Collections

I just found out, merely by accident, that my daughter has started an extensive (already) collection of used band-aids. It was mere coincidence that I even found out. I had told her to take off her toe band-aid before she took a shower last night. Instead of heading to the garbage, I saw her go into her room. I really wanted to catch her throwing it on the floor, because then I could rant and rave, etc. Instead, she crawled onto her bed, laid down, looked underneath her bookshelf, and stuck her band-aid to the bottom of the shelf.

I asked her what the heck she thought she was doing, and then I went to recover the band-aid to make her throw it away. Imagine my surprise when I found almost a square foot of the bottom of her bookcase shelf covered with a myriad of different cartoon bandages. Who knows how far this collection goes back.....

She smiled at me, very proudly, and announced that she collects band-aids, but only the cartoon kind.
Incidentally, this is the same kid that aspires to be a dead-animal-picker-upper (sharikalsta.blogspot.com/2005/05/peel-cat-services.html). My heart swells with pride once again.

Camping Update

Okay, I was going to wait until I could post pictures of my camping trip, but I just can't. We had such a fantastic time, it exceeded all expectations! And I must say my expectations were high.

We arrived Friday afternoon at about 2:30 and proceeded to scout out a camp site. Dave had mentioned that a creek with a waterfall ran behind his house. I pictured a small waterfall, but it was actually a large (about 15 feet across) waterfall that fell over exposed lava flow and tumbled downhill through large, moss-covered boulders. It was gorgeous. The girls played in the freezing water all afternoon and evening. I can't wait to post some of the pictures I took of them!

The Coleman stove (aka- perfect gift) came in quite handy for our dinner and subsequent breakfast the next morning. Many hot dogs were consumed.

We hiked along, through and up the waterfall on Saturday. It was 90 degrees that day, but we were in comfort hiking through the glacial spray from the creek. The girls played with Dave's dog Juno until she collapsed and refused to rouse from her dog-nap coma. And we capped off the day with a campfire where Maya, Sophie, Mang and I all ate copious amounts of smores, and later threw all inhibition to the wind and ate the marshmallows straight from the stick!

We left around noon on Sunday and came home to scrub the filth from ourselves and launder clothes that had never seen the amount of dirt that we had accumulated. We had such a great time, but I know that the maximum amount of time I want to camp is no longer than 2-3 days. The main reason for this is I do not like peeing in the woods. And the other bodily function? My body has this magic ability to absolutely stop any normal urges until it walks through the door of the place that it calls home. This was a good thing, but I can foresee problems if this went on for a length of time. Know what I mean?

Pictures will be coming, I promise. (of camping, not bodily functions)

My Birthday

You know that "Best Day Ever" that happened not too long ago? Well, I must say that it has happened again! Yesterday was my birthday, which immediately qualifies it as an awesome day. I do not buy into this "Woe is me, I'm getting older" bull that so many people do. What a terrible way to spend the day that you were brought into the world. I find it the height of low (?) self esteem. (Maybe that should have be depth of low self esteem).

I had an incredibly short work day, an appearance really, which was great. When I came home, I pulled into my driveway I saw a huge package and a beautiful potted flower. My greatest friend Megan, (hi Megan!) left it for me, and she is so smart that she got me a Coleman stove for camping with my girls this weekend. It is exactly the perfect gift. Because

1. I was thoughtful and illustrated that she actually listened to me prattle on all month about my camping trip.
2. I was going to borrow hers, and there is always some concern about borrowing other people's nice stuff.
3. It wrapped up nice and made an impressive package with not only it's sheer size, but weight. (Big things come in small packages? pshaw!

THEN, I left to get my daughter from kindergarten, and when I came back to the house there were MORE flowers and a card sitting on my front porch. Mickey, my older (we like to call it more experienced) friend with red hair and a thing for Tom Selleck, left me a great big bunch of Mums. (PSSST.... Mums the word, but I love mums).

So, obviously all I wanted to do is leave my house all day so I could return to presents. I didn't, however, because I had to try to figure out how to pack for our camping trip . I'll tell you what, trying to fit 2 coolers, 3 camping chairs, a 4-person tent, a tarp, a blanket and pillow, 3 sleeping bags, a coleman stove and various necessities- like a totally reasonably sized watermelon- is almost impossible to fit in a Ford Festiva hatchback. I think I am about ready to start strapping things to the top, although, even the reasonably sized watermelon could change the center of gravity of a car that size and send me rolling down the road, end over end, like a tumbleweed of festiva-ness. I plan on taking pictures of the finished product, and try to post them after we get back.

And that's not all! At the end of the evening, another friend dropped by and brought me a whole flat of gerber daisies (a favorite of mine). So now, my back yard Eden is shaping up quite nicely. The front of my house is so beautiful right now, I have three rose bushes blooming like crazy and am waiting with great anticipation for my sweet peas to wind themselves around my fence and bloom and smell good and do all of the things that sweet peas do best.

So, to sum up, awesome birthday! Great day! And wish me, the kids and the reasonably sized watermelon luck on our weekend adventure!

Peel-A-Cat Services

Thanks to my daughter Sophie, I have been thinking about jobs lately. When you are little it always seems that the job that you want is either a great heroic position like say, astronaut - or a service position like doctor, nurse, etc. No one ever wants to be an insurance salesman or a janitor. I remember I always wanted to be either a noodle-blower, a bull-rider or a cat-peeler (you will understand more, just hold your horses). These things were heroic in my mind.

Well, the other day while walking to school, Sophie saw a dead possum on the side of the road. she was with my sister at the time, but it bothered her so much that she insisted that we drive to the location of the accident to peer dejectedly at the dead possum and occasionally wail in grief. She told me to pick it up so that we could take it home and bury it, and I totally understand where she is coming from, but if you think for even one second that I was going to do that..... well, you are wrong.

I lovingly and patiently explained, between wails, that there were people whose job it was to drive around, pick up animals that had died, and then take them somewhere to bury. I thought that this may elicit an "Ew" or at least a wrinkled nose; I got just the opposite. He eyes lit up, she stopped wailing, and I SWEAR I saw a light bulb abover her head. She said, "THAT'S what I want to be when I grow up!".

The strangest thing about this, and I admit that there are many strange things, is that I wanted to be the same thing when I was little! Here is the sad, sad story about my best friend, Gray One, the cat. (Yes, shannon, I am going there) My very best friend when I was small was a beautiful tom cat named Gray One (yeah, I know, original). We hung out in the hay loft of the barn and I stole cans of condensed milk, a can opener and a bowl from my Grandma's house so that he could eat in style. I loved him. Oh, I loved him. He had blue eyes. Oh...

So, ANYWAY, one day as we were all coming home in our family vehicle, I noticed a disturbing lump of gray hair in the middle of the road on the bridge near our house. I worried. I walked out there after we got home. Yep. It was Gray One. He was not just run over, but absolutely squished flat, flat, flat. He had been there for awhile, I think. I grabbed his tail and peeled-literally, peeled him off the road. I cried and held him up for my mother to see - and all she said was, "Don't you dare bury that thing! Throw it in the burn barrel!" As if burning MY cat with the GARBAGE was at all acceptable.

Since then, every time I have been angry at my Mom I bring up the tragic story of Gray One. She still has no empathy for me and defends herself by saying that the dogs would have dug up Gray One. But I still like to use it against her. She just encourages me to open my "Peel-a-Cat Services" and laughs. Well, the last laugh's on her, I will now give that serious thought. A family business involving peeling dead animals from roadways - she will be so proud.

Spellcheck

I have been staring at this word all morning.....

point

and I am having a hard time. It looks weird. I know it is spelled correctly, but.....
Now,

Point

looks right to me.

This irritates me more than it should.

OH, and another thing - my spellcheck does not recognize the word "spellcheck". That is funny.

Pediatric vs. Geriatric Entertainment

Last night some friends came over to my house and it was the best time we have had in a long time. We started talking about all the games we used to play as kids. Do you remember playing rock, paper, scissors and the winner would lick their pointer and middle finger and smack the losers forearm as hard as they could. The welts would be amazing. I am a bit embarrassed to admit this, but I did play quite a few rounds of this game with Stephanie, who takes no prisoner in the smacking department. She, however, had no idea that she was playing with the zen-master, Obie Juan Canobie (sp) -you're-my-only-hope, MASTER of rock, paper, scissors. I have no idea why, but I rarely lose at that game. (this turns out to be a great way of getting what I want by seeming to leave major decisions up to chance)

And how about "Light as a feather, stiff as a board. Light as a feather, stiff as a board. Light as a feather, stiff as a board."? Bloody knuckles? The hand slap game that I can't remember the name of? Or what about those cool body games including the one where someone holds down your arms by your side while you try to push up against them. You must do this for about 1 minute, then let go and relax and your hands magically float upwards. Or the one that feels like someone is pulling a string out of the center of your palm. Or the one where you pick up a chair by bending over with your head against the wall (at a 90 degree angle to the wall), and then stand up. Only women can do this, men can't. It has something to do with center of gravity.

Then my sister called and did a Vulcan brain meld thing with me and sang all the words to the big hit for young children in my family, "Greasy, Grimy Gopher Guts". It goes a little something like this....

"Great big gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts,
Mutilated monkey meat
Little birdies' turdy feet.
All stirred up with petrified pelican puke.
Wish I had a spoon."

A cult classic, I tell you.

And if reliving my youth wasn't enough for the day, I also got to put in some practice at becoming a cool old lady. I stress the importance of practicing cool old lady things, on the off chance that one may forget what cool old lady things are. Aging is a mysterious thing. Sooooo... We drank wine, yelled and said bad words, all while playing a rousing game of canasta. I am bad at canasta, but I like it just the same.

So, to summarize, remember your youth, practice for old age.

The Best Day EVER

Yesterday was one of those great days that just keeps going and going and going. Most of my days are pretty damn fantastic, I must say, but it was just a bunch of little touches that catapulted it into greatness.

1. My paycheck was more than I was expecting due to some overtime and bonuses! Always a source of joy, that is.
2. My workday was full of great people who actually had a sense of humor when they called.
3. I was able to work in the words "Kamchatka Peninsula" into one of the calls that I took. That always makes me feel smart.
4. I came home to 2 letters in my mailbox. They were not bills! Whoo-hoo! One was from my chiropractor and another was from a woman I met through my job. She sent me- unsolicited mind you- a burned CD of awesome music. It included Natalie Merchant, a disturbing rendition of "Ring of Fire" sung by Billy Bob Thornton and some great Zydeco cuts. Speaking of Zydeco...... (flashback music, cue swirly flashback vortex)

When I was living on the family ranch after I came home from college, a man by the name of Dago (Day-go) wandered into our little town. He was a very interesting man for a number of reasons. He was Cajun (I had never met a real live person of Cajun persuasion), he did not talk my language as far as I could tell, and he had come all the way from Looosiana with two mules named Crystal Gail and Loretta Lynn. True story.

5. I got to pick up my tent and two sleeping bags for the girls. More info to come on this ...

6. It was my favorite weather and lighting all day. Dark purple clouds, insanely heavy rain, then bright sunshine, then rainbows, then rain again. Awesome.

7. I found really cheap guinea pig food at the farm supply store. I was able to get them a huge bag of super fancy food for only $7. They (Frere Jacques and Sunny Cisco) now think I love them even more than before. It never can hurt.

There were two things that tried to bring my day down. The first was Evil J having a bit of a fit regarding, well, everything.....again. And the second was Dave (stupid Dave) cancelled the camping trip to Packwood because everyone else wants to go to the ocean. Dumb ocean. But, here is the good news.... I could give a good god damn what J thinks, and I will camp with my girls in my front yard if I can find no other place to go. So there. Ha.

Stoner(s) Finally Given Deserved Credit

"The City Council voted unanimously to name the present and future City Council Chambers after former council member and mayor, William S. (Bill) Stoner."

So, my town now has an official "Stoner Room". Can you picture it? You knock on the door, there is much shuffling and "Just a minute!'s" before the council chamber's door cracks open and smoke rolls out. Inside is lit by the faint glow of one lava lamp and all the council members are seated on their bean bag chairs with name placards in front of them. Glazed eyes, Cheeto stained fingers....coughs are emitted without opening their lips.....

The discussions will be interesting,

Councilman 1: "Dude, did you see the size of that pothole on Main Street?"
Councilman 2: "Whoaaaa, that was a pothole? Oh, MAN, I thought it was one of our ArtWalk sculptures depicting the depths of societal degradation."
Councilman 3: "We should totally leave it! Don't you think that if hair was flowers councilman Offenbecher would be sporting mums?" (laughs and coughs uncontrollably)

Resume

Actual jobs I have had:

• Working various jobs on the family ranch including - driving tractor, feeding cows, various haying activities, cattle vaccinations, branding, ditch burning, flood irrigation, cattle drives, etc.
• Bartender/server/cook at "Lively's Bar and Grill"
• Driving a dumptruck down an Alaska beach buying tons of dead salmon from native fisherman.
• Medical Transcription
• Bicycle shop salesperson
• Working in a head shop
• Restaurant bookkeeper
• Restuarant manager
• Financial loan officer
• Assistant manager of a finance company (aka dirty loan shark)
• Mary Kay consultant
• Lackey that loaded UPS trucks
• Customer Service Representative at an outdoor equipment company

Things I would like to do:

• Garden for old people.
• Take care of people's feet.
• Anything to do with rocks.
• Name lipstick, race horses or clothing colors.

Things that I am good at:

• Diagraming sentences.
• Drawing molecular structures of chemical compounds.
• Being around people.
• Causing people to take their life less seriously.
• Blowing noodles when they are about to boil over.

Okay, so I am ONLY 32 (10 shopping days left until my birthday) and there is no rhyme or reason to my life. Just wondering if anyone out there sees any sort of pattern, or an obvious direction in which to go. Even a good way to make all this sound good on a resume would suffice.

help........................................me........................

Well, here we are!

No, she is not flipping you off......

My Birthday Gift Registry

That's right! Only 12 more shopping days left! What follows is a list of not only what I want for my birthday, but what I expect....

I was looking in "The Onion" personals and found the perfect guy for me. Not only does his description of himself truly fit everything I have every wanted in a guy, but I can just pretend that I know him and never have to truly do the hard work of acutally contacting him. Here is his description......

"I am a dynamic figure, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice. I have been known to remodel train stations on my lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat retention. I translate ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees, I write award-winning operas, I manage time efficiently. Occasionally, I tread water for three days in a row. I woo women with my sensuous and godlike trombone playing, I can pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed, and I cook thirty-minute brownies in twenty minutes. I am an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Peru. Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, I once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from a horde of ferocious army ants. I play bluegrass cello, I was scouted by the Mets, I am the subject of numerous documentaries. When I'm bored, I build large suspension bridges in my yard. I enjoy urban hang gliding. On Wednesdays, after work, I repair electrical appliances free of charge. I am an abstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless bookie. Critics worldwide swoon over my original line of corduroy evening wear. I don't perspire. I am a private citizen, yet I receive fan mail. I have been caller number nine and have won the weekend passes. Last summer I toured New Jersey with a traveling centrifugal-force demonstration. I bat 400. My deft floral arrangements have earned me fame in international botany circles. Children trust me. I can hurl tennis rackets at small moving objects with deadly accuracy. I once read Paradise Lost, Moby Dick, and David Copperfield in one day and still had time to refurbish an entire dining room that evening. I know the exact location of every food item in the supermarket. I have performed several covert operations for the CIA. I sleep once a week; when I do sleep, I sleep in a chair. While on vacation in Canada, I successfully negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery. The laws of physics do not apply to me. I balance, I weave, I dodge, I frolic, and my bills are all paid. On weekends, to let off steam, I participate in full-contact origami. Years ago I discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it down. I have made extraordinary four course meals using only a mouli and a toaster oven. I breed prizewinning clams. I have won bullfights in San Juan, cliff-diving competitions in Sri Lanka, and spelling bees at the Kremlin. I have played Hamlet, I have performed open-heart surgery, and I have spoken with Elvis." HG


I was going to include a link so you could view his amazing arms/chest/tatoo (I am not one that is really very into tatoos..... but it seems to work), but no one needs to know any more about him unless they are seriously going to inquire about getting him for me. All serious inquiries please email me for more information.

I also must have this t-shirt
http://www.t-shirthumor.com/Merchant2/merchant.mvc?Screen=PROD&Product_Code=edna&Category_Code=notw


Some way to short circuit the person who sits behind me at work whose whining day in and day out about everyone but themselves is making me mad. MAD! I tell you, MAD!

Terra cotta planting boxes of all sizes.

Respect. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Just a little bit.

A very life-like male torso with well-muscled chest and arms. I would tell my troubles to this torso and allow it to cuddle me if it promised not to tell anyone that I enjoyed cuddling. If options are available and the salesperson is trying to sell you extra parts, please know that this is all I really need and anything extra would only be distracting. (This is, of course, if you cannot purchase the perfect man, as listed above.)

Pirate voice lessons.

Some one really should get my car on "Pimp my Ride". The Minty Squirrel could use a makeover. Just think spinning hubcaps...... For anyone who may not know, the Minty Squirrel is a 1992 bright turquoise Ford Festiva. And in all seriousness, I love that car.

I'm sure there is more, I will keep thinking about it.....

Lists

Things I Dislike

10. Marzipan
9. Living on a continent with no native marsupials - marsupials are very interesting.
8. Math (because it never turns out right)
7. Ignorant Fools
6. The fact that any sensation I feel on my hands becomes concurrently magnified in my collarbone.
5. People that suck the life out of you with their bad attitudes the minute you walk into a room.
4. The sound of ice coming out of plastic trays.
3. Spiders
2. Belly Buttons
1. Water Chestnuts


Things I Like

10. Ducks
9. The underdog
8. Brussels Sprouts
7. Math (Because it never turns out right)
6. Surprises
5. Telling people exactly what I think of them and then laughing really hard to trick them into thinking I'm kidding.
4. People who can tell funny stories (ex. David Sedaris ,who is a genius)
3. Hand massages
2. The fact that my hair went from stick straight to curly for apparently no reason.
1. The feel of my children's skin.

Almost 33 Year Old - Cheap

I was telling my friend Dave why I was not selling myself short by not pursuing a relationship with the cutest and sweetest guy ever. My problem is not that I think that he isn't one of the only ones that would be totally worth it....but that I will fall into the chemical induced pitfall of the biological trickery dubbed "love". By no means am I against love, really. I do believe it happens, but it just DOES NOT happen to everyone. How many people do you know that have been or are currently "in love" with someone. Come on now people..... it is just like the lottery, people convince themselves that even though the odds are astronomical, that somehow - someway - THEY will be the one who wins the jackpot. Hmmmm......

Ever watch the discovery channel? There are chemicals in our brains (and that we emit) that control our reactions to the opposite sex. We are hard wired to reproduce and propogate the species. What a great evolutionary trick to make us really like our mate so as to have sex more often, therefore increasing the chances of us getting pregnant. I feel a mathematical formula coming on .....

x=amount we are attracted to new partner(1-10 scale)
y=number of times we have sex per day
z=percentage chance of getting pregnant while in a "chemical love coma"

So let's say you think he's a "10" and your schedules coincide for sex 3 times per day (I said he was a 10-hello-this should be a minimum)

(x*y)/100=z
(10*3)/100=z
30/100=z

z=.3 and this does not make sense, so maybe the real answer is 30%, or even more understandable would be the answer of 300%.........but I digress.......


This is that honeymoon period of the relationship that always sours after awhile. It makes sense scientifically. Why would we need that person if 1) we are pregnant or 2)we are not already pregnant? Granted, those odds still predict that one in every few million couplings will get it right and match the two people that want to be together forever. That even makes sense. But this "fall in love with every person coming down the line" mentality has got to stop.

The major problem is that we never know if it is chemical or if we won the jackpot until after we have gone through all the crap. Those damn chemicals give us that jackpot feeling every time. Do you really want to be that person that sits in front of the TV of life with your lottery ticket of love clasped in your sweaty hands?

The sad thing is, maybe I do.

Hypo-Hypochondriac

The woman who watches my children is a totally out of control hypochondriac. I had suspected this for some time, but since she has been watching my kids before and/or after school it had become horribly apparent that there is a serious problem here. I wonder if it even may eclipse hypochondria and border on Munchausen's (sp?) syndrome (the syndrome where the Mother actually hurts her child to get some sort of attention from the medical community).

This is very hard to deal with for me. My kids rarely even take any kind of medication and I am allergic to almost everything. Seriously, I can't even take Ibuprofen. So when her children came over to spend the night, imagine my surprise when, and I am not making this up, she had 3 gallon sized ziploc bags full of medication for her daughters to take that evening. THREE ZIPLOC BAGS - GALLON SIZED! She went through the whole explanation of the medications, who it was for, how much to give, which ones to rinse the mouth out after taking, the order of application.....for Christ's sake- I needed a PHD to remember it all. I was seriously tempted to nod and pretend I understood and give the poor kids a break for the night. But on the off chance that they would die without one of the meds, I had her write down the instructions and proceeded to overmedicate her children that evening.

I felt sorry for the kids. They lined up and inhaled, swallowed and chewed (chod? ) dutifully as if it was the most normal thing in the world. The worst part was seeing my kids watch the whole scenario with their huge brown eyes giving away their fervent wish that they had all of that cool stuff, too. Remember being younger and fanagling the paper clip into a "retainer" so you could look like everyone else in 6th grade? That is what I saw in their eyes. (Maybe that whole retainer thing was just me.......)

Now I am at an impasse. I don't really want my kids spending much time in a house where sickness is considered normal and even romanticized. HOWEVER, I work the weirdest hours and this is my 3rd babysitter in the course of 8 months. It is not often that you find someone willing to have you drop your children off at 3 am, get them up in the morning, feed them and get them off to school. I honestly have no idea who else would do it (that I would trust). Plus, I don't have to pay her, just clean her house. And let me just say at this point, she is not only a hypochondriac, but also a pig. I have never seen dust like that in my entire life. If I wasn't cleaning her house once a week, I would not let my kids go there because of the filth. No wonder her kids are plagued with asthma and allergy problems.

You would think that raising my children away from radical pill-popping babysitters and in a clean environment would be important enough to stay at home and raise my kids myself. Alas, it is not to be. In our fantastic money driven society, it is much more important to go to work at a $10 per hour job which barely keeps food on the table and a roof over our heads. God forbid that I contribute to society by raising great (non-pill popping, relatively clean) kids. I don't know how to go about this, since I don't really believe in welfare (for me). I just wish I got a salary (hourly pay would just be being greedy) for being a Mom. Sigh.......

Superglueophobia

I have a fear of super glue. It raised it's ugly head again this weekend when I needed to open a used tube of the stuff. Previously used tubes of superglue should be classified as weapons of mass destruction, as far as I am concerned. "Mass" may be a bit of overstatement, but if you have ever been stuck to something - or to yourself - things get put in a different perspective.

Previously to last year, I had the typical experience of gluing my index fingers together. You know the drill, your heart jumps, your mind races for a split second, "What if I can never get them apart??!!". And then you laugh and pry them apart - no problem. No problem, but sane people would take steps to avoid this problem in the future, right?

Well, this is just what I did. It was about 2 am and I was inspired to glue my broken-off handle back onto my insulated coffee cup. I very carefully opened the superglue, unclogged the nozzle with a pin, applied the glue, standing very still- very, very still- to allow it to dry with no possibility of accident. I checked to make sure all of my fingers were free moving during this time and was feeling quite smug after a few minutes, realizing that, yes, I had done it! I had not glued anything together that was not supposed to be that way!

Let me explain the setting a bit more at this point. I was standing in the middle of my kitchen floor, halfway between the refrigerator and the sink (they are on opposite sides of the room). The distance was approximately 12 feet between the two, and again, I was at the halfway point. The mathematical formula for my position would be......


d= distance between sink and fridge
x= my position

d/2=x
therefore 12/6=x
therefore x=2
therefore I was halfway between the two which really equals 6

Math was never my strong point, but this is important, I swear.

So.....after the few minutes of quiet triumph I spent while drying the handle, I figured it would be safe to set the mug on the counter and go about getting my shoes on and unlocking the door so my co-worker Lynette could come in. This was my procedure every morning, today would be no different......EXCEPT.....when I went to walk away I took a normal stride with my left foot, and then went to raise my right foot off the ground for the concurrent step and immediately stopped my forward motion. Something was terribly wrong. My big toe- more exactly a quarter-sized spot on the pad of my right big toe was superglued solidly to the hardwood floor. The reaction to this is very similar to the panic you get when you glue your fingers together, however it lasts MUCH longer.

I had spent so much time standing there letting the glue dry, that my toe was quite properly glued down. This definitely was not a case of just trying a little harder - my toe was now a part of the floor. Now, remember, I am 6 feet or d/2=x (which is coincidently how tall I am) from any object in the room. When the panic receded a bit, I decided that if I could reach the silverware drawer (next to the fridge) and get a butter knife out that there was a possibility that I could get my foot pried off the floor. Thanks only to my excessive height and occasional yoga practice I was successful in getting the butter knife in only a few attempts. (I found "Warrior Pose" seemed to be the most useful yoga position in this situation, just so you know)

During the long period of time (probably only a few minutes) of trying to pry my toe from the floor with a butter knife, my mind was quite active. I was worried that Lynette would arrive, find the door locked and then ring the door bell. This would wake up my girls (possibly) and J (most definitely) and then I would be in the "oh hi, just glued my self to the floor here" spotlight in front of my boyfriend, my friend and my daughters. This would not do.

I did get my toe pried from the floor eventually and stumbled to unlock the door. At this point, I was so releaved I was beginning to giggle uncontrollably in my dark and quiet living room. I was so damn happy and the hilarity of the situation was starting to cut through the previous panic. I get very weak when I laugh, so it took me a few tries to actually put my left shoe on. Then, it came to the right shoe. Just as Lynette was walking through the door I discovered something horrible that I had overlooked in my moment of Joy. My...sock...was...still...glued... to ..my ....toe. Yep, I had socks on the whole time.

At this revelation, I totally lost it. I was laughing so hard I couldn't speak. As you can tell by the length of this entry, it takes quite a bit of explaining. Try doing that when you can't breath, no less talk. Somehow - through sign language and probably a bit of mental telepathy - I got it through to her what happened. We eventually decided that my sewing scissors were a) sharp enough and b) pointy enough to surgically remove my sock from my toe. This took some time due to the careful nature of the cutting and the fact that I was in absolute hysterics, which didn't help my steadiness. After a time it was done. There were still some tufts of cotton that would eventually wear off in the upcoming weeks, but overall, things turned out okay.

Almost a year later, my anxiety of using the superglue the other day was overwhelming. This is obviously not going away any time soon. From now on, I am sticking with (no pun intended) Scotch tape.

Mother's Day, Continued

I was lax in my story yesterday, I forgot one of the pivotal issues.....
My daughter apologized to me when her father left (and yes, I explained that it wasn't her fault...). She told me that she really wanted to wait to open her presents, but Daddy kept shaking her to wake her up. WTF! AND when they stumbled downstairs at god knows what time, he actually yelled at them because they didn't want to open all their presents yet. Yep. He's a prince.

Mother's Day

I am not one to feel sorry for myself, usually, but dammit....why can't a holiday go by without J. totally fucking it up?

To totally understand this, we must first flashback to this last Christmas.......(flashback music playing)

I had volunteered to help out a friend with her newspaper delivery job on Christmas morning so she could go spend time at her parents house. I had informed J. of this and told him that I would be back by 6 am. The girls, Maya and Sophie, were also told that if for some reason I was not home by then, that they could see what Santa brought in their stockings but to PLEASE wait to open the presents. They, however, were 7 and 5 years old so I was counting on their "responsible father" to keep things under control. Ha....ha,ha,ha.

Let me just mention at this point that J and I are no longer together, biblically or otherwise, but he does stay relatively involved in his children's lives - which sounds great, but can prove to be otherwise. He hates me. I try valiantly to ignore this.

Anyway.....I walk into the house at approx. 6:02 am and am accosted with the sight of the living room that is totally demolished - wrapping paper and toy part everywhere. Yep, you guessed it...he let them open everything without me. This was enough to make me tear up and excuse myself upstairs where I was supposed to compose myself, but I actually started sobbing like I was on some kind Lifetime movie.

He told me that I was being selfish and I told him to leave my house before I ripped his head off and drank his blood. He left.

So that is my Christmas story....

Now that the stage has been correctly set, I am ready to blow off some steam about this whole Mother's Day thing. I don't expect him to acknowledge me on this day, but I truly had hoped that it would be a day free of his vicious sarcasm and degradation. Hope springs eternal in my heart, logic doesn't, okay?

My day wasn't the best anyway since I had to be at work from 6:30 am to 3:00 pm. He got to the house to "babysit" (his word) the children at approximately 5 am. Immediately he had to go into the typical fight. I say typical because I swear I could recite the fight by heart. I try hard not to fall into it and spew my lines on cue, but he pushes my buttons in the worst way.

I am a fucking fantastic mom, and his little remarks make the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Maybe he should scrutinize his own wacked out ideas of fatherhood as much as he scrutinizes me.

I didn't leave for New York for a year and not call my kids just because I was mad that I had to pay child support. You should be glad you got a sliding scale on that you bastard. My expenses are not on a sliding scale.

I don't scare my children as my disiplinary approach.

I do not let my children - not only listen to, but to learn the words to - Eminem and 50 cent songs. It is incredibly disturbing to hear them singing "Candy Shop".

I could go on, but I really need to be working. Happy Mother's Day to everyone who deserves it but never hear it!