B a b y F a v o r i t e

To Write or Not To Write?

2011-02-07T15:55:00.000-08:00

Wow... I can't believe it's been SO LONG since I've posted! What it really came down to was, as cathartic as it was writing about my brother, I got tired of it. It depressed me more, over time. Apparently I just don't know what I want! I doubt anyone's reading anymore, but I'll write anyway....

Let's see. What's the latest? Nothing, really, especially considering you more than likely already follow me on Facebook. And if you do, you're probably sick of my daily ramblings!

To sum it up: Kids are good, husband's good, work's... work. It's fine, just boring. Cheerleading has finally ended (thank you, Sweet Jesus!)--after 6 long months--and baseball's starting up again. Never a dull moment. But I tell myself: Someday you'll miss this. And I know it's true.

Today I came across the above picture of my son Chad at 2. It was taken at daycare; he's in the upper right-hand corner in red. He was the darlingest little boy ever, I swear. Not that I'm biased or anything. He is still the darlingest boy... what a joy he is, even at 15! That kid is the soft spot in my heart, I'm telling you. Erin is amazing too, of course, just in a different way. She is a true joy--so loving and comforting and FUNNY. I think moms and sons/daughters just have entirely different dynamics. Don't you? Strange... for all the years I only wanted girls (before getting pregnant), now I can't imagine not having had a son.

Oh, meant to say that the cool part about the above picture is that most of those kids are still friends. They started daycare (on our Navy base) together as infants in 1995/96 and are now in high school together as sophomores. And they're all amazing kids from amazing families! All of us parents still know each other and many of us work together on base, so the kids have had very similar upbringings and the same types of values instilled. We are blessed to live in the community we do.

Happy Monday! I'll try to come back before another, uh, five months slips away...

***

What if he's an angel?

2010-08-09T19:47:00.000-07:00

What if He's an Angel

Brad Paisley

There's a man standing on the corner
With a sign sayin' "Will work for food"
You know the man
You see him every morning
The one you never give your money to
You can sit there with your window rolled up
Wondering when the lights going to turn green
Never knowing what a couple more bucks
In his pocket might mean

What if he's an angel sent here from heaven
And he's making certain that you're doing your best
To take the time to help one another
Brother are you going to pass that test
You can go on with your day to day
Trying to forget what you saw in his face
Knowing deep down it could have been his saving grace
What if he's an angel

There's a man
And there's a woman
Living right above you in apartment G
There's a lot of noise coming through the ceiling
And it don't sound like harmony
You can sit there with your TV turned up
While the words and his anger fly
Come tomorrow when you see her with her shades on
Can you look her in the eye

What if she's an angel sent here from heaven
And she's making certain that you're doing your best
To take the time to help one another
Brother are you going to pass that test
You can go on with your day to day
Trying to forget what you saw in her face
Knowing deep down it could have been her saving grace
What if she's an angel

A little girl on daddy's lap
Hiding her disease with a baseball cap
You can turn the channel
Most people do
But what if you were sitting in her daddy's shoes

Maybe she's an angel
Sent here from Heaven
And she's making certain you're doing your best
To take the time to help one another
Brother are you going to pass that test
You can go on with your day to day
Trying to forget what you saw in her face
Knowing deep down it could have been her saving grace
What if she's an angel

Daddy's Little Girl

2010-07-21T18:03:00.000-07:00

Mark moved into his new apartment complex in the springtime of last year. While moving, he left behind all sorts of things....things like boxes upon boxes full of family snapshots dating back to the 1950's. All of our family's memories captured on film were gone. He left behind other things, too, like our mother's wedding dress from 1945, our grandmother's confirmation picture from the turn of the century, and probably a million other things that would break my heart if I knew about them or thought too long or too hard. I've tried not to recall what he must've left; it hurt too much. I kept telling myself they're just things. Memories still live in your head and in your heart, Susan. No one can leave them behind or take them away.

And then one day I did remember something he might've left that I couldn't push aside or forget about: Our dad's ashes. I called Mark to ask, panic-stricken. "Oh," he nonchalantly says--as if I were talking about an old VHS tape or a raggedy sweater. "I didn't realize they were there."

My heart sank. Where did my dad's ashes go? Did someone throw them away? I knew the house had been bought at auction. Could I call someone? If so, whom? I knew where they'd been (on the top shelf of the master bedroom closet), but I wondered if anyone knew what they even were before tossing them out. (They were in a box from the mortuary, not an urn.)

The part that bothered me the most was that I was fairly certain Mark had left them intentionally. He and my dad had never gotten along, and I think it was his way of "getting even" one last time, sick as that might sound. Because, let's face it--he is sick.

One day, as Erin and I were driving by, we saw several men working in the yard and obviously gutting the house since there were things like bathroom sinks and countertops outside. I didn't know what to do. Should I stop? Would they think I was strange for asking? Admittedly, I was embarrassed. Erin lectured, "Mom, you KNOW you'll never forgive yourself if you don't stop to ask! Just turn around and go back. Right now!" She was right. It's kind of sad when your 5th grader has more sense and nerve than you do at 41 years old.

So I went back. I got out, briefly explaining who I was and why I was there. The man right away explained that it wasn't his house--it was his sister's, and she lived out of town--but he did remember her mentioning the ashes. He called her right away on his cell phone; yes, sure enough, she'd put them in the garage just in case the home owner stopped by! I was elated, and so grateful. My heart was light again. He and I talked quite awhile and then Erin and I went on our merry way, Dad's ashes clutched close to my heart...never to be forgotten or left alone again.

Compassion

2010-07-18T13:42:00.000-07:00

The value of compassion cannot be over-emphasized. Anyone can criticize. It takes a true believer to be compassionate. No greater burden can be borne by an individual than to know no one cares or understands.

-- H. Stainbeck

I'm not feeling very compassionate towards Mark these days; I'm feeling more resentful and burned out.

And, consequently, guilty.

Hook-Ups in the Psych Ward

2010-07-17T16:07:00.000-07:00

I forgot to give you some background between Mark's time in the old house and the new.

Sometime around 2004, Mark became very suicidal and checked himself into a psych ward in Bakersfield, CA. I didn't know he was feeling that way until he called to tell me he was there. It broke my heart but I was grateful he'd reached out and gotten help.

What I didn't know was, while there, he was becoming romantically involved with a fellow patient. General rule of thumb: Don't look for true love in a psych ward, whether you're crazy or not. JUST SAYING.

I didn't know anything about this new girlfriend (the first he'd ever had, far as I knew, and he was in his mid-40's) until he brought her home. Apparently she (whom I'll call "Mary") was from our small town, too. I imagined Mark had told her all sorts of elaborate stories about his import/export business (he averages $10/month profit in sales) in order to pique her interest. That, or she just needed a new person to mooch off of--which I later found out was her usual Mode of Operation. One of my best friends was Director of the local United Way, and it was through her that I found out she had a reputation for excessive drug use, stealing, winding up in jail/the psych ward, and taking advantage of naive men. Mary is tall and striking, in a prostitutey sort of way (picture Julia Roberts, minus the charm, in Pretty Woman before she met Richard Gere) so I'm fairly sure she uses that to her advantage.

About two weeks into their living together, they announced they were engaged. I could see this relationship was getting out of control quickly, but Mark sounded happy for once, and what could I do about it anyway? I figured oh well, at least he'll have known love in his life--even if it never works out. Well, that newly-engaged blissfulness didn't last long; about a week later, I got another call that he was now in jail. Apparently, they'd started arguing and Mary had physically attacked him; he'd pulled a knife in self defense, and she'd called the cops. Off to jail he went. Do not pass Go; do not collect $200!

So, there she was in my family's house, alone. Well, not really ALONE... she was having lots of male visitors over day and night, according to the next-door neighbor's report. I called the police and tried to get her kicked out (we had a fantastic little confrontation on the front porch when I tried to get rid of her myself--it was a scene right out of "Cops"), but they gave me some song-and-dance about why she was legally able to stay there. She later called me asking for money (told me Mark instructed her to--one of many lies), telling me she was pregnant with twins and they were his, and when I didn't buy her story or loan her money, she stole all sorts of things: our grandmother's dresser, family heirlooms, our parents' social security cards and birth certificates, blank checkbooks of Mark's, autographed copies of my mother's children's book (including a special Dutch-African version we can never get our hands on again), his telephone, even his dog. When he was finally released from jail, she was nowhere to be found and he realized she had not only stolen all of those things but had also somehow been cashing his disability checks and living off of them. He filed police reports, and as far as I know, very little was done.

FYI: I've gone back to tell you the story of Mary to (soon) explain some more recent events.

Once again, to be continued....

Ships That Don't Come In

2010-07-13T20:57:00.000-07:00

So here's my predicament: I haven't blogged in months because I want to be funny, sweet, entertaining, uplifting, and positive. To sum it up: A bright spot in my readers' (reader's?) day. I don't want to be depressing, blah, or serious. If you know me in person, I can have all sorts of shit hitting the fan and I will still come across as generally upbeat. Is it a facade? No, not really. More of a coping mechanism. I can't let life get me down. Happiness is a choice, you know? And if I smile and laugh and push aside some of my worries (at least, for most of the time), I'm good. I'm truly happy. I have had friends compliment me on my positive attitude, or actually tell me they're envious that I'm "always in a good mood." Let me tell you: it takes work. I have to do it to survive! I always have. But when I go to write, the "real" me wants to emerge--the deeper me. And it's here that I can't always feel fun and witty when I'm actually feeling heartbroken, frustrated, resentful, and alone. Lately, I've been dealing with lots of thoughts in my head about my mentally ill brother, and they're not fun. They're just.... sucky. Sad. Bizarre. Embarrassing. Hard to share with anyone.

So that's why I haven't written.

And then today, I thought... you know what? I need to write. I need to get it out. And if you hate what I'm writing, just don't read it. If it's depressing, please move on. I mean it. And I mean that in the nicest way. Heck, I wouldn't want to read what I'm about to write! But I'm writing for ME. It's therapeutic. I need to get it out. Sometimes I wonder how much more my husband and co-workers can take of my venting. It's not that I'm always whining, per se... I just probably share too much. I'm not a person to keep secrets... at least not of my own. I am an open book to the Nth degree. I can't hold anything in. As my other dear brother Paul once said, "God, Susan -- does every thought that enters your head have to come out your MOUTH?"

Why, yes, as a matter of fact, it does.

So here we go.

I'm not sure where to start. My brother Mark is a paranoid schizophrenic. I always knew he was different, but much of his uniqueness was due to his hydrocephalus (water on the brain) which was a physical challenge he'd dealt with as a preschooler on. It's easy to chalk up peculiar habits to a physical ailment, especially when you're talking about a child who had to wear a football helmet to school after surgeries to protect his tender little head, or a teenage boy who had to shop for a wig because it wasn't cool in 1976 to be bald with a big scar down the back of your head. He had been sheltered by our mother and never had had many friends. He'd missed a lot of school and was pegged as "different." And, let's face it: I was almost 10 years younger, so when he was 20 and started exhibiting some of the signs of schizophrenia, this 10-year-old girl didn't notice. I didn't know it wasn't normal to pace back and forth for 45 minutes, or talk to yourself, or laugh too loudly, or quote "All in the Family" ten times a day. I just thought Mark was different, not ill in the head. He was still good to me; always had been. My first word as a baby had been "Ma" and that wasn't for Mama--that was for Mark. He was my everything when I was a little girl, so when I saw him gradually becoming this different sort of person, it didn't really matter much to me or make a huge impression. He was who he was! Different, unique... but with a very big heart.

Mark moved out of our home when I was about 13 and he was 22-23. He lived with a couple of friends for awhile--the few years where he actually had a few (always women; men never accepted him). He worked for Metropolitan Life Insurance. He went to college at Golden West, made the Dean's List, got an associate's degree. He was smart and moderately successful. Normal on the outside, at least, but ever changing on the inside.

My parents and I moved out of Orange County, CA, and up to the desert three hours away. He stayed in the OC for a few years and eventually moved up to the desert and in with us. He no longer could seem to hold jobs for long. He was becoming less capable--more dependent. He couldn't remember things and had to be told what to do, the way you'd instruct a kindergartner. His mannerisms and habits were more noticeable, and I think employers picked up on them. I think my mom noticed the oddities but she lived in denial when it came to Mark. If Paul or I ever dared mention the things he did as being unusual, she snapped at us and defended him. She couldn't handle anything else being wrong with any more of her children, especially him after all of his years of hospitalization for physical ailments. (Plus, our sister was bi-polar and drug addicted...and later, Paul became severely brain injured in an accident.) She also was going through her own challenges with cancer (breast and, later, lung), the death of her only sister, and my dad's cancer... so now it makes sense -- the denial. I often wonder how she didn't completely snap herself. I would've gone off the deep end somewhere around 1970, if I'd been her.

Once our mother died in 2001, Mark slowly fell apart. The darling, clean house they once shared became the home of a hoarder. He lived in filth. Many times, Joe and I (and even his parents) would go over and clean it for an entire day or two...only to have it ruined again in no time at all. Mark's appearance went downhill drastically. He went from being clean shaven and handsome to looking homeless. He stunk. My kids would ask why Uncle Mark smelled bad, or why they weren't allowed in his home. I would invite him over for dinner and then tell him to relax in a nice, long bath (he claimed, because of his balance/hydrocephalus issues, that he didn't feel secure bathing alone at home) and I would wash his clothes and all of his laundry....often twice in a row just to get out the stench. I would sometimes buy new clothes for him to change into after his bath, even down to underwear and socks. We paid utility bills for him, brought over bags full of food, did everything we could to make his life more comfortable. I just wanted him to feel loved.

I actually felt guilty that my own life was so good. I clearly remember driving (I do this a lot when I'm alone, getting lost in my thoughts) and being so appreciative of my life -- my family, friends, job, home, community, health.... and then thinking, How dare you, Susan! Your brother is miserable with no friends! Why should you feel happy? Why did God give you a good life and make his so awful? It was like some sort of warped survivor's guilt of sorts. (Keep in mind that my sister had also taken her own life by this time, and Paul lay suffering in a neuro care home, completely dependent on others for his care.) It took me about a year to convince myself that stopping my own happiness in its tracks was gaining absolutely nothing for him.

Things were going okay, more or less, until he lost our parents' home to back taxes in 2009. I found out he hadn't paid any taxes in 6 or 7 years...and although he didn't owe much, the house was in shambles and wasn't worth holding onto. It was disgusting and ruined. I was able to get him into a brand new apartment complex for the mentally ill; it felt like a Godsend. It was built and opened to new tenants during the same month he became homeless. It was meant to be, and it felt like Divine Intervention. I thought my mother somehow had a hand in it, from way up there in Heaven. I cried tears of happiness. Finally something good was happening for Mark! A nice, new home. A community where he could fit in! But the funny thing is, even with all the relief and thinking my problems with him were basically over.... Mark was instead on the verge of getting worse. Much worse.

To be continued...

***

SHIPS THAT DON'T COME IN by Joe Diffie

I could tell he'd had a tough life
By the way he sat and stared
And me, I'd come to push and shove
So I pulled up a chair.

We talked of roads untraveled
We talked of love untrue
Of strings that come unraveled
We were kings and kindred fools
And just when I'd hit bottom
That old man raised his glass
And said at least we had our chances
There's those who never have.

So here's to all the soldiers
Who have ever died in vain
The insane locked up in themselves
The homeless down on Main
To those who stand on empty shores
And spit against the wind
And those who wait forever
For ships that don't come in.

He said it's only life's illusions
That bring us to this bar
To pick up these old crutches
And compare each other's scars
'Cuz the things we're calling heartache
Hell, they're hardly worth our time
We bitch about a dollar
When there's those without a dime.

And as he ordered one last round
He said I guess we can't complain
God made life a gamble
And we're still in the game.

So here's to all the soldiers
Who have ever died in vain
The insane locked up in themselves
The homeless down on Main
To those who stand on empty shores
And spit against the wind
And those who wait forever
For ships that don't come in.

Introducing Princess!

2010-04-20T19:51:00.001-07:00

I sometimes wonder how my husband likes being married to a 12-year-old. (Or to me, the next best thing.)

On Friday, he and I were at Wal-mart when I suddenly got the urge to buy a hamster. Let me paint the picture for you: I glanced towards the pet food section, flashed back to when we had a hamster a few years ago, and decided we "needed" another. Yes, that fast. I kid you not. I don't just impulse buy clothes and cars (I once bought a new car because I needed tires).... I impulse buy rodents, too.

They don't have any hamsters Wal-mart, but I bought the bedding and some food and told my husband we needed to stop by the pet store on the way home. He asked if I'd discussed this with the kids already. (Read: Did they con you into this?) No, I told him. They had no idea! This was going to be MY hamster. Not theirs. MINE. Mine, mine, mine, mine, MINE!

Other people have mid-life crises and buy convertibles, or have affairs.

I buy hamsters.

So, we headed to the pet store, my husband rolling his eyes and, I'm sure, wondering how his life ended up this way. I picked one out -- a dwarf hamster -- and we headed home.

And, because I'm 12, I told him I needed to name it before we got home so the kids wouldn't come up with a really lame name. Because I'm nothing if not a giving, selfless mother. Right?

It took some thought, but I came up with "Princess." Oddly enough, Erin never questioned the name. Maybe she thought it was already named? I don't know. But no questions asked. PHEW!!!

Chad asked me where I came up with the name, and then asked, "Did you name it that as a joke?"

Of course I didn't! I named her that because I like princesses, and tiaras, and the color pink, and everything sparkly. Because I'm 12, damnit! What part of that don't they understand?!

My family is SO lame.

But Princess? She's awfully cute.... and very regal, too. I wonder if they sell hamster tiaras somewhere? If not, they should.

***

Gone.

2010-04-03T18:07:00.000-07:00

The girls being silly, several years ago (my daughter's on the right)...during happier times

I am in a bit of a funk (as you might have noticed on Facebook)... so for my one or two readers, I thought I'd explain why.

My good friend's husband took his own life on Thursday night. This was a couple we met in childbirth class 11 years ago. Our girls have been friends since toddlerhood, and they're best friends now. And, as recently as last weekend, Erin has spent a lot of time at their house. She adored her friend's dad; he was almost like a second dad to her.

I still don't know the details; it's all too soon. It doesn't even matter, really. All I know is that my friend is now a widow -- instantly and unexpectedly. And her daughter is just a ten-year-old girl who will never get to hug her daddy again, or climb into his lap, or ride quads with him on Saturdays -- as they (and Erin) so often did. This will change the rest of her life and how she interfaces with people, her level of trust in relationships, feelings of guilt, abandonment.... and so on and so forth. My heart absolutely breaks for her. For her mother, too.

I know life isn't supposed to be fair. But this kinda goes beyond that.

***

Paranormal Activity, Incident #4

2010-03-21T16:07:00.001-07:00

After my sister died, my mom and I made a trip to see my brother Paul in the neuro care home. We didn't want the nurses to deliver the news about something so personal--so monumental. Paul and Cindy were just four years apart and had been very close for many years.

Just as Cindy had never gotten to meet Chad in person, she hadn't seen Paul since his accident--the one that caused his traumatic brain injury. (This happened weeks after Chad had turned a year old.) She would often call him to talk, though; the nurse would hold the phone up to his ear, and Cindy would chat away, while Paul would just nod and smile. (Paul can't talk as a result of the injury, but is very alert and can understand everything.)

So, shortly after we arrived at Paul's bedside, my mother was the one to break the news to Paul. She explained that Cindy had overdosed on medication and was gone. He looked very confused, and kept shaking his head rather aggressively, as if he were annoyed. My mom was saying, "I know it, honey, we can't believe it, either." I told her no--he was trying to convey something else. I handed him his alphabet chart (where he points to each letter to spell out words) and he wrote, "She was just here last night visiting me."

My mom and I just looked at each other. My mom's automatic response was, "No, Paul, that couldn't be. She's gone."

Paul looked frustrated and shook his head some more. Then, very determined, he pointed to more letters and spelled out, "Yes. She was here. We sat in the livingroom and talked for hours."

I decided that it would be nice to acknowledge what he was telling us--instead of fighting it--and told him I was glad they had the chance to catch up, but unfortunately, she was gone now.

When my mom and I got a few minutes alone together, we both wondered if maybe Cindy had stopped by to talk... and say goodbye.

***

While I was away that day, Joe -- the nonbeliever -- was home with Chad. They'd gone out to the garage to "work" for awhile and just tinker with a few things. Joe then had to use the restroom (yes, a restroom in the garage). He left the door open since Chad was only 13 months old at the time, in order to keep an eye on him. He toddled around, muttering to Joe in his usual baby talk.

All of a sudden, Joe and Chad heard the passenger door to the garage open and close. Joe said he even heard footsteps. Chad ran out of Joe's sight, and said, "Hi!" very enthusiastically. Joe assumed I had made it home from our trip out of town.

He finished up washing his hands, and as he came out, he saw Chad just standing there -- staring straight ahead with a blank look on his face, focused on the closed door. No one was there, afterall. Joe asked who Chad had said hi to. He just shrugged. "Is mama home?" he asked. Chad just shrugged again and looked back at the door.

Joe decided to go inside and see if I had gone into the house. I hadn't; I was still on the road, probably an hour away. After awhile, Chad asked to go "out" again (to the garage). Joe said, "Uh, no... we'll be staying inside now."

The non-believer turned into a true believer that day. No longer did he have to rely on my stories alone... he had now experienced the unexplainable all by himself.

***

Paranormal Activity, Incident #3

2010-03-17T10:13:00.000-07:00

My sister, Cindy, died in 1998 at the age of 49. She was bi-polar and heroin addicted, and she died from what we assumed was an intentional overdose. The week leading up to her death, she organized dinner parties with friends, called me and my mom an unusual amount of times, and even sent my mother a package which included a book called We Don't Die; it's about conversations with those on "the other side." Coincidence? Yeah, I doubt it...which is why I say her death was suicide and not accidental.

Cindy made poor, life-changing decisions, but she was an amazing person. She had a ready, hearty laugh, a great sense of humor, she was artistic, a fantastic gardener, made amazing meals and fancy desserts, and loved with every bit of her heart.

She never got to meet my son, Chad. She lived hundreds of miles away in Northern California and couldn't afford to visit after he was born. She would often call my mom to ask, "What funny thing has Chad done recently?" (He was a nut.) She died the day before he turned 3. I know she always regretted not seeing him in person... she would've been CRAZY about him (and vice versa).

A month or so after she died, Chad came running into our bedroom at about 4:00 a.m., hysterically trying to tell me that "Elmo" woke him up. I took his hand and headed towards his room, and as we got closer, I could hear the Sesame Street theme song playing. I realized it was his Elmo clock, which was odd because we had never once set it. I figured maybe Chad had played with it and caused the alarm to set. I explained what it was and he went back to sleep.

The next night, shortly after midnight, the same scenario: Hysterical preschooler, tired mom, loud clock, different time. This time took me aback a bit, since it was a different time from the night before. Odd. I turned off the clock and put him back to bed.

Night #3? Same sound, different day. 2:00a.m.-ish. De ja vu. Now I'm getting tired of freaking Elmo! I want my sleep, damnit! If it's Cindy messing with us, I wonder, why can't she do it during normal waking hours?

The next night, it went off again. I took the batteries out. I said outloud, "If this thing goes off with the batteries out of it, it's going in the TRASH!" Fortunately, it didn't. But what did happen was, every time any of us would walk into Chad's room, a toy of some sort would go off... a beep-beep here, a beep-beep there, here a beep, there a beep, everywhere a beep-beep... oops, sorry! Couldn't resist! Seriously, though... toys inside his plastic drawers would go off, music would play, his Little Tykes "remote" keychain would honk.... you name it. It happened ALL THE TIME.

While alone in the house one day, I finally said outloud, "Okay, Cindy -- we get it. You're here. You're watching Chad. AND YOU ARE FREAKING US OUT! You can stop now!"

And the toys? Yeah...you guessed it. Never another sound.

However, my husband still wasn't convinced it was my sister. YET.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

***

Paranormal Activity, Incident # 2

2010-02-28T13:42:00.001-08:00

In 1991, after a year-long bout with cancer, my father passed away rather suddenly. He had been ill, but he wasn't bedridden and sickly (at least not outwardly) the way many are at the end. In fact, the night before he passed away, he was up making and freezing vegetable soup and rearranging the silverware and utensil drawers. He was weak and tired, but he was up and about, trying to make himself useful.

The next morning, he went to take a nap. When he went to get up, he went into cardiac arrest--likely from the intense amounts of chemo he'd received for a month straight just weeks earlier. My mother called me (rather than 9-1-1), I rushed over and called an ambulance. By the time we got to the hospital, he was gone.

My mother and I went to tell my sister the news, and take her with us to the mortuary to start making arrangements. Not two hours had passed since my dad's death. We sat in a little, quiet office with the mortician, answering questions about his life.

"So he was born in 1921 in Akron, Ohio -- right?"

"Yes," my mother answered.

"And he worked as a technical illustrator up until he retired in 1984. Correct?"

"Yes."

"So you said he served in the Navy during World War II. Did I get the years right -- 1942 to 1945?"

"YES," said a booming voice coming from right behind us, in the area of the doorway.

I spun around in my seat, my heart absolutely pounding. It was my dad's voice, or at the very least, someone who sounded exactly like him.

No one was there.

I quickly glanced back at my mother, and she was answering "yes" to the question, completely oblivious to a voice coming from behind us. I then looked at my sister, sure that she must've heard, the way I had. Nothing. The mortician -- same thing. He was studying his notes and continuing on with the questions. I looked back at the doorway. Back at each of them. It was clear that no one else had heard a thing!! Even if it was someone else talking (though I was sure it was my dad's voice), wouldn't the others have heard, too? It was startlingly loud! How come I was the only one who heard something?!

I couldn't concentrate on anything else after that. I just kept looking back at the doorway, waiting for my father--or anyone--to appear.

We left the mortuary, and I told my mom and sister what I'd heard. Without hesitation, they both believed it was my dad. They figured he hadn't really "left" this earth yet, and that's why he was still around, nonchalantly answering questions about his life. Maybe he didn't know that he had died!

The next morning, I got a frantic phone call from my mother, around 8:00 a.m.

"Susan, were you over here during the night?!" she asked, despair in her voice.

"No, of course I wasn't there. What are you talking about, mom?"

"Are you SURE?"

"Yes! I'm SURE. I was here all night. Why would I come over and not tell you?" (Not to mention her house was 900 square feet; I'm fairly certain she would've known if anyone else had been there.) "Why do you ask? What on earth is wrong?!"

"Well, you remember how your father was reorganizing the drawers the night before he died? He had straightened up the cooking utensil drawer, but he only got through the spoons in the silverware drawer before going to bed. He said he'd finish in the morning."

"Yes...." I said, wondering where she could be going with this.

"This morning, I opened up the drawer to get a spoon out, and all of the dinner forks were on their sides, lined up perfectly, and so were the salad forks! Even the knives were lined up!"

"Sounds like dad was finishing up in the morning, mom--just as he had promised."

****

Unimagineable.

2010-02-25T23:01:00.000-08:00

Evan Etoch's Memorial at Upjohn Park
June 1995 - February 2010

On Tuesday after school, my son's 14-year-old friend died in a freak dirtbike accident. He was out riding with friends, was very skilled, but went over the handlebars during a jump and was killed instantly.

I can't stop obsessing over this.

Where was his mom when she got the news? At home, I wonder? More than likely, since she is a stay-at-home mom. Where was his dad? Probably at the car dealership they own, working hard as always, with a big ol' smile on his face. Until the phone call.

Where was his 11-year-old sister? At a friend's? At home? Doing homework, or out riding her bike? Thinking it was just another ordinary day... like every other? Taking life for granted, the way we all do?

What did his family do when they got the news? Scream? Collapse to the ground? Drive 70mph to get to the scene? Vomit? Pass out?

How are his friends doing--the two boys he was riding with? My son told me they just cradled him in their laps, trying to revive him. Two teenage boys, there with their friend, completely helpless. Probably pleading with God to take them back just a few seconds in time and not let any of it happen. Are they somehow feeling responsible? Or guilty that they asked him to ride that day?

I keep replaying all of the possible scenarios over again and again in my head... and wondering about the minutes, hours, and days that have since passed. Are his parents, sister, and grandparents sleeping at night, I wonder? Eating? Can they even function? Or are they still in that surreal place, where nothing has truly sunken in yet. Where it's just a flurry of people coming in and out, hugs, tears, phone calls, flowers being sent, home-cooked meals being delivered. Activity like their home has never seen before.

And then what?

Everyone else will go back to the lives they knew, but theirs will be forever changed in a tremendous way. With a big, gaping hole that will never be filled. An emptiness they never fully knew before now. Every parent's worst nightmare.

Will they ever smile again?

I just can't stop thinking, wondering, and hurting for them.

And I can't stop hugging my own children and thanking God for every moment they're alive.

***

Paranormal Activity, Incident # 1

2010-02-17T19:08:00.000-08:00

My Aunt Honey, Circa World War II

I have been reading one of my favorite blogs, http://daybydaywithsuz.blogspot.com/, and Suz has been talking about ghostly experiences. I thought I'd start sharing mine here, since I have had many.

I realize some people believe in spirits, some are skeptical yet open to the idea, and others are non-believers. That's fine; to each his own. But I know what I've experienced, and I know what happened to me was very real. I also was a non-believer until it started happening... so, all of you non-believers out there: BEWARE! ;-)

When I was 19, my very favorite and amazing Aunt Honey had a series of strokes shortly after her husband had passed away. With the last one, she became paralyzed on her left side and lost her ability to speak. My mother, her only sibling and very best friend, was devastated (We all were, but it hit my mother hardest.) We visited Aunt Honey in the hospital often. It was just terrible watching this once vibrant, funny, and articulate woman suddenly so helpless and unable to express herself.

Since it was only 1987 , we didn't have the luxury of scanning and printing pictures at home. My mother took a childhood picture of theirs -- from around 1928 -- and had Sears make a reproduction of it. She then framed it and took it to my aunt in the hospital. They hugged and cried. It clearly meant the world to her.

Tragically, Aunt Honey died shortly thereafter.

My mother had the same picture displayed on our piano, among several others. Now, you must realize -- being OCD, I have always noticed if a picture is even slightly off. I'm the annoying person in the doctor's office waiting room who will get up out of my seat to straighten a photo on the wall.... all eyes on me. I can't help it. It must be done!

One day, I was walking past the piano (which was right next to the hallway to my parents' and my bedroom), when I noticed the picture of my aunt and mother sitting sideways. Not off just a little, but turned completely to one side. I instinctively moved it back to its proper place.

I walked by a day or so later, and it was turned backwards. I sighed, wondering which parent was looking at the picture and not putting it back properly. How could they be so careless?! I moved it back again.

This went on for at least two weeks. Every day, sometimes more than once a day, the picture would be turned completely to one side or the other, or all the way around. For some reason, I never gave it any thought-- just fixed it every time.

One afternoon, I was sitting in the livingroom watching t.v., when I heard my mother ask outloud, "Well, for pete sakes! How many times a day do I have to straighten this picture?!"

I just stared at her... you know, that deer-in-the-headlights look. My dad came out from the kitchen, walking very slowly, with the same look on his face. He said, "Uh, I've been wondering the same thing. I've been fixing it, too." I echoed what he had said.

We all looked at each other and just blinked, saying nothing. When the realization of what had been happening really set in, my mother said, "You know, Honey never got a chance to say anything about this picture when I gave it to her. Maybe this is her way of acknowledging it, and letting us know she's still here."

And with that, the picture never moved again. We had gotten Aunt Honey's message, loud and clear.

Mission accomplished.

***

1971

2010-01-12T20:50:00.000-08:00

I still distinctly remember the day this picture was taken: The photographer had come to our home for a photo shoot (standard protocol, "back in the day"), and he and my mother decided it would be cute for me to pose while sitting at our piano.

I recall my mother cheerfully suggesting, "Susan, play 'Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head!'" since that was my absolute favorite song back then. And, in response, I tearfully pleaded, "But I don't KNOW how to play the piano, Mama!" Then I promptly burst into tears, in typical preschooler fashion. The photographer and my mother assured me I didn't have to know how to play it, that I could simply place my fingers on the keys. Apparently they settled for next to the keys, as you can see. Anything to prevent another princessy outburst.

Oh, if only life's challenges could be so simple to solve today...

As my husband would say, "You SHARE THIS with people?"

2009-12-22T18:12:00.001-08:00

Tonight I made homemade soup for dinner, and I ladled out a bowl for myself and then poured a glass of Kahlua & milk. Between the soup and Kahlua, I was toasty-warm. I was sitting at the computer, adjacent to the kitchen, and decided it was much too hot to have a 5-pound hooded sweatshirt on. I pulled it off and was just sitting there wearing jeans and a bra. You know, like any classy woman would do. Just call me June Cleaver.

Let it be known that: (1) I never saw my mom in a bra more than a small handful of times, and it was in the privacy of her bedroom while she was changing, (2) I never saw my dad without a shirt, (3) I rarely see my husband without a shirt on, and our kids never have, and (4) I obviously am not as modest as the parents I came from or the man I married.

So, there I sat, cooling off--thinking nothing of my appearance--when my son comes into the kitchen to get his dinner. (I'd served myself the soup but didn't want my kids to have theirs until the cheesy garlic biscuits were out of the oven.)

I jumped up and said, "Oh, let me brush the biscuits with melted butter first!"--and, despite my somewhat shocking appearance--Chad didn't as much as flinch. My kids are so used to my "nakedness," as Joe loves to call it, that they don't even think twice when I parade around minus a piece of clothing. I mean, I am never naked-naked in front of them, but still. I would've died a million deaths if either one of my parents ever sat around half-dressed. (Sometimes I even died a million deaths when they sat around fully dressed, but that's neither here nor there.)

So I smirked and said to Chad, "You know, what teenage boy wouldn't love having his mom serving him food wearing just a bra and jeans?" And without missing a beat, Chad says, "Yeah, I know! I can't even imagine!" So I added, "I mean really! Who needs Hooters, anyway?!?"

I hope my kids' future therapists appreciate all the material I regularly provide.

Please forgive us, Barstow

2009-11-17T18:53:00.000-08:00

I'm sorry I haven't been around in so long. I've been working some long days, and even some weekends at home too, and frankly I am damn near brain dead whenever I'm not working... so, as a result, this blog has been put on the back burner. It's all I can do to get on Facebook to read what's going on in everyone's lives, post an update or two, a few thumbs-up, and some quick comments before shutting the computer down and calling it a day.

You haven't missed much as far as my life goes, though. Really. It goes pretty much like this: Work, work, work, work, Wal-mart, see some friends, Wal-mart again, work, work, work, work, work, clean the house, do umpteen loads of loaundry, run kids here, run kids there, go to cheerleading, go to baseball, rinse, hang to dry, repeat. Yeah, like that. You get the idea. Which, I'm guessing, is probably almost identical to your life, except not nearly as exciting. (What? Isn't the grass always greener? Or someone else's laundry cleaner? A-ha-ha!)

This weekend, Erin had a cheer competition in Barstow, CA. Barstow is on the way to Las Vegas, at least if you're coming from our direction. It's a remote desert town much like the one we live in.

As we were entering the parking lot at the high school where the competition was to take place, our family's conversation went something like this:

Chad: Wow. Their football field here really stinks!

Joe: Yeah. It's not the only thing that stinks. The whole town does!

Me: Oh, c'mon. It's not that bad. I think it's actually kinda cool here.

Joe: No, I mean literally. As soon as we got into town, the smell became overwhelming. You had to have smelled it! Geez, it was like something had died and was rotting.

Me: Um, honey? That rotting dead smell? Was your precious little girl's FEET. She was changing out of her boots and into her cheer shoes.

All of us: *Uncontrollable laughter*

We now refer to Erin's feet as "The Barstow Stink." And poor Barstow... it did nothing to deserve such a reference! It didn't stink at all! Well, not until a certain little girl rolled into town one cold November day, that is....

****

And that, my friends, is the post you've been waiting two months for. TA-DA! Stinky feet. It just doesn't get much better than that.

Stephenie Meyer? You ain't got nothin' on me. NOTHIN'.

***

Scale who?

2009-09-07T21:25:00.000-07:00

Sorry, forgot to take a picture of my creation, so this will have to do. I'm the one with the red lipstick and the smug look on my face, just in case you were wondering.

Tonight we had the best dinner.... a very scrumptious and rich braised pork. I just have to share the recipe with you! (It's from the newest Food Network Star, Melissa D'Arabian... I just love her $10 Dinners show.) And, I can honestly say, there's nothing about it I would change. It was so good and the house smelled delectable all afternoon while it cooked. (I also made mashed potatoes... red potatoes with the skin on, plus a stick of butter, some sour cream, a container of cream cheese, some garlic, chives, parmesan cheese, and salt & pepper. Go big or go home, right?! I would never want to skimp on calories... obviously.)

Here is the recipe. It's such a comfort food that I'm telling you: You have to make it this fall! I insist! Plus, it's totally inexpensive. I got the pork shoulder for 99 cents a pound, and that wasn't even on sale! (And two pounds could easily feed a family of four.)

Ingredients

2 pounds pork shoulder, cut into 6 large chunks
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, chopped
2 celery stalks, chopped
1 carrot, chopped
1 clove garlic, roughly chopped
2 tablespoons tomato paste
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 cup red wine
1 1/2 cups beef stock or broth
1 bunch parsley stems, tied with string
2 bay leaves
1 cup water

Directions
Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F. Pat the pork dry with paper towels and season with salt and pepper.

In a large Dutch oven, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat, and working in batches brown the meat on all sides until a golden crust forms. Transfer the pork to a plate. To the pan add the onion, celery, and carrot and sweat until softened, 5 to 7 minutes. Add the garlic and sweat another 2 minutes. Stir in the tomato paste and cook for 3 minutes to cook off the raw flavor and caramelize it. Sprinkle with the flour and cook another 2 minutes to cook off its raw flavor. Whisk in the wine and reduce it by half. Return the pork to the Dutch oven, then stir in the beef stock, parsley stems, and bay leaves. Add the water if liquid does not come up to the top of the pork. Do not cover the pork with liquid. Cover the pan and place it in the oven to braise until the meat is fork tender, about 3 hours. Taste and season with more salt and pepper, if needed. Transfer to a serving platter and serve.

The Climb

2009-08-17T16:20:00.000-07:00

My son Chad goes to an after-school teen center on the Naval base where I work. A 16-year-old girl named Amber goes there, as well. She has been in the same daycare/school-age care with Chad since they were preschoolers.

Amber has Down's Syndrome. Excuse my ignorance when it comes to Down's, but I am assuming there are varying degrees--mild to moderate. I would venture to say Amber's case is moderate. She has a very hard time speaking and expressing herself, and is pretty immature socially. However, she is a beautiful girl in spirit -- so alive and full of life. You can't help but smile when you're around her.

I talked with her a little last week -- after getting the warmest hug, as always -- and found out she's Hannah Montana's #1 fan. I made a mental note to keep an eye out for something next time I went to the store that I could pick up for her. She lives and breathes this stuff!

Last Friday, the teen center got together with the elementary school center to put on their annual end-of-summer talent show. I was a little teary-eyed, thinking how many of these I've sat through and how, before long, my soon-to-be 5th and 9th grader will be all grown up and I won't have any more talent shows to attend. No more conferences, or field trips, or school events. No more needing me like they have for so many years. I had to refocus because thinking like that gets me absolutely nowhere fast! Snap out of it! Live in the moment, Susan, I had to keep reminding myself. And then things quickly changed perspective.

Amber got up on stage. Not meekly or mildly, but with a big, gregarious wave and a larger than life smile, exclaiming, "Thanks, everybody!" I had to wonder if she'd seen Miley Cyrus do that a time or two. Then the music came on -- "The Climb." In case you're not familiar, here are part of the lyrics:

I can almost see it

That dream I am dreaming

But there's a voice inside my head saying

"You'll never reach it"

Every step I'm taking

Every move I make feels lost

with no direction

My faith is shaking

But I gotta keep trying

Gotta keep my head held high

There's always gonna be another mountain

I'm always gonna wanna make it move

Always gonna be an uphill battle

Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose

Ain't about how fast I get there

Ain't about what's waiting on the other side

It's the climb

The struggles I'm facing

The chances I'm taking

Sometimes might knock me down

But no, I'm not breaking

I may not know it

But these are the moments

that I'm gonna remember most, yeah

Just gotta keep going

And I, I gotta be strong

Just keep pushing on

So, not only were the lyrics getting to me, but moreso, the emphasis she put into it. Let's just say Miley ain't got nothin' on her! She sang it with every bit of her heart. For a few minutes on the stage of that teen center, Amber was Hannah Montana.

But what got to me most were the cheers. Hundreds of children filled that center -- some younger, many the same age and older -- but all cheering her on, shouting her name, clapping and hooting and hollering. At times, they were waving their arms high in the air... back and forth, left and right. Every bit of it was sincere and heartfelt. It was as if Miley Cyrus herself were there, rather than a 16-year-old disabled girl who was having a hard time getting many of the words out.

They shouted for her during the entire song, many jumping to their feet for a standing ovation. It was nothing short of beautiful. I sat there unable to do anything but wipe away the flood of tears that was rushing down my cheeks. In those few minutes, I became so proud of those children in that room. I wanted to hug every, single one of them and tell them all how amazing they were, and how much inspiration and hope they gave Amber and, I imagine, everyone who was there that day.

And Amber, it goes without saying, provided even more inspiration and hope.

And that's when I realized... for quite possibly the first time in my life, the whole world just felt right.

***

The customer's always wrong (in her world).

2009-07-02T13:31:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, I went to The Dollar Tree. I love that store. There aren't many places I can go, load up my cart, and only be out twenty bucks!

*

So, I was there with my husband and daughter, specifically to get a gift bag and a few other odds and ends.

*

We went to check out, and I noticed the clerk seemed particularly cranky. I didn't think too much about it really, but decided not to give her my usual perky "hi!" She didn't look like she wanted any part of perky.

*

I went to swipe my debit card, and as I was doing so and loading my bags into the cart, I realized that one gift bag I'd bought was completely crumpled across at least half of it. Not a little folded, not bent. Crumpled. And it honestly looked intentional. There wasn't anything in the bag that was squishing it; instead, it looked like it had been shoved into the bag with a vengeance.

*

Calmly and pleasantly (honest!), I said, "Oh...um, could I please get another bag? This one got crumpled." Notice I didn't place blame--not "YOU crumpled it" or anything like that. I was continuing to be as polite as possible.

*

The clerk gives me a death glare (not even exaggerating here), and then slowly takes out the bag to examine it--I suppose to see if my request was warranted. She then tosses it behind the checkstand and curtly says, "I guess. If you want to walk all the way across the store to get another one!"

*

I looked at her, blinked a few times, and said, "Oh, really?" (GAME ON, baby. You just crossed the line.)

*

Then I asked Erin if she wouldn't mind going "all the way across the store to get another one." She happily took off to retrieve a bag.

*

I finished my debit card transaction, then looked up at her and, again in the most polite (albeit semi-disgusted sounding) voice said, "You know, you were extremely rude to me just now. There was no reason to act like that when I was being reasonable and polite."

*

She glares at me once again and then comes up with this: "Well, you didn't say you wanted the bag folded."

*

(Whatever had I been thinking?! How could I be so foolish as to not request these things?!?!)

*

I actually chuckled outloud and said, "You're kidding me, right? I had to SPECIFY to please not damage my merchandise? Seriously?"

*

I waited. No response.

*

I then said, "You know, you are really something. Thank you so much for that professional, heartfelt apology."

*

And then I wheeled away, cussing under my breath.

*

And I may have even wished on her a bout of chronic diarrhea for the remainder of the day. Just possibly.

***

Apparently, I'm just hell to live with.

2009-07-01T16:59:00.000-07:00

In regards to the post below (which you need to read first before this one):

---

Just talked to my husband a few minutes ago, and this helping out stuff wasn't exactly the kids' idea. Apparently, Joe told them last night that they need to step up to the plate and do more housework. He told Erin that she has to vacuum/dust every other day, and that Chad has to do the laundry/wipe down counters every other day, and that they need to keep the house generally picked up (trash emptied, stuff put away, dishes in the dishwasher, etc.).

***

So, I said to Joe, "How nice! I really appreciate your supporting me like that!"

***

He replied, laughing, "Well, I'm not THAT nice. I'm just tired of listening to you rant & rave when you get home from work every night, saying that no one's helping you out."

***

Umm... love you, too???!

***

Who needs a housekeeper?

2009-07-01T12:47:00.000-07:00

This morning, my husband returned to work for the first time since March--and since his back surgery. I've talked to him twice today, and so far, so good. He's an engineering technician for a government contractor who normally goes out "in the field" and sets up ordnance tests (I could tell you more, but then I'd have to kill you), but right now, they have him learning calibration. Whatever that is. (Shh, really....ignorance is bliss. I don't want to clutter my brain with that kind of knowledge. I'd rather clutter it with seemingly useless things, like millions of song lyrics or rare disease symptoms which no one whom I know will ever exhibit. But if they do, buddy, I will be able to diagnose them faster than a speeding physician's assistant!) Anyway. Ahem. So, he's back to work and feeling so-so physically but great mentally. It's hard on a man to sit at home for that many months in a row!

Okay, so I'm getting to my point. Honest.

This morning, our kids (13 & almost 10) stayed home all morning by themselves--their usual summer schedule--while we worked. The plan is that I then run them in to the base's school-aged care and teen center at lunchtime, which works out great for all of us. They have some time to sleep in a little, be lazy, not rush out the door first thing in the morning... and I save hundreds a month in childcare! We did it last summer without a hitch, so I'm confident this summer will go just as well.

Before I left, I told Chad there were whites in the washer, and asked if he could just throw them into the dryer at some point. He'd worked hard at home all day yesterday while Joe was there, so besides just transferring the clothes over, I didn't want him to do anything but relax all morning.

BUT... when I came home at lunchtime, I was greeted with, "Guess what, Mom?! Erin and I put the laundry in the dryer, folded it and put it all away, washed/dried/put the sheets on my bed, vacuumed the whole house, dusted the whole house, wiped down the kitchen counters, emptied the dishwasher, and made your lunch!"

I tell ya: Sometimes those kids drive me absolutely crazy (2% of the time maybe), but the other 98%? I swear I have two of the nicest, most thoughtful children on the face of the earth. I am so blessed...so grateful.

Also, thank you for you ongoing thoughts, prayers and well wishes these past few months while Joe has recovered. It's been tough, and slow-going, but I'm confident you guys are what helped him get to where he is today.

Well... you & God, that is.

Strict with Blonde Roots

2009-06-08T08:39:00.000-07:00

Have you ever watched the show, "World's Strictest Parents?" I started watching recently and absolutely love it. Except, I think it should be called something else--like, "Parents Who Aren't Friends With Their Kids," or "Parents Who Actually Know What They're Doing."

It's a show about a family whose kids have things like rules (imagine that!) and structure and set bedtimes, and they're expected to behave with manners, and respect their elders. Then, they take in a teenager or two who doesn't know what it means to have regard for authority, respect for others, or think of anyone other than themselves. You know, like most of America these days! These kids go to the "strict" parents' home for a week to learn a thing or two, and usually they come out much enlightened because of it. My only wish is that they'd have a whole adoption process and stay there permanently.

In my day (don't you love how old that sounds?), every parent I knew was the same: firm. They expected us to listen to them, do as they said, have manners, go to bed at a decent hour, get up at a decent hour, contribute to the household, and treat others the way we wanted to be treated. The world didn't revolve around kids. Kids were kids, and parents were clearly in charge, and that was that! There was no questioning if it was "fair" or if anyone's psyche was getting damaged in the process. And these parents weren't considered "strict," either.

Can you see this is a pet peeve of mine?

This weekend, Erin and I were watching an episode of the show where a family, and the guest teenagers, were working outside in the rain. Everyone was wet--even the dog had water dripping off of its snout. I thought it seemed a little extreme to be mowing the grass and painting a shed in the rain, but then realized if you live in a rainy place and run inside every time it rains, nothing ever gets accomplished. Am I right in that assumption?

So, there we sat watching the show, Erin happily sucking on a popsicle. About 30 minutes into it, she asks, "Why is the dog sweating?" Surprised that she doesn't yet realize that dogs don't sweat the way people do, I chuckle and almost condescendingly answer, "Sweetie--that wasn't sweat! The dog was wet from being in the rain!"

Erin looks at me like she really can't believe what I'm saying. Then, smirking, she twirls her popsicle stick in the air to give me a little clue.

Speaking slowly now, she says: "Because it's a HOT DOG."
(Damned jokes on popsicle sticks these days!)

I might be strict but I never claimed to be intelligent.

Real quick!

2009-05-19T10:07:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry I haven't posted an update. Joe did really well with his back surgery, although the recovery process is a wee bit painful. He's plugging along, though.

I am overwhelmed with life (home/work) right now and haven't had any time to post, but I promise I will soon. In fact, I have a great hospital story that I must share, especially since it's a very embarrassing story involving Joe! (I'm sweet that way.)

Thank you for your thoughts & prayers!

***

Field Trip FrEnZy!

2009-04-28T15:40:00.000-07:00

I just have to know: What's up with all the field trips lately? My daughter's 4th grade class has three scheduled in the course of less than three weeks. Two of them are even during the same week!

When I went to school, back in the horse-n-buggy days, we actually, oh, I dunno... WENT TO SCHOOL. And while I'm venting about schools these days, did I mention that every Friday at my son's middle school they blast music on the quad (and I mean BLAST) for the entire lunch hour? I am not even kidding. I'm waiting to see strobe lights and fog lamps installed for visual effect. Maybe they can have a no host bar, too. Oh--I know what would be totally cool: Ladies' Nights! (Or would that be Ladies' Lunch Hours?) Anyway. Where was I? Oh yeah, back to field trips.

The list of necessities always makes my head swim. I went over it with Erin the morning of the first field trip... checking and re-checking everything, as if she were planning to camp alone in the Madagascan rainforest for the summer. (I actually had a friend who did that a few years ago. She also dated a very famous Playboy photographer. Can you imagine? Yeah, my life of trips to Walmart and bringing snacks to my son's baseball games is just slightly different.) As I got her ready for the trip, it was brought to my attention that I was doing everything wrong. I brushed her hair and made it "all staticky," put her ponytail up too high, got sunscreen under the collar of her shirt AND SHE DOESN'T LIKE IT TO FEEL DAMP LIKE THAT, put too much Chapstick on her lips, picked out dumb looking clothes to wear, and was completely clueless when it came to suggesting hats that actually fit her head (versus the oversized Angels ball cap of Chad's that she ended up wearing). Who knew I was so stupid? AND out of style?

So The List went something like this--

Have your child wear:

A hat
Sunscreen (applied BEFORE the trip)
T-shirt with sleeves
Shorts
Shoes that tie securely onto the foot
Sunglasses
Something old, something new
Something b0rrowed, something blue
A backpack that contains:
Non-perishable food for lunch
A water bottle that's FULL (really? I am guessing there was a reason they had to specify)
What's left of your heart, so she can stomp on it during our scheduled break
Money for the gift shop -- optional
A nasty look on her face from arguing with you all morning
A gameboy or MP3 Player -- optional (BUT YOU WILL NOT AS MUCH AS WINCE WHEN THE CHILD SAYS S/HE LOST IT... AND BY THE WAY THE SCHOOL AND TEACHER AND EVEN THE SCHOOL BUS ITSELF IS IN NO WAY RESPONSIBLE FOR ANYTHING LOST OR STOLEN!!!!!!!!!!! DO NOT MAKE ME SAY THIS MORE THAN ONCE! YES, WE MEAN YOU, EVIL PARENT!!! NO SOUP FOR YOU!)

And then, of course, there are a million forms to sign, and a million more if you're actually chaperoning, or heavens to Betsy, driving precious children somewhere. (Which, of course, I am... on the next field trip. But we'll get to that one in just a moment.)

The first field trip destination was Calico Ghost Town:

I picked her up at the school afterwards and asked how the trip was. "Fun!" That's about all I could get out of her. She did buy me a darling tulip that had been carved out of wood. She also brought home an arrowhead for both herself and her dad, and some kind of marble-like gadget that looked like a cross between a saw blade and a shirt button. That was for her brother. Before giving it to him, I took him aside and asked him to make a big deal out of it, instead of asking what on earth it was. Because none of us knew what it was, and then she would scream something at him about being so spoiled and ungrateful, and he would call her a brat, and she would sob hysterically, and then doors would slam, and I would tearfully tell Joe that I am obviously not cut out to be a mother. So to avoid that ugly scenario, he instead obeyed and made quite a fuss over the saw blade button thing. I'm glad I can teach my kids to be phony like that. It will serve them well later in life.

The field trip I'm going on tomorrow is to a place called Sand Canyon:

Have I mentioned how much I despise dirt, hiking, heat, creepy crawly things and, admittedly, most of my daughter's classmates? Yeah, it is going to be a fantastic day. Please say a prayer that I don't get Car Sick Erica in my newly washed & vacuumed Toyota tomorrow. Thank you.

The last field trip is to a California mission that I grew up near and visited often -- beautiful Mission San Juan Capistrano:

Of course, it's during the work week and immediately following Joe's back surgery, so I can't go. The ONE place I've looked forward to going all year long now, and I'm gonna miss out. Instead, all I get to look forward to are the "morning-of" preparations--making Erin's hair all staticky, picking out stupid clothes for her, and basically ruining her life all over again. Hey--don't knock it! It's what I do best!

Did you know? (I bet you did!)

2009-04-20T16:46:00.000-07:00

I love grammar. I'm still learning all the time. My mom was a grammar genius, and I learned a lot from her--but not nearly enough. Still, I learned enough to keep on learning! I don't know why it intrigues me, but it does. I'm anxious to hear the lessons you might want to share with me!

So let's get started, kids!

***

Did you know that if you say you "feel badly" it means the nerve endings in your fingertips are not functioning properly? If you are under the weather, or feeling guilty about something, you feel "bad"--not badly.

Did you know that if your stomach is upset, you are nauseated--not nauseous? If you say, "I'm nauseous!" it means you're nauseating to others. (Which could be the case, but it's unlikely.)

Did you know that "irregardless" is not a word? It's regardless, plain and simple.

Did you know that "It's" (with apostrophe) is always short for "it is" or "it has"? Always. The apostrophe replaces the missing letters. If you're talking about "its" in the possessive form (ex: "I replaced its batteries yesterday!") there is no apostrophe.

Did you know that it's incorrect to say, "Send the list to Mark and myself." Don't be afraid to use the word, "ME"! That should be "...Mark and me" -- not Mark and myself, not Mark and I. An easy test is this: Simply remove the other person/people in the equation. For example: Would you say, "Send the list to myself" or "Send the list to I"? (Please tell me you wouldn't. For the love of God. Please!) No, of course you wouldn't! You would say, "Send the list to me." So there you have it! You just remove the other person in the sentence and you magically have your answer! Easy-peasy.

Did you know that alright is incorrect? It's all right--two words.

Did you know that one thing is different from another? (Not different than?) Why? Because one thing differs from another. It doesn't differ than something, right?

You still with me? (Yeah, and probably getting ready to slit your wrists at this point...)

Did you know that you could've done that? (As in "could have"?) Could of is what "could've" sounds like... but it's not how you should write it. Same goes with "should've" -- it's not should of.

Did you know that definite is the only way to spell that word? I swear I see it spelled "definate" (or a variety of other ways) at least ten times each day.

Did you know the word "Her's" (with an apostrophe) does not exist? The word is hers.

Did you know that you lie down for a nap... that you lay down yesterday for a nap (past tense), and that you have lain down for quite awhile? But that book over there? I'm going to lay it down on the table, even though you laid it down on the counter first. Lie, lay, lain... misused constantly, a thousand times a day... in virtually every book, song, article, conversation out there! (A pet peeve of mine. Can you tell?)

There's even a song that you can teach your kids, if you're so inclined (where so inclined equals seriously in need of a life):

http://www.songsforteaching.com/grammarpunctuationspelling/lielaylain.htm

And with that, friends, I'm lying down for a nap in a few minutes. And I'm not lying. Heh.

I'm bored by this subject.

2009-04-17T19:56:00.000-07:00

I'm sure you are, too. But I felt I should probably post an update.

We had everything ready for our big trip to L.A.: Time off (for me) from work, a temp to come in and take my place, my son's dad & stepmom lined up to watch both kids, notes written to teachers, schedules reorganized, people coming to feed our pets, bags packed, house cleaned (I can't come home to a messy house), friends who had gotten their home ready to have us--YOU NAME IT.

And then, like a cruel joke, an hour - ONE HOUR - before we were due to leave...

Ring, ring! Ring, ring!

I hear Joe sounding frustrated on the phone. Uh-oh. Please don't tell me surgery is put off. But why am I surprised? Really, this crap always happens to us. It's a running joke among our friends even. I've almost gotten to the point of laughing if it weren't so DAMNED FRUSTRATING.

So, guess what? The anesthesiologist decided that he wouldn't do the surgery if Joe didn't have a stress test first. Oh, and here in town, we can't have the type of non-treadmill stress test that he needs. Oh, heavens no -- that would be too convenient!! Instead, my poor baby has to endure a 4-hour round trip out of town to have it elsewhere. And the test itself is 3 hours long! He cannot sit up for 3 hours straight. I'm not sure how this is going to play out, but let's just say I'm not happy. Neither of us is. YES, I realize this might be life saving, and I'm of course grateful for that. But why didn't his cardiologist think of this when she ordered the blood work and the EKG? Isn't that her freaking JOB?!

So, no surgery date yet. Maybe next Friday, but at this point, I'm not holding my breath for anything anymore. Instead I just seem to be sighing a whole lot.

***

Buckle your seatbelts. We're cleared for take-off.

2009-04-15T08:36:00.001-07:00

Last night, Joe got cleared for surgery, so tomorrow afternoon, we will be heading to L.A. so that he can check into the hospital first thing Friday morning.

I'm both relieved and terrified. I lost my mom during surgery, so it's not one of those high-on-my-list-of-favorite-things-to-do things. I pray they can fully repair his back. I pray he has no no permanent nerve damage, and certainly no complications. I pray we can function as a family again--sitting in the livingroom together watching movies, or eating meals at the diningroom table, all four of us. Just the simple things in life. I don't even care about the big stuff (vacations, etc.) anymore.

Have I mentioned how much I love him? Yeah, I think I have. But I just can't express it enough. He is truly my best friend. No one has ever made me laugh as hard as he does (on a regular basis, to boot), or made me felt as cared for. I need him in my life, and our kids need him. I guess I'm worried because I have read too many blogs lately where there were very untimely deaths. I don't want his to be the next. He won't be, right?

Please keep him in your prayers, if you will, and pray for me to have a little more comfort in my heart than I do right now. I thank God for the friends who will be there for me. I don't know what I'd do without my friends, either... both "real life" and you guys, online.

I'll update when we get home, probably Sunday or Monday.

***

Welcome to Hell, Honey! You'll love it here.

2009-04-13T14:48:00.001-07:00

When I was 13 years old, my dad was laid off from his job. He spent ten long months out of work, searching the Want Ads every day. Finally, he found a job as a technical illustrator working for a government contractor; it meant decent pay, great benefits, and they were even willing to pay for our move. The only catch? It was in the middle of the (God forsaken) Mojave Desert, about 90 miles from any other town or city.

He went to work right away and spent a month living with his boss, coming home only on weekends, so that he could do a little house-hunting first. So, in April 1981, we left our normal little house (that looked almost identical to this) ....

...to something like this:

Okay, so I am exaggerating a bit. BUT JUST A BIT. And? The surrounding area wasn't nearly as lush. NO trees. Just tumbleweeds and dirt. Lots and lots and lots of dirt.

To give an example of how bad it was: We pulled up to the house, and I can still picture my make-the-best-of-things/child-of-the-Depression/extremely-understanding-and-low-maintenance mother turning her head to the right, looking out the window for a brief moment at "the house," turning back, then looking straight ahead saying, "WE ARE NOT STAYING."

28 years later, and I can still picture it like it was yesterday.

The moving truck was sitting right behind us. I remember the movers asking my mother, "Where do you want the piano, Ma'am?" and her curtly answering, "It doesn't matter. WE ARE NOT STAYING."

Oh, my poor mother. She had never asked for much in life. Her idea of a dream home was a modest, pale yellow ranch style with a white picket fence out front. SERIOUSLY. That was all she ever wanted. Just a nice little home adorned with her beautifully simple and tasteful hand-sewn curtains, pansies & geraniums adorning the walkway in clay pots, and a roast in the oven welcoming her family to dinner every Sunday night. She didn't expect much. She could've won the lottery, and still, that would've been her idea of a dream home. So at nearly 60 years old, this was the best my father could give to my mother? Really? Out of work for ten months or not, I can assure you--we were not ready to live like THAT.

My mother was pretty certain that my dad had walked into the house, immediately turned around, looked directly out the windows at the magnificent view (I will give it that--BUT ONLY THAT), saying, "We'll take it!"

The Sierra Nevadas were sprawled out right in front of "the house," looking exactly like this:

Except they were in color. A-ha, ha, ha! I kill myself.

So, let me explain this "house" to you. My mother figured it had once been an old miner's shack--you know, being that it was so luxurious and all. Someone had added on the front livingroom, which--I kid you not--was about 20 feet long with RED CEMENT FLOORING. There was a concrete step up from the livingroom into the _____ room (I have no idea what this next room was supposed to be), and up on the wall next to that step was an OUTSIDE PORCH LIGHT. Yes, inside the living room. All of the windows were varying sizes, so we assumed that the architects had used whatever glass they could find and cut out the holes for the windows accordingly. How clever! Oh, and extra handy was that the washing machine hook-up was also in said livingroom. We could wash our clothes while watching t.v., reading, or playing the piano, and then drag the laundry into the garage to dry (where that hook-up was). How utterly convenient!

The kitchen had stone floors which might have been quaint had they not matched the STONE COUNTERTOPS. I am talking large, jagged, miscellaneous-sized rocks--not marble, or granite, or anything you would find in a normal dwelling. Oh, heavens no! These were large craters that someone had likely drug in from outside--the way a cat would drag in a dead mouse to show its owners. Except not as attractive. Nothing would sit evenly on the counters; I can't tell you how many glasses we broke during our time there. I felt like I'd entered a real-life episode of the Flintstones, and, friends... it wasn't pretty. And Fred & Wilma were nowhere to be found.

Remember the ROOM that led up and off of the livingroom? That's where my parents' bed had to go because it was too big for either of the two "bedrooms," which were smaller than standard-sized walk-in closets. So, we used one bedroom as a closet, and the other held my twin-sized bed and nothing else. Not even my dresser.

The bathroom was especially darling. At first glance, it appeared normal; I mean, it even had laminate countertops! Wowza! Welcome to the 20th Century, right?! Yet, inside the vanity directly under the sink, we couldn't actually store anything because there was GRASS GROWING. I don't remember why, but I do remember the grass. In fact, I will never forget it.

My dad was lucky he was married to my mother, The Saint. Because if my husband had taken me to a place like that? I would've had to kill him in his sleep. Simple as that. No second chances... nothing. Instant death. The End.

So, anyway, here I was--13 years old, and my dad has not only taken me away from my school, my friends, the beach, the malls, anything GREEN... but now I was living in some kind of high-end miner's shack in the middle of nowhere.

My normally even-tempered, pleasant mother and I were in a continual state of either amazement or horror in the weeks following. I remember walking to the post office one day, for nothing better to do than request our very own post office box. (Gone were the days of browsing through South Coast Plaza, or hanging out on the shores of Huntington Beach.) However, what we didn't realize yet was that we'd apparently moved to a darker version of good ol' Mayberry, U.S.A.! There was a hand-written sign on the door that read, "CLOSED FOR LUNCH. BACK AT 1:00."

Finally, something to laugh about! (Or had we just tired of crying?)

Next we walked to this store, which is still in business today:

Darling, don't you think? It's fully stocked with antiques, saddles, bridles, feed, boots and Breyer horses. JUST LIKE South Coast Plaza! Right.

After three weeks, we finally moved out of Hicksville--up the road into the (somewhat) more modern and civilized town where I still live today. I never thought I'd stay, but like many here, have found that there are so many things to love about it (surprisingly enough). Not only is the economy thriving (most of town is employed by the Department of Defense, or its contractors), but the air is clean, most days are sunny, we are just a few hours from L.A., Vegas, hiking, camping, and fishing, and the people are absolutely incredible. There's something about this remote town that makes us all like one, big happy family. A dysfunctional family, but a family, nonetheless.

Now that's not to say it's without faults: I could certainly live without the 70 mph wind gusts we so often have (the trees literally grow at a slant!), and the summers that regularly get above 100 degrees--sometimes reaching as high as 120+. AND YES IT'S A DRY HEAT BUT I DON'T SEE ANYONE WANTING TO HANG OUT IN THEIR OVENS, DAMNIT! (Oops, sorry for that little outburst. The dry heat has eaten away at the part of my brain that controls emotions.)

So, that's my little story (You're like, "LITTLE? What part of that was LITTLE? I just lost five hours of my life that I'll never get back!") about how I came to live in the middle of nowhere and actually love it. See? Even Hell on Earth can have a fairytale ending.

Who woulda thunk?

THE END

(Enough of the "Thank You, Sweet Jesus" stuff already. I GET IT.)

***

Happy Easter!

2009-04-12T08:13:00.000-07:00

Last night, Erin had a "Red Carpet Birthday Party" to attend, which involved a limo picking her up at our home. Yes, for a 10-year-old's party. You read that correctly. All of the party-goers were picked up and taken to Ali's house, where a red carpet graced the walkway to the front door. They then dined on fancy pasta dishes, sipped sparkling cider, and later, danced. They did not eat birthday cake but rather fancy little dessert pastries.

I don't know about you, but when I was that age, we were still running around screaming at birthday parties, playing pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and thinking that all boys had cooties. (Actually, I might even still think that all boys have cooties. But I digress.) The last thing I would've wanted to do was sit still for a formal dinner.

Times have changed?

On a different note, Joe is still waiting for release from his cardiologist (she's out of town), but we have a tentative surgery date of next Friday at USC Medical Center. He's doing about the same; still can't walk or sit up, but his spirits are, as always, bright. Sometimes I look like such a biotch in comparison, damnit!

Thank you, friends, for your sweet words of encouragement and support. You're all the best!

Happy Easter!
***

Overwhelmed

2009-03-31T10:01:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven't been around. I haven't had the time or energy to post! Work is chaotic, and home is even more chaotic. Joe is bedridden again with his back, so every single responsibility (plus waiting on him, hand and foot -- since the poor guy can't make it any further than the bathroom and back!) rests on me. Next Monday, we have a consultation with a surgeon. I have mixed feelings about this, but there's really nowhere else to turn right now. We can't even consult multiple doctors because we live several hours away from the big city, and he can't tolerate a car ride of more than about ten minutes.

When I can post again, I will... Please keep a good thought for him!

My little teeny tiny baby boy

2009-03-16T12:46:00.000-07:00

I promised I'd post my survey on Chad's ideas about me, and here I am finally doing it. Typical for me--the procrastinator.

***

By the way... my friend took this picture of Chad playing (his 8th season of!) baseball this past weekend. Don't you love the look of both concentration and determination on that kid's face? He is so into playing. And by the way--GO, CARDINALS!!! They won 15-5!

***

1. What is something mom always says to you? I love you.

Also: "Quit fighting with your sister!" seems to be a broken record around our house these days.

2. What makes mom happy? Baking, or watching Regis & Kelly or The View

Or, you not fighting with your sister. That makes me damn near jubilant.

3. What makes mom sad? When we're sick

Or when you & Erin are fighting. Wait--I seem to detect a theme here. Interesting....

4. How does your mom make you laugh?

When she says I'm her "little teeny tiny baby boy"

I have the world's sweetest 13-year-old boy. Not only does he put up with my saying that, but he actually laughs at it still! It occurs when he is doing something to remind me that he's growing up way too fast, and in protest I say (cupping my hands as if to hold a 4-inch-long infant), "But don't forget that you're still my little teeny tiny baby boy!" You know you wish you had an obnoxious mom like me. C'mon, admit it.

5. What was your mom like as a child? She was perfect.

Just like now.

6. How old is your mom? 41

You couldn't have lied just this one time?

7. How tall is your mom? 5'6"

Ha--you're still shorter than I am! And also, have I mentioned that you're my little teeny tiny baby boy?

8. What is her favorite thing to watch on TV? Talk shows

9. What does your mom do when you're not around? Clean

I find it fascinating that both you & Erin answered this way. How do you know I'm not sitting around eating bon-bons while a housekeeper cleans up? You don't, do you???

10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for? Charity work

That, or finally hanging myself because my darling children fought one time too many.

11. What is your mom really good at? Baking

And eating everything I bake.

12. What is your mom not very good at? Drawing

You bully!

13. What does your mom do for her job? She's an office manager

I liked Erin's answer of "A LOT" better.

14. What is your mom's favorite food? Hungarian Chicken Paprikash, green bean casserole, her dad's German dumplings

You do pay attention, don't you? Probably because we love all the same foods.

15. What makes you proud of your mom? That she's got a good job; that I'm not embarrassed of her

I take this as an utmost compliment, especially coming from a teenager. He recently told me that he's always proud to take me to school events with him. (I'm guessing he didn't mean the time I showed up in his classroom to humiliate him, though. Probably not so much that time.)

16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be? Cinderella

"Cinderelly, Cinderelly, night and day, it's Cinderelly!" Now where did my adorable singing mice go? I'm always losing track of them...

17. What do you and your mom do together? Sometimes we go shopping

Yeah, sometimes I actually have money.

18. How are you and your mom the same?

We like the same foods and we have the same style

Again--utmost compliment.

19. How are you and your mom different? Age

Does it count that I still feel 13 inside?

20. How do you know your mom loves you?

Because she says it to me all the time, and she takes care of me when I need it.

I love to take care of my little teeny tiny baby boy!

21. What does your mom like most about your dad? That he's a cuddly bear.

It's official: My children share a brain.

22. Where is your mom's favorite place to go?

Either Disneyland or Phillipe's. (A restaurant in L.A.)

Great! Now I'm craving Mickey and a french dip sandwich!

23. If you would change one thing about your mom what would it be? I wouldn't change her.

I wouldn't change you, either. In fact, I'd keep you this age forever and ever. You are so precious, Chaddybear.

***

In my daughter's eyes

2009-03-11T17:25:00.000-07:00

These are questions I asked my daughter Erin, who's 9. Some of her answers surprised me -- both in good ways and not-so-good. It was definitely a neat insight to have. Tomorrow, I will post my son's answers. I'm sure you'll barely sleep tonight, in eager anticipation. You know it's true.

***

What is something mom always says to you? I love you. I also say, "Oh, good LORD! Your room is a pig sty!" on a fairly regular basis... but I'm glad you've learned to focus on the positives, sweetheart.

2. What makes mom happy? There's a lot of stuff, 'cause you're, like, that way. You always want to be happy. Ummm... when I behave? "That is correct," says Mommy Dearest.

3. What makes mom sad? When I get bad grades. True. Also? When you fight sleep every, stinkin' night of the week. Actually, it makes me more neurotic than sad.

4. How does your mom make you laugh? Doing dog talk to Jasmine. It's right up there with the painted toenails. Need I say more?

5. What was your mom like as a child? I don't know! A lovely person? Damn right I was lovely! You have to question these things, dear? And hey, by the way--have I talked to you about wire hangers lately???

6. How old is your mom? 41 Yes, and you tell everyone, don't you? E-V-E-R-Y-O-N-E. In case anyone might actually think, for a moment, that I'm still in my 30's.

7. How tall is your mom? 5'4" or something? 5'6" -- close enough.

8. What is her favorite thing to watch on TV? The View. Desperate Housewives, actually.

9. What does your mom do when you're not around? Clean. Just call me Bree Van De Kamp.

10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for? Singing. Sweet, but I doubt Simon Cowell will be calling me to audition for American Idol anytime soon.

11. What is your mom really good at? Loving people. I am. When I'm not too busy cleaning or singing.

12. What is your mom not very good at? Nothing. I've trained you well. GOOD GIRL, Erin!

13. What does your mom do for her job? A lot. Ha. You're telling ME!

14. What is your mom's favorite food? Rocky Road ice cream. I'm not even a big ice cream fan in general--let alone Rocky Road! But I'll forgive you, due to your answer to Number 12. You're welcome.

15. What makes you proud of your mom? She's perfecto. You're such a smart girl.

16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be? Cinderella. You must mean where I'm down on my hands and my knees scrubbing -- THAT Cinderella.

17. What do you and your mom do together? Shop. I can't exactly argue with that, though I DO do other things, too, every once in awhile. Once we've hit all the sales, that is.

18. How are you and your mom the same? We love to shop! Have I told you lately that I love you? Can I put that into song for you?

19. How are you and your mom different? I'm not nice to every person I see. By this, you're implying that I am. I'm guessing that one particular mother at your school's Movie Night might disagree. You remember, honey -- the one whose daughter ran around like a wild animal for two hours straight, keeping anyone there from enjoying even two minutes of the movie? The one who, after having a little run-in outside with me, flippantly said, "I GUESS MOVIE NIGHT'S NOT FOR YOU!" Her??? Yeah, I'm guessing NICE wouldn't be the word she'd use to describe me. But thank you, sweetie pie, for giving me more credit than I deserve. I'm glad you think I'm nice nearly all of the time.

20. How do you know your mom loves you? At nighttime, she's always patient with me. This will haunt me every night now as I'm FORCED to be patient with you because of this answer. You know what you're doing, don't you?

21. What does your mom like most about your dad? He's a cuddle bear. Yes, he is, although he's also a thoughtful & generous bear, and -- more importantly -- an excellent cook bear!

22. Where is your mom's favorite place to go? Disneyland! I have to visit my castle from time to time. Who says you can't go home?

23. If you would change one thing about your mom what would it be? To not buy me stuff when I don't need it. ERIN, ERIN, ERIN! Honey, you are turning into your father right before my very eyes! Stop the craziness this instant!! If I don't buy you stuff you don't need, then what would we do in our spare time, for god sakes!

***

I hope you know this is all in fun. I am a self-proclaimed smart ass. I also love my daughter beyond belief... more than anyone will ever know.

Love,

Cinderella

aka

Mommy Dearest

aka

Baby Favorite

***

A whole new level of crazy

2009-03-10T14:10:00.001-07:00

Why, yes -- those are my dog's toenails! I painted them hot pink today. She insisted on it. She also wanted to wear one of my bracelets. What? I can't help that she's so high maintenance!

I have been home since last Friday with a very sick son. He's on antibiotics now so he's slowly getting better.

Me? I'm just going insane being housebound for so long. Really -- don't mind me! I am basically harmless. Basically. Unless you talk to my dog. She might tell you differently.

***

"Gooood Day!"

2009-03-02T13:41:00.000-08:00

“In times like these, it is helpful to remember that there have always been times like these.”

--Paul Harvey

***

Goodbye to that familiar and ever-logical voice. You will be missed, Mr. Harvey.

***

His psyche is still slightly bruised

2009-02-23T10:39:00.001-08:00

Actual Photo of the Skatepark

When my son was 6, he was into skateboarding--much like he is now. He was pretty good, too; he's always been athletically inclined. He could even go to the local skate park at that age and hold his own quite well.

However, my ex-husband and his (extremely pathetic, stupid) girlfriend at the time decided to take him out of town to a mall one weekend where there was a Vans skate park. Have you ever seen a Vans skate park? We're talking HUGE, empty swimming pools, concrete everywhere, and lots of teenagers doing crazy ass stunts and maneuvers. A place where broken bones, knocked out teeth, and traumatic brain injuries could happen quite easily at any given moment.

Not only did they take my first grader to skate there, but they LEFT HIM ALONE WHILE THEY SHOPPED IN THE MALL. For, like, 2 hours. Yes, you read that correctly.

So, the next time I heard they were going there again, I did what any neurotic and over-protective mother would do: I took a Sharpie to my son's bare chest, and wrote these words on it:

IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, PLEASE CALL

SUSAN AT XXX-XXX-XXXX

Oh, yes, I did. I'm not even kidding.

I figured, that way, when he got hurt -- and his father and his stupid girlfriend were nowhere in sight -- the paramedics could rip off his shirt to administer some kind of CPR or put him on life support, and they would see the writing on his chest and be able to call me immediately.

What??? I hate it when you look at me that way. Stop it.

Talk to me, Baby

2009-02-19T11:11:00.000-08:00

My little girl has a boyfriend--well, in as much as a 4th grader can have a boyfriend. Their relationship consists of passing little love notes back and forth at school and talking on the phone occasionally.

His name is Leyton, but Erin seems to have a speech impediment when it comes to saying his name. She pronounces it, "Lay-un." The "t" sound is mysteriously missing. And we tease her endlessly about it, because we're cool like that. (You know, just in case she's missing out on some bullying in these formative years. We wouldn't want to deprive her of any normal life experiences, you know.) (I kid.) (Well, actually, we do tease her, but we're not mean about it. Like, she doesn't actually cry or anything. She laughs. I swear.) (And, yes, as a matter of fact, we do suck as parents.) (Also? I love italics.) (And parenthesis.)

Anyway.

Yesterday, she dreamily said, "I just love to hear Lay-un's girly voice when he answers the phone..."

Um, yeah. Maybe you shouldn't share that tidbit of information with him. Like, ever.

***

Focus, woman, FOCUS!

2009-02-17T18:57:00.000-08:00

I spent most of the day unable to focus on work.

One of my friends, my wonderful friend, Nicole, informed me that she had booked a 7-day Disney cruise going to Castaway Cay (the Bahamas) for this June. She is able to do this because they have one less child and a huge military discount. ($2k off the total price.)

Nicole & her daughter went with us on our Disney cruise last summer, but her husband was deployed overseas for six months, so he was unable to join us as originally planned. She vowed then that they'd plan a cruise once he returned.

Somehow, selfishly, I'm sad. See, Nicole and I spent eighteen long months dreaming, planning, talking, shopping... all for the cruise. We drove out of town and bought formals together! We special ordered personalized shirts! We even made CDs full of vacation music to get us "in the mood." It's all we could think about for an entire year-and-a-half.

Kind of goes back to what my mom used to tell me: "Sometimes the anticipation is more fun than the realization."

In our case, both the anticipation and realization were fun. It was eighteen months' worth of bliss!

So now my sweet friend is going without me, and while I'm happy for her, I'm also sad. I feel like I should be there. But I can't--we can't. Money is tight and it's just impossible. Disney is so expensive! About triple the price of other cruise lines. (But when you're a Disney freak -- like me -- you don't care! And Disney banks on this, of course. There are a lot of us freaks out there and they know it!)

So I spent most of the day sad, and dreaming, and scheming, and depressed some more.... realizing it ain't gonna happen. How pathetic am I? (Don't answer that.)

I know I am blessed BEYOND BELIEF with a wonderful husband, two amazing kids, OUR HEALTH, great jobs, a warm home, good food, incredible friends... just all over awesomeness. I have no right to pout! And yet... here I am.

I can just hear my mom scolding, "Susan! Really! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Hey, they don't call me Princess or Baby Favorite for nothin', ya know. I can't disappoint my fans by being too nice or reasonable... ;-)

***

You'll need a cigarette after one of these.

2009-02-14T18:07:00.000-08:00

Holy cow. Just trust me on this one. H-E-A-V-E-N.

(BTW, I used regular butter instead of unsalted, and they were still amazing.)

Easy Sticky Buns (Makes 12) -- Courtesy of Barefoot Contessa


	12 tablespoons (1 & 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature 1/3 cup light brown sugar, lightly packed 1/2 cup pecans, chopped in very large pieces 1 package (17.3 ounces/ 2 sheets) frozen puff pastry, defrosted FOR THE FILLING: 2 tablespoon unsalted butter, melted and cooled 2/3 cup light brown sugar, lightly packed 3 teaspoons ground cinnamon 1 cup raisins

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Place a 12-cup standard muffin tin on a sheet pan lined with parchment paper.

In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, combine the 12 tablespoons butter and 1/3 cup brown sugar. Place 1 rounded tablespoon of the mixture in each of the 12 muffin cups. Distribute the pecans evenly among the 12 muffin cups on top of the butter and sugar mixture.

Lightly flour a wooden board or stone surface. Unfold one sheet of puff pastry with the folds going left to right. Brush the whole sheet with half of the melted butter. Leaving a 1-inch border on the puff pastry, sprinkle each sheet with 1/3 cup of the brown sugar, 1½ teaspoons of the cinnamon, and ½ cup of the raisins. Starting with the end nearest you, roll the pastry up snugly like a jelly roll around the filling, finishing the roll with the seam side down. Trim the ends of the roll about ½ inch and discard. Slice the roll in 6 equal pieces, each about 1½ inches wide. Place each piece, spiral side up, in 6 of the muffin cups. Repeat with the second sheet of puff pastry to make 12 sticky buns.

Bake for 30 minutes, until the sticky buns are golden to dark brown on top and firm to the touch. Allow to cool for 5 minutes only, invert the buns onto the parchment paper (ease the filling and pecans out onto the buns with a spoon) and cool completely.

Just Like a Tall Glass of Lemonade

2009-02-09T16:25:00.000-08:00

Baby Favorite was recently awarded this delicious and refreshing blog award from The Jason Show. If you haven't checked out Jason's blog (highly unlikely), please do so now! It's fabulous.

Thank you, Jason, for this wonderful award!

Here are the rules:

1. You must link back to the person you received the award from.

2. You have to nominate 10 bloggers who are deserving of this award!

---

Here are the ones I've nominated:

1. Life With Kaishon

Uplifting, poignant, full of love

2. Alive in Wonderland

Beautiful photos, amazing insight

3. Live.Love.Eat.

Scrumptious, with recipes you'll love and use over & over

4. Antique Mommy

She may call herself antique, but she's absolutely priceless

5. Day by Day... My Life as a Busy Bee

Adorable, funny and a bright spot in your day

6. Ask Grandma J

The blog equivalent to a big ol' bear hug

7. Juggling Life

Just like a big sister/best friend rolled into one

8. Vintage Thirty

She makes you want to grab your BFF's for a girls night out

9. Dad Gone Mad

Hilarious--full of stuff you think but would never actually say

10. Maddy's World

A story of love and selflessness

---

I Am

2009-02-09T15:24:00.000-08:00

I am totally stealing this idea from one of my favorite bloggers, Jenn at Juggling Life. I hope she doesn't mind!

I Am . . .

I am from a childhood in a very close-knit, loving neighborhood. I am from the beaches of Orange County, fashion shows at the Bullock's Tea Room, and being spoiled--both by relatives and friends' parents.

I am from poverty and wealth, both figuratively and literally.

I am from countless hours and even holidays spent at CHOC, wondering if my brother would ever emerge from a coma, or live through another brain surgery. I am from many meals in the hospital cafeteria, to helping him pick out a wig for high school, to wishing he could just be like others his age.

I am from hot, windy days, rolling tumbleweeds, majestic mountains that surround me, and a small town that embraces each other in ways I never dreamed possible.

I am from a 22-year career that revolves around the Department of Defense... even though, deep down, I really am from wishing the whole world could just play nice.

I am from older parents--a mother who was practically a saint, and a father who had many flaws but a huge heart.

I am from mental illness, uncertainty, tragedies, depression, heartbreak, and much criticism.

I am from optimism, dreaming, making do, wishing, hoping, finding the best in others, and holding our heads high.

I am from knowing that life is precious and can change in the blink of an eye. I am from learning what's truly important in life.

I am from a passion for music, singing, playing the piano, violin and viola. I am from loving to entertain.

I am from believing in the power of positive thinking. I am from creating a better life for myself than the one I started out with.

I am from empathizing, sympathizing, and wanting more for everyone around me, be it friends or complete strangers. I am from helping others and knowing, "Oh there but for the grace of God go I."

I am from a love of grammar and writing, although I didn't necessarily inherit the degree of talent my mother had.

I am from making memories with my husband and children, whether it be riding quads on desert roads, baking cookies, traveling, or just cuddling together on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

I am from shopping, and the love of everything girly. I am from pampering to pedicures to fashion, and all the princessy things my Godmother instilled in me from a very young age. I am from people who embrace my shallow ways.

I am from chairing the local Combined Federal Campaign, hoping that what I do positively impacts others' lives.

I am from happiness and love. I am from knowing that if I died today, I lived a full and satisfying life.

Daddy's Little Girl

2009-02-02T12:53:00.000-08:00

A truly rich man is one whose children run into his arms when his hands are empty.

~Author Unknown

Happy Birthday to Me!

2009-01-29T19:30:00.000-08:00

January 30 is my 41st birthday (how is that possible? I was 19, like, two years ago!), so my little girl and I are ditching school and work and having a Girls' Day Out (of town), just the two of us, compliments of my husband.

I don't have much to spend, but I'm looking forward to leisurely wandering through the mall... something we don't have here where I live.... and eating lunch at a nice restaurant... something else we don't have here! I'm also looking forward to the girl talk and bonding time.

And then when we get home, we're going out for a nice dinner with some great friends.

A perfect day, right?!

***

No More Oatmeal Kisses

2009-01-28T16:51:00.000-08:00

No More Oatmeal Kisses

by Erma Bombeck

A young mother writes: "I know you've written before about the empty-nest syndrome -- that lonely period after the children are grown and gone. Right now, I'm up to my eyeballs in laundry and muddy boots. The baby is teething; the boys are fighting. My husband just called and said to eat without him, and I fell off my diet. Lay it on me again, will you.''

Okay. One of these days you'll explode and shout to the kids, "Why don't you grow up and act your age?"

......and they will.

Or, "You guys get outside and find yourselves something to do. And don't slam the door!"

......and they don't.

You'll straighten up the boys' bedroom neat and tidy -- bumper stickers discarded, bedspread tucked and smooth, toys displayed on the shelves. Hangers in the closet. Animals caged. And you'll say out loud, "Now I want it to stay this way.''

.......and it will.

You'll prepare a perfect dinner with a salad that hasn't been picked to death and a cake with no finger traces in the icing, and you'll say, "Now, there's a meal for company.''

.....and you'll eat it alone.

You'll say: "I want complete privacy on the phone. No dancing around. No demolition crews. Silence! Do your hear?''

.....and you'll have it.

No more plastic tablecloths stained with spaghetti.

No more bedspreads to protect the sofa from damp bottoms.

No more gates to stumble over at the top of the basement steps.

No more clothespins under the sofa.

No more playpens to arrange a room around.

No more anxious nights under a vaporizer tent.

No more sand on the sheets or Popeye movies in the bathrooms.

No more iron-on-patches, wet, knotted shoestrings, tight boots, or rubber bands for ponytails.

Imagine. A lipstick with a point on it.

No babysitter for New Year's Eve.

Washing only once a week.

Seeing a steak that isn't ground.

Having your teeth cleaned without a baby on your lap.

No PTA meetings. No carpools. No blaring radios. No one washing her hair at 11 o'clock at night.

Having your own roll of Scotch tape.

No more dandelion bouquets.

Think about it. No more Christmas presents out of toothpicks and library paste.

No more sloppy oatmeal kisses. No more tooth fairy. No giggles in the dark.

No knees to heal, no responsibility.

Only a voice crying out, "Why don't you grow up?''

...and the silence echoing,

"I did."

***

25 Random Things You Never Really Wanted to Know

2009-01-26T11:15:00.001-08:00

A lot of people seem to be posting these "25 Random Things," so who am I to not jump on the bandwagon?

1. If I drive by a homeless person, or someone who looks poor/lonely/sad/down on their luck... or even if they're just having a bad hair day (Okay, I KID!)... I pray for them. Right then. And then I get just a little bit sad myself. (My husband teases me & my bleeding heart.)

2. I love all things pink, sparkly, and girly. I'm in touch with my inner princess.

3. Even though I'm not one, I think being a stay-at-home mom is the most important job in the world.

4. I never mastered a cartwheel or a 360-degree twirl on the monkey bars. I was very unsure of myself as a child and always picked last on teams.

5. I have an annoying habit of cracking my knuckles, knees, neck and even lower back.

6. I can whistle extremely loudly and in tune.

7. Crime stories fascinate me -- like the Susan Smith drownings, the Laci Peterson story, Jon Benet Ramsey, and most recently, Caylee Anthony. (They disgust me, too, of course--but I'm just fascinated that anyone can be that sociopathic/selfish/deranged to hurt someone in that way.)

8. Medicine fascinates me, and I wish I would've considered a career in it when I was younger. I'd love to be an MD, but wouldn't love the long hours.

9. I often dream of living in a small, rural town surrounded by lots of trees, green rolling hills, and friendly neighbors.... where all I do all day is clean, bake, plan delicious dinners, and wait for my kids and husband to get home. I was born about 40 years too late.

10. I can remember complete lyrics to literally hundreds of songs.

11. I always wanted to be a Mouseketeer as a child. I ran around my neighborhood wearing lime green personalized mouse ears, and SUSAN in black letters across a white t-shirt.

12. I have an irrational fear of vomiting. And, if anyone other than my children vomits, I have an anxiety attack. Which probably means it's a good thing I didn't go into the medical profession, afterall.

13. I talk in a special voice to my dogs that I call "Dog Talk." It borders on sounding like I'm mentally challenged. Okay, no bordering about it.... let's be honest here.

14. I have been pulled over seven times and never once received a ticket.

15. I can play the violin, viola and piano.

16. I think that selfishness is the root of all evil. If you look at any heinous crime, you can almost always trace it back to selfishness. I don't think enough parents instill The Golden Rule in their children anymore. Teaching "please" and "thank you" simply isn't enough.

17. I was in a country music video of Kathy Mattea's; I played a member of a church choir.

18. I hate sweating and getting dirty. I can't watch shows like "Survivor" because it baffles me why anyone would ever willingly put themselves in such a miserable situation.

19. I love to laugh, and to make people laugh.

20. I adore my family and friends beyond words. I try to make a point to tell them how much they mean to me; I don't want anyone to ever have to wonder.

21. I hate talking on the phone, even to people I like. I would rather e-mail or talk in person.

22. I didn't have my first kiss until I was 18 years old. I lost my virginity a few months later. Let's just say I made up for lost time. 1986 was a very busy year!

23. I would've had a lot more kids if my husband had been up for it. I totally admire big families. I am almost 41 and would get pregnant today if Joe gave me the go-ahead!

24. I was extremely shy as a child. So much so that I wouldn't raise my hand in class even when I knew the answer. Nowadays, I doubt anyone would call me shy. I talk to complete strangers on a regular basis.

25. I love everything Disney. I still get butterflies thinking about visiting Disneyland. I have been there at least 35 times.

"You like me!" --Sally Field

2009-01-26T08:15:00.000-08:00

The wonderful Jenn at one of my favorite blogs, Juggling Life, gave me my very first blog award for being "ever-stylish and fabulous!" I am so honored!

"I want fabulous, that is my simple request

All things fabulous, bigger and better and best

I need something inspiring to help me get along

I need a little fabulous; is that so wrong?"

(For those of you who don't have tweens, that's from the song "Fabulous"--High School Musical 2.)

Thank you, Jenn!! I feel fabulous now!

*

100 Things to Do

2009-01-24T19:50:00.000-08:00

Before You Turn 40 (or 41, in my case)

Do you think you've really lived so far? This is a list of 100 activities--some I have experienced (in red), some I have not (in black). I'm 6 days away from turning 41, but what the heck. Thanks, Jason, for letting me steal your meme!

1. Started your own blog (Yes, although I only have, like, 2 readers)

2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band (does orchestra count? I think it does)

4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Bathed in a river

7. Been to the Taj Mahal
8. Walked on a glacier in Alaska

9. Caught and held a snake (SURELY you jest)
10. Spoke in front of a big crowd
11. Bungee jumped (Uh, I don't think so.)
12. Had a whirlwind love affair that broke your heart

13. Found an arrowhead or fossil
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch
15. Rescued an animal
16. Ate sweet breads, glands or tripe
17. Seen Mount Rushmore in person
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hiked to base camp on Mt. Everest (no desire whatsoever)
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Watched an animal being born
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Learned a foreign language
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Stayed up for more than 24 hours (yes, it's called labor that refuses to progress)
31. Trained a dog to do cool tricks (They understand my special Dog Talk. Don't ask.)
32. Been on a cruise (Looooooove cruises!)
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Can drive a stick shift car
37. Won over $1000 in a raffle or lottery
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person (I have the obligatory "holding up the tower" picture to prove it!)
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke (On a cruise, even! Do I get extra points?)
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Been serenaded
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Broke a bone
47. Started your own business
48. Quit a job because you were totally unhappy
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the Eiffel Tower
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain passionately
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in
55. Been in a movie (does a music video count?)
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Joined a prayer group
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Received flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving (Hahahahahahahahaha... yeah, RIGHT)
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the changing of the guards in London
77. Broken something extremely expensive
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Got a tattoo
83. Been to a coffee shop in Amsterdam
84. Seen the aurora borealis in person
85. Read the entire Bible
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous

92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one

94. Toured the UN
95. Hiked to Machu Picchu
96. Swam in the Indian Ocean
97. Conversed with someone when neither of you spoke each others language
98. Dirty danced
99. Been stung by a bee
100. Acted in a play (Yes, I played SWEET POTATO. Hey, I was 10 and it was a Thanksgiving Play. Don't judge.)

***

And that, my friends, is what is called a painfully boring life!

***

It's the thought that counts?

2009-01-22T11:24:00.000-08:00

I was surprised to see that my daughter still had a box of See's candy in her bedroom, leftover from Christmas. (Surprised because sweets never last an extra minute in her presence.)

I mentioned this to her and she said, "Oh, yeah... well, I didn't really like all of the chocolates. I'm sorry."

I told her not to be silly; she didn't have to apologize!

She enthusiastically asked, "Hey! Do you want the rest of 'em?!"

"Sure!" I said. I mean, really--who am I to not be gracious enough to polish off a box of unloved chocolates?

Erin bounded off for her room to retrieve the candy. When she came back, she halfway tossed the box into my lap. "Here you go, Mama!"

As she skipped away, she said, "Oh, by the way--I took a bite out of all of 'em!"

***

Seize the moment. Remember all those women on the Titanic who waved off the dessert cart.

~Erma Bombeck

***

Time for shorter hair!

2009-01-18T10:25:00.000-08:00

On a whim yesterday, I chopped my hair even shorter. It's nice and neat, though, and hair always grows--right? I'm never all that attached to mine. I like change!

***

Taking joy in living is a woman's best cosmetic. ~Rosalind Russell

***

Her sarcasm doesn't fall far from the tree

2009-01-14T10:10:00.000-08:00

My 9-year-old daughter Erin was telling me about a conversation she had at school yesterday with her good friend, Emily. It went like this:

Emily: Don't you have something to say to me today?

Erin: Nope!
Emily: Are you SURE?
Erin: Yep!

Emily: (speaking out of the side of her mouth, like it's a secret) HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Erin: It's not my birthday today.

Emily: I mean, SAY "Happy Birthday" to ME!

Erin: OH! Happy Birthday, Emily!

Emily: Thank you!
Erin: See? I told you I'd never forget.

MIA

2009-01-13T18:15:00.001-08:00

Sorry I haven't been around; life's been CRAZY.

Joe spent 12 days in bed with his back--literally not able to sit or stand for more than 10 minutes at a time (and that's once he was feeling better). He's finally back to work, walking with a cane, but I feel like his back's a ticking time bomb. When will it fail him next? Should I plan a vacation -- ever? Um... once we get caught up on back house payments and car payments and credit cards, that is??? It just makes me feel like I'm walking on eggshells. I hate to see him in pain, I hate to wonder when the other shoe is going to drop, I hate wondering how long he'll be able to work.

I don't like uncertainty. My dad went from one job to the next, when I was growing up, often times riding out unemployment for 6+ months at a time (while my mother was a SAHM). As a result, I have stayed in jobs I've hated--sometimes for years at a time. I have cried before work every morning, but never given up. I am that determined to always have a steady paycheck. He scarred me that much.

This isn't Joe's fault, but it still is making me crazy. I think it's like flashbacks to my childhood. I just don't like feeling out of control. But... I, if anyone, should realize there's only so much you can control in life. I guess I leave the rest up to God. Right?

Anyway, between the stress of his back, and feeling like a single mom trying to handle everything at home, and my best friend's mother dying this past week (along with four other people I know!!!)... well, blogging hasn't been on my mind much.

Hopefully I'll resume to my "regular" crazy, sarcastic state soon and have better, more interesting things to talk about.

If not, I'll just come back and whine. I'm awfully good at that... don't you agree?!

Fashion Faux-Paw?

2009-01-06T08:21:00.000-08:00

Last week when my husband was going to Urgent Care for his back, it was a struggle for him to sit up or stand. He decided he'd just wear fleece lounge pants, a t-shirt, and a hoodie to the clinic. Changing into regular clothes was simply out of the question. He did insist, though, that he at least wear tennies rather than slippers. I helped get them on, but it was a real struggle.

I commented that he should probably get some Crocs for times like that--they'd be much easier to get on and off.

He says to me, "No way! Crocs on men are just wrong."

I told him I doubted anyone would even notice Crocs what with the polar bear fleece pants he was wearing.

2008: A Year in Pictures

2009-01-01T13:48:00.000-08:00

I don't have the best camera or photography skills, but here are some memories from this past year.

***

January...
My 40th birthday with friends who spent six luxurious hours at the spa with me:

Valentine's Day with my family... not romantic, but filled with love nonetheless:

March... Baseball Time! Chad's 8th year playing; Joe's 3rd year coaching:

April... Erin is an escort for the Mr. BHS Contest at the local high school:
"I hope you dance..."

Also in April... Chad's "Touch of Class" dance (and his first corsage for a girl!):

May... A field trip (8 hours on the bus!) to the Aquarium of the Pacific with a bazillion 3rd graders:

Also in May... A very memorable mommy-and-me trip out of town for the day:

Most of June and July... Where Erin spent many, many sleepless nights on the verge of vomiting, with some unknown virus that we seriously thought would never end:

August... Our long awaited, (mostly) magical 8-day Disney Cruise:

October... Cheerleading begins again! Erin lives for this stuff:

October 6... My son turns into a teenager, despite my wanting to keep him a little boy forever:

December... Christmas, special as always:

Here's to a happy and healthy 2009!
***

I think I'll keep 'em

2008-12-31T12:42:00.000-08:00

This morning, I had to take my poor husband to Urgent Care. His back suddenly has taken a turn for the worse, and he was barely able to get out of bed or walk. They gave him four different prescriptions and a shot of an anti-inflammatory drug, so he's sleeping now. Hopefully he will be able to return to work next week.

While we were gone, our kids (without being asked) did the following:

- Made our bed
- Wrapped up an ice pack in a towel, and left it on the bed for Joe
- Swept the kitchen floor
- Ran the dishwasher and wiped down the counters
- Vacuumed the entire house
- Cleaned a bathroom
- Washed all the rugs in the bathroom
- Washed all of the towels
- Put away laundry
- Dusted the family room and livingroom
- Brought the trash cans in from the street
- Lit all the candles so the house would be welcoming for us

And this isn't the first time they've surprised us like this.

Yep... they're keepers.

-

Friends Fur-Ever

2008-12-30T09:08:00.001-08:00

"He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion." - Unknown

-

Comfort food for a cold night

2008-12-29T18:53:00.000-08:00

I made this tonight for dinner and it was really good--and easy. Only thing I might do differently is put in a full pound of kielbasa (rather than the 1/2 lb. it calls for), along with more salt. I'm also tempted to double the recipe next time to have ample leftovers.

Sausage Potato Soup (Taste of Home Cookbook)

TIME: Prep/Total Time: 30 min.

Ingredients:

1/2 pound smoked kielbasa, diced
6 medium potatoes, peeled and cubed
2 cups frozen corn
1-1/2 cups chicken broth
1 celery rib, sliced
1/4 cup sliced carrot
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1-1/2 cups milk
2/3 cup shredded cheddar cheese
1 teaspoon minced fresh parsley

Directions:

In a large saucepan, brown sausage; drain. Set sausage aside. In the same pan, combine the potatoes, corn, broth, celery, carrot and seasonings. Bring to a boil.
Reduce heat; cover and simmer for 15 minutes or until vegetables are tender. Add the milk, cheese, parsley and sausage. Cook and stir over low heat until cheese is melted and soup is heated through. Yield: 6 servings.

Merry Christmas, Friends

2008-12-24T21:15:00.000-08:00

Sending love from our house to yours!

Baby Jesus is doing WHAT?

2008-12-23T06:23:00.001-08:00

One night when I was three years old, my mother was getting me ready for bed, when out of the blue I said, "The baby Jesus not grahowing." My mother said, "What, sweetie?" I answered, "The baby Jesus not grahowing."

My mother paused, trying to decipher what was coming out of my mouth.

"The baby Jesus is not growing, honey? Is that what you're trying to say?"

Getting irritated, I said--slowly--"The.baby.Jesus.not.GRAHOWING."

"Crawling?"

"No!"

"Crying?"

"No!"

"Growling?"

"No!"

"Crowing?"

"NO!"

At this point, I had clearly had enough. And these words came out of my sassy little three year old mouth:

"WATCH MY WIPS! I SAID, THE.BABY.JESUS.NOT.GGGGRRRRAAAAAAAUUUHHHHHHH-
OOOOOOWWWWWIIIINNNNGGGG!"

Do you know I can still remember my mother clutching her stomach and gasping with laughter? 37 years later? She said the way my little mouth drew out that last 'word' just about sent her over the edge. For years after, my family loved quoting the "Watch my wips" line.

And to my mother's dying day, she never did know what I was trying to say.

To the corner, Baby Favorite!

2008-12-21T16:02:00.001-08:00

I haven't been a very good blogger lately.

I really haven't been pouting since the whole weather incident. I promise. (Not much, at least.) I'm just tired, and not feeling great, and a little down in the dumps. You know, the usual holiday thing that a lot of folks experience.

Now don't get me wrong, I LOVE Christmas, but I miss my parents, sister, and relatives. But, moreso, I just get sad about my brothers--the one in the neuro care home (Paul) and the other who's mentally ill (Mark). We've been helping Mark move into a new apartment this week, and to see the way he's been living is just depressing. I won't disgust you with the details, but being around him gets me down. And not being around him but thinking about him also gets me down. So then I'm not really in the mood to blog.

But, on a cheerier note, I'm just about ready for Christmas!! Yay! Everything's wrapped, except a few stray gifts I'm waiting on from eBay, American Girl, and Amazon. The waiting is killing me! I know they'll get here in time, though. I'm just anxious to see them and put them under the tree.

And otherwise? My house is clean, everything's wrapped, decorated, baked... I'm all ready to go. I think I'm going to make my mom's Hungarian Chicken Paprikash for Christmas Eve dinner. It was our tradition to have that every year growing up, but I haven't had it in over 7 years since she passed away. I think it's time.

Rebeckah, I have to thank you so much for even praying for snow for us! You are so adorable and thoughtful. No, it never did snow, but it stayed in the high 30's/low 40's all week and was drizzly and cloudy so at least it felt Christmasy. That's better than sunny and in the 60's, right?! I'll take what I can get.

Can't believe there are only 4 more days until Christmas! Are YOU ready?!

50-Year Arctic Storm Hits Southern California!

2008-12-17T17:02:00.000-08:00

WINTER STORM WATCH 2008!

Hi.

We have what??? What? Wait for it................. NO SNOW.

We also have no roads out of town that aren't closed. That's right. The roads are so snowy and icy that they have closed all highways leaving this God forsaken place. (Which means that we couldn't even go two miles out of town TO the snow if we wanted to. I suppose we could walk, but we might freeze to death in the process.)

-
But us?

Nothing. Just 30-something temperatures all day, along with overcast skies, drizzle, and sleet. And a few flakes just to tease us. Not to mention, weather reports saying we'd have 1 to 4 inches of snow on the ground today. But did we? No. No, we did not.

I'm going back to pouting now. And eating a little more of my 1 lb. box of See's Candy. Because nothing combats a depressed mood like an overnight ten-pound weight gain.

-
Goodbye.

Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!

2008-12-16T08:18:00.000-08:00

This is the view from my front yard. See how far down that snow has come? We had snow predicted for yesterday (yet... NOTHING but rain!), and snow predicted for tomorrow. We haven't had any hit the valley floor since January 2005.

God, are you listening? We are due!

***

Music to a Mother's Ears

2008-12-14T20:14:00.000-08:00

This morning, I asked my 13-yr-old son Chad to sweep the kitchen floor.

He did, and then said, "I think I'll mop it, too."

I believe I heard the angels sing at that very moment.

---

My Christmas Sweeties

2008-12-13T11:04:00.000-08:00

...Well, a couple of 'em, at least.

I wanted to post a better picture of my Jasmine, where her tongue was actually in her mouth where it's supposed to be.

Now I'm off to BAKE! And wrap! And I'm staying in my jammies all day! Tomorrow calls for snow showers, so I'm definitely in a Christmasy mood.

Have a great weekend, friends!

"My, what a big tongue you have!"

2008-12-11T23:29:00.000-08:00

"The better to lick the table with, my dear!"

This tastes almost as scrumptious as the gas grill that left a splotch of grease on my snout!
-
This dog right here is the love of my life (okay, okay... besides my husband and kids, but what-ev-er). Her name is Jasmine. She is two years old, a purebred yellow lab, and was my Christmas present from my husband in 2006. She is the sweetest, spazziest, lickiest, most hyper dog in the world. Did I mention how much I freakin' love her?
-
I know. Get a room already, you're saying.
-
Have you seen the trailer for the movie, "Marley and Me," due out Christmas Day? I laugh every time I see it, especially knowing it's based on a true story. You couldn't make this stuff up! And, Marley looks just like my baby, Jasmine. I wish I could take her with me to the theater to watch it. Demented, I know.
-
Okay, so I'm completely challenged when trying to upload a video, but if you haven't seen the trailer yet, go to http://www.marleyandmemovie.com.
-
Woof!

A Princess Story

2008-12-11T14:40:00.000-08:00

When I turned 40 this past (now very distant) January, my friends decorated my office in a pink "Princess" theme. My favorite items they left were a pillow that says, "Only a True Princess could get away with as much as I do!" and a pink fluffy tiara that looks very similar to the one above. I keep the pillow and tiara in my office, of course, up on my cabinet.

Well, since then, I have continued to receive princessy gifts, and the name "Princess" has stuck.

A few months ago, my friend Alison brought me a flashing Princess charm for my cell phone, and a Princess antenna topper for my car. I love 'em.

More recently, another coworker brought me a Princess plaque that looks quite a bit like this (and now hangs on my office wall):

After that, Alison also brought me a Cinderella snowglobe. (I couldn't find a sufficient picture, but it's darling. And Cinderella is my FAVORITE. She didn't even know that! See the magic my Fairy Godmother must work behind the scenes?!)

But THIS week, the Princess theme has exploded! It's like the 12 Days of Princess around here. (Oh, I crack myself up.)
-

On the first day of Princess, my true love Alison brought to me a Partridge, uh... a Santa Hat!

On the Second Day of Princess, my true love Tony brought to me Two Turtle... uh, a Princess Pin from his recent trip to Disneyland!

On the Third Day of Princess, I got nothing. Poor, poor princess!

On the Fourth Day of Princess, my true love Lucia brought to me something that is almost beyond words! We had an ongoing joke about the whole princess thing, and she had said she'd bring me tea and crumpets for breakfast yesterday. When she didn't deliver, I sent her a sarcastic e-mail saying, "Um, I'm STILL WAITING." So this morning? There was a crystal platter on my desk, with her grandmother's silver (that she'd stayed up late polishing), real china--a plate and a cup & saucer, an assortment of teas, sugar & creamer in crystal swan containers, a crystal bud vase with fresh cut roses from her yard, cream puffs (in place of crumpets) on the plate, and a silver rose napkin ring that also was a card holder. On the card in calligraphy was "Princess Susan."

I shrieked with laughter for I don't know how long.

Who can't love work when your coworkers are like THIS?!

I'm telling you, I could get used to this Princess lifestyle, my friends... Oh yes, I could.

Oh, night divine!

2008-12-10T12:37:00.000-08:00

I was just thinking about Christmas music and how much I love it--the way it makes me feel, the memories it stirs up, the warmth and comfort it brings. I'm always surprised when people say they don't like Christmas music. How is that possible?! I love nearly all of it.

Here are some of the specific lyrics I love the most, out of my favorite Christmas songs.

O, Holy Night

"...A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices! "

Such hope, such promise.

Mary, Did You Know?

"...Did you know that your baby boy has come to make you new? This child that you've delivered, will soon deliver you."

Oh, and this line, too (actually the entire song brings tears to my eyes):

"...And when you kiss your little baby, you have kissed the face of God."

Wow.

Silent Night

"...Son of God, love's pure light

Radiant beams from Thy holy face

With the dawn of redeeming grace

Jesus, Lord at Thy birth..."

There's nothing better than singing that, in candlelight, at Christmas Eve service.

Winter Wonderland

"...Later on, we'll conspire,

As we dream by the fire

To face unafraid,

The plans that we've made,

Walking in a winter wonderland."

Okay, so this one isn't religious, but I love it. When I was little, I would think about the lyrics and envision a Christmas far different from the one I knew in Orange County, CA. Sitting by the fire with snow outside my window -- ahhh. I could dream of nothing better. It still stirs up that memory for me whenever I hear it today.

Away in a Manger

"...Be near me, Lord Jesus,

I ask Thee to stay,

Close by me forever,

and love me, I pray!"

Comfort. Undying love.

O Little Town of Bethlehem

"...How silently, how silently

The wondrous gift is given!

So God imparts to human hearts

The blessings of His heaven."

Yes, God is good.

Joy to the World

"...He rules the world with truth and grace,

And makes the nations prove

The glories of His righteousness,

And wonders of His love..."

I just love belting that one out in church!

Of course, I also love the old standards: Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Santa Claus is Comin' to Town, Let it Snow!, The Christmas Song ("Chestnuts roasting on an open fire...") -- but there's just something so comforting singing about God's love & Jesus' birth. Especially this time of year.

What is your favorite Christmas song and why?

Material for the eventual therapy he'll need

2008-12-08T16:12:00.000-08:00

Last week, I received a call from Chad's English teacher, letting me know he'd had four "referrals" and, as a result, would be getting an after-school detention. She said he had not been mean-spirited or rude, per se, but rather disruptive. We seem to be having a little of the Class Clown stage going on this year. Lots of talking out of turn and showing off, all (I presume) to earn the approval of friends.
-
I was horrified, of course, and apologized up and down. After we hung up, I had an idea: If Chad couldn't behave in the classroom (this isn't the first time I've gotten one of these phone calls, incidentally)--maybe he needed a babysitter. Gee, maybe that babysitter could be ME!
-
Isn't that every middle schooler's worst nightmare--to have his/her mother appear in the classroom?
-
I quickly called back. The teacher agreed it was a fabulous idea, and we made plans for my little visit to take place.
-
Thursday finally came. Class started at 12:50, so I nonchalantly walked into his classroom at 12:55. The teacher gave me a cheerful, "Hello!" and went about her business. I took a seat at a nearby table. A few of his friends waved to me; others just stared. I realized Chad was on the outside row closest to me, just several feet away.
-
"MOM," he half-mouthed, half-whispered, "What are you DOING HERE?" Loud enough for a few of his nearby classmates to hear, I cheerfully whispered, "Well, I thought I'd stop by to observe your behavior!" Sugar couldn't have melted in my mouth. I was taking great pleasure in all of this.
-
Chad looked at me, and then I watched the life drain out of him as he slumped into his chair. I almost felt a little sorry for him, for a moment or two. Notice I said almost.
-
A few minutes later, though, he'd somewhat recovered, and he was able to give me a quick smile here or there, in between listening quite intently to the teacher. Of course, he behaved like a complete angel. The same angel I know who lives in my home. I have such a hard time envisioning his being disrespectful, because he knows he could never get away with it at our house. My heart hurts knowing he somehow thinks it's okay to act like that anywhere. I have to wonder where I went wrong; when did I ever let him think it's okay to not completely respect authority and rules? I thought I had instilled that over and over again. I've even said, "Be the child who really makes teaching seem worthwhile." What more can I do? I guess, no matter how hard we try, our kids have minds--and consciences--of their own.
-
All in all, the visit went well. The teacher was grateful I'd come; she said she'd called four of the other parents, and two seemed like they hardly cared and the other two never even returned her call. Says a lot about why kids are the way they are today. (SELF-CENTERED. But that's a rant for another day. I have lots of rants; have you noticed?)
-
I promised Chad that if I ever got another phone call, or any indication that his behavior was less than stellar, I would most definitely return. In fact, I could even eat lunch with him and his friends! I could wear a miniskirt and bring my boom box, and we could hang out on the quad! Just like my friends and I did in the 1980's! How bitchen would that be?! Like, ohmagawd, TOTALLY rad!
-
Somehow, I think this is going to work more effectively than all of the lectures, privileges taken away, and everything else tried in the past.
-
Somehow, I think, this time is going to stick.
-

Deck the Halls Meme

2008-12-02T10:30:00.000-08:00

Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate? I like both, but would most often pick hot chocolate. (Not as heavy.) I love it with whipped cream and a sprinkling of cinnamon on top.

Does Santa wrap presents or set them under the tree? When my kids still believed, they were wrapped and set by their stockings. Now there are just stockings and then gifts from us under the tree.

Colored lights on tree or white? This year, white. Although it doesn't look like I have one, single light in that dumb picture I took (above)! It really is all sparkly and pretty. I promise.

When do you put your decorations up? As soon as I can after Thanksgiving

-
What is your favorite holiday dish (excluding dessert)? My crunchy green bean & corn casserole. Only 48,900 calories per serving. Sometimes I just take a few spoonfuls and attach it directly to my thighs.

Favorite Holiday memory as a child: Dinner every year at my Aunt Honey & Uncle Jack's house. Absolute perfection--the house itself, the decorations, and the warm, loving ways of my family.

When and how did you learn the truth about Santa? I refused to give up on the idea of Santa until I was about 13 years old. What? I was naive and innocent.

Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? I don't, but my kids open up new pajamas and an ornament from us. That way, it's something to open but nothing that gets them so excited that they can't go to sleep at a normal hour.

How do you decorate your Christmas tree? This year, it's decorated in purple, silver and white ornaments. And I'm very anal about it (read: no fun), and we end up redoing a lot of it until it's just right. You know you wish you lived at my house. Admit it.

Snow! Love it or Dread it? LLLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOVVVVVVVVVVVEEEEEEEEEEE it.

Can you ice skate? I tried once when I was 13 and loved it.

-
Do you remember your favorite gift? Luckily, I've had a few very special ones. As a child, it was the dollhouse my parents made. As an adult, it was a yellow lab puppy we got from a breeder on December 26th--a gift from my husband.

What’s the most important thing about the holidays for you? Family, friends, keeping in mind what's really important.

What is your favorite Holiday Dessert? My oatmeal apricot bars.

What is your favorite tradition? The candlelight service at church on Christmas Eve.

Which do you prefer, Giving or Receiving? Giving, though I certainly love being surprised with gifts, too.

What is your favorite Christmas Song? O Holy Night

Candy Canes! Yuck or Yum? Yum! I like 'em. Especially in peppermint ice cream.

-
Ever recycled a Christmas present? I'm pretty sure I have.

It's so hard to be Erin

2008-11-30T18:18:00.001-08:00

Today, as my husband was graciously preparing a turkey for dinner (we originally bought it expecting to host Thanksgiving), our daughter Erin pipes up: "You know, I have to eat BIRD all the time. I'm really getting sick of it."

***

Joe says, "That's because COW and PIG don't agree with your acid reflux."

***

I just love how that (weird) kid of ours expresses herself. Never a dull moment.

***

Sunshine Family

2008-11-25T16:27:00.000-08:00

When I was a little girl in the 1970's, my favorite dolls were The Sunshine Family. Oh, the hours I spent looking at them, playing with them, and imagining they were my own family! (Yes, I was warped. Also? Lots of stress at home. Very ill brother, unemployed father, parents who should've been divorced twenty years earlier. But that's all for another post.)

----

When I was about 9, my dad and my best friend's dad got together and decided they would both build us huge, beautiful doll houses for Christmas that year for our Sunshine Families. My parents worked on mine for months. My mother made a miniature quilt for the bed that my dad built, she stitched a rug, made curtains -- you name it. The house was two-story and just darling! Renae's dad made her dollhouse several stories tall, using an old upright dresser as its base. Her mother made us both little Christmas trees with ornaments, and tiny, wrapped presents to put under them. It was amazing! Truly, that dollhouse was the best Christmas present ever. I appreciate my parents' hard work even more now that I'm a parent.

-----

On a different note, I'm sorry I haven't written more lately. I am feeling so... rotten. Blah. Not mood-wise; strictly health-wise. I had blood work done recently (not sure how extensive it was, really--just checking my iron & WBC levels, mostly, which have been an issue in the past), and supposedly everything came back okay. But you know what? I don't feel okay. I feel 100 years old. Some days, it's all I can do to get out of bed, or stay awake in the evening. Most nights this week, I've been asleep in the recliner by 7:30 or 8:00 p.m. On Sunday, I took a shower and shaved my legs. (Really not trying to give you too much information here; I'm going somewhere with this.) My point being--I looked at my legs. That night when I went to put on pajamas, I had a *humongous* bruise on my left thigh, as if I'd really clobbered myself on something. Like 2" in diameter, easily. What the heck! It was actually startling to see it there, you know?! I would've remembered injuring myself to that extent--guaranteed. My husband says one of these days I'm going to be on one of those Medical Mystery shows. I think he's right. Anyway, I just don't have the energy to blog much. I'm sorry. I hate checking peoples' blogs and seeing the same old post day after day after day. I don't mean to be one of "those people."

----

On that bi-polar note (Sunshine Family one moment; death's doorstep the next!), I will wish you all a very Happy Thanksgiving! Gobble, gobble!

----

I just needed an excuse, really...

2008-11-19T09:15:00.001-08:00

... to post these new pictures of my kids.

My son's step-aunt (his step-mom's sister) took them for us, second year in a row now, for free. She took over 50 photos of our family, and they all turned out great. She is a GEM, just like my son's step-mom. They're such wonderful people.

I adore my kids at these ages (9 & 13). Can't I just freeze them like this forever? They're so darned lovable.

She makes us proud.

2008-11-18T08:16:00.000-08:00

So, this morning on the way to school, my 9-year-old daughter Erin & I are listening to the radio. There's a line in one particular song that says, "... he flipped me the bird, and then he was gone."

Erin pipes up: That part about 'flipping the bird' reminds me of last night!

Me: *blink blink*

Me: What on earth do you mean, honey?

Erin: Well, you know, Daddy was tucking me in last night, and he was telling me how smart I am, and pretty, and what a good girl I am, and how proud he is of me..."

Me: *blink blink* (still not correlating the two at all)

Me: How does that have to do anything with someone 'flipping the bird'?

Erin: Because I'm so smart! Not many kids my age would understand what that meant!

Somehow, I don't think that's quite where Joe was going with that compliment...

And the moral: Don't judge a book by its cover

2008-11-07T10:44:00.000-08:00

I met my wonderful husband Joe in 1998. He was 34, had never been married, and had no children. I had just turned 30, had a two-year-old son, and my husband of six years had just moved out 6 short weeks earlier. Friends introduced us--even though I'd said I really wasn't in the mood to meet any men. It was way too soon! What were they thinking? I wondered. But fate intervened, and I agreed to meet him, anyway.

Our first meeting was disastrous. I was sure he was not my type. He was sure I wasn't his. He said I acted like a snob. That was intentional! I didn't want to give him any vibe that said yes, I'm interested. Because clearly, I was not. Or so I thought.

Our mutual friends, sure that we were meant to be together, gave Joe my number. I cringed when I heard the news. Please don't call, I silently pleaded to no one in particular. Please! But for some reason, a few days later, the redneck boy called the snobby girl. We talked two hours straight! He was amazing--funny, interesting, optimistic, interested in what I had to say... I couldn't believe how much I enjoyed talking to him. We talked every other night after Chad was in bed, for two hours straight each time.

Valentine's Day was fast approaching, so he asked if he could take me out. Of course he could! I was practically in love with him already, I wanted to shriek! He told me to wear something fancy; he was taking me out for our first date, but the details were a surprise.

The day came, and I sent Chad to a sitter and then downed a few wine coolers. I was so nervous. I hadn't dated in eight years! It was raining outside when I heard a knock on the door. There was my Valentine, holding roses. And at the end of the driveway--a limo! We drank champagne and went out to a fancy dinner (with the friends who introduced us) at a restaurant overlooking the town. It was beautiful and perfect. On the ride home, we held hands. We hugged goodnight when it was all over. Who was this guy, not wanting to make a move? Was he a... real live gentleman?

I think the part that got me most was, a month or so into our relationship, he said, "I think I'm falling in love with your son." Oh! How to get straight to a mother's heart! He didn't just love me, but he loved my son. Who soon became his son, too. We married six months later. When I got pregnant, some of his buddies asked, "Do you hope to have a boy? You know, a son of your own?" But Joe would say, "I already have a son." And he meant it.

I could go on and on about my sweet husband, but let's just say that after 10 years together, he has only gotten better (if that's even possible). He still makes me dizzy when he kisses me. He cooks all of our meals every day, and they are to-die-for. Sometimes he even does things like garnishes the plate with parsley! Or he'll draw hearts on all of our napkins. He'll pack the kids' lunches occasionally, and he'll draw a really cool picture on each of their lunch bags. He's always in a great mood, greeting us with a big smile and warm welcome at the end of the day. Everyone who knows him loves him. He makes me laugh like no one else. He is the most considerate and thoughtful person in the whole, wide world. He would be my very best friend even if we had never gotten married. I could go on for days.

I couldn't love him more.

Happy (almost!) 45th birthday, Bear.

(I couldn't wait until the 15th to talk about my love for you.)

Give me something good to eat!

2008-11-02T18:35:00.000-08:00

First off, we have the Beauty Queen... who is looking a wee bit put out by the paparazzi.

Next up, we have Wyatt Earp... who apparently spent a little too much time at the saloon today.

Trick-or-Treaters with attitude. What is this world coming to, anyway?

Work Clones

2008-10-30T18:52:00.001-07:00

This is about as close to a costume as I'll ever get. I love Halloween but hate dressing up. I think it stems from my younger years when I was so shy that I did anything to avoid drawing attention to myself. Although everyone who knows me, with my big, hearty laugh and voice that (and I quote co-workers here) "echoes up and down the hallway"--well, they'd probably beg to differ. Still, there's just something about putting on a costume that I find completely and utterly embarrassing.

So, there you have it. Not very exciting, I know, but hey--we're government employees. What can you really expect?

An' churish them 'at loves you

2008-10-28T14:35:00.000-07:00

I had a very sheltered upbringing. To give an example, I didn't see a PG-rated movie until 1979, at 11, when "The Black Stallion" came out. My parents were careful of what I watched on t.v., what I was exposed to, and how they talked in front of me. Although they did it all out of love, it was a little on the annoying side, frankly.

My wonderful nana, who was born in 1890 and died when I was just 4 years old--well, she was a character. She was my mom's mother, and whom I suspect I got a lot of my quirkiness (with a sprinkling of rotten) from. My mother was an angel, and so was my nana... but she was also a storyteller, with a flair for the dramatic. Poetry was a big trend of her generation and she had memorized much of it. She seemed to have a poem for every occasion. There was nothing I loved more than to climb onto her lap and listen as she recited "Little Orphant Annie"--in her scariest, most melodramatic voice. (Something my mother herself would never think of subjecting me to!) I would just shudder with excitement every time.

LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE

by: James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)
INSCRIBED WITH ALL FAITH AND AFFECTION

To all the little children: -- The happy ones; and sad ones;The sober and the silent ones; the boisterous and glad ones;The good ones -- Yes, the good ones, too; and all the lovely bad ones.

LITTLE Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--
An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout:--
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;
An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz there,
She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--
You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,
An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

That's for you, Nana. Sometimes I wish it were still 1971 and I could cuddle up in your lap! Although I only had you for a few short years, you will live on inside of me forever... gobble-uns an' all.

---

* OPEN * OPEN * OPEN *

2008-10-27T17:21:00.000-07:00

Oh, Mervyn's, how I have loved you.

Let me preface this by saying I live in a town of under 30,000 people. Most would say, "That's not a town--it's a city!"... but let me tell you, it's a town. It's got a small town feel because we are isolated to an extreme. Where isolated equals not even a rest stop for 90 miles in any direction. Thousands of us work at the same place (a naval base), most of us know each other or are related in some strange (and, occasionally, not-so-strange) way. A friend of mine used to say, "There aren't many branches on our town's family tree!" which, really, sums it up perfectly. In fact, when I got divorced, I found I had many of the same mutual friends in Marriage #2 that I'd had in Marriage #1. I just had changed spouses.

Anyway. (ADD who?)

My point of all of this is that we have exactly three places to buy clothes, in our pathetic little town: K-mart, Wal-mart, and Mervyn's. The last being the most desirable, for obvious reasons. But now? After 18 years of being in business here? Mervyn's is C-L-O-S-I-N-G. The company has filed bankruptcy and they are closing all 149 stores.

Excuse me.

*sniff sniff BLOWWWWWWWWWWW sniff sniff*

There. I'm back.

Mervyn's and I have grown up together. When I broke off an engagement to my fiance at 20 years old, I celebrated by buying a beautiful blue topaz & diamond ring at Mervyn's. They had just opened, and I'd found a new true love. With THEM. My fiance? Not so much. We'd grown apart. But Mervyn's and I were getting close. I think, soon after, we might've even made it to second base.

When I fell in love a third time (FOCUS, people, focus! To recap: #1 Fiance; #2 Mervyn's; #3 First Husband), Mervyn's had a big jewelry sale where we could get an engagement ring at 70% off. They were opening the store up early, just for that sale, and would begin passing out numbers to prospective jewelry customers as early as 6:00 a.m. Doug wanted so badly to get the first ticket that he got there before 5:00 a.m. I'm not sure it was worth it, after having to listen to, "I'm #1!" over and over, in the weeks following. But? I'd gotten my ring, bottom line. Mervyn's had been there for me, once again.

When I had Baby #1 in 1995, Mervyn's gave me an amazing selection of clothes from which to choose. Not only did they have a great selection, but their clearance prices were unfreakingbelievable. I specifically remember paying $.98 for quite a few t-shirts and shorts in Chad's toddler wardrobe--while still in season. They were a lifesaver!

And, as you can imagine, the story goes on. They have been there through good and bad, thick and thin, sicker and poorer. Mostly poorer (thanks to them). One time, my husband and his friend drove past, and his friend asked, "I wonder what keeps that store open?" My husband answered: "My WIFE."

And now? Joe & I have a few rough months where he goes on disability with a bad back, and I can't shop as much as usual, and YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS??????!!!!! I'm holding my husband's back personally responsible for their demise.

I can't believe Mervyn's "OPEN*OPEN*OPEN" commercials will be no more. No more $2-$-4-$6 Clearance Sales, no more Wednesday Super Sales, no more Black Friday sales. No more sponsoring disadvantaged children with their wonderful Child Spree, every August. No more Mervyn's.

Goodbye, my loving store. Goodbye.

I am using stupid BULLETS because my paragraphs wouldn't quite work without them. Sorry about that!

Happiness Is....

2008-10-23T20:34:00.000-07:00

I was tagged by sweet Kira to put this meme on my blog. So here goes!

Six things that make me happy:

1. Family
2. Friends
3. My dogs
4. Disneyland
5. Shopping
6. Wine Walks (it's a local thing)

So... what are YOUR six happy things?

As an aside: When I was in kindergarten, our teacher asked us all to describe what "Happiness is... " She then typed up our replies and sent them home. (My mother kept this; that's how I know. Trust me, my memory isn't that good!)

Most of the kids wrote normal things, like: "Happiness is... friendship"

or

"Happiness is... kisses from your mom."

But mine?

"Happiness is... SKIING."

This coming from a kid who didn't see snow until she was 13.

What can I say. I've always been... unique.

-----

9:40 a.m.: October 23, 1996

2008-10-21T20:08:00.000-07:00

At that time, on that date, my brother's life changed forever. This Thursday marks the 12th anniversary of his traumatic brain injury.

Paul had always been my favorite brother, despite our age difference of 16 years. For the first 44 years of his life, he was independent, an avid reader, a follower of news & current events, extremely athletic, an amazing cook, very loving (though not obvious about it), utterly devoted to his dogs, and a complete smart aleck. He would do things for people in a very 'quiet' manner--never wanting recognition or even acknowledgment. He was the epitome of independence. And athletic? WOW. In 1976, he was the Southern California Golden Gloves champion for featherweight boxing. Around that same time, he was featured on ABC'S Wide World of Sports for knocking out his opponent in the first few seconds of the first round. He was fast and powerful, despite his slight build. In every way, I admired and looked up to Paul.

And on that dreary, overcast October day, he was a pedestrian who was hit by a speeding car--22 miles per hour over the speed limit, to be exact. Paul was thrown 80 feet, landing on his head. When paramedics arrived, he had no pulse.

He was airlifted to a hospital 90 miles away, and spent a month in a coma. I learned that no one ever really spends more than a month in a coma; after that, their eyes open and they are in a vegetative state (if they're not responsive, of course). Did you know that? Neither did I. It's not like the movies where they open their eyes and suddenly begin conversing. Not like that at all, unfortunately. Suffice it to say, I learned more than I ever really wanted to know about brain injuries.

For six months following, Paul was in a persistent vegetative state. He would look around, but didn't seem to be "there." He had no muscle control, so he couldn't even hold his own head up in the wheelchair. He had to be secured, with a belt around his forehead attached to a board, to keep him upright. He was in a permanent fetal position, his legs drawn up tight to his chest, due to the injury. And he would drool. I'm pretty sure there's nothing my poor mother ever went through (not even my other brother's brain surgeries, as a child) that compared to seeing her grown son in that state. Here she was, in her 70's and widowed, having to travel hundreds of miles to a neuro care home to see him like that. Over the first two years, she & I made the trip--often with my 1-year-old son in tow--every other Friday. We would talk on the way there about our hopes for Paul, and cry on the way home. I think, by the third year, we finally stopped crying so much. But it was never easy. It wasn't like a death; there was no closure. And very little hope. I have found that the grieving never really ends.

To add salt to the wound, my 49-year-old sister killed herself three years after Paul's accident, also in October.

Today, my brother still resides in the same care home. He's no longer vegetative, thank the Lord, but he can not speak, eat, or walk. He is confined to his bed or a wheelchair, and fed through a tube in his stomach. He is extremely alert (consistently gets 100% on spelling tests!) but has no short-term memory. He doesn't remember that our sister passed away, or that our mother has since. So we just try not to mention them at all. (For awhile, every time he would realize they were deceased, he'd mourn all over again.) I wonder if he is confused as to why our mother no longer visits. When we visit, he remembers us, but he doesn't remember the visit a few hours after we have left when the staff asks about it. I wonder if he thinks we are never there... that he is just alone with his caregivers, 24/7. I have no way of knowing.

These are just some of the things that haunt me.

Paul's life is the true meaning of a fate worse than death.

On a lighter note, prior to Valentine's Day 2007, he insisted (through pointing to letters on a chart) that he needed to go shopping for a gift for me. It was the first time in his eleven years there that he'd ever suggested such a thing, so I can't imagine what prompted it. His wonderful caregivers took him to the mall, and he picked out the earrings that are in the picture above. More importantly, though, he hand-wrote that Valentine's card for me. I still cry looking at it. That alone was one of the very best gifts I have ever received.

Thanks for "listening"; it's therapeutic to write about Paul. And, please--hold your loved ones close. Remember to keep things in perspective, when you can. Life can and does change in the blink of an eye. Be grateful. If there's one thing I've learned from all of this, it's to be grateful for the everyday things in life--and for the people in it.

Also, please pray for Quince--fellow blogger Rebeckah's dear friend who is going through his own personal hell after suffering a very debilitating stroke. He needs all the positive thoughts and prayers he can get right now, and so do his wife and small children. Please don't forget about him as he works at recovering. He will need your prayers for a long time.

And if you have time for an extra prayer once in awhile? My brother could still use some, too.

---

Stealing Erin

2008-10-20T13:26:00.000-07:00

I was listening to the song "Stealing Cinderella" on my way to work this morning and was envisioning it someday playing during a slideshow at my daughter's wedding. I was thinking about what pictures of her could accompany the lyrics: The one, at age 7, dressed up as Cinderella for Halloween; next, on her very first bike without training wheels; then, in the summertime at the pool... You get the idea. I was nearly in tears by the time I got to work, thinking about how I would essentially be losing my baby on her wedding day. Oh, and by the way? She's 9. How am I going to handle this when it really happens? How does any parent deal with it all?! Why do I even think about this?

Two years ago in November, I sat at my ex-husband's wedding with tears in my eyes over the song that accompanied HIS lifetime of pictures. Part of the lyrics were, "God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you." All I could sit there thinking was, OH, GOOD GOD! I am the broken road! I AM THE BROKEN ROAD! And then I felt guilty. How many years of his life had I wasted, I wondered, when he could've been with someone he was better suited to? But no, wait--I reassured myself. It was all working out. We have a beautiful son together, we both have amazing spouses, we're friends with each other now... so it's all good, right? But no, I AM THE BROKEN ROAD! Two years later, and I'm still thinking about that. How long CAN a person hold onto guilt, huh? Don't bother answering that.

Anyway--back to my original point. Do you ever worry about not hanging onto today enough? Do you worry about tomorrow so much that you end up taking away from what you have today? My mom used to always shake her head and say, "Oh, Susan--you die a million deaths."

Stealing Cinderella

I came to see her daddy for a sit-down, man to man

It wasn't any secret I'd be asking for her hand

I guess that's why he left me waiting in the livingroom by myself

with at least a dozen pictures of her sitting on a shelf

She was playing Cinderella

She was riding her first bike

Bouncing on the bed and looking for a pillow fight

Running through the sprinkler with a big popsicle grin

Dancing with her dad, looking up at him

In her eyes I'm Prince Charming

But to him I'm just some fella

riding in and stealing Cinderella

-------------

I thought I was a good mother... until now

2008-10-16T21:12:00.000-07:00

I really enjoy Suz's blog, and this post in particular gave me something to write about today: http://daybydaywithsuz.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-am-good-mother-yes-i-am.html. I have totally been at a loss lately when it comes to blogging, so I'm stealing this idea from her.

Here are the things I say the most... every, single (week)day:

Have you brushed your teeth?
You're already done brushing your teeth? That fast?
Did you finish your homework? ALL of it?
It's time for bed. NOW.
Okay, it's now past your bedtime.
Did you eat breakfast? That's ALL?
Have you had any water today?
Get dressed. Erin. GET DRESSED!!
Focus, honey, FOCUS.
Your room is an absolute pig sty! How can you live like this?
Feed your dog.
Am I the only one who remembers to give the dog water?
How was your day?
I love you.
I sure missed you today.
God bless you.
I love you more!

Well, that was eye-opening. Apparently, I nag 98% of the time. And then I try to make up for it at bedtime by telling them I loved and missed them. Niiiiiiiiice.

*sigh*

I wonder what would happen if I nagged less? Would teeth EVER get brushed? (I can almost guarantee NO.) Would Erin go to school in her pajamas? Would the kids stay up until midnight? Would they eat junk food for every meal if I let them? Would the dog starve to death or die of thirst?

Today, for instance, I didn't remind Chad to take his frozen PB&J (pre-made... yes, I suck) sandwich out of the box in the freezer and put it into his lunch. Guess what he forgot today. Um, yeah. You guessed it.

As an aside: Is there a logical reason why my font size keeps changing? No matter how many TIMES I try to fix it? Am I that computer illiterate that I can't figure out even the simplest things? Please. Don't answer that. I think you & I both already know the answer.

-----

Eyes have been changed to protect the innocent.

2008-10-11T20:20:00.001-07:00

Today, my daughter (the child without the infamous Glamour Magazine-style bar) was in her forty-trillionth-bazillionth cheerleading competition. Or maybe it was only her thirty-ninth-trillionth-bazillionth. Hard to say. But it felt like more.

They did well, placing 2nd, and also receiving the Showmanship Award.

Afterwards, we went to various party stores in the L.A. area, trying to find a costume for our little cheerleader. (Our small town is seriously lacking in the way of costumes.)

She's been dying to be Giselle from the Disney movie, "Enchanted." She has never NOT been a princess for Halloween ... or any other day, for that matter. But alas, the costume turned out to be $60, and mama doesn't play those reindeer games. Or princess games. Whatever.

We realized Claire's might have some costumey-things, and we were right! I found the darlingest leopard ears, gloves, tail, and glittery tattoo-type stickers to apply to the face as the leopard's nose & whiskers. Cute, innocent, and only $12! (I say innocent because, OMG! HAVE YOU SEEN the slutty costumes for tweens?!!!)

My daughter's reply: "Oh, you are WHACK if you think I'm wearing that." Whack. Hmm. I don't believe I've ever been called that before. Normally, I wouldn't allow that type of disrespect, but I was so taken aback by the word itself that all I could do was giggle. I know, pass over the Laughing at the Wrong Time Parenting Award.

Anyway. We ended up buying a BEAUTY QUEEN sash, a tiara (because none of the 20 in her current collection would do), some long white gloves, and "diamond" chandelier earrings. Somehow, I still came out spending $28. (And we already have the fancy spaghetti-strap dress!)

Now watch; it won't be 80 degrees on Halloween, like most years. We'll hit some record low and it'll be snowing. And SHE WON'T BE COLD, AND NO! SHE POSITIVELY WILL NOT NEED A JACKET! BECAUSE, YOU KNOW, SHE IS NOT COLD! Did you hear that? NOT COLD! NO JACKET NEEDED!!! NONE!

What whack.

------------------

Today he became a teenager.

2008-10-06T20:58:00.000-07:00

Today, the child who made me a mother turned 13 years old.

There's so much to say about the ways he's enriched my life... and yet, words really don't suffice.

Chad has been the sweetest, cutest, funniest, and most special boy ever. I could not have asked for a better son.

Happy 13th Birthday, Baby Boy. (He has given me permission to call him this until the day I die, so don't make fun.)

I absolutely could not love you more.

************************************************************************************

Flexing It

2008-10-02T18:06:00.000-07:00

Today begins the weekend for me; my job gives us every other Friday off--what we call Flex Fridays. They're also paydays, too, so.... WOOHOO! It's just good every way you look at it. My husband also gets flexes, so they're our bi-weekly "date" day. We drop off the kids at school and then go out for a leisurely breakfast, do some shopping, browse the antique stores, stop by the Farmer's Market.... and, before you know it, it's 2:00--time to pick up the kids!

The downside of Flex weekends is that you:

Overschedule yourself, because you think you have all this time off (and most everyone I am friends with also has them -- so we all pack our weekends full)
Don't appreciate the two-day weekends nearly as much as you should

Here's a rundown of what I've got planned for this weekend, besides the usual date day with hubby tomorrow...

Friday Night

I'm going to a Scentsy party. Ever heard of it? You buy these darling (overpriced) ceramic scent burners, and then the bricks to melt in them. They smell DELICIOUS!

Saturday morning

A car wash fundraiser for cheerleading from 10am - 2pm, with my daughter & her screaming friends. Oh, and we literally get approximately 4 days or less of rain per year, but guess what?! On Saturday? Forecast: Showers. Of course!

Saturday Night

My friend Nicole is coming over for dinner and to watch Sex and the City with me. We have to lock our kids in their rooms so they don't come out and stumble upon any of the graphic scenes.

After that, she and I will do this (at 10:00 p.m.)...

We're walking with friends on a team for our dear friend, Cathy Spindler, who lost her battle with breast cancer earlier this year. She was 40 years old. I am also personally walking for those in my life who've had cancer: My Uncle Steve (colon), my Uncle Jack (lung), my dad (lung), and my mom (breast & lung). My mom survived hers (but later died from other illnesses), but my uncles and dad did not. I will walk for all of them Saturday night.

Sunday Afternoon

My daughter & I will be going to the park to help her friend, Kalli, celebrate her 9th birthday.

And in between all of that, I will do....

...many, many loads, AS ALWAYS!

And....

more housework...although I will more likely be wearing stretched out yoga pants, a tank top with bleach on it, no makeup, and absolutely no darling little kerchief in my hair! Hard to believe, I know!

....and later, if I'm lucky, maybe a little bit of this...

...except my sheets are icky blue & white striped ones from Wal-Mart, not a pile of HEAVENLY CLOUDS!

Okay. I'm tired now from thinking about all of my plans. Can I go back to work?

Nah, nevermind. Scratch that.

Conversations that make you go HMMM....

2008-09-30T13:44:00.000-07:00

My daughter adores animals--to an obsessive point. I've never seen anything like it, really. So, I recently suggested that she someday consider becoming a veterinarian.

Erin: No, I don't think I could do that.

Me: Why not?

Erin: You know--because of the beeps.

Me: The beeps?

Erin: You know: Beep-beep-beep-beep-BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

---

Blame it on California's education system

2008-09-29T17:10:00.000-07:00

This should most definitely fall under the category of Don't Ever Share With Anyone. EVER. In Other Words: Never, Never, Never! Or Else They'll Know You're a MORON, Susan. Warning! DO NOT SHARE.

... and yet, here I am. Sharing.

So, a few months ago, I was telling my husband and kids that I'd love to go on a cruise to Alaska someday--that I'd rather cruise than fly. My daughter, then 8, said, "Or how about driving?" I looked at her, chuckled, and said, "Um, sweetie--you can't drive there. You can only travel to Alaska by air or by sea."

That seemed to get everyone's attention. My husband and kids stopped breathing momentarily, and turned abruptly towards me. In unison, they asked, "Why not?"

Wishing I weren't the only OBVIOUS intellect in the family, I said--in my most condescending, all-knowing, superior tone--"Because Alaska is AN ISLAND."

My husband and kids did this: *blink blink blink*

*crickets chirping*

and more *blink blink blink*

I said, "You didn't know that? Haven't you ever looked at a U.S. map? You guys! Alaska is an island, just like the Hawaiian islands." Like, DUH.

My husband asked, "Just where do you think this 'Island of Alaska' is?"

Again, hadn't these people seen a U.S. map? I mean, really... this was almost ridiculous! Hadn't they gone to school??? Would I have to explain everything?

I told him that it wasn't down by Hawaii, but up a ways--closer to the Pacific Northwest. A bitter cold island, all by its lonesome in the middle of the ocean.

I believe there was some hysterical laughter, and clutching of stomachs, that followed. My children then explained to me that Alaska is not actually an island, but instead, connected to Canada. Connected to Canada. Alaska. Not an island. I was having to process this, after, oh, 35+ years of picturing eskimos on their big island, all alone, out in the Pacific Ocean. Alaska was not an island at all. WHO KNEW?

Besides Sarah Palin, my kids and husband knew. And probably 99% of the rest of the world.

See? I told you I shouldn't have shared. You can stop laughing at me any time now. Really. STOP IT.

---

Woman Goes Raw; Loses Half Herself

2008-09-27T07:38:00.000-07:00

From CNN.com:

(CNN) -- Angela Stokes had never been overweight as a child.

Angela Stokes, 30, lost 160 pounds in two years after she adopted a raw-vegan diet. She now weighs 138 pounds.

But she steadily started gaining weight as a teenager because of an under-active thyroid gland. By the time she graduated from college her weight had ballooned and she wore a U.K. dress size 26-28.

"I was 300 pounds, very unwell, very miserable," recalls Stokes. " I ate junk food all the time. I was very closed down emotionally. I had no interest in dieting; I just wanted to eat all the time ... that was like my comfort in life."

At the time, she says she was so "emotionally shut down" she refused to talk to anyone about what was happening. The weight was also taking a physical toll on her health and she frequently battled infections and illness.

Stokes says living her everyday life became a challenge.

"My mobility was quite restricted ... I was unwilling to participate in things from cutting my toenails to going on a walk with my friends," remembered Stokes. "I tried to give this impression that I felt fine about everything, but inside I was in a lot of pain a lot of the time."

Two summers after she reached her heaviest weight, Stokes was working at a greenhouse in Iceland, when a friend lent her a copy of a book about the health benefits of eating raw foods. Stokes, who had never been interested in diets, says she was completely "absorbed" by the approach.

She started eating raw the very next day.

"Everything in my life completely shifted. It was like a light bulb moment to be like ... 'this is what I was waiting for to reclaim my health,' " said Stokes. Watch CNN's Dr. Sanjay Gupta report on Angela Stokes' raw diet »

She went cold turkey or "cold cucumber," as Stokes often jokes. She stopped eating meat, animal products and processed foods and instead switched to a diet that consisted of uncooked and unprocessed vegetables, fruits, nuts and seeds.

"To me, the thing with raw food is that it just makes sense. It's simple and natural, eating food straight from the earth. There's no rocket science, no mystery," said Stokes. "Once you understand the simple principal that no other animal in the wild eats cooked or processed foods. That's it."

The raw food diet completely transformed her life, she says. Within the first month of going raw, she had her first boyfriend in more than five years. In just two years, she had lost 160 pounds and has experienced dramatic improvements emotionally, physically and socially and is "happier than I've ever been."

Andrea Giancoli, a registered dietitian and spokeswoman for the American Dietetic Association, says everyone could stand to eat more fruits and vegetables.

"We all need to be moving towards a more plant-based diet," Giancoli said. "There are more pitfalls to a typical American diet with all of the processed foods and focus on meat than there are to a plant-based diet."

Is it healthier to eat uncooked vegetables? Not necessarily.

"The raw diet, specifically, the philosophy behind it is scientifically incorrect," Giancoli said. "Raw foodists believe that cooking food destroys enzymes that are essential for the body. While that's true, so does the gastric acid or juice in your stomach.

"So those enzymes are broken down anyway in your gastro-intestinal tract."

Giancoli believes there's a nutritional downside to a vegetarian diet. People who eat no animal foods run the risk of nutritional deficiencies such as a lack of vitamin B-12, iron and zinc and the powerful Omega-3 fatty acids found in fish, she said.

Giancoli recommends people meet with a dietitian to develop a balanced eating plan before they embark on a raw food diet.

Stokes, who now weighs 138 pounds, has kept the weight off for four years and authored several books on "raw foodism" lifestyle.

What tips does she have for people considering a raw vegan lifestyle? First, start slowly.

"I recommend people start out being at least 50 percent raw and go from there," advises Stokes. "Maybe it ends up at some point you are completely raw, maybe not. As long as the majority of the stuff or at least 50 percent is fresh raw food ... then you're tipping the balance in your favor."

Stokes also advises people to start eating things they like such as peaches, plums or spinach and then slowly incorporate more fresh raw foods. She admits the lifestyle can be socially challenging and she encourages people to connect with other "raw foodists."

"It's great to get support. If you look on the Internet and around you, you may find pot lucks," said Stokes. "Read books to inspire you to keep going on this journey.

Okay. So my question is this:

She didn't have the willpower to go on a fairly user-friendly eating plan like, say, Weight Watchers, but she could go from eating Western Bacon Cheeseburgers one day, to nothing but vegetables, fruits, nuts and seeds the next?

Color me confused...

---

It's your party and I'll cry if I want to

2008-09-26T18:58:00.000-07:00

This year in January, I turned the big 4-0. Hard to believe, I know, since I'm sure I don't look a day over... 43.

I had a fabulous celebration! Three of my closest friends & I spent six luxurious hours at the spa. They'd decorated the night before and also brought in champagne/o.j. for mimosas, a pot to melt chocolate in, and strawberries for dipping. We enjoyed pedicures, massages, facials and, eventually, lunch. It was a perfect girly day.

On my actual birthday itself, my friends decorated my office in ALL PINK! It was heavenly! (They knew better than to go with dismal black.) There was a huge banner in the hallway announcing my age (um, could've lived without that), and my office was decorated in a million pink and white streamers, balloons and confetti. Presents and cards waited on my desk, along with two dozen pink carnations and a pink tiara! It was truly the best birthday of my life, and all day felt really special. (Just like when you're a kid.)

When I got home from work that night, my sweetheart of a husband had gifts waiting, a fancy dinner out, and this cake he'd made:

It was a wonderful, perfect day and there's nothing I would have changed. Except possibly winning the lottery and buying all of my friends extravagant shopping sprees and my husband and kids everything in the world they could've possibly wanted. Anyway.

My husband's 45th birthday is fast approaching, and we don't have as many funds right now as in months past. He's been on disability for the past 8 weeks with his back, so money is tight, to say the least.

What can I do to make his birthday special? I plan to make a great dinner (he usually cooks, so this would be a treat), a nice cake... but what else? He likes cars, tools and anything manly. (Insert Tim Allen's GRUNT here.) Among other things. Ahem. (My innocent, almost-13-year-old son reads this blog. Um, hi, sweetie!!!)

Any ideas out there? I'd love to hear what birthday surprises you've been the gracious giver or lucky recipient of...

Writer's Block MEME

2008-09-23T11:29:00.000-07:00

Have you ever…

gone on a blind date? Yes! It's how I met my husband. He said I seemed distant, and like a snob. I didn't think he was my type. Moral of the story: Never judge a book by its cover!
skipped school? In high school. I still regret that I made socializing a higher priority than studying.
watched someone die? Both parents, unfortunately.
been to Canada? Yes, to Montreal and Vancouver. I love Canada! It's so clean and beautiful.
been to Mexico? Just six short weeks ago! Our cruise took us to Cabo San Lucas, Mazatlan and Puerta Vallarta. However, my husband's back was so bad at those last two ports, we didn't get of the ship at all. Cabo was beautiful, though! BLUE, warm water.
been to Florida? Never. Watched something on the Florida Keys last night and would love to someday go.
been on a plane? First time I ever flew was when I was 14, and it was 1st Class to Hawaii. That kind of ruined me for all the subsequent COACH trips to nowhere near as exciting!
been on the opposite side of the country? Um, does Montreal count? I realize that's not OUR country, but it's right above our country, right? Otherwise -- farthest east I've been is Missouri.
swam in the ocean? Sure, I practically grew up at Huntington Beach. Also in Hawaii. Not many other places, though.
lettered in high school sport? Surely you jest.
cried yourself to sleep? I am female. And was once a teenager. You do the math.
played cops and robbers? I don't think so. I was too girly. (Okay -- AM too girly. Nothing's changed.)
played dolls? Constantly, growing up. My whole goal in life was to be a mother.
sung karaoke? Yes! Most recently on the cruise, with my daughter & her friend. We sang "Fabulous." It's our simple request. ;)
done something you told yourself you wouldn’t? Constantly. I have no willpower.
cheated on an exam? I was too busy ditching classes.
made prank phone calls? Of course!
caught a snowflake on your tounge? Once or twice. Remember, I grew up in Southern California. *sigh*
written a letter to Santa Claus? Not only did I write to Santa Claus, but I would help him out by giving him the Sears Wish Book page number, item number, description, shipping weight, and cost. Oh yes I did.
watched the sunrise with someone you care about? The best sunrise I ever watched was when I spent a week at a beach house w/my aunt & uncle (as a teenager). My aunt & I would sit in the front window and drink hot chocolate and watch it together. I miss her.
been kissed under the misteltoe? I think so.
ever been arrested? This goody-two-shoes?! No way! I have now been pulled over 7 times (most recently last month, for talking on my cell phone) and never gotten a ticket, either. KNOCK ON WOOD.
blown bubbles? With gum? Yes.
gone ice skating? Once, when I was 13.
been skinny dipping outdoors? I don't think so.
had a nickname? Yes... Suz, Sus, Bear, Baby Favorite, Sushi.
been to Africa? Never.
eaten cookies for dinner? Not FOR dinner, just before.
been on TV? I was an extra in a Kathy Mattea music video in the 1990's.
been in a car accident? Just one fender bender, fortunately.
What is your…mother’s name? It was Peggy.
favorite drink? I have many: Crystal Light, Diet Dr. Pepper, Mojitos... the list goes on!
favorite alcohol? Oh, Mojitos, Kahlua, Mudslides.... Mmmm... so many!
birthplace? The home of Disneyland.
favorite vacation spot? Hawaii or any place tropical
favorite salad dressing? Ranch
favorite pie? Key lime
favorite number? 19
favorite movie? The Notebook
favorite holiday? Christmas
food? Cookies
favorite day of the week? Friday
favorite brand of body wash? Bath and Body Works
favorite toothpaste? Don't have one! As long as it's minty, it works.
favorite smell? Puppy breath, rain, a newborn baby.
Do you have any…tattoos? One on my lower back. Everyone's always shocked.
body piercings? Just ears.
Do you drive a 2-door or 4-door vehicle? 4
What do you do to relax? Watch t.v., surf the net, read.
How do you see yourself in 10 years? Hopefully just as I am now -- happy, with a great husband and two great kids. Kids who will be, good Lord, 19 and 23 by then! And I'll be 50. Great, now I'm depressed. I think I need a Mojito in a tropical place to cheer me up.

Feel free to play along and leave a link to your Meme in the comments!

Separated at birth, nineteen years apart

2008-09-18T16:06:00.000-07:00

If I had a penny for every time someone has said, "Has anyone ever told you how much you look like Vicki Lawrence?" I would have..... oh, a whopping 82 cents by now.

Since I was 13 years old, I've heard this. I hear it more when thinner than heavier because my face tends to round out quite a bit (like now) and I kind of lose that remarkable resemblance everyone claims I have.

I heard it again today from a complete stranger--as always. In fact, all of my friends are always like, "Huh? Who? Really? Vicki Lawrence? Yeah, I guess I kinda see it...." Must be something about knowing me in person versus not knowing me at all that makes the difference. (Although I'm pretty kooky like she is, so who knows.)

A couple of years ago, a friend of mine got to interview Vicki since he was writing a book about her. He actually took my photo to the interview and said, "This is my friend Susan, and everyone tells her she looks like you, and she wants you to know that she lives in Southern California so if you ever need someone to play your 'relative,' she's the one to call!" I couldn't believe he did that. But, supposedly Vicki kind of gasped at my photo and agreed that I do look an awful lot like her, and said she'd keep that in mind. Yeah, sure.

So far, I haven't had Disney calling, asking if I'll play Hannah Montana's aunt, so um... yeah. I'm thinking my odds aren't all that good at this point.

Maybe I should go on Dr. Phil afterall and claim that this is the reason behind all of my overspending.

She'll have fun-fun-fun 'til someone takes her Challenger away

2008-09-16T19:14:00.001-07:00

I'm in love.

Today a co-worker of mine pulled up in a 2009 top-of-the-line exclusive Challenger, with a 6.1 Hemi in it. One that isn't even for sale yet in the United States.

Now, I'm not typically a car girl, but holy mother of God. This thing was HOT.

He was borrowing it from a friend who got it directly from the Chrysler plant in Michigan. This guy's apparently got an in with some big wigs there and they loaned it to him "just because." So Scott brought it to work and took me for a ride in it. He then asked me if I wanted to drive. This thing was worth a fortune, like six digits' worth!

I wiped all of the drool off of my face and got behind the wheel. And then I think I whimpered a little bit while accidentally spinning the wheels and kicking up some gravel. Oh yes I did.

People craned their heads around to look at us driving. It looked THAT good. Or maybe they were just thinking What the hell is that very average looking chick doing driving a car like that?!

Anyway. I'm in love. And again... I would make such a good rich person. God, are you listening?

It's time to get real!

2008-09-15T10:32:00.000-07:00

This is the third time I've almost been on a talk show. The last time, Dr. Phil was doing a show on opposites (couples who have virutally nothing in common). We had a camera crew scheduled to come to our home, arrangements to fly into LAX, a limo set up to take us to the studio in Burbank--the works. My husband said, "Think about it: If you think it's a good idea, I think it's a bad one. We're opposites, remember???" Oh, yeah. THAT. I had to call the producer back and tell her we couldn't make it.

This e-mail came today, and I swear I have absolutely no recollection of having ever sent them any such e-mail. I must've though, because I doubt they just instinctively know that I'm a big spender. Unless the producer just happens to hang out at the Mervyn's in my small town, seven days a week, that is :

Hi Susan,

We are currently working on an extreme spending show and I came across your email about how you are a big spender.

Do you love to shop? Do you charge everything on credit cards? Do you always carry a balance on your credit cards?

If so, please email me back ASAP with a photo of yourself!

Thanks!

Sheryl Judd
Dr. Phil Show
Production Assistant

I can see it now: In his usual sarcastic tone, Dr. Phil asks, "How's this working for you?" I tell him it's working great for me... but my husband? Not so much. Like, my spending makes his brain bleed just a little bit. And that he was particularly upset that I had to buy a new outfit for the show, get my hair colored and highlighted, a facial, eyebrows waxed, nails done, teeth whitened, botox, and a body wrap to take off excess inches....... all of this while he's been out of work for two months with a bad back. Oh, yeah, and more brain bleeding ensued.

So, um... thanks but no thanks, Dr. Phil? Better luck next time?

Where were you when the world stopped turning?

2008-09-11T16:12:00.000-07:00

I almost didn't write anything about 9/11, because it's hard to know exactly what to say. It's almost too big to write about -- too significant for someone as insignificant as me.

I was one of the lucky ones; I didn't lose any family members or friends that day. I did, however, lose a sense of comfort and peace I had once had. Suffice it to say, we all did.

I will never forget that day. Really, who will? I will never forget how it made me feel; not just the obvious sadness and devastation, but that sense that we were no longer safe.

I work for the Department of Defense, on a base that houses the biggest research & development lab in the country. At the time, my toddler was part of the base's daycare, and my son, a part of their afterschool care program. Remember what happened to the daycare center in the Oklahoma City Federal Building when it was bombed in 1995? Yeah, me, too. After 9/11, I wasn't sure I could ever comfortably return to work again, or send my children to their daycares again. What if a terrorist targeted our base? I wondered. It wasn't that far-fetched, really. I felt as if the rug was literally pulled out from under me--from all of us--and I wondered if we'd ever feel as normal or safe as we once had.

I guess after any tragedy our sense of "normal" changes. Whether it's the assasination of a president, the space shuttle exploding in the sky, a tsunami wiping out thousands, a hurricane changing everyone's world, or some cowardly terrorists doing the unthinkable -- "normal" gets readjusted. It's probably why we all remember precisely where we were when those tragedies occurred.

Nowadays, I feel a little safer, but I am reminded of 9/11 every day when I go through the crazy barricaded obstacle course that leads up to our gate guards; I am reminded when I can't park within 50 feet of all the buildings where I do business; I am reminded every morning at 8:00am when the national anthem is broadcast from the base headquarters.

I feel blessed that I don't have to live in New York City, Washington, D.C., or Pennsylvania, and be reminded by bigger, more blaringly obvious things. How empty it must be to see where the Twin Towers once stood; how unnerving to look at the Pentagon and recall the day when a section of it was on fire; how heartbreaking to see that field in Pennsylvania and imagine those innocent passengers putting up the fight of their lives. I feel blessed that I didn't know one, single person that perished that day.

And yet, in a way, we kind of knew them all. They were just like us: moms and dads, daughters and sons, friends and co-workers. Just everyday people trying to go about their lives--not knowing that, in a brief instant, all of it would end. Forever.

There's really nothing more to add... I'm just sending up prayers, asking God to protect us all, and to please comfort those most affected by that tragic and horrific event that took place seven years ago today.