My Lost Mind

I was going to look up something on Google. 

But I don't know what it was. 

Was it food related?

Or a trip destination?

I've tried backtracking in my own mind. 

Like retracing my steps without getting up. 

The steps in my crowded mind. 

Geesh, it's standing room only full in here. 

I keep getting stuck on salted caramel fudge bites. 

Not stuck like I stepped on one. 

Like one I ate an hour ago. 

And I can taste that bright sea salt meshed in with the fudgey caramel as it oozes out from the chocolate shell. 

Shell. 

Was I going to look up a turtle?

Hmmmm...

No. 

 

Not a turtle.

Why would I be looking up a turtle?

My Christmas shopping list?

I don't want to think about that. 

Can't be that. 

Thinking...

Thinking...

Thinking...

I'm bound to think of it sooner or later. 

Bound feet. 

How did those Chinese gals wear such small shoes?

In that book I'm reading their feet bleed. 

From being bound. 

I have huge feet. 

I would have been single. 

What's that smell?

Is the dog sitting by me?

Oh gawd, she is. 

She stinks. 

I should tell the vet. 

Was I going to look up the wounded warrior project?

Or was it project runway?

I really love that show. 

I wish I could make clothes. 

I can't even sew on a button. 

Well, kind of. 

Don't look too closely at my buttons. 

Buttons. 

Butt. 

My butt is getting big. 

Too big. 

I GOT IT!

I was going to Google exercise classes!

Whew. 

I thought I was losing my mind for a minute there...

Movie Set In Real Life

Setting:

Playground

Cold Winter Afternoon

11:54 am

Scene 1:

Take 1:

ACTION!

Wide lens on school playground. 

Children aged 7 years running by from right to left of frame. 

Slow zoom into monkey bars.

Camera moving very slowly to the left. 

Catching group of girls giggly and flipping perfectly curled hair. 

Stopping for 2.3 seconds on the single boy with finger in nose. 

Slowly moving to left again. 

Another group of boys run by close to camera lens. 

Another finger in nose is noted. 

Camera stops on bench. 

Four boys and two girls are seen sitting. 

One has body buried inside own coat.

Child can't be seen other than legs and feet. 

Camera pans up and over bench to two adults standing on other side of bench. 

Two women. 

First female wearing black coat. 

Second female wearing gray coat. 

Whistles seen around their necks. 

A few girls looking down and kicking rocks next to two women. 

Women laugh together and one shakes her head. 

Boy in dark coat walks up to women from stage right. 

Background noises fade out to hear direct dialogue...

Kid: "I was sick all week."

Woman in black coat (WBC): 

"Well, I'm glad you're back at school!"

Kid staring at her...

staring, staring. 

WBC: uncomfortable smile. 

Looks at woman in gray coat and both shrug shoulders. 

Kid: "I had diarrhea."

WBC: "Wow, I'm so glad you told me that (note sarcastic tone in voice)."

Kid: staring at her...

just staring...

Kid: "no, right now. I had diarrhea."

Woman in Gray Coat: slinks away out of frame while whistling. 

Camera pans over to swing set. 

Children screaming while swinging. 

Camera pans up to sky and 

End Scene...

*true story that happened today at my place of employment. 

But there were more fingers in noses than in above scene. 

The Bag Lady

Our second child Gigi was a surprise. 

You're supposed to say that instead of "accident" because that sounds worse for some reason. 

I guess a child is never an accident if you and your spouse do "the nasty" ever. 

So, anyway, I guess we did "the nasty" at some point in early 2008 because our SUPRISE came in November of that same year. 

She was definitely meant to be a part of our lives. 

Here's why...

Her sister Zoe was diagnosed with cancer at the age of 5. 

Gigi was 22 months old. 

And while she didn't really understand what was happening, she had to know something was up. 

Her sister was always gone. 

So were mom and dad. 

We saw her at this big building that was a long car ride from grandma's house. 

There were many lights and machines that made noise around her sister. 

Ladies in outfits with cats and bears on their shirts let her play with their stethoscopes. 

Doctors in white coats looked in her ears with their otoscope because she felt left out. 

Strangers would bring her pudding, Popsicles, and toys to take home anytime she asked. 

She didn't care to be left out of this mysterious "fun" her sister got to be a part of. 

The floor her sister lived on had a computer room and an even more exciting playroom. 

With toys we didn't have at home. 

It was amazing!

Gigi showed us her true self at this fun, amazing, big building far from home. 

Maybe she became this person because she had to. 

To cope. 

Was it nature versus nurture?

Circumstance versus DNA?

She would run down the halls. 

Take a sharp left at the nurses' station and run down the other hall. 

Back to sissy's room where she would make a funny face (and not even wait for the reaction she always got) before high tailing it out the door to do it again. 

And we let her do it. 

Because it made us laugh.

She made us laugh. 

Laughter is what we needed. 

Her sister needed to giggle and be the child she really was. 

Not someone who was fighting for her life. 

And Gigi kept us laughing. 

Through 2 1/2 years of chemo. 

We laughed. 

Gigi has continued the show. 

Cracking us up on a daily basis.

With her bad knock-knock jokes. 

With her insane outfits even Alexander McQueen would never have attempted. 

And her ability to turn a regular visit to the store into a giggle fest. 

Not just for us, but for anyone she passes. 

And that's no accident. 

This girl has been a surprisingly bright light in her sister's life. 

Even if she is a bit embarrassing at times...

Pool Safety

When you own a swimming pool there are certain things that you must take into consideration. 

Drowning being the top issue.

Everyone knows about the kids. 

Keep an eye on the kids. 

All of the time.  

Are you watching the kids?

Who's watching the kids?!

Hey kids!  Don't get in the pool, I need to run inside to get a Diet a Coke!

But there's another group that you need to keep an eye out for, too. 

The old people. 

Like me. 

Some of the precautions that need to be taken when the over 38 crowd are immersed in chlorine heaven are...

That loungey mat make look comfy, but please ask for assistance from a 5 year old to get onto it.

Water drag is brutal. 

The ladder can take out a toe or a toenail or a crazy bone at anytime, especially upon entering or exiting the pool. 

Just because there's a giant inflatable banana doesn't mean you should try to ride it. 

Take great caution when splashing grandma and her hair. 

She has a will. 

And you want to stay in it. 

Your neck, shoulders, ears, and entire face will thank you if you say no to playing chicken. 

The children who sit on your shoulders to play this insane water game will not give two craps about your neck, shoulders, ears, or your old face. 

Don't play Marco Polo with your ear plugs in. 

You will lose. 

Cause you can't hear. 

Or leave them in so you don't have to hear "Mom/dad, look at me!  Watch me!  Look at this!  Look!  Look! Look!" 

Stay safe people. 

Quotes And Kids

Recent things out of my kids' mouths...

Gigi:

Watching a guy crawl over a small fence to get to the sidewalk...

"He's gonna bust his round thing that holds his pee!"

Seeing a picture on the news of Mick Jagger and his girlfriend L'Wren Scott. 

"What happened?"  

She died 

"Who died?" 

the lady 

"which lady?"

THE LADY! 

"The old lady?"

(If you're not following her strange thought patterns here, she thought it was two ladies and that lady Mick had died.)

"Croc a doodle do you got a big butt"

Zoe:

"ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOQRSTUVWXYZ"

You left out P

"No I didn't, it's in my pants."

-followed by hysterical snort-inducing laughter from her-

"I need a new butt, mine has a crack in it."

-more snort-induced laughter-

Oh, thank you, THANK YOU public school for all of Zoe's knowledge.  

Fright

Scary movies, scaring each other as we walk down the hallways, jumping out from behind doors, telling scary stories and hiding under the blankets as we listen. 

All of these things happen at our home on a regular basis. 

Not just in the month of October. 

But doing spooky things in October helps amp up the fearsome vibes around here. 

We've been trying to watch classic horror films this month. 

Some with the girls...Frankenstein, Bride of Frankenstein, The Birds, Beetlejuice. 

Some without the girls...The Shining and The Conjuring. 

Chad and I watched The Shining the other night and while everyone gleams about Nicholson's stellar performance, I was in awe of Shelley Duvall. 

She must have been exhausted after playing that roll. 

To be in a constant state of fear and snotty tears for most of the film...

Wore. 

Me. 

Out. 

I think Zoe is ready to step up the game and see some really scary stuff. 

I don't know if she's ready for night time scary movies, though. 

The girls watched Cujo last year in the daytime on a TV channel that had commercials. 

They did fine. 

But nighttime fright fests, I don't know. 

We like to read the stories in these books. 

Some have moments where you can SCREAM at an appropriate time to scare the bajeebers out of everyone. 

Those are my favorite. 

Gigi likes to listen to the stories then retell them as best her memory serves. 

She starts talking slower, dragging the story out, scaring herself in the process, then BOO!

Some people are very apprehensive about scary stuff. 

Be it movies, books, or even fearsome costumes. 

Am I going to scar my child?

Make him/her too fearful of things?

You are the best judge of that. 

We eat up scary stuff here. 

We know we aren't hurting our kids by introducing spooky things in their lives. 

Zoe has fought the ultimate spook and beat it down with the force of a zombie killer taking on a herd of undead villagers. 

Bring it on!

Nailed It!

I made some horse cupcakes for Zoe's 4th birthday and they were on the same plane of greatness as these pictures. 

It's fun to see people's failed attempts at creating food art. 

There's no shame in failed baking!

Oh, and those horse cupcakes...I think I burned the picture of my "nailed it." 

 

 

    

     

      

     

     

     

Not baking, but equally funny in an attempt at homemade art.

   

All pictures found on Pinterest.

Grocery Shopping Tips

Buy fruit.

Bring fruit into your kitchen. 

Take stickers off of fruit. 

Display out in clear view. 

Pretend your kitchen is in a magazine.

 

Take lots of quarters so your kids can hang out at the Fun Zone and not bug you in line by asking to help and thus dropping large containers of juice on the floor causing a grape bio-hazard at checkout 9. 

If you don't have a Fun Zone at your grocery store, I send my condolences. 

Take a list. 

Use the list. 

Or your cart will end up with cheese in a can, bandaids, and new socks. 

That's it. 

All other necessities will be forgotten without the list. 

Chat it up with the grandmas and grandpas who smile at your precious pre-school kid and/or baby that is with you in the chip aisle and then who tell you all about their grandkids.  

It will make their day. 

Remember, we will be that grandma/pa someday. 

Proceed quickly past the big guy in the rented scooter who's basket is full of beef jerky, Sucrets, and underpants. 

The line is long at the checkout because there are 18 customers and two checkouts open?

Don't stress. 

Read those tabloid magazines staring at you that 672 other people have already touched. 

And sneezed on. 

How else would you know that Teresa from RHWONJ is getting 25-50 years in prison (depending on which rag mag you pick up), that Matt Damon takes his kids to Wendy's, and that Chevron striped hats are all the rage. 

Take your own bags. 

Love the environment people. 

Use hand sanitizer once you get to your car. 

Lots of it. 

Did you see that big dude on the rented scooter?

I think I saw him reading the magazines at the checkout line...

Do We Stink?

Did I miss something?

Why all of the fragrance additions to our laundry?

Purex crystals.  

Gain scent balls. 

Downy infusionators. 

Why are we all so stinky?

Did the 21st century enter into some sort of wormhole or time machine and we have been whooshed back to the 16th century?

Into the land of one bath a month (if you're lucky), lye soap (if you're lucky...eww), and snuff boxes full of lavender that we thrust under our noses when your neighbor reeks. 

Is Henry the VIII going to bump his cart into mine at Target next week in the ice cream aisle?

He won't have to worry about his stinky, festering leg if his servants have used scent additions to his robe and leggings last month. 

According to the commercials I see about these things, you will never stink again. 

Ever. 

Is there a soap and water shortage?

Are those low usage shower heads that we are all using not doing the trick?

I'm sorry, but I thought I smelled just fine. 

I thought everyone in my house smelled just fine. 

We use regular 'ol laundry soap, homemade or regular stain-fighting scented. 

We use the Target brand of dryer sheets to keep the socks from sticking to the insides of our trouser pants. 

Nothing as embarrassing as pulling a white sweat sock out of your pants while at a meeting at work, huh Chad?

I don't want to smell like a gardenia garden 24/7. 

We had to move our seats at the movies a few months ago because the lady sitting in front of us stank to high heaven.

I thought it was an overuse of Jéan Natè by the gal who sat down 5 minutes prior to showtime in the aisle ahead of ours. 

But, now that I think of it, it could have been an over use of scent additions that caused our noses to shrivel up and Gigi to pass out.*

Was it a Tide Warm Summer Breezes, Gain Hawaiin Scent Additions, Downy Baby Booty Powder overload?

Who knows. 

All I do know is that I'm not going to let advertisers tell me I stank. 

Or my family stanks. 

But, if I do really stank...slip me a note in my bag. 

Thanks. 

*Gigi really didn't pass out at the movie theater. That was my artistic embellishment, folks.  That lady did stink though and we moved seats before Oz started up. Gigi passed out later from the popcorn coma she put herself into.  

I'm Perpetually Soggy

This has got to be the worst start to summer that I've ever been alive to witness.

It's been raining steadily since February.

It became snow at the end of March and left us with 16 inches of joyous white crap to deal with for a week.

It quickly melted back into the earth because the rain returned.

"Oh, hey rain. Where have you been these past 48 hours?"

"Bowling? You don't say?"

"Maybe you should have joined a traveling league and hightailed it out if here for the next 8 months...jackass."

So, I'm sure you can tell that this rain has bothered me a bit.

I have been trying to stay busy, though.

My laundry is caught up and I've sharpened all of the pencils in the antique Mexican bowl in case anyone wants to poke out their eyes from looking at the dismal weather radar again.

I can't believe the suicide rate isn't up in this area because of it.

Unemployment has nothing on dreary, rainy weather.

I have a friend who's the local news anchor and I can't believe she hasn't done a story on this yet.

But, then again, she's lost her mind for a totally different reason.

She has a growing baby sucking her brain away in what many moms call "baby is sucking my brain away syndrome."

i.e. she's pregnant.

I feel bad for the farmers around here.

I feel bad about all of mankind really.

Without the crops that the farmers around me are trying to grow, y'all are gonna starve this fall.

These crops of soy and corn that block my views at rural stop signs in July and that the deer like to munch on are this country's (as well as the world's) bread and butter.

But this rain is preventing crops from being planted and then what does get planted can get washed directly back out of the soil.

There goes the bread and butter.

I may have to eat my goats soon.

When you are a parent and it is constantly raining you get two scenarios to deal with.

Scenario One:

The kids are inside too much and in your hair.

Like, really in your hair.

I have been "the lady who visits Zoe and Gigi's hair salon which is really the kitchen table" one too many times.

I can feel the hairs being pulled put of my scalp from super pointy bobby pins being plucked out by chubby 4 year old hands in my sleep.

Not to mention the makeup job I get from my makeup artist daughter who runs Tramps By Zoe.

Scenario Two:

If you keep sending kids out in the rain you get children with foot rot and it starts to smell like wet dog in every room.

Yes, wet kid and wet dog smell the same after awhile.

Especially if it's been raining since February.

I'm half expecting the Cullens to move in next door.

Check out my friend Dawn's blog as she chronicles being pregnant with her second kid.

Viva Las Vegas

Part one in the series "Music Mondays in May" for my blog group Homesteaders & Homeschoolers.

Music has always been a big part of my life.
My father is one of those young dads.
He was twenty when I was born in 1971.
Because of his young age, my young life was submerged in the music that he loved.
One of those music loves was Elvis Presley.
My mom's sister, Jeanne, was a huge Elvis fan as well.
She even saw him live in concert not too long before he died.
Something I was always jealous of...come on, ELVIS! She saw THE Elvis!

In college my group of girlfriends were huge Elvis fans as well.
We knew the words to all of his songs and weren't afraid to belt them out at large decibels from our house on 916 Hovey Ave.
Graceland has been visited by all of us.
Las Vegas has been a travel destination for many of us since it's the land of Elvis Impersonators.
It's always fun to ride in an elevator next to a guy with huge sideburns and extra wide, dark sunglasses while trying not to snicker because Elvis is standing next to you.

I met Chad in the Fall of 1999.
We had a quick courtship and knew we wanted to do something out of the ordinary for our wedding.
We didn't have a lot of money so we knew we wanted to combine our wedding with a honeymoon.
A two for one deal.
Las Vegas sounded like the right place for us.
And when you think of Las Vegas and weddings you usually also think of Elvis.
It was decided.
We would get married in July in Vegas by Elvis.

Why we decided on July is beyond me.
Wait, I do remember...
my mom kept telling me "this date and that date won't work for me because of work."
Sigh...
So, the middle of July in the desert it would be.
I later remember declarations of "MY EYES ARE BURNING OUT OF MY HEAD!" from wedding guests because of the intense heat of the day.
Don't get married in the desert in July people.

This being the era before smart phones, we had to use a fax machine to get copies of restaurant menus from various places in Vegas for our "after the ceremony dinner."
We called and emailed a few different Elvis wedding places.
We picked the right place.
It was off of the strip and seemed like a real genuine place.
It was family owned and as I sit here and write this, I know we picked the very best spot.

Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel was where our wedding was held.
Thirty members of our family and friends made the trip to Las Vegas to be with us on our big day.
My niece was five years old at the time and since I wasn't going to have a flower girl, she instead became the camera girl.
She was in charge of handing out disposable cameras to each guest...remember this was before smart phones.
My girlfriend Tina stood up with me and Chad's brother Chris stood by his side.
I wore a black dress, 'cause I'm unconventional like that, and Chad wore shorts.
Elvis was great! (Elvis was the owner, Ron, and a super great guy.)
He sang three or four songs ( I forget the exact number now since it went down in 2000 and the heat of that day melted some of my brain away.)
He ended the ceremony with Viva Las Vegas and had the arm swings, lip curl, and leg lunges to go with it.
His white sequin suit filled the room with sparkles and was only overshadowed by the large amount of laughing, singing, and cheering by our guests.

It was a fantastic day and the start to a great journey with my hubbie Chad.

My best friend.
My source of support in what has become a difficult journey in our days as parents.
He makes me laugh and doesn't care when I fart in bed.
Well, he may care about that.
But all I have to do is starting singing Viva Las Vegas and all is forgiven...

Read more "Music on Monday" from...
Carla
Melissa
Laura

Keeping Our Lives Upside Down

Part Two in a series from my Homesteaders & Homeschoolers group blog topic..."When and Why to Start a Family--Highlights and Lowlights"

We were only going to have one child.
It's easy to get around with just one child.
We could drive a small car.
Vacation would be that much cheaper.
Zoe was such a good kid.
No problems ever.
Then it happened.

I was so tired the spring of 2008.
I would tell Zoe (who was 3 years old) that mama was just going to close her eyes for a bit.
Two hours later I would wake up.
Remember, I said Zoe was a good kid.
She completely kept herself busy while I was zonked out on the couch.
Something felt "off" and I told Chad to pick up a pee stick for me on the way home from work.
Silence.
"Just do it!" I bellowed.

I peed on that stick, ate dinner, then went to check on the pee stick's status.
Sigh.
Positive.
I didn't want to be pregnant.
At all.
When did this conception even take place for gosh sakes?
Well, if I was going to be pregnant it had better all be for another girl.
Since I was over 35 years of age (another reason I didn't want to be pregnant) I had to go to a Maternal/Fetal Specialist.
The ultrasound tech that day was a man.
As was the doctor I saw.
Manness was ripe in the air that day.
They both declared that the fetus within my over 35 aged body was a male.
WHAT?!
I called Chad as I was leaving my appointment.
I paused on the skywalk when he answered.
"Thanks a lot."
He knew by those three words that there was a boy in my belly.
He knew that the sperm determines the sex of a fetus and he apologized.
Again and again.

I did come to terms with the fact that a wee penis was forming in my body.
I bought boy type clothing.
I bought boy type bedding.
We even discussed names and after some thought we decided our son would be named Oliver Ash and that he would grow up to be a MLB player.
I was good with things now.
I had conceded and had accepted that I would have a daughter and a son.
Zoe and Oli.
I had no morning sickness...again.
I received zero stretch marks...again.
It looked like a super-duper, extra-large pumpkin was stuffed under my shirt.
All was good.

Another planned c-section.
I was not going to do that VBAC crap (vaginal birth after cesarean) that the OB was pushing on me.
I had never felt a labor pain and was fine going to my grave having never felt one.
We picked the date of November 14th.
I had a real gung-ho doctor and she scheduled things bright and early.
So, Zoe went to grandma and grandpa's house for breakfast and Chad and I headed to the hospital to welcome our new son to the world.

So, as I'm strapped down in the crucifix position with painful gas bubbles rising up into my shoulders and a barf bucket next to me when it happened.
The baby was plucked from my uterus and the nurse standing behind me declared "that's not a boy."
Well then what in the hell was it?!
I'm supposed to be having a boy!
Was it really a cat this time?
Or was his hardware so mangled that he was going to need surgery to repair his stuff and he may look more like a mangled her?
The doctor then said "Nope that's a girl!"

After much explaining to my parents, the new big sister, relatives and friends whom Chad called, we were elated to have another daughter in our family.
We had to come up with a name quickly.
Oliver then became Gigi.
That's not short for anything, folks.
Just Gigi.

I'll never forget for as long as I live what my girlfriend Kelly told me later on..."I never knew anyone who could will away a penis like you did."
"If you want something bad enough, you can make it happen" was my response.
And I'm very thankful toward Chad's sperm.
I'm not mad at him anymore...

Check out my fellow Homesteaders & Homeschoolers "second in the series" blog stories on motherhood...
Laura @ Where Love Starts
Melissa @ Teach Academy
Carla @ Our Happy Chaos

42

Today I ate a hamburger with mustard, mayo, lettuce, bacon, and cheese on it.
I NEVER do that.
My taste buds have finally matured to enjoy fully condimented meat.
42 is going to rock!

I had to get my drivers license renewed today and they took my photo.
42 is going to suck!

I have found reduced-fat Cheese Nips.
42 is going to rock!

My thighs look like cheese curds.
42 is going to suck!

My 8 year old is done with chemo (knocked on wood y'all!) and steroids and has energy again to hang with me.
42 is going to rock!

My 4 year old wears me out by her constant moving.
She's always moving.
Always.
Moving.
42 is going to suck!

With all of the "rocks" and the "sucks" in my life that will be 42 years of age next week, I'm gonna try to roll with them all and come out on top.
Being positive has gotten me far in life.
So here goes my declaration...
I'm going to ROCK 42!
Unless it sucks.

Texting Dirty

Scenario:
Couch.
In front of fireplace.
Seating positions are (left to right) Chad, me, Zoe
End table holding numerous magazines and my iPhone at right end of couch, nearest Zoe.
Nighttime.
7:15pm.
Tuesday.

Conversation:
Chad -"hey, I heard Sid's wife died.  Sandy said it was in the newspaper."
Me- "let me grab my phone to check the H&R app and the obituaries."
Leaning over Zoe to get the phone.  She's really into RuPaul's Drag Race and not into Chad and I's conversation. 
Zoe- "are you going to text dirty?"
Me- "WHAT?!"
Zoe- "are you going to text dirty now?"
Me- "Who told you about that?!  What are you learning at that school playground after lunch?!"
This last phrase was screeched out in a high pitched warble sounding similar to an oId woman yelling at the busboy because she thought he was the waiter ignoring her.
I  was beyond words.
I also kept thinking, but didn't say so, "why would I be texting dirty if your father was right next to me?  I can just talk dirty in his ear."

Then Chad said the answer to the riddle I was under attack by.
"Mark.  She wants to know if you are going to text Mark." 

Sequel:
Dirty equals my friend from high school Mark.
It's his nickname. 
She was asking if I was going to text him.
If I was going to text Dirty.
We were meeting up with him in Springfield the following day.
Whew.
Me- "No!"
Chad and I had tears flowing from the laughter of my stupidity.
Me- "I thought you were talking about sexting!"
Zoe- "What's that?"
Never.
You.
Mind.
Kid.

There Are Days...

There are days...

When I use the girls' fruity toothpaste because I simply want a bright and fruity burst in my mouth instead of a harsh and adult minty one.

When my proudest moment of the day as a mother is when I hear my four year old singing along to:
     Thriller by Michael Jackson
     Sparkle and Shine by Steve Earle
     Rumour Has It by Adele
and I know that I am indeed succeeding as a parent in terms of musical appreciation.

When the words that I hear coming out of other parents' mouths is both shocking and not. 
We live in a society that is scared of everything, so much that some parents read books before allowing their kids to read them. 
What is everyone afraid of?
Are these the same people who would join the "Ban Books" club for parents if there was one near them?

When I just scratch my head...like when Gigi says she's going to grow up to be a Princess.
Zoe says "you can't do that!" and I hear myself saying "sure she can! she just needs to get out into the world and hang out where the Princes do and win one over!"
Did I just say that?

When my kids fight like wild badgers over a snake.
Then the next day they get along as sweetly as honey over ice cream.
This is why I'm mentally unbalanced...all moms are like this, right?
Right?!

When I just need sunshine.
The winter months always drag on and right now I'm using my memories of standing on the pool deck, scooping leaves out of the water with the sun beating down on me, sweat pooling under my boobs, just to get me through these dark and chilly winter days.  

Blue Minivans Are Everywhere!

When I was younger, as in when I began driving a car on the real road and not just in the driveway and I thought I was the cat's meow and began driving over 25 miles per hour, I wanted a Jeep.
A Jeep with big ass tires and no windows.
A free-wheelin', life to be loved, hair blowin' in my face and getting stuck in my lip-glossed kisser, kind of Jeep.
In black please.
My dad said no.
I would flip it he chimed in.
Had he noticed my careless carefree driving after all?
I, instead, drove a red Mazda.
Not nearly as exciting.
Sigh.

Ooooh!
A Jaguar!
I wanted to drive a sleek, polished till I could see the workins of my own brain on it's shiny exterior, look what I have accomplished in my college-educated life, Jaguar.
In black please.
I bought a burgundy 4-door Honda.
Not as sleek, but it sure was dependable.
Dependable is so dull, though.
Dependable is way cheaper, though.
Sigh.

A wagon.
I wanted a wagon, as in look what a hipster I am, with my made in the good ol' U S of A, gas friendly, luggage rack on the roof because I'm a traveler damn it, Subaru.
In black please.
I have a blue Toyota minivan.
It's roomy, sure.
There's room for all four of us, plus grandma, grandpa, and the dogs.
Sometimes the minivan holds goats.
Classy.
There are so many of these blue minivans in town that I've had to outfit mine in stickers just so I can find it in the Target parking lot.
Sigh.

Zoe recently told me that when she grows up and starts to drive that she wants a minivan.
WHAT?!
A MINIVAN?!
Are you drunk again, kid?!
NO!
What about that Mini-Cooper we just passed?
Oh, look at that cool little Italian Fiat!
Isn't that awesome?!
You won't be driving anyone else around but your sister.
You don't need a large, full of garbage, smells like a dog fart, minivan.
That's what old ladies like your mother drive!

I hope she gets over that idea and learns to dream in more exciting and out of the box ways.
I do totally appreciate her sensibilities toward space and comfort and for the ability to haul large amounts of crap around town.
And there's the fact that she has an affinity to be like her mom.
I know that that won't last forever.
But I want her to dream of a life that's more shiny, fast, glossy, and just out of reach.
Something to aspire to be.
To live a life full of Maseratis and Volvos.
In black please.

Side note:
Zoe saw me writing this and stated that she would first like to have a scooter (like her "aunt" Laura) and would use a Volkswagon Bug when it's cold out to drive to school.
The minivan would be when she's graduated from school.
I sense a tinge of boldness there.
Sigh...

I Don't Get It

There are some things I just don't get.
I'm not talking about the things that I REALLY just don't get, like how tv or the phone or jets work.
Just things you encounter in the everyday world of all of these other peeps we share oxygen with.
Things like...

Ladies who paint tiny little designs onto their fingernails. Christmas trees in the middle of your nail with glitter and tiny ornaments painted on. Do these people really never immerse their hands in water? Your going to pay what to get what painted on your pinky nail?

Boy bands. I've never understood boy bands. And I'm a girl. Who likes boys. Whatever.

Greedy, selfish, thoughtless people. 
Especially those that don't acknowledge that trait within themselves. 
What me?!  Never. 
Umm, yeah.  You

Dogs and their attraction to stink.
Be it people's butts, kids' underwear, or the dead opossum in the side yard.
Di.  Sgust.  Ing. 

That whole ebonics thing that went down some decades ago.
Fo real.

YouTube. Why do I want to watch strange things others do who have access to a video taping device? Little girls dancing to inappropriate songs, that Asian guy and his crazy dancing, dogs bark-talking. Do people do it (post) in hopes of becoming famous, the next big thing? I don't get it. Have our minds all turned to mush where we think this is quality entertainment? My kids doing a puppet show behind the couch is better entertainment.

Okay, gotta go.
I think there are some Real Housewives of somewhere calling my name.
I don't get that either.
But I watch.

Thanks For Reading

Today is the last day of November and I will have completed the Blog*A* Day challenge from BlogHer.
I'm sure some of you are saying "whew!" and others have no idea that this is being said because they long ago stopped reading.  
But, for those still reading, I say thanks.
Thanks for sticking by me and my various thoughts.
Thanks for reading the daily borings of my life and listening to some of my rants.
I thought I would end this month of blogging with some Gigiisms.  
Well, they aren't really isms as much as just crap she's said that I have found amusing. 
I'll throw in some of her sister's more serious thoughts.

Here it goes...

"I love you big fat mama."

Said to Zoe: "I'm just going to go tell mama I love her."
Then said to me: "Zozo just tooted!"
From Zoe in the next room: "Giiiiiiiiiiigiiiiiiiiiii!!"   

"Look at my ass!"
This was said while nude and shaking said ass.

"I love you sissy, I tooted."

Have you noticed the pattern here?

"I have big feet!"...this is said approximately 48 times a day and her feet are propelled into your face as she's declaring this.

And from Zoe, who is by far the more serious of the two...

"I want to thank you for pulling my tooth.  Really, thank you." 

"Yes, Gigi, we know you have big feet.  Geesh."

"big sigh" followed by "big sigh" followed by (you guessed it) "big sigh."

I'll continue with the blog, just not everyday.
I'm surprised I've had something to say everyday.
I guess my head's just full of big fat thoughts. 

Big Girl Pants

Sometimes I put on my big girl pants.
I know I'm of the age for big girl pants because of my boobs.
It's going to get weird, just stay with me...
My boobs are now of an age where they need to be arranged once the bra goes on.
Things need to be redirected towards the front.
Ladies, you know what I mean, right?
Don't go around saying "what on earth is she talking about?" because you are only fooling yourself and have yet to put on your big girl pants.
What I am saying is that I've matured beyond the stage of perky boobs to being old enough to have gained knowledge, experience, and yes, saggy boobs.
I have had children, the boobs have feed these children, I've had stress and gravity for 41 years on this body and I can now proudly say, I Wear Big Girl Pants Everyday!

When wearing my big girl pants I can say...

"my kids are NOT going to school anymore because there is a stomach virus going around and I ain't gonna let the immune compromised one get sick in the 11th hour!"

"go ahead, send my bills to collections because I haven't paid them! Collection offices don't scare me, I've had a child with cancer!"

"you best not park your car that close to my car, lady!"

"No, I can not volunteer at school for the hot dog lunch/secret santa shop/field trip chaperone because I volunteer at registration and the book fair every year. Those are my things and I can do no more."

I will also say the following when I am wearing my big girl pants...

"Here's a dollar Mr. Homeless Man Missing Your Legs...I am very sorry for your circumstance and here is a smile for you."

"What can I do to help with the childhood cancer fundraising?"

"Of course I'll be helping out with the charity dance recital this year...thank you for supporting us."

"Thanks to everyone who reads this blog especially since I decided to do this "blog a day" thing."
"Thank you from the bottom of my heart and from my family for everything YOU have done for us these past two years."  You know who you are... 

"Would you like my grocery cart or help putting those heavy packages into your car ma'am?" 

Now come one ladies, fix your boobs and declare "I, too, am wearing my big girl pants!"

Guys, I don't know what you will fix (afraid to ask) but you can also pull up your britches and put on your big boy pants.
Maybe you can say "No, I can NOT work those extra hours because spending time with my family is more important to me!" Or
"Why Yes, dear, I WILL put those Christmas lights on the roof today even though it's cold and windy! I will do it for the family!"
(these male references are general and should not be directed at the author's husband.)