Monday, January 31, 2011

Say WHAT.....?

I've been in love with Daddio since I was 11 years old.

I met him through a couple of boys from my school who were his neighbors.

Almost daily the boys visited.

They'd ride up on their cool bikes, banana seats and high rise handlebars, they'd pull in the driveway fast and then skid sideways to stop.

One day, they brought a young Daddio with them.

He was the cutest, shyest, bluest eyed boy I'd ever laid eyes on.

I've written before that it was pretty much luv at first site.

He looked at me and I looked at him and there was a con-nec-tion people..

Of course people aren't in real "relationships" at that age...but Daddio and I pretty much kept to ourselves on group trips to the movies and the skating rink.

Most of the time it felt like we were in our own little world.

A real couple.

We spent hours talking on the phone.

When I was about 13 Daddio and his family moved out of state.

At first he called almost every day.

A HUGE $200.00 phone bill (in the early 70's) put a stop to that.

They moved back to Michigan when I was 15 and he was 16.

Daddio and I met back up at a stop sign near my house.

I was on my new bike, stopped and waiting for the old blue Ford next to me to go when I happened to look over at the driver.

At the same moment the driver turned to look at me.

The hippy (hot hot hot) tanned driver had blond hair that touched his shoulders and the bluest eyes I'd ever seen.

I did a double take and fell off my bike.

Right in front of him...

It was incredibly embarrassing.

Daddio and I caught up for a minute or two on the side of the road and he promised to come over later that day.

He did and we've been inseparable ever since.

I've always felt like I have an image to uphold where Daddio is concerned.

He's been with me through thick and thin.

By my side as I birthed his three children.

He's tended to me when I've been, as my dear step mom likes to say "on death's doorstep"...

He's seen and heard it all.

Well, almost.

It's not a secret that Daddio looks up to me as a person whose body makes NO strange noises or smells.

No toots, no fluffs, no silent but deadlies.

No urping, no belching, no mouth farts.

I am a lady folks...thru and thru.

The kids can't believe that their dad has not ever experienced any of these seemingly normal things that people who live together for decades surely share.

They claim to have seen and heard it all first hand.

Of course they are totally nuts.

Like I said before, I am a lady.

So yesterday Daddio sat at the counter talking to me as I straightened up after we ate.

I gathered up his diet Pepsi, turned and chugged down the last inch or so that was left in the bottle.

I turned to say something to him and when I opened my mouth something gawd awful happened.

I burp-talked.

From the depths of my gut came the most horrific sound coupled with something stupid I was trying to say.

Daddio's eyes grew wide with surprise.

And his gaping mouth hung.

After he regained his composure (and the counter slapping and pointing stopped),

Daddio could tell I was totally mortified.

A 40 year record shattered in a split second.

Daddio did the best he could to remedy this horrible situation.

He gave my belch a perfect 10.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

A different time....

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 a 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.

She lifted the stack of letters from the ancient chest, her weathered hands caressing each one.

“This one is from Mr. Morris” she said “and this one from Mr. Sanders”.

Marry me Tillie” appeared to the common theme.

Declarations of love and adoration, kept for over half a century.

“And you didn't take, not a one of them, up on their offer??” I teased the old spinster.

Tillie hesitated before she passed the last letter.

She opened it carefully, pressed it to her heart, then to her lips.

She mouthed the words I read aloud.

A heartfelt declaration of love and adoration.

It was signed,


I love you,


Friday, January 28, 2011

An apple a day....

The tide shifts again.

The ebb.

The flow.

The back and forth.

Loveables come.

Loveables go.

We have a couple of new youth.

One has problems proportionate to his height.

Things come out seemingly easily as I question him.

Abuse, addictions, abuse, suicide, abuse.

A laundry list of atrocities.

The perpetual cheerleader in me says "Your past is just the beginning of your story, you write the rest" and other such sentiments.

He laps them up like a thirsty dog.

We've had a couple of deep talks and some not so deep conversations.

What he wants to be when he grows up.

A triathlon he'd like to participate in.

As the kid begins to unravel and we take a deeper look at the depth of his problems...I am totally overwhelmed and saddened to my core.

I spend entirely too much time obsessing over the hows and the whys.

At this moment how and why are moot points.

Can he manage to claw his way out of the mess he was birthed into?

Now that is the question I always have such a hope-filled answer for.

So far it appears to be a big fat no.

But wait...

Don't take NO when YES is (possibly) an option.

Time will tell, yes time will  (gimme a) T-E-L-L...

Rah rah rah.

(If you are a deep thinker like I, you may have thought when you got to the end of this blog post..whatever had that woman naming this post An Apple A Day....?)

I had every intention of telling you a story about my own personal loveable, my darling dear Daddio and the ebb and flow of our life together.

I wanted to tell you that for the last, ohh, maybe 25 years or so I have been sticking an apple in Daddio's lunch, usually... it's a fresh one every day.

We go through the normal Daddio and me bull crap...

Daddio: "I only like the small ones."

Me: "uh-huh".

Daddio: "those apples are for shit, they are all mushy inside".

Me: "uh-huh".

Recently, after about a week or so of some troubling behavior I began to see an odd pattern emerging.

Daddio's apple gets sent to work.

Daddio's apple comes home from work.

What the frick...?

Ok ON.

Apple in.

Apple out.

Apple in.

Apple out.

Apple almost in...on this day the clock is not on Daddio's side. Finding himself inching toward late he realizes that things must move faster if he is to meet his goal of time-li-ness.

His managerial mind jumps into results mode and before I know what is happening he is finishing packing his own lunch.

Smashing air and Cheeto(s) filled baggies into an open spot.

Tossing out a item or two.

He's about to zip when I realize that he has forgotten "the apple".

"Hey, you forgot your apple" I say.

"I don't want that apple" he answers,

then continues...."You may have noticed that I haven't eaten an apple in weeks".

"I bring it home every damn day" he says, emphasising (for dramatic effect) every... damn... day.

"Yeah, I did notice" I say.

"I'm thinking that maybe you are a bit attached to that little red guy? That maybe he is your security apple?"

I could tell by the look on his face that Daddio was entertaining thoughts of chucking that bad boy toward my head... but I got to it first,

and lovingly tucked his little red buddy into it's favorite familiar place, between the sandwich and the peanut butter crackers.


Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Is it April yet..?

Yesterday Sunday found us in lock down at the Palace of Koby.

Too damn cold to go anywhere.

Even church.

Which will have me watching my back extra carefully this week...

I hate to mess with the BIG GUY...

Daddio was particularly kind yesterday Sunday to those of us who work at home.

Each and every time the creaking bedroom door, the over filled laundry basket and I roused him from one of his 13 (or so) naps he'd open one eye (Popeye style) and ask sweetly "want some help with that?".

Daddio comes from a family of nappers.

He can nap any day any time.

He can nap up to 15-20 times in one day and still, at 7:30pm say "Geeze, I'm about ready to hit the sack".

He tries to get me to nap with him.

Not just a regular nap, the one he wants me to take he has nicknamed "the power nap".

"Preparation" he says "is key".

Downstairs he grabs a set of car keys, brings them up and places them in my hand.

Hang your arm over the edge of the bed, he says.

When the keys hit the floor, that means you've slept enough and you'll wake up, refreshed (and hopefully be rid of the pissy pout-ful poor poor pitiful me attitude).

Oh hell to the freakin the time I'm relaxed enough to let go of the keys and they fall from my limp wrist and hit the floor I'm startled awake.

I have a wet spot on my shirt from 6 minutes of drooling.

And bed-head so bad I couldn't (and wouldn't) go out the front door even if the house was on fire.

I can't waste time napping... I have so many other important things to do.

Survey messes,

fight the urge to eat an entire bag of ChipsAhoy cookies,

let the dogs out,

then in,

then out,

then in,

then out...

Ooops..then in (their tiny wish-bone thick legs don't do well in -8 degree wintry conditions).

I have to be very careful during days this frigid..not only of frostbite but of kidnappings.

I wrote about it once... here.              

And as you can see by the article below..this is an ongoing issue for small dogs and their owners.

CRYSTAL LAKE, Ill. - An owl attack has left a 4-pound (2-kilogram) Chihuahua with a healthy fear of the dark.
The attack happened when Chico the Chihuahua was out for a walk with his owner George Kalomiris in the Chicago suburb of Crystal Lake last week. Kalomiris says they were walking down the street when a great horned owl swooped down and tried to fly away with the 3-year-old dog.
Kalomiris says he kept a firm grip on Chico's leash as the bird dragged the dog across the sidewalk, and he managed to scare the owl away.
Chico was treated for a puncture wound caused by the owl's talons, and his owner says he's still traumatized. Kalomiris says the dog now refuses to go outside at night.

Jersey takes Chico's "stay in the house at night" advice to heart.

Saturday, January 22, 2011


Jenny Matlock over at off on my tangent threw us a(nother) curve ball with this week's Centus...we can use 100 words, she instructed... BUT we need to try and write from a Sci Fi vantage point. She is quite the (sweet) taskmaster. Below please find the prompt in BOLD ITALLICS

Sreidlos stood, shoulders touching. Their cinos sretsalb poised and ready to fire. Life on Ophiuchus during a livic raw could be a dangerous place for an old fashioned girl such as Lilitg-345.

She longed not only for her great-great-great s’erthafdnarg magical powers, she longed for the olden days when all she had to say was “beam me up Scottie” and sizzle, poof, waz-a-ma-taz she’d disappear.

Arriving on Serpentarius in mere sdnoces where she’d be safe and easily able to borrow a llec and enohp emoh. If no one answered, she was certain there she could hitch a ride on the nearest shooting star.

(PS...some of the words reversed may be something you recognize)

Friday, January 21, 2011

Friday January 21, 2011...

Dear Diary...

So many things to say...not much time to write.

The loveables have been all kinds of agitated the past couple of days...(full moon, remember I mentioned that it was coming).

One physically assaulted a staff member, another verbally assaulted a staff member, and finally one of the bold (dumb) smart ass's smoked in the small utility closet of the big kitchen...(you may remember when another of the (dumb) smart ass's smoked in the big walk in fridge, if not read about it here)..

When they do things like that I feel

have you ever seen one of those stress relieving little toys with the bulging squeeze them real hard and their eyes bug way out...?

that's me...

only my eyes bug out even further,

threatening to fall out of the sockets.

So anyway, the little freaks left evidence in the small closet..(and really, that was a good thing..making the "crime" impossible to also helps my case when the kid's PO asks "do you think the stink was just lingering on his clothes...? Do you think that maybe he'd (they?) snuck outside and that he really DIDN'T smoke inside..?")

Ummm, that would be a provable "No".

The loveables are forced to produce either pee or spit for a drug screen. It is a court ordered requirement. Some test weekly, others randomly.

Most of them have done the forensic body fluid (slobber) test at least once...

While they denied any and all connection with the soggy cigarette butt...and I tried to hold my budging eyeballs in, an idea came to mind.

First I told them that I was going to sniff their fingers (allow me to clarify that..I'd be "looking" for odor of fresh cigarette smoking... ;-)

Then I thought, you have got to be out of your freakin mind..sniffing a teen boy's ANYTHING.

Suddenly, I had a plan "B".

I told them that the cigarette butt was going in for a full CSI worthy investigation.

We have loads of your DNA on hand...

Oh yeah, your slobber is gonna bring you down suckers....!!


They looked a bit sick.

I hope they didn't figure out that I am totally full of shit...kinda hurts your cred.

I missed an opportunity to wish my sister-in-law a Happy Birthday on the 18th...we spoke on the phone so long the other day that I had a phone imprint on my face for two hours after we hung up...and I still forgot to mention it. Daddio remembered while we were eating dinner and we both talked about calling her..then we dropped the ball, or rather we dropped our heavy eyelids and hit the sack w/o making the if you are reading this TeflonT...Happy Birthday, much love!!! xoxo

ps..sorry your brother and I are so lame.

One last thing...I have a dear friend who for my 16th birthday took me out to eat for every meal (on that special day). She took me shopping and let me pick out what ever I wanted. She made my day. This friend also left my brother's funeral, (right in the middle) to purchase a soft, warm, very expensive blanket so that my mother could wrap her son warmly before he was buried.

She refused to take a penny in repayment.

Everybody (and I mean EVERYBODY) needs a friend like her.

I want to wish that friend a wonderful Happy fun filled everything you could ever dream about Birthday.

ps...thanks too for the many times you picked me up by the elbows and helped me run after we'd egged a house and my hysterics rendered me giddy stupid and incapable of using my own two legs as a get-away..

Thank you for that having my back kinda stuff...


Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Child Protective Services...

When you work with children you have an obligation, a legal one, to report any and all signs of suspected abuse and/or neglect.

And while everyone wants to do the right thing..sometimes it comes back to bite you in the arse.

I remember one time visiting a kid in detention and noticing he had a golf-ball sized bulge on one side of his cheek.

"Why is your face swollen right there?" I asked the young thug, pointing to the side of his jaw.

"That is where the cops broke my jaw" he responded.

According to the kid he was running from the PO-PO and when they finally caught up to him they threw him against a fence, he hit his face on something and broke his jaw.

I asked him when it happened and he said it had been a couple of years.

Dr. Mom (that would be me) assessed the situation and determined that someone with a bit more credentials should be called.

In other words, a CPS report had to be made.

A co-worker told me I was nuts to even report it.

How could I not...?

You probably have no idea what kind of work and hassle and drama and paperwork I'd just signed myself up for.

The kid ended up having surgery for an infected, not properly repaired jaw bone fracture.

I did the right thing.

And I'd do it again if I had to.

Yesterday I came across a couple of staff and a couple of loveables in the hall outside the classroom.

I smelled chaos.

(it really didn't take the trained nose of a blood-hound like middle aged nosy know-it-all to smell it...the sight of one of the loveable thugs laying on the floor, one up against the wall, red faced and yelling into a cell phone and three pacing staff to say real loud..."what the frick, somethin be UP").

Upon closer investigation I learn that the loveables have been in a fight.

With each other?

Didn't appear as such.

Upon closer investigation I learn from the staff present that one of the loveables is covered in bruises.

Holy crap!!! (I think when I see him up close) he looks as if he's been choked almost to death.

"What happened to you?" I asked the bruised loveable laying on the floor.

And although the staff with the loveables were doing a fine job with the situation I had to get my two cents in there...

"Who hurt you?" I grilled "WHO did this to you?"

I picture a battering step-father.

Or a double-crossed gang member.

I figure maybe a really mad, current girlfriend's ex-boyfriend.

Upon closer investigation I learn that some times things aren't always what they seem.

Upon closer investigation I have a different thought...

The mother in me (and my former teenage self) suddenly sees the forest for the trees...

"Come here" I said to the boy "let me have a closer look at that neck of yours".

"Those aren't brusises...they are HICKIES" I say.

His entire "bruised neck" (which truly looked as though he'd been strangled by the HULK) was a stinkin hickey fest.

A hickey necklace we used to call em.

And the other loveable, the red-faced one screaming into the phone confirmed my suspicions.

Thank God no one had yet dialed CPS.

It could have been incredibly embarrassing.

An example from Google Images...our loveable's neck was "abused" 10x's worse

Monday, January 17, 2011

Sundown and Sundays....

There was not a full moon this weekend..

Soon, though.

I can feel it coming.

Late Saturday afternoon found me with the Golden Girls, fashioning their gray locks into lovely, though outdated coiffures.

One haircut each, 2 Italian tops, 1 Up-sweep and a plain bouffant rounded out my creations.

I was at the House later than usual, much later actually.

In between helping me with my Old Dolls the Day Girl was going about the business of preparing their dinner.

As I worked I began to notice that the mobile Dolls were getting up and walking in circles.

Confusion was in the air.

They were forgetting their walkers.

And asking strange questions.

"I don't know WHO is going to come and get me"?

"Am I going to be sleeping here tonight"?

Miss Morning-glory, a statuesque beauty who in her former life was an artist said "I think my husband may be dead.... I haven't seen him in a while".

Yeah, 30 years could be considered "a while".

When the Day Girl had just about lost her patience with all the unsafe behavior I could hold my questions no longer...

"What the heck is up here today" ? I asked "I've never seen them so agitated. Almost every single one is doing and saying weird things".

"Sundowning" she said "happens almost every late afternoon or early evening."

Remind me, I say, why I need to he here early from now on.

It takes a special person to say for the 100th time "you live here, you like it here and you-are-safe".

Especially when it seems to fall on deaf ears.

I'm sad to say I was happy to go.

Sunday brought a bit more madness.

Daddio and I sat in the very last pew at church.

It is our favorite spot.

I have a weird thing about people looking at the back of my head.

I imagine them critiquing my hair...or the dog hairs stuck to back of my sweater.

I wonder if I may have forgotten to remove a tag...and if I did, chances are it is a bright pink CLEARANCE one.

I can feel my parted cowlick...gray hairs poking east and west.

Yes sir, I like that back row.

A lot.

In front of us was a young family.

Dad, small boy, Mom, small girl.

The boy wore a white button up shirt, navy vest and a pair of pleated dress pants secured with a slender belt.

His wild hair combed hard to one side and plastered with mousse...

His younger sister wore a bell shaped, wine colored holiday dress.

They were both munching snacks pulled from greasy baggies clutched in their closed fists.

Crunch, crunch, crunch..crunch, crunch, crunch...

The snacks were french fry shaped long thin strips in shades of green, yellow and a dull orange.

They fed the snacks into their mouths like loggers feeding a shredder.

I was mesmerized watching the crumbs fly.

And the tiny fingers being sucked clean.

I sometimes wish we could be late to mass.

I like to avoid the "time to stand up and meet our neighbors" bullcrap bologna.

(I'll admit I am all kinds of messed up)

I was wondering how in the hell Daddio was going to avoid the "dirty" handshake with the boy logger.

As Pastor directed "turn around and greet your fellow worshipers"  the small boy spun to face us.

He thrust his open hand toward Daddio, waiting for a hand shake.

Daddio sidestepped the hand altogether and grabbed the kid's wrist and forearm.

He pumped it up and down in a firm shake.

I literally almost died.

"Crazy old man" the boy's expression read.

Me..? I giggled the whole damn hour every time I thought of Daddio's quick thinking.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Can't buy me.....

Jenny Matlock over at off on my tangent threw us a curve ball with this week's Centus...use only 25 words she instructed. She is quite the (sweet) taskmaster. Below please find the prompt in BOLD ITALLICS and the 25 words I've added to it.

The lottery ticket, six perfectly chosen numbers, windswept, initially it soared, then dipped downward toward the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Money buying happiness???? Now, she’d never know.

Friday, January 14, 2011

I'm deep in the trenches....

of January hum-drum.

I'm like a blob of nothingness.

A frozen dead tree stump.

Feeling a smidgen of depression creepin in.

Smack dab in the middle of good ol January and I have yet to do anything toward my New Year's Resolutions.

Okay that's a lie.

I didn't make any resolutions, since I knew I'd never keep them if I did.

So I guess I have kept my non-resolutions.

Still though, January is the perfect time to rearrange your cupboards and clean your closets.

Well, in my fantasy world, it's the perfect time.

Dreams and motions are two different things friends.

In the trenches of January hum-drums my world is viewed through a pair of baby poop colored glasses.

Thick, yellowish green Grey Poop-on (yeah, I know it's Poupon) mustard ev-ery-thang...

In the middle of my January hum-drums I see filth in my house, a mess in my checkbook.

More wrinkles on my mug than a pug dog.

I'm also beyond tired of seeing those horrible smokers lines (I don't smoke) around my lips, deep lines that look like I'm puckering for a smooch (which I'm not).

My lipstick somehow defies gravity and moves upward into the vertical cracks where it stays and makes me look like a four year old who played in her mother's make-up...or a washed up movie star.

Poop colored, everything.

What brings a person out of this type of funkytown wallow...?

I was trying so hard to think of what might do it when Bear walked into the room.

"Hi" he said cheerfully "how are you?"

(wtf...? it's 6:11 am)

"uh, I gotta tell you somethin.." he continued.

"Is it bad?" I say quickly "I can't hear bad. It's too early for bad".

"I got a ticket last night" he admitted "a ticket for 5 over".

"the cop said it won't hurt our insurance"

" five over won't hurt anything"

"the one and only ticket I got was over 2 years ago"

"I will pay for this".....he declared.

Well a sure fire way to get yourself out of a January hum-drum.

And feel a zest for life once again.

Nothing quite like a blood rush to your head, a pounding heart, and some rapid gasping breaths to let you know...

I'M ALIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Those damn kids.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

It sucks (BIG TIME) when you miss your calling....

My New Year's post hinted at the possibility that maybe, just maybe someday in the foreseeable future I could and may be possibly spinning a wonderful tale that talked about Daddio's recovery from his tactile issues....

it ain't gonna happen, not now, probably not ever.

Shit My Dad says is a Twitter account owned by a twenty somethin guy named Justin...he has over 700,000 followers.

Loyal fans who tune in daily (and more) to read about the crazy shit his dad says...

Snippets of odd ball comments the old man makes. 

What the hell was I thinking...????? I could have authored this nonsense..

and called it Shit Daddio Says...

I'd be floatin in dough right now.

Jason recounts his dad's diddies Tweet style...140 characters, each one giggly worthy.

Jason's Dad could be Redd Foxx's Fred E. Sanford, Archie Bunker, George Jefferson and that goofy guy from Curb Your Enthusiasm all rolled into one...

So much like my precious Daddio, it's positively creepy.

I bought Daddio a leather jacket for Christmas...this may be the 25th leather jacket that Daddio has owned and tried to like.

He had one leather (only one) that he really loved.

Of course it went out of style along with his Duran Duran hair over 20 years ago.

So I'm always on the lookout for another that he will love as much.

And this last one wasn't it.

"What's wrong with the jacket?" I asked, noticing that he kept pushing it aside in the closet, choosing other jackets instead.

"It fits me like I'm wearing a grass catcher" he explained.

"A grass catcher..?" he had me puzzled.

"What the hell is a grass catcher"

"The thing on the lawn mower that collects the mowed grass" he replied.

Ohh brother...seriously... seriously?

Your jacket is a grass catcher...?

I missed my calling.

Dammit it all...I freakin missed my frickin calling.

You have no idea how hard it was to keep a straight face when the clerk asked my "reason for return"...

Yesterday morning Daddio put on his shirt and complained about about the button "local"..."look" he said.. "see how this buckles a bit here?" pulling at the collar of his dress shirt.."the button should be higher so it lays down"

"You want me to safety pin it closed" I offer, biting my bottom lip hard in an attempt to keep my hysterical laughter to myself.

"You really should become a clothing designer" I say "you most certainly missed your calling".

"Yeah and I'd get the shit right" he boasts.

Daddio tells me that the first thing he would design is a pair of long johns that had a crotch for a normal man... "first of all", he says, grabbing the extra 4 yards of material hanging from his crotch to his knees...

"I wouldn't have this spare blob right here" he says.

"Look....look how they bag".

"These things are made to fit a small gorilla or a monkey"...

Good Lord.... Calvin Koby?

Daddio Versace...?


We both missed the boat no freakin doubt about it.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011 cool is that?

Odd numbers aren't usually my thing.


Opposites attract, right?

So I usually like even things.

I am a Libra...


Ruled by the planet Venus.

I forgot my point here.

Anyway, I wanted to apologize if you wandered over to visit and all ya got was some old news...sorry if that happened to was an early morning.

I had to be out of the house by 6:30am.

I had a tough choice to make...create a literary masterpiece or shi* shower and shave.

As you saw/ vanity won out.

Yesterday, I got four new loveables.

One chickie baby and three bad azz boys.

Chickie informed me almost immediately after meeting her that "I don't do dishes"...hmmm, I guess she's on dish duty first thing today...

One of the bad azz boys has already walked the halls of our thug-school.

He went away for an attitude tune-up and now he's back.

New and improved.

We'll see.

The other new loveable wore glasses and a mop of brown hair (Justin Badazz Beeber style) that just didn't quit.

It covered his face tight, like a mold of hot fudge.

I soooo had a couple of fantasy daydreams when I looked at him...each and every one involved a pair of haircutting shears.

Third badazz boy and I washed dishes.

A very nice, mannerly kid.

After a bit of small talk, mostly from me..I asked the Big One...

"So what brings you to this place..? What did you do to get placed on probation?"

"I stole a car"...he answered.

"Hmmm" I said " was it your mom's car? Or a stranger's?"

I think that makes a difference.

Kids sometimes take a parent's car...without permission, parents call the law and in a moment of anger, press charges,...usually not a horrible situation.

"A stranger's car" he answered " I don't know who's car it was."

"Do you have a substance abuse problem?" I asked.

"Like weed...?" he asked.

"Sure, weed, pills, booze... do you indulge"?

Of course he did/does..what else would make you so freakin dumb that you would steal some one's car...?

"Did you make your mother sad...?" I asked him.

"Yeah" he answered, lowering his head.

This one is gonna be easy.

Make it a great (odddddd numbered) day....


Come tomorrow back...

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Shudda known betta....

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 the image shown below...

Stuart Orangenhimer III had some explaining to do. He’d been warned that employers may search Facebook pages to see how potential employees act in real life. Picture proof alright, here they see him hung-over, naked and still wearing his party hat. He should have known better when he decided to bend over and moon the photographer that this night could come back to haunt him.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Into each life...

a little rain must fall.

I hate that statement.

I really do.

I can't help but feel smothered by my own fears and realizations that some day it could (and will) be me...

or mine.

And baby...waiting for and anticipating that downpour is a stress-er, that's for sure.

Tic, tic, tic....when will the shoe drop...? When will the luck run out..?

So I do this kind of thing... " Please God, oh please God, oooooh please God don't let it be me, or Daddio or one of the kids or one of my parents, my siblings, someone I get it.

Please Lord, protect mine.

But isn't that all our prayer...?

Every last one of us says..."please not mine".

I wonder how HE picks...who?

Who will be the one to get sick?

Lose someone in an accident?

Does HE even choose...?

Or do we ourselves write our own destiny....?

By driving drunk, by not eating properly, by somehow picking up a shitty set of genes...?

Does HE give us choices and let us suffer consequences for them...?

You choose, at 15, to get in the car with a drunk friend...or not.

If not, you live to make another choice.

So really, you may have 10 days and ways in which you could choose to call it a day, and meet your Maker..?

This of course would be HIS plan...he gives you 5 or 10 or 17 chances to chart your own course.

And since HE knows ALL and knows what/where/when your choice will be, he sits back and watches.

Now I don't have any idea if this theory of mine could stand up in a court of law with a true Theologian or even in an in depth discussion with a bona fide bible thumper..

and I don't much care.

It's just something that I think about from time to time.

So if you chose to do all kinds of rotten things and ended up with cancer or a bolt of lightening that struck right through your evil, shriveled heart...well then, I guess some could say "he got what he deserved"..?

That seems to be a proper punishment for, say, a murderer...and similar such no good for nothing human beings.

But what about a kid that gets sick...?

And this is my sucks thinking "there but for the Grace of God go I"..

And that it probably is really nothing more than a crap shoot...?

It really sucks.

I appreciate you listening.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Caught in the act....

Last night Bear and his dear charming young miss were heard giggling and making all kinds of weird noises in the basement.

When I wandered down, pretending to do a load of wash I caught them in the act.

The act of watching old videos.

Family videos that I'd taken.

I'm no vid-e-ographer by any stretch of the imagination.

Many moments on the tapes are out of focus.

Some are so wobbly they look like they were taken from the deck of a boat caught in a storm.

And it's positively bloody red-faced run from the room embarrassing to hear my drone-y nasally voice commanding the children to heel, sit, speak....

But you know what else I hear...?

A mom who is fun

and warm

and silly

and a bit crazy, too.

I physically wince when I hear myself brush off one kid to "feature" another.

"NOT now, hang on, waitttttttt a sec, move over, I can't see...."

I'd like to go back and do it all over again.

Not every moment...just the times I did it wrong.

"Oh yes NOW..I'm all yours, move closer to me, let me see you, I see you."

Please know I always saw you. hurts a little bit.

Hurts to know that I can't get that time back, they are grown.

All grown up.

But the tenderness was there, yes it was...even when my criticizing eyes and ears say I could have done better, I know I did the very best I could (most days, anyway).

The kids look at themselves and see things they don't like "Gawd Ma where'd you get that coat?"

"Who cut our hair? ..the lawnmower?"

Their jagged bangs and too short pants speak to me.

But not as loud as their smiles or their giggles.

The old videos are proof, beyond a shadow of a doubt that we laughed and danced and sang a lot.

That I let them (and a gaggle of their friends) take over my house, my yard, my heart.

That we colored Easter eggs and decorated Christmas trees and made snowballs so large they couldn't be moved..

I have moving picture proof of this...and also,

that their dad and I loved (and love) them more than anything in this world.

I'll take that kind of validation any day.

Cause you know what...?

I worked my ass off.

And seriously... there is nothing nothing wrong with that coat (or your haircut or the color of your bedroom walls) you freakin idiot(s)....

I hope they know that I expect some type of repayment for all that fine, well intentioned mothering they received.

In other words they better not kick me to the curb when someday I accidentally pee on their couch.

Monday, January 3, 2011

Come what may....

So...the very (Very) first day of the year brought some extra water to my house.

I'm always praying for more of something...but it usually isn't water.

Taking my daily pilgrimage to the basement with a basketful of laundry I tried to carefully navigate the stairs.

I know there are 11 steps.

I know this because I counted them when we first moved in.

I remember telling someone "hey, this house has eleven steps to the basement just like our other house did"..

(DUH...pretty much standard. Comforting, nonetheless. )

So I count the stairs as I go down.

Usually by the time I get to stair number 4 or 7, I've lost count.

Some random thought has pushed the order right from my head.

Is that a spider, it had better not be a spider, I'm gonna scream if that black hairy spot moves. How is this banister loose? Who in the hell put that nick in the wall? Why is there always so much freakin laundry, Why is it always me that has to do this laundry? Well, I'm the lowly woman, I guess. And we all know that lowly woman translates to slave. What day is it...? Isn't there something due today? Did I forget to pay something? Man the dog stinks, I can smell her from here. Okay, maybe it's not the dog, it's the laundry. Good Lord this basket is heavy, my bladder feels like it's gonna fall out. Oh dear, now it feels like its gonna leak. Thank goodness I've got a Depend diaper on. Oh no, I don' wait, don't dribble, I'm almost to the bottom step...

Yes, step number 5. Or is it number 9....

So I misjudge the last step or two.

I'm usually lucky though, the pile of laundry breaks my fall.

This day, the VERY first day of the year 2011, the basement carpeting looks dark, very dark, unusually dark...

FU*&...the carpet looks wet.

And by George, it is.

Dammititalltohell....the basement has flooded.

Well it had been raining for at least a day, and the ground here in good ol Michigan is a frigid evil bitch at the moment and not open to anything slipping down into her.

The water has to go some place.

I surveyed the damage to our basement and then am forced to take the LOOOOOOOOOONG walk upstairs to inform my husband.

Step by step my anxiety grows.

Twenty two (he's on the second floor of our mansion) purely agonizing steps in soggy socks....

When I finally get to him I'm tempted to throw myself to the floor in a dramatic over-dramatized and drama filled vignette,

"ARRGHHHHH honey, sweetheart, loveofmylife, the worst, the absolute worst possible thing has happened this morning" I would sob.

"Wadda ya want?" he would say, all concerned "can't you see I'm tuning my guitar".

So a miracle happened at my house on this day, this VERY first day of January 2011.

We had a basement flood and Daddio didn't pop a nut.

No, he was strangely calm and in total control as he spent most of his day on his knees sucking water into the stinky shop-vac. The poor thing had only a hose, no attachments (when I attempted to question his logic in using only the hose, I learned that the attachments had been stolen by the same sticky fingered thief that steals all of his good tools...Why??? the kids would want to lift the attachment tools to the stinky shop vac will have to remain a mystery. I didn't dare go into detective mode...timing is everything, you know).

In spite of the events of this very FIRST day of January we went to bed laughing.

We were happily sawing logs until our slumber was interrupted by Googie bursting into our room yelling that Bear's car alarm was blaring, beeping, blasting and couldn't be silenced.

"Why in the hell are you in here?" Daddio asked, gently (tee-hee) "GO GET YOUR BROTHER, IT'S HIS CAR".

With all this commotion going on we were all  forced to be wide eyed awake and so were the neighbors...all except the neighbor girl that plowed into the back of Bear's parked car and set his alarm a singin at 4:45am January 2.

I think that bimbo was sleeping.

Or gabbing on her phone.

Or a bit tipsy.

Or half blind.

I dunno.

Day two of 2011.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Getting it right....

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.

Her crumpled up list of resolutions…. pages 1 through 75 rested in a tall pile near her feet.

Filled with the usual, lose weight, stop gossiping, grow a backbone.

Be kinder, smile more, get a ferret.

# 76 hit the pile with such force it almost toppled over.

Finally, #77 looked about right.

A simple quote, the author not remembered, “Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow.”

And her own words finished the list…your life is not a dress rehearsal.

Be happy, appreciate, love deeply, amen.