Take Care of My Boys

A local boy was killed in Iraq. I didn't mean to know that. I don't watch the news and I don't read the paper. My ability to function depends on that. My remote isn't working and I didn't escape fast enough. There it was. I saw his picture. He was so young.

I'm crying for his mom, for his family, for an overwhelming feeling of lost potential, and for how vulnerable I feel.

I woke up this morning to a wave of fear washing down me from my head to my toes. That safe place in my head is gone. That place I could go when anything that I fear happens to someone else, and I could learn enough to know the circumstances or details that made me feel safe. The something that contributed that doesn't apply to my children.

I thought I had come to terms with the possibility of facing what that boy's mother is facing now. I had years to prepare. The first couple of years, I thought William would change his mind. Once I knew he wasn't going to, I deliberately worked at getting to acceptance of the possibility. Statistics became my security blanket. They have more of a chance of getting killed on the Pyramid Highway I would tell myself. No numbers to back that up. Just something to comfort myself. I still hoped by some miracle we would be out of Iraq and Afghanistan. We're not and William is in Iraq and Ryan will be going to Afghanistan and both of my boys will be where people want to kill them and I feel angry and scared.

I think I would have preferred drugs. At least I would still have some kind of a handle. I could send them to 12 step programs or into rehab. I don't know if I mean that. I'm afraid I do. I have no control here. I wish for my own chair in the Situation Room at the Pentagon.

I want to go back to having all of my kids within a couple of miles of me. I want to go back to sending one mass text to all of them telling them we are having dinner at my house and they all show up with their husbands and wives and girlfriends and boyfriends and children. I want to go back to watching them all talking and laughing and teasing each other. I want to go back to when the intense wave of feeling washing over me was gratitude.

Please, God, take care of the boys.

Nathan and Jayden #6

Nathan is my 6 year old son and Jayden is my 4 year old granddaughter.
I am just journaling about them and the things they say and do.

I kept Jayden for the night on Nathan's birthday. I had to work the next morning and planned to drop Jayden off at preschool on my way. She was complaining about her tummy not feeling good all morning. I tried sending her to the bathroom and feeding her. She would play for awhile then complain about her tummy again. She has a sensitive tummy so I didn't get too concerned. We were getting in the car to leave and she told me I should get her a bowl in case she throws up. I'm the grown up and I know it's not necessary. I'm still not taking this too seriously. On the way, she was sure she had to throw up. I pulled over and took her out of the car. False alarm. No throwing up. Now I'm thinking I should be taking her a little more seriously. She's in the back chattering as Jayden does, then she was quiet. Nathan says, "Mommy, Jayden's throwing up." She was. Over and over. She was in her booster chair, her legs held together, being so careful to throw up into her lap. I pulled over in a church parking lot and went to her door. She is sitting there with a lap full of vomit and her concern was the car. She says in her sweetest little voice, "Now what do I do?" I unbuckled her and picked her up like a little vomit bucket. She didn't get a drop on my car. From now on, if she tells me to bring a bowl, I'm bringing a bowl. God, I adore that little girl.
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I was thinking about the day Ryan came to tell me his girlfriend was pregnant. It didn't feel the way I imagined something like that would feel. As his mom, I had so many hopes for him that I was sure a baby would put an end to and it would make me so sad and scared. But that's not how it worked. I've written before that I had dreams for two nights before he told me. In both of them, I was having another baby and it was a girl.

Every feeling I thought I would have didn't happen when he told me. It felt more like, here we are, let's move forward from here.

We debated the gender until the sonogram. I knew what those dreams meant and I knew it was a girl.

I look at Jayden and I can't imagine life without her.

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Me: I love you ten million times.
Nathan: Ten million? That seems low.

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Me: You have a smart mouth.
Nathan: A smart mouth means I'm smart.

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Me: No kidding?
Nathan: No sh
Me: You almost said a bad word.
Nathan: No, I didn't.
Me: Yes you did. I heard you.
Nathan: What bad word?
Me: No, shit.
Nathan: I didn't almost say that. I almost said what the fuck.

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We were in Walmart for the previous conversation. Nathan is usually shy and quiet in public. It never fails that we are in a store the rare times he ever uses a loud voice and it's always to announce he has to poop. That conversation took place in his 'I have to poop' voice. I happened to be looking directly at the innocent face, the big blue eyes, and the missing front teeth when he loudly and clearly said, "I almost said what the fuck."

I had to turn my head because I started to laugh. That face and those words just didn't fit together.

I was remembering when Ryan was that young. I would have freaked out to hear him say those words. It would have been Tobasco sauce in the mouth, two days of lectures, grounded to his room, and sleepless nights sure my baby was headed to a life of drugs and crime. Some might think that after having five kids and a stepdaughter and 27 years of raising them, I am getting a little lax. I'm not. I've just figured out that none of it is the end of the world.

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And my favorite
Grandma, I yuv you
Mommy, I lusz you

Nathan and Jayden #5

Nathan is my 6 year old son and Jayden is my 4 year old granddaughter.
I am just journaling about them and the things they say and do.


Jerry is my 49 year old husband - sometimes one of the kids. He had set up Nathans little pitching machine and was pitching plastic baseballs to Nathan - in the living room - which is mostly windows. I gave him 'the look' and asked rhetorically, WHAT are you doing? Jerry's expression was priceless, like a little boy caught in the cookie jar. His reply, "we already hit the window and it didn't break."

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Nathan: It's not fun to play without Jayden but I won't worry about that if you don't want me to.

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Nathan: I want your bedroom.
Me: You can have it after I die
Nathan (hopefully): When will you die?

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Nathan is proud that he can work the remote by himself. He can't read so he looks for his favorites by the first letter. T for Transformers and S for Spiderman.
I walked in the family room to see him sitting on the couch with the remote, all wide eyed. I followed his eyes up to the television. Oh, My God!
He was trying to find XMen. He found the X.
I need to learn how to put the block code in.

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Nathan just had his sixth birthday. He woke up that morning disappointed. I guess he had high expectations for what six means.
Nathan: How come I don't feel like I'm six. I still feel like I'm five but I know I'm six.

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And my favorite
Grandma, I yuv you
Mommy, I lusz you

The Mid-Life Crisis Corvette

I got stuck behind the slow guy on the road today. It was a 65 mph zone. Granted, that's up to interpretation. I interpret the 55 mph sign as I can reasonably expect to be able to go 65 without getting a ticket.

This guy was doing 35 mph. We all get behind them and I would have never given him another thought once I got around him, but he was driving a Corvette. I just assume that Corvette drivers interpret speed limits more on my side of the posted numbers.

When I was finally able to make my way around him, I did as I always do in these situations, I looked to see who the jerk was that was putting the wear on my brake pads. There were two old, beer bellied, bald guys in the car. They were actually in my age range, but old is relative and when we're talking speed and Corvettes, a duck is a duck.

That isn't an exception. There are two types of people that drive Corvettes. Hot blond women and men going through their mid-life crisis. I figure the hot, blond women drive the car because they're hot and the car is hot, and that the mid-life crisis men drive the car to live out their unfulfilled fantasy of going really, really fast. There lies why he has gotten a second and third thought from me.

The only other reason the old, beer-bellied, bald man might be driving a Corvette is to attract hot, blond women. The problem is, I saw him. I say the money's spent, he might as well drive fast.

Kids - Free to a Good Home (Semi-good ok)

When I was a teenager, my mom told me that everything I did to her was going to come back on me twice. I laughed her off all the way until I had my first teenager. I called her one day and asked her to take it back. She said no! Her mother said it to her and her grandmother said it to her mother and she wouldn't take it back. I hung up the phone, went to my teenage son, and told him whatever he does to me will come back on him twice.

I asked my mom recently how old they are when you stop worrying about them. She told me she didn't know but she would let me know when it happened. Oh, great!

When my oldest four were little, I counted once and averaged out to see how many times I heard the word mommy in a day. It averaged out to about once every four or five minutes during waking hours. There were times that I would hear that word and just want to cry for mercy. I would ask them to call me Joe. Pleeasse, just call me Joe. Anything but Mommy. I would get so exhausted that I wanted to quit. No more. Can't do it.

Then I would pick myself up and get on with it. The thing about having kids, as much as they wear you down, it's little things, lots of little things that will light you up and make it all worth it.

My sister-in-law sent me an email once. It said, now that I have teenagers, I understand why animals eat their young. By the time I was trying to get through their teenage years, I had a stepdaughter in the mix. It was five teenagers right in a row. Kind of like going in the boxing ring, taking one blow after another, bloodied and broken, just praying for the knock out.
It's only love that got me through that. God, I must have loved them. There were plenty of times that I just wanted to throw in the towel. KO'd.

There were a lot of little victories through it to keep me going and the reward was I got to feel a tremendous sense of pride that I stuck it out, I never gave up, and to see that I had any part of the incredible human beings they are. Wow!

They are all adults now. Some are married, some have kids or are trying to have kids. Some are military, some are in college or have graduated college.

I should me home free. I'm NOT! They are adults with adult decisions and adult consequences. I am their mom. I try to give them suggestions that, of course, they still don't listen to. My oldest is 27 now. He is going through his own thing and I don't like his choices. There was a point that I felt he was making a decision that was going to hurt a lot more people than just him and he was doing it for the wrong reasons. The decision didn't bother me. It was his reasons for it. I hadn't played the Mommy card since he became an adult but I whipped that baby out and put it on the table. I didn't ask him or suggest to him what he should do. I told him what he will do. That's it, no ifs, ands, buts or excuses.

I am now trying to muddle my way through being the mom of adults. I don't know how. I'm, again, learning as I go. Today, I want to quit. I don't want to play anymore. I'm taking my ball and I'm going home.

I'll love them through another day and this too shall pass.

I have a five year old now. Going through five teenagers and still having another baby is a testament to my insanity. No sane person does that. I tell my kids that by the time he's a teenager, I'll be senile and he'll be their problem. That's my revenge.

Nathan and Jayden #4

Nathan is my 5 year old son and Jayden is my 4 year old granddaughter.
I am just journaling about them and the things they say and do.

I am Jayden's Grandma. Her maternal grandmother is Amma.

Nathan: God is in everything
Jayden: Yea, but he lives at my Amma's house. I saw him.
Nathan (very excited): You did? What does he look like?
Jayden: I didn't really see him.

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Nathan was eating his dinner and told us, "I'm eating God."

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Lisa is my 21 year old daughter. She and Nathan were having a staring contest.
Lisa: You blinked. I won.
Nathan: I didn't blink. God blinked.

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Nathan wants the Transformer movie. It isn't being restocked because the new one is coming out. We have been looking all over for it.
Nathan: I saw the Transformer movie at the movie store by Sav Mart.
Me: Was it for rent or to buy?
Nathan (giving me the 'you are a dumb mom' look that I deserved): How am I supposed to know? You know I can't read.

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Nathan: I don't want to be six. Five is fun.

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And My Favorite
Grandma, I yuv you
Mommy, I lusz you

I Spanked My Child

I spanked Nathan a few days ago. It wasn't a spanking but it was a swat on the butt. Nathan is easy going. He's a bit quiet and shy, and he loves to help Mom, Dad, and Grandma. This is the second marriage for me and my husband so the mixed family makes Nathan the youngest of eight. His brothers and sisters are all adults now so he is effectively being raised as an only child. I have raised a lot of kids and he is the most easy going of the bunch.

My granddaughter, Jayden, is an only child, too. When the two of them are together, all of that pent up energy comes flooding out and I swear the walls of Jericho are coming down. Cushions are off the couch, toys aren't played with, they are dumped and thrown. Every word out of their mouths comes out with a high pitch scream. They are excited and having fun. I'm exhausted.

I had picked Jayden up from preschool and was keeping her for the night. I wanted to go to Whole Foods and debated it. Trying to manage the two of them in a store is not easy. I decided to make the plunge. We got in the parking lot and I talked to both of them. This is a store and we need to not scream and run and touch things.

They were on a dead run when we got in. I'm trying to get what I went for and keep up with them. Nathan was grabbing the side of my cart and tipping it over. He was crawling and rolling on the floor. They were screaming and having a great time. I put them next to the cart and told them to stand still. Don't move. I was looking up at a shelf and I hear glass hitting glass. Nathan was amusing himself by rubbing his hands along glass bottles, listening to them clank against each other.

I swatted him on the butt. I didn't even know I was going to do it. It was done before I even thought. Both of those little faces are looking up at me with this look like, "you did NOT just do that". I wanted to laugh so I turned around and started to push the cart. Then - SWAT! The little bugger whacked ME on the butt. I turned around and I'm sure I had the same look that they had when I did it. He had an "uh, oh" look on his face. Here we are. I just hit my child. My child just hit me back. I don't know what you are supposed to do when that happens but it was FUNNY. All three of us started laughing. So I failed in the discipline but it was funny.

The Thing

Family traditions. We all have them. In our home, it's a huge Christmas Eve party at our house with both sides of our families, or our yearly week long camping trip with about fifty of us from my husband's side of the family. Traditions are what build memories.

One of our family traditions that has come and gone is The Thing. We were unpacking Christmas decorations one year and somebody pulled something out of the box that none of us knew what it was. The plastic container looked like something that a corsage may come in but what was inside was unidentifiable. The container was passed from one child to the next trying to figure out what it was. Did it live once? Is it gross or not gross? It got to me and I determined that 1) it never lived, 2) it wasn't gross, 3) I wasn't sure what it was but it was probably some kind of fake plant matter.

I told the kids that it was The Thing. "What's The Thing?", they asked. "It's a thing that you pass around at Christmas and tell it something", I tell them. "What do you tell it?" "Anything you want."

So began the Christmas tradition of The Thing. I don't remember what anyone told The Thing. I wish I did. It was probably things like "thank Santa for the toys". I do know it wasn't thank you for our blessings type things. We all recognize that we are a blessed family and are grateful for that, but we just aren't the sit around, hold hands, and sing Cum Bi Ya kind of family.

When everyone was done telling The Thing whatever they had to say, we put it back in the Christmas box and forgot about it. The next year, we were pulling out the decorations and someone said, "Look, it's The Thing". We had another round of passing The Thing around and everyone telling it something. Several years went with the same tradition of put it in the box and forgetting about it until someone stumbled on it the next year.

The Thing disappeared and I have no idea when. None of us even noticed until a couple of years ago. Most of the kids are grown now. I have been so grateful that even grown, they come home to help decorate the tree. We were going through our decorating ritual when my daughter asked, "Mom, what happened to The Thing." None of us remember the last time we saw it.

So comes and goes the family tradition of The Thing.

So, You Want to Date My Daughter

I used to get really irked when men gave me the cat calls or the ass stare down while I had my kids in tow. Do they want men doing that to their mother? Think boys, think. Not only was it rude, but they were blowing the whole Virgin Mary persona I had worked so hard to create.

As much as that bothered me, it was nothing in comparison to how irked I got when I realized those weren't for me anymore, but for my daughters. Again, the persona thing. I had worked hard to create their pure innocence in my mind.

Boys will be boys and girls will be girls but the one that really gets me is the 50+ men staring my girls down. Now, WHAT are you gentlemen (used loosely) thinking? I was in the car one day when one of those gentlemen in a car next to us was drooling at my daughter, who was about 19 at the time. I looked at him and the only word that could come to my mind was, 'huh? See her, see you, huh? WHAT do you, a used up old man have to offer my smart, beautiful, full of life daughter? It makes me sick to know what you are thinking about her. She is a kid and you are a pedophile.

Ok, I get that I am Mom. I view my daughters in this world differently than others do.

I have been there, though. I have heard the reason these older men (or leches, you pick) think they are a catch to a young girl. Because they are experienced in looovveee making. Yea, baby, they can show you what it's like to have a man, a real man, make looovvve to you.

Get over yourself. Just because your penis acts like a propeller pushing you through life doesn't mean it has that same effect on women. How often does that work for you? What do you think that young girl is thinking when you tell her that? I'll tell you what I was thinking... 'Ewwwww, you want me to have sex with you? Garosss!!!'

If you were a man, a real man, you would have half way figured out what women are about. We are emotional beings. The greatest love making most of us have ever experienced has been because we felt LOVE. Hence, the term Love Making. Knock, knock, are you in there? Get it?

So, 'gentlemen', if you would like to date my daughters, I don't mind if, first, you don't mind me dismembering you...slooowwwlllyyyy.....with a dull blade. Until then, put your tongue in your mouth and take a cold shower. It ain't happening.

My Most Passionate Love Affair

I was thirty eight years old when the curtain opened to give me the full view of love, passion, and sensuality.

I had met him almost twenty years before. He had a girlfriend then and her brother was my boyfriend. He and his girlfriend broke up and me and my boyfriend got married and had a family. He eventually married and had a family and we both eventually divorced.

We started talking. I didn't think much of it at first. He was interesting. My marriage was just ending and he had been divorced for a couple of years. His divorce had hurt him and I was impressed with the way he moved through that to get grounded rather than wallow in it and drown in self pity.

The first time it hit me was with a wham! I was talking and he leaned forward in his chair, looking at me with complete focus and interest in what I was saying. My heart skipped a beat. It was magnetic. I was drawn to him in a way that I had never felt before.

From that moment he was in my head. He was on the edge of every thought. Little things would make my heart skip and send butterflies through my tummy. Watching him engrossed in a conversation with someone else and noticing his deck shoes with no socks. At a restaurant with one of his friends and watching him leaning back in his chair with his head turned, trying to see the game on the television.

We started going on long drives around Lake Tahoe or to Genoa and stop at restaurants to eat and talk, and take walks on trails and paths.

The first time he touched me was on my leg. He was sitting and I was standing. He reached out and gently rubbed my calf. I felt electricity move through me.

That was the beginning of the most passionate love affair I have ever had. Every day and action was just a movement to be able to see him next. I craved him, his voice, the way he touched me, the words he said.

There was a time that I had to go out of town and all I could think about was getting back to him. It was late and the friend I was with thought we should stop to get a room and finish our drive the next morning. I told her to sleep, I would drive, I wanted to get home. By the time we got to town I knew it was too late to see him. I let it go and decided to call him the next morning. I pulled my suitcase out of my friends car and walked around the building to my apartment and he was there, sitting on the steps waiting for me.

We would be in a room full of people and he would look at me from across the room and I would feel like we were the only two people there.

I was completely in love with this man.

It's been eleven years since my husband first made my heart skip a beat. He is still my love and my passion. I can get caught up in the responsibilities of life and I lose track of that. There are times when he feels like one of my responsibilities and I'm overwhelmed by him.

Then I look at him, or he touches me, or kisses the back of my neck, and after all of these years my heart still skips and I still get butterflies in my tummy. I am still having the most passionate love affair of my life.

I love you Jerry.

I Dropped My Panties

I have spent most of my adult life self employed. I had a few years in there that I didn't work at all. I stayed home with my kids. After my divorce, I had to go back into the work world. It had been 13 years since I had a boss. I got a job as an auditor for a relocation company.

During the training period, my new boss had to review my audits for accuracy. I was sitting in the bosses office, going through one of these reviews of my audit. I was confident and ready to dazzle my new employer with my brilliance and my accuracy. It took about 15 min. of sitting in a chair, watching and waiting in silence while every detail was checked.

When it was done, I got rave reviews for my perfect audit. I proudly stood up from the chair to go back to my cubicle. I took one step and stumbled a little. My shoe had caught on something. We both looked down to see what caused my misstep and there, on my bosses floor, next to my chair, was a pair of panties. Turquoise panties. My panties.

I should have used Bounce. They had apparently gone through the wash inside the pants I was wearing and the static had stuck them inside my pant leg. Out of all of the walking, sitting, and standing I had done that day, that was the moment they dropped out of my pant leg.

I could have pretended I didn't notice them, or even better, given my boss an incredulous look like, 'what do you have going on in here'. I didn't. I bent down, picked up my turquiose panties, and walked out of the office.

I Married a Saint Bernard

Sometimes being married to my husband is like having an energetic Saint Bernard greeting me at the door, running full force, lunging at me, wagging his tail, jumping on my shoulders, throwing me against the wall, knocking everything out of my hands, and licking my face. Behind him I can see he has knocked the furniture over and tore up the couch cushions, partly because he was bored and partly because life is meant to be fun.

Ask To Understand

I have read a few interesting blogs recently that got me thinking about intolerance.

I grew up in a small town in the middle of nowhere in the 60's and early 70's. It was a conservative town that had no tolerance for races other than white, homosexuality, or men with long hair. I had never seen a black person other than watching The Mod Squad, didn't know of any homosexuals, and had secret crushes on the guys with long hair. I don't think I had even heard the terms black, African American, or gay. I had heard every other derogatory term associated with them. Growing up in that environment, I had never given any thought to what any of it meant. It was all worlds away just like the Viet Nam war was. None of it had anything to do with my world.

When I was 12, we moved to a somewhat larger town that had just a little bit more diversity. By the time I was 14, I had seen black people but never met one and had met gay people, but didn't know it. Gays were still very much in the closet. It was then that I started questioning.

I was sitting at the kitchen table and asked my dad why everyone hated black people. I wasn't challenging him or his beliefs at all. At that point in my life, I believed there was probably good reason to hate. It just didn't make sense to me. I figured that everyone else knew something that I didn't and I wanted to know what they knew. My dad kicked me hard enough to knock me off the chair and threw a Coke bottle at me (they were glass then). He told me to never talk to him like that again.

That was 34 years ago. In the time since, I still haven't heard a conversation any more intelligent than that one that supports racism or homophobia. I would like to add just for irony, not long after that, my dad was jumped at work by three white men, one with a tire iron, and he was beaten pretty badly. It was a black man that saved his ass.

It was years before I ever touched on the subject of race with my dad again. The next and only other conversation I had with him was asking him if he is so prejudiced, how did he marry my mom. She is a card carrying half-breed from the Chickasaw Nation. He said she lied to him. Mom is proud of her heritage and has black hair, brown eyes, and dark skin. She was also very beautiful. That tells me that racism holds water for only as long as it doesn't interfere with other desires.

One of the blogs I had read talked of an interview with someone that thought marriage should be between a man and a woman. That's how she was raised was given as her reason for her opinion. None of us are obligated to think about the issues that don't directly affect of us. It's helpful if we do, but I don't take issue with those that choose not to. I do take issue with those that have chosen not to think about them but are still willing to give their opinion. Because that's the way I was raised would be better stated as, I have never thought or asked about it. If we aren't going to think about it, or learn about it, we have no right to perpetuate intolerance with our lazy opinions.

There are those that glean their opinions on homosexuality from the Bible. I have my own take on that that probably belongs in a separate blog, and I am not expert enough on the Bible to refute what they say. I do know they are skipping the parts about tolerance, love thy neighbor, and judge not lest thee be judged. I do know enough to know Jesus loved everyone and didn't turn his back on anyone. I would like to see those that embrace the Bible embrace all of it. It would make them much better people.

I would like to see more conversations take place about these issues. We express ourselves and share our opinions among ourselves, in our own cultures, but we don't reach out to other cultures and ask questions. It still leaves us all a bit ignorant. It's far better than when I was a child but we still don't have the freedom to talk about these issues.

They are understandably contentious issues. There have been decades and centuries of damage leading to collective anger. As justified as that anger is, it stands in the way of the momentum towards acceptance and understanding that we could see.

We have to be willing to step outside of our own cultures and ask questions, even at the risk of sounding insensitive and ignorant. We have to be willing to listen and learn. If we aren't willing to do that, then we need to keep our mouths shut.

The Creepy World of the Sinister Spider

I don't like snakes but have no phobia about them. I prefer snakes over rats. I'm glad snakes eat rats. Mice are a little cute and a little yucky.

Spiders are different. Snakes, rats, and mice are just going about their business, trying to survive and avoid me more than I want to avoid them. Not spiders. Spiders are conniving, evil, intelligent creatures that are looking for an opportunity to inflict a slow, paralyzing, torturous death on me, beginning to devour all of my bodily fluids before I have lost consciousness, leaving me screaming in silence as I am being eaten alive by this hideous creature.

When I was a little girl, I had a bedroom in the basement. We had potato bugs in the basement. They aren't officially a spider but I think they are aliens sent down to farm humans for food. I woke up to find one on my pillow. I could see right into his hungry, black eyes.










As it is now, our size difference makes overtaking us unattainable. Don't underestimate them. They are intelligent creatures. Their conspiracy includes a plan to grow and grow and grow until they are big enough that we are no match to their massive, venomous assaults. I moved to Florida and witnessed their success towards this goal. The first of the monstrous arachnids presented itself to me while I was at work at a golf course. He was the size of a small rat, with legs long enough to reach out and lasso me. I knew the results of trying to crush this beast with my sandaled foot would be the sound of crushing bones, and thick, yellow, gooey intestinal fluids oozing out from under my shoe and up, onto my bare skin. I wished for a gun. I reached for a golf club. He was watching me! He knew what I was doing. I knew that any aggression from me and my golf club would only provoke the monster and he would shoot his sticky, silky web at me, rendering me completely incapacitated. His co-conspirators would leave their covenly crevices to feast on my helpless, writhing body. I ran, screaming.

I went canoeing with my husband and his cousin down a brackish river. I was still trying to adjust to the Florida wild life and was already on edge, concerned about alligators in the water. I kept my focus on the river's edge, watching for large reptiles. That kept my attention so diverted that I didn't notice the giant, eight legged stalkers, hanging from the trees, until one made it's attack by dropping into the canoe with a loud thunk. I don't have any memory of the battle that ensued between me and the hairy assailant. My next memory was standing on the river's edge in total terror, while my husband and his cousin were in the river trying to upright the water logged canoe. The alligator's were the least of my concern.
























I don't know if there is anything we can do about this invasion and eventual, horrific annihilation. We are outnumbered and outwitted.

Before you dismiss me as arachniphobic, look at this picture taken by Donna Garde of the the Texas Parks & Wildlife and judge for yourself.

What's For Dinner?

The thing I hate most about making dinner is deciding what to make. Out of all of the decisions that I have to make in my life, this one is the worst. I go through some desperate measures trying to deal with this decision.

My most frequent solution is to call around or stopping someone at work and asking what they are having for dinner. As long as there are no more than two ingredients and it will bake in the oven at 350, I'm making what they're making.

Sometimes I ask someone in my family. Too often I hear; "I don't know". All it takes is me to say; "liver and onions it is" and the ideas will fly.

I've gone on the South Beach diet a few times. What I love about it is it gives me a menu. I don't have to think. It's all laid out in black and white - breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, deserts. No decisions. Unfortunately, the ingredients require a second mortgage on the house and you need an extra eight hours a day to put all of those ingredients together. It never lasts more than a few days.

This brings me to my current challenge. I went shopping yesterday and only put healthy foods in my basket - lean meats, vegetables, fruits, and wheat bread. Now, what the heck am I supposed to do with them? I figured a few nights a week I can get ideas from my mother-in-law. She mostly eats rabbit food and drinks pond juice. She calls it live food. Rare prime rib is as close as I usually get to live food. From there, I have tapped out my resources.

I don't know how long I'm going to get away with baking chicken breasts at 350 and throwing lettuce in a bowl and calling it a salad, but I'll let you know how it goes.

God's The Mom

I'm not an inherently good mom. I wasn't born with that gene that makes me love being a mom. What I do have is an indescribable love for my kids. That love motivates me to do things that cause me to be a good mom. Not in a soccer mom sense. More in what I consider a real sense. My actions as a mom are inspired rather than forced. I have followed my heart when raising my kids, and not everyone agrees or approves. I have heard some hard criticism. It's one area that I don't need or want approval. I trust myself whole heartedly because what I do comes from inside. It's like the creator of a great piece of writing or music that will tell you they didn't do it, it came through them. That's what my kids are to me. They are my art. Being their mom isn't what I do, it's what comes through me. I trust that. When I look at the people they are, their heart, their kindness, their ability to think for themselves, all of that is in spite of me and who I am. They are God's work and I thank God for that.

Truisms From Mom

• You don't come out of child birth looking beautiful and angelic
• It's only with the first one that you will foolishly pack your prepregnancy jeans to wear home from the hospital
• During labor, those around you will have visions of Linda Blair in the Exorcist
• If you try to bite the nurse, she will bite you back
• Newborn babies are red, wrinkly, and slimy
• Poop has velocity
• When changing baby boy diapers - keep your mouth closed
• Breast feeding a baby with new teeth is like breast feeding a pit bull
• Small children can't make the nk sound. Don't teach them the word funky
• Safety scissors cut hair
• American cheese takes paint off the wall
• Peeled and re-hidden Easter eggs become runny
• Guinea pigs suffocate when cuddled with
• Kids think snot tastes good
• If they say asshole in public - pretend they asked for an apple
• If you lock your keys and your two year old in the car - the two year old can't help
• If you're in a restaurant and your child is suddenly chewing gum but you didn't bring gum - it came from under the table

Someone Stole My Haircut

Someone stole my hair cut. I spent $50 on that cut and someone took it away. It happened the day after I got it cut. I still had it when I woke up that morning. I'm pretty sure it happened while I was in the shower. I didn't notice right away. It wasn't until after I blow dryed it that I saw it wasn't that beautiful, bouncy, soft hair with so much style that was there right after my cut. It looked pretty much the same as before I went to get it cut. Damn it! I really liked that haircut, too.

My Hair Doesn't Match My Butt

I got my hair cut yesterday. For most, that's not noteworthy. For me, I've been letting my hair grow, not necessarily because I wanted it long, but because I didn't know what I wanted. I've been going to the cheap cuts places about every six months for a trim, but haven't cut it in over two years. Yesterday, I went for a real hair cut. Not having my own stylist, I took who was assigned to me. I got Miko. Miko was every woman's fantasy for a hairdresser. A middle aged gay man that spent most of his career is San Francisco. How much better can it get? I sat in his chair and told him I was his canvass. Do with me what he will. He cut my hair with enthusiasm and flair. He took those scissors in directions I've never seen scissors go before. Miko transformed my two years of frumpy to Wow in less than an hour.

A woman had sat in another hairdresser's chair. Miko pointed out how much she looked like Mrs. C from Happy Days. She did. A younger hairdresser, I'm sure fresh out of cosmetology school was next to us. Miko pointed out to her how much the lady looked like Mrs. C. She looked confused, so Miko explained Mrs. Cunningham from Happy Days. The infant hairdresser asked what Happy Days was. Miko and I both dropped our jaws, not because she didn't know Happy Days, but because we knew what that meant for us. We were "older". I thought of Lindsey Wagner. What if I told her that I wasn't afraid of letting my hair grow because Lindsey Wagner only recently cut her hair. I can hear that conversation. Who is Lindsey Wagner? You know, from the Bionic Woman? What's the Bionic Woman? OK, never mind the Bionic Woman. You know, Lindsey Wagner from the Sleep Number bed? Oh, that Lindsey Wagner.

Miko had turned me around and given me the mirror so I could see the back. My hair was smooth and shiny and bouncy. It was twenty years younger than I am. I wanted to skip out of the place and let it bounce up and down on my way out. Then I remembered Chucky Cheese. I was standing in line with Nathan and Jayden, waiting my turn to order pizza. There was a little girl about four years old in line in front of us. She was a beautiful little blond holding the hand of what I was sure was her beautiful, blond mother. All I could see was her back, but her hair was long and stylish, her clothes were perfect and stylish, and she wore high heels. It was the butt. The butt gave her away. It was flat and hanging. I knew when I saw that butt that the beautiful blond mother was the grandmother. Once I saw her face, my suspicions were confirmed. That memory made me self conscious of my shiny, bouncy hair. Does it match my butt? Should it match my butt? It probably should, but my body has expanded outward and my face has expanded downward. Other than the color resistant grey, my hair is the only thing I have left that doesn't scream forty-eight.

Lambs Led to Slaughter

We were like lambs led to slaughter. We did what the experts told us to do and invested our money in 401ks, IRAs, and real estate. Meanwhile, the financial gurus were in the back room, smoking cigars and rolling the dice with our money, making billions and laughing all the way to their Swiss banks. They should be held accountable, but that isn't likely. We are asking our government officials to hold them accountable. If you were able to move the rug, you would find the officials that we want to hold them accountable are as almost as culpable as the financial wizards themselves. The damage is done and can't be undone. We can only move forward from here. The frustration is that we are doing it again. We may be baaing loudly, but we are still letting our shepherds tell us which direction to go. Meanwhile, they are throwing our children's and grand children's money at the wizards to keep them afloat in an attempt to either keep our economy from total collapse or to mask the arsenic as oats. Why? Because we are a world economy and the implications of economics and how the behemoths relate to our daily survival is far too complicated for us laymen to understand? Even though we instinctively know that our shepherds are leading our descendants to slaughter, we HAVE to let them do it because we are too ignorant to know what to do? The AIGs are history. Let the other behemoths pick up the rubble of the bankrupt companies or let them die their natural and deserved death. Take the same Band aide money and put it towards infrastructure which has long term benefits and creates JOBS. Put it towards research and development of green resources that have a long term effect of saving our planet and creating JOBS. Mom and Dad lost their retirement. It's gone. Little Joe can't help Mom and Dad or himself because he can't find a JOB. Little Joe isn't going to buy a new car, new furniture, new clothes, new house, go to a restaurant, or save and invest because he can't find a JOB. Simplistic? Maybe, but sure makes a lot more sense than throwing billions down the dark hole of failing financial markets.

Looking For Daisies

I am fortunate to have far more than my fair share of people that I love. It would be nice if all that meant was I always have someone to skip through the daisies with. It isn't. It also means I ride some storms with people I love. I have been deluged with that side of it recently. Lot's of "drama". I say that wishing for a better word. Drama would allude to an over reaction to a situation. I don't know if there is an over reaction. Some of the recent situations seem critical and sometimes potentially life or death. Every one of them has a foundation in a series of decisions with poor judgment. One person's poor decisions has latent affects, rippling through an entire family and damaging innocent people. If you get enough of those going around all at once, all of those ripples stack up into one giant tidal wave. You're happily basking on the beach and wham! I think I'll head for higher ground and find someone who would like to skip through the daisies with me.

Anti-Social?

An agent in my office asked me why I never attend the after-hour events. I told him I wasn't very social and I'm overwhelmed. He said I should go for a break. I didn't want to explain myself so I told him he was probably right. I left him thinking that I'm anti-social and reclusive. Not social and overwhelmed were just a summary and anti-social and reclusive are far from the truth. Reclusive is a fantasy for me. It's very rare that I am alone. I have five kids, one granddaughter, three stepdaughters, three grandchildren from there, four brothers and sisters, six brother and sister-in-laws, a mom and dad, a mother-in-law, and I have no idea how many aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews, and all of the husbands and wives and boyfriends and girlfriends that come from those relationships. I have Caucasian, Asian, Hispanic, and Indian, gay and straight. I have lawyers, nurses, firemen, a VP in a major oil company, beauticians, bartenders, and college students. I have an Olympic gold medalist and I have a heroin addict. I have alcoholics, gamblers, religious zealots, and tea-totallers. I have people that have lived all over the world and others that have travelled the world. My life is full of interesting and inspiring people who keep me busy. My daughter-in-law is in town until Thurs., my sister and two nephews are coming on Wed., my husband is coming on Fri., my sister-in-law and nephew are coming on Sat., my mom and dad are coming on Sat., my nephew's wife and their son are coming next Fri., and my son is coming the following week. I have a birthday party this weekend for my mother and a birthday party next weekend for my brother-in-law's partner. That is just the rest of March. April brings a new list and May is booked solid. I have a full social calendar with just my and my husband's DNA. I just don't know where to fit any more.

F Bomb

Have you ever bleeping heard those bleeping bleeps that drop the bleeping bleep bomb every other bleeping word? I can't bleeping get past all the bleeping bleeps to figure out what the bleep the bleeping bleeps are trying to bleeping say.

I'm Fresh Out Of Body Parts

My arm was ripped off today. Or was it part of my heart? No, no, that's not it. Ryan left today. That's what it was. When they leave, it feels like a part of me just left. It was supposed to be easier because I was broken in with William. I guess it was a little. But this wasn't William. It was Ryan. Different body part. Not less or more important, just different. Once one part has been ripped off, and you learn how to function without it there, the next one still hurts, but you know that you're going to adjust. Still makes for an emotional day. There was another mom at the recruiters office delivering her son. I was walking toward the door and she reached out to hug me. We just hugged and cried. We never said a word to each other, but she knew me better than anyone at that moment. It was a nice morning. Sona and I made eggs, sausage, hash browns, country gravy, and orange rolls. We had stawberries and bananas, and Bonnie brought her juicer and made juice with oranges, apples, and carrots. Everyone was here on time and breakfast was ready and not burnt. Bill came and Nick was there, and Lissy and Lisa, and Nathan and Jayden, and Ryan. We ate breakfast, then sat around talking and laughing. Jerry called Ryan to say bye, then pointed out to me that Ryan will be back before Jerry will. Good point. Bonnie and Bill had to leave. The rest of us piled into cars and headed to the recruiters office. One of Ryan's friends showed up with his wife and son. Another came with his girlfriend. And of course Sheree. Then Joan, Dana, Dennis, Gabe, and Vinny came in. He had a lot of support there to see him off. I felt so much appreciation. I had a rough time because my Mom didn't call him and Jerry's family showed up to see him off. Judi called and texted her love to him. I'm not sure if it was so much feeling hurt about it, or just my emotions running away making it seem bigger. I take my Mom for who she is, but when it comes to my kids, it gets a little harder to do. Ryan probably didn't notice or even think about her calling. He doesn't even really know her. Ryan was really excited to go but you could see body parts being ripped from him when he had to say goodbye to Sheree and Jayden. Jayden said, "Daddy's crying and he said he wouldn't cry at the Marines."Four years seems like a long time, but it flies and we'll see him often. We've seen William five times already just since he left in June. As for the rest of my family, Jerry will be home in June and William will be home soon. Until then, I have no parts to spare.

It's Just PMS

I had signs that my monthly visitor was here on time, but it was a quick hello and goodbye. That was two weeks ago. I didn't know if she was coming back again or if that was it. Well, she's back and I say THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU! I have no worries of pregnancy. It's the insane prelude to my visitor that's the problem. How is it after this many years, that I don't know it's PMS?? I can still believe that life sucks, everyone is sooooooo stupid, and HATE the world, cry at the drop of a hat, and think it's REAL! I need to quit my job, sell the house, get rid of the cars, not talk to anyone ever again. If all that would go away, maybe I would feel better, but right now life sucks, I hate it, and I want it all to go away. Jerry and I had a minor aha moment last night thinking that maybe it's PMS. I hoped, hoped hoped. I think maybe PMS causes the weirdness that doesn't let me believe it's really PMS. I believe that I hate life. I told him this morning that I feel like I'm having a melt down and don't know how much more I can take. Then she showed up. Kind of laughing at me. Surprise! Sorry I'm late. No, you're not losing your mind, Sandy. It's just me. And just like that, I'm normal again. Just like that. I'm crazy, she shows up, and I'm normal again. How do I not know?????

I Add Value

I am a real estate agent. It's been seven years this month since I got my license. It's taken me this long to see the value in the service I have to offer. I think it's taken this long to earn the value.I can't remember why I decided to get a real estate license. I remember clearly when I decided to make the jump, and why I decided then, I just don't remember why real estate. I know that one of my favorite past times was going through open houses and model homes, but I have a hard time believing that I would have been ignorant enough to think that would be a good reason to get a license. Statistics say that only ten percent of new licensees will still be in real estate after five years. Statistics are famous for saying whatever you want them to say, but I would guess that's probably true. I remember being so excited in my first training class after getting my license. There were about twenty of us new licensees in the class and our new broker gave us the staggering statistics, after five years there will only be two of you left in real estate. I was shocked! I looked around the room trying to figure out who the other one would be. We actually beat those odds. After five years, there were still three of us left working full time in real estate. The market has taken a huge blow over the past couple of years, and now I'm the last one standing. I'm also busier than I've ever been. When I had been in the business for three years, there were so many new agents that three years was considered a long time. Now I've been in for seven and I'm a baby in the industry. So many agents have left that most of what's left are people that were selling caves. I like it! They handle themselves professionally. We were sorely lacking professionalism for awhile. I read somewhere during the boom years that one in seven people had a real estate license. That seems high, but it was true that everyone had a brother/cousin/uncle selling real estate. There is a lure of part-time, easy money. What I see is people starting out with a white picket fence fantasy about finding the perfect house for their client, their clients buy it and live happily ever after, and they skip merrily to the bank with their huge commission check. If it were that easy, there would be no need for real estate agents in the first place. The reality is that you go into homes that take your breath away from the stench of cat urine, or you find plenty of homeowner notes telling you about the friendly puppy in the back yard, but not one of them mention the semi-comotose, naked man on oxygen that is upstairs. The couple that was going to live happily ever after calls you a couple of years later because they are getting a divorce. Escrows fail at the last moment, after you have already spent the commission check that you are not going to get. When they don't fail, it's because you were up at 10:00 the night before and at it at 6:00 this morning, after a sleepless night worrying, scrambling to put back together what is falling apart. When you do get your commission check, and your broker has gotten his share, and you've paid your board fees and MLS dues, your desk fees, your copy fees, your E&O insurance, your continuing ed, your post licensing, your marketing and advertising, your signs and lockboxes, etc., you realize you worked for about $5 per hour. Then you give Uncle Sam his share of that. I understood going in that it was going to be hard work and take time. It's after years of experience that you can foresee problems and get in front of them before they happen. You learn that the offer with the most money isn't always the best offer if the buyer is skittish and may not make it to the closing table. You learn how to read buyers and sellers and the agents on the other side. You pick up small inferences of potential issues and are able to ask the right questions. You know what problems you will encounter with a house if the buyer has FHA or VA financing. You know what red flags to look for with lenders to make sure they aren't giving preapproval letters to buyers that can't get funded. You know how to interview your buyers so you don't have to show them 50 houses before they find the right one. You know how to interview your sellers and price their homes right so you aren't fielding phone calls on why their house isn't selling and spending marketing money on an unsaleable listing. You eliminate all the fluff of your marketing efforts and have laser focus with your time and money on what actually produces the results. It's there that you provide value to a client. You are able to create what looks like a seemless transaction because you eliminated most of the problems before they happened and the ones that can't be eliminated, you knew how to address effectively and professionally. Some agents think their clients are looking for a best friend to hold their hand and protect them like a mother bear. They aren't. They are looking for a professional to use their experience, resources, and expertise to help them navigate the purchase or sale of real estate. I like showing up to work everyday, being that person, knowing that what I know makes a difference in the end result, that I am adding value to the transaction.The industry has had huge changes just since I started. I started in a strong market that moved into a booming market, to a slow market, to a declining market. I have seen the financing go from traditional FHA, VA, Conventional, to designer loans that the only thing needed was a pulse, back to the financing like when I started. I have seen the internet go from a small presence to the primary tool in marketing, researching, tracking, and communicating. When I started, pricing a home was strategic. During the boom years, it was more like comp it, double it, and throw it on the MLS. Now it's the lowest price wins. It's an ever evolving industry and I'm looking forward to learning and experiencing the next evolution, and applying that experience to create even more value to my clients.

Lissy Has A Plan

Lissy plans. She's not a rigid, list checker, schedule Nazi kind of planner. She's more of an I want it, God tell me what I need to do to get it kind of planner. Next thing you know, she has it. She comes up with ideas during her planning stages. Some of them are really out there. One of my favorites was she was going to become a photographer to make extra money. She would have her Mom design a website to promote her photography. She understood that she can't take good pictures, but she wasn't going to let that stop her. She would have someone else take the pictures to load onto her website. I think her scheming and plotting is how she gets what she wants. While she's over here having fun with her next great idea, God is over there putting everything in the works to deliver what she wants on a platter. We all watch Lissy in amazement. Her first car had to be a Toyota Camry. She wanted it, she got it. She never wanted to rent. She would live at home until she could afford to buy. She had barely turned 20 when she bought her house. She wanted a dog. She couldn't decide if she wanted a Yorkie or a Maltese. She found a Yorkie/Maltese mix. Any one of us could go on and on about how life works out for Lissy. Grandma has a note to herself when she needs inspiration. It says, 'what would Lissy do?' Lissy's words are, 'somehow when I need it I pull it out of my butt.' Matt and Lissy are putting their plan in place so they can have a baby and Lissy can stay home for the first year. I'm looking forward to hearing all of her great ideas to get there. Meanwhile, I'll be needing a new play pen.

Celebrities and Their Obessessed

Tom jumped on Oprah's couch because he was so happy about being the first half of TomKat. Tom is a Scientologist. He forced Katie into the religion. Madonna and Guy are divorcing because Madonna had an affair with some athlete. Jennifer and Angelina are still competing for Brad's affection, but Jennifer does have John. They are talking about breaking up, or getting married. I forget which. Ashton Kutcher went raving mad and threw soda cans at the construction workers next door. I can see that. They piss him off, he says ok you loud, obnoxious construction workers, he runs into the house, to the fridge, grabs the soda cans, runs back out, and hurls them at the unsuspecting, defensless construction workers. That's what any angry, out of control guy would do. And did you hear what that guy from Batman did? HOW DO I KNOW THIS? STOP IT!!!I don't read the rag mags or watch the celeb gossip crap on tv, but I know this stuff. Just the fact that I know Brittany Spears husband's name and would refer to him as KFed makes me want to vomit. I have no idea what the weather is supposed to be tomorrow, but I know that Jessica Simpson has put on some weight. Given my taste in music, I shouldn't even know who Jessica Simpson is. I practically close my eyes in the grocery store check out line so I don't participate in this sociopathic obsession and invasion of privacy, but it still gets in. I don't want to know! None of us should want to know. It is wrong!You justify your behavior with excuses like they wanted to be famous and they like the attention. Given the reality tv craze, in some cases you may be right. That does not make it ok. Do you stick the needle in a junkies arm just because he wants it? YOU are the dealer! YOU are tearing down the moral fiber of our society with your perpetuation of the obsession of other peoples misfortune, even when that misfortune is made up just to get your attention! Is our morality as a whole too much for you to swallow and take responsibility for? Then how about this? They are real people. You are dehumanizing them and damaging real people. You, as an individual, are invading another human beings privacy, terrorizing their children, and forcing them into seclusion. For what? If they, with all of their fame and fortune, can fall then you feel better? The day I need anyone else's misfortune to make me feel better about myself, I pray that I fall off the planet. Just as bad are the celebrities that use their fame to promote their personal agendas, particularly influencing votes. I encourage you to always vote for who you believe the best candidate, but you are not qualified, or invited, to try to change the course of this country by influencing votes. Having financial success does not qualify you. It shows that you have PERSONAL financial success. Many of you are over paid anyway. You are over paid because you are over adored. I don't fault you for that. If someone wanted to over adore me and pay me the big bucks for that, I would have my hand out ready to rock. I don't mean it to diminish your accomplishments, either. Some of you are actually incredible at your craft. Being incredible at your craft and/or over adored does not qualify you to determine what is best for this country. As a matter of fact, it could disqualify you. You are too far removed from most of the country. Most of this country is the "common man" and it is the "common man" that drives our economy. The very people you are influencing are the ones reading about your temper fits and affairs. Think about that. Besides, I see what's happening in California. No thanks.

Narcissistic Self Expression

I believe I have something important to say. We all do, I suppose. My kids don't think I do. That's apparent because they rarely take my advise for anything. I forgive that. We all have to experience life on our own terms. I still give it out of obligation. If I think the direction they're taking is going to make life a little more difficult, I feel like I'm remiss if I don't let them know. What they do with it is up to them. I rarely say I told you so but I am guilty of not letting go that Ryan didn't go to college and Sona quit playing the violin. Back to why I'm here. I love to write. Always have. When I was a teenager, I had a big box of just stuff that I wrote and kept in my closet. If I dig through the house, I'll find a journal here and a journal there. Life gets a hold of me and I get really busy so I'm not very consistent. I prefer typing over hand writing. I can't write as fast as I think, but typing gets me closer than handwriting. Sometimes it's cathartic. If I have something digging at me and dragging me down, writing is a great way to get it out there and get to the center of it. Jerry is a huge encourager of that kind of writing but I tend to resist it. It's random and not cohesive. Something about it frustrates me. Maybe I should write about it to figure it out. I'm not writing on this blog for cathartic reasons, though. That kind of writing can't be sensored. I really like email when I'm working, especially if I'm working with an agent who is a little shy on professionalism or experience. One of my strong points is how well I can write a direct hand slapping without offending. I do it so well that they are puddy in my hands after receiving one of my correctional emails.Writing here is semi-anonymous. My possible readers are the kids, son and daughter-in-laws, kids friends and boyfriends, and a couple of nieces and nephews. Mostly people who think I'm old and would have little interest in checking my blog. There is a little bit of a theme to what I'm writing. I write to an imaginary friend that knows all of the players in my life but doesn't know much more about me. I do that because trying to explain who everyone is would dilute, be redundant, and bore me. I am the one I'm entertaining here. I keep it honest but somewhat sensored, just in case any of my readers read it. There isn't much new to them here anyway. Anyone who knows me knows most of what I'm writing. I'm not really the secretive type. Most of what goes into my head eventually comes out my mouth. I don't see a spell or grammar checker here, so I'm not concerning myself too much with that. I'm not worrying too much about punctuation or complete sentences, either. Sometimes incomplete sentences and bad punctuation convey a tone better, anyway. As a matter of fact, I'm not even putting a summary paragraph on here.

Our Pet Ghost

Ryan was still very young when we moved to Florida. My ex-husband, Bill, got a job with a moving company that required him to stay overnight in Miami or the Bahamas. His first overnight trip, Ryan asked me where his dad was. I told him he went to Miami. He thought for a minute, then asked me, "What's your ami?"

Bill was gone on one of his overnight trips and Ryan got spooked by some noise. I told him our pet ghost made the noise. I explained that our ghost was nice and hung around to take care of us, but he was noisy sometimes. Ryan asked what his name was. Unimaginative but quick on the fly, I named him after my stepdad, George.

George ended up being as much our pet as any dog or cat we ever had. He was still around when Sona, Lisa, and William were born. Since they were born into a family with a pet ghost, they never questioned it.

George was to blame for a lot of noises and misplaced items. The unexplainable was always explained by everyone as, "George did it." I said to William once, "You peed your pants." So seriously, he said, "No I didn't, George did it."

I was cleaning out the laundry room one day and had a mismatch of different stuff from kids birthday parties. I ran to the store and bought a cake and candles, came back and told the kids it was George's birthday. We had a party. George got the seat at the head of the table. We gave him invisible presents and blew out the candles for him.

George was fun. We had a bathroom that didn't have windows and was very dark when the lights were out, and we had a glow in the dark Halloween mask. Lisa ended up being my victim. I lured her to my trap, jumped out from behind the shower curtain, and she ran screaming. She wasn't scared. She was excited, yelling to the other kids, "I saw George!"

The older the kids got, the less George stayed around. By the time we moved back to Nevada, George was pretty much gone and didn't make the move with us. He showed up to visit a few times, but it's been years now since we've seen him. I was sorry to see him go. He was a great pet.

I Want to Chew on a Shoe

I've heard that dogs chew on shoes because of separation anxiety. I just left William and Angela and was ready to chew on a shoe. I almost left on Friday. I had our bags packed and loaded, goodbyes done, and Nathan and I are were in the car and ready to go. I started crying. Not just a little. I was really crying. The light went on that this isn't my normal separation anxiety. My normal is the crying I do the first day of kindergarten, or when Ryan went to baseball camp, everytime one of the kids move out - even if it's the third time they've moved out, when William left for boot camp, or everytime he has left to go back from a trip home. This time was different. I knew I wasn't ready. I sent a text to William that I can't do it. Come down to the car and we'll go to WalMart. We stayed another night and well into the next day. We left in the afternoon to go to Salem and spend the night at Suzie's. Then I had my normal separation anxiety and knew I was ready. I told them that I was going to say goodbye, run to the car, and get out of there. I couldn't afford to cry because it makes my contacts fog up. It was getting dark soon and I wouldn't be able to see to drive. Nathan and I got into the car and I could feel it coming. Shake it off, shake it off. I looked up at their apartment window and it started coming again. Ok, don't look up there. It took a few minutes and I was ready to go. We got the freeway and it started coming again. Where's a shoe? I need a shoe! Pass Fort Lewis - uh-oh. Come on Sandy. Exit 110. Their exit is 125. We're 15 exits from them. Can't cry, don't cry. Nathan, give me your shoe!

Jerry Is Bored

Jerry is getting bored. I have to admit, I thought he may never want to come home. He goes to work, gets off early in the afternoon, does his laundry on Sun. mornings, and he owns the rest of his days. Judi and Don cook dinner for him every night. Good dinners, too. He has a big bed all to himself and doesn't have to fight for the blankets. No honey do's, no kids saying play with me, Dad. There is nothing that needs fixing, no yard to landscape. Many of his Saturdays are on the boat with Don, fishing and exploring the hidden coves of Lake Mead. For awhile he was even stopping at the bar everyday and having a few beers after work. He gets to do whatever he wants without having to think about anyone else. He's getting bored. I have had those brief times when there was nobody but me to think about. There was the time when the kids were little that I wanted to go to Epcot Center by myself. Nobody to answer to. See whatever I wanted at the pace I wanted. It was boring. I wanted someone to share it with. The first couple of years after our divorce, Bill and I had joint custody. The first time they were at Bill's and I had the place to myself, it was amazing. I had to empty the garbage because it smelled bad, not because it was full. The paper towels and toilet paper lasted forever. I would put something down and it would be there when I came back. By the second time they went back to Bill's, I was bored with it. I missed them and all the responsibility that came with them. It served it's purpose and was good for the kids for awhile but, fortunately for me, Bill and I both agreed that it had run it's course and joint physical custody wasn't the best for them anymore. There have been a few nights since Jerry's been gone that Sona was staying with a friend and Nathan was staying with Grandma or one of the kids. I get so excited at having the house to myself and nobody else to be responsible for. It ends up being a let down. I'm so used to having so much going on around me, I don't know what to do with myself without it. When we feel bogged down with responsibility, we want to run from it. But there is a sense of accomplishment that comes with the responsibility. Without it, life is kind of empty. I get why he's getting bored.

Ink Spot

I have an ink spot on my life. It's an ink spot because it's indelible. It can't be removed. It's an ink spot because it had less to do with the circumstances of my life and more to do with my decisions or, more often, lack of them. It's a time that I don't think about very often because I don't feel good when I think about it. I can't reconcile the person I was during that time with the person I was before or am after. It was a whirlwind of self destructive behavior surrounded by chaos and insanity. It doesn't seem linear, just a blob tossed onto the timeline of my life. My wish, my hope, my prayer, and my work is for each of my kids to live their lives with no ink spot.

I Want Boobs

I could keep it to myself, or I could say it in a gentler way. But straight to the point and matter-of-fact - I want boobs. I should have them. They are rightfully mine. The evidence is there that it was in the plan. But somehow, someway, my boobs were callously ripped from me at conception, and locked away in the gene pool vault, only to be opened up and unfairly resdistributed to my younger sisters. My evidence? They have boobs. Big boobs. More than their fair share boobs. I have boobs like an pre-adolescent school boy. There's the evidence. I bought boobs once. Marched right on down to that plastic surgeons office and got myself a set. They weren't very big. I didn't have the breast tissue for big ones. I like that. Breast tissue. We think boobs, tits, jugs, even breasts. But breast tissue? "Hey, look at the breast tissue on that broad." Anyway, my boobs weren't big but they were beautiful. Probably not in the sense that men look at boobs. Although, I'm sure they would be fine in the man sense. I mean, really, men prefer some boobs over other boobs, but any boobs do what a man wants them to do, which is making them feel warm and tingly in special places. Mine were beautiful in how they fit into a red lacy Victoria Secret bra, or a little black dress. They're gone, though. Ruptured. Didn't see or feel it coming. Just gone. Not both at once. No, it doesn't go like that when you have spent your life boob challenged. One......at.........a........time. One was a healthy C cup and the other would leave room in a training bra. Newly divorced, no money, and a powder puff stuck in one side of my bra. After the universe was done with it's cruel trick, the other side eventually ruptured, too. I've gained weight so now I have man boobs. They are the boobs that are big enough to be boobs but shadowed in size by the gut. Yep, man boobs. You still don't need a bra for man boobs. Man boobs don't sag. Probably because they get plenty of support from that gut.

My Brudder's In A Space Ship

I listened in on a conversation between Nathan and Jayden that was a magnification of the contrast in the way they think. Nathan is more literal, Jayden is so imaginative. If you give a square block to Nathan, he is going to want to know what you are supposed to do with it, who made it, why did they make it, and most important, how did they make it. Give that same block to Jayden and it is now her best friend who is a pink puppy named Fluffy.It was early evening and both kids were in the back of the car. Jayden was pointing space ships out to Nathan and Nathan was trying to see them but could only see stars. Then Jayden got really excited pointing one space ship out to Nathan.
Jayden: "Look, there's my brudder's space ship."
Nathan: "Who's space ship?"
Jayden: "My brudder."
Nathan: "Who's your brother?"
Jayden: "My brudder. He's in that space ship?"
Nathan: "I can't see it."Jayden: "It's right there. It's my brudder's space ship." She gets somber and sadly says; "I miss my brudder."
Nathan: "What's he doing in a space ship?"
Jayden: The somber is all gone. "He likes it in space."
Nathan: "When is he coming back?"
Jayden: "He's never coming back. Look, there he is."
Nathan: "I can't see him. Why isn't he coming back?"
Jayden: "Because he likes it in space."
Nathan: "Does he live on the space ship?"
Jayden: "Yea, it's a house space ship."
Nathan: "What does he eat?"
Jayden: "He has food. He has everything he needs." She gets somber again; "I miss my brudder."
Nathan: "I want to go in a spaceship."

My Daughter-In-Law

Ryan and Sheree are going through a difficult time. They've had them before. This one is different. I'm not sure they will pull through this time. That's hard to say, hard to think. The idea makes me feel sadness and loss. Odd as it is, I also feel hopeful. In the end, I want and believe that whatever happens, they will both be happy. Meanwhile, I'm watching while their both struggling and hurting where they are. It's hard to see. I worry for Jayden. They love Jayden and would always want to do the best by her they can but they are both so young, and it's easy to get lost in the emotions and confusion of what they are going through. You don't hear people talk about this part. The rest of the family. Sheree "fit". She became part of our family. Not my sons wife or the kids sister-in-law. She became part of the family. Bumps and warts and all. We all like her family. They became an extended part of our family. When Lissy married Matt, the same thing happened. We knew his family long before and it became a natural and easy extension of our family. All of us, as parents, work toward the best for all of the kids, not just our own. All of our kids are comfortable hanging out with the in-laws and all of their kids are comfortable with us. I thought it was God watching out for me. He brings me great people to grow my family with. I was sure that it would keep going like that. Then William brought us Angela. It didn't look like her family and ours were going to meld. It wasn't going to be a joint effort for the common good. My apple cart was upset. Now this. I don't know how Ryan and Sheree's situation effects our family. I don't know how the pieces fall now. I love Sheree. I told Ryan; "you brought her to me, you wanted me to love her, I did, and you can't take that away from me now." He understood. I believe he will never put me in a position to chose between him and Sheree. It's still confusing. For her, too. She is unsure where she fits with us. Sometimes she's mad and scared and wants to pull away from us. I expected that to happen. I told her it would and that it's ok. I'm going to be here anyway. I love her, like I said, bumps and warts and all. I've had other things happen that feel, at the time, like the important pieces of my life are coming apart. It ends up being a perception from fear of the unkown. It always works out to be more like an evolution or a morphing into something different but still good. If they are not able to bring their relationship together, they and this family will experience the evolution and morphing into something different but good. Sheree will always be a part of that.

My Bones Are Talking

My bones are talking to me
I, like a lot of parents, have an uncanny ability to KNOW. There is an energy that tells my bones when something isn't right with my kids. I didn't have it so much when they were little. Probably because they were so dependent. When they were little I played on opportunities to show the all knowing, omnipresence of Mom. I had them convinced that I could tell if they were lying if they stuck out their tongue. I don't remember how I started that or convinced them it was true. They would play in the family room while I was in the kitchen and I would point out something they were doing. I couldn't see them from the kitchen, but there was a picture on the opposite wall that I could see their reflection in. I would hear them whispering, "how does she do that." I never gave up my secrets on how I knew things. Mom just knows. Side note, I told Jayden recently that Grandma knows everything. Nathan said, "yes, but you forget it all." The truth from the mouth of babes. As they got older, I did start to KNOW things. Not anything I can explain. A couple of years after my divorce, Bill and I were going through a difficult time. Our divorce was amicable and he's a good man, but we had a few less than easy times. This time, I was going to bed and I was very mad at him. I thought to myself, I wish he would move to CT and leave us alone. The next morning Lisa got up and told me she had a dream that Dad moved to CT. I had a dream about five years ago that I had a baby girl. Two nights later I had a different dream but the same theme. I had a baby girl. The next day, Ryan said he needed a Mommy Talk. A Mommy Talk is when I have some profound wisdom that I believe needs to be shared, or if the kids have some issue they need advice on. When I say Mommy Talk, their eyes roll and their body's slump. When they say Mommy Talk, I jump up and down, clap my hands, thinking oh they need me, they need me. This Mommy Talk was to tell me his girlfriend was pregnant. I said, "It's a girl." I knew at that moment what that dream was about. Ryan was sure it was a boy. We debated the gender all the way up to the day of the sonogram. Her name is Jayden. I get a feeling. Can't explain it. Just a feeling. When the feeling becomes stronger, I call the subject of my feeling and tell them, "My bones are talking to me." They never deny me the truth when I tell them my bones are talking to me. They know as well as I do that my bones don't lie. Ryan was the most recent subject of my bones. I called. I said it. The phone went silent. Then he owned up to the source of the talking bones.

Lunch With a Friend

Lunch with a friend
I'm going to lunch with a friend. Her husband passed away a couple of months ago. She's taking small steps going back into her world. She cries really easy and is more concerned with how uncomfortable that makes everyone else. So she's meeting up with her friends one at a time. I've talked to her a lot since he died, but this will be the first time I've seen her. He didn't want any service. They just had a small gathering of her, her kids, and her kids families. Then they went to dinner at his favorite Italian restaurant. They were married for more than 50 years. I have never seen anyone that adored their husband the way she adored him. I was concerned when he got sick about how well she could handle it. I don't think I saw her as strong but thinking about it now, I should have known better. I probably questioned it because she has such an innocence about her. She has had challenges in her life. Big ones. But she's never been hit head on with the dark side of life. When any part of the ugly in human nature bumps her world, she just moves away. I doubt she's ever done in a deed in her life that she hangs her head about. That should have been my clue that she was strong. It's weakness that brings us to those places that she hasn't been. She's an amazing woman. I'm really looking forward to seeing her.

Ubiquitous

Lisa said that Coach purses are ubiquitous. After she left, Sona got on the computer for the definition of ubiquitous. More to see if Lisa used her huge vocabulary in the right context. She did. As impressed as I was, again, with Lisa's free flowing, expansive vocabulary, I was equally impressed that Sona could spell ubiquitous. Once we had the defintion, I realized I had just told Jerry the same thing a couple of days before, except when I said it it came out more like "everyone owns a Coach purse." I believe that Lisa expanded the universe with that sentence. She has to be the first person in history to use Coach purses and ubiquitous in the same sentence. Ryan sent Lisa a text message; "using the word ubiquitous is not ubiquitous." He decided he was going to publish a 'Lisa to common language' translation dictionary. Lissy said she knows 8 people already that would buy a copy. Lisa is definitely not ubiquitous. She's also the only one of us that owns a Coach purse.