Yes, I Love You. Now Leave Me Alone so I Can Watch Steamy Sex Scenes on Cable

Someone shared this bit o' poetry tonight and I died laughing. Anyone who is a parent (I don't care how damn kind-hearted you are) has thought this at one time... or about twice a week like me when your kids absolutely will not go to bed.

I dedicate this to TWIN, who has given more drinks of water, something to eat, fear-of-dark soothings, stomachache discussions and other nonsense to her smart bird-loving whipper snapper than many. And just when she gets one to stay in bed, the other kid surfaces and probably throws her pajamas in the still-full tub. *Sigh*


Sleep tight Mick and Mads, and for God's sake....well, you know.

((click to open))

Open publication - Free publishing - More book

SatSnap Challenge - Locked Out

She sighed and leaned against the wrought iron. Her face almost fit through the space between the rails and the cool of the steel felt calming. She inhaled deeply, sucking in the heavy air. "God, this place is damp" she said, her voice muted as the words traveled across space on the other side of the fence. He stood alongside her, watching her watch this place.

"So this is it..." he said. Without taking her face away from the rails, she replied, "Yes, this is the place. The old place.".  She saw herself running around the grounds in happier times, in sunnier weather. She pulled her coat around her and blew hot breath into her hands.. She scolded herself that they should have come in the afternoon when the sun would be high in the sky and would have burned the mist away. She continued to breathe deep through the rails, smelling the grass and the tress and some other scent she remembered, but couldn't quite place.

"Those rails are going to make lines on your face.." he said gently, taking her arm. She gave him an annoyed look, but touched the two distinct impressions running vertically down her cheeks and smiled. "Melodramatic" she mused and leaned into him.

He whispered into her hair, "It doesn't have to be over. One chapter is ending, but there is always a next, always a new beginning; maybe even a new book. We can continue if you choose it." He was such a good man, her man. She hadn't made it easy to live in her life, but he was quietly stubborn. Damn, but he made it difficult to feel sorry for oneself, or wallow. And at that moment, she wanted to wallow. She didn't like change, she didn't want a new chapter. She wanted the old chapter, the one where the garden smelled of lilacs and not of wet leaves. Where the gate that separated her from her past would swing open at the sight of her, and not sit in it's current  impolite stillness, locking her out of the life she once knew there.

They stood that way in the quiet, and as the wind picked up she turned and looked at this man, saw his strength, saw she would never be alone here with him. He would help her return to the memory of her time here and make her whole, patch her wounds. She smiled at him, and touched the back of her gloved hand to his jaw. He smiled back at her, and said over his shoulder, "We'll take it.".

SatSnap Challenge

The task is to write a post in 300 words or less using the image as inspiration. It could be anything at all: a setting description, character study, poem, essay, dialogue, short story, scene, etc. ANYTHING YOU WANT. Use your imagination. See the others at Thumbin' My Way

Indie Ink Challenge - Denial

I should have paid attention, but I didn't.
She kept her cards to her chest, but still,
I should have noticed.
If I was paying attention.

When I thought there was trouble, I worked, toiled to fix it.
I knew exactly what we needed to do.
I told her so.
Insisted, even.

I was tireless, but she just seemed tired.
Or resigned?
I felt better.
I felt things were ok.
I told myself they were.

Mostly, because I wanted them to be.

One day, she said she was leaving
But I didn't believe her until she was gone.

I told myself it was temporary.
I told myself she would be back.
She said she wouldn't.

I told her I knew how to fix things.
To fix me.
I could be different.
She said she didn't want me to change
She said she just wanted a chance in scenery.
Scenery I wasn't in.

I told others she would be back.
They looked at me.
They didn't believe it.
I pretended not to notice.

They tried to help me see that she wouldn't be back
I knew that if I did all of the things I should have done
If I worked harder
she'd be back.
she'd come back.

She'd come back.

Time has passed, and she is still gone.
She has moved on to another place
and another person.
I hope in a few months she will realize that she misses our life.
Misses me.

I think she will.
I really do.

I really do.


This week's Indie Ink writing challenge came from Disease, who challenged me to write about Denial. This is hard for me, since after growing up to the tune of "everything will turn out ok", I am realistic and up-front to a fault, even with myself. 


I challenged Michael Webb to write about Shame. Denial, Shame...we're a happy bunch over at Indie Ink, no? Next week we'll write about bunnies, promise. Shameful bunnies.

Post from the Past Friday - Rosemary'ing

I am like a child when it comes to making excuses to do things I think are mundane. I swear, I would clean my andirons right now to avoid a specific project that needs me (and I need it!), if only I had a fireplace.
In case you HAVE andirons...


Others would push on through and get it done, but oh no...not me. I will instead do a little thing my Mom calls "Rosemary-ing", after a dear friend. I will start one project, then see something shiny that draws me to another project I have needed to consider for oh, about a year. Then, a butterfly will fly by and I will leave the second project to address something on the third.  I will walk past project #1, en route to get a hammer and some duct tape for project #3 and stop for a moment to consider an aspect of #1 again.  Sometimes I will stop and tinker with it, and then think "I had better put something out for dinner..".


I know what you are thinking. Yes, I do. You are seeing my mini projects all over the house, and wondering if my house really looks like the photo of hoarding I posted on an earlier entry to the blog. It doesn't. I will efficiently finish the projects, even late into the night. But only to avoid the thing I really ought to be doing. That can wait until tomorrow. Sigh.

The Rapture is Getting Back at Me.

Comment Luv failed.

My Comment system is still wonky and may have been eaten from previous posts.

Now, I can't see my feature on BlogHer 's homepage, and I was denied access to the Feminism page where I see I am spotlighted.

Damn you, Harold Camping.

If I had the nerve and you weren't in hiding until October for "Rapture, Part Deaux", I would kick you square in the pants.


Second verse...same as the first! (I think Harold Camping was retiring from The Post Office about the time this song came out)


For the love of Pete, please comment on these posts so I can see if the Rapture backlash has ended.

Harold Camping, pick on someone else!

Better than Sex and Carbs...Almost

Today was becoming one of those mornings. I had another meeting at a local coffee place with a potential client who can't make his mind up. Or isn't sure what he wants. Or neither. Or both. Or at least, can't make his mind up to the level which would facilitate spending money to see his ideas become reality. I am trying hard not to help him for free, but i have that can't-shut-up-problem. 


So I am still at the coffee shop, wondering why this fellow can't make a decision to move forward. And planning yet another bday party for the other baboo.


I have been working for free quite a bit lately, of my own volition and sometimes because i am a know-it-all and I just can't help myself. I am hoping karma will catch me up with paying clients in spades. 


Do you hear that karma? 
I said DO YOU HEAR THAT KARMA?


Luckily my other paying clients and Special Agent are keeping me in electricity and the occasional Chai Tea. 


I might have pouted a little, but I received an email from the wonderful and astounding Mona Gable from BlogHer who wrote that they "loved" a seriously half-ass post I wrote from the couch called literally..Posts From the Couch - Lucky Ducks. 


I am to be featured TOMORROW on the BlogHer homepage (!!)) and in the BlogHer SPOTLIGHT (you heard me) on their Feminist topic area as a part of a new section called Funny Women.


Yay.
Yay.
Double yay. 


 Wonder and amazement! Laziness paying off! Again!


I think I owe some of those in the photos a doughnut for helping me in this endeavor. Unfortunately, The Rapture took 'em. 


More doughnuts for me.... 

Harshing My Vibe

I have had some trouble with Comment Luv, so i am uninstalling it.

Comment Luv, you are dead to me.

I am hoping this post will be back to "Blogger normal", whatever that means.

I was doing the Comment Luv as a favor to my favorite commenting bloggers (all 2.1 of you) but it is becoming a headache for momma.

Nyet.

Since you came here, please to enjoy.Comment so I know all systems are GO.

Posts from the Couch Part Deaux - Lucky Ducks

I had to share the collection pf photos I came across of those who were taken during the Rapture. I've been having flashbacks to this movie all week:

If you scare easily, you might want to avoid this clip. The 80's hair and popped collars are terrifying. If you think you can handle it, you can watch many, many sequential clips of the movie. The Baboos were enthralled by the bad special effects and "zombies". We've come a long way, baby.

Doris and Chuck, vaporized.

I wanted to share some of the homegrown Rapture photos popping up on Facebook.

Sparky H. enjoyed video games up until the last possible second. 

Side angle shot...I think NOTC style sand might have been a nice touch here

Well, if anyone really DESERVES to go....

The dog is a mistake, but I am letting it go...

Ok, no more posting about the end of time and whatnot. Back to my usual drivel with very occasional moments of interesting. Or, weird.

Post from the Couch - Suck It Up

Well.. I am still here. Apparently I missed out on the Rapture. Must have been too many taking-the-Lord's-name-in-vain transgressions on my record. Among other things. Fail.

Don't judge, you're still here too, you know.

A friend shared this, and can I say...it really improved my mood while vacuuming up the 8 year old bday party bits today.

I swear, now that I am no longer leaving for the rapture, I swear I am going to get off the snide and get to posting. I have been immersed in the end-of-time drama, and planning an executing the an 8 year old bday party.

Life is tough for us sinners.

"That Guy" I Married

On this day, twenty years ago....Special Agent and I had our very first date.

When I thought of Special Agent prior to the week we started dating, I looked like this.

Anyone who knows me well will recognize this look

I had stormed off on my college boyfriend earlier in the evening and called the girls to go out.  Special Agent had shown up at the same party and I distinctly remember walking in and seeing he and his friend there and thinking, "Great, That Guy and his Friend are here. I haaaate That Guy and his Friend...." I considered leaving. He didn't like me much either, and there were times when I thought he was f'ing with me in order to illicit the look above -  purposefully. Jerk.

The party was in full swing and after some drinks I found myself sitting on a set of stairs with a lot of other people (seating was limited) which put me in close proximity to That Guy. I put on my armor and pretended I didn't notice. Stupid boys.

But something weird happened.

We talked to each other.

Not snarky verbal judo, actually talking to each other.
There was laughing.
He was smart!
Witty!
I..I...didn't...dislike..this..person.
In fact...I kind of...liked him?

I stayed on the stairs talking to That Guy later than I intended and when I tried to leave, he didn't want me to go.

I didn't want to go either.
It was the Twilight Zone.

I spent the next rainy and dreary day breaking up with College Boy and considering how it would feel to play the field for awhile. I wasn't going to marry College Boy, so i had resigned myself to the fact that I was going to head back to school free and enjoy being unattached.

I was empowered.
I was independent!
I couldn't stop thinking about That Guy I hated.

We saw each other again the next day and both sober, we spoke hesitantly to each other, both of our guards back up. We navigated the conversation uneasily, but I thought there was still something going on. Nonetheless we were both playing it cool. We agreed we would see each other later at an event.

I attended the event with another classmate, and gave That Guy a wave when I saw him. The Onion DOES NOT CHASE BOYS. He waved too, and we went about the evening. It was a long event and at some point we met up and decided it was getting old and decided to get coffee at a local diner-type place.

Game on.

We sat in the booth and the ease of the previous conversation slowly trickled back in. He thought it was weird that I ordered tea and croissants. I pretended I was worldly, but really just didn't want to tell him I couldn't stand the taste of coffee. We stayed at the coffee shop and talked for about 3 hours.

And something happened there.
I can't explain it.

We spent the rest of the summer together, every evening and most of the weekends, knowing that the end of the summer meant he was going away. My family was surprised I was dating a boy I had disliked. College Boyfriend came around to see if I would reconsider ending our relationship and even tentatively asked "are you dating That Guy? Why?". I didn't care. That Guy was the flame and I was the moth. I think he kind of liked me too.




Yet, we reminded each other it was only for the summer. He was leaving and I was staying and those facts weren't going to change. I was doing a whole unattached final year of school thing, and he was heading out to start his new life in the Marines.

Only the summer.
Only the summer.

The dog days of August didn't change anything except the strong stance we had on breaking up. We changed it to breaking up, but leaving things open to connect again at some point. Then, we both admitted we didn't WANT to date anyone else. SO much for our big plans.

We wrote letters while he was away and I would race home over my lunch period to check the mail. When I missed the mail, Twin would bring the letters to where I worked and I would hide in the bathroom, reading and re-reading the scrawl, savoring the conversations that only existed on paper. I would hide the letters in my pocket and when I had a second, pull them out and just look at the worlds. Squeeze the letter. Wish for Christmas.

I stood in the bathroom stall with the door closed, my head leaning against the cool metal. I read the letter as fast as I could, drinking in the words. My heart lurched when he wrote of the future and said "someday do you think you would marry me?".

I was 17 years old.

Oh my.
Married?
I didn't think I would ever get married...?
I was ok with living in sin for life.
I was kind of a bohemian feminist...
I had to go to college and become Mary Tyler Moore...
Married?





I let that comment ride for a while.Or...for about the time it took for me to send a letter back saying I wouold love to...someday.

We saw each other again for 10 glorious days around Thanksgiving and savored the time while it lasted.

I forgot school existed. 

I didn't even go.

Friends, no we don't want to go anywhere. 

When he left again, we knew we could call which made things easier, but barely. I ached for him, and thought of little else. I made plans in my mind of where I would go for college when I was done with school just to be with him. He was in Boston at intel school, but had the possibility of going to"

Radio Batallion in California
Edsel, Scotland
Rota, Spain

I decided to become a world traveler or a California girl immediately. I embarrassingly called it Cali. Me and LL Cool J.

In February, we discussed that it would be a lot easier to travel overseas if we were married. It was surreal and sort of like we were pretending to be pragmatic. We didn't seal the deal, however. We weren't engaged.

But when i hung up the phone, I beamed.

Me, the bohemian feminist who didn't believe in marriage.
Or war.
I was going to marry a Marine.
I was going to marry That Guy.
I was going to move to California...
With That Guy and LL Cool J.

That Guy was 1rst in his class, so he was told he would be given special consideration to get his choice of duty stations, which was great, but you couldn't rely on it. The Marines don't really work that way. He was dreaming of the rain in Scotland, since California really meant he would be on a boat somewhere and not together anyway. The Marines (A Gunnery Sergeant, specifically) got wind of some marriage plans and in the spirit of LL Cool J, said:.

Hmph. I don't think so.

Cuba? 

Unaccompanied? 

Oh no...no, no, no

This wasn't the way it was supposed to go...

The Marines don't care. 

If they wanted you to have a wife, they would have issued you one.

Now was the gut check. There was really no reason to get married, since we weren't going to get to be together anyway. That Guy bravely told me that, gave me an out. 

I didn't want an out. 

The slimmest of chances existed that we would get to be together for the next 18 months

But still. It was he I wanted and I wanted to marry he...er, him. 

It didn't make sense. 

It didn't need to. 

That's how I knew.

Happy 20 year anniversary of our first date, Special Agent. I am glad I stayed for the party.


I eventually traveled to Cuba to see That Guy, read more about it here.

**Naked Overshare Alert**

I happened across a local artist's website today and perused all of his beautiful life drawings. I poked around on his blog as well, reminding myself again of my complete and utter lack of artistic sense. I have tried to explain this lacking to the artist briefly (we frequent the same coffee place), but I don't think he really has the concept of how lost I am at art and all that encompasses. Fail. 


I'll keep trying.


Reading a blog post about the actions of the nudes he depicts caused my conscience to tap me on the shoulder again and whisper about the nude artist modeling thing. 


I know, Me...I remember...
I said I know! 


If I had or believed in a "bucket list" (hate the phrase, hated the movie, hate the concept. I prefer to call my desires "a layer"), being a nude artists model would be on it. 


Phewwwww... 
I said it. 
Out loud. 


I am not *proud* of the look of my body, although I am proud of the things it has accomplished, namely creating two lives that are watching a baseball game at this moment. A woman's body is a marvelous tool, and the creation of a child is the only true magic I actually believe in. 


I let about 10 people participate in the moments immediately AFTER the birth of my children, where nursing was happening. It was chaotic and joyful and apparently i did not feel a bit concerned about being topless around a lot of folks with a baby feeding furiously from me. (The Baboos think i must have lost my mind in the photos, and keep saying "why are you smiling when you have no shirt on?). 


So, I should give my bod a break on not being Victoria's Secret perfect, right?


But no, I do not like my body in a swimsuit. Living in the Rockies lends to wool socks over spaghetti strap dresses, so the idea of bare shoulders always feels a little naked to me when summer first arrives. I almost always wear a bra, as proper ladies do. 


I'm stifled, with regard to nakedness.

I have skinny dipped, mostly alone except for those fisherman who showed up (and possibly Special Agent's boss in Montana). I didn't intend for anyone to see me, but I also wasn't shy about disrobing in the public areas. I looked around first, but...

So, what is the obsession with the nude modeling? 

I think my discomfort with being nude is part of the obsession. I don't want to BE uncomfortable, but I suppose there is a part of me that thinks that a week or two of artist modeling in the buff would strip away my idiotic fear of being nude, or being judged by others about being nude. 


The artists drawings in the link within this post are beautiful and haunting. The women are of varying ages, weight and beauty. Yet, they are all beautiful drawings. Perhaps I think I could see myself in the same lovely light if I took the leap and let go of my wool socks inhibition. 

Chris Amend
http://www.chrisamend.com/blog/

This is the point in which I wished I lived somewhere much larger, and I have even mused that I should do the artist's model work in a town I don't live in (wimp.). G-town is a very small community, and there is no way I won't run into artists who have sketched my pubic area in the coffee line, or standing in the produce section of my local grocery store. 


I also fear that some of the artists (like Chris Amend), who do these life drawings are professionals and at some point may have a beautifully drawn, yet unflattering and large sketch of me up at a public venue. Where the Mayor will be standing, giving a speech about the importance of art, with my sort of oddly displayed nude form in the background.
Deep breaths. 


Still, the thought quietly nags at me, and has since I read a book several years ago where the main character was a nude model. The nude modeling wasn't the story, but lent to the depth of the character and the work was intriguing. Since then, I have had the thought stuck in my mind that nude modeling (for artists, ahem) is something I need to do. 
In my life. 
At least once. 

Chris Amend
http://www.chrisamend.com/blog/

I want to tell the artist this, and I also want to march down to the Art Center and sign up. They have placed ads for models in the past and such. 

But I haven't. 


And maybe I won't. 
Or, maybe I will. 


My wool socks and I are still hiding in the bathroom, trying not to throw up at the thought of disrobing. 

Posts from the Couch...

It's Sunday, and I seriously got nothin' today.

Nothing.
Nu-thin
Nada.
Zip
Zilch..

...except that Top Gun is on.

Slider, Twin and I love you in the Volleyball scene (00:37). Truly. We call each other whenever we come across it to say:

"It's on.
 Yes.
The Volleyball scene.
Yes.
Yes!
Channel 16..
hurry up!.."



Maybe I will just save this in my files....
(Tom Cruise, why did you have to turn into such a tool? )

RIP Dishwasher...

For those of you hanging *dramatically* on my dishwasher break-down saga....

LG. You piece of $hit.

I just shelled out $85 to find out that the wires of my dishwasher are fully melted to the inside panel. Super! Glad it didn't burn the house down. Sad I must now purchase a new one. This is why I don't own expensive bags and shoes.

I started looking around for dishwashers and I am seriously interested in this style, but will probably allow reason to take over and buy a boring old reasonably priced model. Sigh.



(Special Agent says there is no way in HELL this guy is thinking about the dishwasher while looking
at his wife's in this manner....)

I think Special Agent may have missed the point of my showing him this commercial....


this style

Tap! Tap! Is This Thing On??

I just can't leave well enough alone...I am giving Comment Luv another shot...
For you
For me.
For us all.

Comment Luv is a magic button that puts a commenting blogger's last post on the bottom of their comment. Neat, right? Well the last time, it made ALL of my comments disappear. Still not sure why and it could do it again.

Bear with me, dear followers. When they were handing out technology skills I had my head in the fridge.

If it works, when you comment, it should show your last post after your name.

And How is YOUR Week Going?

It's been a week.

After two good-sized dinner parties this weekend, the dishwasher died. That sucks. However, Special Agent and I patted each other on the back for wisely carrying appliance protection repair through our natural gas provider. This has come in handy in the past. I called breezily on Monday, only to be informed that somehow, our coverage did not transfer to the new service at this address..TWO YEARS AGO. Fail.  I wanted to be angry and snarky, but it wasn't the operator's fault, and I couldn't really insist they cover  us when we haven't paid for the service in TWO YEARS. I kind of wanted to snark at Special Agent, since he didn't notice it on the bill, and then I remembered that neither of us has an eye for bill detail and are mostly just glad we remembered to pay them. Frown.

NEVER FEAR! Special Agent and I decided to combine my talent for Google searching with his talent for cursing at inanimate objects, but still no success. The kitchen looked very mechanic-y for a while, but no success. Damn you LG! We are calling in the experts before we have to mortgage the house to continue buying little, tiny parts. I feel a little bad for Special Agent, since he was already sharpening his pencil to add dishwasher repair to his list of "shit I can fix".  I still have faith he could do it, but neither one of us wants to continue doing the dishes by hand while we figure it out. Reinforcements....tomorrow at 8  am.

The dining room chair also broke a leg off, which sent me into a furious frenzy, mostly since it hurt my self esteem, electing to fail when I sat on it (I've been working out!). The dining set is only a few years old, and the legs of the chairs have broken steadily since we bought it. I had no idea you could buy a lemon in a furniture store.

In other news, the taller of the Baboos recently got a cell phone. I know, I know, I already gave my self the lecture that she was too young, I wouldn't cave to pressure from knowing allllllllllll the other kids have them, and that I am now introducing my daughter to the debauchery of technology even earlier than necessary. Yeah. I've got all that.  I have flashbacks of her in the car seat, talking to my boss on her pretend Elmo phone, saying in a two year old voice,

"Hi Bob."
"no, no, ok"
"Cawll ju back?"

The new cell phone is kind of skinny, just enough that it slides right out of her hand. I bark at her occasionally about this, and then remind myself that I launched it across the kitchen days earlier when I was trying to pick it up and move it to higher ground. SO, a cover is definitely needed.

But not just any. old. cover.
NYET!

We need to browse the covers for ones with sports teams, cute designs, color variations etc. Sadly, my technological daughter knows about Ebay. I know this because she sat in my ear while I tried to work several days in a row, trying to show me each and every cover she found, lamenting about the trouble searching for her exact phone, and how they could calculate that much shipping for an item that weighs the same as a handful of large paperclips. She is learning a lot.

Finally, I broke down and helped her look through the scads of options, which is what she really wanted me to do in the first place. She settled on this number for $9.95.

I used my PayPal Account and told her
it was coming out of her college fund.

This morning I realized that in addition to the $9.95 I paid through Paypal for the cell phone cover (now in Baboo's  possession and much loved), I was also charged 51.34 by Ebay. *sigh*. I called the bank and contested the charge, and had to cancel my checkcard and promise I did not really lend the card to my friend/neighbor/bum on the street.  

In several years, he will need to add "and viagra" to his sign..

The 20-something bank operator was a little snarky to me, and obviously has no idea how important I am to Wells Fargo.  Ebay didn't even allow me to speak to anyone, just gave me an automated laundry list of the things I needed to send to them in order to dispute the charge (when disputing false credit card charges has it's own listing in the main menu of the automated phone program, that can't be good.).

Post-workout and credit card disputing, in lieu of working today, (or cleaning the house including doing more dishes) I will research and spend more time thinking about my upcoming vacation.

Those two of you that follow the blog religiously (thanks!) will be happy to know that we have finally decided to go to the Dominican Republic for our vacay instead of the dreaded Disney. I know, I know, you Disney lovers. Our kids will be in therapy, blah, blah. I shared my own guilt with Special Agent who agreed he felt REALLY SORRY for the baboos getting to go to a tropical paradise, swim with dolphins, zipline through the jungle and play on the beach. Poor them, says he.

This is ABSOLUTELY how I look in a bikini...from this distance
Don't come closer!!

June, are you here yet?

Sibling Rivalry...I need to stay off of YouTube

I am all about the YouTube Videos this week. This was was too good, and timely with Mother's Day. My Mom knows I couldn't get away with just a sweet post. She knows my layers don't roll that way.

Word up, Mom. I love ya. I am not sure which represents me and which represents sister in this parody. We trade off. I think I might be the one in the back.

Happy Mother's Day

I wrote this quick bit for a local magazine, The Wyoming Woman. It's a bit trite, but what can i say? It was about  my Mudder.

My Mom was strict, but we don’t remember her that way.  From the time we were small, we just knew it was best if we did as we were told, didn’t give lip, and stayed out of trouble. She rarely resorted to hands-on discipline because she had us under mind control early on.  When the boat of good behavior sprung a leak, as it always will, she would start with a small glance in your direction. The glance said “stop it”.  On the occasion that we failed to get the message and continued, we would get the full on big browns with the eyebrow arch. This said “Stop. It. Now.  Or you will be sorry”. The look didn’t yell. The eyes didn’t bulge. But they meant business.

My Mom built my self-esteem, but I don’t remember her that way. She told us early on that we weren’t better than anyone else, but no worse either. She praised my accomplishments and encouraged me when I fell down to try, try again. She felt bad for me when it still didn’t produce the result I wished for.  When there was nothing to say, she said nothing. She told us that while it was nice to be important, it was more important to be nice.  We all grew to realize that even though we were all relatively average, we were special in our very average way. We were always good enough.

My Mom was a strong woman, but I don’t remember her that way. Although she faced hardships in her life, she didn’t lay down. Like all women, she knew that the best way to overcome a situation was to be flexible and adapt to a new challenge or environment. If adapting bothered her, we didn’t see it. If she had self-doubt, we didn’t see it.  She didn’t show weakness, or need rescuing.  She was solid as a rock without having to shout.

My Mom loved us every day, but I don’t remember it that way. She didn’t shower us with affection all day, didn’t helicopter around, cookie tray in hand, like Donna Reed.  She respected us, told us the truth and was quick to share a laugh. She let us sit on her lap when we were teenagers. She sacrificed her own needs when we were too self-absorbed to notice. She reminded us often that she was our mother, but not our friend.  She would be there for us even when we didn’t agree that we needed her.  She would lay in traffic for us, but would kick us in the britches if we got too big for them.

My mom and I are now both adult women. We have now shared in the hardships and struggles of marriage and motherhood. I see her differently now, as if sharing her path has lifted the veil.  I feel like I finally know her as a woman instead of just as my Mother.  And I think now, I call her friend..if she'll let me.

Like You Haven't Seen it on Facebook...

I know, I know...you saw it. But watch it again. It's so funny.

I have spent a lot of hours at previous jobs creating voices for others, but I have yet to do it for the dog.
And tape it.
But, I could get there.
I have more free time now.

Happy Saturday. Enjoy laying on the couch.

If Wishes Were Horses, Mine Would Be a Jackass - II Challenge

My Indie Ink Challenge for this week from Andrea at Wordy Living was: your bad wishes to people suddenly come true - you wished your loud neighbour would go numb and it's happened; your gossipy colleague suddenly starts to shout whenever he tries to tell a story about someone behind their back... what else happens?


I really, REALLY struggled with this challenge. It just kept getting longer and longer. It's a fantastic idea, and I was truly challenged. I wish I could put it away to work on later (read: start over), but alas, tick tock; Indie Ink waits for no man. :-)

I challenged Supermaren here, and I love what she came up with...

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 I was in a foul mood. I chided myself for behaving immaturely as I slogged through town, stopping at yet another red light.

"C'mon you bastard...." I harrumphed to the stoplight.

It changed.

I blinked at the seemingly short wait and internally groused. Yes, it was THAT kind of day.

I parked in the parking garage and lugged the work I had taken home over my shoulder like Santa carries his bag of toys, but a helluva a lot less fun. The strap of my briefcase dug into my shoulder. I shrugged, trying to readjust the load.

I gave my best friend Marjorie the snarky eyebrow as I walked past her desk with my Sherpa-heavy load. Our cubicles didn't really allow for anything verbal expression, especially the way I was thinking. Kissing ass was welcome, as was towing the company line. The Office Nazi held court right next to the main hallway, akin to the teacher's pet sitting in the front of the classroom. Nothing, and I mean, nothing got by her. She made it worse by being extra friendly and "helpful". And, if you weren't careful, she would "help" you right out of your job, thanks.

I sloughed my bag off of my shoulder and my purse, lunch and extra bag of crud along with it, all landing in a heap. I fished my laptop out of the bag and hung everything in the square box I lived in for exactly 8 hours per day. I checked my incoming messages, skimming over the work reminders and meeting notices and instead reading with relish the emails from friends. I laughed quietly to myself.

My cubicle mate Rob did NOT laugh quietly. Instead he talked annoyingly loud, typed annoyingly loud, and snorted and coughed a lot. He also occasionally farted in our shared airspace, which was swell. Today was an especially great day to be his neighbor, since he had been talking non-stop since I had arrived. He was making it tough to enjoy my personal emails.

"Please shut up..." I muttered.

Silence.

I cocked my head and listened. Really? ...he had to have just finished his conversation.... no, no, he was really on a roll and was not near the end I had come to recognize. I peeked around the barrier to make sure he hadn't gotten a piece of the stinky beef jerky he was always eating stuck in his gullet. I watched his back as he typed...quietly.

Weird.

Thinking back to the stoplight, I decided I needed to test this theory out a little more, so I made a bee-line for my Marjorie's desk. I thought she might think I had smoked my breakfast if I told her the whole truth, so I just pretended to wing by for a chat. This was not really within the Office-Nazi-behavior-code, and Marjorie was nervous.

"Get off of my desk, are you nuts? she asked. I gave her my best Johnny Cash sneer, saying, "Well, maybe I am..." and took a huge chomp out of the banana bread the Office Nazi kept in the shared fridge with her name emblazoned all over it. Connie hissed,"Is that the Nazi's banana bread? - Oh shit, you really do want to get fired!". She looked around, and pushed my rear off of her desk. "Get out of here!" I tossed the saran wrap at her and brushed the  crumbs off of my hands. I stood tall and announced to no one in particular "I hope the Office Nazi learns to value me as an employee and as a person, or may she cluck like the hen she is whenever our boss is around". Connie shoved me out of her cubicle, saying "there must be weed in that banana bread..". I winked at her.

I cocked an eye for the Nazi as i scurried back to my desk, suddenly doubting my new superpowers. If I was wrong I was totally screwed. However, my cubicle neighbor was still silently working in his cubicle and I almost checked his pulse before I saw him scratch his ear. Down the corridor, I could hear what sounded like clucking.

Weird.

The end of the day came and I continued to test my new found powers to make the elevator fail to stop on every damn floor on the way to the parking garage - yay! It also helped turn every light green as I approached. I had no idea why this was happening, and at this point I did.not.care. This rocked.

I used my powers for evil when I got to the gym and remarked to no one in particular " I wonder if anyone left their car doors unlocked?" and watched the treadmills, elliptical machines and stationary bikes thin out. I chose my favorite one. Yay, me.

hee.

I saw our obnoxious neighbor headed toward the elevator, coming in from his run. I have never met a man with the ability to smell so intensely. He must live on curry and garlic. I whispered a "takethestairs-takethestairs-takethestairs" mantra as the odor crept closer to me....aaaaaaaahhhhh.....and, turning! It worked. I let my breath out.

I breezed through the apartment doors, completely heady with power. The world was my-ine.

My boyfriend and I had been a little edgy with each other, so instead of saying hello and rushing into each other's arms at my appearance, we gave each other a raised eyebrow-shrug combo as I tossed the grocery sacks on the counter. I went to the hall to hang up my coat, saying softly..."I wish you would put away the groceries.."

My lover yelled from the hall, "go ahead and get changed. I'll put away the groceries and start dinner."

Score, a direct hit.

We chatted while he made dinner. It was delicious and I was feeling the warmth of my love creep back in. With my new found powers, there should be no more problems. It was only (ahem) a matter of time before he proposed....

My lover joked with me and I socked his arm playfully. "Get out of town!" I yelled.

He scooted his chair back, kissed me on the cheek and walked out the door.

Well....shit.

I Fix Stuff .... It's a Layer

Plan for this beautiful Monday:
1. Take baboos to school
2. Head to gym to exercise furiously to someday feel comfortable in swimwear.
3. Clean house until sparkling and hygienic
4. Battle other mothers to secure place for baboo on school's pee-wee football team
5. Clean prints from weapon.

In typical Monday fashion, the garage doors wouldn't open.

NO.

The Baboo's feared for our lives. I had not yet had any caffeine, so I stage-sighed to no one in particular, yanked the thingy and opened the garage door manually.

The Baboos were in astounded, they did not realize that things can open without electricity. Then, they went back to their phone/Ipod/video game thingys.

8:45 AM: School drop off and then to the gym. My own Ipod was MIA, and although Special Agent offered to drive it home for me (thief!), it was too late. Reading my Kindle while riding the bike somewhat lazily seemed more my speed today anyhow. Twin even joined, which really improved effort..not.  We talked about boys.

10:15 AM Grocery store (with caffeine - yay!) and plans on my mind for how to make those giant margaritas with a beer in them (don't judge) and a spicy pork tacos for a Krazy K's (cause sometimes, she is Ka-razy) Master's Program Graduation on Sat.

It's physics. 

11:30 AM - I press the garage door button before remembering it doesn't work. Grr. Must solve this issue. Special Agent is incapacitated and is not available for me to bitch to confer with about this problem. No matter, I am a research nerd and I will get to the bottom of this!

(putting on super hero cape, pushing glasses up)

I immediately ask my Facebook community deduce that it could be that the GFCI needs reset (that is the little button on the bathroom plug in, girls). Someone suggests I check the plug ins to find one. I remember these, since my hairdryer and the bathroom GFCI occasionally have it out.

I peer around the garage.......ACK!!! The freezer light if OFF. The freezer is thawing. My precious homemade lasagnas are in there. Call search and Rescue! Call the National Guard! Locate the GFCI!

"Ok folks, we seem to have a lasagna/GFCI situation.."
(This comment is in NO WAY meant as offensive to the NG who are
currently responding to the tornado ravaged south. Me and my Lasagna thank you.  

(Thank God the lamb chops had already been taken out. Ruined peach spiced lamb chops would be a sad story.  We used the kids' college fund to buy those.)

I am now tearing around the garage looking for the magic plug in. I have to storm around to the backyard shed to get an extension cord for the thawing freezer and my own dogs bark at me. Harrumph.

With the freezer back in operation, I scan some more and cannot find that damn plug in. I move the extra vehicle out of the garage. I pull out many cabinets and tool benches. I crouch on the ground and attempt to look behind heavy stuff. I tell myself we need to clean the garage. Nada - no GFCI button.

I am standing, hands on hips in the garage, looking around. I am kind of hungry, and I feel pouty. I think about kicking rocks. Instead, I eat a yogurt from the yet-to-be-put-away grocery sacks. The freezer is humming away, saving my lasagnas (I am serious about pasta, people). I am messaging Special Agent with a battery of messages that have everything and nothing to do with this situation:

Onion: Don't forget to get your license plate tags
Onion: I paid the credit card bill
Onion: We are having 8 of our friends and their children over on Sat. - Spicy Pork and Guac
Onion: Let's invite your one friend.
Onion: Let' make margaritas with a beer turned upside down in them
Onion: I would like to plant some cottonwoods in the ugly rock patch in the backyard - which means I want YOU to plant some in the backyard, please? I don't know how to run those shovel-thingys
Onion: Call me, bungholio. The garage doors issue is..an issue
Onion: Seriously, call me - the freezer is out too.
Onion: My Lasagna!

As I am eating my yogurt, I scooch some things I stacked on the workbench. Viola! (That's WA-LA to you)

See the tiny hole in the pegboard? Look closer, see the
GFCI??....now the hole cut in that makes a lot more sense. 

I cram some stick object into the button and hear the flicker of electricity. This is how Benjamin Franklin must have felt when he thought he discovered electricity. I beam.

To Special Agent:
Onion: Repaired! I fix shit. It's a Layer, yo.
Onion: The previous string of comments make me sound schizophrenic
Onion: Also, football sign ups are tonight at 5:30, which means stand in line at 3:30 with Kindle. Are you coaching?

I rolled up the extension cord in the manner in which I have seen men do it, which sometimes alludes me (Its an around the arm thing, that makes it into a tidy circle) and toss it on the workbench. I feel very butch, and I should, since I have not a stitch of makeup on, post workout. I am looking good. I need an electrician's crack to make this look perfect, but I am in spandex workout pants, so no go.

Special Agent finally finishes terrorizing criminals and writes back:

Special Agent: Yes, Assistant Coach. Are you going to share how you fixed the problem or just make me believe in your super powers?

***********************************************************
So, here is my revised list for today:

1. Take baboo's to school

2. Head to gym to exercise furiously to someday feel comfortable in swimwear.

3. Clean house until sparkling and hygienic Repair household electricity issue with poetry and verve

4. Put groceries away eventually. 

5. Eat hummus and pita chips (how did those get in my cart?) for lunch and blog.
6. Look and clock and scream at how late it is
7. Shower.

8. Battle other mothers to secure place for baboo on school's pee-wee football team

9. Clean prints from weapon.

If the house burns down tomorrow, my former brother in law did it. Because the GFCI is in PERFECT WORKING ORDER. So there.

Ahem. ((Putting cape away))

Lamb Chops and Laundry

I haven't done a food-nerd post in a while, and I am getting a little heady with all of these writing challenges so I am taking Sunday off. Ok, I lied, I am still working on an crazy Indie Ink challenge and I am stumped so I am finding other things to do. Like laundry. 


(And watching Dirty Dancing. This level of cheesy is still SO good, even after all of these years. Hold on, this is the kissing part in his cabin. ((Biting fist)))

I hate laundry. It requires you to stay home and that is something I rarely do. It also requires you to pay attention to it, which is also something I rarely do for long. 


Our formerly decrepit and world traveled washer and dryer had a buzzer that attempted to shock you into action, with it's rude bleating. 


GEEEEET-UP. (That's it) If you ignore miss this rude shout-out, it's over. You'll never go back.

Our new fancy-pants washer and dryer is quite a pair who spring forth a little chime which seems to say:


"Hi there sunshine! If it's not too much trouble, perhaps you could switch your laundry out so we can deliver it in all of its fluffy goodness soon! Doodle-de-deet-de-doot. Yeah!" (jazz hands)...


But I still ignore miss it. This makes laundry take a long, long, while. 

So I have grounded myself to the house today, chained to the happy campers in the laundry room and since my chain drags to the kitchen, I am going to a tried-and-true lamb chop recipe, along with as many vegetable from my food co op basket as possible. I am thinking broccoli flash fried in the skillet. Rice or potatoes? My upcoming beach vacation says Neither! Fruit. Fine then. 


Here is the recipe. It's soooo easy and a little spicy...just like The Onion.


Ooops...forgot the laundry. *sigh*

Dear fluffy lambs, it isn't our fault you're so delicious..

PEACH SPICED LAMB CHOPS

Rating: Outstanding

• YIELD: 4 servings (serving size: 2 chops)
• COURSE: Main Dishes

Ingredients

• 1 tablespoon brown sugar
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon onion powder
• 1 teaspoon chili powder
• 1 teaspoon paprika
• 1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
• 1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
• 1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
• 8 (4-ounce) bone-in lamb loin chops, trimmed
• Cooking spray
• 1/3 cup peach preserves
• Preparation

• Combine first 9 ingredients in a small bowl; rub spice mixture evenly over both sides of lamb chops.
• Heat a grill pan over medium-high heat. Coat pan with cooking spray. Add lamb chops to pan, and cook for 3 1/2 minutes on each side. Brush each chop with about 1 teaspoon preserves. Turn chops over, and cook for 1 minute. Brush chops with remaining preserves. Remove from heat.

David Bonom, Cooking Light , March 2007