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.