Cheaper Than Therapy

Sometimes You Just Gotta Say...

2012-01-12T05:39:00.002-07:00

Sorry I've been out of the loop for a couple of weeks. I took some much needed R & R to recover from the holiday season both at home and work.

I've been catching up on all the recorded shows I missed and trying to veg-out a bit. Hard to do with everybody in the family wanting/needing something, but I'm doing my best.

Ok, being the juvenile potty-humorist that I am (I blame adoption, I really do!), a couple of commercials have me going WTF?

The first is that vaginal deodorant ad where the character says, "I found out the hard way..."

How? How did you find out? Did your hubby come to bed with a clothespin on his nose? Did somebody on the bus exclaim, "girlfriend, you got some funk?" Did you sit on the lawn and make your own crop circle when all the grass and flowers wilted around your stanky butt? How?

The other commercial that has my head spinning is the new Activia commercial.

Jamie Lee Curtis says, "Keep a video diary and let me know about your new normal"!

Huh? What are you supposed to video? The results in the bowl? You with a smile on your face every day saying, "I just dropped a huge doody, and boy do I feel great!!"???

WTF?

Holiday Hell aka No Good Deed...

2011-12-29T13:31:00.001-07:00

Ok, gotta get this off my chest. Hopefully you guys will throw me a bone and share a holiday from hell story from your past or present so I don't feel so crappy. LOL

My ex-father-in-law is a narcissistic control freak. I've talked about him before and about my issues with him. Both of his children have fled the state and want nothing to do with him. My ex-hubby's inability to deal with him played a part in my decision to divorce.

As the mother of his two oldest grandchildren, I've basically inherited the irascible bastard. After my divorce from his son and over the years, we've hammered out a civil relationship based on---"you follow my rules or you don't get to spend time with my kids".

It's not malice on my part. I recognize the need for my kids to having loving familial relationships. But I also know why Ex-FIL's kids want nothing to do with him. He was an autocratic, abusive bully.

Having f*cked up with his own children, I have to admit that "R", as I'll call him, has worked hard to stay on my good side and has worked hard to be a good grandfather over the years. We've come to have a mutual and tentative respect for each other and our roles in the boys' lives.

Now he is in his 70's, lives alone in an assisted living place, where he scares the crap out of the other residents by bullying them into joining him in his self-styled regimen of diet and exercise. LOL He gets around ok, it's just that he's had some financial and medical setbacks over the past few years.

And he's starting to lose what mind he has left. You know what I mean---some older people get to a point where they just don't care about good manners or they revert back to being the same asshole they were before they started "mellowing".

This year for the first time, he's started trying to march Hubby and I around like we were his actual children, not people who put up with him for the sake of the grandchildren.

Against everybody else's better judgement, I invited R for Christmas dinner. I mean the guy has NOBODY. He's chased his own kids away, and has few friends. I just knew that I couldn't stand the guilt I'd feel thinking that he would be alone for the holidays. And hey---it's good for the kids to spend a little time with him, as tough as it can be (R is the kind of person who has to be the center of attention and monopolizes every conversation to make it revolve around himself, his life, his opinions).

I said, "We'll have dinner and festivities from 2 to 4, so that will give you time to drive home while it's still light" (it's about an hour and a half drive).

Christmas Day dawned early and bright. Got up early, put the stockings under the tree, made breakfast. All the kids (including Kitty) were here, as well as a friend who has been staying as a houseguest. Had a lovely time opening gifts.

Then it hit me. I hurt. I hurt everywhere. From my scalp (which felt like it was on fire) down to my toes. My back ached, my hips ached, my legs ached. I was exhausted and could barely move.

I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia a few years ago. It's been very mild so far and treatable with aspirin or advil. I guess this was my first big "attack". I was down for the count.

Went to bed and woke up a couple of hours later. If possible, I felt worse. My friend said, "You know things are bad when even your eyelashes hurt". Luckily I had prepared the entire Christmas dinner in advance and all it needed was to be heated in the oven. Hubby to the rescue!

As usual, Ex-FIL called to say he would be late, never taking into account that he would upset plans other people made for the rest of the day. Hubby tried to head him off at the pass, saying that I was ill and that we should get together another time. But no, that would be too easy. R was "on his way" and nothing would stop him.

I woke up long enough to chat with him (and apologize for my state) for about 15 or 20 minutes before collapsing back into bed. The kids were kind of freaking out---mom sick? Oh no! The world is ending!

Slept through most of the rest of it, so it was relayed to me by the survivors.

After the meal and visiting, he Just Wouldn't Leave. Even though the Aspiring Adult had plans with his friends and Kitty and Big Kid had to go see her parents, R's car was blocking them in the driveway and he Just Wouldn't Leave. Finally, after ignoring hints and their obvious desperation, Hubby asked him to move his car (it was around 5pm at this time). He moved his car, parked it back in the driveway and parked his ass back on the couch.

Some time later he mentioned that since he was already down here, he thought he'd spend the night and go see some of his friends in the morning. Sorry Dude, no room at the inn. I mean really, where did he think we would put him? Our houseguest is sleeping in Little Guy's room, and Little Guy, Big Kid and Kitty were bunked out in sleeping bags up in the loft.

So he "instructed" my hubby to find him a motel in the area. He was willing to pay $35 a night.

Was he freaking serious? Really? On Christmas? Up here in a mountain town? Even in the off-season, you can't get a room up here for $35 a night.

Hubby, with infinite patience I might add, called up the locals. No go. So R called down to the city (about a half an hour away) and found himself a room. Told them to expect him around 8 or 9pm. Oy.

Around 7, I stumbled out of our room. I heard R's voice and thought I was hallucinating. I turned around and went back to bed.

A little later, just after Hubby had packed up the remains of Christmas dinner and cleaned the kitchen, R says to him. "Since all of the restaurants are probably closed, how about making me a meal to take with me?"

As it turned out, Hubby and Houseguest spent hours entertaining my ex-FIL long after the kids had bailed and left the reservation. Of course that meant listening to the incessant monologue about his life, his interests, his political opinions. He even went out to his car and brought in a bag of jewelry (that was his hobby before he retired) to show our houseguest every piece "because she was so interested" (she wasn't). And then tried to sell her some because he's hard up for cash.

I've apologized over and over for abandoning them to what is essentially, a problem person that I have inherited. They've been very kind about it, but it was a very stressful day. I slept for a day and a night, and felt 100% better afterwards.

The worst part is that next year I'll feel all guilty because he's alone and invite him again, because I always forget THERE'S A REASON HE'S ALL ALONE!!

Grrr.

Synchronicity

2011-12-26T21:59:00.004-07:00

Well, I actually had a Holiday from Hell story, but I'm trying to be upbeat and positive. LOL

Maybe I'll share it later in the week if any of you have similar stories to tell.

As many of you guys know, I'm adopted and that after a long search and journey, I finally found my birth family about 10 years ago. My birth father didn't want to acknowledge a relationship, which I respect, but I've developed a close, loving and lasting relationship with my birth mother and her side of the family.

Many people who grow up within their intact biological families take their shared traits and experiences in stride as being part of a tribe. Is it nature or nurture? Really can't tell.

Parents who adopted from my generation were told that we were little "blank slates" ready to be imprinted with whatever they could "nurture" into us. "Nature" had no value in the psychology of the 60's.

Fast forward a number of years. Many adoptees and birthparents who've reunited have reported eerie happenings of similarity and parallels in our lives.

We call it synchronicity.

As an example, one adoptee I know moved to Arizona because her husband was transferred in his job. She had never lived there, didn't know anybody, or have any friends there, so she volunteered at a terminal cancer ward in a local hospital to bring books and visit with patients there. They were there for about a year.

A few years later after they had moved away and when she had a successful search, she found that her birth father was one of the terminal patients she was ministering to.

How freaky is that?

So here is my synchronicity story.

My birthmom's birthday is around Christmas, so I always send her two presents together. One is her favorite perfume, the other is totally random.

One year I was looking at designer purses online. Since I can't afford the REALLY expensive shit (Louis Vuitton, Kate Spade, etc), I was looking hard at some lesser designers. One designer I really liked, but I rethought it, because buying somebody a purse is as personal as buying underwear. I passed, and bought her something a little more neutral.

What did she send ME for Xmas? The purse I was loving and thinking of sending to HER!

Another year I sent her a zippy red patent leather tote that I thought she would be stylin' in. Turns out she bought the very same tote for a good friend of hers for Xmas.

The year I was diagnosed with heart failure and lost 100 lbs of water, my skin was really loose and dry. In early December I searched around to find SOMETHING that might help me retain some elasticity and decided to splurge on some Clinique Watertherapy (out of the blue. Normally I buy something cheap like Jergens or Vaseline Intensive Care).

What did she send me for Xmas? A basket of Clinique Watertherapy!

So this year, birth mother made a move farther up the east coast where it gets cold, cold, cold. I sent the same favorite foof, and thought I'd send her something to reflect her new climes. A cashmere scarf and gloves.

What did she send ME?

A fantastically gorgeous scarf and gloves. LOL

We had a huge laugh over it. It was another WTF moment.

I talked to my Mom about it today (my adoptive mom). She was one of the parents that the adoption agency told that "nature" was irrelevant and that I was a little blank slate she could imprint herself on. We had another laugh over it all.

She thought she "broke" me because I ended up so quirky.

Mom's so relieved to know that it's all genetic and not her fault.

Snarf.

'Twas the Week Before Christmas

2011-12-21T19:12:00.007-07:00

‘Twas the week before Christmas, and in the Attila house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung on the mantel above,
The guys hope Mom will fill them with love.
(Or better yet, cash)

My offspring were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of I-phones danced in their heads.
Hubby in skivvies and I in my sweats,
Were dreaming of all our holiday debts.

When out of the phone there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
I ran to answer, it was 4 in the morn
Who could it be? It was my first born.

"Are you ok?” I breathlessly said.
"I threw up" he cried, "and I pooped in the bed!”
His voice was filled with such angst and doom;
I convinced him to nix the emergency room.

"It sounds like a bout of the stomach flu.
You will feel better if you follow these rules.
Nothing to eat or drink, just a little water,
and call me later if you start feeling hotter.”

In 24 hours he was a new man,
But then Kitty was puking it up in the can.
We heard on the news of the flu going round
It was another day ‘til she could keep any food down.

The next day my youngest called from his job.
"Mom I’ve got a really big prob.
I’ve been hurling and crapping all morning long,
They won’t send me home and that’s just plain wrong!”

A day after that the kid passed the buck.
Little Guy was awash in a ton of upchuck.
He was so sick; he didn’t fight,
Spent the day in bed sipping broth and flat Sprite.

Two days later I thought we were out of the woods.
Then I woke up and didn’t feel so good.
In fact, I felt sick as a dog;
Was it the flu or the shits from too much egg nog?

Now we’re all better, but stomachs are tender.
If we receive fruit cake, it’s “Return to Sender”.
Christmas dinner is here in our little venue,
So I asked the boys what to leave off the menu.

No eggnog, no pickles, no pumpkin pie,
No bean salad or coleslaw for any one of the guys.
No seafood, corn or even glazed carrots,
And a list of still more; they won’t even dare it.

Christmas dinner in our house will be a bland affair,
But I can serve mashed potatoes with a definite flair.
I wish for the Holidays that your bowels stay tight.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

Love from the Attila Family!

More Angels

2011-12-06T18:41:00.002-07:00

Just got done with our final Holiday Show, and I have to say it completely wiped us out!! Although the weather was really crappy and snowy, there was a decent turn-out, and as for volume---I think we did as good or better than most of the vendors there!

My hubby was a saint. Because parking was limited and far away, he came every hour or so, and picked one of us up and dropped one of us off. That way we always had two people at the booth, but was able to have a breather---work two hours and take one off.

When it was my turn, I had peeled off a big chunk of money from "the wad" (as we called it), plus a check someone wrote us. I didn't want to carry around an excess of big bills, so I asked him to take it home and put it someplace safe.

That night, when we got home, we couldn't find it. And he couldn't remember what he did with it. It was a very very busy day for all of us, and we were all exhausted. He tore the house apart, tore his vehicle apart, etc etc etc. I figured it would show up somewhere, and I was too tired to be worried.

The next day I told a lady at a neighboring booth about it, and she gathered a bunch of vendors together and made everybody put their hands up and call on Saint Anthony---the Saint of finding lost things. Then she firmly stated that it would come back to us.

It was very funny and sweet, and I was touched that the other vendors joined in. There is a lot of camraderie with this group of people.

This lady was a hoot. She was manning a fundraiser booth and she took some of our ornaments and looped them around her ears like earrings and went out in the crowd trying to goad people to our booth. She didn't just do that for us, but for other vendors as well. I think she did wonders for our sales.

Little Guy jumped in with the sales too. He shook hands with passersby and introduced himself (and didn't even ask to see their socks!). He saw quite a few friends that he hadn't seen in awhile and had a wonderful time.

When we got home, again exhausted, Hubby still hadn't been able to find the money. We did pretty well without it, but it really was a bit of a blow. He was beating himself up about it, and I finally said, "PLEASE PLEASE STOP!! If it shows up, it shows up, if it doesn't, it doesn't. I'm feeling worse about YOU feeling bad than about the money!!"

On Monday, I sent the Aspiring Adult to the bank to deposit all the checks we had received. About an hour later, the bank called. I thought it was a problem with one of the checks (one lady had almost walked away without signing hers and I wondered if I had missed one).

"Is this Attila the Mom?" the teller asked. I said, why yes it is.

"There's a man here who just brought in a large sum of cash and a check with your name on it. He's been trying to locate you. Could you tell me about this money?"

I did and did it eagerly! LOL

Turns out this guy found the wad in the snow at the shopping center. Apparently it fell out of Hubby's pocket when he went to pick up sodas and stuff.

And he saved it for two days and went to the bank where the check was from to try to trace me through the person who wrote the check. The teller JUST HAPPENED to be the person who processed my deposit a short time earlier and recognized my name.

How freaking neat is that?

I asked her to give him some of the money as a reward, but he refused it. But she DID happen to note his name and where he worked.

I'm gonna send the guy a gift basket.

Now doesn't that sort of restore some of your faith in humanity?

It does for me. :-)

There's 4 days left to win an ornament and a $50 dollar Visa gift card over at The Fifty Factor. Drop on by!

ATM

Angels Among Us

2011-11-27T19:59:00.002-07:00

They really DO exist! Joanna Jenkins from The Fifty Factor is hosting a giveaway of one of our ornaments plus a $50.00 Visa Gift Card.

Drop on by and register with her. Remember that we ship worldwide, so this giveaway is open to everybody!

xo

ATM

Bling For Everyone!

2011-11-08T09:38:00.008-07:00

Hi all,

We had such a darned time working with the shopping cart on our website that we just don't have enough MORE time to mess with it because we're gearing up for our busy season.

Soooo...we've moved our inventory to Ruby Plaza, where their shopping carts are working just fine!

Check back often because we'll be adding new inventory frequently during the next two weeks.

Also, if you're interested in a custom team-color ornament such as we have listed for your favorite sports fan, we'll be taking orders up until November 30th.

Go take a look and let me know what you think!

HighlandRosesDesign

xoxo

ATM

Busy, Busy, Busy!!

2011-11-04T21:00:00.003-06:00

I'm so sorry I haven't been around to visit you all or posting. I'm exhausted, but ecstatic.

As my long-time blog friends know, a few years ago I started a collaborative craft studio for adults who have developmental disabilities or mental illnesses (and for family caregivers).

It started out as an informal endeavor for art therapy in my dining room, and expanded to an actual business.

First we sold our Christmas creations online, and last year we sold in three venues plus from our website.

This year it's expanded to 8--yes---8 venues, not including on the web! Our ornaments are going to be at one craft show, our town's Home and Garden Tour Boutique, a fine arts gallery up in the big city, 3 gift shops (one is an internationally famous institution that I'm not allowed to name) and a couple of local organizations.

Woohoo!

I'll probably be hawking our stuff a time or two in the next month. Please bear with me. I don't ever try to sell crap or advertisements on my blog for any reason. Our website hasn't been yet been updated, but it will be in the next couple of weeks. We've been so inundated with real-time orders for our ornaments that this has fallen a bit on the wayside.

I've been asked a few times in the last year by a couple of organizations to talk to them about my non-profit project.

I've had to decline, simply because we're not a non-profit.

Why does everybody seem to think that if you employ people who have disabilities, you have to be a non-profit? Sheesh! Why can't we be capitalists too?

We accept no grants or government funding.

The philosophy behind this project?

There is dignity in producing something useful or beautiful. There is dignity in being able to produce something that is lovely and saleable on its own without having to be subsidized because of a perceived disabled condition.

I'll let you guys know when our website has been updated.

Hopefully you'll find something beautiful there that you just have to have this holiday season!

xoxox

ATM

Date Night

2011-10-07T06:19:00.002-06:00

My husband is a saint. I've told you guys over the years how fantastic he is and it's true. Except for one day of the year. Then he's a raging bonehead.

7 or 8 years ago, we put in a pool in our backyard. There is no rec center or YMCA in our town, and for several summers we had to drive the boys down from the mountains into the city so that they could get swimming lessons. One year we decided to forgo our yearly vacation and use the money to put in an outside heated pool instead.

It's been really great for everybody. Except for "pool closing day", which is usually in September.

I dread it.

My mostly easy-going and sweet hubby turns into another person. To close the pool for the winter, we have to drain it by half, put in a bunch of big blow up balls (to keep the remaining water from freezing over), tie down a couple of big heavy-duty tarps and then have the pool company come and disconnect the gas heater.

The first year I helped. But after he started screaming and cussing up a blue moon, I told him that I would never help again. Since then, he's gone through all the boys as helpers---whoever is there and available---and each year, the asshat comes out.

He has an idea of how everything will work in his head. He doesn't articulate it well to whoever is helping. So he gets frustrated and all kinds of foul language flies out of his butt.

Since the weather has been so great, he didn't close the pool until yesterday. And the minion available for "helping" was the Aspiring Adult.

Little Guy was away last night, so I scheduled it as "date night". It's been ages since Hubby and I have had a night alone together and I made reservations at a local steak house a week ago. The fact that the Aspiring Adult had the day off from work was sudden and coincidental, so Hubby planned to have him help close the pool.

Gah.

Yes, the day went as usual. The Aspiring Adult put up with his shit and they got the pool closed.

When the Aspiring Adult found out that we had plans to go out to dinner (without him) he got a little whiny. According to him, old people don't need time alone, since it's inconceivable that in our decrepitude we'd have any romantic feelings (oh! the horror!) left. We never take HIM out to dinner (uh---the last time we all went out we treated not only him, but his girlfriend as well). But since he was the designated "pool helper" this year, I compromised and agreed to bring him home a steak dinner.

At the restaurant, Mr. Grumpy was still---well grumpy. I wasn't planning on spending two hours without kids with THAT, so extreme measures had to be taken.

While the waiter (young college guy) was taking our drink order, Hubby was looking at the menu. "What's the soup of the day?" he asked.

The waiter went into a rambling description of the chef's specialty, Brussels Sprouts Bisque.

"Hmm, sounds good."

NO! I blurted out. If you eat that, you'll be farting all night long! The waiter's jaw dropped.

Hubby started snickering. "You're right. Guess I better pass." The waiter scurried off to get our drinks. When he came back, we were ready to order.

My beloved ordered the crab dip.

I ordered the Brussels Sprouts Bisque.

The waiter raised his eyebrows, and said, "er, Ma'am, aren't you worried about the-er-unfortunate side effects?"

Of course not, I responded breezily. My farts I can stand. His, on the other hand, are dreadful.

Then Hubby and I burst out laughing. By the end of the meal, when we shared a heavenly Banana's Foster, my saint was back.

Oh golly, we're such juveniles! Good thing the Aspiring Adult wasn't there. He'd be so embarrassed.

The Poop

2011-09-21T10:09:00.002-06:00

Geez Louise! This past week the stomach flu hit half the family, one right after another. First Kitty, then Hubby, then Little Guy, then Big Kid. Only the Aspiring Adult and I escaped (knock on wood).

On the good side, the Aspiring Adult passed his CNA certification exams. Woohoo!

More later...

Come Together...

2011-08-21T21:00:00.002-06:00

Ok. Well this is awkward. But I'd like to hear some experiences, just as--uh--maybe a poll---if you will, from some of my friends in blogland.

Men, this will prolly be more awkward for you, so feel free to run, run like hell.

When I was a teen and early 20ish person, my reading taste ran to the historical romantic bodice rippers (I still think that Jennifer Wilde's Angel in Scarlet is the best romance novel ever written. The fact that the author turned out to be an aging man with a bad comb-over really freaked me out for a lot of years).

Later my taste turned to horror (Steven King, Anne Rice, etc), and ultimately to mystery/thrillers.

While my friend KL was here, I turned her on to some of my fave authors (Beverly Connor, Charlene Harris, Elizabeth George and Martha Grimes). We went to the library and borrowed a buttload of books.

Anyhoo, I picked up a few old romance favorites for nostalgia's sake, just because...and then sampled what those authors had written since then, and then tried a few more. I like Amanda Quick, except that she tends to pick a sexual phrase and beat it to death within each particular book. I mean how many times can a man's kiss be "drugging"? Gah.

Now that I'm older, and have been around the block a time or two, I'm viewing these books with a different eye. Instead of thinking that this stuff is the ultimate in romantic relationships, I'm thinking, "who in the hell are you kidding?"

I remember my first time with sex as being awkward, painful and a bit messy. Yes I was certainly aroused and interested to begin with, but did it turn out to be explosively satisfying?

No.

I wondered what the big freaking deal was.

I've read 10 books in a row, and in each one, the hero has (after the brief, painful thrust) brought his lover to the heights of ecstasy. Has this actually happened to anyone?

In my case at the time I was wondering "oh geez am I bleeding all over the place?" and "Oh God, I feel like I'm going to fart!" Actually having an orgasm wasn't even in the ballpark. I just didn't want to embarrass myself.

I've been married twice, and had a few boyfriends in between. Sex has never been a problem in my long-term relationships. It's mostly been fun, freaky and fabulous.

But never, ever have we reached "the moment" at the same time.

In my 20's it made me feel inadequate when I read those books. I thought that "two hearts that beat as one" means you should be able to time yourselves and work together to--uh--share the moment.

I'd just like to read ONE book where the heroine turns to her lover after he's limp and lifeless and says, "I'm not done yet. Can you get the fireworks out of your eyes and come over here and help finish me off?"

LOL

So what's been YOUR experience? C'mon, don't be shy!

People are Weird

2011-08-20T07:16:00.001-06:00

Do you ever read comments about a book or a movie or a show and think, "WTF? Are we talking about the same book, movie, show? That is so NOT what I took away from it?" Then you spend a bit of time being boggled about how people view things differently?

I've written before about my unwholesome addiction to the "Real Housewives" franchise. I didn't watch the Miami series, but did catch the Beverly Hills one last year, because I was a big Kim Richards fan as a kid and was having a "Where are they now?" moment. Oy vey. Wasn't planning on watching it again.

One of the Housewives was going through marital issues and had separated from her husband this past year during filming of the new season. About a week ago, he committed suicide, around a month before the new season will air. I clicked on the link to the story and was stupid enough to read the comments.

One that really caught my eye said something like, "OMG!! She was such a bad wife!! She freaked out because he bought their daughter a really CUTE puppy for her birthday!"

Gah. What I saw was a guy who was rarely at home (in person and in mind), mention to his wife something about buying their daughter a puppy for her birthday, and she said no. Because he wasn't going to be around to help train it, feed it, walk it, and she was feeling overwhelmed and didn't want all the extra crap on her plate. So what did he do? Buy the kid a puppy and present it to her at her huge birthday party, making the mom look like an ogre if she said no.

Turns out the kid was allergic to the dog, and mom not only had to deal with all the puppy issues, but take the kid to an allergist frequently to make them compatible. It wasn't working, so mom had to deal with the heartbreak with the kid over giving the dog away.

Bad bad wife. :::sigh:::

Lost My Marbles

2011-08-17T10:18:00.002-06:00

My good friend KL came and stayed with us for June and July. She's decided to give our little burg a chance and is moving up here to the mountains in the beginning of September. Little Guy is ecstatic, because she's more like an aunt then a friend, and you know him, he's all about family.

While she was here, I related a story about how when the boys were little, Big Kid was always looking for a chance to tattle on Little Guy. The problem was that Little Guy NEVER did anything (other than the annoyance of just existing as a younger sibling) that needed to be tattled on. He cleaned up after himself, never got into other people's stuff, didn't start fights, etc.

Poor Big Kid had to live with the frustration. But that didn't stop him.

He'd whine, "Mooooooom!! Little Guy--he's--he's DOING!" LOL

That whole story came to mind after seeing the Home Depot commercial where they use the slogan "More Saving. More Doing."

So for the whole 2 months that KL was here, every time we heard the word, one of us would race to shout "DOING"!! no matter where we were in the house. Then hubby and the kids started "doing" it.

Yeah, I know. We're easily amused. For some reason, the memory tickled our collective funny bone.

Anyway, I usually shop at 6am when the grocery stores open. I like it because it's quiet, there's nobody there, and I don't have to get annoyed by the freaking car carts filled with a dozen kids that block the aisles. It's like having the store to myself.

A couple of weeks ago I was in the store bright and early. I'd only had a half a cup of coffee (don't like having to use public bathrooms) and was a little groggy. While I was looking distractedly for a coupon in my binder (I KNOW it's in there!) I heard a couple of other shoppers in the next aisle.

"What are you doing?" she asked her companion.

"DOING!!" I shouted before I could stop myself.

Gak.

Then I ran away. Real fast.

Road Trip

2011-08-07T21:38:00.000-06:00

Just got back from our "vacay". LOL

Since Little Guy couldn't go visit his bio-dad in California this year (b-dad didn't have any vacation time or money to fly Little Guy out there), we decided to try to give our boy a mini-vacay instead. We've footed the bill for the last 5 years to fly our guy out to see his b-dad, and this year it was his turn. His wife already has her hands full with their three young sons, and we (bio-dad and I) didn't feel it was worth it to fly Little Guy out there (on our dime again) if they couldn't spend any quality time together.

WE weren't planning any substantial getaways, simply because Hubby is working 2 jobs and just doesn't have the time. I asked Little Guy what would be an acceptable substitute that he would be satisfied with.

He decided that he would LOVE to:

Go to the big city and see his grandparents, go to the amusement park, and see a friend that we haven't seen in several years.

So last month I insisted that Hubby reschedule anything he had going this particular weekend (NOT TAKING NO FOR AN ANSWER!). I got my oldest brother to take Little Guy to the amusement park for the day (he's the only one who can stomach the rides), and we spent the rest of the weekend driving between restaurants meeting up with people and sleeping in strange beds. Urgh.

Little Guy had a fantastic time.

Me? The highlight of the entire weekend was when we were stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic for 3 hours and my two guys were singing the chorus of "It's Raining Men" in the car.

Too cute. I laughed my ass off.

Ads that Annoy

2011-08-03T06:48:00.006-06:00

Some ads on TV are touching, or tickle your funny bone. I LOVE the State Farm Mayhem ads, starring the guy that used to be on Rescue Me. Since the Aspiring Adult wrecked out 4 cars in a year by weird and stupid stuff, that's our new nickname for him---Mayhem.

The Foundation for a Better Life ads are inspiring. They're always good for a warm fuzzy.

But Geezus Pete, aren't there ads that just annoy the shit out of you? I am SO freaking glad that most of the programs we're interested in watching we can tape on DVR and watch the next day and fast forward over the increasingly long and inane ads.

These are a couple of my most hated:

The Excedrin ad where the guy says, "I didn't just WASH the deck, I POWER WASHED IT!" (cue scene where plates and napkins are drenched and flying through the air). What kind of fool "power" washes a deck AFTER it has been completely decorated for an event and all the place-settings are out on the tables?

And then there is the Angel Soft ad where the guy steps out of the bathroom and says, "Honey can you throw me a roll of toilet paper?" She has the multi-pack roll on the kitchen counter, throws it to him down the hall, and it shaves off the hair on the side of his head because it's so "rough".

Then supposedly days (or weeks) later, lame Hubby steps out of the bathroom with part of his hair grown back and says, "Honey, can you throw me a roll of toilet paper?" and the roll she throws at him blows up in his face like an exploding feather pillow because it's too "soft".

Who in the hell stores their toilet paper on the kitchen counter? Wouldn't a normal person store it in or near the bathroom? Like under the sink or something where it would be easy to get to? Urk

Which ads annoy you?

Silly Boy

2011-07-22T21:49:00.003-06:00

Little Guy is getting ready to go to camp.

We are so very fortunate to live within 5 miles of a fantastic camp for people who have developmental disabilities. He's been going every summer for about 7 or 8 years now. Most of the campers come from way away (like different states), and many of us have tried to reserve the same week every year so that our adult kids can meet up with old friends.

This year, Little Guy has decided that he is capable enough to do his own packing, and we strongly encourage any and every act of independence! Armed with a sharpie, he set to work. He took the communal shampoo from the bathroom, his dad's deodorant, his brother's special body wash, and wrote his name on all of it. Then he tried to make off with my hairbrush.

I pointed out that we had new and unused items (not the hairbrush) in the big bathroom closet to help himself to, instead of raiding other people's stuff.

"I'm only going to be gone a week, Mom!"

Then I pointed out that we have a camp list and offered it to him. "I don't need a list!!"

Well, actually, you do. If you show up without stuff you need, they might send you home! Upon check-in, the counselors go through every item with us to make sure everything is accounted for and labeled.

So reluctantly, he took the list.

About 5 minutes later, he came back into the room, with the list in his hand.

"Uh Mom?"

What?

"Do I need a fishing license?"

No. You don't actually fish, you always boat instead. Unless you'd like to try fishing this year?

"No". And he left the room.

5 minutes later he came back.

"Uh Mom?"

What?

"Do I have to get a bra?"

Head smack time! LOL I didn't notice that the list was unisex. At least we got the bra out of the way before he got to the feminine hygiene products! I can only imagine what the counselor would think if Little Guy pulled out a box of my tampons at check-in!

:-)

Need Some Brain Power

2011-07-16T16:06:00.002-06:00

Sorry I haven't been around that much lately. Our Studio participated in a big "Christmas in July" show at the beginning of the month and spent much of June (when I wasn't taking goof balls for the pain in my butt) preparing for it.

Now we're in the midst of revamping our website and came across a revolting development...

This past year we've been creating dozens and dozens of new and fabulous ornaments, but we've run out of the brain power to name them! Gah!! We've used Christmas Carol names, and goodie names, but frankly, coming up with this stuff doesn't seem to be the forte of anybody in our group.

We're on terminal brain fart.

I know it really isn't the time of year to be thinking about this stuff, but if anybody could give us some ideas...we'd like to get the site finished before the season starts. LOL

They can be short, long, serious, silly, whatever. You come up with them, we'll find an ornament to fit them!

Smooches in advance!!

Rantipants

2011-06-23T06:57:00.002-06:00

Ok, haven't put my rantipants on for awhile. But since my heinie already hurts, now is as good a time as any.

Does anybody really give a shit what Bristol Palin thinks?

I've been seeing headlines for the last couple of days touting her new book. Stuff like, "Bristol Disses the McCains" and "How Bristol Lost Her Virginity".

Gah.

Not that I think Levi Johnston (the father of her child) is any less of an opportunistic douchebag, but she comes as close as she can to branding him a rapist without targeting herself for a lawsuit. And of course, her staying in a relationship with him for the next few years just proves that she is a victim. Feh.

Her story is as old and used up as time. Who DOESN'T know a highschool princess who got knocked up by a townie? What makes it newsworthy, other than the fact that her mother is famous? Seriously.

Thinking that the world is interested in how she lost her virginity makes her a ho in more ways than one, IMO.

What do YOU think?

P.S. I just LURVE Vicodin!

PITA

2011-06-20T04:47:00.002-06:00

Sorry I've been away----I took some time off to wrap up the end of the school year and to psych myself up for some oral surgery I was dreading. It turned out to be practically a breeze---the only painkiller I needed to take afterwards was the low-dose aspirin I take every night for my heart. Then a couple of days later I hurt myself. Badly.

Remember that old song we learned as kids---"Dem Bones"?

"With the hip bone connected
to the back bone,
and the back bone connected
to the neck bone,
and the neck bone connected
to the head bone...blah blah blah"

It's a lie. A big fat lie.

Every single part of your body is connected to one thing. Your ass bone.

I mean it. And I know this for a fact, because yes, I hurt my ass.

Not going to get into the nitty gritty of what and how, but for the record, no, it wasn't hemorrhoids, and no, I didn't fall while hanging curtains nekkid and land on a potato that just HAPPENED to be sitting there (the excuse some guy told an ER when they had to pry a potato out of his rectum---no kidding!). If you were thinking that, well shame on you!

That said, when you hurt your heinie it is excruciating to:

Bend over
Sit down
Lay down
Get up
Sit for any length of time
Stand still
Walk
Take the stairs
Sneeze
Cough
Fart
Use the facilities
Reach behind you to scratch your back
Reach your hands up to brush your hair on the back of your head

The only time it DOESN'T hurt is when I'm laying in a hot bathtub of water with my knees up to take the pressure off that area (every part of my body is all pruny from doing that 6-8 times a day---except for my knees, that is), or when I'm laying in bed in ONE position with a heating pad.

But then again, it hurts like the dickens to get in and out of the tub and bed, so it almost makes it not worth it. Almost.

Extra-strength Advil wasn't cutting the pain even slightly, so a couple of days ago I broke down and accepted some Vicodin hubby had left over from when he got his wisdom teeth out last year.

Ahhhh, a tiny bit of relief! I don't like walking into walls, though.

So I'm going to take a few more days off to let this pain in my ass heal. Then Big Kid will take over from there. LOL

Be good! Use sunscreen!

ATM

At Last!

2011-05-23T16:08:00.001-06:00

After filing a second claim over a year ago (the first one is still in appeals), and supporting Big Kid in a separate household (he hasn't been able to live with us because of the altitude) as well as paying for all of his continuing medical expenses....

Today his claim was finally approved by Social Security.

I'm waiting for it to be 4 o'clock somewhere so I can have a big freaking martini.

Oh wait, it's 4 now!

Judy 101

2011-05-19T21:56:00.004-06:00

You guys know how much I love Judge Judy. Yes, she's bitchy, brassy and sometimes even benevolent. As a connoisseur of Judge shows (big fan of People's Court and Judge Joe Brown), I like how she's straight to the point, and doesn't try to be a buddy to anybody.

That said, I have a confession. When the guys were in high school, I had a standing date with them to be home at 4pm to watch it with me. If they didn't have school activities or work, I insisted on it. LOL

Even now that they are all out of high school, if there is a show I find particularly relevant to any of them, I make them watch it before I:

1) cook anything for them or 2) give them money.

Then we discuss it to make sure they get the point.

I doubt that I could talk any universities into doing a class on Judge Judy, although some of them have inane and useless courses on things like Madonna's Impact on Pop Culture or The Effect the Beatles had on Rock and Roll. By then you think these students are almost fully cooked (although you see a bunch of college-aged doofuses on there).

I think you have to get to them sooner. Before they become college-aged doofuses. By then it might be too late.

If only we could get high schools---maybe the Civics classes or English classes---to offer extra credit points for a special project. That way, if they're falling behind, they could get some extra points towards a better grade.

My idea? Watch 20-30 episodes of Judge Judy bitch-slapping people around, and write an essay answering some specific questions. That way, they'll have a basic grasp on some legal and common sense issues.

Such as:

Don't lend money to friends or family members. Or boyfriends who don't have jobs, or have fathered any children out of wedlock, even with you. Or girlfriends who are 10 or more years younger than you. Or girlfriends who are really hot and you're not.

If you're stupid enough to do the above, get the repayment terms in writing before you hand over the moolah. Otherwise, they'll claim it as a "gift".

Don't co-sign a loan for a car or anything else. For anyone, including your children. If you can't afford to give them the money, too bad for them.

Don't put anybody on your cell phone plan.

Don't sign a lease with somebody you don't know REALLY WELL.

If you want to have a dangerous type of dog you are responsible for everything that dog does (or any dog for that matter, but you wouldn't believe the Asshats who claim their dog is gentle after it ripped somebody's face off).

Don't let anybody else drive your car. Evah!! If you are drunk, take a cab.

Don't put somebody else's utilities/cable/etc in your name. There's a reason why they can't get it in THEIR name!

Hide your car keys. Adventurous teenagers and crappy roommates abound!

Don't try to give your friend a tattoo or a piercing, especially if he/she is a minor.

Throwing your friend in a pool as a joke isn't funny if they have a 300 dollar cell phone in their pocket. Or Iphone, Ipad, Iwhatever.

Same with tackling someone unexpectedly, jumping on them from behind, or throwing a ball in their face.

Getting drunk and vomiting, peeing or defecating anywhere in the structure (including stairwells and decks) that you rented for spring break is going to cost you your security deposit if you don't thoroughly clean up after yourself and your friends.

If you get a settlement for an injury, inherit a sum, or get a grant, don't "loan" any of it to anybody for any reason. They are leeches who smell opportunity. Some people feel entitled to another's "windfall".

Having a party in your dorm room is going to cost if somebody spills a drink on your roommate's laptop. Your party, your fault.

When you try to collect monies owed, be prepared for friends or family members to try to make you out to be the bad guy. They will say you are "money hungry". Notice that the people who say that are trying to screw you out of money THEY owe you. Happens every time. That's why you shouldn't loan money to friends or family members.

Did I leave anything out?

What do YOU think?

Awkward Neighbor Stories....

2011-05-08T20:30:00.003-06:00

I just read an article about Awkward Neighbor Stories, and it had me in stitches!

Here's my story:

Shortly after we moved to our home up here in the mountains (about 14 years ago), our neighbor---who was a kind of creepy middle-aged single guy---made an offhand comment to me.

"You really need to get some curtains for your bathroom. I can see you when you're getting out of the shower."

Gak! I got curtains right away.

We live in a mountain development that has a minimum of 2 acres per lot. The houses aren't right next to each other---if one is built at the top of one lot, the next one is built at the bottom. There are a lot of mature pine trees on the lots as well.

But faced with that kind of confrontation, I didn't know what to think. Yes, it was awkward. VERY awkward!

A few years later, he moved, and we've had several different neighbors since then. A couple of years ago, a good friend of ours bought the house next door.

Last summer, they invited us over for an afternoon-into-night BBQ. We'd never actually been there for any appreciable time.

Anyhoo, I was telling friend's wife about creepy former neighbor, and she said, "we can't see into your house AT ALL!" So we went on a quest. We looked out of every window they had that was facing our house, and at different vantage points on their property.

The only way you could see into MY bathroom is if it was dark and you were at least 70 feet onto OUR property.

How revolting is that?

What's YOUR awkward neighbor story? Dish! Dish!

Thank You!

2011-05-06T21:34:00.001-06:00

Thanks guys for stepping up to the "plate" LOL and giving me all these great ideas! I've been cooking my heinie off!

Love you!

ATM

With a Little Help From my Friends...

2011-05-05T05:08:00.003-06:00

A couple of months ago, a good friend of mine was plagued with some shoulder and upper back pain. She's always been disgustingly healthy, so she put off going to the doctor.

Good thing she didn't put it off any longer.

She has a cancerous tumor the size of a baseball in her lung.

Right now, she's on a 7-week regimen of chemo and radiation. Meaning she rides down into the city 5 times a week to get a treatment of one or the other or both.

And she continues to work a full-time job. Gah.

Her employers are more than willing to give her all the time off that she needs. Her job and insurance wouldn't be affected, but she says that if she doesn't work, she'd just sit at home and dwell on her illness. A week into her regimen, her hair started falling out, so last Saturday she went and had it shaved. What a woman!

Although her friends and family have all signed up to be designated drivers down into the city, I'm working on a little something else.

It's important that she keep her weight up, but after going to the city for treatment and then working, she's too tired to cook a lot of the time. Frozen crap is boring and not tempting to the tastebuds. A diet of fast food isn't terribly healthy.

Plus, she doesn't eat meat. Not for any ideology---she just doesn't like it. She does however, eat eggs, cheese and fish.

I've decided to stock up her freezer with some yummy comfort foods she can just pop in the oven or microwave. I've already made several vegetable and cheese quiches, but I'm looking for something different, some variety.

Guess I could look up recipes on the web, but I don't want to make her a guinea pig. LOL

So I'm turning to you guys.

Do you have any tried and true recipes you cook for your family that she might like?

I'm looking for:

rice/pilaf/vegetable dishes (I already have a kick-ass Spanish rice recipe)
a different kind of mac and cheese recipe (not out of a box)
pasta recipes
potato recipes (I'd really like a scalloped or au gratin potato recipe that isn't the usual)
Soups/stews

And if you could send up a thought for healing, I'd truly appreciate it.

xo

ATM

Blogging Against Disabilism---The Road to Hell....

2011-05-01T00:01:00.007-06:00

Good intentions are always better than bad ones. But as the saying goes, the road to hell is paved with them.

My middle son has autism and some cognitive delays. He's been fully included in school since the first grade, with a para-educator. I've written a lot about him over the years, most especially about the fact that he has a passion for food and people and Disney Princesses. And his ever-present foot phobia. ;-)

Little Guy is a wonderful cook. He pores over cookbooks, and creates his own recipes and culinary masterpieces in our kitchen. He needs a bit of supervision with the stove, oven and chef's knives (Hubby used to own a resteraunt and we have a very sharp jumbo professional set), mostly because he hasn't had any formal training. As a protective mom, I don't want to find a finger in a casserole or have the house burn down.

A few of his creations over the years have been fantastically crappy, but he continues to have a lot of willing guinea pigs here. LOL

Most of his creations are marvelous. And his plate presentation is innovative and superb.

He is now 21, and has started in a pilot culinary school program for people who have disabilities that is down the mountain in the big city. There are 2 teachers to 4 students---and it's an extraordinary curriculum. While he was waiting for it to start and before they offered him a place as a student, however, he took a weekly adult baking course at the facility last fall semester and it almost tanked his chances of getting into the main program.

As the term was drawing to a close, the instructor spoke with both my son's transitions leader and his DVR caseworker, and expressed concerns that this might not be the right program or career path for him.

The alleged problem(s)?

Number one---Little Guy didn't like taking things out of the oven. He seemed fearful of getting burned.

Number two---Every time he wiped the counters during clean-up, he insisted on getting a clean dry towel from storage instead of using the one he just used 20 minutes ago.

Frankly, I was a little annoyed.

Well no, I guess that's an understatement. I was a LOT annoyed. I talked with his instructor quite a few times during the semester and she never said a word about her concerns to me. Or apparently to my son. He didn't have a clue.

So our transitions leader had a sit down with her and this is how it shook out:

The instructor never said anything to Little Guy because she was afraid of hurting his feelings. I guess she just assumed that the issues should resolve themselves on their own, because she never even addressed him about his resistance to these tasks. But her worry about his feelings almost cost him an opportunity to pursue training in the one true career he has a passion (and talent) for.

I sat the kid down and had a conversation with him.

"XXXX said that you seemed to be afraid to take things out of the oven. You take things out of the oven here all the time. Is there something different that's worrying you?"

Turns out that the class uses oven mitts he's not comfortable with because he has really big hands and they're tight. At home he has his own "Ove-Gloves" (an As Seen On TV product) that are a bit stretchy and fit comfortably. So I called the instructor and asked if it would be an issue if he brought his own oven mitts to class. Problem solved.

I asked him about the second problem, the one about having to use brand-new towels when cleaning up after himself instead of using the one he started with. This was a little more complicated. It seems that when we drummed the "germ" thing (the necessity to constantly wash his hands) into him last year when his older brother almost died from H1N1, it kind of morphed into the knowledge base he already had from Brawny commercials and home ec classes.

Used rags are more germy than paper towels. Germs are REALLY bad.

I explained to him that in a commercial kitchen environment, the pace has to be fast and that it's ok to use a towel you used 20 minutes ago. If there's debris on it, shake it out in the trash and rinse it out well in the sink. Only if it's really filthy would it be ok to go get a new one (I certainly wouldn't want my food to be prepared on a space that was wiped with a filthy rag). Problem solved.

In my opinion, the instructor must have been new to teaching students who have different learning styles although the school said not. You'd think that as soon as the issues started cropping up, she'd say something to me as an involved and engaged parent. Who but those closest to Little Guy would be in the best position to give communication tips? If I had known weeks earlier, we could have resolved it and he could have been performing at his best potential, instead of possibly writing him out of the program due to her perception of what his feelings might be.

Does he throw tantrums? Is he emotionally fragile? No to both. So WTF?

My son is there to learn. You are there to teach him. You're not going to hurt his feelings by correcting him, that is part of your function as a teacher, and if I had known about this earlier I could have reassured you about it. As a "seasoned" educator to people who have learning differences, why didn't you know that there's more than one way to skin a cat (culinary pun unintended)?

After complaining to a friend of mine who is in the business of finding job placements for young people who have disabilities, he confessed an alarming trend that he has been battling.

He goes regularly to observe the clients he places, just in case they need a little extra job-coaching to be good employees. In several of the placements, he's noticed that the staff treat his client not as a fellow-employee, but more like a younger sibling.

Meaning, if the job isn't done right, they let it slide instead of insisting that he or she complete the tasks that they are being paid for. And they talk to them in "baby" voices.

He questioned the employers and as it turns out that they---like Little Guy's previous instructor---are afraid of seeming to "be mean" and "hurting feelings".

Gah.

Like I said the intentions are good, but it's disabilism at it's finest (or worst).

Not insisting that an employee (or student) perform to his or her potential is bad in the long term, because it won't help them to grow or learn to be employable in the future. If you are kind and respectful in your tone and your terms (Basic Civility 101), correcting doesn't have to involve hurting feelings.

Why not treat all with equal courtesy?

_____________________________________

Today is the 5th annual Blogging Against Disabilism Day. I'm so proud to be able to be a part of it.

Please take some time to click on the picture below, visit some of the participating blogs and give your support.

Best to all,

ATM

Blogging Against Disabilism May 1st

2011-04-29T10:35:00.002-06:00

Don't forget that Sunday is Blogging Against Disabilism Day! Join us!

Dear Mom...

2011-04-20T18:51:00.001-06:00

Dear Mom,

Ever since we moved into the same mobile home park as Kitty's family, I'm still having the same problem. Her mom, dad and sister come and go as they please more than once a day and they still never knock. They just walk in. I know you said I should keep the doors locked but Kitty gave them all keys in case we lose ours, so if I lock the door they use the keys. Kitty doesn't want to tell them to stop because they all walk in and out of each other's places all the time. She says that's what family does. I tried to talk to her sister about how much it bothered me but she said that as long as Kitty lives here, she can walk in whenever she wants. I don't want to say anything to her mom and dad because they don't like me because we're living together anyway. Any advice?

Luv you

BK

Dear Son,

You're just going to have to face the fact that her parents are never going to love you. They barely tolerated her first husband, and you're the guy defiling their daughter by living in sin. That she is 25 years older than you apparently doesn't enter into the equation. Frankly, I think I'M the one who should be pissed off. ;-)

That said, I think there's only one solution. Since neither of you are willing to confront them or take away the keys, I think you should revert back to childhood and embrace your previous predisposition towards nudism. Remember all those years I had to chase you around the house with your underwear flapping in my hand like a flag of surrender?

If they walk into YOUR home uninvited, they can hardly act shocked or offended to find you with your junk on display. If they have the further bad manners to insist that you put clothes on, simply say "If you had called first or been invited, I certainly would have made the time to put some pants on."

If by the third time encountering you the way God made you they haven't gotten the point, then they're all completely perverted individuals and you should demand your keys back. I'll buy you some of those magnetic box thingys and you can place them in strategic places on the underside of the mobile home in case you guys misplace your keys.

And my dear boy, if you ever confuse their bad manners with normal behavior and walk into MY house without knocking, I'll shove my foot so far up your butt that my toes will be being playing tootsie with your tonsils.

Love you back!

Mom
___________________________________________

Dang, solving his problem was so easy!! I should solve EVERYBODY'S problems!!!

Who's next? LOL

On Second Thought...

2011-04-19T18:22:00.001-06:00

Prolly not the greatest idea to give my ex an ass-kicking on the internet. ;-)

Young Love

2011-04-06T22:11:00.006-06:00

Little Guy and I drove up to Mom's house a couple of weeks ago to get away from it all here. Also to help her go through more crap from her basement, now that she has an incentive to make more space (her new hubby also has a house full of crap so they're commuting between the two homes instead of living in one).

We spent a day going through a couple of trunks that were filled with items and memorabilia from my first step-dad's family (they were married for 24 years and he passed away about 5 years ago). She had originally gone through it and parceled out things that may have historical or emotional value to what's left of his family (they had no children together), such as photos, yearbooks, family heirlooms, etc. The rest was vague not family items that remained unclaimed.

She had a hard time going through it again and letting things go. I think she needed me to be there to share in the memory of Pops while we decided what to keep, what to throw away and what to sell. And believe me, there were a TON of things that needed to go into the burn pile. He saved receipts for EVERYTHING! as a full-time Presbyterian minister and part-time John Deere mechanic. 50-some odd years worth. He not only kept every notebook full of his repair schedule, but every receipt ever paid to his little church for weddings, funerals, etc.

We also found the bewildered and awkward letter his dad wrote to him while he was away at Aero-Cal learning to be an airplane mechanic--wondering why he hadn't been writing regularly (and telling what prices were going for eggs from the farm). They were worried that he was living the wild life out there in the big bad hedonistic California. And we found the corresponding letter Pops wrote to him explaining that he felt he had been called by God to become a minister and would like to go to seminary. Mom and I had a good cry over them.

Later my older brother and his girlfriend came to dinner. I had brought a cooler filled with an Asian feast I had cooked in advance---just had to steam, boil and broil a few things.

Afterwards, we were away from the old folks having a smoke on the porch. My brother and his girlfriend said an unkind and snotty thing about Poppa G (what I call Mom's new hubby). It really ticked me off.

Okay, I get that my brothers are unhappy that Mom got remarried, especially since she had proclaimed that she wasn't going to do it again, and dumped several early beaus who kept wanting to get hitched. She and Poppa G had been seeing each other for a couple of years and he isn't a guy preying on a widow to financially take care of him or medically take care of him. He's comfortable financially and very active. When I was there he took me aside and showed me the plans for a cruise he's booked through Scotland's rivers to take my mom through the birthplaces of her ancestors. Very sweet.

Before their marriage they both drew up a very comprehensive pre-nup that spells out in detail that they pay their own bills, medical and otherwise. They both have assets and children. There is nothing that my brothers have to worry about, although I don't see any problem with my mom spending her money as she wants, considering that she's spent a hell of a lot bailing both of them out during the years.

They both complain that Poppa G is cold and curt to them. Maybe so. He's been nothing but kind and warm and courteous to me and my family. It may be because he's very protective of my mom, and sees that everything I do is to help make her life more comfortable, not add a burden to it, whereas my brothers pop into her life when they need something, mostly money.

Really, I don't know what they expect. I live 2 hours away and talk to her at least 3 times a week. They live 5-10 minutes away and are too busy to see her other than every month or so. Did they expect her to live out the rest of her life alone in that big house without companionship? I don't get it.

So the second night we were there, I took them to a Mexican restaurant as the designated driver in my shiny new red Cadillac. They were having a hard time getting strapped in, mostly because Poppa G was trying to fit his seat belt into the middle seat holder which is inexplicably a different shape.

"I can't get it in!" he bellowed.

My mom unstrapped herself. "Let me help you find it!"

"You say that all the time!" he snarked back.

She turned red and said, "oh shit".

I laughed so hard I nearly plotzed myself. Then I threatened to make them get out if they couldn't behave themselves. They both had a couple of beers at dinner and the hilarity continued.

Over those few days, I heard my mom, the retired Methodist minister say "shit" more than I've ever heard in my life. Poppa G confessed to me that the day he fell in love with my prim, correct Momsy was the day she inadvertently farted and blurted out, "oh shit!".

Like mother like daughter. Wow, we finally have something in common! LOL

Today we had a funny little chat where she told me a story about how they heard a joke the other day that sent them into gales of laughter.

They were standing and hanging on to each other in support when Poppa G said, "Oh no. I think I peed a little."

Mom said, "Oh shit. So did I!"

I'm so very grateful that she has found someone to love and laugh (and pee pants) with in the twilight years of her life.

Everyone should be so blessed.

Asshat of the Week

2011-03-28T06:25:00.007-06:00

I haven't done an Asshat for awhile---not because there weren't plenty of them, but because maybe there's just a kinder, gentler me.

Ok no. That would be lying. For the last year I've just been drifting in sort of a cloud of ennui. I think that what my good friend Kim Ayres said in my last comments section about getting a protective emotional layer stripped off when facing a tragedy holds true.

I avoid engaging in stuff that pisses me off, because I already have enough scary emotions to deal with.

Life goes on though, and I need to get over it.

So this week's Asshat goes to AOL commenters.

I have AOL, and now, after 13 years, I pretty much loathe it. BUT I have a lot saved on here. I don't want to lose any data, and I don't want to spend the time changing it over to something else.

Please don't comment on all the better things I could have. I've researched it, and just don't want to go through the hassle.

I click on the links on the welcome page if something catches my fancy. Many articles are inane and totally tork me off with the piss-poor writing and content. Some are interesting. What is consistent is the incredible ignorance and hatefulness of the number of AOL users who bother to comment on articles.

In practically every article, some nincompoop has to make it about race. Or immigration. Or Obama (If the article is about Scarlett Johannson's bikini wax the comments run to how it's the President's fault the rainforest is shrinking). Or their so illiturate thet u cayunt unnerstan wa thar talkin bout. And then there's the large percentage who don't read for comprehension.

Holy crap. It's scary to think these people can vote.

Last night I read an article about Baby Jessica McClure turning 25 and coming into the trust fund that was established by well-wishers when she was stuck in that little drainage hole. She's a married mom of two now.

Her parents were very young poor people when it happened. Over the years, AS her parents, they could have made all kinds of demands on the trust---we need a bigger, better secluded home (mansion) to keep us from the media---we need fancy cars to tote her around in, etc, etc.

Think of Michael Jackson and all of HIS hangers-on and their demands. Or any of those child stars (Gary Coleman, Patty Duke come to mind) whose parents' spent their children's earnings/assets on themselves.

But Jessica's parents didn't do that. The principal of her trust---800K---is pretty much intact.

So now that she is getting it, here is the gist of some of the AOL comments: She doesn't deserve it because she married someone of Mexican descent. "How dare she have some money to put in her little brown babies' college funds!" Gah!

Her parents are trash. How dare they profit from this. (WTF?? How did they profit from this?)".

Yes, Jessica got a windfall from people who were touched by her plight when she was a baby girl. Yes, it's easy to be envious of the whole thing.

But these comments are ugly. And stupid. It makes you wonder where in the hell these people come from.

So this week's Asshat goes to those ignorant, racist AOL users.

Humble

2011-03-23T08:01:00.002-06:00

When Big Kid got so sick a little over a year ago, I really had the smug knocked out of me in dozens of different ways. I confidently thought that I could handle most any hits that came our way, as long as I could put on my killer bunny slippers and kick butt.

Pre-H1N1, I used to watch the news and tragedies across the world in a somewhat detached manner. I would send up a prayer to the ether for the victims and their families because yes! what a horrible tragedy!, but would feel kind of superior watching 3rd World mothers wail, tear at their hair and faces and rend their clothes at the death of their children. That's not really the American Way, or maybe not the Anglo-Protestant Way. We're civilized and have better control of ourselves.

Stupid, superior Me.

That whole month when Big Kid hung between life and death on life support, minute to minute, I finally got it. The primal urge to rail against the helplessness, the hopelessness. The physical need to tear at myself, to let loose, to howl, to scream out my fear and grief.

Of course, if I had done that at his bedside, I would have probably been sedated and introduced to a nice soft hotel room with a sportcoat that ties in the back for my own protection. Because that's the way it is in our culture.

It was a very humbling experience.

Since then, this past year, I've tried to be more understanding of people's circumstances, to be less judgmental. I'm still very raw, and cry at the drop of a hat. Lost and found Doggy on the news? That's a crying. The tragedy in Japan? That's a daily crying. Geico commercial? That's a crying too. I've cried at real and stupid stuff more in the last year than I have in my previous 44 years. I guess having doctors tell you that your child is dying and they can't do anything more for him will do that to you.

But I guess I'm not done with being taught humble lessons.

Little Guy, who has Autism, has had a pretty crappy year. I talked a little about how his Fall Semester at our local high school was a bust, and how his and a few other transitional students' rights had been violated under IDEA. I was able to secure an extra semester(he ages out of the system next month) to make up for the lack of services, but I'm not going to get into it here. If anyone wants a private run-down, feel free to email me.

Last week, he came home with a flyer that advertised a "social" for adults who have disabilities down in the city. We live in the mountains, and there isn't any such activities here. Since Hubby was going to be out of town, and Little Guy really wanted to go, I made arrangements with Big Kid and Kitty (his girlfriend) to take them out to dinner while Little Guy attended this shin-dig.

This event is held monthly at the city's Senior Center (had no idea!). The place was packed. Tons of young people his age (the event is for 16 and older). I got Little Guy checked in, made sure of a place and time to meet (he didn't want his old mom hanging around) and went off to dinner.

I came back a half hour before the party was scheduled to end. There were a lot of parents/caregivers etc sitting around the foyer, which was very large. I came in, sat down and waited. Little Guy breezed through, we chatted a minute, and he went back into the event room to mingle and dance.

This incredibly gorgeous and well-groomed man stopped by and asked me how it was going. I looked around. Was he talking to me? Frumpy me? I said fine, how are you? Laughed. Said I was waiting for my son. Assumed he was a parent, a sibling, a caregiver waiting for someone too.

He sat down next to me and introduced himself. I told him who I was and said "it's nice to meet you".

He said, "this week is my birthday, I'm going to be 45". I congratulated him (while thinking it was a little weird to tell a complete stranger that). Looked at his ring finger to see if maybe there was another half to this Adonis. No ring (and no, I didn't forget there was a ring on MY finger!).

He went on, "Last year I was 44 and the year before that I was 43. Can you names things that they have at a birthday party?" So for the next 15 minutes we came up with everything we could think of (ponies, clowns, pirates, cake, presents) that could possibly be appropriate at a party. Then Little Guy found me and told me he was ready to go home. I shook hands with the gentleman and told him again how nice it was to meet him. "Will you be here next month?" he asked hopefully. I said I just might.

All the way home I mentally kicked myself. I like to pride myself on being a fairly astute person, but I guess I still let my assumptions lead the way. Humble pie.

Little Guy had a fabulous time. He didn't ask anybody to dance, but danced with himself to the songs he liked. Since Hot Cutie (his girlfriend) wasn't there, he didn't want to be a "scumbag" and dance with anybody else. I explained that since Hot Cutie doesn't like these kind of activities, and doesn't like dancing (and he does), I didn't think it would be a bad thing to dance with other people "as friends". He pondered it a minute or two and decided that "next time" he'd ask some of the girls who were sitting on the sidelines. LOL

Happiness Is...

2011-03-21T21:55:00.001-06:00

Ok, my last two posts were kind of bummers.

I've been kind of thinking on a theme about blessings, good things, happiness.

Remember when Charles Schultz did the whole riff on "Happiness is a Warm Puppy?"

Well....

This is it for me:

Happiness is when I do my great big morning stretch and nothing hurts or is stiff.

Happiness is when I get up and there is no emergency late night calls on my answering machine.

Happiness is when I wake up and Hubby is holding my hand.

Happiness is racing into the bathroom (still taking diuretics) and finding that somebody else put a new roll of toilet paper on the hanger (doesn't happen too often in THIS house).

Happiness is when I step on something sort of round in my slippers and find out it's a magic marker and not one of the Little Sh*t's turds.

What about you?

I Don't Know Whether to be Pissed or Proud

2011-03-16T22:50:00.002-06:00

The other day was a day from hell. I don't know how to feel about it.

Spent the morning running errands. The the Aspiring Adult (forgot to tell you guys that he's back home with us, but that's another story for another time. Let's just say he learned his lesson, is attending school and doing really great and working as well), needed me to pick him up after he dropped off his car for an alignment.

Ran to the store and the post office (selling all that crap for my mom on ebay--this time my dad's postcard collection). The Aspiring Adult had been sick for about a week, and finally manned up and got a doctor's appointment for the afternoon, which he needed a ride for.

Little Guy came home after culinary school about noon. Since I needed to run more errands in the afternoon, he had a choice---come and help, or stay home. He's been so responsible that for the last 6 months or so we've been able to leave him at home alone for an hour or two. When he comes and helps, he asks for a treat, so we agreed on a Creamslush from Sonic.

Took the Aspiring Adult to the doctor and dropped him off. Our agreement was that after his appointment, he'd run across the street to the store, get his prescription and call me when he was done to be picked up.

I waited. And waited. Tried calling the AA on his cell, but just got voicemail.

Since I had other errands to run, I figured I'd try to call him later from my cell. Little Guy and I were off.

First off, Little Guy got agitated because I hadn't turned the clocks in my car forward for daylight savings time. I explained that I didn't know how to do it, that I needed his dad to do it, and that I'd ask him as soon as he got home. It just wasn't enough. Little Guy kept going on and on about it. I finally said, "Please! I don't want to talk about this anymore! I'm stressed out and I need to concentrate on driving!"

Arrrggghhh. He got all bent out of shape about it. Not just the hairy eyeball, but kicks to the floorboard of the car and big huge sighs.

We went back to the post office to mail more stuff, and Little Guy was all stompy and rude to the postal workers, who he's really on friendly terms with. We went to the dry cleaners and he refused to get out of the car. So I ran in and out. We ran by Sonic, got the creamslush, and FINALLY got a hold of the Aspiring Adult. It had been 3 hours since I had dropped him off at the doctor's.

Well duh. While waiting for his prescription, he ran into some old friends and they were now at Starbucks. So "sorry", he didn't know that I had other things to do other than to wait on his call. Grrr. He'd get a ride home by himself. He wasn't aware that I had a life beyond his immediate needs, so he didn't think it mattered what he did.

Drove back to our little burg's shopping center, ran in to the liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine we'd ordered for a gift and that was being held for us. I was in there for maybe 4 minutes.

Came back to the car, and Little Guy was gone.

He was gone. Totally gone. My heart just about stopped.

The creamslush was sitting on the seat, practically full.

I looked around the parking lot (which is large), and there was no sign of him. I called for him. No answer.

For the next 20 minutes I drove around, asked people if they'd seen him.

Of course, I said, "have you seen my child?" or "have you seen my son?"

I ran in and out of the various shops.

They all got concerned (my child) until I described him. He's almost 21 years old and an adult.

My big fear was that he might have seen someone he knew and went off with them, because he thinks everybody who knows him is a friend, and unfortunately, there are some people who don't wish him well. He wouldn't have taken off with a stranger. He's NEVER wandered off before. EVER.

My other fear was that he was so annoyed with me about the clock thing that he might have tried to walk home by himself up the highway.

I was about to call 911, when I saw him up by where I had left my car originally. He was looking around. I jumped out of where I was and yelled at him across the parking lot. It had been 30 minutes since I had discovered him gone.

So, the end game is that he had to go to the bathroom. He knew there was one in the grocery store across the parking lot from where we were. He decided to be capable and took off on his own.

I cried all the way home. I just couldn't help myself. The crying really freaked him out, but the situation really freaked ME out!

When hubby came home, we sat down and had a talk with him about it.

One one hand, I'm really proud that he recognized his need and found out how to take care of it on his own. On the other, he really scared the crap outta me.

Gah. I don't know if he was able to benefit from the teaching moment or if my immediate hysterical reactions of "I thought somebody took you!!" has colored it all.

Getting Older Bites

2011-03-10T21:07:00.003-07:00

I like corn, but corn doesn't seem to like me any more.

Yes, I said corn. Not porn. We still get a little giggle out of that. The word, I mean.

Neither do oranges.

Or salsa.

Now they all bite back.

Anything you used to be able to enjoy giving you heck now?

The Things We Do For Love

2011-03-03T05:33:00.001-07:00

aka No Good Deed Yadda Yadda Yadda

If you guys remember a couple of years ago my mom was trying to sort through and get rid of a bunch of crap and collections my step-dad (her late husband who passed away 4-5 years ago) had amassed over 75-plus years that were stuffed in her basement.

Bless her heart. She's spent the last few years trying to find good homes for some of this stuff. Since they didn't have any children together, she made sure that all his family heirlooms went to the obscure relatives on both sides of his surviving family however far and wide they might be.

There were over 2000 books---mostly theological (he was a Presbyterian Minister) that she called seminaries all over the country to try to donate them to, but since a lot of gone digital, it was hard going. They did take his yearbooks for their collections though. :-)

One of his collections was over 700 78-records. A friend from her church had a nephew or somebody who was an "expert" appraiser of that venue. He looked over the collection, told her that they weren't worth more than 10 cents a piece and offered her like 100 bucks for it all.

I said no, let me take a look, brought about 30 heavy boxes home. Sold most of it for 11 thousand dollars on Ebay. Feh, That mofo better cross the street when he sees me coming. But now that little endeavor has made me the "go to" gal for finding value in crap that family and senior friends have stashed in their attics.

Since she has remarried, she's agreed to try to get rid of more stuff from her basement. The biggest problem is that she just won't THROW ANYTHING AWAY! So I haul a trunkfull of stuff two hours home and throw it away here.

Several months ago, she gave me a box of shag-carpet toilet covers from the 70's. Seriously. The elastic was completely destroyed, making them unusable (as if the colors wouldn't make you run screaming from the room). This last time (her recent wedding) I took away with me a buttload of 70's Xmas centerpieces made of plastic pine needles.

I also came away with several drawers full of expired film (she was dithering about them, no sentimental value, didn't know if she should throw them away or not so I just dumped them in a bag and loaded them into my car). She also gave me some albums and boxes of vintage postcards my step-dad collected.

So being a "get to it" kind of person, I dutifully listed a bunch of this stuff on ebay. Amazingly enough, the expired film got snatched up right away (who'd have figured?) and there was a lot of lively bidding. I mentioned it to her---astounded that there was actually a market for this stuff---and what did she say?

"Maybe we should keep some of it to help sell the camera equipment!"

Whaaaa?

I explained to her that once somebody started bidding on items, you couldn't just pull them off auction unless you discovered some major flaw that you hadn't disclosed or the item was destroyed. Once you have bids, you have a contract.

Postcards aren't nearly as bad as 78's, at least in the storage/haulage department. But you still have to scan each one and edit it. Doing a couple of hundred can eat up a few afternoons. Many of the cards, although vintage, simply aren't collectible. A few garnered a lot of attention and bidding. Like a fool, I chatted with her about it instead of waiting until it was all over.

"Maybe we should keep those if they're valuable", she said.

Face Palm!! Arrggghhh!!

Next up? Pop's stamp collection. From what I've heard from my brother, there are about 60,000 of them.

Oy.

Whimsical Wishes

2011-02-19T19:49:00.003-07:00

I wish I was eccentric and graceful enough to wear a sari.

What is YOUR Whimsical Wish (talking about whimsy, not world peace)?

Joy and Sorrow

2011-02-16T04:54:00.001-07:00

Hubby's sister passed away peacefully last week in hospice. He flew out and just got back today. I stayed behind because I had to travel to my mother's wedding yesterday on Valentine's day and just got back today myself.

Took Little Guy with me.

Since somebody had to take care of the dogs and the house, Big Kid, Kitty and the Aspiring Adult all stayed here together to keep an eye on things and each other. ((sigh)) At least they didn't burn the house down. More on that another time.

We arrived on Sunday, and Mom was a basket case. LOL She's anal retentive on a good day and this just about blew her sockets. She had to go over every detail again and again and my job was to assist her and keep her calm.

I helped her get ready on the big day---and surprise! At 78, my mom had gotten her ears pierced! I had to put her earrings in because she was so nervous her hands were shaking.

It was a lovely service---just Beau, Mom, their kids and grandkids. It was held in the chapel of the church we've gone to since we were children. I was the matron of honor and Beau's son was the best man.

Both of my brothers walked Mom down the aisle---that's when I started bawling. ;-) She looked so beautiful!

Beau lost it during the vows part. He was so emotional and sobbed a bit. Which of course set off his son and daughters. Not a dry eye in the house! When my mom was saying her vows, "I promise to love, honor and cherish" Beau jumped in with, "What happened to obey?" LOL

At the end, after they were pronounced man and wife (and kissed), Beau's son and I helped them down from the dais, one on each side (didn't want anybody to break a hip).

The pastor introduced them with their married name to the congregation, and before anybody could start clapping, Little Guy jumped up from the front row, shouted "Group Hug!!" and almost knocked them down! snarf

It really was a very very special day.

Many Thanks, and This and That

2011-02-06T21:57:00.001-07:00

Thank you all for all your suggestions! After looking at tons of boobs, I found the perfect peignoir set! Can't tell you how much I appreciate it!
________________________________

We just found out a few days ago that one of Hubby's sisters is dying. She had breast cancer some years ago, and thought she had beat it. In December she had a hernia operation, and they found that she had cancer throughout her body. Apparently the chemo wasn't successful this time and she's going into hospice. We had no idea, as she is a very private person. He's devastated as are we all. :-( With all the snowstorms and cold, as well as personal obligations, we're trying to juggle to get him a flight down to the south.

__________________________________

I haven't written about this or anything else, simply because of number 1) the stress has just exhausted me, and number 2) there might have been legal ramifications if I wrote about it prematurely.

Little Guy and several other students who have disabilities had their rights under the law seriously violated this last semester at school. When it was brought to the administration's attention, the head of disability services shit-canned the offending teacher, but offered one remedy, and one remedy only to make up for it. Take it or leave it.

I decided to leave it, because I didn't feel that it would be beneficial to Little Guy, and I thought she was being pretty freaking high-handed about the whole thing.

So I went over her head.

We had a meeting with her and the superintendent on Friday, armed to the teeth with the case we were planning on presenting in a lawsuit. It didn't come to that, because the superintendent could see the long-term issues and couldn't see why what we asked for (an additional semester of transition services for what our son had lost) wasn't offered by his employee.

There was a positive outcome. Woohoo. I'm still tired, though. LOL

Ladies, I Need Some Help!

2011-02-04T21:56:00.001-07:00

Sorry I haven't written or checked your blogs out lately, but things have been hairy around the Attila House. I've just had too much damn anxiety to write anything. Will share soon.

But I have some funny/good/precious news. And I need your help.

I've talked a lot about my mom in my blog over the years, and my struggles with our relationship especially when I searched and found my birth family (I'm adopted). I even shared the sorrow when my step-dad passed away a few years ago.

I've shared her struggles as a newly single gal, how she dumped a bunch of old guys because they just wanted to get married and have someone take care of them.

She was done "taking care of sick old men". And she had a checklist for the men she was going to date:

1) He had to be able to drive
2) He didn't want to get married (she was married 24 years to my dad and 24 years to my step-dad and was done with being married)
3) He had to be in reasonably good health

Also told you guys about this older beau she's had for a couple of years. She's 78, he's just turned 88. For the first time, she's the trophy hoochie. LOL

Anyhoo, he's a gem. A real sweetie. They're both really active and go to plays, concerts, senior events and seminars. He's taken her to Vermont to see the leaves change, to New Mexico for the Hot Air Balloon Festival. When my son was in the ICU, he drove her down (2-hour drive) frequently to sit vigil with me.

The year before last at Easter, I wrote about how the families got together for a meal and to meet each other for the first time. His adult children, her adult children (except for me) went out to a restaurant. They sat at opposite sides of the table, like a mafia sit down.

Both sets of "kids" were wary---worried that their elderly parents might be taken advantage of.

Beau's son somewhat superciliously asked my mom to tell him about herself.

She said, "well I've married and buried quite a few men in my time". He was agape. She and beau laughed their asses off.

Then she added, "didn't you have a minister at your wedding?" Snarf. She's a retired United Methodist Minister. I wish I had been there!

Anyhoo, a few days ago, she called me and told me that she and Beau have decided to tie the knot. They'd just been to a lawyer and signed a prenup keeping all their stuff separate. For the last year or so, they'd been going between his house, which is full of crap, and her house, which is full of crap.

They were just worried about what the neighbor's were thinking. On one hand, they could live in sin, but my mom was worried that if something happened to Beau, his kids (who don't actually live close) might not be available if decisions about their dad needed to be made.

Ok, that's her story and she's sticking to it.

So I asked her when the big day was and she said Valentine's Day.

I was stunned. "Why so soon?" I asked.

"We aren't getting any younger. How long should we wait?"

Gah!

Ok, so here's the deal. We had a talk tonite and I asked her what I could do to help. She's running around like a chicken with her head cut off.

Since she isn't having a bridal shower, and she won't let me arrange the bouquet or contribute, I decided that I wanted to buy her a romantic peignoir set or something for her honeymoon. I've seen her jammies. LOL

I can't find anything that isn't crotchless, nippleless, too short, too staid, vinyl, etc etc etc, even when I look at "bridal" stuff. Or boyish stuff. Or hiphugging stuff.

I'm looking for something in blue, aqua, medium pink---pastelly but not white. I mean she's 78, fer pete's sakes. Something somewhat froofy. You know, romantic. It can be mid-length or long.

She wears an XL, and price is not a problem. I'd rather something a little more highend than Kmart polyester, if you know what I mean.

If you guys could help me, I'd love you forever!

Train 'em Early On!

2011-01-18T05:36:00.002-07:00

I once read an article about relationships that said, "start it out the way you expect it to continue". Basically, the whole gist was that if you started out trying to impress the new guy with foot massages, coffee in bed, and laundry service (trying to show off what great wifey material you'd be), you'd be stuck doing it for years.

Hubby and I had a 3-month courtship before we stepped it up a notch. He was a long-time bachelor, and I was a newly single mother of two. He was very correct and somewhat prim in his wooing of me---a true gentleman. We met when I had been contracted to provide an entertainment service for the restaurant/bar he co-owned.

We had a laugh over the fact that we both were raised on the east coast, about a half-hour from each other. How weird was that we'd meet up here? Reminisced about how we both spent our summers in the same place (Ocean City), and watched Captain Chesapeake and Ultra Man as kids. I thought he was adorable.

He called my answering service and left a message saying it was a "social call". I tried to call him back for two hours and kept getting a busy signal. He was afraid I wouldn't call him back right away, so he took his phone off the hook and went out to wash his car. LOL

On our first date, he invited me to drop by his restaurant after work. He had closed the establishment to the public and treated me to an incredible candlelight dinner and dancing for two. The next day I baked a dozen long-stem cookies and had them delivered to thank him for his hospitality, which he thought was utterly charming.

We went out off and on for the next few months when our schedules permitted. He wanted to take my guys with us, but I demurred. I didn't want my guys to meet or get attached to someone I wasn't in a serious relationship with.

Finally he invited me to his little house in the mountains for a weekend (he rented a condo with a roommate in town across from the restaurant during the week). Since it was going to be our uh "first time" together, I was spritzed and poofed and shaved and had picked out my sexiest lingerie.

Man plans. God laughs. Sometime during the week while he wasn't home, his power went out. It's amazing that his pipes didn't freeze. Not only was the place colder than a witch's---you know---but the heater in his waterbed was out too. He was able to get the furnace started, but the bed was like an ice cube.

Instead of a sexy encounter in my racy undies, I ended up bundled up in a pair of his sweats. We snuggled up together in several sets of comforters to keep warm. He was embarrassed and kept apologizing. Not the romantic evening he had planned. It was a little awkward.

Then to top it off, right after I dozed off, I farted. I can't control it when I'm sleeping. It wasn't some ladylike fluff either, but an event that shook the foundations of his house.

I was thinking, "I'm never going to see this dear man again. He's going to drop me off and run screaming for the hills."

I blurted out, "What in God's name did YOU eat for lunch?" He snorted and we laughed ourselves silly. Awkwardness over.

Since then, if I inadvertently have an attack of the barking spiders, I blame him, the boys, the dogs and my girlfriend from Alabama. Even when she's still in Alabama.

So in the wee hours, some 18 years after our first night together, I rolled over and woke myself up from the equivalent of a sonic boom emitting from my heinie.

"Oh My God", I muttered.

Hubby, that sweet, well-trained spouse of mine, stopped snoring long enough to respond.

"Excuse Me," he said in his sleep.

I laughed so hard I woke him AND the dogs up. Not so sure about my friend in Alabama though.

Train 'em early! LOL

Family Frustrations

2011-01-16T06:30:00.002-07:00

Recently, Little Guy has been driving me crazy. When he gets stressed he becomes either really touchy or really needy. Although he is excited for the semester of culinary school to begin, he's nervous about the new classes and new people. He has mantras that have expected required responses, and if he doesn't get them, he becomes upset.

For example, he'll say (twenty times a day):

"You're my baby."

I'm expected to respond with, "No you're MY baby!" (I'm not sure if this exchange is just rote on his part, or if he really needs an assurance that he'll always be my baby).

If I don't respond correctly, or if I'm on the phone or distracted and don't hear him, he gets frustrated and acts like I've deliberately set out to mess up his day. He'll silently stand there and shoot me hairy eyeballs until I get it right. Even if it takes a half hour. I'll be obliviously loading the dishwasher and he'll be silently standing behind me glaring at me. When I turn around----gah! There he is with the ol' stink eye.

Another one is his constant use of the word "sorry". He picked it up from a peer in his transitions class a few years ago and hasn't stopped since.

Every time I ask him to do something---put the folded towels in the bathroom/let the dogs out/put the milk away/whatever and he'll say:

"Sorry, Mom. Sorry."

Zillions of times I've explained to him that he doesn't have to be sorry, he did nothing wrong.

Wrong answer. I'm supposed to say, "It's ok. I forgive you."

Well, I'm not going to do that. So it's another 20 rounds with the glare for the day. He'll even stand in the hall when I'm in the bathroom and shoot me the stink eye through the closed door.

And now for the cherry on top. Constantly he asks, "Do you still love me?" or "Will you always love me?"

The expected answers to these questions are "absolutely" and "forever and ever". Any deviation from that earns the double stink eye.

For the life of me, I cannot figure out where the heck that came from. Hubby and I have never ever threatened to withhold our love from our children, yet this seems to be a constant worry for him.

I recognized how darn tired I was with all of this the other day when Little Guy and I were in the grocery store. We were shopping and minding our own business, when I noticed a woman giving me the hairy eyeball (by now I'm an expert on that). I looked down at myself, wondering if I had toilet paper stuck to my shoe or a bit a lunch on my shirt.

Nope. Then I thought about the exchange she must have overheard between me and Little Guy, who is actually a 6'1 inch 200-lb man.

Me: Honey, could you reach up and get that muffin mix? The blueberry one? I can't reach that far.

LG: Sorry Mom. Sorry.

Me: Thank you!

LG (glaring at me): You're supposed to say you forgive me!

Me: No, I'm not going to say that.

LG (changing tactics): Do you still love me?

Me: Absolutely!

LG: You're my baby!

Me: No, you're MY baby!

Then he happily marched around a little as this woman looked at me like I was a lunatic or a really bad mother. I barely noticed that little conversation with my son as we have it 20 times a day, and it must have sounded like a critical, controlling and withholding diatribe to a complete stranger.

I've tried to redirect him a gazillion times over the years, with no luck.

Anybody have any ideas?

Happy Happy Joy Joy

2011-01-12T05:20:00.002-07:00

At least on the Big Kid front. :-) Will update you on the other two doods soon.

Saw his pulmonologist yesterday. The news is fantastic.

There is no extensive scarring on Big Kid's lungs. Or blood clots.

He does have a touch of pulmonary hypertention, but it is not the primary kind, so it is treatable. We're going to have to work with the physical therapist on strengthening his chest walls.

He will probably have to sleep with oxygen for an extended period (or unless he moves to sea level), but we have every reason to hope that with time and treatment, he'll be able to ditch the oxygen tanks during the day.

Big Kid won't be able take stimulant medication for his ADHD, because it exacerbates the condition, but if comes between breathing and attention, he'll take the breathing. LOL

The doc was impressed with the kid's new attitude and committment to getting better. Thought he looked really good. Wants him to step up with the walking and weight loss, because that will only improve his condition.

So AGAIN, I spent the drive back up the mountain in tears. But this time they were good ones. :-)

This and That

2011-01-06T21:08:00.003-07:00

Sorry I haven't written in a while, but dammit, I'm just pooped.

Right after Christmas, we scheduled a myriad of tests for Big Kid. Well, I mean we scheduled them months ago, just wanted to do them after the holidays. One year after his H1N1 crisis, he's still on oxygen 24 hours a day. There are many reasons why this may be happening, ranging from pulmonary hypertension to intensive scarring of his lungs. So for the last two weeks, he's been in and out of the hospital and imaging facilities. He had an allergic reaction to the contrast dye they use for CAT scans, and boy-oh-boy, wasn't THAT fun! Not!

We were able to FINALLY get him switched on the insurance----it actually wasn't the insurance company's fault really---it was his bio dad's company that was causing us the problem. Right after he was released from the hospital last year, they said he had to continue with college to be insured. That last spring semester was a nightmare.

Big Kid took two classes online. Thankfully they were review classes (nothing wrong with his long-term memory), and his instructors were on board. Even so, he struggled and barely passed. He has significant processing problems, and was only able to complete a portion of the classwork. Luckily, since they were review classes and he maintained information he had learned before, he was able to do fairly well on the tests, which pushed him over to the "pass" section.

However, he'd never be able to accomplish that for any other classes, but it gave us time to gather "evidence" to switch him from "dependent student" to "permanently disabled". Whew.

So last fall, he wasn't in school. But this is what he's been doing:

Walking every day with his tank. He's committed to getting better physically.

A couple of months ago, his psych changed some of his meds. Some of what he's been taking has made him gain an enormous amount of weight over the years, and he was in a pre-diabetic condition. He's lost 40 pounds since July.

Big Kid has always been my "glass half empty" kid, while Little Guy is the exact opposite. Strange to think they came out of the same womb. ;-)

He started on Abilify about two months ago, and the difference is amazing. For the first time in his adult years, Big Kid has been thinking positive, and working towards improving his life. He's been working on all the goals set with his cognitive therapist, and even joined a church.

Not going to get into all the church stuff, but in my opinion, getting involved in things outside himself is a big huge plus for him.

Got more going on, but just wanted to send an update.

Catch up with you all later, Gators!

Bad Santa or Weird Christmas Tales

2010-12-27T05:27:00.002-07:00

Ok, got a few here. Not to be a bitch, but hey, I'm a feel like bitching. I spent the entire season (yes the season isn't over) trying to be kind, but if I can't kvetch to you guys, then who can I do it to?

Nog for your Noggin

We've been expecting bad weather on and off for Christmas. Of course, since we only get the "B" team news-wise locally (our little town is an afterthought), all the dire predictions came to naught. But trying to stock up on holiday provisions, I asked Hubby to go to the store on his way home from work.

Me: Can you pick up one of those half-gallon jugs of egg nog? The Aspiring Adult really loves it, and I'd like to have some on hand (the onliest people who like egg nog in our family is me and the AA).

Hubby: Sure!

A couple of hours later, after he comes home and puts all the groceries in the fridge...

Hubby: They didn't have any half-gallon jugs, and I think I got everything they had left in the store plus a little extra, just in case.

Me: You're the best!

The next morning, I look in the fridge, and there are 8---yes 8! quarts of eggnog in the fridge. Low-fat, old-fashioned, regular and Southern Comfort-style.

Me: Honey, why in the world did you buy 2 gallons of eggnog?

Hubby: I didn't. I bought a bunch of pints to make up 1/2 gallon, just like you asked.

Gah! My ass is going to be really huge by the time the holiday is over.

Weirdo Regifters

I'm all for regifting. Totally.

One relative sent us a bunch of puzzles, which really isn't our thing. I don't feel guilty regifting them on to another family member who is a puzzle-freak. Of course, they are completely unopened and unused when we send them on. Some years ago, my birth mom was gifted with an I-pod, and passed it on to my oldest son, because she wasn't interested in it, and he was.

Perfect regift!

Hubby's half-siblings are quite a bit older than he is. Some of their children are closer to his age then his siblings are. He insists on sending each of them a personal present every year, because he is THE cool uncle.

Anyhoo, his older half-brother is quite well-off. Not Bill Gates wealthy, but better off than your average bear. He started a company in college, turned it into a company that was prevalent on the east coast, sold it to a larger company for a mazillion dollars, and now dabbles in teaching at a few Ivy League colleges between spending time in Paris, on the Eastern Seaboard, and in Pennsylvania.

So this is the weirdo part.

Over the years, between Hubby's 1/2 brother and two 1/2 sisters (and what we've sent their adult children) we've all exchanged some really thoughtful gifts. Not really pricey, but with recipient in mind.

His half-brother and wife have regifted us with some really weird shit.

Frequently at holidays we've sent friends Harry and David's stuff. So I'm a little familiar with it.

Apparently Hubby's brother and wife get quite a bit of it, because they pick out what they want and send the rest on to other members of the family, like us. We'll get 2 half towers of treats. ;-)

Not complaining---all my guys will eat it---but it's weird.

A few years ago, Hubby's brother sent him a Playboy Bunny keychain, all wrapped up in a fancy box. What----did he have it in his sock drawer for years and think Hubby was 20? What decade is he living in?

So this year, they sent me a lovely square vase made of heavy glass. It was dirty and had dead flies in the bottom. I think sis-in-law cleaned out her knick-knack closet.

Yeah, I'm all for regifting, but WTF?

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

I called my irascible ex-FIL, who I've bitched about here on this forum to make sure he got his gift in the mail. We sent him an assortment of Irish Cheeses, and it's perishable, so I wanted to make sure he put it in his fridge. God forbid we give him food poisoning.

Long story short, this man is a good part of why I divorced his son. His own children want nothing to do with him (he was a controlling and abusive father) and have moved far far away. The only family he has in these parts are my kids. Because he's their grandfather, I've worked hard over the years to have a civil if not friendly relationship with him. He's worked hard too---to try to be a good grandfather, but sometimes he slips into some bizarre and inappropriate behavior.

Anyhoo, when I called him, he asked if he could drive up to take the boys out for a snack on Christmas Day. Nevermind that nothing is open up here. He wanted to make a four-hour round trip to see his guys.

I guess that meant he was alone for Xmas.

So I did the only thing I could do. I invited him for dinner.

Luckily, Hubby was on board. Nobody should be alone for Xmas.

The next day he called and asked if he could bring along a couple of friends. I called Hubby and told him we needed to pick up a few more pounds of prime rib (Hubby's Xmas specialty). We would have been able to stretch it for one more person, but 3?

On Christmas Day, our guests parked in strategic places in our driveway, mindful of the other cars and drivers' needs to get out. Instead of parking on the street, ex-FIL plonked his minivan right in the entrance to the driveway, blocking the egress entirely, making it a necessity to move his vehicle if anyone was ready to leave.

And our luck being our luck, he couldn't get the freaking thing started when the first of our guests had to go. So a bunch of people dressed in their Christmas best had to push the behemoth up the hill to the street.

Where it promptly started.

Oh, and he didn't bring his friends either. But that's ok. More leftovers for us!
So any weirdo Christmas tales of your own?

Happy Holidays!

2010-12-24T03:48:00.002-07:00

Hope you all have a very blessed season.

xoxo

ATM

Santa Loves Me

2010-12-17T07:07:00.001-07:00

A few months back I wrote about my '92 Caddy Seville and how much I loved it (mice and all). Hubby has been trying to get me to upgrade for a few years now, but I've been having none of it. A couple of times a year he tries to show me newer Caddies on the websites of local dealers to see if I like something he's found. The conversation always goes like this:

Me: What color is it?

Him: Gold/Silver/White/other non-color

Me: No.

This has gone on for quite awhile. He feels guilty about my old car, and I have to reassure him that I'm perfectly satisfied with it. Even though the next time it will need a major repair, it will probably cost more than the car is worth at bluebook value.

Finally, exasperated, he asked, "What exact specifications would you have for a car you're going to drive for another 12-13 years?"

Me: A V-8 engine, like the one I have. A color like blue, or green, or black or red. Oh, and cup holders (amazingly enough, my Seville was top of the line for that year, but didn't have cup holders. Go figure).

Well...Santa loves me. He really loves me. I feel like Sally Field, who as we all know, holds a very weird and special place in Santa's heart.

This beauty has more buttons than I can figure out what to do with. It's fully loaded and does everything but wipe my heinie. I'm going to need diagrams. But boy-oh-boy, it is smooth. You can barely feel it shift gears and it drives like a rocket.
It has heated and cooled seats---something I'd never even heard of until recently. It's a 2006, the last year they made this model in front-wheel drive, and the previous owner took meticulous care of it. Except for one tiny crack on a tail-light, it looks like it just rolled off the showroom floor.

Hubby has become so enamored with this car that he offered to arm-wrestle me for it. I threatened to slap an Obama bumper sticker on the back so he'd be too embarrassed to drive it (he's a staunch Repub). LOL

Thank you, Santa Baby. I love you too!

Bling for Everybody!

2010-12-12T20:01:00.012-07:00

Last week while I was disappeared, our Collaborative Craft Studio participated in our first Holiday Home Show Tour Boutique.

For those of you who are new to my blog, a couple of years ago I started an informal art therapy group for myself and for adults who have developmental disabilities or mental illness as well as for family caregivers. We primarily worked on Christmas ornaments for fun. A few of our members took some of our creations to a craft fair, and made a good amount of money.

And a collaborative craft studio was born!

Today we employ 10 people. We have a private studio space, and for those who prefer to work out of their homes, we pick up and deliver supplies so they can work at their own pace. Every ornament we have is created by several sets of hands---from the quilting, the beading, the ribbon toppers, the photography and more.

My dear friend KL flew in from out of town a few weeks ago to get a break from her life, work on ornaments, update our website and help me with the Boutique show.

It rocked. Although the turnout wasn't what was advertised, we kicked ass in sales.

One very kind lady who was impressed with our wares asked us if we would come and give a talk at her group about our non-profit. I told her that we don't accept grants or government funding and that we are very FOR profit! Not to be unkind to her, but many think that any employment specifically designed for people who have disabilities must be involved with a non-profit organization.

People who have disabilities working a real job that provides cash and capitalism. What a concept! ;-)

In addition to what we sold at the show, we signed up a few gift shops who loved our stuff for Easter and next Christmas. Everyone was very nice...well almost everyone.

One ignoramus said to KL, "I don't believe disabled people could turn out such a professional product, so I'm not buying because you're frauds".

She was like, "Hello? I'm a person who has a disability! Whatevah!"

I wish I had been able to introduce this person to Cindy. She was the prime creator of our minis, which were the hottest sellers of the weekend, and she has Down Syndrome. We sold over 100 of them.

Anyhoo, we're almost sold out for the year, but it's not too late to get an ornament or two. They're perfect for that little gift for a friend, a relative, a co-worker or even for your own tree. Come pay us a visit!

The REAL Pantry Challenge

2010-12-07T04:35:00.006-07:00

Sorry I dropped off the planet, but things have been really hectic around here, and I've been just pooped.

Remember about a month ago when I did a challenge about creating stuff from all the lonely crap from gathering dust in the pantry? Well--ahem--FINALLY, here are the results.

Thank you so much for everybody who participated. Your ornaments from our studio are on their way!

Bonnie sent this in (and boy does she crack my sh*t up!):

Ok, I am the suckage at pictures, so I have no picture at this point. (I am trying to get one for this, if you reallllly need it). And I have no blog. (Dude, you have no blog). However, here is my Tuna Noodle Glop Casserole:

Tuna Noodle Glop Casserole

2 cans cheap-beapo tuna in water, drained.
1/2 bag of noodles, boiled (it was a bit too many noodles but I couldn't bring myself to put the lonely last 2 ounces back in the cupboard, so I omitted vegetables in order to make everything fit in the pan)
1 can cream of chicken soup (could have been cream of asparagus, chicken won the toss)
2 to 4 tablespoons dried onion pieces, measured by the 'shake the container until it looks good' method
1/2 soup can water
1 cup plain yogurt
what was left in the bag of sharp cheddar cheese shreds - somewhere between 1/2 and 3/4 cup
2 good dashes Worchestershire sauce - about a teaspoon
1 pinch powdered thyme
8 chopped up green olives.

While boiling the noodles, mix everything else together in a large bowl. Add the noodles. Eyeball it to decide if it will fit in the chose pan. Spray Pam on 8x8 ceramic pan, pour in noodle glop, cover with foil, bake at 350 degress for half an hour. Remove foil and bake another 10 minutes because it just looks too wet. Enjoy.

It was actually quite good; the combo of a bit of olive and the cheddar cheese dressed it up nicely.

Bonnie

Kikilia from Mulberry Summer contributed a fantastic-sounding breakfast casserole. It's got smooth, creamy, chewy and crunchy all in one all in one dish---like a party in your mouth!

Okay- I didn’t take a picture of my creation though… but here’s what I made.
A “breakfast casserole” using garlic croutons, eggs, milk, cheese, butter, and roasted red peppers.

I took one package of garlic croutons- had originally bought to make a salad which never happened about 20 years ago… okay maybe a month ago…and added 3 eggs, some milk, about 10 oz of cheese that was leftover from making tacos- so it was the shredded taco flavor stuff, and a jar of roasted red peppers that I bought on a whim. Have had them ages and never could figure out what to do with them.

Put it all in a 9 x 9 pan, dotted with butter and baked at 325 until done.

Dark Angel sent this in from her blog Inner Dreams:

vegan bits-and-pieces pasta

ingredients:
tomato sauce - used once for lasagna and then ended up at the back of
the fridge
remains of a packet of macaroni - found lurking at the back of the cupboard
some cloves of garlic - again, scrounged from the back of the cupboard
unidentified ground herbs - bought in a bout of creativity and then
forgotten about
various remains of vegetables - left from the previous week's
cooking, as I always cook spacific portions every time
a couple of potatoes - again, left over from the previous week
tofu sausage, spelt and nut burger and a bit of seitan - the result
of my habit of opening a new packet every day.

* crush the garlic and mix in with the tomato sauce, together with the herbs
* steam or boil the vegetables and potatoes -
* boil the macaroni.
* chop up the sausage and burger, add the seitan and stir fry.
* add the sauce to the stir fry.
* add the macaroni and veggies and mix it all together.

Sounds very exotic (I had to go look up spelt and seitan)!

Katie from HappyThought42day sent in this lovely story and recipe:

Ok... I WAS called in to sub most of the week. So I'm cheating a little. About a year ago, I had a sick kiddo. Too sick for me to get out for a desperately needed grocery shop. This meal cleaned out our frige and pantry. Left us with crumbs. And sick kiddo was so sick she slept through dinner. But she woke up in the middle of the night. Why is it always the middle of the night? She was thrilled to find out she had "Shannon Soup" waiting for her! She still loves this stuff. So I had to write out the recipe and actually have to make it once in a while. Next time, maybe I'll throw in that can of artichoke hearts that I have no clue what I bought them for....

"Shannon Soup"

1T olive oil
4-5 carrots, peeled & chunked
4-5 potatoes, peeled & chunked
2 onions, peeled & wedged
4-5 stalks of celery cut into @1" pieces
2 jalepino peppers, seeded & cut very small
6 cups water
2 cloves garlic
1/2 t. pepper
1 can tomato sauce
2 lb. ground turkey, cooked
2-4 cups cooked rice

Saute potatoes, carrots, onion, celery & jalepino in olive oil @ 15 min. Transfer to stock pot with water, tomato sauce, garlic & pepper. Bring mix to a boil, cover, reduce to simmer @ 2 hours. Add turkey and rice & heat through.

Ok... potatoes, carrots & onions are staples here. Celery we keep on hand to turn rubbery and inedible before feeding it to the guinea pigs. Seriously, we should be eating it. But we don't. I have NO IDEA why we had jalepino peppers in our refrigerator. But we did. And they hadn't gone by yet. Tried making this recipe without them and discovered they really are needed to make this edible. Garlic is also a staple here. No problem with vampires. Water... from the tap. Can of tomato sauce was about the only thing left in the pantry at that point. Can you say $300 grocery shop the next time I went??? Turkey was in the freezer 'cause hubby thinks I'm trying to poison him when I use anything short of ground cow. But I love turkey. Rice... leftover. And about the only thing in the fridge once I used up the last of all our veggies. Maybe that was a $400 shop the next day??? Sorry... no photo. It was desperate times feeding a sick kiddo. Who now loves this meal.

Julia from the blog Farfromthesticks sent this one in. Looks scrumptious!

I live in Turkey now but I grew up in New Hampshire. I always have a fully stocked pantry because everything here is handmade. There are not a lot of processed foods sold in the store. Example-- if you want tomato sauce, buy some tomatoes and start chopping. No Ragu. It is much healthier but a lot more time consuming.

In my pantry I have a lot of dried goods like bulgur, rice, bouillon, and spices. In my fridge I always have the staples of Turkish cooking, tomato paste and a spicy/sweet pepper paste. I also always have "hindi sucuk" (a Turkish sausage made of turkey--lower fat than the beef version.) I use it to make omelets on the weekend. I also always have veggies like onions and peppers in stock, for salads and the ubiquitous weekend brunch omelets.

I needed to make a hearty lunch for my husband the other weekend and I had nothing ready and no time to hit the store. Here was the result.

Bulgur Pilaf

In a saucepan I boiled three cups of water, and added a chicken bouillon cube and two tablespoons of tomato paste and two of pepper paste. I added 1 1/2 cups of coarse sized bulgur. While it was soaking up the liquid I stirred in 1/4 tsp of salt, 1/2 tsp of pepper, 1/4 tsp of crushed red pepper, and a 2 tsp of cumin. Turn the heat down on the bulgur until it has soaked up all the liquid and is soft. If all the liquid is gone and it is still a little hard, added more water as needed.

In a separate pan I sautéed chopped onions and peppers and cooked the sausage.

After the bulgur was cooked all the way through I mixed in the sautéed veggies and sausage and served it with a little shredded cheese on it.

Yum!

Susan, from Susan's Story Corner sent in this big pan of comfort food! Now, this is MY kind of comfort! You can see a photo of her creation here.

I had a can of black beans, corn, and a can of Progresso Santa Fe style soup. i heated some olive oil and garlic in a pan with some chili powder, dumped in the soup, corn, and beans and heated up. i served with some chedder cheese (technically from the fridge, not the pantry) :)

Susan, if you could email me your address, I'll get your ornament sent right out!

Thanks again everybody for participating. Lots of good stuff hiding in those pantries!

It's So Hard to Say Goodbye

2010-11-21T20:06:00.002-07:00

I'm sorry I've been silent this past week, but I just haven't been able to muster the energy to post anything.

My little dog Molly---the one I named my blog address after---is dying, and I'm just heartbroken.

Last summer she started limping. She was getting arthritis in her back legs and spine. It's not really common in Yorkies---but is something that many wiener dogs get as they age. The vet prescribed a round of steroids and they fixed her up just fine for awhile. We had to taper them off to every other day because she has an enlarged heart.

During the last month or so, she stopped eating every other day, corresponding to the times we gave her steroids (they make you hungry). We tried everything---different kinds of canned food with caloric supplements, etc, but she turned her nose up at everything. We started hand-feeding her chicken and turkey a few times a day on the off days---but that only lasted awhile. She completely gave up dog food, and only let us hand feed her sporadically.

A couple of weeks ago we noticed that she had gone completely silent. Always a very verbal dog (whining, yapping, brrrring), it was very disturbing, to say the least. She was still running around--albeit very stiffly--and getting in the middle of everything, but not a peep out of her.

Last week I noticed that her right hind leg wasn't holding her weight and curving underneath her body. She was still getting around, but falling down once in awhile. She didn't seem to be in any pain, and was still eating, so I made a vet appointment, but couldn't get her in for a week.

Hubby was out of town last week for a few days. Molly stopped eating, although she was drinking some water. I tried to hand-feed her---first bits of chicken and turkey, and finally macaroni and cheese. Her tongue kept frantically licking it, and I realized that she couldn't open her mouth. I called the vet and they were able to see her on an emergency basis.

Bottom line---not only has the arthritis progressed rapidly in her spine and back legs, but her right hip won't stay in its socket. She seems to have neurological problems---her reflexes weren't working. I guess on the plus side---she's not feeling any pain because of those neurological problems. The vet thoroughly manipulated that hip and not a flinch or a peep out of her. She just lay passively, unable to get up.

I sobbed through the entire visit, because I knew what the vet would say. With all of the issues, she recommended euthanasia.

I begged the vet to tell me I could take her home, since she wasn't in any pain, just until Hubby could get home and be there. He would be devastated if he couldn't say goodbye, and I needed him to be with me when we put her to sleep. She told me that she didn't think Molly would make it through another couple of days, but doubled her steroid dose and gave me some pain medication with vitamins.

Right after I brought her home, I called Hubby on his cell and left him a message. Don't call me on the road, call me when you make a stop. Of course he called me right away and demanded that I tell him everything. He cried like a baby (gotta love a tender man).

About 10 minutes after I got off the phone, Molly came out of her carrier and started running around. No kidding. She went in the kitchen and pushed her bowl around, like "Hey! Where in the hell is my dinner?"

She still couldn't manipulate her jaw, so my good friend who's staying with us and I were able to feed her baby food with a syringe. Molly just ate it up. And after the double dose of steroids and the pain meds, she's been making her rounds through the house with hardly a hitch in her giddyup, although she's been running into walls and stuff head-first.

Hubby made it home in time. Molly's been somewhat peppy, interacting with the other dogs and us. We've been feeding her every three hours around the clock. It's hard to contemplate putting her down when she seems to have rallied a bit.

She definitely has neurological issues, and this isn't a cure. We don't want her to suffer. So in the next couple of days, we're going to take her to the vet and put her to sleep. My little puppy.

This morning at about 3am, I was holding her in my arms and telling her how much I loved her and how I was going to miss her. She turned her little face to me and gave me one single yap. Later in the day when Big Kid and Kitty came for Sunday dinner, the kid was holding her and she did the same thing with him.

You brought so much joy to my life, Little Girl. Gonna miss you something fierce.

Showing Your Ass

2010-11-05T20:40:00.009-06:00

Ever have one of those days where you just embarrass yourself over and over? In my neck of the woods, acting stupid and embarrassing yourself is called "Showing Your Ass".

I've been busier than busy this last week---a dear friend is arriving this weekend to spend some time with us, so we've been picking the place up and getting a room ready for her. The craft studio is facing our busiest time of year---we've got shows to show up for, merchandise to sort, orders to fill, etc. Next week, weather permitting, we're having a mini-family reunion. Relatives from Australia, Maryland and other states will be here, and my mom has arranged that we all have lunch at my house. LOL

So yesterday at about 3:30am, I woke up with a major squawk.

I forgot my mom's birthday. Totally freaking forgot it.

It wasn't a few days ago---it was TWO WEEKS AGO!

Gah!

Now I'd spoken to her at least twice in the meantime, and she never said a word. WTF was up with that?

Gah!

As soon as the florist opened, I ordered a big honking bouquet and signed it "much love from your bad, forgetful daughter".

She called me a couple of hours later, overwhelmed by the truckload of blooms that were wheeled into her house. I apologized over and over.

Then she made an admission. She didn't say anything in our conversations about my forgetting her birthday, simply because she knew that I'd NEVER forget her birthday, and was afraid that I'd sent a bouquet, and the card the florist might have left in the screen door had blown away.

Because she'd been spending the majority of her days and nights at her 86-year-old beau's house and wasn't home. Snarf.

She was waiting for me to say, "did you like my flowers?", whereas she wasn't going to come out and admit that she "lost" them outright. Hahahahaha!

Between the time of ordering the flowers and getting the call from my mom, I showed my ass again in a really big way (when it rains, it pours).

Since Big Kid's illness, he calls me a lot during the day. Sometimes he calls 16 times a day. He has a compulsive disorder and an anxiety disorder, so frequently he has to call me when something freaks him out and he needs to get calmed and grounded. Sometimes he has to call me because he has to tell me something utterly trivial (he got to level 10 on some game). Needless to say, it's very disruptive when I'm trying to work.

We've been working with his cognitive therapist to cut down the calling times. Big Kid made a deal with Hubby---Hubby bought him a new computer system with the proviso that he'd cut his calls down to 2 a day unless there was a spurting stump involved.

So he's been making his 2 calls a day. Or what he surmises is his 2 calls a day. If I don't answer immediately, he won't leave a message. He'll just call six more times in a row, over and over and that counts as "one" call.

As if I'll suddenly materialize to answer the phone, since I haven't the first 5 times.

We've been joking that there's some kind of psychic connection because he always calls at the most inconvenient moment.

Like when I'm pooping. Or taking a bath. Or when I'm pooping. Or running up to the top of the road to get the mail. Or when I'm pooping. Or when Hubby and I have a child-free moment and are making the most of it. Or when I'm pooping. Since I actually only poop about once a day (I KNOW!! TMI!!!), it's amazing that he can specifically target this time to call me, since it varies.

All day long I'm home and near the phone, but never a call from anybody unless I'm tied up with the above. Usually pooping. I don't take the phone into the bathroom with me because, well...that would be gross.

Yesterday, after I called in Mom's bouquet, I was um---visiting the facilities when the phone rang. It rang 4 times, and then hung up when the machine picked up. Then rang again. Oh bother.

I hurried the best I could, but couldn't make it to the phone in time. Nothing like the anxiety of an incessantly ringing phone to make it all crawl back up there.

The caller hung up instead of leaving a message. Then the phone rang again. I looked at who was calling and it said "646" which is the first three digits of Big Kid's new phone number (due to his recent obsession with cell phones, the number changes every few weeks).

Exasperated, I pushed the "answer" button and bellowed, "How come the only time you call me is when I'm in the middle of taking a big huge crap?"!!!!

The voice on the other end of the line: Hello?

Me: Big Kid?

Other Guy: Uh, no, this is Erik, Little Guy's van driver. Who's this?

Me: I'm afraid to tell you.

Oy. Yes, it was embarrassing. Yes, I think Erik was wondering if he should actually RETURN Little Guy to the crazy woman with a potty mouth.

What a day! Even my ass is blushing.
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Thank you to everybody who responded to my Pantry Challenge. I'll get everything up sometime next week!

Am I the ONLY Person Who Has a Bunch of Crap in My Pantry?

2010-10-30T15:48:00.002-06:00

Really?

C'mon guys, there's 2 more days for the Real Pantry (I almost wrote Panty there, wouldn't that be revolting) Challenge.

Send me something! I mean something edible! LOL

Rules Here.

Parenting---It's Not for Sissies

2010-10-27T07:03:00.001-06:00

When the Aspiring Adult graduated from high school, we made the same deal with him that we made with our other kids. As long as he wanted to continue his education, we'd pay for it. We don't want him to start his life saddled with student loans. When he's figured he's had enough, he just needs to say so, and that's it.

Considering that his circumstances are different than with our other two boys (neither one of them can drive), we offered to let him stay here expense-free so that he could save up his money. The only caveat is that he had to follow the house rules, of which there are only a couple.

1). No phone calls on the house phone after 9pm. Call us old-fashioned, but both Hubby and I were raised to believe that is rude. No call late at night is a good call. It usually means a loved one is ill or there's been an accident. People who know us don't call us after 9pm. At least not more than once. ;-)

2) We have a curfew. 10pm on weekdays and 12pm on weekends. It's ok to call to let us know if you're running late, just call (one exception to the no phone calls after 9 rule). We have 4 very noisy dogs who go apeshit with people coming and going in the house, and since MOST of us have to be up very early in the morning, it's unfair to wake us in the middle of the night.

3) This is not a hotel. We know you have a busy social life, but you still have to come by once in awhile and stay long enough to take care of business. Meaning, the dryer is not the place to store your clothes, and we're not your bitches. Since you're here long enough to mess up the bathroom, you get to come home and clean it from time to time. Oh, and we'd like to see your face at dinner at least once a week.

Hubby and I are not ogres, but we expect the few rules we have to be followed. The Aspiring Adult seems to think differently. He argues that he is now a man and can do whatever he wants.

We counter with, "Of course you can, you manly man. When are you planning on moving out and supporting yourself like a REAL adult?"

So since graduation, needless to say, we've been having some issues.

I don't know if it's because he's been in and out of foster care for a good part of his life, or being a teenager, or having a character flaw, but the Aspiring Adult seems to have a need to feel like he's "getting one over on us".

For example:

One morning Hubby woke up and found that the kid's car wasn't in the driveway. Didn't he come home last night? He went out to get something from his vehicle and noticed that the kid had parked across the street in the driveway of our neighbor's vacation home. WTF was up with that?

He called down the stairs and told the Aspiring Adult that he'd have to move his car, because it was Saturday, and the neighbor's relatives from the city often came and stayed the weekend and would be a bit put out to find his car there. The kid came up, moved the car (backed it down to the side of our house, which was also odd), came in, took a shower and said he was leaving for work. Hubby came outside to catch him sneaking a girl out of the basement. ;-)

Now here's the rub. We don't actually care that he had a girl here, as long as he doesn't make a habit of it. They're both over 18. The girl lives about an hour and a half away, and after their date it would have been a three-hour round trip to take her home and he said he was too tired to make the drive. We understand that. In fact, we'd have preferred they stay here, because we worry about him falling asleep at the wheel.

AND HE KNOWS THIS. He could have brought her in and out the front door. So why all the sneakiness?

Because he enjoys it.

All summer, he's been coming in at curfew, telling us good night, and then going out the basement to hang out with his friends until the wee hours. Some of the time he's been caught, and is completely unrepentant. It wouldn't be an issue if he told us that he was going to stay at a friend's house all night. He could just stay out. We don't require that he tell us who he's staying with or where he's going, so really it's a non-issue. We explain this over and over and he gets it.

He just enjoys being sneaky.

Since he totaled his car, we found out that the week before he had received a ticket for going 60 miles per hour through a stop sign. He is going to lose his driver's license, most likely for a year (he doesn't seem to think so, but then again, he's young and foolish). When we found out, we took him off our insurance as an authorized driver of our cars, because our rates were going to double. Plus, since he's turned out to be such a bad driver (went through two cars in less than a year), we don't want him anywhere NEAR our vehicles.

As a consequence to all that, and since he is a man and all, it is his responsibility to get himself to and from work. If his schedule happens to coincide with times that Hubby and I have to be in town, it's all well and good. If not, then he has options. He could catch a ride with a friend. He could walk a half mile down the highway and catch the bus. He could ride his bike. He could pay for a cab.

Not very palatable options, but options all the same. What isn't an option is expecting ME to be his personal chauffeur. I've done that for years with the other kids, since they can't drive. NOT going to do it for someone who pissed away his license by making a lot of bad choices.

Anyhoo, last week Hubby did what he frequently does---ate a bunch of crap before going to bed. He woke up with heartburn at about 2:30am and went in the kitchen to get some Tums. As he was heading back to bed, lights flashed through the living room window. A car was coming down the driveway.

My car.

Except I was asleep in bed and he knew this because he tried to play footsie with me.

That little shit.

Hubby confronted him, took the keys, and told him we'd deal with it in the morning. In the morning he was so furious that he asked me to deal with it and went to work.

At 8am I woke the kid up (like I was going to let him sleep until noon?). It went like this:

Aspiring Adult: I don't see what the big deal is.

Me: You stole my car!

AA: It wasn't stealing!

Me: Is your name on the title? No. Did I give you permission to use my car? No. That is called stealing.

AA: No it isn't.

Me: Then what would you call it?

AA: I borrowed it.

Me: Borrowing is when you ask someone's permission to use their stuff. Did you ask? No. It's not borrowing, it's stealing.

AA: I don't see what the big deal is. Cars are meant to be used by ALL the drivers in the house, including me. (Is he freaking KIDDING me?)

And round and round we went. I told him he was grounded for a month. When he wasn't at work, he was to be at home. He could continue to stay up all night if he wanted, but if he thought he'd be sleeping in until noon on his days off, he had another think coming. If he didn't have schoolwork to do, I'd find something for him to do. For a month he was going to be MY bitch.

AA: No. I'm a man and you can't ground me.

Me: Then there's the door. Use it. Now.

AA: I don't have to leave.

Me: Look at it this way. You WANT to leave. We allowed you to stay here contingent on a few rules. You've thumbed your nose at them time after time. The only conclusion I can reach is that you no longer want to live in our house. I am supporting YOUR decision. Door. Out. Now.

AA: How am I going to get into town?

Me: You have a phone, and you have feet. You're such a smart guy, I'm sure you can figure it out. Call us when you find yourself a place and you can come get your stuff.

So he left. I felt horrible about it, but there's only so much you can do. Our home is our haven and we don't want to have to lock up our keys and our valuables (we found out with Big Kid that someone who is willing to steal isn't often picky about WHAT they steal). The fact that the Aspiring Adult had completely justified the stealing of my car in his own mind was pretty disturbing.

And before anybody accuses me of being a heartless, rotten person let me say that the Aspiring Adult has a cell phone, a job, a savings account and a couple of credit cards. He knows how to rent a hotel room. He has skills. It's not like I tossed a puppy out of moving car.

He didn't speak to us for a few days. We called and left messages asking him if he was alright and if he needed anything. We drove around town looking for inexpensive places to rent that are in walking distance of his job. We did NOT call and ask him to come back. That ship has sailed.

However, as long as he stays in school and maintains a C average, we'll continue to pay for school and help him out a bit financially if he needs it. He's welcome to come over to do his laundry, get some groceries, and call us if he's in trouble. We love him and he's our guy.

And now he gets to find out what being a man is REALLY all about.

Celebrating a Friend---it's Kim Ayres' Day!

2010-10-25T04:17:00.004-06:00

Kim Ayres is one of the first people I met in blogland. I don't remember how I found him, or how he found me, but for the last 4 1/2 years or so I've been fortunate enough to be able to enjoy his writings.

When Debra contacted me about International Kim Ayres' Day, I thought it was a fantastic idea. What a great way to celebrate the friend we've all come to know as a man, a husband, a father and finally an incredible artist! Please drop by and wish him a happy day!

The world would be a much less colorful place without you, dear Kim. I'm grateful to know you. Have a wonderful birthday!

P.S. I'd send you a haggis, but I think that would be just plain cruel.

The REAL Pantry Project

2010-10-17T03:51:00.004-06:00

One of the (snarf) bonuses to having an AOL account is the Welcome Screen. It's there to tell us what's hot, what's not, and still employs the same unimaginative dorts that think that putting "Iconic" in 20 headlines at a time is "new and edgy and relevant".

The latest thing that has caught my eye is "The Pantry Project", hosted by Kitchen Daily and features the creations of chef Gail Simmons. It's supposed to incorporate crap you've got sitting in your pantry into gourmet culinary masterpieces.

While her recipes look splendid, I found myself snorting at the "pantry" ingredients.

I think I'm a regular mom (ok, I'm going to say a United States mom. Don't want to offend anybody outside of my postal zone. US moms don't usually stock stuff like Vegamite or kippers or dried shrimp with the eyeballs still on in our pantry). Other than my forays into some international cuisine, my pantry is full of regular old crap staples and products that didn't fly with the guys in my house.

Many of the "pantry" ingredients called for in these recipes are laughable, unless you're squatting in Martha Stewart's kitchen.

I mean who REALLY has stashes of:

Imported tuna in oil (I buy whatever is on sale. Is Bumblebee tuna inferior to imported or what?)

Coarsely cracked balck pepper (What in the heck is balck pepper? Ok, I'm being snarky. I think she meant black pepper). I have regular pepper. The kind that comes out of a shaker.

1 bunch hydroponic watercress, trimmed but long stem still attached (seriously?)

Applewood smoked bacon (uh yeah)

Sriracha (wtf?)

Preserved Lemons (another wtf?)

Do any of you have stuff like this languishing in your cupboards (unless you're Rootie or Werner)? It seems that you just have to go out of your way to buy crap you'd never buy normally unless they're for a specific recipe.

Not really stuff you'd have just sitting around.

The Aspiring Adult came home the other day and raved about the baked apples he had at a girl's house. Asked if I could make them.

Thinking about all random stuff I had in the fridge and pantry, I said "sure, why not?"

Baked Apples

5 apples, diced---3 of them have been stuck in the back of the fridge since sometime in August, because the doods in my house eat the new stuff first. I suppose I should rotate the fruit and put the old stuff in front, but I always forget. I left the skins on, but cut out the bruised spots.

1/2 a cup of butter, margarine, fake bakeable butter, whatever you got going, chopped into chunks or spoonfuls and dropped randomly in the bottom of a small casserole dish.

2 teaspoons cinnamon sprinkle all over and toss the apples

1/2 cup brown sugar, light, dark, doesn't really matter. Mine was dry and solid, so I pounded it into chunks and threw it in.

2 tablespoons (or to taste) white sugar or splenda sprinkled all over.

A couple of granola bars---I used the crunchy kind. They've been sitting in the pantry forevah---since the guys suddenly decided they only like the chewy kind which I think was a year or so ago. Break them up and mix the pieces in with the apples.

5 caramel squares that have been sitting in the back of the cupboard for (dare I say it) at least a couple of years when I attempted to make caramel apples from scratch (big mess, nasty result). They are rock hard.

Bake for 45 minutes at 350 degrees. At about the 30 minute mark, take out and stir.

This dessert turned out so well that while I was down here writing it all up, those boneheads ate the majority of it. When I came upstairs, there were like 2 tablespoons left.

The REAL Pantry Project Challenge

I challenge any reader to go through their pantry and whip up some creation. Can be just about anything...entree, dessert, appetizer, etc.

Send to me via email hugyourkidz@aol.com:

A picture of it
The text of the recipe explaining where the ingredients came from, why you bought them originally, and why they are sitting around in your pantry
A link to your blog
The deadline is Nov. 1st

A can of ancient tomato soup with crusty goldfish crackers, or a box of Tuna Helper with a can of peas don't count.

I'll post them on this blog and send the first five entries a fantastic ornament from our Collaborative Craft Studio (due to availability it will be my choice).

Get cookin' Snookins'!

It's a Bumpy Road to Adulthood

2010-10-04T05:42:00.003-06:00

Oh golly, what a weekend.

Haven't talked a whole lot about the Aspiring Adult lately. He's been busy working two jobs and taking a couple of classes online (His second job wouldn't give him a regular schedule until he'd been there for 3 months, and he didn't feel comfortable scheduling classes he might not make). So far he's got A's in everything.

If you all remember, when he turned 18, we provided him with a pretty nice car for his use, intending to sign it over to him when he started college. He blew out 2 engines in less than 6 months. The first time was because he ignored or didn't know what the oil light was for, the second was because he thought he could treat the car like an off-road vehicle.

We refused to replace the engine the second time, so he had to use some of his savings to buy a beater he could get around in.

Everything's been pretty smooth with that (except he got a speeding ticket).

Yesterday we invited Big Kid and Kitty up for the day. Big Kid was going to watch football with his dad, and Kitty was going to help me sort through some merchandise we're getting together for a large order the studio received. Then we were going to do the big Sunday dinner thing.

I heard the Aspiring Adult's alarm go off at about 6a.m. down in the bat cave. He's very responsible about getting himself up and out of the house for work, so I figured he had an early shift. I was in and out of the main part of the house and didn't see him leave.

Early evening, he hadn't come home or called, and I was getting a bit annoyed. If he's not coming home for dinner, I expect a call for courtesy's sake, and he's not always so good about that. So I called him on his cell. He didn't answer, but called me back about 5 minutes later.

"Are you coming home for dinner?" I asked.

Uh, I'm in my room.

"What?"

I've been here all day. Something happened, and I didn't know how to tell you guys about it.

"But your car's not here." Uh oh. No car. Not good.

"First of all, are you ok?" I can't believe we're having this conversation on the phone, fer petesakes, when he's one floor below me.

Yes.

"Were you drinking and driving?"

NO!

What happened was this:

He got a call at about 1am from a girl in the crowd he hangs out with. Not his girlfriend. She's still in high school, and was supposed to be spending the night at a friend's house. She had another guy friend who she feared was depressed and had taken some prescription drugs. Would the Aspiring Adult come pick her up and take her to his house so she could check on him?

Instead of doing the logical thing, like telling her if she was THAT worried, she should call 911, or maybe her own parents, he sneaked out of the house (his curfew is midnight unless other arrangements have been made) and went and picked her up. She didn't know the address exactly, but kind of knew where the house was.

So those two fools drove around in the mountains in the middle of the night, where there are NO streetlights, and most of the homes are set way back from the road and you can't see the house numbers. They got lost. Unfamiliar with the terrain, the Aspiring Adult took a curve too sharply, clipped a tree...

And rolled the freaking car.

Thank GOD they had their seatbelts on.

The girl had a bruised chest from where the seatbelt held her in, and went to the hospital in an ambulance. Her mother tried to have the Aspiring Adult arrested, but since her daughter was the one who initiated the whole event, the police refused. There were no drugs or alcohol involved, so he got off with a reckless driving ticket and a totaled car.

And Hubby will get an escalated insurance rate for the next 10 years.

Dumbass.

Oh, and the kid who supposedly took too many drugs? He's fine. Apparently he didn't really take anything after all.

Doods

2010-09-28T06:42:00.002-06:00

Got my rantypants on. LOL I know I do it from time to time, so wallow in it with me, or run far far away.

I'm ranting about Doods. The Doods in my house. Yes, other than the dogs, I am the onliest female in my home, and I don't always understand what in the heck they are thinking.

So somebody help me out.

Pillsbury refrigerated Molten Lava Brownies (2 to a box) were on sale and I had coupons so I bought 4 boxes. All the same. They were stacked neatly on the right side on the top shelf of the fridge.

I wake up in the morning and there are two boxes open with a brownie taken out of each.

What were you thinking? That if you took the second brownie, you'd have to actually walk 3 steps to the garbage can and throw out the box? That the person who takes the first brownie gets a bigger brownie and the other is like, inferior?

WTF is up with that? Just wondering.
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Out of all the Doods in my home, there is ONE who leaves the toilet seat up (in my opinion). He has his own bathroom, which is off of our bedroom, and his seat is always up. I don't care...if I have to run to the john in the middle of the night, I already KNOW to check the seat position in the dark. It's his space, I don't complain.

But I frequently go to bed early to read, get up from time to time, and go to MY bathroom and find the seat up.

I accuse the perp and tell him to stay out of MY bathroom, and he blames the other males in our house. I happen to know that they are sitting pee'ers (at least in MY bathroom), but he continues to accuse them.

So I write a really nasty note and tape it to the backside of the seat. About not being such a pig and putting the $#@%$$ seat down.

Guess who gets all offended by it? Not the sitting pee'ers. They've never seen it, because they don't lift the seat up.

WTF is up with all that? Just Wondering.
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I don't wear your baseball caps, don't wear your sunglasses, don't use your IPOD cords, can't remember the last time I used your wallets or car keys.

Yet in the morning when you can't find them, a couple of you run around screaming and cussing that somebody "MUST" have moved your shit, because you ALWAYS leave it "insert location".

When I suggest you check the pants/coat/car floor that you used the night before and you find your lost shit, you act like somebody has played a malicious joke on you just to mess up your day.

WTF is up with that? Just wondering.

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When I insist it's your turn to do the dishes, and that as good as our dishwasher is, you have to actually soak and scrub some of the dried crap off, you complain about the grossness of the knives and spoons that have been dipped in peanut butter and not immediately washed off. Yes, it turns white and gluey. Yes, it's gross. And yes, you all do it, and expect somebody else to deal with it after you toss it in the sink.

You laugh your heads off when a person describes a fart so enormously wet and windy that it left a couple of corn kernels in his shorts (gah!), but go weak at the knees when you have to touch a spoon that had somebody else's mouth on it.

WTF is up with that? Just wondering.

Crack My Sh*t Up

2010-09-26T06:58:00.002-06:00

Ok, truth time here.

Way before it was legal in some states, Hubby used to smoke pot once in a while. He did it as a teen and young man, not so much as he got older. He suffers from migraines, and tried to quit once he could get the migraine meds in a personal shot form some years ago. Didn't work very well at first, and our family doc basically said, "you might want to rethink quitting altogether", simply because he went from one or two migraines a year to one or two a month.

He was committed to quitting because number one, he didn't want to be a hypocrite when we preached "no drugs" to Big Kid (who had and still has absolutely no idea that his dad was smoking pot---he thinks Hubby's a square old fuddy-duddy). Number two is that I am very VERY allergic to something that is in pot.

I have stood in line next to people in Blockbuster or the grocery store who have residue in their hair or their clothes. Just from being near them---my eyes start to get itchy and burny, my sinuses and throat start swelling up. I haven't been to a concert in nearly 20 years. Hubby never smoked it in our home, changed his clothes when he got home and does his own laundry. So the impact on me was minimal. But he quit for good about 8 years ago.

What really ticks me off is that Big Kid was denied Social Security disability benefits a couple of years ago because he told the judge that he smoked pot once in awhile. He has a severe mental illness where self-medicating is the norm and told his doctors that the only time he felt emotionally "normal" was when he was high. He was denied benefits because the judge felt that he wouldn't be bi-polar (or have a panic disorder) if he wasn't smoking pot (although 4 professionals, including their OWN stated that he was very ill and needed assistance).

A year later, our state voted to make medical marijuana legal. :::sigh::: Of course now it's moot, because the kid can barely breathe, much less smoke a doob to make himself feel better.

In our little burg, we now have 2 medical marijuana dispensaries. And now that it's fairly easy to get a card for medicinal purposes, it's been a real eye opener as to how many of our friends and associates (most of them very conservative people) used to be closet pot-heads. Well they aren't in the closet now! I've never met so many people with sciatica in my life. You'd think they all migrated to our town like wounded birds for the healing mountain properties.

The closest dispensary is on the main drag in town, and advertises itself as a "spa and wellness center". It was there for 6 months before Hubby clued me in. I had no idea!

Since it's football season, Hubby and I changed "My day" (I insist that he reserve one day a week for me. Just for me. He works so much and has so many commitments with his other activities during the week that we hardly see each other) from Sunday to Saturday. Yesterday we decided to drive down into the big city and look at used cars. My 18-year-old Caddy is getting long in the tooth and we figured it might be time to trade it in before it falls apart.

We drove past the "spa" and there were a few cars in the parking lot.

"OMG!" exclaimed Hubby. "That's Fred's car!"

Fred? Who the fluck is Fred?

"He's the guy that does my business cards." And then Hubby picked up his cell phone, punched in a number AND CALLED HIM!

"Fred, my man! Getting the big bag of ganja for the weekend, Dood?" (in his best teenage stoner voice)

DOOD?

There was some mutual chuckling and they signed off.

"He said he was dropping off business cards. Uh huh. He doesn't personally deliver them to anybody else."

What the heck was that all about?

Apparently the boys (I'm not going to say men, because this is about as juvenile as it gets) in our small town recognize each other's cars. Maybe it's a guy thing, because I wouldn't know what the manager at the supermarket drove even if he ran over me. And every time they see somebody they know parked in front of the "spa", they all call whoever it is up for a serious ribbing. Really!

I don't get it. A little farther down the mountain, there is an "Oriental Massage" place with visible parking that's been there for about 10 years. As far as I know, they don't call each other up and ask if they got a happy ending. ;-)

This "ribbing" stuff has gotten so prolific that a friend who works in the local gubment called the establishment NEXT DOOR to the "spa" and told them that if they wanted her continued business they would have to deliver, because there was no way in hell that she'd ever park her candy apple red roadster anywhere near the pot place. LOL

I guess these guys have found their "inner child". What a bunch of boobs.

Cracks me up.

Lions, and Tigers, and Bears! Oh My!

2010-09-21T08:41:00.005-06:00

After racing home from work yesterday so as to not miss even a single second of Monday Night Football, Hubby did a bad bad thing.

He forgot to close the garage door to protect his beloved vintage car. You know, the one he can only drive for about 4 months out of the year because it doesn't do very well on snow and ice.

This morning he woke to find muddy paw prints on the hood. Apparently a bear came to check out the place for some goodies (thank GOD Monday was trash day, so the cans were empty) and climbed over the front of his car.

What it DID find was an industrial-sized jug of super hot sauce. The destroyed jug with teeth marks was in the front yard. LOL

That little piggy prolly went WEE WEE WEE all the way home!

Oops. Wrong fairy tale. ;-)

This and That

2010-09-11T04:35:00.002-06:00

We got the results of Big Kid's sleep study. He's doing ok and doesn't need the Bi-Pap to breathe any more...just needs to sleep with his oxygen mask. We were at our family doc's office when we got the results. He was pretty surprised that the tonsillectomy gave the Kid enough room to breathe, because he was convinced that the boy was suffering from sleep apnea.

Out of curiosity, he accessed the med records from the hospital and was surprised (as were we) that not only did the ENT remove the Kid's tonsils and adenoids, but part of his palate as well.

Although the results are obviously great, I'm more than a little annoyed. I spoke with the surgeon before and after the surgery, and at no point did he mention removing any part of Big Kid's palate. I went over EVERYTHING the kid signed when he was out of it before signing off prior to surgery, and there was no mention of it in there as a course of treatment.

I feel a little guilty. Although having a tonsillectomy as an adult can be pretty painful, we limited the amount of vicodin the kid was getting (he's been known to drug-seek) and weaned him off as quickly as possible. Having part of your palate removed is a much bigger deal, and I would have been more understanding about the amount of pain he was in. Grrr.
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Little Guy has been accepted to a fantastic new program down in the big city. It's a culinary college for people who have disabilities. They even have a working restaurant! He'll be able to take classes in all aspects of the food industry so that he'll get a chance to decide which part jazzes him the most as a future career. As most of you know, he's already a budding chef who has interned at a few places in the last couple of years.

It's a private "college", not state owned, so it's expensive. Hubby and I were planning on taking out a student loan for him, but I was able to secure a grant and transportation to pay his expenses. He's so excited and so are we!

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You ever wonder how in the world some authors ever come to be published? Gah!

A used bookstore down in the city runs a 200 books for $100 deal. The caveat is that you have to rummage through humongous packing crates to find your books. They're not catalogued or separated. Me and the boys (gotta have boys to haul the books, you know) spent a few hours down there on a day that was SUPPOSED to be cool, but ended up being 91 degrees outside, and prolly 10 degrees higher inside the warehouse.

I managed to get 100 finally, and talked them into letting me come back on a cooler day to search for the rest. I had to toss aside about a zillion Dr. Phil books (I've never read him, but I wonder why nobody wants to KEEP them), textbooks and self-help books to find goodies. Even so, I threw in about 20 by authors I've never heard of, but looked promising.

Yikes. I'm kinda sorry I did.

The first one started out pretty good. A couple of murders in a small southern town that hasn't had a murder in years. Young sheriff, hunky but a little inexperienced, sexy female FBI agent coming to town because she suspects that the murders are the work of a serial killer who has killed elsewhere.

Ok, I'm on board. It's got me hooked.

Until about the 4th chapter when it comes out the hot FBI agent is a robot from the future.

Blech. Can't suspend my disbelief on that one. I'm out.

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Hubby and I decided to take the Activia Challenge. Well, no, not really. It was on sale and I had coupons so I bought a bunch of 4-packs for 88 cents. We like yogurt, and I don't think Hubby and I get enough calcium on a daily basis since neither one of us are really milk drinkers. We've been snickering about the "Bifidous Regularis" for ages----is that even a real word? There's a friendly bacteria that makes you doody?

Well it didn't have much effect on Hubby, but he's always been regular anyway. First cup of coffee in the morning sends him to the john with the New Yorker tucked under his arm. Me, on the other hand---I've always been sporadic at best.

Until I met Activia, that is. Yes, it made me regular. At 2 O'CLOCK IN THE FREAKING MORNING FOR 4 DAYS IN A ROW!!! Every night I woke up feeling like I had an out-of-control freight train full of logs barreling down the old Eisenhower tunnel. It was so bad that I was afraid that if I inadvertently ripped butt in my sleep, I'd wake up in a puddle of my own shrapnel. Yuck. That was it for me.

So how was YOUR week?

Now on to Switzerland!

2010-08-31T13:42:00.003-06:00

Every time we go to European Cuisine (not it's real name)---the place of my infamous depantsing---I order the same thing. Zurich-style veal. Yumm.

After another trip to the restaurant recently, we realized that the 3-hour wait for your meal is de rigueur, because the darn place was practically empty.

I guess they round up the baby cows and kill them on the back porch while we're waiting for the sommelier to stomp on some grapes. The chairs are danged hard too, and designed to give you the unbearable urge to cut the cheese (kind of like pews in church). While waiting for our meal, I had to excuse myself twice to go outside and release the barking spiders. But that's another story. ;-)

I really love this dish, but can't bear the wait, so I decided to try to make it on my own. I looked around on the web, found several recipes, and kind of combined them to make a recipe as close to what I had as possible.

I'm assuming it comes Switzerland or some other spaetzly-eating country because of the name.

Here it is:

1 pound veal (I used scallopinied veal because that's all I could order in our podunk town).
You could also use chicken breasts or thin-sliced pork steaks if you're opposed to the baby cow thing.
1 onion diced
1 lbs sliced mushrooms
flour for dredging
butter (since this recipe calls for a lot of butter, I used Smart Balance 50/50 blend)
2 tbs flour for sauce
2 tbs corn starch
salt
pepper
white pepper
thyme
2 cups sauvignon blanc (or some other white wine)
2 cups half and half

Salt and pepper the dredging flour to taste. Dip the veal in the mixture and saute in butter. This won't take long if the cut is scallopini. Remove from pan and keep warm in the oven.

Saute the onions and mushrooms. When cooked through, sprinkle with the two tablespoons of flour. Stir briskly until absorbed. Pour in the two cups of wine, pinch of thyme, a little salt and a little white pepper. Bring to a boil while continuously stirring until it cooks down, making a brownish-gravy. Turn the heat down to low/medium.

Stir the cornstarch into the half and half until it dissolves, then pour the whole thing into the pan. Turn the heat back to medium and mix well. Let it simmer until it thickens. Taste it to make sure the cornstarch is cooked through. If it's chalkyish---you need to let it cook a bit longer. If the sauce is too thick for your taste, add a little whole milk or water to thin it out.

I wanted to make spaetzle, but it looked like a lot of work. LOL So I cheated.

Since the ingredients looked pretty much the same, I used a bag of fresh-frozen egg noodles. I boiled them per directions, then cut them up into bite-sized pieces.

Then I sauteed them in butter, nutmeg, salt and white pepper until slightly browned on the outside.

Serve with sauce on the meat, the spaetzley stuff on the side.

This is a very rich dish, and needs a salad and veggies to balance it out. I'd skip the bread course. ;-)

First Stop---New York City!

2010-08-29T05:49:00.007-06:00

So, we didn't actually get to go away. The last couple of years have been pretty rough financially---it's hard to own a small business in a climate that isn't friendly to small businesses.

Things have picked up in the last couple of months, and Hubby has been working 6 days a week. We decided it would be stupid to go away while the work is coming in like gangbusters. My brother has offered his services as a caregiver (he's a former EMT and since he and his girlfriend couldn't afford to get away either, they'd love to come and stay up here in the mountains for a few days) so maybe we can run away for a break in the fall.

But that doesn't mean we didn't make the most of our two weeks! Hubby and I spent late afternoons drinking wine and playing in the pool without kids, rented disgusting horror movies, and ran around nekkid and scared the dogs.

I got a chance to make some recipes I haven't used in awhile, try a few new ones, and make up some of my own too. The best part is that Hubby did the kitchen cleaning after I spent the days cooking, and we took a culinary trip around the world!

Our first stop was New York City!

Why did we stop there? Well, because that's where Barbara Walters films The View. Not that I watch it, mind you, but I really love Barbara Walters' mother's Stuffed Cabbage Roll recipe. I haven't made it in years, because it's a bit time-consuming, but oh-so-worth-it. A friend gave me the recipe when I was a new mother, but I found it online.

Plus I've been doing something kind of nutty lately (maybe will share in another post sometime) and have ended up with about 20 jars of Welch's grape jelly. Had to figure out how to use some of it up. LOL

First up, here is the recipe, which has otherwise been known as "Little Green Fart Nuggets" by the men in my family.

Stuffed Cabbage Rolls

The only changes I made? Instead of pouring boiling water over the cabbage, which necessitates using two containers, I just boiled up a big pot and threw the heads in. Then I used two forks to peel back the leaves when they got soft.

The other change I made was to cut up twice the onions needed. I put some in the meat mixture, and put the rest on top (forgot to put them on the bottom until after I had already rolled the little suckers). It turned out better---at least to me---because they got nice and brown and caramelized in the sauce.

The cooking time is long---almost 3 hours, but don't skimp on it, because then the cabbage leaves will be tough.

When they're done? Sheer bliss! They are the most tender, scrumptious, luscious, juicy---ok, I better stop there. It's starting to sound like I'm describing the heroine's boobs in a Nora Robert's novel. ;-)

Serve with rice. Enjoy!

At Last!

2010-08-16T20:28:00.005-06:00

Finally, FINALLY going to get a little R & R.

Little Guy's summer has just been awful. With Big Kid in and out of the hospital and staying here to recover, the month of July was a total bust. Couldn't invite friends over to swim (especially Hot Cutie) because of the risk of contagion, and all invitations dwindled as well. Mono has a 4-6 week incubation period, and who knew if Little Guy had caught it?

So he spent the time working and earned enough to pay for a plane ticket out to California to spend 2 weeks with his bio dad. Last week he was away at camp, and yesterday he flew on a plane by himself for the very first time. I'm so proud of him!

Tomorrow, the movers are moving Big Kid and Kitty into the mobile home. It's taken about 3 weeks, but the renovations are finally done. We ended up tearing out ALL the carpet and having tile installed in each the rooms. Although the bedroom carpets looked promising, when we pulled them back, they were very nasty underneath. We put in a new air filtration system, a dishwasher and did some cosmetic work, so the place looks pretty spiffy.

The Aspiring Adult is busy working two jobs and has a social life, so we don't see much of him. Hubby and I are going to try to spend some quality time together, and hopefully be able to get away for a few days.

Until then, I'm going to do some of the things I've been dying to do---master the art of making Chinese dumplings and pot stickers from scratch, learn to make the perfect Chili Relleno, have morning coffee in my underwear....

I'll post some pics. Well, not of me in my underwear, of course. You'd all run screaming from the room after your eyesballs exploded, and wouldn't THAT be a big drippy mess? LOL

See you soon!

Asshat of the Week---Paul Blankfield

2010-08-11T06:25:00.002-06:00

Last Saturday, the Bennett family went to have dinner at the Olive Garden restaurant. Since they have two young children, one who has autism, they went at 5pm to avoid a later, more adult crowd. Paul Blankfield, a diner sitting at another table, complained to the Bennetts that their son was too noisy. Mr. Bennett apologized, explained his son's condition, and said he'd try to keep him as quiet as possible. Blankfield made disparaging remarks about their son, and hurled some profanities at them. Then he hurled HIMSELF at Mr. Bennett, punching him in the neck. Employees and other diners separated them until police arrived. "In the police report of the incident, the arresting officer said Blankfield continued to make hateful remarks even as he was being driven to jail. The report quotes Blankfield as saying of the boy's father: 'Good for him. He gets what he deserved...an autistic kid.'" Where to start, where to start... What idiot goes to a family restaurant early expecting a quiet dining experience? It's Olive Garden, not Lutece, you fool. And why bring the boy's disability into it? I've been in plenty of family restaurants where neurotypical cupcakes have behaved like minions of Satan, while my son sat quietly as he ate his meal. The Bennett's have every right to enjoy a night out, as difficult as it can be with a child who has such issues. They did the courteous thing---went EARLY to a family-friendly restaurant. Instead of being oblivious to their child's behavior, they made efforts to keep him calm and quiet. It wasn't like the kid was throwing ice cubes at you or running around picking food off other diners' plates (like I've seen Satan's cupcakes do). In my opinion, Mr. Blankfield, Mr. Bennett showed remarkable restraint. He's a pretty big guy and committed to promoting tolerance. If it was me, I would have ripped your head off and sh*t down your neck, you Asshat. But I'm evil like that.

Sometimes You Just Gotta Say...

2010-08-08T08:26:00.004-06:00

A Montana teen texted her boyfriend that she was going to crash her car into oncoming traffic in an effort to commit suicide. Shortly thereafter, going 85 mph, she crossed the center line and crashed head-on into another car, tragically killing the pregnant driver and her young son.

She was charged as an adult (17 years old) for deliberate homicide. Right now, the case is being decided as to whether she should be prosecuted as a minor or an adult.

In the meantime, she and her father are suing the estate of the VICTIM for damages, citing that the accused "suffered permanent and continuing injuries, along with mental pain and suffering and the loss of capacity to enjoy life. It cites future loss of income and past, present and future medical expenses. Winter is seeking a judgment against the defendants for damages, costs, pre-judgment and post-judgment interest and other relief deemed appropriate."

WTF? I mean seriously. "Loss of capacity to enjoy life?" Didn't sound like she was enjoying life much when she TRIED TO KILL HERSELF AND TOOK OUT A COUPLE OF OTHERS IN THE PROCESS! Gah!

______________________________

In another matter, 4 guys rent a canoe to enjoy a river ride. Being dumbasses (or just being doods, take your pick), they come up with the brilliant plan to jump off a railroad trestle that bridges said river into the water.

3 guys make it. 1 does not. He was hit by a train when he tried to outrun it.

Now his mother is suing the railroad and the canoe rental company for damages.

She's suing the railroad company because they couldn't stop the train fast enough.

Uh yeah. Everybody knows you can stop a zillion tons of steel on a dime. It's a train, fer pete's sakes, not a mini cooper.

She's also suing the canoe company because they "knew or should have known" that stupid people jump off of train trestles that go over rivers so they shouldn't be renting canoes.

It seems kind of obvious that critical thinking isn't an inherited trait in that family.

As her attorney said, this was “a tragic death that could have been and should have been prevented.”

Well duh. It prolly wouldn't have happened if the victim hadn't climbed up the train trestle, ya think?

WTF?

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From the "That Really Takes Some Balls" department:

A guy in Seattle admired a totem pole he saw in a park. Instead of having one made for the house he was building, he convinced a crane company that he was the city arts commissioner and was having the 18-foot pole restored. So they took it down and delivered it to his house. It didn't fit in the guy's garage, so he hid it.

Took 8 months and a trip to Oregon to get that sucker back.

WTF was he thinking? WTF are any of these people thinking?

Heh

2010-08-06T09:06:00.004-06:00

A bloggy friend sent this to me in email:

I know! I know! Straight to hell....

Touching Base on Big Kid

2010-07-31T22:19:00.003-06:00

Big Kid is finally on the mend again after the latest crisis.

Here is the recap:

3 times in the emergency room in a month. First trip to the ER (he was coughing up blood and couldn't breathe), was down in the city, and he was diagnosed with bronchitis. Even though they had his medical records there on hand (from his H1N1 crisis), they didn't do any swabs, blood tests or apparently scope down his throat. Sent him home with a prescription and told him to follow up with his doctor in 5 days.

Admitted to the hospital twice. First time up here at our small regional medical center, four days after going to the ER in the city, and they actually did tests in the emergency room and discovered he had Mono. And his throat was obstructed from swelling of tonsils, adenoids and lymph nodes. Kept him for a couple of days because he was really sick and couldn't breathe. Sent him home with a bi-pap breathing machine and instructions. Second time we took him down to the hospital in the city, where he got a tonsillectomy to make room for his airway.

So here is the aftermath. LOL

I was with him the day of his surgery. He was so wiped out that he was in a hospital bed with just a face-mask and completely unconscious. From the lack of sleep for 4 days or so, I thought, because he was on no medication except for his psychiatric meds. He was so out of it that he turned over and pulled the IV out of his arm and never felt it. Because he was going into surgery in about 5 hours, the nurses decided to wait until then to replace it.

We had to shake him up several times to get him to respond and sign some papers (one was the Hippa form that said the staff could share his information with me because he was an adult). At that time, I informed the nurse that Big Kid was wearing extended wear lens contacts that needed to be removed before surgery. She wrote down on his chart "lenses removed" and then somebody came in and said the surgeon was on the phone and ready to talk to me. So I went to talk to him about the procedure.

The next day in the ICU, after the surgery, the nurse said to me----"I've been reading his chart and the amount of risperdone (an anti-psychotic the kid takes) seems to be high. Can I go over it with you?"

When the kid was admitted, Hubby brought all of his pill bottles so they could write down his meds and dosages. Turns out the admitting nurse misread the risperdone dose and they were giving him twice what was prescribed. And his original dose was pretty freaking high to begin with. No wonder he was practically comatose!

The day the Big Kid was released, we waited all day for the surgeon to sign off. By 6pm, the staff ascertained that the doctor wasn't even working that day, and the on-call didn't have any orders to check the Kid whatsoever. That evening, at 8pm, on a FRIDAY night, as Hubby was checking the kid out, his nurse said, "by the way, Big Kid has MRSA. Here is a handout about it, and you need to follow-up with your doctor."

WTF? Like our doctor has office hours on the weekend?

MRSA is a antibiotic-resistant staff infection that can be deadly. The handout said that 40% of patients in hospitals catch it and that it is very contagious. It explained that people can get "colonized" with it, but not be "infected". WTF does that mean?

After a weekend of quarantining the kid to his room (such an easy task---NOT!), we went to see the doc on Monday. Yes, he had MRSA in his nose and throat. He also had a urinary tract infection. Joy. Got meds for both.

On Tuesday, it occurred to me that the Kid prolly wasn't seeing too well, and asked him if he needed help in putting in new contacts. He said he was fine.

THEY NEVER REMOVED HIS CONTACTS BEFORE SURGERY! Damnit.

Since the contact lenses were fairly new (in just a couple of weeks, they're 30 day lenses and expensive), we decided to let everything be, since the chance of him rolling them back to the back of his eyeballs while under general anesthetic was practically nil by now.

On Thursday, he woke up with a major oozing infection in both eyes. gah!

During this time, with all the test results, etc, it became clear that Big Kid simply cannot stay up here in our home for extended periods until his lung problems sort themselves out, if they ever do, because of the high altitude. Kitty's home, which is actually her mother-in-law's home, is not a safe place for his breathing issues because of a long-term mold problem (also, the MIL had a cat that has since died that pissed all over everything and no matter what Kitty has tried you can't get the stank out of unsealed hardwood floors unless you sand them down and seal them).

I'm NOT going to co-sign another lease for him in an apartment after the last fiasco, and we simply can't afford to buy a house or anything like that for him.

So we purchased a mobile home in a very nice park where Kitty's parents have lived for the past 25 years. During the last week we've had a crew in there customizing it for his needs (blowing the air system out, tearing out the carpet and replacing it with tile, painting, etc). It's a lot closer than Kitty's house was, so we can get there within 30 minutes if he needs us.

Kitty is going to close down the house and move with him.

We're also in the process of having an assisted-living person come in and help him when she has to work. He can't be home alone for more than a few hours at a time.

I'm just heartbroken to say that our family doc and Big Kid's Neuro-psych don't feel like he's capable of making any medical or financial decisions on his own, due to the damage incurred by oxygen deprivation to his brain.

This is something we're going to have to be thinking hard about.

Rule #15 Don't Let Hubby Take Dogs to the Groomer

2010-07-19T05:22:00.010-06:00

With all the drama surrounding Big Kid's latest illness, I had to get Hubby and the other guys to help pick up the slack.

One of these chores was taking the dogs to the groomer to get their summer cuts. Since there are 4 dogs, I scheduled 2 one day, and 2 the next.

This is why you don't let Hubby take the dogs to the groomer. He walked out of the house with a couple of yorkies---Molly-Poo and Stinky Pete--- who looked like this:

And came back with a Chinese Crested and a Chihuahua.

Molly-Foo Young

Stinky Pedro

Guess who spent the night in the doghouse?

Pooping on My Parade

2010-07-16T07:17:00.002-06:00

You ever feel like Somebody is just crapping all over your life?

This is how yesterday went:

Had to drive the Little Guy down to the city to replace his retainer for the THIRD time. At $220 a whack.

Took the Aspiring Adult with us because he had to get a urine test for his new job. He lost his old job because he dropped the F-bomb in front of his last employer. The employer himself dropped the F-bomb quite frequently, so the kid figured he wouldn't mind a potty-mouth free-for-all. The boss did in fact mind, because it was a family-friendly establishment.

Why did I have to drive the Aspiring Adult since we provided him with a car of his very own? He just blew out the second engine in 5 months. The first time was because he couldn't figure out that when the oil light comes on, it means there's no oil. This time, it was because he was treating the Chevy Malibu like it was an off-road vehicle. He's going to have to replace the engine himself this time ($3000), but that's another story.

Then we went to see the Big Kid in the ICU. He was doing well, but had breathing issues through the night. The nurse told me that the surgeon wanted to keep him another night. That was ok with us! Hubby went and spent time with him early in the afternoon, and Kitty was planning on going in the evening.

Had to run a few more errands before heading back up to the mountains. Picked up lunch, and dang, I was ready for a nap!

When we got home, there was a strange car smack dab in the middle of my driveway. There was nobody in there. How very odd.

The occupants weren't in their car, they were in my house! Gah!

That they were armed with mops and vacuums should have told me that they weren't your average burglars, but I totally freaked.

"Who are you, and what in the HELL are you doing in my house?"

Turns out that they were from a cleaning service that I stopped using over 5 months ago. I actually have a new cleaning lady, and she'd just been here last week. For some reason, my name popped up on their company's computer saying I was scheduled for a cleaning, and their new scheduling person didn't confirm it.

One of the boys had forgotten to lock the door when we left, so when there was no answer to their knock, they came right in!

I called their office and talked to their office manager. She apologized profusely and said that she wouldn't charge us for the cleaning.

"Lovely," I said sarcastically. "And I won't charge your company with breaking and entering."

The part that irks me is that the cleaning ladies were furious with ME. I told them I knew that it wasn't their fault, and apologized for freaking out all over them. But you'd think they'd put themselves in my shoes. It's pretty darn unsettling to come home and find strangers pawing over your things (they had moved them to clean, but still...).

If I had known this was going to happen, I would have stayed away at least until they vacuumed or cleaned the bathroom. LOL

As soon as that was over, I got a call from the Big Kid at the hospital. "They're kicking me out! You have to come and get me!"

Waaaaaa?

I called his ICU nurse. Apparently the ER doctor who admitted the Kid did rounds and figured he could go home. The nurse tried to talk him out of it, but he was the boss, applesauce. Hubby tried to call the surgeon, but he was in surgery all day, and the assistant did all that she could to help us. We were very worried that he'd come home, freak out all over again, and we'd have to take him back to the ER. Thought one more night with the Bi-Pap in a monitored setting where he'd feel safe (not in the ICU, but in a bed somewhere) would be the best for everyone.

So one good thing DID happen yesterday. Between the ICU nurse, the surgeon's assistant and Hubby twanking on the ER doc, the kid got one more night.

I'm going down to bring him home in a couple of hours.

...and a new day begins.

Mono-polizing Our Lives

2010-07-15T05:37:00.001-06:00

After 4 straight days with little or no sleep, we couldn't take it any more. Monday night was the last straw.

The vicodin made the kid weird, psychologically. He got it in his head that if he fell asleep, he'd stop breathing, even though Hubby and I promised to take turns staying up with him and watching over him. He kept taking his cell phone or the house phone into the bathroom and called the hospital operator multiple times, trying to "check in" like he was at a hotel. When we figured out what he was doing, we took the phones away and he threw the mother of all fits.

Although his cannula (nose hose) was attached to his concentrator, he kept wandering through the house, ranting and dragging his oxygen tank cart behind him. There was a lot of foul language and abusive behavior (on his part) as well.

Tuesday afternoon, our family doc, the head respiratory therapist at the oxygen company and the doc who treated the Big Kid at our little regional hospital consulted and agreed that he should probably be trached until the mono was over. Even with the Bi-Pap, his oxygen intake was being severely compromised when he fell asleep. Unfortunately, they couldn't do the procedure up here, so they sent us down to the city to the big hospital down there.

Yeah, right.

I was so tired that I couldn't see straight, much less drive. Hubby offered to take him, and armed with test results he took him to the emergency room as instructed. When he got there, the people who had set this up with our doc were gone with the shift change.

It took him 8 freaking hours to convince them to admit the Kid. They wouldn't accept the test results, despite 3 phone calls from our doc and the oxygen company and had to run their own, starting from the beginning. Except they didn't. They just made them wait. Hubby REFUSED to leave, and finally they got the Kid a bed at about 2am.

The ENT on call saw the kid on early morning rounds yesterday, took a look down his throat and scheduled an immediate tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy. Same day service. LOL

An hour after the procedure, the kid was awake and talking. Said he could FINALLY breathe!!

Right now, he's in the ICU with his old friends from last fall, as a precaution due to his history. He's sleeping normally with the Bi-Pap. Hubby and I were able to get about 12 hours of uninterrupted sleep, so we're feeling much better too!

Unfortunately, and I say this with ::koff koff:: love, they'll probably release him today. I hope not, because we could all use another 12 hours and a day without drama. ;-)

NOT Cut Out For Nursing

2010-07-12T08:11:00.003-06:00

or Call the Waaaaambulance!

Our friend The Friggin Loon mentioned in the comments section that maybe this whole thing with the Big Kid is God's way of telling me that I should be a nurse. Nosiree, Bob (or God). I'd tell You to shove it up Your big behind, but then You'd probably smite me with a passel of boils or something.

On the other hand, boils might be a welcome respite from this past weekend.

Friday afternoon, before I checked the Big Kid out of the hospital, the oxygen people sent over a guy with the Bi-Pap machine. I cleared a space next to the bed, thinking it would be a large unit.

But no, the darn thing is about the size of a loaf of bread. A $5,000 loaf of bread. It hooks up to the Kid's concentrator and we're all afraid to touch it in case it snaps into tiny pieces. We all stand around the nightstand and gape at it with reverence and awe, like it was the Holy Grail.

The aftercare instructions from the hospital were simple. Pain relief and fever reduction with Tylenol. Maintain the Kid's oxygen levels with all the equipment. Easy peasy, right?

Bahahahahahaha!!!

It's been like taking care of a 300 lb two-year-old. A two-year-old who's in a great deal of pain and very cross with the world.

When I got him home and settled into the armchair with his nose hose, the Kid said to Little Guy, "Go check my concentrator and make sure it's set up to 5 (liters)".

Except that because his tonsils and lymph nodes are so swollen he can barely breathe, much less speak, it comes out like, "Gachkmycaancenraroranmaasuuissepoofi".

Little Guy does and then comes back and said, "I need help." I check the concentrator, and yes, it's up to 5.

At about 6, Hubby was home and I decided to lay down with MY oxygen to rest for a little bit. I'm supposed to use it for 12-14 hours a day, but I usually get by with about 8, while I'm sleeping. My ass was dragging so badly that I curled up with a book, hoping to drift off and get a little nap. I couldn't sleep. In fact, although I was exhausted I was totally alert. Too alert. WTF?

At 8, I heard a commotion outside my bedroom door. Hubby came in and said, "there is something wrong with the Kid's concentrator. The control is stuck and way too much air is coming out of it."

I called the oxygen people and sat down on the floor at the end of the hall in front of the two concentrators (mine and his). They talked me through resetting it over the phone. When I was done, I happened to glance at mine, and Whoa, Nellie! The controls on MY concentrator were set up to 5, instead of 2. I guess Little Guy got the units mixed up and changed my settings.

I got juiced.

Finally got everyone settled in bed, and fell on to my pillow at 10pm. At 1am, the kid was in my doorway and turned on my bedroom light.

"Moooerismyulsocksmonior?" (Mom where is my pulse-ox monitor?)

Half-asleep, I said, "It's in my purse."

A few seconds? minutes? later, I heard what passed for screaming from someone who can't breath. I jumped out of bed and ran into the Kid's room.

He had taken off the bi-pap mask and didn't have his nose hose in.

"My oxygen is down to 50!" he screamed, and ran down the hall into the living room, with me chasing after him, clutching the nose hose in my hand.

Seconds later he fainted. Wham! Hit the floor. I shoved the oxygen hose into his mouth and slapped him around a bit.

"Breathe!" I shouted. "Wake up!"

Apparently, when he got into a deep sleep, 5 liters of oxygen isn't enough. His level went low enough that it triggered the mother of all panic attacks. He hyperventilated and passed out.

Saturday we remedied the situation the best we could. Got the concentrator replaced and rigged his bed so that he'd be in a semi-reclining position. As it was, he was still in a lot of pain and couldn't get comfortable, so he was up and down every hour. Taking his psychiatric medication was a real pain in the butt, because the pills would get stuck in his throat. I had to puree everything just to get some nutrients in him.

Then he started complaining that he hadn't pooped in days. His stomach hurt when he was lying down. Considering the amount of fruit puree we'd been pouring down him, I figured this was something that would take care of itself in it's own time.

And boy, did it. Sometime in the wee hours of Sunday morning, he tried to make it to the bathroom (he has to get the mask off, the nose hose in and trail a tank behind him), before he crapped his pants.

He didn't make it.

Kitty got him cleaned up and back into bed. Until 3am, when he was at my bedroom door. "Mom, I can't sleep, will you sit up with me?" He's been doing the majority of his sleeping sitting up in the living room easy chair at 40 minute intervals.

Yeah, sure, let me go to the bathroom first.

More asleep than awake, I stumbled into the bathroom and sat on the can. On top of something very cold and very squishy.

When Kitty cleaned HIM up, she didn't check the toilet seat. It was covered in wet turd lumps. So I had to pull up my pants on my own sh*tty ass, get him settled with his tank in the chair, then shower, change and clean up the doody mess in the bathroom.

By Sunday, the Kid was so miserable that he was begging to go back to the hospital. We had to explain over and over that he wasn't serious enough to be in the hospital, that we knew he was in pain and uncomfortable, that it was the nature of his illness, and he'd just have to get through it the best he could. He called his doctor and left a message, and the doctor called him back. And couldn't understand a word the Kid said on the phone.

I took the phone from the kid and explained that he thought that if HE called the doctor, he'd get to go back to the hospital. I apologized profusely, and explained everything that had happened on the weekend. Doc said, "let me prescribe something for the pain so you can all get some rest."

Hubby went to the pharmacy and came back with a large bag and a bemused expression. "You gotta see this."

Inside was an INDUSTRIAL sized bottle of liquid vicodin and acetaminophen. Enough to knock out an entire football team. I kid you not. That thing is bigger than a pint-sized bottle of Wild Turkey. But 10 times stronger.

So we propped the kid up so he wouldn't aspirate if he vomited, dosed the crap out of him, and everybody got a good nap.

Bad, bad Nursey.

I am Mother, Hear Me Whimper

2010-07-09T08:53:00.003-06:00

Well, doctors and nurses got all the fluid out of the Kid's lungs, are reducing the tonsils with steroids, and have his oxygen under control with the Bi-Pap machine.

He's driving them nuts and they want him out of there. LOL

So here was the issue of the day.

The respiratory therapist told me that Big Kid could come home with a Bi-Pap., but the insurance company won't pay for a Bi-Pap unless he's completed a sleep study, and he's been on a waiting list and can't get one until August.

How screwed up is that?

I called the nurse-on-call for the insurance company, and explained the situation. Between having the doo-doo scared out of me and being hormonal and not getting enough sleep, I was bawling about 3 minutes into the conversation. "He can't come home if he can't breathe, and how can it be more cost effective to keep him in the hospital for a month?"

The nurse agreed, and offered to put me through to a claim's representative. She said she'd stay on the line to explain the situation for me (so I wouldn't blow my nose in their ears, I suspect). We were on hold for about 5 minutes and when the representative came on the line, the system dropped the nurse off, so I had to go through the whole thing AGAIN.

And yes, about 3 minutes into the long and convoluted explanation I was sobbing like a wet wuss-bag.

"All the doctor has to do is prescribe a Bi-Pap", she told me.

Whaaaat?

"I wish those idiots would just call us first for benefits before upsetting the parents," she grumbled. "If your son's condition warrants a Bi-Pap, all the doctor has to do is prescribe it. He doesn't have to wait for a sleep study."

Damn, I wasted a good manipulative cry for nothing.

As much as I am grateful and thankful for all of your sympathy and support, to be honest, I'm starting to feel like Munchausen Mommy. "My kid is sick! My kid is sick!"

I was telling that to Kitty and Hubby last night. Kitty stayed the night so she wouldn't have to drive back and forth to the city.

Kitty said, "Imagine how I must be feeling. Big Kid never goes ANYWHERE. And then he gets two somewhat random illnesses that I probably carried home (Mono isn't your run-of-the-mill thing among adults, and both children of a friend of Kitty's recently had it)."

So we've dubbed her Typhoid Kitty.

Typhoid Kitty and Munchausen Mommy. Quite the pair. ;-)

Thanks again for all your kind wishes. Gotta go fix up the kid's room for a stay in isolation before the oxygen guys get here.

Big Kid---The Neverending Story

2010-07-08T06:04:00.002-06:00

My boy is back in the hospital.

:-(

Last Friday night, Kitty took him to the emergency room down in the city, because he had swollen lymph nodes, was coughing up a little bit of blood, and finding it hard to breath. The took x-rays of his chest (no pneumonia, thank God) told him he had bronchitis, sent him home with a script for some strong antibiotics and told him to follow up with his doctor within 5 days.

They didn't examine his lymph nodes or do any blood work. Kitty was quite put out (and rightly so), that they kept trying to take his oxygen away from him, even though she insisted that he needed it. Luckily, she stayed with him and kept a watchful eye.

He came home for the weekend so we could care for him and spent most of the time sleeping. On Monday, he was ready to go back to Kitty's. Early Tuesday morning, he called me, frightened because he couldn't breath when he was laying down. He'd been up all night. Hubby went down to the city and got him and I made an appointment to see our family doc right away.

He looked really puffy, and was a bit altered. I put it down to a night with no sleep, but the puffiness was worrying me. His heart rate was rapid (we check it with a pulse-ox moniter every few hours), and I pulled the doctor aside when we got there because water-retention, the inability to breath when lying down and rapid heart rate were all symptoms I had when I was diagnosed with heart failure a couple of years ago.

The doc ordered a bunch of tests (scans of his lymph nodes, lungs and heart) to be done the next morning, gave me a handful of referrals to specialists, and prescribed a diuretic. At that point, Big Kid was pretty sick, but not urgently so. We'd have to rig something up so he could sleep semi-sitting and try to keep him comfortable. We had to crank his oxygen up to 5 liters.

I was up all night with him. He'd sleep for 40 minutes and then wake up disoriented and in pain. By the time the morning came, I could actually hear the fluid in his lungs when he was breathing, and his neck was huge. So I took him to the emergency room at our small regional hospital.

They ran a bunch of tests. He was full of fluid, and his lymph nodes and tonsils had swelled up so big that they were blocking his airway. They were planning on trying a c-pap (which forces air down into the lungs by mask), but if that didn't work, they were going to have to put another trach in.

In the meantime, they were making plans to transport him down into the city by ambulance, because some of his symptoms DID seem to have cardiac involvement, and they weren't equipped to handle it there.

Right about the time they were finishing with his EKG (which was bafflingly normal) his bloodwork came in.

The look of surprise on the doctor's face was truly a sight to see.

"You're not going to believe this", he said to me and the nurse. "Big Kid has Mono."

Mono? Are you freaking kidding me? That with a side of secondary bronchial infection. With his compromised immune system, he has a raging case of both.

Soooo....they decided they could treat him right here, thank Goodness.

Because his oxygen and CO were messed up, his kidneys weren't functioning properly, causing him to retain a large amount of fluids. You can't really treat Mono, because it's a virus, but you can treat the symptoms.

He couldn't sleep on his back, because the pressure from the tonsils and lymph nodes were crushing his windpipe.

They've got him in an isolation ward because he is highly infectious. After he was settled in, Hubby and I brought him a fan, his tunes, and some magazines. He was a lot more alert last night and feeling better with pain meds. They had to shave off his beard for the mask, but he didn't even blink an eye at it.

Oh and I almost forgot. It seems like sometime between his last bloodwork and this, Big Kid has developed diabetes. Something we're going to have to deal with when this crisis is over. ::sigh::

So here it is, 8 months later, and I'm getting ready to trek back to the hospital to glove, gown, and mask up again. Only this time, I don't have to drive down into the city, but half a mile down the highway(a blessing).

If you have a moment to spare, good wishes and healing prayers would be truly appreciated, My Friends.

Bad Car-ma

2010-07-06T05:29:00.009-06:00

I love my car.

It's a '92 Caddy Seville that we bought from my Dad's estate when he passed away in '97. It's a 4-door sedan that only has 120K miles on it (which is very little for an 18-year-old car, considering the average mileage put on a car is 15K annually). My dad got it with a V-8 engine, and it really kicks ass going up the mountain.

I'm not a car person. Or I guess, what you'd call a "gotta have a new car" person. Hubby has a friend whose wife just beats the crap out their cars, and insists on having the newest model every other year or so. Hubby has offered to trade it in and upgrade over the years, but I've refused. I really REALLY love this car and can't think of another I'd rather have.

On some level, I think Hubby feels guilty, because he's gone through several cars himself since we've been married, and I'm just happy with mine. It looks great to me (gorgeous midnight blue), is fully loaded except for a CD or MP3 player (which I could give two poops about), has front wheel drive (with the great Caddy feature of a light that shines in the direction you want to turn at night when you hit the signal) and has been very reliable. We've had some work over the years (brakes, tires, etc), but it's been a great car to haul a family around in.

I tease him about how lucky he is to have such a low-maintenance wife. ;-)

Of course, being me, things don't usually run the way you'd think ordinary life is supposed to.

I guess I'm not the ONLY one who loves my car.

A few months ago, I wrote about the spring snow storm we had and the family of rabbits we found huddling under the hood when Hubby went to check my wiper fluid. We live in a rural mountain area, and there is a plethora of wildlife around.

Over the past 13 years, from time to time, if I've been driving the car for a few hours or more, it started to get a smell. Kinda burny. We've all described it various ways..."burning coffee" (which is entirely reasonable, since once I overturned a full coffee cup on the floor), "popcornish", or "burnt meat".

I'd get home, make an appointment with our local mechanic shop to check it out. We'd get there, and they couldn't diagnose the problem, because well, there was no mystery smell. Everything was working fine. I'd drive it home, and a month or two later, it would happen again.

So, it happened again one day, and I drove it straight to the shop. Went inside the office and said, "Hurry! Get out here!" The owner (who is our neighbor), and all his mechanics smelled it all for the first time, said the smell wasn't electrical but seemed to be organic. They checked the engine, carburetor, etc, were baffled, and said, well, if you have a loss of power or anything, bring it back.

I had a lot of appointments in the next two weeks, and I didn't want to use this car, so I left it in the garage. Hubby had brought his mom's car from back east, and I used that instead because I just didn't want to deal with the burny stuff.

Bright and early one morning, Hubby decided to run the car down to get an oil change for me before I started driving it again. It started to get that smell almost right away, which was unusual, because it usually took at least an hour of straight driving before it happened. When he got there, the owner of the shop said, "let's take another look under the hood".

Popped it open and screamed like a girl.

Mice. Everywhere. Running around under the hood of my car and jumping out at him.

When he was sure that the mice were gone, he put my car on the rack thingy and lifted it up. Every nook and cranny, hole (muffler too), and ledge was stuffed full of dog food! He and the guys took air hoses and estimated that they blew about 2 pounds of Pedigree dry dog food from the underside of my pride and joy.

I guess when my car got hot, it started cooking the dog food, hence the burny smell.

Oy.

Apparently my car has served as a mobile meese hotel and casino complete with buffet for the last 13 years or so. I must have left a trail of dog food behind me every time I left the house and bounced along the dirt road.

Now we're storing the dog food in a sturdy garbage can with a locking lid. Yuck!

_______

P.S. For some reason, Blogger is dropping some of the comments. Don't worry, I'm getting them in email!

Grr

2010-07-03T22:02:00.005-06:00

You know, this really annoys me. Both as an adoptee, and as an adult who tries to be moral and responsible.

Most of the time, I love being a parent. ;-) Most of us grow up imagining parenthood, and I have a lot of compassion for those who find out one day that biological parenting just isn't in the cards for them. I feel their pain, I really do.

I had two children with my first husband, when I was really young. Both were born with supposed genetic developmental disabilities. Although I was ok (yes, a relative term), I had no medical history for anything.

My guys and I went through genetic testing, mostly because my former in-laws were reluctant to provide information ("there's nothing wrong with US! It's YOU, you Bastard!") At the time, genetic testing only identified about 17% of known disabilities, and we were cleared.

Back in the day, before they became de jour, any kind of learning disability or cognitive issue was rather taboo and a cause for shame. After our divorce, my ex and his sister went on to be tested for issues later on, both because it might explain some of the problems they had while growing up that their parents ignored, and because my ex's children from his second family were having problems.

When I met my current hubby (we've been together 18 years!) I made it clear that unless I found my biological family and got a medical history, I didn't feel like it would be a moral or responsible thing to do to have more children that could possibly be born with developmental disabilities. Before anyone squawks about it, I have to explain that I just didn't feel it would be fair to my guys to have to divide the care they would need into adulthood in an extensive way, especially since my Little Guy would need lifelong assistance. Our love is infinite, but our resources aren't.

Hubby loved me enough to marry me anyway, and to take on my guys as his.

I found my birth family 8 years ago, and yes, there are some possible genetic issues. We decided not to have any biological children together, which has been really painful for me. I loved being pregnant, and Hubby's a wonderful Dad.

So I get the pain, I do. And somewhat the desperation of wanting to parent (aka Baby Rabies).

What I DON'T get, and have little patience for is:

Prospective adoptive parents who are so desperate for a child, any child, that they will take on and invest themselves---emotionally and financially---with a baby who is not actually legally free to be adopted.

KNOWING that both parents haven't signed off on the adoption, they take temporary possession and then refuse to give the baby up, desperately dragging it on for months, or even years, figuring that "possession is 9/10ths of the law", only to have to give the baby up to (usually) the biological father who has never given consent for relinquishment in the first place and has been trying to establish his parental rights.

Then the prospective adoptive parents cry to the media (knowing that the baby was never legally free, but thought that their two-parent and/or more affluent status would win them the day) that the child will be traumatized by being ripped from their happy home.

Yeah, probably so. But whose fault IS it? Who dragged it out, knowing that both parents didn't sign off? Who cared more about themselves than the child? Adoption is about finding a home for a child who needs a family, not about finding a child for someone who wants one.

And if they win the day, how will they eventually explain to their child that one of the biological parents didn't want to "abandon" him/her, but fought to keep him/her? That their desire to be parents trumped a child's right to be a part of their family of origin, just because the adoptive parents had more money or a better attorney?

That shit really pisses me off.

Bleargh!

2010-07-01T20:58:00.002-06:00

I'm sorry I haven't written, but I've just been really tired.

In the last 3 weeks, we've had:

BigKidhasanewtherapistwhoheisgoingtosee3timesaweekbecausehecan't
controlhisangeroutbursts.Bothhisfamilydoctorandneuropsychthinkthathe
mighthavetogointoassistedlivingbecausesomeofhisissuesaretoomuchforKitty
andItohandle.LittleGuyhasbeenhavingtoattendweeklyjobtrainingclassesdown
inthecitytobeinonagovernementgrantthatwasofferedbetweenMayandJune
wheretheyhadgrantstosethimupwithanemployerbuttheyreallydroppedthe
ballanddidn'thaveenoughemployerssetupforallthepeoplewithdisabilities
they'recruited,sobasicallyit'sbeena5hourwasteoftimeeveryweekforthelast
twomonths.Hewaswaitingforhisridetocommunitychoirwhenhisretainer
droppedoutofhismouth,felltothepavementandbroke.Thisisthe3rdretainer
we'vehadtoreplaceat300bucksapop,dagnabbit.Theaspringadulthasdamaged
thecarweallowhimtodriveandtriedtohideit.Wecan'tinsureitwithcollisionunless
wegetitfixed,andgodknowswhomuchthat'sgoingtocost.Themoverscamewith
Hubby'smothersfurnitureandstuffandwehadtofindroomforallofitandHubby
thoughthewasreadybutbrokedowninthemiddleofallofit.Iwentformy6month
cardiocheckup.Mybloodpressureislow,myheartbeatishigh,andIhavetogoget
anechocardiograminthenexttwoweeks.OurlittlestyorkieMollystarted
draggingherbacklegsandfallingover.We'vehadtotakehertothevettwiceaweek,
andwethoughtshewasparalizedwiththespinalthingweinerdogsgetbutitturns
outshehasseverearthritisinherbackdogknees.Thetraumaandpainsentherweight
downto2.9lbswhensheshouldbe3.5to4pounds.Wethoughtwe'dhavetoputhertosleep,
butshe'sdoingfairlywellonsteroidsandglucosesupplements.Kittyhastosellhermotherinlaw'shouse
becausehermedicaidhasrunoutandtheyneedallherassest.SowehavetofindanewhomeforBigKid,
andwelookedatmobilehomesintheparkKitty'sparentslivetoday.Oh,andwe hadagaragesale.

Hard to read? Yeah, hard to live, too. LOL I'm freaking pooped.

Hope you guys have a wonderful holiday weekend!

Sometimes You Just Got to Say...

2010-06-13T05:07:00.008-06:00

I've got a great big steaming bowl of WTFs cluttering up my in-box just screaming to get out!

Although there are leash laws in their area, the Flemming family were used to letting their 12-year-old yellow Lab Jake outside to roam at will. Sadly, he was hit by a car and killed. A couple of months later, they got a letter from State Farm Insurance asking reimbursement for the damage sustained to the driver's car.

They were so indignant about it that they were able to make the news (you'd think the reporter would know better, but I guess it was a slow news day).

"'We've lost a member of our family but we're supposed to pay for the damage to her bumper? That's just wrong,' daughter Katherine Flemming said."

Oh, where to start, where to start...

What's wrong, dear doofus, is irresponsible pet owners like you who don't think that laws apply to your extra-special selves and let your dogs roam unattended without leashes. The driver didn't hit your dog on purpose, that's why they're called "accidents". She sustained damage, and somebody is responsible for it. Should it be her? Should it be the insurance company?

No, it should be you. If it wasn't for you, her car wouldn't be dented and your dog wouldn't be dead.

WTF?

These two ladies deserve matching Richard Cranium awards.

Janice Eberle of Danvers is fighting a $300 ticket for parking her Mercedes SUV in a handicapped space. Her excuse? It was raining and her arm hurt. Plus she was only going "in for a minute".

In Arlington, Texas, Tweed Clark ran into the courthouse "for just a few minutes" to pay her daughter's $250 dollar speeding ticket. Unfortunately--koff koff--she "didn't realize" that she wasn't supposed to block the access to handicapped parking. She's fighting the $600+ ticket she was issued as "excessive".

I think they should slap on another $100 for sporting such a precious name as Tweed, but that's just me.

WTF Ladies?

Last, but not least, the Prairie South School District certainly has its priorities mixed up.

5-year-old Ryan Coomber wears a prosthetic leg. Bullies on the school bus have taunted and teased him, punched him in the face, taken his backpack away from him, and one darling child even tried to remove his prosthetic. When his parents complained to the school, how did the school respond?

Ryan and his sister are no longer allowed on the bus for their own safety. Instead, their parents have to drive them 25 miles each way to and from school.

What a crock of crap. Why shouldn't the bullies be forced off the bus instead of the victim? Make THEIR parents haul them back and forth to school. Maybe those parents will be so inconvenienced they'll do something about their little monsters.

WTF People?

The Battle of the B*tches

2010-06-09T06:10:00.003-06:00

No, I'm not talking about the Real Housewives. I'm talking about the battle that is going on in my own home, between me and Little Missy, the elderly Yorkie we adopted last September. 9 months later, she is now known as Little Messy, Stinky Pete, the Puxatawny Pooper or That Little Shit, depending on who you're talking to.

For the first 12 years of her life, Little Missy was the pampered baby of an elderly lady. The woman never let her out of the house---she carried the little miscreant around, hand-fed her, and let her poop and pee wherever she wanted. When the woman passed away, her niece took the dog until she could find her a home. Which she did with dispatch, probably due to Little Messy's unpleasant habits.

The next family had small children, but they only lasted 8 months with her. They tried to crate train her, but she barked all night. They couldn't leave her out of the crate unattended, because she did her business all over the house while they were sleeping. They ultimately put her in diapers and let her sleep on their bed.

They thought she was deaf because she refused to respond to them (she's not, she just ignores everyone unless it suits her). Finally, the owners couldn't take it any more and decided to put her down if they couldn't find her a new family.

Enter dumbasses one and two. Which would be me and Hubby. Since I had trained our other 3 dogs (2 yorkies and one delicious noodly mutt) with military precision (the power of cheese, you know, or that failing, the bunny slippers from hell), I smugly figured I could teach that old dog some new tricks and she'd fit right in.

Man plans, God laughs. That little shit has been trying to train ME, as she has all her past peeps.

After the first month---we had her spayed, had breast tumors removed, and when the vet tried to clean her teeth, they all fell out but ONE (apparently all the previous owners took her to be groomed regularly, but never got around to taking her to a vet---her health was sadly neglected and she was in pain), she got acclimated and decided to try to assert herself as the queen bee in the house.

But there's only one Alpha B*tch here. And that would be me.

Every morning at 3 a.m., she starts barking. Not little ladylike yips, mind you, but shrill, piercing, ear-splitting yaps. And she does some kind of growly thing in her throat that brings to mind Linda Blair in The Exorcist. You keep expecting her head to twirl around as she rasps "Your mom sews socks that smell!"

She's incessant and she ultimately wakes up everyone in the house. Except Hubby. He snores so damn loud, that even if Chernobyl happened next door, he'd sleep through it.

At first we thought she had an old bladder and had to go to the bathroom. I'd put her out, and she'd just stand at the door and bark. You might think I should leave her out there until she did her business, but in the winter time, she'd turn into a pupsicle, or an owl might carry her off into the night.

I'd let her back in, and put her back in her crate. And the yapping would begin again the minute I left the room. So for the sake of everybody else's sleep, often times I'd busy myself in the kitchen or living room, because she wouldn't DARE bark if I was there. Many a dark gloomy morning I've sulked over my coffee and contemplated buying a cattle prod, but that would prolly kill the old thing daid.

The worst part is that we can't leave her locked up all the time. But there is NO time when she's alone and quiet to make an opportunity to praise her. So when we ultimately let her out, it just reinforces the behavior ("if I yap for 3 hours they'll let me out!") Ugh.

My latest solution, now that the weather is warm, is to take her crate outside into the garage once she gets going. There she can bark her damn fool head off and the only thing she'll bother is herself.

Every time I let the dogs out to potty, she runs under the couch. We have to grab her and physically put her out there before she figures out what we're doing. I am DONE trying to dig her out with a mop. She'll peek her head out from under the couch to see if anyone's around, and if she sees me, she'll turn around and squirm back under there. If nobody's there, she'll come out and poop on the carpet. Then run back under. Hence the name the Puxatawny Pooper.

We have learned to keep all the bedroom doors closed because about an hour or so before bedtime, she'd go hide under someone's bed. And they'd get the rude awakening when she started barking at 3 a.m. UNDER THE BED!

Since Hubby sleeps through the racket, it's his job to trap and crate the little stinker at night. Frequently when I get up, the couches and loveseat are pulled away from the wall in his quest to capture her.

Other than that, I have to admit she's a sweet old thing. She likes to cuddle, and farts a lot, but that's not her fault. Since she doesn't like to share or play well with others, the other dogs just ignore her.

But this is the last time. No more crotchety old dogs. Because no good deed, etc. etc.

How's YOUR week?

To My Friends Who Use Wordpress

2010-06-02T05:40:00.000-06:00

I've been running around the past week trying to catch up and comment on blogs I've been neglecting. A couple of days ago, I went back to my friend Rootie's blog and made a revolting discovery.

She'd deleted my comments.

Well no, not really. They just didn't show up. I went to every other place I'd been commenting, and none of them showed up on blogs that had Wordpress.

I did a little troubleshooting, and the best I can figure is that suddenly Wordpress has decided that I'm a spammer and has blocked my IP address.

I'm not sure that I'm the only one this is happening to, but if you feel like you're a little light in the comment department, check out your spam catcher in your comments section. You have to mark "this is not spam" for it to unblock IP addresses.

Feh.

Guilty Pleasures

2010-05-30T05:31:00.000-06:00

Ok, I have to admit it. The Real Housewives are my guilty pleasure. If you don't partake, run away now! This will bore the mold off of you!

I got hooked after the Big Kid was sick and I couldn't bear to watch any show (hospital, drama, etc) where peeps were dying.

There's nothing like watching spoiled society women roll around in the dirt like the rest of us philistines. My hubby won't watch it willingly, so when the new season of Real Housewives of New Jersey started up, I got my buddy KL hooked as well (gotta have SOMEBODY to dish it with!)

This is my take so far this season...

Danielle (or Helen, or Nancy, or whatever her real name is)

If you looked up the definition of narcissist, this woman's picture should pop up first on Google. Every person in her life is a planet revolving around herself as the sun. Every event in the world is designed to have some sort of impact on her whether it be good, bad or ugly. She whines about the state of her finances, but is "too pretty to work".

Her gorgeous 15-year-old daughter makes the cover of a fashion magazine, so she holds a celebratory luncheon to congratulate herself. WTF?

Her only redeeming quality is that she's managed to parent two smart, seemingly stable daughters. Too bad they have to take care of her mentally and emotionally, because she is a nucking futjob.

Caroline

Self-styled matriarch of the group, she talks mainly in pronouncements. "Me and my family are as thick as thieves". "If you hurt my family, I'm going to come after you."

Seriously, she's Uncle Junior Soprano with boobs.

Impressed with her prospective son-in-law Vito. He must really love their daughter to go around their backyard in formal wear and pick up dog poop.

Theresa

This chickie annoys me. She has weird eyeballs, and we all know I have a phobia about eyeballs. Cute but stupid. Not a pretty person on the inside. Second only to Fran Drescher in the screechy "I'm gonna poke a pencil in my ear if you don't STFU" department.

But I have to give her some props. She goes into labor, wakes her husband up to take her to the hospital, and then MAKES FRENCH TOAST for her daughters while endlessly waiting for him to get off his hairy coffee-drinking ass. If it was me, the coffee and french toast would be spurting out of the stump that used to hold his head and I'd be driving my own bad self to the hospital.

And she is obsessed with vaginas. Hers and everybody else's. On one hand she calls Danielle a "prostitution whore" who must have a vagina as "big as the Lincoln tunnel", and on the other she brags (?) that her husband "has to have it at least once a day" even though she's about to pop out their fourth kid any millisecond.

Somebody should tell this doofus that if 100 cars travel a road, or one car travels it 100 times, the wear and tear is all THE SAME TO THE ROAD. Your "tunnel" may be quite a bit more high mileage than Danielle's, Sweetie.

Jacqueline

I can't really criticize her too much because it would be like kicking a puppy. Sweet woman who gets bossed around a lot by her in-laws. Hubby seems to be a good guy with a smart head on his shoulders. She should let him deal with her spoiled, self-indulgent, self-entitled daughter for a change and go get a pedicure.

Dina

I think Dina is going to be the wild-card this season. I didn't like her last year, but I think her decision not to have her husband or child(ren) participate this year is an admirable one. She's very zen right now, but I'm wondering how many episodes it will take for her to go bat-shiat.

Dina's an interior designer who seems to specialize in Mafia Bordello. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I kinda like it.

So how many of YOU are watching this season?

This and That

2010-05-27T04:52:00.006-06:00

Heard around the house:

Little Guy: Mom, you're my favorite EVER!

Your favorite what?

Little Guy: My favorite Mom!

But I'm your only mom.

Little Guy: Well then you're still my favorite!
_____________________

The Aspiring Adult: Mam (He's not quite up to calling me mom, but he doesn't want to call me Aunt Atiila)? Me and Dom (his best friend) have decided to do what we call "Manly Mondays".

Manly Mondays?

TAA: Yeah, we're going to do manly things like wash our cars and then go over to Wild Wings and eat chicken wings and check out the chicks (they have a really rude rating system).

Later I get a phone call...

TAA: The wind is blowing too hard to wash our cars. Can we come home and bake a cake? I promise we'll clean up the mess!

Don't you want to save that for Wifely Wednesday?

LOL

Bodies in the Bed

2010-05-24T07:36:00.006-06:00

I recently read an article that asked, "Is it Smart to Sleep with Your Pets?" The conclusion the author came to seems to be "no".

While I agree with one commenter who stated that the article seemed like a not-so-thinly veiled advertisement for pet beds, I was somewhat surprised (and amused) at how offended about 95% of the commentators were.

Ok, and I admit, I was a little grossed out too.

We're not cat people, so I really don't have an informed opinion about that. We have 4 dogs, and they sleep in their own beds.

This is why:

1) We wash the dogs once a week. We clean their beds once a week. Even so, the amount of dirt and crap they track into the beds is not something I want to be rolling around in.

2) Hair/fur/hitchhikers. On the sheets, on the pillow, in my mouth. No. Absolutely no.

3) True story. A friend I knew in my younger days had this happen to her. While sleeping over at a boyfriend's house, they woke up in the night and decided to get frisky. With her on top. Sometime in the middle of all of it, she felt a cold nose up her crack, and then a long wet tongue.

Bloop!

Apparently boyfriend's Great Dane heard the commotion and innocently wanted to check out the fun and games. Which of course sent my friend screaming off into the night.

...AND HAS SKEEVED THE HECK OUT OF ME FOR ALL TIME!!

I don't want a third party in my bed, much less my room if we decide to be spontaneous. Yeck.

Here are some of the comments from the article and my response:

"Their unconditional love is worth every slobber and paw in the face."

I slobber enough on my own, and Hubby has been known to inadvertently slap me around in his sleep. Any additional "unconditional love" like that and I'll never get a wink in.

"No greater thing than to feel you dog next to you at night, petting her and finding your hubby's hand there as well."

I don't want anything between me and my man when we're finally alone together at night. Except maybe a pillow when he's been eating burritos.

"I'm with you, been sleeping with dogs and cats some 50 years and can't imagine sleeping alone. If a significant other can't deal with that then they are not very significant."

So you're "alone" when you're sleeping with your significant other? Would you feel less lonely if he slept in a squirrel suit or licked his own balls in bed?

"I will ask my husband to sleep in another room, but NOT my dogs or cats for that matter!"

The great Karmac sees a divorce lawyer in your future.

"I have eight cats and seven sleep with me on a queen sized bed."

They don't do it because they love you. They're just waiting for you to die in your sleep so they can eat you.

So my friends, do you furbie or not? Waiting for the rocks to be thrown! LOL

Endings

2010-05-21T07:48:00.000-06:00

Hubby's mom passed away peacefully on Wednesday afternoon. They had just moved her from the hospital back to her apartment and had set up hospice care. Hubby was planning on spending the night (they had moved a hospital bed into her living room area).

He changed into his sweats, sat down next to her and took her hand. A couple of minutes later she slipped away.

I can't think of a more peaceful way to go---in your sleep with someone you love holding you to usher you out of this world.

Go gently into that good night, Mom P.

And the hits just keep coming...

2010-05-17T04:08:00.002-06:00

I didn't want to disappear for another week without saying goodbye.

We got the news yesterday that Hubby's mom is dying and spent the day trying to get a last-minute flight to the east coast.

Thanks so much to all of you who commented, called and emailed about our guy. Your words are so kind and uplifting.

Hope you all have a peaceful week.

ATM

Day 195 Update

2010-05-06T21:33:00.002-06:00

Just wanted to fill everybody in on what's going on with my oldest son, Big Kid---a little more than 6 months after he was admitted to the hospital with complications from H1N1. You've all been so kind in comments and emails, so I wanted to update.

He's still on oxygen almost 20+ hours a day. When he's down at Kitty's house (about 2000 less in elevation than our house), he can go off of it for about an hour and a half tops with a saturation level of about 88---which is in the normal range for most of us. Then inexplicably it suddenly drops to like 68 or 70, which is low enough to be hospitalized. It's not gradual, it's just happens immediately.

A couple of times they've been out (and not planning ahead with the tank on hand) and he's just fallen over, gasping.

My boy.

We had him evaluated cognitively and neurologically recently. It was time----giving him time to recover and to see what the possible long-term damage from oxygen deprivation might be.

This morning we got the results.

His neurological diagnostician is one we've seen twice before. First when Big Kid was about 13, and had a psychotic episode on his stimulant meds that had treated his ADHD initially. It wasn't working anymore, and at puberty, he started compulsively washing his hands until they bled.

The next time was about 4 years ago when Big Kid had a breakdown away at college and was hallucinating. He was ultimately diagnosed with bi-polar disorder and a panic disorder.

So Big Kid went through an intensive neurological testing process again.

And I've been crying all afternoon.

He's got new pronounced attention and short-term memory deficits. His processing functions have significantly been impaired---meaning that whatever information he retains can be only be accessed with an extended amount of time to get to it.

His fine motor deficits are mostly caused by the loss of spatial recognition. He can't place 3 blocks on another without it all falling down.

Bless his heart.

While the doc was giving us his findings, my boy got really confused and scared. We were sitting next to each other on a loveseat in the doc's office and he grabbed me and said, "Mom, does this mean that I'm mentally retarded now?"

I'm sad. I'm so sad.

Big Kid remembers when his mental functions were better. He's frustrated by it all, and scared. Yes, scared.

The doc has made many recommendations as to testing (recommended a brain scan among other tests) and cognitive therapy.

So we're going to have to start a new phase now.

I'm sorry to be such a baby. I just need to get this despair out of my system. I can't cry in front of him, I have to be strong. But I can spill it all to you guys.

My boy. My precious boy.

No Angel or Keep Your Bones to Yourself

2010-05-04T06:26:00.005-06:00

I just don't get it. I really don't get it.

The question came up when Tiger Woods' infidelities came to light. Now it's come up again and it's bugging the heck out of me.

First of all, shame on you, David Boreanz. You're a real prince. Not. Coming clean in public about multiple affairs (and calling your girlfriend while your wife was giving birth is especially heinous in the halls of douchebaggery) to avoid being extorted doesn't mitigate what a dirtbag you are.

That said, here's what's been boggling my mind.

One woman, who Boreanz allegedly "hooked up with 2 or 3 times", started asking him for money. She hired Ho to the Ho's attorney Gloria Allred who contacted his attorney and demanded a 6 figure payout.

Oddly enough, Allred represents another one of Boreanz's alleged rolls in the hay in a similar case against Tiger Woods (Allred is representing several of Woods' alleged flings in monetary suits). Apparently Woods and Boreanz both rode this particular hobby horse (although not in the same room). ugh

What I want to know is under WHAT legal theory Allred is basing these claims on?

I could see it if one of these sisters was successful in her quest for celebrity seed and was filing a paternity suit for child support. Ugly, yes, but she'd have a legal claim to a piece of the pie.

But if it's money to keep quiet about the affairs, then isn't that blackmail or extortion? Which is illegal, of course.

Or if it's money for "services rendered", isn't that prostitution? Sleep with a celebrity and you're entitled to get paid? Again illegal, at least in 49 states.

Although she herself is a ho of the first order, I can't see Allred, as an officer of the court, demanding illegal settlements in cases that are so much in the public eye.

So what in the world is her legal theory regarding these claims?

Anybody know?

Asshat of the Week---Illinois Rep. Sara Feigenholtz

2010-04-28T05:50:00.005-06:00

As many of my long-time blog friends know, I not only advocate for those who have disabilities, but for the restoration of equal civil rights as citizens in this country to adult adoptees. This is going to be a little long, so if you don't want to invest yourself, back out now! :-)

I'm an adoptee and have been in reunion for about 8 years. You can read a letter to my birth mother here.

I'm not interested in having a debate with those who think they know the history and legalities of adoption in this country, but here is a crash course on it for those who aren't familiar with it.

Relinquishment of a child and the adoption of a child are two separate legal acts. Once the birth parents relinquish their rights to a child, they no longer have any say in ANYTHING about the child at all. Ever. They have NO MORE rights over the child. If the child languishes in foster care until they age out of the system and is never adopted, they will receive their full records, including their original birth certificate with all of their birth information. There is no expectation of privacy on behalf of the birth parents, and there never was, legally.

There has never been in any state at any time a document produced that guarantees a birth parent anonymity from any of their offspring. Once they relinquished their rights, that was it. That was and almost until now, the law across the land.

Records started being closed to outsiders AFTER an adoption was finalized around the late 40's or so in many states, mostly because of the shame of infertility, illegitimacy and basically to protect the new adoptive family from those pesky birthmothers who might show up on their doorsteps for Sunday dinner.

Adoptees were then issued a new and falsified government document that stated that our adoptive parents ACTUALLY gave birth to us. And our original birth certificates were locked away, meant never to be seen again.

Therein lies one of many things that are wrong with closed adoption. I didn't spring into life the day my adoption was final---almost a year after my birth. To quote adoptee activist Abigail Lovett, "I existed before that."

Since then, adoption in this country has become a multi-billion dollar industry. The industry has a vested interest in keeping the cash cow going. They are afraid that if records are open to adult adoptees that women will choose abortion instead of adoption. Published studies from reputable institutions have already disproved that. States that have open records have an equal or lesser rate of abortion than closed records states. Not more. Don't believe it? Show me reputable studies, not anecdotal quotes from industry shills. I bet mine will trump yours.

But mostly the industry (including the Catholic Church) is afraid that systematic abuses from the past will come to light if records are opened. There is a lot more about the "baby scoop era", etc that I'm not going to get into here.

Unlike today, where there is mostly open adoption of domestic infants (where the adoptive and birth parents have met each other and maintain some sort of contact), the era where I was adopted from (late 1940's to early 1970's) is full of secrets and lies.

My birthmother was told that there was a family waiting for me. My prospective parents were "both psychologists" and waiting to take me home from the hospital. She thought I'd have free therapy for life. ;-)

Instead, I was placed in foster care for a few months. My eventual parents---who had requested a boy---were called and asked if they'd be willing to take a girl. The "pedigree" that my parents were furnished with from the agency said that I was of Irish and German descent.

In reality, my birth family is Scottish, English with a little French thrown in. But who would ever know?

I was born in a closed record state. I've already found my birth family, and I didn't need my original birth certificate to do it. Thousands of adoptees and birth families are finding each other every year without the benefit of open records.

But today, even if I walked into court in the jurisdiction where I was adopted with both of my mothers---adoptive and biological by my side---to ask for my birth records, I would be denied.

Why?

Because the law says that as an adoptee, I am forever a child and need to be protected from my own personal information. It doesn't matter that I own my own home, own other property and a business, pay taxes, carpool, can own a licensed gun, am married, have children, am allowed to drink, could join the military if my butt wasn't so big and am allowed to vote.

In the eyes of the state, I will forever be a child.

Every other citizen in the U.S. is allowed access to their own original record of their birth. But not adult adoptees. This is not a reunion issue----many adoptees have no wish to reunite and a large number of us don't need our sealed records to find our birth families. It's a civil rights issue. Why are some citizens more equal in this country than others? Why are you more "special" than me? Why does the state get to decide?

The opposition to open records (those vested with the "cash cow" or in hiding the industry's shameful past) now claim that if adoptees were granted their birth records, it would violate the privacy of birth parents. They want to give birth parents a new legal right they NEVER had before---one over another adult citizen of this country.

Enter Illinois Representative Sara Feigenholtz, who sponsored a bill that, as blogger Bastardette writes, "has eviscerated adoptee civil rights in the state." It has turned adult adoptees into two separate classes of citizen---the haves and the have nots. It has given birth parents NEW rights over the children they relinquished all rights to decades ago.

Currently 8 states have open records to adult adoptees. Kansas and Alaska have never closed their records, and the other states have opened theirs in the last 10-12 years or so. Those states certainly haven't imploded with the horror of restoring rights to its citizens. Most of the countries in the industrialized world have opened records to their citizens and they haven't been blown off the map.

Adoptee activist Lori Jeske from Washington State wrote to Rep. Feigenholtz at her state contact email address expressing her dismay that a fellow Democrat wouldn't stand up for the rights of ALL the citizens of Illinois.

This was Feigenholtz's response, reprinted with Jeske's permission.

---- Original Message -----
From: Sara
To: Lori Jeske
Sent: Monday, April 26, 2010 10:00 PM
Subject: Re: HB 5428

Lori:
Thank you so much for your kind remarks about HB 5428.

We will pay for your travel and housing expenses if you will come here and start working on a new bill that completes the effort so that all adoptees get their obc. Are you ready to move to Illinois and sacrifice your life to work for adoption reform for the next fifteen years in the frigid winter tundra of Illinois?

Would you consider giving Representative Feigenholtz the key to your (delusional) Eutopian world where all ungrateful bastards think it's easy to pass a bill that makes everyone happy AND CAN ACTUALLY PASS ? Pass a law? what a concept !!

Many Illinois born 65+ year old adoptees will get their birth certificates BEFORE THEY DIE--- very soon.

We will tell them that you would prefer to throw good under the bus while waiting for perfect and that you think they should wait a little longer.

Good luck in Washington state with your efforts. We can hear the unsealing now.......

NOT.
___________________________________

This is why you, Representative Sara Feigenholtz are this week's Asshat.

You're such a professional and a real class act.

NOT.

P.S. It's U-T-O-P-I-A-N. Snap.

This and That and Concrete-Head

2010-04-27T04:35:00.001-06:00

Oh it's been a busy month. The level of pollen has been reportedly higher than usual, and boy-oh-boy do I feel it! Unfortunately with my heart condition, I'm not able to take any kind of cold medicine, so I've been going through each day with any number of kleenex falling out of my pockets for the dogs to pounce on and destroy.

Big Kid is really struggling with this semester. Unfortunately, his biological dad's company (who insures him) refused to let him take off a semester to recover from his illness so he's been having a lot of difficulty getting through his classes, even though they're online. His professors have been understanding, but his grades are awful and this is devastating to him.

He's still on oxygen 18-20 hours a day, and he rarely remembers what he had for dinner the night before. My boy.

Little Guy turned 20 a couple of days ago. ::sniff sniff:: He's gotten a type of grant that will pay an employer to hire him for a couple of months so he's very excited at the possibilities of working here in town.

Last week he did something really fabulous and I just wanted to share...

Remember when I wrote about how using the telephone scared him?

On Mondays, the van picks him up at 12pm for his afternoon classes. He usually goes out a little early to wait for it, and when I looked out the window at 12:10 I didn't see him, so I thought he'd gone. I took my concrete head to bed and dozed off.

At 1:00 I woke up to find him standing next to my bed.

"Didn't the van come?" I asked him sleepily. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

It's ok, Mom. I took care of it.

"What? We need to call them?"

I did it myself, he said proudly. I didn't want to bother you.

It was amazing! He actually looked up the high school number in the phone book, dialed the phone, and asked for his teacher. When it went to her voicemail, he left her a message saying that the van hadn't come.

This was really a huge, huge step for him. I'm so thrilled!

So how have YOU all been?

Real or Not?

2010-04-01T06:25:00.003-06:00

I was browsing through AOL's headlines when I came across this article regarding Celebrity No Pants Day.

Is this a joke? I looked all over for a disclaimer, but didn't see one.

Most of these people I can see dropping their drawers for whatever reason. They don't need a reason. They're ho's.

But Oprah Winfrey---who could arguably be considered the First Lady of Television? It's like seeing Queen Elizabeth in a thong. Improbable and I have a hard time believing that she'd do something so lacking in dignity.

The one that really baffles me is George Clooney. He must have had one hell of a manscaping job, because, well heck---I'm envious at how smooth and taut his lower half is. And he must have microscopic testicles, because he just ain't carrying a package down there.

What do you think? Fake?

Back in the Bunny Slippers of Doom

2010-03-23T23:01:00.005-06:00

Gah!

You know, I'd mostly retired those darn things. Big Kid and Little Guy are practically cooked and grown, and The Happening Dude is a very capable and independent guy. This week, I've had to break the Bunny Slippers of Doom out not once, but twice, to kick some heinie.

The Happening Dude, who now wants to be referred to as "The Aspiring Adult" is on spring break. He's applied to and been accepted to the local community college to attend their nursing program. Their waiting list is long, as their program is excellent. His plan is to get his CNA (certified nursing assistant) certificate first, so that maybe he can get work in the field while going through nursing school.

The college has a new associate degree program called "Allied Health". While on the waiting list to get into the nursing program, our Aspiring Adult can get his CNA certification, phlebotomist certification and basic EMT certification, as well as taking the core classes required for an Associates Degree. Win/win all the way around for him.

He had an appointment with an advisor a couple of days ago. Since I had to take Big Kid to ANOTHER appointment down in the city, he rode down with me, and I dropped him off at the campus. When I picked him up, he was fuming.

The "Allied Health" program is brand new. It is listed on the college's website----not hidden in the nursing program---but with it's very own tab under degree programs offered.

Apparently the advisor wasn't up-to-speed on the program because he insisted that it wasn't something the college offered. Although he had a computer right there in his office, he refused to go to the campus website and look it up when the Aspiring Adult asked him to. He hadn't heard about it, so it wasn't available, thank you very much, if you don't want to get on a waiting list for the nursing program, well then get out of my office.

::sigh::

Had to get on the horn and do the whup ass thing.

For the last few weeks, Big Kid has been obsessed about getting a new cell phone.

Mind you, during the last year and a half, I've been paying for a phone that has all the bells and whistles. At least the phone does. The 59.99 plan that I've paid for through Verizon that actually costs 79.99 after all the taxes and fees, only covers phone and text. Not downloads or data transfer.

After getting monthly bills of around 150.00 last year, I started taking money out of the small monthly stipend we give him to pay for the overages. Of course, when he was in the ICU, there were no excess charges, but I started again after he got out and went back to Kitty's.

I didn't get why he needed a new and better phone, since the plan he was on didn't really allow for all the new, cool stuff he wanted to use. It just didn't make sense. Plus I've got 6 months left the phone contract, and I don't feeling like paying 200 bucks to cancel it. So I said no---at least if you're expecting ME to pay for it. Hang it out until the contract is up, and we'll see if we can upgrade the phone and get a more reasonable calling plan.

But no. He and Kitty in their infinite wisdom, bought a new, cooler phone from a used cell phone place for $150.00. He had to have the---uh---I don't know---software? changed so he could go on a month-to-month plan with Cricket. I had him bring back the phone I was paying for, and the Aspiring Adult took it over and agreed to make the payments. Since he actually has a couple of jobs and all.

Anyhoo, Big Kid got the new phone on Wednesday of last week. Found out that with Cricket he couldn't use all the bells and whistles, and then suddenly on Friday, the phone went dead. He took it back to where he bought it, and they reset it. Except when he got home, it was back to its original factory settings (Sprint) and it wouldn't work with Cricket.

Over the weekend, he figured that a month-to-month plan with Cricket wouldn't work with what he wanted, and decided to explore what offers Sprint had.

He typed in the serial number and found out that the phone had been reported as stolen.

Called me yesterday to ask my advice, and I told him to take the phone back (he hadn't even had it for a week) with his receipt and demand his 150.00 back. If they wouldn't give it back, then we'd sue them. No biggie.

Talked to him this morning, and asked if he'd done it. He'd taken the phone back, told them that Sprint said it was stolen, and they offered him 45.00 to take it back.

And he did it. Gave them the phone back for 45.00. Arrrgghhh!!!

I said that he wasn't quite right in the head since his illness. He thought it was his only option.

When I found out, I put on my killer bunny slippers and opened up a can of whup ass.

Called and talked to a sales associate. Asked to talk to the manager.

The manager "wasn't available".

So I asked for her full name, and asked the associate to spell it.

Gave her my name and phone number. Told her I was in the middle of filing a police report regarding their selling of stolen goods and taking advantage of a person who had disabilities. I would appreciate a call back from the manager before I filed it. Gave them 10 minutes.

I got a call in 3 minutes.

Explained the situation to the manager, and she said the Big Kid could come in and pick out another phone. Said that she'd be there and personally take care of it.

I sarcastically said that I expected that he'd be getting a "clean" phone and one that hadn't been stolen. She assured me that he would.

I thought she'd say, "Well of course we don't sell stolen phones!"

You just WON'T believe what she actually said.

Not, "If we inadvertently get a phone that's been stolen, we notify the company and try to return it."

She said, "well that's why we changed the service to another carrier. You can't get a plan with the same company if the phone has been stolen."

WTF? Seriously.

Even though this worked out for us, Hubby is friends with the DA down in the city. He's going to give him all of the information tomorrow and let them handle it.

On a note with a high yuck factor, now that the Aspiring Adult has Big Kid's old phone, he went about deleting the old data and picture files that were stored there in order to make it his.

Unfortunately, Big Kid didn't get around to deleting the pics he took of Kitty in the bathtub before turning the phone over.

I kept the Aspiring Adult from poking his own eyeballs out, but he has definitely been traumatized.

See, like I said before---Big Kid is just still not right. WTF was he thinking?

Clusterflucking and Update on Big Kid

2010-03-18T05:31:00.003-06:00

Arrggh.

Sorry I haven't been around, but I've had 12---no kidding---12 appointments regarding all the boys in the last week and a half. 9 of them were down in the city, which necessitates a minimum 45-minute drive each way.

Here's a funny. After days of warm weather, on Sunday night, we had 8 inches of snow. Monday morning, Hubby backed my car up the steep driveway (I'm a good driver, but a notoriously bad backer upper. All the crushed solar lights that line the driveway are a testament to that). He scraped my car off, kept it running to warm it up for me, and lifted the hood to check the windshield wiper fluid because the trek down the mountain was promising to be muddy and messy.

What did he find?

Rabbits. Live rabbits.

Really. They were laying on top of everything to find shelter from the snow.

Last year, I wrote about Big Kid's court case for disability benefits. Although he's been treated for his disabilities since Kindergarten with full documentation, and he has been extensively treated since his breakdown away at college, we had to go to court.

Even though 4 doctors and therapists who have treated him for over 10 years and a 5th doctor EMPLOYED by the social security administration to evaluate him on THEIR behalf concurred that he had a significant impairment that necessitated benefits (his medication alone costs over 500.00 a month without insurance), he was denied.

Why? Because he told his doctors that the only time he felt emotionally "normal" was when he smoked pot. He confessed to them that he would seek it out whenever and wherever he could. All of them agreed that self-medicating is not abnormal for people who have bi-polar disorder (one of his diagnoses). However, some pencil pusher with the SSA decided that he was only bi-polar because he smoked pot. The judge agreed.

Our advocate got a bit pissy with us because Big Kid had confessed this information to his docs.

But really??? WTF? If you can't tell your medical professionals---who are trying to make you better---then who the hell can you confess this to? All of his doctors got a bit indignant over the whole thing, because they KNOW that smoking pot doesn't cause the genetic disabilities that Big Kid has.

So for the past year during the appeal phase, Big Kid hasn't gotten high. He's been ready for a pee test 24/7.

Yesterday, we had several appointments. Big Kid was out of oxygen, so I brought a replacement tank down from the mountains. Kitty brought him to a location between her house and mine, so we could do a quick changeover and then I could run him around to his meetings.

We changed the tanks and then made a revolting discovery. Kitty forgot the "key" that opens the tanks in her other purse. Oy. We had to run all over kingdom come oxygenless to find a hardware store in an area none of us was familiar with. Finally we found an AutoZone and bought a pair of pliers.

Anyhoo, after our morning meetings and lunch, Big Kid had an appointment with his neuropsych. A couple of months ago after he got out of the hospital, I wrote about an issue we had with this doctor and his staff. Although I thought things were smoothed over, I might be wrong.

He basically accused Big Kid of being high at his appointment. The kid was tired from the lack of oxygen incident, and from all of his other meetings (we were at the college, and the campus is HUGE---he had to do a lot of walking). And on top of that, since his illness, he's just not right. He still has significant short-term memory problems, which is what we've been telling his doctors. He's set up for a complete cognitive and neurological evaluation in a few weeks.

The problem is not that the doctor thought Big Kid might be high. He was rambling in disjointed trains of thought which has been the norm since he got sick. The problem is that the doc might have put in his NOTES that the kid *appeared* to be high. Since we're submitting new evidence to support his disability appeal, when the SSA requests doctors' notes, they're going to specifically request anything that has to do with pot.

So today I have to convince our family doc (who has taken over Big Kid's recovery treatment) of the necessity of ordering a urine test at a lab immediately, so that we have documentation to support our assertion that although the boy might have appeared to be high, it was an effect from his illness, not from recreational drugs. And then I have to drive down from the mountains AGAIN to take him to pee in a cup.

Sigh.

How's YOUR week?

xo

Random Just Wonderings...

2010-03-03T20:54:00.003-07:00

I've been having a few random thoughts rattling around in my brain, and thought I'd see what your take is.

Since I take law classes, I pay a lot of attention to lawsuits and court cases that are in the news. One thing has frequently puzzled me.

In many lawsuits over the past few years regarding the death of a child (either a minor or adult child) brought by parents, they often claim among their damages "future earnings" of said child. And they're often asking millions of dollars.

I can understand their pain and suffering, and wanting to get punitive damages if their child was killed by someone else's negligence. Really, really I do.

What I want to know is---as far as REAL damages are concerned after hospital or funeral expenses, etc...

Number one---what makes them think that their child would have grown up to be a multi-million dollar earner? Were there certain expectations because the child was gifted in some way? In one lawsuit in the last year, the "child" was like 24 and worked at 7-11.

And number two---what kind of parent expects their child to support them once the child has the potential to earn money? It's one thing if a parent is old and infirm, has few assets and the child is doing well financially. Maybe they might have expected $100,000 tops in help. But seriously, who expects their 21-year-old to start supporting them as soon as they get a job?

How do they justify that to a court, and to themselves?

Just wondering.
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When I first started going on the internet, I made an agreement with Hubby. I wouldn't post identifying information about us.

Especially when I started blogging.

I HAVE posted a few pics of our guys, but only after they turned 18, and only with their permission. I suppose if someone was totally intent on stalking us, they would have a bit of luck if they went back quite a few years to gather info.

What I DON'T get is people who post a bunch of pictures on their Facebook page or blog of OTHER people who aren't their personal family members and include identifying information without asking permission.

This has happened to us twice.

One was a BBQ we held for a certain function. One of our grills is on our front deck, and the person took a picture that happened to include our house number in the background and then proceeded to name everyone in the picture with a "this was taken at Mr. Attila's house in the beautiful blah blah development" on his blog.

More recently, another friend posted a bunch of candid pictures on his Facebook page which included us and named us by name.

I just happened to run across them, because neither Hubby or I really do the Facebook thing. I have an account simply because I get a lot of invites and I don't want to be an asshat and decline them. LOL

Yes, only invited people are allowed to view the friend's pictures. But I really don't appreciate being posted there without my permission, and neither does Hubby.

I wrote a nice email asking our friend to take them down. He got quite pissy about it.

So what's the netiquette (sp) about this?

Anybody know?

Adventures at Wal-Mart

2010-02-27T22:47:00.004-07:00

First, let me say, I'm not a snob. I shop at Wal-Mart. Please don't leave comments about how the store has forced out Mom and Pop stores across the country, and all of their other transgressions, etc, et al. I know this. But like many, we've had a tough couple of years economically and my job is to see how we can cut corners and spend as little as possible.

Up in our little mountain burg, we got a Wal-Mart a few years ago. Although many in our town fought it, Wally World had the law on their side, but made concessions so that their building a center wouldn't be tied up for years in court from all the small businesses up here that they would undercut.

Among the concessions? No eye center or pharmacy. Building a store here relieved the store at the bottom of the mountain as the citizens of all the mountain communities would drive down there and it was just a big mess.

Today Big Kid and I had appointments at the Wal-Mart down at the bottom of the mountain to get new glasses and contacts. We couldn't get back to back appointments, so after I had mine and he was waiting for his, I went and sat on a bench outside the eye center (inside the store) to watch the world go by.

Oh golly. The bench was situated right next to one of the entrances.

Do you remember back in the 70's when they had track shorts and roller disco shorts that were one color with a contrasting piping? Like the one pictured above?

This enormous woman who had an enormous ass walked in the store wearing a pair of those shorts.

It's Colorado. In February. We just had a big snowstorm the day before. It was freaking cold.

Before you accuse me of being elitist, let me remind you that I myself am a member of the big butt club. I'm entitled to comment. But if I had a pencil in my purse, I would have poked my own eyes out.

Every step this woman took was like a sack of puppies trying to escape out of each cheek hole. WTF?

It was close to this picture, but add 70 pounds. Gah!

When I got home I made Hubby swear on a stack of bibles that he would hit me over the head with something really heavy and hard if I ever tried to walk out of the house wearing something even remotely as offensive.

Why? Why? Can anyone answer me that?

Sometimes You Just Gotta Say...

2010-02-20T22:16:00.003-07:00

During the worst of the H1N1, when Big Kid was in the ICU, Hubby and I came up close and personal with the importance of hand washing.

Like everybody else, we'd been taught and practiced washing our hands after going to the bathroom, before eating, etc.

While our son was in the unit, we'd have to wash, glove up and mask before entering his room, and then drop the gloves and the mask at the door upon exiting and go straight to the sink and wash again before leaving. And since there wasn't a bathroom in his room and we had to go out of the unit to the public bathroom, we were doing this like 10 times a day. gah.

Recently I've seen a few commercials for a hands-free soap pump for home use, brought to us by a major soap company. All you have to do is wave your hand in front of it, and it will dispense whatever soap you have stuck in there.

I can think of a lot of uses for this.

Like when you've got a baby in one arm and need to clean up cookie snot or formula blow-back. Or you're doing the dishes and your mom calls, and you're trying to talk to her while scrubbing and don't have a third arm.

What I can't figure out is how the idiot who came up with the current marketing campaign still has a job, or whoever greenlighted it as a good idea is still earning a paycheck too.

They are marketing it as a good way to avoid a germy soap pump handle in your home.

Um like, once you touch the handle to pump soap on your hands, you aren't immediately going to WASH your hands?

Dude, WTF?

What's in a Name?

2010-02-11T04:47:00.003-07:00

This has been a really busy two weeks! Had to get activities set up for Little Guy for the semester (he's going to work two days a week and go to class 3 days), get Big Kid to appointments, and get The Happening Dude to his driver's test. The only DMV that does that is over an hour drive away.

Which comes to the name thing. This has been a major pain-in-the-pooper.

For those who haven't been around my blog for a long time, The Happening Dude is really our nephew. You can read about how he came to be with us here.

My brother and his wife adopted THD and his sister out of foster care. And then promptly divorced and she moved to another state. She rapidly remarried and then started working on all 4 of their kids.

My brother's last name (and my maiden name) is ordinary enough. However, if you deliberately mispronounce it, it's a word that basically means hard-on.

Ex knew that my brother would never allow her new husband to adopt all 4 of his kids, so she started making fun of their last name. She made them ashamed of it, and then suggested they get my brother to allow them to change their name to her current name. They called and harangued him ("kids are making fun of me!" "I want the same name as Mommy!") and eventually wore him down. He agreed to it. Dumbass.

The problem is that Ex never notified the state where THD was adopted and from which she was receiving foster/adopt benefits of the change. So in their system, THD and his sister were still listed as Hard-On and not Smith.

When she and her new hubby divorced, she moved back to her home state, and within a year put THD back in to foster care. After a couple of years, when she had no intention of reunifying, we were fortunate to get him.

Except the kid has been in name limbo. Legally, his name is Smith. All of his official documents say differently. We used them to get his driver's permit, but knew that we'd have to get it all straightened out. Although my brother granted us custody of THD (after ex relinquished control), he is not an on-the-ball person and never managed to track us down a copy of the name change, and I didn't have the legal authority to request it. We all decided to wait until THD turned 18 (a few weeks ago) to do anything about it.

Shortly before his birthday, he emailed his mom. It was the first communication he'd had with her in a few years. He politely asked if she had a copy of the order of the name change and if he could have one.

Her response?

"I have a certified copy, but I'm saving it for your sister. You'll have to get your own. Good luck to you."

WTF? Hubby and I suggested he write back to her and ask if she could just fax a COPY of the order so we could get the case number and court it was issued in. He did. She never responded.

Fortunately, tracking down the paperwork was easier than we thought.

Now convincing the DMV of this preposterous story was another issue. Gah! But it all worked out.

While we were driving home, THD casually mentioned that he wanted to change his name again. He'd already spoken to Hubby and wanted to change his name to ours.

I almost drove off the road.

He explained his reasoning. He didn't want to carry the name of the man who was briefly married to his adopted mother. He had an aversion to the "Hard-on" name, and his adopted dad had only "sort of" parented him for a few of his 18 years. He had no affinity for his birth family and didn't want to go back to his original name. He wanted to be a part of our family, if only by a name.

Bless his heart. After all those years of being shuffled around and in and out of care, he wants to be identified as one of our clan.

I reassured him that no matter what, this is his home. We are his peeps. There's a lot of things for him to think long and hard about, but as a young guy, he has a lot of time, and we'll support any decision he makes.

One thing he is sure about is that he wants to legally sever all ties with his adopted mom. After our scare with Big Kid, where I had to make all the medical decisions for him when he couldn't make them for himself as next-of-kin, THD is afraid to relinquish any of that authority to her (thinks she'd tell them to pull the plug).

Oy.

Lots to think about.

Asshat of the Week---Nancy Pelosi

2010-01-31T07:01:00.004-07:00

This week's Asshat goes to Speaker of the House, Nancy Pelosi.

I'm not writing this as a political statement, because I'd be awarding it to anyone who was this arrogant in the blatant spending of my money.

Last year, Judicial Watch uncovered Ms. Pelosi's use of our Air Force as her own personal air taxi service for herself, her staff, her family and guests---sticking us with her bill of over 2 million dollars. This week, Judicial watch has obtained the documents under the FOIA from the Air Force detailing these expenditures and published them online.

Now I can understand the use of the Air Force on international flights where safety is an issue. As long as family members and non-essential to the mission guests pay their own market-value fare.

But on domestic flights? Bullpucky. Over 28k per flight to travel back and forth to her district? 31 trips that included her family?

Our domestic airline industry is facing troubles much like many businesses in these times. With the hundreds of flights that criss-cross our country daily, I don't see why Ms. Speaker can't book a flight on one of our own commercial airlines since they're going that way anyway.

Even if she rode first class, with say---a couple of her security personnel (does she get Secret Service protection?) and an assistant, with her staff riding coach like the rest of the great unwashed, it couldn't cost what amounts to a year's salary for many per flight. Her family can ride coach or first class, whatever they choose, because hey---it should be on their dime, not ours.

In addition, Amtrak and Greyhound need the business too. Don't think it would cost 28k to book an entire train car or charter a bus for her entourage either.

And over 100K for food and booze? WTF is up with that? If she's going to glom up military flights, let them eat MREs (Meals Ready to Eat) and bring their own bottles. My ex says those beef stew MREs are pretty tasty. He thinks there is a warehouse somewhere with a gazillion leftovers from the last war. Those things are like spam---they last forever. If they're good enough for our servicepeople, well...in my opinion, Ms. Pelosi and her staff are employed in OUR service. Pack your own lunch or take what we got.

Our country is in an economic crisis, Ms. Pelosi, and I'm not pointing fingers on who helped get us there (koff::bailouts::koff). Everyone has to pull in their belts a little, and as the Speaker of the House, you should be leading by example and not living the life of a rock star on our nickel.

As an end note, speaking of leading by example, I want to give some props to the First Lady.

In the last year I've seen media critics chide Mrs. Obama for not wearing couture all the time and for daring to wear the same outfit twice in public. I congratulate her for being what many of us aspire to be----fit, healthy and great-looking but unpretentious in her dress. She wears realistic clothes for every occasion, just like the rest of us. As a working mom, I want a First Lady I can relate to, and she fits the bill for me. Kudos, Mrs. O!

Thanks to The Right Side News, where I first caught sight of this article.