Friday, December 31, 2010

Ya me despido... 2010

I say good bye 2010.

Ever stand at a fence at a racetrack and watch a car whizz by... here it comes here it comes here it comes.......whooooooooooooosh....there it goes there it goes...then it's gone.

That was 2010.

What the frick...?

So in good times and all things (well most things anyway) pertaining to my children I want time to sloooooooow down, way down...

actually, I want to go back in time.

Back to a time when they were small and safe and all kinds of "grate on my nerves" annoying.

But then again,  I love the people they have become, the emergence of the grown ups they will be.

Now about those bad horrible tortuous moments when we wish time would just hurry up and gather us up outta the pile of poo in which we have found ourselves to be wallowing in...

Yeah, I don't mind when time flies when I'm having that kind of too?

So I want to eat my cake and have it too.. (on a side note... I really love to say that and have people's brows furrow and a look come across their face like what the fu*k did that dumb ass just say...? Shouldn't that expression be"have my cake and eat it too"...? Well if you had your cake FIRST then you would have none left to it should be (and it is) eat your cake and have it too..., which is not possible, hence the phrase).

I was given a virtual gift this Christmas...the gift was to have a magic crystal ball to see into the future. My loveable's futures. The giver said her gift to me was for me to see the positive effect my loving would have on them.

Ohhh my goodness, that is one gift I won't be returning.

It's a flattering fit and just the right color.

I want to say thanks so much to the people that follow and read this blog.

And to those who joined my "coming out" party the other day I wish to thank you for the confirmation that I'm not only crazy, I do do do dooooo do doooo hooooo have an audience that bears witness.

I not only appreciate your readership and your comments, I thank you for not chewing me out publicly for my poor grammar, my typos, my cussing.

Which brings me to my New Year's resolutions...

forget it...

I hope you come back next year. This blog promises to have even MORE exciting awe inspiring jaw dropping earth shattering posts and valuable giveaways (psst, about those giveaways, it's a bait and switch).

Some Not All Who Wander Are Lost preview highlights of posts to come....

Finally, Daddio's clothing woes are over....

And he learns to make his own lunches (which he still bitches about)...

A peek into the Sweet Prince Buttercup's ohhhh so secretive life...

 Some big love from (and for) the loveables....

Bear Gets a New Car (and other fictional diddies)...

Observe from a front row seat the author of this blog become totally unglued/unhinged/undone as she prepares to let her darling baby girl one Googie Mc(Allmylovin)BlueBird fly the coop....

What a good mom does with her new found closet space....(pooo pooo peee dooo)

Crabs...not all their cracked up to be....

Lets meet back here in a day or two...

Gracias por todo.... (thank you for everything...!!!)

besos, besos, besos (kiss, kiss, kiss...)

Beth Koby,

One very contented author of Not All Who Wander Are Lost (the blog you are reading)...

Over and out.

See you on the flip side.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

To blog or not to blog...that is the question.

Hoooo-kay, so I feel a little dumb that I am forever talking to myself via this blog.

I often wonder is it really the epitome of narcissism to have a public blog?

A place where you do all the talking...and you're not sure if anyone else but YOU is listening...?

A spot where you spill details of your oooooh so boring life and hope others feel sorry for you, laugh at you, shake their heads and thank their lucky stars that they're not as weird as you...?

Hmmmm, now that's deep.

And now my head hurts.

No really, I do wonder who reads this thing...?

I know my mom does (and in case you stop by and read the posts and happen to happen upon the comment will surely see some comments from her, my greatest fan.)

I know my sister Susan doesn't ...AND THAT'S OKAY....YEAH IT'S FINE, REALLY. WHATEVER....(you bimbo).

I want you to know that while I appreciate the idea of YOU... I have no real proof that you exist in any other place but my head, inside my imagination....?

Somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight....(wow, now that is a beautiful sentiment, maybe someone should *cap on that and write a song)...

So somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight are my blog readers...maybe.

I could probably justify writing this blog just for me...but then I would probably be forced to ask myself why not just get a diary where you could use vulgar language up the ship-shoot (or is it Shit-shoot?) and not bother to care that you may offend a reader, a reader who could be a Catholic Nun, or a Kindergarten teacher.

A place where your improper grammer and your msipellt words wouldn't matter none at tall ~

A person could use her diary to write all kinds of secretive things and then one day long after rigor mortis has set in and the house has been thoroughly scoured for valuables (ummm, don't bother) the kids would come across the tattered time worn book, they'd peel back the aged pages and open it longing for some grand adventure (ever see Bridges of Madison County...?)  to unfold itself... (again, don't bother I'm a true blue kinda girl).

I guess I already am an open book...

So why write a blog..?

I don't know...why are you asking me?...I wasn't asking you! I was asking my blogging audience...How do you know you have a blogging audience?...I don't, but I can't admit that I'm just talking to myself I would appear insane. You are insane. No I'm not. Yes you are.

The truth of the matter is that I use this blog instead of using Daddio...he's threatened on more than one occasion to knock my teeth down my throat if I say one more sappy word or spew one more flowery sentence in his general direction...If I try to look deep into his eyes and tell him how he rocks my world he beats me off (not literally so get your freakin filthy mind out of the gutter) him. And calls me Mrs.Roper.

Please leave me a comment.

I'm begging you.

Somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight sum-one is going to cahhhh-ment and
make my life such fun.

Psssst..Susan, you can comment anonymously (wink).

*cap on that (Urban dictionary definition #20 meaning to capture...the preceding 19 definitions are defining things to do with either weed or penises...if you go there, don't say I didn't warn ya).

Monday, December 27, 2010

The more things change the more they stay the same...

This holiday season goes on record as being the weirdest one ever.

We didn't see anyone except our little family of five, plus the sidekicks.

It started with Thanksgiving...when we made a change of plans, which fell through.

But that didn't change things back to "normal".

Being a true re bounder (not).... it was oooooo-kay.

A few weeks later I went perfect tree shopping all by my lonesome...(it was lonesome).

You know how people can accidentally get a larger tree because in the great outdoors (Lowes garden center) they look much smaller than they will when in your house?

I tried not to do that.

I carefully considered watching Daddio (Scrooge McGrinch) wrestle a huge tree into our tiny stand (ohhh, the thought of all that cussing and throwing of sharp tools had me being very careful)

I worried that with a big tree he would have to drill holes in the wall to attach wires to help hold it up (that kind of crap really leads to the bad words being flung about).

I was positive a big one would drop buckets full of needles that would hide deep in the carpet only to resurface and stick themselves into the softest part of Daddio's big toe sometime in July.

I took all those things into consideration when choosing the perfect sized Christmas tree.

You can only imagine the ribbing I've taken over the tree I picked, which Googie (4'11") can touch the top tip of, standing flat footed.

So the tree looks like a short, fat pear.

On the plus side, it should only take about 2 minutes to put away all 6 of the ornaments adorning it.

So the tree doesn't really live up to any one's expectations of a perfect one.

Any one's but Daddio's.

He's taken this as a sign that were moving in the direction of next year having a fake tabletop one.

So a different than normal Thanksgiving and a smaller than average Christmas tree started it all....

We didn't see my Dad and his sweetheart on the 23rd.

We didn't see Daddio's mom on Christmas eve.

And we didn't party like it's 1999 with the rest of the gang yesterday.

As a family we've suffered some this holiday season.

We've suffered attacks of the heart and gallbladder.

We've suffered with complicated family dynamics.

Thank God though we are a strong bunch.

And have managed to do just fine amidst the many changes.

Things change and it really is okay.

Everything was different with our holiday this year.

Everything, except my Christmas cards.

As usual, I forgot to send them.

Better late than never...right?

Merry is your card.

Friday, December 24, 2010

Pay it forward...

So this was to be my Merry Christmas post....posted on Christmas Eve.

And technically it is.

I may or may not have told you that Daddio is a complete and total Grinch with a side note of Scrooge at this time of year.

He is miserable and sad.

I joke with him that it really is no wonder that he has a wild hair up his tush...what with all the budgeting, shopping, wrapping, baking, cooking, etc that he has to do anyone would be a bit "crabby".

Anyone that knows Daddio and I knows that Daddio does none of these things...he just complains like he does.

Yesterday I put a lump of coal into his lunch wasn't a real lump of coal, it was an illustration (drawn by one Koby Van Gogh) done on a yellow sticky note and stuck to the baggie that held his gourmet (bologna w heavy mustard) sandwich.

He called me later to tell me "thanks for the coal"

"Did you laugh...?" I asked him.

He laughed and said "yeah, you are an idiot".

And that is really why I put it in there in the first place.

You gotta have some humor in your life.


Also some love,

with a dash of hope.

and a sprinkling of faith.

So this morning when contemplating what I would write about this day before Christmas I did a little blog hopping for inspiration.

And where the heck should I stumble...but to a blog whose author was sending a message of hope, faith, love.

She titled it Hold On...

And then wrote about how we all face adversity.

Some wear it on the outside, others not so much.

Their pain is beneath the surface.

They've lost hope.

Have no faith.

Feel no love.

Perhaps suffered a loss.. a loss of a person, a relationship, a job, a home...?

Lost a church.

Lost their way...

Hold on....

the road is twisted and bumpy,

and sometimes it's dark and lonely.

Hold on.....

If you have love, faith, hope...please pay it forward.

If you feel like you don't, and your life isn't what you want it to be or what you thought it would be... hold on.

Our Savior has made promises...

Hold on.

Please hold on....


Wednesday, December 22, 2010

An unintentional brain probe...

The life of a hypochondriac is anything but easy.

Time is wasted worrying about things.

Imagining things.

Making things up.

In the middle of the night I feel bugs crawling in my ears.

Or maybe it's some kind Cerebrospinal fluid that could be leaking from a tiny hole that may be present.

When I wake up and feel this sensation I have no choice but to stagger to the bathroom and grab a toothpick..ummm, I mean, Q-tip.

The Q-tip will either stop the bug that bugs me or it will gather evidence of a Cerebrospinal fluid leak that will once and for all prove to Daddio that I'm not full of shit.

The other night I felt bugs...(or brain juice leaking)

In the dark, I opened the drawer holding the toothpicks, I mean Q-tips, and grabbed a palm full.

Not trying to brag or anything but my multitasker mentality had me peeing and poking at the same time.

In went the cotton plunger, twist, relief.



In goes the cotton plunger.............................


I screamed in the dark when the Q-tip... I mean toothpick went waaaaaaaaaaaaay tooooooooooo far into my ear canal.

Seriously....I POKED a HOLE in my BRAIN...


How in the hell does Kroger sell cotton swabs minus the cotton...?

Probably with this little diddy...with Quality Paper Sticks...

I got poked in the brain by a Quality paper stick... as opposed to what?

A cheap ass paper stick...?

Maybe a cheap paper stick would have collapsed under the pressure and not poked me so hard?

I had planned on writing Kroger a love note complaining about the dangerous toothpicks that they masquerade as Q-tips sitting innocently on their store shelves.

I hoped for some kind of compensation.

And an offer to pay for any medical expenses incurred in patching the hole in my brain.

While examining the package for contact info I came across this message...

Those crafty bastards.

A common sense warning I failed to heed.

If you're not supposed to enter the canal with them why are they 3 inches long...?

Monday, December 20, 2010

Desperate times call for desperate measures (and re-measure)....

Googie weighs about 90 pounds and stands 4'11".

Which means finding clothes that fit, outside of the toddler section, usually proves to be a definite wild goose chase.

So when she found some in the "big girl" section of a local mall...she was beyond thrilled.

They couldn't be totally perfect...(because that is just the way the mop flops when it comes to Goog and clothes shopping)

But things were certainly looking up when the waist checked out, and the rear was just about the right amount of snug.

Googie was in new pants glory.

Times THREE...

Three new pairs of pants to wear to work.

Friends, you have no idea what a monumental thing this is...

Googie now has pants that fit.

Well... they almost fit.

Googie was so high on the excitement of finally finding some grown up pants that fit that she didn't even complain that they were each about a foot too long.

Since 8 inch stiletto eff-me pump shoes are really not an intelligent "fashion do" during a Michigan winter..(not that Googie has any of those far she hasn't been able to find any in size 3, other than in the Barbie dress up section at Target )... 

that meant... we needed to locate a good seamstress.

A seamstress who could work some hemming magic and transform Googie's new pants into wearable.

We called around and got basically nowhere.

The prices quoted were outrageous and the wait time even worse.

Googie was getting discouraged.

Then we called Aunt Sue ( sister, the one who doesn't read this blog) to see if her short self had any ideas.

She suggested the Jeans Store near the mall.

The Jeans Store, although a fixture for over 40 years was somewhat of a mystery to this shopaholic.

I'd never set foot in the place.

But you know, we were desperate.

I called and the man answering the phone said they did alterations...on the spot.

Red flag.

(remember I said that....)

Red flag(s) a plenty.

(remember I said that too...)

I thought I was in the Hip Hop underworld when I stepped into the door of the Jeans Store.

The Hip Hop Underworld of Knock Off Goods and Services.

When I asked for clarification that the alterations were done on site, the young man at the front nodded toward the back of the store.

I turned expecting to see someone with a measuring tape around their neck, bi-focal glasses perched on the end of their nose, a box of straight pins held in their waiting hand...


in the rear corner of the stinky little store sat a lone sewing machine,

 and behind the sewing machine squatting on a tiny stool was the meanest looking little old person I've ever seen.

She was hunched over the machine, working,

and so covered by an over sized, tattered, poop colored down (puffy marshmallow) coat that all you could see was her top half.

Her looooog black-gray hair was disheveled, to put it kindly.

She had a black patch over her one good eye and a burning cigar butt dangling from the side of her chapped lip.

One chipped, brown tooth poked out and rested opposite.

(Okay, I'm embellishing a bit here, but remember, it is my blog ).

At that defining moment I should have judged this book by its cover.

(Seriously...Mom that advice is crap.)

When she growled at me when I attempted to ask her a question I figured that English was probably not a second language.

Red Flag.

(remember I keep saying that..okay)

 Googie came out of the makeshift fitting room wearing her too long pants.

The young man that was working behind the register came over and placed a pin..(very, very half-assed I might add) near the area of the pants he'd hitched up..marking the place where the pants would rest on Googie's shoe when the alterations were a done deal.

(Now that was a real big RED FLAG)

The young man said Googie could pick up the pants a couple of hours later.

The alterations would cost ten bucks per pair.

Later she called to let me know that she'd picked them up and that the hems looked a bit sloppy.

(Well, really what the hell do Googie and I know about hems...? If we knew anything we could have sewed them ourselves in the first place).

The next morning I was out shopping when Googie called me to tell me all about her pants.

She'd just put them on.

You thought I was going to say that something was wrong...right?


When she later modeled them for me I did what any supportive mother would do...

I collapsed on the floor in hysterics.

Normally this would send me into "frothing at the mouth" angry...however, I just peed my pants.

And howled so damn loud I scared the dog.

I'm thinking about asking Aunt Sue to take Googie and her too short pants back to the Jeans Store.

She can tangle with the cigar smokin seamstress.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

To each his own....

This post is a themed writing project challenge taken from Jenny Matlock over at off on my tangent.

Jenny says we can use UP to 100 words to tell our story. It can be fact or fiction. Jenny posts a few words, a prompt that we work from. This weeks prompt is in bold italics.

Meredith squirmed in the uncomfortable plastic chair trying hard to fit her voluminous can in the child sized seat.

Almost in unison her Fantasies Anonymous group scooted their chairs inward toward the center.

New faces always peaked special interest.

Not that the old faces weren’t of the fascinating variety.

Gumby, Bozo, Yogi and Felix sat captivated.

And Betty Boop tried hard not to giggle.

SpongeBob’s foot picked at a lifting tile on the floor as he spoke.

As he spilled details of his affection Meredith began feeling even more out of the loop, especially when Kermit leaned over and whispered "What was he thinking? OMG! Elves are soooo 2009..."

Friday, December 17, 2010

The life and times of a very patient wife.....

So yesterday I got myself a little chuckle.

(actually, it was more like a big cackle...)

I bought Daddio a new winter jacket a couple of days ago

I bought a size smaller than I usually buy because he has been complaining that all of his clothes hang on him like they belong to his much fatter older brother.

Daddio doesn't have any brothers.

Moving on...

this jacket is the second, noooo third one I've bought this season.

I took the others back after they didn't cut the mustard,

for a myriad of reasons...

One coat had a collar that had "fuzz" on it

the other, was puffy, puffy like a marshmallow

the puffy one, in all its horrific puffiness provoked one question from His Royal Highness The King of Fussy..."who wears a jacket in that color...?"

Moving on....

So the third jacket I bought was pretty close to perfect in every single way.

No fuzzy collar.

Svelte, like a diet marshmallow.

And blackish know, a regular color.

A color a regular guy would wear.

Day one Daddio wears a big smile on his face along with his new coat.

The next morning, when he plucked his jacket off the wall hook he said "this jacket is a dust magnet, look how dirty it looks after wearing it only once".

(Looked fine to me)

Moving on...

The morning after that Daddio fetched his jacket from the closet in the hall.

He slipped it on over his shoulders.

Something wasn't right.

Not right at all...

"Seeeeeeeeeeeee" he said pulling at the sides of his new jacket "two damn wearings and the thing is already ALLLLLLL stretched out...".

Upon a close up, super-duper inspection by one Detective Beth Koby it is discovered that Daddio does indeed have a little jacket problem...

"That is your old jacket" she revealed.

Daddio breathed a sigh of relief that his jacket hadn't let him down after all.

And then he asked me...

"Do you see dust when you look at this jacket...?"

"Ohhhh yeah" I said " very, very're starting to look a lot like Pig Pen from Charlie Brown".

(Sometimes he brings out the mean girl in me...tee-hee)

PS...some of my devoted followers may suggest to me that I allow Daddio to do his own (damn fussy ass) shopping...well then, if I did, I'd have no fodder for this blog...just sayin.

 Have yourself a merry little Friday.


Wednesday, December 15, 2010

A face a mother could love....

We got ourselves a new loveable.

I walked over to meet the person hunkered down under the big thick gray hoodie.

Only a pair of hands, texting on a cell phone could be seen.

When I was standing in front of the lump of person I introduced myself and waited for a response.

The lump continued texting and grunted something inaudible.

"Ummm excuse me" I said "you need to look up when you are spoken to".

He tossed his head back and pulled his hood off.

I almost peed my pants.

The kid looks so much like The Sweet Prince Buttercup it took my breath away.

Same blue eyes, same big white teeth.

Same high cheekbones and puffy lips.

Holy shit...I was smitten.

By this boy who could be my boy.

My big grown up man in front of me a boy again...

Okay, so I knew, just knew that this would spell trouble.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am head over heels in love with my perfect children.

They can do no wrong most of the time.

That I am nothing more than putty in their hands.

Well by the looks of things it appears this kid will be getting away with murder.

So as this first day continued this familiar looking loveable proved quite uncooperative.

He liked to take his phone out and text.

And tell us, when reprimanded, that he was checking the time.

Cell phones are not to be used during school.

Well, my fuse was short yesterday.

And like I said before my children can do no wrong (MOST OF THE TIME)....

When the text happy loveable continued to disobey and disrespect, and look just like my kid when he did it...

I had no choice but to treat him like my own.

"I'm telling you one more time to put that phone away" I said "if you don't...the next time I see it I'm going to twist your ear or slap you in the back of your head...DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

What's that expression...Familiarity breeds contempt?

Disclaimer: While I did beat the holy hell outta my own kids...(wink), I would never in a million years touch a loveable (and leave a mark).

Monday, December 13, 2010

Crazy shi* the kid's Dad(dio) says.....

The enormity of Christmas, actually it's probably more the commercial enormity of Christmas and my reaction to it that sends Daddio into a (not so) jolly rant.

"I hate Christmas" he loves to say.

"Why exactly do you hate Christmas?" I like to ask.

"I guess it must be really hard to watch me bake, cook, clean, budget, shop, wrap, mail, transport, return and all the million other things that this wonderful holiday has me"

"Yes, it must really suck to be you at this time of year".

(He only has one person to shop for and that person is me...and he doesn't know that I know this...but he bribes his darling daughter into doing the dirty work for him ;-)

So with Daddio wallowing in his own personal brand of holiday spirit, coupled with the weather which is ferociously cold and wintry it just seemed fitting that a potential (financial and other wise pain in the ass) crisis would be in the cards.

The clock read 10pm when Bear called to tell us that The White Dragon (his old car) was down for the count.

It sat, refusing to start in the Divine Miss M's driveway.

Bear secured a ride home (smooches Trouble & Goog) and all the while Daddio tossed and turned, fretted and worried about how he was going to help Bear out of this pickle.

Hooptie cars are Daddio's Achilles heel.

They're the chink in his armor.

I fully expected him to hit me with his usual battle cry.

"Why did we ever have kids....?

Which is always my cue to remind him of all the wonderful things having children has brought to our lives.

The list, a big verbal Valium, usually sooths his freak out right down.

This time though he tricked me.

And went in another direction.

He went for his other words of wisdom... the ones he uses when he figures a huge financial issue is lurking just around the bend...

"You shoulda married a rich guy"

Ho ho ho....

So I ask it appropriate to add hooptie cars to one's nightly prayers...?

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Twist it (shake your tail feather).....

This post is a themed writing project challenge taken from Jenny Matlock over at off on my tangent.

Jenny says we can use UP to 100 words to tell our story. It can be fact or fiction. Jenny posts a few words, a prompt that we work from. This weeks prompt is in bold italics.

An involuntary gasp of shock escaped my lips when I opened the shoebox and saw the pointy-toed shoes, then tears slipped down my cheeks.

The new shoes were a gift from my girls, and not in any way unlike, other than size, the pair I wish I’d been given 50 years earlier.

At that time the needs of a small, poor girl went seemingly unnoticed, except maybe by God.

I don't know if there were others who knew too that I had no proper shoes to wear to a wedding…?

But my daughters knew the story and wanted to end it differently.

So 50 years later,

at this anniversary party I would dance.

Wearing my new shoes.

Not part of the Saturday Centus...but just in case a little girl who once had no shoes (yet still managed to dance) happens to happen by...this is for her.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

An eye opener....

On a Mom's website I visit we are currently discussing "losing" one's self to motherhood and wife dome.

A strange thing occurred to me as I read what the other women responded.

I didn't lose myself when I became a wife and mother.

That's probably when I found myself.

It was an eye opener that's for sure.

Mostly because I have been known to be uber critical of those women around me who are wives and mothers and who seem to be not as devoted to that as they are to themselves...

So for me it was easy to be a wife and a mother.

I didn't feel like I was missing myself or anything else.

When my "mothering" was not so needed at home anymore..I did what any self respecting woman who is addicted to "mothering" would do... I picked up a bunch more kids.

Even my Patron Saint (chosen at age 14 when I was Confirmed) screams "you were meant for this job"...

St. Martha (Marta)...the Patron Saint of Homemakers...


I guess I owe some apologies...

You weren't lame and lazy after all...

I was just in my comfort zone and that is why I felt so good, so comfortable.

And that is why I never really truly resented all the work.

Safe and happy in my own little zone, it was easy to criticize from up on my high horse.

So if I ever told you to "buck up" or anything similar to that...forgive me please.

xoxoxoxoxoxox and all that jazz.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

The third time's the charm....

Proverb.... The third time you try to do something, it will work.
A long time ago my mom and dad married each other and while I'm so happy they did (DUH) they really were never very well suited for each other.
In time they went their separate ways.
And both met (and married) new partners relatively soon after their split.
The gentleman my mom married was a really great guy...just not for her.
And my dad's new pick....gosh, I hate to say it, but the phrase "evil step-mom" or the name "Virginia Woolf" comes to mind when I think of her.
In time they too went their separate ways.
And then again both met new partners.
My mom has a wonderful husband of over 20 years. He is kind and generous and puts her above all others.
My dad has a wonderful woman of over 20 years. She is kind and generous and puts him above all others.
The third time is the charm.
And it has been heavenly for my sister and I.
We don't have to worry about either of them.
They've both have found "true love" and happiness.
And really... what more can a person ask for...?
My dad's other half suffered a heart attack on Sunday. She is currently in the hospital and fighting really hard to come home.
I don't know "who" your God is...but I ask you to kindly say a few words on my step-mother's behalf.
Could you ask him please to hold off on taking this one...she is very needed.
And loved,
by all of us...
especially my dad.

Saturday, December 4, 2010

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

This post is a themed writing project challenge taken from Jenny Matlock over at off on my tangent.

Jenny says we can use UP to 100 words to tell our story. It can be fact or fiction. Jenny posts a few words, a prompt that we work from. This weeks prompt is in bold italics.

The bin of tangled up holiday lights always signals the beginning.

Soon there’d be slightly muffled cussing of crooked tree trunks and the fact that we’re Catholic instead of Jehovah Witness.

WHO in their right mind puts a tree…

A FRICKIN DIRTY TREE in the middle of the living room?

It smells,

it sheds,

it drips annnnnnnd...


Next year, I swear, NO REAL TREE.

NO TINSEL, nooooo tinsel..

This year I WON”T be pulling tinsel out of the cat’s ass.

Have I told you how much I hate the holidays?

I don’t know WHY I put myself through this every year.”

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Wooooooooooooooh is me (part deux)......

One of the coolest things about having a blog or a diary is that you have a written, easily assessable chronicle of your life at your fingertips.

Like when my Dad says "What were you worried about a year ago today? Seeeee you don't even remember" to prove to me that my worries pretty much go in one ear, eat at my brain for about two seconds, and then exit out the other...not to be thought of or worried about again.

So Dad... I might be able to tell you (if give me a moment to log in) what I was worried about a year ago.

But do I really want to know?

On one hand, it may feel good to be worrying about some new things...

on the other,  it may be reassuring to know that all things cycle...

and somehow stay the same.

But do I really like being a hamster on a wheel...?

No. I don't.

But on some level, I must.

Which is evidenced by my continuing to spin my wheels and worry about things that come around, and go around, and all things in-between

I get stressed out man.

Reeeeeal stressed out.

So yesterday I'm putting on some makeup getting ready for work and my small dog is laying near my feet.

She's in a little heap right up against the vanity where there is a duct that blows delicious hot air all winter long.

That dog is sooo me.

I love warmth and coziness almost as much as I love Daddio.

So anyway, the little dog is even cozier than normal this morning, cozier because she's wrapped in a hot towel.

Hot as in... fresh from the dryer, folks.

When I brought the towel up from the basement she allowed me to wrap her submarine sandwich style with both ends tucked in.

It didn't take too long for her to wiggle free.

But she didn't come all the way out of her cocoon.

No, she stayed wrapped in that warm bit of heaven and just poked her nose out.

Just enough for a sniff of air.

Looking at that cute little dog suddenly had me thinking of my "woe is me" attitude of late...

and even though she was totally unaware she gave me a bit of advice...

I'm going to wrap myself up tight..real tight in a warm wrap of my blessings..with only my small nose poking out to sniff the air every once in a while...

it seems soooo safe and inviting.

Maybe you should try it too...?

PS....Googie in case you were wondering I did not recycle this towel, it is back in the laundry. Really though, it probably would have been okay since (no matter what you say) she really doesn't smell like shit .

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Woe is me....

I had so many stories to tell you, but a stomach bug derailed my plans.

So yeah Thanksgiving is sooo last week...but if you don't mind I'd like to share a few tidbits with you.

Thanksgiving day at my sister (who doesn't read this blog) 's house was a lot of fun.

In typical Susan fashion she set one of the most beautiful tables I've ever seen.  (This picture honestly does it no justice)

Susan's lovely table

When I walked into the room and saw the festive table it triggered all sorts of horrible childhood memories.

Memories of that little hootchie out-doing me.

It took me right back to grandma's house and Barbie dolls.

And Susan's Barbie mansion.

Which really was all that and more.

Susan would con our grandmother out of a couple of her fancy-dancy paper towels to make matching bedspreads and curtains.

And sometimes grandma even let her have two different patterns, so she could do more than one bedroom.

On the walls of Susan's Barbie mansion were miniature replicas of famous art work...she'd cut pictures out of catalogs and magazines.

Then fashion frames out of toothpicks to outline them.

Which she either painted or colored to compliment the picture it held.

My Barbie house was a bit of a hot mess.

And so we didn't spend much time there.

Instead we visited Susan at her Barbie's mansion.

Where green with envy, I'll admit, I didn't play very nice.

My jealousy manifested itself by coming out in aggressive Barbie play.

My Barbies were the mean girls.

They'd visit Susan and her dolls and wreck havoc on her lovely home.

For instance, after a night of heavy partying my Barbie would crash at Susan's mansion and in a drunkin stupor she'd pee the bed.

Soaking and destroying Susan's lovely bedspread.

Sometimes my Barbie and her boyfriend Banana Head (some Brillo-pad textured yellow-headed GI Joe knockoff) would get into a knock-down drag-out fist fight at her mansion and tear the place up.

It got to the point that Susan didn't invite me and my Barbies to play at her Barbie mansion.

And I found out a couple of years ago that since that time Susan had been holding a grudge.

It all came out when she refused to allow me to play Barbies with her young daughter.

"Aunt Beth doesn't like to play Barbies" she carefully explained....then hissed in a low voice so that only I could hear "she's a FREAK".

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Thanksgiving Day 2010 still kills me to write (or type) that on things.

I'm truly shocked at the passage of time.

Just yesterday while eating lunch one of my co-workers talked about being born in 1986. 1986 I was 27 years old.

It's 2010 which means I've been occupying space on this planet for 51 years.

And so in 51 years one can gather lots of things to be thankful for.

I won't bore you with a list.

Suffice it to say that a set of beloved parents, awesome siblings, a loving and good man for my husband and three of the most wonderful children that ever lived do top my list.

Having a nice job, one that I love also has me feeling full of thankfulness, most days anyway.

A couple of four legged pains in the ass.

And a sturdy roof over my head.

I'm thankful that my 28 year old food processor still  helps me churn out the pumpkin rolls year after year.

And that Googie now wants to help me make them.

Well, maybe not help, but she is starting to watch me while I work my kitchen magic..that in itself is huge people..HUGE.

Every single Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, the kids could find me at the kitchen counter, apron splattered with egg yokes and powdered sugar making pumpkin rolls (and a huge ass mess).

In my kitchen the under the counter radio played a cassette of Christmas songs.

The cassette was a cheap one that held about four songs per side.

I only liked one side and played it over and over and over while I baked.

Nat King Cole's A Christmas Song was the first song on the cassette and my favorite.

When I would hear the school bus come down the street I would hit rewind and wait about 30 seconds to hit the play button...

Just as the first bars began the door would fly open...

"Ohhh man, moms at it again" The Sweet Prince Buttercup would holler.

And as each child came home I would do the same thing.

So it became a tradition.

Until last year when I lost the cassette.

Which I couldn't have used anyway since I have a new under the counter unit that plays CD's instead.

Yesterday as I worked I listened to another cheap Christmas CD from my collection... sadly it just wasn't the same.

Googie and Trouble sat at the breakfast bar and called out ingredients to me as I baked.

I love traditions and I love that my kids love tradition.

Thanksgiving day 2010 I obviously have tons to be thankful for.

Before dawn I found myself with an ear to ear smile when I saw this sitting next to the coffee pot this morning...Trouble promised to make me a new day before Thanksgiving traditional Christmas Song CD (just exactly like the lost cassette)...and he delivered (just like I knew he would).

Oh and left next to my new CD was a dessert plate with a forgotten blue-ish green blob sitting next to an orange tulip, I plucked it off and dropped it into the garbage.

The Divine Miss M (the love of Bear's young life) most certainly left it there.

She chews lots of gum and she giggles a lot too.

Seems Bear has picked a girl just like the girl that married his dear old dad.

Happy Thanksgiving Day....may your blessings be many.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

on being Jamaican.....

My sister Susan calls me a Jamaican.

With all due respect, she is basing her assessment of the appropriate-ness of this nickname on a skit from Saturday Night Live.

On this particular Saturday Night Live skit the Jamaicans are portrayed as an abnormally hard working bunch.

They've lots of jobs and are always thinking of ways to make a buck.

Not to get rich, but more to make ends meet.

Although I guess if one got rich on the way there would be no complaints.

Bear, my youngest son takes after me in that way.

He's not one to sit idly by and go broke, or without.

So he does what he's got to do...he tinks up big tings as a way to make "it" work.

A few years back he decided that he wanted to buy a new game system using his birthday money, the plan had a fatal flaw, he didn't get enough money in his birthday cards for that large a purchase.

If you'd been able to observe him in the days following his birthday you would have totally seen the wheels turning in his head as he tried desperately to figure out a solution to his deh pon di gully side.

Bobbaat! if that little sucka didn't think up the most crawful plan.

He'd buy up all the old games his friends wanted to get rid of, paying the same low cash price that the video game store was paying.

He then took the used games to the video store himself and turned them in for store credit which was much more generous than the cash offering.

He had enough to then buy the system and a new game....

 To di worl!!!!!

In other words...poooo poooo p freakin do...

For his real and official job Bear is employed at McDonald's where he claims he's getting lots of pimples and not a ton of cash per hour.

I think it does him good to see how the other half lives...

An honest way to make a buck, however, he's determined that this will not be his life's work.

 But for the time being it will do.

Bear has lots of aspirations and most of them require more flow than he can make in a reasonable amount of time working at MickyD's.

Things like buying his lovely girlfriend a hot meal on Saturday nights.

Or keeping a cheap gym membership going.

I had the usual mixture of pride and "what in the hell do you think you are doing now...?" feeling when I saw this sitting on the laundry room shelf...

Far be it for me to live a luu, so I left it there and filled it as I stumbled upon loose change left in pockets and found in the bottom of the washing machine.

And memba mi tell yu...dis kid gonna make it mon.

Key to Jamaican slang expressions used in this moving essay.... ;-)
Deh pon di gully side A difficult (usually economic) situation
Bombaat! Expression of awe
Crawful Outrageously good
To di worl!!!!! Expression of approval
Live a luu Spoil the plan
Memba mi tell yu Listen up, take note

PS... I missed you, and if you are reading this I thank you for coming back.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Street cred...

Yesterday, bittersweet. One of my very favorite loveables of all time got terminated.

Set free, at least from our juvenile system.

I asked about his "last meal" and he said he wanted fried ice-cream.

Or mud cake with gummy worms.

I made the cake in the morning and before lunch ran out to get him a card and a little something.

This kid is one who worries me in lots of ways. Just this week he jumped out of a moving car and butted into a domestic issue going on in the parking lot.

The loveable, 5 feet 2 inches of pure bad-ass-ness went after a big grown man who had his finger wagging and his loud voice yelling in a woman's face.

"You don't just run up on things like that" I warn.

 "You don't know what that guy could have had in his pocket" another staff member says.

"And that guy doesn't know what I might have in mine" he replies.

I hug him at least three times before he leaves for court.

"I hope to never, ever see you again here" I say as he walks out the door.

"I'll visit as a free man, okay?" he responds.

Later, we make enchiladas in class.

It's Ground Hog's Week Month Year Day here at Day Treatment.

Today we have a few onlookers, they are new to our department.

They are commenting amongst themselves about the subjects being discussed.

I tell them that they should be around when we make pounded chicken breasts where the talk ALWAYS turns to how "I want them to beat their meat" (arrghhh..flippin idiots).

This day the loveables are hard at work wrapping/rolling tortillas.

Meat filled, bean filled, cheese only.

While they wrap they exchange small talk.

They are saying things they don't think we (the adults) understand.

So when one of them starts talking marijuana slang I wag my finger at them.

"She knows what we are talking about" another says with a smirk.

"No she don't" another one says.

"Do you think I came down with yesterday's rain?" I ask them.

"I want to grow marijuana" one of the loveables says "legally, like for sale."

"I'm going to name my store Wacky Tobacky" he continues.

"Wow" says the chef under his breath so only those very close to him hear "now that's original".

"Why is it exactly that each generation thinks they discovered, developed, masterminded EVERYTHING...????" I answer just as quietly.

As the job grows monotonous they start rolling the tortillas like they're rolling a joint.

They think they're very slick and that none of the staff is noticing what they're doing.

Finally, I have enough.

"Hey" I say as one of them finished smugly (joint) rolling his tortilla and laid it into the pan " you forgot to lick it".

And I demonstrate.

"Obviously...I am not as dumb as I look" I add.

Street cred(ibility) carries an incredible amount of weight when dealing with this know-it-all, been-there, no-body's as cool as me thug crowd.

                          * I'm not going to be posting for a week or so... I'm off to Hawaii ;-)

EDITED TO ADD....(if only in my dreams)

        Please do come back. 


Monday, November 15, 2010

Novermber 15, 2010

Dear Diary...

Yesterday was Googie's 23rd birthday. I won't bore you with writing things like "where in the hell did 23 years go?" suffice it to say that it warp sped by.

Onward then...

On Friday, which was opening night for her and Trouble's show (*1) The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, I decided to make her some birthday cupcakes to take and share with the cast ( just like I used to do when she was 6, and since I'm pining for those days gone by, it made perfect sense to do so).

Earlier in the day I found myself in the cake decorating supply store asking the clerk for a bit of help..

"I'd like to purchase some really spaw-ka-lee glitter for my little girl's birthday cupcakes" I said.

"and I also need some sugar hearts,

and some pink frosting."

When I mentioned, in my annoying clerk chatter way, that I was getting all these wonderful goodies to make some squeal worthy cupcakes for my little girl's birthday, she responded "awwww, how old is your little girl going to be?"

"She's turning 23" I said.

The clerk didn't know if she should laugh or not...


Googie loved the small cakes and squeal she did.

The next morning I made her heart shaped pancakes, a birthday tradition at our place.

And she requested spaghetti for dinner.

But they don't make heart shaped pasta, so I just made regular.

While Googie and Trouble were away performing at their matinee I invited her future in laws to join us for dinner and cake and I took to preparing the palace for guests.

In an effort to not talk my own head off while cleaning I turned on the radio and tuned it to a country station.

And dammit it all to hell if that freakin Carrie Underwood didn't come on and sing this song...

(*2) ( — September 23, 2010 — Music video by Carrie Underwood performing Mama's Song. (C) 2010 19 Recordings Limited, under exclusive license to Arista Nashville).

So after I finished mopping the placemat sized pools of alligator tears that spilled onto the kitchen table as I listened to that song (and thought for the zillionth time that Trouble is gooooood, sooooo good, and he treats my little girl just like a real man should)..I decided I needed a diversion.

And I got one on my mom's website...

Rachel Ray's recipe for Late Night Bacon...(ohhh, and the comments sooooo gooood).

(Mom click on the link below ;-)

*)The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee was theeee funniest show I've ever seen. Googie and Trouble were awesome and hilarious. I highly recommend that you see this show if you are in the area. If you are, you know how to contact me (and I hope you do).

*2) I found it very interesting that the date listed on this YouTube video was September 23rd, which is the date Googie is getting married next year...hmmmmmm.

 I just love it when stuff like that happens.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

As sure as the sun shines....

This post is a themed writing project challenge taken from Jenny Matlock over at off on my tangent.

Jenny says we can use UP to 100 words to tell our story. It can be fact or fiction. Jenny posts a few words, a prompt that we work from. This weeks prompt is in bold itallics.

Sunshine isn’t really tangible, or is it?

How could I not wish forever for something that I knew with every ounce of my being that I needed?

Like water and food.

But mostly like love.

And because I wished for it, longed for it actually, didn’t mean that I didn’t appreciate what I already had.

A bookend, a soul mate, a dot for my i.

One who understands me like no other.

Sunshine isn’t tangible, or is it?


The early November sunshine cast golden rays through the window and landed softly on an answered prayer,

my newborn baby girl.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Pa pa pa PAY DAY......(ohhh yeah)

Dr Phil says that when we repeat a behavior (good or bad) we usually do it because we are expecting (and getting) a "pay-off" of some kind.

We have a relatively new loveable at work. He's been getting into and causing some trouble. He likes to sleep through class coming to lunch with odd lines and spots of redness all over his sour-puss face.

Sleep bed-head, hard to miss.

Eyes down, he grunt-mumbles "thanks" or something that resembles that when I pass him the plate holding some lunch.

I make it my job, my mission, to figure out some way to figure him out.

Sometimes, their issues are too deep, too troubling, too much for a soft hearted motherly type to understand, let alone "fix".

I know I'm not there to fix them, I don't have credentials to do so ...but for some reason, I can't keep my fixing to myself.

Yesterday his Probation Officer gave it to him right before my class.

When the PO's talk, the loveables listen.

Usually with respect, and instant obedience.

Until they walk into our class kitchen.

Where their language, body and otherwise, tells the tale of their frustrations.

Yesterday, Sleepy, the red-faced loveable was in such a mood.

I told him in my motherly "I am the boss in here" fashion that maybe he should work by himself today.

That some alone time would do two things, allow him time to think, and take innocent bystanders out of the line of his "crabby-ass crossfire."

I felt a crumb being tossed my way when I thought I saw the sides of his mouth turn up.

Just a smidgen.

The "ass" remark had hit the target.

I gave him a wet cloth and the unclear (to a teen) direction to "clean the place".

I lingered in the kitchen for a bit and chatted with him while he worked.

Without trying to shove any religion down his throat I told him about a friend of mine who cleans for a living.

"You can't imagine the talks I have with God while I scrub toilets" she tells me.

Humbling work, I guess.

When I tell the loveable this I get another crumb.

"Wow" I say when I realize that I'm yakking his little red ear off  "I told you that I was going to give you some time to yourself and  I've sat in here and talked non-stop like a fool for 20 minutes".

"Yer alright" he says as he washes the stove using some old fashioned elbow grease.

I praise his work and ask him if I can take him to my house to clean?

Another crumb.

"We all want success for you" I say to him "do you  understand that?"

"Yep" he mumbles, scrubbing a stubborn spot.

I tell him a story I heard once on Oprah...(I think) a story about two wolves.

I don't remember it verbatim, so I wing it.

A grandfather often told his grandson a story about two wolves. Two very different wolves that live inside of him. "One was angry and mean and ready to fight all the time. Filled with rage, this wolf.  The other, the exact opposite. A mighty and powerful wolf too, but soft and accepting. This wolf saw good and rightness in the world and in himself." the grandfather told his young grandson.

"They fight ALL the time" grandfather said.

"Horrible fights. They will fight till one of them dies" grandfather continues.

"Which one do you think will win?" asked the young boy.

"The one that I FEED" answered the grandfather "the one that I feed, will win".

He continued scrubbing, then stopped and looked up at me.

He looked me right square in the eye and he smiled.

A really, really big genuine ear to ear smile.

"Ahhh, I get it" he said.


This day, my pay-off makes me rich beyond measure.

Image of two wolves borrowed from this website...

Monday, November 8, 2010

Sometimes we can be our own worst enemy....

Did you know that?

If I had a buck for every time I had a wild idea, or a not so wild idea, that was vetoed, laughed at, dismissed or otherwise shot to the ground by a no good, evil little voice spewing negatives,

the one who's only job is to make me doubt,

and second guess myself.

If I had a buck for every time I was tempted to listen, I'd be one rich ass woman.

Do you have one of those?

A voice that whispers how wrong you are?

How ill prepared?

Not enough of this or that?

I put up a pretty good fight with the little voice that has tried, on occasion, to run my life.

Some of the young people in my life...?

Not so much.

They listen,

really listen to that voice.

The one that tells them that they will fail.

That "it's" a dumb idea.

That they will never amount to anything.

That life will always be tough.

And hard.

And not worth it.

Is it just life experience that teaches us that that voice lies?

Or maybe it's life experience that tells us it doesn't?

Either way I wish so hard I could find a way to shut the nonproductive voice down.

And replace it with one that says "trust yourself".

"Everything will be alright"

"Even if it is not the right decision, you will be okay"

"You'll make it through"

"You'll land on your feet"

"Keep fighting, don't give up, dance as fast as you can, pray, hope, believe.


That is what life is all

And of course that includes making mistakes.

Which won't kill you.

Thank you for listening...

Saturday, November 6, 2010

But, I don't really like dogs...

This post is a themed writing project challenge taken from Jenny Matlock over at off on my tangent.

Jenny says we can use UP to 100 words to tell our story. It can be fact or fiction. Jenny posts a few words, a prompt that we work from. This weeks prompt is in bold itallics.

It was the 11th Anniversary of...

my oldest turning 7 when she came. At first she fit in the palm of my hand, later in a fanny pack I wore when I cleaned house. An effort to keep from stepping on her while she followed me around. She'd curl up and sleep in that pack like the baby she was and I felt needed once again. A ball of fawn colored fur, Tootsie Roll eyes, white feet no bigger than an inch on a ruler, my four-legged baby. A Chihuahua, Jersey Girl. Otherwise known as...the perfect cure for a heart soon suffering Empty Nest Syndrome

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Three hundred twenty four...

days until Googie and Trouble's big day.

7,776 hours from now I see her getting her toes painted, and her eyebrows perfected.

Some petal pink polish for her rosebud lips.

466,560 minutes from now I can see her slipping into the perfect dress, walking down a long aisle on her handsome dad's arm.

Dancing a first dance.

It just dawned on me that I have a mere 27,993,600 seconds left to find some kind of super duper strengthening material.

They just don't make umbilical cords like they used to....

The most devoted (who would ever want to leave her?) mother in the whole wide world holding the sweetest (don't go) little girl there ever was.

*In case you were wondering...This post right here, and others just like it, is the exact reason my sister Susan Marie refuses to read this blog. 

Monday, November 1, 2010

I seem to have misplaced...

the last 10 too?

Here it is November 1st, 8 weeks from Christmas and 9 weeks from 2011...just a few days ago I had the satisfaction of not having to cross off and initial 2009 on the check I wrote at Meijers.

Where did this year go?

I'm not the only one suffering from what the hell day, month, year is it...?

I called The Sweet Prince Buttercup on Friday to check in.

Just as I was hanging up I said to him "Ohhh, wait a minute, before I let you go is there something.... anything that you want to say to me today?"

"Uhhhh, ummmmmmm" he stammered.

"It isn't your it?"

(It's kinda reassuring to know I'm not the only one going senile.)

I reminded him that we celebrated my birthday over a month ago.

"Is it your anniversary then?"

(He's a good kid who sometimes needs a bit of prompting.)

For our anniversary we went on a trip.

Just Daddio and I and the open was incredibly romantic.

We hit every thrift store within miles of our home looking for a black suit Daddio could wear as his Jake Blue's (Blues Brothers) costume.

"I don't think I could take the stink anyway" he eventually admitted after we'd searched every stinky store in the area and came up empty handed.

(Every store we visited had me aching to disappear and take a look around.

I knew I couldn't do any real shopping with you know who with me...

He once even accused me of buying back my own donations...)

Then on to a dreamy dinner.

Old Chicago Pizza, my choice.. I love pizza almost as much as I love Daddio and the kids.

Daddio wanted to order it well done...(yuck)

So we did...

It was burned.

Even the waitress was skeptical as she sat it on the table... "wow" she said "now that's a well done pizza"..

Daddio and I agreed, the first piece was pretty okay

Then we both almost choked on the pepperoni dust.

The pizza made it to morning on the counter..

The ultimate test that proved it was garbage.

All weekend long I suffered a horrible headache.

Brain tumor?


I was near Googling "flattering black dress" for my own funeral when I suddenly remembered getting blasted from behind by a lady with a very powerful sneeze last week at church.

Probably just a virus.

My weekend in a nutshell.

Oh, that and I finally got an answer to one of my age old questions...

What the hell kind of crazy ass people dress up their pets????

Those with no tiny people around, that's who.

Princess Ruby and Christmas Carole Jersey waiting
patiently for the holiday games to begin.

Edited to add: I wanted to make sure that I told you how much I appreciated the very sweet happy anniversary comments, I really did appreciate are all too kind. xoxo

Saturday, October 30, 2010

The exhumation.....

Ohhh this Saturday Centus was a brutal one...the subject and the 50 word limit.

Visit Jenny Matlock at on my tangent to see what I'm talking about and to read what the other bloggers have written...

This week's prompt is in BOLD.

Using strong chains they lifted the wooden box that held the body.

Later, at the museum spectators gathered close.

The top creaked loudly as it opened.

It felt sacred seeing an unearthed body.

After 145 years, nothing more than bone and teeth.

"Abraham Lincoln was a lot shorter than I thought he would be..." an onlooker remarked, forgetting about the top hat.

Friday, October 29, 2010

A love that's divine....

Today is my wedding anniversary, Daddio and I have been officially official for 28 years.

Even though we were a true official couple for eight years before we tied the knot October 29, 1982.

He fills my heart with laughter...

He asked me the other day to buy him a new shirt.

Any color was fine, as long as it was black.

Like usual he tells me he doesn't want it too big or too small, as usual he wants me to find the perfect black shirt.

"What size would you like" I ask.

"A smedium, I'd like the shirt in smedium" he answers.

(Seriously...he wants me to find him a smedium shirt.)

He's unbelievably supportive...

When I ask him if I'm certifiably crazy...

or a rip roarin bitch,

he answers "you have a lot of stress in your life".

There have been times when I've gained all kinds of poundage and my pants were being held together with a large rubber band under a long shirt and I'd inquire "do I look chubby..?"

"Nah" he says "you look healthy."

He's protective too...

When it's brought to his attention that kid A or B or C has been disrespectful, hurtful,  or a general pain in the ass....

he's been known to respond..

"You want me to rip their face off?

I've been wanting to take that kid out for years".

Ease my troubles, that's what he does.

There's a love that’s divine
And its his and its mine,
Like the sun.
And at the end of the day,
We give thanks and pray,
To The One, to The One.

Have I told you there's no one else above him?

He fills my heart with gladness, take away all my sadness,

Ease my troubles, that's what he does.

Have I told you lately that I love him?

Cause I really, really do...

"Not too high" I tell him as he tries to get to my garter...