe she gave your nice watch to the dog to play with?
Remain calm---she was 'just helping,.' (smile!)
No you don't get to dry your hair, or shave...and please clean out the sink if you do.
Scoop the catbox and put it in the outside trash...pull the can to the street if you remember which day is garbage day....and don't forget the recycle stuff...keep looking...there are always a few cans that get away.
While you get dressed---you will be stopping everything to deal with hurt feelings, scraped knees, splinters and kid fights...so, be quick about it.
(No, I don't know where your shoes are either...maybe the dog ate them because you did not put them up?)
Everyone, make your own beds. Pick up your own toys...and books.
Remember to turn off all the lights before you leave the house...and let in and kennel the dog. (don't forget her treat!)
Find your own keys.
No, you can't just get in the car and go.
You have to buckle the toddler in to her car seat, give her a book...did you remember a sippy cup?
The big kids will fight over who gets the front seat...and no, 'poopy diaper head' is not a compliment.
The kicking in the base of your seat would be the toddler---don't be alarmed...you will get used to it.
Enjoy the many many renditions of preschool songs...sung, then yelled...and just keep the radio on top 40, bc you can't listen to the sports network.
Whomever ended up in the back seat will always pick on the other in the front---just block it out.(Change your name for the day to Umberto, and tell them you will not answer unless addressed by this name.)
When you get to your destination...no, you can't just get out of the car and walk in.
Get toddler out and while holding on to her, grab her backpack...she will want you to carry all 35lbs. of her in to the building.
Drop off child---don't linger even if she gives you the big teary puppy eyes.
Its better to 'stop-drop- and run'...RUN!
When you return home ('office') you can have another cup of coffee and listen to CNN...in the meantime, switch over the laundry, and put in another load.
I suggest you seperate the lights and darks...make sure there is not a Pullup hidden in there---they expand and blow up in the washer...it's a mess.
Next, the dog needs to be walked...good luck figuring out the harness.
I have faith you will get it---eventually.
When you return from 30 minute 'pull-fest' (aka: walk) with dog, give her some water. This is her naptime, so, she will go sleep on the sofa...she is not allowed to sleep on the good sofa so close monitoring is encouraged.
Switch dry laundry to baskets---there will be one for each person in the house...I suggest folding as you put them in...saves time when you will be putting everyones laundry away---if you ever get to that.
Switch wet laundry to dryer...start another load.
(Check that dog is not on good sofa.)
Eat a protien bar/banana/apple if you feel woozy---you don't have time to eat.
Clean up breakfast dishes---putting them in the sink does NOT count...again, look for the big shiny thing to the right---that's where they go!
Answer emails, return calls, make doctors appointments...make notes to stick on everybody's doors regarding said appointments.
(Jot them on wall calender and in your book---you will be responsible for re-reminding everyone.)
Twice a week(or more), vaccuum...let dog out bc she will bark herself crazy at the machine.
Once a week change sheets on all beds, clean toilets, showers, floors.
(gather, daily, the endless laundry)
If the dog yacks in her kennel, this must be dealt with immediately.
Clean up warm gooey goodness...and try not to yack yourself!
Put all dirty dog bedding in washing machine---when the last load finishes.
If yack is on rug....clean up with recycle grocery bags....use little carpet machine...you can figure that one out. (and you have to let the dog out again bc she will bark at this machine as well.)Think of something for dinner, and try to go to market while all kids are gone...(instructions to follow if you have to take all 3 with you.)
Upon return,unload groceries, clean up bags, wipe down counters.
Try to focus and make jewelry...or think of design ideas for clients.
Contact clients, work on website...hunt for business opportunities.
1250---pick up toddler.
Inevitably, she will not have eaten her lunch, so, prepare to eat out, or cook at home....She could be in a great mood, but more than likely she will be tired ,cranky and ornery.
'No' and 'I DONT WANT TOOOO" will seem the only speech pattern she is able to speak.
Since she no longer naps...she will be instrumental in 'helping out' the rest of the day...the whining kind of becomes like background music.
Learn that,'say please', 'we don't hit/yell/ stick our fingers in our nose' as well as 'do you need to go potty' will be the most repeated phrases of your day.
Carry loads of laundry upstairs, and put away.......and try to remember that you are a college educated adult...OK?
I don't want to overwhelm you, so, I will leave you with this....kind of like an 'appetizer'.
The afternoon and evening 'shifts' are to come.
All my love....'Wife/Mom'
ps: I turned my cell phone off.