Do you ever watch the news where they have those bad neighbor reports? The ones where a news team gets involved because two neighbors are at war with each other over something like lawn ornaments or abandoned cars up on blocks. I live in a deed restricted community; a community that is supposed to have some sort of laws that protect homeowners from crap and trash accumulating in their neighbor’s yards. However, it seems that these restrictions aren’t restrictions as much as they are merely suggestions.
A few years ago we got a warning ticket for parking an RV in our driveway before going camping so I could clean it; What a bunch of old fu*#@^$ with nothing better to do than drive around and find small infractions to warn people about. A few months ago a manufactured home got moved into the area, which is a major infraction against the deed restrictions. What is going to happen…ABSOLUTLY FRIGGIN NOTHING! Figures right?
In the midst of a crappy housing market, dropping property values, and jacked up deed restriction enforcements we have yet another set of whisky tango neighbors that moved in next door. I don’t know much about them except what I’ve observed from the times I’ve spent spying on them out my patio window, my brief conversation with the mom in which I wasn’t sure which one of her two eyes was looking at me, and to tell the dad that one of his (many) animals was loose in my yard which he replied politely, “I know”. Then smiled.
In my musings on how we are going to handle this situation I am opting for an animal relocation program. Yes, this may be a little rash. I can admit that. On the other hand have you ever tried to explain to your two year old why they can’t have a king sized Snicker bar at ten o’clock at night when they are in the middle of a siren screaming, carpet pulling, body-flailing tantrum? If you have, you know where I’m coming from when I say there is just no reasoning with that kind of mental being.
I don’t know what we will do, short of bulking up the privacy fence fund or getting the hell out of dodge but I know staying off their radar is the way I’d prefer to go.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Family Battle
Some semblance of hell visited my house this past week. It showed up in the form of the pukies, high temperatures, missed school, and mommy overload. After three whole days of,
“Mommy can I have more Sprite?”
“Mommy my wash rag is hot.”
“Mommy I threw up.”
I had a migraine headache so big it was wildly waving its middle finger at the slew of narcotics I was trying - unsuccessfully to do battle with. In the spirit of not leaving any man behind I do have to give props to Geronimo for holding down the fort every single night; he did so with the “family sense of duty” I so admire in him. But anyway, I digress.
This migraine had taken the base of my neck hostage and diverted soldiers into both of my eyeballs. After one heating pad, cold washrag, a trip to visit the porcelain throne where I sacrificed my dinner to the brutal beast, and twenty straight hours of uninterrupted sleep (as uninterrupted as it can get with two small children screaming at the top of their lungs every few minutes or so) I awoke to shower and explain three days worth of homework to a less than interested Sensei.
Three hours after starting that whole adventure…..I ditched the last three assignments on Geronimo and began my own preparation for a speech I have to deliver first thing in the morning! No worries, I completed the outline and now I’m giving it a rest before I have to memorize the whole damn thing, less I look like a complete fool.
Inhale - exhale.
Crap, I can feel those little bastards reassembling the troops.
“Mommy can I have more Sprite?”
“Mommy my wash rag is hot.”
“Mommy I threw up.”
I had a migraine headache so big it was wildly waving its middle finger at the slew of narcotics I was trying - unsuccessfully to do battle with. In the spirit of not leaving any man behind I do have to give props to Geronimo for holding down the fort every single night; he did so with the “family sense of duty” I so admire in him. But anyway, I digress.
This migraine had taken the base of my neck hostage and diverted soldiers into both of my eyeballs. After one heating pad, cold washrag, a trip to visit the porcelain throne where I sacrificed my dinner to the brutal beast, and twenty straight hours of uninterrupted sleep (as uninterrupted as it can get with two small children screaming at the top of their lungs every few minutes or so) I awoke to shower and explain three days worth of homework to a less than interested Sensei.
Three hours after starting that whole adventure…..I ditched the last three assignments on Geronimo and began my own preparation for a speech I have to deliver first thing in the morning! No worries, I completed the outline and now I’m giving it a rest before I have to memorize the whole damn thing, less I look like a complete fool.
Inhale - exhale.
Crap, I can feel those little bastards reassembling the troops.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
GROWING UP GLAM
Today I received an email from one of my girlie friends about growing up in the
80’s. I couldn’t resist commenting on a few of my favorites.
You Know You Grew Up In the 80's if:
1. You can sing the rap to the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and can do the Carlton.
“Here is a story all about how my life got turned flipped upside down.” Yeah baby!
2. You got super-excited when it was Oregon Trail day in computer class at school.
I didn’t have a flipping clue what a broken axel meant but I sure as heck knew it would be catastrophic to my covered wagon.
3. You know the profound meaning of " WAX ON , WAX OFF"
Ahh…Danielson.
4. You wanted to be a Goonie.
I soooo wanted to be that hot Andie chick.
5. You remember boom boxes and walking around with one on your shoulder.
Anyone else remember getting caught with the bootleg cassette tape of NWA?
6. You thought Doogie Howser/Samantha Micelli was hot.
Boy how things change. Doogie is still hot but unfortunately is hitting for the other team and Sam looks like a run through crack whore. We are talking lose, lose situation here.
7. You know all the words to Bon Jovi - SHOT THROUGH THE HEART.
….and it still gets your motor running. (Watch the New Year’s Eve episode of How I Met Your Mother staring Neil Patrick Harris a.k.a. Doogie.)
8. You tight rolled your jeans.
SERIOUSLY! What the #$@* was that all about? I did it, but I’m not even really sure why?
80’s. I couldn’t resist commenting on a few of my favorites.
You Know You Grew Up In the 80's if:
1. You can sing the rap to the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and can do the Carlton.
“Here is a story all about how my life got turned flipped upside down.” Yeah baby!
2. You got super-excited when it was Oregon Trail day in computer class at school.
I didn’t have a flipping clue what a broken axel meant but I sure as heck knew it would be catastrophic to my covered wagon.
3. You know the profound meaning of " WAX ON , WAX OFF"
Ahh…Danielson.
4. You wanted to be a Goonie.
I soooo wanted to be that hot Andie chick.
5. You remember boom boxes and walking around with one on your shoulder.
Anyone else remember getting caught with the bootleg cassette tape of NWA?
6. You thought Doogie Howser/Samantha Micelli was hot.
Boy how things change. Doogie is still hot but unfortunately is hitting for the other team and Sam looks like a run through crack whore. We are talking lose, lose situation here.
7. You know all the words to Bon Jovi - SHOT THROUGH THE HEART.
….and it still gets your motor running. (Watch the New Year’s Eve episode of How I Met Your Mother staring Neil Patrick Harris a.k.a. Doogie.)
8. You tight rolled your jeans.
SERIOUSLY! What the #$@* was that all about? I did it, but I’m not even really sure why?
Friday, February 8, 2008
Reconciliation
What we know, thus what we understand about the circumstances that occur in our own lives, is based on our perspective. Perspective is relative; it is a point of view that can morph and change over time. For some seasons our perspectives stay the same based on what we know to be fact. Other times, knowledge is gained and we change the state of our own ideas.
For example, in childhood, we want to know “why” all the time. We unknowingly are shaping our perspective by our inquiring of others. In asking “why” as a young child, we can only hope that those who are helping to shape us, our perspective, can be trusted. Still, some say it is our lack of perspective that protects us when we are children. Only later in life are we able to look back on our past and see the big picture; it is then that we decide what perspective we will take.
In my own life, there have been many times when I have been able to examine an event and choose my outward response despite my initial inward reaction all because of the perspective I have gained through life. I believe our vines begin to bloom when we gain knowledge in this capacity. I’m not convinced it wouldn’t be rash to try and approach all of life’s events this way though. We still have to honor whatever process may be necessary to get to our chosen destination.
My truths now are different than the truths I believed in childhood. Growing up, I believed our upstairs hallway was so long that one day I could get married in it if I wanted to. I also believed lyrics in one of Billy Idol’s songs were “running bulldozer” instead of “ride the pony,” and I didn’t realize that not everyone knew what being loyal meant.
Today, I believe that there is absolute truth. I believe now that there are things I am not meant to understand. Comfort can be found in this truth, so can anger. It isn’t the things we face, but instead, how we choose to face them. Since there are things I am not meant to understand, I don’t believe I’d like to pretend I know how to be in control. I think I’ll live by faith and find out “why” when God decides it’s time.
For example, in childhood, we want to know “why” all the time. We unknowingly are shaping our perspective by our inquiring of others. In asking “why” as a young child, we can only hope that those who are helping to shape us, our perspective, can be trusted. Still, some say it is our lack of perspective that protects us when we are children. Only later in life are we able to look back on our past and see the big picture; it is then that we decide what perspective we will take.
In my own life, there have been many times when I have been able to examine an event and choose my outward response despite my initial inward reaction all because of the perspective I have gained through life. I believe our vines begin to bloom when we gain knowledge in this capacity. I’m not convinced it wouldn’t be rash to try and approach all of life’s events this way though. We still have to honor whatever process may be necessary to get to our chosen destination.
My truths now are different than the truths I believed in childhood. Growing up, I believed our upstairs hallway was so long that one day I could get married in it if I wanted to. I also believed lyrics in one of Billy Idol’s songs were “running bulldozer” instead of “ride the pony,” and I didn’t realize that not everyone knew what being loyal meant.
Today, I believe that there is absolute truth. I believe now that there are things I am not meant to understand. Comfort can be found in this truth, so can anger. It isn’t the things we face, but instead, how we choose to face them. Since there are things I am not meant to understand, I don’t believe I’d like to pretend I know how to be in control. I think I’ll live by faith and find out “why” when God decides it’s time.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
TEN REASONS WHY I DON’T MISS NORTHERN WINTERS
1. Chapped Lips
Scabby, swollen, bleeding lips are not becoming.
2. Having to scrape a car windshield with a cheap piece of plastic.
3. Scooping the driveway and sidewalks & then scooping your elderly neighbor’s driveway and sidewalks because you’ll feel guilty if you don’t.
4. Slush
If one little iota of a pant leg touches the slush you’re done for.
Pant leg verses Kotex – and the winner is?
5. Grey skies and bare trees.
Nothing makes you feel more alive and productive than dead leaves and a dismal skyline. All those “think good thoughts/law of attraction” preachers must live in the south.
6. Closed toe shoes.
A new pair of boots can only keep you happy for so long.
7. Leather upholstery
Is an explanation even needed here?
8. Snake scales for skin
9. Dressing in layers
Cold outside, cold in car, suddenly hot in car, freeze when leaving car, hot again at destination, rinse & repeat several more times throughout the day.
10. Wearing trash bags to keep socks dry.
Trust me – Paris won’t be calling for those sketches anytime soon.
Scabby, swollen, bleeding lips are not becoming.
2. Having to scrape a car windshield with a cheap piece of plastic.
3. Scooping the driveway and sidewalks & then scooping your elderly neighbor’s driveway and sidewalks because you’ll feel guilty if you don’t.
4. Slush
If one little iota of a pant leg touches the slush you’re done for.
Pant leg verses Kotex – and the winner is?
5. Grey skies and bare trees.
Nothing makes you feel more alive and productive than dead leaves and a dismal skyline. All those “think good thoughts/law of attraction” preachers must live in the south.
6. Closed toe shoes.
A new pair of boots can only keep you happy for so long.
7. Leather upholstery
Is an explanation even needed here?
8. Snake scales for skin
9. Dressing in layers
Cold outside, cold in car, suddenly hot in car, freeze when leaving car, hot again at destination, rinse & repeat several more times throughout the day.
10. Wearing trash bags to keep socks dry.
Trust me – Paris won’t be calling for those sketches anytime soon.
Monday, February 4, 2008
A Big Thank You!
I was told by a reader (who loves my writings) to visit a blog at:
www.dooce.com
I admire Heather Armstrong's writings and I enjoy the ability to be entertained by her crafting of words and insights. I respect people who put themselves on the line and talk about their thoughts, life, and struggles. It doesn't matter if I always agree, sometimes agree, or never agree; judgement is reserved only for one entity.
I was reading her notes about receiving more hate mail when her family got another puppy. It made me laugh and interestingly it made me rally behind her as a fan.
How ironic things can be sometimes. Just today, I seem to be experiencing the same thing because the hits on my blog have almost doubled in less than twenty-four hours.
Note to self: Don't be nice, offend some stuffy stay-at-home mom and a surge in your blog hits will ensue plus fans will come out of the woodwork to support you. I learn something new everyday.
Thoughts To Ponder: Some people take themselves way beyond serious.
www.dooce.com
I admire Heather Armstrong's writings and I enjoy the ability to be entertained by her crafting of words and insights. I respect people who put themselves on the line and talk about their thoughts, life, and struggles. It doesn't matter if I always agree, sometimes agree, or never agree; judgement is reserved only for one entity.
I was reading her notes about receiving more hate mail when her family got another puppy. It made me laugh and interestingly it made me rally behind her as a fan.
How ironic things can be sometimes. Just today, I seem to be experiencing the same thing because the hits on my blog have almost doubled in less than twenty-four hours.
Note to self: Don't be nice, offend some stuffy stay-at-home mom and a surge in your blog hits will ensue plus fans will come out of the woodwork to support you. I learn something new everyday.
Thoughts To Ponder: Some people take themselves way beyond serious.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Weekend Update - Dedicated To My First Concerned Reader
Don’t worry, you are not special and I did not choose you to receive word of my new blog. If the email was sent as an fwd. (forward), that means that someone you know thought you might be interested in reading what I have to say. If that were the case, you should seriously put more thought into your choice of friends. Just who are you associating yourself with considering you seem a little bit disturbed by the fact that I don’t pretend to be a perfect wife, parent, or Christian for that matter? You should try being real sometime, it is quite liberating. So is something called GRACE.
Thought for the day: Who said diamonds are a girl’s best friend? I vote for sarcasm.
Thought for the day: Who said diamonds are a girl’s best friend? I vote for sarcasm.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
The Christmas Loser
One evening in December as we are getting ready to go to bed, The Wiz (4) comes up to me in the laundry room acting really sad and twirling the side of her hair like she does when she’s upset. The following dialogue takes place:
“Mommy, am I the Christmas loser?”
“What? Who told you that? If Sensei told you that she is going to be in big trouble.”
“Mrs.Y said I was.” (Mrs. Y is her preschool teacher)
I raise my eyebrow, “Mrs. Y did not say you were a loser.
“Yes she did and April even saw it and said it too. It made me sad.”
“Wiz, what are you talking about?”
“I can show you, it is in my bag and then I had to have a time-out.”
By this time I am really confused on what is going on, my kid was supposedly called a loser in preschool by her teacher and a fellow student, it wasn’t adding up and I wasn’t sure which 50% of this story was the truth and which part was fiction.
“What do you mean it is in your bag?”
“It is on my paper.”
“Go get your backpack and let me see.”
She runs off, ready to prove to me that she is dead serious. She returns to me with a worksheet and quickly puts it in my hands. I am fully prepared to seek justice if needed.
“See!” She jabs her finger at an ink stamp impression on the worksheet.
“That?” I point and ask for clarification that we are indeed looking at the same thing.
“Yes, that says loser. April said Mrs. Y said I was a loser and told everyone else too. April is five you know and she can read.”
“Honey, that is not what that says. Mrs. Y would never call you a loser. That stamp says, HO-HO-HO. It is a Christmas stamp, like how Santa Claus says HO-HO-HO. It does not say LOSER. April was not telling you the truth. Baby, I’m sorry she said that. Why did you have to sit in time out? Did you hit her when she said that?”
“No” tears start to fall out of her little blue eyes. “April went and told on me and I had to sit in time-out.”
“Why would you have to sit in time out?”
She shrugs her shoulders.
“I told her I wasn’t going to be her friend anymore and she started to cry and Mrs. Y said I had to apologize.”
“Did you tell Mrs. Y that what April had said?”
“No.”
“Did you apologize?”
“No.” (How wrong is it of me that I actually felt glad about this?)
“You just sat in time-out?”
“Yes.”
Needless to say, lots of esteem building and coddling occurred after this conversation and I did let Mrs. Y know The Wiz’s version. I explained to Wiz about not saying mean things back just because someone says them to you but it was more difficult trying to explain the difference between being a tattletale and standing up to tell the truth. This isn’t my first kid or my first time around the preschool block by any means so I was fully prepared for April’s mom (a newcomer to the preschool world) to come my way expecting an apology from me on Wiz’s part. Thankfully that didn’t happen because as nice as I would have been about explaining the situation, there wouldn’t have been an apology.
“Mommy, am I the Christmas loser?”
“What? Who told you that? If Sensei told you that she is going to be in big trouble.”
“Mrs.Y said I was.” (Mrs. Y is her preschool teacher)
I raise my eyebrow, “Mrs. Y did not say you were a loser.
“Yes she did and April even saw it and said it too. It made me sad.”
“Wiz, what are you talking about?”
“I can show you, it is in my bag and then I had to have a time-out.”
By this time I am really confused on what is going on, my kid was supposedly called a loser in preschool by her teacher and a fellow student, it wasn’t adding up and I wasn’t sure which 50% of this story was the truth and which part was fiction.
“What do you mean it is in your bag?”
“It is on my paper.”
“Go get your backpack and let me see.”
She runs off, ready to prove to me that she is dead serious. She returns to me with a worksheet and quickly puts it in my hands. I am fully prepared to seek justice if needed.
“See!” She jabs her finger at an ink stamp impression on the worksheet.
“That?” I point and ask for clarification that we are indeed looking at the same thing.
“Yes, that says loser. April said Mrs. Y said I was a loser and told everyone else too. April is five you know and she can read.”
“Honey, that is not what that says. Mrs. Y would never call you a loser. That stamp says, HO-HO-HO. It is a Christmas stamp, like how Santa Claus says HO-HO-HO. It does not say LOSER. April was not telling you the truth. Baby, I’m sorry she said that. Why did you have to sit in time out? Did you hit her when she said that?”
“No” tears start to fall out of her little blue eyes. “April went and told on me and I had to sit in time-out.”
“Why would you have to sit in time out?”
She shrugs her shoulders.
“I told her I wasn’t going to be her friend anymore and she started to cry and Mrs. Y said I had to apologize.”
“Did you tell Mrs. Y that what April had said?”
“No.”
“Did you apologize?”
“No.” (How wrong is it of me that I actually felt glad about this?)
“You just sat in time-out?”
“Yes.”
Needless to say, lots of esteem building and coddling occurred after this conversation and I did let Mrs. Y know The Wiz’s version. I explained to Wiz about not saying mean things back just because someone says them to you but it was more difficult trying to explain the difference between being a tattletale and standing up to tell the truth. This isn’t my first kid or my first time around the preschool block by any means so I was fully prepared for April’s mom (a newcomer to the preschool world) to come my way expecting an apology from me on Wiz’s part. Thankfully that didn’t happen because as nice as I would have been about explaining the situation, there wouldn’t have been an apology.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
My Thoughts on Michelle Duggar: A Love/Hate Relationship
You all know whom I’m talking about when I say Michelle Duggar right? If not, take a moment and pull yourself up out of the stinky diaper pail or away from that blasted laundry and educate yourself. Michelle is a lady who lives in Arkansas with her devoted husband Jim Bob and their SEVENTEEN BIOLOGICAL CHILDREN that she personally carried to term in her freakishly stable uterus. Michelle and Jim Bob’s kids range in age from nineteen to newborn and they live a debt free life in a 7,000 square foot home that they partially built themselves.
The Duggar family has their own reality TV show that has undergone a few name changes since it first aired, but is always called something wildly appropriate with the word Duggar in it. The show broadcasts on The Learning Channel (TLC) and chronicles what daily life is like for a family of nineteen. The most recent episode I witnessed was when TLC taped a RV trip of the family traveling across the country. At one point, it had been arranged for the Duggars to take a private airplane ride over the Grand Canyon. In the first shot you see everyone very excited and anxious for the departure from land to air and in the second part of the footage you see sixteen out of nineteen Duggars blowing chunks into wax coated paper sacks. Can television really get anymore exciting than this?
Where my feelings turn a little bit hostile towards Michelle Duggar is when I watch this lady with seventeen kids run and manage her house like nobody’s business. She has got her (insert four letter expletive here) together. Every time I finish watching this 2008 version of Little House on the Prairie, I feel completely and utterly inadequate to be raising children.
One word to describe Michelle?
That sentiment can be summed up perfectly by Katherine Heigl’s (LOVE HER!!) character in her new movie 27 Dresses. Part of the movie shows a newspaper reporter asking her if she ever needs anyone to take care of her and she replies sarcastically, “No, I’m Jesus.” After watching an episode of the Duggars you will have to agree with me that Michelle Duggar has some sort of IV hooked up and running straight from her heart into Jesus’ forehead. This plastic tubing, invisible to the general public and only for the select few apparently, must pump vast amounts of patience, perseverance, and crazy into her body on a daily basis.
In summary, if I didn’t like Michelle Duggar so much – I’d want to slap her.
The Duggar family has their own reality TV show that has undergone a few name changes since it first aired, but is always called something wildly appropriate with the word Duggar in it. The show broadcasts on The Learning Channel (TLC) and chronicles what daily life is like for a family of nineteen. The most recent episode I witnessed was when TLC taped a RV trip of the family traveling across the country. At one point, it had been arranged for the Duggars to take a private airplane ride over the Grand Canyon. In the first shot you see everyone very excited and anxious for the departure from land to air and in the second part of the footage you see sixteen out of nineteen Duggars blowing chunks into wax coated paper sacks. Can television really get anymore exciting than this?
Where my feelings turn a little bit hostile towards Michelle Duggar is when I watch this lady with seventeen kids run and manage her house like nobody’s business. She has got her (insert four letter expletive here) together. Every time I finish watching this 2008 version of Little House on the Prairie, I feel completely and utterly inadequate to be raising children.
One word to describe Michelle?
That sentiment can be summed up perfectly by Katherine Heigl’s (LOVE HER!!) character in her new movie 27 Dresses. Part of the movie shows a newspaper reporter asking her if she ever needs anyone to take care of her and she replies sarcastically, “No, I’m Jesus.” After watching an episode of the Duggars you will have to agree with me that Michelle Duggar has some sort of IV hooked up and running straight from her heart into Jesus’ forehead. This plastic tubing, invisible to the general public and only for the select few apparently, must pump vast amounts of patience, perseverance, and crazy into her body on a daily basis.
In summary, if I didn’t like Michelle Duggar so much – I’d want to slap her.
Monday, January 28, 2008
"Music Is The Soul Of Language." - Max Heindel
Did you know that as human beings we tend to place things into categories, thus creating order and structure in our world? I’m sure there are many different ways a person can go about doing this in their day-to-day life. I’ve noticed that I personally order things by songs and sometimes types of alcohol. For example, mango margaritas will forever remind me of the time my best friend and I sang karaoke to Joan Jet at a beach bar. FYI, Hit Me With Your Best Shot did not receive a standing ovation.
Certain songs become hits for a reason and it’s because our soul identifies with them. Almost every song I love, I can place a memory with it. Recently I was listening to the song Don’t Blink off Kenny Chesney’s Just Who I Am, Poets and Pirates cd. A few lines of one verse say:
‘Let’s start puttin’ first things first’
‘Cause when your hourglass runs outta sand
You can’t flip it over, start again
Take every breath God gives you, for what it’s worth
These lyrics had me thinking about an old friend that possessed a whole playlist of songs in my life. We had had a falling out almost ten years back and I had often thought with a shrug of my shoulders, it was what it was; there was nothing I could do to change the past. Eventually I realized that while I couldn’t change the past, I could try to put my best foot forward and start from the present.
I was scared out of my mind to approach this person but I did. The white flag that did prevail opened up a floodgate of emotion that I hadn’t been expecting and filled a small pool of longing that had been drained for way to long. Honest Abe Lincoln really hit the nail on the head when he declared, “The better part of ones life consists in his friendships.”
I challenge you to get in touch with a long lost friend or settle a difference that has been lingering. While it is necessary to constantly evolve in our friendships and gain new perspectives, sometimes the past shouldn’t just stay in the past.
Certain songs become hits for a reason and it’s because our soul identifies with them. Almost every song I love, I can place a memory with it. Recently I was listening to the song Don’t Blink off Kenny Chesney’s Just Who I Am, Poets and Pirates cd. A few lines of one verse say:
‘Let’s start puttin’ first things first’
‘Cause when your hourglass runs outta sand
You can’t flip it over, start again
Take every breath God gives you, for what it’s worth
These lyrics had me thinking about an old friend that possessed a whole playlist of songs in my life. We had had a falling out almost ten years back and I had often thought with a shrug of my shoulders, it was what it was; there was nothing I could do to change the past. Eventually I realized that while I couldn’t change the past, I could try to put my best foot forward and start from the present.
I was scared out of my mind to approach this person but I did. The white flag that did prevail opened up a floodgate of emotion that I hadn’t been expecting and filled a small pool of longing that had been drained for way to long. Honest Abe Lincoln really hit the nail on the head when he declared, “The better part of ones life consists in his friendships.”
I challenge you to get in touch with a long lost friend or settle a difference that has been lingering. While it is necessary to constantly evolve in our friendships and gain new perspectives, sometimes the past shouldn’t just stay in the past.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Does Poison Control Keep Tabs?
I was angry, I was worried, and I was laughing hysterically. The whole saga began in the morning when Sensei wanted to use the fingernail polish (all by herself) to paint her fingernails. No, I told her. I had a baby shower to attend and I was running late, maybe later. Later came sooner than I had expected it to and Sensei was once again perched in front of me requesting to paint her nails. All I really wanted to do was read my book (uninterrupted) but I reluctantly agreed.
I gave instructions for Sensei to pick out her polish color and get a bath towel to put on the dining room table. I told her to paint her nails, screw the lid back on tight the minute she was done, and get everything back in my closet before The Wiz woke up. Ten minutes later Sensei was nowhere in sight but I could hear her opening and shutting the cabinet doors in my bathroom. I yelled from the living room to ask Sensei what she was doing. “Nothing!” was her reply as she quickly pushed the bathroom door all the way shut and locked it.
Faster than NFL player Willie Parker I was at the bathroom door demanding it be opened immediately –NOW! Sensei opens the door trying to cover her face but plain as day I see the “hooker red” nail polish all over her face. She looks like she’s gone toe to toe with a Sioux Indian tribe. On the bathroom vanity I see Palmers Stretch Mark lotion, witch hazel, and yes, the kicker KY Jelly, her products of choice to try and remove her crimson artwork.
Long story short, I call Poison Control because I am fairly certain we should not use nail polish remover on her face. I can’t contain myself any longer and burst into a fit of hysteria as I hear myself say, “She just didn’t fully understand the properties of nail polish, I guess.” I’m laughing, Geronimo is laughing, and Sensei is in the closet yelling at us to quit laughing. We can’t contain ourselves.
The Poison Control operator isn’t laughing but instead silently typing in my name, phone number, daughter’s name, age, weight, my dress size, square footage of our house, if we’ve taken any parenting classes lately, you know the standard. I suddenly see myself back sliding, my hopes of becoming mother of the year disappearing right in front of my eyes. I start to wonder how many times can you call Poison Control before they submit your name to the authorities for questionable parenting practices.
At any rate, the professional advice I received was to wash her face with soap and wait for it to come off on its own. Right, as if Sensei is going to go out into public looking like a Geisha girl. Instead, I make Sensei pose for a picture promising she’ll laugh about it when she’s older and get to work on her face with a bottle of olive oil and a washrag. The removal is fairly quick and painless; I’m actually quite impressed with my own cleverness.
By the way, if you see hindsight anywhere let me know, I’d like to have a chat.
I gave instructions for Sensei to pick out her polish color and get a bath towel to put on the dining room table. I told her to paint her nails, screw the lid back on tight the minute she was done, and get everything back in my closet before The Wiz woke up. Ten minutes later Sensei was nowhere in sight but I could hear her opening and shutting the cabinet doors in my bathroom. I yelled from the living room to ask Sensei what she was doing. “Nothing!” was her reply as she quickly pushed the bathroom door all the way shut and locked it.
Faster than NFL player Willie Parker I was at the bathroom door demanding it be opened immediately –NOW! Sensei opens the door trying to cover her face but plain as day I see the “hooker red” nail polish all over her face. She looks like she’s gone toe to toe with a Sioux Indian tribe. On the bathroom vanity I see Palmers Stretch Mark lotion, witch hazel, and yes, the kicker KY Jelly, her products of choice to try and remove her crimson artwork.
Long story short, I call Poison Control because I am fairly certain we should not use nail polish remover on her face. I can’t contain myself any longer and burst into a fit of hysteria as I hear myself say, “She just didn’t fully understand the properties of nail polish, I guess.” I’m laughing, Geronimo is laughing, and Sensei is in the closet yelling at us to quit laughing. We can’t contain ourselves.
The Poison Control operator isn’t laughing but instead silently typing in my name, phone number, daughter’s name, age, weight, my dress size, square footage of our house, if we’ve taken any parenting classes lately, you know the standard. I suddenly see myself back sliding, my hopes of becoming mother of the year disappearing right in front of my eyes. I start to wonder how many times can you call Poison Control before they submit your name to the authorities for questionable parenting practices.
At any rate, the professional advice I received was to wash her face with soap and wait for it to come off on its own. Right, as if Sensei is going to go out into public looking like a Geisha girl. Instead, I make Sensei pose for a picture promising she’ll laugh about it when she’s older and get to work on her face with a bottle of olive oil and a washrag. The removal is fairly quick and painless; I’m actually quite impressed with my own cleverness.
By the way, if you see hindsight anywhere let me know, I’d like to have a chat.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Escaped Prisoner Can't Keep These Moms Down
TOP 10 THINGS A MOM SHOULD DO WHEN AN
ESCAPED PRISONER IS ON THE LOOSE!
Recently our community had a prisoner who escaped from the detention facility. He escaped at 3:30 pm on a Friday afternoon when elementary schools were just dismissing. What is a mom to do in this kind of situation? Well, let me tell you:
1. Excitedly get all children in vehicle and point out news and police helicopters searching area. Get on cell phone and call everyone you can think of to gossip.
2. Take down camping tent in back yard kids had been playing in over Christmas vacation. You never know if escaped convict can walk 15(ish) miles undetected to camp in backyard.
3. Email previous warden’s wife to gossip.
4. Finalize plans to see movie Juno with mommy friends. Canceling girl’s night is not an option.
5. Watch movie and share large diet coke spiked with Captain.
6. Drink more Captain with friends waiting at Chili’s. Hear story how one husband detective is down the road on duty searching for escaped prisoner.
7. Tell girlfriends picture of prisoner you saw on tv looked like Santa Claus but with gray wiry hair. Make a claim that wine is for pussies???
8. Alone, drive back roads home in middle of the night.
9. Wake up next morning and see another photo of convict on news. Realize it looks nothing like Santa with gray wiry hair. Wait for friends to call and ask just how much you had to drink the night before.
Recently our community had a prisoner who escaped from the detention facility. He escaped at 3:30 pm on a Friday afternoon when elementary schools were just dismissing. What is a mom to do in this kind of situation? Well, let me tell you:
1. Excitedly get all children in vehicle and point out news and police helicopters searching area. Get on cell phone and call everyone you can think of to gossip.
2. Take down camping tent in back yard kids had been playing in over Christmas vacation. You never know if escaped convict can walk 15(ish) miles undetected to camp in backyard.
3. Email previous warden’s wife to gossip.
4. Finalize plans to see movie Juno with mommy friends. Canceling girl’s night is not an option.
5. Watch movie and share large diet coke spiked with Captain.
6. Drink more Captain with friends waiting at Chili’s. Hear story how one husband detective is down the road on duty searching for escaped prisoner.
7. Tell girlfriends picture of prisoner you saw on tv looked like Santa Claus but with gray wiry hair. Make a claim that wine is for pussies???
8. Alone, drive back roads home in middle of the night.
9. Wake up next morning and see another photo of convict on news. Realize it looks nothing like Santa with gray wiry hair. Wait for friends to call and ask just how much you had to drink the night before.
10. Plead the 5th.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Welcome to Lady Town
Once you've hit the mark where a ten year high school reunion has come and gone, you start to realize many things. Way to many things.. Things this gal can't keep locked inside her head anyway. Welcome to Lady Town - my wonderful world of not so divine revelations.
Lady Town is open for occupancy and I am here with big, bold, all caps letters to tell you the TRUTH. The girlfriends guide to what really goes on during an average day of a mom on a mission. You may be surrounded by loved ones with awesome intentions and loaded to the hilt will all kinds of advice – from back in the day none the less; God bless your poor soul. Not only cuckoo clocks that share similar strands of DNA with you will try to compare battle stories, I promise, cross my heart in fact that absolute strangers will also put in their two cents of crap on any subject at hand (including me).
I truly believe there is no better way to navigate the mysteries of womanhood and keep our selves sane in the process than to dish the dirt with the girls. It does not matter if you live in rural Montana or New York City – girlfriends are like gold, a very valuable treasure.
Hopefully, you have a great group of friends like mine where you feel you can say anything and after a few margaritas around the fire pit, “anything” gets even better. If not, join us. We welcome you with loving arms and bold stories that might leave you gawking in horror or laughing so hard you just might pee your pants. Either way, it’s girl time – and anything goes.
WARNING: What this blog is not. This blog should not, under any circumstances be used as a replacement to professional advice or instructions provided by any licensed professional in any given field. I do not claim to have any expert or academic training on being a modern mom beyond having given birth to three vivacious girls and the capability to relay gossip or use the Google search engine on my computer. This is strictly mommy talk. Nuggets of information shared willingly with you, our newest member of the Lady Town Charter.
Lady Town is open for occupancy and I am here with big, bold, all caps letters to tell you the TRUTH. The girlfriends guide to what really goes on during an average day of a mom on a mission. You may be surrounded by loved ones with awesome intentions and loaded to the hilt will all kinds of advice – from back in the day none the less; God bless your poor soul. Not only cuckoo clocks that share similar strands of DNA with you will try to compare battle stories, I promise, cross my heart in fact that absolute strangers will also put in their two cents of crap on any subject at hand (including me).
I truly believe there is no better way to navigate the mysteries of womanhood and keep our selves sane in the process than to dish the dirt with the girls. It does not matter if you live in rural Montana or New York City – girlfriends are like gold, a very valuable treasure.
Hopefully, you have a great group of friends like mine where you feel you can say anything and after a few margaritas around the fire pit, “anything” gets even better. If not, join us. We welcome you with loving arms and bold stories that might leave you gawking in horror or laughing so hard you just might pee your pants. Either way, it’s girl time – and anything goes.
WARNING: What this blog is not. This blog should not, under any circumstances be used as a replacement to professional advice or instructions provided by any licensed professional in any given field. I do not claim to have any expert or academic training on being a modern mom beyond having given birth to three vivacious girls and the capability to relay gossip or use the Google search engine on my computer. This is strictly mommy talk. Nuggets of information shared willingly with you, our newest member of the Lady Town Charter.
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