Paw Prints on My Heart

**I started writing this in January 2013. I just couldn't finish it. It had actually slipped my mind until I found it today. Even six months later it was hard to write.


As I look around the house, I see little gray paw prints on the tile floors and on her chair in the kitchen. Little paw prints made by the furry princess that drank from her paw. Little paw prints made by the furry princess that was growing old & couldn't take care of herself as she always did so her paw would get muddy from the litter. She was a proud kitty. A very proper kitty. A beautiful tabby with a little spot on her mouth that made her look like she just took a sip of hot cocoa. She was, in fact, a feline diva. Had you known her when she was a kitten, you wouldn't have thought that as she watched over her world from atop the curtain rods. She never had kittens of her own but she mothered everyone in the house. She brought up little Zoe, a little 4 week old calico that needed the comfort of a momma cat. She kept the dogs in line and let them know who really ran the house. She snuggled the Guinea pigs and didn't care that they weren't really kittens with stubby tails. She tried her best to bring the tom cat, Harley, under control, but he was a chore for even the humans. When he would play just a little too rough with her now grown-up Zoe, she would run to her rescue even though Zoe could take care of him by herself. She loved her human child, Josie, very much. She would cuddle with her at night and wake her in the morning with sassy meows, purrs, licks and head butts. She loved story time and would pick just the right spot on the bed to listen to Josie read aloud. She could tell the difference between Josie would leave to go to school & when she would go outside to play. She would sit in an open window or at the back door & cry for Josie if she was outside playing. But if Josie was at school, she would wait patiently for her to return. She loved her human daddy, even though he didn't think she liked him that much. She would surprise him by jumping up in his lap for a head scratch or talking to him while he made her dinner. She loved her human momma and would spend hours cuddling with her while Josie was at school or when she would try to read the paper. When her momma was on the computer, she would jump up on the desk & lay next to the keyboard, making it very difficult for her momma to type. But she was never asked to move because that was just a special time for them. She was a very prissy girl & liked her food a certain way. She would only eat shredded cat food & even then her humans had to chop that up into little bites. She would never lower herself to put her face in the water bowl. It was more dignified to reach in & sip from her paw. Store-bought treats were so beneath her royal-ness.The only snack she would eat was real meat torn into little bites. She had the most amazing chartreuse eyes, that could stare right into your soul like she was reading your every thought. When her body began to fail her, her eyes remained as bright as ever and remained that way until she didn't wake up again. She fought very hard to remain strong for her family & would eat even though we could tell she didn't want to. When she got weak, we all said our goodbyes & I love yous & told her it was OK not to fight anymore. A few days later, she took a nap in one of her favorite spots and made her way to the Rainbow Bridge. Even in death, our princess was a diva. Josie had chosen a fancy, pink box for her casket & lined it with the princess blanket that they shared. Inside, we placed white roses and catnip to make her trip more pleasant & to remind her of the humans that loved her very much. We buried her outside Josie's bedroom window so that she would never be too far away from her favorite girl. And our lives will never be the same again.



Princess Fiona
RIP Sweet Girl
March 25,2005 ~ January 10,2013



What Were They Thinking??

We've all had at least one someone that has left us with our mouths hanging open or at least shaking our heads. We wonder what in the world could that person be thinking or are they for real. These are true stories. I know because I've witnessed them. And me being the sharing person that I am would not feel right if I didn't let you in on the head shaking. I just want to know....what were they thinking???

You know, I don't care if you're white trash, high society, ghetto, or anything else, when you spit in public you're all the same. When I see a guy spit in public it's just gross. But when a woman does it, it's just plain nasty. Especially when she has to lean out the window of her Grand Prix so she can get some distance with it. Her momma must not have taught her to carry napkins or tissues in the car for times like that.

Then there was the time I saw a certain lady at Kroger doing her weekly shopping. Normal, right? Well, I suppose so except for the fact that she was wearing underwear on the outside of her pants. Thankfully, they were "granny panties" & not a hot pink thong. People were staring at her left & right but she didn't seem to mind. I guess I should have been thankful that is the only thing she wore on the outside of her clothes!

Apparently, there is a new protocol to saying "excuse me" when you are trying to get past someone. Normally, or so I thought, you would excuse yourself & move on by the person in your way. I think it would be considered acceptable if you lightly place your hand on their back so they know you are there & don't move into you. I didn't get the email, but at some point where you place your hand became further south. Yes, south. As in the butt area. I know this only because the new protocol was exercised on me in WalMart. Course, he was an older man & maybe he looked through his bifocals wrong & misjudged the location. Yeah...that's what it was!

I was running errands today & two women came into a store that I was at. The cashier looked over at them, her eyes got big & she shook her head. Nonchalantly - but she still shook it. I couldn't help myself, I had to look. The one woman was a big girl. (Now before anyone gets all defensive, I can say that cause I am on the big girl side of the fence too.) Anyway, she was a big girl that was well endowed. So far, there's nothing wrong with this picture. Until you process what she was wearing. Ok...quick like a bandaid! She had on knit shorts that were too small & a tshirt that was at least a size too small and about 6 inches too short. Oh, and last but not least, no bra. So picture the shirt not covering much past her boobs and her belly hanging out. But the worst of it is that when she moved she looked like Madea coming over the counter at the fast food restaurant in Madea's Happy Family. If you've seen the movie, you know what I'm talking about & are now in disbelief. If not, watch it & a light bulb will come on & you will be grossed out all over again!

Vacumming the Vacuum

      That's it! I've had it! No longer can I bear the convenience of "bagless" vacuum cleaners. No fuss, no muss... Who are they kidding?? That is a true statement until the first time you have to empty the container that replaced the bag. Then it's nothing but fuss and muss with a little bit of swearing thrown in for good measure. After several attempts of emptying it, I finally learned that it's best to empty it BEFORE I vacuum. Inevitably, dust, dirt and whatever else is going to escape its confines and land on the floor. If that's going to happen I would prefer it not be on a clean carpet. And then there's the part above the container, I'm not sure what it is called or what it is good for other than trapping pet hair and making a giant dust bunny. Cleaning it is neither fuss or muss free. I've gone so far as to hold a plastic Kroger bag under it before taking it apart. Still some of the dust bunny and it's gritty bits escape. Now the inside of the vacuum is dirty. I need a vacuum to vacuum my vacuum or a dust buster at the least. Don't even get me started on the way it cleans the hard floors. Even though it is supposed to do a great job, I could vacuum the kitchen for an hour and it still won't be clean. So I purchased a second string of tools to step in where the vacuum failed. The list includes a broom that vacuums while it sweeps - not bad except for really heavy things like pieces of cat litter. And the mini vacuum which actually does fairly decent on most jobs. And rounded out by the Swiffer. This one I've tried before and was hoping it would have improved over the years. But it's only really good for dust and cat hair. I did discover that it's awesome for getting rid of cobwebs and dust on the walls. Because of that it won't be going to the trash can. So I've resorted to the old broom and dust pan. Simpler can be better. I've always thought upright vacuums were better than their canister counterparts but all this dirt drama has me longing for simpler times and my mom's canister vacuum that I used to lug around from room to room. It had all kinds of attachments and did an awesome job on the linoleum, carpet, stairs and baseboards. It even reached clear under the bed and furniture. And best of all it had that neat little feature...bags! Sweet little dirt and dust trapping inventions that made emptying the vacuum a breeze instead of another cleaning project. I'm beginning to realize why Mom ignored my teen aged pleas for an upright vacuum cleaner. I think I'm going to Sears and pick my up a sweet little Kenmore canister, with it's shiny, silver tubes, retractable cord that seems never ending, the multitude of accessories that are good for just about anything, that kinky hose that makes that funny sound when you pull it around the corner of the wall and the best part - bags! And when I get that beauty home I'm sending that upright out to the man cave annex (aka our enclosed patio) so the hubs can enjoy it until its final days. Incidentally, that may be sooner than later depending on when he empties it for the first time. You'll know when it happens because there will be a lot of swearing and it will be put out with the trash the following Sunday night!

The Visitor

OK...so last night was a little on the creepy side. Josie wanted to sleep with both of us, so she came up with a schedule of who would sleep with her at what times (in my bed no less!). John had the first shift since he is usually back in his recliner by 1:30am. The plan was for me to sleep in my recliner and have him to wake me up so I could stumble to my bed in the middle of the night. That was OK because I figured the worst that could happen was I would sleep in my recliner all night. Boy, was I wrong!
Everyone had went to bed and the cats were starting to settle in and go to sleep. I was on facebook (of course) and listening to the Sully Erna CD that I just synced to my phone. Around midnight, I decided that I was getting tired and turned off the TV, took out my contacts and settled in my recliner with my Snuggie. I was just drifting off when a lamp on the other side of the room came on. By itself. I looked around and all the animals were in the same places they were earlier. Josie had been over there earlier plugging in her DSi so I thought maybe the plug was loose and that's why it came on. But at the same time I wasn't very comfortable about getting up to check things out. The longer the light stayed on, the longer I contemplated going to my room and making a bed on the floor! Finally, I decided that John would be up in a little bit and he could turn the light off. So I told myself, "Go back to sleep." Seconds after I did that, the light flickered and turned off. Properly freaked out, I got up and turned on the light next to me. Surely a cat walked by and pulled the plug out of the wall, because after all it was loose this whole time. I went over to plug the light back in and found that the plug was firmly in the wall. OK...so the bulb is loose, right? Nope! If that bulb was in any tighter it would have broken off in the lamp. So...what's next? The switch. Must be the switch that's messed up. And once again...no. The light turned on and off perfectly fine. Somehow I maintained calmness, turned off the light and got back into my Snuggie, turned out the other light and got in the recliner. Knowing that John would be in the living room soon, I tried to visualize a protective force around me and eventually drifted off to sleep. I woke up to a noise and saw the light on in the kitchen. John came in the living room and before he could sit down, I blurted out the night's events and was down the hall before he could say anything. I got in bed with Josie and Wolfie and fell asleep before I knew it.
Fast forward to this morning. I was retelling the story to John and Josie - just in case they thought I was talking in my sleep earlier. John said, "I remember you telling me about it last night. But that's not all that happened." Apparently, John had his own visitor last night after I went to bed. He was in his recliner and the full moon was filtering through the blinds in the dining room. He saw a shadow of a woman standing in the corner of the dining room that leads into the living room. The same corner as....the flickering light!
This led to a discussion of "why does that freak you out" and "it doesn't bother me" and "it's just your mom". OK for the record it doesn't freak me out that my mom hangs out from time to time. It's actually kind of comforting. But the reality of it all - flickering lights and seeing shadows - is the part that kind of weirds me out. And even that is contradictory because when she moves the wind chimes in the bathroom it doesn't bother me at all. I suppose it makes me uncomfortable because I don't know for sure it's her. I mean, we've had pictures move, rubber ducks fall in the tub and even had one large picture fly off the wall. For awhile there was an uncomfortable presence in the house so I burned the sage and asked the negativity to leave. It helped because nothing has happened in months. Until now....

Another Day in the Life...

So yesterday Josie duped me into a book about glamour girls. She said it was part of a series she had read. As the evening progressed, I began to figure out that this wasn't exactly the case. It was more of a handbook on how to be a glamour girl. Big difference!!! In it she found a recipe for lipgloss & decided to make some last night. And it went like this:

Jo: Look at this. I'm going to go make some.

Me: (looking over list of ingredients) I don't think we have any of those flavor extracts.

Jo: (rummaging) We have Vanilla!

Me: (remembering what the clean kitchen looked like)

Jo: (making all kinds of noise)

Me: What are you using for the Vaseline?

Jo: No! I don't need Vaseline! It said jelly.

Me: Huh? Wait! What are you using?!?!

Jo: This jelly on the counter.

Me: The new strawberry preserves?!

Jo: Yes.

Me: Wait! Stop!! You can't use that!! It said petroleum jelly! You know...Vaseline!! (headache getting worse)

Jo: What?!

Me: What have you put in the bowl? Just the jelly?

Jo: Yes.

Me: Ok. Put it back in the jar & put it in the fridge.

Jo: Arrrghhh!! (slams, bangs, stomps around)

Dad: Why can't she? What kind of jelly does she need? What's Vaseline?

Me: Really?!? (rolls eyes & searches for Valium)

Dad: (still waiting for answer)

Me: You know...Vaseline...petroleum jelly...skin softener...

Dad: Can I get her some at IGA?

Me: No! You can get her some generic kind at Dollar General!! (turning back to online bingo, trying to disappear)

Fast forward to this morning. Josie still has her nose buried in the glamour book. This is amusing to me because all the way to Grove City yesterday, she loudly declared her tomboyism. Now there is a budding fashionista in our midst & I, for one, am scared as hell!! Today she found a page about how to be a celebrity. Again, I ask myself, "What have you done?!" It wouldn't be so bad if she was just playing around. But she is taking this seriously. I know there will be a fight tomorrow morning about why she cannot dress like that & go to school! How could I possibly know this, you ask? Well, considering we are currently arguing about why she can't put on her good clothes to play outside in just because she wants to be a celebrity, I'd say it's mother's intuition. Add to that the fact that her black tights now have a hole in them & Dad just patched them up with electrical tape &...well...you figure out the odds!

My life. You can't make this stuff up!! Although sometimes I wish I was!

So...I'm a grandma now....

       So...I'm a grandma now. Those of you that know me are rereading that and saying "what-the-what" or recalulating how old you thought my daughter was.  
     The exciting event happened about a week ago. She's as cute as can be. Big blue eyes. Lots of hair with cute little cowlicks everywhere. She already recognizes me and just coos when she sees me. It's just the sweetest thing!! Finally, I know how my girlfriends with grandbabies feel. It's all the love of your own kid without all the work! This grandparent thing is a killer job!!
     The only unfortunate part about the whole situation is that she is....a Guinea pig!
     We got our daughter a Guinea pig for Christmas. She had been wanting one for a few months but we just weren't sure that she was ready. I had her read books on their care and write me a report about them so that I knew she really read them. She even wrote a "care contract" for all three of us to sign. So the hubs and I discussed it and piggy shopping we went.
     We took time out from our date-day and stopped in Petland. Of course, John had to check out all the puppies first and then check to see if they had one of those ugly hairless cats he wants. Meanwhile, I headed for the Guinea pigs and began the search. All I knew is that she wanted a black and white one. Preferably an American because they are supposed to be easier to groom, at least that's what she read in those books. So while I'm chasing the pigs around their cage, John is trying to make nice with a ferret and ends up being attacked! Amazingly enough, ferrets don't like it when you blow in their faces! Whodathunk it?! Apparently not John.
     I must have looked desperate or something because one of the employees came over offering assistance. I began to tell her about Josie and the piggy quest and told her what we were looking for. I told her it had to be an American because they are easier to care for. Tyiara told me that the Abyssians are just as easy to groom. Now there's a bonus because their hair is all over the place and it really adds to their personality! They also had one with an afro! Must've been a mix between an American and an Abyssian. Anyway, she gives her sales pitch and it's our lucky day because when you buy the cage the piggy is free! I'm liking this! So while John is off looking at the fish or apologizing to the ferret, Tyiara and I go down the small pet aisle looking for goodies for our new pet. She goes and piles up all the goodies on the counter and I meet back up with John at the Guinea pigs. I'm really torn because there was only one black and white Abyssian and it was the cutest thing ever but how was I going to keep it a secret until the following weekend at Christmas? It would never happen!! I was already about to burst from excitement and there is no way Josie would never notice it. Tyiara told me that we could bring Josie back in after Christmas and she could pick it out. So that's what we decide to do. I paid for everything and ended up winning a $20 gift card! Now that's what I'm talkin' about!!
     Fast forward to a few days before Christmas. I called back down to Petland to reming them that we are coming down in a few days and to make sure they will have a black and white one. "No more deliveries until after New Year's." Say what now?! Fortunately, they had one left like we were looking for and they put it back for us. Whew! Christmas disaster averted!!
     We made a big deal out of it Christmas morning. The cage wasn't under the tree and we acted like there was a present we forgot. She already opened her DSi so she wasn't expecting anything else big. So I lugged it in from the garage and sat it in front of her. It was wrapped in a contractor's bag and she was very confused! She got the bag opened and started screaming! John got the bright idea to ask her where the piggy was. Now keep in mind that this cage is full of stuff and nowhere ready to house anything. The poor girl is searching all over the cage for her pet but it's not there. "It must have gotten out," she said. No, baby, your dad is being a goof. It wasn't there to begin with!
     Josie and I headed off to Petland that Monday morning. We went in and picked up some food and an exercise ball. We went over to the Guinea pigs to see what was there and they had two left. Wow! Neither was black and white. Looks like I called at the right time! Poor little afro guy was still there though. We lugged everything up to the counter and before I could say anything, Josie told the salesperson, "I'm here for my Guinea pig!!" Evidently, she was used to overly excited kids because she just took it in stride and went off to find it. She brought it back out and took it back out and what do you know?? It was the same one I picked out before Christmas!!! Now that's destiny right there!! Josie was oohing and ahhing and "Mommy loves you" all the way to the truck. We got in the truck and that's when she made her announcement. "Oreo, that's your grandma! And now we are going home to see grandpa!" Umm...that's who? Grandma?? To a Guinea pig??? Oh what the hell! I'm already a mom to two dogs and two cats.
     I must admit this grandma thing isn't too bad. I get to play with Oreo and let her snuggle and purr on my shoulder while I do crosswords and then put her back in her cage. Josie is in charge of the feeding and the cleaning and grooming. I'll admit...it's not my preference of a grandchild but it'll have to do for the next ten or fifteen years! The only thing is now I want to get a little friend for Oreo! Why is it I always think our pets need to have live-in friends?!? I'm sure I'll be going back to Petland before too long!!

The end of Halloween??

     There is something really wrong with me. I really hope it's just a weird temporary thing because this could possibly the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I'm really worried because I think I've lost the Halloween spirit (gasp)! For anyone that knows me, this is a tragedy. Halloween is absolutely my most favorite holiday. In fact, the only thing that could make it better is if my birthday was on October 31st! I love everything Halloween. If I had my way, I would have one room in the house permanently decorated for Halloween. There would be skulls & bats, coffins & vampires, cobwebs & witches, a bubbling cauldron & spider webs. But it would be classy Halloween. You know, the high-end stuff they sell at Michael's and Target. But needless to say, that got so vetoed! Just wait...when I grow up and get a place of my own...oh, yeah...that would be now. (Sigh.) It's really unfair because John has skulls in the Man Cave. Half of which I bought for him just so I could look at them. But I digress and that is the stuff another blog is made of.
     So as I was saying, I have this possibly fatal thing going on with me. Not fatal to me, but to my spirit of Halloween. I am just not in the Halloween mood. Normally, before the end of September the yard is decorated. Cob webs on the bushes. A skeleton hanging from a tree. A shrieking ghost that flies back and forth on the front porch. A witch's cauldron with lights and tulle that makes it look like some glowing smoke is coming out. The poor witchy-poo that drank too much Apple Pie and crashed into the Locust tree. The inflatable biker skeleton on the chopper & the giant inflatable skull. The list goes on. Well, normally it would.
     I tried to decorate two weeks before Pumpkin Show. Josie even helped. We went and got a bunch of pumpkins (12 to be exact) and set them around the trees and front porch. And then we went to the shed to get the rest of the goodies. And there is where what Halloween spirit I had floated away. The goodies were buried! Behind the lawn mower, behind some crates and propane tanks and under some Christmas lights. Now let me just say my hubs is in charge of the shed because it's a smaller version of the garage. It was a self-appointed postion, mind you, because I would not have organized the decorations in this manner! So after I moved the good ole John Deer and ran over Josie's bike in the process (which was in a location it should not have been!), we started to dig. Let me stop here to say that Josie is a good helper. Except when it comes to manual labor. She is one of the strongest kids I know but she can fake weakness at the drop of a hat. So after much whining and arguing, the crates and totes are moved out of the way. But there is still one giant tote of Christmas lights on top of the totes I need into. Of course, I picked one of the hottest Saturdays in October to do this. And this shed has no ventilation except for the doors. And we are hot and grumpy. And getting grumpier by the second. I managed to dig out some scarecrows. I'm fussing about whoever put the Christmas junk on top of the Halloween goodies and what I would like to do to their unorganized selfs. Josie, the ever supportive one, says, "Mom, let's just give up. I'm hot. This is soooo ridiculous! What idiot did this?" It goes on but it gets repetative and I'm very sure you get the idea. Since I am hot and irritated, I join in. "Why on earth wouldn't they pull the Halloween stuff out and put the Christmas stuff in first? Where is the logic in this? Ohmygosh! I can't supervise EVERYTHING!!" And since that part of my soul that takes care of the Halloween spirit is either on vacation or life support, I do something so unlike myself. I give up.
I pull out the scarecrows and arrange them with the pumpkins on the front porch. Ta-da! That's it! I'm good until Christmas! I stared at the porch and even though it looks nice I still felt a little sad inside.
     We went back in the shed and put everything back like it was. Well, almost. Like I said I was irritated. And hot! And grumpy! And I figured as long as I could get the lawn mower back in, it was all good! I did find my skull and roses wreath though. I'm going to hang it on the Mom Cave door and dare anyone to ask me when I'm taking it down!     

From Sex to Santa in 60 Seconds!

     Hi! My name is Tara but you can call me Christmas Ruiner. That's the new nickname my 10 year old gave me today. You can probably guess how I earned it but let me start from the beginning so you can get the full impact of my crappy day.
     Josie and I stayed up till midnight last night playing Farkle and watching TV. Since we were both about half asleep we decided to have a sleepover in the living room. Which is a good thing because that meant everyone woke up in a good mood this morning. But even though the weather promised us a beautiful day, it couldn't control the events that were to come. Exactly 90 minutes after we woke up, we were invaded. Home invaders? I wish!! No, we were invaded by a family member (who I will call Grumpy) who just walked in the back door and came on through the house without even a "Hey, everyone decent?" Which we weren't because Josie slept in one of her dad's tshirts last night and her booty was hanging out. So immediately she was embarrassed and offended in a matter of seconds. I look up and see Happy Sunday pacing in front of the door looking for a way out. Marvelous! It's amazing how fast Grumpy can clear a room. Within seconds, Josie was downstairs and I was in the Mom Cave. And that is pretty much where we stayed. The only problem was Grumpy has a big voice. A big voice that carries. A long way. And normally I can tune it out but today the big voice carried nothing but negativity. About what? You name it. The bartenders at Trackside last night. Whatever was on TV. The food he's been having at home. Anything he felt like he had an opinion on. It got to a point I no longer heard words just angry sounds that turned into a headache. Eventually, Grumpy left. But I had no false hope that he wasn't coming back. So I went downstairs with Josie to hang out and do laundry.
     I had Josie come sit with me on the couch so we could talk. I asked her what the kids were talking about at school these days. I got the usual "nothing". So I started dropping suggestions. What about sex? I knew they had to be talking about sex because she knew more than what I have told her so far. She was shocked! "Mom! We aren't supposed to talk about that until 5th grade!" From there it all went downhill. I told her I knew they were talking about something because of what she told me about sex and babies the other day. So she proceeds to tell me the 4th grade version of sex and getting pregnant. It involved a whole lot of kissing, a lot of laying down, not a lot of effort and possibly a positive pregnancy test after two weeks. Okey dokey then! I've been doing it entirely wrong! From there she went on to tell me that she knows this is right because she saw proof of it in movies and on TV. Well, can't argue with that one now can I? Then she went on to tell me that the movies she saw this in were called porn. She knows so because that's what the neighbor girl told her. My chin still hurts from hitting the floor! Half of my brain was trying to figure out where she got the porn while the other half was trying to decide if the neighbor girl is a reliable source. Siding with the rational half, I carefully ask her about the porn. "Oh just all the shows that have sex in them." Whew! Ok, neighbor girl not that reliable. After filing that away for future reference, I gave her a PG definition of porn and told her it was just for adults. All of a sudden I'm thinking that this conversation isn't going at all like I hoped for and maybe I should just bail out and let her go back to Club Penguin. But no! Why on earth would I do something so freaking sensible?! So....what else are they talking about? Tooth Fairy? Easter Bunny? Santa isn't real she says. Suddenly, I see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel! I press on. I asked her why she thought that. She said it wasn't her, it was the other kids. And, poof, the glimmer is gone. They are all haters she says. Trying out the logic again, I asked her if she thought he could be real. But of course he is! They pass the job from father to son. Logic joined Happy Sunday at the door and things weren't looking too good for me. We talked about all the Santas at the mall and how they are people in costume trying to make kids happy at Christmas and spread the giving spirit of Santa. Of course, it's also because he's really busy. Right?! I have never needed a drink like I did at that precise moment. I realized in that moment I would have rather given the sex talk a hundred times over than to go where we were about to. We talked about Daddy's friend that came to the house two years ago as Santa for her and my friend's kids. But I pulled his beard and it was real she says. I reminded her that she also saw him driving through town once. I tried explaining that it's more about Santa's spirit than Santa the person. So, he's not real? Little voice quivering. Eyes all big and sad. I sat there, tears welling up in my own eyes, knowing I was about to break my baby's heart. Who's idea was this anyway? "Well? Is he real?" And still I sit there looking at the ceiling waiting for the right words to magically appear that will turn this train wreck into a fender bender. "Why are you crying? Are you happy?" No. "You're sad. Why are you sad?" Because it's true. "He's not real?!" No baby, he's not. After the crying stopped, we talked about the presents from Santa and what Santa really means. And how lying about Santa and the Easter Bunny isn't the same as regular lying. (Still don't know how I pulled that one off!) And that's when she gave me the new nickname. Christmas Ruiner.
     This week a friend of mine had a discussion with her son about Santa. He initiated the whole thing and really just wanted a yes or no answer without a lot of explanations. I felt bad for her at the time, but now I'm thinking she got off easy. She didn't get a wonderful new nickname. There were no tears. It was a very logical process that her son had already worked through on his own. I can't wait for her to have the sex talk with him. Maybe it will go as well as my Santa talk!
     So I go upstairs to tell the hubs about our conversation and my lovely new name and he says, "got another steak we can lay out?" No, no, no please don't say it! Grumpy invited himself to dinner. Suddenly, I feel another headache coming on and an intense desire to get in bed and pull the covers waaaay up over my head. Out the corner of my eye, I see Happy Sunday slipping out the back door.

Polygamy - What's Love Got to do With it?

     There's a new sensation on the reality TV show circut! Sister Wives. I admit I watch it. I started watching out of curiosity. I mean how can three women live under the same roof and share a man and not kill each other? And they've been doing it for 20 years!! I mean, I couldn't even live with my sister-in-law for a year and didn't have to share a man! But after the first show, I think I'm hooked. I don't know how it happened but I already have "relationships" with each wife. For instance, the first wife, Meri only has one child while the other two have between five and six. I feel bad for her because Kody likes a lot of kids and she has only given him one. And even though you can tell she's kind of the "head" wife, I wonder if it bothers her that she hasn't had any more kids when her sisters are so fertile. Then there's the second wife, Janelle, who is the oldest and the heaviest. Even though she has the most kids (for now) and works outside the home 12 hours a day, I wonder if she is self-conscious since the other wives are skinnier (when they aren't pregnant!) and younger then her. Especially with the new girl, Robyn, coming into the picture. She is the prettiest and youngest of them all. Last but not least there is Christine who is pregnant with Kody's 13th child. You can tell she really loves the polygamy lifestyle. I think she likes being part of the family maybe even a little more than she likes Kody! But even though she likes the lifestyle, she's a little jealous of the new comer. Speaking of Robyn - Kody's first courtship in 16 years. They are now engaged and most of the family went on a road trip to move her closer to the family home. I have to admit, I don't think I like this new girl. Everything was going along fine and here she is. The other sisters aren't sure about a new wife either I don't think. Meri and Christine have already broken down and cried about it. Meri has said she would leave the marriage if it weren't for her high level of committment and if she didn't have a child. But Janelle is like "yeah, whatever, it'll work out."
     Then there's the issue of where in the world do they get all their money? Of course, the show will have it's financial benefits but what about before then? Their house is large enough for all the wives to have a house within the house for them and their kids. They go through eggs faster than the Waffle House. All the wives drive huge gas guzzlers and minivans. (I suppose they would have to with all those kids!) And Kody drives a sporty Lexus. Which by the way is not large enough to hold more than a wife and two kids. So we can tell right off where he thinks the parenting should come from. All we know about his job is that he is in advertising sales. Janelle works outside the home in a secret location 12 hours a day while Christine runs the house and watches the kids. Meri is going back to college. I guess when you're the first wife you get to have the cushy perks! Or maybe it's when you're the only legally married wife. Yep! That's right! Kody is only legally married to Meri. His marriages to Janelle and Christine are "spiritual". So in my mind that sets a couple of things off. First, his spiritual wives are considered single mothers. Does that make them eligible for welfare? Two single moms with 12 kids between them, that's a chunk of change! The other thing that I thought of was if they aren't really married, aren't they just a married couple with live-in mistresses for Kody? No wonder the sisters have issues about Robyn. He has two mistresses at home for crying out loud and now he's going off and courting another one? It makes me laugh to hear Robyn talk about not moving into the family home or not being physical until they are married. (Robyn and Kody kissed when they got engaged and the sisters had issues with it.) It makes me laugh because they are not going to be married - legally anyway! So how does that work? They have some sort of ceremony and presto-chango they are married and they can kiss and move in the family home? Do all the spiritually married sisters just change their name? How do the sisters get health insurance? I'm sure he can get coverage for Meri but what about Christine? She doesn't work and isn't legally married. Oh yeah, right I forgot - welfare!
     And then there's the kids. Kody married all three wives before any of the kids started coming along. So this is all normal to them. Plus they go to a school that is full of "plig" kids. This isn't anything weird in their book. What's out of the ordinary is that dad has a girlfriend. So let me make sure I get this...It's ok to have three moms but adding a fourth is weird? Not to mention that they will now have a step-brother and two step-sisters. That's about the only normal thing about this family!
     The other thing I noticed is they dress "normal". I guess I expected the sisters to all have long hair and wear dresses and be very proper. But they aren't and they don't. They look like the average family next door. Complete with the daughter that dyes her hair black in an attempt to stand out from the sea of blondes. Incidently, this is the same daughter that says she will not marry a polygamist. She doesn't want to share her man! You go girl! Forget the sisters! Get you a nanny and a maid!
     And why aren't there plig families with multiple husbands? Sure, it would be harder on the wife on the child bearing end of it but other than that it could be ok. Think about it. You could have one husband that was good at lawncare. Another at home maintenance. Another a housekeeper/cook. Add another that was good at child care and you'd have it made! Sure you'd have to work but so could half of your husbands. (Or you could have a couple more husbands with well-paying jobs!) And when you came home, you could put your feet up and relax knowing that all you had to do was spend time with the kids and catch up on all the shows you DVR'd! Wow! Why didn't anyone think of it sooner! Once again, the women of the world are getting the short end of the stick!
     I know when my husband found me watching this Sunday night, he had to be thinking, "What in the hell is she watching now?" He already has issues with my Hoarders: Buried Alive watching! (Sorry, but I can't help feel a little better about myself after watching a show about people whose houses look like the junk lady's from Labyrinth!) But I can't help myself. It's not like I'm watching it to pick up tips on polygamy in case John wants to change religions down the road. Right or wrong, it's a natural curiosity to see how other people live. It must be the psychologist in me trying to get out.

Stupid Stuff Skully Does

This blog is dedicated to Kimberle Schiff of Oakwood Kennels. Without her there would be no Skully stories for me to tell.

     Let me just start out by saying I love my Skully. He is a sweet boy and a handsome Manchester Terrier. He has brought a lot of happiness to our house in the year he has been with us. But man, oh, man does he do some stupid stuff!
     I suppose it's not all his fault. I mean he comes from an intelligent breed (AKC registered and everything) and seems to be intelligent himself. But he's had a confusing life. Poor guy had three owners (in two different states) and four names before he was a year old. He has been Oakwood's Hot Like Fire, Dapper, Dougie and, of course, Skully. That doesn't even account for the nicknames we have given him (Skull-Skull, Bubbers, Lover Butt and GET TO THE HOUSE! just to name a few.). And then there was the flight from New York. I don't know what happened during the flight but when he saw me and figured out I was his forever mom, it was like the Pope seeing God. He was inseperable from me for months! Like I said, he is a smart dog but I think it's like when people say someone is book-smart. It usually means they don't have a lot of common sense. I think part of his common sense issue comes from his early life confusion but I'm sure that all of his self-inflicted head traumas don't help much.
     For example, my daughter and I were standing in her bedroom doorway at the end of the hall. Skully came out of my adjacent bedroom and starts walking down the hall. Only problem is he is looking back at us and not where he is going. Next thing you know...BAM! Skully hits his head on the doorjamb of the room across the hall. By this time, he has hit his head so much that it doesn't even phase him. Without stopping, he turned his head and kept on going. Meanwhile, Josie and I are in shock (only because the BAM was so loud) and are trying our very best not to laugh at him. (We have adopted the practice of not laughing at the pets when they do stupid things because Fiona -the tabby - seems to be very offended when we laugh at her. Ok, she gives us downright dirty looks when we laugh at her!) I tell Josie that I am going to find him one of those helmets they make people with head injuries wear so they don't hurt themselves anymore. She said, "Seriously?" I said, "Ebay!" She just nodded knowingly, because she has learned Momma can find almost anything there!
     But maybe it's not lack of common sense. Maybe he has ADD or short-term memory issues. The other day my brother-in-law had the recliner kicked back and was playing fetch with Skully. Well, Skully's version anyway. It's more like "You throw it. I'll get it, bring it back and you see if you can get it from me". Anyway, Skully knew the recliner was kicked back. He knew because he was sitting on the foot of it. However, he must have forgotten because when Dink threw the toy, Skully hit the floor like a ton of bricks. BAM! Scared the crap out of me. And him too! He gingerly walked over to me and with his oh-so-expressive eyes said, "Mom? What the heck just happened?!" Poor guy. I didn't know whether to cry from relief that he wasn't hurt or laugh so I gently scooped him up and held him until the memory was gone and he moved on.
     He runs in to things and hits his head so often that I'm beginning to think that he likes the sound he makes...BAM! At least he can figure out where that sound comes from - unlike the another stupid thing he does. Skully has, how shall I say, gastrointestinal issues. Could be from new food. Could be from the too many Scooby snacks he gets when Uncle Dink is here. Or could be from the non-edibles that he has a fetish for, including kleenex and underwear. It has been so bad that we have made a couple of trips to the vet because he has been so miserable. But mostly he just farts. And not just any farts, mind you. At least Wolfie has the decency to have Silent-But-Deadly's. We can't hear him so everyone gets the blame until we sort it all out. He pays no attention to his gas-passing. Doesn't even blink or raise an eyebrow. It's not like he farts all the time and no longer cares, it's just that he doesn't make a big deal about it. You know, like the old lady in front of you at the check-out line at the grocery. But not my sweet Skully. When Skully farts, he about breaks his neck to see exactly where that sound came from. You would think that he had no clue what his body was doing. I would understand if he only did this the first time he ever farted. But he does it EVERY TIME! Most recently was last night in bed. Of course, he wanted me to hold him so I was very aware of the situation.  As soon as the butt trumpet sounded (that's what we call it now), he whipped around, elbowed me in the chest and the inspection began. Confused and unable to find the trumpet player, he settled down and went back to sleep. I just stopped laughing (on the inside) and started to drift off when it happened again. This time I sustained no injuries - except olfactory ones - but still that damned trumpet player couldn't be found! I just cannot imagine why he would be so curious about a sound his own body makes. I mean he literally whips his entire body around to find the source of the noise. I'm guessing he hasn't ever figured it out since he still does it. But considering his love of squeaky toys, maybe he thinks that's what it is and he's trying to find it. Or figure out what it's doing in his butt.
     There are many other Skully stories out there but as I am reading this to my daughter we notice that Fiona has got the worst look on her face. I don't know if she understands what we are saying or why we are laughing but I'm not taking any chances. But considering she is now in the middle of slapping Skully (in the head no less), I would say she's either jealous that the story isn't about her or she is calling him 'Big Dummy Stupid'.

Ashville 4th of July Parade Policy - Say what now?!

This is the actual policy that was published in the 81st Annual Ashville 4th of July souvenir edition in last week's Advertiser. Copied word for word - incorrect wording and all. I can't believe that it took them 81 years to come up with an actual parade policy. What did we ever do without one before? The parades must have run amuck. There was probably a decline in attendance because we weren't doing it right. Seriously? We have been doing it wrong for 80 years???  Some of them are common sense and should be a rule in an organized parade, the others are out there. And knowing me as you do, you know I have to comment on them. Read on.....

1. No alcoholic beverages or illegal drugs will be permitted in the parade or line up area.
Violators will be arrested.
Ok, got it. Common sense rule #1. However, I did break this rule back in '90. Please don't tell the parade officials as I don't know what the parade policy statute of limitations is and would hate to be barred from attending or participating in parades in the future.

2. A safety chain must be used in conjunction with a ball or pin hookup on all floats.
Yep, common sense rule #2.

Hold on - it gets better!

3. No items of any kind may be thrown from the parade route to parade viewers. (candy,
fliers, campaign info, etc.)
This one is a major downer! I can remember, as a kid, everyone scampering to fill up bags with the candy thrown from the ball teams & whomever else was passing it out. It was a big deal among my cousins to see who could get the most. Should the kids be running into the middle of the street? No. Should their parents be making sure they don't? Yes. So maybe item #3 should read, "Keep an eye on your kids. Keep them out of the street during the parade. The Village is not liable if you don't act as a responsible parent and they get hit during their sugar frenzy." This will also affect all fliers handed out by churches and organizations as well as the pretty flowers that Scioto Blooms normally passes out. Hmmm...invoking rule #13 on the Village Church float could prove to be interesting!

4. All floats will carry an approved 5 lb. or more B C fire extinguisher at easy access to the
float driver.
Common sense rule #3. If your float catches on fire - put it out. The firetrucks are up ahead of you and it will take a minute for them to get to you.

5. All riders outside of truck cabs will be seated away from sides of beds and tailgates. Tail
gates must be securely closed.
For as long as I can remember, the cheerleaders have sat on the tailgates and cheered through the parade. No more, girls! You will have to sit in the bed & hope we can see you or cheer as you walk through the parade. BUT make sure you adhere to rule #10. And for the shorter members of the ball teams - could you hold up a sign so we can see where you're at in the truck?

6. No air horns or sirens are to be blown in the parade.
OMG! Really?!? Now this affects our firefighters and police officers. So what they are saying is that when the cruisers start the parade they can't use their sirens to let everyone know the-parade-is-coming-so-move- out-of-the-way. This also affects the semi-trucks that occasionally enter the parade to show off their new trucks. So when you see that cute little boy pumping his fist in the air like mad trying to get you to blow your air horn - keep on truckin'! Same for the fire trucks and cruisers. When you see someone along the route that you know - do not sound the sirens or blow horns of any kind. You're just going to have to wave and shout from now on. If not, rule #13 may occur and how freakin' embarrasing would that be?! Unfortunately, this also affects the ever-present Hillbilly floats. C'mon now - they are an Ashville 4th of July icon!

7. All floats must be preregistered and must be in all (3) parades to be eligible to win
prizes or money.
Well....DUH!!! That's like saying the Miss Ashville contestants have to be registered and in the parade to win. Hello...that's why they put the entry forms in the paper several times before the cut off time.

8. Pets, horses, bicycles, decorated autos and anything else that has to be judged must be at
the main parade route (1) one hour prior to the parade and must sign in when they arrive.
"Main parade route"? There is only one parade route that I know of. It's the same route for all three parades. So where do you want them to sign in? Anywhere along the route? Did you mean to say at the "beginning of the parade route"?

9. All elected officials are welcome to ride in the Grand Parade at no charge. There is,
however, to be no campaigning by any official in any way, including, but not limited to;
signs, buttons, literature,etc. any official or candidate for public office may ride in the
Grand Parade using CAMPAIGN SIGNS ONLY for a fee of $5O PER CANDIDATE.
Throwing of literature, buttons, or other material is prohibited during the parade.
I have to admit, this one made me shake my head in amazement. Basically, you want to charge them for advertisement. Ok. So....what about the floats that sport business or church names? Technically, that's advertising. And what is the definition of "campaign sign"? Is it a sign that tells you who the candidate is or is it one that says "Vote for me!"?  I think we need some clarification before I shell out fifty bucks to ride through a parade on a hot ass July afternoon. And, as a side note, I really hope that they wouldn't consider throwing buttons anyway. But what about the other two parades? The not-so-grand ones? Do the politicians have to pay to be in those too? Or are they barred from participating?

10. All marching unts must continue in a forward motion and are NOT PERMITTED TO
STOP AND PERFORM DURING THE PARADE.
This one is a real gem too. I'm guessing that this applies to the TVHS band, Dynamic Mention, cheerleaders & baton twirlers. Ok, now if you've ever been to an Ashville 4th of July parade, you know that occasionally a train will rumble through town cutting the "main parade route" in half. So what are these performers supposed to do? Just stand there & stop playing mid-song? No more showing off your skills during a delay in the parade. Sorry, TVHS cheerleaders. I know you did awesome at competition but there will be no showing your talent during the parades. Rule #13 applies here too.

11. All motorized entries must be operated by a licensed driver.
At first glance this should be common sense rule #4. If you're driving a car or truck through the parade or pulling a float with a tractor - I agree. But what about the kids that decorate their dirtbikes and four-wheelers to ride through the parade? Does this mean they can no longer participate? Isn't that being a little discriminatory?

12. There are to be NO SQUIRT GUNS in the parade route.
Well, ok. But kids will be kids. And since the ball teams can't throw candy at their friends, shooting them with water is just as fun - for both parties. Now if they are blasting an unwilling adult (or child) then that's a different story. C'mon guys, let the kids have some fun. Isn't that what you are supposed to do at a celebration? Or has the Village become too proper to allow their kids to be just like all the others before them? And does this apply to the people watching the parade??

13. All participants are expected and required to follow directions instructions given to
them by parade officials from the Ashville Community Club. Failure to do so could
result in immediate ejection from the parade route.
Ah yes, dreaded rule #13. I would almost like to see this one happen. Logistically, I don't see how it could  happen. First, are there going to be parade officials everywhere? Will they be in plain sight or are we talking undercover here? Second, how are they going to be immediately ejected? People line the streets of the "main parade route", blocking the streets off the main route. So the parade officials are going to have to move all of the people in the way and then escort the offenders away from the parade. This in itself is going to create a spectacle. I really don't see people willingly moving their seats that they have had staked out all morning or afternoon just so a parade participant can be ejected for some stupid reason. However, I think they may move rather quickly to see the drama of ejecting a cruiser or fire truck for sounding their siren! Now that I want to see!!! 

What I really want to know is what happened last year to justify some of these rules. I don't recall hearing of any injuries from a mis-directed flying campaign button. Seriously, I always thought the biggest issue of the Grand Parade was who is in charge of cleaning up after the horses? Apparently, that is a non-issue because it wasn't even mentioned. Kinda makes me want to enter a float, throw a politician, some candy, a siren and some performers on it. But I'd have to pre-register and put it in all three parades if I have any chance at all of getting a prize!

The Dance

     The other day when the hubs and I went out to lunch, a friend of ours stopped by our table to say hi and chat. We hadn't seen him in awhile so it was nice that he did. But then he started in on the church issue. "When are you going to go?" "Why haven't you yet?" Normally, John takes the blame to save me from having a discussion I don't like having. But this time I stepped up and took the heat. Now, I understand, being a  retired minister it's his responsibility to bring people into the church but he has never been this pushy with us. And to top it off, he had to throw in the miracle I received and "how can you turn your back on that?" I have to admit, I had been pretty cool about the whole thing but that was the 300 pound straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. Turn my back? Seriously?? Ok, you can lecture me in front of everyone in the VFW but question my faith? That's going a little too far. John saw the sparks in my eyes and turned back to his lunch, trying very hard to be oblivious to the wrath the poor Rev. was about to endure. But being the good girl that doesn't like to cause a scene in a public place, I put my 'tude in check, bit the inside of my cheek and calmly replied. "I have a relationship with God. I talk to him every single day. I don't think I need to be in a specific location to talk to him or thank him for all the wonderful things he has done in my life." Well, I could tell that I must have had a pretty good arguement because all he could come up with was that the "church family" is an important part of it.  I have surrounded myself with many wonderful people that are family to me. Not because we all go to the same church or believe the same thing. But because we genuinely care about and love each other. And when push comes to shove, I know they will always be there for me. That is far more important to me than someone that feels we need to be friends because we are in a church family. My mom and I had a church family when I was younger and, honestly, the only ones that acted like family were the ones we were already related to!
     So this played over in my head all afternoon. And I had the same discussion with myself, as usual, debating whether I should just give in to the "norm" or do what I believe. And is what I believe ok?
     Later that afternoon, I went out to the garage to tell the hubs that I was going to pick up Josie from school. And that's when it happened. Out of nowhere John said "dragonfly!" I looked outside and it was floating and diving and circling our trucks. I went out into the driveway and stood still. The dragonfly circled and swooped down around me. The entire time I'm laughing and shrieking like an idiot, trying desperately to keep my eyes on it and John is yelling, "It's your Mom!" This dance with me and the dragonfly went on about 5 wonderful minutes. And then I couldn't see it anymore. I could feel my smile fade and I turned to ask John where it went. He no more said "right behind you" when it came within 2 inches of the top of my head. I've said before that dragonflies come to me and after I had time to think about it, I know this one surely did. John always says the dragonflies that come around me are my Mom checking on me. It kind of makes sense considering this never happened to me until after she passed away. But I don't think it was her that day. I think it was one of God's many messengers floating by to tell me I'm ok and not to worry what others think because it only matters what God thinks of me. I don't know for sure but I do know that it made me feel at peace inside and the worry I had was gone.

Crazy Stuff my Husband Does in his Sleep

     Over the years, my husband has done all kinds of stuff in his sleep. When he was a young child, he would sleepwalk all the time. One time, when he was about 9, his parents found him heading out of town on 752.  Now mind you, we live in a small town and it's really not that far to head out of town. I suppose to a parent of a wandering child it seems like miles, but the fact that he had to cross rail road tracks to get where they found him would have done it for me. His sleepwalking was so bad as a child that his dad had to put all kinds of locks on the door to keep him from wandering. And when they went on vacation, they had to give him a shot of whiskey to keep him in bed! I regret to say that this trait has carried over to our daughter. But so far she hasn't left the house. She just wanders to the living room, has a conversation with us and goes back to bed.
     When we were first married, he used to relive his entire day in his sleep. The first time it happened it really freaked me out. (And that is the main reason I would tell someone to live together before they get married!!) Now you have to understand he didn't just talk in his sleep. I could have handled random incoherent mumblings but he had full blown conversations with whomever pissed him off that day! And if only it were conversations. It was cussing, yelling and basically telling the person what a dumb ass they were! But it doesn't end there. There was also the fighting. He would fight these people in his sleep. Something he couldn't do at work. The worst was the time he was so into it that he threw himself out of bed. At the time we had a waterbed and I still can't figure how he pulled that one off!
     He also used to "coma-eat". That's what he called it when he would eat in his sleep. I cannot begin to count the mornings I woke up to expect a clean kitchen and there would be food, utensils and empty containers on the counter. And he would not remember it! If only he would have learned to coma-clean it would have been wonderful!
     His sleep habits have changed over the years and there isn't so much of the sleep-talking or -eating anymore. He sleeps a lot better now that he uses a CPAP at night. But when he snoozes in that recliner, there is no telling what you will see or hear! It got so crazy the other night that I decided to make a list of:
Crazy Stuff my Husband Does in his Sleep

* Rocking in the recliner while sitting straight up asleep. This isn't so much crazy as it is creepy.
* Putting a cigarette in his mouth and then falling back to sleep before he can light it. This usually ends up with the lighter on the floor and the cigarette stuck to his lip.
 * Shaking his legs. Our recliners are part of a sectional so when he shakes his legs it normally causes seasickness in me.
 * Random incoherent mumblings.
 * Slapping his belly for no apparent reason.
And the craziest thing my husband does in his sleep....
Tapping his foot to the beat of the music that is on the T.V. and amazingly not miss a beat!
     My husband always asks me what I would do without him around to keep me entertained. I really don't know. I suppose I could watch Comedy Central a lot more. But I don't think that would help much because he is even funnier awake then he is asleep!

Climbing On Up On the Soapbox

     Those that know me know that for the most part I keep my political opinions to myself. Because they are just that - opinions. And as my husband so eloquently puts it - "Opinions are like @$$holes...everyone has one and they all stink!" So, for the most part, I have never had a need for a soapbox. Until today. Today I saw something that touched me so deeply that I felt the need to find a soapbox, climb up on it and express my opinion, knowing full well that some might find it stinky.
     This afternoon, I dropped my daughter off at a birthday party and headed to Circleville in search of some hostas for cheap. I was going down "old 23", as my mom would call it, or as the younger generation would say - North Court St. I passed a house on a farm that was flying an American flag. So what's the big deal? Lots of people fly the flag outside their home. True. But most don't fly it upside down. This really bothered me. I remembered an old friend who hung his flag in the same manner inside his tattoo parlor. I remembered he hung it that way in honor of the Native Americans and the country that was taken from them. But that's all I could remember, that and the fact that I knew it wasn't good. So when I got home, I Googled it. And this is what I found. USFlag.org has a listing of the Flag Code. According to this, the flag "is flown upside down only as a distress signal." Other sites said it was for distress defined as being extreme danger to life and property. That got me thinking about what could be so dire for them to send up a distress signal. Then I thought maybe it wasn't about them personally. Maybe it was their opinion about how our country is doing. Maybe the extreme danger was to our country and her citizens. That's what bothered me.
     I'm not one to watch the news - too depressing for me. I will admit this is probably the worst time not to watch the news. I do keep an eye on the paper but there's only so much knowledge you can gain from the local news source. I did read an article on the web about the new healthcare bill that was a bit disturbing but for the most part I'm a little disconnected. However, I've read and heard enough to form an opinion of my own.
     My gut reaction is that we, as a nation, have been duped. We wanted a change from the way things were. A change from a president that acted like he had no sense. A change that would bring our loved ones home from a war that has gone on too long. So we voted for change. But is it really the change we wanted? Are our government representatives doing what's best for their constituents or for their own best interests? Sometimes I wonder if the Obama supporters are as supportive now as they were when he was on the campaign trail. I know if I had been one of them, I would certainly be doubting what I had supported. I also wonder about the Congressional representatives that we have elected. Especially, when I read that certain laws don't pertain to them and this new healthcare bill doesn't pertain to them. I think they have forgotten that they are not above the rest of the citizens of this country. That they too, once upon a time, were insignificant nobodies who had to follow the law as we do. Sometimes, I really don't think they have our best interests in mind. Oh sure, that's what they promise at election time but we know how that goes. We've all participated in school government elections and remember how the moon was promised but all we got was a rock. Why do we think it's any different on a higher level? I fully realize that the nation didn't start going to hell in a handcart as soon as the Obama-drama started. But to me it seems like it is getting steadily worse. Maybe the new generation of "tea-partiers" are on to something. Maybe we as a nation need to clean house - starting with the elected officials. I'm not saying the constitution needs to be rewritten. Actually, just the opposite. I think they need to stop and look at what the constitution really means when the government doesn't bend it to fit whatever they need it to.
     I wonder what our founding fathers would think if they could see their country today. Would they be proud of the way the country is ran? Would they be saddened to see how their hopes and dreams for a young nation have went awry? What would they think of all the corruption in the offices they once held? And what about the state of our nation? A nation in debt to the tune of over $12 trillion (zfacts.com). A nation that drops everything they are doing to help other countries in need but let our citizens go homeless and hungry. A nation that has become a self-imposed babysitter to the rest of the world. A nation that has continued to open her doors to immigrants - but for the most part a different breed of immigrants. (Immigrants that come here to escape perscution from their country and then want to change how things are here. And WHY do I have to press "1" for English? Why is it an option? When immigrants began coming to this country, they learned the language and were proud to do so while retaining their heritage. Now it seems as though the immigrants - illegal and otherwise - have more rights and benefits than an American citizen.) And how their idea of "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" isn't so happy anymore. I think it would be a little like the commercial that has the Native American with a silent tear running down his cheek at the sight of all the litter around him.     
    One of my facebook friends posted this on his page:
If a conservative doesn't like guns, he doesn`t buy one. If a liberal doesn't like guns, he wants guns outlawed. If a conservative is a vegetarian, he doesn't eat meat. If a liberal is a vegetarian, he wants meat products banned. If a conservative is homosexual, he quietly leads his life. If a liberal is homosexual, he demands legislated respect. If a conservative is down-and-out, he tries to better his situation. A liberal wants to know who is going to fix it for him. If a conservative doesn't like a talk show host, he switches channels. Liberals want those they don't like to be silenced. If a conservative is a non-believer, he doesn't go to church. If a liberal is a non-believer he wants any mention of religion silenced.If a conservative needs health care he shops for it, or looks for a job that will provide it. A liberal demands that the rest of us provide for it. A conservative will read this and will forward it, so his friends can have a good laugh. A liberal will read this and delete it, because he's offended.
I never thought about it quite like this but it makes sense. And by the above examples, apparently I'm a conservative which is surprising to me.
     O.K., I'm climbing down (for now). But what I saw today opened my eyes. Maybe I can't change anything just by being more informed, but at least I can see it coming and not be blind-sided by it. It makes me laugh inside to think how everyone was so ready to impeach Clinton. Do these same people see what's happening now?
    

Our crazy animals!

     We have 2 dogs - a Min-Pin (Wolfie) & a Manchester Terrier (Skully). We also have 2 cats - Princess Fiona & Zoe. Fiona could not have been named any better if we had waited a year to name her. She is the priss of all prisses. The cat will not drink from the water bowl. She has to scoop up the water with her paw & drink from there. She will also only eat canned cat food if it is the shredded kind & then only if we chop it up even smaller. She will not eat treats as they are beneath her royal status. Her only vice of the common cat is catnip. She will roll around & act a fool over just a speck of catnip! Now, Zoe is a totally different story. I call her my ninja warrior. She will sneak up behind you, slap you & disappear! She has fought with Wolfie - WWE style - like they were equals. And at the sake of embarrassing my boy, it is with mixed feelings that I say she has properly kicked his ass! She will eat anything that doesn't move and has no qualms about eating treats. In fact, she asks for them & has learned to sit pretty to get them. Zoe will also fight with Fiona. But it is all in fun & they usually call a draw & walk away friends. Still it cracks me up to watch them because they look like those boxing cats you see on TV. Wolfie is our polite boy. He tries to get along with everyone but has had a rough time since he first moved in. Fiona had to establish her dominance by bitch-slapping him every time he came in her sight. They get along now & even cuddle once in a great while. And he is friends with Zoe too. She quit wrestling with him when Skully moved in. As a matter of fact, she relocated to the basement when he moved in! Skully is the newbie. A transplant from New York. He is a sweet boy but has abandonment & chewing issues. Wolfie has become a different dog since Skully came. He actually plays now. They roll around in the back yard snarling & growling like a couple of Pit Bulls about to do some major damage, but they are really just playing. And when Skully wants Wolfie to play he makes this sound like a Grizzly bear. It is too funny & I have to get it on video! They are best buds & totally inseperable. In fact, when I called to make sure the kennel had room for them when we go on vacation, I had to request that they be put together. (Yes, they are spoiled!)
     So I tell you all this to tell you about the craziness that happened this afternoon. You see it just wouldn't have the same effect if you didn't understand their personalities just a little. It was 5:30 & Josie had just fed the pets like normal. And like normal, Skully felt the need to harass Zoe. Poor thing hasn't ate in peace in almost a year! They were all eating - or so I thought - & all of a sudden I heard the biggest commotion & a blur of many colors flying past me down the basement steps. As near as I can figure, Zoe was in a zero-tolerance mood today & absolutely didn't want to be bothered by Skully. Either that or he tried to stick his nose somewhere it didn't belong - literally. There was exponentially more hissing than on a normal evening. After the commotion died down & the fur settled on the steps, I notice Fiona sashaying down the stairs. This is normal - she had just eaten her chopped & shredded cat food & was going, well, you can figure that one out. A couple of minutes pass & there is no noise from the basement. No hissing or barking. No "please play with me" whining. I call for him to come back up. Nothing. I holler louder. Nothing. At this point I start to get nervous because he usually comes to me the first or second time I call & there is total silence coming from the basement. I didn't even get a chance to call him a third time when the hissing started. Next thing I know here he comes with Fiona right behind him - hissing, running on three paws & slapping Skully on the ass with the other! About half way up he got disoriented - partly from the butt-whipping & partly from all the yelling I was doing. He went back downstairs until I called for him again. Meanwhile, Fiona waited for him right where she left off & when he passed her she continued the hissing & slapping all the way to the top of the stairs. Her tail was as big around as one of those static duster things. At this point I was some where between shock & laughing so hard I could have peed . I have never seen her chase one of the dogs down like that. He was so scared that he ran all the way to the bedroom & tunneled under the blankets until John came home. Fiona, on the other hand, just looked at me like "What?" & walked over to the the food dish. Zoe, come to think about it, I haven't seen since. But if she's hiding, nothing will bring her out until she's ready.
     I swear, I need to install cameras in every room just to get all the pet action. Some days it's like a zoo! Or maybe I could get a couple of those little cameras that fit on a collar. Those would be some crazy action shots. I do think I am going to get a little camcorder & record the boys outside this summer. They would be a hit on YouTube or America's Funniest Home Videos!

Zoe

 Skully & Wolfie

Fiona

Vajazzle

     So the other night, Jennifer Love-Hewitt announced to George Lopez and the rest of the world that she "vajazzles". Since I missed the show, I didn't have a good idea about what the fuss was about. Which is unusual because normally I'm on top of things. To try to iron all this out, I consulted my good friend Google. First pictures I saw were undies that said "Vajazzle". Ok, they were cute and sparkley but no biggie. Then I started reading the blurbs and found a how-to page. (Well, sort of. It's not like there was follow along pictures or anything - so if you don't have a good imagination that isn't going to work for you.) Anyway, it's pretty simple. Two whole steps.
     Step 1 - get an ouchless Brazillian. Ouchless Brazillian! Now if that's not the epitome of an oxymoron I just don't know what is. It should be listed as an example in the dictionary. I will admit I have a fear of the Brazillian. I tried waxing my legs once and it ended in painful disaster. Now if they think I'm going to do that to my far more delicate nether region, then they are high on something I don't want a part of. I have a girlfriend that gets a Brazillian at the beginning of swimsuit season just like she's going to get her nails done or something. Like going to get wax applied and then ripped off of your vajajay is no big deal. I'm afraid, for me anyway, an ouchless Brazillian would have to include some Versed or something else to knock me out completely. Wake me up when it's all over and give me some Percocet for the pain! Maybe we could modify step 1 to "shave the area to be vajazzled". That I could live with.
    Step 2 - apply crystal tattoo. Are these the same crystal tattoos that you can find in the makeup aisles of WalMart? Or do I have to order them special off of the internet? The directions don't specify but do say to be careful because that area is sensitive. (Really?! Did you just realize that now? I'll bet you figured that out after you had your "ouchless" Brazillian!) But still this could be festive. Use a different tattoo for each holiday. Get special ones for the big game day. And if you have a really steady hand you could get the individual crystals and spell out your man's name or honey-do list. Bet he wouldn't forget those chores then! And I suppose if you aren't into all the sparkley, then you could apply regular temporary tattoos. There's a lot more variety in that genre. If you are really creative, you could create an entire scene with the tattoos. Then we could call it Vaj-art. And for those truly brave souls out there, you could actually get a permanent tattoo - but it wouldn't have the bling factor.
    Still, I don't know what would possess a person to come up with this? How much boredom does it take for a person to say "I'm going to wax my vajajay and bling it up a bit." Maybe a stripper or a porn star came up with it. I don't know for sure but I can bet that it is going to become a trend. It's been on national tv, the internet, blogs (other than mine) and there is even a salon in New York that does it. What I think will be surprising is the age of the women that do it. I think this just won't be for the 20 year old bikini wearers. I think it will be a hit with every imaginative and adventurous woman of almost any age. Besides isn't 40 the new 30 or something? So go on ladies - run out and get some bling and surprise your honey! And when you see me out and about, feel free to let me know how that ouchless part worked out for you - just don't show me the pictures of it on your cell phone!

Pine-sol only has so much power!

     Have you ever noticed that no matter how long or well you clean it is usually for nothing? I have a standing bet with myself that within 6 hours of any given floor in the house being mopped, someone will spill something. It's inevitable and it happens like clockwork. But let me skip a week of mopping and nothing hits the floor! I just don't get it. It's like the cleaning gods are playing tricks on me because they know how much I hate to do it.
     I don't think I ask much. Just a simple request - pick up after yourself. Easy enough. Put away what you get out and wipe up what you spill. But apparently this request isn't specific enough. It should be more like, "hang your clothes back on the hangers when you knock them off" or "wring out the sponge before you wipe up your mess and then rinse it out". My daughter is the only person I know that can make two pieces of toast and leave a trail of crumbs four feet long and six inches wide on the counter. I mean how does that happen and you still have two entire pieces left to eat? It also amazes me how my sweet husband can get something within three feet of a trashcan but not be able to actually put the item in the trash. The bathroom and kitchen counters are the catch all for popcans, Dixie cups, toliet paper rolls (don't even get me started on the inability of replacing the toliet paper!), etc. And the girl is just as bad - putting a finished bowl of cereal in the sink but not pouring the leftover milk down the drain or leaving a bottle of pop in the fridge with only a swallow left in it. Even the pets are against me. Skully dribbles food all over the floor and steals any kind of paper just to shred it everywhere. Fiona scoops up her water with a paw and then leaves a row of lone paw prints through the kitchen. Wolfie can destroy a made bed in record time just so he can have a nap under the covers. And Zoe will pull a tablecloth half off the table before you know what happened.
     Now I fully understand that I am now a stay at home mom and my priorities have changed. However, I do not want to spend my entire day cleaning. John and I consider ourselves retired even though technically we are on medical disability. So as a retired person, shouldn't I be able to spend my days as I wish? You know reading, writing, facebook-ing, swimming, lying in the sun, enjoying my kids (both the two- and four-legged variety) and having dates with the hubs. Nowhere in my perfect daily routine is cleaning the house from top to bottom. But it is not to be simply because the family can't follow the golden rule.
     Occasionally, the unbelievable happens and the family cleans. Well, their version of it anyway. John's definition is to pick up everything he doesn't think should be where it is and dump it on my desk in the Mom Cave. Then he will reorganize what is left so that it isn't where I need it to be. For instance, the kitchen. I will organize things one way and then when he cooks he will move it all simply because it is easier for him when he cooks. Now mind you, if I were to do this and dump stuff in the Man Cave there would be all kinds of hell to pay. When we first got married, I didn't realize he had certain OCD tendencies. He would place something somewhere and I would innocently move it, causing major disruption  in the house. Later, when I figured out his issues, I would move stuff just for laughs. I wouldn't even have to move the object far - just a slight rotation or 1/4 inch one way or the other and his radars would be alerted. For some reason, he didn't see the humor like I did! But now he goes behind me and rearranges things and I don't see the humor in it either, mostly because he doesn't think that I have any sense of how to decorate! Josie's version of cleaning is a little less complex. Everything gets shoved under her bed or in the back of her closet. And this is where it remains until all the stuff begins to ooze out from under the bed. Then I go in with an army of heavy duty trash bags and commence clearing it out. My all-time best is seven bags and a box. And that is just from under the bed. We are currently working on this and she is getting much better about the cleanliness of her floor and room in general, much to her dismay.
     When I go to other people's houses, they alway seem so neat and orderly. It seems like their homes are maintenance free. Floors and counters spotless, no clutter, no nests of stuff that never seems to have a place of it's own. Like they have to put no effort in cleaning their homes. They have their families trained right. I long for the day that mine will be enlightened by the golden rule. When they will not fear the trashcans and learn that everything has a place - and that place is not the Mom Cave. But until that day, you will find me picking up the things that can't find their way back to where they belong and the throwing away the pop cans that can't quite make it to the trashcan. Oh yes, and constantly fighting the spills that always seem to find their way to the floor.
    

The ICD Diaries

I'm getting ready to have my pacemaker replaced with an ICD (Implantable Cardioverter Defibrillator). Just another step in the cardiologist's plan to combat the damage the chemo and radiation has done to my heart. I thought I would keep something like a journal so I could look back in 4 - 7 years (when it will need replaced) to remember that it wasn't such a big deal after all. Here's hoping.....

The Night Before
Despite my procedure tomorrow, my Sunday has been business as usual. Laundry and the Sunday paper (which was too wet to attempt to read) topped my to do list. I went to bed early as prescribed by the husband to combat the long day ahead. But I snuck out of bed before midnight to have a snack to combat my stomach's even longer day ahead.

The Big Day
Suprisingly, I slept well. My considerate family ate breakfast in the kitchen so at least I wouldn't have to see the food I was smelling. To take my mind off of my lack of breakfast, I took a long shower and spent way too much time on my hair and picking out an appropriate outfit. I mean, what do you wear on surgery day? Do you show up in PJ's or sweats or jeans and a T? It's not like you are going to have the clothes on long enough for anyone that matters to see because they've got that stylish one-size-fits-all gown all ready and waiting for you to make your grand entrance. Anyway, I packed my overnight bag with the necessities - DS and cell phone - and got ready to leave. We left the house late (according to my schedule) and I was on pins and needles the whole way there thinking I would be late and everyone would have attitude and take it out on me when they put in my IV. Now mind you, I wasn't nervous about the procedure - just the fact that I would get there in time. So, I turned on my DS and tuned into the mindless world of Slingo. So we get there and make it to the registration area in time. I was there a whole five minutes before I signed my life away and was sent to the fifth floor. But I was there long enough to notice that I actually could have worn PJ's and got by with it. As usual, only one Tower elevator was working (what is it with Mt.Carmel's elevators?) so the wait in front of Tim Horton's was a hell of a lot longer than the one in registration! Finally, we get upstairs and John goes off in search of a restroom (Ha! Serves you right for eating when I can't!). Josie no more than broke out her DS when the nurse came to get me. Great. Now I have to leave my nervous kid alone in the waiting room. Could we possibly add any more stress to this day?! Assuring her that Daddy won't take as long as usual and that she can come back to see me as soon as I get changed, I leave the girl under the watchful eyes of the families gathered in the waiting room. After I'm weighed (ugh), the nice nurse tells me it's time for the stylish gown, but I get to leave the undies on. Bonus!!! I knew I wore my favorite panties for a reason! Then it's paperwork and EKG time. Meanwhile, Nurse Ratchett puts in my IV with something no smaller than a garden hose and tapes it in such a way that I can't even bend my wrist to sign my life away for the second time today. And of course she had to act disgusted when I asked her to loosen up the leash. Maybe it was because I said, "Here comes the mean nurse" when she came in the room. Sorry, if you're coming at me with a needle you're not my BFF at that moment! And, geez, can you say nervous humor?! Enter my doctor, who isn't the doctor I thought it was after all, and he proceeds to tell me what he is going to do only he is pointing to the wrong side of my chest. That's reassuring moment #1. Now the anxiety is kicking in and as he walks away I yell, "Hey! How about some Ativan?!?!" To which he replies that there is something much better waiting on me in the room. The joke is that I have to get there first. Here comes the kiddo and the hubs. She's drinking a Diet Pepsi and eating cinnamon and white fudge rice cakes like there's no tomorrow. "Hey, Mommy. You want some?" She doesn't realize how lucky she is that I am attached to this IV because those rice cakes are looking a lot like steak right now. Finally, it's time. Thank goodness! I have to say that the nurse that took me back to the room was a lot cooler than the others. But then I suppose she only has to deal with patients on a conscious level for a short time. I get on the table and the guy behind me is talking about a bi-V and the cool nurse is saying "No, that's not right." And so they ask me if I know what kind of defibrillator I'm supposed to get. There's reassuring moment #2. At that moment, it would have been very wonderful if my good friend Ativan was coursing through my veins. After I clear up their confusion, my wrists are restrained so I don't move "accidentally" and we move on to my choice of music. At this point, as long as it's not gangsta rap and the doc is cool with it, I don't really care. Then there's the discussion of who will be taking notes versus giving the sedation. Seems there's a newbie in our midst and the nurse wants to make sure she gets practice where she needs it. Which would happen to be with giving the sedation. And, you guessed it, reassuring moment #3. Seriously, people, bring on the Versed and lots of it!!! The last thing I remember is the cool nurse telling me how much she likes my glasses and hearing Gnarls Barkley belting out "Does that make me crazy?" Thank goodness I was too out of it to care. Fast forward to recovery. I woke up wasted and sleepy and staring at my buddy Steve. I think I waved. But I don't know for sure. My mind told my hand to wave but I don't know if it listened. (Everytime I come off of Versed it amazes me that people get messed up like this on purpose on a daily basis. Wow.) Here comes the family. Now the girl has a Rice Krispies treat and a frozen coffee thingy from Tim Horton's. And do I want some? I must have said yes because I remember being fed little pieces of Rice Krispies. Oh, am I supposed to be eating yet? I don't know that either but it was good. Fast forward about four hours later. The family is long gone and I am finally being taken to my room. As least the transport guys are young and fun and like to flirt with the 40-year-old who is totally high! Which is unfortunate because at this time I can only manage a smile and a goofy laugh. I'm still at the stage where words come out of my mouth but they are in the wrong order and make no sense. I think it has something to do with my mouth not being able to talk as fast as my brain can think. It took me about five minutes to organize my thoughts enough to tell them I wanted an extra pillow off the other bed. At least I was in time for dinner and it was pretty decent. Although later I lost it all when I had an allergic reaction to the antibiotic they gave me and did a marvelous impression of Linda Blair. After which, I settled down and tried to sleep off the remnants of the Versed while getting used to the sling I have to wear for three days.

There's Got to be a Morning After
There was and it came before the sun was up. I mean does it really matter in the whole scheme of things if I take my meds at 5 or at 7? Apparently, it does. So I'm up and playing Slingo. I don't even know if I'm winning or not because I'm still in zombie mode. But it was enough to make me sleepy and drift back to sleep. Until transport came. It was morning chest x-ray time. Yay me! Every other time I have been in the hospital, they bring the x-ray machine to me. Not today. I have to be wheeled off to have it done. So I made the poor guy wait long enough for me to pee and put on clean undies before we left. He was sweet enough to tie my gown at the waist where I couldn't reach. I wonder if he checked out the cool and sparkly skull that was on the back of my undies? The x-ray tech wanted to know if I could stand long enough to have two x-rays done. I told her that her guess was as good as mine because my body still didn't feel firmly attached to my mind. Guess what?! I could! Not that I want to have to experiment with that again but it's a good reference. For the ride back, I get the goofy transport guy. Ah, I remember him well from my six month stay at the Mount. Poor guy ran me into every door and corner he could find. He must have had a lot more practice since then because I made it to my room without a scratch. So the day went like this: breakfast, sleep, doc stops by, sleep, nurse says I can leave after antibiotics, call hubs to tell him to come get me, sleep, got dressed and wobbled to the wheelchair, got in truck, sleep, got home and wobbled into the house, got on PJ's and SLEEP.

Day Two
When I get up I notice that my hand is really swollen where my IV leaked. I think it's probably a good idea if I take the Lasix that I was supposed to take yesterday. Then when I attempt to get up out of the recliner that I fell asleep in last night, it hits me. I AM SORE!!! I imagine that I must look like a one-armed turtle trying to get off of its back, which isn't helpful in the least. Finally, I right myself and wobble off to the bathroom. I dug the Lasix out of my coat pocket, and while swallowing them, anticipate how much time I have before the water works start. Luckily, I only had to go every hour so that meant I could nap in between trips to the bathroom. I inform the hubs that there is absolutely no chance that a boob job is in my future. I can only imagine how painful that would be compared to my little defibrillator. There is not enough Percoset in the world! I must be coming around because I also inform him that a new sump pump must be purchased tomorrow. And could he swing by Giant Eagle and pick me up a cake because I'm really craving it. I can see the dread creep in the corners of his eyes. It's almost as though I can hear him thinking "she's going to sit there and pass out stuff to do." I really tried not to. He has taken such good care of me and the kiddo and the house. That man has been cleaning and cooking since Monday morning. And probably will until I say, "Ok. I'm all better now." I'm going to attempt to sleep in the bed tonight. Not sure if I can get comfortable but it's got to be better than sleeping in the recliner.

Happy Birthday to Me!
So how many of you can say that you got an Implantable Cardioverter Defibrillator for your birthday? Hmm? Trust me, it didn't rank high on the list. I think it was somewhere toward the bottom next to Shingles. But it's done. I should be good for a few years. I'm still sore. And now that is being joined by the itchies. The Steri-strips are starting to come off and I can see that the good doc had sense enough not to use the original incision he made two years ago. I'm going to have to talk to him about that for next time. There's already a line there - use it. I really don't want my chest looking like a road map. Especially since I can't cover the scars with a tattoo. But that's not all I got for my birthday. I got a new sump pump!! And a Giant Eagle cake! And pink roses from the girl and red ones from the hubs. He said there were some pretty awesome purple ones but he got red because he knew they meant love and he didn't have a clue what purple meant! So on day three, I'm now used to the sling I no longer need to wear. And I'm getting bored. I informed the hubs that I will be accompanying him to the doctor and the store on Monday, just so I can get out of the house. I have to admit, I could get used to watching him run the vaccum and cook. But I suppose it's like everything - it's good in moderation. I just wish I could do my own hair. It sucks not being able to raise my right arm over my head. I'm going to have to work on a way around it if I'm going out Monday. Times like this I wish I had my long hair back and not this funky short style I've got going on. All in all, it wasn't a horrible experience. At least I'll know what to expect when this one wears out and needs replaced. But I must remember to find out what kind of antibiotic they gave me and add it to my list of no-no's. Or remember to tell them to give me some Finigrin first!