Thursday, August 30, 2012

Lost in translation....

Yesterday an old loveable came to visit.

I love it when they stop by and tell me how things are going.

This particular young woman was quite a hot mess when she was in my class...she's still in our program, just not in my part, so lots of time passes between our visits.

I'm always surprised (sometimes delighted even) by her metamorphosis.

She's lost a lot of weight, and while she used to be a chubby girl that hid her confidence under roomy tee shirts today she displays lots of it, most of it in the form of gush-y cleavage oozing from the inside of a too tight, cherry red colored tank top.

(Concerning her confidence and oozing boobage...this is my observation, not my personal belief.)

I listen to the stories about how much she's changed.

How things have improved.

She dates a guy from our program. He is one of my favorite loveables of all time. A young man I'd let Googie date if she were younger, single and interested in teenage hoods.

Her dad hates the kid.

"If he were white" she tells me "my dad would be okay with him".

Her dad tries to bribe her to dump him. Offering her clothes and drivers education and all kinds of high dollar things if she will.

She tells me how wonderful her boyfriend is and that to her he is worth giving up everything for.

I think of Daddio and me when we were that age.

Daddio was worth giving up things for....

And I loved him enough to go to teen/parent war any day.

Thankfully, there were no wars to fight, nothing for him to prove.

They liked and trusted him. And he would have (like Dr Laura likes to say) swam through shark infested waters to bring me a lemonade.

My young friend tells me that her guy, the love of her life, recently moved from the state.

He's in another town looking for work and a new place to hopefully lay roots.

I ask her if she's going to join him there.

She nods her head, and her eyes sparkle when she gushes "yes, as soon as I can".

"I'm going to get a job and we are going to make a life for ourselves, a better life than we had here. I won't have to listen to my dad and we can be together with no problems. I love his family so much" she says "his mother is the best cook ever, they had me over for the holidays and I didn't want to leave" she continued.

I work while we talk. She chatters on about this boy and her days in my program.

She thanks me for "teaching her to cook so many things" and tells me that she has no mother to teach her those things and that she appreciates how much she learned.

She offers to help me finish up with some dishes I'm washing.

I take her up on it.

We laugh when she asks me if I remember how much she used to fight me about doing dishes.

I tell her that she doesn't stand out much in that department as none of the kids like to do dishes.

A staff member comes in and he and I talk a minute, the girl steps out of the kitchen.

When she comes back in, she's holding her phone.

She pulls the phone away from her ear and tells me that she called her boyfriend and he wants to talk to me.

I'm thrilled to talk to him, it's been a couple of years since our last conversation.

I question him about his life and I'm happy to hear him say that he's doing well.

Working hard and making a new life for himself.

I ask him about the girl and his plans for her to join him.

He hesitates, then says "I have no plans for her to join me".

I glance up to see an ear to ear smile, she's nodding her head up and down.

"I can't wait to go be with him" she says when I hang up the phone.

"You have any backup plans?" I ask, already knowing the answer.


Monday, August 27, 2012

Words Marmie told me never to use....

September, I can't wait....

It seems like just days ago I was looking forward to summer.... and in just a few days it will be September already.

This summer has been one I won't be sorry to see go.

September has always been my rejuvenation month.

And I am praying that this one follows suit...and allows me to step out of my current skin and into something a bit more comfortable.

A birthday of note.....

My blog will be 1,095 days old tomorrow.

Hitting the big 0-3.

Thank you for reading, commenting and all that jazz.

I have a couple of goals for the coming year...

The biggest is to hit (at least) 100 followers...

So if you read this blog with any regularity, would you consider becoming a follower...?

I want to keep up appearances and the more followers a blog has well the more followers a blog has.

A member of society..... (teeeee-heeeee)

On a silly sidenote...

Daddio and I went out to grab a bite of grub on Saturday night.

The venue we chose was one that sits on the intersection of two very busy roads.

We pulled into the restaurant parking lot the same time as a young woman.

We parked our cars and got out at the same time.

I watched as she struggled getting some stuff from the back seat of her tiny car.

When she stood up she had her purse hanging from one arm, in both hands she carried a large wrapped package.

In the crook of one arm she also carried a large blow-up penis.

It's not everyday you see a cute young girl in heels nonchalantly making her way across a parking lot hugging dear to a big pink tallywhacker.

I guess the funniest thing about it was that she was all business... like she had no clue she was carrying a big huge plastic dick.

She was oblivious to the stares and snickers of the people in the parking lot.

A woman on a mission.

She walked to the door and struggled to get in.

The couple of men at the door wanted to open it for her...but as she got closer to the door, so did the bobbing private she was carrying.

And most guys that I know will do anything not to touch a penis that doesn't hang on their own body.

The guys bobbed and weaved to prevent getting hit by the one eyed monster.

The girl didn't miss a beat opening her own door and stepping inside.

(Daddio and I followed her in)

The two hostesses got bugged eyed and then giggled and pointed her towards the back of the restaurant where it appeared there was a penis party going on.

The hostesses and I looked at each other and cracked up.

They were young and giggly and the laughter went on for a minute or two.

Then, I kid you not, one said...

"I would have waited until I got inside to blow that thing up"....

"Now that would have been quite a show" I replied.

****When after 15 minutes of waiting for our server to come and greet us and coming up bone dry Daddio said "lets hit the road...those girls got one look at that thing and they've lost their heads"..."

Brain dick dead I like to call that.


*****Thank you dear readers for your contribution... I write, you read.

Its all good, and I thank you.



Image "Borrowed" from A Bookworms World
tee-hee
PS... if you've come here from another blog, please look around a bit, there may be something for everyone.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Take me out to the ballgame...Scotty beam me up...Calgone take me away

I've been spending lots of time with Susan (she is my sister who cares not to read this blog...it truly is okay (you BIMBO) since her not reading lends itself to her becoming fodder for my blog.

And all the while she is totally unaware that she is subject to scrutiny, one sided opinion(s), the butt of many jokes and so on...tee-hee).

Anyway,  since our father has been so ill this past year Susan and I have been pretty much connected at the hip.

The two of us have mostly always been great friends. There were a couple of years when the most contact we had was chasing each other around the house catching the other by the hair..we did always reconnect though, as Marmie had us cleaning piles of our mixed hair from the stairs.

My sister and I share a trait (a quirk? a personality malfunction) which finds us in giddy hysterics at the worst possible time(s).

(Googie has demonstrated symptoms this same issue)

Susan's quick wit and unique take on the world combined with some serious sleep deprivation can quickly spell disaster..

Or a pretty huge, embarrassingly loud, cackle fest.

This last all- night-er we pulled at the hospital is a stellar example of what I'm talking about.

We'd been at the hospital for hours, maybe 11 or so and our dad had not really gotten much treatment or a firm diagnosis.

Susan and I waited outside his room (really just to gather a breath, it's hard to watch a loved one suffer).

The frustration of the whole situation was forging a destructive path on my emotional well being and I was beginning to show signs of an explosion.

(Think Shirley McClaine's reaction in the movie Terms of Endearment when her dying daughter doesn't get her pain shot in time... see here)

After so many hours had passed and no one seemed to be doing much of anything Susan decided it was time to take matters into her own hands...

"I'll get us some quality help" Susan said.

She held up a pretend microphone and paged us a team of doctors.

"Paging Dr Larry"

"Dr Moe"

"Dr Curly"......

We (quietly) laughed so hard I peed my pants and Susan started her trademark "laugh-cry"... she laughed/cried so hard the tears rolled down her face...

Susan put her head down and her whole body shook with her hysterics.

A nurse, sitting at the station across the room took note.

She thought Susan was hysterical for other reasons and came over to calm her.

"We're doing the best we can" she said softly.

Susan caught the quick flowing tears that gathered under her eyes.

She wiped and nodded and bit her lip to keep her composure.

I hid in my sweatshirt neck and breathed my own BO... it worked like a sobering slap in da chops.

Stress relief comes in all forms.

Just sayin yo.

Monday, August 20, 2012

Slick, you ain't.....

I'll admit it here, out loud, for the first time that I have shower anxiety.

I totally blame it on Alfred Hitchcock, Janet Leigh and the shower scene from Psycho.

(If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend that you do NOT)

I don't like taking showers when no one else is home to help prevent Norman Bates (don't look him up) or any act-alikes from invading my bathroom space.

While I'm showering I always imagine I hear things.

The thought of which causes me to open my eyes in order to scan the small area where I stand naked and poised for victim-dome.

Which leads to shampoo and/or face soap entering and stinging my eyes.

Forcing a total head submersion (including both ears) under the shower stream.

Leading (of course) to total blindness, deafness and a vulnerability I'd rather not have (or even think about having).

So yesterday, for the millionth time this scene, in all it's insane insanity, played itself out.

I was under the water rinsing the soap from my eyes.

With that accomplished I tilted my head all the way back, stuck it under the shower head and rinsed the shampoo from my hair.

For a single solitary 30 seconds or so I was off guard and totally enjoying a moment free from thoughts of being attacked and stabbed to death in the shower.

As I brought my head forward, I slid my hands down from the top of my head towards the ends of my hair to get most of the water out.

Instantly I froze and took note of my surroundings.

 My eyes confirming what my gut had just told me.

Something/someone..??? was in the bathroom with me.

And that something/someone was attached to a cell phone that was being held up over the shower curtain recording my every move.

In an instant I did a memory scan (did I just wash my butt twice while on camera...?)

I bit my lower lip and without saying one word I looked straight into the camera and shook my head.

Wordlessly I picked up both hands and flipped the camera off.

F-u style.

The perpetrator had no idea that I was on to him and that he was being observed.

I watched as he silently pulled his recording device from the spot above my head.

I gave him a second or two to get out of the bathroom.

While he was outside the door reviewing his "catch",  I was on the other side of the bathroom door planning my retaliation.

I'd left the shower running and hid, dripping wet, behind the bathroom door.

It didn't take him long to watch the small film, see that he'd been caught, and turn to come back into the bathroom.

The counterattack was unexpected and (I might add) hilarious.

He fought me for all he was worth.

I punched him and called him names like "pervert" and "faaaa-reeeeeek".

I yelled "that'll teach ya" as I slapped at his head and tried to bite his arm.

After more than 30 years you'd think he'd learn.

Friday, August 17, 2012

Don't trip on the pee...

Susan (you may know her as my sister, the one who doesn't read this blog) and I spent one whole entire night at the hospital recently.

There is something quite odd about sitting in a foreign place and watching the sun go down and still being there to watch it rise hours later.

Our poor, poor dad is sick a-gain.

We've all been so disgusted with the treatment our local hospital has been giving my dad that we decided in advance that if he needed to be hospitalized again that we would take him to a nationally respected teaching hospital located in the middle of the "D".

A beautiful hospital surrounded by blight and homeless people.

The busy Emergency department would only allow one of us in the Triage area.

I drew the short straw and went in....Susan took a seat in the waiting room and pulled out some homework.

I found our dad laid out on a shabby stretcher in the middle of a bustling hallway where he' d been dropped by the EMS workers.

Next to him was a young thug laying on an equally shabby stretcher.

Next to the thug was a Police Officer, who it appeared, was keeping watch.

For once I was thankful that my dad is half deaf and can't hear many things outside a very close range.

Eavesdropping I learned that the young man, (in addition to having one of the foulest mouths I've ever heard) had been the victim of police brutality... he'd been roughed up, pepper sprayed and taser-ed.

He claimed they (The PoPo) had robbed him of his diamond pinky ring, and his pocket roll.

He alternately boo-hoo'd about getting his gun swiped and trying to strike a plea bargain (with the baby-sitting cop who couldn't do anything with that if you bribed him).

The bloody red eye'd boy was attempting to get the cop to get him out of his impending CCW charge.

The punk rambled on and on and on and the officer and I would occasionally trade glances and roll our eyes.

When the baby criminal paused for a quick breath I scanned the dump for something else to take my mind off of being there.

I spotted a creature with long, bright pink and braided (think Wednesday Adams) hair.

She wore a long, colorful (mostly pink) pinafore.

Ruffled white anklet socks and Mary Jane shoes.

An equally cutesy purse swung from her forearm when she skip-walked through the hallways of the ER.

When she pranced near enough for a closer inspection I almost laughed out loud.

She had gray roots beneath her colorful braids. Crows feet, a wrinkled forehead and lots of vertical lips lines... this babe was as old as time.

Susan (who'd seen the cartoonish doll in the outside waiting area) and I later compared notes about our common "what-THE-heck" when we overheard the ancient "girl" talking about being there with her mother.

I have no doubt, not a single one that any living mother of someone this old would have been GWR (Guinness World Record) worthy, fo sure....

Tramp stamps, bursting, tattoo'd cleavage and big booties covered in small thongs (peeking out from too tight too low trousers)  were abundant in the waiting area.

And so were the men that appreciate that kind of stuff.

Hoooo-hoooo-hoooo-ly cow.... the place was buzzing with people you'd hope to never meet in a dark alley.

While my dad rested with his eyes closed I entertained myself watching people try to dodge a large stream of light colored pee that was rushing toward a drain on the floor.

(* I knew it be pee because... [not just because I happen to be a knowitall, but because] the staff kept whispering (THIS LOUD)  that there was pee on the floor)

After calling at least 10 times to the housekeeping department and being ignored a nurse finally opened a large blanket and stuck it over the pee.

Then people could walk/trip (and ohhhh did they ever) over the blanket covered pee-pee on the floor.

Shame on me, I know.

Here, in this place, at this very time to stand guard over a potential malpractice victim (he's been through the ringer folks) and all I do is bobble-head over the whole room and take notes for my blog.

Survival friends, survival.

xoxo

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Les incompetent....

I like to stay under the radar when it comes to certain things.

I like to fly low and steady attempting to not attract attention of any kind in certain circumstances.

Mostly, I don't like people knowing how old I am or how lame I can be.

My boss's boss asked me to do him a "personal favor"... he needs me to work the next three Friday's.

It's not the fact that I have to put my second "job" on hold or anything (although that really IS a super pain in the keister not to mention a pretty big cluster flup).

Making up for lost time on Saturday is not really all that big of a deal...

 (frickin hell to da yes it's a big azz deal...)

So while I'm totally being asked to be put out and put upon..."they" are my bread and butter, so I need to just suck it up and when they say "JUMP"... I must respond WTF "HOW HIGH ??"

It's not so much that I have to be there on Friday...mostly all working stiffs work 5 days a week.

The problem is WHAT they have me doing.

Kayaking .... week one we were going to Kayak.

I'm all about depending on me/myself/I .... but me/myself/I in a little floatation device being in total charge of me/myself/I and having not one single solitary outdoorsy type person to help out by sitting in the boat and doing everything while I hang (white knuckle) on to the sides with my eyes glued shut had me more than a little shook up (not to mention heart palpitations, which were lots).

I think my boss' boss could see that he was asking for a donation of my left kidney....

or for me to Pole Vault across six cars lined up side to side.

He could see me squirm (the tears streaming down my face didn't hurt either).

"Please don't make me go in a boat by myself" I silently begged

"Surely, I'll paddle (if I get the hang of it) right into International Waters (Canada is our nearest neighbor) or out to sea...

They'll find me days after the trip, one pinky finger gouged into the side of the kayak hanging on for dear survival, lips parched, severely sunburned and half eaten by whatever kinds of huge (whiskered) fish hang out in the deep, deep, dark waters of the Huron River...

Or the boat just may capsize, I won't drown, but I'll sink to the bottom and end up with dirt in places ladies shouldn't have dirt."

By a stroke of wonderful luck our kayaking trip was cancelled due to a forecast of heavy rain.

Daddio hugged me tight and said "they really have no idea how great it is that this event has been rained out, they don't want someone like you on a kayak"

(the man calls a fig a fig)

I nearly cried tears of joy at the change of plans which included a Movie with the group.

I like to watch movies, but don't go out to see them often. I don't like that I can't pause the show and take a tinkle break or get some diet ice cream or chocolate bars. I don't like that I may have to share the armrest with a total stranger or hear/smell someone enjoying their last meal of popcorn..

(crazy knows it...just sayin)

I figured I could get over myself and my idiosyncrasies for a couple hour movie.

Anything would be better than kayaking.

My group and I got to the theater late and had to walk in with the movie already in progress.

I found myself leading the way into the theater.

In my own defense I will say that I had no idea my "night blindness" was so advanced.

Or that the stairs were so far apart.

Climbing mostly blind to the top seats of the movie theater had me using my foot like a red tipped white cane...tap tap tap... okay there it is, you can step now...tap tap tap....there is the next one... and the next and the next.

Even though I couldn't see my hands in front of my face, I'm quite sure lots of people (including my boss' boss) saw me go down on all fours like an ape to keep from tripping.

Next week the plan is to go fishing.

I'm not sure if I should pray for rain, or not...?

We can poke your eye out with a rusty screwdriver or we can poke your eye out with a rusty screwdriver...

Arrgh.

Friday, August 10, 2012

Walk a mile in my pumps (or just a foot or two)....


Ohhhh, my dogs are barking.

They've been barking (loudly and incessantly) for a couple of months.

Over these past several months I've developed a HUGE calf muscle (that sideways looks like really fat turkey drumstick) on one leg.... a result of trying to walk on the side of one foot.

All because of a really shitty, rotten and nastily foul foot aliment called Plantar Faciitis.

Another gift of (menopausal weight gain) middle age.

The saying "feet don't fail me now" had never even crossed my mind as mine had always been very very kind to me.... they were good and sturdy and able to carry me, plus 23.81 #'s (collectively at birth) of babies, an over- the- years steady weight gain all happily supported (usually) by some super cute yet totally un-sensable shoes... mostly heels (and high ones at that).

My feet rocked.

As good as my feet were fundamentally and structurally, they were not ever pretty to look at and have always caused me a fair amount of embarrassment.

Fred Flintstone flat... ruddy colored vienna sausage like toes...

Like putting lipstick on a pig the shiny bright nail polish and neat home-done pedicures were basically a moot point.

A waste of time and money.

Still though, as ugly as they were, they totally had my respect and my undying gratitude for their loyal performance(s).

Until lately.

Lately I want to chop the whole foot off and put an end to my pain.

I hate the mo-fo's....

Since I saw my doctor about my aching foot and the exercises he gave me to try didn't work I've had all kinds of fantasies about asking him for a referral to a foot specialist.

There are lots of em... one peek in the pile of colorful advertisements that come through the mail and in the Sunday paper will find that every other advertisement is for a "foot job" repair all done by a miracle man Doctor of Podiatry.

I was on the elevator the other day, on my way to visit my ailing father.

I entered on the ground floor with the intention of going up to floor number 7.

A man and another woman hopped on board and pushed the floor buttons.

She was headed to floor #2.

The man to floor #8.

I was going to seven.

I'm not going to sugar coat this.... I get elevator anxiety. I smell things, I hear things and I often stifle giggles (thinking almost automatically about an old Peter Seller's "Pink Panther" movie, see clip below, tee- hee) ...

I look around so as not to look around...kwim?

A ride that far in an elevator is usually excruciating (at best) for someone like me.

I notice (while NOT looking around) that the man is a doctor...a Podiatrist.

I almost want to take this opportunistic moment to ask him about my barking dogs.

Since the elevator appeared to be stopping at every floor I had lots of time to try and get up my nerve.

I glanced over at him and noticed that he was looking down.

It didn't matter who was getting on or off that elevator the doctor was busy with his eyes elsewhere.

I followed his stare and it stopped at my feet.

I wondered if he could just somehow "tell" that I had foot problems.

Were there telltale signs that an expert could spot...?

His gaze didn't appear official.

Maybe he was thinking about how goofy and ugly my feet were...?

My initial response was to hide my toes... the more he stared the more I tried to nonchalantly curl them up under my sandal straps.

The harder I drew them in and up the more I felt a charley horse cramp beginning to creep into the bottom of my bad foot.

Suddenly I got the feeling that this guy was a bit of an odd ball.

Suddenly I got the feeling that he didn't find my feet repulsive at all....

Suddenly I got the feeling that I was on the elevator with a Podiatrist with a foot obsession.

And not in a professional way.

When I stumbled off on the 7th floor I wanted to find a place to wash my feet... they felt dirtier and uglier than usual.

I'm not joking when I say I felt totally violated.



On a lighter note... (please turn up your volume and listen carefully)





Tuesday, August 7, 2012

What I did on my summer vacation....

My loveable load has lessened, so much so that at this very moment I only have one.

(poor kid)

He comes to me after the academic potion of his day and believe me when I say "poor kid".

Not much could be worse for a punk rotten kid than to have to play nice with a cray-cray old woman who loves to hear herself babble.

In an effort to keep ourselves busy and get something accomplished we started off making mini meatloaves.

I sent the loveable to the big kitchen to fetch some eggs.

This kid's ADHD is the WORST I've ever encountered so I often find myself breaking down chores and being annoyingly through in my requests..

"Please go to the large kitchen and get a half dozen eggs. Don't let the eggs fall on the floor. Could you take a bowl, so you don't have to try and carry all 6 in your hands. Please don't get lost in the freezer. And don't touch anything else in there. Walk, don't run in the kitchen, Miss Sue doesn't like it when we run in her kitchen"

He stops twirling in circles and looks at me.

I point toward the bowls, he picks up three different sizes, one at a time and says "this one?"

"what about this one"

"this one or this one"

"Pick a bowl kid, any bowl and go get the eggs" I advise.

He comes back with an extra egg and it turns out to be a good thing when he begins to juggle three and drops one on the counter.

"Good thing you had an extra one" I say "don't do that at home, luck will have you having just enough and then you won't be able to make your recipe"

While we gather ingredients to make the meat loaf mixture, he takes a momentary "time out".

With a large spoon he "stirs" inside the huge metal bowl, which is empty.

His actions make quite a racket, but not as much as when the bowl spins off the counter and hits the floor.

(the sound rattles the metal fillings in my teeth)

"Wow" I say "lucky for you that bowl is empty".

He smiles and nods his head.

He dances back and forth, hops on one foot, then the other as we put the seasonings and the meat in a pile in the middle of the big bowl.

Like a race horse ready to run he leans and gestures his body forward, it's evident he can hardly wait to dig his gloved hands into the bowl to combine the mixture.

"Be careful" I say "go slow" I caution.

He dives in, both hands, up to his elbows.

A blob of the meat flies out of the bowl and hits the ground.

Shit, I think.... you need to frickin S-L-OOOOOOOOOOOO-W it down kid, slow down, slow down.

"Stand still" I say as I go near his feet to gather the ground beef off the floor.

He backs up from the bowl to give me room.

He steps on my pinky finger.

His size 13 shoe makes an impression.

I wonder if my nail will turn black and fall off..?

A sticky clump of meat mixture falls from his extended hands.

It falls in my hair.

"I'm sorry" he says, then as I stand up he reaches to get it out.

"I'm good" I say, backing away from his meat covered gloves.

I pulled out as much of the sticky burger as I can and back to work we go.

I leave him alone for a minute to get a cloth from the back room.

When I round the corner entering the room I see him lifting up a volley ball sized hunk of meatloaf mixture high above his head. He was just about ready to toss that into the air when I yelled for him to stop. He jumped so hard he knocked over the plastic measuring cup.

It bounced off the floor and hit my shin.

The cup doesn't break... I'm not too sure about my shin bone.

"YOU OKAY?" the lovable asks.

"I'm (FLIPPIN AZZ) fine, I'm good, put the meat back in the bowl" I respond.

While I look at the recipe for a baking time he shapes the meat into baseball sized mounds.

I want to scream "STOP PLAYING WITH YOUR MEAT"...

but I don't because I've done that before and not had the best reaction.

We end up having a lot of class time left when I make the executive (saving both our azzs') decision to finish the meat loaf (MYSELF) in the morning.

What to do what to do what to do.

"Ever make cupcakes?" I ask.

I send him, along with 17 "rules" to gather 6 more eggs from the big kitchen.

He brings 7, just in case.

We use a box mix, I like to teach them how to read the directions figuring that this is what they will most likely bake at home.

I tell him to always read left to right..following the band across the top of the cake mix box showing the ingredients needed and how much of each.

He chooses to use brute force (instead of the scissors sitting next to him) to open the plastic bag containing the dry mix.

The bag pulls apart sideways and half the mix poufs into the air and into both our faces.

As I wipe up the mess I'm not paying attention when he says "One cup of oil"....

Just as he's about to pour it in it hits me that that doesn't sound right.

"Wait a minute" I yell...

Oil sloshes sideways and over the edge of the cup's rim when he jerks his hand back to "STOP" like I order.

The oil hits the counter and threatens to go over the edge onto the floor.

I mop up the oil watching closely while he finishes with the next few additions.

"Have you ever used a hand mixer?" I ask him.

I demonstrate even though he tells me he has.

"If you lift these beaters up out of this bowl and any liquid flies anywhere it shouldn't" I warn him..."you WILL be washing walls and where ever else it hits...understand?"

He promises he does.

And for a second or two he remembers, then he does exactly what I told him not to do.

The beaters lift and turn with his body when he tries to say something to me.

I catch most of the flying batter.

Only not with my hands.

He comes at me with the oil covered cloth and I duck and weave and tell him "thank you very much, but I'll clean my own face".

He doesn't seem dissapointed when I tell him that we have to wait until tomorrow to frost our cupcakes.

I'm pooped.

And dirty and sticky.

And done with this day.

Later a co-worker would gesture that I had something on my face. I wiped left. He nodded, then gestured right. I wiped right, he nodded again. "Under your eye" he said "and on your eyebrow". I wiped both spots.

"There's something really gross in your hair" he said, then added "only one kid today...almost like a mini vacation huh?"

"Yeah, something like that" I reply.

Photo of messy kitchen "borrowed" from foodieinberlin's blog


****** PS

I would like to thank each and every one of you who read this blog. I want to thank those who comment, your thoughts and kind words delight me more than words can say. I always think I should "comment" back... but I don't know if you circle back and look to see if I did...??? When I make a comment on a blog I never go back and see if the author replied... so I don't know if they did... I want you to know that I read each and every comment and smile every time I do... If you comment, please let me know if you circle back or not...? Either way, I appreciate you and I owe you big time for taking the time to comment... saves me some ching on a therapist..kwim?

Monday, August 6, 2012

Good bye Bouncer...

HELLOOOOOO BARTENDER

Good gawd, Bear turned 21 on Saturday.

I can't remember my own 21st birthday, (no, I wasn't that drunk... I'd been legal for years, the drinking age in Michigan was 18 at the time.)

I cried while in the card store choosing the perfect birthday card for my boy.

Bear is one of a kind kind of kid... I like to tell people that when I find myself dozing on the couch and I feel a blanket being gently laid over my shoulders, when I look up, it's always Bear placing it there.

He notices when my feet ache or my heart is broken.

We spent so much time alone together when he was small.. I feel like we're pals.

Many of the cards I looked at had boys on the front that looked a lot like he did.

Dark, thick, tousled haired boys with sturdy hands and bright eyes.

Little boys playing ball, building Lincoln Log fortresses, fishing on the side of a wide stream... the kind of crap that automatically triggers the waterworks in a mother such as me.

The words below were on the card I choose...

"Along the halls of yesterday where happy memories glow, I sometimes see the little boy I loved so long ago.

He fills the house with noisy fun and laughter as he plays, banging doors in eagerness to reach his grown up days...

Today I'm proud to see a man who's grown to warm my heart even more than that small boy I loved so at the start. 


I'm going to miss having a kid around.


"21" is seriously "official" in the "I'm a grown ass man" arena.


I need to get to the mind frame that shouts "what a wonderful job you did with this kid person"...and stop wallowing in the whisper asking me how in the world "I" got old enough to have a baby that can not only drink vodka and not worry about getting caught.... but walk into any liquor store, with a bona fied ID and buy the crap...


YIKES....


Pages turn sister.....yes, yes, yes, they certainly do.


And the sooner you face facts the less you will look like a crazy lunatic.


Okay, yeah, sure.


xoxo..thanks for reading my blog!!

Friday, August 3, 2012

Exactly....




Some food for thought....




TGIF....for real this time.

xoxo

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Elizabeth RN... (stands for Rotten Nurse)





TGIF... it's been a really really really really really loooooooooooong week.

Bear is going to survive, a really bad case of mono has been diagnosed, is being treated and is currently under good control..


whew that was a close one.


He tells no lie(s) when he says he has the immune system of a sickly two year old... and the healing properties of a 1,000 year old man.


My dad is still hanging out horizontally on the fifth floor of a local hospital... Susan (my sister, you may know her as the one who reads every other written word, in every medium, including the dosing instructions of baby Tylenol while having no small children, yes, she reads everything...ev-ery-thing except this blog)... where was I..?


Oh yeah Susan (you may know her as ....please see above) worked on a project at the very hospital that my dad is currently being killed at.... the project was done with a consulting firm the purpose of said project was to see where this hospital failed (the way in which it is horrifically run, that's where..yo) and where it could improve (stop killing so many with your poor, inept care..duh)


Susan says the hospital received high "marks" in the surgical arena however they received really low marks in aftercare... 


no shit... seriously


There is a particularly snooty nurse whose hair I would love to pull. She is condescending and rude. Not to mention mean, uncaring and a witch with a "B"....


The crack up is that this month she is the featured "EMPLOYEE of DA MUNT"... so her (fake) smiling mug is plastered on an 8x10 situated on the information board as you round the corner to my dad's room.


Ohhhh how I want(ed) to rip down that picture.


I even fantasized about putting the large photo in the toilet and pooping on it...( not a command pooper so that was out)


I didn't tell Susan (my sister...) about my plan because she likes to pretend to be the mature one...she'd rather write a complaint letter than take an un-flushed dump on a glossy 8x10.



Yesterday as we walked toward our dad's room she asked an odd question..."you don't have a Sharpie, do you...?" she said nodding toward the ugly picture of the ugly nurse.


What the hell...she was going to do a little ink "photo-shoping" on that bimbo's mug shot....


Good lawd, there is hope for that girl after all...


(I didn't have a Sharpie and thank goodness I didn't...neither one of us noticed the huge (really large) round "see everything up and down the hallway" mirror ball thingy hanging on the ceiling...it would have been hugely embarrassing having a security escort out of the hospital with a destruction of property charge looming)....


TTYL....


xoxo