The $5.00 swear jar

Text from Boy #2: Would you guys try really hard not to swear when we come over Sunday?
My text back: Did you swear in front of my grandson?
Boy #2: Yes.
Me: I'm on it.
I proceeded to inform the husband, Boy #1 and Boy #3 that there will be no swearing in the house from the minute my precious 2-1/2 year old grandbaby steps over our threshold to the minute he steps out. And we mulled it over for about half a day then reconvened to discuss our options.
I brought up practicing saying fudge, shoot and heck. Boy #1 said,
"I'm not saying fudge."
I responded,
"I have duct tape."
The husband came up with a brilliant plan,
"Let's make this interesting. We all put $5.00 in and whoever doesn't swear gets the $20.00."
We all agreed.
Sunday rolls around and we tell Boy #2 and Daughter-in-Law #2 about our plan and the money riding on it. This proved later to be a huge mistake. Because Boy #2 is the master of mayhem and has a level of high jinx most of us can only dream of. Long story short, he baited us. Boy #1 was out within the first hour. The husband lasted two hours. It was down to Boy #3 and me. Boy #3 has always chosen his words wisely. He guards them with care being the youngest of three boys, he learned at a young age to be careful what he said or he would be made fun of, mercilessly.
The day turned to early evening and I was starting to clean up. With my hands full I ask Boy #2 to help me,
"Just move that over so I can set this down."
He proceeded to move it and move it back. Then move it and move it back again, several times until I said,
"God damn.....it."
 His eyes danced around evilly, grinning from ear to ear,
"I got you. Ha! Gotcha."
Boy #3 exclaims,
"Mom swore? Did mom swear? I won!"
"But....I....wait a minute.......he baited me."

WHAT IS IT?

What the hell is that? I put the dog out this morning and noticed my light post was more crooked than usual. So I tried to fix it. It looks like hell. I thought there was a leaf on it so I grabbed it and it moved. I shit you not.

Look at it. What is it? Some kind of moth? Will it kill me? Just what fly's around my neighborhood in the middle of the night? If I saw that flying towards me I'd pee myself.
My first attempt to remove it from my light post was a failure. It's feet or claws were stuck. So already having touched it once, I took a step back to figure out this dilemma. If it falls it would be within the dogs reach and she would eat it, no question about that. Removing it would mean carrying it beyond her reach and touching it again. I was creeped out. What if it's poisonous? But it's white and fuzzy underneath. How bad can white and fuzzy be?
No choice, I took a hold of it's leaf wing and flung it in the air thinking it would fly away. Instead it plummeted to the ground. Son of a bitch. The dog could still get it. I touched it a third time and moved it to the other side of the driveway, in the grass. But it was in the sun. I then moved it under the truck in the shade. Four times I touched this thing so I am concerned as to it's origin.
Now I'm wondering if it needs water. WTF is wrong with me? I have to go check on it.
Holy crap it's gone. What a little trooper. Unless something ate it. I either saved it or feed something. And yes, I washed my hands with industrial cleaner.

Hey it's raining and I'm not complaining

Northeast Ohio is in need of a good rain. Today the heavens opened up and poured down on us. But it waited for me to bring in my groceries with the help of Boy #1.
The thunder came first, off in the distance. Growing closer with each grocery bag we grabbed. The high winds were next but we only felt a couple drops by the time we unloaded the car with this weeks provisions. We felt a sense of accomplishment, Boy #1 and I did. He told me,
"I'm taking a nap, this is good sleeping weather."
And I said,
"Just listen for the crackle of broken tree limbs."
And I pointed outside his window,
"Because your dad and I are a little concerned that the dead limb on top of that tree is going to come down. Sweet dreams."
I went to the kitchen to put away my stuff and things. I had to stop one time because my flower stand on the front porch blew over. Wow, thinking to myself, it's really windy and the rain is going sideways, we needed this.
With the grocery's put away it was time for me to sit and relax with my mocha. The one I stopped for on my way home. The one whose taste still languished on my taste buds. The one I got for free because I had 6 stamps on my card. The one that was still in the car.
I said some bad words and looked at my car with my hands in my hips. Mocha has a firm grasp on my life, there was no question about it, I was going out there. I have a large umbrella I use to use for the boys ball games, I was sure it would be sufficient for a quick run down the steps and opening my car door for that delicious brew.
I made a quick mental plan, I have to do that or I will trip on my own feet, and I opened the door. The insufficient umbrella almost flew out of my hands. Had I been the weight that I was before my hormonal imbalance I might have flown away, so yay menopause. Reaching the car I fumbled with the umbrella, which was sideways, and the car door. I decided it was better to be soaking wet than spill my mocha. I was swearing like a drunken sailor by the time I skipped up the steps because another flower pot was blown over. My hands were kind of full and that flower pot waited there for me to save it. I said the eff word. Don't tell my mom.
Once in the house, soaking wet, mocha in hand, umbrella secure, I took a sip of my uncontrollable addiction. It was worth it.

Along Came a Spider

Dangling from my shower ceiling a Daddy Long Legs decided to scare the living crap out of me just as I started washing my hair. Panic set in immediately. My first thought,
"This is going to be a great blog post if I get out of this alive."
I cupped my hands trying to collect enough water to throw at it. Which was somewhat effective as it was hit by a few drops and scurried back up to the ceiling. But still in the shower with me and my time was running out as the shampoo suds started to impair my vision. With one hand I wiped my eyes and the other trying to direct water towards the perv spider, I managed to get it to crawl past the shower curtain perimeter.
I finished washing my hair while watching the creature slowly make its way along the corner where the ceiling and wall meet. Never closing my eyes, they are blood shot at the moment and they sting. I might go blind but I never took my eyes off him.
Then he stopped and hung right above my towel.
"Oh, it's on now you bastard. Land on my towel and I will get right out of this shower and spray you with hairspray."
He must have understood me because he scurried back up and continued along the wall. Without the aid of my contacts or glasses he started to blur or I was really going blind. Whatever it was, I couldn't see him anymore, which was a little unsettling.
The rest of my shower was quick and I never closed my eyes, this could explain why they are swollen and red. I shook out my towel anyway because you can never be too careful. If fact I shook everything that could be shook in that bathroom except for the decorative towels on the towel rack that falls down if you touch it. No spider, can't find him. I was going to spray him with hairspray anyway. Yes I lied to him. So now instead, I have to burn the house down after I'm done writing this.

OMG! I'm blogging!

Explaining my absence from blogging will take too long. Let's just say I got side tracked volunteering my time and I'm technically challenged.
Now that being said, here is why I'm a moron.
Innocently sitting around on a Sunday afternoon doing nothing and when I say doing nothing, I was doing it better than anyone in the house which is why, I suppose, I was picked by Boy #3 to 'just sit in his truck and pump the brakes'. And it was only going to take a 'half hour tops'.
The kid was doing a brake job on his truck and needed to bleed the brake line. So I was told to pump the brakes three times and hold on the third. I didn't even have to put shoes on for this.
So I hear under the truck,
"Ready when you are mom."
"Okay. 1, 2, 3 hold."
"Again."
"1, 2, 3 hold."
"Again."
"1, 2, 3 hold."
"One more time."
"Okay. 1, 2, 3 hold."
"Now the other side."
"Okay."
So we did it again. The thing is that I wasn't told and had no idea that I was pumping air out of the brake line. When told to hold at 3 even though I felt the peddle give a little I held it in place. This is where problems started and tempers flared. The husband was involved now strictly for observation.
After a test drive Boy #3 returned and we had to do the 1, 2, 3 hold again. Which still didn't work because I was clueless. I had absolutely no idea I was inadvertently sabotaging my baby's effort.
After Boy #3 threw a few things around and was generally frustrated, the husband suggested to start fresh the next day since Boy #3 had the day off.
Day 2:
"Ready when you are mom."
"Okay. 1, 2, 3 hold."
"Again."
"1, 2, 3 hold."
"Again."
"1, 2, 3 hold."
"One more time."
"Okay. 1, 2, 3 hold."
"Now the other side."
"Okay. But let me ask you something."
"Yes."
"If I feel the brake give on the third time do I keep pushing it down?"
"Yes." And the 'yes' had a duh sound to it.
"I didn't do that yesterday."
The kid, who loves his mother with all his heart, looked at me sideways, rubbed his grungy hands over his face and said,
"That may have been the problem. Are you pushing the peddle down all the now?"
"Yes."
"Good."
The brakes were done in a half hour tops. Test drive successful. The husband filled in on the problem, me, and I will be teased about this starting around 6 pm this evening until the end of time.

An open love letter to Nyquil

My dearest Nyquil,
You wonderful, magical, green elixir of slumber juice. I love you. At the moment I felt the plague creep into my body I went to you, in my medicine cabinet. But alas, you were not there. I was a fool to think I could go on without you. But I did.
For days I suffered until I could take it no more. I searched for you in the personal care aisles of WalMart. There you were waiting for me. My trembling hand reached out to you and gently placed you in my shopping cart. We made to the checkout line and bells went off as my cashier swiped you. The fact that you must be 18 years old to take you home made you all the more alluring.
You are the only one that can set my snot on fire. You are the only one that can knock me on my ass in mid-sentence. You are the only non-narcotic drug for me. That night I slept, better than I had in days. Although I awoke in my neighbors back yard, I was fully rested. Thank you my darling Nyquil. We shall never part again.

Guess what's in the package

When I came home from shopping today I grabbed the mail. There was a package in there. Huh. I didn't remember ordering anything. I deduced that it had to be for Boy #3. I wrestled my mail, my cup of mocha, some of my groceries and said package into the house. Upon further investigation, actually looking at the recipient label, it had daughter-in-law #2's maiden name on it. Huh. She had lived here at one time so it wasn't a big surprise.
After unloading this weeks provisions, extra provisions, in case it never stops snowing, I called daughter-in-law #2. Boy #2 answered,
"Why are you calling my wife and not me? Don't you care about me anymore?"
My response,
"I do care about you, I love you. I just overlook you now because you harbor my beloved grandson and I received a package for your wife."
In the background I could hear grandson #1 babbling and cartoons on the TV. Boy #2 asked me,
"A package? What's in it?"
"Well it isn't see through and I didn't open it. But it's in an envelope."
"Who's it from?"
"Uhhh, it just says VS."
"B what?"
"V as in Victor, S as in Sam."
"C what?"
If you know this kid of mine, then you know this would have gone on forever but I nipped it in the bud,
"I know you're doing this on purpose, tell your wife I have a package over here."
I must have been on speaker because I heard daughter-in-law #2 ask,
"What's in it?"
Boy #2 asked me what it felt like. I really had no particular plans for the rest of the day so I played 'guess what's in the package'. I started to feel up the envelope,
"Okay, I want to say it's clothing because it's soft. But wait. There's a hard thing in there, like a wire. It's U-shaped. Oh there's another one. Could it be under-wire? I think it's a bra. It's a bra. There's a bra in this package."
And I heard daughter-in-law #2 say,
"Oh that's right, I remember ordering it now."
Boy #2 said,
"VS as in Victoria Secret?"
"Yep."
Who doesn't love a good mystery? I told boy #2,
"I'll have your brother drop it off after work one day this week."
"Yeah mom. Have my brother drop off my wife's bra."

Mo Fo No No Na Na Ha Ha Ho Ho Sue's Writing Challenge

I'm challenging myself, so writer friends, don't freak out. I haven't been writing. I could go into a whole litany of excuses but I will spare you.

The dog and I haven't been going on our morning walks for about 2 weeks now. I blame myself. I blamed the holidays, the rainy weather and my sinuses. Today we marched out the door.
Into the snow and ill equipped. It's just a light snow here in Northeast, Ohio, you can still see the grass poking through. So I wore my regular shoes. I found out they have no traction whatsoever. I pulled some muscles. Also, I inadvertently impaired my hearing and peripheral vision.
You have to bundle up when walking in the snow or you'll freeze your ass off. And speaking of asses. That homeless man on The Day After Tomorrow was right when he said to stuff your clothes with newspaper and plastic bags to keep warm. When the dog pooped and I took the plastic bag out of my back pocket, my right ass cheek felt an instant chill.
I also had a hood on, then wrapped a scarf around my neck, high enough to cover my mouth and flipped up my collar. This resulted in muffled hearing and the peripheral vision problem. So when a woman that lives in one of the condos behind my house said,
"Good morning."
My response was,
"Ahhhh!"
Didn't see her, didn't hear her coming. Didn't see the squirrels until the dog started to run after them, which caused me to slip because my shoes, not boots, had no traction.
I'll be going through my closet this afternoon looking for boots that don't leak, don't make my socks bunch up and of course, traction. Because the dog and I will be marching out the door tomorrow morning and the rest of the weeks to come. Unless it's really windy, below 20°, or raining.

ASAP OMG

"Are you making fun of Russian people?"
"Absolute.......ly not. I love Russians and vodka. The Russians invented Vodka didn't they? If they did, the Lord should watch over them in a special kind of way."

I have made progress on my dog walking/Russian watching mornings. Somethings going down. Check this post if you haven't been keeping up.
I saw the round woman one morning and she was dressed up again heading for the ishkabibble bus stop. As she drew near I engaged her in conversation,
"Good morning."
And in her thick Russian accent she replied,
"Good morning."
Stepping closer I asked,
"Have you been to the pool lately?"
"Pool?"
This is when I realized that she was a different round woman. The original round woman has a stunt double. A doppelganger. Or she has been replaced for phase 2 of the world domination mission. Dear God.
I don't know if she realized I might be on to her but she adapted quickly to her new role,
"The pool, yes the pool."
By this time we were passing each other. I didn't look back but braced myself for certain annihilation, as I may have blown her cover. I lived to see another day though to continue my watch.
The next week, faux round woman was on her way to the ishkabibble bus stop again but this time she was on the phone. No eye contact was made. I heard part of her conversation,
"Yes. No. No as soon as possible."
Mommy!

Happy Father's Day Superman

     Daddy don’t let go, please don’t let go. My arms wrapped around my fathers neck and I willed him to take me home. I could feel his grip on me tighten as he carried me down the hospital corridor. I rested my throbbing head on his strong shoulder, while my tears soaked through his flannel shirt.

     I fell on my head. It explains a lot, so people tell me. The hospital terrified me. But when you have a lump on your forehead the size of a tennis ball and you throw up, you’re going on a middle of the night trip to the Emergency Room. Having my father’s strong arms around me made it bearable.

     My father has always been a source of strength for me. My mother calls him stubborn. Because he would proceed when others would give up doesn’t always mean stubborn, it means perseverance and strength. My father does not quit.

     Going through my wallet I found a crumbled receipt. On it were cell phone numbers, my mom’s, my brothers and my sister-in-laws. I wrote on the first piece of paper I could find. Written down so we could all get in touch with each other at any time. These phone numbers were also for our kids if they needed us because someone was always at the hospital, my father had a heart attack.

     Because of a raging infection it was three months before we got him home. This is when I saw his strength in a different light. He spent two months in intensive care. That’s where he decided he could breath on his own and he took his breathing tube out himself. He beat the odds, amazed the doctors and kept the nurses on their toes. He left the hospital without his sternum and his left hand holding up his sweat pants.

     “They told me I can’t drive.”

     “Yeah dad, because of the air bags and not having a sternum.”

     “So I’m supposed to sit in the back seat, let your mother driving me around like she’s my chauffeur?”

     “I………”

     “She can’t drive in the snow.”

     “I can drive in the snow.”

     “I’m going to the Feds.”

     I opened my mouth to speak, but he was going to the Feds?

     For the next month my father was on the phone with the federal government explaining his medical situation. He filled out papers, his doctors filled out papers. While waiting for the Feds to okay an on/off switch for his airbag, he scoured the area for a mechanic. He received his okay, had the mechanic come to him and do the job in his driveway.

     From the time I was a child in my father’s strong arms to now when I see him struggle because his grandsons have to cut his grass, my father has taught me strength. Through the years I have gained confidence because I learned to per severe and be strong. I believe my father is Superman. I believe he is the source of my strength.

Let’s run in the rain

If I could have, if my home owners association would have let me, I would have bought a cow when the boys were young and let it graze in the back yard. I'd go and squirt out a gallon or so of milk when I needed it. We were always at the store buying milk. As I watch the pouring rain I can remember back in 19 something, before the turn of the century, we were sitting in our mini van in the grocery store parking lot because we had to buy milk. The boys had their noses pressed up against the window, it was raining, monsoon type raining.
While a February rain is a damp, dreary unwelcome rain, summer rain can be embraced. It splashes down in our neighborhood leaving behind a rainbow of green grass, ripe red tomatoes, purple and pink petunias and that just rained fresh cleansing smell is in the air.
We sat in the car, like everyone else in the parking lot. We watched from our windows as people gathered under the stores overhang, all of us waiting it out. The raindrops were as big as grapes, they slammed down onto the hot pavement with a hiss creating a misty fog. I looked back at my boys, perhaps at that moment I saw an opportunity to make a memory or maybe I realized that they wouldn't be my little boys forever. Whatever it was, it was impulsive.
"Let's run in the rain."
All three heads whipped around towards me, with their mouths hanging open. By this time in their lives, they knew how I felt about getting my hair wet.
"Really mom?"
"Yes, let's run in the rain."
They grinned from ear to ear and bounce up and down in their seats.
"All of you go to the sliding door, I'll run around the car while I'm running you guys open the door, everybody gets out, we'll all hold hands and run for the doors. We still have to watch for cars. Sound like a plan?"
"Yeah." Said in unison. And still with those big grins on their faces.
According to plan the four of us ran in the rain, holding hands, stopping to look both ways for cars, giggling and laughing. Everyone that watched us laughed. Once in the store we dripped down every aisle we went. Our shoes sloshed and squeaked, we were soaked to our skin and happy as ever because we shared an unforgettable moment in time. We were rebels. Those are the times I look back on, those are the times I miss the most. I miss running in the rain.

Fire Sale!

Or just FIRE! My WalMart was on fire. I had just started shopping when I saw smoke. I thought to myself,
"WalMart you never disappoint. You big beautiful building of 7 kinds of crazy."
I walked towards the smoke because I'm nosy and a blogger. I found myself in the Men's section with three blue vested, name tag wearing, WalMart employees wielding fire extinguishers. They had a pair of smouldering men's shorts surrounded.
I observed the situation and asked,
"Are we going to be evacuated?"
"Oh no." Said one of WalMart's finest. And she waved her hand back and forth to clear the smoke,
"The fire's out."
Thank God, with my inside voice.
I've been looking for toe rings every week for about a month, finally find them and I wasn't going to leave them in my shopping cart for a pair of burning shorts. The middle of June and they finally set up the toe ring display. I've been wearing flip flops without toe rings for a month. Any body that knows me, knows that's not me.
All this time I've spent on planet Earth I have never seen a fire extinguisher used except on TV. It's isn't the same in real life. I think they put shaving cream in the TV prop fire extinguishers. The real life ones sprayed out a yellowie mist that added to the smoke. Once I started to feel woozie I decided to leave, I had enough material and a good story.
So if anyone is looking for a pair or two of men's shorts, they might be on sale soon. Just a little charbroiled with a hint of a bonfire smell.

Taking back the reins as neighborhood Russian watcher

I've been keeping my eye on the Russians since 2010. It's hard to believe, time does fly. I let my guard down last year, I got lazy. I feel terrible because I don't think anyone else stepped up while I struggled with my raging hormones.
But the dog and I are back on our almost daily morning walks. If the Russians are planning world domination it isn't going down in my 'Ville'. And a nice little write up in the history books on how I thwarted Boris and Natasha's evil plans would look great on my resume.
Let me fill you all in on what I have discovered since taking back the reins as neighborhood Russian watcher. A bus with Russian words on it! What the hell? And the most visible Russian, the round woman that swims, got on it. And she got on the ishkabibble bus at the end of the street, not in front of her house. And her house had mounds of garbage at the end of driveway because it was garbage day. A highly suspicious chain of events.
I don't know what garbage day is like in Russia but we Americans put our garbage in garbage cans and recycle bins. We rinse our plastic bottles and glass jars, stack our newspapers and cardboard and the rest of the garbage goes in the trash cans. It really is exhausting. The Russians house had all their garbage thrown to the end of the driveway, haphazardly. 5 years I've been watching them and I ain't never seen nothin like it. They are drawing attention to themselves, making my job so much easier.
The round woman that swims, who got on the ishkabibble bus, was dressed up. Make up, jewelry and an outfit that matched. Usually, when she isn't at the pool, she walks around in a flowery dress and a sweater that doesn't pick up any color in the flowery dress, ever. I deduced she was on her way to meet Fearless Leader. Or a doctors appointment because under the Russian words it said Medical Transport. I hope she's okay.

Driving with Mother

Spring has sprung in Northeast Ohio. The birds are singing, the flowers are in bloom and my mother is like a wide eyed child at Christmas. For some reason Forsythia in bloom turns her on. Since I was a child she has been pointing out Forsythia bushes that have burst open their yellowness. Each Spring she points them out in strangers yards as we drive by on our way to some two hour away mall because Macy's is having a sale in the cosmetic department. I leave her in that department and go look at shoes. If I stay with her in there she will spray me with perfume. But that's another story for another day.
I can be in mid sentence talking about her grandchildren and she will interrupt me,
"Oh look at that Forsythia, it's beautiful. Isn't it?"
"Yep beautiful. And then the principle called......."
"Look there's another one, it's gorgeous."
I always accommodate and look. But Forsythia just doesn't do it for me. I have one in my yard but she never seems to notice or maybe she points it out to my dad when they drive by.


I am almost certain that I could be driving my mother to Macy's during Spring and the end of times decides to show up. We will be driving down the highway and behind us the Earth is crumbling and falling into the deep dark abyss that is hell. While I am trying to 'get right with God' I'm looking at my rear-view mirror and see the four horsemen of the apocalypse breathing down my neck and my dear mother will say,
"Slow down you're missing the Forsythia."

Don't tell my mom about this post, pretty sure she'd be mad at me.

Read This, It's Short

Is this some kind of record setting allergy season? Some kind of banner year, an urban legend? A year where the official pollen count is off the charts? Has an allergen been released in the air by insurgents to make the US population sneeze until we are rendered idiots?
I have been sneezing continually for about, hell I don't even remember. I'm already an idiot. If I'm not sneezing I am so congested that not even a wisp of air can sneak past my stubborn snot. I attempt to suck air into my nostrils and my nose squeaks. Squeaks.
Are we not suppose to be still reaping the benefits of the 'first frost'? Or was my mother right when she told me I need to dust more often then just when I'm having company?

The Vise Grip aka Mammogram

I shall explain my post before you read any further. Women's magazines are going to be banging my door down and begging me to write for them when I'm done here. In other words Erv probably shouldn't read this.
I can't think of a better way to start blogging again than with my annual gynecological event. It isn't an appointment, it's a torturous event that women go though annually for their health and well being.
We start, and when I say we, it's exactly what you think, I talk to myself. I am my own smart and witty best friend. Several of the voices in my head have been armed, for months, with an arsenal of questions for my gynecological doctor. We will focus mainly on menopause and the hellish nightmare that it has become. I am pro medication because becoming an alcoholic seems like too much drama for me.
If I am heavily medicated then signs like the one I saw on the medical facilities front door wouldn't have the psychological effect that had me pause before entering. Wondering if everyone that had touched the door handle before me took the time to read,
"If you have been to the continent of Africa in the past 21 days and are experiencing flu like symptoms......blah, blah, blah and yada, yada, yada."
The under-medicated me stopped to weigh my options. Menopause or ebola? I guess I chose ebola because I entered. I wanted to go back home and build a blanket fort in my living room. Drink hot chocolate from a Mickey Mouse cup, stare at the swirling mini marshmallows without a care in the world and wait for my hormones to get a grip. But I was so desperate to hang on to anything that resembled my youth, I risk my life to enter a building that may have been harboring a deadly disease.
In the first waiting room I waited. I wasn't in a big hurry to wear a paper gown but I did want to get "it" over with. Once in the exam room several of my voices decided to remain silent. I don't know if they did rock, paper, scissors or what but it was important that we looked sane enough for strong medication and not insane that we would get strong medication and a straight jacket. Whatever we said worked because we got out of there with a prescription and a third stop to get blood work done.
With one stop behind me until next year we went to the pancake factory. This is where your breasts become Play-Doh and they are manipulated in such a way that your first concern is not whether they will eventually retain their original shape but instead it is will they be ripped off your body in horror movie fashion. They are stuck in a machine that squeezes down on them so tightly that you feel the skin of your neck growing taunt. A grip so tight that the jaws of life could not free you should the power go off in a freak thunderstorm during the middle of winter. And what do they tell you when you call to make an appointment for this ominous day?
"Don't wear deodorant."
What? Are they afraid we will slip out of the vise grip? The girls ain't going no where once they are smashed in that mammogram machine.
In the next waiting room I sat and contemplated life in general. No seriously, I watch some moron in the parking lot try to invent his own parking space, gave up and parked next to me. I secretly hoped he hadn't left the country in the last 21 days. My name was called yet again and this time they wanted blood.
After being violated on so many different levels I voluntarily stuck my arm out for a needle to be jabbed into it. I didn't feel it because my boobs still hurt. At that very moment you probably could have hit me over the head with a frying pan and I still would have complained about my boobs.

Hopefully I made you laugh today because that was my intention. But do not neglect your boobies. Get regular checkups because you have to. Then you can join the boob smashing conversations.

I need a nap. Where's my pillow and blanky?

For the last week or so, maybe longer, maybe less because I'm really not sure what day it is and I'm almost certain it is October but I would not be 100% sure of that to call it fact. In fact for the past few days I feel as if I have been watching myself try to function through daily life as a spectator instead of a participant. What I am trying to say is that I have a cold/flu that has come straight from hell.
So forming a thought and trying to string along a few coherent sentences has been difficult. I have thoughts and sentences floating around up there in my brain but they have been bogged down by snot. Random ideas pop into my head and I have no explanation as to why they are up there but they are stuck inside of my skull, rattling around trying to free themselves but to no avail because you see, I can not breath through my nose and I am now hearing impaired. My ears are actually squeaking. How can this be good?
Random thought! I remember an event. Wait I think I'm hungry. I'm going to have soup. I'll finish this post later.

In the delicate mental state that I am in at the moment all my memories happened about a year ago. That being said, about a year ago Boy #3 told me he had an earache. Here is that conversation:
"Mom I think I have an earache."
"Well either your ear hurts or it doesn't."
"I know that. But my ear hurts inside."
"Oh then that's an earache."
After they turn 18 you can relax a little bit because legally they are in charge of their own earaches. But I am a mom, so I asked,
"How bad does it hurt? Going to the doctor bad or aspirin bad?"
"Oh I don't want to go to the doctor."
"Then take a couple......"
"Because I don't have insurance."
This is when the muscles that you have let relax stiffen because now money is involved. I continued the conversation,
"You know that your father and I will help you with medical expenses, you know that."
"Yeah but I still don't think I need to go to the doctor."
"Well get a flashlight and let me look in there at least."

I just remembered I'm out of Nyquil. Shit.

So I have a flashlight and I'm looking into the kids ear. I see nothing. I really couldn't tell you what I expected to see though. Then I had a thought,
"You know I think back in the old days they use to pour a little peroxide in a persons soar ear to help the pain and unblock stuff."
"Really?"
"Yeah, pretty sure. Want me to do it?"
"I ..... don't ......... know."
"Think about it. You get water in your ear when you go swimming sometimes and you always get it out. It would be the same thing, sort of, maybe. Let's see what happens."
"Well ......"
"I'm just going to put a cap full in there, a few drops."
"Okay. Do it."
I tried to contain my excitement, I didn't want him to flee.
With Boy #3's head sideways over the bathroom sink, I guess in case the peroxide came out the other end? We were winging it really. I poured a few drops into his earache ear. He flinched a little and I don't blame him because I had no idea what I was doing, not a clue. Huh. I saw some bubbles in there. And I said,
"I see some bubbles."
No response. He probably can't hear me with peroxide in his ear. So I turned my head sideways over the sink to face him and said,
"I see bubbles."
"Cool. I hear fizzing."
"Cool. I'm going back up there to see what happening."
And I gave him a thumbs up.

In no way do I condone radical peroxide ear treatment. Just wanted to throw that out there. My head hurts.

So I looked back at his bubbling ear. The peroxide seemed to have knocked loose some earwax because I saw some little things floating around. Huh. I went back down sideways over the sink and said,
"How does your ear feel?"
"Okay, I guess."
"Then I think it's time to get that stuff out of there, I see some stuff floating in your ear."
"Huh?"
I put a tissue over his ear and he stood up. He started the process of removing water from your ear after swimming and was successful. He started moving his jaw around because you can't move your ears around. He said to me,
"I think that may have helped."
"I knew it would."
I had no idea what would happen, but I'd say a successful test. Since going partially deaf due to this cold I have been contemplating peroxide in my ear. I'm going to stick to my Neti Pot for now, until I get desperate.

In the late summer of 2014

In the late summer of 2014 I stood in my kitchen making sauce. A cool, yet gentle breeze ruffled my curtains, the husband was watching college football while eating pretzels that were so good he told me to buy them again, Boy #3 planned to cut the grass after playing video games and the dog, she sat regally on the front steps watching over the neighborhood. Not one Jehovah Witness or encyclopedia salesman would get to our front door on her watch, not one. In fact I stopped a moment to watch her watching the cars go by. The leaves had just started to fall from the trees, letting us know that autumn was on it's way. I would have to sweep the steps because the dog seemed to have a little pile of them between her paws. Isn't she cute, I said to myself, she's playing in the leaves.
At that specific time when all was well I squinted at the dog, took a few steps closer to the front door. The birds stopped singing, the wind became still and the blood rushed from my face. This is when pandemonium invaded my almost perfect day.
"Oh no. No. Oh my, holy, Boy #3. Shit, Oh, Oh. Boy #3, Boy #3!"
I waved my hands in the air like a girl. The husband asked with is mouth full of pretzels,
"Is it a spider babe?"
"No. Oh my God. It's a bunny, it's a bunny. Boy #3 do something. It's a bunny. The dog killed a bunny. Oh shit. Boy #3!"
"Seriously?"
"Yes I'm serious. What the hell? It's a dead bunny!"
The husband made no attempt to remove himself from football. But the kind gentle hearted Boy #3 that wants to be a veterinarian sprang into action. That's why in my state of hysteria I called him because I knew who would move and who wouldn't. After 29 years with the husband I knew he would laugh at me and tell me,
"That's what dogs do. They hunt and kill. She probably brought it up the steps for you. Rabbit tastes just like chicken. When I was a kid on my aunt and uncles farm...."
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, don't start talking about the farm right now because I am so earning this nervous breakdown I'm having right now, I having it, right now. Oh damn the windows are open, the neighbors are hearing my 19th nervous breakdown."
While I freaked out man, I kept looking at the dead bunny and Boy #3 trying to bring the dog in, who wanted to bring her kill with her. I thought to myself, well at least I didn't kill this one. See this post here for an explanation of that thought popping into my head.
With the dog in the house, I calmed down long enough to give her her treat for going outside to pee and kill. And then I went back to, as Boy #3 is now referring to it, my little melt down.
"What? How? Wha....."
"Mom." Boy #3 rested his hands on my shoulders and said,
"I'm going to need some bags."
Blank stare. I just stared at him. He suppressed a smile,
"Plastic bags mom, plastic bags."
"Yes, plastic bags. I will get you plastic bags. Several plastic bags."
And then I looked at the front steps,
"Oh my God, it's still there."
"That's why I need plastic bags."
I ran to the drawer of plastic WalMart bags and started to frantically throw them towards the boy,
"You should double bag, NO, quadruple them. What's after quadruple? Sixtuple them."
The husband interupted,
"Now you're making up words, you're going to hurt yourself."
"Shut up, shut up, shut up."
I flung more bags towards my dear, sweet, youngest child and told him,
"Don't touch it. I have to say that because it's in the being a mom rules, but do what you must to get rid of the poor thing. Here's another bag."
After the removal and disposal, oh eff, garbage day was yesterday. It has to stay in a sixtupled bag for a week. After the removal and disposal I poured Pine-Sol straight from the bottle on to the spot, there was......gah, there was some blood there. I dumped buckets and buckets of hot water on the steps and scrubbed with a broom, more hot buckets.
In the late summer of 2014 I stood in my kitchen making sauce. Instead of driving the neighbors crazy with the delicious smell of my spaghetti sauce, the pungent smell of Pine Sol streamed into my front windows. Not one person would be jealous of my cooking today, not one.

Spider!

Last month on FaceBook I penned a post about a spider web in my car. With that glaring evidence I deduced that a spider was living in my car. I received about 18 'likes' with that post, that translates, to me anyway, that I have a few heartless friends or they felt sorry for me and gave me a thumbs up?
I shook that confusion out of my head. I didn't know if I should burn just the inside of my car or the whole damn thing. My friends comments were an overwhelming decision to burn it to the ground. I had to agree with them. The problem is I'm a procrastinator.
So a month later, living under threat of a spider in my car, the nightmare that I could have avoided had I set my car ablaze in my driveway, came to fruition. In other words, shit got real.

The rest of this post is not for the squeamish. Several of my friends come to mind but I won't name them because they were in the group of the 18 'likes'. I will let them squirm.

In the car with the husband on our way to our daughter-in-laws graduation,
congratulations Karla, I sat in the passengers seat. The husband was navigating his way out of a parking lot. I looked out my window and saw a spider on my shoulder. It had to be at least 1/4" in diameter. The car was moving. I had my seat belt on. I was trapped. My only recourse was to have a spaz attack and make some kind of horrible sound come out of my mouth. A sound that can never, ever be made again, even under hypnosis.
Now I can not remember if I actually touch the spider but after a frantic search I saw it on the floor. I stepped on it until it was ground into the floor mat. Here is the conversation that ensued after my nervous breakdown.
The husband was somewhat alarmed,
"What?!"
"A spider!"
"Jesus."
"It was on my shoulder."
"Christ."
"It was on my shoulder."
"I thought something really bad happened."
"Something really bad did happen. A spider was on my shoulder."
"You scared the shit out of me. I could have gotten us in an accident."
I narrowed my eyes at him and talked through my teeth so he new I was serious,
"Tell me you can look at your shoulder, see a spider and it not startle you, tell me that."
His demeanor waned ever so slightly and with a grin,
"Maybe I would be startled but I wouldn't need a rubber room and a straight jacket."
"I'm burning this car down tomorrow, if you have and CD's in here that you want to keep I'd take them out when we get home if I were you."
"Yes dear."

My September 11th Post. Any Other Day

I post this every year and hope that some day I won't have to any more.

September 12, 2001, I walked down my steps and opened the garage door to take out the garbage. The sun was going down and it would be dark soon I was going to make sure the big garage door was closed too. In our garage I found my 12-year-old middle son. He had on everything Army-ish. Camouflage pants and t-shirt, the only boots he owned, snow boots and an Army helmet from a Halloween costume. He also had his toy rifle and when I stepped into the garage, he appeared to be pretend loading it.

“What are you doing baby?”

This annoyed him, he rolled his eyes at me, I guess in my surprise at running into him down there I made a critical error in calling my little soldier, baby.

“Mom, I’m securing the perimeter of the house.”

Any other day this one little story of mine would have found itself in my humor blog. Any other day I would have sent him off to play soldier. Any other day I would have smiled at him instead of having tears well up in my eyes.

But this day I asked him to go upstairs and told him we need to talk. I had to find out what was going on in that 12-year-old head and try to ease his obvious concerns. And after all I couldn’t have him walking around the house with a toy gun in the dark, everyone was on red alert, someone would have called the police, I know I would have. We were all on edge, uncertain and scared.

I was able to send my baby back into the security of our home and thanked God for that. I had been praying just about non-stop since the day before, September 11, 2001, when Islamic extremist flew our airplanes into the Twin Towers, the Pentagon and the field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania.

This anniversary of terrorism is difficult for me, I have a hard time looking at the pictures, listening to the stories and seeing the videos. Maybe it’s because that day has become just that, an anniversary. To me, September 11, 2001 is unresolved and unfinished. The threat is still there. Mothers are sending their babies to war. Mothers are trying to explain Army isn’t a video game. And with each “anniversary” that goes by I ask myself what has to happen to change the uneasy feeling I get every September 11^th?