Jan 31, 2013

The blog in which I love me some boy migit.

It must be love.  I mean, what else would you call it that motivates me to do what I do for that child?  If you have a child with special needs, you will know what I am talking about.  If you don't, let me share with you.  This might enlighten, frighten, or forever scar you.  Or, it might become the birth control some of you need.  Whatever it does, it is something that I have had to constantly challenge, or amend, or placate, in order to get my boy child to the place he is today.

I.E.P.  They tell me it is an acronym for individualized education plan. I have my own version.  Incredibly and Exceedingly Paralyzing (to the parent that has to attend and work on them.)  I generally begin with an eye twitch a few days before the meeting, then I move on to show greater levels of anxiety like over eating and researching ways to home school an autistic child.  Each time, I feel horrible, and realize that I am not equipped to home school, or to have that much sugar in me at any given time.  Therefore, I attend the meetings.  Geoff has never come with me, however, early on, I almost hired an advocate.  That was while he was in preschool, and that yahoo didn't see his needs, nor did she recognize that she was ineffective and unnecessary.  And when she argued with me, I dug my heals in, and can't be more grateful that G-d gave me the ability to make a fool of myself for the sake of my child.

We had Charlie diagnosed at two years old, three months.  He was diagnosed with autism, sensory integration dysfunction, as well as speech delay.  I believed that I could heal him.  I did- to this point.  While he will always be Charlie, quirky and all, he is not what he was.  He no longer spins in circles.  He is no longer mute.  He learned how to play with children.  He is a loving, happy, at times, confident child.  I quit my job, and we threw every bit of money we had, plus some we didn't, at early intervention, therapies that included biomedical treatments to speech, occupational and ABA.  I prayed hard, and often, for direction, and always went with my gut instinct for him.  I did extreme therapies, to simple modifications, and at seven years old, I can tell you, without a doubt, he would not be where he is now, if it were not for my early interventions.

So, bring us to today, and yet another meeting to discuss his educational progress and needs.  The team consists of the parent(s), teacher, special education teacher, speech and occupation therapists and the facilitator.  While I correspond often, and prolifically with the educators when I have concerns, this meeting was not a high stress meeting for me, since I had recently addressed major concerns with the teachers I needed to.  While in there, we did address some goals that needed amending, and future strategies that might facilitate learning for Charlie.  At some point, we discussed Charlie's need for movement and how we can link that to memorization, and the O.T. commented on how that might really help when it comes time to memorize the multiplication tables.  At which point, I had verbal diarrhea and and audible shutter as I told her that the mere mention of that made me open a bottle of wine, in my head.  Laughter from the peanut gallery.  I was not kidding, PEEPS!  I have honestly worked so hard at times to simply teach the CVC reading, and those freakin' "tricks" that don't ever apply to everything in the English language.  Luckily, he is doing well in math at this time.

So, what I really want you to know about raising a child who has challenges, is that each accomplishment is an accomplishment for the parents as well, and whether you have a child with special needs or not, you have to advocate for them.  You have to accept responsibility for raising them, educating them, and loving them so completely, that you discipline and love equally.  I love my son today, and every day.  If not, I might have allowed my fifth day of a headache to allow me to cancel and stay in bed a bit longer.  Rather, I found my needs were trumped by love for my Chazman.  I love you boy migit!  You make me so proud to be your mom- at times, cheerleader, friend, or confidant.  Mostly, I love to see you happy, successful and loving.  I will support you in the best way I know how to, FOREVER!  

Blogher roll call-- HERE for love!

Jan 30, 2013

The blog in which I struggle to find the love.

I went from having a panic attack to having a bad panic attack.  That was my day.  Actually, that started yesterday morning, since I follow the weather like some people follow the stock market.  And by "some people," I mean the obsessive compulsive ones like my father.  While I freely admit to my craziness, "others" may not recognize their own issues.  I am here to point those flaws out- and tell you, I KNOW WHERE I GET THEM FROM.  (He hasn't spoken to me in over ten years, but I still appreciate his stubbornness, and the fact that he talks to himself like the Swedish Chef when he cooks.  Gotta' love crazy.  It run in our family.  Well, technically, nobody in my family runs, hence our shapes.  I have chosen to get into shape.  The shape I have chosen is an oompa loompa.  Nailed it!

Tonight, I am having a hard time getting into this month's assignment.  (Remember? The theme is "love.")  However, today, I can tell you that I love my neighbor for helping me get my son from school this afternoon while I was hiding from possible tornadic activity, down in Marietta.  I also love my mom for still living in a house with a basement, only about 20-25 minutes away.  And lastly, I love that I saw no less than five other moms panicking today during the storms.  I felt a little less weird.  And honestly, isn't that all we ever want at the end of the day?

Jenn- I honestly can not tell you how much I appreciate you going to get my migit today.  I owe you- big time! And also to Stacy for helping with your migits while you grabbed mine. To friends who act like family, and to family that.... well.  They suck.  You know who you are.  (There.  How's that for a loving post?)  Nailed it.

Jan 29, 2013

The blog in which Mom is hanging out with me today and we have a sexy photo shoot.

My mom bought me a gift a few weeks ago.  It was a footed pajama outfit, and honestly, I love it.  Geoff expressed an honest desire for something like it, so Mom found this.  I had to try it on for him.  He is one lucky guy.  At least, that is what I try to make him believe.
Oh my.  The cleavage.  Hot.   
That is one, sexy, confident, Oompa Loompa of the year. 
Do I look more like a Smurf in need or a just a perfectly formed Oompa Loompa?  
I "sexted" this to Geoff.  (It was my first attempt in this craze. )  Nailed it.  
Of course, needed to complete this collection with a "duck lips."  You.are.welcome.

I really will try to stick to the blogher.com theme this month; but I think I might be a little off the mark on this one.  

Jan 28, 2013

The blog in which I am hot and bothered.

I don't always follow the Blogher.com curriculum, but this month, it seems to be flowing effortlessly.  February's theme is love and sex.  How original, right?  Well, here it goes!

My newest craze is tea.  I drink 72-100 ounces of tea each day.  It is the craziest and easiest way to aide my weight loss, so I boil a huge pot of water each morning, add one green tea and one regular tea bag, and let it sit all day as I ladel cupfuls from it.  Monday's I spend the day at the school volunteering.  Monday are packed from the time I get there at 9:30 AM until I leave at 1:15 PM.  I work the library, then head to lunch with both migits, and finally, I work the computer lab for Shay's class.  I also needed to work in my visit to the "Y," so I decided it might be best to not drink anything until I got home from all that.  The drinking literally makes me hang out near a toilet all day, since my bladder is no larger than a ping pong ball.

I walk through the door, and begin chugging.  I had to take Chaz to speech therapy today, and from the time I emptied my bladder and got in the car, to the time I got to speech, about 9 minutes later, I HAD to go.  I rushed in, took care of business, and washed my hands.  It was at that moment that I realized that I had a flash back.  No, not from my drug days.  Rather, from the days right before those.  His name was Max.  Max was amazing. And sad.  He had a horrific home life, and worked a lot.  I was 15, and he was either 16 or 17.  I worked a fair amount, and we got to see each other at work- McDonalds. He was attractive enough that I remember my mom even commented on his looks.  Woof.  Hot.  He wore a ton of cologne.  It was 1993.  Guess what he was wearing--- Drakkar Noir.  And why does this matter?  The hand soap.  It smelled just like that!  I thought back to him coming over.  I blushed thinking of what we did up in my bedroom.  I can't believe my parents allowed me to have boys over.  In my room.  And that some how, the door was closed.

My best friend in highschool was a boy.  When he came and we closed the door, it was to smoke.  My folks were okay with him.  But this hottie?  What were they thinking???  (In all fairness, I doubt they knew the door was closed.)  They were downstairs.  And we.. well... we were not.  We were just down.  Ahhh... the memories.

And that was my first time to turn a boy down.  Really.  Not that I did that often, but I did that day.  I was so in awe of his attractiveness, and that he would want anything to do with me.  Ultimately, I did a horrible thing.  I am ashamed to admit it, but I will.  I went to his house, took a box of love letters he had written to me, and then, lit them on fire with gasoline on his front yard.  I know his step dad beat the crap out of him for that.  Within a year, I heard that he was living in a trailer with his pregnant fiance.  He dropped out of school, and I never saw him again.

There were other boys I "dated" in high school.  Like, the grill cook at Ernie's Steakhouse.  I was 18, and he was in his twenties.  He lived in a house with some room mates, and had converted a pop up camper thing.  He wanted me to go "star gazing" in the roof with him one night.  Somehow, I got out of there, however, as I was driving home on I-75, I got followed by some drunk boys that were running me off the rode.  All the cars parted, and I was just trying to keep my 1988 Suzuki Samari on the highway, when out of nowhere, I see the cop's lights taking them off the road and I got home safely.  I was shaking.  Cell phones were not as prevalent at that time.  I can only say that I am grateful for the policeman that night.

Once, I awoke in the bed of another friend.  I was not fully clothed, and don't know what happened, but I know drugs were involved.  *Kids- drugs are bad.  Just say, "No thanks."  Remember- I raised you with manners.  I didn't have a car at that point, and the only person who had a car, was my best friend's friend.  I snuck downstairs to a phone, called him, and the two of them showed up to get me home.  I don't remember everything, but I do remember that the creep got a little "roughed" up.  We were in theater class together for another couple of weeks, and he "acted" like he was a gentlemen.  He really should have gotten an award for that job.

Ryan.  Lord love a duck.  He was overwhelming.  He couldn't have been in greater puppy love if he tried.  He was too good to me.  My parents loved him.  He just had this need to touch me.  Hug me.  He would stand behind me and hug on me, and that is how he chose to stand, or walk.  It was like an act from Cirque du Solei just to get a drink.  I felt like I was crab walking with two legs that we paralyzed. He just wanted to hug.  After I treated him crappy and dropped him, I wanted to call his mom and ask him why he wasn't hugged enough as a child.  Here's the kicker to Ryan-  he had this pewter sword thing on a necklace he gave me to wear.  One night, he was hugging me, (shocker, right?) and HE broke it in the embrace!  I didn't have the heart to tell him it broke, so I super glued it.  Over the course of the few months of this breaking/fixing cycle, when we broke up, I gave it back to him.  Poor thing. He was furious that I had broken it.  For the record, he was the only person that ever called me a racial slur- to my face.  Today, I am sad that I was that Jew that spawned that anger.  I could have treated him better.  But I was smothered, young, and mad that I had to apologize for the necklace that he had broken himself.  I hope he is happy and in a healthy relationship where he does not need to hug a girl to asphyxiation.  Or, that he found the other half of his crab shell.  Either way.  I truly hope for his happiness.

And then, there's the boy I didn't date.  He was my favorite.  He was a true friend.  When I wanted to be silly, which let's be honest, is ALWAYS, he was silly with me.  When I wanted to paint my room purple and then paint a mural of Pink Floyd's "The Wall" cover art and infuse my Grateful Dead side, he was right there with me.  From the worst acid trip of my life, to Clearly Canadian flavored water, he was my partner in crime, until I decided drugs and selfishness were more my thing than being a friend was.  The truth is, his friendship taught me so much.  The only relationship in my life that has been treasured more has been my love with Geoff.

I have told Geoff that I was a horrible teenager.  He knows.  My mother shares those stories freely.  From running away and drugs, to lying, hurting everyone near me, to today, I realize that I can not apologize for the person I was, but I can make choices now to be a better me.  And from all those "loves," I had at some point early on, I learned how to love the right way, and to share it with the greatest gift G-d has even blessed me with, Geoff.  Babe, for knowing me, and loving me in spite of it- you make me beautiful.  Thanks for supporting my newest endeavors, and for making believe I can do this.  I love you face.

Jan 27, 2013

The blog in which I am confused about my sexuality.

Does this make me gay?  All week I was so confident in my sexuality.  Until, mow.  I was watching "How I Met Your Mother," and Geoff and I are sitting in bed and I look over to him and worry if he knows what I am thinking.  He does not.  However, he just said, out loud, "There is nothing wrong about being attracted to a gay man."  Well, not it you are single, a man, and gay.  However, last time I checked, I was none of those.  And without a miracle....

So, I am thinking, how the heck did I start crushing on a gay man, playing it straight, and a WOMANIZER at that?  Well, let's look at the facts.  

Fact- He has a hot bod.  Exhibit A.  See the 100th episode on Netflix.  

Fact- He wears a suit.  (That is akin to a visual orgasm for my eyes.)  

Fact- Geoff thinks he's hot.  (He has impeccable taste when it comes to either sex.  We are both attracted to the same types.)  

Fact- He wears a suit!  (I know, I know.  But really, that should have be sufficient enough to see where my crush began.)  

So, does that make me a lesbian?  I might need to tell you a bit more about this past week. 

First,  I went to work out at the YMCA a few days, and once, there were two adorable young firemen working out.  Those are lovely workouts.  (The ones where they are eye candy for this morbidly-obese- stay-at-home mother of two.)  That day, I was straight confident.  

Next day, I was flipping the channels at the YMCA, and happen upon Ellen.  I love her show.  So, I am watching, and a hard core, manly, lesbian comes in front of me to work out.  I was staring at her as she got on, but not because I was attracted.  No.  I truly love the boys, but I had to figure out if she was going to tun on Ellen.  However, I think she caught a glimpse of me checking her out.  So, then, it was holy awkward, and now, I am sitting here smiling because I happen to know what she turned on to watch, and you don't.  But you might know... I am not gay.  But I am so attracted to a gay man playing the part of a straight man that mistreats women. Yeah, once I finally do set up my first psychologist/psychiatry appointment, I am sure we will address this. 

PS I also had a thing for "Mr. Grey," so I guess there is no surprise there.  

The blog in which I forgot this simple recipe for P.B. Cookies.

And before I forget... Oops.  I forgot.  I was supposed to add this to the last blog post.  Better late than never.  The winter puts me in a baking mood.  And making baked goods from scratch makes me feel a little better since I know exactly what ingredients make up the item, and never do I use dyes or high fructose corn syrup.  Shay and Charlie really enjoy baking with me, and it allows the kids to really use practical applications for math.  WIN ALL THE WAY!  (Plus, I get to have really interesting conversations with Shay while we bake together, and that chick just cracks me up.  Think Betty White sharp with a hint of Lucille Ball goofy.  She is all that and a bag of chips.)

Made that many, that size.  About 16.  I had the first sheet and then four more to bake. They are a big enough size that one will be dessert for each of us.  I did not use Stevia today because I didn't have enough, but if you try it, can you let me know how it works?  
So, today, I wanted to have some peanut butter cookies for dessert this week, and decided on the three ingredient recipe we have done before. I added a fourth ingredient, and it is amazing!  One of everything.  One cup peanut butter.  One cup sugar.  One egg.  (I microwave the peanut butter so that it  is totally softened.  It poured out of the measuring cup for us.)  I had taken a small bowl and scrambled the egg, and then let Shay do the rest.  She added the sugar, mixed that, and then the peanut butter.  I gave it a final swirl with the fork, found and added a handful of white chocolate chips, then I balled the dough, and then let her smash it down with a fork.  She wanted to get creative, so I gave her a toothpick and let her draw on the tops of a few of the dough smashed cookies prior to cooking them.  Bake at 350 degrees F. for 6-12 minutes.  I can't give you a real number here, since my oven doesn't work, and I have to bake things longer, different temps, etc.  Don't move off the cookie sheet onto the cooling rack for a few minutes since it is super crumbly if it is not set enough.  You will know when.  I greased the sheet.  Not sure if that is necessary though.  YUM!

The blog in which Geoff and I get a rare date night.

Had the best date night in years with my uhhhhmaaaazing hubby last night.  The YMCA offers free child care drop off twice a month that each family may access once a month.  We have done this only once before, and we were both with a stomach bug that evening, so we dropped them off and then headed home to sit alone in a bathroom until we "rock,paper, scissored" to figure out who had to pick them up.  Then, last month, Shay was sick, so we cancelled.  Yesterday, we were totally ready.  

Every one healthy, gorgeous weather, and a little plan for a nice romantic evening at home.  I had made some amazing Crock Pot potato soup a month ago, and froze two serving portions for Geoff and I to enjoy at a later date.  Last night was that date, and it thawed so well.  I made some fresh beer bread, from scratch, and crumbled some cooked bacon and shredded cheese on top of the soup, and let me tell you... Oh my.  Geoff is an amazing husband, but I never really saw him as romantic- until....  he set the table with some of our electronic tea lights, turned on soft lights, and started playing Frank Sinatra (one of my fav's) in the background.  I had found a his and her "Q & A" on Pinterest, and while we slowly enjoyed our meal, we went through the list.  After dinner, I had a leftover dessert bar we had made on Friday night.  Geoff had one later, and let me tell you- they taste even better from the fridge.  I warmed mine up, but he had be try his, and it tastes more like cookie dough.  Woof.  So good.  Then, we played dominoes.  We used to play games all the time when we were first married.  The, he turned the fireplace on, maneuvered our round chair so that it was facing the fire, and we listened to Michael Buble', chatted, an stared forever out the window at the gorgeous clear night and huge moon over head.    I had no idea he had such a nice collection of music on his iPod!  It was amazing. 

The homemade brownie mixes I prepped are so handy for events like last night.  I bring those for the staff at the YMCA who are working the Parent Night Out events.  I need to suck up so that my kids are liked by the staff.    I need to get over myself.  They are good enough to be likable all on their own. ;o)  But who doesn't like homemade brownies?    The beer bread was a new Pinterest recipe I found.  I would say- this is my third different beer bread attempt over the years, and my favorite, to date.  Crazy simple, but I think the two tablespoons of honey made the difference.  Geoff thinks it was my addition to salted vs. the unsalted butter that I coated the pan with.  (I usually use a spray oil.)  

My flash is insanely bright in that soft lighting we had.  Sorry for blinding you, Babe!  

So gorg.  

We picked up the kids, came home, fell asleep, and awoke to him snoring at three in the morning, and it was then that he realized that he was sick- AGAIN.  He stopped his antibiotic a few days short of the ten day course of therapy, and let me tell you- I am not a happy camper about his choice.  GRRRR.  He is back on it, and praying he recovers quickly from this. 

In the mean time, I am thrilled to share a new cost saving tip for meds.  Chaz has been taking pills for a few years now, however, not until this fall did I realize that we could find some over the counter meds that he can take in a halved version instead of the pricier children's liquids.  He has had a night time cough with congestion during the day for four days now.  After his displeasure with the liquid generic Mucinex and Sudafed PE formulas, I went and asked the pharmacist if I could try the generic pills for adults, and he said I could.  WHEW!  The money savings on this one is astronomical!  I am giving him half of both pills, and the generic Mucinex was even scored for me.  

Jan 25, 2013

The blog in which I am mad and we are baking dessert.

I have been more mad, but not sure when.  While I don't hold anything in, (no cough is being stifled this evening in the Ahrens household), I am attempting to not be more mad.  Trust me, my fury is not pleasant.  So, how do I unclench my jaw and salvage the rest of the Friday Family Fun Night?  We will bake, and pray that this new found recipe is going to be renamed, "Better Than Sex" bars, since that is the alternative now that I am so mad.  (We don't do the make up kind, and I am still really pissy.)

So, the recipe is a Pinterest inspired dessert, however, I am taking liberties and exchanging the M&M's with an ingredient we already had on hand, chocolate chips.  The recipe calls for more than one stick of butter, so I am assuming this might be a  Paula Deen original, even though credits can not be obtained due to the fact that some variation of this recipe is written by no less than a dozen people.  It looks to be a cross between a brownie/cookie type of bar.  I will omit the name, and just give you the recipe due to the fact that "M&M" was in the title, and seeing that we are not using them, it would seem inappropriate to use that name.


2 1/8 cups flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking soda
12 Tbsp butter (1 1/2 sticks), melted and cooled slightly
1 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup white sugar
1 large egg
1 large egg yolk
2 tsp vanilla extract
two cups of chocolate chips, divided


Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Adjust the oven rack to lower-middle position. Grease a 9x13 pan and set aside.
In a medium sized bowl, whisk together the flour, salt, and baking soda and set aside.
In a large bowl, whisk the melted butter and sugars until combined. Add the egg, egg yolk, and vanilla and mix well. Using a rubber spatula, fold the dry ingredients into the egg mixture until just combined; do not over mix. Fold in 1 cup of chocolate chips and turn the batter into the prepared pan, smoothing the top with the spatula. Sprinkle remaining chocolate chips on top and press in slightly.
Bake 25-30 minutes, until the top of the bars is light golden brown, slightly firm to the touch, and edges start pulling away from sides of pan. Cool completely before cutting.

I did the folding in portion of the recipe toward the end.  That is too hard for them.  

If you line your baking dish with foil, and spray that, you can simply lift it out of the pan to cool- and not have to wash a pan.  Double score!

We ate on my grandmother's china.  I usually use it, but let the migits once in a while.

Yummy, gooey, *almost better than sex.  But not quite.  So, looks like....

Waiting on the dessert to bake and then cool, we played games.  This is a simple game that both my migits still love.  

I am well aware that we are near February and my son still where's the Santa hat that Katie gave them from helping at Christmas Shop.  Don't judge.  We love Christmas.  The migits even wrote a letter to their elf today.  (Never going to grow up is Shay's new mantra.  I'm cool with that.)  

Dig in!

Jan 24, 2013

The blog in which I share our how I am NOT collecting money.

I had a tough decision to make; to help out the campaign, or not.  First, let me start with, we are on an incredibly tight, yet doable, income.  It is doable because we are not in debt, pay bills on time, and still eat fairly healthy each day.  While we are not the family that takes elaborate vacations, goes to the movies, or eats out, we still have our fun.  We allowed ourselves to purchase a family membership at our local YMCA.

The YMCA has literally changed all of our lives.  From developing our children's swim skills, a valuable life lesson, to learning and developing gymnastics skills that has given my seven year old confidence, to the monthly, free of charge, "Parents Night Out," we feel like we have made the best, healthiest choice with the cost of our monthly dues.  While you can't beat the price of admission for your children to be among other children, swimming (indoor, heated, year round), playing in the gym with all the kids, to the occasional arts and crafts project, the smiles and the "I don't want to go home's" are what really put the cherry on top of that evening.

We found that we were not attending the YMCA as regularly as we were before the holidays.  From illness, to weekend getaways, to more illness, we were sidelined.  Now, back into the swing of life, we are back.  Just yesterday, the kids attended a kids only class while I worked out.  When I came to pick them up, the instructor told them she missed them, and that she hopes to see them again soon.  We got in the car, and my six year old says, "She wants us to come back.  Can we go next week?"  Of course, I can tell you how no less than eight employees have affected my children's lives so much so, that when it was time to make some home made holiday time gifts for teachers, therapists, bus drivers, neighbors, etc., my children both started naming all the YMCA family employees they wanted to gift.  We are talking from the front desk, to Kid Zone (childcare center) to the aquatics area-we had a box of gifts to deliver.

This is the time of your for their financial campaign.   Due to our income, we are on scholarship.  We pay dues, but get a significant discount.  This would not be possible without the help of donors.  I was asked to help solicit donations for their upcoming campaign.  I declined.  One- I don't EVER support other causes outside of the church, or a box of Girl Scout cookies.  (Merely because there are so many important causes, that it is hard to give everywhere, so we limit it to the church and their charities.)  We just don't have the money for it. Second, I can not ask of my friends to give to something because I won't ever help your cause out.  Here is where I tell you that you can choose to give a contribution, or better yet, JOIN!  Go check them out.  I am not collecting money, but if you want to give, the local Canton YMCA will be happy to receive your gift.  In the mean time, we will continue praying for no icy weather, since Friday night is Family Bingo Night, and Charlie wants to win another pair of silly, obscenely orange, soccer socks that fit the length of his ENTIRE leg ;o)  Tell Brenda or Nicole I sent ya'!

The Canton YMCA, G. Cecil Pruett Community Center Family YMCA, is located at 151 Waleska Street, Canton, GA 30114.
Phone Number (770)345-9622

See the article in today's Canton-Sixes Patch!  Share it with your friends!

The blog in which I am not meant to sleep- E.V.E.R.

So, I have gone back to my stress and sleep aide, the YMCA.  I have always said that since we signed up a year ago February, I have not lost a pound.  But I have, at times, gained control over my general anxiety and sleep.  This past week, has been a sleepless one.  I have not even been napping the past few weeks.  I have recovered from all that illness, and feel great. However, I am still not up to speed with everything.  And so, when I woke up three times last night, and then finally, before 5:AM woke for good when Charlie's coughing had him up.

So, it was decided, Charlie would stay home to rest, and I was not going to let that get in the way of my attempt at a nap.  Charlie- not the problem.  With Geoff and Shay off to work and school, I was a step closer to the nap.  I had to wake up the neighbor kid (I put her on the bus since her mom has to drive in horrible Atlanta traffic to get to work.) and wipe the drool from my breakfast bar as she fell asleep waiting on the bus.  (Mental note- Late night Justin Beiber concert is sleep inducing.  I might have to try it next time he/she comes. Looks sorta' boyish, sounds sorta' girlish.  Since when did girls decide to fall for the transvestite-ish type?)

My girlfriend is moving to Wisconsin this weekend, so we had planned on getting together this morning and for me to cut her hair.  Nixed that idea when I texted letting her know that I had a "cougher" at home, and since her immune system is compromised anyway, might be best to get a haircut, elsewhere.

So, sounds like I was set for a nap, right?  Told Charlie to grab a book and go head to bed.  He needs to rest, and so do I.  I checked on him and found that he was quietly playing with his sock monkey.  When I say "playing," I mean he had dressed him up with his robe and I'm not kidding- Sock Monkey looked like Hugh Hefner in a red fleece robe.  "GO TO BED CHARLIE!"

I lay down around nine.  Within thirty minutes, I get a call.  I was in a dream where Barney Stinson, the most womanizing man in my newest favorite show, is trying to seducing me, and Geoff is sitting next to him cracking jokes.  I was sort of glad to get out of that dream, since I wasn't sure where this was going.  I let it go to voicemail, but only after I saw that it was... wait for it.... ("How I Met Your Mother" reference)- my own mother.  I guess she thought to start early today since we didn't get a hold of each other until around 9 last night.  (We normally talk about 9 times by that hour each day.)   *There is not a sharp enough instrument to cut our cord.

Then, Charlie comes in.  "Mom, I heard a knock on the door." I told him to go back to bed.  I look out the window, and see a nice car I have never seen before.  I am not even in my footed pajamas at this point.  Door bell rings, and then, the dog begins to bark.  Crap.  I don't have enough time to "suit up," and get down before who ever is there, leaves.  (If you don't get that reference either--- HOW LONG WILL IT TAKE YOU TO START WATCHING "How I Met Your Mother?"  Keep up friends.  But start from season one. I'm watching from Netflix.)  Sure enough, the visitor is now within sight, getting into their car.  Another maternal!  This time, it's my mother-in-law!  First, she never comes by.  Second, everyone knows I am too short to look through my peep hole, so we check out the upstairs window to see who is there.  Unrecognizable cars don't get much more attention than that. Third--- SHE NEVER COMES BY!  Ugh.

I throw on the foot pajamas, and run downstairs, and sure enough, there is a bag hanging on the door.  It has a brand new, on the hanger, super heavy, winter coat for Charlie, with a matching hat.  Perfect fit and everything!  He was so excited, he insisted I let him model it.  He wanted pictures with the jacket alone, the jacket and the hood, the hat and the jacket, the jacket with the hat and the hood on, the zipper up, down, the zipper up without the hood, the zipper down with the hat.... All I can say is, I was not getting back to sleep, but now he has a really great winter jacket.  Normally, he wears one decent one, with a thinner one under it.  When he jumps on the trampoline, he generally won't wear a coat. He's so excited about this one, that I bet I can get him to wear his new one!

Great- he just came in.  Now, Sock Monkey has a cape.  Thanks.  One does want to accessorize their stuffed animals.  Especially since it doesn't seem appropriate to nap or anything.

Just the hat.

Just the jacket.  Zipped. 

Whole ensemble.  

Action shot.

Unzipped, no hat.

Unzipped, hat, hood.

PS  And there it was.  It is only 10:30 AM right now, and Charlie just said, "When is Shay coming home? "  This exact thing happens each time Shay is home without him .  Apparently, I am not sufficient company for either of them.  Thanks.  GO BACK TO BED CHARLIE!

Jan 23, 2013

The blog in which I torture my kids, but I think it builds character.

I'm not proud of it, but I love to psychologically torture my children.  Between the moments where I "boo" them and make them jump/scream/and possibly leak urine at a most inappropriate time, to when I dangle a silly secret for days on end until Shay can complete a family meal within the short span of 45 minutes.  (Let's be honest.  If we can get her to finish a mini carrot in under 6.34 minutes, there is hope for the rest of the meal.)  So, here's where the story starts.

Two days ago, Geoff and I were talking about our tax refund, and how we really want to plan for another vacation to Disney for next school year.  Our very first vacation, our Disney eloping/honeymoon, ten years ago April, was followed eight years later with taking our kids to Disney for a few days a year ago, on Fall Break.  So, we thought we should try to find some money to put aside, and try again next year.  While we haven't done our taxes yet, if we do half as well as the past, we should be able to pull off a trip.  So, we decided to keep it a secret.  Until.That.Night.  

Here is the order of secret keepers in our house.  The rating system is 0=completely unable to keep a secret, to 10=can be threatened with bodily harm to a loved one and won't spill the secret.  

Geoff- 6 While he kept a secret from me early on in the relationship, I don't think he will hold anything back from me now.  The pressure of keeping the secret might even interfere with his sleep pattern.  He can most likely keep secrets from people, but prefers to share them. 

 He really wanted to tell the kids about Disney.  I really needed Shay to finish eating dinner, so decided that I would utilize this nugget of info. to be the dangling carrot to have her finish dinner in record time.  (I give her a full 34 minutes.)  Didn't happen.  What did happen was tears, grimacing, pleading with eyes (that was Geoff with the eye bit, btw) and then, a little girl who was ticked off at me for the rest of the night.  

Me- 9  I actually prefer to be in on a secret, but once I have it, I don't want anyone else to know.  Unless it's Geoff, and that is why I give myself a nine.  I don't think I could keep a secret from him.  He is like a verbal laxative to me.  (Eww.  And that is the beauty of marriage.  Always having someone to share a secret with.)  I got to take Charlie into the bathroom and whisper the secret in his ear since Geoff and Shay were not done eating.  Charlie looked at me, shook his head while pointing at me, and said, "You are good."  

Charlie- Negative 14  He has NEVER kept a secret.  Not even little ones.  Well, I didn't really think he would keep this secret, and he sort of did.  But sort of not.  

Shay- 22  No joke.  Chick would lose a limb if it meant guarding a secret.  But not being in on the secret is the part that troubles her.  She is used to be on the inside of most secrets.  She and I have lots.  Since she was about three, I have known she was trustworthy, and no joke, she is. She was trying to guess what the secret was at breakfast the next morning.  She actually guessed Disney, and I hastily shot down that thought.  At which point, Charlie looks at me, all serious, and says, "Wait.  Mom- in the bathroom.  We need to talk."

"No.  No talk.  We don't tell a secret- no matter what."

"But, what if she said it?"

"Charlie, we are not telling the secret.  End of story."

So here comes night number two, and she was one mini carrot short of the allotted time frame for dinner and the secret reveal.  Again, tears, anger, laughter and food throwing.  (To clarify, it was me throwing the food.  I threw my dessert, generic Fruit Loops, at her, as she cried.   I was also the one doing the laughing.  It was my attempt to lighten the mood.  I'd have to say- wasn't so effective.)  Grandma had come over after school so that she could visit with us, come to watch Chaz at his new gymnastics class, and to share dinner with us.   She was disapproving of this torture.  I knew we had to tell her.  So, Charlie did.  I think it was anticlimactic, however, she was happy.

Well, it was our third class at the new gymnastics gym.  Chaz is in a class with three other boys.  I had this feeling it was coming, but I was so bummed out when it happened.  After class, the coach asked me to speak with him.  Ugh.  This has happened before.  "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah....... And so, I feel like he needs to be in the more advanced program, and I understand it is financially more than this program, however, he really needs to be there."  Grrr.  I tried to talk him into working on Charlie's skill level, and honestly, he just can't.  I have been impressed with the way he split the group of four in two, and works well to work on each child's needs, however, there is no real way to truly work at Charlie's level, in the current class.  I talked it over with Geoff, looked it up online, and found that this class is way out of budget, and just wasn't sure what to do.  Until....

Later that night.... "Geoff, I think we need to see how much money we get back from taxes this year, and instead of go on vacation, we need to apply that to Charlie's gymnastics."
He agreed- no hesitation.  Charlie needs this.  We also discussed how we never do anything for Shay, so maybe we would take an extra outing here or there to focus on her.  We have never been skating, and her newest doll needs her ears pierced for $14 at the American Girl Doll store.  I bet there will be a play she might enjoy at the local theater that Chaz may not want to see.  The possibilities are endless.  So, now, we had to burst the bubble about Disney.

This morning, I told them since we had to make a decision about either a few days at Disney or the year of gymnastics for Charlie, we chose gymnastics.  (silence)

Finally, Shay says, "But can we go to the cabin?"

"Of course we can! We are going to try to go at least every other month for a weekend.  That hasn't changed.  Since Grandpa has allowed Brody to join us, nothing is stopping us.  We already told you guys that."


So, secret or not, my kids are amazing at understanding things way beyond their years.  It might be instilled with my torturous ways ;o)  However it happened, I am grateful they understand and appreciate what they do have.

Jan 22, 2013

The blog in which you get to vote!

Lisa is a friend.  I really love her.  She is practically perfect in every way.  Behind her back, a mutual friend and I talk about her perfectness.  Isn't that what estrogen people do when they gather?  Even her morning hair is perfect.  Well, this morning, I came in from a freezing bus stop, and my nose was runny from the cold, so I walked in to the bathroom to get a tissue.  As I was turning around, I glimpsed my reflection in the mirror.  That is when I noticed that I went out to the bus stop with some scary ass crazy hair.  I then decided to tuck the crazy portion behind my ears, and they refused.  (I had my hair in a quick "flip your head upside down and throw into a ponytail bun" thing.)  All the hair shoved haphazardly out of my face.  All the hair, EXCEPT... those things.  Do they have a name?  If not, can I name them?  Am I supposed to be doing something with them?  They literally grew to that exact length, and stopped.  Do I need to tell you that I have found hair on my legs that have grown longer than these weird hairs will grow?

Proposed names to be voted on by the select few that don't have anything better to do than sit on a hair naming panel.  (Panel is now accepting applications.  No purchase or experience necessary.  Official rules do not exist.  But if you mock me behind my back, I will find you, a pair of scissors, and assist in cutting you your own pair of these crazy hair things that don't have a name.)

1.Ear Bangs
2. Banging Sides
3. Cheek Warmers
Is it just me, or do these names have a tinge of sexual innuendo to them?  I quit. We will keep this list short.  (Unlike the length of these crazy hairs that refuse to grow any more.)

Back to Lisa.  So, I didn't bother to ask our mutual friend, but I bet when the mutual friend shared a home with Lisa recently, she was noticeably missing these ridiculous hairs.  Damn her!  Clearly, I have side burn envy.  I wish my sideburns were appropriately lengthed for my head.  (And darn it if the word "clearly" didn't come from Lisa.)  The word "clearly," if used appropriately, can spark "spit milk through your nose" funny.  Clearly, Lisa is the only person who can use it correctly.  Funny, kind, perfect hair, and amazing family- that's Lisa.  If you see her before I do- tell her I said "hi."  

Do you see this nonsense? 

This is the picture I texted my husband about 10 minutes after he left.  "Hey- Why won't these hairs by my ears grow?  It's like they decided to stop growing when they grew to a crazy enough length to make small children and the elderly walk a few steps away from me."
His response?  "U just made my day. LMFAO babe.  love ju so mucho."
And that is why we will always be together.  

They are defying me.  I tucked them.  They don't look tucked, do they?  

They hide when I pull the rest out of the scrunchy.  You can hide, but I know where you are.  
And that concludes the story of my life.  I have some serious hair issues.  Too much, too long, too short, too thick, too coarse, too curly, too sexual.  I know.  One of those doesn't belong.  However, to Geoff, it all applies.  I love you Geoff.  And to you Lisa- CLEARLY, your husband is gifted with a beautiful wife that he doesn't have to receive crazy text pictures of before 8:AM.  Lucky guy.

Jan 16, 2013

The blog in which it didn't go that well today and I think I spit fire.

Well, parts of the day were great.  Like, when I woke up.  I was pretty ding dang darn positive this was going to be a freakin' fantastic day.  Shay was super pumped that she finally received her "Coach for half a day" award and had signed up to do it today. (The best part of the award was the purple whistle she was given to keep.)  Then, I had no headache.   That is generally what dictates my mood.  While I got my workout done at the YMCA by 8:30 AM, I still had to run to the school to get the picture of my child with her whistle in the gym.  Oh yeah.  That's a keeper.  I knew I had a lot to do, since I had to pick the migits up from school right after lunch today, since they had dental cleanings scheduled for 12:40 PM.

I get home from the work out and picture taking, and shower.  Then, I get to work on my exciting new venture.  Basically, it is a writing assignment that is for the local, online paper, the Canton-Sixes Patch.  The turn around on the assignment was quick, since it was needed for an event for this weekend.  I took care of that, did the laundry, grabbed breakfast, and headed out to sit with the kids for lunch before taking them to their appointments.  Busy and productive, I was not in the least bit upset about anything.  Still, thinking I am going to make it a great day.

This is our brushing station.  Flossers are in the cups. 

Get to the dental cleanings, get handed the every six month paper work, fill it out, concerns and all for both kids,  and then the migits get called back.  First of all, I have always had high praise for this pediatric dentist office.  It is the main one in our town, and they really do have a fun office.  Truth is, today, Charlie expressed concern about not wanting to see a movie there, since he was frightened last time.  I had no idea.  Apparently, he told Shay six months ago when they were there, and she relayed the story to me today, on the ride over.  So, as soon as we walked in, some princess movie was on, and he immediately assumed there was a witch of something, so he covered his ears and started walking to a far corner.  I immediately shared his issues with the front desk, and they allowed him to pick what movie would play throughout the office.  Done.  Crisis averted.  At this office, the parents are not welcome back in the treatment areas.  I get it.  Most parents are not like me.  Either they enable the children to act like fools, or feed into fears, etc.  I am not that type of parent, and my children have never had a negative experience at a dentist office.  Personally, I appreciate the time alone in the waiting area.  However, generally, after the appointment, they come to get me and bring me back and while the doctor is examining the freshly cleaned teeth, we talk about the health of the teeth, any concerns I might have, etc.  Not so much this time.

I assumed all was great, and then, an assistant of some sorts calls me to come, and neither child is with her.   Interesting.  She tells me that both kids did great, however, Charlie has two more cavities.

Whoa lady!  Who are you talking about?  MORE???  He never had one in the past seven years of life, and now you are telling me he has two more?  I was furious.  First of all, we are not some fly by night teeth brushers.  I can not tell you how insane our routine is.  So  much so, that when my seven year old niece comes to spend the night, she asks for her own little swish and spit cup and her own individual flosser like my kids get each night.  (Some of them are fruit flavored and some are mint.  We even offer variety!)  Each morning, I allow my children to brush their own teeth.  They have a sand timer, and flip it over so that they get a full two minutes.  The digital ones broke all the time, and find that this works for us.  Night time, they brush for two minutes, then, for the past year, I have allowed my husband to brush and floss them before they "swish and spit" their Act mouth wash.  They are to swish for 30 seconds.  They just count that.  On occasion, I do the night time routine, especially while he has been working so much over time the past few months.  I use a circular motion, yada, yada, yada....

So, I was really pissy when she shares that they have heavy plaque, bleeding gums, etc.  First thought was, "I am firing Geoff.  He is no longer touching their mouths."  Second thought was, "Why is this assistant talking down to me on how I should brushing in a circular motion? And at what point am I going to discuss my concerns with the doctor?"  I actually did write in a concern for both of the children, and NEITHER concern was addresses with me.  Second, I NEVER SAW THE DOCTOR!  Have you ever?  Third, and this one really upset me because Shay thought she did something wrong- they didn't get a little dental goodie bag with a new toothbrush and toothpaste, or a little treasure box toy.  She said she saw other children with them, and she has gotten them in the past, but she said this time and the last time they didn't get one.  Just a balloon.  Wow.  That was sad.  I loved the toothbrushes since she just had strep and we had to throw away her mechanical one and use one of the freebie give aways she had received about a year ago at that exact office.  How convenient.  Until now.  She said maybe it was because they had bad teeth.  I was fuming.  Then, Shay told me that they said that her mom should be brushing her teeth.  I asked Shay if she told the lady that her daddy always did that, and she said she didn't, because she "assumed"  I swear these are her words, "that they knew daddy was doing it and not doing so well." She is wise beyond her years.  And she would NEVER argue with an adult.  I taught her that.  Yeah, I said it.

So, what do I do when I fume.  I yell.  A. Lot.  And at anyone near me.  First, I made it home and Geoff already had the heads' up that he was fired from ever touching their teeth again.  Then, I started yelling because I asked both kids to get undressed and go shower, and neither child made an effort to listen to me.  Then, Shay was crying, and it was only because I was yelling.  Wow, mom of the year.  Let me back track a tad and tell you that at lunch, I sat with a YMCA swim team mom I had met this past summer.  She is on a very unique spiritual journey, and while she wanted to share information with me, she shared people who cough are coughing because they don't get their anger out.  Well, I assured her, I always made it a point to get my anger out, clearly, without hesitation.  I am not one to cough.  And then she said that sinus issues were related to not crying.  Well, I am not much for crying, and neither is Shay, and so that might be our sinus issue, but certainly not the cough. Oh for pete's sake, not a cough was any where near me today.

After I yelled, I still wasn't incredibly satisfied with my anger, and so I decided to do something productive with myself- work on Chaz's homework with him.  That didn't go so well, and while working on it, his special education teacher called to discuss a note I sent in about a week ago.  Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.  As I make all these mistakes in one day, I realize that I truly don't want my kids to have academic struggles, or rotting teeth, or anything wrong because I am a freakin' stay at home mom that is on a life mission to raise my children with so much freakin' love and attention to growth and development that they become healthy, happy, productive people in the world that I will leave them to one day.  And part of my mission involves no coughing, and the other part was sent here today to help Shay alleviate her sinus issues.  Shay-bay- For that, you are welcome.  I love you babe.  When you read this in many years to come..... just know that my frustration and anger and yelling comes from a place of love.  And a desire to not cough.

PS  I got a "report card" from the dentist office that stated that the fillings were done without numbing since the gas calmed him down enough to work on the very superficial fillings, and then a note attached asking me if I was happy with their office to share with our friends, and if not happy, to email any comments or concerns.  Well, lucky for them, I trust that since my comments and concerns were of no concern to them today while I was actually in the office, I will share this with my "friends" since I have my own blog.  How lucky they are.  Then, will forward this on to them so that they might take the time to address my concerns, when it is convenient for them, of course.  Because, while our appointment time would have seemed the appropriate time to address my concerns about my two children, I will allow them to properly apologize and offer my migits a cheap light up toothbrush, and a plastic piece of crap that I will relocate to the garbage, at their convenience.

PSS  Oh, I actually do feel a weight has lifted after this blog post.  Whew.  That was easy.  Perhaps I should have grabbed my computer before I opened my mouth earlier today.  

Jan 13, 2013

The blog in which I recap the past week. humor blog

I have been super busy with a new "assignment," and VERY excited to share that with you, this coming week.  However, in the mean time, I have found that I might be incredibly void of empathy. I also have been experiencing with apple cider vinegar.  Finally, I learned that if I want to grow my readership, all I need to do is use the word "pornographic."  Nice. I had more than twice the amount of readers "find" my blog wherein the title included that little nugget.  I don't know as many people as read that blog, therefore, I know that the small handful of faithful readers must have been disturbed and saddened that I didn't produce the hardcore stuff they were expecting.  (My apologies, Sam.)  And just so you know- I think I check my "numbers" a mere 14.3 times each day.  No joke, the numbers will make a big difference very soon.  For those of you who do read this blog regularly- thank you!  I really appreciate it.

So, we were praying tonight, and Charlie was next to me, and he yawned.  I did not do what the scientist have said are "empathy" yawns in return.  I then became all consumed with the thought that I was not empathetic enough.  Sad, since it took me 36 years and a yawn to teach me this lesson.  Then, I went on to finish our rote prayers with the Act of Contrition, and then couldn't focus on anything that might have resembled a true sin, venial/menial/or otherwise, for the thought that I was sadly without empathy.  I attempted to make things right, so I faked a yawn.  I can honestly say, I am pretty sure I have "faked" worse things ;o)  Yeah.  I got nothin'.

Recently, I was introduced to the miracle that is- apple cider vinegar.  Holy cow peeps!  This stuff is fantastic!  I can not say enough about it.  Until this afternoon, when I got all high and mighty and took on a new trial with it.  That didn't go so well.  But first, let me tell you about my experience with it to this point.  First, I have acne and rosacea.  Second, I have spent more money on acne treatments than most people spend on diamonds, yachts, or homes, over the last 20 years.  I never noticed the red spots on my face until I saw it in pictures at some point.  I swear, I have the polar opposite of body dysmorphic image problems.  I look in the mirror, and no joke, I see the true me.  I so badly want that for my daughter.  I want her to look deep and see the person she was made in the likeness of.
About a week ago, my mom mentions to me about how she started applying apple cider vinegar to her face after reading online about it's tightening properties.  I researched, and thought, "I can do this."  SO, I started.  And guess what...IT WORKS!  I have not had a blemish since beginning.  It's only been a week, so I might be speaking too soon, however, the redness is even calming.

While researching, I found that raw, unfiltered A.C.V.  is necessary to produce the the holistic effects.  And the "film" and pieces in the A.C.V. are called "the mother."  When applying to your face, you have to make sure you apply "the mother."  When drinking in the diluted form to see weight loss, or as an antibacterial or antiviral, you have to drink, "the mother."  Well, I mixed up the concoction to drink, and after doing so, I think I yelled, "YO' MOMMA" or "mother f*......."  Whatever.  I couldn't drink it. I tried cutting the recommended two tbs. to one, and then mixed it into eight ounces of water.  Then, I threw in some Tang.  Then, I threw the whole thing down the drain.  I don't want to lose weight that badly, and I think I will take my chances with the illness.  (Although, I talked a good game when telling my mom how I think we should do this.  Now, I think, that part of "we" should try it, and have a sink nearby.)

Geoff has had a "scratchy" throat all day, and I am on high alert.  Praying it is nothing, but if not, that he doesn't take a hit as hard as I did. 11 days friends!  ELEVEN DAYS I WAS IN BED!  So, prayers for all of us here, as well as for my cousin.  I believe in the power of prayer.  You don't need to know the whole story.  Just know that He knows what the needs are, and will provide.  I just ask that you pray for an unspoken prayer.  Thank you.   Let's make it a great week!  

(I changed up the title of the blog just to see if that draws from different web searches.)

Jan 11, 2013

The blog in which I show a pornographic picture.

I'm feeling better!  Dare I say, 100% better????  Really, I am tired, but that could be since I am just getting back to myself, but honestly, no other complaints.  YEA!  So, I ventured out for the first time in nearly two weeks.  (I did get to a doctor and sat in a car for speech therapy twice, but that doesn't really count.)  Where did I go?  Back to volunteer in the school for about 30 minutes, then to do returns at both Walmart and Target, pick up subs for Geoff and I, a quick run into Kroger for swiss cheese, and now, I am home, and back in pajamas.  

While I was out, I was passing the speech therapy office, and had mentioned how I wanted to give a sample of home made laundry detergent to the owner to try.  He said he was looking to cut costs, and would give it a try.  He was alone, and as I was walking out, he off handedly asks, "How is this on delicates?"  Uh.  (blank look on my face)  
Me- What are delicates?  Seriously.  I don't know what those are.  I mean, I stick my bras in the wash, but they are all sports bras, so I don't know that that counts.  I don't own panty hose or dresses, so I don't know what to tell you.  I mean, I don't even separate my colors from my whites, and so on.  Everything gets a cold wash, unless it is mostly linens/towels- then, hot wash.  So, what exactly are delicates?  Oh, nevermind (I didn't want to be having this convo with him).  Just tell her to treat them "delicately."  

Owner- I'm the one who does laundry.  I'll take care of it.  Thanks!

So, while at the school, I was doing testing with the children, individually.  And one of my friends' son came to me and immediately, I got a whiff of his clothes.  YUMMO!  I remember her recently commenting on Facebook about considering making her own laundry detergent.  Yep.  Sure enough.  It was home made!  So, you should consider looking back into a my blog from September about the home made laundry detergent tutorial.  I reposted about two months ago, but not sure where.  I know the first time was our September holiday break.  (Labor Day?) I know it works for all washers, even H.E. ones, and septic safe since it's all natural (mostly), and as far as "delicates" go, I can't vouch for how this stuff works on them.  I would assume it is okay, however, I have heard that if you over use the recommended amount per load (ONLY TWO TABLESPOONS) that you will have holes in your clothes.  I have yet to experience that, but knowing that, maybe keep that in mind when dealing with "delicates."  I wonder if that term is code for sexy lingerie.  IF so, EWWWWWWW.  

So, the other day, my mom was over, and we were talking about antique stores and how fun they are to walk through with the children.  Actually, Charlie, Geoff and I walked through a huge antique "mall" in the small town my folks have their weekend getaway, Hiawassee, GA.  It was a lot of fun for Geoff and I.  Not sure if Charlie enjoyed it, but I was sort of freaked out but what they consider "antique."  Much of the things we pointed out for Charlie to marvel were things from my own childhood.  (I'm 36 peeps- don't go there.) 

The conversation evolved from talking about how one day, cell phones didn't exist.  That came up from Shay mentioning how she loves that she has a camera.  (It's built into her 4th generation iPod Touch that she has had for a few years.)  I told her that she was really lucky, since it really is a big deal, and I remember when I got my first camera, at around 10 or 12 years old.  She asked if it was on an iPod or a phone.  Uh, no.  Those weren't invented back then. I then explained about film  and such, and then talked about the types of phone that were around back in those dark ages, and then started describing the first "car phones," and then the first cordless home phones.  At this time, we haven't had a home phone for about 2 1/2 years, so that concept is already passe'.  

I think she would be a fantastic Ahrens addition.  She and my lamp would be best of friends.   It's a hunk of wood, peeps.  Hot, right?  But not so sure about the need to sell it at the small town antique mall.  I think this would sell better at the "novelty" shop down the street.  

See... not a new establishment.  
Mom said that we really should go to an antique market for an outing.  I just recently passed a local antique market, just about 2 miles from my home.  Apparently, it's been there for a long time.  I had not noticed it, until recently.  The store is in this very old looking type of house structure.  The front porch of the store has all sorts of purchase-able items.  All, except one.  I don't know if anyone will ever want it.  Other than, say, ME!  I purposely drive past it now.  I go out of my way to catch a glimpse of this beaut.  

Jan 10, 2013

The blog in which it's unnecessary use of the word "gynecological."

The word evokes so much emotion for me.  I was scrolling through Facebook (shocker, I know), and read the title of a page that was actually totally unrelated to it, but the name of the page had the word "Gynecological" in it.  Ugh.  Is that necessary?  Any variation of that word makes me shudder, gag, shake, get nauseated, sometimes, cry.  I know, I worked at one of those offices for about six months, but I hibernated in the lab and never spoke of what they talk about there.  Once, I was handed a "sample," and I didn't even know this type of thing needed testing.  (All I can say is... that poor patient who had to endure the retrieval of the sample.  Bless her heart.)

What I am onto here, is...  Why would anyone use this word?  If you are male, and I doubt many of you are reading this with a schlong, but if you are, you might be a girl now.  Anyway, if you have never been into a... gasp... gynecological exam room, and seen some of the instruments of torture, let me tell you about them.  First, the table, then the speculum, then the lube (gag), then the Q-tip that looks like it belongs in a cartoon from the 70's, then the paper gown,  the bristle brush that they say is for a sample of some sort, and I have personally handed one to more than one doc over the course of my career, and still feel like it is better used to clean off a grill top than collect a vaginal sample.....

Oh, never mind.  I can't properly compose this.  My brain is just going back to the headline on Facebook page that used the word "gynecological" in it, while it was simply posting a story of a child who had a cochlear implant turned on, and his reaction to it.  Change your page name, freaks!  Instead of warm fuzzies from your video, I gagged, began sweating profusely, thought I heard lube plop onto a surgical tray, and heard a doctor put rubber gloves on while saying, "Take a breathe..."  WHY???  OH WHY ARE WE TAKING A BREATHE??  I still feel you shoving something foreign into my body from an orifice that is sacred to my husband, alone.  (Technically, it is a fun memory with my children too, but why go there?)

I think I need a Facebook detox.  I NEED TO FEEL BETTER!  Sidenote... I put on clothes to go get the mail and have lunch.  I am back in pajamas.  That was over rated.  Well, halfsies.  I am wearing a bra and a non pajama top, but still have on my pajama-loose-grey pants and my fuzzy socks.  Compromise friends.

The blog in which I don't know what I should do about this.

I know it's almost three in the morning, but I am up.  While I have been sick for 5,474,271 days now, (okay, only since January first, not getting started on antibiotics for strep throat until the second, and now, 7,396,472 days later, still feeling like poo) I have found lots of new/old ways to entertain myself.  But one of the ways has left me feeling socially inept and confused.  First, on the list of to do when you are sick...

Go onto Pinterest.com and find the humor category.  Once there, you will find one too many videos to search and view on Youtube.com.  Mostly, you will find cat videos, and then you will post them to Facebook.  Once there, your friends will start messaging you suggested videos for your viewing pleasure.  Once you have viewed those "spit milk out your nose funny" videos, you will then see a list of recommended videos, and then watch those.  This will take up about 14 hours of your day, and you might struggle to remember to get outside to get your migits off the school bus.  When I say
"might..."  All I can tell you is, "Too many small boxes and Maru" will make you bust a gut.  And if it doesn't- you are damaged.

Over the past few years, I have succeeded in finishing watching every last Frasier and Everybody Loves Raymond show on Netflix.  Each time we came to an end of the series, I went through some sort of mourning process.  I mean, it was like saying goodbye, AGAIN, and I thought I had properly done it already, the first time.  The second time was no better.  RIP my funny shows.  However, on Geoff's urging, near day 340,529, we began watching a new show for us, that neither of us had watched before.  "How I Met Your Mother."  Oh, this is good.  So much so, Geoff and I have watched seven episodes together.  Until yesterday.  I watched 21 episodes- BY.MY.SELF.  Which left him way behind, and me in season two, and realizing that he missed way too much to pick up where I was.  So, when he finally came to bed at 9:38 PM, I forced him to play catch up.  Then, I fell asleep.  And he laughed.  LOUDLY.  A.LOT.  GRRR.  Darn you funny show!  I remember yelling at him to be quiet- twice.  He was listening to the show via blue tooth in his hearing aides, but his laughter was not in his head.  Thank the heavens above he did not have any milk.  That would have shot right through his snout.

I was invited to play a game with a Facebook friend.  That is where things get dicey.  It's a game I used to play all the time.  I was good too.  So, I decided to reload that app on my phone, and start a game.  Thing is, there are three rounds, an honestly, I didn't win.  In fact, I lost, by a significant point range.  I managed to win one of three mini games within the one big game, but not by much.  Chick I was playing has four children, takes pictures like a professional photographer, makes hair bows to sell, is the room mom for my son's class,  works out more than most of those fitness instructors, and did I mention she has FOUR children????!!!???  And yet, she still managed to play each game within minutes of me playing my game, and she managed to win.  I am failing as a sick person who has allotted much of her day to random wastes of time.  I should have won.  And then, at the end of the game, her play being the final one, she said, "Good game!"

The nerve!  Uh, look lady who G-d has gifted with time and talents....  I don't need your pity.  I can waste plenty of time with strangers who can beat me and then restart another game.  Yea, I noticed.  You won, and then, didn't want to start another game.  Look, I have played LOTS of other games with friends, and I know (I think) the social rules of etiquette.  YOU should have invited me to play.  Not out of pity.  But because now it just seems like you are a snob about who you play with.  Like, I could never match you level of word scramble abilities?  Well, I not only can scramble words up like nobodies business, but really.... okay.  I suck.  Never mind.  I will find a stranger to play with me.  But can we keep this "our little secret?"  I promise to not tell anyone about your obvious mad skills and let you take the rest of them by surprise, if you promise to not invite me to anymore word games that you will no doubt hand me my backside on a silver platter with while I am sick on day 4,795,487.

So, social etiquette being blown here, but.... If you finish the game with friends thing, do you restart the game, or wait to see if they want to play again with your sorry tail?  At one time, I had to dodge a woman in the Philipines who insisted on playing more games of Words with Friends that is humanly possible.  We even SKYPED!  It was crazy time back in those early days...  Her name was Joyce.  She was lovely.  In her sixties, still working part time to make ends meet.  Her husband worked too.  She was a chatty thing that insisted on way too many games, and while we played for about six months, and no less than four games at a time (I had to set her straight once when she tried to get me to do more than that) and she played her word back to me within 0.8765 seconds after I sent mine to her.  She was a word wiz.  And the pathetic messaging she sent once I quit- cold.freakin'.turkey.  It was terrible.  She truly needed counseling.  I just couldn't do it anymore.

While I don't need counseling right now over the room mom who can do it all, and still look fabulous, I do need some closure to the etiquette part here.  So?  Should I go back to hunting silly videos on Youtube.com of college boys dancing to some tribal music, watching cats get wet, or should I have been the one to instigate another game?

PS  It is not lost on me that one day I might feel better.  But on this, really day number 9 of antibiotic, with symptoms unceasing, I don't know that it will be soon enough.  And did I mention that on Monday, my daughters pediatrician called and said that five days prior, when I sent her in the same day that I was diagnosed with strep, she had gone in with a headache.  I sent her, telling my husband he needed to have her tested.  They did, and said she was negative.  Turns out- the sent it off to be cultured.  POSITIVE!  So, at 9:30 AM on Monday morning, I ran to take her out of school, picked up her meds, kept her home until yesterday, the required amount of time to be out of school to let antibiotics start to work, and now, I am only awaiting my son to get it.  And then, once he has it, the cycle never ends.  If you give a mouse strep throat...... chances are....