Under Roos!

OK ladies, we all have them. The underwear that we hate but wear it anyway. I'm not talking about the pair that is slowly unravelling at the leg band but you refuse to throw away because it was "good, expensive" underwear. I'm referring to the sexy pair. The pair that won't quite stay in place, or the silky pair that when you wear it your jeans slide off your butt every time you sit down. I'm talking about the lacy pair, with the not-so-soft-to-the-skin lace. The pair that goes deep where it should not go. You know the underwear to which I'm referring? Of course you do- because you have SEVERAL pairs of them in your drawer. You wear them on special occasions, and laundry day, but not a day more than absolutely necessary.

My husband had Friday off, so I thought, "Hey, maybe I'll wear the sexy silky underwear incase he gets a peek today." It's a sensible thought. We were going to the gym, but I thought the pair I picked out would be fine for that purpose. The pair I picked that day was on the verge of being anoying, but not not too bad. Apparently I was wrong. It was too slippery with my sweats and wouldn't stay put at all! I decided to just shut up and put up with it... well... "up".

While waiting for my son to get out of the pool I bent down to the sife of the pool to say something to him. Now my husband was in the next room watching us through a glass wall. As soon as we got to the car he starts in with "Dude, you had the world's biggest wedgie at the pool! Why did you wear that underwear? You should throw that away! I bet everyone was staring at your butt - it was so bad!" Thanks, dear... jack ass.

Why do I even try? He never even notices that I wear the nice underwear for him - he does the laundry! He knows what I own! I think from now on I will only wear the granny panties just to teach him a lesson for making fun of me. I will save my sexy, uncomfortable underwear for the weekdays when I don't see him. From now on when you hear me on the radio, you'll know I'm wearing the sexy underwear - because I'm saving the unsexy granny stuff for special occasions. :)

What a long strange ride it's been.

Yes, I suck. I've been neglecting the little blog here for the past few weeks. I've had some good stories to tell too! I'll save the bathing suit mishap for another blog, and instead tell you about the Thanksgiving weekend.... which actually starts with last Saturday - November 22nd. We had an adult dinner party. It was AWESOME! there were 8 of us - 4 couples - who all got babysitters for the evening and got together at our house for dinner. We ate off of my Grandparents china and downed two bottles of wine. It really was great. There was no TV and we sat around the table for a couple of hours just talking. We're definately doing that again! At the end of the night we went to clear off the table only to discover that my sink was all backed up! Great!

Convinced I could take care of it myself, I messed with it for days. Everytime I thought it was OK my husband would start running water and stuffing things in the garbage disposal and it would get all backed up again! It wasn't his fault, but I'm gonna blame him anyway. Finally on Friday morning- yes almost a week... and a smelly kitchen...later - we called in the plumber. Jason's grandparents were expected at 2 for our day-after-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving (we spent the actual Thanksgiving with Jason's stepmom's family), and I had a smelly kitchen full of dirty dishes. Oh, it was lovely. We hadn't been able to use the stove for a week because all the dishes from LAST WEEK'S dinner party were still all piled up on it. We're just nasty, is all I can say. It's not usually like this, but I was damned determined to fix it myself. I'm such a man. Anyway, I felt a little better after the plumber spent TWO hours with the snake way, way down the pipes trying to clear the blockage. I would have never been able to get to it. Then he only charged us $40! We felt a little guilty, but we'll make it up to him at Christmas. The plumber packs it up and we have our kitchen back... and it's 12:15! Thanksgiving dinner is at 2!

We can do this. Suprisingly, it was Jason freaking out this time & I was the calm one (the drugs must be working!). We tag teamed the dishes - he washed while I dried & put away. Then I went to the store & bought some food to make for dinner. I came home and started peeling potatoes while Jason went to the Honey Baked Ham store to get the main course. I set the table - complete with the antique table cloth handmade by Indians that Jason's Grandma, who was on her way over, gave to us. How good am I? We even used his Mother's dishes. Dinner was on the table at 2. Damn, I AM good!

I still had to work on Friday night, so after dinner was cleaned up and put away I headed out the door. Somehow, on the way there, I managed to hit a pothole the size of Texas! Oh yeah, I busted up the rim and flattened the front passenger tire on the Maxima. It was immediately flattened too. I babied the car the one block to work and called up to make the guy in the Newsroom come down and stand with me while I changed my tire. Dude, I couldn't get the jack out of the trunk! It was jammed in the side of the wheel well and that thing was not budging! We even got the owner's manual out to see if there was some magic button or something - "turn and pull." Yeah, turn and pull, my ass! After about 40 minutes of "turning and pulling" I caved in and called my brother. I felt so stupid. I can change a tire! grrr. I love my big brother though. He's always there to save me.

Saturday morning I called around to try and find a new rim - $613! Jason was not pleased with me. At all. In the meantime I had to be out at Fred Martin Superstore for work from 11-1. We dropped the car off at Conrad's and Jason dropped me off at Fred Martin. He picked me up and I took him home and went to get Coen from his friend's house (he spent the night with Evan). As we were getting in the car to leave from Evan's house my phone starts ringing. It's the radio station. They're out at Fred Martin Chevy and the jock that was supposed to be there didn't show up. It turns out she had a family emergency & everything is fine now, but we were all worried because that's not like her. Needless to say I went flying across town to Frd Martin Chevy - son in tow. I got there in time for the next break - only because I called as I was pulling in to the parking lot. We were there for the next hour and a half and my son was perfect! I couldn't have asked for him to be better! I was so proud!

We finished up there and headed home to put the tree up. It made it up, and there are lights and beads on it, but it never went further than that. On to Sunday...

The phone rang at 8:30. Our pastor was on the other end sounding horrible. She had been sick for the past few days and was so weak that she couldn't even stand! She e-mailed me her sermon and I was the preacher for both services on Sunday. Everyone said I had done such a great job, but I couldn't take much credit for it - it was her sermon, not mine.

Monday morning: I'm fighting with the kids to get them to MOVE! Do we have to get Coen to preschool late every morning? We rush in (half an hour late at this point) only to discover that he didn't have school today. I somehow missed that schedule change. He just turned to me and said "Well I guess I wasn't late today, was I?" He was so tickled.

Then Conrad's calls about the car. They were able to find a brand new wheel that matched our car through a salvage yard, and they were able to patch my tire!!! It only cost us $250 to get the car fixed!!! That could have been a $900 bill easily. How lucky are we?

It was just such a strange chain of events. It hasn't been a bad week, but it has been a little strange. It certainly hasn't been boring, but I'm hoping the rest of the week is, just a little.

My Hope for the future

Everyday I try to teach my children how to be a better person than I am. I try to teach them to leave it cleaner than you found it, and lend a hand whenever a hand is needed. I try to teach them to do good simply for the sake of doing good. I try to teach them that one person can make a difference one kind act at a time. Most of the time you think they're not getting it, but then there's that one unforced act of goodness! You can't help but beam with pride when you see it. It might be the time your child stands up to a bully who's picking on another kid, it may be when they break their cookie in half and share it with a lonely child, sometimes it's when they invite the kid in the corner to come over and play with the group. It could be when they pick up the litter in the park while we're walking, or simply being polite and conversational- no matter how uncomfortable they are - when the old crazy people in the grocery store are talking to them. It's these little things I see in action everyday that make me so proud of my kids.

Of all the things we try to instill in our children, tolerance and respect are two of the most important things on the list. Throughout the past few months, my kids have been surrounded by the election mess. My son is 5 and very aware of, well everything (except whe I'm calling his name...). He sees what's going on around him and asks questions to help fully understand it. My husband, being the political junkie in our house, has been answering these questions - mostly at night when I'm at work. I know he knows who Barack Obama and John McCain are. He knows that we all go vote for a new person to be the President every four years to be our boss. He watches the Daily Show more than I do - I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but I'm willing to let it ride for now.

This morning my son, Coen, woke up and crawled into bed with me as he does every morning. The first thing he said was, "Who won the election?" When I told him Barack Obama had won he pumped his little fists and gave out a little "woohoo!" I just smiled. He then continued, "I'm glad McCain didn't win, because if he did he would come and take all of our toys away!" I just looked at him and asked him to repeat himself to be sure that is what I heard. It was. At that point I decided to sit and have a conversation about the elections and the candidates with him myself - Daddy was fired!

I told him that John McCain would not come and take his toys. I told him that Mr.McCain is a good man with a lot of good ideas. He loves our country and only wants to help us. I told him that he was a soldier a long time ago and helped a lot of people. I told him about how the bad guys in the war had caught him and hurt him, but he was very brave and strong. I told him that even though Mr. McCain was a very good man, Mommy and Daddy didn't vote for him because we didn't think we liked the way he would run our country. I told my son that he says things to people that scare them and make them angry. He might not mean to do it, but he does. I told him that Mr. Obama was a very nice man too with a lot of good ideas, but that he inspired people and brought positive reactions to people. We voted for Mr. Obama because we wanted to make a positive change in our world.

It was a really cool conversation - simply because we were having it. My parents taught me a lot of things to be proud of- things that left me a better person than them - and my parents were pretty amazing (mom still is!). This was never one of those conversations I had with my parents. I couldn't tell you anything about politics, voting or anything of the sort as a child. As an adult, I have to say that this was a really exciting election to be a part of. I only hope that they can all be like this. It really seemed almost like a national holiday or something. People were excited to go vote - and that excited me! I do hope it's a trend that doesn't fade. We stood in line at the polls at 6:30 am, my husband and I, for 45 minutes. It was almost like a date. We talked to each other about all kinds of stuff. It was nice. What was also nice was that we felt like we were really going to make a difference with our votes. It was cool.

After talking to my son this morning, it just seemed even cooler. We were teaching our child how important it is to vote, how to respect those that you don't necessarily agree with, to tolerate difference, and what it is to be a leader. It's a lesson that I'm proud of.

My son has no idea how historic this presidential election has turned out to be. There's a reason for that, and a reason that I'm proud of. My son doesn't see Barack Obama as black or white. He sees Barack Obama on the TV and he just sees a man like any other man. "Black" is not in the vocabulary at our house. "African American" means nothing to my children. My children see men, women and children of all shapes, sizes and shades - and we're all God's children.

My son was very interested in this election. It could be because he wanted to share the interest with his father, or maybe just because he needs to understand everything going on around him. I don't know if he'll remember the events of Decision '08, but I hope he at least remembers snuggling in bed with Mommy the day after.

My, I am a handsome man!

When I shower, I like lots of bubbles and lather, therefore I always get liquid soap that smells yummy and girly. It's one of the simple pleasures I still have left. I don't get very many chances to soak in the tubby anymore, I'm always the last to get a shower at our house - so consequently my hair is always wet, or else the hair is dry and I'm putting on my shoes & makeup in the car. I don't spend money on fancy perfume and I never have time to lotion up my dry legs. The soapy, smelly shower is it for me these days.

A few years ago my husband ran out of soap. He has always preferred some manly smelling bar soap. I never touch the stuff myself, but to each his own. Anyways, he was out of soap and finally broke down and used my smelly lavender breeze - or whatever. He couldn't believe that this little drop of soap could produce all these bubbles & get his whole body clean - and he didn't need to peel it off the edge of the tub before using it! Crazy!

So - he decides that we should both start using this crazy newfangled liquid soap from now on. In an effort to eliminate the number of bottles lining up along side the tub (because they drive me nuts there!), I decided to compromise and make my scents less girly so we could both just use the same bottle. For the past couple of years I've been buying things like sandalwood & ocean breeze to wash ourselves in. They're not as glamorous, but they still smell clean (although I have now lost yet another one of my girly pleasures of smelling frilly).

My husband went to the store a couple of weeks ago to get a couple of things - one of them being soap. He came home so excited because he discovered that they make shower gel for men! It's like this big secret I was keeping from him so I could force him to smell like a woman or something. He was so tickled by this discovery.

Of course, when he made this discovery he immediately picked up a bottle and threw it in the cart and ran to the check out. He didn't bother to head on down the isle a little further...

Let me just say - the shower gel for men smells really sexy. It's got that manly musky sort of smell to it. It's yummy. It's a smell I've become quite familiar with SINCE I SMELL LIKE A MAN!

Yes, I could go out and buy a super girly scented shower gel, but then I would actually have to remember to do such at the grocery store - and that's how the "great discovery" happened in the first place... I have to admit though, the ladies have been noticing me more lately ;)

mushy, gushy and mine.

They say weddings are wonderful because you remember how much in love you were at your own. You remember how you looked at the one you chose to share the rest of your life with from this day forward. You remember the love you felt being surrounded by all the people you love. It's all true and I love weddings for these reasons and more.

But the one thing that really got me this weekend was this; I don't need a wedding to remind me of how much I love my husband. Sure I thought about our special day, but it's nothing compared to the days that we have had from that point on. We have been through so many adventures together -some were wonderful, others heartbreaking and even a few that were a little scary. We've been there to cheer each other on in our successes or at least our attempts at success. We've held one another in the darkest of times and cried when the other was hurting. We've grown, changed and learned to fall in love with one another over and over again.

I still get giddy when Jason reaches out to hold my hand - which is all the time. I love that we hold hands everywhere, even when we're watching TV or driving in the car. I love that we don't need a reason to kiss one another - the only reason is that the other is in reaching distance.

I love the goose bumps that race down my arms when we wraps his arms around me. I love looking over to find him staring at me with a silly little grin on his face. I love when he catches me doing the same thing when I don't even realize I'm doing it. I love how we still find each other irresistible even after almost 14 years.

We've shared our dreams with one another, and have watched many of those same dreams become realities. We have three amazing children, which have showered us ten-full with the love we already shared together. They have brought us so many new adventures, and a whole new set of dreams to share as parents.

Yes, weddings are wonderful. They fill you up with love, but mostly they fill your heart with happiness and hope. You are happy to be part of something as wonderful as the start of something so beautiful, and you hope they will enjoy it to the fullest. Being with that one person is so gratifying. Yes, there are days you want to throw something large and solid at their head, but mostly you just want to be near them. Love is a wonderful adventure! It's makes you completely mushy, gushy, and crazy - and if you're lucky you find it. Lucky me.

A year ago...

A year ago I had a three month old baby, and was wondering if I was going to live to raise her and my older two children - who weren't that old (2 and 4). I was coming up with ways to leave a piece of me behind for them to remember me by so they wouldn't forget me. I was praying that my husband would be OK if I had died.

I was 30 and waiting for the results of a breast biopsy. My mom had just finished radiation the year prior to treat her breast cancer. My only hope was that we caught it early and that it wasn't aggressive. You prepare yourself for the worst, and praise God when the worst isn't what you get.

I consider myself blessed. My biopsy came back as pre-cancerous - which means it hasn't turned into cancer yet - or may never become cancerous. But we know it's there and can monitor it.

When I was going through this ordeal, I wrote a blog about it (The Big "C"). I felt it was important to share. I still feel a great need to share it.

I thought mammograms were for older women. If it weren't for a swollen lymph node in my armpit that kept giving me problems, I would have never seen a doctor. I'm glad I did. In the few weeks of know knowing, I learned a lot about breast cancer.

Generally women should get yearly mammograms beginning at the age of 40. If you have a history of breast cancer in your family, you should start getting mammograms 10 years earlier than the age your relative was diagnosed. If your mother was 45 when she was diagnosed, your mammograms should start at 35.

I wouldn't choose to get mammograms on a daily basis, but they're not the horror story you may have heard. Yes they squish your boobs. Yes, it's more than a little uncomfortable, but not terribly painful. It was probably worse years ago, but most places have updated their machines by now. Once the machine takes your x-ray picture, it automatically releases your boob from it's death clutch, giving you instant relief. Besides, they're boobs - they fluff right back up.

It is important to be aware of your body. Do the monthly self examinations. Keep in mind that breast cancer can show up high on your breast to where it's not even really on your breast but above it. It can also be in your armpit. You know your body - if there's something different see your OB/GYN. If there's concern they'll direct you to a specialist. And men, breast cancer can happen to you too. Be aware of your body.

Generally, the younger you are the more aggressive the cancer is. This what had me so freaked out and expecting the worse. Don't think that just because you're under 40 you can't get breast cancer - and ladies - 40 is young. Again - I cannot stress enough - if you notice any change see your doctor.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month - a fact that's hard to escape, I know. But there's a major spike in spotting breast cancer in October, so it having it shoved in your face must be working.

It's true that cancer used to be an automatic death sentence, but technology has come a long way. Just because you have cancer it doesn't always mean you're going to die. The sooner you catch it the better chance you have to become a Cancer Survivor.

It may sound strange for me to go on and on when I didn't even have cancer, but the scare was enough for me. The weeks of not knowing scared the crap out of me and my family. And when I see my cancer free mom enjoy her grandkids, it gives me even more reason to be aware of my body and my health.

I don't get up on my soapbox very often, but this is my blog, and in the world of Thirty-Something at blogspot dom com I can do whatever I want! So please just take care of yourselves.

Sorry dear, I lost the receipt.

My little one, Lily, is as cute as a button. Having said that, she can be quite the little monster. Her favorite past-time these days is harassing her big sister. She is just relentless. She takes stuff from Ravenna and runs as fast as she can, laughing the whole way as Ven is left there crying because "the baby is being a bully."

Lily just knows how to push Ravenna's buttons - every single one of them. Her other favorite game is to pull Ravenna's hair. She grabs it hard too. We tell her no and stick her in time out. She's not a fan of that, but as soon as we unleash her she's right back there with a handful of hair and an evil smile on her face.

As we were hanging out at the house yesterday, Lily was in rare form. At one point Ravenna looked up at me with tears in her eyes and told me, "Mommy take her to the doctor and leave her there! Tell Dr. 'Lucia' that she pulls my hair and we don't want her anymore."

I expected it after a few weeks, but not after 15 months! Needless to say, she was not pleased with the answer she got.

Worth a thousand words...

There's a picture I come across from time to time of my mom and I that seems to sum up my childhood. It seems a strange thing to me when I think about it though. I was raised in a bakery. That in itself brings back so many wonderful memories, but this photo wasn't taken there. It's a picture of my mom and I when I was about 10 years old. My mom is sitting on the ground leaning sideways against a building and I'm laying on the ground with my head propped up on her legs. My mom's eyes are closed and she has this look on her face of pure happiness. She's relaxed and has the most beautiful grin on her face. She's still in her work clothes from being at the bakery. I remember my dad taking the picture - which is strange because there weren't a ton of pictures taken outside of special occasions at our house. To think we even had a camera with us is strange now that I think about it.

We were at the fair. It was just my parents and I. My sister and brothers were off being cool teenagers, and I was still young enough that my folks could take me to the fair without me being embarassed to be seen with them. We were resting from our excitement in the picture and listening to whatever the band was on stage that evening.

It's not the greatest, most flattering picture of either of us, but it's one that I hold dear. That was my childhood. No matter how busy my parents were, no matter what was going on, we were a family and we made time to enjoy each other. My parents did cool things with all of us together and individually too, but I like to think it was a little different with me.

There were four of us kids, and none of us have anywhere close to the same personality. We all have enough in common that we get along, but are all four very, very different people. I seemed to have gotten the artsy side of both of my parents. My mom had more to offer in this area, but it was my dad that really educated me about music. Mom taught me to dance like a fool and have fun no matter who was looking, and to sing out loud even if you don't know all of the words. Dad just liked to sit and appreciate the music, tap his foot and bob his head. He taught me things likw why Roy Orbison wore black glasses all the time, and why Elvis was laughing through "Are You Lonesome Tonight" while Cici Houston sang backup. One thing they both loved was a live band. We went to every concert in the park there was no matter what the music was. My parents loved music - in every sense of the word.

It wasn't just music though. My parents made me read books that weren't required reading for school. I went to the Akron Art Museum and Stan Hywet without them being school field trips. We went to art shows, craft shows, dance shows, symphonies concerts and plays just for the pure enjoyment. We didn't have a lot of money and most of the things we did were free. It's a combination of all these things that make up some of the most wonderful parts of my childhood.

That picture captures all of this. It's just me all by myself with Mom and Dad enjoying life. My parents were tired. They owned a bakery. That old Dunkin Donuts commercial about being "time to make the donuts" it dead on. They were up at 2 or 3 in the morning to go into work and the doors didn't close until 5 or 6 in the evening, and they were there the whole time. It would have been so easy for my parents to say they were too tired to go out to hear a band or see the ballet, but they didn't. Yeah, there were times that my mom would fall asleep on a blanket in the grass while listening to the music, but we didn't care. She would still rather be sleeping on the ground outside in the fresh air on a warm summer evening than stuck inside with the television on.

When I think of my childhood, that image Dad captured of Mom and I is what pops into my head. Sure there are others- many others - but that one is one of my favorites. It's images like this that I hope my children will conjure up someday. I can only hope.

A few crayons short

You know, I used to be one sharp tack. Really. I was on the ball. I knew every date, time, event - you name it. I was on the ball. I was organized and I was with it. What happened? I feel like a freaking moron anymore! I can't retain anything in my noggin anymore.

I have to write everything down IMMEDIATELY - and even then I write it wrong have of the time. I've come to realize that I'm just a few crayons short of a full box these days. Is it age? Is it my kids? What has brought this scatter-brained universe to my doorstep? I don't want to be the stupid one! People tell jokes and I'm so out of it that they go over my head - then I realize that they were jokes several hours after the fact. then I just sit there worrying about how stupid people must think I am. Honest, I'm not stupid!

I've come to the conclusion that perhaps my children have my lost crayons. You know how kids are. They'll use my crayons, and then one day they won't need them anymore so they'll gather them up. Some may be broken and dulled down. Some will be missing the paper telling me what color they are and others may be chwewd on. Still others may never return, as crayons are sometimes lost forever - only to be found next summer melted into the carpet under the back seat of the car. My box of crayons will never be quite what it once was, will it? I guess I'll need to keep my pocket planner with me at all times. What's next, taking my address labels with me everywhere incase I need to enter a contest?

Just wrap that GAP bag over my head & tie the string

I had no kids and three hours to myself! Should I repeat that? I think I will just because it excites me so much - I HAD NO KIDS WITH ME AND THREE HOURS TO MYSELF!!!! So, what would you do in this situation? I went to the mall, baby! I was so excited when I got there. I went to Summit Mall and entered in through Macy's. I looked around and hated everything I saw. Why do all the clothes look like old lady clothes? OH MY GOD - ARE THOSE JEANS WITH STIRRUP STRAPS AT THE BOTTOM??? (the answer was YES, by the way). Even when I did find something I liked it was way to pricey - even the clearance crap was too expensive. I'm cheap - not as cheap as some, but still cheap. I was going to allow myself to buy a pair of good jeans, but not over $50 and a new, super nice bra from "Vicky's" which was going to be about $50 too. I was hoping to round things off with a cute shirt or two and a nice dress. Yes, my friends - I was spending buck s on myself! It's not a regular thing to buy myself nice stuff.

I walked out of Macy's disappointed, but as I walked out I saw the illuminated shopping paradise infront of me. I, of course, went toward the light. I looked in the windows of Motherhood on the way by and admired the cute maternity stuff in the window while thinking how happy I was that I'm done with all of that pregnant stuff. The next stop was Express. The stuff in the window was so cool looking. Not a sole spoke to me as I entered. I saw the jeans and headed straight towards them. Hm, there's nothing over a 12 here, and I need a 14. I looked on the wall and couldn't find a 14 there either. I asked the ASSociate next to me (pretending she didn't see me) if they even carried size 14.

"Sorry, we don't carry plus sizes."

If I had been standing about 5 feet away from her I could have gotten a running start and drop kicked her skinny ass, but us plus sized fatties can't jump that high without a running start, so I had to make do with an insulted "oh, ok." as I turned and did the waddle of shame back towards the light. There had to be more for me out there.

American Eagle & Pac Sun blared the music so loud that I just didn't bother. One of them looked like all kid's clothes - was that AE too? The mall confused me. Where is a curvy girl to go for some jeans that don't come from the thrift store? Oh, Aeropostale. That's the brand my favorite thrift store jeans are! I tried on all of them & hated them all. When did bootleg turn into bellbottom? Why is it they're either "mom jeans" or else "coochie-hanging-out-jeans?" Oh well. I'll go bra shopping. That'll be fun!

The excitement is that I've lost enough weight that they actually carry my size in the store now - not the case a year or two ago. Yay, I guess. I tried on several, but couldn't decide which one to get. I wanted to ask the sales girl a few questions about them. I wanted her to help me decide & really allow me to have fun buying a $50 bra for no special occasion. She was too busy gossipping with some girl in sweatpants that was there picking up her paycheck. I wandered forever and finally gave up and left the store empty handed. I worked for VS for several years & we never would have left a customer stranded in the store like that. We were drilled at least three times a day on our customer service - to the point that I left, in fact. Oh, well. Let's move on.

Hey there's a GAP. I've never even been in a GAP before. Do I really want to go in there though? Don't the uppity people shop there? Oh well. I'm shopping for jeans and they have jeans - plus they get rock stars to do their commercials. I tried on so many pairs of jeans. There was a happy gay man who started to help me & I thought - OH this is going to be fun! He'll help me shop and find the perfect fit! When I came out of the fitting room he was gone, talking to the GAP Kids people on the other side. Aren't there any other gay men who will shop with me around? I guess not. I'll just get these jeans... and this shirt. I'm never going to find anything else, so these will do.

I continued on and stumbled upon B.Moss. Isn't that an old lady store? I'll look anyway. Oh, I found a super cute sundress in there. That was exciting! And I got a cute shirt that will be perfect for fall. Wow, my three hours is up already? That sucked kind of hard core. I've discovered that I'm fat and old in the course of traveling two-thirds way through the mall in three hours.

The next night I was off and my husband and I were going on a date with some friends to dinner and a movie. I decided to wear my new GAP outfit. By the end of the night all the stitches were coming out of my shirt and I realized why they were called "The GAP". The jeans grew as the night went on and they kept popping out from underneath my belt in the back and I hated them.. My husband even made a comment that I must be losing weight because those jeans don't fit me at all. Well, they did in the store (but he doesn't need to know that I just spent $50 on a pair of ill-fitting and unflattering jean less than 24 hours ago)! Now I'm stuck with a $70 outfit that I don't ever want to wear again!! Why did I bother?

The only thing that could have made it worse was if I had to buy a bathing suit.

Adventures of the Little Bronze Golfer

There are things in life that just aren't funny, but when paired with a series of other unfunny things, you just can't help but laugh. Take my father-in-law for instance. The fact that he died is no laughing matter, but the series of events that have taken place since his passing have turned into somewhat of a sitcom episode.



... The day of the calling hours the urn arrives. We searched high and low for the perfect urn. Scott was an avid golfer, and we wanted to honor him. We figure if he's going to be parked on a shelf somewhere, he was gonna look good doing it. We found a super cool one - you know, as far as urns go. It's a round bronze bottom with a statue of a golfer hitting a ball out of a sand pit on top. Oh, the sand is cool - it looks like a wave as it's blasting out. It's cool. We wanted to have it engraved before the visiting hours began, and before Scott's remains were put inside. This task fell upon me. The funeral director made several phone calls to find someone that could do it for us within the next three hours. Finally we find someone and I went racing across town - empty urn in hand. We headed back to pick it up a couple of hours later on our way to the funeral home for calling hours. I remember thinking, "Wow - the writing is really big, and kind of gawdy for an urn... I just hope Jason and MaryAnn like it. "


They weren't crazy about it, but once the golfer was on top, it kind of grew on us.


Several hours later I'm talking to a group of people at the funeral home when my husband walks up and interrupts me.

"What dates did you tell them to put on the urn?" I immediately panic.

"May 27, 1946 - May 31, 2008, why?"

"They put 1945."


Great! Those morons!


I get in the car afterwards and pull out the paperwork to confirm that they screwed it up only to find that I am the moron! Oh, God, oh God. How could I have messed this up? I know what year his dad was born! My mother was born in 1945 - Scott was born in 1946!!! I know this!! Needless to say I was devastated. I felt so terrible. I would venture to say that this single incident is what caused a series of emotional meltdowns in the weeks to come.



We waited for MaryAnn to say something. Nothing. Not that night and nothing the following day on Friday. Finally on Saturday morning we were preparing to go to the cemetery to inter him, and my husband had to say something to her. I felt so terrible that I just couldn't speak. I had done nothing but cry about it for almost two days over it!



The decision was made to try and fix the date. Jason and I drove all over town to try and get it taken care of. We went back to the monument place that originally sandblasted it to begin with. They just couldn't turn the 5 into a 6 without it looking crappy. They suggested we take it to a jewler to have it buffed out and repolished. No luck. We decide to just sit on it for a while.



So just this past Wednesday I took it to a trophy place that specializes in oddities. Certainly a cylindrical bronze urn is an oddity, and I was right. They said they could do it for us. We decided to just turn it around and have the other side engraved. It was going on a shelf in a mosoleum - no one would ever see the other side! We wanted the writing to be a little more elegant as well. We discussed the different ways they could do it, on a plaque mounted on the urn, or right on the urn itself - we really wanted it right on the urn. I was so careful with the type and font size I chose. I wanted it to be right - especially after my first run at this. They said they could do it. Just to be sure I asked for a print out of exactly what would be engraved on it to get the OK of everyone else involved. I wasn't going to screw this up twice!


"Oh, one more thing. It's too heavy to mount on the engraving machine with his remains in there. We need you to take them out."


WHAT? You're kidding me, right?


I head back out to the car and thought about it. OK, this isn't my first choice of activities today, but it needs to be done and I seem to be the one doing it. I know he's in a bag in there. I could just take him out now, take the urn back inside and just call when I get the OK on the script. Then I wouldn't have to haul my three children - plus the two others I would be babysitting on Thursday- back in to drop this off. OK, let's put the brave suit on and do this - right here, right now.


There's a screw driver in the glove compartment... All I need to do is unscrew these three screws here like this... this should just lift right off of here like this, and "OH, HELL NO!"


There were ashes on my lap. Not a lot, but nonetheless, my father-in-law's ashes were in my freaking lap!!! Not cool, dude! I pushed the lid back on that thing and couldn't get the screws back in it fast enough. I look down. I didn't imagine it. My dead father-in-law's remains were on me. They were on my gym pants to be exact. Now, I don't know if you've ever experienced ash before, but it's super baby fine fluffy stuff. There's no scooping it up and putting it back. I totally get why Keith Richards snorted up his dad's ashes now. If I could have gotten my face in my lap, I probably would have done the same thing. What do you do? Me? I wore dirty gym pants to the Y yesterday and talked to Scotty while we worked out together... I eventually have to wash the pants though. Some of him just rubbed into my hands like baby powder - I like to think most of the escaped ash got soaked in to me rather than the gym pants. We're only talking a little bit, but a little bit is more than enough for me.


I call the funeral director's cell phone and tell him to call whoever is working today because I'm on the way. I get there and tell the guy to take Scotty upstairs.

"I don't want to know what goes on up there, I just want him taken out, put in a box, marked with big black letters and parked on a shelf. Just don't lose him!!! I'll be back in a couple of days to have him put back in there."

I get the OK on the writing that night from everyone and head back to drop the urn off on Thursday. They call later that afternoon to tell me it's done and I can pick it up anytime. Great!

Saturday morning rolls around and we all pile into the van to go take care of Grandpa's "trophy." Jason pulls up to the shop and I hop out to go get the urn. The woman puts the urn on the counter and this panicy feeling took over in my chest. What the hell is that?

There's a big plaque stretched across the front of Scotty's urn. The lettering looks really nice - it's all black and elegant - AND ON A PLAQUE! The lady explains to me that with the curverature of the urn and the type of script we chose, it looked distorted and, well, just bad when they did it. They called the cemetery and got approval of the plaque before they put it on though. Uh, did they lose my number?... no, they were able to call me to tell me it was done! Well, they didn't charge us for it (damn right) and said if the rest of the family was unhappy, they would do their best to replace it.

It's not great, but it's not that bad either. Let's put him on the shelf. Enough of this.

We all pile back into the van (with Grandma this time) and head off to the cemetery. I'll admit, there really was a sense of relief here. I just couldn't mess with trying to get this thing fixed any more.

We get in and go to put him in the case only to discover that it's about 4 inches too tall. We checked the dimentions on the internet before we ordered it, but apparently those were the dimentions for the little bronze golfer statue on the top - not both the urn and the statue together. I, of course, took it so personally. I was the one that found it on the web to begin with (although I sent the dimentions to my husband to make sure it fit the space...) plus I was the one handling both screw ups on the engraving. Can I do nothing right to honor this man? Seriously, this is beyond the point of ridiculous.

"Well, those spaces over there look a little taller, is there a shelf anywhere in this entire mosoleum that he will fit?"

"I think they're all sold, but I'll check."

They disappear to go find the books and Jason's step mother just looks at me and says, "I can't take him back home with me. I can't get on with my life with him there with me. It's just too hard." The severity, the panic, the absolute heartbreak in her voice just killed me. "He's welcome to come to our house."


The caretaker and the woman from the office are digging through these ancient books trying to find an empty shelf that hasn't been claimed by anyone else, and they found one. It was just across the way from Jason's mother's urn, and was right on the end at eye level. It was a great spot - plus it put Scott closer to his parents. It was perfect! He fit beautifully, and we were so happy! They sealed the glass back up and the woman turned to us and said, "That space is $200 more than the other one though..." WE DON"T CARE! She could have told us it was $500 more and wouldn't have cared - she really could have made a profit off of us!

As he was being put on the shelf, Jason's stepmother leans into me ans with a smile on her face and says, "He just didn't want to be that close to Jason's mom!" It's probably true.

As we drove away, there really was a weight lifted off of us. It was so comforting to know that he was finally at rest. It was comforting to know that I didn't have to run all over town talking to my father-in-law's ashes while trying to fix him. I did enjoy his company though, I must admit. I'm kind of going to miss him...

... Monday morning the cemetery calls on my cell phone while we're at the gym.

"Um, the space they put your father-in-law in actually belongs to someone else. We need to move him."

... you're f-ing kidding me. right?...

Off to cemetery I go. Here we are again, me taking care of my father-in-law's ashes all by myself. Is he messing with me? This is just laughable now. I got him in a new spot - not far from where we left him on Saturday morning. The caretaker wasn't there at the time so I was told they would move him in the morning. I went over everything with this woman - the urn is in two pieces, so don't pull it off the shelf thinking it's attached; the golf club moves a little so be careful you don't break it off; make sure the side with the plaque is showing and that the golfer is turned enough that you can see the whole thing. I was so paranoid that they were going to drop him or something. As we were leaving she says to me, "This space is a little more expensive than the other one (I shoot her the you're kidding me look) ... but we won't charge you for it."
...damn right you won't.

Tuesday morning I get a call from the cemetery again. I didn't even want to answer it, but I did. He's moved. He's in his own spot, and he looks beautiful. Thank God!

Finding contentment in sadness

Finding contentment in sadness... it's a strange phrase, isn't it? If you're a regular reader of this blog (which excites me to say that there are several of you!), then you know why I'm sad. Somewhere over the years, all the sad stuff has stacked up inside and I found myself sad all the time. I had noticed that I just don't laugh the way I used to. I can't take a joke, and I don't smile nearly enough. With the recent deaths we've experienced in our family, the sadness has just been overwhelming. It's like the dam broke and it was flooding me from the inside out. There were all these things from the past swirling around and getting mixed in with the new stuff. The only thing I could do to stop the flood was to pick each thing out of the pool before it blocked the drain.

We all have ways to deal with stuff like this. Some things work, others don't. But, if we're lucky, we find something or a combination of things that start to make us feel better. I mean really feel genuinely better through positive acts. I think I've become one of those lucky people recently.

So, what have I discovered with my new enlightenment? I've discovered a little peace of mind. I've discovered a few more smiles, a few more laughs, a few more kind words, and a lot of strength. Most of all I've discovered that yes, it sucks to hurt. It sucks to lose people you love. It sucks to lose battles you fought so hard in. There are a lot of things that suck, and it's ok to hurt; to cry; to stumble. Just know that you will get better. You will make it through, and it will hurt less, you'll cry less and yes, you'll once again stride.

It's going to take time, but it's going to get better. I take great comfort in "Yes, this sucks, but I'm going to be all right." I haven't had any comfort of any kind in while, and Lord knows I lost my strength along the way, but I've been "lucky" enough to reclaim them both. This sucks, but things are going to get better. I'm going to be all right.

ROAR!!!

I have to admit - I'm giggling like a school girl right now. I'm on some kind of natural high. I feel strong for the first time in a long while. I chopped down a tree today.

Silly, yes. I realize this, but it's true all the same. The baby was sleeping and the kids were playing in the pool and running around outside. Me, being me, can't just be outside and doing nothing. I decided that I would grab the trimmers and trim up a few branches on some of the trees in the yard. It started out simple. I got the low branches attacking people as they walked on the sidewalk by the Mulberry. Then I brought up the branches on an ormaneltal in the garden that was blocking the sun in part of the garden. Then I moved around the side to the dogwood. See, there's this beautiful pine that's almost on top of the dogwood tree, and right up against the house. It's branches block my dining room windows and rub up against the bedroom windows as well. It's a very nice tree, but I've been thinking about taking it down for almost two years, but something always stops me. I don't know what it is. I guess it's because it's permanent. It's a big deal to take out a tree as tall as your house! It'll take 15 years to replace it if you decide you made the wrong decision.

No. My gut is right. The tree is going. As I look up at it, I thought I could tackle this by myself. It's 2:00 in the afternoon and I don't have to stop until 4:30. Let's see how I do. All I had at my disposal were a little bowsaw, a hatchett with a hammer on one side and a blade on the other, and my 30 foot extension chord. Two hours later my yard is minus one pine tree. Wow, it looks good too!

I feel so empowered! So alive! So, so... strong and independent! I AM WOMAN. HEAR ME ROAR!

The Leaky Boat

Today my husband Jason and I are celebrating seven wonderful years of marriage. Wonderful, but certainly not easy. We've been married for seven years, yes, but together for thirteen. I can think of so many couples that haven't made it past their seventh year of marriage, or if they have, the union was crumbling by then. Marriage is hard, but so worth the fight.

We go on day to day looking beyond the things that perhaps aren't so perfect, and then one day something happens. It seems all those little things align in such a way that they create a hole right through the center of it all. The trick is to realize there's a hole in your boat before it sinks. Sometimes it's harder to admit you've sprung a leak than it is to fix it - then, by the time you decide to try and patch it, the water has gotten too high to breath.

It's amazing what can send a relationship into rocky water. For us it was death. In particular, my husband's dad's death. I'm not totally blaming all of our problems on that one thing, but it's the event that aligned all the little things up resulting in a hole. It just seems so strange to me that this event - losing someone we love so much so unexpectedly - could spring a leak in our boat. This is when we should be leaning on one another to hold each other up. Instead we've drifted downward into our own sorrows, leaving the other person with no one to lean against. Perhaps we felt we were each carrying enough weight of our own and didn't want to heavy the load for the other. Perhaps it was pride, not wanting the other to see how weak and shaken we were. Perhaps it was shame, because we didn't feel strong enough to hold the other up. For me it was all of these things. I think perhaps my husband was leaning and I let him fall. I let him fall because I felt too much weight on my own shoulders and was ashamed that I couldn't carry my own, let alone his - I couldn't ask him to carry it for me because I didn't want to hurt him anymore than he already was.

It was out of love I did this. Love for my father-in-law and love for my husband. The problem with all of this love is that it makes you do stupid things. Most of the time you think it makes you act like a fool to win someone's heart, but in my case I failed to use the love we have to hold our boat together. Now we're up to our ankles in water.

We'll make it through the rocks though. We've gotten out the tools to repair the hole, and we have buckets ready to bail out the water. After seven years of marriage, I'm still learning how to love. I'm still learning new things about my husband. I'm still learning new things about me. We're still learning new things about us.

I love my husband, and I have no doubt in my mind that my husband loves me with his whole being. Someday we may just get it right. Maybe when we're celebrating our 50th...

Over-Friendly Ice Cream

So yesterday was a rough day for me. I was feeling depressed and needed to get out of my messy house. My kids, while not being bad and playing very nicely together, were driving me nuts! I was trying to get something done and all I heard was "Mommy" every two seconds. OK. The problem was mostly me - we've all been there - I snapped and yelled at them. I felt so terrible. My children then told me it was OK to be grumpy sometimes, but you have to try to do something that might make you feel not so grumpy. Words I've used a million times... I told them going out together for ice cream would probably do the trick. They, of course, thought this was a stellar idea as well!

Off to Friendly's we go! Oh yeah - I didn't want any ice cream. I wanted peanut buttery, chocolately gooiness in my belly. We even warmed ourselves up with mozzarella sticks. We all decided it was the best lunch we had eaten in a long time.

We all ordered something different and took turns sharing bits of our ice cream with each other (and Lily tried them all too). It was fun. It really did bring me out of my grumpy depression. All I had to do was look across the booth from me and see Coen and Ravenna playing and sharing bites of sundae with each other and then giving a spoonful to Lily to make me smile. How lucky I am.

At one point I was sharing my yummy gooiness with Lily and heard the other two laughing saying, "Taste mine now!" I look up to see my children, basically french kissing! "Stop, now! Just... STOP!" I was so disturbed. They simply explained to me that they were tasting each other's lips. The waitress was coming to check on us just as "the event" took place. She couldn't stop laughing.

Our new lesson is that we don't lick other people. We especially don't lick each other's mouths - we don't want to share any yucky germs with anyone else, and we don't want to get anyone else's yucky germs.

I still think the look of horror on my face has them confused though...

Left behind

After Jason lost his mother, Pam, he allowed me to share the words he sent to family and friends telling them of the loss. With so many people wondering how my husband is, I asked if I could again share his words and his feelings. Below is the letter Jason sent outon May 31st, the day we lost his dad, Scotty.


Well, it's mighty late at night (for us old people anyway - it is only 10:00 after all), but I guess after my day, I'm allowed to be pretty exhausted. I have more news.

It's been three weeks since I lost my mother. I've been dealing with a lot of crazy, albeit common, emotions. Some anxiety. Some depression. Some confusion. It's been a mixed bag. But I've started to heal a little bit. Things have finally started to look up. So, imagine my shock when three weeks to the day of my mother's death, I receive word that my father has only weeks to live. Imagine my dismay when I get a call at 3:45 the following morning and arrive at the hospital at 4:15 to stare at my father's unblinking eyes, his peaceful state piercing my heart to the core.

That's probably a little overdramatic, but I just don't know that I care at this point. 22 days after I lost my mother, my father has now been taken from me as well, and it's safe to say that I'm in a state of shock. I don't know what to do, what to feel, what to say. I can't even cry because all I feel is anger. I really don't know why this had to happen. They were just there a month ago. Now, they're gone.

Isn't my dad supposed to pull Coen and Ravenna and Lily onto his lap so he can read them a story? Isn't he supposed to sneak them candy when I'm not looking? Isn't he supposed to teach them how to swing a golf club like the pros? Isn't he supposed to be there to see his grandkids do all the things that I did? Isn't he supposed to stand by me and smile and laugh when the kids are acting crazy? Why can't I have that?

But that's all I'm left with right now, just questions. My dad was a good man. My mother was a good woman. I accepted my mother's death, something I had grown "ready for" over the course of 30 years as her disease ravaged her body. But my father was supposed to be there for me because she couldn't be. And now he's gone too. Why? Just another unanswered question, I guess. Something else I'll have to learn to live with. But it's not right. And it's not fair.

My father always told me life wasn't fair, but I refused to believe him. Maybe he was right. I thought we had more time together. I didn't get to say the proper goodbyes to him as I did with my mother. My father was moved from ICU with an estimated one to two months left. Twelve hours later, he was gone. Please don't wait to say tomorrow what you feel today. You don't know what tomorrow will bring.

My love to all. -Jason

Blindsided and left numb

If you had asked us just a few days ago, we would have told you that Jason's dad is moving in the right direction. He had been in ICU for three weeks and we were finally getting some answers and progress. He has been sick for about a year and a half, and has been in an assisted living home for almost six months. It was just temporary until he got his strength back. Jason and his stepmom had gone out last weekend and found a better home for him and spoke with the therapists to make sure they showed him some tough love. A year from now we would looking back on this whole episode and said, "Wow, can you believe how far you've come? Here you are swinging a golf club again!"

While on the air Thursday night I got a tearful call from Jason's stepmom, Mary Ann, around 9:30. She went to visit Scott and he told her that he had Mulitple Myeloma. It's a type of blood cancer. He also told her that the doctors couldn't treat him. He would never survive chemo, and even that is only a long shot. So, inbetween songs I had to call my husband to tell him that his dad was dying. It was probably one of the shittiest calls I had to make. This, just three weeks after losing his mom to MS. That we knew would come, but not this.

Friday afternoon Jason and Mary Ann went to the hospital to meet with the doctors to get some answers they didn't have the heart to ask Scott. Prognisis: "a couple of weeks, maybe a month. But if I came back on Monday and had found he passed away over the weekend I wouldn't be suprised." ... sonofabitch.

The kids and I hadn't seen him in almost a month since he had been in ICU. They moved him to pallative care on Friday afternoon and we were up there the first chance we got. Everyone was. I spent an hour with him before I had to head in to work, and Jason and the kids stayed about 4. He was so happy! He had missed his grandbabies so much. The kids had painted him pictures on Tuesday for his birthday and they've been waiting to give them to him. Coen has been waiting for him to get out of the hospital to have a birthday party for Grandpa. That's all he's been talking about. A few friends stopped by, and after everyone left it was just him and Mary Ann. She said he talked her ear off for an hour. She hardly said a word. It was such a gift from God.

When your phone rings at 3:47 am it's never a good thing. We got dressed and rushed to the hospital. By the time we got there at 4:10 he was gone. We missed him by 10 minutes.

Here we are again. Going through the motions like robots this time. We can't stop crying, but we feel so numb at the same time. really, WTF?

Everyday I check the mail and put all the sympathy cards from Jason's mom in a basket. We now have it separated so her cards go in one spot and Scott's another. I still have thankyou notes to finish up from Pam's death, and next week I will start writing them for Scott's. We feel like such a burden to all of our friends and family. People rallied so much around us when Pam died, and here they are again.

I swear, if I have to rummage through the box of pictures I have for Jason and his family, I'll shoot someone. I love looking at them, but I'm collaged and slide showed out. And all I can say to myself is, "this sucks."

goddamn, sonafabitch, this sucks... that's all ther is right now.

Goodbyes and the best laid plans

I've been neglecting the blog here for a while. The thing is, I have so many thoughts swirling in my head lately, but can't seem to grab one and pin it down. So, Let's just start somewhere...

I'm sure you all know of the passing of my mother-in-law. It was a very hard thing to witness. We put her in hospice care about a month ago thinking, honestly, that she would be in hospice for about two years. We had just come to grips with the fact that Pam was finally in the final stage of her life, but thought we had a little more time to get used to it. That didn't turn out to be the case, but we're not complaining. We're not angry or confused, we're just grieving the loss of someone we love. Pam was a little off when I met her 13 years ago. She was funny, and she talked A LOT! She loved movies, music (especially The Beatles), and laughing. She was bigger than life and, even when she began to slip, brought such an upbeat, fun presence to the room when she walked in. It was something she lost the ability to do in her later years. It was difficult to watch her become a flower on the wall. Every once in a while she would have a good day though. She rattled a mile a minute as soon as we walked in the door. We had no idea what she was saying, but she was having a good time and we would laugh with her anyways.

I remember one visit a few years back. We could still understand most of what Pam was saying, although her mind was slipping fast. We were talking about our cats (two of which used to be hers). When we mentioned Sammie, she said, "Oh Sammie! She's the real cantankerous one." My husband just started laughing. I honestly had no idea what the word meant. Jason piped in with, "You can't remember Coen's name, but you can use the word cantankerous in a sentence." Pam just laughed at herself. Hey, you win some, you lose some. What else can you do? I now know what the word cantankerous means, and I will never forget.

Fast forward. I get a phone call about five minutes after getting home with my son from preschool. All the woman kept saying on the other end of the phone was "Pam's taken a turn for the worse, and it's different this time."

It's not the phone call I wanted to make to my husband. I dropped off the kids and met Jason and his grandparents at the nursing home. We spent the day watching Pam die. It was awful. I wanted to tell her goodbye, but didn't want to do it with all of those people in the room. I left around 5 to go to work. At that point her O2 level was at 60% and her body was shutting down. I thought I would get a call that night.

The call never came. I headed back to the nursing home around midnight. I wanted to say goodbye and knew I would be alone with her. I couldn't believe the sight I saw when I walked into her room. There in the bed was Pam, but not as I had left her earlier. She was all cleaned up, no secretions from anywhere, and she was pink - not the gray color she was last I had seen her. I touched her legs and they were so warm. Ther were like ice earlier. I couldn't believe it. Her O2 level was at 87% now. She was fighting. It felt good, and horrible all at the same time. I plugged in the CD player and popped in The Beatles Love album. I looped it to repeat for her all night while she slept, and sat and talked to her for about an hour. She, of course, didn't respond, but I don't care. She heard me. I was able to say the goodbyes to her I was afraid I had missed my chance for. It gave me such peace, and a sense of closure. I never asked, but I don't know if Jason got that closure. I don't tknow if he was able to be alone with her to do so. I understand the torment you live with when you miss your chance to say your final goodbye. I think he said them quietly to himself, and I hope he had the chance to say them aloud. I'm just too afraid to ask, incase it's not the answer I'm hoping for.

The phone call came at 8am the next morning. In my mind I had played the scenerio out a hundred times. I thought Pam would just go to sleep one night and die. That is essentially what she had done, but in my scenerio we didn't know the phone call would be coming. I had imagined in my head how I would have to break the news to my husband. I would have my mom come sit with the kids and I would drive the 10 minutes to his work and tell him face to face. It's not something you want to tell your husband over the phone. By telling him face to face I would be there to wrap my arms around him and give him the support he needed. It played out in my head so well. In reality, things hardly ever go as planned.

I was getting Coen ready for school. It was Muffins with Mom since it was the Friday before Mother's Day. He was so excited about it that I couldn't back out. I got the call and had no choice but to call my husband and tell him over the phone as I was hiding in the corner of the bathroom, using the whisper voice so the kids couldn't hear. He rushed to see his mother before she was taken away, and I wasn't there for any of it. He was comforted by the hospice nurse - a woman we had only met a couple of times- not his wife, who had planned it out so well in her head. I did my best to get to him as soon as I could, but as it is in some cases, your best isn't always good enough. Honestly, I couldn't have walked into that room no matter how much I wanted to be there for Jason.

We take comfort in Pam's passing. She was so young, and we were losing her more and more each day to MS. We prayed to God that she wouldn't have to suffer too long. We prayed that she wouldn't live to an old age. We prayed that when it was time for her to leave us, it would be quickly. We prayed that it would be without pain. We prayed for these things and more. All of our prayers were answered. Our Pam is Our Pam once again. We are sad, and our hearts are hurting. But we are grateful.

Remembering Life

It's now Monday night. I've been dragging my feet in writing this all weekend.

I've loved a lot of sick people, and many of them have died, but I've never watched a person die before. I pray none of you ever have to.

My mother-in-law, Pam, lost a 30-year battle with MS on Friday morning. I could say many things right now to remember her and honor her, but I'm not going to. Perhaps on another day when my heart can take it. Instead I will share with you my husband's words...


If you asked me what sticks out most in my mind about my mother when I was growing up, it would probably be that she yelled a lot, which might hold true for a lot of kids. Sometimes,
she was a real pain in the ass. As a parent myself, I now realize that was part of her job. And I'm thankful for it (in most instances, of course). The second thing that would come to my mind would be her infectious smile and the loud, sometimes bordering on obnoxious, laugh that inevitably followed that smile. The kind of laugh and smile that took up her whole face, hiding her eyes behind her rosy cheeks. Thankfully, it was the latter that became more
prominent later in her life. No matter what her state, she always found something to laugh at, even if it didn't make any sense to anyone else in the room.

The long and short of this is that my mother finally lost her long and grueling battle with Multiple Sclerosis Friday morning. It's been a very tough week, especially for me and my grandparents, as my mom went from doing ok (by which I mean she was able to understand
us and respond to us with enthusiasm whenever we visited, although we still couldn't understand what she was saying) to her death in less than a week's time.

It started with a phone call notifying me of an increase in fluids and medicine on Monday and progressed to a frantic phone call from the hospice nurse in the middle of the workday on Thursday. In what is undoubtedly one of the worst days of my young life, I sat with my
grandparents and my wife around my mother's bed as she gasped for air, her body sweating with the effort to breathe while her organs failed her. And I found myself praying to God that He would just end her suffering in whatever manner possible, although I knew deep down what that meant even if I couldn't or wouldn't admit it. Which led me to ask what kind of
human being could sit and pray for their parent to die, even if it was out of love and mercy. But, of course, that is now my burden to bear, one that others have endured in the past, and one that I will endure in the future.

My prayers were answered on Friday morning at 8 am. Her suffering was over.

So, why am I writing this? Not for pity. Please don't send your pity. I don't want it. First, I want you to call your mom and tell her how much you love her. Don't wait until tomorrow, or the one day out of the year that Hallmark tells you it's ok to be nice to your mother, the guilt of the holiday forcing you to tell her how you truly feel. I want you to call her whenever
you can, hug her a little extra tight the next time you see her. Tell her thank you. Write her a poem. Cook her a meal. Take her to the movies. Most of all, I want you to be thankful if your mother still has her health. I want you to be thankful that you may never know the pain of watching your mother find the only joy in her grandchildren is watching them play because she's too afraid to hold them for fear that she might drop them. Or the overwhelming joy she gets when she remembers their names, a feat that many take for granted, a feat that my mother found insurmountable the last few months of her life.

Second, I've come to the knowledge that many come to when facing the death of a parent, and I suppose that warrants me this time on my soapbox. Life is short. Life is too short. Get out from behind the television (advice that yours truly will find very difficult to follow) and do something every day that makes you feel alive. Play a sport. Go for a run. Ride a bike. Play with your kids (if you have them). Tell someone a joke. Spend time with friends and family. Laugh with them. Lay in the grass and stare at the clouds. Live life. Please God, live your life.

My mom and I had many difficulties in our time together. Her disease was a burden for many, her most of all. And I know that there are still others who have had worse times in this world, some who haven't even known their parents. Knowing this, I am so very happy for the time that I had with her, and I understand that it was a blessing. I only wish I had done more.

I hope this wasn't too preachy. Just needed to get some things off my chest. No matter what our fights and difficulties, I always loved my mother unconditionally. My only fault was not telling her enough.

Please, don't wait for tomorrow, and don't limit your affections for your mother on Mother's day. Appreciate every day you've had with her and every day to come.

And remember, live life.

With Love,
Jason

Back to reality...

Did you think I had abandoned you? I didn't. It's just hard to get motivated after returning from vacation. Me and the hubby went down to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico a couple of weeks ago. It was great! We went with a group of about 15 adults to celebrate my mother-in-law's 50th birthday. NO KIDS!!! Did you catch that part? It was wonderful!
I went parasailing, we went on a pirate ship and snorkled, and walked, and walked and WALKED! We bartered (although not very well) with the locals in the market by the marina, ate lunch at The Hard Rock Cafe and partied at Sammy Hagar's CaboWabo Cantina. The CaboWabo is a great place for a party, but I wouldn't go there for the food. It wasn't disgusting, but it wasn't any better than what I could defrost in my own kitchen in about 10 minutes. Just trust me on this one.
I just wanted to let you all know I'm here, and I promise... I will be posting again soon!

Well, Clutter Grumps?

How did you do, Clutter Grumps? We got all of our laundry done, got the main floor cleaned up and took 5 - YES 5 - trashbags full of clothes (adult clothes, mostly) to Good Neighbors. It's not perfect, but it is a little better.

I still dread my girls' room. They've outgrown a lot of their clothes, and the season is changing, so there is much to do before all is well in there. I have a big laundry basket of clothes in there with no where to put them... but it is getting better!

I thought about having a yard sale, but decided that's too much clutter to store & too much work. I'm already busting my hump to declutter my house, I can't handle a yard sale on top of it!

Well, I just wanted to report on my progress & see how you did. I'm going to give myself two good days to work in the house. I want to spend as much time with my kids this week as I can though - we're leaving for Cabo WITHOUT THE KIDS on Saturday!! I can't wait!

Aabra-Cadabra Alla Kazam!

Aabra-Cadabra, Alla Kazam, Make this room look Spic and Span!

When I was a kid and my parents would tell me I wasn't allowed to come out of my room until it was clean, I would close my eyes and chant this over and over again. I thought if I closed my eyes hard enough, and really believed, it would work. I never did get that spell to do anything for me. Sometimes I still try though.

I think I've finally figured what the bug up my ass is. My life is a mess and it's bringing me down in every way. My house is a disorganized mess. My car is trashed. I can't seem to organize my clothes before the season changes again. My purse is loaded with kids toys and my head is just as cluttered. There is no place where I can find serenity. Do you know what that does to a person? Apparently it makes them a big grump - and a little depressed.

You know what a junkie I am for all of the home makeover shows. I just can't help myself. I keep thinking, I don't need Kim and Aggie to come because my house isn't filthy. They're not going to find anything absolutely disgusting hidden in a corner anywhere. We need the Mission: Organization people to ring our doorbell. The thing is this: I watch these shows and wonder how these people can live with all of this clutter in their lives. My house isn't nearly that bad, and I can't even function right now. There's not one room in my house where I can go and sit in a nice clean, quiet spot. You know it's bad when even my husband says something.

Hopefully, if all goes well, my life will become a little less cluttered this weekend. My goal is to return to work on Monday less grumpy. You know, grumpy isn't even a good word for it... I'm just in a funk. Am I the only one who feel slike this? I can't be.

Let's all make a pact to get off of our asses and declutter our lives. Let's go into the warmer weather and sunny days with a clear, care-free mind. Let's plan to spend no sunny days inside because our houses are so messy that we can't even function. Well, let's try our darndest, at least. And if any of you can get my magic spell to work, will you pass along the secret?

Good Luck and Happy De-Cluttering!

Bathing Beauty and the Busted Head

OK - so it's been a while since I've blogged. Sorry. I have no good excuse except that I've been DOG tired and the ol noodle hasn't been workin right. It happens from time to time.

So, the hubby and I are getting ready to head off to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico in a couple of weeks. Of course, I need a new bathing suit. I have a sporty Nike suit I wear to swimming lessons with the kids at the Y, but I want a pretty bathing suit to wear at the exotic beach while on vacation with my husband and NO KIDS! You get it - I think my husband finally gets it too. When I first mentioned that I would like some money to buy a bathing suit he said, "Yeah, we should have an extra $20 or $30 bucks on the next pay." He couldn't understand why I was laughing. I could buy a top, or a bottom. Which one am I more insecure about.... Or I could buy a whole bathing suit that has no lining, or boob support. No boob support is great for us busty girls. Just smash them in there all droopy and unibooby like - it makes us feel so sexy! MEOW! I suggested he come with me. We looked at Target, and failed miserably. The bathing suits were all so slinky - even the one piece suits were missing most of the material! Remember in the 80's when the bathing suits had the sides and the belly cut out? Apparently that's back. If you're 19 and hot - go buy your bathing suit at Target. If you're old, droopy and stretched out in every direction - seek elsewhere - you'll only leave feeling like a whale.

Our next stop was Kohl's. First of all, I HATE bathing suit shopping. Most women do. I decided that if there wasn't anything at Kohl's I was going to abort the mission and look like Sporty Spice gone bad come vacation time. I tried on a few suits. There's a really cute style this year with a little skirt on the bottom. It's not one of those blousy skirts that float up as soon as you get into the water though. It's kind of tight and would stay put. It would also hide the fat thighs! I tried a couple of those on. They made me look even fatter than the regular bottoms! Are you kidding me? The cute little hide your giant thighs skirt only works on skinny people? What the hell is the point of this thing? If I could get my butt down to 125 pounds I wouldn't need the stupid little skirt! GGGRRRR! I finally found two pieces that matched and looked somewhat decent on me. I think I needed to go up one size on the bottoms though. Of course, they didn't have one size up & none of the other bottoms were the same shade of brown - even from the same company! I hate bathing suit shopping. My husband didn't understand it, but I bought it anyway. It's not horrible, and I'm not going to look good in it anyway so what's the difference. So my fat stucks out a little funny - it's a bathing suit - there's not many places to hide your fat in it. I figued if I had time in the next couple of weeks I could call around to some other Kohl's to see if they had the next size & I would exchange it, if not - I'll smash myself into the one I have. At 40% off my husband still almost crapped himself when the total came to about $50. Hey - It costs money to try and make this look good. He coughed it up though because he loves me & thinks I'm beautiful - giant thighs and all. I love him!

He keeps making mention of the fact that it cost $50 though. I gues it's that it was $50 AFTER the 40% off that has him a little stunned even a few days later.


Now, let me tell you the story of the busted head. My kids are always jumping on the beds and fooling around on them, despite the fact that my husband and I yell at them constantly to stop because they're going to fall off and get hurt - or bust the bed. Well, guess what happened today? Ravenna fell off the bed and got hurt. Oh, she didn't just get hurt though. She hit her head on the corner molding on the bottom of my dresser. Blood was pouring down her face when I picked her up. I grabbed a towel and she held it on there as I rocked her. She stopped crying after just a couple of minutes and let me look at it - oh how I wish I hadn't. Dude, I saw her little skull in there - I kid you not. There was a hole - not a gash - a hole in my child's head. I immediately start making phone calls to Jason and I called my friend to see if she would watch Lily while I ran down to Children's Emergency. Luckily Coen was still camping with Grandma MaryAnn today - he would have been hysterical if he had seen his sister bleeding like that! He freaks out when one of us gets a little cut. Jason, he doesn't mind so much, but if it's me or the girls - forget it.

By the time we left the house - just about 10 or 15 minutes later - she's holding a bag of ice on her head and singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." It was crazy. She was in such a good mood. She babbled all the way to the hospital and told me all about how she fell off the bed and got a booboo on her head.

We get to the ER and are taken back fairly quick. There weren't too many people there and they had a great staff on duty today. There was a med student in with us and I'm quite sure today was his first day. They were explaining everything in great detail, as well as where everything was and how to talk to kids to get them to give you information. I was fine with it. Ravenna was being super cute and goofy and was such a pleasant child to work with that she was a great "first" kid. They didn't let him do anything to her that would hurt her of course.

It's quickly established that yes, it was indeed my child's skull I was looking at through the hole in her head. Great... The guy comes to sutre her up and the med student comes back too. Remember how I mentioned they were explaining everything in great detail to him?

"OK, I'm going to numb her up now."

"See how I can really get in here and jab around in here and run this needle along the laceration? And that's a really sharp needle! She's really good and numb."

"Now I'm going to take this gause and just really scrub this thing clean. See how hard I can rub it? You give it a try. Oh, you can scrub a lot harder than that - really get in there!"

"Now, because the laceration is a traingular shape you can really grab this skin and yank it back to get a good look in there to make sure there is no debris. Since she hit a dresser you should be looking for wood chips in there."

"Make sure you really look back there in the corners."

"Now we need to check for a skull fracture. You just scrape this along the scalp to make sure it's all smooth. If you get caught or feel a bump then we need to get a CT Scan."

Dude, I could HEAR them scraping my child's skull! This thing looked like a metal popsicle stick! OH MY GOD! It was at that point I broke out in a sweat. Was it a million degrees in there or what? I thought I was about to puke. My legs were going numb. My ears hurt so bad - was there pressure building up in them? My vision was failing fast. I was going down.

The guy doing the sutre on Ven stopped and looked at me. Next thing I know he's hitting the emergency button, and yelling for someone to bring a glass of OJ ASAP. The nurse came in and swept me away. I never even said a thing to my kid on the way out. I just left. I drank my OJ and put my head back and took some deep breaths. I felt so bad leaving my two-year-old in there all alone. I suppose it was better than having her watch mommy drop to the floor as if she were dead. No, that wouldn't have been traumatic to her at all! After a few minutes I heard him yell for Cindy to come in through the intercom. I guess Cindy was Mommy's replacement.

15 minutes later a happy little girl emerges with all these people. She's so happy and goofy. She told me all about how the doctor fixed her booboo and how there should be "No more monkeys jumping on the bed." The nurse brought us each a red popsicle, and we sat and ate them as the doctor went over all the instructions for her.

I called Jason as we pulled out - which was only 2 hours from the time we walked in (KUDOS). I told him how horrible it was for me, but that she was fine and he laughed. Then I told him about the scraping of the skull and the horrible bone on metal sound. He stopped laughing. Dude, I totally earned my $50 bathing suit today!

My Ever Growing Bra

It's no secret that I've been dieting for some time now. Actually I should restate that a little - I've been working out, trying to lose weight. Dieting, I'm not so good at. If I could diet I would be a knock out! Unfortunately, I exercise and eat like semi-crap. Not complete crap - just semi-crap. The exciting thing is that I actually have noticed a difference. My badunkadunk isn't quite as badunk as it used to be. My arms aren't flabby when I flex them - which means they don't flab as much in day to day activity - right? I only have one chin - it's weak, but there's only one of them to complain about now.

Overall I've only lost about 10 pounds so far in the past 8 months. That doesn't seem like a very fair trade to me. They say it takes 9 months to gain it, give yourself 9 months to lose it. Now, since I'm still fat from when I had my first kid (I actually didn't really gain any weight with the next two kids...) and he's 4 1/2 years old now, does that mean it's going to take 4 1/2 years to lose it?

To justify my measly (but exciting) 10 pounds in my head I've come up with an array of flattering excuses -
-I've been working out and lifting weights - while trying to lose weight I'm gaining muscle - hence the slow weight drop (which is probably true)
-It doesn't matter what the scale says - I can notice a difference in my appearance and I feel good
- It may only be 10 pounds, but people around me are noticing and commenting - at least I'm not so overweight that people don't notice the weight loss until it's 50 pounds!
- my clothes are getting baggy (after I wear them a couple of times without washing them - then they're tight again).
I've got some more - but you've all heard them before. You've told yourself several of them, haven't you?

Here's the thing. My butt sits a little higher, but isn't really smaller. My waist is a little more defined, but not thinner, my arms don't wiggle as much, but also haven't really changed in size. Where exactly has this 10 pounds gone?

Come to think of it, where have my boobs gone? Is my bra growing? Every time I put it on there's another wrinkle across the cup. Are there bra gnomes that sneak into my house at night and use it as a trampoline and stretch it all out? What is going on here? Oh no. No, no, no. Don't tell me. Argh! I just realized where most of that 10 pounds came off at. Seriously? That's the last place I wan't to lose weight!

Why is this? When you get fat, the first place it goes is to your butt, your thighs, your hips and your belly. Now you're this pear shaped round on the bottom belly sticks out farther than your boobs person. None of us want to be that woman. As time goes on, you eventually get fat in the boobs too. Well, at least I have some nice cleavage!

The giant boobs are the one thing you kind of feel good about. They hide what's lying under them. They're like the little umbrella that hides what you don't want to see when you look straight down. All you see are big beautiful boobs! Yeah!

After a while, the big boob buzz wears off and you get off your ever expanding butt and try to do something about. You diet (note, YOU diet - I'm still trying to work on that one) & some people exercise. You start to lose weight and BOOM! Where did the big beautiful boobs go? They're always the first thing you lose. It's not my "jell-o belly", as my daughter said to me earlier this week that sent me to the bathroom crying; it's not the enormous thighs or the "Hugh Jass". It's the boobs! Is this our punishment for getting fat in the first place? you know, some people just can't help it - do they get punished with lack-o-boob too? Now I'm that woman!

Maybe this is your body's "poop or get off the pot moment". You have no boobs and a fat belly. You can give up, get your boobs back and never have to see the stretch marks below again, or you can work even harder - do the damn diet with exercise - and your hard work will reward you with cute boobs and a cute little waist and belly to match. Gosh, the big boobs just sound like the easier thing here, but ok, stupid little boobs, you win. You little boobs better be perky in the end or I'm gonna be pissed!

Time doesn't make you forget, but it does heal... a little anyways

I remember March 3, 1994 like it was yesterday. I was a Thursday. I remember sitting in the band room that morning and telling everyone who walked through the door that Monday was my birthday. I don't know why - I just was. My dad was in Florida with my grandma and was missing my birthday that year, so I guess I was compensating somehow by making sure no one else missed it.

Towards the end of band my friend Jamie came in and handed our director a little call slip asking for my IMMEDIATE presence in the counselor's office. "OOOOHHHH" everyone chanted at once. It was strange for me to get a call slip - especially an "immediate" call slip. I wasn't worried, but was curious. I tried to talk to Jamie on the way down to the office, but she was acting really weird. I asked her if she was ok, and she just responded that she was upset, but didn't want to talk about it. Strange, but ok. I'll respect that.

As I got to Mrs. Farmer's office, I saw my mom and my oldest brother standing there. WTF? What did I do that was so bad that I needed a family intervention? My mom grabbed me and hugged me and I heard say "The dog died." "What? Pepsi?" I was upset about it, but wasn't sure why they wer both here at school to tell me this news. "NO, not the dog. Daddy."
I couldn't register it, and didn't want to be registering it in my current surroundings. "I want to get my things and leave now."

I didn't cry in Mrs. Farmer's office when my mom had told me that my dad had died. I didn't want to cry there, I wanted to go home and find that none of this was happening. We went back to the band room and I was packing up my instrument when Tim, who strangley enough ended up marrying Jamie - the girl who brought me the call slip- asked me what was wrong and why I was leaving. "Nothing." I couldn't move fast enough to get out of there. He just kept at it though. "No, Something's wrong. Are you OK?" It was at that point in time - in the middle of the band room with all of my friends listening to the trombone section play the second ending of something or other that I lost it. I had to say the words out loud - and by saying them, it made them real. "My dad died." "My dad is dead."

One way doesn't sound better than the other. At 16 (17 on Monday!) it's not a natural sentence to form. I felt like I was in a fog. I just wanted to get my stuff and get the hell out of there. I didn't want to announce to all of my friends in band that my dad was dead. I hadn't had time enough to absorb it myself yet. Nonetheless Tim just couldn't stop pushing the issue, and there I was crying in the middle of band practice with Tim hugging me. Then the bell rang. I think the bell just made it worse. Now everyone was free to find out what was going on with the crying girl. It was awful. I just let go of Tim and ran for my best friend on the other side of the room. She had to ask me to repeat it when I told her what had happened. "My dad had a heart attack and died." She cried and gave me a hug. I remember when I went to release from her a pull back that my glasses caught in her hair and hit the floor. I felt stupid picking them up. It's strange that my glasses falling off bothered me so much, but I was already embarrassed that I was crying infront of everyone and I didn't want anything else to be embarrassed about.

In my mind, I just wanted to quietly get my things and go before I had to speak to anyone. I wish it could have just played out that way. I was so glad to go home. We sat around for minute staring at each other before my mom spoke again. "We need to call your brother and sister and tell them." My mom wanted to be the one to tell them, but she just couldn't stop crying and they couldn't understand what she was saying. She had to keep repeating it over again for each phone call. I just wanted her to stop saying it. I was cursing the words under my breath.

I was really cursing myself. I spoke to my dad the night before he died over the phone. He and my Grandma had arrived in Florida on vacation the day before. They were settled in and planning the rest of their week. I just teased him and gave him a hard time about being gone for my birthday. I told him that he just didn't love me enough, I guess. It was all in fun, but I wish I hadn't done it now. That was the last time I ever spoke to my dad, and I was acting like a brat.
As you do in these situations, you try to come up with a reason this happened. I decided it was my fault. I wanted him home so bad for my birthday that God brought him home to me to prove a point. It took me years to knock down this theory, but the thought of it still lingers in the back on my mind sometimes.

Dad was in Florida when he died. Mom flew down there to make the arrangements to bring him home. Sunday afternoon was all went to the funeral home together. Not for the funeral, but to say goodbye in private. We never had the chance to say goodbye, and didn't want to be thrown into a room full of people to see my dad laying a casket for the first time. My mom went in first. Then my brother and his wife. My sister and her husband went in next. It was getting to be my turn and I wasn't sure I could go in there alone, but I would be brave. My oldest brother then announces that he doesn't want to go in. "You'll be sorry if you don't. Let's go in together."

I can't explain the way the room felt. It was death - it was heavy air - it was dark. My dad was laying there in his suit in front of us. I didn't know what to do. It hadn't occurred to be before this moment, but I started to tell my brother how he would never see me graduate, or get married, or see my kids or meet my husband. My brother just shook his head and said "nope." It was at that point that I felt brave. I touched his hand. There was nothing there. That was not my dad infront of me - that was an empty body. It was empty - that's the only word that I can use to describe it. I sometimes wish I hadn't touched him. It was the scariest thing I had ever done. It's a feeling I will never forget - that emptiness. That cold, emptiness was not my father. It was at that moment that I knew my father was somewhere else entirely.

The following day was Monday. It was that day I couldn't wait for just a few short days ago. Now it was a day I wish had never happened. We were all getting dressed for the calling hours. It was very strange when people would come up to me and say Happy Birthday. I didn't know what to say in response. I knew they meant well, but didn't know what to say.

My dad's best friend was Dennis Smith. He was a character. A lot of people thought of him as a pest, but my dad just accepted him for who he was. We called him Smitty. Smitty loved my dad, and thought the world of my dad and respected him so much. They were truly best friends. I've never seen a grown man look so lost as I did on that day watching Smitty stare at my dad.

Halfway through the calling hours, Smitty took me aside to the coat room and handed me a birthday gift. I felt strange opening it at the time, but looking back now it was the single most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. He left my dad's calling hours, walked across the street in the snow to the Hallmark store and got that for me to make sure I wasn't forgotten. He wanted to make sure I knew how much I was loved, and that my dad would never want me to miss my birthday. I only wish I were able to properly thank Smitty for this life-changing act of kindness. Sadly, he died almost two years after dad. That gift sits in my dining room cabinet today. I will never pack it up, and keep it displayed always. It reminds me that even the smallest act of kindness can change someone's life forever. It reminds me that I was loved, and that my dad was loved. It reminds me of not only of the darkest times, but of the silver linings - even when we don't catch a glimpse of them until we see them reflecting at us in the rear view mirror.

I miss my dad terribly. The hurt never really goes away, but time does make it a little more bearable. I miss Smitty, and only hope that he can hear my thoughts of him from wherever he is. I know that he is happy though. He's with my dad, and my dad had a way of making everyone happy.

I didn't sit down to specifically write this blog. It just sort of happened. Thank you for allowing me to share this memory with you though. Sometimes it still helps to say it out loud - even 14 years later.

If I had a nickel for every time I said that...

I remember when I was a kid my mom would say I sounded like a broken record. I think this several times a day on a regular basis. Now, if only I could record what I say every day, all day and just press play in the morning... ah, to not repeat myself all the time. I've thought about it, and my recording would go something like this...

"It's time to get up, Bud.
No - not in five more minutes - now. We don't want to be late for school.
Please put your clothes on. Please put your clothes on. Please put your clothes on.
Ravenna leave your brother alone.
Why aren't your clothes on yet? Please put your clothes on.
Find your shoes, both of you.
I'm ready to go, where are your shoes?
Hey, keep your hands to yourself, please and find your shoes.
Give me your hand. Give me your hand. No, you need to hold my hand in the parking lot.
If you don't hold my hand then I'll have to carry you. Well then hold my hand.
Stop hitting each other.
Keep your hands to yourself, please.
Tell your sister/brother you're sorry.
Don't aggravate her.
I'm standing right here - I saw what happened.
Didn't I just yell at your sister for doing that same thing? Well then what makes you think it's ok for you to do it?
Ouch, please be careful.
Ouch, please pay attention to what you're doing.
Ouch, please stop doing that.
Do you want a time out? Then please stop.
What am I doing? Yes, I'm fixing lunch - so please stop telling me you're hungry.
Please be patient.
Keep your hands to yourself.
Please stop tattling.
Stop spitting, please.
I don't want to hear it.
You're fine.
Why is your sister crying?
Why did you hit her? Why did she hit you first? Do you both need time outs? Keep your hands to yourself.
Did you flush the potty? Go flush, please.
Stop harrassing your brother/ sister.
Get out of her face, Coen.
Do you hear her crying? Do you think she likes what you're doing? Do you think you should stop doing it?
Be nice.
Is it time for your nap?
Keep your hands to yourself, please.
Don't talk to me like that.
Don't say no to me, please just do it.
How about because I told you to.
Please do what you're told.
How many times have I told you not to do that? how many times should I have to tell you? NO. I should only have to say it once.
Please stop jumping on my bed.
Be careful of the baby.
Stop hitting each other.
Leave your brother/ sister alone.
Stop jumping off of my bed! You're making the whole house shake!
Pick up your mess please before you get anything else out.
I don't care who was playing with what - both of you need to pick it up.
Keep your hands to yourself.
Pick up the mess, please.
Clean it up now!"

... I do say many positive things too, but those aren't the things I find myself repeating over and over again. Besides, even if I do find myself repeating the good stuff - I would never want to record that! I want to do the fun stuff in person!
Do they ever learn to keep their hands to themselves and to stop harrassing each other?