Wednesday, November 14, 2012


My girl will reach a milestone at exactly 8:05am this morning when she turns the big 2-5.

As her mother's daughter she's counting days until her Social Security retirement benefits start.

Wondering what color to dye her gray hair?

And what would be a better choice a three leg cane walker or just the regular wheeled variety?

Seriously... I have wrinkles older than her.

But that age obsession thingy....appears it's passed on just like the love of blue cheese and black licorice.

About twenty years ago Susan (you may know her as that hunk of no reading cow dung dear sister o mine that can't manage to devour this delightful blog) decided to ditch me and go live with Marmie in the OC.

The very day Susan hightailed it outta town Googie and I sat on a curb and watched as Susan's car pulled away and headed down our street.

As much as I hate to admit this in print (the evidence thing) I thought I was going to lose what was left of my mind if I had to navigate everyday life minus my sister in my hair.

My little girl and I sat thigh to thigh on the curb in front of our house waving until Susan's car was out of our sight,

Googie watched closely as I wiped tears that were spilling faster than I could catch them.

After about ten straight minutes of listening to the hysterics she put her pudgy lil arm around my neck and squeezed in tight to my cheek,

then whispered into my ear....

"Don't worry momma" she said "I will be your sister now".

That right there is just a sprinkling of what this girl does for me (and for many others too) day in and day out.

She faces, every. single. day. the challenges of a debilitating illness with courage and grace.

She is ever changing and growing.

Learning to become a Doula and a Photographer.

She's a free, and gentle flower, growing wild.

And I am more proud of her than words could ever express.

Happy birthday baby, you're all that... and a bag of chips.


Friday, November 2, 2012


I feel I'm nearing the point of not turning on my porch light for Trick or Treat-ers anymore.

My bones creak and groan with even the thought of getting up and down from Daddio's Lazy Boy chair to answer the door.

I'm about ready to punch the next pint sized terrorist that kicks my door or lays on my doorbell.

(The candy lady's old bladder does call every now and again)

I don't mind passing the goodies to the kids over 16, seriously, I simply look past the lip and eyebrow piercings and the tatts and drop in a miniature Milky Way bar.

But the babies...

the toothless babies may just be where I draw the line.

A friend at work and I shared old lady horror stories yesterday of our Halloween adventures.

I too had (several, actually) young-ins pass me their own bag and then another bag saying "it's for my brother/sister"... pointing to a baby in a stroller.

Not a toddler mind you... the babies in those strollers still smelled of afterbirth.

Should there have been a warning issued to the parents piloting the stroller...?

"Hey, can that kid, the toothless one, chow nuts yet?"

"The coconut in this Almond Joy may prove a choking hazard for those with only a suckling instinct"....

When, when exactly when did I become such an evil spirited old bag?

A work in progress I guess.

Tell me your Halloween tales..

Or am I alone in my misery?

xoxoxoxoxox TGIF