Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Pass the BBQ sauce....

I grew up (until age 11) in a house of three kids, two were later added as a result of my mom's remarriage.

So I usually say I grew up one of five.

It was mostly lots of fun.

I'm sure we were a handful, and I do remember times when we were more than just a handful.

Like the time (when there were only three of us) when we locked ourselves in my mom's room and we jumped out the window and ran for freedom.

She'd left us with a babysitter named Norman.

Norman was a neighborhood kid.

He was a soft spoken, gentle soul.

My dad would probably describe him as "limp wristed".

Anyway, Norman was really more like a girl babysitter.

And he sometimes got a bit bitchy.

Or he wanted us to do more clean up than we figured we should be doing.

Either way, one day we got fed up with Norman.

Or, we got bored.

And we jumped ship.

I remember that Norman didn't realize that we'd jumped out the window.

I know that because I could hear him pounding on the bedroom door.

And when we came back about a half hour later the poor thing was rolled in a ball on the couch, eyes puffy and red rimmed from crying.

We'd startled him so bad that he almost crapped his pants when we walked in the front door.

He didn't want to sit for us anymore.

We then had a babysitter named Debbie.

For the most part Debbie was pretty good...she was fun and mostly nice.

So I really have no valid explanation as to why we tortured her so.

I remember having to write her an apology letter.

It was after the day my mother came home to find her crying and saying that we were some of the most rotten children she'd ever encountered.

Little animals, was how she described us.

Wait a sec, those were my mother's words now that I think about it.

Well the point of this is that I can see why some animals eat their young.

And to be honest, I have no idea how my sister, brother and I didn't get gobbled up.

My mother made it look easy.

She made parenting a bunch of ungrateful, self-absorbed, "all about me", selfish, rotten kids look easy.

And rewarding.

She made those "why did I ever have children" or "these kids are going to be the death of me" days seem so few and far between.

She let us live.

The woman is surely a Saint.

And so on those days when I'm thinking about building a big backyard BBQ pit (they would be much more palatable well done smeared with a bit of honey smoked BBQ sauce)...

I think about you mom and how you decided that your children, like fine wine could and would get better with age.

And really, (seriously) my kids are the best...but some days I just need a little help remembering that.

That and those four little magic words...

This too shall pass.

Monday, September 27, 2010


Yesterday Googie, Trouble and I decided to take a car ride half way around the free world. We were in search of some shoes for her size 4/5 miniature feet.

DSW the world's largest shoe warehouse here we come.

She found one pair.

And they were over priced.

Oh, well...we had our backs against the wall, flip flops have no place with a skirt in Googie's new work place.

Back in the car and ready for our big ride home Googie and I started talking "dinner".

"I'm hungry for spaghetti" she said.

"Okay, spaghetti it is" I said.

"I'd like to make a special request" Googie said "can you please PLEASE cut the onions real BIG so they are easier to pick out?"

"I'll put them in the blender" I offered "and you'll never even know they are there."

"NO, NO!!... if you put them in the blender then I'd be eating tons of them" she yelled.

"But you'd never know" I rationalized.

"They'd be all mushed up beyond'd never even know they were there" I explained.

"They'd be spread ALL over the spaghetti and I wouldn't be able to get them off" Googie countered.

"I don't like onions MOTHER,

I don't like them, and I don't want to eat them!!!

 Iiiiiiiiiiii... doooooooon't.... LIKE .....ONIONS...what don't you get about that?"

Googie was beginning to get a bit hot under the collar.

The debate raged on...and on.

Googie can be a stubborn little thing.

Especially when I am not getting her point of view.

"MOTHER, can't you just CUT the onions in BIG PIECES? Googie asked.


Maybe I like the flavor, but I don't like them in my mouth!" Googie ranted on.

"I guess I could just put in some onion powder instead" I offered weakly "but it wouldn't taste the same."

"Maybe I can just peel an onion and toss it in in one big ball?"

"That would be easy enough for you to pluck out (monkey girl)!!!"

"BUT it wouldn't taste the same, just so you know. The sauce would not be the same!"

"If I put it in the blender, it would be squashed into oblivion and you'd never know it was there" I offer again.

"The blender will turn it into onion water" I continue.

"M-O-T-H-E-R!!!!! Can you please just cut the onions into big pieces and not make onion mush for the sauce? Can you do that, can you make the onions big mother?"

"Big so that they are easily pulled from your sauce?"

"Pulled out so those who don't like eating them don't have to eat them..."

"And no mother, I don't want them turned into onion mush so that I am eating a whole bunch of onions!"

"I don't like onions mother. I don't like them. And even if you mush them up there will be white onion stuff all over the sauce and I will be eating it."

"Can you make the onions big mom, can you do that?"

"Googie, cutting the onions big is like asking me to smear lipstick all around my just doesn't feel right."

Trouble uncurled himself from the fetal position he'd assumed when our "little discussion" rolled into its 25th minute, he perked up, trying to understand my analogy.

"WHAT!!! Googie screamed " what are you talking about?

 How are lipstick and onions at all connected?"

" you hear her?" she hollered to Trouble.

"This is what I have to put up with!"

Our verbal tennis match went on and on until we pulled onto our street.

"Wow, I feel invigorated" Googie said as we drove toward our home.

"Me too" I laughed.

Trouble looked feverish.

I made the spaghetti and quartered a large onion.

The onion looked horrible that big.

It looked like floating flower petals.

"How is the sauce Googie?"  I asked later at dinner.

"WHY? You mushed one up didn't you? You mashed one up and you tried to trick me ?"

"I respect you too too much to do something like that!" I replied.

(Our blender is broken)

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Love happens.....

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

Jenny says we can use UP to 100 words (not including the prompt) to tell our story. It can be fact or fiction. The only restriction is: The prompt must be left intact WHICH MEANS you cannot split up the words in the prompt.

Below is my story, the prompt is in large BOLD italics…

He never dreamed when he blew out the candles on his cake...

that the wish he’d just made was about to come true.

The crush had happened simple enough, a whiff of her perfume, her gentle fingertips guiding his hand.

He didn‘t realize she was married, not that it made any difference in how he felt about her.

The things she’d teach him were lessons that would stay with him for life.

Transfixed for hours, he’d watched as her painted lips formed sounds, ahhhh’s and ohhhh’s.

He loved her, possibly more than he’d ever loved any other woman.

And he didn’t care who knew it.

This kindergarten Casanova was in l.o.v.e....

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Okay...who's sick?

Last night Daddio and I were sailing down the road in the coupe exchanging some small talk about the kids.

I mentioned remembering a time when we thought one of them was sick...really sick.

And how scared I was.

A blogging mom I follow recently suffered through a health scare with her small son.

She wrote about thinking that every bump, every bruise, every misplaced hair follicle had her pos-i-tive that SOMETHING was WRONG.

Like me, she takes it to SOMETHING is VERY VERY VERY WRONG in about two seconds flat.

She says that this is her Achilles heel.

And I told Daddio the same is true about me.

I think it has something to do with losing my brother?

Or maybe it's because my parents divorced?

Or maybe I'm all my kids are sick "paranoid" because my arms were too hairy in the 5th grade (and I had to wear a cardigan sweater for 180 days straight so no one could see them)...

I guess I don't need to lay blame.

I am what I am.

And this is what it is.

But I don't like it.

Cause it makes my stomach hurt.

As a side note, I also obsessively worry about my parent's health, my sister's (and her family's) health, Daddio's health, Daddio's family's health, my friend's health, and my own health.

I also worry about this little girl...she's getting up in years.

Is that a bump on her stomach? Do you see a cataract in her eye? Was that a heartbeat that was skipped? Why is she breathing all rattle trap like that?

Maybe she has a pea stuck up her nose???

That happened once to Susan...another story for another day ;-)

Have a blessed and peaceful Wednesday....and may all your inner demons be on good behavior today.

Monday, September 20, 2010

The grapes of wrath...

How many times do you think of your own death?

Right before you jump, parachuted, out of a plane?

Right before you rush into a burning building?

Right before you eat my mother's cooking?


Of course if you do any of that kind of stuff, you probably think of the death of you more often than the average person.

I on the other hand, am one that doesn't do risky.

I mean I do text and eat a taco (simultaneously) while driving.

But doesn't everyone?

(Mom...put down the phone, I'M STILL KIDDING).

And even though I really try to avoid risky, I'm somewhat preoccupied with thoughts of my own death... (and ways to prevent it).
While pondering my demise I've dreamt up many romantic and exciting endings.

Laying in a beautiful canopy bed, draped in satin and lace curtains surrounded by my huge family and about 1000 of my closest and dearest friends.

A classy exit....

Or, I will be 106 and Daddio 107 and we will go to sleep one night and that will be it.

Just like in the movie "The Notebook".

(Man, I love that movie)

I'd like to think that I'm totally normal in pondering my own death.

But something tells me I'm not.

Lately, in dealing with my own personal war against my own personal terror(ism), and borrowing the National Homeland Security Advisory System I've placed myself at the Warning Level Orange....

Which is HIGH.

The most recent enemy....

an ordinary purple grape.

I've become addicted,

and eat them by the hands full,

every day.

One recently purchased bag had bunches of grapes with really tough skins.

And eating them I became conscious of the possibility (probability...remember the Orange level) that I could choke on one.

Cause one is all it would take...right?

One to block my windpipe.

Then I wondered... could the Heimlich maneuver dislodge a determined grape?

Then I thought about where I might be and who would perform the heroic deed...?

Then I remembered that I heard once that people throw up when they get the Heimlich.

So not only would I suffer the indignity of having the maneuver done in order to save my life....I'd more than likely puke on the table or the floor.

Puke in front of people.

I'm still eating grapes.

But I chew each one really well.

And I'd advise you to do the same.

(Disclaimer #1: I really am kidding about my mom's cooking, she makes a wicked New England boiled dinner, awesome Spanish Pork Chops, and the best Chocolate Malt Milkshakes the world has ever known, to name a few. Disclaimer #2: I'm not making fun of choking deaths...I've actually very fearful of one.)

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Music to my ears....

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

Jenny says we can use UP to 100 words (not including the prompt) to tell our story. It can be fact or fiction. The only restriction is: The prompt must be left intact WHICH MEANS you cannot split up the words in the prompt.

(For some reason this week I didn't see the prompt...and I worried that something was wrong over at Jenny's place...I checked in this morning to see what it could be and low and behold..I found the Saturday Centus challenge..I can see now, I'm addicted.)

Below is my story, the prompt is in BOLD italics…

"This is never going to come out," she thought as she scrubbed at the spot on the worn carpet.

She worked on the slightly discolored, indented mark left each and every time he rocked back and forth in his recliner. Only one foot hit, the other, tucked neatly underneath. Downstairs doing laundry she’d hear the floor creak as he rocked. The rhythm, strangely reassuring. Sometimes she’d sit in his chair and pretend to be him.The pad of her foot would hit the spot, back and forth she’d rock. She didn’t like the impression on the carpet, and every now and then the sight of it embarrassed her.. No, she didn’t love the spot, but she loved it’s signification.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Feed me............

Today I'm meeting a lady for lunch.

She is the founder of a charity that does makeovers at battered women's shelters.

And not just in Michigan.

I learned of her and her noble cause from a co-worker.

I visited her website and clicked around a bit.

I was impressed.

You would be too.

I saw a flashing, colorful tab.

I tried to ignore it.

To look the other way.

Then the tab spoke to me,

asking the question,

"How can you help?"

Uh-oh, I thought to myself.


So I clicked off the site.

And then I clicked back on the site.

And tried not to look at that tab.


"hey you" it called.

What is it with me and stuff?

Like charities.

I hear them calling to me, at first they whisper..then they roar.



I don't have time for much else in my life...

My rational self knows this.

But I pride myself on my good manners...and it is after all speaking to me.

I can't ignore it.

They want a freelance writer to write their stories.

I like to write stories.

So I'm meeting her for lunch to see what kind of stories she's interested in.

The saying "biting off more than I can chew" comes to mind....

So does this quote...

God gives every bird its food, but He does not throw it into its nest. ~J.G. Holland

Wish me luck.

And a good strong jaw.


(Blue bird photo shamelessly stolen borrowed from

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Waving my flag....

We don't often look at ourselves and think "what a nut job".

Even when we are.

The other day I asked my kids to answer a survey question (don't ask) asking me what made my "freak flag" fly.

What are you freaky/obsessive about?


Loaded question.

Bear couldn't think of anything.

He did say that I was annoying, but that was all he could think of.

His sister had a list.

"Well, you are all wacky about puke." Googie offered.

"And you like perfume waaaaaaaaaaay too much"

"You have too much perfume mom, really you do"

"And you're all weird about smells."

"Oh and that phone thing."

"Yeah, you do have an issue with phone calls mom."

Hey Goog, thanks.

You are such a big help to your momma.

The Freak Flag Flier.

A couple of days ago I called my ex sister.

Often, her ringing phone goes unanswered.

I guess it may be hard to hear three different handsets ringing at the same time, but hey, whatever.

Lots of times when I call the answering machine picks up and when I start to leave a message a real live human being will answer.

Screening calls huh?

If I were the paranoid sort I might even think they were screening their calls.

So I called that no good fer nuttin lazy ass   darling sister of mine a day or two ago and left a message asking her to call me back.

The witch ignored the call.

She didn't get the message.

So I called again yesterday.

Listen you puke, call me back.

What the frick?

This is totally the last and final straw, I won't call you again...EVER!!!

Yesterday, I dialed her number and left a message.

Yeah, so yesterday I decided to give her another call.

I called her again, yesterday.

Yesterday when she didn't return my calls call I decided to leave a message.

Okay, you obviously don't want to talk to me since you never answer when I call, you never return my calls, no one gives you my messages and they never get into any trouble for that unmannerly behavior.

I'm going to stop writing about this now.

I'm feeling myself beginning to tense up.

Googie was right...I do have phone issues.


PS...Susan, if you are reading me.

Monday, September 13, 2010

I love it when he talks dirty to me.. especially in French

"Oui We have to clean the fridge" Daddio said yesterday.

Oui We means me.....

"Yeah" I said "there are some interesting science experiments going on in there."

"I meant the outside." he continued.

"The outside is filled with too much stuff, pictures and things, it's too stuffy, too cluttered, toooooo may clippings tooooo much of everything" he was starting to come unglued.

I like a clean fridge just like the next Oui We I did a little straightening.

I"m only keeping the important things, I thought as I looked it over trying to decided what had to go.

I scraped off a Power Ranger sticker and threw away a flyer from Highland Appliance (they've been out of business for about 20 years).

The rest is staying....

What the hell does he think all that empty space is for anyway????

Je t'aime papa"O".....

Edited to add.... Tell me about the front of your fridge. Merci.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

The loss of innocence....

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

Jenny says we can use UP to 100 words (not including the prompt) to tell our story. It can be fact or fiction. The only restriction is: The prompt must be left intact WHICH MEANS you cannot split up the words in the prompt.

Below is my story, the prompt is in BOLD italics…

I remember eating lunch watching my mother sob as she sat on the couch in front of the TV.

In the early afternoon November 22, 1963 mothers, people everywhere doing the same thing.

A bright young soul taken from us, his leaving so unexpected it cast a glaring spotlight on the vulnerability of an entire nation.

My mother held us tight that cold November day.

I stood frozen in front of the flickering images on my TV , a sunny September 11, 2001 knowing I was witnessing something far worse.

My first thought was gathering my loved ones to keep them safe and protected.

But I knew that wasn’t possible.

Not anymore.

"Walk toward the sunshine and the shadows will fall behind you"

Friday, September 10, 2010

My Golden Girls....

Friday morning usually finds me hanging out with my Old Dolls, a group of women who live in a private senior home close to me.

I go there to do their hair.

So for five years..

for five whole years,

this is my Friday morning....

"HI MISS JOSIE " I say, greeting my first client.

"Oh hi" she stares at me.

"Are you here for me?" she asks.


"HUH???...what's wrong with my teeth?" she asks.


"Oh yeah, where do you want me?"

I begin waving my hands like they do to guide an airplane into the hanger.

She follows my lead, pushing her walker.

"Where do we go? she asks.

"IN HERE, FOLLOW ME, BACK THIS WAY, FOLLOW ME, FOLLOW ME" I wave her toward the shampoo area.

She makes her way into the small room and up onto the big black shampoo chair.

"Do you want my glasses?" she asks, every week for five years.

'YUP" I say.

"My hearing aids?" she asks.

"YUP" I say, holding out my hand.

"My sweater?" she asks.

I let her fumble with the buttons of her sweater, and take it off herself.

She is, after all, a grown up.

"Anything else?" she asks, sounding a bit tired of giving up her things.


And every week for five years she laughs at this same corny joke.

"This paid for?" she asks before I lay her back to shampoo her pretty white hair.


"HE'S A GOOD SON" I add.

"Yeah" she says " a good son."

"This paid for" she asks while we wait for the water to heat up.


"My son paid for this?" she asks.


"Yeah" she says "a good son".

"I don't have any money" she says.


"This is paid for?" she asks.

YEAH, ALL PAID FOR. YOUR SON PAID ME TO DO YOUR HAIR...BUT HE USED YOUR MONEY" I say (as her family instructed me to).

"He's a good son" she says.

I agree and for a moment she forgets that she forgets that her hairdo is paid for.

"That's enough" she says when I scrub her head a bit too long.

She was an independent woman who did her own hair, she remembers that she doesn't like it being done, but she doesn't remember that she used to do it.

'LOOK HOW NICE YOUR HAIR LOOKS" I say, spinning her around to look in the mirror when I've finished combing it out.

"Yeah, that's nice" she says " but I would like it better if it wasn't so white".


"You took the words right out of my mouth" she says, laughing.


"Thank you" she says, then turns back to ask...

"Will I see you next week?"


"That won't be hard to do" she says as she maneuvers her bulky walker around the corner.

Suddenly she stops...

"What do I owe you?" she asks.


"Oh good" she says and walks toward the dining room for lunch.

Miss Josie and the rest of the gang enjoying a snack.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

My journey is filled with delightful surprises....

I'm a major quote lover..I've lots of saved Documents filled with favorite quotes.

And notebook upon notebook littered with them too.

Quotes I want to remember, quotes I want to use when I write, when I speak, quirky quotes, sentimental quotes, quotes about quotes.

Today when I sat down to (I'm just gonna say it) pee... I saw this in my pants,

Life is a journey, not a of my favorite quotes.

Why though is it in the zipper part of my pants?

I guess the manufacturers of these pants thought us such a busy society that they could get to us when we are at our least distracted???

I really appreciate the thoughtfulness..and in the future, if I purchase more pants made from the same place I may not have to remember to grab reading material when I use the latrine.

And soon we may look forward to common sense warnings...

"Wipe front to back"

For those going commando... "Be sure to tuck before you zip"..

And my very favorite common sense warning of all..."Pads go adhesive side down".

I may have to copyright this idea.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Two sides to every story....

I spent last night in the ER with my grown up baby girl. She started on a regiment to help cure the bacterial overgrowth they have determined is in her belly making her sick.

Yesterday was her first day on the pills and after each dose she felt like crap.

She is taking 18 pills in all per day.

Too much medicine for a little 4ft 11inch,  90 pound spitfire.

Last night she took her last dose of the day, sometime around 1:30 am she came to tell me that she was having difficulty breathing.

After some back and forth, she saying she didn't want to go to the ER and me saying "maybe we should"...we layed on the couch and I rubbed her tiny feet and tried to calm her.

I wondered if it were her asthma, and asked her to take a couple of puffs of her inhaler.

I didn't want to scare her, but breathing issues can get serious fast...

When the inhaler didn't appear to be helping, she agreed that we should go to the ER.

Once we got to the hospital they got her into triage pretty quickly.

More proof that breathing issues are not to be played with.

She ended up needing some Benadryl and a steroid shot.

While we waited, there was moaning coming from the next small room.

Those ER privacy curtains do nothing but hide bare butts, everything else is fair game in the ER.

The moaning was starting to worry both of us.

It was loud and painful just to hear.

We couldn't understand why no one was responding, why no one went rushing in when she yelled "I can't breath...why doesn't anyone believe me?"

The moaning continued.

Suddenly I remembered Daddio and I once being at the ER and being placed next to a woman who was also moaning and hollering and threatening and whatever else she could do to gather the attention of the doctors and nurses.

Daddio, who was being seen for a respiratory ailment insisted that the nurses take care of the woman first.

The nurse poo-poo'd Daddio, telling him that the woman was a prescription drug addict who came to the ER at least once a month.

The nurse didn't care at all that she was blasting this woman's business, and frankly, I was glad that she did, cause it was a concern that her cries were going unanswered, and that explanation helped us to understand why.

While we waited for Googie's meds we overheard one of the doctors say to another "how are we ever gonna know if she is ever in any real pain?"...

Ahhhh, now I understood.

The nurse came and gave Goog a shot and the Benadryl, then left us alone to allow the drugs to do their job.

Soon Googie's breathing was up to par and she was released.

On the way out of the ER I said what I usually say "Praise you Lord, thank you".

Later at home, I gave my kid the once over, a big kiss and a hug and went to my own bed to get a bit of sleep before I had to get up and ready to leave for work.

Laying there, unable to sleep, I played our ER visit over and over in my head, thinking how thankful I was for the blessings of medicine.

I thought too of the mother of the moaner we heard in the ER and how they are not so much a blessing for her child.

I was so sad, I almost cried.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

A gifted wordsmith....?

Saturday Centus time, a themed writing meme. The challenge is to write 100 words to add to the prompt started by Jenny Matlock from off on my tangent.

The writing prompt is in (bold) itallics...

“It was a dark and stormy night"…Brilliant…What a perfect start to her first literary masterpiece.
Pouting, darling Julia used her eraser to gently, but thoroughly scratch off the beginning sentence.

“Your incipit must be original” Mrs. Langford instructed just as Julia had written hers.

Julia was smart, but was she really smart enough to be taking up space at Davidson Academy?

Time would tell.

Originality will set you apart” Langford continued. “None of that it was a dark and stormy night business”.

Julia squeezed her brain for words….”It was a light and sunshiny day” she scribbled, her flowing cursive flawless.

Friday, September 3, 2010

The squeaky wheel gets the grease...

or possibly a Stalking Charge?

You ever really want something?

Really, really want something?

And think that with a little hard work, your wish could be granted?

I want to build the loveables a new kitchen.

And I need help.

And the help I've decided I need is Oprah Winfrey's good friend Nate Berkus...(you know the very nice, clean cut guy that is always surprising people on her show with makeovers of their small spaces???)

I need Nate Berkus' help.

And I want it so damn bad, I can taste it.

Now, how to get Nate Berkus to decide to pick us as a pet project?

That my friends just may be the million dollar question.

How do we con him into choosing us out of all the people that ask for his help???

I asked a gifted young woman photographer I work with to take a couple of pictures our pathetically dreary little kitchen.

Old cinderblock walls painted a dreadful pale yellow. Cupboards that are chipped and many missing doors. Poor inefficient plumbing that has caused sink drain water to backup onto the floor and loosen the homely tiles that cover it.

That damn kitchen is ugly.

Butt ugly.

But oooooh, if those walls could talk.

They would tell such tales.

Stories of laughter, and learning,

and an almost daily realization that we are all not as bad as we sometimes may seem.

The little kitchen doesn't reflect what really goes on in there.

In my mind's eye I see brightly colored walls, and pretty cupboards.

I see inspirational art work, whispering messages of hope.

I see a counter big enough for us all to gather round.

And a floor that looks like we've mopped it after we have in fact mopped it.

A couple of friends of mine located Oprah's address.

And soon I will have picture proof of our need.

I will have one of the artistic loveables decorate an that screams " PICK ME TO READ" from the pile.

I plan to start the letter...

Dear Oprah and Nate,

They say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one....

Wadda ya think?

PS...if anyone reading this post is Oprah or Nate's cousin, lifelong pal, old classmate, FB friend, next door neighbor...could you please pass along the link to this little blog?

...Merci xoxo

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

When Trouble came knockin.....

When Googie first began dating Trouble there were all kinds of things I found "wrong" with him.

Things like no tattoos and a perfectly planned out future.

I also thought him oddly well groomed and really too polite even for his own good.

Ooooookay... so the truth is that when Trouble first came knockin there was really nothing wrong with him, except for the fact that Googie was craaaaaazy nuts about him.

And that Googie was nuts about him and wanted to spend all her time with him really was the problem.

I was jelly-azz.

To the core.

So once we established the ground rules, the most important one being..."Googie loves me best and always will" things started looking up.

All kidding aside....

we've been blessed beyond belief since Trouble came knockin.

It's apparent every single day.

He stops at Krogers and buys the things I've forgotten.

He offers to run the vacuum when the Boss is on his way home and I haven't done it yet.

And he is the only one that will eat pretty much every thing that I place in front of him...and he even usually asks for seconds.

Most importantly he treats my daughter like a Queen.

On Monday Googie had to have a horrible medical test.

She choked down some poison syrup and then suffered the after effects when the syrup had to makes its way out of her tiny body.

I think it took 25 tries to get it all out.

Trouble was by her side, well, not literally....but he was there every time she exited the little girl's room.

He rubbed her back and feet (for hours) and heated up (numerous times) the bag of corn feed she uses as a heating pad to help her poor belly.

I think I called Trouble from work a total of about 10 times Monday to check on Goog.

"We're in trouble Trouble when she goes into labor you know" I told him, looking forward to a future pregnancy.

I was referring to me driving him nuts.

He never acts like I drive him nuts.

Which earns him major brownie points.

In the fridge the day after the test I saw a beautiful long stemmed red rose, it had a stem of baby's breath with it and was wrapped in pretty flowered paper.

I asked Googie about it on the phone "Trouble brought it for me. He also got me a candy bar and some Gatorade, for after the test".

Daddio and our men children like Trouble too.... his treatment of their "girls" (that includes me) makes it impossible not to like him.

When Trouble first came knockin and they would leave for a date I would give him a little warning "Ummm, not a hair had better be harmed". had better take damn good care of my girl.

Now when they leave I just look at him and say one word "Trouble....."

and he responds " not a hair".

Who would have thought when Trouble came knockin that it would be a good thing???

Googie is one lucky girl that's for sure.

And so are Daddio and I.

We love Trouble and are very very blessed that out of all the families that he could have joined it was ours he picked.

(PS to Trouble who reads each and every blog post I write and even lets me know when I get a new follower... "You are a true true blessing to our family and we appreciate you more than words can say, I hope you know that.")

(PSS I'm slowly getting used to sharing Googie, and it's truly truly not as bad as I thought it would be).