Java Junkie and the Monkey

Spectral Spectacles

2007-03-28T22:28:00.000-04:00

So I've been busting my hump for a few days now trying to re-learn CSS enough to be able to code a fluid three column SS with a header from scratch. I don't know why it has to be from scratch, there are so many others out there that have already done the work and are more than happy to share it I know. I think it's just so I can prove to myself that I CAN. But given my short term memory problems, I am having the toughest time remembering enough of what I've read in time to script even a line or two. I may be making it more difficult by trying to incorporate old code into a new format so tomorrow I may just scrap it all, start from scratch, and put what I want where I want after I'm done with it all. Hey, wake up! I'm almost to my point!

My point is that I've been sort of consumed by this for the last two days, taking only VERY occasional breaks to visit a blog here and there to let my brain rest. Email has gone unanswered, private messages, shout outs and replies on forums like Maya's Mom and flickr remain unread, the baby was only sat on the potty chair three times today, etc.

As I sat in the living room TRYING to get some studying done from the laptop in between the turns Parker and Holly were taking running up and jumping on the keyboard, it occurred to me (while having to clean Holly slobber off of them) that I haven't posted a pic of my new glasses yet. So here ya go.. I know they're not terribly good pictures, but I'm too engrossed to comb my hair today, and I'm certainly not going to take a pic with my hair in the pony tail it currently is in and let you all see my huge elfin magic ears COMPLETELY hair naked.

I know there's a bit of ghosting on this one (thus the name of this post) and the angle makes my nose enormous but when you're trying to hold the camera for yourself and NOT turn on the overhead florescent or use a flash that would totally wash me out, it's not so easy to remain perfectly still.

And I know this one cuts off my chin AND shows the elf ears a bit, BUT you're not going to look at that are you? Nooo - you're looking at what a pretty shade of blue the arms are and the velvety shade of wine of the rims, aren't you? :)

Anyway, off to a "hot date" with Monkey to watch Casino Royale in bed while eating popcorn and folding laundry, woot!

And I'd like to thank Holly for my shiney new Redneck of the Year award!

2007-03-27T00:13:00.000-04:00

No matter how much I tried to run from it, no matter how many guys from NY I dated, no matter long I lived in the most "metropolitan" part of my home state, my dog has now qualified me as a certified MI Redneck.

How might you ask?

take a look at the pic below and see what you notice:

notice anything? Well I mean besides the fact that the inside window is horridly dirty and the outside one relatively clean (I'll explain that later.) Yes, you notice the obvious mud caked paw prints all over the metal frame... Notice anything else? Like they're mysteriously lacking from the lower window section? As is any glare from either the porch light or the camera flash?

Yes, my dog ripped out my screen and knocked out the storm window to my screen door frantically jumping and pawing at my door to get in because - get this - there was a black milk crate and a small garden spade in my garden. Yes, my evil going-to-take-over-the-world landlord/twinplex neighbor left them near our garden for a short bit as she was obviously trying to undo some of the extreme craziness the previous mad-gardener home owner left in our garden - er I mean set her plan in motion to take over the world by first eliminating all golden retrievers with her black plastic death ray and it's power component cleverly disguised as garden tools. And this, just one day after Monkey declared that this dog had "no fear factor" because he could run the hand vac for three seconds in the same room as her without her wetting my carpet.

I had to coax her off the 2x3 foot cement slab "porch" just to pee, which she did with her entire body shaking... I then closed the back door to use the little girl's room myself and before porcelain hit flesh I heard the *BANG*BANG*BANGing of her literally JUMPING and pawing at the door trying to get back inside away from the evil death ray. I opened the door and had a Plexiglas storm window come falling towards me.. Somehow, in rare pre-first coffee reflexes I grabbed it about a half an inch from my tow with ninja-like agility.

The funniest thing of all is that while I've always LOVED Golden Retrievers, and I adore Holly, I now realize that I love Golden Retrievers in the MOVIES.. You know, the ones that viciously growl and protect their beloved family against the mildly mentally challenged burglars trying to get to the kid that overheard them talking about the bank heist they were planning at the local diner while he waited for his waitress mom to give him money to see the matinee at the local movie theater. Instead I got something akin to the female dog version of Richard Simmons with endless amounts of energy that can be both exhausting and downright friggen ANNOYING at times. Picture his reaction to a burglar and you've pretty much nailed Holly down. Oh and more hair than a grizzly den in the spring. You know, those movie dogs never shed a single hair.

So there you have it folks. While I might eat, and even MAKE, sushi, know which wines to serve with which meats, and only listen to country music when I'm going to hear my dad play, I am now officially a redneck from MI.

Borrowing it from our children... The best $10 I ever spent.

2007-03-26T11:26:00.000-04:00

One of my favorite quotes I've heard lately is "We don't inherit the Earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children." It's Native American, though I'm not sure which tribe or if it can even be traced back to it's very origin. Regardless, it's something that really struck a chord in me.

Last night an event much awaited in our home occurred. It was the premier of The Discovery Channel's mini-series called Planet Earth and we bought the high-def channels from our local cable company for one month specifically to watch it. After the first 5 minutes of the first show in the series, I was confident I had never spent $10 on a better luxury. The show was inCREDIBLE.

The first three out of eleven episodes played last night but we only watched the first as we had other things that needed our attention. We TIVO'd the other two. But as we were curling up to watch a few minutes of something before drifting off to sleep, we flipped it on The Discovery Channel and happened across a later showing of one of the other two we hadn't seen yet and while I was dog tired I was also GLUED to the TV for over an hour. I finally had to pull myself away from it with promises that I wouldn't miss anything because of our TIVO'd episodes. And I can NOT imagine that show in non high-def. What a disservice you would be doing to yourself. It was a truly amazing experience.

One of the coolest things about the show is that they take about the last 10 minutes of it to explain to you the innovative cameras and techniques they used to get particular shots in the program. Many of the things you watch have never been filmed before or even seen by many of the scientists in the field simply because the technology wasn't available until now. For the first episode they show you how they get a ground eye close-up of wild African dogs from a helicopter that's over a kilometer away!

I'm sure I've gone on about it enough by now to give you the picture. Lou was very hospitable when he humored me the four times in the first 15 minutes of the show that I would come knock on his door and say "You've got to come see this!" Until before he knew it he was sucked into the show too. He had purposely set off to his bedroom because he didn't "feel like watching TV" right then but before he realized it, he was just as sucked in an amazed as both Monkey and I were.

My only real regret is that we can't keep the TIVO'd versions forever. Programs in high def take up a LOT of disc space and as I said, there are 11 in the series total. We can't burn them onto our own DVD's either, even though we own a DVDR. You can order the set on DVD's on Discovery Channel's web site but only Blu-ray DVD's can store enough data for high def so that won't be high def, but I'm still probably going to get it. Please, if you do have high def available to you do NOT miss this series. You WILL be astounded.

My First Real Love

2007-03-23T19:27:00.000-04:00

My first real love, you may be surprised to hear, was NOT Monkey. How funny that I comment every day on how very much alike Monkey and my first real love. It was love at first sight. The kind of forever and ever and never end love that feels like you got hit by a mack truck of warmth and happiness and joy and peace and purpose. Within a minute of seeing my first real true love I began to sing to him what would forever be "our song." And today my first real love, my true love, my heart, my savior, my purpose turns 15. And it doesn't make me feel the least bit old.

Unfortunately I don't have any pictures of when I first met my love, and very very very few of our first 2 1/2 years together. That's because his father refused to give them to me and I am absolutely certain that now they have been destroyed, lost forever only to exist in my memory. I have been forced to scouring relatives pictures for a snapshot here and there at some holiday or family event. And the first digital picture I have was of him holding his brand new baby brother over 2 years ago. So the best thing to do, instead of talking about who he was is telling you about who he has become.

I couldn't be more proud of my eldest son, Lou, if I tried. Well that is, unless, he did his homework like he was suppose to. THEN I would not only be proud of HIM but I'd probably be one of those blissfully obnoxious parents parents with a bumper sticker about how my kid was on the honor roll. No matter HOW much it embarrassed him. He is smart, but you know every parent says that about their kid. No one's actually going to say "the rock in the garden gives my kid a run for his money" but we all know those kids are out there, however UN-politically correct it may be to say. But I have proof. I have the IQ test that showed him a mere 5 points below genius on the "average person" scale that was given to him by the behavioral health department of the Henry Ford Clinic in Detroit. And lemme tell ya folks, this kid proves it over and over. But he's not just quick, there are things about his intelligence that CONTINUE to amaze his teachers, year after year. He's the most socially and politically aware kid that ANY of them have met. Trust me, they ALL bring this up every chance they get at how amazed they are about his ability to have an intelligence, informed, rational political discussion.

My Son is in his school's GSA club. GSA you ask? It stands for the Gay-Straight Alliance. And I couldn't be more proud. In a day when social judgement seems to be at it's highest, my son is helping to design T-Shirts that say "The highest result of education is tolerance - Helen Keller" and using school colors so that kids can wear them into the school pep rallies. Oh, and just in case you're wondering, he's straight. And just in case you wonder further, it matters not to me, as long as he's happy, healthy, responsible and caring. Which he is.

My first love is an artist, both in skill and at heart. He plays the guitar, writes poetry, and sketches. His preferred style is Manga, which is a specific style of Anime, and he's really good. Most importantly he's willing to listen to suggestions and constructive criticism, which is really important for those who want to improve where they start from. You should ALWAYS want to improve where you start from. That's how humans grow.

And while he is an artist and plays the guitar, it is the ELECTRIC guitar. He is a rocker. He loves The Ramones, Red Hot Chili Peppers, ACDC, Primus and Nirvana. He wants his eyebrow pierced and purple hair - both of which we have promised to let him do if he gets good grades this year. He'd like his lip pierced but those are too easily infected for a first piercing, so maybe, MAYBE if he gets good grades his sophomore year. He tries to be moody but smiles way too much, he tries to be dark, but loves way too much.

He LOVES his younger brother with a ferocity and a devotion very rarely seen among siblings. Many a time do we playfully argue about who gets to snuggle "the baby." And he's definately teaching him not to be afraid of heights, spinning around, being thrown about, and suddenly dropped onto a bed or couch. While it makes me cringe, it also makes me beam with pride and happiness from the depths of my heart and soul.

I could go on - for he's whitty and charming and sensitive and caring. He can be more agrivating than I had ever thought possible and out of no where touch your heart so deeply with a kindness you forget he ever was a "typical teenager" who thought he knew it all. He's one of two people who truly know and understand me and while he would probably be embarassed if I broke out into one of my "dances" in front of his friends, I have no doubt he'd stand up to them should they ever chastise me for it. So I will simply say that lastly, because I'm his mother, I have to brag about how drop dead gorgeous he is. He has the most BEAUTIFL eyes and combined with his whit, his intelligence, and his compassion and he literally had 3 girls BESIDES his girlfriend ask him out to the "Turn about" dance (in my time we called it Sadie Hawkins.) And the boy KNOWS how to wear a suit. He went to his homecoming with the shirt unbottoned, white cuffs pulled out of his charcoal jacket, and a black t-shirt underneath and looked like the cover model for GQ magazine. Unfortunately we had lost the battery charger for my camera and couldn't snap pictures. But here's what my baby's face looks like up close.

I'm not going to proof read this because every time I even go back one paragraph I well up and reading becomes almost impossible. So I hope there are no errors. Believe me that there's not when I say:

Happy Birthday baby, I so love you.

Put THEIR Money Where YOUR Mouth Is - B(.)(.)BS!

2007-03-22T22:42:00.000-04:00

Clever post title is it not? And believe it or not that's EXACTLY what this post is about!

As a tribute the good news my sister-in-law got today about the abnormality in her mammogram her doctor's office called her about 3 days ago, I wanted to take a minute to write about a woman that has no connection to my sister-in-law what-so-ever except that she knows me. This woman, Janis, has enabled me to take up the pink ribbon cause in what seems to be the only way possible for me. Chatting.

You see, I must admit than I am much geekier than many of you know. Most of my "friends" are little animated pixels, with real people controlling them from another computer, that join me in a digital world full of fantasy, bloodshed, death, and well... home decor. I am talking about the world of MMORPG's - or Massively Multi-player Online Role Playing Games. Think of Dungeons and Dragons computer game style and you've sort of got it but in MMO's there can be up to 2,000 or in some games even 3,000 people playing at any given part of the day. I met my dear friend Janis through the most recent one I've been playing, Everquest II. She and I have been emailing each other back and forth about our real lives because we haven't been able to play together for a little over a week now. And oddly I clicked on the link on the bottom of her email today that said "i'm making a difference. Make every IM count for the cause of your choice. Join now!" . I say "oddly" because I NEVER click the links at the bottom of emails. I just sort of ignore them much like I do commercials when I TIVO American Idol. And well if you don't click that link let me explain.. MSN's instant messenger system is now enticing people to use their instant messaging service over the instant messaging services put out by their competitors by donating a portion of the advertising revenue to the cause of your choice. My cause? Susan G. Komen for the Cure

Honestly it's a cause that I've been verbally supporting for over a decade now. My mother use to champion Breast Cancer Awareness Month for the Veteran's of Foreign Wars Women's League in her area. I remember every year her giving me a ribbon pin. I wish now that I would have kept them. I never thought then that breast cancer would hit so close to home or I would have done a hell of a lot more than just wear a pin to humor my mother.

Not only has my sister-in-law had a recent scare with an abnormal mammogram, but my Aunt on my mother's side is a survivor of breast cancer and the Christmas before my mother passed away she was diagnosed with cervical cancer. That gives me anywhere from a 20% to 36% chance of being diagnosed with breast cancer sometime in my life time just from those two things alone. Add into that several other factors that I won't bore you with and it's actually even higher.

Let me post now, however, that by while saying "I never thought then that breast cancer would hit so close to home or I would have done a hell of a lot more than just wear a pin to humor my mother." may SOUND narcissistic, it's not. I was just so terribly naive. With an annual diagnosis rate of roughly 180 THOUSAND women, breast cancer hits close to EVERYONE'S home. Your mother, your sister, your grandmother, your aunt, your friend. Chances are someone you know has had or will have to battle this demon. Help fight it. Chat away, use MSN's Instant Messenger today.

Oh and one more time for my breast cancer free Sister-in-Law - CONGRATS ON YOUR B(.)(.)BS!

Back in the Saddle Again!

2007-03-21T11:39:00.000-04:00

I'm ready. Ready to start blogging again. Ready to wake up and see the world every day again. Ready to be sociable again... And it feels damned good. Before I continue, to catch you up, if there even IS a "you" anymore out there (i.e. someone actually reading this) - this is a paste from a post that I started to write 9 days ago but never finished..

***Paste***

I'm fairly sure no one reads this anymore. I'm hoping soon I can change that but not immediately. You see, I kept waiting until there was something good to write about. Something funny or beautiful that wasn't overshadowed by grief and pain and worry. And just as I get to that place something happens and the world spins and down the whole house of cards comes crashing again. Balance has been THAT delicate. Since I last wrote I've suffered from yet another stroke for which I was hospitalized for 4 days while they drew blood vial after blood vial, specialist after specialist trying to get to the reason. So far only one possible cause has been found - one that my cardiologist and GP both think is a good possible cause but one that my neurologist does not. The rheumatologist was on the fence about. A test called a trans-esophogeal echo-cardiogram, in which while under a mild sedative they stick an ultrasound camera down your throat which is roughly the height of a screw driver handle and about one and half again the width of one until it is resting behind your heart, showed that I have a hole between the two upper chambers of my heart and when there is pressure (as in when you hold back a sneeze or when women bare down for push

***End Paste***

From there it would have gone on to say that I had also learned that my dad has another tumor, this one being behind his eye, that they are unable to remove or biopsy.. Why? Because his MRSA infection is so bad it's no longer responding at all to antibiotics - antibiotics that they had to take him off of anyway because he was taking such large quantities (all prescribed) that they were becoming toxic. About 10 minutes after learning this information my dad then dropped an even bigger bombshell on me. He is moving to Australia on April 18th. He already has the ticket, living quarters (a girlfriend lol) and a job lined up for him. His reasoning is "I've always wanted to go and if I don't go now I won't be healthy enough to go in the future." -- To me, however, he said "I'm dying and I want to die someplace nice and warm and beautiful and I don't want your Grandma and Grandpa to see another one of their children pass away before them." I don't blame him for the last at ALL really if he DOES feel that way (let me stress he's never said so) - at least the part about my grandparents because my grandparents lost their daughter, my dad's sister, to cancer when she was just 27 years old. However the selfish part of me wants to shake him and scream "don't you want to spend what time you have left with your family?? Family is what makes life warm and beautiful and WORTH LIVING." However, I'm trying to beat that part of me into submission with reason and understanding and compassion.

Since finding this out I've also found out my parents are getting divorced. Yes I know they've been separated for something like 4 years, and yes I know they're much happier apart than together. Yes I know they've each been dating other people, and yes I know that they will always love me regardless of how they feel about each other. And yes, yes I know that they're just too different in terms of relationships to ever really work things out. I know all of this. Here *tapping my temple*... Getting the rest of me to know it is a little more challenging. Home just doesn't feel like home without them together and this last weekend I even found out that my (step) mom is going to get remarried soon after the divorce is final, and then she'll be selling her house and moving in with her new husband (to-be) Bob. So not only does home not feel like home but home will no longer exist. Even though my dad and mom only got married something like 15 years ago, it was the closest feeling to "home" I've ever had. Probably because growing up we moved roughly once a year. So now I don't have a "home" anymore. Or at least I won't very soon.

I like Bob. I met him for the first time this last weekend and he's funny and sweet. You merely mention that you want something and he's off and running asking if there are any parameters ("do you want mustard or mayo on it?") - AND he's happily and EASILY retired. To put it in my mom's words - "He makes more from his retirement fund than I do working full time." And she's worked for the state for nearly 30 years so she's not exactly what I'd call scraping by either. In fact she said they'll be "wintering" in Florida and every winter they will pay for tickets and accomodations for us for 2 weeks to come see them. How can I think THAT'S bad, right? I don't. But, to be honest, way deep down inside I'd rather have my home. BUT I'm done with all of that. I'm done with crying and feeling sorry for myself and I'm done with freaking out and shutting down. I've had a year of it - "The year from hell" and as they say, "I've had all I can take and I can't take no more." I'm not a crier. Not by nature. I'm not going to even attempt to say I'm not emotional because I am but generally in the past I've gotten pissed instead of sad. I get angry when I feel hurt. But this last year I've done more crying, and more shutting down than I ever knew was possible for me. And believe me, I'm NOT going to tempt fate in THAT department again by saying it has been the worst that it could be... No no no, not going to do that and tempt fate to say "Oh yeah? You think so, huh?" BUT - I'm feeling more like myself every day. I'm feeling stronger because I've made it through these things and more. I'm feeling like it's ok to cry sometimes because it lets what you're afraid of out and I'm feeling like because I've learned this there are now times that I can genuinely smile; genuinely laugh. Genuinely be happy.

Genuinely feel like I can stand up, dust myself off, and climb back into the saddle again.

It it wasn't so much fun I'd ask you to stop the world so I could get off

2006-12-21T10:02:00.000-05:00

Life has been crazy around here. Crazy but very good. Exhausting but very good. Chaotic but very good.

Today, as I drink my second cup of coffee before 10:00 (laced with hot cocoa no less) so as to fuel me enough just to make it until Parker's nap time I cannot help but feel joy and happiness. No my Christmas shopping isn't done, yes our Christmas tree tipped over and broke some of my favorite )and brand new) bulbs because the cats had thought we had bought them a new scratching post, and in case you were just wondering, yes there's a mountain of laundry to do because this time of year causes flares that dwarf most of my other flares but I am so content that it really doesn't much seem to matter. I just wish it would snow so that Parker would have an actual use for the moon duck boots and snow pants that still have their tags on them. I also wish I could find our battery charger for our camera (hrmm, maybe I should look under the laundry ;) )

This time of year really is very warm and wonderful to me and I have no one but my mother and nothing but our squalid upbringing to thank for it. I only remember a few presents I ever got for Christmas as a kid - more for their sentimental reasons than because they were a coveted new spinning, sparkling toy - but there is an endless string of other Christmas memories that I cherish. So in honor of my mother, I now share with you a few of those I hold most dear.

Jingle Bells

Along with the countless number of other Christmas songs we'd sing in the car, Jingle Bells was also played by our rotating Christmas tree stand. I still remember it's

*EDIT* wow I don't even remember this let alone saving it as a draft! Man I must have been tired more to come soon though! :) I promise!

A Holly Jolly Christmas

2006-12-08T23:45:00.000-05:00

A ho ho ho and good tidings to all! I have so much to post about but alas it's a quarter to midnight and I've only now had time to post so this will have to be short and succinct.

After a visit with my neurologist things are only a little more clear as the hospital only sent the radiologist's report on my MRI, MRA and MRB. It seems that indeed I have had a decent size stroke or hemorrhage or hemorrhage caused from a stroke near, from where she pointed on the plastic brain model, the center of my brain. She also didn't speak much about it being a hemorrhage but concentrated greatly on finding out the cause for a woman my age with no history of early age strokes in my family, high blood pressure or high cholesterol to be having strokes and seeing if we can prevent another from happening. We'll be doing another round of MRI's in a couple months as well as a full blood work up that includes looking for a genetic disorder called Marfan syndrome of which I have some symptoms of like a protruding breast bone, a heart murmur, and slightly long limbs (I'm also 5' 81/2" - for a girl that's not SUPER tall but it's tall enough to cause a problem buying jeans most times) and in some ways share no symptoms at all (I only have 1 VERY VERY faint stretch mark from my second pregnancy and a few on my hips/tushy that I've had since childhood from learning how to do the splits.) I'm also very unusually flexible in my hips even though I've generally lost almost all flexibility in muscle related areas such as hamstrings. I wouldn't be surprised either way with that one. The good thing is that she said whatever it is isn't life threatening probably. *big sigh of relief*

Now I'm going to ask you all to do a huge favor for me. Well not even for me really but for some parents I don't know, have never met, and only have an extremely removed connection to. A co-worker of Monkey's called in to work today unable to come in because his step-son had stolen all the prescription medication in the home and handed them out at school as if they were candy. Two children are in the hospital, at least one in very serious condition. Shortly after the boy said he wanted to kill himself and is now in the suicide crisis center here in town. Please say a prayer, light a candle, dance naked under the moonlight, burn some incense or simply send out positive healing or thoughts whatever it is you do to all the children involved and to their parents. This hit so close to home with me that when Lou was a half an hour late coming home from school my mind several times over had to tell itself that the boy and Lou do not go to the same school in order to calm my nerves. Eventually Lou's teacher called telling me Lou had stayed behind to help him with a project and a big sigh of relief was expelled but please do what you do for the people, small and older, involved. No one ever expects their kid to be any of the kids involved in this tragic scenario and at any moment for any number of reasons there's a chance any of our little babies could have been.

Now on to the last bit of news I'm going to post about tonight. My early Christmas present and the reason for the name of this post.

Please say hello to Holly. :)

She was my Christmas present from Monkey :) She's beautiful isn't she? She's a 10 week old golden retriever. I know the picture is crappy but I promised someone I would post a pic of her today and my camera was able to snap one off before the battery died and unfortunately we can't find the charger and the flash didn't fire. I did what I could to lighten it but I'll hopefully have some better ones soon.

Because I can't wait any longer..

2006-11-24T15:35:00.000-05:00

With all the craziness that becomes our lives around this time of year, I had told myself repeatedly to leave blogging until I had some actual answers and to just take care of life instead. But I find myself thinking of what I would say if I didn't wait, so, uh, why wait, right? :)

first of all, updates.

Ouch, my head hurts

After the CAT scans showed that I had probably had several strokes my doctor ordered an MRI and sent me to a neurologist, who also tagged an MRA and MRB onto the MRI order. This meant a grueling hour long MRI test essentially. I have never had an MRI but I know lots of people who have (my Father-in-law, my own dad and my step-mom just to name the three people in my closest of family members that I know have had one.) I have heard about the claustrophobia and tried to prepare myself for it. What no one had ever said anything about was the UNGODLY noise and the cage they put over your face. I'm only slightly claustrophobic - in fact I'm not even sure it's classified as claustrophobia as it has much more to do with not being able to move than it does small spaces. I can play hide and seek and hide in the smallest of closets and be perfectly fine because I know I can leave whenever I want. I can be in the middle of a field and held down for some reason and freak OUT. Also, I have a huge huge huge phobia about things in my face. I've been known to reflexively hit people who moved a bite of something too quickly to my face for me to "hey taste this!" But I thought "I'll just close my eyes, do my yoga breathing, and MAYBE, considering I haven't slept in 4 nights, even be able to fall asleep. HA! again I say HA! HA HA HA HA HA! Anyone who can fall asleep during an MRI is CLEARLY deranged or 100% deaf. It was the LOUDEST banging, buzzing, clanking and thumping I've ever heard. And I might have even been ok enough to relax if it would have just been the same rhythm but every minute or so the clanking turned to thumping, the rhythm sped up or slowed down, and some other alarm sounding noise would go off.. For a minute, until it changed all over again. I LEFT my MRI with a migraine but fairly confident that I'd be getting a phone call saying "Oh, those things we thought were strokes? Turns out it was just some technician's thumb print on the film." That was on a Tuesday night.

By Wednesday afternoon I hadn't heard from my doctor and I relaxed a little bit. Remember, my doctor called at 11:00 the day after my CAT scan. Oh and did I mention we actually ran into my doctor in the hallway in the hospital going to my MRI? But by mid afternoon the hospital called. They wanted me to come back in for ANOTHER MR(add any of the remaining 23 letters of the alphabet here because I really don't remember) because the radiologist reading MRI scans that day just liked to have that particular scan. Good news was that it should only take about 5 minutes. Unfortunately I didn't get that tidbit until I actually went in haha.

Thursday came and went without hearing from my doctor, as did Friday. With every passing day I relaxed a bit more. By Monday they called to SCHEDULE me to come in to hear the results. I almost danced right there. The CAT scan results were more like "you need to come in RIGHT NOW!!!" so I just assumed that meant nothing but good news. I was wrong, but not horribly so. The MRI showed that I have, indeed, either had a stroke, or at some point had some brain hemorrhaging. He referred me to the neurologist again because some of it didn't make sense to him. I do, however, feel much better about things. It's hard wondering if, at some point at any minute my sons might be left motherless because I had an aneurysm due to weak blood vessels in my head. It's scary. Not in an "Oh my God I don't want to die" way but for me it was "I do NOT want to leave my children without a mother" and most especially I didn't want to put Lou through the pain of losing his or Monkey through having to raise Parker by himself (not that he couldn't do it because he's the best father I've ever known.)

I don't see my neurologist until the 6th at which point I'll hopefully walk away with all the answers. Since my doctor only actually ordered the MRI I'm not sure he got the results of the MRB and MRA, and I'm not sure the neurologist will get a copy of the MRI. I did my best to make sure but most of the time I felt like I was just babbling and mumbling so who knows lol.

The True Anti-Drug

All this feeling better could be, also, the result of my self UN-medicating. As I waited (and still wait) for my insurance to ok me going to a psychologist to adjust my antidepressants, I slowly began to run out of them. I soon found I only had one week left so I halved my prescription. And I started to feel better emotionally almost instantly. Two weeks later I ran out completely (while I still waited) and now I find myself the bouncy, flouncy, pouncy, trouncy fun fun fun fun fun (oh wait, that's the Tigger song) person I was before. I am still sick in all the physical ways I was before but I can NOT express how good it feels to actually feel happiness again. In fact I just sat here for about five minutes trying to figure out how and nope, I can't. :)

I have loads of other updates, too, but I'm exhausted from the day of cooking, 5 hour round trip and the near constant movement that yesterday brought. We went to see my Tover and his family for Thanksgiving and along with us, my grandparents and uncle, my dad, my sister-in-law's dad and his wife and her grandmother, we made the house pretty full. I spent Wednesday making homemade green tea truffles, strawberries dipped in chocolate and rolled in toasted walnuts and sesame seeds, mini Greek meat balls and toasted walnut and herbed cream cheese on celery. Don't let me fool you, though, I couldn't have done it without the help of Monkey and Lou chopping, mixing and dipping for the second round of meatballs and truffles (finely chopping semi-sweet chocolate can be tiring haha) and for the creamed cheese and strawberries. Monkey also spent at least 50% of the time chasing Parker around my Tover's family's house making sure he didn't try to eat everything, including my niece, and he and Lou did the majority of the Thanksgiving dishes for 15 people. And poor Monkey has to work RETAIL on Black Friday, too. Then he gets to come home and help me clean the house for my sister, her husband and my nephew to come visit us on Saturday. He really deserves the Man of the Year award just for this last week ALONE. But I digress. Other updates will probably happen Sunday or Monday. Hope all of my US friends had a GREAT Thanksgiving and all of my other friends had a great, well, normal almost Friday weekday. :) Talk to you soon :)

Not because I want to worry you more...

2006-10-17T09:36:00.000-04:00

Ever since my last post, oh a month and a half ago, a few people have emailed me, called me, or asked Monkey if I'm ok. A couple of you left posts on my last post asked. I'm really sorry to have worried you all. The bottom line is no, I'm really not very ok.

You see my doctor, a very nice man, upped my SSRI during the visit I had with him back then. For those that don't know, SSRI's are anti-depressants. I had originally, very reluctantly, allowed my previous doctor to place me on an SSRI because, according to her, some people diagnosed with CFIDS responded well to SSRIs. Anyone who's known me over the years can tell you other than the hell of a summer I had this year, I'm NOT a depressed person by nature. In fact the only thing I had been depressed about was being so ill for so long and all of the battles you fight, every day, with people's ignorance and misunderstanding. Just because I don't "look" sick or act "sick" people, even Monkey, sometimes forget that I AM sick. I'm actually very sick. I'll break it down for you later in this post. But I digress.

Because I was depressed somewhat about being increasingly sick for 8 years now and my lifestyle was such a vivid contrast to what it use to be back then yes, I had experienced some depression which is understandable and normal. So begrudgingly I allowed my doctor to put me on a very low dose of Zoloft (25mg.) And while it did not help my illness in any way (in fact I felt a little worse after taking it) I did notice I was not quite so depressed about being ill so I remained on the dose.

My sister who is a virtual walking medical encyclopedia did a bit of research about it and found that when used to treat my illness, SSRI's work much better when combined with bupropion (Wellbutrin.) When I visited my doctor I asked about it and he said he wanted to ramp up my Zoloft first because it was such a low dose. He said eventually he wanted it to be 100 so he doubled my currant dose to 50mg.

Now bless his heart, I know he's trying but he truly does not understand antidepressants I don't think. Most people know if you give a person who is NOT suffering from depression an anti-depressant and it will actually act AS a depressant because it retards the uptake - or something like that anyway. Long story short when my doctor doubled my dose I fell into a deep depression (and am still there.) I feel anti-social, withdrawn from the world. I struggle to keep my house from collapsing under housework. Most of my laundry's clean, however none of it is folded or put away, for example. When I'm not near tears I'm often edgy, snapping at poor Monkey for the slightest thing. My sleeping patterns became extremely erratic - or should I say even more erratic than they've always been.

For the first time in my life I tried to shop my way out of depression. Monkey found himself driving me to Walmart and Target and Meijers like we had won the lottery, me trying to finally bring our house to feel like a home. I really didn't get things that were totally unneeded. Things like more than the 4 towels that we owned previously, matching bath mats and actual shower curtains rather than just the see-through plastic liners were the targets of our spending. For the first time in 4 years I had more than 2 or 3 shirts I could wear and feel like I looked nice in, topping the list at like 4 or 5. New shoes for everyone. But then I would get home, look at all the stuff, and almost feel even more depressed because then I felt guilty for having spent the money.

Like I said, I've never been a depressed person at all. Until the most recent of years, not even about my illness. I've always looked on the positive side of things, no matter what challenges life threw at me - and boy let me tell you I have attracted quite the list of challenges through my life. Raised by an alcoholic mother and step-father and a fairly absent father, I was molested for 6 years as a young girl by my baby sitter's husband. After growing up I married the first asshole that came my way and ended up a battered wife, having my son kidnapped, and stalked. And those were just the highlights. And I had NEVER had a problem going without in times of need. I grew up poor, essentially, but I am grateful that I did. I don't remember WHAT I got for Christmas any given year (except little things here and there like the ziggy day of the week underwear I got when I was little) but I remember the time spent with family. I remember sitting on our sad, beaten brown couch that was ours, my Tover, my Mother and I, cuddled up with all the lights off except the Christmas tree lights, watching our Christmas tree turn slowly in it's rotating stand while listening to my mom's Christmas albums and life was perfect. But that's a post for another day. Through it all, however, I was sunny almost to a point where people thought I was an airhead.

I have also, for about the last month - month and a half been experiencing daily, almost constant, head aches, quite a fair share of them turning into migraines. Almost none of them alleviated by Advil, Tylenol or Excedrin or any combination there of. So, another trip to the doctors was scheduled, and rescheduled, and rescheduled.

The first time it was rescheduled was because I hadn't gotten my butt in to get the blood work done he had ordered during my last visit, which I lost by the second rescheduling, although that wasn't the reason for the reschedule. The morning of the second reschedule I awoke to find out we had no hot water in order for me to take a shower (pilot light went out) and when I went to get Parker out of his bed I found that rather than sleeping in he had been pursuing artistic endeavors with the contents of his morning, uh, well.. Eww, right? Well back up and read the first part of that sentence again. No hot water. No hot water in which to bathe him, wash the sheets, blanket and Raul in, no hot water in which to scrub down the crib in. So after about 20 diaper wipes I began, and spent the next 2 hours, boiling pots of water for a bath warm enough for Parker. On the last pot, as I was dumping it into the tub, I heard the unmistakable sound of the velcro tabs of Parker's diaper. Seconds (literally) later he was peeing on our new couch. Obviously I had my hands full.

However a week ago last Wednesday I did make it in. After being re-issued the blood work order, telling my Doctor of the daily headaches, trying to explain to him that the increase in Zoloft had made me terribly depressed, I walked out with referrals to a psychologist (just because a specialist would understand the complex workings of SSRIs better than my doctor) a neurologist, a rheumetologist and a cardiologist along with appointments for a halter monitor, a tilt table test and a CT scan for my brain. I thought the neurologist and CT scan were a bit over-doing for simple head aches so I waited to follow up on the referral to the neurologist. I figured once the CT scan showed nothing there would not be a need. That's what I thought anyway.

Last Wednesday was the CT scan and although I was a bit nervous about the scan itself, all went pretty smoothly. Until Thursday morning when I received a call at 11:00 from my doctor's office stating they had gotten the results back and that the doctor would like to see me THAT DAY, "ASAP."

After calling Monkey home from work (I don't drive), rushing in (what else are you going to do when you hear such a thing) and waiting in the examination room for 45 minutes the doctor came in and told me that my CT scan had shown that I have had "several severe strokes." That's right, me, 30something, never had high blood pressure or even close to it, never had high cholesterol or even close to it, never drank much at all or used drugs and until I became ill was the picture of health and fitness am having severe strokes. The ONLY thing in the CONS column for health is that I use to smoke - USE to. Obviously a bit of a shocker and at first all I could do was sit there with a look on my face that was probably pretty close to what it would be if you walked up and slapped me with a cold, dead fish. He wants to do an MRI and for me to follow up with the neurologist but of course insurance companies being what they are I have to go through all of the rigamaroe of getting pre-approved first. I can't really tell you any more than that because even when I did eventually chase him down to ask him the questions that were racing through my mind, he essentially replied "I have no idea, lets wait until you get in to the neurologist and see what he has to say."

In other news I'm really missing my mother A LOT these days. Out of the blue I find myself singing the song she use to sing every time I'd talk to her on the phone - her own version of I'm a nut and I have to stop and catch my breath as I'm hit by a sudden wave of grief. I know I had a strange and at times estranged relationship with her but I really miss her so very much. I miss who she was and who she could have been. I miss her silliness and her love for her grandchildren. I miss her dreams and and her devotion to her extended family. I don't know if I miss her more because of my depression or not and it doesn't really matter. She's not here and I miss her.

So here are a couple things I want people reading this to know:

This is not something I can just pick myself up by my bootstraps and dust myself off from - I am not CHOOSING to be depressed, my doctor is chemically making me that way. However I'm waiting for the red tape of my insurance to ok a psychologist before screwing with my antidepressants any more. I know that stopping them abruptly can be VERY bad for you.

My list of illnesses start with my big one, CFIDS. You can find out more about it here from Wikipedia. It is an actual illness recognized by the CDC. You can visit the info they have on it here and here.

I also have Hashimoto's Thyroiditis. It's "easily" controlled with synthetic thyroid hormone but "easily" is a relative term. I have to have my thyroid levels checked every 6 months minimum (usually a lot more often) and then usually my dosage is increased. It usually takes about 8 weeks for my body to get use to the new level and it remains at the right thyroid levels for about 8 - 12 weeks and then, as my immune system attacks my thyroid more my thyroid levels drop and a higher dose is needed. When my dose is too low I experienced uncontrollable weight gain, extreme intolerance to cold, even stronger fatigue than normal, a menses from hell, and all the other things listed in the above link. Long story short my thyroid levels are on track about 2 1/2 months out of every 6.

I suffer from hereditary migraines. I'm sure I don't need to link to anything regarding that, most people know someone who's suffered from them if they do not themselves. I've been having a lot of them lately but until I see the neurologist my doctor doesn't want to put me on any type of migraine related medication (Imitrex, Maxalt, etc.)

I've also been diagnosed with PEBV but the connection to CFIDS is controversial and I was diagnosed with PEBV in 1998.

and last but not least I have Mitral Valve Prolapse and suffer from Mitral Valve Regurgitation, which puts me in the 11 - 15% of people that suffer chest pains, shortness of breath and heart palpitations from MVP. I was told in 1998 I could no longer exercise or do anything that would increase my heart rate or it would cause heart damage. Unfortunately I don't seem to be one of the majority that have a low BMI thanks to my thyroid lol.

Anyway, wah wah wah boo hoo woe is me. This whole thing about strokes just has kind of thrown me for a loop. Everyone is trying to keep my spirits high, my Tover saying "Just be thankful that you haven't suffered from any apparent brain damage or loss of functionality." and as sweet (and true) as that may be, my brain also just keeps on screaming "but WHY and how do I stop that from possibly happening in the future?!?" because the last thing on this Earth I want to do is leave my children w/o a mother or leave Monkey with a slobbering, drooling vegetable to take care of.

Anyway, I'll see you when I feel better. Thanks for worrying.

JJ

Am I awake?

2006-09-09T16:38:00.000-04:00

I wanted to post a little update as I've gotten a couple emails from people wondering if I'm ok and why I haven't posted.

A week ago last Wednesday I had my first appointment with my new doctor (whom I really like and shows great promise to be able to at least help me some anyway.) When my last doctor put me on an SSRI for my CFIDS my sister, a virtual walking medical encyclopedia, informed me that SSRI's have a better success rate in treating CFIDS when coupled with bupropion. When I asked my doctor about this he said he first wanted to ramp up my SSRI dose first to quadruple what I was currently taking because I was taking an extremely low dose. Almost immediately I started experiencing a huge drop in my energy levels, which I guess is normal until your body gets use to the new dose. I found myself needing to nap 3 - 4 times a day. And wouldn't you know it right when that started to wear off Monkey brought home a nice little head and chest cold for Parker and I and Nyquil knocks me on my BUTT and I have a hard time shaking the sleepiness the drug causes but can't sleep w/o it when I have a cold. Unfortunately cold medicines that DON'T cause drowsiness tend to give me heart palpitations and anxiety attacks so they're pretty much out of the question.

So, in a nutshell, for the last week and a half I've pretty much been unconscious. Hopefully I'll start feeling a little more lively in a couple days or so but until then there's really no need to worry - and thank you all for your emails of conern. :)

A VERY good cup of coffee

2006-08-30T21:51:00.000-04:00

I woke up a week ago Monday morning to an angel from heaven quacking like a duck and choo choo choooing in my ear. I smiled to myself and closed my eyes, drinking in the sweetness of echos drifting over the baby monitor as Parker played in his crib. It replenished me much in the way it must feel to have a big glass of juice after being in the dessert for a long long time.

I still didn't quite feel myself exactly but to be honest I don't think I'll ever be the person that I was before all of this. The one thing this has really brought home to me is that you need to have the relationship you WANT to have with a person on the last day of their/your life because there are no guarantees and any day could be anyone's last. Don't let one single person in your life leave this world with you saying "I wish I would have seen/called/talked to them more" because there's never a way to take away that regret. Fill your life with your loved ones, near and far. Pick up a pen and a piece of paper and write far away Aunts and Uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews. Hold them as close to you as you can NOW. Life and love and family are far too precious to squander spending the days watching reality TV shows instead of making that phone call to that Nana you don't talk to nearly as often as you should.

As the week went on I caught a bit of a cold and a tummy bug but nothing serious at all, and slowly I started to feel more and more like I could feel the sunshine on my shoulders. Like I could breathe deep the cool morning breeze while I sip my morning coffee. I took advantage of the blankness in my mental space that had been filled with worry, grief and indignant righteousness and got done some of the things that have gone neglected far too long and planned yet other things. I'm also thinking of joining Monkey as a part-time student come spring because as much as I love photography, I haven't taken a class in it since high school and there really is SO much for me to learn. I'm not sure if I'd ever make a career out of it (although I'd like to) but I do feel if I have the opportunity and can at least muster enough energy for 6 - 8 hours a week to devote to something I love and didn't then I wouldn't be the person that I have always been. I wouldn't be the person devoted to self improvement and education and expanding horizons that I've always thought I was and taught my son to be. I would be the worst kind of hypocrite. I would be the kind that blames their downfalls on a few bumps in the road instead of standing up, dusting myself off, and walking toward that expanding horizon.

I feel like my life is changing before my eyes and I'm watching with baited breath waiting to see what will happen next, but in a good way. So much of me, my life, myself was tied up with my mother, her illness, our battles to to address her problems and the energy all of that just drained from me. Now that she is gone and I have said my goodbye to her I feel like I can finally move on with my life and now I have no idea where that will lead. To some that might be frightening. I could be paralyzed with fear not knowing where to go or what to do. But I think in my heart I know that it's opportunity. I may be a little older than most just starting their life but now I get to choose where it leads to. As I sit here drinking a VERY good cup of coffee.

Thank you to all of you for your support. Through posts here, emails and even phone calls I didn't quite feel so alone and you'll never know (I hope) just how much that means.

Today

2006-08-19T13:43:00.000-04:00

Today is the last day I have to write the eulogy for my mother and grandmother's dual memorial service. Today is the day that we pick up the things we'll need for the luncheon afterward. Today is the day that I pick out what all three of us will wear to the service and pack Parker's stuff to spend the day at Monkey's parents house tomorrow. It's the day that I try to sift through the pictures I've taken of my boys and have them developed so that I can share them with family members that I never get to see. Today I ache from head to toe - especially in my heart.

Today is the eve of the last day of being trapped in this feeling. Tomorrow I will say goodbye to my mother and my grandmother. Monday I will start fresh. Monday is a new beginning. I hope.

The Secret of My Own Addiction

2006-08-17T15:47:00.000-04:00

While visiting one of my most favorite blogs (for the second time today!) Life Of Pie, I read of a challenge put forth by another blog I read on occasion, Her Bad Mother. I read about 3 paragraphs into Kittenpie's post when I decided to leave the post temporarily to read specifically of the challenge. It wasn't technically a challenge. It was a call for help, a plea, an inward question asked aloud. The challenge, quite honestly, felt like something that should be simple but in reality is one of the most difficult things I've ever thought to do. It shall take me into the depths of my heart and the furthest reaches of my soul. It will be a test of skill that I shall more than likely fail and a trial that will be the most rewarding thing I've ever done on paper. Is it possible to write of the physical plane of love for a child and be understood?

I have yet to return to Kittenpie's post and finish it. I knew that I wanted to write without the influence of her words. She is an amazing, incredible writer and I also didn't want to feel so inadequate in my written expression that I would shy away from writing about this. I NEED to write about this. For it is this bond with my children that has gotten me through the darkest of my life. It is the touching and the smelling and the feeling and the soft love that is sitting on my lap watching Jack's Big Music Show that has pulled me through my days as of late.

Countless women, and men for that matter, have heard their parents talk about the first time they held them. How they were overcome with emotions. We all smile and nod our head and appreciate our hokey parents when they do this. We never realize just what a profound life-changing thing it actually is to hold your baby for the first time until we have children of our own. There's no way we could. There's no way to convey the flood of emotions. It's as if a levee that you never even knew existed and has been restraining all of this love suddenly breaks and you're standing directly in it's path. It washes over you. You can feel it on your skin, in your muscles, deep in your bones and down to your soul. And it becomes part of you, changing who you are forever.

The particularly unique thing about this is that it happens every time you bring another child into the world. When I had my first son, Lou, I nearly died and spent 8 long hours in recovery before I could even hold him. When I could finally stay conscious long enough that they felt it was safe to bring him to me they placed him in my arms. He was adorable, all scrunched up and puffy and I loved him much in the same way you love a niece or nephew. And then I started to sing our special song to him. The same song I had recorded myself singing and played to him for months before he was born via a headset on my tummy. The same song I sang to him in the delivery room when they placed him on my gurney next to my head. He looked up to me and recognized the song. It was if he knew I was his mommy, knew he was safe, knew what every mother wants to be able to tell their newborn baby. And when I saw this in his eyes the levee broke. I audibly gasped for breath because the wave had hit me so hard. And from that point on there is truly only one word that comes close to being able to describe the physicalness of the love for my children. Addiction.

I could haphazardly say that I need my children like I need to breathe but that would be a quick fix, entirely inadequate and completely inaccurate. While it's true that you need to breathe and that it's a physical need, we are usually not conscious of this need. Our bodies need oxygen so our brains send out the necessary messages to the necessary parts that respond in kind and we take a breath. It's all done on an automatic level. But, as the word automatic implies, we can choose to not breathe. We can hold our breath, even if only for a few moments. We can, in other words, stop breathing. Even at the risk of death I could not, even for the smallest fraction of a second, stop loving my children, even if I wanted to. And I can't even fathom or imagine wanting to. Because while I love my children so much it's actually painful, even in the most blissful of occasions, it's a pain and a bliss that I rejoice and revel in. It is a pain and a bliss that I could not exist without and that I thank God every day for blessing me with. I am a junkie for my kids ten fold.

I have the unique blessing of having a toddler that I can still get, however and forever and painfully exiguous, my fix. I can hold, and kiss, and pinch and love and cuddle and bury my nose in his neck while my older son moves into his own space, his own young adult hood, his own person and body. I can pull him onto my lap and breathe him in and I transcend into a plane that is neither me nor him nor neither. And even as I run my hands over the soft, pink flesh that is his belly, or cheeks or neck or legs or feet my heart is breaking because it wants more. I want to pull him into me, smush us together like two handfuls of dough to become one. Not to end him and not to end me, but to be THAT CLOSE to him. And yet I know that even if that were possible it wouldn't be close enough and it would be a tragedy to the entire world to void it of the beauty that is my son. The love for my children is painful. Painful because it will never be enough. There will never be enough time, enough laughter, enough smell or warm embrace or soft, wet kisses to satisfy the need that my heart, my soul, my body has. I will never be able to appease the addiction within me. And yet, I could never stop trying.

It is because of this addiction that I hate time. I want to stand forever next to his crib while he pulls me to him, his face buried into my chest while I kiss his head and rub his back. I want the dishes to do themselves, the beef for dinner to hop out of the freezer and on to a plate to defrost on it's own so that I can keep snuggling him on the couch. I want the phone to float to me when it rings and the laundry to magically shake off it's soil, freshen, fold and put itself away. I want nothing to come between my fix and me. I close my eyes and soak it in, like a sponge dropped at the shoreline of the ocean. I peacefully drink in his essence as though it was nectar from the Gods and it refreshes my soul. The warmth of his skin washes over me like a cool rain on a hot day, feeding the love I have for him and allowing it to bloom even larger, more radiant and beautiful than it was before. And I want it to last forever. I don't want to have to put him down or him to need to run and play and I selfishly hold on for as long as I can.

My addiction also has a playfully sadistic side. I crave to make him squeal with delight as my fingers find the spots on his ribs that throw him into giggling convulsions. It forces me to submerge my face into the warm, fluffy softness of his belly and blow. It compels me to grab his ankle and graze the bottom of his foot and toes with my teeth and watch him wreath around on his back beneath me. It drives me to pinch the muscles of his upper inner thigh while he instinctively kicks and squirms and laughs and washes away all dinginess life has shadowed my day with. I am urged on by my addiction, as if it were sitting on my shoulder with horns and a pitchfork, until right before it becomes no longer fun for the target of my mischievous torture.

Perhaps my biggest addiction of all is knowledge. The knowledge that he knows he will always be safe with me. The knowledge that he's secure and that his every need will be met. That he knows that he will always be loved and cherished and encouraged and cheered for. Most of all, however, I'm addicted to knowing that he shares my addictions. That he needs me almost as much as I need him.

Grave Robbers

2006-08-15T11:29:00.000-04:00

The pain and sorrow is what most people relate to when someone they know suffers the loss of someone close to them. Typically "the arrangements" are handled by one person and are really not thought about or at least spoken about unless the concern of financial burden is present. Decisions about what kind of service and who should be contacted seem as though they'd be made without much mental duress, leaving all the room for the emotional strain that a person would need. That is how I always assumed it was, anyway.

As the days grow nearer to my mother and grandmother's dual memorial service, however, I find out evermore how wrong I was. Today I got a nice good look into the seedy life that is running a cemetery. In 1975 my grandparents bought two plots and two vaults. In 1995 my mother bought a plot next to my grandparents'. While both my mother and grandmother wanted to be cremated, they wanted their ashes to be placed in their plots next to my grandfather. A month ago my brother contacted the cemetery and informed them that we'd like to have the joint service on August 20th. We really had/have no other choice for dates. My Aunt lives in New Mexico and would be here during that time, leaving shortly thereafter and Sunday is the only day of the week both my Tover and Monkey share as a day off from work. The cemetery had no problem with this and was happy to arrange it. Of course what they were most happy about we wouldn't find out until last week.

At the end of last week my Tover called them to give details as to time and whether or not we'd need the chapel and they informed him that since they're not typically open on Sundays that there would be an "overtime" charge of $200. He was a bit upset that this wasn't told to us originally and he and I discussed how to proceed. The cemetery suggested that we have the service on Sunday but that they take care of the cremains "at (their) convenience." We both feel that it's very important to us to know my mother and grandmother were actually laid to rest and not just thrown in a trash can or something not to mention the closure of it. My brother nailed it, saying "I kind of need the period at the end of the sentence."

After talking about it we decided to sell the two vaults that wouldn't be used (my Aunt wants her cremains tossed off a cliff and neither Tover or I are interested in the vaults for our own use) back to the cemetery to pay for the "overtime." I placed the phone call today to the cemetery to find out if that was acceptable. I was told, after some hemming and hawing, that yes they would do that. The woman said she'd have to speak to her supervisor to find out the details and call me back. When she did she told me that the figure she had given my brother only a few days before for the overtime charges was incorrect. The amount was actually double that because supposedly she had given Tover over time charges based on Saturday's rate not Sunday's. She also told me that they wouldn't credit us with the amount that the two vaults were worth today but rather what my grandparents paid for them in 1975 - a figure she didn't have right then coincidentally. After hearing this I said that I was almost positive that the paperwork had been kept and that my brother would be able to find out "if you need." She stammered and then said she would call me back as soon as she found the contract. She called about a half an hour later and said that they would be able to credit us $195 for each vault, essentially paying for the overtime charges. I am 100% confident that had I not stated my brother had the paperwork she would have given me a MUCH lower figure.

Let me state here and now if anyone ever so much as considers putting me, ashes or otherwise, into a cemetery I will return from the grave and haunt them for the rest of their lives. Who would have thought that those that are entrusted to lay our loved ones to rest for all eternity would turn out to be such shysters.

Bits of Tid...

2006-08-11T12:44:00.000-04:00

Ok first of all, sorry for the delay in posting Part 2. I think I'll end up condensing it down to a single paragraph or two contained in this post. For the last couple days Monkey, Parker and I have come down with something.. We're not quite sure what but it's really kicking our butts in the energy and muscle ache department. Two days ago I woke up feeling like I was going to hurl, which I actually never did but felt like I was going to most of the day. I chalked it up to the migraine I got mid-afternoon and yesterday when I went in to get Parker from his crib he had a panicked look on his face and he was gasping. At first I thought he was choking on something so I proceeded to pry his mouth open and then even tried to gently feel around with my finger to see if I could feel/get anything. What I got was handfuls of vomit, poor baby.

The two days prior to that I was in a place I've never been in before. I was:
1.) Uninspired (been there)
2.) Completely exhausted (been there) and...
3.) BORED (NEVER BEEN THERE)

I don't remember ever being bored in my life. Nothing sounded like something I wanted to do. Nothing. But yet I was so bored. Monkey suggested I post but see #1? Lots of topics entered my mind to post about but I didn't actually feel like writing, ya know? Anyway.. So here I am, lots of tidbits to post about so I'll try to be as succinct as possible.

Monkey's News:

I told him I'd give him until (last) Monday to tell people but he was too busy feeling like poo and trying to milk it for all it's worth. So the big news is that he's going back to school. He's going for Networking Interface blah blah blah somethingcomputerIhavenofriggenidea part time at night. It'll take him 3 years to earn the degree but we're all very excited here. That's a long way from his post a month ago about lacking self motivation.

Do You Love Me Part Deux:

Essentially after I got my dad home he became the world's biggest pain in the ass ever (said with all the love in the world.) I brought him home Sunday and tended to his every need all day long. By 11:00 p.m. I realized I hadn't even had a chance to eat anything all day long and found that my dad didn't have any pots or pans (they were in the oven I found out later.) So I grabbed a bowl and a saucer plate and nuked up some ramen noodles just to have SOMETHING, threw the bowl, plate and fork in the sink with the coffee cup, plastic tumbler and three pieces of silverware that were there and trudged my arse to bed with plans of doing the dishes after making my dad breakfast. I awoke at 6:45 a.m. to the sound of my DAD DOING THE DISHES because I had left them from the night before. I soon found out that since he's been living alone for the last 4 years he's become quite cantankerous about his house. After I shooed him back to bed, finished the dishes, made him breakfast and did THOSE dishes, I quick washed up in the bathroom sink and ran out to fill some prescriptions and pick up some supplies. Before heading out he asked if I would change the sheets on his bed when I got back and of course I said "Of course, Daddy." I was gone an hour. When I got back he had changed his sheets himself, made himself a second helping of oat meal and had THOSE dishes in a sink full of soapy water and was starting to wash them. Remember, this is the day after I BROUGHT HIM HOME FROM THE HOSPITAL.

I did my best to keep up with him, keep on top of his needs and often sacrificed my own (food, coffee, showering, sleep.) But by Tuesday it was clear to me (and him) that he was truly well enough to take care of himself and that I was only irritating him by only being one person with two arms instead of two people with eight. I called Monkey and asked him to make the trek back to Michigan to pick me up after he got out of work. I spent Tuesday doing everything that I could think of to make my dad's life easier after I left. I wasn't terribly worried because his (temporary) roommate who USE to be a nurse and after decades of marriage and children has decided to go BACK to get her RN's licence again would be back on Thursday which meant he'd only have one day by himself and his best friend Jack who is a retired doctor would be visiting anyway. I did more shopping, laundry and dishes. I cleaned the bathroom and scrubbed the kitchen down. I even got the good people at Johnny Rockets to open up their doors to me an hour early and bought a huge tub of their chili for him. By Tuesday night I was so glad to see Monkey and to be going home I nearly cried. I've never been away from Parker for more than 3 or so hours before and it had been since Friday evening that I had been able to kiss ANY of my babies.

My In-Laws Party as the End of Women's Suffrage

Every year the church my in-laws live across from have an entire fair come set up on their vast lawn, complete with games, rides, fair food stands, gambling, rap music and the vast collection of people from every walk of life Toledo has to offer, from 280 lb Bobbi Sue in her little sister's tank top that the Salvation Army wouldn't accept and her 5 children whom are afraid of soap and water to Biff and Muffy in their his and hers matching Polo shirts and tennis sweaters. To celebrate this event my in-laws throw a party (and lemme tell ya, this family knows how to throw a party. Enough food to shame Thanksgiving and enough booze to.. well get a whole lotta people a whole lotta drunk.) It's the kind of party that their kids aren't afraid to invite their friends to. Their ADULT kids. Monkey invited his best friend and his wife and a very good time was had by all until religion, politics and women's rights were brought into topic. That's when I felt like the floor was pulled out from under my feet. When the reality of how much just four short years can change who people are slapped us directly on the face.

It's easy to think you still know the beliefs of your friends when you don't talk about them. It's natural to think that someone you've known for years still feels at least in the same fundamentals as they did when you last spoke with them about it. In other words, it's easy to be wrong and.. well you know what they say about when you assume.

We were speaking about our plans the next day and well, this being on a Saturday, we openly discussed the possibility of going to church (I refuse to be ashamed of my beliefs and am not shy about talking about them, but that's for another post.) They go to a Baptist church just down the road from my in-laws and we go to a Unitarian church downtown. The conversation drifted from how involved we were or were not in our church to our own personal faiths. I was saying how I'm very much a hippy kind of believer where God is all about love and peace and acceptance and understanding and she was conveying how she's still very founded in the religious roots in which she was raised, fire and brimstone. Anyone who really knows me knows this is the kind of conversation I live for. I LOVE "deep" conversation with good people, ESPECIALLY when they have different views. I thrive on the opportunity to grow and learn and have a better understanding of who they are as people and of the world in general. Unfortunately the conversation took a turn I didn't expect or prepare myself for and I found my mouth agape. As I look back I see that I was the one that opened the door for that direction, too.

My first husband was born and raised Baptist. Not just Baptist but farm community old school Baptist. And he wasn't just born and raised as a Baptist, he actually got a bachelor's degree in Religious Study and Inner Discipline at Mt. Hope Bible (then College now Training Institute) in Lansing, MI. and served as a youth minister for awhile. I decided to share with the two guests we had invited of the time when, right before we were married, my first husband told me he expected me to recite the traditional Baptist wedding vows where the man promises to be a strong and loving leader and the woman vows to submit to his leadership. Before I could even voice my disbelief that someone would want such a thing Monkey's friend's wife was wholeheartedly agreeing... WITH THE VOWS.

They come from a dual income family and as of yet have no children (which they're working on) but she quickly and quite succinctly stated that if they were to have children she would happily stay at home and raise them. Good for her, right?! I mean I AM a stay at home mom, I love being a stay at home mother, I love my children and I love raising them. I think every parent should do what's right for them and if staying home is what her heart tells her to do then more power to her. But she continued. She wouldn't expect her husband to do "anything" when he came home from work but sit in his favorite chair. No housework, no lawn work, no fixing broken plumbing, no taking out the garbage, no parenting, nothing. She would do it all. She would rub his feet, make his drink and be happy, and I swear to God this is a direct quote, "to cut his toenails for him." She would tend to his every whim and need. I sat there stunned feeling as though someone had pelted me in the face with a snowball unexpectedly. And then I continued to listen, and try to converse, as she would start to complain about someone with whom she worked that had a stay at home wife who actually expected her husband to DO things when he got home.. and then follow each statement with "oh but you probably agree with that" as if I were some sort of dirty evil tramp street urchin out to drag her unborn children into a life of drugs, sex and *gasp* women's liberation.

Don't get me wrong. PLEASE don't get me wrong. If this is what they want, both of them, then I do hope they have all that they want and are happy with it. I just really had no idea that people we hang out with on a semi-regular basis could have such different values and outlooks from ourselves. And I'm having a hard time reconciling how to proceed with a friendship. Do we simply stick to topics that are of common ground like the latest game console to come out or do we simply agree to disagree while secretly knowing that I'm the dirty evil street tramp that will show their children the gateway from doing chores to hell?

Attacked by a lampshade...

2006-08-05T00:11:00.000-04:00

oww
Originally uploaded by CCli.

This, my friends, is what happens when you drop a lampshade on your foot.... particularly the lampshade on the taller lamp pictured here...

It's like 1/4th inch thick tempered glass and it landed just right as I was putting them together... don't get me wrong... I like the lamps... I just hated assembly :P

A call to Duty

2006-08-04T15:07:00.000-04:00

While you're all waiting (at the edge of your seats, I'm sure *rolling my eyes at myself*) for part B, all of you need to hound Monkey for the INCREADIBLE WONDERFUL EXTREMELY AWESOME news that he has to share with you all!

It's HIS news so I can't share without feeling totally guilty but I'm bursting at the seams to tell you all some great news for a change!

Do you love me? Do you REALLY love me? Part A

2006-08-04T00:03:00.000-04:00

The exact name of the procedure they tried to do on my Dad was "Left Lower Lobe Video Assisted Thoracotomy" but they had to give up on the video assisted and just go for a regular thoracotomy, which creates a much bigger incision and a bit more recovery but not much. The tumor was essentially in the center of his lower lobe so trying to direct a miniature video camera through lung tissue to it was next to impossible really. Luckily the doctor knew almost exactly where it was and the incision was only 4 - 5 cm long. The surgery went extremely well. They didn't need to give a tracheotomy, which they had thought was a strong possibility because my Dad's radical neck dissection 5 years ago and the following radiation and chemo has left his throat with no left side muscle and tons of scar tissue. They were also almost positive that if he didn't need a tracheotomy he'd at least have to have a breathing tube in for a day or two. The thought of this absolutely terrified my Dad and we were extremely blessed because he was breathing very well on his own after surgery and they were able to remove the tube almost immediately.

What followed afterward, however, was a different story. While not technically an after surgery issue, the surgery itself started two hours later than scheduled and afterwards it took the hospital 4 and a half hours to find a bed/room for my dad. His surgery was scheduled for noon and it wasn't until 9:30 at night that I essentially demanded to see him because no one had yet told him the news of the biopsy and this is what scared him most (naturally.) They had just gotten him a room and were still hooking up IV's and such when I bounced in and told him it was negative. He managed a smile and a thumbs up before slipping away under the influence of residue anesthesia. He looked incredible for someone who had just been through such an ordeal. His color was great and the minimal nose tube for oxygen was beautiful compared to what we were told to expect. We were lulled into a false sense of security by the RN's almost eager sharing of information. What machine did what, told what, what it meant, what they were looking for, what each tube was doing, etc. I asked about diet because not only was my dad the world's pickiest eater BEFORE his RND 5 years ago but now he's essentially on a soft diet because this fact combined with the scar tissue, lack of muscle control and the fact that his saliva glands were burned out by the radiation has left him with only a handful of food items that he can and will eat. I was told I could bring some yogurt in for his lunch and by dinner he should be on a normal diet. I asked for the dietitian to come first thing in the morning. After watching over him for a half an hour or so, Monkey and I made our way back to my (step)mom's house.

We woke up, made a quick trip to the grocery store and headed over to the hospital. They had my dad on an epidural for pain along with self controlled morphine. It seemed to be doing ok. Now understand that while my dad is a big guy, he's very sensitive to any and all pain medication whether narcotic in nature or even as simple as Advil so this was more than enough. Monkey and the boys had to head home Friday evening so sometime mid-afternoon after Dad had ate two Yoplaits and assured he was good for a couple hours we headed back to Mom's house where Monkey and I crashed for a little while on the couches while Parker finished his second nap of the day. When we were all rested we all hopped into the van and headed back, boys in tow with a plan to meet my Tover and his boys there. Monkey and the boys dropped me back at my mom's on their way back to Toledo. The next day my opinion of the hospital would go to hell in a hand basket.

I got their around 11:00 because I had stopped at a Michigan/Northern Ohio/Northern Indiana store called Meijer. They're a fully stocked grocery store, extremely decent department store, pharmacy, deli and coffee house all in one. I wanted to pick my dad up some more yogurt, myself a cooler top and a couple games for the DS to keep me busy during dad's naps. When I got there he told me that the epidural stopped working sometime in the morning and rather than call the anesthesiologist back in they simply removed it. However what they didn't tell my dad OR I was that along with the self controlled morphine they also put him on a morphine drip AND they were injecting his IV with both an anti-inflammatory that causes drowsiness and a narcotic based pain reliever geared toward muscle pain. The dietitian showed up and my dad and I worked together with her to make sure she understood the kinds of food he not only would eat but COULD eat. He fell asleep shortly afterwards and a couple hours later I slipped out for some lunch. By the time I got back he was so drugged out of his mind I couldn't get more than one or two words out of him before he was passing out, even to the most important questions. And every time he sat up for any purpose at all he was puking his brains out. I repeatedly told the nurse that I felt he was on too many pain meds. Repeatedly she'd smile and nod and promise to "look into it." They also were taking more than an hour to bring my dad some more water, come to change sheets he had bled and vomited on, left him sitting passed out in a chair hooked up to various machines for an hour AFTER I requested help getting him back into bed (and was told someone would be in right away to help). He was left in a dirty, bloody, hospital gown and after they brought him in the things to change and wash up I was left to give him a sponge bath myself (not that I cared, I just think it's something that should be done by someone who knows what can and cannot be unplugged for a minute should do.) For dinner he was brought a cheese burger. My dad's daily diet consists of yogurt, Johnny Rocket's chili (which is very "Hormel no beans" like in consistency) and the like because of his radical neck dissection and the toll the radiation had on his mouth, tongue, and saliva glands. Essentially there is no muscle on the left side of his mouth and throat, his teeth and saliva glands were destroyed by the radiation and they didn't want him to have his dentures, either. And they brought him a CHEESEBURGER. When I took it back out and explained, once again, the type of foods he could eat I got the nod and the smile. An hour later the RN asked if ANOTHER cheeseburger had been brought up to the room, this time cut up. I wanted to say "My dad had surgery on his NECK, NOT his brain! If he could eat normal food if it was simply cut up he could cut it up HIMSELF" but opted instead for something less offensive to which the RN suggested they put it in a blender for him. I asked her if SHE would eat a cheeseburger that had been "blenderized" to which she replied with a grimace and a head shake. I smiled politely and said "Exactly. Just because you CAN do something doesn't mean you SHOULD."

After I came back from a dinner with my Tover and his kids they had finally agreed that he was on way too many pain meds and taken him off the morphine drip. He was a bit more coherent, in that he could actually get most of a whole sentence out before slipping back into unconsciousness. I knew it would just take some time for all of the drip to wear off and stayed until about 10:30 at night before heading back home. He called me by 10 the next morning telling me he essentially demanded to be released because after the drip did wear off he had the worst night he's ever had in a hospital, complete with the aid putting his ice water next to his used but not emptied urinal bottle.

I'll write about getting him home tomorrow. It's much more interesting and funny. All in all I'm ecstatic at the results of the surgery but severely disappointed in the hospital's performance in my dad's after care. It's the entire reason for the title of this post but as usual I got a little long winded. :)

To market to market to buy a fine pig.

2006-08-03T18:53:00.000-04:00

Just wanted to let everyone know that I'm home now. I actually got home about midnight Tuesday. There's a good post in the making but I've been battered by daily cyclonic migraines and long over due house keeping/organizing. Look for something tomorrow.

It's good to be home.

In the Garden...

2006-07-30T15:43:00.000-04:00

So I looked into the backyard today and saw this massive flower, no kidding, the size of a basketball...

so I was going to get a close up picture of it but....

THEY are back :P

How many times do I have to KILL YOU!?!

Small update...

2006-07-29T00:06:00.000-04:00

I (monkey) just got back from Lansing tonight. JJ is still up there to take care of her dad for a few days. I just wanted to share the GREAT news with everyone.... it's NOT CANCER!

You have no idea how ecstatic everyone is. JJ hasn't stopped smiling in 2 days. He's also recovering VERY well. He's breating normally, he never had to have a breathing tube, and his drainage is very low so they will be removing the chest tube as soon as tomorrow.

More later, I have to crash now :P

-M

New Digs and a bit of the AFK for me (JJ)

2006-07-26T02:55:00.000-04:00

So first off, how do you like the new digs? I've been working on it for awhile. I'm still working on other aspects of it (setting up pretty sites for my other two blogs that I'm working on, Big Butt Blogging and the soon to come Java Junkie Unfiltered, actually posting "about" posts, etc.) but I wanted to get this up before I leave town.

Why am I leaving town you might ask? Well a few weeks ago my Dad's PET scan showed what they thought were 3 very small masses in his left lung. Turns out it's one 14mm mass and Thursday they're taking it out. They're not sure if it's benign or malignant but it's probably the later because he's a 5 year survivor of stage 4 lymphatic cancer. He's also a musician and although he's never smoked a cigarette he's played in smokey bars 5 nights a week most of it. All of this sort of explains why I've been a bit anti-social lately.

A few nights ago I wanted to comfort myself so I looked up lung tumor statistics and I was slapped in the face with "never ask a question you don't want the answer to." I found that there's only a 1 - 2% chance that it's benign and even though it was caught early only 10% of lung cancer patients live past 5 years no matter when it's caught. Since then I've been doing a LOT of crying. And praying. And begging. And allowing Blues Clues and Jack's Big Music Show and the like to hypnotize my youngest into a state that allows me to hold him for more than 3 minutes at a time while I kiss his soft pink cheeks and neck and breathe in his wonderful scent just to keep myself grounded in some sort of reality that doesn't hurt.

I hope I got it all out of my system. I hope come Thursday I'm the person my family is expecting me to be. The strong one who takes care of those in my family that are hospitalized. The one that goes head to head with doctors to make sure the "best possible" route has been examined, all other routes have been equally examined and that it is, indeed, the best possible route. The one that makes all the phone calls, all the arrangements, and makes sure you eat what you're suppose to whether you like it or not, drink what you're suppose to whether you want to or not, and take any and all medication exactly on time. I am, as my Dad's doctors came to refer to me last time around, "Vlad the Impaler disguised as Susie Homemaker." Because Thursday is my Dad's surgery and afterward while he's in the hospital I will be at his side until they kick me out and when he's home I'll still be by his side until he doesn't need Vlad and I can come back home to my children and husband and be Susie Homemaker again. I won't be able to cry. I won't be able to be scared or worried or emotional or broken. I will have to be nothing that I am right now and everything I am not. I hope to God I can get it together in time.

I'm not sure how long it'll be before I'll be able to post. If I'm staying at my Dad's house I should be able to access my blog from there but if I'm staying at my (step)Mom's house (they're married but live separately.. Yeah it's weird, I'll explain it sometime) she doesn't even have a computer I don't think, in which case you'll be stuck with just posts from Monkey. If that ends up being the case I'll urdge him to delve into the photos I've taken over the last 4 months and post some every couple days or so just so you have some cute to balance out the serious/ranty posts he normally posts *smile*

Until then, everyone take care. And please say a prayer for my dad.

Paintin' in Pajamas

2006-07-15T01:04:00.000-04:00

Today was hot and muggy.. Mostly muggy. In fact I tried to take Parker out into the yard to play and the water that's been sogging our yard for days now was so warm it almost felt like bath water. It was so warm it creeped me out. As in "I hope this isn't backed up sewage of some sort.."

But that didn't stop me from breaking out the finger paints, poster board and super clever and chic egg carton paint holder for Parker's first experience with finger paints. Technically what he's wearing is pajamas but they're a very light, breezy material that clearly would hide any paint that might not wash out. I share this with you now.

An Artist at work.

Of COURSE we had to taste it

And then we had to see how it looked on US.

Then we had to listen to the paints and see what THEY wanted to become.

And do our best to help them realize their dream.

We had a wonderful time. But, as all 18 month old's do, we eventually got distracted by the jillion other things in the yard and I had to pull my protesting toddler back inside (remember, I didn't know *exactly* what was in the water that laid in inches over my yard. I'm sure there was at least dog poo from our neighbor's dog since we sort of share yards and I do NOT want my child walking and playing in Dog Poo Stew.)

Tomorrow maybe we'll tackle Play Doh.

For anyone who's interested there are these, plus a few more shots in 1024x680 shots (so that some crazy old guy would stop complaining about how to get "these women to post something larger than 400x300 on flickr?" :P ) on my flickr account.

I am Jack's lack of self-motivation

2006-07-09T21:29:00.000-04:00

Wikipedia defines motivation as the initiation, direction, intensity and persistence of behavior.

I'm starting to scare myself with my lack of motivation to do normal everyday things. Example, getting out of bed to go to work in the morning. I've been getting out of bed every single day for work or school for over 20 years but now it seems like the hardest thing in the world to do.
Instead of going out to the car to get the babies diaper bag I'd rather just go to the closet and get a diaper and a few loose wipes.
I'd rather lay on the floor staring up at the ceiling then get up to make the baby a bottle.
I'd rather keep going to the same shit job that I hate every single day then take the time to send my resume off to places people tell me are hiring.
Instead of making a dinner that may only consist of tossing some mix into the oven I'd rather order a pizza.
This has been going on for quite a while now and I wish I could figure out why.
I see other people that seem to be very motivated to do things, my father for example built a deck on his house a few weeks ago by himself where I can't even get out to the backyard to take out the garbage without a struggle.
I have no motivation and I wish I knew where I could get some.

Crams and Big Gold Bikes

2006-07-07T10:36:00.000-04:00

This morning I awoke from the first good dream I've had in a long time. I was at peace and happy and excited in the dream and that's how I felt when I woke up. It's been a long, long time since I had a sip of coffee feeling this way. It was nice.

The dream really wasn't anything exciting, well to anyone who's not a mom I guess. Parker and I were walking hand in hand on a beach somewhere, off in the distance was Lou, Monkey and my CC. Parker and I were picking up muscle shells. **Parker still isn't talking much at all but I'm highly encouraged by his increasing verbal mimicry. My CC said that she thinks he's right on the verge of having a very large vocabulary, which is probably why she was in this dream.** Knowing that it's probably easier for a baby to say "Clams" than it is "Muscles" I start to hand him a shell and I say "Clllaaammm. Can you say Clllaamm?" and he does! In my excitement I see him trying to reach another and I say "I'll get that for you if you can say clam!" and he says "Cram!" I snatch up the clam and hug him tight, then start steering him down the shoreline toward the rest of my family in my excitement, the cool water a soft gentle tide keeping my toes wet and refreshed. On our way I'm chatting back and forth to Parker, and he's picking up more words along the way, although I can't really remember the conversation. When we get to my family I say "Guys! Guess what!?!?" and just before I tell them the good news, Parker blurts out "We were pretending to pick up crams but they were really muskles."

Even just recalling the dream here makes my heart swim with joy and has brought a soft smile to my face. It feels good to smile.

Going to my mother's house this last weekend was something I think I needed to do. And although I'm still left with feelings of regret, loss, and sadness at least now I have been reminded of some of the good times of my childhood that I had either long forgotten or had simply let the anger and pain of the last few years overshadow. Although many times I stood by my mother's side, trying to do anything and everything possible to help her quit drinking, there's always been this void of good memories inside. Until this trip.

One of my fondest childhood memories was brought back to me in a flash flood of emotions. It wasn't triggered by a photo, or a scent, or a knickknack. It was triggered by my nephew, Ryan. I was holding my niece, trying to comfort her out of a little fuss, singing "If I were a cloud" - a song I sing to Parker all the time and my sister-in-law thinks I should record so you all can hear. - But I digress. After I'm done, Ryan says "How about this song?" and started singing Bicycle Built for Two. Instantly memories of riding on the fender of my mother's huge gold bike washed over me.

Growing up I didn't have a bike until I was 8, I think. So when my mother wanted to go for a "family" bicycle ride my Tover would ride his bike, my mother would ride her huge gold bike from the 1960's and I would ride on the back fender, one foot in each of the wire baskets than hung to the sides. We would sing Bicycle Built For Two and other "old time" songs.

There was something magical about it all. The gentle swaying of the bike as I held onto my mother's waist, "swimming" my hand along the breeze, the intricate lace of shadows the trees cast with their leaves. And most importantly the strong bond I felt with my mother during those bike rides. With my brother at times a half a block ahead, it was one of the few times that I felt I had my mother all to myself... And she didn't mind. I even loved that my Tover was there, just enough ahead to be part of it but not impede on the intimacy I felt between my mother and I right then. Sometimes we would just ride around the mile long "block" that was the complex that our townhouse was a part of, sometimes down to the corner store "QD" for a scoop of ice cream and sometimes through the neighborhoods that surrounded where I grew up. I loved all three routes, but for very different reasons.

Riding around the complex allowed for the opportunity of any one of my friends to see me on the back of my beautiful mother's beautiful big gold bike. I tried for like 45 minutes to find a picture online, but I don't remember the make, model or year. I did find this picture of a teal one that looks very similar, but without the baskets:

(Blogger's being a PITA and won't let me upload the image. I'll try to edit this later with the image, sorry folks.)

But to me, back then, it couldn't have been any more grand and magnificent if it had been Wonder Woman's invisible plane, and in fact many times while on the back I imagined it was just that.

The Ride to "QD" or Quality Dairy was filled with anticipation and decision. What flavors would they have today? Which would I get? Had I been good enough to warrant two scoops instead of just one? And then there was Miller Road. I think the speed limit there is 35 miles an hour but it might as well have been the Autobahn and the excitement and trepidation of crossing it NOT at a light was almost more than a little 8 year old's heart could handle... But not quite *smile*. The ride back was full of dripping ice cream cones and sticky hands and ice cream mustaches from cruising over a bump that bounced my bottom and my hand in opposite directions at the precise moment of a lick.

Riding through the surrounding neighborhoods was the earliest version of people watching that I can remember. We'd ride through the neighborhoods with big trees and manicured lawns and humble ranch homes. We'd see husbands and dads mowing their lawns or washing their cars, kids on their own bikes with tassels off the hand grips, mothers walking little yippy dogs and once in awhile a hip grandma with a sun hat weeding the flowerbed next to her driveway. Life seemed so much cleaner in these neighborhoods. Even the sunshine somehow seemed to sparkle more. I don't ever remember wanting to live in those neighborhoods or being jealous of the kids that got to grow up in what seemed to me to be a suburban Utopia at the time. Just being there and feeling happy and at peace for the families that were there was good enough for me.

And all along we would sing Come Play With Us, Tie a Yellow Ribbon, and Bicycle Built for Two.

I miss you momma. I remember.

There's not enough sugar in the world to make these lemons lemonade

2006-07-06T10:29:00.000-04:00

Last night, sometime during the night, the world became a much darker, colder, sadder place. My Aunt called me this morning to tell me that my Grandmother, hands down the sweetest most gentle, wonderful woman in the world, passed away sometime last night. The entire world should morn the loss of this woman - who never said a bad word about anyone, who always had a smile and more love to give than anyone would ever need. She loved ice cream, and little chotchkies from garage sales, and clowns and funky hats and San Fransisco.

I literally think this woman is the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful woman that ever walked the face of the Earth. I can't even tell you how much I love and will miss her. I'll write more when I can stop crying. If you read this, please think of this blessing of a woman that you didn't get a chance to know. Heaven now has more sunshine in it.

Long story short... Only not.

2006-07-04T22:41:00.000-04:00

Today is usually a day to celebrate, if you're an American anyway. As we drove along the 183 miles home from Mt. Pleasant, MI. today I couldn't help but notice the absence of the usual enthusiasm that accompanies Independence Day all around. I could count on my hands the number of houses I saw with any kind of American flag-like decorations and half of those I believe are probably year-round declarations of patriotism for those particular households rather than something their yard adorned for the festive day. I did not see one family outside enjoying the summer day, dad at the grill donning a humorous apron, children running through the sprinklers, various friends and relations sitting in lawn chairs enjoying their particular ale of choice until we pulled up to the two house long "court" that my home sits on. The entire drive I was wondering if it was simply my own down mood that made the day feel less than happy or if it was a general feeling of "eh, whatever" spread throughout this part of the country. As I listen to neighbors shoot of various B and C grade fireworks around me, I've decided that it's more than likely mostly me. You see, Me, Monkey and Parker were on our way back from what I had feared would be the hardest trip of my life thus far. We were coming back from spending the weekend going through my mother's house, deciding what should be donated, what should be kept, what should be handed down, handed over and what should be held on to. I was right, by the way. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do second only to keeping my head about me and not going insane when my son Lou was kidnapped.

Two weeks ago today my mother died from a heart attack that she chose to have. She didn't have high blood pressure or cholesterol and not watch what she ate. She hasn't smoked in at least a couple years. She didn't suffer from an severe allergic reaction. When I say she chose this, I mean she chose to die long before she had a heart attack.

I know that some of the people who read my blog might frown upon what I'm about to write as airing dirty laundry. They'd much rather read posts of happy fun filled family visits to the local park or read the controversial editorials both Monkey and I write from time to time. To those people I can only apologize, but when someone who knows what I'm going through emailed me saying "Do what you need to do in order to get through the days, no matter what. Right now it's all about coping. And surviving, and going day to day" for some reason I find myself taking that advice today. I need to do this for me. I need to do this to move on, to get past this place that I sometimes find myself stuck at.

My mother has battled alcoholism for over two decades and honestly more than likely clinical depression for much of her entire life. I say battled even though I don't believe she ever really cared enough about herself to put forth a real effort to try to get control of her problems. She never addressed these things with a doctor until just three or so years ago and was immediately put on antidepressants. However she opted to stop taking them when she "felt better" and never again went back on them even though she said she understood that she felt better BECAUSE of the medication. She opted, instead, to try to find comfort in the middle of nowhere, MI at the bottom of a bottle.

Through the years there have been more attempts than I can actually count or remember to try to help her address her alcoholism. There have been numerous times in my life where I called her every single day, many times running up hundreds and hundreds of dollars a month in long distance phone charges so that she would have some support. So that she didn't feel alone. Time and time again I would find that WHATEVER way I had been trying to be there for her, help her and support her were just pathetic wishful attempts on my part, that she had never even intended to get help or support or stop drinking. She had only been telling me what she thought I had wanted to hear. Time and again I would turn a blind eye to probabilities and past experience and do it all over again. Time and again I would put my own life and family on hold to do everything I possibly could to sort out my mother's life and any stresses she might have so that she could concentrate only on recovery. Time and again I found that I was being made a fool of and simply used for sympathy, self pity and an unwitting enabler.

Sometime about two years ago, maybe a little less, I decided that I couldn't do it anymore and cut off communications with my mother until she got help. There had been other times I had taken similar, however less drastic, measures and had always yielded when she showed signs of getting her life, and her problems, under control. This time, however, I had the prerequisite that she become active in some sort of AA or AA-like treatment program. I came to this decision because I knew she had really lost all control. I knew this because she called and left a message on my answering machine upset that she had to find out that I was pregnant from my sister-in-law. She left the same message a half an hour later. Both messages were two days after I had spent an hour talking to her about my pregnancy and the anxiety I was feeling about it considering my illness and the fact that I almost lost my life bringing Lou into this world but how optimistic I was and the encouraging information I had learned from my mid-wife group. It was not the first time I had spoken to her about my pregnancy. I ended the phone call when my mother, for no reason that I could see, stopped responding to what I was saying. I could hear her breathing but she wouldn't answer when I asked if she was there or if she was ok. In my heart I knew she had passed out.

This last November, over a year later, through casual conversation, my Tover told me that my mother had been going to AA meetings. I couldn't have been happier. My eldest son actually confirmed this when he said his father, my first husband, saw my mother at a meeting. I called her number and we talked. I can't really even remember what we talked about but just that I was very happy she had been taking steps to address her situation. Elated that she was finally working to get control of her problems and her life.

However over the next few weeks I started noticing that she was home every night I called her when she was suppose to be at a meeting. There was always some reason she wasn't at it. It was too cold, she wasn't feeling well, she had errands that she had to run, she didn't go on her day off anymore because she had to drive 40 minutes away, etc. I tried with all of my heart to believe her excuses. To hide from the fact that all over again I had been lied to. I had been told just enough truth to believe. And then, two weeks before Christmas, my mother called sobbing. She had been diagnosed with cervical cancer. She was a wreck.

I started calling her daily, trying to keep her spirits up. Sometimes I would succeed, sometimes nothing I did seemed to put her at ease, and sometimes it seemed as though she was actually determined to be filled with dismay no matter how encouraging the things the doctors were saying were. Some days she made no sense at all. I'd ask, she'd deny, I'd let it go knowing the incredible amount of stress she was under and not wanting to add to it. I'd help her make lists of questions to ask her doctor, I'd help keep her reasonable when trying to work out the best treatment, I'd help her figure out who she needed to call for what purpose when trying to prepare for her recovery. I'd ignore the slurred words, the exceedingly emotional phone calls, the completely forgotten phone calls. I accepted the excuses of missed sleep, stress, and old age.

In January my mother had a full hysterectomy. I couldn't even be there the day of the surgery because the day before my apartment's head of maintenance informed me that they'd be coming into our apartment the next day and tearing apart the wall between our bathroom and Lou's bedroom to fix a leak. I've had SO many problems in the past with these types of situations, from a past landlord watching my home videos while I was on vacation thinking something, um, adult was filmed, to having my pantie drawer pilfered through and various pieces of Victoria's Secret lingerie being, um, handled by handy men, to having items actually stolen that I just could not bring myself to leave my house in the hands of strangers. Not to mention that Parker was terribly terribly ill and the call to his pediatrician yielded a strong warning to not have him around my mother at all after her surgery and to avoid contact myself if at all possible.

Two weeks later we were able to get up to Michigan to see her while she was recovering at my Tover's. She was bound and determined to drive the hour and a half home, against her doctor's wishes, though. The stresses of spending time in a household with a new baby and two kids under 10 were getting to her, she insisted. So I helped her load her things and her dog Elvis into her car. I spent the next month trying to keep tabs on her recovery in tandem with my Tover. More than once I called Tover concerned that she sounded rather incoherent, almost as if she were hallucinating. I was terribly concerned that she had developed a severe infection. He would call, talk to her, and she would seem "a bit confused but mostly all there." We also called friends of hers to get their opinions and were assured time and again that all was fine. On March 20th my mother was rushed to the hospital when my Tover called her that morning and she sounded so bad he called an ambulance and on her way to answer the door she collapsed. She was in such a state of malnourishment and dehydration that she was hallucinating in the hospital. Monkey and I dropped everything, packed up our boys and drove up to Claire, MI. where we stayed for the next 3 1/2 days essentially dividing our time between sitting by my mother's bedside, finding out that she had quit eating all together and hadn't drank anything in days except a half a gallon of vodka a day, and trying to set up in-patient rehab for my mother that everyone including the hospital social workers knew she needed.

By the time we left she had agreed to in-patient rehab and was saying all the right things. That she wanted to stop drinking, that she didn't want to die, that she would go into rehab. On the way home I started crying. I knew that was the last time I was going to see my mother alive again. I knew she was just saying what she felt she needed to to get us off her back so she could go back to doing what she was doing despite both my Tover's and my assurance to her that if she did NOT go into in-patient rehab that we would walk away from her completely. A week later she called me to tell me she had decided not to go into in-patient rehab. That she was going to go to AA meetings instead so that she could return to work. That day was the last day I spoke to my mother. It was also the last day my brother spoke to her.

On June 21st my Tover called to tell me that our mother had died. Her neighbor found her when the police forced her to use the key my mother had given her when she called the police in concern that my mother wasn't answering her door. They found her in what could best be described as a praying position next to the bed. When my Tover and his wife went to her house the next day, they found full plates of food covered with mold that the neighbors had been bringing her that she had simply been throwing into the sink. In the other side of the sink was nearly every dish in the house, dirty. At some point she had reduced herself to eating out of the ash trays she no longer used for smoking. And then there were the bottles of Vodka. When they saw her at the morgue my Tover lost it. He said she looked like a mummy. He didn't even recognise her from only a couple months before. Essentially, he said, we had simply interrupted her in March. The preliminary exam showed that she died of a heart attack due to severe dehydration but she had lost a considerable amount of weight, too, I'm sure, because she hadn't been eating.

The next couple of days were pretty weird for me. I found the roles of who I thought would be here for me and those I would never expect support from completely reversed. I got phone calls several times over from my step mother, my dad, and even my dad's mother. My mother's sister called a couple times but that was kind of awkward, neither of us really knowing what to say. Tover would call but that was probably the hardest because exactly who is suppose to support who in that situation really. I didn't hear more than one sentence from my best friend, my mother's sister's daughters (yes, my cousins, I know, just trying to show their relationship to my mother) haven't even so much as dialed my number once. My CC called me and we talked for an hour and then I really didn't hear from her again because she wanted to give me any space that I needed. The only sympathy cards I got were from my landlord and my son's girlfriend. Don't get me wrong now. I didn't want or expect cards at all. To be honest when Monkey found a card with simply my first name on it in our mailbox it took opening it to realize what was inside. If it weren't for Monkey and Lou I would have been lost completely. Monkey took a half a day off work and took care of dinner for the next couple of days. He only voiced his concern for my health once when I went on a cleaning streak through the house including the laundry that only a short time before I had been so frustrated about. He held me and was VERY late to work. He let me do what I needed to do and did what I couldn't. Lou watched Parker for two days basically. I was there, it wasn't like Lou was watching him alone, but I wasn't all the way there. I owe the two of them more than I could ever repay, and honestly I hope I never have to.

The days following my mother's death have been a virtual teeter totter of emotions. I sway between being heart broken, extremely angry, guilt ridden and numb. This weekend as we went through my mother's things I would be thrown into a fit of tears by such things as my sister-in-law asking me if I minded she take two of the Dean Koontz books I had given my mother (Odd Thomas and Forever Odd) because those were the only two she didn't have but yet sitting and looking at boxes of photos would bring tender smiles of remembrances to my face. Out of all of the things I brought from my mothers house, the photos, the few pieces of costume jewelry, the Christmas decorations and the nick knacks, it didn't feel like enough. Like I needed more. And then I realized what I was trying to do was fill the void.

I'm still on this teeter totter of emotions and even though the trip to my mother's house was hard, it was also good for me. The last few years have been riddled with anger and hurt and pain from not only my mother's drinking but some very very poor parenting throughout my childhood. But my trip home reminded me of some of the good things about my mother. How beautiful she was before alcohol really got ahold of her, how she use to sing all the time, how even though we were poor as church mice we always had a wonderful time at Christmas before she met her last husband and my Tover moved out and others. Fun visits to my grandparent's house. On Sunday after we had packed up everything, I laid a wildflower I had picked outside her house on her bed and I walked out of her house. I felt like it was all going to be all right. On the way home today I closed my eyes for a nap but slowly woke up a half an hour later to a song I've sang my mother several times over the last half a decade, Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds" and tears streamed down my face. Here are the words:

Dont worry about a thing,
cause every little thing gonna be all right.
Singin: dont worry about a thing,
cause every little thing gonna be all right!

Rise up this mornin,
Smiled with the risin sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin, (this is my message to you-ou-ou:)

Singin: dont worry bout a thing,
cause every little thing gonna be all right.
Singin: dont worry (dont worry) bout a thing,
cause every little thing gonna be all right!

Rise up this mornin,
Smiled with the risin sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin, this is my message to you-ou-ou:

Singin: dont worry about a thing, worry about a thing, oh!
Every little thing gonna be all right. dont worry!
Singin: dont worry about a thing - I wont worry!
cause every little thing gonna be all right.
Singin: dont worry about a thing,
cause every little thing gonna be all right - I wont worry!
Singin: dont worry about a thing,
cause every little thing gonna be all right.
Singin: dont worry about a thing, oh no!
cause every little thing gonna be all right!

I'm trying to get through this the best I can. I'm trying to forgive her for replacing the woman she could have been if she had only let herself be happy with the woman that she turned into. I'm trying to forgive myself for not being able to show her how much I loved her and for eventually turning away from her. I'm trying to let myself cry all of the tears I feel inside me. I'm trying to remember the fun and quirky things about her that will always make me smile. I'm trying not to take personally those that weren't here for me but appreciate those that were and understand people's need to tell me that she's in a better place now. Mostly I find myself hiding from doing any of these things by following Parker, picking him up every few minutes to cuddle or holding and smothering my niece with kisses when I could. But I am trying.

2006-06-26T22:40:00.000-04:00

I hate Larry the Cable Guy...

This guy has created an entire generation of wanna-be rednecks... I actually saw a guy's business card once that said "Git-r-done lawn maintenance" ><
When I saw this I had to laugh.. hard ... so to all of you camouflage wearin' truck drivin' wanna-be rednecks... here is your god

Limbaugh busted for drugs again...

2006-06-26T22:27:00.000-04:00

... This time it was Viagra that wasn't prescribed. They found it while he was getting off of an airplane. They may charge him with a second degree misdemeanor.
Does anyone else see the humor in this? :D

Article here

AFK

2006-06-22T00:42:00.000-04:00

I might be away for awhile. I don't know. I don't know anything right now.

My Tover called me tonight to tell me my mother's dead. That's all I can write right now. I hope you all understand.

Random Conversation Quips

2006-06-20T14:25:00.000-04:00

I'm going to post this once a week, or try anyway. Here's some tidbits of conversation in our house over the last week

Uhhh...

Me: How do you email somebody?

Monkey: Uh honey? {insert perplexed and worried look} I haven't heard that question since I worked at a help desk.

Ya Think?

*as we're taking the most scenic trail in Wildwood Preserve*

Monkey: Some really big critter is over there.

Me: Oh? How big?

Monkey: Big enough to move that whole tree *pointing to a rather large uprooted tree*

*20 feet down the path*

Me: Hear that?

Monkey: Yeah. It's probably that critter.

*as I look for the sound and spot the culprits*

Me: Aw. It's two chipmunks over there playing in those leaves.

Monkey: Well it can't be the critter then.

(side note: I'd be pretty fucking scared of a chipmunk that could shake a whole large uprooted tree. I would imagine it would be a harmless brown fluffy chipmunk ... with a set of {British accent} "nasty, sharp, pointy teef.")

GET IT AWAY!

*as we're climbing into bed for the night*

Me: Don't touch me with your bent elbow!

It's Our Little Secret

Me: *something edited*

Monkey: Oh yeah?? *something edited*

Me: *giggling* *something edited corrected*

Monkey: I could have sworn you said *something edited*

*roaring laughter from me*

Monkey: That one does NOT go in the conversation blog post for the week. *snicker*

Dream analysis needed...

2006-06-19T16:51:00.000-04:00

So I'm kinda new to this whole dreaming thing... I've had sleep apnea for years and have just recently gotten it treated so just recently started having dreams.
I'm not really sure where this dream came from (other then maybe drug laced cookies) but it makes no sense to me at all.
Essentially the entire dream was about underwater vampire robots. When they bit humans they turned them into half robot/vampires and I was like Blade hunting them down even though I was one of them. I also had the help of a human who eventually got turned into one. We were in some future underwater world (however somehow when we were indoors we had legs and when we weren't we had propellers) with sharks everywhere.

Can anyone help me or am I beyond help?

-M

9/11 theorists make a valid point

2006-06-17T15:29:00.000-04:00

I'm not a conspiracy theorist. I'm usually the one saying "theres no way thats possible", but something made me want to watch this video so I did.
They make an unbelievably convincing story backed up by good solid information. When you have an hour free you NEED to watch this movie. I think everyone should.
Let me know what you think.
-M

http://www.seeloosechange.com/

Toothpaste caps and Knights in Shining White Armor.

2006-06-16T22:54:00.000-04:00

Today was a brutally tired day for me. And luckily, my eldest was here to pick up my pieces, so to speak. I laid down for a nap when Parker did and awoke at 2:00 this afternoon, Parker happily playing in the living room, his big brother watching over him. I tried for the rest of the day to keep up so that Lou could actually have a normal day and I did ok, but Lou still had to help. Mother nature or MY ambitious nature or both are just really picking a fight with me for the last couple days and they're kicking my butt.

I thought it was for this reason that there seemed to be some tension between Monkey and I tonight. I thought I was, quite honestly, being a bit hormonal and slightly on the bitchy side. I tried to be aware of what I was saying or doing but I kept seeming to step on Monkey's toes without trying or wanting to. After dinner and watching our TIVO'd So You Think You Can Dance and retiring to our bedroom/office/game room I decided to apologize for being difficult to live with today. What I found out was that it wasn't today that was bothering Monkey. It was the post I made below.

Now before some of you get the wrong impression, Monkey wasn't upset that I had posted something a little critical about him. His point was 100% valid. He was upset that was the only thing I've posted about him on this blog and that those that don't know him except through this blog would have a rather disproportionate opinion of him. Or, in his words, I "made (him) sound like an asshole." And you know what? He's right. When you ONLY hear something negative about a person you tend to only think negatively about that person.. So I'm here to set the record straight.

My post was about what I call "toothpaste caps." Some of you may relate better to "underwear on the bathroom floor." When someone leaves the cap off the toothpaste night after night and it's just that one little thing that what one, who might otherwise be your Knight in Shining Armor, does that really irritates the crap out of you. And for the record, I probably leave my pajamas on the bathroom floor just as often as Monkey does. ;)

So let me tell you a few of the reasons I'm LUCKY to be with Monkey. For starters, the man simply has very little in the way of expectations from or of me. Either that means he knows me well enough that the things he would normally expect from someone he knows he doesn't need to expect from me or it means that he loves me unconditionally in the true sense of the word or it means a bit or a lot of both. I don't know. But what I do know is that when it's been a bit since I've felt up to doing my chores, such as mopping the kitchen floor or cleaning the bathrooms, he's never once complained. When I'm too tired to cook, he understands and somehow we figure it out.

He stepped up to the parenting plate with Lou, our eldest, only 4 years ago and has never once let me down. Granted, he was out of his element many times and there was a learning curve, but the man truly WANTED to learn it. He truly WANTED to be a good dad for Lou, not just date Lou's mom. He's been to every teacher conference, he's been involved in every parental decision, he's never said "I don't care" when trying to decide what was best for Lou. Hell, we live where we live because Monkey feels as strongly as I do that it was important for Lou to remain in the same school district that he's been for the last 3 years. He truly loves Lou and he truly loves Parker. To Monkey, they're just as much a part of his family as I am, individually or together as our children.

Monkey also does 100% of the grocery shopping. We've had to pick our household chores based on what I am capable of contributing. I can clean the bathrooms because I can do the sinks, toilets, tubs and floors on entirely different days if I need to. The laundry became his chore in our old apartment because the laundry room for our building was 3 floors below us and when I was pregnant for Parker, going up and down those stairs like that often put me into contractions. That's also a bit of why I didn't (too much) mind folding loads he had done. Although I do have to admit that it is a toothpaste cap that he almost never folds the loads he washes. But that's just how he is. He typically does not care if the t shirt he's wearing looks like it was a make shift rope in a tug of war contest between WWE superstars.

He works at a job that he's insanely over qualified for essentially doing manual labor that a, well, monkey could do, for the most part. There's no where for him to be promoted to since it's just him, the owner, and one other guy that's worked there for 15 years. He does this to put food on our table and a roof over our heads. Oh, and to keep our eldest in the same school system he's been in for the last 3 years.

And lastly, Monkey loves me no matter what I look like. I often joke with him that I could roll in poo and he would still think I was beautiful. And you know what, I believe this 100%. Not because he has some sick fetish with poo (ok peanut gallery, no poo throwing monkey jokes, please) but because he truly loves me with all of his heart. And I, him.

I really could go on forever. I could. But you guys would either get bored or sick to your stomach or both. So in short, for the record, my Knight in Shining Armor just happens to be a Monkey. A Monkey that sometimes leaves the figurative toothpaste cap off and doesn't throw poo.

She was such a nice, quiet girl...

2006-06-16T02:27:00.000-04:00

I swear to God, if I don't end up being the girl that cracked and killed her entire family with a toothbrush this week it will be a miracle. Then I'm going to go after that little asshole, Murphy and his stupid law. Allow me to explain.

Lou got out of school for summer a week ago today, which is still Thursday in my book since I haven't gone to bed yet. That same day I made some decisions regarding my health. As a consequence of actually sticking to these goals, for the most part (especially the walking) combined with my PEBV CFIDS, I'm Beat with a capital B, underscored. That's ok though, because I expected it. In order to get ya gotta give a bit, right?

Being able to expect it I thought would be a good thing. I spoke to Lou and Monkey about how I really would need them to do the things they're responsible for. This means Lou would need to clean up after dinner and do the dishes, take out the garbage and empty the cat litter once a week. It meant that Monkey would have to be responsible for the laundry. I knew I'd be wiped out and I wouldn't be able to "make up" for their housekeeping short comings. I truly thought I had their support.

As I type this there is a mountain, literally, of laundry, both clean and dirty, mixed together on my bedroom FLOOR. I have to fear for my life, risking tripping over the spillage to go to the restroom in the middle of the night. The dishes have been been left until the next morning more than half the nights this week, and even when they are there's all the "finishing touches" one usually does when doing the dishes. You know, wiping off the counter, off the stove, etc. Garbage has been left until it's spilling over the back of the trash can. While the cat litter was changed, there is a virtual sandbox on the laundry room floor because what Lou spilled while changing it, he didn't clean up.

For the most part I've held my tongue. I'm a pretty firm believer in if you're not part of the solution you're part of the problem but to be honest at this point in time I'm starting to believe that IS the problem. In the past if Lou didn't wipe the counters off after dinner and I noticed, I would simply grab a sponge and do it myself. If Monkey didn't fold the laundry after a couple days I'd simply drag it out into the living room and do it for him. There have only been a couple times in the last week where I nagged to either of them about doing their jobs. But tonight takes the cake.

Not to relay too much information, but on TOP of hiking twice at Wildwood Park and going for a mile walk followed by a playground romp once within the last 5 days, I've been paying my monthly bill for the last two days. I'm beat. I'm so beat that throwing a hot dog in the microwave for Parker's lunch seems like a task. When I get this beat I also get insomnia pretty badly. Sounds ironic, I know, but it's because I'm so physically tired that I don't even have the energy to do the things that I normally do to tire my mind out. So tonight I laid in bed playing Animal Crossing on the DS until I was so beat I knew I wouldn't lay in bed thinking about all the things I wish I had the energy to do that day. When it finally worked, I got up to make the rounds. You know, make sure the windows and doors are locked, feed the cats, etc. After doing the first, I made my way to the laundry room to feed the cats into their nightly food coma.

I get into the laundry room and there, on the cat litter box, is the 12 pack of paper towels that Monkey had brought home earlier. A mere 2 feet from the cupboard it's suppose to go into. I don't know about you but I'm not very thrilled at the thought of drying my hands, my face or any other surface with a paper product that's been sitting on top of a cat shitter. I sigh, grab the package and hoist it up onto one of the three boxes in this house left to be unpacked, knowing that I have to pull the cat food out of the same cupboard off the same shelf to feed the cats anyway and figuring I'll just put the paper towel into the cupboard after I do that since they go behind the cat food. I open up the cupboard, no cat food. Not as in we ran out and someone forgot to tell Monkey we needed more but as in Lou fed the cats last night and who knows where the cat food is. Thinking it might be in the box I just threw the paper towels on top of I grab the package to hoist it into the cupboard and *crash*ssssssssssss* a whole entire tub of oxyclean spills into the washing machine because someone left it on top of the dryer with it's lid off instead of putting it back onto the shelves above the washer and dryer with the lid on. The culprit's article of washing is still in the washing machine and now half covered with oxyclean... My eldest son's army back pack. So here I am at 2:00 in the morning scooping oxyclean out of a wash machine, back into the tub because the paper towels Monkey didn't put away when he brought them home knocked the oxyclean that my son left on the dryer and open into the washing machine when all I wanted to do in the first place was feed the friggen cats! Which reminds me, where the hell is the cat food?!? Oh! There it is, why didn't I realize it would be on top of the DVD rack in my bedroom?!? That's right where it belongs!

And the kicker? After finishing scooping up what I can and throwing the knapsack in for another washing since it's now encrusted with oxyclean I notice my jeans are as well and decide to take those off and throw those in too. I head to the bedroom to put on my PJ's and back into the laundry room where I kick over the cats' water dish that was left in the middle of the 2' wide walk space in the laundry room by my eldest when he fed the cats the night before and somehow I missed the first time. Now the bottom of my pj's are soaked, the laundry room floor is soaked AND covered in cat litter and the cats are pissed because they now have to stand in water to eat. And you know what? I don't give a rat's patooty. I'm going to bed. Just ignore the screaming you hear from my house, it'll only be Monkey howling from the pinch I am SO going to give his butt when I crawl into bed. Goodnight.

Updated Flickr

2006-06-15T17:08:00.000-04:00

For those of you that were interested in larger pictures of some of the ones below, I've updated my flickr with 10 of the shots from that day. Not all of the ones below are there and there are a few that aren't below that are but eventually they'll all, or at least mostly, get there.

The perfect fathers day gift...

2006-06-14T15:30:00.000-04:00

... to tell dad he's your bitch.

The Daddle

Replica of Roethlisberger's motorcycle helmet on eBay!

2006-06-13T17:35:00.000-04:00

This is an exact replica of the helmet Big Ben was wearing when he got into his accident on Monday.

edit.

The item has been relisted so this post can have meaning again.

A Visit with Mother Nature

2006-06-13T17:33:00.000-04:00

Various shots from our Wildwood Preserve visit Sunday. First the more interesting shots.

This one sort of looked like an animal to me. There's clearly a snouth, mouth and two ears. I took MANY pictures of odd formations in trees that looked like monsters or animals were hiding amongst the trees but this is the only one that really turned out. Manual focus is hard for me since my eyes are worse with my glasses on that Monkey's are with his off.

Most of these I'll be putting larger sizes up on my flickr account if anyone's interested for whatever reason, along with some others probably. Be sure to keep scrolling down to the post below this one for the other few photos that I've gotten together from this so far. :)

A Visit with Mother Nature continued

2006-06-13T16:53:00.000-04:00

below are more shots from the same visit, although the ones below might be blurry, etc. they're still worthy of a blog post :) These will have commentary, too ;)

A very odd tree trunk.

One of the few shots I got of this beautiful creature who graced us with her presence not mere feet from us. It's blurry because I was so excited to see such an unexpected hostess that I was shaking. Although it looks like she's running in the photo, she's not. She calmly, though cautiously, walked in an arc around us, remaining pace until my eldest decided to argue that he didn't need to remain calm and quiet in order to not scare her off, when she picked up speed to a trot. She finally bolted when a couple with a poofball pursedog came down the trail behind us and the dog had an identity crisis, thinking it was much bigger than one of this girl's hoofs, which it wasn't.

I took probably a dozen pictures of this ravine trying to show it's depth and beauty but just could not get the right angle. Keep in mind, the kid you see in the picture (my eldest) is 6' tall ;)

Two of the tallest birch trees I've ever seen in my life. Yes, those are OTHER tree tops they're towering over.

Baby pine cones, aren't they adorable?

There are two more pictures that I'd like to post but Blogger's being a knob and I don't feel like creating a 4th post for this entry hah. Look for the little versions on my flickr account I guess. :)

Yesterday, more to come

2006-06-12T13:50:00.000-04:00

Yesterday my family went to a nearby wildlife preserve, Wildwood Preserve Metropark. The page linked, although the "official" page for the park doesn't talk much about the wilderness trails that wind through it's 493 acres of forests, streams, and prairies. Near the bottom of the page, however, is a video about the park and the other wildlife and metro parks in the area. At 5:31 of the video you'll see a woman walking on a trail with her two children, one in a stroller. This is much of what we experienced on the trail we took yesterday. It was one of the most peaceful and warm times I've had in awhile.

Currently I'm wading through the 83 pictures that I didn't delete from the trip (there were twice that total) and seeing which are worthy for posting here, which are worthy for uploading to my flickr account, and which are worth keeping as a photographer. While I do that, however, here's one of my favorites of the day for you to enjoy.

Have you ever...

2006-06-09T22:21:00.000-04:00

Have you ever done anything that you haven't done in years and realized how out of shape you are?
I haven't played basketball in about 12 years... now granted in that time I've probably smoked a gazillion cigarettes and eaten almost as many big macs but I've at least quit smoking since then... I'm so freakin out of shape... I played basketball by myself for about 45 minutes after cutting the grass and moving some stuff in the garage and I feel like I wanna curl up into a ball and die.
Someone please help me get off my fat ass!

Church of Scientology buying a NASCAR sponsorship

2006-06-08T22:31:00.000-04:00

No really, it's true.

My question is, why do they need to advertise? Shouldn't a religion sell itself? Especially one that has John Travolta believing that when he dies he's going to be transported to an alien planet.

Beautiful

2006-06-07T13:17:00.000-04:00

I debated what to name this post for most of the days since this day. Beautiful day. Beautiful People. Beautiful Moments. I settled on what fits best. This was the most beautiful moment in my life outside of the birth of my sons and meeting Monkey in person for the first time. It was the first time in over 20 years I have seen my sister, Niki, and the very first time I got to meet her wonderful family. I have to warn you, there are LOTS of pics, and the majority of them are of my sister, Niki aka CC. But hey, they're the ONLY photos I have of her given that I haven't seen her in over 20 years so you guys can just put up with me being a proud proud proud big sister. *smile*

This is my sister, Niki. Isn't she beautiful?

Her husband, Michael, and Muffinest. They're pretty damned beautiful, too, don't you think?

I know this one's dark but if you look closely I dare you not to be enchanted with that beautiful smile... Seriously.

If anyone tries to argue that this isn't the most beautiful baby girl on the planet ...

Or the most beautiful baby boy then they have some SERIOUS eye problems and need to see an optomitrist immediately before they injure someone in a car accident.

A beautiful moment between Parker and his Aunt Niki

A beautiful moment for me watching Parker and his Aunt Niki

My beautiful eldest

A beautiful guest across the dinner table

Beautiful cousin kinship

Beautiful mommy moment

Beautiful Daddy moment

Beautiful Dog

Beautiful Fun

Beautiful Day

Simply beautiful.

Cross Promotion

2006-06-06T23:17:00.000-04:00

Just a little cross promotion. To all the nerdy folk out there, I've started my own tech blog... let me know how bad I really am at http://tech-monkey.blogspot.com ;)

On the Grounds of Equality in Ohio.

2006-06-06T00:59:00.000-04:00

I haven't had a valid drivers license in years. Yeah I know it's hard for most people to believe. In a "go go go go go, let me go, I want to go, I want to go" society, where personal freedom equates to mobility, I don't have a drivers license.

Last week some time I decided that it would probably be a good idea to at least have some sort of valid I.D. The last form of which that I still had in my possession was a drivers license from another state, expired of course. So on Monkey's day off, Wednesday, we hopped in the ol' mini van and headed down to the DMV. While we're waiting in line Monkey is looking at the example novelty plates you can get for your car. You can get Buckeyes, Indian, or Browns plate. You can get a plate with various catch phrases that are supposedly Ohio related. You can get plates with a Free Masons symbol on it, which not only is odd but just a slight bit creepy. While I'm sitting there wondering if cops wouldn't pull you over for speeding if your plate had a Free Masons symbol on it or if you need some secret handshake to even GET one, Monkey points out that there's a Right to Life plate... But no plate for Freedom to Choose.

Before we go any further let me state clearly what my official stance on this controversial subject is. I am NOT "Pro Abortion." I believe, for many, abortion is not the best choice. I believe that all alternatives should be, but rarely are, discussed in detail with women, young and adult, that are considering abortion as an option. Although I don't believe there are nearly the number of girls who do so that some would have us believe, I do acknowledge that there are very rare cases where girls have thrown responsibility out the window with abortion being their "back up plan." I do believe this is an unfortunate and uneducated circumstance that exists in all areas of life. I believe that just because something is not the right path for me, or that I follow certain faith bound guidelines, that it's NO ONE'S place in this country to force that belief or life on me. In short, I believe in a woman's right TO CHOOSE. I am a firm supporter in Pro CHOICE. But that's not what this is about. What this is about is cattle.

It makes me quite a bit concerned that our state government now is using our vehicles as billboards for religious rhetoric and propaganda. I find it disturbing that the two non state related plates were both known right wing agenda advertisements. I find it disgusting that the American public doesn't see this as the violation of their rights that it is. I find it ludicrous that it's been allowed. We are being guided through a maze to the slaughterhouse none the wiser and it's our own faults.

What, exactly, is going to have to happen in this country for our fellow Americans to wake up and take a stand FOR this country? How many rights are going to have to be infringed or even revoked before we rise up to say "enough is enough!" What will you have to lose before you get up off your couch and do something about where this country is going?

It may be a cliche' but knowledge is power. There is a reaction to each action. Don't only write your congress person on topics that you find particularly compelling, but find 10, 20 or even 100 more people willing to do the same thing. I find it so disheartening that people are so uninformed about not only the politicians they elect into office but the very way our government operates. Yes there are almost 300 million people in the United States but one person CAN make a difference. It only takes one person to start a movement.

"I'm too tired." "I'm too busy." "I have no idea where to start." "I honestly don't care." "It won't make a difference." What if our founding fathers would have given these excuses when it came to our independence from British control? You wouldn't be so tired if wages kept pace with the increase in living expenses. You wouldn't be so busy, either. All you need to do to start is to become informed. Read, investigate, explore and research. And sorry for saying so but if you honestly don't care then you really have no right to be in this country at all. If you're disenchanted, find someone who's not to re-kindle your fire. If your still positive, even after you've found all the cheerleaders you can find, that no ones voice makes a difference then what is there left to be an American for? Have pride in your country, know about it. Don't be one of those people who say it's your duty as an American to vote but really have zero idea whom your voting for other than the palaver spewed out by campaign ads.

Whether your pro choice or pro life, the sentiment should be the same. We need to take our country back into the hands of the people. We need to stand together to end the corruption of our government and return it to the principles on which it was founded. We need to know who we're voting into power before we put them there. And we need to be willing to admit that we mis-trusted and made a mistake when the person we put into power turns out to be someone else. We need to NOT be cows herded through the gates to the slaughterhouse.

Politics SHOULD be open to discussion

2006-06-05T16:12:00.000-04:00

I know no one wants to talk about politics, but if it doesn't get talked about it doesn't get listened to, so here's why I'm frustrated this week.
Why do we as a nation feel we need to go back to the stone age by making a constitutional amendment to take away someones rights? All they want is to get married. Why should there be an AMENDMENT to the CONSTITUTION banning this? Churches can ban whatever they want, that's a benefits of religious freedom, which is also in the constitution. However, to force religious beliefs on the general public (be it gay marriage, creationism, or otherwise) is against everything this country was founded on.
They take away our right to privacy, they take away our right to free speech, and now they want to take away our rights to practice our own religious beliefs. Lawmakers in this country today are walking around like they are above the very laws they want to force upon the people that elected them into office, and yet we for some reason continue to elect them again and again.
I wish they would publicly release a list of all the phone logs they've been keeping over the last 5 years so people can see that yes they are directly effected by the things this administration is doing.

Going Gabor on Austin

2006-06-02T10:34:00.000-04:00

The first yoga I ever did was to a Denise Austin video. I had fallen ill a couple years before and come to realize that I am a type A personality - had been all my life. I just never realized it because I always had a large amount of physical activity to outlet with. As time went on I noticed that I was becoming more and more stressed about smaller and smaller things. After talking to friends, who were like "uh yeah, duuuhh" I realized I needed someway to relieve stress. After obtaining special permission from my doctor, I decided to try yoga and Denise's video was my introduction.

I'm sure at least some of you recognize her. She's been called a "fitness guru" more than once. Her smiling face has graced many a morning cable exercise and aerobic shows. Oddly, even after having been a fitness instructor, a dance instructor, and having worked out for years, I had no idea who she was. I actually asked my housekeeper (no I wasn't rich, I was simply too ill to keep house) who was also an aerobics instructor, if she had ever heard of her. She "pft"'ed me in disbelief that I didn't.

The video was nice, I have to admit. The first time through I actually almost cried tears of relaxation if that's possible. The second time I was so relaxed that I started laughing when I accidentally caught myself on fire with a candle I had burning on my desk. So yeah, I guess you could say it worked. Unfortunately I didn't stick with it, mostly due to a series of unfortunate events.

Skip ahead 3 1/2 years. Last November Monkey and I decided to go on the South Beach Diet because of the weight we both gained during my pregnancy with Parker. We enjoyed much success, too. He lost 30 lbs and I lost almost 20, and it really wasn't a hard diet to stick to at all, outside of two things. It's monstrously more expensive to buy fresh, non-processed food and prepare it yourself for every single meal and snack and it takes an incredible amount of time and energy to buy fresh, non-processed food and prepare it yourself for every single meal and snack. We made it up close to Christmas. And then *kerplunk*. We fell off the diet wagon because, lets face it, after spending hours and hours Christmas shopping you do not want to come home and spend hours and hours making dinner. You want to grab your phone and dial some of the good stuff and well, Pizza Hut does NOT do carb friendly pizzas damn them all to hell. So it became "Just until the holidays are over" and then "just until things settle down" and then "just until after our birthday" and then... Well you get the point. And when I say we fell off the wagon I mean we fell off the wagon just as it was going over a bridge between two cliffs high above the ocean. "Well we're going back on, so we might as well indulge" became our mantra. Monkey's gained everything back, if not a little more and I've gained 2/3 back. But the absolute worst thing about going on the South Beach Diet, for me, was Denise Austin.

For any of you thinking of SBD, I really cannot sing this way of eating enough praise. I really just cannot. It's a wonderful way of eating and soon I will be going back on it, if only in a modified version better suited for my energy level. And the best advice I can give you is to join their website instead of buying the book, it's at least 100 times the value. Especially if you like newsletters. Because now I get a news letter from smiling crackhea - er I mean Denise Austin every single day. And you know, I don't even think she's a "fitness guru" as much as I do a fitness bandwagon exploiter. "Yoga's the thing? Oh I'll throw out a yoga video. Pilates? Get out your gold card ladies because I have Pilates DVD's up the wahoo." And now I get an email from her, every morning, telling me how Denise Austin works for So and So and how NOT to influence poor eating habits with my kids. Oh shut the fuck up Denise. If you ever once had an original thought it was bleached away years ago by Clairol. If I ever see you in person I'm going to go Zsa Zsa on your ass and smack your botoxed face into a permanent look of shock.

Important post...

2006-06-01T21:39:00.000-04:00

This may seem odd, but I'm desperate. I need someone to please find me an axe wielding garden gnome with a menacing look on his face. I can't say why... I just need to know where I can get one in the near future.

Things NOT In My Head.

2006-06-01T12:48:00.000-04:00

I Had (what I thought was) an awesome SPT post (yeah I know it's Thursday, I've been a little busy.) I had it in my head, half written already, as I was drifting off to sleep last night. I couldn't wait to post it when I woke up. So anxious was I that it was the first thing on my mind this morning instead of the appointment I had to wake up almost 3 hours early for.

Unfortunately for me, I don't have a very good mental data base right before I fall asleep. Sometimes I catch myself thinking of walking, talking bananas that are trying to plant turnips in the middle of the Antarctica and wondering if their peels would turn brown like they do if you put them in the freezer. Yeah I know, I need help, but that's beside the point. This post wasn't any of those things, though. It really was well "written" and good. Sadly, by the time I woke up all I could remember was the title (which no, I'm not going to share in case I remember the actual body and still want to post it.) It did, however, bring me to this post.

Many a time you'll hear me say "I wish I had a {insert gizmo here} in my head so that I could {insert action here} any time I wanted." For instance I wish I had a video camera in my head so that all of those holycowwaytoocute or I'mrecordingthistodocumentthatyousaidthat moments could be captured instead of missing them all together while running to grab the NOT in my head video camera only to return, camera in tow, moment lost. Cue "I wish I had a."

This sounds oddest to those that know me best because of my reaction to movies like Johnny Mnemonic and The Matrix. I wig out at the thought of plugging something into your BRAIN and having it function WITH your, uh, BRAIN. I also, being the ginormous conspiracy theorist that I am, freak out at the possibility of an entity (read: a corrupt government) being able to secretly hack my thoughts. Not because I'm planning on taking over the world but rather because I don't want anyone knowing that I still wear the panties that I wore during pregnancy on laundry day simply because I can't justify throwing them out nor keeping them if I don't use them. Yeah, I know, I need help, but you're missing the point.

My point is that I'm positive I cannot be alone in this. There's no way no one else wished they could blink their eyes and snap a picture of their baby putting a Beany rabbit on his shoulder and walking around the house as if it were some grossly deformed parrot. So without further ado, here's my list of things I wish were in my head, but aren't:

A Video Camera: Already thusly explained

A Camera: Not only to capture moments of friends and family but of that really cool old building that whisked past me on our way out of town.

A GPS: I absolutely can. not. STAND being lost. I've even called the Police on one occasion, in tears, because I was lost. Yes, even Detroit's finest will send out a patrol car to help a crying, lost, woman.

A Polygraph: I have a 14 year old. 'Nuff said.

An electronic calendar with an alarm for birthdays, anniversaries, and special events: I am SUCH a guy in this area. I have even forgotten my OWN birthday... More than once.

A Bablefish: Although the concept of a live fish in my ear gives me the willies that last for a good five minutes, it'd be cool as hell to be able to understand all language, including animal.

I could probably list about 10 more but you get the point and what I really want to know is what your list is. Let me know! :D

No more moving...

2006-05-31T22:47:00.000-04:00

Moving is probably the most masochistic ritual in the known world... at least thats how I feel about it today... it's kinda like giving birth... ya know... how they say the female brain blocks out the memory of the pain from childbirth because if not they would never have children again... if I remembered how terrible it was to move into our 3rd floor apartment 2.5 years ago I would have never agreed to move out of it. So here I am... saying that we're never moving again... until the next nice place in our price range comes along...

The Teflon King

2006-05-29T17:07:00.000-04:00

Some of you may know I'm not a big fan of the current administration in charge of the US. The word Kleptocracy comes to mind when I think about what they've done over the last 5 years. I've even gotten into shouting matches with my own mother over their practices and the way they run this country (New Orleans recovery in particular). So I just got done reading this article and thought I'd spread it around.... go ahead and read it... I'll wait..........

I love how the article states that the FCC is investigating the television networks... HOW it's possible that Bush doesn't get investigated over ANYTHING is beyond me. Did everyone forget about the fact that he authorized "Scooter" to out an undercover CIA agent? Of course it's ok cause he says it is. He can get away with anything he wants and for some reason people just accept it. Just like the whole signing statement thing... with every bill he signs into law he puts a little note along with it saying essentially that yes it's a law but he doesn't have to follow it.... what? how? why? huh?

I just think it's wrong that there's no mention about the state department or the administration being even looked at over providing fake news to the American public. Again another immoral and unethical piece of history for the thugs that run this country.

I just pray that some day this guy is judged for the horrid things he has done.

If you think I'm wrong about this... here's another article for you from yesterday in case the local/national media "forgot" to talk about it.

One of those days...

2006-05-28T23:04:00.000-04:00

Ya ever feel like you have to be the only person online right now? I'm too bored to watch TV, too tired to play video games, and it's too early to go to sleep.
We did some more of our moving today, we've been putting off going back to the apartment for nearly a month. Today we remembered how much it sucks moving from a 3rd story apartment in 90 degree weather... we were all dog tired afterwards and there's still so much to do and so little time to do it. :P

Troubles in Our Bedroom, Making Babies, and other Random Intimacies.

2006-05-26T09:23:00.000-04:00

Needing some comforting:

Back in December I posted a one sentence blurb about having to stop the "new kitty" from climbing up the Christmas tree. What I didn't post was the whole story of the "new kitty" or NK as I'll call her for posting purposes.

A few nights after Christmas we were walking in from the parking lot when we saw a man that lived in the adjacent building gently shooing a kitten that was probably 4 - 6 months old away from the door. Monkey and I took one look at each other and knew that even though we were having a relatively mild winter that we couldn't leave this poor lil kitten outside to freeze for the night. I stepped out of the car and walked over to chat with the man to see if he knew who the kitten belonged to while Monkey got the boys out of the van.

The man didn't know but she was obviously not a stray. Her white fur on her black and white coat was quite clean, she had no ear mites or fleas or any other signs of vagabondadgery and she was quite friendly. I scooped her up and met Monkey and the boys halfway down the walk. Again, another look, and we just started towards our own building. We didn't have to say what we both knew: 'We'll let you stay until we figure out who you belong to."

Well, we ended up not being able to do either. Both of our cats, who have all of their claws and are pretty big male cats, beat on the poor lil thing constantly and as a result she wouldn't come out of our bedroom, etc. Within a couple days we found she was peeing on our furniture. Our bed, our couch, etc. Now mind you, my cats have never gone to the bathroom anywhere but their box unless, for instance, they were accidentally shut into the bathroom (my cats like to lay in the tub - I know, they're weird.) Knowing cats like I do, however, I knew that if one cat was going to pee on something, the probability of it always peeing on it was high. So unfortunately we couldn't keep her.

We washed our sheets, blankets and mattress cover, and thank goodness the couch was leather so easy to clean up. But cat pee never goes away really unless you get rid of the protein crystals it leaves behind when it dries or is cleaned up and it wasn't long before we moved that we noticed our comforter again smelling like cat pee. We realized one of the two cats we have now had peed on the same spot the stray did to mark his territory. And out to the dumpster the comforter, sheets, mattress pad, (and since it was a matching set) dust ruffle and shams went. We didn't really need to worry about warmth because in our apartment, even in the dead of winter with the heat off it was routinely 80 degrees. So while we looked for a new set we both liked we just used a quilt my Grandma had made.

A week ago we found our new set. Two nights ago we washed it. An hour later this is what our washer produced :

It ripped it to shreds in the spin cycle. There are at least 2 other spots just like this on our brand new comforter.

It's all under your head.

After Monkey was diagnosed with severe sleep apnea and put on a CPAP machine, the doctor also recommended an orthopedic pillow. Monkey ran out and bought the first memory foam ortho pillow he could grab. Turns out he hates it. He tried to get use to it but after over a month it was just obvious that he was going to need a new pillow. So when we bought the comforter set he also picked out a new pillow. A new hypoallergenic pillow. I draw your attention to that word so that you might be able to guess what Monkey and I have decided must be the source of my rash. You got it, once in awhile I found myself napping on Monkey's new pillow. I toss my hair up over the top of the pillow, exposing my neck, lay on my side, exposing my face and ear and sandwich the lower outside corner of the pillow between my forearms. Two nights ago when I was slipping into unconsciousness I was wondering if I should drape a towel or something over my pillow because everywhere I was rashed was touching.. the .... pillow....

Cue cartoon light bulb icon above my head.

We ran it through the wash last night hoping that it was whatever industrial detergent they used to wash it with at the factory before it was shipped. I'll let you know.

Our new babies, the fruits of my...

Yard. We're now the proud parents of baby fruit. Peaches, cherries, and apples. Possibly the grapes, blackberries and blueberries as well but I was still in my nightie when I ran out to scoop these up for this pic:

Beautiful, aren't they? I couldn't be more proud! :)

On a side, only peripherally related note, I'll give big imaginary bonus points to anyone who can guess what this is that came from our yard:

and here's an end shot:

and last but not least

I even love your stink

You know it's true love when you're sleepily waking up to your honey scooting close to you to snuggle, you lazily crack open your eyes expecting to see the face you want to spend the rest of your life waking up to only to find your nose smack dab in his hairy arm pit and all you can do is burst out with a full out belly laugh.

Should I cry or scream? Aka May the Begging Begin!

2006-05-24T10:19:00.000-04:00

I've been trying to find a problem in some CSS coding that I'm working on (new blog design) for over a week and I just can't find it. I've run it through two analyzers and they come up with nothing. The problem? The page is only scrolling just so far, which isn't very far at all (about 2 short posts worth) and then stops no matter how many posts are below that point. It's driving me insane. I know it's just got to be something I'm over looking, something that as my eye skims the code it just jumps right over. But for the life of me I can't find it.

If you or anyone you know is versed in CSS and are willing to take a look I'd be forever in your debt. Just leave any contact info in a comment to this post and I'll email asap.

Self Portrait Challenge - Introduce Yourself, Week 4

2006-05-23T15:38:00.000-04:00

The UN-Pack Rat

Since there's really no way in hell I'm going to take a picture of myself today, with rash still covering my neck and face, I went in search of a picture of me that could say something about me. This is what I found. What it says isn't apparent to any of you, so I'm going to tell you about myself and then why the photo says that.

If I had a "List of 100 things" it would most definitely contain that I've never lived anywhere longer than 3 years. I changed schools 13 times before I graduated high-school, which believe it or not, I graduated with a 3.8 from. It wasn't because I was a bad kid, or an army brat. It was simply that my family moved a lot due to various circumstances. My mother's three divorces, various job changes and promotions of those perspective husbands, cheaper rent.

After I moved out on my own, my nomadic lifestyle continued. In with these friends, out with this friend, here with this boyfriend, here on my own. Half of the time it felt like I wasn't even done unpacking before I was packing up again. This is probably why I'm so neurotic about the placement of various things within whatever house I'm living in - simply so I can make sure I can find them... If they're not there, then they're probably packed up somewhere. At least that's what my sub-conscious thinks more than likely.

Growing up that way, to many, might seem like it would be hard on a kid. The fact of the matter is that I wouldn't know. It's what I knew. It's all that I knew. And to be perfectly honest, I'm actually glad that I got to experience so many different places. Country and city, small town and big. I've gone to school down the street from auto plants and next door to pig farms. I've lived mere miles from a state wild life preserve and from a Six Flags Amusement Park. All of it has given me a larger understanding of how different each and every place is. How unique each city is, and how each area operates on it's own mechanics. Dialect and dress, pastimes and pressure. They're all different from place to place. And somewhere in all of that diversity I was able to come up with a much better picture of who I was, and who I am now. Most importantly I grew up with a much larger real understanding of the challenges we all go through. How hardships differ from place to place, yet there are always still hardships. How to enjoy diversity amongst people, learn from it, grow from it, and become a better person myself, rather than fear it, judge it or look down upon it.

Through all of the moves the one habit I have that I will always have is that I am NOT a pack rat. I don't have the corsage that I wore to prom. I don't have my wedding dress from a decade ago. I have exactly one year book and one journal from my teenage years. I have ONE photo album of my teenage friends. I have one set of dishes, one set of silverware. If I haven't used it in the last 6 months I throw it out with very small exceptions, which include:

3 Quilts my grandmother made before she passed away.
A set of china that belonged to my grandfather before he passed away.
A photo album of the only "family vacation" I took as a kid. I have this only because we took my grandmother.
Various pieces of inherited jewelry.
Assorted backdrops and lights from my aspiring photography days.
My teddy bear and Bangle collection

Other than those things, I have clothes and holiday decorations and that's pretty much it. I don't keep junk around thinking "I might use this someday" or "someday this might be valuable." I'm forever hounding Monkey to throw out the bajillion computer parts he keeps as spares, until, of course, he makes $200 selling them on ebay.

Now - how does the above picture tell this story one might ask. The answer is simple. I love the picture. I took it two or three months ago when the snow was melting off the ground. But I only kept the size you see above. I didn't keep the original size because I never intended to use it for anything other than a blog profile pic. If I'm not going to use it, even I get tossed. So allow me to introduce myself, the UN-pack Rat.

Fate, I know thy name! Or.. I dahda towd

2006-05-22T10:48:00.000-04:00

I was suppose to go up to see my family, and more specifically my Daddy this weekend. I was suppose to see my sister for the first time in 20+ years. I was suppose to smother Muffinest with pink lipstick kiss marks. But I didn't.

Monkey only gets one out of every four weekends off, so trips home are somewhat carefully orchestrated. Not the time that we're there, per say, but more just going. I make sure that I will be able to see as many of the people I love as I can. My Tover's family, my Dad, my (step) Mom, my Grandma and Grandpa.. You get the point. This weekend my Dad specifically asked if I could come up and see him, so the whole trip was sort of about him. There were only 2 other "people" I really wanted to make sure I saw. Niki and my Tover's family, specifically da Muffinest who looks like she's growing way too fast for Auntie JJ's liking ;)

Unfortunately my Dad had forgotten that he had asked us up and scheduled gigs and would essentially not be around all weekend. He asked if we could come up in another couple of weeks. Monkey would have to switch with someone but it shouldn't be a huge problem. But I so wanted to see my Sister and my Tover's family. I downheartedly made the call to my Sister to inform her I wouldn't be coming up for another two weeks. She was very understanding about it, but I could tell she was bummed. I was too. Until the next morning.

Friday morning came like Friday morning's do. Parker wakes us up when his voice comes over the monitor, either playing with Raul or crying to be let down out of his crib. When I cracked my eye open I noticed I was itching my wrist. Then I noticed, when I moved my hand away, there was a blotchy rash that looked a little like Poison Ivy. Oh great. So I placed a HUGE band aid on it so that it wouldn't inadvertently touch Parker or anything Parker touched, washed my hands and got him up for the day. By the end of the day, however, there was no band aid big enough. The rash now covers my face, neck, some of my chest and both arms. When I say cover, I do mean cover. Front to back, top to bottom. Even my ears have rash on them. Needless to say this is NOT how I want my long lost sister to see me for the first time in 20 years, with creeping crud all over my face.

Since Monkey switched his NEXT weekend off to get the first week in June off, he still had this weekend off. A small town about a half an hour drive from here was having a "community" garage sale so we headed out there after my morning nap. *Sniffle* We had a blast *sniff* for the most part. After a few hours of walking around, however *sniiiiff* we were ready to come home. Monkey was suffering from a bad stomach and *sniff* I was starting to feel cold and achy, probably from walking around all morning because that tends to happen when I do too much. *Sniff* or NOT. By the time Sunday morning rolled around I had a full blown head and chest cold. Coughing, blowing my stuffy nose, I slept most of the day while Monkey angelically took care of Parker and Lou kept his noise level down.

So here I am, rash covering my face, snot dripping out of my nose, eye crusties gooing up my vision. I'm truly a sight to behold. Not to mention that mother nature decided to NOT postpone her monthly visit for a week this weekend, so you can add bloated and crampy to that list. While I really and truly and desperately want to see my Sister, I want to give Fate a big, cootie free hug for bringing things together in such a way as to keep the monstrosity that I am this weekend away from her. Thanks Fate, I owe ya one. ;)

Be Afraid...

2006-05-21T12:31:00.000-04:00

So my boss sells a lot of stuff on ebay... not like... hundreds of things a day but a decent amount... So a few days ago he gets a message from someone asking if they can fax their drivers license and credit card to him instead of using paypal... no biggie... we're a retail shop so we take credit cards all the time...
About 20 minutes later we get a fax thats all blank pages except they say "DHS" at the top... ok dude doesn't know how to send a fax and works for "DHS" whoever that is... we get an email a few hours later from the guy asking if we ever got his fax...
His signature on his email said Mr. so and so, Department of Homeland Security...
The people in charge of our protection don't know how to send a fax...
Be afraid...

Ten D Things

2006-05-18T11:48:00.000-04:00

My Sister-In-Law tagged me with D and I'm too tired to come up with anything interesting or witty on my own right now so here goes

Diapers - For the last 3 or 4 days, Parker's been waking up with diapers that are absolutely soaking. I don't mean "boy these are really wet" diapers, I mean the kind of diapers that have soaked through the diaper, through his jammy pants and even a bit of his blanket. It's very odd since the amount of liquid he's consumed hasn't increased, nor has the time between diaper changes. I've also noticed the pudginess of his hands has decreased a bit and I'm wondering if he's just dumping a ton of water weight and if so, why? And why only while he's sleeping? His after-nap diapers are more wet than usual, too.

Dreams - Along with the prison break/coding dream I've been having some pretty strange dreams lately. The kind of dreams one has while sporting a fever and taking some sort of codeine laced cough syrup, which I'm not. For instance I just woke from my afternoon nap having a dream about catching a beautiful blue and black butterfly that, at first, turned into a little human girl with short black hair that sparkled like there was glitter in it, then into a semi-adult male that ate all of the shrimp my mom had hanging on the clothesline for dinner. Yeah, I know - the weirdest thing about the dream AFTER waking up was not that a butterfly turned into a human, which is actually kinda cool, but that my mom was hanging shrimp on a clothesline. I've also had a dream about living in a farm house in the middle of nowhere with the girls I use to be a nanny for that had baby peacocks the size of chicks running around everywhere. I had 3 cats in the dream (the two I have now and the one Betty had when we lived together) and was worried they would eat the baby peacocks. Although in real life none of the cats are related or look similar, in my dream the two I have now looked identical. I could go on, but trust me, just really strange dreams.

Dining Table - I just realized the other day that my eldest son has only lived in a house that sported a dining table for 3 of his 14 years. Well, that's not true, we had a dining table before we moved to Toledo but we stopped eating at it once one of the chairs cracked under the weight of a normal size person sitting on it. It was my grandmother's table set and it was in pretty rough shape. I still own the table and still dream of refinishing it once we have a place that has a formal dining room. Currently we're eating at a card table lent to us by Monkey's parents because the dining table we picked out wouldn't fit where we wanted to put it so we canceled the order and now are stuck because we need a whole different kind of wood finish than we had planned on. But for most of his life Lou has eaten Japanese style at a beautiful marble top coffee table that sits really low and is perfectly square that I happened upon. Some day I'm going to refinish that, too. :D

Come to think of it, I didn't eat at a dining table much growing up either. We ate in the living room on TV trays.

Drips - It's been raining since Mother's Day here. Big, fat drips that SPLAT!! when they fall. The ground's so soggy Monkey can't mow the lawn and Parker can't go out to play. Every day he brings me my hat or my purse or a shoe belonging to him or myself. Every day I have to listen to him fuss while his cabin fever takes control. I'd take him out in it but it's also pretty chilly. So instead I catch him reorganizing my kitchen cupboards.

Dog - For some odd reason dogs have been a peripheral part of my life lately. My mother's dog is now a happy member of my Tover's family. My mom (step) had to have her Yorkie, Teddy, sniped instead of studding him out like she intended because he wouldn't quit peeing on her refrigerator. This completely crushed my dreams of owning Teddy's offspring and naming her "Bear." If you would have asked me a month ago I would have told you I was pretty apprehensive about my in-law's dog, Louie, being around Parker. He's old and doesn't understand babies and can get grumbly and has even tried to nip a little. But the last time we were there Louie put me at complete and total ease when Parker essentially was laying on him and Louie just grumbled. If he was going to ever bite Parker it would have been then and he didn't even try. He just grouched a bit, and who wouldn't? Someone your same size just comes and lays on you, uninvited. Parker still has yet to learn that cuddling things SMALLER than you means gently petting them, not laying on them like he does on mommy and daddy when he cuddles.

Dancers - No not the topless kind (although that's what my mother-in-law thought Monkey meant when he told her I "use to be a dancer")! When I was pregnant with Parker I realized how long it's been since I went out dancing. Nothing says "I am so UN-hip that I make the bible belt look like Paris" like dancing the drunken white girl dance while sober, 8 months pregnant and dancing with your mom in a bar while your dad plays drums to "When Josie Comes Home." I'm surprised Monkey didn't run screaming from the place. But then again, he witnesses me doing stupid little dances all day long.. The "happy ice cream" dance, the "I'm going to see my family" dance, the "Parker's got a yard" dance. You get the point. Dancing is still part of who I am, but it's no where near ALL that I am. I guess it was fate that I injured my ankle in high school and my dreams of becoming a choreographer were pretty much crushed because to make anything of yourself as a dancer that's WHAT and WHO you are, in your entirety. I am so much more eclectic.

Dora - Lou wanted me to put this one - said I HAD to... Because the only imitations I can do on demand (and I do them really well actually) are voices from children's shows, including "Swiper" from Dora the Explorer. I do Swiper from Dora, Blue from Blue's Clues, and a couple of others. I can also do Chris from Family Guy but not on demand. I'll have to post an audio file of me doing them for you sometime. I'm quite proud. I'm sure my mommy and daddy are, too.

Dark Age of Camelot - Ok for those that aren't officially nerds, let me explain that Dark Age of Camelot, or DAoC, doesn't have anything to do with Sean Connery, or renaissance festivals. It's actually a MMORPG... Or Massively Multi-player Online Role Playing Game. The "role playing" part really has so very little to do with these kinds of games anymore that gamers have come to call them just MMO's. Think of a video game that you can play with literally hundreds of people at the same time. With or against them. DAoC was the first of it's kind really. But it's not why I write about it here. I write about it because DAoC gave me my life. And, quite literally, Parker's. I played DAoC for about three years total. One year before I met Monkey while playing and two years after. Yep - I met the love of my life and the father of my child in a video game. I was the leader of a huge guild (sort of like a club) and some friends of mine that were in my guild asked if she could join. You read that right, when I first met Monkey I thought he was a girl. Lest you question his preferences, a LOT of male MMO players pick female characters to play. The reasons vary from "Norse chicks are hot" to "People give female characters free stuff" to "It's as far away from who I am in real life as I can get." to "All the male characters run really dumb." And most do it for a combination of these reasons. Regardless, he and I became really good friends even though I still thought he was a girl. It was when I started to crush on him hard that I figured out he must be a guy. I was right, thank God, and that, combined with the facts that he was single and only lived an hour from me and four years later and you have Parker. :)

Doors - To close my bedroom door all I need to do is yell out "My door is closed." It would be really super cool, sort of like house of the future voice command, except for one thing. My bedroom door is invisible. As in, it doesn't exist. When I yell out "my door is closed" that's simply my way of telling my eldest that I'm changing and to not come into my room or into the part of the kitchen that adjoins my room. This, despite the fact that there ARE four OTHER doors, not including closet doors, in my room. Yes, my room has a door to the front yard, a door to the back yard, a door to the laundry room and a door to our private bath, but it has no door to the rest of the house. Needless to say, closing the door this way doesn't always work when you're talking to a 14 year old listening to System of a Down on his Ipod and we'll be hanging a REAL door very very soon.

Downy - After about the first three months that we lived in the apartments that we moved to here from, we had un-softened clothes. This was because the laundry room was in the basement and we were on the third floor, unable to hear when the washer would go into spin cycle. For awhile we tried using a Downy ball, which I had been using for years previous anyway, but they kept getting stolen. That's right - if you left your laundry in the washer for even 20 minutes after it had been finished, your clothes would end up in a soggy, wet pile on top of a filthy folding table (unless your basket was by the washer, then they would be tossed into that at least) and your Downy ball would be missing. Unfortunately after we stopped using Downy balls we still had two nearly full bottles of fabric softener, which we kept. The first load of laundry I did here in our new house I was excited beyond belief to be grabbing for one of those two bottles... and ... *glump* promptly learned that if left for over two years, Downy dehydrates and turns into concentrated fabric softener sludge that has yet to be reconstituted properly.. I keep adding water and shaking the shit out of it but all it seems to do is make the glumps into lumps. Watery glumpy lumps then stick to your clothes and you have to wash them twice. But I'm not giving in! I will be victorious! For this is not just a war against scratchy laundry! Or against glumpy lumpy fabric softener! This is a war against ball stealers everywhere!

There you have it, my list of 10 D things. Whew, and I thought this post would be easy. o.O If you'd like to be tagged for it, just let me know and you'll get whatever letter Parker eats last in a handful of Alphabits.

Prison Break Brown

2006-05-16T10:39:00.000-04:00

So ever since I started this blog I've taken it upon myself to learn CSS. Mind you I can only do this for about 10 minutes at a time between the baby, laundry, my flair, naps, lunches, snacks, dinners, homework, mopping, and so on. But I'm getting there.

Believe you me, it's long over due considering I use to make a pretty decent living building websites for people. Although I use to be in charge of the graphics and layout, and the coding was left up to my partner, I still had to have a pretty good knowledge of what could be done (read: html.) Learning code comes pretty easy to me except for the fact that I find IT SO BORING! Well, usually anyway. This CSS stuff I'm not bored with at all. In fact, I'm designing websites even in my sleep!

Yesterday morning's conversation between Monkey and I when I first woke up:

Me: Ok now I'm designing websites in my sleep.

Monkey: In your sleep? You mean instead of actually sleeping?

Me: No I mean WHILE I'm sleeping - all night long I was coding the new look for our blog.

Monkey: Heh, you sure you weren't just doing it instead of sleeping?

Me: Well considering I was in prison and trying to decide what shade of brown I liked best on one window and planning a prison break in another... yes, I'm pretty sure.

Monkey: Oh. Well how'd the website turn out?

Me: I'll let you know as soon as I can figure out how to get past the tower guards.

If your children eat McDonald's... McDonald's will eat your children...

2006-05-14T23:06:00.000-04:00

One of the biggest problems (pun intended) in our country right now is obesity.

So I'm at a customers house a few days ago and saw not one, but TWO "Get in Shape" DVD's (btw you'll look just like the girl on the cover if you work out 15 minutes a day and eat McDonald's for breakfast, lunch, and dinner) from McDonald's... and I thought... "There's something seriously wrong with someone if their first step to getting in shape is buying the value meal at McD's to get the free 15 minute workout DVD. "

I'm sure McDonalds' big plan for giving these out is to help people get in shape as well... That's why they still use partially hydrogenated oil's in there fryers. ::roll eyes::

If we ever plan on fixing the obesity problem in this country we should probably start with NOT eating at McDonald's :P

Not my mother

2006-05-14T22:44:00.000-04:00

On almost every blog in my favorites folder there's a post regarding Mother's Day. Some have wonderful mothers and pay tribute to them, some celebrate the other mothers they know through blogging, some give thanks for being blessed with children. Now that I have the chance to breath, today, for my Mother's Day blog post, I'm going to write about two women who have shown me love and support and comfort and acceptance, encouragement and courage. Two women who are not my mother. They are my sister and my sister-in-law.

Some twentyish years ago I saw my sister for the last time that I've seen her. Forces were what they were, history was what it was, and we were torn apart. I heard from her years later through a letter once shortly after I had my first son but I was so intimidated by the fact that she was attending college and I had not I foolishly ran away from the opportunity to get to know her better then. Thank God she never held that against me.

Nikki came back into my life through this very medium - on the blog I had immediately proceeding this one, As Crazy As it Sounds. She left a message on a post regarding a Self Portrait Tuesday image and story I had posted and I didn't even have any idea that it was her. I read the reply, found it very interesting and got side tracked with a few life changes before I could answer. A few days later my Tover and I were talking on the phone and he told me she had left a comment. My life, and who I am, have been forever changed since.

The more I get to know her the more of a kindred spirit she feels to me. I mean let's face it, 20ish years is a long time to create a whole different person. She could have ended up a Mennonite or an undercover spy and we would have exactly zero in common. Or I could have. But neither of us did and here we are, decades later, finding all of the things we DO have in common while finding enough that we don't have in common to crave getting to know each other more. At least I am.

If you're not a spiritual person than you should probably skip the next paragraph. If you don't, then just know you've been warned. But I truly believe God brought her into my life again right now. She has been the soft hand on my shoulder, tenderly saying "I am here for you" during one of the hardest six month periods of my life. She has been the gentle soul that cares enough to be there, despite her own tribulations, and loves enough to understand when I'm feeling a bit withdrawn from the world. She's corny (her words) enough to make me laugh and silly enough to get my jokes. She's just as weird as I am and I love her in all her glorious wonder and amazing light. She knows what a chocolate pie day is and she says words like "swoon" in every day use. I love her, every bit of her, and I am thankful that I now have had a second chance at getting to know her. She's a mother, a friend, a beauty, a free spirit, a caring hug, and most importantly, she's my sister. I am truly blessed to be able to call her that.

Oddly enough not long after I last saw my real sister I met the woman that would become my sister-in-law. I have to admit I didn't get to know her well at first. She was raised very differently than I was and being young and prone to the selfishness that the young are prone to, I sort of just let her and my Tover go about their lives together while I went about mine.

I got to know her a bit better when my first son was born. Strong and smart, candid yet caring, I "got" who she was right away. Or at least I think I did. I've never seen her cry yet have no doubt that she can, I've never heard her scream but have no doubt that it'd be intimidating, I've never seen her break down though I know she's gone through some pretty damned scary and emotionally hard times. She's the kind of woman that makes you want to BE a better, stronger woman. She's a pint sized powerhouse and my Tover is lucky to have her.

Through the years life has brought us together. I was actually her back-up coach for her first son and had she not been whisked away for an unscheduled C-section I'm sure I would have ended up being the ONLY coach since my brother almost passed out just from them giving her an epidural. She held my hand while I was on the phone with my first husband trying to get him to tell me where he had stolen my child off to when I told him I wanted a divorce and she was my sanity when I almost went insane from boredom when I was ordered to bed rest for the last 6 weeks of my pregnancy for my second son. She's also my "go to" lady when I want to know about a new product on the market, especially anything made by Swiffer ;)

When I have new and exciting news, it's her I call, it's her I share it with. When I want an honest opinion, it's her I call, it's her that I ask. When it's a fighter in my corner that I'm looking for, it's her I know I can depend on. When it's a name someone's looking for when they ask who my best friend is, it's hers that comes from my mouth. She's her own person, like her or leave her, and she's EXACTLY the way I love her.

So to both of my sisters, I love you. Happy Mother's Day.

As for my own Mother's Day - I got THE BEST present in the entire history of the world. My 17 month old baby said his first "real" word today - meaning he said his first word and knew what it meant and wasn't just imitating. He said "Mama."

If you love something, set it free.

2006-05-13T13:45:00.000-04:00

One of the things my family likes to do when we get together is to tell stories of my childhood. The type of story always depends on who's present. If Monkey's around or anyone else that wasn't diapered by these crazies, they're bombarded with funny stories about how I told my Grandma to "cool (her) jets" when I was 3 and she was angry at my dad or how I added a whole 6 months to my age when I met some cool girls down at the swimming pond behind my grandparent's house. Or how I told my grandpa "right after Grandpa Season" when he asked me when (hunting) cat season opened. As these stories are recalled you'll find me off to the side with a playful roll of the eyes and a mischievous smile.

When it's just my Dad and I, however, the stories are always of the things I did when I was little that endeared me to him. Like the way I use to watch him shave every day because I was so concerned for his safety or how I colored pictures of flowers and rainbows all over his new drum heads that he had to play on for two months before we could afford to replace them and by the time we could he wanted to keep them anyway. Of how the first time he came home from an out of town gig with his drums in their brand new leather cases he found me dragging them along the sidewalk into the house, scuffing them to all hell and gone, because I was too little to carry them but I wanted my Daddy home. All the while you'll see me cuddled up to my Daddy, with my eyes closed, a soft smile on my face, remembering those times - and selfishly not sharing the memories of him that endeared him to me.

I don't know why I don't share them. Why I don't tell my dad how I use to look at him in awe as he lovingly polished his set or how I use to love riding on my dad's calves as he walked around the house or laid on his stomach on the floor bringing his feet to 90⁰ not just because it was fun but because it was a guaranteed hug I could give to my dad that lasted well after a real hug would have. I've never told him that I use to lay underneath the coffee table until he came home from work where he would kiss me because I was playing I was Snow White or Sleeping Beauty and he was my Knight in Shining Armor. I don't know why I don't share them. I know it's not because I don't want him to know. I adore him with all of my heart and I hope he knows there's nothing I wouldn't do for him. I'm a "Daddy's girl" through and through - but not because he spoiled me, we were just too broke. I'm a "daddy's girl" in that my eyes light up when my dad's around, my heart fills with happiness and my soul with laughter. I keep these memories of him as close to my heart as I do my child's first word, but I'm fiercely more protective of them. I keep them in the fear that sharing them will somehow set them free and by doing that they won't be mine anymore. That somehow, with time, they will begin to fade, be mis-remembered, or even forgotten. However, knowing how loved it makes me feel when he recalls memories of me I now realize how much of an injustice it is that he doesn't get to have the same in return.

We're going up to visit my family on the weekend of the 20th. I've shared some of these stories here now with you but I will share them all then with him.

Addiction Brings the Death of Prairie JJ

2006-05-12T08:58:00.000-04:00

Being a long time sufferer of insomnia I've come up with a few "inventive" ways to try to quiet my mind for the day while laying in bed. I draw the most elaborate numbers I can from 100 to 1 on my bed sheet with my finger, I spend lotto winnings, I design and build buildings, I decide what I would do if I had a time machine that could take me back to the old west. Sometimes it works but sometimes I end up realizing I'm having too much fun to fall asleep. The last is one of my favorites because what I actually do is try to decide which inventions would be best to take back to that age and how I would make a living as a fairly independent woman being transported to a time before women's suffrage. What comforts of today I would have to live without really was never much of a concern as long as I could have the most important element in my day to day life besides my family, coffee.

So on my fantasy would play. I would shock everyone by taking daily baths and how nice my skin and hair would look because I would know secrets to keeping them healthy with avocados and mayonnaise. How I would help medicine by helping to debunk many of the wives tales "doctors" relied on for diagnosis and treatment. How fresh and unprocessed the food would be.

Five days ago something happened that will forevermore keep me from being Prairie JJ. Something so drastic that I realize I have a problem, an addiction. Something that made me realize how frail and weak and dependant I have become to this thing, this control over my life.

...

...

Our microwave broke. Monkey found me shivering in a ball in the corner.

Commandments of giving blood...

2006-05-11T00:16:00.000-04:00

I gave blood on Tuesday... Every time I do I feel like I'm going to Confessional... Forgive me father for I have sinned... it's been 6 months since my last donation...

Then they start asking all the questions... "Next question sir... have you had sex with a dead drug addicted Mexican hooker while getting a skin graft in the UK since 1986?"

The other thing I love is the sticker they give you to put on the blood bag while they're "not looking" with the bar code on it... one sticker tells them to use the blood and one tells them to throw it away... why the heck am I here sticking a pencil in my arm just so you can throw it away???

Oh and Chris Daughtry getting voted off American Idol is crap ><

The Electric Amish

2006-05-09T20:16:00.000-04:00

Seriously though... since when did the Amish discover the internet? If you search amazon.com for dinette sets there's over 400 made by the Amish! Did I miss something? Have the Amish arisen from their humble roots to take over our world?

Don't mind me, I'm just having another emotional breakdown

2006-05-08T23:28:00.000-04:00

First of all, welcome to the first draft of Java Junkie and The Monkey. I can't promise this is where we'll end up for good because I'm still trying to get Monkey to agree to let me register our own domain so that I can host our own blog. After having my own web dev business for 5 years I'm just neurotic about being able to do what I want, how I want, where I want. Simply put, I'm a web site control freak :D But more than likely this is where we'll still be long from now and far from here.

I can only imagine the impression I've given those of you that have only met me through blogging. For about the last 2 months on my most recent blog, As Crazy as it Sounds I've done a fair amount of pouting, complaining, ranting, and whining. Mind you there were some fun moments in there as well but by and large much more drama than I really am accustom to. And here I am again to add yet another post that literally hurts my chest, physically and emotionally, to write.

I debated whether or not to write something at all for a couple days. I kept going back to the fact that I wasn't even sure my Tover knew so I didn't want to write it in fear that he would find out this horrid news that I learned last Wednesday through a blog. Last night, however, I spoke to him and found out that he did, indeed, know. And now I write in hopes to better be able to cope with what I need to. To find courage somehow through typing out all of the crippling emotions out here. A blind hope that somewhere, some magic word, some post, hitting "publish" - will somehow give me the strength that I need for myself - and for others.

Wednesday while I was out spending 3 hours being x-rayed and poked and prodded at a Rheumatologist's office to be told that yes, I did indeed have CFIDS but there was nothing he could do for me, my Daddy left a message on our answering machine saying that he was living up to his promise and that he had a "bit of bad news, nothing earth shattering" that he wanted to tell me about. I called him as soon as I heard the message only to play phone tag with him. He called me back within minutes.

Someone kicked my knees out from under me... And then they hit me with a 2x4 across the back, skillfully removing all air from my chest and paralyzing my heart in a vice in one instant motion. Even now, almost a week later, as I type this, words cannot describe the fear, the pain, the anger, the irrationality I feel as I think of the words he said to me. "My last PET scan showed two dark spots on my lungs."

Awhile ago I had listed my dad's 5th year anniversary surviving stage 4 lymphatic cancer as one of the top 10 moments in my life. In marriage the 50th anniversary is the "big" one.. With cancer, it's the 5th. After surviving cancer without relapse for 5 years the patient's chances of having a relapse drops drastically and their chances of living a full and normal life span increases to 90% or better, depending on the cancer. Now that date, that moment, that number, just seems so unreal to me. Not SURreal. Unreal. Inconsequential. Five and a half years after my dad's cancer was removed, along with most of the muscle from his left ear down to his left shoulder and the nerves that control the left side of his tongue and he was radiated and chemo'ed until he lost all his teeth, 80 lbs, contracted a permanent systemic staph infection that at times renders him essentially quarantined from children and elderly, his thyroid became almost unmanageable, and he can no longer eat most solid foods, they have now retracted that percentage and thrown in a big, pile of "too fucking bad" to flush it down the toilet with.

He tells me that there is a 20% error rate on PET scans, and that they'll be doing 2 CAT scans within the next week to cross check. He tells me that if it IS cancer, that it's actually GOOD that it's in his lungs and not in his neck where it was originally because they wouldn't be able to treat it at ALL there. He tries to encourage my spirits by reminding me that there wasn't anything on his last PET scan 3 months ago and so if it IS cancer they caught it early. But all I can hear is "My last PET scan showed two dark spots on my lungs" "two dark spots on my lungs" "on my lungs."

Every minute, every single second that it enters my mind, which is about 389 thousand times an hour, I pray "Please don't take my Daddy away from me, God. Please let my Daddy be ok." And that's all I can find the strength to do before I have to wipe tears from my eyes, try to find at least some of the breath that 2x4 knocked out of me again, and go read Mr. Brown Can Moo for the 10th time that day.