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!
Monday, May 23, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Judy 101
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?
Sunday, May 08, 2011
Awkward Neighbor Stories....
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!
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!
Friday, May 06, 2011
Thank You!
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
Love you!
ATM
Thursday, May 05, 2011
With a Little Help From my Friends...
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
Sunday, May 01, 2011
Blogging Against Disabilism---The Road to Hell....
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.
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?
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
Friday, April 29, 2011
Blogging Against Disabilism May 1st
Don't forget that Sunday is Blogging Against Disabilism Day! Join us!
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Dear Mom...
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
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
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
Young Love
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.
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.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Asshat of the Week
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.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Humble
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
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
Monday, March 21, 2011
Happiness Is...
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'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?
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
I Don't Know Whether to be Pissed or Proud
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.
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.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Getting Older Bites
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?
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