Craving Silence

Things that skeer me

2010-08-19T23:11:00.004-04:00

I was looking through the Chive today (thechive.com - too lazy to code) and they did an experiment where they had everyone send in a photo of what scared you when you were small. I immediately thought of two things that hadn't crossed my mind in years. Remember the six million dollar man? we have the technology...There was an episode called the death probe. The death probe was this thing:

No matter what, it kept coming and killing. For some reason, I convinced myself that when I was outside, it was going to come lumbering up over the hill and kill us all. Kittens, I was ten years old when this episode aired. Ten.

OMG, I just thought of something that makes me feel marginally better about being a big tit baby. Anyone remember the song about Bigfoot and how he was coming to get you, you better lock the doors? My little brother was in our car listening to the radio when that song came on and scared the living bejeebers out of him. He locked the doors and was crying his little heart out. So while I'm out creeping around trying not to make any vibrations for the death probe to pick up (that's how it found you), I come across that hot mess. Laws, we were some messed up kids! Hmmm. There's one for the therapist. (note to self: find a therapist. Quick.)

Anyhoodles, the second thing that sprang to mind? - this little feller:

Charming, yes? He is Zuni from the Trilogy of Terror. He ate a lady. With his big ole teefs. Really fast, like a piranha. There were other scary parts of that show, I'm sure. I don't remember them. Only him. And how wee he was. Wee enough to fit anywhere in my bedroom. Dresser drawers, closet, under the bed. Hell, under the pillow. And FAST, my he was fast. So fast that even the dog wouldn't be able to save me. And he could jump really far, like from the dresser to my bed.

So...not a lot of sleep for little me after watching that. I have no idea what my parents were thinking, or if they even had recognizable brain activity at that point. Six Million Dollar Man I can understand. You don't expect that to be scary. But when a show is called "Trilogy of Terror" it's a pretty safe bet that it's probably scary.

Now that I've given you a glimpse into the wasteland of my psyche, please do share. Tell me something that scared you so I don't feel like such a goober.

A decision. One has been made.

2010-07-17T09:56:00.005-04:00

Imma build me a cabin. Oh wait, excuse me. It's a log home. Because I'm fancy.

These are pictures of ones my father built in the Smokey Mountains last year. Take these, add another level, and stretch them out about twenty feet all around, and that's what I'm putting up.

Sadly, I will not have a red pool table as this area will be Silas's bedroom and I hear that they're very uncomfortable for sleeping. I will have cool rails made out of sticks though. I'm going to go pick some up out the woods this afternoon. also sadly? not kidding. that's how you make them

Please ignore furniture that doesn't look right. Mine will be nicer. Also ignore green cabinets. My father hand crafted those and they are gorgeous. But the green? not so much with the gorgeous.

I'm considering a zip line from the loft down to the living area.

Now all I need is a building permit and lots of sticks.

Saturday Smiles

2010-06-05T09:21:00.001-04:00

Two smiles today cause I luv ya!

So anyway,

2010-06-01T21:26:00.005-04:00

Where was I? That's right, bitching about all things insurance related. I'm still on that roll, but I'll spare you the details. Suffice it to say, house rebuild? Not started. Yes, I know it's been four months. Moving on before I cry from frustration frustration because the insurance people won't come out of the phone so I can wring their necks

I believe it's time for a seasonal Silas update. Dude is getting tall. I'm only 60 inches tall and he's already 46 at 6 years old. It's just not fair. Everybody's taller than me.

He decided to play his violin in his Academy's talent show. He didn't seem to mind that he doesn't know how to play it. He was content to just stand up there and saw away. So my bestie Google and I figured out the first four lines of twinkle twinkle and taught him that. He put on his fancy clothes and knocked em dead.

please note the boots. They are a point of pride.

We're also halfway through baseball season. It was supposed to be the pitching machine this year, but for some reason the coaches keep pitching. Which I guess is better than the kids pitching. That just doesn't sound like a good idea to me. In other news, is this a killer action shot or what?

>

The smoke monster! Behind his head!

Someone should pay me for this stuff. or not, because I don't want to take pictures of anybody else's kids and they won't pay me for pictures of mine (but they should)

Speaking of getting paid, I'm thinking of taking a job as administrator at Silas' school. Thoughts? What do you mean I dislike children? Not all of them. Mine are cool, I can stand yours. It's the rest of them that make me felonious. But! Good news, as administrator, I just administrate. No chirruns! Only paperwork. Paperwork I can do. I can push paper with the best of them. Push it right off my desk into the circular file.

So I got an ipad. I'm going to quit rambling and go play with it.

Loves,

Saturday Smiles

2010-05-22T08:25:00.002-04:00

This is how I feel with all the craziness going on.

Insurance, contractors and inspectors..oh my.

2010-05-09T00:53:00.003-04:00

I just received the following text from daughter Lucy:

"OMG, am getting ready to drive Daniel Dae Kim to New Orleans. am freaking out. OMG."

*backstory - she just got her first job on a feature film in Baton Rouge, LA. It stars Samuel L. Jackson and Daniel Dae Kim.

I'm not going to link him because I don't want him to google himself and find out what dorks we are, but I did link the film.

What does any of this have to do with mother's day? Well, first I wanted to brag on my kid. She must be doing ok if the people she's working with want to party with her. Second, I'm flattered that when something exciting happened to her, she chose me to get advice from. She could have called any of her friends, tweeted it, or any number of things.

Hopefully, I didn't steer her wrong. I told her to talk to him like he's anyone else and not to act too deferential. That he'd probably appreciate that more than bowing and scraping. That has to get old after a while. (although I could probably endure it for just a bit) I also mentioned that if Lost came up, let him know that we had sad faces when Jin died. *sidenote: fucking Sawyer. He's all 'sorry Jack, I don't' and then my Sayid has to save them all. sob I'll never look at a man in a black tank top the same.

I realize that if you don't watch Lost, you're all 'the hell?' and I'm sorry about that. But seriously, how can you not watch what is arguably one of, if not THE best show ever produced? I highly recommend it. Get the boxed set. We'll watch it together. also, I may be high. I think I confused the xanax with the sudafed. Upside is, I'm so mellow I don't care if I'm congested.

So, since my mental faculties are rapidly deteriorating, I best wrap this up quit sighing with relief. it's rude To recap - kids are doing good. I got asked for advice, so I'm all that, tomorrow's mother's day. So whether you're a birth mother, earth mother, soul mother or heart mother, I hope you have a wonderful day.

Loves

Saturday Something

2010-05-01T10:16:00.003-04:00

This isn't a smile, but I had to share it. Stare at it for a moment. Does it make your brain hurt, too? I probably should have put a seizure warning on it.

We should download it and make it our screensavers. Then we can sit around in a stupor, staring at it and drooling all day.

I do that anyway, but at least I'd have an excuse.

Sad :( ...then - Happy!

2010-04-28T22:45:00.004-04:00

I had to lawyer up on my insurance company today. This makes me sad. Let's suffice it to say that I didn't feel they were really 'on my side' anymore. Our loss date was 1/28/10. What's left of my house is still sitting, stripped down to its shell, with nary a new board or nail in it. Nothing has been done. I had to threaten legal action to get the preliminary payment for my contents. I won't bore you with the details, but it's been one hassle after another to get what is due, especially the additional living expenses, such as rent, dog boarding fees, etc.

So it appears we'll be living here in plantation central for more than the initial six months. It's a lovely home, but it's so BIG. Which you'd think would be grand, but there's a problem with big. Someone has to clean it. That someone would be me. And I don't like to clean. Especially when it involves several flights of stairs to complete one load of laundry. It's a long way from the third floor down to the basement laundry room! But it's farther back up, believe you me.

On to the happy! When I went to New York to fetch Lucy from her movie premier, she told me that she had made some valuable contacts. I figured she was just trying to justify the trip, which was really mostly for pleasure. Turns out, she was right. She wasn't home three days before she got a call to report to a shoot in Baton Rouge, La. A feature film! This will look fantastic on her cv. Her second day was today and she got promoted to Director's assistant (not to be confused with Assistant director). I'm so pleased for her. The highlight of her day, of course, was meeting Samuel L. Jackson (ahem, Sam to us in the know) and Daniel Kim, who will forever be Jin from 'Lost' to me.

Perhaps I'll have her film a documentary "A small town woman's fight against a national insurance company to get her house rebuilt". Would you see it? How about if Johnny Depp plays the evil adjuster?

Saturday Smiles

2010-04-24T10:18:00.002-04:00

Have a great weekend!

Antibiotics! They work!*

2010-04-23T13:14:00.003-04:00

We're on our way back from the big city. We survived! The city survived! Win-win!

Recap later after recuperation. Much walking and riding of ferries and topless buses was done, along with hanging out with New York's finest in times square (Silas' chosen method of vacationing, but who can blame him? They had horses).

*we weren't going because Silas had strep, but....(see title)

Saturday Smiles

2010-04-17T09:43:00.002-04:00

Sidelined by the monkey plague*

2010-04-16T16:51:00.004-04:00

No New Yawk City for me. Sigh. Silas came home with strep throat yesterday. Poor baby. He'll miss opening ceremonies for baseball and a birthday party. I feel bad for him. But I feel worse for me (I'm selfish like that) cause I don't get to go cavorting around the big city. I was really hoping to look like this on Monday.

Sigh.

*title blatantly stolen from the lovely Kate.

Beware, those in the north east

2010-04-12T12:33:00.002-04:00

Hey! Where in the hell are my font and text size buttons?!? I can't post in this little bitty ole type, I can't even see it! For those of you not on blogger (you lucky dogs), there used to be two little buttons in a bar across the top of the window where you could pick your font and text size. I always picked large so I could SEE what I typed. But no more, apparently. Get out your magnifying glasses.

Anyquityerbitchin, guess where I'm going this weekend? To new york city! Yay! Happy face! Lucy went to a movie premier last week, and instead of having her bring the train down, I'm going to hop in MINI Pearl and go fetch her.

So of course, I need advice from the natives. Where to stay, where to stay OUT of, etc. I really don't want it to be like my first New Orleans trip, where the limo from the airport pulled up in front of a falling down motel in between a liquor store and a strip club. Although, that probably could have been fun too.

I'm thinking of trying to see at least one show (Wicked, maybe?) and do the cheesy tourist thing and take a tour. Other than that, please to advise. What can I do that the other 86 bazillion tourists there won't know about? Give me the inside scoop, and I promise I won't call you, drunk and lost, at 3 am Saturday morning.

Saturday Smiles

2010-04-10T00:09:00.004-04:00

Have a great weekend!

This post is mandatory

2010-04-07T18:52:00.002-04:00

I was recently contacted by the Association of Professional Bloggers and informed that I was in violation of Code 28, subsection 6b. Apparently, it is required that all bloggers publish a mandatory "It's Spring" post or risk losing their license. Because I don't want to get kicked off the internet, I give you:

SPRING!

It doesn't get more springy than a puppy in a convertible.

'come on woman! We've got cruisin' to do. I want my jaws flappin in 5 minutes'

Required outside picture of kid in sunshine. This complies with regulation 124a.

Now that I'm in compliance, I can rest easy knowing that my membership is secure. Happy Spring! May you have lots of gorgeous flowers and no allergies.

Happy Easter!

2010-04-04T12:27:00.000-04:00

bawk! bawk!

Welcome Home!

2010-03-10T10:20:00.005-05:00

Albeit temporarily. We're finally settled into a rental! And what a rental. After looking at over 18 properties, some of which were just downright nasty, we finally found someone who would agree to a six month lease. I thought the dogs would be the problem, but it was the length of the lease.

So behold, the temporary world headquarters of Casa de Silence:

(lifted straight from the realtors site)

Please, do come in:

entry from the middle landing:

Step into my parlor:

The second parlor on the opposite side of the entry will not be shown. It has been appropriated by the husband and turned into a man cave. the shame..

Stop by for dinner any time. We certainly have room to seat you. (the table seats ten but I couldn't get all of it in the picture)

The realtor called this the sunroom. Because it's sunny. The genius, it astounds you. The picture was taken from the 'breakfast kitchen'. Which is around the corner from the 'lunch and dinner kitchen'. Yeah, two kitchens. I have no idea either.

The fenced in (woo!) backyard, which was on the spring garden tour last year. I hope it's not this year. That would entail me picking up poop.

Pickles approves.

Thanks for stopping by. We'll continue the tour with the upstairs after I clear a path. It's amazing how I can still manage to make a mess when I don't have any stuff. We have very few clothes, no furniture, no toys so how in the world is there a mess you ask? It's just a special talent I have.

The house was built in 1840 and has quite a colorful history. It was a hospital during the civil war, a brothel, doctor's home and office, and rehab. Unfortunately, I've encountered no ghosts as of yet. I'll keep you posted.

This is a warning

2010-03-02T08:03:00.005-05:00

Sometime soon, like the next day or two, I am going to publish a post that does not include any gloom, despair, or agony. I am giving you this information so that you will not be shocked and drop your computer. Or do a spit take and soak it.

I'm trying to look out for you.

The post will be upbeat, include pictures and good news. Now, it's been so long that any of that has happened on this blog that you may want to take it slow. Start with just a peek, then come back when that's settled. I don't want you to go into shock or fall over with a case of the vapors.

Consider yourself warned and prepare accordingly. See you soon!

You know how in the Amityville Horror, the ghost kept following them no matter where they ran to?

2010-02-21T00:18:00.005-05:00

It's kind of like that, but with fire.

These are pictures of the hotel on Saturday night.

The hotel that I'm staying at because I lost my house to fire.

The hotel that caught on fire.

I don't even know what else to say. I mean, have you ever? How much more can I be expected to take? Really, karma gods, you need to learn when to quit. Enough is enough.

*only smoke damage. One of the dryers in the laundry got too hot and smoky.

Saturday Smiles

2010-02-20T09:59:00.001-05:00

Things I miss

2010-02-17T20:50:00.003-05:00

What with being homeless and all, I've been taking particular notice of the things I miss. We're still in a hotel, coming up on three weeks now. Snowmageddon really mucked things up further with its ten feet of snow. The cleaning company can't get a dumpster up to the house to start throwing stuff out, so we do nothing. They don't want to handle the items twice, which I understand, but if anything could have been saved it is certainly ruined by now. The smell is just soooo nasty and has permeated everything.

I miss my fabulous zebra print trench coat. And my superfunktastic leopard print dansko clogs. That I only got to wear thrice before they became funkified in a not fantastic way. (btw, I did not wear the trench and the clogs together) (but I thought about it)

I really miss my lapdesk. This actually putting the laptop on my, well, lap top, sucks. And gets burny.

But mostly, I miss my Keurig. I'm so zombified in the morning that I just can't face the whole filter, coffee, measure procedure and I usually end up with some swill that's barely palatable. Just when did I get too fancy to hold my own damn computer and measure out coffee grounds?

This whole ordeal may just humble me yet. (don't count on it.)

Well, I've had enough of THIS happy horseshit

2010-02-06T15:47:00.005-05:00

And so has Pickles. Although she loves the snow when it's not over her head.

The big lump up there? It is the husband's truck.

And that? up there? That's my new car I was fixin to tell you about before my stupid house burned. (not linking, too sad. scroll down, it's the last post)

This is what it looks like when it's not hiding out in a snow drift.

Not my picture, obviously. Since I have no HOUSE, or CAMERA, or GARAGE for it to live in and not get a billion tons of snow on it. Did you know that with a convertible, you have to go out and sweep the snow off the roof every five seconds or the roof will collapse from the weight? True. Snow sweeping aside, I lovelovelove this car! It's the bright spot in my otherwise dreary existence of looking at rental after rental after rental. I thought having the dogs would be the problem in renting a house. But noooo, it's that no one wants to do a six month lease. My thinking is that six months worth of money is better than no money, but they'd rather let the house sit empty and get nothing. Me no unnerstand.

What I do understand is that I MUST get out of this hotel or I will pull a Jack Nicholson in The Shining. I've got a few more to look at on Monday, providing we're dug out by then. We've got 7' drifts out in the parking lot, but the roads are clear. I guess that's one bright side to not being at home. If I were at home, I'd have no power (it went out at 9pm Friday) and I'd truly be stuck because they won't get to our road until probably Monday night. So see? Bright side to everything!

I'm going to go sob quietly in the bathroom now. Please don't tell anyone where I am.

Have I got a 'before' for you!

2010-01-30T22:53:00.003-05:00

Unfortunately, the 'after' is going to take 4 to 6 months.

Anyone have a spare room? or 5?

We think the cord to the reading lamp that sat beside the sofa short circuited. Thankfully, I was home and was able to awaken SweetieDarling and get her and the dogs out. Everything on our main living level is lost, but other than a bit of smoke inhalation on my part, everyone is fine. They tell me it was less than a minute or two from flashpoint. We would've lost the entire house if that had happened. So there's that.

We're in a motel, one of the few that allows pets. I've boarded the labs, but kept the little ones with me. We'll have to find a place to rent until the repairs are done.

I'm tired. I really just want to go home.

Here comes the rain again

2010-01-27T18:03:00.002-05:00

We had just a wee bit of rain this week. A gullywasher, if you will.

Below is what it looked like from my kitchen door to the bottom of the driveway. The river is across the road from my drive. My neighbors get the pleasure of having a ravine carved into their road.

This is what I encountered when I left to take Silas to school:

It used to be my road. Just a smidge problematic to get through, but I made it. Just to encounter this:

I finally muck my way through the mess, get off the mountain, and 30 minutes later:

Blue skies all around. Looks like it didn't even rain here. Must be that storm cloud that hangs around over my head.

The Death of the Jaguar

2010-01-16T15:21:00.007-05:00

It is with much sadness that I report that the jag has finally given up the ghost. The diagnosis? Transmission failure. The car was running fine when I parked it. I got in it to leave, put it in drive and nothing. Which is unusual, because transmissions don't just go bad sitting still. Unless it's a jag. Apparently.

I've managed to insult my mechanic (evidently I don't take the news of several thousand dollar repair bills very well), I've pissed off (better than pissed on, I always say) the second opinion mechanic I towed the damn thing to and some random guy who answers questions on the internet mechanics forum. Three for three - I'm on a roll! With much wailing and gnashing of teefs, some kicking and a bit of screaming, I have accepted that it is, indeed, the tranny. The upside is that I can honestly say that I've blown a tranny this week. Too bad it wasn't Eddie Izzard.

Let's recap, shall we?

June 09. Scene: me, standing at car auction, looking to buy something to replace the expedition. Cash in my hot little hand. Need something practical, that will go in snow and over rough roads. Auctioneer brings through the jag. I take one look, say "ooh, SHINY", throw all my money at the guy and drive away grinning like an idiot.

August 09. Scene: me at the jag dealer holding a printout of all the sensors, parts and various sundry things wrong with car. No longer grinning.

October 09. Car overheats, gets towed, has thermostat replaced, needs million dollar overflow tank. Still overheats, needs fan assembly replaced for additional million dollars. Frowning commences.

November and December are deceptively problem free. Tentative grinning is resumed. Grinning is soon replaced by the ugly cry as I realize that there is no way under the sun that I can afford to fix this car. And even if I could, I wouldn't because it would just be something else next week. If I had done my research properly in the first place, I never would have bought it. I was dazzled! Hoodwinked by her beauty! Taken in by her curves and smooth ride. (contrary to the previous sentence, this is not a p0rn blog) While I lovedlovedloved that car, if anyone asked me for a recommendation, I would suggest running away as fast as possible. Unless you have an unlimited supply of money and an import mechanic living with you.

Since I still haven't reached a settlement with F0rd for the expedition, I have to find some transportation that fits into my budget of $0. Stay tuned for the next episode of 'As the wheels don't turn'.

2010? You are NOT off to an auspicious start. Step it up.

What does it say about me

2009-12-30T20:52:00.003-05:00

that the two favorite things I was gifted encourage sitting around? My husband gave me a heated throw. Brilliant! Not as large as a blanket, perfect for keeping warm on the sofa. In case my heated throw left my arms exposed, Lucy gave me a snuggie. And not just a snuggie. Oh no. A leopard print snuggie. Fabulous! I look fierce while chillaxin in mah snuggie. (taking bets on how many more times I can say 'snuggie' in this post*)

SweetieDarling gave me Love's Baby Soft! Do you remember that from junior high? Not only do I look fierce, I smell good too. Silas picked me out a lovely watch so I can time how long I lounge around.

While I'm all wrapped up and cozy (in my snuggie), I'm reflecting on 2009 (blargh, patooie, hiss) and pondering 2010 (tentative optimism). Please do share what lovelies you were gifted with so I can be happy for you. I hope you got a snuggie.

*2

Merry Christmas!

2009-12-25T01:16:00.003-05:00

May you enjoy the company of good friends...

May large, pig like creatures NOT try to eat your hat...

May you have much peace.

This post is not password protected

2009-12-15T10:44:00.003-05:00

I was wondering if you'd be willing to share some of your vast store of knowledge and wisdom with me? Please? I have encountered a situation here in bloggyland that I don't know how to handle. If someone password protects a post, how am I supposed to respond?

Do I email them and ask for the password? That seems a little presumptuous to me. If they wanted me to have the password, wouldn't they have sent it to me? Of course, that seems a bit egotistical as well. Assuming that everyone I read would think to send me the password. Hell, half the people I read don't even know I read them.

Do I assume that they're writing about me and that everyone in the world has the password except me and you're all talking about it? (j/k on that one. Even I'm not that narcissistic)

What if I email and ask for it (which I did once) and they don't respond (which she didn't). I took this to assume that she didn't want me to read the post. duh But an email saying "hey, it's personal, no offense, quit stalking me you freak" would have been appreciated.

So, what is the universally accepted, correct, courteous and proper way to handle password protected posts? Please do share before I embarrass myself further.

I may have crossed a line

2009-11-14T16:49:00.004-05:00

But before I get to that, I must show you what horror I had to endure on Halloween. I'm pleased with myself that I've gotten the Halloween pictures up before Christmas (hold your applause).

Silas has wanted to be the Predator from the Alien vs. Predator movies for two years now. This year I finally got it together and found the mask and hands for him. Sidenote: Do NOT, ever, google 'child predator hands'. Google does not know you mean predator costume. Back to your regularly scheduled post. And we can all thank his father for letting him watch such a scary movie. You have no idea how many arguments have ensued in our household over this. His defense? "He doesn't know what he's watching". I beg to differ. Anyway, sorry, end of tangent.

So hold onto your hats, ladies and gents. This is the extremely scary and somewhat nauseating costume my six year old wanted:

He has the helmet with the dread locks on it, but chose not to wear it. I have no idea why. The poor thing was absolutely mortified when a little girl took one look at him, screamed, and ran to her mother. He pulled his mask off, fell to his knees, and told her "it's just me. I'm just a little boy. I won't hurt you".

Now on to the line I may have crossed.

I have put the dogs in pajamas.

I know. You don't have to say it. I'm just not sure if there's a way back from this.

I've painted the bully's toenails. I've put bows in the spaniel's ears. (are those apostrophe's right?) (Is that one?) Someone get me a punctuation teacher and have me a baby. That should solve both problems, don'tcha think?

At least they're cute pajamas, right?

My dogma ate my CAR-ma

2009-10-30T21:30:00.003-04:00

Haha! See what I did there? Dogma/Karma?

I'm sorry. It's just that I'm light headed from all the numbers rolling around in my head. Big, huge, scary numbers that represent how much it's costing to get my car fixed. (If you're thinking 'well, that's what you get for driving a Jag', you're mean and you made me cry. Happy?)

It just overheated, no big deal right? Wrong. You couldn't possibly be wronger in the whole history of being wrong, ever. I put a thermostat in it ($200). It ran fine. Until it didn't. Overheated again. This time I didn't catch it quick enough and it cracked the overflow tank, which of course is custom molded to fit in the little niche and lined in gold and plated with unicorn farts so therefore stupid expensive ($500).

Problem solved, right? HAH! Non, mon amie, non.

A few days later: WONK WONK High engine temperature. Catastrophic failure eminent. Cease and desist immediately. (at least that's what I hear when I see the temperature hand climbing)

So I give up and take it to an actual mechanic who diagnosed it as needing a new cooling fan assembly and harness ($760). So, yeah. I really hope you didn't want anything for christmas. We can go for a ride in my car if you want. No promises we'll get back though.

Whatever car repair god I pissed off still has it out for me. I was driving my daughters' car while mine was in the shop. She took it out last night, calls me at 10:00 (why do these calls never come before I get in my jammies?) and wails "why does everything you touch explode???". This is not sounding good. I ask her what I've exploded now. Her car is overheated on the side of the road.

And the cycle continues. Good news is, she has an escort. It really was just the thermostat and it only cost $10 to fix it. Score! Perchance the auto gods have been appeased and my good car karma restored all around.

I have arrived

2009-10-12T16:35:00.002-04:00

Finally, after over a year of blogging, I have been truly accepted by the community. I, my friend, have my very own troll. Yes, it's true. A lovely anonymous troll using the pseudonym 'snoop' (ironic, no?) left a message on my last post about my lovely little bulldog puppy. He suggested that she deserved to be abandoned because of her stench, and then should be 'finished off with a gun'. As far as trolls go, fairly benign I guess.

But none the less, I am honored to be inducted into the club and appreciative of the sentiment.

ps: THE Bossy commented on the same post, which totally negates the whole troll thing, but I'm keeping my membership card anyway.

I just don't understand...

2009-10-01T17:28:00.005-04:00

...how anyone could abandon this adorable sweetheart.

She was dropped off at the vet for a slight respiratory infection and never retrieved. I can't fathom why. She's as fine a specimen of an English Bulldog as you'll find. Someone paid fat stacks for her and then just left her.

I'm sure there could be a myriad of reasons as to why she was left and I'm very sorry for the person who had to make that decision. I am, however, very glad they chose to leave her somewhere responsible instead of on the roadside.

So now, please welcome the ~~eighty fifth~~ fourth canine member of our household. Miss TrixieBelle Lollipop. Why yes! Silas did name her. How did you know? Trust me, the name fits in well as our other dogs are:

Gus, also known as, Gustopher, Gustafson and Gustafarian;

Penelope Pitstop, aka Nellie, Nellie Goat and Smelly Nellie with the big belly;

and Betty Boop, aka The Boop, Boop Boop a Doop, and The Big Booper.

So I believe she'll fit right in. I'll be applying for my kennel license tomorrow. If you have any experience with Bulldogs and have wisdom to share, I welcome it. Meanwhile, I leave you with some puppy butt. You're welcome.

Take a breath...

2009-09-26T23:50:00.004-04:00

...September is almost over! What a crazy month it is for us. Silas had his first day of school in August, then, before I knew what happened, he woke up as a six guy:

There were wishes to be made and cake to be eaten:

There were parties to be had at the water park:

We had our first soccer game:

(somewhere in between here, we had my fortymumblemumble birthday and eleventh wedding anniversary)

Then we were off to the beach for my auntie's wedding:

Where there were dogs who wear eyeshadow:

and little redheaded babies that make my ovaries ache:

Then off to play in the sand before coming home:

Now for a slight breather before starting the holiday rush.

First Day

2009-08-26T09:56:00.004-04:00

>

Mah baaybehh! He has gone to school.

For the whole day.

As in 8 whole hours away from me.

I don't know what to do with myself right now. I've spent the past six years with this child velcroed to my side. Sometimes by choice, sometimes not.

I'm sure once I get accustomed to having some free time, I'll find ways to fill it. Hopefully with something that doesn't involve mindless shopping to fill the void that is my broken heart.

At least someone is happy about it:

Here he is on the steps of his little academy. That's what it's called. The Academy. My heart. I can't take it.

Here he has to sign in. All by himself. Without me helping. I feel so superfluous.

And here is the sign that I'm putting up right down the street from the school. It reflects my mood wonderfully.

So here I sit. I've finished the post. I guess I'll go clean the house.

sigh

Sticks and stones

2009-08-10T17:07:00.003-04:00

I met a little girl today with my name. She was probably around eight, which adds up. It was approximately ten years ago that the country singer Shania Twain became popular. Suddenly, I wasn't the only one who had ever heard my name. And I didn't have to spell it every time I said it.

Her popularity was both a blessing and a curse. As she got more popular and the name became more familiar, it was a relief not to be looked at askance whenever I introduced myself. Instead, I would get an "oh, like the singer?" More than once, I'd get an accusatory "that's not your real name, you changed it to be like her!" Which, no I didn't, but even if I had, how is it your business?

Living with an unusual name, you can understand my sympathy for children who have the same burden to bear. My compassion was kicked into overdrive at tennis roll call.

Argyle? Here.

Stetson? Here.

Paisley? Here.

Wrangler? Here.

Those poor kids.

Wasted money?

2009-08-07T10:58:00.004-04:00

It's sad when all the years of my edumacashun can be summed up so succinctly.

New discoveries

2009-08-02T18:07:00.003-04:00

Cavaliers don't like to swim. No.... no, they don't.

I don't think I'm going to make it

2009-07-23T10:03:00.003-04:00

Not through the whole summer anyway. I just can't do it.

One of my goals this summer was to see if I really needed the depression medication, or if I am using them to hide from real emotions. My intention was to go from April until September medication free and see if I could regulate my moods on my own. I've been paying attention to how I feel, what makes me anxious, what angers me, and how I react to each stressor. Not well, my friends, not well. My reactions are all over the chart, from "eh, ok" to "OMFG, THIS IS THE END OF EVERYTHING!!!!!".

And they're very rarely appropriate to the situation. My nephew had the temerity to ask me where to put the net after he finished skimming the pool. This resulted in a ten minute lecture on responsibility, complete with yelling.

At a ten year old.

Who did nothing wrong.

I'm short tempered with Silas. He's getting ready to go to kindergarten next month, which is going to be a big enough adjustment for him without adding a snarky, bitchy mother to the mix.

Yesterday was the clincher. I walk out of the laundry room carrying a basket. SweetieDarling is standing in front of the stairs. That I need to walk up. This affront to my person is simply not acceptable and I break down into a mushy, melty pile of sobs. So I'm standing there crying on my nineteen year old daughter's shoulder. I start to tell her I'm sorry, that I just don't know what's wrong, when I catch a glimpse of her expression.

Then I flash back to my own nineteen year old self. Who is standing there holding her mother while she cries for no reason. And I remember thinking, 'for the love of god why doesn't she just get her shit together and get some help'. (apparently I was not a compassionate child) But my nineteen year old self was right, and even though my daughter didn't say it (she's nicer than I was) she was thinking it. And she's right.

I haven't been doing anything I used to enjoy. I've let the house decline into something that will warrant a visit from Kim and Aggie. I haven't been taking pictures, taking the dogs to the lake, swimming, gardening, blogging, nothing. I've been sitting around staring into space feeling sorry for myself and I'm done.

I start taking proper care of myself today. And I start getting myself back today.

weekly word challenge

2009-07-21T08:29:00.005-04:00

The words this week were W and Half.

This bird is winging it.

Here's half of a kid through the water.

Here's working Silas, half the size he is now.

Slinging webs.

Half size violin. (actually quarter size, but work with me here)

and my favorite picture of the week,

A boy and mud, what more could you need?

Saturday Smiles, a repeat

2009-07-18T14:36:00.000-04:00

I have no Saturday Smiles today. Please to enjoy past pleasantness.

Does anyone else waste hour upon hour looking at lolcats? I. Am. Addicted. I'm obsessed with getting to the front page. I've made it to the voting page several times but the illustrious honor of the front page has so far eluded me. And let's face it, all you other lolcat addicts out there (and you know who you are) the captions we come up with are so much funnier than the ones that make it. Don't you agree?

The odd part of this compulsion is that I'm not even a cat person. I have nothing against them, I just prefer huge honkin' dogs. So what do those evil geniuses do? They make a sister site for dog pictures! I'm doomed. Without further ado, my pics that should all have made the front page (if I do say so myself):

And my all time forever favorite, which isn't even mine:

Thank you, ladies and gentleman. I hope you've enjoyed this exhibition. The artist will be here all week.

Saturday Smiles

2009-07-11T11:45:00.000-04:00

weekly word challenge

2009-07-07T12:42:00.004-04:00

The words this week were blue and happy. At least I hope so, because those are the ones I used.

Here is a blue Shamu lunch box.

A blue floridian sky

A happy puppy.

This picture make me happy. It's some random pic I found while cruising around the internet. The smile on his face and the expression on hers just make me grin.

and here is my newest happy. The hood ornament on my new (used) car.

I was going to get the volvo, but honestly poppets, I just couldn't afford it. Keep in mind I still have to pay my truck payment even though it's not driveable. So I picked this up at an auction for a few thousand dollars, but I feel like a million bucks in it!

A post with some pics but not the pics I wanted...

2009-07-06T10:19:00.005-04:00

I'm supposed to have a post about our trip, with pictures, but I left my memory card in Lucy's computer. My 4 gig card. She can email the pics but she'll have to snail mail the card.

Apparently she's too busy packing to email the pics anyway because I still don't have them. Girlfriend is moving to Beverly Hills next week. Already has a job and found a foreclosed property that they (a group of four film makers) have bought. The buying sight unseen part makes me nervous, but I'll just have to trust that she knows what she's doing. (they did have a home inspector look it over, at least)

So I only have the pics in my phone, which aren't too bad. When I walked into Lucy's apartment, the first thing I did was pull it out to snap these.

You don't think she has some issues with someone not doing the dishes, do you? Judging from the state of the kitchen, I don't think they worked.

I can't believe I found a picture of me on my way to the pool. It's a fair likeness, I think.

Here is Silas at SeaWorld. We went to the pirate dinner theatre the night before (do NOT recommend, btw) so naturally that's the character he chose. The skull conveniently covers his scar from where the dog tried to eat his face.

and this is going straight to the website where they gather pictures of peoples jumping on motel beds. Yes, there is such a site and it's hilarious. Not linking because? am . lazy.

We're going to try to go back after Thanksgiving. You know, when normal people go to Orlando. When it's not 2000 degrees and your shoes won't melt into the asphalt if you stand still too long. Then we'll try to do all the parks and bring someone with us that Silas can ride the big boy rides with (he's almost tall enough) because I'm certainly not. Wait...I'm tall enough but I don't want to. Ride the big boy rides that is. ok, I'm just going to trail off now. brain is on break.

Oh, the huge manatee

2009-07-01T13:36:00.003-04:00

I'm baaaaack! Highlight of my trip? Seeing Lucy get her Bachelor's, natch.

Highlight of Silas' trip? Seeing a manatee poop right over his head at Seaworld.

Back tomorrow with pictures (but not of manatee poop, sorry)

Hmmm....

2009-06-25T23:48:00.002-04:00

I'm in Florida and have been for four days now. And nothing out of the ordinary or dramatic has happened. This is so unusual for me that I don't know whether to go with the flow and enjoy myself or hurl myself into Shamu's tank and get the inevitable over with.

They see me rollin'

2009-06-18T21:29:00.003-04:00

We here a Casa de Silence have a new vehicular member. I normally wouldn't broadcast this (I mean really, who cares?) but there's a bit of drama leading up to why we need another car.

I extolled the virtues of my favorite vehicle here. I never did convince myself to give it up, even after deciding I couldn't afford to feed it anymore. After going through a particularly rough jobsite, it developed a thump in the front driver's side wheel. I took it to the dealer, who diagnosed a problem with the wheel assembly. They ordered the replacement parts and scheduled me to come back the next week for repairs. They told me that the parts and the repair were under warranty. They assured me that it was safe to drive and sent me on my merry way.

I finished up my errands and Silas and I headed home. At no time during our ride did the truck do anything different than it had been since it started the thump thing. I pulled into my driveway, got out and opened Silas' door for him. As I was helping him down from the truck, it shifted. Kind of like a manual transmission will if you don't quite have it all the way in gear when you park it. Then it creaked. Then it groaned. I'm creaking and groaning myself trying to get the boy's seatbelt unhooked and get him out of the mouth of this suddenly moving and groovin beast. I got it free and pulled him down just as the front tire fell off of the truck! Yes, yes it did. Fell right the fack off. Plop.

I stood there in utter shock and horror, staring at my now Dali-esque, twisted truck. Silas and I looked at each other, then back at the truck, then each other. I was truly at a loss for words or action. It didn't seem quite like a 911 incident, but perhaps a AAA call wouldn't be unwarranted? I pondered for a few moments. But then I came to my senses. And then I got mad. Mama Bear got up on her hind legs and roared. My child had just been in that truck. The one that not three hours ago I had been assured was safe. What if that wheel had come off while we were cruising down the interstate at 70mph? (which is the speed limit, btw) We could have wiped out an entire family if we had been thrown into oncoming traffic, not to mention ourselves.

My first call wasn't to 911 or AAA. It was to the dealer who sent me away in an unsafe vehicle. The next was to the corporate office of the automaker. The third was to my secretary. I sent him directly to the law library to start research on which jurisdiction to file the suit in. I'm not normally a litigious person (so says she who once made her living off litigious peoples), mostly because I know how loooong it can take and that no one ever wins these types of cases even if they do get a settlement because legal fees eat it all up. But wait! I have no legal fees. The benefit to representing ones self (other than having a fool for a client) is that I can wait it out as long as they can.

My decision to file suit was based on one thing the automaker told me. They decided that somewhere between my leaving the dealer and getting home several hours later that the defective part was a wear item and therefore not covered under the warranty. This is despite the documentation that I have that clearly stated otherwise. If they had fixed the truck, I probably wouldn't have sued them. (The reason I'm being very careful not to mention Henry's last name is because we're currently in litigation.)

Aaaaaannnnnnyyyywaaaaay, sheesh, what a lead in just to tell you that this is my new car:

Beep beep.

The trip, she is planned

2009-06-10T14:07:00.003-04:00

With stunning organization and stupefying quickness, I have finalized the plans for the trip to my daughter's graduation (you know, the graduation that I've known about for two years?) a whopping two weeks before the big day. Admit it, you're jealous of my mad skillz in the planning department.

I managed to get a flight out of Dulles, Washington DC to Orlando (and back), a motel (supposedly a resort, we'll see), and a rental car for eight days, seven nights for three people for $1000 from Travelocity. So yeah, all that for a thousand bucks? I'm thinking we'll be staying in a hovel with bulletproof glass in the walk up office and no a/c. In Florida. In June. While driving an 18 year old rental Yugo. Which I'll come out of the room to find on blocks covered with gang tags.

In other needs, I could use more advice. It's been about a hundred years since I've flown commercial. I need suggestions for my preshuss (laptop) and my even more preshuss (camera). Do I carry them on? Check them in my luggage *shudder*? Buy them their own seat? Put Silas in the overhead and let them have his seat? Halp meh, peeps. I've been completely spoiled by having a father who is a pilot with a teeny tiny itty bitty plane. I don't know how to function in a normal society anymore. I'm assuming that my usual routine of throwing everything I think I might possibly need, including firearms, ammo, mace and brass knuckles, into a bag and tossing it into the plane won't fly anymore. (Har! get it? fly?) What do you guys do with your preshusses? Please do share.

Your wisdom is requested

2009-06-07T10:33:00.003-04:00

Poppets, I need your help. I must fly to Orlando for my oldest daughter's college graduation. I'm considering using priceline.com. Have any of you used this service before? I'm trying to figure out if I make a bid and it's accepted, will our seats be together? I'd hate to purchase 3 seats and have poor Silas sitting off somewhere all alone.

I realize that this would be better suited to twitter, but I don't tweet soooo......

I await your wisdom.

Dear innernetz, please excuse my absence due to...

2009-06-02T19:53:00.003-04:00

...general lack of anything nice to say. Did your mother ever tell you "if you don't have anything good to say, don't say anything at all"? Since I haven't had anything good to say about anyone or anything, I've tried to keep my yap shut.

I've taken myself off of my ~~crack~~ anti depressants and have had a bit of an adjustment, as is to be expected. My psychiatrist supervised this little endeavor, btw. I am finally to the point where I am accepting that not everything is going to go the way I want it to, and am dealing with that in a much better way. I have stopped being an ass and learned to monitor and control my moods.

I think I was on the prozac out of sheer laziness. Truly, I do. It is so much easier to take a pill than to actually think about how I'm feeling and my reactions to situations. I understand that people need the medicine and can't live a quality life without it. But I think I was taking it to avoid having to deal with any emotion other than oooh, pretty!. When I read blogs from people who go to therapy every week and actually work through their issues, I am so filled with envy. That they can do that incredibly hard work, lay themselves open to inspection (even from themselves) and learn from it inspires me.

I've started with a bit of introspection meself. So far, I have realized the following:

I am lazy. I didn't used to be, but I have always tried to find the easiest way to get the result I wanted. Now I'm just 'the hell with it' or my favorite standby, 'who cares?'.

I am mean. I think I always have been, but have been too polite to let my true light shine. In my dotage, I let her rip. Viciously, with no holds barred, to the detriment of anyone around me. But honestly, some people just need to be told.

I have a huge sense of entitlement. I deserve whatever I want, whether I worked for it, can afford it, or need it.

In the tiny little dark part of my brain that I try not to let out often, I think I'm better than some people because I'm educated. Sad, but true. Even sadder? No one in my immediate family is educated.

I'm not all bad. I love with my whole heart. I'll do anything to help you. I try to anticipate anything that might make your journey easier and provide it.

When I took my little sojourn to the ocean to ponder life's mysteries, one of the decisions I made was to try the summer without medication. To take life on armed with only my wits (sad weaponry at best) and intelligence (slightly better, still lacking). I need to know that I can be nice and personable and normal by being willing to work on it and making a decision when I wake up in the morning to appreciate the day instead of choosing to stomp around in a huff snarking at everything that breathes too loud.

So far, so good.

Weekly Word Challenge

2009-05-12T09:40:00.005-04:00

The words this week were Purple and Arches.

These arches are part of my dining room light.

These are from the matching hall light. The arch of the mirror is gorgeous.

My very boring kitchen cabinet.

The graceful arches of the tree that provides a bridge to my deck for the squirrels.

The arches of the canopy that keeps the house cool in the summer. Not to mention provides the acorns for the squirrels.

I wanted to do purple without using flowers, otherwise there'd be nothing but pictures of flowers. For some reason, I have only purple flowers blooming.

A purple plaque on the breakfast nook wall.

Some purple (ish) fabric on the ceiling of the nook. (also sparkly!)

And in closing, purple arches!

Photographic evidence that I shouldn't be allowed to have children

2009-05-08T13:46:00.003-04:00

livin the thug life

Yes, that's my five year old. Why yes! those are itty bitty teeny tiny bling filled brass knuckles*. They fit him perfectly. And he is wearing aviators. and a bandana. Right now he's standing in the front yard flashing gang signs to the neighbors. They're all hiding behind their blinds, quaking in fear of the thug next door. Soon, he'll put away his bling, hop on his scooter and come in for a glass of milk. But until then, you best be steppin careful, yo.

*They actually go on a chain for a real (pretend) thug to wear as a necklace. He found them at the beach while I was looking at purses.

Weekly Word Challenge

2009-05-05T09:59:00.004-04:00

>

Uh huh. Look what I did. I got the badge, yo. Which hopefully makes up for the fact that the pictures are crap.

Words this week were bokeh and heart.

>

Bokeh or lens flare? Your call.

>

I believe this may, possibly be close to the definition of bokeh, also known as secular lights. I shot this in manual, and it's not a big black square, so bokeh or not, I'm hyped!

This young lady, who has an upside down heart shaped trunk opening (I'm reaching, I know), looks like she's getting ready to share some juicy gossip to someone on her other side.

Other random photos:

This is my favorite from the circus this weekend. Even with the huge, giant head in the frame.

I shot these next two in aperture priority mode so I could have the blur of the scarves. I like how you can tell that the second one is spinning down.

Thanks for stopping by. I may actually have pics that apply to the theme next week!

Seven things

2009-05-01T16:18:00.006-04:00

My main gal from Michigan, Ree (wait, does that make her a Michiganian?) has tagged me for a meme. Thank gah. I've got an excuse to share more random stuff about myself. This makes me happy! Alas, first I must adhere to the rules. They are as follows:

List seven things about yourself.

Pass the award on to seven friends whose blogs you love.

Easy peasy.

7 things about moi

1. I have a daughter graduating from film school next month. I'm so proud, my head may asplode.

2. Calvin and Hobbes is my all time favorite comic of forever. Hobbes is the wisest soul ever and I am currently raising Calvin.

3. I am considering dipping my toe into the job market after 10 years as a business owner. Really, didn't I pick a great time?

4. I despise telephones and the intrusion they represent. I refuse to subscribe to call waiting and very rarely answer the phone. Your email? I will break my fingers rushing to answer.

5. I have no idea how to copy the badge or button or whatever it's called that goes with this meme. I have been given awards that I would love to put on the blog, but have no idea how. In the time it's taken me to type this, I could've figured out how to do it.

6. I used my camera in manual mode last week and I could tell what the pictures were supposed to be of!

7. I just want it to be quiet.

Now to pass on the joy. I want to know more about each of these lovelies:

A stolen post

2009-04-29T07:04:00.002-04:00

But too hilarious not to share!

How Swine Flu really got started

blantantly stolen from wysiwyg here. Go by for the best collection of ???? on the web!

Weekly Words Challenge

2009-04-28T12:30:00.005-04:00

Yay!! It's the Weekly Word Challenge! I'm going to attempt to put the badge on here next week.

The words were ANGRY and R.. I had an order I was going to attempt, but I simply cannot make the fog in my brain clear enough to make it work. So I'll just explain them in the order they landed.

This is my father and his first Racecar.

ARRRRRGH! A pirate.

Here, he's just Ready. I'm not sure for what.

This wasn't sideways when I loaded it. But it's a picture of ANGRY.

Here we have Rustic. Also my favorite picture of him, ever.

A Rottweiler.

More ANGRY.

RAH Rah. This is my oldest daughter when she was but a wee bairn.

Come back next week for more of the same, but different!

Hey Look! It's a post that's NOT about my back!

2009-04-27T15:57:00.004-04:00

It's about how pharmaceuticals can make life bearable when without them, you are in agony. It's about how boring life can be when you can't do what you want, when you want. In other words, I'm soooooooo boooooorrrreeeedd. I can't think properly, so the reading isn't going so good. I have managed to start selling things on ebay though. How fun is that? People are paying big bucks for stuff I don't want anymore! I haven't quite figured out the shipping thing though. I think 'oh, this is small. I should be able to ship it for $5', then I get to the post office and he's all 'that'll be $10.50', and I'm all 0-o? (that's my confused face)

And I called a water delivery service to get the pool filled. Um, no. I refuse to pay $1000 for water. So I pulled the hose over and dropped it in and it should be full by August. My water usage isn't metered. I pay $56 a month whether I use none, or say, 23,000 gallons. Which, coincidentally, happens to be the amount my pool holds. So, at the rate it's running now, it should be full by mid-May. I am being considerate and only running it at night (only because I like my neighbor and want her to have water pressure during the day).

Let's see, what other trivial minutiae can I enthrall you with? Did I mention the boredom? and that my thought processes feel like they're under water? Am I making any sense at all? don't answer that. humor me.

The illustrious Betty Boop is going to the vet tomorrow for a pupectomy. She is the victim of an immaculate conception. That dog was never out of my presence the whole time she was in season, but I swear she's pregnant. Her little belly is all poofy and she's eating like a little pig. She has to be spayed no matter, so we'll see.

Remember when I was going to get a tattoo on the inside of my wrist? Of course you do. Well, I'm glad I didn't. Because for some reason, now when I see the word "BREATHE", I see BREATHE. See it? EAT. Now that I've seen it, I can't unsee it. And I need no reminders to eat, thankyouverymuch. Wouldn't that suck? Especially to have it permanently rendered on a place that can't easily be covered. So now I'm thinking of using my meditation mantra, which is "Let It Be". Maybe I'll write it on with a sharpie first, just to make sure. Thoughts?

OK, I'll put you out of your misery. I'm out of miscellany. Peace.

It's official

2009-04-19T19:13:00.003-04:00

I'm old. And decrepit. Tore up from the floor up. My chiro sent me to the ER because I was losing function in my right foot due to the nerve being impinged upon by my very rude L5 disc. They gave me morphine. I asked if I could live there with the nice ladies who brought me feel good stuff. They politely declined and sent me off for an MRI.

How many of you have had this particular pleasure? You probably know what's coming if you have. I am not claustrophobic. Well, I wasn't claustrophobic until they slid me head first into that tube. They didn't even finish pushing me all the way in before I was pumping that little button for all I was worth. She asks me all nice "Did you need something, dear?" Poppets, I am embarrassed to tell you that I lost my shit. I panicked. This has never happened to me before, and I did not like it one bit. I have mercilessly teased my mother for years about being claustrophobic, telling her to put on her big girl panties and suck it up. I have prided myself on always being in control, blah blah...

Yeah, not that day. So they all gave me the stink eye and sent me back to my cubicle for some ativan and haldol. And we tried again. And I lost it again. More stinkeye and heavy sighs. I'm mentally apologizing to my mother for treating her that way. So I'm sent home with some anti-inflammatory's and painkillers. That don't work. I went to an outpatient office and had an open MRI, for which I paid an additional $1400 over the already exorbitant initial cost. But I got it done. And now I wish I hadn't.

My chiro got the results, called me up and asked me the following:

Have I done hard manual labor for a living, such as landscaping or hauling bricks?
Have I ridden horses that jump a lot?
Have I been in a really bad car accident?

No, no and no. Why? Because, she tells me, I have the spine of someone in their late 60's. I have three herniated discs with huge protrusions. My vertebrae are compressed to half their size. I'm a mess. So I have a consult with a surgeon on Tuesday. Who is going to tell me that if I don't let him cut the discs away from the nerves, I'm going to lose all function of my right leg.

Oh, and guess who let her health insurance drop two months ago because we couldn't afford it? That would be me. Sigh.

I'll be taking sign ups in the comments for day shift entertainment and company keeping. If I have to lay around in bed all summer, I want you guys with me.

More waaaaah.......

2009-04-13T18:57:00.002-04:00

Well poppets, we have a diagnosis. After much x-raying and MRI-ing and AGONY-ing, at least we now know the problem. A piece of my L5 disc has broken off and lodged in the nerve root. Why, yes. It is as painful as it sounds. I was reduced to crawling to the kitchen this afternoon. I really wanted that coffee.

Unfortunately, surgery may be called for, although my chiro and massage therapist are doing all they can to pull the disc back off the nerve. Surgery is a last resort, but not being able to walk is rather inconvenient and will need to be addressed eventually.

So I'm stuck here on the sofa, bored to tears. Did you know that daytime television is really frightening? If extraterrestrial life is monitoring earth via the airwaves, I look for an invasion any minute. Because they must think we're the dumbest beings ever. If I ever go back to school and have to write a thesis, I'm writing it on Jerry Springer and how they've trained the participants much like Pavlov trained his dogs. When they ring the bell, those people stop whatever they are doing and start to fight. They ring the bell again, and they stop! It's fascinating. I've never seen anything quite like it.

So anyway, I'm bored. I'll need lots and lots of posts from everyone to keep me occupied. Also recommendations for books and movies would be appreciated.

I guess I'll go look at pictures of talking cats for a few more hours. I hope I don't get to the end of the internet.

and people wonder why I don't believe in god

2009-04-08T15:16:00.003-04:00

I think we can all agree that this world needs all of the beauty and joy and happiness that it can get. Am I right?

How can anything or anyone justify or explain why such joy and beauty would be taken out of this world?

It's not right. It's just not right.

Go here and donate in her name. Perhaps it will help another family not have to endure this hell.

I tried to link to Heather's site for you, but I think we've crashed their server. Here's a link to a lovely memorial that Sam put up.

Weekly Word Challenge

2009-04-07T07:58:00.003-04:00

It's the weekly word challenge! I'm glad I joined this, at least I'll post once a week. Believe me, with everything going on, I'm doing good to get that. The weird thing is, I blog all day in my head. Do you guys do that? Just me? Loony bird, you say? Well, that's not nice. I'm taking my toys and going home.

After I show you my interpretation of the words for this week, which were spring and opening.

Nothing says spring like a bunny. This is Cabeza de Leon, aka beza. His name translates from spanish to head of a lion. Because (wait for it...) he's a lion headed rabbit. The cleverness, it astounds you.

Spring is also epitomized by baseball. Or in this case, tball. Or as it was known for most of the game, tackle tball.

(yes, I am aware I need to get him some baseball socks and cleats. Opening day kind of snuck up on me, OK?) OH WAIT! It was opening day! I can use these for both words. That's good, because for opening? I got nuttin.

Have I mentioned that my back hurts? Yes? fine. carry on...

Because my sciatica hurts, that's why!

2009-04-05T09:57:00.005-04:00

Oh, poppets...the pain, the AGONY. I've never had this before, and I don't like it, not one bit. We had a lovely, warm springlike day and I went a little crazy with the yardwork. Normally, this would result in my wayward disc poking out a little, an application of the heating pad, and we'd all be fine.

But this! This is different. and it won't go away. From my middle back to the knee of my right leg is suffused with cold fire. I can't walk or sit or lay comfortably. Someone call the waaahmbulance.

Instead of doing the old lady shuffle, I'm doing the peg leg lurch. Frightening small children and animals as I heave myself around in a bizarre ballet of stiff legged lunging, grimace of pain plastered to my face.

If anyone has any experience with this beast called sciatica, please advise me. What works on this? What have you tried?

And for those of you who aren't all broken up and falling apart? You can just kiss my sciatica.

(normally, I'm not so mean...but the PAIN...the pain makes me snarky...I'm glad you're not all broke up, really I am)

Weekly Word Challenge

2009-03-31T09:52:00.000-04:00

I recently joined Tink in the weekly word challenge. The words for this week were Orange and N.

My interpretations (drum roll please):

Orange speed demon.

Orange books. I do believe that Penguin Books need to vary their covers a bit.

The best orange of all. An orange haired niece.

From the leap frog fridge set. Where we spell naughty words because we're 12.

Off my pompous latin sign in the entryway.

I'm not sure if there are any rules I need to post or what the protocol might be, so if there's something else I need to do, hopefully someone will let me know.

Thus concludes my first weekly challenge. Ah'm just plum tuckered out.

Well, good grief

2009-03-24T16:42:00.006-04:00

I've missed my own blogversary! It was a year on Feb 23. So have a glass of something on me.

I've been having a little R&R here:

A bit of soul searching, if you will. No place better for that than my feet in the sand. But alas, it's now back to the grind.

I will be asking for opinions on the decisions I've made and the changes I'm contemplating. If everyone could put on their best 'wise one' expressions and prepare to counsel me, that'd be just peachy.

Peachy keen, even.

Mmmm, mmmm

2009-03-07T21:53:00.002-05:00

Ya'll see this lil ole hayseed plowboy? Ain't he just a big ole long drink o' hunk?

photos from cbs.com/survivor

A wounded heart

2009-03-04T09:52:00.004-05:00

I may or may not have mentioned before that we had a little Jack Russell terrier show up on our porch about four months ago. We let him sleep in the garage while looking for his owner. He had a collar but no tags and he wasn't microchipped. (CHIP YOUR DOGS!!!) I put up posters and contacted all of the shelters within a three state radius with no luck. Soooo....guess who moved into the house with us? Just let me state that had I known I was going to keep him, I would've come up with a more original name than 'Jack'.

All went swimmingly with Jack, even though he regularly tormented poor Gus, who is too big and dumb to defend himself. (Actually, he's just a really sweet dog who didn't want to hurt the little one, but it's more fun to call him big and dumb). He even slept at the foot of the bed with Betty Boop. Until last night. Last night, completely unprovoked, he did this:

Silas was sitting on the floor putting his shoes on when Jack attacked him. We are so lucky that there wasn't more damage. The thought of those disproportionately long teeth that close to my baby's eyes makes me cringe. Silas did the right thing by covering his head and rolling over as soon as the attack started. It breaks my heart that my little boy, who loves everyone and everything, had to use inherent survival skills in his own home. That I knowingly exposed him to harm. How could I have known, you ask? I dreamed it the night before. And my dreams always come true in some form. So I knew he was going to bite him, but I thought I had time to place him in a rescue. I gambled and Silas lost.

Jack has been taken by animal control. He has to be quarantined for ten days and then he'll be euthanized. There is no other way, the law will not bend on this. I just wish he didn't have to die. Even though I could've killed with my hands if I hadn't been tending Silas. But since we have no history on him and don't know if he's had his rabies shots or not, he must go.

This is the wound this morning:

It's the wounds to his heart that worry me most. He feels so betrayed and hurt. This is the first time he's ever been hurt by something he loved. I wish it would be the last.

I took the picture before we left for the ER because I knew animal control would need it. NOT because I'm an awful mother exploiting her kids injury. but since I had it anyway.....

Funny.....

2009-03-01T13:44:00.005-05:00

I don't remember a romantic liason with Javier Bardem about six years ago.

Or Buster Brown, for that matter.

More pissing and moaning

2009-02-19T22:44:00.005-05:00

It's just occurred to me recently that I never shared my experience of going to the inauguration. Probably because it sucked, where sucked means it was cold, and crowded, and cold, and because I'm only 5' tall all I could see was a massive wall of winter coat clad backs. And it sucked. I had a ticket and it sucked. Imagine how it was for the poor unwashed masses who braved it without. How did I come by such a coveted token, you ask? Sit here at my knee, my pretties, and let me tell you.

My father lives in a somewhat exclusive little mountain community about an hour outside of DC. He lives there not because he is exclusive, but because when he built his house there twenty five years ago it was just a mountain. And he lived on it alone. Then the city folk found it and he's complained about them ever since.

Except for one. The Senator. The Senator lives next door, a few trees down the road. Well, he does when he's senatoring. Otherwise he lives where ever it is he senates for. We have known The Senator for over twenty years. In those twenty years I have never heard him referred to as anything other than The Senator, and yes, you say the capitals. I'm sure he has a name and actually I do know it, but it's seems wrong somehow to say it. He just is The Senator.

And because The Senator is the stereotypical old (really, really old) white, rich, republican, he nor his family were interested in his tickets. So, using all of my wiles and graces (which, in actuality, amounted to simply asking) I scored a ticket.

I took the train out of Harpers Ferry into DC, where I took the metro to the mall. Where I then went through many, many security checkpoints. I haven't been manhandled so much since my honeymoon. Just when I was starting to have a good time, I got through. Then I stood in the cold, looked at everybody's backs, got scared by Aretha's hat and went home.

I wish I could say that I was moved by the historical-ness of it all, blah blah. But I can't. I wish I had stayed home and watched in on the telly. But hey! I can say I was there.

My Preshuuuusss

2009-02-11T09:45:00.006-05:00

I've been reading a lot of the current addictions posts, which made me think about the things I really appreciate on a daily basis.

First thing in the morning I make out with this:

See how the cup is full in the picture? It a LIE! Even though I choose the bigger cup on the menu, I only get three quarters of a cup. (Yes, I can manage to piss and moan about things I love.) I fill the other quarter up with creamer and sugar, so it's all good. But, because of those nifty little cups the coffee comes in, there are no grounds to dispose of. This is a huge plus in my house because of the rule that goes like "a dog will not tear out trash unless it contains huge amounts of coffee grounds to drag all over the carpet".

After "K" and I finish our morning session, I usually need to spend a little quality time with this:

See above mention of "dogs" and "trash", add in a five year old tasmanian devil and you'll see that this is "mommy's other little helper". It's for people that are too lazy to fill a bucket and wring a mop. (me) It also sweeps the floor. It helps to do that before the scrub part.

Once the top layer of grime and filth is removed and I can pretend I've accomplished something domestically related, it's time to go curse that slimy bastard that tortures me on a daily basis. Yes, I'm talking about this:

The trainer? He is an agent from satan himself. He hates me and I hate him but we continue to meet up daily. He insults me and I hurl curse words, slurs and the occasional remote at him. Although I grudgingly admit that I have lost five pounds since we've began our affair. I'm also able to get up in the morning without doing the old lady shuffle, so there's that.

Finally, on to something enjoyable. My new love, the light of my life:

It's sitting in the box, taunting me as we speak. I'm scared to open it. I have no idea how to use this camera. But I just HAD to have it. There are so many pictures I want to take that I can't with my point and shoot. So now poppets, prepare yourselves. Batten down the hatches and stock up on the likker. There will be many bad, poorly composed, out of focus pictures coming your way soon. Your assignment is to tell me that they're artistic. That it's ok that you can't tell what they're supposed to be of, because they speak to you. I promise that when I'm a famous foto graffer, I'll credit you with keeping me going.

Again

2009-02-01T00:57:00.007-05:00

First Maximus, then Katharine Hepburn. Now Athena.

Athena was the oldest of my herd. At 11, she's been through it all with me. She helped me raise Maximus, Katharine Hepburn, Betty Boop, and these two goofy labs. Not to mention Silas.

She woke me this morning to tell me good bye. I was able to help her with her transition by holding and comforting her while she took her last breath and until she left her body.

And I'm not sad.

Not really.

Eleven years is a pretty good run. She was getting to the point where she was in pain more than she was comfortable. I could tell she was sad that she couldn't keep up with the pups when they run in the yard.

So now she's not hurting anymore and it's hard to be sad about that.

Beena, you were a good dog and we'll miss you.

Some weekend miscellany and a question

2009-01-23T21:12:00.005-05:00

This is my 99th post. Isn't there something I'm supposed to do on the 100th? Or did you guys have a big surprise planned? The champagne really isn't necessary, although I appreciate the thought. But if someone could enlighten me as to the protocol for the 100th, I'd be forever grateful.

I shall await your wisdom.

I feel so dirty

2009-01-22T15:26:00.001-05:00

*originally posted March 08

I'm reposting this ostensibly because Lost just came back on, but really because I haven't thawed out from the inauguration yet. I'll be back with a post about the goings on when I can flex my hands again. Until then, revel in my mortification.

I prepared this post in the spirit of revealing something embarrassing, like the post I read about someone having a sex dream involving Bruce Willis and their mother!? Now, after searching for more than an hour, I can't find the post to link it, nor can I remember who wrote it. The curiosity is eating mah brain! Drop me a comment if you know who it was so I can link it, please.

This revelation occurred to me when I last watched LOST. Now I'm a Sayid woman myself. My order of preference, should I ever have the opportunity for a little island lovin' would be Sayid, Sawyer, Jin, Locke (what? The pepaws need love too, poppets), and Jack (total pity fuck, waayy too whiny). Sorry Ben, too creepy, and Hurley, too immature. OMG! Desmond! I can't forget Desmond. Put him after Sawyer (or with Sawyer, hmmmm). But I digress.

Whilst in the midst of lusting after my next husband Sayid, SweetieDarling walks by and with one offhanded remark, tossed carelessly over her shoulder like a grenade into the psyche, shatters her poor mothers' fantasy. She said "Who's that mom? He looks just like The Dude". Oh my dear sweet Jesus on a motorcycle. My son looks just like Naveen Andrews. Right down to the curls, the eyes, the long nails. How did this escape my attention during the years I've been lusting after him? (NAVEEN, lusting after NAVEEN, you sick pups!)
Now what's a woman to do? I have to reconstruct my whole elaborate fantastical island adventure. Poor Sayid will be heartbroken to be cast aside, but he'll understand I'm sure. And hey, Sawyer's not too shabby as a backup. Just let me do a quick check and make sure he doesn't resemble anyone I'm related to.

Can I get a FINALLY?

2009-01-14T21:16:00.002-05:00

Christmas flower my ass.

It's all about ME!

2009-01-11T20:12:00.006-05:00

I've been interviewed, poppets! I'm really feeling quite important and full of myself. The lovely Jennifer at Spaghetti Harvest was kind enough to relent to my begging to be included and sent me some questions. A funny thing happened on the way to the interview though. Now, we've been commenting on each other's blogs for, oh, about a million years now. I recently joined facebook (as most of you know from my incessant pleas to please be my friend). Well facebook apparently goes into your email account (honestly, I felt a bit violated!) and invites peoples to be your friends. Which is wonderful except for when you don't know those peoples real names, only their blog names. So Jennifer's all "and how do I know you?" and I'm all "Pfft, I have no idea". (I should've been tipped off by the 'pastafarian' religious notation.) But we figured out who we are and lived happily ever after. On to the interview!

1) What is your favourite smell and why?

I have two equally favorite smells. Woodsmoke in the winter and sawdust.

2) If you could live in any other country in the world, where would it be and why?

I answered that one here. It's England and I honestly couldn't tell you why. I have always, for as long as I can remember, wanted to live in the english countryside. Perhaps on the moors, maybe inland, who knows? Should the British wise up and ban me, Scotland will do.

3) What would your focus be if you went into politics?

I would have several. In no particular order:

No one should have to be hungry in a world that produces enough food to feed ALL of it's inhabitants several times over.

No one should have more than they need while others have less. (to excess. I'm mostly referring to the excessively rich and exceedingly poor. We that are comfortably in the middle are safe.)

No one would be punished for who or what they choose to worship.

I could go on and on. I'll stop here before I get all riled up and go out and run for office.

4) What is it that you love the most about yourself?

This one shouldn't be as hard as it is, should it? I have to say my ability to feel for others. I am able to have some sort of empathy for just about anyone or anything.

5) If you were to reincarnate into an animal, which would it be?

Normally, I'd say a dog, since they are my favorites. But I think my personality would be more suited to being a cat. Since they have staffs and all. and don't get bothered by people unless they want to be bothered. Works for me.

Now, if you want to join in on the fun, do the following:

1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.”

2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions. I'm giddy with the power of it.

3. You then update your blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

So come on folks! Who wants to open themselves up to the nosiest, most invasion questions I can think of? Actually, I think I'm going to switch this one up a bit. If you'd like to be interviewed, I'll base my questions on things I've learned about you through reading your blog that I would like you to expound on. I can't wait!

Please send help, the wabbids got me

2009-01-05T14:12:00.003-05:00

Poppets!! Oh how I've missed you! Santa brought me a Wii. And the wabbids game and I've been protecting you from their nefarious forces since.

Ever vigilant in my quest to save us all, I've barely dropped the remote for a week. You're quite welcome. I consider it a privilege to serve you. I'm purposefully leaving out the part about the game being for Silas and it being set to "easy" and my still being on the first level. He's also stomped me at bowling.

I hope you had a lovely holiday. We here at Casa de Silence made it through relatively intact, save for a minor skirmish with the plague. While rendered prone with my suffering I finished reading Wally Lamb's lastest ~~doorstop~~ novel. While I found it quite enjoyable as a whole, one thing in particular grated on my nerves. This style of writing? where you ask a question? in the middle of the sentence? and then answer it? Me? I promise I will never everevereverever use it again. Pinky swear. I'm not sure what he was trying to accomplish but it felt forced and out of place in an otherwise extremely well written novel. Thus ends my literary critique of The Hour I First Believed.

In other news, I got an award! I did! My first one. As soon as I figure out what to do with it, or how to get it and pass it on, I'll let you know. I also have an interview to do (I'm so important) and several memes, one of which involves a photo. Where will I find the time? I may even post more than twice this month. If I can drop the wii remote, that is.

Monster

2008-12-05T00:12:00.003-05:00

Dis mah bird. He's the coolest bird ever, except when he bites the blood out of me, which is daily. He provides endless hours of entertainment in the form of various utterances. He makes the sound of the phone ringing and then answers it in my voice. He laughs exactly like me. He calls the dogs and whistles, then laughs when they come running, looking all stupid. He will walk across the floor to where I'm sitting and pluck at my shoes until I acknowledge him. When I look at him, he'll hold one leg up and say "wanna get up? Come on". When I pick him up, he'll bite my finger, then yell at me: "No Monster! Bad bird. No biting." Yet I pick him up, every time. He's trained me well.

When we go to the vet, he walks out of his carrier and says "It's ok, I won't hurt you". He curses like a drunk sailor on a week of shore leave too, interspersed with various acclaims to fame such as "Monster, you rock" and "get in the forking cage, you little shit". He whistles the Andy Griffith theme and sings Sweet Child O' Mine. So far, I have two favorite Monster stories.

The first occurred several years ago when I was having work done on the kitchen. During a time of considerable marital strife in our household, the arguments resulted in my calling my husband all sorts of unsavory names after he'd leave the room. The contractor had to walk by Monster's cage several times a day. One morning, several days into the project, the contractor came to me and asked me if I was happy with his work or if he needed to change something. I was puzzled because I had told him several times how pleased I was with the progress of the job. He then asked me why I persisted in calling him names when he left the room. I could not figure out why he thought this. I hadn't called him any names at all. He insisted that he could hear me cursing him when he went into the other room. I put his mind to rest by walking out with him into the other room. When we got in there, we heard, very softly, from the other room, my voice say "that's right, get out of here, you stupid mother f*cker. I don't know why I even keep you around, you dumb shit." Yep. Busted by the bird.

My second favorite is the tummy story. Monster was getting a bit of a tummy on him, as Greys tend to, especially if they eat table scraps. Since Monster rules the roost around here, he gets first pick, then he'll let the dogs have some. Yes, they are terrified of a two pound bird and clear a path when he walks by. When I walk by the cage and Monster is sitting on the playbar on top, I stop and rub his tummy and say, in my best singsong, baby talk, nerve grating voice: "Look at that belly! Just look at that belly! It's a huge, huge belly!" So naturally, Monster was absorbing this phrase. He is the type of bird that has to hear something many times before he repeats it, but once he starts saying it, he never loses it.

Last night Sam was going to the kitchen for ~~a bag of chips~~ ~~a gallon of ice cream and a spoon~~ something or other. He was wearing only boxers and slippers. When he walked by, I heard Monster say "Look at that belly! Just look at that belly!" Best. timing. ever. I love that bird.

Nurse Ratchet can bite my old ass

2008-11-18T16:37:00.005-05:00

Silas had an appointment for his physical yesterday. This was an appointment made back in August, that's how far out they book.

The poor thing vomited twice on the way there and I actually considered calling and rescheduling his appointment. Upon further consideration, I realized how silly that would sound. "Hi, my kid's too sick to come to the doctor!". That and the fact that he would be close to six by the time they rescheduled his 5 year appointment.

When we arrive, there is a sign on the door that says because of the increased volume of sick children, expect a delay. Joy! Happiness! More time to stew in the crockpot of viruses that is the waiting room.

We were taken back rather quickly to my surprise. The nurse sends us to the exam room and joins us shortly. She flips through his chart and asks who I am. Um, I'm his mother. She didn't even try to hide her incredulous look! "Oh, you are? " You could just see the fifteen question marks at the end of that question. I affixed her with the laser beams of death and asked "why wouldn't I be?" She had the temerity to look at me and say (with her hand on her hip, no less!) "well, frankly, I thought you were his grandmother". Yes! She did! So I killed her with my bare hands and we left.

I didn't really have a problem with her thinking it (ok, yes, I did) but more with the attitude in which she said it. I am forty one years old, so biologically I could be his grandmother, but she could have at least had the decency to be mortified, apologetic, and offer his appointment free of charge because of her error. Instead she's all "well frankly..."

I was still schooling Miss Thang in the error of her ways when the pediatrician came in. The pediatrician who is the same age as me. The one whose daughter was born six months after Silas. The one who was infuriated that she had just been mistaken for her daughters grandmother and complained to me about it at our last visit. Yeah....her.

I have an idea that even if Miss Thang thinks it, she'll never say it again. Never piss off two old broads with eighty years between them.

CSI: West Virginia

2008-11-13T15:54:00.003-05:00

My house looks like a crime scene! I came home last week to a front door that looked like this:

That's blood spatter all over my front door. I was all, ???? So I proceeded into the house, albeit a bit cautiously. This is what I found:

This is all over my house! On every wall, door, appliance and piece of furniture. SweetieDarling is at school, Silas is with me, and Sam is at work, so exactly whom has bled all over my house? The house doesn't appear to have been ransacked (well, anymore than it usually does) and there is nothing missing. Hmmm. Time for some sleuthing.

The first thing I notice is that the blood never extends over three feet high. So a little person has broken in and flung blood all over my walls? Probably not. All of the blood either looks like it's been painted on with a feather, or it's in round or oblong dots. So...after a quick consultation with Gil Grisson I determine that something bloody has been flung against the walls over, and over, and over again. My brilliance never ceases to dazzle, does it?

I finally (three or four hours later) figured out that the end of Gus' tail is bloody and when he wags it, he flings blood everywhere. Yeah. Ever tried to bandage the end of a dogs tail? Talk about a Sisyphean endeavor. Put it on, he chews it off. Put it back on, he wags it off. The dog has only recently discovered his tail. He will occasionally catch sight of it out of the corner of his eye and it surprises him every time. He will then chase it until he clamps the end of it between his teeth. This hurts so he yelps and lets go. Until he sees it again. Repeat ad infinitum.

I'm tired of wiping blood off the walls. I've done it every evening for a week. Someone tell me how to keep the dog from chewing his tail, I beg of you. I hope there's never a need for the police to luminol my house. I'll have some splainin' to do.

I can't make this stuff up

2008-10-30T22:46:00.004-04:00

this picture has nothing to do with the post, I just liked it.

It's starting to get chilly here, finally. Before it gets too cold, I wanted to take my black Lab, Gus, to the lake. He absolutely loves to swim. So I gather the needed accoutrement's; treat sack, tennis ball, training buoy, and mace. And of course, my camera, which I never leave home without.

Silas and I leave the house and head toward the lake. Gus is off leash walking beside us. We live in a very rural area. Rural as in dirt roads, few neighbors, and lots of wildlife, hence the mace. I also live in an area in which it is actually possible to leave the house and have to walk uphill BOTH ways to get back home. Oh, the joys of living on a mountain and near a river.

The lake is approximately a mile from my house. Through the woods and down a series of dirt roads. When we get there, Gus immediately goes for the water, of course.

After about a half hour of swimming after tennis balls and buoys, he starts acting peculiar. He starts circling Silas and I, trying to herd us toward the water. Apparently, he thinks we're his sheep. He paces around the shore line and whines a bit. I try another throw to see if he'll be distracted from whatever has him upset. He doesn't even glance toward the splash. At this point my genius IQ kicks in and I think "hey, maybe we should leave. There's something here he doesn't like". I'm brilliant, poppets, I tell ya.

I gather our things and try to convince Silas we should leave. He's used to spending at least two hours at the lake so he was a bit peeved. He has this whole complicated routine that involves the gathering of sticks, digging of channels and building of dams that occurs at a precise place by the same stand of reeds each time we go. He was not pleased to have to shut down his jobsite early. I believe OSHA may have been called. By this point Gus was whining loudly and staring across the lake. He was in the point position (straight line nose to tail with one paw raised) toward this stand of reeds across the lake: (the road I have to take back home runs right behind this)

The dog's distress is becoming more visible by the second. His hackles are standing up and he's baring his teeth. I'm beginning to feel the first tendrils of fear. I'm out here alone save for this dog and my child, with no means to protect any of us. Sure I have the mace, but that's mainly for if a dog would charge Silas. Do you know how close you have to be to mace something? Too close for comfort.

I grab Silas' hand and haul him up. We take off like our hair was on fire and our asses was catchin'. * Gus keeps close behind all the while growling that deep rumble that lets everyone know he's serious. When I get around the bend I hear rustling and movement in the trees. We are now behind the spot that Gus was pointing toward. This is what he was trying to alert me to:

In case you can't tell, that's a BEAR! I know it's a crappy picture, but you try taking a picture while you're running backwards up a hill. I know you can't tell, but there were actually two bears. If you look toward the left of the one you can see, there's a reflection from the other one's eye.

Now this bear didn't really frighten me. He was a little guy and he's just trying to fatten up for winter. What frightened me is that I didn't know where momma bear was. And I know she wasn't far. All I could do was hope that she was in the woods and that we wouldn't run into her on the road. If we were to run into her on the road, I could hope that Gus would hold her off until I could get Silas away. Neither option was preferable.

We proceeded in an orderly manner away from the bear towards home. I tried not to upset Silas anymore than necessary to make him understand to HURRY! But don't run! I don't want him to be afraid of the woods or to be outside. At the same time, I don't want him to think it's ok to approach a bear in the wild like it's Yogi.

We made it home fine, a little shaken but not stirred. And I have bought an air horn for our next jaunt into the woods. And a big stick. And a tranquilizer gun.

*10 points for whoever can name the song that line came from

I'm not above using my feminine wiles

2008-10-21T23:52:00.004-04:00

I was motoring down the road, minding my own business. Silas, still but a wee babe, was asleep in his carseat. I was approaching a stop light which had just turned yellow. We all know that yellow means "gun it!", so I sped through. Apparently, I hadn't sped quite fast enough. Lights and sirens in the mirror. I was stone cold busted, yo.

The officer comes to the window and takes my license and registration. He asks if I know why he pulled me over. Why? Why do they ask this? Are they hoping we'll confess to something they didn't notice? "Geez officer, I guess you pulled me over because of the twenty six kilos of black tar heroin in my spare tire, right?" I mean, really. So I give my stock answer (I get pulled over alot) which is "I'm sure you're going to tell me". So we go through the song and dance where he tells me that I ran the light, I pretend to be sorry, and he says he'll be right back. While waiting for him to finish whatever cop-ish things it is they do back in their car, I remembered that I had gotten a ticket in Virginia several months before. Then I had that moment. The one where the hot flash of "oh shit" runs straight through your heart. I never paid that ticket. *gulp*

Had it been long enough that they'd suspended my license? I didn't know. Then I saw him get out of the car. And reach around to get his handcuffs. Yep. It had been long enough. Thinking quick, I waited for him to approach the window again. He told me that there was a problem with my license and that I needed to step out of the vehicle. I asked what the problem was. He said that my license to drive in Virginia had been suspended and that my vehicle would be impounded. He said that I was welcome to call someone to pick me up, but that I would be left on the side of the road. (He didn't know that there was a baby in the truck at this point.)

Putting on my best indignant outraged persona, I assured him that I would never have let my license be suspended! The impudence that he would even suggest a thing is beyond insulting. I strongly suggested that he check again and make sure that if, in the unlikely event, this had actually occurred, that I had been properly notified of such suspension and that there was proof of such notification. Because I lived in a different state and if there wasn't proof...blah blah blahbitty blah. Basically I made a general ass of myself to buy a few minutes.

It worked and he went back to his cruiser. (I cannot say cruiser without thinking of Bruiser from Sha Na Na.) While he was reporting back to the station about what a pompous ass I was, I pulled Silas out of his car seat and woke him up. I know, reprehensible. BUT! I had a plan. I pulled up my shirt, ripped down my bra and freed the mammaries of magnificence! I covered one side with a blanket, but made sure to leave enough of the other exposed to make it clear what I was doing. When he came back, I rolled the window down and looked at him expectantly. Like I just knew he had cleared this whole misunderstanding up. He started to tell me that procedure had been followed and that WHOA! Wait a minute! Is that a breast?! And a baby??

He turned ten shades of red and stammered so much I couldn't make out the rest of the sentence. After taking a minute to compose himself, he informed me that yes, procedure had been followed and he was well within the law to impound my vehicle. (I'm sitting there making doe eyes at him with my breasts hanging out feeding a baby on the side of the road.) But, since there may have been extenuating circumstances because of my living out of state, I was free to go but make sure to get that taken care of, ok now ma'am? (He hasn't even looked toward the vehicle once during this spiel) He hems and haws a bit more and finally tells me to be on my way, "after yer done there, a'course".

So yes, I exploited my baby and my breasts. And I'd probably do it again if I thought it would get me out trouble. (Gloria Ste!nems head just exploded)

I'm fairly sure there's a felony in here somewhere

2008-10-20T23:56:00.005-04:00

This is what I discovered when I opened the trunk of SweetieDarling's car this morning. Twenty stolen campaign signs. And a traffic cone. And some caution tape. (I'm keeping my eyes peeled for the coppers. They'll surely be here any minute.) I shudder to contemplate what this stash means to the fate of humankind as we know it.

Upon being queried as to exactly why she was in possession of these items, I was told that she and her minions went on a scavenger hunt of sorts. They've all decided that they are fresh, shiny democrats and took it upon themselves to rid the world of the scourge of the republicans. To the extent of stealing campaign signs until they tired of it and found something better to do, the details of which I'm certain I'm better off not knowing. I promptly gathered the offending parties, and, in true law school style, delivered a ~~mind numbingly boring~~ scintillating lecture on the perils and ramifications of impeding a campaign, the majority of which I made up on the spot. The ramifications of being caught impeding a campaign by SweetieDarling's mother include:

a) having to replace all of the stolen signs, with an apology;

b) having to join me at the democratic headquarters of our county to learn how to support a campaign and candidate appropriately (and legally).

While I'm not Ms. Popularity at the moment, I hope at least one thing will remain with them. No matter who you support, you don't build your candidate up by tearing the other one (or their signs) down.

But really, how long can you stay mad at someone who has this sticker on their dash?

Pumpkins & cider & hayrides. It's Fall!

2008-10-19T23:05:00.005-04:00

Finally! I didn't think it would ever really feel like fall. It's still been hot during the day and only cooling off a little at night. Today was the first day cold enough for a jacket, and now that it's night it's cold enough to turn the heat on.

Silas had his fall field trip with his school on Friday. It hadn't cooled off yet so we were all in shorts and tees. It just doesn't feel right being at the pumpkin patch in shorts. Wah wah, boo hoo. If it was freezing, I'd complain about that too. He had a great time and we were both worn out at the end of the day.

I was trying to apply some of the techniques I learned in photography class over the course of the day. Actually doing it is a little harder than learning it, but I tried. I didn't do too bad for a point and shoot camera. I'm hoping Santa puts a dslr in my stocking.

And how's this for a random picture? This is painted on a concrete tower down by the river. It's just not what you'd expect to see amid all the graffitti and tags.

Of course, anyone who likes Johnny Cash is ok with me, vandal or not.

I should have been a dentist

2008-10-16T22:35:00.002-04:00

SweetieDarling has been suffering for days with a toothache. She finally decided to tell me about it two days ago. I sent her to the dentist hoping she could get a filling and be done with it. Oh no. No no no. Couldn't be that simple. She needs a root canal and a crown. Or she must have the tooth extracted. Now, I know we live in West by gawd Virginia, but I cannot have my 18 year old daughter running around missing a tooth. Even if it is one in the way back that wouldn't affect her beautiful smile.

So she's referred to an oral surgeon who specializes in these things. Do you know how much a root canal costs? Well sit down, because you're about to be shocked. $985!!!!! Do you believe that? That's ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS!!!! I was absolutely gobsmacked!!!! I hope I don't run out of exclamation points!!! Because then how would you know how dismayed I am?!!

When I set up the appointment for the xrays, I asked the scheduler if piercings were a problem. See poppets, my SweetieDarling, she's a bit of a goth child. You know the ones, black hair, eyeliner, nailpolish, lipstick. So many piercings they look like they fell face first into the tackle box. The ones you either point at or run away from at the mall? That's my girl. And I didn't want her to go for the xray and all that metal in her head melt together and fuse into some kind of terminator/robo cop hybrid mask. Apparently, since the rays are centered onto the tooth only, it doesn't matter.

It's a good thing her mouth is sore and she can't chew. After paying for this, there won't be food around here for the rest of the month.

I should've thought this through

2008-10-15T15:38:00.003-04:00

The luscious BonBon has declared today to be Out your Tivo Day. After agreeing to do it and then coming in here and turning on my Tivo, I'm having second thoughts. Whatever will you think of me? How will I hold my head up in polite company? Oh well, here goes: Oh wait, you should know that this is MY tivo. Mine only. I have put a password on it after the great Lost deletion debacle of aught 7, so no one has access to it but moi. I do occasionally record something for Silas, although grudgingly. Behold:

Dr. Phil, 10 episodes (will probably watch 3 of them)
The Ellen DeGeneres Show, 5 (haven't watched at all this season)
House 3 (What?? How did I forget House? I'll finish this after I watch them)
Desperate Housewives 1 (Good Lord, my mind is a sieve. I didn't know I'd missed this either!)
The Graham Norton Show, 25 episodes (Shut up. He makes me laugh every time I watch. And the American stars he has on are always shocked at how different European tv is, esp. when he asks really crude questions)
Survivor, 1 (kinda meh on this season so far, although Ace is hawt)
Star Stories, 2 (hilarious spoof of stars on BBC)
Eddie Izzard
George Carlin's last 5 HBO specials
and the last 5 episodes of Lost from last season.

There you have it. For someone who claims not to watch much tv, I believe my delusions have been shattered. Be kind.

Wendy? Yes, Lisa...

2008-10-13T23:59:00.007-04:00

If you're a rabid Prince fan, you know from whence the title comes. If you're not, obviously you live under a rock and I can't fathom how you even have internet access to be reading this. Oh, come back here. I was kidding. I know he's not to everyones' taste.

I have been obsessed with Prince since 1982. For those of us who are math impaired, that's um, uh, carry the two, subtract.... oh, it's a hella long time. For the record, I was a fan long before Purple Rain. I had all of his albums. As in vinyl. See poppets, before we had these fancy ipods, there used to be these things called cassettes. Before cassettes, there were these flat, black vinyl discs that played music using a needle. I owned these vinyl discs. For one purpose. The purpose was to hang the album covers all over my bedroom. For listening, I purchased the cassettes. I couldn't play albums in my car now could I? It's all about the cool factor.

So I have Prince album art and posters all over my bedroom walls. Much to my parents dismay. Instead of liking some wholesome cutie I worship the guy who sings "jack u off" and "Do Me Baby". Here's a sample of what one was subjected to upon entering my shrine:

See Prince's hair in the bottom pic? I had a feminine version of that haircut. Oh yes, yes I did. And I rocked it. Sadly, there are no pictures from this era. I had the foresight to destroy any photographic evidence that could be used as blackmail in the future.

If you really want to get people fired up? Pose this question to some musically inclined friends:

"Who would win a guitar off between Prince and Eric Clapton?"

You think the Obama McCain debate gets heated? You ain't seen nothing yet. If you really want someones head to explode, throw Stevie Ray Vaughn in there too. And then run for cover.

Or hop in your Little Red Corvette for a ride down Alphabet Street. We'll sit Under the Cherry Moon until it starts to Purple Rain. For some Controversy, we'll party like it's 1999. (and did he call it right with that song or what? Did we all not think for sure the world was gonna end at midnight 1999? Or at least all of our computers crash, which is totally the same thing).

I has motivations

2008-10-07T22:47:00.003-04:00

Guess what? (chicken butt) Remember all the stuff I was boo hooin' about a couple of posts ago? The stuff that I start and never finish? Of course you do. I know you studiously study and take notes on every aspect of my fascinating and titillating existence. Well, I guess admitting my laziness triggered some modicum of shame in my poor battered psyche and girlfriends' done got some shiz done! Yes I have.

I have finished! one page of Silas' scrapbook. The tennis page is done and I've started on the swimming page. And I hope you're happy, I went to Michael's today and spent a bazillion $$ on stuff to do pages for the dogs. This could be showing signs of becoming a full fledged addiction. Please keep me in check.

I programmed speed dials into my crackberry and downloaded my google calendar. I know! There's no stopping me!

I installed the Family Tree Maker software on my laptop and transferred all of my information. I made quite a bit of progress on Sams' side as well. Plus I saw "Heritage" scrapbook stuff and had quite the brainstorm. For Christmas I'll make family tree scrapbooks for the parents and grandparents! Score! Little money, lots of sentimental value.

No progress on the picture organization yet, but I have been taking hundreds for my photography class. Hopefully I'll get those uploaded and ready to ~~torment~~ entertain you with soon. You know, like when you go to someones house and they have you trapped and show you home movies of their vacation. Entertained like that.

Now I wonder. If I confess that I never made it to the kitchen in my spring cleaning, would that inspire me to get that done? Naaah. Better not press my luck.

A Tragedy of Unspeakable Horror

2008-10-02T23:16:00.008-04:00

Not really. I'm very dramatic. But it was tragic, none the less.

Would you consider this the face of a vicious killer? A terrible monster capable of horrendous acts? No? Neither did I. Until this:

(pretend there is a picture of a horribly mangled and dismembered laptop cord here. Humor me, the picture won't load)

Yes. That is the power cord to my laptop. Otherwise known as my lifeline. My connection to the internetz. And it died a horrible and lonely death in the jaws of that beast. *sniff* It was so young. So innocent. So much life left in it. I was trying to be nice and kind and help a poor scared puppy and it was sacrificed in the face of my selflessness. It was a very stormy night. Yes, thunderstorms in October, I know. The pup was scared senseless in her crate, so out of the kindness of my heart I let her sleep in the bedroom.

I'm ~~passed out from xanax~~ sleeping soundly when I hear this cacophonous yelping and whimpering. I jump out of bed to see the dog with my power cord hanging out of her jaws, getting herself a good shock. I debated letting her keep getting shocked for a while, but I thought that might fry my laptop, which was hooked up and charging. So I pulled the plug, and the pup disappeared under the bed. Smart move on her part. She knows I'm too old and fat to go under there after her, so I contented myself with stomping around grousing about how I'm certainly not paying $150 for a new cord because it wasn't my stupid dog that ate this one and somebody best be ordering me a new one toot suite.

After f-f-f-four d-d-days without my sweet elixir of life I'm so far into withdrawal I'm imagining bugs under my skin and hallucinating the UPS guy on the porch. When he finally did show up, I practically attacked him. And hot as he is, all I wanted was his package. Not that package, freak, my cord. So now I have it and all is right with the world once again. Me and my internetz are together and we all lived happily ever after. The end.

ps. this post about the Dude wrecking the car? Absolute truth, swear to Dog. Will send pictures of scars if requested.

License and Registration please

2008-09-25T14:31:00.003-04:00

My oldest son will be 23 next month. (You're right! I don't look old enough to have a 23 year old. Thanks for noticing!) One of my favorite stories regarding him has to do with when he got his first traffic ticket. The kicker to the story is that he was only 20 MONTHS old. Months, not years.

INSERT WAVY WAYBACK TIME MACHINE LINES HERE

My boy was, what we called then, a handful. We now call it ADHD. He was hyperactive in the womb and still is. From the moment he could motorvate around, he climbed. And climbed. Monkey George (what Silas calls Curious George) had nothing on him. There were many times that I rescued him from atop the fridge, the dining room table, even the top of the kitchen cabinets. This is at not even two years old, mind you. This kid could run at 11 months old.

Needless to say he was a master escape artist. I learned quickly to lock every door. He learned just as quickly to unlock them. He climbed over the baby gates, went around blockades, and climbed out of his crib. One morning I was slumbering merrily away and all was safe and sound, so I thought. I suddenly woke with this undeniable feeling that "something is WRONG!!" I sprang up out of bed (I was only 20, I could still spring) and ran to the Dude's nursery. Empty crib, pounding heart. I quickly run down the hall, checking each room as I go. All deserted. Down the stairs, front door is standing open.*

*a quick aside to let you know what had to happen in order for the front door to be standing open. This kid had to climb out of his crib, open his nursery door, climb down the stairs, get a chair and push it to the door, climb up on it, reach up and turn the deadbolt, get down, move the chair, open the door. Did I mention he has a genius IQ level? Back to the story.

I run to the door looking around wildly for this child. No where in sight. I had a very large front yard with the driveway about 100' feet away from the front door. He's not in sight so I run around to the back yard where the playground is. Deserted. Heart in throat, I gingerly approach the pool. The gate is still locked but he's a climber. I go through and the alarm sounds (sweet relief) but I check anyway. I collapse in an internal heap as the pool is clear.

At this point I should mention that it is close to 6 am (that's in the MORNING), I am in my nightshirt, and since this is 1987 we're talking about here, my hair is approximately two feet high by four feet wide. My mascara has run down to my knees and I'm barefoot. I am also constantly screaming my son's name. I return to the front yard and I spy my car. My new (NEW) Iroc Z. Blue, in case you were wondering. I am drawn toward the car. Did I mention it's new? Yes? As in, got the day before new? Ok, moving on. I gravitate hesitantly toward the car. I spy movement. In the car and OF the car. OH MY DOG, the car is moving!!!!

Poppets, I put it in high gear then. I have never, nor will I ever run that fast again. I take off at a sprint toward the car, which has just started drifting backwards. I lived at the top of a hill, and gravity, it works. The car is gaining speed, but still, barely at a roll. I reach it when it just starts to pick up to a fast clip. I lunge for the door handle. I see the Dude, grinning up at me from the steering wheel. It seems he has an attraction to mommy's new car too. He's apparently come out to do some driving. He liked to stand on the bottom of the steering wheel and hold onto the top. This way he could turn his whole body like a carnival ride. He was also shifting gears. Like out of park and into neutral, hence the rolling. But it's not rolling too fast yet! There's time still! I grab the door handle. LOCKED! Who in the hell taught the kid to lock the doors? How'd he even get the door open? How'd he shut it once he got in? Those doors are heavy. Are you gonna stand here asking questions or are you gonna stop this car? I grab onto the mirror simply because there's nothing else to do. And I have to do something. He turns the wheel by throwing his body to the left (he's having a ball), so the car actually backs around so it's heading down the driveway frontwards now. The very steep driveway, with a straight drop off to one side that I will NOT LET MY SON PLUNGE OVER IF IT MEANS I HAVE TO PICK THIS CAR UP! I throw myself in front of the car and push on the front because I will stop this car.

I didn't stop that car. It ran over me. Well, over my right leg to be exact. and proceeded on it's merry way right down the driveway. The steep driveway. But not the drop off. I managed to push on the tire and turn the wheel while laying on the driveway. I jumped back up and took off after the car. But wait, I'm not getting anywhere. Shit on a cracker, my stupid leg isn't working right. Somehow (I'm not sure how) I get the bottom of the drive, where the car has jumped the curb, crossed two lanes of traffic and is sitting nose down over a bank, resting up against a tree.
I am swiftly approaching the border to hysteria at this point. My baby is in that car and I can't get him. I cannot articulate the helplessness. I get to the car and see him in the passenger side floorboard. The doors are still locked, of course they are. I go around to the drivers side window and I use my elbow to smash it and smash it and smash it and dammit why won 't it break I can't get to my baby. Finally! I reach in and unlock the doors, go back around to the passenger side dragging my stupid useless leg and get my baby. He's fine. He's not even crying. I crumple with relief, the adrenalin finally ebbing or at least not dumping into my system anymore. He's fine, he's not hurt, he's not crying. He's smiling and babbling, see? he's fine, it's ok. He's saying vroom vroom car go. Yes baby, car goes vroom vroom.

The police have arrived now. They have called for an ambulance. But he's fine I say. Not even a bump. Yes he is says the nice policeman. He gets the registration from the car and calls my father. There is a muffled conversation that I don't hear. I don't care. He's fine. It's ok. The ambulance arrives and the EMT tries to take my baby. Oh, no. No, I don't think so. He's fine. We're fine. I have failed to notice that I am sitting in the middle of a road, bleeding copiously from gashes on my elbow and knee. That I am hysterical, but calming down slowly. (Really, who knows when they're hysterical? Isn't that the very definition of hysterical?) They talk me through letting them put him in the ambulance as long as I can go with him. Well, alright then. As long as I can go too. They nod smugly. They strap me down to the gurney and off we go. They decide I don't need a sedative since I'm so admirably accompanying my baby to the hospital.

By the time the hysteria leaves me completely, the pain sets in. I have shattered my elbow and broken my leg. I have lost a considerable amount of skin from all over and injured my back. My car (did I tell you it was new?) sustained major front end damage which the insurance declined to cover. But my baby? He was fine.

The police officer came to the hospital. He gave me a ticket for the Dude charging him with driving without a license and attempted vehicular momslaughter. I still have it framed. and the Dude? He's still fine.

A List or two

2008-09-22T09:49:00.003-04:00

Traffic laws I've broken since 8am this morning (it is now 9:38am):
(none of these were on purpose)

Turned the wrong way up a one way street
Cut through a gas station to avoid a stop light (ok, this was on purpose)
Ran a red light (twice)
Parked in a no parking zone

It's going to be a loooong week, poppets. Be prepared.

**awkward change of topic**

Yet another list of sorts. Does anyone else get these brilliant ideas of super!wonderful!fun! things to do, go out and buy a bunch of stuff, then either lose interest or run out of time? C'mon, I know it's not just me. Fess up so I don't feel so alone.

These are things, that in the past 6 months, I have started and dropped like they were hot:

Scrapbooking. My intention was to start a scrapbook for Silas sports memories. One page for tball, one for tennis, etc. Spent a bazillion $$ on scrapbook stuff, which I could totally go bankrupt buying, it's all so cute, and it's all still laying on the table. I blame the fact that the paper hasn't printed the tennis results yet, and I simply can't start without all of the clippings.

Embroidery. Bought an adorable little scene for my niece, with all of the accoutrement's (circle thing to put it in, needles, thread.....), opened the fabric and there was no picture on it! End of embroidery endeavor.

Family Tree. I'm done with mine, but I need to do Sams so Silas has his complete history. Bought new software. Have yet to transfer my information or input any of Sams. Actually, have yet to install new software.

Organize pictures. Since you all see the same 80 pictures rotate up there in the badge every time you click over, you can guess how this is going. I have upwards of 6000 pictures. I have 82 in flickr. Moving right along.

Knitting. Silas discovered the "nippers" (knitting needles) and I haven't seen them since. I haven't really looked.

BlackBerry. I've had my blackberry pearl since it came out. Probably close to a year. I have not set up my email or transferred my contacts. I still carry my palm pilot.

Someone can send motivation please? Or a swift kick in the ass?

Have I mentioned?

2008-09-19T08:56:00.002-04:00

That I currently despise blogger? For ~~both~~ those of you who have me in a reader, how many times did the last entry post? After trying to get it edited at least ten times, I gave up and left it alone. Then it ate my title! And my changes, so if it doesn't make any sense or flow well, let's just blame blogger and call it a day.

And my pictures! They are falling out of their frames again, only this time up. Sigh. I need more coffee.

2008-09-18T21:42:00.001-04:00

I just finished reading Lisa Gardner's latest novel, Say Goodbye. (Eventually I'll learn how to put the icon of the book I'm reading over there-------> under my "Reading" heading. Until then, bear with me.) It's a brutal and disturbing story and I wish I hadn't read it. It's absolutely haunting. I'll spare you the horrid details.

This passage, copied directly from the book, should be sufficient to chill you to the bone:

You think you're safe. You think you're middle class, suburban, the right car, the nice home. You think bad things happen to other people-maybe the poor schmucks in trailer parks where the ratio of kids to registered sex offenders can be as low as four to one.

But not to you, never to you. You're too good for this.

Do you own a computer? Because if you do, I am in your child's bedroom.

Do you have an online personal profile? Because if you do, I know your child's name, pet, and personal hobbies.

Do you have a webcam? Because if you do, I'm right now convincing your child to take off his or her shirt in return for fifty bucks. Just a shirt. What can it hurt? Come on, it's fifty bucks.

I'm not sure why this disturbed me so much. The brutality imposed on the children in this book, taken from actual occurrences, hit me where I'm vulnerable. SweetieDarling has had unsupervised internet access since she was 16. I had the computer out in a public area, where we could walk up and look at what she was doing. When she got a laptop for Christmas, she started using it in her room. It never occurred to me to monitor her activities. (Mother of the Year Award is on it's way) Silas, of course, being only 5, doesn't get past NickJr. But what of the future? How will I protect him?

My worry is that our children are growing up in a culture that I am not familiar with. They are growing up with constant and instant communication. They will forge friendships and build relationships with people that they never see in person. I worry that they will forget how to interact personally. Not having grown up in this type of culture, I worry that I won't be able to protect them or teach them to protect themselves.

How do you send your love through a text message or myspace page?

We have confirmation...

2008-09-15T22:50:00.004-04:00

...that I am a total goofball. There is absolutely nothing wrong with his eyes, just like you said. (you are soooo wise!) It was decided amongst the professionals that I have a bad case of the google-itis. I've been advised to abstain from any and all medical websites for the rest of forever.

He was looked at by his pediatrician, who, just to shut me up (because I was all 'you're sure, absolutely positive, swear on your mother', etc....), sent us over to the opthamologist for a little look see. She dilated his pupils and had a good look around. He's peachy and he was thrilled to get to use the cool "look through" machine. I was entertained all afternoon as he stumbled around into things because his pupils were dilated.

That picture shook me up. Probably a combination of having always been a little worried about his eyes (he can move them independently and it skeeves me out), having read a novel a few months ago about a little boy who had that disease, and then reading the msnbc article two days before I downloaded that picture. It was like the perfect storm I tell ya. All the factors needed for a complete mommy meltdown.

So thanks for being kind and patient and only rolling your eyes when I wasn't looking. I do appreciate it. You (and my good friend Ms. Xanax) helped me get some sleep when otherwise, I would have paced all night.

Now that we know Silas' eyes are fine, guess what I need? BIFOCALS!! You'll notice the capitalization, bolding AND italics? I can't believe it. I'm only 29. (With 12 years experience) At least I can get new glasses now, and keep them on instead of only needing them to read and then not being able to find them because they're on top of my head and who would think to look there? (see, good side to everything)

Awkward change of topic:

Saturday was my 10th wedding anniversary, and also my 41st birthday. If you've been around here any amount of time, you know that neither of these events inspired much of a celebratory atmosphere. We went to Olive Garden for dinner and I had a glass of Sangria. Did you know Sangria has alcohol in it? I did not. until it mixed with my prozac and I passed out. I didn't wake up in a panic attack on Saturday night, no sir. I wouldn't have awakened if you had burned my feet with a poker.

Because my Sunday night recap/update haven't decided what to call it yet post got pre-empted by my meltdown post, I'll leave you with the funniest pic I saw this week. Peace out, poppets.

Please tell me I'm crazy

2008-09-14T18:14:00.007-04:00

Poppets, your mission for this day, should you choose to accept it, is to tell me that I'm mad as a hatter. A few sandwiches shy of a picnic, that I have finally, after putting up a heckuva fight, lost my tenuous grip on the last vestiges of my sanity. If you could do that for me, I would appreciate it, because I have managed to freak myself completely out.

I have always thought that my son was too good to be true. Always. After what I went through to get pregnant with him when he was finally here I couldn't believe my fortune. When he turned out to be the easiest baby ever, I was elated. After failing my first three children in every way imaginable, and having to live with that guilt, I thought surely that this chance to redeem myself was just to good to be true. When he practically weaned and potty trained himself, taught himself how to get dressed, and was just generally the best kid ever, I couldn't believe my luck. I know I'm making him sound like the second coming but he's just that great. I could go on for pages about his accomplishments, how smart he is, blah blah blah, but couldn't we all? My point is I've never felt that I deserved him, and I've been waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me for five years. Because the rug always get pulled, or at least bunched up enough to trip me.

Would you please tell me that these two pictures look nothing alike? Pretty please? Because the first picture is of a little girl with retinoblastoma, which is a cancer of the eye. It was found because of that reflection in the picture.

Can you see why I'm freaking out? I can assure you that we'll be at the pediatricians office when they open in the morning, but maybe you guys can help me at least sleep tonight. Of course, that'll be after Dr. Google has his way with me.

Just the basics, please

2008-09-13T11:02:00.004-04:00

I'm taking a course in the basics of digital photography. You saw the "basics" in the title, right? Me too. Apparently, basics consist of things like "aperture", "ISO", "shutter speed", and other words from a language I don't understand. But I did learn something. My camera has modes! It does. And I know where they are and how to get to them now. Something you'd think I would have figured out in the four years I've owned the camera.

The instructor asked if we had brought all of the cables, manuals, and various accoutrements that came with our camera. ??? People keep these things? Really? And they know where they are when they need them? Fascinating. I kept the battery charger. I haven't used a cable to connect my camera to the computer since the invention of card readers. Take the card out of the camera, put it in the computer. Easy peasy. Whereas, tear apart house finding cable, figure out how to hook up to camera, then figure out how to hook up to computer, then figure out how to make pictures travel through little cable to computer? Not so easy peasy.

So yeah, I'm gonna be that student. The one that makes everything complicated. He'll tell everyone to hook up their cameras, and I'll have to argue my point about card readers and him being a dinosaur, just to cover up the fact that I can't get my shit together and bring what I need.

On the bright side, I'm the youngest one in the class, and two other people have crappier cameras than me. Nothing like a little pettiness to perk a gal up!

Perspective altering questions, Part the deux

2008-09-10T21:50:00.003-04:00

Today's epiphany inspiring question came from the mother of one of Silas's friends. The preschool our boys go to has a strict locked door policy. Meaning, no one enters the building, at all. So we parents congregate in front of the door waiting for our children to be brought to us. Of course, we chat and whatnot. We've gotten together with this particular mother and child several times for playdates and lunch and we get along rather well. We seem to take to each other as the outsiders. We both have interests in meditation, organic food, peace retreats and other crunchy granola hippy stuff that the rednecks around here don't get.

One afternoon, I walked up to the door holding my blackberry behind my back so as not to disturb any conversations. I had it on speakerphone because I was on hold with Spr!nt. I apologized for being obnoxious but I didn't want to lose the call. She looked at me questioningly, and I explained that I had just gotten a $3000 cell phone bill and the representative had me on hold while she corrected the mistakes and issued the credits. Her response? "Man, it's always something with you, isn't it?"

Now I don't think she meant it unsympathetically at all. She's a very kind person and I believe she was remarking on how there constantly seemed to be something going wrong or causing stress in my life. I know you're probably thinking I'm some big bawl baby, whining all the time to anyone who'll listen, but that's not the case. I'm actually a very private person (quit laughing) who rarely tells anyone anything. This is in real life, poppets. Here in my computer, I let it all hang out. (You're welcome). So the fact that she picked up on this in the few times we had gotten together or had a conversation puzzled me.

After much deliberation, I asked her what made her think or say that. She replied that the tension shows on me like I had it tattooed on my forehead. Well. That answers that. I had no idea. I thought I came off as some carefree spirit who just went with the flow. Apparent fail. She pointed out that I am rarely present in the moment. That I'm constantly checking my phone or watch or thinking of what has to be done next instead of focusing on what I'm doing right then. And she was right.

I thought a lot about that for a long time. I didn't want to be the person who always had something going on. It was around this time that I started letting things slide. That I stopped doing everything and started doing less. And then less. And then just a leetle less. The fact that I spiraled into a depression didn't help. I failed to find the balance I needed. The pendulum swung from one side, -doing it all, alone- to the other, doing absolutely nothing. The happy medium? The peaceful middle ground? No such thing in my world. Apparently, it's all or nothing.

I shoulder my part of the blame for the situation I found myself in. For twelve years I did it all gladly. I now realize it was because if I did everything and he became dependent on me, he wouldn't realize how ultimately unloveable I really am and leave me. If he couldn't live without me, then, well, he wouldn't live without me. (None of that changes the fact that he LET me do it all.)

Thankfully, I've been able to find that middle ground. By standing my ground. I refuse to do it all anymore. I started putting my foot down around two or three years ago. I refused to work all day, be Silas' primary caregiver, then come home and start the second shift of household chores. I'll spare you the gory details, but suffice it to say that when a man runs out of underwear, he learns right quick how to work the washer.

Our marriage was rocky during my pregnancy and directly after Silas birth. I attributed that to hormones. But our serious problems started when I stopped being his everything and started being true to myself. What I've found is that if I don't take care of everything and live to serve his every whim and anticipate his every need, it's not going to work. So evidently, it's not going to work because Wonder Woman? She just hung up her lasso.

*this is the last post pissing and moaning about my marriage, pinky swear. and that's not me.

Perspective altering questions

2008-09-09T23:40:00.004-04:00

Have you ever been asked a question that triggered an epiphany? One that shed light on something that until then, you hadn't considered? When SweetieDarling was ten years old and playing softball, I would associate with the other mothers. Usually only at games, but we were friendly. During a conversation one afternoon, during which I was lamenting yet another shortcoming of Sams', this woman looked at me in all seriousness and asked "do you even like your husband?". Needless to say, I was taken aback. But after much consideration I realized that there would be no way for her to have any other perception. I never praised anything he did or any efforts he made. I only criticized.

And there was a lot to praise. He was a considerate and helpful person who wanted me to be happy. He would surprise me with weekend trips away, where all I had to do was pack and leave. Bring home something he saw that he thought might please me. There are years worth of examples I could give extolling his virtues. We were deliriously, stupidly happy for six years. We were living our lives to the fullest.

But it's all changed now. We've both changed, and I am so torn. When taking inventory of this relationship, the bad is starting to outweigh the good. The inequality is starting to weigh heavily on me and I don't know if I can continue to bear it. Poppets, I do everything. He won't even mow the lawn! I do all housework and household related chores and errands. I do all the yardwork. I run our business and handle all of our money. He goes to work, comes home, and sits on the sofa. This person is not someone that I would choose to be friends with if I met him now. We're strangers. We have no shared interests anymore. I am a person who reads voraciously. Usually one or two novels a week. I have a library of over one thousand books. My husband doesn't read. Well, he can read, obviously, just not for pleasure. But it was this way years ago, why does it matter now? Our other differences that didn't matter then suddenly seem like deal breakers now. We haven't slept in the same room for six months and I don't mind. When I'm on my way home and come around the bend in the road and see his truck in the drive, I wince. When I see his number on caller id, I cringe. I don't wish him any ill will. As a matter of fact, I want only the best for him. He'll always be the father of the best kid in the world and that has to count for something. We just have such different ambitions and goals. He is never happy, always wanting more, bigger truck, bigger house, bigger and more more more. Whereas if I have a dependable vehicle and an adequate home, I'm good. I just can't see spending the rest of my life always looking for that one thing that's going to make it all right. There is no thing, it has to come from within and I can't make him see that. If we, his family can't be enough, then nothing ever will.

I know that I can't stay in this marriage. But I also know that I need to be very smart about leaving it. I know it will take me at least a year to put together what I need to be able to walk out with a clear plan for taking care of our future. It is imperative that I wait until the housing industry picks up, because until that happens my stock isn't worth the paper it's printed on. It also has bearing on how much equity there is in our home, of which I'm entitled to 60%. There's just so much to think about. But since I'm actually to the logistics stage, I think that's a fairly decent indicator that I'm ready. The emotional stage is over.

So in answer to that long ago question: No, not anymore.

Trophies & Birthdays & Parties, Oh My!

2008-09-08T23:30:00.006-04:00

Whew! What a week. It was quite a whirlwind.

Tuesday was awards night for the tennis program. As I've mentioned ~~a million times~~ once or twice, Silas won the tennis championship for the six and under set. This is the look that trophy inspired:

Then Wednesday was his fifth birthday. He woke up convinced he was two feet taller and ten times stronger because now he was a "five guy". He's going to chop the firewood and mow the lawn later. This is the first glimpse of him as the newly awoken five guy:

His day at school entailed him being 'helper of the day', which is like being the pimp daddy of the preschool set, and then having birthday cupcakes for snack. When he got home he got his gifts from mom (new scooter and helmet) and from dad (new fishing pole and tackle box).

Sunday was his birthday party at a local arcade/waterpark/golf course. That place rocks! They have waterslides, bumper boats, splash zone plus the inside stuff. They had a blast. Even got to ride a train during which the "conductor" gave them each their very own train whistle. I'm putting pins into his voodoo doll as we speak.

So that's where I've been this past week. You can rest easy now that you're caught up. (a bit of facetiousness there, lest you think I'm serious) I'll probably spend the rest of this week trying to figure out why my pictures are falling out of their frames up there.

Let's have a bit of humor, shall we?

2008-09-02T00:19:00.005-04:00

We've all had a long weekend, no one's excited to be back at work, and no one wants to have to think. (No one=me) So I found some pictures at a political website that made me laugh. Out loud. There may have been a snort involved. Enjoy.

Okay, maybe not a single picture.

My favorite:

My summah in N'awlins

2008-08-31T16:50:00.003-04:00

With Gustav bearing down anytime, with Katrina still fresh in our memories, with worry for everyone in the area in our minds, let's take a trip in the wayback machine to a happier time.

Waay back when I graduated from college (1995 to be exact) I treated myself to a summer in the Big Easy. Alone. No children, no friends, just me and the French Quarter. It was a match made in heaven. Of course, had I known of the oppressive humidity of a Louisiana summer, I probably would have chosen a winter trip. Unless you've experienced it, it simply cannot be explained, so I won't try. But night! Now nighttime was a different story. After the daily afternoon thunderstorm would end, I would hit the streets (not like that, you freaks) and explore. I would usually have four or five hours of daylight, arrive at Bourbon Street at around midnight, get "home" between 3 and 4 a.m. Frankly, I'm lucky I survived. I assure you I couldn't keep that kind of schedule now. I'm in bed by 11, not starting the night at 11.

I started out the summer at the Fair-something (mont, field, view?) Inn. But at over $200 a night, I decided I should find less pricey digs if I wanted to stay the whole summer. I moved to a quaint victorian on Prytania Avenue, right on the trolley line. (a dollah gets you anywhere!) It was a student hostel run by some group I probably should have checked out more thoroughly than I did, but I had my own room, bathroom and a/c. I was good.

I spent the afternoons touring the mansions and gardens and zoo. I wandered the french quarter. I befriended taxi drivers ( a font of information for wherever you are) and found out the best place to eat on the cheap (Port O' Call) and what parts of the city to stay out of ("now here on this corner two tourists got robbed and killed last weekend"), and how to use the trolley and bus systems to save on the ginormous taxi fares.

I spent evenings in the Old Absinthe House bar listening to jazz. I discovered a cajun band headed by Waylon Thibodeaux and his fantastic fiddle. I met Harry Connick Jr. (swoon) in a sunglass shop. He gave me free tickets to his show later that week. (I took a guy from the hostel named Skillet, true story) I went to a water park in Baton Rouge that had the biggest waterslides I had ever seen. If someone had told me that these slides relieved the slidees of their bathing suits before I went down, that would have been nice.

When August rolled around, I was both reluctant and anxious to leave. I had had a wonderful summer immersed in the culture that only New Orleans has. I didn't want to leave it, but I couldn't stay. So I returned home, taking memories that will be with me all of my life.

When Katrina devastated New Orleans and the Gulf Coast, I watched and cried. When I saw those people confined to that stadium, dome, whatever it was, I remembered attending the JazzFest there. When I heard of the atrocities committed by our own government against it's own citizens in the form inaction, I was incensed. But I did nothing. I contributed nothing. I ranted and railed against the injustice and the inaction. I was appropriately offended when our own countrymen were labeled refugees. I would have put Ray Nagin in the White House given the chance, such were my emotions, my anger, my helplessness. Why didn't someone DO something? But not me. I did nothing. And I will always regret it.

Now I have a chance to diminish that regret. When Gustav reaches land, if the destruction is anything near the results of Katrina, and if we are needed, my company will be contacted by FEMA. I will mobilize whatever equipment they request and head south. I will leave Silas with my mother and I will put whatever meager resources I can toward helping those who I so grievously ignored at this time three years ago. It may not be much, but a few pieces of heavy equipment to clear debris and help clean up is more than I offered before.

The most dangerous chemical in the world

2008-08-29T23:01:00.003-04:00

Silas will be five next week. What is it with five that makes an adorable, sweet little tyke turn into a fit throwing, door slamming, pseudo-swearing little tyrant? After being made to finish his chores (which involved much wailing and gnashing of teeth), I went with him up (it's all up here on the mountain) to his swingset. He's recently learned to swing under his own power and, as with any new skill, wants to do it constantly. Since it's just not as much fun without an appreciative audience, I must go along and provide a running commentary about height achieved, speed reached, and how no one else, EVAR, in the history of the world has swung so high or so fast.
We have cushioned the playground with a very thick layer of finely shredded mulch. When he tumbles from the overhead ladder (and he will), we prefer he land on some cushioning. Because his parents are owners of real excavating equipment (loaders, backhoes, dozers, etc), Silas is the proud possessor of quite a fleet of Tonka dump trucks and equipment. Bear with me, I'm going somewhere with all of this drivel, I promise.
Anydigger, after the swing session is over, he starts to play with his loader and dumptruck. He's happily scooping mulch, hauling it around a little road he's carved and dumping it in the truck. He asks if I'll play with him. Um, no. No, I won't. Firstly, mama don't do crawling around in the wet mulch. Secondly, who would hold my coffee? Thirdly, it's hot, buggy and I'm outside. That's all your getting. So I tell him that I'm the supervisor. That I'm here to make sure he does his work right and to make sure he doesn't slack off. He scoops two more times, looks at me and says "you gonna pretend you a mister? Misters gotta be the bosses."
What?the?fuck??? Did my son, who has spent his ENTIRE life being hauled around to construction sites by his mother, (who is the boss) just tell me that the bosses had to be misters? Where did this notion come from? How did it get into his head? He doesn't watch television other than Spongebob (because I like it, shut up) and I don't read him fairytales where the prince saves the damsel and I even explained that Mary Jane is a useless waste of skin because all she does is sit around and WAH WAH WAH Save me Spidey and still, he has this notion.
He doesn't watch violent movies yet he will take a stick and wage war with it, whether it be a sword, a rifle, or, in one particularly imaginative instance, tied a balloon to it and made a mace. He will take his dolls, or "action figures" which are dolls for boys but good lord don't call them that, and they will beat the hell out of each other. This from a child who has never been struck in his life. Nor has he ever seen anyone struck. This violence, this hardness, this boyness. It's the testosterone. The cause of world wars, schoolyard fights and everything in between. The most dangerous chemical in the world.

Me me me me me me me me or the 8 thing meme

2008-08-28T00:22:00.000-04:00

Soooo, Candy tagged me for a meme. Eight things to do before you die, or a bucket list. Now, I made one of these back in high school for a drama club project (because we were all sooo dramatic) and I've actually crossed four things off of it. So do I use that and show the four that are done or do eight new ones? Who runs these things? Who do I ask? Someone appoint a Queen of the Blogosphere and get me an audience with her. In the meantime, I'll make it up as I go.

My wide eyed high school senior, the whole world is open to possibilities list:

1. Go to college. Check.

2. Go to law school. Check.

3. Practice law. Kinda check.

4. Become a judge. Pshht. Ain't likely.

5. Live in NYC. Not sure how that fit in with the others, but not happening now.

6. Visit England. Check.

7. Live in England. Working on that.

8. Own a Mercedes. Check. (yes, I was a shallow high schooler. and yes, said mercedes was a 1963 boat that barely ran. your point??)

My cynical, weary, world wizened, grumpy old woman list:

1. Not commit murder. So far, so good.

2. Raise good kids. 3 out of 4 ain't bad. Jury's still out on the 5 year old.

3. Learn to cook. Haven't yet. Probably should soon, kid is skinny.

4. Go back to practicing law. Honestly, this probably won't happen. I've just been away too long.

5. Live in England. Seriously, working on it. Ease up.

6. Own a small cafe/coffee shop. This one's possible.

7. Be peaceful and present. This is the hardest and also the one I want the most.

8. Be loving. I'm trying. I really am.

So now I'm supposed to tag. Bwaaaahaahaa! I'm giddy with the power of it. I'm coming for you! (In no particular order)

Ivy

Kate

Coast Rat

Maria

Kwoneshe

Madness

Jen

Vanessa

I picked each of these bloggers because I would truly like to know what their eight goals are. Each of them are very interesting and I will pout and cry like a little baby if they don't play with me. Then I'll get over it and we'll make out.