Confession #369

Can we appreciate the word "fuck" and the word "nun" in the same sentence?  I can.  In reference to the way a person drives, "You drive like a nun fucks."  I suppose I will have much more to talk about in confession that might lead to more kneeling, which will lead to more leg pain.  I still am not able to return to the pool, and no exercise until some time in August, after I see the vascular surgeon.  Stinks.  I am miserable.  Maybe there will be a miraculous healing in my girlie parts and my knee.  Doubtful, after I made the nun comment, huh?  I read that quote in the "The Tender Bar."  Really great read.  But hard to believe all of it is true for some reason.  First, he remembers things all too vividly, and some of it seems nearly impossible to have truly happened.  Never know.

My husband insisted we buy a portable air conditioner last night after he got home and felt the temps in the house.  We have a great unit we had put in just two summers ago, however, with temps over 100 degrees, nothing can really keep up with that in a two story house with only one system.  Our bedroom was 95 degrees!  Our bedroom has never heated or cooled properly due to the location on the room, and we ran out on our Friday Family Fun Night after dinner and found the unit only dreams are made of.  We did not get to enjoy family time, but  within half an hour, our room was cooled.  Within an hour, it was cold.  After the first hour, Geoff said he had frostbite.  After that, he was numb.   I was deep in the blankets, and snuggling in with my books, and purring with contentment in the comfort of the humming of the machine.  We turned it off to go to sleep, around 1:30 AM.  We didn't need to stay up, but when you have waited nine years for comfort at night time, it is a thrill that exhilarated us beyond slumber.

So, I am tired.  I just switched on the machine, which I will name "Christian," as only a man could make me this happy, and now, I think that Christian is turned on, I might get some rest before Mass.  The Shades trilogy might just cause me to be committed.  I doth not protest, as long as my Christian can come and keep me cool at night ;o)

Puzzling

The steel puzzles.  Have you ever seen them?  They come apart into two separate pieces, but you have to twist them in just the right way to get them apart.  Well, Charlie got one of those in his stocking this year.  I was cleaning out his little toy drawer and found it.  I brought it into the master bedroom, and three nights in a row, Geoff has fidgited with it.  Two nights ago, after at least 30 minutes of working it, he got them apart, and threw them down beside us.  I said, "Cool, do you know how to put them back together?"  More fidgiting, and yes, after a while, he got it.  Next night, Geoff fights with it, and finally, gets it apart.  I ask again if he can put it together, or teach me the trick.  Nope... couldn't even get it back together.  However, he swears he knows how to do it.  Tonight, at it again this time, more than an hour into it, he separates them.  And I look as he is so proud of himself, and I again, ask him to put it back together.  He resumes that task, and we are now at the third of fourth go at this, in one night.  I am inwardly laughing at his ability to spend so much time on it.  However, I am deeply engrossed in a book, "The Tender Bar," and anything to buy me some time...... Oh my husband... OH look, he jsut got it again!  Wait for it.... "Can you put them back together and teach me the trick now?"

Damage Control

I am reading two books right now.  (Because, no, the skin in my bikini area has not returned, and no,with temps. above 100 degrees, I am unable to sit poolside with partial skin) One of the books is the last in the Fifty Shades trilogy.  I am reading this one very slowly as I don't want this one to end.  The other book, comes by way of recommendation, called, "The Tender Bar."  When she suggested it, she prefaced the book with, "If you like memoirs, you will love it, but you will cry throughout."  I saw Roxanne this morning, and she asked how it was.  I had to sheepishly tell her I was enjoying it, but my tear ducts are dry.  She quickly told me I was damaged, and to that, I smiled, knowing how wise she is, knowing that she knows me such a short time.  Aren't we all though?

That's why I like to read memoirs.  I like autobiographies.  Biographies-not so much.  I want to hear it from the person.  I want to capture each person's nuance into their story, their lifes' story.  I don't get into sci-fi, mysteries, vampires, dragons, wizards, romance (leave me alone about my Fifty Shades), nor do history, science, or religious writings intrigue me.  I mostly like the "Tuesdays with Morrie," "Angela's Ashes", all the Dave Pelzer books, and the like.  Many years ago, like middle school age, I read autobiographies by Louie Anderson.  Seemed so tragically sad, yet, I don't remember much of it other than he had uncontrollable giggle/cry fits while getting a massage once.  The touch.

Well, we have been touched by so many unbelievable people in our community.  Our family is truly being raised by a village.  I learn to parent, befriend, comfort, and most of all, love, through watching those around us as they are serving us.  This morning, we had our final award ceremony for the swim team season.  Our coach is the only coach that sets aside time each Friday morning after the Thursday night meets to let the kids play in the water, have junk food, and get their ribbons from the night before.       I love her.  The kids love her.  But appearantly, there is one family that had issue with her, and that one family might just ruin the next generation of swimmers because of their own issues.  Our coach felt like she damaged, or hurt a child in some way.

She is a tough coach, by six year old standards.  The mom made a complaint about her, and so the coach feels like she would be best to step down from the position next season, and therefore, leaving the spot to most likely be filled by another coach, who we all know and love.  However, I can tell you this much... My daughter, not really a swimmer, developed her stroke and skills by 200% under the direction of our coach, and I am saddened to think that other children might not have that opportunity.  Our coach is tough, but when you care as much as she does, and makes swimmers out of them, you have to be.  Sometimes you can't be nice.  Sometimes the easiest way is not the safest or best route.  As a mom, I am grateful that my childrens' first experience was with her.  As a YMCA member, I am secure knowing that she cares enough about childrens' abilities to push them, and to love them afterwards.  It was never about winning or losing.  The color of the ribbon and doing their best.  That's all that mattered.

I will pray for her direction, and trust that G-d will guide her, and give her the burning bush answer she needs to know what he wants of her in the coming swim team season.  As for the offended family- I will pray that they learn from their personal experience, and that maybe, one day, they can help our coach learn to forgive herself and accept that right or wrong, she did whatever offense it was, in true human form.  She is not perfect, and to be confronted with your imperfection through the eyes of a child must be the worst feeling in the world.  However, I believe she will grow and help others through this experience.  Everything for a reason.....  You might be damaged, and the child might be damaged, but you have to take these experiences and learn from them.

I was on the Rocky Mountain Elementary School's fifth grade jump rope team.  Fancy, I know.  However, I have the scariest child/adult interaction with the vice principal of the school that year, because of it.  I tried out, hoping so much to get on the team.  My brother was on the team the first year it started.  I don't know that they traveled with it, but I remember that I heard we would be performing at many events if we made it on the team.  We did a college basketball halftime show, a couple of school events, etc.  Our coach, the vice principle of the school, was a well liked adult.  He was smiley, joked around with the kids in the lunch room and halls, and was known for his special after school program, the jump rope team.  We had uniforms, blue and white.  Even our jump ropes where that color.  They were punishingly painful if you got hit with them, those two toned plastic numbers.  We jumped to a musically choreographed routine.  We practiced after school.  Mr. Scott got angry when we messed up, didn't pay attention, goofed around, or were late.  Lucky for me, I was an on time type of chick, even back then.  I didn't mess around much either, as I was really excited that I had been given one of the few spots on the team that year.  I remembered exactly where I was supposed to be, and was a skilled jumper, and even got to do tricks that included me doing a front handspring into a jumping routine with my whip, I mean, jump rope.  Darn, I think the damage those hard beaded jump ropes caused will take a few more therapy sessions.  One day, I had as much of Mr. Scott's temper during practice that I wanted to tolerate.  The last event for us was a mere week away, and I just couldn't handle watching him get mad at the boys antics, or the girls giggles, or the child who was late every practice.  It took the joy out of the experience for me, so, without even telling my parents, I just told Mr. Scott that I was done, and would not be returning.  I'll never forget it.  He smiled, and told me I was a quitter.  He had this very sinister look, and honestly, I was so proud that I stuck to my guns.  That week, he stood behind me in the cafeteria once, and had this nasty look, and again, asked if I was a quitter.  Yep, I was, and more sure of it every moment he behaved like this.  He was furious.  Mostly because, we had a very organized routine, and changing it the last week of the team would really be difficult.  I was graduating from the fifth grade, and my elementary school within a few weeks of this event, and that was the only way I could tolerate seeing his nasty smile for the remainder of that year.

While he was tough, he was good at what he did.  But did he hurt a child? Yes.  Did he know he was hurting a child that would grow up and feel that biting look boring in on her each time she choses to quit something for the rest of her life, probably not.  However, I had to use that experience with Shayna, during swim team this past month.  She wanted to quit.  She was overwhelmed by the swim meets and not being in total control of the chaos that is a swim meet.  She was uncomfortable not knowing where and what Charlie was doing, and when it came to line up, she needed to know what lane she was going into, what event, what heat, and exactly who would be at the other end of the pool to take her safely back to the  bullpen.  While I tried to prep her each time, I was unable to since I was always volunteering, but never in the bullpen.  The one thing I kept telling her was, "This might be a bit overwhelming to you this year, but next year you can decide if it is something you want to do again.  You begged me to sign you up.  You can't let the team down, or yourself.  You have to finish this, because you started it."  It was the greatest gift I gave my daughter this year.  She ended up loving it, learning to grow with this experience.  She wants to sign up again next year.  IF she does, I can guarantee her this- she will finish what she starts.  That is what I can thank Mr. Scott for.  I will never let another team down.  And now, neither will she.

PS  The spell check on blogger is not working.  My personal spell checker, AKA Geoff, is at work, therefore, I apologize for any mizsppellld words.  grin

Tickling rats and quality time with my daughter

While some of you might be tweeting with aliens, others of us might chose to make rats laugh.  Yes, scientists found that rats not only laugh, but they do so while being tickled.  It's science.  I never really got into science in school, but they never asked me to tickle rats.  Had they asked me to tickle rats instead of cutting something open and pinning it on some board to dissect, I might have had a greater appreciation for the subject.  However, here's your link.  You're welcome.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/06/26/rats-study-animals-laugh-tickled-video_n_1627632.html?utm_hp_ref=science

Had a Girls Night Out hosted by a local Chik Fil A restaurant tonight.  Shay and I got there, and enjoyed each other.  We didn't participate in the activities, but she ate and then went outside to play on the playground.  She bantered a lot in the car about stuff, but once at the restaurant, I ran into a ton of people I knew from school, to radKIDS and us moms kinda talked amongst ourselves.  I felt a little guilty, but Shay and I have really had a lot of alone time this year, and she and I talk all the time anyway.  I wouldn't have allowed her to do the make up table, and the nail polish one she rationialized would cause her to have wet nails, prolonging the outdoor play area time she wanted so much.  She did get a free tiny stuffed cow, and a free, small ice cream she was allowed to top with whipped cream, crumbled cookies, and chocolate sauce.  Oh, and the cherry.  She loved that cherry.

I haven't been feeling so great lately, and am extremely tired, but went, because I said I was going to.  I think following through is worth more than anything.  If you tell your kids you are going to do something, by all means, DO IT.  Good or bad, my kids can be safe and secure knowing that I will follow through.  A spanking, washing a mouth out, an impromptu ice cream store visit for good behavior, a playdate, a walk with the dog, you name it, if I say I am going to do it, I am.  Shay understood I have been tired, and that the medicine I started is making me feel like poo, and I asked if it would be okay if we didn't go tonight.  She said yes, and I knew she wanted to go, but didn't want me to feel miserable.  I napped, and when I woke up, I had a tad more energy.  I popped out of bed, knowing Geoff would be home soon, and asked if she wanted to go.  She said no, but I said I wanted to go, so she was on board with the outing.

Essentially, she and I spent much of this past year doing somethings just like this girls night out, and really, Geoff and I date our kids with alone time, often.  I even had Charlie escort me to the grocery store last Saturday night and he was such a proud little prince helping me shop.  We even had a few minutes of fun in the bathroom playing with an incredibly powerful hand dryer.  We made our alone time meaningful, even if it was at 9:30 on a Saturday night in a Kroger bathroom.

While I am going to be the first woman my son ever learns to love, my husband will be the first man that my daughter says "I love you" to.  I want to have both our children cherish the memories we create together, and for them to appreciate quality time, over the quantity of it.  Take some time, and get to know your child.  I found out tonight that my daughter loves chocolate chip cookies better than other cookies, her favorite cake is chocolate, her favorite color is purple, but her favorite flower color is orange.  Who would have known.. had I not asked.  By the way, I also learned that my temper is upsetting to her, and that when she giggles when she is in trouble, she says she can't help it.  (This I know.  Nervous laughter is an inherited trait.  I know this first hand.)

Learning Express

I have been very vocal about my displeasure with Learning Express over the last few years.  However, I have been saved and now appreciate the local treasure, that is, Learning Express.

From this little contraption that my kids liken to fake skateboarding, to some easy yet fun pogo stick that is in the form of a Styrofoam type square that is the safest fun way to bounce, to the puppet theatre, to the little plasma cars, and my personal favorite, the opened games on the table that the cashiers kept pulling me to play with them, I can't believe how an hour and a half flew by!  I have fallen in love with two of the games, and purchased one of the two.  I was without my wallet so I couldn't purchase the second, but will be going back, probably this week if Geoff gives me the go ahead.  So, I will share those later, but let me give you the background, and then fill in the blanks.

Even though I have had my issues with this store, there was always a reason I had to go back.  First, they are VERY well stocked in a type of craft that my daughter loves, and I often stock up to give as gifts.  They are called "Sticky Mosaics."  We have done most of them at this time, and they are wonderful fine motor skills types of crafts, and my daughter is a huge fan.  I also will go for their free events that I find out about through email.

Once, we went to a free event that sounded like so much fun.  However, I am mentally challenged some days, and that was the undoing of my appreciation for the store, and have had to slowly re-appreciate the store, and what it has to offer.  So, the event was a free event that allowed you to come early and wait for hours in a long line, out doors, in the winter, to take pictures with Santa and his LIVE reindeer.  (I know, you know me well enough, what was I thinking?)  I sat and watched, and honestly, was rewarded with the crappiest pictures of my kids ever with Santa, and my heart was breaking watching these four reindeer stand in one places tethered to the sleigh for hours.  It was horrible, and I suppose I am more upset with myself than at the store.

The stores all have this unique gift buying method set up.  Children can go into the store, and pick out all the things they would really like to have as a gift.  They put it into a box, and the store places them out on their birthday month.  (I think this is how it works.)  We have received birthday invites that have said that the child is "registered" with a box at Learning Express.  You can go, ask to see their box, and purchase an item from there.  That is way cool for the hard to buy for child that you don't know from your childs' class.  At one time that upset me, but after seeing it enough, I can get an idea from there, and then order it online or use one of the frequently emailed coupons and get it.

Their selection of toys is much better than the non toy stores.  They have unique crafts, science projects,  non battery operated toys that have much longer attention span depth than most of the light up or noise making toys.  The staff truly loves children.  Today, we had the pleasure of playing with Emma.  Emma is sixteen, and speaks as if she is a grandmother.  She has a twinkle in her eye, and giggles while reading the silliest parts of the books she read to my children while I shopped nearby in the store.  I think she will make the best mom in the world one day.  In the mean time, I will practice my smiley face and patience each day until she starts competing with me.

Once, we signed up for a free event, and I said "signed up," as a subtle hint that if you get emailed about an event, you really should sign up to make sure that you get a spot and that they have enough supplies.  Today's event was a pre-registration event, but that was because you had to pre-pay for the supplies.  Today was a Melissa and Doug make your own yo-yo kit with paint, stickers, and glue to put it together.  The kit was $6, but it was incredibly worth the money when you consider that we had a 20 minute activity followed by a little more than an hour of play time in the store.  Children, and adults, are encouraged to play with many demo games, toys, crafts, etc.  I found a scratch type art book that I remembered seeing as one of the prepay summer art projects to do a few weeks ago.  I didn't sign up, since I didn't understand what it was, and only wanted to treat the kids to one event.  Well, I picked up a kit, and it said, "Demo" on it, and so I played for a few minutes.  Glad I had the opportunity to play as it was something I thought was worth the money nor something my migits would particularly love to do.

All in all, I loved every second of being in the store today, and look forward to July's reading fun they have planned for us.  I think it begins on the 9th.  Call and ask, and tell them Erin sent ya'!

PS  Tenzi anyone?

Vaginal Suicide

I think this should only be for the ladies in the reading group at this time.  Here is your hot poker warning.  I am telling you of the male species, stop reading, go fix a car, and grunt some more.  Sadly, none of the men that I know of reading this blog do any of that.  As my guest last night pointed out, she learned the word metro sexual, and realized more and more of the men in our society are going that direction.  But that is not what this is about.  It's about my vagina trying to commit suicide.  (See, I told you to stop reading.  If your corneas are not permanently scarred, by all means, leave this page, and go find something metro to occupy yourself with.  It's going to get ugly.)

First of all, I'm wondering if my body is aware that is in all connected.  If so, does it purposely piss itself off, or is this a sick, random happen chance of circumstance?  I am thirty-five, and have never had so much go so wrong at one time.  I woke up with my eyes burning and had to take my contacts out on Saturday.  I generally wear them all the time.  I change them about once a month, and have been doing so for about 15 years.  It works for me.  Don't judge.  However, on rare occasion when I get a scratch of something, I have to throw on some glasses, it is a rough day since I have really severe vision loss, and glasses are not perfected for me.  So, I went around all Saturday with glasses, and they were glasses I purchased this past Fall, therefore, they were recent by my standards, and I have only worn them once or twice before.  By mid-day, I still have burning and watery eyes, and then, I realize that one of the nose pieces is missing, therefore, I have metal digging into the bridge of my nose.  Nice.

I assume I don't have a blood clot, however, if it's not a blood clot causing this pain behind my knee, it's some hard core, Nazi, varicose veins that is aggravated by my Catholic Calisthenics.  I find that I feel great, sleep better, and can focus better if I exercise.  Therefore, I do it.  However, those fine attributes are all lost when the same said activity causes horrific pain through the back of my left leg.  I am not sure what I am supposed to do with this pain, as I am not one for doctors, however, if my main problem is not under control, I am sure I will find a way to pop leg pain into the vaginal suicide convo with a bemused medical professional at some point.  I have a way, what can I say?

Which, brings me back to one of my first patients during externship.  Remember the sweaty balls man who really was dying of congestive heart failure, but chose to address his testicles instead?  See, I can really have a vaginal issue, and chose to talk about my leg pain.  I think it classes me up a tad to not be so overtly consumed with my happy place and more focused on my leg health.  I could be wrong. Again, don't judge.

So, all the while, I am finding that my monthly friend has come in the throws of a nasty yeast infection that I can not treat over the counter style due to my monthly friend flushing it out.  I swear, having a menstrual cycle that fights me each month is like hell.  My menstrual cycle has been an entity in our marriage that we have grown to dislike.  The morning of my wedding, it visited.  EVERY occasion, birthdays, holidays, ground hog day, presidents day, VALENTINES DAY, snow days, any day that ended in "day,"  Flo came.  The day I wanted it to come, she didn't come, and then we named that occasion of her NOT coming, Shayna.  She is 5.  So, once, Flo didn't visit, and for that I am grateful.  However, for every other time in the past 25 years of her visitations, I have not, and will not, appreciate her.

So, I might end up in an office today explaining why I need some pills for a yeast infection that is growing down my legs, and if we don't fix it soon, I will be serving rolls by dinner time, and that they need not attempt a visual since Flo is here and it would hurt the back of my leg too much to be in that contraption they call a gynecological exam table.

PS  My contacts are back in, so you can breath a sigh of relief.  The rest of me is a cluster though.

A few hours alone...

Hard to resist the ridiculous but true headlines on the Internet.  Each day I thank G-d that I don't have a television to be glued to and see some of the stupidity in the world, but find myself like a moth to a flame with the Internet.

Man Charged With Eating Wife's Lips I am really losing my appetite here.  What the hell is going on with these people?  Is the food chain really that limiting?
Oral Sex With Animals May Be Semi-Legal In Florida  uh, I got nothing.
CANNIBAL SILVERWARE: This Is A Fork Used To Eat Human Flesh Niche' market for sure.
What A Great Reason To Grease Up A Baby Raccoon I think we go back to kinky fuckery on this one- Oh look!  I was successful in using my new phrase appropriately!

At this point, you are probably thinking that I am specifically searching for animal kinky fuckery (wow, two times in one posting)  or cannibalism.  To which I must tell you, "Nay- NAY!" This is on the AOL homepage, and I don't veer far from that each day.  Although, I probably should, if this is all the world news I can come up with that grabs my attention.

So, Geoff took my sweet cherubs to Lowe's Build and Grow while I work on cleaning out home.  It's my "project" for the day.  Even though I clean every day, and do laundry every day, I really need to hit up the neglected crevices of the abode.  We have been in the sun for a bit too much lately, as I looked at Chazman this morning and almost called him Jose'.  Dude is dark.  So, we are steering clear of the pool for the day.  Shay expressed desire to play in her room with Jose, I mean Charlie, today, since we rarely get time to just chill and play anymore.  So, once they get back, they will veg until I decide if we are headed to Mass tonight or in the morning, and then our recent fav. Super Saturday Dinner, hot dogs and tator tots with watermelon.

I have cleaned a ton, but took a breather to catch up on weird but true headlines, read a bit more of the second on the Grey's trilogy, and have lunch.  Now, back to work!  Enjoy your day peeps!

Weird News: Find Your Porn Star Doppelganger!

I have been wondering how long it would take until I could finally do that.  Whew.  Thanking the heavens above for sending this little nugget.  Again, you can thank me later.

So, this weird but true stupid link, which, to be honest, I have NOT opened, yet, is not the reason for my post.  What I really want to talk to you about is "Erinisms."  I have my own little dictionary of words that I employ regularly.  Much of them, not real words.  Therefore, they are "Erinisms."  However, I found a new term recently, that I am smitten with.  Honestly, I can't seem to fit it into a sentence, no matter how hard I try.

When I first heard the phrase, "cluster fuck," (pardon my yiddish) I loved the sentiment, and have cleaned it up and use it daily.  There is a miraid of ways to utilize this.  i.e. "Trying to organize the 6 and under lanes at the swim meet was a cluster."  or, " Watching the government do anything is a cluster."  Etc.  I can even equate it to dropping things.  "I picked up one thing, and two things fell out of my hands.  It was a cluster."  Or in regard to just about anything.  It is a handy little word that I have adopted and enjoy each day.


I have always thought chicky and peeps were endearing words referring to my friends, and have used those for years as well.  "Let's rock and roll!" is how I say it's time to go.  Shay will say, "I'm done Mommy- we can roll!"  (She has abridged that term, and I like it.)  Migits=children.  The list goes on.  However, this new phrase is from this book I am reading.  The book is an erotic romance.  So, you can imagine, the phase... it's not the most useful.  In fact, I love it, but have racked my brain and have yet to find an appropriate sentence for it.  (I read the words two nights ago, and I swear, every conversation since, I have tried to implement it.) Nope.  Not at the pool.  Not in the bed.  Not in the house.  Not with a mouse... oh wait, that is a different book.  BUT.....  hmmmm... that gives me an idea....

I do not Kinky Fuckery, Sam I am.

Not in a house, not with a mouse.

Not in a box, not with a fox.  (although it's worth trying once.  Even if bestiality isn't my thang.)

Not in a train.  Not in the rain.  (as the rain is rather "vanilla" in regard to style." Certainly not kinky by anyone's standards.)

Not with a hat, nor on a mat.  (Although, if that hat has a blind fold.. maybe.)

Sam I am, I do not like, nor will I ever like, Kinky Fuckery.



Wow, I did it!  I found a way to use this!  I feel so accomplished!  I think I will end there.  But I swear, I love this phrase, and will try to not over use it.

That was totally me.

We had swim practice this morning.  Then, I invited a friend to come home and spend five hours with us.  It went great.  Kids had a great day.  Followed all that by a swim meet.  Also, lots of fun was had.  Then, hot and exhausted, we take the kids to Bruester's Ice Cream for half price banana splits.  We try to make this a few times a summer, and just works out to be Thursday nights, right after their meets.  Geoff decides to go to the little boys room at the pool we were at tonight, and because he came straight from work, had his own car to drive and we went ahead of him and left.  I ordered two banana splits.  One for the kids to share, and one for Geoff and I.  We order.  We get them.  

We sit down, and Geoff was still not there, so I take my time and try to enjoy each spoonful.  Shay seems to have taken a HUGE spoonful of the whipped cream, so I grab a spoonful off Geoff and mine and drop it on top and tell Shay to make sure she doesn't dig in too quick on that.  Then, Charlie grabs the bowl, and they are fighting over the proximity of the bowl.  Then, it's pushing.  I warned them.  Then more fighting.  I looked at them, Geoff still not there, and I just got up, ranted about greed, and took theirs and mine and threw it in the garbage, telling both of them that they are paying me the six dollars I had just spent on ice cream and giving it to Forever Fed, the ministry we serve alongside to feed the hungry in our community.  I was seething.  It hurts me to see fighting over food.  

I had to wait about 45 minutes to spank them, as I refuse to discipline out of control.  The moment after I dumped the ice cream, Geoff walks up.  Timing.  I quickly fill him in, and he goes to his car, the kids and I into mine.  I prayed on guidance.  I got more than that.  I think that while I made a HUMONGOUS scene, I hope that maybe, I might have shown another child, or parent, how to say what you mean and mean what you say.  I am not an empty threat type of parent.  My kids are more than well aware and trusting that they will not see an ice cream shop for a LOOOONG time now.  They completely know that I will march them up to the Forever Fed family, and give their own money to help serve another child that would be going to bed hungry if it were not for this ministry.  And more importantly, they we lovingly disciplined and know that God loves them, and that they are brought back into a restored relationship with our heavenly Father through contrition.  

PS  I was going to tell you all how I calmly picked up the two bowls and discreetly placed full bowls of ice cream in the garbage.  However, you all know, I don't do "calm."  Clearly, it was divinely inspired for me to even attempt to throw away nearly full ice cream bowls.  Who ever said He doesn't still perform miracles?  

PSS  I did TRY to show my kids a good time today.  Sadly, I must also be a parent, and raise people that will be loving, gentle, kind, generous, considerate, moral, ethical, and also be the hands and feet of our Lord to those around us.  Some days, that is hard.  But I keep plugging along and most days are self fulfilling.  

From Blogging to Flogging

This is your spoiler alert... If you have not finished the first of the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy, stop here now.  I am going to give away a bit of this books' ending.

IT WAS HORRIBLE!   That's as much as I'll give away.  Here's my take on it.  The publisher probably got this huge book, and said, we need to break it up into three parts so that we can make more money off this.  Sadly, the publishing house did a sucky job of breaking the book up, and the ending of the first book really seems like it should be the beginning of the second book.  I like for each book or movie to be a stand alone piece of work.  This is not.  This leaves you hanging like you lost the rest of the pages in the book.

Second, I abhor usage of intricate verbiage just for the sake of sounding prolifically intelligent.  (See what I did there?)   Sounded more stupid than if I just said, something about how the books' writing was unnecessarily stuffed with writing that would be better suited for a non erotic book.   It was like trying to class up a porn movie with less cheesy music.  And don't judge.  You know what I am talking about, and if you don't want to fess up, that cheesy music will haunt you during your next MUZAK moment in a Walmart bathroom.  (It happened to me once.  I swear, I was in Florida, and my car had a tire blow out, and by some weird coincidence, I was sitting in a Walmart bathroom and hearing this music that sounded sooooo familiar.  It dawned on me, and I was still shaken and grateful for being alive after the frightening ordeal I had experienced a short time before, and then found it haunting to have creepy/cheesy porn MUSAK playing while I tried to poo.  True Story.)

And finally, the word, "hitched."  First, it is over used, and if you ask me, it was only put in the book so that people like me would try to make a drinking game out of it.  Like, every time it is used, take a swig... The author kept referring to some one's breath hitching.  I came up with at least 6 synonyms, and all could have been rotated on an as need basis every 100 pages.  The use every twenty pages caused me angst and frustration that the editor didn't try to stop her.  Well, this would be the same editor that screwed up the whole book separation, so at this point, I suppose my expectations should drop a few notches.

So, I thought the end of the first book was a good point to stop and do this little review.  I hope I haven't spoiled it for you.  (Or ruined your next visit to the bathrooms in Walmart.)

PS  I thought up a few fun ideas that could go horribly wrong to try out in the bedroom with my hubby.  Luckily, after thinking through all of them, I will stick to "vanilla."

Handcuffs- that's obvious.. I lose my own car keys and the kids usually have to find those for me.  Not sure how to ask the kids to search for lost handcuff keys without having to 'splain that to the therapist.

Swing- We have that, and it was retired post baby number one.  (There is a weight limit to those suckers.)  Apparently, I have exceeded the maximum weight.  I think the I bolt in the master bathroom doorway isn't supposed to cause splitting in the wood.  Just a casual observation.

Whips and Chains and Floggers-  First of all, not sure about the difference between all of them, but chains seem unnecessary.  Since I can't open the pickle jar most days, I think chains are overkill.  Whips seem painful, and from the description in the book on floggers, I think it has many little whips at the end that might get knotted together, and that would cause me to obsessively compulse to distraction over that being unknotted and straight.  Mood killer-  like a kid who walks in rubbing a sleepy eye asking what "that noise" was.  (More therapy.)  

Gag- I have to much to say, and this would certainly be disarming for Geoff since he needs me to tell him every step of what I want done, how I want it done, when I want it done, etc.  Because if I don't, it won't be done the way I want it done.  And the way I want it done, is usually how it gets done.  This would be difficult if used on him as I never needed an object to quiet him.  Therefore, it would be a waste of money, and that would also kill the mood.  (for mood killer, See above newly awoken child in search of the "noise" that work her.  Bless her heart. I feel bad about that time.)

Thus far, it appears that I am not as much fun in the bedroom as I thought I would be at this stage of my life.  This saddens me.  But only because I pride myself in my originality in life.  And I only will eat vanilla ice cream as a means to eat other things, i.e. fudge, nuts, caramel, etc.  So, if I equate this to my intimate life with my husband, I should accept my vanilla-ness, and throw some nuts on top.  Wait, that's not right.. or is it?  (I'm totally staying away from the fudge.  I got jokes.)

Not in the mood

To the "grunter" who was working out this morning at the YMCA- stop grunting.  It made you look silly.  First of all, you were on a rowing machine.  Now, I have very little experience on this apparatus, however, it's not weight lifting.  Second, when you get on a stationary bike and grunt, I wonder if you have crotch rot.  Again, no real reason to grunt.  Now, the grunting by the weights made sense, but the intensity of the grunt made less sense.  I was expecting the grunt by now, but not a blood curdling scream with those weights.  Bowling balls weigh more dude.  AND, if you can't handle the weights, use lighter ones, like your water bottle.

I was a bit disgruntled this morning since I have never gotten upstairs in time for my favorite machine during swim team practice.  There are other elliptical, but they are made for people with legs that are of normal size, say 6 ft 2 inches.  I am not one of those, and luckily, there are two elliptical that seems to be perfectly suited for my stride.  Sadly, my legs are so short that it takes me too long to get to them in time.  So, I haven't had the opportunity to work out on those lately, and I'm getting cranky about it.  I got the last ten minutes of my workout on one of them, but I had to quickly jump off my machine, throw my earbuds and phone onto the prized elliptical, go and get stuff to wipe down the machine I was using, all to get back to the one I wanted, for the last ten minutes of my workout.   I am running on little sleep due to a ridiculous ant bite causing intense itch and pain for the the last two nights, my favorite machine is always in use, and there is always one to two flies in my house due to the opening and closing of the doors with the dog.  My aptitude at killing them is impressive, but my patience with them is thinning.  G-d help the poor soul who is on my machine tomorrow if I have another night without sleep.

Squid Sperm-- It's what's for dinner

Today was a beautiful Father's Day here in N. Georgia.  We woke up late, and I surprised my family with homemade funnel cake, bacon, and back yard fresh strawberries.  Geoff had asked for french toast and bacon, and I one upped myself, as I found a very simple funnel cake recipe that honestly seemed very similar to pancakes.  (milk, flour, a little salt, sugar, baking powder and an egg)  It was yummo!  I used a sandwich baggie to drizzle it into the oil.  It was a huge treat for all of us.  Since we ate so late, we headed to a noon Mass, then had our picnic lunch pre-packed and ready to head to the pool by 2:PM.  We came home at 6:PM, showered, and headed out to Mexican.  We rarely go out to eat, and Geoff really wanted to go.  His day, his ideas.  Came home to make ice cream sundaes, and now, our migits are having a sleep over in our newly cleaned out master closet, and Geoff is walking Brody.

I'm ready to fall asleep, but thought you guys needed to be aware of this little story of a female diner in Korea and her relations with a squid.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/06/15/squid-sperm_n_1599591.html?utm_hp_ref=mostpopular

A woman in Korea had a sperm bag injected in her tongue from a squid she was eating.  This seems wrong, on so many levels.  First of all, the squid was reportedly, "partially cooked."  Why in the hell would you eat a "partially" cooked anything?  Food is supposed to be fully cooked.  That just seems ridiculous to me to eat something not cooked all the way, especially an animal, and one that has a history of injecting sperm bags.  This is not news.  Well, technically, it is news, but not that part.  As I read further, and found this nugget- "It's not the first time a squid has tried to fertilize a human mouth. There have been several incidents in Japan where people have complained of oral stings by their food, the news site reported."  If this is the case, I can not see why squid eating is still a viable option for nourishment.  I'd sooner take my chances on an animal that is less likely to get all hot and bothered in my mouth.  (I got jokes.  I got class.  A little.)  So, as far as I can tell, the chicken, cow, and pig still don't have a record of inseminating a human mouth.  I'm sticking with those.  If someone knows something about those that might make me change my mind, let me know.  Thanks.  

Fruit Flies and Comfy Pants

Bananas grow tiny bugs that somehow find amazing flying lift the second your hands try to smash together.   I swear, we didn't have bugs this morning, but the second that I popped the banana and decided, nah, I'll nosh on something different, the bugs just appeared.  Therefore, I believe, the bugs come from within the banana.  The same is true of other fruits, so long as they are rotting.  These tiny flies, literally emerge from within the fruit.  Hence the name, fruit flies.  Don't bother checking the facts on that one.  I'm sure of it.  You can go to the fruit stand on that.

Those black pants I love so much?  Really?  Just those?  So, I wore these super comfy, jersey knit, spacious, black, Capri pants the other night.  Today, I wore something a bit more fitting, and less "Mom- hanging-around or headed-to-the-YMCA" type of pants.  My aunt, who is only in town a short time, says, "These pants look nice on you."  That was a sweet compliment, but everyone who knows me, knows that I am not now, nor will I ever aspire to be, a fashion icon.  I sorta go the opposite way.  I don't think clothes make the person.  I also don't feel like it is appropriate to show up for certain events in wrinkly, stained, or "hole-y" type clothes either.  Therefore, I went a tad conservative and wore a nicer pair of Capri's today to share a meal with our entire family, in honor of Father's Day.

The compliment was quickly dissolved by the same said aunt when she then said, "Those pants you wore the other night?  They make you look "short."  I am aware of my challenges, and my clothes don't make me look "short."  I think G-d did that. So, reading between the lines, I am pretty sure that the eye brow raise was her way of saying they make me look morbidly obese.  I have made it clear, that no one is to use the word "fat" around my family.  That is a bad word.  However, again, I have to disagree with my aunt.  The black pants don't make me look bad.  I do.  Duh.  The pants didn't over indulge the last 10 years.  I did.  In fact, I didn't even have the pants when I started.  I was a cute little size back in the day, and I am pretty sure didn't even know that this size existed until recently.  So, let's all sit back and enjoy some more junk as we ponder the fact that
1.  I am not a fashion icon.
2. Eating a diet of bananas with bugs inside didn't cause this "short" issue I am apparently plagued with.
3. I am not one to agree with someone just to placate them and stop the conversation. I think that if you feel comfortable enough to share your opinion with someone, that they, in turn, should be able to honestly share their opinion back.  Therefore, I disagreed, and think I might have to wear my pants daily now to show my comfort level with being in those pants ;o)

I really do love those pants though.  I have reached this interesting phase of my life.  I love being comfortable.  I love being comfortable over looking good for others.  My husband loves me, and that is all that matters.  People know me well enough, and still invite us to gatherings, comfy clothes and all.  If you are always concerned about other people, than you need to also concern yourself with you.  Stay true to you peeps!  I'm a beautiful mess, but that is why I appreciate me.  

Weird but True Hyperlinks

Virginia Weighing Strict Rules For Abortion Clinics- Not really funny, as I don't support abortion, ever, but I read it differently.  I read the word "Virginia" as "Vagina," and that my peeps, is ironically funny.

Teacher Showed Class 'Cannibal' Video?- I see this as a "Don't Do Drugs" lessons, and most importantly, I'm hoping the teacher showed the multiple cannibal attacks this past month, all of which mentioned one particular drug being named by its' street name, "bath salts."  Now, I am not into that scene, but if I were, I would steer clear of the "bath salts."  Just sayin'.  

Pentagon Planning Milestone Event For Gay Troops- Oh, so it's election year, and dude is stuck working the special interest groups.  However, the fact that Gay troops is being publicized this way gets me.  IF their sexual orientation is not controversial, can't we just refer to them without that label.  How about troops.  Just troops.  Not gay ones.  Not black ones.  Not Hispanic ones.  Just troops.

Whale Shot (Real) Rainbow Out of Blowhole - I got nothing.  I think this is sufficient without me watering it down.  Puny.  Very puny.  It's a quick video.  Worth your time is you have enough time to waste on this blog, you should carve out an extra 30 seconds to see the whale shot.  It's almost as good as a unicorn farting rainbows, but not.  Because we all know that unicorns can't do that.  This was the reason this blog entry came to be.  It was the last of many weird titles I saw when I logged onto AOL the other day, and made me think that the news might actually be interesting.  I was rewarded.

Sex, PAM Spray Led To This Woman's Arrest- I might want to read the article.  Wouldn't want to commit any crimes.  those things are always coming dangerously close.)  I mean, who doesn't love PAM when in the mood?

Toddler & Chimp Baby Become Pals- Why?  What is wrong with these parents?  Do they not have a local Mom's group to join?  I swear, parents who neglect allowing appropriate peer interaction are neglectful and depriving their own offspring of learning the bad habits of others.  A chimp?  Really?  Come now.

Woman Makes Gross Find In Chef Boyardee Ravioli- I think that she opened the can was gross enough.  It amazed me that this is considered a food product to be consumed.

TAKE A SEAT: Swedish Political Party Says Men Shouldn't Stand While Urinating- First, why are politicians jumping in on this topic?  Probably because they are always caught standing with their pants around their ankles.  I refused to read this article.  Although, it's because I refuse to sit.  (Oh wait, no political party has told me what I should be doing to eliminate my urine yet.)  I might be doing it wrong.

Spain Lifts Ban on Hooker Advertising- Whew.  That's a relief.

Dumb News: Insurance company decides child who can't sit up doesn't need a wheelchair- I appreciate the honesty- "Dumb news."  Sadly, most of it is- dumb news.

Arizona Saving You From Dust Storms —With Haiku- Nice.  I thought those things were useless.  Grateful for someone finding its' purpose.

Woman Shoots Herself Without A Gun In Odd Accident I call this natural selection or population control.

Handless Man Threw Boulder At KFC Window, Cops Say- Is this bragging rights or just jealousy?  You decide.

Man Throws Wasabi-Covered Jeans In Girlfriend's Face- Hot pants!

The Holy Pac Man Ghost

I haven't been outside to check on Edgar yet today, but I am looking forward to seeing his sweet  fluffy hairy self in a bit when I get  myself moving.  Was a late night with a swim meet and half priced banana splits at Bruesters last night.  (Every Thursday you can bring a banana to Bruesters Ice Cream and get a half price banana split with your choice of three ice cream scoops, three toppings, and a pretzel rod.)  Everyone is sleeping, except me.  I have lots to do.  Swim meet award ceremony at 9:30 AM, followed by some relaxing before we head to my friends' play, then Friday Family Fun Night with, yep, the family.  Our New York family is in town for the next month, and we will spend every possible second with them, making them wish they went with better judgement, and booked a cruise, sans Ahrens's, instead.  We will bring non- New York Pizza, which I am sure they will feign appreciation for.  Fancy word there, huh?  Feign.  Hope I used it correctly.  IF not, sorry, I thought I might make this educational. If I did, fabulous, I'm done education-ing you.

I once got an email from a non jock strap, that was criticising my parenting and discipline style.  (Apparently, "hovering, over concerned, religious zealot who cares to raise people she wants to spend time with" is not an approved form of parenting anymore.) So, this person emailed, and sent magazine article after magazine article on how my parenting was damaging to the future of my children.  And I kid you not, the title of the very last email this person wrote to me on this subject was this, "Eduakation is key."  I suppose this person was making fun of themselves, but after reading the copied and pasted article, I realized, this person is for real- messed up.  Luckily for me, I laughed, and then dealt with the it with my marriage counselor at the time, and luckily, she helped me to see that you don't fight with stupid.  (Yes, our marriage was saved, but not because of that advice.  I'm not implying my husband is stupid.  Love you babe!)

So, I got the Book of Mormon, and when I woke up, opened it to see what it was all about.  These Mormon people do a great job of an abridged version in the beginning of their book.  Here's the basics. The bible is of man, but the book of Mormon is of the Holy Ghost.  Once I got to that part, I realized, not for me.  I like the more current form of that, being the "Holy Spirit."  Not as scary sounding.  Dude, you might be "Holy," but a ghost?  Come now.  Although, it could be less scary of a think of the Holy Ghost as the ghost from Pac Man.  Those ghosts weren't so scary.   So, now, I decided to read this and each time the Holy Ghost was mentioned, I replaced it with "Holy Pac Man Ghost."  Much better.  I really wanted to learn more.  So, I continued.

The book said that this man was wanting to understand the differences in all the different religions in his area.  The "Holy Pac Man Ghost" came down to this man,  who could have been an English man with a last name of Smith, first name Joseph.  I swear, didn't he and Pocahontas have a thing? Oh wait, that was John Smith.  Never mind, I'm back on track.  Thank the Holy Pac Man Ghost that I education-ed myself before not sharing the story right.  Then, the book said that he was ordained a lesser priesthood by the Holy Pac Man Ghost, but then, later, some of the original disciples came and ordained him the higher priesthood.  I have issue with this, but guess it goes back to the Holy Pac Man Ghost being super humble to allow someone else do all the exciting work.  Well, turns out, the original "baptiser" was John the Baptist, and from what I have learned of him, he was sort of kooky.  Kinda' out there dude, but I think today we would call him "eccentric" and in the south, they would look at him and say, "Well bless his heart."  And you know they would have this pity in their tone and face and you might wonder if he was "challenged" in some way, therefore, accept his weird behaviors and then label him with the current "it" diagnosis, which as far as I have seen, is autistic, and then realize that we have been reading about autism since the beginning of the new testament and wonder why early intervention wasn't implemented and why it wasn't just healed by our Holy Pac Man Ghost.

I really have more to say about my reading, but think I need to pray on it more, as this was what I was told to write on.  The Holy Pac Man Ghost made me do it.

While I might appear to be making fun of this faith, I am not.  I promise, I am an equal opportunity appreciator of all faiths that teach on love, acceptance, and forgiveness.  However, I have always said that we all are called differently, and that there are many roads to our higher power.  Many roads, many names, and many practices.  However, they all start with love, and end with forgiveness.

I was raised in a Jewish home.  While we attended our place of worship 2-4 days a week, I merely attended.  I was not engaged, nor did it speak to me.  It actually felt wrong, and I remember very vividly, this conversation I had with my mom, when I was about 10 years old.  I asked her what it felt like to be Jewish.  It was actually a deeper question, hoping to open the gates to a deeper conversation on how I felt I was being called in another way.  I didn't know then what that thing was, but I knew then that something was different.  I always have known that my mom is a really unique and kind person.  She radiates love,  forgiveness, and acceptance.  She, by southern standards, is the perfect Christian.  However, she is not.  Nor does she try to teach anyone about her faith.  She simply lives her life as a wonderful teaching model, by example.  I am not that.  I am way flawed.  I love who I am though, and I think my mom loves herself, but feels less confident it the idea that she is beautifully made by our Holy Pac Man Ghost.

PS  If you envisioned a Pac Man ghost with a halo on top of its' head each time I mentioned the word "Holy Pac Man Ghost," you might need to go to confession.  I'll see you there!

Edgar and the Book of Mormon

I told you guys that I recently found my very first blog.  It is written by a chick named Jenny Lawson, and you can find her at thebloggess.com.  So, I began reading her a few days after my failed attempt at collaborating on another blog, and in order to not want to drink myself silly, I went on and this blog was formed.  Turns out, I found that this style is a bit off the beaten path, and obviously, a niche' market, as I think two people are reading this.  Thanks Mom and Geoff!  Jenny's blog is hilarious, and her humor and her spirit are amazing testimony to allowing yourself to be true to yourself.  So, when I read her blog today, I was so excited that she was starting a book club for her book, next week.  I laid in bed, about to nod off for a quick nap, and said an unspoken prayer that perhaps, someone might loan me a copy or one might show up on my doorstep this weekend to begin the book club.

I fell asleep, and sadly, I was awoken a short time later since Geoff's phone likes to check in with me, unbeknownst to him, while he takes Brody on walks.  I can't stand those pocket calls.  Those are almost worse than the calls from telemarketers.  Almost.  But not, since you can't argue with a pocket.  So, I went downstairs to grab a snack, and see a book on the table downstairs.  I also saw turquoise blue tissue paper beside it.  Wow!  Could it be?  My prayers were answered?  I rushed downstairs, and I am not kidding, but G-d sure has a funny sense of humor.  It is an unwrapped book alright.  The Book of Mormon.  Fantastic.  I literally just left it on the table.  I came back upstairs and began this blog.  I finished the first paragraph with Geoff, the dog, and his cell phone dialing pocket came home and upstairs.  He brought the book.  Which, was still the Book of Mormon.  I said a second prayer after I saw it.  The second prayer was that maybe I was delusional and that perhaps it might change into Jenny's book.  Nope.   Geoff says, "Did you see the note?"  No, I had not.  Like I said, I saw the book, the wrapping paper, and then my hopes were dashed, and quite honestly, I am not sure that my connection to Him is working very well.  If he sent the Book of Mormon, he totally doesn't appreciate my desires.  So, I got the note, and read it.

It was from a great friend that appreciates our family well enough to share her faith.  Honestly, I was touched.  First, that she wrapped this for us.  Second, that my daughters' cryptically painted clown style Jesus picture that I hung on the front door to ward of bible thumpers had not offended her, as it was placed there in hopes that no one would try to tell me that our path was wrong.  (This aside, as I believe that the book was just in answer to all my questions toward her, since I don't know much of her faith, but I love to learn about other beliefs.)   I truly believe this was a gift of appreciation for our offering to store some things for them prior to their move recently.  That is it.  Her heart is not malicious.  She is an amazing gift to her faith, as she loves and accepts, and lives her faith, rather than debating differences of others.  Thank you friend, for taking the time to give a gift from your heart.

However, I would truly believe that our heavenly Father was close to me at this moment if a Jenny Lawson book should just appear on my doorstep, with or without wrapping.  (Isn't my faith a little screwy?  And yet, I feel if I am true to me, He loves me more.)

Our garden has really taken off this year.  I have never tried corn before, but my attempt is kinda' cute.  I have this one ear of corn coming off a stalk that just looks like a wig is hanging off the top of this baby corn on the cob.  I have named him, Edgar.  Edgar's hair was swaying in the breeze as I watered him today.  I began imagining how he might taste, and then got kind of upset that I might one day eat him.  Seems wrong.  So, at this time, I don't believe he will become part of a meal for our family.  Although, if he has other brothers and sisters, I might consider eating them.  Then, I began thinking, "Would that upset Edgar?"  So, maybe I won't eat his siblings.  Here's my thought on that.  If I eat them, I might see them again after I digested them, as Shay pointed out to me recently.  (She was alarmed, therefore, I had to explain that corn can not be broken down in our gut, and she will forever poop corn.)  Then, I'd be reminded of Edgar if I ate them, and then feel the guilt of that.  So, no Edgar or his siblings.  I think the rest of the growing season will be spent in a fast with prayer intentions of finding a person in need of a spiritual path and a complimentary book, finding corn that is unrelated to Edgar, and that Jenny Lawson herself would just send me a book-- and not one on religion.  I got those.

Geoff decided to tell a joke at dinner last night.  I don't remember him ever telling a joke before, therefore, I was sort of excited by his attempt, then disturbed when I knew the ending and it was dinner time, and we had guests from out of town with us.

What was Tigger doing looking in the toilet?  .........  Looking for Pooh--- or Edgar's family.

Isn't it Ironic?

I woke up about an hour ago, nauseas.  Luckily, this happens often enough that I keep little ginger sucking candies in the drawer of my nightstand for just these occasions.  However, I am very sensitive to spicy food, and these cause my tongue to burn during, and after the nausea has resolved.  So, I go from one unpleasant issue to the next.  Isn't it ironic?  Which reminds me of my mother.  


No, she is not unpleasant.  I love her.  I love her because she is kind, thoughtful, and thought provoking.  She has a bit of Dory in her.  Remember that short attention spanned, little, blue Ellen Degeneres voiced fish that helped Nemo's daddy?  Yeah, my mom has some serious memory issues.  Most of us joke that we can't remember what we had for breakfast.  Mom- true story.  Not only can she not remember what she had, if she had it all.  So, this story that she tells me, repeatedly, seems more ironic because she remembers this part.


A few years after she graduated from high school, she ran into an old classmate.  The classmate recognized my mom, and said "hi," but mom didn't remember her.  Mom said it was really embarrassing since the girl went on to say that they had sat next to each other for four years in homeroom.  Mom, still no recollection.  The girl in this story is irrelevant.  That fact that Mom remembers this part, the running into the chick, but not the chick, is what snags me.  If you can remember the chance meeting, which didn't last more than five minutes, why not the four years together in homeroom?  (Mom, tell us the truth- you had a drug induced high school  experience and just don't remember licking that mushroom each morning.  We can handle the truth.)  Isn't it ironic? 


PS  The story that she told me.. if she told me once, she told me twenty times.  Just showing off her memory I suppose. 


Having a conversation with my mother takes a little skill.  First, she enjoys hearing herself talk.  Her words.  Not mine.  Although, I'd have to agree.  I enjoy hearing her talk ;o) However, when you do talk to her, or as I like to say, "active listening," if you have something to say, write it down for later.  One does not interrupt a Dory speaker.  If I go to interject something, she loses all train of thought, and that in itself if frustrating, for her.  I like to think of it as practice for when she gets old, and the remaining part of her mind decides it's done.  


It's time to go... uh, what was I do up at 5:AM again?  Hmmm... don't remember, but my tongue is on fire... Should go treat that.  I could brush my teeth.  But then I'd be really awake.  Oh, sleep.  Yes, that's what I'm back to.  

Burying Gardens

Had another great time volunteering with Forever Fed tonight.  This was serving prepackaged sandwiches to groups of children who have been bused to a small church to be fed the from our Father and from Forever Fed. The children and the volunteers are all a pleasure to interact with.  We found, as we did last week, that we weren't as "needed" as "we" needed to be there.  To see His face, to be His hands, to feel love is something that can't be imagined.  I love to hear people's stories, and luckily, I had Susan to share with me the story of the bible club, the participants, the different volunteers., etc.  I enjoyed my time, and although there wasn't much for the migits to do tonight, they still got to help, and feel like they were serving a greater good.  There is a need to help out preparing meals the week of June 26th, and we can not volunteer because the kids have swim practice and it if for a short time each morning that week.  If you can help, please contact Forever Fed on Facebook or foreverfed.org and use their sign up genius to let them know how many might be coming.  I have been in touch with Facebook to make sure it is a kid-friendly event, and each time, Susan is quick to respond, and so far, EVERYTHING is kid-friends, other than most food prepping.  That is for age 16+ and that week of June 26th I think they are going to work it out so that younger children can come and help due to the simplicity of the meals that week.  Tell them Erin sent ya'!  

Well, on our way to the Forever Fed event, conversation went a little weird, and I can not even for the life of me tell you how a simple comment goes in the directions it does, but here we go.  (It appears only the car ride conversations are meaningful, therefore, I might turn the music off more often.)  So, we were about 5 minutes from home, and about to pass the entrance to my brother's neighborhood.  This particular entrance has a church near it, and a large garden.  We love to garden at home.  The children help plant the seeds for veggies each spring, then help plant the peat pots, water, and pick the veggies every few days.  I As we were driving past, I noticed that the church, or maybe the home in front of the church, has an amazing garden.  I commented, for the children to see how another food garden looks.  Shay said, maybe is a burying garden.  I was too involved in my head and kinda' not paying much attention, but then asked, "A what?"  Shay repeated, "A burying garden.  You know, where they bury bodies, and flowers grow over them."  So I put it together, and said, "You mean a cemetery?"  Yes, that is what she meant.  And then the whole burial conversation began.  Not so great, as Charlie has been talking about dying for a few weeks now.  (He is seeing a psychiatrist, have no fear.)  But, I didn't want to totally shy away from it, but the depth to which Shay led me on was getting uncomfortable.  I was hoping we could try the sex talk again, as her line of questioning was giving me the willies.  I wasn't sure how to work sex into it, without it being talk of dead people and sex and a fetish, and thought it might not really be wise to begin fetish talk until we got the basics down.  You agree?  Good.  

Shay- "The dead people get buried and flowers come out of the ground."

Me- (attempting to gloss over this, and just sort of bob my head) "Not really, but it's something like that."

Shay- "How do you know what sort of flowers you make when you die?"

Me- "Your body doesn't make flowers.  People, goys in particular, come to visit your body when your soul goes to heaven, and they leave flowers.  Not for you really.  But for other people.  I guess.  I don't really get the fake flower thing myself.  Jews leave a rock.  Still, not making a lot of sense, but they do that."  

Shay-"Do they throw the rock?" (If rock skipping became the norm, I might consider going.  I love to skip rocks.)

Me- "I don't know, I have never visited a cemetery.  I don't throw rocks, nor do I leave fake flowers for anyone.  I think the whole thing is silly, as I just talk to my dead relatives as I believe they are spirits that are all around us, and would not really appreciate a rock or some fake flowers.  I try my best to eat chocolate a lot, as I know they all enjoyed chocolate, and I have taken it upon myself to eat enough chocolate for everyone that has passed on that I love."  

Now, you know where this is going, right???

Shay-"Can I eat some chocolate for someone too?"  

Lord love her.  She is such a loving child to take the time to eat chocolate on behalf of people she never met.  What a gift to us all.  The world is a better place for having her young, chocolate loving spirit in it.  

PS  I don't think the garden we passed was a "Burying Garden."  Pretty sure it was a vegetable garden. However, the tiny church we were feeding people at this past w/end with Forever Fed, had a few headstones right next to the parking lot as you turned in.  I didn't notice until I was helping to clean the pans out "camping" style with a soap bucket, a rinse bin, and occasionally, had to throw the dirty water out.  I noticed I had just dumped one out on top of the headstone.  Hope they like wet salad.  That's all I had to offer them.  

Shout out to Germany!

Who the heck in Germany is reading this blog?  I really didn't think anyone outside of Marietta or Canton, GA might ever see this blog, but I was wrong.  I did some research on where my blog is being viewed from, and one German is reading this.  So, I'd like to shout out to you, but I don't know much German, other than what I talk to my collie with.  So, let's start with NINE! That means no.  But you probably know that already.  Also, I tell him to zeets.  That means to sit, however, I spelled it phonetically, and I am not sure that this is making any sense to you.  I took two years of German class in highschool, and slept through Herr Craven's class for 18 months.  All I really got out of that was, "Es regnet."  Translation- "It's raining."  I am sure Herr Craven is ashamed of his inability to teach a sleeping student anything more than how to mention precipitation.  At this time, I can tell you I know more Spanish than German, and it might be best if at least uno senior find this blog-o.  Then-o, I can-o communicationing-o better-o.  

Well, technically, I should be better versed in German.   Besides the whole German class nap period in the early 90's, my maiden name meant evergreen, in German.  Which was made into a Christmas song.  I also have an Irish first name.  It's no wonder this Hebrew school drop out became Catholic.  I make a terrible christian. I do however, make a fantastically screwy christian.  I love, when there is chocolate involved.  I forgive, when I allow myself to, and if you offer chocolate as a peace offering to suck up.  I serve, if it's chocolate and you want to share.  I accept.. you got it,  chocolate, as payment for serving you- chocolate.  

Really, I make a terrible christian.  This past year, Charlie had a couple of classmates come home for play dates.  He even went to their homes, once.  Sad, but he does not relate to other children as his neurotypical peers do.  One of these play dates began teasing Charlie at snack time for bringing a juice box in that had a Sesame Street character on it.  The issue was resolved immediately, by his teachers, however, I think I was more disturbed by it than he was.  It saddened me because I thought he was one of those sweet kids that would respect Charlie's uniqueness.  I happen to run into his mom one day, and she told me of a story where an adult was not respectful of her sons' severe allergies.  I was mortified for her.  She is a great mom and very compassionate, sweet lady.  She said something in this conversation that just keeps ringing in my ears.  She finished the story with, "I am a good christian, but..."   

Well, I think I have my flaws.  Lots of them.  However, I speak my mind.  Sadly, it will upset, offend, or hurt others.  Well, here's how I see it---  tough.  Put your big girl/boy panties on and accept it.  If you don't like it, I can't please everyone and myself and my heavenly Father, all at the same time.  I can try to not hurt you, but if you get hurt, you need to accept responsibility for your own emotions.  Not sure if everyone is aware of this, but we all hear reference to "Mother Theresa."  She was a hard core ball buster.  She said things that would make most people withdraw.  She was not afraid of what others would think.  She was effective.  She served her Father and his peoples' needs before her own.  I am not insinuating that I am any where near Mother Theresa in any way, however, I feel like He has given me this life, and while I never understand why, I always find that hindsight is 20/20, and I only need to be honest, and be me, and my ability to share my experiences in ways that only I can, might some how serve a greater good.  From religion to raising a son with autism, and being married to a husband with autism, and everything in between, I hope that He always lets me be me, and true to his gifts that He has bestowed upon my little life. 

Now, for the lone German who has stumbled upon this blog, I am a terrible Christian.  I am broken, and somehow, manage to be able to tell you that "es regnet" and hope that you find comfort in knowing that there was a German teacher in the United States that cared enough to share weather vocabulary with this screwy christian who loves chocolate, autism, and the life I have been given with an amazingly supportive family- except for that one jockstrap ;o)  German friend, it might be best to learn some Spanish.  I can at least count to ten for you.  Oh, wait, I even know some colors too. Now, it's time to go eat uno verde la manzana, or a shnitzel.  Whatever tastes better with chocolate'.    

Naked Toilet Paper

I don't care for those heinous knit things people try to dress up a roll of toilet paper with.  It's worse than seeing a clean roll of toilet paper. I think knit things like that, pot holders, etc. are country, and country is "not to my taste."  Unless the pot holders were more along the lines of something that a pot smoking hippy might wear, than it might be okay.  But I don't think I have seen many pot smokers wear knit.  Well, that's not technically true.  I guess all clothing is knit somehow.  Whatever.  So, when you come to my house, you will see new rolls of toilet paper in my bathroom.  If you should use the last of the toilet paper, don't be offended that I have not dressed my toilet paper up for you.  It's like incognito.  But not, since everyone knows that it is toilet paper.  Also, I don't have it wrapped individually for you.  That seems shady gas station style to me.  We use the good stuff.  In "good" I mean the Scott Soft, which is truly soft, and yes, I actually gave it as a Christmas gift to a dear friend this past year.  Just one roll.  Not a four pack.  That would be gluttony.  Well, maybe not, but I did wrap it.  Which sort of goes against my "don't dress up the toilet paper" rule.  But it seemed appropriate.  I mean, if you are already giving a friend toilet paper, and that's the sort of friendship you have, then the wrapped form of the nude roll is going to be appreciated.

So, this blogging thing is new to me, and I find that the moment I post something, I totally forget it.  However, I got an email from BRETT, who feels he has nothing to be ashamed of, so I can mention BRETT'S name as much as I want. (Yes, Brett, from the wet nuts lover.)   So, BRETT commented on a post.  I went back and read it, and laughed.  I considered calling A.A. or poison control, as the person who wrote that was clearly high, but then I realized, I might need to read this stuff sometimes as I swear, I didn't even remember it.  I have two brain cells left, and they are fighting.

I have to bring my old coworkers dessert now.  Well, they aren't old, but.. Well, yes, they are old, but that was not what I meant.  I no longer work, and find that I appreciate these peeps more than I did when I had to "rock, paper, scissor" them for the next patient nobody wanted to bring back, X-ray, IV, drug test,  get vitals on, clean up vomit for, swab a throat on, etc.  Yeah, we all loved our job.  ICE CREAM CAKE TIME!

"Souper" Saturday

Today was one of those self fulfilling days for me.  I had originally planned to go to a local, free, outdoor concert in our county for tonights' Super Saturday fun, but found a mobile "soup" kitchen to serve with our family.  So, we jumped at that opportunity.  It was more fun than any of us expected.  First, my expectation was that I would hurt seeing hunger.  I am not one to see suffering, especially hunger.  And children. Hungry children.  Hungry children and the moms and dads that can't provide adequately.  All that makes me angry and frustrated sometimes.  


After Tai died, our 9 year old first child, my beloved Belgian, I found there were days that it hurt to breathe.  I never thought that hurt would get any easier.  In fact, after my girlfriend lost her Lexi, I went through it all over again, and the emotions flooded me when I saw her grieving.  I am not one to suffer.  Watching suffering is worse than me suffering myself.  Honestly, I don't like it.  Too raw for me. 


 I don't know why, but I can't stand to cry.  Some people cry pretty.  It's kind of like the some people run pretty.  I don't run like Pam Anderson on Baywatch, nor do I cry like Demi Moore in Ghost.    I think my nostrils flair, and I snot.  I also don't look anything like the Zumba instructors doing the routine, but thankful I don't look like the old lady in the back of the room who dances like flash dance in a Zumba workout. Just not good.   I have seen Shay take on that same take control of every emotion and how hard she fights crying.  Geoff used to tell me to cry.  It's okay he'd say.  Well, no.  Not if it gives you a headache, and you begin mass producing mucus like it's your job.  Then, it's probably okay to come across like a jerk at a funeral.  However, Free Willy was the worst mucus factories I have ever seen.  I swear, I think my estrogen left after that movie.  I think it felt overused and under appreciated, and therefore, it got up and left the party.  I don't blame it.  That was hardcore.  


So, I was afraid to see suffering.  And guess what... I pasted on a smile, and eventually, once the people started coming, I was truly filled with joy seeing that these families came to share their love with us, much more than we served them.  From the clothes they received to the hot meal and kid environments that even my kids loved, this Forever Fed organization fed our need to see Him, and we can not wait for the next opportunity to serve.  Think we might be going back next week if it fits with our company and their schedules.  


That brings me to our company.  Aunt Carol and Uncle Bill.  They are my sperm donors' sister and brother in law.  I can not begin to tell you the fun these two bring to our lives.  They have not been able to come in two summers since my cousin, their son, has been battling cancer.  They arrive here on Wednesday this week, and will be here for a month.  Let the party begin!  Aunt Carol is a hippy, unless she is pissed, then you need to stay away from her, as there is not enough cannabis to save us in the state of GA.  Uncle Bill will do anything to have a good time.  Both of them love to play with all the great nieces and nephews, and have great wit.  Aunt Carol is sharp, and Uncle Bill is sensitive.  We look forward to our time with them, and hope that maybe we can get up to the cabin one weekend with them.  (We don't have a dog sitter, or much money, so I doubt that will happen.)  So, assuming they will be at the cabin some weekends, we will be able to get back to Forever Fed on those nights.  


Find Forever Fed on Facebook, and when they have upcoming events, they post there and a sign up for where you can serve that night.  I was on food, and kids took wiping tables, handing out dessert and paperwork, then took over drying the dishes afterwards.  Geoff set up, tore down, and floated around.  They encouraged us to stop and eat, and sit with those who came to share a meal with us.  It was really neat, and I made the kids eat dinner before we left so that we might not take food from the line.  However, once it was explained that we really should stop at some point and share a meal with others, we asked our children to come and try the chicken, rice and beans.  It was way better than I thought it would be.  (In fact, I tried and sort of like the black beans.)  I don't know what exactly they did with the chicken, but it was VERY good.  The children were welcomed to go play with the other children, and they chose not to sit for the bible readings in Spanish, as they don't understand it.  Fair enough.  The family that began Forever Fed was there tonight at our location, and they truly are led by the Spirit.  What a blessing it was for us.  


Also, I helped radKIDS for an hour in the simulation process.  I love the radKIDS family, and feel honored that they allow me to be a part of what they do for our community.  If you ever want to know about radKIDS, ask us!  We are the most radKID supportive family you will ever meet.  Our kids are loyal to the core.  Ask them about radKIDS and they might not stop gushing about it.  


Super Saturday is over, and we have a Sunday Funday to get on with, so I need to get to sleep and then plan for some rainy day fun.  Mass in the morning, dinner guests for my favorite crock pot dish, sweet and sour chicken.  Hope our friends will venture out in the rain!  

Drugs, Planets, Helen Keller and her kitty?

I had the perfect blog for yesterday in my head, sadly, my head and "Vic" were battling it out, and "Vic" won, and I was asleep by 7:30 PM and just woke up.  Phew.  That was a nasty one, but headache free now, and moving on.  I hope I get back to sleep soon, as the day is PACKED, and I will be on the move from 8:30 AM to pick up my niece to join our fam. for Lowe's Build and Grow at 9:AM, then drop her off and head to volunteer with radKIDS at the "Y" at 12:30-2:30 PM, then to workout, then to volunteer with Forever Fed with the fam. at 5:30-8:30 PM.  Yeah, it's a shame I can't find much to do these days.  Guess sleep is for the weak.  I'll have plenty of time for rest when I'm dead.  Onward and upward!  

So, yesterday morning, on our way to the YMCA, (Honestly, don't you think this blog should be titled, "On our way to the YMCA?"  I swear, the best conversations happen going there.  I love my time in the car.  We talk, sing, dance, and occasionally, but not often, do the Chicken Dance.  Not my favorite.  I mean, who really likes a polka dance?)So, on our way, and Shay says, "I see the moon."  This set off a fantastic science lesson on planets, rotation, and Helen Keller.  Naturally we would go there, right?  

So, turns out, when I began my "lesson-on-wheels" set to some fun music in the background.  Clearly, this is not polka playing music time, and I found out that Chazman had already learned about the rotation of planets.  How do I know this?  Because after I explained it, he gave this very exasperated "I knooooow." Shay was interested, and appreciative of my two handed demonstration, while I am almost positive the drivers on either side of me were a tad nervous of my elbow driving or thought I was making up some new obscene gestures.  Either way, I think the demonstration was ingenious, and any opportunity to practice elbow driving is important.  If you don't practice that sort of stuff, you never get any better, right? (Okay, that was all a joke.  Not the driving, but the safety of it was slightly not in my best judgement, but I promise, the elbow part was not really as dangerous as it seems.  The demonstration was done at a red light, and then for about 5 seconds on a highway while I am all too skilled at the planet rotation demonstration for my age in life without a degree of any sort.  It's a gift.)  

Then, while the sun beaming in on Chaz, he says, "Why the moon out AND the sun?"  Well, if you knew so much about the rotation bit, not sure how you missed that part of the lesson little man, but okay, here we go again.  So, after a it more talk, I said, "Don't stare directly at the sun.  It can damage your eyes."  That is where the real learning began.  The last part there intrigued Shayna, and she asked what that meant.  I told them that you can go blind.  Then Charlie asked what that meant.  Luckily, Shay is an expert of Helen Keller afflictions, therefore, I was able to practice my elbow driving while Shay did the rest of the education-ing. (Isn't that a fun new word I made up?)  

Shay- Charlie, blind is when you can't see.  Do you remember my kids meal I got from Chik-fil-A when I got that book on Helen Keller?  Well, she was blind.  She could not see anything but black.  And she could not hear.  She was deaf- like daddy.  But worse. Because she could not talk.  (I don't know how not being able to talk is worse off than daddy, as daddy is just argumentative about what he thought he heard, or didn't hear at all.  I think Helen had it slightly easier because people weren't always getting pissed off at her.  I might be wrong.  That Anne Sullivan seemed pretty intense.)  

Charlie- Really, only black?  

Shay- Yeah.  So she could see black cats.  

Charlie- Oh.  

Shay- Mom?  Can you turn on the Chicken Dance?  

Me- No.  Our drive is only 7 minutes to the "Y," and sadly for you, your explanation of blind took up your Chicken Dance time.  Sorry, get your bags ready.  I think it's time to sing songs the apostles did not.  

PS  At some point, I might want to explain that blind does not mean that you can only see black cats.  But for now, I think it's harmless.  Until we meet a blind person, and my daughter asks about their cat.  Then we might be doing some more education-ing.  Wow, that word is very handy.  Not sure how I have gone 35 years without it.  Lucky for us, I found it now.  

PSS, or PPS, whatever happens in the plural/ordinal form of that word.  "Vic" and "Demi" were possible names of my children since I had extreme migraines during pregnancy, and took copious amounts of Vicoden and Demerol.  A coworker assumed that I should name a kid after it.  Sadly, I picked some meaningful names instead of the funny ones.  Vic might have suited Chazman, but since Demi Moore went all cattywhompus on us the past few years, grateful I choose a hebrew name for my girl migit.  It suits her well.  Shayna Rachel.. pretty little lamb.  Wow... now you know Hebrew.  Be careful, you once you go Hebrew.. never mind.  You will go back.  As once a year celebrating oil for eight nights gets kind of redundant.  But the birth of a SAVIOR!  That's something to party up.  

Cartoons will make you look smarter. Got Gas?

I dropped the kids off at swim practice this morning, and headed up to the workout room.  Darn it.  My two favorite machines are being used.  Oh well, I'll use one of the other elliptical.  But that one elliptical is my favorite.  Well, must try to remain positive.  Every second I am on any machine, I am lapping myself on the couch, right?  So, I am on, and get my self plugged in with the earbuds to the TV, a fun treat since we don't have TV at home.  (Netflix doesn't count here peeps.)  Luckily, during swim team practice, Will and Grace is on Lifetime.  YEA me!  I love me some homo-humor.  NO hate mail.  I swear, I love, love, LOVE many homosexuals, and because I know one, I can say that ;o)  It's like I can now make Catholic jokes because I became one.  It was just wrong while I was Jewish.  That might have been my motivation for the conversion.  Will figure that out later.  


So, I'm hooked into Will and Grace, and I always notice what those around me are watching. I try not to watch E! channel.  That is just guilty pleasure and embarrassing to get caught watching.  I also never watch the news, or sports- unless it's tennis.  That's not too embarrassing, right?  A lot of thought goes into my TV time.  I notice that the man in front of me is watching cartoons, old school ones, while he is on his treadmill.  No joke, adult, like my age, probably older.  Looked normal, and I swear, I kept watching, to see if he might change the channel, or was maybe not even hooked in.  Within a few minutes, another swim team mom walks in and over to him and puts her arm around him.  They chatted, and he continues to watch his cartoons.  I swear, I was just thinking,"I'm so doing this wrong."  I asked the mom who that was that she was chatting to.  Her husband.  Who is a vet.  And for fun, he reads scientific journals, to relax with TV, he enjoys some cartoons.  Right.  I think this would be a very important piece of information to know before I take my pet to a vet.  I think I will ask our vet if he watches cartoons.  If not, I'm switching.  I  might start watching cartoons-if it makes me look smarter. 




On our way to swim team practice this morning I saw that my gas was running low.  Anyone who knows me, and well, knows that I generally don't allow it to get below half a tank.  I have this fear of being stranded without gas.  (Why not?  I have a fear of just about everything else, why not add this to the running list of ridiculous fears?)  Even as a child, when we used to travel with my father, a traveling salesman, I used to always check the gas status.  No, not once in my life have I run out of gas, however, that's probably because I am so conscientious about it.  Not sure, but lately, I have not had enough energy to feed into all my fears.  So, I have allowed my tank to go below that half way mark.  Partially, because I am too busy to stop and fill it all the time, and also because sometimes I am waiting for the price to drop a bit.  So, I had the light go on as we were leaving the YMCA, and knew that I needed to get to the library on our way to our gas station.  Our gas station is near the house and the best prices generally.  


I decided to not panic.  I thought, "I am handling this very well.  I will not panic, and get everything done and still get gas,  no problem."  We went to the library, and I didn't think of the gas situation while we were  there.  Then, we got in the car.  We had another 6 miles to drive.  I thought, "See, no problem.  No reason to get all uptight.  This is so much nicer, isn't it?  Just calmly driving to the gas station and not worrying."  Those thoughts were bouncing around in my head the entire 4 minutes it took to get to the gas station.  I get about a mile from the exit and think to myself, "Ya' know?  It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if the car broke down here.  It might be an adventure to walk there and back.  Might even teach the kids a lesson about never letting your gas get on low."  Then I finally pulled into the gas station.  And my last thought? "What sort of a freak am I that I am freaking out over not freaking out, while trying to not panic about getting gas? Clearly, I need help."  Then I thought to myself, "Great, now you are talking to yourself.  Clearly, another sign of crazy, and I need to seek help sooner than later.  I hope I have enough gas to get there.